Leaving No Stones Unturned: Essays on the Ancient Near East and Egypt in Honor of Donald P. Hansen 9781575065281

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LEAVING NO STONES UNTURNED

Donald Hansen excavating with Halaf of Sherqat, al-Hiba 1990

Leaving No Stones Unturned Essays on the Ancient Near East and Egypt in Honor of Donald P. Hansen

Edited by

Erica Ehrenberg

Winona Lake, Indiana Eisenbrauns 2002

ç Copyright 2002 by Eisenbrauns. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Leaving no stones unturned : essays on the ancient Near East and Egypt in honor of Donald P. Hansen / edited by Erica Ehrenberg. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 1-57506-055-8 (cloth : alk. paper) 1. Middle East—Antiquities. 2. Egypt—Antiquities. I. Hansen, Donald P. II. Ehrenberg, Erica. DS56.L4 2001 939u.4—dc21 2001040925 CIP

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

Contents Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Digging with Donald Selma al-Radi

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Power and Protection: A Little Proto-Elamite Silver Bull Pendant . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Joan Aruz

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Performativity and the Image: Narrative, Representation, and the Uruk Vase Zainab Bahrani

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Early Late Cypriot Ceramic Exports to Canaan: White Slip I . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Celia J. Bergoffen

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Sarvistan Reconsidered Lionel Bier

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The Rooster in Mesopotamia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Erica Ehrenberg

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Some Aspects of the Precinct of the Goddess Mut in the New Kingdom . . . . . . . . . . . . . Richard A. Fazzini

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Defending Connoisseurship: A Thrice Re-inscribed Sphinx of Dynasty XII . . . . . . . . . . . Rita E. Freed

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Tomorrow We Dig! Excerpts from Vaughn E. Crawford’s Letters and Newsletters from al-Hiba . . . . . Prudence O. Harper

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Pay-Dirt in the End . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103 Edward J. Keall 1000 b.c.e.? 900 b.c.e.? A Greek Vase from Lake Galilee . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109 Günter Kopcke Pithoi of Hatshepsut’s Time . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119 Christine Lilyquist In Search of Prestige: Foreign Contacts and the Rise of an Elite in Early Dynastic Babylonia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125 Marc Van De Mieroop Sacred Pathways . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139 Bojana Mojsov The Reattribution of Middle Uruk Materials at Brak . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145 Joan Oates and David Oates v

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Seeing the Past in the Present: Twenty-Five Years of Ethnoarchaeology at al-Hiba . . . . . . 155 Edward L. Ochsenschlager Pyramid Origins: A New Theory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169 David O’Connor A Decorated Bronze Belt in the Detroit Institute of Arts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183 Elsie Holmes Peck An Egyptian Goddess in Detroit . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203 William H. Peck The “Jeweler’s” Seal from Susa and Art of Awan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211 Holly Pittman Early Islamic Seals: Their Artistic and Cultural Importance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237 Priscilla Soucek Ancient Egyptomania: The Uses of Egypt in Graeco-Roman Alexandria . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261 Marjorie Susan Venit The Temple Mound at Bismaya . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 279 Karen Wilson How Tall Was Naram-Sîn’s Victory Stele? Speculation on the Broken Bottom Irene J. Winter

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Mapping Óimyarite Z5afar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 313 Paul Yule

Preface On inviting colleagues and former students to contribute to his Festschrift and then again upon reading the submissions, I was struck by the lively diversity of subjects and approaches, places and times, that are the preoccupations of those who have worked with or been trained by Donald P. Hansen. The gamut of interests displayed by the articles in this volume, celebratory of Donald Hansen’s contributions to Near Eastern and Egyptian art history and archaeology, are of course a reflection of his own intellectual pursuits and the excitement he has engendered in others in the field. As a professor at the Institute of Fine Arts, New York University, Donald Hansen has taught numerous generations of students the responsible and scholarly study of art and the techniques of field archaeology. As an art historian, he has produced erudite and original insights into artworks and their contexts. As a painstaking excavator of mudbrick, he has drawn pivotal conclusions about major sites and chronological periods. And as a mentor, associate and friend, he has provided many of us with invaluable academic and practical guidance, and moral support. He has also come to know those with whom he has worked closely on a personal level, and even claims credit for no small number of marriages. The range of Donald Hansen’s knowledge of the ancient Mediterranean is vast. He pursued graduate work at Harvard under George Hanfmann, concentrating on Bronze Age interconnections. While at Harvard, he also served as a Junior Fellow of the Society of Fellows from 1956–1959. In his teaching he imparts a universal perspective, causing students to situate the particularities of the Near East in the larger picture and appreciate fully both the uniqueness and lasting heritage of Near Eastern creations and innovations. To this end, he has sometimes taught seminars jointly with other Institute of Fine Arts faculty, most memorably one on early urbanism and ties between the ancient Near East and Egypt, in tandem with David O’Connor, and one on late second and early first millennium ivories, whose most prominent participant was Edith Porada, in tandem with Günter Kopcke covering the Aegean and the late Bernard Bothmer covering Egypt. In lecture classes, Donald Hansen takes students through material from Iraq, Iran, Syria and Anatolia, from early farming villages to late Persian empires, although in his Mesopotamia survey he is famous for barely making it beyond the third millennium before the end of the term. Needless to say, his students are quite well-versed in the Uruk and Early Dynastic eras. During the period from 1955–63, Donald Hansen excavated in Iraq, Turkey, and Iran, participating in the Joint Expedition to Nippur with Chicago, the American Exploration of Sardis with Harvard, and the Oriental Institute Expedition to Iran. In 1963 and 1965, he was Field Director of the Oriental Institute Expedition to Abu Salabikh. Shortly after joining the faculty of the Institute of Fine Arts, he agreed to lead the Institute of Fine Arts/New York University Expedition to Mendes in Egypt, which he conducted from 1964–78, even while assuming directorship in 1968 of the joint Institute of Fine Arts/ New York University and Metropolitan Museum of Art Expedition to al-Hiba. When the Gulf War and its consequences rendered vii

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al-Hiba inaccessible, he turned his attention to Yemen, directing excavations at ancient Shibam in the Hadramaut valley, but he also excavated in Syria, most recently at Brak. Donald Hansen always viewed these digs not just as scientific missions but also as an educational venue for his students, in the belief that it is essential for students to have first-hand experience of mudbrick, artifacts and landscape in order to become fully competent scholars of the Near East. Although I clearly recall his telling me on the last day of our 1995 season in Yemen that his digging days were over, he nevertheless picked up for Syria in 2000 after he had spawned yet another generation of young students whom he wanted to train. The opportunity to watch Donald Hansen in the field and interact with him as teacher, director, or fellow archaeologist is an invaluable gift he has given to many. The essays that follow, written in appreciation of Donald Hansen, are a testament to the inspiration his scholarship and mentoring have provided. Erica Ehrenberg New Haven September 2000

Digging with Donald Selma al-Radi

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Most of my digging life has been spent in the company of Donald. My only other experience had been in 1963 as Iraqi representative with the British School of Archaeology mission at Fort Shalmaneser in Nimrud where the scenery was gorgeous and the digging was easy—just scrape the surface and follow the white line of the gypsum plaster on the walls. The following year, I was sent as the representative to Abu Salabikh; Donald was the Director. There were mud brick walls, plano-convex bricks (all in a poor state of preservation because of the salty soil), and robber holes everywhere—not a pretty sight. Donald and the Shergatis (the elite diggers of Iraq) decided that I needed to be trained in the finer points of articulating mud bricks. So I was ordered into a narrow corridor where I spent my time removing plaster layer after plaster layer, and then articulating each individual brick. If I stuck my head out I was firmly told to get back in there. In the evenings, I followed Donald around from room to room, pad and pen in hand, while he dictated to me the day’s excavation results and finds—the list always ended with “and a partridge in a pear tree.” What will future scholars make out of that, I wonder? Eventually, I graduated to digging in the temple proper. No sooner did I start cleaning a floor than I found traces of a hole, and before we knew it, we were knee-high in clay tablets. We had found a cache of early Sumerian temple tablets. For the remainder of the season, Bob Biggs and I were stuck in this hole gently consolidating, bandaging, and carefully extricating one tablet at a time—a difficult task as they were stuck to each other. Some tablets were small, others enormous, but all of them were in poor condition and fragile. They were also unbaked; we later baked them in a make-shift kiln in Nippur where we spent four months cleaning, finding joins, and cataloging them. Abu Salabikh is a low spread-out site in the middle of a salt bog. We lived in reed huts that, having been built on the highest point of the mound facing straight into the prevailing winds, acted as very efficient wind tunnels! One reed hut was the headquarters of the team, the other served as the kitchen and servants quarter. Our hut was divided into two sections, men’s and women’s quarters; the dividers were reed mats. Donald’s favorite pastime was to lie on his bed (on the other side of the mat from mine) and bash the partition until my toiletries and odds and ends fell off the precarious ledge on which they had been perched. It was always freezing cold, and, except for the first and last week, it rained incessantly. Once the rains began, we were cut off from our supply route to Nippur, and our world turned into a muddy bog in which we slipped and slithered around as best we could. A trip to the outdoor toilet—a hole in ix

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the ground with a reed mat spiraling around it—was always an adventure. With each gust of wind and rain the spiral leaned ever more alarmingly, decreasing the angle and opening of entry, sometimes shrinking to as little as a couple of feet. A crouched crawl was the only way to go in—and a slip meant disaster! Digging out the tablets was slow work; Biggs and I crouched under a tarpaulin in the rain, excavating with small kitchen knives and brushes. The tablets were then placed each in half a jerry-can (cut in half lengthwise, and partially filled with sand); this was to protect them for later transportation to Nippur. The ladies’ section of the hut was turned into a repository for these “canned” tablets; when we ran out of floor space, Diane Taylor and I slept with the tablets, literally on our beds. Getting in and out of bed was a real hazard. The men’s section served as our communal dining room, and bedroom for the three men. The humidity inside the huts was horrendous; every evening Thorkild Jacobsen and I would try to dry the bed sheets by running them over the top of the Alladin gas stoves. The hut would turn into a Chinese laundry, but it was all to no avail. By the time one leapt into bed the sheets were as damp as when we started! One morning when it was raining hard and the wind was howling and swirling around us, Donald decided we could not go to work. So we were lying in our damp beds, Donald and I singing duets from La Traviata, when suddenly I felt rain on my face. I looked up to see our reed roof lifting off: “Donald, our roof is flying off,” I yelled; “Don’t be silly,” he answered. I repeated, “Donald, it’s flying off the ladies’ section.” Hysterical laughter from the menfolk on the other side of the divide—no sympathy whatsoever—Biggs just said, “Mind that the tablets don’t get wet.” Luckily for us, the workmen had seen the roof fly off, and pretty soon they were climbing up the sides of the hut and re-attaching the roof mats into place. We ran out of most foods—spaghetti boiled in canal water and mixed with a bit of tomato paste was all we had left. Our Indian cook, who had survived the brutal rigors of the Kut Campaign in the First World War, hated it. He used to stagger and slither from their reed hut to ours, clutching the dinner plate to his person, and ask nightly: “Memsahib, this place no good, when can we leave?” One day, when the rains had let up slightly, a figure on horseback emerged from the mist and mud carrying a leg of lamb and some Nivea cream in his side saddle. Nivea was my constant request—I polished my precious kid boots with it, but in Nippur they thought I was simply being vain! Jim Knutstad and Mac Gibson, afraid that we might starve, had sent us basic rations—the track between the two sites was impassable to cars. A few days later, I looked up from my digging to see a group of camel riders approaching. I said, “I bet that’s Mac.” Donald said, “Don’t be silly;” but sure enough it was Mac and members of their excavation team coming for a visit. My mother, Professor Lenzen, and the governor of the district also came to visit us—the latter horrified by our physical state and the conditions that we lived in. He turned to my mother and said, “What kind of mother are you, allowing your daughter to stay here—and with that hat on her head!” He had taken an aversion to my woolly hat and harangued my mother about it all the way back to Baghdad. The last week was blissful. Cocktails on a reed mat, basking in the evening light, all evoking a feeling of nostalgia and a love for this weird place in the middle of a salt bog. My next dig with Donald was at Mendes in the Egyptian Delta in the summer of 1966, the very worst months to be digging in the Delta. In the early morning the humidity would be so high that waterfalls would cascade down the outside of the doors of the dig house, and the fog was so dense that one could barely see the end of one’s pick At ten in the morning, the fog would lift, and the sun would emerge from the gloom with a vengeance that was literally blind-

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ing. Then there were the mosquitoes, so thick on the ground that every square inch of one’s body had to be covered. Even then I ended up with septic bites on ankles and waist, and Joanna Bastin had to be hospitalized for hers in Tanta Hospital! Joanna and I were given the mud-brick buildings around the temple precinct to dig—a series of small rooms leading into each other—possibly priestly residential quarters. Out of boredom, Joanna and I invented a set of mythical residents: Ponsonby, the High Priest of the Ram God of Mendes, his wife, Nofret the Tofret, their butler, Cholmondeley, and a valet called St. John—all very P.G. Wodehouse. Every evening at dinner we regaled whoever was listening with the happenings in our daily soap opera, encouraged and egged on by Donald to invent wilder and wilder stories. After dinner we played bridge, Donald and Joanna against Edward Ochsenschlager and myself. Donald and Joanna were good players; the same could not be said for us two. We were a disastrous combination. Edward would say, “I bid four of those curly red things,” and I would automatically up him, never mind what I had in my hand. We went down game after game, every night laughing ourselves to sleep. We played bridge on the beach once, and I got sunstroke and was sick in bed for two days. We even had a romance on that dig, Elsie Holmes and Bill Peck fell in love on moonlight walks around the site. They were married, and live happily after. Eventually, we completed excavating Ponsonby’s priestly quarters, mapped and removed the remains, and continued down with our sounding. We dug through more than a meter of gunk—no other word could describe it. We hit mud-brick everywhere, and in all directions. Our Egyptian representative would walk by every day and say, “This is mud-brick—it’s a floor.” This statement continued even when the so-called mud-brick floor began to turn downwards into facades, one of them with niching. We obviously had a mastaba on our hands, but he could not believe that mastabas could be built of mudbrick; to him they had to be like those at Saqqara. By the end of the season, we had partially excavated three mastabas. The first two belonged respectively to Pa-sen-bu, the High Priest of the Ram God of Mendes and his wife Nofret! Coincidence, premonition, or what? Even after a later re-reading of the text, the names were still close enough. Although we found shafts and excavated them down to virgin soil, they were all false. We never found the burial chamber of Ponsonby or Nofret! When it was not possible to excavate at al-Hiba after the Gulf War and the embargo on Iraq, I convinced Donald to come and dig in Yemen. We made a quick survey in the Wadi Hadhramaut, and chose the small site of Jujah, a satellite town of Shibam. Donald did not want a large site, just one that would provide good training for his students, and a stratigraphic sequence. We excavated for two seasons in Jujah, in 1994 and 1995. The site was only 4 kilometers west of Shibam, so we rented a glorious 11 story mud-brick skyscraper situated on the southern side of the walled town with the most spectacular views out of every window—the greatest dig house ever. Excavations at Jujah started modestly but provided some very interesting material. We excavated two areas. In one we traced the remains of a large and complex house. In the second area we found late farm houses on top, above a temple platform. Below the platform, we uncovered a perfect little temple, plastered with lime (exactly like today’s houses in Shibam). The temple had been swept clean, but there were hundreds of fragments of wall-paintings in the fill, smashed to pieces. Among the fragments we could make out human and bird features and three letters on two lines, part of an inscription in Sabaen. They are the earliest wall-paintings found in Yemen. Donald ended up with a bad case of hepatitis from drinking sweet lime juice, to which he was partial!

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My last dig with Donald was recently at Tell Brak in northern Syria—early Uruk mud brick and more mud brick, articulating and figuring out the temple building and its many levels, watching Donald in his characteristic pose, left elbow sticking out at an awkward-looking angle, picking away, and worrying about a problem until he figured it out. We did not sleep in the tents on site. We oldies (Donald, Holly Pitman and myself) rented a concrete bunker in the village and had a roof over our heads. I erected an altar to the Obsidian Goddess and placed offerings daily in front of her. Hopefully, this will bring many more happy and fruitful diggings with Donald.

Power and Protection: A Little Proto-Elamite Silver Bull Pendant Joan Aruz

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Thirty years ago, Donald Hansen made one of the most important contributions to the study of the art of Proto-Elamite Iran with the publication of an extraordinary silver sculpture of a bovine creature in the collection of The Metropolitan Museum of Art (fig. 1). Therefore, it seems particularly appropriate to take this opportunity to make a small offering to a great teacher by adding a little bull pendant in the Metropolitan Museum to the corpus of known silver bovine figures of the same culture. Less impressive than the larger sculpture, with its subtly modeled body that transitions from human to animal, this small figure is too corroded to allow for a full appreciation of its sculptural qualities (fig. 2). However, with its posture of a creature that could alternatively be interpreted as dominating or dominated, it presents us with another three-dimensional rendering of powerful animals exhibiting not only human attitudes but also possibly subtly integrated human characteristics. The smaller animal, along with the seated bovine in the Metropolitan Museum and a stone lioness in the Guennol Collection (fig. 4), 1 can be recognized as the major actors in a series of scenes on Proto-Elamite cylinder seals.

Description From the front (fig. 2a), one sees an upright bull with a characteristic bovine head, a shell inlay is preserved in one of its almond-shaped eyes, and a deep groove for the mouth very similar in treatment to that on the larger seated figure (fig. 1). 2 The very prominent ears extend horizontally below the large horns, which are also horizontally displayed with a distinctive curve backward with tips broken. Their shape is quite different from the inward curving horns of the larger sculpture. Most of the torso is taken up by a large round protruding belly, framed 1. See E. Porada, “A Leonine Figure of the Protoliterate Period of Mesopotamia,” JAOS (1950), pp. 223ff., for a discussion of this sculpture and its feminine qualities. Photo courtesy of the Brooklyn Museum of Art, L.48.7.9. 2. I would like to thank Richard Stone, Conservator, and Jean-François de Laperouse, Associate Conservator, Department of Objects Conservation, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, for comments on methods of manufacture.

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Fig. 1. Silver kneeling bovine creature holding vessel. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, purchase, Joseph Pulitzer Bequest, 1966, 66.173.

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by the forelegs that are displayed hanging like human arms. There is a clear definition of shoulder musculature and the division into upper arm/haunch muscles and a large hoof treated quite similarly to that of the larger bull. The left “arm” is broken off above the hoof and attached to it are the remains of a box-like corner and tube filled with bitumen. This may indicate that a second pendant, of a form similar to a silver one from Susa (fig. 5), may have been buried with this piece and corroded into it. 3 The legs of the upright bull are drawn close together, broken off above the hooves. The bull is ithyphallic, shown here in a drawing taken from an x-ray scan (fig. 3). 4 In profile view (fig. 2b), one sees a suspension loop at the back of the neck. The head appears to droop forward with a powerful curve defining the shoulder area. The torso tapers inward to the waist as in a human body, and sharp curves outline the hindquarters. The rear view (figs. 2c,d) shows the exaggerated curve of the forequarter/shoulder area, a clearly defined small waist, and rounded hindquarters from which a long tail extends to the bottom of the legs. The suspension loop is visible between the horns at the base of the head.

Early Silver and Gold Jewelry with Figural Imagery During the periods prior to and around the proposed date of manufacture of the small silver pendant, Mesopotamian jewelry in animal form is largely confined to stone, shell and bone pendants in the form of lions, bovines and other horned animals and birds of prey, which probably served some amuletic as well as decorative function. 5 In protoliterate southwestern Iran, however, a small gold and a small silver pendant fashioned in the form of dogs, come from the Susa Acropole, with a date proposed in the Late Uruk period, ca. 3200 b.c. Each has a loop on the back for suspension. An analysis of the material content of the gold piece reveals the perhaps the earliest surviving example of the technique of hard soldering. 6 Another tiny gold dog, lacking the added loop, is in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum (fig. 6). Dogs were frequently represented on early Mesopotamian and Iranian seals and pottery, probably evoking the hunt. Possibly datable to around the same period is a pinhead from Susa in the form of a seated ibex with very large curving horns. 7 3. I would like to thank Jean-François de Laperouse for suggesting that another pendant had fused onto the surface. See F. Tallon, Metallurgie susienne I (Paris: Editions de la Reunion des musees nationaux, 1987), p. 269, fig. 33: 1164 for a possible pendant type. 4. The drawing by Adam Hart, Computer Design Specialist, Design Department, Metropolitan Museum, is based on a reconstruction by Richard Stone, using a stereoscopic x-ray pair. 5. A selected list: B. Mussche, Vorderasiatischer Schmuck von den Anfangen bis zur zeit der Achaemeniden (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1992), p. 66:3, 4; p. 67:10; A. Tobler, Excavations at Tepe Gawra II (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1950), pl. lvic; C. L. Woolley, The Royal Cemetery (UE 2; London: Trustees of the British Museum and of the Museum of the University of Pennsylvania, 1955), pl. 27; M. Behm Blancke, Das Tierbild in der Altmesopotamischen Rundplastik (Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1979). Many pendants in animal form have been attributed to the Neolithic site of Bouqras in eastern Syria. 6. Christiane Eluère, Secrets of Ancient Gold (Guin-Düdingen, Switzerland: Franz Stadelmann, 1989), p. 178; A.-R. Duval, C. Eluère, L. Hurtel, F. Tallon, “La pendeloque au chien de Suse: Étude en laboratoire d’une brasure antique,” Revue de Louvre 3 (1987), p. 178; P. Amiet, Elam (Auvers-sur-Oise: Archée Editeur, 1966), p. 69; Mussche, Vorderasiatsicher Schmuck, p. 66 no. 6. 7. Duval, Eluère, Hurtel, Tallon, “La pendeloque,” p. 3 fig. 179.

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a

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Fig. 2. Silver bull pendant. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, purchase, Martin Stansfeld Gift and Rogers Fund, 1996, 1996.251.

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Fig. 3: Line Drawing of Figure 2.

Providing a great contrast to these earlier pendants is a much more substantial, accomplished sculpture of a gazelle (fig. 7), with a suspension loop atop the back, indicating that it too was meant to be worn as jewelry. The piece has been attributed to the Proto-Elamite period (ca. 3100–2900 b.c.) based in part on its resemblance to the seated silver bovine. 8 The gazelle was made of more than ten pieces, some sleeved together, with other elements inserted into holes. All attachments were hard soldered at the joins, where the silver displays a higher copper content. The horns appear to have been made as strips of silver wound around a wooden core with a tube at each tip, and riveted to the head. The method of manufacture is completely consistent with the way in which the two silver bovines in the Museum were made. They too were also composed of numerous parts, with smaller elements inserted into holes. The heads and upper bodies were sleeved together (in the case of the small bull under discussion, the upper and lower parts of the legs were also connected in this manner) and there is evidence of 8. H. Pittman in “Ancient Near Eastern Art: The Metropolitan Museum of Art,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin (Spring 1984), p. 46 fig. 64.

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Fig. 4. Stone Lioness. Collection of Robin B. Martin, on loan to The Brooklyn Museum, L48.7.9.

Fig. 5. Silver pendant from Susa. Tallon, Métallurgie susienne I, fig. 33.

hard soldering at the joins. Unlike the bovines, the gazelle represents an attempt to depict a completely natural animal with distinctive horns, in a typical posture for quadrupeds. The genitalia indicate that it is a male. The forelegs are straight and seem to balance on the tips of the hooves, as can be observed when gazelles are about to jump. The head, however, is turned for-

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Fig. 6. Gold Dog Pendant. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, purchase, Vaughn Foundation Fund Gift, in honor of Valor, 1995, 1995.329.

ward and slightly droops like the bovine head, eliminating any sense of motion. Similar animals on Proto-Elamite cylinder seals—some with long horizontally ridged horns—are shown walking in files, running, or rampant with forelegs raised. 9 While cervids are not shown in human postures, an ibex creature is depicted in human activities, in one case with bovines. Based on present evidence, however, this creature does not appear to be one of the primary actors in the drama of domination and defeat, as we see enacted by the monstrous bovines and felines on the seal impressions. 10

Comparative Imagery Proto-Elamite cylinder seals and seal impressions in fact present us with the visual context in which to view our little but powerful bull sculpture. They may help to address various 9. Pittman, “Proto-elamite seals and sealings,” in P. Harper, J. Aruz, F. Tallon (eds.) The Royal City of Susa (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1992), pp. 73–74. 10. P. Amiet, La glyptique mesopotamienne archaique (Paris: Editions de CNRS, 1980), pl. 37, no. 568 (ibex creature); B. Porter, “Three Cylinder Seals of Ancient Iran,” JANES 9 (1977), pp. 62, 65.

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Fig 7. Silver gazelle. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund, 1947, 47.100.89.

questions regarding its interpretation. Do we have a supernatural bovine or a real one? Is the upright posture indicative of domination or defeat? An enormous bovine figure in human posture, sometimes holding up mountains—along with a similarly displayed lion/lioness—is certainly one of the most potent creatures depicted in Proto-Elamite art and appears to evoke the supernatural world. On a large sealed tablet which also bears an inscription (fig. 8), 11 two impressions of a cylinder seal show this powerful and probably divine creature, its frontal head seeming to droop forward below its massive back and shoulders, with forelegs displayed like human arms at either side, resting on the heads of recumbent lions. The bovid has horizontally displayed ears and large outward curving horns. Unlike our figure, there is a protrusion at the side of the body that may represent fur or female characteristics; there are no male genitalia, and the creature’s powerful legs are shown in profile. In an adjacent scene, a lion or lioness extends its forepaws to raise up by the neck two bulls, their male genitalia indicated. The head and horns of these bulls resemble those of our figure when seen in profile, but the limbs are in postures appropriate for a quadruped and show no allusion to human characteristics. This

11. Pittman, “Proto-Elamite seals and sealings,” pp. 75–76.

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Fig. 8. Proto-Elamite clay tablet with seal impression. Harper et al. (eds.), The Royal City of Susa, figure 47, detail.

contrasts with other sealings from Susa where bulls depicted in profile are closer in conception to the little sculpture, as they appear to be in human posture with forelegs treated like arms, and are kneeling or upright in what appear to be human (ritual?) activities (figs. 9, 10). 12 One interesting and complex scene shows large creatures, probably bovids, in profile, standing upright with pronounced bellies like our figure, their forelegs extended to hold some item above kneeling bovids (fig. 11). 13 Another seal impression from Susa has, like the large tablet, two scenes, one with a dominant bovine creature holding lions at bay (fig. 12a, b). 14 In contrast to many other depictions of these creatures shown in upright or kneeling human postures but 12. E. Heinrich, Kleinfunde aus den archaischen Tempelschichten in Uruk (ADFU 1; Berlin: Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft, 1936), pl. xvii, nos. 259–60; P. Amiet, Glyptique susienne II (Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1972), pl. 24, no. 1011; Amiet, Glyptique mesopotamienne, pl. 38, no. 563. 13. Amiet, Glyptique susienne II, pl. 25, no. 1016. 14. Amiet, Glyptique susienne II, pl. 25, no. 1013, pl. 109:1013. If this drawing is correct and we have here a hero rather than a leonine monster mastering the bull, then we have an extremely rare instance of a human engaged in such scenes.

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Fig. 9. Line Drawing of Proto-Elamite Seal Impression. Amiet, Glyptique susienne II, pl. 24, no. 1011.

Fig. 10. Line Drawing of Proto-Elamite Seal Impression. Amiet, Glyptique mesopotamienne, pl. 38, no. 563.

without indication of gender—which has caused some scholars to consider them to be female— there appears to be a possible indication here that the figure is ithyphallic. 15 On seal depictions, with the exception of one creature in a smiting posture, the creature’s forelegs/arms are usually held symmetrically either both toward the body or extended outward or downward, or in profile with one raised and one lowered. 16 Objects associated with the creatures include weapons, altars, cloth, musical instruments, and possibly vessels of triangular and a box-like form. 17 15. See also Amiet, Glyptique susienne II, pl. 25, no. 1016, here fig. 11, where a seated bovine appears to be ithyphallic. The published photograph of this piece, pl. 110:1016, is unclear and a reexamination of the object is necessary. 16. Amiet, Glyptique susienne II, pl. 25:1014 (smiting); Amiet, Glyptique mesopotamienne, pl. 37:568 (one raised, one lowered). 17. Amiet, Glyptique susienne II, pls. 24–25, nos. 1011, 1014, 1015; Delegation en Perse pl. xvii: 258– 265; Amiet, Glyptique mesopotamienne, pls. 36–38, nos. 563–570, 576, 587 (harp?), 591.

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Power and Protection: A Little Proto-Elamite Silver Bull Pendant

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Fig. 11. Line drawing and photograph of Proto-Elamite Seal Impression. Amiet, Glyptique susienne II, pl. 25, no. 1016.

Interpretation The visual arts do not often clarify for us the intent of the craftsman nor his spiritual background, in providing characteristics to animals that make us perceive them as humanlike. Images of animals in human postures and acting like humans, sometimes with human heads or bodies, have given rise to a number of interpretations based on variations perceived in the overall composition and elements in individual scenes; specific emphases and combinations of features for individual figures; Near Eastern textual allusions to monsters as well as myths, proverbs and fables; and ethnographic information regarding the practices of shamans who take on animal characteristics. It is generally agreed that, at least in the early periods, quadrupeds with characteristics that appear to elevate them beyond the animal world represent supernatural creatures. Franz Wiggerman notes that these demons and monsters, along with animals behaving unnaturally, are denizens of the “shadow side,” which represents the periphery of the known world. 18 They reside in remote regions of the earth, such as mountains, steppe, and desert; on its periphery in or near the cosmic “ocean;” or under the earth. Wiggerman, in his discussion of “Other World imagery,” interprets the elaborate scenes of animals behaving like humans on the panel from a lyre in the Royal Cemetery at Ur as the preparation of a banquet for the deceased on the Other Side, the world of the dead. 19 This theme, particularly the 18. F. Wiggerman, “Scenes from the Shadow Side,” in M. Vogelsang and H. Vanstiphout (eds.), Proceedings of the Groningen Group for the Study of Mesopotamian Literature, vol. 2: Mesopotamian Poetic Language: Sumerian and Akkadian (Groningen: Styx, 1996), pp. 207ff. 19. Wiggerman, “Scenes from the Shadow Side,” pp. 216–17.

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Fig. 12. Line Drawing and Photograph of Proto-Elamite Seal Impression. Amiet, Glyptique susienne II, pl. 25, no. 1013; pl. 109, no. 1013.

playing of music, is the most characteristic one for animals without specific human features but acting like humans in the art of Mesopotamia. 20 Hansen has suggested that “the ultimate 20. See D. Hansen, “Art of the Royal Tombs of Ur,” in R. L. Zettler and L. Horn (eds.), Treasures from the Royal Tombs of Ur (Seattle: Marquand Books, 1998), p. 57. For early images of animals playing musical instruments, see K. Lange and M. Hirmer, Aegypten (Munich: Hirmer Verlag, 1955), pl. 2; references in F. Wiggerman, “Mischwesen. A,” RlA 8 (1993–97), pp. 237–38.

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Power and Protection: A Little Proto-Elamite Silver Bull Pendant

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Fig 13. Gold Pendant. Mussche, Vorderasiatischer Schmuck, fig. 29,4. source for an iconography based on the concept of animals acting as humans is Elam.” 21 In the art of Proto-Elamite Iran, animals appear to enact rituals and other human activities, either standing on two legs or seated with hind legs tucked under them in what looks like a prelude to the development of such imagery during the Early Dynastic period. Appearing to be most significant, however, are the postures of domination as a “master of animals” assumed by bovine and leonine creatures. This is a role that is generally reserved for divine beings entirely in human form (or their earthly counterpart, the so-called “priest-king”) or composite creatures with distinctively human heads or bodies both in earlier and later ancient Near Eastern art. 22 The bull/cow and lion/lioness appear in symmetrical compositions, demonstrating their power in scenes where, according to Pierre Amiet, they “may personify elementary cosmic powers comparable to the mountain gods and genii of later Mesopotamian mythology.” 23 Wiggerman believes that these gigantic mountain-carrying monsters, “male and female, appear(ing) as atlantids, masters of wild animals . . . and mythological actors . . . may have contributed to the development of ED monsters such as the Bull-man, and perhaps even the much 21. Hansen, “Art of the Royal Tombs of Ur,” p. 57. 22. This theme is expressed earlier in Iran and other areas of the ancient Near East; however, the main actor is most often a human figure with animal attributes. These include the head and/or horns and skins of a goat in early Iran and Mesopotamia (see E. Porada, The Art of Ancient Iran: Pre-Islamic Cultures [New York: Crown Publishers, 1965], p. 31, pl. 5, middle) and bird head and wings in eastern Anatolia (see U. Esin, “Degirmentepe [Malatya] Kalkolitik Obeyd Evresi Damga Mühür ve Mühür Baskilari, X. Türk Tarih Kongresi’nden ayribasim [Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basimevi, 1990], p. 40 fig. 15). The Gebel el Arak knife handle (see C. Aldred, Egypt to the End of the Old Kingdom [London: Thames and Hudson, 1984], p. 35, ill. 23) depicts a figure resembling the Sumerian “priest-king,” between two lions, and an expanded scene with a similar group is found on a wall painting from Hierakonpolis; see Aldred, Egypt to the End of the Old Kingdom, p. 33, ill. 22; and see n. 14 regarding the possible depiction of a hero as master of bulls in Proto-Elamite art. 23. Amiet, “The History of Art in Iran,” in Harper et al., The Royal City of Susa. p. 5.

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later Lamastu.” 24 Hansen, in discussing ED contests of heroes, composite man-animals and pure animals, observes that A heroic figure, or even a bull-man , either grasps an animal, holds it aloft upside down, or plunges a dagger into its body. The violent action is always shown in progress; the outcome is not in evidence; no one wins. This grouping of figures reflects the eternal and cyclical battle against chaos, between civilized and uncivilized man, between domestic animals and beasts of the wild, between periods of peaceful fecundity and the vagaries of nature, between the known and the unknown. It is probably to be viewed or comprehended on different levels with different nuances of meaning. 25

The “unresolved battle of hero and the bull-man” may be compared to the unresolved power struggle between bovine and feline monsters in Proto-Elamite art. In accordance with Wiggerman’s observation that Mesopotamian monsters, neither demonic evil spirits nor gods, “were immortal but not invulnerable, . . . depicted in scenes of combat and defeat,” and as masters of “wild (diabolical) animals,” they served “as apotropaia against evil.” 26 Against this background, I return to the interpretation of the little bull figure in the Metropolitan Museum. If its posture and aspects of its body form can be interpreted as humanlike, then we have here a supernatural creature, a participant in the power struggle between major forces represented by the bovine and the feline. Arguing in favor of this view is its upright posture, the suggestive curves of the body and the position of the limbs. Like natural animals and in contrast to most other bovines in human postures on Proto-Elamite seals, however, the figure is clearly male. The emphasis on male potency may provide another link between the Proto-Elamite creature and the ithyphallic bull-man in Mesopotamian art, also considered an appropriate subject for a jewelry pendant, where it is shown mastering bovine creatures (fig. 13). 27 If such ornaments also functioned as amulets, then the little bull must have been a creature potent enough to provide the wearer with protection, its supernatural power expressed in visual terms through allusions to anthropomorphism. 24. Wiggerman, “Mischwesen,” p. 230; Porada, “A Leonine Figure,” p. 226, suggests that “the leonine figure, originally created to represent a benevolent numinous being, changed its meaning to become an evil demon when it passed onto a different and hostile people. The fact . . . that Mesopotamians conceived of their great gods as having human form and cast only their demons as composite creatures with animal features would make such a change even more probable.” 25. Hansen, “Art of the Royal Tombs of Ur,” p. 50. 26. Wiggermann, “Mischwesen,” pp. 230–31. 27. Mussche, Vorderasiatischer Schmuck, fig. 29,4. The bull-man, who first appears in ED II, is depicted on this jewel and, like the hero on the ED III lyre with animals preparing a banquet for the dead, as a master of human-headed bulls, see n. 19.

Performativity and the Image: Narrative, Representation, and the Uruk Vase Zainab Bahrani

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Mesopotamian art is often celebrated as the point of origin of pictorial narrative in the world history of art, and cited as the precursor of the developed narrative forms of the Greek and Roman traditions that followed. From Henri Frankfort’s classic Art and Architecture of the Ancient Orient to the more recent studies by Near Eastern art historians the importance of the beginnings of pictorial narration in Mesopotamian art have been stressed. 1 These discussions of narrative have mostly relied upon a particular definition of narrative forms: an account or a record of a historical or political event repeated in visual representation. Efforts have then focused on finding correspondences between the visual and the verbal text as separate but parallel modes of communicating the same message. This is a straightforward comparative method where content is privileged as the historical kernel to be retrieved. How that content is expressed in visual arts and the similarities to, or differences from, the expression of the same content in literary texts or historical annals is sifted through for reconstructing an account. This has seemed like the way to approach narrative in Mesopotamian studies since it adheres to the philological methodology of reconstructing texts from various fragmentary extant versions. Philologists working on historical texts likewise have treated the work of art as yet another text that can be quarried for the completion of the historical account. But narrativity is potentially a far richer field. 2 Narrative in art history and historical studies has become an area of rigorous investigation and “representation” is now the focus of a great deal of theoretical and critical discussion in both the humanities and social sciences. While the comparative 1. H. Frankfort, The Art and Architecture of the Ancient Orient (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1954); A. Perkins, “Narration in Babylonian Art,” AJA 61 (1957), pp. 54–61; I. Winter, “After the Battle is Over: The Stele of the Vultures and the Beginning of Historical Narrative in the Art of the Ancient Near East,” in H. Kessler and M. S. Simpson (eds.), Pictorial Narrative in Antiquity and the Middle Ages: Studies in the History of Art 16 (Washington, D.C.: National Gallery of Art, 1985), pp. 11–32; H. Pittman, “The White Obelisk and the Problem of Historical Narrative in the Art of Assyria,” The Art Bulletin LXXVIII,2 ( June 1996), pp. 334–55. 2. A classic theoretical discussion is R. Barthes, “Introduction to the Structural Analysis of Narratives” in Image-Music-Text, trans. S. Heath (New York: Noonday Press, 1988; first ed. 1977), pp. 79–124. For historical writing, H. White, Metahistory: The Historical Imagination in Nineteenth Century Europe (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1973). See also M. Bal, Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Narrative (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1985).

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method’s collecting of details to fit into a total picture can be useful, it also disregards other relationships and meanings within texts, for example the rhetorical aspects of metaphor and metonymy, non-discursive narrative enactment, and performative narratives. What I am calling for here is the type of close reading of the work of art that Edward Said insists upon for the text. 3 Said’s call for a commitment to the process of close reading and engagement with the text is equally important for the visual work. Rather than rejecting these theoretical discussions of narrative as irrelevant to the ancient record we might instead consider how the ancient record can contribute to this area of critical thinking. I would like to offer this essay to Donald Hansen firstly because he has provided the inspiration for approaching Mesopotamian art as something more than a secondary record of political history, and also because he has insisted on considering the visual and aesthetic qualities of the visual arts. The incentive to return to the Uruk Vase and reconsider its imagery was a result of a statement he made recently in describing the scene on the uppermost register of the vase: “Whether the female figure is the goddess herself or her representative is unimportant; in an enactment of the drama, the participant becomes the godhead.” 4 In this essay I propose to re-define the Uruk vase as something more than the earliest form of pictorial narrative. While it is surely one of the earliest narrative depictions we know, it is at the same time what W. J. T. Mitchell would call a “hypericon” or a “metapicture.” 5 By these terms Mitchell means a self-referential image that calls attention to the basic structures of referentiality within the context of its representation. In other words, it is a picture about itself. The Uruk Vase (fig. 1) is an alabaster vessel, 1.05 m in height, discovered in a temple treasury hoard of level III of the Eanna precinct in the sanctuary of Inanna at Uruk. Level III is dated to ca. 3000 b.c., but the vase was probably carved at some earlier period as indicated by antique repairs that had already been made on the upper part. The vase is somewhat conical in shape, having a conical foot and increasing in width slightly towards the splayed opening at its top. The surface of the vase is carved in a low relief subdivided into five registers by flat bands of varying height. At the lowest register horizontal wavy lines indicate water. Above this is a register bearing two alternating plants, perhaps indicating wheat and flax. 6 Directly above the flora, and separated by a narrow fillet, is a register containing a procession of alternating rams and ewes, pairs of animals that are also an indication of the male and female aspects of reproduction. In the middle register, twice as large as the lower registers bearing the flora and fauna, is a scene depicting a procession of nude male figures each carrying a vessel or a basket filled with what is apparently produce. The figures all face the same direction and are depicted in a striding position with right leg forward. Other than the slight difference in the shape of the vessels that they carry, all the figures look remarkably alike in the rendering of their muscular bodies and their facial features. The effect of this similarity is a rhythmic repetition across the body of the vase, and this is reinforced by the repetitive depiction of the rams and ewes, as well as the plants of the lower registers. The figures of the animals and the humans are facing

3. E. W. Said, “Return to Philology,” lecture delivered at Columbia University, 17 February 2000. 4. D. P. Hansen “Art of the Royal Tombs of Ur: A Brief Interpretation,” in R. Zettler and L. Horne (eds.), Treasures from the Royal Tombs of Ur (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum, 1998), p. 46. 5. W. J. T. Mitchell, Picture Theory: Essays on Verbal and Visual Representation (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). 6. I. J. Winter, “The Warka Vase: Structure of Art and Structure of Society in Early Urban Mesopotamia,” paper presented to the American Oriental Society, Baltimore, 1983.

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Fig. 1. The Uruk Vase, carved Alabaster, late fourth millennium b.c., Iraq Museum, Baghdad. Drawing by Jo Wood, New York, after M. Roaf, The Cultural Atlas of Mesopotamia and the Ancient Near East (Oxford: Facts on File/Equinox, 1990) p. 61.

opposite directions in each register thus giving an effect of circular movement across the body of the vessel. At the uppermost level, an even larger register contains a scene which has been taken as the key to the meaning of the sequence of reliefs. Here a female figure wearing a long gown stands facing to her right side. The area above her head had been broken and repaired in antiquity which leaves uncertain the identification of the headdress that she wears as the divine “horned crown.” In front of her, a nude male, similar to the figures in the middle register, seems to be offering a container of fruit to her. This figure was apparently a less prominent worshiper who appeared in front of the main male figure. The latter has been destroyed, but

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enough remains to identify the lower portion of a netted skirt, usually worn by the “priest king,” and he is followed by another male figure with long hair who wears a short kilt that ends above the knees, and carries an article of clothing. Behind the female figure are two objects placed next to one another. They appear to be large poles topped by a ring and having some kind of a streamer attached at the back. These poles are known to be the reed door posts associated with the temple of the goddess Inanna, because they are the signs used in the earliest pictographic script to indicate Inanna. Behind the reed poles, which we might read as an entrance into the temple store-house of the goddess, a number of objects appear in pairs including small figures of a goats and a lion, a pair of vessels resembling the one carried by the offering bearer, and a pair of vessels resembling the Uruk vase itself in outline, as well as smaller enigmatic objects. Directly behind the doorposts is a large figure of a ram. On top of this ram’s back stand a pair of figures on small platforms, one slightly higher than the other. In the forefront is a male figure upon the higher platform, behind is a female figure. Another, smaller version of the reed pole stands behind this couple. The uppermost register is relatively still in comparison to the repetitive movement of the lower bands. However, the doubling of the objects behind the reed poles, and the echoing of the reed pole itself at a smaller scale, seems to carry through the theme of repetition into the top register. In terms of composition, the registers seem to underscore the hierarchy of nature since they organize the levels of water, flora and fauna in a vertical succession superseded by human and divine realms. Iconographically, the representation encompassing all five registers has been interpreted as a narration of events related to the Sacred Marriage ritual. 7 During the annual festival in spring heralding the start of a new year, a marriage between a divine female and human male took place. This ritual has been described in scholarship as a means of assuring the fertility of the land and its cyclical renewal. 8 The divine or mythological marriage is a recurring marriage, as is the ritual enactment of the event. In the ritual, the high priestess seemingly participated in the marriage with the EN or the king. Rather, in the texts, the king is described as marrying the goddess. We might understand this as a purely symbolic event in which the roles are played 7. Frankfort, The Art and Architecture of the Ancient Orient; T. Jacobsen, Towards the Image of Tammuz (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press,1970), pp. 16ff; 375ff. There is no inscription on the vase itself referring to the Sacred Marriage. The identification of the scene is based on iconographic readings of the relief in comparison with textual evidence of the practice. Whether or not the reliefs indicate the Sacred Marriage ceremony is not so important here. What is clear from the gate post signs of her name is that this is a depiction of an event related to Inanna. Thus it can be read as a religious narrative even if some will argue, based on the lack of written evidence on the vase, that it is not the sacred marriage. That a “Sacred Marriage” ceremony existed in Mesopotamian antiquity is clear from textual evidence. See J. Renger, “Heilige Hochzeit,” RlA 4 (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1972–75), pp. 251–59 who also details the abuse of the concept and the influences of nineteenth century ethnological works such as the classic studies of J. G. Frazer and his followers, and who discusses the ancient textual record. The problem with the Sacred Marriage and its relation to art is that when a scene of sexual intercourse is found in the visual arts it is usually immediately interpreted as visual evidence of the Sacred Marriage. Although this type of interpretation is clearly simplistic there is no reason to conclude from such mistaken approaches that the Sacred Marriage ceremony never took place. That argument is simply the former taken to the other end of the interpretive scale. 8. S. N. Kramer, The Sacred Marriage Rite: Aspects of Faith, Myth, and Ritual in Ancient Sumer (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1969); T. Jacobsen, The Treasures of Darkness: A History of Mesopotamian Religion (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1976).

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by the specified actors, but the sacred marriage is an epiphany. It is a ritual of substitution where the priestess becomes the goddess and the priest king becomes the god. Of course, there is no written evidence for the Sacred Marriage ritual dating to the Uruk period. Although writing existed, there was no such descriptive text of either a religious, political, or literary nature. The earliest written evidence for the ritual is from the Early Dynastic period. During the Ur III and Isin kingdom the evidence for an actual copulation between the king and the representative of the goddess is fairly certain. 9 Johannes Renger believes that the Early Dynastic evidence might be simply a retrojection of Ur III customs into the past. Others, such as F.R. Kraus, reject the very explicit evidence of the texts because they cannot believe that the ancient Mesopotamians could have been so crude as to have a religious ritual involving a live sex-act. 10 Most recently, R.F.G. Sweet argued that the texts that describe the act of copulation should be read as mythological tales, and cautioned that the interpretations of the Sacred Marriage ritual were most likely influenced by James Frazer’s work, a warning that had also been made by Renger earlier. 11 Such warnings should be heeded, yet as J. S. Cooper has argued, contemporary scholarship sometimes goes to the opposite extreme of representing Sumer as a place with sexual morals similar to those of the modern Judeo-Christian West. In any case, while there is no text on the vase confirming its association with the sacred marriage, the lack of written label is not enough to dismiss the interpretation ot its scene as the depiction of a ritual associated with Inanna. That kind of insistence on the primacy of text as the most truthful and transparent source of historical information, in opposition to the visual image which is compromised as a form of representation involving artistic mediation, is rejected by historical criticism. Be that as it may, the evidence from the latter part of the third millennium b.c. indicates that a sexual act indeed took place, even if that idea might be offensive to contemporary sensibilities. William Hallo, who accepts the interpretation of an actual copulation taking place between king and goddess, proposes that the divine parentage of the king was achieved in this cultic rite of the Sacred Marriage. 12 He argues that at least one object of the rite was to produce a royal heir, thus establishing divine descent for the ruler. Seen in ideological terms, such a ritual underscores the relationship between kingship and the natural order of things as decreed by the gods. The production of an heir as the son of a deity would insure that divine authority of kingship. Of course female reproductive cycles are not clockwork, and the fertile ovulation days of the high priestess who represented the goddess could not have been calculated to coincide with the New Year’s festival every year. If Hallo’s argument is correct, the connection between 9. J. S. Cooper, “Sacred Marriage and Popular Cult in Early Mesopotamia,” in E. Matsushima (ed.), Official Cult and Popular Religion in the Ancient Near East (Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag C. Winter, 1993), pp. 81–96. 10. Cooper, “Sacred Marriage and Popular Cult,” p. 89. 11. R. F. G. Sweet, “A New Look at the ‘Sacred Marriage’ in E. Robbins and S. Sandahl (eds.), Ancient Mesopotamia,” in Corolla Torontonensis: Studies in Honour of Ronald Morton Smith (Toronto: Tsar, 1994), pp. 85–104; and J. Renger, “Heilige Hochzeit,” pp. 251–59, refer to James G. Frazer, The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion, part I: The Magic Art and the Evolution of Kings (London: MacMillan, 1913), pp. 120–21, 129. Frazer, who looked for ancient evidence for a modern May Day or Whitsuntide celebration, believed that such cults promoted the fruitfulness of the earth, animals, and people. 12. W. W. Hallo, “The Birth of Kings,” in J. H. Marks and R. M. Good (eds.), Love and Death in the Ancient Near East Essays in Honor of Marvin H. Pope (Guildford, Conn.: Four Quarters Publishing Co. 1987), pp. 46–52.

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the processes of sacred marriage and the eventual birth of an heir was surely theatrical rather than actual. It is well known from ritual texts that performative acts and performative utterances were central to Mesopotamian religious practices. Jacques Derrida defines the performative as a “communication which does not essentially limit itself to transporting an already constituted semantic content.” 13 It is a communication that goes beyond indicating a pre-existing referent because while it seems to effectuate something at the moment of its utterance, it depends on citationality. Citationality is a requirement of all incantations and performative utterances. In order for an incantation to work, it depends on the fact that the utterance is a citation, even if the injunction becomes unique at the performative moment. We might not be too far off course then in describing this Sacred Marriage ritual as a performative narrative, a theatrical enactment the effects of which are magical transformation or epiphany. Performativity in which discourse produces the effects it utters, in this case did not involve a single speech act, but a reiterative performance in which priestess and king transformed into deities. 14 But this was not all. Since the texts explicitly refer to the act of copulation as real, not symbolic, that act can therefore be described as an act of performative sex. The performative effectuates something. Performative sex might then effectuate divine birth. If the pictorial representation on the vase indeed depicts the sacred marriage, then it is a depiction of a ritual of substitution. Such substitution required that the priestess did not simply signify the goddess or the king signify the god. Through the performative enactment they were to become substitutes. In other words, the ritual was much more than a play. It was a ritual process of transformation that depended on representation. Such substitution is well known from other Mesopotamian rituals, the most obvious being that of the Substitute King. 15 If the relief carvings on the surface of the vase are considered beyond the level of iconography where each image has a specific referent, then we might begin to consider motifs beyond the iconographic content. We might consider, for example, the insistence on repetitive forms of the middle registers, and on the doubling of forms in the upper register. Such repetition and doubling have the effect of infinite circular movement in the middle registers and mirroring quality above.

13. J. Derrida, “Signature, Event, Context” in Margins of Philosophy, trans. A. Bass (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982), p. 322. 14. For performative speech acts, see: J. L. Austen, How To Do Things With Words (New York: Oxford University Press, 1962), and Philosophical Papers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1961); M. L. Pratt, A Speech Act Theory of Literary Discourse (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1977); L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, part 1 (New York: MacMillan, 1958). For a critical reformulation of Austen’s work, see J. Derrida “Signature, Event, Context,” in Margins of Philosophy, pp. 307–30. For performance studies, see H. Blau, To All Appearances: Ideology and Performance (London and New York: Routledge, 1992); E. Diamond (ed.), Performance and Cultural Politics (London and New York: Routledge, 1996). 15. Similar arguments appeared in scholarship regarding the reality of the ritual of the Substitute King. Since the texts indicate that the substitute king could die in the place of the king, some have been reluctant to believe that such acts of barbarism could actually take place in a society that stands at the origins of western civilization and suggest that all of these texts refer to symbolic acts. Both the rejection of the actuality of the Substitute King ritual, as well as the symbolic reading of the ritual marriage of king and goddess indicate a desire to make the Mesopotamians more similar to ourselves. In opposition to this view see Jean Bottéro, Mesopotamia: Writing, Reasoning and the Gods, trans. Z. Bahrani and M. Van De Mieroop (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), pp. 138–55, who insists on the actuality of the substitute king ritual.

Left page is 4 points longer than right; all is 12 points long

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There are at least three levels of representation on the vase. The reliefs depict the ritual of the Sacred Marriage as enacted by priestess and king, and other mortal participants in what was surely a spectacle. The ritual represents the divine marriage in a performative enactment of the event in which subsequently the priestess and the king represent the gods. Rather, the priestess and the king become doubles of the gods. Finally, the ceremonial vase itself is represented twice in the uppermost register among the objects of the ceremony. The latter may seem an insignificant coincidence but an image that represents itself has the effect of creating a referential circle. Conceptually, the vase itself and the vases represented on it in relief refer to each other. The binary structure of inside/outside, essence/appearance, signifier/signified is a structure of first and second order representation, or of a content and a form. In the Uruk vase these distinctions are blurred. Each level of representation is an external reference point for the other levels of representation in a system of reference that effectively becomes circular. The signifier ‘sacred marriage’ as an originary event is not clearly defined. In other words, whether the events depict the mythological marriage of the divine realm involving Inanna and Dumuzi, or the performance of the ritual between the king and the high priestess can never be determined. This is why there has been a great deal of discussion surrounding this vase with regard to the identities of the figures in the uppermost register. What I am arguing here is that the identities of these figures are difficult to determine precisely because the representation required this ambiguity. The performative enactment necessitates the blurring of priestess into goddess and god into king. Without this uncertainty of identities the ritual would be useless. Central to the theme of the vase is therefore representation itself. The hieros gamos as play is a mimetic performative enactment in one of its guises, and this is the subject or the “content” of the representation depicted on the vase. It is an image that refers to its own imageness or its own status as image of an event, but at the same time blurs boundaries of the first order and second order of representation: the ritual, its pictorial record, the recurring divine event, and perhaps also an oral narrative recited during the performance. The Uruk Vase encapsulates the cyclical nature of fertility and the Sacred Marriage ritual through the repetition of forms in an infinite circling of the vase. It calls attention to the multiple orders of reference or representation that are not limited to the binary division of the real and its representation. It calls attention to itself in its vase form. The assembly of relations of vessel shape, narrative content and composition of the reliefs work together in a circular referentiality. At this point one might ask who was all of this for? If the vase was not publicly displayed, how was this complex set of relations to impress its audience? Perhaps here performativity is also relevant. If the performative act enabled a magical transformation through depiction, the visual depiction of that act might also have had qualities beyond iconographic representation. The Uruk Vase was made at the end of the fourth millennium b.c. in Mesopotamia when both pictorial narrative and writing were referential modes that were new. Both are media through which things refer to other things. Performative narrative-spectacle is similar, but it requires the suspension of a reference point. The power of illusion is effected in this way through the suspension of the place of the signified. In the Sacred Marriage, representation through various media worked together to achieve performative communication. The performative cannot be regarded within the binaries of true/false communication because it has no single referent in the form of an exterior or signified thing. A performative utterance depends on citationality, and therefore on repetition itself. The Triumphal Arch of the Emperor Titus at the Roman Forum is perhaps the work of art closest to the Uruk vase. The depiction of the event of the Triumph on the interior of the arch

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is twice removed from the victory in Jerusalem in 70 a.d. The ritual of the Triumph consisted of the theatrical re-enactments of historical events such as those depicted on the reliefs inside the arch. 16 The famous relief illustrating the procession of soldiers carrying booty from the temple in Jerusalem depicts the procession moving towards, and walking through, an arch similar to the arch itself upon which the reliefs are depicted. This triumphal arch then, unlike other Roman triumphal arches, is a self-referential monument. It depicts itself within its own representation, and it represents a ritual triumph that is in itself a representation of another event removed in space and time. Of course, other such self-referential images were made at other times and places, and for Mesopotamia itself we can cite the example of the Altar of Tukulti-Ninurta. 17 The carved altar bears a relief of Tukulti-Ninurta shown twice approaching an altar that is exactly the shape of the altar upon which it is depicted. What such images indicate is a concern with the processes of representation, or the status of representation and its relation to the real. They also seem to indicate the power of the performative as an aspect of the visual image. The Uruk Vase, the Altar of Tukulti-Ninurta and the Arch of Titus are all selfreferential works that would fall under Mitchell’s definition of “hypericon” but they are more than a hypericon or metapicture. What I am arguing here is that these are much more than early examples of narrative; they are performative images in that the image itself has performative qualities. It does not only represent a performative act but reiterates it via representation in a similar way to the speech act. I have also argued, following Derrida, that performative statements themselves depend on iterability. They repeat a coded expression that conforms to an iterable mode so that they are identifiable as “citation.” 18 The circular referentiality in these works cannot be explained in the limited understanding of narrative as a form of communication of a singular meaning via different but parallel codes of reference. They cannot be understood as the vehicle or the site of the passage of meaning because they are performative images. In conclusion, I would like to stress that we need to consider the Mesopotamian work of art as something more than a vehicle for historical documentation, or a window onto a past event. We should attend to the image as image, giving serious consideration to its visual and aesthetic aspects. Only then will we be able to approach an understanding of Mesopotamian visual art that is not simply in the service of illustrating political history but is worthy of intellectual inquiry in its own right.

16. For the Roman ritual of the triumph, see R. Payne, The Roman Triumph (London: Abelard Sculman,1962); H. S. Versnel, Triumphus: An Inquiry into the Origins, Development and Meaning of the Roman Triumph (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1970); E. Künzel, Der römische Triumph: Siegesfeiern im antiken Rom (Munich: C. H. Beck,1988). 17. For the self-referentiality of the Altar of Tukulti-Ninurta, see Z. Bahrani, Word, Image, and Portrayal: The Ontology of Representation in Babylon and Assyria (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, in press). In literature, self-referentiality also appears in, for example, Joseph Conrad’s setting of the telling of a story within his narrative (Edward W. Said, lecture of February 17, 2000). 18. Derrida, “Signature, Event, Context,” p. 326.

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Early Late Cypriot Ceramic Exports to Canaan: White Slip I Celia J. Bergoffen

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When I arrived at the Institute of Fine Arts in the fall of 1980, I chose Donald Hansen’s lecture course on the art of ancient Mesopotamia and Iran to fulfill a distribution requirement. I had been admitted to specialize in the art of the 19th century a.d. but instead spent most of that first semester steeped in the art of the 19th century b.c. By Christmas, we changed my major to the ancient Near East. In the happy years that followed, Donald’s lectures and seminars, especially on trade and interconnections in the second millennium b.c., inspired me to specialize in Middle/Late Bronze Age trade in the eastern Mediterranean. I hope he finds this offering for his Festschrift of interest. 1 The transition from the Middle to the Late Cypriot period in Cyprus was marked by a shift in settlement toward the coast and the establishment of large urban centers which developed 1. This article is based on a paper presented at the 1999 conference of the American Schools of Oriental Research in Cambridge, MA. The research was funded by a grant from the Institute for Aegean Prehistory, for which I am very grateful. It includes material from Alalakh studied for the Cyprus Project component of “The Synchronization of Civilizations in the Eastern Mediterranean in the 2nd Millennium b.c. (SCIEM),” Special Research Programme (SFB) of the Austrian Academy at the Austrian Science Fund and under Patronage of UNESCO, directed by Prof. Manfred Bietak, University of Vienna. I am indebted to Amihai Mazar, Bob Mullins and Navah Panitz-Cohen; Jacqueline Balensi; Sy Gitin and Barry Gittlen; Eli Yannai; Manfred Bietak and Irmgard Hein, and Eric Meyers and J. P. Dessel, for providing information and allowing me to mention unpublished material from Tel Batash and Beth Shan; Tell Abu Hawam; Tel Miqne; Tell Jatt; Tell el-Dabºa, and Tell Zippori, respectively. The material in the Israel Antiquities Authority is included courtesy of that body, and I am grateful to Baruch Brandl, Curator of State Collections, and to Alegre Savariego, Curator of the Rockefeller Storerooms, for many favors and assistance in accessing the collection. The sherds at the Institute of Archaeology, London, are published by kind permission of the Director of the Institute, Peter Ucko; my special thanks to Collections Manager Ian Carroll for his kind assistance on my many visits to the Institute, and to Rachel Sparks, Curator of the Petrie Palestinian Collection. I am indebted to Roger Moorey, Keeper of Antiquities and Keeper of Near Eastern material at the Ashmolean Museum for showing me the Cypriot pottery from Alalakh in that collection. That material is mentioned by kind permission of the Ashmolean Museum. Sturt Manning and Malcolm Weiner read a draft of this paper and I wish to thank them both for their insightful comments.

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more regular relations with Syria–Palestine than had existed during the Middle Cypriot era. 2 The principal motivation for exchanges between the island and its neighbors was surely the trade in Cypriot copper, although this is difficult to trace in the archaeological record. Late Cypriot pottery, on the other hand, is ubiquitous in the Near East and Egypt and its quantitative and geographical distribution have been studied in order to gain some idea of the intensity of interconnections and the patterns of trade between Cyprus and its neighbors during the Late Bronze Age. 3 Increasingly, such studies must take into account differences in the regional development of pottery styles in Cyprus. 4 Cypriot ceramic exports peaked during the 14th century (LB IIA) and it is hardly possible to sink a shovel in a Canaanite site without turning up a fragment or two of White Slip II or Base Ring II. But the beginning of Late Cypriot ceramic exports to Canaan is well attested only at Tell el-Ajjul, 5 located some four miles south of Gaza, and to a limited extent at Tell el-Dabºa, in the eastern Delta. 6 On the other hand, Dabºa’s assemblage of approximately five hundred Middle Cypriot (MC) sherds is unparalleled elsewhere in the Near East or Egypt and clearly shows how powerfully the Hyksos capital drew foreign traders. 7 The concentration of early Late Cypriot wares within the former Hyksos domains points to the continuing viability, even after the demise of Hyksos rule, of the political and economic ties which they forged at the height their influence. The town of Ajjul—as opposed to its cemeteries—has produced a sizeable collection of the Late Cypriot pottery characteristic of the beginning of the Late Cypriot era, LC IA. The wares in question include (but are not limited to): Proto Base Ring (PBR) and Proto White Slip (PWS), 8 whose appearance marks the first phase of the period, LC IAI, which is contemporary with MB IIC; then White Slip I (WS I) and Base Ring I (BR I) appear in LC IA2, which overlaps the beginning of the Late Bronze Age in Canaan. The date for the first arrival of PWS has been 2. P. Johnson, “The Middle Cypriote Pottery found in Palestine,” Op. Ath. XIV (1982), pp. 64–66; L. Maguire, The Circulation of Cypriot Pottery in the Middle Bronze Age (Ph.D. Diss., University of Edinburgh, 1990). 3. R. S. Merrillees, The Cypriote Bronze Age Pottery found in Egypt (Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology XVIII; Lund: Carl Bloms, 1968), pp. 28 and 168–69; P. Åström, Relative and Absolute Chronology, Foreign Relations, Historical Conclusions (The Swedish Cyprus Expedition, vol. IV, part 1D; Lund: The Swedish Cyprus Expedition, 1972); B. M. Gittlen, Studies in the Late Cypriote Pottery Found in Palestine (Ph.D. Diss., University Of Pennsylvania, 1977); C. J. Bergoffen, A Comparative Study of the Regional Distribution of Cypriote Pottery in Canaan and Egypt in the Late Bronze Age (Ph.D. Diss., New York University, 1989). 4. R. S. Merrillees, “The Early History of Late Cypriot I,” Levant 3 (1971), pp. 56–79. 5. As first observed by E. Sjöqvist, Problems of the Late Cypriote Bronze Age (Uppsala, 1940), p. 162. 6. L. C. Maguire, “Tell el-Dabºa The Cypriot Connection,” in W. V. Davies and L. Schofield (eds.), Egypt, the Aegean and the Levant Interconnections in the Second Millennium bc (London: British Museum, 1995), pp. 54–65; M. Bietak and I. Hein, “The Context of White Slip Wares in the Stratigraphy of Tell el-Dabºa and Some Conclusions on Aegean Chronology,” in V. Karageorghis (ed.), The White Slip Ware of Late Bronze Age Cyprus: Proceedings of an International Conference Organized by the Anastasios G. Leventis Foundation in Honour of Malcom Wiener, 1988 (Nicosia: Leventis Foundation, 2001), pp. 171–94. 7. Maguire, “Tell el-Dabºa,” p. 54; Ras Shamra and Tel Akko, she noted, each produced some 200 MC sherds. 8. Only one PBR jug has survived: Bergoffen, A Comparative Study, catalogue no. 532. C. J. Bergoffen, “The Proto White Slip and White Slip I from Tell el Ajjul,” in V. Karageorghis (ed.), The White Slip Ware of Late Bronze Age Cyprus: Proceedings of an International Conference Organized by the Anastasios G. Leventis Foundation in Honour of Malcolm Wiener, 1988 (Nicosia: Leventis Foundation, 2001), pp. 145–55, offers a detailed stylistic analysis of the PWS and WS I assemblages from Ajjul.

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established by it occurrence in Late Hyksos levels at Tell el-Dabºa. 9 Oren’s recent study of PWS in Canaanite contexts likewise confirmed that in Canaan the ware first arrived in MB IIC. 10 These wares along with others that originated in the Middle Cypriot period—Red on Black/Red on Red (ROB/ROR), White Painted V–VI (WP V–VI) and Monochrome—make up the MBIIC– LB I import horizon. They turn up at other Canaanite sites besides Tell el-Ajjul but in much smaller quantities and often in post LB I contexts, as survivals. The lack of assemblages comparable to Ajjul’s may be attributed to the fact that many towns were destroyed at the end of the Middle Bronze Age or early in the Late Bronze Age and had a gap in occupation in LB IA when LC IA wares such as PWS and WS I were in fashion. Although the relative and absolute dating of Cypriot pottery is based on its occurrences in Egypt and Canaan, at Ajjul, contrariwise, its appearance has been used to date the city and palace levels. 11 The two areas of the tell are not stratigraphically connected yet Albright 12 dated the earliest city, city III, contemporary with the first palace, palace I, and attributed the destruction levels above both to Ahmose. Since Ajjul was the largest and richest site in southern Canaan in MB IIB–C, Stewart and Kempinski independently concluded that it should be identified with Sharuhen, the Hyksos stronghold in southern Canaan that was besieged and captured by Ahmose at the beginning of the 18th dynasty. 13 But in the most recent review of Ajjul’s chronology, Tufnell and Kempinski 14 pointed out that the destructions of city III and palace I need not be related. On the basis of the ceramic remains, they proposed that palace I continued later than city III, into the early part of city II, but still ended in the late Hyksos period before the Egyptian incursion. City II will have continued until shortly after the fall of Avaris into the beginning of LB I. Aside from the fact that this early dating of city III and palace I sequences means they will have been destroyed before Ahmose’s conquest and so makes the identification of Ajjul with Sharuhen doubtful, it also forces the forty-odd WS I sherds that Petrie reported finding in levels associated with palace I back into the Middle Bronze Age. 15 WS I has never appeared anywhere in Canaan in a Middle Bronze age context or in Egypt before the 9. M. Bietak, Tell el-Dabºa V (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1991), pp. 309 and 312, Abb. 288, no. 4; Bietak and Hein, “The Context of White Slip Wares,” pp. 178– 80, include six PWS sherds from Tell el-Dabºa stratum D2: fig. 2, 2100 from a tomb; fig. 2, 7943 H and fig. 9, 1169, both from Hyksos settlement layers; fig. 2, 7945 U from the brick layers of the Hyksos enclosure wall; fig. 5, 8477 Z from a shallow ditch cut by 18th dynasty magazines; and fig. 10 10E, 8559E, a rim sherd with no decoration preserved but classified as either PWS or indeterminate, from the earlier stage of the Hyksos platform. 10. E. D. Oren, “Early White Slip Pottery in Canaan: Spatial and Chronological Perspectives,” in V. Karageorghis (ed.), The White Slip Ware of Late Bronze Age Cyprus: Proceedings of an International Conference Organized by the Anastasios G. Leventis Foundation in Honour of Malcom Wiener, 1988 (Nicosia: Leventis Foundation, 2001), pp. 127–44. 11. For detailed treatments of the site’s chronology see A. Kempinski, Syrien und Palästina (Kanaan) in der letzten Phase der Mittelbronze IIB-Zeit (1650–1570 v. Chr.) (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1983), pp. 131– 47, and Bergoffen, A Comparative Study, pp. 153–210. 12. W. F. Albright, “The Chronology of a South Palestinian City, Tell el-ºAjjul,” The American Journal of Semitic Languages and Literatures 55 (1938), pp. 337–59. 13. J. R. Stewart, Tell el ºAjjul: The Middle Bronze Age Remains, H. E. Kassis (ed.) (SIMA 38; Göteborg, 1974), p. 63; A. Kempinski: ‘Tell el-ºAjjul: Beth-Aglayim or Sharuhen?” IEJ 24 (1974). 14. A. Kempinski and O. Tufnell, “Tell el-ºAjjul,” in E. Stern (ed.), The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land ( Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1993), pp. 49–52. 15. W. M. F. Petrie, Ancient Gaza II (British School of Archaeology in Egypt; London: Bernard Quaritch, 1932), pl. XXXVII.

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Fig. 1. WS I ladder lattice pattern style milk bowl, Tell el-Ajjul, from the debris of city IIA (Courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority) (Drawing: Bergoffen, Inking: M. Zeltser).

New Kingdom. It was for the sake of these sherds that Kenyon insisted that palace I must have survived into LB I. 16 Tufnell, on the contrary, indicated that the White Slip I pottery appeared only after the destruction of palace I. Other scholars have disregarded or dismissed this material as out of context. 17 But Stewart, who accepted Petrie’s data, recognized that an early phase 16. K. Kenyon, “Palestine in the time of the Eighteenth Dynasty,” in CAH, 3d ed., vol. II, part 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971), pp. 553–54. 17. E. D. Oren, “The ‘Kingdom of Sharuhen’ and the Hyksos Kingdom,” in E.D. Oren (ed.), The Hyksos: New Historical and Archaeological Perspectives (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1997), p. 257, where it is stated that PWS and Bichrome provide a terminal MB III date for palace I. But there are no extant PWS sherds that may be ascribed to palace I, only WS I.

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Fig. 2. WS I ladder lattice pattern style milk bowl, Tell el-Ajjul, from the palace courtyard, possibly associated with Palace I (Courtesy of the Institute of Archaeology, University College) (Drawing: Bergoffen, Inking: M. Zeltser).

of the Late Cypriot ceramic repertoire defined at Stephania and which included a bichrome or red-painted WS I style was present at Ajjul and could be correlated with palace I while the “normal White Slip I style” phase succeeding it should be contemporary with palace II. 18 In this article, it is argued that the singularly early appearance of WS I at Ajjul proceeds from its typological distribution, that is, the assemblage includes numerous sherds executed in an early WS I style that to date has hardly ever been found outside of Cyprus (figs. 1 and 2). 19 Altogether, Proto White Slip and White Slip I milk bowls are rarely found outside of Cyprus and then only in quantities of fewer than ten sherds at any given site. Ajjul’s collection of over two hundred WS I sherds is therefore also anomalous for its size. The present discussion of Ajjul’s WS I styles 20 compared to the ware’s typological and chronological distribution elsewhere in Canaan and Egypt supports Popham’s view of the stylistic development of WS I and Stewart’s proposed sequence of WS I styles at Ajjul, and may prove useful in evaluating the chronological position of other WS I occurrences abroad. The sample of comparative material offered at the end of this article, with notations on find spots and dating, incorporates the sherds in Gittlen, Studies in the Late Cypriote Pottery, the material reviewed in Oren “Early White Slip Pottery,” the sherds catalogued in Bergoffen, A Comparative Study, and unpublished finds from various sites. It is intended as a survey only, however, and should not be taken as a definitive catalogue. The White Slip I bowls from Tell el-Ajjul came from settlement contexts either unstratified on the tell’s surface or from the courtyards of the successive palaces. Almost all have the usual straight rims and rounded base. The four principal frieze styles (circling the top of the bowl below the rim) are the: 1. framed lozenge style, with paired parallel lines framing a row of lozenges (fig. 3); 2. ladder lattice framed lozenge style, with ladder lattices framing a row of lozenges (figs. 1 and 2); 18. Stewart, Tell el ºAjjul, pp. 62–63; S. W. Manning concurs: A Test of Time (Oxford: Oxbow Books, 1999), p. 184. 19. M. Popham, “White Slip Ware,” in P. Åström, The Late Cypriote Bronze Age Architecture and Pottery (The Swedish Cyprus Expedition vol. IV, part IC; Lund: The Swedish Cyprus Expedition, 1972), pp. 431– 71. The classification system used here is based on Popham’s study. 20. From Bergoffen, “The Proto White Slip.” The complete WS I catalogue is in Bergoffen, A Comparative Study.

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Fig. 3. WS I framed lozenge style bowls, Tell el-Ajjul (Courtesy of the Israel Antiquities Authority) (Photo: Bergoffen).

3. ladder lattice pattern style with a single ladder lattice at the rim, and 4. ladder framed lozenge style, with ladders (i.e., hatched parallel lines) framing a row of lozenges. Other styles are represented in quantities of fewer than five vessels, for instance the: 1. wavy line style, with a wavy line between paired parallel lines; 2. dotted row style, with a row of dots between paired parallel lines, and 3. parallel line style, with two or three parallel lines below the rim. There are also a number of unique or uncommon styles, for instance the metope design, which is a double register frieze (fig. 3, upper right corner). It occurs in one instance on a very infrequently found shape, a spouted bowl with an everted rim and flat base (fig. 4). This rare vessel type is paralleled by a WS I spouted bowl from Tell el-Dabºa, which was found in a New King-

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Fig. 4. WS I metope style spouted milk bowl, Tell el-Ajjul, from the palace courtyard, possibly associated with Palace III or later (Courtesy Institute of Archaeology, University College) (Drawing: Bergoffen, Inking: M. Zeltser).

dom context. 21 But the Tell el-Dabºa bowl is deeper than the one from Ajjul and has a round base and a plain rim. In Cyprus the design occurs in LC IB at Episkopi-Bamboula. 22 The most striking feature of the typological distribution of Ajjul’s WS I corpus when compared to the rest of Canaan is the rarity of the wavy line style: it is represented by a mere two sherds in a collection of nearly two hundred. But the wavy line style was the most common style on Cyprus 23 and was also quantitatively and geographically the most widely distributed White Slip I frieze type abroad. It has been reported at nearly every site where WS I has been found: Tell Abu Hawam, Alalakh (fig. 5), Ashkelon, Beth Shan, possibly Tell el-Dabºa, Tell Farºah N., Gezer, Hazor, Lachish, Megiddo, Tell Mevorakh, Tel Michal, Tell Miqne, Ras Shamra, Tell esh-Shariºa, Shechem, Shiqmona and, if the provenance is correct, Saqqara. Wherever the context of these sherds is datable it is LB I; at Beth Shan, Hazor and Tell esh Shariºa the contexts could be more closely dated to LB IB. (The Alalakh material will be dealt with separately below.) 21. I. Hein, “Erste Beobachtungen zur Keramik aus ªEzbet Helmi,” Ägypten & Levante 4 (1994), p. 42, Abb. 12:d. 22. J. L. Benson, “The White Slip Sequence at Bamboula, Kourion,” PEFQ (1961), pp. 61–69, and see the discussions of the Tell el-Dabºa bowl in Manning, A Test of Time, p. 162. 23. Popham, “White Slip Ware,” p. 440.

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Fig. 5. WS I wavy line style bowl, Alalakh, ATP 8/141, [Niqmepa’s] palace room C3 ca. second half of the 15th century b.c. (Courtesy of the Institute of Archaeology, University College) (Photo: Bergoffen).

Because of the dearth of stratified settlement remains from Cyprus proper it has not been possible to be very precise about the stylistic development of PWS and WS I where they are at home. There are, however, some indications that the floruit of the framed lozenge and framed wavy line styles was in LC IB. 24 It may be worth noting that both the wavy line and framed lozenge styles underwent a further stage of development in that period. At Bamboula-Episkopi the framed lozenge, wavy line and metope styles all occurred in strata dated to an advanced stage of LC IA:2, or in LC IA:2 to LC IB. 25 The WS I sherds occurred with BR I from the first, and no PWS was found. In stratum A:5, dated to LC IB by the appearance of WS II, Benson observed “marked changes” in the painting of the WS I wavy line style bowls: 26 on some sherds the wavy line had been transformed into a tight squiggle of overlapping strokes. The sherd from Hazor, which was found in an LB IB context, is in this style. A further development of the WS I wavy line style is characterized by thicker application of the paint and a dotted rim (replacing the wavy line found on the rim of WS I bowls). Popham considered this style, which 24. At Myrtou-Pigadhes, for instance, we find WS I bowls with friezes framed by parallel lines, most often in the wavy line style in period IIA, dated to LC IA:2 or LC IB; J. Du Plat Taylor, A Late Bronze Age Sanctuary in Cyprus (Oxford: Ashmolean Museum, 1957), p. 39; the revised dating is Åström’s, The Late Cypriote Bronze Age: Relative and Absolute Chronology, Foreign Relations, Summary and Historical (SCE IV: ID; Lund: Berlinska, 1972), p. 675–76. See also Manning, A Test of Time, pp. 154–58. 25. Åström’s dating of the earliest deposit on the site, Åström, The Late Cypriote Bronze Age, p. 675. The earliest material on the site comes from floor deposits in Trench 12 in area C, strata A:1 through 4; J. L. Benson, “Bamboula at Kourion: The Stratification of the Settlement,” RDAC (1969), p. 17. 26. Benson, “The White Slip Sequence,” p. 65 and fig. 2.

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he designated WS IIA, a regional, southwestern variant of WS I. 27 It rarely occurs abroad, with only a handful of sherds (one each) known from Tell el-Ajjul, Alalakh, Ashkelon and Tell Abu Hawam. 28 The framed lozenge style was the most common White Slip I style at Ajjul. It has also been found at Tell Abu Hawam, Hazor, Tel Michal, Tel Mor, Tell Jatt, Tyre, and Alalakh. Again, there are few closely dated occurrences. The sherd from Hazor comes from an LB I context. The framed lozenge and wavy line styles represent the “normal,” fully developed WS I styles. Some of the framed lozenge style bowls from Ajjul have “disintegrating” lozenges with lines of crosshatching rendered as a tiny square in the center of a lozenge whose outlines are breaking up (fig. 3, top row, first two sherds). 29 On these sherds the characteristic wavy line at the rim has also been omitted. This “degenerate” painting style may represent a later development. 30 Unhatched lozenges superseded the meticulously cross-hatched ones, and turned into the narrow, linked lozenges of the WS II hooked chain style. By contrast, lozenges and framing elements are painted with the greatest of care on the ladder lattice framed lozenge style bowls (figs. 1 and 2). This frieze type was much rarer in Cyprus than the framed lozenge style and it is therefore surprising to find that it was the second most frequent style at Tell el-Ajjul. Nearly a third of the WS I bowls from Ajjul whose frieze style could be identified were decorated with this design. Most have double-cross-hatched lozenges neatly composed of straight, even lines. The framed lozenge style was primarily associated with a sketchier drawing style characterized by fainter cross-hatching and frequently only single cross-hatching in the lozenges: there are nearly as many single- as double-crossed lozenges in that style. But of the thirty-two ladder lattice framed lozenge style sherds from Tell el-Ajjul, twenty-eight have double-crossed lozenges. Several of the sherds decorated in this style even have multiple crossed lozenges, a feature which harks back to PWS, where lozenges regularly have three or more cross-hatched lines. WS I lozenges normally have two, one or no lines of cross-hatching, in that order of frequency, at Ajjul. The largest assemblage of ladder lattice framed lozenge style bowls was found at Toumba tou Skourou where the style seems to have originated. 31 More than half of the sixty WS I bowls from tomb #1 were decorated with ladder lattice-based designs (including ladder lattice pattern style bowls). Padgett, who analyzed the decoration of these vessels, 32 proposed that the 27. Popham, “White Slip Ware,” pp. 445–47. 28. Bergoffen, A Comparative Study, no. 1186, Israel Antiquities Authority 47.303/26; C. J. Bergoffen, “Some Cypriote Pottery from Ashkelon,” Levant XX (1988), fig. 2:2, p. 167; the sherd from Alalakh is in the Institute of Archaeology, F50/7473, AT 4 (level IV?); J. Balensi, pers. comm. 29. The contexts of these two sherds were not recorded. The third sherd from the left, top row and the second sherd in the second row are both from above the foundations of a building south of the palace that Petrie associated with palace II; the fourth sherd in the top row, the third in the second row and the third in the bottom row are all from the courtyard of the palace, possibly associated with palace III; the second sherd in the bottom row is from a disturbed area in city IIa. The contexts of the other sherds on this plate are unknown. 30. Compare with the sherd from the end of level IIIB (12th c.) Enkomi: P. Dikaios, Enkomi Excavations 1948–1958 (Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1971), p. 617, pl. 76:22. 31. For a detailed discussion of the Cypriot contexts that suggest an early date for ladder lattice framed lozenge style, see Bergoffen, “The Proto White Slip,” passim; and Manning, A Test of Time, pp. 154–58. 32. M. Padgett, “White Slip,” in E. D. T. Vermeule and F. Z. Wolsky, Toumba tou Skourou: A Bronze Age Potters’ Quarter on Morphou Bay in Cyprus (Boston: The Harvard University-Museum of Fine Arts Cyprus Expedition, 1990), pp. 371–75.

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ladder lattice framed lozenge style should fall early in the ware’s development. On some of the bowls, he noted, the artists had retained archaizing features carried over from PWS such as diagonal hatching of the lattices (instead of right-angled cross hatches), circles (instead of dots), and widely spaced (instead of joined) lozenges (compare with fig. 2). In addition, tomb 1 produced two spouted bowls of the same shape as the unique vessel from Ajjul mentioned above. Another link with the material culture of Tell el-Ajjul is the presence of the Hyksos-style bone inlays from tomb I which may be compared to similar plaques and discs from Tell el-Ajjul palace I and city II. 33 While the material from tomb 1 argues strongly for a special connection between Toumba tou Skourou and Tell el-Ajjul, it can not unfortunately help to unravel chronological problems since it was in use over a long period from MC III to LC IB. Outside of Cyprus, Tell el-Dabºa’s WS I assemblage provides the only parallel for Ajjul’s although it has so far yielded a mere eleven WS I sherds. 34 Still, this is considerably more than most Canaanite sites, and it includes two sherds each of the unusual ladder lattice framed lozenge and ladder framed lozenge styles which are virtually unknown in Canaan outside Tell elAjjul. 35 The spouted bowl, decorated in metope style, has already been noted above. But the wavy line style, which as we have seen was the best represented style in the rest of Canaan, has not yet been identified at Dabºa except perhaps in one wide-arching handle fragment, 36 since this shape is often associated with wavy line style bowls. The handle fragment, one of the ladder framed lozenge style sherds and one framed lozenge style sherd came from stratum C, dated to the early New Kingdom, as did the metope style spouted bowl. But the two ladder lattice framed lozenge style sherds were found in secondary deposits. One of these, decorated in striking bichrome paint, is a fine example of Padgett’s early style, with diagonally cross-hatched ladder lattices and lozenges which are not joined. The possibility that these sherds came originally from the Late Hyksos occupation is not excluded. The material culture of late Hyksos Tell el-Dabºa as seen in levels D/3 and D/2 was particularly close to Tell Ajjul’s MB IIC culture and indeed finds few parallels beyond that site, according to Bietak. 37 The scarcity of PWS and WS I finds relative to Ajjul may simply be due to stratum D/2’s poor state of preservation, as Manning asserts. 38 The remaining few ladder lattice framed lozenge style sherds come from Tell Farºah South, Tyre, and Ras Shamra but their contexts are not closely datable. The two sherds from Farºah turned up in and near Petrie’s “Hyksos Fort,” a gateway structure used in MB IIC to LB I. The two sherds from Ras Shamra came from LB I contexts; one was found with a PWS sherd, the 33. Vermeule and Wolsky, Toumba tou Skourou, p. 221, pls. 117–21; Petrie, Ancient Gaza II, pl. XXIV; W. M. F. Petrie, Ancient Gaza I (British School of Archaeology in Egypt; London: Bernard Quaritch, 1931), pls. XXII, XXIII. 34. And ten PWS sherds: Bietak and Hein, “The Context of White Slip Wares,” p. 174. Of the eight other sherds classified as WS Indeterminate, one may be WS I, according to R. Merrillees, cited in Manning, A Test of Time, p. 161 n. 771. 35. Bietak and Hein, “The Context of White Slip Wares,” 8205M, 8441R, 8476H and 7944U, figs. 3, 11, 12. 36. Bietak and Hein, “The Context of White Slip Wares,” 7946F. 37. M. Bietak, “Die Chronologie Ägyptens und der Beginn der Mittleren Bronzezeit-Kultur,” Ägypten u. Levante III (1992), p. 31. Bietak proposed Ajjul, which he equates with Sharuhen, as the capital of the XVIth dynasty: M. Bietak, “The Center of Hyksos Rule: Avaris (Tell el-Dabºa),” in E. D. Oren (ed.), The Hyksos: New Historical and Archaeological Perspectives (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1997), p. 113. 38. Manning, A Test of Time, p. 167.

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other with a WS I framed lozenge style sherd. The sherds from Tyre were found in levels XVII (ca. 1600–1425/15), XV (ca. 1375/60–1200), and XIV (1200–1070/50). Clearly, the sherds from levels XV and XIV were survivals. 39 Alalakh’s assemblage of forty to fifty WS I vessels greatly outnumbers the few WS I sherds typically found at other sites in the western Levant. But a detailed study of the material indicates that the bowls whose style could be identified were decorated primarily in the wavy line style. 40 As we have seen, this is the most commonly found WS I style outside of Cyprus. Woolley claimed that WS I first appeared in level VI, which may be roughly dated MB IIC to LB IA, 41 but he did not publish any of the WS I sherds and those still available for study purportedly from levels VI, VI–V or V preserve no further details about their find spots. The reliability of the level VI contexts is questionable. 42 On a positive note, most of the WS I bowls with a recorded context came from Niqmepa’s palace, level IV (fig. 5) 43 and if IV began ca. 1475 and ended ca. 1400, then the typological distribution of Alalakh’s WS I assemblage is in perfect agreement with the sequence proposed here, namely, that the wavy line and framed lozenge styles were exported later in LB I and should perhaps be dated largely in LB IB. The style of the Alalakh WS I assemblage overall best fits this chronological horizon. As for the relative date of the material from Ajjul, a tentative reconstruction of the sequence of WS I imports was made by creating a schematic cross-section of palaces I to III, based on the published plans, and then relating the Cypriot sherds, according to where they clustered, to the floors or foundations of the successive buildings. 44 In spite of important gaps in 39. Bikai, The Pottery of Tyre (Warminster, 1978), pp. 65, 68. 40. I am currently preparing a comprehensive catalogue and analysis of the Late Cypriot pottery from Woolley’s excavations at Tell Atchana, which will be published by the SCIEM. 41. L. Woolley, Alalakh: An Account of the Excavations at Tell Atchana in the Hatay, 1937–1949 (Oxford: Oxford University Press for the Society of Antiquaries, 1955), p. 360, dated level VI to ca. 1750–1600, but subsequent scholarship and new discoveries have resulted in a lowering of the dates: T. L. McClellan, “The Chronology and Ceramic Assemblages of Alalakh,” in A. Leonard Jr. and B. B. Williams (eds.), Essays in Ancient Civilization Presented to Helene J. Kantor (Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1989), pp. 183, 188–89. 42. Woolley, Alalakh, p. 315 n. 2, and p. 316; C. Bergoffen, “The Late Cypriote Pottery from Alalakh: Chronological Considerations,” in M. Bietak (ed.), The Synchronization of Civilizations in the Eastern Mediterranean in the 2nd Millennium BC, Part 2: Proceedings of the 1st SCIEM2000 EuroConference at Schloß Haindorf, May 2–7, 2001 (forthcoming); M.-H. Carre Gates, Alalakh-Tell Atchana, Levels VI and V: A Reexamination of a Mid-Second Millennium b.c. Syrian City (Ph.D. Diss., Yale University, 1976), p. 87, nos. 92– 94 are “plausible” level VI sherds but No. 92, three rim sherds, British Museum (BM) acc. nos. 136647A1951 1–3 17, 136647B1951 1–3 17 and 136447D1951 1–3 17 are from an early WS II, not a WS I bowl (similar to the early WS II bowl from Alalakh in Popham, “White Slip Ware,” fig. 59:2); Gates no. 93, BM 136647C 1951 1–3 17 is no doubt from the same bowl as no. 92; no. 94, Ashmolean Museum 1948.368, is recorded as from level VI with “or V?” added in the museum’s register by Kay Prag, who catalogued the Alalakh material. As Carre Gates notes in her catalogue, none of these sherds has a context. K. O. Eriksson, “Late Cypriot I and Thera: Relative Chronology in the Eastern Mediterranean,” in P. Åström (ed.), Acta Cypria: Acts of an International Congress on Cypriote Archaeology Held in Göteborg on 22–24 August 1991, Part 3 (SIMA Pocketbook 120; Jonsered: Paul Åström’s Förlag, 1992), p. 191. 43. Woolley, Alalakh, pp. 361, 388. A number of “milk bowls” are recorded in Woolley’s card catalogue (Rare Book Division, Institute of Archaeology Library) but because the style could not be determined from the description and some may be monochrome or BR (n. 36 above), they were not included in the survey list at the end of this article. 44. C. J. Bergoffen, A Comparative Study, pp. 157–64, 194–200; C. J. Bergoffen, “The Proto White Slip,” pp. 153–54.

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the archaeological record—and the inclusion of material from the courtyard—it was found that the ladder lattice style sherds were more numerous in palace I levels than the framed lozenge style bowls which were more common in palace II levels. One each of the metope style and wavy line style sherds occurred in the later levels. At least three WS I sherds, two possibly from the same bowl, were found in rooms of palace I. Two were recorded from room OG at the level of its plaster floor. One of these has a pendent chain of double-crossed lozenges bordered by a single row of dots and the diagonally hatched ladder lattice characteristic of early WS I; the other preserves part of a pendent ladder. The third sherd, a rim fragment from chamber MO of palace I, is decorated in bichrome paint with ladder framed (double-crossed) lozenges. Stratigraphic data for dating the WS I ladder lattice based styles (with and without framed lozenges) are still very limited. But in addition to indications from Cypriot contexts and the stylistic arguments adumbrated above, the view that these were early and short-lived fashions is illustrated by the marked split in the typological and quantitative distribution of these versus other WS I styles outside the island. This split surely reflects diachronic changes in eastern Mediterranean trade, not merely regional variations. Viewed against the number of occurrences from other sites, both the concentration of early styles and the sheer quantity of WS I sherds from the south are statistically significant. Outside of Tell el-Ajjul and the small collection from Tell el-Dabºa, WS I is very thinly distributed and the early styles are virtually absent. Manning, however, feels that the “few earlier items” of WS I at Tell el-Dabºa do not constitute a clear LCIA horizon particularly when compared with Tell el-Ajjul where this phase was so well represented. 45 At Dabºa, the few WS I sherds from primary deposits, such as the spouted bowl, were LC IB in style and came from early 18th dynasty levels. Accordingly, in A Test of Time, Manning assumed that the earlier style should be contemporary with the late Hyksos levels and those few sherds characteristic of LC IA2 will have been redeposited from SIP contexts. The rare early WS I style is associated with northwest Cyprus while the later, mature styles were widely distributed both at home and abroad. Manning then applied Merrillees’s theory of regional development in Cyprus: the new LC pottery styles will have been gaining currency in the northwest, ushering in LC IA there, while in southeastern Cyprus the WP tradition continued; WS (and BR) were not well represented in the southeast before LC IB when they appeared at an advanced stage of stylistic development. 46 Now the large number of WP vessels found at Dabºa were decorated in the linear styles characteristic of southeast Cyprus. 47 By deemphasizing, therefore, the importance of the comparatively large number of PWS and early WS I sherds at Dabºa, (styles characteristic of the northwest), Manning posited the continuity of a regionally-based trade between southeast Cyprus and Dabºa, following Merrillees. 48 There is no reason, of course, why Dabºa could not have been simultaneously receiving goods from various parts of Cyprus, but Manning stresses the connection between southeast Cyprus and 45. Manning treats the distribution of WS I—especially its appearance at Tell el-Dabºa—in great detail in A Test of Time, pp. 164–92. Indeed, its stylistic development and foreign occurrences provide key arguments for his thesis, in particular the bowl found in the destruction layer at Thera which he recognizes as belonging to the early WS I style (also here, below). According to Manning, its presence argues for raising the beginning of LC I to ca. 1650, before the Thera eruption of 1628, an event dated on the basis of C14 and dendrochronological evidence. 46. Merrillees, “The Early History,” p. 74. 47. L. Maguire, “A Cautious Approach to the Middle Bronze Age Chronology of Cyprus,” Ägypten und Levante III (1992), p. 188; Maguire, “Tell el-Dabºa,” p. 54. 48. Merrillees, “The Early History,” p. 74.

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Dabºa to give added weight to his chronology: because, he argues, the WP wares from southeastern Cyprus date to LC IA and were concentrated in stratum E1, the date for the beginning of the Late Cypriot period should be pushed well back into the Hyksos era. 49 As for the early WS I styles, they would have been current before the fall of Avaris but are poorly represented at Dabºa because the later Hyksos levels were destroyed by Ahmose’s plundering and modern plowing. For Ajjul, Manning stressed the palace I occurrences of early WS I. But WS I continued in, and was better attested, in levels ascribed to palaces II and III. There is presently no evidence that the early WS I styles were primarily characteristic of the MB or Late Hyksos import horizon. The important point is that there was no gap in the succession of PWS to early WS I to mature WS I styles at either Ajjul or at Dabºa. But the wavy line style was, comparatively speaking, virtually absent at these sites while everywhere else, in Cyprus and in LB I / LB IB Canaan, it was the most commonly found WS I style. The interruption must then have occurred in LB IA, after the destructions at the end of the Middle Bronze Age / beginning of the Late Bronze Age and the major part of Ajjul’s large WS I collection should probably therefore belong in the transitional MB IIC to LB IA period. On the other hand, although only a few sherds of indeterminate style(s) from palace I at Tell el-Ajjul may be dated to the end of the Middle Bronze Age and no WS I sherds from Dabºa have yet come from contexts earlier than the 18th dynasty, the important assemblages of other Cypriot wares found at both sites in late Hyksos contexts (WPV-VI, ROB, Monochrome, Bichrome, PWS) make it abundantly clear that trade with Cyprus was well established in that period. Indeed, it appears that the Hyksos dominated the trade with Cyprus in LC IA1–2 via their excellent port in southern Canaan. At Tell el-Ajjul, the connection evidently survived the expulsion of the Hyksos from their Delta capital, as well as the siege of Sharuhen.

Survey of WS I Bowl Styles: Aegean, Syria–Palestine and Egypt (excluding Tell el-Ajjul) Ladder Lattice Framed Lozenge Style Tell el-Dabºa 1–2: 1. From a Ramesside debris layer, 8441 R; 2. Bichrome decoration, from H/II–H/III above str. C horizon, 8205 M. 50 Tell Farºah S. 1. FB 378.6, from a chamber inside the MB IIC–LB I city gate; 51 2. from FD 978.4, an area outside the city gate. 52

49. Manning, A Test of Time, p. 168. 50. Bietak and Hein, “The Context of White Slip Wares,” fig. 3. 51. W. M. F. Petrie, Beth Pelet I (London: Bernard Quaritch, 1930), p. 16; W. M. F. Petrie, Beth Pelet II (London: Bernard Quaritch, 1932), pls. LXXII, 2 and LXXVII. Bergoffen, A Comparative Study, catalogue no. 1322. 52. Bergoffen, A Comparative Study, catalogue no. 1326.

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Ras Shamra 1–2: 1. Bichrome, everted rim, found with PWS, Ugarit récent I, 1600 (1550)–1450; 2. Found with a framed lozenge style sherd in a context dated Ugarit récent I. 53 Tyre 1–2: 1. Stratum XV (ca. 1375/60–1200); 2. Stratum XVII (ca. 1600–1425/15). 54 Ladder Lattice Pattern Style Thera 1. With diagonally hatched ladder lattices and pendent chain of double-crossed lozenges. 55 Ladder Framed Lozenge Style Tell el-Dabºa 1. 7944U, str. C, New Kingdom; 2. 8476H, from the filling of a Ramesside well. 56 Phylakopi 1. White fabric; 57 no context. 58 Wavy Line Style Tell Abu Hawam 1–3: 1. PAM 47.1715/17, locus FG, outside the city wall; 2. PAM 47.1715/39, no context; 3. 49/ 86–511a, from the rampart construction level, Stratum V–B0, in association with WS II. 59 Alalakh 1–14: 1. Ashmolean 1934.434a, rim sherd, House 39/B, level V or IV; 2. Ashmolean 1938.434 (b), no context; 3. Ashmolean 1948.368, no context; 4. Ashmolean 1948.433 (b), no context; 5. Institute of Archaeology, London, no inventory number, Palace Rm C3, ATP 8/141 (i.e., level IV palace, fig. 5); 6. Institute of Archaeology, London, F50/7441, no context; 7–8. Institute of Archaeology, London, two rim sherds, no inventory numbers or context, and two wide-arching handle fragments, one inventoried F50/7452, no context for either; 9. Institute of Archaeology, London, F50/7452, no context; 10. Institute of Archaeology, London, F50/7441, O13 II Top 53. J.-C. and L. Courtois, “Corpus céramique de Ras Shamra-Ugarit, niveau historique. Deuxième partie,” in C. F. A. Schaeffer et al., Ugaritica VII (Leiden: Brill, 1978), fig. 30 no. 1 and fig. 32 no. 4, respectively. The PWS sherd, fig. 30 no. 2, was erroneously classified as WS I. 54. Bikai, The Pottery of Tyre, pls. XLVIII, 6, and LA, 7. 55. F. Fouqué, Santorini et ses eruptions (Paris: G. Masson, 1879), pl. XLII, 6 (watercolor drawing). For a complete discussion of this lost bowl, see R. S. Merrillees, “Some Cypriote White Slip Pottery from the Aegean,” in V. Karageorghis (ed.), The White Slip Ware of Late Bronze Age Cyprus: Proceedings of an International Conference Organized by the Anastasios G. Leventis Foundation in Honour of Malcom Wiener, 1988 (Nicosia: Leventis Foundation, forthcoming); Manning, A Test of Time, pp. 150–54. The style of the bowl seems to be early and has a close parallel at Ajjul, published in Bergoffen, “The White Slip,” forthcoming. 56. Bietak and Hein, “The Context of White Slip Wares,” figs. 3, 11. 57. White fabric WS I is rare and seems to be associated with the fully developed WS I styles. For discussion and comparanda, see Bergoffen, “The Proto White Slip”; and Manning, A Test of Time, pp. 176–78. 58. Popham, “White Slip Ware,” p. 457, fig. 58. 59. J. Balensi, Les Fouilles de R.W. Hamilton à Tell Abu Hawam niveaux IV et V (Ph.D. Diss., University of Strasbourg, 1980), pp. 264 and 270 (nos. 1 and 2); e-mail September 30, 1999 (no. 3).

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(i.e., a survival in level II); 11–12. Antakya, two rim sherds, no inventory number or context; 13. Antakya 7589, no context; 14. Antakya 10179, context is given as “Level VI, immediately on top of a wall of the VII Palace,” but this is a debris layer. Ashkelon 1. From an Iron Age fill deposit. 60 Beth Shan 1–2. From level RIB, LB IB, one rim sherd, 580648/2 and one wide-arching handle, 580648/1, the latter form associated with this style by Popham. 61 Tell el-Dabºa 1. Wide arching handle fragment possibly from a bowl decorated in this style, 7946 F, from H/I, str. C, New Kingdom. 62 Tell Farºah N. 1. From an LB I context but the stratigraphy was not clear, probably associated with COW and Bichrome. 63 Gezer 1. No context. 64 Hazor 1. From the paved square, locus 2138, stratum 2, LB IB; the wavy line is rendered as tightly overlapping strokes in brown paint. 65 Tell Heboua 1. From level II, late S.I.P. to early 18th dynasty. 66 Tell Jatt 1. From tomb 13, a “real mixture of more than one period.” 67 Lachish 1. Bichrome sherd from the Houses 100 area (this context was noted on the sherd, according to Gittlen and was wrongly ascribed to temple I in the publication. 68) Megiddo 1. Bichrome sherd from stratum VIII, from the paved area outside the city gate. 69 60. Oren, “Early White Slip Pottery,” p. 132. 61. B. Mullins, Beth Shean during the Reign of the Eighteenth Dynasty (Ph.D. Diss., Hebrew University, forthcoming). 62. Bietak and Hein, “The Context of White Slip Wares,” figs. 3, 11. 63. R. de Vaux and A. M. Steve, “La Première campagne de fouilles à Tell Farºah près Naplouse,” RB 54 (1947), p. 575 and pl. XXIV. 64. Gittlen, Studies in the Late Cypriot Pottery, p. 450, 5. 65. Y. Yadin, Hazor III–IV ( Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1961), pls. CXI:1, CCLXIX:38, and CCCXI:6. 66. Oren, “Early White Slip Pottery,” fig. 12:1. 67. E. Yannai, pers. comm. 68. B. Gittlen, “Cypriote White Slip Pottery in its Palestinian Context,” in The Archaeology of Cyprus— Recent Developments (Park Ridge, NJ: Noyes Press, 1975), p. 117; O. Tufnell, Lachish II (Tell ed Duweir): The Fosse Temple (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1940), pl. LXIV:5; B. 69. G. Loud, Megiddo II: Seasons of 1935–39 (OIP LXII; Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1948), vol. I, figs. 39–40, vol. II, pl. 137, no. 3.

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Tell Mevorakh 1. From an unstratified context. 70 Tel Michal 1–3. From mixed LB I and II fill deposits on the south slope of the tell, two bichrome rim sherds and a large part of a bowl with tightly overlapping strokes in the frieze zone and pendent criss-cross design framed by single lines. 71 Tell Miqne 1. From Field I in an Iron Age I context. 72 Ras Shamra 1. From level 1 of the palace garden, LB I. 73 Tel Sera 1. From level XII, LB IB. 74 Shechem 1. Bichrome painted sherd from a mixed context in Field VII. 75 Shiqmona 1. From a mixed LB–Iron Age fill deposit. 76 Saqqara 1. Uncertain provenance. 77 Framed Lozenge Style Tell Abu Hawam 1. Context still under study, 1993–16 no. 3. 78 Akko 1. From a fill, area PH. 79

70. A. Kromholz, “Imported Cypriot Pottery,” in E. Stern, Excavations at Tel Mevorakh (Qedem 18; Jerusalem: The Hebrew University, 1984), p. 18 and pl. 39:10. 71. A. Herzog, G. Rapp Jr., and O. Negbi (eds.), Excavations at Tel Michal, Israel (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota, 1989), pp. 38, 59, pl. 5.10:1, 2, and 4. 72. B. Gittlen, pers. comm. 73. A. Kuschke, “Bericht über eine Sondage im Palastgarten von Ugarit-Ras Shamra,” in C. F. A. Schaeffer, Ugaritica IV (Paris: Geuthner, 1962), pp. 264, 324 and pls. I:3, VII. 74. Bergoffen, A Comparative Study, catalogue no. 1612; Oren, “Early White Slip Pottery,” p. 133, fig. 5. 75. G. E. Wright, “Some Cypriote and Aegean Pottery Recovered from the Excavations 1964,” Op. Ath. VII (1967), pl. III:2, IV:1. 76. Oren, “Early White Slip Pottery.” 77. Merrillees, The Cypriote Bronze Age Pottery, pp. 28,168–69, pl. XIX:4; Popham, “White Slip Ware,” fig. 59:1. 78. J. Balensi, pers. comm. 79. M. Artzy, “White Slip Ware for Export? The Economics of Production,” in V. Karageorghis (ed.), The White Slip Ware of Late Bronze Age Cyprus: Proceedings of an International Conference Organized by the Anastasios G. Leventis Foundation in Honour of Malcolm Wiener, 1988 (Nicosia: Leventis Foundation, 2001), p. 111, fig. 5.

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Alalakh 1. White fabric, Institute of Archaeology, F50/7441, no context; Ashmolean Museum, 1948.434(d), no context. Tell el-Dabºa 1. 6462 E, from a pit containing SIP to late Ramesside material, area A/V. 80 Tell Dor 1. From an Iron Age fill deposit. 81 Tell Heboua 1. From level II, late S.I.P. to early 18th dynasty. 82 Hazor 1. From a cistern, locus 7021, LB I, with Monochrome, BR I and White Shaved ware. 83 Tell Jatt (Tel Gath Carmel) 1. From tomb 7, the later phase of a tomb with multiple interments in two burial phases in LB I and LB III. Yannai assigns the WS I sherd to the earlier burials. 84 Tel Michal 1. From LB fill deposits. 85 Tell Miqne 1. From an Iron age context. 86 Tel Mor 1. From stratum XI, LB I, found with Bichrome and a BR I bowl decorated with a wavy line in relief; level XII, also dated LB I, yielded ROB, Monochrome and BR I, i.e. str. XI represents a later LB I occupation. 87 Ras Shamra 1. From Ugarit Récent I. 88 Rhodes 1–2. One sherd with double-crossed lozenges, the other with empty lozenges from an LM IB context. 89 Shechem 1. From a mixed context, Field VII, VII/6/51–3, 892. 90 80. Bietak and Hein, “The Context of White Slip Wares,” figs. 3, 11. 81. Oren, “Early White Slip Pottery.” 82. Oren, “Early White Slip Pottery,” fig. 12:2. 83. Y. Yadin et al., Hazor I ( Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1958), pp. 147–52, pl. CXXXV, 22. 84. E. Yannai, “A Late Bronze Age Tomb at Jatt,” ºAtiqot XXXIX (2000), pp. 49–82, no. 166. 85. Herzog, Rapp, and Negbi, Excavations at Tel Michal, fig. 5.10:3. Fig. 5.10:5 has a dotted rim and should be classified as WS I–II. 86. B. Gittlen, pers. comm. 87. M. Dothan, “Excavations at Tell Mor, 1959,” BIES XXIV (1960), p. 123 and fig. 4:3; M. Dothan, “The Foundation of Tel Mor and of Ashdod,” IEJ 23 (1973), fig. 4 (stratum XII pottery); Gittlen, Studies in the Late Cypriot Pottery, p. 451, 12. 88. Courtois, “Corpus céramique,” pp. 290–s91, pl. 32:4. 89. G. Monaco, Clara Rhodos vol. X (Rodi: Instituto storico-archeologico, 1941), p. 58, fig. 8. 90. Wright, “Some Cypriote and Aegean pottery,” pl. III:1; double crossed lozenges?

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Tyre 1. Stratum XVII (ca. 1600–1425/15). 91 Indeterminate Frieze Style Framed by Parallel Lines Alalakh 1–2. Institute of Archaeology, London, F50/7473, two sherds from level IV, no context. 3. Institute of Archaeology, London, F50/7473, no context; 4. Institute of Archaeology, London, F50/7452, no context; 5–6. Institute of Archaeology, London, two rim sherds, no inventory numbers, no context. Tell el Hesi 1. The parallel line framed frieze is bordered by pendent ladders, the tip of the frontal ornament is preserved and there is no wavy line at the rim. 92 Marsa Matruh 1. From the 14th-century settlement, with pendent bands of framed, diagonal cross-hatching and a frontal ornament. 93 Other WS I styles Tell Abu Hawam 1–2: 1. Dotted row style, PAM 47.1715/25, no context; 2. Metope styles sherd with two bands of double line zig-zags between paired parallel lines; 3. Evenly spaced paired vertical lines between parallel lines; 4. Criss-cross lines framed by paired parallel lines, PAM 47.1715/48, no context. 94 Alalakh 1–4: 1. Metope style, Institute of Archaeology, London, no inventory number, untraceable context; 2. Parallel line style, Ashmolean 1948.433c; 3–4. Possible parallel line style, two rim sherds, Institute of Archaeology, London, no inventory numbers or context. Tel Batash 1. Criss-cross lines framed by paired parallel lines, from locus 720, stratum X, destruction debris on a plaster floor, 16th c., No. 4782. 95 Tell el-Dabºa 1. Metope style spouted bowl 7949, from H/I, str. C, early XVIIIth dynasty. 96

91. Bikai, The Pottery of Tyre, pl. LA, 8. 92. W. M. F. Petrie, Tell el Hesy (Lachish) (London: Palestine Exploration Fund, 1891), pl. VIII:68. 93. P. Russell, “Aegean and Cypriot Fine Wares from Marsa Matruh, Egypt,” paper presented at the 1999 Annual Meeting of the American School of Oriental Research, Nov. 17–20, Cambridge, Mass. 94. Balensi, Les Fouilles, pp. 266, 270, and pers. comm. 95. A. Mazar, Timnah (Tel Batash) I Stratigraphy and Architecture (Qedem 37; Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University, 1997), plan P/S 10, pp. 41–45; A. Mazar and N. Panitz-Cohen, Timnah (Tel Batash) Final Reports III (Qedem; Hebrew University, Jerusalem, forthcoming). 96. Hein, “Erste Beobachtungen,” p. 42, Abb. 12:d; Bietak and Hein, “The Context of White Slip Wares,” figs. 6, 11.

spread is 12 points long

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Tell el-Ful 1. Possibly parallel line style but the photograph is unclear; from the surface of the tell. 97 Megiddo 1. One nearly complete bowl in parallel line style from the lower city, Level F-9 of the new excavations, which is probably equivalent to Stratum VIII or VIIB of old excavations, according to E. Cline. 98 Tel Mevorakh 1. Criss-cross lines framed by paired parallel lines, from the level XI temple, LB I / LB IB. 99 Tyre 1–2: 1. Rim fragments with ladder lattice, stratum XVII (ca. 1600–1425/15) and stratum XIV (1200–1070/50). 100 Zippori 1. Criss-cross lines framed by paired parallel lines, from level VI, LB IA, found with Bichrome, COW and gray burnished Cypriot bottles. 101

97. This sherd is listed under framed lozenge style bowls in Gittlen, Studies in the Late Cypriot Pottery, p. 451, 8. 98. I am indebted to E. Cline for providing a description of this bowl, just published in D. Ilan, R. S. Hallote, and E. H. Cline, “The Middle and Late Bronze Age Pottery from Area f,” in I. Finkelstein, D. Ussishkin, and B. Halpern (eds.), Megiddo III: The 1992–1996 Seasons (Tel Aviv: University of Tel Aviv, 2000). 99. A. Kromholz, “Imported Cypriot Pottery,” p. 18, fig. 10:25 and pl. 39:5. The date of level XI is based “wholly on its rich assemblage of Cypriot imported ware,” which includes WS I, BR I, monochrome and bichrome; E. Stern, Excavations at Tel Mevorakh, p. 37. 100. Bikai, The Pottery of Tyre, pls. XLI, 15, and LA, 13. 101. J. P. Dessel, pers. comm.; J. P.Dessel, C. L. Meyers, and E. M. Meyers, “Tell ºen Sippori 1997,” IEJ 48 (1998), p. 283.

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Sarvistan Reconsidered Lionel Bier

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Twenty-five years have passed since my Wanderjahr in Iran and fifteen since my dissertation, written under the honorand at the Institute of Fine Arts, was published in a lightly reworked version entitled Sarvistan: A Study in Early Iranian Architecture. 1 Notices and reviews of the monograph, varying from the warmly congratulatory to the peevish and hostile, began appearing almost immediately, numbering almost a dozen by 1989. 2 Most praised the architectural documentation, which permitted for the first time a real understanding of an important monument that had previously been known only from 19th-century surveys and from a brief modern study of the vaults. 3 My reinterpretation of the building from a palace of the middle Sasanian period to a Zoroastrian fire sanctuary of the 9th century was not, however, generally accepted for reasons which are not hard to find; the removal of Sarvistan from the longrecognized corpus of Sasanian monuments would leave the lands of central Iran with an inconvenient gap between Shapur’s palace at Bishapur and Qasr-i Shirin, built towards the end of the dynasty. More serious, perhaps, was the objection that the construction of a fire temple on such a scale in a time when Zoroastrianism had been replaced by Islam as the state religion was unlikely even in Fars, where the authorities were more tolerant of ancient traditions and thus permitted Zoroastrians a greater status than elsewhere in the Muslim world. It was apparently this issue of interpretation that left some readers, initially well-disposed toward a fresh survey of a major monument,with the uneasy feeling that they had been victims of a smoke and mirrors act. One reviewer found my arguments “strangely unconvincing” while another suspected that “something is still unfinished here.”

1. Published for the College Art Association of America by the Pennsylvania State University Press, University Park and London, 1986, and cited here as Sarvistan. 2. For initial reviews and notices: R. Hillenbrand, Burlington Magazine 129 (1987), p. 411; J. Bloom, American Journal of Archaeology 91 (1987), p. 637; R. Boucharlat, Abstracta Iranica, suppl. 11 (1988), p. 93; D. Wilber, Bulletin of the Asia Institute, n.s. 2 (1988), pp. 154f.; E. Yamauchi, Near East Archaeological Society Bulletin, n.s. 28 (1988), pp. 83f.; T. Allen, Ars Orientalis 12 (1989), p. 183; H. Crane, Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 38 (1989), p. 389; D. Stronach, Journal of the American Oriental Society 109 (1989), pp. 445ff. 3. E. Flandin and P. Coste, Voyage en Perse, Perse ancienne (Paris: 1843–54), text volume, pp. 23–27, illustrations, vol. I; M. Dieulafoy, L’art antique de la Perse: achéménides, parthes, sassanides (Paris: 1884–89), vol. IV, pp. 1ff. and pls. I–VIII; M .Siroux, “Le palais de Sarvistân et ses voûtes,” Studia Iranica 2 (1973), pp. 44ff.

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Subsequent references to Sarvistan and the book have been cautious. 4 Indeed, one senses a certain reluctance to bring the monument, now neither fish nor fowl, into polite discourse, and I have come to realize that, with the best intentions, I have consigned this intriguing building, if not to oblivion, at least to a gray zone of uncertainty where it can no longer be confidently cited as a fixed point for architectural history. I am happy to have the opportunity to slay a ghost by taking up the question of Sarvistan in light of the recent literature in hopes of reviving interest in this enigmatic building. E. Herzfeld was the first to seriously argue a Sasanian origin for Sarvistan by connecting it with an account in Tabari who relates that Mihr Narseh, the minister of Bahram V (a.d. 420– 438) built a palace in a garden of 12,000 cypress trees somewhere in Fars. 5 This attribution, based only on the meaning of the modern place name (i.e., Sarvistan = place of cypresses) was not immediately challenged, and with the appearance in 1938 of W. Reuther’s essay in A Survey of Persian Art, featuring an attractive reconstruction drawing of Sarvistan displaying numerous features thought to be earmarks of genuine Sasanian monuments, 6 the building became firmly fixed in the canon of Sasanian architecture. First impressions of an initial visit to the site in November, 1975, offered little to contradict a Sasanian date. The walls constructed of mortared rubble faced with coursed stones, the squat “columns,” elliptical arches, the ubiquitous sawtooth moldings, were all reassuring chronological indicators. Even the less tangible qualities, in particular the warm, reddish-brown glow of the masonry in the morning and evening sunlight seemed to connect the ruins with the palaces of Ardashir in Firuzabad and the so-called char taqs. One might say that Sarvistan exude un parfum sassanide. Subsequent visits to the site amounting to forty days over the course of the year permitted a more intimate familiarity with the building, which began to take on a different, decidedly unSasanian aspect as my survey progressed (fig. 1). Rectangular wall niches with semi-domical hoods on squinches, for example, which reproduced in miniature a structural configuration used throughout the building, were unknown in Sasanian architecture. The combination of bricks laid radially in doubled stretcher courses alternating with a course of pitched brick in vaults whose finely finished undersurfaces were unplastered and meant to be seen, seemed to prefigure the more elaborate brick lays which later became characteristic of Islamic architecture in Iran. Moreover, once the facades were measured and the entrance arches in the south and west projected up to their approximate original heights, it was difficult to ignore the prob-

4. For example, R. Frye, “Retractiones Archaeologiae,” in L. de Meyer and E. Haerinck (ed.), Archaeologia Iranica et Orientalis: Miscellanea in Honorem Louis vanden Berghe, II (Gent: Peeters, 1989), p. 734, mentions my study of the architectural features but cautions that my “new theory for purpose and date” which “at first seem very attractive . . . should be regarded with some scepticism.” D. Huff, Encyclopaedia Iranica, vol. II, p. 332, and R. Ettinghausen and O. Grabar, The Art and Architecture of Islam 650–1250 (New Haven: Yale, 1994), n. 16 on p. 392, cite my study but leave open the question of date and function. Hillenbrand, Burlington Magazine 129 (1989), p. 411, accepted my dating and interpretation of Sarvistan and thus did not include it in his remarks on the Sasanian background for early Islamic palaces in his recent monumental study, Islamic Architecture (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), pp. 377ff. and figs. 7.51–7.59 on p. 573. 5. Sarvistan, p. 2 and n. 10 6. A. U. Pope (ed.), A Survey of Persian Art from Prehistoric Times to the Present (London and New York: Oxford University Press, 1938), vol. I, pp. 536f. and fig. 152.

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Fig. 1. Sarvistan. Axonometric Reconstruction (L. Bier).

ability that these had been set off by tall rectangular masonry frames called pish taq, a feature that is unknown before the 9th century. 7 7. Sarvistan, pp. 50f. Hillenbrand, Islamic Architecture (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), p. 398, cites the palace of Ukhaidir as the earliest surviving example in Islamic architecture of the true Persian pish taq, but cautions that the building’s date of construction needs revision.

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A rough date for the building at Sarvistan proved harder to come by. M. Siroux had only a few years earlier dissociated the ruins from Mihr Narseh largely on the basis of the transverse tunnel vaults on diaphragm arches, evidence for which he himself discovered in the eastern columned hall. 8 He felt that these and other aspects of the vaulting were indications of a more advanced design system but preferred to retain the traditional pre-Islamic date, interpreting the building as the reception complex of a late Sasanian garden palace. It was these vaults, however, that eventually led me to a post-Sasanian date; both their form and method of employment had close parallels in the 8th-century palace of Ukhaidir in Iraq and in the original phase of the Masjid-i Atiq in Shiraz, erected by the Saffarid prince Ibn al-Laith in a.d. 894. 9 Additional features that Sarvistan shared with these buildings also suggested an origin in the Abbasid period. The weakness of my argument resulted largely from the sparseness of monumental architecture of any kind in the central lands of Iran, especially in the south, before the Seljuk period. It would have been helpful, for example, to know something of the architecture of the Buyids in Fars, whom the Seljuks deposed in a.d. 1051. The Buyids considered themselves descendants of the Sasanian kings and might be expected to have quoted liberally from the repertory of building forms still evident on the landscape. Similarities to genuine early Sasanian monuments might then be reasonably explained as intentional archaism for political purposes. 10 The only recent consideration of Sarvistan’s date based on building technique appears in D. Huff’s study of the char taq of Girre in the Kazarun-Farrashband region of Fars. 11 Huff points to certain elements of Sarvistan’s design, specifically the treatment of the squinch zones, which he considers less developed technically than that of the late Sasanian Char Qapu of Qasr-i Shirin, but concludes that there is little more to be said on the matter until additional field studies of late Sasanian monuments have been carried out. 12 In rejecting the traditional interpretation of Sarvistan as palace, I was elaborating on a suggestion made independently by Huff 13 and O. Grabar, 14 who saw the open and diversified plan as being more suited to cult practice than to the domestic and official needs of a princely residence, and I attempted to prove Grabar’s hypothesis that the building might have served as a Zoroastrian fire sanctuary by comparing it with Takht-i Sulayman in Azerbaijan, whose ruins had recently been demonstrated by their German excavators to have housed the Adur Gushnasp, one of the three great fires of the Sasanian empire. 15 Studies by M. Boyce and G. Gropp on modern Zoroastrian cult practice provided a framework for attribution by analogy of spe8. Siroux, “Le palais de Sarvistân,” passim. 9. Sarvistan, pp. 51f. 10. Sarvistan, pp. 53, 66. 11. D. Huff, “Beobachtungen zum Cahartak und zur Topographie von Girre,” Iranica Antiqua 30 (1995), pp. 71ff. 12. Huff, “Beobachtungen,” p. 79, argues, for example, that Sarvistan would seem to be earlier than the late Sasanian Char Qapu at Qasr-i Shirin because its arches and squinches were built up without the aid of stucco ribs (Gipsrippen) which he sees as an advanced technique normal in Islamic architecture. For a detailed account of this technique, see Huff, Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran 23 (1990), pp. 145ff. 13. In R. Naumann et al., “Takht-i Suleiman und Zendan-i Suleiman: Vorläufiger Bericht über die Grabungen im Jahre 1962,” Archäologischer Anzeiger (1964, Suppl.), p. 158. 14. “Sarvistan: A Note on Sasanian Palaces,” in Forschungen zur Kunst Asiens: In Memorium Kurt Erdmann (Istanbul: 1969), pp. 1–8, esp. 6. 15. H. Humbach, in Festschrift für Wilhelm Eilers (Wiesbaden: 1967), p. 189.

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cific activities to the various loci, permitting a plausible model of how the building might have been so used. 16 The vexed question of Sarvistan’s function is not, of course, entirely unrelated to its time of construction. The 9th-century date I proposed, the latest possible in purely architectural terms, coincided with the so-called Zoroastrian Renaissance in Iran and was necessary to explain the erection of a major fire temple after the fall of the “Mazda-worshiping kings.” 17 Repeating, for the most part, my own rhetorical questions, some reviewers raised doubts about the construction of a large cult building after the Islamization of the area. 18 From whom would the money have come to build such an impressive structure? Who in this remote region of Fars would have used it? And if erected in the 9th century, why was it not mentioned by one of the Arab geographers? The fire temple interpretation, as it turns out, might well have received a more kindly reception had I retained the traditional pre-Islamic date. Although inclined toward a cultic interpretation, Grabar left open the possibility that Sarvistan had been a palace, an option that has since been argued by D. Stronach and W. Kleiss. Stronach did not find the connection I had made between the groundplans of Sarvistan and Takht-i Sulayman compelling and suggested that “it is still preferable . . . to look for a secular function.” 19 He recognized the large number of external doorways, which must have effected a “remarkable blurring of free outdoor space and enclosed living space,” as a salient feature of later Safavid pavilion architecture and tacitly placed Sarvistan within an ancient and apparently unbroken tradition of country retreats by comparing it with the Achaemenid pavilion palaces at Djin-u Djin and Borazjan, similarly located in salubrious surroundings and close to a main highway. While Sarvistan may not have had much in common with these early buildings aside from its topographical setting and somewhat Spartan appointments, surveys and research in the past decade allow a clearer picture of palace architecture in the Islamic world and would seem to call for another look at the problem of function. Kleiss has for years been energetically recording and publishing a vast infrastructure of roads, bridges, waterworks, caravanserais, tombs, and other buildings both religious and secular. 20 As a result of his extensive surveys, monuments once isolated on the Iranian landscape appear with greater clarity as elements of a complex interurban fabric. A number of relatively small, apparently free-standing structures scattered along the old caravan routes and dating from Ilkhanid through early Qajar times figure prominently in his reports and special studies, where they are described variously as palaces, hunting lodges, and garden pavilions. A good example is the small Safavid building at Aliabad near Furg, described as a royal way-station and hunting lodge near the road from Shiraz and Darab. 21 It consists essentially of three parallel ranges of rooms set within a slightly oblong enclosure wall that is pierced by multiple doorways. The central range includes an entrance unit consisting of a domed chamber fronted by a shallow iwan, with three additional chambers in series behind it, each surmounted by a dome or cupola. These are interconnected by doorways and communicate as well with rectangular 16. Sarvistan, pp. 60ff. 17. Sarvistan, pp. 63ff. 18. For example, Frye, “Retractiones Archaeologiae,” p. 734; Bloom, AJA 91 (1987), p. 637. 19. Stronach, JAOS 109 (1989), p. 446. 20. These reports are to be found in issues of AMI from the 1970s to the present. 21. W. Kleiss, “Schloss Aliabad bei Furk in Fars,” AMI 24 (1991), pp. 261ff., and “Safavid Palaces,” in Pre-modern Islamic Palaces, a special issue edited by G. Necipoglu, Ars Orientalis 23 (1993), pp. 269–72, and fig. 2.

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vaulted halls in the four corners. Aside from the fact that this building is broader than it is long and had prominently located stairways leading to a second storey, its cross-axial, tripartite ground-plan is strongly reminiscent of Sarvistan, which Kleiss sees, irrespective of a Sasanian or early Islamic date, as standing at the beginning of what would become a characteristically Iranian feature of palace design. 22 But the fact remains that, despite the orderly format and clear tripartite division of its plan, Sarvistan’s domed chambers and vaulted halls display an impressive variety of shapes, puzzling because they are difficult to reconcile with what is known of Iranian palatial architecture either before or after the advent of Islam. One can envision an audience centered on the large domed chamber and the shallow, semidomed iwan that preceded it, but no obvious models, either literary or archaeological, come to mind for interpreting the ensemble of long columned halls and smaller domed rooms whose varied shapes and formal relationships to one another could hardly have lacked a specific functional significance. It now seems to me, however, that the ceremonial activity suggested by Sarvistan’s layout may well have been secular rather than cultic and that one ought not deny out of hand a nonreligious purpose for the building without a more deliberate study of the numerous and often vivid accounts both by Muslim authors and European travelers of the Persian pavilion palaces within the context of court life, both stationary and peripatetic. 23 These may ultimately permit a linking of the elements of Sarvistan’s plan with customs and practices of the formal audience and its associated activities. It must also be borne in mind that, although asymmetry is atypical of medieval Islamic palace architecture, it is not unknown. The Seljuk palace at Merv in Central Asia has a rectangular ground-plan with measurements almost identical to those of Sarvistan. 24 It incorporates four iwans of unequal size around an open court with smaller interconnected rooms of various shapes filling out the remaining space. In his analysis of the plan, R. Hillenbrand remarks on “its ability to extract the maximum spatial interest from a severely restricted surface area,” noting that “this is done . . . by continually changing the sizes of the rooms, their axial emphasis, the vaulting and the location of their doorways.” 25 This may be said of Sarvistan as well. It has been stated, sometimes bluntly, that technical and formal analysis of Sarvistan as a means of determining date and function has been exhausted and that the time has come for excavation. 26 This is no doubt true. Materials from foundation trenches, for example, might provide information about the building’s chronology. It is less likely that excavation will produce evidence for function. If Sarvistan was indeed a fire temple, it would be unreasonably optimistic to expect inscriptional materials like the bullae that enabled the identification of the 22. Kleiss, “Schloss Aliabad,” pp. 267ff., and “Safavid Palaces,” p. 269 and fig. 1. 23. For detailed descriptions of Safavid palaces within the context of courtly life in the late 17th century, see Engelbert Kaempfer, Am Hofe des Persischen Grosskönigs, with introduction and translation into German by W. Hinz (Leipzig: K. F. Koehler, 1940), pp. 191ff. and passim. For an eye-witness account of Timur’s gardens and garden pavilions in the early 15th century, see G. Le Strange, trans., Clavijo: Embassy to Tamerland 1404, 1406 (London: 1928). Also R. Pinder-Wilson, “The Persian Garden: Bagh and chahar Bagh,” in E .B. Macdougall and R. Ettinghausen (eds.), The Islamic Garden (Washington, D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 1976), pp. 71ff. 24. Hillenbrand, Islamic Architecture, p. 411 and fig. 7.90 on p. 578. The plan of the Merv palace measures 45 m by 39 m, compared with Sarvistan’s 45 m by 37.10 m. 25. Hillenbrand, Islamic Architecture, p. 411. 26. Allen, Ars Orientalis 12 (1989), p. 183; Stronach, JAOS 109 (1989), p. 446.

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Fig. 2. Aerial view of Sarvistan (Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, neg. no. AE-493).

Adur Gushnasp sanctuary at Takht-i Sulayman, 27 while fixtures like those discovered at Takht-i Sulayman 28 and Tureng Tepe 29 would presumably have been noted during restoration work in the early 1970s, had they survived. 30 On the other hand, it is hard to imagine an assemblage of objects being brought to light that could point to its use as a palace, and with the floors gone, the question is moot. Given the opportunity, it might be best to concentrate instead on the building’s immediate surroundings. Aerial photographs taken by E. Schmidt in the 1930s clearly show an extensive system of parterre walls enclosing the ruins and extending outward in all directions for a 27. See H. Humbach, in Festschrift für Wilhelm Eilers, pp. 189f. 28. R. Naumann, Archäologische Anzeiger (1965, Suppl.), pp. 630ff. and figs. 1–4; Sarvistan, p. 60. 29. For the final publication of the char taq at Turengtepe and its furnishings, see R. Boucharlat and O. Lecompt, Fouilles de Tureng Tepe sous la direction de Jean Deshayes 1: Les Periodes sassanides et islamiques (Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations, Memoire no. 74, 1987), pp. 51–75. 30. K. Siegler, H. Wunderlich, G. Albrecht, and U. Rombock, Restauration des palais sassanides des Kaleh-Dokhtar: Firuzabad et Sarvistan = UNESCO Photoprint 2988/RMO. RD/CLP (Paris:1973).

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Fig. 3. Aerial view of Sarvistan (Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, neg. no. AE-490).

maximum distance of ca. 100 m (figs. 2 and 3). 31 An examination of these walls and some connecting trenches to determine stratigraphic relationships would certainly shed light on the building’s original setting by proving or disproving contemporaneity. Meanwhile, Kleiss has published samples of Islamic pottery from a large quantity of surface sherd, 32 but we cannot know at present whether the ceramics are related to these walls or to the settlement that grew up at some point on the building’s west side. A number of Schmidt’s photographs taken from a higher altitude and at oblique angles to the ground suggest the existence of more massive walls—possibly containing internal chambers—to the east and west, extending parallel to the building at some distance from it, which call to mind the great circuit walls enclosing the palace at Merv and the vast “game park” or paradeisos surrounding the Imaret-i Khusrau at Qasr-i Shirin. 33 31. E. Schmidt, Flights over Ancient Cities of Iran (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1940), pls. 20 and 21 with interpretive overlay. See also W. Kleiss, “Zentralbauten aus vorislamischer und aus islamischer Zeit,” AMI 26 (1993), p. 206 with sketch plan fig. 22. 32. Kleiss, “Zentralbauten,” pp. 206ff. and figs. 24–26. 33. The photographs are housed in the archives of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago: Neg. nos. AE-489 and AE-491.

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There are indications of additional structures as well, of which the “triple-iwan” some 200 m to the north, is by far the most conspicuous. 34 Sarvistan’s landscape, a flat plain unencumbered by cultivation, natural vegetation, or modern building, offers ideal conditions for geo-prospection. Schmidt’s photographs, showing an elaborate system—or systems—of walls largely invisible from the ground, could be supplemented by accurate plans generated in the course of electro-magnetivity and resistivity surveys of the kind carried out in recent years with spectacular results at sites like Troy and Aphrodisias in Asia Minor. 35 Combined with limited excavation, these would certainly reveal something of the building’s nature by helping to reconstruct its original setting. Gardens, for example, would have required an apparatus for irrigation, including water channels and reservoirs as well as decorative installations like pools and fountains, 36 which could be expected to appear in such a survey. Techniques for recovering ancient gardens, developed and applied so successfully by W. Jashemski at Pompeii, 37 could be profitably employed within and beyond the parterre walls at Sarvistan. Jashemski showed how sub-soil excavation can reveal formal planting beds, root cavities, holes for support stakes and props and other evidence for horticultural techniques, in addition to providing pollens, carbonized and non-carbonized plants, wood remains, nuts, seeds, and fruits. It is not inconceivable that careful excavation can bring to light post-holes sunk for the great pavilion tents known, for example, from Clavijo’s descriptions of Timur’s gardens, 38 along with other traces of a moveable court. It would be interesting to discover how this extensive property fit into the natural landscape, into the cypress forests that provided timber for the construction of the Masjid-i Atiq in Shiraz. 39 Only a comprehensive approach is likely to restore Sarvistan to the mainstream of architectural history.

34. Siroux, “Le palais de Sarvistân,” p. 65 and fig. 15, saw this building, which he restored as a fouriwan plan with a central court, as “une vraie salle du throne.” More recently, Kleiss, “Zentralbauten,” p. 206, suggested a mosque on the basis of its orientation. 35. For these surveys, see H. Jansen, “Geomagnetische Prospektion in der Unterseidlung von Troia,” in Studia Troica 2 (1992), pp. 61–69, and R. R. R. Smith and C. Ratté in AJA 101 (1997), pp. 10ff., and 102 (1998), pp. 225ff. 36. For an excellent overview of this subject, D. Wilber, Persian Gardens and Garden Paviliions (Rutland, Vt. and Tokyo, Japan: 1962). Also, Pinder-Wilson, “The Persian Garden.” The qanats seen in figs. 2 and 3 are relatively recent and appear to have been diverted from the ruins. 37. W. F. Jashemski, The Gardens of Pompeii I (New Rochelle, New York: Caratzas Bros., 1979), esp. pp. 23–32 and 201–9. 38. See D. Wilber, “The Timurid Court: Life in Gardens and Tents” Iran 17 (1979), pp. 127ff. and reconstruction on p. 133. 39. Recorded in the Nizam al-Tavirikh, composed by Ghazi Nasr al-Din Beyzavi in a.d. 1275, and cited by D. Wilber, The Masjid-i ºAtiq of Shiraz (The Asia Institute Monograph Series, no. 2, Pahlavi University, Shiraz, Iran), Teheran, 1972, 2 and n. 4.

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The Rooster in Mesopotamia Erica Ehrenberg

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For Donald Hansen, adviser and mentor, who introduced me to the field of the ancient Near East and taught me how to study both the large and the small, a short piece about something small, the rooster. Among the avian species that populate Mesopotamian visual representations numbers the rooster, recognizable by its comb, wattle, and upturned tail feathers. Because this fowl seldom appears in the art, and then mostly on seals of the first half of the first millennium b.c., its symbolism is unclear and it has been assigned both solar and lunar significance. Based on a few first-millennium glyptic examples and textual references, an identification of the rooster with Nusku, god of light and fire, is here suggested. Domesticated roosters are believed to have arrived in Mesopotamia from India via Iran. 1 Their association with the East and Iran in particular was meaningful to the Greeks who called the rooster the “Persian bird.” 2 The first probable textual reference to the rooster in Mesopotamia is found in Ur III texts. One text mentions a d a r. m e . l u h . h amusen, read by Landsberger as “Indian cock” and another text mentions a d a r. l u g a lmusen, which he takes originally to have denoted the male partridge and which corresponds to the Akkadian tarlugallu. 3 The earliest known visual representation of the rooster in Mesopotamia occurs on an ivory pyxis excavated from a fourteenth-century Middle Assyrian tomb at Assur. The incised scene shows gazelles grazing beside trees in which are perched birds, including roosters and hens, and what must be sun-symbols between the trees. 4 This is an isolated example, for the bird does not surface again in the imagery until the first millennium, in the glyptic. Its reappearance at that time has been attributed to closer contact with Persia, whence the birds were imported, 5 although as

1. B. Brentjes, Wildtier und Haustier im Alten Orient: Lebendiges Altertum 11 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1962), p. 32; and B. Brentjes, “Nutz- und Hausvögel im Alten Orient,” WZ Halle 11 (1962), p. 643. 2. C. Tulpin, “The ‘Persian’ Bird: An Ornithonymic Conundrum,” AMI 25 (1992), p. 125. 3. B. Landsberger, “Einige unerkannt gebliebene oder verkannte Nomina des Akkadischen,” WO 3 (1964–66), pp. 247–48 and p. 247 n. 10; W. Heimpel, “Huhn,” in RlA 4 (1972–75), p. 487. 4. A. Haller, Die Gräber und Grüfte von Assur (WVDOG 65; 1954), p. 135 fig. 161, and pl. 29. 5. P. R. S. Moorey, “The Iconography of an Achaemenid Stamp-Seal Acquired in the Lebanon,” Iran 16 (1978), p. 150.

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Fig. 1. Stamp seal impression on a clay tag, Yale Babylonian Collection, YBC 13127. Ehrenberg, “A Corpus of Fifth Century Seal Impressions,” no. 22.

noted below, religious developments may have been a factor too. Earlier depictions of the rooster are found in Iran, especially among the Luristan bronzes. 6 In the scholarly literature, solar symbolism is often attached to the rooster in Iran, although by speculation. 7 The most obvious grounds for a correlation between the rooster and the sun is the rooster’s crow at dawn. Cumont assigns the rooster a role in Zoroastrianism as an apotropaic animal of dawn whose crowing not only announces the arrival of light, realm of Ahuramazda, and the end of darkness, ruled by Ahriman, but chases away the evil henchmen of Ahriman. 8 He additionally believes, though, that the rooster belongs to the sphere of Sraosa, who guards the world at night, protects the dead and guides souls to heaven. 9 Solar significance has been attributed to the Mesopotamian rooster and supported largely by the image of roosters in conjunction with sun disks on the Assyrian pyxis. 10 Later, in the Greek world, the rooster is linked with the sun (crowing at dawn), hope for the soul’s future life (the rising sun alluding to resurrection in a new life) and fighting (victory in death), associations reflected in Christianity and in Mithraic and mystery religions as well. 11 Mesopotamian glyptic representations of the first half of the first millennium show the rooster in a variety of settings. Stamp seal scenes featuring the rooster alone provide no context for the bird but indicate it was deemed appropriate for a self-standing seal design and thus of some consequence; in some instances, the rooster stands on a plinth or pedestal, which typ6. References to roosters in the Luristan material and in other Iranian works are cited by Tulpin, “The ‘Persian’ Bird,” pp. 127–28 nn. 16, 17, 18. Examples of the rooster in Indian art, dating back to the third millennium, as well as early and late Iranian examples and also Egyptian examples, are cited by Brentjes, “Nutz- und Hausvögel,” pp. 644–45. 7. Brentjes, “Nutz- und Hausvögel,” p. 644, traces this symbolism back to an Indo-Iranian origin. 8. F. Cumont, “Le coq blanc des mazdéens et les Pythagoriciens,” in CRAI (1942), p. 288. 9. Cumont, “Le coq blanc,” p. 289. 10. Brentjes, “Nutz- und Hausvögel,” p. 644. 11. E. Goodenough, Jewish Symbols in the Greco-Roman Period 8/2: Pagan Symbols in Judaism (Bollingen Series 37; New York: Pantheon Books, 1958), pp. 60–68. These roles of the rooster in the Classical world mirror those assumed by Cumont to have held in ancient Iran, for which see above.

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The Rooster in Mesopotamia

Fig. 2. Impression of a cylinder seal, British Museum, BM 89311 (” Museum).

Copyright The British

ically serves in Mesopotamian iconography as a dais for divine figures. 12 Seal scenes showing confronted roosters may refer to the rooster’s role as a fighter. 13 A sixth-century stamp seal from Tell en-Naßbeh exhibits a rooster posed for fight but without a delineated opponent. 14 The key to the puzzle of the rooster’s symbolic nature lies in glyptic scenes of worship, popular in mid-sixth to mid-fifth century Late Babylonian and early Achaemenid times, a few of which include roosters. The standard format of these scenes consists of a male worshiper with upbent arm who stands before one or more divine symbols mounted on pedestals. A rooster standing on a pillared pedestal appears as the sole object of adoration in a number of Babylonian worship scenes (fig. 1). 15 Pedestals serve as bases for symbols or acolytes of deities, leading to the 12. Examples are: L. Delaporte, CCL II, A.668 (on the circular base of a cylinder seal); L. Delaporte BN, no. 530 (on a side facet of a pyramidal stamp seal); L. Legrain, The Culture of the Babylonians from Their Seals in the Collection of the Museum (PBS 14; Philadelphia: The University Museum, 1925), no. 808 (a stamp impression from the Murasû archive); L. Legrain, UE X, nos. 822–826 (impressions from the Persian coffin at Ur); E. Schmidt, Persepolis II: Contents of the Treasury and Other Discoveries (OIP 69; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1957), stamp seal PT4 414, pl. 19 (called a peacock). 13. Examples are: a cylinder seal excavated from a fifth-century grave at Kish, conveniently republished by Moorey, “The Iconography of an Achaemenid Stamp-Seal,” pl. Ib; a cylinder from Babylon, perhaps showing a rooster and a hen, published by A. Moortgat, Vorderasiatische Rollsiegel (Berlin: Gebr. Mann, 1988) no. 755; a West Semitic stamp seal published by N. Avigad, Corpus of West Semitic Stamp Seals, rev. B. Sass ( Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1997), no. 1142. 14. Avigad, Corpus of West Semitic Stamp Seals, no. 8. 15. O. Weber, Altorientalische Siegelbilder (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1920), no. 493a, a cylinder; E. Ehrenberg, “A Corpus of Fifth Century Seal Impressions in the Yale Babylonian Collection,” BaM 31 (2000),

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Fig. 3. Stamp seal impression on an Eanna tablet, Musée du Louvre, AO 6919. Ehrenberg, Uruk: Late Babylonian Seal Impressions on Eanna-Tablets, no. 74.

conclusion that the rooster must have had divine significance. In more complex worship scenes, the rooster is accompanied by one or more additional symbols, always including a moon crescent on a kudurru-shaped mount traditional to glyptic of the period (fig. 2). 16 The connection between the rooster and lunar symbolism has been noted. 17 Another example of this relation is the scene on one side of a Syro-Cypriot cubical seal dated to the seventh century that pictures a rooster, above and behind which hovers a disk-and-crescent motif, another lunar symbol. 18 The only explicit cue for pinpointing the rooster’s meaning, though, is supplied by stamp seal scenes of worship that display a worshiper before a lampstand on top of which perches a rooster rather than the customary lamp. Two impressions carrying such a scene are known, one on a tablet from the Eanna archive at Uruk dating to the reign of Darius I (fig. 3), 19 and one on an uninscribed tag likely from a site near Nippur and dating to the early Achae-

nos. 22–24, impressions of a stamp seal, and no. 72, part of a larger cylinder rolling that was likely a worship scene; A. H. Layard, Discoveries in the Ruins of Nineveh and Babylon (London: John Murray, 1853), p. 538, with a winged genius before the rooster. 16. Examples are: H. H. von der Osten, “Altorientalische Siegelsteine,” Medelhavsmuseet Bulletin 1 (1961), no. 14, with a lightning bundle placed between the crescent and rooster; D. J. Wiseman, Cylinder Seals of Western Asia (London: Batchworth, 1959), no. 95 = W. H. Ward, The Seal Cylinders of Western Asia (Washington, D.C.: The Carnegie Institution, 1920), no. 554, which includes an offering table; Ward, as above, no. 556. 17. Moorey, “The Iconography of an Achaemenid Stamp-Seal,” p. 151. 18. W. Culican, “Syrian and Cypriot Cubical Seals,” Levant 9 (1977), pl. 17B. 19. Delaporte, CCL II, A.795, and E. Ehrenberg, Uruk: Late Babylonian Seal Impressions on EannaTablets (AUWE 18; Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1999), no. 74.

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Fig. 4: Stamp seal impression on a clay tag, Yale Babylonian Collection, YBC 13129. Ehrenberg, “A Corpus of Fifth Century Seal Impressions,” no. 21.

menid period (fig. 4). 20 One actual stamp with such a scene has also been published. 21 The lampstand with lamp is the archetypal symbol of Nusku. The substitution of the rooster for the lamp implies that the two were considered interchangeable and that the rooster represents Nusku. This identification is lent further credence by a cylinder seal from the de Clercq collection that centers on a large lampstand, topped by what appears to be a bird with a branch in its beak, flanked by two roosters, with a worshiper to the side (fig. 5). 22 Moreover, a cylinder rolling on a tablet dated to Neriglissar shows, besides a worship scene, a bird of indeterminable species but perhaps a rooster supporting on its back a lampstand with lamp. 23 Instead of being read as a solar or lunar symbol, then, the rooster can be interpreted to signify light, maybe celestial light, as embodied by Nusku. That the rooster should figure more prominently in the visual art of the first half of the first millennium than earlier also supports the identification with Nusku, since this god rose to prominence at this time, specifically at the site of Harran, sacred to the moon-god Sîn, father of Nusku. 24 In the inscriptions of the Late Babylonian king Nabonidus and his mother on the 20. Ehrenberg, “A Corpus of Fifth Century Seal Impressions,” no. 21. 21. H. H. von der Osten, Ancient Oriental Seals in the Collection of Mrs. Agnes Baldwin Brett (OIP 37; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1936), no. 166. 22. L. de Clercq, Collection de Clercq, Catalogue méthodique et raisonné, Antiquités assyriens I (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1888), no. 374. 23. See the drawing by C. Wunsch, “Eine Richterurkunde aus der Zeit Neriglissars,” Aula Orientalis 17–18 (1999–2000), p. 254, left edge bottom; she dates this British Museum tablet to Neriglissar based on content. 24. See above, too, where the increased popularity of the rooster at the time is attributed to closer contact with Persia.

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Fig. 5. Cylinder seal impression, drawing after de Clercq, no. 374.

Harran stelae, Nusku is one of the four deities invoked and one of the deities restored to the Ehulhul temple of Sîn by Nabonidus. 25 Interestingly, the staff, perhaps a reference to Sîn, which is held by Nabonidus in the reliefs on his stelae, is encircled by what must be metal rings, resembling the shaft of Nusku’s prototypical lampstand. It would not be surprising should Nusku, as son of Sîn, assimilate some of the attributes of his father. Nusku’s divine affiliations at Harran are augmented also by the god’s apparent identification there with the god Nabû. 26 This conflation may have resulted from overlapping astronomical realizations of the two gods. In the opinion of H. and J. Lewy, although Nabû was traditionally held to represent the planet Mercury, early explanatory texts regarded Mercury, which appears as a morning and evening star, as two different planets, one of which was personified by Nusku. 27 Nabû and Nusku can share epithets, and Nabû’s symbol, the wedge or stylus, and an accompanying tablet, adorn the thirteenth century Middle Assyrian altar dedicated by Tukulti-Ninurta to Nusku. 28 If accepted, Nusku’s hypothesized identification with Mercury, which has been countered by Parpola, 29 would perhaps further explain the filial link with Sîn, since Mercury’s appearances are figured in thirty-day cycles, recalling the length of the lunar month. 30 25. C. J. Gadd, “The Harran Inscriptions of Nabonidus,” AnSt 8 (1958), p. 40. 26. Gadd, “The Harran Inscriptions,” p. 40; Green, The City of the Moon God, p. 34. 27. H. Lewy and J. Lewy, “The God Nusku,” Or NS 17 (1948), pp. 147–49. 28. Lewy and Lewy, “The God Nusku,” pp. 149–50, in which the symbol is taken as an emblem of zodiacal light rather than the generally cited stylus and tablet. F. A. M. Wiggermann, “The Staff of Ninsubura: Studies in Babylonian Demonology, II,” JEOL 29 (1985–86), p. 10 and n. 28, takes the symbol to be a staff and tablet, with the staff representing Nusku, following the inscription which refers to Nusku as the vizier of Ekur and “bearer of the just staff,” and the tablet maybe being that on which Tukulti-Ninurta wrote his prayer. Nusku is not elsewhere represented as a staff, though, and it is questionable that the staff would be shown in such small scale compared to a tablet. 29. S. Parpola, Letters from Assyrian Scholars to the Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal II (AOAT 5/2; Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker, 1983), p. 101, disagrees with Lewy and Lewy that Nusku may represent Mercury, and notes instead Nusku’s lunar nature. 30. Lewy and Lewy, “The God Nusku,” p. 154, and see p. 155 for a citation to a ritual text published by Thureau-Dangin in which Nusku, Nabû, and Sîn are equated.

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Fig. 6. Impression of a cylinder seal, Musée du Louvre, AO 2405. Delaporte, CCL II A.786.

The various associations of Nusku—with light, fire, Sîn, and Nabû—are all expressed in firstmillennium Mesopotamian glyptic. As a replacement for the lamp on the lampstand, the rooster symbolizes Nusku’s primary manifestation as god of light and fire, both of which are created by the lighting of oil lamps. The alliance between the rooster and lamp is perhaps echoed by a terra-cotta lamp adorned with a rooster, which was found in the Roman Monteverde catacomb, in connection with Jewish graves. 31 That the rooster retained its affiliations with light and fire in the Persian world, where the bird, as noted, may have been absorbed into Zoroastrian theology as an acolyte of Ahuramazda, is hinted at on an Achaemenid cylinder seal (fig. 6). 32 The seal shows, alongside a contest scene dominated by the royal hero, a crowned personage enthroned before a censer and receiving a standing figure. In the field directly above the spade-shaped censer, typical of Achaemenid iconography and associated with the eternal flame of Ahuramazda, is a rooster. Nusku’s filial tie to Sîn at Harran may elucidate the visual juxtapositions of the rooster and the moon crescent, previously discussed. 33 Meanwhile, 31. E. Goodenough, Jewish Symbols in the Greco-Roman Period 2: Archeological Evidence from the Diaspora (Bollingen Series 37; New York: Pantheon Books, 1953), p. 104. 32. Delaporte, CCL II, A.786. 33. The cubical Syro-Cypriot seal cited above that shows a rooster and disk-and-crescent motif on one face, published by Culican, “Syrian and Cypriot Cubical Seals,” pl. 17B, displays on another face a crescent standard of the variety common to Neo-Assyrian glyptic, perhaps another reference to the connection between Nusku and Sîn. Culican, as above, p. 164, notes that the presence of both the rooster and the crescent standard is perhaps related to the Harranian realm as emblematic of the dawn and lunar cults. This would imply that he imputes dawn/solar and lunar significance to the rooster, although

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Fig. 7: Impression of a cylinder seal, Musée du Louvre, MNB 1180. Delaporte, CCL II A.657.

Nusku’s assimilation to Nabû may account for the rooster’s role as a filler motif in a cylinder seal contest scene featuring a winged genius contending with two rampant, winged animals (fig. 7). 34 In the field stands a large wedge, symbol of Nabû, above which hovers a rooster. 35 The tie proposed between the rooster and Nusku on the basis of the visual sources is substantiated by a first millennium textual reference preserved in the so-called “Birdcall Text.” Two versions of this composition exist, one from Sultantepe and its duplicate from Nineveh, and one from Assur. 36 The text lists the sounds made by various birds and connects each bird to a deity. The Sultantepe/Nineveh text names the kubsanu as the bird of Nusku and the d a r a . l u g a lmusen (rooster) as the bird of the underworld god Enmesarra, while the Assur text gives the haßiburu (haßibaru) as the bird of Nusku in one line but the rooster as the bird of Nusku in in the accompanying n. 50, he refers to Babylonian glyptic scenes of roosters associated with the cult of Nusku. He does not expand on the statement, however, and the the citation he gives to Delaporte, CCL II (incorrectly cited as CCL I), A.739, shows a lampstand but no rooster. 34. Delaporte, CCL II, A.657. 35. The rooster occurs as a filler motif on two other cylinder seals, but with no apparent symbolic associations to other elements of the composition. One is a Neo-Assyrian seal excavated at Nimrud with a complicated iconography of a worshiper before atlantid Mischwesen supporting an inhabited winged disk, published by B. Parker, “Excavations at Nimrud, 1949–1953: Seals and Seal Impressions,” Iraq 17 (1955), pl. 11, no. 1. The other is an Achaemenid contest scene featuring the royal hero, published as a drawing by Ward, The Seal Cylinders of Western Asia, no. 1126. 36. The texts are published by W. G. Lambert, “The Sultantepe Tablets (continued): IX. The Birdcall Text,” AnSt 20 (1970), pp. 111–17.

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a subsequent line. 37 There was, seemingly, no one secure identification for the rooster, 38 but the rooster is indeed linked to Nusku, and both the kubsanu and haßiburu (haßibaru) are interpreted to be names of a crested bird. 39 The equation of the rooster with Enmesarra, a god of the underworld, appears contradictory to the bird’s equation with Nusku, god of light, but possibly accords with what may have been notions of duality and opposition later subsumed within the symbolism of the rooster. As already discussed, the Zoroastrian rooster has been hypothesized to be a bird of Ahuramazda, who presides over the world of light, and maybe also a bird of Sraosa, who watches over the night and leads the dead to heaven. The rooster in Greece, as remarked, has been conjectured not only to have heralded the new day but also to have represented the hope for resurrection in the afterlife. Analogously, then, the Mesopotamian rooster could have represented Nusku but also Enmesarra. The connection of Nusku with the night is strengthened by an incantation from the first millennium Maqlû series of magical texts against witchcraft in which Nusku is called “protective night light” who guards the sleeping against intruders and bad dreams. 40 Furthermore, this incantation was to be recited at dawn, 41 yet another possible allusion to Nusku’s embodiment as a rooster. The later parallels help to solidify the Mesopotamian rooster’s symbolic identity, since they in likelihood derived from this source. Not only was the rooster’s divine significance in Mesopotamia apparently well-enough understood to resonate through time and space, but so too was the unusual iconographical confabulation of the rooster on a lampstand. It may not be a stretch to imagine that a formal convergence between the outline of the long-spouted Mesopotamian oil lamp and that of the rooster suggested itself to the seal-cutters who transformed the almost avian-shaped lamp on the lampstand into an actual bird. The image of a rooster on a stand persists beyond the Mesopotamian realm. As Goodenough documents, it is encountered in the art of the Classical period in contexts that suggest it symbolized the hope for resurrection. 42 The image seems to have held currency also in the Near East, as noted by Legrain who points to Layard’s description of a copper or brass stand topped by a bird, which served as a cultic implement of the Yezidi tribe of the Mosul region and was seen by Layard during his travels in the region. 43 The striking similarity between the Yezidi stand, encircled by metal disks, and the ringed lampstand of Nusku, warrants the postulation of a direct line of descent. The Mesopotamian visual motif

37. Lambert, “The Sultantepe Tablets,” pp. 112–13, lines 12 and 2 for the Sultantepe/Nineveh text citation, and pp. 114–15, lines 5 and 15 for the Assur text citation. 38. Lambert, “The Sultantepe Tablets,” p. 113. 39. Lambert, “The Sultantepe Tablets,” p. 117. CAD K defines kubsanu as “a bird, lit. the crested one;” p. 485; CAD defines haßibaru as “a crested bird,” p. 133. 40. T. Abusch, “An Early Form of the Witchcraft Ritual Maqlû and the Origin of a Babylonian Magical Ceremony,” in T. Abusch, J. Huehnergard, and P. Steinkeller (eds.), Lingering Over Words: Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Literature in Honor of William L. Moran (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990), p. 17. 41. Abusch, “An Early Form of the Witchcraft Ritual Maqlû,” p. 17. 42. Goodenough Jewish Symbols 8/2, p. 61, where he cites a fifth-century b.c. terra-cotta votive plaque showing Persephone and Hades from a temple of Persephone in Italy, and a fourth century a.d. tombstone of a Roman soldier, both of which present underworld or funerary subjects and contain the image of the rooster on a stand. As a modern parallel, he cites rooster images found on high, capping steeples of Protestant churches. 43. Legrain, The Culture of the Babylonians, p. 320, citing Layard, Discoveries in the Ruins of Nineveh and Babylon, pp. 47–48. The stand is called the Melek Taous, or “King Peacock.”

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of a rooster perched on a columnar stand, and the symbolism of the Mesopotamian rooster outlived Nusku, the god whose multivalent aspects the rooster incarnated and whom it was originally enlisted to serve.

Title is high to make work

Some Aspects of the Precinct of the Goddess Mut in the New Kingdom Richard A. Fazzini

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It was Donald Hansen, one of my former teachers, who gave me my lessons in field archaeology, first at Mendes in the Egyptian Delta and then at al-Hiba in Iraq. Hence I am pleased to be represented in this collection of studies in his honor by an article concerning some aspects of the site whose excavations I direct, the Temple Precinct of the Goddess Mut at South Karnak, in Luxor in southern Egypt. I visited and discussed this site with Donald Hansen before the first season of excavation and benefited greatly from his advice. One of the discoveries, or rather rediscoveries, of the present Expedition 1 is a gateway in sandstone (fig. 1.1) that appeared on some 19th-century plans of the precinct 2 and that had become almost entirely covered by a few centimeters of earth in later years. As noted elsewhere, 3 this gateway proved to be of Dynasty XVIII (ca. 1539–1292 b.c.), was inscribed for Thutmose III (the Menkheperkare form of his prenomen or throne name 4) and Thutmose II, with the latter most probably replacing erased names of Hatshepsut; i.e., the gateway was built during the time of Hatshepsut (ca. 1472–1458 b.c.) as co-ruler with Thutmose III 1. The Mut Expedition is a project of the Brooklyn Museum of Art conducted with the assistance of The Detroit Institute of Arts and under the auspices of the American Research Center in Egypt. This writer is Project Director and Co-Field Director. William Peck is Co-Field Director. For the site, see PM II2 (Oxford: Ashmolean Museum, 1972), pp. 255–75. Some of the more recent publications related to the site are cited below. 2. E.g., Nestor L’Hôte’s 1838–1839 reconstruction plan of the precinct illustrated in H. Ricke, Das Kamutef-Heiligtum Hatschepsuts und Thutmoses’ III. in Karnak. Bericht über eine Ausgrabung vor dem Muttempelbezirk, BeiträgeBF 3, 2 (Cairo: Schweizerisches Institut für ägyptische Bauforschung und Altertumskunde, 1954), pl. I, a.; LD I (Berlin: Nicolaische Buchhandlung, 1849–1859), pls. 74 and 83; A. Mariette, Karnak: Etude topographique et archéologique (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1875), pl. 3. The latter is reproduced in R. Fazzini, “Report on the 1983 Season of Excavation at the Precinct of the Goddess Mut,” ASAE 70 (Cairo: Organisation des Antiquités Égyptiennes, 1984–1985), p. 303, fig. 3. 3. Fazzini, “Report on the 1983 Season,” p. 304, and pl. IV, b: preserved outer face of the gateway. This gateway will be fully discussed and illustrated in a future publication on the northwest sector of the Mut Precinct. 4. For the Menkheperkare form of Thutmose III’s prenomen, normally associated with the first two decades of his reign, see, e.g., J. von Beckerath, Handbuch der ägyptischen Königsnamen (MÄS 20; Munich: Deutscher Kunstverlag, 1984), p. 226; B. Jaeger, Essai de classification et datation des scarabées Menkhéperrê (OBO 2; Fribourg and Göttingen: Éditions Universitaires Fribourg Suisse, 1982), pp. 129–30.

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Fig. 1. Contour map of the front (north) section of the Precinct of Mut. 1. 2.

Thutmoside Gateway Some of the late Ptolemaic-early Roman Period houses in the northwest sector of the precinct 3a. Extension of Thutmoside wall 3b. Continuation of the original Thutmoside wall 4.–5. Enclosure walls for the Temple of Ramesses III 6. Part of enclosure wall found by magnetometer

7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

The rise beyond the sacred lake that is possibly an early rear enclosure wall for the precinct Mut’s Contra-Temple High Place Taharqa Gateway The Mut Temple’s original platform

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Fig. 2. Façade of Thutmoside gateway (Photo: Mary McKercher, Mut Expedition).

(ca. 1479–1425 b.c.). 5 As is visible in fig. 2, this structure also displays the remains, in the form of rectangular cutouts on the façade, of repairs of divine names erased during the reign of Akhenaten (ca. 1353–1336 b.c.). The repairs could have been made prior to the reign of King Sety I (ca.1290–1279 b.c.). However, it is the name of that king that appears in renewal inscriptions located on the thicknesses of the gateway’s jambs, the northern one of which is shown in fig. 3, and the fallen top of the southern one of which is shown in fig. 4. Enough is preserved of the latter to indicate that it began with the words sm·wy-mnw, “renewal of monuments.” P. Brand has noted that the term sm·wy-mnw was used by Sety I in more renewal inscriptions on temples after the age of Akhenaten than during the reigns of either Tutankhamun (ca. 1331–1322 b.c.), Ay (ca. 1322–1319 b.c.), or Horemheb (ca. 1319–1292 b.c.), with some of his renewals actually being usurpations of his predecessors’ restorations. 6 However, to judge by the actual appearance of the inscriptions in question and the correspondence of what is preserved of our texts to Brand’s description of the typical sm·wy-mnw text of Sety I, 7 their entire texts seem original to Sety I. 5. The chronology followed is that of William Murnane in “The History of Ancient Egypt,” in J. Sasson (ed.), Civilizations of the Ancient Near East (New York: Scribner’s, 1995), vol. 2, pp. 712–14. 6. P. Brand, The Monuments of Seti I and Their Historical Significance: The Epigraphic, Art Historical and Historical Analysis (Brill: Leiden, 2000), pp. 45–48, 116–18. 7. Brand, The Monuments of Seti I, pp. 47–48.

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Fig. 3. Part of Sety I renewal text on thickness of north jamb of Thutmoside gateway (Photo: Mary McKercher, Mut Expedition).

As observed by P. Brand, King Sety I’s renewals/restorations are often found in “conspicuous locations,” including on “monumental doorways;” 8 and, although the gateway in question was not colossal, 9 it was conspicuous. The renewal texts end in “Sety in the house (pr) of his mother, Mut, Mistress of Heaven” (fig. 3). Brand notes that this phrase is part of the typical Sety I sm·wy-mnw text. 10 As indicated in a relatively recent lexicographical study of Egyptian temples, “the pr could be the main temple-building, the temenos, or the administrative estate” (of a temple) and “only careful examination of each occurrence, comparing the textual evidence with existing temple remains, where these are preserved, can reveal which interpretation 8. Brand, The Monuments of Seti I, p. 46. The Sety I inscriptions on the side entrance to the Mut Precinct are an addition to Brand’s listing (pp. 45–118) of that king’s renewals of monuments. For another monument of Sety I not included in Brand’s study, see H. Ricke, “Der Tempel «Lepsius 16» in Karnak. Grabungsvorbericht,” ASAE 38 (1938), pp. 357–58; and H. Ricke, Das Kamutef-Heiligtum Hatschepsuts und Thutmoses’ III. in Karnak, p. 18. As Ricke says, this granite block with a text that mentions the pr of Mut (now in the Mut Precinct’s storeroom) is quite likely from the Mut Precinct, and the present writer plans to publish it elsewhere. 9. Total width: 294 cm; width of door in façade: 130 cm; width of thicknesses of jambs: 73–74 cm; internal width of doorway: 159 cm; depth of gateway: 260 cm. 10. Brand, The Monuments of Seti I, p. 47.

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Fig. 4. Part of Sety 1 renewal text fallen from thickness of south jamb of Thutmoside gateway (Photo: Mary McKercher, Mut Expedition).

of the term is the most suitable for each occurrence.” 11 In the case of the present doorway, an interpretation is possible because the gateway was found to be set into a mud-brick wall that was an early, although perhaps not the earliest, enclosure wall for the Mut Precinct. 12 By far the major part of this wall remains to be excavated, which will be a slow process because most of it is buried under later remains, including those of late Ptolemaic to Roman Period habitations. Fig. 1.2 shows some of these structures to the north of the gateway as well as those excavated built against and into the gateway and the northwest outer corner of its walls, a portion of which was, fortunately, preserved. 13 To judge from the results of excavation to date, the habitations in the northwest sector of the Precinct were constructed mainly between 11. P. Spencer, The Egyptian Temple: A Lexicographical Study (London and Boston: Kegan Paul International, 1984), p. 20. 12. Fazzini, “Report on the 1983 Season of Excavation,” pp. 305–7. 13. For a discussion of some of the inscriptional material from these habitations, see R. Fazzini and R. Jasnow, “Demotic Ostraca from the Mut Precinct in Karnak,” Enchoria 16 (1988), pp. 23–48. These habitations will also be more fully published in the same publication as the Thutmoside gateway.

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Fig. 5. Cartouche of Nectanebo II in the Contra-Temple (Photo: Mary McKercher, Mut Expedition).

the Thutmoside enclosure wall and the final enclosure wall and not within the Thutmoside enclosure, and also ran south of the gateway under discussion. Following this wall to the south revealed that it displays at least two phases of construction. During the latest of these phases, it was thickened and was given an extension toward the west (fig. 1.3a). This was possibly the front section of enclosure walls for the Temple of Ramesses III, the probable southern and western segments of which are indicated by 4 and 5 in fig 1. 14 However, its original direction took it south (fig. 1.3b) into terrain that has now been eroded away by the site’s sacred lake, where it probably also constituted the eastern segment of the enclosure for Ramesses III’s temple. 15 The Expedition has not yet followed the wall east from its northwest corner except in one area (fig. 1.6). This was done in part to test the results of a 1986 survey of parts of the site by means of magnetometry, ground penetrating radar, electrical resistivity, and seismic refraction. Weston Geophysical, working for Archaeological Imaging Corporation, which funded the 14. R. Fazzini and W. Peck, “The Precinct of Mut During Dynasty XXV and early Dynasty XXVI: A Growing Picture,” SSEAJ 11 (1981), p. 119 and figs. 3.1 and 3.2 on p. 123. 15. As first observed by expedition member C. Van Siclen III, there are a series of stone thresholds just to the east of the Temple of Ramesses III and perpendicular to it that are probably from storage magazines whose backs may well have abutted the Thutmoside wall.

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Fig. 6. Graffito in southern thickness of the Thutmoside gateway (Photo: Mary McKercher, Mut Expedition).

work, did this work and it was the magnetometer which yielded the anomaly that proved to be the wall, located just where the survey predicted it should be. 16 Given those parts of the wall now known, it seems reasonable for the Expedition’s working hypotheses to include the following: (1) The E–W wall just described delimited the front of the Mut Precinct in Thutmoside times; (2) The precinct’s Thutmoside eastern enclosure wall was probably more or less a counterpart to the west wall as now known; (3) The rear of the Thutmoside Mut temenos is probably represented by the high rise immediately south of the sacred lake (fig. 1.7), i.e., the precinct extended significantly less towards the south than it did in much later times. 17 In a relatively recent article on the precinct enclosure walls of Karnak, it was suggested that at least the southern segment of the late enclosure wall of the Mut Precinct 16. Weston’s personnel were Vincent J. Murphy, Senior Consulting Geophysicist; Mark Blackey, Geophysicist; John Goodno, Geophysical Technician. Magdy Hassanain of the Egyptian Antiquities and Conservation Research Center was a technical observer for all geophysical fieldwork and assisted with both data collection and interpretation. This was the same team that soon thereafter helped Kent Weeks to locate KV 5 in the Valley of the Kings: Egypt: Land of the Pharaohs (Lost Civilizations; Alexandria, Va.: Time-Life Books, 1992), pp. 146–48. 17. For these hypotheses, see already and for example, Fazzini, “Report on the 1983 Season of Excavation,” pp. 305–7.

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was possibly contemporary with the Ptolemaic main entranceway set into it and which was begun no later than the reign of Ptolemy II (285–246 b.c.). 18 However, it remains possible that the wall could date to a somewhat earlier era, such as the reign of Nectanebo I (381–362 b.c.), who built other similar, large enclosure walls at Karnak 19 and who is not unattested at South Karnak. For example, he renewed a doorway in Temple A. 20 On the other hand, the attribution of Mut’s Contra-Temple (fig. 1.8) to “probably Nectanebos I” 21 is questionable, especially since the earliest name on the structure is the partial remains of what could be the nomen of Nectanebo II (fig. 5) on the thickness of the eastern jamb of the entrance. 22 It might also be noted that two blocks of Nectanebo II were reused in the construction of the gateway in the Mut Temple’s Second Pylon; and that C. Traunecker appears to have suggested that the lost Temple of Nectanebo II long viewed as being east of the Mut Precinct 23 may actually be Mut’s High Place (fig. 1.9). 24 But whatever the precise date of the northern segment of the latest Mut Precinct, it does not appear to be until the reign of Taharqa (ca. 690–664 b.c.) that a stone gateway set into a mud-brick wall (fig. 1.10) came to extend the Mut Precinct further north than the Mut Temple’s First Pylon, presumably to take into the precinct the structure known as Temple A. 25 On the inside of the Thutmoside western side entrance to the Mut Precinct is a mostly erased graffito in which is visible the remains of the prenomen Maatkare of Hatshepsut in a cartouche, followed by what appears to be ankh.tj djet: “living forever” (fig. 6). As noted elsewhere, then expedition member C. Van Siclen III has made the very reasonable suggestion that this could be the remains of one of the graffiti that Senenmut, an extremely important official under Hatshepsut, claimed to have put in all the temples of Egypt. 26 Regardless of whether the graffito in the doorway is of Senenmut, excavations in the Mut Temple in the last decade of the 19th century yielded a statue of Senenmut on which he claims 18. J.-C. Golvin and E. S. Hegazy, “Essai d’explication de la forme et des caractéristiques générales des grandes enceintes de Karnak,” in Centre Franco-Égyptien d’Étude des Temples de Karnak: Cahiers de Karnak IX, 1993 (Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 1993), p. 148. On p. 149, they also suggest that the enclosure walls for the southern part of the site may be later in date, which is hardly impossible. For the Ptolemaic gateway, see S. Sauneron (with the collaboration of S. Cauville and F. Laroche-Traunecker), La porte ptolémaïque de l’enceinte de Mout à Karnak, MIFAO CVII (1983). 19. Golvin and Hegazy, “Essai d’explication,” pp. 146–48. 20. PM II2, p. 271 (6). 21. PM II2, p. 258. 22. Mut’s Contra-Temple will be published in one of a series of articles in progress on small chapels in the Mut Precinct. 23. PM II2, p. 275, with pl. XXIV. 24. C. Traunecker, “Essai sur l’histoire de la XXIXe dynastie,” BIFAO 79 (1979), p. 413 n. 2. 25. For the Taharqa Gateway see, e.g., R. Fazzini and J. Manning, “Archaeological Work at Thebes by The Brooklyn Museum under the auspices of The American Research Center in Egypt,” NARCE Nos. 101/102 (Summer/Fall, 1977), pp. 22–23, with fig. 2; R. Fazzini and W. Peck, “The Precinct of Mut During Dynasty XXV and Early Dynasty XXVI,” p. 119; J. Baines, Fecundity Figures: Egyptian Personification and the Iconology of a Genre (Warminster: Aris & Phillips, l985), fig. 138 on p. 237. The Taharqa Gateway will be fully published in a publication on the northwest sector of the Precinct. 26. Fazzini, “Report on the 1983 Season of Excavation,” p. 304 n. 1. Cf. pp. 80–84 of W. Hayes, “Varia from the Time of Hatshepsut,” MDAIK 15 (1957), pp. 79–86; and P. Dorman, The Monuments of Senenmut: Problems in Historical Methodology (London and New York: Kegan Paul International, 1985), p. 127.

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to have been “the architect of all of the works of the queen . . . in the temple of Mut.” 27 Another official of the time of Hatshepsut and Thuthmose III, namely Puiemre, left a statue in the Mut Precinct whose texts indicate he built in limestone in the Mut Temple during the reign of Hatshepsut, with the identification of the structure in the damaged text remaining uncertain. 28 27. Cairo CG 579: PM II2, p. 262. This is a sistrophoros statue the texts of which include the words “Hathor, Chieftainess of Thebes, Mut, Mistress of Isheru.” Displaying erasures of the name of Hatshepsut, this statue is one of several indications of a close linking of the two goddesses in question that would predate the evidence cited for the solo reign of Thuthmose III by B. Lesko, The Great Goddesses of Egypt (Norman, Oklahoma: University of Oklahoma Press, 1999), pp. 287–88. It should also be noted that Lesko’s attribution to me (p. 289 n. 47) of the idea that, at least in the Late Period, human sacrifices were burned on Mut’s blazers in Heliopolis, gives me credit I do not deserve. As indicated in what I wrote in A. Capel and G. Markoe et al., Mistress of the House, Mistress of Heaven: Women in Ancient Egypt (New York: Hudson Hills Press in association with the Cincinnati Art Museum, 1996), p. 128, p. 206 n. 6, I was simply citing J. Yoyotte, “Hera d’Héliopolis et le sacrifice humain,” EPHE. V e Section—Sciences religieuses 89 (Paris: École pratique des Hautes Études, 1980–1981), pp. 29–102. This and the following quite recent references should be added to the references on Mut cited by Lesko (pp. 130–54, 287–89): H. te Velde, “Mut and Other Ancient Egyptian Goddesses,” in J. Phillips et al. (eds.), Ancient Egypt, the Aegean, and the Near East: Studies in Honour of Martha Rhoads Bell (San Antonio: Van Siclen Books, 1997), pp. 455–62; and L. Troy, “Mut Enthroned,” in J. van Dijk (ed.), Essays on Ancient Egypt in Honour of Herman te Velde (Egyptological Memoirs 1; Groningen: Styx, 1997), pp. 301–15. Mut is certainly the goddess who is most often shown wearing the Double Crown of Upper and Lower Egypt. However, Mut was not, as Lesko states (p. 134), the only Egyptian goddess to do so. To the references to other goddesses wearing the Double Crown I gave in A. Capel and G. Markoe et al., Mistress of the House, Mistress of Heaven, p. 206 n. 4, may be added the following: (A) D. Valbelle, Satis and Anoukis (Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1981), p. 113, fig. 4, no. 285 (an image of Satet of the reign of Hatshepsut), and p. 138, fig. 10, no. 375c (a Dynasty XXV image of Anuket-Ba from Kawa in the Sudan); (B) H. Brunner et al., Die südlichen Räume des Tempels von Luxor (AVDAIK 18; 1977), p. 21 and pl. 74, Sz. XVII/37 (Uto/Wadjet). As is noted on p. 76, in this scene Mut wears both the Double Crown and vulture headdress whereas Uto lacks the latter; (C) H. W. Müller and E. Thiem, The Royal Gold of Ancient Egypt (London and New York: I. B. Tauris, 1999), pp. 185–88 (corselet of Tutankhamun with image of Iusaas with the Double Crown); (D) J. Vandier, “Iousâas et (Hathor)-Nébet-Hétépet,” RdÉ 16 (1964), p. 95 (a Ramesside image of Mut-NebetHetepet), and p. 130 (a Ptolemaic image of Iuuaas-Hathor). For a possible association of Nebet-Hetepet and Mut of the time of Thutmose IV, see R. Fazzini, et al., Ancient Egyptian Art in The Brooklyn Museum (Brooklyn: The Brooklyn Museum, 1989), no. 39, n. 3; (E) C. Robisek, Das Bildprogram des Muttempels am Gebel Barkal (Beiträge zur Ägyptologie 8; Vienna: Universität Wien, 1989), pp. 61–62, and 115 (a Dynasty XXV Hathor wearing the Double Crown). On the other hand, Lepsius’ reconstruction of an image in Thutmose III’s Akhmenu of Nekhbet as wearing a double crown would seem to be inaccurate: LD III, pl. 35A. I am grateful to Dr. Emily Teeter of the Oriental Institute Museum for checking for me the Oriental Institute photographs of this relief. On the Double Crown in general, see S. Collier, The Crowns of Pharaoh: Their Development and Significance in Ancient Egyptian Kingship (Ph.D. Diss., University of California, Los Angeles; Ann Arbor: UMI, 1996), pp.16–36. 28. Cairo CG 910: PM II2, p. 261. M. Benson, J. Gourlay, and P. Newberry, The Temple of Mut in Asher: An account of the excavation of the temple and of the religious representations and objects found therein, as illustrating the history of Egypt and the main religious ideas of the Egyptians (London: John Murray, 1899), p. 316, drew nothing in the damaged space but suggested “chapel (?).” Given the version of the text by K. Sethe (Urk. IV, 521, 4), who restored sb·wy in the damaged area, E. Blumenthal, I. Müller, and W. Reinecke (eds.), Urkunden der 18. Dynastie: Übersetzung zu den Heften 5–16 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1984), p. 110, have translated the line as “Ich besichtigte das [Aufrichten der beiden Tore] aus schönem weißen Kalkstein.” Given the certainty in Sethe’s copy of only the s, one might wonder if the word might also be restored as sebkhet, which has a number of meanings: Spencer, The Egyptian Temple, pp. 161–69.

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Fig. 7. Limestone structure on early platform of the Mut Temple (Photo: Mary McKercher, Mut Expedition).

The results of the present Mut Expedition have yielded evidence that must be considered in connection with these ancient claims. By the 1985 season of the Mut Expedition, sufficient dirt had been removed from the remains of the Temple of Mut to make it possible to identify the platform of the earliest preserved kernbau of the temple. 29 Some of the inscriptions preserved atop it demonstrate that this platform is no later than the time of Thutmose III and Hatshepsut, but it could be earlier. 30 The limits of this platform are indicated by the rectangle drawn on the map in the rear part of the Mut Temple (fig 1.11). It might also be noted that a sounding at the west end of the Mut Temple’s Second Pylon has uncovered an E–W wall of mud brick that could prove to part of the front section of an early enclosure for the Mut Temple. 29. This was in part the discovery of Van Siclen, whose sweeping of the flooring even revealed the outline for the emplacement of the bottom of the torus molding adorning the southeast corner of the Mut Temple of the first part of Dynasty XVIII. 30. The latter date is a suggestion, for which this author is grateful, by Dieter Arnold based on his examination of photographs of the platform. For the evidence of the site being a cult center for Mut dating no later than the reign of King Amunhotep I (ca. 1514–1493 b.c.) and possibly even to Dynasty XVII, see R. Fazzini, “Some Fragmentary Images,” in J. van Dijk (ed.), Essays on Ancient Egypt in Honour of Herman te Velde, pp. 74–75.

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Fig. 8. Cartouche in limestone of Hatshepsut recarved for Thutmose III (Photo: Mary McKercher, Mut Expedition).

The discovery of the early platform demonstrated at least the following two significant facts: (1) The longitudinal axis of the early platform remained the axis of the Mut Temple throughout its history 31 and it did not, as sometimes suggested, 32 shift from west to east with changes in the N–S axis of the Amun Temple; (2) King Amunhotep III (ca. 1390–1353 b.c.) did not, as is often stated, build or rebuild the entire Mut Temple. 33 Indeed, if it is most likely that he enlarged the Mut Temple and undertook other work in the precinct, this remains to be proved. 34 And the same is true of the hypothesis that the Mut Temple and its sacred lake can be identified with the Maru (“Viewing Space”) that Amunhotep III claimed in an inscription to have built somewhere at Thebes. 35 31. Ricke, Das Kamutef-Heiligtum, p. 44, n. 1. 32. See, most recently figs. IV.17 and IV.18 on pp. 94–95 of B. Bryan, et al., Egypt’s Dazzling Sun: Amenhotep III and His World (Cleveland: The Cleveland Museum of Art, 1992). In commenting on Hatshepsut’s having made a priority of the Amun Temple’s N–S axis and linking it to the Mut Temple and the Luxor Temple, Bryan (p. 96) states that “Hatshepsut herself was responsible for the gateway to Mut’s Temple, and large numbers of early to mid-Dynasty 18 statuary attest to the attention focused in this direction.” The latter part of the statement is definitely true, but the former part is a bit misleading in that the gateway excavated is a W–E side entrance to the Precinct. 33. E.g., PM II2, p. 255. And see, most recently, R. Wilkinson, The Complete Temples of Egypt (New York: Thames & Hudson, 2000), p. 163: “The Mut Temple was built mainly by Amenophis III, though it received later additions . . . .” 34. Cf. R. Fazzini, “Report on the 1983 Season of Excavation,” pp. 294–95. 35. The latter suggestion is that of L. Manniche, “The Maru built by Amenophis III: Its Significance and Possible Location,” in L’Égyptologie en 1979: Axes prioritaires de recherches II (Paris: Éditions du Centre

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Fig. 9. New Kingdom relief in the Temple of Mut (Photo: Mary McKercher, Mut Expedition).

Fig. 7 is a view toward the north of the remains of a structure in limestone (altered by later additions in sandstone) just to the west of the main axis of the then Mut Temple. Ricke 36 believed the limestone structure to be the remains of Hatshepsut’s Mut Temple with the sandstone all around it dating to Amunhotep III, and the Expedition has added to the evidence for dating this limestone structure to the reign of Hatshepsut. The circular hole to the right (east) of part of the limestone structure was found to be full of limestone chips, presumably fallen from the structure. Two of these were decorated. One bore part of a single hieroglyph, but on the other fragment (fig. 8) is preserved the bottom portion of a cartouche with the left half of an upraised pair of arms (a hieroglyph reading ka) and, carved over it, part of a scarab beetle (a hieroglyph reading kheper). As first observed by National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1982), pp. 271–73. This identification of Amunhotep III’s Maru was questioned by L. Bell who suggested that it might be part of the Luxor Temple (“Luxor Temple and the Cult of the Royal Ka,” JNES 44 [1985], p. 275), but the question of the identification of Mut’s sacred lake, named Isheru, with Amunhotep III’s Maru is again under investigation, this time by A. Cabrol and C. Traunecker: A. Cabrol, “Une représentation de la tombe de Khâbekhenet et les dromos de Karnaksud: Nouvelles hypothèses,” Centre Franco-Égyptien d’Étude des Temples de Karnak: Cahiers de Karnak X. 1995 (Paris: Éditions du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1995), p. 54 n. 83. 36. H. Ricke, Das Kamutef-Heiligtum, p. 26.

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Fig. 10. The northeast corner of the Mut Temple’s First Pylon and the adjacent stone gateway (Photo: Mary McKercher, Mut Expedition).

Van Siclen, this decoration can be interpreted as the remains of Hatshepsut’s prenomen, Maatkare that has been transformed into Menkheperre, a prenomen of Thutmose III, with the names having been written as remaatka and remenkheper because of honorific transposition. And whether or not this structure is the work in limestone mentioned on Puiemre’s statue, it would seem that work in limestone for Hatshepsut in the Mut was not limited to two doors. Moreover, there is reason to believe that Hatshepsut also built in sandstone at the early Mut Temple. A number of the sandstone blocks fallen in the kernbau, as well as some of those reused in a Dynasty XXV rebuilding of part of this structure and possibly from here, are inscribed for Thutmose III, and some may have originally included images or mentions of Hatshepsut. 37 Hence, if Amunhotep III commissioned work in the main structure of the Mut Temple, that work would best be identified with the enlargement built around the original platform, and possibly the gateway in the First Pylon, which was reworked in later times. 38 As noted 37. For the Dynasty XXV rebuilding, see Fazzini and Peck, “The Precinct of Mut During Dynasty XXV and early Dynasty XXVI,” pp. 114–18. 38. Fazzini, “Report on the 1983 Season,” p. 300 n. 1. The gateway in this pylon and its decoration are the subject of a monograph, in progress, by H. te Velde, J.-C. Goyon, J. Van Dijk, R. Fazzini, W. Peck, and M. McKercher.

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elsewhere, 39 our investigations of the foundations for this enlargement only yielded evidence that they could be of the reign of Amunhotep III but not that they were necessarily of that reign. Determining the answer to the question of the dating of the stonework around the Mut Temple’s early platform is further complicated by the fact that no faces are preserved in the one large remaining area of relief in that part of the temple. The best preserved part of this decoration, illustrated here for the first time (fig. 9), has been described as the lower part of a scene of a “king, with attendant, before a goddess.” 40 Here it can be noted that the attendant figure is a not unusual representation of a king’s ka but is a type known from various periods of time, including the reign of Amunhotep III. 41 Finally, it might also be noted that one thing neither Amunhotep III nor any pre-Ptolemaic king did was build a pylon in stone for the Mut Temple. Whoever built the Mut Temple’s First Pylon built it in mud brick. This was plastered and whitewashed, and its northwest corner had, or came to have, a projecting rounded surface, apparently evocative of a torus molding. The northeast corner, on the other hand, preserves what appears to be the bottom of a torus molding made from two stones supporting a stone vessel turned upside down (fig. 10). The two stones appeared to be a box, and so we temporarily removed them. They did have cavities but were empty. Our theory concerning this feature is that it was a repair possibly made at the time of the construction of the adjacent stone gateway, that we believe (suggestion of William Peck) future excavation may show to be a work of Dynasty XXV. As for the Second Pylon of the Mut Temple, it is not a true pylon in that its rear surface is vertical rather than battered. In the Ptolemaic Period it came to have an eastern tower in stone, of which only the front face is battered, and was never totally finished. 42 As for its western “tower,” originally a wall in mud brick, this appears to have acquired a battered and white plastered front face, 43 probably at the same time as the eastern tower was rebuilt in stone, and there is no evidence that the Mut Temple’s Second Pylon was a pylon before the Ptolemaic Period. Moreover, there is no compelling evidence to date the decoration of the stone front and side walls of the Mut Temple’s Second Court to a time before Dynasty XIX; and, if the Mut Temple’s First Court ever had stone side walls, they were replaced by ones of brick in the Ptolemaic or Roman Period. 44 39. Fazzini, “Report on the 1983 Season,” pp. 294–95. 40. PM II 2 p. 258 (13), and no. 13 on plan XXV. 41. H. Brunner et al., Die südlichen Räume des Tempels von Luxor, p. 77, lists a number of such scenes. Perhaps the closest parallels to the Mut scene are pls. 43 and 105. 42. R. Fazzini and W. Peck, “The 1982 Season at Mut,” NARCE 120 (Winter, 1982), pp. 38–41, and figs. 3, 5, and 6; and R. Fazzini and W. Peck, “Postscript,” JARCE 20 (1983), p. 61. 43. With the exception of longitudinal and transverse walkways in sandstone, the First Court of the Mut Temple was of earth plastered white, a few fragments of which have been preserved 44. Fazzini, “Report on the 1983 Season,” p. 292, and pl. III, a–b.

Title drop

Defending Connoisseurship: A Thrice Re-inscribed Sphinx of Dynasty XII Rita E. Freed

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Internationally respected for his knowledge of archaeology of the ancient Near East, Donald Hansen passed on that knowledge to several generations lucky enough to count themselves among his students. With a critical but kind voice, he taught us to pursue archaeological and art historical evidence to its logical end. In this era when connoisseurship has fallen out of favor, it seemed worthwhile to apply Professor Hansen’s teachings to a magnificent object whose date and significance can only be ascertained when it is analyzed art historically. In 1886, W. F. Petrie, working for the Egypt Exploration Fund, excavated a granite sphinx at the Eastern Egyptian Delta site of Nebesheh, 8 miles southeast of Tanis (fig. 1). 1 It was presented to the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, in 1888 and now bears the number 88.747. Although headless and lacking any inscription contemporary with its manufacture, its superb sleek lines and taut body command respect and invite further investigation. This still proud animal, measuring 1.7 m in length, 2 was found on the inner side of a temple’s southern pylon, opposite a companion. 3 The earliest remains in the temple are from the Middle Kingdom. 4 Additional material was inscribed for Ramesses II, 5 Merenptah, 6 Sethnakht, and Ramesses III. 7 Based on these finds, Petrie decided the temple was built in Dynasty XII, redone in Dynasty XIX under Ramesses II, and reused in Dynasty XXVI. 8 However, the paucity of finds and lack of architectural remains from the Middle Kingdom render his

1. W. Petrie, Nebesheh (Am) and Defeneh (Tahpanhes) (London: Trübner, 1888), pp. 10–11 and pl. X, 6a. 2. W: 48 cm. Preserved Ht: 54 cm. 3. The companion, found on the north side, had been reduced to “chips” (Petrie, Nebesheh, p. 10). 4. Specifically, an offering table inscribed for Amenemhat II and two bases of over-life-size statues, one of which bore the cartouche of Sesostris III (Petrie, Nebesheh, p. 29 and pl. ix, 1–2). 5. Petrie, Nebesheh, pp. 7–10. 6. Petrie, Nebesheh, pp. 7, 9. 7. Their names are on the Boston sphinx. 8. Petrie, Nebesheh, p. 7.

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Fig. 1. Boston, MFA 88.747. From Nebesheh. Gift of the Egypt Exploration Fund, 1888 (Courtesy of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston).

conclusions unsupportable. 9 Accordingly, although the sphinx was excavated, its archaeological context provides no information about its origins or its date. The Boston sphinx is well inscribed. Ramesses III of Dynasty XX, whose cartouches are carved directly over the striations of the mane, was the last king to place his name on this object. The cartouche of his father Seth-nakht is found in the center of the mane, where it is cut into a deeply recessed area (fig. 2). This location originally featured at least one earlier name, if not more. The same king’s cartouche may also be read on the statue’s upper left shoulder, 10 where it is carved into a significantly larger but roughly cartouche-shaped abraded surface. This area, which contrasts markedly with the highly polished surface surrounding it, probably also held an earlier inscription, now erased. 11 The sphinx’s upper right shoulder likewise has an abraded area of cartouche shape, but no inscription is currently present. The animal’s right thigh was once similarly inscribed and erased. The left thigh, including the tuft of the tail, is gone. 9. It is more likely Ramesses II built the temple; see Petrie, Nebesheh, p. 11. 10. The sphinx terminology used here follows B. Fay, The Louvre Sphinx and Royal Sculpture from the Reign of Amenemhat II (Mainz: von Zabern, 1996), p. 17. 11. Had an earlier inscription not been present, Seth-nakht’s cartouche would have been carved directly onto the original polished surface of the body.

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A roughened, concave trough extending the length of the outstretched forelegs probably also once featured an inscription. Remains of yet another inscription are present on three sides of the vertical edge of the sphinx’s base. Although Petrie was able to decipher a few signs from the edge inscriptions, 12 a more recent attempt demonstrated that many of his readings were conjectural. 13 Petrie attributed this inscription, as well as one added to an offering table of Amenemhat II found near the sphinx, to “probably Dynasty Thirteen to Seventeen,” 14 apparently because the cutting of both was, in his opinion, crude. 15 In short, although the extant inscriptions on the Boston sphinx yield no information about when the piece was made, they do indicate that it had at least three usurpers subsequent to its original owner. 16 As unusual as this seems, it is not unprecedented. Potent representations of different forms of the sun god, particularly from the New Kingdom on, 17 sphinxes, more so than any other statuary, were often subjected to repeated usurpations. 18 Other alterations to the sphinx provide additional information. Raking light reveals that the Boston sphinx once wore a nemes. The outline of its lappets and tail are visible, although both were neatly chiseled out (figs. 2, 3). The former were replaced with parallel striations weakly mimicking those found elsewhere on the front of the mane (fig. 2). A smooth break and a notch of roughly triangular shape visible on the broad collar suggest that the head was not only deliberately knocked off, but also that a new one, probably complete with nemes, was slotted in. 19 With regard to the date of the Boston sphinx, Petrie ascribed it to the Middle Kingdom, because he assumed it predated the Hyksos, who he thought were responsible for the inscriptions on the base 20 and because there was additional Middle Kingdom material at the site. Given that this evidence is not universally accepted, his conclusions are worthy of reexamination. First, since the earliest sphinxes date to Dynasty IV, 21 the possibility that the sphinx dates to the Old Kingdom should not be dismissed without consideration. But, details found on the Boston sphinx, including the parallel vertical striations that form the apron-like front of the 12. For what Petrie saw, see Petrie, Nebesheh, pl. X, 6a. 13. I am grateful to my colleagues, Dr. Denise Doxey and Dr. Lawrence Berman for their assistance in examining this inscription and confirming that it is illegible. 14. Petrie, Nebesheh, p. 10. 15. Petrie, Nebesheh, p. 29. 16. Specifically, at least one prior to Seth-nakht and his son. It is not out of the question that there were two usurpers before Seth-nakht. In view of the fact that Ramesses II usurped other large-scale sculpture found at Nebesheh, it is possible his name was carved on the sphinx as well, perhaps after the erasure of a Hyksos inscription. One such usurped statue is MFA 87.111, which now bears the name of Ramesses II but was most likely a statue of Amenhotep III originally (despite Petrie, Nebesheh, p. 10). 17. For a discussion of this aspect and comprehensive literature on the topic, see recently H. Sourouzian, “Le roi, le sphinx et le lion: Quelques monuments mal connus de Tell el-Maskhouta,” in H. Guksch and D. Polz (eds.), Stationen: Beiträge zur Kulturgeschichte Ägyptens (Mainz: von Zabern, 1998), pp. 418ff. 18. The colossal sphinxes from Tanis, for example, were usurped four times (as the Boston sphinx may also have been). See L. Habachi, “The So-Called Hyksos Monuments Reconsidered,” SAK 6 (1978), especially fig. 3. 19. The total replacement of heads on sphinxes in not unique. An entire avenue of sphinxes which once bore the heads of Akhenaten and Nefertiti was decapitated and ram heads were substituted. See C. Traunecker, “Aménophis IV et Néfertiti: Le Couple royal d’après les talatates du IX pylône de Karnak,” BSFE 107 (1986), pp. 20ff. 20. Petrie, Nebesheh, p. 16. 21. Cairo JE 35137, for example, illustrated in Fay, Sphinx, pl. 83a–d.

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Fig. 2. Boston, MFA 88.747. From Nebesheh. Gift of the Egypt Exploration Fund, 1888 (Photo: Timothy Kendall).

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Fig. 3. Boston, MFA 88.747. From Nebesheh. Gift of the Egypt Exploration Fund, 1888 (Photo: Timothy Kendall).

mane 22 and the beaded broad collar are not present on any sphinxes of the Old Kingdom. 23 Therefore, an Old Kingdom date seems unlikely. On the basis of its extant inscriptions, the Boston sphinx could be as late as Early Dynasty XX. Could the Boston sphinx date to the New Kingdom, especially since New Kingdom sphinxes are based on their Middle Kingdom predecessors? 24 Stylistic peculiarities of New Kingdom sphinxes include an incised band at the bottom of the front of the mane, 25 rounded (rather than angular) paws, 26 and wrists encircled by multiple incised lines. 27 Since none of these is present on the Boston sphinx, it is likely that Petrie was correct in attributing the 22. H. G. Evers, Staat aus dem Stein II (Munich: Bruckmann, 1929), p. 89, par. 602. 23. Evers, Staat II, pp. 30–31, 101, par. 197, 209, 659; Fay, Sphinx, p. 21; H. Sourouzian, “A Headless Sphinx of Sesostris III from Heliopolis in the Egyptian Museum, Cairo JE 37796,” in P. Der Manuelian (ed.), Studies in Honor of William Kelly Simpson (Boston: Museum of Fine Arts, 1996), p. 748. 24. As noted by U. Schweitzer, Löwe und Sphinx im alten Ägypten (Glückstadt and Hamburg: J. J. Augustin, 1948), p. 58. 25. Evers, Staat II, p. 90, par. 608. 26. Evers, Staat II, p. 86, par. 586. 27. Evers, Staat II, p. 87, par. 589.

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Fig. 4. Boston, MFA 88.747. From Nebesheh. Gift of the Egypt Exploration Fund, 1888 (Photo: Timothy Kendall).

sphinx to the Middle Kingdom. More recent scholarship, particularly the development of dating criteria based on analysis of body modeling, permits a more precise dating. 28 Since Petrie’s time, the Boston sphinx has not gone unnoticed. Biri Fay, in her catalogue of Middle Kingdom sphinxes, attributes the sphinx to Sesostris II(?), because it seems stylistically later than the Louvre sphinx of Amenemhat II. 29 Also, like a sphinx in a private collection which she attributes to Sesostris II, it grasps shen signs in its paws. 30 Hourig Sourouzian accepts Fay’s dating in discussing the shape, length, and striations of the tuft of the tail of the Boston 28. Schweitzer, in Löwe, presented an overview of sphinxes of all dates. For the Middle Kingdom, dating criteria were first established by Evers in his pioneering Staat II, pp. 84ff. and significantly augmented by Biri Fay in her masterful study of the colossal sphinx in the Louvre (Fay, Sphinx), which also includes a catalogue of all dated and dateable Middle Kingdom sphinxes (pp. 62–69). Other authors have shed light on individual pieces. See most notably Sourouzian, “Headless Sphinx,” idem, “Le Roi”; N. Cherpion, “En Reconsidérant le grand sphinx du Louvre A 23,” RdE 42 (l991); and L. Habachi, “The So-called Hyksos Monuments Reconsidered: Apropos of the Discovery of a Dyad of Sphinxes,” SAK 6 (1978). 29. Fay, Sphinx, pp. 22 n. 98 and 65, confirmed by oral communication. 30. Both the Boston sphinx and the Private Collection sphinx have ties facing inward (Fay, Sphinx, p. 22 n. 98).

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Fig. 5. Boston, MFA 88.747. From Nebesheh. Gift of the Egypt Exploration Fund, 1888 (Photo: Timothy Kendall).

sphinx in relation to a sphinx securely dated to Sesostris II. 31 Nadine Cherpion, in her discussion of methods to view and photograph sphinxes, cites it as “date à déterminer.” 32 Overall, the Boston sphinx exhibits an awesome bestiality. The flatness of the front of the mane emphasizes its breadth (fig. 4). Massive and stylized forepaws leave no doubt as to the animal’s ability to inflict injury. The animal’s hindquarters, which appear to press down into the base, are captured in the instant of tension before the animal springs. Subtly modeled oblique grooves on the sphinx’s shoulders suggest muscles rippling below the surface. Abstract touches temper the naturalism, but at the same time enhance its power. These include the flat surface of the back (fig. 3), sharply delineated kneecaps, parallel grooves on the lower hind limbs, and radiating lines which mark the animal’s wrist. The Boston sphinx conveys the decided impression of an animal living within the stone. According to Ursula Schweitzer, this sense of “animalness” in sphinxes began with Sesostris III. 33 She notes that the colossal Louvre sphinx, which she, like Fay, dates to Amenemhat II, has a much looser and conventional body. 34 Following this reasoning, the Boston sphinx post-dates 31. Sourouzian, “Headless Sphinx,” p. 746. The comparison, however, is problematic, since the tail of the Boston sphinx was completely destroyed just at the juncture of the tuft. 32. N. Cherpion, “Conseils pour photographier un sphinx,” in C. Obsomer and A.-L. Oosthoek (eds.), Amosiadès: Mélanges offerts au Professeur Claude Vandersleyen par ses ancients étudiants (Louvain-laNeuve: Université catholique de Louvain, 1992), p. 62. 33. Schweitzer, Löwe, p. 44. For sphinx bodies dated to Sesostris III, see Fay, Sphinx, pls. 86e to 87. 34. Schweitzer, Löwe, p. 44. For an illustration, see Fay, Sphinx, pl. 14b.

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Fig. 6: Cairo, JE 87082. From Bubastis. Attributed to Amenemhat III (Courtesy of the Egyptian Museum, Cairo).

at least Amenemhat II, and probably Sesostris II as well. 35 When viewed from the front, the parallel striations of the front of the mane, now broken by multiple cartouches and a broad depression, were once interrupted only by a narrow column of inscription the width of the space between the innermost edge of the lappets. This space approximately corresponds to the space between the front legs. 36 The inscription most likely continued down the length of the extended forelegs, based on the roughened, concave area that is visible there now. The nature and placement of the inscription varied throughout Dynasty XII from simply a Horus name on the breast, 37 to a more extensive multi-columned titulary in the same place, 38 to a cartouche and titulary beginning on the breast and continuing between the front legs. Dated examples of the last type, which is probably what the Boston sphinx originally had, begin with Amenemhat III. 39 Based on this, the Boston sphinx would date to Amenemhat III or later.

35. Although extremely battered, the one known sphinx securely dated to Sesostris II (Cairo, JE 37796, illustrated in Sourouzian, “Headless Sphinx,” p. 744, figs. 1–3) does not appear to have had the same sharply articulated body modeling characteristic of sphinxes from Sesostris III on. 36. Traces of some of the innermost striations are still visible at the base of the mane. 37. Evers, Staat II, p. 86, par. 584. 38. As on Cairo, JE 37796, illustrated in Fay, Sphinx, pl. 85e. 39. Evers, Staat II, p. 86, par. 584. To his examples, a sphinx from Ras Shamra now in the Damascus National Museum (illustrated in Fay, Sphinx, pl. 88e) must now be added.

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Fig. 7. Boston, MFA 88.747. From Nebesheh. Gift of the Egypt Exploration Fund, 1888 (Courtesy of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston).

Atop the shoulders of the Boston sphinx in an area now destroyed, the stylized parallel striations of the front of the mane change into raised relief tufts of hair that spread over the shoulders and back in a naturalistic manner (fig. 5). The combination of striations and tufts on the mane occurs on sphinxes ranging in date from Amenemhat II through Amenemhat III. 40 Only sphinxes dated to Amenemhat III and Amenemhat IV have tufts that are individually carved in raised relief and are organic rather than linear. 41 On none of these are the tufts as naturalistically rendered as are those of the Boston sphinx, although the examples attributed to Amenemhat III (on the basis of facial features) are closest (fig. 6). 42 Accordingly, this criterion suggests a date during the reign of Amenemhat III for the Boston sphinx. On each side, the Boston sphinx’s body exhibits a sharp fold of flesh which curves upward from its elbow, turns down toward the base (especially on the proper left side), and then dissolves into the curve of the flank (figs. 1, 7). Another crease runs diagonally downward above each paw before it ends. Mid-flank, the body is so subtly modeled between the two folds that in certain lights the folds appear to be connected, although in reality they are not. 40. Amenemhat II: Louvre A 23 (Fay, Sphinx, pls. 14b and 16c); Sesostris III: MMA 17.9.2 (Fay, Sphinx, pl., 87a–b); Amenemhat III: Dubroff Family Collection (Fay, Sphinx, pl. 89a–d). 41. These consist of fully tufted, rather than half-striated examples, which include Cairo JE 87082 attributed to Amenemhat III (Fay, Sphinx, pl. 92a); and BM 58892 dated to Amenemhat IV (Fay, Sphinx, pl. 94a). 42. For example, Cairo JE 87082, illustrated in Fay, Sphinx, pl. 92a.

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Fig. 8. Alexandria Open Air Museum. From Alexandria. Dated to Sesostris III (Courtesy of Jean-Pierre Corteggiani).

Fig. 9. London, BM 58892. From Beirut. Dated to Amenemhat IV (Courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum).

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Similar “interrupted” folds of flesh are found on sphinxes dated to Sesostris III (fig. 8) and certain examples dated to Amenemhat III. 43 Earlier, the flesh folds are oriented along different axes. 44 On other sphinxes bearing Amenemhat III’s name and those dating to Amenemhat IV, one continuous fold stretches the length of the body (fig. 9). 45 On the basis of this criterion, the Boston sphinx most resembles those of Sesostris III and Amenemhat III. The massiveness of the Boston sphinx overwhelms the small base it rests upon. Not only is the base quite low in relation to the height of the sphinx, but the fact that the elbows of the animal’s forelegs extend to the edge indicates it is too narrow. Evers first commented that in the Old and Middle Kingdoms, a sphinx’s base is noticeably wider than its body, but by the New Kingdom, the base becomes smaller relative to the animal. 46 Schweitzer agreed with him but pointed out that this New Kingdom trait began already with the reign of Amenemhat III, as seen on a sphinx at El Kab 47 and on another in the Dubroff Family Collection. 48 The same occurs in the next reign. 49 On the basis of this feature, the date of the Boston sphinx could be Amenemhat III or later. In summary, despite the fact that the Boston sphinx is headless and lacks an inscription contemporary with its manufacture, when the aspects discussed above—the overall conception of the animal, the placement of the inscription, the form of the mane, the modeling of the body, and the relation of the sculpture to its base—are considered together, they suggest that the sphinx was made during the reign of Amenemhat III. The sole detail found on the Boston sphinx that does not occur on dated or dateable examples from Amenemhat III’s reign is the presence of shen rings beneath the paws. Evers noted shen rings on Louvre A 23 of Amenemhat II and again on the lions of Nectanebo II of Dynasty XXX in the Vatican. 50 Fay attributes one other undated example in a private collection to Sesostris II on the basis of style. With regard to the original appearance of the Boston animal, one major question remains, specifically the form of the head. Through an examination of other contemporary sphinxes and sculptures, this problem may also be addressed. Sphinxes dated or dateable to Amenemhat III fall into two distinct categories. The first group comprises the traditional or classical type. These animals exhibit restrained but naturalistic body modeling and wear a fully striated or partly tufted mane, a nemes (if male), and broad collar. 51 None have traces of beards. Presenting latent power and timeless majesty, the animals of this group are the essence of pharaonic kingship and follow the tradition of Old Kingdom

43. Evers, Staat II, p. 88, par. 593. Sesostris III: BM 1849 and MMA 17.9.2 (Fay, Sphinx, pls. 86f and 87a); Amenemhat III: Aleppo 384 and Dubroff Family Collection (Fay, Sphinx, pls 88d, f and 89a, c). 44. Evers, Staat II, p. 88, par. 593. Amenemhat II: Louvre A 23 (Fay, Sphinx, pl. 14b). 45. Evers, Staat II, p. 88, par. 593. Amenemhat III: Cairo CG 393 (Fay, Sphinx, pl. 90c). Amenemhat IV: London, BM 58892, illustrated in Fay, Sphinx, pl. 94a. 46. Evers, Staat II, p. 86, par. 581. 47. Schweitzer, Löwe, p. 43, illustrated in Fay, Sphinx, pl. 90b. 48. Fay, Sphinx, pl. 89a,c. 49. London, BM 58892 (Fay, Sphinx, pl. 94a) and Alexandria 361 (Fay, Sphinx, pl. 94c). 50. Evers, Staat II, p. 86, par. 582. 51. In addition to the Boston sphinx, examples include Aleppo 384 (Fay, Sphinx, pl. 88d), Damascus National Museum from Ras Shamra (Fay, Sphinx, pl. 88e–f) and Dubroff Family Collection (Fay, Sphinx, pl. 89a–d).

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Fig. 10. Cairo, CG 1243. From Tanis. Attributed to Amenemhat III (Courtesy of the Egyptian Museum).

sphinxes. 52 The Boston sculpture belongs in this category. The group also includes two sphinxes, approximately one-third the size of the Boston sphinx, which were found in Syria, 53 where they may have been sent as diplomatic gifts. Another comes from Mitrahineh. 54 Unfortunately, all examples from this time are headless. The second group of sphinxes dated or securely attributed to Amenemhat III is totally innovative. On the body, bone and muscle have been abstracted into a mass of curvilinear forms that go well beyond naturalism into a world of baroque fantasy. Plastically modeled grooves articulate the animal’s flank in imitation of ribs. Below, a pronounced flesh fold continues the length of the body. Additional incised parallel grooves emphasize the body fold above the elbow. These brute beasts have completely tufted manes, fully leonine ears, ruffs, and bearded human faces (fig. 10). 55 Their faces display the high cheekbones, deep furrows, and projecting 52. That is, with the exception of the broad collar, as outlined above. 53. Aleppo 384 (Fay, Sphinx, pl. 88c–d) and Damascus National Museum from Ras Shamra (Fay, Sphinx, pl. 88e–f). 54. Vienna Äs 5753 (Fay, Sphinx, pl. 93 a–b). 55. Examples include Cairo CG 393 (Fay, Sphinx, pl. 90c), Cairo CG 530 (Fay, Sphinx, pl. 91a), Cairo CG 394 (Fay, Sphinx, pl. 91b), Cairo CG 1243 (Fay, Sphinx, pl. 91c) and Cairo JE 87082 (Fay, Sphinx, pl. 92e).

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chins that make them readily identifiable as Amenemhat III and serve as the basis on which they are dated. These are among the most evocative sculptures Egyptian artists ever created. Although the foreboding image of unyielding stubbornness described above is the most common likeness of Amenemhat III, other sculptures of his exhibit, in varying degrees, a more relaxed image. 56 On these, including a statue from Hawara, 57 the monarch’s face is devoid of lines and exaggerated plasticity or nearly so, his lips are not as tense, and he gazes forward into a timeless eternity. This image is more in keeping with the classical face of Egyptian kingship so firmly established by Dynasty IV. The material above illustrates the opposing tendencies of firmly rooted tradition and artful innovation during Amenemhat III’s reign. Because the second group of sphinxes universally features foreboding, furrowed faces, which are quite in keeping with the manneristic forms of their bodies, it is tempting to assume the Boston sphinx with its classical body type, as well as others in that category, once displayed faces that tended toward the more traditional, idealized end of the scale. The original findspot of the Boston sphinx is one remaining problem for which the art historical material provides no satisfying solution. Although the Boston sphinx was found at Nebesheh, the lack of contemporary architectural remains from that site strongly suggests that it was brought from elsewhere. 58 What can be said is that visitors who entered the temple precinct at Nebesheh from the New Kingdom on (at least) were greeted by two proud and stalwart beasts that symbolized Egyptian kingship at its best.

56. E. Russmann linked the different faces of Amenemhat III with his advancing age and remarked that these different stages were possibly more apparent with him than with any other Egyptian king or private individual (E. Russmann, Egyptian Sculpture: Cairo and Luxor [Austin: University of Texas, 1989], p. 62). For a discussion of the youthful style, see F. Polz, “Die Bildnisse Sesostris’ III. und Amenemhets III.: Bemerkungen zur Königlichen Rundplastik der späten 12. Dynastie,” MDAIK 51 (1995), p. 233. 57. Cairo CG 385, illustrated in H. G. Evers, Staat aus dem Stein I (Munich: Bruckmann, 1929), pls. 102–4. 58. Two sphinxes in the traditional group but one-third the size of the Boston sphinx were found in Syria (Aleppo 384 and Damascus National Museum from Ras Shamra, illustrated in Fay, Sphinx, pl. 88c--f), where they may have been sent as diplomatic gifts. Another, a female, comes from Mitrahineh (Vienna Äs 5753, illustrated in Fay, Sphinx, pl. 93 a–b). Originally it would have been approximately twothirds the size of the Boston sphinx. The more baroque sphinxes of known provenance were found at Tanis and Bubastis (Fay, Sphinx, p. 67 and pls. 90c–92a), but were also brought from elsewhere. A number of sculptures with the more idealized faces are from the Fayum (for example, H. G. Evers, Staat aus dem Stein I [Munich: Bruckmann, 1929], pls. 102–4), where Amenemhat III erected temples and his pyramid, but still others found there were of the more mannered type (for example, Evers, Staat I, pls. 127– 28). Similarly, faces illustrating both extremes were excavated at Delta sites (for example, Evers, Staat I, pls. 115–16 and 129–30).

Tomorrow We Dig! Excerpts from Vaughn E. Crawford’s Letters and Newsletters from al-Hiba Selected and Introduced by Prudence O. Harper

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In November 1968, after several years of preliminary planning, Donald P. Hansen then Associate Professor of Fine Arts at the Institute of Fine Arts, New York University, and Vaughn E. Crawford, Curator of the Department of Ancient Near Eastern Art at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, began a five-season program of excavations at the site of al-Hiba in southern Iraq on behalf of their two institutions. 1 In a letter written in 1963 to Charles K. Wilkinson, Curator of the Department of Near Eastern Art, Vaughn Crawford, then Associate Research Curator, expressed his hopes of setting up a new American expedition to southern Iraq, a primary motivating factor being the arrival at the Institute of Fine Arts in New York, from the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, of a respected colleague and friend of many years, Donald Hansen, with whom Vaughn looked forward to establishing a collaborative venture. Donald’s responsibilities as a new member of the academic staff at the Institute of Fine Arts and his role as Director of the Institute’s Mendes Expedition in the Egyptian Delta would delay the initiation of any excavation at least until 1967 but initial plans began to be made, and in September of 1965 Donald and Vaughn made an archaeological survey in southern Iraq in order to identify sites to recommend to the Directors of the Institute and the Museum. In a memo to James J. Rorimer, Director of the Metropolitan Museum, Vaughn laid out the requirements for the selection of a site: 1. The Department of Ancient Near Eastern Art at the Metropolitan Museum is preparing a publication of excerpts from Vaughn Crawford’s informal, unpublished Newsletters from archaeological sites in the Near East where he participated as a staff member. I am grateful to Dr. Ira Spar, who is compiling this material, and to Dr. Joan Aruz, Curator of the Department of Ancient Near Eastern Art, for permission to publish selections from the Newsletters concerning al-Hiba and to quote from Departmental memos and letters. All these materials are in the archives of the Department of Ancient Near Eastern Art.

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be potentially productive in information and artifacts. 2 contain levels of various periods fairly near to the surface. be near water. be reasonably near a source of supplies.

As a result of the survey in 1965, Donald and Vaughn recommended to Craig Hugh Smythe, Director of the Institute of Fine Arts and James J. Rorimer two sites for possible excavation: alHiba and Bad-tibira. This decision is discussed in the excerpts selected from a letter of Feb. 9, 1966 to Adelaide Milton de Groot, whose Fund at the Museum contributed to three seasons of the five-season project at al-Hiba and continues to enable several curatorial departments to undertake archaeological excavations in a number of countries. 3 The final choice was al-Hiba and formal permission for a 1968–69 season was received from the Iraq Department of Antiquities early in 1968. Permits were customarily issued for a single season of excavation only and this fact always introduced a level of uncertainty into the planning process. In the course of the al-Hiba project, permits were not received in 1969 and 1974. A trip planned in 1967 to build expedition headquarters had to be postponed because of the Arab-Israeli conflict, and throughout the decade of excavations at al-Hiba the political situation in Iraq remained somewhat unstable, with coups and attempted coups occuring at intervals. Personnel in charge of archaeological matters also changed: the first Director-General of the Iraq Department of Antiquities to work with Donald and Vaughn was Dr. Faisal al Wailly, followed by Dr. Isa Salman and finally by Dr. Muayyad Said Damirji. A great loss to archaeologists working in Iraq at this time was the tragic death in a car accident in 1978 of Professor Fuad Safar, Inspector General of Excavations, who had accompanied Thorkild Jacobsen and Vaughn Crawford, respectively Annual Professor and Annual Fellow of the Baghdad School of the American Schools of Oriental Research, in a 1953 survey of sites, including al-Hiba, along 2. At the time that the excavation at al-Hiba began, the Iraq Antiquities Law No. 59 of 1936 was still in effect and allowed for a division of antiquities: Article 49 All antiquities discovered by the excavators shall be the property of the State. The excavator shall, however, be granted as a reward for his work: i) The right of taking casts of the discovered antiquities. ii) Half of the duplicated objects. iii) Any of the antiquities which the ºIraq government may dispense with owing to the existence in the ºIraq Museum of similar objects in type, style, material,workmanship, historical indication and artistic value. This Law was amended after the first season of excavation at al-Hiba in 1968–69 and, as finally published in 1974, The First Amendment to the Law of Antiquities No. 59 of 1936 did not allow any division of the antiquities discovered. The excavators were given the right to obtain casts, photographs, plans, and maps of antiquities discovered, potsherds and organic matters as well as export licenses for the abovenoted materials. Vaughn and Donald, at the suggestion of the Iraq Department of Antiquities, agreed to defer the division of objects from the first al-Hiba season and, in fact, that division was never made. 3. The three al-Hiba seasons in the five-season project for which support came from the de Groot Fund were in 1972–73; 1975–76; 1977–78. A systematic survey of al-Hiba in 1984 was directed by Elizabeth Carter, University of California, Los Angeles and also received de Groot Fund support: Report on Projects Funded by The Adelaide Milton de Groot Fund, in Memory of the de Groot and Hawley Families 1983– 1986 (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1987), pp. 3–4.

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the ancient southern Mesopotamian canal systems. Vaughn wrote in 1978, “the Iraq Department of Antiquities has suffered a severe loss. To his friends the loss is irreparable.” The following excerpts from letters and newsletters written by Vaughn Crawford touch on some of the spectacular results of the five-season project now well-known from publications by Donald P. Hansen: 4 the confirmation that al-Hiba is the site of ancient Lagash; the discovery in Area A of an oval temple, the Ibgal of Inanna, constructed (Level 1) by a historically known Early Dynastic ruler, Enannatum I (ca. 2450 b.c.); the confirmation of the location of the Bagara of Ningirsu, the chief deity of Lagash, in Area B and the discovery within the Early Dynastic precinct of this temple complex of what is probably the earliest known brewery; the excavation in Area C of a late Early Dynastic administrative building that produced inscriptions of three governors of Lagash; and the initiation of excavations in a structure in Area G having a major curving wall (probably a temple oval) and extensive Early Dynastic I (2900–2750 b.c.) levels (fig. 1). 5 Major artifacts found in these areas included inscribed foundation deposits including copper figures of Shulutula, the personal god of Enannatum I (fig. 2), in Area A; decorated maceheads in Area B; a hoard of copper vessels and some unusual and spectacular Early Dynastic seal impressions on sealings, one having the name of Eannatum (fig. 3), as well as tablets in Area C. Although there was never a division of objects, the Iraq Department of Antiquities lent to The Metropolitan Museum of Art a selection of pieces which were exhibited with a few Sumerian objects from the Museum and other collections from Nov. 16, 1972 through January 28, 1973 in a special display: Al-Hiba: Expedition into the Past. Various factors led to the modification of the al-Hiba project after the planned five seasons of excavation. 6 Both Donald Hansen and Vaughn Crawford had other responsibilities, and Vaughn, thinking ahead to his planned retirement from the Museum, felt that his “days of managing expeditions are over.” The increasing complexity and bureaucracy, including a new stipulation that all field expeditions in Iraq excavate as well at sites in the Hamrin that would be flooded as a result of dam construction, added to the time needed to set up and effectively carry out an archaeological expedition. In the final 1977–78 season, it was required for the first time that the al-Hiba expedition undertake a rescue operation in the Hamrin Dam reservoir area. This salvage project on the Diyala River was organized at the last minute and successfully carried out at Tell Genj under the direction of Karen Wilson Briggs who was assisted by 4. “Al-Hiba, 1968–1969, A Preliminary Report,” Artibus Asiae 32 (1970), pp. 243–50; “Al-Hiba, 1970– 1971, A Preliminary Report,” Artibus Asiae 35 (1973), pp. 62–70; “Al-Hiba, A Summary of Four Seasons of Excavation 1968–76,” Sumer 34 (1978), pp. 72–84; “Lagas,” in RlA VI (1983), pp. 422–30; “Royal Building Activity at Sumerian Lagash in the Early Dynastic Period,” Biblical Archaeologist (1992), pp. 206–11. For additional publications on al-Hiba by other authors, see bibliographies and footnotes in the works cited above and the article by Edward Ochsenschlager in this volume. 5. This area was the focus of a sixth season at al-Hiba in 1990 after Vaughn Crawford’s untimely death in 1981. See n. 6 below. 6. While the initial project at al-Hiba was a five-season collaboration, a sixth Metropolitan Museum— Institute of Fine Arts, New York University season in cooperation with Brooklyn College of the City University of New York and the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology was undertaken between February and May, 1990. The excavations, directed by Professor Hansen, focused on Area G and the administrative quarter of the Early Dynastic I temple oval discovered there in an earlier season. Over 160 clay sealings were recovered from three well-stratified levels. The sealings bore impressions of ten different cylinder seals: Donald P. Hansen in: Report on Projects funded by The Adelaide Milton de Groot Fund, in Memory of the de Groot and Hawley Families—1990–1996 (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, n.d.), pp. 6–8; “The Sixth Season at al-Hiba,” Mar Sipri (1990), pp. 1–3.

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Fig. 1. Plan of the site of al-Hiba.

Suzanne Heim and Melissa Meighan. 7 The excavation occurred concurrently with the 1977–78 season at al-Hiba. The passages cited below from Vaughn Crawford’s informal newsletters distributed to friends and supporters are not intended as an archaeological review of the excavations but rather as a reminder of an era of archaeological excavation in Iraq in which Donald Hansen 7. “Excavations in Iraq, 1977–78, Tell Genj,” Iraq 41 (1979), pp. 171–72.

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Fig. 2. Copper foundation figurine of Shulutula and stone with inscription of Enannatum I; Area A, Ibgal of Inanna.

played a major role. The responsibilities of the two partners in this collaboration were clearly established from the start. Donald Hansen was in charge of the excavations at the site and established the focus and the priorities. Vaughn Crawford undertook the enormous management challenges in New York and Baghdad, as well as doing photography and working on inscribed materials both as an epigrapher and conservator. Throughout the passages quoted, Vaughn uses the editorial “we,” but the interpretation of the finds, suggested identifications of structures, and preliminary conclusions reflected in the text are based primarily on Donald Hansen’s opinions at the time when the work was in its initial stages. Professor Hansen’s choices of locations in which to excavate were remarkably fortuitous and his skill in interpreting the complex and problematic stratigraphy in many of the areas was crucial to the success of the project. Although many persons participated in the excavations at al-Hiba, the chief archaeological component was the ever-changing group of Professor Hansen’s graduate students coming each season from the Institute of Fine Arts. They learned archaeological method from a master and contributed to the final results in the field as well as in the later study of the archaeological remains. 8 8. Z. Bahrani, The Administrative Building at Tell Al Hiba, Lagash (Ph.D. dissertation, Institute of Fine Arts, New York University, 1989).

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Fig. 3. Drawing of sealing with impression and inscription naming Eannatum; Area C, administrative building.

These newsletters from al-Hiba, written with a naturalness of manner and facility of expression characteristic of Vaughn Crawford, have been only minimally edited. With a little imagination, we can hear discussions of the day’s excavations among the expedition staff in the living room/dining room mudhif at al-Hiba and can transport ourselves to a time and place of seminal importance in the history of archaeology in Iraq. Letter to Miss Adelaide Milton de Groot from Vaughn E. Crawford, February 9, 1966 Dear Miss de Groot, In the autumn of 1965 I travelled once more to the Near East. My principal business this time took me to Iraq where together with Donald Hansen from the Institute of Fine Arts, I wanted to select an important ancient site for a joint excavation by our two institutions. Dr. Hansen and I met in Baghdad in early September long before the Iraqi summer was past. We knew how hot it would be and were not disappointed. Some days were necessary in Baghdad to get the formalities of our visit finished with the Department of Antiquities and especially to get the Land Rover which we were borrowing from the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago going. From Baghdad we journeyed south. . . . Our next days were devoted to visiting five of the great ancient sites of southern Mesopotamia--al-Hiba, Bad-tibira, Umm el-Aqarib, Umma, and Ibzeikh. We saw all of them under the same burning sun. . . . Seldom is there a cloud in the sky, and it never rains in summer. . . .

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The interesting thing about al-Hiba is that it far exceeds Tello in size. In fact it takes a full hour to walk from one extremity to the other. Only a small sondage or two have been dug there, and that was in the 19th century. It is very different from other Mesopotamian mounds in that it is almost completely surrounded by marshes and can be reached only by boat. What a smooth and relaxing experience it is to ride to an Iraqi site by boat as I did to al-Hiba for the first time more than 12 years ago and again so recently. At one edge of al-Hiba lies a large village, so workmen would be plentiful. There is a canal full of water, so it would be necessary only to boil it for drinking. The economy of the immediate area is tied up with fishing, water buffalo, rice, and some kind of bean. We had lunch consisting of rice, fish, chicken, yoghurt, a sweet, and tea while many boys kept a great fan going by hand both for cooling and to help free us of the flies. Bad-tibira lies not on a canal but is only fifteen minutes’ drive from a big new irrigation ditch called the Holland Canal because it was built by Dutch engineers. One could get water from this canal and possibly from wells which the natives tell us it is feasible to dig at this site. Bad-tibira is one of the five antediluvian cities mentioned in the Sumerian king list, and its kings are said to have ruled longer than those of any other cities. Whereas the range of time at al-Hiba would probably be from 4000–2000 b.c., at Bad-tibira it might come down according to the pottery as much as another five hundred years or approaching 1500 b.c. Some structures lie near the surface according to inscribed cones of Entemena, the Early Dynastic king of roughly 2500 b.c. The site is smaller than al-Hiba, although still large. Its greater range of time is attractive, and there would be less water-table trouble than at al-Hiba. Either al-Hiba or Bad-tibira would mean excavating on a site of prime importance for early Sumerian history. These are the sites which Dr. Hansen and I have recommended to Mr. Smythe and Mr. Rorimer. When we started back to Baghdad from Nasiryah, the Iraqi radio was silent, and silence on the radio only means trouble. Sure enough there had been an attempted coup, fortunately for us unsuccessful, else we might have remained in Iraq a little longer than we had intended. When we got to Baghdad itself all was quiet. So we sweated in the hot weather until the closing formalities of our investigations were finished. Dr. Hansen returned to Egypt and I went off to Iran. Expedition to al-Hiba—First Season Newsletter, November 8, 1968 In the early autumn of 1965 Professor Hansen and the writer came to Iraq to choose one of several sites to propose as a place at which to excavate at some future date. We examined tells in this region, because both of us are much interested in Sumerian civilization. We were seeking a place for a joint undertaking by the Institute of Fine Arts of New York University and The Metropolitan Museum of Art. The die was cast for al-Hiba. Choosing a site, however, is only one of the preliminary steps. We now had a specific mound for which to make a concrete proposal for an excavation. We discussed the matter in detail with our directors, Craig Hugh Smythe and the late James J. Rorimer. After the latter’s untimely death, his successor, Thomas P. F. Hoving, was vigorous in his support of our plans. With the backing of two important institutions, each recognized as a leader in its respective field, we could begin the task of seeking adequate financing. In the case of a large tell such as this to work for one season is no beginning at all. Indeed the five campaigns which we plan as a beginning are too few. We proposed a division of labor between our two institutions which

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seemed suitable to our circumstances. The Metropolitan Museum could not spare from its Ancient Near East Department more than one person at a time for a full season in the field or, at the maximum, two for a very limited time only. The Institute of Fine Arts on the other hand had Professor Hansen, an experienced field director, and his students in Ancient Near Eastern art and archaeology. The Institute could provide the nucleus of the necessary staff. The Institute provides Professor Hansen paying his salary and transportation and by means of a grant from the Ford Foundation the transportation and daily maintenance of the students while in the field. The personnel of our institutions can be supplemented by others as in fact it is this season by Dr. Robert Biggs from the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago who serves as epigrapher. The Institute had no wish to compete with the Metropolitan Museum for any objects which might come to the expedition as the result of the work but only access to the collections of the Metropolitan Museum which are indeed open to all scholars and institutions. This was the working arrangement envisaged. The plan was, and still is, acceptable to the parties concerned. . . . Even the choice of a site and adequate financing are not enough to begin an excavation. The next step is to seek the permission of the Iraq Department of Antiquities which is a subdivision of the Ministry of Culture and Guidance. In spite of the disturbed political conditions in the Middle East we have received every assistance possible first from Dr. Faisal al-Wailly who was Director-General of the Department of Antiquities during the time we sought and gained the permission to excavate al-Hiba. Dr. Isa Salman, his successor, has continued the same enlightened cooperation. Under each of these directors Professor Fuad Safar has been a constant source of wise counsel. Once the permit for the excavation is in hand then the physical task of equipping the expedition from everything from soup to nuts—and let nobody minimize the task—can begin. Mr. Wolfe [the late Lester Wolfe, a major Metropolitan Museum donor to the expedition—Ed.] came to our aid once more when he presented the expedition with a transit and level, both made by Nikon, a recognized leader in optical equipment, a camera from the same company, together with other scientific and photographic equipment. Indeed, his advice on technical matters has been of great value. From friends in Baghdad we learned that many of the things we would need were available locally in good quality and favorable prices. . . . Once in Baghdad—we arrived on September 14—we had to come to al-Hiba as soon as possible to choose both the location for and the kind of expedition house that we would build. Being familiar with mud-brick from our past experience in the Near East we had put on paper elaborate plans for a headquarters made either of that material or tôf, which is similar to the adobe used in the Southwest in the United States. In Shatra, the nearest town of any size, we sought a builder experienced in the use of these materials. We found one named Sayyid Wathiq who agreed to accompany us to al-Hiba. The result of the visit was most disturbing. While the small local houses can be and are made of tôf, a house of the size we proposed was out of the question because there was too much salt in the soil to make strong tôf. The salt would cause the material to disintegrate and the life expectancy of the building would be short. So on the spot we had to decide between the remaining alternatives—structures made of reeds employed by the ancient Sumerians, the kind depicted on Uruk seals more than 5000 years old, or canvas tents of the Indian Army type. Since we planned to work a minimum of five seasons, we chose reeds. . . . What could be more appropriate for the expedition headquarters excavating a Sumerian site than the very kind of buildings that the Sumerians knew so well, a type still widely employed in this region. . . .

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Tomorrow we dig. The spot that we have chosen initially lies only a few hundred yards west of our camp [Area A—Ed.] (fig. l). It was there that a stela of Urnanshe (ca. 2500 b.c.), a stela published by Dr. Faraj Basmachi in Sumer in 1957, was reportedly found. When he cleaned out the hole whence the stela came, Professor Hansen discovered part of a very impressive wall made of baked plano-convex bricks instead of the usual sun-dried ones. We hope that the use of baked bricks indicates an important building. While we have no way of knowing what the associations of the stela with the building are, if indeed any at all, it would be delightful if the building should belong to Urnanshe, the first king of the Lagash Dynasty. Much or nothing may come of this initial probe, but the unknown is a part of the fascination of archaeology. Vaughn E. Crawford Expedition to al-Hiba—First season Newsletter, December 22, 1968 So how has the excavation fared since its beginning on November 9? As I explained in my newsletter of the day before, we had chosen to dig at a spot only a few hundred yards to the west of our camp. We continue to work there even now and how long it will be necessary to remain there even after the close of this season we cannot forsee. . . . After scraping away only a few inches of the surface of our site we immediately encountered a mudbrick mastaba/platform. In places the platform was indeed on the very surface. Originally we began with six 10x10 meter squares. . . . By now we have enlarged these original six squares by adding five others adjacent to them with still more to follow soon and one other square some one hundred meters to the north of the main area. The platform is constructed in a curious fashion, in a way which we may never understand, since the temple which it once supported was eroded away millennia ago. It is made of planoconvex mudbrick laid both horizontally and in a herringbone pattern. . . . At intervals inside this kind of brick work we have encountered open areas with clean, very clean, mud interspersed at times by layers of clean sand. The open areas suggest rooms and passage ways, although that they certainly are not. In fact, in places where the platform is preserved in sufficient depth, mudbricks cover these open spaces in the brick work. On November 19 while removing a portion of the platform in order to reach levels below, we received our first important “break.” On top of the third course of mudbrick from the bottom of the platform, we discovered an inscribed foundation stone which told us that the platform belonged to a temple called Ibgal (Sollberger reads Ebgala) of Inanna which had been improved or perhaps rebuilt by Enannatum I (ca. 2450 b.c.) who was preceded in the Lagash Dynasty only by Eannatum, Akurgal and Urnanshe, going from the latest to the earliest in sequence. So we had the name of a governor of Lagash and an approximate date with which to locate ourselves. That the stone was in situ has been amply confirmed because on November 20 and 25 and on December 8 and 11 we recovered four other foundation stones all bearing the same text. Each was placed on top of the third course of mudbrick. Each of these four, however, was accompanied by a copper foundation figure ranging from eight to nine inches high (fig. 2). One side of the stone of the fourth set was literally on the surface of the mound with the top of the head of the statuette only an inch below. The deepest of the lot was buried by only fifteen inches of earth. Above the waist the statuette is modelled like the human torso with the hands clasped at the chest. From the face juts a prominent nose and the head is surmounted by a horned headdress with elaborate pigtails hanging down over the shoulders.

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From the waist down there is only an inscribed pin, the text of which presumably agrees (the figurines have not been cleaned and the text is only partly visible) with that of the stone. The type of statuette is well known in Sumerian Early Dynastic times and a figurine and stone identical to those recovered by us was published by Sollberger in Orientalia 24 (1955) 16–19. This set is a part of the Erlenmeyer Collection in Switzerland. Sollberger’s translation identifies the figure as a representation of Shulutula, the personal god of Enannatum, who stands perpetually in prayer before Inanna for the life of Enannatum. Vaughn E. Crawford Expedition to al-Hiba—First Season Newsletter, February 6, 1969 On December 22, when I last wrote we were expanding the excavations in the platform of the Ibgal of Inanna built by Enannatum. After encountering a very large courtyard, Professor Hansen suspected that we were in a temple oval complex such as those discovered previously at Khafajah and Ubaid. Indeed, once he had the idea, he and Khalaf Jasim our dig foreman, looked to see if such an oval were visible on the surface, visible by means of a difference in the coloration of the soil. There it was plain as a blueprint! They put Salih Jasim to work tracing the oval according to this difference and it worked perfectly. The width of the oval from east to west proved to be no less than 93 meters. If the proportion of the length to the width is assumed to be like that of Khafajah, the oval should have been about 130 meters in length. Unfortunately since it is on lower ground than the northern part, the southern portion is completely eroded away. . . . We were able to complete all of the platform of Enannatum as well as the remains of the oval which belonged together with it. As a result we know that the temple within the oval was not set on a free standing platform within an oval wall but rather that the oval formed the outer wall of the temple itself. We know also that the temple was confined to the southern part of the oval. Certain features of the platform, curved steps on the southeast and a rounded corner on the northwest, suggest that the architect wished for the building to blend together with the curvature of the oval itself, or should it be the other way around? Anyway what we have discovered is significantly different from Khafajah and Ubaid where the temples were situated on platforms separate and apart from the oval wall. . . . So with the digging we have made what we consider a good beginning at al-Hiba. Time will be necessary for us to probe this colossal mound. We hope to return in about eight months for our second season. . . . To close an expedition headquarters after a season’s work is much like a parent trying to put an exuberant child to sleep after a long day—the parent is always more exhausted than the child. To be sure, however, there is one important difference—an inanimate camp never tires and never gives its creators a sense of relief by really going to sleep. Vaughn E. Crawford Staff members 1968–69 season: Ismail Husein Hijara, Representative, Iraq Department of Antiquities Majid Mehsen Haddou, Representative, Iraq Department of Antiquities Florence Karasuk, Archaeologist, The Institute of Fine Arts, New York University Suzanne Meek, Archaeologist, The Institute of Fine Arts, New York University

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Edward I. Ochsenschlager, Archaeologist, Professor of Classics, Brooklyn College of the City University of New York Robert Biggs, Archaeologist, Epigrapher, The Oriental Institute, University of Chicago Donald P. Hansen, Field Director, The Institute of Fine Arts, New York University Vaughn E. Crawford, Project Director, The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Expedition to al-Hiba—Third Season Newsletter, January 5, 1973 According to an ancient Sumerian custom years were named after some important event which took place in the course of the year. This meant that the year might not be named until it was well advanced; or even that if nothing of importance happened during the year, that the year was designated as “the year after so-and-so” or in a few cases even “the year after so-andso. . . . the year after that.” We did not have to wait long in our third season at al-Hiba for an important event. We have named this season “the year the Bagara of Ningirsu was rediscovered.” You will remember that Professor Jacobsen’s survey in 1953 mentioned the finding of an inscribed brick of Gudea, saying that he built the Bagara for Ningirsu. The locus of the find was the largest eminence on this mound, namely, a portion designated by us now as Area B (fig. 1). The recovery of this inscription led Jacobsen to deduce that Tell al-Hiba and not Telloh was the real Lagash, because the Bagara was located in Lagash. Furthermore no such inscription was ever found during the French excavations at Telloh. While Jacobsen proposed this new identification in a Newsletter of the American Schools of Oriental Research, No. 6, datelined Nippur, November 25, 1953, and brought up the point again in his article entitled the “Waters of Ur” in the Woolley Memorial Volume, Iraq XXII 174ff. (1960), it was adopted and more fully discussed by Adam Falkenstein in his Die Inschriften Gudeas von Lagas (Analecta orientalia 30, Rome, 1966) where he gives the most complete history of Lagash available. This season in Area B we have accumulated even more proof, although none was really required, that the Bagara is here in al-Hiba. Not only have we found another inscribed brick like the one of 1953 but a number of other objects which make the identification certain. After all, one could argue that a building brick could be transported from one mound to another. This, however, is unlikely when one considers that such bricks measuring 32x32x8 cm. weigh approximately 10 kilos (22 pounds) each. The complete one found this year came from the Level I (Old Babylonian) fill of the building in which we are working. Other objects, a rectangular stone bowl, a fragment of a stone bowl, and the blade of a copper/bronze knife/dagger, are all dedicated to Ningirsu of the Bagara. The knife blade is of particular importance, because it says, in so far as we are able to read: “(To) Ningirsu of the Bagara for the life of Eannatum (somebody {a personal name is required} presumably has dedicated)” or some such similar phrase. Since this piece was found on floor l of Level III, it dates that level as not being earlier than Eannatum. . . . So far from the surface near the Bagara, or rather within the limits of the Bagara which is a large complex, we have a fragmentary brick bearing an inscription of Akurgal, the predecessor of Eannatum. We have not yet found any evidence of Urnanshe said to be the original builder of the Bagara. Accustomed as Don and I are to the nicely inscribed Ur III stone door sockets from Nippur, it is quite maddening to find only empty holes where most door sockets occur in our present building. . . .

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Our building is located on the west side of a portion of one of the high points of al-Hiba. The location was selected by Professor Hansen because, on scraping the surface on this slightly lower western slope, Early Dynastic bricks were discovered. . . . We now possess a complete contour map of al-Hiba marked off into 100 meter squares which can be further divided into 10 meter squares. I wrote two years ago of the survey by John Benczkowski, an architectural student from the University of Buffalo, upon which the map is based (fig. l). Because transferring this survey to paper, or more accurately to plastic film, proved to be a much more time-consuming task than John had contemplated, the master copy was ready to be brought here only in November when Miss Deborah Kneeland, Assistant Director for Administration of the Institute of Fine Arts, New York University, came to al-Hiba for a visit. Because we had dug at points which we had before called Areas A, B, and C and had referred to such in preliminary publications, John had been instructed to retain those designations for the polygons in which they appeared in his grid system covering the whole of the mound. This explains, therefore, why we have an area from the early part of the season called G, but no D, E, or F. The choice of the lower spot on the western side of the high point in B was quite fortunate because what has been discovered, although small in size, is a complete unit of a part of the Bagara of Ningirsu. It measures 22 meters in an east-west direction and 30 meters from north to south. When operations cease tomorrow, we shall have completed three levels: I is Old Babylonian, II a, b, and III are Early Dynastic III. At one or two points we are down to Level IV but these areas are so limited in size that they tell us nothing at present. We do not know how many more levels there are to go, but it would be nice to think that the work of Urnanshe, the original builder of the Bagara, is there. The building shares characteristics of Sumerian temple architecture such as niching, large open courtyards, and a series of small rooms adjacent to these courts, and an enormous amount of mud plastering throughout the building. The main entrance is on the north side. Through the doorway runs a nicely constructed drain made of baked plano-convex bricks which serve for the top and bottom of the drain as well as the sides. To the right of the main door is another portal which leads into a small shrine. The altar, or podium, is opposite the door. Since there are no other entrances or exits, the shrine was not disturbed by other activities in the building. . . . So, we have dug out one nice architectural unit [part of the Bagara—western side of the high point in Area B—Ed.]. The objects from it are few. It is apparent, however, in spite of this fact, that we have in the Bagara probably the most important spot on the huge mound, because Ningirsu is the patron deity of Lagash. It is an area in which we should continue to work. In fact to excavate the whole of the Bagara will require several seasons. . . . For a period of two weeks at the beinnning of the season another high point, one in Area G was probed. The work was limited to five ten by ten meter squares which were pursued through two levels. Although the remains were badly cut up, a portion of a curved wall about one meter in width makes it virtually certain that this is the site of another temple oval, the site of an oval earlier than any so far discovered here, because the pottery indicates that the excavation in Area G belongs to Early Dynastic I ( 2900–2750 b.c.). This might ultimately prove to be important because this spot in G is as high, though not as large, as is the eminence in Area B where we have the Bagara with the Old Babylonian libn platform on top. If this area in G has Early Dynastic I so near the surface, then we might expect to reach very early levels before hitting the water table some five meters below. Professor Ochsenschlager was particularly happy

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with G because it produced numerous new pottery types which swell his ceramic corpus for al-Hiba. A large boat has just arrived (2 p.m.) at the al-Hiba landing. It must be our colleagues from the University of Chicago’s Nippur Expedition. We received a telegram yesterday saying that they might appear today. So this letter must be resumed tomorrow. January 6, 1973 Yes, it was Mac Gibson and a number of the members of his staff. They had come from Afak, the town nearest Nippur through the jezira to Bedaª. From there they had gone to visit Telloh which is within sight of the main road between Refali and Shatra. Once at Abu Simak, the canal twenty minutes east of Shatra, they had engaged a boat to bring them here and to take them away late in the afternoon, because we have no facilities to accommodate more than a few guests at one time. Their party consisted of eleven persons, four from Iraq and seven from the States. After coffee—they had had their lunch during their boat ride of one and a half hours—we took them to Area B, a mile north of our camp, in our red metal wagon pulled by our small Massey-Ferguson tractor. Don gave them a full explanation of what we had been able to do this year. They had seen our most interesting finds before they went there. Back at our camp our cook Hamza I (the waiter is Hamza II) had prepared hot bread served with butter, jam and tea. Hamza’s culinary skills apparently made a good impression on Professor Gibson because after he leaves here, Hamza I will become the cook at Nippur. Some of the Sharqatis (our expert Arab pickmen) will join the Nippur dig which began in late December and will continue until some time in March. If our plans reach fruition, some of us will return the visit by going to Nippur on our way back to or from Baghdad. After all, both Don and I have warm spots in our hearts for that City of Enlil, the chief of the Sumerian gods, because I spent four campaigns there myself and Don spent possibly even more than that there. . . . So this is a bird’s eye view of our third campaign at Tell al-Hiba. In Sumerian archaeological annals we hope and believe that the season’s work may prove to be important enough to merit the name, “The year that the Bagara of Ningirsu was rediscovered.” Vaughn E. Crawford Staff members 1972–73 season: Ali Hashim, Commissioner of the Iraq Department of Antiquities Karen W. Briggs, Archaeologist, Institute of Fine Arts, New York University Marianne Eaton Francis, Archaeologist, Institute of Fine Arts, New York University Tony Frantz, Archaeologist, Institute of Fine Arts, New York University Corethia Qualls, Archaeologist, Institute of Fine Arts, New York University Estelle Whelan, Archaeologist, Institute of Fine Arts, New York University Paul Yule, Archaeologist, Institute of Fine Arts, New York University Anne Searight, Conservator, London Edward Ochsenschlager, Assistant Field Director, Professor of Classics, Brooklyn College of the City University of New York Julia C. Crawford, Treasurer Donald P. Hansen, Field Director, Professor of Fine Arts, Institute of Fine Arts, New York University

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Vaughn E. Crawford, Project Director, Curator of Ancient Near Eastern Art, Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Expediton to al-Hiba—Fifth Season Newsletter, March 7, 1978 What of the excavation itself? In Newsletter 1 for this season, I explained that in an attempt to free ourselves from the removal of two plus meters of sun-dried Old Babylonian mud-brick platform in the Bagara, we had moved to a location two hundred meters to the south of the Bagara. This we did in an effort to gain some significant results more quickly than the Bagara itself seemed to promise. We felt compelled to do this since we knew that our digging season would be very short and since our number of skilled workmen would be less than we normally employ. I said in that letter that we had, as the expression goes, “a bear by the tail,” meaning, of course, in this instance that we had exchanged one difficult problem for another which was no easier. After an initial four weeks of digging that prognostication still stands. Don says in his final report to the Directorate General of Antiquities, a report of mid-January 1978: “Although our efforts were great, we have really only begun to tackle the problem of excavating what is probably the largest known building of the Early Dynastric period of Sumer. What we have uncovered thus far indicates that the plan is massive in conception and completely unique in form. It is unlike any other building known from this period, or, as a matter of fact, from any other era of Mesopotamian history. . . .” So this season was only the beginning of what would appear to be a new and vast project for the future. Only time can tell what we have begun to dig. Vaughn E. Crawford Staff members 1977–78 season: Mohammed Khayoun, Representative, Iraq Department of Antiquities Rebia Jaffar, Representative, Iraq Department of Antiquities Karen Wilson Briggs, Archaeologist, Assistant Field Director at Tell Genj in the Hamrin; Institute of Fine Arts, New York University Suzanne M. Heim, Archaeologist, at Tell Genj; Institute of Fine Arts, New York University Melissa S. Meighan, Archaeologist, at Tell Genj; Institute of Fine Arts, New York University Constance Menand, Archaeologist; Institute of Fine Arts, New York University Marsa Laird, Archaeologist; Institute of Fine Arts, New York University Yassar Ahmad al-Tabba, Archaeologist; Institute of Fine Arts, New York University Gary Keith Johnson, Archaeologist; Columbia University Julia C. Crawford, Treasurer Donald P. Hansen, Field Director; Stephen Chan Professor of Ancient Middle Eastern Art and Archaeology, Institute of Fine Arts, New York University Vaughn E. Crawford, Project Director, epigrapher, photographer; Curator in charge, Department of Ancient Near Eastern Art, The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Pay-Dirt in the End Edward J. Keall

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The man we honor in this Festschrift, Donald P. Hansen, would be no doubt quick to acknowledge that a Near Eastern archaeological career can be grossly affected by changing political circumstance. By the same token, perhaps he would also recognize the brutal reality that when an archaeologist opts to move to a new national territory, in order to have the freedom to pursue a chosen academic field of specialization, not all the norms remain the same in that adopted home. As an example of what I mean, I refer back to the time when I first met Donald Hansen in March, 1963. Through an introduction by the then director of the British Institute of Persian Studies, David Stronach, I had joined the Oriental Institute expedition to Khuzistan, where professors Delougaz and Kantor were beginning to excavate the large proto-historic mound of Choga Mish. Like others at that time, excluded from Mesopotamian archaeology in post-1958 Iraq, Delougaz and Kantor had chosen to work in the part of Iran that had a viable Protoliterate record. They were what I would call cultural refugees. I quickly proved to be unsuitably irreverent towards the mountains of Bevel Rim Bowls that were filling the sherd yard to overflowing, and I was transferred to the Oriental Institute’s sister project at nearby Shahabad. My transfer coincided with what amounted to be the project’s disappointing retreat from the quest to unearth the famous city of Gondeshapur. Identification of the Shahabad site as Gondeshapur was based primarily upon the rectangular grid pattern of surface remains that were remarkably visible on aerial photographs, 1 and which purported to be the layout of an urban creation executed by Roman engineers resettled in Khuzistan after Shapur I’s capture of Antioch in a.d. 256. 2 Texts tell us that Shapur’s initiative 1. See fig. 7 (“The city plan of Jundi Shapur, as reconstructed from aerial photographs”) in R. M. Adams, “Agriculture and Urban Life in Early Southwestern Iran,” Science 136 (1962), pp. 109–22. 2. An explanation of how folk etymology changed the name of the site to Jund-i Shapur, as “Shapur’s camp,” is given in a footnote by R. N. Frye in N. Abbott, “Jundi Shahpur: A Preliminary Historical Sketch,” (Appendix, p. 71 n.1) in R. M. Adams and D. P. Hansen, “Archaeological Reconnaissance and Soundings in Jundi Shahpur,” Ars Orientalis 7 (1968), pp. 53–73. See also R. M. Adams and D. P. Hansen, “Soundings at Gunde Shapur,” Memorial Volume of the Vth International Congress of Iranian Art and Archaeology 1 (Teheran, Isfahan and Shiraz, April 1968; Tehran: 1972), pp. 300–302. For the Arab sources, see P. Schwarz, Iran im Mittelalter nach den arabischen Geographen (1896; repr., Hildesheim and New York: Olms, 1969), pp. 346–50.

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was followed by the subsequent transfer to Gondeshapur of two Greek physicians 3 who paved the way for the creation of what has been called an academy of science and medicine. 4 As such, the visible traces of the hypothetical Gondeshapur made an attractive target for the Oriental Institute’s pioneer landscape archaeologist, Robert McC. Adams, for an enquiry inspired by the chance of unearthing a royal capital with one of the world’s first hospitals. Donald Hansen was assisting with the Gondeshapur program. I learned directly from him about the brutal reality of the disappointing sondages that had been conducted before I arrived. As a last effort to modify Adams’s original aerial photograph interpretation into a verifiable map of the site, 5 I joined him to help, as one would say today, by “ground-truthing.” We skipped and jumped through waist-high wheat, terrified of snakes and puzzled by the lack of accumulated archaeological debris in large parts of the site. Along the so-called outer wall of the city (as clearly visible on the photographs), a sondage had revealed that this distinct ridge was nothing more than “a simple, low, and unsophisticated barrier.” 6 The theory that the parallel ridges defining the rectangle might have formed the banks of a canal, not an actual city wall, began to be advanced. The most damaging evidence for dismantling the royal city hypothesis came from the fact that the lines forming the grid pattern inside the rectangle were raised gravel ridges running higher than the present-day fields—hardly reflecting streets in a living town, which normally accumulate considerable building detritus. In other words, the lines did not appear to be convincing remnants of an ancient network of roads in a developed urban complex. At very best, they appeared as no more than a grid laid down for development, certainly not a city completed as planned. Evidence that a flourishing settlement of some kind had existed on the site, until as late as the mid-9th century or so, with a corresponding corroboration of a sort from the district’s taxation records, comes from the evidence of a sequence of Sasanian through Samarran pottery recovered from sondages sunk in two of the irregular mounds that dominate the west-central portion of the rectangle. 7 But even here the excavators revealed their frustration at not being able to find any trace of surviving architectural remnants, even of fallen rubble. They inclined towards an interpretation that judged the mounds to be remains of deliberate platform fill for impoverished dwellings erected towards the final 10th-century occupation within the enclosure. Although Sasanian pottery was recovered from low down in one of the mounds, the only features exposed were water conduits and drain-pipes. 8 Since I was to build on my experience with the Oriental Institute Khuzistan project and develop my own academic specialization in the field of Sasanian studies, I have had occasion over the years to reflect upon the seeming lack of evidence for the mounds of Shahabad being the traces of the royal city of Gondeshapur. In fact, when the excavators presented the evidence for a siphon system which brought water into the enclosure through a tunnel under the adjacent wadi, they speculated about the possibility that the raised ridges were conduits for the 3. Abbott, “Jundi Shahpur,” p. 71. 4. For recent appropriate bibliography on Gondeshapur, and for the argument that the academy may be a rather inflated notion, see E. Savage-Smith, “Medicine,” in R. Rashed (ed.), Encyclopedia of the History of Arabic Science 3 (London and New York: 1996), p. 908. 5. Compare Adams, “Agriculture and Early Life,” fig. 7, with Adams and Hansen, “Archaeological Reconnaissance,” fig. 1. 6. Adams and Hansen, “Archaeological Reconnaissance,” p. 56. 7. Adams and Hansen, “Archaeological Reconnaissance,” p. 58. 8. Adams and Hansen, “Archaeological Reconnaissance,” pp. 55–56.

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delivery of water to irrigate intensely farmed, market oriented crops. 9 Sugar or rice were suggested as appropriate candidates. Indeed, textual references to the cultivation of sugar cane in the district of Gondeshapur as late as the 10th century may permit one to speculate about how the enclosure may have been built by Shapur, not as a city, but as a sugar cane plantation. The effectiveness of intensively irrigated cane production can be attested in Muqaddasi’s comment that, in the 4th century a.h., the Gondeshapur district produced all the sugar consumed in both Jibal and Khurasan provinces (all of northeastern Iran). 10 In time, part of the enclosure may have been taken up increasingly by human settlement. But whether the famous academy of science was here, though, is another question. Regrettably, frustration on the part of the Oriental Institute project directors, who felt thwarted by the apparent lack of a complex urban matrix, has prevented our getting at the truth. If not an academy of science, what then do the featureless mounds in the center of the Shahabad ruins represent? To ponder the question, though without any prospect of being able to test the hypothesis, I would like to introduce a case of my own frustration elsewhere at not finding exactly what I was looking for at first. For this, we must uproot ourselves once more and take a new course. In February 1979, my own direct involvement in Iranian archaeology and specialization in Sasanian and Parthian fieldwork came to an end, as it did for many others. To avoid the possibility of being excluded from fieldwork in the future, because of national politics, I opted to concentrate on archaeology in the Islamic world, a subject I then taught at the University of Toronto. In 1981, I was able to find myself a new archaeological home, thanks to the advice of McGuire Gibson, who suggested I might explore the possibility of working in Yemen. The Zabid project of the ROM began as an enquiry directed towards the definition of what constitutes a medieval Islamic university city. Zabid, on the Red Sea Tihama coast of Yemen, was chosen because of its known role as an administrative and economic center from the 9th century onwards, a royal capital from the 13th–15th centuries, and an intellectual center thereafter, down to the present. After an initial reconnaissance of the region in 1982 and 1983, 11 an excavation program commenced in 1987 and attempted to address the issue of how did Zabid develop—were there different parts of the city used for different purposes? How could one define the character of the city?—themes similar to those one would have tried to address in the hypothetical Gondeshapur. In Zabid, amongst other sites selected for sondages, 12 attention was directed towards bricks protruding from the surface outside of the imposing military fort on the east side of town. Were these bricks part of an old city wall? Or were they the stub of an old minaret that a local informant suggested once existed? As it turns out, they had formed what was once an ornamental pool painted red. 13 Irreverently, we called the pool a hot tub. Frustratingly, apart from the pool itself, all other traces of the accompanying 15th-century building had long since been removed, the result of the systematic mining of a presumed derelict structure by organized 9. Adams and Hansen, “Archaeological Reconnaissance,” p. 62. 10. Schwarz, Iran im Mittelalter, p. 349. 11. E. J. Keall, “The Dynamics of Zabid and Its Hinterland: The Survey of a Town on the Tihamah Plain of North Yemen,” World Archaeology 14 (1983), pp. 378–92. 12. E. J. Keall, “A Few Facts about Zabid,” Arabian Studies Seminar, Proceedings 19 (1989), pp. 61–69. 13. Keall, “A Few Facts,” p. 66 and fig. 8 (top).

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Fig. 1. Zabid Project, 11th century glass lamps (Drawing: C. Ciuk).

brick robbers. This was to become a standard theme in all of our subsequent excavations. We can form a visual picture of the phenomenon in the distinctive baked brick architecture of the then contemporary Zabid, where the characteristic brickwork (which featured in Passolini’s movie “1001 Nights”) derives its uniqueness from the use of recycled bricks. With each re-use, the bricks become more and more fragmentary, so that a surface has an endlessly variable but nevertheless constant texture. Our studies have shown that no new bricks were made in Zabid after around the 16th century, until the 1960s. The reason that the red-painted ornamental pool had survived was that the bricks were laid in lime mortar, and that made it difficult to pull them apart intact. Too many would have fractured in the process to make the operation profitable. Alongside the pool, all that was left of the associated building were lines of cobblestones representing the remains of footings left behind as worthless when the bricks above were pulled out. Later we were easily to recognize

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these clues to the former existence of walls. But working in these conditions made historical interpretation very difficult. The back-filled robbers’ trenches contained occasional pieces of material more recent than that of the original building detritus. Very often the boundaries between the two matrices were obscure, as trenches filled with collapse from the adjacent fill. Without a very strong control at that time over the Zabid project ceramic typology, isolating contaminated robbers’ trenches from original occupational debris was a frustrating process. Deeper down in the trench, in levels of around 11th–13th century date, further brick robbing activity was in evidence. In this case, the remnants left behind were brick-lined toilets. Our own expedition camp toilets were constructed using the same traditional building principle. Construction involved digging a deep shaft into the ground to allow for accommodation of human waste. Provisions for dispersal of liquid waste were made through the creation of a separate gravel filled sump off to one side. 14 The system ensured effective biodegradation of the waste without smell. Samples from one of these deep shafts brought back for pathological examination, to look for intestinal parasites, proved to be so devoid of traces that one can only conclude the toilet system was very effective at breaking down solid matter. Awareness of the effectiveness of these systems was at least compensation for the fact that the rest of the buildings, and their signs of use, had been completely obliterated by the brick robbers. On occasion, the only trace of a building that survived was the impression that a brick had left in the mud mortar where it was originally laid in the bottom course of the wall. Dare one suggest that this might also have been the reason for the amorphous heaps at Shahabad/ Gondeshapur? May the mounds have been the remains of robbed-out buildings, not piled-up platforms? The excavators acknowledged the likelihood of “brick-robbing of abandoned outlying areas” 15 over several centuries, but perhaps the principle of systematic, organized recycling efforts is a preferable model. Whatever the explanation, and whatever the frustration of both parties, in Shahabad and Zabid, at not finding evidence of either building form or function, I take comfort that our Zabid toilets were the source of some quality artifacts. I was already aware from the archive of the so-called Joint Expedition to Rayy, in Iran, between 1934–36, where the excavators investigated an important medieval Islamic city, that the best finds often came from cess pits. 16 In fact, the excavators mused about the possibility that precious items were deliberately hidden in septic pits in anticipation of attack on the city. According to this theory, with the loss of life or enforced flight of the inhabitants when an attack occurred, the treasures were lost from sight. In Zabid, by comparison with Rayy, our cess pit finds do not compete in quality. Nor do the potential examples of hostile invasion in any way measure up to the onslaughts that came down upon Rayy. Yet the Zabid toilet shafts have produced our best examples of painted glass, including ornate, reconstructable lamps of 11th-century date (fig. 1). 17 Was this human error that caused the lamps to fall down the toilet? Or did they break in another kind of accident, and the culprit saw fit to throw them down the toilet to escape detection? 14. Keall, “A Few Facts,” p. 66 and fig. 8 (bottom). 15. Adams and Hansen, “Archaeological Reconnaissance,” p. 54. 16. E. J. Keall, “The Topography and Architecture of Mediaeval Rayy,” in Akten des VII. internationalen Kongresses für iranische Kunst und Archäologie (Munich: September 1976), Archaeologische Mitteilungen aus Iran, Ergänzungsband 6 (1979), p. 538. 17. Cf. D. Foy, “Lampes de verre fatimides à fostat: le mobilier des fouilles de Istabl ‘Antar,” in M. Barrucand (ed.), L’Égypte fatimide, son art et son histoire: Actes du colloque organisé à Paris les 28, 29 et 30 mai 1998 (Paris: Presses de l’Université de Paris-Sorbonne, 1999), fig. 5.

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It took many seasons to crack properly the code of the robbed-out brick walls and to understand something about the dynamic of urban renewal through the systematic recycling of building materials. Perseverance paid off. And whether containing precious items or not, appreciating the effectiveness of the ordinary household waste disposal systems has given us, in the end, pay-dirt, so to speak.

Acknowledgments The Zabid Project of the Canadian Archaeological Mission is sponsored by the Royal Ontario Museum and has been funded by the ROM Foundation and the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. The glass reconstruction drawings were made by Mr. Christopher Ciuk, Royal Ontario Museum.

1000 b.c.e.? 900 b.c.e.? A Greek Vase from Lake Galilee Günter Kopcke

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Whether one claims that the Greek Dark Age is getting lighter or darker by the minute or hour, it certainly has gotten more interesting. Not only do we now have the 10th-century Heroon at Lefkandi and contemporary settling of Euboeans at Torone in Macedonia, but the North Cemetery at Knossos has shown even earlier evidence of possible Greek reflux from Cyprus. 1 Cyprus began to loom large in theories regarding the regeneration of Greece ever since 1. It is a great pleasure for me to join in honoring Donald P. Hansen, my colleague at the Institute of many years. As a token of esteem and friendship, this Greek vase is not out of place in a Near Eastern Festschrift. The problem raised equally concerns East and West. I am offering an abbreviated version of my contribution to the final publication of the results of the excavation of Tel Hadar conducted by Tel Aviv University, led by Professor M. Kochavi. As, at the present time, publication date is uncertain, and as knowledge of this find has spread and comments already have been made in print, I believe I have an obligation to make sure that colleagues are informed. With few exceptions, no literature after 1995 has been considered. At the invitation of Professor Kochavi I had the pleasure of joining the Tel Hadar campaign in 1992. I am grateful to Moshe Kochavi, Pirhyia Beck, and Esther Yadin for their most generous hospitality and instruction. The Dorot Foundation twice underwrote trips to Israel in connection with this research, thanks to Dr. Joy Ungerleider and Professor Philip Mayerson. As the final Hadar publication will contain a complete record, I have kept illustrations to an essential minimum. Out of six fragments, I have reproduced only the most important and most legible one (fig. 1a, b). Most of the other fragments are either too small or have suffered too much through burning to be instructive, except in close inspection, of which figs. 2 and 3 are the result. Except for the compassdrawn circles, the quality of the brushwork leaves something to be desired, as I have tried to reflect in my drawings. I have refrained from schematizing, for I believe that quality of execution may well turn out to be a significant characteristic, to be considered along with other stylistic criteria. The peculiar “a-rhythmia” of the zig-zag in fig. 3 most likely resulted when the circumcurrent design met its beginning and turned out to have been ill-plotted. Such incongruities (for do we not believe Geometric = precision?) no doubt are worth noting. Lefkandi: M. R. Popham, P. G. Calligas, and L. H. Sackett, Lefkandi II/2: The Protogeometric Building at Toumba—The Excavation, Architecture and Finds (Athens, 1993). Knossos: H. W. Catling, “Heroes Returned? Submycenaean Burials from Crete,” in J. B. Carter and S. P. Morris (eds.), The Ages of Homer: A Tribute to Emily Townsend Vermeule (Austin, 1995), pp. 123–36. H. Matthäus, “Cyprus and Crete in the Early First Millennium b.c.,” in V. Karageorghis and N. Stampolidis (eds.), Eastern Mediterranean: Cyprus— Dodecanese—Crete, 16th–6th cent. b.c. (Athens, 1998), pp. 127–43.

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Fig. 1a. Fragment Hadar 91.2040 + 89.1842 (Photo: Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology, Tel Aviv University).

Fig. 1b. Fragment Hadar 91.2040 + 89.1842 (Not to scale). Body and rim (Drawing: author).

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Fig. 3 (above). Fragment Hadar n.n. (Not to scale). Rim (Drawing: author).

Fig. 2 (left). Fragment Hadar 91.2316 (Not to scale). Body (Drawing: author).

Anthony Snodgrass traced, convincingly I think, the beginning of the working of iron in Greece to the island. 2 About the burials in the Heroon are so many signs of eastern, likely Cypriote connections, that those so exceptionally honored more likely than not must themselves have been eastern arrivals. Why erstwhile emigrants—taking movements from West to East in the 12th/11th century as proven—should have returned at this time to the land of their fathers, grandfathers, or great-grandfathers is a mystery. That recollections had survived is more than 2. A. M. Snodgrass, “Iron and Early Metallurgy in the Mediterranean,” in T. A. Wertime and J. D. Muhly (eds.), The Coming of the Age of Iron (New Haven, 1980), p. 347; A. M. Snodgrass, “Cyprus and the Beginnings of Iron Technology in the Eastern Mediterranean,” in J. D. Muhly, R. Maddin, and V. Karageorghis (eds.), Early Metallurgy in Cyprus, 4000–500 b.c. (Larnaca, 1982), pp. 286, 289. There may be more on the seminal role of Cyprus for the revival of Greece in the future. Basic to my present discussion is V. R. d’A. Desborough’s Protogeometric Pottery (Oxford, 1952), Protogeometric being the first expression of Greek Classical art, whose origin is still to be located in Athens. The beginning of Attic Protogeometric appears to synchronize with Cypriot late Proto-White-Painted, a style as novel and revolutionary on Cyprus as Protogeometric is in Greece: A. M. Snodgrass, The Dark Age of Greece (Edinburgh, 1971), p. 327; V. R. d’A. Desborough, “An Amphora from Salamis,” in M. Yon (ed.), Salamine de Chypre: Histoire et Archéologie (Paris, 1980), pp. 111ff. (although according to M. Iacovou, The Pictorial Pottery of Eleventh Century b.c. Cyprus [Göteborg, 1988], pp. 24ff., the contents of Salamis Tomb 1 is more representative of CG I—White Painted I—than of PWP). Cyprus-inspired “PWP” bottle and early Protogeometric stirrup in Athens: H. W. Catling, Archaeological Reports 1984/5, 6 fig. 4b. Reviewing the (Greek?) new beginning on Cyprus which Proto- White-Painted characterizes, M. Iacovou, “The Topography of 11th century b.c. Cyprus,” in V. Karageorghis (ed.), Cyprus in the 11th Century b.c. (Nicosia, 1994), pp. 149–60. There are claims that Attic Protogeometric was influenced by Cypriot White Painted (Hankey), which I am unable to verify. I do believe that the extraordinary krater which in all likelihood topped the shaftgraves in the Lefkandi Heroon shows knowledge of Cypriot repertoire, both in shape and decoration (R. W. V. Catling and I. S. Lemos, Lefkandi II: The Protogeometric Building at Toumba, Part 1: R. W. V. Catling and I. S. Lemos, The Pottery, no. 327, 25f., pls. 17, 18). All in all, in the 11th and 10th century (western conventional date!) Cyprus is certainly more than an accidental presence in some parts of Greece.

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Fig. 4. Section drawing of vessel (Drawing: author; Inking: L. Bier).

likely, and no one who wanted to settle in Greece in the 11th or 10th century would have counted on meeting with determined resistance. There should not have been any. At any rate, so far we are willing to speculate that there was some movement from East to West before Phoenicians got involved, and that trade was not the issue. There are other needs and expectations that may set people moving, especially after a long hiatus during which notions of “home” and “belonging” had become all but meaningless. Greece never ceased to change, but not always for readily understandable reasons. I will not dwell on the Lefkandi Heroon, an anomaly, an undertaking of unbridled ambitions by all accounts. At the time when it was being built, a vase of peculiar shape originated in its vicinity, on Euboea, possibly in Chalcis (figs. 1–4). This vase reached a fortress, a heavily fortified residence of some petty king in Palestine, at the eastern shores of Lake Galilee, known by today’s name as Tel Hadar. 3 There it perished and was partly lost in or near the storage rooms, in a massive conflagration. The context, Iron I, is a well known one in Israel that is com3. M. Kochavi, “Hadar, Tel,” in E. Stern (ed.), The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land ( Jerusalem, 1993), pp. 551–52 (Hadar IV); M. Kochavi, T. Renner, I. Spar, and E. Yadin, “Rediscovered! The Land of Geshur,” BAR 18/4 (1992), pp. 30–44; M. Kochavi, “The Eleventh Century bce Tripartite Pillar Building at Tel Hadar,” in S. Gitin, A. Mazar, and E. Stern (eds.), Mediterranean Peoples in Transition, Thirteenth to Early Tenth Centuries bce: In Honor of Professor Trude Dothan ( Jerusalem, 1988), pp. 468–77.

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monly dated to the 11th century, or at the latest to the early 10th century, when those who believe in events narrated in the Bible are ready to credit King David with all these many destructions. 4 Part of the context in question in Hadar IV consists of fine and sizeable Bichrome painted Phoenician jugs, perhaps from Tyre, which would serve to explain the presence of the Euboean bowl. 5 Tyre has yielded many Euboean imports of the same period, of possibly the same manufacture as the Tel Hadar vase, though none so far that splendid. 6 Tyre, reputed ally of David and Solomon, and archaeologically probably abundantly represented on Cyprus as well, as in other places, was the most likely purveyor, via Cyprus. 7 I have to be cautious, as others may yet come up with different explanations: it seems to me that the shape of the Hadar bowl so far is unique, a hapax, not only in the Euboean but in all the Greek repertoire at this time. It is a large, elegant, handleless vessel, its wall rising calyxlike from a narrow foot (fig. 4). 8 An impressive zig-zag decoration surrounds the rim, and underneath, around the widest extension, there is a frieze of typically Protogeometric design, three ten-line concentric circles with Maltese Cross motif separated by vertical panels with rhombi (fig. 1a, b). The repertoire, including the zig-zag, is “classic” Late Protogeometric, or in other words (by conventional chronology), late 10th century. 9 As far as the singularity of the 4. For instance: A. Mazar, Archaeology of the Lands of the Bible (10000-586 b.c.e.) (New York, 1990), p. 374; idem, “The 11th century b.c. in the Land of Israel,” in V. Karageorghis (ed.), Cyprus in the 11th Century b.c. (Nicosia, 1994), pp. 48–49. 5. Similar to one from Dor: E. Stern, “New Evidence from Dor for the First Appearance of the Phoenicians Along the Northern Coast of Israel,” BASOR 279 (1990), p. 29 fig. 1. Together with Cypro-White Painted I finds: A. Gilboa, “New Finds at Tel Dor and the Beginning of Cypro-Geometric Pottery Import to Palestine,” IEJ 39 (1989), pp. 204–18. 6. J. N. Coldstream, “Early Greek Pottery in Tyre and Cyprus: Some Preliminary Comparisons (with a note by Patricia Maynor Bikai),” RDAC (1988), II, pp. 35–43; A. Nitsche, “Bemerkungen zur Chronologie und Herkunft der protogeometrischen und geometrischen Importkeramik von Tyros,” Hamburger Beiträge zur Archäologie 13/14 (1986/87), pp. 7–44; I. S. Lemos and H. Hatcher, “Early Greek Vases in Cyprus: Euboean and Attic,” OJA 10/2 (1991), pp. 197–207. 7. P. M. Bikai, The Pottery of Tyre (Warminster, 1978), esp. pp. 66, 74. 8. Dimensions in cm of the fragment here illustrated: w. 30.3, h. 13.6. Diam. of concentric circle 10.5. Preserved w. of multipaneled ‘triglyph’ 9.6. Vessel reconstituted diam. rim ca. 33; diam. widest extension of bowl ca. 36; diam. ringfoot 9.2; h. ca. 19. Coloring of sherd for the most part orange-brown, no mica. Some fragments are discolored—grey, rendering the decoration almost illegible—clearly the effect of the conflagration in which the building and its contents perished. The inside is clay-colored, the only decoration being a wide painted band below the rim. The outside is slipped in bright (lemony) yellow, a slip well preserved in only very few places. A similar slip may be seen on other Euboean vases and ceramic products, e.g., the Metropolitan Museum’s Cesnola Krater ( J. N. Coldstream, “The Cesnola Painter: A Change of Address,” Bull. of the Institute of Classical Studies of London University 18 [1971], p. 2); the Lefkandi Centaur (V. R. Desborough, R. V. Nicholls, and M. Popham, “A Euboean Centaur,” BSA 65 [1970], standing in Attic terms at the cusp of Protogeometric / Geometric); and a fragment of a krater “with strikingly yellow coating of excellent quality” (A. Andriomenou in Philia Epi eis Georgion E. Mylonan: Vivliothiki tis en Athinais Archaiologikis Hetairias 103 [1987], II, p. 73 n. 4). 9. In the manuscript submitted for final publication of the excavation, I have given at length my reasons for concluding that this was a handleless bowl or krater. Briefly, on none of the extant fragments is there any secure trace of an attaching handle. Further, the decoration appears to argue for a tripartite, not a quadripartite division. Assuming no uncommon irregularities, the “metopes” (circle-panels)—one extant—all were ca. 21 cm wide. Four such panels would add up to a length of ca. 84 cm. Given a total mathematical length of the frieze of ca. 112 cm, 28 cm would remain to accommodate four “triglyphs,” that is, ca. 7 cm per “triglyph.” The one not fully preserved “triglyph,” however, measures 9.2+ cm. While

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shape is concerned, there is an explanation: the maker in Greece knew about eastern preferences and gave a foreign client his Greek version of the typical Near Eastern handleless bowl. 10 I do not know how else to account for this extraordinary phenomenon—unless my scrutiny of the remains of this bowl has not been thorough enough and has failed to consider other possibilities, suggesting a shape that is more mainstream Greek. So far, then, first there is the anomaly of a large calyx shape lacking handles, and then the triple partition of the main ornament, which does not allow even mentally for seeing symmetry and crossing axes but does make for movement round and round, as if the idea of circular design had been truly absorbed and intended. A typically Greek vessel is never decorated in this way, rather always showing the division into two sides facing each other. Our bowl, if its decoration is correctly understood, is quite an intellectual product. We know of other east-oriented imitations and allusion in Greek wares in the 10th century, and certainly before and after. 11 The other surprise is the date. The majority of us westerners feel sure that this bowl was made in the late 10th century. The majority of archaeologists working in the Levant, in ancient Canaan, however, will date the massive, “sealed” context of the storerooms of Hadar IV to the first quarter of the 10th century, at the very latest. 12 We always have known that problems existed in this respect, in synchronizing East and West. With few exceptions, though, we never thought that we should care much, until this find came along. 13 Scholars from the eastern side

a triple division results in uncomfortably wide spaces to be filled with “triglyphs” (and?), I am persuaded that a four-fold repetition at least of the main circle motif is not possible. Concentric Circles with Maltese Cross and Zig-zag: Coldstream, “Early Greek Pottery in Tyre and Cyprus,” p. 39, passim; Desborough, Protogeometric Pottery, p. 125: “A few decorative motives appear to have been evolved only during Late Protogeometric—the cross-hatched and checkered diamond, for instance, and a particular formal type of zigzag.” On the Hadar vase, the zig-zag is evident enough; the “diamonds” are simply blackened, not cross-hatched, due to somewhat careless execution. 10. For instance: A. Mazar, Excavations at Tel Qasile II (Qedem 20; Jerusalem, 1980), pp. 33ff. (Tel Qasile XII–X). 11. 10th-century plates, exported from Greece: Coldstream, “Early Greek Pottery in Tyre and Cyprus,” pp. 38f. Coldstream obviously is rightly emphatic in denying that Greek pottery had no market in the Levant: pp. 35f. See also: J. C. Waldbaum, “Greeks in the East or Greeks and the East? Problems in the Definition and Recognition of Presence,” BASOR 305 (1997), pp. 1–12. Greek oil (?): P. Courbin, “Fragments d’amphores protogeometriques grecques a Bassit,” Hesperia 62 (1993), p. 106. The best known example of Greek Geometric pottery showing recognition of foreign interests is, of course, the Cesnola Krater (above, n. 8; J. N. Coldstream, “Gift Exchange in the Eighth Century b.c.,” in R. Hägg [ed.], The Greek Renaissance of the Eighth Century b.c.: Tradition and Innovation [Stockholm, 1983], pp. 205f.). There are other instances in Mycenaean times, the most prestigious item being the inlaid silver bowl with wishbone handle from Enkomi, almost certainly from a Knossian workshop (15th/14th century b.c.): H. G. Buchholz and V. Karageorghis, Altägais und Altkypros (Tübingen, 1971), p. 158, no. 1684, 459 (figs.), pl. 4 (an opinion not shared by H. Matthäus in his authoritative study of Cypriot metal vessels). 12. P. Beck, forthcoming, in final publication of Tel Hadar; Kochavi, “Hadar, Tel,” believes the site to have been destroyed in the 11th century. 13. D. Saltz, Greek Geometric Pottery in the East: The Chronological Implications (Typescript Diss., Harvard University, 1978, cited in J. C. Waldbaum and J. Magness, “Chronology of Early Greek Pottery: New Evidence from Seventh-Century b.c. Destruction Levels in Israel,” AJA 101 (1997), p. 25 n. 3; J. C. Waldbaum, “Early Greek Contacts with the Southern Levant, ca. 1000–600 b.c.: The Eastern Perspective,” BASOR 293 (1994), pp. 53–61. Early on, Dr. Waldbaum directed me to consult a copy of Saltz’s dissertation in the American School of Classical Studies, Athens. Waldbaum is right in remembering this work. Saltz had reached the following conclusions (chap. 5, pp. 279–308): Protogeometric begins in the 11th

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who are working to lower dates and in the process discredit the Bible as historical source, will be more than happy to join our western point of view. 14 We in the West have our own revisionists, and some doubters. The revisionists, however, seem to be in favor of lowering, rather than raising dates, which runs counter to what the Hadar find suggests. 15 The doubters—Anthony Snodgrass above all—point to the fact that between the 12th century and the 9th century (or perhaps the 8th century, and even that is doubtful) there are no absolute dates fixing Greek material. Over a stretch of about four centuries there is no certainty at all—just rough calculation. 16 Allowing Protogeometric to end ca. 1000 b.c.e. would raise daunting problems. 17 Late Geometric, which seems to be fairly well fixed with the Thucydidean dates of Greek colonization, would have to be stretched, and stretched considerably. Might this then affect the idea of a population “explosion” in the 8th century, based on a supposedly sudden growth and density in burials and finds? This in turn would knock out about the only archaeological support we

century; Early Geometric II had begun by 926 (!; Sherds at Tel Abu Hawam), and Early Geometric I should have been a short period; transition from Middle Geometric I to Middle Geometric II in the course of the 9th century. If findings from Tel Abu Hawam were allowed to stand as seen by Saltz, the Hadar vase would have to be a good deal earlier than the last quarter of the 10th century. But the value of the Tel Abu Hawam material for absolute dating has been questioned (see esp. V. Hankey, “Note on the Chronology of LH IIIC Late and Submycenaean,” JdI 103 [1988], p. 35). 14. D. Ussishkin has expressed hopes that the Hadar vase should remain where it is in Greece, low, taking the context with it. See his contribution, along with those of others, all with bearing on 10th—9th century chronology in Palestine, in BASOR 277–278 (1990) (with introduction by W. E. Rast). Further: I. Finkelstein, “The Archaeology of the United Monarchy: An Alternative View,” Levant 28 (1996), pp. 177–85; contributions by the same author in Tel Aviv (1995) and (1996). By contrast, W. G. Dever has claimed for 11th-century pottery in Bible Lands “a margin fixed within a very few years”—! “The Chronology of Syria–Palestine in the Second Millennium b.c.e.: A Review of Current Issues,” BASOR 288 (1992), p. 19. 15. The downward revision generally agrees with Ussishkin’s and Finkelstein’s views: P. James, I. J. Thorpe, N. Kokkinos, R. Morkot and J. Frankish, Centuries of Darkness (London, 1991); same authors, with contributions from K. A. Kitchen, B. Kemp, N. Postgate, A .M. Snodgrass, and A. and S. Sherratt, “Centuries of Darkness”; Review Feature, Cambridge Archaeological Journal 1/2 (1991), pp. 227–53. Comments in this “Review Feature” are not favorable to Centuries of Darkness. 16. “If we make a provisional hypothesis as to the duration of the styles and assume about 150 years for the residue of Mycenaean IIIC, 150 for the Attic Protogeometric, and 50 years each for Attic Early and Middle Geometric, we shall be taking a wholly arbitrary step; but we shall arrive at approximately the right total, without unduly straining credulity in any one case,” Snodgrass, The Dark Age of Greece, pp. 112–13; S. Iakovidis, “The Chronology of of LH IIIC,” AJA 83 (1979), pp. 454–62. More recently, Hankey, “Note on the Chronology of LH IIIC Late and Submycenaean,” p. 34, and “From Chronos to Chronology: Egyptian Evidence for Dating and the Aegean Bronze Age,” Journal of the Ancient Chronology Forum 5 (1991/92), pp. 24–26. I detect no sign that the excavators of Tiryns, with its many and carefully recorded strata, are eager to make their views on absolute dates known (C. Podzuweit, “Bericht zur spätmykenischen Keramik: Die Phasen SH IIIC Fortgeschritten bis Spät,” AA [1983], pp. 359–401; “Keramik der Phase SH IIIC-Spät aus der Unterburg von Tiryns,” AA [1988], pp. 213–44). Rather, here as probably also in Athens, the overlap between latest Mycenaean and Protogeometric complicates the issue (Podzuweit, “Bericht zur spätmykenischen Keramik,” pp. 215f.). On the other hand, a neat division of LH IIIC, Early, Middle, and Late into years covering the decades from 1190 to 1160 may be found in C. Renfrew, The Archaeology of Cult (London, 1985), p. 410. 17. V. Hankey considers having Protogeometric not end but begin in or after 1000 b.c.e.! “Note on the Chronology of LH IIIC Late and Submycenaean,” p. 37.

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thought we had for the “rise of the Greek polis.” 18 There is bound to be much resistance, from archaeologists and historians. Indeed, there does not seem to be enough Geometric to go around if one wants to add one hundred years. A crunch in Protogeometric could be more easily absorbed, by raising the date of its beginning by some fifty years (to ca. 1100) and by cutting its duration by the same number of years. The latest Mycenaean may be cut or compressed accordingly. Late and latest Mycenaean, for sure, is a much more shady zone for dating than some may be willing to admit. Also, one might perhaps start thinking of overlapping developments, instead of the kinds of neat sequences that art historians favor. By accepting the date given by my colleagues at Tel Hadar, the date of the grand building at Lefkandi, too, would rise to about 1000 b.c.e.—not ca. 950 b.c.e., as its excavators have proposed. The difference does not seem to be all that much, but it expands if, as I believe to be the case, the material associated with this building is not of Middle Protogeometric date, as the excavators claim, but rather Late Protogeometric (more or less contemporary with the find from Tel Hadar). This means that by our conventional western chronology, the Lefkandi Heroon was constructed at the end of the 10th century, not in the middle. If the early date for the Hadar find be accepted, Greeks possibly returning from Cyprus would have arrived in ca. 1000 b.c.e. at the site, at a time when in Athens we have just about the first inkling of the nascent Geometric style. Its harbinger, the battlement meander, is in evidence at Lefkandi in the Heroon context. The fact that the excavators so far have failed to face this and other obvious questions concerning their Middle Protogeometric date makes me look forward to more discussion. 19 If it is argued that Lefkandi precedes rather than follows Athens in innovation, then that is a great deal to claim, as Athens, and not Euboea, has been and presumably will have to be in the future our yardstick for relative dating. Desborough thought so when he without hesitating put forth Athens as source and reason for sudden changes in taste and repertoire at Lefkandi. It is true that central and northern Greece have gained a somewhat higher profile with regard to the earliest stages of the formation of Classical Greece in the interim. It is just possible that the excavators of Lefkandi can make a plausible case for their views, and if so they would indeed alter ideas by now old, old-fashioned enough to make us uncomfortable—what a distinguished member of the Lefkandi staff called my “Athenocentric perspective.” I am not averse to allowing a place like Lefkandi to be seen as a trendsetter in “art” but have to be convinced. A simple way out of our disagreement would be to cancel the concept of Middle Protogeometric altogether. There is not much of it even in Athens, and there is no Early Protogeometric to speak of at Lefkandi. Why give something that is as good as nonexistent— that may have been invented simply for reason of tripartite convention—a lifespan of fifty 18. A. M. Snodgrass, Archaic Greece: The Age of Experiment (London, Melbourne, Toronto, 1980), chap. 1; with modification or alternative explanation of burial statistics: I. Morris, Burial and Ancient Society: The Rise of the Greek City State (Cambridge, 1987), pp. 94ff. 19. Battlement maeander Lefkandi, Heroon: Lefkandi II/1, kraters nos. 353, 358, 360, pl. 21. Beginning the Geometric phase: J. N. Coldstream, Greek Geometric Pottery (London, 1968), p. 12; Desborough, Protogeometric Pottery, p. 125; B. Schweitzer, Die Geometrische Kunst Griechenlands (Köln, 1969), pp. 27f. The cremation burial Agora 26 introducing the new era: Desborough, Protogeometric Pottery, p. 125, pl. 15; Coldstream, Greek Geometric Pottery, p. 12, pl. 1a. No less illustrative of this phase is the content of Kerameikos tomb 48 “südlich des Eridanos,” containing the earliest (?) Attic maeanders (Kerameikos IV [Berlin, 1943], pp. 18f., 23, 44f., pls. 10, 21, 25). Lemos, in Catling and Lemos, Lefkandi II/1, p. 28, comments on the battlement maeander as follows: “A motif previously thought to have been invented in Attica during the EG I period.” This “previously”—that is, no longer—will be a bone of contention.

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years? 20 What this compromise would accomplish is to allow us, as suggested above, to shorten the life of Protogeometric by two generations or about 50 years. A date of ca. 1000 b.c.e. for the end of Protogeometric certainly could be accommodated within the existing western framework, as far as the relative sequence of styles through Mycenaean and into Protogeometric is concerned. Why not have Protogeometric begin in 1100 b.c.e., instead of in ca. 1050 b.c.e.? The problem is in stretching Geometric, as we would have to do, keeping Thucydidean dates as fixed points (where are we if we don’t?). Years ago, Anthony Snodgrass hoped for a log, if possible one strategically placed, as in a magazine like the one at Tel Hadar, to answer our questions through dendrochronology. 21 We have come part of the way in clarifying our problem by finding a context in which first-rate western and first-rate Canaanite archaeological materials are joined. This at least for the first time states our problem inescapably.

20. “Short-lived Ripe Protogeometric”—Desborough, Protogeometric Pottery, p. 291, and to my knowledge no attempt has been made in his work to further justify separating this stage. The poor articulation of Lefkandi Protogeometric up to his Late Protogeometric under Attic influence has been recorded by Desborough, Lefkandi I, p. 287. 21. Snodgrass and Sherratt, “Centuries of Darkness,” p. 247.

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Pithoi of Hatshepsut’s Time Christine Lilyquist

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The contribution that follows is presented to Donald Hansen in great appreciation of his interest in the interconnecting cultures of the ancient Near East, intelligence and high standards, and long commitment to teaching. In the BSA of 1903–1904, H. R. Hall mentioned a stone vessel in Cairo whose shape was comparable to the pithos represented carried by a Keftiu in Senenmut’s Theban tomb no. 71. . . . a colossal vase of white marble (not alabaster) found by M. Georges Legrain last year at Karnak, and now in the Cairo Museum. It is inscribed with an Egyptian dedication to the god Amen by the Queen Hatshepsut (for whom Senmut built the temple of Deir el-Bahari); it seems to me, however, to be very probably not a native Egyptian work but a Minoan vase imported from Crete and dedicated to the god of Thebes as a remarkable work of art. It resembles in design the copper vase of Senmut’s fresco and is an interesting example of the imitation of metal-work in stone. 1

A few years later, Georges Legrain published the inscription on the vessel, citing the Karnak cachette as its provenance, 2 the “cachette” being that vast lode of stone monuments buried during pharaonic times in the Amun temple and uncovered by Legrain between 1903 and 1907. 3 Hall printed a small photo of the Karnak jar in his Civilization of Greece in the Bronze Age (1928), and, after referring to the Senenmut representation as “a bronze vase of a well-known pithoid Minoan type with two rows of handles,” noted that the representation was “paralleled to some extent, though without the lower handles, by a vase (possibly of foreign marble, though, judging by the form of the base, of Egyptian make) with the name of Hatshepsut in the Cairo Museum.” 4 Finally, in 1929, B. Porter and R. Moss listed a “measuring-vessel, Hatshepsut” with the Legrain inscription reference; they added the Cairo Museum Journal d’Éntrée number 37535 in 1972. 5 1. H. R. Hall, “The Keftiu-Fresco in the Tomb of Senmut,” BSA 10 (1903–4), p. 157. 2. G. Legrain, Répertoire généalogique et onomastique du Musée du Caire. Monuments de la XVIIe et de la XVIIIe dynastie: Catalogue Général des Antiquités Égyptiennes du Musée du Caire (Geneva: Société anonyme des arts graphiques for the Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte, 1908), p. 57 no. 95. 3. B. Porter and R. Moss, Topographical Bibliography of Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphic Texts, Reliefs, and Paintings, 2 Theban Temples, rev. (Oxford: Clarendon Press for the Griffith Institute, 1972), pp. 136–67. 4. H. R. Hall, The Civilization of Greece in the Bronze Age (London: Methuen, 1928), pp. 199f. 5. B. Porter and R. Moss, Topographical Bibliography of Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphic Texts, Reliefs, and Paintings, 2 Theban Temples (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1929), p. 53; Porter and Moss 1972, p. 167.

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Figs. 1–4. Views of travertine pithos from Karnak cachette (Photos: author).

Through the special help of Mai Trad and cooperation of the Institut français d’archéologie orientale, Cairo, the vessel was located and photographed in 1997, and, with the generous help of the Egyptian Museum’s director, Dr. Mohammed Saleh, the author was personally able to examine and photograph the object in 1998 (figs. 1–6). The following is a description of it. In addition to the JdE number, the vase has the “yardbook” number 9/5/26/1 6 and Special Register number 10671. It is in a closed gallery on the third floor, room D. Contrary to Hall, the vessel is made of travertine, popularly called “Egyptian alabaster.” As restored, it is ca. 78 cm high, 38 cm wide, and has a circumference of about 1.22 m. Nothing of the neck, rim, or bottom of the base is preserved; therefore, the original height is not known. However, the restored height seems reasonable. 6. B. V. Bothmer, “Numbering Systems of the Cairo Museum,” in Textes et langages de l’Égypte pharaonique 3: Cent cinquante années de recherches 1822–1972 = Bibliothèque d’Étude 64:3 (Cairo: IFAO, 1974), pp. 117f.

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4

The base has an integral stand. There are also the remains of handles, perhaps originally four. These were vertically placed, with “rings” around each point of contact with the body. Two of the handles flank an inscription panel (fig. 1), and the remains of the third are in the back (figs. 3–5). The carved inscription panel is 12.3 cm wide and 16 cm high (figs. 1, 6); the incised columns within it read the good god [fem.], (m·ºt-k· -rº )| daughter of Ra, (hnmt-¡mn ˙·t-sp-swt)| given life forever, beloved [fem.] of Amun Ra, king of the gods, lord of the sky.

Several signs have been erased and then recarved at a lower level (fig. 6): Amun Ra, at the top of the right column; most of the nomen; and k· in the prenomen. The mutilation is mainly attributable to the desire to erase Amun’s name, something that occurred no doubt during the iconoclastic Amarna period. It is thus clear that the vessel was standing in the Karnak temple of Amun during the Amarna age, and was esteemed enough to be restored thereafter. Below the panel is the incised line “hnw [a liquid measure of capacity], 75.”

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6

Figs. 5–6. Pendant triangles in relief around neck, and inscription panel showing erasures (Photos: author).

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Fig. 7. Tracing of pithos in Senenmut’s Tomb 71 (Drawing: William Schenck).

Not noted by Hall, and apparently unique on stone vases, is a series of pendant petals or triangles in raised relief at the base of the neck (fig. 5); seven are well preserved, there may have been twenty-two altogether. Thin solid pendant triangles are found on Chocolate-onwhite pottery at the end of Middle Bronze II and during Late Bronze I in Palestine. 7 The bottom inner surface of the vessel has a depression with a raised boss in the center, all configured by an ancient drill. There is dark residue in the bottom; the Cairo Museum conservator who cleaned the surface, Ahmed Orabi, believes that it is the original contents, and this appears correct. In essence, the vase is an Egyptian creation from the time of Hatshepsut’s years as king. It contained precious ointment as an offering to the god Amun in the state temple of Karnak; stood in the temple until the Amarna period; was restored thereafter; and was swept out with other monuments sometime before the end of the Ptolemaic Period. 7. R. Amiran, Ancient Pottery of the Holy Land, From its Beginnings in the Neolithic Period to the End of the Iron Age ( Jerusalem: Masada, 1969), p. 159.

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It would not be out of place to wonder whether this large, unusually-shaped vessel dedicated in a period when “historical” material was represented in royal and private monuments, could have been represented in one of Hatshepsut’s architectural monuments. Janusz Karkowski states that at present no such representations are extant at Karnak or Deir el-Bahari. 8 But it is clear that Cretan objects were enough known and admired to be the basis of this vessel. Could the vessel represented in the tomb of Senenmut (fig. 7) 9—Hatshepsut’s favored official— have been the prototype for the stone jar from the Karnak cachette? The representation shows, in its fragmentary state, three loop handles at the top, four rosettes, four amorphous shapes, and finally, two loop handles near the base. It is one of Arthur Evans’s “two-storied” pithoi 10 (as Helene Kantor and Arne Furumark believed, contra Evans and Matthäus 11), with the rosettes not necessarily mimicking Aegean prototypes, and the amorphous shapes possibly figure-eight shields. Painted and plastic figure-eight shields are known on Minoan vessels beginning in Middle Minoan IIIB. 12 The circle of pendant triangles around the neck of Hatshepsut’s stone vase in Cairo cannot be traced to Aegean prototypes, however. The motif appears on Egyptian faience and pottery in early Dynasty 18, 13 along with rows of connected dots (“ball and line” decoration). Although the triangles are often identified as a leafy garland in Egypt, 14 it is likely that they, as well as the connected dots, were initially inspired by Palestinian pottery. 15 In other words, the Cairo pithos shows that Egyptians adapted foreign motifs for their own purposes, as other cultures did in the Late Bronze age. One result of such practice is that mixed objects—like the pithoi from the time of Hatshepsut—can be used for general, but not for specific, chronological purposes. 8. Personal communication, 24 June 1998. 9. Traced by Will Schenck from the facsimile made by the Graphic Section of the MMA Egyptian Expedition in the 1920s or 30s: see C. K. Wilkinson and M. Hill, Egyptian Wall Paintings: The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Collection of Facsimiles (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1983), p. 73. 10. A. Evans, The Palace of Minos at Knossos 2: Town-Houses in Knossos of the New Era and Restored West Palace Section (London: Macmillan, 1928), p. 428. 11. H. Kantor, “The Aegean and the Orient in the Second Millenium b.c.,” AJA 51 (1947), p. 45, see also p. 61; A. Furumark, “The Settlement at Ialysos and Aegean History c. 1550–1400 b.c.,” Opuscula Archaeologica 6 (1950), p. 231; Evans, The Palace of Minos at Knossos 2: pp. 425f.; H. Matthäus, “Die absolute Chronologie der Periode SM II/SH II B,” in E. DeMiro et al. (eds.), Atti e Memorie del Secondo Congresso Internazionale di Michenologia Roma-Napoli, 14–20 ottobre 1991 (Rome: Gruppo Editoriale Internazionale, 1996), p. 1465. 12. A. Evans, The Palace of Minos at Knossos 1: The Neolithic and Early and Middle Minoan Ages (London: Macmillan, 1921), fig. 409; P. Rehak, “Minoan Vessels with Figure-Eight Shields; Antecedents to the Knossos Throneroom Alabastra,” Opuscula Atheniensia 19 (1992), p. 115. 13. See examples in G. Pinch, Votive Offerings to Hathor (Oxford: Griffith Institute, 1993), pl. 6e; J. Bourriau, “Pottery,” in Egypt’s Golden Age: The Art of Living in the New Kingdom 1558–1085 b.c., exh. cat. (Boston: Museum of Fine Arts, 1982), no. 59. 14. Compare the two types in C. Hope, Egyptian Pottery (Aylesbury: Shire, 1987), pp. 39–45. 15. P. M. Fischer, “Chocolate-on-White Ware: Typology, Chronology, and Provenance: The Evidence from Tell Abu al-Kharaz, Jordan Valley,” BASOR 313, pp. 1–29; J. Balensi, “Mittlere Bronzezeit,” in S. Mittmann et al. (eds.), Der Königsweg: 9000 Jahre Kunst und Kultur in Jordanien und Palästina, exh. cat. (Cologne: Rautenstrauch-Joest-Museum, 1987), no. 84; C. Hope, review of J. Bourriau, Umm el-Gaëab: Pottery from the Nile Valley before the Arab Conquest, exh. cat. (Cambridge: Fitzwilliam Museum, 1981) in JEA 71 Supplement (1985), p. 6; idem, “Innovation in the Decoration of Ceramics in the mid-18th Dynasty,” Cahiers de la céramique égyptienne 1 (1987), p. 109.

In Search of Prestige: Foreign Contacts and the Rise of an Elite in Early Dynastic Babylonia Marc Van De Mieroop

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Every history of ancient Mesopotamia devotes a lot of attention to its international contacts, be they of a military or a peaceful nature. War and trade, two activities we often find fascinating in our study of past civilizations, usually lead to a common result for the successful initiator: they afford resources not available at home. Hence, the procurement of these resources is often seen as the impetus for contacts with foreign areas. Especially in the study of southern Mesopotamia, the area of Iraq from the south of Baghdad to the Persian Gulf, the lack of essential natural resources has been stressed as an explanation for the foreign exploits we find so abundantly documented. Very common are statements of this nature: Babylonia was rich in only a limited number of natural resources: soil, salt, bitumen, reeds, water, fish, birds, animals, and plants. . . . Missing from the list of Babylonia’s natural resources are important items such as stone, metals, and timber, which had to be imported through trade. 1

It is then implicitly or explicitly assumed that this limited availability of materials forced the Babylonians to seek the daily necessities of wood, minerals, and stone in the surrounding areas: Syria–Palestine, Anatolia, the Iranian plateau, and the coastal regions along the Persian Gulf. It is the aim of this paper to demonstrate that such was not the case. I will argue that southern Mesopotamia had the natural resources required to be self-sufficient in its basic needs and that imports from the surrounding areas were primarily luxury goods desired by elites to enhance their social status as distinguished from that of the general population. I will use Werner Sombart’s ideas about the role of conspicuous consumption in the rise of modern European capitalism as a model for the explanation of socio-economic change in ancient Mesopotamia. In order to demonstrate the applicability of this model, I will relate the increase in international contacts with the growth of a native Babylonian elite in Early Dynastic period, which has been the focus of Donald Hansen’s research. But comparisons with other periods will show that this explanation has validity throughout Mesopotamian history. 1. A. K. Grayson, “Mesopotamia, History of (Babylonia),” in D. N. Freedman (ed.), The Anchor Bible Dictionary 4 (New York: Doubleday, 1992), p. 756.

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1. The Natural Resources of Babylonia Southern Mesopotamia is a large alluvial plain of recent formation covering an area of some 50,000 square kilometers from the head of the Persian Gulf to the vicinity of ancient Sippar, now located approximately 30 km south of Baghdad. In the second millennium b.c., this area became known as the political entity of Babylonia, a term that I will use here as a geographical designation, without suggesting that any political unity existed in the period under discussion. The exact borders of the region cannot be determined with certainty. The head of the Persian Gulf moved southward over time, but we cannot establish the rate at which this movement happened. The Tigris and Euphrates rivers formed natural boundaries, but the latter especially had various branches and often altered its course. In the southwest, the Euphrates separated the alluvium from the Arabian desert, forming a border between two clearly different ecological zones. To the northeast of the Tigris was the Susiana plain which was not easily reached from Babylonia, but which presented an environment similar to the Babylonian one. In the northwest, Sippar was located in the zone where the Tigris and Euphrates are barely 35 km apart. To the west the alluvial plain gave way to desert except for a narrow strip along the Euphrates river; to the north the Diyala River Valley behind modern-day Baghdad provided a corridor northwards into the Zagros mountains, northwestward towards Assyria and southeastward towards the Susiana plain. The region can be regarded as a geographical entity, separated from its surroundings by natural borders. The alluvial plain within these boundaries was characterized by its flatness: it rose less than 20 m above sea level some 500 km inland. 2 Although there are many similarities in the natural conditions throughout the entire alluvial plain, the region was far from uniform. At the head of the Persian Gulf and along the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, up to some 200 m inland, the land was covered with extensive marshes and, at times, large lakes. Further inland, the zones adjacent to the various river branches and the artificial canals dug from them were highly fertile and intensively cultivated, while the unirrigated area in between was a steppe with limited vegetation. Permanent settlement was only possible in or near the irrigated areas, but the steppe was extensively visited by semi-nomadic and nomadic herdsmen. There were fundamental differences in the ecologies of southern and northern Babylonia, i.e., the areas to the south and north of the city of Nippur. In the north, the Euphrates river ran through a well-defined channel, a real valley, and was located below the level of the fields. In the south, on the other hand, the river bed was above the level of the plain due to silting, and its water ran through various parallel branches, whose location often shifted. 3 The myth that southern Mesopotamia is poor in natural resources, created by nineteenth century European explorers more at home in the Cotswolds or the Black Forest than in a Mediterranean country, is still prevalent today. “Operation Desert Storm,” one of the most successful exercises of governmental misinformation in recent history, in its very name expressed this 2. J. N. Postgate, Early Mesopotamia: Society and Economy at the Dawn of History (London and New York: Routledge, 1992), p. 6. 3. P. Steinkeller, “Land-Tenure Conditions in Third-Millennium Babylonia: The Problem of Regional Variation,” in M. Hudson and B. Levine (eds.), Urbanization and Land Ownership in the Ancient Near East (Cambridge, Mass.: Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, 1999), pp. 304–5. Foreign Contacts and the Rise of an Elite in Early Dynastic Babylonia

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false image: the battlefield, southern Iraq, was nothing but a desert, a barren, desolate region that could be wiped clean. Also scholars of Mesopotamian history constantly repeat the same statement that all to be found there, besides agricultural produce, was reed and clay. In fact, a large variety of resources was available to the inhabitants of Babylonia, permitting a mixed economy of animal husbandry and agriculture, and a self-sufficiency in the necessary tools for those activities. The alluvial soil of the area was extremely fertile and, when properly watered, provided very high cereal yields: scholars generally accept a return of 30:1 for barley in the third millennium, 4 and some authorities on the matter have even suggested a much higher return of 76:1. 5 Certainly the fertility depended on the location and usage of the plot of land, and wide fluctuations are likely, but the general high potential for cereal agriculture seems beyond doubt. The steppe is an ideal region for the husbandry of sheep and goats and to a lesser extent of cattle. By looking at tax records from Iraq in a.d. 1939, we can obtain a rough idea of the numbers of animals that can be sustained by the area. These records list 2,540,000 sheep and 360,500 goats for the seven modern provinces that coincide with the area of Babylonia. 6 In antiquity, agreements between pastoralists and farmers were worked out in order to extend the grazing areas and the fertility of the agricultural land: flocks were allowed to graze on young shoots, a practice which provided spontaneous manuring and increased the yields. 7 The steppe was home to numerous wild animals, among which were asses, deer, foxes, and boars. Wild animals were extremely abundant in the marshes, where numerous species of fish, fowl, and turtles were hunted in great amounts. Some fish was consumed fresh, but most of it was cured in salt, another resource that was amply available. 8 The domesticated animals provided a multitude of products that were used in the manufacture of basic and luxury goods. The Babylonian textile industry was extremely prolific and was supplied with wool by the extensive herds. The skins, bones, and gut of the animals were used for numerous purposes in the making of tools and utensils. 9 The marshes provided enormous amounts of reeds which were used in a large variety of ways: for building, for the production of utensils, containers, and furniture, as fuel and as fodder for animals. 10 The often repeated statement that Babylonia had no wood is a fallacy: a great variety of trees was grown in forests, around fields, and in orchards. 11 In the early first 4. J. N. Postgate, “The Problem of Yields in Sumerian Texts,” Bulletin on Sumerian Agriculture 1 (1984), pp. 97–102. 5. K. Maekawa, “Cereal Cultivation in the Ur III Period,” Bulletin on Sumerian Agriculture 1 (1984), p. 86. 6. Based on Naval Intelligence Division, Iraq and the Persian Gulf, Geographical Handbook Series (1944), p. 476 table 1. 7. Postgate, Early Mesopotamia, p. 159. 8. D. T. Potts, Mesopotamian Civilization: The Material Foundations (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1997), pp. 103–6. 9. Potts, Mesopotamian Civilization, pp. 91–97. 10. J. N. Postgate, “Palm-trees, Reeds and Rushes in Iraq Ancient and Modern,” in M.-T. Barrelet (ed.), L’archéologie de l’Iraq (Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1980), pp. 99–109. 11. J. N. Postgate and M. A. Powell (eds.), Trees and Timber in Mesopotamia = Bulletin on Sumerian Agriculture 6 (1992); P. Steinkeller, “The Foresters of Umma: Toward a Definition of Ur III Labor,” in M. A. Powell (ed.), Labor in the Ancient Near East (New Haven: American Oriental Society, 1987), pp. 73– 115; P. R. S. Moorey, Ancient Mesopotamian Materials and Industries: The Archaeological Evidence (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994), pp. 347–49.

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millennium, Babylonia even exported timber for use in monumental architecture to Assyria. 12 Even if much of the timber was short and thin, it could be used for the manufacture of tools and as building material. 13 The most common tree in southern Iraq to this day is the date palm, which grows abundantly throughout Babylonia. In the early part of last century, there were 15 to 16 million palm trees in this area of Iraq. 14 Although the tree does not really provide wood but rather fiber and frond, its multiple products can be used for an enormous variety of objects, cords, baskets, tables, etc., 15 while its trunk can be used in building construction, with proper preparation. 16 Stone was also available locally: limestone was mined in the desert to the southwest of Babylonia and this stone was utilized for the production of vessels, cylinder seals, and certain sculptures and reliefs, as well as a building material. 17 Gypsum was one of the main export products of the Persian Gulf area in the early part of last century. 18 Quartz and flint, needed for the production of lithic tools which continued to be used long into the Bronze Age, were readily obtainable nearby. 19 Eroded boulders of stone were found in the river beds. 20 Bitumen was accessible to the Babylonians in many locations, 21 and its uses in construction and crafts were numerous. Finally, Babylonia had a profusion of high quality clay which was used as building material, writing material, and for the production of pottery and certain tools. 22 From this summary list it should be clear that Babylonia could be self-sufficient using its natural resources. The Babylonians did not need to import raw materials for the production of their daily necessities. The materials to make utensils and tools or for building construction were all locally available, although admittedly they were often only of mediocre or low quality. Imports were only needed for high-quality and luxury materials, such as semi-precious or very hard stones (e.g., agate and diorite), metals, and hard woods. Societies can easily survive without those, and at times in their history the Babylonians had only a restricted access to them, or none at all. Contacts with the periphery to obtain materials were thus not a necessity.

2. Luxury Consumption and Socio-Economic Change Most economic historians of ancient Mesopotamia look at modes of production for explanations of social and economic changes in the region. This Marxist-inspired theoretical stance 12. J. A. Brinkman, “Babylonia in the shadow of Assyria (747–626 b.c.),” in The Cambridge Ancient History III/2 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), p. 20. 13. Potts, Mesopotamian Civilization, pp. 106–15. 14. Naval Intelligence Division, Iraq, p. 457. 15. B. Landsberger, The Date and Its By-products according to the Cuneiform Sources (AfO Beiheft 17; Graz, 1967). 16. J.-C. Margueron, “Le bois dans l’architecture: premier essai pour une estimation des besoins dans le bassin mésopotamien,” in J. N. Postgate and M. A. Powell (eds.), Trees and Timber in Mesopotamia = Bulletin on Sumerian Agriculture 6 (Cambridge,1992), p. 83; Moorey, Ancient Mesopotamian Materials, p. 348. 17. Potts, Mesopotamian Civilization, pp. 100–102; S. Pollock, Ancient Mesopotamia: The Eden That Never Was (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), pp. 42–43. 18. Naval Intelligence Division, Iraq, p. 1278. 19. Potts, Mesopotamian Civilization, pp. 102–3. 20. Moorey, Ancient Mesopotamian Materials, p. 21. 21. Potts, Mesopotamian Civilization, pp. 99–100. 22. Potts, Mesopotamian Civilization, p. 97; Pollock, Ancient Mesopotamia, p. 43.

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is indeed justified, since the basis of the Mesopotamian economy was agricultural and fundamentally determined by primary productive forces. Especially in the late twentieth century a.d., use of less dogmatic definitions of Modes of Production, and the abandonment of the Marxist unilinear evolutionary scheme have reinvigorated the use of this concept. 23 While the focus on production is very valuable, it does not exclude the possibility of looking at other economic factors as an explanation for change. Here I would like to focus on one aspect of the consumption patterns of ancient Mesopotamian society, namely that of luxury items. I contend that changes in these had fundamental consequences for the structure of early Babylonian society and its interactions with the periphery. My model here is the short book by Werner Sombart, Luxury and Capitalism. 24 Sombart described and explained the development of capitalism in western Europe of the twelfth through eighteenth centuries a.d. by focusing on the evolution in the consumption of luxury items. After the Middle Ages, the courts and cities became centers of excessive consumption where items of conspicuous display were needed in enormous amounts. Where seventeenth-century kings, such as Louis XIV, led, eighteenth-century bourgeois soon followed. Sumptuous foods (e.g., cocoa, coffee), textiles (e.g., silks), manufactured goods (e.g., boudoir furniture), and buildings (e.g., palaces) were bought at extravagant prices by a small segment of the society. These demands led to changes in all aspects of the economy, which developed capitalistic mechanisms to satisfy them. In overseas trade, a very costly amount of luxury items was imported from all over the globe to the European cities. Locally, the need to produce luxury woolen textiles led to the transformation of grain fields to sheep meadows, for instance. In the textile industry the manufacture of fine goods by artisans was separated from that of regular cloth by craftsmen. These types of trade and production were very adaptable to capitalistic organization, according to Sombart, which thus entered the economies of western Europe. 25 Sombart’s model is illuminating, because it demonstrates how the consumer behavior of a small segment of the population can have important consequences for the economy in general. In my opinion, it is not to be used as the sole explanation for the development of capitalism, but as one complementary to others, since Sombart ignores many fundamental changes that took place in European society at the same time. One element he barely discusses, for instance, is colonial expansion, which is somewhat surprising, because many of the luxury items were obtained through it. The benefit of his model to the economic historian of ancient Mesopotamia is that it allows us to include the consideration of items that are often the best documented in our record without falling into a purely modernist view of the ancient economy. I reiterate that the ancient Mesopotamian economy was an agricultural one where production, exchange, and consumption 23. For an exemplary use of the concept of Mode of Production in the study of Mesopotamian prehistory, see R. Bernbeck, “Lasting Alliances and Emerging Competition: Economic Developments in Early Mesopotamia,” Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 14 (1995), pp. 1–25. For excellent examples in the study of the very end of ancient Near Eastern history, see P. Briant, Rois, Tributs et Paysans (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1982). 24. Originally published in German in 1912. I have used the English translation by W. R. Dittmar, published in 1967 in Ann Arbor at the University of Michigan Press. 25. Sombart’s book has been used as the theoretical basis of an excellent article on Bronze Age trade in the Aegean by A. and S. Sherratt, “From Luxuries to Commodities: The Nature of Mediterranean Bronze Age Trading Systems,” in N. H. Gale (ed.), Bronze Age Trade in the Mediterranean ( Jansered: Paul Åströms, 1991), pp. 351–86.

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functioned along lines that were fundamentally different from what happens in modern times. But within that system the procurement and consumption of rare high-value luxury items could play a crucial role in economic change. Such items are often well documented in our archeological and textual records. The agricultural products of Mesopotamia are poorly known, even if in recent decades archaeologists have started to collect seeds and animal bones. On the other hand, luxury items have been excavated assiduously ever since the beginning of archeological exploration and form the core of our knowledge of the material culture of Mesopotamia. Certainly an enormous amount has been lost, reused or looted from antiquity on, or has not yet been excavated, but the available remnants give us a much more detailed view of the material surroundings of the Mesopotamians than anything else. The chance finds of intact elite tombs, such as those from Ur or Nimrud, provide an incredible wealth of information about the consumption of luxury items at well-defined moments in time. The textual record of Mesopotamia fortunately is extremely rich and does provide a large amount of information, for antiquity almost unparalleled, on all aspects of the economy, including the agricultural sector. Yet, luxury items are more likely to appear in the records, because their high value makes keeping track of their whereabouts a high priority. Hence, they feature prominently in trade records, be they merchant’s accounts or sale documents. We are fortunate that we have administrative records from the manufacturers of luxury products, the artisans who worked with precious and semi-precious materials. The craft archive from twentyfirst century Ur stands out in this respect, but our information is more widespread. A study of such items and the fluctuations in their availability in Mesopotamia is thus both easier and justified as the basis for the study of socio-economic change. I argue here that in ancient Mesopotamia these three elements evolved simultaneously because they were interdependent: the availability of luxury items, contacts with the periphery, and the presence of a social elite. The growth of a wealthy class led to a desire for luxury items which enabled the members of that class to distinguish themselves from the mass of the population. Conspicuous display of wealth was part of Mesopotamian economic behavior, just as it was in ancient Egypt. 26 People did not use their assets to create more wealth through investment and the like. They were not inspired by the Protestant ethic that Max Weber saw as so crucial in the development of western capitalism. 27 Instead they displayed their wealth both in their daily living environments and in their tombs. For us today, that display is most visible in the grave goods. People’s surroundings when they were alive are harder to reconstruct; the architectural remains are often enormous in size, but much of the decoration and the furnishings are almost entirely lost. We can imagine, however, that elites distinguished themselves from the rest of the people in their living circumstances as well. The possession and display of luxury goods provided this prestige. Because of the nature of the resources locally available in Mesopotamia, these luxury goods had to be obtained to a great extent abroad. Although local resources were abundant and able to provide for the basic needs of people, they gave little occasion to have something exceedingly special and rare. Certainly, large residences and extrafine textiles could be made with local materials, but the truly exceptional, objects of metal or semi-precious stones for instance, was only found outside Mesopotamia. The desire for them 26. For Egypt, see S. Morenz, Prestige-Wirtschaft im alten Ägypten (Munich: Verlag der bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1969). 27. See conveniently, “Protestantism and the Spirit of Capitalism,” in S. Andreski (ed.), Max Weber on Capitalism, Bureaucracy, and Religion (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1983), pp. 111–25.

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can thus be used as one explanation for the external contacts of the Mesopotamians, both those of a military and a commercial nature. I am not arguing that all military raids in the periphery or all trade contacts were inspired by the desire to obtain luxury items, but I believe that it was a major contributing factor in many periods of Mesopotamian history. I will try to document the connections between the growth of an elite, the need for luxury items, and the expansion of Mesopotamia in the periphery for the Early Dynastic period in Babylonia. To finish, I will then suggest how this explanatory model could be further explored in other periods of Mesopotamian history.

3. Historical Developments in Early Dynastic Babylonia In the period from 3000 to 2350 b.c., there are two clearly distinct phases in Babylonia’s attitude towards peripheral areas: a period of relative isolation from 3000 to 2600, followed by one of extensive trade and increasing military contacts from 2600 to 2350. Around 3000, the Uruk culture collapsed; it had been characterized by an enormous influence of Babylonia throughout the entirety of the Near East. From Central Iran to the Egyptian Nile Delta were found remains that were inspired by Babylonia: pictographic writing, the cylinder seal, decorated monumental architecture, and specific types of mass produced pottery. While there is a danger of overstating the importance of the city Uruk itself, the only southern Babylonian site really investigated for this period, I believe that it played a crucial role in this culture. 28 The city was some 100 hectares in size by the Late Uruk period, 29 if not double that size; 30 it contained grandiose monumental temple buildings and was clearly a major center at the time. This cultural era ended around 3000 when in Uruk itself the temple complexes were razed and their areas leveled, and when Uruk “colonies” in the rest of the Near East were abandoned. 31 The reasons for the collapse are unclear. It has been suggested that in Babylonia itself the growth of districts with high population densities led to an exhaustion of the agricultural potential and perhaps to social disruptions, 32 but this remains tentative. The result was that Babylonia turned inward. There is no evidence of its cultural influence in the surrounding areas, and very few imported goods from abroad have been found in Babylonia itself. There is some occurrence of chlorite vessels and lapis lazuli imported from the East, as well as small amounts of copper from Oman, but all to a very limited extent. Meanwhile, a number of urban centers of equal size arose in Babylonia. At first the city of Uruk expanded to an unprecedented size of 400 hectares absorbing the populations of surrounding abandoned villages. Competing urban centers soon grew up all around Babylonia: Ur, Eridu, Lagash, Umma, Zabalam, Shuruppak, Adab, Nippur, and Kish. The region gradually attained the most urbanized state of its entire history with 78.4% of the settled population living in settlements of 40 hectaries or more. 33 Villages were almost non-existent. 34 Unfortunately, the written documentation for this period is extremely scarce. The only preserved group of administrative texts was found in a rubbish dump underneath the Royal 28. M. Van De Mieroop, The Ancient Mesopotamian City (Oxford: Clarendon, 1997), pp. 37–38. 29. R. McC. Adams, Heartland of Cities (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981), p. 71. 30. U. Finkbeiner, “Uruk—Warka, 1983–1984,” AfO 34 (1987), p. 142. 31. M. Liverani, Uruk: La prima città (Rome: Laterza, 1998), pp. 106–11. 32. G. Algaze, The Uruk World System (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993), pp. 105–6. 33. Adams, Heartland, p. 138, Table 12. 34. Pollock, Ancient Mesopotamia, p. 72.

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Cemetery at Ur. The original context of the tablets seems to have been a building that burned down and whose remains were swept to the edge of the tell. The texts document an agricultural economy centered around the sanctuary of the moon god Nanna, the patron deity of the city. The temple dominated the city’s economy and acted as a redistributive center. The centralization of the administration in one place is also attested in contemporary Shuruppak, where the evidence is provided by sealings. 35 Furthermore, it should be noted that in this period we have no evidence of commemorative inscriptions glorifying the actions of one individual, and that the cemetery at Al Ubaid shows no great social distinctions between the people buried there, 36 a great difference with subsequent periods. The general impression of this period, admittedly based on very little evidence, is thus that in southern Babylonia a number of cities existed where the administration of agricultural activity was centralized in the temple. No great distinctions in wealth were visible, and no individuals had the power or felt the need to distinguish themselves from the rest of society in inscriptions or monuments. At the same time, there was limited contact between Babylonia and the surrounding areas. This situation changed around 2600 as a result of a culmination of processes that had their roots in the previous centuries. On the international scene we see an increase in Babylonian connections with the surrounding areas. Trade with Iran and regions further east was on the rise: the imports of carved chlorite vessels reached their “floruit,” 37 as did those of lapis lazuli. Etched carnelian beads from the Indus Valley first appeared in this period. 38 Large amounts of gold and silver are found, especially in the Royal Cemetery of Ur, but also at other sites such as Girsu. Increased imports of copper from the Gulf area are visible as well. The textual evidence starts showing trade contacts: king Ur-Nanshe of Lagash, whose reign is dated shortly after 2500, claims that he had control over the ships from Dilmun, the area of Bahrain that functioned as an entrepot in Babylonia’s Persian Gulf trade. 39 Economic texts from about a century later show the continuation of this trade, and that it involved mainly the import of copper in exchange for cereals and cloth. 40 Military encounters with peripheral areas are now attested for the first time. Around 2425, King Eanatum of Lagash boasts of defeating Elam, Susa, and Mishime in Iran, Mari on the middle Euphrates, and Subartu, the area of northern Mesopotamia. 41 He calls himself “he who subjugates foreign lands for Ningirsu,” and he stresses the fact that those lands are sources of special goods: “Elam and Subartu, mountain lands of timber and treasure.” The later literary-

35. R. J. Matthews, “Fragments of Officialdom from Fara,” Iraq 53 (1991), pp. 1–16. 36. H. T. Wright, The Administration of Rural Production in an Early Mesopotamian Town (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan,1969), p. 87. 37. P. L. Kohl, “The First World Economy: External Relations and Trade in West and Central Asia in the Third Millennium b.c.,” in H. J. Nissen and J. Renger (eds.), Mesopotamien und seine Nachbarn (Berlin: Dietrich Reimer, 1987), p. 24. 38. J. Reade, Early Etched Beads and the Indus-Mesopotamia Trade (London: British Museum, Occasional Paper No. 2, 1979). 39. I follow the translation by W. Heimpel, “Das Untere Meer,” ZA 77 (1987), p. 70, not that of J. S. Cooper, Sumerian and Akkadian Royal Inscriptions I: Presargonic Inscriptions (New Haven: American Oriental Society, 1986), p. 23, who translates that Ur-Nanshe imported wood with ships from Dilmun. 40. Heimpel, “Das Untere Meer.” 41. Cooper, Sumerian and Akkadian Royal Inscriptions, pp. 33–46.

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historical document known as the Sumerian King List claims that Mebaragesi, king of Kish, raided Elam; 42 however, this has not been confirmed in contemporary inscriptions. One of his successors, Ennaªil, is credited with a similar success in what seems to be a late copy of an inscription dating to his reign. 43 Finally, an otherwise unknown person, Pussussu, is said to have vanquished Hamazi, according to a fragmentary text. 44 Whatever the success of these campaigns may have been, the later historical tradition suggests that the peripheral areas became actively involved in the political life of Babylonia. The Sumerian King List records three foreign dynasties: one of Awan, a traditional Elamite political center, one of Hamazi on the Lesser Zab, and one of Mari on the middle Euphrates. It is highly improbable that any of these outlying centers had political control over Babylonia, but their presence in this document shows that they later on were considered to have been in the cultural and political orbit of Babylonia in the mid-third millennium. 45 The peripheral areas show renewed Babylonian influence at this time. This is the most obvious at Mari on the Middle Euphrates, at Tell Beydar in the northern Habur area, and at Ebla in western Syria. At the three sites, inscriptions of this period have been found. Those from Ebla are the most numerous and show that the local inhabitants in the late twenty-fifth and early twenty-fourth centuries had borrowed from Babylonia not only their script, but also Sumerian word signs to write most of their vocabulary, and scholarly texts to train their scribes. This cultural dependence was so strong that Gelb coined the term “Kish civilization” to refer to the cultures of Northern Babylonia and Syria in that time period. 46 At present, no nonBabylonian sites other than those three have yielded inscriptional material, but the likelihood that this will happen in the future is great, and Babylonian influence will be visible there as well. The commercial and military contacts of Babylonia with the surrounding areas came to a peak with the rise of the dynasty of Akkad around 2350. The first ruler of this dynasty, Sargon, started a series of far-flung military campaigns throughout the region. He claims to have raided Northwestern Syria, Northern Mesopotamia, and Western Iran. Sargon and his successors established military and administrative footholds in the northern Habur area at Tell Brak, in Assyria at Gasur and Assur, and also controlled lowland Elam. Moreover, Sargon claims to have brought the ships of the Persian Gulf to the harbor of Akkad itself, hence taking command over maritime trade. A large increase in the bulk of this trade is visible at this time, and copper became one of the main items imported from the Gulf region. The increase in copper imports can be explained as the result of changing consumption patterns in Babylonia. Copper had been an elite product until then, and most tools continued to be made from flint and/or clay. With the Akkad-period, bronze and copper tools become much more widespread and a

42. T. Jacobsen, The Sumerian King List (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1939), pp. 82–85. 43. Cooper, Sumerian and Akkadian Royal Inscriptions, p. 21. 44. Cooper, Sumerian and Akkadian Royal Inscriptions, p. 21 note to no. 6. 45. C. Wilcke, “Genealogical and Geographical Thought in the Sumerian King List,” in H. Behrens, D. Loding, and M. Roth (eds.), DUMU-E2-DUB-BA-A: Studies in Honor of Åke W. Sjöberg (Philadelphia: University Museum,1989), pp. 557–71, believes the inclusion of these dynasties to have taken place in the twenty-first century as a celebration of Shulgi’s control over “the four corners of the universe.” The information from this text is indeed historically suspect. 46. I. J. Gelb, “Ebla and the Kish Civilization,” in L. Cagni (ed.), La lingua di Ebla (Naples,1981), pp. 9–73.

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necessity. Hence copper imports had to be increased, and in the early second millennium the amounts mentioned in texts become enormous. 47 Why did the Babylonian cities start to direct their attention to the periphery around 2600? I believe that changes in the social structure can be held responsible for this shift of attention. At this time we see the rise of a secular elite in Babylonia, as shown by the archaeological record, the art, and the texts. Archaeology provides us with the first evidence of palace architecture around 2600 in the cities of Kish, Eridu, Eshnunna, and perhaps Tell al-Wilayah and Abu Salabikh. 48 The identification of a palace in the archaeological record is of course always somewhat uncertain, but the defensive walls surrounding these buildings distinguish them from known temple architecture. The location of the “palaces” at the fringes of settlements indicates that their erection occurred late in the development of the cities when the central sectors were already fully occupied. In contrast the temples had a long established tradition and were built on the same sacred ground in the city centers for centuries. 49 Archaeology also provides us with the most obvious record of a stratified social hierarchy headed by a group of elite individuals. Around the end of the fourth millennium, burials in or near settlements reappear after an interruption of that practice in the Uruk period. A distinction becomes visible in the type of interment, from simple pits to elaborately built tombs. Very indicative of the differences in the wealth of the dead are the grave goods. At first, in the Jemdat Nasr and ED I periods these remain rather simple, but with the ED II period they become extremely diversified and show an enormous variation from tomb to tomb. Burial gifts from the ED III period show extreme differences in wealth, as is most clearly visible in the so-called Royal Cemetery of Ur. 50 A small group of graves there attests to the existence of a powerful upper class. Sixteen out of the some 2000 graves recovered are distinguished by their elaborate chambers made of brick and stone. The occupants were buried not only with extremely valuable grave goods, such as large amounts of gold and jewelry, but also with human attendants, who were immolated or willing to kill themselves at the time of the burial. The exact status of the people buried in these elaborate tombs remains unclear. The inscriptional evidence that they would have been kings and queens is weak, and possibly some of them were high members of the priestly elite. 51 Be that as it may, the burials show that some members of society at Ur were able to demand excessive luxury in the afterlife, and had such great power over some of their subjects that they could demand their lives. The astounding, and short-lived, ability to demand the lives of servants at one’s death has been interpreted as the sign of a developing secular kingship in Babylonia. The king was already able to acquire great wealth during his lifetime, but as the idea of secular rule was still young, the ritual of burying that wealth and demanding the lives of people was used to reaffirm royal power. 52 Whatever the validity of that thesis, it is clear that the elite buried in these tombs were extremely powerful. It is only after 2600 that we find the first representations of individuals who are identified by name and as kings in the visual arts. The scenes in which these kings appear are also new; 47. C. Edens, “Dynamics of Trade in the Ancient Mesopotamian ‘World System’,” American Anthropologist 94 (1992), pp. 118–39. 48. J. Margueron, Recherches sur les palais mésopotamiens de l’age du bronze (Paris: Geuthner, 1982). 49. Postgate, Early Mesopotamia, pp. 137–41. 50. Pollock, Ancient Mesopotamia, pp. 204–17. 51. P. R. S. Moorey, “What do we know about the people buried in the Royal Cemetery?” Expedition 20/1 (Fall 1977), pp. 24–40; Pollock, Ancient Mesopotamia, p. 211. 52. C. Redman, The Rise of Civilization (San Francisco: W. H. Freeman, 1978), pp. 295–98.

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we find them as warriors, as builders, and presiding over banquets, presumably at court. Moreover, the royal inscription, commemorating a ruler’s accomplishments as builder, warrior, or lawgiver, makes its first appearance at this time. Originally, these texts were short marks of ownership or dedication of objects such as mace-heads, but soon afterwards they became lengthy accounts. Simultaneously, the Sumerian terminology used to refer to the city rulers changed as well. A new term, lugal, literally meaning “big man,” came into use. This term designated a man whose power was based on the military rather than on the temple and who was able to pass his office down to his son, thus creating a dynasty. 53 All these elements point to the rise of a strong secular elite and true kingship in Babylonia at about 2600. How can we explain this evolution? The process may have been set in motion by changes in the natural environment of the region. A recession of the sea level of the Persian Gulf in the fourth millennium caused the Tigris and Euphrates rivers to withdraw into a few major channels and reduced the extent of the marshes by 3000. 54 Consequently, there was a reduction of the agricultural area of Babylonia, land that was needed to feed the populations of the various urban centers that had arisen around 2800. At first, cities and their hinterlands were separated by steppe, but with the growth of the population and the ensuing expansion of the agricultural areas, conflicts arose. The presence of conflicts between cities from the twenty-eighth century on can be inferred from the fact that defensive city walls became common then. The movement of the rural populations towards the cities at that time may have been caused by fear of marauding armies involved in these conflicts. We have an extensive record from Girsu of a long-lasting military conflict between Lagash and its neighbor Umma over an agricultural area called the Guedinna. The conflict lasted for several generations, involved several major battles and even outside arbitration. 55 The dispute was settled after 150 years when the ruler of Umma conquered Girsu, but in later centuries the territory remained contested between the two cities. 56 Conflicts of this nature were settled by armies commanded by secular rulers. These commanders soon took advantage of their unique position in society and extended their control over non-military aspects of the rule. A new, non-religious elite was thus created. This elite started to dwell in separate and wellprotected buildings, the palaces, and extracted service from other members of society. They used their power in order to accumulate wealth and prestige, primarily in the form of luxury products acquired abroad. These products clearly distinguished the elite from other members of society, both in life and in death. The increase in imported luxury goods after 2600 reflects the growing might of this new elite. The experience and success in local military conflicts may have led some rulers to venture farther afield into the peripheral areas. The development of secular kingship in northern Babylonia may have been very different from that in the south. The ostensible absence of large temple estates there suggests that the political structure of the region was one of territorial states headed by a strong secular king, 53. W. Heimpel, “Herrentum und Königtum im vor- und frühgeschichtlichen Alten Orient,” ZA 82 (1992), pp. 4–21. 54. H. Nissen, The Early History of the Ancient Near East (9000–2000 b.c.) (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987); see J. Zarins, “The Early Settlement of Southern Mesopotamia,” JAOS 112 (1992), p. 66. 55. J. S. Cooper, Reconstructing History from Ancient Inscriptions: The Lagash-Umma Border Conflict (Malibu: Undena, 1983). 56. G. Pettinato, “I7-idigna-ta I7-nun-sè: Il conflitto tra Lagas ed Umma per la ‘Frontiera divina’ e la sua soluzione durante la terza dinastia di Ur,” Mesopotamia V–VI (1970–71), pp. 281–320.

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whose power base was a city-based oligarchy. The system of territorial states may have extended to Northern Mesopotamia and Western Syria, as evidenced by the material from the Syrian cities of Ebla and Mari, and may go back to the late fourth millennium. 57 The development of such a northern Babylonian idea of secular kingship is shrouded in mystery, however. There is virtually no textual information from the region itself, and most of our information derives from late ED III evidence from the South, when conflicts between southern city-states and a northern territorial state may have developed. The later Sumerian Gilgamesh tradition contains a long tale about Enmebaragesi of Kish attacking Uruk, 58 but this may be a projection of a later condition onto the distant past. The power of a northern ruler is visible when Mesilim of Kish mediated the border dispute between Umma and Lagash in the ED III period, 59 but that is already late in the period under discussion here. Whatever the exact nature of kingship in northern Babylonia, we can say that an increasingly competitive situation developed all over Babylonia during the Early Dynastic period, and I surmise that such a situation strengthened the powers of local military elites. The coincidence of the growth of an elite and the increase in contacts with the periphery is not accidental, in my opinion. The people buried in the tombs at Ur, for instance, represent a class that wanted to distinguish itself through a conspicuous display of wealth. While the local resources of Babylonia were sufficient for a basic lifestyle, the truly special products could only be obtained abroad. Unfortunately we can only observe this in their existence after death, but we can assume in life they attempted to distinguish themselves likewise. The presence of materials for the use by a small segment of the population can have longterm repercussions for the material culture of an entire society. Just as today coffee is no longer a product imported only for the European upper classes, some of the luxury goods of the Early Dynastic period may have become more widely used after having been imported for restricted consumption for a while. The increased use of copper from Oman in the late third— early second millennia is probably an example of this. To us today bronze may seem to have been a necessity, based on the later usage, but I suggest it appeared in Babylonia first as a luxury. Sufficiently detailed histories of the use of the foreign goods are unfortunately not yet available, nor possible perhaps, so I admit that there is an element of uncertainty here.

4. Other Moments in Mesopotamian History In what follows, I can only point out some other periods in Mesopotamian history where the rise of international contacts can be tied to the appearance of an elite. Mesopotamia had extremely widespread contacts with the surrounding areas in three periods of its history: the late fourth millennium, the second half of the second millennium and the first millennium, starting in the ninth century b.c. In the first two periods, trade seems to have been the main way in which foreign goods were procured; in the third, warfare played a major role. The reasons for the so-called Late Uruk expansion are hotly debated by scholars, but it is clear that Babylonian-style artifacts were used in a wide geographical area throughout the Middle East. Whether this was reciprocated by a flow of foreign goods into Babylonia is difficult to say, because we have so few data from the core area itself. There are some limited finds 57. P. Steinkeller, “Mesopotamia in the Third Millennium b.c.,” in D. N. Freedman (ed.), The Anchor Bible Dictionary 4 (New York: Doubleday, 1992), pp. 724–32; Steinkeller, “Land-Tenure Conditions.” 58. D. Katz, Gilgamesh and Akka (Groningen: Styx Publications, 1993). 59. Cooper, Sumerian and Akkadian Royal Inscriptions, p. 54.

spread is 6 points long

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of gold in Uruk itself, for instance, 60 but the archaeological context is secondary and the dating thus uncertain. 61 We can say, however, that in Babylonia the urban culture that arose was characterized by an ability of certain groups to demand a large amount of resources. The famous temple complexes at Uruk were built at an enormous expense of labor. There was certainly an upper class that had the ability to recruit labor, and we usually hypothesize the existence of a religious elite that became dominant in the society. What we see then is that a newly created centralized system in the hands of a small group of people immediately translates into an international outreach on the part of Babylonia. The ideological, rather than commercial, importance of those contacts have only recently become stressed. 62 The second half of the second millennium, the period between 1500 and 1200, is a highly unusual one in ancient Near Eastern history because of the extensive system of international contacts that pervaded the entire region. From western Iran to the Aegean, from Anatolia to Egypt, states were in contact with one another and an exchange of goods took place at a very high level of society. The El Amarna letters document a system of gift exchange between kings that allowed them access to precious materials unavailable at home. 63 Babylonia and Assyria actively participated in this system and thereby obtained gold from Egypt, for instance. Simultaneously, the societies of the states throughout the region were characterized by the existence of urban palace elites exploiting the general population. They distinguished themselves in their residences, often in separate areas of town such as the citadel at Hattusas, and in their tombs. While Mesopotamian material from this period is very limited in extent, it is clear that both Babylonia and Assyria had similar elites and were participants in the international exchanges. In the ninth century, the Assyrian empire started an unprecedented process of conquest over large areas of the Near East, and with it began a long succession of gigantic empires: Assyrian, Babylonian, Seleucid, Parthian, Sassanian, Ummayad, and Abbasid. The political importance of the region of Mesopotamia may not always have been primary in these empires, but it always remained a crucial economic asset to them and, the South at least, a densely inhabited area. It is almost a tautology to say that these empires were governed by an elite that cornered much of the wealth accumulated. In Assyria’s case, for instance, we can easily observe that successful military campaigners, bringing in much booty, were also great builders. The Nimrud tombs of the ninth century 64 attest to the enormous consumption of precious goods by these elites. In this article I have thus argued that there was a causal relationship between three elements in Mesopotamian history: the existence of native elites, the presence of precious foreign goods, and extensive international contacts. Obviously, in each of the particular cases mentioned, the situation was more complex and the desire for precious goods by an elite was not the sole reason why we find Mesopotamian contacts with the periphery. Historical explanations are never that simple. But the idea that Mesopotamia was so deprived of raw materials that its inhabitants constantly had to go abroad to seek goods for their survival should be laid to rest. 60. See M. van Ess and F. Pedde, Uruk: Kleinfunde II (AUWE 7; Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1992), pp. 75–76. 61. P. R. S. Moorey, From Gulf to Delta and Beyond (Beer-Sheva 8; Beer-Sheva: Ben Gurion University of the Negev Press, 1995), p. 10. 62. Moorey, From Gulf to Delta, p. 22. 63. Z. Cochavi-Rainey and C. Lilyquist, Royal Gifts in the Late Bronze Age: Fourteenth to Thirteenth Centuries b.c.e. (Beer-Sheva 13; Beer-Sheva: Ben Gurion University of the Negev Press, 1999). 64. M. S. Damerji, Gräber assyrischer Königinnen aus Nimrud (Mainz: Verlag des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseum, 1998).

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Sacred Pathways Bojana Mojsov

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Royal tombs in the Valley of the Kings were designed to represent the kingdom of Osiris. Some of them include underground corridors that extend behind the sarcophagus chamber, descending deep into the rock. The function of these passages is difficult to explain other than in the context of symbolism and ritual. Religious texts may provide a clue to their meaning. The corridors are so narrow that some are practically impenetrable. When Sheik Ali Abd el Rassul excavated the corridor in the tomb of Sety I for the Egyptian Antiquities Organization in the 1960s, he employed children, since the 45 cm ceiling was too low for adults. The corridor also has a steeper angle of descent than the tomb above, measuring between 32 and 47 degrees. Sheik Ali eventually abandoned the excavation due to lack of ventilation, but not before he penetrated another 136.21 m. The corridor reaches a depth of 100 m below the tomb entrance. This is the lowest depth reached in the Valley of the Kings (fig. 1). When Belzoni discovered Sety’s tomb in 1817, he also found the corridor. Belzoni removed the slabs of marble used as paving stones under the sarcophagus, only to find that there was a pit underneath. This was the entrance to the corridor. 1 It was blocked by sand, debris, fallen stone, and silt. It contained no decoration and Belzoni did not excavate it. In 1843, Gardner Wilkinson described the passage as “an inclined plane, which, with a staircase on either side, descends into the heart of the argillaceous rock for a distance of 150 feet.” 2 In 1903, Howard Carter began excavating the corridor. He halted the excavation after realizing that cracks had appeared in the walls of the two chambers directly above. The vacuum left by the filling after it had been removed destabilized the floors of the vaulted sarcophagus chamber and the four columned hall of Osiris above. Carter built a mud-brick wall with an arched doorway between the two rooms to provide additional support for the ceilings. 3 He added yet another brick wall between the sarcophagus chamber and a side-room to help support the high vault of the sarcophagus chamber. He then refilled the corridor with sand and re-sealed it. After Sheik Ali’s excavation of the corridor, the total length of the tomb was extended to 1. G. Belzoni, Narrative of the Operations and Recent Discoveries within the Pyramids, Temples, Tombs and Excavations in Egypt and Nubia (London, 1820, republished 1971), pp. 236–37. “The sarcophagus was over a staircase in the center of the saloon, which communicated with a subterranean passage, leading downwards, three hundred feet in length . . . I have reason to suppose, that this passage was used to come into the tomb by another entrance. . . .” Belzoni’s account may have inspired the excavation in 1960. Sheik Ali was from the Abd el Rassul family, famous for discovering the royal mummies at Deir el Bahri. 2. G. Wilkinson, Modern Egypt and Thebes: Being a Description of Egypt II (London, 1843), p. 203. 3. H. Carter, Annales du Service des Antiquites de l’Egypte 6 (1903–4), p. 112.

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Fig. 1. Plan of the Tomb of Sety I (KV 17) (Courtesy of K. Weeks).

230.20 m. The corridor has been left exposed since then. This caused the columns in the Osiris room to lose their ground support and the ceiling collapsed. The room is still in this condition, the walls propped up by wooden beams. Carter’s brick walls seem to have protected the vault of the sarcophagus chamber, which suffered only minor cracks in the southeast corner. Scaffolding built of wood and plastic beams now holds up the ceiling’s cracked plaster. In 1979, the Theban Mapping Project made a survey of the corridor. 4 It revealed that Sheik Ali’s excavation left great quantities of debris hanging from the walls and ceiling. In fact, the Sheik’s excavation was more of a tunnel cut through the corridor filling than an exposure of the original tunnel itself. 5 In two places where probes were made through the remaining debris, the surveyors discovered that the original walls were vertical and well carved, the ceilings smooth and regularly sloped and the floor had a double staircase with a ramp down its middle. These features suggest the corridor was a carefully planned part of the tomb that was cut and sealed before the sarcophagus was dragged into position. Meticulous planning was also evident in the care taken to ensure that the axis of the corridor matched the descent of the tomb. 6 In fact, the tunnel appears to be a deliberate extension of the tomb along its principal axis. The burial chamber and the entrance to the corridor are about 16 m lower than the tomb entrance and, as mentioned above, the farthest accessed point in the corridor is almost 100 m 4. K. Weeks, The Berkeley Map of the Theban Necropolis: Report on the Second Season (Berkeley, 1979), pp. 17–20. 5. Sheik Ali’s tunnel may well exceed the original length of Sety’s corridor. The sheik may have been looking for a passage to another chamber or another tomb in the Valley. 6. This slope would have been far clearer had the surveyors been able to map the original passage walls rather than the sides of the modern excavation.

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below the tomb entrance. This point is only 2 m above the current level of the average Nile flood plain at Luxor and only 4 m above the mean level of the river itself. The corridor is not connected to any other tomb in the Valley; it seems to lead nowhere else but to underground water. The reason for carving such a low, narrow and steeply inclined passageway is far from clear. It was not intended to join any area in the Valley of the Kings because it was dug below the level of any known place and seems to head toward underground water. A parallel that comes to mind is the cenotaph of Sety I at Abydos, where a corridor also heads toward the underground waters in the attempt to recreate the original burial of Osiris. Furthermore, there are similarities in the construction of the two corridors—a double flight of steps with an inclined ramp between them. In the Osireon at Abydos the ramp leads to an island surrounded by water. The presence of the corridor in the tomb of Sety I can only be explained in the context of its ritual, symbolic meaning. Every tomb in the Valley of the Kings was an entry to the Underworld and a model of the kingdom of Osiris. Corridors and chambers were cut to represent this world and to guide the soul of the deceased king through its dark caverns. Sacred writings of the Books of the Afterlife were written to provide guidance and protection for the king’s spirit and each royal tomb in the Valley of the Kings contained these texts in one form or another. In the tomb of Tuthmosis III, they were written in the form of large papyri covering the walls with figures and letters drawn in shorthand. It was essential that the texts, no matter how simple, accompanied the mummy in order to ensure magical protection for the king’s soul. The Books of the Afterlife were reserved for the tomb of the king. 7 They were esoteric writings: only the king as the earthly sun could know all the secrets connected with the sun’s path through the Underworld. The inclusion of all the Books in the tomb of Sety I reflected religious concerns of the time. In the aftermath of the monotheism of Amarna, the old doctrines had to be revived and united into a single body of religious texts. Hence, Sety’s tomb contained the most complete version of all the Books of the Afterlife. This reflects the special attention given to the tomb of Sety I in order to set new religious norms and new standards in outfitting royal tombs. The tomb’s unique place and importance in the New Kingdom is confirmed by the fact that all subsequent royal tombs down to the reign of Ramesses III followed the decorative scheme introduced in the tomb of Sety. The architecture of the tomb represented the different parts of the kingdom of Osiris through which the bark of the sun god traveled every night. The king’s soul followed in the retinue of Ra through the hours of the night until in the sixth hour he was judged by Osiris. Rituals were performed on the king’s statues (Opening the Mouth for Breathing) to help his spirit merge with Osiris and become one with the god of the Underworld. Through Osiris he entered the primeval ocean, Nun, where he dissolved in the waters of creation. Only then was he ready for new life. Rising with the sun, he was reborn in the morning and “stepped forth into daylight” joining the eternal cosmic cycle. Imagery of Nun is found on the alabaster sarcophagus of Sety I, now in the John Soane Museum in London. The head piece of the sarcophagus carries a representation of Nun, the primeval ocean, raising the bark of Ra from the Underworld and handing it over to Nut, the sky goddess (fig. 2). Nut, represented upside down, takes up the disk from Nun. On the head of the sky goddess stands a small figure, also represented upside down. He lifts the disk into the 7. Around 1000 b.c., the High Priests of Amun appropriated this royal privilege for their own sarcophagi and burial papyri.

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Fig. 2. Detail of the head-piece of the sarcophagus of Sety I. John Soane Museum, London (Courtesy of E. Hornung).

heavens. The texts written inside the rounded body of Nut—the ring of the rising sun—describe this figure as “Osiris encircled in the Underworld.” The corridor in the tomb of Sety I probably symbolizes the passage to the primeval waters of Nun. So far, similar passages extending beyond the sarcophagus chamber have been found in the tombs of Merenptah, Sety II and Ramesses III. In the tomb of Ramesses III this corridor is only 15 m long and extends horizontally into the bedrock. There is no real attempt to connect it to the underground waters. It seems to have been included in the plan of the royal tomb only for symbolic reasons. The function of these corridors was probably the same—they were symbolic passages to the waters of the primeval ocean. If the back wall of the sarcophagus chamber served as a false door—an opening into the realm of Nun—the corridors may simply represent symbolic passages approaching the false door from the “other side.” An important note: the dilemma remains concerning the structural weakness caused by the exposed corridor in the tomb of Sety I. An immediate solution would be to fill it up with sand,

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as Carter had done. Another possibility would be to install steel beams to support the roof of the corridor for the entire length of the tomb, under the floors of the rooms lying directly above. This would stabilize the floors of the Osiris Room and the sarcophagus chamber. The columns in the Osiris room could then be restored to their original positions and the ceiling rebuilt. The vault of the sarcophagus chamber also needs additional beams.

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title drop

The Reattribution of Middle Uruk Materials at Brak

Joan Oates and David Oates

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We are delighted to offer this contribution to a long-time friend and most valued colleague, whose contributions to the archaeology of Mesopotamia are as many as they are varied. Important in the context of this paper is his well-dated sequence at Nippur (Inanna), which provides the fundamental south Mesopotamian framework for the understanding of the Middle Uruk period. We hope that in his roles both as a distinguished art historian and an outstanding excavator, he will find this short note of interest. We thank him also for his recent and most welcome participation at Tell Brak itself. There is little point in excavation unless one can establish something new, whether by the testing of existing interpretations or attempts to address the unknown. Yet initially all archaeologists must work within the frameworks of fact and hypothesis constructed by their predecessors. Testing any theory may prove it right or wrong; more often the surviving evidence is simply inconclusive. Any thinking archaeologist, however, must be willing to change his mind, even to admit that he has been wrong. There is otherwise little point in research. Nothing is more irritating than being criticised for “inconsistency,” when changing one’s view in the light of new evidence. The serious error would be to fail to do so. This paper is in a sense both a short story of interpretation and an apology for “getting it wrong” fifteen years ago. Before we began work at Brak, the site was known especially for Mallowan’s discovery of the still unique Eye Temple and the historically important “palace” of Naram-Sin. Although we believe that over the past twenty years we have added substantially not only to the history and archaeology of Brak and the Khabur basin but also to that of Mesopotamia as a whole, Mallowan’s discoveries remain among the most important made at the site, and it is to the Eye Temple that we return in this paper. Mallowan’s excavations coincided with the 1930s work at Warka, and he found at Brak not only a temple of distinctively south Mesopotamian type but one that was decorated in similar fashion to the already famous buildings at Warka. As in the case of the White Temple at Warka, a sequence of platforms underlies the Brak Eye Temple. Most notably, in the second earliest, the Grey Brick Platform, were found enormous numbers of stamp amulets, often in the shape of animals, small stone animal figures, beads and Eye Idols, the latter a votive type that until the recent excavations at Hamoukar had remained 145

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unique to Brak. 1 Mallowan’s discoveries at Brak were made in 1937–38. In 1936, Heinrich had published the Sammelfund from Warka, which contained large numbers of superficially similar animal amulets (but not the stamp amulets). 2 In attributing the Eye Temple to the Jamdat Nasr period, Mallowan was much influenced both by Warka parallels for the temple and its ornament and the date attributed to the Sammelfund. Thus, despite the fact that there seemed to have been at least three earlier versions of the temple, all of the materials enclosed within the platforms were dated to this “Jamdat Nasr” phase, the formal designation of which had been agreed in Leiden in 1929 by those archaeologists then excavating in Iraq. At Warka this “Jamdat Nasr” hoard (which we now know to have contained at least some material of earlier date 3) was stratigraphically differentiated from the earlier level in Eanna from which the archaic tablets were recovered (Eanna IVa, the latest of the ‘Late Uruk’ levels, though, as with the Sammelfund, the tablets themselves were not in situ). At much the same time Frankfort (1939), in his seminal study of the then-known seals, proposed the stylistic and therefore chronological distinction between the subtly carved Late Uruk style and a “deteriorated” style with drill hole patterns “characteristic of the Jamdat Nasr period.” The latter of course included the bulk of the Eye Temple stamp amulets. The exclusively Jamdat Nasr dating of this drilled style had begun to be questioned in the 1965 Chronologies in Old World Archaeology (COWA) volume, 4 largely owing to Hansen’s pigtailed-ladies seal from a Late Uruk context at Nippur, 5 but was to persist until the discovery of the Late Uruk sites on the Upper Euphrates where it was patently clear that these very different styles were in large part contemporary. 6 Also in the COWA volume, in the context of Hansen’s Nippur evidence and with direct reference to the Eye Temple, Porada observed that “the possibility that the Grey Brick Platform amulets were already being made in the Late Uruk period must be seriously considered.” 7 It is of course this same COWA volume that contains Hansen’s important summary of the Nippur Inanna evidence, which still provides the fundamental corpus of Middle Uruk pottery, 8 to which we shall return. In 1976, we deliberately reopened the excavations at Brak in an area (CH) adjacent to the Naram-Sin Palace, which lay in part above the Eye Temple. Our objective was to identify the construction level of the Naram-Sin building in order to provide a fixed historical point of reference for our third-millennium excavations. In 1978, a deep sounding was excavated here, in 1. A possible example comes from Warka (A. Becker, Uruk: Kleinfunde I, Stein [AUWE 6; Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1993], no. 12), but this specimen would seem to be unfinished and it remains unclear whether or not it is truly a Brak-type Eye Idol. The latter are flat, with thicknesses of 0.5–0.6 cm, which suggests that the Warka piece may be an unfinished Spectacle Idol, of which the bodies are both thicker and more rounded (compare figs. 3 and 5). 2. E. Heinrich, “Kleinfunde aus den archaischen Tempelschichten in Uruk-Warka,” UVB 1 (1936), passim. 3. See also M. R. Behm-Blancke, Das Tierbild in der altmesopotamischen Rundplastik (BaF 1; Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1979), p. 101. 4. R. W. Ehrich (ed.), COWA (Chicago: University of Chicago Press; 2d ed. 1965; 3d ed. 1992). 5. Illustrated in E. Porada, D. P. Hansen, S. Dunham, and S. H. Babcock, “The Chronology of Mesopotamia,” in COWA 3d ed., p. 104. 6. E. Stommenger, Habuba Kabira: Eine Stadt vor 5000 Jahren (Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1980), fig. 43. 7. E. Porada, “The Relative Chronology of Mesopotamia I,” in COWA 2d ed., p. 155. 8. D. P. Hansen, “The Relative Chronology of Mesopotamia II: The Pottery Sequence at Nippur from the Middle Uruk to the End of the Old Babylonian Period,” in COWA 2d ed., pp. 301ff.

Spread is 12 points short

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which was found chaff-tempered “chalcolithic” pottery of a type at that time known to us only in the Amuq sequence (Amuq F). Puzzlingly, these apparently chalcolithic levels lay at the same absolute level as the immediately pre-Akkadian, “late ED III” houses. A hearth was excavated in one of the “chalcolithic” levels, which was surrounded with casseroles of a very distinctive type not found in the third millennium levels; 9 beneath this level was found a large, unsealed numerical tablet. 10 This stratigraphic puzzle was resolved in 1984 with the removal of the baulk between the two areas of excavation, revealing the terracing of the third millennium houses up the steep slope of a much earlier tell. 11 Further excavation that year within the area of the latter tell 12 exposed several rooms in which this same “chalcolithic” pottery was recovered in situ. The levels in which these rooms were found lay below eight levels dated to the second half of the third millennium and were designated, with hindsight perhaps unfortunately, Levels 9 and 10. In these rooms were found several small objects including a charming stone bear, wearing a pleated skirt and kneeling, its human feet carefully carved beneath the body (fig. 1, Level 10), a bone stamp amulet identical with an Eye Temple grey brick stratum type, 13 and an alabaster Spectacle Idol (fig. 2, also Level 10). Beneath Level 12 was found a clay bulla with a very beautifully carved seal impression (fig. 3), which appeared to all who examined it at the time to be the impression of a cylinder seal; indeed Edith Porada compared it with bullae from the rescue excavations at Habuba South. 14 These pieces of evidence, together with the presence of some genuine Late Uruk sherds (drooping spouts, nose-lug jars) of which the stratification was uncertain and which we assumed must derive from some as yet unexcavated earlier level, led us to follow Mallowan’s lead in seeing the Eye Temple as of approximately Jamdat Nasr date, and to assign to the same phase the new pottery found in association with such Eye Temple types as the stone bear and the stamp amulet. Such an attribution was supported by the dating of very similar pieces from Susa. 15 The chalcolithic pottery from the 1978 sounding, published by Fielden in 1981, was also attributed, on comparative data, to a “Late Uruk/Jamdat Nasr date, a little later than Habuba Kabira.” 16 During the next two seasons at Brak we found further “chalcolithic” material in Area CH, including, in 1986, large quantities of Gawra XI–A to X pottery, 17 and even earlier types. It must also be mentioned that in 1981 we had excavated a monumental second-millennium structure in Area TW, 18 in which the levelling fill within the foundation walls contained large quantities of Late Uruk types identical with those from Habuba Kabira South published by

9. D. Oates, “Excavations at Tell Brak, 1978–81,” Iraq 44 (1982), fig. 3; K. Fielden, “A Late Uruk Pottery Group from Tell Brak,” Iraq 43 (1981), fig. 2:1, 2. 10. D. Oates, “Excavations at Tell Brak, 1978–81,” pl. 15c. 11. D. Oates, “Excavations at Tell Brak, 1983–84,” Iraq 47 (1985), fig. 3. 12. D. Oates, “Excavations at Tell Brak, 1983–84,” pl. 20. 13. D. Oates, “Excavations at Tell Brak, 1983–84,” pl. 26a, Level 9; M. E. L. Mallowan, “Excavations at Brak and Chagar Bazar,” Iraq 9 (1947), pl. 13:1. 14. E.g., Strommenger, Habuba Kabira, fig. 56. 15. L. Le Breton, “The Early Period at Susa: Mesopotamian Relations,” Iraq 19 (1957), pp. 79ff. 16. Fielden, “A Late Uruk Pottery Group,” pp. 157ff. 17. Including J. Oates, “A Note on ‘Ubaid and Mitanni Pottery from Tell Brak,” Iraq 49 (1987), fig. 3:6, 7; J. Oates, “Tell Brak: The Uruk/Early Dynastic Sequence,” in U. Finkbeiner and W. Röllig (eds.), Ïamdat Nasr: Period or Regional Style? (Wiesbaden: Reichert, 1986), fig. 2:34, pl. 7, upper left hand sherds. 18. D. Oates, “Excavations at tell Brak, 1978–81,” p. 195 and pl. 10.

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Fig. 1. Miniature stone bear (and drawing), kneeling with human feet tucked underneath, wearing pleated skirt. Ht. 3.0 cm. Soft yellow stone, streaked with red. TB 6029, CH Level 10, Middle Uruk.

Sürenhagen in 1978. 19 Although, as noted above, we had found sherds of these types in Area CH, no associated levels had been identified either there or, at that time, in Area TW. We now turn to 1983, when a conference organised in Tübingen addressed the question of the meaning of the term “Jamdat Nasr” and whether or not such a phase could be said to exist distinct from Late Uruk/ED I. 20 The conclusion was that there was an appropriate span of 19. D. Sürenhagen, Keramikproduktion in Habuba Kabira-Süd: Untersuchungen zur Keramikproduktion innerhalb der Spät-Urukzeitlichen Siedlung Habuba Kabira-Süd = Acta praehistorica et archaeologica 5/6 (1974/5) (Berlin: Hessling, 1978). 20. Finkbeiner and Röllig (eds.), Ïamdat Nasr: Period or Regional Style?

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Fig. 2. Alabaster Spectacle Idol, 4.5 x 3.0 x 1.9 cm. TB 6030, CH Level 10, Middle Uruk.

Fig. 3. Clay bulla, 5.3 x 3.8 cm. Impression shows a lion killing a gazelle below a waiting vulture; above, a horned goat followed by a kid. Five impressions, string marks on interior. TB 6015, Area CH, beneath Level 12. Probably of Northern Early Uruk date.

time, but that without the “type fossils” of the polychrome pottery and/or the tablets, this phase could not be differentiated from either Late Uruk or ED I. 21 A paper on the chalcolithic material from Area CH at Brak appeared in the publication, but it should be pointed out that at the time of the conference, we had not as yet excavated the material illustrated in the published contribution by J. O., which was added when the paper was revised after the 1984 Brak season. Thus “comments” made by J. O. reflect our knowledge at the end of the 1983 season, while the revised text incorporated the in situ pottery from the 1984 season, which seemed to be contemporary with that excavated in 1978 and published by Fielden. We continued to suggest a “Jamdat Nasr” date for this material not only because of the Eye Temple associations but also because levels with in situ Late Uruk pottery, found in large quantities in Area TW and 21. Finkbeiner and Röllig (eds.), Ïamdat Nasr: Period or Regional Style?

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clearly present in CH but only as unstratified sherds in undated deposits, had yet to be identified. We continued, moreover, to be misled by our mistaken attribution of the bulla (fig. 3) as Late Uruk, and the small bear as “Jamdat Nasr,” not only on the basis of the Eye Temple material but also on similar types from Susa. 22 This reconstruction had seriously to be reconsidered when the 1993 excavations in Area TW (reopened in 1991) reached levels in which the 1978/1984 Area CH “Jamdat Nasr” pottery was finally found not only in situ but in levels well-stratified beneath the Late Uruk occupation. We were perhaps overly cautious at that time in our initial hesitation to redate the Area CH material, 23 in part because we were still “programmed” to think of the small objects from CH, for example the bear, as of “Jamdat Nasr” attribution. At the same time, we were aware of the possibility that the “chalcolithic” types found in Area TW Levels 13–16 might represent a local repertoire that continued elsewhere on the site in levels contemporary with those containing exclusively southern Late Uruk materials as in Area TW. Indeed this is a question we have yet to resolve. We were also aware that our repertoire of “Jamdat Nasr” pottery from Area TW, which included both genuine southern types and pottery not found in the CH deposits, was relatively limited. 24 Despite this initial caution, our thinking has moved increasingly in the direction of attributing Area CH Levels 9, 10, and their in situ materials, to what we now term the “Northern Middle Uruk” phase. 25 Certainly there is no strong argument for not doing so, especially in view of the approximate coincidence of radiocarbon determinations (received only when our “stratigraphic summary,” published in 1994, was already in proof) between TW Level 16, the CH hearth below which was found the numerical tablet, and the range of determinations from the Shaikh Hassan Middle Uruk. 26 It is also now well-established that the socalled Spectacle Idol type, of which an example was found at Brak in CH Level 10 (fig. 2), is of Middle Uruk date. These widespread symbols have now been found from Susa and Farukhabad to Hacinebi. 27 Holly Pittman’s view that our “Late Uruk bulla” is in fact sealed with a stamp seal of early Gawra type removes the last objection to this re-dating, since it solves the problem of an apparently “Late Uruk” bulla stratified between “Northern Middle Uruk” pot-

22. Le Breton, “The Early Period at Susa,” figs. 31, 32; see also P. O. Harper, J. Aruz, and F. Tallon (eds.), The Royal City of Susa (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1992), no. 25, a kneeling human with very similar small feet. 23. D. Oates and J. Oates, “Excavations at Tell Brak, 1992–93,” Iraq 55 (1993), p. 182. 24. Oates and Oates, “Excavations at Tell Brak, 1992–93,” pp. 170, 180. 25. D. Oates and J. Oates, “Tell Brak: A Stratigraphic Summary, 1976–93,” Iraq 56 (1994), pp. 167ff. 26. See Oates and Oates, “Tell Brak: A Stratigraphic Summary,” p. 175. The Brak determinations are: BM-2900 BM-2901 BM-2915

4660±35 4570±35 4650±50

3500 to 3410 or 3395 to 3370 cal b.c. (TW 472, grain) 3375 to 3180 or 3160 to 3140 cal b.c. (TW 472, grain) 3505 to 3405 or 3385 to 3360 cal b.c. (CH 102, charred wood)

For the Shaikh Hassan determinations, see J. Boese, Ausgrabungen in Tell Sheikh Hassan (Saarbrücken: Saarbrücker Drukerei und Verlag, 1995), pp. 241–41, and fig. 15. 27. Inter alia, Le Breton, “The Early Period at Susa,” fig. 34; H. T. Wright (ed.), An Early Town on the Deh Luran Plain (Memoirs of the Museum of Anthropology, University of Michigan 13; Ann Arbor: Museum of Anthropology, University of Michigan, 1981), pl. 18; B. Becker, Kleinfunde I, Stein, pl. 2; Boese, Ausgrabungen in Tell Sheikh Hassan, fig. 10:e; G. J. Stein, R. Bernbeck, C. Coursey, A. McMahon, N. Miller, A. Misir, J. Nicola, H. Pittman, S. Pollack, and H. Wright, “Uruk Colonies and Anatolian Communities,” AJA 100 (1996), fig. 8.

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Fig. 4. Northern Middle Uruk jar from Brak TW Level 17, of which the fabric and the manufacturing technique closely resemble that of the chronologically earlier stamped and appliqué vessels of “Northern Early Uruk” Gawra XI–A to X. The bubbles in the wall of the vessel are especially characteristic. Northern Early Uruk vessels of this type have up to now been found only in Area CH at Brak. Ht. 17.8 cm.

tery and pottery of early Gawra attribution (= Brak “Northern Early Uruk”), pottery which is only just beginning to appear in the current Area TW excavations (fig. 4). 28 The relevant TW sequence, and its relationship with Area CH, can be summarised as follows: TW Levels 9–10 TW Levels 11–12 TW Level 13 TW Levels 14–18 TW Levels 19–20 CH Levels 13, 14

Jamdat Nasr (missing in Area CH owing to ancient “bull-dozing” activities) Late Uruk (missing in Area CH owing to ancient “bull-dozing” activities) Middle Uruk (includes southern pottery types + local chalcolithic) exclusively Northern Middle Uruk = CH Levels 9, 10 (?? Early Northern Uruk) include large quantities of material of Early Northern Uruk attribution

The redating of Area CH leads us also to reconsider the date of the earliest Eye Temples with reference to the well-stratified evidence from Area TW. Perhaps the most persuasive single piece of evidence is the presence of Eye Idols in the TW Level 16 house (fig. 4), 29 together with 28. See also J. Oates, “Tell Brak: The 4th Millennium Sequence and its Implications,” in J. N. Postgate (ed.), Artefacts of Complexity (London: British School of Archaeology in Iraq, in press). 29. See also Oates and Oates, “Excavations at Tell Brak, 1992–93,” figs. 26–28.

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Fig. 5. Eye Idols from Area TW Level 16 house, Room 3 and Room 1, Northern Middle Uruk (TB 14019, ht. 5.3, thickness 0.5; TB 14109, ht. 6.4, th. 0.75; TB 14110, ht. 4.1, th. 0.5).

the fact that this is the only place at Brak where we have found these otherwise common objects actually in situ. As noted above, the more widely known “Spectacle Idols” are also of Middle Uruk date; 30 they are found, moreover, solely on sites with southern Middle Uruk pottery, for which Hansen’s Inanna evidence is crucial. The presence in TW Level 17 of a kidneyshaped steatite amulet, a type characteristic of the Grey Brick Platform (fig. 6) 31 reinforces this dating. We note too the presence in Area CH of a well-stratified, unsealed, numerical tablet comparable with those made of juss and found in Anu Ziggurrat deposits which are also possibly of Middle Uruk date, or at least contain Middle Uruk material. 32 In short, we now believe that the earliest phase of the Eye Temple is to be dated to the northern version of the Middle Uruk period, and that the objects found in the deposits in the Grey Brick Stratum are largely of that date and certainly not of Jamdat Nasr attribution. This redating applies also to the small stone bears, of which an example was found by us in CH Level 10, while a bone stamp in the shape of a ram, virtually identical with that from CH Level 9, came from the “red bricks underlying the grey brick stratum.” 33 That there were strong connections with the south at this time is obvious, not only in these objects but in the presence of 30. They are, however, still dated to the Jamdat Nasr period in Becker, Kleinfunde I, Stein, p. 3. 31. See Mallowan, “Excavations at Brak and Chagar Bazar,” fig. 17. 32. See H. Nissen, “The Archaic Texts from Uruk, ” World Archaeology 17 (1986), p. 323, who remarks that the juss tablets are not in situ in the White Temple; also R. M. Boehmer, Uruk: Früheste Siegelabrollungen (AUWE 24; Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1999), p. 88, where some are said to come from “large mud-bricks.” 33. Mallowan, “Excavations at Brak and Chagar Bazar,” p. 103.

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Fig. 6. Kidney-shaped steatite stamp seal from TW Level 17, Northern Middle Uruk (TB 18004, 2.6 x 2.2 x 0.8 cm).

Fig. 7. Large alabaster “idol” (front and back) found in Area CH in association with Early Northern Uruk pottery, CH Level 13 (TB 9108, ht. 14.5 cm, thickness of body 1.9 cm). The upper part of this object has been broken off.

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the Spectacle Idol and of engaged semi-columns on the Level 16 house. 34 We regret that the most recent version of COWA, to which Donald Hansen has contributed extensively, was written before the discoveries made in 1992–93 in Area TW, which have led to this redating. Further work there in 1997 and 1998 has reinforced this recent view. 35 We should perhaps add that the “Early Northern Uruk” material in Area CH includes not only pottery identical with that of Gawra XI–A to X but also a different type of alabaster “idol” (fig. 7) and large numbers of so-called “hut symbols” in clay, 36 household objects that have often been erroneously associated with the Eye Idols. These new data will be published in full in Volume 3 of the Brak final publications, now in preparation. In the meantime we wish to apologize for any confusions our new evidence has caused, but such is archaeology.

34. Oates and Oates, “Excavations at Tell Brak, 1992–93,” p. 174. 35. J. Oates and D. Oates, “An Open Gate: Cities of the Fourth Millennium bc (Tell Brak 1997), CAJ 7 (1997), pp. 287ff.; also G. Emberling, J. Cheng, T. E. Larsen, H. Pittman, T. B. B. Skuldboel, J. Weber, and H. T. Wright, “Excavations at Tell Brak 1998: Preliminary Report,” Iraq 61 (1999), pp. 1ff. 36. A. J. Tobler, Excavations at Tepe Gawra II (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1950), pl. 86a.

Seeing the Past in the Present: Twenty-Five Years of Ethnoarchaeology at al-Hiba Edward L. Ochsenschlager

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In 1968, I came to the al-Hiba expedition in Iraq to work on the excavations and study pottery, but I found my curiosity aroused as much by modern people who lived nearby as by the ancient ceramic sequence from the site. Recognizing my interest, Donald Hansen, the field director, who had worked in the area for over fifteen years, pointed me toward parallels between ancient existence and modern, which changed the scholarly direction of my life. In 1968, houses were still made of mud, mud brick, or reeds. Boats on the canal and beds or platforms in every courtyard looked exactly like ancient models displayed in the museum in Baghdad. Women spun thread and wove, made reed mats or baskets, and fashioned ceramic vessels. Men irrigated small plots of land for cultivation, tended animals, wove throw nets to catch birds or fish and slings to hurl mud shot at other game, and speared fish in the marshes with spears that looked nearly identical to those recovered from the excavations at Ur. Children made human figurines of mud with schematic, bird-like heads almost identical to those found in the excavations, 1 and the secondary canals and drainage channels had walls made of plano-convex bricks, laid in herring-bone pattern, a brick type and construction style characteristic of the third millennium Early Dynastic period. 2 My curiosity peaked later that season when we found Early Dynastic objects of shaped mud whose function seemed inexplicable. Were they the remains of pots too poorly formed to fire, children’s toys, or childish efforts to emulate adult potters? Why would a culture with fired pottery have any use for vessels made of mud? Because of the parallels between ancient and modern life in Iraq, we decided nearby villages might hold the clue to the purpose of these objects. Imagine our surprise when we found unbaked mud vessels in every modern household being used alongside fired vessels and others made from metal, glass, and plastic. I spent hours watching village people collecting mud and manufacturing sun-dried mud objects, and observed them using the objects for a wide variety of purposes. Portable hearths, small storage 1. In 1968, children made their own toys out of mud. Figurines which had human features were made as “self-portraits” or representations of people whom they knew. Those with schematic features were of others. 2. The modern bricks were made from shovelfuls of clay dug from the drainage canal and laid on edge, one on top of the other, to form a wall along the bank. From the concave shape of the paddle each shovelful deposited took on the appearance of a plano-convex brick.

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containers, bases to stabilize large pots, corn grinders, incense burners, all were fashioned from sun-dried mud. Within a few weeks I was convinced by the evidence that ethnographic analogues had significant value. Clearly we could not consider modern artifacts similar to those which existed in Early Dynastic times as an inheritance from the past. Nor could we conclude, on the basis of similar shape, that their functions were precisely the same. What encouraged me to undertake this study was that the environment of Iraq in 1968 was similar to that of the third millennium, and modern villagers and ancient Sumerians had adapted in a similar fashion: both used the same locally available raw materials to make similar artifacts. Robert Ascher had contended in an article of 1961 3 that given environmentally similar conditions, valid analogies could be sought between the present and the past. It is to a large degree a result of Donald Hansen’s insight that a methodology new to Mesopotamian archaeology was employed to answer archaeological questions at al-Hiba. 4 I focused my initial investigations on raw materials available in modern villages, concentrating my efforts on mud, 5 wood, bitumen and reeds, 6 and wool. 7 It is important to understand 3. R. Ascher, “Analogy in Archaeological Interpretation,” Southwestern Journal of Anthropology 17 (1961), pp. 317–25. 4. See E. Ochsenschlager, “Viewing the Past: Ethnoarchaeology at al-Hiba,” Visual Anthropology 11:1– 2 (1998), especially pp. 103–12. A more detailed discussion of the plan and investigative procedures remains to be published. Great influence in the development of this project was exercised by Patty Jo Watson (“Clues to Iranian Prehistory in Modern Village Life,” Expedition 8[3] [1966], pp. 9–19); Robert Ehrich, who helped me refine applications for funding to the City University of New York and the National Endowment of the Humanities; Ralph and Rose Solecki for their interest and helpful suggestions; and Claireve Grandjouan (“The Glassware Folk,” AJA 74 [1971], p. 203 [abstract]), for the deep wisdom embedded in her highly entertaining lecture on the Archaeology of the Modern City of New York. Among the works that exercised significant influence on this research in the following years, one should cite the early work of Lewis Binford who undertook his groundbreaking work among the Nunamiut Eskimo of north-central Alaska in 1969 (Nunamiut Ethnoarchaeology [New York: Academic Press,1978], and Bones: Ancient Men and Modern Myths [New York: Academic Press, 1981]); William Longacre’s long term study of Kalinga pottery in the northern Philippines which began in 1973, his Archaeology as Anthropology: A Case Study (University of Arizona Papers 17; Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1970), and Ceramic Ethnoarchaeology (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1991), which he edited (note that Longacre choose the Kalinga for his study because a sizable body of ethnographic work on other parts of their culture existed); Patty Jo Watson’s work in Western Iran and her arguments concerning the use of ethnographic evidence (Archaeological Ethnography in Western Iran [Viking Fund Publications in Anthropology 57; New York: Wenner Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research, 1979], passim; “The Implications of Ethnography for Archaeology,” in C. Kramer [ed.], Ethnoarchaeology: The Implications of Ethnography for Archaeology [New York: Columbia University Press, 1979], pp. 277–87; and Archaeological Explanation [New York: Columbia University Press 1984]); and the ideas of Robert Whallon, “Reflections on Editing the Journal of Anthropological Archaeology,” Anthropology Newsletter 35:5 (1994), pp. 9–11. 5. See E. Ochsenschlager, “Modern Sun-Dried Mud Objects from al-Hiba,” Archaeology 27:3 (1974), pp.162–74, and “Modern Potters at al-Hiba, with Some Reflections on the Excavated Early Dynastic Pottery,” in C. B. Donnan and C. W. Clewlow, Jr. (eds.), Ethnoarchaeology (Monograph IV, Institute of Archaeology, University of California; Los Angeles: University of California, 1974), pp. 149–57. Much of the study relating to mud remains unpublished. 6. E. Ochsenschlager, “Ethnographic Evidence for Wood, Boats, Bitumen and Reeds in Southern Iraq: Ethnoarchaeology at al-Hiba,” Bulletin on Sumerian Agriculture 6 (1992), pp. 47–78. 7. E. Ochsenschlager, “Sheep: Ethnoarchaeology at al-Hiba,” Bulletin on Sumerian Agriculture 7 (1993), pp. 33–42; “Village Weavers, Ethnoarchaeology at al-Hiba,” Bulletin on Sumerian Agriculture 7

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that the project had a single goal: to help us better understand what we were finding in the excavation. At the time, there was no expectation that our studies would be of interest to anyone else; they resulted in a portrait of a way of life, however incomplete, which has since completely vanished. 8 This twenty-five-year project has also helped define ancient manufacturing processes and assigned value to our artifacts as a function of the craftsman’s skill and time. It has extracted meaningful criteria to understand better an artifact’s significance and appreciate the skill of those who use it. The study also points out the social and moral authority wielded by village craftspeople. Consideration of manufacture, use, and disposal of modern artifacts has drawn attention to problems sometimes overlooked in ancient contexts. Above all, I believe this study allows for a fuller understanding of the complexities involved in the process and the nature of change in artifacts’ function, value and spatial relationships within defined settings. The late 1960s and early 1970s proved a fruitful time for beginning such a project. In those days, Tell al-Hiba was surrounded by water, on three sides by marsh and on the fourth by the canal known as Abu Simich, which flowed into the marshes near the southeastern corner of the mound. Communication with the outside world required a two-and-a-half hour trip by motorized boat to a mud-bank docking place near Shatra, the nearest market town. From the dock, one reached Shatra by taxi on dry days in fifteen to twenty minutes, or on wet days by foot, which took one-and-a-half to two hours. Three different tribal groups of people inhabited the area: seven villages of the Beni Hassan existed within walking or easy boating distance of the site; five small villages of the Miªdan, or Marsh Arabs, existed on the southern part of the mound; 9 and from August through January the mound and its surrounding area were also inhabited by the nomadic Hadij, a Bedouin tribe whose tents dotted the landscape usually in groups of three or more. 10 All these people still made their living, as they had for generations, from the countryside. They relied heavily on their individual and collective skills and the resources of the area for most of their needs. Tribal, village, and family organizations were still fairly strong, giving a meaning and purpose to life fully shared with other members of the community. The Miªdan raised water buffalo and the Beni Hassan raised sheep and cattle. Both grew crops on small plots of irrigated land, fished, and hunted. The Bedouin raised sheep, camels, and the occasional horse, transported goods for a fee, and wove fabric on upright looms, which they traded for wool, food, and village-woven carpets. (1993), pp. 43–62; “Carpets of the Beni-Hassan Village Weavers in Southern Iraq,” Oriental Rug Review 15:5 (1995), pp. 15–20. 8. M. Strong, “Cultures Recreated,” in “Introduction,” Visual Anthropology 2:1–2 (1998), p. 5, who has seen both the published and unpublished studies, equates this aspect of the work “to the efforts of the early American anthropologists’ studies of now bygone Native American populations and their traditions.” 9. Two of these villages were built on raised platforms or reed mats and mud in the marshes themselves, and three existed on the marsh banks. In addition, three Miªdan households, each isolated from the others, occupied a narrow spit of land in the extreme southeast. 10. The Hadij came here in their nomadic wanderings when the recession of the marshes furnished pasture for their herds. When the marshes began to expand due to the winter rains and the increased use of the irrigation canals which empty into the marshes, the Hadij moved south to Kuwait and the deserts of Saudi Arabia before returning to this area near al-Hiba in late July or August during the hottest part of the summer. Some of these Bedouin encampments were within walking distance, others were visited by boat or by camel.

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In 1968, at the beginning of this study, the majority of the inhabitants still lived in isolation from mainstream Iraq. Few of the people of tribes other than the Bedouin had visited any place more distant than Shatra, and they clearly resisted outside influences in their daily lives. Most significant, from the archaeological point of view, the resources on which they depended were often the same resources available to the Sumerians who lived there millennia ago. Nevertheless, changes took place during the period of this study. Inexpensive goods appeared in the markets of nearby towns and encroached on the production of local households or craftspeople. Schools were built in the area and were obligatory for the young and, although most of the students would follow in their fathers’ footsteps, teachers awakened in them a curiosity about the outside world and inspired some to try their hands at non-traditional endeavors. The authority of the sheikhs began to disappear in intra-village and intergroup relations, but the cohesiveness of family and village life was still strong due to a firm belief in the Quran and the moral authority of village elders and of craftspeople. By the middle of the 1970s, some of the traditional crafts and practices had completely disappeared. With the onset of the war with Iran in the 1980s, the pace of change increased with electrifying speed. By 1990, much of the great marsh had been drained, a modern road ran from Shatra to the excavation, and electricity had been extended to the site. Most important, the Miªdan and the Bedouin had entirely disappeared; the mound was now inhabited only by the Beni Hassan. The old order was gone forever.

Learning More about Artifacts, Their Manufacture and Use A few examples can illustrate the kinds of ethnographic evidence from al-Hiba that directly affect our knowledge of the past. Artifact Functions The fact that every modern household in the villages we studied used vessels made of sundried mud immediately demanded that we take seriously the broken pieces of similar forms that we found in the archaeological strata. Many artifacts in the modern villages had multiple functions, which suggested that a similar variety of useful purposes may have been characteristic of many ancient artifacts as well. A good example of modern multiplicity of use is the plain mud disc called a tabag. The same disc is used as a jar cover, a base for making dung patties, a carving board, and a frying pan. Two such disks separated by pieces of mud and banked at the edges with charcoalized dung patties form an oven. Occasionally the tabag can be used as the bottom part of a corn grinder and at times it comes in handy for swatting a slow-moving child. A form identical to the modern tabag was found in the excavations, and although no direct evidence demands that these mud disks had precisely these same functions in antiquity, it is likely that there is at least some overlap between the modern and ancient uses. Two fragments, lightly baked and carbon-smudged on one side, support this supposition. The indication of repeated burning on these ancient mud discs suggest that they too were used in Early Dynastic times as frying pans or ovens. Some modern mud forms seem to have single purposes. Corn grinders in modern households, for example, made of bitumen-coated disks, illuminate the purpose of similar disks found in ancient contexts. The use of mud corn-grinders in antiquity would account for the

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paucity of stone grinders found in the excavation. For examples of other modern mud objects with single purposes, I might suggest mud shot, mud drums, and mud whistles. 11 In 1968, children in the villages over the age of three or four made their own toys out of mud. Mud toys could be found everywhere in village courtyards, alongside the canals and marshes, and even in the fields. Yet most finds of ancient figurines of people, animals, boats and household goods are classified as votive figures. The study in the modern villages gives rise to the question whether at least some of these so-called “votive objects” might not, in reality, be ancient toys. Construction Details Modern evidence for manufacturing mud vessels allows archaeologists to infer the ancient sequence of procedures from collection of materials to the final product. It can do the same for some other ancient objects made of sun-dried mud such as toys, baby rattles, beads, corn grinders, and perhaps even whistles and drums. Ancient mud vessels, like the modern, were carelessly smoothed, leaving details of their construction visible and often even preserving the impressions of their makers’ fingers. Accidental firing of some of these ancient fragments show that the method of segmental construction and the temper used was the same as it is today. Modern methods also identify processes used in ancient manufacturing in materials other than mud. It is clear, for instance, from comparing remains of ancient reed mats and baskets to modern examples, that both were made in nearly identical fashion. From modern observations we know that reeds must be soaked and pounded to make them flexible enough for the manufacture of wrapped coil baskets. Even though no evidence has survived for this step in antiquity, it must have been part of the manufacturing process. Limitations to the strength of freshly harvested reeds and requirements for structural integrity make it likely that ancient mudhifs, for which our earliest evidence in antiquity is representational, 12 were built in a fashion very similar to modern examples. In order for the arch bundle to stand securely, its bottom section must be secured in the earth at approximately a forty-five degree angle to bear the tension of the formation of the arch. If it is to stand securely under the considerable pressure of layers of reed mats and not collapse, the core of the bundle must be made from dried reeds taken from older structures. Only old reeds will be flexible enough to create an arch and yet strong enough to keep the arch from collapsing. Detecting Artifacts Missing in the Archaeological Record Modern parallels indicate that various artifacts must have existed in the past, although we have yet to find them in the excavations. It is clear that the ancient inhabitants used spindles, 11. The whistle of course is blown and the drum thumped and in that sense they have a single function. However, modern drums are used to accompany dance and song and also to send messages, especially messages of danger from one village to the next. Modern whistles are often used by young shepherds, both for making music and for conversing, by playing phrases of songs with clear messages to other shepherds in distant fields. 12. As seen on a carved gypsum trough from Uruk (The British Museum, WA120000) illustrated in Expedition 40:2 (1998), p. 33, fig 5b. In the center is a mudhif. Neither the leaves nor plumes have been removed from the reeds which are tied together to form the arch. As a result, the crossed-over, feathered reeds create a decorative pattern along the length of the roof, a style most often seen in modern animal shelters built by the Miªdan. Dating to ca. 3000 b.c., the trough documents the extraordinary length of time such arched reed buildings have been in use.

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for example, because we have the spindle whorls. We know that they had looms because we have recovered impressions of woven cloth. We know that they fished, and perhaps even hunted birds with nets, because we have found sinkers and weights. We know they used slings, non-existent in the archeological record, because we have numerous caches of mud shot on the site. Defining the Nature and Composition of Some Missing Artifacts If we are correct in our identification of ancient fish-net weights, for instance, then nets of antiquity were of animal fiber, not of grasses. The weight of these terracotta sinkers, which are not heavy enough to submerge a grass net at an appropriate speed, would easily be sufficient to pull an animal fibre net beneath the surface. Restoring the Ancient Value of Artifacts If material value equals the time and skill involved in securing and preparing raw materials plus the time and skill involved in manufacturing, 13 we can determine the actual value of artifacts by studying modern craftsmen at work. Understanding Skills Required For Effective Artifact Use Watching modern people use tools similar to those used by Sumerians gives an idea of the level of skill each function requires. Few people considering antiquity appreciate, for instance, the coordination and training necessary to capture a bird or fish in a throw net or to hit a kill target with a mud-ball shot. Ethnographic evidence shows that expertise is limited. Those who excel at hunting and fishing are blessed with natural coordination but usually practice for long hours. Village boys work to perfect these skills, because success is extremely rewarding. Concurrently, however, expertise yields expectations. These young men are expected to be examples of moral virtue to other village youths. The Social and Moral Value of Crafts in Modern Villages The social value of crafts will probably always remain undetectable in the archaeological record. Yet, because social value affects both the status of crafts and village morality in modern times, it is important to recognize that it may have had a similar impact in antiquity. Craftspeople play a defining role in the villages around al-Hiba. They provide a sense of security not only for themselves, but for the village, because they offer a repository of traditions passed from generation to generation. The songs they sing, both by their rhythms and their words, reinforce the work ethic that is the village norm. In weaving, for instance, the rhythm of the song is punctuated by the passing of the shuttle. The contents of most work songs extol the virtues 13. This is, on the whole, the way we figure “value” today. Clearly there are other kinds of value that are not included. In carpets, for instance, value is enhanced by a design especially attractive to the buyer, or the fact that the carpet was woven by one’s mother. In animals, greater value is attached to a ram or bull which produced twins, for twins are thought to require near simultaneous double efforts. See E. Ochsenschlager. “Sheep: Ethnoarchaeology at al-Hiba,” p. 35.

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of work 14 or encourage work by denigrating laziness. 15 Some songs, with a faster tempo that thus increases productivity, consist of intensely personal observations about out-of-favor people or politicians, 16 which also positions the weavers as moral judges. The giving or withholding of favor, such as a small bit of bitumen dispensed by the boat maker or a bit of dye from the weaver’s store, is used as a public occasion for verbally rewarding appropriate moral behavior or condemning behavior that is not up to village standards. For example, itinerant boat repairmen arrive once a year to repair village boats. They strip them of bitumen and heat up the old bitumen with sufficient new to apply fresh coatings. For the village, it is an undeclared holiday. Men and women, both, gather around the craftsmen to request small quantities of bitumen for repairing holes, coating their dried mud grinding discs (mafkhara), making new maces, molding the bottom of water jars for easier carrying, hafting tools or waterproofing small sections of mud floors destroyed by the constantly sweating water and salt jars. Requests for bitumen are usually referred by the repairmen to the owner of the boat on which they are working. If a petitioner has behaved badly during the preceding year, the owner or worker will ask why he should give the petitioner anything. Neighbors join the discussion from the sidelines, sometimes defending the person, sometimes furnishing additional examples of his or her wrongdoing. After the issue has been thoroughly aired, the owner will say, “But far be it for me to act toward you the way you act toward others,” and give the bitumen requested. The virtuous petitioner will be given the bitumen instantly and rewarded with a recital of his or her social and moral accomplishments from the surrounding crowd. Because the petitioners’ relatives and neighbors among whom they will live for the rest of their lives compose the body of onlookers, these “plain truths” understandably have an enormous effect on an individual’s future behavior.

Basic Problems in Interpreting the Past The ethnographic evidence makes us aware of problems in interpretation we might otherwise overlook. Classifications and the Meaning of Words That modern people in this area often have more than one way of classifying animals or materials, different terms for the same phenomena, or even highly specialized meanings for very common words when used in conjunction with a particular function, should come as no surprise. It is often true in our society as well. The demanding aspect is listening carefully enough and observing closely enough to try to understand the meaning of words and phrases. Two examples will suffice. 14. “Your efforts (work) are your means of dealing with good people the rest of your life,” or “Oh beautiful woman! Your hard work makes your name a song on my lips.” 15. “Don’t accept a lazy bastard even if he fasted and prayed all night / Lazy snakes cannot become good by praying,” and “A man whose lazy father is garlic and lazy mother an onion will never be industrious and smell of incense.” 16. You are like a leper and I hope fate keeps us apart / If you come back the years will seem long,” and “They are kings and their outstretched arms are worth a dirham / I advise you . . . anyone who seeks the bastards at their home is like someone who hopes to get the bone from a dog.”

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Village people classify their lambs not only by their age in months or years but also by life threatening crises they have passed (“one who survived the first chill of winter,” “one who survived the first winter”). In a single sentence, one sheep may be described as “one who survived the first winter” and another as “six months of age.” The two strains of sheep which exist in the area are referred to by their most visible characteristic (“one who has long ears,” and “one who has short ears”). It is difficult, hearing this characterization for the first time, to understand that it is an assignment of variety and not an attribution of individual idiosyncracy. A functional terminology can also be used in modern times interchangeably with one which, for instance, identifies reeds, rushes, sedges, and grasses according to their biological nature. Although every modern villager knows the botanical difference between them, he or she will refer to young reeds, rushes, and sedges as grass when collecting fodder, or middlesized reeds and large sedges as rushes when collecting material for waterproofing certain architectural features. Ethnographers, archaeologists, and philologists must be aware of alternative classifications and specialized word meanings if they are to understand what informants are trying to tell them or comprehend written texts. Meaningful Criteria for Understanding Artifacts Ethnoarchaeology also illustrates the serious problem of choosing meaningful criteria for understanding the function of artifacts. For instance, throughout the history of archaeology there have been many classifications of spindle whorls published in excavation reports. Such categorization, however, would make no sense for spindle whorls in the villages around al-Hiba where anything will serve as a whorl from a clump of mud to a shaped piece of wood to an ancient toy chariot wheel, and where no one is very particular about what is used. It is the highly perishable spindle that is important. The spindle is crucial for determining what process of spinning was used, because its notching in relation to the whorl reveals both the process and the gender of the weaver. In modern times, a spindle notched on the short end is used by men to drop and spin which results in Z-spun thread. A spindle notched on the long end is used by women, who, rubbing the spindle on their thighs, spin S-spun thread. Occasionally, the spindle is notched on both ends, so that it can be used by either men or women. The way wool is spun in modern al-Hiba is gender specific. Yet, does the gender-specificity of spun wool define which gender is responsible for woven products in these villages? No, because the thread is stored in skeins in one area of the house and removed haphazardly for any weaving project at hand. Men might use S-spun thread to make belts, ropes, horse halters, slings, and nets, and women may use Z-spun thread to make carpets, pillow covers, bags, or money boxes, or to embroider blankets, and many weavings contain both kinds of thread.

Examples of Problems Inherent in the Process and Nature of Change One of the foci of this study is the process and nature of change, a subject of special interest to archaeologists.

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Meaning of Designs Women weavers in the villages produce very attractive designs in their woven carpets, but if pressed to label a particular design, they will give varied meanings or interpretations. Sometimes the same weaver will give a different explanation on successive days. Yet, the cluster of responses from weavers in different villages seems to indicate that the designs are largely derived from meanings associated with animal husbandry and agriculture. Clearly the interpretation of designs can change fairly rapidly. For scholars to assert a modern meaning on the basis of what people thought as recently as 25 to 50 years ago is very dangerous. To do so on the basis of what people thought 100 to 200 years ago is almost certain to be wrong and must be considered the result of a failure to realize that the nature of human nature is to adjust and change. Uncritical attribution of the little we know, regardless of the period from which we know it, is characteristic of those who theorize a kind of cultural stagnation among less complicated cultures of today, and, as they must see it, the “simple” cultures of the past. Dramatic Change in the Archaeological Record as the Result of Change in a Single Craft The complete disappearance of a distinctive pottery, in an archaeological excavation and its replacement by entirely different forms, new fabrics, and incised decorative patterns where there had been no decoration before might well be considered an indicator of major political change. It would not be unusual for someone to credit the change to the arrival of an entirely new population. But sometimes changes that appear major and startling in the archaeological record can result from considerably less drastic events. In 1970, a professional potter started to produce wheel-thrown water jars in the market town of Shatra. The consistent shape, size, and firing of the wheel-thrown jars reduced local village sales. Two years before, village potters had tried to gain an increased market share by instituting new tempers, each individually unique. In response to the professional potter’s popularity, the local potters used even more exotic tempers and invented new shapes and designs to tempt the eye of prospective purchasers, but this ploy to stay in business failed, and village potters were soon a thing of the past. 17 Important Changes That Leave Little or No Archaeological Evidence At the beginning of these ethnoarchaeological studies, the marshes served as pastures for large herds of water buffalo owned by the Miªdan. The animals were primarily kept for their milk and their dung, but the latter was regarded as the more important. Dung provided glue, waterproofing, fuel, insecticide, and even medical poultices. Because the Beni Hassan considered the water buffalo a dirty and disgusting animal, they demeaned the Miªdan for keeping them.

17. Leaving aside the effect on village potters, it is important to understand that, apart from the temporary surge in innovation to protect market share, this was a definitive movement toward uniformity and away from diversity. Nor is the resulting uniformity restricted to the form and decoration of the product. It reduces the multiple options for acquiring a water jar in the village framework to merely one or two in the market town where the buyer is largely a stranger.

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During the Iraqi-Persian war, the Miªdan disappeared. When we returned to al-Hiba in 1990, there were no Miªdan but there were just as many water buffalo as before; these water buffalo were now owned by the Beni Hassan. Those tribesmen who had previously been loudest in condemning the animals now recounted with great embarrassment reasons for this change. When the Miªdan left, the Beni Hassan found themselves in control of acres of marshlands with sedge, rush, and reed which only water buffalo could harvest. Clearly the material benefits to be derived from filling this ecological niche proved stronger than generations of prejudice. By 1990, there was scarcely a Beni Hassan family living on the edge of the marshes who did not own water buffalo. The presence of the water buffalo, long considered the hallmark of the Miªdan, masked the departure of the Miªdan. Those who had heard the Beni Hassan hold forth on the subject of water buffalo a few short years before would never have believed that the Beni Hassan now owned and valued the same animals. Change brought about by economic benefits overcoming prejudice is not unusual in modern times and was probably not unusual in the past. In an earlier example of this transformation in the modern villages, the Beni Hassan, who had begun to fish with nets, caught many more fish than the Miªdan, who had traditionally fished with spears. The Miªdan valued pitting skill with the spear against the instincts of the fish as an honorable and manly calling, but the Beni Hassan were now clearly catching more fish than they. The Miªdan reached a compromise with tradition and honor. By trapping fish in nets but harvesting them with spears, they were able to catch more fish while maintaining their honor. Changes in Gender Roles The study of gender roles in various societies has become an important and productive area of inquiry, yet our study indicates that a rigid attribution of gender roles is fraught with danger. In the modern villages near al-Hiba, gender roles are fluid and open to rapid change. Even in villages where women are the primary weavers, for instance, men also weave and in some cases weave the same products. In the wider community, it is Bedouin men who weave cloth used for clothing, which they trade for carpets woven by the village women. In a brief period of twenty-five years, a major change occurred in the milking of water buffalo. In 1968, these animals were milked mostly by men. By 1978, as many women milked water buffalo as men, and sometimes men and women in the same family alternated the chore. By 1990, almost all the milkers were women. Gender roles can change, depending on the composition of the family and they change particularly rapidly in cases of illness or in a war when most of the young men leave and few return. One rigid law seemed to prevail: weaving was going to be done, water buffalo were going to be milked, fish were going to be caught, crops were going to be tended, and babies were going to be cared for no matter what the temporary or permanent composition of the family. Changes Involving Status Symbols and Family Honor In 1968, children in the villages made their own toys out of mud. Most of these toys represented animals, houses and furnishings, boats, and other reflections of their environment, but only their imaginations limited their scope. In 1970–71, affordable plastic toys from China appeared in the market towns. Extremely colorful and durable, they were attractive to the youngsters, even though they depicted only cows, horses, and sheep. The use of these plastic toys spread rapidly in the village where they were incorporated into games with other objects made

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from mud. Within a few months the use of mud toys was connected with poverty and parents discouraged their children from making toys of mud, even if no parallel occurred in plastic. One boy who persisted in making mud toys to enlarge his menagerie was slapped 18 and lectured on his failure to uphold family honor. Plastic toys had become a symbol of the father’s financial status and an important indicator of the family’s honor. Perceptions of honor and status can also be instrumental in the disappearance of crafts. One village woman persisted in making woven-reed dining mats on her upright loom. She told me she enjoyed weaving, and over the years she had been able to earn extra money for her family, which increased her status in her village. 19 Now there were few or no buyers, since durable and colorful pieces of linoleum could be bought at the markets. Her husband, upset by villagers’ remarks that equated woven mats with poverty, tore down the loom and burned it in front of their mud-brick home. It is necessary to be present when cultural change takes place to fully understand what caused it. Shortly after a change occurs, the real reasons can be cloaked in mythology. When asked the following year why his brothers and sisters no longer played with mud toys, the boy who had been punished reported that the new toys were stronger, more colorful, and more realistic. Certainly what he said was true, yet the major stimulus to change was family honor. Change in Architecture Ethnoarchaeology demonstrates the imprudence of defining political institutions based on the continuity of a building form. In the 1960s, a local sheik would build a mudhif, or reedconstructed audience or meeting hall, in his village as a place to entertain, receive opinions from his subjects and dispense tribal justice. Today the same building that symbolized autocracy is used as a house of democratic assembly. Identifying these political changes on archaeological evidence is futile, since the structure of the building has remained the same. Economic status, as reflected in the cost of building materials, would be equally hard to judge without an extremely precise knowledge of the date of the building and of the changing costs of construction materials. In 1968, the cheapest building material was the giant reed found everywhere in the marshes. Somewhat more expensive were mud bricks, for their manufacture was more labor intensive. The most expensive materials were fired bricks or cement blocks. In 1990, with the drying of the marshes and subsequent construction of new roads, the cheapest construction material was cement block and the most expensive was reed. The giant reeds rapidly disappeared as the marshes receded, whereas cement blocks could easily be brought in on the new roads. Only the truly rich could now afford a mudhif, and new mudhifs were only built in towns, where they were usually incorporated into gardens as a sign of the owner’s affluence. Change in Community Structure Ethnoarchaeology also demonstrates the injudiciousness of utilizing topographical relationships to form conclusions about kinship or ethnic ties. Near al-Hiba, discrete villages of a 18. Such severe punishment as slapping is practically unheard of in a society where children are truly productive members of society, with all the authority that entails. 19. The status of a woman who earned income for the family through practice of a craft was very high. As the crafts disappeared, so did their status.

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single tribe or of two different tribes could abut as closely as houses or compounds within a single village. As changes in the number of inhabitants of a village reconfigured the village’s spacial extent, two interlocked phenomena were observed: first, that abandonment of several houses in a village could leave a family seemingly isolated from any village; second, that houses isolated from one village could be measurably closer to a second village than to the one to which they actually belonged. Despite their separation from their original village, these houses were considered part of it as long as the household was still affiliated with the village.

Studies in the Way Materials Enter the Archaeological Record Function and Form in Broken Artifacts In the modern villages around al-Hiba, jars missing most of their necks are still used for their original purposes if they are otherwise intact. Villagers recycle seriously cracked pots, once used for liquids, as containers for dry materials and re-use broken sherds for feeding and watering poultry or for organizing small quantities of goods in the household. If the present replicates the past, excavation of fragmentary pots does not necessarily indicate that a context has been disturbed or that the sherds were discarded as useless. To interpret such a context fully, however, recovered fragments require more explanation than the formal typological or functional designation of the intact vessel. The fragment may have come from a water jar, but when it is no longer a water jar in form or function, it warrants further analysis and perhaps deserves re-classification. Interpreting Refuse Pits Future archaeologists would be unwise to base aspects of a village diet on the remains of refuse pits. 20 Because of the way the pits are used, the results would be skewed. Villagers fill open garbage pits with scraps until the pits are full or until they smell so much that their stench becomes unbearable. In either case, the pits are then covered with earth and a new pit is dug. At the time when the two pits studied were covered, less than 10% of the animal bones initially deposited there were still in the pit. Twenty percent of the surviving fragments could be found within a radius of 20 meters. The remaining 70% had either been entirely consumed or dragged off by beasts. Moreover, some bones, never deposited there by humans, were nevertheless found in the pit or in its immediate area. The culprits, as you might have guessed, were the village dogs. These pits were the foci of dog activity. The dogs slept at the pits to protect their individual interest in the scraps deposited, and—this is the surprising part—when they found carrion or ran down an animal, they often dragged the carcass back to the pit for more leisurely eating. Clearly, one must use the evidence from ancient refuse pits very carefully in painting a definitive picture of ancient diets, since there may well have been similar bone disbursement in ancient times.

20. See E. Ochsenschlager and B. Gustav, “Water Buffalo and Garbage Pits: Ethnoarchaeology at alHiba,” Bulletin on Sumerian Agriculture 8 (1995), pp. 1–9.

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Ethnoarchaeology Ethnoarchaeology can help us directly interpret a small amount of ancient evidence. It cautions us, through comparisons with the riches of a living society, that antiquity was not as simple as uncritical adherence to our meager evidence might seem to indicate. It provides enough examples of the unexpected to make us very careful in the conclusions that we draw on the basis of material evidence. Sometimes it seems to raise more questions than it answers, but that is not necessarily a fault. Archaeologists cannot deal with questions they do not know exist and problems are often opportunities in disguise. I think ethnoarchaeology also helps us understand ancient people. It forces us to look at those of other cultures, past or present, as real people rather than the “primitive,” “traditionbound” beings of some museum diorama or anthropological fiction. People’s lives today do not proceed according to the theoretical structures or formulaic certainties suggested by some academic sectarians, nor do I believe they did so in antiquity. Through Donald Hansen’s initiative, archaeologists at al-Hiba were made aware of the complexity of modern village life and the ubiquitous nature of change and innovation. I believe this will help them avoid reading too much or too little into the artifacts they find and the artifacts’ associated contexts, wherever they may dig in the future.

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Pyramid Origins: A New Theory David O’Connor

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This essay is a tribute to Donald Hansen, an outstanding art historian and archaeologist who has not only illuminated our understanding of Mesopotamia and the ancient Near East, but made an important contribution to Egyptology as well, via the exemplary excavations he directed at Mendes, a major site in the northeast Delta. In addition, Donald Hansen’s reputation as a stimulating and thoughtful teacher is one I can also attest to, having recently co-led with him an Institute of Fine Arts seminar on early civilization in Mesopotamia and Egypt, one of my most enjoyable academic experiences for many years. The ideas presented here were in part a result of my participation in that symposium and therefore seem a particularly appropriate contribution to this volume.

I. Introduction The origin of pyramids is a much-discussed issue amongst Egyptologists, and it might well seem that yet another theory about it is unnecessary and hardly likely to be “new.” Nevertheless, I believe that the ideas I present here are structured in a way that differs substantially from recent hypotheses about pyramid origins; and that several, which are crucial to the argument I present, have not been integrated into a general theory before. How well my particular theory stands up depends, of course, on the critiques of Egyptologists and others, but at least it directs attention to some important points not mentioned, or treated in incidental terms, in recent literature about pyramid origins. Like any such theory, mine involves hypotheses about evidence that I suspect likely existed, but has not yet been recovered by excavators and in some cases may have entirely disappeared. This problem—the inevitable incorporation of hypothetical points—is, I hope, compensated for by the straightforward logic of the argument I present; its close adherence to either known archaeological facts, or to hypotheses closely related to these; and its comprehensiveness, in attempting to include all relevant data in an integrated fashion. Moreover, the suggestions I make can for the most part be checked, where necessary, by further excavations at already wellknown sites, and hence may provide a focus for productive new work.

II. Current Issues Here, I briefly survey the relevant evidence and illustrate the fluidity of the current debate about issues pertaining to the origin of the pyramid and its complex, i.e., tomb, pyramid 169

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temple, causeway, and valley temple. 1 The immediate prototype is clearly the Step Pyramid complex of king Djoser (first king of Dynasty III, ca. 2675–2625 b.c.) 2 at Saqqara, although this also differs in substantial ways from those of Dynasty IV and later. But what is the relationship between the Step Pyramid complex and the tombs and mortuary monuments of the preceding kings of Dynasties I and II? Evidence about the latter is rich for Dynasty I (ca. 3000–2800 b.c.) but much less complete for Dynasty II. At Abydos in southern Egypt, at a site far out in the desert called Umm el Qaªab, the tombs of the seven kings of Dynasty I (which for me does not include king Narmer) as well as a queen mother of that dynasty, have been located and excavated. Some distance away (about 1.9 km) and much closer to the flood plain, five large mud-brick enclosures have been located, each built for one of the royal individuals buried at Umm el Qaªab, including the queen-mother. Three remain to be discovered. The earlier rulers of Dynasty II (perhaps as many as six individuals) were probably all buried at Saqqara, where so far only two of the actual tombs have been located, one for king Hotepsekhemwy or Raneb, the other for king Ninetjer. No enclosures—separate from the tombs—have been identified with any acceptable degree of certainty. The last two kings of Dynasty II, however, were buried at Abydos, where they have tombs (at Umm el Qaªab) and enclosures placed near the earlier ones. 3 These then are the basic data at our disposal. Unfortunately, as we have seen, the database is incomplete and, in addition, there is considerable disagreement about the interpretation of such evidence as we have, as a brief review of some of the more recent discussion shows. Werner Kaiser is a leading authority on the Early Dynastic period (Dynasties I and II) and has long argued that the Dynasty I, and probably Dynasty II royal tombs at Abydos housed the kings’ actual burials, 4 although some scholars suggest the Abydos tombs are dummies, or cenotaphs, and the Dynasty I rulers were buried at Saqqara. At the latter site, there are unusually large mastaba tombs, but most scholars believe they were for the upper elite of Early Dynastic society, not for kings. As for the Dynasty II royal tombs at Saqqara, Kaiser suggests that the two known examples (noted above) are of a plan and form different from the type consistently followed (with variations) in the tombs of Dynasty I kings at Abydos. Rather, the Saqqara Dynasty II royal tombs follow a distinctive type of tomb plan developed at Saqqara itself during Dynasty I, but amongst lower rather than upper order elite graves. As for the graves of the late Dynasty II kings Peribsen and Khasekhemwy at Abydos, Kaiser finds the former close to the earlier Abydos tradition in plan, whereas a major part of Khasekhemwy’s tomb was influenced by the distinctively Saqqara type of tomb mentioned above. 1. M. Lehner, The Complete Pyramids (London: Thames and Hudson, 1997). 2. For the chronology used here, see W. Murnane, “The History of Ancient Egypt: An Overview,” in J. Sasson (ed.), Civilizations of the Ancient Near East 2 (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1995), p. 712. On Djoser’s chronological position, see T. Wilkinson, Early Dynastic Egypt (London and New York: Routledge, 1999), p. 26. 3. Wilkinson, Early Dynastic Egypt, pp. 230–46. 4. W. Kaiser and G. Dreyer, “Umm el Qaªab: Nachtuntersuchungen im fruhzeitlichen Königsfriedhof 2. Vorbericht,” MDAIK 38 (1982), pp. 241–60, and especially Abb. 13, between pp. 256 and 257. W. Kaiser, “Zu den königlichen Talbezirken der 1. und 2. Dynastie in Abydos und der Baugeschichte der Djoser-Grabmals,” MDAIK 25 (1969). Note also B. Kemp’s important articles, “Abydos and the Royal Tombs of the First Dynasty,” JEA 52 (1966), pp. 13–22; and “The Egyptian First Dynasty Royal Cemetery,” Antiquity 41 (1967), pp. 22–32.

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Kaiser, like others, has also several times discussed the significance of the first building phase of Djoser’s complex, which included a very large area enclosed by a stone-built wall (all earlier royal monuments were built mainly of mud brick) and a stone “mastaba” or mound of square plan, under which the royal tomb lay. For Kaiser, this earliest phase of Djoser’s monument is based largely on the Abydene tradition of royal tombs. The enclosure wall is derived from the Abydos enclosures, and the mastaba or mound from a mound that Kaiser, like others, believes once stood over each of the royal tombs at Umm el Qaªab. Moreover, the fundamental features of Djoser’s actual tomb, and of a cenotaph-like “South Tomb,” which seems to have first appeared in the first building phase are, in Kaiser’s opinion, derived from the Abydos type of royal tomb, not the supposedly Memphite type represented by the tombs of king Hotepsekhemwy (or Raneb) and of king Ninetjer at Saqqara. 5 Thus, to simplify, Kaiser sees one architectural tradition develop for the Dynasty I royal tomb at Abydos; and another for the Dynasty II royal tombs at Saqqara, a tradition including Khasekhemwy’s tomb at Abydos as well. As for the enclosures of Abydos, separate from the tombs, he is doubtful they were replicated at Saqqara, although he recognizes this is an argument from silence. The Saqqara tombs of Hotepsekhemwy (or Raneb) and Ninetjer, he suspects, had superstructures incorporating enclosure walls and buildings within the areas thus enclosed. 6 The first phase of Djoser’s complex, however, is for Kaiser very much in the Abydene tradition. The chief innovations of Djoser’s architects were first to combine the enclosure or “Talbezirk” with the tomb and its mound; and enlarge the complex and develop a series of courts and buildings (most non-functional); some of the latter may have been included in the first phase. Rainer Stadelmann, an expert on Egyptian pyramids, argues for a very different theory about their origins. He seems, in his most recent work, as earlier, dubious as to whether the Abydos royal tombs (Dynasties I and later II) were actual, as compared to cenotaphs, and strongly doubts that the modestly elevated mound he assumes stood over each can have been the inspiration for the much larger stone mastaba or mound of the first building phase at Djoser’s complex. Like Kaiser, Stadelmann regards the Dynasty II royal tombs at Saqqara as innovative in plan and scale, hence not in the Abydene tradition. However, their superstructures, he argues, were based on the large Dynasty I mastabas, with their elaborately articulated or “palace” facades, used for the elite tombs of Saqqara through Dynasty I. The Dynasty II royal tombs of Saqqara “presumably used the same shape in a much more monumental extension as superstructures covering the subterranean galleries” of the tomb proper. Stadelmann’s ideas lead him to an important conclusion about the first phase of Djoser’s complex, with its enclosure and stone-built mound. The gigantic superstructures over the Dynasty II royal tombs were, he argues, a “Butic Mastaba” type, derived originally from the filling in of a schematic, built representation of an archaic royal palace in its enclosure. Djoser’s architects “recalled the origins” of the Butic Mastaba, and hence empty it out so as to create space containing both palatial elements and actual cult buildings. Thus, the Djoser complex 5. Kaiser, “Zu den königlichen Talbezirken”; W. Kaiser, “Zu den Königsgräbern der 2. Dynastie in Sakkara und Abydos,” in B. Bryan and D. Lorton (eds.), Essays in Egyptology in Honor of Hans Goedicke (San Antonio, Texas: Van Siclen, 1994), pp. 113–23; W. Kaiser, “Zur unterirdischen Anlage der Djoserpyramide und ihrer entwicklungsgeschichtlichen Einordnung,” in I. Grammer-Wallert and W. Helck (eds.), Gegengabe: Festchrift für Emma Brunner-Traut (Tübingen: Attempto, 1992), pp. 167–90. 6. Kaiser, “Zu den Königsgräbern der 2. Dynastie,” p. 120.

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derives its inspiration almost entirely from distinctive Saqqara developments, and owes little to the Abydos royal tombs and their physically separate enclosures, even though Stadelmann believes there were examples of the latter at Dynasty II Saqqara. 7 A similar degree of fluidity on the issue of the origins of the pyramid complex is to be seen in more synthetic treatments of the Early Dynastic period, and of the Egyptian pyramids, which have recently appeared. In the former, Toby Wilkinson identifies the Abydos Dynasty I tombs as for actual royal burials, but thinks the two known Dynasty II royal tombs at Saqqara are “an entirely new conception—in terms of both their size and layout.” He notes they may have had above them “either a simple mastaba with sloping walls or a niched mastaba, like the First Dynasty mastabas of North Saqqara.” As for Djoser’s complex, in its first phase Wilkinson notes the writer’s suggestion that Khasekhemwy’s enclosure at Abydos (immediately preceding Djoser’s complex in time) included a surface mound indicates a strong connection between Djoser’s complex and Abydos, and further remarks that the mastaba or mound over Djoser’s tomb was intended to recall “the superstructures of the First Dynasty tombs at Abydos [i.e., mounds] and their second Dynasty successors at Saqqara,” superstructures he suggests were solid-built mastabas. 8 Mark Lehner, in an encyclopedic coverage of the pyramid complex, presents a more ambiguously structured theory as to its origins. He recognizes the Abydos Dynasty I and Dynasty II tombs as royal; observes that in plan and proportions the Abydos enclosures are the precursors to Djoser’s enclosure wall; and suggests that: “the mounded grave [of Umm el Qaªab] moves inside [Djoser’s] enclosure as the stone mastaba and, finally, the Step Pyramid.” Yet at the same time Lehner notes “the curious possibility of another royal cemetery of the first two (my italics) dynasties at Saqqara,” and finds in the plans and forms of these perhaps royal tombs of Saqqara “compelling precedents for later pyramids.” 9

III. A New Theory The new theory about the origins of the pyramid complex, which I propose here, is necessarily hypothetical in part (because some important data are unknown, or incompletely delineated), and needs like any other hypothesis to be shown as correct by the recovery of new evidence. However, this theory does resolve some of the problematical issues and disagreements revealed by the overview of recent debate provided above, and it includes some specific suggestions that can be followed by further excavation. Two aspects of the theory I propose here are new. First, it attempts to include all key data, and to emphasize some points that are often overlooked or underestimated. Second, I have tried consistently to apply one of two criteria whenever forced, as is often the case, to choose between two or more possible interpretations of a specific datum. One interpretation is chosen over the other (or others) either because there is substantial, if hardly ever conclusive, evidence to support the choice; or failing that, that the choice made is the most parsimonious possible, given the relevant archaeological context. 7. R. Stadelmann, “Origins and Development of the Funerary Complex of Djoser,” in P. Der Manuelian (ed.) and R. Freed (supervisor), Studies in Honor of William Kelly Simpson 2 (Boston: Museum of Fine Arts, 1996), pp. 787–800. 8. Wilkinson, Early Dynastic Egypt, pp. 240–42, 246. 9. Lehner, The Complete Pyramids, pp. 75–81.

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By the most parsimonious choice I mean the one that places the least strain upon the available evidence yet at the same time reaches a specific conclusion, rather than presenting a series of irresolvable alternatives. Such a process of deciding between alternative possibilities does not guarantee the choice is correct, but does render it more likely to be correct than other, more forced (i.e., less parsimonious) interpretations of the same datum. Moreover, the most parsimonious choice usually yields a hypothesis that is relatively easy to check via new excavations or other fieldwork. To facilitate the presentation of this theory, I structure it according to a series of numbered points, which more or less correspond to the logical development of the ideas involved. For convenience I also use the cardinal points in describing and discussing the relevant monuments, but in fact while Saqqara monuments are fairly clearly oriented north-south (at least in Dynasty II and III), Abydos ones are oriented northwest to southeast. 1. A fundamental starting point is that the Dynasty I tombs at Umm el Qaªab are the actual tombs of these rulers (and a queen-mother), a thesis exceptionally well documented by Barry Kemp and Werner Kaiser in particular. 10 As for the late Dynasty II tombs of Peribsen and Khasekhemwy at Abydos, the most parsimonious interpretation is that since no persuasive evidence exists for either king having been buried at Saqqara, their Abydos tombs housed actual burials. 2. The logical corollary to the preceding conclusion is that the elite tombs of Saqqara in Dynasty I, thought by some (a minority of scholars) to include royal tombs, do not. The elite tombs are distinguished from royal ones from the outset by the use of large mud-brick mastabas, solid or partially solid and with elaborately articulated or “palace” facades. So far, no specific evidence exists that any Dynasty I or II royal tomb had a superstructure of this type. As for their substructures, the elite tombs of Saqqara are basically modeled on those of the Abydos Dynasty I royal tombs, faithfully reflecting any substantial development amongst the latter, e.g., the primary disposition of rooms, or the introduction (under king Den) of an access stairway or ramp. At the same time, the substructures of Saqqara do exhibit significant variations, reflecting a tolerance of variability that is found amongst the royal tombs themselves; the non-royal status of the tomb owners; and the different geology of Saqqara, which permitted the eventual use of fully subterranean, rock-cut chambers, never a possibility at Umm el Qaªab. 3. In their substructures, the Dynasty I royal tombs of Abydos are of basically the same type, albeit with variations, as well as some innovations such as the access ramp or stairway. The substructures of the later royal tombs at Umm el-Qaªab, of Peribsen and Khasekhemwy, seem to me to be different in type from those of their Dynasty I predecessors but not fundamentally different from each other, although some scholars think otherwise. 11 The core of each—the burial chamber and its immediate environs—are similar to each other in plan and form: extensive magazines have, however, been added on to the north and south of Khasekhemwy’s, but not of Peribsen’s. The emphasis on magazines in Khasekhemwy’s tomb corresponds to that seen (on an even larger scale) in the preceding royal tombs of Saqqara (north of the tomb chamber only) so here Peribsen’s substructure is anomalous. A parsimonious explanation would be that some particular circumstance (such as lack of preparation or an

10. See n. 4. 11. See Kaiser, “Zur unterirdischen Anlage der Djoserpyramide”; Stadelmann, “Origins and Development.”

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unexpectedly early death) led to the omission of what generally seems highly desired for a royal tomb of this period. 4. The surface features associated with the Dynasty I and II royal tombs of Abydos are difficult to reconstruct; in antiquity these tombs were plundered, burned, and several times restored and since all had wooden roofs supporting the ground above them, as well as surface features actually on the tomb, the likelihood of evidence about those surface features surviving is very low. Some and, inferentially, all of the tombs, had a subterranean mound built over the roof and covering the entire tomb (hence sometimes square, sometimes rectangular in plan). 12 However, although perhaps a majority of interested scholars believe a relatively low surface mound (later examples are suggested to have had one or two steps) also covered the tomb, no definitive evidence for such a surface mound has yet been recovered. Since recent excavations have specifically sought for such evidence, a parsimonious conclusion would be that surface mounds did not exist at Umm el Qaªab, though the factors (outlined above) affecting the survival of such evidence weaken the conclusion somewhat. 5. That there was some kind of surface cult installation associated with each royal tomb at Umm el Qaªab is plainly indicated by the fact that each one originally had two relatively large stone stelae (both bearing the royal tomb owner’s name) set up somewhere on the surface above or near the tomb. Moreover, the subsidiary graves surrounding each Dynasty I tomb had small superstructures of their own; and were consistently so arranged as to leave a gap near the local southwest corner of each royal tomb, as well as sometimes at other points as well. This gap may have been simply to facilitate the burial (the most parsimonious solution), but could also have provided access for ritualists to repeatedly visit a surface cult place above or close to the tomb. 6. This last possibility is reinforced by a datum not usually referred to in discussions of the surface features of the royal tombs at Umm el Qaªab, namely a subterranean chapel, apparently intended for a statue cult, external to the local southwest corner of king Den’s tomb. The chapel was linked to the surface by a stairway, which, early in its history, was blocked off by brickwork. 13 The subterranean chapel is quite large and substantially built, and hence is strikingly anomalous. Despite its developed form, the chapel has no predecessors amongst the earlier royal tombs, and is not repeated in the later ones, whereas other innovations such as the access stairway or ramp (also introduced under Den) are. These circumstances suggest to me that Den’s subterranean chapel is actually a surface feature associated with the royal tombs preceding and succeeding Den, but in his reign moved, or replicated, underground. Thus, each royal tomb at Umm el Qaªab may have had a substantial surface chapel built over it (no traces of such relatively massive chapels like Den’s subterranean chapel have been found on surfaces beyond the tombs themselves) and (like Dens’s subterranean chapel near its southwest corner) closest to the access route consistently left in the rows of subsidiary graves. The subsequent collapse or removal of tomb roofs, and later renovations of the tomb, were likely to entirely expunge the evidence of such surface chapels.

12. G. Dreyer, “Zur Rekonstruktion der Oberbauten der Königsgraber der 1. Dynastie in Abydos,” MDAIK 47 (1991), pp. 93–104. 13. G. Dreyer, “Umm el-Qaªab Nachtuntersuchungen im frühzeitlichen Königsfriedhof 3./4. Vorbericht,” MDAIK 46 (1990), pp. 76–78.

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Fig. 1. Reconstruction of the surface features of an early Dynasty I royal tomb at Abydos, including the surrounding superstructures of subsidiary graves; the chapel; and the stelae flanking the approach to the chapel. The chapel entrance opens to the local west (all drawings by Matthew Adams).

The presence of such surface chapels does not preclude the possible existence of a surface mound as well. But if so, the mound could not cover the entire tomb, and would inevitably be located north or northeast of the chapel (fig. 1). 7. The two surface stelae provided each royal tomb may have been associated with the chapels; and the stelae of Peribsen, not in situ but seemingly least disturbed of the stelae, were actually found near the southwest corner of his tomb. The fact that Peribsen and Khasekhemwy had two stelae each, similar in form to the earlier ones, also suggests—on parsimonious grounds—that the other surface features of their tombs were similar to those of earlier, Dynasty I royal tombs. 8. At Abydos, set far away from the royal tombs of Umm el Qaªab, and close to the floodplain, were relatively large mud brick enclosures. Their mortuary character (e.g., the earlier Dynasty I examples are surrounded with subsidiary graves, like the contemporary royal tombs at Umm el Qaªab) suggests that each serviced a statue-and -offering-cult for a royal individual buried at Umm el Qaªab. Of the enclosures so far located, five belong to Dynasty I (leaving three yet to be located) and three are inscriptionally dated (to kings Djer and Djet, and queen mother Merneith), as are the two later Dynasty II enclosures built for Peribsen and Khasekhemwy, respectively. As a rule, the known archaeology indicates these enclosures, rectangular in plan, were quite large, each covering on average about 6000 square meters or 0.60 hectares (fig. 2). The exceptions are two smaller examples, one of which may date to king Anedjib, who had an exceptionally small tomb at Umm el Qaªab. However, other kings whose enclosures remain to be identified or found (Aha, Semerkhet, and Qaªa) had relatively large tombs and hence relatively large enclosures. 9. As far as the actual enclosure walls are concerned, those that have been either fully (Peribsen, Khasekhemwy) or extensively (Djer, Merneith, the so-called “Western Mastaba”) defined indicate (on parsimonious grounds) that all such enclosures at Abydos were similar in plan and detail throughout Dynasty I and later Dynasty II. The walls are massive and implicitly high (Khasekhemwy’s still stand at 11 m); they have simple recessing along three external

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Fig. 2. Actual or reconstructed enclosures for Dynasty I and II royal tombs, and for the first phase of Djoser’s step pyramid complex at Saqqara. 1. Djer’s enclosure, Abydos. 2. The enclosure around the Coptic village, Abydos (late Dynasty I). 3. Reconstructed enclosure above the tomb of Hotepsekhemwy (or Raneb) at Saqqara (Dynasty II). 4, 5. The enclosures of Peribsen and Khasekhemwy at Abydos, the latter with its mound indicated. 6. The enclosure of the first phase of Djoser’s complex, with the stone “mastaba” or mound indicated.

faces and a more complex pattern of recessing along the eastern; and they always have a substantial entrance near the northeast and southeast corners, set in the north and east walls, respectively. 14 10. As for the features within the enclosures, Peribsen’s and Khasekhemwy’s (late Dynasty II) each have a substantial brick chapel near the enclosure’s southeast corner, set askew to the orientation of the enclosure. In addition, Khasekhemwy’s enclosure seems to have had a sand and gravel mound (of unknown dimensions) capped by a brick skin and to the northwest of the enclosure’s central point. 15 While one might argue that chapel and mound were not introduced until the reigns of the kings named above, the earlier enclosures are very similar in proportions to the late Dynasty II examples and provide a large interior space, which was unlikely 14. E. Ayrton et al., Abydos Part III (London: Egypt Exploration Fund, 1904), pp. 1–4; Kemp “Abydos and the Royal Tombs”; D. O’Connor, “New Funerary Enclosures (Talbezirk) of the Early Dynastic Period,” JARCE 26 (1989), pp. 51–86. 15. D. O’Connor, “Boat Graves and Pyramid Origins. New Discoveries at Abydos, Egypt,” Expedition 33/3 (1991), pp. 7–10.

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to have been left completely empty. If we wish to reconstruct the interiors of these earlier enclosures, the most parsimonious inference is that they each also housed a chapel and mound, in approximately the same locations as in the later Dynasty II enclosures (fig. 3). We turn now to Saqqara, where probably all Dynasty II kings other than Peribsen and Khasekhemwy were buried. Only two royal tombs, however, can be considered (since no others have yet been identified with a reasonable amount of certainty), namely two subterranean complexes set side-by-side and dated respectively to king Hotepsekhemwy (or king Raneb), and king Ninetjer. Entirely rock-cut, these two complexes are not yet fully defined with accuracy, 16 but clearly differ in important ways from their Dynasty I predecessors at Umm el Qaªab, Abydos. Defining what is truly innovative in this regard, however, is difficult, despite the detailed commentaries on these complexes (especially by Kaiser). 17 The two Dynasty II royal tombs at Saqqara consist of a burial chamber and associated rooms at the rear, or southern end; and a very extensive complex of magazines and connecting passages occupying the rest of the complex. The Dynasty I royal tombs at Abydos also have magazines, but arranged in different patterns over the course of the dynasty, and representing a much smaller amount of storage space than is the case at Saqqara. Moreover, in the latter tombs, the burial complex itself is more specifically delineated as a dwelling place (including a bathroom and a latrine), and presents a different and more complicated plan for burial chamber and environs than is the case at Umm el Qaªab. Nevertheless, I think we may underestimate the strong continuities between the Dynasty I Abydos and Dynasty II Saqqara royal tombs. In the latter, the burial chamber and its environs continue to be similar in size to those of the Dynasty I Abydos tombs, which may also have expressed the concept of a dwelling place if in a less concrete way. Moreover, the need for storage spaces is manifest at both Abydos and Saqqara, even if supplied on a much larger scale at the latter. As noted above, the tombs of Peribsen and Khasekhemwy at Abydos are, in my view, variations on the Dynasty II royal tombs of Saqqara, albeit with significant differences, e.g., Khasekhemwy’s burial chamber and environs are flanked by magazines on the north and south, rather than on the north only. 18 What, if any, kind of superstructure or surface features might have stood above the Saqqara Dynasty II royal tombs? Given that enclosures of “archaic” type were considered a necessary part of the royal mortuary complex for Peribsen and Khasekhemwy, the parsimonious inference is that this would also be true for the Dynasty II royal tombs at Saqqara. Moreover, since there is no good evidence for enclosures separate from the area of the tomb at Saqqara, 19 we can also infer that at the latter site the enclosure stood above the tomb. As Kemp noted long ago, the separation of the tomb and enclosure at Abydos might not have occurred if the tombs, for traditional reasons associated with a pre-existing royal cemetery at Umm el Qaªab, had not been located so far away from the flood plain. 20 At Saqqara, the royal tombs are close 16. Note Kaiser’s remarks in “Zu den Königsgräbern der 2. Dynastie,” p. 121 and p. 121 n. 53. For the plans of the two tombs, Kaiser, “Zur unterirdischen Anlage der Djoserpyramide,” p. 180, Abb. 4, c and d. 17. Kaiser, “Zur unterirdischen Anlage der Djoserpyramide.” 18. The differences in plan between the tombs of Peribsen and Khasekhemwy are paralleled by substantial differences between the plans of the tombs of Hotepsekhemwy (or Raneb) and Ninetjer at Saqqara; see Kaiser, “Zur unterirdischen Anlage der Djoserpyramide,” p. 180, Abb. 4, c and d. 19. Kaiser, “Zu den Königsgräbern der 2. Dynastie,” p. 117 n. 29. 20. Kemp, “Abydos and the Royal Tombs,” p. 21.

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Fig. 3A. Note: North is at the top, and all structures are to scale, except for Djoser’s, which is shown as if built to the same scale as the others. 1A. The early Dynasty I tomb of king Djer at Abydos, with the area defined by subsidiary graves indicated by a broken line. 1B. The enclosure of Djer at Abydos, with a reconstructed mound and southeast corner chapel (the + marks the central point of this and other enclosures). 2A. An enclosure reconstructed above the tomb of king Hotepsekhemwy (or Raneb) at Saqqara. The general outline of the subterranean tomb is indicated, with the burial chamber and its environs to the south. 2B. The reconstructed enclosure of king Hotepsekhemwy (or Raneb), provided with a surface mound and a southeast corner chapel.

to the flood plain, so the necessity to have them separate could be overridden by the common mortuary significance shared by tomb and enclosure alike. If we assume, as parsimony suggests, that the Saqqara Dynasty II enclosures were similar in scale to Peribsen’s and Khasekhemwy’s, then Hotepsekhemwy’s (or Raneb’s) enclosure could have covered most or all of the subterranean complex, as might have Ninetjer’s, irrespective of

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Fig. 3B. 3A. The tomb of king Khasekhemwy at Abydos. 3B The enclosure of king Khasekhemwy at Abydos, with a surface mound and southeast corner chapel. 4A. The enclosure of the first phase of Djoser’s complex: the subterranean royal tomb (north of center) and “South Tomb” are indicated in outline. 4B. The enclosure of the first phase of Djoser’s complex: the stone-built mound or “mastaba” is indicated, as are the superstructures of the “South Tomb,” and the chapel near the southeast corner.

the fact that the latter’s subterranean complex is considerably smaller in extent than Hotepsekhemwy’s (or Raneb’s). Moreover, again on parsimonious grounds, the fact that Peribsen’s and Khasekhemwy’s Abydos enclosures included a chapel (near the southeast corner) and perhaps a surface mound (northwest of center), suggests their earlier Dynasty II predecessors at Saqqara did also. If so, then the chapel in Hotepsekhemwy’s (or Raneb’s) enclosure would have stood close to, or above, the actual burial chamber, while the mound would have lain above the western half of

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the central group of magazines. The former conjunction seems a significant one, if the chapel within the enclosure (and perhaps a similar one above the tomb at Umm el Qaªab) was dedicated to a statue and offering cult for the deceased ruler. The latter conjunction (mound, and a particular segment of the magazines) is more likely accidental, a product of the pre-existing, preferred location for the mound within the enclosure. As for Ninetjer’s enclosure, as reconstructed above, the chapel would be south of, but still relatively close to, the burial chamber, while the mound would be above the northwest quadrant of the magazines. 21 How does the preceding theory, as outlined above, relate to the first phase of Djoser’s Step Pyramid complex, with its stone enclosure walls and stone-built mound or mastaba, located largely northwest of the enclosure’s central point and set directly above the royal tomb? First, the theory would require us to see this layout as replicating, on a much larger scale, the essential components of the enclosures found separate from the Abydos tombs of Peribsen and Khasekhemwy, but above the Saqqara tombs of their Dynasty III predecessors (fig. 3). Second, the theory proposes that the most innovative aspect of the earlier Dynasty II royal mortuary complex was to combine tomb and enclosure together for the first time, for reasons discussed above. The major innovation in the final phase of Djoser’s complex was therefore not to combine tomb and enclosure, but to place the tomb under the mound located northwest of the enclosure’s central point. The last conclusion provides a parsimonious explanation for two other features believed to have been part of the first phase of Djoser’s Step Pyramid complex, namely the “South Tomb,” set against and even into the southern wall of the enclosure, and a chapel close to the enclosure’s southeast corner, and slightly askew to the enclosure’s orientation. The latter has been equated with the southeast corner chapel attested for some (and, I infer above, originally in all) of the Abydos enclosures. 22 However, its internal space is very small and indicates that the building is a dummy, essentially non-functional building. As for the “South Tomb,” it replicates the essentials of Djoser’s own tomb, but its burial chamber is too small to contain a body; the “South Tomb” has therefore been identified as “a dummy, intended for use in the symbolic sacrifice of the king during the heb-sed [festival] or the actual burial place of his entrails.” 23 Yet a further explanation is that it was intended for the king’s ka, or life force, involving “the separate interment of a statue,” i.e., in the apparent burial chamber. For me, however, the best, i.e., most parsimonious, explanation is that both the “South Tomb” and the southeast corner chapel are archaeological “fossils,” non-functional structures intended to commemorate that prior to Djoser’s complex, each Dynasty II royal enclosure at Saqqara had in its southern half an actual royal tomb, and a functioning surface chapel (fig. 3). This inference raises a further issue: where was the functioning mortuary cult place in the first phase of Djoser’s Step Pyramid complex? Other buildings are suggested to have existed within the enclosure at this time (i.e., the chapels of the so-called heb-sed festival court, and the “northern and southern buildings” 24) but all these are also non-functional. Perhaps the func-

21. Kaiser notes “enclosure walls” and other structures might have stood above the Dynasty II royal tombs at Saqqara, without being specific as to what he has in mind; see “Zu den Königsgräbern der 2. Dynastie,” p. 120. 22. Kaiser, “Zu den königlichen Talbezirken,” p. 9. 23. I. E. S. Edwards, The Pyramids of Egypt (Harmondsworth: Pelican, 1993), p. 50. 24. Kaiser, “Zu den königlichen Talbezirken,” p. 14, Abb. 4.

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tional cult place in the first phase was immediately north of the mound, in the place where Djoser’s fully functional mortuary chapel stood. 25

IV. Conclusions It may be helpful to briefly review what I consider to be, to a significant degree, the new theory about the origins of the pyramid complex, which I outline above. The Dynasty I royal tombs of Abydos may have been partially surmounted by a cult chapel and, less plausibly, by a surface mound. In addition, each was provided with a relatively large enclosure, set a considerable distance away because the tombs themselves were, for traditional reasons, located far away from the flood plain. Each enclosure contained a surface mound, northwest of center, and a surface chapel (for a mortuary cult) near the enclosure’s southeast corner (fig. 3). In Dynasty II, the royal burial place was relocated to Saqqara. Here, the choice of location was open, the tombs were close to the flood plain, and tomb and enclosure could be combined. As earlier, the chief surface features were a chapel near the southeast corner and a surface mound northwest of center. 26 This development was innovative in combining tomb and enclosure for the first time (fig. 3). The last two kings of Dynasty II (Peribsen and Khasekhemwy) were buried at Abydos, in the traditional burial ground at Umm el Qaªab. Hence, tomb and enclosure were again separated, for the same reason as before (fig. 3). The final phase of Djoser’s Step Pyramid complex consisted of a stone-built enclosure, within which, largely northwest of center, was a stone mound (a mastaba of square plan) below which was the tomb (fig. 3). The most obvious model for the layout would be the Dynasty II royal tombs (combined with enclosures) at Saqqara. The innovation of Djoser’s time was to move the royal tomb from the south part of the enclosure to the northern part, so as to locate it under the surface mound or mastaba.

Postscript Since the above was written, our most recent excavations (February–March 2001) in the Shunet el Zebib, the Abydos enclosure of king Khasekhemwy, have had results requiring the theory about pyramid origins outlined above to be modified. An opportunity to much expand our excavations in the Shunet has revealed that the evidence suggesting we had located the lower edge of a surface mound was misinterpreted; as of now, there is no evidence to support the idea that a surface mound stood in the northeast quadrant of Khasekhemwy’s, or any other, enclosure. My argument therefore must be even more parsimonious! I would revise the theory outlined above as follows: (1) The royal tombs of Dynasties I (and late II) had, above the tomb itself, a chapel over the south part of the tomb, and a surface mound over the north part of the tomb. 25. On Djoser’s mortuary temple, see Edwards, The Pyramids of Egypt, pp. 40–41. 26. I have suggested above that the actual tombs at Umm el Qaªab were each surmounted by a chapel, and perhaps, a mound; whether this was the case in the Dynasty II enclosures at Saqqara—i.e., as well as the southeast corner chapel and mound northwest of center, there was another chapel, and perhaps mound, above the tomb itself—is a moot point.

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(2) At Saqqara, in early Dynasty II, there was no need to keep the royal tomb and the royal mortuary chapel enclosure separate, so they were—for the first time—combined. The actual tomb chamber was in the south part of the enclosure, and had a surface chapel above it, as at Umm el Qaªab. A surface mound, surmised to stand above the north part of the tomb at Umm el Qaªab, was either immediately north of the chapel at Saqqara, or perhaps further away to the north, since the Saqqara royal tombs are so large. (3) The first phase of Djoser’s step pyramid complex was modeled on the Dynasty II royal tombs at Saqqara, with the tomb, chapel, and perhaps mound moved to a more northerly position. The “South Tomb” and the southeast corner chapel are archaeological fossils reflecting the earlier monuments (tomb and enclosure combined) at Saqqara.

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A Decorated Bronze Belt in the Detroit Institute of Arts Elsie Holmes Peck

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I would like to offer this paper in honor of Donald P. Hansen, my esteemed professor and friend who opened my eyes to things Mesopotamian and who trained me in the arcane mysteries of mud-brick archaeology. I hope that the following may hold some interest for him. Four years ago, a decorated belt previously belonging to a German private collection was acquired by the Detroit Institute of Arts (fig. 1). 1 This paper is a preliminary report on that piece. Due to time limitations, it has been impossible to do as careful and thoughtful an analysis as one would have wished. Its appearance in this publication will hopefully spark some interest and lead to a more thorough study. The belt’s measurements are: length, 131.5 cm including the central roundel minus the fastening tab; width 9.6 cm; height of the roundel, 21.9 cm; length of fastening tab, 6.5 cm. This unusually complex belt of sheet bronze is heavily decorated with repoussé and chased animal and figural designs. They form two friezes that are separated and framed at the top and bottom by three bands of guilloche pattern. The central feature of the belt is a circular medallion that is a continuation of the belt itself. It is decorated with two concentric rings of similar animal and figural motifs separated by guilloche designs. Around the edges of the belt and its roundel are piercings for the attachment to a leather or fabric backing. A projecting tab on the open side of the roundel has a pierced center decorated with a double border of punched circles. The hole would have secured a fastening, perhaps a floating hook on leather or thongs. The other end of the belt is without decoration as it would have been covered by the fastening. The iconography of the belt is both varied and repetitive. Two animal and figural friezes move to the right around the belt. Scenes of bull, lion and gazelle hunts with mounted archers, quivers on their backs, and two horse chariots each with a driver and an archer, form the most common theme. These are interspersed with lions attacking bulls. Less frequent subjects seem to refer to war narratives. One such scene in the upper register involves a chariot that approaches a foot soldier bearing a bow and an arrow and wearing the distinctive crested helmet 1. Belt, Urartian, late 8th to early 7th century b.c., Bronze; Detroit Institute of Arts Founders Society Purchase with funds from the Richard and Jane Manoogian Foundation (1997.35).

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Fig. 1. Belt, Urartian, late 8th to early 7th century b.c., Bronze, Detroit Institute of Arts, Founders Society Purchase with funds from the Richard and Jane Manoogian Foundation (1997.35).

of an enemy (fig. 2). The enemy soldier is repeated in the lower register confronted by a mounted archer (fig. 3). A motif of an isolated mounted warrior in an Assyrian pointed helmet with a shield and a spear on his shoulder, and a second motif of horses drawing a chariot and being led away by an attendant, also appear to be adopted from battle contexts (fig. 4). These violent scenes of war and the hunt are interrupted by a few static heraldic compositions: a pair of winged bulls and a pair of goats flank “sacred trees,” and human-headed bulls wearing horned headdresses guard a shrine or entrance-way (figs. 5, 10). Concentric bands on the large central medallion are filled with many of the motifs just described: hunting scenes with mounted bow-men or chariots pitted against lions, bulls, and gazelles alternate with vignettes of lions menacing horned animals and bulls (fig. 6). The outer register at the top depicts two sphinxes on either side of a sacred tree and opposite the fastening tab a pair of goats flank a second tree. At the center of the circular element is a scene of a male deity (shown to just below the waist) in a winged sun-disk wearing a tall horned miter and grasping a bow in his raised left hand and what appears to be a staff in the right. Below him two winged divinities also in horned headdresses, attend a sacred tree. They hold buckets and appear to touch the tree with a cone-shaped object. The tree springs from a mound of small, scale-like designs symbolizing mountains. Throughout the scenes on the belt, figures are depicted with elaborate beards and long hair falling to the shoulders in a rounded profile (figs. 2–4). The archers and charioteers are clad in short sleeved belted tunics with fringed skirts that fall to the knee and wear fringed shawls draped diagonally across the torso from the right shoulder (fig. 3). On the central medallion the two winged genies are also depicted in a fringed shawl-like outer garment that runs

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Fig. 2. Detail of belt with foot soldier on upper register.

Fig. 3. Detail of belt with foot soldier on lower register.

diagonally across the chest and reaches the ankle leaving the advanced leg free (fig. 6). This reveals a short skirt to the knee adorned with a multi-petalled rosette. An identical rosette appears on the near shoulder of each figure and the upraised wrist is encircled by a rosette bracelet. Both these divinities and the deity in the sun-disk wear tall headdresses with double bull horns and the latter appears to wear a wide, decorated belt. The strong influence of Assyrian court art on the decorative motifs of the belt is immediately apparent. Styles of hair and beard, the clothing worn by hunters, soldiers and deities

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Fig. 4. Detail of belt with chariot and attendant.

Fig. 5. Detail of belt with goats and winged bulls flanking trees.

alike, are reflections of garment types and fashions depicted on the Balawat Gates of Shalmaneser III (858–824 b.c.) and the stone reliefs of the Northwest Palace of Assurnasirpal II (883–859 b.c.) at Nimrud (Kalhu). 2 A pointed helmet worn by one mounted figure is typically 2. E. Strommenger, 5000 Years of the Art of Mesopotamia (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1964), pl. 210. S. Paley, King of the World: Ashur-nasir-pal II of Assyria 883–859 b.c. (New York: The Brooklyn Museum, 1976), pls. 14, 15, 17a.

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Fig. 6. Detail of belt with central medallion.

Assyrian while the crested helmet of a foot soldier with a bow is characteristic of a helmet type usually worn by enemy soldiers on Assyrian reliefs. The winged divinities on the belt’s medallion wear a horned headdress closer in form to Assurnasirpal’s royal headdress than to that of the rounded helmet worn by genies in the Assyrian Nimrud reliefs, but their garments and even their jewelry, the rosette bracelet, are clearly derived from Assyrian prototypes (fig. 6). This scene with the winged figures engaging in a ritual act with the sacred tree and a male deity shown to below the waist in a winged sundisk floating above them, is purely Assyrian in iconography. It appears on palace reliefs, cylinder seals, and wall paintings although the god Assur grasping a bow is a less common subject. 3 3. Strommenger, Art of Mesopotamia, pls. 190, 191; E. Porada, Corpus of Ancient Near Eastern Seals in North American Collections: The Collection of the Pierpont Morgan Library I (Washington, D.C.: Pantheon Books, 1948), pl. CV; A. Parrot, The Arts of Assyria (New York: Golden Press, 1961), pl. 282. Austen Henry Layard pointed out that the god Assur in a winged sun-disk on the reliefs of Assurnasirpal II appeared in scenes of battle above the king shooting the enemy with his bow and in scenes of royal triumph grasped an unbent bow in the right hand, A. Layard, Nineveh and its Remains (New York: D. Appleton and Co., 1854), pp. 339, 340.

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Fig. 7. Detail of belt. Upper register: goats and tree, mounted soldier in helmet; Lower register: griffins and tree, mounted archer and chariot.

Fig. 8. Detail of Layard’s drawing of the “embroidered” designs on the robe of a fly whisk bearer in an enthronement scene on a relief of Assurnasirpal II at Nimrud. A. Layard, The Monuments of Nineveh, pl. 1.

The form of the tree on the belt is not the complex sacred tree of Assurnasirpal II’s palace reliefs with palmette terminals and an intertwined, network of ribbon-like tendrils, but rather the less characteristic “cone-tree” with central stem or trunk and straight or slightly curving branches ending in pointed bud-like cones (figs. 3, 7). These trees are most commonly found on the “embroidered” garments worn by certain court or royal figures on the reliefs of Assurnasirpal II. They appear on incised bands on the borders and necks of robes and in patterns that cover sleeves and bodices (fig. 8). 4 J. V. Canby has related these trees to Urartian represen4. S. Hare and E. Porada, The Great King, King of Assyria: Assyrian Reliefs in the Metropolitan Museum (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1946), pls. I, XIV; J. Canby, “Decorated Garments in Ashurnasirpal’s Sculpture,” Iraq 33 (1971), pls. XVIIIb, XIXa, b, incised “embroidered” designs on a relief in the Darmouth College Museum.

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Fig. 9. Detail of belt with scenes of bull and lion hunts.

tations. She has also pointed out many examples where these embroidery patterns diverge from the standard motifs of the palace reliefs, by placing religious and secular iconography together, and treating narrative elements decoratively. This deviation in subject matter, Canby believes, may be due to the presence of foreign artisans working in the Assyrian court. 5 It should be pointed out that the more rigid canons of royal Assyrian art would not necessarily have been adhered to in the decorative arts, particularly in textiles where themes could be more freely interpreted. We shall see the same un-Assyrian treatment of motifs on the belt in the Detroit Institute of Arts. The sacred tree on the belt grows from a hill composed of scalelike designs, the Assyrian symbol of mountainous terrain found on palace reliefs. 6 Although parallels are not common, a cylinder seal in the British Museum shows a sacred tree growing from a small mountain symbol. 7 On the belt, chariots participating in the hunt are derived from Assyrian chariots of the ninth century b.c. Each has a lance mounted at the rear and a yoke pole that runs from the upper part of the car to the yoke, sometimes with a second pole which is hung with a decorated cloth (fig. 2). The yoke itself curves back from the horse’s withers in an exaggerated arc. This is a cursory rendering of smaller yokes seen on the reliefs of Assurnasirpal II and on the Balawat Gates that terminate in an animal’s head. 8 Unlike Assyrian chariots of the period of Assurnasirpal II and Shalmaneser III, the wheels have eight spokes, not six. Only foreign chariots during this period were depicted with eight spokes and it was not until the reign of Tiglath5. Canby, “Decorated Garments,” p. 44, pp. 36ff. 6. J. Curtis and J. Reade (eds.), Art and Empire: Treasures from Assyria in the British Museum (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1995), pl. 2, p. 45, pl. 11, pp. 60, 61. 7. Strommenger, Art of Mesopotamia, pl. 190, second row to the right; seal of Mushezib-Ninurta, ca. 850 b.c., Tell Arban, North Syria. 8. T. Madhloom, The Chronology of Neo-Assyrian Art (London: Athlone Press, 1970), pl. II, 1, 2; Strommenger, Art of Mesopotamia, pls. 202, 210, 212.

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pileser III (824–745 b.c.) that Assyrian chariots were represented with eight. 9 Each chariot on the belt has an archer and beyond him a driver holding the reins and a whip in the Assyrian manner. One chariot on the upper register near the medallion carries a third figure who turns with shield and short sword to dispatch a bull at the rear of the chariot (fig. 9). 10 Reliefs of Assurnasirpal II demonstrate that chariots were often drawn by three horses and those on the bronze gates of Shalmaneser III by two. 11 Chariots on the belt also seem to be drawn by two horses although only one head is depicted. A second horse is indicated by a second foreleg and hind leg and by two head ornaments (fig. 9). (The horse of the single archers is also represented with a second foreleg and hind leg and with two head ornaments. Are two mounted archers abreast being shown or is this a misunderstanding of the Assyrian convention we see on the Balawat Gates [fig. 7]?) Chariot horses and the horses ridden by the archers have their tails knotted in the Assyrian style and seem to be richly caparisoned although it is difficult to make out details. Feather crests on curved mounts decorate their heads in the manner of the period of Assurnasirpal II. 12 Except in one instance, these horses are shown in the Assyrian flying gallop, the hind legs still grounded but the forelegs stretched forward almost horizontally in the air (fig. 4). It is the pose adopted in a more stylized and exaggerated form by animals on Urartian bronze belts and other objects. 13 At first glance, the iconography of the belt and its medallion is strongly Assyrian in inspiration. Its themes of the hunt and war, and of cultic practices, and the styles of garments and chariots, reflect Assyrian prototypes of the ninth century b.c., particularly the scenes on the Balawat Gates of Shalmaneser III. The poses of many of the human and animal figures and the use of overlapping elements such as the legs of animals, are also Assyrian in character. On closer viewing, however, un-Assyrian elements appear. Scenes of the hunt are not confined to the chase of one animal as is characteristic of Assyrian royal relief representations. Bulls, lions, and gazelles are pursued indiscriminately either on foot, horseback, or by chariot with bows, spears, and short swords and the aid of small, round shields. 14 Lions are depicted not only attacking chariots and huntsmen on foot but in frequent vignettes menacing bulls, an unAssyrian hunting motif (fig. 10). Other themes intrude on the hunt scenes in a manner not consistent with Assyrian iconography. Elements related to Assyrian war representations are placed in the midst of the chase. In the upper register a foot soldier, intended to be an enemy figure in a crested helmet, turns his head toward an attacking chariot (fig. 2). The figure is repeated again in the lower register where a mounted archer replaces the chariot (fig. 3). 15 On

9. Madhloom, Chronology, p. 14. 10. This scene recalls a relief of the lion hunt of Assurnasirpal II: Strommenger, Art of Mesopotamia, pl. 203 11. Madhloom, Chronology, pp. 15, 16. Madhloom states that the chariots of Assurnasirpal II are generally shown drawn by three horses but probably were drawn by four. The third was not a spare as has been believed by some. The chariots of Shalmaneser were pulled by two horses. 12. Madhloom, Chronology, p. 14, pl. VIII.5. 13. M. van Loon, Urartian Art: Its Distinctive Traits in the Light of New Excavations (Istanbul: Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut, 1966), pl. XXX, bronze belt, Altin-tepe; pl. XXXI, belt from Gushchi, Metropolitan Museum of Art. 14. The shields are covered with a crosshatched pattern perhaps indicating wicker. 15. Madhloom, Chronology, pp. 41, 42. The writer states that crested helmets were not used in the Assyrian army before the reign of Tiglath-pileser II in the eighth century b.c., but in the ninth century b.c. the helmet is worn by Urartians shown on the bronze Balawat Gates, pl. XIX.7; also Curtis and

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Fig. 10. Detail of belt with scenes of winged bulls with sacred tree and lion and bull hunts.

the upper frieze a single mounted warrior (or possibly two) wearing the Assyrian pointed helmet gallops toward the right (fig. 4). Themes of heraldic animals flanking a sacred tree or an architectural element, alien to the narrative scenes, intrude upon the violent scenes of hunt and war. The belt and its medallion are punctuated by the motifs of winged bulls, winged griffins, goats, and winged sphinxes flanking sacred trees. Two variations of the “cone” tree are depicted, those with simple straight branches as seen in the center of the medallion and those with curved, ribbon-like tendrils forming a network reminiscent of the palmette trees on the reliefs of Assurnasirpal II (fig. 10). Winged bulls and sphinxes wearing rounded horned helmets, stand with their legs in a striding position whereas the crested griffins and goats touch the lower branches of the trees with their forelegs. Toward the back of the belt two striding human-headed bulls in double-horned, rounded helmets guard what appears to be a shrine or a gateway (fig. 5). Such use of animals in conjunction with sacred trees is foreign to Assyrian palace art, where sacred trees are tended and worshiped only by figures of the king, winged divinities or eagle-headed genies. Incised designs on the robes of these figures and on cylinder seals show a less rigid iconography with winged bulls or goats on either side of the tree, and sphinxes beside a sacred tree or engaged in struggles with heroes and eagle-headed figures, or standing beside cone-like plants (fig. 8). 16 Griffins, however, do not appear on the embroidered garments Reade, Art and Empire, p. 99; and W. Orthmann, Der Alte Orient (PKG 14; Berlin: Propyläen Verlag, 1975), pl. 211. 16. Canby, “Decorated Garments,” pls. Xb, d; XVIII; XIX; V. H. Crawford, P. Harper, and H. Pittman, Assyrian Reliefs and Ivories in the Metropolitan Museum: Palace Reliefs of Assurnasirpal II and Ivory Carvings from Nimrud (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1980), fig. 24, p. 31. For sacred trees with winged bulls standing and rearing and goats kneeling on one foreleg see: Paley, King of the World, pl. 19b, drawing from Layard on the garments of a fly-whisk bearer. For this theme with goats, as early as the Middle Assyrian period on glazed brick wall decoration at Kar-Tukulti-Ninurta, see Parrot, The Arts of Assyria,

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Fig. 11. Detail of belt with scene of charging bull.

beside sacred trees but attack horned animals. 17 This fiercer context may be seen on an early Middle Assyrian cylinder seal in which griffins attack bulls and frame a sacred tree. 18 Assyrian comparisons for the use of the human-headed bulls are more difficult to find. Their primary function in Assyrian art seems to have been as monumental guardians to the gates and entrances of the palaces of the Assyrian kings. The power of these creatures to protect the Assyrian king from harm and evil appears to be indicated on a relief of Sargon II (721–705 b.c.) from Khorsabad in the Louvre where such a creature is suspended over a naval expedition. 19 Their role on the belt, although decorative, is also that of guardian or protector of an architectural element. It is in particular poses and the stylization of some of the figures of the belt that we find the greatest divergence from the characteristic Assyrian style. The lions and bulls are all depicted with tails curved over their backs in a manner found occasionally on the bull and lion hunt reliefs of Nimrud but more frequently on the embroidered garments of the reliefs and on earlier Middle Assyrian cylinder seals. 20 The bulls’ tails with their tense arc and thick tufted ends recall decorative bulls on the wall paintings of Khorsabad of Sargon II. 21 A bull on the lower register of the belt attacked by a lion, arches its neck and tucks in its head for protection (fig. 10). The pose also recalls that of the bulls at Khorsabad but the stance with stretched out pl. 7, p. 4. For early representations of rearing winged bulls flanking a sacred tree, see fourteenthcentury b.c. Assyro-Kassite seals in Strommenger, Art of Mesopotamia, pl. 269. A Neo-Assyrian seal shows a sphinx beside a tree; see Orthmann, Der Alte Orient, pl. 269. 17. Canby, “Decorated Garments,” pl. XIVd. 18. Orthmann, Der Alte Orient, pl. 271a. 19. A. Ozenfant, Encylopédie Photographique de l’Art, II (Paris: Le Musée du Louvre, Editions “Tel,” 1936), pp. 2, 3. 20. Strommenger, Art of Mesopotamia, pl. 202; Canby, “Decorated Garments,” pls. Xc; Xic; XIIIc, e; XIVc; XVIb; fig. 2, p. 34. For cylinder seals, see Orthmann, Der Alte Orient, pl. 271d, e, g. 21. Orthmann, Der Alte Orient, pl. XXII.

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forelegs, as if skidding to a stop, is similar to that of bulls on wall paintings at Til Barsip in northern Syria of the eighth century b.c. 22 Although this bull on the Detroit belt is close to Assyrian prototypes, three others in the same pose diverge greatly from Assyrian models. The first, on the upper register at the beginning of the belt, charges a hunter on foot (fig. 11). The length and curve of the powerful neck is greatly exaggerated, the arc of the horn is emphasized and the head is lowered almost to the ground. The second bull found on the upper register and at the back of the belt charges a chariot and is about to be dispatched from the rear by a hunter (fig. 2). Here the neck is even larger and is emphasized by a row of decorative bosses. The hunter grasps the upraised tail to dispatch the animal from the rear with his short sword, a motif unknown in Assyrian court art except in the freer renderings of embroidered garment details on the palace reliefs. 23 A hunter on the lower register of the belt attacks a lion in the same manner and pose (fig. 9). The stance appears in western Iran on a Luristan bronze belt in the Louvre, dated to the ninth to eighth century b.c., on which a bull is killed from the rear by a kneeling hunter with a dagger. 24 The pose of the hunter on the Detroit belt, left leg braced on the animal’s hind leg, left hand grasping the tail with the elbow elevated at an exaggerated angle, is uncommon in Assyrian art. Less exaggerated renditions of this pose are found on a thirteenth-century b.c. Middle Assyrian seal in the Yale University collection, and the arm position approximates that of Assyrian soldiers slaughtering the enemy on royal reliefs. 25 The third bull of this type is on the upper register and sinks to the knee of the right foreleg as if collapsing from the stab wound to its neck delivered by the hunter in the chariot (fig. 9). The scene is almost a repetition of a hunting motif on a Nimrud ivory panel of the eighth century b.c. in the Iraq Museum, Baghdad. Although in a North Syrian style, the panel is Assyrian in iconography. 26 The Middle Assyrian seal at Yale just mentioned attests to the collapsing position at an early period. 27 It appears again on the embroidered garments of Assurnasirpal’s reliefs where bulls bend one foreleg to the ground before the onslaught of chariots and fierce lions (fig. 8). 28

22. Parrot, Arts of Assyria, pl. 342, p. 266; M. Mallowan, Nimrud and its Remains I (London: Collins, 1966), pl. 129, p. 194. 23. Canby, “Decorated Garments.” On the embroidered patterns in the Walters Art Gallery relief, an eagle-headed figure grasps the tail of a sphinx, pl. Xd and fig. 4, p. 34. No comparable motif is apparent on royal Assyrian reliefs. The lion hunt of Assurbanipal (668–631) from Nineveh shows a rearing lion whom the king grasps by the tail. The animal is probably about to be dispatched, although, since the relief is damaged, it cannot be seen. 24. Ozenfant, Encyclopédie, p. 34. 25. Orthmann, Der Alte Orient, pl. 271f. (Middle Assyrian cylinder seal), pl. 24 (relief of Tiglathpileser III [745–727] from Nimrud); Curtis and Reade, Art and Empire, p. 76, detail of pl. 22 (relief of Assurbanipal). 26. Orthmann, Der Alte Orient, pl. 258. 27. Orthmann, Der Alte Orient, pl. 271f. The collapsing animal depicted on the cylinder seal is a horse, not a bull. 28. Canby, “Decorated Garments,” fig. 4, p. 34, pls. XVb, XVIb. This stance also seems to be one of worship of the sacred tree; see A. Layard, The Monuments of Nineveh (London: John Murray, 1849). Detailed drawings of the embroidered patterns of the robes of two fly-whisk bearers flanking the enthroned Assurnasirpal II show winged bulls and goats in this position, pl. 1. A glazed vessel from Ziwiyeh in the Assyrian style illustrates bulls in this kneeling pose. See E. Porada, The Art of Ancient Iran: Pre-Islamic Cultures (New York: Crown Publishers, Inc., 1965), pl. 36.

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Fig. 12. Bronze quiver plaque, Iran, Luristan, ca. 8th–7th century b.c., photograph courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund, 1941 (41.156).

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Depictions of bulls with extraordinarily arched necks and curved chests have no place in the Assyrian repertoire but seem related to animal stylizations in areas to the East. Edith Porada commented on the curved necks and chests of two striding bulls flanking a sacred tree on a bronze ring of the twelfth to eleventh century b.c. from Luristan in the City Museum, St. Louis and similar bulls decorating a bowl of the same date in the British Museum said to come from northwest Iran. 29 This Iranian predilection for curved animal forms is present in Elamite art of the twelfth to ninth century b.c. and reaches its most decorative form on a gold beaker found at Marlik, southwest of the Caspian. 30 The beaker, dated by Porada to the twelfth to the eleventh century b.c., is adorned by friezes of young bulls with arched necks and chests that recall the exaggerated curves of the bulls on the Detroit belt. 31 The extreme arc of the horns of the Marlik bulls and their body patterning also connect these animals stylistically despite the differences in the proportions of their bodies. Winged bulls with pronounced curved necks, chests, and horns flanking sacred trees adorn registers of a bronze Luristan quiver dated to the late eighth to early seventh century b.c. in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (fig. 12). 32 Several centuries separate the Marlik bulls and the quiver representations, demonstrating the longevity of these decorative, curvilinear animal motifs throughout northwestern and western Iran that seem to form a link to the bull depictions on the belt. 33 Lions on the belt attacking bulls, hunters, and chariots are all rendered in the same semirearing stance, rear legs apart and forelegs in the air, the right foreleg almost horizontal, the left raised to strike (figs. 6, 9, 10). This pose with variations is found on Assyrian reliefs at Nimrud and on cylinder seals. 34 The general portrayal of the lions is also Assyrian—the snarling, gaping, fanged jaws, the deep-set triangular eye, wrinkled muzzle, the flame-like tufts of mane (difficult to distinguish on the belt) and the outline of the shoulder muscle. These elements are adopted by Urartu and may be seen on lion representations decorating bronze shields and belts. 35 Lion heads on the Detroit belt and many Urartian examples have a more pronounced curvature to the forehead and muzzle than their Assyrian prototypes (fig. 10). Belt depictions of the lions show an enlarged paw of the near foreleg with outstretched claws that recall the huge paws of rearing lions on ivory plaques from Ziwiyeh dated to the eighth century b.c. 36 29. Porada, Ancient Iran, p. 76, fig. 47, p. 76 and pl. 18. 30. For Elamite glazed tiles from Susa of the Middle and Neo Elamite periods in the Louvre see Porada, Ancient Iran, pl. 14, fig. 44, p. 70; E. Neghaban, A Preliminary Report on Marlik Excavation, Gohar Rud Expedition, Rudbar, 1961–62 (Teheran: Ministry of Education, 1964), pl. XVI, fig. 136, the gold beaker with friezes of young bulls. 31. Porada, Ancient Iran, p. 91. 32. O. Muscarella, Bronze and Iron: Ancient Near Eastern Artifacts in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1988), Luristan bronze quiver, pls. 192, 193, 197, 200. 33. Muscarella, Bronze and Iron, p. 200. The author remarks on the many metalworking centers in western and northwestern Iran and the borrowing of motifs over a large area stretching from the Caspian to the southern Zagros. 34. Strommenger, Art of Mesopotamia, pls. 202, 203 and pl. 186, third row, Middle Assyrian seal in the Pierpont Morgan Library; pl. 187, top row, Middle Assyrian seal in the British Museum. 35. Van Loon, Urartian Art, pls. XXV, XXVI, bronze shields of Sarduri II (ca. 764–735 b.c.) and Rusa III (ca. 645–635 b.c.) from Toprak-Kale; O. Muscarella (ed.), Ladders to Heaven: Art Treasures from Lands of the Bible (Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1981), pl. 151, p. 183, bronze belt fragment, seventh century b.c., collection of Elie Borowski. 36. Orthmann, Der Alte Orient, pl. 212b, and R. Ghirshman, Tombe Princière de Ziwiye et le Debut de l’Art Animalier Scythe (Paris: E. J. Brill, 1979), pl. VII 1, 9. The representation of the large paws with

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(fig. 9). The animals on the belt are treated generally in the Assyrian style with the exception of the three charging bulls. The shoulder muscle is outlined, the inverted tulip pattern of the foreleg muscle is indicated, although sometimes difficult to see, the haunch muscles, back ridge, and ribs are defined but not as emphatically as the patterns on some Assyrian ivories and the ivories of Ziwiyeh. 37 A fragment of an Egyptian Blue vessel from Hasanlu dated to the ninth century b.c. is decorated in relief, with two ibexes flanking and partially climbing a sacred tree. The motif recalls representations on the belt in the rather naturalistic stylization of the ribcage and muscles of the wild goat, the branches of the tree that end in cones, and the tree that grows from a mountain symbol. 38 The most unusual feature of the museum’s belt is the large circular central element that fastens it. No other parallels seem to exist for this belt form. The history of the development of the metal belt in the ancient Near East has been ably traced by P. R. S. Moorey and others. 39 Its beginnings as early as 2600 b.c. in the Royal Cemetery at Ur, which demonstrates its early military use, its popularity during the periods of the Hittite Empire and the Neo-Hittite states of North Syria, and its use during the Assyrian period have been discussed at length. Metal belts are attested to in Transcaucasia in the Bronze and Iron Ages and in Luristan and northwestern Iran at the beginning of the first millennium b.c. 40 Most of these metal belts are those from the kingdom of Urartu, centered on the shores of lake Van, dating to the eighth and seventh centuries b.c. Metal belts, some decorated simply, some elaborately, seem to have been worn by all male members of Urartian society in both a military and a secular context. Their military nature is attested to on the ninth-century b.c. Assyrian bronze gates of Balawat, where Urartian soldiers with crested helmets are shown wearing such belts. 41 During an excavation in 1973, the body of a Urartian soldier was discovered in a mass grave where it had been placed after the unsuccessful defense of a fortress. The body still wore a metal belt. 42 Belts, a number of which have survived complete, vary in width

extended claws on these ivory plaques from Ziwiyeh reflects a more abstract form than the paw on the seventh-century b.c. depiction on a lion hunt relief of Assurbanipal from Nineveh. See Strommenger, Art of Mesopotamia, pl. 261. 37. M. Mallowan, Nimrud and Its Remains II (London: Collins, 1966), pls. 565–67, p. 590, ivory plaques from Fort Shalmaneser of the eighth century b.c. with representations of bulls. The wrinkles on the neck and chest of one bull are similar to those on the winged bulls on the belt in Detroit, pl. 568, p. 591, spotted deer kneeling before a sacred tree with cones and pomgranates. P. Harper et al., “Ancient Near Eastern Art: The Metropolitan Museum of Art,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin 75 (1977), pl. 33, p. 29, ivory plaque reportedly from Ziwiyeh; Porada, Ancient Iran, fig. 72, p. 130, drawing of ibexes flanking a tree on a Ziwiyeh ivory. 38. Porada, Ancient Iran, pl. 33, a fragment of an Egyptian Blue vessel from Hasanlu in the Iran Bastan Museum, Teheran. 39. P. R. S. Moorey, “Some Ancient Metal Belts: Their Antecedents and Relatives,” Iran 5 (1967), pp. 83–98; idem, Catalogue of the Ancient Persian Bronzes in the Ashmolean Museum (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971), pp. 241–45; T. Kendall, “Urartian Art in Boston: Two Bronze Belts and a Mirror,” Boston Museum Bulletin (1977), pp. 31–33; Assyrian and Neo-Hittite belts illustrated, p. 36. The information gleaned from representations of belts on sculpture, relief, etc., is limited, since the material, metal or fabric, can obviously not be determined. 40. Kendall, “Urartian Art in Boston,” pp. 31, 32, for citations of examples of these belts. 41. Orthmann, Die Alte Orient, pl. 211. 42. Kendall, “Urartian Art in Boston,” p. 31 n. 16; Kendall cites the 1973 excavation of Cavustepe.

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Fig. 13. Bronze belt fragment, Northwestern Iran, Urartian, 7th century b.c., photograph courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund, 1952 (52.123).

from 5.2 to 16.2 cm. 43 They are all perforated along the edge for attachment to a lining, except for a few narrow, late examples. Those with intact ends appear to have been fastened by means of a single ring or loop and tied with a leather strip, toggle or thong. One narrow belt has a piercing at each end through which a thong could be drawn. 44 All the belt ends are rectangular in shape, many with rounded corners, and none curve to form a circular medallion. Despite its unusual central element, can the belt in the Detroit Institute of Arts be Urartian? Van Loon analyzed the characteristics of Urartian art in its widest sense, although his approach is applicable to the narrower focus of belt decoration. He divided Urartian art into what he called a court style, which included depictions on the shields and helmets found at Toprak-Kale and Karmir-Blur and certain belts such as those from Altin-tepe and Guschi, and a popular style which was found in the decoration of belts from graves of those not connected to the court. The court style was based on the canons of Assyrian royal art set by the ninthcentury b.c. kings Assurnasirpal II and Shalmaneser III. Van Loon related scenes on the helmets from Karmir-Blur to those on the Balawat Gates of Shalmaneser III. 45 The belt in the Detroit Institute of Arts is related to Urartian examples on several levels. The general form of the belt (excluding the central medallion), its perforated edges for the securing of a lining, and the use of rich embossed and chased decoration are all consistent with the belts of Urartu (fig. 13). Here too, as on Urartian examples, the iconography is founded on the 9th-century b.c. Assyrian court art of Assurnasirpal II and Shalmaneser III, with scenes of animal hunts and battle, motifs such as the fertilizing of the sacred tree, and the inclusion of magical, composite creatures. These themes, on the Detroit belt and on Urartian examples are used decoratively, ignoring their serious nature or their narrative integrity. The inclusion of 43. Kendall, “Urartian Art in Boston,” p. 35 n. 29. 44. Muscarella, Ladders to Heaven, pl. 152, p. 184, seventh century b.c. belt in the Borowski collection, with a ring fastening. For other belts with similar closures see: R. Merhav (ed.), Urartu: A Metalworking Center in the First Millennium b.c.e. ( Jerusalem: The Israel Museum, 1991), p. 146, nos. 4, 7, bronze belts from the Elghanayan collection, New York; figs. 4, and 5, p. 159, drawings of similar belt fastenings with inscriptions of Sarduri II (ca. 760–730 b.c.e.) in the museum of Alanya and the Archaeological Museum, Istanbul. 45. Van Loon, Urartian Art, pp. 166–80.

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secular and religious iconography side by side is un-Assyrian but characteristic of Urartian belt decoration. Assyrian court art never juxtaposed scenes of the hunt with those of war, or included scenes of the hunt of more than one species of animals. 46 The belt’s central medallion uses a compositional device that recalls that of Urartian bronze shields from Karmir-Blur. Concentric rings of lions and bulls were placed in a fashion so that when the shields were hung, none of the animals would be viewed upside down. 47 This is accomplished by changing the direction of the animals at the horizontal midway point and changing their ground lines. The same change in direction and ground line occurs on the two concentric bands of the medallion at the horizontal midpoint (the area at the fastening and opposite, on the far side of the circular element). 48 The guilloche or cable pattern that divides and frames the bands of figures on the Detroit belt is consistent with its use on Urartian belts of the seventh century b.c. 49 The use of this guilloche design is in fact widespread in the late second and early first millennia b.c., from Assyria to Iran. Also Urartian is the presence of magical beings, such as winged bulls, griffins, humanheaded bulls, and sphinxes. The magical animals of Assyrian inspiration on the belt are consistent with those used on Urartian examples. The art of Urartu, however, included other composite creatures more varied and strange than any imagined by Assyrian artists. The numbers and forms of these creatures seem to proliferate in later belts of the seventh century and may be seen in conjunction with purely decorative elements, such as rosettes and disks, or cover the entire surface of the belt. 50 Thus the belt in the Detroit Institute of Arts has many features that link it to the art of Urartu: its form (without the medallion), the types of techniques used for its ornamentation, and the iconography, Assyrian in origin, but employed decoratively instead of for narrative and cultic purposes. Other elements, however, distance it from characteristically Urartian representations. A feeling of narrative is retained in scenes of the hunt and war by the overlapping of animals and the placement of battling lions and bulls that create a flow of movement and a brief change of direction to the friezes (fig. 10). Although elements are repeated, they are placed in different contexts, for example the enemy soldier in the crested helmet (figs. 2– 3). Slight variations in animal poses add a liveliness to the scenes. In the gazelle hunt, the last animal turns its head toward the mounted archer and breaks into a gallop as it flees (fig. 5). Urartian motifs, even those dated early in the period, are less varied in pose, more frozen in 46. Canby, “Decorated Garments,” p. 37. The author remarks that the exception is the presence of the god Assur in a winged sun-disk, who battles with a drawn bow on the side of the Assyrians (p. 37ff.). Canby contrasts the decorative use of themes on the “embroidered” borders of the robes worn by the court of Assurnasirpal II with the more rigid usage on the actual royal reliefs. 47. Van Loon, Urartian Art, pp. 116, 117. 48. The artist of the Detroit belt had difficulty using this device and accommodating the complex iconography to a confined space. At the midway point on the left, the scene on the inner concentric band involving a young bull confronted by a mounted archer is depicted with an awkward handling of the figure of the archer. The scene that follows, with the change of direction and ground line, a mounted bowman and a lion attacking a bull, shows a shortened version of the horse due to lack of space. 49. G. Azarpay, Urartian Art and Artifacts: A Chronological Study (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968), p. 73. The author has organized the Urartian material chronologically into phases; see pp. 46–73, particularly 72–73. 50. Merhav, A Metalworking Center, nos. 5, 6, p. 149, two belts in the Elghanayan Collection, New York; and fig. 3, p. 156, belt in the Bible Lands Museum, Jerusalem.

spread is 12 points short

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movement and less concerned with an interesting flow of movement across the belt. 51 The flying gallop of Urartian animals, hind legs on the ground, forelegs stretched out horizontally in the air, is repeated decoratively with little variation (fig. 13). Human and magical figures on the Detroit belt are depicted with the Assyrian beard and hair-style. Although many representations of Urartian hunters, soldiers, and charioteers are bearded, many more are clean-shaven and have large eyes and small chins. 52 More Urartian figures wear the conical, pointed Assyrian helmet and few are bare-headed, as are the majority of figures on the museum’s piece. The heads of lions on the Detroit belt are close to the curved profile of those on the shield of Rusa III from Toprak-Kale, and their tails have the same tense curves as those of Urartian lions, but their poses are different. 53 The winged bulls and one bull attacked by a lion are closer to their Assyrian prototypes than most Urartian representations (fig. 10). What then, is the origin of this bronze belt? It is difficult at this juncture to give a definitive answer or even a viable suggestion. The treatment of three collapsing bulls on the belt with exaggerated, curved thick necks appears as a strange anomaly in its context. The arched neck, with its decorative treatment of bands of cross-hatching, stylized curls, and protrusions, seems more akin to some Iranian representations that emphasized curvilinear forms and extreme patterning of the bodies of animals. The style calls to mind the decorative treatment of animals from Luristan of the early first millennium b.c., those at Hasanlu of the 9th centuy b.c., and also the earlier traditions of Marlik. 54 Representations on the ivories of Ziwiyeh dated to second half of the eighth century b.c. seem similar to animal depictions on the belt of the Detroit Institute of Arts. The proportions of the animals are naturalistic and not far removed from their Assyrian prototypes, despite the patterning of ribs, muscles, and curls, which is less emphatic on the belt. The representations on the Ziwiyeh ivories of bulls, horses, gazelles, and sphinxes are reminiscent of depictions of those animals on the belt (except the three aberrant bulls) 55 (figs. 2, 5, 10). The interest in confronted pairs of animals and composite beings flanking sacred trees on a gold pectoral from 51. Azarpay, Urartian Art and Artifacts, pl. 21, quiver of Sarduri II (764–735 b.c.), Karmir-Blur, Historical Museum of Armenia, Erevan; pl. 23, belt fragment, Altin-tepe, Archaeological Museum, Ankara, dated to Argishti II (ca. 713–686 b.c.); fig. 11, belt fragments from Nor-aresh, Historical Museum of Armenia, Erevan. 52. Van Loon, Urartian Art, pl. XXIX, bronze helmet of Sarduri II, Karmir-Blur; Azarpay, Urartian Art and Artifacts, fig. 11, fragment of a bronze strip, Nor-aresh, near Erevan and pl. 21, bronze quiver of Sarduri II, Karmir-Blur. 53. Van Loon, Urartian Art, pl. XXVI, bronze shield of Rusa III, Toprak-Kale. 54. O. Muscarella, “Hasanlu 1964,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin 25 (1966), pl. 7, ivory pedestal with a lion, Metropolitan Museum of Art; pl. 10, drawing of a silver beaker, Iran Bastan Museum; pl. 21, ivory panel with a lion-griffin, Metropolitan Museum of Art; Negahban, Marlik, pl. XVI, gold beaker with young bulls; Orthmann, Der Alte Orient, pl. 317a–c, bronze quiver, Luristan, Metropolitan Museum of Art, lions and bulls with curved necks and decorated bodies; E. Negahban, Metal Vessels from Marlik (Prähistorische Bronzefunde, Abteilung 11, 3; Munich: C. H. Beck’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1983), p. 11, winged bull gold vessel; p. 37, young bull gold beaker; p. 28, gold vessel with goats, boars and vultures. 55. Ivories from Ziwiyeh in the Iran Bastan Museum and the Lourve, see Ghirshman, Ziwiyeh, pl. VII 1, 5, representations of bulls; pl. VII 6, 7, pl. XXII representations of horses; pl. IX 1–3, pl. XVII 3–5, representations of gazelles; pl. IX 4, 5, pl. XII 3–6, representations of sphinxes.

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Fig. 14. Gold plaque, Northwestern Iran, reportedly from Ziwiyeh, ca. 8th–7th century b.c., photograph courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art; Top fragment: Ann and George Blumenthal Fund, 1954 (54.3.5); Bottom fragment: Rogers Fund, 1962 (62.78.1a, b).

Ziwiyeh and a plaque reportedly from Ziwiyeh are related stylistically to the winged bulls, sphinxes, griffins and goats with trees that form heraldic compositions along the belt and its medallion (fig. 14). Although the types of Ziwiyeh griffins and sphinxes are not the same as those on the belt, their stately stride and the balanced compositions they create are comparable. Winged bulls on the pectoral, despite a difference in pose, are quite close to those on the belt with their slender bodies, long drooping tails and slightly patterned bodies. 56 56. Harper et. al., “Ancient Near Eastern Art,” pl. 64, gold plaque reportedly from Ziwiye; R. Ghirshman, The Arts of Ancient Iran from its Origins to the Time of Alexander the Great (New York: Golden Press, 1964) pl. 379, gold pectoral from Ziwiyeh.

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The iconography and figural style of the belt in the Detroit Institute of Arts is grounded in the royal art of the early Neo-Assyrian kings and this influence is paramount. Despite the essentially decorative treatment of the belt’s themes, an interest in compositional continuity allows the depictions some narrative quality. The belt is also related to examples from Urartu both in form, technique, iconography, and, to some extent, style. Elements of animal depictions, heraldic compositions, and subject matter also recall examples of animal representations from northwestern and western Iran covering an area from the Caspian to the Zagros range. Since the arts of Urartu and those of Ziwiyeh, Hasanlu, and to some extent Marlik are strongly influenced by the art of Assyria, undoubtedly disseminated as portable objects, textiles, ivories, and seals, to mention but a few art forms, it is hardly surprising that parallels can be found among the products of various cultures in this area of the Near East. It would seem that the belt in the Detroit Institute of Arts is a product of this Iranian region and was made in the early centuries of the first millennium b.c., probably in the eighth or early seventh century b.c. Perhaps it was produced at the extreme eastern borders of Urartu, where Iranian elements were the most strongly felt, or conversely at the western boundaries of Iran close to Urartu. This would not explain, however, the lingering Assyrian qualities of narrative, an interest in movement within the friezes, and the relatively naturalistic rendering of the figures which adhere to the canons of Assyrian art. Even an Assyrian variation of pose and tempo remain despite the decorative treatment of iconography. It is tempting to imagine that perhaps a metalsmith from this area had worked for the Assyrian court (as posited by J. V. Canby for the workmen that incised the embroidered patterns on the robes of the reliefs of Assurnasirpal II with their foreign, non-Assyrian elements). Perhaps this belt was made not for an Iranian or Urartian patron but for an Assyrian, by a foreigner from the East working at the Assyrian court. It is hoped that the questions raised here may be answered by others. Where, in fact, was the belt produced, and what is the origin of its central medallion? Although the belt is related to those worn by warriors as part of body armor, the large central medallion would have made it impossible to wear in battle. The belt’s rich decoration and impressive form would have been more suitably worn over elaborate robes for an important ceremonial occasion.

Appendix Conservation report on a decorated bronze belt in the Collection of the Detroit Institute of Arts The belt (1997.35) is made of sheet metal embellished with repoussé, chasing, and stamping. Holes pierce the edges of the belt at regular intervals. The metal was analyzed using x-ray fluorescence spectroscopy (XRF) and the results were compared with the analysis of fragments of a similar belt already in the collection (80.30–.31). It was found that both belts have similar compositions, including major amounts of copper and minor amounts of tin; in other words, both are made of bronze. Both belts also contain minor but significant amounts of zinc, as well as traces of iron, silver, lead, and antimony, and faint traces of arsenic. This belt differs from the one already in the collection in containing no trace of selenium. The surface of the belt, inside and out, is covered with corrosion. Although the corrosion products were not analyzed, their colors, black, red and blue-green, are typical of the types of corrosion that commonly occur on copper alloys.

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The belt has suffered breaks, cracks, and losses. These are concentrated midway along the length of the belt and also along the edges; most are visible to the naked eye and many have been repaired. Carol Forsythe, Conservator of Sculpture and Decorative Arts, DIA Leon Stodulski, Senior Research Scientist, DIA

An Egyptian Goddess in Detroit

William H. Peck

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At the site of Mendes in the Nile Delta, Donald Hansen introduced a number of young Egyptologists to the practice of “mud-brick” archaeology. I was fortunate to be included among them. It is somewhat unusual that one person combines the attributes of a talented archaeologist, art historian, and connoisseur of the arts. These qualities Donald Hansen has brought to his career as a teacher. This small offering about an arresting piece of Egyptian sculpture is respectfully dedicated to him. In 1998 the Detroit Institute of Arts acquired an unusual bronze head representing an Egyptian goddess (fig. 1). 1 It is notable in that this piece was obviously not meant to be part of a full figure but was intended for some other function. It is designed with long pendant wig coverings framing the face and a multiple uraeus crown above. It is embellished with surface engraving and a slight depression on the forehead where a single uraeus was presumably attached. It still retains its inlaid eyes but the presence of inlaid eyebrows is only indicated by the depressions made to receive them. The top of the head has a mortise-like opening clearly intended for the insertion of the tang of an attribute, probably a horned sun disk, meant to complete the headdress. There is no indication of a neck and the backs of the wig elements are flat, cut out, suggesting a carefully designed surface for attachment to some object other than a figure (figs. 3, 4). As many Egyptian bronze statues, particularly those of some size, were cast and assembled from several pieces, it might be tempting to come to an immediate conclusion that a head alone might have been part of a whole figure. Since its particular form does not accommodate attachment to a neck and shoulders, the unusual shape and size suggests that it was rather an embellishment for a ritual object. The repertoire of types of objects from ancient Egypt to which this head could be assigned is somewhat limited and includes, among few others, the ceremonial stave or staff, the sistrum and the aegis (fig. 2). In Egyptological terminology, as contrasted to its use in the classical world, where it designates the breastplate or shield of Zeus or Athena, the word “aegis”

1. Head of a Goddess, Egyptian, Third Intermediate Period (1070–945 b.c.). Cast Bronze with inlays and traces of gilding, height 13.7 cm (5 2!- in.); accession Number 1998.42. Founders Society purchase, Antiquaries Fund, Cleo and Lester Gruber Fund, Hill Memorial Fund.

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Fig. 1. Head of a Goddess, Front. Collection of the Detroit Institute of Arts, Acc. No. 1998.42. Founders Society Purchase, Antiquaries Fund, Cleo and Lester Gruber Fund, and the Hill Memorial Fund. 13.7 cm high.

denotes a composite object composed of a semicircular element in the shape of a broad beaded collar displayed flat, surmounted by the head of a god, goddess, or sacred animal, with the head usually in a smaller scale than the collar. The aegis was meant to be held in the hand of an officiant as a part of ritual, as evidenced by its illustration in reliefs and its appearance as an attribute of small bronze figures, or it could be attached as an amuletic or symbolic device to other objects. An examination of other possible uses indicates that the bronze head now in Detroit was most likely a part of a large aegis. The scale of the hypothesized aegis suggested by this head makes it unlikely that the aegis would have been a hand-held ritual object, but it could have been used as the prow or stern decoration for a sacred bark of a deity. In this

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Fig. 2. Aegis Collection of the Detroit Institute of Arts Acc. No. 80.97. Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Nils Inghagen. 16.2 cm high.

manner, they are often shown in temple relief representations (fig. 5). Comparison with actual examples of the aegis on a smaller scale, as well as the evidence provided by the depictions of the aegis in temple images of the barks of the goddesses Mut and Hathor, make this seem probable. 2 Without further attributes and lacking an inscription, identification of the goddess represented by the head in Detroit is impossible beyond the generic designation “female deity.” 2. See K. A. Kitchen, “Barke,” in LÄ 1 (1972/5), pp. 619–25, for general information on barks. Kitchen cites the name of the bark of Mut as “Great of love” (º·-mrwt ) and that of the bark of Hathor as “Lady of love” (nbt-mrwt).

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Fig. 3 (lelft). Head of a Goddess, Side. Detroit Institute of Arts, 1998.42. Fig. 4 (right). Head of a Goddess, Back. Detroit Institute of Arts, 1998.42.

The assignment of a date to such an object is also difficult, particularly since it was acquired from the art market and without archaeological context. 3 This necessitates a comparative study with other known examples of similar style and representation. A brief survey of the literature on bronze images and figures reveals a limited number of important sources. One of the most useful studies of various types of Egyptian bronze sculpture was essayed by Günther Roeder in 1956. 4 His complete survey of such material in the Berlin museum not only illustrates a considerable number of pieces of various types and size but also includes comparative illustrations of material not in that collection. In 1987, Christiane Ziegler added a significant work to the literature on bronze sculpture with the publication of a specialized catalogue essay on metal work of the Third Intermediate Period in Egypt. This study includes a brief survey of the history of bronze manufacture in Egypt and serves to place the statue of Karomama (Louvre N 500) in a historical context. 5 Further study of bronze sculpture and a useful compliment to these two 3. It was item No.88 in the Sotheby’s, London, sale: Antiquities from the Schuster Collection, Monday, July 10, 1989. “From the Collection of the Late Madame Marion Schuster, Lausanne, and by descent, the property of Madame Mathilde de Goldschmidt Rothschild.” 4. G. Roeder, Ägyptische Bronzefiguren: Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Mitteilungen aus der ãgyptischen Sammlung 6 (Berlin: Staatliche Museen zu Berlin: 1956). 5. C. Ziegler, “Les arts du métal à la Troisième Période Intermédiaire,” in Tanis: L’or des pharaons (Paris: Association Française d’Action Artistique, 1987), pp. 85–101.

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Fig. 5. Sacred Bark of the Goddess Mut, Temple of Medinet Habu (line drawing courtesy of the Oriental Institute, University of Chicago).

works is the publication of “The Lady of Leiden” by Maarten J. Raven. 6 To these three important sources should be added the article by J. Ogden on metals, with its extensive bibliography, in the recently published Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology. 7 Both Roeder and Raven 6. M. J. Raven, “The Lady of Leiden: A Monumental Bronze Figure and Its Restoration,” in Aegyptus Museis Rediviva: Miscellanea in Honorem Hermanni de Meulenaere (Bruxelles: Musées royaux d’Art et d’Histoire, 1993), pp. 129–40. 7. J. Ogden, “Metals,” in P. T. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds.), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), pp. 148–76. For many years, the classic source for information on metal work in ancient Egypt has been: A. Lucas, revised by J. R. Harris, Ancient Egyptian Materials and Industries (4th ed.; London: Edward Arnold, Ltd., 1962), still valid in many respects. To this can also be added J. B. Lambert, Traces of the Past: Unraveling the Secrets of Archaeology through Chemistry (Reading, Mass.: Addison Wesley Longman, 1997), in which chapter 7 gives a good overview of the general history of metallurgy in antiquity.

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enumerate the known existing examples of bronzes of a class of object designated “striding” women, the former as a part of the larger study of the Berlin collection and the latter in reference to the single object preserved in Leiden. While the Detroit head is obviously not from such a complete figure, the collected examples serve as a reasonable basis for comparison with the faces of female images of a large scale. The limited number of comparable pieces of metal sculpture from an ancient civilization known to practice metal work throughout its long history requires some explanation. Providing that it had been stored in a sufficiently dry context, and given the arid climate of the country, metal sculpture in ancient Egypt had the potential of a long life. A significant explanation for the limited number of preserved bronze images is the obvious ease with which metals can be melted down and reused for other purposes, an explanation often cited for the rarity of bronzes from the Classical world as well. Is it clear from textual, representational and archaeological evidence that metal was used throughout Egyptian history for a wide range of practical applications in addition to sculpture. These included tools, weapons, objects of personal adornment, and architectural elements, but the unfortunate truth is that the examples of metal sculpture preserved are for the greatest part from the last centuries of pharaonic Egyptian history. Archaeological evidence for the extraction and working of copper, however, has been found from at least as early as the Old Kingdom. 8 The extremely rare and singular examples of copper or copper alloy sculpture from the Old Kingdom, the statues of Pepi I and his son of Dynasty VI, for example, give some limited evidence of an ability to work in the material at an early period. Even these rare works have generated some controversy as to the actual technique employed and raised the debate that they were made from cast sheets and not from sheets raised by hammering. Visual evidence from the paintings on the walls of New Kingdom tombs, particularly those in the tomb of Rekmere (TT100) which illustrate the manufacture of bronze doors, offer a remarkably detailed view of the craft of the metal workers, especially the stages in the processes of smelting and casting. The paucity of large metal sculpture from periods before Dynasty XXVI implies the disappearance of many objects and alludes to the great potential for reuse, for which the material of outmoded sculpture might have been employed. From the last Pharaonic dynasties and the Macedonian, Ptolemaic, and Roman Periods there is considerable substantiation of a flourishing bronze industry exemplified by the preservation of countless statuettes and votive offerings, as well as utilitarian objects such as weapons and tools. It is apparent that at that time, the sculptors of ancient Egypt were particularly adept at the craft of bronze casting, using for the most part the lost-wax method, as evidenced by innumerable small figures of deities, but it is essentially the larger figures that are of concern as comparative objects here. The significant absence of sizable bronze sculpture of human figures of any period makes comparison with a range of known and well dated pieces difficult. In the past it was an Egyptological commonplace to date almost any bronze without a solid archaeological context to Dynasty XXVI 9 Roeder, Ziegler and Raven studied the rare examples of more complete figures from the Third Intermediate Period, identifying a small corpus of less than a dozen objects that can be reasonably grouped in time. Fortunately, two statues of this group are inscribed and can act as essential reference points. The statue of Karomama, in the collection of the Louvre, 8. Ogden, “Metals,” p. 149. 9. A comment in H. Garland and C. O. Bannister, Ancient Egyptian Metallurgy (London: Griffin, 1927), p. 83, quoted in Ogden, “Metals,” p. 148.

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represents a divine consort of Amun in Dynasty XXII. Her statue, certainly a great masterpiece of Egyptian art, inlaid with gold, silver and electrum, is one example of bronze sculpture from the period ca. 870–840 b.c. The figure of the Lady Takush, preserved in Athens, can be dated to ca. 730–715 b.c., about a hundred years later than Karomama. It is of a softer style, the hallmarks of which include a more rounded treatment of the face. Other examples that have been noted include a second figure in the Louvre (E 14276), two figures in Berlin (2309, 71.71), three in London (BM 43371, 43372, 43373), and the statue of the lady in Leiden studied by Raven. To these can be added a bronze statue formerly in the Christos Bastis collection, dated to Dynasty XXV and thought to represent a princess or a Divine Consort. 10 The general shape of the face of the Detroit head is nearly triangular, wide at the brow and eye level, narrowing to the chin. The eyes are wide and slightly tilted, with little trace of a cosmetic line. The nose is long and narrow. The mouth is slightly pursed; the lower lip is full. The best comparisons that can be made with it are with the faces of bronze female figures of the Third Intermediate Period previously mentioned, particularly those from Dynasties XXIII– XXV. It is important to note that completely different types of headdress, such as the wig shape exhibited on the Karomama figure and some others, make comparison of face shapes more difficult and somewhat problematic. Taking this into consideration, a particularly good comparison can be made with the head of the statuette in Berlin (2309) whose facial features are rather similar to those of the Detroit head. Perhaps the most that can be said of the dating of the Detroit head, considering that it is not inscribed, and that it was made for a ceremonial object without individualized features rather than as a figure commemorating a particular individual of rank, is that it probably dates to about the eighth to seventh centuries b.c. In any case, it is an unusual example of a head on a scale that sets it apart from many Egyptian bronzes, remarkable for its design and for its probable function as part of a votive object.

10. The Bastis statue is significantly smaller than the others in this group. It is 18.9 cm high while the others range from 34 to 86 cm. See The Christos Bastis Collection, Sotheby’s auction catalogue, New York, December 9, 1999. Catalog No. 3.

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The “Jeweler’s” Seal from Susa and Art of Awan Holly Pittman

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Donald P. Hansen is the rarest of birds—a superb field archaeologist who effortlessly lifts layer after layer from weathered plaster surfaces and a masterful art historian whose descriptions and analyses give identity and meaning to enigmatic traces of the past. First as a teacher, then as a colleague and friend, Donald and I have thought together about the ancient Near East for three decades. Those discussions have ranged widely. Some subjects have become old favorites—among them the mysteries of the Iranian plateau rank high. When our discussions began, new archaeological work was burgeoning. The first reports from Tepe Yahya and Shahr-i Sokhta, as well as Godin Tepe had appeared and Tal-i Malyan was soon to be identified as the highland capital of Anshan. Our interest was deeply in the third millennium and a key problem that we returned to again and again was a notorious series of vases carved in soft greenish gray stone. Earlier, Donald had found one of the most remarkable of these vessels (fig. 1) in the temple of Inanna at Nippur, inscribed in Sumerian with the enigmatic message “Inanna and the Serpent.” 1 A decade later, excavations at Tepe Yahya confirmed intuitions 2 that the Nippur vessel and others like it were not products of the Mesopotamian communities in which they were found but were probably made instead outside of the alluvial plain, at least some of them on the Iranian plateau (fig. 2). Because of their wide geographic distribution, they were combined under the rubric “intercultural” style. 3 Our problem was to interpret “intercultural” style 1. D. P. Hansen and G. F. Dales, “The Temple of Inanna, Queen of Heaven, at Nippur,” Archaeology 15 (1962), pp. 75–84. 2. L. Le Breton, “The Early Periods at Susa, Mesopotamian Relations,” Iraq 19 (1957), pp. 79–124. 3. There is a large bibliography on the “intercultural” style vessels: see for example, F. Durrani, “Stone Vases as Evidence of Connection between Mesopotamia and the Indus Valley,” Pakistan Archaeology 1 (1964), pp. 1–50; G. Burkholder, “Steatite Carvings from Saudi Arabia,” Artibus Asiae 33 (1971), pp. 306–22; P. Kohl, “Seeds of Upheaval: The Production of Chlorite at Tepe Yahya and an Analysis of Commodity Production and Trade in Southwest Asia in the Mid-Third Millennium” (Ph.D. Dissertation, Harvard University, 1975; P. de Miroschedji, “Vases et objets en steatite susiens du Musée du Louvre,” Cahiers de la DAFI 3 (1973), pp. 9–79; J. Zarins, “Steatite Vessels in the Riyadh Museum,” Atlal: Journal of Saudi Arabian Archaeology 2 (1978), pp. 65–93; C. C. Lamberg-Karlovsky, “The ‘Intercultural Style’ Carved Vessels,” Iranica Antiqua 23 (1988), pp. 45–95; C. C. Lamberg-Karlovsky, “The Biography of an Object: The Intercultural Style Vessels of the Third Millennium b.c.,” in S. Lubar and W. D. Kingery (eds.), History from Things: Essays on Material Culture (Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1993), pp. 270–92.

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Fig. 1. Carved vase from Nippur. Hansen and Dales, “The Temple of Inanna, Queen of Heaven, at Nippur,” cover.

works using the methods of art history. After all these years, it is time to articulate some of those thoughts. The carved vessels are the most prominent examples of the “intercultural” style, but objects in other media also share some of their formal and iconographic traits. Glyptic art, objects carved from bitumen and from lapis lazuli, as well as metal work can be brought to the discussion. At the current state of our knowledge, one issue at stake is the degree to which the “intercultural” style is the product of a unified cultural expression. Two extremes of opinion sum up the contrasting positions. On the one hand, Pierre Amiet believes that the relevant objects do indeed represent a unified cultural expression that reflects the symbolic beliefs of the peoples of the Iranian highland. He proposes to replace the term “intercultural” with “transElamite” which he believes better reflects his conviction that the carved vessels are the product of a single “community” located, perhaps, in south-central Iran in a region known through cuneiform texts as Marashi. 4 Carl Lamberg-Karlovsky, excavator of Tepe Yahya and original sponsor of the term, vigorously defends the “intercultural” concept and considers the vessels to be products of a number of distinct communities. As such, he thinks that the vessels are evidence for symbolic ideas and expressions (especially concerning death) shared across cultural boundaries. 5 4. P. Amiet, L’âge des échanges inter-iranien 3500–1700 avant J.-C.: Notes et documents des musées de France XI (Paris: Éditions de la réunion des musées nationaux, 1986); P. Amiet, “Elam and Bactria,” in G. Ligabue and S. Salvatori (eds.), Bactria: An Ancient Oasis Civilization from the Sands of Afghanistan (Rome: Erizzo Editrice, 1988), pp. 127–40. 5. Lamberg-Karlovsky, “Biography of an Object,” pp. 287–89.

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Fig. 2. Map.

Embedded in this dispute are assumptions about the degree and the nature of social interconnectedness that accompanied the long-distance trade by land and water between Mesopotamia and the East which was especially intense during the middle centuries of the third millennium b.c. The comparative chemical analysis undertaken on many of the vessels and on selected samples from source material done by Philip Kohl, Gar Harbottle, and Edward Sayre 6 suggests that there were multiple sources for the stone and that there existed multiple centers of production. However, the chemistry of the soft stone material is inherently so varied that it is impossible to draw any unequivocal conclusions about the location of those production centers based on chemistry alone. Another approach to the problem that remains to be fully undertaken is a sustained art historical analysis. This method must include an investigation of formal and iconographic traits of symbolic works that allow us to define regional trends not only in the vases but also in the wider representational world in which they were produced. We need a thorough and comprehensive art history of highland and lowland Iran during the second half of the third millennium b.c. 7 My intention here is to take one step in such a project through the close examination of a single artifact—the impressions of the so-called “jeweler’s” seal found at Susa in the early excavations of the site (fig. 3). My efforts will in no way resolve 6. P. Kohl, G. Harbottle, and E. V. Sayre, “Physical and Chemical Analysis of Soft Stone Vessels from Southwest Asia,” Archaeometry 21 (1980), pp. 131–59. 7. Amiet has laid the fundamental groundwork for this effort in L’âge des échanges.

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Fig. 3. Drawing of “jeweler’s” seal. Delaporte, CCL I, S.462. pp. 56–57, pl. 45, fig. 11, 12. Louvre inventory numbers AS 10081, 10082.

the dispute, but will, I hope, add complexity and thus contour to our still dim knowledge of this highly creative period in the history of ancient Iran. It is often true in the study of the deep past that the most informative evidence is preserved in the most ephemeral form. The focus of this article is a case in point. While ancient seal impressions are not inherently rare, it seems, because of its encyclopedic content, a minor miracle that multiple impressions of this remarkable cylinder seal are preserved on clay masses that were discarded as rubbish after their function as administrative devices had been fulfilled. The seal is unique in its iconography, distinctive in its style, and it is completely preserved through two fine impressions. Description The importance of the seal’s iconography was immediately recognized and remarked upon in its initial publication. 8 In 1920, Delaporte presented its complete publication, including a drawing, a copy of its cuneiform inscription, and the inscription’s transliteration and translation. 9 Since then it has been called the “jeweler’s” seal because the readable signs of the Sumerian inscription are translated as “gold and silver pure.” While provocative, such a phrase could as well describe various professions—a trader in metals perhaps, or a keeper of such metals. We can at the least be confident that the owner of the seal had responsibility for metals that were precious and prestigious in mid-third millennium society. Unfortunately, the rest of the inscription is unreadable, for a name might have suggested a community affiliation of the seal’s owner. 8. M. Pézard, Intailles susiennes (Paris: 1912), fig. 128, without inscription. 9. L. Delaporte, CCL I, S.462, pp. 56–57, pl. 45, figs. 11, 12; Louvre inventory numbers AS 10081, 10082.

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Two virtually complete clay masses carrying impressions of this seal were retrieved in the course of the early excavations at Susa. No details of their archaeological context were recorded. The seal, measuring 3.5 cm in height and having a reconstructed diameter of 2.7 cm, was impressed multiple times across each of two clay masses described by Delaporte as “bullae.” In 1966, Amiet identified the same sealings as “bouchon de jar.” 10 In 1986, Amiet indicated the same clay masses were “door sealings.” 11 While the identification of door sealings is significant, it is also fraught with typological uncertainty. It does seem that the clay masses were formed around perpendicularly-placed pegs. However, while diagnostic of door sealings, certain kinds of bag sealings also used pegs and so the presence of peg impressions does not in itself denote stationary storage. 12 The imagery of the seal is fully preserved through its multiple impressions, and the fine drawing published by Delaporte has withstood scrutiny over time. While both Delaporte and Amiet describe its imagery in some detail, it is worth repeating here as a prelude to the seal’s analysis. The imagery of the seal is organized in two registers of equal height separated by a single line. The two-line inscription marks a (arbitrary) beginning of the top register. The top register shows four distinct themes in addition to the inscription; while the bottom register carries three distinct themes. Inscription 13 I: e-gi . . . . . . . . . . . . . dim II: gushkin kù-luh-ha (gold and silver pure) ................................... Imagery Beginning at the left of the upper register, a hunter stands on the back of two right-facing dogs and holds a bow (without string or arrow) in his extended right hand. He is beardless and has long free-flowing hair that is held in place by a broad band encircling the top of his head. He wears a short skirt. The object of his hunt is a rampant goat placed to the right, high in the field, whose head turns back toward the hunter. Following to the right, the next figural group consists of a goddess kneeling toward the right on the back of two addorsed felines, shown, curiously, without tails. She wears a long garment over her full, blocky body and holds her hands at her waist under her breasts. Her long hair is wavy on the top of her head and is bound up in a chignon at the back of her neck. Her divinity is implied by the handled vessel that grows out of each shoulder. Confronting her is a figure with short hair. Although Amiet has identified 10. P. Amiet, Elam (Auvers-sur Oise: Archee Editeur, 1966), p. 211 11. Amiet, L’âge des échange, p. 128. 12. E. Fiandra, “Porte e chiusure de sicurezza nell’antico oriente,” Bolletin d’Arte 6 (1982), pp. 1–18. It is noteworthy that the “jeweler’s” seal was impressed along a line parallel to the edge of the sealing so that the impression encircles the peg. More commonly, cylinder seals are rolled in a direction perpendicular to the peg on door sealings. 13. Schiel translation given in Delaporte, CCL I.

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this figure as female, 14 a male is more likely because figures having prominent breasts (hence female) are never shown wearing short skirts, while the short skirt is a typical garment for figures without prominent breasts (hence male). This figure holds his hands in a distinct arrangement, with his right hand at his waist and left hand touching the top of his head. Between the goddess and the male are three astral symbols arranged vertically: from the bottom, an eightpointed star surrounds a central element, above floats a crescent which cradles a moon disk. The next grouping to the right includes from the left a scorpion with the head and arms of a man; a bird-man having the head and talons of a raptor, who extends his slightly bent arms horizontally under his spread wings; and a seated monkey playing a flute. 15 The last group on the top register is a bull-headed figure wearing a short skirt who raises his left hand toward a branch laden with round fruits held by a left-facing standing male with long hair and wearing short skirt. The lower register has three subjects. Our description begins (again arbitrarily) at the left with a figure identical to the goddess above but without the vessels rising from her shoulders. She kneels toward the right on the back of a single recumbent lion with raised tail. Facing her, a female figure, perhaps also divine, kneels on the groundline. She has long, free-flowing hair and wears a rectangular box-like gear on her head. Her long dress is ornamented with a vertical diamond pattern (could this be flowing water?) as well as a fringe at the hem. Like the other goddesses, she clasps her hands under her breasts. The astral symbol triad seen in the upper register is repeated between these two figures. The subject following to the right is the longest. It is a type of contest scene typical of southern Mesopotamia during the Late Early Dynastic period. From the right, a lion crosses behind a human-faced bull and turns his head back to bite the bull’s ear; a second lion attacks the human-headed bull from the right. That lion crosses in front of a nude hero with upturned curls who holds in one hand the back of the lion and in the other raises a dagger. A bull-man stands at the far left, raises his left hand while holding the lion by the tail in his right hand. The last group in the lower register of the seal shows a goddess dressed as the other two, kneeling on a right-facing recumbent lion. This goddess has long, free-flowing hair. She is flanked by nude figures with long, free-flowing hair who each hold a long palm frond in both hands forming an arch over her head. While both Delaporte and Amiet describe these figures as female, comparison with other works suggests strongly that they are males whose genitalia were omitted because of the seal’s miniature scale. Discussion of Individual Motifs The seal’s two registered composition is not unusual in the second half of the third millennium in southern Mesopotamia. But it is more common for the registers to be divided by a single rather than a double line. 16 The placement of the individual elements is extremely compact, but there is not extensive use of abstract filling forms which is common in a generally contemporary seal style certainly indigenous to Susa (fig. 4). The composition of the “jeweler’s” seal is closely comparable to that of an “intercultural” style vase thought to be from the region of the Diyala now in the collection of the British Museum (fig. 5). In both, the long narrow hor14. Amiet, Elam, p. 211. 15. Delaporte CCL I, describes this figure as a monkey pulling his nose. 16. P. Amiet, La glyptique mésopotamienne archaïque (2d ed.; Paris: Éditions du CNRS, 1980), double line: pl. 90 passim, 1196, 1197, 1213, 1216, 1220, 1243, 1268, 1269, 1279, 1318, etc.; single line: nos. 1136, 1145, 1148, 1161, 1180,1348, etc.

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Fig. 4. Drawings of ancient seal impressions. Susa. Amiet, Glyptique susienne, no. 1429, 1431. izontal image field is densely filled with naturalistically formed figures placed in relation to a horizontal groundline. As remarked by others, the physiognomy of the figures on the seal is also comparable to that of the figures on the British Museum vase, especially the large noses and receding chins. However, other details, such as the internal articulation of musculature typical of the figures rendered in the “intercultural” style vessel, the large outlined eye on the “jeweler’s” seal, and the differing profiles of the recumbent lions are specific details of style that are not shared. As stated above, it is unusual to have such rich iconography on a single seal. The “jeweler’s” seal carries not one or two themes typical of most figural seals but seven in addition to a lengthy inscription. While episodic narrative content might possibly be embedded in the repetition of goddess on lion, 17 the composition seems more likely to present a list. While actually decoding the list is beyond our current knowledge, scrutiny of its individual elements can enhance our appreciation of early Iranian culture and lead us to ideas about the seal’s possible community of origin. The most striking feature of the overall composition is the juxtaposition of motifs that are quintessentially Mesopotamian with others known only from Susa and with others known only 17. This is a possibility that is not discounted here. However, it is a problematic interpretation that can be fruitfully explored together with a consideration of other visual as well as verbal narratives in the third-millennium b.c. greater Mesopotamia.

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Fig. 5. Roll out of design carved on “Intercultural Style” vase; British Museum, after P. Amiet, Art of the Ancient Near East (New York: H. N. Abrams, 1980), fig. 269.

Fig. 6. Drawing of contest scene seal in British Museum, after Amiet, La glyptique mésopotamienne archaïque, pl. 77bis, N.

from the Iranian plateau. Although our sample of the latter is very small, this iconographic variety together with the cuneiform inscription suggests that the engraver had a wide knowledge of the symbolic repertories of Mesopotamia and Iran that were current during the middle centuries of the third millennium b.c. Further, we can conclude his intention was to represent each of those systems in a legible if not a pure form. There is no intentional mixture of iconographic systems within any given theme. This “multi-cultural” combination of motifs from three distinct regions may be a clue to the identity of the community in which this seal was produced. The combination of inscription and imagery is found in Mesopotamian glyptic of the period. 18 As in the case of the Nippur vase, some “intercultural” style vessels are also inscribed. 19 18. In the Early Dynastic III phase in Mesopotamia both contest scenes and banquet scenes can be inscribed, most often with the seal owner’s name and profession. In the early Akkadian period contest scenes are also inscribed. Seals having mythological content, however, are not inscribed. 19. In addition to the Nippur vase, inscribed vessels include one from Ur inscribed by Rimush: C. L. Woolley, UE IV, pl. 36 U 231. Another fragment inscribed by Rimush comes from Uruk: E. and H. Klengel, “Zum Fragment eines Steatitgefässes mit einer Inschrift des Rimush von Akkad,” Rocznik Orientalistyczny

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The two uses of inscription are fundamentally different. The text on the seals is additive and serves to make more specific and to extend the meaning of the seal’s symbolic content while the “intercultural” objects were in all cases inscribed secondarily, causing the text to intervene (if not contravene) upon the original semantic meaning of the imagery. Further, the inscribed “intercultural” objects never combine on a single vessel motifs from both Mesopotamian lowland and the Iranian highland. In the absence of archaeological context, the contest scene on the bottom register provides the clearest anchor for the date of the “jeweler’s” seal. As observed by Amiet, 20 the contest finds its closest parallels in the late phase of the Early Dynastic period (fig. 6), perhaps among the seals recovered from Telloh, ancient Girsu. While we are not certain of the meaning of the contest scene in Mesopotamia, Roger Moorey has proposed its association with the warrior/military class of the Early Dynastic city states. 21 While its iteration on the “jeweler’s” seal is virtually identical to Mesopotamian prototypes, one feature stands out which confirms its non-Mesopotamian origin. The hero with upright curls crosses behind the body of the combatant lion. On Mesopotamian examples, this same hero consistently stands to the side while the bull-man becomes intertwined in the animal combat. Since the contest motif is clearly copied from a model it can only stand as a terminus post quem for the seal. Thus, while the specific iconography belongs to the middle of the millennium according to Mesopotamian development, it could as well have been copied into the early Old Akkadian period, perhaps as much as 200 years later. At Susa, both imported Mesopotamian contest-scene seals and locally cut ones were found. 22 They are also found in contemporary graves in Luristan. 23 In addition to actual seals, a number of ancient impressions of cylinder seals, briefly mentioned above, were found at Susa that are relevant to the discussion of the contest scene (fig. 4). The imagery of these particular seal impressions is based on Mesopotamian contest scenes, but the individual elements are arranged in a distinctive, interlocking manner that disregards groundline and fills all empty space with small abstract forms. Judging from the large number of examples preserved through impressions, we can with some confidence assume that these seals were made at Susa. Given details of their iconography, they cannot be too much earlier than the “jeweler’s” seal in date. Closely linked to this seal style is an “intercultural” style vase found in level IX of the Sin temple at the site of Khafajeh (fig. 7). This vase, like the interlocking style seals from Susa, carries motifs, including a contest scene, drawn from Mesopotamian prototypes. On the vase these motifs are arrayed above a border of a repeating architectural form (the so-called hut motif) common on other “intercultural” style objects. Like the “jeweler’s” seal, this vase was produced by an individual familiar with the repertory of themes found on Mesopotamian cylinder seals and on “intercultural” style materials. He combined these elements using the interlocking style seen on the Susa seal impressions. 41, no. 2 (1980), pp. 45–51. Among the unprovenanced “intercultural” style vessels, an example in the Louvre carries an unreadable inscription in Sumerian, Amiet, L’âge des échanges, fig 73. 20. Amiet, L’âge des échanges, p. 128. 21. P. R. S. Moorey, “What Do We Know about the People Buried in the Royal Cemetery,” Expedition 20 (1977), pp. 24–40. 22. Probably imported to Susa from Mesopotamia: Amiet, Glyptique susienne, 1455, 1456, 1457, 1467, 1468, 1469; probably cut at Susa: Amiet, Glyptique susienne, 1478, 1479. A very close parallel to the contest scene is BM 89538, Amiet, La glyptique mésopotamienne archaïque, pl. 77bis, N. 23. L. van den Berghe, “Luristan: La Necropole de Bani Surmah,” Archeologia 24 (1968) pp. 53–63, esp. p. 62.

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Fig. 7. Intercultural Style vase from Khafajeh Sin IX fragment on left; art market fragment on right, after H. Frankfort, Iraq Excavations of the Oriental Institute, 1932/33: Third Preliminary Report of the Iraq Expedition (Oriental Institute Communications, no. 19; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1935), figs. 54, 55.

The other motif on the “jeweler’s” seal that may reflect lowland roots is the hunt. The representation of a man hunting with bow and arrow is known at least as early as the fifth millennium. By the end of the fourth millennium, the “priest-king” hunts with bow and arrow on the Warka Stele. The theme is also common in glyptic art during the Late Uruk phase where it is found at Susa (Acropole level 17), Godin V, and at Nineveh. 24 The hunt is not represented in the glyptic repertory of the Early Dynastic period in Mesopotamia, but it does occur on cylinder seals of Old Akkadian date (fig. 8). Indeed, in those seals, the hunter is frequently accompanied by dogs of the same breed as those supporting the hunter on the “jeweler’s” seal. In 24. A. Le Brun, “Récherches stratigraphiques à l’Acropole de Suse, 1969–1971,” Cahiers de la DAFI 1 (1971), pp. 163–216, fig. 44, no. 2; H. Weiss and T. Cuyler Young, “Merchants of Susa, Godin V and Plateau-Lowland Relations in the late Fourth Millennium b.c.,” Iran 13 (1975), pp. 1–17, p. 9, fig. 4, 4; Nineveh: P. Amiet, “L’iconographie archaique de l’iran quelques documents nouveaux,” Syria 66 (1979), fig. 19, p. 346.

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Fig. 8. Modern impression of hunting scene seal. Boston Museum of Fine Arts 34.199, after L. Terrance, Bulletin, Museum of Fine Arts Boston 58, no. 312 (1960), p. 38. fig. 98.

addition, those hunt scenes always take place in a mountainous setting that likely refers to the Iranian highlands. On Old Akkadian seals, the hunter is certainly mortal and, seemingly, anonymous (that is, not royal or divine), while on the “jeweler’s” seal the hunter is arguably divine, as he is carried on the back of animals. Unlike the contest scene and the hunt, the remainder of the imagery on the seal finds parallels only in Iran. This is particularly true of the goddesses and their adorants, but it also extends to the mixed-creatures, as well. Clearly the dominant theme of the seal refers to goddesses who kneel on the back of felines. Such a figure appears no less than three times, making up almost half of the seven item pictorial list carved across the seal. While it is possible that each iteration represents a different aspect of a single female deity, it is as likely that we are in the presence of three different, if related, goddesses. Amiet has pointed out that the presence of these goddesses is consistent with the strongly feminine nature of the Elamite pantheon. 25 He draws attention to the numerous goddesses listed in the so-called treaty between Naram-Sin and an unknown Elamite king. We will return to that treaty in the conclusion. In the upper register, the goddess is elaborated with attributes. From each shoulder rises a large jar with high neck, handles, and perhaps a spout. This usage must derive from the practice of placing attributes on divine shoulders in contemporary Mesopotamia. For example, Ninhursag, the mother of Ningirsu, is shown on the Stele of the Vultures with maces rising from her shoulders. Vessels, however, are a unique attribute while grain or weapons are commonplace in Mesopotamia. The dress worn by the goddesses, especially distinct in the more fully preserved bottom register, has been compared to the flounced garment of lamb’s wool worn by Mesopotamian figures. The kneeling posture seems to have had special significance in early Iran. On cylinder seals of the Uruk and proto-Elamite periods from Susa, kneeling is a position assumed by workers 25. Amiet, Elam, p. 211.

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Fig. 9. Modern impression of seal showing Ishtar as warrior on a lion throne, after D. Collon, First Impressions: Cylinder Seals in the Ancient Near East, 384, 387.

or adorants. 26 And small sculptures found at the site are shown kneeling. Kneeling on the back of animals seems limited to “intercultural” style and eastern Iranian iconography. It is a posture that seems to denote divine, mythical or heroic status. On the “intercultural” style vessel in the British Museum (fig. 4) cited above, a heroic male figure kneels on the back of a bison while another stands between two addorsed lions. In Mesopotamia, animal supports are rare and, when they do occur, the figure on the support either stands or sits but never kneels. 27 It is only in the Old Akkadian period that the goddess Ishtar/Inanna as warrior is closely associated with the lion who is sometimes shown supporting her throne (fig. 9). Given the early date of the seal, it is not impossible that the association between the female goddess and the lion originated in Iran and was adopted and elaborated by the Old Akkadian seal cutters. 28 The most relevant comparison for the goddesses on the “jeweler’s” seal is perhaps a fine statue carved in alabaster of the Iranian goddess Narundi found at Susa near the deposit of the Inshushinak temple on the Acropolis (fig. 10). Carrying a bilingual inscription in linear Elamite and Old Akkadian citing Puzur-Inshushinak, last King of Awan, the goddess sits on a throne supported by four lions. Under her feet two confronted felines flank a rosette. 29 The close correlation between the goddess on the upper register of the seal and the statue makes her identification as the Elamite goddess a compelling association. 30

26. P. Amiet, Glyptique susienne: des origines à l’époque des Perses achéménides (2 vols.; MDP 43; Paris: Paul Geuthner), pl. 15 passim. 27. Amiet, La glyptique mésopotamienne archaïque, deity sitting on animal: for example, 1506, 1358, 1356; deities standing on the back of animals: for example, 1489, 1389. 28. Later, further distant, and still not understood is the association of the goddess with felines on the unprovenanced seals from the plundered graves of northern Afghanistan. See M.-H. Pottier, Matériel funéraire de la Bactriane méridionale de l’age du bronze (Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations, 1984), pl. 45, no. 332. 29. For the most recent publication with full bibliography, see P. O. Harper, J. Aruz, and F. Tallon (eds.), The Royal City of Susa: Ancient Near Eastern Treasures in the Louvre (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1992), pp. 90–91. 30. Amiet, Elam, pp. 128, 129.

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Fig. 10. Cult statue of Goddess Narundi, after Harper et al., The Royal City of Susa, no. 55.

It is important not to be misled by the prominence of goddesses on the “jeweler’s” seal. Like so much else in this remarkable seal, it remains the only evidence from a large if poorly controlled sample of glyptic and other arts, for their presence at Susa during the middle of the third millennium. There is, however, abundant proof for the importance of goddesses on the Iranian plateau. From the controlled excavations at Tepe Yahya and Shahdad, in fact, goddesses are the only subject documented. All five cylinders found in levels IVB and A at Yahya 31 carry imagery of goddesses (fig. 11). At Shahdad 32 only one of the six cylinders found does not carry the theme (fig. 12). None of the goddesses on the plateau however, is associated with felines, so prominent on the “jeweler’s” seal. At Shahdad the goddesses are flanked or supported by horned caprids. At Yahya no animals of any kind appear with the goddesses. Another important difference is that the goddesses of the plateau examples are often waspwaisted and bare-breasted while on the “jeweler’s” seal they are physically robust and fully robed. The examination of dress can be combined with a consideration of the distinctive treatment of hair. Both are highly significant markers of identity and they are potentially relevant 31. H. Pittman, “Seals and Sealings from Tepe Yahya Level IV,” in C. C. Lamberg-Karlovsky (ed.), Tepe Yahya Level IV, in press. 32. A. Hakemi, Shahdad: Archaeological Excavations of a Bronze Age Center in Iran (Rome: IsMEO, 1997), p. 661 and p. 355, obj. no. 2263, grave no. 193.

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b

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Fig. 11a–e. Drawings of modern impressions of seals found at Tepe Yahya, Amiet, L’âge des échanges inter-iranien, pl. 132:6, 5, 3, 1, 9.

to the community identity of the goddesses on the “jeweler’s” seal. On the lower register of the “jeweler’s” seal, the goddess to the left wears her hair in a chignon, while the female figure kneeling before her has her long hair free-flowing. To the right, the goddess flanked by nude males wears her long hair free-flowing down her back. The juxtaposition of hair up with hair down must be a fundamental part of the identity of the goddesses, making reference perhaps to sexual or marital status. Attention given to hair is also seen on the Yahya and Shahdad seals, where, in all but one important example (fig.11a), the goddesses wear their wavy hair freeflowing. The juxtaposition of the two hair styles is most closely paralleled on a silver vase inscribed with linear Elamite found in the Marv Dasht plain of Fars not far from Persepolis (fig. 13). 33 We also see it on an unprovenanced lapis lazuli disk now in the Louvre, 34 where sexual meaning seems clearly manifest through the presence of a male figure (fig. 14). 33. W. Hinz, Altiranische Funde und Forschungen (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1969); P. Calmeyer. “Beobachtungen an der Silvervase aus Persepolis,” Iranica Antiqua 24 (1989), pp. 79–85. 34. Amiet, L’ âge des échanges, p. 169, and no. 128.

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Fig. 12a–e. Drawings of modern impressions of seals found at Shahdad, a, b: after Amiet, L’âge des échanges inter-iranien, fig. 132; c: drawn from photograph in A. Hakemi, Shahdad, p. 324, obj. 1824; d, e: after A. Hakemi, Shahdad, p. 284, obj. 1226.

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Fig. 13. Two sides of a silver vase found near Persepolis, after Hinz, Altiranische Funde und Forschungen.

To sum up the several points that have been established here: (1) The feminine quality of the pantheon is powerfully present on the Iranian highland; (2) There are significant differences between the goddesses on the glyptic from Tepe Yahya and Shahdad and those on the “jeweler’s” seal; (3) The “jeweler’s” seal is the only evidence for goddesses at Susa before the image of Narundi commissioned as much as 300 years later by the last King of Awan, PuzurInshushinak. Each of the kneeling goddesses on the seal is confronted by an adorant. Clothed males or females adore the goddesses, who wear their hair up in a chignon. The male stands and gestures in a curious manner, holding one hand at the waist while touching the other hand to the

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Fig. 14. Drawing of a lapis lazuli disk, Louvre Museum. E. Porada, “Remarks on the Tod Treasure in Egypt,” in M. A. Dandamayev et al. (eds.), Societies and Languages of the Ancient Near East: Studies in Honour of I. M. Diakonoff (Warminster, England: Aris & Phillips, 1982), pp. 285–303.

top of his head. 35 The female adorant kneels on the ground. In both of these instances, the goddesses are separated from their adorants by a series of astral symbols that must certainly have specific and potent significance: an eight-pointed star with a central disk, a crescent, and a disk. Because of their arrangement, the symbols cannot be definitively associated with either participant. Instead, they seem to characterize the relation between the two figures. However, on the lapis disk in the Louvre, we can clearly associate the moon crescent with the male figure and the rosette (or star) with the female (fig. 14). 36 The rosette also occurs on the “intercultural” vase cited above in front of the heroic figures (fig. 5). 37 The third kneeling goddess is flanked by nude figures holding palm fronds. These figures are of particular interest. As observed in the description, Amiet identifies them as females because they lack male genitalia. However, based on comparison with other works of art, it seems likely that these are male figures whose ritual nudity is not sexually marked because of the small scale of the seal. This is consistently the case on the earlier examples. 38 And it is paralleled by the close similarity of the seal’s figures to the male figures rendered on a bitumen plaque (fig. 15) found in the course of the early excavations at Susa. 39 On both, they are nude and their hair flows freely down the back. Both Edith Porada 40 and Amiet 41 have drawn attention to a 35. This posture is unknown in Mesopotamia but seems to be represented in a series of crudely cut seals known from excavations in the Zagros mountain site of Chogah Maran in the Mahi Dasht. Although crude, these images may point in the direction of the community in which the jeweler’s seal originated; see H. Pittman, “Sealings from Chogah Maran in the valley of the Mahi Dasht in the Zagros Mountains,” forthcoming. One example was found at Susa: L. al-Gailani Werr, “Cylinder Seals Made of Clay,” Iraq 35 (1982), pp. 22–55. 36. The star is present between a seated male figure and kneeling female on the bronze standard from Shahdad; Hakemi, Shahdad, p. 649. 37. Is it possible that the female presence is denoted aniconically through this design element? 38. For example, the unmarked males on Uruk glyptic art and the marked males on the Warka vase. See Amiet, La glyptique mésopotamienne archaïque, no. 64 pl. 45 and not 656 pl. 46. 39. J. Connan and O. Deschesne, Le bitume à Suse: Collection du Musée du Louvre (Paris: Éditions de la Réunion des musées nationaux, 1996), p. 206, no. 139. 40. E. Porada, The Art of Ancient Iran: Pre-Islamic Cultures (New York: Crown Publishers, 1965), p. 38. 41. Amiet, Elam, p. 211.

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Fig. 15. Bitumen plaque and drawing, after J. Connan and O. Deschesne, Le bitume à Suse: Collection du Musée du Louvre (Paris: Éditions de la Réunion des musées nationaux, 1996), p. 206, no. 139. Rosette reconstructed by author.

general stylistic similarity of these nude figure to the heroic figures on the “intercultural” style vessels. However, close scrutiny reveals differences that belie such a stylistic equation. The identical male figures on both the plaque and the seal stand facing each other. On the plaque their raised hands touch so that, although they do not carry palm fronds, they form an arch above the central subject in a manner identical to that on the seal. The central subject has been rubbed out from the plaque, either intentionally or through secondary use. It is tempting to restore a symbol such as the rosette there, for while the space is too small for a figure, the symbol of a goddess might have served as an adequate substitute. Below an animal stands to provide carriage. Above the figures is a snake interlace. The plaque belongs to a type of object carved from bitumen or bituminous limestone. It is worth repeating an observation made by Amiet that this particular plaque is different from the rest of the carved bitumen objects found at Susa. Both the iconography is unique and the style of carving is far more modeled and naturalistic than the more schematic figures on other exemplars. It joins the “jeweler’s” seal then as standing out iconographically and stylistically from the bulk of the representational evidence from Susa for the second half of the third millennium. Further, both have general similarity to figures carved on “intercultural” style objects. On the upper register, two final groupings remain to be considered. To the left, a bird-man stands with both arms and wings outspread. He turns his head to the right. This is the earliest appearance of a creature that becomes prominent in the early second-millennium glyptic of Syria and the Levant. 42 At essentially the same time, this image plays an equally prominent role 42. D. Collon, First Impressions: Cylinder Seals in the Ancient Near East (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), nos. 212, and 218 (without wings).

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in the iconography of the still poorly understood Bactrian Bronze Age civilizations. 43 While the precise relationship between these far flung occurrences of the image is still difficult to establish, there can be little doubt that the earliest extant representation of this figure, perhaps as a carrier of different meaning, is the demon on the “jeweler’s” seal. To the left of the bird-man is a human-headed scorpion with raised arms. Amiet considers this to be the scorpion atlantid figure of Mesopotamian iconography which much later becomes the descriptor for an astral constellation. 44 It shares no formal resemblance to the scorpions that frequently occur on the “intercultural” style vessels. However, it is similar to a creature engraved on a stamp seal from level IVB at Yahya. 45 To the right is a seated monkey with tail raised, playing a flute. This is a theme that first appears in this period in Mesopotamia and persists through the second and into the first millennium. The earliest comparable examples appear in secondary scenes on contemporary contest scenes of the late Early Dynastic period. 46 Another mixed creature stands next to the bird-man. A bull-headed man wearing a short skirt faces a male figure with a frontal horn similarly dressed and having long hair hanging freely down the back. This figure offers to the upraised hand of the other a large branch loaded with round fruits and a single leaf. Amiet has referred to this scene as the death of vegetation. This interpretation however draws exclusively on the mythology of Mesopotamia and so may not be relevant to this Iranian imagery. 47 While the combination of human and bovine features is a dominant theme in Early Dynastic Mesopotamia, I do not know of another example that strikes the combination in just this manner. Structurally, the closest parallel is perhaps to be found on the inscribed “intercultural” vase in the Boston museum (fig. 16) on which the skirt of the hero is replaced by the head of a bull. Discussion The results of this detailed iconographic analysis allow several informed observations to be made about the “jeweler’s” seal. First, it was carved during the period between 2400 and 2200 b.c. Second, it is unique among the many seal images preserved from Susa both in its iconography and its style, suggesting that it was not a locally produced seal. Third, the seal’s extensive iconography seems to have been intended to express its owner’s affiliation with multiple communities. The iconographic discussion emphasized the nature of the connections that can be established with Mesopotamia, with Susa, with the King of Awan, and with sites in southcentral Iran likely to be associated with the geographical entity of Marashi. 48 What follows is a discussion of how those features might give clues for the community identity of the seal owner. Amiet has interpreted the seal’s iconography as follows:

43. V. Sarianidi. “The Bactrian Pantheon,” Information Bulletin 10 (1986), pp. 5–21. 44. Amiet, La glyptique mésopotamienne archaique, pp. 133–34. 45. C. C. Lamberg-Karlovsky, “The Proto-Elamite Settlement at Tepe Yahya,” Iran 9 (1971), pp. 87– 96, fig. 2c. 46. Amiet, La glyptique mésopotamienne archaique, nos. 1268, 1310, 1311. 47. The large single fruits and the downward orientation of the branch reminds me of the pendant date clusters on the newly reconstructed diadem of Puabi in the Royal Cemetery of Ur; N. Miller, “Date Sex in Mesopotamia!” Expedition 41(1999), p. 30, fig.3a. 48. P. Steinkeller, “The Question of Marashi: A Contribution to the Historical Geography of Iran in the Third Millennium b.c.,” ZA 72 (1982), pp. 237–65.

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Fig. 16. Drawing of fragmentary vase, Boston Museum of Fine Arts. Amiet, L’âge des échanges interiranien, fig. 73.

“. . . the goddesses kneeling on their animal attributes and without horns of divinity correspond to a pantheon independent from Mesopotamia which has some resemblance with that of eastern Iran and can be considered to be specifically Elamite. It [the seal iconography] is a unique document which reveals that Susa remained the crucible where the meeting took place between the mountain dwellers of southeastern Iran with the artists whose formation through contact with Mesopotamia permitted them to elaborate such images. It is thus a first witness of the appearance of a new Elamite civilization radically different from the proto-Elamite civilization whose total disappearance is thus confirmed.” 49 [author’s translation]

In this dense statement, Amiet concludes that the “jeweler’s” seal was carved at Susa by an artist trained in Mesopotamian conventions of representation. Such a background allowed the artist to invent the iconography through which the divine entities of the “specifically Elamite” peoples would be given visible form for the first time. The “specifically Elamite” mountain dwellers had their cultural center on the Iranian plateau. When Amiet states that Susa “remained the crucible,” he refers to what he considers to be a parallel situation in which the distinctive iconography of the earlier proto-Elamite phase was formed. 50 This parallel is contradicted, however, by the archaeological record. The evidence from the two periods is in many important ways not comparable. In the earlier proto-Elamite period, Amiet’s conclusion that the iconography was created at Susa finds strong support through two archaeological facts. First, a clear development of imagery and style can be charted. Second, the overwhelming majority of the glyptic evidence for that period at Susa is consistent with the tenets of the new iconography. The data clearly supports the conclusion that the proto-Elamite glyptic style and, by 49. Amiet, L’âge des échanges, p. 129. 50. Amiet, L’âge des échanges, p. 95.

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extension, the proto-Elamite writing system were developed in the “crucible of Susa,” much as Amiet describes. However, for the mid-third millennium the evidence is fundamentally different and argues for a fundamentally different interpretation. The iconography and style of the “jeweler’s” seal were not developed at Susa. If they had been, (at least some) comparable examples would have been found among the almost two hundred examples of glyptic art that can be dated either stylistically or stratigraphically to the second half of the third millennium b.c. The overwhelming majority can be easily categorized as Old Akkadian contest scenes that range in date from Sargon of Akkad through the end of the dynasty. 51 Some were certainly made locally; many are imports from Mesopotamian centers. There is, however, one interesting cache of seals found at Susa that is worth mentioning with regard to the “jeweler’s” seal. This is a group of six seals that were intentionally collected together with metal objects and alabaster vessels and placed in a painted vessel. This find is called the vase à la cachette. 52 Analysis of the copper suggests that it came from Oman. 53 The metal forms are identical to forms found in collective tombs in Luristan. Amiet thinks that the six seals were thrown into the vase to identify the owners of the materials collected in the vase. They are all of the same date 54 and they each have different iconographic and stylistic features. One is illegible, three are typical early Akkadian, and one of them shows a humped bull confronting a lion that certainly comes from the East. The last, carved in alabaster or shell, shares some features of style if not iconography with the “jeweler’s” seal. Apart from this rather vague and generic similarity, no glyptic at Susa is even remotely similar to the “jeweler’s” seal. This suggests that it was not indigenous to Susa which during this period was dominated by southern Mesopotamia but rather was produced by a “highland Elamite” 55 culture. The challenge remains, then, to hypothesize about the setting in which this seal was not unique. Amiet sees the entirety of the Iranian plateau in the third millennium, extending from the Zagros in the west to the Dasht-i Lut in the east, as a single cultural continuum. Indeed, by the very end of the millennium he proposes that this community extended as far as Bactria in northern Afghanistan. From this view, the values and beliefs of this “trans-Elamite” community were expressed pictorially by a group of nomadic or semi-nomadic artisans who received their initial repertoire of images from artists working at Susa under the influence of Mesopotamian traditions. These nomadic artisans, producers of the “trans-Elamite” (“intercultural”) style stone vessels, moved across this vast region producing and distributing tangible expressions of community. Daniel Potts, more generally, and Lamberg-Karlovsky, in particular, both see distinct regions within the Iranian highland, each distinguished archaeologically through pottery, metal types, and glyptic. As mentioned at the beginning of this consideration, Lamberg-Karlovsky thinks that “intercultural” style objects were used in individual communities to express beliefs shared across community boundaries. Another possibility, of course, is that the iconography did not retain its original meaning outside of the communities in which the vessels were manufactured. This loss of meaning would in no way diminish their value as (1) containers of desired 51. These seals and ancient impressions are published in Delaporte, CCL I, and Amiet, Glyptique susienne. 52. For the most recent presentation and comprehensive bibliography, see: Harper et al., The Royal City of Susa, pp. 108–10. 53. D. Potts, Archaeology of Elam (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), p. 96. 54. Contra Aruz, in Harper et al., The Royal City of Susa, pp. 108–10. All six seals are illustrated in Le Breton, “Early Periods at Susa,” p. 117, fig. 39. 55. E. Carter in E. Carter and M. Stolper, Elam (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984), p. 134.

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commodities; (2) tangible evidence of physical domination, i.e., booty; (3) prestige of exotic goods; and/or (4) payment for services rendered. All of these possibilities are implied through the textual record. I conclude this examination of the “jeweler’s” seal with an attempt to place it within the highly fragmentary and speculative social-political construct of highland Iran during the second half of the third millennium b.c. While fraught with uncertainty, this approach requires that two bodies of evidence—the artistic/artifactual and the historical/political—be integrated into a single hypothetical construct. This is an approach that has been begun by Potts, 56 but while he makes general statements linking history to archaeological data, he is not emboldened to integrate visual evidence into his discussion. The comments that follow on early Elamite history rely on the expert work of epigraphers and historians who have made available in translation and have interpreted texts in Sumerian, Akkadian, and Elamite. 57 In particular, I am concerned here with the texts that refer to an obscure political entity known as the “Kings of Awan.” The Sumerian King list, composed in Mesopotamia around 2000 b.c. (shortly after the last King of Awan), attributes 356 years to the Dynasty of Awan. Another king list written in Akkadian several centuries later and found at Susa records by name the kings of Awan and Shimashki. 58 The twelve kings of Awan, three of whom are independently attested through contemporary inscriptions, are followed directly by a list of twelve kings of Shimaski, the political entity which absorbed and expanded the territorial seat of Awan at the turn to the second millennium b.c. Where was Awan? As with much of Iranian historical geography, our ideas about the location of Awan are highly conjectural. I agree with those who have argued that Awan lay not far from Mesopotamia, in the region north of Susiana in the Zagros Mountains. Potts develops a suggestion first made by M. Stève that the heartland of Awan is to be found in the valleys of the Pusht-i Kuh. Given the uniformity in ceramic and metal types, this seems a reasonable conjecture. Awan, it seems, was a loosely organized collection of indigenous tribal communities engaged in farming and transhumance in the mountain valleys of the central Zagros. The formalization of their collectivity under the leadership of a succession of “kings” was probably a response to pressures of predatory aggression from Mesopotamia city-states. That pressure most likely began in earnest with the victories of Eannatum over Elam in general and Susa in particular around 2400 b.c. Old Babylonian copies of Sargonid inscriptions tell us that Luhishan, the eighth King of Awan on the Susa list, was a contemporary and an adversary of Sargon. Reckoning through the Susa list, it seems that Eannatum would have confronted one of the earlier rulers of Awan. Lagash, being in the eastern part of the alluvial plain, was always on the front line of interaction with the Elamites. Potts cites texts from this period which mention interaction that involved both physical conflict and commerical relations. Two texts of interest dating to the reigns of Urukagina and Lugalanda and may through analogy shed some light on the “intercultural” style vessels and on the profession of the owner of our “jeweler’s” seal. One text (RTC 21) mentions a container of the “mountain-country type” as the trading expedition commission 56. Potts, Archaeology of Elam, pp. 87–129. 57. For outline and comprehensive bibliography, see Stolper in Carter and Stolper, Elam, pp. 10–16. 58. Andre-Salvini in Harper et al., Royal City of Susa, pp 261–63.

spread is 12 points short

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for the boats from Elam. Another economic text (Nik 292) from year 4 of Lugalanda mentions a delivery of silver from Elam for the purchase of trade goods. This highly skeletal historical sketch gives us some idea of the self-conscious entities coexisting around 2400–2200 b.c. when the “jeweler’s” seal would have come to be used at Susa. Two other categories of evidence relating to the Kings of Awan cast light on the way in which the people of the region used their symbolic languages to define and differentiate themselves. The first is textual, the so-called Treaty of Naram-Sin, and the second are stone monuments erected by the last King of Awan, Puzur-Inshushinak. The treaty of Naram-Sin, found at Susa, is a problematic but highly significant document written in cuneiform Elamite (the earliest of its type). 59 It is interpreted as a record of a diplomatic agreement struck between the great Old Akkadian king Naram-Sin (before he was divinized) and a ruler reconstructed by some to be a King of Awan, perhaps Hita. Although the Iranian king’s name and country are not preserved, the only viable political entity with the standing to engage diplomatically with the most powerful Old Akkadian king was the Dynasty of Awan. Important here is the long list of deities who are invoked. Those listed first are both feminine and Elamite. The highland identity of the premier deities in the pantheon is emphasized by the fact that Inshushinak, the great god of Susa, is named only sixth. It is this treaty to which Amiet refers when he identifies the goddesses on the “jeweler’s” seal as part of the highland pantheon. While it is, in my view, likely that the goddesses on the treaty are those represented on the “jeweler’s” seal, we cannot uncritically extend this to include the goddesses on the seals from Marashi. Indeed, as was pointed out in the iconographic discussion, there are systematic differences between the two divine communities that may reflect significant regional variation in the specific identity of the goddesses. Finally we turn to the last category of relevant evidence. This is the several monuments left to us by the last King of Awan, Puzur-Inshushinak. It is possible that there was a break in the line of the Kings of Awan before Puzur-Inshushinak comes to power. 60 At the height of Akkadian power, Naram-Sin claimed control of all of the region to the east up to the border with Marashi, breaking the fragile autonomy of Awan that had been negotiated through the treaty. Late in the reign of Shar-kali-shari, Puzur-Inshushinak threw off the yoke of the Akkadians at Susa and regained control of the regions to the north and west, including Awan and the middle Tigris. We are told that the King of Shimaski sought his obeisance. To the east, Puzur-Inshushinak extended his control as far east as Anshan. Piotr Steinkeller has demonstrated that PuzurInshushinak was contemporary of Gudea and Urnamma. 61 It was Urnamma or his son Shulgi who defeated Puzur-Inshushinak, reasserted Mesopotamian control over Susa, and began to erode the resistance of the highland Elamites who in response coalesced into a bigger political entity, with the dynastic seat at Shimaski.

59. Stolper in Carter and Stolper, Elam, p. 11 and nn. 75 and 76. 60. This is suggested by three details iterated by Potts, Archaeology of Elam, pp. 122–23: (1) PuzurInshushinak is not an Elamite name, but is an Akkadian name, suggesting that he originated in Susa; (2) According to one reconstruction, he may have taken the title King of Awan only after assuming those of ensì of Susa and gìr níta of Elam; (3) his father is not listed on the list of Kings of Awan from Susa. 61. P. Steinkeller, “The Date of Gudea and His Dynasty,” JCS 40 (1988), pp. 47–53; see also C. Wilcke, “Die Inschriftenfunde der 7. und 8. Kampagne (1983–1984),” in B. Hrouda, (ed.), Isin-Isan Bahriyat III: Die Ergebnisse der Ausgrabungen, 1983–1984 (Abh München 94; 1987), pp. 108 ff.

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Fig. 17. Fragment of door socle, Puzur-Inshushinak, Susa. Harper et al., The Royal City of Susa, no. 54.

Puzur-Inshushinak reigned at least two hundred years later than the likely date of manufacture of the “jeweler’s” seal. He and his monuments come at the end of a period of self-conscious expression of community that began around the time that the “jeweler’s” seal was cut. This was a period of tenuous, intermittent but real independence under the Kings of Awan for the tribal people in the mountains north of Susiana. The incessant threat and interference of powerful forces both to the west in Mesopotamia and in the east in Marashi required constant management. In the monuments of Puzur-Inshushinak, the same balancing of several cultural streams is present that is manifest in the “jeweler’s” seal. By the time of Puzur-Inshushinak, this balance was expressed not only through pictorial elements but also in bilingual inscriptions recording his achievements in spoken utterance. Akkadian was the language of administration and the lingua franca in Susa. The separate identity of the Elamites was expressed not in the cuneiform script borrowed from the oppressor, but in a new linear script developed, probably under Puzur-Inshushinak, expressly for the recording of the Elamite language. 62 Two familiar monu62. Potts, Archaeology of Elam, pp. 125–126.

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ments found at Susa can be briefly cited to illustrate this bi-culturalism. The first is the stone door socket of Puzur-Inshushinak (fig. 17). A kneeling deity holding a peg and the suppliant goddess are borrowed, like the combat scene of the “jeweler’s” seal, directly from Mesopotamian monuments. Like the “jeweler’s” seal that imagery is juxtaposed to entirely unMesoptamian imagery, an oversized lion and entwined snake. This socket carries both an Akkadian and a linear Elamite inscription. The other relevant monument from Susa, already discussed at length in relation to the identity of the goddesses on the “jeweler’s” seal, is the cult statue of the goddess Narundi (fig. 10). All of the details of the image of Narundi can be clearly seen in the goddesses on the “jeweler’s” seal. In the course of three hundred years she has acquired Mesopotamian horns of divinity and a throne on which to sit. She holds a baton and a palm frond at her chest. Another relevant monument associated with Puzur-Inshushinak through its linear Elamite inscription is the magnificent silver vase found near Persepolis (fig. 13). As stated above, the iconography of the vase is closely associated with the “jeweler’s” seal. Two female figures, almost certainly divine, confront each other. One stands with hair up holding two batons and wearing a flounced dress. The other squats or kneels. Her long hair is freely flowing down her back. She wears a heavy necklace. On the rim and the base, a scallop pattern denotes mountains or scales. This pair of females, standing and squatting, is known both on the “jeweler’s” seal and on four seals from Shahdad. Is it possible that this pair was revered in Marashi. And the other two goddesses on the seal were perhaps deities worshiped further to west in Awan? It would not be surprising that each region in the Iranian highland would have had its own tutelary deities. It is only later, in the early second millennium, that these become consolidated and absorbed into a more unified, hierarchical, and ultimately male-dominated Elamite pantheon. The “jeweler’s” seal from Susa provides us with a rich and detailed picture of the divine world of highland Iran in the later third millennium b.c. We can hope that as excavations begin again on the Iranian plateau, they will produce evidence that will help us to interpret it more securely. In the meantime, I offer these observations on the occasion of Donald P. Hansen’s birthday. May the discussions begun many years ago continue for a long time to come.

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Early Islamic Seals: Their Artistic and Cultural Importance Priscilla Soucek

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The personal and governmental use of seals was a feature of everyday life in the Near East from the advent of Islam until the twentieth century, yet seals are rarely mentioned in studies of Islamic art and culture. Although seals used in the Islamic period are unlikely to attain a prominence comparable to that enjoyed by seals and seal impressions in studies of the ancient Near East, their examination can provide insights into neglected facets of that region’s history. The purpose of this essay is to explore the value of incorporating information about Islamic seals into studies of the Muslim world. Its main focus will be on seals and seal impressions from central Islamic lands during the first centuries of the Hegira, particularly the seventh to tenth centuries c.e., a transitional period that appears to have laid the foundation for the design and function of seals in subsequent periods. The distinctive features of this formative epoch will be illuminated through selective reference both to seals from the pre-Islamic period and to those from later periods of Islamic history. Before embarking on the analysis of these questions, it is useful to provide an overview of the various ways in which Islamic seals are known. The strong continuity between the use of seals in the pre-Islamic period and that associated with Islam is underscored by the pre-Islamic origin of the two principal terms used to describe them, the Arabic word khatam, or khatim, which is believed to be of Aramaic origin, and the Persian word muhr, which is related to the Sanskrit term mudra. The fact that both khatam and muhr also became terms for ‘ring’ is indicative of the fact that most often a seal was part of a ring. Sometimes both ring and seal were made of metal, but more often the seal proper was an engraved stone mounted in a metal ring. 1 The wide popularity of seal rings among the residents of the Near East continued until the twentieth century. In his classic study of nineteenth-century Egypt, Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians, first published in 1836, Edward William Lane describes the seal ring as an integral part of the everyday dress of the Egyptian population. Silver rings set with an engraved stone, usually of carnelian, were normally worn “on the little finger of the right hand.” Their use was so ubiquitous that even servants owned one. Normally, the inscription on a ring consisted of a person’s name and a pious phrase or quotation from the Quran invoking God’s 1. J. Allan and D. Sourdel, “Khatam, Khatim,” Encyclopedia of Islam (2d ed.; Leiden: Brill; hereafter EI ), s.v.; J. Deny, “Muhr,” EI, s.v.

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support and protection. 2 The ubiquity of seals in the Islamic world led to the formation of various kinds of collections and eventually to their cataloging and publication. To date, Islamic seals have primarily been published in the catalogues of public and private collections. Because these seals are predominately epigraphic, their publication has customarily been the work of historians and epigraphers. The documentary value of seals belonging to Muslim rulers and governmental authorities is uncontested. Indeed, modern historians have studied and published the seals and seal impressions of various dynasties to aid in their identification and reading, since actual impressions on documents or manuscripts are often incomplete or otherwise unclear. Among the most comprehensive is Ismail Hakkı Uzunçarsılı’s catalogue of Ottoman seals in the collection of the Topkapi Palace published in 1959. 3 Another work of broad scope is H. L. Rabino’s 1945 essay on the seals used by Iranian rulers from the Safavids to the Qajars. 4 The challenge posed by seals from earlier periods is of a different order. Although many seals provide the name of their owner, only a few such individuals can be identified historically. Most seals from the Islamic world contain neither detailed biographical data comparable to those often found on Byzantine seals nor precise titles analogous to those inscribed on some Sasanian seals. Consequently, the vast majority of surviving seals is undated and of unknown provenance. The first task is, therefore, to establish guidelines for the creation of chronological and geographical categories. In most catalogues, seals are classified epigraphically while seal rings are linked to regions or periods. 5 A few seals and seal rings have been found in the excavation of Islamic sites. These are generally made of inexpensive materials, but they can help to provide a frame of reference for more elaborate examples in public and private collections. The 15 rings excavated at Nishapur by the Metropolitan Museum of Art Expedition and the 39 found at Hama have been used to establish regional groups, even though in neither case are the seals precisely dated. 6 In recent years, a rising interest in Islamic jewelry and its increased availability have led to the formation of private collections of rings, amulets, and talismans. In general, rings or stones carrying an inscription in the negative are considered to be seals, whereas those with positive texts are assumed to serve primarily as amulets or talismans. In practice, however, the border between these two groups is often indistinct. Most of the examples described in this study have negative inscriptions, but some of them have features that suggest that they could also have served a protective purpose.

2. E. W. Lane, Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians (London and New York: Everyman’s Library, 1966), pp. 30–31. 3. I. H. Uzunçarsılı, Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi mühürler seksiyonu rehberi (Istanbul: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1959). 4. H. L. Rabino, Coins, Medals and Seals of the Shahs of Iran (1500–1941) (Hertford: Austin & Sons: 1945). 5. D. J. Content (ed.), Islamic Rings and Gems: The Benjamin Zucker Collection (London: Phillip Wilson Publishers, 1987); L. Kalus, Catalogue des cachets, bulles et talismans islamiques (Paris: Bibliothèque Nationale, Départment de Monnaies, Médailles et Antiques, 1981); L. Kalus, “Gems,” in Content (ed.), Islamic Rings and Gems, pp. 233–52; M. Wenzel, Ornament and Amulet: Rings of the Islamic Lands. The Nasser D. Khalili Collection of Islamic Art XVI (ed. J. Raby; London: The Nour Foundation, Azimuth Editions and Oxford University Press, 1993). 6. J. W. Allan, Nishapur: Metalwork of the Early Islamic Period (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1982), pp. 31–32, 66–69; G. Plough, E. Oldenburg et al., Hama Fouilles et Recherches 1931–38, IV:3 (Copenhagen: Fondation Carlsberg, 1969), pp. 76–81.

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The ornamental value of seal rings derives both from the semiprecious stones used for some of their seals and from the handsome settings in which they are mounted. Some collections have also been studied for this reason. Moreover, an examination of a ring’s design can aid in establishing its provenance. Two catalogues in which seal rings are analyzed both epigraphically and as jewelry are Islamic Rings and Gems: The Benjamin Zucker Collection, edited by D. J. Content, and Ornament and Amulet, by M. Wenzel. The Zucker Collection contains 102 rings and 104 seals. Nine of the rings and more than 50 of the seals are believed to date from before the thirteenth century. 7 Of the 618 rings in the Khalili Collection, 120 are of preIslamic or early Islamic date. 8 These catalogues demonstrate that seals and seal rings survive in substantial numbers, but it is often difficult to establish meaningful conclusions from individual exemplars. For the first Islamic centuries there is an important, if limited, body of comparative material that helps to create a context for the examination of seals and seal rings. It consists of seal impressions on clay, lead, or other materials identified in the scholarly literature by the Latin term bullae (sing. bulla). Clay bullae are flattened balls of clay bearing the imprint of one or more seals that were once attached to documents, containers, or packages to identify or safeguard their contents. They survive in substantial numbers from the Sasanian period, and a few of them can be dated to the period after the Muslim conquest. After they had been removed from the package or document to which they had been tied, bullae were generally stored in special chambers that appear to have served as archives. 9 The most important collection of Iranian bullae is that in Paris belonging to the Cabinet des Médailles de la Bibliothèque Nationale or to the Louvre. Many of these specimens were purchased in Iran by the eminent archaeologist Roman Ghirshman. 10 The use of flat disks of lead or other metals for seal impressions was a Roman and Byzantine habit. Textual evidence suggests that the Sasanians also used metal bullae, as did some Muslims. Thousands of lead bullae are preserved in various collections; most are of Byzantine origin and carry Greek inscriptions, but some have Arabic legends, and a few of these were issued by Muslim rulers. 11 Seal impressions of the early Islamic era were also found in controlled excavations and attached to papyri. Despite their small number, these bullae offer insight into the roles played by seals in the early Islamic period. They also provide a comparative frame of reference to establish the degree of continuity and discontinuity in the use of seals between the pre-Islamic and Islamic eras. Bullae were found in post-Sasanian levels at Qasr-i Abu Nasr in Iran and at Dvin in Armenia. 12 Additionally, there are seal impressions in public and private collections of which the find-spots are undocumented. A group of 47 seal impressions said to have been 7. Content, “Rings” in Islamic Rings and Gems, pp. 34–39; Kalus, “Gems,” pp. 266–93. 8. Wenzel, Ornament and Amulet, pp. 189–99. 9. V. G. Lukonin, “Political, Social and Administrative Institutions: Taxes and Trade,” in E. Yarshater (ed.), The Cambridge History of Iran 3/2: The Seleucid, Parthian and Sasanian Periods (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), pp. 742–43. 10. P. Gignoux, Catalogue des sceaux, camées et bulles sasanides de la Bibliothèque Nationale et du Musée du Louvre II ( Paris: Bibliothèque Nationale, 1978), pp. 77–139; R. Gyselen, Catalogue des sceaux, camées et bulles sasanides de la Bibliothèque Nationale et du Musée du Louvre II (Paris: Bibliothèque Nationale, 1993), pp. 201–39; L. Kalus, Catalogue des cachets, pp. 59–60. 11. N. Oikonomidès, Byzantine Lead Seals (Washington, D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 1985), p. 18; Kalus, Catalogue des cachets, pp. 60–67; I. Artuk, “Emevilerden Halife Abdülmelik Bin Mervan Adina Kesilmi§ E§siz Bir Kur§un Mühür,” Belleten XV (1952), pp. 21–25. 12. R. N. Frye, Seals, Sealings and Coins: Sasanian Remains from Qasr-i Abu Nasr (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1973); Lukonin, “Taxes and Trade,” pp. 742–44.

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found together in a clay vessel in Israel’s Judean Hills belongs to the Zucker Collection. 13 There is also a small group of impressions that are documented to an exceptional degree. In the first centuries of the Islamic era, papyrus was widely used for correspondence and recordkeeping. Once a text had been completed, it was rolled, tied with a string, and stamped with a seal; among the large body of papyri that post-date the Muslim conquest of Egypt, a few documents still retain their original clay bullae. 14 The study of seals, seal rings, and bullae from the first Islamic centuries is also aided by textual information about various aspects of seals given by medieval historical sources. Some authors have described the seals used by important members of the Islamic community, and others provide anecdotes that reveal how seals were used. L. Kalus has used textual references to compile a list of inscriptions engraved on seals of the earliest rulers of the Muslim community. 15 One of his principal sources was the Kitab al-Tanbih, a summary account of Islamic history and geography written in 956 by the polymath al-Masºudi. 16 Al-Masºudi transcribes the text that appeared on the seal used by each of the leaders of the Islamic community from the Prophet Muhammad to the Abbasid caliph al-Mustakf i (r. 944–946). More anecdotal information about rings and seals appears in the Kitab al-Hadaya wa al-Tuhaf, 17 an eleventh-century text written in Egypt. It describes the kinds of objects valued by the rulers of the Islamic community down to the author’s lifetime in the late 11th century. S. M. Stern has collected information on a closely related topic—the formulaic signatures of Muslim rulers from various periods that served to authenticate documents. 18 The magical properties or value of Islamic seals can be illuminated by their comparison with amulets or talismans, a process facilitated by the fact that the two groups of objects are often published together in catalogues. 19 The engraved patterns on seals and amulets sometimes can be analogous to the painted decoration on ceramic vessels, a circumstance that can aid in the localization and interpretation of both types of objects. 20 Coins provide another body of ancillary information that is potentially of considerable value in assigning seals or groups of seals to specific periods or regions. The close connection between the design of seals and that of coins is particularly striking in the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries, but some links also existed in earlier epochs. 21 The task of bringing together information about seals with that relating to other media has, however, barely begun. General comments about seals from the Islamic period often stress the fact that their reliance on texts to convey their message sets them apart from seals used by their predecessors, 13. L. Kalus, “A hoard of bullae,” in Content (ed.), Islamic Rings and Gems, pp. 353–61. 14. J. Karabacek, “Arabische Abtheilung,” in Papyrus Erzherzog Rainer: Führer durch die Ausstellung (Vienna: Museum Papyrorum Raineri Archducis Austriae, 1904), pp. 133–77, pl. XIV; A.-K. Wassiliou and H. Harrauer, Siegel und Papyri: Das Siegelwesen in Ägypten von römischer bis in früharabische Zeit (Nilus: Studien zur Kultur Ägyptens und des Vorderen Orients, Bd. 4; Vienna, 1999) pp. 28–40. 15. P. Gignoux and L. Kalus, “Les Formules des sceaux sasanides et islamiques: continuité ou mutation,” Studia Iranica 11 (1982), pp. 123–53. 16. C. Pellat, “al-Masºudi,” EI, s.v. 17. Ghada al-Qaddumi (trans.), Book of Gifts and Rarities (Kitab al-Hadaya wa al-Tuhaf) (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1996). 18. S. M. Stern, Fatimid Decrees: Original Documents from the Fatimid Chancery (London: Faber & Faber, 1964). 19. Kalus, Catalogue des cachets; Wenzel, Ornament and Amulet. 20. Wenzel, Ornament and Amulet, no. 41, pp. 24, 189. 21. R. Pinder-Wilson, “Seals and Rings in Islam,” in Content (ed.), Islamic Rings and Gems, pp. 378–83.

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the Sasanians, or their rivals and contemporaries, the Byzantines, in which figural images are dominant. 22 This observation, while largely correct with respect to major trends in seal design, omits continuities in the function and importance of seals between the pre-Islamic and Islamic periods. An emphasis on the break between these two periods also overlooks the gradual nature of the Sasanian-Islamic cultural transition in Iran and Iraq. As will be demonstrated below, documentary and archaeological evidence suggests that figural seals were popular among Muslims during the seventh and even early eighth centuries, and their sporadic use appears to have continued also in later centuries. The assumption that seals made for Muslims were exclusively epigraphic also obscures the various ways in which Byzantine and Islamic practices were blended in Syria and Anatolia, creating a group of seals that combine Arabic legends with pictorial images. 23 Of these two connections, the Sasanian one appears to have been the more influential in shaping the roles played by seals in the public and private life of the Muslim community. Thus the use and character of seals in the late Sasanian period provides a basis for understanding the degree of continuity and discontinuity between those traditions and the traditions of the Islamic era. Despite the fact that few Sasanian seals or seal impressions are precisely dated, the systematic publication of several large collections has enabled scholars to devise iconographic and epigraphic typologies. 24 Both surviving seals and collections of seal impressions demonstrate that in the Sasanian Empire seals were used by a wide range of religious and secular authorities as well as by private persons. 25 Possession of a seal was one of the symbols of office for officials at various levels of government because under Sasanian law a contract, decree, or other written document attained legal validity only after a seal had been affixed to it. 26 Textual and iconographic typologies of Sasanian examples can be used as a comparative frame of reference for isolated seals and seal impressions connected through documentary or circumstantial evidence to the period of Muslim domination. To be effective, such a comparison should include a wide spectrum of Sasanian seals, from those belonging to the rulers and high officials to those of provincial authorities and private persons. It should also consider the variety of purposes for which seals were used in the Sasanian realm, from the validation of correspondence and decrees to commercial transactions and the recording of tax payments, as well as for the safeguarding of personal possessions. The interpretation of such examples can also be aided by the use of textual references to Sasanian seals in the writings of medieval Islamic authors whose comments are primarily directed toward the use of seals by Sasanian monarchs, some of whom were regarded by Muslims as paradigms of royal behavior, so that such descriptions may have influenced the use of seals under Islam. The fullest description of Sasanian royal seals comes in the Muruj al-Dhahab (Meadows of Gold) of al-Masºudi. 27 The surviving version of this text written in the 940s contains information about the seals used by Bahram V, Khusraw I and Khusraw II, rulers whose fame 22. J. Allan and D. Sourdel, “Khatam, Khatim,” EI, s.v. 23. Oikonomidès, Byzantine Lead Seals, p. 18; Artuk, “Halife Abdülmelik . . . Kur§un Mühür,” p. 22, pl. VII. 24. R. Göbl, Der Sasanidische Siegelkanon (Würzburg: Klinkhardt & Biermann, 1973); Gignoux, Catalogue des sceaux; Gyselen, Catalogue des sceaux. 25. Frye, Seals, Sealings and Coins, pp. 47–65; Lukonin, “Taxes and Trade,” p. 733. 26. A. Perikhanian, “Iranian Society and Law,” in Yarshater (ed.) The Cambridge History of Iran 3/2: p. 670. 27. C. Pellat, “al-Masºudi,” EI, s.v.

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long outlasted the fall of the Sasanian empire. 28 Supplementary information is contained in the Shahnama of Firdawsi, completed in 1010, and in the late eleventh-century Kitab al-Hadaya wa al-Tuhaf. 29 The fact that these authors were active centuries after the initial Muslim conquests means that their view of the Sasanian world was also shaped by their own experiences. Their statements about Sasanian seals should not necessarily be taken literally; rather, they should be compared to other kinds of evidence. When this precaution has been taken, however, their comments can help to illuminate the relationship between the Sasanian and Islamic eras in their use of seals. At first glance, Sasanian and Islamic seals are more striking in their differences than in their similarities. In the Sasanian era, stamp seals predominated over ring seals, whereas in the Islamic period the converse appears to be true, although published information on Islamic stamp seals is so meager that it is impossible to estimate their numbers. 30 R. Gyselen has suggested that the Sasanian use of “independent” or stamp seals derives from an indigenous tradition, whereas the use of “dependent” seals mounted in rings or other devices was a practice of Greco-Roman origin. 31 A concomitant distinction between Sasanian and Islamic seals is in the nature and arrangement of their incised patterns. The much larger surface of the seals belonging to Sasanian rulers or high officials was used to carve portraits or other images; these seals produce impressions with an almost sculptural appearance. 32 Ring seals from the first Islamic centuries are decidedly, and probably deliberately, modest by comparison with the Sasanian ones. A joint study undertaken by P. Gignoux and L. Kalus tabulates and compares the texts used on seals of the Sasanian and Islamic periods. 33 Most of the surviving rings attributed to the early Islamic period have small ring-stones, and consequently their incised patterns are simple and their texts brief. One of most popular of seal texts is hasbi Allah (‘God suffices me’), a phrase found twice in the Quran (IX:130, XXXIX:39). 34 It can also be combined with a personal name. 35 Other religious phrases that often appear on seals are yakfi Allah (‘God is Sufficient’) and Rabbi Allah (‘God is my Sovereign’), a variant of this brief prayer places these words in inverse order Allah Rabbi. Both versions appear in the Quran (XL:28 and XVIII:38, XIX:36). 36 Although none of these surviving rings can be linked to any historically identifiable person, textual descriptions of the seals or seal rings belonging 28. (Abu Husayn Ali) Maçoudi, Les Prairies d’or, vol II (ed. and trans. C. Barbier de Meynard and P. de Courteille; Paris: L’Imprimerie Nationale, 1914), pp. 191, 204, 228; A. D. H. Bivar, Catalogue of the Western Asiatic Seals in the British Museum, Stamp Seals II: The Sassanian Dynasty (London: The British Museum, 1969), pp. 29–34. 29. Abou’l Kasim Firdousi, Le Livre des rois, vols. I–VII (ed. and trans. J. Mohl; Paris: Maisonneuve, 1868, reprint 1976); al-Qaddumi (trans.), Book of Gifts and Rarities. 30. Gyselen, Catalogue des sceaux, pp. 30–33; Marilyn Jenkins and M. Keene, Islamic Jewelry in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1982), pp. 19–21. 31. R. Gyselen,, “La glyptique,” in Splendeur des Sassanides (Brussels: Musées royaux d’Art et d’Histoire, 1993), pp. 123–25. 32. Splendeur des Sassanides, pp. 280–83. 33. Gignoux and Kalus, “Les Formules des sceaux.” 34. Content, “Rings,” no. 10, p. 39; Wenzel, Ornament and Amulet, no. 50, pp. 24–25, 29; L. Kalus, Catalogue of Islamic Seals and Talismans: The Ashmolean Museum, Oxford (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1986), no. I.1.1.3, p. 4; Kalus, “Gems,” p. 267, nos. 1–2. 35. Wenzel, Ornament and Amulet,, no. 47, pp. 24–25, 190. 36. Content, “Rings,” no. 4, p. 34; Kalus, Catalogue des cachets, I.1.1., p. 11; Wenzel, Ornament and Amulet, no. 77, pp. 30–31, 195.

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to the leaders of the Muslim community suggests that the extant seals and seal-stones are in fact representative. 37 The Muslim preference for epigraphic seals is usually traced to the precedent of a seal used by the Prophet Muhammad. It carried only a text, Muhammad Rasul Allah (‘Muhammad, Prophet of God’). In his historical work, Kitab al-Tanbih, al-Masºudi dates its adoption to the first month of the seventh year of the Hegira, or May–June of 628. He mentions the seal in a passage discussing the Prophet’s need to respond to letters sent to him by various other leaders, the implication being that it was intended for use on the Prophet’s official correspondence. 38 Despite the fact that the Prophet’s seal combined his name and title, this practice does not appear to have been common among his caliphal successors. One of them, the caliph ºUmar (r. 634–644) is said to have forbidden the use of personal titles on seals, although the nature of his objection is unclear. He is said to have ordered that the seal of the governor of Mosul be destroyed; its inscription read ºUtba al-ºamil (‘ ºUtba the tax-collector’). 39 Al-Masºudi mentions seal texts in conjunction with other details about the administration of each caliph, such as the names of his scribes or viziers. This would suggest that possession of such a seal was a requisite part of the governmental apparatus. He records that the seal of Abu Bakr (r. 632– 634) read: niºma al-qadir Allah (‘How Wonderful is God’s Power’). 40 The Caliph Hisham (r. 724–743) is remembered to have used al-hukm li’llah (‘Judgment belongs to God’, Quran: XL:12) or al-hukm lil-hakim (‘Judgment belongs to the All-Wise’), a reference to one of God’s epithets or asmaª al-husna. The phrase amantu bi’llah mukhlisan (‘I believe in God sincerely’) and several related variants were also popular with the early caliphs. 41 It is only with the Abbasid caliphs that their seal texts frequently include their throne names. Those titles, or alqab, however, were in and of themselves expressions of piety and dependence on God, such as the titles of al-Mutawakkil ºala’llah (r. 847–861) (The One who Depends on God) or al-Mustakfi bi’llah (r. 944–946) (‘The One who is Contented with God’). 42 The practice of inscribing seals with expressions stressing the owner’s humility and submission to God is a distinctive and dominant feature of the Muslim sigillographic practice, but this tradition was not monolithic. There are various ways in which Sasanian seal-making practices had an impact on the production and use of seals after the Muslim conquest. The greatest congruence between the Sasanian and Islamic eras is likely to have been in the administrative and governmental use of seals, particularly because many former Sasanian officials were employed in the governments established by the first Muslim governors of Iraq and Iran. By all accounts, the principle that any written document required a stamp to attain legal validity was observed by Muslim rulers, just as it had been by the Sasanians. Consequently, in regions under Muslim control, one of the first bureaucratic departments to develop was the divan al-khatam (SealBureau). M. Morony credits the introduction of this bureau to Ziyad b. Abi Sufyan, the halfbrother of the first Umayyad caliph Muºawiya (r. 661–681). Ziyad (r. 669–673) who was entrusted by his brother with the administration of the eastern half of the Umayyad empire, ruled this vast terrain from Basra and used former Sasanian officials to develop appropriate 37. Gignoux and Kalus, “Les Formules des sceaux,” pp. 137–38, 140–41. 38. Al-Masûdî, Kitâb at-Tanbîh wa’l-Ischrâf (ed. M. J. De Goeje; 2d ed.; Leiden: Brill, 1967), p. 259:4. 39. M. G. Morony, Iraq after the Muslim Conquest (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984), p. 67. 40. Masûdî, Kitâb at-Tanbîh, p. 286:16. 41. Gignoux and Kalus, “Les Formules des sceaux,” pp. 143–48. 42. Gignoux and Kalus, “Les Formules des sceaux,” p. 142.

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Fig. 1. Impression of the official seal of the chief priest of Shiraz, Ardashir Khurah, Qasr-i Abu Nasr, D. 177, after Frye, Seals, Sealings and Coins.

institutions and procedures. His government had four main divisions; one was devoted to the collection of taxes, another dispensed funds, the third dealt with correspondence, and the fourth was concerned with the registration, copying, and sealing of the various kinds of documents produced by the other three departments. 43 The existence of a “Seal Bureau” during Ziyad’s governorship virtually assures that he and his various subordinates made use of personal and administrative seals. The early administrators of the Muslim domain relied heavily on the governmental structure in use prior to the conquest, so that in Iraq and Iran this would have meant that Sasanian administrative procedures continued to be observed. The collection of taxes, in particular, usually followed customary local practices. In the former Sasanian domain, Persian remained the administrative language until ca. 700. 44 This may mean that the type of seals used by Sasanian administrators continued to be employed in the first decades of Muslim rule. The stamp seals of Sasanian provincial officials appear to belong to two different types: one provides only the name of an office and that of a city or province whereas the other carries a personal name and title that is often combined with an image or pictorial device. Judging from bullae and seals in various collections, seals of office were among the largest and most impressive of Sasanian seals. Examples in Paris range in diameter from 24 to 26 mm. Their texts are arranged in one or more horizontal lines across the seal’s center, and another inscription encircles the seal’s perimeter (fig. 1). 45 Seals of this type were evidently not mounted in rings but instead fashioned out of a block of stone. Their shape, a kind of truncated and flattened cylinder with the seal engraved on its flat base, has been described as “ellipsoid” or “dactyloid,” reflecting the fact that its shape approximated that of a fingertip. A hole pierced through its upper portion allowed it to be attached to a ring or other device for use, carrying or wearing. 46 43. Morony, Iraq, pp. 33, 66–68. 44. Morony, Iraq, p. 510. 45. Gignoux, Catalogue des sceaux, pls. I, XXXI–LXXXI; Gyselen, Catalogue des sceaux, pp. 203–6, 218–21. 46. Gyselen, Catalogue des sceaux, pp. 144, 311–12.

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Finds at the site of Qasr-i Abu Nasr near Shiraz included more than 500 bullae produced during the last phase of the Sasanian Empire. These seal impressions were discovered in two adjacent rooms of a fortification that was destroyed by fire, and R. Frye has suggested that they constituted the archive of the local community, which was probably under the care of a local Zoroastrian priest whose seal of office appears frequently on these bullae. 47 The probablity that most of these bullae belong to a period stretching from the last years of Sasanian rule to the first decades after the Muslim conquest derives from the 48 coins of late Sasanian or ArabSasanian type datable to the seventh century found at the site. 48 The fortification appears to have been abandoned sometime in the eighth century and the site as a whole sometime thereafter. 49 A number of the other impressions from Qasr-i Abu Nasr must also date to the late seventh century, particularly those made by small oval or rectangular seals that carry the image of a single bird or animal. 50 The widespread popularity of such small seals in the late Sasanian period is further confirmed by the impressions of small seals depicting various kinds of birds or animals on some of the bullae now in Paris and catalogued by P. Gignoux and R. Gyselen. 51 One bulla has a central seal impression bearing the name “Pusveh, the Magian” that is surrounded by thirteen small impressions, several of which depict various kinds of birds. 52 It is noteworthy, however, that despite the evidence that the Qasr-i Abu Nasr was in active use during the late seventh century, only one of its more than 500 impressions carries an Arabic inscription. It bears the imprint of an abbreviated and crudely written Basmallah that is said to have been made by a seal ring. Most of the bullae from Qasr-i Abu Nasr carry the imprint of several seals, but this particular example occurs alone. 53 This circumstance suggests that seals of Sasanian type continued to be employed in the Shiraz region for some decades after the nominal imposition of Muslim control. The tumultuous history of the region during the seventh century, however, makes it difficult to reconstruct the fate of the site during the decades following the Arab victory of Nihavand in 641 or 642. 54 Whether or not seals resembling those of Sasanians continued to be used after the fall of the empire, the prominence of such seals among the bullae of the Sasanian period does suggest that their design and appearance would have been a matter of common knowledge in 7thcentury Iraq and Iran. Typically, in a bulla, the two types of “official seals”—the purely epigraphic and those that have a central image and a peripheral text—are prominently situated at its center, whereas the smaller “private seals” are located around the periphery of the flattened ball of clay into which the stamps are impressed. The scheme can be seen in a bulla now in the Babylonian Collection of Yale University (fig. 2). These three categories of seals each appear to have had a distinct impact on the visual traditions of the Islamic period. 47. Frye, Seals, Sealings and Coins, pp. 15–25, 47–53. 48. Frye, Seals, Sealings and Coins, pp. 19, 33–34. 49. Frye, Seals, Sealings and Coins, pp. 43–45. 50. P. O. Harper, “Seals and Finger Rings,” in Richard N. Frye (ed.), Seals, Sealings and Coins: Sasanian Remains from Qasr-i Abu Nasr, p. 87, D. 217, D. 454, D. 382. 51. Gyselen, Catalogue des sceaux, pp. 224–33. 52. Gignoux, Catalogue des sceaux, no. 16.25, p. 129, pls. LXXV–LXXVI. 53. Frye, Seals, Sealings and Coins, no. D 195, pp. 45, 62, 114. 54. ºAbd al-Husain Zarrinkub, “The Arab Conquest of Iran and Its Aftermath,” in R. Frye (ed.), The Cambridge History of Iran 4: The Period from the Arab Invasion to the Saljuqs (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), pp. 22–23.

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Fig. 2. Clay bulla with impressions of both official and personal seals, Sasanian period, with epigraphic seal of Mobadh of Upper Jalula. Babylonian Collection, Yale University, James B. Nies Collection of Babylonian Antiquities, no. 4498a.

M. Morony has suggested that “seals of office” served as a model for the first Muslim epigraphic coinage introduced in 692 during the reign of the Umayyad caliph ºAbd al-Malik. Such coins have three lines of horizontal text and a fourth one that encircles the periphery of the coin. 55 The first Muslim governors of Iraq appear to have had both personal and administrative seals. If the administrative variety followed the design of Sasanian official seals but substituted an Arabic text for a Persian one, such seals could have provided a link between Sasanian “seals of office” and the coins of ºAbd al-Malik. Baladhuri’s claim that Ziyad b. Abi Sufyan was “the first Arab” to establish a seal bureau and the first to employ “a seal in imitation of what the Persians used to do” does not provide any details about the appearance of the seal or seals he used for this purpose. 56 Collections of seals and seal impressions in Iraq might provide evidence about the character and design of administrative seals used by the Umayyads and Abbasids. The type of Sasanian seal that appears to have found the greatest acceptance among the early Muslims is the one used by private persons. Such seals tended to be smaller than “official seals” and usually combined a pictorial device with a short text. A number of them appear to have been impressed from a seal stone mounted in a ring. Some provide a personal name, others bear moralistic or pious phrases. Textual descriptions of the personal seals used by the leading Muslims of 7th-century Iraq suggest that figural seals were popular among them. Ziyad b. Abi Sufyan evidently used a seal engraved with a peacock, and Anas b. Malik (died ca. 709) is said to have used seals bearing the image of a wolf, fox, or lion. 57 Bullae in which seals bearing Arabic inscriptions occur alongside figural ones provide another indication of the popularity of figural seals in the early Islamic period. A large clay bulla now in the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, confirms the concurrent use of seals bearing images and those carrying Arabic inscriptions. This composite impression was once in the collection of the late Roman Ghirshman and is said to have come from Iran. It bears the imprint of seven seals; the central one depicts a bird with an upturned tail that is probably a peacock. Six additional impressions ring this central one. Another carries the image of a long-legged bird, perhaps a crane. Four of its surrounding impressions come from seals with Arabic texts that

55. Morony, Iraq, p. 51. 56. Morony, Iraq, p. 67. 57. Morony, Iraq, p. 67.

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b

Fig. 3a. Impression of seal with a peacock, Qasr-i Abu Nasr, D. 381, after Frye, Seals, Sealings and Coins. Fig. 3b. Impression of a seal with a crane, Qasr-i Abu Nasr, D. 382, after Frye, Seals, Sealings and Coins.

Fig. 4. Seal of ºAmr ibn al-ºAs, Vienna, National Library, Ar. Pap. Nr. 3. a. after Wassiliou and Harrauer, Siegel und Papyri, Farbabb. 3. b. after Karabacek, “Arabische Abtheilung,” p. 136.

include both names and pious phrases known from other seals of the Islamic period. 58 Both the central impression of a “peacock” and that of the “crane” recall impressions from Qasr-i Abu Nasr (fig. 3). 59 According to V. G. Lukonin, “many bullae” found at Dvin in Armenia combine “late Sasanian and Arabian sealings (with Arabic inscriptions only),” but no further information about the design of either type is available. 60 Papyri from Egypt provide even more precisely dated examples of the use of figural seals by Muslims. The most famous of these occurs on a papyrus now in Vienna with a date equivalent to January 8, 643. The letter, in Greek, was sent by the commander of the Muslim army ºAmr ibn al-ºAs to an Egyptian provincial official, the pagarch of Herakliopolis. It commands him to send a quantity of food and fodder every month for the use of ºAmr’s forces and their horses. This letter retains its original clay sealing, of which a drawing has been published. It shows the imprint of an oval seal-stone bearing the image of a bull charging to the left with its 58. Kalus, Catalogue des cachets, no. II.1.A-E, p. 59, pl. VIII. 59. Harper, “Seals and Finger Rings,” nos. D. 381, D. 387, D. 382, D. 383. 60. Lukonin, “Taxes and Trade,” pp. 743–44.

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Fig. 5. Impression of carnelian ringstone. Bull preparing to toss. Roman, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 81.6.134, Gift of John Taylor Johnson, 1881.

head lowered (fig. 4). 61 The posture of this bull and the fact that it is surrounded by a decorative frame of knots (probably part of its setting) suggest that ºAmr’s seal-ring was not of Sasanian origin. Bulls appear with some frequency on Sasanian seals and seal impressions, but normally they are of the hump-backed variety and are shown in static poses facing to the right. 62 Although the rendering of a bull on ºAmr’s seal lacks the dramatic presence of Roman examples, its general posture is reminiscent of charging bulls depicted on both seals and coins of the Roman period (fig. 5). 63 Comparable gems are also found in the Kestner-Museum in Hannover and are dated to the late first century b.c.e. or the first half of the first century c.e. 64 The elaborately decorated setting of ºAmr’s ring-stone also has closer parallels in the Roman sphere than among Sasanian examples. 65 Whatever the origin of ºAmr’s seal, it does show that the use of figural seals among the early Muslims was not limited to Iraq and Iran. Administrative reforms instituted in 695 by the Umayyad Caliph Abd al-Malik (r. 685–705) that introduced epigraphic coinage and made Arabic the primary language of administration were believed to have also eliminated the use of figural seals. Seals and impressions from this period suggest, however, that this transition was not abrupt. The most important evidence about the coexistence of figural images and Arabic texts on seals comes from an undated double-sided lead seal, excavated in 1903 near Yafa, present day Haifa, and now in the collection of the Istanbul Archaeological Museum; it bears the name and titles of Abd al-Malik himself. The obverse has a marginal text that combines some of the Quranic phrases used on his reform coinage (48:19, 48:29, and 6:163). This side’s central field bears the caliph’s name and titles in a pair of circular cartouches flanking a design that resembles a capital letter “A”; a pair of long-necked birds stand within the letter’s arms. The border of the seal’s reverse combines a marginal vine scroll with a center that juxtaposes the name “Filistin” (Palestine) with a pair of rampant lions. 66 The seal used by Kurra ibn Sharik, governor in Egypt under al-Walid b. Abd al-Malik in 709–714, also demonstrates, however, that figural seals continued to be used after 695. The Vienna collection contains a letter written on September 6, 710 by Kurra to Petros 61. Karabacek, “Arabische Abtheilung,” pp. 136, 139; A.-K. Wassiliou, “Katalog der ausgestellten Siegel,” in Wassiliou and Harrauer, Siegel und Papyri, no. 17, pp. 28–29, Farbabb. 3. 62. Göbl, Der Sasanidische Siegelkanon, pl. 20; Gyselen, Catalogue des sceaux, pls. 24–26. 63. G. Richter, Catalogue of Engraved Gems: Greek, Etruscan and Roman (Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 1956), nos. 508–9, p. 504, pl. LXI. 64. M. Schlüter, G. Platz-Horster, and P. Zazoff, Antike Gemmen in Deutschen Sammlungen IV (Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 1975), nos. 1171–74, p. 212, pls. 158–59. I want to thank Dr. Joan Mertens of the Metropolitan Museum of Art for drawing this reference to my attention. 65. Wenzel, Ornament and Amulet, p. 15. 66. I. Artuk, “Emevilerden Halife Abdülmelik bin Mervan adina kesilmi§ e§siz bir kur§un mühür,” in Belleten XVI, no. 61 (1952), pp. 21–25.

spread is 6 points long

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Georgios, tax collector in the city of Herakliopolis Magna. Its seal, impressed on clay, shows a quadruped facing to the right. Karabacek described this creature as a “wolf,” but the recent identification of it as a “cheetah” seems more plausible, since it possesses long legs, graceful proportions, and a spotted torso. 67 There are other indications that figural seals continued to be used into the eighth century and beyond. The hoard of 47 bullae probably were once attached to papyrus documents and are now in the Zucker collection; they are said to have been preserved in a clay vessel found in Israel’s Judean Hills and include a single example of a figural seal depicting a crudely drawn quadruped. 68 The inscriptions on these seals are longer than those on the “Ghirshman” bulla and are usually arranged in three lines. They appear to have been made by nearly square seals ranging in length from 9 to 14.5 mm and in width from 8 to 14 mm. Several are represented by multiple impressions, the most common appearing nineteen different times. It was made by a seal inscribed Sulayman / yastaghfir Allah / wa yastaºinuhu (‘Sulayman begs forgiveness of God and asks for His assistance’). L. Kalus has proposed an eighth-century date for these impressions on the basis of the script used, which he describes as “an angular Kufic.” 69 There are also a few stamp seals in the Bibliothèque Nationale collection that combine Arabic texts with figural depictions. One of these is an oval rock-crystal seal with a crudely drawn lion inscribed Rabbi Allah (‘God is my Sovereign’). 70 Other evidence discussed above demonstrates that this formula was often used on seals from the first Islamic centuries. 71 The Paris collection has two more seals on which the depiction of a lion is combined with the name of an otherwise unknown person, written in an angular unvocalized Arabic script. 72 Some or even all of these inscribed texts may have been added to anepigraphic seals of Sasanian manufacture, but such a reuse would underscore the popularity of some kinds of figural seals. The practice of adding an Arabic inscription to a pre-Islamic figural seal is also exemplified by a sardonyx seal of South Arabian origin now in the British Museum. It is inscribed with the figure of an eagle grasping a serpent with its talons. A Himyarite inscription is situated above the eagle’s head and an Arabic one encircles the seal’s lower perimeter. The Arabic text, a paraphrase of a Quranic verse (III:188), asks God’s protection from the fire awaiting sinners. 73 These examples of figural seals from various regions suggest that they had a broad acceptance among Muslims in the first decades after the initial conquests, but it is impossible to ascertain how long their popularity continued. It is in the former Sasanian realm that their acceptance seems to have been the most enduring, even if their variety is quite limited. This circumstance may derive from the fact that a few designs acquired new meanings or associations in the Islamic period. The lion appears to be the creature most frequently depicted on seals and rings of the Islamic period. As the catalogue of R. Gyselen demonstrates, felines and particularly lions were frequently depicted on Sasanian seals. 74 The association of ºAli b. Abu 67. Karabacek, “Arabische Abtheilung,” pp. 136, 139; Wassiliou, “Katalog der ausgestellten Siegel,” in Siegel und Papyri, no. 18, p. 30. 68. Kalus, “A Hoard of Bullae,” pp. 353–61, Type 11, p. 361. 69. Kalus, “A Hoard of Bullae,” Type 3, p. 357. 70. Kalus, Catalogue des cachets, no. I.1.1, p. 11, pl. 1. 71. Gignoux and Kalus, “Les Formules des sceaux,” pp. 137–38, 140. 72. Kalus, Catalogue des cachets, nos. 1.1.2.28 and 1.1.3.36, pp. 28, 30. 73. J. Walker, “A South Arabian Gem with Sabaean and Kufic Legends,” Le Muséon LXXV (1962), pp. 455–58. 74. Gyselen, Catalogue des sceaux, p. 46, 48, pls. XIX–XXI.

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Fig. 6. Impression of a Sasanian seal with a lion and scorpion, inscribed “Reliance on the Gods.” Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, E. 2723 (1864).

Fig. 7. Bronze pendant with lion, scorpion, and stars, Nishapur? 10th century? Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund, 1939 (40.170.245).

Talib with the lion, also reflected in his popular epithet Asad Allah (‘the Lion of God’), may have given a new impetus to the use of seals and rings bearing lions in the Islamic era. Invocations or brief prayers mentioning both ºAli and the Prophet Muhammad appear on seals of early Islamic date. 75 Lions also serve as the principal ornament on metal rings of later periods. Lion rings have been attributed to the Caucasus, Armenia, and Timurid Iran and dated between the twelfth and fifteenth centuries. 76 Seals bearing the images of birds or animals may also have served primarily as talismans in the Islamic period. M. Morony has suggested that the popularity of certain kinds of seals, talismans and magical devices in the late Sasanian period reflects a revival of pagan concepts. 77 R. Gyselen has collected information about Sasanian seals that seem to have been used primarily as amulets or talismans. Several of them combine schematic drawings of human figures or animals with illegible inscriptions. 78 75. Kalus, Catalogue des sceaux, nos. I.1.13, I.1.16–17; Kalus, “Gems,” nos. 17–18, pp. 274–75. 76. Wenzel, Ornament and Amulet, no. 79, pp. 30–31, 195, no. 152, pp. 50–51, 208; Content, “Rings,” no. 72, pp. 124, 209. 77. Morony, Iraq, pp. 394, 400, 427–30. 78. R. Gyselen, Sceaux magiques en Iran sassanide (Studia Iranica, Cahier 17; Paris: Association pour l’avancement des études iraniennes, 1996), types 2.2, 2.3, 10.3 and 10.4, pp. 26–29, 52–53.

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Fig. 8. Hematite seal-stone engraved with pseudo-epigraphy, Iran, 10–11th centuries. Metropolitan Museum of Art, Fletcher Fund, 1975 (1975.118).

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Fig. 9. Hematite seal-stone engraved with a lion and scorpion, Iran, 10–11th centuries. Metropolitan Museum of Art, Fletcher Fund, 1975 (1975.118).

Gyselen’s study on magical seals does not include examples of another popular Sasanian seal design that combines a lion, a scorpion, and stars or a crescent moon (fig. 6). 79 Variants of this composition, often combined with unintelligible inscriptions similar to those used on Sasanian magical seals, appear to acquire a talismanic character in the Islamic period. Two cast bronze amulets found at Nishapur by excavators from the Metropolitan Museum of Art have a central field occupied by a lion, a scorpion, and three stars; the central field is surrounded by a pseudo-calligraphic frame (fig. 7). J. Allan has interpreted this composition as a reference to the zodiacal constellations Leo and Scorpio. 80 A closely parallel arrangement occurs on a small metal talisman in the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris. L. Kalus notes that its constituent elements, a six pointed star, a lion, and a scorpion are all well established symbols in the magical vocabulary of the Islamic world. 81 A possible function for such a talisman is suggested by a rock-crystal seal, also in Paris, that is inscribed on both sides. Its text includes magical incantations, a prayer for abundant rain, and words that may read ºaqrab, asad (scorpion, lion) inscribed above the crude drawing of an animal. 82 An unusual prismatic stamp seal of hematite in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, with a gold fitting that facilitates the making of impressions from all four of its sides, provides another context for the combination of lion and scorpion. One side has the incised image of a lion and scorpion, and the other three carry inscriptions. One has an Arabic prayer invoking belief in God, another text is unintelligible and may be an incantation, and the fourth side is inscribed with the names of ºAli, Hasan, and 79. Gyselen, Catalogue des sceaux, p. 46, 48, pls. XIX–XXI. 80. J. W. Allan, Nishapur: Metalwork of the Early Islamic Period (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1982), nos. 61–62, p. 70. 81. Kalus, Catalogue des cachets, no. III.1.35, p. 89, pl. XIV. 82. Kalus, Catalogue des cachets, no. III.2.9, pp. 97–98, pl. XV.

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Husayn (figs. 8–9). 83 The various contexts in which the lion and scorpion appear suggest that this combination played some role in the popular magical lore of Iran that has yet to be defined. There are other indications that during the Islamic period figural seals were believed to have special powers. The author of Kitab al-Hadaya wa al-Tuhaf, written in the late eleventh century, cites examples of magical seals on the authority of his contemporaries. One was a ring stone with the image of a sexually aroused monkey that enhanced the sexual prowess of anyone who wore it. Another anecdote concerns a ring that belonged to al-Yazuri, the Fatimid vizier who held office between 1050 and 1058 under the caliph al-Mustansir. This ring-stone’s power was described to the author by the vizier’s own son, Muhammad, who claimed that alYazuri had a ring with a carnelian ring-stone on which was the image of a scorpion. When the latter was stung by a scorpion he put the ring-stone “on the place of the sting,” which promptly “cooled down.” 84 Various continuities in the use of figural seals do not exhaust the relationship between seals of the Sasanian and Islamic periods. Two very different examples of such connections concern the use of seal impressions to document the payment of the capitation tax from the citizens of each state and the ways in which Muslim rulers collected, reused, or even emulated Sasanian royal seals. The use of seals to document the payment of taxes involved the wearing of seal impressions made of clay, lead, or another durable material suspended on some kind of cord around the neck. This practice may be of Byzantine origin, but it was also used by the Sasanians and subsequently by Muslim administrators in both Egypt and Iraq. The wearing of a seal impression around the neck was often a symbol of servitude or inferior status. 85 Al-Masºudi’s description of the nine seals of Khusraw Parviz includes one, the eighth of nine, engraved with the image of a boar’s head; it was used to make impressions that were worn around the neck “of those condemned to death or accused of capital crimes.” 86 Al-Masºudi seems to equate the image of a boar’s severed head engraved on this seal with the probable fate of those who wore it around their necks, an association that seems rather incongruous for a device generally considered to be a symbol of victory in Sasanian Iran. Leaving aside this problem, the rest of al-Masºudi’s description accords well with other references to the wearing of seal impressions. In the Byzantine Empire, persons required to wear seal impressions around their neck included envoys, whose status was thereby confirmed, and the poor who were eligible for charitable benefits such as food or free use of a public bath. 87 Under Muslim rule, seal impressions were worn as a kind of identification tag by nonMuslims who were members of a protected religious community, such as the Christians or the Jews, in conjunction with their payment of the capitation tax or jizya. This tax was collected at a specified time of year, and after an individual had paid his tax, he was required to wear a lead seal impression around his neck to certify that he had indeed made the required payment. M. Morony documents the use of seal impressions in 7th-century Iraq in conjunction with tax 83. M. Jenkins and M. Keene, Islamic Jewelry in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1982), no. 3f, pp. 19–21, fig. 1. 84. Book of Gifts, pp. 115–16. 85. Morony, Iraq, pp. 112–13. 86. Maçoudi, Les Prairies d’or, pp. 229–30. 87. Oikonomidès, Byzantine Lead Seals, p. 9; Morony, Iraq, p. 113.

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Fig. 10. Seal impression in the name of Amir Muhammad al-Mustansir bi’llah, 240/854, after Karabacek, “Arabische Abtheilung,” p. 177.

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Fig. 11. Seal impression for capitation tax of al-Igharan, 287/900, after Karabacek, “Arabische Abtheilung,” p. 177.

payments by the non-Muslim population. 88 The practice is also known from Egypt, where the jizya was collected from the local Christians. A number of papyri from Egypt after the Islamic conquest document how the Coptic community was taxed and some Egyptian bullae have also survived. Karabacek published drawings of two of them; one has the date of 240/ 854–855 c.e., and the other is dated to 287/900 c.e. (figs. 10–11). 89 In the first case, the seal carries the name of the then governor of Egypt and future caliph Amir Muhammad al-Mustansir bi’llah. In 235/849 when he was designated heir apparent by his father, al-Mutawakkil, al-Mustansir had also been entrusted with the governorship of Egypt and all of the Maghrib. 90 The other one states that for the year 287/900 the person to whom it belonged had paid his annual tax of 12 dirhems, a sum paid by those of modest means. Both impressions appear to have been made by a nearly square stamp seal. As befits the exalted status of its owner, the text of Amir Muhammad al-Mustansir’s seal is more clearly written and designed. It begins in the upper right-hand corner with the basmallah and then moves in a counter-clockwise direction giving his name, which is followed by an illegible phrase. It concludes at the center, with the date 240 written on three lines. This division between central and peripheral texts recalls that of both Abbasid coins and Sasanian official seals discussed above and may strengthen the hypothesis that the design of Muslim official seals shared features with both contemporary coins and Sasanian seals (figs. 1, 10).

88. Morony, Iraq, pp. 113, 175. 89. Karabacek, “Arabische Abtheilung,” pp. 176–77. 90. [Tabari] The History of al-Tabari XXXIV, The Incipient Decline (trans. J. L. Kramer; Albany: State University of New York Press, 1989), pp. 94–104.

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Metal bullae were apparently used by both the Sasanians and the Muslims to protect valuable goods in a residence or palace against theft or pilferage. The practice of sealing storerooms containing valuable possessions is mentioned by Firdawsi. When Isfandiyar invades the palace of Arjasp and kills him, he discovers that the door to the latter’s treasury is unlocked and seals it with his own seal. 91 In his discussion of the building of the Sasanian palace at Ctesiphon/ Madain, Firdawsi mentions the existence of a treasury. Even before the rest of the building had been completed, valuables had been deposited into this room, which was then sealed by the responsible official. 92 According to al-Masºudi, Khusraw II had a special seal that was used to seal the room containing his personal treasury as well as the more general stores of gems, jewelry, and clothing. 93 Neither author identifies the material out of which treasury bullae were formed, but it is probable that they were made of metal. After the defeat of the Sasanian army at Qadisiyya, Muslims seized control of the Sasanian royal palace at Ctesiphon. As its contents were being plundered, the Muslims discovered “domed structures . . . full of baskets sealed with lead. They thought it was food, but it turned out to be gold and silver vessels.” 94 Metal bullae were probably also used in the caliphal palaces of the Abbasids. Several lead bullae now in Paris have inscriptions that include the caliphal title Amir al-Muªminin, although the identity of the caliph in question is not given; some of them have inscriptions on both sides One of the double-sided lead bullae in Paris is inscribed . . . min dar amir al-muªminin (‘. . . from the caliphal residence’). 95 The fact that these impressions are double-sided suggests that they were produced with the aid of a device similar to a boulloterion, an implement resembling a pair of pliers used in Byzantium to hold and impress the lead disks of bullae. 96 Double-sided metal bullae bear a strong resemblance to coins, a link made explicit when seal impressions were struck on gold disks. Such seals known as chrysobulls (golden bullae) were attached to the most important documents and decrees of the Byzantines emperors by means of a red or purple silk cord. Their weight was calculated in monetary units and varied according to the rank of the recipient. According to information given in the tenth-century Book of Ceremonies, letters sent to the Pope in Rome carried chrysobulls equivalent to two gold pieces, whereas some of those sent to the caliphs in Baghdad weighed nine times as much or eighteen gold pieces each. 97 Firdawsi’s narrative of the life of Khusraw II (Parviz) suggests that some of the Sasanians also used golden seals. After he was restored to his throne through the support of the Byzantine emperor, Khusraw composed letters of appointment for members of the Sasanian nobility, granting them various positions. Those sent to the most important provincial governors carried muhr-i zarrin (golden-seals). 98 Firdawsi’s comments may be anachronistic and he may be describing contemporary Muslim practice, but given Khusraw’s close ties with the Byzantine court, it is possible that Firdawsi is correct in suggesting that the latter used golden seals. Some Muslim rulers are documented to have used golden seals. One of them was the Mughal emperor Jahangir (r. 1605–1625), who describes the process: 91. Abou’l Kasim Firdousi, Le Livre des rois IV, pp. 544–45. 92. Firdousi, Le Livre des rois VII, pp. 322–23. 93. Maçoudi, Les Prairies d’or, p. 229 94. Book of Gifts, p. 168. 95. Kalus, Catalogue des cachets, no. II.2.1–4, pp. 60–61; pl. IX. 96. Oikonomidès, Byzantine Lead Seals, p. 4. 97. Oikonomidès, Byzantine Lead Seals, p. 6. 98. Firdousi, Le Livre des rois VI, lines 2223–2228, pp. 188–89.

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Whenever our fathers, and forefathers awarded anyone a jagir as a possession, they had a decree sealed with the al-tamgha, which consists of a seal stamped in vermillion red. I ordered the place of the seal covered in gold and then stamped with the seal, which I then called the altun tamgha [the golden seal]. 99 Firdawsi does not describe the design of the seal or seal-ring used by Khusraw on his diplomas of appointment, but it may have resembled the one that al-Masºudi places first in his description of that ruler’s nine seals and their associated rings; it bore both the king’s portrait and his titles. This seal stone was cut from a ruby and it was set into a ring carved from a diamond. 100 A. D. H. Bivar suggested some years ago that such a ring was more likely to have been carved from rock crystal than from a diamond. 101 A rock crystal ring in the Khalili collection set with a red-glass seal confirms the existence of rings similar to those described by al-Masºudi. The Khalili ring has been dated between the fourth and sixth centuries. 102 Such a date seems appropriate, because its ring stone has a Pahlavi inscription and an incised design of two lions attacking a quadruped, but the ring’s shank resembles examples attributed to the fifteenth and later centuries. 103 This combination suggests that the Khalili ring combines a pre-Islamic ring stone with a much later ring. The continued popularity of hololithic rings cut from gems is indicated by the fact that Mughal emperor Jahangir was given a ring entirely carved from a single ruby “of good color and brilliance.” 104 Parallels between later rings and the Sasanian examples described by Muslim authors may be fortuitous, but the collecting and reuse of earlier gems and seals by the Abbasid caliphs in Baghdad appears to have been part of a deliberate effort to revive aspects of Sasanian court practice. Many of the descriptions of Sasanian gems in Muslim sources extol the beauty of their deep red stones, usually identified as yaqut ahmar (red corundums) or rubies. For example, in his description of the seals used by the Sasanian ruler Khusraw I, al-Masºudi stresses the appearance of the red stones from which some of them were cut, saying that they had a fiery glow. 105 The appeal of such stones for the Sasanians may have had a religious dimension and have been linked in some fashion to their reverence for fire. Whatever associations rubies may have had for the Sasanians, deep red stones were also much appreciated in the Islamic period. The Abbasid caliphs were so fond of some of their “rubies” that they gave them individual names. The Book of Gifts and Rarities contains an anecdote about a luminous red stone owned by the Abbasid caliph al-Mansur (r. 754–775). One night, the ring into which it was set fell off his finger and could not be found. Then the caliph: ordered his slave boys to extinguish the candles, and when the road was in utter darkness, the stone shone like fire, and he picked it up. 106

99. [ Jahangir], The Jahangirnama: Memoirs of Jahangir, Emperor of India (ed., trans., ann. by Wheeler M. Thackston; Washington, D.C.: Freer Gallery of Art, 1999), p. 32. 100. Maçoudi, Les Prairies d’or, p. 228. 101. A. D. H. Bivar, Catalogue of the Western Asiatic Seals, p. 330. 102. Wenzel, Ornament and Amulet, no. 9, pp. 18, 184. 103. Content, “Rings,” nos.70–72, pp. 121–24. 104. The Jahangirnama, p. 89. 105. Maçoudi, Les Prairies d’or, p. 204. 106. Book of Gifts, p. 182.

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Fig. 12. Medallion of al-Mutawakkil and al-Muºtazz, Samarra, obverse, 241/855-6. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Bundessammlung von Medaillen, Münzen und Geldzeichen.

Fig. 13. Medallion of al-Mutawakkil and al-Muºtazz, Samarra, reverse, 241/855-6. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Bundessammlung von Medaillen, Münzen und Geldzeichen.

The best documented of the Abbasid red gemstones was known as al-jabal (‘the mountain’), a name derived from its humped shape. It is described as a seal formerly used by several of the Sasanians. 107 Its shape suggests that it was a stamp seal comparable to the conoid or elipsoid seals made from less valuable materials that still survive. 108 The history of this gem recorded in the Book of Gifts and Rarities is somewhat contradictory, but al-jabal was apparently purchased by the caliph al-Mahdi (r. 775–785), who bequeathed it to his son, Harun al-Rashid (r. 786– 809). After the latter’s death, it remained in the Abbasid treasury until the time of al-Mutawakkil (r. 847–861), who had its sides abraded until it was reduced to a squared gemstone. One of his successors, Ahmad al-Mustaºin (r. 862–866), carved his name into al-jabal, an act that was considered to be a bad omen and one that lowered the gem’s value. 109 Al-Masºudi corroborates this account, noting that al-Mustaºin used al-jabal as his ring-stone and that it carried the legend Ahmad b. Muhammad. 110 Al-Masºudi also claims that he had compiled “a long and interesting account” of this gem in a discussion of “the seals of the Persian kings” in a now lost historical work. 111 There was clearly an aesthetic dimension to the Abbasid fondness for deep red stones, but it also appears that the association of al-jabal with the Sasanians enhanced its prestige. Although al-Mustaºin does not seem to have modeled the design of his personal seal on those of the Sasanians, it may be that other members of his family did commission objects that replicated features of Sasanian royal seals. In practice as well as in theory, seals were one of the symbols of a ruler’s power recognized by the Muslims, so that seals believed to be of Sasanian origin should have carried with them that dynasty’s prestige. 107. Book of Gifts, p. 184. 108. Splendeur des Sassanides, no. 165, pp. 292–93. 109. Book of Gifts, pp. 183–85. 110. Al-Masûdî, Kitâb at-Tanbîh, p. 364:9–10. 111. Masºudi, The Meadows of Gold: The Abbasids (ed. and trans. P. Lunde and C. Stone; London: Kegan Paul, 1989), p. 295.

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Fig. 14. Impression with a frontal male portrait, seal impression D. 101, Qasr-i Abu Nasr, after Frye, Seals, Sealings and Coins.

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Fig. 15. Impression with a striding camel, from seal of Mahbukht, the priest, Qasr-i Abu Nasr, D. 221, after Frye, Seals, Sealings and Coins.

One of the Sasanian practices revived under the Abbasids was the striking of presentation coins that were distributed in specially prepared bags as gifts on festive occasions. They can be distinguished from normal coins by their eccentric designs and by the fact that they were struck in palaces rather than at the customary mints. 112 Some are purely epigraphic, but others employ an eclectic variety of figural elements that have defied efforts at their explication. One struck for the caliph al-Mutawakkil (r. 847–861) and another produced for al-Muqtadir bi’llah (r. 908–929), although different from one another, have in common the circumstance that some of their features have parallels among Sasanian seals. The medal of al-Mutawakkil carries two images, and each side has a marginal text. The obverse bears the frontal face of bearded man with an elaborately patterned beard; its marginal text contains the caliph’s name (fig. 12). The reverse shows a walking camel led by an attendant, and its margin bears the name of the caliph’s son, al-Muºtazz, along with the date 241/855 (fig. 13). Al-Muqtadir’s medal has a horseman on the reverse and a kneeling hump-backed bull on the obverse; the caliph’s name appears in the upper margin of each side (figs. 16–17). 113 The striking of such figural medals by the Abbasid caliphs stands in curious contrast to the epigraphic character of the dynasty’s coinage. One possible explanation for this deviation is that these medals that were distributed at court were thought to replicate examples produced for the Sasanians. Al-Mutawakkil, in particular, was noted for his revival of Sasanian customs. 114 The aspect of al-Mutawakkil’s medal that 112. L. Ilisch, “Münzgeschenke und Geschenkmünzen in der mittelalterlichen islamischen Welt,” Münstersche numismatische Zeitung 14 no. 3 (1984), pp. 15–16. 113. J. Sourdel-Thomine and B. Spuler (eds.), Die Kunst des Islam (Propyläen Kunstgeschichte 4; Berlin: Propyläen Verlag, 1973), p. 240, pls. 154d, e; 155d, e. 114. Illisch, “Münzgeschenke und Geschenkmünzen,” pp. 16–17.

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Fig. 16. Medallion of al-Muqtadir, Baghdad, 908–932 c.e., obverse. Ashmolean Museum, Oxford.

Fig. 17. Medallion of al-Muqtadir, Baghdad, 908–932 c.e., reverse. Ashmolean Museum, Oxford.

has the clearest link to the Sasanian period is the frontal portrait of a bearded man on its obverse mentioned above. His stylized visage and the abstract patterning of his garment recall some seal portaits, including one excavated at Qasr-i Abu Nasr (figs. 12, 14). 115 The seal impression and the medal both show figures with flat visages that are reduced to geometric shapes. All wear similar caps with beaded rims. Both the medal and the seal impression have a marginal text. The walking camel of the coin’s reverse is a design commonly found on Sasanian seals and this scheme too appears among the impressions from Qasr-i Abu Nasr. 116 The rendering of a camel on the medal of Mutawakkil is particularly close to that found on the seal of a priest named Mahbukht that also has a marginal inscription (figs. 13, 15). 117 Sasanian seals, however, depict a solitary camel, and the figure of the walking groom appears to be an Abbasid innovation. In the case of the medal of al-Muqtadir, it is the reverse with its hump-backed bull that is most reminiscent of Sasanian seals. Most such seals show a standing bull, but some, including several in Paris collections, are depicted in a kneeling posture similar to that shown on alMuqtadir’s medal (figs. 17–18). 118 Horsemen on striding horses such as on al-Muqtadir’s medal (fig. 16) are infrequently found in Sasanian seals, but the horseback ruler is a familiar theme in other types of Sasanian art, including metal vessels and rock-cut reliefs. 119 Although neither of these medals is an exact copy of an existing Sasanian seal or seal-impression, the fact that the caliphs for whom they were made also reused Sasanian seal stones in their rings demonstrates their interest in this medium. Toward the end of his life in 245/859–60, al-Mutawakkil decided to build a new palace at Mahuza, north of Samarra, on a site formerly occupied by a palace of Khusraw II (Parviz). He moved to this palace, known as al-Jaºfariyyah, at the beginning of the following year, 246/861. 120 115. Frye, Seals, Sealings and Coins, no. D. 101, pp. 97, 112. 116. Gyselen, Catalogue des sceaux, pls. XXI–XXII; Frye, Seals, Sealings, and Coins, D. 155, D. 221, D. 286, D. 356. 117. Frye, Seals, Sealings and Coins, D. 221, pp. 63, 110, 117. 118. Gyselen, Catalogue des sceaux, pl. XXV. 119. Gyselen, Catalogue des sceaux, pl. III no. 10.C.5. 120. [Tabari] The History, vol. XXXIV, pp. 154–56, 168.

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Fig. 18. Impression of a seal with kneeling bull, inscribed “Reliance on the Gods.” Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, 1972.317.40, Gift of H. Seyrig.

At this point, the convergence between his life and that of the Sasanian ruler took a sinister turn. Shortly after moving to his new palace, al-Mutawakkil was assassinated by some of his retainers, with the complicity of his son, al-Mustansir, whom he had threatened to disinherit. 121 Al-Masºudi summarizes this final convergence between the lives of the Muslim and Sasanian rulers: Mutawakkil was assassinated in the very place where Shirawaih killed his father Chosroe Parviz, and it was known as Mahuza. 122 The story of al-Mutawakkil’s palace suggests the ways in which Sasanian precedents were present in the minds of his contemporaries. Such associations do not explain the design of the curious medals distributed at the Abbasid court, but they do open the possibility that their designs were intended to “look” Sasanian. This essay provides a glimpse of connections between the use and manufacture of seals in the Sasanian and Islamic periods. Despite major changes in the religious climate and new concepts of personal piety brought by the advent of Islam, other factors made the transition between these epochs gradual and evolutionary. Seals also reveal links between the two eras in the sphere of popular culture, even if the beliefs in question are difficult to define with precision. The study of seals also provides insight into efforts by the Abbasid caliphs to incorporate aspects of Sasanian court practice into their personal lives. Further examination, publication, and analysis of seals from the first Islamic centuries has the potential of adding substantially to our knowledge of a period from which few dated or localized objects survive. A more extensive comparison of seals and seal impressions from the late Sasanian and early Islamic periods would probably provide new insights into this important cultural transition; and the compilation of additional textual references to seals and seal impressions from medieval Islamic texts should provide more information about the circumstances in which seals were made and used. 121. [Tabari] The History, vol. XXXIV, pp. 172–84. 122. Masºudi, Meadows of Gold, p. 268.

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Ancient Egyptomania: The Uses of Egypt in Graeco-Roman Alexandria Marjorie Susan Venit

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The unlikely combination of Donald Hansen’s unrestrained delight in opera and unfettered enjoyment of Mediterranean crustaceans provides the rationale for this contribution to his Festschrift. Cleopatra, Aida, The Magic Flute, and his weekly junkets from Taposiris to feast on Alexandrian shrimp are my apologia for bestowing this article on Egyptomania upon him. Egyptomania, as defined by Jean-Marcel Humbert 1 is the reuse and reinterpretation of images or ornament of pharaonic Egypt, but Egyptomania is only one of three expressions of western response to Egypt that Humbert isolates. Second is Egyptophilia, which signifies a love for Egypt and all things Egyptian, an appreciation endorsed by both collectors, such as Dominique Vivant Denon, and artist-travelers, such as David Roberts. The third response is Orientalism and Exoticism, which reconfigures the landscape or peoples of modern Egypt to fulfill a western agenda. I remain unpersuaded by Humbert’s classification, but it is with the category of Orientalism that I take greatest issue, because the paradigm of a foreign culture that constructs an “Egyptian” model and then uses this model as definitional can also be applied to the construction and usurpation of Egyptian antiquity by the West. An advertisement for a brand of cigarettes called Egyptian Deities found in an American magazine about 1902 (fig. 1) provides a good illustration: the seductive image of a bare-breasted female “Egyptian deity” (with plain or cork tips incised into the blocks of the naos beneath the footstool of the goddess!) behaves purely as Orientalist, even though it eroticizes Egypt’s ancient past rather than its present. Concurrently, since the advertisement re-employs ancient Egyptian motifs, it is also (were we to retain Humbert’s distinctions) Egyptomania. The divisions proposed by Humbert assume a greater mutability than he credits, and therefore I am taking Egyptomania to mean simply the use of Egyptian antiquity, whether it is by replication (like David Roberts’s lithographs and works of others like him) or appreciation (as collectors like Denon) or adaptation,

Author’s note : I should like to express my warmest thanks to Caroline Houser for reading and commenting on an early draft of this article, although I take full responsibility for the ideas and opinions expressed. 1. J.-M. Humbert, L’Égyptomanie dans l’art occidental (Paris: ACR Édition, 1989), pp. 21–26; esp. p. 21.

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Fig. 1. Advertisement for Egyptian Deities cigarettes (Collection of the author; Photo: author).

since in all cases the agent using Egypt is far removed either culturally or temporally (or both) from the Egypt it is using. In the modern era, the West used ancient Egypt as soon as it made its acquaintance, and it first met Egypt in Rome. Artists in Raphael’s studio who decorated a ceiling in the Stanza dell’Incendio di Borgo in the Vatican in the early sixteenth century 2 had not seen Egypt, but they had seen Egyptian and Egyptianizing sculpture found at Hadrian’s villa at Tivoli and elsewhere, 3 and their painting replicates a statue of Hadrian’s lover Antinous that originally had 2. See N. Neuerburg, “Raphael at Tivoli and the Villa Madama,” in L. F Sandler (ed.), Essays in Memory of Karl Lehmann (New York: Institute of Fine Arts, New York University, 1964), p. 228 and figs. 1 (statue) and 2 (painting). For the sources of modern Egyptomania I have relied heavily on J.-M. Humbert, L’Égyptomanie dans l’art occidental; J.-M. Humbert et al., Egyptomania: Egypt in Western Art, 1730– 1930 (Ottawa: National Gallery of Canada, 1994); and R. G. Carrott, The Egyptian Revival: Its Sources, Monuments, and Meaning (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978). 3. A. Roullet, Egyptian and Egyptianizing Monuments of Imperial Rome (Leiden: EPRO, vol. 20, 1972). See also O. Lollio Barberi, G. Parola, and M. P. Toti, La antichità egiziane di Roma imperiale (Rome: Istituto

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been sculpted in the Hadrianic period. 4 For the western world, Egypt had four great lures. First was religion. Egypt was an accessible country that figured importantly in both the Hebrew and the Christian Bibles: after all, both baby Moses and baby Jesus were known to have sojourned there. And Egypt’s own religion was seen at once as mysterious—something revealed only to initiates—and as offering a blessed afterlife, a combination of exclusivity and salvation hard to beat. Second, it was old: it was Antiquity. Third, its antique monuments were colossal and when they weren’t, they were sumptuous. And fourth, the myth of Cleopatra held powerful romantic sway. When Egypt was opened to the West, primarily through the efforts of Denon after Napoleon’s military campaign at the close of the eighteenth century, 5 the already-known vistas of Egypt became even more familiar, so they could be applied by artists as metaphor. 6 Burgeoning conversance with Egypt and the heightened perception (in lieu, perhaps, of judicious understanding) that familiarity generated encouraged the West to use elements of Egyptian funerary architecture to fashion funerary architecture of its own, creating an eschatological visual syncretism supporting modern concepts of redemption and resurrection and using architectural shorthand to bridge the gap. 7 As acquaintance with ancient Egypt deepened, Egyptian poligrafico e Zecca dello Stato, Libreria dello Stato, 1995). The painting by the workshop of Raphael was inspired by one of the telemones of Antinous as pharaoh (Rome, Vatican, Sala della Croce Greca; see, for example, G. Lippold, Die Skulpturen des vaticanischen Museums III1 [Berlin and Leipzig: Walter de Gruyter, 1936], pp. 151–53 and pl. 50). 4. For the history of the excavations, see H. Winnefeld, Die Villa das Hadrian bei Tivoli (Berlin: G. Reimer, 1895), pp. 150–68; P. Gusman, La Villa impériale de Tibur (villa Hadriana) (Paris: A. Fontemoing,1904), pp. 190–321; S. Aurigemma, Villa Adriana (Rome: Istituto poligrafico e Zecca dello Stato, Libreria dello Stato, 1996), passim. 5. Denon is probably the single most influential person in the development of modern Egyptomania. He was an artist and a collector of antiquities, who had already spent ten years in Italy adding to his collection before Napoleon’s campaign. A friend of Napoleon’s Josephine, he convinced Napoleon to permit him to accompany the military expedition to Egypt in 1798. Upon his return to France, Denon published an illustrated book that was an immediate and resounding success that described his travels to both upper and lower Egypt during the failed campaign. After the publication of his book, he was appointed director of the Central Museum of the Arts, and he became something of a quasi-dictator of taste, influencing the production of the Sevres porcelain factory, the Gobelin tapestry factory, and other industries, and initiating a tremendous surge of Egyptomania. 6. For example, the American Elihu Vedder in his two paintings of The Questioner of the Sphinx (Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 06.2430 and Worcester Art Museum, Massachusetts; Perceptions and Evocations: The Art of Elihu Vedder [Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1979], p. 60, fig. 50 and p. 61, fig. 51) and the French painter Gustave Doré in The Enigma (Paris, Musée d’Orsay R.F. 1982.68; Gustav Doré, peintre et sculpteur [Paris: J. Damase, ca. 1979], pp. 61; 62–63). Both artists substitute for the Greek Theban sphinx, who questioned Oedipus, an Egyptian sphinx coifed with nemes-headdress and both reverse the theme, cajoling the sphinx to be queried by its protagonist and relying on their viewers’ knowledge of both Greek myth and Egyptian archaeology to appreciate the multiple allusions. 7. Examples abound; see, for example, the eighteenth-century pyramid-shaped mausoleum of the bishop Armand de Montmorin in the church of Saint-Maurice in Vienne, France (Humbert, L’Égyptomanie dans l’art occidental, p. 35); the late eighteenth-century pyramid-shaped mausoleum of the count and countess of Buckinghamshire in Norfolk, England (Humbert, L’Égyptomanie dans l’art occidental, p. 37); the nineteenth-century tombs in Père Lachaise cemetery in Paris (Humbert, L’Égyptomanie dans l’art occidental, p. 47); the obelisk and gateway with its cavetto capital and winged sun-disk at Mount Auburn cemetery in Boston (Humbert, L’Égyptomanie dans l’art occidental, p. 64); the pylon and columned gateway to the Grove Street Cemetery in New Haven inscribed on the lintel “The dead shall be

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Fig. 2. John Marshall’s Temple Mills, Holbeck, Leeds, England, designed by Ignatius Bonomi; built between 1838–41 (Photo: Anne Midgley; Courtesy of Anne Midgley).

religious architecture and other motifs could be used metaphorically to fashion arcane allusions that demonstrated subtle intellectual elitism and concurrently broadened the reception of Egypt. John Marshall’s nineteenth-century mill in Holbeck, Leeds, England for spinning flax (fig. 2) that invokes the Typhonium at Denderah, for example, is intended to evoke the agricultural bounty of an Egypt that not only acted as a major breadbasket for Rome in the first centuries of our era but that also supplied flax for linseed oil and linen. 8 The metaphor most frequently enkindled, however, was one of opulence and luxury, of exoticism and foreignness. The 1922 discovery of Tutankhamen’s tomb again focused attention on Egypt and engendered a significant sub-genre of Art Deco that incorporated figural elements and ornament from Egypt into its decorative vocabulary. 9 Thus was the allure of Egypt and of Cleopatra who exemplified it—the strange, the exotic, the romantic, the seductive, the remote, the alien, and the curious. In Graeco-Roman antiquity, the uses of Egypt were much the same: Greeks and Romans were awed by Egypt’s antiquity, fascinated by the curious religion of the country, and impressed by the grandeur of its monuments; and Roman generals were certainly mesmerized by raised” (Carrott, The Egyptian Revival, pl. 71); and the gateway to the Old Burying Ground in Farmington, Connecticut syncretically inscribed “Momento mori” (Carrott, The Egyptian Revival, pl. 73). 8. See Carrott, The Egyptian Revival, p. 35 and pls. 17 and 19. Carrott discounts any meaning based on the association of flax and linen with Egypt. 9. The response of material culture to the discovery of Tutankamen’s tomb is too vast to be summarized. Even before the tomb’s discovery, however, Art Nouveau employed Egyptian motifs in its decorative vocabulary, the Egyptian use of natural form fitting the Art Nouveau aesthetic.

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Cleopatra. Homer agreed that his heroes had known Egypt at the time of the Trojan war, 10 and the Bronze Age Aegean’s familiarity with Egypt is confirmed by excavated pottery and by the frescoes of Minoan subjects in Minoan style recently excavated at Tel el Dabºa. 11 Later, Greeks of the historical period visited Egypt as mercenaries, sightseers, and entrepreneurs at least as early as the seventh century b.c.e., and Greeks used Egyptian models as instruction for their earliest large-scale sculpture, although they changed aspects of Egyptian form and iconography to fit needs of their own. 12 Finds from Samos, Miletos, and elsewhere 13 and the technique of faience, probably introduced from Egypt, 14 also document this interchange. Egyptian religion penetrated Greece, as well; at least by the fourth century b.c.e. and perhaps as early as the late fifth, 15 the Egyptian deity Isis had a temple in the Piraeus, the port of Athens. In the early fifth century, Herodotus was so captivated by Egypt that he devoted most of Book II of his History to the country, using Egypt as a foil to clarify Greek identity. Somewhat earlier, Attic vase painters achieved the same objective. With a modern Orientalist indifference to geographical specificity, the Athenian vase painter Exekias twitted the potter Amasis (who had the same name as the reigning Egyptian pharaoh) by twice labeling one of the Ethiopian companions of the hero Memnon with the name of his business rival. 16 A half century later, in the 470s, the Pan Painter—in a scene in which priests of the mythical Egyptian pharaoh Busiris, needing to find a stranger to sacrifice, unfortunately for them find Herakles and get batted about for their pains—shows Herakles manhandling Egyptian priests, shavenheaded as they were, dressed in white linen garments as they also were, and circumcised (and he goes to great lengths to show this) as they also were (fig. 3). 17 10. See Odyssey 4.355–59, in which Menelaos puts into the harbor near Pharos Island. 11. For Tel el-Dabºa see, for example, N. Marinatos, “The Tell el-Dabºa Paintings: A Study in Pictorial Tradition,” Ägypten und Levant 8 (1998), pp. 83–99; M. Bietak and N. Marinatos, “The Minoan Wall Paintings from Avaris, Ägypten und Levant 5 (1995), pp. 49–62; for Egypt in Crete see, for example, S. Hiller, “Zur Rezeption Ägyptischer Motive in der Minoischen Freskenkunst,” Ägypten und Levant 6 (1996), pp. 85–105. 12. See, for example, Diodorus Siculus (1.98.5–9) explaining how two East Greek sculptors made a statue in “an Egyptian manner”; see also E. Iverson, “The Egyptian Origin of the Archaic Greek Canon,” MittKairo 15 (1957), pp. 134–47; E. Guralnick, “Profiles of Korai,” AJA 86 (1982), pp. 173–82. 13. For Samos see, for example, U. Jantsen, Ägyptische und orientalische Bronzen aus dem Heraion von Samos (Samos VIII) (Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1972), pp. 5–37 and pls. 1–36; J. ‡liwa, “Egyptian Bronzes from Samos in the Staatliche Museen (Antike-Sammlung) in Berlin,” Études et Travaux 13 (1983), pp. 379–92; for Miletos, see G. Hölbl, “Funde aus Milet: VIII. Die Aegyptiaca vom Aphroditetempel auf dem Zeytintepe,” ArchAnz (1999) pp. 345–71 (and notes on p. 345 for bibliography for Egyptian finds in other cities of the west coast of Anatolia). For other Greek sites see R. B. Brown, “A Provisional Catalogue and Commentary on Egyptian and Egyptianizing Objects Found on Greek Sites” (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Minnesota, 1975). 14. See V. Webb, Archaic Greek Faience (Warminster: Aris & Phillips Ltd., 1978), pp. 9–10. 15. IG II2 337, dated 333/2, permits the establishment of a sanctuary in the Piraeus by the Kitians “just as the Egyptians have founded a shrine to Isis.” W. Judeich, Topographie von Athen (Munich: Beck, 1931), p. 454 conjectures that the cult goes back to the end of the fifth century, citing Aristophanes Birds 1296 (in which Lycurgus is called an ibis) and the scholiast to that line. 16. London 1849.5–18.10 (B 209), type A amphora, side B, ABV p.144, no. 8 (CVA 4 [Great Britain 5], pl. 49, 1a); Philadelphia MS 3442, type A amphora, side B, ABV p. 145, no. 14 ( J. D. Beazley, Development of Attic Vase Painting [2d ed.; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986], pl. 69, 1). 17. Athens NM 9683, pelike by the Pan Painter, ARV 2 p. 554, no. 82; J. Boardman, Athenian RedFigured Vases. The Archaic Period (London: Thames and Hudson, 1975), fig. 336.

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Fig. 3. Athens National Museum 9683, a pelike by the Pan Painter depicting Herakles and the priests of Busiris (Courtesy of the Athens National Museum).

In contrast to Greece, Rome found Egypt at a very different time and in very different circumstances. From their earliest contact with Egypt, Greeks had been there as friends: as merchants, allies, students, liberators, and then finally as a curious mix of liberator/conqueror. Rome really had only one role vis-à-vis Egypt (if we exclude Roman generals’ recurring entanglements with Egypt’s queen Cleopatra), that is, as conqueror. Yet, like Greece, it had a multivalent relationship with Egypt. As in Greece, Egyptian religion entered Rome particularly in the form of the cult of the Egyptian Isis, although her worship was regularly forbidden by the Roman state. But despite official censure, Isis was attractive to the Romans because she promised salvation. Unlike the Pan Painter who had no easy model for his Egyptian priests in Athens of the 470s, Romans knew them at first hand, for Egyptians came with their cult as priests of Isis. Thus, as expected, in Roman paintings, Isiac priests are shown correctly bald and clothed in white linen garments

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as they minister to the requirements of the cult. 18 Romans, at least the cognoscenti, knew Egypt with some intimacy; and Romans, among whom was Caius Cestius 19 whose pyramid still stands near the Porta Ostiensis, metaphorically expressed their stake in personal salvation by adopting Egypt’s most ancient mortuary architecture as their own. The religion of Egypt attracted Rome, but Rome was taken, too, by Egypt’s exoticism. Surely not every wall-painting with an Apis bull reflects a household’s devotion to an Egyptian cult, nor does every wall-painting of an Egyptian vista reference the political import of the expanding Roman empire. 20 Hadrian usurped the iconography of pharaoh for statues that honored his drowned lover Antinous and, just as modern travelers carry back mementos of the fabled land, he built a fantasy Canopus as a reminiscence of his Egyptian journey. The Palestrina Mosaic 21 that decorated the floor of an apsidal room in the Temple of Fortuna at Praeneste may have had its formal genesis in illustrated maps that were carried in Roman victory parades, but the extraordinary animals that animate its Nilotic scene focus attention on the peculiar fauna of the region. In Italy, Egypt was exotic and foreign, and the incorporation of Egyptian elements showed sophisticated taste. The use of Egypt in Graeco-Roman Alexandria, however, educes more complex issues than the use of Egypt either in the modern period or in Rome proper or in mainland Greece, although there are certainly parallels to be found. Alexandria, poised at the very edge of Egypt, was in Egypt, but it was not of Egypt. In antiquity it was called Alexandria ad Aegyptum: Alexandria by or near Egypt, and its distance from Egypt can be measured by the title of its Roman prefect: “praefectorus Alexandreae et Aegypti.” From its foundation by Alexander the Great in 331 b.c.e., Alexandria was conceived as a Greek city. It was laid out on a Hippodamian plan with broad streets and avenues 22 and constitutionally fashioned on a Greek polis, endowed with a Greek system of government employing Greek legislative and judicial machinery. 23 Alexandria’s population came from all over the Greek world and comprised also Macedonians, Syrians, Gauls, Jews, some leftover Persians, and other peoples from Asia Minor as well as Egyptians. Yet despite its cosmopolitan polyglot nature, Alexandria remained aggressively Greek, and brilliantly optimizing this ambition, Alexandria emerged as the cultural center of the Hellenistic world. Alexandria became, in the voice of Constantine Cafavy, “most eminent of all Greek cities.” Strangers in a strange land, the Macedonian rulers had to accommodate themselves to some extent to the native population, and statues of Macedonian kings and queens often took 18. See, for example, Naples, Archaeological Museum 8924, R. Ling, Roman Painting (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), p. 162, fig. 174. 19. For the C. Cestius pyramid and other pyramid- and pyramidal-shaped tombs in the Roman world, see H. von Hesberg, Römische Grabbauten (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1992), pp. 116–21. 20. As, for example, can be argued for the vistas in the yellow frieze of Livia’s villa on the Palatine (R. Bianchi-Bandinelli, Rome: Center of Power: 500 b.c. to a.d. 200 [New York: Gorge Braziller, 1970], p. 131, fig. 136). Compare Naples NM bowl with an Apis bull on a platform in an Egyptianizing naos flanked by two Egyptianizing figures (Bianchi-Bandinelli, p. 203, fig. 218). 21. P. Meyboom, The Nile Mosaic of Palestrina: Early Evidence of Egyptian Religion in Italy (Religions in the Graeco-Roman World [formerly EPRO], vol. 121; Leiden: Brill, 1995). 22. Strabo 17.1.8. 23. See, for example, M. el ºAbbadi, “The Problem of the Council of Alexandria: Can a Solution be Found?” BSAA 45 (1993) (Festschrift in Memoriam Daoud abdu Daoud), pp. 1–6, esp. 1; P. M. Fraser, Ptolemaic Alexandria I (Oxford: University Press, 1972), pp. 93–131.

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Egyptian form, although these Egyptianizing statues are rarely found in Alexandria itself. 24 Outside Alexandria in the chora, the Macedonian overlords constructed temples to Egyptian gods in Egyptian style and had themselves depicted in Egyptian style incorporating Egyptian iconographical motifs and, after Octavian conquered Egypt and made it part of the Roman Empire, Roman rulers followed the same tradition. 25 During the period of Roman rule, tombs in the chora embrace a “double style” of representation, first distinguished by L. Castiglione. 26 The deceased person, depicted in Graeco-Roman style, is set among Egyptian deities portrayed in an Egyptianizing manner, which Castiglione proposed was intended to denote two realms, the one “the real” and the other “the spiritual.” But this dual style, in the specific sense in which Castiglione articulates it, is a model rarely followed in the mortuary monuments of Alexandria. 27 Alexandria retained its Classical patina, but it too embraced Egyptomania. Heirlooms usurped from pharaonic temples were set up specifically because they were Egyptian and because they were rare and they were old. The Ptolemies brought in statues from the Delta, 28 and in 12 b.c.e. Augustus transported to Alexandria two obelisks first erected by Tutmosis III and later usurped by Rameses II that have become known as Cleopatra’s Needles. 29 These monu24. Adding to the relatively small number of Egyptianizing statues from Alexandria are two more in Egyptianizing form and costume—one of Ptolemy II, the other of his wife Arsinoe II—that recently emerged from the sea near the site of the Pharos. See J.-Y. Empereur, “Travaux récents dans la capitale Ptolémées,” in J. Leclant (ed.), Alexandrie: une mégapole cosmopolite: actes du 9ème colloque les 2 et 3 octobre 1998 (Cahiers de la villa “Kérylos” 9) (Paris: Paillart for the Académie des inscriptions et belles lettres, 1999), pp. 25–39, esp. p. 27 and fig. 4, p. 28. 25. See temples at Dendera, Edfu, Esna, Philae, Kalabshah, etc. See, for example, F. Daumas in C. Aldred et al., L’Égypte du crépusule: De Tanis à Meroé 1070 av. J.C. – IVe siècle apr. J.C. (Paris: Gallimard, 1980), pp. 30–67. 26. L. Castiglione, “Dualité du style dans l’art sépulcral égyptien à l’époque romaine,” Acta Antiqua 9 (1961), pp. 209–30. The greatest number of these examples are found among the stelai from Kom abou Bellou (see, for example, S. A. A. El-Nassery and G. Wagner, “Nouvelles Stèles de Kom abu Bellou,” BIFAO 78 (1978), pp. 231–58, pl. LXXI.7, LXXVI.27 and 28, LXXIX.38, etc.; a further example not mentioned by Castiglione is from the Tomb of Petosiris at Dachla Oasis ( J. Osing, “Die Gräber des Petubastis und Petosiris,” in J. Osing et al. (eds.), Denkmäler der Oase Dachla aus dem Nachlas von Ahmed Fakry (Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern, 1982), pp. 71–95, esp. pl. 32a. 27. The few Alexandrian monuments that show the schema set out by Castiglione are stelai or loculus closing slabs. See, for example, Alexandria inv. 3215 (P. Pensabene, “Lastre di chiusura di loculi con naiskoi egizi e stele funerarie con ritratto del Museo di Alessandria,” in N. Bonacasa and A. Di Vita (eds.), Alessandria e il Mondo Ellenistico-Romano: Studi in onore di Achille Adriani I [Rome: “L’Erma,” 1983], p. 95 and pl. XI, 2). 28. See, for example, J.-Y. Empereur, Alexandria Rediscovered (New York: George Braziller, 1998), pp. 75 and 79 for an obelisk of Seti I; p. 71 for a sphinx from the period of Psammetichus. The spolia found in the current underwater excavations generate many problems especially concerning the date of their removal to Alexandria. For a thoughtful summary of the problem, see J. Yoyotte, “Pharaonica,” in F. Goddio and A. Bernard, Alexandria: The Submerged Royal Quarters (London: Periplus, 1998), pp. 199–219. 29. Mohammed Ali, the early nineteenth-century liberator and khedive of Egypt, gave one of “Cleopatra’s Needles” to the British nation in 1819, which the British nation was reluctant to accept, not for moral reasons, but for the problem of its transportation (see ILN March 10, 1877) and, given the disaster that befell its sea voyage to London, they were probably right. It was abandoned during a storm in the Bay of Biscay on October 14, 1877, at the cost of human life. Recovered two years later, it was erected on the banks of the Thames. The other obelisk was given to the City of New York at the opening

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ments manifested a continuity with the past that signaled the legitimacy of the Macedonian and Roman reigns viewed in Egyptian terms. Humbert would probably term this use of Egyptian objects “Egyptophilia” rather than “Egyptomania,” but the appropriation of Egyptian statues by the Macedonian and Roman rulers and their arrogation of Egyptian style do not really speak to a love of Egypt but, instead, to a calculated use of Egypt. The re-erection of these monuments echos the antiquarianism of the Pan Painter, but with a political rather than a social agenda. This use of Egypt, although effected through rehabilitation, is as consciously Egyptomaniacal as is the appropriation of Egyptian motifs in the nineteenth or twentieth centuries. Yet the city’s intimate familiarity with the Egypt it appropriated permitted Alexandria more often to adapt Egyptian style and subject than to replicate it; it refashioned Egypt to serve Alexandrian aims. Notwithstanding Alexandria’s aspiring role to be the most eminent of all Greek cities, the god introduced as the nascent city’s deity by Ptolemy I was the Egyptian Serapis. 30 But this Serapis was clothed in a new Greek form created by the Greek sculptor Bryaxis that combined the Egyptian god with the anthropomorphic Zeus. Serapis was given Isis as his consort, but an Isis, too, reclothed in Greek form. Ptolemy I met Egypt and found it Greek. Much like the Roman Caius Cestius and the nineteenth-century cognoscenti who fashioned their tombs in Egyptian style, Alexandrians invoked the efficacious value of Egypt’s venerable religion and fashioned tombs with Egyptian architectural elements, ornament, figures, and themes assimilated into their decorative program. 31 More in tune with modern Egyptomania

of the Suez canal in 1869 by the khedive Ismail and erected in Central Park in January, 1881 (See Marina D’Alton, The New York Obelisk or How Cleopatra’s Needle Came to New York and What Happened When It Got Here [reprinted from The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin (Spring 1993)]). 30. The literature on Serapis is vast and the problems concerning his introduction into Alexandria thorny. For one recent hypothesis, see W. M. Ellis, Ptolemy of Egypt (New York and London: Routledge, 1994), pp. 30–32. 31. See, for example, the paintings on the stairway painted with Egyptian deities in Egyptian style and the architectural and decorative elements incorporated into the decoration of Rooms 1 and 2 of the late-Ptolemaic Anfushy Tomb II (G. Botti, “Première visite à la nécropole d’Anfouchy à Alexandrie,” BSAA 4 [1902], pp. 13–15; G. Botti, “Description sommaire de la nécrople d’Anfouchy,” BSAA 4 [1902], pp. 16–36; A. Adriani, “Nécropoles de l’Ile de Pharos. B) Section d’Anfouchy,” Annuaire du Musée GrécoRomain [1940–1950], pp. 55–128). Tomb “h” from the Roman-period “Hall of Caracalla” (G. Botti in T. Schreiber, Expedition Ernst Sieglin: Ausgrabungen in Alexandria: Die Nekropole von Kôm-esch-Schukâfa I [Leipzig: Giesecke & Devrient, 1908], pls. LXI–LXII) also provides an Egyptianizing scene of two confronted goddesses, both of whom wear the disc and horns of Hathor or Isis, as well as further iconic Egyptian deities. Among other Roman-period tombs that depend for their pictorial program on Egyptian imagery and style is Tomb A recovered by Banoub Habachi in the Western Necropolis at Gabbari (B. Habachi, “Two Tombs of the Roman Epoch Recently Discovered at Gabbary,” BSAA 9 [1936–1937], pp. 270–85). It shows iconic Egyptian deities, most of whom are not well enough preserved to ensure identification except for Isis and Maªat, and also a scene depicting Horus and Taweret, among other less identifiable deities, flanking the deceased laid out on a lion-bed. Another Gabbari tomb discovered during the first Sieglin expedition, now known only from a drawing by Fiechter (Schreiber, Expedition Sieglin, p. vii, fig. 1) shows figures that can be interpreted as Isis and her sister, Nephthys, standing to either side of a frontal Osiris-like figure. Another Roman-period tomb from Ramleh in the Eastern necropolis of Alexandria recorded by Breccia (E. Breccia, “Tombe greco-egiziane dell’eta romana a Ramleh (Sporting Club),” BSAA 15 [1914], pp. 53–55) shows sacrifices to Egyptian deities and the recurring scene of Anubis tending to the deceased, who at Ramleh is flanked by Thoth, the ibis-headed scribe god, and by the falcon-headed Horus.

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Fig. 4. Central niche of the Main Tomb in the Catacomb at Kom el-Shoqafa, Alexandria: the lustration of the mummy by Anubis (or a priest in an Anubis mask) in the presence of Horus and Thoth, after a drawing by E. Gilliéron and F. W. von Bissing, La catacombe nouvellement découverte de Kom el Chougafa (Les bas-reliefs de Kom el Chougafa) (Société archéologique d’Alexandrie; Munich: J. B. Obernetter, 1901), pl. VI.

than with Caius Cestius, Alexandrians applied these motifs to their native architectural forms, so that the tension between West and East is palpable, but Alexandrian familiarity with the connotation of the Egyptian motifs provides levels of meaning beyond those that are recognized elsewhere. The well-known Main Tomb in the Great Catacomb at Kom el-Shoqafa demonstrates this tension in both its architectural format and its decoration. The design of the Great Catacomb is in an Alexandrian Classical tradition, cut deep into the living rock. A deep circular shaft individualizes the tomb, providing it with light and air and containing a long, circular stairway winding around the central opening. The stairway leads to a vestibule flanked by two small exedrae each covered with a half-conch dome and furnished with a semi-circular rock-cut bench. Immediately beyond the exedrae, a triclinium fashioned from the living rock supplies banqueting couches for burial and memorial feasts. The Main Tomb, the trefoil-shaped burial chamber that is the focal point of the Great Catacomb, restates the plan of the triclinium employing rock-cut Roman-style sarcophagi in each of the three niches that serve metaphorically as the triclinium’s banqueting couches. Despite the generic Alexandrian and specific Roman elements of the plan of the tomb, Egyptian motifs predominate: the architectural facade of the Main Tomb is Egyptianizing; statues that depict the tomb owners assume Egyptian poses and are garbed in Egyptian dress (although they retain Roman-period classicizing portrait heads); and the sculpted scenes that decorate the walls of the niches rely on Egyptian deities and Egyptian mortuary themes.

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Fig. 5. Main Tomb in the Catacomb at Kom el-Shoqafa: the military anthropomorphic Anubis, after a drawing by Gilliéron and von Bissing, La catacombe nouvellement découverte de Kom el Chougafa, pl. XII.

The rear wall of the central niche, for example, shows the mummy laid out on a lion-bier with Anubis (or a priest in an Anubis mask) preforming the ritual embalming (fig. 4) 32—even though interment is the main form of burial practiced in the complex and few mummies are attested. The bier is flanked by falcon-headed Horus and ibis-headed Thoth, who also attend the deceased. The lion of the lion-bed wears the atef crown of the god of the dead, Osiris, and holds the feather of truth in his paw and, to hold the viscera, three of the canonical four canopic jars with lids formed by heads of the sons of Horus are set beneath the lion-bier. The figures stand in an Egyptianizing composite view with legs and head in profile and with frontal torso. Aside from the style of relief, which is more plastic than expected in Egyptian monuments, the scene is convincingly rendered as Egyptian. The scenes in the niches of the burial chamber of the Main Tomb repeat scenes from Egyptian mortuary papyri and tomb paintings, yet Alexandria’s unrivaled understanding of Egypt permits an extension of the use of Egypt with subtlety beyond mere replication, so that the 32. Schreiber, Expedition Sieglin, pl. XVII; J.-Y. Empereur, A Short Guide to the Catacombs of Kom el Shoqafa Alexandria (Alexandria: Serapis Publishing, 1995), fig. 12.

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double style identified by Castiglione in the chora takes on new and deeper shades of meaning in the city. A figure of Anubis that guards the burial chamber in the Main Tomb at Kom elShoqafa (fig. 5) 33 and a similar type of Anubis that appears twice in a painted Roman-period tomb from the land once owned by the Italian lumber merchant Alfredo Stagni di Giovianni, 34 demonstrate one sense of this more complicated sort of doubling: in each image the deity assumes his normal Egyptian zoocephalic human form, but he wears the garb of a Roman centurion and stands in the differentiated pose that is the hallmark of classicizing sculpture. Anubis, guardian of the Egyptian necropolis, is refashioned in Roman terms, but he also assumes an extended meaning as he is assimilated to a Roman guard. Similarly, but with even more greatly capsulized iconographical efficiency, sphinxes crouching before the main facade in the thirdcentury b.c.e. tomb Moustapha Pasha 1 act as old Greek guardians of the tomb 35 although, wingless and with their nemes headdresses, they assume the character of Egyptian sphinxes. In this way, they incorporate the efficacy of Egyptian antiquity into its Greek visual synonym, creating a new and more potent image of supernatural protection for this monumental tomb. Iconographically more complex examples of this doubling are also found, because although the official language of Alexandria was Greek, its mortuary iconography was bilingual. The Stagni Tomb, 36 for example, pairs its Romanized figures of Anubis with sphinxes of Nemesis, relating the Egyptian guardian of the necropolis to the Greek deity that guards against defilement of the grave, thus offering doubled protection for the body of the deceased and immortality for her soul. With even greater complexity, two Roman-period tombs in the socalled “Hall of Caracalla” adjacent to the Main Tomb at Kom el-Shoqafa pair scenes describing ritual embalming by Anubis with the narrative of the abduction of Persephone (fig. 6), correlating the Egyptian belief in eternal life with the Greek redemption myth 37 and, as in the Stagni Tomb, doubling the efficacious value of the image. A tomb that incorporates all the uses Egypt so far mentioned and that adds a further dimension to Alexandrian Egyptomania is the Tigrane Tomb, 38 which although small in size, carries more decoration than any painted Alexandrian tomb yet uncovered. The tomb is in a Classical tradition: the ceiling of the burial chamber forms a shallow dome and, as in the Main Tomb at Kom el-Shoqafa, the room is arranged to simulate a Roman triclinium with rock-cut sarcophagi substituting for the banquet couches and a narrative scene embellishing the back wall of each niche. Iconic male figures painted on the lateral walls of the short entrance corridor usher the visitor into the tomb. Centralized on the ceiling of the burial chamber is a Gorgoneion surrounded by foliage historiated with frolicking animals all treated in a classicizing 33. Schreiber, Expedition Sieglin, pl. XXV; Empereur, Kom el Shoqafa, fig. 19. 34. A. Abd el-Fattah and S. A. Choukri, “Un nouveau groupe de tombeaux de la nécropole ouest d’Alexandrie,” Études Alexandrines 1 (1998), pp. 35–53 and p. 50, fig. 27; M. S. Venit, “The Stagni Painted Tomb: Cultural Interchange and Gender Differentiation in Roman Alexandria,” AJA 103 (1999), pp. 641– 69 and p. 654, fig. 9. 35. See, for example, sphinxes atop grave stelai in, for example, G. M. A. Richter, Gravestones of Attica (London: Phaidon Press, 1961), passim. 36. Fattah and Choukri “Un nouveau groupe de tombeaux,” pp. 35–53; Venit, “The Stagni Painted Tomb,” pp. 641–69. 37. As noted by A.-M. Guimier-Sorbets and M. Seif el-Din, “Les deux tombes de Perséphone dans la nécropole de Kom el-Chougafa à Alexandrie,” BCH 121 (1997), pp. 355–410. 38. A. Adriani, “Ipogeo Dipinto della Via Tigrane Pascià,” BSAA 41 (1956), pp. 62–86; M. S. Venit, “The Tomb from Tigrane Pasha Street and the Iconography of Death in Roman Egypt,” AJA 101 (1997), pp. 701–29.

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Fig. 6. Kom el-Shoqafa, “Hall of Caracalla,” Persephone Tomb 2: lustration of the mummy and the abduction of Persephone (Courtesy of the Centre d’études alexandrines) (Photo: André Pelle, of a painting by Mary-Jane Schumacher).

manner (fig. 7). A painted pilaster with a composite classicizing capital articulates each corner of the triclinium chamber, and images of cynocephalic Anubis and other Egyptian deities (most of whom assume a completely zoomorphic form) decorate the lateral walls of the niches and the piers that frame them. In its juxtaposition of Egyptian deities with Classical forms, the Tigrane Tomb uses Egypt in a way roughly consonant with Castiglione’s definition of the dual style; it also uses Egypt in a way that invokes the paired iconography of the Persephone and Stagni tombs, as the two images of Anubis that flank the central niche restate the function of the apotropaic Gorgoneion of the dome. Most substantially, however, the Tigrane Tomb uses Egypt in ways not found elsewhere in Alexandrian tomb design at all; it accords with Humbert’s definition of Egyptomania in its narrowest sense as it reuses and reinterprets the iconographic signs of ancient Egypt. But since Alexandria is geographically contiguous with Egypt and only marginally removed in time from the Egypt it makes use of, the rhetorical power of the Tigrane Tomb effortlessly transcends that of any modern monument of Egyptomania. The male attendants on the lateral walls of the entrance corridor to the tomb are each set below a panel that contains the image of an Apis bull—a further example of an Egyptian deity inhabiting the largely Classical tomb. These attendants who guide the visitor into the tomb are painted in a formalistic Egyptian manner (fig. 8). They assume an Egyptian composite stance, and their attire appears to be the traditional Egyptian kilt, though bound about their pectorals

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Fig. 7. Painted dome of the Tigrane Tomb, Alexandria: Gorgoneion surrounded by animals (Photo: author).

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Fig. 8. Entrance to the triclinium-shaped burial chamber of the Tigrane Tomb: male attendant (Photo: author).

in the manner of priests and initiates into the cult of Isis. 39 In each hand, they carry a situla, the mammiform vessel associated with Isis, striated horizontally to impart both a sense of sphericity and a silvery sheen. Each attendant also wears a nemes headdress surmounted by a loop that might be intended as a uraeus. Whereas the nemes recalls the headdress worn by sphinxes, as in Tomb 1 at Moustapha Pasha, its primary connotation is royal since it is one of the pharaoh’s traditional crowns. And the vertical line beneath each figure’s chin that signifies the pharaoh’s false beard further connects the males with royalty. Neither the headdress nor 39. Normally the garments of priests and other members of the Isiac cult are long. See, for example, the painting from Herculaneum (E. A. Arslan, Iside: Il mito il mistero la magia [Milano, Palazzo Reale, 22 febbraio–1 giugno 1997] [Milan: Electa, 1997], p. 447, no. V.77), a column base in the Vatican (Lippold, Die Skulpturen des vaticanischen Museums, p. 270, no. 40 and pl. 123, dated by Lippold to the 3d century c.e.), and a plaque in the Vatican (W. Amelung, Die Sculpturen des vaticanischen Museums II [Berlin: Georg Reimer, 1908], pp. 143–45, Cortile del Belevedere no. 55 and pl. 7, dated by Amelung to the Hadrianic period). A frontally-posed cleric on a coffin board (ca. 200 c.e.) decorated in relief wears a thigh-length garment tied just below his pectorals (R. S. Bianchi, Cleopatra’s Egypt: Age of the Ptolemies [Brooklyn: Brooklyn Museum, 1988], p. 240, no. 129), but the garments of the Tigrane males seem more closely to resemble Egyptian kilts.

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Fig. 9. Central niche of the Tigrane Tomb: lustration of the mummy (Photo: author).

the beard has any place in the cult of Isis but, analogous with the males’ short garments, they serve—as in nineteenth-century Egyptomania—as signs for Egypt. Isis is an Egyptian deity, and in the Tigrane Tomb her acolytes assume the nemes and the kilt and the beard as ethnically defining attributes, notwithstanding that all these attributes are foreign to her Graeco-Roman cult. With their arrogation of these factually inappropriate signs, the male figures use Egypt as a metaphor, signaling their connection, and that of the deity they serve, with the antiquity of the land. In a former article, 40 I proposed that the Tigrane Tomb was specifically designed as the resting place of initiates into the cult and perhaps into the mysteries of Isis and that the tomb’s imagery refers to this initiation. In Alexandria, as in other cities across the Roman Empire, Isis is normally referenced in purely Classical terms: the garments she and her acolytes wear are those worn by Greeks or Romans, and the figures, as well as their attributes and their garments, are rendered in a purely Classical idiom. In contrast, these acolytes entering the burial chamber of the Tigrane Tomb appropriate both Egyptian style and Egyptian iconography, even if their iconography conflicts with their essential meaning. The contrasting treatment of the illusionistically-painted situlae and the formulaic Egyptian-derived males is further developed in the central niche of the Tigrane Tomb in which yet more complex and elaborate elements of Classically-treated cult furniture are interwoven with Egyptianized participants. This niche (fig. 9) shows a narrative similar to that of the central niche of the Main Tomb at Kom el-Shoqafa, but its strategy and intent is markedly different. First, though, the similarities: in the Tigrane Tomb the falcons flanking the scene to either side 40. Venit, “The Tomb from Tigrane Pasha Street,” pp. 701–29, esp. pp. 722–29.

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Fig. 10. Left niche of the Tigrane Tomb: the deceased reborn (Photo: author).

are perfectly reasonable renditions of the Egyptian deity, the winged disc hovering above the scene (which does, however, hold a conspicuously Roman garland in its claws) has an Egyptian precedent, and the two goddesses standing to either side of the bed—intended as Isis and Nephthys—are meant both stylistically and iconographically to replicate their ancient Egyptian counterparts. In these ways, the Tigrane Tomb fits with the Kom el-Shoqafa tombs and other painted tombs of late Hellenistic and Roman-period Alexandria that utilize Egyptian stylistic conventions and Egyptian subject matter. The bed in the Tigrane painting, however, instead of the predictable Egyptian lion bed seen in the Kom el-Shogafa tombs and others, is a couch familiar in the Hellenistic and Roman world, 41 and the fabric that covers it is illusionistically draped, as is expected in a Classical rendering. The mummy that lies on the bed is specific to the Roman period: its rhombic bandaging is characteristic of Roman-period mummies and its head rests on a Roman bird-headed fulcrum. 42 This duality of style, which differs from Castiglione’s dual style, sets the Tigrane Tomb apart from other monuments of Egyptomania, ancient and modern. Contiguity and cog41. See, for example, G. M. A. Richter, Furniture of the Greeks, Etruscans, and Romans (London: Phaidon Press, 1966), fig. 530 (Berlin Br 8903, bronze couch from Boscoreale), fig. 523 (Naples inv. 78614, bronze couch from Pompeii), fig. 542 (Morocco, Rabat Museum, bronze leg of a couch), fig. 304 (Naples inv. 18394, a kline depicted on an Apulian bell krater), fig. 308 (Berlin Br 10053, bronze couch from Priene). 42. S. T. A. M. Mols, in his review of S. Faust, Fulcra, Figurlicher und ornamentaler Schmuck an antiken Betten (Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1989) in BABesch 67 (1992), p. 192, points out following Mau that Roman fulcra are intended to hold the mattress in place. In no case are they used as head-rests.

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Fig. 11. Right niche of the Tigrane Tomb: homage to Isis (Photo: author).

nition permitted Alexandrians to integrate Egyptian style and subjects into images that were specific to their own time and topos. Like Ptolemy I with his creation of Serapis, later Alexandrians met Egypt and found that it was them. In addition to these innovative uses of Egypt, the Tigrane Tomb adds another facet to Egyptomania unattested in other contexts in that it uses an Egyptian stylistic mode for subjects foreign to the Egyptian repertoire. The narrative scenes in the left and right niches in the Tigrane Tomb are unique. Their painter follows no Egyptian model, so their modern reader has few referents but, on a variety of evidence, I proposed that the scene in the left niche (fig. 10) shows the symbolic rebirth of the initiate as he throws off his mummy wrappings and emerges nude. 43 Few motifs in this scene are recognizably Egyptian; the winged sun disc hovering above the scene and the expectant jackals at the feet of the frontal figure are the only two images based on traditional Egyptian iconographical signs. The Horus falcons of the previous scene, for example, have been replaced by the large elliptical objects that must be eggs, long symbolic of revivification in Greece and an important component in the cult of Isis, 44 although 43. Venit, “The Tomb from Tigrane Pasha Street,” pp. 724–26. 44. Venit, “The Tomb from Tigrane Pasha Street,” p. 728. See, for example, the ceramic eggs from graves in the Athenian Kerameikos; remnants of the priests’ meal from the Iseum at Pompeii (R. E. Witt, Isis in the Graeco-Roman World [Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1971], pl. 29); see also D. C. Kurtz and J. Boardman, Greek Burial Customs (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1971), p. 77. White-ground lekythoi occasionally show scenes in which eggs are presented at the grave. See, for example, the possible egg held by a woman on Syracuse 22879 (A. Fairbanks, Athenian Lekythoi with Outline Drawing in Glaze Varnish on a White Ground [New York: Macmillan, 1907], p. 167).

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virtually never depicted in that context. The males to either side of the frontal figure, and even the frontal figure himself, have no referents at all in Egyptian iconography. In this portrayal it is not the imagery of the main components of the scene but their stiff and formalistic style that invokes the presence of Egypt. The scene in the third niche (fig. 11) is also unparalleled, and its subject can only be interpreted by extending the narrative to imagine the new initiate paying homage to Isis. The central figure, who kneels before the goddess, wears nothing that approaches Egyptian garb except a helmet-like nemes headcloth. The figure most Egyptianized is the one at the left holding a censer; his garments, as far as they are preserved, repeat those of the males at the entrance to the tomb, and he stands in the most identifiably Egyptian stance. The kneeling man and the deity he faces also attempt to assume the Egyptian composite pose, but both are limited by the need to depict the actions they perform. Clearly the narratives in the two latter niches must have been essential to the patrons of the tomb, since they compelled the artists to move beyond convention and invent new scenes in order to accommodate the required content. Equally as clearly, the narratives had to be shown as Egyptian in style even though the scenes were entirely foreign to the Egyptian iconographic tradition and no Egyptian model existed on which to fashion them. As a result, the Tigrane Tomb stands apart from the other uses of Egypt in Alexandrian tomb painting. None of the deities in the narrative scenes (with the exception of the Horus falcons in the central niche and the winged discs) assumes its true Egyptian form and, with the exception of the treatment of the male attendants at the entrance, none of the narratives relies heavily on the symbols of Egypt to connect it with the antiquity of the land. Instead, the narrative scenes of the Tigrane Tomb attempt to replicate the style of ancient Egypt in order to invoke the country’s venerable past. The images acquire their efficacy much more from their Egyptian style than from their Egyptian content. The Tigrane tomb separates itself from the other monuments of Egyptomania because it relies on style, rather than on iconography, to affiliate itself with ancient Egypt. Style, itself, in the Tigrane Tomb acts as Egyptomaniacal content. The Tigrane Tomb demonstrates that Egyptomania has diverse expressions and nuanced subtleties far beyond those defined by Jean-Marcel Humbert, and other monuments reiterate this complexity. Hadrian created his Canopus at his Tivoli villa relying not on replication nor on adaptation but on an abstraction, following neither the style nor the content of Egyptian monuments, yet invoking Egypt’s past by allusion and illusion. Augustus felt no need to carve his own inscription on the obelisks he usurped for Alexandria; their appropriation and displacement were sufficient to connect his power to Egypt’s illustrious past. And in the Tigrane Tomb a mere reference to Egyptian style is meant to invoke the power of Egypt’s venerable gods. When Elizabeth Taylor enters Rome with her son Caesarion, it is not solely Cleopatra but the spectacle that resonates as Egypt. And when Shakespeare’s Cleopatra dies, it is Egypt she invokes. The passion for Egypt persists, re-energizing and refashioning Egyptomania. Classifying and categorizing little serve the nuances of the power Egypt wields. Donald Hansen’s jaunts from Taposiris to feast on Alexandrian shrimp rival Cleopatra, Aida, and The Magic Flute as living Egyptomania.

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The Temple Mound at Bismaya Karen Wilson

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In 1903, John D. Rockefeller donated $50,000 to the University of Chicago to establish an Oriental Exploration Fund to support explorations and excavations in the Near East. The fund was placed under the general directorship of university president William Rainey Harper. Hoping to begin work on a Mesopotamian site, President Harper traveled to Constantinople the same year and applied for permission from the Turkish Government to excavate the site of Senkerah (ancient Larsa). While in the Turkish capital, Harper met a young American Assyriologist, Edgar James Banks. Banks had received an A.B. and an A.M. from Harvard University and a Ph.D. from the University of Breslau in 1897. Since January, 1900, he had been attempting to obtain a permit to excavate various Mesopotamian ruins and, while supporting himself as acting professor of ancient history at Roberts College, was awaiting permission to work at Bismaya. 1 Harper appointed Banks Field Director of the Babylonian Section of the Oriental Exploration Fund and left him in Constantinople with instructions to take direct charge of excavations at the site for which a permit was first granted. On September 26, 1903, Banks was granted permission to excavate at Bismaya. Excavations began on Christmas Day, 1903, and continued through May 25, 1904. Work was resumed on September 19, 1904, for a brief eight-and-a-half days until stopped officially by the Ottoman Author’s note : This article is excerpted from a final publication of the Bismaya excavations being prepared by the author. That publication is based on a variety of sources, many of which contain conflicting information. In cases of contradictions, the greatest weight usually has been given to the earliest source as the one most likely to reflect information undistorted by the passage of time. These sources include: (1) The weekly reports written from the field by Banks and Persons to University of Chicago professor Robert Francis Harper, and now housed in the Oriental Institute Archives. These were partially published in Biblical World XXIII–XXIV (1904), passim; University Record VIII (1903–4), pp. 195–97; IX (1904–5), pp. 33–34, 131–39, 213–14; X (1905–6), pp. 65–66; and AJSL 20 (1903–4), pp. 207–8, 260–68, 271–76; (2) C. Nestmann, “Bismaya Day Book: A Compilation from the Field Records of Edgar James Banks,” a manuscript prepared in 1948 and now in the Oriental Institute Archives; (3) E. J. Banks, “The Bismya Temple,” AJSL 22 (1905–6), pp. 29–34; “Plain Stone Vases from Bismya,” AJSL 22 (1905–6), pp. 35–40; “Terra-cotta Vases from Bismya,” AJSL 22 (1905–6), pp. 139–43; (4) E. J. Banks, Bismya, or the Lost City of Adab (New York and London: Knickerbocker Press, 1912). 1. The name of the site was originally incorrectly transliterated “Bismya.” For the correct writing, see J. H. Breasted, The Oriental Institute (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1933), p. 29.

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authorities. 2 On March 13, 1905, the excavations were opened again under the direction of Victor S. Persons, an architect who had originally come to the Near East to assist Banks. Persons remained at the site until the end of June, 1905, when excavations were brought to a close due to disappointment in the pace of discoveries and administrative and financial difficulties on the site. The results of the Bismaya excavations were never properly published. Banks’s relationship with the University of Chicago soured after cessation of the excavations, and he never prepared a scientific publication of his work. His lively and highly readable popular account, which appeared in 1912, 3 often differs from his notes 4 and the three articles that preceded it, 5 but whether this is due to changes in his conclusions or to a desire to make his story more readable (or a combination of both) cannot now be determined. Since 1912, little attention has been paid to the material from Bismaya. The inscriptions on 23 stone vessels were published from the papers of Daniel David Luckenbill in 1914. 6 Since that date, however, aside from the inclusion of the inscriptions in various collections and the use of individual objects in widely scattered studies, Bismaya has been almost forgotten. Much of this neglect stems from the fact that Banks’s excavation methods have suffered more criticism than they deserve for work of their time, 7 and it has been assumed that nothing is known about where the artifacts he discovered were found. This is, however, not the true situation. For example, in the case of the Temple Mound, it is possible to reconstruct the stratigraphy of the levels excavated by Banks, to reconstruct the plans of two successive Early Dynastic temples that lay beneath the Third Dynasty of Ur “ziggurat,” and to determine the find-spots of most of the objects that Banks discovered there. This article will focus on the stratigraphy and architecture of Mound V and attempt to place the structures discovered there within the development of Mesopotamian sacred architecture. This reconstruction of excavations that took place almost a century ago is offered in homage to an unsurpassable teacher and mentor, whose abiding interest has always been Mesopotamian (and, especially, Early Dynastic) religious architecture, and who taught his students to excavate with both skill and thoroughness—be it in mud brick, library volumes, or the fragile records of long-departed scholars.

2. The story of the Turkish authorities’ intervention will be told elsewhere and may never be fully understood. The incident was triggered by the fact that the Bismaya dig house was robbed over the summer and a number of items, including antiquities, were stolen. The authorities believed that Banks was involved in the robbery, but the entire incident, or series of incidents, is clouded by the spottiness of contemporary records and the distance of time. 3. Banks, Bismya. 4. The present whereabouts of these field records is unknown. A compilation from them was done by Caroline Nestmann in 1948 (Nestmann, “Bismaya Day Book”). She writes that Banks’s widow “graciously permitted me to copy whatever portions it was thought might be helpful.” 5. Banks, “The Bismya Temple,” pp. 29–34; “Plain Stone Vases from Bismya,” pp. 35–40; “Terra-cotta Vases from Bismya,” pp. 139–43. 6. D. D. Luckenbill, “Two Inscriptions of Mesilim, King of Kish,” AJSL 30 (1914), pp. 219–23; Inscriptions from Adab (OIP 14; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1930). 7. For example, J. N. Postgate, Early Mesopotamia: Society and Economy at the Dawn of History (London and New York: Routledge, 1992), p. 30.

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The Site Banks described Bismaya as a low, rectangular mass of ruins measuring 1,695 by 840 m, with its corners oriented toward the cardinal points of the compass. 8 The city appears to have been surrounded by a double wall, rebuilt or repaired a number of times over its long history, and possibly encircled by a ditch or moat. 9 Within the confines of the walls, Banks distinguished twelve relatively low mounds, to which he assigned Roman numerals that were used for record-keeping purposes. 10

The Temple Mound The first mound to be excavated, Mound V, was immediately dubbed “The Temple Mound” because Banks “recognized it at once as the ruin of a ziggurat or square tower of a temple.” 11 It was a small, square, pyramid-shaped hill, which stood eleven meters in height and had a basal circumference of about ninety meters. The sides of the hill sloped at an angle of forty degrees at their steepest point, and the corners were oriented to the cardinal points of the compass. 12 Banks determined the basic stratigraphy of the mound by sinking two shafts near its center. These shafts were shown and labeled on his published plan 13 and are indicated by dotted lines on figs. 2, 7, and 10. The stratigraphy of the southwestern shaft (fig. 1) appears to have been recorded in the greatest detail 14 and later formed the basis for Banks’s much more general discussion of the history of the mound in Bismya. 15 This shaft was sunk 14.5 m below the surface of Mound V until it was felt too dangerous to continue working in it. Banks saw 10 periods of occupation reflected in the strata; these are numbered with Roman numerals on fig. 1. 16 The first meter of remains below the surface consisted of drifting sand and rubbish, probably composed largely of decayed mud brick. One meter beneath the surface was a platform with Sulgi bricks (Period I) “within which and probably on the same level [was a] platform of long grooved bricks” 17 (Period II). These structures were traced to a depth of 2.50 m below the surface, where Banks encountered the top of a platform of baked plano-convex bricks (Period III) founded at a depth of 3.85 m on a layer of ash. Banks records mud brick in the shaft section below this point to a depth of 6.37 m. There he found a stratum of white stone blocks and ash which he designated Period IV and, below that, a layer of white ashes 20 cm thick which he called Period V. The shaft then penetrated a layer of mud brick 2 m thick beneath which were found two large vases and a stratum of potsherds (Period VI). Banks described Period VII as a mud-brick wall founded at –10.27 m, Period VIII as a layer of potsherds 15 cm thick at 8. Banks, Bismya, p. 151. 9. Banks, Bismya, pp. 334–36. 10. Banks, Bismya, p. 152. 11. Banks, Bismya, p. 113. 12. Banks, “The Bismya Temple,” p. 29. 13. Banks, Bismya, p. 235. 14. E. J. Banks, “Report No. 15, April 8, 1904.” 15. Banks, Bismya, p. 236–40. 16. Oddly, Banks never again used or referred to this periodization in any published or unpublished document. 17. Banks, “Report No. 15.”

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Fig. 1. The stratigraphy of the Mound V shafts, reconstructed after Banks, “Report No. 15,” and Nestmann, “Bismaya Day Book.” --11.97 m, Period IX as a thin layer of pottery at –12.77 m, and Period X as a thick layer of pottery at –13.2 m resting on pure sand. The second shaft, sunk more toward the center of the mound, was recorded in Banks’s field notes in considerably less detail. 18 Unfortunately, Banks did not link the two soundings stratigraphically in any way, so that a comparison of their levels can only be attempted in a fairly rough fashion. The relative stratigraphy for the two shafts shown in fig. 2 is based on the assumption that the layer of pure sand at the bottom of each shaft (at –13.20 m in the southwestern and at –15.21 m in the central shaft) occurred at approximately the same absolute level—a likely situation given the proximity of the two soundings. This proposed relative stratigraphy is strengthened by the fact that it leads to many correlations between the two soundings at levels close enough to one another to be realistic given the nature of Banks’s recording system and the fact that the shafts were about 9 m apart. 18. Nestmann, “Bismaya Day Book,” May 20, 1904.

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Above the pure sand at the bottom of both shafts is a layer of dirt and pottery running up to –11.97 m in the southwest shaft and to –13.81 m in the central one. Above this is mud brick and dirt in the southwest shaft to the bottom of a mud-brick wall at –10.27 m and dirt in the central shaft to a mud-brick wall at –11.91 m to –12.71 m. Above this, Banks records dirt in both shafts up to a level of potsherds (-8.57 m and –10.21 m) above which is a thick layer of mud brick. In the southwestern shaft, bands divided this mud brick into three separate strata and Banks saw evidence for two of his periods; in the central shaft he saw the mass as undifferentiated and described it as the platform for an overlying temple of baked plano-convex bricks—presumably the platform recorded in the southwestern shaft. It is unfortunate that Banks did not record the position of this platform of baked plano-convex bricks in the central shaft (which seems to have been sunk along its northeastern face; see fig. 7) but only notes a deposit 5.1 m thick described as “one mass of clay” which he saw as the “foundation for the ziggurat of Dungi and grooved-brick temple.” 19 The only strata that were investigated more fully by Banks were those belonging to his Periods I–III. These levels can be identified as the remains of a series of temples by both their architectural characteristics and numerous inscribed objects found within their debris. But there is virtually no information about any of the earlier levels available from the records other than that discussed above. Banks’s repeated assertions that at least some of those levels were temples are bolstered by our knowledge of the antiquity and longevity of many sacred sites in Mesopotamia. They may also be supported by the discovery of a copper alloy peg ending in the figure of a crouching lion 20 that was found in the center shaft. According to Banks’s field notes, “The pin was found 4 2!- meters below the level of the plano-convex brick platform in the center of the hill in the trench dug by Hassan. The pin seems to be about the same level as the two large vases. When found the pin was standing erect.” 21 These notes put the pin at the level of the two large vases in the SW Shaft (8.57 m below the surface) and at about 10.1 m below the surface in the Center Shaft. 22 The object’s position suggests it may have been in use as a foundation peg—as part of a foundation deposit for an overlying structure noted simply as “mudbrick” in both sections. Ellis, however, questions whether the peg was used in a foundation, because other foundation pegs show the animal in its natural position vis-à-vis the vertical spike. 23 However, even if the peg was designed originally to be affixed horizontally into a wall, and was not discovered in situ, its material, size, and iconography suggest that it is more likely to have come from a temple than from any other type of structure. The remains of Periods I–III, which range in date from Early Dynastic III to the Third Dynasty of Ur, were difficult for Banks and Persons to differentiate and are doubly difficult to disentangle now from their notes and publications. The difficulty of the excavators’ confusion is exacerbated by the fact that Banks’s architect during the 1903–4 season, Jason Paige, was robbed after leaving Bismaya, so no plans or drawings made during the first season survive to document or elucidate Banks’s descriptions or to have served to remind him of what he had 19. Nestmann, “Bismaya Day Book,” May 20, 1904. 20. Banks, Bismya, p. 237. The piece is now in the collection of the Oriental Institute Museum, No. OIM A545. 21. Nestmann, “Bismaya Day Book,” April 16, 1904. 22. Banks published the piece as coming from a higher level than recorded in his field notes (Bismya, p. 237). 23. R. Ellis, Foundation Deposits in Ancient Mesopotamia (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1968), p. 56.

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found when he was writing his articles and book. The plan of the temple that Banks published 24 was drawn by Persons more than a year after Banks’s excavation, 25 without Persons and Banks ever having been together on the site to discuss the remains. Therefore, some of the features described by Banks do not appear on Persons’s drawings. On the other hand, Persons’s “Report No. 51” to Harper indicates that he was an astute architect and seems to have had a better understanding of stratigraphy than did Banks. His detailed written description, with accompanying photographs and plans, of the remains that he examined on the temple mound, 26 make far more sense than do Banks’s descriptions. They also provide significant new information about the sequence of structures on Mound V—information that may never have been made available to Banks himself. The Third Dynasty Remains Roughly a meter below the surface of the mound, Banks reported finding the remains of a square platform measuring approximately 20 m on a side and consisting of a casing of baked bricks, about 1 m thick, enclosing an earthen interior in which he was unable to distinguish traces of brickwork. Mud bricks are, however, clearly visible in his photographs. 27 The bricks of the casing were square, measuring 31 x 31 x 6.5 cm, and light-yellow in color; some bore a hand-written inscription recording the fact that Sulgi built a dam for the goddess Ninhursag. 28 The inscribed bricks averaged about one to twenty of the uninscribed and were laid, inscription downward, at irregular intervals and held together by clay mortar. Banks could not tell how many stages might originally have composed what he called the “ziggurat” 29 but noted that the small amount of rubbish which had accumulated about its sides indicated either that it had not stood very tall or that its bricks had been removed to provide material for other constructions. Banks recorded a flight of steps, from which the baked bricks had been removed, running half the length of the southwest side of the “ziggurat” and leading from a wide, brickpaved platform to the summit of the first stage. He also noted that a drain of round tiles, each about 20 cm in diameter and a meter in length, ran beneath the paving of the platform to a vertical drain of an earlier period. 30 Banks described how he traced the enclosure walls of the “ziggurat,” which were about 4 m thick, by following their outlines on the ground on frosty mornings, but notes that scarcely 20 cm of their foundations remained. 31 Apart from these walls and traces of mud-brick walls

24. Banks, Bismya, p. 235. 25. V. Persons, “Report No. 51, July 3, 1905.” 26. Persons, “Report No. 51.” 27. For example, Banks, Bismya, p. 133. 28. D. Frayne, Ur III Period (2112–2004 b.c.) (The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia: Early Periods 3/2; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997), Sulgi 16, p. 125. The bricks were inscribed by hand, not stamped as indicated by Z. Yang, Sargonic Inscriptions from Adab (Changchun, China: Institute for the History of Ancient Civilizations, 1989), p. 19. Three of these bricks are now in the collection of the Oriental Institute Museum, OIM A1141–3. 29. Banks always referred to this structure as a ziggurat. However, its small size makes this unlikely and suggests, instead, the presence of a raised terrace or platform that once supported a temple that had completely eroded away prior to 1904. 30. Banks, “The Bismya Temple,” p. 30. 31. Banks, Bismya, p. 188.

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of chambers upon the northwest side, Banks felt that nothing else of the temple of Sulgi remained. 32 The Third Dynasty remains described by Banks do not correspond neatly to any features that appear on the published plan 33—a fact that Banks himself glossed over in his publications. Persons never mentions a baked-brick casing enclosing a mud or mud-brick mass, although traces of bricks corresponding to Banks’s description are visible in some of Persons’s photographs 34 and are occasionally mentioned in his report. It is possible that Banks had removed so many of these baked bricks in order to record them that no coherent casing could any longer be seen. The encased “ziggurat” as described by Banks seems to have been the same size (20 x 20 m) as the earlier mud brick one with buttressed facades that was mapped by Persons (fig. 2) and appeared on the published plan, but the exact outlines of the later structure are nowhere recorded. Similarly, it is unclear whether the 20 cm worth of enclosure wall described by Banks was still preserved when Persons arrived. The wall that Persons shows enclosing three sides of the earlier mud-brick platform is, for parts of its course, about 4 m thick, but appears from the photographs (e.g., figs. 3–4) to be at least as early as the mud brick platform. A similar question holds true for the chambers to the northwest of the platform (where Banks noted traces of Third Dynasty walls 35) as mapped by Persons. His description of these rooms admits to confusion over their nature, 36 and they probably lie too low to be contemporary with the baked bricks still visible in some of the photographs. But we can no longer know whether Banks found, and subsequently removed, a series of higher rooms in this area, just as his description of a flight of steps leading from a brick-paved platform on the southwest side of the ziggurat can never be substantiated or disproved. However, one bit of evidence does survive that suggests that at least some remains contemporary with the “ziggurat” were excavated by Banks to the west of the structure. Banks reports finding two objects 70 cm below the surface in a small chamber 8 m from the west corner of the temple terrace: the famous Bismaya head and a fragment of an inscribed stone vessel. 37 The head, which is most often dated to the Akkadian Period, is believed by some scholars, including this writer, to post-date that period, 38 and the vessel was dedicated by Urasgi for the life of 32. Banks, “The Bismya Temple,” p. 30. In all original reports and “The Bismya Temple,” Banks refers to Sulgi as the builder of the temple. In Bismya (pp. 235, 237, 238), he suddenly refers to underlying bricks of Ur-Nammu, whose presence at Bismaya he had never mentioned before. As there seem to be no extant Ur-Nammu inscriptions from the site, one can only assume that this was an error on Banks’s part. 33. Banks, Bismya, p. 235. 34. For example, Photo no. 246, enclosed with Persons, “Report No. 47, April 7, 1905”; and photo no. 315, enclosed with “Report no. 51.” 35. Banks, “The Bismya Temple,” p. 30. 36. See below, “The Later Temple,” p. 287f. 37. Banks, Bismya, pp. 256–7. These objects are now in the collection of the Oriental Institute Museum. The head is OIM A173. The vessel fragment is OIM A202. It is joined to a second fragment of the same vessel from Bismaya, which is now OIM A199, through the agency of a fragment in the De Liagre Böhl Collection of the Netherlands Institute for the Near East, Leiden. OIM A199 was found very early in the excavations and is recorded very generally as coming from the area of the south corner of the temple (Nestmann, “Bismaya Day Book,” Jan 26, 1904). 38. This dating will be discussed by the author in the forthcoming final publication of the Bismaya excavations.

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Sulgi. 39 The presence of these objects would seem to indicate that some remains contemporary with the Sulgi inscribed bricks were encountered by Banks at least in this one location. Aside from these two objects and the inscribed bricks discussed above, the only other objects reported from Sulgi’s temple are an inscribed brick bearing the name of Su-Sin and a tablet quickly rendered illegible by salt-incrustation. 40 The Akkadian Remains Banks reported finding, directly beneath the platform of Sulgi, a few large, square, baked bricks measuring 46 x 46 x 9 cm, 41 which he attributed to Sargon (and which had not appeared in the stratigraphy of the shafts). “An inscription upon gold, of his son, Naram-Sin, 42 was found among the bricks, and from other parts of the ruins, contract tablets and seal impressions, bearing the name of Sargon, supported the supposition [of the existence of a Sargonid temple]. However, the bricks were so scattered and so few in number that no plan of his temple was possible. It appears to have been slightly smaller than the one above it.” 43 The Grooved Bricks Below the large, square, baked bricks, Banks encountered a variety of grooved bricks of varying sizes and shapes (which he had called Period II in his description of the stratigraphy of the southwest shaft). He interpreted the grooves as forerunners of the later brick inscriptions and saw each different type as representing one king. Seeing these grooves as chronologically distinct inscriptions, rather than as having a functional purpose (probably to promote better adhesion of mortar) with no clear dating implications, led Banks to a rather confused description of their use which cannot be made more precise using the preserved records. 44 The Early Dynastic Temples Banks’s published reports of the underlying strata of the temple mound are difficult to reconcile with one another and even more difficult to compare with Persons’s plan. They seem to suffer from a combination of P. T. Barnum-style hyperbole and Banks’s own genuine confusion as to the relationships among the various features he had uncovered. It is Persons’s detailed report to Harper that provides the basis for sorting out the details of these structures. 45

39. Frayne, Ur III Period, Sulgi 2001, pp. 195–6. 40. Banks, “The Bismya Temple,” p. 30. The Su-Sin brick is published by Frayne, Ur III Period, Su-Sin 11, p. 321. 41. It is, unfortunately, impossible to know whether Banks is referring to the same bricks that Persons records as 48 cm square that lay atop the wall on the southeast edge of the ziggurat (see “The Later Temple,” below). 42. Banks, Bismya, p. 145. This piece is now in the collection of the Oriental Institute Museum, OIM A1217. E. Braun-Holzinger, Mesopotamische Weihgaben der Frühdynastischen bis Altbabylonischen Zeit (Heidelberger Studien zum alten Orient 3; Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag, 1991), p. 378. The inscription is too fragmentary to provide evidence for or against the existence of an Akkadian temple. 43. Banks, “The Bismya Temple,” p. 31. 44. Banks, “The Bismya Temple,” pp. 31–32. 45. Persons, “Report No. 51.”

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Fig. 2. Plan of the Later Temple, after Persons, “Report No. 51.” Probably the Émah, built by Eªiginimpaªe for Dingirmah.

Persons distinguished basically two structures within the mound, which he included on one plan but which are shown separately on figs. 2 and 7. The Later Temple. The later complex, shown in fig. 2, had at its center a roughly square mud-brick platform that Persons referred to as “the ziggurat” or “the stage tower.” This was flanked on the southeast by a series of rooms and was partly enclosed by a massive wall with additional chambers of some kind to the northwest. Persons describes these structures as follows: A massive wall four meters or more in thickness parallels the two western sides of the ziggurat at a distance of nearly three meters, forming a passage accessible only at its extremities, for the thick wall is unbroken by doors or apertures of any sort, and completely isolates the outer

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Fig. 3. The north corner of the Later Temple platform. The bottom of the platform brickwork rests on a thin layer of sandy soil streaked with gravel and described as steel blue in color by Persons. The drain on the northwest facade is visible in the center of the picture; the enclosure wall is visible on the right. Persons, photo no. 302, “Report No. 51,” and Banks, Bismya, p. 187.

rooms from the stage tower within. [See fig. 3] . . . No such barrier incloses the eastern sides of this tower. . . . The huge block of masonry which formed the base of the stage tower is rectangular and nearly square in outline with its corners to the four cardinal points and its top surface covered to a considerable depth by a mass of unburned bricks or libbin. 46

Persons mapped and described in great detail two drains of baked brick set in bitumen that provided run-off from the top of the platform: Two similar narrow vertical drains constructed of three grooved bricks in bitumen are embedded in the faces of this tower, one along the northwest side at a distance of five meters from the north corner [fig. 3], the other just within a small blind passage which penetrates the southwest face near the southern corner and is separated from the crematoria 47 only by a thick wall. In general design and construction the two are duplicates, differing only in the distance from the top of the drain to the small square platform which protrudes beyond the drain at the base of the groove.

46. Persons, “Report No. 51.” 47. See below, pp. 290f.

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Fig. 4. View from the north showing the northwest side of the Later Temple platform and some of the rooms to its northwest. Persons, photo no. 243, “Report No. 47.”

Persons then made an important stratigraphic observation. He noted that the northern drain apparently marked the junction of two different structures, for several strata found in the portions north and east of this point do not elsewhere exist. Especially is this true of a thin layer of sandy soil streaked with gravel whose steel blue color renders it unmistakable wherever found. [This stratum is visible on figs. 3, 5, and 6.] This apparently served as an upper layer of earth upon which the later structure was founded and can be clearly traced along the two eastern facades of the ziggurat and through all the walls of the outlying rooms except the outer wall of the court, which is apparently of previous construction.

Persons also recorded that “The drain at the southern corner of the ziggurat is of greater depth than its companion, measuring slightly more than two meters from the horizontal platform to the upper limits while the other is scarcely one meter in height. . . .” 48 The presence of the sandy soil layer only on the two eastern faces of the terrace as well as the fact that the drain in that area was 1 m shorter than the southern one, both suggest that the eastern portion of the platform and the rooms contemporary with it were later additions to a previous structure, which was smaller in size than its successor. In describing the northeast face of the platform, Persons noted that for a distance of four meters from the north corner the face was unbroken except for the pilasters shown in the plans. At that point however, “a massive solid wall three meters in thickness runs normal to the tower, sloping downward as it recedes, and bearing upon its upper surface the remains of a previous stepped pavement of three grooved bricks which lie loosely without any connecting material (see figs. 5–6). The steps of this pavement suggest the possibility of a broad approach 48. Persons, “Report No. 51.”

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Fig. 5. View from the north, showing the broad sloping “ramp” that leads to the center of the northeast facade of the Later Temple platform. Baked bricks, in a stepped pattern, are visible at the top of the ramp. Persons, photo no. 308, “Report No. 51.”

or stairway from the outer court to the stage tower, and this point alone affords such access.” 49 The rather poor walls lying to the north and east of this stairway extended to a depth of only 110 cm below the surface of the terrace base and seem to be later additions, including an intrusive burial. Along the southeast edge of the terrace and the stairway were two walls that ran parallel to and against one another, the southeasternmost of which Persons said was “higher by two meters and supporting a crown of large plain bricks 48 cm square. . . . Though lacking the brick crown at its northeast extremity, still the wall extends far beyond the eastern corner of the ziggurat, and in its upper portions is a distinctly separate structure from the stage tower properly considered, for its original seven courses of burned bricks have no duplicates at any point along the face of the ziggurat.” 50 One wonders whether what Persons is recording here are the square bricks that Banks attributed to the Akkadian period. To the southeast of this double wall and resting on the same thin layer of sandy soil streaked with gravel that underlay the eastern part of the terrace were a series of rooms that contained the remains of several ovens and at least one bitumen-lined tank. What we now recognize as installations for the preparation of food and/or drink common in Mesopotamian temples were exotic and puzzling to both Banks and Persons at a time when little was known about the temples of the area. They both described the ovens as crematoria and believed that they were used to burn human remains. They described the details of the structures somewhat 49. Persons, “Report No. 51.” 50. Persons, “Report No. 51.”

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Fig. 6. View from the north, showing the broad sloping “ramp” that leads to the center of the northeast facade of the Later Temple platform. Baked bricks, in a stepped pattern, are visible at the top of the ramp. Persons, photo no. 248, “Report No. 47.”

differently, possibly because of destruction suffered as a result of, or subsequent to, Banks’s excavation, but these distinctions need not concern the present discussion. Basically, the rooms in this area contained two domed ovens, built of plano-convex bricks laid herringbone fashion, plus a small bitumen-lined tank. Persons was clearly puzzled by the remains of rooms lying to the northwest of the “ziggurat” and had difficulties sorting out the features there (fig. 4). The series of rooms without the northwest wall forms a most interesting as well as a most baffling study, for as disintegrated walls mingle with sand filling from storms an accurate location of the missing corners is no trivial task and a generous imagination alone can supply the various missing details. . . . Two rows of rooms may be traced across the entire area, and in the northern portion several additional smaller ones were found, though entrances and exits are often obscured and walls in fragments. The western portion is occupied by a terrace apparently built over the remains of earlier rooms, for excavation revealed the presence of many crumbled walls which the sloping surface scarcely concealed. The surface of this terrace is scored by a narrow shallow groove three meters in length and lined with bitumen, which extends from the outer walls of the second row of rooms to a small pool, from which it emerges in more substantial form as a well-constructed drain of two grooved bricks laid in bitumen which carried the water to the sloping edge of the terrace. 51

Unfortunately, what Persons referred to as a terrace is not recorded on his plan, although the drain is clearly indicated. Since Banks noted in his field records that the rooms on the 51. Persons, “Report No. 51.”

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northwest side of the ziggurat contained “nothing whatever,” 52 it seems not unlikely that they are, indeed, simply the foundations for an overlying brick terrace, platform, and/or staircase that was in a poor state of preservation when Persons made his plan. Persons wrote further of this area: The massive wall separating this section from the stagetower varies slightly along its course, but averages about four and one half meters in thickness; it joins the normal wall along the southeast 53 side by a carefully described circular arc and the consequent increase in thickness permits the insertion of two rooms into the wall itself—one of which opens toward the desert, the other being accessible only from the top. 54 No definite line of demarcation is discernible along the northeast boundary of this series, as the fragmentary sections of irregular walls may be traced into the waste piles which received the dirt from the inner portions, and somewhere beyond these must be the enclosing wall.

Persons also described and mapped structures southwest of the main enclosure: The rooms without the southwest wall are but three in number, for though fragments of other walls appear in places, no corners could be definitely located. Of these rooms, the one lying furthest southeast alone presents features of exceptional interest, such as the vertical terracotta drain whose base was reached by a shaft sunk into the desert sands during previous excavations, though all that work has now disappeared. Here was also a small square pier built into the outer wall whose top surface was deeply burned and scored in gridiron fashion, resembling in all details the kitchen fireplaces of modern Baghdad. 55

The Earlier Temple. Lying beneath, and at least partly within, the mud brick platform of the complex just described was a much smaller structure made of baked plano-convex bricks laid in bitumen (fig. 7). Banks appears never to have really grasped the stratigraphic relationship between this earlier building and the overlying complex, and his published descriptions of the temples are hopelessly confused. Persons, however, photographed, mapped, and described the earlier building in detail. Directly below this upper layer [the level shown on fig. 2] lies a solid mass of libbin encased by walls of plano-convex bricks laid in bitumen and covered by a single course of the same substantial material, forming a platform. . . . The outer walls of this earlier edifice are thickest and deepest along the Northwest side, being one and one half meters deep at this point and nearly one meter in thickness, as was discovered by a passage cut through them into the interior of libbin [see fig. 8]. . . . The proportions of this former structure are more modest than those of its successor, for it occupies merely the western portion of the present area and is oblong rather than

52. Nestmann, “Bismaya Day Book,” Jan. 31, 1904. The head and inscribed vessel fragment discussed above (see sub “The Third Dynasty Remains,” p. 284f. above) were found much later, on April 6, 1904 (Banks, “Report No. 15”). It is impossible to determine what the exact relationship of their findspot is to the rooms on the northwest side of the ziggurat that Banks described as empty and that Persons mapped. 53. Persons obviously meant to say “southwest.” 54. These “rooms” make no sense as such and are probably best regarded as errors on the part on the excavators. 55. Persons, “Report No. 51.”

spread now 1 line short

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Fig. 7. Plan of the Earlier Temple and a few outlying walls, after Persons, “Report No. 51.”

square in outline, with a single long arm extending nearly to the southeast face of the present tower. 56

Persons then went on to describe how Banks had excavated this earlier structure by tunneling beneath the later one: 57 The outlines and features of the earlier stage tower were disclosed by a system of excavation admirably adapted to the exigencies of the situation. After the removal of the earth along the northwest passage had fully revealed that side of the tower three entrances were cut into the face of the [later] stage tower until the bricks of the inner block stopped further work in that direction, when an inner passage parallel to the one without was cut through the loosely packed filling. This followed the solid northwest face of the earlier tower and encircling the corners . . . continued in a normal direction until terminated by the deep shafts which penetrated the earlier constructions. Removal of the overlying mass of libbin in the center of the stage tower further revealed the extent and limits of the Northeast side of the platform, and tunnels from the two southern sides followed the remaining boundaries thus revealing the entire outline except a small portion along the southeast side which still remains somewhat indistinct. 58 56. Persons, “Report No. 51.” 57. This system of tunnels is partly indicated on Persons’s plan and was included on the plan published by Banks (Bismya, p. 235.). 58. Persons, “Report No. 51.”

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Fig. 8. View of the tunnel along the northwest side of the Earlier Temple, from the west corner facing northeast. The passage cut into the platform to ascertain the thickness of the baked brick facing is visible in the middle ground. Persons, photo no. 304, “Report No. 51”; Banks, Bismya, p. 243.

Banks recorded that a tunnel dug into the northwest side of the structure (fig. 8) revealed that the plano-convex brick was less than a meter thick and “within all was dirt but just beneath the platform were two fragments of engraved blue stone.” 59 According to Persons, “every corner of this brick structure was marked by a small rounded recess in which some memorial tablet or urn had been embedded during the original construction, and at some later date removed.” 60 Banks described this aspect of the structure as follows: “Its surface was entirely covered with a layer of bitumen; along the edges of its walls, and at each corner, were a number of round niches lined with bitumen; it appears that records, or objects of special value, may have been deposited in them, as were the cylinders in later Babylonian times. As the sand was cleared from the niches, nothing but a small, uninscribed fragment of a marble vase appeared in one of them,” 61 and “At the corners and at regular intervals along 59. Record Book 4/20/04. Because Persons seems to have examined and understood this structure in more detail than Banks, I follow his description of the contents of this building as being mud brick rather than Banks’s indication that it was dirt. 60. Record Book 4/20/04. 61. Banks, “The Bismya Temple,” pp. 32–33.

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Fig. 9. Reconstruction of the stages of construction of the Earlier (b, d, e) and Later (f) Temples.

the sides of the tower were small, deep pockets set in the brickwork.” 62 Unfortunately, no drawings or photographs of these recesses have been preserved. Several other walls that Persons recorded as earlier than the period represented on fig. 2 also are included in fig. 7, but their stratigraphic relationship to the baked plano-convex brick structure was never determined, and their remains provide no hint of possible function or plan. Work at Bismaya came to an end before the structure of baked plano-convex bricks could be investigated further. This, combined with the fact that it was embedded in the later mud brick platform and reached primarily by tunneling, leaves unanswered many questions concerning details of its construction, function, and exact stratigraphic relationship to the overlying terrace. However, Banks’s shafts (fig. 1), Persons’s descriptions, and present knowledge about ancient Mesopotamian building practices make it possible to suggest that the section reconstructed in fig. 9 probably reflects fairly accurately the general situation on Mound V at Bismaya. Upon an earlier layer of mud brick (a)—either belonging to a built platform or resulting from the leveled remains of previous buildings (extending from –6.37 to –3.85 m in the southwest shaft and –10.21 to –5.71 m in the central one)—a structure of baked plano-convex bricks laid in bitumen mortar (b) was erected (at –3.85 to –2.50 m in the southwest shaft). As excavated (fig. 7), this structure appears to consist of two elements: (1) a square chamber standing to a height of roughly 1.5 m with walls approximately 1 m thick, and with no apparent doorway; and (2) a wall the same length as, but thicker than, the northeast wall of that chamber, that is an extension of that wall to the south. A layer described as “mud” (c), recorded at –5.1 to --5.7 m in the center shaft, lies at a level that corresponds to the lower courses of the baked brick structure and may represent floors associated with the use of that structure. 62. Banks, Bismya, p. 244.

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Fig. 10. Reconstruction of the plan of the Earlier Temple.

The baked brick “chamber” was at some point filled with unbaked mud brick (d) and was subsequently capped by a single layer of baked plano-convex brick laid in bitumen (e). Both Banks and Persons refer to this capped structure as “the plano-convex platform.” The mud brick of the temple terrace shown in fig. 2 (f) was then laid over and around the platform, coming down—at least in the area of the center shaft—to the level of the top of the mud “floors” (c) around it. The depth of this encasing as we can document it seems to have varied from 5.1 m in the central shaft to about 2.5 m on the northwest side. The reason(s) for this variation cannot now be determined but may reflect the use of below-surface measurements on a highly sloping tell, original irregularities in the terrain surrounding the baked brick structure, or phases in the construction or repair of the overlying terrace.

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Architectural Parallels for the Earlier Temple The baked plano-convex brick structure at Bismaya shares many unusual features with the “construction inférieure” on Tell K at Tello, which has been largely ignored in studies of Mesopotamian architecture. 63 They share the characteristic—unusual for the Early Dynastic period—of being large structures (as opposed to foundations or small installations) built of baked plano-convex bricks set in bitumen. In addition, the tops of the walls of both structures contained, at the corners and at regular intervals along the sides, bitumen-lined cavities, the function of which is completely enigmatic and which do not have parallels elsewhere. The Tello cavities were described and discussed in detail by Heuzey, who concluded that they may have held bitumen-coated baskets to receive liquids. 64 Unfortunately, no drawings or photographs of the bitumen-lined cavities in the walls at Bismaya have been preserved, but the fact that they, too, were cylindrical is suggested by Banks’s statement that they probably originally held inscribed cylinders. The baked plano-convex brick structure at Bismaya and the “construction inférieure” at Tello also share aspects of subsequent treatment: both were filled in, after which they were capped by layer(s) of baked bricks set in bitumen and were then completely encased in the brickwork of later temples. Because of these similarities, it seems reasonable to use the features of the more fully excavated and recorded Tello structure to propose a tentative reconstruction of the one at Bismaya (fig. 10). Based on the Tello building and the preserved remains at Bismaya, it seems reasonable to suggest that the Bismaya structure also may have been bipartite in plan, with the extended northeastern wall being all that survives of the second chamber to the south. If such were the case, entry into the building may have been through the southern chamber with access into the northern room through a doorway in its southeast edge, which was the only part of the structure not fully investigated by Banks. Persons’s plan suggests that the extension wall at Bismaya may have been constructed in two parts—an exterior section, of the same width as the meter-thick wall of the northern chamber, and a narrower, interior section. This two-part construction would find an exact parallel in the “construction inférieure,” which had a brick inner wall or bench along the northeastern wall of its larger chamber. Because the interior of the Bismaya building was never excavated, there is no way of knowing whether it contained, in addition to the “two fragments of engraved blue stone,” sculptures or foundation deposits like those found at Tello. The “construction inférieure” was excavated in the infancy of Near Eastern archaeology, as was the baked plano-convex brick structure at Bismaya, and the latter was, in addition, never completely investigated. For these reasons, it is not possible to be more precise about the exact nature of the two structures. For example, we can suggest, but cannot prove, that they were used as rooms before being filled with mud brick and that they served as part (perhaps the cella, as Parrot suggested 65) of larger temple complexes whose remaining portions were constructed of unbaked brick that was not detected by the excavators. However, the possibility remains that both structures were designed from the beginning as elaborately constructed water-resistant terraces whose function was to support structures that once stood upon their summits. 63. E. de Sarzec, Découvertes en Chaldée (Paris: E. Leroux, 1884–1912), pp. 411–16; L. Heuzey, Une Ville Royale Chaldéenne (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1900), pp. 45–68; A. Parrot, Tello: Vingt Campagnes de Fouilles (1877–1933) (Paris: Albin Michel, 1948), pp. 54–60. 64. Heuzey, Une Ville Royale, p. 59. 65. Parrot, Tello, p. 58.

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After it was filled with mud brick (fig. 9d), the baked plano-convex brick structure at Bismaya was covered with one course of baked brick and bitumen (fig. 9e), and “upon the bitumen pavement” Banks found a number of objects, including four items from a foundation deposit of Eªiginimpaªe, ruler of Adab. 66 The deposit consisted of an inscribed axe-shaped object with a spike or pin inserted into the hole at its end and two tablets. 67 The axe-shaped object, pin, and one of the tablets were of a copper alloy; the second tablet of white stone. Banks recorded the relative positions of the pieces when discovered in both his field notes for April 4, 1904, and in “Report No. 15” to Harper. He indicated that the “axe” lay on the pavement in a central position, pinned to the ground with the inscription facing up, and flanked by the stone tablet to the left (inscription facing up) and the metal tablet to the right (lying inscription side down). Similar positioning occurs in uninscribed foundation deposits found in situ at Mari 68 and in the foundation deposits of Ur-Nanse, 69 which are the closest parallels to that of Eªiginimpaªe. This suggests that the Bismaya foundation deposit was indeed found in situ, which would indicate that the overlying complex (fig. 2) was the Émah, built by Eªiginimpaªe for Dingirmah. 70 Architectural Parallels for the Later Temple The structures mapped by Persons and shown on fig. 2 bear a striking resemblance to two Mesopotamian temples whose shared similarities have already been treated in detail by P. Delougaz: the Early Dynastic temple ovals at ºUbaid and Khafajah. 71 The terrace at Bismaya, like the terraces at Khafajah and ºUbaid, is a rectangular structure with buttressed facades built of solid unbaked mud brick. The terraces are similar in scale: that at ºUbaid measuring 33 x 26 m, 72 at Khafajah 30 x 25 m, 73 and at Bismaya 21 x 20 m. However, the ºUbaid platform has an embellishment not found at the other two sites—a foundation of two courses of limestone rubble masonry above which are 1.6 m of baked plano-convex libn, 1.25 m thick. 74 At all three sites a stepped ramp gives access from an open area to the top of the terrace on which, presumably, a temple once stood. At Khafajah and Bismaya, the staircases are placed off-center; the stair at ºUbaid, while not perpendicular to the edge of the terrace, is roughly centered. 66. Banks, “Report No. 15”; Nestmann, “Bismaya Day Book,” April 4, 1904. In Bismya, Banks is much more vague than in his original notes and report. He indicates that four tablets of copper and one of marble were found in the ruins of the temple (p. 200) along with three of the axe-shaped objects with spikes thrust through their holes (p. 275). He gives no further information about their exact findspots. 67. Luckenbill, Inscriptions from Adab, no. 18 (bronze plate, OIM A543), 20 (plano-convex bronze tablet, OIM A1160), and 22 (plano-convex marble tablet, OIM A1159). The uninscribed spike is OIM A542; J. Cooper, Sumerian and Akkadian Royal Inscriptions I: Presargonic Inscriptions (New Haven: American Oriental Society, 1986), Eªiginimpaªe 3, p. 16. 68. Ellis, Foundation Deposits, p. 47. 69. Ellis, Foundation Deposits, pp. 51–52. 70. Z. Yang, Sargonic Inscriptions from Adab, p. 17, is mistaken in interpreting these objects as proving “positively” that Eªiginimpaªe built the underlying plano-convex brick temple. 71. P. Delougaz, “A Short Investigation of the Temple at al-Ubaid,” Iraq 5 (1938), pp. 1–11; The Temple Oval at Khafajah (OIP 53; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1940), pp. 140–45. 72. H. R. Hall and C. L. Woolley, Al-ºUbaid (UE I; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1927), p. 65. 73. Delougaz, The Temple Oval, pp. 41–42. 74. Hall and Woolley, Al-ºUbaid, p. 66.

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The Bismaya terrace resembles the ºUbaid one in having an extension to one side, partly joined to it and partly cut off by a narrow passage. At ºUbaid this passage terminated in a staircase that gave access to the top of the terrace. The side platform at ºUbaid (which did not have limestone and baked brick foundations) measured 17.7 x 8.5 m 75 as preserved, while that at Bismaya was about 20 x 13.5 m. It is not known whether the side extension at ºUbaid once supported ovens and water installations like those found at Bismaya, because its surface had completely eroded away. The Bismaya terrace, like the one at Khafajah, was closely surrounded on three sides by a rectangular wall, which had rooms outside of it on at least two sides. No similar wall was found at ºUbaid. Banks and Persons recorded no traces of an oval wall at Bismaya and, despite the similarities cited above, the existence of such must remain an unanswered question. It is almost certain that an oval wall contemporary with the terrace, if one had once existed, was no longer preserved in 1904 due the slope of the conical mound, and Banks’s excavations did not extend horizontally far enough to have detected traces of an earlier oval, if such had been preserved. It also is interesting to note that at both ºUbaid and Bismaya, there are traces of later building activities of Sulgi and that, in both cases, these appear to be associated with the goddess Ninhursag. 76 75. Hall and Woolley, Al-ºUbaid, p. 71. 76. Frayne, Ur III Period, Sulgi 45, p. 150, and Sulgi 16, p. 125.

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How Tall Was Naram-Sîn’s Victory Stele? Speculation on the Broken Bottom Irene J. Winter

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The Victory Stele of Naram-Sîn of Agade (ca. 2254—2218 b.c.e.) is surely one of the major monuments preserved from the ancient Near East (fig. 1). Unfortunately, it is partially broken at the top, making the curve of the upper portion of the Stele difficult to reconstruct with surety. 1 Even more difficult is to assess just what and how much is missing from the bottom (see detail, fig. 3). From what is visible, it is clear that at least three lines of soldiers were represented following Naram-Sîn diagonally from left to right. They move visually upward through space, into the mountainous territory indicated by a wavy groundline and landscape elements of at least two trees; and they move through time, into battle against the Lullubi, mentioned in the partially eroded inscription in the upper field, above the head of the victorious ruler. 2 The figures of the first two lines of march are well-preserved, heads tilted upward toward their leader, weapons and/or standards in hand. One leg of each soldier is firmly planted on the ground, the other bent at the knee and raised to illustrate most graphically the rising terrain. For the third row of figures, however, only the head of one and the upper half of a second Author’s note : The pleasure and intellectual stimulus of having had the Stele of Naram-Sîn in New York as part of the Susa loan exhibition from the Louvre to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1992 (on which, see P. O. Harper et al. [eds.], The Royal City of Susa: Ancient Near Eastern Treasures in the Louvre [New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1992], no. 109) was heightened for me by the experience of crawling about on the floor with Donald Hansen the night of the grand opening, as we examined the ragged edge of the lower portion of the monument. It seems therefore most appropriate to include this speculation in his honor. 1. See the reconstruction in J. Börker-Klähn, Altvorderasiatische Bildstelen und vergleichbare Felsreliefs (BaF 4; Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1982), fig. 26k (our fig. 4), where the curve is gradual, more like that of the better-preserved Stele of Eannatum of Lagash of the preceding Early Dynastic Period (ca. 2460 b.c.e.; = fig. 2). Börker-Klähn then expands the three extant astral elements preserved in the upper field to seven, which is not convincing. See also the reconstruction in L. Nigro, “Per una analisi formale dello schema compositivo della stele di Naram-Sîn,” Contributi e materiali di Archeologia Orientale 4 (1992), fig. 15 (our fig. 5), where the sides tapers more acutely, and the top is more pointed (what Holly Pittman, personal communication, suggests is most appropriate, as it echoes the shape of the “mountain” before which the ruler stands in the relief below). 2. I. J. Gelb and B. Kienast, Die altakkadischen Königsinschriften des dritten Jahrtausends v. Chr. FAOS 7 (Stuttgart: F. Steiner, 1990), 90f (=NSin4).

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Fig. 1. Victory Stele of Naram-Sîn, found at Susa. Akkadian Period, ca. 2250 b.c.e. Pinkish sandstone; ht. as preserved, 2 m. Louvre, Sb 4 (Photo: author, reproduced Courtesy of the Musée du Louvre).

Akkadian soldier are visible, along with most of a tree and the upper torso of a defeated enemy at the right hand margin, his arms bent, fists clasped at the brow of his upturned head. As it is presently preserved, the Stele measures some 2 m in height. To complete just these bottom figures, at least 30 cm more must be added to the overall height of the monument, to make room for the lower bodies and legs of the humans and the base of the tree (see, for example, fig. 4). Some reconstructions of the Stele have simply completed the obviously missing portions, indicating the outline of the lower edges of the monolith with dotted lines not closed at the bottom (e.g., fig. 5). By modern conventions, this is sufficient to imply uncertainty whether there might have been (a) immediate closure at the horizontal below the feet of the figures, (b) a blank or inscribed dado of uncertain height below, or even (c) some further continuation of the relief imagery. Before we engage in any speculation as to the missing portions, it is useful to consider the particular stone from which the Stele is carved. It is a pinkish sandstone that has been argued to come from Miocene/Pliocene deposits above Kirkuk, in the very same area as the Lullubi

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Fig. 2. Reconstruction drawing of the Victory Stele of Eannatum of Lagash, found at Tello. Early Dynastic III Period, ca. 2460 b.c.e. White limestone; ht. as preserved 1.80 m. Louvre, AO 50 + 2436–8 + 16109 (Drawing: Elizabeth Simpson).

campaign. 3 The sandstone is grainy, and like all sedimentary rocks, especially sandstone, it is water-absorbent and friable, eroding or flaking easily. It is possible, therefore, that if the monument had been embedded in the ground at some point, rather than standing on a more protective base, it could have taken in moisture, such that either at its original site in Lower Mesopotamia or when moved to the Susa acropolis by Sutruk Nahunte to be displayed in the Insusinak temple complex where the Stele was found, 4 it would simply have disintegrated up to the point of present preservation. This explanation is less likely, however, due to the jagged and uneven lower edge. Had water seepage and disintegration been the cause of destruction, the lines of exfoliation of the surface and the breakage of the edge would show a more even horizontal or slightly wavy, continuous line, consistent with the point up to which the stone would have taken in water, rotted and ultimately disintegrated, to fall once the seepage and disintegration reached above ground level and/or sufficiently weakened the fabric of the stone. A second possibility must be explored, therefore: that the stone was instead actually broken in antiquity. This would better account for the jagged lower edge we see today, where the fracture would follow the crystalline stress lines of the sandstone, producing an uneven break line. 3. See I. Winter, “Tree(s) on the Mountain: Landscape and Territory on the Victory Stele of NaramSîn of Agade,” in L. Milano et al. (eds.), Landscapes: Territories, Frontiers and Horizons in the Ancient Near East. History of the Ancient Near East / Monographs III/1 (Padova: Sargon, 1999), p. 71. 4. The history of discovery is outlined in Börker-Klähn, Altvorderasiatische Bildstelen, pp. 134–35, and in Harper et al., The Royal City of Susa, pp. 159–62.

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Fig. 3. Detail, bottom of Victory Stele of Naram-Sîn (Courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art).

Yet, if indeed the bottom portion has been broken off, we have another problem: that the fulcrum for a hard snapping of the stone is not likely to be so close to the bottom, were the Stele to be missing only the 30 cm of the readily restored human figures and their putative ground line. Far more likely is that a sharp blow or impact from falling over would create a break between two-thirds to mid-way up the stone. The implications of this are surprising: if we restore the missing portion as at least 50% again of the present height of the monument (with the 2 m preserved equaling approximately two-thirds of the original and the approximately one-third now gone adding an additional meter), then the overall monument would have stood some 3 m tall. This would leave room for not one, but two additional lines of soldiers moving up the terrain, were the decorative portion to have occupied the entire obverse! Of course, it is certainly possible that, even if the monument were to have stood at least one-third again taller, an undecorated dado or an inscribed band could have completed the bottom, rather than a continuation of the visual narrative. However, with a dedicatory inscription by Naram-Sîn already extant at the top, plus the lack of precedent in the Akkadian period for lengthy texts as opposed to brief dedications and/or labels, and the more usual placement

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Fig. 4. Reconstruction drawing of Victory Stele of Naram-Sîn. Börker-Klähn, Altvorderasiatische Bildstelen, fig. 26k.

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Fig. 5. Reconstruction drawing of Victory Stele of Naram-Sîn. Nigro, Contributi e Materiali, fig. 15.

of inscriptions in the upper field, generally in proximity to the ruler, 5 there is really no compelling reason to hypothesize a lower text. There is at present no way to prove that there would not have been a blank portion at the base, a relatively small dado band that could have occupied the missing expanse, but even that hypothesis is not fully satisfying. Whether there are actually two missing register-lines or only one in the overall scene, the vexing problem is how to resolve the bottom of the visual field. The upper-most line of soldiers, two carrying standards and the third a spear, move left to right on an undulating and ascending ground line that seems to end at the median of the crushed enemy who lie contorted at the feet of the Akkadian king. The second line of Akkadian soldiers also moves upward on a wavy and ascending ground line, which in this case does have a visual continuation past the 5. See, for example, Naram-Sîn’s own Pir-Hüseyin stele, in A. Moortgat, The Art of Ancient Mesopotamia (New York: Phaidon, 1969), fig. 153.

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median. The “scout” 6 at the head of the line and the uppermost tree in the landscape are seen higher up along the same contour, which seems to terminate in the high plateau on which stands a defeated enemy with broken spear (see figs. 1, 4, and 5). 7 If, following this same organizing principle, one sees the evidently missing third line of soldiers moving along an equally wavy and ascending ground, then that would be the line on which the lower of the two trees on the Stele also stands; and this line again seems to end as a plateau on which a third vertically-stacked enemy is positioned, supplicating arm raised to the victorious king. But this leaves the fourth, partially preserved and brow-beating enemy of the bottom right corner on yet another ground line. Now, if the resolution of the bottom edge of the representational field were a horizontal line, then that last enemy could be the only figure on his own, independent ground line, serving as a filler of the corner, with his feet more or less on the same level as those of the ascending soldiers of “line 3” (as in the reconstruction published by Börker-Klähn, fig. 4). If, however, each enemy is to be seen as the endpoint of a rising ground line, then there had to have been a fourth row of ascending Akkadian soldiers as well! This solution would be consistent with the recent study by Lorenzo Nigro that argues for narrative coherence plus rhythmic regularity in the Stele’s opposition of loyal soldiers and defeated enemy. 8 Such an added register however, significantly changes the height and proportion of the monument as we presently envision it, as well as its relief imagery. The Victory Stele of Naram-Sîn would then have been closest in height to the original restoration of the Stele of Ur-Namma of Ur in the University Museum (ca. 2110 b.c.e.; estimated ht. 3 m); 9 taller than the Law Stele of Hammurabi of Babylon (ca. 1760 b.c.e.; ht. 2.25 m; = fig. 6), and certainly taller than the Stele of Eannatum (ht. 1.80 m as currently restored; = fig. 2). Most comparable to the Law Stele of Hammurabi would be the figure of the ruler, who stands approximately 54 cm in a visual field of 65 cm on the Old Babylonian monument, while the actual body of Naram-Sîn as measured from crown of head to heel of hind foot would be ca. 58 cm on the Akkadian work (see comparison, figs. 7 and 8). The added height of the Naram-Sîn Stele would furthermore raise considerably the position of the king vis-à-vis the viewing audience, setting him well above eye level. In anticipation of such a possibility, with the kind permission of Annie Caubet, Conservateur en Chef du Département des Antiquités Orientales, Musée du Louvre, and the generous cooperation of Prudence O. Harper, then Curator of the Department of Ancient Near Eastern Art at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I was able to commission two drawings of the Stele of Naram-Sîn in 1992 (figs. 9 and 10). The first, more conventional version, simply completes the visible elements as discussed and does not differ significantly from the previous drawings of Börker-Klähn and Nigro cited above. Even with such a conservative reconstruction, the monument is taller than the generally triangular form preserved to us. The second version adds a 6. Winter, “Tree(s) on the Mountain,” p. 66. 7. Megan Cifarelli has undertaken a study of the defeated enemy of Assurnasirpal II from the Northwest Palace reliefs; the physical characteristics of posture and gesture that she identifies are equally applicable here (“Gesture and Alterity in the Art of Ashurnasiripal II of Assyria,” Art Bulletin LXXX (1998), pp. 210–28. 8. L. Nigro, “Visual Role and Ideological Meaning of the Enemies in the Royal Akkadian Relief,” in J. Prosecky (ed.), Intellectual Life of the Ancient Near East: Papers of the 43 e Rencontre assyriologique internationale, Prague 1996 (Prague: Oriental Institute, 1998), p. 291. 9. The restored version is reproduced in Moortgat, The Art of Ancient Mesopotamia, fig. 194. The Stele has since been dismantled and has not yet been reconstructed.

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Fig. 6. Law Stele of Hammurabi of Babylon, found at Susa. Old Babylonian Period, ca. 1760 b.c.e. Diorite; ht. 2.25 m. Louvre, Sb1 (Courtesy of the Musée du Louvre).

fourth line of soldiers to meet the fourth register of gesturing enemy. In that case, the problem of resolution of the bottom right-hand corner remains: it is not clear how that corner would have been filled in the original. Yet this version has at least one advantage that should be considered. In the taller reconstruction, with added pictorial register, the number of followers of Naram-Sîn increases: from the nine visible figures plus presumably a tenth or even an eleventh at the left-hand side of the bottom line, to a probable thirteen or fourteen. If we understand the two standard-bearers on the upper-most ground line to represent the elite guard accompanied by a probable officer, just behind the king, 10 then the more conventional reconstruction 10. Winter, “Tree(s) on the Mountain,” p. 64.

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Fig. 7. Detail, visual field of the Law Stele of Hammurabi; ht. approx. 65 cm (Courtesy of the Musée du Louvre).

would allow for only six to eight foot soldiers, depending upon whether one counted the “scout” in the second line and whether there might be two missing soldiers along the third line. A possible fourth line would add an additional three or four figures, bringing the total of foot soldiers closer to twelve (again, depending upon whether one counted the “scout” in the second line). In this case, the added line conforms more closely with the representation on the upper register of the reverse of the Stele of Eannatum (fig. 2), where a phalanx of twelve soldiers in battle formation follows the ruler—three wrapping around the left hand side of the monument, nine continuing along the same line onto the reverse. 11 This number was then replicated 11. I. J. Winter, “After the Battle is Over: The Stele of the Vultures and the Beginning of Historical Narrative in the Art of the Ancient Near East,” in H. Kessler and M. Simpson (eds.), Pictorial Narrative in Antiquity and the Middle Ages (Studies in the History of Art 16; Washington, D.C.: National Gallery of Art, 1985), p. 16 [note, however, that while there are twelve heads, there are twenty-four pairs of hands grasping spears in battle formation before the protective shields].

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Fig. 8. Detail, ruler and mountain from Victory Stele of Naram-Sîn; ht. of figure, approx. 58 cm (Courtesy of the Musée du Louvre).

in the second register from the top, where a similar set of twelve soldiers (now four on the side and eight on the reverse) are represented in two tiers marching toward battle behind Eannatum in his chariot. The Early Dynastic precedent could suggest that the number twelve, or a multiple thereof, was used to indicate a representative sample of a military cohort, thereby privileging the taller reconstruction. 12 12. Note also that the reverse of the Stele of Eannatum is divided into four registers, albeit along straight horizontal groundlines. Nigro, “Visual Role and Ideological Meaning,” p. 287, further observes that a stele from Tello attributed to Rimush (2278–2270 b.c.e.), an Akkadian predecessor of Naram-Sîn, was also subdivided into at least four horizontal registers. Although the Stele of Naram-Sîn is innovative in its representation of the terrain as a unified field, it is possible that the sub-division into four (here, diagonal) bands is not entirely unrelated.

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Fig. 9. Reconstruction drawing of Victory Stele of Naram-Sîn, with one register added; ht. approx. 2.30—2.50 m (Drawing: Denise Hoffman, 1992).

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Fig. 10. Reconstruction drawing of Victory Stele of Naram-Sîn, with two registers added; ht. approx. 2.80—3.0 m (Drawing: Denise Hoffman, 1992).

In order to argue further for such a reconstruction, with its attendant shift in relationship of height to width and incorporating an addition to the representational field, the Stele would have to be understood as the product of the availability and/or transport of the stone plus a desire to heighten visual impact. The result would not only foreground the victorious and perfect ruler, as would be the case in either solution; 13 it would also raise him further above the viewing public at ground level. Indeed, one wonders whether such a strategy would not have been consciously deployed, such that in order to focus on the king, the viewers’ eyes/heads would have to be angled upward just like those of the defeated enemy along the right-hand margin of the Stele—in short, turning the viewers into subservient subjects as well! This would not be 13. See on this, I. Winter, “Sex, Rhetoric and the Public Monument: The Alluring Body of NaramSîn of Agade,” in N. Kampen (ed.), Sexuality in Ancient Art (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996), pp. 11–26.

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at all inconsistent with the assumption by Naram-Sîn (and his son, Sar-kalli-sarri) to (semi-)divine status in the period. 14 We would then have to see the height of the Ur-Namma Stele and the Law Stele of Hammurabi not as unique, later developments, but as part of a general trend toward greater monumentality in the later part of the third millennium and the first half of the second millennium b.c.e. Indeed, the 18th-century Old Babylonian ruler confronting/in special and proximate relation to the sun-god suddenly becomes a powerful visual counterpart, in composition as well as scale, to Naram-Sîn confronting his mountain. In the end, I believe there are not yet sufficient grounds on which to insist that the taller reconstruction would better represent the original Victory Stele of the Akkadian ruler. Nevertheless, enough problems remain with the more conservative, shorter reconstruction, to permit us to entertain this possible alternative. In that spirit of inquiry and constant examination of data which Donald Hansen always espoused in his classroom, and of which I was a frequent beneficiary, I leave the question open, and invite continued speculation.

14. The visual implications of this “deification” are discussed by J. Asher-Grève, “Observations on the Historical Relevance of Visual Imagery in Mesopotamia,” in Histoire et Conscience historique dans les Civilisations du Proche-Orient Ancien (Leuven: Peeters, 1990), p. 180.

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Mapping Óimyarite Z5afar Paul Yule

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These notes are dedicated to a field archaeologist and scholar whose broad interests span an area which ranges from Iran to South Arabia. They are a tribute to his influence on me as my mentor.

Introduction Roman, Byzantine, and medieval Arab authors mention Z5afar (Safar, regia Sapphar, and Tapharon), the royal capital of the Old South Arabian Óimyar tribe, the famous early historic Yemenite city which lies 130 km south of Íanºaª (fig. 1). Z5afar is one of the Yemen’s most prominent ruins. Despite the conventional transliteration, in the Yemen and in the immediate area nowadays the name is pronounced “dthó-far.” The geographic identification with the ancient capital is confirmed by monumental texts from here cut into stone, and preserved in the Z5afar museum. The extensive ruins lie 10 km east of Kitab at some 2900 m altitude. Situated on the eastern edge of an intermontane valley, near the head of the Wadi Bana, Z5afar is located in Yemen’s best-watered region. This large royal city emerges historically in Pliny’s Historia naturalis (VI, 104) and by the anonymous author of the Periplus maris erythraei (§23), both of the first century a.d. The official founding of Z5afar may coincide with the beginning of the Óimyarite calendar in 115 b.c. 1 By this time the Óimyarites had vanquished their political and military rivals, most notably the Sabaean power to the north. Known only in bare outline, Z5afar’s history reflects a turbulent succession of Pre-Christian, Christian, Jewish, and Muslim religions. Historical highlights include Theophilus Indus’s commissioning of churches through local rulers in “Tapharon of the Homerites,” ºAden, and Hormuz at the behest of the Byzantine Constantius II (337–361). Subsequent to its commercial and military apex, the city suffered political and sectarian disturbances and subsequently lost its political power in 525, falling to the Abessinians. Surprisingly little is known generally or specifically about the local cultures in the Yemen during the Óimyarite Period. The influence of Óimyarite culture on neighbouring areas, including the Z5ufar (same pronunciation nowadays as its Yemenite namesake) in the Sultanate of Oman, also is a topic still at an early stage of research.

1. R. D. Tindel, “Z5afar,” in Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East 5 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), p. 386.

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Fig.1. Towns and places mentioned. Fig. 2. Attempt at rendering the place-names around Z5afar, after Survey Authority Íanºaª. 1:50.000 map, Series YAR 50 (A), Sheet 1444 C4 “al-Íaddah,” edition 2–OSD 1986. The coordinates are of the UTM system.

Fig. 3. Sketch map of Z5afar, after Radt, “Forschungsreise,” p. 268 fig. 23.

Fig. 4. Sketch map of Z5afar, after P. A. Grjaznevic, Istorkio-archeologiceskie pamyatniki drevnego i srednevekovogo Jemena. polevye issledovanija 1970–1971 (St. Petersburg: Rossijskaya Akad. Nauk, Inst. Vostokovednijak, 1994), fig. 2.

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Despite its great wealth, political, and historical influence, tantalizing mentions of the city in medieval texts reveal little about its dimensions, topography, and former importance. 2 As a result of P. Costa’s and R. Tindel’s catalogues, more is known about Óimyarite sculpture. 3 Three recently published maps purport to illuminate our understanding of the city. But they deviate greatly from each other in appearance, vary in their accuracy, intention, and possess little insight into the history and topography of this once-splendid place (figs. 2–4). A fourth map in Tindel’s unpublished dissertation is unavailable for study.

Local Place Names The local place-names have been rendered in different ways. Authoritative is the official map of the Survey Authority which positions the archaeological ruins erroneously to the southwest of the present-day village Z5afar (corrected in fig. 2). In part based on and/or corroborating W. Radt (fig. 3), Costa reports the mountains Z5afar, al-Qasr (Raydan), al-Óußn, and alºAßabi. 4 Collectively, the three mountains which form the core are today known as Raydan. The apellatives which locals named us in during our first season for two of the mountains are inconsistent with all of this: The northeasterly mountain sometimes is referred to as “al-Gusr,” the central mountain Óußn Raydan, and the southernmost is Z5afar. In order to avoid confusion, from south to north respectively, we designate these as Z5afar, Óußn Raydan, and “Raydan north.” In addition, belonging to the settlement but outside the antique walls are al-ºAßabi to the southeast and Jebel Athrub to the south of Z5afar. 5 Local and government sources concur that up to 30 years ago Óußn Raydan (fig. 5) and Raydan north were inhabited. But since then with varying degrees of success, settlement and gardening have been prohibited. While the two main mountains are now devoid of habitation, an estimated 370 individuals dwell in Z5afartown. If little is known of the antique architecture of Óußn Raydan, then even less is known about its neighbour directly to the south, which presumably also was a source of stone for the present-day house architecture on that same mountain. Virtually all of the houses here are built of antique dressed stone.

Z5afa™r as a Quarry Owing to their excellent dressed stone, the mighty Óimyarite fortification walls and the finer ones of the royal buildings have been an attractive source of building material for subsequent populations. Two thousand years of weathering, erosion, and other natural factors in this rainy area also have taken their toll. Residents with whom we spoke related that Óußn Raydan and Raydan north (fig. 6) have served as a stone quarry for virtually all of the towns in the vicinity. These include Bait al-Aswal, al-Óadaº, Kitab, Mankat, Yarim, Z5afar (fig. 7), and others. We took the opportunity to photograph reliefs and inscriptions built into the houses in Bait alAswal and Mankat. Some of those who participated in the previous quarrying served as our 2. J. Tkatsch, “Z5afar,” in Encyclopedia of Islam 5 (Leiden: Brill, 1934), pp. 1283–89; and Tindel, “Z5afar,” pp. 386–87. 3. P. M. Costa, “Antiquities from Z5afar (Yemen),” AION 33 (1973), pp. 185–206; P. M. Costa, “Antiquities from Z5afar (Yemen),” AION 36 (1976), pp. 445–56; and R. D. Tindel, “Zafar: Archaeology in the Land of Frankincense and Myrrh,” Archaeology 37 (1984), pp. 40–45. 4. Costa, “Antiquities from Z5afar,” (1973), p. 185. 5. W. Radt, “Forschungsreise in die arabische Republik Jemen,” AA (1971), figs. 23, 30, 31.

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Fig. 5. Óußn Raydan viewed from the south.

workmen this year. They say that 30 years ago the buildings on top of and on the sides of the main mountain site were still partly intact. Even prior to the widespread use of mechanized transport, years of quarrying on an industrial scale had a decidedly destructive effect on the stone architecture. For different reasons, that crafted of wood and clay, similar to many built centuries thereafter, has long since disappeared without a trace. The recent dramatic expansion of the population generates a need for housing. What centuries of natural and human forces failed to accomplish has taken place within a few generations. Be this as it may, a significant difference in the preservation is not clear by comparison with the photos published by Radt in 1971. 6 The best-preserved dwelling on Óußn Raydan is located on its north-northwest side, and allegedly represents an attempt to build at that time using antique spolia. Although on Raydan north the recent settlement is said to have been more substantial, today from the scrappy foundation remains this cannot be confirmed. A first step in our cultural resource management project for the settlement is the mapping, the purpose of this year’s campaign (25.07.—25.08.1998). In this way the city’s present condition can be registered, and this map can be readily modified in future seasons. Some 20 years ago, in order to hinder further stone robbing on the south side of Óußn Raydan, local villagers and authorities recount the burying of surviving antique walls under two metres of stone. This well-intended measure effectively hindered our mapping of a key part of the city. Parts of the 6. Radt, “Forschungsreise,” figs. 24–31.

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Fig. 6. Right: southwest corner of Óußn Raydan; background center: Raydan north.

Fig. 7. Southwest side of Z5afar.

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main palace may well lie here, since few of the structures atop the mountain seem either large enough or are of the right period to be recognizable as the Óimyarite palace, which is known to have been called Raydan. The new mapping confirmed the large dimensions of the settlement and the elaborate defensive architecture of its three mountains. The first season’s efforts yielded a rich harvest of information about the place. Our original plan to map photogrammetrically with the help of aerial surveillance was discarded owing to the difficulty involved in procuring suitable photos of the area. At the outset of our first season, the size and shape of the settlement were unclear. Four km2 were to be mapped at 1:2500 scale, with Óußn Raydan in the center. This would document the core area. But during the survey and after some deliberation, we altered our strategy. First, the area was too large and the scale too small, and small building features would not be readily visible in the map. We decided to map at 1:1000. Second, the entire area originally envisaged could not be mapped in a single brief season, particularly because of the heavy daily rain and cloud cover at this time of year. Third, since many of the structural features lay beneath a heavy layer of stone rubble, one could map, but conceivably still glean only a misleading picture of the layout of the city. The positions of palaces, main dwelling quarter, city gates, defense system, churches, synagogues, and temples could hardly be deduced.

The Features Today, the architectural remnants are recognizably early historic (the few centuries after the time of Christ) owing to their excellent masonry. But the site is a ruin, and according to one specialist, no major Óimyarite architectural features survive, 7 a description which is only partly true. Close cooperation between the archaeologists and surveyers, as well as a limited cleaning of the site, enabled the mapping of the archaeological features partially buried and difficult to recognize. In the first season, 174 walls, caves, houses, cisterns, terraces, and other features were registered in and around the three mountains. Pre-Óimyarite contexts have not yet been identified. In general, few architectural features exist which are unequivocally early Óimyarite in date. To these belong several fragmentary walls with finely cut masonry, especially on Raydan north. A deterioration of architectural and artistic achievement mark late and post Óimyarite times, to which belong most of the stone walls visible atop Óußn Raydan and Raydan north. During the course of recent deep road grading a few hundred metres south of Z5afar in al-Óaifa, extensive deep settlement ruins came to light which we unexpectedly became aware of. These seem less disturbed than the others on the site, to judge from the profiles left by the bulldozer. In comparison, especially the terraced fields at the foot of Óußn Raydan contain the stones of completely ruined antique and medieval features. The mapping is to continue, complemented by limited excavation to clarify specific structures. At the highest point atop Óußn Raydan, a likely spot for construction under royal patronage, we partly cleared and then refilled a late/post Óimyarite building designated Z028. The dating derives from the mixture of well-dressed Óimyarite stones and presumably later coarsely dressed ones which occurred in the foundations. On arrival, we noticed stones piled up on or near this structure by robbers for transportation to other places. Grass still grew beneath the stones. Our cleaning of Z028 was never conceived to be a full-scale excavation. Our goal was mapping and we did not intend to reach bedrock at all points, but rather simply to 7. Tindel, “Z5afar,” (1997), p. 386.

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determine the preservation and character of this part of the site with a minimum of destruction as a first documentational step. Hardly a handful of finds, mostly pottery sherds, occurred. The original floor was no longer intact. Best preserved were the north and east foundation walls. Within a few metres east of this building a large, finely fashioned, fragmentary, octagonal column of white marble came to light which may have belonged to it. Just north of the structure, fragments of sculpture occurred in the debris. During the course of the cleaning some 100 m3 of stone debris were removed from the immediate vicinity before our season came to an end. The building measured a scant 18 x 11 m. Could this be what ºAlqamah in alIklil is quoted as refering to as the “mighty castle Raydan”? 8 Was this Óimyarite palace already by then completely dismantled, or was it located elsewhere? In al-Iklil, the 10th century Yemenite historian al-Hamdani mentions eight palaces in Z5afar including Raydan (the state palace of Du-Yazan), Shaw˙a†an, and Kawkaban, 9 and names the nine city gates. These are the Walaª (friendship), Aslaf (ancestors), Karaqah, Maªnah (navel), Hadwan, Khuban, Óawrah, Íayd, also called Sumarah, and Óaql. 10 Some gates may be named after places in the direction of which they face. 11 The gates are located “on top of a mountain,” a description which fits the topography. The main entrance structure of the settlement was built in the saddle between Óußn Raydan and Raydan north. Here and on the west side of Óußn Raydan the stone rubble is the heaviest on the entire site. Enough is visible to determine that the fortification opened to the east and west. A third main antique entrance is the one presently used for access to Z5afar town. The fortification system uses the natural slope and cut rock-faces combined with walls. Even in their ruined state, the defensive walls of the three mountains are impressive. Where the southern-most mountain, Z5afar, is not as steep as the other two, its defensive system has suffered less from erosion. To the southeast of the museum in Z5afar, casemate walls made of massive stones are partly intact and lend an idea of how other parts of the fortification would have appeared. The eastern side of Z5afar was the weak part of the defensive system of the three mountains because here the slope outside the walls is not steep. The chronological development of the fortifications in relation to other structures is unknown. Numerous tunnels and chambers were cut into the soft tuff. One tunnel said to connect the eastern and western sides of Óußn Raydan, in fact does not. Undoubtedly some are originally Óimyarite, or were expanded at that time. But at this stage of research their dating is unclear. Several chambers have been fitted secondarily with exterior walls and turned into dwellings and/or stalls. Others now are empty ruins, are baths with descending steps cut into the bedrock, are full to the roof with water, or serve as latrines. Large cylindrical or conical underground chambers served for water and fodder storage. Nowadays, locally, others are considered originally to have been stables because they have a central access and flanking box-like chambers. Conceivably they would have been large enough to house donkeys or small horses. Indeed, nowadays some are used for livestock. But the regular arrangement of otherwise blind chambers straddling a central corridor suggests catacombs rather than stalls, despite their secondary use as such. Others, as at al-ºUwair, are far larger, of better than average workmanship, and 8. N. A. Faris, The Antiquities of South Arabia being a Translation from the Arabic of the Eighth Book of Al-Hamdani’s al-Iklil (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1940), p. 20. 9. Faris, The Antiquities of South Arabia, p. 22. 10. Faris, The Antiquities of South Arabia, p. 22–23. 11. Oral information, N. Nebes.

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Fig. 8. Sketch of the gallery Z066 at Z5afar.

Paul Yule

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elaborate to an extent that royal patronnage seems plausible or even likely. Walls are relatively straight and corners geometrically regular. Some of the galleries in and around Z5afar probably once were tombs, located inside or near the city walls where they could be defended. Unresolved is the whereabouts of the royal tombs. Pre-Islamic graves occur at different points around the site, but a closer dating for them is not as yet possible. Moreover, cremation is a most unlikely early historic custom in this part of the world. 12 In the hope of locating a royal tomb, in 1980 representatives of the General Organisation of Antiquities excavated one of the largest subterranean chambers, which is located on the northeast side of Z5afar. At about the same time royal tombs they also sought in Íirha near Yarim.

A Royal Tomb? Between Z5afar and Óußn Raydan near the old stone-built mosque, we designated one of the very largest of the chambers “Z066.” Pending proper surveying, time allowed for its sketching (fig. 8). Foundation-cuts into the bedrock and monumental Óimyarite walls in the immediate area bear witness to this having been an area of royal building activity. The subterranean antique structure consists of a main gallery surrounded by chambers which are subcircular in plan. The lower sides of the main chamber are formed by a “bench.” Flanked by chest-high walls and by two piers cut out of the bedrock at the north end, a step leads into the northernmost central chamber. On the east side the chambers communicate with each other and from chest height upwards with the central hall by means of an arcade which separates them. The chambers on the north and east sides are approximately as deep as is the main gallery. During the rainy summer monsoon season water seeps into the subsurface structure through rock fissures. At the bottom of each, a cylindrical depression measuring some 20 x 20 cm is cut, evidently for drainage. Access into the main gallery is provided by now-worn steps at the south end. In its present state, this area is enclosed by a stone structure with barrel-vaults. This ediface, of no great antiquity (three reused Óimyarite reliefs decorate the exterior), belongs to Óamud Atam al-Z5afari. Dung paddies used for heating and cooking are stored and dried in the antique gallery and added-on house. Aside from the addition of the stone building, there is no evidence for different building phases. The gallery bears no inscribed name of a Óimyarite king or other personnage. It is remarkable owing to its large size, elaborateness, and unique shape. Among the features which are difficult to explain is the stone “bench” surrounding the central chamber. The identification of Z066 as a royal tomb is inferred by its size and elaborate construction. Z066 is the only known anthropogenic underground chamber in which reliefs are preserved. Two reliefs were cut onto the south face of the two columns at the north end of the chamber. The worn relief to the west (fig. 9a and 9b) shows a rampant goat, its head turned back and with upwardly pointed horns. The caprid to the east (fig. 10a and 10b) differs from it in its style, preservation, and general appearance. These two figures show little modelling but are striking in their form. Since nearly all of the relief sculptures from the area are only chancefinds, these two are the only ones for which the exact provenance within the city is certain. Presumably they are Óimyarite in date, and fit into the iconography of this period.

12. J. Wellhausen, Reste arabischen Heidentums gesammelt und erläutert (2d ed.; Berlin/Leipzig: de Gruyter, 1927), p. 127.

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Fig. 9a and 9b. East relief at the north end of the chamber (height of the figure ca. 37 cm).

Fig. 10a and 10b. West relief at the north end of the chamber (height of the figure ca. 41 cm).

margins violated by 1 pica on each side.

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In the immediate surrounding area, graves penetrate into the bedrock. The largest number of graves seems to be located on the north slope of the hill al-ºAsabi to the south of the Wadi Z5afar a few hundred metres southeast of Z066. They are partly visible in the surface. On the north side of Z5afar, several nearby caves once may have been tombs. In recent years, and no doubt earlier, treasure seekers have robbed here. Natural and man-made subterranean galleries of unknown original function lie scattered in the immediate surrounding area. The investigation of the cemeteries lay outside the scope of this year’s project. Although the mapping is not yet finished, Z5afar emerges as a mighty fortress corresponding to that in the early sources.

Acknowledgments After a first visit to the site in September of 1996, the project was discussed with Yusuf Abdulla, President of the General Organisation of Antiquities, Museums, and Manuscripts, who wholeheartedly supported it. We would like to thank the Foreign Office of the Federal Republic of Germany for enabling this project from its Fund for Cultural Preservation. Further support came from W. M. Domke, an anonymous source, SEH Computers, and the Photogrammetric Department of the German Mining Museum in Bochum. Gunther Amtmann lent us a kite, middle format camera, and the necessary accessories. Wolfgang Böhler of the Institute for Spatial Information and Surveying Technology of the University of Applied Science in Mainz was an inexhaustable source of information on mapping. In the Yemen our thanks go to Burkhard Vogt, leader of the research station in Íanºaª of the German Institute of Archaeology, who helped in numerous ways. Our government representatives were ºAli Abdul Kawi, Abdul Razaq Noman al-Shargabi, and Saleh Abdu al-Waideh. The team consisted of Manfred Klein, Rainer Krahe (surveyers from the University of Mainz), Celia Bergoffen (archaeologist from New York University), and myself. Norbert Nebes ( Jena) and Kathrin Sachsenberg (Berlin) made several excellent suggestions in the text. Tibor Pataky (Aachen) expertly redrew my sketches of the gallery Z066.