Roman Art, Religion and Society: New studies from the Roman Art Seminar, Oxford 2005 9781841717913, 9781407330372

Table of contents :
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Table of Contents
Foreword
List of Illustrations
The Hardwick Boot: A Roman Bronze Balsamarium
The Body Chain from the Hoxne Treasure: Setting and Significance
The language of love and sexual desire in Roman Britain: Jewellery and the emotions
Two intaglios from St Peter Port, Guernsey
Votive Leaf or Feather Plaques from Roman Britain
Differing interpretations of the Romano-British site at Marcham/Frilford, Oxfordshire
How a Christian might approach images of deities in polytheistic religions
Sumus novi dei: Approaches to a renewed understanding of the identity of the Romano-British Church
GIROLAMO ZULIAN: THE COLLECTION, THE MAN AND HIS WORLD
DISPLAYING THE ANTIQUE: THE COUNTRY HOUSE, MERSEYSIDE 1777-1959

Citation preview

BAR S1577 2006

Roman Art, Religion and Society HENIG (Ed)

New studies from the Roman Art Seminar, Oxford 2005

Edited by ROMAN ART, RELIGION AND SOCIETY

B A R

Martin Henig

BAR International Series 1577 2006

Roman Art, Religion and Society New studies from the Roman Art Seminar, Oxford 2005

Edited by

Martin Henig

BAR International Series 1577 2006

Published in 2016 by BAR Publishing, Oxford BAR International Series 1577 Roman Art, Religion and Society © The editors and contributors severally and the Publisher 2006 The authors' moral rights under the 1988 UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act are hereby expressly asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be copied, reproduced, stored, sold, distributed, scanned, saved in any form of digital format or transmitted in any form digitally, without the written permission of the Publisher.

ISBN 9781841717913 paperback ISBN 9781407330372 e-format DOI https://doi.org/10.30861/9781841717913 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library BAR Publishing is the trading name of British Archaeological Reports (Oxford) Ltd. British Archaeological Reports was first incorporated in 1974 to publish the BAR Series, International and British. In 1992 Hadrian Books Ltd became part of the BAR group. This volume was originally published by Archaeopress in conjunction with British Archaeological Reports (Oxford) Ltd / Hadrian Books Ltd, the Series principal publisher, in 2006. This present volume is published by BAR Publishing, 2016.

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Contents

Foreword List of Illustrations



iii v

Part 1 Penny Coombe

The Hardwick Boot: A Roman Bronze Balsamarium

Helena Hawkesford

The Body Chain from the Hoxne Treasure: Setting and Significance

29

Martin Henig

The Language of love in Roman Britain: jewellery and the emotions

57

Tristan Arnison

Two intaglios from St Peter Port, Guernsey

67

Belinda Crerar

Votive leaves from Roman Britain

71

Lindsey Smith

Differing interpretations of the Romano-British site at Marcham/Frilford, Oxfordshire

91

1

Part 2 Martin Henig

How a Christian might approach images of deities in polytheistic Religions

117

Nicola Cronin

Sumus novi dei: Approaches to a renewed understanding of the Identity of the   Romano-British Church

127

Luisa Materassi

Girolamo Zulian: the collection, the man and his world

141

Simon Gregory

Displaying the Antique: The Country House, Merseyside 1777–1959

195

Part 3

Foreword

This volume contains a range of papers from a seminar held in Oxford, a relaxed and informal affair which had more to do with exchanges of ideas among friends than with formal lectures or power cliques. In our climate, especially in winter, the Ashmolean café has often provided a more convenient and congenial venue than the banks of the rivers Isis and Cherwell, the University city’s equivalent of the River Ilissos in ancient Athens. The authors of the papers are listed on the title page in alphabetical order, and without precedence. For all of us, the ideas inherent in the study of ancient art as in art of all periods was far too important to be left to formal ‘experts’ who so often stultify research, and we have all tried to observe the material with fresh eyes. What did ‘art’ in its widest sense mean to ‘them’, the Romans, and what might it (or even should it) mean to us? The approach adopted avoids fashionable ‘theory’, mainly culled second-hand from the social sciences, and tries to engage directly with material culture. In part 1, there are five papers dealing with aspects of the minor arts, mainly objects found in Britain, though the implications of what is written here reach far beyond the province. These studies range from a study of a balsamarium in the shape of a boot, found near Oxford (Coombe), and its analogues, to a gold, jewelled body chain from Hoxne, Suffolk (Hawkesford), with a discussion that brings in wealth, bondage and love. The amatory theme is taken up in a contribution on love-tokens, love human and love divine (Henig). The other two essays deal with Romano-British religion. An important contribution on votive plaques (Crerar) comes to terms with the relation of the minor arts to religious belief. Finally we include a study of the sanctuary site currently still under excavation at Marcham/ Frilford (Smith). There is also a paper on two very interesting intaglios (Arnison), the first ever published from the Channel Island of Guernsey. Part 2 consists of two papers looking at pagan art from a Christian angle, then and now, centred around the question of images. Its genesis lay in the enormously fruitful meeting of two friends who, while exploring the artistic culture of the Roman Empire, became engaged in a moral critique of a state system which so often used violence and cruelty to obtain its ends; this violence was characterised in the first centuries of the Empire in the persecution of Christians. One of the essays (Cronin) is concerned with how Romano-British Christians, approached the world around them and its pre-existing visual language of the images to illustrate the new message of the Gospel. The other (Henig) considers past approaches to non Christian (e.g. Graeco-Roman and Indian) imagery and how it might be productively incorporated in a Christian understanding of the world. For him even a ‘pagan’ statue can be a ground for meditation on a journey of faith. Once again the perspective of both writers accords with the seminar’s approach to the arts as being of major import to society, as a focus for philosophical, religious and intellectual enlightenment.. Part 3 comprises a pair of papers looking at aspects of what is often called ‘reception’. How did we rediscover Roman art in the early modern period? And what did it mean to those who rediscovered it? Luisa Materassi’s is concerned with the 18th century Venetian collector Girolamo Zulian and what he thought about collecting and about art in general. With Simon Gregory’s paper attention turns back to England and specifically to Merseyside and the Ince Blundell Pantheon established during the late 18th and early 19th centuries, the period of both the Industrial Revolution and of the floruit of Neoclassicism. Selective as they are, amongst the range of topics we might have chosen to examine, we hope that the papers here hang together and provide a showcase of much of what is best in Oxford Classical Archaeology today, when it is left to flourish free of donnish interference, and that these contributions will delight and instruct others who read them as much as we have enjoyed ourselves in writing them. Martin Henig (seminar convenor) St Dunstan’s day, 2006

iii

List of Illustrations

Penny Coombe Figs. 1 & 2 Photographs of the Hardwick Boot, courtesy of Ashmolean Museum. Fig. 3 Drawings of the Hardwick boot, courtesy of the Ashmolean Museum. Fig. 4 Map of find site of the Hardwick boot. Fig. 5 Map showing Roman roads and Romano-British sites in Oxfordshire, with arrow to Hardwick boot find   site. Fig. 6 Gill Mill, Ducklington. From Henig and Booth, Roman Oxfordshire, p. 73 Fig. 7 Map showing relative location of towns in Oxfordshire. From Rodwell, Historic Towns in Oxfordshire,   facing title page Fig. 8 Range of boots from 1st century (top left) to 4th century A.D. (bottom right); Ramshaw boot is high-   lighted. From C. van Driel Murray in O.Goubitz, Stepping through time, p. 343 Fig. 9 Examples of hobnailing patterns, from standard (first three rows) to elaborate (bottom two rows). From   C. van Driel-Murray in O. Goubitz, Stepping Through Time, pp. 351-2 Figs. 10 & 11 Pictures of Egyptian shoes showing scroll-top decoration. From V. Montembault, Catalogue des   Chaussures de l’Antiquité Egyptienne, pp.166-7 no.98 and pp. 172-3 no. 102 Fig. 12 Picture of Egyptian shoes showing external heel stiffener. From V. Montembault, Catalogue des   Chaussures de l’Antiquité Egyptienne, pp. 198, no. 127 Fig. 13 Sandaled foot-shaped furniture feet. From H. Menzel, Die Romischen Bronzen aus Deutschland: III Bonn,   pp. 120-1, pl. 95, nos 295-6 Figs. 14-16 Example 1: three views. From http://www.trocadero.com/artemisgallery/items/158692/en3.html Figs. 17 & 18 Example 2: two views. From K. Verneisel, Römisches im Antikenmuseum., p. 181, pls. 238.1-238.2 Fig. 19 Example 3. From G-M. Faider-Feytmans, Les Bronzes Romains de Belgique, II, no. 219, pl. 88 Fig. 20 Example 3. From M. Marien, ‘Pied de lit et bronzes Romains de Willemeau’, Bulletin des Musées Royaux   d’Art et d’Histoire 58 fasc. 2, 1987, p. 84 Fig. 21 Example 4: sketch. From C. van Driel-Murray, Archaeological Leather Group Newsletter 13, p. 3 Fig. 22 Example 5. From H. Menzel, Die Römischen Bronzen aus Deutschland; vol. I, Speyer, p. 24, no. 35, pl. 34 Figs. 23 & 24 Example 6: photograph and sketch of the sole, taken and drawn by author. Fig. 25 Example 7: two views. From B. Bothmer, Antiquities from the Collection of Christos G. Bastis, p. 232   no. 136 Fig. 26 Map of dedications to African and oriental deities in Britain, not including Mithras or Christianity. From   B. Jones and D. Mattingly, An Atlas of Roman Britain, p. 273 Fig. 27 Map showing trade links and commerce of the Roman Empire. From M. Charlesworth, Trade Routes and   Commerce of the Roman Empire, inside cover



Helena Hawkesford Fig. 1 Roman Britain in the fourth-century, showing find-spot of Hoxne Treasure and other principal sites. (After   De la Bédoyère, The Golden Age of Roman Britain, p. 10) Fig. 2 A summary of coins from the Hoxne hoard. (After Bland and Johns, The Hoxne Treasure: An Illustrated   Introduction, p. 18) Fig. 3 Silver tigress handle from the Hoxne Treasure, with stripes inlaid in niello. (Photo: British Museum) Fig. 4 The body chain from the Hoxne Treasure. (Photo: BM) Fig. 5 Front view of the decorative plaques from the Hoxne body chain, also showing lion-head terminals and   detached strap. (Photo: BM) Fig. 6 Rear view of the decorative plaques. (Photo: BM) Fig. 7 The body chain from the Hoxne Treasure; front. (Photo: BM) Fig. 8 Susian figurines wearing body chains. (Photos: Aruz, Harper and Tallon, The Royal City of Susa, pp. 192-   193) Fig. 9 Terracotta Tanagra figurine of Aphrodite wearing a body chain, from Pella. (Photo: Lilimpake-Akamate,   το ιερο της μητερας των θεων και της αφροδιτης στην πελλα, p. 296) Fig. 10 Tanagra figurine with raised lines of white clay on right shoulder. (Photo: BM)

Fig. 11 Fig. 12 Fig. 13 Fig. 14 Fig. 15 Fig. 16 Fig. 17 Fig. 18 Fig. 19 Fig. 20 Fig. 21 Fig. 22 Fig. 23

Gold earring of Eros wearing a body chain. (Photo: Coarelli, Greek and Roman Jewellery, p. 139) Fresco from the Suburban Baths at Pompeii, showing naked woman wearing a body chain. (Photo:   Clarke, Looking at Lovemaking, plate XII) Terracotta figurine of matronly woman wearing a body chain. (Photo: BM) Painting from the House of Mars and Venus in Pompeii; Mars seduces Venus wearing a body chain, while   Erotes play with the god’s armour. (Photo: De Caro, Il Museo Nazionale di Napoli, no. 175) Silver Harpocrates statuette wearing a gold body chain. (Photo: BM) Scene from the Low Ham mosaic; Venus nurtures a love between Dido and Aeneas, while Ascanius/   Cupid looks on. (Photos: author’s own) Byzantine gold body chain. (Photo: BM) Gold necklace with lion-head terminals from the Hoxne Treasure. (Photo: BM) Gold domina Juliana bracelet from the Hoxne Treasure. (Photo: BM) Scene of Dido and Aeneas feasting from the Vergilius Romanus manuscript. (Photo: Vatican Museums) Empress Helena (?) pepper pot from the Hoxne Treasure. (Photo: BM) Set of ten spoons from the Hoxne Treasure, bearing the name of Ursicinus. (Photo: BM) Gold jewellery and engraved gems from the Thetford Treasure. (Photo: BM)

Martin Henig Fig. 1 Fig. 2 Fig. 3 Fig. 4 Fig. 5 Fig. 6 Fig. 7 Fig. 8 Fig. 9 Fig. 10 Fig. 11 Fig. 12 Fig. 13 Fig. 14 Fig. 15

Pan pipes belonging to Satavacus and Bellicia, terracotta (Ashmolean Museum) Brooch, Latin Inscription :’If you love me I love you more’. From Richborough, Kent (English Heritage,   Dover Castle) Ring, Latin inscription: ‘Give me life’ from London, copper alloy (Museum of London) Ring, Greek inscription: ‘The love token of Polemion’, Corbridge, gold (British Museum) Ring, Greek inscription: ‘Life to Olympis’, Stonham Aspal, Suffolk, gold (Ashmolean Museum) Ring with cameo, Greek inscription: ‘Good fortune to the wearer’, Keynsham, Somerset , gold (Bristol   Museum) Cameo, Greek inscription:’Good fortune...harmony’ with clasped hands, onyx (Ashmolean Museum) Brothel token depicting Venus from London waterfront, copper alloy (Museum of London) Intaglio, Clasped hands and other symbols, Skeleton Green, Puckeridge, Hertfordshire, cornelian (photo:   Robert Wilkins) Cameo, Bust of woman as Venus, Silchester, onyx (Prof. M. Fulford) Bone pin, Bust of woman, Southwark (SAEC, J.S. Earp) Ring with garnet intaglio, Cupid and goose, Colchester, gold (British Museum, photo author) Bone plaque from clasp knife, Cupid, Dover (Brian Philp, photo Robert Wilkins) Belt buckle with Christian device of peacocks and tree of life, Cave’s Inn, copper alloy (Warwick   Museum) Ring, Chi-Rho, Brentwood, Essex, gold (British Museum)

Tristan Arnison Fig. 1 Glass intaglio depicting Prometheus, or a sculptor (photo: Robert Wilkins, Institute of Archaeology,   Oxford) Fig. 2 Red jasper intaglio depicting a Gryllos (photo: Robert Wilkins, Institute of Archaeology, Oxford) Belinda Crerar Fig. 1 Mars and Victory plaque (Stony Stratford), C.P.S. (1921), no. 239, fig.76 Fig. 2 Vulcan plaque (Barkway), C.P.S. (1921), no.235, fig.72 Fig. 3 Mars Toutates plaque (Barkway), C.P.S. (1921), no.230, fig.67 Fig. 4 Anicilla plaque (Water Newton), RIB II, fasc. 3, no.2431.1 Plate 1 Three plaques depicting Mars from the Stony Stratford Hoard, Lysons (1813-17), vol. ii, pl.XXXIX,   fig.1, 5 & 6 Plate 2 Two plaques depicting Vulcan from the Barkway Hoard, Lysons (1813-17), vol. ii, pl.XLI, fig.4 &5 Lindsey Smith Fig. 1 Map of Frilford and scheduled temple area. (Gosden & Lock 2003,156) Fig. 2 Geological Map of Oxfordshire. (Arkell 1947, 208 fig 38) Fig. 3 Map of Romano-Celtic Temple Sites in Oxfordshire. (Bagnall Smith 1995, 178 fig. 1) Fig. 4 Timber and Stone seating from Silchester. (Fulford 1985, 67 fig. 12) Fig. 5 Nemeseum, beast pen or private ‘box’. vi

Fig. 6 Fig. 7 Fig. 8 Fig. 9 Fig. 10 Fig. 11 Fig. 12 Fig. 13 Fig. 14 Fig. 15 Fig. 16 Fig. 17 Fig. 18 Fig. 19 Fig. 20

Brough Inscription: Left as it survives, right is digitally restored. (Guy de la Bédoyère, 2005 website) Eastern arena wall cut and in situ flagstones protruding back towards the bedrock supporting a timber   stage framework. Eastern arena wall and protruding flagstones supporting a timber stage? Looking East: the steep incline of the bedrock behind the arena wall restricting access if an entranceway. Looking west from the Eastern stage arena wall. The temple lies behind the clump of trees directly   opposite this theatre. Trench 18. Two shops or industrial units abutting the temenos wall. The centre of the theatre-amphitheatre with water and drain visible. Looking South towards the River Ock (the trees in the background) and the drainage system running from   the centre of the arena under the stone ‘box’ feature. Map of Frilford within Oxfordshire; the towns of Alchester and Dorchester and Roman roads. (Rodwell   1975, 14 fig 2) Map of Tribal boundaries and the location of amphitheatres, theatres, theatre-amphitheatres of Britain.   Frilford lies between the Atrebates, Dobunni and Catuvellauni regions. (Wacher 1995, 26 fig 3 &   author’s amendments) Romano-Celtic Temple at Frilford. (Bradford & Goodchild 1939,28 fig 9) Plans of Iron Age settlement and Romano-Celtic temple at Frilford. (Hingley 1985,208 fig 5) Plan of five areas of occupation at Frilford. (Hingley 1982, 307 fig 5) Plan of Trench 2, the rectilinear building at Frilford. Mansio or Hostel? (Gosden & Lock 2004, 7 fig 4) Plan of Frilford Villa and associated bathhouse. (Page & Calthrop 1920, 207)

Martin Henig Fig. 1 Fig. 2 Fig. 3 Fig. 4 Fig. 5

Apse mosaic: Our Lord as Cosmocrator, S. Aquilino Milan White clay figurine of Virgin and Child, Salammbo, Carthage Relief of Fortuna, St Mary’s, Marlborough, Wilts Relief of Genius, Tockenham, Wilts Vault mosaic (detail). The River Jordan, Arian Baptistery, Ravenna

Nicola Cronin Fig. 1a, b Fig. 2 Fig. 3 Fig. 4 Fig. 5 Fig. 6 Fig. 7

Frampton, Dorset. Mosaic with Chi-Rho with detail (after Lysons) Bacchus Mosaic from Dyer Street, Cirencester ( After Buckman and Newmarch 1850, pl. ii).’ The figure   of Bacchus is on the far right. Detail of Christ with Chi Rho from Hinton St Mary (photo: Institute of Archaeology, Oxford) Pewter ingot from the Thames at London with Chi-Rho monograms (after British Museum Guides to   Roman Britain 1922,1964) Silver strainer from Water Newton with Chi-Rho (after Mawer 1995) Orantes from Lullingstone, Kent, the central one with yoke. Chi-Rho from Lullingstone, Kent

Luisa Materassi Fig. 1 Fragment of a seated statue of Cybele. End of the II century B.C. Pentelic marble, 91 x 78 cm. Venice,   Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Inv. n. 272. Fig. 2 a, b Colossal head of a female Faun. Marble, 46 cm. Venice, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Inv. n. 63. Fig. 3 a, b Colossal head of a male Faun. Marble, 67 cm. Venice, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Inv. n. 39. Fig. 4 Bust of Helios. Egypt, II century A.D. copy of a II century B.C. original. Marble, 56 cm. Venice, Museo   Archeologico Nazionale, Inv. n. 245. Fig. 5 a, b Statue of Marine Venus. Alexandria, II century A.D. Marble, 132 cm. Venice, Museo Archeologico   Nazionale, Inv. n. 253. Fig. 6 Painter of Tübingen F18. Red-figure pixis with the portrait of an ephebe. Etruria, late IV – early III   century B.C. Terracotta, black ink with white highlights, 8 x 8.7 cm. Venice, Museo Archeologico   Nazionale, Inv. T 115. Fig. 7 Duck-shaped aryballos. Ionia, first half of the VI century B.C. Painted terracotta with incised decoration,   7.5 x 10.3 cm. Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Inv. T 112. Fig. 8 Gnathian alabastron. Apulia, second half of the IV century B.C. – early III century B.C. Painted terracotta,   13 cm. Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Inv. T 120. Fig. 9 Red-figure lekanis. Apulia, second half of the IV century B.C. Painted terracotta, 12 x 14 cm. Museo   Archeologico Nazionale, Inv. T 91. vii

Fig. 10 Bartolomeo Pinelli, An evening at Palazzo Fiano, in the salon of Duke Friedrich IV von Sachsen   Gotha, 1808. Drawing, watercolour and pencil with white highlights on coloured paper, 54 x 79 cm.   Germany, private collection. Fig. 11 Pietro Fabris, Kenneth Mackenzie, 1st Earl of Seaforth, 1744 - 1781, at home in Naples: concert party,   1770. Oil on canvas, 35.50 x 47.60 cm. Edinburgh, National Galleries of Scotland. Fig. 12 Johann Zoffany, Charles Townley and his Friends in the Park Street Gallery, Westminster, 1781-1783.   Lancashire, Townley Hall Art Gallery and Museum. Fig. 13 Bust of Zeus Aegiocus. Sardonix cameo with white, grey and black veins. 6.8 x 6.3 x 0.5 cm. Possibly   Pergamum, I-II century B.C. Venice, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Inv. G 37. Fig. 14 Alessandro Longhi, Portrait of Carlo Lodoli, 1761. Oil on canvas, 127 x 93 cm. Venice, Gallerie   dell’Accademia. Fig. 15 Pietro Longhi, A gathering of Venetian abbots and priests, ca. 1760. Oil on canvas. Venice, Pinacoteca   Querini-Stampalia. Fig. 16 Padua, Ca’ Zulian, the entry staircase. Fig. 17 Padua, view of via del Santo with Ca’ Zulian. Fig. 18 Padua, Ca’ Zulian, the Serlian window looking onto via S. Francesco. Fig. 19 G.B. Piranesi, “Chimneypiece designed for John Hope,” in Diverse maniere d’adornare i cammini (Rome,   1769). Copperplate, 38.3 x 24.5 cm. Fig. 20 Pietro Bini, Portrait of Melchiorre Cesarotti, 1784. Oil on canvas, 70 x 57.5 cm. Rome, Museo di Roma. Fig. 21 Antonio Canova, The Death of Priam, 1787-1790. Plaster, 141 x 279,5 cm. Milan, Fondazione Cassa di   Risparmio delle Provincie Lombarde. Fig. 22 Antonio Canova, The Dance of the Sons of Alcinous, 1790-1792. Plaster, 141 x 281 cm. Milan, Fondazione   Cassa di Risparmio delle Provincie Lombarde. Fig. 23 Giovanni Battista Piranesi, “View of the Venetian embassy in Rome,” in Varie vedute di Roma antica e   moderna (Rome, 1748). Copperplate, 11.6 x 18.1 cm. Fig. 24 Giacomo Quarenghi, Ruins of the Temple of Vespasian with three figures, 1771-79. Drawing, pen and ink   with grey wash, 54.5 x 39.4 cm. Venice, Gallerie dell’Accademia. Fig. 25 Anton Raphael Mengs, Portrait of Pope Clement XIII, 1758. Oil on canvas, 155 x 111.5 cm. Bologna,   Pinacoteca Nazionale. Fig. 26 Giuseppe Ceracchi, Pius VI, 1790. Marble, h. 76 cm. Genoa, Museo di Sant’Agostino. Fig. 27 Vincenzo Feoli, The Statue Gallery in the Museo Pio Clementino at the Vatican, ca. 1770. Drawing, pen   and ink with grey wash on paper, 51 x 80.5 cm. Vienna, Albertina. Fig. 28 Francesco Miccinelli, View of the Sala a croce greca in the Museo Pio Clementino at the Vatican, 1794.   Preparatory drawing for an engraving, pen and grey wash, 52 x 69.3 cm. Vienna, Albertina. Fig. 29 Giovanni Paolo Pannini, Imaginary Gallery with Views of Ancient Rome, 1757. Oil on canvas, 171.1 x   229.9 cm. New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Fig. 30 Teodoro Matteini, Prince Sigismondo Chigi visiting the Excavations at Porcigliano, 1792 (after Gaspare   Landi, 1785). Oil on canvas, 74 x 92 cm. Castelfusano, Società “Castelfusano Prima” spa. Fig. 31 Giovanni Battista Piranesi, View of the Port of Ripetta, from Varie vedute di Roma antica e moderna   (Rome, 1748). Copperplate, 11 x 19.5 cm. Fig. 32 Bénigne Gagnereaux, Pius VI accompanying Gustav III of Sweeden on a visit to the Museo Pio-Clementino,   1786. Oil on canvas. Prague, National Gallery. Fig. 33 Pompeo Batoni, Portrait of Prince Abbondio Rezzonico, 1766. Oil on canvas, 297.5 x 196.5 cm. Private   collection, deposited at the Museo Biblioteca Archivio of Bassano del Grappa. Fig. 34 Giuseppe Pirovani, Portrait of Andrea Memmo, 1786. Oil on canvas. Present whereabouts unknown.   Signed and dated at the base of the velvet cape: Joseph Pirovani/ Romae pinx. an 1786. Fig. 35 Achille Pinelli, Rome: scene of torture by strappado, 1833. Watercolour and pen, 41.2 x 58.4 cm. Rome,   Apolloni Collection. Figs 36-37 Grisostomo Ortowski, The front and back façades of the Venetian embassy at Pera, Constantinople,   second half of the XVIII century. Watercolour and pen. Venice, Archivio di Stato. Fig. 38 Anonymous Austrian painter, Meeting in a Masonic lodge in Vienna, 1786. Oil on canvas. Vienna, Museen   der Stadt. Simon Gregory Fig. 1 Map of Ince Blundell and Liverpool. (www.ordnancesurvey.co.uk) Fig. 2 Portrait of Henry Blundell by Mather Brown (Fejfer, v.1.1, 12.) Fig. 3 The ‘Garden Temple’ at Ince Blundell Hall, 1959. (Fejfer, v.1.1, 16.) Fig. 4 The Ince Blundell Pantheon, exterior, 1959. (Fejfer, v.1.1, 18.) Fig. 5 The Pantheon at Rome. (author’s photo) viii

Fig. 6 Fig. 7 Fig. 8 Fig. 9 Fig. 10 Fig. 11 Fig. 12 Fig. 13 Fig. 14 Fig. 15 Fig. 16 Fig. 17 Fig. 18 Fig. 19 Fig. 20

Longitudinal section of the Pantheon at Rome, after Desgodetz. (Pantheon, 217.) Plan of the Pantheon, Rome. (Pantheon, 91.) The Pantheon at Rome, interior by Giovanni Paulo Pannini, c. 1750. (National Gallery of Art, Kress   Collection, Washington DC. Shown in Stillman, Pantheon, 83.) Robert Adam’s design for the saloon at Kedleston Hall, Derbyshire, c. 1761. (Sir John Sloane’s Museum.   Shown in Stillman, Neoclassicism, 323.) Newby Hall, Yorkshire. Gallery (Stillman, Neoclassicism, 309.) The Sala Rontonda, Vatican Museum, interior. (Spinola, G., Il Museo Pio-Clementino (2) (Vatican 1999),   245.) The Ince Blundell Pantheon, interior. (Stillman, Pantheon, 95.) Apollo Sauroktonos with a female head, mid-4th century BC (12). (Catalogue, pl. 12.) Head of a Hellenistic king, 3rd or 2nd century BC (178). (Catalogue, pl. 31.) Phatheon before Helios, sarcophagus, late 2nd century AD (221). (Catalogue, pl. 48.) Zeus, pre-Hadrianic copy of a 4th century BC original (2). (Catalogue, pl. 12.) Theseus, Hadrianic based on a statue by Lysippus (43). (Catalogue, pl. 19.) The ‘Ince Athena’, Augustan, inspired by Phiedias’ Parthenos (8). (Catalogue, pls. 10 and 11.) The Ince Blundell Pantheon, interior, 1959. (Fejfer, v.1.1, 19.) The Ince Blundell Pantheon, interior. (Stillman, Neoclassicism, 513.)

ix

The Hardwick Boot: A Roman Bronze Balsamarium Penny Coombe

Abstract A bronze boot-shaped oil vessel found in Oxfordshire in 1999, is one of a handful of small bronze boot-shaped balsamaria and the only one of its type in Britain. Its use and origins are hard to work out, but some suggestions may be offered, especially when the item is compared to similar articles. It is similar to real Roman shoes, but is sufficiently incorrect in form that it could be from an extremity of the empire, where nailed boots of this kind were not common. It may be dated at around 1st-3rd centuries AD, with late 2nd century seeming most likely, and is comparable to other bronze examples that only exist from the North Western empire, and one in terracotta from Knidos. That it is later, imported, possibly of Egyptian (Coptic) origin is, however, possible too. It is probably one of a series of bath house items, but there may also be religious significance, or it could have been used in other perfuming rituals such as a form of extreme unction, or foot washing. Conclusions about any wider implications including what this means for trade to and from Britain, or internally between counties, status of people in Roman Oxfordshire, the importance of other Roman sites in the area and so on, are very hard to draw at this stage. It first needs to be decided what this item is, its date, use and place of origin: such is the subject of this paper.

originally held chains from which the vessel could be hung, and from their position were probably not for lid hinges. There may originally have been a lid in the form of a stopper which is now lost. The man who discovered the boot pinpointed the find site as OS grid reference 438025, 206600. The site is located over a band of Oxford clay that runs SW to NE under the city itself, on a gravel bed which is dug for commercial use. Contractors J. Smith and Sons of Bletchington have worked the site for several decades. Brasenose College, Oxford University own the land on which the find was made. The modern settlements of Hardwick and Ducklington are 600m and 2750m away respectively, and the area lies between two channels of the Windrush River, with the Standlake Brook a few metres away. This was a chance single find, not part of an archaeological investigation. The lack of associated objects poses problems; the item is harder to date and its use is harder to set in context. It may have come from a burial or be part of a hoard, but there is no direct evidence for either suggestion. The Hardwick boot was the subject of a brief note by Carol van Driel-Murray, who suggests that it might be a lateRoman import from Egypt, but is otherwise unpublished. These ideas for the boot’s origins and age will be discussed, but it will be argued that the boot is more likely to originate in the North-Western provinces and date from the 2nd century A.D.

PART I: Introduction A bronze balsamarium was found in 1999 in a gravel quarry near Hardwick, Witney, Oxfordshire by a passer-by, and is now on loan from the Principal and Fellows of Brasenose College, Oxford to the Ashmolean Museum. It is a hollow vessel made in the form of a Roman right boot, and is 13.7 cm long, 9 cm high and 4.2 cm wide across the toe, 4.5 cm across the opening. The boot is fairly worn but some patterning is distinguishable: a vamp seam runs down the centre of the boot from the top of the instep to the toe, even over the part that would have been open to the foot had the boot been real. A raised section on the front top finishes in a scroll over the instep, and raised sections on the ankle form eyelets. There are some scratched markings on the body of the boot that appear to be deliberate since some are discernible as double or triple scrolls and there are small circles delineating the heel support. Two loops protrude from the front of the top opening. These probably

Geographical and archaeological context Until the 1970s, historiography on Roman Oxfordshire presented the county as a ‘backwater, ignored by the Romans at the conquest and dependent on political See Figs. 1-3. See Fig. 4.  Victoria History of Oxfordshire, Oxford 1939, I, p.4.  C. Van Driel-Murray in ALG newsletter 13, March 2001, pp.2-3.  P. Manning and E. Leeds, Archaeological Survey of Oxfordshire, Oxford 1921, pp. 229-30; M. Taylor, D. Harden, C. Sutherland, ‘Romano-British remains’, Victoria County History of Oxfordshire I, Oxford 1939, pp. 267-345; M. Taylor, ‘The Roman Period’, in A. Martin and R. Steel (eds.) The Oxford Region, 1954, pp. 85-95. 





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Figs. 1 (above) and 2 (left): Photographs of the Hardwick Boot, courtesy of the Ashmolean Museum 

Penny Coombe : The Hardwick Boot

Figure 3: Drawings of the Hardwick Boot, courtesy of the Ashmolean Museum centres many miles away.’ Since then, many excavations of small settlements, sites of manufacture and archaeological remains have been excavated and examined, and there are still more that await systematic research that are known to exist. Aerial evidence

first collected together in 1974, and subsequent field studies and excavations have added to our knowledge considerably. Roman Oxfordshire is perhaps best known for its pottery industry that flourished c. A.D. 250-400. The area was ideally located near several major cities, Verulamium, London, Silchester and Cirencester, and had excellent transport links to these markets in the

 C.Young, ‘The Upper Thames Valley in the Roman Period’ in Briggs, Cook, Rowley (eds.), The Archaeology of the Oxford Region (Oxford 1986), p.58  C.Young, ‘The Upper Thames Valley’.





M. Henig and P. Booth, Roman Oxfordshire (Stroud 2000), p. 79.

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Figure 4: Map of find site of the Hardwick Boot 

Penny Coombe : The Hardwick Boot

Figure 5: Map showing Roman roads and Romano-British sites in Oxfordshire, with arrow to Hardwick Boot site. From Briggs, Cook and Rowley (eds) The Archaeology of the Oxford Region, p.180 form of the River Thames and major roads. The two largest walled settlements in the county, Dorchester and Alchester that were the main administrative centres, have been the subject of some scrutiny, as have the three main Roman roads running through the county: Akeman Street, and two others form a triangle through

the district.10 Study has tended to concentrate on sites near gravel beds since these areas are under threat of destruction from commercial gravel extraction, and there is thus a wealth of information from the Thames valley gravels. The area around Hardwick and Ducklington, where the boot was found, is one such area.

see C.Young, The Roman Pottery Industry of the Oxford Region, BAR 43 (Oxford, 1977).





10

See Fig. 5.

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Figure 6: Gill Mill, Ducklington From Henig and Booth, Roman Oxfordshire, p.73 Near to the location of the boot, there are several important sites. The nearest is at Gill Mill, Ducklington, a small town only 300m away.11 This site was first noted in 1979 when a local resident noticed a large patch of dark brown earth, limestone, calcareous gravel, burned stone and a scatter of Romano-British pottery.12 Subsequently, some excavation has been carried out on the site, starting in 1988, at the

request of the gravel extraction company. The most productive area was next to the course of a Roman road, where possible property boundaries were clearly marked suggesting a ribbon settlement along the path of the road. Two hundred Roman coins, lead architectural fragments, glass vessel sherds, bracelet fragments, structural nails, quern fragments, and a considerable amount of 3rd and 4th century ‘Oxford’ kiln potteries were found. Further work in 1990 showed that the trenching in 1988 had uncovered a single Iron Age farmstead in the northern part of the site, while the Roman settlement lay around 800m SE of the Iron Age site, linearly arranged along the road running SW to NE, eventually to connect with Akeman Street somewhere near Woodstock. Several boundary ditches are noticeable, marking out territories. Additional finds include wooden and leather objects and tesserae with mortar adhering to them, suggesting the existence of at least one stone building in the settlement. Other buildings seem to have been of timber and left little surface evidence. Nine cremations and three inhumations and a large number of 3rd and 4th century coins were also discovered, but the most interesting finds were fragments of a relief of a genius and a warrior horseman figure.13 These religious finds and the large number of coins might imply the existence of a temple or shrine. The town performed at least a local market function, and may have been more important as a sanctuary site. The finds generally date from around 2nd -4th century A.D., with the early Imperial period poorly represented.14

Other nearby Romano-British sites include Stanton Harcourt, a town and burial site,15 Hardwick, Witney, Frilford and Bampton, and several large villa sites at North Leigh, Great Tew, Ditchley, Shakenoak, among others.16 13 M. Henig and P. Booth, Roman Oxfordshire, p. 72, fig. 5.10 p. 127; M. Henig, CSIR vol. I, fasc. 7, pp.14-5, 41-2, nos. 36 and 124, pls. 12 and 32. 14 P.Booth in CBA, South Midlands Archaeology, no.21, 1991, pp.95-6. 15 http://www.roman-britain.org/places/north_oxford.htm viewed 3 March 2005. 16 C.Young, ‘The Upper Thames Valley’, p. 61; Henig and Booth, pp.8292; see Figs. 5 and 7.

See Fig. 6. J.Steane in CBA Group 9 Newsletter, A Review of Archaeology in Bedfordshire, Buckinghamshire, Northampton and Oxfordshire, 1979, pp. 82-3. 11

12



Penny Coombe : The Hardwick Boot

Figure 7: Map showing relative location of towns in Oxfordshire From Rodwell, Historic Towns in Oxfordshire, facing title page Immediate observations

The Ramshaw boot tended to be worn up to or past the ankle, with later examples from 3rd century onward being lower cut. This boot was worn by civilians and soldiers alike.

Immediately one notices that the balsamarium is modelled on an actual Roman boot. It has the hobnails, heel stiffener, eyelets for fastening ties, and vamp seam that can be identified on examples of Roman footwear, and seems to resemble Carol van Driel-Murray’s case study VI, the Ramshaw eyelet boot, more or less fitting into her sequence of Roman footwear from the Northern provinces around the 2nd century A.D.17

There are, however, several aspects of this boot that are not typical of Roman footwear, as Carol van Driel-Murray wrote in the article about the Hardwick boot. The heel stiffener is not seen on the outside of boots, as on the balsamarium, but is attached to the inside, and hobnails are always round and distinct, not shown as a long row of added metal divided up into smaller units. The fastening is unrealistic, neither proper lacing nor a strap, and any decoration is usually added, not

C. van Driel-Murray, ‘Footwear in the North-Western Provinces of the Roman Empire’ in O.Goubitz, Stepping through time (Zwolle , 2001) pp. 366-7; p. 343.



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Art, Religion and Society incised or appliquéd as is suggested here.18 Most Roman art depicts shoes accurately, so this is somewhat unusual. The conclusion drawn is that some elements on this representation are sufficiently incorrect that this must be a later reproduction by a craftsman who had heard of how Roman boots were made, but who was unfamiliar with the original item. Van Driel-Murray proposes that the balsamarium is not Western Roman, but Egyptian (Coptic) in origin, where shoes were not usually nailed and where a closed in boot like the Ramshaw boot was known but unusual. It must be considered whether this boot was intended as an accurate copy, however.

such a container, especially in this shape, may have been used to perfume one’s feet after travel in dusty conditions. Other possible uses for such objects include holding oil or spices for use in anointing the dead. The last two uses may have been more likely in hotter areas towards the south of the Empire, such as in Egypt, while bath houses are found all over the Empire. Bronze was used in small everyday objects for artistic and functional purposes; bronze figurines are known, as well as storage vessels or cooking pots. Pliny the Elder gives some insight into the uses of bronze in the ancient world, and tells us how the Romans themselves saw it as the material for large commemorative statues, as well as all sorts of useful objects, from chandeliers to furniture bases.22 From its material we can tell this object evidently had some function either practical or artistic.

There are other examples of similar boot-shaped bronze balsamaria, some of which resemble real boots much more closely than this one. These tend to come from areas of Belgium, Germany and the Netherlands. Such balsamaria are relatively rare, and the Hardwick boot is the only example of its type from Britain. The other known examples are discussed below. It is possible that the boot is from the North-Western Empire, but not made locally in Britain; one of a number of items that were a speciality of parts of Gaul, Germany and Belgium. Similarities between boots found in such areas and the Hardwick boot may prove this. In addition, some significance for the shape could emerge: many real leather shoes and boots are found in burials in parts of the North-Western Empire. Perhaps custom in these places decreed that boots or shoes were needed for the journey to the afterlife, and so were included in grave goods. A symbolic boot or a vessel which might hold perfume to anoint a dead body could have enhanced potency here. It must be considered, however, that the survival of leather in this area may simply be by chance and not have great significance; submerged, watery locations as in Belgium and the Netherlands preserve leather well.

Aims and method The purpose of this study, therefore, is to find out more about the object; where it came from, how old it is, what it was used for. In order to find the Hardwick boot’s original context, it will be examined in its various aspects; its shape, material, size, use and find location. Other examples of small bronze objects, balsamaria in general and boot shaped ones in particular, other objects in boot, foot or shoe shapes, and actual Roman boots will be examined. It is hoped to establish whether it is typical of a type in general or whether it is anomalous, and to offer conclusions on its original context and wider significance. This will be accomplished by a historical and archaeological examination, rather than by using scientific processes. The boot has not undergone scientific tests, for example to determine the composition of the metal, assess residues that may be found inside the boot, or to date the balsamarium, and there are no plans to do such tests in the near future.

It may also be examined as one of a series of balsamaria of any shape. Many balsamaria come in plastic shapes that were cast, not simply an obvious vase or vessel shape. Head and shoulder busts are common with examples found in the Netherlands, Spain, Germany, Austria, and there exists one example from Britain.19 The general consensus is that they were oil vessels, made to be hung up. The handles or chains on many examples suggest this, as does the lopsided feel to the boots: real boots featured swayed soles in the late 2nd century A.D.20 and a replica made of rigid material would probably sit oddly if the slant was copied. Yet, even with this taken into account, the moulding of the boot is still exaggerated and appears too lopsided for a real foot to fit in. When suspended, however, the known examples hang straight. Some historians place them among a group of items including strigils used in bathing or perfuming oneself in the bath house.21 More specifically,

It will be shown that it is plausible the boot is of Egyptian origin, particularly when considering significance of the shape and its usage, but that this is not most likely. Discussion will include other examples and customs from Britain and the North-Western provinces as original context for the boot. Other similar finds will be considered and compared, and a final analysis of the find’s importance on a larger scale will allow conclusions to be drawn. PART 2: Background Information Shoes

ALG newsletter 13, March 2001, p.2. J. Webster, ‘A Bronze Incense Container from Carlisle’, Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmoreland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society, lxxiii, 1973, pp. 90-3, pls. 1-2. 20 C. van Driel-Murray, ‘Footwear’, 2001 p. 350. 21 M. den Boesterd, The Bronze Vessels in the Rijksmuseum at Nijmegen (Nijmegen 1956), no.s 302-5, pp. 85-6, pl. xii. 18

This boot is similar to actual footwear worn by Romans, particularly around the 2nd–3rd centuries A.D. Many archaeological sites of Northern Europe contain traces of Roman leather footwear, whether the existence of hob

19

22



Pliny the Elder, Natural History, xxxiv, 11, 14, 15ff.

Penny Coombe : The Hardwick Boot nails, a feature of most Roman shoes, or the survival of the leather itself. Vegetable tanning techniques used by Roman tanners and cobblers gave much tougher and more waterproof leather than the processes using animal fats or smoking that natives had used previously. Of course, even then, many will not have survived. Some areas were more favourable to preservation of leather than others, and those items in submerged watery places with little exposure to air remain while others have perished. In Britain, riverside rubbish dumps and land reclamations at London or waterlogged levels of ditches, as at Vindolanda23 and Bar Hill,24 are perfect. Wells, too, provide good conditions.25 Similar conditions in Northern Europe mean many examples survive from places such as Nijmegen, Welzheim, Vechten, Valkenburg26 and Bonn.27

soldiers and civilians. Closed in, front fastening boots and lower, laced shoes became popular.31 By the second century, the eyelet boot that closely resembles the balsamarium, case study VI of van Driel-Murray’s, emerged, and was worn by a variety of people. Hobnails were typical on almost all shoes worn by Romans. Nailing was a feature that set Roman footwear apart from traditional forms. Noisy on roads and leaving deliberate prints, they were as much a statement of status and importance as anything more practical. Nails were even arranged in such a way as to leave prints of words in the dust.32 These nails often survive in archaeological sites, giving evidence for the presence of shoes even when the leather has rotted away. There may, of course, have been shoes that were not nailed which we simply do not know about due to disintegration over time, and it is known that hobnails were used less and less from the 4th century onwards. Hobnails were not known on a significant proportion of footwear in Eastern parts of the Empire in general, and in Egypt in particular, perhaps due to less exposure to soldiers. Accident of preservation may account for the perceived differences between the east and west as our sample for each area is a very small proportion of the number of shoes that originally existed. However, hot and dry conditions are good for leather preservation as are wet circumstances, so it must at least be considered that the extant examples are a fair sample.

Soldiers were perhaps the greatest single group of shoewearers. One soldier might go through three pairs of boots a year; this translates to three thousand pairs of army boots used by a camp each year. The caliga was the typical Roman army boot. Carol van Driel-Murray identifies it as the first of six distinct types of Roman shoe and explains that it largely disappears from the archaeological record after A.D. 90. Easy to mass produce and excellent for providing physical support and preventing medical problems, they had served their purpose, and were supplied to almost all provinces. They did survive, however, in Roman art, as they were seen as the generic army boot; Trajan’s column shows soldiers wearing these, for example, when at the time they did not.28

Different patterns for nailing are apparent and can be categorised into types, more elaborate patterns emerging in the early 3rd century A.D.33 The nailing pattern seen on the Hardwick balsamarium does not conform to any particular type, but does feature the line of nails running around the edge of the sole that is seen on all examples. Shoes held widely varying numbers of hob nails; an example from St. Oswalds’ turret on Hadrian’s Wall34 contained thirty in one shoe, while another example from Waasdorp has nearly one hundred in a single sole.35 They were always round, Carol van Driel-Murray states, and the many finds of Roman shoes, from sites all over the North West provinces, seem to support her. However, a pyramid shaped iron shoe stud three-eighths of an inch across was found at Walhouses West on Hadrian’s Wall,36 and another at Lea Hill, also a fort on Hadrian’s Wall.37 These are much closer in shape to the nails on the Hardwick boot, yet they

Roman shoemakers employed a variety of techniques in making shoes, and a diverse range of footwear resulted. Army boots, as is to be expected, however, conformed to a general type across the provinces, as in fact did all shoes. A variety of styles was made, from the caligae to calceii, closed-in shoes, to soleae, sandals,29 but there was remarkably little regional variation. By the end of the first century A.D., army styles were used by civilians, and other civilian styles were worn by soldiers. When army shoemakers retired, they often set up shop in the places where they settled, and civilian shoemakers were increasingly involved in providing equipment for the army. Corporations of shoe makers were known in Nijmegen, and Gallic and German shoemakers sometimes had their trade noted on tombstones.30 Other styles evolved, both for R. Birley, Vindolanda, London 1977, p.123-6; Wild in Birley (ed.), The Early Wooden Forts: Vindolanda III. 24 A.Robertson, M.Scott and L.Keppie, Bar Hill: A Roman Fort and its Finds, B.A.R. 16, Oxford 1975, pp.59-83. 25 C. van Driel-Murray, ‘Footwear’, 2001, p. 337. 26 W. Groenman-van Waateringe, Romeins lederwerk uit Valkenburg Z.H., Groningen 1967. 27 C. van Driel-Murray and M. Gechter, Funde aus der Fabrica der Legio I Minerva am Bonner Berg. Rheinische Ausgrabungen 23, 1983, pp.1-83. 28 I.Richmond, Trajan’s army on Trajan’s column, London 1982, plate 9. 29 see C. van Driel-Murray, ‘Footwear’, 2001, p.347 for distinctions. 30 C. van Driel-Murray, ‘Footwear’, 2001, p.338; see examples at Reims, Esperandieu 3685. 23



31 see case studies III, IV, V in C van Driel-Murray, ‘Footwear’, 2001, pp. 364-6; fig. 8. 32 K. Verneisel, Römisches im Antikenmuseum., Berlin 1978, p.181, re. terracotta example spelling out ‘follow me’ in Greek on the sole. 33 See C. van Driel-Murray, ‘Footwear’, 2001, pp.351-2, and fig. 9. 34 C.Allason-Jones, Small finds from turrets on Hadrian’s Wall, in J.Coulston (ed.), Roman Military Equipment: proceedings of the fourth military equipment conference, B.A.R. 394, Oxford 1988, pp.197ff. 35 C. van Driel-Murray(ed.), Roman Military Equipment: the Sources of Evidence, B.A.R. 476, Oxford 1989, p. 170, fig. 2c. 36 B.A.R. 394, p.199. 37 B.A.R. 394, p.214.

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Figure 8: Range of boots from 1st century (top left) to 4th century AD (bottom right); Ramshaw Boot is Highlighted. From C. van Driel Murray in O. Goubitz, Stepping through Time, p.343 are still distinct from each other and do not appear in a long strip as shown on the balsamarium. They do not provide support for examples like the Hardwick boot and a couple of examples does not help much in the face of numerous examples of only round nails, nonetheless it does at least start to cast some doubt over the total acceptance of the theory as a whole. Evidently, the Hardwick boot does not deviate from real shoes too much, given that hob nails of the sort seen on the balsamarium (pyramid shaped) do exist, however infrequently, on actual footwear from Roman Britain. This item may be locally made, and not an import as discussed above. There is still ambiguity here and further study of shapes of nails in other areas, in particular from Belgium or Germany where other examples of boot shaped balsamaria originate, may help to clarify the issue.

Decoration often centred on the seams of shoes. Some had punched out sections, for example shoes found at Vechten and Vindolanda where the effect resembles chain mail or fish nets. Typical Roman shoes displayed incised and not supplementary decoration. On the Hardwick boot, much of the decoration is hard to make out, but scrolls and circular dots outlining parts of the boot feature more prominently than most other patterns. Interestingly, the scroll patterns also feature on Etruscan bronze mirrors, but they are a common design and their existence here should not be used to categorise the balsamarium as Etruscan. The scrolls with which the vamp seam ends are similar to decorative elements seen on Egyptian/Coptic shoes; several Egyptian shoes feature this additional decoration over the instep, and a few end in scrolls as shown here. Examples from the Musée du Louvre, Paris, as well as 10

Penny Coombe : The Hardwick Boot others in other museums provide evidence of this.38 These examples are either undated or are approximated at mid 2nd century A.D. Similar examples appear at other sites, such as at Akhmîm and Qsar Ibrim.39 The type, to which all these examples belong, was in existence from the 2nd to 7th centuries A.D.40 Since decorative features were used for many centuries, it is hard accurately to date these scroll patterns and use them as conclusive evidence for a date of manufacture of this boot. In addition, it is unclear how far such decorative motifs were transported across the Roman Empire. Does the fact that the boot displays typically Egyptian or Coptic designs suggest it was made in Egypt, or could it have originated elsewhere in the Empire and the ideas simply move? The fact that the external heel stiffeners, so extraordinary on the Hardwick boot, are seen on several examples of Egyptian footwear, suggests that there may be a strong Egyptian connection here.41 Further details of real shoes that could help date artistic representations are soles and fastenings. Swayed soles were a feature of shoes in the early 1st century and late part of the 2nd. Pointed soles were also common in the late part of the second century, while the early 2nd century, and 3rd-4th centuries were characterised by wide blunt soles. Fastenings vary from lacing to straps or thong sandals, with all types popular at different times on various examples. Lacing did become simpler by the early 2nd century, and generally lower cut, slip on shoes were more popular later versions. Boot, shoe and foot shaped objects The boot, shoe, sandal or foot form was a popular one in Roman art. Items in these shapes are numerous, and exist in several media and varying sizes, from small bronze feet pendants42 to larger bases for furniture43 and terracotta lamps. Carol van Driel-Murray’s assertion that the Hardwick balsamarium is Egyptian is based on this boot not being typical of Roman footwear, and the fact that footwear shown in functional artistic objects, such as lamps or balsamaria, is generally true to life. Boots are a much less common subject for an object than sandaled or bare feet, and other examples of boot-shaped balsamaria are few. Hard to generalise about a type with so few parallels, it is however clear that there are elements of the boot that are common to other shoe, sandal, foot shaped 38 V. Montembault, Catalogue des Chaussures de l’Antiquité Egyptienne, Paris 2000, pp.166-7 no.98, pp.172-3 nos. 102-3; see figs. 10 and 11. 39 H. Frauberger, Antike und frühmittelalterlich Fussbekleidungen aus Achmim-Panoplis, Düsseldorf, 1896; A. Mills, The Cemetries of Qsar Ibrim: report of the excavations by Emery in 1961, London 1982. 40 V. Montembault, Catalogue des Chaussures de l’Antiquité Egyptienne, Paris 2000, fig.34, Table de synthese de la datation des articles chaussant en cuir de la collection, pp. 82-3. 41 ibid., pp.198-200, nos. 127-8; fig. 12. 42 for example, G. Faider-Feytmans, Les Bronzes Romains de Belgique, Mainz 1979, II, pl. 64, no.137. 43 H. Menzel, Die Römischen Bronzen aus Deutschland: II Trier, Mainz 1966, pp.120-1, pl. 95, no.s 295-6; see fig. 13.

Figure 9: Examples of hobnailing patterns, from

standard (first three rows) to elaborate (bottom

two rows).

From C. van Driel Murray in O. Goubitz, Stepping through Time, p.351-2 11

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Figures 10 and 11: Pictures of Egyptian shoes showing scroll-top decoration. From V. Montembault, Catalogue des Chassures de l’Antiquité Egyptienne, pp.166-7 no. 98 and pp.172-3 no. 102

Figure 12: Picture of Egyptian Shoe showing external heel stiffener. From V. Montembault, Catalogue des Chassures de l’Antiquité Egyptienne, p. 198 no. 127 items, and that the elements noted by van Driel-Murray as being unusual do appear on other examples.

forms, and exist in terracotta and bronze. Several oil lamps in the shape of sandaled or bare feet exist44, and a sample of those in the British Museum will be discussed here.

The population of boot-shaped balsamaria is small, and so a larger sample group of similar items will be examined. Oil lamps are perhaps the closest, most numerous group of objects that can be found in boot, sandaled and bare foot

44 Bailey, Catalogue of lamps in the British Museum, III, London 1988, pp. 221, 242, 457, no.s 1137, 1138, 1985; IV, London 1996, nos. 3586-9, p. 18, pls. 16-18.

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Penny Coombe : The Hardwick Boot

Figure 13: Sandaled foot-shaped furniture feet. From H. Menzel, Die Romischen Bronzen aus Deutschland: II Trier, pp. 120-21 pl. 95, nos. 295-6. There is a variety of sandaled oil lamps, from bare feet45 to extremely elaborate items. Most of these agree with van Driel-Murray’s view that they do not have hobnails, or if they do that these nails are small and round;46 that soles are based on a multi-layer construction; that fastenings are realistic; and that such criteria are valid for objects dating between first and third centuries A.D. Some examples from the British Museum do not feature hobnails and are covered in fairly ornate decoration as is to be expected from items made in Egypt or the East in 1st century A.D.47

of the sole, while a circle of nails in similar form appears under the toe and heel, presumably for extra grip in those areas. Four other individual, larger, round nails form a line down the centre of the sole. It is unclear what part of the Empire it came from, but close examples have been found in Asia Minor and Bulgaria. Of the four bronze lamps of this shape in the British Museum catalogue (numbers 3586-9), it is the largest, most ornate and is the only one with a lid; the decoration suggests it was from the Eastern part of the Empire.

However, others replicate features seen on the Hardwick boot that are considered ‘wrong’ for real shoes. An example of a sandaled right foot bronze oil lamp in the British Museum features hobnailing that is similar to that on the Hardwick balsamarium.48 An extra strip of metal which is divided up roughly into circular nails runs around the edge

It seems that this provides further evidence for van DrielMurray’s view that such inaccuracies could be a feature of Eastern artefacts. However, this example dates from 1st century, and there are much later examples that show very close similarities to real shoes. Later, similar examples are known from the 3rd century.49 Another 2nd-3rd century bronze sandaled right foot lamp was found at Wehringen50 and a further example is noted on Oxfordshire’s museums

see note 44, numbers 3588, 3589. see note 44, number 1138. 47 see note 44, numbers 1137, 1985, 3587. 48 D. Bailey, Catalogue of lamps in the British Museum, London 1996, vol. IV, no. 3586, pls. 16 and 18. 45 46

ILN 16th March 1963, p.381, fig. 4, from Beth Shean. J. Garbsch, Römischer Alltag in Bayern, Munich 1994, p.180, mentioned in Bailey, vol. IV, p.12.

49 50

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Art, Religion and Society website.51 This last is a very accurate depiction of a late Roman sandal and dates from 5th century. Another undated sandaled bronze lamp is known from Xanten in Germany.52 Such a range of items and their varying degrees of accuracy show that the picture is probably more complicated it has been suggested, and it is not safe to date the Hardwick boot as post 3rd century and from Egypt solely on artistic grounds.

are portrayed show that there may have been a greater significance to the type than simply as useful shape for a vessel. Balsamaria Bronze balsamaria from the Roman period often occur in plastic forms, most commonly in the shape of a head and shoulders bust, but they are known in animal shapes or simply in vase designs.58 These examples were often complex, and the boot-shaped balsamaria look quite crude and rough in comparison.

Lamps are a good parallel for the boot balsamaria also in terms of the context and mode of their use. They too were often hung up by the loops attached, or placed on lamp stands, usually with a tripod base. An example of a bronze oil lamp in the shape of a bare right foot has a bronze chain attached from which it could be hung when not in use.53 This, it seems, was customary as Pliny the Elder tells us that ‘lamp-holders were popularly suspended from the ceiling in temples or with their lights arranged to look like apples hanging on trees.’54 Similar terracotta lamps in the form of sandaled feet have handles, by which they were carried when in use, and many also have rings or holes punched in them, where loops were attached to suspend them. These loops may be at either side of the ankle, on the heel, or on the toe.55 Three of those in the British Museum mentioned above are from Egypt (numbers 1137, 1138, 1985), and are made from Nile silt. They vary, but all are feet shod in ornate sandals: two of them feature round hobnails and are wedged, while the other has a bare flat sole. There is some suggestion that such lamps were used in religious contexts, specifically in the worship of the Greco-Egyptian god Serapis. Significance of the boot and its possible uses will be discussed in greater detail below.

The original function of oil vessels, balsamaria, is unclear. Gisela Richter, writing in 1915, noted that, while they were known as incense vases, there was little supporting evidence for such a use.59 Undoubtedly they had some function in containing perfume or scented oil. Harder to work out is the context in which this perfume, and so the object, was used. Suggestions include use in bath houses, in anointing the dead, or as a symbolic grave good, the last of these suggestions being the least likely. This is not to say they were not included in graves, only that they were used in life too. Examples that lack bottoms60 usually had one originally: they were not simply offerings. Common to almost all examples of balsamaria in whatever shape is some sort of handle or chain. The two types most often used are either loops protruding with a rigid handle swinging freely in them, as one might find on an old-fashioned bucket, or linked chains.61 These oil vessels were portable and the lid would have kept liquid in. It does seem most likely that they were indeed used in the baths; modern catalogues even term items such as this ‘bathflasks’.62 The chains would allow the item to be hung up along with the strigil and bath-saucer.

Feet of furniture occurred in the shape of animal’s paws and also in the form of human feet. These varied in size from three pairs of bronze feet only 57mm long56 to larger examples of 200mm. Decoration on the three small pairs is incised, and two of the pairs are sandals, while the third pair appears to be closed in shoes. They are fairly close to real shoes. Other small items, such as an amulet in shape of a foot, from Tongeren in the Netherlands,57 are also not strictly relevant. This pendant is a right foot that is cut off mid calf level and is 37 mm tall. A loop on the top shows where it would have hung from a chain or piece of leather. These examples show that boot forms are fairly rare, while bare and sandaled feet are more popular. In addition, the great variety of boots, shoes, sandals and bare feet that

It is likely that this general type of object was known in many places and used for different purposes, with conditions, climate and local custom influencing how they were used. In hot, dusty places, for example in the Middle East, balsamaria may have held oil for perfuming oneself on entry to a house or to use when washing ones feet after a journey. They may have either been hung up at the entrance to a building or carried by the traveller for private use. There is little direct evidence for this, but the practice of foot washing is mentioned in the Bible, as much a record Examples include M. Malaise, Latomus 29, 1970, pp. 142-57; G. Faider-Feytmans, ibid., nos. 220-4, pp.126-8, pls. 87-93; J. Webster, Trans. Cumberland and Westmoreland Ant. and Arch. Soc., lxxiii, 1973, pp.90-3; http://www.oxfordshire.gov.uk/museums/oikos/index-greecef. htm; M. den Boesterd, The Bronze Vessels in the Rijksmuseum, Nijmegen 1956, pp. 85-6, no. 302, pl. xii. 59 G. Richter, Greek, Roman and Etruscan Bronzes, New York 1915, pp. 193-4. 60 L. Milani, Museo Archoelogico di Firenze, II, pl. XXIII. 61 G. Faider-Feytmans, Les Bronzes Romains de Belgique, plates 91-3, no. 224, plates 88-9, nos. 220-1. 62 M.H.P. Den Boesterd, The Bronze Vessels, Nijmegen 1956, p.85, no. 302. 58

http://www.oxfordshire.gov.uk/museums/oikos/athens36.htm. 52 H. Menzel, Die Römische Bronzen aus Deutschland: III Bonn, Mainz 1986, no. 240, pl. 113. 53 L. Pirzio Biroli Stefanelli, Il Bronzo dei Romani, Rome 1990, p. 275, fig. 263, no. 74. 54 Pliny the Elder, Natural History, xxxiv, 14. 55 D. Bailey, Catalogue of Lamps in the British Museum, London 1988, vol. III, pp. 221, 242, 457, no.s 1137, 1138, 1985. 56 G. Faider-Feytmans, Les Bronzes Romains de Belgique, Mainz 1979, I, no. 236, p. 132, pl. 96. 57 G. Faider-Feytmans, Les Bronzes Romains de Belgique, Mainz 1979, I, no. 306, p.159, pl. 116. 51

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Penny Coombe : The Hardwick Boot PART 3: Near examples

of social habits as a religious text.63 Anointing of the dead is also an instance requiring perfumed oil.64 Olive oil was used, combined at different times with other ingredients such as cinnamon, calamus, and cassia, all of which are to be used in stated quantities. As far as Biblical anointing goes, such oil was kept in alabaster boxes, not bronze vases,65 and given the shape there are more probable uses for the boot balsamarium.

There exist several examples of these balsamaria that are very similar to the Hardwick boot that will now be examined. Care must be taken not to confuse balsamaria with other objects that look similar among the large range of boot, shoe and foot shaped items, a foot to a piece of furniture in the shape of a sandaled foot made of bronze, for example.71 Investigating the near examples, their forms, find sites, age and comparing these with the Hardwick boot will give some insight into how typical the Oxfordshire boot is, and can provide conclusions regarding its origins. The features which mark the Hardwick boot out as unusual – hobnailing, date, decoration and construction of the boot – will be studied most closely. Those discussed at some length below are a few of the known examples. There are most likely other similar examples which may not yet be published or have much information about them available. Balsamaria of this type are fairly small objects which have not tended to be the subject of detailed study.

Bronzes Bronze is a compound of copper and tin. Cyprus was famed for its copper mines, the name of the substance deriving from the island’s name, while Euboea was the chief centre for obtaining copper in Greece, and mines in southern Italy, Spain, Elba, Gaul and Germany were also important.66 Tin was found more scarcely, but is known to be mainly from Egypt, Britain, Spain and Gaul.67 Analysis of bronze finds tells us more about the components than the literary sources do, and most museological studies of items include some test of its metal composition. Hard and easy to cast but relatively expensive, it was used in making small figurines, oil lamps, statues, feet for furniture and vessels such as saucepans. Generally small items, they were often intricately decorated; drapery on figurines was elaborate,68 and handles on vessels might be highly carved, such as an example of a saucepan with a panther leaping on a deer.69 Larger statues were also made of bronze, however, and are known all over the Empire from 500 B.C. according to Pliny.70 The practice of casting bronze was learnt initially by the Greeks from Egyptians, and thence passed onto Etruscans and later Romans in Italy.

The example most like the Hardwick boot is one of the unpublished objects. It is displayed for sale on a website with other examples of ancient artwork.72 Little information is available on this item, which shall henceforth be referred to as Example 1, save that which is provided on the website. Seven pictures of the boot are available from all angles, and its price (US$ 6,295), but its find spot, date, origins, and so on are not attainable, nor does the owner of the site, an art dealer, know these details. Even the object’s authenticity must be questioned. The comparisons that can be drawn with the Hardwick boot are therefore limited to the visual.

Location of the raw materials could be a factor in distribution of bronze items, but this is not the case; use of bronze was widespread. Simply examining the material of the Hardwick boot is not helpful since there are vast quantities of bronze items all over the Empire. Perhaps, however, more in depth analysis of the composition of the bronze, the relative amounts of copper and tin, from different areas might pin point some geographic idiosyncrasies that would help locate the place of manufacture.

It is a right boot, tapered to the toe and with lacing up the instep. Handles from which the balsamarium was hung, as shown on figure 14, are attached to the front top, and, what may be the original chains are shown. The boot is shown in a manner that suggests a foot is inside it; the material bulges across the base of the toes, at the heads of the metatarsals, at where the anklebone should be, and at the heel in a realistic manner. There is no patterning on the exterior, but there is included a lid in the shape of an Amazonian shield with three spherical handles and circular grooves running just below the rim. The sole is studded with roughly shaped hobnails that run round the edge and form a diamond on the toe end of the tread, with three others running down the centre towards the heel (see figure 16). The outside is coloured with some green oxidation, but it is well preserved. One could speculate, therefore, that it may have been found in a burial site. This balsamarium has the round hobnails, pointed sole and discreet heel support that van Driel-Murray noted were lacking in the Hardwick boot.73 It seems to be more correct than the Hardwick boot,

63 Genesis, 18:4, 19:2; Mary Magdalene washing Jesus’ feet is mentioned in all four Gospels; Matthew 26:6-13, Mark 14:1-10, John 12:1-8, Luke 7:36-50; John 13:1-30. 64 Matthew 26:12. 65 Mark 14:3. 66 Pliny, Natural History, xxxiv, 2-4. 67 B. Jones and D. Mattingly, An Atlas of Roman Britain, Oxford 1990, p.179, map 6:1; H. Walters, Catalogue of the Greek, Roman and Etruscan bronzes in the Department of Antiquities, British Museum, London 1899, p. xxiv. 68 For example Walters, Select Greek, Roman and Etruscan Bronzes in the British Museum, London 1915, plate LVIII, figure of Autumn. 69 Rhode Island School of Design, Museum of Art, Classical Bronzes, Rhode Island 1975. 70 Pliny, Natural History, xxxiv, 15.

H. Menzel, Die Romischen Bronzen aus Deutschland: III Bonn, Mainz 1960, pp.120-1, pl. 95, nos 295-6. 72 http://www.trocadero.com/artemisgallery/items/158692/en3.html. 73 ALG 13, p.2. 71

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Figures 14-16: Example 1, three views. From http://www.trocadero.com/artemisgallery/items/158692/en3.html 16

Penny Coombe : The Hardwick Boot but comparisons cannot be relied upon to a great extent since authenticity is an issue.

Two further examples of bronze boot balsamaria demand discussion, though there is little information on each. The first, a Votivfuβ from Speyer, Germany, Example 4, is incomplete.78 The lid and opening are very similar to Examples 1 and 2, but parallel lines across a front panel suggest lacing, not the criss-cross that is expected. Hobnails cannot be seen clearly. A sketch of the second can be seen in ALG newsletter.79 It appears to be held by the Musee des Antiquites Nationales, St Germain-en-Laye, France, and to have originally have been found at Reims. Neither the illustrated catalogue nor the guide to the museum mention it, but it is known by other authors.80 From the sketch provided in ALG 13, it has chains by which it is hung and criss-cross lacing over the instep. Hobnailing is not shown. Another boot shaped balsamarium from Rome is mentioned in the secondary literature,81 but has been hard to track down; further study should investigate this example.

Example 2 displayed in the Antikenmuseum in Berlin74 lends credibility to Example 1 since the items are remarkably similar, though they are evidently two different objects. This one also has an Amazonian shield shaped lid, two rings to hold chains attached to the front, and crisscross lacing up the instep. A large number of rough shaped hobnails run around the edge of the sole, making a complex pattern on the sole. A line of thirteen nails runs under the heel to the arch of the foot, where a cluster of three makes up a triangle. Under the toes, the hobnails curl round following the shape of the boot, but ending in coils (see figure 18). This hob nailing is different to the crude forms on the Hardwick boot, and is more like patterns seen on real shoes. The boot is larger than the one from Hardwick, being 152mm long and 108mm in height. Replicated here, but not to such great extent, is the slight lop-sided feel of the Hardwick boot. It looks as though the item ought to fall over when placed down. It does not fall over, but perhaps this asymmetry is because evidently it was made to be hung up; ‘the clinching argument [for it being of similar function to the previous item in the catalogue, a balsamarium] is the presence of two eyelets, positioned about the centre of gravity, so that the foot, when it hangs on a complementary carry chain, remains near upright.’75

Example 6 only recently came to my attention. It is similar to the Hardwick boot, but is made of terracotta not bronze, and features a decorated sole. Currently on display at the British Musuem,82 it was purchased from Mr Charles Merlin, Her Majesty’s consul at Pireaus and it is thought to have originated in Asia Minor, probably made in Knidos in the 1st or 2nd century A.D. A terracotta scent bottle in the form of a boot laced up at the front, it features hobnails on the bottom arranged in the form of a swastika and the Greek letters alpha (toe) and omega (heel).83 The nails are round and distinct. Overall dimensions of the boot are similar to the Hardwick example: 12.7cm in length, by 12.7cm in height. The lacing on the front and styling of the boot are also very close to the Hardwick boot. It is made of thick, dull, dark grey slip, with some wear around the edges of sole and around the rim of bottle. A stopper with a ring handle forms a lid. Little more is known and the item has not been published.

Example 3, another right boot shaped balsamarium with lacing up the instep, comes from Belgium.76 Hard to make out from the picture in Faider-Feytmans’ volume, the 1987 Bulletin of the Musées Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire includes a better view of the sole.77 Twenty eight hobnails are arranged around the edge of the sole, with four forming a diamond under the ball of the foot, and two in a small line under the heel. Also on the sole is a rough trident shaped mark; it is unclear what this is. A handle, not chains, would have been fixed onto the top front of the boot, where two loops are attached. It is in rather poor condition, so any patterning other than the vamp seam and lacing, is not visible. There is some green colouring from oxidation. The modelling is fairly rigid; the lop-sided feel of other boots and plastic moulding as if there was a real foot inside is lacking. Perhaps the rigid handle, and not chains, are responsible for this. To make the object remain upright when held by chains, the centre of mass would be very precise, and maybe inventive moulding would ensure the correct weighting of various parts. Rigid handles which would hold the object upright without skilful regard to gravity would eliminate the need for such moulding.

A final example is in the shape of a sandaled foot.84 It is estimated that it dates from 1st or 2nd century A.D. but its provenance or find site is unknown. Thirty-three large round hobnails run around the outside edge of the sole but none anywhere on the middle of the sole and the lid is of the now familiar Amazonian shield type. A fragment of a loop remains on the top front, from which a chain or loop handle was attached. H. Menzel, Die Römischen Bronzen aus Deutschland: I, Speyer, Mainz, 1960, p. 24, no. 35, pl. 34. 79 Musee des antiquités nationale, St Germain-en-Laye. See ALG newsletter 13, March 2001. 80 S. Reinach, Catalogue Illustré du Musée des Antiquités Nationales au chateau de St-Germain-en-Laye 2nd edn., Paris, 1926; J-P. Mohen, Musée des Antiquités Nationales; guide, Paris, 1998; M. Mariën, ‘Pied de lit et bronzes Romains de Willemeau’, Bulletin des Musées d’Art et d’Histoire, Bruxelles, 58, fasc. 2, 1987, p. 100. 81 see M. Marien in Bulletin, 1987, p. 100. 82 Registration number GR 1875, 3-9.22. 83 see Figs. 23-4. 84 B. Bothmer, Antiquities from the Collection of Christos G. Bastis, New York, 1987, p.232 no.136; Sotheby New York, sale NY7404, lot no. 164, 9 December 1999; Fig. 25. 78

K. Verneisel, Römisches im Antikenmuseum, Berlin 1978, p.181, pl. 238.1. 75 Ibid., trans. author with thanks to Mark McMillan. 76 Baron de Loë, Belgique Ancienne; Catalogue Descriptif et Raisonné. Musées Royaux d’Art et D’Histoire a Bruxelles, Brussels, 1937, p.307; G-M. Faider-Feytmans, Les Bronzes Romains de Belgique, Mainz 1979, p. 126, no. 219, pl. 88. 77 M. Marien, ‘Pied de lit et bronzes Romains de Willemeau’, Bulletin des Musées Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire 58 fasc. 2, 1987, p.84. 74

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Figures 17 and 18: Example 2, two views. From K. Verneisel, Römisches im Antikenmuseum, p.181, pls. 238.1-238.2

Figures 19 and 20: Example 3, several views. Fig. 19 from G-M. Faider-Feytmans, Les Bronzes Romains de Belgique II, no. 219, pl. 88 Fig. 20 from M. Marien, ‘Pied de lit et bronzes Romains de Willemeau’, Bulletin de Musée Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire 58 fasc. 2, 1987, p.84 18

Penny Coombe : The Hardwick Boot

Figure 21: Example 4. From H. Menzel, Die Romischen Bronzen aus Deutschland: III Bonn, pp. 120-21 pl. 95, nos. 295-6.

Figure 22: Example 5, sketch. From C. van Driel-Murray, Archaeological Leather Group Newsletter 13, p.3 Generally, while these objects approximate actual boots, or sandals, and are realistically modelled, they are not precise. Each has some aspect that would not be typical of a piece of Roman footwear, but all exhibit common features, such as Amazonian shield lid, hobnailing of some sort, evidence for handle or chain attachment. The Hardwick boot is indeed a strange example of a real boot, and shows Eastern decoration, while Examples 1, 2 and 6 above are very close, but it is simply one of a group

of items that vary in precision of detail. Example 4, for example, is unlike any type of boot given in Carol Van Driel-Murray’s shoe timeline. Many dates of manufacture are uncertain or unknown, but Examples 1, 2, 3 and 6 are estimated at around 2nd century A.D. Almost all are from the North-Western provinces of the Roman Empire, suggesting this was a local type, though the similar example from Knidos suggests it was not limited to this area. 19

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Figure 23: Photograph of Example 6. Taken by the Author.

Figure 24: Sketch of the sole, not accurate, but actual length. Drawn by the Author.

PART 4: Significance of the boot

withered hand, and cured it85 and Example 5 above is labelled as a votive object. Laszlo Castiglione86 has noted that there exist many finds of footprints simply carved into rock, known in the Greco-Roman world and other places in the Middle and Far East, such as in Egypt and India. They were the simplest symbol of ‘people’ either mortal or supernatural, representing pars pro toto, but are generally taken to have religious significance. This is indicated both by their arrangement near known shrines

Foot, shoe and boot shaped objects are relatively numerous in the ancient world, and there may be some associated significance of the shape, more than simple function. Extrapolation about such objects’ greater meaning may help place the Hardwick boot as one of a group of objects, and aid in explaining its age, use and provenance. Was it simply a flask used to carry oil to the bathhouse? Possibly, but the shape suggests there might have been more to it.

Tacitus, Histories, IV, 81, 1-3. L. Castiglione, ‘Footprints of the Gods in India and in the Hellenistic World; Influence or Parallelism?’, Annales Archaeologique Arabes et Syriens XXI, pp. 25-36. 85 86

Feet in general had an important place in religion; Tacitus tells us of an instance when Vespasian stood on a man’s 20

Penny Coombe : The Hardwick Boot

Figure 25: Example 7, two views. From B. Bothmer, Antiquities from the Collection of Christos G. Bastis, p. 232 no. 136 and sanctuaries, and their accompanying inscriptions. It is not clear whether these were to be representations of footprints of gods or of worshippers; they may be intended to show worshippers thronging round the sanctuary rather than the god’s presence in it, but ancient accounts suggest otherwise, and that the motivation for their production was to eternalize the presence of the god. Apuleius notes that Isis appeared to Lucius with ‘divinely white’ feet, shod in sandals fashioned from leaves of the palm of victory, and that worshippers would kiss the feet of her statue made of silver that stood outside the temple.87 Worship of footprints of gods and heroes is mentioned in other texts, and was general and traditional.88

The significance of feet in religion, not only Egyptian, extends to shoes and boots. Many shoes feature in the heaps of rubbish used to fill up well holes after their use was discontinued, but there is also evidence to suggest they were left deliberately at water holes or springs as a gesture accompanying a request made to the gods. Often the left shoe was given and the right retained as a reminder to the dedicant of the ‘contract’.90 This is a perfect example of the contractual nature of Roman religion in practice; the maxim ‘do ut des’ applied to the Romans’ treatment of their gods. Certainly there was no emphasis on the personal commitment of the adherent, such as marks out devotees today, according to the Judaeo-Christian tradition. More important was correct completion of ritual, precise interpretation of these rites, and repetition if they should go wrong. In return, the gods would ensure the safety and continued success of the Roman Empire.91 Polybius noted that ‘superstition…is what holds Roman public affairs together. This area is treated with such tragic pomp and brought into so many occasions among them, in their lives in the private sphere and in the public business of the city that its importance cannot be exaggerated.’92

Lamps in the shape of feet, bare or sandaled, like the ones discussed above, were paraded at religious festivals or placed in temples and date from 1st to 3rd century A.D. Such lamps are often linked to the worship of the GrecoEgyptian deity Serapis, and the related goddess Isis.89 Serapis’ right foot was supposed to be particularly special, and effigies of his feet were made into colossal statues as well as small figurines. Some of the lamps even showed the god emerging from a sandaled right foot.

Interesting to note is that most extant foot or shoe shaped items usually appear as right feet. Feet rarely feature

Apuleius, Metamorphoses, trans. P. Walsh, XI. 3-4, 17. see Cicero, De Natura Deorum, III, 5; Herodotus, Histories, II, 91, IV, 82; Lucian, Vera Historia, VIII, ed. Ollier, 1962, p.13ff. 89 see A. Manzoni, Journal of Numismatic Fine Arts 5, 1976, p.82. 87

C. Van Driel-Murray, ‘Footwear’, 2001, p. 337. M. Beard, ‘Religion’, ch.XIX, CAH IX² p.729. 92 Polybius History VI.56. 90

88

91

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Figure 26: Map of dedications to African and Oriental Deities in Britain, not including Mithras or Christianity From B. Jones and D. Mattingly, An Atlas of Roman Britain, p. 273 as a pair, and the left foot is not depicted as often as the right. Footprint shaped stamps, usually right feet, were placed on the bottom of terracotta lamps. These generally date from the 1st century A.D. in Italy, but some from the 2nd century feature too.93 The examples of oil lamps given above also follow this pattern of there being more right feet than left; five of the examples in the British Museum, for example, are right feet, while two are left.94 The magic and luck of rightness is a topos of ancient literature, as well as in a religious context such as worship of Serapis. Petronius mentions a guest arriving for dinner enters his host’s house with his right foot forward.95 We have a right boot, suggesting some superstitious aspect to it.

is associated with Egypt and the Greek East, though it is not clear whether Serapis (also known as Sarapis) was of native Egyptian origin or imported, perhaps from Babylon, or where his name derived from. Most likely is that Serapis is a contraction of the Egyptian gods Osiris and Apis, the bull god, that was invented by the Ptolemy dynasty to assimilate their Greek and Egyptian subjects. Ptolemy Soter founded the first Serapeum at Alexandria, and by the Antonine age there were forty-two Serapeums in Egypt. This fusion of Greek and Egyptian can be seen well in art from 3rd century B.C. through to the Roman Imperial period, with several examples of Zeus depicted as Serapis.96

The link to a Greco-Egyptian centric religion is interesting and significant here as it gives more credibility to the view the Hardwick boot is Egyptian. The cult of Serapis

Eastern cults, including that of Serapis are known in Britain, especially from late 2nd – early 3rd century.97 There was at least one Serapeum at York, which we know about from an inscription,98 and at the Walbrook

93 D. Bailey, Catalogue of Lamps in the British Museum, London 1980, vol. II, pp. 105. 94 D. Bailey, Catalogue of Lamps in the British Museum, London 1988, vol. III, pp. 221, 242, 457, no.s 1137, 1138, 1985; 1996 vol. IV, p. 18, no.s 3586-9. 95 Petronius, Satyricon, 30.

H. Walters and A. Smith, Select Bronzes, Greek, Roman and Etruscan, in the Department of Antiquities of the British Museum, London 1915, plate XXI, catalogue no. 276. 97 see Fig. 26. 98 RIB 658, see S. Ireland, Roman Britain: A Source Book, New York, 1986, p. 207. 96

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Penny Coombe : The Hardwick Boot Mithraeum, a classicized head of a statue of Serapis was found along with Mithraic items.99 Septimius Severus, himself a keen devotee of Serapis,100 stayed at York when he came to Britain in 208 A.D. to quash tribes in the north, and died there of a long illness.101 The spread of the cults through the western empire can be traced: the Serapeum of Pozzuoli, at that time the busiest seaport of Campania, was mentioned in a city ordinance of 105 B.C., and at about the same time an Iseum was founded at Pompeii, where the decorative frescos show the power of expansion possessed by the Alexandrian culture. The sanctuary of Isis and Serapis on the Campus Martius in Rome seems to have been started in the reigns of Augustus and Caligula, but was only finished in the late 1st century. The exact details of this temple are unclear as excavations have been few and the Severan marble plan breaks off here.102

with Serapis worship are almost always in the form of a bare foot or a sandaled one, not a boot. More interesting and pertinent to discuss here is Example 6. The swastika was a symbol of good luck in ancient Greece, as well as holding great importance as an icon all over the world, and placing this mark on a lucky right boot might have increased its power. Further than it being a right boot, and so faintly lucky, the Hardwick balsamarium probably held little religious significance and was almost certainly not an object made to use as an offering. I would like to think it was the subject of an ancient joke. One was required to take footwear off at the entrance to a bathhouse. Mosaics acting as an injunction reminding bathers to remove their shoes can be seen in the frigidarium in the Theatre baths at Sabratha or at the entrance to the baths attached to the Grand Maison to the north of the Capitolium at Timgad. One’s leather boots must come off, but a little bronze boot of oil could be carried in.

There are several ways that such ideas, and indeed the Hardwick boot itself, might have reached England. Merchants may have propagated the Egyptian cults as they moved around the Mediterranean; after all, Isis was the goddess of navigation, and Serapis was intrinsically linked with her. Laszlo Castiglione reasons that trade links with India were potentially responsible for essentially Buddhist ideas of the religious significance of footprints infiltrating the Greco-Roman world in the first three centuries B.C. and the first century A.D.103 Delos, ideally located in the centre of the Eastern Mediterranean was well known as a port and centre for commerce; the island also features footprint slabs in the sanctuaries of Egyptian gods. It would be reasonable to assume that contact through trade resulted in such prints and sanctuaries emerging. In addition, Rome relied on Egypt for imports of oils and scents.104 The Hardwick boot is an oil vessel that would have held perfumed ointments. Perhaps this item was part of a cargo bringing both oil and ornate vessels in which to carry it, that were fashioned in a form that was popular in the place of origin, interesting to the merchant, and that resonated increasingly with people in Britain.

PART 5: Conclusion The aims of this study were to find out more about the boot; its date, original function and provenance. The initial problem was that the boot was not an exact copy of a boot worn by Romans in Britain, or indeed in any part of the Empire, but was roughly similar to nailed boots that could be found throughout the Empire in the 2nd century A.D. Bearing in mind that depictions of boots and shoes in art are generally very precise, this seemed to mean that the Hardwick boot was made by someone with little idea of what a Roman shoe actually looked like, most likely in Egypt. It is certainly possible that the boot is from Egypt or an Eastern part of the Empire, where nailed shoes were not common, and where perfumed oil, such as might be carried in the balsamarium was exported. Egyptian shoe decorations were replicated to some extent on the boot and items associated with feet would have held some significance for worshippers of the Egyptian mystery cult of Serapis. There is some scope for the object being transported to Rome or to other provinces, and its discovery in Oxfordshire could be explained.

Thus the boot could have been associated with eastern cults that focussed on feet, it could have been made in Egypt, and there are ways it could have reached Britain, but it is not the most likely origin for it. Objects associated

It is also possible that the boot was locally made in Britain. Ideas as well as particular objects were transported, and the religious links would have had some importance in Britain too, where Serapis was worshipped from the 2nd century. A local Roman site dating from the 2nd century gives the find a possible context, and it is likely that it was originally linked to Gill Mill in some way, whether it was owned by someone in the area, or dropped by a merchant on his way to or from Alchester, using the Roman road that ran through the town.

99 B. Jones and D. Mattingly, An Atlas of Roman Britain, Oxford 1990, p. 273. 100 Historia Augusta, Severus, 17.3-4. See the ‘Berlin Tondo’, a portrait of Septimus and his family for his personal styling as Serapis in A. Birley, The African Emperor: Septimus Severus (London 1988), pl.16. Septimius even visited Memphis, whence the cult originated, Apuleius, Metamorphoses, 2.28. 101 Dio, Roman History, 76.13.2. 102 M. Beard, J.North, S. Price, Religions of Rome, vol.I, Cambridge 1998, pp. 264-5. 103 L. Castiglione, ‘Footprints of the gods in India and in the Hellenistic World; Influence or Parallelism?’, Annales Archaeologique Arabes et Syriens XXI, p. 29. 104 see Fig. 27.

The probability, however, is that the boot was originally from the North-Western Empire. Other examples of similar objects found are all from this area, and the 23

Figure 27: Map showing trade links and commerce of the Roman Empire. From M. Charlesworth, Trade Routes and Commerce of the Roman Empire, inside cover

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Penny Coombe : The Hardwick Boot Hardwick boot fits well into the set of objects that generally, but not precisely, resemble real shoes. The fact that the balsamarium did not exactly replicate a real shoe was enough to suggest it might be Egyptian. However, it is enough like a real shoe for most people to guess its form, and for it to be accepted into a group of similar items. It is doubtful how accurate such items were in depicting real footwear in general, as all the near examples given here would, in Carol Van DrielMurray’s evaluation, be considered wrong. A resurgence of Celtic or Gallic styles in the 2nd century in the North Western provinces of Gaul, Belgium and Germany could explain the errors in representation. There are distinctive funerary monuments, typically Celtic and sculpted with a pictorial story of the person’s life which survive from this time, such as the one at Igel near Trier, and Celtic words such as ‘legua’ (league) appeared on official milestones in the 3rd century.105 Exports of pottery are known from this area to Pompeii, where a crate was awaiting unpacking at the time of the eruption, and later examples bearing the same maker’s stamp are known all over Gaul, the military areas along the Rhineland and in Britain.106 Similar export of bronze items, or transport by soldiers is possible.

Yet still the boot remains something of an enigma, as is the case with many small, everyday items. It is not possible to trace this as a particular object from ancient texts, since it self evidently was not important enough to be written about. The study presented above has both allowed some conclusions to be drawn and posed further questions. Additional study might yield more precise answers. For example, a thorough examination of related objects, process of distribution of such items around the Empire, or the religious links may give more insight into this sort of article as a genre. In particular, further study of areas of Belgic Gaul would be profitable if this is to be a final conclusion. Also, to find out more about this particular balsamarium, further scientific tests need to be carried out. From these tests, date, content of the material and use could be deduced or at least better estimations made. Once the boot’s provenance has been confirmed, wider historical issues can be addressed: how it got to Roman Oxfordshire, what kind of person might have owned it, or even how many bath houses were nearby, and so on. These may provide evidence for Gill Mill being an important site, potentially with a bath house or villa close by, or they might give further insight into the use of baths in Roman Britain, or into the wealth of the area in Roman times. The results of investigation of many small artefacts like the Hardwick boot will collectively give historians fresh information about life in Roman Britain.

Shoes were important in these areas, and many survive in burials and sanctuary sites from such places, while the function of balsamarium used in the bath house is the most likely. The probable date for its manufacture is 2nd century: the real shoe that the Hardwick boot most closely resembles comes from this period; this is the time of the resurgence of Celtic arts which could be responsible for the inaccuracies of representation; the Roman town at Gill Mill, near where the boot was found flourished from this century on. Greater wealth in this expanding town might have attracted more imports, or the growth of the town might have been linked with increased manufacture.

Acknowledgements I would like to thank several people for their help with this piece. Firstly thanks to curators at the Ashmolean Museum, particularly Michael Vickers, for allowing me access to information about the Hardwick boot; curators at the Oxfordshire museum in Woodstock for answering email enquiries about Roman Oxfordshire very quickly and helpfully; Paul Roberts and Alex Truscott at the British Museum for information on Example 6. My thanks also go to Mark McMillan for assisting me with German translation, and to my family and Amy Garner for proof reading and enduring discussions on Roman feet. Any remaining mistakes are my own. Most of all, however, I am greatly indebted to Martin Henig for all his help and support in this project.

Example 6 from Knidos does not provide evidence against this theory either. This example is more elaborate than the other boots, with hobnails arranged in intricate pattern. The use of Greek shows that this may have been made further east, probably somewhere near its find spot. It is possible that though boot balsamaria seem to be native to the North-Western provinces, this style could have been adapted from an Greek version, or vice versa, or indeed that this was a style known in many places simultaneously. Another possibility is that this boot was transported to Knidos, and was originally made nearer others of its type. It is of better craftsmanship than the other examples, and is made of different material, and so might have been considered appropriate to trade in the more sophisticated Greek areas.

Abbreviations ALG Archaeological Leather Group Newsletter BAR British Archaeological Reports CBA Council for British Archaeology CSIR Corpus Signorum Imperii Romani RIB R. Collingwood, The Roman Inscriptions of   Britain SMA South Midlands Archaeology

F. Millar, The Roman Empire and its Neighbours, 2nd edn., London 1981, p. 153. 106 ibid., p. 151. 105

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Art, Religion and Society Bibliography

Driel-Murray, C. van, Roman Military Equipment: the Sources of Evidence, B.A.R. 476, Oxford 1989 Driel-Murray, C. van and Gechter, M., ‘Funde aus der Fabrica der Legio I Minerva am Bonner Berg’ Rheinische Ausgrabungen 23, 1983, pp.1-83 Driel-Murray, C. van, ‘Footwear in the North-Western Provinces of the Roman Empire’ in O.Goubitz, Stepping through time Zwolle, 2001 Faider-Feytmans, G., Les Bronzes Romains de Belgique, 2 vol.s, Mainz 1979 Frauberger, H., Antike und frühmittelalterlich Fussbekleidungen aus Achmim-Panoplis, Düsseldorf, 1896 Groenman-van Waateringe, W., Romeins lederwerk uit Valkenburg Z.H., Groningen 1967 Gwyn Griffiths, J., Apuleius of Madauros: The Isis Book (Metamorphoses, Book XI), Leiden 1975 Henig, M., Corpus Signorum Imperii Romani, Vol. I, Fasc. 7, Oxford 1993 Henig, M. and Booth, P., Roman Oxfordshire, Stroud 2000 Ireland, S., Roman Britain: A Source Book, New York, 1986 Jones, B. and Mattingly, D., An Atlas of Roman Britain, Oxford 1990 Lambrick, G., ‘Ducklington: Gill Mill’, SMA Newsletter 26 1996 Loë, Baron de, Belgique Ancienne; Catalogue Descriptif et Raisonné. Musées Royaux d’Art et D’Histoire a Bruxelles, Brussels, 1937 Manning, P. and Leeds, E., Archaeological Survey of Oxfordshire, Oxford 1921 Manzoni, A., Journal of Numismatic Fine Arts 5, 1976 Marien, M., ‘Pied de lit et bronzes Romains de Willemeau’, Bulletin des Musées Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire 58 fasc. 2, 1987 Menzel, H., Die Römischen Bronzen aus Deutschland; vol. I, Speyer, Mainz, 1960 Menzel, H., Die Romischen Bronzen aus Deutschland II Trier, Mainz 1960 Menzel, H., Die Romischen Bronzen aus Deutschland III Bonn, Mainz 1986 Milani, L., Museo Archoelogico di Firenze, Florence 1968 Millar, F., The Roman Empire and its Neighbours, 2nd edn., London 1981 Mills, A., The Cemetries of Qsar Ibrim: report of the excavations by Emery in 1961, London 1982 Mitten, D., Classical Bronzes, Museum of Art Rhode Island, Providence 1975 Mohen, J-P., Musée des Antiquités Nationales; guide, Paris, 1998 Montembault, V., Catalogue des Chaussures de l’Antiquite Egyptienne, Louvre, Paris 2000 Nenova-Merdjanova, R., ‘The Bronze Jugs Decorated with a Human Foot from the Roman Provinces Moesia and Thracia’, Archaeologia Bulgarica II, 3, pp.68-78 1998 Reinach, S., Catalogue Illustré du Musée des Antiquités Nationales au chateau de St-Germain-en-Laye 2nd edn., Paris, 1926

Primary sources Apuleius, Metamorphoses, trans. P. Walsh, Cambridge, 1970 Cassius Dio, Roman History, trans. E. Cary, Loeb, London 1969 Cicero, De Natura Deorum, trans. H. Rackham, Loeb, London, 1933 Herodotus, Histories, ed. A. Burn, London 1972 Historia Augusta, trans. A.Birley, London 1976 Lucian, Vera Historia, ed. Ollier, 1962 Petronicus, Satyricon, trans. P. Walsh, Cambridge, 1970 Pliny the Elder, Natural History, trans. H. Rackham, Loeb, London 1961 Polybius, History, trans. W. Paton, Loeb, Cambride MA, 1975-9 Tacitus, Histories, trans. K. Wellesley, Harmondsworth, 1975 The Good News Bible Secondary sources Bailey, D., Catalogue of Lamps in the British Museum, London, vols. I-IV, 1914 Beard, M., ‘Religion’, Cambridge Ancient History, vol. IX, 2nd edn., Cambridge, 1994 Beard, M., North, J and Price, S., Religions of Rome, vol. I, Cambridge 1998 Birley, A., The African Emperor: Septimius Severus, 2nd edition, London 1988 Birley, R. (ed.), The Early Wooden Forts: Vindolanda III, 1993 Birley, R., Vindolanda, London 1977 Bishop, M., The Production and Distribution of Roman Military Equipment, B.A.R. 275, Oxford 1985 Blagg, T. and Millett M. (eds), The Early Roman Empire in the West, Oxford 1990 Boesterd, M.H.P. den, The Bronze Vessels in the Rijksmuseum G.M.Kam at Nijmegen, Nijmegen 1956 Booth, P., ‘Ducklington: Gill Mill’, SMA Newsletter 21, 1991 Bowman, A., Egypt after the Pharoahs: 332 B.C. - A.D.642, London 1986 Brown, P., The World of Late Antiquity, 2nd edition, London 1978 Castiglione, L., ‘Footprints of the Gods in India and in the Hellenistic World; Influence or Parallelism?’, Annales Archaeologique Arabes et Syriens XXI Chambers, R., ‘A Romano-British Settlement Site and Seventh-century Burial, Ducklington, Oxon.’, Oxoniensia 40, 1975 Charlesworth, M., Trade Routes and Commerce of the Roman Empire, 2nd edn., Cambridge, 1926 Coulston, J., Military Equipment and the Identity of Roman Soldiers, B.A.R. 394, Oxford 1988 Driel-Murray, C. van, in Archaeological Leather Group newsletter 13, March 2001 26

Penny Coombe : The Hardwick Boot Richmond, I., Trajan’s army on Trajan’s column, London 1982 Richter, G., Greek, Roman and Etruscan Bronzes, New York 1915 Robertson, A., Scott, M. and Keppie, L., Bar Hill: A Roman Fort and its Finds, B.A.R. 16, Oxford 1975 Rostovtzeff, M., The Social and Economic History of the Roman Empire, 2 vols, 2nd edn., Oxford, 1957 Steane, J., ‘Gill Mill Farm, Ducklington’, CBA Group 9 Newsletter 9, A Review of Archaeology in Bedfordshire, Buckinghamshire, Northampton and Oxfordshire, 1979 Stefanelli, L. Pirzio Biroli, Il Bronzo dei Romani, Rome 1990 Strong, D., Roman Art, 2nd edition, Harmondsworth, 1988 Taylor, M., ‘The Roman Period’, in A. Martin and R. Steel (eds.) The Oxford Region, 1954, pp. 85-95 Verneisel, K., Romisches im Antikenmuseum, Berlin 1978 Victoria History of Oxfordshire, Vol. I, Oxford 1939 Wallis, J. and Lambrick, G., ‘Ducklington: Gill Mill farm’, SMA Newsletter 19, 1989 Walters, H., Catalogue of the Greek, Roman and Etruscan bronzes in the Department of Antiquities, British Museum, London 1899

Walters H., and Smith, A., Select Bronzes, Greek, Roman and Etruscan, in the Department of Antiquities of the British Museum, London 1915 Webster, J., ‘A Bronze Incense Container from Carlisle’, Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmoreland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society, lxxiii, 1973 Young, C., ‘The Upper Thames Valley in the Roman Period’ in Briggs, Cook, Rowley (ed.), The Archaeology of the Oxford Region, Oxford 1986 Young, C., The Roman Pottery Industry of the Oxford Region, BAR 43, Oxford 1977 http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2-650990,00.html viewed 3 March 2005 http://www.trocadero.com/artemisgallery/items/158692/ en3.htm viewed 3 March 2005 http://www.roman-britain.org/places/north_oxford.htm viewed 3 March 2005 Notes from conference ‘Quo Vadis: Footprints and Vestigia in Ancient Religion’ at University College, Oxford, 22nd June 2005.

27

The Body Chain from the Hoxne Treasure: Setting and Significance Helena Hawkesford

Abstract This essay is concerned with a unique piece of late Roman jewellery, an ornate gold body chain discovered in Britain as part of the Hoxne Treasure. It explores the history of the object, and discusses its social context. Parallels are drawn with other similar examples and with related antecedents in art and literature stretching from the second half of the second millennium BC to the later sixth century AD. In this way, the significance of this remarkable object within a Romano-British context and across a broader chronological and geographical span is considered.

in comparison to other provinces for the relatively high number of gold and silver hoards of this period that it has so far yielded. Since the Hoxne Treasure was buried as a collection of objects, the term ‘hoard’ is also appropriate. Although this does not have the same connotations as the legal definition of ‘treasure trove’, it can be applied to a wide variety of materials. The new Treasure Act defines the finds from Hoxne as treasure, although some scholars contend that this legislation could be made even more relevant to historical and archaeological needs. In its secondary and non-legal sense ‘treasure’ can be applied to anything perceived by a given society as being of value, often in an unquantifiable sense. The two terms can overlap and are both fitting in a discussion of the finds from Hoxne. They will therefore be used interchangably.

I. Introduction Treasure trove may be defined as objects of gold or silver which have been deliberately hidden with the intention of recovery, and of which the original landowner cannot be traced.

If the intention of whoever was hoarding at Hoxne was to keep their most valued possessions safe, why might this have been so? A specific event may not have been responsible for the deposition of the hoard, theft was always a possibility and precautions against it commonly taken. The location of the burial is in an area not known for its palatial villas, many of the grandest were in the West Country, in Britannia Prima. However, a wealthy family might own vast stretches of land, potentially in different parts of Britain or in a number of provinces, and the assumption that this was an isolated region is debatable. In the early fifth-century, according to the divisions of Diocletian, Hoxne (Fig. 1) was presumably in the province of Maxima Caesariensis, based at London, or Flavia Caesariensis, based at Lincoln. Several hoards have been discovered in this area, predominantly in the past few decades. Perhaps the most relevant to the Hoxne Treasure is that found much earlier at nearby Eye in c.1780, believed to comprise the largest hoard of gold coins found in Britain. They cannot be identified today, but the claim

As one of the largest Roman treasures discovered in Britain, and complete in the sense that it was excavated intact almost immediately following discovery, the Hoxne Treasure from Suffolk has much to tell us about the lifestyle of the wealthiest inhabitants of the province in the fourth and early fifth centuries AD. The AngloSaxon Chronicle states for the year 418: ‘the Romans collected all the treasures which were in Britain and hid some in the earth so that no one afterwards could find them…’. However, there is profuse evidence for continuity well beyond this period and, more importantly, we do not know when the Hoxne Treasure was deposited. The Chronicle indicates, though, that hoards were being discovered from the tenth-century onwards and no doubt before, so many have been lost to us. It was not uncommon for treasures to be buried, presumably most often for safekeeping, in late Roman Britain and in the pre-modern world more generally. Britain stands out

A. S. Esmonde-Cleary, The Ending of Roman Britain (London, 1989), p. 99.  C. Johns, ‘The Classification and Interpretation of Romano-British Treasures’, Britannia, 27 (1996), p. 2.  M. Henig, ‘The Hoxne Treasure: Review Article’, Britannia, 26 (1996), p. 392.  For a map of administrative divisions see N. Faulkner, The Decline and Fall of Roman Britain (Stroud, 2000), p. 112. 

R. Bland and C. Johns, The Hoxne Treasure: An Illustrated Introduction (London, 1993), p. 9.  R. Bland and C. Johns, ‘The Hoxne Late Roman Treasure’, Britannia, 25 (1994), p. 165.  Quoted in G. de la Bédoyère, The Golden Age of Roman Britain (Stroud, 1999), p. 156.  Ibid, p. 153. 

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Figure 1. Roman Britain in the fourth-century, showing find-spot of Hoxne Treasure and other principal sites. that these six hundred and fifty coins were of emperors from Valentinian I to Honorius would have placed them as contemporary to the Hoxne specimens. We are given only a tantalising glimpse of what was discovered, and any connection between this and the Hoxne Treasure remains unproven. The discovery of further hoards in this region may not offer a true geographical picture of dispersal across the province since, once a hoard is discovered, the 

land nearby will often be thoroughly searched in the hope of finding more. It seems unlikely, however, that an absentee estate owner would leave behind such wealth unless forced, perhaps by the need to undertake a long journey which did not offer the possibility of taking valuable possessions. More generally, the turbulence of the period, which manifested itself on many levels, may have been the primary reason for the concealment of these objects at this location.

See Bland and Johns, ‘The Hoxne Late Roman Treasure’, p. 166.

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Helena Hawkesford : the Body Chain from the Hoxne Treasure Although the archaeology of late Roman levels in British towns is still in its earliest stages, and literary evidence is rarely contemporary and often misleading, it is possible to form a few general conclusions. Britain’s involvement in insurrection in the fourth and early fifth centuries AD, providing resources for usurpers such as Magnus Maximus,10 increasingly made her a burden upon the empire. The rule of young Honorius, Britain’s last legitimate emperor, was barely felt; real power lay in the hands of the Master of the Soldiers, Flavius Stilicho.11 The latter’s ambitions led to a clash with the Visigoths, requiring additional troops which were obtained through a reduction of the British garrison in c. AD 399. Although this may not have been as drastic as is often thought,12 it nevertheless seems to have increased unrest. Zosimus, writing in the east about a century later, tells us that the Britons were living under their own laws at this time.13 Although the usurper Constantine III was ultimately defeated and executed at Arles,14 his attempts to establish a new Gallic empire, to include Spain and Britain, may have encouraged Honorius to regard the island as an unnecessary hazard. However, considerable controversy surrounds the rescript in which the emperor tells the cities to organize their defences,15 and it may not refer to Britain at all since Britia could be a misspelling for Brettia, Brutium in Italy. There may not have been an official resignation of control over the province and, for Salway, ‘There is no cause to assume Honorius was deliberately abandoning Britain for ever.’16 Nevertheless, in retrospect, it is apparent that Britain’s status had been irrevocably changed.

luxury goods had clearly not ceased.22 We should remind ourselves that the Romano-British cannot have known that their exclusion from empire was permanent. Nevertheless, it is clear that as a result of the almost total cessation of the influx of coinage (a hoard from Patching in Sussex is exceptional in its inclusion of coins from the mid fifthcentury)23 many holdings of wealth became static: ‘The Romano-British elite with remaining wealth had now no alternative but to regard their assets as frozen.’24 Storing their possessions and biding their time probably seemed the only viable approach to these events, thereby minimising the risk of requisition and robbery. Alternatively, religious offerings were still being made, as the Thetford hoard indicates, although there is no evidence that this was the case at Hoxne. The coins from the treasure (Fig. 2), almost 15,000 in total, offer some indication of the upheaval at this time. The two latest editions, siliquae of Constantine III, mark the last years in which coinage was entering Britain in any quantity. The silver siliquae are clipped around the edges, with often as much as half of the coin being removed. This phenomenon, apparently unique to Britain,25 probably occurred after the breakdown of Roman authority from c. AD 411 onwards. It is most readily explicable as a means of making what was now almost a fixed pool of coinage go further. Such an argument is further substantiated by the number of forgeries in the Hoxne hoard, several hundred of the silver coins are identified as such.26 Britain had a monetised economy which the withdrawal of Roman jurisdiction could not entirely eradicate. However, finds of bronze coinage in the province from AD 379 onwards are considerably fewer than previously,27 implying that coinage had become less essential for day to day life. The vast quantity of silver and, to a lesser extent, gold coins in the Hoxne Treasure would suggest that this argument cannot be applied universally. However, precious metals could be melted down or cut up as bullion, as the hacksilber from the Traprain Law, Coleraine and Baline Treasures reveals.28 With the exception of one specimen from the reign of Constantine II, all the coins present in the Hoxne Treasure were minted within fifty years of one another, between AD 358 and 408. This encompasses the period when bronze coinage was still relatively common in Britain, yet very few of these coins are of base metal. In this case, bronze coinage would probably not have been deemed valuable enough to store in quantity.

It seems that many towns survived, but with diminished populations and fewer amenities.17 The majority of villas show signs of decline in the later fourth-century,18 such as that at Latimer in Buckinghamshire.19 However, there are exceptions, including the villa at Marshfield in Avon, which received baths in c.360-370.20 In the fifth or even sixth-century AD a villa at Bradford-On-Avon had what was most probably an early Christian font placed directly onto an elaborate mid fourth-century mosaic floor.21 The evidence of the Thetford Treasure also argues against hastily drawn conclusions since the commissioning of See de la Bédoyère, Golden Age, p. 145. P. Salway, The Oxford Illustrated History of Roman Britain (Oxford/ New York, 1993), p. 294. 12 Ibid, pp. 298-299. 13 De la Bédoyère, Golden Age, p. 146. 14 Ibid, p. 148. 15 See, for example, Esmonde-Cleary, Ending of Roman Britain, pp. 137138. 16 Salway, Oxford Illustrated History, p. 312. 17 C. Johns and T. Potter, Roman Britain (London, 1992), pp. 209-210. 18 Ibid, p. 212. 19 See K. Branigan, Latimer: Belgic, Roman, Dark Age and Early Modern Farm (Bristol, 1971). 20 Johns and Potter, Roman Britain, p. 212. 21 M. Corney, ‘The Roman Villa at Bradford-On-Avon. Investigations at St. Lawrence School’, ARA, 16 (2004), pp. 10-13. 10 11

C. Johns and T. Potter (eds), The Thetford Treasure: Roman Jewellery and Silver (London, 1983), p. 11. 23 C. Johns et al., ‘A Mid-Fifth Century Hoard of Roman and PseudoRoman Material from Patching, West Sussex’, Britannia, 30 (1999), pp. 301-315. 24 De la Bédoyère, Golden Age, p. 152. 25 R. Bland and C. Johns, ‘The Great Hoxne Treasure: a Preliminary Report’, JRA, 6 (1993), p. 495. 26 De la Bédoyère, Golden Age, p. 159. 27 Ibid, p. 146. 28 Esmonde-Cleary, Ending of Roman Britain, p. 99. 22

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Art, Religion and Society Gold solidi Valentinian I (A.D 364-75) 5 Gratian (367-83) 12 Valentinian II (375-92) 69 Theodosius I (379-95) 20 Magnus Maximus (383-88) 1 Eugenius (392-4) 1 Arcadius (383-408) 147 Honorius (393-423) 310 Total 565 Silver miliarenses Constantine II (A.D 337-40) Constantius II (337-61) 2 Valentinian I (364-75) 4 Valens (364-78) 15 Gratian (367-83) 13 Valentinian II (375-92) 7 Theodosius I (379-95) 7 Magnus Maximus (383-88) 5 Eugenius (392-94) 5 Arcadius (383-408) 1 Total 60

Silver reduced siliquae (provisional figures) Constantius II (A.D 337-61) 320 Julian (360-63) 886 Jovian (363-64) 40 Valentinian I (364-75) 217 Valens (364-78) 1, 417 Gratian (367-83) 1, 104 Valentinian II (375-92) 575 Theodosius I (379-95) 725 Magnus Maximus (383-88) 1, 026 Flavius Victor (387-88) 153 Eugenius (392-94) 523 Arcadius (383-408) 2, 257 Honorius (393-423) 2, 254 Constantine III (407-11) 2 Uncertain 2, 359 Irregular 178 Fragments 55 Unsorted 33 Total 14, 124

1

Silver half-siliquae Arcadius (383-408) Honorius (393- 423) Anonymous Total

Silver full-weight siliquae Constantius II (337-61) 2 Total 2

3 1 1 5

Figure 2. A summary of coins from the Hoxne hoard.

Figure 3. Silver tigress handle from the Hoxne Treasure, with stripes inlaid in niello. It is likely that hoards intended for safekeeping and later recovery would have been carefully packed, as in the case of the Hoxne Treasure. The archaeological investigation revealed corroded iron fittings, indicating that the objects were stored in a fairly large wooden chest of 60 x 40 x 30 centimetres in size.29 There were also smaller silver fittings and over one hundred and fifty pieces of bone 29

inlay. The fittings, especially the two padlocks and hinge, indicate the presence of smaller caskets within the outer chest, suggesting that whoever composed the hoard did so with care. This idea is supported by the presence of organic material used to separate and pad the silver bowls before burial.30 The evidence implies that this treasure was not packed hurriedly, and may even have been an ‘open’

Bland and Johns, ‘The Hoxne Late Roman Treasure’, p. 165.

30

32

Ibid, p. 165.

Helena Hawkesford : the Body Chain from the Hoxne Treasure

Figure 4. The body chain from the Hoxne Treasure chain from the hoard (Fig. 4) retains its amethysts, but has several empty settings, perhaps originally filled with pearls which have decayed over time.

hoard, intended for storage and banking rather than being the result of a single act of concealment.31 This is difficult to prove archaeologically, although the manner in which the hoard was apparently divided up and contained within a number of vessels indicates that this is a possibility. Alternatively, this could simply have been a means of separating the possessions of a number of people.

This is a remarkable item, which can most readily be classified as a piece of jewellery, alongside the nineteen bracelets, six chain necklaces and rings from the Hoxne Treasure. However, the body chain differs from these objects in its rarity and the apparent failure of its type to endure much beyond the Roman period. This form of jewellery is occasionally mentioned by scholars, but typically in passing. Only Johns has devoted any attention to it in detail, in her article ‘Body-chains, Hellenistic to Late Roman’.35 This essay seeks to closely analyse the Hoxne chain, attempting to place it within its historical context. To this end, we shall examine the few other extant examples of this device, its representation in art, and its broader social implications. The following chapters are devoted to: a detailed description of the Hoxne chain; a history of the type; a consideration of cultural significance and, finally, a further examination of the Romano-British context.

If the Hoxne Treasure did contain the accumulated wealth of a family, the absence of plate is surprising given the undoubted importance of such items.32 We may also note the silver tigress handle (Fig. 3) which has clearly been detached from a vase, and lacks its partner.33 Considering the meticulous care with which the hoard was excavated, the possibility of such large items going unnoticed is extremely low thus indicating that they were stored elsewhere, possibly as another hoard. This is only conjecture, and these large items may have been requisitioned for bounty payments by the state, as many goods undoubtedly were during this period.34 Alternatively, they might have remained in usage and been dispersed/lost/damaged and discarded over time. Whatever the case, it is clear that there was a conscious decision to hoard only certain items in the Hoxne Treasure. This is again apparent in an absence of pendants and earrings, which may be connected with the removal of bezels from the three rings. Perhaps such small items were deliberately kept aside as a more portable source of wealth, for easy exchange, although some of them may instead have been lost in the hoarding process. The body

II. The Hoxne Body Chain Material: Gold, with inset jewels including five amethysts which survive, and four others which are lost. Dimensions: Length (extended) 840 mm, length of straps 370-380 mm (min/max), width of straps max. 10 mm, weight 248g (of 1066g, total weight of the hoard’s gold jewellery).

Johns, ‘Romano-British Treasures’, p. 7. 32 M. Henig, ‘Luxuria and Decorum: Changing Values in Public and Private Life’, in L. Golden (ed), Raising the Eyebrow: John Onians and the World Art Studies: an Album Amicorum in his Honour (Oxford, 2001), p. 2. 33 C. Johns, The Jewellery of Roman Britain. Celtic and Classical Traditions (London, 1996), p. 218. 34 De la Bédoyère, Golden Age, pp. 160-161. 31

35 C. Johns, ‘Body-chains: Hellenistic to Late Roman’, in C. Entwistle (ed), Through a Glass Brightly: Studies in Byzantine and Medieval Art and Archaeology (London, 2003).

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FIGURE 5. FRONT VIEW OF THE DECORATIVE PLAQUES FROM THE HOXNE BODY CHAIN, ALSO SHOWING LION-HEAD TERMINALS AND DETACHED STRAP.

Findspot: Hoxne, Suffolk. OS Grid Reference TM 170 770.

367-383) in an octagonally shaped gold frame of pierced work. This is open at the back so as not to obscure the reverse device on the coin, although this would not in any case have been visible when the body chain was being worn. The orientation of the solidus suggests that the other plaque was worn horizontally. This is composed of a gold mount, roughly elliptical in shape, and originally containing nine gems. Each stone was set within its own niche, and surrounded by a gold rim which served to emphasise the colour and beauty of each gem individually. It is possible to ascertain the size and shape of the missing gems from an examination of the mount. Four empty circular settings alternate with four drop-shaped amethysts mounted directly above, below and to the left and right of a larger central amethyst.

Date: Mid 4th to early 5th century AD. The hoard contains coins down to Constantine III, c. AD 408. Detailed Description Composed of two decorative plaques connected to each other by four flat foxtail (loop-in-loop) chains (Figs. 5 and 6). To be worn with two straps over the shoulders and two under the arms (Fig. 7). All four are permanently attached to the gem-set plaque by interconnecting loops of gold strip, although one has broken away. The orientation of these loops indicates that the chains were worn diagonally. Two of the straps end in hooks to engage with the coin-set plaque. These fasteners are necessitated by the diminutive size of the body chain, which prohibits slipping it over the head and onto the torso of the wearer. The terminals of the chains take the form of delicately carved lions’ heads attached to gold cylinders with ridged borders. These creatures were common in Roman jewellery.36

Foxtail chains and pierced work were commonly employed in jewellery of this period.37 The loop-in-loop technique, whereby previously prepared links are threaded together, results in an elaborate and more aesthetically pleasing version of the simple chain. The technique of pierced work is often given the Latin term opus interrasile, but the name is not attested for such jewellery in antiquity. The archaeological evidence indicates that there is a change in form from the third-century onwards, with pierced

The coin-set plaque was presumably worn at the back, and contains a gold solidus of the emperor Gratian (AD 36

Johns, Jewellery of Roman Britain, p. 95.

37

34

Ibid, pp. 194-196.

HELENA HAWKESFORD : THE BODY CHAIN FROM THE HOXNE TREASURE

FIGURE 6. REAR VIEW OF THE DECORATIVE PLAQUES.

FIGURE 7. THE BODY CHAIN FROM THE HOXNE TREASURE; FRONT. 35

Art, Religion and Society work becoming more delicate and ‘lacy’.38 Therefore, the validity of applying the same term to all pierced gold jewellery should be questioned.39 To refer to the technique as ‘openwork’ is to risk being ambiguous. The process involves the perforation of sheet gold with a fine pointed tool,40 and should not be confused with other methods which offer the same visual impression, as can be achieved, for example, with beaded wire. The decorative potential of pierced work is considerable, although coins or gems mounted in bezel settings often heighten the effect. The frame within which the solidus of Gratian is mounted is elaborately ornamented with a complex foliate scroll pattern which draws the eye towards the coin, also rimmed with a thin band of twisted gold wire.

Conservation was aided by the work of the excavation team, which had lifted the majority of the deposit in sections, thus enabling detailed recording to occur in the conservation laboratory of the museum under ‘ideal conditions’.46 The importance of this is highlighted by the survival of delicate textile fragments and bone inlay which would otherwise have been lost. Restoration was occasionally necessary, as in the case of the ibex pepperpot, but was not typically required for the gold objects. Only one bracelet was damaged by the pressure of burial and required some support, whilst the other items, including the body chain, were simply cleaned with care to remove any residue of dirt.47 Research at the British Museum is ongoing, with full publication of the treasure expected in the next few years.

A Brief Synopsis

III. Body Chains: Tracing a History

It is increasingly the case that treasure hoards are discovered accidentally, by individuals who are not professional archaeologists: ‘It is the fate of most spectacular finds of gold and silver that their discovery has been a matter of chance…’.41 The circumstances of non-professional discovery are inevitably variable, but it is important to note the significant role of the metal-detector in this pattern. The Hoxne Treasure was discovered with such a device in November 1992 by Mr. Eric Lawes as he searched for the lost hammer of a friend in a Suffolk field.42 Similarly, the roughly contemporary Thetford Treasure was detected by such an instrument. However, in commendable contrast to the Thetford Treasure, that from Hoxne was reported with a promptness which facilitated a complete excavation of the site by the Suffolk Archaeological Unit.43 Within the space of only a couple of days the objects had reached the British Museum, where a report was prepared for the Treasure Trove Inquest which was to determine the fate of the hoard. This is in keeping with the treatment of the Snettisham Jeweller’s hoard44 and the Thetford Treasure,45 and serves as a vital part of the process which determines both monetary value and ownership. Most treasure troves are declared to be the property of the Crown; the Snettisham hoard is an interesting exception. Ultimately, Mr. Lawes received a reward for his actions and the British Museum was able to acquire the Hoxne Treasure through a successful fundraising campaign.

Early Development Put at its simplest, a body chain can be described as one or more straps which cross the torso, and in this basic form probably originated in many different places at varying times. Johns suggests that development may have been dual, derived both from the long necklace, which could be worn diagonally from shoulder to opposite hip, and from cords crossed over the upper body in costume.48 The first idea is a simpler one and seems a more likely proposition, but other ideas should not be discounted. The earliest known representations of body chains in art are ambiguous and open to reinterpretation. It is also impossible to establish a definite and direct link between these representations and what came later, in the Hellenistic period and beyond. Nevertheless, it is worth considering the available evidence, if only to gain a more complete understanding of the broader context in which the body chain can be placed. Some of the earliest depictions of what can arguably be called body chains are from the Near East, dating to the second half of the second millenium BC.49 The city of Susa, located in south-western Iran, served as a seat of both Elamite and Persian Achaemenid kings over the course of its long history. Its strategic location between the powers of inland Iran to the east and those of Mesopotamia to the west contributed to Susa’s importance, and serve in some way to explain the artistic achievements of the Middle Elamite period with which we are concerned.

Before the Coroner’s Inquest could take place, it was vital to clean and conserve the finds, a task which marked only the beginning of a time-consuming process of study. A. Yeroulanou, Diatrita: Gold Pierced-Work Jewellery from the Third to the Seventh Century (Athens, 1999), p. 15. 39 Ibid, p. 15. 40 Ibid, p. 16. 41 I. Longworth, preface to Johns and Potter (eds), The Thetford Treasure (London, 1983), p .7. 42 Bland and Johns, The Hoxne Treasure, p. 11. 43 Ibid, p. 11. 44 C. Johns, The Snettisham Roman Jeweller’s Hoard (London, 1997), p. 10. 45 Johns and Potter (eds), The Thetford Treasure, p. 9. 38

Hundreds of terracotta figurines produced in this period have been discovered over the past two centuries.50 Bland and Johns, The Hoxne Treasure, p. 11. I am grateful to Catherine Johns for this information. 48 Johns, ‘Body-chains’, p. 10. 49 Ibid, p. 10. 50 J. Aruz, P. Harper, F. Tallon (eds), The Royal City of Susa: Ancient Near Eastern Treasures from the Louvre (New York, 1992), p. 183. 46 47

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Helena Hawkesford : the Body Chain from the Hoxne Treasure

Figure 8. Susian figurines wearing body chains. the arms and hips/upper leg (Fig. 8, left-hand figurine). Coupled with this, the modelling of the figurines becomes increasingly flat as time goes on. Perhaps this trend is related to purpose, although this is to some extent beyond the scope of our discussion.

However, they are difficult to classify because of their originality and the fact that, attracting little interest from archaeologists, they were rarely recorded satisfactorily at the time of excavation. Therefore, interpretation of these objects is open to debate, although it is generally acknowledged that they are popularly inspired.51 Thus, they are indicative of Susian life but, placed within a broader anthropological context, they can also help us to formulate more general conclusions. We are concerned with a newly emergent type of female terracotta figurine, of which some are depicted wearing body chains and some are not.

If these terracottas are not intended to be wholly realistic in their form, how can we interpret the body chains which some of the figurines (such as those shown in fig. 8) wear? It is possible that those marks on the clay which cross the torso are purely ornamental. However, given that necklaces, bracelets and headresses are realistically rendered, it seems unlikely that the coroplast would have been unfamiliar with the body chain in practice. Depictions are not necessarily accurate but they are almost certainly based upon actual objects. We cannot ascertain material or decorative detail, but it is at least possible to determine form. These body chains are universally fairly close-fitting and have an elongated front plaque to which the straps which cross the torso are attached. These straps cannot necessarily be regarded as chains since this implies interwoven strips of material. Depictions of body chains on the terracottas are particularly ambiguous in this respect.

Gradually surplanting the slender female nude with clasped hands,52 these terracottas seemingly emphasised sexuality. Broad hips and large breasts, supported in the hands, contrasted with the understated femininity of the older style. Can we regard these features as eroticising, or did they have connotations of fertility? It is not necessarily possible to differentiate with any confidence between these intentions. The boundaries are blurred, and the female form necessarily associated with both fertility and sexuality. From a different perspective, are the fuller breasts and curvaceous bodies of these statuettes simply an attempt to achieve greater realism? This argument can be refuted because certain ‘realistic’ features, such as beads of clay to imitate pubic hair, are also known on the earlier design and, more importantly, there is a tendency towards distortion of the proportions of the body, in particular 51 52

We cannot examine the terracottas and expect to learn precise details since their very nature prohibits this. However, it is possible to deduce the following: this evidence of Susian art specifically associates the body chain with the naked female form; the straps emphasise the prominent breasts; they are often worn with other jewellery and a headress. It is interesting to note that these headresses are

See, for example, ibid, pp. 183-184. Ibid, pp. 183-184.

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Art, Religion and Society identical to those on the baked clay funerary heads found in collective burial vaults.53 This may not be significant, perhaps only indicating that headresses of a particular type were commonly worn, and thus well known. We cannot justify placing the figurines within a funerary context until we can ascertain their subject (human or divine?), and this remains ambiguous. The Susian figurines are enigmatic, but they offer an interesting introduction to the body chain as an object which could have relevance to a culture and period far removed from that of late Roman Britain. It is unfortunate that no actual examples of body chains survive from ancient Susa. If they were indeed worn they were, perhaps, made from fabric. The Hellenistic Period Boardman suggests that cross body straps were worn by Aphrodite in the Greek East from the fifth-century BC onwards.54 This is substantiated, at least for a slightly later period, by the evidence of ‘Tanagra’ figurines. These are named after a city in Boeotia where thousands were excavated, although they were produced throughout the Hellenistic world.55 The Tanagras can be sub-divided into two categories according to their subject matter, those drawn from everyday life and those connected with religion. Aphrodite typically dominates the latter group, often accompanied by Eros, as in the case of the three hundred and fifty two late third to mid second-century BC figurines from grave groups at Beroia.56 The goddess is sometimes depicted wearing a body chain, in combination with semi (Fig. 9) or, less frequently, complete nudity.57 It is possible to detect two trends in the pattern of survival. Some figurines retain their body chains in whole or in part58 and others retain only lines crossing the torso.59 This may indicate two different methods of representation. One seems to have involved the shaping of a three-dimensional body chain; the other approximated the device through lines that were probably originally painted or guilded to render them aesthetically pleasing and more realistic. There is no obvious pattern in the choice of technique. However, the body chains are generally shown to be close fitting and reached no lower than the hips.

Figure 9. Terracotta Tanagra figurine of Aphrodite wearing a body chain, from Pella.

Eros, the mythological son of the goddess, also occasionally wears such a device, as on a Tanagra figurine from the Ibid, p. 184. J. Boardman, ‘The Archaeology of Jewelry’, in A. Calinescu (ed), Ancient Jewelry and Archaeology (Bloomington, 1996), p. 4. 55 R. R. R. Smith, Hellenistic Sculpture (London, 2001), p. 86. 56 K. Tsakaloy- Tzanavare, ΠΗΛΙΝΑ ΕΙΔΩΛΙΑ ΑΠΟ ΤΗ ΒΕΡΟΙΑ. ΤΑΦΙΚΑ ΣΥΝΟΛΑ ΤΗΣ ΕΛΛΗΝΙΣΤΙΚΗΣ ΕΠΟΧΗΣ (Athens, 2002), p. 284. 57 Ibid, no. 271. 58 Including M. Lilimpake-Akamate, ΤΟ ΙΕΡΟ ΤΗΣ ΜΗΤΕΡΑΣ ΤΩΝ ΘΕΩΝ ΚΑΙ ΤΗΣ ΑΦΡΟΔΙΤΗΣ ΣΤΗΝ ΠΕΛΛΑ (Thessalonica, 2000), nos. 3, 4, 5, 12, 13. 59 Including Tsakaloy- Tzanavare, ΠΗΛΙΝΑ ΕΙΔΩΛΙΑ ΑΠΟ ΤΗ ΒΕΡΟΙΑ, nos. 252, 259, 271. 53 54

Figure 10. Tanagra figurine with raised lines of white clay on right shoulder. 38

Helena Hawkesford : the Body Chain from the Hoxne Treasure to hypothesise that the figure is intended to appear to wear a body chain under her clothing, of which only a small part is visible. The idea that the lines are used to represent jewellery is reinforced by their reappearance around the neck, presumably as necklaces. Smith suggests that many of the Tanagra figurines are ‘representatives of the demi-monde of theatre-players and courtesans’,65 and our example would fit well into such a group.66 Overall, her slipping drapery creates an impression of sensuousness, with which the visible straps are explicitly associated as they adorn the naked shoulder. To describe this as erotic would be to exaggerate, but the gesture certainly has sexual undertones that are in keeping with our identification of her intended status. The number of artistic representations implies that body chains were worn in the Hellenistic period, although there are no definite extant examples. It is hoped that further evidence will confirm this impression. The ambiguity of what survives is illustrated by a third-century BC ornament composed of four ribbons of sheet gold, attached diagonally to a central plaque; a knot of Heracles.67 The angle of the straps suggests that this was a body chain, but it may have been a diadem. A number of second-century BC Indian sculptures indicate that body chains were worn in that part of the world, but it is uncertain whether this derived from older eastern practice, or from the west. 68 It is evident that the body chain had especial relevance for the representation of Aphrodite and Eros in the Hellenistic period. This association will be considered more fully later on.

Figure 11. Gold earring of Eros wearing a body chain. workshop at Pella, which retains only the frontal central plaque.60 A number of elaborate gold earrings also depict a minature Eros wearing cross body straps.61 A slightly later example now in the Museo Archaeologico Nazionale in Naples shows him wearing loose fitting chains knotted at the chest (Fig. 11).62 However, body chains are not restricted to the cult of Aphrodite and Eros. A south Italian vase of the fourth-century, for example, illustrates a clothed Hecate with bands crossing her torso, from a scene of Hades carrying off Persephone on his chariot.63

The Roman Period Pliny the Elder may imply that body chains were worn by women in the first-century AD: ‘let gold chains run at random round their waists’ (Natural History XXXIII.39). This idea is supported by the number of surviving examples, far surpassing other periods in this respect. However, this can in part be attributed to the preservation of Vesuvian sites after the eruption of the volcano in AD 79. We have, amongst others, a Pompeian body chain composed of gold ivy leaves, and a loop-in-loop chain from Boscoreale.69 It is possible that these adorned statues, but circumstances of discovery often imply otherwise. It is, therefore, most logical to conclude that body chains were worn, albeit occasionally, by mortal women. This is reinforced by frescoes from the Surburban Baths (Fig. 12) and the House of the Vettii70 at Pompeii amongst others, which both show a naked woman wearing a body chain

Furthermore, it seems that body chains were not exclusively associated with the divine. A third or second-century BC Tanagra figurine of a woman, now displayed in the British Museum, is depicted fully clothed, although her chiton does not cover her right shoulder over which there are two raised lines of clay (Fig. 10).64 These are indicative of some sort of strap-like ornament, and are reminiscent of the treatment of body chains which we detected on some of the Aphrodite figurines. It seems reasonable, therefore, Lilimpake-Akamate, ΤΟ ΙΕΡΟ, no. 83. Johns, ‘Body-Chains’, p. 11. 62 F. Coarelli, Greek and Roman Jewellery (Feltham, 1970), p. 139. 63 See H. B. Walters, Catalogue of the Greek and Etruscan Vases in the British Museum, Volume IV: Vases of the Latest Period (London, 1896), no. F277. 64 L. Burn and R. Higgins, Catalogue of Greek Terracottas in the British Museum. Volume III (London, 2001), no. 2169. 60

Smith, Hellenistic Sculpture, p. 86. Compare ibid, no. 117. 67 Johns, ‘Body Chains’, p. 11. 68 Boardman, ‘The Archaeology of Jewelry’, p. 4. 69 Johns, ‘Body-Chains’, p. 11. 70 J. R. Clarke, Looking at Lovemaking: Constructions of Sexuality in Roman Art, 100 B.C- A.D 250 (Berkley/London, 1998), fig. 63. 65

61

66

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Art, Religion and Society

Figure 12. Fresco from the Suburban Baths at Pompeii, showing naked woman wearing a body chain. with very fine straps. More commonly, however, seminude women are depicted wearing a broad strip of fabric under or around their breasts, as frescoes from the House of Caecilius Iucundus71 and the House of the Centenary72 illustrate. These are not necessarily derived from the body chain, but are worth noting. There is little reason to regard the subjects of these frescoes, involved in acts of fornication, as anything other than mortal. Moving away from the Bay of Naples, terracotta figurines from Roman Egypt include women wearing body chains (such as Fig. 13) amongst their subject matter.73 There are no certain indications of whether these were intended to represent mortal women or goddesses. The figurine in question is shown to wear a moderately loose-fitting body chain with a large central plaque, able to encompass a clothed womanly form. However, there is a discrepancy between this matron’s garments, and the indentation which apparently forms a belly-button; is she in a simultaneous state of dress and undress? It is difficult to draw any firm conclusions, although it is possible that the coroplast was hinting at the potentialities of the body chain, worn with or without clothes. The practice of associating body chains with Aphrodite/ Venus and Eros/Cupid continued. A Pompeian wall painting from the House of Mars and Venus depicts the goddess Ibid, plate VI. Ibid, plate VII. 73 Johns, ‘Body-Chains’, p. 11. 71

Figure 13. Terracotta figurine of matronly woman wearing a body chain.

72

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Helena Hawkesford : the Body Chain from the Hoxne Treasure

Figure 14. Painting from the House of Mars and Venus in Pompeii; Mars seduces Venus wearing a body chain, while Erotes play with the god’s armour. wearing a body chain similar to that in the Suburban Baths fresco (Fig. 14).74 A marble statuette of Aphrodite/Venus, also from Pompeii, retains much of its original guilding; necklace, armbands, a bracelet, sandals and an ‘exiguous, bikini-like harness’75 identical in form to the band of fabric depicted in several of the Pompeian frescoes. The body chain and this harness were surely related in purpose and symbolism.

of Eros/Cupid, including wings and an often exaggerated chubbiness unfamiliar to the refined Alexandrian original.78 He retains, however, his characteristic attributes of the falcon, dog (to represent Anubis?) and tortoise.79 Less commonly, the god is depicted wearing a body chain, as in the case of a silver Harpocrates statuette found in the Thames (Fig. 15). Although the statuette stands on a plinth, a gold loop at the back attests to its role as a pendant. Like this loop, the miniature three-dimensional body chain is made from gold, and stands out against the silver of the rest of the figure. It is comparatively sizeable in relation to the dimensions of the statuette, and hangs very loosely from the body. It is conventional in format, with four chains connecting to a small central ring, but the lower straps rest on the thighs rather than exclusively binding the torso. Harpocrates grips one of the straps with his right hand, which is more typically raised to the mouth, with the index finger placed on the lips to denote reserve and silence. It has been argued that this gesture is fundamental to the identification of Harpocrates,80 so its absence is significant. The position of the hand draws

A stone statuette of Cupid, now in Cologne, shows him wearing a loose body chain.76 However, the convergence of Greek and Roman deities was not entirely straightforward. Harpocrates, the Egyptian child-god and son of Isis and Osiris (later Seraphis) was affiliated, to some degree, with Eros/Cupid. Graeco-Roman veneration of Egyptian culture can be held responsible for this in part,77 although the association was also a fairly logical one to make. The pantheistic Harpocrates assumes some of the attributes S. De Caro, Il Museo Nazionale di Napoli (Naples, 1994), no. 175. A. Claridge and J. B. Ward-Perkins, Pompeii AD 79: Treasures from the National Archaeological Museum, Naples and the Pompeii Antiquarium. Volume I (2 vols, Boston, 1978), no. 208. 76 Johns, ‘Body-chains’, p. 11. 77 R. Lunsingh Scheurleer, ‘From Statue to Pendant. Roman Harpocrates Pendants in Gold, Silver and Bronze’, in Calinescu (ed), Ancient Jewelry and Archaeology, p. 158. 74 75

Ibid, p. 156. Ibid, p. 156. 80 Ibid, p. 158. 78 79

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Art, Religion and Society fashionable to some extent from the late fourth-century AD onwards. However, this resurgence of interest in the body chain seems to have been geographically limited to certain areas, namely Britain and the Middle East. This may simply represent a bias in our evidence, but it could be indicative of actual trends. In Britain, the late antique mosaic from the villa of Low Ham in Somerset83 (Fig. 16) continues the precedent set in the Hellenistic period for associating the body chain with Aphrodite/Venus. In this scene, Venus casts her spell on Dido and Aeneas after the hero’s arrival in Carthage. In Virgil’s Aeneid the goddess provides Cupid with the guise of Ascanius, the young son of Aeneas, and uses him to kindle Dido’s love (I. 920-985), hence his appearance on the mosaic. Venus herself is naked and wears a bracelet on each arm, a diadem, necklace and body chain. This is fitted rather than loose, and composed of four straps crossing her torso and connected to an oval-shaped central plaque. Dido’s upper body is also unclothed, but she does not wear any such device. The mosaic must have been made in Britain, but its inspiration may have come from a manuscript of the epic poem produced elsewhere, perhaps in Italy. 84 The Vatican Museum contains two illuminated Virgilian manuscripts from shortly after this period. The body chain was also associated with the semi-divine. A large silver dish from the Treasure of Traprain, found twenty miles east of Edinburgh and believed to date to the early fifth-century,85 has a figure of a Nereid riding on a panther-headed sea monster on its central medallion.86 She wears a necklace, two armlets on her right arm, and an unusually delicate body chain, composed of a string of pearls. Once again, this is fairly close-fitting, and in this respect is comparable to the only known roughly contemporary body chain; that from Hoxne. The concept of the figure-hugging body chain was not unique to Britain at this time. A fragment from a life-size statue of a woman, now in northern Cyprus and presumably originating in the area,87 reveals the same interpretation of this device. In this case the wearer is not a lithe young woman, but a more matronly figure. We would therefore be mistaken in associating the body chain primarily with the first bloom of womanhood, and the ever-youthful Venus. The loose-fitting body chain was known in early Byzantine jewellery. A controversial example of c. 600 (Fig. 17) has a chain length of 720 millimetres, and thus cannot have been worn close to the body.88 It is, in fact, the largest piece of jewellery to have survived from the period.89 The body chain was part of a collection of objects ranging

Figure 15. Silver Harpocrates statuette wearing a gold body chain. attention to the already prominent body chain; grasping it could be interpreted as tugging at it. Does the body chain symbolically bind the god? We shall return to this later, but it is worth noting here that the sons of Aphrodite and Isis converge, as do their mothers, and thus we can apply the same interpretation of the depictions of Eros wearing a body chain to those of Harpocrates. The size of the Harpocrates statuettes (that from London is only 6.8 centimetres tall) makes them exceedingly difficult to date with any precision, although the form of this example suggests that it was made in the third quarter of the first-century AD.81 It is apparent that much of the archaeological evidence for the use and reception of the body chain in the Roman period dates to the first-century AD. After this, the picture is unclear and it seems likely that the body chain went out of fashion. The reasons for this are difficult to ascertain. From 250-27 BC Roman jewellery was essentially Hellenistic.82 This influence must have lingered but, by the end of the first-century AD, the body chain may have had less relevance in the Roman world.

See M. Henig, The Art of Roman Britain, (London, 1995), p. 157. For a discussion of this see ibid, p. 126. 85 A. Curle, The Treasure of Traprain: A Scottish Hoard of Roman Silver Plate (Glasgow, 1923), p. 5. 86 Ibid, p. 36. 87 Johns, ‘Body chains’, p. 12. 88 D. Buckton (ed), Byzantium: Treasures of Byzantine Art and Culture from British Collections (London, 1994), p. 94. 89 Ibid, p. 94. 83 84

Late Antiquity and Beyond Representations in art and well-preserved examples of body chains suggest that they were once again 81 82

Ibid, p. 155. R. A. Higgins, Greek and Roman Jewellery (London, 1961), p. 173.

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Helena Hawkesford : the Body Chain from the Hoxne Treasure

Figure 16. Scene from the Low Ham mosaic; Venus nurtures a love between Dido and Aeneas, while Ascanius/Cupid looks on.

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Figure 17. Byzantine gold body chain. in date from the third to the sixth-century AD,90 at first reported to have been found in upper Egypt.91 This has since been queried, and the precise origins of this superb piece remain undetermined. Some of the objects are similar in workmanship, and comparable in this respect to a silver treasure found in Cyprus and presumed to be a Syrian product.92 Whatever its origins, the body chain is invaluable as the closest known contemporary to that from Hoxne.

of the chain, that it embellished a statue.94 The assumption that this would have been female is easily made, but was not necessarily the case. Could the body chain have been worn by a man? Having already examined the relationship between Harpocrates/ Eros/ Cupid and the body chain in earlier periods, we can now turn to late antique developments. This association seems to have ended, but there is some evidence that the body chain still had (restricted) relevance outside the female domain. A fifth-century stucco bust of a king, from Palace II at Kish, wears two bands which meet on the upper torso.95 These may represent part of a body chain, worn with a crown of Sasanian type, earrings and a necklace. This is one of several apparently identical busts, and should not be viewed as a portrait of an individual king: ‘they are primarily manifestations of the Sasanian concept of sacred kingship.’96 It is likely that the royal form of dress which we see on the busts corresponded to real life and was, at the very least, worn on prestigious occasions. Thus, although the identification of a body chain is not certain, the idea that this device was worn by males of high status in the Sasanian Empire of the sixthcentury AD is not entirely untenable.

The two are identical in material and format, but they are also markedly different (and not only in size!). Each strap of the early Byzantine body chain is composed of twentythree discs, with a diameter of 2.6 cm, attached to larger discs, composed of seven smaller ones.93 Pierced work is only employed in selected areas of the Hoxne chain, but is used throughout here. The discs, each ringed with gold wire, are decorated alternately with two different palmette patterns. Since the number of medallions on each strap is uneven, they begin and end with the same design. The size of the body chain renders the provision of fastenings unnecessary, although there are small hooks behind the four central medallions, perhaps to anchor it to clothing. We can presume, therefore, that the body chain was not worn by a naked woman. The body chain could have been worn by a clothed woman of generous proportions. However, it is possible, given the dimensions and weight

Overview The body chain as a device has a long history, but its development in different places at varying times is not

Ibid, p. 94. 91 W. Dennison, A Gold Treasure of the Late Roman Period (New York/ London, 1918), p. 98. 92 Ibid, p. 101. 93 K. R. Brown, The Gold Breast Chain from the Early Byzantine Period in the Romisch-Germanisches Zentralmuseum (Mainz/Bonn, 1984), p. 212. 90

Johns, ‘Body-chains’, p. 14. For picture see P. Harper, The Royal Hunter: Art of the Sasanian Empire (New York, 1978), p. 108. 96 Ibid, p. 108. 94 95

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Helena Hawkesford : the Body Chain from the Hoxne Treasure necessarily interconnected. However, examining the possible precursors of the Hoxne chain has helped us to gain a social and anthropological perspective on this type of ornamentation. This comes with difficulties, we cannot ascertain with any certainty whether depictions of the body chain in art are true to life, either in terms of the details that they show (surviving examples are so rare that comparison is difficult), or with regard to whether they were actually worn. An artistic representation of a body chain might well be drawn from reality, but there is an obvious need to treat this with caution. Body chains were undoubtedly worn in the first-century AD, but the picture thereafter becomes rather hazy up until the late fourth/ early fifthcentury with the Hoxne example. This may be a result of an evidential bias, but still raises some doubt concerning Johns’ conclusion that the body chain was in use from the fourth-century BC to the sixth/seventh-century AD.97 Nevertheless, we have made a case for setting the body chain in a broader framework than just the isolated example from the Hoxne Treasure, and must now consider the implications of this.

as a young and beautiful woman (consider the Knidian Aphrodite of Praxiteles98), and in this sense the combination of semi or complete nudity and a body chain was entirely appropriate. From a modern persective, the eroticism of this is self-evident but, as Clarke reminds us, the word ‘erotic’ carries specific connotations for us which may not be wholly applicable to the ancient world.99 However, whilst we can readily acknowledge this, and accept that sexuality is at least in part a cultural construction, the sexual aspect of the nude goddess wearing a body chain is beyond dispute. In the case of Eros/Cupid, the body chain serves to indicate his affiliation with his mother, and the seniority of the latter, Stuveras labels them ‘un page et sa souveraine’.100 Thus, although the two are usually in concord, when this is not the case Aphrodite/Venus adopts the more dominant position. On another level, mythology rendered the body chain especially relevant to these deities in particular. Homer relates how Aphrodite and her lover Ares were chained up by Hephaistos as a punishment for their adultery (Odyssey VIII.266-369). Thus, when Aphrodite/Venus wears the body chain, allusion is made to this indiscretion (as in fig. 14?), and she is symbolically bound to Hephaistos/ Vulcan, her husband. The body chain evokes the nature of their relationship, with Venus as supplicant. A number of gemstones show Eros/Cupid fastened to a column, sometimes blindfolded, and often accompanied by the words ‘justly punished’ or ‘justice’, as on a thirdcentury AD dark red jasper intaglio now in the National Archaeological Museum in Sofia.101 In other instances he is shown singeing a butterfly with a torch.102 These two images are connected, as a first-century AD carnelian now in the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge suggests: Cupid is seated on the ground, with his arms tied behind his back, while a butterfly hovers in front of him.103 In Greek mythology, Psyche was ‘the personification of the Greek soul as the being beloved by Eros (Amor)… represented as a butterfly or as a young maiden with butterfly’s wings’.104 Thus, it seems that Cupid was bound as a punishment for hurting Psyche. The version that comes down to us in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses (IV.28-VI.24) is somewhat different, for it does not feature such violent acts, and culminates in the happy union of Cupid (‘love’) and Psyche (‘soul’). We may regard this as a fitting allegory, but what of the bound Cupid seen on gemstones? By injuring Psyche, Cupid lays claim to her. The burning of the

IV. The Significance of the Body Chain Surviving examples of body chains are all of exceedingly high value. This may help to explain their rarity. If it was customary for body chains to be made from expensive materials, they would typically have been the prerequisite of only the very wealthy. However, it is possible that body chains were often made from organic materials which have not been preserved. If this was the case, what remains to us can only be a restricted sample. Perhaps neither of these hypotheses is wholly applicable, or applicable in all instances. If body chains had specific connotations which made them suitable only in a restricted setting or for a particular group, they are less likely to have been produced in large numbers regardless of the material used. However, over the course of its history, the body chain seems to have been associated both with divinities and mortals, men and women, the naked and the clothed body. Evidently, determining the significance of the body chain cannot be a straightforward task. Venus and Cupid We have already noted the special significance which the body chain had for the cult of Aphrodite and Eros and their Roman counterparts. The key to understanding this enigmatic device, both within a late fourth-century AD setting and more generally, surely lies in determining the nature of this relationship. Whilst we can acknowledge the incompatibility between the concept of the body chain as enhancing sexuality and its use by Eros/Cupid/Harpocrates, this cannot be true of Aphrodite/Venus. The goddess usually wears a fitted type of body chain which highlights the contours of her upper body. She is represented in art 97

For a picture of the Roman copy see M. Robertson, A Shorter History of Greek Art (Cambridge, 1981), no. 194. 99 Clarke, Looking at Lovemaking, p. 12. 100 R. Stuveras, Le putto dans l’art romain (Brussels, 1969), p. 131. 101 A. Dimitrova-Milcheva, Antique Engraved Gems and Cameos (Sofia, 1981), no. 280. 102 See, for example, M. Henig, Classical Gems: Ancient and Modern Intaglios and Cameos in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge (Cambridge, 1994), no. 296. 103 Ibid, no. 297. 104 O. Seyffert, A Dictionary of Classical Antiquities: Mythology, Religion, Literature & Art (London/New York, 1895), p. 526. 98

Johns, ‘Body-chains’, p. 14.

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Art, Religion and Society butterfly’s wings is powerfully symbolic, weighing down the soul and entrenching it in earthly cares. If Eros/Cupid personifies irrational sexual passion, then this version of the myth, unknown in the literary evidence, alludes to the dangers of a love rooted in physical pleasures. This moral can also be applied to the myth of the adultery of Venus and its consequences.

a specific case potentially without application elsewhere. When Venus wears the body chain she assumes two incarnations: that of the young, attractive woman at her sexual peak and that of the more matronly married figure. The key to understanding the combination of this device and nudity lies in an appreciation that these two states are, in the case of the goddess, rarely separable. Furthermore, the inherent eroticism of this union recognises what is arguably the most powerful attribute of the female in the ancient world; the allure of her sexuality. From representations of Venus we must now move to reality, how do these ideas relate to Roman women and the body chain from Hoxne?

Passionate love, which is inherently all-consuming, could be regarded as a force which binds the will: we need not necessarily regard the method of punishment chosen for Venus and Cupid only in literal terms. In the Confessions, Augustine says of the relationship which he began with a woman whilst a student at Carthage in the late fourthcentury:

Married Women, Prostitutes, Courtesans Concubines: Wearers of Body Chains?

My love was returned and in secret I attained the love that enchains. I was glad to be in bondage, tied with troublesome chains, with the result that I was flogged with the red-hot iron rods of jealousy, suspicion, fear, anger and contention. Confessions III.1.1

and

In theory, a body chain conveys connotations which had relevance for women in a variety of positions, from prostitute to aristocratic wife. However, artistic representations of mortal women wearing this type of ornamentation do not imply that we are dealing with individuals of high status. Admittedly, this is a generalising statement since we often cannot identify the position of the women depicted with any certainty. It is also corrected in part by the surviving examples of body chains, the character of which are not in keeping with the artistic evidence. Therefore, the idea that the device had widespread relevance still stands. Its validity must now be tested by a brief examination of marital and extra-marital relations in the Roman world. This will not be a complete overview, nor is it intended to be.

Augustine employs the language of torture in his description, thereby emphasising the considerable emotional pain which accompanies such love affairs. Torture was employed in Roman lawcourts to secure evidence, although its use was restricted to the humiliores, especially slaves.105 Although Augustine does not explicitly compare his love to enslavement, the implication is nevertheless discernible. As a now-celibate Christian bishop looking back on his misguided youth, it is unsurprising that Augustine might view love rooted in the satisfaction of the body in this way. Bondage and slavery were interconnected: the slave was bound by law to his or her master,106 and in certain instances physically bound through shackling of some sort.107 Augustine’s portrayal of the effects of unrestrained love upon his own character is wholly negative. The moral messages which we discern in mythology do not suggest that this was a reflection of uniquely Christian values. Inappropriate or obsessive love was both confining and had to be confined. Is this, then, the message of the body chain, aside from its aesthetic values, when it is worn by Venus or Cupid?

From the time of Augustus onwards, the minimum age for legal marriage for females was twelve.108 However, it was not uncommon for engagement to occur at a younger age, as in the case of the bride promised to Augustine. He tells us that ‘the girl who was asked for was almost two years under age for marriage. But she pleased me and I was prepared to wait’ (Confessions VI.13.23). Therefore, although the youngest wife so far known from a tomstone in Roman Britain was nineteen,109 the possibility of fairly prolonged engagements in many instances should not be ruled out. The trend for the betrothal/marriage of females in the earliest stages of womanhood fits in well with the hypothesis that the diminutive body chain from Hoxne may have had matrimonial connections. The size of the chain restricts its use to someone of slight build, and it is possible, but far from certain, that this was an adolescent girl. Taking this into account alongside the fine workmanship and expensive materials of the chain, we can recognise the possibility that it was an engagement gift, or was perhaps worn by an aristocratic bride. We need not assume that the body chain had to be worn without clothes; it may have been worn under or over the wedding garments.

Certain representations of these deities seem to imply as much. The Low Ham mosaic, for example, portrays Venus wearing the device as she cultivates a passionate but ultimately doomed love between Dido and Aeneas. In other instances, such as when Harpocrates wears the body chain, we may argue that it has become a convention devoid of any real significance. Assimilation between Cupid and Harpocrates involved a merging of attributes which may have lost their meaning in the process. However, this is T. Wiedemann, Greek and Roman Slavery (London/New York, 1988), p. 9. 106 Ibid, p. 15 107 F. Thompson, The Archaeology of Greek and Roman Slavery (London, 2003), p. 217. 105

108 109

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L. Allason-Jones, Women in Roman Britain (London, 1989), p. 30. Ibid, p. 30.

Helena Hawkesford : the Body Chain from the Hoxne Treasure The union between a man and a woman in matrimony evoked the goddess of love and bound the couple together, and would in this way have been a fitting setting for the body chain. Symbolically, it compelled the bride to fidelity, and placed her under the authority of her husband. His perceived status as the dominant partner also has a place in Christian doctrine: ‘Wives, be subject to your husbands, as to the Lord’ (Ephesians V.22). However, the evidence for the Christianity of the owners of the Hoxne Treasure is not extensive, and includes a tiny monogram cross on one of the necklaces, and an inscription on one of the spoons from the hoard which reads ‘vivas in deo’. As Henig points out, this exclamation had become a universal greeting by the later fourth-century.110 On the roughly contemporary Projecta casket from the Esquiline Treasure, a similar exhortation appears alongside a depiction of nude Venus.111 If the owners were Christian, they utilised pagan iconography apparently without any hesitancy, or even conscious recognition. We should not impose an anachronistic dichotomy between pagan and Christian values, the reality was far more complex. There is little reason to argue that our understanding of the body chain has relevance only within a pagan setting. Christianity taught a wife to honour and obey her husband, and the body chain could serve as a visual indication of this promise.

Roman women rather than those of foreign origin, and restricted to the more cultured and well-read minority.114 Nevertheless, the prudish Procopius is highly critical of this period of Theodora’s life. We need not, of course, accept what he tells us at face value, but his insight is helpful. The Secret History unwittingly presents Theodora mingling in high circles, entering ‘the house of one of the noteables during the drinking’ (IX.17). She soon became mistress of Hecebolus, a bureaucrat who went on to be governor of a minor province in Northern Africa. Evidently, the successful courtesan might encounter, and even obtain the favour of, fairly important individuals. However, given the circumstances of survival of the Hoxne body chain, it is doubtful that it was the gift of an affluent official to such a woman. When, and if, prostitutes and courtesans wore body chains, the sexual aspect of the device presumably became preeminent. Although Procopius suggests that Theodora lacked dancing and musical abilities (IX.12), these would normally have been part of the repertoire of such women. A deep rooted social stigma dictated that dancing could only be countenanced providing it was not publicly performed.115 Needless to say, this was often flouted by women who made their living as entertainers. We cannot know what Theodora would have worn in this capacity, but it is not utterly improbable that she wore a version of the body chain. Perhaps the Hoxne chain was commissioned by an elite family for a special performance within their estate; could its wearer have been an entertainer? The most appropriate scenario for this would have been an enactment of a mythological tale involving Venus in her capacity as goddess of love, such as the story of Dido and Aeneas. Of course, a slave girl could potentially have been employed for the same purpose in the sort of scenario suggested by Henig.116

Although Christian values encouraged chastity for both sexes prior to marriage, the expectation that a bride would be sexually inexperienced, but her betrothed would not be, remained generally acceptable.112 In Pompeii there were at least seven brothels,113 and we cannot doubt that in the later empire some young men visited similar establishments. Aside from representations of Venus, the appearance of the body chain in Pompeian frescoes is typically within a sexual context. The fresco from the Suburban Baths (dated to AD 62-79), for example, shows a clothed man and naked woman with her legs splayed (fig. 12). The lewd nature and location of the depiction support the identification of the female figure as a prostitute. Although it is highly unlikely that the Hoxne body chain would have been worn by such a woman we can at least acertain that, in the early empire, body chains were worn outside a marriage context, by females of low status. Procopius suggests that Theodora, ultimately empress and wife of Justinian in the sixth-century, worked in a brothel when she was little more than a girl (Secret History IX.10). Upon reaching maturity, we are told that she became a courtesan. This was a profession which commanded more respect than that of common prostitute; generally held by

Although the rise of Theodora from courtesan, to concubine, to wife of an emperor was exceptional, social mobility through marriage was not. It had long been fairly common practice for a master to free his female slave in order to marry her. This is illustrated, for example, by the late second-century AD tombstone of Regina, ‘freedwoman and wife of Barates of Palmyra’, from South Shields.117 The capacity of the body chain to represent the obligation of one person to another is fitting for this situation. In marrying her master, the newly freed slave exchanged one form of bondage for another. Although most slaves did not require restraint through fettering of any sort, slavery nevertheless conveyed connotations of confinement. When shackles were used, they might be surprisingly elaborate, as in the case of a seventh century AD neck ring from County

Henig, ‘The Hoxne Treasure: Review Article’, p. 392. See K. Shelton, The Esquiline Treasure (London, 1981), pp. 26-28, 31-32. 112 S. Treggiari, Roman Marriage. Iusti Coniuges from the Time of Cicero to the Time of Ulpian (Oxford, 1991), pp. 299-309. 113 J. P. V. D. Balsdon, Roman Women: their History and Habits (London, 1962), p. 225.

Allason-Jones, Women in Roman Britain, p. 27. Ibid, p. 172. 116 M. Henig, The Heirs of King Verica: Culture and Politics in Roman Britain (Stroud, 2002), pp. 121-124. 117 See E. Phillips, Corpus Signorum Imperii Romani. Volume I (Oxford, 1977), no. 247.

110

114

111

115

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Art, Religion and Society Meath.118 The body chain could have served as a reminder of the past, and as an aversion to ill-fortune, much like the knot of Hercules. However, if freedwomen wore body chains, they would not have worn anything comparable to the Hoxne example. After all, these marriages were strictly non-aristocratic; they were denied by law to men of senatorial rank.119 Nevertheless, more humble body chains may have been utilised, presumably made from perishable materials. The Pompeian frescoes offer some indication of what these might have looked like. In attempting to determine what body chains might mean we encounter a number of possibilities. These are not necessarily as contradictory as they might at first appear, and the boundaries blur slightly. Elucidation of meaning is complicated by the fact that the associations of body chains probably changed over time and according to circumstance. We cannot form one definitive interpretation of this device. Even the Hoxne body chain may have been employed for a number of purposes by plural wearers. We cannot ascertain the date of its manufacture with any certainty, nor that of its interment. It was probably a special commission, originally for a specific purpose, but this did not automatically dictate its use thereafter. The lavishness of the object would have made it a family heirloom. Having considered who might have worn the body chain and why, we must now contemplate how it would have been worn.

Figure 18. Gold necklace with lion-head terminals from the Hoxne Treasure.

Linking the Hoxne Body Chain to the Other Jewellery from the Hoard

Figure 19. Gold domina Juliana bracelet from the Hoxne Treasure.

When body chains are represented in art, they are usually acompanied by other items of jewellery. These include necklaces, bracelets (for the upper arm or wrist) and, less commonly, headresses. There is, therefore, a stong case for arguing that the body chain would, in life, have been worn with accessories. Whether such items were specifically designed for this purpose is another matter. Of the necklaces and bracelets from the Hoxne hoard, any of them could feasibly have been worn with the body chain, not least because they are all also made from gold. One possible exception is the largest of the bracelets, the substantial weight of which does not necessarily correspond with the size of the body chain.120 The most likely candidate is a necklace with decorative fasteners in the form of lions’ heads, slightly larger than those of the body chain, but otherwise very similar (Fig. 18). Many of the bracelets form matching sets, including a pair bearing scenes of hunting, and four grooved examples (two narrow, two wider), which could have been worn with the body chain. Perhaps the ‘Lady Juliana’ bracelet (Fig. 19) would have complemented the device. It has been regarded as the most important bracelet from the hoard,121 and reads vtere felix domina Juliana (‘Use [this] Happily Lady Juliana’).

The reasoning behind the combination of body chain and bracelets/necklaces is more difficult to explain. Accessorising the body chain with other items of jewellery was, it could be argued, an obvious choice. However, many scenes of a sexual nature, including a cubiculum mosaic from Piazza Armerina showing two lovers embracing,122 depict the female participant wearing bracelets on the upper arms, and sometimes wrists, and a necklace. We might argue that, when this jewellery is worn, it can serve as an expression of sexuality, of youthful beauty and femininity. However, Erotes also wear bands around their arms, as on several of the Piazza Armerina mosaics.123 Although we should hesitate to draw any firm conclusions, we might regard these armlets as symbols of affiliation with Venus, who commonly wears them. V. The Britain of Lady Juliana and Aurelius Ursicinus Of the seven personal names inscribed on various items from the Hoxne Treasure, two in particular have provoked discussion, that of the Lady Juliana, and of Aurelius Ursicinus. The second occurs repeatedly but, although we know of several similarly named men from historical

Thompson, Slavery, p. 227. Allason-Jones, Women in Roman Britain, p. 26. 120 See Johns, Jewellery of Roman Britain, p. 116. 121 Bland and Johns, ‘The Hoxne Late Roman Treasure’, p. 170. 118 119

A. Carandini, Filosofiana, the villa of Piazza Armerina: the Image of a Roman Aristocrat at the Time of Constantine (Palermo, 1982), p. 243. 123 See, for example, ibid, fig. 154. 122

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Helena Hawkesford : the Body Chain from the Hoxne Treasure sources, our knowledge extends no further.124 However, if we cannot determine the identity of Ursicinus, we can at least ascertain something about the sort of life that he may have led. Similarly, we can attempt to reconstruct the world of a domina such as Juliana, possibly related to him either by blood or through marriage ties. Both were aristocrats, enjoying the prosperity of a Britain which had emerged relatively unscathed from the tumult of the third-century.125 Hoxne itself reveals no trace of Roman occupation in the immediate vicinity of the find spot, although the third-century Antonine Itinerary refers to a certain villa Faustini situated in East Anglia on the Roman road between Colchester and Caistor-on-Norwich.126 It has been suggested that this may have been a small town which had grown around a villa estate once owned by an individual named Faustinus.127 This name actually occurs on some of the spoons from the treasure, although this may be coincidental. The town is usually identified with modern Scole, itself a name of Latin origin, only two miles from Hoxne, and three from Eye.128 Unfortunately, a suitable setting for aristocratic life has yet to be found in this settlement. Perhaps the owners of the Hoxne Treasure lived elsewhere, but owned land in the area.

yet observation of ancestral practices was not readily abandoned, as finds of curse tablets at Bath indicate, with the amendement ‘whether pagan or Christian’.133 Pagan iconography might also be imbued with Christian meaning, hence the debate over Bellerophon Christianus amongst others.134 However, we should not always read too deeply into choice of subject matter, often a reflection of literary and aesthetic preferences. On the other hand, we ought not to underestimate the centrality of paideia to late antique culture.135 Classical literature, so integral to a Roman education, pervaded many aspects of elite life, providing a resource for ‘allegory, decoration, portraiture and pretension’.136 Unlike Jerome or Augustine, most secular Christians would have seen little discrepancy between their faith and an appreciation of Virgil or Terence. Similarly, the Biblical lesson that ‘it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of god’ (Matthew, XIX.24)137 may have lacked relevance for an aristocracy which could not, as yet, conceive of any other way of life. The luxurious lives of the wealthiest Britons fell far short of the Christian ideals of poverty and humility. Their Roman status bound the British elites to their peers throughout the empire, fostering a shared identity which religion did not necessarily impinge upon. This identity became increasingly important as the gap between the honestiores and humiliores widened; social distinctions were perceived more rigidly than ever.138 This was an age of authoritarianism, with the emperor now dominus rather than princeps, but the aristocrat was master in his own estate. The magnate might display his position in a number of ways. For example, the Great Hunt mosaic of Piazza Armerina in Sicily probably depicts the owner of the villa in an awe-inspiring setting,139 while the Orpheus-roundel at Woodchester is less direct, alluding to a comparison between this hero and the dominus not only through subject matter but through the complexity of its design and location in a reception room.140 This was part of a wider trend, which favoured a heirarchical form of artistic representation for the ultimate glorification of magnate, emperor, or deity. At Thruxton, for example, a depiction of Bacchus allocates him a central position, surrounded by eight heads representing the spirits of nature.141

A rich elite culture, which conformed to that of other parts of the Western Empire including Imperial Trier, flourished in the early fourth-century. Consequently, this period of Romano-British history may appear decadent, but such a label undermines the dynamism of the period. Profound religious and cultural changes had been set in motion, although they would come to fruition only gradually. Christianity, the recipient of imperial favour from Constantine I onwards, enjoyed an unprecedented position of growing strength and popularity.129 Indeed, it received preferential treatment from at least the reign of Constantius II onwards, with the brief exception of the rule of Julian ‘the Apostate’. As the example of Julian shows, Christianity could not appeal to all: ‘in some places [in Britain] there may have been considerable resistance to the new rites’.130 Christianity came late to Britain, perhaps not before the latter part of the third-century,131 and its infuence was far from all-pervasive. To take one particularly fitting example, the spoons from the Thetford Treasure, probably interred in the last decade of the fourth-century, are almost exclusively devoted to the celebration of pagan ritual.132 Furthermore, it is not always possible to make a clear distinction between Christian and non-Christian ideology. Monotheistic trends are apparent in late paganism,

Johns and Potter, Roman Britain, p. 209. See, for example, R. Ling, ‘Mosaics in Roman Britain: Discoveries and Research since 1945’, Britannia, 28 (1997), p. 278. 135 See P. Brown, Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity: Towards a Christian Empire (Madison, 1992), pp. 35-70 (‘Paideia and Power’), especially pp. 39-41. 136 De la Bédoyère, Golden Age, p. 112. 137 See also Luke XVIII.25 and Henig, ‘Luxuria and Decorum’, p. 2. 138 Henig, Art of Roman Britain, p. 138. 139 For pictures see R. J. A Wilson, Piazza Armerina (St. Albans, 1983), figs. 12 (a drawing of the Great Hunt), 54 (the so-called dominus), 13, 35, 58. 140 Henig, Art of Roman Britain, p. 141. 141 Ibid, p. 141. 133 134

Bland and Johns, The Hoxne Treasure, p. 29. Johns and Potter, Roman Britain, p. 62. 126 De la Bédoyère, Golden Age, p. 161. 127 Ibid, p. 161. 128 Bland and Johns, The Hoxne Treasure, p. 8. 129 See D. Petts, Christianity in Roman Britain (Stroud, 2003), pp. 3648. 130 Henig, Art of Roman Britain, p. 147. 131 Ibid, p. 147. 132 Johns and Potter (eds), The Thetford Treasure, p. 71. 124 125

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Art, Religion and Society

Figure 20. Scene of Dido and Aeneas feasting from the Vergilius Romanus manuscript. (Photo: Vatican Museums) If Britain had lagged behind other parts of the empire in previous centuries, this was demonstrably no longer the case. The unstable conditions of the third-century had proven detrimental to Romano-British art, with patrons generally lacking the funds and inclination to commission anything of high quality. This is seen most obviously in the closure of the second/early third-century mosaic workshops in Verulamium, Colchester and Cirencester amongst other places, and the subsequent production of only a few, uninspiring examples of mosaic until the end of the century.142 However, Johnson argues that the idea of decline should not be taken too far: ‘the hiatus was not as complete as was once thought’.143 By the fourth-century, schools of mosaicists were once again established: Ling refers to a ‘boom’ in Romano-British mosaic.144 However, this was coupled by a shift away from the south-east (and Hoxne) to the west and to the north.145 This reflects a changing pattern of wealth; mosaics were, inevitably, in demand in the most prosperous areas. Wall-painting, on the other hand, was more affordable and workshops were probably found in most towns.146 Quality varies, but we possess some superb fourth-century examples including

a painting from Tarrant Hinton in Dorset, of Narcissus or perhaps Bacchus.147 Sculpture would have adorned many villas, such as Woodchester where fragments of marble sculpture have been discovered.148 However, works of a more monumental nature which reflect the spirit of the age, such as the marble head of Constantine at York, are rare indeed:149 a reflection of the increasingly inwardlooking mentality of the elites?

142

Ibid, p. 123. P. Johnson, Romano-British Mosaics (Aylesbury, 1982), p. 29. 144 Ling, ‘Mosaics in Roman Britain’, p. 267. 145 Henig, Art of Roman Britain, p. 123. 146 See R. Ling, Romano-British Wall Painting (Aylesbury, 1985), p. 5.

147

143

148

Bold colouring and detailed patterning which filled the available space were favoured by the mosaicist and painter of this period, working to the specifications of their clients. These formed a background for the opulent lifestyle of the aristocrat, which would have involved a number of activites undetectable in the archaeological record, including the enjoyment of live entertainment, and the patronage of poets. In an age characterised by ceremony,150 silver tableware, of the sort found in the Mildenhall Treasure, could be used for banqueting on an impressive scale. Indeed, the Great Dish from the hoard measures over sixty centimetres in diameter and weighs more than eight kilograms.151 The Vergilius Romanus manuscript, quite possibly Romano-British in Henig, Art of Roman Britain, colour plate IV. Ibid, p. 151. 149 Ibid, p. 149. 150 Henig, ‘Luxuria and Decorum’, p. 5. 151 De la Bédoyère, Golden Age, p. 113.

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Helena Hawkesford : the Body Chain from the Hoxne Treasure origin,152 includes a scene in which Dido and Aeneas recline and feast (Fig. 20). As a reflection of contemporary tastes it offers a valuable glimpse into fashionable dining of this period. The four piperatoria from the Hoxne Treasure would have been used in dining, as elaborate containers for pepper, an exotic spice from the east. They take the form of hollow statuettes, including the bust of an empress, perhaps Helena the mother of Constantine (Fig. 21), and a hound catching a hare.153 Such subject matters, displayed prominently, are revealing of aristocratic concerns (to foster associations, however distantly, with the imperial regime) and interests (hunting). Several varieties of spoons were popular, including late antique types such as the cigni, with curved handles ending in the head of a duck or swan,154 found in the Thetford and Hoxne hoards. Many of the inscriptions from the Hoxne Treasure occur on spoons, including a matching set of five cigni and five long-handled cochlearia bearing the name of Ursicinus (Fig. 22). Taking this into account alongside the considerable number of spoons in the hoard (seventy-eight, and a further twenty ladles), we would do well not to underestimate their value as display items.

Figure 21. Empress Helena (?) pepper pot from the Hoxne Treasure.

The thirty-three spoons from the Thetford Treasure seem to have been used for the performance of religious rite, made or at least inscribed for a particular group of people who were worshippers of Faunus.155 It is likely that a number of fourth-century pieces played a role in religious ceremonial, perhaps alongside their dining functions. To take this further, the Water Newton Treasure may represent the earliest known group of Christian liturgical silver,156 bearing votive inscriptions naming a number of dedicatees probably belonging to the Christian community of Durobrivae. Evidently, the predilection for elaborate display extended beyond the immediate setting of the villa.

the Hoxne Treasure, East Anglia seems a more likely prospect.159 The Thetford hoard is very much of its time, making abundant use of gold and colourful gems, but it also employs some unique designs. With this in mind, the possibility that the Hoxne Treasure, considered by Henig to be more metropolitan in its style,160 was manufactured in Britain becomes more plausible. After all, of we cannot speak of a single Roman identity, we should not expect complete uniformity in material output from workshops in Britain. Although the ideal of munificence was not lost, its focus shifted towards more private ends, such as the embellishment of a church.161 The lives of local elites were not divorced from those of the surrounding communities, but social interaction was often quite limited. Christianity went some way towards correcting this: ‘There is no… slave or free, male or female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus’ (Galatians, III.28), but it could not displace a powerful aristocratic ethos. This manifested itself physically, and traces of this culture persist in later antiquity and beyond: ‘The memory of their Golden Age took a very long time to dwindle.’162

The aristocrat’s attire publicly proclaimed his or her position, and jewellery formed an integral part of this self-representation. Cross-bow brooches made of gold, for example, were worn by men of high rank, as an ivory diptych of Stilicho, now in Monza Cathedral treasury, reveals.157 Although it is often difficult to ascertain the provenance of precious metal objects, it seems that British workshops were able to produce fine pieces, perhaps even the finger rings, bracelets, necklaces and belt buckle from the Thetford Treasure (Fig. 23). Although Gaul has been postulated as the centre of manufacture,158 in the light of new evidence including the discovery of

The Hoxne Body Chain as a Reflection of FourthCentury Tastes

Henig, The Heirs of King Verica, p. 121. Bland and Johns, The Hoxne Treasure, p. 26. 154 Ibid, p. 27. 155 K. Jackson, ‘The Inscriptions on the Silver Spoons’, in Johns and Potter (eds), The Thetford Treasure, p. 46. 156 See K. Painter, ‘The Water Newton Silver: Votive or Liturgical?’, JBAA, (1999), pp. 1- 23. 157 Salway, Oxford Illustrated History, p. 293. 158 Johns and Potter (eds), The Thetford Treasure, p. 70. 152 153

It was common practice, for financial, sentimental or practical reasons, to re-set gems, particularly those that Henig, Art of Roman Britain, p. 148. Ibid, p. 147. 161 Ibid, p. 138. 162 De la Bédoyère, Golden Age, p. 164. 159 160

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Figure 22. Set of ten spoons from the Hoxne Treasure, bearing the name of Ursicinus.

Figure 23. Gold jewellery and engraved gems from the Thetford Treasure.

were engraved.163 Sometimes trimming was required for a good fit, as in the case of the lion cameo from the Thetford Treasure.164 It is possible that the stones of the Hoxne body chain were taken from another piece of jewellery,

although their number makes it less likely that these came from a single object. Amethysts (ancient amethystus) were popular across the empire, and their appeal for the inhabitants of late Roman Britain is suggested by their frequent appearance on objects from the Thetford hoard, alongside other colourful stones including emeralds. Several authors, including Theopharastus and Pliny

Bland and Johns, The Hoxne Treasure, p. 19. M. Henig, ‘The Gemstones’, in Johns and Potter (eds), The Thetford Treasure, p. 30. 163 164

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Helena Hawkesford : the Body Chain from the Hoxne Treasure the Elder, wrote of the wine-like colour of amethyst.165 Purple was the colour of power and prosperity, worn by emperors and others of high status; when amethysts were worn, they might convey these connotations. If the body chain’s lost stones were pearls (ancient margarita), they could have been obtained from British waters.166 Although pearls decay easily, and thus seldom survive, the appeal which they had for Roman women is indicated, for instance, by their frequent appearance on Egyptian mummy portraits.167 A fourth-century portrait of a family group, set in a cross, shows one of the women wearing pearl earrings and necklace.168 The tear-drop shape of the pearl is aesthetically pleasing, as is its creamy, off-white colour. The combination of pearls and amethysts would have been bold and eye-catching, fitting for contemporary tastes.169

particular sigificance in a British setting. This emperor was ultimately defeated and murdered by the magister militum of the usurper Magnus Maximus, who had the support of soldiers from Britain.173 If the body chain was worn during the disturbances, but before Gratian’s death, it was a symbol of loyalty to the legitimate regime. Worn after Gratian’s death, it was potentially a denunciation of the pretender’s actions and an indicator of support for Valentinian II. These interpretations become more viable if other items from the hoard were part of an Imperial gift to a supporter. Henig suggests this may apply to the Empress pepper-pot.174 More abstractly, the coin could have served as a reference to the usurper of the same name. He was probably a civilian, elevated by the disaffected British garrison, and swiftly despatched when he failed to live up to expectations.175 These are particularly provocative readings of the significance of the coin, but they have at least suggested the possibility of deeper meanings.

Christian throught regarded the pearl as a symbol for virginity, which is equally precious. The anonymous legend of the late third or early fourth-century martyrdom of Agnes, who refused to surrendar her chastity, makes this connection: ‘You are now held fast in the embraces of the one who has adorned your breast with precious stones and has hung priceless pearls from your ears’ (quoted by St. Clare in her first letter to Agnes of Prague170). Part of the appeal of the pearl for Christians lay in the association between its colour and purity/innocence, an association which lingers today in the whiteness of Christening robes and wedding dresses. How fitting the wearing of pearls would be in a Christian bridal context is debateable since marriage and virginity were incompatible. However, pearls could symbolise the untainted status of the bride before the wedding night. Pagans also valued virginity, hence the status attached to the Vestal Virgins,171 although it was not a state expected of most Roman women for their entire lives. Evidently, if the empty mounts of the Hoxne body chain were originally set with pearls, this may not have been a choice based solely upon aesthetics.

VI. Conclusion: Bondage in High Places? We have seen that the body chain from Hoxne can be linked in form, function and connotations to its historical antecedents, but transposed into a late antique Romano-British setting. However, this poses problems of interpretation as our evidence currently implies that this type of jewellery was not in use in the second and third centuries AD, so how can we explain its reappearance? There does not seem to have been a general revival, although it is probable that the Hoxne chain was not unique. This suggestion is supported by late antique artistic representations of the device, including the Low Ham mosaic. The timing of the resurgence and the disparate nature of the evidence are difficult to explain. For much of the fourth-century, the aristocracy of Roman Britain enjoyed favourable conditions which enabled them to indulge their tastes for luxury items. That these might include artistic representations of Venus wearing a body chain, with which the artist and patron were surely familiar, should not surprise us. However, the actual manufacture of a body chain is rather different. If body chains as pieces of jewellery effectively belonged to the first-century AD and earlier, their association with mortal women was antiquated by this period. In the modern world, the collection and replication of antiques is popular, and the Romans also appreciated the charm of objects perceived to be archaising. Most obviously, this is attested to by their collecting and copying of Greek statues. A recreation need not be strictly true to the original, nor even based upon a particular example. The idea of its antecedents is perhaps more important than any true ressemblance.

The custom for using imperial gold coins in jewellery was introduced in the second-century.172 Such items may originally have been awarded as tokens of military success or as symbols of an emperor’s favour. They were probably also worn to flatter the ruling dynasty, commonly in court circles. By the fourth-century, the practice was largely outdated, or at the very least divorced from its original meaning. A coin still served as an indicator of wealth, visually pleasing in its own way, but perhaps nothing more. On the other hand, a solidus of Gratian had Coarelli, Greek and Roman Jewellery, p. 139. For a discussion of pearls see Johns, Jewellery of Roman Britain, p. 86. 167 For second-century examples see ibid, pp. 88-89. 168 For a picture see P. Brown, The World of Late Antiquity: AD 150-750 (London, 2002), frontispiece. 169 Bland and Johns, The Hoxne Treasure, p. 20. 170 J. Mueller, Clare’s Letters to Agnes (New York, 2001), p. 31. 171 See M. Beard, ‘The Sexual Status of Vestal Virgins’, JRS, 70 (1980). 172 Higgins, Greek and Roman Jewellery, p. 175. 165 166

Salway, Oxford Illustrated History, p. 283. Henig, Art of Roman Britain, p. 149. 175 De la Bédoyère, Golden Age, p. 147. 173 174

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Art, Religion and Society Often transposed in setting and purpose, such objects might be given new meaning; their appeal was both visual and sentimental. Typically expensive to purchase or reproduce, these sorts of items also served to indicate the wealth of their owner. We can, perhaps, hypothesise this sort of scenario for the body chain from the Hoxne Treasure.

women seems to have been more thorough-going than the Roman, the idea that a woman’s place was in the home prevailed throughout the Mediterranean.179 In marriage, although mutual respect was expected, the husband was perceived to be the dominant partner.180 Saint Patrick refers to pious women who cast their jewellery on the altar of a church (Confession, 49); are they, both literally and metaphorically, throwing off the chains of marriage? The setting of these gestures suggests that they could be interpreted as consecration of a symbolic marriage to Christ, to whom the women bind themselves instead of any worldly husband.

The implication is, therefore, that the Hoxne chain was an exclusive commission, originally designed for a particular lady. The wearing of such a beautiful and striking item of jewellery, without ready comparison in this period, would have provoked admiration and marked the wearer out as being very special indeed. Since there are no signs of heavy use, it is likely that the body chain was worn only infrequently, on a chosen occasion or set of occasions. We need not automatically assume a manufacture date contemporaneous with the coin of Gratian; the body chain could have been created after this. Whether it was worn by an aristocratic bride or privileged dancing girl (a household servant?) or both in the course of its history, this picture of intermittent use can be substantiated.

Roman attitudes towards those women who crossed acceptable boundaries were unremittingly hostile (consider the extreme cases of Boudicca and Cartimandua,181 and Procopius’ disdain for Theodora’s background). However, within these boundaries there was scope for the exercise of will. The extent of this inevitably varied, from the female slave to the aristocratic lady, but it is worth bearing in mind. We need not imagine that a domina such as Juliana would have felt restrained, although a modern western viewpoint might condemn her position as one of relative subjugation, presumably to father and husband. Whilst the body chain substantiates this rather negative perception of the position of Roman women to some degree, it also reinforces the ambiguity of this.

We cannot ascertain how the body chain would have been worn in this setting with any certainty. Within a bridal context, the device may have been worn over the wedding garments, rather like the knot of Hercules which traditionally fastened the bride’s dress and served as a good-luck talisman.176 A dancing girl may have worn the device with or without clothes, in either case the performance of dances within a private setting seemingly remained acceptable in a society in which classical mores had not died out. So attired, bride or entertainer assumed the guise of Venus, perhaps in a manner comparable to the lady on a fourth-century mosaic from Bignor in West Sussex. The so-called ‘Venus’ of this mosaic is almost certainly a portrait of the mistress of the house posing as the goddess.177 The practice of modelling the mythological figures adorning the walls and floors of elite villas on the actual inhabitants of the villa was probably fairly common. The assumption of the attributes of a deity was not hubris; it was the ultimate form of flattery, brought to life by the wearer of the Hoxne chain. Comparison with Venus was particularly favourable for a young woman for obvious reasons, and can frequently be detected in less direct forms. On the Projecta casket the toilet of the goddess appears directly above the representation of a Roman lady doing exactly the same.178 As we have seen, the possible Christianity of the owner/wearer is not automatically a barrier to these interpretations.

Although the relevance of the body chain is not limited to a particular time or place, unlike most forms of Roman jewellery it does not seem to have survived beyond the early Byzantine period. This conclusion is inevitably subject to modification however, and future discoveries may facilitate the formulation of a fuller picture. The survival of an exquisite sixth/seventh-century example of this type of jewellery suggests that the values which it embodied were not immediately or completely displaced. In the east, Justinian launched his reconquest, and in doing so displayed an ideological attachment to the perceived glory of the Roman Empire,182 while in the west Graeco-Roman values were only slowly submerged, and perceived to be rediscovered in the Renaissance. The historical milieux suggest that the creation of a body chain in later periods is not unfeasible, whether in direct imitation of any extant examples or otherwise. If the type failed to endure, several possible reasons for this suggest themselves; that the creation of a body chain requires fairly considerable quantities of material, so it would have been more expensive to produce than, say, a necklace; that a body chain made from precious-metal can be fragile, but also bulkier than other pieces of jewellery; and that this makes the device fairly unsuitable for wearing outside, or on a regular basis. On some level the body

More generally, it seems reasonable to see the body chain as symbolic of the way in which men tended to view women in antiquity, as unequal partners. Although the Greek and especially Athenian practice of secluding

Treggiari, Roman Marriage, p. 203. Ibid, p. 224. 181 Henig, The Heirs of King Verica, p. 47. 182 See P. Brown, The World of Late Antiquity, pp. 132-135. 179

Balsdon, Roman Women, p. 183. 177 De la Bédoyère, The Golden Age, p. 130. 178 Shelton, The Esquiline Treasure, p. 27. 176

180

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Helena Hawkesford : the Body Chain from the Hoxne Treasure Branigan, K. Latimer: Belgic, Roman, Dark Age and Early Modern Farm (Bristol, 1971). Brown, K. R. The Gold Breast Chain from the Early Byzantine Period in the Romisch-Germanisches Zentralmuseum (Mainz/Bonn, 1984). Brown, P. Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity: Towards a Christian Empire (Madison, 1992). Brown, P. The World of Late Antiquity: AD 150-750 (London, 2002). Browning, R. Justinian and Theodora (London, 1987). Buckton, D (ed). Byzantium: Treasures of Byzantine Art and Culture from British Collections (London, 1994). Burn, L and Higgins, R. A. Catalogue of Greek Terracottas in the British Museum. Volume III (London, 2001). Calinescu, A (ed). Ancient Jewelry and Archaeology (Bloomington, 1996). Carandini, A. Filosofiana, the Villa of Piazza Armerina: the Image of a Roman Aristocrat at the Time of Constantine (Palermo, 1982). Claridge, A and Ward-Perkins, J. B. Pompeii AD 79: Treasures from the National Archaeological Museum, Naples and the Pompeii Antiquarium. Volume I (Boston, 1978). Clarke, J. R. Looking at Lovemaking: Constructions of Sexuality in Roman Art, 100 B.C- A.D 250 (Berkley/ London, 1998). Coarelli, F. Greek and Roman Jewellery (translated D. Strong, Feltham, 1970). Corney, M. ‘The Roman Villa at Bradford-On-Avon. Investigations at St. Lawrence School’, ARA, 16 (2004) pp. 10-13. Curle, A. The Treasure of Traprain: A Scottish Hoard of Roman Silver Plate (Glasgow, 1923). De Caro, S. Il Museo Nazionale di Napoli (Naples, 1994). De La Bédoyère, G. The Golden Age of Roman Britain (Stroud, 1999). Dennison, W. A Gold Treasure of the Late Roman Period (New York/London, 1918). Dimitrova-Milcheva, A. Antique Engraved Gems and Cameos in the National Archaeological Museum in Sofia (Sofia, 1981). Entwistle, C (ed). Through a Glass Brightly: Studies in Byzantine and Medieval Art and Archaeology (Oxford, 2003). Esmonde-Cleary, A. S. The Ending of Roman Britain (London, 1989). Faulkner, N. The Decline and Fall of Roman Britain (Stroud, 2000). Golden, L (ed). Raising the Eyebrow: John Onians and the World Art Studies: an Album Amicorum in his Honour (Oxford, 2001). Harper, P. The Royal Hunter: Art of the Sasanian Empire (New York, 1978). Henig, M. ‘The Gemstones’ in Johns and Potters (eds) The Thetford Treasure. See below. Henig, M. Classical Gems: Ancient and Modern Intaglios and Cameos in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge (Cambridge, 1994). Henig, M. ‘The Hoxne Treasure: Review Article’, Britannia, 26 (1995)

chain was a ritualistic device and its ornamental qualities may not have been enough to sustain it when this purpose was no longer central. The Hoxne chain is suggestive of a society in transition, facing an increasingly uncertain future whilst looking back to an idealised past. It is a remarkable find, which will continue not only to enrich our understanding of classical antiquity but also to provoke interesting and fruitful questions. Abbreviations ARA JBAA JRA JRS

The Bulletin of the Association for Roman   Archaeology Journal of the British Archaeological Association Journal of Roman Archaeology Journal of Roman Studies

Bibliography Primary Apuleius, Metamorphoses, trans. J. A. Hanson (Cambridge; Mass/London, 1989). St. Augustine, Confessions, trans. H. Chadwick (Oxford, 1992). St. Clare, Letters to Agnes of Prague, trans. J. Mueller (New York, 2001). Homer, The Odyssey, trans. A.T. Murray, revised by G. E Dimock (Cambridge; Mass/London, 1998). St. Patrick, Confession, trans. A. B. E. Hood in St. Patrick. His writings and Muirchu’s Life (Chichester/London, 1978). Pliny the Elder, Natural History, trans. H. Rackman (Cambridge; Mass/ London, 1938-1963). Procopius, Secret History, trans. H. B. Dewing (Cambridge; Mass/London, 1998). Virgil, The Aeneid, trans. R. Fitzgerald (London, 1992). Secondary Allason-Jones, L. Women in Roman Britain (London, 1989). Aruz, J and Harper, P and Tallon, F (eds). The Royal City of Susa: Ancient Near Eastern Treasures from the Louvre (New York, 1992). Balsdon, J.P.V.D. Roman Women: their History and Habits (London, 1962). Beard, M. ‘The Sexual Status of Vestal Virgins’, JRS, 70 (1980). Bland, R and Johns, C. ‘The Great Hoxne Treasure: a Preliminary Report’, JRA, 6 (1993). Bland, R and Johns, C. The Hoxne Treasure: An Illustrated Introduction (London, 1993). Bland, R and Johns, C. ‘The Hoxne Late Roman Treasure’, Britannia, 25 (1994). 55

Art, Religion and Society Henig, M. The Art of Roman Britain (London, 1995). Henig, M. ‘Luxuria and Decorum: Changing Values in Public and Private Life’ in Golden, L (ed). See above. Henig, M. The Heirs of King Verica: Culture and Politics in Roman Britain (Stroud, 2002). Higgins, R. A. Tanagra and the Figurines (London, 1986). Higgins, R. A. Greek and Roman Jewellery (London, 1980). Jackson, K. ‘The Inscriptions on the Silver Spoons’ in Johns and Potter (eds) The Thetford Treasure. See below. Johns, C. ‘The Classification and Interpretation of RomanoBritish Treasures’, Britannia, 27 (1996). Johns, C. The Jewellery of Roman Britain. Celtic and Classical Traditions (London, 1996). Johns, C. The Snettisham Roman Jeweller’s Hoard (London, 1997). Johns, C. ‘Body-Chains: Hellenistic to Late Roman’ in Entwistle, C (ed). See above. Johns, C. and Potter, T. (eds). The Thetford Treasure: Roman Jewellery and Silver (London, 1983). Johns, C. and Potter, T. Roman Britain (London, 1992). Johns, C; Jones, R; Manley, J; Orna-Ornstein, J; Webster, L; White, S. ‘A Mid-Fifth Century Hoard of Roman and Pseudo-Roman Material from Patching, West Sussex’, Britannia, 30 (1999). Johnson, P. Romano-British Mosaics (Aylesbury, 1982). Jones, M. The End of Roman Britain (Ithaca/London, 1996). Kent, J and Painter, K (eds). Wealth of the Roman World, AD 300-700 (London, 1977). Lilimpake-Akamate, M. Tο ιερο της μητερας των θεων και της Aφροδιτης στην πελλα (Thessalonica, 2000). Ling, R. Romano-British Wall Painting (Aylesbury, 1985). Ling, R. ‘Mosaics in Roman Britain: Discoveries and Research since 1945’, Britannia, 28 (London, 1997).

Lunsingh Scheurleer, R. ‘From Statue to Pendant. Roman Harpocrates Pendants in Gold, Silver and Bronze’ in Calinescu (ed). See above. Oliver, A. ‘Roman Jewelry. A Stylistic Survey of Pieces from Excavated Contexts’ in Calinescu (ed). See above. Painter, K. ‘The Water Newton Silver: Votive or Liturgical?’, JBAA, 152 (1999). Petts, D. Christianity in Roman Britain (Stroud, 2003). Phillips, E. Corpus of Sculpture of the Roman World. Volume I (Oxford, 1977). Reece, R. ‘Interpreting Roman Hoards’ in World Archaeology 20.2 (1988). Robertson, M. A Shorter History of Greek Art (Cambridge, 1981). Salway, P. The Oxford Illustrated History of Roman Britain (Oxford/New York, 1993). Seyffert, O. A Dictionary of Classical Antiquities: Mythology, Religion, Literature & Art (London/New York, 1895). Shelton, K. The Esquiline Treasure (London, 1981). Smith, R. R. R. Hellenistic Sculpture (London, 2001). Stuveras, R. Le putto dans l’art romain (Brussels, 1969). Thompson, F. The Archaeology of Greek and Roman Slavery (London, 2003). Treggiari, S. Roman Marriage. Iusti Coniuges from the Time of Cicero to the Time of Ulpian (Oxford, 1991). Tsakaloy-Tzanavare, K. Πηλινα Ειδωλια aπο tη Βεροια. Ταφικα Συνολα Της Ελληνιστικης Εποχης. (Athens, 2002). Walters, H. B. Catalogue of the Greek and Etruscan Vases in the British Museum, Volume IV. Vases of the Latest Period (London, 1896). Wiedemann, T. Greek and Roman Slavery (London/New York, 1988). Wilson, R. J. A. Piazza Armerina (London, 1983). Yeroulanou, A. Diatrita: Gold Pierced-Work Jewellery from the Third to the Seventh Century (Athens, 1999).

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The language of love and sexual desire in Roman Britain: jewellery and the emotions Martin Henig

Abstract This paper surveys the evidence for love carnal, amatory and spiritual in Roman Britain, largely through the medium of minor arts, especially jewellery. It is through such finds that we can assess something of the quality of insular culture during the Roman period, which was certainly capable of rising to a high degree of sensibility.

items of valuable material, including seal rings and vessels of silver, rock crystal, chalcedony, fluorspar (myrrhina) sometimes acquired an emotional charge, but there is circumstantial evidence from a range of items found on Roman sites that even objects of terracotta or bone might mean a great deal in sentimental terms to their owners.

Although the customs and political structures of the Roman Empire differed considerably from those of modern western civilizations, people (including those who lived in Britain) possessed the same range of emotions as we do and needed to express them in a similar manner. The most studied body of evidence here is literary and epigraphic: The popularity of the Latin writers, especially poets, rests on this. Perhaps, it is the verses of Catullus , Propertius and Ovid that seem most immediate to us today. Poems can be purely cathartic, or public outpourings, or personal gifts intended for the beloved. Historians, political and natural, reveal a similar curiosity about the world around them, and philosophers and religious writers, Christian as well as Pagan, place the humanity so revealed in a wider context. Humour and laughter, grief and tears are all there and so, above all, are sex and love. The ambiguity of the concept that ranges from physical lust to the union of two people in bonds of friendship and matrimony and ultimately (for Neo- Platonists and Christians) to the contemplation of the Divine, was as apparent to men and women in antiquity as it is to us. This short paper is merely concerned with the material manifestations of love, most especially in Roman Britain.

Amongst finds from Roman Britain one with the most instant appeal are the pan pipes from Shakenoak, Oxfordshire, because they are inscribed with two names, Catavacus or Satavacus (male) and Bellicia (female) (Fig. 1). It is easy to see them as a betrothed pair of lovers, alternately playing the instrument to each other, and this is what I imagined in a vignette concerning a group of cultivated young lovers on a summer afternoon near an Oxfordshire villa in The Heirs of King Verica. Other pan pipes are known, but without the conjunction of two names there is no justification in invoking love rather than simply a desire to make music. Indeed, in the majority of instances, there is no way of telling whether a ‘small find’ such as a brooch was a simple acquisition or a gift to a lover, although the latter certainly was in the case of a Hod Hill brooch, from Richborough, Kent (Fig. 2) This bears a punched inscription in capital letters:

Epigraphic evidence

SIA MAS EGOP LVS This should be read as Si amas ego plus, ‘If you love (me) I love (you) more’. The re-arrangement of letters requires no great decoding skill, but there is a hint here of personal secrecy, a message meant for the wearer only. Such a way of encoding a message of love may be noted elsewhere, for example on a cameo in the Content Family Collection reading BENET / IBISIT for Bene tibi sit. The base material and indeed the ubiquity of Hod Hill brooches

The archaeologist dealing with material culture often finds herself at a disadvantage. There are the shards of samian ware, but what story do they tell? They are merely the mute testimony of eating and drinking after the guests have left. Paintings and mosaics may be informative of the taste of their owners and we can speculate in some cases that these works of art meant more, revealing maybe religious predilections or interests in hunting or even amorous liaisons, but they can never have the immediacy of personal possessions. It is clear from the Elder Pliny’s testimony that

cf. Pliny, Naturalis Historiae xxxiii 147; xxxvii, 18-20; 29. RIB 2457.1 and 2505.4.  Henig 2002, 110-15, fig. 46.  RIB 2421.50.  Henig 1990, 24 no. 43.  

 Helen Molesworth and I hope to explore the relationship between literature and the language of cameos on a future occasion.

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Figure 1. Pan pipes belonging to Satavacus and Bellicia, terracotta (Ashmolean Museum) shows this was an object of no great intrinsic value, though the love-banter suggests that the giver and very possibly the recipient were beneficiaries of Roman culture, and as a gift it may have had as great a significance to the owner as if it had been made of silver rather than tinned bronze. Some love-tokens, however, were little more than fairings, and seem to have been mass-produced. Such is a glass intaglio from Dragonby, North Lincolnshire with the moulded inscription ROSA (‘Rosie’, might be the best translation) of which other examples are known. Then there is a brass ring from the bed of the River Walbrook in London,

Figure 2. Brooch, Latin Inscription:’If you love me I love you more’. From Richborough,Kent (English Heritage,Dover Castle)



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RIB 2423.22.

Martin Henig : The Language of Love in Roman Britain set with openwork letters, AMICA (‘[lady]friend’). Even more erotic is another London ring from the riverside reading MISCE ME virtually an invitation to mix herself (have sex) with the giver. We return to the higher realms of true love with three hexagonal gems of late third or early fourth-century date inscribed respectively AN / IM / AME/ A (‘My soul’), A / VE / ME / A / VI / TA (‘Hail, my life’) and M / IH / I / VI / VA / S (‘Live for me’). They were found at Vindolanda, Ribchester and the Gogmagog Hills, Cambridge.10 The second and third of these are cut with recognisable devices respectively a dove and an anchor. All are set in gold rings, which show that we are dealing with the upper orders of society. There are simple endearments on the bezel of a gold ring from Carlisle, AMA ME (‘Love me’),11 and a silver ring from Castell Collen , AMOR / DVLCIS (‘Sweet love’).12 A bronze ring from Hacheston, Suffolk bears the simple word DVLCIS.13 Possibly to be considered here, are two second-century rings from London made of iron but inlaid with copper and niello. One has a broad bezel and the inscription, laid out in a cross-like form, reads DA / MI / VITA for da mihi vitam (‘give me life’) (Fig. 3).14 Four stars, one in each segment of the cross, are suggestive of the heavens, hence of Eternity, and it is possible to read this in an eschatological context, but maybe it is more likely that the meaning is to be extended to ‘YOU give me life’ and the stars reveal the eternity of love. Likewise the other ring reading VITAVOLO for vitam volo may mean ‘I wish YOU long life’.15

Figure 3. Ring, Latin inscription:‘Give me life’ from London, copper alloy (Museum of London).

Figure 4. Ring, Greek inscription: ‘The love token of Polemion’, Corbridge, gold (British Museum)

The culture of love is one that moved naturally from Latin to Greek and from Greek to Latin, as indeed we find with love poetry. The comparison to be made in more recent centuries is with French and English. There is, for example, a silver ring from Brandon, Suffolk with the legend CYN / HΛΘΗ (‘Marry me’) on its bezel.16 A far more ambitious item is a 3rd century openwork gold ring from Corbridge reading ΠΟΛΕΜΙΟΥΦΙΛΤΡΟΝ (‘Lovecharm of Polemius’) (Fig. 4).17

Figure 5. Ring, Greek inscription: ‘Life to Olympis’, Stonham Aspal, Suffolk,gold (Ashmolean Museum)

Another openwork ring from Corbridge reads ♠ AEMI ♠ LIA ♠ ZESES (‘Aemilia, Long life to you’).18 Was Aemilia in love with Polemius? The date and similarity of the rings renders that plausible. A third gold ring of the type, wishing the owner long life, was found at Bedford

and reads EVSEBIOVITA ♠ (’Long Life to Eusebius’).19 Even more splendid is a ring with a keeled hoop, perhaps contemporary with these or a little later, from Stonham Aspal, Suffolk. It is set with a sapphire, a rare, beautiful and very hard stone probably from Sri Lanka, and bears on its leafy shoulders the inscription ΟΛΥΜΠΕΙ / ZHCAIC (‘Olympis, long life to you’) (Fig. 5).20 A similar sentiment is conveyed by a legend carved in cameo on an onyx set in a gold ring from the Roman villa at Keynsham, Somerset, inscribed ΕΥΤΥΧΙ ΟΦΟΡΩΝ (‘May you, the wearer, prosper’) (Fig. 6).21 This sentiment is echoed on Roman period cameos found throughout the Empire.22

RIB 2422.49. RIB 2422.62. 10 RIB 2423.4, 7 and 18. 11 RIB 2422.2. 12 RIB 2422.19. 13 Hassall and Tomlin 1995, 383 no. 18. 14 RIB 2422.75. 15 RIB 2422.77. 16 RIB 2422.35. 17 RIB 2422.12. 18 RIB 2422.1.  

RIB 2422.5. RIB 2422.10. 21 RIB 2423.10, see Henig 1978 no. 743. 22 Henig 1990 nos 29-39. 19 20

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Art, Religion and Society but seems to have been in the hands of a jeweller or gemcutter, who was getting the name of his betrothed engraved upon it though her name, ALBA had only been marked-out at the time of deposition. It seems a similar type of name to Rosa (see above) but here the superiority of the material and the devices concerned with marriage suggest a more serious purpose. A fairly large category of objects consists of gifts, which in a few cases may have been part of a dowry or a present from parents to a daughter. Pride of place must go to the openwork bracelet from the Hoxne treasure inscribed VTERE FELIX DOMINA IVLIANE (‘Use happily, Lady Juliana’).26 Possibly this gift extended to other items in the Lay Juliana’s trousseau including the Body-Chain discussed in another paper in this volume.

Figure 6. Ring with cameo, Greek inscription : ‘Good fortune to the wearer’, Keynsham,Somerset , gold (Bristol Museum)

We find the phrase ‘utere felix’ on knee-brooches,27 rings,28 belts,29 tools,30 spoons31 and tableware.32 Some of these may have been love gifts, though others could have been simply New Year presents to friends or presents given by patrons to clients. The same goes for the word VIVAS, ‘may you live’ which was a highly suitable sentiment for a love gift and possibly we should includes such items as the spoons from Colchester, AETERNVS VIVAS,33 or Thetford, AGRESTE VIVAS,34 in this category. The Wint Hill glass bowl, made in the Rhineland, depicts a hunting scene. Its inscription VIVAS CVM TVIS PIE Z(eses), ‘Long life to you and yours; Drink, long life to you’,35 echoes the sentiments of similar vessels of the type.

Figure 7. Cameo, Greek inscription : ‘Good fortune... harmony’ with clasped hands, onyx (Ashmolean Museum)

Sexual desire and gratification The Misce me and Amica inscriptions, shown on the rings cited above, remind us that carnal desire was a powerful motivating force, whether or not it was sometimes conjoined with more spiritual aspirations.36 Amongst other finds from the banks of the Thames, I have identified a token with the head of Venus engraved upon it (Fig. 8), almost certainly used to secure entrance to a brothel,37 and maybe the status of the two girls who wore the inscribed rings cited above was little higher. The handle of a folding knife and another small bronze, both from Verulamium, depict threesomes, one supporter and two others engaged

The universal symbol of contract was clasped right hands (‘dextrarum iunctio’). On fede rings, as they would have been called in the eighteenth century, the device was concerned with betrothal or marriage. It is represented by a cameo from another Roman villa, at North Wraxall, Wiltshire (Fig. 7),23 where it was presumably set in a gold ring like that from Keynsham. The wrist associated with the hand on the left wears a bracelet so is presumably female. Above the hands is the word ΕΥΤΥΧΩC (‘with good fortune’) and below, OMONOIA (‘harmony’). Similar, but more coarsely cut is a cameo from Bradwell, Essex set still in its gold ring.24 Once again one arm is shown sporting the female a bracelet. Above there is a marriage garland, somewhat blundered, and below, once again, OMONOIA. If these cameos are late Roman, an intaglio from Eastcheap in the City of London comes from a pit immediately antedating the Boudican sack of AD 60/61.25 A wreath of olive surrounds the clasped hands; it is tied with ribbons, with again close association with marriage. The gem was not set

Henig 1995a, 147 fig. 89. See Hawkesford this volume, fig. 19. RIB 2421.56-2421.58, Portable Antiquities Scheme, annual report 2004/05, 45-6 no. 63. 28 RIB 2422.41; 2423.28; 2423.29. 29 RIB 2429.13-2429.17. 30 RIB 2433.3. 31 RIB 2420.50-2420.52. 32 RIB 2417.32. 33 RIB 2420.1. 34 RIB 2420.2. 35 RIB 2419.45. 36 Johns 1982, 116-42. 37 MoLAS annual report 1997, p.4. 26 27

RIB 2423.11 see Henig 1978, 289 no. App.30; Henig 2001, 121-2, fig. 6.13. 24 RIB 2423.19 see Henig 1978, 274-5 no. 742. 25 RIB 2423.2. 23

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Martin Henig : The Language of Love in Roman Britain men is difficult to find, that between women is even more invisible, as it is elsewhere in the Roman Empire, though Lesbian desire was surely as established a part of the sexual kaleidoscope in Roman Britain as it is in Britain today, and we should not ignore it. Figures, symbols and devices Some of the inscribed items are associated with devices that emphasise what they meant. These include clasped hands, birds, palm branches and stars. Roman life was dominated by symbols, everything from hand gestures to the phallus that warded off the Evil Eye; the disadvantage of any study of Roman life based purely on written sources is that it ignores this visual aspect.

Figure 8. Brothel token depicting Venus from London waterfront, copper alloy (Museum of London)

The clasped hands provide a good starting point. The meaning of the device is unambiguous and there are splendid rings in silver and gold with inset plates depicting the device in relief from Grovely Wood, Wiltshire, Richborough, Kent and from the Thetford Treasure which must be marriage rings.45 Of especial interest is a third-century chalcedony ring from Hayling Island, Hampshire,46 likewise alluding to marriage. We have seen the device associated in one instance with an olive wreath and in another with a garland, and the legend OMONOIA. It is of some interest that a chalcedony triple-banded ring (probably of the same date as the Hayling ring), on the New York antiquities market, is engraved with the same word.47 Where the hands appear without accompanying legend, other symbols often take their place, such as cornucopiae (horns of plenty), and the traditional crops of Rome (corn-ears and poppy heads).48 The Eastcheap intaglio was still being prepared for its owner with the name not fully carved and was still unset. We do not know whether or not she herself escaped the Boudiccan sack or not, but tragedy certainly overtook the intended recipient of an interesting cornelian intaglio from Skeleton Green, Puckeridge, Hertfordshire (Fig. 9),49 for it too was found unset and straight from the gem-cutter in the grave of a young woman. It was cut not only with the dextrarum iunctio clasping a pair of cornucopiae but between them a cantharus (wine-mixing bowl). On the horns of plenty and the bowl were perched three propitious Roman eagles. The use of symbols here could say a little more than words ever could; ideas such as the ‘wine of life’, the fruitfulness and permanence of marriage and the Romanitas of the family are all fully suggested. The archaeological circumstance of its recovery adds a further dimension.

in sexual intercourse.38 A sexual encounter shown on a pot found near Peterborough between a highly aroused man whose premature ejaculation frustrates an equally excited woman comes into the same class.39 It may be suggested that these were connected with sex-shows in the theatre, and that most probably they were intended to evoke fertility but nevertheless one can see them being bestowed as gifts between lovers. It is not proposed here to consider items such as phalli and vulvas whose fertility significance and magical efficacy against the Evil Eye is all but certain.40 A word may be said about physical relations between those of the same sex. The myth of Ganymede and the Eagle can certainly carry this charge. It is figured both on a mosaic floor at Bignor and on intaglios, amongst them examples from a jewellery hoard at Godmanchester and from Enfield, the latter still set in a gold ring.41 Of course the other implication here concerns apotheosis. On the subject of what would now be called gay sexuality, there is, alas, nothing explicit from Britain like the 1st century Warren Cup in the British Museum, found near Jerusalem and plausibly the possession of a Roman soldier.42 But sexual desire may be implicit in the representation of an ephebe standing by a herm on a gem from North Cerney, Gloucestershire.43 Other gems showing athletes, or an adolescent cupid as a boxer or even heroic types like the young Theseus holding a sword or Achilles with a spear (a frequent statuary type in gymnasia) or a representation of Alexander the Great might also bear a homoerotic charge, as has been pointed out by Zahra Newby in the case of statuary.44 If certain evidence of sexual bonding between

Another intaglio, from Ribchester, mentioned above, depicts a bird. The symbolism is again rich, as those who

C. Johns in Frere 1984, 58-9, pl. iii. Webster 1991, 160, 161 no. 14.44. 40 Johns 1982, 62-75; Webster 1991, 159-61. 41 Henig 1978, 245-6 nos 471, 472. The Bignor Ganymede mosaic is illustrated in Henig 1984, 178 ill. 85 but apotheosis is not the only reason why the rape should have been selected! 42 Williams 2006 and see Henig 2005, 214-5. 43 Trow 1982. 44 For heroic ephebes, notably Theseus and Achilles, see Henig 1970; on statues see Newby 2005, 125-34. 38 39

Johns 1996, 63-4 figs 3.24, 3.25. Henig 1978, 317 no. App.207. 47 Christie’s Sale Catalogue, Ancient Jewelry, New York, Thursday 8 December 2005, p.57 lot 112. 48 Henig 1978, 236 no. 402. 49 Henig 1978, 290 no. App.36. 45 46

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Figure 10. Cameo, Bust of woman as Venus, Silchester, onyx (Prof. M. Fulford)

Figure 9. Intaglio, Clasped hands and other symbols, Skeleton Green, Puckeridge, Hertfordshire, cornelian (photo:Robert Wilkins)

of such pendants in the Snettisham jeweller’s hoard.54 The theme was perhaps deliberately ambiguous embracing the eternity of life (a primary meaning no doubt on tombstones) as well as the eternity of love, which may be at least as important on an item of jewellery. Such items of jewellery may, in other words, have been given to girls in order to stress the permanence of love.

enjoy Catullus’ poems about Lesbia’s passer will testify. A charming find from the putative palace of King Togidubnus at Fishbourne, Sussex was a gold ring containing a minute chrome chalcedony gemstone depicting a bird.50 Presumably it belonged to a female member of the powerful British- Roman clan that lived there, and the subject was doubtless concerned with love. On funerary monuments birds can stand for the life, the soul, of a person, and by extension in erotic poetry can represent love. Cupid can be seen trapping birds as well as chasing butterflies (i.e. Psyche) on gems and other works of art.

Ring bezels displaying portraits, either single or paired, as we have seen, can be associated with the legend Vivas or Vivas in Deo. In the Renaissance and well into modern times people wore painted miniatures of their beloved and nowadays many people will have a photograph for remembrance. In the second and third centuries onyx cameos cut with busts of women were very common, though only two have yet been noted in Britain. One, from Kettlebaston in Suffolk is rather schematically executed but is nevertheless set in a gold ring.55 The other, from Silchester, is rather finer with personalised detail such as a choker necklace (Fig. 10).56 The purpose of these gems is given by an inscription beneath such a cameo in a private collection, reading in Greek, ‘to the beautiful girl’.57 Some cameos show the girl with a low cut chiton even exposing the breast, presumably a way of equating the beloved with the goddess Venus. The practice would, then, appear to be that the male donor presented his beloved with her portrait. Sometimes, however, there were double portraits like that shown in relief on the bezel of a late Roman ring from Whitwell, Leicestershire,58 or those cut in intaglio on the well-known (Christian) seal- ring from Brancaster, Norfolk which will be discussed below. One of the finest examples of such a composition from Britain is

Vegetal ornament can also have a symbolic amatory value. The wreath of wild olive on the Eastcheap gem specifically alludes to the marriage contract. A more general device is the palm, a reference to Victory but in the majority of instances, that is victory in love. Such is the case of the gold ring from Carlisle in the British Museum inscribed AMA ME. The use of a symbol with martial overtones need not occasion surprise: there is a class of cameo that portrays vexilla and weapons with the legend ΠΡΟΚΟΠΤΕ, ‘Advance!’51 Stars, together with the sun and moon, stood for aeternitas, the eternity of the heavens. They are to be seen on engraved gemstones.52 We have noted a ring from London in which an amatory legend is accompanied by stars. Is it possible to see a love interest in the solar and lunate attachments on necklace chains from the Backworth treasure,53 which likewise have a celestial significance, or, other examples

Ibid, fig. 5.6. Treasure Annual Report 2002, 24-5 no. 15. 56 Henig 1995b. 57 Henig 1990, no. 45. 58 Johns 1996, 64-5, fig. 3.27. 54

Henig 1978, 267 no. 671. 51 Henig 1990, 26 no. 46 and see p. 16 no. 27. 52 Henig 1978, 237 no. 409; 295 no. App.81. 53 Johns 1996, 92-4, fig. 5.5. 50

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Martin Henig : The Language of Love in Roman Britain that carved on a jet medallion from Vindolanda. A man and a woman appear to be about to kiss.59 There is no inscription but the meaning is obvious and is, indeed, reinforced by the reverse of the medallion showing a dextrarum iunctio. There is another, rather more formal, double medallion of a man and his wife from York.60 In addition to cameos and medallions formal portraits were carved upon the heads of hair-pins, like the example from Southwark shown here (Fig. 11).61 Were these also love gifts, which were supposed in some way to represent the beauty of the recipient?

Figure 12. Ring with garnet intaglio,Cupid and goose, Colchester, gold (British Museum, photo: author)

The goddess of love and her son

Figure 11. Bone pin, Bust of woman, Southwark (SAEC, J.S.Earp)

reflect the female world of love and beauty. Figurines would have been suitable for both boudoir and lararium, and how images of the goddess were viewed would have depended on context. An erotic purpose is certainly appropriate in the case of a glass gem from Wroxeter portraying Venus leaning on a herm,66 and the fine cornelian in the Thetford treasure where the goddess is shown with her son, Cupid (the Greek Eros).67 Cupid is sometimes figured with his bow, alluding to the wearer being struck by love’s arrows. No doubt pet animals on gems, a goose (in an intaglio from Colchester) (Fig. 12) or a hare on a jasper at Bath,68 allude to fecundity. The same idea of plenty is present on a bone plaque perhaps from a clasp knife found at Dover, where cupid holds a basket (of fruit?) and a garland, probably a marriage garland (Fig. 13).69 Another example of cupid carved upon a piece of bone or ivory, perhaps conflates him with the infant Bacchus (Dionysos Pais ); this is the leg of a (jewellery?) casket from Gestingthorpe, Essex.70 On occasion Cupid is depicted embracing his female companion Psyche, representing the union of body and soul. In the villa at Woodchester, Gloucestershire the remains of such a group in marble was found, while from Brampton, Norfolk a little gold plate in relief, originally set in the bezel of a ring bears the same motif.71 Love is an ambiguous emotion and frequently the cause of pain and conflict. This is epitomised by Cupid burning a butterfly representing Psyche.72 Other gems (though not yet found in Britain) show us that Cupid was justly punished for

Venus (the Greek Aphrodite) is figured frequently in art, and has already been encountered on a brothel token (Fig. 8), but she is not always to be found in an amatory context for she was a deity connected with fecundity, and, indeed, the type of Venus Victrix was closely associated with the army and military prowess.62 The room of a villalike building at Kingscote, Gloucestershire has as the theme of the central emblema of its floor mosaic a bust of Venus holding a mirror while the frescos on the walls seem to have been painted with a tableau showing Venus and Mars with, between them, Cupid. This was a veritable ‘room of love’.63 A bronze figurine, like that from Folly Lane, Mildenhall and others like it,64 and a silver pin from London surmounted by a representation of the goddess removing her sandal,65 both

Henig 1978, 277 no. 759. Hartley, Hawkes, Henig and Mee 2006, 154-5 no. 106. 61 Henig in Hinton 1988, 391-3, pl. 5. 62 Henig 1978, 219-220 nos 279-284; 292 no. App.56. 63 Timby 1998, 77-89 fig. 50, col pls ii and iii. 64 Henig 2001, 112, fig. 6.5. 65 Guide to the Antiquities of Roman Britain (3rd ed. 1964), 27-8, fig. 14 no. 10; Johns 1996, 140-141 fig. 6.8.

Henig 1978, 219 no. 275. Johns 1996, 104-5 fig. 5.15. 68 Henig 1978, 199-200 nos 112, 113. 69 This example, from excavations conducted by Brian Philp FSA. See Weitzmann 1972, 16-17 no. 7. 70 Henig in Draper 1985, 75 and 80, fig. 39, pl. x no. 438. 71 Henig 1993, 3 no. 2, pl. 2; Henig 1978, 277 no. 763. 72 Henig 1978, 201 nos 119, 120.

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Art, Religion and Society far such themes have not been encountered in the minor arts. The Christian dimension Sometimes words such as Vivas can be taken further than merely wishing the recipient of a gift a good time. In Christianity, at any rate (and plausibly the Pagan, Dionysiac, cult of Faunus at Thetford, ‘life’ could mean Eternal Life; in some instances the love between individuals is placed under the controlling love of God.76 A gold ring from Brancaster carries on its bezel two facing busts, probably intended to be a husband and wife, together with the phrase VIVAS IN DEO.77A bronze ring from Richborough inscribed on the hoop IVSTINE VIVAS IN DEO with a Chi-Rho and alpha and omega on the bezel is presumably a gift to Justinus.78 The hoop of a gold ring with similar legend from Silchester reads SENICIANE VIVAS IN DEO while on the hoop is a bust, perhaps inscribed VENVS although Frances Mawer reads it as possibly a woman’s name, Venusta.79 An openwork bone plaque from York apparently inscribed SOROR (‘sister’) and VIVAS IN DEO,80 is surely Christian, in the first instance, but the object comes from a pagan burial. This would not be the only instance of a Christian object being reused by pagans but there is a real possibility that the phrase quickly became Figure 13. Bone plaque from clasp knife, Cupid, Dover a conventional wish for good luck and divine (Brian Philp, photo: Robert Wilkins) blessing, whether or not strictly in the context of love. The phrase VTERE FELIX, discussed above, his cruelty. Usually cupids are merely appropriate stock could also on occasion be endowed with a Christian charge personifications of child like innocence, and are shown in when, as on two liturgical items from the same workshop, many media in the minor arts, gems, bone plaques and jet a lead font from Flawborough, Nottinghamshire where it pendants among them. is combined with figures of Orantes and a Chi-Rho and on a casket from East Stoke, Nottinghamshire, together with Amatory subjects and classical myths a Chi-Rhoand perhaps angels.81 Well known myths included those of Europa and the Bull, portrayed on mosaics from Keynsham and Lullingstone,73 and Leda and the Swan, quite common on gems though only a single example appears so far in my Corpus of Gems.74 Better attested in Britain is Ganymede and the Eagle, already mentioned.

Doves signified peace, and, because generally seen in pairs (as on a late Roman ring from the villa at Moor Park, Hertfordshire), devoted love. The Holy Spirit –Divine Love-was also figured as a dove. Perhaps the dove implied both when it was figured on a silver ring from the villa at Fifehead Neville, Dorset over a Chi-Rho.82 The jewellery one might give one’s lover, often included reference to the life to be encountered in paradise; peacocks for instance have plumage which recalls the star-spangled sky, and on a late Roman Romano-British belt-buckle from Cave’s Inn, Warwickshire (Fig. 14) they typically stand one each

In the realm of mythology, not all love stories are happy ones, Ovidian themes on mosaics from Britain include Apollo and Daphne on the newly discovered pavement at Dinnington, Somerset, Cyparissus enamoured of his stag at Leicester and, of course, the well-known Virgilian Dido and Aeneas on the Low Ham mosaic in the same county, all revealing love in tragic guise.75 However so

For a fuller treatment see Henig 2005. RIB 2422.15. 78 RIB 2422.70. 79 (RIB 2422.14; Mawer (1995, 70-71 no D3 Go 14. 80 RIB 2441.11. 81 RIB 2416.8 and R. Wilson in Hartley, Hawkes, Henig and Mee 2006, 208-9 no. 195. 82 Mawer 1995, 72-3 no. D3. Si.6. 76 77

Toynbee 1964, 263-4, pl. lxa (Lullingstone); 240-1, pl. lviib and Hartley, Hawkes, Henig and Mee 2006, 171 no. 131(Keynsham). 74 Henig 1978, 246-7 no. 478 and compare cameo of unknown provenance in the Ashmolean, Henig and MacGregor 2004, 105 no. 10.34. 75 Cosh and Neal 2005; Toynbee 1964, 279 and 241-6, pl. lviii and Henig 1995a, col. pls ix and x. 73

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Figure 14. Belt buckle with Christian device of peacocks and tree of life, Cave’s Inn, copper alloy (Warwick Museum) Conclusion The range of love tokens from the Roman Empire and, indeed, simply from Britain emphasise that, as well as showing the variety of individual life styles, such objects can bear different charges of meaning according to their date of manufacture – or of presentation – or the personal beliefs of their owners. The English word ‘love’ is too wide; it has to bear far too many meanings. In Greek Eros was to be seen in contradistinction to Agape. Although in this paper the material has been arranged more or less as an ascent from the spiritual to the moral, the carnal to the heavenly, the attraction of these little tokens is that they carry their mysteries with them. Each would no doubt bear more extended analysis, and in this volume Helena Hawkesford has analysed perhaps the most intriguing find from the Hoxne Treasure, which bears with it so many questions about the nature of love, and of human relationships in general. It is certainly possible to view love as a sort of bondage, epitomised by stories about the binding of Cupid. This short paper aims to do little more than suggest that genuine passions often lie behind the small finds studied by archaeologists.

Figure 15. Ring, Chi-Rho, Brentwood, Essex, gold (British Museum)

side of a tree of Life.83 Nail-cleaners attached to belt straps were equally intimate objects, and again very possibly gifts, and the peacock theme extends to them too.84 St Clement ( Logos Paidagogos iii, 59.2-60.1) gave advice to Alexandrian Christians as early as 200 on what they might, or might not, wear upon signet rings and by implication on other types of jewellery. Pagan deities and erotic scenes were, of course, very frowned on, and in general the devices favoured were symbolic ones. On rings in various materials the monogram of Christ, the Chi-Rho is to be seen and just as nowadays a cross or crucifix may be a valued gift to a wife or fiancé, it is possible that rings like the gold one from Brentwood, Essex (Fig. 15) or a jet example from Bagshot with their simple monograms, as also the monogram on a nail-cleaner strap end from Sandy, Bedfordshire85 may imply the blessings of God’s love just as a cupid (in a pagan marriage ring) offered more physical pleasures.

Acknowledgements Over the years I have been grateful for the support of small finds specialists especially, in this instance, Catherine Johns who has never wavered in her belief that the study of small objects means engaging with the people who made and used them, not engaging in pointless theories.

This is a subject which I have explored elsewhere,86 and to which a much fuller contribution by Nicola Cronin can be read in this volume but it seemed right to begin our exploration with the ‘wilder shores of love’, the carnal realm of Eros and to end with the Christian agape, the contemplation of the Divine.

It also owes an enormous amount to the many people I have been formally requested to teach, but have in fact taught me far more than I have ever imparted to them through their invariable spirituality and sympathy with what is truly important in this world as well as in the eternal perspective of things, and have displayed, too, a sense of humour and irreverence towards an over pompous academic world that has been truly precious and heart-warming. They include the co-authors of this book who have been very special to me as colleagues and friends, as well as Helen Molesworth with whom

Henig 1995a, 169-70, ill. 99. Eckardt and Crummy 2006, 96-7 nos 693, 745, 1242, 1281. 85 Johns 1985; Graham 2002; Eckardt and Crummy 2006, 96-7 no. 163. 86 Henig 2005. 83 84

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Art, Religion and Society Henig, M., 1990, The Content Cameos. The Content Family collection of Ancient Cameos (Oxford and Houlton, Maine) Henig, M., 1995a, The Art of Roman Britain (London) Henig, M., 1995b, ‘An onyx intaglio from Silchester’, Britannia 26, 306-8 Henig, M., 2001, ‘Art in Roman Wiltshire’, pp.107-26 in Ellis 2001 Henig, M., 2002, The Heirs of King Verica (Stroud) Henig, M., 2005, ‘ “A light to lighten the Gentiles”: witnessing change in the Roman Empire’, pp.213-22 in Crummy 2005 Henig M. and MacGregor, A., 2004, Catalogue of the Engraved Gems and Finger-Rings in the Ashmolean Museum II.Roman BAR Int. ser.1332 (Oxford) Hinton, P. (ed.), 1988, Excavations in Southwark 1973-76, Lambeth 1973-79 (LAMAS, SAS joint publication, London) Johns, C., 1982, Sex or Symbol. Erotic Images of Greece and Rome (BMP, London) Johns, C., 1985, ‘A Roman Christian ring from Brentwood, Essex’, Ant. J. 65, 461-3 Johns, C., 1996, The Jewellery of Roman Britain. Celtic and Classical Traditions (London) Mawer, C.F., 1995, Evidence for Christianity in Roman Britain. The small finds BAR Brit.ser.243 (Oxford) Newby, Z., 2005, Greek Athletics in the Roman World Victory and Virtue (Oxford) Timby, J.R., 1998, Excavations at Kingscote and Wycomb, Gloucestershire (Cotswold Archaeological Trust, Cirencester) Toynbee, J.M.C., 1964, Art in Britain under the Romans (Oxford) Trow, S., 1982, ‘An early intaglio found near Cirencester, Gloucestershire’, Britannia 13, 322-3, pl.xxxiib Webster, G., 1991, Archaeologist at Large (London) Weitzmann, K., 1972, Catalogue of the Byzantine and Early Mediaeval Antiquities in the Dumbarton Oaks Collection. 3. Ivories and Steatites (Washington D.C.) Williams, D., 2006, The Warren Cup (British Museum, London)

I am currently working on Roman cameos, many of which were love tokens like the objects discussed in this paper. Abbreviation RIB

The Roman Inscriptions of Britain

Bibliography Cosh, S.R. and Neal, D.S., 2005, ‘Daphne at Dinnington’, Mosaic 32, 23-5 Crummy N. (ed), 2005, Image, Craft and the Classical World Essays in honour of Donald Bailey and Catherine Johns (Montagnac) Draper, J., 1985, Excavations by Mr H.P. Cooper on the Roman site at Hill Farm, Gestingthorpe, Essex (EAA Report 25, Chelmsford) Eckardt, H. and Crummy, N., 2006, ‘ “Roman” or “Native” Bodies in Britain: the evidence of late Roman nailcleaner Strap-ends’, OJA 25, 83-103 Ellis P. (ed), 2001, Roman Wiltshire and After. Papers in honour of Ken Annable (Wilts Arch and Nat Hist Soc, Devizes) Frere S., 1984 , Verulamium Excavations III (Oxford University Committee for Archaeology) Graham, T., 2002 ‘A rho-cross engraved on a jet fingerring from Bagshot, Surrey’, OJA 21, 211-15 Hartley, E., Hawkes, J., Henig, M. and Mee, F., 2006, Constantine the Great. York’s Roman Emperor (Aldershot) Hassall, M.W.C. and Tomlin R.S.O., 1995, ‘Roman Britain in 1994.II. Inscriptions’, Britannia 26, 371-90 Henig, M., 1970, ‘The veneration of heroes in the Roman army’, Britannia 1, 249-65 Henig, M., 1978, A corpus of Roman Engraved Gemstones from British sites’ BAR Brit. ser. 8, second edition (Oxford) Henig, M., 1984, Religion in Roman Britain (London)

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Two intaglios from St Peter Port, Guernsey Tristan Arnison

Abstract This note discusses two intaglios excavated recently in Guernsey. One of them, of a type often considered to represent Prometheus is re-interpreted as showing a sculptor at work; the other a ‘combination’ of animal and human parts can be related to myths concerning Hercules.

arm is however angled downwards. There is the faint trace of a vertical undulating line that is most clearly visible in front of the smaller figure’s upper thigh. This gem appears to belong to the type that has traditionally been interpreted as showing Prometheus creating mankind from clay. It was a device particularly popular on Italic and early Republican gems, although judging by the classicising style employed on this example, it probably only dates to the late first century BC. Apart from the stylistic consideration, the image also differs from the earlier type in its construction. If one compares this gem with two in the Vienna collection, it is noticeable that the object of Prometheus’ labours is shown in a very different way. On earlier gems, this is usually shown as the truncated torso of a bearded adult, who faces away from Prometheus, with an arm raised above the head that is attached to a staff held in Prometheus’ right hand. This image is obviously related to our Guernsey example, especially as the Prometheus figure shares a similar posture and appearance. It is necessary though to ask two questions concerning the iconography. First, do both these types depict the same or a similar activity, and secondly, if so, is this activity the creation of man by Prometheus as is usually assumed?

The two gems discussed below were discovered relatively recently in St Peter Port on the Channel Island of Guernsey, in the Roman province of Gallia Lugdunensis . As well as being interesting examples of intaglio carving in their own right, in consequence of their subject matter, these appear to be the first Roman gem stones from the Channel islands to have been published and thus form an especially interesting record of elite Roman presence on these islands. The first intaglio (Fig. 1) is moulded in glass with a flat or slightly convex upper face; it is ovoid, 11.5 mm in length and 9.5 mm in width. The surface is badly pitted but despite this, the image itself is relatively clear. On the left is a small naked male figure who stands three quarters to the right but with his head in profile and his right arm bent at an angle to his body. On the right, a bearded man is depicted, either crouching or perched on a stool (not visible) in front of the smaller figure. His left leg is extended across the foreground and his right leg is shown behind it. He is somewhat round-shouldered and leans forward, raising his left forearm just above the smaller figure’s head. His right

Both image types appear to have an echo in gem depictions of sculptors at work, such as those illustrated by Zazoff, in which an artist is shown working on a sculpture or a portrait bust. The sculpture is clearly indicated in these examples through its positioning on a base or a small column and the sculptor holds one or both of the primary tools of his trade, a chisel and / or a hammer. On the Guernsey gem, neither a statue base nor a hammer or chisel is visible, but once more the larger figure shares a similar posture and appearance. It seems to me a plausible hypothesis that both this, and the earlier Prometheus type, might also depict sculptors at work. The torso on the early Republican examples sometimes rests on a support, which could be part of the framework for a clay model. The staff held by the Prometheus figure on such gems could also represent part of the technical process of working in clay to create a sculptural model. The glass gem from Guernsey lacks E. Zwierlien Diehl, Die Antiken Gemmen des Kunsthistorischen Museums in Wien, vol. 1 (Munich 1973), Taf. 9, nos 100 and 101.  P. Zazoff, Die Antiken Gemmen (Munich 1983), Plate 87, figs 13 & 14. 

Figure 1. Glass intaglio depicting Prometheus, or a sculptor (photo: Institute of Archaeology, Oxford 67

Art, Religion and Society bottom right corner of the stone is damaged but the image is very similar to that on another red jasper intaglio, from Silchester. Combination gems featuring Silenus masks or heads have a long tradition in the ancient world. The origin of such combinations, in particular, may lie in representations of actors wearing masks either on the top or back of their heads. Silenus and his sons, the satyrs, were stock characters in Greek comic drama but masks also appear to have been worn in Dionysiac rituals. The integration of a number of heads, most usually three, into a single artistic unit offered an opportunity for the glyptic artist to demonstrate his technical mastery. The viewer was presented with an image that could be read differently, depending on the angle from which it was looked at. It is possible that such images could have been attributed with special powers, perhaps an amuletic or protective function.

Figure 2. Red jasper intaglio depicting a Gryllos (photo: Institute of Archaeology, Oxford) these features, but the thin undulating line in front of the figure might provide a guide as to the interpretation of the image. In order to transfer measurements in proportion from a clay model to a sculpture in stone, Greek and Roman sculptors appear to have used a plumb line (a narrow cord with a weight on the end) as a basis for their calculations. A gem in the Gotha collection depicts a bearded man leaning towards a smaller figure shown kneeling on a column base. The man holds a little rod in his left hand and the undulating cord, which hangs from this, is steadied by his lower right hand. At the bottom of the cord is a weight, and a similar cord is also shown slung over his shoulder. This image is most likely a depiction of a sculptor using a plumb line to take measurements from a clay model. It is highly probable therefore that the Guernsey gem’s subject is also a sculptor taking such measurements. This interpretation seems further supported by the apparent contrapposto stance of the smaller figure, an archetypal sculptural pose. The nudity of the figures would also thus be explained in terms of the artistic context and the interest of classical sculpture in the naturalistic depiction of the human anatomy. This subject is most likely to have appealed to a sculptor as a signet image, but it is possible that he might still have understood the image as representing Prometheus, being the archetypal sculptor of mankind.

The image can be seen quite simply as an invocation of rural prosperity. Silenus is associated with the pastoral world; the ‘corn-ears’ may signify agricultural abundance, and the boar’s head, rich hunting. Sacro-idyllic scenes are well represented in glyptic art and usually have a strong Bacchic overtone. This is an attractive perspective from which to study this stone and the third bearded head would be understood accordingly as an elder satyr or even Dionysus himself. From the Hellenistic period onwards, however, both these figure types are usually represented as youthful and clean-shaven; but one may compare this gem with a cornelian in the Getty collection which depicts a combination of three satyr heads, one of which is clean shaven and the other two bearded. There is, however, another way of approaching this gem, and that is to see it as having a narrative content. A Hellenistic garnet in the Ashmolean Museum might provide a model for interpretation. The image on this gem is usually described as representing a naked young man with a bunch of grapes wearing a Silenus mask backwards. A closer inspection of the image results in a different reading, namely Hercules facing left, leaning on his club (the ‘bunch of grapes’), conflated with Atlas facing right who is about to cut down the apples of the Hesperides from a tree guarded by a serpent. This combining of images enables a complex narrative to be constructed on a very small surface area. It is possible that the grylloi from Guernsey and Silchester could also be understood in this way.

The second intaglio (Fig. 2) is engraved on a Red Jasper, measuring 15.5mm by 11.35mm (Shape F1), probably dating from the late 2nd or early 3rd century AD. It portrays (gem described) what is generally called a combination or gryllos consisting of the head of Silenus facing right, conjoined with the head of a boar facing left. The Silenus head has a ribbon tied around it with a distinctive bow on the forehead. Above the boar’s head are two objects, which could be two ears of corn, feathers or even palm leaves. Silenus’ beard forms the hair of a third head, another bearded male who faces downwards. The brow of the boar’s head and the bald dome of Silenus might also be understood as representing an eagle’s head. The 

It is arguable that this particular image includes a narrative element, namely the story of the Erymanthian boar. On M. Henig, A Corpus of Roman Engraved Gemstones from British Sites BAR Brit.ser.8 (2nd edition Oxford 1978), no. 377.  R.R.R.Smith, Hellenistic Sculpture (London 1991), p. 127.  J. Spier, Ancient Gems and Finger Rings: Catalogue of the Collections, The J. Paul Getty Museum (Malibu 1992), no. 205.  J. Boardman and M.-L. Vollenweider, Catalogue of Engraved Gems and Finger Rings in the Ashmolean Museum – 1. Greek and Etruscan (Oxford 1978), no. 346. 

C. Bluemel, Greek Sculptors at Work (London 1955), p. 28.

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Tristan Arnison : Two intaglios from St Peter Port, Guernsey such a reading, one would interpret the bearded head facing downwards as a representation of Hercules who seems a likely candidate anyway on iconographic grounds. If one examines the gem from Silchester, one can see that the beard of Silenus is folded back in such a way as to suggest a lion’s head cloak. The Silenus head would thus not only be a reference to Hercules’ love of wine, but also his encounter with and accidental killing of Silenus’ son, the centaur Pholus, with poisoned arrows (the ‘feathers’) while engaged on this quest. The trigger for this unhappy event was the drinking by Hercules of the Centaurs’ wine, left with Pholus by Dionysus. The boar and Silenus could also be viewed as symbolically representing Hercules’ dualistic nature. The Greek dramatic tradition reflects this, Sophocles portraying him as a tragic hero and Aristophanes as a drunken buffoon.

Both intaglios are thus of considerable interest in showing how sophisticated Graeco-Roman culture could find root even in outlying corners of the Roman Empire. These gems form a small but valuable appendage to Guiraud’s valuable study of gems from the rest of Gaul. Acknowledgements Philip de Jersey and the Oxford Institute of Archaeology provided access to the gems, and Robert Wilkins FSA kindly supplied me with the photographs. I would especially like to thank Martin Henig for the opportunity to publish this note and for his unfailing encouragement, good humour and support.



H. Guiraud, Intailles et camées de l’époque romaine en Gaule (Territoire français) Gallia Supp. 48 (Paris 1988).

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Votive Leaf or Feather Plaques from Roman Britain Belinda Crerar

Abstract As offerings of moderate value the metal votive ‘leaf or feather’ plaques discovered in Britain, and dating from the Roman occupation, allow us the opportunity to explore the religious predilections of the average Romano-British worshipper. Outside the orthodoxy of spiritual leaders and state religion, these plaques are here used to examine how the common citizens conducted their worship and perceived their gods, both local Celtic deities and those imported from Rome. Further complexity arises through the existence of the Christian Water Newton plaques; a physical manifestation of the friction in fourth century Christianity between a true adherence to scriptural teachings and a commitment to old pagan superstitions.

and the degree to which it was coloured by the tenacity of pagan ritual. PROVENANCE Stony Stratford in Buckinghamshire is situated about halfway between Towcester and Fenny Stratford, along what was formerly Watling Street, the main Roman road connecting Dover to Wroxeter. There is, as yet, no evidence for there having been a settlement during the Roman period in this area although it lay on a major military route across Britain and was a key crossing point of the river Ouse. Therefore it may have been the case that some kind of community offering facilities to travellers and perhaps passing legions would have sprung up around it. The Stony Stratford hoard itself was discovered at Windmill Field in 1789 and consists of around fifty fragments of plaques which had been placed inside an urn before burial. Six of the plaques bear figural decoration.

INTRODUCTION This study is concerned with a category of votive plaques cut out of a thin sheet of metal and further defined by their repoussé pattern-work which typically resembles the veins of a leaf or barbs of a feather. Many of these plaques additionally display the image of a pagan deity within a shrine or an inscription dedicating the plaque to a particular god or goddess. Once thought by scholars to be ornamentation for priestly crowns it is now almost unanimously agreed that they were in fact offerings presented to the gods by grateful worshippers and as such, they allow us to gain an intriguing insight into the manner of votive worship practised by the people of the Roman Empire. Furthermore, the discovery of the Water Newton hoard in the mid-1970s has brought with it illuminating evidence for the state of fourth century Christianity in Britain by revealing the almost unadulterated adoption of a typically pagan practice by the adherents of a faith supposedly opposed to all aspects of pagan theology. While the plaques themselves raise all manner of questions concerning the symbolism of their idiosyncratic design, their manufacture and the method of their dedication, the comparison between the pagan plaques from Stony Stratford and Barkway and their Christian counterparts from Water Newton cannot help but open up a wider debate on the nature of Christianity in Late Roman Britain 

The Barkway plaques were uncovered around 1743, along with a number of other silver and bronze objects, during digging in a chalk pit in Rookery Wood which is located between the town of Barkway and Ermine Street, in Hertfordshire. They were bequeathed to the British Museum by Lord Selsey in 1817. Unfortunately, little more is known about the acquisition of either the Barkway or the Stony Stratford pieces. The Water Newton hoard was discovered within the site of the Roman town of Durobrivae, which lies between Stamford and Peterborough on the south bank of the river Nene in Huntingdonshire. The ancient town was originally built as a fort to defend a bridge over the river, but in the First Century AD it rapidly grew in size and population to become a rich and important regional capital. The hoard was unearthed by the amateur treasure hunter A. J. Holmes in February 1975, declared Treasure Trove by a coroner’s jury on 10th September of the same year and was subsequently acquired by the British Museum. However, in the absence of a proper archaeological excavation, the nature of its context is unknown, although all the pieces were clearly part of the same deposit on account of their

Layard (1925)



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Wacher (1974), 408-409

Art, Religion and Society arrangement within the pit. Along with the plaques, eight silver vessels and a strainer were also removed from the ground. The entire hoard is presently on display in the Weston Gallery of Roman Britain in the British Museum, as are the plaques from Stony Stratford and Barkway. THE PLAQUES Of the numerous votive plaques discovered at Barkway, Stony Stratford and Water Newton, the following four have been selected as the focus for this paper because each of them sheds light on different aspects of their production and their role in the religious culture of Britain in the four centuries of Roman rule. The Mars and Victory plaque from Stony Stratford and the Vulcan plaque from Barkway are examples of the standard figural work to be found on this type of votive plaque and, therefore, may prove revealing when investigating the methods used in manufacture, as well as the symbolism behind their iconography. The Mars Toutates plaque, also from Barkway, represents an anomaly on account of its significant size in comparison to all the other plaques which have been found in both Britain and the rest of the Empire. Hence it is a useful starting point for investigating the wide variety of different forms to be found within this specific category of votive object. It also bears an inscription which is generally representative of the kind found on these plaques and can tell us something about who dedicated such gifts and their reasons for doing so. Finally, the Anicilla plaque is the most conspicuously incongruous of those from the Water Newton hoard in its expression of pagan theological concepts directed towards the Christian God. This hybrid and confused faith is unequivocally highlighted by its intriguing inscription.

Figure 1. The apex of the cornice has been lost. Mars stands with his torso and left leg frontal and his right leg and head in profile, looking towards his right. He wears a crested helmet, cuirass, short chiton and caligae. In his left hand he grasps a shield, rendered in an undulating curve to give the impression of a pronounced central blazon, the base of which rests at his left foot. Mars stands on a false floor, extending only so far as the end of the spear on the left and his left foot on the right, and is placed at a lower level than the bases of the columns as well as the false platform on which Victory stands. This creates the impression that he is in the foreground, with the two shrines and the figure of Victory behind him, thus presenting him as the dominant figure in the composition. However, closer inspection reveals that Mars is required to stand ‘outside’ the shrine in order to avoid the tip of his spear overlapping with the cornice. The right hand shrine contains the image of a winged female goddess, presumably Victory on account of her juxtaposition with Mars. Here the plaque has suffered damage and consequently the right hand column, as well as the head and the arms of the deity, have been lost. Victory wears a girt chiton and is bare footed. Her raised ankles and the direction of the folds in her drapery reveal that she is moving towards the right, but her toes remain on the ground implying running, not flying. She carries a palm branch over her shoulder, possibly in her left hand in a similar pose to the Victory on a votive plaque from Heddernheim dedicated to Jupiter Dolichenus. Like Mars, she also stands on a false floor represented by a single line, but this time placed on the same level as the column bases.

The weights for each of the five pieces have been given for the sake of consistency although they are only of any real use in the cases of the Mars Toutates and the Vulcan plaques from the Barkway hoard: the others are of such a fragmentary nature that their weights tell us little about their metrology. Mars and Victory Plaque – Stony Stratford hoard Dimensions: 87.5 x 73.0mm Weight: 5.3g No inscription Description: This plaque is of an extremely fragmentary nature but, fortunately, enough of the figural decoration has survived to give us some idea of its original composition. Two gabled shrines are visible. Within the right hand shrine stands the image of Mars. Both columns with decorative bases and capitals have been preserved, as has most of the cornice, all of which are decorated with cable mouldings. 

That the remainder of the plaque bore leaf ornamentation can be inferred from the remains of such visible above the central column between the gabled roofs of the two shrines.

C.P.S (1921), no. 239, fig. 76.



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C.S.P (1921), no. 226, fig. 65.

Belinda Crerar : Votive Leaves from Roman Britain Vulcan – Barkway hoard Dimensions: 168.0mm x 84.0mm Weight: 13.5g

spine with oblique veining, which terminates in a fanned finial and to either side of this is a pair of ornamental incised volutes. Towards the apex is a hole, intentionally punched from front to back, probably for affixing the plaque to a wall or some other kind of backing for display.

Inscription: NV V L CO, Nu(mini) V(o)lc(an)o) ‘To the deity Volcanus’

Mars Toutates – Barkway Dimensions: 512.5mm x 256.0mm Weight: 282g

Description: This is one of the better preserved plaques with damage only to the extreme lower edge. The lower half of the plaque is occupied by a gabled shrine, fashioned from a simple cornice supported by two twisted columns with moulded bases and plain, rectangular capitals. Above the columns and at the apex of the cornice are swirls resembling question-marks which Figure 2. may perhaps represent acanthus plants, combined with short dashes which extend along the upper side of the roof. From the top and bottom of each column protrude large leaves at oblique angles, possibly intended to be laurels judging by their design. Within the shrine stands Vulcan with his weight on his right leg and his left leg bent in the classical pose. His head and left arm are in profile and facing towards the right while his torso and right leg are frontal. The left leg is represented in a three-quarter view. The god wears a pointed cap, short mantle fastened on the left shoulder, short chiton and boots. In his right hand he holds a pair of tongs and in his left a hammer, while an unidentified object hangs from his left wrist, possibly a cloth of some kind. By his right foot stands a small square object crossed diagonally which has been identified in the C.S.P. 1921 no. 235 as an “anvil, on which is an S-shaped object.” An alternative explanation may be that the ‘S-shaped object’ is a flame thus identifying the ‘anvil’ as a furnace for metal working. However, the anvil is the more common attribute of this particular god.

Inscription: Marti| Toutati| Ti(berius) Claudius Primus| Attii liber(tus)| v(otum) s(olvit) l(ibens) m(erito) ‘To Mars Toutates, Tiberius Claudius Primus, freeman of Attius, willingly and deservedly fulfilled his vow’ Description: This is by far the largest known votive plaque, not only from Britain, but from anywhere in the Empire, and it is relatively well preserved. It assumes the shape of a broad leaf, tapering towards a point which culminates in a triple finial, the central point being lozenge-shaped and the surrounding two curving outwards. The right hand extension is damaged. A thick, central vein runs the length of the plaque with incised veins radiating from it at oblique angles. It bears no figure decoration Figure 3. but towards the lower end is a reserved ansate panel which bears the inscription, written in uneven, perforated letters. The plaque has been broken in half, about two-thirds along its length, and an attempt at repair has been made by boring four holes along each edge of the break, presumably in order to attach both halves to a backing. However, since the break is not shown in the early illustrations of the piece it must have presumably been sustained after discovery.

Below the shrine is a rectangular panel bearing the inscription, roughly incised. The left and right hand sides of the shrine, within the boundaries set by the giant leaves which extend to the edges of the plaque, are filled with a dotted lattice design. From the top of the shrine extends an elongated

 

RIB I, no. 220.



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RIB I, no. 219. Lysons (1813-17), vol. ii, pl. XL.

Art, Religion and Society Anicilla plaque – Water Newton Dimensions: 100.0mm x 87.0mm Weight: 11.3g

of the omega are, therefore, most likely an error on the part of the smith due to the plaque having been embossed from the reverse side. Similarly, in the inscription, the ‘Q’ of quod and the ‘N’ of conplevit have also been reversed, most probably for the same reason. Hints of veining can be seen extending at oblique angles from the lower line of text and continuing on either side of the roundel. A 1mm hole has been intentionally pierced from the front, directly between the text and the top of the rho, presumably for attachment.

Inscription: Anicilla (Amcilla) votum quo(d)| promisit conplevit ‘Anicilla has discharged the vow which she has promised’

COMPARISON AND CONTEXT Design The simplest examples among this class of votive plaques, both of those found in Britain and elsewhere in the Empire, follow a common design template: usually triangular in shape, the majority of the plaque is decorated with parallel repoussé lines and radiating at oblique angles from a central vein which extends the length of the plaque. On the more elaborate examples, however, one frequently finds this patterning modified in order to accommodate multiple tiered finials and other decorative devices, but it is never entirely abandoned. In some cases a central panel towards the wider end of a plaque is occupied by figure decoration, in all cases of a deity or deities, usually standing within a gabled shrine although simple rectangular frames are also found.10 They are fashioned from thin sheets of metal, ranging in value from bronze through to gold, and are occasionally either partly or entirely gilded.

Figure 4. Description: This plaque is highly fragmentary, leaving the lower half is wanting. It takes the shape of an inverted triangle and the inscription is embossed in two lines of text along the inside of the top edge, contained within three horizontal lines of ribbing. The personal name at the beginning of the first line has been variously read as Iamcilla, Anicilla and Amcilla depending on whether one sees the remains of an ‘I’ on the left hand side or reads the ‘M’ as an ‘NI’ conjoined. Below the inscription is a roundel measuring 55.5mm in diameter which encircles an embossed monogram. This consists of a lower case, inverted omega, a chi-rho and the edge of an upper case alpha which is partially visible despite the right hand side of the plaque being lost. This is a common Christian monogram, consisting of the first two letters of Christ’s name in Greek positioned between the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet, and appears frequently in Christian iconography since it was employed as a representation of Christ in place of an actual physical image, which was not supposed to be produced for fear of idolatry (although, some possible exceptions are known, most obviously the mosaic from Hinton St. Mary). However, the Anicilla plaque is odd in some respects since, in other examples of this monogram, including those found on many of the other plaques from the Water Newton hoard, it is more usual to find the alpha preceding the omega. The reversal of the Greek lettering in this case, as well as the inversion  

Examination of the plaques suggests that the central figure scenes, when they occur, were usually die cast. Individual examples such as a bronze plaque from the temple site at Woodeaton on which an elementary male figure, possibly Mars, has been drawn using punched dots,11 show that other techniques were employed, but these cases are rare in comparison. The first indication of the use of dies comes from the recurrence of identical images found on more than one plaque within a single hoard, a good example of this being the image of Mars on three of the plaques found at Stony Stratford (pl. 1). In each case Mars stands in an identical pose, for an account of which the reader is referred above to the description of the Mars and Victory plaque. From the bottom of the platform to the tip of the helmet’s crest all three figures measure a height of 54mm (it should be noted that the tip of the helmet on pl. Ib is missing but it can be safely assumed that it is of the same style as the other two). It is most unlikely that any craftsman took pains to replicate the same image with precisely the same proportions and details by hand, especially considering the intricacy of the design, and consequently it seems clear that these figures must have been cast from one single die. Certain discrepancies do exist such as the double waist band

RIB II, fasc. 3, no. 2431.1. Exodus 32.1; Deuteronomy 4.16.

10 11

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For example: C.S.P. (1921), no. 233, fig. 70. Kirk (1949), 43, D4, fig. 9.3.

Belinda Crerar : Votive Leaves from Roman Britain on pl. Ib compared to the single band on both pl. Ia and Ic but these inconsistencies would appear to be far too minor to suggest individual craftsmanship and can only be the result of damage to the plaque which has caused the image to distort. However, when one looks beyond the individual facsimiles of Mars and studies the surrounding die cast composition on each of these three plaques one begins to notice larger discrepancies which are too conspicuous to be explained merely by poor preservation. The most immediately obvious of these is that, while the figures of Mars on pls. Ia and Ib are sheltered by their own private gables (which appear to be quite similar and were probably produced by the same die), on pl. Ic Mars is housed within a double shrine which he shares with the goddess Victory. This double shrine also varies in other respects when compared to the single ones, particularly concerning the decoration on the column bases: around those shown on pl. Ia and Ib there are three horizontal bands while pl. Ic only has two. This then suggests that the whole scene, figure plus shrine, was not created using one all-inclusive die, but rather a selection of dies from which each composition was gradually built up.

similarities between the images of the gods even when it is apparent that they did not result from the use of the same die, for example, between the rendering of Mars on the Barkway and other Stony Stratford plaques or the images of Jupiter Dolichenus from Heddernheim,15 suggesting that they all drew on the same iconic source which resulted in a conformity of pose. Martin Henig disputes this, believing instead that they are, “no earthbound buildings and the images they contain are not simply miniature images of such and such a famous statue. Rather the shrines are houses for the gods reigning in majesty”.16 However, regardless of the actual source of the images, it is well attested that, to the ancient worshipper, images of the gods became conflated with the gods themselves. Thus, if they were indeed based on known and recognisable cult statues, these statues would nonetheless have been understood to possess something of the essence of the deity which they portrayed and therefore, any depiction of them was equally a depiction of the deity. Apart from the two-dimensional aedicula shrines, threedimensional shrines, known as naiskoi, containing miniature images of the gods are also known such as one from Thessaly made of gold and housing an image of Dionysus17 and, most famously, those of Ephesian Artemis recorded in the New Testament, made by Demetrius the silversmith.18 Furthermore, small lead aedicula shrines containing images of Minerva,19 or more commonly Venus,20 have come to light, while some of the pipe-clay figurines of Venus imported to Britain from the Allier district of Gaul may have been housed in such naiskoi.21

Thus the same figure of Mars can appear within different surroundings, depending on the variety of dies used to create them. Other examples of this exist such as the two plaques dedicated to Vulcan at Barkway (pl. II). The two images of Vulcan are rendered with the same proportions and attributes, except for the anvil to the left of the gods’ feet which is noticeably different in each case. Hence, one die for Vulcan, two different dies for the anvil. Additionally, in his description of the recent hoard of plaques and other votive objects from the Baldock area, Hertfordshire, Ralph Jackson seems assured that the same die has been used on at least two of the plaques in order to create the gabled shrines.12

Are we then to see our metal plaques as two-dimensional imitations of these miniature shrines? It seems unfair that we should relegate them to this inferior position. The image of a god is the obvious choice for religious art and it is not surprising that an architectural feature should be employed as a framing device. Indeed, this formula can be found in the art of numerous religions, both ancient and modern. An example of this comes from the terra-cotta moulded plaques discovered in the Dhamatha cave in Burma, dating to the 19th century and depicting the Gautama Buddha framed within an aedicula shrine and, similarly, architectural frames feature heavily in medieval Christian art. A trip to the Medieval Gallery of the British Museum will present the visitor with an array of Biblical scenes and figures ‘reigning in majesty’ in such surroundings, and at the other end of the scale there is even a website instructing Christian children how to make such shrines out of lollipop

Here seems to be an appropriate place to discuss the iconographic significance of a god positioned within an aedicula shrine, which is not only found repeated on the majority of the illustrated plaques, but also appears on many other different kinds of votive objects. The composition is neither unique to this style of votive plaque, nor to votive offerings in general, but is also found on many personal objects such as intaglios and finger rings.13 Like the silver plaques, the figure work on most of these consists of a single deity framed within a gabled shrine and, also sharing the format of the plaques, where more than one deity is present, they are usually divided into their own individual shrines.14 The positioning of the god within an architectural feature may suggest that it was intended to represent not the living god itself but the cult statue of the god which would have traditionally stood inside the temple at the western end of the cella. This is supported by the

Toynbee (1978), figs 2.1, 3.1 & 3.2. Henig (1990), 158. 17 Amandry (1953), cat. 232, figs 51-52, pl. XXXV. 18 Acts 19.23-39. 19 Henig (1990), 152, fig. 11.1. 20 For example: Henig (1990), 160, fig. 11.13. 21 Rouvier-Jeanlin (1972), cat. 225-249; Henig (1990), 159, fig. 11.11. 15 16

12 Department for Culture, Media and Sport: Treasure Annual Report 2002, p. 41, nos 21 and 23. 13 See examples in Henig (1990). 14 Toynbee (1962), fig. 70, cat. 68.

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Art, Religion and Society sticks for their religious picture cards!22 The fact that this formula occurs on all types of religious objects in all kinds of religions, and ranges from the deluxe to the hand-made should make us wary of considering the cheaper versions as conscious imitations of the more expensive, rather than merely an alternative. It seems likely that the godin-aedicula-shrine composition was simply a recognised religious concept which was, and still is, employed by producers of religious objects to adorn all kinds of votive or ceremonial items whether two-dimensional or three, elaborate or crude.

frills merely represent a desire to offer to the gods a votive of greater craftsmanship and intricacy, perhaps in a further attempt to disguise the true monetary worth of the gift. Secondly, the laurel was the emblem of Apollo and on one plaque in particular, namely the Vulcan plaque from Barkway (Fig. 2), the leaves (and they clearly are leaves rather than feathers) protruding from the corners of the alcove are reminiscent of those of the laurel, perhaps intended to compliment a larger laurel on which they were to be depicted. However, most scholars who interpret the plaques to be leaves identify them as palms, the symbol of victory in paganism as well as in Christianity,25 and in the latter, also of righteousness26 and martyrdom.27 This would also allow for the smooth translation of the plaques into Christianity and suits their function as offerings in thanks for a divinely aided victory in some or other enterprise. Furthermore, Noll draws attention to a number of references in Apuleius concerning the use of palms in the eastern cult of Isis, including one mention of a palm-tree with golden leaves,28 and goes on to suggest that the palm imagery of the plaques originated in the east. Certainly eastern examples from Galatia are known such as the hoard found at Maur on the river Url, now in the Museum at Vienna, but the uncertainty surrounding specific dates for the plaques makes it difficult to map any geographical chronology of their use which might potentially allow us to trace their passage from east to west, or not as the case may be. However, an eastern connection would be appropriate for their adoption by Christianity since Jesus was received in Jerusalem to the waving of palm branches.29 Nevertheless, the distinctive appearance of actual palm leaves may be put forward as an argument against this theory for the simple fact that, even allowing for their highly abstracted and generalised form, they do not look anything like palms. Furthermore, the smith who produced the Mars and Victory plaque from Stony Stratford was clearly aware of how such palms should look as an accurately formed leaf can be seen protruding from behind the goddesses’ shoulder.

Finally, a comparison between the pagan plaques and their Christian equivalents from Water Newton should be made. As already mentioned, the pagan plaques could become extremely ornate in both shape and decoration, with one example from Barkway depicting Mars, framed within two concentric gabled shrines (possibly an attempt at perspective) and surrounded by an array of zig-zags, lozenges, finials and scrolls.23 By contrast, all of the Water Newton plaques seem to betray a conscious effort to tone down their ornamentation and even the larger plaques are limited to a strict triangular form, modest veining and a simple chi-rho. It is true that a restriction to the chi-rho motif on these plaques, in place of the elaborate figural scenes on their pagan counterparts, may have been due largely to a lack of repertoire among smiths unsure of appropriate Christian iconography, but this does not explain the modesty of the surrounding design, at which we know they were highly skilled. The circumstances by which the plaques were transferred from paganism into Christianity will be discussed later on, but here it is perhaps possible to see an acknowledgement of the theological disparities between Christianity and pagan religious beliefs: the comparative modesty of the Water Newton plaques may have been deemed more appropriate for such a “plain and simple religion”,24 quite in contrast to the pomp of traditional paganism. Leaves or Feathers?

The argument that they were intended to be feathers is weaker. Like leaves, birds enjoyed considerable veneration in paganism, and to a lesser extent, also in Christianity. Being intermediaries between earth and the heavens they could be used to convey messages between the two realms and augurs were employed upon the belief that the future could be foretold by the flight patterns of birds which were guided by gods eager to reveal their plans to the mortals concerned. Thus, it is possible that men believed their own requests or offerings of thanks to the divine could be relayed on the wing. Nevertheless, despite the prevalent belief that a model object offered to the gods took on the form of whatever it was supposed

One intriguing feature of these plaques, worthy of consideration, is whether they were intended to represent leaves or feathers. The stylised and abstract depiction of the veins makes distinguishing between the two options difficult and both equally carry immense symbolic weight in paganism as well as in Christianity. Concerning the iconography of leaves, the oak was traditionally the badge of rulers and the symbol of Jupiter, and the rolling finials of the more elaborate pieces could possibly have been intended to mimic the undulations of its leaves. Possibly, but not likely since such finials on the plaques do not always take this form (see the Mars Toutates plaque, for example) and it is more probable that these decorative

Origen Commentry on John 21. Psalms 92:12. 27 Revelation 7:9-17. 28 Apuleius, Metamorphoses XI.10, XI.24. 29 John 12:12-13. 25 26

http://www.domestic-church.com/CONTENT.DCC/19980301/FRIDG E/SHRINES.HTM. 23 Lysons (1813-17), vol. ii, pl. XLI, fig. 1. 24 Ammianus Marcellinus, Res Gestae xxi.16. 22

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Belinda Crerar : Votive Leaves from Roman Britain to represent, accounting for the multitude of miniature model weapons, pots and tools found at sanctuary sites, there are as yet no known examples where one component part can definitely be said to represent a whole, such as a feather representing a whole bird. Furthermore, although frequently pagan deities had associate birds (the most well known being the eagle of Jupiter and the owl of Minerva) in Christianity the link is not so defined. The dove was indeed symbolic of peace and the Holy Spirit, which took its form at the baptism of Christ,30 but it still remains a less prominent Christian symbol than, perhaps, the fish (the Greek for which being an acronym for Christ the Saviour), or indeed the palm, which we might expect to have been the more obvious choice as an emblem for use in votive worship.

same way that Crown Gold was merely an ostentatious way of paying financial tributes to the emperor. This is, of course, largely speculative but, nevertheless, Crown Gold demonstrates how metal leaves were recognised as a standard symbol of financial wealth offered as a sign of gratitude or of victory. Furthermore, as the Count’s title suggests, they were associated with the divine aspects of the emperor thus potentially facilitating their translation into religious ritual. However, there is another interpretation which also provides a plausible explanation for both the plaques’ abstract patterning and their use in Christianity as well as in paganism, and for which I am grateful to Ralph Jackson. However, before this theory can be expounded, a brief digression on the dating of the plaques is necessary.

The presence of leaves incorporated within the designs on certain examples, such as the Vulcan plaque mentioned above and the palm carried by victory on the Mars and Victory plaque from Stony Stratford, indicate that their religious significance was already associated with votive worship, and what is more, already associated with these metal plaques. Furthermore, there is a possibility that the tradition of giving a leaf made from precious metal (one must remember that, when new, the polished bronze plaques would have resembled solid gold, as would the gilded plaques) originated from the aurum coronarium, the Crown Gold, which was paid to the emperor in the form of wreaths customarily fashioned from gold or silver leaves. Once received, the emperor would melt down the wreaths and use the precious metal for other purposes. Crown Gold was officially presented as a gift to the emperor as a mark of gratitude for his service to the city (albeit a ‘gift’ that the people were obliged to give), and hence it is possible to see here a parallel with the manner in which the plaques were offered to the gods. Illustrations of such leaves made from gold and silver appear in the Notitia Dignitatum relating to the duties of the comites sacrarum largitionum, the Count of the Sacred Largess, and may represent Crown Gold, although Berger identifies them as the imperial gifts of metal palm-leaves which were awarded as prizes, especially to athletes.31

The scale and rudimentary nature of the decorative images on the plaques makes establishing a relative chronology based on artistic developments problematic and the lack of knowledge, in most cases, concerning the context of their discovery further hinders any attempt at doing so. Odd clues which point towards more specific dates can be gained in certain cases, such as the probability that those plaques discovered at Woodeaton date from the beginning of the fourth century since it was at this time that the shrine was flourishing. Also, those dedicated to Jupiter Dolichenus are most likely to be from the Severan period, when the cult reached its apogee. Apart from these, and a few other cases where coins or other datable artefacts found along with the plaques can hint at relative dates, assigning dates to the plaques remains purely conjectural. However, it can be reasonably assumed that the pagan examples were a recognised form of votive dedication throughout the second, third and into the fourth centuries BC and the Christian plaques continued the tradition in the fourth century. However, opinions are divided as to precisely when during this hundred year span the Christian symbols began to appear. Kenneth Painter argues that the silver jug from Water Newton, which he believes to be the earliest item from the hoard, is itself an early version of a style more commonly seen in the fifth–seventh centuries thus is more likely to date from the late rather than the early fourth century,32 while Toynbee prefers an earlier date some time after the Edict of Milan in AD 313.33

This parallel between Crown Gold and votive plaques may be extended even further. Personal communication with both Ralph Jackson and Richard Hobbs has presented the theory that the precious metal from which the plaques were made came from recycled coins, supplied by the customers themselves. The customer would give to the smith a gold, silver or bronze coin, depending on what he could afford, and this would then be hammered out by the smith and converted into the plaque. If this was indeed the case (and it is certainly offers a plausible source for the precious metals being used by these local British craftsmen), then these metal leaves could even be seen simply as an flamboyant method of offering financial wealth to the gods, in just the 30 31

In any case, what little can be surmised about the relative dates of these pieces points to a long history of use in votive worship. Consequently, while it may be the case that the earliest examples of these plaques were created as more valuable substitutes for symbolic but secularly worthless objects such as actual leaves or feathers, or as small-scale imitations of more majestic honoraria such as the aurum coronarium, over time they became recognised in their own right as a standard format for votive offerings, and with this the original purpose of their design was forgotten or at least

Luke 3:22; Matthew 3:16; John 1:32, Mark 1:10. Berger (1981), 67-75, figs 15, 57.

32 33

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Painter (1999), 3. Toynbee (1978), 144.

ART, RELIGION AND SOCIETY became insignificant regarding their continued production. Indeed, Noll suspects that not even the smiths knew what they were making.34 Hence, if neither worshipper nor smith knew exactly what the plaques were supposed to represent, any restraint to modifying their shape or patterning would be removed. Therefore we find abstract interpretations which retain the sense of the original so far as the majority of the pattern work consists of parallel incised veins but, rather than adhering to a uniform oblique order, they spiral in compliance with ornate finials, or intersect one another at opposing angles. This manipulation of the original design also accounts for the elaborate shapes of some of the plaques mentioned above, as well as those which retain the vein patterning but on a rectangular background rather than the standard triangle.35

work of the same individual, if identified by the use of the same dies, has not yet turned up in separate hoards as one might expect if each man’s wares were being sold across a range of different shrines. There is no definite answer to this other than the plaques which have survived must make up only a fraction of those which were originally dedicated, especially since they may have become abhorrent to later Christians and many may have been melted down. An alternative theory would be that they were produced at the temple site itself since the discovery of off-cuts and a series of half finished bronze object confirm that metal work was taking place at the sanctuary at Woodeaton. Also at this site was discovered a plaque showing the image of an ithyphallic man, possibly Mars, rendered using punched dots.36 This was the same technique used for many of the inscriptions borne by such plaques, which must have been dictated by the customer since they frequently feature personal names and refer to private agreements made between the individual and the deity. Of those which feature in this report, perhaps the best example of such inscriptions comes from the Mars Toutates plaque from Barkway. The lettering has been achieved using this same punched dot technique, and names a certain freedman, Tiberius Claudius Primus, as the dedicator. The punch dot technique would have been easy to carry out without requiring a large array of tools and hence could be performed at the site of the shrine when the worshipper came to buy. Had these inscriptions been created in a workshop one might expect a more sophisticated technique to have been used and certainly the scrawl in which many of the inscriptions are written conflicts with the neat and careful decoration which surrounds them, suggesting that they were done with less care and were clearly freehand. An inscription on one particular plaque from Thistleton, Leistershire, has not only been written using punched dots but also overlaps the bottom border of the ansate plate reserved for it. This implies that the inscription was formulated after the rest of the plaque had been designed and completed, and regrettably the smith found that he had not left enough room for what his customer wanted to say.37 Thus, potentially, the punched-dot image of Mars could also have been created on the site of the sanctuary at Woodeaten, as may have been the small, non-illustrated, veined plaques, but it is not impossible that even the more elaborate examples did not have to be decorated in a workshop. Among the plaques discovered at Stony Stratford were many which simply bore a die cast aedicula shrine with no god yet within it.38 This seems to suggest that this craftsman, at least, brought with him to the shrine a series of plaques with the basic format already embossed on them, thus allowing his customers not only to dictate how the inscription was to read, but also which deity they wanted to stand within the shrine. The image of a deity may have been at extra cost to the buyer which is possibly

Production and Sale The use of the same dies betrays the work of the same die cutter, and probably also the same craftsman who may have been one and the same as the die cutter or, at least, working alongside him, within the same workshop. Furthermore, the recurrence of the same image on plaques from the same hoard, namely the Stony Stratford Mars and the Barkway Vulcan, indicates that worshippers at these shrines were purchasing their offerings from the same vendor. That such an industry existed within the Roman Empire is implied in Acts 19: 23-41 which speaks of a significant enough number of these craftsmen living in Ephesus to begin a riot against the teachings of the apostle Paul when he threatened their temple with closure. Furthermore, the ferocity of their reaction may well suggest that the manufacture of such votives formed the basis of their income. Consequently, it can be supposed that these vendors would have either owned workshops close by various shrines, from which passing travellers on pilgrimage could purchase their votives en route, or, more likely, that they transported pre-prepared plaques from his workshop to the shrine and sold them to visitors when they arrived. Most scholars agree that these votives were sold at the site of the shrine or temple itself and this has been seen as standard practice in the production and sale of all minor votive offerings. In financial terms, the latter method of retail would perhaps have been more profitable as every shrine would have its own certain festival days when its number of visitors, potentially looking to buy votives or souvenirs, would be highest. An itinerant craftsman would be able to move around the country, setting up his stall at the relevant shrine on the relevant festival day (having prepared in advance a number of plaques with depictions of the appropriate deity or deities to whom the specific festival was in honour), hereby maximising the number of customers he could expect and thus his sales. In opposition to this theory one might point out that the

Kirk (1949), 43, D4, fig. 9.3. RIB II, fasc. 3, no. 2431.3. 38 For examples see Lysons (1813-17), vol. ii, pl. XXXIX. 36

Noll (1950), 138. 35 See examples in Toynbee (1978). 34

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Belinda Crerar : Votive Leaves from Roman Britain why we find many plaques dedicated with their shrines still empty.

since its inscription reveals the name of the buyer; a certain Vatiaucus. However, if, as Green believes, some of the plaques were simply scrap material, this would verify that production was taking place, at least, within the country and possibly close to the shrine.43

This is, of course, purely speculative; we have no way of knowing for sure how the plaques were sold since the process has left little archaeological trace. However, some idea can be gleaned. For example mercury gilding required the plaque to be heated in a furnace in order to vaporise the mercury and leave a residue of gold on the surface and hence it would seem more likely that these plaques, at least, were forged in a smith’s workshop where these facilities would have been available.

Having discussed how the plaques were produced and sold, it would now be worthwhile turning to look at their inscriptions in order to ascertain what they can tell us about those who purchased them. Toynbee notes a large proportion of finds from military areas, particularly those from Germany and Austria, as well as the prominence of military deities named as recipients.44 However, the plaques from Britain do not seem to follow this pattern (with the possible exception of two dedicated to the Celtic martial god Cocidius, discovered in the Roman fort at Bewcastle). It is true that Mars is frequently invoked on the inscribed and figure decorated plaques but this should not be taken as evidence that these plaques were dedicated by soldiers since southern Britain, where most of the plaques have been found, was essentially at peace for the greater part of the Roman occupation. Hence the god’s role within the province would have been primarily in his guise as an agricultural deity, thus serving a far more pressing concern for the majority of the British population. Indeed, the god’s function in this capacity had long been recognised and Cato the Elder advises the farmers of the third and second centuries BC to pray to Mars Pater when purifying their land, since he had the power to vanquish disease from both their crops and their labourers.45 In addition to this, while Apollo may function as a martial deity when depicted with his bow, on a plaque from Stony Stratford he is shown holding a flower and lyre.46 As these attributes are hardly going to be much use in battle, his worship here may be on account of his powers to inflict and relieve plagues, particularly those affecting crops and livestock. Although the risks associated with a military career and the anxiety of being stationed in an unfamiliar land far from home may well have made soldiers more inclined to place their faith in the divine, the same could equally be said of merchants, and, with the exception of one plaque now in Berlin on which the dedicator has specifically recorded his status as a centurion,47 often there is no mention of military rank. Moreover, in the cases when the inscription reveals the donor of the plaques, more often than not names such as Vassinus and Vatiaucus imply that they were native Britons. Unfortunately, the inscriptions generally tell us nothing about the profession of the dedicator or for what purpose the votive was made. However, while surely some of these plaques were offered by those serving in the army there is no need to see them as specifically military votive offerings, and it seems safe to assume that they could

The generally accepted theory that some minor votive objects such as the pipe-clay statuettes of Venus uncovered at Godmanchester, among other places, were imported from the continent, coupled with the existence of similar metal votive plaques from Gaul, Heddernheim and Galatia, has led scholars such as Toynbee to suggest that the British plaques were themselves imports.39 However, there seems no reason to assume that this was the case and Henig points towards the fine native bronze figure-work which was being produced in Britain throughout the Roman occupation as evidence that British artistic competence was not wanting.40 Certainly the raw materials as well as the technical competence were available to the British craftsmen and, while Tacitus may have been exaggerating when he wrote in his Agricola of the island’s fabulous wealth,41 by the Flavian era Britain had become the largest exporter of lead and silver to the Empire and there was even a lone gold mine at Dolaucothi, south-west Wales. Furthermore, the process of mercury gilding had been adopted by the Britons very soon after the Roman conquest and their competence at the technique is displayed on a gilded silver trumpet brooch from Carmathen, agreed to be of British craftsmanship.42 Hence, not only were the means for producing votive plaques already available in Britain but also one suspects that, due to their extremely fragile nature, long distance transportation would have been hazardous and therefore undesirable. Furthermore, it has already been noted above that excavations at certain temple precincts have revealed evidence of metal working taking place in the vicinity, possibly for the production of minor votives. In addition to this, the discovery of five repoussé bronze plaques, balled up and deposited in an aqueduct, was made at Roman Godmanchester in 1971. Green notes the unfinished and fragmentary nature of some of these plaques and suggests that they might have been scrap metal or unsuccessful and discarded products from a smith’s workshop. One of the plaques, dedicated to the obscure Celtic deity, Abandinus, must surely have been in a suitable condition to be sold

Green (1986), fig. 10, Appendix II, 53. Toynbee (1978), 143. 45 Cato, De Agricultura 141. 46 C.P.S. (1921), no. 238, fig. 75. 47 Toynbee (1978), cat. 4. 43

Toynbee (1978), 143-144. 40 Henig (1995), 81-84, figs 35, 51 & 64. 41 Tacitus, Agricola 12. 42 Johns (1996), 162-3, fig. 7.9. 39

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Art, Religion and Society be dedicated by soldier, merchant or peasant, Roman or Briton; indeed anyone who could afford them.

this latter method of display was, in all probability, the most common. The alternatives may have been reserved for more expensive pieces which the dedicators or the priests wanted to exhibit conspicuously (although we must allow for the fact that, where plaques have been damaged, the hole for suspension or basal tab may have been lost). Furthermore, the metal leaves depicted in the illustrations of the Notitia Dignitatum are shown stacked up on top of one another perhaps indicating how such items were customarily arranged. There is simply no way, as yet, of knowing for sure how the plaques were displayed, but it is likely, judging by the variety of devices built into the plaques themselves presumably for this purpose, that a number of different methods were commonly employed.

Display After the plaques had been made and purchased, they were presumably then taken inside the shrine and displayed. Some, such as the Water Newton Anicilla plaque and many others from this hoard, bear small holes intentionally pierced, usually from front to back, implying that they were affixed with nails either to some kind of display board or to the wall of the shrine itself, although Painter believes that, in cases when the hole is centrally placed on the plaque, they were the result of a compass having been used to create the roundels or from pinning down the metal sheet during construction. However, he does also note that many of the Water Newton plaques were only polished on one side, indicating that the reverse would not have been seen: a fact that seems to support the theory that they were nailed to a backing of sorts. Interestingly, there does not seem to have been any protocol for the manner of display as such holes appear at the tapered end of some plaques and the wider end of others thus indicating that either way up was acceptable.

VOTIVE WORSHIP At this point it would be worth examining the nature of votive worship itself, along with the different forms dedications commonly took, in order to try to fit the plaques back into their religious context. One method of dedication was to give ex-voto­, that is, in fulfilment of a nuncupatio, a vow, originally pledged in anticipation of divine assistance.51 Many of the plaques have clearly been dedicated in this way, that is as solutiones, as is evident from their inscriptions which frequently include the phrase ‘votum solvit (laetus) libens merito’, more commonly abbreviated to ‘VS(L)LM’, which translates as ‘paid his vow (joyfully), freely and deservedly’,52 or more simply just ‘ex voto’, ‘in accordance with a vow’.53 Included in this category are the Mars Toutates plaque and one dedicated to Mars Altor54 (pl. 1b), both from Barkway. Curiously, the Anicilla plaque from Water Newton also falls into this category despite the idea of securing divine patronage through material wealth being apparently incongruous with Christian theology of divine grace. Although its inscription does not fit the typical pagan ‘VS(L)LM’ format described above, its similarity to other pagan inscriptions has been noted by Thomas in comparison with an example from Lydney Park, presenting evidence that the Christian plaques were dedication to Christ in precisely the same manner that the pagan plaques were dedicated to pagan gods and that the adoption of the plaques by the Christian community was merely a continuation of a traditional religious practice.55 These ideas will be discussed in more depth below. One can imagine that giving ex-voto would have been a common way in which such oblations, offerings, were

So what of those which lack these boreholes? The Mars Toutates plaque from Barkway is an example of the type which bears a small basal tab. These could take the form of either, as in this case, a small triangular point, or a trapezium-shaped foot, as displayed by a plaque of this type from Moorgate Street, London.48 Jackson has suggested, in personal communication, that these may have been in order that the plaques could be slotted in to a holder specially designed for this purpose and we may, in fact, be lucky enough to have such holders surviving. Two curious silver bosses from the Temple of Sulis Minerva at Bath have been temtatively identified by Henig as being made for this purpose, although, he admits that they might also have been attachments for crests on military helmets. The two finds have rivet holes either side of a raised central slit, into which the leaf would presumably be inserted, possibly with the added effect that a slight breeze would cause them to sway like the leaves (or feathers) which they were supposed to represent.49 Of the many which have neither a foot nor a nail hole, the most probable explanation seems to be that they were simply laid on a table or altar, probably in some kind of ceremonial dish. Similarly, an altar discovered at the sanctuary of Mercury at Uley displays carved leaves around its base, possibly illustrating a custom of placing such leaves at the foot of an altar or cult image.50

51 Although technically the term ‘votive’ only refers to this kind of offering, made in fulfilment of a vow, in the following section of this paper the word will be used indiscriminately as a convenient term for any offering dedicated to the divine. 52 Translation: Hassall (1980); for examples: ‘Roman Britain in 1973’ Britannia 5 (1974) 462-3, no. 9; C.P.S. (1921), no. 230, 231. 53 Translation: Hassall (1980); RIB I, nos 458, 584, 888, 2157. 54 RIB I, no. 218. 55 Thomas (1981), 117.

The majority of plaques which have been discovered in both Britain and elsewhere in the Empire seem to fit this last category and hence, it can be deduced that Toynbee (1978), fig. 1. Cunliffe (1988), cat.7-8, figs 4, 7-8. 50 Henig (1993), cat.73, pl. 21. 48 49

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Belinda Crerar : Votive Leaves from Roman Britain made, although for many of the votive objects discovered there is no way of telling if an initial nuncupatio existed, and even less what it might have been. However, some do survive such as that of a certain Antonianus on an inscription discovered in a shrine at the auxiliary fort of Maryport. The text is a verse celebrating the dedication of the shrine by Antonianus to the Tres Matres, and he concludes his poem with a vow to embellish its words with golden letters if a certain unspecified venture is successful.56

the Empire and its sovereign in the coming year. While these vows were being renewed, those sacrifices which had been pledged twelve months earlier would have been performed ex voto thus ensuring a continual cycle of divine protection. Since we have examined the objective behind the production and employment of votive offerings it would, therefore, be worth considering the different forms which such votives took, particularly those discovered in Roman Britain, in order to ascertain the status and relative worth of the metal plaques in comparison with alternative oblationes.

Offerings could also be given after divine favours had been received but without a previous vow having been pledged. Indeed, one was expected to show one’s gratitude for unprecedented acts of divine amity if only to ensure such benevolence in the future; gratitude which was frequently expressed by setting up an altar and hence, it may be inferred, performing sacrifices to the divinity in question. Such an altar has been uncovered at Bollihope Common in Stanhope and was dedicated to Silvanus, the Roman god of forests and the wild, by an officer who had hunted and killed a particularly fine boar and wished to thank the god for granting him success where many before him had failed.57

Since votives were required by all members of society in order to ensure the goodwill and service of the gods, they naturally occur in a variety of forms so as to suit the varying financial means of the worshippers. For the wealthy the votive of choice could be one of exceptional size and value. Architectural features dedicated by private individuals can be found in many of the larger sanctuaries such as the archway at Ancaster which graced the entrance to the shrine of the Celtic god Viridios.61 Concerning such exorbitant and conspicuous dedications as these, one is not necessarily being cynical by seeing an element of selfaggrandisement, especially in the boasts borne by many: ‘d(e) s(uo) p(osuit)’, ‘set this up at his own expense’ or, as on three Purbeck marble dedications from one of the Romano-Celtic temples at Silchester, ‘sine stipibus aut collationibus’, ‘without offerings or collections (having been made)’.62 Marginally less ostentatious but still of exceptional value were the functional gold and silver vessels which may have been used in religious ritual and of lesser value, similar vessels made from bronze63 or the pewter trullae dedicated to Sulis Minerva at Bath.64 A suitable example of these for this paper would be the assortment of silver bowls and other implements found along with the eighteen plaques in the Water Newton hoard, many of which, Painter argues, were both votive and used in early church liturgy.65

Of course, offerings could also be made in anticipation of divine favour and into this category Hassall places the series altars set up pro salute, ‘for the health of’ either the emperor or a patron.58 One might suppose that worshippers would have invested in the more expensive votives when help was needed with a specific problem while the majority of dedications, especially those of little financial value such as offerings of food, were generally intended as demonstrations of continual reverence, deposited in order to avoid incurring the indignation of a neglected god and to ensure their future compliancy. In addition to dedications and vows made ad hoc, the enactment of certain sacrifices and other offerings was required periodically on certain specific religious days. Most of our knowledge of these comes from the discovery of the Feriale Duranum, a military calendar discovered at Dura Europos on the Euphrates which lists the annual sacrifices and festivals observed by a particular military unit, as well as other literary texts such as Ovid’s Fasti and the Saturnalia of Macrobius. Additionally, two such sacrifices to be made on behalf of the emperor are mentioned in Res Gestae Divi Augusti, one commemorating Augustus’ return from Syria on 12 October 19 BC59 and the other, from Spain and Gaul in 13 BC.60 A good example of this kind of votive ritual comes from the sacrifices made by the auxiliary regiments of the army every January 1 (January 3 in the Feriale Duranum) for the continual prosperity of

Stone altars form an abundant class of votives uncovered in archaeological excavations not only in Britain but also throughout the Empire. However, within this group the levels of sophistication, and presumably the prices, varied enormously, the most basic being ornamented with only an inscription to confirm the identity of the god in whose honour it has been set up and the name of the donor66 while at the other end of the scale, five altars from King’s-Stanley in Gloucestershire were each adorned with relief sculpture of Mars, placed within a hollow shrine beneath a volute focus, hearth, on which

‘Roman Britain in 1961’ JRS 52 (1962), 192, no. 7. Translation: Hassall (1980). 63 RIB II, fasc. 2, nos 2415.55, 2415.60. 64 RIB II, fasc. 2, nos 2417.1, 2417.5, 2417.6, 24.17.7. 65 Painter (1999). 66 For example see Henig and Booth (2000), 39, fig. 2.3. 61

RIB I, no. 2059. 57 RIB I, no. 1041. 58 Hassall (1980), 81. 59 Res Gestae Divi Augusti 11. 60 ibid. 12.

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Art, Religion and Society ritual sacrifices would have been burnt.67 Other votives made from stone include fairly large relief plaques, often between one–two feet high which displayed images of deities sitting or standing within gabled shrines, such as one from Cirencester which depicts the Tres Matres,68 or two presented to Mars and an unnamed genius, both from Custom Scrubs in Gloucestershire.69 Although the latter pair both display little in the way of artistic excellence and were probably not the most expensive on the market, their value to the modern historian is marked since the style of relief sculpture on both plaques betray the work of one man whose name we know to be Iuventinus from the inscription, ‘deo Rom[u]lo Gulioepius donavit Iuventinus fecit’ roughly inscribed beneath the gable which shelters Mars. Hence, presumably, here is an example of a craftsman making his living from carving votive plaques which were then sold to customers, in this case a certain Gulioepius, with the intent that they would then be dedicated by the customer to the gods.

As an alternative to buying one’s votive from a vendor, personal items, most commonly jewellery, have been found. The hoard of votive plaques from near Baldock also included a number of fine pieces of jewellery including an elaborate gold and carnelian clasp with an engraved figure of a lion resting its paw on the skull of an ox,76 and numerous other rings, brooches and necklaces are known from other sites. That this was common practice has been revealed by the abundance of such finds from Woodeaton.77 For those unable to afford such lavish gifts, coarse earthenware pots with the names Dolichenus78 and Mercury79 scratched on the outside have been uncovered and most probably would have originally contained offerings of food, which have since perished. However, a red jasper intaglio discovered at Corbrigde is illustrated with a male figure offering a loaf or cake and incense at an altar, thus confirming that perishables were indeed offered as votives.80 Finally, many statuettes and inscriptions would also have been made using organic materials and, unfortunately, have been lost due to decomposition. Thus evidence for them is rare: from Britain a wooden statuette of a goddess found at Winchester has been preserved thanks to waterlogged conditions81 but many more such figurines have been recovered from the Seine.82

The crude lettering of the inscription which names Iuventinus as the craftsman and Gulioepius as the donor, and its location along the underside of the gabled roof rather than on a reserved panel of its own, suggest that the text was added as an afterthought once the rest of the figure decoration had been completed. The indication here is that Iuventinus’ reliefs were made in advance rather than by commission, hence making them similar to the metal plaques in more ways than just their design. Also produced in this way were many kinds of small votives which could have easily been transported by a craftsman to a shrine in order to sell to worshippers who would then buy them either to dedicate within the shrine itself, take away in order to adorn their own household lararia or perhaps even keep them as souvenirs, much like medieval pilgrim badges.70 The most common of these include figurines of bronze or pipe-clay, (the latter frequently portraying Venus, of which three have been discovered at Godmanchester71); bronze letters with holes for suspension which could be bought individually to enable worshippers to create their own inscriptions;72 or bronze enamel brooches, frequently in the form of a horse, or horse-and-rider.73 Additionally model weapons, tools and body parts have been uncovered at temple sites in abundance, for example two silver forearms and hands discovered recently at Baldock, Hertfordshire,74 and a pair of ivory breasts from the healing sanctuary at Bath.75

The metal votive plaques must surely fall into the middle category of semi-valuable gifts bought from vendors at a shrine by those who had a bit of money to spare. However, within the genre of these plaques relative values vary wildly, even among those examples found in Britain. The most expensive would be those made from gold such as the small plaque from Stonea, dedicated to Minerva,83 and presumably the plaques bearing figural decoration or personalised inscriptions must have been more costly than those without. This is highlighted by those mentioned above which were embossed only with a gabled shrine and no god: the deity may have cost extra. At the other end of the scale is the multitude of small bronze veined plaques found scattered over various different sites. It may be revealing that, while plaques made from silver or gold are usually discovered carefully concealed in hoards, when bronze equivalents are found they are, in all known cases, individual finds, such as the multitude found strewn around the temple site at Woodeaton.84 This surely implies that the bronze plaques did not receive the same attention that their silver or gold counterparts did (either from priests

Lysons (1813-17), vol. ii, pl.XXVIII, figs 2-5. Toynbee (1964), 172, pl. XLIIIa. 69 Toynbee (1962), 152, figs 65 & 66. 70 For examples see Egan (2001). 71 Green (1986), 36. 72 Lysons (1813-17), vol. ii, pl.XXIX, fig. 5; RIB I, nos 53, 86, 198, 2389, 242, 997, 1071, 2218. 73 Henig (1984), 149, fig. 71; Butcher (1977), 54-56. 74 Department for Culture, Media and Sport: Treasure Annual Report 2002, p. 38. 75 Henig (1984), 151, fig. 74. 67

Treasure Annual Report 2002, no. 27, 4-5. For examples see Bagnall Smith (1998). 78 ‘Roman Britain in 1956’ JRS XLVII (1957), 234, no. 41. 79 For example see ‘Roman Britain in 1962’ JRS LIII (1963), 167, no. 55. 80 Henig (1971), 227; for image: Henig (1974), pl. XV, no. 493 . 81 Wacher (1974), pl. 54. 82 See examples in Deyts (1983). 83 RIB II fasc. 3, no. 2430.1. 84 Bagnall Smith (1995), 186-188. 76

68

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Belinda Crerar : Votive Leaves from Roman Britain or temple robbers), presumably on account of their lower secular worth. Finally, even among those cast in silver the quality varied enormously and Painter observes that in some cases cracks which have appeared in the plaques are a result of the high proportion of impurities in the metal,85 while conversely the Mars Toutates plaque weighs more than the inscribed silver bowl dedicated by Innocentia and Viventia in the Water Newton hoard.86

another religion such as Christianity is removed. Some scholars such as Künzl have seen in the adoption of pagan religious imagery by the Christian community a show of supremacy following the notion that, in appropriating a recognisable feature of paganism and stamping the Christian chi-rho on it the Christians were advertising the triumph of their own faith over the heathens. 88 However, for this theory to be valid we must accept the previously discarded concept that these plaques were considered intrinsically pagan, and furthermore, this idea does not find a parallel in any other account of Christian dealings with alternative heretic faiths: it was more common for early Christians either to destroy or to incorporate the imagery of alternative religions into their own repertoire, rather than to parade it as an emblems of victory in a theological war. Additionally, this would ignore the evidence from the plaques themselves since their inscriptions when they occur, particularly that of the Anicilla plaque, show beyond doubt that they were dedicated in the same manner as their pagan equivalents.

Nevertheless, it seems that these metal plaques, whether made from gold, silver or bronze, were towards the more expensive end of the range of votive items available for purchase at shrines. Many of the minor votives mentioned above were clearly mass produced to fuel the market for such religious tokens. Numerous figurines, catalogued by Rouvier-Jeanlin,87 show a repetition of pose which, as well as their sheer abundance, betrays their manufacture from moulds in order to be sold cheaply at shrines. The use of dies in the production of the silver votive plaques complies with this trend of mass production to some extent but, as mentioned above, no two plaques are exactly the same and it seems that care has been taken to ensure that each plaque retained a certain individuality. This being the case, it may tell us something about their cost and the esteem in which they were held. One presumably valuable form of votive which was dedicated throughout the Roman world was personal objects belonging to the supplicant such as the jewellery or tableware, mentioned above. Since these would have been of sentimental as well as monetary value, it may have been considered that they required more resolution on the part of the donor to be able to relinquish to the god. Hence, the care taken to give each plaque its own particular fingerprint of incised patterning, even those which do not display any additional figure decoration, may have been an attempt to offer the customer a more personal votive which would subsequently be used to facilitate a personal communication with the deity. The extra time and effort required to do this would presumably make them more prestigious, not to mention expensive, offerings than the ubiquitous horse-and-rider brooches or the pipeclay figurines. However, we must remain wary that only a proportion have survived and therefore, it is possible that, certainly among the bronze pieces, any individuality may be the result of them being incised by hand rather than conscious intent.

With this in mind, the most probable explanation is that the silversmiths who produced these plaques for sale to pagans recognised a new market for their wares within the Christian community and modified their standard votive plaque template by toning down the ornamentation and emblazoning them with what they knew to be the symbol of Christ in order that they might be bought by Christians and displayed in their holy places in the same way that they were by their pagans customers. On the other hand, the impetus may have come from above with the smiths answering a demand for such votives from the Christian community itself. This would not be unreasonable to assume since the continuation of common pagan religious practices extended further into Christianity than merely the Water Newton plaques. If we take first the general practice of vow-making as a means of contact with the divine, we see that it has formed a part of almost every religion throughout history and that this contractual alliance between man and deity is still evident even in the present day. To illustrate its continual use in modern day worship, a close parallel to what we know of the pagan votive ritual exists in the Roman Catholic church at Velangani, in the Indian state of Tamil Nadu. In this church, known as ‘The Church of Our Lady of Health’, it is traditional for the infirm to offer a lighted candle in the shape of the afflicted body part, along with their prayer for health. If the ailment is relieved, the worshipper is expected to show their gratitude to the Virgin Mary and to her church by dedicating a silver model of the cured limb or organ. Many of the models from this church, as well as others from Jerusalem to Naples, were collected by the anthropologist Henry Balfour in the early twentieth century and are now on display in the Pitt Rivers museum in Oxford. Furthermore, similar plaques from Naples which were dedicated in the same way bear the embossed

CHRISTIANITY AND PAGANISM IN ROMAN BRITAIN If by the fourth century AD these metal votive plaques had lost any specific pagan association which they may have resulted in their initial production and become, in contrast, more of a generic format for votive offerings, the difficulty in transferring them from paganism to Painter (1977), appendix A, 10-22. For weights see Painter (1977). 87 Rouvier-Jeanlin (1972). 85 86

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Künzl (1977), 68.

Art, Religion and Society lettering ‘VFGA’, an abbreviation for Voto Fatto Grazia Avunta. This is a figurative phrase identifying the votive and a gift of thanks (although it is not easily translated into English), thus making the comparison with the pagan ‘VS(L)LM’ plaques even more conspicuous. Here then, is a perfect modern parallel of offerings made exvoto, with examples of both the nuncupatio and solutio. We may, however, question the theologies behind these dedications: are the Christian examples merely generous, though entirely unwarranted displays of gratitude towards a God of grace while the pagan equivalents were given with greater exigency in order to avoid divine reprisal from gods who felt that they were not being suitably honoured in return for their service? It is impossible to know the answer to this. The superstitious element which accompanies any religious belief encourages devotees to perform illogical acts ‘just in case’ such as ‘touching wood’ after an untimely boast, walking around ladders lest one should violate the holy trinity or giving expensive gifts to avoid displeasing the ever merciful mother of Christ. It is a natural supposition that gratitude should be made known following a favour so that next time the benefactor will be equally inclined to assist, knowing that their service is not going unappreciated, and this theory may be applied to mortals and divinities alike: ‘Dear Lord, if you help me with X, I will go to church more/ swear less etc’ This illogicality arises from a belief that the promise of a gift or reward would make the deity more inclined to fulfil their part of the bargain, as it might a mortal.

adopted by the emperor Severus Alexander (AD 222-235) who kept in his lararium statues of Christ and Abraham alongside those of Orpheus and various deified emperors.89 Thus among the Christian population of the Empire the majority seem to have continued in the perhaps less abhorrent practices associated with their former religion, just as a Christian today might read their horoscopes, thus effectively condoning astrology. There may be a number of reasons why individuals chose to do this. As mentioned before, the uncertainly which for many was, and still is, connected with any religious faith may have made the idea of turning ones back entirely on a powerful pantheon which had served Rome and her Empire for centuries, seem like too great a risk. After all, the Christian teachers did not dispute the existence of the pagan gods; they argued rather that they were evil spirits which the power to corrupt the souls of their followers. This is illustrated in the Byzantine mosaics of the San Marco Basilica in Venice: as St. Simon, St. Jude and St. Philip pull down various pagan idols, black demons and a dragon appear and try to prevent the destruction of the images. Furthermore, the verve with which Christian zealots attacked pagan cults when carrying out the commands of their God may have potentially made this ‘Jealous God’ of the Christians seem to the Christian neophyte a fearful and dangerous entity. Naturally, some may have been moved to placate His wrath by the same methods which had appeased the old gods. However, in relation to the religions of the Britons, any evidence of violent Christian iconoclasm in their own country during this time is, as yet, unconfirmed and it seems likely that it was a rare occurrence, if it happened at all.90

There is no doubt that the compulsion to offer gifts in return for divine favours was a greater feature of paganism than Christianity on account of the orthodox conception of the Roman gods. In brief, the Roman pantheon, with all of its gods, goddesses, foreign deities, personified natural forces, human virtues etc, were essentially a more powerful species of immortal Man, subject to the same human emotions and weaknesses such as jealously, cupidity and favouritism. For this very reason they could be, and indeed demanded to be, appeased and honoured in much the same way as a human might, that is, with precious gifts and attentive courtesy. Indeed, the Latin term religio, from which our own ‘religion’ is derived, carried connotations of contractual business and the idea of promising a sacrifice or dedication to a god in return for the fulfilment of some request permeated all levels of Roman religious practice from state sacrifices, performed in order to ensure the general goodwill of the gods towards the Roman Empire, to individuals pledging jewellery, food or money at a local shrine for assistance with a personal dilemma.

This said, it would be worth, for a moment, considering specifically the state of Christianity in Britain during the fourth century AD. The Christian church in Britain was clearly not wealthy: British bishops travelling to the Council of Ariminum in 359 controversially accepted the emperor’s offer of financial assistance to cover travelling costs, for which they suffered severe rebuke but pleaded genuine poverty in their defence.91 Dorothy Watts finds support for their case in her discussion on the nature of British Christianity,92 drawing on the makeshift style of late fourth century churches to highlight her argument that this was generally not the religion of the moneyed urban aristocracy since the evidence points towards poorer and more modest congregations. Also, where pagan temple sites were destroyed to be replaced by Christian churches, (perhaps following the prohibition of all pagan practices by Theodosius in AD 391) for example at Uley and Icklingham, the latter were frequently more humble than their predecessors in both size and decoration. However, this theory depends heavily on the accurate identification

However, if the Christianity practised today still indulges votive worship as an acceptable means of contact with the divine, the infant Christianity of the fourth century must have been even more accommodating. The distinction between Christianity and paganism during the late Empire was intensely blurred, and the general attitude of most worshippers is most likely to be similar to that supposedly

Scriptores Historia Augusta, Severus Alexander XXIX. Sauer (2003), 59-61. 91 Frend (1968), 39. 92 Watts (1991). 89 90

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Belinda Crerar : Votive Leaves from Roman Britain of the later buildings as churches, which even Watts admits is uncertain in both these cases. Watts also notes a greater continuation of Celtic and pagan ritual and iconography in British Christian contexts than in the continental provinces and interprets this as indicative of a lower degree of commitment to, as well as understanding of, the new religion. This is especially true of rural areas where smaller rectilinear churches persist in place of the apsidal or basilical forms which were favoured by the inhabitants of more urbanised regions, presumably due to a greater impact of Roman customs being felt by the residents of cities than those living in the remote countryside. As a result of this, Watts speculates that the lower sophistication of British Christianity, on account of its poverty, may have made the religion’s fundamental intolerance towards alternative heretic faiths less obvious compared to the violence and iconoclasm taking place on the continent, thus presenting Christianity in a more acceptable light to British pagans. At the same time, this would also serve to open up British Christianity to the influences of paganism and hence it is perhaps unsurprising that the Water Newton hoard, as representative of a direct borrowing of a pagan ritual by Christian worshippers, is the only one of its kind, and was discovered in Britain.

mythology which became endowed with new Christian interpretations, presumably so as to rid them of their malignant resident spirits. A common example of this was the myth of Bellerophon slaying the Chimera, which was reinterpreted as the victory of Christ over the forces of evil, and was considered a suitable motif by the owner of a fourth century villa at Hinton St. Mary in Dorset for a magnificent mosaic. This mosaic is adjoined to another, larger mosaic displaying a centrally placed bust, presumed to be an rare image of the face of Christ on account of the chi-rho visible behind the head, which is framed by four other male figures generally identified as the Evangelists. If so, this would undeniably connect the pagan myth with the Christian faith.97 That this is not merely an isolated case of association between the two unrelated images is confirmed by other mosaics of the same design such as another fourth century example from Frampton, Dorset. In this case the fight between hero and monster takes pride of place in a central roundel while a large but plain chirho is placed underneath the portrait of Neptune in an apsidal extension.98 This latter example is also framed on two sides with texts in praise of Neptune and Cupid: a further indication that fourth century Christianity existed alongside continued reverence for the old pantheon.

As already mentioned, the motivation behind such seemingly incongruous rituals for Christian worshippers may have arisen for a variety of different personal and social reasons. William Frend speculates that, due to Britain’s peripheral location within the Empire and the natural barrier of the Channel, the impact of new religions imported from the east by merchants and the army may have indeed been less pronounced. Furthermore, he goes on to observe that the continual edicts which emanated from the emperors on the continent, banning pagan rituals and ordering the closure of their shrines,93 seem to have had little effect in Britain.94 Indeed, the temple at Brean Down underwent two periods of renovation, both Constantinian in date,95 and a cult centre was constructed in the middle of the fourth century at Lydney Park.96 From this we can assume that, despite a growing and possibly intimidating Christian population, (although probably less so in Britain), the pagan rituals were still widely observed and pagan culture remained highly visible. Furthermore, it is highly improbable that, upon conversion, Christian neophytes instantly abandoned everything that they had previously understood about religious worship and iconographic display and this, coupled with the prevailing pagan climate, meant that early Christianity would become infused with pagan abstractions. The Water Newton plaques are only one of a number of pagan cultic practices and imageries which were translated in this way. Other notable, and not to mention surprising, adoptions were scenes from pagan

With the obvious exception of these luxurious mosaics, Watts notes that the majority of votive offerings identified as Christian in origin have been uncovered in rural regions, but we should be careful of interpreting this to mean that votive worship among Christians was only continued by ill-informed country simpletons. In respect to this, Henig draws attention to chapter 49 of St. Patrick’s Confessio in which he indirectly admits that it was common practice for holy women to cast items of their jewellery on church altars with the assumption that these women were both rich and educated. Other examples of pagan customs persisting in Christian communities are numerous and, perhaps unsurprisingly, many concern burial rites: unsurprising since death, and particularly what follows it, is arguably the ultimate ‘test’ of any religious faith. In graves from the Christian cemeteries at Butt Road II, Poundbury and Icklingham coins have been found buried along with the deceased, in some cases placed inside the mouth or concealed in the hand, perhaps by relatives who, although subscribing to Christianity, were not prepared to risk the soul of their loved one if their religion turned out to be false and provided them with Charon’s fee, just in case it was he, not St. Peter, who was waiting for them. The fact that in most cases the coins were concealed may indicate that the practice was generally frowned upon by the Church and concerned relatives had to be covert in their subsidy of the dead. Hence the fact that the Water Newton plaques are only one in a series of pagan adoptions by the Christian faith removes the need to see them as an anomaly or to find

For examples see Cod. Theo. xvi.102 (Constans, AD 341) and xvi.103 (Constantius II, AD 357). 94 Frend (1968), 37. 95 ‘Roman Britain in 1958’ JRS XLIX (1959), 129. 96 Wheeler and Wheeler (1932), 22-63. 93

97 98

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Neal (1981), 87-89, pl. 61. Toynbee (1962), no.199, pl. 243.

Art, Religion and Society alternative explanations for them such as a symbols of victory of the church over paganism. However, we have seen that, although other similar religious hybrids did exist, in all cases they have been confined to the home or the grave, the sphere of the private worshipper. Conversely, these plaques would have presumably been attached, like the pagan plaques, within a sacred place and hence have been condoned by the priests and the entire local Christian community. This, arguably, makes them of greater interest on account of their conspicuous public display since they betray a more overt and communal acceptance of, and participation in, the perpetuation of pagan beliefs.

generously and willingly given these plaques as gifts to the gods confirms the plaques’ status as offerings of value. From their abundance and geographical spread throughout much of the northern and eastern provinces we can see that, in many parts of the Empire the veined leaf or feather plaque was clearly a stock votive offering, recognisable as such to worshippers even if its initial symbolic origin was all but forgotten. Indeed, for the transition from paganism into Christianity to have occurred this general amnesia may have been prerequisite. However, the adoption of the plaques by Christian worshippers is not the anomaly which it may first appear. The late Roman Empire was a world in which religious theologies were multifarious and frequently overlapped and in which the common man, as today, would have relied more on his own community traditions and the customs which he saw being practiced around him as guidance for proper conduct when addressing the divine, rather than any philosophical rationale or theological dogma. We have only to take a step back from our own day in order to see the bizarre and incongruous medley of customs, established through a combination of tradition, superstition or true adherence to the scriptures, which are practiced by those who still class themselves as ‘Christian’. Few people today would consider wearing a rabbit’s foot for luck as a denial of ones faith in Christ despite its supposed connections with the gods of the underworld and chthonic magic.

CONCLUSION Despite specifically focusing on a small number of metal plaques discovered in Roman Britain it is clear that this one class of votive offerings extends over a much wider range of quality, elaboration and intrinsic value. As far as their production is concerned, there seems no justification for complicating the matter by asserting that they were imports from Gaul, although there is always the possibility that they were made by immigrant smiths. Using a combination of dies and freehand incision the plaques would be fashioned in a manner of different styles and taken to a shrine where the smith would then have to compete with other vendors selling model tools or limbs, figurines or even similar plaques in order to sell his wares to worshippers, keen to ingratiate themselves with potentially venal gods. Indeed, many of the craftsmen producing such religious trinkets would probably have depended on the custom of these pilgrims for their very livelihood.

Thus the Water Newton plaques were bought and sold in the same manner as their pagan forerunners and they betray a lingering compulsion to offer temporal wealth to divinities of all kinds. J. Chandler exclaims that the very existence of the plaques would have horrified the Christian leaders on the continent: leaders, perhaps, but certainly not the general congregation who were, after all, practising much the same hybrid of religious ritual in their own provinces. Indeed, Jerome, in his treaty on virginity, is full of disdain at the sanctimonious dedications made by the rich to the church in ostentatious displays of piety, surely given in much the same way as the Water Newton inscribed vessels and plaques, thus illustrating the divide between the church father and the layman in their religious conduct; a division which exists right up the present.100 Even so, while persecution of pagans certainly did become more ferocious in the later Fourth Century, thus potentially resulting in greater intolerance of the kind of Christianity which permitted worship in accordance with pagan precedents, in the case of the Water Newton plaques we must remember that we are probably dealing with a small local church in a province somewhat isolated from events on the continent, and where any apparent evidence of iconoclasm inflicted on the pagan population is yet to be verified.

While it seems improbable that the plaques were commissioned individually, they were nonetheless unique pieces made more so by their inscriptions. It may be significant that no one took the time to inscribe their own names on the more generic votive gifts such as the pipe-clay figurines since any inscriptions on these modest gifts usually reveal only the name of the god in question. Inscriptions, particularly those publicising the name of the donor, seem to have been reserved for the more ostentatious items such as miniature bronzes, occasionally jewellery, or tableware made from precious metals, elevating at least some of the grander plaques to this status. Indeed, even among the multitude of bronze plaques which have been found, some of the more ornate pieces carried inscriptions, such as the example mentioned before, dedicated to Abandinus at Godmanchester.99 For secular reasons, no one wanted to boast that they had donated to the gods something meagre and of little financial value and therefore, modest offerings are unanimously anonymous. Once one puts ones name on a votive one personally invites the scrutiny of fellow worshippers and encourages their competition. Thus the very fact that worshippers were willing to announce to their neighbours that they had 99

However, it was certainly not the case that neophyte British Christians simply transferred everything that they

Green (1986) appendix ii, fig. 10.5.

100

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Jerome, epistle XXII.35.

Belinda Crerar : Votive Leaves from Roman Britain understood about gods and religious ritual wholesale from paganism into Christianity, perceiving the Christian God in the same way that they had their pagan divinities. The conscious effort to tone down the ornamentation of the Water Newton plaques in comparison to the flamboyancy of the pagan alternatives does reveal some discernment that the luxuriance which was pleasing to the pagan gods was not appropriate for the worship of Christ. Furthermore, there are no testimonies of Christian adherents, even during the early stages of the religion’s development, offering blood sacrifices to their God despite this being a principal requirement in almost all pagan religious ceremonies. Hence the Christians of Fourth Century Britain, despite their potentially skewed version of orthodox Christian conduct as dictated by the Church Fathers on the continent, were clearly not entirely uninformed concerning appropriate veneration of their God. Thus, the existence of precious metal plaques dedicated to a Christian God in a show of gratitude is likely to have arisen, firstly, from a desire for secular self-aggrandisement among those who could afford it, which could be achieved by a show of ostentatious piety: a desire shared by pagans and Christians alike. Secondly, we must consider the natural, human difficulty to comprehend a perfectly gracious god who loves and saves unconditionally, without requiring, or at least appreciating, a visible display of thanks.

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The Antiquaries Journal Archaeologia Aeliana The British Archaeological Association British Archaeological Reports International Series H B Walters, Catalogue of Silver Plate (Greek, Etruscan and Roman) in the British Museum (London 1921) Corpus Signorum Imperii Romani Journal of the British Archaeological Association Rivista di Archeologia Christiana R G Collingwood and R P Wright, The Roman Inscriptions of Britain I (Oxford, 1965) S S Frere and R S O Tomlin, The Roman Inscriptions of Britain II (Stroud, 1991) Society of Antiquaries of London minute book 87

Art, Religion and Society Painter, K S (1977) The Water Newton Early Christian Silver (British Museum, London). Painter, K S, ‘The Water Newton Silver: votive or liturgical?’ J. Brit. Arch. Ass. CLII (1999), 1-23. Rodwell, W (1980) Temples, Churches and Religion: Recent Research in Roman Britain: with a Gazetteer of Romano-Celtic Temples in Continental Europe (Oxford). Rouvier-Jeanlin, M (1972) Les figurines Gallo-Romaines en terra cuite au musée des antiquités nationales (Paris). Sauer, E (2003) The Archaeology of Religious Hatred in the Roman and early Medieval world (Stroud) St Aubyn, F (1987) Ivory: a History and Collector’s Guide (Belgium). Thomas, C (1981) Christianity in Roman Britain to AD 500 (London). Toynbee, J M C (1953) ‘Christianity in Roman Britain’ J. Brit. Arch. Ass. 3rd series, vol. XVI, 1-24. Toynbee, J M C (1962) Art in Roman Britain (London). Toynbee, J M C (1964) Art in Britain under the Romans (Oxford). Toynbee, J M C, ‘ A Londinium Votive Leaf or Feather and its fellows’, in Bird, Chapman and Clark (1978), 128-147. Wacher, J (1974) The Towns of Roman Britain (London). Watcher, J (1978) Roman Britain (London). Watson, G R, ‘Christianity in the Roman Army in Britain’, in Barley and Hanson (1968), 51-54. Watts, D (1991) Christians and Pagans in Roman Britain (London). Webster, G, ‘What the Britons required from the Gods as seen through the pairing of Roman and Celtic Deities and the character of votive offerings’ in Henig and King (1986), 57-64. Wheeler, R E M and Wheeler, T V (1932) Report on the Excavation of the Prehistoric, Roman and Post-Roman site in Lydney Park, Gloucestershire, Reports of the research committee of the Society of Antiquaries of London no.IX (Oxford).

Henig, M, ‘A house for Minerva: temples, aedicula shrines, and signet-rings’, in Henig (1990), 152-162. Henig, M (1990) Architecture and Architectural Sculpture in the Roman Empire (Oxford). Henig, M, ‘Roman sculpture from the Cotswold region with Devon and Cornwall’, CSIR Great Britain vol. 1, fascicle 7 (1993) (Oxford). Henig, M (1995) The Art of Roman Britain (London). Henig, M and Booth, P (2000) Roman Oxfordshire (Stroud). Henig, M, ‘Religion and Art in St. Alban’s city’, in Henig and Lindley (2001), 13-29. Henig, M, ‘The Unchanging Face of God’, in Finn and Henig (2001), 29-40. Henig M and Lindley, P (2001) Alban and St. Albans; Roman and Medieval Architecture, Art and Archaeology, BAA conference transactions XXIV (Leeds). Johns, C (1996) The Jewellery of Roman Britain (London). Kirk, J R, ‘Bronzes from Woodeaton, Oxon’, in Oxoniensia XIV (1949), 1-45. Künzl, E, ‘Römische Tempelschätze und Sakralinventare Votive, Horte, Beute’, in Antiquité Tardive V (1977), 57-81. Layard, N F, ‘Bronze Crowns and a Bronze head-dress, from a Roman site at Cavenham Heath, Suffolk’, Ant. J. V (1925), 256-265. Lysons, S (1813-17) Reliquiae Britannico Romanae (London). Munby, J and Henig, M (1977) Roman Life and Art in Britain, BAR 41 (Oxford). Neal, D S (1981) Roman Mosaics in Britain: an introduction to their schemes and a catalogue of Paintings, Britannia monograph series no. 1 (London). Noll, R ‘Zu den Silbervotiven aus dem Dolichenusfund von Mauer a. d. Url’, in Jahreshefte des österrichischen archäologischen institutes in Wein XXXVIII (1950), 126-146. Painter, K S ‘A fourth century Christian Silver Treasure found at Water Newton, England in 1975’ RAC 3-4 (1975), 333-345.

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Belinda Crerar : Votive Leaves from Roman Britain



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PLATE I Three plaques from the Stony Stratford Hoard



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b PLATE II Two plaques from the Barkway Hoard

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Differing interpretations of the Romano-British site at Marcham/Frilford, Oxfordshire Lindsey Smith

Abstract Marcham/Frilford, Oxfordshire, has long been regarded as an important religious site since the original discovery, over a century ago of a Romano-Celtic temple (Bradford & Goodchild 1939). Excavations were undertaken on an area that had revealed imported pottery, coins and ceramic building material, located close to the River Ock between present day Wantage and Abingdon. Bradford & Goodchild’s excavations also unearthed Iron Age material leading to the suggestion that the site originated from an Iron Age antecedent with religious significance for native population who may have lived in or around the area.

Introduction and synopsis The wealth and sheer diversity of archaeological evidence in Oxfordshire has enhanced our understanding of life in Britain during the Roman period. The site at Marcham/ Frilford has been subjected to a wide variety of surveying techniques such as aerial photography, field walking, geophysical surveying, metal detecting and extensive excavation which allows for a significant re-examination of the current debates surrounding the use and function of the well-known Iron Age and Romano-British settlement. It has been known as a place of religious significance since the discovery of a Romano-Celtic temple over lying earlier Iron Age debris and the case for religious continuity and origin was presented by Bradford & Goodchild (1939) who concluded that a number of pits, a stake-walled round house, an iron ploughshare and a miniature bronze sword and shield underlying the later Roman contexts were ritually connected to an Iron Age shrine. Harding’s (1987) later reinterpretation has suggested that the evidence could just as well be connected with an Iron Age domestic site and questioned whether religious practice was instrumental in the development of the settlement.

An especially intriguing aspect of this research has been the historical interpretations of the circular structure located 120m East of the known Temple, partially excavated by Hingley (1987) and later by Gosden & Lock (2001, 2003, 2004). Traditionally the dimensions and orientation of the structure lends easily to the interpretation that it served as an ‘amphitheatre’. However, upon closer examination and appreciation of how Roman culture amalgamated public displays with religious rituals, these conventional assumptions can be re-addressed.

In total, excavations have revealed an enclosed temple complex defined by a stone temenos, a circular feature, a cemetery and five areas of habitation covering a 30 hectare area. The discovery of an amphitheatre, which turns out as expected to be a theatre-amphitheatre is of crucial importance. Contemporary rural settlements that possess similar structures to those found at Frilford are always associated with rural sanctuaries (Henig 1984, 162-3). Using comparative archaeological reports, this study is intended to explore the possible role and function of the circular feature together with the other structures to establish how the settlement at Frilford interrelated within the wider Romano-British landscape. Either it was a rural settlement with associated temple and ‘amphitheatre’ as secondary features; or it was primarily a religious complex which may have attracted limited commercial activity to it. It is known that amphitheatres and theatres held specific social connotations and the material at Frilford was compared with contemporaneous evidence in order to understand its possible use and function.

In my paper, I will discuss how conventional assumptions can be misleading and highly questionable. For example, why was an amphitheatre, so often associated with gladiatorial combats, beast hunts and military training, located in a rural location and appears physically linked by a gravelled path to the temple? I will also consider other interpretations such as its association with other structures on the site and the recent hypothesis that the discovery of a complex drainage system underlying the feature is related to its use as a ritual pool (Gosden & Lock, 2003, 91). Through appreciation and understanding of how Roman culture utilised the landscape to conduct public displays and rituals, I conclude an alternative hypothesis – that the stone feature is actually a theatreamphitheatre hybrid that was constructed early within the Roman period providing a setting not only for public recreational performances but religious ceremonies and political debates.

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Figure 1. Map of Frilford and scheduled temple area. (Gosden & Lock 2003,156) Frilford – within the wider physical, cultural and social landscape.

the sandy hills on the eastern border of the county. The Upper Thames follows a direct course along the Oxford Clay from Fairford to where it is joined by the Cherwell north of Yarnton. A number of braided channels unite flow through Oxford where they are called the Isis. In the south, The Vale of the White Horse which was formed by the Kimeridge and Gault Clays is traversed by the Ock which flows through the valley longitudinally, parallel to the upper Thames. The Ock flows into the Thames at Abingdon, with the Thame joining a little further south near Stadhampton (Pocock 1926, 62 &158) At the Vale of Aylesbury the clays are met by the chalk escarpment of the Berkshire Downs and Chiltern Ridge (Henig & Booth 2000, 1) Human activity in the area

Bronze Age & Iron Age settlements Large field enclosures occur from c. 1400 BC close to present day Dorchester-on-Thames and Abingdon and a late Bronze Age (1000-800 BC) midden deposit has been recorded at Castle Hill, Long Wittenham. Similarly, a long sequence is known from Frilford with its origins in the Middle Bronze Age, as suggested by the appearance

No site can be considered in isolation and before discussing the physical structures and material evidence recorded at Marcham/Frilford it is important to examine the wider landscape surrounding the area in order to gain some perspective of how the site came into existence and the function it may have served to the wider community. The traditional view of the Romans in Britain is one of occupation and aggressive integration; however, can this be archaeologically substantiated within the region of Frilford. Certainly, in other parts of Britain, in particular to the North, native tribes raised a greater threat of resistance; however, the area of my study suggests that the region underwent a complex syncretism of cultural change, rather than hostile invasion. With the county boundary changes of 1974, parts of Berkshire (mainly the Vale of the White Horse District) including Frilford were transferred to Oxfordshire. Up until now the temple and ‘amphitheatre’ have generally been designated as being at Frilford and so, for the purpose of this study that usage will be perpetuated although they actually lie within the parish of Marcham. Geology The Oxford region can be divided into five south-west to north-east geological belts which comprise of broad vales of clay hollowed out by the action of the Thames and its tributaries between the escarpment of the Chalk Downs and Chilterns on the south-east and the Oolitic limestones of the Cotswolds and their continuation in the north-west. The escarpment of the Corallian Ridge which crosses the region from south-west to north-east has been made by the erosion of the Upper Thames, the Thame and its tributaries cutting through

Figure 2. Geological Map of Oxfordshire. (Arkell 1947, 208 fig 38) 92

Lindsey Smith : Differing interpretations of the Romano-British site at Marcham/Frilford of Bronze Age ditches and the recovery of a bucket urn deliberately broken and laid on its bottom excavated by Gosden & Lock (2001, 6).

extensive excavations of the site reveal an extensive area of occupation including two Romano-Celtic temples with associated ‘strip’ buildings enclosed within a square walled enclosure of some 10.5 ha, with extramural occupation covering as much as 40 or 45 ha. The annexe of the nearby Roman fortress has been dated by dendrochronology to the autumn of AD 44 (Sauer 2003, 104 & 2002, 84) and its location on Akeman Street may have marked the boundary between the civil zone to the south which includes Frilford, and the politically unstable north.

Several Iron Age settlements appear to concentrate on the low lying gravel floodplains of the Thames near Frilford. Dyke Hills, Dorchester and Abingdon both utilized the River Thames, Ock and Thame respectively turning the natural boundary of the river into settlement enclosures. The defensive circuit of ditches and banks from Iron Age Abingdon probably enclosed 33 ha with densely occupied roundhouses, storage pits and post hole structures occupying the 15 ha interior (Henig & Booth 2000, 24).

The pre-Roman settlement of Dorchester-On-Thames (Dorcic), only 10 miles East of Frilford is also located on the River Thames. The massive banks and ditches at Dyke Hills are regarded as a ‘Valley fort’ and have dated its construction to the Iron Age. The Roman planning is a little less clear than that known at Alchester although it too appears to have been laid out in the middle of the first century (Sandford 1939, 269). Certainly a stone wall enclosing a settlement replaced earlier earthwork banks and associated ditches, however, this may not have been constructed until the third century and may only have enclosed approximately 5.5ha (Henig & Booth 2000, 59). A number of buildings are identifiable from stone foundations together with various artefacts including grave goods found from the nearby cemetery which suggest that the settlement played an official function linking the countryside with the wider Roman network. Certainly a dedication made to Jupiter and the numinibus Augustorum (divinities of the Emperor(s)) by a beneficiarius consularis, Marcus Varius Severus, found on an altar confirms the presence of a local dignitary perhaps involved with some official function such as collecting taxes (RIB235). Dorchester-On-Thames, perhaps like Frilford, was ideally placed for overseeing river and road communications and for distributing local produce.

Despite some sites not continuing in the same location, with some ceasing to exist whilst others emerged, there does appear to be continuity through the Iron Age into the Roman period within the region. The older Iron Age hill-fort settlement located at the junction of the River Thame and Thames at Wittenham Clumps was superseded by a small Roman town built a short distance up river at Dorchester where the main Roman road was carried across the Thame on its route south to Silchester (Sandford 1939, 268). Although the settlement never developed into a larger town it may already, in the Iron Age have had an administrative purpose for overseeing river and road transportation. Local economy Although Latin (and even a little Greek) was spoken in mainland Britain by the educated, the majority of the local population of Frilford in the Roman period would probably have continued to speak the native Celtic language until the ‘Saxon’ period. This is evident in the two Celtic names given to the River Ock: Cern and Eog or Ehoc (cf. the Welsh and Cornish for salmon), of which only the latter survived (Arkell 1942, 5). The majority of the population would have been involved in agriculture; rearing cattle and sheep whilst cultivating crops such as wheat, spelt and flax which would have been overseen by a minority of wealthy landowners. Between the second and fourth centuries various industries were established with substantial pottery kiln evidence coming from Nuneham Courtenay, Headington and Yarnton. The rural villa at Barton Court Farm, Abingdon was constructed in ragstone from the nearby Corallian ridge and the villa of North Leigh exploited the local Stonesfield slate (Henig & Booth 2000, 162) suggesting that local geological deposits supplied the building trade in the towns and rural hinterland.

Alchester and Dorchester have been identified as important Roman towns within the region, it is also important to recognise other unwalled settlements (Rodwell 1975), for example, rural villas sites east of the Cherwell, at Headington Wick, in the north of the region at Middleton Stoney and Swalcliffe Lea and closer to Frilford at Barton Court Farm near Abingdon, North Leigh, Shakenoak and Stonesfield. Although these structures are fairly large, the extent of the settlements can only be estimated from limited excavation and surface find scatters. Relatively little is known of contemporary villas close to Frilford at Garford (SU4375 9540) and Hamfield Barn (SU342972). Rural sanctuaries

Roman settlements

In addition to settlements, four known rural sanctuaries have been identified which offer an interesting comparison to Frilford in understanding religious practices in the region. Woodeaton, 17 miles from Frilford and only 8.7 miles from Alchester on what is the Dorchester-Alchester road contains a square Romano-Celtic temple within a temenos where evidence of stone foundations appear to replace an

Despite there being no major town in the region such as Verulamium, Silchester or Cirencester, larger vici or settlements must have carried out smaller administrative and market functions. The most important is the walled town of Alchester, which is approximately 20 miles North East from Frilford. Aerial photographs, fieldwalking and 93

Art, Religion and Society earlier timber structure. A large quantity of Roman as well as Iron Age artefacts have been recovered, including small bronze images of deities. These are considered to have been votive offerings dedicated at the temple.

Therefore, the area around Frilford appears to be relatively peaceful and stable. North of the Vale of White Horse, the majority of settlements appear in juxtaposition with Akeman Street and the Fosse Way. In the Thames Valley, only two large Roman settlements are known at Dorchester and Alchester, both on important road structures with river access. This suggests that the rivers and minor road network through the region was sufficient to underpin a stable economic and political system allowing a greater military presence to be maintained north of the Akeman Street border.

Recognised only from resistivity survey and numerous copper-alloy objects, a stone temenos is thought to have enclosed a second century Romano-Celtic temple at Lowbury Hill, not far from the pre-Roman Ridgeway on the Berkshire Downs (Fulford & Rippon 1994, 158). A third triple-ditched, square enclosure, a temple and a number of artefacts such as pottery, tile and bone have been identified at Lees Rest just outside Charlbury close to the important Villa at Ditchley. A carved stone relief and numerous third and fourth century coins suggest the religious presence of a fourth temple site at Gill Mill, 9.3 miles from Frilford on the River Windrush (Bagnall Smith 1995, 200).

Amphitheatres We know from literary and epigraphic sources that amphitheatres and theatres staged distinctively different kinds of entertainment and thus represented specific behaviours and regulations. Their form epitomises the embodiment of Roman culture where the paradoxical regulations of humanitas (civilization) were confronted by public disorder. For this reason they served as venues for relieving public tensions and are thus located where large groups of people would have gathered for political debates and to participate in the very Roman activity of ‘leisure’ characterized by attending public entertainment in military or urban centres. Why, therefore, does Frilford appear to possess an ‘amphitheatre’ when its location is so rural? A comparison with known British amphitheatres must surely highlight the contrasts and problems of labelling the circular feature at Frilford as an amphitheatre and risks overlooking perhaps its real purpose and function. History of amphitheatre use During the early Republic, the practice of gladiatorial combats came from Etruria where public gatherings or ludi were associated with religious festivals held in honour of the deceased. These were later surpassed by the ludi circenses or circus games which drew greater crowds and were held in permanent public monuments of the circus or amphitheatres: staging chariot and horse races, athletic contests and gladiatorial fights. The small dimensions of the Romano-British amphitheatres were not considered suitable for chariot and horse racing and until recently no known circuses were thought to exist in Britain. However, Colchester Archaeological Unit are reported to have excavated the first Roman circus where a number of walls, some running parallel to one another, form a structure measuring 350m by 70m which is comparable in size to chariot-racing arenas found in Spain and southern France (Crummy 2005).

Figure 3. Map of Romano-Celtic Temple Sites in Oxfordshire. (Bagnall Smith 1995, 178 fig. 1) Political climate Supporting the theory that the region was relatively stable is the location and importance of Akeman Street which like the Fosse Way has been interpreted as a military frontier road (limes) between the southern protectorate and more hostile lands to the north reflected in the apparent lack of military forts or fortresses south of Akeman Street (Henig & Booth 2000, 35). The Fosse Way runs for a few miles outside the North-West boundary of the region and like Akeman Street, would have been used by the military to facilitate communication and advance through to the midlands.

As one of the most emblematic constructions of the Roman world, the amphitheatre was used as both a political tool in unifying a community and asserting Roman customs (mores) and regulations of citizenship (humanitas). Futrell (1997, 4) writes that it “served the purpose of Roman hegemony, bringing people together as 94

Lindsey Smith : Differing interpretations of the Romano-British site at Marcham/Frilford a Roman community”. Festivals and rituals are known to offer the opportunity for communities to visually reveal their social tensions and amphitheatres were controllable environments, where idealised violence or violence in support of order instead of disorder could be manipulated by the Emperors and his generals. The arena was a liminal space where basic human conflicts were symbolically fought. The gladiator, as a criminal, confronted the essence of civilization and beast fights symbolised the ability of Rome to protect and control the hostile forces of nature. A collective force could be a volatile entity if not handled correctly and staging public spectacles helped to relieve social tensions “politically this was a very effective public relations exercise helping to dissolve social and political barriers” (Futrell 1997, 46). Perhaps, it is for this reason why they appear in every region which fell under Roman regulation and in ‘becoming Roman’, amphitheatres represent the native aristocracy’s participation in Roman culture through the investment of Roman architecture and leisure pursuits sharing the new cultural attitude of being ‘civilized’ (Woolf 1998, 239).

Winterslow (Salisbury) and Woodcutts, both tentatively recorded as amphitheatres, though there evidence is only slight. Similarly, the small amphitheatre at CharterhouseOn-Mendip often associated with the lead-mining settlement is in fact as likely to have served a rural sanctuary due to the vast quantity of votive objects recorded (Page 1906, 337). Military amphitheatres, to which we return later, are known from Caerleon, Catterick (Cataractonium), Chester, London (Londinium), Richborough (Rutupiae) and Tomen-y Mur. Geophysical survey has confirmed an elliptical shape interpreted as an amphitheatre, lying north of Newstead Fort (Trimontium), South Shields although no further work has been done to confirm this (Keppe 1994, 261). Type I amphitheatres were retained by a wall of either timber or stone which also served as the arena wall. Arenas were sunk into the ground with the spoil creating soil embankments and the rear of which was not often supported in any way. Topographically, builders tended to exploit naturally favourable locations where the terrain was sloping or where natural depressions created pliable and easily moveable soil compositions. At Frilford, the basic structure was created by enlarging a pre-existing Palaeolithic paleochannel which contained thick deposits of sandy loam which was easy to work with and not found elsewhere on the site (Gosden & Lock 2001, 3). The amphitheatres at Silchester, Chichester and London all appear to take advantage of the topography being constructed on sloping ground formed by natural depressions. As the construction of this type of amphitheatre was inexpensive and relatively quick and easy to build, they appear throughout much of Europe.

Construction and orientation Golvin’s seminal study forms the basis for the classification and definition of all proposed amphitheatre earthworks. In simple terms, an amphitheatre was an oval building consisting of an elliptical central arena, surrounded by tiers of seating (cavea) (Golvin 1988, 297-386) in which a vast number of people could gather to watch public spectacles. The elliptical shape was built with the audience in mind: not only could fighters in the arena move freely in all directions but the audience could be seated three-hundred and sixty degrees around the floor in order to maximise the optical spectacle in front of them. Type II amphitheatres, known as one of the most emblematic constructions of the Roman world, are characterised by a cavea supported on masonry walls radially around an arena which was often roofed. These include the monumental amphitheatres such as the Colosseum in Rome and the amphitheatres at Arles and Nîmes in France and are not found within Roman Britain.

However, the shape of the arena was not always elliptical and as with their orientation, was dictated by terrain rather than any fixed rule. For example, at Frilford, the circular arena dimensions measure approximately 45m x 45m, the arenas of Silchester and Dorchester were almost circular measuring 43m x 42.2m and 58.8m x 52.8m respectively, highlighting the anomalous layout of these structures. Similarly, the orientation of amphitheatres is just as inconsistent: Chester, Caerleon, Silchester, Dorchester and Chichester lie on an approximate north-south orientation in contrast to Cirencester, London and Frilford which are aligned east-west.

In Britain, sixteen Type I amphitheatres have been positively identified from earth work remains with at least eight of these being constructed in important settlements or civitas capitals: Aldborough (Isurium Brigantum), Caerwent (Venta Silurum), Caistor St Edmund (Venta Icenorum), Carmarthen (Moridunum Demetarum), Chichester (Noviomagus Regnensium), Cirencester (Corinium Dobunnorum), Dorchester, Dorset (Durnovaria) and Silchester (Calleva Atrebatum). Although no evidence has yet come to light, it would be natural to expect amphitheatres at Roman Coloniae of Colchester (Camulodunum), Lincoln (Lindum), Gloucester (Glevum) and York (Eburacum), and the remaining civitas of Winchester (Venta Belgarum), Leicester (Ratae Coritanorum), Wroxeter (Viroconium Cornoviorum) and Exeter (Isca Dumnoniorum). Frilford appears as a rural amphitheatre, as do the earthworks at

A timber amphitheatre was constructed at Silchester during the initial phase of Roman development in the first century which was later replaced in stone early in the third century AD (phase III). A contemporary construction date of the Claudio-Neronian period (AD 41-68) has been put forward for the timber phase of the Dorchester amphitheatre (Bradley 1976, 74). At Frilford a construction date for the amphitheatre is inconclusive but drawing on stratigraphic evidence and the corresponding structural phasing of similar amphitheatres, the initial timber structure, perhaps of first century origin was later replaced in stone in the second or early third century (Hingley 1985, 207). The erection of 95

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Figure 4. Timber and Stone seating from Silchester. (Fulford 1985, 67 fig 12) these structures during the second half of the first century AD must surely stress the importance the ruling elites associated with displaying ideals of ‘civilization’.

accommodated? As habitation evidence from both sides of the River Ock is scarce with only a limited number of structural buildings known, even a maximum seating capacity of 2300 suggests that people were travelling considerable distance perhaps from Abingdon, Dorchester and further afield and thus reinforces the importance of Frilford within the wider social landscape. However, it does not justify why this rural settlement possessed such an important entertainment structure for so few residents and raises the question of whether the amphitheatre has been incorrectly labelled.

Were amphitheatres constructed in areas of potential conflict rather than where the native aristocracy were participating in a new cultural system? Architecturally, the amphitheatres seen in Orange, Arles and Nimes suggest that in Gaul, considerable effort and money had been invested in their construction reflecting the willingness of the local population to invest in a monument from which Roman customs and laws were declared. However, the growth of oak trees within the seating banks of the Silchester amphitheatre (Bomgardner 1991, 291) supports the idea that as a feature it did not figure highly within the local community and as an aspect of Roman culture was quickly abandoned after the end of Roman control.

Military Use Amphitheatres adjacent to military forts served as military training schools (campi) where legionary occupants took exercise and participated in military drills. The amphitheatres at Caerleon and Chester flank legionary fortresses and at Tomen-y-Mur and Richborough would have sufficiently served the auxiliary fort and garrison respectively and all were constructed early in the Roman campaign. However, surely Frilford cannot be considered to be a military settlement as it appears to be located in what politically was a relatively stable area. Certainly, the Claudian Vexillation Fortress at Alchester approximately 18 miles from Frilford could provide a limited military presence although it was perhaps too far to undertake daily military activities. Therefore, the amphitheatre may have served as the main social gathering place to which the military personnel of between c. 3,000 – 5,000 men (Sauer 2003, 95) could travel to participate or enjoy recreational activities and thus support the rural settlement.

Seating The limited evidence for any settlement at Frilford and its rural location could not support the construction and maintenance of such a large permanent amphitheatre and raises questions of who would have been using it and for what purpose. Certainly the dimensions are analogous with other Romano-British examples although the seating arrangements are unknown due to the poor state of the remaining banks. We can only assume that the clearance of earth from the central arena together with the front seating banks being retained by a mortared masonry arena wall would have provided adequate support for timber seating comprising of wooden benches or wide platforms which provided sufficient height for a clear view of the arena floor. The bank 11m to 14m wide at Frilford may have supported wooden seating although no evidence, such as postholes or timber slots has been found in the clay and sand suggesting that visitors possibly stood.

Nemeseum A standard feature which appears in most amphitheatres is a small antechamber sited in various locations around the arena wall and does support the use of the structure at Frilford as an amphitheatre. A small chamber made of large dressed limestone blocks attached to the southern end of the arena wall was discovered measuring 2.5m east-west and just over 4m north-south (Gosden & Lock 2001,4) and similar to the recesses known from Silchester and Dorchester is only accessible from the arena. Whilst its purpose is not precisely clear perhaps it was used as a religious niche housing the statues of gods and goddesses. Shrine rooms (sacella) are well known from amphitheatres in Gaul and even though many deities can be associated

Approximate attending capacity has been suggested for Chester (95.7m x 87m overall and 57.8m x 48.7m arena) thought to hold between 2300 seating and 7000 standing (Thompson 1976, 228-234); at Caerleon (81m x 67.66m overall and 56.08m x 41.6m arena) 6000 standing is possible (Collingwood 1965, 117) and at Silchester (90m x 75m overall and 43m x 42.2m arena) 3640 seating and 7250 standing is estimated (Fulford 1989, 163). Does the overall dimension of 65m and arena size of 45m at Frilford suggests that up to 5000 people standing could have been 96

Lindsey Smith : Differing interpretations of the Romano-British site at Marcham/Frilford with amphitheatres such as Hercules, Mars and Diana the most frequently found are the goddess Nemesis, who as patron goddess of amphitheatres and fate, was the principal deity honoured by fighters (Hopkins 1999, 340). A niche known from the legionary amphitheatre at Caerleon might have been a Nemeseum housing a statue of Nemesis. A curse tablet found in the arena reads “Lady Nemesis, I give to you a cloak and boots. Let he who brought them not redeem them except with the living matter of his blood” (RIB323). A red sandstone altar dedicated to Nemesis was still standing within the c. 3.6m x 4.2m Nemeseum at the rear of the legionary amphitheatre at Chester II.

room is restricted due to its location on the southern wall away from any entrances. Amphitheatre conclusion Does the majority of evidence therefore, suggest that amphitheatres within Britain appear within a primarily ‘urban’ setting as the venues for social and political entertainment? Certainly, the majority of amphitheatres are located within the vicinity of military forts or fortresses or adjacent to Roman towns. The ‘rural’ classification of amphitheatres located “next to a small rural settlement and shrine” (Bomgardner 1991, 291) is questionable and unfortunately only appears applicable to Frilford.

Alternatively, the small chamber could have provided private space for seating distinguished guests, as proposed at Silchester or as recorded at other amphitheatres in Europe and Africa (Golvin 1988, 329) may have functioned as a beast-pen (carcer) where animals could be loaded into the chamber before the start of the games (Hingley 1982, 307). Although the exact function is unknown, chambers abutting main entrances (porta pompae) are found at Silchester, London and Cirencester. The interpretation of the chamber as a beast-pen at Frilford seems unlikely; with only one entrance onto the arena floor and without a rear entrance it would be difficult negotiating the entry of animals both in and out of the box once the games had started and how would the animals have been kept within the rooms during the performance? Finally, in contrast to the chambers adjacent to the main entrances at the London amphitheatre (Frere 1988, 462), access of the Frilford

Certainly, amphitheatres were important social and political structures within Roman culture and despite huge regional variation in style and design; their appearance in numerous towns suggests they were essential features within the Roman landscape. Undoubtedly, people in Rome enjoyed celebrating being part of Roman society, however, what is less certain is whether their construction within Britain was particularly welcomed and wholly adopted (Slater 1996, 112). The settlement at Frilford is not likely to have been one of the leading towns of the region. For the nearest regular amphitheatres we have to go to Cirencester and Silchester which are cantonal capitals. If Frilford had developed independently of the religious complex, as a result of economic success as a satellite for

Figure 5. Nemeseum, beast pen or private ‘box’. 97

Art, Religion and Society the distribution of trade stimulated by its location along the tribal boundary between the Atrebates and Dobunni, then the surrounding area may have been wealthy enough to support the construction and maintenance of a recreational amphitheatre which would have been used for public spectacles. In contrast, it perhaps serviced ritual activities associated with the nearby temple and could quite plausibly have been a ‘monumental structure’ located within a religious complex which stimulated its own wealth from visiting pilgrims and travellers (Hingley 1987).

sources do appear to confirm that theatres rather than amphitheatres have religious association and are often sited adjacent to sacred precincts suggesting that the circular feature at Frilford corresponds more readily to a theatre within a religious complex rather than an amphitheatre built as a recreational arena. Origin of theatres The origin of theatres in Roman culture predates amphitheatre use. The first stone Roman theatre was built by Pompey on the Campus Martius dedicated in 55BC as part of the new forum precinct and temple of Venus Genetrix (Beard et al. 1998, 123), although theatres had a much earlier history appearing in Greece from as early as 440 BC when the theatre of Dionysos Eleuthereus was constructed on the southern slope of the Acropolis in Athens and is known as the ‘Temple with stairs’ (Bieber 1961, 55). In contrast to amphitheatres which are perhaps analogous with our modern day sports arenas, theatres were always intended to house religious performances displayed through song, dance, comedies, satyrs and tragedies.

The lack of archaeological evidence for analogous religious complexes within Britain containing amphitheatres strongly suggests that labelling the structure at Frilford as an amphitheatre is overlooking its real purpose. Perhaps Frilford contained a multi-functional arena covering both religious activities and recreational pursuits as found at religious sanctuaries with theatres. Theatres We know that amphitheatres were the settings for specific events associated either with military training or urban entertainment and it is unlikely that the rural location of Frilford could have supported financing or maintaining such a structure. It is important therefore to examine the theatre, another specifically Roman structure, to determine whether this is a more likely explanation for Frilford.

Despite their Greek heritage, Roman theatres were quickly adapted to conform to their own style and activity. In contrast to amphitheatres which offered the audience maximum visual capacity, theatres were seeing and hearing places. The cavea (auditorium) was often built into hillsides to take full advantage of natural acoustics and unlike their Greek precursor, the orchestra in Roman theatres varied allowing the audience to be brought closer to the stage for a full audible and visual experience.

As with amphitheatre studies, so little remains of theatre structures that interpretation of their use is difficult to appreciate fully. However, by using comparative archaeological and literary evidence it is possible to consider the role and level of acceptance of Roman theatres by the native British population. We will also examine comparative sites in order to ascertain how theatres where used in conjunction with temples, looking at there significant role as social places to stage religious rituals and hold ritualized performances.

Corresponding with amphitheatres, theatres were also places where political public speaking conveyed the underlying principles of Roman civilisation. In Rome, the early forms were mimes, tragedies and comedies written and performed in Greek which were later adapted and translated into Latin. However, it is doubtful whether these performances would have been as appealing to the Celts of Briton as the thrilling spectacles performed within the amphitheatres and perhaps this is why only a handful of theatres are known. The Fabula Praetexta was written as a native tragedy which adopted Roman subjects from history or legend to appeal to the Roman audience and was an essential tool in teaching the wider population the foundation stories of their past (Bieber 1961, 149). The more farcical and humorous plays of the Fabula Togata used people and motifs that would be more recognisable to the native lower classes recreating everyday situations and were more appealing to watch than the patriotic plays (Bieber 1961, 149). It is perhaps these performances that we know the Romans enjoyed that the native Britons were watching in the theatres here.

Excavations at Frilford exposed a well-preserved and well planned drainage system which runs from within the interior of the circular structure under both the arena wall and the small antechamber. The appearance and significance of the drain must suggest that considerable time and effort was spent in ensuring that the arena surface was relatively dry and free from standing water supporting the hypothesis that its use was as an amphitheatre or theatre. In addition to the drainage evidence, the cut through the arena wall, previously associated with what is thought to be the eastern entrance has been re-interpreted as a stone foundation laid to support a timber stage structure (Henig 2004, pers comm.). In addition, painted wall plaster could reflect a painted backdrop to a stage although painted plaster fragments have been recorded in the amphitheatres of Chichester, Caerleon, Chester and Cirencester and is not specific to theatres (Bateman 1997, 63). Archaeological

Certainly fragmentary evidence for such performances together with evidence confirming that costumes and masks were worn in order that the audience could distinguish between people on stage has been found. Despite no 98

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Figure 6. Brough Inscription: Left as it survives, right is digitally restored. (Guy De la Bédoyère, 2005 website) Roman theatre being identified from around Barnoldby le Beck, Humberside a Roman cameo depicting a mime actor has been found which may be associated with a possible theatre at Brough-on-Humber (Henig 1995, 371). Roman intaglios depicting entertainers have been found closer to Frilford: at a site near Burford, Oxfordshire, a blue onyx stone illustrates a mime actor, probably a Genius of Comedy holding a mask (Henig & Wilkins 1982, 380). A stone of the same material, found at Abingdon shows a satyr holding a theatrical mask (Henig & Booth 2000, 137) and perhaps these were carried by travelling actors who performed at Frilford.

counterparts. The largest Gallo-Germanic theatre in Gaul is found in the provincial capital of Mainz where the delegations of civitates gathered to honour the members of the Imperial family from 16AD (Derks 1998, 43). In Britain, theatres can be associated with prominent Celtic tribes: Canterbury (Durovernum Cantiacorum) the capital of the Cantiaci and Verulamium (St. Albans) capital of the Catuvellanuni. The theatre at Colchester (Victricensis Camulodunensium) with the Roman Colonia within the tribal landscape of the Catuvellauni and Trinovantes and a fourth theatre at the rural sanctuary of Cunobelin’s royal seat, three miles west of the colonia at Gosbecks Farm. In addition to the amphitheatre, a pair of concentric walls are thought to represent part of a theatre at Cirencester and a sixth theatre existed close to the walled town of Broughon-Humber (Petuaria) capital of the Parisi although to date, no structure has been found.

Seating As with amphitheatres, we can assume that seating within the theatre was also of vital importance. Bieber (1961,189) notes that in contrast to Greek theatres which were religious and ‘democratic’ buildings, Roman theatres were more class orientated where different seats were set aside for different ranks of society. Although we will never know for certain, Derks (1998, 194) notes that under the reign of Augustus, the allocation of seats in Rome’s theatres was laid down by law (lex Iulia theatralis) with the best seats reserved for priests, magistrates and senators. It must be plausible that the same law could have applied to the allocation of seats within the provinces. If construction had been financed by private munificence then places must have been reserved for the most wealthy and socially important members of the community. An inscription from Brough-on-Humber commemorates the gift of a new stage to the vicus of Petuaria by the aedile Marcus Ulpius Januarius during the reign of Antoninus Pius (RIB707) (Fig. 6). Although this evidence does not confirm where the aedile sat, it does suggest that personal munificence was bestowed on the community through the donation of the stage. As the inscription was found approximately 40 miles from where the actor cameo at Barnoldby le Beck was recovered, it does suggest that either a theatre existed in the area or that travelling actors passed through. It reflects the significance of the theatre as symbolizing the benefits of ‘civilization’ where the aristocracy became ‘Roman’ through the construction of essentially a Roman building.

Religious association of theatres Importantly, four of the confirmed theatres in Britain are associated with local shrines or cults (Bateman 1997, 77). In the urban settlements of Colchester, Verulamium, and Canterbury the theatres are located adjacent to temple complexes: the Temple of Claudius (Crummy 1982, 59), the Temple in Insula xvi (Kenyon 1935, 214) and the temple precinct respectively (Wacher 1995, 228). Correspondingly, Gosbecks Farm and Frilford are similar to Gallic rural sanctuaries which typically consisted of a temple standing in a sacred enclosure which was surrounded by facilities such as baths and hostels (King 1990, 80 & 144). The period I phase of the theatre at Verulamium consists of several characteristics which are analogous with the Frilford structure. It appears to have been built in the second quarter of the second century A.D probably between AD 140 and AD 150 immediately adjacent to the RomanoCeltic temple and consisted of a stone-revetted earth-filled auditorium where a completely circular orchestra, almost 24.3m in diameter had been sunk into the natural soil with excavated earth piled up round the outside (Kenyon 1935, 215). A small concave-fronted timber stage was constructed on the eastern side which was backed by a stage-house with the back wall reaching the same height as the back of the cavea. Traditionally called entrances, two anomalies on the western and eastern axis at Frilford were perhaps a western entrance and an eastern stage: the appearance of in situ stone flagstones protruding from where the eastern wall was cut could have provided support for a timber

Location in important administrative centres Theatres were often located in areas of political neutrality where provincial leaders could gather with their Roman 99

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Figure 7. Eastern arena wall cut and in situ flagstones protruding back towards the bedrock supporting a timber stage framework. were presented (Henig 2004 pers comm). Portable wooden stages or booths for actors to be raised above the height of the audience sitting (or standing) in the cavea are known from the Greek theatres such as Epidauros and Delos, and were called skene (Bieber 1961, 164). The temple precinct at Champlieu in northern Gaul abutted the stage wall of a theatre and must have been functionally related and part of the same complex. This site was rural and reflects similar arrangements to those found in Canterbury (Bédoyère 2002, 120) where part of an old theatre constructed c. AD 80-90 was later included within a new structure early in the third century. The new building resembled the classical theatre with the south side being enclosed by two concentric curving walls 3.7m and 2.4m thick, with an ambulatory 2.7m wide with a diameter of 80m again reflecting ‘becoming Roman’ by utilising a traditionally Roman amenity which had not existed during the pre-Roman period. Evidence from Gosbecks Farm is considered as the only known example of a religious complex where the temple stands within its own temenos with associated theatre, although perhaps it now seems fair to interpret the evidence from Frilford as exhibiting similar characteristics. In its earliest phase, the plan of the theatre consisted of a semi-circular timber cavea with a northern entrance and a relatively large orchestra with a rectangular timber stage (Dunnett 1971, 31). The stage was 21.33m wide and up to 10.36m deep and was supported at the front by uprights (Dunnett 1971, 39). Evidence for such postholes has not been found at Frilford although the absence for evidence cannot confirm evidence for absence. The close proximity of the theatre to the second century AD Romano-Celtic temple suggests an association between them.

Figure 8. Eastern arena wall and protruding flagstones supporting a timber stage? stage which protruded into the cavea (Henig 2004, pers. comm.). Correspondingly, the bedrock behind the eastern wall is also at such a steep angle that regular access might have been impeded conflicting with evidence that this was a substantial entranceway. It is plausible that at some point in its history, the eastern area was perhaps a ‘way in’ yet it seems more likely that the evidence reflects a cutting through the wall supporting seating for a wooden stage which could be erected when theatrical performances

The apparent dearth of evidence for theatres in Britain raises three possibilities. First, that the architectural building was not adopted within Britain as part of the wider cultural package of Roman amenities such as bath-houses, court buildings and amphitheatres; secondly, that the 100

Lindsey Smith : Differing interpretations of the Romano-British site at Marcham/Frilford

Figure 9. Looking East: the steep incline of the bedrock behind the arena wall restricting access if an entranceway. form of entertainment performed within theatres was not particularly popular and therefore a place to stage them was not needed. Finally, that a new hybrid structure was created reflecting both economic constraints and a social benefit of utilizing a somewhat similar structure for a number of purposes. We must consider that the Frilford circular structure was not necessarily an amphitheatre or theatre and perhaps is a unique example of a hybrid form. In Gaul the multifunctional buildings incorporated the characteristics of both theatres and amphitheatres and were generally grouped together as ‘theatre-amphitheatres’ (King, 1990, 80). They tend to be located in less wealthy parts of the western provinces providing an economic alternative to the costly construction of two separate structures. The specifically Gallo-Roman type of theatre-amphitheatre found in religious rural sanctuaries is of considerable interest, as they are not the standard Roman form but represent a regional Romano-Celtic type, similar to temples architecture. The seating banks are often greater than a semicircle with only a small stage with much of the action probably taking place within the orchestra. In Paris there is evidence for a building superficially resembling an amphitheatre with a central arena and surrounding seating. It differed from a true amphitheatre in that about one third of the seating was replaced by a small stage and stage-set for a theatre (King 1990, 144). Similarly, the initial form of the Verulamium theatre comprised of a

completely circular orchestra with a simple stage fronting onto the circular orchestra wall (Kenyon 1935, 215). As amphitheatres are typically elliptical, the circular arena at Frilford had raised concerns (Gosden & Lock 2003a, 90) and thus the evidence must support the hypothesis that Frilford is a theatre-amphitheatre cross. Sacred Pathway It is impossible to provide a full description of how people moved between the buildings as we know very little of

Figure 10. Looking west from the Eastern stage arena wall. The

temple lies behind the clump of trees directly opposite this theatre.

101

Art, Religion and Society the rituals and performances acted out in Roman Britain. Gebhard (from Slater 1996, 116) writes that processions were performed in a specific order with people gathering at a shrine to participate in a ritual within the temple. A deity was processed from the temple to the theatre where it preceded over the entertainment and was returned to the temple at the end of the day accompanied by further rituals. At Frilford the anomaly on the Western wall of the theatre-amphitheatre appears to be the main entrance which aligns with the eastern entrance of the temple. The 6.7m wide pathway, appears to extend c. 9m east from the temple and must cut through the temenos wall towards the theatre-amphitheatre. The theatre-amphitheatre at Verulamium is associated with a sacred way stretching to the Folly Lane sanctuary (Henig 2002, 85) and can we assume the same for Frilford? Further excavation is needed to ascertain where the access point through the temenos to the temple lies and to confirm the relationship between the cobbled surface, the temple and temenos precinct and the theatre-amphitheatre.

How Rome made use of religion as an essential cultural assimilation agency within the Empire and the provinces will be examined. This will help in understanding how the local population of Frilford were affected socially and how their landscape would have changed topographically through the integration of a new culture. Does recent archaeological work support the conclusion reached by Bradford and Goodchild that the site rested over an existing Iron Age Shrine and therefore verifies religious continuity through the Iron Age into the Roman period with religion as the stimulus for the sites development? Roman Religion and ‘becoming Roman’ – from Empire to provinces Rome acknowledged religion as a powerful means of establishing and maintaining control. Roman devotion to their Gods was omnipotent with religious rituals visually reinforcing the union between themselves and their deities. Although the Roman preference for the administration of Britain was through indirect rule; where small territorial regions were managed by local civic elites on behalf of the Empire, a key strength to their success of control over the provinces was its religious polytheism; the ability of their religion to allow for incorporation and even assimilation of native pagan cults. The worship of ancient gods was permitted as long as public recognition of the imperial deity (the Emperor’s numen) was made and this is evident from the altar mentioned at Dorchester-On-Thames, which was dedicated not only to Jupiter Optimus Maximus but also to the Imperial numina (RIB235). This is in essence why the Roman Empire succeeded in integrating so many foreign cultures within its wider framework with religion acting as the stabilising factor.

Theatre Conclusion Evidence of theatres in Britain is limited. As a venue for performing specific ancestral plays, pantomimes and mimes, theatres perhaps were not as popular or relevant to the native population. It is unlikely that Frilford could support or justify the construction of a pure theatre and as less of a distinction between theatres and amphitheatres appears outside of Rome, it is likely, due to economic constraints, that the local elites supported the construction of only one entertainment facility. Therefore, due to the similarities with religious practices, hybrid theatre-amphitheatres were constructed within the vicinity of temples to serve as multi-functional venues, providing a setting for religious ceremonies, a place to conduct political debates, as well as a place to stage recreational activities such as gladiatorial combats and theatrical performances.

By adopting the fundamental patron-client relationships which thrived in Rome and had been a predominant sociopolitical organization of pre-Roman pagan societies, (Derks 1998, 37) local elites settled into the wider Roman Empire through a mutual adoption of Roman cultural practices. Social order was maintained by mutual consent of the native aristocracy and it was to their advantage to be seen as an ally of Rome, conforming to Roman practices such as financing Roman rituals and performing in religious ceremonies. The Roman villa at Fishbourne may have been built in recognition of the successful clientking relationship and “steadfast loyalty” of the tribal ruler of central southern Britain, Togidubnus, with the Emperor Claudius (Henig 2002, 25 & 51). At Frilford the fusion of Roman and native is displayed in hybrid architectural styles of the temple and theatre-amphitheatre as the setting for fundamentally native rituals akin to eisteddfods (competitions of literature, music, folk-dance and lyric poetry).

As Frilford and Gosbecks are seen as rural sanctuaries associated with a theatre, it would suggest that religious activity was sufficient to attract large numbers of worshippers throughout the Roman period and that the sites may have been the focus of both political and cultural as well as religious assemblies. Ideally, the recovery of a bath-building at Frilford would confirm its status as a religious complex and the area between Frilford villa, west of the temple precinct may reveal further evidence. Religious complex It is important to examine the role of Religious sanctuaries within the wider Roman Empire to determine whether the archaeological evidence from Frilford could support the hypothesis that it was primarily a religious complex which may have attracted limited commercial activity. Using data from comparative sites, the nature of the structures which define a religious complex will be discussed.

What structures do Religious Complexes consist of? Hingley (1985) assigns the term religious complex to sites that have a defined range of functionally related 102

Lindsey Smith : Differing interpretations of the Romano-British site at Marcham/Frilford buildings including one or more shrines, a bathhouse (s), a theatre and in some cases evidence for a large courtyard building (or forum). Although there is no one definitive ‘one-size-fits-all’ single characteristic which defines a ‘religious complex’ the quintessential feature would have been the Temple. Most temples in Roman Britain were not constructed in the ‘classical’ style, but as a unique ‘Romano-Celtic’ type which was completely unknown in the Mediterranean (Derks 1998, 146). Only twenty out of one hundred and forty six recognized temples in Britain were classified as ‘classical’, the majority being of the Romano-Celtic rectangular, polygonal or circular design (Lewis 1966, 6) and by accommodating a Celtic design the native populations of Britain were keen to express their penchant for Roman structures whilst at least maintaining some of their traditional rites.

shrine was later overlaid with two Roman temple buildings (Fig. 17). Interestingly, Iron Age shrines appear to be located in central positions within densely built up settlements and there is evidence that a tradition of commandeering ancient monuments for religious sanctification and veneration did exist during the Roman period (Woodward 1992, 17). As with the religious sanctuary at Woodeaton, the Temple of Minerva at Harlow, Essex is sited in a rural hilltop location which appears to have been sacred in pre-Roman times. Bronze Age burials and a large number of late Iron Age coins, pottery and brooches associated with an Iron Age round-house were recovered from within the temple precinct and surrounding pre-Roman ditch (Lewis 1966, 49). One of the most complete religious sanctuaries at Uley (Glos) appears to have had Iron Age antecedent. The Romano-British temple was built directly over and in alignment with what was assumed an Iron Age temple. A votive pit from within the structure contained a number of Iron Age items such as coins, pottery, tools, iron weapon heads and bone which appear to conform to well known ritual deposits found at Hayling Island (Woodward & Leach 1993, 307). The circular structure at Hayling Island, 9.2m in diameter was constructed early in the first century BC, around a central pit which contained a number of Iron Age votive deposits such as coins, metal jewellery, iron spearheads, vehicle fittings and some fragmentary human remains which has been interpreted as probably a ‘house’ for the deity. The deposits clearly indicate a pre-Roman use of the site and continuity through to the construction of the Roman temple in the 60/70s AD and beyond (King & Soffe 1998, 35).

Temples themselves were not designed to host public rituals but were private and enclosed spaces and houses for the gods. The central chamber (cella) would house the cult statue, surrounded by a covered walkway or ambulatory around the outside. The temple area at Frilford (SU43889624) was excavated by Bradford & Goodchild (1937-8) and despite having its walls robbed, a general plan and development of the area was made. The Romano-British temple is located within a substantially stone-built enclosure lying on an east-west axis. Both the simple cella 7.6m square and surrounding portico 16.8m square were supported on 1.1m wide foundations. Two further annexes of Flavian origin (AD 60-70) were added: annexe I extending across the western side of the building, comprised of three rooms and to the north-east, a small single room cut through the original gravel surround (annexe II). (Fig. 16)

Although the site at Wanborough (Wilts) is imperfectly understood, it has been suggested that a sacred grove or shrine was already in existence before a Romano-Celtic temple was constructed. A number of highly religious dedicatory deposits were found within the foundations of the later Roman temple, these included a number of votive offerings such as miniature axe pendants and copper alloy shears in addition to head-dresses and plain copper alloy rings which might have formed part of ceremonial objects worn by presiding priests (O’Connell & Bird 1994, 97).

The area around a temple was often regarded as holy ground and was demarcated by a ditch or wall (Lewis 1966, 13). Public rituals would normally be performed outside the temple within this sacred enclosure or temenos. At Frilford excavations, geophysics and aerial photographs have located the northern and eastern boundary of the wall suggesting that the temple was centrally located within the temenos (Burnham & Wacher 1990, 182). Similarly, the entrance to the temple compound at Springhead (Kent) was built about 21m from the east corner of the temenos wall (Detsicas 1983, 8), although an entrance through the temenos has yet to be located at Frilford. The dimensions of the wall may imply the wealth and importance of the cult it contained (Lewis (1966, 131) however, this analogy may not be so simple, for the temple at Woodeaton is enclosed within a smaller rectangular wall 45.72m x 35.5m despite containing a vast number of votive objects clearly reflecting the importance of the site as a sanctuary connected with the veneration of the god Mars.

Assuming religious continuity based mainly on evidence coming from postholes or beamslots of timber buildings located beneath stone Roman temple structures is not without risk. The excavators of the Hayling Island temple, like Harding (1987, 7-9) at Frilford note that supposed Iron Age pits and post-holes underlying Romano-Celtic temples appear typical of known Iron Age stake-wall roundhouses of this time, and they write that “nothing distinguishes it from a domestic structure” (King & Soffe 1998, 38). If the remains of Iron Age temples and domestic structures look the same then surely what is circumstantial is whether religious activity existed and subsequently influenced construction of Roman religious buildings.

Evidence for Iron Age religious continuity Bradford and Goodchild (1939) concluded that Frilford originated from an Iron Age antecedent where an Iron Age 103

Art, Religion and Society Ancillary buildings

Mansio

At Frilford, Hingley has recognised five ‘occupation areas’ covering a total area of 30 ha (Fig. 18) from which he determines the domestic and religious occupation of the site highlighting its religious activity as the primary feature. Areas 1 and 2 are located to the east of the temenos and lie between the temple and the circular structure; the majority of finds were of building material in the form of stone foundations, roof tiles, red tesserae, pottery and animal bone. In contrast, those areas located west of the temple temenos (Areas 3, 4 & 5), produced very little building material; no pottery or animal bone and only a few pieces of tile. To the north, buildings of some structural importance are found with stone walls and tile roofs which can be compared to a range of buildings found at religious complexes such as Lydney and Nettleton. In contrast, the spread of material to the north-west and south contain relatively few items and the lack of building material could suggest that buildings were constructed in timber and thatch and were of less importance.

The size of the theatre-amphitheatre together with the permanent temple at Frilford does suggest that at particular times numerous people may have visited to attend festivals or religious pageants and would thus need accommodation and refreshments. Although much more is known about the structures of a mansio complex at Godmanchester (Cambs), it lies immediately beside a small temple precinct strongly suggesting that the temple and mansio probably had a dependent relationship upon each other. As with Frilford, the temple is believed to have been a timber building prior to its later stone construction in the RomanoCeltic form and the nearby mansio may have served as a rest-house for visiting pilgrims. The complex contained accommodation, reception rooms, a dining room and adjoining kitchen together with stable facilities, storage rooms and a bathhouse (Green 1969, 136). However, due to the relatively high proportion of complete skeletal horse remains and its location along Ermine Street, the building is more likely to be a mansiones serving the imperial postal service (cursus publicus) and thus the settlement is unlikely to have developed due to religious motivations (Jones 1998, 172).

In addition to the temple and temenos at Frilford, there are a series of functionally related buildings consistent with religious complexes which are different from those found on purely urban settlements. In addition to basic corridor buildings such as inns and hostels, smaller dwellings juxtaposing temples are recognised as Priest-houses again which are functionally related through location with adjacent bath-houses and theatres.

Hostelry In addition to the priest house at Nettleton, the shrine was also surrounded by various other buildings which were probably designed as hostelries accommodating and providing provisions for visitors. The design and size of buildings XI, XII, XIII suggest that a number of people could be accommodated in the large reception halls and rooms leading from the ambulatory. A number of smaller buildings have been assigned other functions: building X as a precinct shop on account of its central position in the settlement and open eastern frontage evident from plan and a number of domestic dwellings built of the simple corridor design. Their positions around the temple and only 100m west of the Fosse Way suggests that lodging and refreshments were provided for visitors to the shrine passing en-route from either Cirencester or Bath (Wedlake 1982, 17).

Priest House A large magnetic anomaly was recorded at Frilford (designated Trench 2) and despite extensive ‘robbing’ and plough-damage which had removed much of the stone, the shallow flat features have been interpreted as the wallfoundations of a large rectilinear ‘building’ 34m long x 17m wide lying on a east-west axis with smaller rectilinear extensions appearing on the west, north and east sides. Although the use of this building is not fully understood its location halfway between the eastern temenos wall and the theatre-amphitheatre suggests it was functionally related to the temple and could have served a number of purposes such as a priest-house, hostel or mansio. (Fig. 19)

At Uley, the temple appears to be located in the centre of a large settlement with a range of buildings extending for at least 120m west of the excavated area. Those building nearest to the temple have been recorded with each containing evidence for multi-phased use such as hearths, ovens, kilns and different flooring types reflecting shops, domestic accommodation, a hostel and baths. The substantial foundations of Structure X suggest that the wall bases were thicker than the temple and could support a second storey; the simple rectangular building was enlarged several times adding a suite of rooms as either a guesthouse or hostelry (Woodward & Leach 1993, 315). Similar evidence comes from Lydney Park (Glos). North-east of the temple lies a large building of

In the absence of specific finds of recognisable function, it is difficult to assign definite labels to structural remains. Although the location of specific rooms at the Frilford building are unknown, if its construction was contemporaneous with the temple it may have served as a priest house. At Nettleton (Wilts) a circular/octagonal shrine of Apollo (building V) was erected AD 69, building VIII appeared not long after and was later replaced by building IX. This simple building was located close to the precinct wall and would have provided easy access to the nearby shrine for a custodian of the shrine or worshipping priests (Wedlake 1982, 27). 104

Lindsey Smith : Differing interpretations of the Romano-British site at Marcham/Frilford quadrangular plan with a series of verandas or corridors linking an open central courtyard with a ranges of small rooms (Wheeler & Wheeler 1932, 44) which appears to be a guest-house.

compound has been identified as a standard bathhouse consisting of a caldarium, tepidarium, frigidarium and plunge-pool (Detsicas 1983, 62). Prior to worship in the temple, purification could take place within the nearby bathhouse. Interestingly, the foundations of a second building found 27m from the north-east corner of the Roman villa at Frilford (SU4228 9726) have been interpreted as a bathhouse (Fig. 20). Although only two rooms were identified there was evidence to suggest that they served as a hot-water room and a bathing chamber. The floor and walls of the hot-water room (P) were “coated with a brick-dust cement over an inch in thickness” (Evans & Moseley 1897, 346) probably opus signiunium so commonly found in cisterns and bathhouses due to its water resisting properties. A furnace cavity used to heat the water in the chamber and a drain composed of flag stone and a waste pipe appeared to carry water from chamber Q to a pond 24.38m to the north-west. Could we therefore, have the scant remains of a bathhouse completing the religious sanctuary? Although the area is scheduled, resistivity and field surveying needs to be conducted west of the current excavations in order to establish a relationship with the nearby temple precinct.

It is inconceivable that the modest structural evidence for occupation at Frilford would have been sufficient to house permanent visitors to the site. Temporary accommodation was perhaps organized for visitors needing to stay at the site overnight, in the form of tents with the permanent structure serving as accommodation reserved for priests, magistrates and members of the official delegations (Derks 1998, 194). Remains of a small corridor type building with twelve rooms and a portico lies 1900m north-west of the temple site (SU4228 9726). A whole ground plan of a small villa with projecting hypocaust chamber, tessellated pavement and the remains of a multi-coloured mural were recorded. The largest room was 8.84m x 2.84m and the smallest no more than 2m x 2.84m (Evans & Moseley 1897, 340), perhaps this building is representative of a number of structures west of the temenos yet to be found which importantly make up the religious complex at Frilford. (Fig. 20) Bathhouses are characteristic of religious sanctuaries yet their appearance within these complexes needs further exploration. North of the guest-house at Lydney Park a major bath complex housed a number of bathing and plunge rooms, hypocausts and latrines. The size and location of the baths with the temple suggest use by the public and their plan is said to resemble the public baths of Silchester. Public bathing was a classic Roman leisure pursuit yet when found at rural sanctuaries perhaps their use goes further than just hygienic reasons. Literary evidence supports the idea that bath houses were unhealthy places; Celsus (5.26.28C) writes that infected wounds should not be treated in the baths since the bath water renders them dirty (Scobie 1986, 425) and perhaps therefore, their appearance at sanctuaries reflects social and religious importance of purification rituals.

Industry Evidence for small scale industry has been found on a number of religious complexes in Britain. Building XXVI at Nettleton has been designate as an Iron Forge built to house a large furnace and hearth suggested by the quantity of iron slag found within the building. It is quite plausible that this building was manufacturing small votive trinkets which could have been sold at the nearby precinct shop (building X). Similarly, the courtyard at Frilford was perhaps occupied by temporary booths and stalls set up for selling votive offerings manufactured in two separate buildings abutting the eastern temenos wall (Trench 18). A considerable number of artefacts were recovered ranging from ceramics and tiles to a number of small finds such as coins, finely crafted metal tools and jewellery (Gosden & Lock 2003b, 4) and although no evidence for a furnace to indicate copper and iron working has been recovered,

At the Romano-British temple complex at Springhead (Kent), one of five buildings surrounding the temple

Figure 11. Trench 18. Two shops or industrial units abutting the temenos wall. 105

Art, Religion and Society the structure and location of the buildings together with the quantity of artefacts does suggest they were perhaps shops. At Old Buckenham (Norfolk), a two piece metal mould together with brooches and sprues indicate casting was conducted on site (Bayley et al 2001, 93). Sprues and a number of metal objects and wire have been identified as off-cuts and lumps of waste resulting from bronze manufacturing at nearby Woodeaton (Bagnall-Smith 1998, 179 & 184) although without specific industrial evidence it is difficult to confidently ascribe a particular label to the Frilford buildings. Who would have access to the Religious Complex? As architectural structures, temples were designed to be impressive and space was being socially manipulated to give a desired impact. For example, the physical plan of most Romano-Celtic temples restricted access to the cella for the cult figure with only privileged people and attending priests entering the inner courtyard (Hopkins 1999, 186). The remaining congregation would have gathered outside of the temple within the temenos precinct offering bread, fruit and beer whilst sacrifices were made on a stone or timber altar and interpreted by the haruspices.

Figure 12. The centre of the theatre-amphitheatre with water and drain visible. and bank revetment where initially, part of the arena wall was removed in order to accommodate a drain. Perhaps therefore, after a period of silting the initial smaller bank was followed by the construction of a larger bank extending southwards. A waterlogged piece of timber removed from the centre of the arena was radiocarbon dated to 1910 ± 60BP (Beta 182615) (calibrated to 30 BC – AD 245) which appears to conclude that the central area must have been continuously waterlogged and thus “increases the chance that this was a water feature in its earliest phase” (Gosden & Lock 2004, 11). A natural wet feature may have been formalised through the construction of the bank and wall and only later after the drain was installed did it adopt a new existence as a theatre-amphitheatre.

At Lydney Park the god Nodens (equated with the Roman Mars) seems to have had a healing function, and was the principal deity venerated at its Temple. South of the guesthouse, foundations of a long, narrow building comprising of upwards of eleven rooms has been specifically associated with the Roman ritual of abaton or incubation where pilgrims, having purified themselves in the baths, slept within the confines of the temple, asking their god to visit in a dream and bring “helpful counsel” (Wheeler & Wheeler 1932, 51). At Epidaurus, the Temple of Asklepios was dedicated to the healing cult and Asklepios priests would help the worshipper interpret their dreams. It is not impossible to perceive that due to its location between the temple and the theatre-amphitheatre, the building (trench 2) at Frilford could have housed pilgrims participating in incubation.

However, this hypothesis is speculative. What is uncertain and I doubt whether it can ever be substantiated is whether the local people were utilising the water as a sacred feature.

Sacred Pool hypothesis Significant to the 2004 excavations at Frilford was the discovery of a complex drainage system underlying the circular feature. As discussed the traditional assumption of the feature as an ‘amphitheatre’ (Hingley 1987) was based on the well built stone wall comparable to other known examples. However, modern GIS techniques and subsequent excavations has revealed that the centre of the feature was significantly wet enough to be interpreted as a ritual pool (Gosden & Lock 2003a, 91). Excavations of the interior exposed several reconstruction phases of both the stone wall

Figure 13. Looking South towards the River Ock (the trees in the

background) and the drainage system running from the centre of the arena under the stone ‘box’ feature.

106

Lindsey Smith : Differing interpretations of the Romano-British site at Marcham/Frilford settlement could have been a multi-functioning vicus that participated in trade, exploiting its location for road and river transport overseen by its tribal aristocracy and thus functioned as any other small town; a perspective that my next chapter will consider.

Carrawburgh on Hadrian’s Wall is an example of a shrine sited on a waterlogged and silty deposit. Although nothing more than a small paved area next to a small well, a single altar was dedicated by M.Hisparius Modestinus, prefect of cohors I Batavorum to the Genius of the Place and his Nymph companions (Wright 1961, 193). Interestingly, a votive silver leaf was recovered from the large outdoor pool (natatio) which had silted up during the third century at the Legionary fortress baths at Caerleon (Brewer 1986, 168) suggesting that despite their initial function, watery places could be considered sacred places.

Other Aspects In addition to religious practice attracting visitors to Frilford, other motives could have led to its development and subsequent occupation through the Roman period.

The presence of a sizeable drainage system must indicate that attempts were made to ensure that the interior of the circular structure was dry. Furthermore, the appearance of rendered plaster and paint lying on the lower 1m of the interior of the stone wall would not be favourable with a water feature. Similarly, an apparent lack of artefacts from within the central arena perhaps considered votive deposits, as found in comparable sites must surely contest the hypothesis that the feature was a “ritual pool”.

Importance of Roads The major road networks changed the landscape of Roman Britain and were the main arteries through which rapid communication, transportation and movement of troops could be co-ordinated. In addition to the main road routes such as Ermine Street, linking London with Lincoln and the Humber; Watling Street, which ran from London to Wroxeter, and later to Chester; and the Fosse Way, which cut from Exeter to Lincoln, minor roads (sometimes called ‘economic roads’) were built to link industrial centres, such as the Mendip lead mines and the Nene potteries with the administrative civitas capitals. It was along these Roman highways that a number of Roman towns developed together with a number of smaller roadside settlements that benefited from passing traffic.

Religious Complex Conclusion: The origin and religious continuity of the site remains unclear. Certainly, Frilford contained a well constructed timber and stone built temple approximately dated to the late second/early third century (Harding 1987). However, it is still unknown whether the temple was, as Bradford and Goodchild argue, constructed over an existing Iron Age shrine or over domestic structures. Even if the postholes were of Iron Age foundation there may still have been a period of abandonment before the Roman temple was constructed. Religious continuity of the site is therefore impossible to assign.

The apparent lack of a strong military presence in the region together with the absence of a citivas capital would imply that Oxfordshire was politically a stable region. Although many areas are incomplete it does appear that Frilford was located where a Roman road from Bicester to Wantage crossed the River Ock on what is now the A338. However, much has eroded away and its full extent through the region cannot be confirmed. It appears to have run northeast to southwest and could have linked Alchester with the minor town of Mildenhall (Cunetio) in Wiltshire.

Evidence suggests that at some point Frilford was a religious complex and the positioning and range of structural remains confirm functionally related buildings were positioned around the temple. It is interesting that Frilford was assigned as a religious complex at an early stage in its excavation when so little was known of the surrounding ancillary buildings. Bathhouses are commonly found at rural sanctuaries and the confirmation of one at Frilford would surely confirm its status as a religious complex. Whatever the cult venerated at Frilford, it proved sufficiently popular to bring about the development of the temple compound and subsequent expansion around the religious site. If further examination of the area lying 1900m to the north-west of the temple site is undertaken it might determine the relationship between the temple precinct and ‘Frilford villa’ bathhouse development.

It is worth noting that the major Roman road of Akeman Street passed through Alchester linking Verulamium, with Cirencester and Bath. Frilford may have benefited from the minor road that runs south providing the Claudian vexillation fortress with goods and services obtained through river and road access. A comparison can be made with the rural sites of Asthall and Wilcote also sited along Akeman Street north of Frilford, where limited excavations have revealed a number of buildings roughly datable to the mid to late first century contemporary with construction of the road (Booth 1992, 151). Asthall lies near to the River Windrush and a number of coins, copper alloy and iron artefacts and a quantity of animal bones suggest that the settlement was probably a local market centre, essentially like Frilford, exploiting trade (Booth 1992, 149). (Fig. 14) Further north the importance of the Roman settlement

It is possible however, that the temple at Frilford was just one structure within an urban setting where Roman amenities where adopted and incorporated into the fabric of the existing community. The buildings, so readily assigned as functionally related to the temple, could have been domestic dwellings. As with Godmanchester, the 107

Art, Religion and Society importance of rivers and streams in prehistory is indicated by the survival of Celtic names, for example the rivers Thames, Thame, Avon, Severn, Windrush and Ock are all Celtic survivals and the name Frilford attests the Celtic form (Frithela’s ford) as a passage or river crossing (Arkell 1947, 251). The location of late Iron Age settlements close to major waterways must imply the importance people placed in rivers for transport and practical purposes and thus played a significant factor in establishing major settlements. Certainly, by the start of the Roman period in AD 43, well established regional trading links had been in existence for many years in Oxfordshire. Importantly, for the present investigation, the well known pottery of ‘Frilford style’ globular bowls, which are common from sites in and around Abingdon have been found on an Iron Age enclosure South of Reading and also North at Salmonsbury in the Windrush Valley. Despite the fact that no production centre has been found in or near Frilford, the appearance of this type of pottery in close juxtaposition to water courses, must signify the importance of rivers as arteries for trade and communication. At Frilford a second Roman road appears to branch eastwards from the main thoroughfare leading to Abingdon, located two to three miles to the south-east. As both Abingdon and Dorchester are situated on the River Thames perhaps they played a major role as distribution centres exploiting river links to southern England and the coast. First and Figure 14. Map of Frilford within Oxfordshire; the towns of second century mortaria has been found in Alchester and Dorchester and Roman roads. Dorchester which came almost entirely from (Rodwell 1975, 14 fig 2) the Verulamium region (Burnham & Wacher at Godmanchester, was primarily geographical as the 1990, 120) The analogy can thus be made site appears to have developed as a posting station and between Frilford and the religious sanctuary at Nettleton administrative centre maintaining both the river crossing Scrubb where the temple is served not only by a range of of Ermine Street and several minor roads (Green 1969, functionally related buildings but also by river access and 133). Unlike Frilford, Godmanchester developed around the busy Fosse Way. an early military fort with the major settlement spreading in a regular grid plan aligned with the central section of Tribal boundaries: Ermine Street and as mentioned the associated mansio and temple, serviced runners for the cursus publicus which has As well as maintaining settlement boundaries, rivers been seen as a major impetus behind the growth of many possibly served to define tribal territories (Henig & Booth roadside settlements (Henig & Booth 2000, 63). 2000, 29). The site at Frilford lies within the British tribal landscape of the Atrebates who are known from coin Importance of Water distribution to have occupied much of what is now southern Oxfordshire, West Sussex, West Surrey, Hampshire, Transportation of commodities via roads would have been Berkshire, and North East Wiltshire. At Wilcote, several time consuming, costly and perhaps unsafe, therefore brooches similar to those found at Frilford are reported to movement by water would have offered a cheap and more be specific to the Atrebates group (Hands 1998, 52) and economical means of moving goods and perhaps Frilford two other tribes are also known from coins within the area: expanded as an important distribution centre exploiting the Dobunni who dominated West Oxfordshire, Gloucester, the inland waterways of the Thames and the Ock. The North Somerset, Avon, and some parts of Hertfordshire, 108

Lindsey Smith : Differing interpretations of the Romano-British site at Marcham/Frilford

Figure 15. Map of Tribal boundaries and the location of amphitheatres, theatres, theatre-amphitheatres of Britain. Frilford lies between the Atrebates, Dobunni and Catuvellauni regions. (Wacher 1995, 26 fig 3 & author’s amendments) Worcestershire and Warwickshire and the Catuvellauni whose coins are found throughout Cambridgeshire, North Hampshire, Bedfordshire, Buckinghamshire, and North East of Oxfordshire.

impetus for constructing the theatre-amphitheatre as a venue for discussing politics of the time. The remains of freshwater oyster shells are scattered throughout the site and although they may have been farmed from the River Ock, their presence is typical of urban and higher status rural settlements, being completely absent from lowstatus settlements within the region (Booth 1992, 150). This would suggest that they were not served to the rural population at shops or refreshment stalls but were reserved for more important visitors.

The topography and rivers of the Berkshire Downs and the Thames Valley would have provided a natural barrier between these Celtic tribes yet actual boundaries are seldom known. Interestingly, a degree of autonomy was granted to certain tribes friendly to Rome. The Atrebates and the Dobunni seem to have been Roman allies well before AD 43 and the existing tribal parties were used as the basis for ruling administrative regions and some retained their major settlements as civitas capitals, for example, Calleva Atrebatum (Silchester, Hampshire) for the Atrebates, Verulamium (St. Albans) for the Catuvellauni and Corinium (Cirencester) for the Dobunni. The reciprocal relationship between Rome and the provinces established around client-kings would have helped increase the status of the local elite whilst creating nodal points for trade and communication. Periodic tribal gatherings could have taken place at Frilford due to its relative easy river and roads access and its politically neutral locality and thus perhaps these important assemblies were the

Religious complexes attracting visitors might have stimulated trade. Festivals held at temples would have drawn large gatherings of worshippers which in turn produced a surplus which could be invested in the buildings and property of the temple. The roadside settlement of Springhead and Nettleton are settlements, which like Frilford, incorporate Romano-Celtic temples with ancillary buildings including a mansio, hostel and inn and would have appealed to visiting pilgrims. Their locations might have provided an appealing resting place for travellers who could replenish and refresh themselves at the roadside inn whilst giving thanks for arriving safely and preparing themselves for the onward 109

Art, Religion and Society journey at the local temple. A silver plaque recovered from Stony Stratford (Magiovinium) (Bucks) records the solutio where Vassinus promised six denarii to Jupiter and Vulcan on his safe homecoming (Henig 1995, 147).

accommodate leading members of the tribes, while shops showed a larger influx of votaries. If the site was of political importance, this would have led to the construction of the temple and a transformation of its primary function. Once the temple was constructed, Frilford may have utilized its location on the river and road network to attract visitors from Alchester, Abingdon and further afield. As the site evolved, the nature of the circular structure changed too. Rather than a semi-permanent meeting place, it became a permanent place from which the rural hinterland could participate in religious festivals that were being held at the temple. The location of the stone theatre-amphitheatre directly 120m east of the temple temenos surely is no coincidence and the partially excavated walkway must be functionally related.

It is almost impossible to confirm whether the impetus for the settlement at Frilford was primarily religious or whether it grew from its excellent location as a venue for holding important client-king political gatherings. Certainly both aspects were capable of attracting large numbers of visitors either as pilgrims or as traders. Traders would have attended religious festivals and worshipped in the temple vis-à-vis pilgrims would have needed to purchase refreshments, fresh produce and conceivably votive merchandise all of which could have been produced or manufactured on site or from the surrounding area.

The known religious sanctuaries in Britain all appear to consist of ancillary buildings analogous to those found at Frilford. The building in Trench 2 could conceivably have housed the priests or provided limited accommodation for visiting pilgrims; similarly the buildings abutting the temenos wall (Trench 18) are likely to have been shops trading in refreshments and perhaps votive trinkets. The absence of a bathhouse on site may reflect limited excavations (Frilford villa and associated bathhouse at 1900m northwest of the temple were perhaps too far to be used daily) and further work west and north of the Temple precinct may in future provide confirmation of such a structure (absence of evidence is not always evidence of absence).

Conclusion Although the origin of the site is still elusive we can show that it was of some importance during the Roman period. Evidence for an Iron Age settlement may well have led to Roman interest and, regardless of whether an Iron Age shrine previously existed, a Roman temple of considerable size was constructed. With regard to the origin of the theatre-amphitheatre what cannot be determined is whether an arrangement was created over the natural wet feature marking a sacred area which was later adapted to a new form of theatreamphitheatre, or whether a structure serving as an arena was constructed because the soil was workable. This subsequently silted up and a drain was installed to ensure the area stayed dry.

The artefacts from the site do not reflect a strong religious presence. The majority are personal items contemporary with objects founds at comparable sites such as jewellery which suggests that they were carried by individuals rather than having been specifically manufactured to reflect a particular votive purpose. As we see today, jewellery and coins are frequently thrown into ‘sacred’ places as offerings of ‘good luck’ – Ellen MacArthur on her recent world circumnavigation threw her silver necklace into the sea as a token of thanks to the God Neptune, and Martin Henig on leaving Cambridge threw the entire contents of his pockets into the river Cam. So were individuals visiting ancient sites really any different? If the majority of artefacts had been of a religious nature such as the letters or intentionally bent miniature weapons found at Woodeaton to the deity Mars or caducei at Uley to the God Mercury then perhaps the nature of Frilford would indeed have been primarily religious.

Initially, the dimensions and orientation of the amphitheatre are analogous with other Romano-British examples which leads to problems of interpretation due to their possible use for distinctively different kinds of entertainment. From what probably took place at Frilford, there is a need to reexamine the evidence and take into account local, social, cultural and economic relationships between theatre and amphitheatre construction in order to consider why one but not the other type of building was built. The location of Frilford was too remote from towns or military centres to support either an urban arena for beastfights and gladiatorial combats or an amphitheatre for military training (ludus) yet as a theatre-amphitheatre it was exactly the type of structure to service the Temple precinct. Initially, the timber structure may have been built as a venue for public tribal gatherings; as a neutral meeting place between the leaders of the Celtic Atrebates, Dobunni and Catuvellani. This in turn may have prompted the need for a more permanent settlement where buildings such as the mansio and perhaps even Frilford villa could

However, my interpretation is that its foundation was, in the first instance, a result of its political importance which in turn generated economic interest. The circular structure, initially served as a meeting point and later as a theatreamphitheatre from where religious rituals could be played out in association with the nearby temple. The temple was served by visitors attending specific religious festivals or more frequently by those passing through. Their gifts were of a personal nature, intended to please the gods, or ask 110

Lindsey Smith : Differing interpretations of the Romano-British site at Marcham/Frilford for safe passage along the road rather than representing specific sacred pilgrimages. Certainly, its location, initially at the boundary between three Celtic tribes may have prompted the need for a permanent gathering place. The river and road access may have facilitated the construction of the temple from where ‘good luck’ offerings would be made. On important religious festivals people travelled from further a field, staying in temporary tented camps with the important priests or local officials residing in the more permanent masonry structures. The life of the site perhaps therefore, reflects an equal balance of commercial and religious activity and there is no need to separate the two.

Appendix 1

Figure 16. Romano-Celtic Temple at Frilford. (Bradford & Goodchild 1939,28 fig 9)

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Figure 17. Plans of Iron Age settlement and Romano-Celtic temple at Frilford. (Hingley 1985, 208 fig 5)

Figure 18. Plan of five areas of occupation at Frilford. (Hingley 1982, 307 fig 5) 112

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Figure 19. Plan of Trench 2, the rectilinear building at Frilford. Mansio or Hostel? (Gosden & Lock 2004, 7 fig 4)

Figure 20. Plan of Frilford Villa and associated bathhouse. (Page & Calthrop 1920, 207)

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Art, Religion and Society Abbreviations

Crummy, P., 1982, The Roman Theatre at Colchester. Britannia. Vol 13. 299-302. De la Bédoyère, G., 2005, Website: Accessed 27 Feb 2005. http://www.romanbritain.freeserve.co.uk/towns evidence.htm Derks, T., 1998, Gods, Temples and Ritual Practices: The transformation of religious ideas and values in Roman Gaul. Amsterdam University. Detsicas, A., 1983, The Cantiaci. Alan Sutton. Dunnett, R. and Reece, R., 1971, The Excavation of the Roman Theatre at Gosbecks. Britannia. Vol .2 2747. Evans, A. and Moseley, M., 1897, A Roman Villa at Frilford. Archaeological Journal. Vol LVI. Royal Archaeological Institute. Frere. S., 1988, Roman Britain in 1987. Britannia No 19: 461-462. Fulford. M., 1985, “Excavations on the Sites of the Amphitheatre and Forum-Basilica at Silchester, Hampshire: an interim report”. Antiquaries Journal 65 39-81. Fulford, M., 1989, The Silchester Amphitheatre: Excavations of 1979-85. Britannia Monograph Series No 10. Fulford, M., & Rippon, S, 1994. Lowbury Hill, a ReAssessment of the probable Romano-Celtic Temple and Anglo-Saxon Barrow. The Archaeological Journal. Vol 151, 158-211. Futrell, A., 1997, Blood in the Arena. University of Texas Press. Gebhard, E., 1996, ‘The Theatre and the City’ in Slater W., The Roman Theater and Society. University of Michigan Press. Golvin, Jean-Claude, 1988, L’Amphithéâtre romain; essai sur la théorisation de sa forme et ses functions. 2 Vols. Paris: Publications du centre Pierre Paris. Gosden, C., Lock, G., Griffiths, D., Daly, P., Trifkovic, V., Marston, T., 2001. The Hillforts of the Ridgeway Project: Excavations at Marcham/Frilford, Oxfordshire. South Midlands Archaeology, 31. Gosden, C. and Lock, G., 2003a, The Ridgeway and Vale Project: Excavations at Marcham/Frilford 2003interim report. Gosden, C & Lock, G., 2003b, Frilford: A Romano-British ritual pool in Oxfordshire. Current Archaeology. No. 184. Vol. XVI No 4. Gosden, C., and Lock, G., 2004. The Vale and Ridgeway Project: Excavations at Marcham/Frilford 2001-2004. Green, M., 1969, Godmanchester. Current Archaeology, Vol. 16. 133-138. Hands, A., 1998, Romano-British Rural Settlement at Wilcote, Oxfordshire. Excavations 1993-1996. Vol 11. BAR 265. Harding, D., 1987, Excavations in Oxfordshire 1964-66. University of Edinburgh. No. 15. Haverfield, F., 1897, A Roman Villa at Frilford. Archaeological Journal. Vol LIV. 340-354. Henig, M., 1984, Religion in Roman Britain. B.T. Batsford Ltd.

RIB The Roman Inscriptions of Britain. Volume 1 Inscriptions on Stone. Collingwood R. & Wright, R. 1965. Oxford Acknowledgements I would like to thank my supervisor, Dr. Martin Henig for the support, patience and encouragement he has provided me in writing this paper. I am also grateful for the help offered by Susan Lisk, the SMR officer and Sheila Raven from the Institute of Archaeology. Bibliography Arkell, W.J., 1947, The Geology of Oxford. Oxford Clarendon Press. Arkell, W.J., 1942, Place-Names and topography. Oxoniensia. Vol 6. 4-16. Bagnall Smith, J., 1995, Interim Report on the Votive Material from Romano-Celtic Temple Sites in Oxfordshire. Oxoniensia. Vol 60, 177-204. Bateman, N., 1997, The London Amphitheatre: Excavations 1987-1996. Britannia. Vol. 28, 51-85. Bayley, J., Mackreth, D. and Wallis, H., 2001, Evidence for Romano-British Brooch Production at Old Buckenham, Norfolk. Britannia. Vol 32. 93-118. Beard, M., North, J. and Price, S., 1998, Religions of Rome. Vol. 1: A History. Cambridge University Press. Bieber, M., 1961, The History of the Greek and Roman Theater. Princeton University Press. Bomgardner, D., 1991, “Amphitheatres on the fringe,” Journal of Roman Archaeology. Vol 4. 282-295. Bomgardner, D., 1993, “A new era for amphitheatre studies.” Journal of Roman Archaeology. Vol 6. 375391. Booth, P., 1997, Asthall, Oxfordshire: Excavations in a Roman ‘small town’, 1992. Oxford Archaeological Unit Bradford, J. and Goodchild, R., 1939, Excavations at Frilford, Berks, 1937-8. Oxoniensia, Vol 4. 1-80. Bradley, R., 1976, “Maumbury Rings, Dorchester: the Excavations of 1908-1913”. Archaeologia 105, 1-97. Brewer, R., 1986, Objects of Gold and Silver. From. Zienkiewicz, J.D. The Legionary Fortress Baths at Caerleon. Welsh Historic Monuments. Burnham, B., & Wacher J. 1990, The Small towns of Roman Britain. Berkeley: University of California Press. Collingwood, R. and Wright, R., 1965, The Roman inscriptions of Britain. Volume I, Inscriptions on stone. Clarendon Press. Crummy, N., 1983, The Roman Small Finds from Excavations in Colchester 1971-79. Colchester Archaeological Trust. Vol 2. Crummy, P., 2005, Eureka! A Roman Circus. The Colchester Archaeologist. No. 18. 114

Lindsey Smith : Differing interpretations of the Romano-British site at Marcham/Frilford Page, W., 1906, The Victoria history of the county of Somerset. Vol 1. Constable & Company Limited. Pocock, T.I., 1926, The Geology of the Country around Oxford. H.M Stationery Office. Rodwell, K.A., 1975, Historic Towns in Oxfordshire: A survey of the new county. Oxford Archaeological Unit. Survey No. 3. Sandford, K.S. et al., 1939, Early Man of Oxfordshire. Victoria County History of Oxfordshire. Vol. 1. Constable & Company Limited. Sauer, E., 2003, Wendlebury (Alchester Fortress): Headquarters, Granary and Timber Bridge (SP570 203). South Midland Archaeology. Vol 33. 92-105 Scobie, A., 1986, “Slums, sanitation and mortality in the Roman world”. Klio. 68.2. 399-433 Slater, W., 1996, The Roman Theater and Society. University of Michigan Press. Thompson, F.H., 1976, “The Excavation of the Roman Amphitheatre at Chester”. Archæologia 105. 127-239. Wacher, J., 1998, Roman Britain. 2nd ed. Sutton Publishing. Wacher, J., 1995, The Towns of Roman Britain. 2nd ed. B.T. Batsford Ltd. Wedlake, W.J., 1982, The Excavation of the Shrine of Apollo at Nettleton, Wiltshire. 1956-1971. Reports of the Research Committee of the Society of Antiquaries of London. No. XL. Thames and Hudson Ltd. Wheeler, R. and Wheeler, T., 1932, Report on the excavation of the prehistoric, Roman, and Post-Roman site in Lydney Park, Gloucestershire. Society of Antiquaries. Oxfords University Press. Woodward, A., 1992, Shrines and Sacrifice. English Heritage. Woodward, A. and Leach. P., 1993, The Uley Shrines: Excavation of a ritual complex on West Hill, Uley, Gloucestershire: 1977-9. English Heritage. Woolf, G., 1998, Becoming Roman. Cambridge University Press. Wright, R., 1961, Roman Britain in 1960: II Inscriptions. Journal of Roman Studies, Vol 51. 157-198

Henig, M. and Wilkins, R., 1982, A Roman intaglio showing the Genius of Comedy. The Antiquaries Journal. Vol 62. 380-381. Henig, M., 1987, A cameo from Barnoldby le Beck, Humberside, depicting a mime actor. The Antiquaries Journal. Vol 67, 371-372. Henig, M., 2002, The Heirs of King Verica: culture and politics in Roman Britain. Tempus Publishing. Henig, M. and Booth, P., 2000, Roman Oxfordshire. Sutton Publishing. Hingley, R, 1985, “Location, Function and Status: A Roman-British ‘Religious Complex’ at the Noah’s Ark Inn, Frilford (Oxfordshire)”, Oxford Journal of Archaeology, Vol. 4. 201-214. Hingley, R., 1982, “Recent Discoveries of the Roman Period at the Noah’s Ark Inn, Frilford, South Oxfordshire”. Britannia, Vol 13. 305-310. Hopkins, K., 1999, A World Full of Gods: Pagans, Jews and Christians in the Roman Empire. Weidenfeld & Nicolson. London. Jones, A., 1998, Settlement, burial and industry in Roman Godmanchester : excavations in the extra-mural area : The Parks 1998, London Road 1997-8, and other investigations. BAR 346. BAR Publishing. Kenyon, K., 1935, The Roman Theatre of Verulamium, St. Albans. Archæologia. The Society of Antiquaries, Vol. LXXXIV. Keppe, L., 1994, ‘Scotland’ in Burnham, B. Keppe, L. Cleary, E. Hassall, M & Tomlin, O. “Roman Britain in 1993 I”. Britannia, Vol 25. 245-314. King, A. and Soffe, G., 1998, Internal Organisation and Deposition at the Iron Age Temple on Hayling Island (Hampshire). Hampshire Studies. Vol 53. Lewis, M., 1966, Temples in Roman Britain. Cambridge University Press. O’Connell, M., Bird, J., 1994, The Roman Temple at Wanborough, excavation 1985-1986. Surrey Archaeological Society. Page, W. and Calthrop, C., 1920, Romano-British Berkshire. Part 5. Constable & Company Limited.

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How a Christian might approach images of deities in polytheistic religions Martin Henig

Abstract This is the revised text of a lecture entitled How a Christian might approach images of pagan deities which was delivered in St Giles’ Church, Oxford on 19th January 2006 as the introduction to a series of talks on ‘Religious Images in their Context’. It was not considered necessary to include illustrations in the lecture but a few are included in the published version as an aid to contemplation, a visual response to the views expressed.

the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth; you shall not bow down to them or serve them

This statement, if taken literally, would seem to end the matter. Indeed the vanity of ‘idols’ is a constantly recurring theme throughout the Scriptures. Thus in Psalm 135 the psalmist writes (verses 15-18): The idols of the nations are silver and gold, the work of men’s hands. They have mouths, but they speak not, they have eyes, but they see not, they have ears but they hear not, nor is there any breath in their mouths. Like them be those who make them!yea every one who trusts in them!

In this paper I will attempt to examine the question as to how a Christian might have looked at representations of other gods in the past and also consider how we might look at such images today. In doing so this contribution inevitably reveals the personal standpoint of the writer, and makes no claim to be either orthodox or definitive. It develops the theme that I have already tried to address in two earlier articles. One was a lecture, ‘The unchanging face of God’ given in 1994 at a conference entitled In the Eye of the Beholder. Representation in Classical Antiquity, and the other, ‘Icons and Idols: meeting Romans through their Art’, appeared in a volume of the Archaeological Review from Cambridge. These both argued that such religious images have a value for Christians and other monotheists. Here my plea is reiterated and placed in a wider context. The word ‘pagan’ originally used in the title is really something of a misnomer, as the term should properly be used of the images used by pagani, countrymen, rather than devotees of sophisticated religious systems like those of Greek and Roman thinkers in Antiquity or Hinduism today, but I wanted to suggest images which may not appear to have an immediate connection with our faith and might even appear to certain purists to be antithetical to it.

Furthermore, the 7th-century BC writer of Deuteronomy (12, 2-3), is uncompromising in advocating iconoclasm even of the sacred places of other peoples: You shall surely destroy all the places where the nations whom you shall dispossess served their gods, upon the high mountains and upon the hills and under every green tree; you shall tear down their altars, and dash in pieces their pillars, and burn their Ashe’rim with fire; you shall hew down the graven images of their gods, and destroy their name out of that place.

In contrast to this ‘Taliban tendency’ humour and ridicule may on occasion break in, as in the castigation of such images, in this wonderfully droll passage interpolated into Deutero Isaiah (ch. 44, 9-20) where a man makes an idol from part of a tree, using the remaining wood to warm himself and cook his lunch.

However, before advancing my cause any further it needs to be argued in order to establish the validity of images of any type in worship. For Jews and Christians the starting point of the debate has to be the second Commandment (Exodus 20, 4-5);

No one considers, nor is there knowledge or discernment to say, “Half of it I burned in the fire, I also baked bread on its coals, I roasted flesh and have eaten; and shall I make the residue of it an abomination? Shall I fall down before a block of wood?”

You shall not make for yourself a graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in  

The circumstances of the original Mosaic prohibition are partially explained in another passage from Exodus, a few chapters after the one detailing the Ten Commandments, wherein we find the children of Israel venerating a golden

Only published in 2001. See Henig 2001. Henig 2004.

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Art, Religion and Society calf (Exodus, 32). Although in this case the calf may have been a fertility symbol rather than as a god in its own right, both literature and archaeology would suggest that polytheism remained a constant temptation to the Israelites. Religious imagery remained part of their world and was sometimes even officially sanctioned. Thus golden cherubim flanked the Ark of the Covenant (Exodus 25, 20-22), an arrangement formalised later, at the very heart of King Solomon’s temple. These cherubim were surely images of beings ‘in the heaven above’ (1Kings 6, 23-29):

sons was initiated by the enforcement of the royal decree to sacrifice to idols (I Maccabees 2 and following). Idols could be of various types, but included portrait statues of divinised rulers as well as gods. While the Ancient World as a whole was full of images, the Jews under the Hasmonean and Herodian dynasties and later under Roman suzerainty were distinctive in eschewing statues of gods and emperors. The crazy emperor Gaius (Caligula) tried to have himself worshipped and only an embassy of high ranking and pro-Roman Jews including the philosopher Philo prevented an outrage similar to that of Antiochus Epiphanes. The Palestine of Jesus’ time was thus different from elsewhere, and Jesus would have been very well aware of the distinction between Jewish and Gentile towns and regions from their markedly different customs. Even the coinage of everyday commerce was different. Local Jewish small change was non iconic, whereas that of the gentile cities bore that of the ruler and the city god. Only in paying tribute in high denomination coin did official Roman or Roman-provincial silver have to be used. Hence, I suspect there was something of a frisson when Our Lord asked to be shown a coin used for paying tax, and asked ‘Whose likeness and inscription is this?’ (Matthew 22, 19-21; Mark 12, 14-17). His response to his critics, whatever else he implied, was that the world of God and the world of Caesar were totally distinct.

In the inner sanctuary he made two cherubim of olivewood, each ten cubits high. Five cubits was the length of one wing of the cherub, and five cubits the length of the other wing of the cherub; it was ten cubits from the tip of one wing to the tip of the other. The other cherub also measured ten cubits; both cherubim had the same measure and the same form. The height of one cherub was ten cubits, and so was that of the other cherub. He put the cherubim in the inner-most part of the house; and the wings of the cherubim were spread out so that a wing of one touched the one wall, and a wing of the other cherub touched the other wall; their other wings touched each other in the middle of the house. And he overlaid the cherubim with gold.

Leaving aside the fraught question of when Christianity can first be seen as totally distinct from Judaism, rather than as a Jewish group, which recognised Jesus as the Messiah, the fear of idolatry prevailed. Tensions could erupt on both sides, and famously we read in the Acts of the Apostles (19) of the riot stirred up by Demetrius the Silversmith against Paul whose teaching seemed to threaten the production and sale of silver shrines of Ephesian Artemis. Indeed it was the refusal of Christians to sacrifice to idols that resulted in their persecution and martyrdom right down to the first decade of the 4th century, the time of the Great ( Diocletianic ) persecution. Nevertheless like many Jews they were prepared to employ the human figure symbolically and for story telling. In a Jewish context the surprisingly rich fresco sequence of Old Testament scenes on the walls of the 3rd-century synagogue at Dura Europos come to mind, as do the Christian paintings in the neighbouring house church. More famously there are the figurative Catacomb paintings from Rome. However these are either episodes from the Old Testament, generally concerned with salvation ( Noah’s ark, Sacrifice of Isaac, Moses striking the rock, the children in the fiery furnace) or else scenes from the life of Christ (baptism, healing miracles, raising of Lazarus). The Good Shepherd is a pastoral metaphor for Christ rather than an image designed for worship as such, and it is found widely in all media from wall paintings and miniature sculpture to lamps and signet rings. St Clement of Alexandria, writing c. AD 200

He carved all the walls of the house round about with carved figures of cherubim and palm trees and open flowers, in the inner and outer rooms…

We are to think of the cherubim as like the winged creatures which flank entrances in Assyrian and Persian palaces. While they may have had animal form as winged griffins or bulls they might have had human form like the winged figures on an ivory plaque from Arslan Tash. They would have been regarded as guardians of the sanctuary. Of course they were not divine images, but angels are messengers of god and hence in a sense these dramatic creatures symbolised the Divine will. Early Jewish art was, thus, not entirely non iconic, though the Godhead was never figured. Over time, and especially after the Babylonian exile and into the Persian and Greek hegemonies, the distinctive and exclusive nature of the Jews was more strongly emphasised (see 1 Esdras). A major challenge was that presented by the Seleucid ruler Antiochus IV (175-164 BC) whose soubriquet Epiphanes means ‘god made manifest’. The writer of I Maccabees tells us that ‘Many even from Israel gladly adopted his religion; they sacrificed to idols and profaned the Sabbath (verse 43). Antiochus reinforced the Hellenisation of the land by ordering (verse 47) the building of ‘altars and sacred precincts and shrines for idols’ and the sacrifice of ‘swine and unclean animals’. The revolt of Mattathias and his

 

Wagner 2006, 130, pl. 1.



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Soffe 1986, 251-3. Fine 1996, 79-83.

Martin Henig : How a Christian might approach images of deities in polytheistic religions gives advice to Christians concerning devices they might like to use as seals. He suggests a dove, a fish, a lyre or an anchor as being appropriate: ‘and if someone is shown fishing he will recall the apostle [Peter] and those being baptised drawn up out of the water. But we who are forbidden to attach ourselves to idols must not have idols engraved on their rings’ (Paedagogium III 59, 2)

II Problems and challenges arrived in the 4th century with the Peace of the Church, following Constantine’s conversion, and the slow process whereby Christianity gradually gained the upper hand over a Pagan world. One obvious change was the employment of vast official patronage. It was all very well for Constantine to think of himself as God’s deputy on earth, but the form of portraiture employed was the same as before. Christians were confronted with colossal statues of a Christian emperor, which they were supposed to respect and honour, short of actual worship. Constantine had seen himself as ‘Comrade of the Unconquered Sun’ and was thus portrayed on coins. Solar imagery was, indeed, employed in imaging Our Lord on a vault mosaic in a tomb under St Peters, just preceding the construction of Constantine’s great basilica. In the case of imperial images the thought may have been that just as the sun was supreme (invictus) above so was the emperor below…. Christ naturally drew to himself the radiance of the sun. Interestingly in 6th-7th century Palestine for instance at Hammath Tiberius and Beth Alpha, Synagogue floors actually figure Helios as a metaphor for the divine power controlling the seasons. Only at Sepphoris did the patrons think better of it and replace the god with the solar disk.

Figure 1. Apse mosaic: Our Lord as Cosmocrator, S Aquilino Milan from the 1st to the 3rd century it would have made little difference for emperors, too, were regarded as divine. For thinking Christians the images could never be venerated in themselves (though in popular culture, throughout the past two millennia, it has been another matter). The Christian image is not a substitute for God; it is a pathway to the Deity, regarded in the same way as passage of scripture and other sacred writings are designed to lead us to Him.

Christian images were not limited to metaphorical representations. The new patrons, notably Constantine himself, used to setting up lavish images of the gods, might order for the Lateran ‘a hammered silver fastigium – on the front it has the Saviour seated on a chair, 5ft in size, weighing 120 lbs, and twelve apostles each 5ft and weighing 90 lb with crowns of finest silver’. The nearby baptistery had a similarly grand tableau of St John the Baptist baptising Christ. We do not know what models were employed precisely for these, but the two sources available were either the Emperor and his Court or the Pagan gods. The matter has been fiercely argued, not least by Thomas Mathews who makes a good case for representations of Christ and the saints being derived from those of deities.10 In the Roman Empire

Artists figuring Christ in Late Roman times might adopt the ever-youthful form of Apollo, the sun god, or Dionysos (Bacchus), the god of wine. The former evokes the Heavens, and the latter, the wine that is his precious blood. In Antiquity, Dionysos preceded Our Lord as guide of souls.11 Not surprisingly we find between the 4th and 6th centuries images of a youthful Christ as cosmocrator or ‘world-ruler’. A facing bust is shown on a mosaic floor at Hinton St Mary, Dorset, with a Chi-Rho behind his head - the same celestial image of victory seen by Constantine in the sky.12 Christ is similarly depicted in triumph on a vault mosaic at S. Aquilino, Milan where he is enthroned between Apostles but with his nimbus and right hand

Henig 2005, 215-7. Henig 2006, 85-6, fig. 34.  Fine 1996, 124 pls XLI, XLIV and VIII.  Davis 1989, xxi, 16-17. 10 Mathews 1993.  

Ibid. 1993, 115-41. Hartley, Hawkes, Henig and Mee 2006, 204-6 cat. No. 190. See Cronin fig. 3.

11

12

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Art, Religion and Society Clearly from time to time such thoughts have worried those Christians who have felt that images are impure and have no place in worship. First, of course, there was the widespread phenomenon especially from the second half of the 4th century of the wholesale smashing of pagan sanctuaries and the desecration of temples, a veritable reversal of the situation earlier in which Christian churches had been the target of pagans. In Gaul St Martin, in Palestine and Gaza, Bishop Porphyrios were noted destroyers of images, but site after site through the Ancient World tells the same story.17 Perhaps the destruction was inevitable, but those of a philosophical turn of mind in all parts of the Empire, cultured poets such as Ausonius, or especially the Christian neo-Platonist Synesios of Cyrene and their kind could continue to write sweetly of the Old World. For the latter the truth would be perceived more clearly with the new dispensation, but the truths taught by Plato and expounded through the mouth of Socrates on the banks of the River Illisos were nevertheless still truths.18 A consequence of being too exclusive, of refusing to see that Christian revelation may be manifested in unusual and unconventional ways is that a hard line approach too easily takes over from a creative one. In the 8th and 9th centuries the iconoclast movement in the Byzantine Empire was to outlaw Christian images. It is possible that this was due partly to the influence of Islamic Puritanism, but we can see a tendency to remove figures from mosaics in churches (and synagogues) perhaps even earlier.19 In the Byzantine Empire, a compromise was eventually reached whereby images were to be two-dimensional only. In its essentials the ‘iconoclast controversy had no profound effect on the kind of art that was produced’.20 At this time, the movement against images did not affect Western Europe.

Figure 2. White clay figurine of Virgin and Child, Salammbo, Carthage raised in benediction a divine figure rather than a teacher (Fig. 1).13 Most famously, he appears on the vault of S. Vitale, Ravenna where he sits upon the orb of the world, an archangel flanking him on either side.14

Nevertheless, iconoclasm has remained a latent force that eventually broke out in Northern Europe in the 16th and 17th centuries. A recent exhibition in the Tate Gallery, London showed through a poignant selection of English Medieval sculptures often damaged in the sacking of monasteries and churches, what was lost at this time.21 Of course the ‘reformers’ took their cue from the Old Testament, especially such passages as those quoted above. As Roger Wagner writes, ‘the Reformation iconoclasm, by contrast, changed everything’.22 An entire tradition was lost, and art was reborn into multifarious, but often secular, forms. You

In the new Christian pantheon the Virgin came to replace the Great Goddesses who help mankind, the Great Mother and Demeter among them, but above all queen Isis whose blue dress and epithet ‘star of the sea’ was taken over by the Virgin Mary as we will see below.15 The Virgin, like Isis nurtures a divine child and often the images of the two appear interchangeable, as they may have been to some early worshippers of Our Lady. What are we to make of terracotta figurines, like an example from Salammbo, Carthage (Fig. 2),16 which depicts a matron dressed in a dalmatic and wearing an amulet around her neck and holding a child? Is this Isis or our Lady? How far should such convergences concern us?

Sauer 2003. In a lecture entitled ‘Painting the New Testament’, delivered in the Oxford Institute of Archaeology on 28 March 2006, the New York artist Simon Carr reminded his audience of the powerful Hellenistic heritage, both iconographic and stylistic, behind early Christian art, a heritage still apparent in artists such as Poussin in the 17th century and, moreover, very much a feature of his own very striking paintings. Images of the old gods have thus helped to inform the revelation of the new dispensation. 19 Vaux 1958; Fine 1996, 115. 20 Wagner 2006, 130. 21 Deacon and Lindley 2001. 22 Wagner 2006, 130. 17 18

Volbach 1961, 337-8, pl. 138. Ibid, 342-4, pl. 158. 15 Witt 1971, 269-81. 16 Henig in Fulford and Peacock 1984, 247-8, fig. 93 no. 1. 13 14

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Martin Henig : How a Christian might approach images of deities in polytheistic religions chapter of A.D. Nock’s classic Conversion.26 Theogonies such as that pronounced by Isis, equating herself with many goddesses are not uncommon in Roman times.27 Such a syncretistic approach still seems to me to have considerable value today. When I visited the Museo dell’Opera del Duomo in Siena in the 1960s, and stood for hours in front of Duccio’s great Maestà, a figure of Our Lady of incomparable majesty, painted between 1308 and 1311.28 At one and the same time Apuleius’ lovely prayer to Queen Isis and also the great Marian hymn, Ave Maris Stella came to mind; like them the painting too was surely both an occasion quiet personal communion and a public declaration of faith, a paean of praise to God. This great icon, embracing so much from religious traditions of the past, continues to help me, like Apuleius a convert, to reach out towards the Divine.

see St Giles Church, Oxford, today, still a graceful building but entirely bereft of the many graceful and gracious images, which adorned it in the Middle Ages. The other day while enjoying the chanting of the choir at evensong in the Christ Church cathedral my eyes had to rove high up to the chancel arch in order to see a few remaining images left undamaged by iconoclasts. Dutch churches, so familiar in paintings, remain stark and imageless preaching-boxes; so unlike similar churches in the Southern Netherlands. The tragedy of the ‘Stripping of the Altars’ has been told at length by Eamon Duffy,23 a tragedy because so unnecessary. What I believe was stripped away, was a vehicle by which the worshipper may reach out towards God. The destruction of images epitomised in recent years by the destruction of the Bamiyan Buddhas leaves only a vast emptiness.24 That is why I find the restoration of the altars and images, here (to a degree in St Giles), as well as in Tractarian churches of the Victorian age like St Margaret’s in North Oxford for example so heartening and positive. Every image is a meditation in stone or paint and carries within it a prayer.

A reverence for images was implicit too in the paper I delivered ten years ago at a Leicester conference in a paper entitled ‘The unchanging face of God’, which aimed to distinguish between narrative scenes which may include deities, whether pagan myth or Bible stories, and the unchanging images of deity intended for veneration whether the figure of a Cotswold god such as Mars or an icon of Christ or his Virgin mother.29 Although the reaction by contemporary Roman Christians to representations of the old deities especially major gods such as Apollo, Mars or Minerva was often extreme antipathy, for they felt threatened by them, we can afford to bring to mind the saving power in Christ behind these images in which men and women of other traditions sought to encapsulate the divine.

III This preamble has been necessary in order to address the purported theme of this lecture. I am not about to advocate the reinstatement of the ‘golden calf’, still less that Christians should go to the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford or to the Corinium museum at Cirencester in order to venerate ancient Roman statues of gods, but I do think that we can contemplate images in the light of the love behind their manufacture, and perhaps develop a theology of images that is, at once, imaginative and ecumenical. The satirist in Isaiah was too harsh, because the man who carved the image was very probably thinking of the divine mystery behind it. Modern interfaith dialogue has taught us, perhaps belatedly, that we have no right to ridicule the beliefs of others provided they too are genuine searchers after truth.

The gods of the Roman world even came to be Christianised. Fairly early in the Christian era saints assumed the same roles as those that the gods had previously enjoyed; there is a very early Byzantine painted icon of St Peter from St Catherine’s monastery on Mt Sinai,30 and a plaque from Syria depicting St Symion Stylites on his column,31 which effectively acted as representations of gods on portable items of painted wood or of metal would have done. In the Middle Ages there are even cases where people must have venerated pagan images inadvertently; indeed there are two such images set in the walls of churches in north Wiltshire not twenty miles from Oxford one at Marlborough, in St Mary’s church showing Fortuna (presumably interpreted as St Catharine of Alexandria),32 (Fig. 3) and another of a Genius outside the south door of the church at Tockenham (where it was evidently misread as St Christopher, himself a descendant of Hermes (Mercury) with the infant Dionysos).33 (Fig. 4)

In 1984 I prefaced my book on Religion in Roman Britain with the words of one of the last great pagan writers of Rome, Quintus Aurelius Symmachus, who, as Urban Prefect appealed to the emperor in 384 for the restoration of the Altar of Victory to the Senate: Not by one path alone can man achieve so great a mystery. (Relatio 3, 9) As I stated in the preface to that book I saw myself at the cusp between the Jewish and Christian faiths and Hellenism.25 Apuleius’ Golden Ass is the very moving account of Lucius’ wanderings through the cesspool of life until Queen Isis rescued him. It is a profoundly moving spiritual odyssey and a conversion diary as great as any which have been written and is the subject of a memorable

Nock 1933, chapter 1x. Henig 2004, 68-9. 28 Bellosi 1998, 9-20 and illus pp. 24-25, 27 and 29. 29 Henig 2001. 30 Weitzmann 1979, 543-4 no. 488. 31 Ibid, 589-90 no. 529. 32 Cunliffe and Fulford 1982, 27-8 no. 102, pl. 27. 33 Ibid. 28, no. 104, pl. 27. 26 27

Duffy 1992. Sauer 2003, 162-4, figs 73-77, pl. 25. 25 Henig 1984, 15. 23 24

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Previously the new Christians of Roman times will have brought over attitudes and ways of worship from traditional cult. In this volume Nicola Cronin discusses the nature of Christianity in Roman Britain as manifested in art while in Belinda Crerar’s account of votive plaques figuring Mars, Vulcan, Senuna and other deities, she also draws attention to the similar Water Newton plaques with their Chi-Rho symbols. For the worshipper the ‘God of the ChiRho’ will naturally have had a solar aspect, but whether he was regarded as entirely different in kind from the other gods would surely have depended on the sophistication of the individual votary. The representation of Bellerophon slaying the chimera, figured at Hinton St Mary and Lullingstone amongst other places, was probably there interpreted as the type of Christ, victorious over the forces of Satan, but in essence this is a Greco-Roman myth, preexisting Christianity. Narrative stories, pagan or Christian, generally follow similar lines. The deeds of a hero like Odysseus (Ulysses) and especially Hercules, or of a Roman Emperor parallel the healing miracles of Our Lord. Such narrative scenes are to be seen less as icons for veneration than as exempla for good action. A well educated Christian in the 4th or 5th century would no doubt be able to absorb moral lessons from Homer or Vergil, just as he could from the Bible in whose truth he or she truly believed.

Figure 3. Relief of Fortuna, St Mary’s, Marlborough,Wilts

The difference between an educated Christian and an educated ‘Pagan’ was not necessarily that profound. For thinking people in Greece and Rome the gods were always separate from their carved images and, far greater than them. Divinity has always transcended the individual image and was often seen as unitary, a power totally different from anything of which human imagination might imagine. If one adopts the Platonic approach that all that what is perceived with our senses can only be a shadow of reality, we find this is likewise implicit in much Christian writing. A Christian Platonist can legitimately take a far more relaxed attitude to images. I have recently been overwhelmed by the splendour of several 4th and 5th century hymns, by Synesios of Cyrene and Flavius Merobaudes,34 which place Christ at the centre of the vastness of the universe, as the fulfilment of all that a ‘pagan’ intellectual might have hoped for. Such imagecreating works inspire meditation. Indeed I have spent several years thinking about a group of mosaics in Roman Britain that show animals and birds circling an Orpheuslike figure, a figure of stillness in the centre of a restless world. The Woodchester mosaic dominated my thinking as I was writing the final chapters of a book, The Heirs of King Verica,35 and afterwards, in what proved to be part of my own 21st-century Conversion experience. It was the pagans in my reverie, Candidus and Bellicus,36 who See McGuckin 1995, 40-53. Henig 2002. 36 Ibid, 103-4 and 121-4; Henig 2004, 63-4. 34 35

Figure 4. Relief of Genius, Tockenham,Wilt

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Martin Henig : How a Christian might approach images of deities in polytheistic religions are the sympathetic characters, with whom I expect my readers to empathise rather than the ‘Christian’, Paulus who can only think of smashing images.

Christ-Buddha rather than following those who have in recent years destroyed Buddhist images at Bamiyan and elsewhere and put in their place idols of emptiness, idols of hatred?

From here it has been valuable to visit other religious systems. Brief holidays to India (hopefully in the true sense of holiday, taking such a trip as a pilgrimage in order to meditate on what is holy) have afforded me exciting glimpses into Indian spirituality leading to deeper sympathy with that wonderful and greatly varied religious system. Below an over-arching concept of the Absolute are a range of gods and goddesses venerated in images in temples and in the home. If Shiva or Vishnu or the Mother in their varied aspects provide foci for worship so do Christian saints, and I am sure that they lead us to contemplate God from new angles, angles which help us to look at Christ in fresh ways, without compromising our own central belief of God in the Trinity. Father Bede Griffiths, a Benedictine monk (1906-1993), indeed, pointed the way in showing how Christianity could get to grips with Hindu spirituality without losing itself.37 Certainly, as a Christian, I have had no difficulty in perceiving the sanctity of the temples as equivalent to that of Christian churches, where ‘the deity dwelling in the temple symbolises the king of kings and is consequently offered regal honour, consistent with the concept of God as the Supreme Ruler of the Universe’.38 The Indian gods essentially symbolise a unity through diversity.

IV What is idolatry? Clearly if one were to confuse a stone with God, that would be idolatry. But is there really much risk of that? More insidious is to betray one’s faith by venerating ideas incompatible with Christianity: The most terrible case in recent times was that which took place in the last century when Mein Kampf was placed on the High Altars of German churches. Coming a long way down the scale, glorification of country right or wrong, or of power or of money are the new idols. So is intolerance, another way of rejecting beauty that is there to be seen. Antiochus and persecuting Roman Emperors alike deserve condemnation not for themselves venerating images of Apollo or Zeus (Jupiter) but in forcing others to do so, and through this, negating the essential limitlessness of the divine. Unfortunately the last two millennia (alas, down to our own day and in our beloved Anglican church) have been all too distressingly full of Christians of various persuasions creating idols of their own narrow interpretations of scripture. My own definition of idolatry is that it is anything that detracts from Love, anything that detracts from communion with the great Light from which our faith started, as so wonderfully enunciated in the first chapter of St John’s Gospel. This statement takes us back to Greek philosophy, in which everything was centred on the Logos, there since the world began. Any image that can help us even if only fleetingly to comprehend that light has to be helpful. The amazing tension required of the true icon is its situation between timelessness and being rooted in time.

During a brief spell as a visiting student at St Catharine’s College, Cambridge in the 1970s I recall that a much loved chaplain who had spent much time in India kept an image of Shiva in his lobby, I don’t think entirely to keep the Christian Union at bay. Shiva is the beautiful dancing god ‘who is co-extensive with the measured rhythms of the universe’39 and he seems to be conflated with Christ in Sydney Carter’s wonderful hymn, which has an honoured place in The New English Hymnal, ‘Lord of the Dance’,40 which translates Shiva’s epithet Natarāja. This uplifting hymn is certainly one I would choose for my Desert Island! Incidentally last year, as part of the patronal festival at St Albans, we pilgrims to the shrine of Britain’s proto-martyr had the privilege of seeing an amazing troupe of dancers from Tamil Nadu, half of them Hindu and the other half Christian, performing dances based on the scriptures of both faiths.

If the raison d’être of the St Giles lectures of which this essay formed part was to explore some of the relationships between Christian faith and art, it is helpful to go back to the source of Western art in Classical Greece, and specifically to the noble image of Pheidias’ Olympian Zeus whose beauty ‘added something to revealed religion’ (Quintilian, Inst. Orat 12, 51). For most people looking at that statue or smaller versions and replicas whether in metal or stone or carved on seal-rings, the image was not the god himself but it would have centred the votary’s mind on the god behind the image. The same could be said of Pheidias’s other world famous work the Athena Parthenos and the many copies of it, personifying wisdom. The gulf between Greeks and Romans and us is not all that wide. With regard to the wisdom of God personified, self evidently, the Hebraic concepts of the Shekinah, is useful and although her appearance is here couched in words rather than paint or stone, hers is just as much an image through which we can glimpse God: ‘For she is a breath of the power of God, and a pure emanation of the glory of the Almighty; therefore nothing defiled gains

Like the Hindu gods, the Buddha, a figure historical like Our Lord, and rooted in time, represents in his calm and compassionate statues the same love we find rooted in Christ.41 Should we not be ever seeking the See du Boulay 1998. Deva 1997, 1. 39 Michell, Lampert and Holland, 1982, 225-6. See also col. pl., p. 66 no. 440. 40 The New English Hymnal (Norwich 1986, new edition 1994), hymn 375. 41 For instance Michell, Lampert and Holland 1982, 186-91, col. pl. p. 63 no. 333. 37 38

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Art, Religion and Society entrance into her’. (Wisdom of Solomon 7, 25).42 The most famous church in Constantinople is dedicated to the Holy Wisdom (S. Sophia). The image of Isis suckling her child is suffused with light and love, even if a greater sense of presence, of reality is revealed in the Virgin who nurtures Christ, who was a real man (unlike Horus) and died for us. The thought which struck me in considering King Alfred’s foundation of a nunnery at Bath in honour of our Lady on the site of the old Roman temple of Sulis Minerva was that of continuity in devotion.43

Paul’s perceived attack on their livelihood. In The Winter’s Tale it is Apollo and his oracle, which chasten Leontes for his jealousy. For Shakespeare, whose religion would appear to approximate with what a much later age would call High Anglican, there was no contradiction in invoking the wisdom of the past, nor should there be for us. I would ask you to meditate at length upon Socrates’ prayer, which ends the Phaedrus, Plato’s great dialogue on the nature of love, and image in your mind the deity to whom it is addressed:

Passing from the interpolated satire in Isaiah 44 with which I began, here is God speaking to Cyrus, the King of Persia, in the following chapter.

Beloved Pan, and all you other gods who haunt this place, give me beauty in my inward soul; and may the outward and inner person be at one. May I reckon the wise alone to be wealthy, and may I possess only such temporal riches as a temperate man can sustain. Anything more? The prayer I think is enough for me.

I will go before you and level the mountains, I will break in pieces the doors of bronze and cut asunder the bars of iron, I will give you the treasures of darkness and the hoards in secret places, that you may know that it is I, the Lord, the God of Israel, who call you by your name. (Isaiah 45, 2-3)

‘Anything more?’…Yes, I think there is! For I see in the form of Pan, just as I find in the beautiful youthful form of Apollo the Healer (who for the medical profession presides over the Hippocratic Oath), an anticipation of Our Saviour Christ. Thus when looking at a GraecoRoman image or indeed any other religious image, one might do well to consider the love and prayer behind it, and see it as a pathway just as a Christian icon is a pathway to God. True, the latter may be more useful for us, and certainly for me, to meditate upon, but if, after standing in front of any beautiful image of a god or goddess, you feel your sensibility heightened, remember that behind it and guiding the artist’s hand is the God – Father, Son and Holy Spirit – who created all beauty.

Cyrus had defeated the Assyrian Empire and liberated the subject peoples but he was, for all that, a Zoroastrian, a believer in a dualist system that had a number of deities which were worshipped alongside Ahura Mazda including Mithra and the goddess Anahita. It would be wishful thinking to call Cyrus’ religion a monotheist system and perhaps the author of this passage was in fact closing his eyes to awkward facts. But even so it is a refreshing realisation in our scriptures that the mysterious workings of Almighty God leave room for religious expression couched in ways that people are comfortable with, including not just statues and paintings of gods, but manifestations of popular Christian cult, so often suspect to those who are theologically correct.

Finally, as a sort of coda, I will revert to the making of sacred objects from once-living materials, something in this church you may never have considered as an image, though in a sense it is and like a statue of a god it too tells a story. It is carved from Jurassic limestone, dead sea-creatures from prehistoric seas. The images which I studied when writing about the religious sculpture of the Roman Cotswolds,44 are equally all carved from such limestone as are surviving examples of Christian sculpture from the region still to be seen in churches, like the delightful Anglo-Saxon carving of Our Lady at Inglesham, Wiltshire or the roods displaying Our Lord on the Cross, at Langford, Oxfordshire.45 Oolitic limestone has many other uses, some of them apparently prosaic, as in the case of the laminated beds from the Stonesfield area used for the making of roof-slates, a reminder that this church desperately needs to raise money to repair its roof without which there will be no church in future, no worship, and no lectures. Freestones can be carved into many shapes, for example a bowl-font, and this church possesses one of the most interesting and curious 13th-century fonts from

In a series of lectures for the most part devoted to orthodox Christian art, it is worth remembering that there are indeed other manifestations of the divine in the visual arts, as in literature, music and dance. It is implicit at the start of St John’s Gospel, rooted as it is in Greek (as well as Jewish) thought, that the Logos was present from the beginning. Once one accepts the essential pre-existence ( the eternity) of Christ, one is inevitably more open to exploring nonChristian thought, Plato, ancient neo Platonism (for example Plotinus) and the revived neo Platonism of the Renaissance, as sources for eternal truths. Perhaps we should not be surprised that what are in many ways two of the most Christian of Shakespeare’s plays, belonging to the last period of his career, have ancient, pagan settings. In Pericles, Thaisa is rescued by her lost husband thanks to the intervention of Ephesian Diana [Artemis], the very goddess whose supporters had objected so strongly to St

Henig 1993. Henig 2001, 31 and 37, pl. 7 (Inglesham); Harries 2004, 54-5, figs 12b, 12c (Langford).

44

See Henig 2004, 76 43 Henig 2002, 147. 42

45

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Martin Henig : How a Christian might approach images of deities in polytheistic religions Acknowledgements I would like to thank all those who have commented on these important matters, and inspired and encouraged me over the past few years. They would have to include the Rt. Revd. Richard Harries, Bishop of Oxford who has written with such profundity and insight on Christian art and the Revd. Andrew Bunch, Vicar of St Giles and St Margaret’s, Oxford, as well as Nicola Cronin, Lauren Gilmour, Alison Fincham, Melanie Florence, Verity Platt and Eberhard Sauer. Bibliography Bellosi, L., 1998, Duccio La Maestà (Milan) Bond, F., 1908, Fonts and Font Covers (Oxford; reprinted London 1985) Brierley, M. (ed.), 2006, Public Life and the place of the Church. Reflections to honour the Bishop of Oxford (Aldershot) Crummy N. (ed.), 2005, Image, Craft and the Classical World. Essays in honour of Donald Bailey and Catherine Johns (Montagnac) Cunliffe, B.W. and Fulford, M.G., 1982, Corpus Signorum Imperii Romani. Great Britain I.2. Bath and the rest of Wessex (British Academy, Oxford) Davis, R., 1989, The Book of the Pontiffs (Liber Pontificalis) (Liverpool) Deacon, R. and Lindley P., 2001, Image and Idol: Medieval Sculpture (Tate Gallery, London) Deva, K., 1997, Temples of North India (third edn, first edn 1969) (Delhi) Du Boulay, S., 1998, Beyond the Darkness. A biography of Bede Griffiths (Alresford) Duffy, E., 1992, The Stripping of the Altars. Traditional Religion in England 1400-1580 (New Haven and London) Fine, S., 1996, Sacred Realm. The emergence of the synagogue in the Ancient World (Oxford University Press, New York) Finn, C. and Henig, M., 2001, Outside Archaeology. Material culture and poetic imagination, BAR Int. ser. 999 (Oxford) Fulford, M.G., and Peacock, D.P.S., 1984, Excavations at Carthage: The British Mission. 1,2. The Avenue du President Habib Bourguiba, Salammbo. The Pottery and other ceramic objects from the site (Sheffield) Harries, R., 2004, The Passion in Art (Aldershot) Hartley, E., Hawkes, J., Henig, M. and Mee, F., 2006, Constantine the Great. York’s Roman Emperor (Aldershot) Henig, M., 1984, Religion in Roman Britain (London) Henig, M., 1993, Corpus Signorum Imperii Romani. Great Britain I.7 Roman sculpture from the Cotswold Region (British Academy, Oxford) Henig, M., 2001, ‘The unchanging face of God’, pp.29-39 in Finn and Henig 2001 Henig, M., 2002, The heirs of King Verica. Culture and politics in Roman Britain (Stroud)

Figure 4. Vault mosaic (detail). The River Jordan, Arian Baptistery, Ravenn

a

the region, in which only a year or two ago I was myself baptised.46 All art is representational and so fonts stand for the living water of the river Jordan in which Christ was baptised. Here in this specific Early English font, incidentally fashioned from a long dead Jurassic sea,47 is to be found the water of the Holy Spirit that sustains us in body and soul. Thus we should think of this fons as an image too. Indeed, it should be seen as no less than a kind of abstract icon of Christ, who is the Living Water. A figural version of this central fact is made manifest in the mosaics of the Orthodox (Neonian) and Arian baptisteries at Ravenna where the Baptismal scene is accompanied by the ‘god’ of the River Jordan (Fig. 5).48 However, here too, at the centre of everything is Christ: Who is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of every creature: For by him were all things created, that are in heaven, and that are in earth, visible and invisible, whether they be thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or powers: all things were created by him, and for him: And he is before all things, and by him all things consist. (Colossians 1, 15-17) Bond 1908, 209 and 222 (illus). Francis Bond’s book is still one of the best introductions to the rite of baptism. 47 Powell 2005, 25-39 on the Middle Jurassic in Oxfordshire and oolitic limestone dating to this period. 48 Volbach 1961, 338-9, pl. 141 (Neonian); 340-41, pl. 149 (Arian). 46

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Art, Religion and Society Nock, A.D., 1933, Conversion. The old and new in religion from Alexander the Great to Augustine of Hippo (Oxford) Powell, P., 2005, The Geology of Oxfordshire (Wimborne, Dorset) Sauer, E., 2003, The Archaeology of Religious hatred in the Roman and early Medieval world (Stroud) Soffe, G., 1986, ‘Christians, Jews and Pagans in the Acts of the Apostles’, pp.239-56 in Henig and King 1986 Vaux, R., 1958, ‘Chronique, Un Mosaique Byzantine a Main (Transjordanie)’ Revue Biblique 47, 227-58 Volbach, W.F., 1961, Early Christian Art (London) Wagner, R., 2006, ‘Art and Faith’, pp.127-36 in Brierley 2006 Weitzmann, K., 1979, Age of Spirituality. Late Antique and Early Christian Art, Third to Seventh Century (Metropolitan Museum, New York) Witt, R.E., 1971, Isis in the Graeco-Roman world (London)

Henig, M., 2004, ‘Icons and idols: meeting Romans through their art’, p.61-80 in Archaeological Review from Cambridge 19.1 [Unmasking Material Culture, ed. D.A. Barrowclough] Henig, M., 2005, ‘ “A light to lighten the Gentiles”: witnessing change in the Roman Empire’, pp.213-22 in Crummy 2005 Henig, M., 2006, ‘Religious diversity in Constantine’s Empire’, pp.85-95 in Hartley, Hawkes, Henig and Mee 2006 Henig, M. and King, A., 1986, Pagan Gods and Shrines of the Roman Empire (Oxford University Committee for Archaeology Monograph 8) Mathews, T.F., 1993, The Clash of Gods. A reinterpretation of Early Christian Art (Princeton, N.J.) McGuckin, J.A., 1995, At the lighting of the lamps. Hymns of the Ancient Church (SLG Press, Oxford) Michell, G., Lampert, C. and Holland, T., 1982, In the Image of Man. The Indian Perception of the Universe through 2000 years of painting and sculpture (Hayward Gallery, London)

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Sumus novi dei: Approaches to a renewed understanding of the identity of the Romano-British Church Nicola Cronin

Abstract The paper considers what we can understand of the Romano-British Christians from their archaeological remains.  It examines whether the range of ideas expressed in their art demonstrate an incoherent theology and identity, or whether, on the contrary, they are more subtly related.  The material finds are surveyed as evidence for the Christian community’s attitudes to faith and the world around them, and as indicative of their beliefs and selfperception. 

REG[I]MEN SORTITI MOBILE VENTIS SCUL[P]TUM CUI CERULEA [EST] DELFINIS CINCTA DUOB[US].’ – “Carved here is the head of Neptune, whose lot is the government of the wind-tossed sea, his deep-blue brow girded by two dolphins.” As such, this mosaic is composed of an array of classical topoi and designs. Yet above this apparent affirmation of the pagan world-view, in the fourth of seven disks which form the border of an apse-like space, we find the Chi-Rho, the symbol of Christ. The modern viewer is thus presented with a puzzle. Was this mosaic commissioned by a Christian? And if so, were his or her religious sensibilities not jarred by this juxtaposition of

In Tertullian’s essay, adversus judaeos, c. AD 200, we find, in the list of nations which had exhibited Christian faith, ‘the haunts of the Britons – inaccessible to the Romans, but subjugated to Christ...’ (ch. 7). While this description of a whole nation’s subjugation is exaggerative, it should prompt us to ask questions about the Romano-British church, of which news had spread so far. Who were the Christians in Roman Britain? What were their beliefs focused on, and influenced by? How did they interact with the culture around them, and how did they define their own identity within that culture? It is these questions I hope to answer, through an examination of the archaeological evidence for the Church in Britain. My project is to survey the material remains left by the church community, and from these to reassess what we can know of these people, and what we conclude about their identity. An initial view of the artifacts of the Romano-British Christians raises problems for the project of understanding their identity and beliefs. Thus, in the well-known mosaic from Frampton, dating to the first half of the fourth century AD, the modern viewer is faced with a conundrum. In a central roundel, we see Bellerophon, seated on the winged horse Pegasus, rearing above the Chimaera, and about to strike a fatal blow. The surrounding scenes are badly damaged, but in the top left and bottom left square panels, as viewed from the apse-like area, below the mosaic’s inscription, we see depictions of classical lovers. There are two figures in each panel, in various states of dress and undress, one reclining, and others standing, some engaging with the viewer, and others focused one another. Surrounding the whole, we find a border of dolphins, surmounted by the mask of the god Neptune, pagan ruler of the sea. (Fig. 1) This image is accompanied by the inscription, ‘NEPTUNI VERTEX

Figure 1. Frampton, Dorset. Mosaic with Chi-Rho with detail (after Lysons) 127

Art, Religion and Society pagan and Christian iconography? Can this mosaic tell us anything about how its owners understood and projected their religious beliefs? What were they trying to say with this piece of art, this decoration of their home?

the forehead. They are noticeably shaded below, but more heavily so at the lids, finishing with a dark line at the brows. In contrast to the much lighter forehead, the shadow below creates the appearance of a concave shelf, at the base of which the eyes lie set back, achieving an eerie and even menacing effect.

Too often, scholars have responded to this image, and others like it, by dismissing any identification of the owner as Christian. They have taken this stance because the ChiRho became a symbol of state and the Emperor at this period. The argument goes that, since the other imagery on the object is pagan, we must understand the presence of the Chi-Rho in pagan terms. We then conceive it as a simple show of allegiance to the state. Or more cynically, we view it as an empty nod at the Christian faith, motivated by a desire to be connected with it for the social status it could confer since Constantine’s apparent conversion in AD 312.

The high position of the eyes, coupled with the aquiline nose which drops straight from the point of the brow, and the slightly pouting mouth, no wider than the nose just above them, create a broad, flat area for the cheeks, and a very shallow forehead above. It is an unusual face, compelling in its juxtaposition of angular lines, and rounded, empty space. Beyond the face of the figure, and depicted with less care in execution, are a spotted animal skin covering the chest, and clusters of grapes and leaves, entangled in a wild shock of hair. Though the execution of the hair is blurred, and the animal skin appears two-dimensional in comparison with the expressive face, the message of these symbols is clear and robust. These are the hallmarks of Dionysus: leopard skin, and fruits of the vine. These symbols explain the other-worldliness in the expression of their wearer, as Bacchus is a mysterious and untamable god indeed.

These arguments are powerful because they quickly and neatly resolve the problem of such Christian and pagan juxtaposition. One may also speculate that people find them compelling because they give a worldly motivation for the mixed imagery of this art – a motivation which is easily recognisable to our modern, secular world. But it is also an interpretation which shuts down our engagement with these works, rather than opening it up. Rather than asking further questions about the art, and considering what the commissioner of such mosaics intended in their imagery if he held an orthodox Christian faith, we answer that they were commissioned by nominal Christians, or by pagans eager to associate themselves with their emperor. Our answer to the problem is based entirely on our assumption that the use of the ChiRho by the state must have produced individuals eager to ingratiate themselves with the newly prominent church, while rejecting the beliefs and lifestyle that it championed. While it is likely enough that such individuals did indeed exist, if we take this premise and use it to solve our iconography problem, we then draw our conclusions about the art based solely on social speculation, with no further reference to the items in question at all.

I describe this image of Dionysus from the Cirencester, Dyer Street Seasons mosaic (Fig. 2) which probably dates to the late second century AD, in order to highlight its artistic similarities to another mosaic, which I will now go on to describe, and which is commonly identified as

In the light of this danger, I would like to begin by taking a fresh look at the objects which present us with this pagan-Christian conflict, and by questioning whether there are more positive ways of understanding this interaction of iconography. IMAGO DEI In a circular frame we see the face, and upper shoulders of a male figure. The face is stylised – large, almond shaped eyes dominate, set very high, at least three quarters of the way up from the chin to

Figure 2. Bacchus Mosaic from Dyer Street, Cirencester (After Buckman and Newmarch 1850, pl. ii). The figure of Bacchus is on the far right. 128

Nicola Cronin : Sumus novi dei

Figure 3. Detail of Christ with Chi Rho from Hinton St Mary (photo: Institute of Archaeology, Oxford) Christian. Though these two works were commissioned about one hundred and fifty years apart, it is evident that these mosaics are part of the same artistic tradition in terms of decoration, basic presentation of the figure, and the use of symbols for identification. Even the palette of these mosaics, and the very fact that they are not simply black and white, should make us aware of this.

If the artistry of these mosaics is so similar, even though their subjects come from different religious systems, then there is a very obvious, but important, conclusion to be drawn: these works come from the same cultural context, albeit a culture which included differing religious groups (especially over time). This is important because it highlights a fact that is rarely focused upon – that the British Christians did not only have a Christian identity. They also had a Romano-British identity. This is self-evident in their art, which is consistent with nonChristian, and non-religious Romano-British art in its style.

In the fourth century mosaic from Hinton St Mary, Dorset (Fig. 3), a single male figure again looks out at us from a largely plain, characteristically British background, in a circular frame. Beyond the roundel itself, the same style of concentric guilloche, meander and other repeating borders which we encountered encircling Bacchus, also frame this figure. The proportions and arrangement of the face are very similar to those in the Dionysus image: large, even heavy, almond-shaped eyes again dominate the face, accompanied by an angular nose and a small mouth. Again, we have the head and shoulders of a young man before us, identified by the symbols which accompany him: pomegranates (symbolising new life, and hence resurrection), and the Chi-Rho which meets at the back of the head. This is Jesus Christ.

IMAGO MULTIPLEX Cultural complexities Once we have taken this basic point on board, we can use it to point our thoughts on the early British church in a new direction. If these early Christians were Romano-British as well as Christian in their artistic culture, might this not have been true of their social culture and identity too? In terms of human psychology and social behaviour, this seems more than likely. One may consider, for example, that in times of growth in a new religion, many families can often be composed of more than one faith group and in this case, of Christians and pagans together. Even more than this, as the number of adherents to a new faith grows, so does the number of individuals in society who have once had one religious identity, and now adopt another. Both of these factors make the overlap of Christian and pagan culture likely, and point us to the fact that both Christians and pagans in Roman Britain were together part of society at large.

 I am aware that this identification is disputed. Petts (2003, p. 81) refers to it more carefully as a ‘probable head of Christ from the fourth century.’ (Italics mine.) Salway (1993) suggests that a craftsman or commissioner may have considered representing an emperor in this way, as the Chi-Rho was becoming a symbol of empire at this time. If this is correct, the mosaic would have to be a little later than is commonly thought. Moreover, one has to recognise that the craftsman would be taking the risk that his image of the Emperor would be mistaken for Jesus himself, and so the compliment of depicting him lost. It is also worth bearing in mind that there are no other indications from the physicality or symbols in this picture to encourage us to interpret it as the Emperor. It is, on the other hand, difficult to explain the pomegranates unless one sees them as symbols of resurrection, and identifiers of Jesus Christ.

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Art, Religion and Society From these social considerations, we begin to see that the Romano-British Christians, (and even more so at this early point in history) were the Romano-British pagans. They were the same people, or a proportion of them, – each individual at a different remove from his previous pagan identity. At the very least, these Christians lived among the pagans in close relationship with them, sometimes as work-mate, mother, brother, or spouse. This understanding is vital if we are to fully appreciate the complexities of Romano-British Church identity, both in terms of the church as a body, and as found in the artistic works of the individuals who represent that body to us. A community looking to a Saviour who said: Ἐγώ εἰμι ἡ ὁδὸς καὶ ἡ ἀλήθεια καὶ ἡ ζωή: οὐδεὶς ἔρχεται πρὸς τὸν πατέρα εἰ μὴ δι’ ἐμοῦ. – ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life. Noone comes to the Father except through me.’ (John 14.6), one may well feel, has to renounce pagan identity insofar as it equates to faith in any other god. However, pagan identity when understood as one’s belonging to a culture which is interested in certain stories and ideas, or indeed, as understanding the stories and ideas of those close to you, need not be excluded.

suggesting on p.116, that this type of hybrid art is the product of a Christian elite with a classical education. His claim is that ‘In the fourth century the literary education of the elite, both pagan and Christian, was still rooted within the Classical canon,’ and that ‘This kind of cultural knowledge would have been essential for progress within the imperial administration.’ It is probably true that the Christian who wished to take a prominent place in society needed to be educated in the traditional manner, and this education would certainly have focused on the great pagan literature of Greece and Rome. Yet this fact does not, in itself, explain why such an individual should have chosen to decorate his home with the characters from his studies. Nor does it really clarify why one would complement these images with the ChiRho. What message could the person who commissioned Bellerophon be trying to convey? It may of course be that the commissioner of this mosaic was seeking to illustrate both his cultural distinction and his Christian piety through the display of pagan literary scenes and the Chi-Rho symbol. The use of mosaics and wall painting in interior decoration was a mark of wealth in itself, irrespective of the content of the images chosen. This then tells us that the owners of such pieces as the Bellerophon mosaic would have been wealthy, and so likely to be educated as well. Each of these points supports the theory that the mosaic was intended as a symbol of status and social stature. However, it is useful to bear in mind that the pagan mythology which inspired much of Greek and Roman literature was not the preserve of the elite and educated, but held a much wider audience. Stories such as that of Bellerophon and the Chimaera were passed down through generations, most likely told to children on their grandparents’ knees. And while it is a reasonable supposition that these images could be used as markers of an educated identity, they could equally be pointers to a much deeper identification with one’s family and cultural heritage, as absorbed from one’s childhood. The figures on the Bellerophon mosaic, or the flanged pewter Nereid dish from the Isle of Ely (Mawer 1995, C2.Pe.2) for example, are, after all, beauties and heroes, wonders and monsters. They are not simply figures of high culture, but much more than that, they represent the ideals of raw masculinity, and feminine beauty, the thrills of danger and the sublime, which fascinated ancient society. The interaction with the pagan gods as both symbols of, and controllers of the vicissitudes of daily life, found throughout the corpus of classical literature is a further illustration of this equation of the gods with human ideals and passions. (The use made of Amor/love personified in Propertius’ elegy 1.1 is a good example of this.) If individuals in the early Christian church had themselves been pagans, or had simply been brought up with, and enjoyed these stories, then it need no longer surprise us that we find them in their homes. These mythical figures are the pop stars and football players of the ancient world, and there are parallels to be found between the Romans’

Having made these observations, the modern viewer’s surprise at finding Christian and pagan images juxtaposed need not be so great. We no longer need to react as Matthews (1993), understanding the co-existence of Christian and pagan art as a ‘relentless war of images of the fourth and fifth century.’ (p.61). Instead, we can appreciate that pagan and Christian concepts and images, while theologically opposed, could be socially juxtaposed in Romano-British culture at this period, with varying affinities to each of these stories felt amongst the populace. In light of these reflections, let us turn once again to the ‘Bellerophon Mosaic,’ with which I began. (Fig. 1). How might our speculations on the probable social make-up of the Romano-British Church help us to tackle the problem of Christian and pagan image juxtaposition in a fresh way? Certainly, our awareness of the likely social complexities of this period seems to be well-matched by this piece of art. Rather than presuming that the only answer to the conflicting iconography is to view the Chi-Rho as an imperial seal, we can think more creatively about the commissioner’s possible motivation in combining this with the pagan pictures. Petts (2003) takes this approach,  This duality is also evidenced in the religious practices of the RomanoBritish Church. So, we find dedication plaques (see e.g. Mawer 1995, E3.Si.1 and following), bearing the Chi-Rho symbol, and which are evidently Christianised versions of the type commonly used in pagan cult practice. We need not respond to this as Watts (1991), who presents the inclusion of pagan traditions in Christian burial rites as a previous allegiance, undermining Christian faith and orthodoxy. Rather, what we can understand from this phenomenon is that the new Christians in Roman Britain retained their previous practices in an adapted form when this could be made compatible with their new Christian faith. As such, they were not rejecting their previous life and identity altogether, but allowing it to develop and grow into their new Christian identity, and paying to Jesus the homage which had previously been directed elsewhere, but still in the traditional Romano-British manner.

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Nicola Cronin : Sumus novi dei enjoyment of their mythology, and modern engagement with classic films.

that wine was not particularly connected with either Bellerophon or Neptune, who are treated in this piece. Perhaps then, the best interpretation is to connect it with the Chi-Rho which sits directly below it, and see it as an image of Christ. If indeed, we identify it as a chalice, as has been variously suggested, (see e.g. Toynbee, 1964, p.250), then we have the wine, the blood of Christ, set at the top of our pagan mosaic. What clearer image could there be for the message that ‘this story, along with all things, comes under the reign of the Christian God’?

It therefore seems to me eminently possible that Roman British Christians felt a special affection for some pagan stories, – stories which they had often known from childhood. Possible too that, while they had turned their backs on cult practices, they may have felt able to retain an affection for the heroes and beauties with whom one can imagine they had long identified. Yet even if we accept this theory, we are still left to consider what part the Chi-Rho played in these images and pieces. I would like to suggest that Christians in this period were using the Chi-Rho as a redemptive mark. Just as Christians believe that Christ has redeemed them by his death, and brought them back into relationship with God by his blood, it may be that the Romano-British Christians wished to ‘buy back’ their favourite stories, connected as they were with a pagan pantheon, for their enjoyment as Christians. If this is correct, then the mark of the ChiRho is used as a declaration of a Christian theology on an object of pagan dramatic narrative. The message of such objects then is ‘This is one of my favourite stories; but Jesus Christ is Lord.’

COGNOSCERE DEUM There is however a further melange of pagan and Christian imagery which will not be untangled by the theory I proffer above. The hybrids I now turn to consider will not fit into the redemption model, because they concern the redeemer himself. They are the images of Jesus which portray him in the likeness of a well-known pagan god. To the modern eye, such pieces of art pose a severe challenge to the notion that the early Christian church had understood Christ’s claim to be the only God, the I AM – Yahweh, ego eimi. (See e.g. John 8.24 in the Greek.) Under what circumstances could people who believed this then represent their new-found God with the characteristics of one of the many gods they had rejected? Yet this is what the Roman Christians, in Britain and beyond, are found to do. Two important figures who were used in this way are Sol Invictus (the Unconquered Sun) and Orpheus, (the heroic tamer of animals), who are each found merged into representations Jesus Christ.

To glance briefly at the Risley Park Lanx, of the late 4th century (Mawer 1995, C5.Si.1.), its incised Chi-Rho and apparent dedication from a Bishop on an object of markedly pagan decoration make it a prime example of this type. The fact that the inscription was almost certainly added some time after the creation of the lanx, and at the time of its dedication to what seems to be a church, makes it likely that this piece fits into the ‘redemption model’ I have outlined above. In this case, however, personal enjoyment of the specific stories illustrated on the piece is unlikely to have been the motivator for wanting to ‘redeem it’ in this manner. Such a personal connection would not fit with a church dedication of this kind. Rather, an appreciation of the beauty and worth of this costly treasure as a whole would have made it a fitting candidate for a sacrificial and honorific dedication, while the wholly pagan decoration seems to have made it appropriate that the symbol of Christ be added before it be dedicated to his service.

Grabar (1979) entirely fails to engage with this problem. Though he rightly captures the Christian perspective that ‘tout portrait religieux posait un grand problème d’ordre moral, car plus que toute autre image, il rappelait les dangers de l’idolâtrie,’ (p. 64) – ‘every religious portrait raises a great moral dilemma, because, more than any other image, it raises the dangers of idolatry’ – he fails to confront the fact that this attitude is not evidenced in the portraiture of Christ from the early Roman church. And although he mentions ‘les portraits chrétiens derives des portraits profanes’ (Christian portraits derived from pagan portraiture), he never actually discusses them in length.

Finally, and to illustrate the different forms this ‘redemption’ could take, we can see this action in the addition of the Chi-Rho on the pool from the villa at Chedworth (see Goodburn, 1986). Here, a nymphaeum was apparently converted into a baptistery, through the incision of ChiRho symbols on the stones around the water’s edge. In this case, the pool was totally cleansed, as it were, of its pagan function, and given a whole new identity as it was set apart for Christ.

Let us turn for a moment to look at Rome, which affords strong examples of this kind of iconographic overlay. The Cemetery of Domitilla in the catacombs of Rome is one such, decorated with the topos of Orpheus taming the animals, and set in a markedly Christian context. (Other decoration in the tomb includes scenes of the raising of Lazarus, and a bust of Christ, clearly marked ‘CHRISTUS’

The ‘redemptive’ model can be extended in a particularly interesting way by the iconography of the Bellerophon mosaic. In this piece we find a goblet, set directly above the Chi-Rho symbol, in the apse-like area. One may note

εἶπον οὖν ὑμῖν ὅτι ἀποθανεῖσθε ἐν ταῖς ἁμαρτίαις ὑμῶν: ἐὰν γὰρ μὴ πιστεύσητε ὅτι ἐγώ εἰμι, ἀποθανεῖσθε ἐν ταῖς ἁμαρτίαις ὑμῶν. – Therefore I tell you, you will die in your sins: if you do not believe that I AM, you will die in your sins. 

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Art, Religion and Society on a glass vessel, dating to the 4th century.) Similarly, but with a more direct overlay of identities, the vault mosaic of the Vatican Necropolis (see Hartley et al. 2006, Figure 34, p. 86), dating to the third century, represents the person of Christ as Sol Invictus, the unconquered sun-god. This image is put into its political context when one considers that Constantine was minting gold solidi coins bearing Sol’s image and the phrase ‘COMIS CONSTANTINI AUG.’ – “Companion of the Emperor Constantine,” as late as 316. (See Hartley et al. 2006, catalogue no. 89.) Officialdom was connecting Constantine with Sol, and hence Solar monotheism, four years after his apparent vision of the Chi-Rho, the symbol of Christ, at the Milvian Bridge. Perhaps even more strikingly, it is two years after the Church Council of Arles in August 314, over which Constantine presided. Whatever the truth may be about the development and reconciliation of Constantine’s personal beliefs, these identifications of the Emperor with both Jesus and the Sun god are likely to have caused some confusion, and conflation of the identities of Sol and Christ among the general populace of the Empire. Be this as it may, it seems a much more remarkable thing to hypothesize that this confusion existed at the heart of the Church community too. Must we conclude that these images from the Vatican can only prove that the early Christians drew no sharp distinction between the gods of the pantheon, and the giver of new life into whose name they had been baptised? Did they really develop a system of angels and saints to replace the pagan pantheon, as Matthews (1993, p. 173) implies? Were their conversions really so half-hearted, or confused?

– ‘It is not an exaggeration to say that, at the end of the Antique period, religious instruction and devotional acts were conducted through hearing and seeing.’ (lit.: ‘in an audio-visual way’). The Orphic scenes too, were surely understood as pictorial representations of the character and attributes of Jesus. Just as Orpheus was able to sooth and master nature, so Christ as pantocrator is understood to have mastery over the whole world, and all created things. This notion is well symbolised in the images of animals which commonly encircle the Christ/Orpheus figure wherever he is represented. Thus Orpheus was understood to prefigure Christ, or to lend his attributes to Christ as well. This confusion of the persons of Orpheus and Jesus may well have been helped by the myths of the Hellenist Jews, which claimed that Orpheus was descended from David in order that the heroes of Hellenism may be seen to come from Abraham’s line (see Finney, 1994). In the charming and insightful Early Christian Symbolism in Great Britain and Ireland, Romilly Allen (1885) understands the parallel between Christ and Orpheus being that ‘as Orpheus allured the beast by the sound of his lyre, so are sinners drawn to Christ by the teaching of the Gospel.’ This is an attractive idea, because it interprets the art from within the worldview of those who created it. One may also note that both figures were said to descend to the world of the dead for love, and come back – one to rescue his lady, the other in a sacrificial death to pay for the sins of mankind. Whatever connection between the figures one prefers, these images were obviously potentially powerful communicators of the theology of the new saviour. It is even possible that such images were intended as a sort of evangelical tool. What better way could there be to enable someone to understand the identity of this new God than to represent him with the appropriate characteristics of another figure, which the audience would already understand? If we think of the way in which art in Rome was intended as a springboard for conversation (for a comic version of this see Petronius’ Satyricon chapter XXXI), it may have been the aim that pieces such as these I have discussed should open up conversations on the subject of Christ’s character and identity, from what the onlooker could understand of it as represented in the images before him. In a Church which was variously fêted and persecuted

We can propose an alternative to this reaction by considering that the Christians in Rome were perhaps happy to represent Christ with characteristics of Sol because they believed he was the true owner of these identity markers. Thus, we find him on the Vatican Necropolis riding a chariot across the sky, as Lord of heaven, and the one who sets the days and times for the world. Such an identity could well be ascribed to the ‘new’ God, Jesus. Moreover, the Sol identification, epitomised in the rays which emanate from Christ’s head may have also been understood as an illustrative depiction of Jesus’ claim – ‘φῶς εἰμι τοῦ κόσμου’ (‘I am the light of the world.’ John 9.5). This role had previously been perceived as Sol’s alone. Now, it is recognised as belonging to Christ, and thus Christ is assigned the chariot and rays which embodied that role in the visual language of the Romans. When one considers what percentage of the Roman population were illiterate, such a visual representation may have been an important vehicle for communicating Christ’s deity to them. As Kitzinger (1940 p.14) suggests, it may be that ‘ no more suitable way could be found for expressing his divine mission than by giving him features associated with the gods.’ Grabar (1979 p.5) also grasps the key role of art in communicating the gospel, as well as other theologies, in this period: ‘Il n’est pas exagéré de dire que, à la fin de l’Antiquité…l’enseignement de la religion et les actes de la dévotion se faisant d’une façon “audio-visulle”.’

 What I am suggesting here, is something of a parallel from the visual arts to the use the apostle Paul makes in his speech to the Athenians (see Acts 17.28) of the Cretica poem of the Cretan Epimenides (c. 600 BC), (Ἐν αὐτῷ γὰρ ζῶμεν καὶ κινούμεθα καὶ ἐσμέν – ‘For in him we live and move and have our being.’) and the Phaenomena of the Cicilian poet Aratus (c. 315-240 BC) (Τοῦ γὰρ καὶ γένος ἐσμέν – ‘For we are also his offspring.’). The latter citation may, alternatively, be from the Hymn to Zeus of Cleanthes (331-233 BC) which uses the same line. Either way, Paul takes the very familiar and respected literary heritage of the Athenians as a starting point from which to lead them on to an explanation of the resurrection of Christ, and the judgement of the dead. It could be that the images of Christ with Orphic or Solar attributes were sometimes intended to act in a similar way, leading the onlooker from familiar pagan theology on to a consideration of the deity of Christ.

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Nicola Cronin : Sumus novi dei through the fourth century, images of this type were a permanent apologetic for the nature of the Christ in whom the Christians believed.

sensibilities. And setting this type aside, it is, ultimately, impossible to map the British Church’s motivation in apparently largely avoiding representations of Christ, if indeed there was a conscious policy on this at all. But what we can say is that this choice, or practice, of centering the majority of their Christian imagery on the Chi-Rho symbol and other similar types, and not on depictions of deity, is distinctive of the art of the British Christian Church. As such, it is a simple reminder that there is more at stake here than the Christian-pagan division, and that there is still scope for inquiry on how Roman believers evidenced their local identity in their Christian faith.

Against this backdrop from Rome, the dearth of such clear representations of Christ as Sol or Orpehus in Britain is surprising. We do find representations of Orpheus, most notably in the splendid mosaic from Woodchester in Gloucestershire. Indeed, Orpheus seems to have been a popular figure, depicted in a number of mosaics from the South West of Britain. Various objects with images of Sol have also been found in Britain, such as the deeprelief bust from Corbridge, Northumberland (Hartley et al. 2006, catalogue no. 179), or the third century bronze circular brooch in the Ashmolean which originated from Ostia (Hartley et al. 2006, catalogue no. 178). Yet none of these are clearly conflations of the figures in question with Christ. Although it has been variously suggested that the mosaic from Woodchester is Christian on the basis of parallels known from the rest of the Empire, there is no real evidence to support this conjecture. And in the case of the brooch mentioned above, it is interestingly Mithras, not Christ who is equated with Sol. (See Hartley et al. 2006, p196 for Martin Henig’s discussion of this object.)

To summarise our observations here, the images of Christ we have tell us more about the identity of the early Christians than they do about the identity of the figure portrayed. Evidently enough, we do not see much of the historical Jesus in these scenes, but rather Jesus as he was understood by the church which commissioned the pieces in question, and could be communicated to the culture around them. And hence, through the image of Christ, the image of the church is revealed – a church emerging from and dialoguing with pagan identity, but proclaiming a new doctrine through the old iconography.

Whilst it would be wrong to draw any strong conclusion about the attitude of the British church to representations of Christ on the basis of this negative evidence, we can still make some basic observations. From the extant remains, it would appear that the British Church was less inclined than their counterparts elsewhere in the Empire, and in Italy in particular, to make images of their Saviour. Even the ‘Good Shepherd’ form, which had a long history of its own as the kriophoros – the sheep-carrying shepherd, long before Christian interpretations arose, is unknown in British finds other than the Barnsley Park gem stone (Mawer 1995, D3.Ge.1). In this case, the inclusion of a Phrygian cap on the shepherd’s head makes an identification of Christ implausible. And we fail to find this image otherwise, despite the fact that it was an extremely common topos throughout the Eastern parts of the Empire, dating back even to the Greek Moschophoros figure from the 6th century BC (See M.A. Eaverly, Archaic Greek Equestrian Sculpture, Oxbow Books 1996). The form held huge popularity amongst the Eastern Christians during our period, who used it in the catacomb wall paintings, in figurines, and occasionally on tombstones (for example, in what is now Tunisia). This makes it seem likely that the evident omission of this form from British Christian art was the result of a choice of taste on the part of the British Christians. There was sufficient exchange of philosophy, and design, between Britain and the rest of the Empire, that the distance alone does not really account for the absence of this type. Certainly the orantes type, the praying figure, was successfully imported from catacomb designs in Rome.

EGO CHRISTI This belongs to Jesus Christ We have previously observed that the Chi-Rho was a common feature on major works of British Christian art, as well as on various precious objects in third century Britain. I would now like to consider the use of the Chi-Rho and other Christian symbols in greater depth, and to discuss what can be gleaned of early Christian psychology and identity from the kind of objects on which these symbols appear. The chief problem one encounters when studying the small finds of Christian evidence from Britain in this way, is ascertaining what really is a Christian mark on an object, and what is not. As C. F. Mawer (1995) demonstrates, Christian significance has previously been attributed to countless small finds on very tenuous grounds. As such, it is necessary to exert proper caution when considering whether an object can securely be said to have a Christian identity, before one enters into the highly informative, but also potentially fraught arena of using these objects to reconstruct the attitudes of their purportedly Christian commissioners and makers. As a result of this problem, I have concentrated in the discussion which follows on finds which have been securely identified as bearing a Chi-Rho marker, or otherwise as Christian. There is, however, a secondary problem, which I would like to address before we turn to consider the objects themselves, – a problem which Petts presents in the fifth chapter of his Christianity in Roman Britain. Since the

Of course, there is no guarantee that the ‘Good Shepherd’ figure failed to become fashionable due to religious 133

Art, Religion and Society These instances illustrate the Imperial use to which the Chi-Rho was put during the fourth century. On the grounds of these, one can argue that we must equally show that decorative objects bearing the symbol are not also using it as a State reference, before we make a Christian identification. This problem faces us even after we have satisfied Mawer’s test, and are sure that we have a definite Chi-Rho on an object rather than another identification marker. With such clear state usage of the christogram in mind, how confident can we be when using any given Chi-Rho emblazoned object as evidence for Church identity at his time? To answer briefly, the context of such objects obviously becomes important in making this kind of judgement. But besides this, we can note that in eight instances from the Thames haul of ingots, the Imperial seal is flanked by a religious exhortation: SPES IN DEO. This motto illustrates to us that even when serving what is most evidently a secular purpose, the Chi-Rho could not be emptied of its prior religious meaning. Rather like war decorations, such as the Victoria Cross in the twentieth century, the state use of this Christian symbol did not undermine the religious significance it carried. This being the case, we can then more confidently approach the task of using the small objects we have from the period which bear the Chi-Rho seal to help us understand the early Church in Britannia. We will largely want to discard from this project such objects as christogram coins, whose manufacture was clearly not commissioned either by the church, or for private Christian usage. But aside from these clear cases, we need not become bogged down in issues of whether a Chi-Rho on an ornamental or other private object was inspired by either state or church allegiance. For, in practice, a religious statement was always and inevitably made, even when the symbol was used in an official context. In that sense, the objects are always Christian. Of those objects marked with the Chi-Rho, or other Christian symbols, some are almost certainly for official church usage, some for the personal use of a particular Christian person. There are also, of course, border-line examples, for which the specific function is less clear. But use is important, as it aids our understanding of the intention with which an object was made, and consequently illuminates the thinking of the commissioner. The silver strainer from the Water Newton hoard (Fig. 5) (Mawer 1995, C11.Si.2), with its Chi-Rho flanked by the Alpha and Omega engraved on the end of the handle, was almost certainly set aside for ecclesiastical purpose – presumably the straining of the wine for the Eucharist. The Traprain Law treasure offers a parallel example, (Mawer 1995, C11. Si.1), with the straining holes arranged to form the ChiRho, and even the name of Christ, IESUS CHRISTUS. These pieces are representative samples of a range of probable Church silver dating to this period, and illustrate the wealth of the early church in Britain, though whether this wealth was the result of a catalogue of small donations, or was originally in the possession of a few high-ranking

Figure 4. Pewter ingot from the Thames at London with Chi-Rho monograms (after British Museum Guides to Roman Britain 1922,1964) Chi-Rho was used widely in the Constantinian period as a symbol of state, and not merely in Christian art alone, it can be difficult to say with confidence that it was intended to denote Christ on a particular object, and not the Imperial house. The sign appeared on coinage under Constantine (Hartley et al., 2006, see e.g. catalogue no. 92) and even under the usurper Magnentius (Hartley et al., 2006, catalogue no. 95). It is also found on a number of pewter and tin discs and ingots (Fig. 4), retrieved from the river Thames. The name SYAGRIUS which accompanies it in these instances, presumably refers to a local official with responsibility for coinage or the metal trade (Petts 2003). 134

Nicola Cronin : Sumus novi dei members, we cannot tell. It also importantly illustrates the desire among the RomanoBritish Church to give honour to Christ through financial sacrifice, and through the provision of precious items for the corporate use. Such concern for decoration and finery, and appreciation of material sacrifice of this form (as opposed to largess to the poor for example) has historically both been found in certain church communities, and rigorously avoided in others. It does not seem to have been a feature of the church in Acts, for example, and was certainly anathema to the Puritan church. It is also still avoided by many protestant churches today. Because of all this, the appreciation of expensive votive offerings is an important attitude to note when Figure 5. Silver strainer looking to map what from Water Newton with this early community of Chi-Rho (after Mawer 1995) Christians believed. It is also, surely, a reminder that this church was composed of people who had grown up in the Roman pagan culture, and whose approach to their new faith in Christ was informed by their previous pagan perspective, and tradition of costly dedications.

all worldly wealth at that time, in search of encounter with God. The objects I am going to describe would all have been owned by people of means, by believers who enjoyed the decorative arts, and felt at liberty to do so under their new identity as followers of Jesus. To turn to the objects themselves, allow me to provide a sample of the range of finds. Examples of Chi-Rho seal rings have been found in gold (Mawer 1995, D3.Go.3), silver (D3.Si.5), and we also have a fragmentary rho-cross example in jet (D3.Je.1). Their use as a seal for personal business makes it more likely that the owners of these rings were men, although it is not impossible that such a ring could have occasionally had a female owner. These pieces are interesting because the stamp they carry represented the identity of the wearer to others on documents and letters, in their absence. As such, though they may have only been following Constantine’s fashion, the owners are using the symbol of Christ’s identity to represent their own identity, and thus are intimately connecting his name with their own. Similarly intimate connections of one’s own identity in a seal with that of another are known, in for example, the gem showing the head of Socrates, which may have been used as a seal. (See Henig, 2002, plate 13b.) But this identification of name is unparalleled, and must, I think, have been adopted as a conscious choice by believers only. It would seem hard for a cynic who was attracted to the symbol as a sign of his support for the emperor alone to bind his identity to Christ’s so closely. There is a further, now lost, bronze ring, (Mawer 1995, D3.Br.3) dating to the fourth century and found in the late Roman fort at Richborough, which bore the inscription ‘IU/ST/IN/EVI/VA/SI/ND/EO’ – Justinus, may you live in God. This example is striking because it is not simply a seal ring (although it may have performed this function), but also a prayer. The owner would have worn this prayer, presumably made by a fellow believer, and possibly a family member, carrying it around with him as a reminder both of the care which the person who had given the ring had for him, but also of God’s care for him, both in the present existence, and after death. For the soldier who wore it, the prayer would, we can imagine, have been a strengthening phrase to look down upon, and perhaps was commissioned to be a particular reminder of the hope of life after death for the wearer who daily risked his life in his military career. In this phrase, ‘may you live in God’, we have a glimpse of what essentially mattered to at least two members of the Romano-British Christian community.

Perhaps even more intimate in their relation to their original owners are those objects commissioned or bought by a Christian for their own personal use. These items are invaluable for the insight they can give us into the personal lives of the early British Christians, – information which is scarcely recorded in any other form. Most fundamentally, they demonstrate the fact that the people of the RomanoBritish Church sought to express their Christianity in their daily lives. They also illustrate the ways in which the early Christians chose to do that.

There are two other, more simply decorative and less functional pieces extant from the fourth century, which bear Christian symbols. The first of these is a brooch, the only one of its type found to bear a Christian distinctive marker (Mawer 1995, D4.Si.1). It is executed in silver, and is of the common crossbow form, with a horse’s head shaped on the longer arm, above which a disk is set at the point where the longer and shorter arms of the bow intersect. On this disk we find a Rho-cross outlined in a series of

Let us begin with a survey of those decorative finds which bear clearly Christian symbols, and which have been found in Britain. The very existence of such decorative objects shows us that we are concerned in Britain, with a markedly different expression of the Christian faith from that adopted by the desert fathers, who were abandoning civilisation and 135

Art, Religion and Society punctured holes. Such is the roughness of the execution of the Christian sign when compared with the much finer lines on the arms of the crossbow and in the depiction of the horse’s head, that it is tempting to think that the Rhocross form was added after the piece’s original execution, perhaps to personalise a common form at a customer’s request.

Canterbury, and the other of unknown provenance, which are decorated with a simple Rho-cross in the bowl of the spoon (Mawer C10.Si.1 and C10.Si.9). Also interesting as potential evidence of the kind of objects the Romano-British Christians liked to have at home are the pewter bowls found from this period. Their composition of lesser metal makes their identfication as household objects more secure. The Isle of Ely flanged bowl, decorated with a plethora of pagan monsters and Nereids, as well as the often Christian peacock, bears a clearly engraved Chi-Rho, flanked with the Alpha and Omega, as part of its decorative scheme. It is also, on its underside, incised with a graffito, which it unclear, but may perhaps have Christian significance. (See Mawer 1995, C2.Pe.2 for a discussion of this.) Mawer is concerned to show that previous, rather contrived interpretations of all the symbols on the piece as Christian, are ill-founded, and assume too much. Nonetheless, even without the evidence of the graffito, the christogram marker warrants the interpretation that this bowl was commissioned and owned by a Christian, and the peacocks, with their connotations of eternal life during that period, support this view. If this is the case, then the flanged bowl offers us another example of an individual expressing their cultural heritage alongside their Christian faith, on a decorative object. It is also further indication that the Romano-British Christians liked to have decorative reminders of their commitment to Christ, as the Chi-Rho can be understood, around them in their homes. Other simpler examples support this reading of the evidence, such as the pewter dish with incised ChiRho from Appleshaw, Hants, (Mawer 1995 C3.Pe.1), and the similar find from Welney in Norfolk (Mawer 1995, C3.Pe.4).

The second type is again a piece of decorative attire, and one of which we have numerous examples; it is the bronze belt buckle, frequently finished with the heads of two horses, and apparently commonly worn by men. A number of these pieces are decorated with peacocks, which were a Roman symbol of immortality, and were adopted by the Christian communities as a marker of resurrection. This is itself would not be enough to secure a Christian identification, but the peacocks are frequently found in pairs, flanking a tree bearing berries, which is generally interpreted as the biblical tree of life. One particular example (Mawer 1995, D1.Br.3), adds to these elements a flanking pair of fish, commonly recognised as bearing Christian significance, either in reference to Jesus’ miracle of the catch of fish (See Luke 5.6), or to the mnemonic ΙΧΘΥΣ− ‘fish’: Ἰησοῦς Χριστός θεοῦ υἱός σωτὴρ, (‘Jesus Christ, Son of God, saviour.’) Mawer (1995) reads this combination of all three symbols as strong evidence for their interpretation as Christian symbols when encountered separately. Each of these items then, was worn by a man in the Christian community. They illustrate that the men of the Romano-British Church were fond of incorporating their faith into the decorative items they wore, either as an aidememoire of their relationship with their saviour Jesus for them to look at throughout the day, or as a witness of their faith in Christ to the people with whom they came into contact. Most likely, these pieces carried out both of these functions, in a similar manner to the way in which cross necklets are used by many today. Hence, these items of clothing reinforce the wearer’s Christian identity, both in terms of their own perspective, and in the minds of those around them.

What ultimately strikes me as interesting about each of the pieces I have surveyed is the way in which they form a self-conscious commentary on the concept of ownership, or belonging. While many contemporary Roman pieces bear inscriptions to record the name of their owner, and to make it clear to whom they belong, these pieces instead bear the name of Christ. This in itself can be understood on two levels. It may be that in the Chi-Rho we have a direct parallel to the pagan dedicatory inscription, with the object set apart as belonging to Christ by the mark of his name. But on another level too, the usual form of the ownership inscription is reversed. Rather than declaring ‘I belong to my owner,’ these pieces now proclaim ‘My owner belongs to Christ.’ And whether conscious of the play on the traditional ownership inscription or not, we find the Romano-British Christians giving out the message ‘I belong to Jesus Christ,’ through the inclusion of his signs on the objects which were the furniture of their daily lives.

This impulse of wishing to project one’s faith, and thus one’s Christian identity onto personal possessions is seen in the case of household objects too, from the more traditionally female sphere. The early Christians evidently did not hold the symbol of Christ as so holy in itself that they felt it inappropriate to include it on practical objects, of precious metal, or more common materials. The silver spoon from Biddulph, Staffordshire (Mawer 1995, C9.Si.1) is a possible example of this type of household item, although the precious metal of which it is made means that it is also possible that the spoon had an ecclesiastical use. Still, it is useful for our purposes, as a possible example of a precious household object, which its Christian owner sought to have decorated with the sign of his God: Christ, the beginning and the end. Various parallels to this are found, including two swan-necked spoons, one from

IMAGO ECCLESIAE This then, is our image of the Roman British church as a community of people: engaging with the pagan culture 136

Nicola Cronin : Sumus novi dei around them, interested in the decorative arts, and identifying themselves as those for whom there has been promised eternal life, and for whom Jesus is Lord. This is how we encounter them from the objects they left behind. Of how they conceived themselves, we have very few clues in Britain, other than for a few rare cases of selfrepresentation in their Christian art. Two of these instances occur on the lead tanks found in Britain, of which there are several examples. There are a series of these found bearing the Chi-Rho, a type only found in Britain, and another reminder of local identity and usage among the church in the Roman Empire. These are thought to have been used for baptism by affusion, a notion corroborated by the depiction of a woman’s baptism on the tank found at Walesby in Lincolnshire (See Hartley et al. 2006, catalogue no. 194). The central group is of three women, separated by simple columns from the clusters of men who flank them on either side. The middle figure of the female group is nude. Yet the demure clasp of the hands, and the maternal nature of her companions prevents us from interpreting this as an Aphrodite figure. There is also a very large Chi-Rho engraved below the image, aiding our identification of the object as Christian. The woman to the left of the nude girl carries a long strip of cloth in her left hand. This is a scene of baptism. The candidate is nude to symbolise that she is about to die to her old self, and be born into new life in Christ Jesus (See John 3.3). She brings nothing with her from her old life – her sins are washed away and will weigh her down no more – and she enters the world afresh, clothed in Christ (Galatians 3.27), and in the white fabric handed her by the woman on her left, ultimately to be understood as the symbolic garment of righteousness, given to her by God (Revelation 6.11). This piece is fascinating, as a rare and detailed insight into the baptismal ritual of the early church. It also encourages us to see how important baptism was to this early church community, as this rare instance of self-depiction, notable for breaking from the conventional forms, illustrates to us. It is evidence too that the Church in Britain knew the text of the books of the Bible in some depth, or at least understood the concepts included within them (see my references above). This is an idea which I will go on to discuss later.

Figure 6. Orantes from Lullingstone, Kent, the central one with yoke. al., 2006, catalogue no. 195), and in the wall-painting from the Roman villa at Lullingstone, Kent. Let us turn to look at the latter of these in more depth. (Fig. 6) The painting comes from the upper room of the villa, from the West wall, and despite the difficulty caused by the discolouring of the fragments over time, it has been assembled from the remains of the plaster. The images we have reconstructed make it certain that this upper room was set aside for Christian worship in an otherwise ordinary house, and that a church would have met there. The scene in question shows six orantes, each one separated from the next by stone columns of alternating blue and brown. They wear robes which were originally thought to fall down to the ankles (see the reconstruction in plate XII of Meates, 1987 Vol. II), but later were concluded to reach only the knees (see fig. 6, page 17 of the same volume). This confirms that the figures shown are male. Each tunic has a cross-shape on it, although it is very unlikely that this is a symbolic representation; it is almost certainly simply a design feature. There is, however, an extremely important symbol included in this piece, resting on the shoulders of the second figure from the left. This has not generally been noticed as an important feature: although it is discussed in the text, it is entirely omitted from the reconstruction drawing Fig. 11, in Meates’ 1955 study. It is shown in Fig. 6 of the 1987 volume – a long stick, with loops hanging directly below it, yet in this instance, it is not discussed in the text. While Dr J. P. Wild reviews the clothing of the orantes in some depth (p. 40–41), he does not treat the question of this wooden rod behind the neck of figure 2 at all.

Much more typical as a depiction of a Christian believer, are the orantes, the praying figures, which spread to the Christian community in Britain, following their usage in the catacombs of Rome. These can be seen as an indication of the importance of prayer in the early church. The fact that they show that the typical position for prayer at this period was to stand with hands raised is also important. It is evidence that the Jewish faith, from which the early Church was born, had influenced church practice throughout the empire. For it is from models such as that found in Psalm 28.2 ‘Hear my cry for mercy as I lift up my hands to your most holy place’ that this posture is derived. British examples of this topos are found both on the lead tank from Flawborough in Nottinghamshire, (Hartley et

In the 1987 reconstruction drawing, the rod looks like what it was described as in the 1955 study: a rail from which hangs ‘the representation of a curtain, looped and tucked with a suggestion of falling folds.’ Meates understands this as an indication that the figure shown is dead, and that the curtain is symbolic of his having passed on to the next life. This interpretation was then accepted and reiterated by Davey and Ling, (1981): ‘The best preserved figure is the 137

Art, Religion and Society second from the left. … He was apparently distinguished from the other figures by being shown against a curtain, which hangs from a rod running behind his head.’ When looking at the reconstructed painting again, (and it is helpful to look at a photograph of the reconstruction rather than a drawing), I believe it becomes clear that this interpretation is incorrect. This is not a curtain rail, unfortunately represented so that it appears to sit on the shoulders of the second figure. This object is sitting on the shoulders of the figure. Nor are the loops below the rod the folds of a curtain as it meets the rail (though it is easy to see how this mistake was made). They are in fact chains, hanging in loops from the rod above them. It is evident that what is depicted here is actually a yoke.

Figure 7. Chi-Rho from Lullingstone, Kent

This image of a worshipping man wearing a yoke is immensely exciting. In this Christian context, it can only be a reference to the words of Jesus: ‘Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, from I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.’ (Matthew 11.28–30) – Δεῦτε πρός με πάντες οἱ κοπιῶντες καὶ πεφορτισμένοι, κἀγὼ ἀναπαύσω ὑμᾶς. ἄρατε τὸν ζυγόν μου ἐφ’ ὑμᾶς καὶ μάθετε ἀπ’ ἐμοῦ, ὅτι πραΰς εἰμι καὶ ταπεινὸς τῇ καρδίᾳ, καὶ εὑρήσετε ἀνάπαυσιν ταῖς ψυχαῖς ὑμῶν: ὁ γὰρ ζυγός μου χρηστὸς καὶ τὸ φορτίον μου ἐλαφρόν ἐστιν.’

and is common in churches today. Yet it has been thought hard to prove that the church communities across the Empire before the canonisation of scripture were so aware of the contents of biblical texts. Yet there is evidence for this, as the orantes painting from Lullingstone demonstrates. Equally important in this regard is the image from the upper room’s south wall. (Fig. 7) This piece focuses on a Chi-Rho, flanked by the Alpha and Omega, symbols which proclaim that Christ is the beginning and the end. The use of these symbols, in and of itself, is evidence of knowledge of the content of the book of Revelation, even if it is not entailed that the church at this villa had access to copies of this text. For it is in this book that the Alpha and Omega are given significance as Christian symbols, through Jesus’ words ‘“I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, “who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.”’ – Ἐγώ εἰμι τὸ Α καὶ τὸ Ω, λέγει κύριος ὁ θεός, ὁ ὢν καὶ ὁ ἦν καὶ ὁ ἐρχόμενος, ὁ παντοκράτωρ. (Revelation 1.8)

This discovery is important for two reasons. First, it is fascinating as it makes it seem likely that this is intended as an image of a particular individual within the church. Perhaps the yoke was included because the passage I have quoted was known to be a favourite of his, or because he quoted it often. I am strongly inclined to feel that the inclusion of this yoke behind this one figure of the five was an affectionate marker of the figure’s identity to the church who knew him in the flesh.

The use of these symbols in itself then, illustrates some knowledge of the content and message of scripture. But in addition to this, the wall-painting presents us with three very clear symbolic representations of God’s Holy Spirit. The first of these is the jewelled wreath, a ring of flame, which encircles the Chi-Rho. There are countless verses in the New Testament which refer to the Holy Spirit in terms of fire or flame, the most obvious case being the description of the tongues of flame which alighted on the heads of the apostles at Pentecost. But beside this, in Matthew 3.11, John the Baptist promises that when the Christ comes ‘He will baptise you with the Holy Spirit and with fire.’ – αὐτὸς ὑμᾶς βαπτίσει ἐν πνεύματι ἁγίῳ καὶ πυρί. Again, in 1 Thessalonians 5.19, Paul uses the verb ‘σβέννυτε’ – extinguish, in relation to the Holy Spirit, speaking of it figuratively as fire. Thus the fiery ring around the symbol of Christ can only represent the Holy Spirit.

Secondly, and ultimately more importantly, it is evidence of knowledge of Scripture amongst the members of the Romano-British Church. In this time before the canonisation of scripture, when books of the Bible were passed around separately, and churches could not be expected to have a copy of every book, this image shows us that the church at Lullingstone engaged with scripture nonetheless. It is proof that they knew some of Jesus’ sayings in the scriptures at least, that they reflected on these sayings as individuals, and held them to be important. POPULUS SCRIPTORUM There is further evidence that the Romano-British Church was aware of, and had a faith which was directed by, biblical texts. Just as the ancient Jews were known as ‘the people of the book,’ so the Scriptures hold a central and authoritative place in the Christian faith. This attitude is visible in the accounts of the church in the New Testament,

Below this are two further motifs: a pair of white birds – surely doves in this context – and a stream of water flowing to the left and the right from the base of the circle of flames. Each of these two also is used in the New 138

Nicola Cronin : Sumus novi dei Testament to designate the Spirit of God. In Matthew 3.16, in the description of Jesus’ baptism, it says ‘At that moment, heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and coming to rest on him (Christ).’ – καὶ εἶδεν [τὸ] πνεῦμα [τοῦ] θεοῦ καταβαῖνον ὡσεὶ περιστερὰν [καὶ] ἐρχόμενον ἐπ’ αὐτόν. Water is generally used as a less explicit figure of the Spirit, but still, in John 3.5, Jesus makes the link very clear: ‘I tell you the truth, no-one can enter the kingdom of God unless he is born of water and the Spirit.’ – Ἀμὴν ἀμὴν λέγω σοι, ἐὰν μή τις γεννηθῇ ἐξ ὕδατος καὶ πνεύματος, οὐ δύναται εἰσελθεῖν εἰς τὴν βασιλείαν τοῦ θεοῦ.

became the Bible in these communities, as it does in illiterate church communities the world over today. Both to those who cannot read, and for those who cannot get copies of the books, these pieces are reminders to the church of the sayings of their saviour, and the tenets of their faith. CREDO So who were the Romano-British Christians? Even following a survey of the evidence, there is admittedly much we cannot know. What we certainly can see, however, taking the finds as a whole, is that they were distinctly Roman (in their use of classical topoi), distinctly British (in their artistic preferences and style) and distinctly Christian. They were people who had developed a complex cultural and religious identity, believing that they could be Christian, and British and Roman all together, and reflecting this basic assumption in their art. They believed in communicating, even partially identifying, with the predominant culture which surrounded them, and from which most of them had come, wherever this was reconcilable with their Christian beliefs – and even when the relation was rather tangential. It was natural that they should do this to some degree, because they were not a foreign community, as scholars often imply, but local people, who shared a common heritage with their neighbours. On the other hand, they were people who had changed their beliefs and, as such, had developed a new identity in some vital respects. It is in these new beliefs that they were distinguished as different. Their biblical art demonstrates that these people were also marking themselves out as ‘other’ in their contemporary society: as those who belonged to the new God, who had a visual language of their own. It is only by appreciating this essential complexity of identification in the RomanoBritish Church community that we can make sense of its art, beginning to grasp what motivated them, and who they really were.

Thus, the South wall-painting from the villa at Lullingstone in Kent was to the church there a bold reminder of the character of the Spirit of God, entirely based on the understanding of the Spirit which is offered in scripture. There are parallels to this evidence for knowledge of scripture in other finds from Roman Britain. Two objects show simple illustrations of biblical scenes. One of these is a sheet of copper alloy, found in Uley in Gloucestershire. (Hartley et al. 2006, catalogue no. 227.) It once formed part of a casket, but was later folded in half to make it suitable as an offering to Mercury. Martin Henig identifies the four scenes on it as Jesus’ healing of the centurion’s servant, Jonah sleeping beneath the vine, Christ healing a blind man, and the sacrifice of Isaac. Very similar to this is the silver jug from the Traprain Law treasure, (Hartley et al. 2006, catalogue no. 234), which shows scenes of Adam and Eve, the Magi adoring the Christ child, and two miracles of Moses, one identified by Kenneth Painter securely as Moses producing water from the rock, the other said to be probably the miracle of the quail in the desert. Though this latter piece is probably not British in its manufacture, both pieces illustrate that there were Christians in Britain who were both aware of, and interested in owning objects of biblical narrative. Finally, there are textual clues that scripture was both known and appreciated in the Romano-British church, as is indicated for instance in the most important inscription from the Water Newton Treasure (Painter 1999). It is clear that for major figures associated with the fifthcentury insular church, such as St Patrick and Faustus of Riez, the Atlantic was no barrier to communications. Their writings suggest both that books might be passed around and shared between churches, and simply, that these early Christians were interested in what theological writings had to say.

Bibliography Abbate, F., 1966, Arte romana dalla Repubblica al Tardo Impero, Fratelli Fabbri editore (trans. by A.J. Sutton, Octupus Books 1972) Allen, J. Romilly, 1992, Early Christian symbolism in Great Britain and Ireland: the Romano-British period and Celtic monuments. Rhind lectures in Archaeology for 1885; reprinted by Llanerch Publishers, 1992. Buckman, J. and Newmarch, C.H., 1850, Illustrations of the remains of Ancient Art in Cirencester (London) Davey, N. and Ling, R., 1981,Wall-Painting in Roman Britain, Britannia Monograph Series, No. 3, London. Finney, P. Corby, 1994, The Invisible God, OUP. Goodburn, R., 1986, The Roman Villa, Chedworth, National Trust. Grabar, A., 1979, Les voies de la création en iconographie chrétienne, Flammarion, Paris.

Whatever the means, scripture was both known and important in the churches of Roman Britain. In a world which had such a heritage of oral poetry, and a tradition of memorising verse, it need not be surprising that the art of these communities reflects a greater knowledge of the sacred texts than we would expect from what can be surmised of the access these churches had to the physical copies of the texts themselves. Moreover, the art itself 139

Art, Religion and Society Meates, G. W., 1987, The Lullingstone Roman Villa Vol. II, Kent Archaeological Society. Painter, K.S., 1999, ‘The Water Newton silver’, JBAA CLII, 1-23. Petts, David, 2003, Christianity in Roman Britain, Tempus, Stroud. Tertullian, Adversos Judaeos (Dunn, Geoffrey D. trans., Routledge, London, 2004). Toynbee, J.M.C, 1964, Art in Britain under the Romans, Oxford. Salway, Peter, 1993, The Oxford Illustrated History of Roman Britain, OUP. Watts, Dorothy, 1991, Christians and Pagans in Roman Britain, Routledge, London.

Hartley, E., Hawkes, J., Henig, M., Mee, F., 2006, Constantine the Great. York’s Roman Emperor, Ashgate Aldershot and York Museums Trust. Henig, M., 2002, The Heirs of King Verica, Tempus, Stroud. Johnson, P., 1982, Romano-British Mosaics, Shire Archaeology, Princes Risborough. Kitzinger, E., 1940, Early Medieval Art, British Museum Publications Ltd. Matthews, T.F., 1993, The Clash of Gods, Princeton University Press. Mawer, C.F., 1995, Evidence for Christianity in Roman Britain, BAR Brit. Ser. 243, Oxford. Meates, G. W., 1955, Lullingstone Roman Villa, Heinemann, London.

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Girolamo Zulian: the collection, the man and his world Luisa Materassi

Abstract This paper attempts to shed new light onto the collection, the life and the world of a somewhat overlooked eighteenth century figure, the Venetian Senator and Cavaliere Girolamo Zulian. Well known in his own time, principally as a sponsor of Antonio Canova during his early years in Rome, Zulian is an interesting personage at the centre of a vast network of politicians, intellectuals and artists in the Veneto, Rome and Constantinople.

Zulian’s collection: sources and description Tutti li miei cammei, il mio Giove Egioco specialmente, le incisioni, statue, marmo qualunque scolpito, bronzi, vasi etruschi, e cose di simil genere, voglio che dal mio commissario sieno consegnati al Sig. Abate Morelli custode della Biblioteca di S. Marco, o se a me premorisse, al di lui successore, affinché siano da lui riposte e custodite nel Gabinetto della Repubblica prossimo alla Biblioteca, o nella Biblioteca stessa.

Previous studies have either focused on Zulian’s archaeological pieces in view of their subsequent incorporation into Venice’s Statuario, or concentrated on the politician’s documented ties to the Venetian patriciate and the University environment in Padua. To this day, we lack an analysis that combines both the archaeological and the historical strands, allowing us to capture the figure of Zulian in full, from a philosophical and artistic, as well as socioeconomical and political perspective. In this essay, I have attempted to sketch the cultural history of this eighteenth century Venetian, discussing his intellectual debts to Carlo Lodoli, to the philosophy of Vico, and to contemporary Freemasonry. I shall begin by presenting highlights from the collection, procede to examine the figure of Zulian and his family, and from there discuss the diverse cultural models that shaped his acquisition and museological choices, and his way of relating to antiquities and to art.

Thus, on 1 August 1794, Girolamo Zulian signed his will, bequeathing his collection of antiquities to the Venetian Republic, and entrusting its care to the then Keeper of the Biblioteca Marciana, Abbot Jacopo Morelli. The collection, which once included plaster casts by Canova, as well as Graeco-Roman sculptures, Roman bronzes, Etruscan vases, Hellenistic gems and a small number of Egyptian artifacts, can still be admired in the Museo Nazionale in Venice. Its original owner, the Venetian senator and diplomat Girolamo Zulian, assembled his collection over the course of two decades, from the late 1770s to his death, in January 1795. Although celebrated in his own time, Zulian is relatively unknown today except to the world of Canova specialists, who recall his role as early patron of Canova and as commissioner of the sculptor’s first masterpiece, the Victoria and Albert Theseus and the Minotaur. Born to a noble Venetian family in 1730, Zulian studied at the Seminary and at the University of Padua, where he was awarded a fellowship and befriended the leading intellectuals of the day. Following his family’s expectations, he subsequently turned to politics and embarked on a successful cursus honorum, which led him to hold the posts of Savio agli ordini (1756) and Savio di terraferma (1758-1769), as well

My research owes much to the studies of Prof. Irene Favaretto, of the University of Padua, and of Dott.ssa Marcella De Paoli; to both, I wish to extend my thanks for their courteous advice. My foremost gratitude goes to Profs. Donna Kurtz and Martin Henig, for their guidance throughout my studies at Oxford. Heartfelt thanks go also to Prof. Rosella mamoli and Dr. Marino Zorzi for their ever-warm welcome to a vagrant Florentine; to Mr. Fernando Peretti for his generous insights on Venetian painting and collecting; to Mr. Andrew Robison for his stimulating discussions on 18th century prints and drawings; and to Mr. Hugh Honour and Prof. Manlio Pastore Stocchi for their kind advice on Neoclassical art and poetry. I owe a special debt of gratitude to M. Marc Bormand, Conservateur en chef au départment des Sculptures, Musée du Louvre, whose teaching proved invaluable both during and after my internship at the Louvre; to him and to the entire staff of the department, my warmest thanks. This article is dedicated to the memory of Kate Doulton, whose tragic death in April 2005 marked the end of an epoch for many of us Cambridge graduates.



 G. Zulian, Testamento, published 25 February 1795, BCV, Mss. P.D. c665/VII and Mss. Cicogna 3115/30; Archivio di Stato di Venezia (ASV), Notarile Testamenti, Ruggero Mondini, 644 n. 117.  P. Del Negro, “Giacomo Nani e l’Università di Padova nel 1781,” henceforth, “Giacomo Nani,” Quaderni per la storia dell’Università di Padova, 13 (1980), pp. 77-114.  At the age of twenty, he composed a treatise entitled Due discorsi accademici sulle machine, leve, etc.; see Biblioteca del Museo Correr (BCV), Codice Cicogna 3166/IV. BCV, Raccolta di lettere di diversi a G. Zulian, Codice Cicogna 3165/LIII.

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Art, Religion and Society as to become Secretary of Defense (1762) and Minister of Public Finances (1763-68). His diplomatic skill allowed him to stem the political tide of the 1760s, when tensions between senatorial factions caused a major threat to the Republic’s existence. After serving as Savio del Consiglio and Correttore alle leggi between 1774 and 1779, he was nominated to the three-year post of Ambassador to Rome (1779-1783). It was at this time that he began to purchase antiquities with the help of his advisers, Antonio Canova and the architect Giannantonio Selva. After his nomination to bailo to Constantinople in 1784, Zulian’s collecting activity assumed a systematic character. Using a vast network of agents, dealers, restorers and scholars throughout the Eastern Mediterranean, he purchased and restored antiquities and had them shipped to his home in Padua, where Selva oversaw their display. In 1789, the aged ambassador finally retired from civil service and settled in Padua, devoting the last six years of his life to his activity as a collector.

of acquisition, expenses, restorations either carried out or intended, transport and display. The second source are Canova’s Quaderni di viaggio, two small notebooks in Bassano, which were first edited by Elena Bassi in 1959 and were subsequently republished by Hugh Honour in the Edizione nazionale delle opere di Antonio Canova. The diary spans the period from 9 October 1779 to 28 June 1780, i.e., roughly the first seven months of Zulian’s mandate to the Holy See. Aside from providing delightful insights into Canova’s first impressions of Rome and recording his meetings with the leading patrons and artists who resided there in the 1770s, the diary contains many references to “l’Ambasciatore,” to his interests and friends, and to the antiquities in Palazzo Venezia. Our third source is Zulian’s aforecited will, which was published by Jacopo Morelli on 25 February 1795. It is worth quoting the section immediately following Zulian’s list of treasures:

Considering the wealth of studies on the history of collecting, it is surprising that no specific study of Zulian’s museum has been attempted thus far in English. His case, indeed, deserves better attention in view both of his rapports with Canova and the Neoclassical milieux in Venice and Rome, and of the fact that his collection was one of the last to be assembled prior to the fall of the Republic. Our understanding of collecting practices in the Veneto has advanced significantly over the past decades thanks, particularly, to the scholarship of Krzysztof Pomian, Marino Zorzi and Irene Favaretto. Their studies have fleshed out the founding of the Statuario Pubblico and of the great Renaissance private collections; the canals of purchase and of dispersal of antiquities during the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries; the birth of public awareness of the problem of art trafficking; and the institutional measures adopted by the State to preserve its national heritage.

Se qualche cosa restasse di infisso nelle muraglie della casa che abito in Padova, prego la proprietaria di essa N. D. Cornelia Dolfin Gradenigo di permettere che sia levata, e spero che non metterà ostacolo delle cose stesse possino aggiunger qualche decorazione a quel Pubblico Gabinetto di statue. A Monsignor Priuli Auditor di Rota mio cugino inclinato [...] ed amante delle belle arti lascio li miei libri, stampe, gessi. Spero che di quelli che fossero infissi nei muri permetterà la nominata Dama proprietaria della casa la estirpazione. Eredi di tutta mia facoltà [...] di ciò che posseggo e pervenir mi potesse lascio li cinque [...] Priuli di S. Trovaso miei amorosissimi cugini figli del Cav. Ascanio Manin Priuli mio Zio materno. Lascio ad essi tutta mia facoltà [...] perché mi assicura il loro conosciuto carattere, e con detta prudenza che faranno per farne uso, che sia di onore alla famiglia, e di servizio alla Patria.

Since, for the most part, past collections have come down to us in fragmentary form, due to the dispersal of their material and the destruction of their original context, historians of collections are necessarily dependent on written sources, such as inventories, museum catalogues, visitors’ descriptions, guides and travel logs, correspondence, memoires, and account documents. In the case of Zulian, we possess three main documentary sources. The first is Zulian’s correspondence with Canova, Selva and his friends in Padua, divided between the Biblioteca Civica di Bassano del Grappa, the Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, and the Biblioteca Nazionale del Museo Correr. These letters contain a wealth of precious information, starting from the collector’s daily thoughts and habits, to key facts concerning the museum’s history, such as dates

While the antiquities were bequeathed to the State, the Zulian estate, including his movable properties, his land investments and his portion of the family palace in Venice, was left to his cousins, the Priuli di San Trovaso. Another of Zulian’s relatives inherited his books, his collection of prints and his casts by Canova. Zulian specified that he wished for his antiquities to be handed over to the “Gabinetto della Repubblica prossimo alla Biblioteca, o nella detta Biblioteca stessa.” Clearly, he intended for his collection to be assimilated into the core of the Statuario Pubblico, drawing an ideal line between his bequest and the sixteenth century ones of the Grimani and the Contarini. His only concern was that the collection be displayed intact. Twice, he expressed the hope that Donna Cornelia Dolfin Gradenigo, the owner of the apartment he rented in

ASV, Segretario alle voci. Pregadi, reg. 24, ff. 12-16 (saviato di terraferma), 22 (saviato alla scrittura), 23 (cassier di collegio), and 24 (saviato agli ordini).  I. Favaretto, Arte antica e cultura antiquaria nelle collezioni venete al tempo della Serenissima, henceforth, Arte antica (Rome, 1990), p. 220. 

 

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A. Canova, Scritti, I, ed. H. Honour (Rome, 1994). Zulian, Testamento, op. cit.

Luisa Materassi : Girolamo Zulian Padua, would allow Morelli to remove whatever works had been set into the walls. Presumably, he feared some opposition on her part and hoped that matters could be resolved amicably. Zulian’s will allows us to understand the reasons behind his donation — a mixture of personal pride and patriotic sentiment; but it does not supply much information on the individual objects. The only piece singled out for attention is the famous cameo representing Zeus Aegiocus. All other works are referred to in passing: “statues, sculpted marbles, bronzes, Etruscan vases, and similar things.” Evidently, Zulian expected Morelli to inventory the pieces with the help of Canova and Selva — which indeed happened on 26 March 1795. Morelli again turned to Canova for help later in 1795, when faced with the difficult task of Figure 1. Fragment of a seated statue of Cybele. End of the II century B.C. rearranging the Statuario Pubblico. Their Pentelic marble, 91 x 78 cm. Venice, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, discussions concerning the hanging, the Inv. n. 272. lighting, and the concept of the new museum constitute excellent proof of Canova’s skill as a dal Segretario perché lo vedessi, avendo piacere museum adviser. Unfortunately, the French occupation not che fosse accomodatto; io lo vidi e gli risposi e only prevented his ingenious suggestions from being carried l’accomoderò.11 out but also caused the dismemberment and the relocation of the Statuario Pubblico. This entry reveals that less than a month after Canova’s arrival in Rome, Zulian was already confiding in him as a Let us now examine some of the most notable pieces of consultant and restorer of antiquities. Zulian’s collection. Morelli’s manuscript inventory lists more than two hundred pieces, divided between Zulian’s Morelli’s reference to “un frammento di statua di donna” houses in Venice and in Padova: has been identified as Inv. n. 272 in the Museo Archeologico (Fig. 1).12 The fragment is the lower section of a statue un piede colossale; un frammento di statua di representing a seated female figure, heavily draped, and donna; due teste colossali di un Fauno e di una resting on a now lost base. The sculpture is composed of Faunessa; una testa di Apollo radiata, con raggi three interlocking sections, with the figure’s back squarely di metallo dorato; due teste di Venere; due teste di cut so as to fit into the lost base, while the feet reveal holes puttini; quattro teste piccole; una statua di ninfa; for metal links. Long admired as a supreme example of il dio Mitra coi suoi simboli; un bassorilievo ancient carving,13 the fragment was previously thought to (frammento di due pezzi) con contorno di ornato e have been part of one the Parthenon pediments; however, un Dio marino; un candelabro in pezzi, ma intiero e recent studies have dated it to the IV century BC and perfetto; un bassorilievo di maniera del Sansovino, connected it to a cult statue of Cybele.14 Although its exact  rappresentante Porzia. provenance remains unknown, Beschi convincingly argued in favour of a Levantine origin. Technical analysis has in For the sake of clarity, it may be useful to follow Morelli’s fact revealed that the marble is Ionian or Micronesiac. order. The inventory begins with “un piede colossale” (Inv. n. 74a),10 identified as the colossal foot described by Ulisse 11 Canova, Scritti, 3 December 1779, f. 59r. Aldrovandi in 1556 and mentioned in Canova’s Quaderni, 12 L. Beschi, “Due monumenti efesini nella collezione di Girolamo on 3 December 1779: Zulian,” henceforth “Monumenti efesini,” Aquileia Nostra, LVII (1986), coll. 413-32. A. Conze, “Die Antikensammlung des Marciana zu Venedig,” Archäologische Zeitung, XXX (1872), p. 83ff; Anti, Museo Archeologico, pp. 86-88, n. 11, tab. VII, II. 14 A. Furtwängler, “Griechische Originalstatuen in Venedig,” Abhandlungen der Königlich Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Hist. Klasse, II, XXI (1898), pp. 227-316; Beschi, “Monumenti efesini,” pp. 425-30.

Dopo il pranzo l’Ambasciatore mi mandò con Selva a vedere il pié che sta nel cortile per andar

13

BMV, Archivio Biblioteca, Governo Veneziano, 1795, doc. n. 136. Anti, C., Il Regio Museo Archeologico nel Palazzo Reale di Venezia, henceforth Museo Archeologico (Rome, 1930), p. 18, n. 7.



10

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Art, Religion and Society Moreover, Zulian’s letter to Clemente Sibiliato, dated March 1793, shows that he purchased it through his agents in Turkey: since he expressed the hope that the statue be beautiful, he must have been relying only on written descriptions.15 The inventory proceeds to mention “due teste colossali di un Fauno e di una Faunessa” (Inv. n. 39 and 63, Figs. 2a, b–3a, b). A reference in Ulisse Aldrovandi’s Delle statue antiche che per tutta Roma si veggono (1556) shows that the sculptures were displayed in the courtyard of Palazzo Venezia at least since the mid-sixteenth century.16 According to Luigi Beschi and Marcella De Paoli, before leaving Rome in 1783, Zulian consulted Selva as to what to do with the sculptures. Fearing that the heads might suffer damage or dispersal, Selva advised him to transfer them to Venice and to have them restored by Canova.17 Three similar sculptures had entered the collections of the Statuario Pubblico in 1586, through Cardinal Giovanni Grimani;18 it is possible that Selva and Zulian may have wished to draw a parallel between these two evergetic gestures. Canova’s restoration involved work on the Nymph’s nose and left ear, and the removal of the Faun’s head from its damaged torso; he also removed the Faun’s beard and restored its right ear, nose and chin.19 Given Canova’s general reticence to restore classical sculptures, this episode constitutes a notable exception: perhaps on this occasion Canova was unable to secure the collaboration of Antonio d’Este and Giovanni Volpato — the two men to whom he generally assigned such commissions — or, alternatively, Zulian may have insisted that these famous heads be restored by none other than the “modern Pheidias.”

Figure 2a, b. Colossal head of a female Faun. Marble, 46 cm. Venice, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Inv. n. 63.

According to Klein, the two heads date to the II century AD and are copies of a lost group from the late II century BC known as the “Invitation to the dance.”20 In the absence of the originals, the group was identified thanks to a Severan coin from Cyzicus, which shows a faun snapping his fingers and stamping his right foot on a kroupezion, while a nymph

sits nearby, watching and tying her shoelaces.21 Since the identification of the coin, numerous heads of fauns and nymphs have been related to the “Invitation to the dance” group;22 but while offering a useful tool to determine the group’s composition and principal viewpoint, the coin does not help in establishing the figures’ facial features and hairdos. As Mansuelli pointed out,23 the different surface treatment and materials of the two sculptures suggest that they were not conceived together. Each could have been copied and displayed separately. The heads in Venice present two problems: first, the difference in size, the Faun measuring 67 cm, while the Nymph only 46 cm; and, second, the treatment of the hair. The Nymph’s is rendered in fine, undulating curls running parallel from the forehead to the back of her head, with a few stray curls escaping her chignon at the temples. The sculptor devoted particular attention to the light effects, carving the top of the head in

15 Zulian, Lettere inedite del Cav. G. Zulian al Prof. Clemente Sibiliato, henceforth Lettere inedite (Padua, 1846), p. 21, n. 13. 16 U. Aldrovandi, “Delle statue antiche che per tutta Roma si veggono,” henceforth “Delle statue antiche,” in L. Mauro, Le antichità della città di Roma (Venice, 1556), pp. 261-62. 17 M. De Paoli, “Antonio Canova e il «museo» Zulian: vicende di una collezione veneziana nella seconda metà del Settecento,” henceforth “Museo Zulian,” Ricerche di Storia dell’Arte, 66, 1998, pp. 19-36, p. 23. 18 G. Valentinelli, Museo archeologico della Reale Biblioteca Marciana di Venezia, henceforth Museo Archeologico (Venice, 1872), p. 24, n. 43; Anti, Museo Archeologico, p. 100, n. 6; G. Traversari, La statuaria ellenistica del Museo archeologico di Venezia, henceforth Statuaria ellenistica (Rome, 1986), pp. 77-79. 19 BCV, Mss. PD. 529/254; G. Valentinelli, Marmi scolpiti del Museo Archeologico della Marciana di Venezia, henceforth Marmi scolpiti (Prato, 1863), p. 232. 20 R.R.R. Smith, Hellenistic Sculpture. A Handbook (London, 1991), p. 130, figs. 157.1-4; G.Q. Giglioli, Arte greca (Milan, 1955), vol. 2, p. 918, fig. 676; Anti, Museo Archeologico, p. 102, n. 14 and p. 105, n. 11; M. Bieber, The Sculpture of the Hellenistic Age (New York, 1967), p. 139, fig. 567.

F. Imhoof-Blümer, “Antike Münzbilder,” Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, III (1888), pp. 286-97, tav. 9, n. 29. 22 For a list of variants, see Traversari, Statuaria ellenistica, pp. 70-77; also I. Favaretto and G. Traversari, Tesori di scultura greca a Venezia, henceforth Tesori di scultura (Venice, 1993), pp. 146-49, fig. 59. 23 G.A. Mansuelli, Galleria degli Uffizi. Le Sculture (Florence, 1958), I, pp. 80-82. 21

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Luisa Materassi : Girolamo Zulian light relief and increasing in depth down to the height of the ears. The Faun’s strands of hair are grouped in broad, straight locks at the sides, front, and back of the head. The carving is consistently chiaroscurato, the contrasts much sharper and the overall effect more expressionistic, with the curl at the top of the forehead lending the figure a malicious air. Stylistically, the Nymph recalls female figures by Praxiteles, the Faun the fallen warriors in the Lesser Attalid monument in Athens, three examples of which are now visible in the Museo Archeologico in Venice.24 It is tempting to agree with Traversari, who cautions against an overly confident connection between the two heads.25 However, since all surviving heads assumed to belong to the “Invitation to the dance” group have different hairdos and facial expressions, the argument in favour of this attribution is equally plausible. Another entry in Morelli’s inventory concerns “una testa di Apollo radiata, con raggi di metallo dorato” (Inv. n. 245, Fig. 4).26 Sometimes interpreted as an idealised portrait of Mithridas VI, King of Pontus,27 it is more likely a depiction of Helios.28 Beschi argues that it came from Egypt, on the basis of its mention in Fauvel’s catalogue of ancient sculptures observed during his trip in 1789.29 Zulian may have purchased the bust directly from Fauvel, whom he met in Athens in 1788-89, on his return journey from Constantinople. The deeply drilled hair and the facial proportions suggest that the bust dates to the Antonine era but, according to Beschi, its soft features, subtle surface textures and faintly “pathetic” expression refer back to a prototype from the end of the II century BC.30 A letter by Zulian to Giovanni Volpato, dated 31 July 1789, suggests that it was restored in Rome. Among Zulian’s prize possessions, second only to his cameo of Zeus Aegiocus, was the “statua di ninfa,” also known as “Venus Pontia” or “Venus Marina” (Inv. n. 253, Fig. 5 a, b).31 The story of its purchase, restoration and display is richly documented. The statue was acquired in Alexandria in 1789. Writing to Canova from Padua on 31 July 1789, Zulian announced: In 1523, Patriarch Domenico Grimani donated two Gauls to the Signoria, which decided to exhibit them in the Palazzo Ducale. A third Gaul was purchased by Giovanni Grimani and entered the Statuario Pubblico in 1596. See Smith, Hellenistic Sculpture, pp. 102-04, figs. 123-32. 1-2; I. Favaretto et al., Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Venezia (Milan, 2004), pp. 60-61; B. Palma, “Il piccolo donario pergameno,” Xenia I (1981), pp. 45-84. 25 Traversari, Statuaria ellenistica, pp. 74-75. 26 Anti, Museo Archeologico, p. 159, n. 13. 27 A. Krug, “Ein Bildnis Mithradates VI von Pontos,” Archäologischer Arzeiger, 1969, II, pp. 189-95, figs. 1, 3 and 5. 28 Anti, Museo Archeologico, p. 159, n. 5; Traversari, Statuaria ellenistica, pp. 110-12, n. 36. 29 On Fauvel’s travels in Egypt (1789-92), see L. Beschi, “L.S. Fauvel ad Alessandria,” henceforth “Fauvel ad Alessandria,” in Alessandria e il mondo ellenistico-romano, Studi in onore di Achille Adriani, ed. N. Bonacasa and A. Di Vita (Rome, 1983), pp. 3-12. A. Zambon, “Fauvel et les vases grecs,” Journal des Savants, 2006, I, p. 3-63. 30 Beschi, “Fauvel ad Alessandria,” p. 12. 31 Favaretto and Traversari, Tesori di scultura, pp. 149-51, figs. 60, 60A. 24

Figure 3a, b. Colossal head of a male Faun. Marble, 67 cm. Venice, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Inv. n. 39. 145

Art, Religion and Society Manderò a Volpato per via di Pesaro una statua greca, che mi fu mandata da Alessandria. La prego di esaminarla, e dirmi il suo giudizio. Avrò il piacere di intenderlo prima di stabilire il sito da collocarla.32 Although fully absorbed in sculpting the Tomb of Clement XIII, Canova admired this work so greatly that he offered to restore it personally. Zulian delicately declined the offer, but asked Canova to oversee Volpato’s restoration. A subsequent letter reveals that Zulian regretted his earlier decision, for Volpato’s intervention was carried out rather heavy-handedly. “Peraltro,” he lamented, “mi sarebbe stata cosa assai cara il poter dire Statua antica, e bella, ristorata da Canova.”33 The Ninfa was sent to Padua and placed at the centre of a specially designed room. The walls were decorated with engravings of Raphael’s Stanze Vaticane, and the ceiling boasted “rabeschi sul gusto di Raffaello.”34 So that visitors could admire the statue from all sides, Selva designed a rotating podium, composed of fragments from Themistokles’ column at Cape Kynosura, erected to commemorate the victory of Salamis in 480 BC. Zulian purchased the fragments from Fauvel during his stop-over in Athens in 1789; sadly, no part of the base survives to this day.35 Figure 4. Bust of Helios. Egypt, II century A.D. copy of a II century B.C. original. Marble, 56 cm. Venice, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Inv. n. 245.

Zulian also owned a collection of some seventy ancient vases, the majority purchased in Rome through Canova. Although the will refers to them simply as “vasi etruschi,” only seven are actually Etruscan ware. It was not until Luigi Lanzi’s Dei vasi antichi dipinti, volgarmente chiamati etruschi appeared in 1806, that Greek and Southern Italian pots were clearly distinguished from Etruscan ware.36 Zulian’s collection is a heterogeneous array of objects, the oldest being a series of Villanovian cinerary urns dating from the ninth to the eighth century BC. The Etruscan vases include an early third century BC oinochoe from Tarquinia, with a silhouetted palmette motif, probably painted by a member of the so-called “Toronto 495” group (Inv. n. T122);37 a fourth century high-necked, red-figure krater, ascribed to the so-called “Volterra group” (Inv. n. A. d’Este, Memorie di Antonio Canova scritte da Antonio d’Este e pubblicate per cura di Alessandro d’Este, 1864, henceforth Memorie, ed. P. Mariuz (Bassano del Grappa, 1999), p. 368, 13A. 33 BCB, Mss. Canov. I-2-65/71. 34 BCB, Mss. Canov. II-190/1777. 35 Beschi, “Monumenti efesini,” pp. 420-22. 36 For a discussion of Zulian’s vases, see I. Favaretto, “G. Zulian e la sua collezione di vasi italioti ed etruschi nel Museo Archeologico di Venezia,” in Atti dell’Istituto Veneto di Scienze, Lettere ed Arti, CXXIII (1964-65), pp. 27-52. L. Beschi, “La scoperta dell’arte greca,” henceforth “Scoperta,” in Memoria dell’antico nell’arte italiana, vol. 3 Dalla tradizione all’archeologia, ed. S. Settis (Turin, 1986), p. 348. 37 For this group of potters, see Beazley, Etruscan Vase painting (henceforth EVP), Oxford 1947, p. 182; F.R. Serra Ridgeway, “I corredi del Fondo Scataglini a Tarquinia,” henceforth “Fondo Scataglini,” in Scavi della Fondazione Ing. Carlo M. Leria del Politecnico di Milano per la Soprintendenza archeologica dell’Etruria meridionale (s.n., 1996), pp. 229-30, and p. 57, n. 38-1. 32

Figure 5a, b. Statue of Marine Venus. Alexandria, II century A.D. Marble, 132 cm. Venice, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Inv. n. 253. 146

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Figure 7. Duck-shaped aryballos. Ionia, first half of the VI century B.C. Painted terracotta with incised decoration, 7.5 x 10.3 cm. Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Inv. T 112.

Figure 6. Painter of Tübingen F18. Red-figure pixis Etruria, late IV – early III century B.C. Terracotta, black ink with white highlights, 8 x 8.7 cm. Venice, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Inv. T 115.

with the portrait of an ephebe.

figure Paestan krater by the painter Python (320 BC ca., Inv. n. T55), depicting Dionysus and a Maenad;46 and a lovely Apulian red-figure lekanìs, with two palmettes framing an elegant pair of swans with outstretched wings (second half of the IV century, Inv. n. T91, Fig. 9).47 A final group of objects included a set of first or second century AD Roman lucernae (Inv. n. T33, T35, T40, and T43) and a mid-fourth century Christian lucerna with the relief of a cross, probably found in Rome (Inv. n. T30).48

not found);38 and a delicate red-figure pyxis by the Painter of Tübingen F 18, showing the profile of a youth with a victory fillet (330-280 BC, Inv. n. T115, Fig. 6).39 Among the “Greek” vases are a sixth century BC Ionian aryballos in the shape of a duck (Inv. n. T112, Fig. 7)40 and two fifth century Attic black-figure lekythoi with a single arm and stylized lotus motif decoration (Inv. n. T100 and 102).41

As Favaretto pointed out, Canova purchased these vases on the Roman antiquarian market. As he wrote to Selva in February 1793, prices were high and it was often difficult to make “un buon negozio.”49 His competitors included sharp dealers such as Thomas Jenkins and James Byres of Tonley, who were quick to exploit the wave of interest occasioned by the discovery of Tarquinia and Chiusi, as well as the publication of baron d’Hancarville’s illustrated catalogue of the Hamilton collection.50 Together with Piranesi, Byres visited the necropolis of Tarquinia and published studies and engravings of its ceramic finds; from 1750 to 1790, he resided in Rome and catered to the

By far the most numerous were Southern Italian wares:42 among them, two fourth century BC black-gloss lekythoi from Campania (Inv. n. T106 and 80);43 one Gnathian alabastron with a cylindrical base and reticulated whiteon-black decoration (Inv. n. T120, Fig. 8);44 an Apulian red-figure hydria, probably by the Painter of Darius and the Underworld (340-320 BC, Inv. n. T58), showing a scene of ritual offering before a funerary stele;45 a redSee Beazley, EVP, pp. 123-24. On the Painter of Tübingen F 18, see Beazley, EVP, pp. 178-79; Serra Ridgeway, “Fondo Scataglini,” p. 228. 40 See S. Boldrini, Le ceramiche ioniche (Bari, 1994), pp. 23-40. 41 See B.A. Sparkes and L. Talcott, Pots and Pans of Classical Athens (Princeton, 1958), Agora 1119, p. 153, fig. 11/1115. 42 On Venetian collecting of Southern Italian ceramic, see I. Favaretto, “I vasi italioti. La ceraminca antica nelle collezioni venete del XVI secolo,” in Marco Mantova Benavides. Il suo museo e la cultura padovana del Cinquecento, Atti della giornata di studio nel IV centenario della morte 1582-1982 (Padua, 1984), pp. 159-92. 43 See J.-P. Morel, Céramique campanienne: les formes, henceforth Céramique campanienne (Rome, 1981), types 5411 and 5413c, p. 360, tav. 167. 44 Morel, Céramique campanienne, type 7134b1, p. 402, tav. 201. 45 For this type of scene, see A.D. Trendall and A. Cambitoglou, The Red-figured Vases of Apulia (henceforth RVA), 2 vols. (Oxford, 1978 and 1983), p. 549, n. 19/1, tav. 207/1, and Supplement, 1992, II, tav. LIX, 4, p. 233, n. 23/66c. 38 39

For the painter Python, see A.D. Trendall, The Red-figured Vases of Paestum (London, 1987), p. 164, n. 2/308, Vatican U23, tav. 108c-d; and pp. 136-72. 47 See Trendall and Cambitoglou, RVA, p. 415, n. 16/4, tav. 146, 3-5. 48 See M. Barbera, C. Pavolini and R. Petriaggi, Le lucerne tardo-antiche di produzione Africana. Museo nazionale romano, Rome 1993, p. 25, series n. 4. 49 Canova, Letter to Giannantonio Selva, Rome 23 February 1793, BCV, Mss. P.D. 529/265. 50 P.F.H. d’Hancarville, Antiquités Etrusques, Grecques et Romaines, tirées du Cabinet de M. William Hamilton, 4 vols. (Naples, 1767-1776). I. Jenkins, K. Sloan, Vases and Volcanoes: Sir William Hamilton and His Collection (London, 1996); L. Burn, “Sir William Hamilton and the Greekness of Greek Vases,” Journal of the History of Collections, 9 n. 2 (1997), pp. 241-52; K. Sloan, Enlightenment. Discovering the World in the Eighteenth Century (London, 2003), chapt. 13; C. Knight, Hamilton a Napoli. Cultura, svaghi, civiltà di una grande capitale europea (Naples, 2003). 46

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Art, Religion and Society growing crowd of English and Russian Grand tourists who aspired to bring back a souvenir from Italy.51 Compared to costly marble sculpture, vases had the advantage of being more abundant and relatively affordable; moreover, given the strict export regulations established by the Papacy to protect its local heritage, they were easier to transport and smuggle away.52 By the time Zulian began to plan the arrangement of his own house in Padua, in the mid-1780s, “Etruscan” vases had become the mark of the educated elite. This is clearly visible in Bartolomeo Pinelli’s drawing An evening at Palazzo Fiano, in the salon of Duke Friedrich IV von Sachsen-Gotha (1808, Fig. 10).53 The drawing depicts an elegant Roman salon, where artists and politicians are enjoying an evening concert: among the guests are Canova, Berthel Thorvaldsen and Caroline von Humboldt; to the extreme right, a young man rests his hand on a tripod and is intent on studying what appears to be a small lucerna. The room is unadorned, save for a red-figure volute krater to the right, and for three large black-glazed cups, which seem to preside over the company from their prominent height. A similar scene appears in Pietro Fabris’s painting Kenneth Mackenzie, 1st Earl of Seaforth, at home in Naples: concert party (1770, Fig. 11). The painting illustrates a private concert in the Earl’s Neapolitan residence, during which Leopold and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart played a duo on the spinet. On one of the walls are displayed a series of bronze utensils, statuettes and red-figure pots, including a pelike, a neck-handed amphora, two lekythoi, a bell-krater, a hydra, two aryballoi, and various cups and smaller containers. A red figure pelike also appears in the top left corner of Zoffany’s famous portrait of Charles Townley and his Friends in the Park Street Gallery, Westminster (Fig. 12), where the collector is shown sitting amidst the fruit of his purchases, largely conducted in Rome between 1765 and 1772.54

Figure 8. Gnathian alabastron. Apulia, second half of the IV century B.C. – early III century B.C. Painted terracotta, 13 cm. Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Inv. T 120.

Zulian was in no position to compete with such wealthy collectors. Instead, as his correspondence reveals, he commissioned Canova to purchase less expensive, often M. Cristofani, “Le opere teoriche di G.B. Piranesi e l’etruscheria,” in Piranesi e la cultura antiquaria, Atti del convegno internazionale di studi, 14-17 November 1979 (Rome, 1983), pp. 211-20; P. Cohen, “L’attività di mercante e il profilo culturale di James Byres of Tonley (1737-1817),” in L. Barroero, ed., La città degli artisti nell’età di Pio VI. Roma moderna e contemporanea, 10, 2002, 1/2, pp. 153-78; J. Ingamells, A Dictionary of British and Irish Travellers in Italy, 1701-1800 (New Haven, 1997). 52 On the politics of art protection in Rome during the eighteenth century, see A. Emiliani, Leggi, bandi e provvedimenti per la tutela dei beni artistici e culturali negli antichi stati italiani. 1571-1860 (Bologna, 1978); O. Rossi Pinelli, “Carlo Fea e il chirografo del 1802: cronaca, giudiziaria e non, delle prime battaglie per la tutela delle «Belle Arti»,” Ricerche di storia dell’arte, 8, 1978/79, pp. 27-41; L. Lewis, Connoisseurs and Secret Agents in 18th-Century Rome (London, 1961). 53 On Friedrich IV of Saxon-Gotha (1774-1825), see S.A. Meyer, Gottlieb Schick, in Susinno, S., ed., Maestà di Roma. Da Napoleone all’Unità d’Italia. Universale ed Eterna Capitale delle Arti, henceforth Maestà di Roma, exh. cat. Rome 2003 (Milan, 2003), cat. no. IV.8, p. 146. On Pinelli’s drawing, see I. Sattel Bernardini, in Maestà di Roma, cat. n. VIII.1, p. 423. 54 B.F. Cook, The Townley Marbles (London, 1985). 51

Figure 9. Red-figure lekanis. Apulia, second half of the IV century B.C. Painted terracotta, 12 x 14 cm. Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Inv. T 91.

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Figure 10. Bartolomeo Pinelli, An evening at Palazzo Fiano, in the salon of Duke Friedrich IV von Sachsen-Gotha, 1808. Drawing, watercolour and pencil with white highlights on coloured paper, 54 x 79 cm. Germany, private collection.

Figure 11. Pietro Fabris, Kenneth Mackenzie, 1st Earl of Seaforth, 1744 - 1781, at home in Naples: concert party, 1770. Oil on canvas, 35.50 x 47.60 cm. Edinburgh, National Galleries of Scotland. 149

Art, Religion and Society among the world of the cognoscenti and foreign visitors that frequented his studio. Although the majority of these objects were fragmentary and crude, Canova and other specialists clearly valued them as documentary evidence of Roman dress, armour and customs. There was nothing inherently new in this attitude: since the Renaissance, it had been the tradition among art students to copy humble objects such as Roman terracotta reliefs.57 But Canova’s collection was almost certainly responding to the aesthetic changes inspired by Piranesi’s plates in the Antichità romane (1756): here fragmentary inscriptions are represented picturesquely next to ancient pots, statue heads, lucernae, and other instrumenta.58 Piranesi’s interest in Etruscan vases is richly documented and was first studied by Wittkower. In 1765, he had explored the necropoleis of Tarquinia and Chiusi and copied inscribed friezes to illustrate his Parere sull’architettura. He also studied the main vase collections in Rome, which included those of Athanasius Kircher and Cardinal Gualtieri, by then both incorporated into the Vatican collections.59 In 1769, he published the Ragionamento apologetico in difesa dell’architettura egizia e toscana, where he countered Winckelmann’s theory that vase painting was invented by the Greeks, claiming instead that it was invented by the Etruscans. In Piranesi’s view, minor objects such as terracotta figurines and pot sherds could acquire a veneer of beauty from being timeworn and battered. Canova clearly shared a similar feeling. As Figure 12. Johann Zoffany, Charles Townley and his Zulian’s letters declare, he was perfectly aware of his Friends in the Park Street Gallery, Westminster, 1781-1783. patron’s tastes and knew “quali cose possono convenire Lancashire, Townley Hall Art Gallery and Museum. alla mia [Zulian’s] piccola collezione, ed al mio gusto.” It is possible, then, that while directing his patron’s partly damaged vases, which he then restored at minimal purchases towards less expensive wares, he also was cost.55 This economic factor would explain why his ceramic convinced of these objects’ documentary and decorative collection does not include first-rate pieces. It is probable, value. Arguably, this attitude reflected a certain degree however, that in his choice of acquisitions Canova was of snobbery on the part of the artist and of the collector, influenced by another factor. As Micheli has shown, Canova a desire to go countercurrent, avoiding the flashy displays himself was a connoisseur of ancient ceramic and owned a of certain wealthier collections. This is a hypothesis worth large collection of Roman terracottas, which he displayed in considering in view of the fact that both men had firm ties his studio in via S. Giacomo, together with a group of ancient to the nascent milieux of Etruscology and of Neoclassical marble fragments.56 At its sale in 1823, the collection sold art theory. for 1800 scudi, a considerably lower sum than the estimate provided by Canova’s half-brother, Aboot Sartori. On 57 Perhaps the most famous case was P.P. Rubens, who devoted a good Filippo Aurelio Visconti’s suggestion, the terracottas were portion of his time in Rome between 1605 and 1608 to copying damaged purchased by the Vatican and were exhibited first in the sarcophagi and statues. On Rubens’s drawings after the antique, see M. van der Meulen, Rubens’ Copies after the Antique, 3 vols. (London, Casino of Pio IV and later in the Museo Gregoriano Etrusco. 1994); J. Wood, Rubens: Drawing on Italy, exh. cat., Edinburgh, National Unfortunately no written account survives prior to the sale; Gallery of Scotland, 14 June-1 September 2002 (Edinburgh, 2002). however, a mention of four reliefs in Seroux D’Agincourt’s 58 On Giambattista Piranesi, see J. Harris, “Le Geay, Piranesi and Recueil des fragments de sculpture antique en terre cuite International Neoclassicism in Rome, 1740-1750,” in Essays in the (1814) reveals that Canova’s fragments were much admired History of Art Presented to Rudolf Wittkower, ed. D. Frazer (London and New York, 1967), pp. 189-96; Piranesi fra Venezia e l’Europa, Atti della conferenza internazionale di studi, ed. A. Bettagno, Venice, Fondazione Cini, 1978 (Florence, 1983); Lo Bianco, ed., Piranesi e la cultura antiquaria, op. cit. 59 In 1688, Cardinal Filippo Antonio Gualtieri (1660-1728) purchased fourty vases from Giuseppe Valletta (1636-1714) in Naples. Negotiations were carried out by the noted Roman antiquarian Francesco Ficoroni. Gualtieri subsequently obtained fifteen more Valletta vases through G.A. Crozat. In 1730, the Gualtieri collection was acquired by Pope Clement XII. The vases were displayed in the Museo Pio-Clementino until their removal to the Museo Gregoriano Etrusco in 1837.

Zulian, Letter to Canova, autumn 1791, BCB, Mss. Canov. I-2-57/63. On Canova’s collection, see M.E. Micheli, “Le raccolte di antichità di Antonio Canova,” henceforth “Raccolte di Canova,” Rivista dell’Istituto Nazionale d’Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte, S. III, VIII-IX (1985-86), pp. 205-322; E. Debenedetti, “Piranesi e il gusto collezionistico di Canova,” henceforth “Piranesi e Canova,” in Artisti e mecenati: dipinti, disegni, sculture e carteggi nella Roma curiale. Studi sul Settecento Romano, 12 (Rome, 1996), pp. 241-54; G. Pavanello, “Novità sulla collezione di Antonio Canova,” Arte Veneta, 58 (2001), pp. 162-75. 55 56

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Figure 13. Bust of Zeus Aegiocus. Sardonix cameo 6.8 x 6.3 x 0.5 cm. Possibly Pergamum, I-II century B.C. Venice, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Inv. G 37.

Galleria Palatina, dated 1804 (Inv. n. 11090). The author of the mosaic table is Carlo Montecucchi, a mosaicist documented in Florence between 1791 and 1816. Yet another example of the cameo’s use in the decorative arts is provided by Giovanni Antonio Santarelli’s golden diadem with agate/onyx cameos, dated 1809-10, which was donated to the Victoria and Albert Museum by Lady Bertie of Thame.65 Unfortunately, in July 1797, during Venice’s sack by the Napoleonic army, the cameo attracted enemy attention and was singled out as worth 1500-3000 zecchini. It was consequently shipped away to Paris, where it remained until 1815.66 In terms of dating, the cameo was long thought to be the work of the second century BC Pergamene gem cutter Phiromacus, for its style bears striking similarities to that of the figures in the Lesser Attalid monument and in the Great Pergamum frieze.67 However, Luigi Sperti has shown that images of Zeus wearing the aegis and the corona civica appear most frequently in Ptolemaic Egypt and in Imperial Rome, where they symbolized the concept of divine rule. On this basis, he has suggested that the cameo be considered a Hadrianic re-elaboration of a Hellenistic original.

Zulian’s museum also contained ancient and Renaissance engraved gems. Among these, was the prize piece of the entire museum, a second century BC chalcedony/onyx cameo depicting Zeus Aegiocus (Inv. n. G37, Fig. 13).60 According to Morelli, Zulian purchased it in Ephesus during his bailaggio in Constantinople;61 but a letter written by Zulian’s secretary, Camillo Giacomazzi, informs that it was actually offered as a gift in 1787.62 Its previous owner, Luca Drigon Cortazzi, the Venetian Consul in Smyrna, ceded it to Zulian in exchange for a professional recommendation. In a letter to Canova, Zulian proudly described the “trasparenza dei contorni, la morbidezza della testa, la sublime bellezza.”63 The cameo was greatly admired after its arrival in Venice, and acquired wider fame thanks to an engraving by Raffaele Morghen and to a dissertation by Ennio Quirino Visconti (1793).64 As De Paoli noted, its fortune is witnessed by contemporary imitations in gem manufacture, inlay, and mosaic work. Two such derivations are a late eighteenth century tabacco box in the Museo Correr, and a mosaic inlay table in the

Lastly, the museum housed a small number of Egyptian antiquities, purchased between 1792 and 1794. D’Amicone signals out in particular the sculpture of a naophoros, two statue-cubes of Egyptian officials, and a small granite head (Inv. n. 333, 48, 64, 284).68 Together with a scarab amulet, a statuette and a cameo of Isis, and an intaglio depicting Jupiter/Serapis, these sculptures constituted Zulian’s few concessions to contemporary Egyptomania.69 His chief interest clearly rested in Graeco-Roman sculptures and “Etruscan” vases. Luckily, records of Zulian’s Egyptian purchases survive in his correspondence: we learn, for instance, that he hired agents in Alexandria to scout for antiquities, which were then shipped to Venice or Pesaro, and from there on to Rome, where Canova would exchange them for Graeco-Roman works. At least three, if not five, cargo loads were swapped in this manner. The first shipment, containing “due pietre di porfido” and thirty unidentified Egyptian pieces, arrived in Pesaro in March 1792 and was immediately sent to Rome, where it arrived in late

60 L. Sperti, “Il cammeo Zulian: nuova interpretazione iconografica e stilistica,” Rivista di Archeologia, XVII, 1993, pp. 54-70; Beschi, “Monumenti efesini,” pp. 422-24; G. Sena Chiesa, “Cammei di tanto rara e suprema bellezza … La glittica nello Statuario Pubblico della Serenissima,” in Statuario Pubblico, pp. 122-31, fig. 59; M. De Paoli, “Il Cammeo Zulian,” in Cristalli e gemme. Realtà fisica e immaginario, simbologia, tecniche e arte, ed. B. Zanettin (Venice, 2003), pp. 47374; G.L. Ravagnan, “Le gemme e i cammei del Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Venezia,” in Cristalli e gemme, op. cit., pp. 459-72; B. Nardelli, I cammei del Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Venezia (Rome, 1999), pp. 95-96. 61 Jacopo Morelli, Letter to Carlo Bianconi, 1793, in Sperti, “Cammeo Zulian,” p. 54. 62 Camillo Giacomazzi, Letter to Emanuele Antonio Cicogna, BCV, Cod. Cicogna 3007/61. 63 Zulian, Letter to Canova, BCB, Mss. Canov. 1-2-63/69. 64 De Paoli, “Museo Zulian,” p. 26.

M. De Paoli, “La raccolta di antichità di Girolamo Zulian. Una collezione neoclassica veneziana” (in course of publication); Arte e manifattura di corte a Firenze. Dal tramonto dei Medici all’Impero (1732-1815), exh. cat. Florence, Palazzina della Meridiana, Palazzo Pitti, 16 May-5 November 2006 (Florence, 2006). 66 M. Zorzi, La libreria di San Marco. Libri, lettori, società nella Venezia dei Dogi (Milan, 1987), p. 352. 67 On Phiromachos, see B. Andreae, “Phiromachos probleme,” ed. B. Andreae, Römische Mitteilungen 31 Erganzungsheft (Mainz am Rhein, 1990). 68 E. D’Amicone, “Antico Egitto e collezionismo veneto e veneziano,” in Venezia e l’archeologia (Rome, 1990). Supplement to Rivista d’Arte, pp. 22-26, esp. p. 24. 69 N. Pevsner and S. Land, “The Egyptian Revival,” in Studies in Art, Architecture and Design I (London, 1968), pp. 213-35; R. Wittkower, “Piranesi and Eighteenth century Egyptomania,” in Studies in the Italian Baroque, ed. M. Wittkower (London, 1975), pp. 260-73.

with white, grey and black veins.

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Art, Religion and Society August. Canova promptly set to work to sell the entire stock, and by December he was able to secure a series of “Etruscan” vases and eight ancient heads, identified by De Paoli as Inv. n. 176, 231, 232, 238, 239, 241, 257 and 276.70 The second shipment arrived in Pesaro shortly thereafter. It included a small cameo depicting IsisThermuthis (Inv. G 592), which Zulian decided to keep on account of “la singolarità della rappresentazione della quale vorre[i] sapere da cortesi antiquarj a che precisamente si riferisce.”71 The cameo was then sent to Rome, where Zulian hoped that Canova could provide a precise interpretation of its iconography. His expectation was quickly satisfied: after consulting an anonymous “dotto antiquario,” the sculptor identified the goddess’ attributes and instructed Selva as to the safest way of sending the remaining objects to Rome.72 The best, he claimed, was to use “un corriere che fosse amico,” in order to avoid Venetian customs, “altrimenti tutti sono obbligati a pagare moltissimo, anco li Ambas[ciato]ri.” Clearly, Zulian relied on a vast network of merchants, agents, shippers and customs officials.

(1719-1724).75 From the third decade of the eighteenth century, more systematic excavations and travel reports led to Warburton’s The Divine Legacy of Moses (173441), Pococke’s Observations on Egypt (1743), Norden’s Voyage d’Egypte et de Nubie (1755), and the comte de Caylus’s Recueil d’antiquités égyptiennes, étrusques, grecques, romaines et gauloises (1752-67). These works stand at the crossroads between eighteenth century Egyptomania and nineteenth century Egyptology, which was born with Napoleon’s military expedition to Egypt (1798-1801). Their influence was felt strongly in the Veneto, particularly in Padua and Venice, where collecting Egyptian artifacts had long been a tradition among the aristocracy and the scholarly community. During Zulian’s lifetime, Maffio Pinelli, Girolamo Ascanio Molin, Teodoro Correr, Anzolo Querini and Tommaso degli Obizzi all owned private Egyptian collections. Jacopo Morelli’s catalogue of the Pinelli collection is proof of how seriously Venetian intellectuals treated the subject.76 In view of this and of his friend Quatremère de Quincy’s essay on Egyptian architecture, presented at the Parisian Académie des inscriptions in 1785, Zulian’s lack of interest for these “inutili pietre” appears all the more singular.77

Aside from this particular instance, Zulian’s relative disinterest in Egyptian artifacts is somewhat unusual, both in view of his century’s passion for Egypt, and in consideration of Venice’s traditional links with that country. Indeed, economic and religious relations with Egypt were at the heart of one of Venice’s oldest myths: according to legend, the body of Saint Mark reached Venice thanks to a couple of Venetian merchants who found it in the catacombs of Alexandria and smuggled it away to Rialto in AD 829.73 Historically, Venetian pilgrims, merchants and diplomats were among the first to explore Egypt, to map the course of the Nile and the configuration of Mt. Sinai, and to measure the Sphinx and the pyramid of Keops.74 Early modern archaeological discoveries revived the Herodotean myth of Egypt as the land of ancestral science and magic, and spurred dozens of antiquarian studies on mysticism, hieroglyphs, and monuments. Exotic interest in the land marked Piero Valeriano’s fifty-eight-volume Hieroglyphica (1556), Pignoria’s studies of the Mensa Isiaca (1605, 1670), Kircher’s analyses of obelisks and of Coptic religion, and Monfaucon’s Antiquité expliquée

Zulian’s family, social and educational background between Venice and Padua Our attention now turns to Zulian’s family background, social connections, and cultural models. Girolamo Zulian was born in Venice on 29 March 1730, the eldest son of Zuanne Zulian and Laura Priuli. In the Libro d’oro, the official register of the Venetian nobility, the Zulian appear as original members, signifying their “purity” as opposed to families admitted after the Serrata del Gran Consiglio (1297) and after all subsequent Statal attempts to broaden the patrician class.78 According to Marco Barbaro’s On fascination for ancient Egypt, see R.T. Clarke, Myth and Symbol in Ancient Egypt (London, 1959); E. Iversen, The Myth of Egypt and its Hieroglyphs (Copenhagen, 1961); J.S. Curl, The Egyptian Revival (London, 1982); L. Pignorius, Characteres Aegyptii (Frankfurt A.M., 1608); Mensa Isiaca, qua sacrorum apud Aegyptios ratio et simulacra (Amsterdam, 1669). A. Kircher, Prodomus coptus sive Aegyptiacae (Rome, 1636); Lingua Aegyptiaca Restituta (Rome, 1643); Rituale Ecclesiae Aegyptiacae sive Cophtitarum (n.p., 1647); Obeliscus Pamphilius (Rome, 1650); Oedipus Aegyptiacus (Rome, 1652-54); Ad Alexandrum VII Obelisci Aegyptiaci (Rome, 1666); Sphinx Mystagoga, sive Diatriba hieroglyphica (Amsterdam, 1676). B. de Montfaucon, Antiquité expliquée (Paris, 1719-1724). 76 C. Dolzani, “Cimeli egiziani del Museo Civico di Padova I,” Bollettino del Museo Civico di Padova, LVII (1968), pp. 7-48; id., “Cimeli egiziani del Museo Civico di Padova II,” Bollettino del Museo Civico di Padova, LX (1970), pp. 3-16. 77 A.C. Quatremère de Quincy, De l’Architecture Égyptienne considerée dans son origine, ses principes et son goût, et comparée sous les mêmes rapports à l’Architecture Grecque. Dissertation qui a remportée, en 1785, le Prix proposé par l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres (Paris, 1803). Zulian’s words are taken from a letter to Canova, dated 15 September 1792, BCB, Mss. Canov. I-2-45/51. 78 For an analysis of the nature of the Venetian patriciate, see. P. Del Negro, “La distribuzione del potere all’interno del patriziato veneziano del Settecento,” in I ceti dirigenti in Italia in età moderna e contemporanea, ed. A. Tagliaferri (Udine, 1984), pp. 311-37. 75

BCB, Mss. Canov. I-2-43/49, 46/52, 48/54, 50/56, 26/32, and IX939/4922. 71 BCB, Mss. Canov. IX-939/4922, and BCV, Mss. P.D. 529/265. See De Paoli, “Il Legato Zulian, 1795,” in Favaretto, Statuario Pubblico, p. 293. 72 BCV, Mss. P.D. 529/265. 73 See Jacopo Robusti (Tintoretto), Finding of the Body of St. Mark, 156266. Oil on canvas, 405 x 405 cm. Milan, Pinacoteca di Brera; Le Scuole di Venezia, ed. T. Pignatti (Milan, 1981), pp. 136-39; T. Nichols, Tintoretto. Tradition and Identity (London, 1999), pp. 139-43. 74 E. Leospo, “Antichità egizie a Venezia,” in Viaggiatori veneti alla scoperta dell’Egitto. Itinerari di storia e arte (Venice, 1985), esp. pp. 197209; ead., “Le sculture Greco-romane d’Egitto nelle raccolte veneziane,” in Venezia, l’archeologia e l’Europa, Atti del Congresso (Rome, 1996), pp. 7-10. 70

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Luisa Materassi : Girolamo Zulian Genealogie, the Zulian originated in Greece and moved to Aquileia before the Longobard sack of 568.79 Following the general exodus to the lagoon, they settled in Rialto and gradually rose to prominence in the city government. A certain Andrea served as ambassador to Constantinople in 1198, several other kinsmen were counselors in the Gran Consiglio and the Consiglio dei Dieci, and one Paolo nearly became Doge in 1410.

and the rise the bourgeoisie, democracy loomed too great a threat for the city’s elitist identity. Even the rebellious giovani, scions of the middle nobility, and the so-called ala filosofica, which embraced the European Enlightenment, held their breath before the rising discontent of the middle and the working classes. The Republic’s former power and prestige were too tightly linked to its aristocratic tradition to allow for the possibility of drastic change. Thus, the State closed its eyes and pretended not to perceive the thunderclouds ahead.84

From its foundation, Venice’s peculiar nature as a maritime Republic governed by a mercantile aristocracy signified that, politically, wealth mattered more than ancient lineage.80 Access to the chief political and military organs was available only to a few rich clans, traditionally known as the grandi. Internal divisions within the patriciate were fiercely felt and defended throughout the heyday of Venetian expansion in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. However, by the time Giacomo Nani published his analysis of the Venetian aristocracy in the middle of the eighteenth century, economic divisions had crystallized into opposing political factions.81 On the one side, the grandi, led by Marco Foscarini and Francesco II Lorenzo Morosini, represented the interests of the landed aristocracy and held control over the higher magistracies. On the other, a proliferation of independent voices called for institutional and economic reforms, which would shake the Republic out of its torpor and open up governmental positions to wider branches of the nobility.

The eighteenth century began with the mirage of the Peace of Karlowitz (1699), which enabled Venice to temporarily regain part of its lost territories in Dalmatia and the Peloponnese. However, after twenty-five years of war in Crete (1644-1669), State finances were badly compromised and international prestige was shaken. Despite doge Foscarini’s revanchist ambitions, victory echoed hollow. In 1718, Venice was finally forced to abandon its possessions in Greece and the Aegean and to sign the humiliating Peace of Passarowiz, thereby renouncing all imperial aspirations. Public debt rose dramatically after the wars of the Spanish, Polish and Austrian succession, and the years between 1747 and 1753 were marked by a serious economic recession.85 With morale low and economic difficulties on the rise due to the loss of its Mediterranean ports and to Habsburg pressure in the Adriatic,86 the State turned inward towards the Terraferma. Henceforth, it focused on controlling its subject territories by means of an orderly, if sorely outdated and profoundly discriminatory, form of administration. Provincial centers like Padua, Verona and Brescia now took the place of the once bustling commercial bases of Athens, Crete and Cyprus.

It is significant that at no time was the option to introduce a democratic constitution seriously considered, even by the most intransigent representatives of the progressive wing, such as Alvise Emo, Polo Renier and Mattio Dandolo.82 As Del Negro argued, constitutional reform was prevented by the very nature of Venetian government, since the opposition, too, was composed of members of the nobility. The chief difference between the two parties consisted in economic disparity.83 While intellectuals in protoindustrialized countries like France, England and Germany had begun to call for the downfall of the ancien régime

On the economic front, while other European countries and Italian regions were beginning to undergo industrial revolution, the Veneto was still largely bound to traditional forms of exchange and to a feudal organization of the land. Proto-industrial reforms introduced by doges Cappello, Priuli and Tron were slow in converting the bulk of society, For a general study of Venetian history up to the eighteenth century, see O. Logan, Culture and Society in Venice, 1470-1790 (London, 1972). For the end of the century, see M. Berengo, La società veneta alla fine del Settecento (Florence, 1956); id., La civiltà veneziana del Settecento, henceforth La civiltà veneziana (Florence, 1960). For Venetian art and architecture and individual artists’ careers, see The Glory of Venice: Art in the Eighteenth Century, exh. cat., ed. J. Martineau, A. Robinson, London, Royal Academy of Arts, 1994/Washington, National Gallery of Art, 1995 (London, 1994). 85 M. Berengo, “Il problema politico-sociale di Venezia e della sua Terraferma,” in La civiltà veneziana, pp. 71-75; R. Cessi, Storia della repubblica di Venezia (Florence, 1981), pp. 659-70. For a study of public finances in the second half of the century, see A. Ventura, “Il problema storico dei bilanci generali della repubblica veneta,” in Bilanci generali, IV. Bilanci dal 1756 al 1783, ed. A. Ventura (Padua, 1972), pp. LXIVLXX. 86 Throughout the century, Venice was increasingly marginalized both geographically and economically, due to the construction of new roads to North-Eastern Europe passing through Lombardy, and to the foundation of the free port of Trieste. See R. Traghetta, La massoneria veneta dalle origini alla chiusura delle logge (1729-1785) (Udine, 1988), p. 20; F. Venturi, Utopia e riforma nell’Illuminismo (Turin, 1970), pp. 44-46. 84

For information regarding the Zulian family, see the printed editions of the Libri d’oro; M. Barbaro, Genealogie delle famiglie Patrizie Venete fino al 1750, BMV, Cod. It. VII, 928 (=8597), c. 249r.; Cappellani, Genealogie delle famiglie venete, entry “Giuliani,” BMV, Cod. It. VII, vol. II, 16 (8305), f. 133v and 134v. My discussion of Girolamo Zulian’s family and social background owes much to Prof. Paolo Del Negro’s illuminating studies on the rapports between the Venetian State and the University of Padua; see in particular Del Negro, “Tra politica e cultura: Girolamo Zulian, Simone Stratico e la pianta di Padova di Giovanni Valle,” Archivio Veneto, series 5, CXXXII, 1989, pp. 97-128, henceforth “Tra politica e cultura.” 80 F.C. Lane, I mercanti di Venezia (Turin, 1996). 81 G. Nani, Saggio politico del corpo aristocratico della Repubblica di Venezia, Biblioteca Universitaria di Padova, Ms. 914, f. 8-14, and Relazione sulla richezza di tutte le famiglie nobili di Venezia, BCV, PD C 347. The second manuscript is undated but, judging by the number of families listed, it seems to refer to the period between 1718 and 1761. 82 On the overall failure of the radical wing to conduct a true revolution, see Del Negro, “Giacomo Nani”; F. Venturi, Venezia nel secondo Settecento (Turin, 1980), pp. 16-21, 171-72, 175-83. 83 Del Negro, “Tra politica e cultura,” esp. pp. 110-11. 79

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Art, Religion and Society which was largely distrustful of modern manufacture. With the exceptions of Verona and Schio, where silk and wool manufactures prospered, industrial experiments remained an oddity, largely confined to the peripheries or left to the hands of idealistic patricians and foreign investors.87

citizenry and by the local elites, who were barred from accessing government positions.92 As Scipione Maffei noted in 1736, Venice’s centralizing policies “rendeva indifferente se non ostile la popolazione di terraferma.”93 After years of alternating battles among factions of the Venetian nobility, public opinion in the provinces further deteriorated in 1761-62 and 1779-80, when the capital was shaken by the arrest of Angelo Querini and by the attempted coup d’État of Giorgio Pisani.94 Discontent burst forth in Padua in 1780, when a stream of anonymous libels appeared to denounce important public officials.95 State representatives and well-known academics were put to ridicule. Most alarmingly, Venetian rule was attacked and the myth of a harmonious federal Republic was finally put into question. The Senate intervened with a series of blundering, repressive juridical measures, which clearly reflected its state of embarras. It is no suprise that Giacomo Nani, who had served as capitano in Padua during that year, felt the need to sum up his experience and to caution the Senate in a treatise entitled Principi d’una amministrazione ordinata e tranquilla.96

Agriculture, on the other hand, received new stimulus thanks to a number of measures aimed at reclaiming marshlands, reforesting lands, and increasing cereal and wine production. Following massive sales of communal property between 1646 and 1727, land was subtracted from farmers and concentrated into a small number of large estates. The re-feudalization in the Terraferma was accompanied by the revival of the Classical and Renaissance myth of the “happy farmer,” according to which life in the country is intrinsically more moral and “natural” than life in the city.88 Like in Augustan Rome, the idealization of a rural nether land reflected the mentality of the sophisticated urban aristocracy, and found its clearest expression in the phenomenal rise of villa construction throughout the century.89 From their Palladian porches, Venetian nobles on villeggiatura dabbled in agricultural reform and utopian social experiments, discussing modern irrigation systems, cattle herding, and rice or beetroot cultivation.90 Poetry and painting followed suit, extolling the benefits and charms of pastoral life through country elegies and landscape paintings such as Cimaroli’s Views of the terraferma along the Brenta.91

This was the social and political climate prevailing in Venice during Zulian’s lifetime. It was a climate of privilege and unease, in which members of his class either dissipated their wealth in card games and carnivals or racked their conscience in search of an answer to their country’s troubles (such, indeed, were to be the different fates of Zulian and his brother Antonio). After the political prominence attained in the preceeding centuries, the Zulian San Felice, as members of the middle nobility, had never occupied high political posts. They do not appear, for example, in Nani’s list of the 38 governing gentes that controlled access to the Gran Consiglio and to the Consiglio dei Dieci. Their annual income of 3000 ducats enabled them to maintain an aristocratic lifestyle and to sustain the burden of minor public offices. However, costlier positions such as those of ambassador or of Procuratore were barred to them both socially and financially. Their participation in the minor magistracies, too, remained quite limited.

In the cities subject to this rule, the reality was far less rosy. Venetian presence was resented both by the B. Caizzi, Industria e commercio nella repubblica veneta nel XVIII secolo (Milan, 1965); Berengo, La società veneta, pp. 48-63; S. Ciriacono, “Protoindustria, lavoro a domicilio e sviluppo economico nelle campagne venete in epoca moderna,” Quaderni storici, 52 (1983), pp. 67-75; R. Targhetta, “Considerazioni sulla composizione sociale degli iscritti alle logge venete del Settecento,” in Massoneria e architettura, ed. C. Cresti (Foggia, 1989), pp. 61-72, esp. pp. 67-68. 88 For a study of agriculture in the Veneto in the eighteenth century, see M. Brusatin, Venezia nel Settecento. Stato, Architettura, Territorio, henceforth Venezia nel Settecento (Turin, 1980), pp. 61-66; M. Lecce, L’agricoltura veneta nella seconda metà del Settecento (Verona, 1958). For contemporary treatises on agriculture intended for gentlemen farmers, see F. Griselini, Il gentiluomo coltivatore (Venice, 1769) and La casa rustica (Venice, 1773). 89 M. Muraro, P. Marton, Venetian Villas, The History and Culture (Udine, 1986). 90 Eighteenth century agricultural debate in the Veneto was largely inspired by French physiocracy: see G. Gullino, “Le dottrine degli agronomi e i loro influssi sulla pratica agricola,” in Storia della cultura veneta. Il Settecento. V/II (Vicenza, 1986), pp. 379-410; G. Torcellan, Settecento veneto e altri scritti storici (Turin, 1969), pp. 235-62. For examples of agricultural utopias, see Villa Badoer near Treviso, Villa Manin at Passariano, and Alvise Mocenigo’s “Alvisopoli” on the Tagliamento; M.G.B. Altan, “Alvisopoli, l’antica città di Alvise Mocenigo,” Itinerari, n. 3, 1974, pp. 21-28. 91 On G.B. Cimaroli (documented until 1753), see F. Spadotto, “Un artista dimenticato: Giovan Battista Cimaroli,” Saggi e memorie di storia dell’arte, 23, 2000, pp. 129-87; L. Ievolella, “Due vedute veronesi di Giovan Battista Cimaroli nella collezione veneziana di Valentino Benfatto,” Verona illustrata, 18, 2005, p. 101-10; A. Morassi, “Saggio su Giambattista Cimaroli collaboratore del Canaletto,” Arte Veneta, 26 (1972), pp. 167-76. 87

Family fortunes began to rise under Girolamo’s grandfather, Zuanne I Zulian (1665-1704). A promising politician during the final decades of the seventeenth century, Zuanne served as senator and Savio di terraferma, and married into the ancient yet somewhat impoverished Marcello family. His son, Zuanne II, was an amateur musician with little Berengo, La società veneta, pp. 14-15; Berengo, Il problema politico, p. 75. 93 S. Maffei, Consiglio politico (1736, published 1797), cited in Venturi, Settecento riformatore, p. 21. 94 On Querini’s arrest, see A. Bazzoni, “Le annotazioni degli Inquisitori di stato di Venezia,” Archivio storico italiano, s. III, 2, 1870, pp. 1-24; G. Tabacco, Andrea Tron (1712-1785) e la crisi dell’aristocrazia senatoria a Venezia (Trieste, 1957); J. Georgelin, Venise au siècle des lumières (Paris, The Hague, 1978), esp. chaps. 11 and 14. 95 M. Borgherini, Il governo di Venezia in Padova nell’ultimo secolo della Repubblica (dal 1700 al 1797) (Padua, 1909). 96 G. Nani, Principi d’una amministrazione ordinata e tranquilla, c. 1781, BCP, C.M. 125. 92

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Luisa Materassi : Girolamo Zulian interest in politics but a gift for administering the family estate.97 Through his marriage to Laura Priuli, of the powerful Santa Maria Mater Domini branch, he obtained a considerable dowry and prime connections to some of the city’s leading clans. Laura was a niece of doge Zuanne and of cardinal Antonio Marino Priuli, who, as Bishop of Vicenza and Padua, was influential in the formation of his great-nephew Girolamo. Moreover, Laura was related to the Corner S. Polo, the Tron S. Stae, the Nani di Cannaregio, the Donà riva di Biasio and the Valmarana. Such relations proved vital in promoting the political ambitions of her son Girolamo, while the increased fortune derived from land investments and inheritance allowed the family to enjoy greater comfort and prestige as the century progressed.98 By the time Girolamo was elected ambassador to Constantinople in 1784, their estate counted some fifty houses in Venice, two houses in Padua, and numerous farmlands in the territories of Padua, Treviso, Vicenza, Verona and Rovigo.99

cousins Alessandro and Benedetto Marcello. Evidence suggests that collections such as these were assembled particularly by members of the middle nobility, to which Zuanne belonged. Among the most notable examples was that belonging to the Obizzi, displayed together with the rest of the family treasures in the castle-museum of Catajo (Padua). Tommaso degli Obizzi was a passionate numismatist and antiquarian, but he also owned over 170 musical instruments, inherited partly from his ancestor, Pius Aeneas II, and partly from his uncle Paganino Sala, who had purchased pieces from the Mantova Benavides and the Sanguinacci collections.103 Musical collections began to proliferate at a time when appreciation for music had come to constitute a mark of the cultivated, middle class man aspiring to integrate into the aristocracy. Indeed, Venice had been at the vanguard of musical consumption since the middle of the seventeenth century:104 the first paying performance of a melodrama took place there in 1637, and the steady growth in the number of musical societies throughout the following century reflects the general transformations of ancien régime society and forms of sociability.105 For many minor aristocrats, musical dilettantism represented a decorous substitute for a drab career in the lower bureaucracy. Unlike other forms of art, music was acknowledged as an activity befitting both gentlemen and clergy.106

Besides Girolamo and Antonio (born 1731), Zuanne II and Laura had three daughters, two of whom became Benedictine nuns, while the youngest, Lucrezia, married Alessandro Boncompagni Ottoboni, duke of Fiano, in 1757.100 The importance of the event for the bride’s family warranted a particular tribute: it was celebrated in a collection of poems edited by Carlo Goldoni.101 Girolamo received the sound and excellent education appropriated to his milieu. Like other young noblemen of his generation, he was profoundly influenced by Carlo Lodoli’s teaching (see below). On his father’s death, he inherited a respectable fortune and several important sponsors. In the absence of definite figures, it is difficult to assess the extent of his wealth, but Del Negro’s estimate of 10000 to 13000 ducats per annum clearly shows that he was a man of substance.102

Benedetto Marcello himself seems to have embraced music in part to escape from his rather unsuccessful career as a public administrator. His private collection of instruments is now partly displayed in the Museo Nazionale degli Strumenti Musicali in Rome. Since rapports between the Marcello and Zulian cousins were excellent, and the two families lived close to one another, near campo S. Felice,107 Tommaso may also have purchased certain pieces from abbot Filippo Farsetti. See P.L. Fantelli, “La collezione di Tommaso degli Obizzi al Catajo,” in Venezia e l’archeologia, Atti del convegno, Venice, 25-29 May 1988, ed. Favaretto and Traversari (Rome, 1990), pp. 95-99; id., “L’inventario della collezione Obizzi al Catajo,” Bollettino del Museo Civico di Padova, LXXI, 1982, pp. 3-140, esp. p. 12; I. Favaretto, “Andrea Mantova Benavides. Inventario delle antichità di Casa Mantova Benavides, 1695,” Bollettino del Museo Civico di Padova, LXI, 1978, pp. 35-164, esp. pp. 61-62. 104 G. Tocchini, “Massoneria, pubblici spettacoli e mecenatismo musicale nel Settecento,” in La massoneria. La storia, gli uomini, le idee, ed. Z. Ciuffoletti, S. Moravia (Milan, 2004), pp. 63-115. 105 For studies on the modes of sociability in eighteenth century Venice, see F.M. Paladini, “Sociabilità ed economia del loisir. Fonti sui caffè veneziani del XVIII secolo,” in Storia di Venezia, I, 2003, pp. 154-281; Sociabilità aristocratica, sociabilità borghese. Francia, Italia, Germania, Svizzera, XVIII-XIX secolo, ed. M. Malatesta, Cheiron, 9-10, 1988; M. Infelise, Prima dei giornali. Alle origini della pubblica informazione (Rome, Bari, 2002), esp. pp. 141-53. 106 The most notable case of a learned musicologist and collector is that of Padre Giovanni Battista Martini in Bologna (1706-1784). A Franciscan friar, historian, musical theorist and composer, Martini assembled a precious collection of manuscripts, now in the collections of the Library of the Conservatory in Bologna. 107 Del Negro, “Tra politica e cultura,” p. 103. For evidence of private performances in Venice at the time, see the satire Distribuzione degli impieghi fra la Nobiltà nell’opera da rappresentarsi nel novo teatro da personaggi nobili nel carnevale del 1757, BCV, Cod. Correr 348, f. 459, to which Antonio Zulian participated. 103

Unlike his near contemporaries Giacomo Nani and Tommaso degli Obizzi, it appears that Girolamo did not inherit a family art collection. Zuanne II’s passion for music might have led him to collect musical instruments and manuscripts — including those by contemporary Venetian composers, starting from his 97 On his mother’s side, Zuanne junior was related to the famous Marcello brothers, Alessandro (1684-1750) and the even better known Benedetto (1686-1739); cf. Del Negro, p. 103. 98 While Georgelin claims that the Zulian suffered economic setbacks toward the end of the century (cf. Georgelin, cit., p. 523), Del Negro argues that financial losses only concerned Girolamo’s brother, Antonio; see Del Negro, “Tra politica e cultura,” p. 103, n. 16. 99 Del Negro, “Tra politica e cultura,” p. 99. 100 Raccolta di poetiche composizioni per le felicissime nozze tra sue Eccellenze il Signor D. Alessandro Ottoboni Duca di Fiano, e la Signora Lucrezia Zulian, dedicata a Sua Eccellenza la Signora Duchessa D. Maria Vittoria Serbelloni, nata Principessa Ottoboni zia dello sposo dal Dottor Carlo Goldoni (Venice, Francesco Pitteri, 1757). BMV, Misc. B 9832. 101 Girolamo Soranzo, Bibliografia Veneziana in aggiunta e continuazione del “Saggio” di E. A. Cicogna (Venice, 1980, first published in 1885), p. 570. 102 Del Negro, “Tra politica e cultura,” pp. 100-01.

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Art, Religion and Society it is probable that the Zulians knew of Benedetto’s collection and occasionally participated in the musical gatherings that took place there. Indeed, Zuanne II’s strategy of social advancement via music closely resembles his cousin’s: where family funds were of little assistance, culture offered a respectable alternative. Arguably, his son Girolamo learned this lesson at an early age, assimilating the language and codes of cultivated sociability with the awareness of its social benefits. He too, in turn, was to use such practical knowledge later in life, when he became a host and a patron in Rome and in Constantinople. In the absence of definite proof, one must proceed cautiously: as a child, Girolamo may have had little occasion to frequent his adult cousin during the years 1735 and 1738 (i.e. between Benedetto’s return from his provveditorato in Pula and his departure as camerlengo of Brescia). However, it is worth reflecting that forty years later, in September 1775, Girolamo and Antonio Zulian inherited a substantial fortune from their paternal great-uncle, Giovan Battista Marcello. Rapports between the two families had clearly remained close and affectionate.108

to the State, on the condition that it should be housed in a new Statuario Pubblico.111 In the seventeenth century, another Priuli, Abbot Matteo (d. 1700), gathered a curious collection of musical instruments, arms, and decorative objects in his residence near S. Sofia in Padua.112 The collection reflected Matteo’s eclectic interests, and was cited by Brandolese in his guide to Padua, published in 1795 with a dedication to his friend, Girolamo Zulian. Cardinal Antonio Marino Priuli, Girolamo’s maternal greatuncle, was himself a man of letters and a bibliophile. As bishop of Vicenza (1739-1743) and of Padua (1768-1772), he attended to the reordering of religious libraries and schools. His zeal is attested by his written instructions to the librarians of the newly founded library of the Seminario in Vicenza: “Quegli degli ministri o maestri che sarà deputato per bibliotecario abbia cura diligente della libreria, e si mostri, e sia pronto per comodo de’ maestri; e nel caso di consegnar libri agli stessi, ne riporti la ricevuta.”113 According to a local chronicler, Abbot Giuseppe Gennari, Cardinal Priuli was fond of his great-nephews Girolamo and Antonio, and closely attended to their education in the Seminary in Padua.114 Founded by bishop Gregorio Barbarigo in 1670, the Seminary was a “center of high learning, which competed with the various University institutes in producing a steady flow of learned abbots, many of whom entered academia, specializing in disciplines like law, literature, philosophy and the sciences.”115 Like his predecessors, Bishops Ottoboni and Rezzonico, Cardinal Priuli oversaw building work on the Seminary and supervised its teaching, allowing lay students to attend the school together with seminarists. Under his auspices, the school became an important centre for classical studies, forming teachers like Giuseppe Toaldo, Clemente Sibiliato, Melchiorre Cesarotti, Giambattista

Proof is again lacking but it is probable that Zuanne II owned a rich library, as did most noblemen at the time. Thanks, also, to the city’s lively publishing industry, libraries had become a standard feature of patrician houses by the end of the seventeenth century. Like galleries of paintings and collections of ancient sculpture, they served both a practical and a symbolic function: spatially, they divided the house into “business” and “leisure” areas, according to the typical eighteenth century concern for increased privacy at home; symbolically, libraries constituted convenient means of displaying the owners’ pride in social and intellectual status.109 As regards Girolamo, it is important to note that he actively promoted publishing activities and engaged in book purchasing later in his life, mainly through his friends and agents in Padua, including the librarian Pietro Brandolese (see below).

On the Grimani collection, see Favaretto, Arte antica, pp. 84-93; id., “«Una tribuna ricca di marmi …»: appunti per una storia delle collezioni dei Grimani di Santa Maria Formosa,” Aquileia Nostra, LV, 1984, coll. 205-40; id., “Per la memoria delle cose antiche … La nascita delle collezioni e la formazione dello Statuario Pubblico,” in Lo Statuario Pubblico della Serenissima: due secoli di collezionismo di antichità, 1596-1797, exh. cat., Venice, Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, 6 September-2 November 1997, ed. I. Favaretto, G.L. Ravagnan (Venice, 1997), henceforth Statuario Pubblico, pp. 38-44; A. Bristot and M. Piana, “Il Palazzo dei Grimani a Santa Maria Formosa, in Statuario Pubblico, pp. 45-52; M. Zorzi, Collezioni di antichità a Venezia nei secoli della Repubblica (dai libri e documenti della Biblioteca Marciana), exh. cat., Venice, Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, 27 May-31 July 1988 (Rome 1988), pp. 26-40, henceforth Collezioni. 112 Favaretto, Arte antica, p. 171; K. Pomian, “Antiquari e collezionisti,” in Storia della cultura veneta, 4/1, 1983, pp. 493-547, esp. p. 530; P. Brandolese, Pitture sculture architetture ed altre cose notabili in Padova (Padua, 1795), p. 226. 113 A. Scarparolo, “La «libraria» del Seminario: una storia di donazioni,” in Il Biblionauta. Esplorazioni con la biblioteca Bertoliana, 25 July 2005, p. 19. L. Caliaro, “La biblioteca del Seminario vescovile di Vicenza,” extract from Bollettino della Diocesi di Vicenza, December 1926. 114 G. Gennari, Notizie giornaliere di quanto avvenne specialmente in Padova dall’anno 1739 all’anno 1800, ed. L. Olivato (Cittadella, 1982), p. 113, cited in Del Negro, “Tra politica e cultura,” p. 108, n. 34. 115 A. Poppi, “Chiesa e università,” in Diocesi di Padova. Storia religiosa del Veneto, ed. P. Gios, 6, 1996, p. 564. On the Seminario, see D. Nardo, “Gli studi classici,” in Storia della cultura veneta, ed. G. Arnaldi, M. Pastori Stocchi, vol V/I, Il Settecento (Vicenza, 1985), pp.227-56 111

While there is scant evidence for any interest in collecting on the part of Girolamo’s paternal side of the family, more information exists concerning his maternal relatives. By tradition, several Priuli had devoted their energies to collecting art and antiquities. In the sixteenth century, Antonio Priuli purchased an obelisk in Constantinople, in the hope of erecting it in campo S. Stefano.110 More famously, Giovanni Grimani, son of Girolamo Grimani and of Elena Priuli, devoted his entire life to assembling a magnificent collection of antiquities, which he donated See Antonio Zulian’s will, 3 February 1790, where he mentions his “benemerito zio quondam ser Gio. Batta Marcello,” in Del Negro, “Tra politica e cultura,” p. 102, n. 15. 109 The reader can refer back to Doris Raines’ thorough analysis of the role of biblioteche in eighteenth century Venice, “La biblioteca-museo patrizia e il suo ‘capitale sociale’ — modelli illuministici veneziani e l’imitazione dei nuovi aggregati,” in Arte, storia, cultura e musica in Friuli nell’età del Tiepolo. Atti del convegno internazionale di studi, Udine 19-20 dicembre 1996, ed. Caterina Furlan (Udine, 1997), pp. 63-84. 110 Favaretto, Arte antica, p. 65. 108

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Luisa Materassi : Girolamo Zulian Billesimo, and Natale Dalle Laste and Giovanni Costa.116 In view of Priuli’s interest in culture and education, he was certainly in contact with friar Bonaventura Perissuti, rector of the local Studio teologico and director of the Biblioteca del Santo.117 As Luca Caburlotto points out, Perissuti’s more than amateurial interest in art is attested by his two guides to the art treasures in the Basilica, as well as by his membership in the local Accademia dei Ricovrati, the forerunner of the Accademia patavina di scienze, lettere e arti.118 His pupils included the young nobleman Giovanni de Lazara, a future connoisseur of “primitive” Venetian painting, as well as a politician and close friend of Girolamo Zulian.

Thus, although information concerning the collecting activities of the Zulian family is uncertain, it does appear that many family members entertained close contacts with the musical, scholarly and antiquarian world in the Veneto and beyond. Girolamo’s interest in the arts and in classical learning was therefore firmly rooted in Venetian and Paduan tradition. His subsequent contacts with Gavin Hamilton and with the circle of Piranesi and Cavaceppi in Rome probably helped to crystallize what until then had been a vague project, constantly deferred because of pressing political assignments. Judging by clues present in his letters, Zulian conceived the idea of forming a collection of antiquities prior to his appointment in Rome.

Arguably, Cardinal Priuli exerted a considerable influence over his older nephew, helping to forge his early ties to Padua by introducing him to its lively circle of antiquarian scholars and clergymen. As Girolamo’s effective guardian, he would have encouraged his cultural ambitions and possibly guided him through the art treasures under his custody. Indeed, his role as canon of the Cathedral implied that he would hold daily meetings in the Canons’ Sacristy, which housed a famous collection of paintings, including works by Semitecolo and Domenico Tiepolo. Moreover, as a close friend of Cardinal Carlo Rezzonico, future Clement XIII, and the titular cardinal of S. Maria della Pace (1759) and of the Basilica of S. Marco (1762) in Rome, Cardinal Priuli was in the position of favoring his nephew’s political career by introducing him to influential figures in the Vatican. Although proof is missing, it is likely that Girolamo and his uncle attended the solemn ceremony with which Cardinal Rezzonico, then bishop of Padua, dedicated the new Cathedral to S. Maria Assunta on 25 August 1754. Were this true, it would be a further link explaining Zulian’s subsequent friendship with Prince Abbondio Rezzonico, and his later involvement with the project for Clement XIII’s tomb in St. Peter’s.

The most obvious model would have been offered by his cousin, Giacomo Nani (1725-1797), who, together with his older brother Bernardo, had begun collecting antiquities since 1752.119 Like Girolamo, Giacomo, too, entertained close rapports with Padua, where he served as podestà in 1778, as capitano in 1780, and as Riformatore of the University in 1782, 1788 and 1795.120 Aside from their family and political ties, the two men shared a keen interest in antiquities, learning and education. As Del Negro has shown, they were close to the “progressive” wing of the University, represented by Sibiliato, Cesarotti and Toaldo (although their rapports were of a different nature — Girolamo’s being marked by true friendship, while Giacomo’s apparently were of a more formal kind); and in 1781, they were both elected honourary members of the Accademia patavina di scienze lettere ed arti.121 As admiral and subsequently provveditore generale of the navy, Giacomo Nani could count on a formidable network of agents throughout the Aegean and the Near East. Thanks to this, he and Bernardo put together a collection of some 350 ancient pieces, including inscriptions, Graeco-Roman statues and vases, altars, cinerary urns, bronze artifacts, and Egyptian, Coptic and Kufic antiquities. Given their friendship, it is probable that Giacomo — not Bernardo, who had died in 1761 — was among the first to advise Girolamo as to which foreign antiquarians and shippers to rely upon, when he began his own collection.

116 On Toaldo, see G. Lorenzoni, “Ricordi intorno a Giuseppe Toaldo, ad amici suoi e al suo tempo,” henceforth “Ricordi,” in Atti e memorie delle reale Accademia di scienze, lettere ed arti in Padova, XXIX (1913), pp. 271-316. On Sibiliato and Billesimo, see J.B. Ferrari, Vitae illustrium virorum Seminarii Patavini (Padua, 1799), 166. On Cesarotti, G. Barbieri, Della vita e degli studi dell’Abate Melchiorre Cesarotti (Venice, 1817), and G. Marzot, Il gran Cesarotti. Saggio sul preromanticismo settecentesco (Florence, 1949). On Dalle Laste (Lastesio), see Nardo, op.cit., p.241-248. On Giovanni Costa, a refined Latin translator of Pope, Thomson and Gray and a friend of John Strange in Venice, see M. Pastore Stocchi, “Giovanni Costa (1737-1816),” in Storia dell’Altipiano de Setti Communi, vol II, Economia e cultura (Vicenza, 1996). I wish to thank Prof. Pastore Stocchi for first mentioning this interesting figure to me. 117 For Perissuti, see L. Caburlotto, “Private passioni e pubblico bene. Studio, collezionismo, tutela e promozione delle arti in Giovanni de Lazara (1744-1833),” henceforth “Private passioni,” Saggi e memorie di storia dell’arte, XXV, 2001, pp. 123-217, esp. p. 127. I would like to thank Dott.ssa Marcella De Paoli for pointing my attention to this article. 118 Caburlotto, “Private passioni,” p. 188, n. 24; B. Perussini, Compendio di notizie divote intorno alla chiesa di S. Antonio di Padova (Padua, 1780); id., Notizie divote ed erudite intorno alla vita e all’insigne basilica di S. Antonio di Padova (Padua, 1796). See also A. Poppi, A. Maggiolo, “Francescani conventuali del Santo soci dell’Accademia patavina,” in Atti e memorie dell’Accademia patavina di scienze, lettere e arti,” CVII (1994-1995), part III, p. 245.

Before this time, however, Zulian had been exposed to another, highly influential model. According to his friend, Andrea Memmo, Girolamo was a follower of On the Nani collection, see O. Cavalier, “La collection Nani d’antiquité,” in L’Anticomanie: la collection d’antiquités aux 18e et 19e siècles. Colloque international, Montpellier-Lattes, 9-12 June 1988. Civilisations et sociétés, 86, ed. A.-F. Laurens and K. Pomian (Paris, 1992), pp. 83-95; I. Favaretto, “Raccolte di antichità a Venezia al tramonto della Serenissima: la collezione dei Nani di San Trovaso,” Xenia, 21 (1991), pp. 77-92. 120 On Giacomo Nani, see Del Negro, “Giacomo Nani,” op. cit.; id., “Giacomo Nani. Appunti biografici,” Bollettino del Museo Civico di Padova, LX (1971), pp. 115-47. Nani was among those who actively pushed for Zulian’s election to bailo in 1783. 121 See Gennari, Notizie giornaliere, op. cit., I, p. 220. 119

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Art, Religion and Society padre Carlo Lodoli (1690–1761) (Fig. 14).122 Many of his closest friends included Lodoli’s direct or indirect disciples, from Andrea Memmo and his brothers Bernardo and Lorenzo, to Angelo Querini, Girolamo Ascanio Giustinian, and Francesco Milizia, who had studied in Padua between 1734 and 1741. Manlio Brusatin and Susanna Pasquali have traced the links between these various personages and explained each man’s debt to the “Venetian Socrates.”123 A brilliant theologian and architectural theorist, Lodoli constituted a constant reference point for architectural theorists and art amateurs in Venice and Rome in the last three decades of the century. But despite this contemporary notoriety, the complete loss of his papers has meant that today he is “una delle presenze più enigmatiche nella cultura veneta della prima metà del Settecento.”124 Lodoli’s philosophy must be reconstructed indirectly, through the works of his pupils Algarotti (Saggio sopra l’architettura, 1757)125 and Memmo (Elementi d’architettura lodoliana, 1786, 1833-34). To fully appreciate the cultural terrain wherein Zulian’s collection grew, it is necessary to trace a rapid sketch of the intellectual history of the Veneto in the decades 1720s-1750s. Lodoli belonged to the so-called “Republic of letters,” an informal association of intellectuals in the first half of the century, centered on two pre-eminent figures: Ludovico Antonio Muratori (1672-1750) and Apostolo Zeno (16681750). Its many members throughout the peninsula were united by the ideal of renewing Italian society by means of a cultural and moral revolution. Their aim was to redefine the very basis of institutional knowledge and the role of intellectuals and artists in society. In practice, this meant freeing the press from State and ecclesiastical control,

Figure 14. Alessandro Longhi, Portrait of Carlo Lodoli, 1761. Oil on canvas, 127 x 93 cm. Venice, Gallerie dell’Accademia.

A. Memmo, Elementi di architettura lodoliana, ossia l’arte del fabbricare con solidità scientifica ed eleganza non capricciosa (Zara, 183334), II, p. 76. Memmo’s Elementi first appeared in Rome in 1786; in 1833-1834, they were followed by a second edition, edited by Memmo’s daughter, Lucia Mocenigo, and published in Zara. Lodoli’s biography appears in volume I, pp. 27-86. On Lodoli, see M. Brusatin, Venezia nel Settecento (Turin, 1980); A. Gabrielli, “Le teorie architettoniche di C. Lodoli,” Arti figurative, 1945, pp. 123-36; E. Kauffmann, “Piranesi, Algarotti and Lodoli, a controversy in XVIII century Venice,” Gazette des Beaux-Arts, XLVI, 1955, pp. 21-28; E. Kauffmann, Jr., “Memmo’s Lodoli,” Art Bulletin, XLVI, 1964, pp. 159-75; S.P. Caligaris, “Fra’ Carlo Lodoli. Brevi cenni biografici e sintesi preliminare dei suoi Principi di Architettura,” henceforth “Fra’ Carlo Lodoli,” Arte Cristiana, LXX, January 1982, pp. 1-5. 123 S. Pasquali, “Scrivere di architettura intorno al 1780: Andrea Memmo e Francesco Milizia tra il Veneto e Roma,” henceforth “Scrivere di architettura,” Arte veneta, 59. 2002 (2004), pp. 168-85. 124 P.G. Gaspardo, G. Pizzamiglio, “La pubblicazione dell’autobiografia vichiana nella corrispondenza di Giovan Artico di Porcia con il Muratori e il Vallisnieri,” henceforth “Autobiografia vichiana,” in Vico e Venezia (Florence, 1982), pp. 107-30, p. 121; A. Memmo, Letter to G. Perini, 15 May 1784, Biblioteca di Firenze, Acquisti e doni, 94, fasc. 146; Brusatin, Venezia nel Settecento, 85-107; G. Gullino, La politica scolastica veneziana nell’età delle riforme (Venice, 1973). 125 Algarotti’s Saggio sopra l’architettura, written in 1756 in response to Abbé M.-A. Laugier’s Essai sur l’architecture (Paris, 1753), first appeared in Opere varie del Conte Francesco Algarotti (Venice, 1757). On Algarotti, see entry by E. Bonora in Dizionario biografico degli italiani, II (Rome, 1960), pp. 356-60. 122

reorganizing teaching in the universities and the academies, and loosening the Jesuits’ monopoly over education.126 But since most of Muratori’s correspondents were Churchmen, trained in theology and Classics and tied to the traditional academic milieux, this was not an easy undertaking.127 Each in his own way discovered and assimilated the modern currents of European thought, beginning with Bacon and Galileo, through Descartes, Arnauld and Gassendi, on to Leibnitz, Newton, Montesquieu and Voltaire. A few, like Francesco Algarotti, Scipione Maffei and Antonio Conti (incidently, a cousin of Bernardo and Giacomo Nani), were fortunate enough to be able to travel throughout Europe and thus develop contacts with members of the Royal Society, the Académie Royale and the Société

On censorship in the Veneto, see M. Infelise, I Remondini di Bassano. Stampa e industria nel Veneto del Settecento (Bassano, 1980); F. Piva, Cultura francese e censura a Venezia nel secondo Settecento (Venice, 1973). 127 On the so-called “internazionale cattolica,” see E. Raimondi, “Ragione ed erudizione nell’opera del Muratori,” in Sensibilità e razionalità nel Settecento, ed. V. Branca (Florence, 1967), I, pp. 319-36. 126

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Luisa Materassi : Girolamo Zulian des Arts.128 The majority, however, were obliged to rely on indirect sources (books, journals, correspondence) and on occasional encounters with foreign intellectuals during their visits to Italy.129 Despite certain differences in theory and occasional disagreements in approach, all agreed that Italian culture was in need of a radical change of orientation, and that progress would come only after Italian society embraced the new philosophic principles that were triumphing abroad.130 Their words fell on wintry soil. As Gilberto Pizzamiglio points out, fear of the Jesuits and of the Inquisition forced many letterati into silence or camouflage.131 Conti’s project of founding an Italian Accademia delle Scienze, modelled on the French academy and on the Royal Society, predictably came to nothing, and even Algarotti’s popularizing Newtonianismo per le dame (1737) was publicly branded.132 Luckily, censure could not stop ideas from circulating via semi-direct channels. Though works by Montesquieu might have been difficult to find in bookshops, they were discussed openly at the Caffé Florian or in the Giustinian salon. Casanova’s Mémoires and Goldoni’s plays marvelously capture the lively culture of mid-century Venice, where old and new coexisted in a volatile mix. Where truth would not do, simple tricks like faking a place of publication could avoid censure;133 moreover, officials have always been corruptible. From 1710 to 1740, the “Repubblica dei letterati” could count on a solid audience thanks to its prestigious spokesorgan, the Venetian Giornale de’ letterati d’Italia: its contributors included Pier Caterino and Apostolo Zeno, Ludovico Muratori, Scipione Maffei, Giovanni Poleni, Bernardo Trevisan, Antonio Conti, and Antonio Vallisneri the Elder. All were close friends and collaborators of Carlo Lodoli.

A. Spagnolo, Scipione Maffei e il suo viaggio all’estero: 1732-1736 (Verona, 1903), pp. 311-41; N. Badaloni, Antonio Conti. Un abate libero pensatore tra Newton e Voltaire, henceforth Antonio Conti (Milan, 1968). 129 Montesquieu’s diary of his trip throughout Italy in 1728 provides us with much information concerning his rapports with Italian intellectuals; see C.L. Montesquieu, Viaggio in Italia, ed. G. Macchia, M. Colesanti (Rome, 1990). 130 The group’s guiding principles are summed up in Scipione Maffei’s Introduzione programmatica. See Berengo, ed., Giornali veneziani del Settecento (Milan, 1962), pp. 3-15. For the story of the Giornale’s foundation and early years, see A. Zeno, Lettere (Venice, 1785), 3 vols., and F. Negri, La vita di Apostolo Zeno (Venice, 1816), pp. 123-56. 131 Gaspardo, Pizzamiglio, “Autobiografia vichiana,” pp. 129-30. On censure against Ludovico Muratori, cf. P. Nonis, “Movenze e reazioni preilluministiche nell’espistolario muratoriano,” in A.A.V.V., Studi sull’illuminismo (Florence, 1966), pp. 125-40. On Antonio Conti’s run-in with the Inquisition in 1735, see Badaloni, Antonio Conti, pp. 189-93; Del Negro, “Giacomo Nani,” pp. 101-02. M.I. Palazzolo, “Un sistema organizzato e nascosto. Contrabbando librario e censura politica nella Roma di primo Ottocento,” in Studi storici, n. 2 (2001), pp. 503-27. 132 Targhetta, Massoneria veneta, p. 37; M. De Zan, “La messa all’Indice del Newtonianismo per le dame di Francesco Algarotti,” in Scienza e letteratura nella cultura italiana del Settecento, ed. R. Cremante, W. Tega (Milan, 1984), pp. 140-45. 133 Targhetta, Massoneria veneta, p. 42. 128

Figure 15. Pietro Longhi, A gathering of Venetian abbots and priests, ca. 1760. Oil on canvas. Venice, Pinacoteca Querini-Stampalia. Although schooled in theology and nominated official historiographer of the Franciscan order, Lodoli had a keen interest in experimental sciences and in Enlightenment philosophy. He used his influence as revisore dei libri for the Venetian Senate to promote modern publications and contribute to the diffusion of Vico’s work. As discussed further on, he was among those intellectuals responsible for publishing Vico’s Life in 1728: in the midst of general skepticism, he claimed that Italian culture would benefit from the rise of the new literary genre of intellectual autobiography. Lodoli’s unconventional interests, cinical wit and proximity to the Freemasonry, caused him public notoriety and frequent clashes with the Inquisition.134 Pietro Longhi’s satire Canonici e frati di Venezia (1761), in the Pinacoteca Querini-Stampalia, reflects the tensions within the Venetian clergy (Fig. 15). The painting depicts an elegant assembly of fatuous-looking monks and clergymen; to the front, somewhat removed from the rest of the party, sits Lodoli, eating his soup from a wooden bowl, legs spread out to reveal his clogs, eyes piercing through the canvas to the viewer with a look of defiance.135 134 Lodoli was accused of corruption and removed from his prestigious post as Revisore. On secret reports concerning Lodoli’s circle, see Agenti segreti veneziani nel ‘700, ed. G. Comisso (Milan, 1942), pp. 54-55, 59. For an example of the type of defamatory sonnet that appeared after Lodoli’s death, see “In morte di P. Lodoli,” in Poesie, ed. G. Baffo (Verona, 1974), pp. 320-21. 135 R. Pallucchini, La pittura nel Veneto. Il Settecento (Milan, 1995), pp. 383 and 388, fig. 612; T. Pignatti, Pietro Longhi (Venice, 1968), p. 111.

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Art, Religion and Society One can almost hear his accusers’ insults, “quel filosofo sporco d’ogni vizio, quel letterato tanto temerario!”136 Nonetheless, many among the nobility sought Lodoli’s teaching. From 1743, he held lessons in the convent of San Francesco della Vigna, part of which he had equipped as a hostel for pilgrims. His pupils included Andrea, Bernardo and Lorenzo Memmo, Francesco Algarotti, Filippo Farsetti, Angelo Querini, and Giacomo Casanova.137

offering a complete panorama of the development of Italian painting from its birth to the present.142 Lodoli’s collection had an eminently didactic purpose, in keeping with the Enlightenment notion of art as needing to possess a social utility. Yet it also possessed a political value, which thus far has gone unremarked. Clearly, one of the aims of this “progressive gallery” was to stimulate visitors’ historic awareness and sense of pride in national heritage. Italian painting was shown as richly diversified, yet unique and separate from that of other European countries. This message was underscored by the presence of contemporary works, which testified to the continued vitality of Italian art. To speak of national propaganda would be an exaggeration; but, arguably, the intention was to present an overall and positive vision of the state of art, spanning the entire country and stressing hope in future.

Lodoli’s “school” aimed at providing a modern education for future statesmen. Teaching differed drastically from what was imparted in the Jesuit College, Venice’s other elite school: here, students were required to come to grips with modern science and history, plowing through the writings of Bacon, Galileo, Pufendorf, Ephraïm Chambers, and Vico.138 Given Lodoli’s personal interest in art and architecture, the curriculum also included art history and architecture theory. Indeed, in retrospect, Lodoli’s most enduring contribution to Venetian culture was his theory of architecture and his creation of a private museum in S. Francesco, that displayed architectural fragments and Italian regional paintings from the Middle Ages to the present. Doubts remain as to how he managed to amass such a body of works: according to Memmo, he used to accept them in exchange for architectural advice, but, no doubt, many were simply offered as gifts by his wealthy pupils and his artist friends.139

In this, Lodoli clearly embraced the cultural line professed by Muratori and by the editors of the Giornale de’ letterati, and constituted a forerunner of nineteenth century collectorship. Indeed, the Romantic concept of a national art and of a national literature was born from the mid-eighteenth century passion for history and systematic classification. The first half of the century in particular was characterized by the urge to organize textual and visual documents into scientific thesauruses, to compile regional histories and art catalogues, to trace the development of local styles and the emergence of a national Geist. Scholars began to rehabilitate the so-called Dark Ages and to shed light onto previously ignored periods in search of the origins of the modern world. Antiquarian works like Gori’s Museum Florentinum (1731-1742), Maffei’s Verona illustrata (1732), Bottari’s Del Museo Capitolino (17411782), and Muratori’s Antiquitates Italicae Medii Aevi (1739-1743) and Annali d’Italia dal principio dell’era volgare al 1749 (1744-49) thus carried a political message similar to that of Lodoli’s museum. At the end of the century, the trend culminated in Luigi Lanzi’s monumental Storia pittorica dell’Italia (1795-1796) and in Pietro Zani’s Enciclopedia metodico critico-ragionata delle Belle Arti (published 1817-1824).143 Naturally, Zulian’s circle of friends at the University of Padua was well acquainted with such works.

Lodoli’s museum was the first in Venice to abandon the aestheticizing assemblages typical of Renaissance and Baroque collections, and to order objects according to the historical approach adopted by Lodoli’s friend, Scipione Maffei, in the Museum lapidarium in Verona (1736).140 While the architectural fragments were displayed in the garden, the paintings hung in chronological and regional sequence in a series of adjoining rooms. Like Maffei, Lodoli refused Vasari’s notion of a radical break between art in the Middle Ages and the early Renaissance; instead, he stressed art’s gradual although interrupted development, and argued for the need to rehabilite so-called “primitive” epochs, which constituted the foundations of the present age.141 These principles were visibly embodied in his museum. Beginning with a few examples of Byzantinian thirteenth century panels, the display proceeded to showcase paintings by Cimabue and Giotto, early Venetians like Vivarini, Carpaccio and Bellini, and works by the Roman (Gentile da Fabriano), Lombard (Squarcione, Foppa), Bolognese, German and Flemish schools. The sequence ended with works by contemporary Venetian painters,

More than a decade after his death, Lodoli’s memory was still fresh and his influence was tangible in a number of private museums in Padua, which Zulian undoubtedly knew. As Krzysztof Pomian has shown, “progressive” collections enjoyed a particular fortune in eighteenth century Padua, where the University environment encouraged the birth of scholarly and historicizing collections of antiquities. While most Venetian collectors continued to privilege Classical

G. Torcellan, Una figura della Venezia settecentesca, Andrea Memmo (Venice, Rome, 1963), p. 31 and notes. 137 Memmo, Elementi, I, pp. 52-53. 138 See Brusatin, Venezia nel Settecento, pp. 87-88. 139 According to Memmo, Lodoli enjoyed observing famous artists at work; Memmo, Elementi, I, p. 56. 140 C. De Benedictis, Per la storia del collezionismo italiano: fonti e documenti (Florence, 1991), p. 128. 141 On the fortune of the “primitivi,” see G. Previtali, La fortuna dei primitivi. Dal Vasari ai neoclassici (Turin, 1964). 136

K. Pomian, Collectionneurs, amateurs et curieux. Paris, Venise: XVIeXVIIIe siècle (Paris, 1987), henceforth Collectionneurs, pp. 239-40. 143 L. Barroero, S. Susinno, “L’artista ‘moderno’ e il ruolo delle accademie,” in Il Neoclassicismo in Italia da Tiepolo a Canova, exh. cat., Milan, Palazzo Ducale, 2 March-28 July 2002, ed. F. Mazzocca et al. (Milan, 2002), henceforth Il Neoclassicismo in Italia pp. 133-87. 142

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Luisa Materassi : Girolamo Zulian statues and busts and all’antica modes of arrangement, in Padua interest for minor antiquities and Medieval art and artifacts brought about a gradual shift in collecting approaches. The second half of the century, in particular, witnessed the birth of three important collections inspired by Lodoli’s taxonomical principles. The first was that belonging to Zulian’s acquaintance, Abbot Jacopo Facciolati (1682-1769), rector of the Seminary in Padua, historiographer of the University, and a member of Joseph Smith’s entourage in Venice.144 Facciolati’s gallery of paintings spanned the same timeframe as Lodoli’s museum at S. Francesco: starting from Byzantine paintings, it progressed from Giotto to Mantegna and the Bellini, on to examples of Roman and Venetian High Renaissance and modern European paintings. According to an English visitor, who admired the gallery in 1764, the learned abbot had taken care to present the entire “development of Painting from its Renaissance in Europe.”145 It is almost certain that Zulian had occasion to visit Facciolati’s collection during his visits to Padua in the 1750s and ’60s, and would have heard him speak of Lodoli’s innovative collecting practices and museological choices.

with exponents of the Neoclassical movement in Rome and Constantinople, and in consideration of Canova’s role as museum counselor, his museum can be seen to have had a decidedly modern dimension. However, while it is right to point to the Neoclassical elements exemplified by Morghen’s prints, the Raphaele-like arabesques, and Canova’s plaster statues and reliefs, one should not overlook the clear echoes of Lodoli’s historicizing principles and of contemporary Paduan collections. True, a direct comparison between Lodoli and Zulian’s museums reveals greater differences than similarities. Firstly, the friar’s limited means did not allow him to rely on agents, restorers and artistic consultants, as was the case with Zulian. Secondly, whereas Lodoli’s museum was principally a picture gallery, Zulian’s focused on ancient sculptures and ceramics. Thirdly, while the former was a didactic institution, the latter was a private museum in the line of aristocratic Venetian collections. These differences clearly mirror each man’s personality, interests, and social and economical circumstances. Yet what was common to both collectors was the desire to classify their works systematically, according to taxonomical categories of time and space. This would have been particularly apparent in Lodoli’s museum, which was arranged chronologically and according to regional areas. But in Zulian’s case, too, the arrangement presented a temporal subdivision of the space, with one room devoted to “Etruscan” wares, two to Graeco-Roman works, and three to modern sculpture. Are we thus entitled to interpret this, too, as an example of Paduan historicizing collection of the type discussed above? And if so, what were the philosophical bases for this “progressive” approach?

A second example was the well-known collection of engravings of Zulian’s friend, count Giovanni de Lazara. Luca Caburlotto’s excellent essay has helped to illustrate the story of this collection. Begun in the second half of the 1770s, its aim was to trace the entire history of Italian and German engraving, from its origin to the present: starting from early fifteenth century nielli, de Lazara’s collection included a complete series of Dürer prints, original examples of Mantegna, Jacopo de’ Barbari, Titian, Marcantonio Raimondi, Ugo da Carpi and Guido Reni, and contemporary prints by Raffaello Morghen. De Lazara’s interests mainly lay in the Northern Italian primitifs, especially in the work of Squarcione and his pupil Mantegna — notable examples of which he was fortunate enough to possess. In 1793, he was appointed Ispettore delle pubbliche pitture for Padua, and spent several months reviewing the paintings present in the city’s churches, together with another of Zulian’s friends, Pietro Brandolese. As we shall see, he was almost certainly among those friends who Zulian records as having visited and admired his collection in 1793. The third example of historicizing collection was Tommaso degli Obizzi’s aforementioned museum in the Castle of Catajo, for which I refer to the detailed studies conducted by Pier Luigi Fantelli and Irene Favaretto.

In answering these questions, caution is needed. Not only has the original interior largely disappeared and have documents relating to it proved meager, but according to Jacopo Morelli’s inventory of 1795, Zulian’s collection was divided between Padua and Venice. This information would seem to counter the hypothesis of a unified, “progressive” gallery. While the house in Padua displayed Zulian’s ancient ceramic, Egyptian antiquities and GraecoRoman marbles, his palace in Venice held his Renaissance and eighteenth century bronzes,146 engraved gems,147 and whatever sculpture was left undisplayed prior to his death. One wonders as to the reason behind this decision. Presumably, the answer is the lack of space in Padua. A letter from Canova to Selva informs us, in fact, that Zulian’s house in Padua was small and ill lit, an impression

Zulian belonged to the generation subsequent to Lodoli’s, and it is only natural that his collection should reflect the changes in taste that occurred in the latter part of the century, when Venetian collectors absorbed the new neoclassical ideas coming from Rome. Both in view of Zulian’s contacts

146 These are now displayed in the Galleria Franchetti at the Ca’ d’Oro; see De Paoli, “Il Legato Zulian, 1775,” in Favaretto, Statuario Pubblico, pp. 282-98. 147 Zulian owned a sizable and important collection of modern gems, including a calcedony intaglio, showing the profile of a young man, by Nathaniel Marchant (Inv. G 109), and a cameo representing Hercules, by Giovanni Pichler; see BCB, Mss. Canov. II-190/1776 and I-2-33/39; C.G. Bulgari, Argentieri, gemmari e orafi d’Italia, I, Roma (Rome, 1959), vol. 2, p. 272.

Pomian, Collectionneurs, pp. 240-41. P.J. Grosley, Observations sur l’Italie et sur les italiens. Données en 1764 sous le nom de deux Gentilhommes suédois par M.G. (London, 1774), vol. II, p. 164. 144 145

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Art, Religion and Society confirmed on a recent visit to the actual site of Ca’ Zulian.148 The living area on the piano nobile is relatively small and irregularly shaped. Much space is occupied by the grand entry staircase and by the veranda (now kitchen) overlooking the garden to the east (Fig. 16). During most of the day, light only touches the Northern rooms, looking out onto the wide via S. Francesco, whereas the Western rooms, facing the narrow via del Santo, receive less light (except during the summer, when the veranda doors could be kept open) (Fig. 17). Given the transformations wrought to the house during the nineteenth century, and the lack of eighteenth century representations, with the exception of Giovanni Valle’s map of Padua (1780), it is difficult to gain a clear idea of the interior. However, Canova’s comment may indicate that practical considerations caused the collection to be split in two, and that Padua was chosen to feature Zulian’s beloved Graeco-Roman antiquities and a selection of modern sculptures. Had Zulian’s choice gone to the Renaissance statuettes and the engraved gems, the collection would have been readily recognizable as a form of “progressive” gallery similar to Lodoli’s. But, understandably, preference was accorded to works by Canova, the most famous sculptor of the time. Canova’s copies and reliefs not only fit thematically and stylistically with the classical collection, but also illustrated the most recent trends in modern sculpture. Perhaps, at the back of Zulian’s mind, the light factor was again at play, since the casts’ light colour would have contributed to brighten the atmosphere in the dark appartment.149

Figure 16. Padua, Ca’ Zulian, the entry staircase.

Attempts to reconstruct the interior arrangement are complicated by the near total absence of illustrative documentation.150 Despite references in Zulian and Selva’s correspondence, we are unable, for example, to determine the exact shape of the rooms or to establish the precise position of each piece. It is tempting to postulate that the antiquities were situated in the back rooms, overlooking the garden, so as to evoke the peace of a Ciceronian villa. But it makes more sense to think of central pieces, such as the Venus Pontia, on display in the main drawing room to the front, framed by the elegant Serlian window, and immediately visible to visitors entering the apartment (Fig. 18). From Zulian and Canova’s surviving correspondence, we are able to make a few speculative guesses. It is clear that Girolamo devoted much care to conceiving an appropriate exhibition space. In a letter to Canova dated 5 June 1789, he claimed: “Vado pensando dove collocarlo [Canova’s Lubomirskj Eros], perché voglio preparargli un sito il più distinto nella mia Casa di Padova, dove mi propongo I wish to thank the Rigato-Lenzi family for kindly allowing me to inspect and take photographs of the interior of what used to be Ca’ Zulian. 149 On Zulian’s collection of casts by Canova, see G. Pavanello, “Collezioni di gessi canoviani in età neoclassica: Padova,” Arte in Friuli Arte a Trieste, 12-13, 1993, pp. 167-90. 150 A quick sketch, perhaps relating to Zulian’s house in Padua, is found in a letter by Antonio d’Este to Giannantonio Selva, dated November 1794; see BCV, Mss. P.D. 529, Letters by d’Este and Selva, n. 5. 148

Figure 17. Padua, view of via del Santo with Ca’ Zulian. 162

Luisa Materassi : Girolamo Zulian made sure to praise his friend’s works, but he must have experienced some frustration at being forced to revise his scheme so frequently. In any event, Zulian was adamant in wanting three rooms consecrated to “the modern Phidias,” and in his letters to Canova he modestly referred to them as “le Sue stanze.” The first room housed a plaster bust of the Genius from the Monument of Clement XIII in St. Peter’s.154 It was displayed on a rotating pedestal, at the centre of a wall, framed by casts of the Apollino and of the Blundell Psyche. On the opposite wall, two symmetrical consoles held replicas of the heads of Theseus and of the Genius, while a second pedestal supported a copy of the bust of Religion from the Tomb of Clement XIII.155 At a later time, Theseus’s head was substituted with that of Clement XIII Figure 18. Padua, Ca’ Zulian, the Serlian window looking onto via Rezzonico, from the homonymous tomb, S. Francesco. and three bas-reliefs depicting The Death of Priam, The Death of Socrates, and Briseis di soggiornare la più gran parte dell’anno.”151 From the being taken away from Achilles’s tent were added beneath first, the intention was to create a series of rooms devoted, the consoles.156 Work on this room began in the autumn separately, to illustrating subsequent phases of ancient and of 1792 (Zulian: “Vado preparando la Stanza, che avrà modern art. Whether this decision is attributable to the il nome di Canova,” 15 Semptember 1792) and ended in patron or to Selva is of little importance: in either case, the summer of 1794, when three new bas-reliefs depicting the final result bespeaks of a well thought-out programme, The Dance of the Sons of Alcinoos, The Farewell between where ancient and modern works were meant to interact at a Socrates and his Family, and The Return of Telemachus distance. According to Marcella De Paoli’s reconstruction, were added and the Blundell Psyche was moved to another the ancient collection was housed in three adjoining room. The second room contained casts of the Lubomirskj rooms: the first, a rather small room, was reserved for the Eros and of the Love and Psyche group;157 in 1795, Selva “Etruscan” vases; the second, a larger room (probably the substituted a second version of the Eros with the original one with a terrace overlooking via S. Francesco), featured one, and added three bas-reliefs depicting Justice, Hope the Venus Pontia and eight ancient portrait heads purchased and Charity. The third and last of the “Canova” rooms was in 1792;152 the third contained sculptures in marble and especially designed by Selva to house Canova’s marble bronze. Psyche, but unfortunately Zulian never lived to see it in place. In terms of sequence, the “Etruscan” room was completed by 1789, although minor changes were made in the In terms of decoration, Zulian’s rooms were in the latest summer of 1792, when Zulian informed Canova that “li neoclassical style. Instead of a Renaissance all’antica Vasi etruschi disposti in questa mia stanza di Padova come décor, he opted for a picturesque mélange of ancient and si era ideato, sono riusciti a meraviglia. Adesso si lavora modern sculptures, figured vases, painted arabesques, and a preparar l’altra stanza, dove avranno ad esser riposti modern engravings. In his letter to Canova dated 28 April li gessi delle sue statue.”153 Work on the other rooms 1790, he claimed: “Sono sempre meglio contento della proceded more slowly, mirroring the gradual growth of mia Statua [Venus Pontia], a cui preparo una Stanza in the collection. Canova himself constituted a problematic, Padova. Nella medesima penso di collocare le Stampe if clearly welcome, source of delay, for over the years he miniate delle Stanze Vaticane, e dispongo il sofitto dipinto continued to send new casts from Rome. Selva always a Rabeschi sul gusto di Raffaello.”158 The room intended BCB, Mss. Canov. I-2-44/50, 45/52, 46/52, 27/33, 37/43, 33/39, 35/41, 18/24, 22/28; II-190/1779, 1781, 1782. 155 BCB, Mss. Canov. I-2-50/56, IX-939/4922. 156 BCB, Mss. Canov. I-2-38/44, 21/27, II-190/1780, IX-939/4927; BCV, Mss. P.D. 529/15. 157 BCB, Mss. Canov., I-2-33/39, 19/25, 20/26, 23/29. IX-939/4928; BCV, Mss. P.D. 529/17. 158 BCB, Mss. Canov., II-190/1777. 154

Letter by Girolamo Zulian to Canova, 5 June 1789, BCB, Mss. Canov. I-2-31/37. 152 BCB, Mss. Canov. IX-939/4922. One of them, an original second century BC head, probably representing Aphrodite, is now in the Museo Archeologico (Inv. n. 176); see Valentinelli, Marmi scolpiti, p. 5, n. 8; Anti, Museo archeologico, p. 155, n. 9; Traversari, Sculture del V-IV secolo, pp. 124-25, n. 51. 153 BCB, Mss. Canov. I-2-44/50. 151

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Art, Religion and Society Neoclassical showroom. Instead, it reflected a diversity of cultural models and of collecting traditions. Zulian and Giambattista Vico If Lodoli’s historicism did play a role in the conception of Zulian’s museum, then its philosophical basis must be sought in the thought of Giambattista Vico. Zulian is recorded as having read and admired the Scienza nuova during his first year in Rome, at the very time when he began conceiving a private museum. It is uncertain whether he had prior exposure to Vico’s writing while at the University of Padua, but in consideration of the cultural milieu to which he belonged, I venture to believe it probable. Between 1710 and 1729, Venice became the major centre for the reception and diffusion of Vico’s philosophy, thanks to a number of enlightenened intellectuals.163 Vico’s fortune in the Veneto began at a time when his name was still largely unknown in Naples. The first issue of the Giornale de’ letterati d’Italia (1710) featured a favourable review of De nostri temporis studiorum ratione, together with an ample extract from the original text. In the following volume, Bernardo Trevisan announced the forthcoming publication of De antiquissima Italorum sapientia and offered explanations to his earlier article, probably in response to prompts by the author himself. These initiatives indicate that the editors of the Giornale intended to conduct an in-depth survey of Vico’s metaphysics. Interest in Vico grew with the pubblication of the first book of De antiquissima (Liber primus sive metaphysicus) later in 1710, and with the Scienza nuova prima in 1725. According to Lodoli’s letter to Vico, dated 15 January 1728, the book sold out in a matter of days. Among its most fervent admirers were Apostolo Zeno, Ludovico Muratori, Antonio Conti, and Gian Artico di Porcìa. Conti was particularly instrumental in drawing international attention to Vico, by sending long extracts of the Scienza nuova to his correspondants in the Royal Society, the Académie des Sciences and the St-Germain salons.164 Equally important was Michelangelo Fardella, a Sicilian mathematician and philosopher who taught in Padua and was in contact with Liebniz through Magliabechi.165

Figure 19. G.B. Piranesi, “Chimneypiece designed for John Hope,” in Diverse maniere d’adornare i cammini (Rome, 1769). Copperplate, 38.3 x 24.5 cm.

to showcase Canova’s marble Psyche would have been lit “con un bel lume veniente dall’alto,” and would have featured “un Fregio semplice con Festoni a chiaro scuro, e con qualche Farfalla, la volta a semplici cassettoni, e le paretti di un colore verdigno o gialletto che sentise delle rote, o dei riquadri dei cassettoni della volta il tutto dipinto, o in tinta di stucco […] tutto a chiaro scuro.”159 Together with Zulian’s beloved Piranesi-like candelabrum160 and the acanthus scroll relief from Hadrian’s villa at Tivoli,161 these elements contributed to creating a stunning visual effect, “che ha il bello sopra tutti,”162 and would have possessed some similarities to Piranesi’s design of an interior for John Hope (Fig. 19). Clearly, Zulian was not a simple dilettante, nor was his museum merely an attractive

Lodoli became directly involved with Vico in 1728, when Gian Artico di Porcìa asked for his help in publishing Vico’s Life. Porcìa’s aim was to launch a series of autobiographies by leading Italian intellectuals, including Muratori, Vallisneri, Maffei and Giovambattista Recanati, which would appear at regular intervals under the title Notizie

BCB, Mss. Canov. IX-939/4927. BCB, Mss. P.D. 529/269. Zulian, Letters to Canova: BCB, Mss. Canov. I-2-8/24, and BCB, Mss. Canov. I-2-64/70. 161 Roman bas-relief with acanthus scrolls, Luna marble, 61 x 105 x 10 cm. Roman, first half of the II century AD; from Hadrian’s villa at Tivoli; formerly in the collection of Giambattista Piranesi, subsequently bought by Canova for Girolamo Zulian; cf. De Paoli, “Il Legato Zulian, 1795” op. cit., p. 286, n. 323. 162 BCB, Mss. Canov. IX-939/4927. 159

On the reception of Vico in Veneto, see A. Scarsella, “Ricezione e lettura dei testi vichiani,” and M. Fantato, “La ricezione di Vico nel Veneto: esemplari dedicati e postillati posseduti dalle biblioteche venete,” in Momenti vichiani del primo Settecento, ed. G. Pizzamiglio, M. Sanna, Studi vichiani, 32 (Naples, 2001), pp. 115-29, 131-46. 164 G.B. Vico, Autobiografia (Bari, 1929), p. 64; Badaloni, Antonio Conti, pp. 112-15; Targhetta, Massoneria veneta, pp 28-29. 165 E. Garin, Storia della filosofia italiana (Turin, 1966), pp. 882-86.

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Luisa Materassi : Girolamo Zulian d’alcuni letterati viventi. Vico’s was to be the first. In his programmatical Proposal, Porcìa specified that authors be required to trace the development of their thought and to explain to readers “quali autori abbian seguiti o imitati e perché.”166 The intention was to draw Italian readers’ attention to contemporary European philosophers, and to reveal the deficiencies of institutional teaching. In view of the combined obstacle posed by the Church and by the State, this was a risky enterprise.167 Thanks to Lodoli’s involvement, Vico’s Life appeared in the first volume of Abbot Angelo Calogerà’s Raccolta di opuscoli scientifici e filologici (1728). According to the editor, Lodoli’s support for the project was based on his belief that the new genre of Periautografia168 would promote a positive change in Italian literature, freeing it of Baroque rhetoric, restoring dignity to the vulgar idiom, and requiring authors to adopt a clear, concise and scientifically accurate language.

of poetry and of myth. These motifs feature prominently in the work of Piranesi and Canova. The former’s debt to Vico has been thoroughly discussed by Maurizio Calvesi, and need not be treated here.173 However, it may be useful to analyse the presence of Vichian echoes in Canova’s Homeric and Platonic reliefs, since these works constituted important elements of Zulian’s museum, and may thus clarify both the artist’s and the patron’s views on history and on art. Executed between 1787 and 1792, Canova’s plaster reliefs sprung out of his fascination with Homeric myth and ancient history. This interest developed between 1779 and 1784, during Canova’s first stay in Rome. By the express wish of Zulian, the young sculptor was entrusted to the care of the ambassador’s secretary, Abbot Giuseppe Foschi, and was instructed in literary Italian, in the Classical and modern languages, and especially in ancient history and myth.174 His passion for Homer, in particular, was fed by reading Melchiorre Cesarotti’s prose and free verse translations of the Iliad (1786-94) (Fig. 20). In a letter to Cesarotti, dated 1794, Canova confessed: “le sue poesie mi rapiscono come cose sublimi, le sue note mi confermano sempre più a bravare le prevenzioni, e a stimar soltanto quelle cose che realmente e ragionevolmente sono stimabili […] ora ho ascoltati per la prima volta tutti gli otto tomi sopra Omero, i quali sono per me come sagramento di confermazione sopra il pregiudizio.”175

Although rapports between Vico and Lodoli’s circle subsequently cooled as a result of the failure to publish a Venetian edition of the Scienza nuova seconda, in the following decades Vico’s philosophy continued to permeate intellectual life in the Lagoon. Three of Zulian’s closest friends at the University of Padua, Giuseppe Toaldo, Clemente Sibiliato and Melchiorre Cesarotti, were deeply influenced by Vico’s thought, and were responsible for transmitting his legacy to the generation of Ugo Foscolo.169 As Giovanni Santinello argued, references to Vico’s esthetics are present in Sibiliato’s dissertation Se la poesia influisca nel bene dello Stato e come possa essere oggetto della politica (1770),170 as well as in Cesarotti’s L’origine e i progressi dell’arte poetica (1762) and Saggio sulla filosofia delle lingue (1785).171 These were texts that Zulian naturally had the opportunity to read.172

Cesarotti’s experimentalism in verse translated into Canova’s search for new expressive codes in relief sculpture, via linear compositions and clearly defined, often “in profile” figures. Contemporaries immediately understood the revolutionary impact of these works: as Leopoldo Cicognara claimed, Canova was the first “a riproporsi per modello l’aurea antichità, trattando soggetti nuovi e del genere eroico: egli eliminò affatto gli scorci, le prospettive, i falsi piani, gli strapiombi delle figure e tutte quelle ingrate proiezioni che, producendo oscuri ed ombre a ridosso di parti sfuggenti e di stiacciato rilievo, riunivano in un ammasso di contraddizioni tra l’illusione e la realtà, le quali mantenevano tutti gli artisti fuori strada.”176

Vico’s influence over art and poetry is reflected in two principal themes: his Lucretian concept of history as a cyclical pattern of flussi and riflussi, during which man’s brutal instincts are tamed through the institutes of religion, marriage and pious burial; and his discussion of Homer, G.A. di Porcìa, “Progetto,” in A. Calogerà, ed., Raccolta di opuscoli scientifici, e filologici (Venice, 1721 published 1728), vol. 1, pp. 129-40. 167 Targhetta, Massoneria veneta, p. 26. 168 A. Calogerà, Letter to Antonio Vallisneri, 12 September 1728, placed as preface to the Raccolta di opuscoli scientifici, e filologici, op. cit. 169 G. Santinello, “Vico e Padova nel secondo Settecento (Sibiliato, Gardin, Colle, Cesarotti),” henceforth “Vico e Padova,” in Vico e Venezia, ed. C. De Michelis, G. Pizzamiglio (Florence, 1982), pp. 77-89, esp. pp. 85-89; E. Bigi, “Nota introduttiva,” in Critici e storici della poesia e delle arti nel secondo Settecento, tome IV: Dal Muratori al Cesarotti (Milan, Naples, 1960), p. 4. 170 C. Sibiliato, Dissertazione sopra il quesito se la poesia influisca nel bene dello Stato, e come possa essere oggetto della politica, presentata dal Signor Abbate Clemente Sibiliato, professore di eloquenza greca e latina in Padova al concorso dell’anno 1770. E coronata dalla reale academia di scienze, e belle lettere di Mantova (Mantua, 1771), henceforth Dissertazione. Cf. B. Croce, Bibliografia vichiana, with additions by F. Nicolini, 2 vols. (Naples, 1947-1948), vol. I, p. 325. 171 M. Cesarotti, Saggio sulla filosofia delle lingue, ed. M. Puppo (Milan, 1969). 172 Santinello, “Vico e Padova,” p. 81. 166

Aside from their technical bravura, the success of Canova’s plaster casts among intellectual circles no doubt also rested M. Calvesi, Introduction to Giovanni Battista e Francesco Piranesi (Rome, 1967-68). It is worth recalling that Piranesi probably met the aged philosopher in Naples in 1743, during his first visit to the excavations at Herculaneum and Portici. See J. Antinoro Polizzi, James Valone, “L’influsso delle idee vichiane nell’ispirazione artistica di Piranesi,” in Vico e Venezia (Florence, 1982). 174 P. Fardella, “Il collezionismo privato alle origini della fortuna canoviana a Napoli,” henceforth “Collezionismo privato,” in Antonio Canova a Napoli tra collezionismo e mercato (Naples, 2002), pp. 19-104, esp. p. 30. 175 See Antonio Canova, Letter to Giannantonio Selva, 12 January 1793, cited in F. Mazzocca, “Antonio Canova. Serie di Bassorilievi Rezzonico,” henceforth “Serie Rezzonico,” in Il Neoclassicismo in Italia, pp. 518-20. 176 L. Cicognara, Storia della scultura (1818), cited by Mazzocca, in Il Neoclassicismo in Italia, p. 519. 173

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Art, Religion and Society son, Pyrrhus, in Canova’s relief depicting The Death of Priam (1787-90) (Fig. 21). Although the full description of the scene appears not in Homer, but in Eneid II (vv. 499558), the episode belongs to the common Trojan matrix and refers to Demodocus’s second song in Odyssey VIII (vv. 487-520).179 Canova has shown the second preceding the final blow, when Pyrrhus: altaria ad ipsa trementem traxit et in multo lapsantem sanguine nati, inplicuitque comam laeva dextraque coruscum extulit ac lateri capulo tenus abdidit ensem. The horror of Priam’s murder is increased by the fact that it takes place on a sacred altar, before the victim’s wife and daughters, and next to the body of Polites. In a magistral show of his synthetic and compositional skills, Canova has shown the tragic consequences of the reversal of Vico’s three founding principles of civilization: religion, marriage, and burial of the dead. His pyramidal composition subtly echoes this triad. On the ground, in a pose mimicking that of the slain Giants of the Lesser Attalid Monument, lies the lifeless body of Polites: his graceful limbs and beautiful head are destined to fall prey to dogs and birds, just like his father, who soon “iacet ingens litore truncus avolsumque umeris caput et sine nomine corpus” (Eneid, II, 557-58). Around him, Hecuba, and seven of Priam’s fifty daughters and daughters-in-law run and collapse in a variety of strikingly expressive poses, their despair reflecting the break-down of family and marriage. At the centre stands Pyrrhus, his feet impiously stepping on the altar, his dagger pointed against the joint statuettes of Jove and Athena, symbols of Justice and of Wisdom. This is a representation of what Vico calls “a bestial wilderness” — the inevitable result of man’s flouting the principles of humanity.

Figure 20. Pietro Bini, Portrait of Melchiorre Cesarotti, 1784. Oil on canvas, 70 x 57.5 cm. Rome, Museo di Roma. on contemporary interest for Vico’s theory on Homer. Canova almost certainly would have been unable to read La Scienza Nuova in person, but he could have grasped the basics of Vico’s philosophy of history and of poetry through Girolamo Zulian or the circle of Cesarotti. In a section of the Scienza nuova entitled La Discoverta del vero Omero, Vico denied the historic existence of the bard, arguing: “he [Homer] was a purely ideal poet who never existed as a particular man in the world of nature. […] Homer was an idea or a heroic character of Grecian men insofar as they told their histories in song.”177 The mythical Homer, “the most sublime of all poets,” embodied the spirit of an entire nation. Far from being the work of a single man, the Iliad and the Odyssey were composed by different authors, living in different times and under different customs. The Homeric characters thus reflected “the various particulars belonging to each genus,” constituting, according to Vico’s original definition, “imaginative universals.” Taking, for example, the character of Achilles, Vico argued: “To Achilles, who is the subject of the Iliad, they [the Greeks] attached all the properties of heroic valour, and all the feelings and customs arising from these natural properties, such as those of quick temper, punctiliousness, wrathfulness, implacability, violence, the arrogation of all right to might.”178 Such is the characterization of Achilles’s

In The Dance of the Sons of Alcinous (1790-92) (Fig. 22), we are shown, instead, the happy effects of good government, family love and piety. To the right stands Odysseus, his gaze fixed in wonder on Alios and Laodamas. Next to him sit Arete, Alcinous and Nausicaa: the queen watches the spectacle unperturbed, while the king turns his head towards his guest, who has just addressed him “­ ’Alkínoe kreîon,” and Nausicaa casts a timid glance towards her mysterious lover. On either side of the dancing boys, Phaecians clap and cheer, “beating the rhythm with their feet so that a great clamour arose.” Diametrically opposite from Odysseus sits the blind bard, Demodocus, harp in hand, chiming a sweet, unheard melody. Unlike in The Death of Priam, Canova did not follow the plot of Odyssey VIII verbatim, but condensed two separate moments of the epic: Demodocus’s first song on the love of Ares and Aphrodite (vv. 256-369), and the subsequent dance of the sons of Alcinous (vv. 370-80). Following his principle of avoiding “pregiudizi” and interpreting his models as freely as possible, he substituted Homer’s original volleyball with a long fillet, its billowing arch better fitted to frame

G.B. Vico, The New Science, henceforth NS, transl. and ed. T.G. Bergin, M.H. Fisch (Ithaca, London, 1970), par. 873, p. 267. 178 Vico, NS, par. 809, p. 256. 177

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Odyssey, VIII, vv. 487-520.

Luisa Materassi : Girolamo Zulian

Figure 21. Antonio Canova, The Death of Priam, 1787-1790. Plaster, 141 x 279,5 cm. Milan, Fondazione Cassa di Risparmio delle Provincie Lombarde.

Figure 22. Antonio Canova, The Dance of the Sons of Alcinous, 1790-1792. Plaster, 141 x 281 cm. Milan, Fondazione Cassa di Risparmio delle Provincie Lombarde. the youths’ graceful silhouettes. More significantly, Canova stressed the central figure of Demodocus, whose role in the epic is secondary to that of the noisy chorus of spectators. His importance is underscored by the fact that, together with Odysseus, he is the only character sculpted in greater relief. Clearly, he and the hero form an ideal pair, each standing in for the narrator himself, their separate tales woven into the plot of the poem. Spatially, too, Canova shifts the position of the poet to stress his popular connection: while Homer’s Demodocus sits in the centre of the arena, alone, Canova’s sits amidst the boisterous crowd of Phaecians, giving voice to a song inspired by the people, rather than by a deity. Thus, Vico’s theory of the “popular bard,” representing the soul of a nation, is brilliantly summarized and rendered visible.

Canova’s parallel series of reliefs depicting episodes from Plato’s Phaedo celebrates another popular teacher, this time a philosopher. As Fernando Mazzocca pointed out, Canova was probably drawn to the figure of Socrates via contemporary depictions of his death, such as JacquesLouis David’s The Death of Socrates, painted in 1787. Moreover, he may have seen Elizabeth Vigée-Lebrun’s portrait of his friend and partron, Carlo Gastone della Torre di Rezzonico, where the sitter is shown resting his hand on a large volume of the Phedo.180 It is also possible that he knew Cesarotti’s introduction to Plato’s Apology, where Socrates is celebrated as “the Martyr of natural religion,” Mazzocca, Serie dei Bassorilievi Rezzonico, in Il Neoclassicismo in Italia, pp. 518-20. 180

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Art, Religion and Society perché Febo mi disse: Io Fidia, primo, ed Apelle guidai con la mia lira.184

and as “the Saint of reason.” Interestingly, we learn that Cesarotti used to refer to his own teacher, Giuseppe Toaldo, as “il mio Socrate.”181 The nickname was rather apt since, as professor of mathematics, astronomy and Italian literature at the Seminary in Padua, Toaldo encouraged his students to study modern philosophy and to question traditional beliefs. Among his students’ obligatory readings was Giambattista Vico. In the Scienza nuova, Socrates is described both as a teacher of morality and as the inspirer of poets:182

The poet serves as the vehicle through which the immaterial “fantasmi” of imagination are brought to life, much as in Ingres’s contemporary painting The Dream of Ossian (1813). If Foscolo is often hailed as Vico’s ideal poetic heir, then Canova may be considered his heir in sculpture.185 Indeed, the qualities Vico attributed to the ideal modern poet — imagination, formal experimentation, disregard for convention, and sublimity — were exactly those that Pietro Giordani celebrated in Canova, and that the artist himself acknowledged as his principal guidelines.186 Contemporaries understood the poetic nature of Canova’s art, and responded to his statues with sonnets and ekphrastic letters, such as the numerous poetic compositions that greeted the arrival of the Venus and Adonis group, in 1795,187 or Giovanni Costa’s poem Voluptas patavinae Urbis ex anaglyptico opere Antonii Canovae of 1812. As Giovanni Gherardo De Rossi wrote on seeing Canova’s Homeric reliefs, “Il foco della poesia si comunica in certo modo all’arte sorella, e ne dirige la mano.”188 Cesarotti, too, replied to Canova’s praises of his translation of the Iliad in 1794, by complimenting the artist’s poetic abilities: “Tocca a Fidia, unito ad Apelle, vale a dire a Canova, a parlar d’Omero: tocca a quello che rappresentò con evidenza così sublime Pirro che uccide Priamo a dar sentenza d’Achille che uccide Ettore. Beato me se potessi lusingarmi che avesse a dirsi ch’io ho tradotto Achille da Omero com’ella tradusse Pirro da Virgilio.”189 For Cesarotti, Canova was fulfilling Vico’s injunction to poets: to instruct audiences by means of easily legible, idealized and philosophically profound scenes.

For the New Comedy portrays our present human customs, on which the Socratic philosophy had meditated, and hence, from the latter’s general maxims concerning human morals, the Greek poets, profoundly steeped in that doctrine […], could create certain luminous examples of ideal human types, by the light and splendour of which they might awaken common people, who are as quick to learn from convincing examples as they are incapable of understanding from reasoned maxims. According to Vico, poetry and philosophy are capable of stimulating mankind towards moral actions by recording the “luminous examples of ideal human types.” Socrates provides the ultimate exemplum virtutis, combining the figures of the Christian martyr and of the Enlightenment hero. From a Christian perspective, Socrates’ suffering in jail, punctuated by meetings with his disciples and with his female relatives, echoes Christ’s Agony in the Garden and the Stations of the Cross. From a philosophical viewpoint, he embodies the ideal virtues of the eighteenth century man: rationality, sense of duty, and self-sacrifice. Accordingly, Vico defines Socrates’ age as one when men were “valorous and just,” and exorts his readers to follow the Athenian’s example.183

These considerations, it seems, add another dimension to our understanding of Zulian’s museum. If Zulian was responsible for encouraging Canova to study ancient history and mythology, then, arguably, the echo of Vichian themes in Canova’s reliefs might indicate yet another discreet intervention on his part. These reliefs seem to point to the fact that by 1787 Canova was somehow aware of Vico’s theory of religion, marriage, and burial, as well as of his belief in the didactic role of poetry. A glance at the geographical diffusion of these plaster casts reveals another interesting point: between 1787 and 1791, they are recorded in the private collections of Prince Abbondio

A favourite theme in Neoclassical poetry, the idea of art and poetry as possessing the power to purify man’s baser instincts is central to Vincenzo Monti’s Musogonia (1793), Alessandro Manzoni’s Urania (1809), and, most famously, Ugo Foscolo’s Le Grazie (1812-13). Inspired by Canova’s Three Graces, Foscolo’s poem uses a richly metaphoric language to celebrate poetry’s capacity to tame brutality and to establish universal peace and harmony. In the prologue to his poem, Foscolo poses a famous paragone, claiming that the evocative powers of poetry are equal to those of painting and of sculpture. His is “un’arcana armoniosa melodia pittrice,” poetry rendered visible and almost tangible, as in Vico’s theory of “universali fantastici”:

U. Foscolo, Grazie (1812-23), vv. 24-27. On Vico and Foscolo, see G. Cambon, “Vico e Foscolo,” in Vico e Venezia (Florence, 1982), pp. 337-49. 186 G.B. Vico, Letter to Gherardo degli Angioli, 26 December 1725, in G.B. Vico, Opere, ed. R. Parenti (Naples, 1972), I, pp. 444-48. See G. Venturi, “Vincenzo Monti, gli intellettuali italiani e la polemica sulle arti in Francia,” in Ottava settimana di studi canoviani. Committenti, Mecenati, Collezionisti di Canova 3 (Francia, Inghilterra, Stati Uniti d’America), Bassano del Grappa, Possagno, Padova, 24-27 October 2006 (in process of publication). 187 Fardella, “Collezionismo privato,” esp. pp. 51-65. 188 G.G. De Rossi, “Lettera sopra tre bassorilievi recentemente modellati dall’illustre scultore Sig. Antonio Canova,” in Giornale Letterario di Napoli, 1795, 24, pp. 77-96, cited in Mazzocca, “Serie dei Bassorilievi Rezzonico,” in Il Neoclassicismo in Italia, p. 519. 189 M. Cesarotti, Letter to Antonio Canova, 21 February 1794, ibid. 184 185

Anch’io pingo e spiro a’ fantasmi anima eterna: 181 F. Samaritani, “Fra sensismo e razionalismo la filosofia del gusto di Cesarotti,” La Repubblica Letteraria Italiana. Letteratura e Lingua Italiana online. www.repubblicaletteraria.it. 182 Vico, NS, par. 808, p. 255. 183 Vico, NS, par. 243, p. 37.

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Figure 23. Giovanni Battista Piranesi, “View of the Venetian embassy in Rome,” in Varie vedute di Roma antica e moderna (Rome, 1748). Copperplate, 11.6 x 18.1 cm. Rezzonico (in Bassano del Grappa), of Antonio Cappello (in the Cappello apartment in the Procuratie Nuove), of Caterina Renier and Giovanni Falier (in Venice), and of Francesco Maria Berio (in Naples).190 It was in the Veneto and in Naples, then — and not in Milan, Florence or Rome — that Canova’s reliefs appear. Significantly, these two regions were also those where interest in Vico was most keen at the time, thanks to Antonio Conti and Carlo Lodoli’s publishing initiatives.

On November 29th of the following year, Zulian was formally appointed ambassador to the Holy See. News of his nomination stirred mixed feelings among his friends, for, as everyone knew, the office of ambassador entailed considerable financial burdens.192 During his posting in Rome from 1779 to 1783, Zulian was to incur substantial debts, which he was able to repay only thanks to his subsequent mandate to Constantinople. In Rome, Zulian resided in Palazzo Venezia, the Venetian embassy since 1564. The building was donated to the Serenissima by Pope Pius IV, in an attempt to improve diplomatic relations between the two States after the Peace of Cateau-Cambrésis.193 However, long before the XVI century, the site had been associated to Venice because of the presence of a Venetian ospedale, as well as of the Basilica of S. Marco and of the house of the titular cardinal.194 In 1455, the Venetian Pietro Barbo (later Pope Paul II) obtained permission to remodel the church and to expand the cardinal’s residence towards via Lata. Over the course of the XV century the building lost its character of a Medieval fortress and was transformed into an elegant Albertian palazzo, featuring a classical viridarium, frescoes by Mantegna and Bramante, and

Ambassador to Rome and Constantinople Writing to Clemente Sibiliato from Naples, on 31 December 1776, Zulian stated: Ella forse avrà inteso parlare di un’ambasciata, cui posso forse essere destinato. Tutto quello che vi è su questo di vero, vi è che Renier e Flangini ne hanno cominciato a discorrere, che a Venezia la voce si è dilatata senza mia saputa e che mi trovo alla vigilia di una destinazione, che però non mi disgusta perché si combina col vivere in una città che mi piace, l’avere un impiego senza afari.191

P. Del Negro, “La distribuzione del potere all’interno del patriziato veneziano del Settecento,” in I ceti dirigenti in Italia in età moderna e contemporanea, ed. A. Tagliaferri (Udine, 1984), pp. 311-37. 193 G. Cozzi, “Stato e Chiesa: vicende di un confronto secolare,” in Venezia e la Roma dei Papi, ed. G. Benzoni et al. (Milan, 1987), pp. 11-56. 194 From an Anonymous Life of Pope Eugene IV, in F. Hermanin, Il Palazzo di Venezia (Rome, 1948), p. 7. 192

“Son palais immense situé dans la rue de Tolède, est orné, avec beaucoup de goût, des bas-reliefs qui sont pour la plupart du célèbre Canova,” see A. Kotzebue, Souvenirs d’un voyage en livonie, à Rome et à Naples (Paris, 1806), p. 311, cited by Fardella, “Collezionismo privato,” p. 59, n. 113. 191 BCV, Epistolario Moschini 190

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Art, Religion and Society a central courtyard filled with ancient sculptures and inscriptions (Fig. 23).195 It is in this courtyard that Ulisse Aldrovandi noted the two heads of Fauns, which Zulian later moved to Venice; and here, too, that Carlo Monaldi installed a monumental fountain depicting Venice throwing a ring into the sea (1730) — a group Canova knew well, since his windows overlooked this section of the courtyard.196 In 1770, not long before Zulian’s arrival, his predecessor Niccolò Erizzo conducted further changes to the building, leading to the creation of the so-called Palazzetto Venezia in lieu of Paul II’s viridarium.

daughters led him to put an end to Zulian’s tradition of hosting dinner parties and offering hospitality to artists.200 Unlike Memmo, Zulian was free of family preoccupations. Following his own tastes and contemporary fashion, he could employ his wealth and time to the activities he most loved: the study and collecting of antiquities. On a first visit to Rome and Naples in the winter of 1776-1777, he spent several delightful weeks in “un continuo divertimento nell’osservazione delle bellezze.”201 But on his second and longer journey in 1779, he undertook a more thorough tour of the city’s monuments and collections, and began to collect antiquities with the advice of his protégés.202 His archaeological interests were encouraged by rapports with the circle of Venetian artists, restorers and antiquarians that gravitated around the Rezzonico family. Prince Abbondio Rezzonico, a nephew of Pope Clement XIII, as well as Senator of Rome since 1765, counted among Zulian’s closest friends at this time. A refined man of letters and collector in his own right, the prince had the fame of a great patron of the arts.203 In his salon in Palazzo Senatorio on the Capitol, the Roman haute société mingled with artists like Piranesi, Angelini, Quarenghi, Volpato, Novelli, Batoni, Kauffmann and Cavaceppi.204 Zulian and Rezzonico shared a similar sympathy towards artists, university professors and connoisseurs, in whose company they used to dine, pay visits to private collections, and make archaeological excursions to the Roman campagna (Fig. 24).

As a man of culture, Zulian could not have been unaware of the building’s importance. But aside from its historic and artistic associations, Palazzo Venezia had a particular significance to him since his great-uncle Priuli had once held the titularship of the adjoining Basilica. In light of this, Zulian’s active involvement with the building acquires a sharper focus. Soon after his arrival, he began to commission restorations of the antiquities kept in the palazzo — his first intervention dating to 26 November 1779, when he consulted Canova on the matter of “un basso rilevo che sta nel muro della terrazza” (the Museo Archeologico’s Mythras slaying a bull, Inv. 193). On December 3rd, he ordered the restoration of the “pié che sta[va] nel cortile.” Not content with this, in the spring of 1780 Zulian sponsored new excavations in the square facing the embassy.197 A letter to Sibiliato, dated June of that year, informs us that workmen in the cava discovered “una Diana con un cane,” a headless statue of Fortuna, several inscriptions, and fragments of a bronze statue, “che non manca di avere il suo pregio per l’antichità.”198 His affection for the building and his willingness to pay out of his own pocket for its embellishment and fruition is all the more apparent when one considers his habit of entertaining guests and of hosting young artists like Canova and Selva. According to Sibiliato, Zulian behaved like “un gran principe,” and although “l’entrate sue” were not comparable to the fortunes of the Pisani and the Manin, “largheggia[va] in lodevoli opere assai più di loro.”199 Zulian’s liberality was keenly missed after his departure. His successor, Andrea Memmo, disliked Palazzo Venezia, considering it too small and insufficiently furnished; moreover, his concern to provide dowries for his two

Arguably the leading personality among those who frequented Palazzo Venezia was Gavin Hamilton, the intellectual head of the English expatriate community in Rome since 1756.205 As Canova’s diary reveals, Zulian admired the Scottish painter and frequently consulted him on matters artistic and archaeological. Hamilton’s experience as an excavator in Tivoli, Ostia and Gabii, as well as his participation in the decoration of the Casino Borghese, lent his opinions much weight. Indeed, it was I would like to thank Hugh Honour for drawing my attention to this difference between the two men. 201 Zulian, Letter to Clemente Sibiliato, in Lettere inedited. It should be noted that to fund his first trip to Rome and Naples, Zulian was forced to sell some property; see Del Negro, “Tra politica e cultura,” op. cit., p. 113, n. 61. 202 Favaretto, “G. Zulian,” p. 31. 203 E. Noè, “Rezzonicum Cineres. Ricerche sulla collezione Rezzonico,” Rivista dell’Istituto Nazionale di Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte, III, 1980, 3, pp. 173-306. 204 On each of these artists, see bibliographies in three recent exhibition catalogues: Art in Rome in the Eighteenth Century, exh. cat., Philadelphia, Museum of Art, 16 March-28 May 2000, Houston, Museum of Fine Arts, 25 June-17 September 2000, ed. E. Peters Bowron and J.J. Rishel (Philadelphia and Houston, 2000); Il Neoclassicismo in Italia, op. cit.; Il Settecento a Roma, exh. cat., Rome, Palazzo Venezia, 10 November 2005-26 February 2006, ed. A. Lo Bianco and A. Negro (Milan, 2005). 205 On Gavin Hamilton, see A. Cesareo, “Gavin Hamilton (1723-1798): A Gentleman of Probity, Knowledge and Real Taste,” Saggi e memorie di storia dell’arte, 26, 2003, pp. 211-322; E. Debenedetti, Collezionismo e ideologia: artisti e teorici del classico e neoclassico. Studi sul Settecento Romano, 7 (Rome, 1991). On his activity as a dealer, see O. Rossi Pinelli, Il Secolo della ragione e delle rivoluzioni. Storia universale dell’arte UTET (Turin, 2000), p. 294, n. 56. 200

See “Il Palazzo di Venezia a Roma,” in Venezia e la Roma dei Papi, op. cit., pp. 57-73. 196 D. Bernini, “Canova a Palazzo Venezia,” in Sculture romane del Settecento, I. Studi sul Settecento Romano, ed. E. Debenedetti (Rome, 2001), pp. 245-59. 197 M.L. Casanova, Palazzo Venezia (Rome, 1992), p. 11. 198 The fragments now belong to the Museo Archeologico di Venezia, Inv. n. 279; see Statuario Pubblico, p. 294. 199 C. Sibilato, Letter to Saverio Bettinelli, Padua 29 October 1791, in Lettere del prof. Clemente Sibiliato pubblicate per le felicissime nozze del Nob. Conte Andrea Cittadella Vigodarzere I.R. Ciambellano colla Nob. Contessa Maria Arpalice Papafava Antonini dei Carraresi (Padua, 1838), p. 30. For a discussion of the wealth of the Pisani and the Manin, see Nani, Principi, op. cit., f. 42; Georgelin, Venise, op. cit., p. 498. 195

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Luisa Materassi : Girolamo Zulian équipe of painters, including Hamilton, Bénigne Gagneraux, Anton von Maron, Cristoph Unterberger, Domenico Corvi and Giuseppe Cades.208 Although Zulian departed before the project’s completion in 1793, he had the opportunity of following its middle stages and of gaining direct insight into the latest trends in Roman painting. Memories of the casino, together with those of Villa Albani and the Museo Pio-Clementino, reappear in the Neoclassical elements of his museum in Padua.209 As early as 5 November 1779, the day after his arrival in Rome, Canova was already walking through the Vatican museums with Zulian and Lodovico Rezzonico, admiring “l’Appolo, l’Aoconte, Antinoo, Paride, un certo imperadore vestito come Ercole et altre.”210 A couple of days later, he again accompanied the ambassador on a visit to the Capitol and, later, to the Tomb of the Scipios.211 With its accounts of Zulian’s lunches, afternoon outings, and dinner discussions on art and poetry, Canova’s diary would seem to point to the fact that the ambassador enjoyed “un impiego senza afari.” But in reality, as his entry dated 28 November 1779 shows, Canova only witnessed one side of his patron’s life: “io desinai col signor Foschi e un prete e altri signori perché l’Ambasciatore aveva pranzo nobile ove erano tutti li ambasciatori e molti cardinali.”

Figure 24. Giacomo Quarenghi, Ruins of the Temple of Vespasian with three figures, 1771-79. Drawing, pen and ink with grey wash, 54.5 x 39.4 cm. Venice, Gallerie dell’Accademia. thanks to his conditional approval of Canova’s Daedalus and Icarus, a cast of which was sent to Rome from Venice in 1780, that the young sculptor obtained the commission for the Theseus and the Minotaur.206 According to d’Este, throughout his life Hamilton was like a “second father” to Canova. The sculptor first admired Hamilton’s paintings in the Casino Borghese during a visit with his friend, Fontaine, on 15 November 1779. He described the building thus:

Zulian’s Relazione al Senato sulla politica pontificia e sui suoi rapporti con le potenze vicine, especialmente la Francia,212 and his Relazione del N. H. Girolamo Zulian Cav. Ritornato d’Ambasciata a Roma, il 25 ottobre 1783,213 reveal his sharp political insight into the state of the Papal government and the powerplays between enemy factions. Discussing the Pope’s finances, he claimed: Le cose interne dello Stato Pontificio sono nel più gran disordine e decadendo sempre, sempre più diminuisce di forze e di autorità quel Governo. O. Rossi Pinelli, “Scultori e restauratori a Villa Borghese: la tirannia delle statue,” in Collezionismo e ideologia. Studi sul Settecento Romano, ed. E. Debenedetti, 7 (Rome, 1991), pp. 259-71. A. Coliva, M. Minozzi, La stanza del Gladiatore ricostituita. Il capolavoro della committenza Borghese nel Settecento, Roma, Galleria Borghese (Milan, 2004). C. Paul, The Redecoration of Villa Borghese and the Patronage of Prince Marcantonio IV, Ph.D. diss. (Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania, 1989); S. Pasquali, “Gli architetti al servizio dei Borghese tra il 1775 e il 1856: Antonio Asprucci, Mario Asprucci e Luigi Canina,” in Villa Borghese. I principi, le arti, la città dal Settecento all’Ottocento, cat. exp. Roma, Villa Poniatowski, 2003-2004, ed. A. Campitelli (Milan, 2003), pp. 77-88. 209 M.T. Caracciolo, “La Rome de Canova,” in Antonio Canova e il suo ambiente artistico fra Venezia, Roma e Parigi, ed. G. Pavanello (Venice, 2000), pp. 157-91. See also Committenza della famiglia Albani: note sulla Villa Albani Torlonia, ed. E. Debenedetti (Rome, 1985); P. Liverani, “The Museo Pio-Clementino at the time of the Grand Tour,” Journal of the History of Collections, 12 (2000), n. 2, p. 151-59. 210 Canova, Scritti, op. cit., p. 56. 211 Zulian, 1839, p. 5, n. 1, pp. 21-22, n. 14. 212 BMC, P.D. 86/c; see also F. Antonibon, Le relazioni a stampa di Ambasciatori veneti (Padua, 1939), p. 108. 213 F. Antonibon, Le relazioni a stampa di ambasciatori veneti (Padua, 1939); L. von Ranke, Die römischen Päpste in den letzten vier Jahrhunderten, vol. III (Frankfurt, 1986), 224-225. 208

Andiedimo e, dopo aver fatto uno stradone nel mezzo a orti coltivatti, giunsimo ad un pallazzino […]. Si sale per una scalla ove si entra in una salla che sembra un paradiso, tuta incrostata di pietre bellissime con quattro belle statue antiche poste nelli locchi più adatti con un quasi dirò mausoleo di bella architetura […].207 In scope and expense, architect Asprucci’s remodelling of the palazzina for Prince Marcantonio IV Borghese was among the most ambitious decorative schemes of its time, lasting some twenty years and involving an international A. d’Este, Memorie della vita di Antonio Canova, ed. P. Mariuz (Bassano del Grappa, 1999), pp. 24-27. 207 Canova, Scritti, op. cit., p. 60. 206

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Art, Religion and Society L’erario è costituito in uno sbilancio rovinoso […] Tutta la interna amministrazione è governata da alcune Congregazioni della principale delle quali, ch’è detta del Buon Governo, è il Prefetto il Cardinal Casali […]. Tutte le massime e tutte le decisioni dipendono dall’arbitrio, o almeno dagli assensi del Santo Padre.214 His report also contained a clear analysis of Venetian influence within the Curia: Due sono presentamente i cardinali Nazionali, Rezzonico il Camerlengo, e Corner. Il primo, che si distingue per una pietà, che gli concilia la maggior venerazione del Popolo è imitato anche dal secondo nella riverenza, e nell’ossequio alla Vostra Signoria. Li Prelati Veneziani si riducono a quattro compreso Monsignor Archetti attualmente legato […] il quale e` suddito ancora dell’Imperatore.215 Venetian presence had rarely been so keenly felt in Rome as in the three preceding decades. In 1758, Cardinal Carlo Rezzonico, formerly Bishop of Padua, was elected Pope Clement XIII (Fig. 25). Following tradition, he immediately assumed a nepotistic policy and filled the government ranks with his relatives and friends. Among these was Zulian’s great-uncle, Anton Maria Priuli, who was nominated cardinal that same year. Clement XIII’s reign was decidedly more autocratic and conservative than that of his predecessor, Benedict XIV Lambertini.216 To counter the diffusion of the Enlightenment, he banned works like L’Émile, L’ésprit des loix and the Encyclopédie, and undertook a fierce battle against the Jansenist movement, led by Cardinal Passionei and Monsignor Bottari.217 In 1765, he issued a bull entitled Apostolicum pascendi munus, which was intended to stifle protests against ecclesiastical corruption and to combat the rise of jurisdictionalism throughout Europe; effectively, the bull increased the power of the Jesuits and reaffirmed the Pope’s

Figure 25. Anton Raphael Mengs, Portrait of Pope Clement XIII, 1758. Oil on canvas, 155 x 111.5 cm. Bologna, Pinacoteca Nazionale.

Antonibon, Le relazioni a stampa, op. cit. ibid. 216 On art and architecture under the reign of Benedict XIV, see D. Biagi Maino, Benedetto XIV e le arti del disegno, Atti del convegno internazionale di studi di storia dell’arte, Bologna 28-30 November 1994 (Rome, 1998); S. Borsi, Roma di Benedetto XIV: la pianta di Giovanni Battista Nolli, 1748 (Rome, 1993); E. Debenedetti, L’architettura da Clemente XI a Benedetto XIV: pluralità di tendenze, Studi sul Settecento romano, vol. 5 (Rome, 1989); F. Cocchetti, “Interventi architettonici di Benedetto XIV a Roma,” in L’Angelo e la città, exh. cat., ed. B. Contardi, M. Marcelli (Rome, 1987), pp. 185-86. 217 Cardinal Prospero Lambertini (later Pope Benedict XIV) was a close friend of Monsignor Giovanni Bottari, one of the leading figures of the Roman Jansenist movement. Together with cardinal Domenico Passionei and Cardinal Neri Corsini, Bottari was at the centre of Roman cultural circles between 1730s and 1760s. See E. Dammig, Il Movimento Giansenista a Roma nella seconda metà del secolo XVIII (Vatican, 1945); R. Paolozzi, “R. Mons. Giovanni Bottari e il circolo dei giansenisti romani,” in Annali della R. Scuola Normale superiore di Pisa, series II, vol. X, 1941, pp. 70-90, 199-220; A. Monferini, “Piranesi e Bottari, in Piranesi e la cultura antiquaria, Atti del convegno, 14-17 November 1979 (Rome, 1983), pp. 221-29. 214 215

Figure 26. Giuseppe Ceracchi, Pius VI, 1790. Marble, h. 76 cm. Genoa, Museo di Sant’Agostino. 172

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Figure 27. Vincenzo Feoli, The Statue Gallery in the Museo Pio Clementino at the Vatican, ca. 1770. Drawing, pen and ink with grey wash on paper, 51 x 80.5 cm. Vienna, Albertina. supreme right over investitures.218 The cultural climate relaxed under the more lenient pontificates of Clement XIV Ganganelli (1769-1775) and of Pius VI Braschi (1775-1799) (Fig. 26). Despite controversies surrounding the abolition of the Compagnia di Gesù in 1773 — a manoeuvre approved by Zulian and by Memmo — Rome witnessed a cultural revival thanks to the sponsorship of major building projects and to the inauguration of the Museo Pio-Clementino (1780) (Figs. 27-28).219

to these changes in perception. With their attention to the state of conservation, the presentation and the quality of works displayed in the city’s galleries, they capture the artistic preoccupations felt by the educated class to which Zulian belonged. It is difficult for us today, living in a culture of mass-produced images and at a time when the role of museums is undergoing radical revision, to gauge the visual and sociopolitical impact of the Papal museums at Canova’s time.220 Perhaps the best key into this world is provided by Giovanni Paolo Pannini’s Imaginary Gallery with views of ancient Rome (1757) (Fig. 29). Painted as a pendant to Pannini’s Gallery with views of modern Rome, the painting was commissioned by Étienne-François de Choiseul-Stainville, later duke of Choiseul (17191775), French ambassador to Rome from 1754 to 1757. It depicts an imaginary museum, filled with reproductions of Rome’s principal monuments and ancient sculptures: in the foreground, two artists sit copying the Dying Gaul from the Capitoline Museum; in the centre is a group of elegant connoisseurs, intent on examining a I century BC painting known as the Aldobrandini Wedding. Pannini has imagined a situation where the viewer is drawn progressively inwards, in a self-referential game of miseen-abîme: from the main space, formed by intersecting barrel-vaulted galleries where artists and connoisseurs stand, the eye is led to rest upon the views of the Basilica of Maxentius and of the Mausoleum of Costanza, where minuscule figurines strolling among the ancient ruins pose

The century had witnessed the birth of a string of Papal museums, from Clement XI Albani’s project of a Museo Ecclesiastico, to Clement XII Corsini’s Museo Capitolino (1734), Benedict XIV’s Museo Sacro (1756) and Clement XIII’s Museo Profano (1767). It is well known that the new institutions fed public awareness for art conservation, encouraged new museological approaches, and contributed to the formulation of a definitive canon of famous works of art. Canova’s notes in his diary are excellent testimony On Venetian jurisdictionalism, see G. Gullino, “Sebastiano Foscarini e il decreto del senato Veneto, 7 settembre 1754,” Archivio veneto, s. V, 92 (1971), pp. 51-74. 219 On art in Rome under Pius VI, see J. Collins, Papacy and Politics in Eighteenth-Century Rome. Pius VI and the Arts (Cambridge, 2004); La città degli artisti nell’età di Pio VI, ed. L. Barroero, S. Susinno (Rome, 2002); L. Barroero, “La pittura a Roma nel Settecento,” in La pittura in Italia. Il Settecento, ed. G. Briganti (Milan, 1990), pp. 383-463; Bénigne Gagneraux (1756-1795), un pittore francese nella Roma di Pio VI, exh. cat., ed. S. Laveissière, Rome, Galleria Borghese, Dijon, Musée des Beaux Arts (Rome, 1983). On the Museo Pio-Clementino, see G.P. Consoli, Il Museo Pio-Clementino: la scena dell’antico in Vaticano (Modena, 1996); P. Liverani, “The Museo Pio-Clementino at the time of the Grand Tour,” Journal of the History of Collections, 12/2 (2000), pp. 151-59. 218

W. Benjamin, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” in Illuminations, pp. 217-51; F. Haskell, The Ephemeral Museum (New Haven, 2000).

220

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Figure 28. Francesco Miccinelli, View of the Sala a croce greca in the Museo Pio Clementino at the Vatican, 1794. Preparatory drawing for an engraving, pen and grey wash, 52 x 69.3 cm. Vienna, Albertina.

Figure 29. Giovanni Paolo Pannini, Imaginary Gallery with Views of Ancient Rome, 1757. Oil on canvas, 171.1 x 229.9 cm. New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art. as subtle intimations of the role of the modern viewer. The artificiality of the implant is revealed by the presence of the Baroque curtain hanging from the ceiling, lifted as if for the first act of a performance. In a second it will fall down

again, covering the scene before our eyes, and leaving us to reflect upon what we have just glimpsed. Clearly, this is a painting about painting and about seeing, where the theme of visual penetration and knowledge thereby gained 174

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Figure 30. Teodoro Matteini, Prince Sigismondo Chigi visiting the Excavations at Porcigliano, 1792 (after Gaspare Landi, 1785). Oil on canvas, 74 x 92 cm. Castelfusano, Società “Castelfusano Prima” spa. is embodied in the figure of the young gentleman in green, who kneels before the Aldobrandini Wedding. He is like an apprentice anxious to discover some secret, silently assisted by the company of gentlemen behind him: their casual attitudes show that they have already gained the knowledge that the young man lacks, so their confident gaze turns to the viewer, as if to urge him to join in their research and to warn him of its difficulties.

known to him through his friends Abbondio Rezzonico, Marcantonio Borghese and Sigismondo Chigi (Fig. 30).222 They included Ennio Querino Visconti, Giuseppe Antonio Guattani, Giovanni Gherardo De Rossi, and Jean Baptiste Séroux d’Agincourt.223 Again, Canova’s diaries relate snippets of their conversations on architecture, restoration, excavations and classical literature. It would be wrong to regard such debates simply as the fashionable pursuits of a noble dilettante, and to ignore the crucial link between art and politics that every visitor to Rome experienced. Since late antiquity, the city had perennially been engaged in a game of self-presentation, with different popes exploiting art, architecture and urban

Pannini’s painting stands as a visual emblem for that widespread concern for preservation, presentation and scholarship, which characterized the century’s approach to antiquity. In this context, the inscription above the entrance of the Palazzo Nuovo reads like a general statement of principles: “CLEMENS XII PONT MAX ILLATIS IN HAS AEDES ANTIQVIS STATVIS MONVMENTISQUE AD BONARVM ARTIVM INCREMENTVM FONTEQVE EXORNATO PRISTINAM CAPITOLIO MAGNIFICENTIAM RESTITUENDAM CVRAVIT A.S. MDCCXXXIII.” The Roman cultural press played a crucial role in popularizing and disseminating the new ideas both within the Papal States and abroad. Already in 1740, the President de Brosses noted that one of Rome’s charms was that “tutto diviene materia di gazzettino.”221 Although papers like Il Giornale delle Belle Arti (1784-1788), Monumenti antichi inediti (1784-1789), and Memorie per le Belle Arti (1785-1788) only began to appear after Zulian’s departure from Rome, their contributors were well

222 On Sigismondo Chigi, see M.T. Caracciolo, “Un patrono delle arti nella Roma del Settecento: Sigismondo Chigi (1736-1793) fra Arcadia e scienza antiquaria,” henceforth “Un patrono delle arti,” in Borsellino, pp. 101-21; B. Cacciotti, “Le antichità dei Chigi nel Palazzo di famiglia al Corso dal XVII al XX secolo,” Bollettino d’Arte, 112, 2000, pp. 35-52. 223 Although the original intention seems to have been to create a single, grand newspaper covering all aspects of the arts in Rome, the project was rapidly abandoned as a result of political disagreements among the chief editors. The conservative Giornale delle Belle Arti, directed by the abbot Giuseppe Carletti and Raimondo Ghelli, had strong ties to the Vatican, while the more progressive Notizie enciclopediche and Memorie per le Belle Arti, directed by Guattani and De Rossi, pushed in favour of the reception of Enlightenment ideas from France. On the Roman art press, see Dall’erudizione alla politica. Giornali, giornalisti ed editori a Roma fra XVII e XX secolo, ed. M. Caffiero and G. Monsagrati (Milan, 1997); and L. Barroero, “Periodici storico-artistici romani in età neoclassica: le ‘Memorie per le Belle Arti’ e il ‘Giornale delle Belle Arti’,” in Roma,“il tempio del vero gusto”- La pittura del Settecento romano e la sua diffusione a Venezia e a Napoli. Atti del Convegno Internazionale di Studi (Salerno-Ravello 26-27 giugno 1997), ed. Enzo Borsellino, Vittorio Casale (Florence, 2001), pp. 91-99.

221 De Brosses, cited in A. Lo Bianco, A. Negro, “Roma Settecento: alle origini della modernità,” in Il Settecento a Roma, p. 21.

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Figure 31. Giovanni Battista Piranesi, View of the Port of Ripetta, from Varie vedute di Roma antica e moderna (Rome, 1748). Copperplate, 11 x 19.5 cm. planning as means to express personal, dynastic, and Statal ambitions. During the eighteenth century, this ideological dimension was embodied in the creation of the spectacular urban stages of Piazza del Popolo, Piazza di Spagna, the Fontana di Trevi, and the port of Ripetta (Fig. 31). These squares functioned as backdrops to the daily ceremonies and parades that marked the lives of the Roman Curia and nobility. Given his diplomatic functions, Zulian naturally took part in these social rituals. Occasions to display one’s visual culture would have included feasts at the embassy, during which modern apparati might be displayed and commented upon,224 or official visits to the Vatican museums (Fig. 32) and award ceremonies in the local academies. The annual Concorsi Clementini were especially grand occasions, since prizes were distributed on the Capitol against the breathtaking stage of the Roman forum.225 More than any other event, the concorsi symbolized Rome’s cultural pre-eminence and her role as “capitale universale ed eterna delle arti.”226

Zulian’s ambassadorial duties included cultivating friendly relations with Rome’s principal families. As Canova’s diary witness, Zulian was able to introduce the sculptor to the Barberini, Chigi, Mattei, Borghese, Odescalchi, Giustiniani, Colonna and Boncompagni Ludovisi, and to provide him with a recommendation to Rome’s chief painter, Pompeo Batoni. Zulian probably knew Batoni through his political mentor, Marco Foscarini, who had commissioned an allegorical painting depicting The Triumph of Venice in 1737-1740.227 Alternatively, the two men may have been introduced by Abbondio Rezzonico, whose magnificent portrait was painted in 1766, a year after his nomination to Senator of Rome (Fig. 33). Unfortunately, Zulian himself did not commission Batoni to paint his portrait, but he was responsible for introducing his successor, Andrea Memmo, to one of Batoni’s pupils, Giuseppe Pirovani. The resulting portrait is perhaps the most famous depiction of Memmo: it shows the sitter in his new robes of Provveditore di S. Marco, proudly holding a plan of the Prato della Valle and of the Venetian embassy in Constantinople (Fig. 34).228

224 In 1779, Zulian commissioned Giuseppe Subleyras and Francesco Piranesi to create an apparato for a party held at Palazzo Venezia; cf. Pasquali, op. cit. n. 65. 225 On the Accademia di San Luca, see C. Sisi, “L’educazione accademica,” in Maestà di Roma, pp. 279-81; Le “scuole mute” e le “scuole parlanti”: studi e documenti sull’Accademia di San Luca nell’Ottocento, ed. P. Picardi and P.P. Racioppi (Rome, 2002). On annual competitions, see Aequa Potestas. Le arti in gara a Roma nel Settecento, henceforth Aequa potestas, ed. A. Cipriani, exhib. cat., Rome, Accademia di San Luca, 22 September-31 October 2000 (Rome, 2000); A. Cipriani, “La pittura disegnata: i concorsi all’Accademia di San Luca,” in Maestà di Roma, pp. 439-49. 226 For a contemporary document of artistic rivalry between Rome and Paris, see Charles-Nicolas Cochin’s critique of the Roman school in Lettres à un jeune artiste peintre (Paris, 1774).

It was in Batoni’s drawing academy on the Capitol and in the adjoining Capitoline museum that Canova began to Proof of Zulian’s friendship with Marco Foscarini is found in a letter to Clemente Sibiliato, dated 1 November 1763, where Zulian claims that Foscarini’s memory would be “di compiacenza a tutti i buoni ed agli amatori dei buoni studi.” During the Senatorial crisis of 1761, Zulian sided with Foscarini’s tribunalist faction in defense of the Inquisitori di Stato and of the Consiglio dei Dieci. See Del Negro, “Tra politica e cultura,” p. 106. 228 On G. Pirovani’s Portrait of Andrea Memmo (1786), see A. Busiri Vici, “Andrea Memmo, ambasciatore di Venezia a Roma, ed i suoi ritratti quivi eseguiti,” in Strenna dei Romanisti (Rome, 1974), pp. 121-28. 227

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Figure 32. Bénigne Gagnereaux, Pius VI accompanying Gustav III of Sweeden on a visit to the Museo Pio-Clementino, 1786. Oil on canvas. Prague, National Gallery.

Figure 34. Giuseppe Pirovani, Portrait of Andrea Memmo, 1786. Oil on canvas. Present whereabouts unknown. Signed and dated at the base of the velvet cape: Joseph Pirovani/ Romae pinx. an 1786.

Figure 33. Pompeo Batoni, Portrait of Prince Abbondio Rezzonico, 1766. Oil on canvas, 297.5 x 196.5 cm. Private collection, deposited at the Museo Biblioteca Archivio of Bassano del Grappa. 177

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Figure 35. Achille Pinelli, Rome: scene of torture by strappado, 1833. Watercolour and pen, 41.2 x 58.4 cm. Rome, Apolloni Collection. copy “le statue e moltissimi [...] busti de’ filosofi antichi.”229 As Zulian’s friend, Abbot Ercole Bonaiuti, somewhat naïvely explained to the young sculptor, drawing after the antique was the basis of any artist’s education. Such was the official line of the Académie Royale in Paris and of the Accademia di San Luca in Rome. 230 The latter’s motto (aequa potestas) and its device of an equilateral triangle formed by a paintbrush, a chisel and a compass pointed to its presiding principle: to encourage an interdisciplinary approach to the arts of painting, sculpture, architecture, poetry and music.231 Though teaching was organized less rigorously than in the French Academy, the Accademia di San Luca enjoyed considerable prestige and guarded over the city’s reputation as the “ginnasio perenne e immutabile delle arti.”232

he encouraged Canova to take advantage of his three-year scholarship to study ancient ruins, copy classical sculptures, and acquire a gentleman’s classical education. As Jennifer Montagu commented, the topos of Roma caput mundi was to last well into the nineteenth century. Throughout the eighteenth century, Rome possessed a magnetic power, “drawing to herself artists from all over the world, while providing comparatively few major artists of her own.”233 Canova was the supreme example. Although a “suddito di Venezia” throughout his life even after the painful collapse of the Republic in 1797, he adopted Rome as his permanent residence and Muse. Like his patron, he would have agreed to Ennio Quirino Visconti’s definition of the city as “l’unico emporio del bello e il tempio del vero gusto […] la madre commune delle sacre dottrine e delle belle arti.”234 With its reactionary regime, its social inequalities, its plaguing poverty and daily executions, Rome was far from being “uno dei più illuminati [teatri] d’Europa,” as Visconti perhaps ironically claimed (Fig. 35). But Stendhal’s portrayal of Rome as “le salon le plus agréable de l’Europe” was certainly close to the truth

Zulian seems to have shared his contemporaries’ belief in the importance of drawing from the antique and in Rome’s resulting artistic superiority. Through Bonaiuti, Canova, Scritti, I, p. 57. This institution was founded in 1648, while the Académie Royale d’Architecture was founded in 1671. From the start, the French academic model was characterized by an extremely rigid structure and a high degree of professionalism. 231 See Aequa potestas, pp. IX-X; also L. Barroero and S. Susinno, “Roma arcadica capitale universale delle arti del disegno,” in Studi di Storia dell’Arte, 10 (Rome, 1999), pp. 89-178. 232 G.A. Guattani, cited by C. Sisi, Maestà di Roma, p. 279. 229 230

J. Montagu, Roman Baroque Sculpture. The Industry of Art (New Haven, 1989), p. 1. 234 E.Q. Visconti, Stato attuale della romana letteratura (1785). Visconti’s praise of modern Rome cleverly echoes that of Athens by Perikles, see Thucydides, The Peloponnesian War, ed. W. Blanco and J. Tolbert Roberts (New York and London, 1998), Book 2, pp. 34-46. 233

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Luisa Materassi : Girolamo Zulian experienced by Canova and Zulian.235 Whatever the reality behind Rome’s endless mystifications, there is no question that, to most foreigners, the city held seemingly endless opportunities for entertainment and instruction. Following the expiration of his mandate, Zulian returned to Venice in the spring of 1783 and delivered a brilliant political report to the Senate.236 On the strength of his diplomatic success and thanks to support from his friends at the University of Padua, he was elected bailo to Constantinople. The position was among the most coveted offices of the Republic, given the lucrative possibilities offered by trade with the Levant. To Zulian, the bailaggio held both the promise of clearing the debts incurred in Rome, and of enlarging his collection in a land rich in classical sites. He sailed off on 22 August 1784, on the warship San Giorgio, with sixhundred other passengers, including the antiquarian Jean-Baptiste Lechevalier and the eminent naturalist, Lazzaro Spallanzani.237 During his three and a half years in Constantinople, from 1784 to 1788, he lived in the Venetian embassy at Pera. The building had undergone major renovation under Andrea Memmo, who had preceded him in the post of bailo (Figs 36-37).238 Two watercolours by Grisostomo Orlowski, now in the Archivio di Stato di Venezia, show its front and rear facades. The front was clearly inspired by Venetian villa architecture, with particular reference to Giorgio Massari’s neo-Palladian Villa Cordellina at Montecchio (17351760).239 The back featured a catholic mix of Florentine bugnato, Palladian triangular roofing, and Turkish pavilion architecture. Arguably, Memmo himself was responsible for the project, for the windows recall those of the convent of San Francesco della Vigna, designed by Lodoli in the 1750s.

Figures 36-37. Grisostomo Ortowski, The front and back façades of the Venetian embassy at Pera, Constantinople, second half of the XVIII century. Watercolour and pen. Venice, Archivio di Stato.

Throughout his stay in the Levant, Zulian busied himself with acquiring antiquities via agents in Ephesus and Smyrna. No doubt, his friend Giacomo Nani supplied him with precious advice, but he also relied on Marie-GabrielFlorent-Auguste, comte de Choiseul-Gouffier, French ambassador to Constantinople from 1784 to 1792. By a curious coincidence, Zulian and he had followed similar paths: both shared a passion for archaeology and for cartography, had sponsored important publications, and had been elected academicians in recognition of their services to culture. As we saw, Zulian was nominated honourary member of the Academy of Padua in 1781, in thanks for his sponsorship of Giovanni Valle’s map of Padua.240

Choiseul, in turn, embarked on a long journey through the Aegean in 1776, as a member of the marquis de Chambert’s scientific expedition in the Eastern Mediterranean, which aimed at tracing a nautical map of the Aegean and of the coasts of Asia Minor. During their stopover in Athens in 1781, Choiseul and his collaborators made plaster casts and drawings of the sculptures on the Acropolis; they also acquired a section of the Eastern frieze and one of the Southern metopes of the Parthenon, depicting the Fight between the Lapiths and the Centaurs. Volume I of his Voyage pittoresque en Grèce, containing an account of his tour by land and sea, was published in 1778 and earned him entry into the Académie des inscriptions (1782) and the Académie française (1783).241 The following year, he was appointed ambassador to Constantinople.

Stendhal, Promenades dans Rome, cited in B. Riccio, “Roma cosmopolita: galleria di ritratti,” in Maestà di Roma, pp. 419-36. 236 BCV, P.D. 86/c and F. Antonibon, Le relazioni a stampa di Ambasciatori veneti (Padua, 1939), p. 108. 237 P. Mazzarello, Costantinopoli 1786: la congiura e la beffa. L’intrigo Spallanzani (Turin, 2005). 238 T. Bertele, Il palazzo degli ambasciatori di Venezia a Costantinopoli e le sue antiche memorie (Bologna, 1932); Torcellan, Una figura, pp. 15455; Brusatin, Venezia nel Settecento, p. 127, figs. 105, 107-8. 239 Muraro, Marton, Venetian Villas, pp. 428-35. 240 Del Negro, “Tra politica e cultura,” op. cit., pp. 97-128. 235

M.-G.-F.-A. de Choiseul-Gouffier, Voyage pittoresque dans l’empire ottoman, en Grèce, dans la Troade, les isles de l’Archipel et sur les côtes de l’Asie Mineure (Paris, 1782, 1809, 1822). 241

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Art, Religion and Society Zulian and the Freemasonry

Choiseul himself was a talented amateur engraver and counted on a team of artists to conduct archaeological investigations on his behalf. In 1786 and 1787, his secretary, Jean-Baptiste Le Chevalier, travelled to the Troad to gather information for a scholarly description of the region: here, he identified the site of the Homeric Troy with the modern town of Bournabachi, and claimed to have found the tombs of Edyetes, Ilus, Ajax, Hector, Achilles, Patroclus and Antilochus. Le Chevalier’s dissertation appeared in the third volume of the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, embellished by maps and several tables of inscriptions. As a letter informs us, the Venetian ambassador was among the first to receive a copy from Choiseul.242 That same year, Zulian journeyed to the Troad with his secretary, Camillo Giacomazzi, observed local customs, visited classical monuments, and purchased antiquities. His chief aim was to see the original site of Troy and to recite his friend Melchiorre Cesarotti’s recent translation of the Iliad from the valley of the Scamander. One cannot help but recall Foscolo’s verses in Dei Sepolcri (1806), addressed to another of Zulian’s friends, Ippolito Pindemonte:

A deeper bond between Zulian and Choiseul would have been less noticeable to most contemporaries: they both belonged to the Freemasonry. We do not know at what date Zulian entered the Venetian Lodge “Fidelité”: although Del Negro argues that he must have joined in 1784, certain elements lead us to anticipate the date by several years, possibly even to 1772. The first secure documents relating to Zulian’s involvement with the Freemasonry date to after 9 May 1785, when the Republic suddenly decided to ban the organization, ordering the police to storm a meeting at its headquarters in rio Marin. According to one version of the story, Zulian was partly to blame for the discovery of the lodge, for he appears to have forgotten a bundle of secret documents in his gondola, allowing the police to discover the precise site of the meetings.247 However, as Renata Targhetta convincingly argued, it seems probable that the State envisaged a repressive measure long before, and only waited for the right opportunity to arise so as to make a public show of force, directed against both Joseph II and any possible political dissident.

Felice te che il regno ampio de’ venti, Ippolito, a’ tuoi Verdi anni correvi! E se il piloto ti drizzò l’antenna Oltre l’isole egèe, d’antichi fatti Certo udisti suonar dell’Ellesponto I liti, e la marea mugghiar portando Alle prode retèe l’armi d’Achille Sovra l’ossa d’Aiace.243

“Fidelité” (otherwise known as “La vera luce”) was one of the two lodges operating in Venice in the second half of the century. The first lodge, known as “Union” (n. 439), was founded by Secretary of Senate Pier Antonio Gratarol in the 1760s; it followed Anderson’s Scottish ritual, welcomed foreigners and Jews, and used to hold meetings in corte Ca’ da Mosto, at S. Marcuola. “Fidelité,” instead, was founded by members of the Strict Observance and was led by the Venerable Marquess Michele Cessa, a Neapolitan exile, who had formerly taught novices in the lodge of Verona. Although little is known of the community’s activities, it appears that Cessa coordinated rapports between the Northern and Southern Italian lodges, and kept up contacts with Ignaz von Born, Great Master of “Zur Wahren Eintracht” in Vienna.248 He was also responsible for monitoring that the brotherhood obey Jean-Baptiste Willermoz’s rectified regime, which was established at the Convent national des Gaules in Lyons in 1778, and was accepted by most Italian lodges.249 Meetings took place in a house owned by Alvise Contarini, in rio Marin, in the contrada di S. Simeone Grande (Fig. 38). According to Targhetta’s analysis of “Fidelité”’s social composition, a large percentage of members belonged to the nobility,

Zulian’s enthusiasm for these lands breaks through the pages of his correspondence with Sibiliato. But at the same time his letters reveal a growing nostalgia for Padua, for his circle of friends, and for a world of quiet contemplation.244 On 18 July 1788, writing from Bujugdare, he claimed: “ho molta fiducia per altro di non restar qui oltre il mese di ottobre per poscia tradurmi a Padova il più presto che sia possibile, giacché quell’ozio è necessario alla mia salute ed alla stanchezza da cui sono abbattuto.”245 Again, on October 3rd, he expressed his longing for “il clima, la quiete e gli amici” in Padua.246 Finally, in autumn 1788, he was able to embark on a long and perilous sea journey through Turkey and Greece. In Athens, Zulian stopped to winter and acquire antiquities, and met Choiseul’s agent, Louis-François-Sebastien Fauvel. From then on, Fauvel was to become one of his chief agents in the Levant. After a near-shipwreck off the Adriatic coast, he finally arrived in Venice in the spring of 1789 and settled in Padua, renting an apartment in via San Francesco from Donna Cornelia Dolfin Gradenigo.

BMCV, Mss. Correr 968: Dissertazione di tutto ciò fu operato per l’estirpazione de’ liberi muratori in Venezia, li 20 maggio 1785, per Ordine Supremo, con le principali loro massime divise in 12 capitoli. Con altre distinte relazioni, inventario di tutto ciò che si trovò nel sopraluogo di mobili ed effetti, i quali tutti furono abbrugiati nel cortile ducale, li 23 maggio 1785. Distinta nota di tutti quei soggetti, al numero di 45, che furono ritrovati in azione al momento dell’invasione li 10 maggio 1785. 248 Von Born was the model for the character of Sarastro in Die Zauberflöte; see E. Zellweker, Das Urbild des Sarastro, Ignaz von Born (Vienna, 1953); K. Thomas, The Masonic Thread in Mozart (London, 1977). On the Bavarian and Austrian “Enlightened,” which included Goethe, Mozart and Herder, see C. Francovich, Storia della massoneria in Italia, dalle origini alla Rivoluzione francese (Florence, 1975), pp. 309-28. 249 Targhetta, Massoneria veneta, pp. 74-75. 247

BCV, Cod. Cicogna 3166/7. U. Foscolo, Dei Sepolcri (Milan, 1806), vv. 213-20. 244 BMV, G. Zulian Ambasciatore a Roma e Balio a Costantinopoli, Codice Cicogna, 750/XI; Lettere del Cav. G. Zulian, pp. 43-44. 245 Zulian, Lettere inedite, op. cit., p. 15. 246 Zulian, Lettere inedite, op. cit., p. 17. 242 243

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Figure 38. Anonymous Austrian painter, Meeting in a Masonic lodge in Vienna, 1786. Oil on canvas. Vienna, Museen der Stadt. the Church, and the high civil service. Unlike the more democratic “Union,” “Fidelité” had an elitist character and a chivalric vocation.250

What were the reasons that led Zulian to join the Freemasonry, and had his militancy any influence on his approach to art? On the ideological and cultural level, many of the movement’s guidelines were the same as those professed by the Enlightenment thinkers Zulian admired. In particular, he would have been drawn to the movement’s concept of a lay State, which respected man’s freedom of thought and expression and practiced religious, racial, and cultural tolerance; to the notion of man’s eternal quest for happiness and perfection; to the importance of education and of solidarity among human beings, as weapons in the metaphysical fight between Truth and Ignorance, Light and Darkness; to the idea that, by nature, man is a political animal, no longer subject to an all-powerful and hostile deity or worldly authority, but capable of taking life in his hands and forging his future through work; and, finally, to the deist vision of God as Logos, Nomos, Light and Truth, an essence overseeing the course of events, essentially One, although possessing different names according to Its worldly manifestations.

The precise number of members of “Fidelité” is a matter of dispute, but at the time of its closure, the lodge certainly included Michele Cessa, Francesco Battagia, Alvise Morosini, Alvise and Angelo Querini, Andrea Tron, Girolamo Ascanio Giustiniani, Anzolo Falier, Bernardo Memmo, and Giovanni Pindemonte. According to Abbot Gennari, “il cavalier Zuliani” held the position of Treasurer and was responsible with administering a sum of ca. 5000 ducats.251 Surprisingly, the Senate did not take legal action against its members. It simply confiscated their furniture and books and made a public bonfire in the courtyard of Palazzo Ducale. Onlookers were told that they were the work of the devil, and that the State had discovered a band of sorcerers. After the initial stir caused by this news, life resumed normally; in fact, shortly thereafter Zulian left to assume his post as bailo in Constantinople, while other “brothers” tranquilly pursued their political careers. They were never forced to renege their faith, contrary to what occurred after the Austrian take-over of Venice.

Not surprisingly, many of Zulian’s cultural models, close friends and acquaintances were Freemasons or Masonic sympathizers. Starting from Antonio Conti and Scipione Maffei, the list includes Andrea252 and Bernardo Memmo,

As Targhetta points out, the chivalric nature of the lodge should be seen in relation to the Prussian Baron von Haugwitz, who resided in Venice between 1774 and 1777. He was the founder of a Masonic sect that mingled Christian pietism and elements of theosophy; op. cit., p. 81, n. 22. 251 G. Gennari, “Notizie sulle logge massoniche nel territorio della Dominante, 12 May 1785,” in Notizie giornaliere, p. 377, cited in Targhetta, Massoneria veneta, p. 163. 250

Although Andrea’s name does not appear in any official list, his friendship with Francesco Algarotti, Giacomo Casanova and Angelo Querini, his closeness to the English circle of Joseph Smith, as well as his lifelong interest in architecture all strongly suggest that he was a Freemason; see Targhetta, Massoneria veneta, p. 32, n. 56; P. Molmenti, “Un nobil huomo veneziano del secolo XVIII,” in Epistolari veneziani del secolo XVIII (Naples, 1914), p. 127. 252

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Art, Religion and Society che in Padova assorbiva i Veneziani. Il bel cielo di Padova, l’ampiezza delle sue strade, il tumulto da una parte, la solitudine dall’altra, contribuivano a dare agli spiriti una certa energia, una libertà, che i patrizi veneziani non godevano nella capitale.256

Angelo Querini, Girolamo Ascanio Giustinian, Marco Carburi, Clemente Sibiliato, Melchiorre Cesarotti, Giuseppe Toaldo, Simone Stratico, and Girolamo de Lazara. Unlike their French and English brothers, Venetian Freemasons did not rest hope in a radical revolution. Most of them belonged to the aristocratic elite and had little interest in modifying the status quo. Their endorsement of Masonic faith was based upon the desire to broaden their horizons and escape from the cultural isolation in which Venice’s strict regulations forced them. Venetian noblemen were legally forbidden from entertaining rapports with foreign diplomats and intellectuals, so as to avoid “contamination” from revolutionary and atheist ideas. Thus, membership in a lodge often represented the only way of meeting foreign politicians and thinkers and obtaining unbiased news. Angelo Querini, for example, travelled to Switzerland to meet de Sausseur, Lavater and Voltaire, and planned to visit Benjamin Franklin in Paris, no doubt exploiting his Masonic connections.253 As for Casanova, who was initiated in Lyons in 1750, he claimed that “ogni giovane che viaggia, che vuol conoscere il mondo, che non vuol essere inferiore agli altri e escluso dalla compagnia dei suoi coetanei, deve farsi iniziare alla massoneria, non fosse altro per sapere almeno superficialmente cos’è.”254

Thanks to the presence of its famous University and to its geographic situation between Lombardy, Venice and the Po valley, Padua functioned as a crossroads for goods, travellers, and ideas. Giuseppe Toaldo’s Osservazioni meteorologiche (1766-1804) are excellent sources of information concerning public festivities, notable deaths, institutional changes, and local weather, and provide eyewitness accounts of royal passage and Papal visits. To take but a few examples, on 22 July 1769 Toaldo recorded that “L’Imperatore Gioseffo II capitò a Padova alle ore 17; partì a 19 1/2; vide il Santo, l’Orto Botanico, il Salone, il Bue”; on 26 January 1782, “Annottarono in Padova la passata notte (alla Locanda dell’Aquila d’oro al Santo) li Granduchi di Moscovia Paulo e Maria Teodora sotto nome di Conti del Nord”; on 13 May 1782, “Alle 23h entrò per la porta Savonarola la Santità di Pio VI Braschi … venuto per la strada di Verona e Vicenza di ritorno da Vienna.”257 These events represented opportunities to renew contacts, discuss political and economic schemes, and exchange personal favours. Surely this explains also why Zulian’s friend and fellow-Freemason Sigismondo Chigi chose to spend his political exile in Padua, where he died in May 1793.258

In June 1780, Zulian himself made a journey to Freney to pay homage to the aged Voltaire, and on that occasion befriended the naturalist Charles Bonnet.255 Although he never travelled to Paris or London, he clearly felt the need to broaden his horizons. After his retirement, he chose to settle in Padua, a city not only rich in cultural life but which had also become the principal centre of Masonic activities in the Veneto. After the brutal repression of the rio Marin lodge, the movement’s leadership had shifted from Venice to the provinces. The atmosphere in the capital was stifling, due to the continual demands of etiquette and public life. As noted by an impartial observer in 1787:

Undoubtedly, Padua’s chief attraction in Zulian’s eyes was its lively culture of literary salons, where he and his friends could discuss politics and contemporary philosophy freely. As the Enlightened envoy, Friedrich Münter, observed during his stay in Padua in 1784: “Qui è come a Göttingen, le donne imparano a parlare anch’esse di letteratura e studi, poiché sentono parlare di ciò sempre e ovunque.”259 Indeed, during the 1770s and 1780s, the city was home to three intelligent and decisive muses: the Countesses Arpalice Papafava, Francesca Capodilista, and Leopoldina de Ferri von Starhemberg. While the Papafava salon was known for being radical, atheist, Francophile and anti-Venetian,260 the atmosphere at palazzo Capodilista was more moderate, and guests included churchmen, politicians, conservative professors, free thinkers and

Che cosa dunque trovarono in Padova i Veneziani per la fiera del Santo? Trovavano se medesimi. Ma ivi né toga né parrucca né tabarro per gli uomini, né le gentildonne erano obbligate uscendo a piedi avvilupparsi nel nero zendaletto. Non v’essendo legame d’offici pubblici ognuno era padrone dell’intera giornata. Visite, giuochi, caffè, pranzi, corse, teatro, cavalchine (così chiamavano i balli) e poi caffè, giuochi e cene, e in mezzo a tutte queste dissipazioni intrighi d’ogni genere, nuove del mondo, delle città, de’ particolari: ecco il caos

G. Compagnoni, Memorie autobiografiche (Milan, 1927), p. 105, cited in Targhetta, “Considerazioni sulla composizione sociale degli iscritti alle logge venete del Settecento,” in Architettura e massoneria, pp. 61-72, n. 16. 257 Lorenzoni, “Ricordi,” esp. pp. 291-306. 258 In 1781, Sigismondo Chigi published an anonymous poem, entitled Dell’Economia naturale e politica. Dedicated to Peter Leopold, Granduke of Tuscany, the poem contained the proposal for a political reform inspired by Masonic philosophy; in the frontespice, representing the Artemis of Ephesus, the engraver Pietro Antonio Novelli made use of Masonic symbology. See Caracciolo, “Un patrono delle arti,” pp. 101-21. 259 F. Münter, Aus des Tagenbüchen Friedrich Münters. Wander- und Lehr-jahre eines dänischen Gelehrten, ed. Ø. Andreasen, I (Kopenhagen, Leipzig, 1937), p. 160, cited in Targhetta, Massoneria veneta, p. 59, n. 19. 260 G. Monteleone, “Riflessi della rivoluzione francese nella terraferma veneta. Il caso padovano (1789-1797),” Archivio Veneto, series V, CXXXIII (1989), pp. 201-54; Cristofanelli, Della coltura padovana, pp. 81-86. 256

G. Festari, Giornale del viaggio nella Svizzera fatto da Angelo Querini, senatore Veneto nel 1777 descritto dal Dottore … di Valdagno, ed. C. Cicogna (Venice, 1835). 254 G. Casanova, Storia della mia vita, ed. P. Chiara, F. Roncoroni, I (Milan, 1983), pp. 745-46, 1215; cit. in Targhetta, Massoneria veneta, p. 48. 255 Zulian, Lettere inedite, p. 6, cited in Del Negro, “Tra politica e cultura,” p. 109. This meeting would help to explain Zulian’s subsequent patronage of Lazzaro Spallanzani, who was influential in assuring the success of Bonnet’s Contemplation de la Nature (1764-1765). As discussed above, Spallanzani accompanied Zulian to Constantinople in 1784. 253

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Luisa Materassi : Girolamo Zulian “jacobines.” Concerning Francesca Capodilista, Girolamo Polcastro remarked, “Non vi era forestiere di condizione, o uomo di lettere che non volesse conoscerla, e che non si facesse un pregio di essere del suo circolo. Ma una donna di questa spezie è necessaria spezialmente in una città, ove come in questa fioriscon li studi.”261 The Capodilista circle included many of Zulian’s closest friends and acquaintances, most of whom either belonged to or had contacts with the Paduan lodge “L’amore del prossimo.” Sibiliato, Cesarotti and Toaldo were pupils of Antonio Conti, whose sympathy for (if not actual membership in) an early Venetian lodge is confirmed by his close ties to the mother-lodges in London (Desaguiliers, the Duke of Montagu, Ramsay, Bolingbroke) and in Paris (comte de Caylus, Montesquieu, Voltaire).262 Another guest, Marco Carburi, was an influential figure in Masonic and Rosacrucian circles, thanks to his expertise in alchemy, hypnosis, physiognomics and his theories concerning the trasmigration of souls. He apparently travelled to Sweden to meet the mystic Emanuel Swedenborg, and assisted baron von Wächter when the latter stopped in Padua in 1777 to found a lodge.263 As for Countess Capodilista’s son, Alberto Fortis, who was described as a “scandaloso prete e framassone” in 1796, the fact that he succeeded Giovanni Scola (another well known Mason) as principal editor of the Giornale enciclopedico in Vicenza, suggests that he already belonged to the craft in 1782.264 Indeed, the newspaper’s directress, Elisabetta Turra Caminer, was one of the principal leaders of the lodge in Vicenza, and was suspected of hosting secret meetings in her suburban villa on the mountains, after the official ban in 1785.265

latter, especially after their ban in 1785, that she was hauled before the Inquisitori di Stato on the charge of encouraging subversive activities (1793).266 The suspicion was no doubt true, since Leopoldina was ostensibly acting as an agent for Joseph II, who aimed at extending his influence over the crumbling Republic and channelling anti-Venetian sentiment towards Austria. However, both her plea of loyalty to the monarchy and her powerful foreign protectors caused the accusation to be dropped, allowing her to resume her Masonic activities. Another well-known Masonic meeting place was Pietro Brandolese’s bookshop, founded in 1776.267 Venetians and foreigners used to meet here to discuss current events, contemporary philosophy and reform. It appears that even Goethe stopped at Brandolese’s shop during his trip through Italy in 1786. According to Caburlotto, Goethe’s incognito was dispelled when he asked for a volume of Palladio — a standard signal of recognition among Freemasons.268 In 1790, Brandolese founded a “Society for Reading Gazettes and Newspapers,” modelled on French debating clubs. Its eighty members included Girolamo Zulian, Giovanni and Girolamo de Lazara, Alvise Morosini, Sebastiano Zen, Matteo Franzoia, and Simone Stratico — all, needless to say, Freemasons. According to surviving police reports, the group was suspected of favouring revolution and of welcoming escapees from the dismantled lodges. Once again, these suspicions were not entirely incorrect. Following the fall of the Republic in April 1797, both Girolamo de Lazara and Simone Stratico occupied important posts in the democratic municipality, while Pietro Brandolese was described as one of those “teste vulcaniche ed esaltate” who held inflammatory speeches in favour of the French occupation.269 In view of this, one wonders how much of Brandolese’s dedication of the Guida di Padova (1795) to Girolamo Zulian must be imputed to their secret brotherhood, rather than to their common interest in art and topography.270

The same group of people also frequented the salon of Leopoldina de Ferri. Born Leopolda von Starhemberg, she was the daughter of Count Guido and Maria Innocenzia von Auersperg, lady-in-waiting to Empress Maria Theresa. On marrying Count Giovanni Giuseppe de Ferri, she brought a welcome whiff of Habsburg wind into Paduan salons. A personal friend of Granduke Peter Leopold (later Leopold II), she shared his reformist spirit and sympathized with the Jansenists, the Rosicrucians, the Bavarian Enlightened and the Freemasons. So public was her support for the

On the other hand, promoting education and art was a central part of Freemasons’ mission. As André-Michel Ramsay claimed in 1730, the enlightened man must practice four principal duties: wise philantropy, pure morals, inviolable secrecy, and the love of arts:

L. Olivato, “Tradizionalismo, eversione e rinnovamento tipologico nell’edilizia tra ‘700 e ‘800,” in Padova. Case e palazzi, ed. L. Puppi, F. Zuliani (Vicenza, 1977), p. 186, cited in Targhetta, Massoneria veneta, p. 58, n. 19. On Girolamo Polcastro (1763-1839), see Cristofanelli, Della coltura padovana, pp. 35-53; L. Rizzoli, Napoleone Bonaparte a palazzo Polcastro ora De Benedetti (Padova, 2 maggio 1797) (Padua, 1930), esp. pp. 10 and 16. 262 On Conti’s rapports with the Freemasonry, see Targhetta, Massoneria veneta, pp. 28-32. 263 On Carburi, see S. Chiogna, “Carburi Marco,” in Dizionario biografico degli italiani, XIX (Rome, 1976), pp. 713-25. 264 On cultural life in Padua in the second half of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth century, see Caburlotto, “Private passioni,” pp. 123-217. 265 On the Giornale enciclopedico, see R. Saccardo, La stampa periodica veneziana fino alla caduta della Repubblica (Padua, 1942), and Giornali veneziani del Settecento, ed. M. Berengo (Milan, 1962); M. Berengo, “Il salotto di Elisabetta Turra Caminer,” in Vicenza illustrata (Vicenza, 1976); Targhetta, Massoneria veneta, pp. 66-67, 164-65. 261

Tous les Grands Maîtres en Allemagne, en Angleterre, en Italie et par toute l’Europe exortent tous les savants et tous les artistes de la confraternitée de s’unir pour fournir les matériaux d’un Dictionnaire universel de tous les Arts libéraux et de toutes les Sciences utiles, la théologie et la politique seules exceptées L. Ferri de Lazara, Un album di famiglia (Padua, 2006), pp. 10-13. On Pietro Brandolese, see P.L. Bagatin, “Pietro Brandolese. Un libraio giacobino,” in Del genio de’ lendinaresi per la pittura e di alcune pregevoli pitture di Lendinara, ed. V. Sgarbi (Rovigo, 1990), esp. pp. 307-16. 268 Palladio was considered the restorer of classical architecture; see Caburlotto, “Private passioni,” p. 134. 269 Caburlotto, “Private passioni,” p. 144, n. 164. 270 Caburlotto, “Private passioni,” pp. 134 and 140. 266 267

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Art, Religion and Society … De cette façon on réunira les lumières de toute les nations dans un seul ouvrage qui sert comme un magazin général et une bibliothèque universelle de ce qu’il y a de beau, de grand, de lumineux, de solide et d’utile dans tous les arts nobles.271

accordate all’ingegno (forse per interna compiacenza d’umiliarlo provandogli di avere egli duopo di essere soccorso dal potere e dalla ricchezza), ecco le colonne sopra cui s’innalza questo pigmeo.276 Isabella had the grace of not naming the recipient of her venomous attack. But few could have doubted as to the identity of her victim: for which other “grande” had sponsored Venetian artists on the scale that Zulian had done with Canova? Isabella’s annoyance no doubt arose from the fact that she could not claim to have discovered the “new Phidias.”

Throughout his life, Zulian took these words to heart. One can picture his pleasure on meeting Luigi Lanzi in Padua in 1793 through his friends, Pietro Brandolese and Giovanni de Lazara. The two men were engaged in writing an inventory of the paintings present in local churches, and put their expertise at Lanzi’s disposal during the latter’s residence in Padua, where he hoped to gather information for his monumental Storia pittorica dell’Italia (1795).272 Since Zulian and the de Lazara brothers lived a mere two blocks away from each other, it is likely that the four men met on numerous occasions to discuss Lanzi’s Storia and to admire Zulian’s growing collection. A letter from Zulian to Canova, dated February 1793, which proudly refers to “l’onore … di molte visite,” might refer to just such an occasion.273

Canova himself was crushed by the news of Zulian’s death. In memory of his protector and of his own humble beginnings, he later instituted an anonymous scholarship to allow art students to spend one to three years studying antiquities in Rome.277 As President of the Accademia d’Italia under Napoleon, Canova insisted that the French government adopt a similar strategy. We know from his dispatches to the French surentendency that he took his mission at heart, and often assisted students with his own resources, when funds from the government were not forthcoming. Among the many artists who enjoyed Canova’s help was Francesco Hayez, whom Giuseppe Mazzini hailed as “il capo della scuola di pittura storica che il pensiero nazionale reclamava in Italia.”278 If one may draw an ideal line between Zulian, Canova and the subsequent generation of Roman artists, then Zulian’s contribution to promoting the two major trends in nineteenth century art — neoclassical sculpture and historical painting — appears all the more important.

Conclusion It is time to draw a final assessment of Zulian’s figure and of his contribution to the history of collecting in the eighteenth century. Five months after Zulian’s death, on 21 May 1795, count Annibale Bassan read an Elogio del Cavalier Zulian before the Paduan Academy. His text, intitled “Ogni uno è fabro sulla sua sorte,” read: Cittadino del mondo egli ebbe a cuore di migliorare l’agricoltura, di promuovere e favorire le arti, di coadiugare il comercio, tre fonti principali, dalle quali ne deriva la felicità delle genti. Individuo di sua Nazione fu esatissimo esecutor delle leggi, geloso custode ed incontaminato vindice delle medesime. Cittadino della sua patria, profuse le sue facoltà a decoro e benefizio della medesima, dedicò i suoi talenti alla di lei preservazione e salvezza, distribuì uffizi, premi e sovvenimenti all’abilità, al merito, alla prevalente circostanza.274

It is only fitting that it should be so. Born into what possibly counted as the most reactionary governing class of the time, Zulian embraced Enlightenment philosophy through his teachers in Padua and attempted to promote reforms both at home and in the countries to which he was assigned as ambassador. He was a gifted scientist, a liberal patron, and a skilled politician. His scrupulous reports on the state of the Papacy and of the Ottoman Empire constitute prime examples of the Venetian art “del far governo.” Thanks to his generous habit of hosting banquets at Palazzo Venezia and of protecting young artists like Canova, Selva and Morghen, he was the last in the line of Venetian representatives to have left a definite mark on the arts in the capital.

Giuseppe Gennari, in turn, celebrated Zulian as “gran mecenate degli uomini letterati e de’ professori delle belle arti e protettore affezionatissimo della nostra academia.”275 While numerous figures of the political and academic world expressed sadness for Zulian’s death, Isabella Teotochi Albrizzi maliciously insinuated:

I. Teotochi Albrizzi, Ritratti (Pisa, 1826), p. 9; E.A. Cicogna, Saggio di bibliografia veneziana (Venice, 1847), p. 367. On Isabella and Canova, see G. Venturi, “Canova ed Isabella Teotochi Albrizzi,” in Antonio Canova: la cultura figurativa e letteraria nei grandi centri italiani, Venezia e Roma, Atti della III Settimana di Studi Canoviani, Bassano del Grappa, 25–29 September 2001, ed. F. Mazzocca and G. Venturi (Bassano del Grappa, 2005), pp. 41–58. 277 See A. Cipriani, “L’Accademia di San Luca, Canova e l’incoraggiamento per i giovani artisti,” in Antonio Canova e l’Accademia, ed. G. Delfini Filippi (Treviso, 2002), pp. 21-29. 278 See Mazzini, in P. Adorno, L’arte italiana, vol. 3 (Messina and Florence, 1998), p. 282. On Hayez, see Hayez: dal mito al bacio, exh. cat., ed. F. Mazzocca, Padua, Palazzo Zabarella, September 1998 - January 1999 (Venice, 1998). 276

alcune ben composte cenette, alcune protezioncelle A.-M. Ramsay, cited in Targhetta, Massoneria veneta, p. 30. P.L. Fantelli, “Un noto corrispondente del Lanzi: Giovanni de Lazara,” Atti e memorie dell’Accademia Patavina di Scienze, Lettere ed Arti, 3, XCIV, 1981/1982 (1982), pp. 107-44; Caburlotto, “Private passioni,” pp. 139ff. 273 De Paoli, “Museo Zulian,” p. 33, Letter XXIII. 274 Archivio antico dell’Accademia patavina di scienze, lettere ed arti AAAP, b. XIX, n. 361. 275 Gennari, Notizie giornaliere, op. cit., II, p. 820. 271 272

184

Luisa Materassi : Girolamo Zulian Art in Rome in the Eighteenth Century, exh. cat., Philadelphia, Museum of Art, 16 March-28 May 2000 / Houston, Museum of Fine Arts, 25 June-17 September 2000, ed. E. Peters Bowron and J.J. Rishel (Philadelphia and Houston, 2000). Badaloni, N., 1968, Antonio Conti. Un abate libero pensatore tra Newton e Voltaire (Milan). Baffo, G., ed., 1974, Poesie (Verona). Bagatin, P.L., 1990, “Pietro Brandolese. Un libraio giacobino,” in Del genio de’ lendinaresi per la pittura e di alcune pregevoli pitture di Lendinara, ed. V. Sgarbi (Rovigo). Barbaro, M., Genealogie delle famiglie Patrizie Venete fino al 1750, BMV, Cod. It. VII, 925-28. Barbera, M. et al., ed., 1993, Le lucerne tardo-antiche di produzione africana. Museo nazionale romano (Rome). Barbieri, G., 1817, Della vita e degli studi dell’Abate Melchiorre Cesarotti (Venice). Barroero, L., 2001, “Periodici storico-artistici romani in età neoclassica: le «Memorie per le Belle arti» e il «Giornale delle Belle Arti»,” in Borsellini, ed., Roma “il tempio del vero gusto,” pp. 91-99. — 1990, Barroero and Susinno, ed., “Roma arcadica capitale universale delle arti del disegno,” Studi di Storia dell’Arte, 10 (Rome), pp. 89-178. — 1990, “La pittura a Roma nel Settecento,” in La pittura in Italia. Il Settecento, ed. G. Briganti (Milan), pp. 383-463. — 2002, Barroero and Susinno, La città degli artisti nell’età di Pio VI. Roma moderna e contemporanea (Rome). Basso, A.D., 1997, “L’ambiente dello Statuario,” in Favaretto, ed., Statuario Pubblico, pp. 61-65. Bazzoni, A., 1870, “Le annotazioni degli Inquisitori di Stato di Venezia,” Archivio storico italiano, s. III, 2, pp. 1-24. Beazley, J., 1947, Etruscan Vase Painting (Oxford). Benjamin, W., 1969, Illuminations, ed. H. Arendt (New York). Benzoni, G. et al., ed., 1987, Venezia e la Roma dei Papi (Milan). Berengo, M., 1956, La società veneta alla fine del Settecento (Florence). — 1960, La civiltà veneziana del Settecento (Florence). — 1962, Giornali veneziani del Settecento (Milan) — 1976, “Il salotto di Elisabetta Turra Caminer,” in Vicenza Illustrata (Vicenza). Bergdoll, B., 2000, European Architecture, 1750-1890 (Oxford). Bernini, D., “Canova a Palazzo Venezia,” in Debenedetti, ed., Sculture romane del Settecento, I, La professione dello scultore. Studi sul Settecento Romano 17 (Rome), pp. 245-59. Bertele, T., 1932, Il palazzo degli ambasciatori di Venezia a Costantinopoli e le sue antiche memorie (Bologna). Beschi, L., 1983, “L.S. Fauvel ad Alessandria,” in Alessandria e il mondo ellenistico-romano, Studi in onore di Achille Adriani, ed. N. Bonacasa and A. Di Vita (Rome), pp. 3-12. — 1986, “Due monumenti efesini nella collezione di Girolamo Zulian,” Aquileia Nostra, LVII, coll. 413-32.

As for his collection, which he assembled in the final decades of the Republic, in many ways it can be seen to constitute the culmination of the Venetian nobility’s tradition of collecting antiquities. But while formally conforming to the social and cultural expectations of his class, Zulian’s personal tastes and connections placed him somewhat apart from his contemporaries, on a middle ground between Paduan historicizing and Roman Neoclassical collectors. Unlike the learned Nani brothers, Zulian essentially remained an amateur throughout his life, relying on others to appraise and purchase his works. Nonetheless, when it came to deciding whether to keep or exchange Egyptian artifacts or whether to create a series of rooms dedicated to his friend Canova, he clearly imposed his vision. Unlike most other collectors, he was in the enviable position of being able to count on two of the foremost artists of the time, who acted as his advisers, agents and restorers for over fifteen years. Thus, while obviously reflecting Zulian’s personality, tastes, and finances, his collection also illustrates a unique dynamic between patron, sculptor/restorer and architect that finds few contemporary parallels elsewhere in Italy. Abbreviations ASV BCB BCP BCV BMV

Archivio di Stato di Venezia Biblioteca Civica di Bassano del Grappa Biblioteca Civica di Padova Biblioteca del Civico Museo Correr di Venezia Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana di Venezia

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Ince Blundell Hall and Pantheon (photo: author)

Displaying the Antique: The Country House, Merseyside 1777-1959

Simon Gregory Britain in the 19th century

Cartwright’s ‘Power-Loom’ of 1785. Despite the early date of this patent it was not until the mid-19th century that its application was seen heavily in factories. We must also remember that its use went hand-in-hand with further realisations of the potential of steam. A growth in the textile industry followed.

“The nineteenth century was Britain’s moment in history”. Success oozed from Victorian Britain: a dominant economy, a stable political and social system, a worldwide empire and banking system, an unassailable fleet and the ‘lion’s share’ of the world’s merchant shipping. The changes the country underwent from the end of the 18th century to the beginning of the 20th are possibly unparalleled in national history, and it was this transformation that characterised the era.

Further growth was assisted by transport developments. A canal system was established in Britain. In 1801 the first canal, the Grand Union, was opened, and others were soon built in north and south England. Raw materials and manufactured products could now be transported over greater distances. This increased the number of markets, both home and abroad, available to producers.

Change was synonymous to growth in the economy, industry, population, and trade and is certainly connected to what many call the ‘Industrial Revolution’. John Muir describes this period as an “age of coal and steam”, two factors that contributed to the huge industrial growth. Coal quickly began to replace wood as the key ore in many industries. A geographical reshuffling took place, with many factories and industries relocating to coal fields. However, the true potential and importance of coal was not realised until James Watt’s application of steam to machinery at the end of the 18th century. The ‘steam engine’ was vital to the process of mechanisation in Britain; it affected industry directly, and also transport in the invention of the railway and ‘steam-packet’ boats.

The political developments in the 19th century encouraged and aided free trade. Markets were opened in India (1813), South America (c. 1820), and China (1833), whilst the end of the Napoleonic Wars (1815) reopened previously restricted European markets. The 1775-1783 War of Independence in America may have brought a loss of a colony to Britain, but it brought a new trading partner to her industry. After Napoleon sold the state of Louisiana to the United States in 1803 it soon became the greatest cotton producer in the world. Britain also encouraged free trade through actions such as the Repeal of the Navigation Laws in 1849, which restored privileges to foreign ships in British ports.

The use of steam was accompanied by other “engineering triumphs and mechanical inventions”. The textile industry in particular experienced marked developments in this period. The invention of the ‘Flying Shuttle’ in 1733 led to further progression in manufacturing, culminating in

Political stability was vital. Unlike many parts of Europe, England had not been invaded during the Napoleonic Wars and was able to nurture a relatively forward thinking political system. Catholic Emancipation (1829), the 1832 Reform Act, the New Poor Law (1834), the Repeal of the Corn Laws (1846) and the Chartist Movement all created a political environment suitable for, and capable of handling, the new Britain. Strength of government was imperative to the success of Victorian Britain.10

On British history in the 19th century see Black, J. & MacRaild, D.M., Nineteenth-Century Britain (Basingstoke 2003) and Matthew, C. (ed.), Short Oxford History of The British Isles – The Nineteenth Century (Oxford 2000). On Liverpool specifically see Muir, J.R.B., A History of Liverpool (London 1907).  Matthew, C. (ed.), Short Oxford History of The British Isles – The Nineteenth Century (Oxford 2000), 2.  See Ashton, T.S., The Industrial Revolution, 1760-1830 (Oxford 1996), and Hudson, P., The Industrial Revolution (London 1992).  Muir, J.R.B., A History of Liverpool (London 1907), 248.  On the impact of coal on the ‘Industrial Revolution’ see Evans, C., The Industrial Revolution in Iron: The Impact of British Coal Technology in 19th-century Europe (Aldershot 2005).  DNB.  Muir, 248. 

Growth in the economy led to growth in population. Mechanisation and industrialisation brought urbanisation. DNB. See Hadfield, C., British Canals: an Illustrated History (Oxford 1984). 10 ‘Victorian Britain’ is a term used to describe the period when Britain was ruled by Queen Victoria (1837-1901).  

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Art, Religion and Society Britain’ the Mersey city emerged as one of the key ports of the empire and experienced nearly all of the changes seen in Britain with a large amount of the country’s growth occurring inside her hinterland. Blackburn and other nearby coalfields witnessed growth reflective of the nation’s new preference for coal, whilst in Manchester the textile industry, which would become crucial to Liverpool’s development, boomed. Liverpool became the natural port for trade in the north-west, and its importance was intensified by the emergence of America as a new trade partner. The “manufacturing fetishism”12 seen in Britain called on the city to provide both access to foreign markets and to the essential raw materials. Ability to deal with demand is reflected in the continual expansion of the docks, amounting to 45 acres by 1835. The port was vital to Britain’s stranglehold over merchant shipping and ship building, and the importance of the city is further highlighted by the construction of the Leeds-Liverpool and Manchester-Liverpool canals, by the trans-Atlantic steamboat journeys, and by the advent of the LiverpoolManchester railway.

Figure 1. Map of Ince Blundell and Liverpool (www.ordnancesurvey.co.uk)

The economic zone created across the Irish Sea proved vital as the huge sector of casual, often manual, labour established under the slave trade was maintained largely by Irish and Welsh immigrants. It was not just the Irish that occupied the city however. Both immigrants from further a field on their way to the Americas and foreign merchants visiting added to the experience of ‘multiculturalism’ as seen in other areas of Britain. In the opinion of Muir, a historian and politician who’s largest, and only complete, researched study was A History of Liverpool – “there is no city in the world, not even London itself, in which so many foreign governments find it necessary to maintain consular offices for the safeguarding of the interests of their subjects”.13

Urban centres became increasingly more important than the countryside and rural depopulation increased. Urban-tourban migration also existed and the advances in transport provided access to the wider world. Use of foreign markets led to an influx of merchants from America, Canada and Europe, whilst the 1836-1848 Potato Famine in Ireland saw an estimated 2.5million flee to England on their way to America. Liverpool It is within these conditions that we must view Liverpool (Fig. 1), as one of the fastest growing urban centres, and the Merseyside area. Merseyside is situated in the northwest of England, north of Wales, the Wirral, and the River Mersey. The broad River Mersey curves its way inland forming an inlet with numerous surrounding sandbanks and channels. The east bank, on which Liverpool is situated, rises gently further to the east (roughly 2 miles) before reaching a small sandstone ridge encircling the site. The cities of Manchester and Blackburn lie 40 miles to the east and north-east respectively, whilst Leeds, Stoke, Sheffield and Chester are all inside a 100-mile vicinity. Liverpool grew to become the principal settlement of Merseyside in the late 18th and 19th century and human intervention transformed the area’s physical setting drastically.

Despite this growth in the city and the surrounding area, “Liverpool identified its prosperity with commerce, not with manufacture”.14 There was a distinct lack of mills, factories and ‘machinofacture’ in the city itself. Even by 1920 only 37% of workers were employed in the production sector, well below the national average of 67%.15 As the fulcrum between England and Ireland, and industrializing Britain and the rest of the world, the city actually de-industrialised. Investment was concentrated on trade and commerce. Philanthropy There became a distinct divide in the middle and upper classes of Liverpool society, between the ‘professionals/

This transformation is linked to the above description of growth and change in England. Liverpool “epitomised the enormous effects of urban development in the high age of British economic development”.11 Within this ‘new

Rubinstein, W.D., Capitalism, Culture and Decline in Britain 17501990 (London 1993), 73. 13 Muir, 305. 14 Belchem, 2. 15 Cited in Belchem, 17. 12

11 Black, J. & MacRaild, D.M., Nineteenth-Century Britain (Basingstoke 2003), 82.

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Simon Gregory : Displaying the Antique intellectuals’ and the ‘commercials’. The Town Council was whole-heartedly devoted to the furthering of commerce – thirty-two of the forty councillors were merchants in 1820.16 Men not engaged in business were held in very low esteem. Public good was related to commerce. Utilities, building and sewerage regulation, health and culture were regarded as private domain issues. As a result, philanthropy became a dominant feature of the city, especially in the sphere of culture. An anonymous author described the city in 1795 as “the only town in England of any pre-eminency that has not one single erection or endowment, for the advancement of science, the cultivation of art, or the promotion of useful knowledge”.17 This was to change in the 19th century. Despite the gulf between commerce and the professional/intellectual group the two co-existed and provided for the town. The Roscoe Magazine, which promoted literature and the arts, called for “Liverpool gentlemen, not Manchester men”, highlighting the lack of manufacture but the need for culture.

Figure 2. Portrait of Henry Blundell by Mather Brown (Fejfer, v.1.1, 12)

The building of the Lyceum (1802, with a library), Athenaeum (1799, an ‘academic library’), Botanic Gardens (1802), Liverpool Academy (1810), Liverpool Royal Institution (1817) and Liverpool Museum in 1860 all suggest an awareness and interest in more cultural ‘activities’. Nearly all were founded and funded by individual enterprise. Stephen Waterworth, a prominent sugar refiner, built the first free school in 1793, whilst William Brown,18 one of Liverpool’s largest cotton importer-exporters, financed both the Picton Library and the site for the public museum in 1860. William Roscoe,19 a lawyer turned banker and also a self-educated historian and poet, was particularly active. After founding many arts societies that had failed in the 18th century – “the arts of painting and sculpture received little encouragement in the Philistinism of 18th century Liverpool”20 – he provided the initiative for many new successful intellectual institutions, as well as donating his own private collection of Italian paintings to the city.

contemporary paintings and sculpture and had one of the largest collections of classical antiquities in Britain. It is this collection, and its display, that I will discuss in the following chapters. Henry Blundell (1724-1810)22 Henry Blundell (Fig. 2), the son of Robert and Katharine, was born at Ince Blundell, Lancashire in 1724. Like many Catholics in the 18th century he was educated in France; first at the College of English Jesuits at St. Omer, and then at the English College at Douai. He received “rigorous instruction in philosophy and the classics”23 before moving to Paris under the care of Dr Joseph Holden, president of the St. Gregory’s English seminary. He was exposed to a learned circle of antiquarians and scholars including the natural historian Georges Buffon, the French antiquarian Anne-Claude-Philippe de Caylus, and, his own personal tutor, John Turberville Needham, a natural scientist. More importantly, Blundell formed a personal relationship with a Lancashire neighbour, Charles Townley, “the most significant eighteenth-century English collector of Classical antiquities”.24 Unlike Townley, Blundell, at this stage, showed little inclination for the serious study of classical culture. He returned to England in 1750 to adopt the life of a country squire.

Amidst this promotion of culture a fashion for patronage and collecting antiquities emerged. Leo Grindon finds a direct link to the character of a ‘Liverpudlian’ – “making their money in the way they do, the Liverpool people care less to hoard it than to indulge in the spending”.21 Perhaps the most notable collector in the late 18th and 19th century, and the focus of this thesis, was Henry Blundell. He was heavily involved with early exhibitions held in Liverpool and was the first patron of the Liverpool Academy in 1810. More importantly, he was an avid collector of

Henry married Elizabeth, daughter of Sir George Mostyn, Bart. of Talacre in Flint, in 1761. This coincided with

Cited in Belchem, 22. 17 Cited in Muir, 256. 18 DNB. 19 DNB. 20 Muir, 284. 21 Robinson-Walsh, D. (ed.), Lancashire - A History from the Earliest Times until 1880, Incorporating Manchester and Liverpool – From an original text by Leo Grindon from 1882 (Bolton 1995), 13. 16

See the DNB and Ingamells, J. (ed.), A dictionary of British and Irish travellers in Italy, 1701–1800 (London 1997) for a complete biography of Henry Blundell. 23 Vaughan, Blundell 14. 24 Ibid 14. 22

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Art, Religion and Society his father handing him the Blundell estate. The Blundell estate was rather modest until the death of Sir Francis Anderton without male heirs. This brought the extensive Lostock and Lydiate estates in 1760, more than doubling Henry’s income, which was improved further by his marriage.

Villa D’Este fell short of funds, the Villa Mattei collection was unexpectedly scattered, and the Cardinal Albani decided to bring his purchases to a close and began to sell in 1766. For Michaelis, “this high tide in the native love of art” had simply reached its “equally significant ebb”.32 Jenkins was quick to react; several of the villas “gorged all its treasures into Jenkins’ depot”.33 By now he was conducting a lively trade with many Roman sculptors, such as Cavaceppi, Albaccini, and Piranesi,34 who he used to restore works for resale to English collectors. This was also the case for finds from new excavations in the Roman Campagna, most notably Hadrian’s Villa at Tivoli.35 Dallaway suggests that he recovered many antiquities from oblivion to sell on the English Grand Tour market. He implies that English collections were made up from the wrecks of unwanted, damaged pieces consigned to the cellars of the Roman palazzi –

The death of his wife in 1767, and of his father in 1773, brought even more fortune, but more importantly marked a new phase in his life. With new-found wealth and the loss of immediate family Blundell devoted himself to improving the house and estate at Ince.25 He had already been a patron of many leading artists (such as Richard Wilson and Joshua Reynolds) in the 1760s and had begun collecting works by the ‘Grand Masters’, such as Poussin and Veronese. In 1776 he set out for Italy to meet Townley in Rome. He arrived, via Milan, Venice and Ancona in 1777, and spent his time “visiting the curious museum cabinets and curiosities of that country [Italy]”.26

“The fragments and torsos were then consigned to cellars, from whence they have been extracted piecemeal by the Roman sculptors…who have restored many of them, with wonderful intelligence and skill. These artists have found, in several of the English nobility and gentry, a very liberal patronage.”36

Through Townley, who had already amassed a collection widely recognised as the finest in England, Blundell had immediate access to a network of dealers in both Rome and England. Gerard Vaughan, writing on the Ince Blundell collection, claims “it was inevitable that Henry Blundell should be absorbed at once into the network of dealers, excavators, antiquarians and cognoscenti with whom Townley was by now on such familiar terms”.27 One was Thomas Jenkins.28 Through him Blundell made his first antiquarian purchase – a statue of the seated Epicurus (44).29

Jenkins could “understand the taste of the English virtuosi, who had no value for statues without heads; and that Lord Tavistock would not give him a guinea for the finest torso ever discovered”.37 It is in this environment that we must view Blundell’s collections. The Jesuit, and possible school friend, John Thorpe, became his agent, whilst Jenkins remained his main purveyor, buying over one-hundred items from the Villas Mattei and Borrioni, and the Palazzo Capponi. All are likely to have passed through Jenkins and his restorers’ hands. He also bought from the Capitoline Collections38 following the death of its keeper, Niccolo La Piccola, in 1790.39

“His great knowledge in antique marbles and arts not only instructed me but inspired me with a desire of being proficient in that line” said Blundell about Townley.30 After a trip to Pompeii and Herculaneum, and the purchase of some ‘Etruscan’ vases, Blundell began to acquire sculpture on a prodigious scale. Though the Ince Blundell collection features gems, bronzes, mosaics, paintings, engravings, a few vases and inscriptions, Henry held a particular penchant for sculpture, both in the round, and in relief.

As a result, the collection was highly varied. The consistent purchasing of bulk acquisitions implies that Blundell was aware that his purchases were eclectic and of uneven quality and this adds to Southworth’s argument

From the end of the 18th century the great sculptural collections formed by the princes and cardinal-nephews of 17th-century Rome began to disperse.31 For example, the

Michaelis, 65. Michaelis, 79. 34 On these restorers see Vaughan, Townley, 289-301. Also, see Picón, C.A., Bartolomeo Cavaceppi: 18th-century Restorations of Ancient Marble Sculpture From English Private Collections (London 1983). 35 See MacDonald, W., and Pinto, J.A., Hadrian’s Villa and its Legacy (London 1995). 36 Dallaway 272. 37 Dallaway, 276. 38 This collection was formed by the Popes Clement XII and Benedict XIV as a means of obviating the dispersion of antiquities from Rome. See Michaelis 65ff 39 Blundell had previously tried to buy from the collection and the death of its keeper allowed Thorpe to negotiate with his widow to acquire some of its finest marbles. 32 33

DNB Letter from Blundell to a friend, 10th February 1808. Cited in Fejfer, v.1.1, 12. 27 Vaughan, Blundell 14. 28 DNB and Michaelis 75-84. 29 Catalogue numbers referred to are Ashmole’s (Ashmole, B with WeldBlundell, M.T., Weld-Blundell, A.M and Blundell, H., A Catalogue of the Ancient Marbles at Ince Blundell Hall (Oxford 1929), henceforth ‘Catalogue’). 30 Cited in Fejfer, v.1.1, 22. 31 On both the formation and dispersal of these collections, such as the Villas Negroni, D’Este, Mattei and Altieri, see Michaelis, 65-80, and Dallaway, 226-272. 25 26

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Figure 3. The ‘Garden Temple’ at Ince Blundell Hall, 1959 (Fejfer, v.1.1, 16) that “he was interested in the sculptures for the classical ideas that they represented”.40 This is emphasised by a continuation to buy contemporary versions of classical figures, contemporary reproductions of ancient marbles, restored ancient works, as well as original, ‘untouched’, ancient fragments. War in Europe halted Blundell’s collecting in the 1790s. By this time he had encountered a problem of space; a ‘Garden Temple’ (Fig. 3) was built to house a large amount of his sculpture.41 However, the end of the Napoleonic Wars in 1815 and the Treaty of Tolentino42 rekindled the fad for collecting. Blundell was particularly active. In one instance in 1800 he bought ten items from Christie’s auction originating from the Pope’s own apartment.43 He also bought from collections in England where collectors had lost interest, financial stability or had died: eight pieces came from Lord Cawdor’s sale (1800), twenty-two from Lord Bessborough’s (1801), and seven from Lord Mendip’s (1802).44

Figure 4. The Ince Blundell Pantheon, exterior, 1959. (Fejfer, v.1.1, 18) cinerary urns, and other ancient marbles, and paintings at Ince. Between 1809 and 1810 he published a two-volume collection of one-hundred and fifty engravings of his finest pieces – Engravings and etchings of the principal statues, busts, bass-relieves, sepulchral monuments, cinerary urns etc. in the collection of Henry Blundell, esq., at Ince. This coincided with the completion of his Pantheon.

In 1801 Blundell planned another building, a scaled-down version of the Pantheon (Fig. 4), and in 1803 he published a catalogue – An account of the statues, busts, bass-relieves, Fejfer v.1.1, 16. Ashmole claims that the Garden Temple was constructed after the Pantheon, see Catalogue, ix, but a letter from Blundell to Townley dating to 1791 mentions that work had begun on the temple, whilst another letter from 1792 confirms that the display was now complete. See Fejfer, v.1.1, 17. 42 The Treaty of Tolentino (1797) was a humiliating treaty signed between Napoleon Bonaparte and Pope Pius VI, under which the pope gave up considerable territory and numerous works of art. 43 Including a sarcophagus that he had himself once presented to the Pope. Nos. 221, 264, 265. 44 Mendip’s collection was largely based on Thomas Hope’s. See Vaughan, Townley, 267, Michaelis, 57, and Dallaway, 228. 40 41

Henry Blundell died in August 1810 leaving his estate to his son Charles,45 and one of the largest classical sculpture collections in England with over 500 pieces, including 400 ancient. Charles held no interest in the ancient world, although he did inherit his father’s passion for collecting, 45

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Figure 5. The Pantheon at Rome (photo: author) purchasing numerous ‘Old Master’ drawings, often from other collectors such as the American artist Benjamin West46 and the Liverpool philanthropist William Roscoe.47 An inventory taken upon his death revealed 341 paintings in Ince Blundell, a substantial growth from 197 accounted for by his father.

finer sculpture,50 it was completed shortly before his death in 1810. Blundell’s decision to build this Pantheon was a result of three main influences: the Roman Pantheon, British, and perhaps European, neoclassicism, and the opening of the Museo Pio-Clementino in the Vatican.

Charles did little to alter the display of Henry’s collection in the Garden Temple and Pantheon, which remained unchanged until the 20th century. His death in 1837 left the estate to his cousin, Thomas Weld of Lulworth, Dorset, despite his sisters’ complaints. Although Weld devoted time and money to restoring the Hall he left the sculpture, and its display, untouched and unmodified. Charles Joseph Weld-Blundell inherited the estate in 1887, before passing it onto his sisters in 1922. It was not until this decade that the importance of the sculpture was reconsidered. Bernard Ashmole’s catalogue from 1929 is now regarded as the standard work.48

The Pantheon at Rome Blundell must have seen the Pantheon (Fig. 5). Built during the first half of Hadrian’s reign (117-138AD), and probably dedicated between 126-128AD,51 the Pantheon stands on the ancient Campus Martius. It is built on the same site as a previous rectangular temple constructed by Agrippa c.25BC that was burnt twice before Hadrian’s monument.52 This is celebrated in the inscription on the porch – M ∙ AGRIPPA ∙ L ∙ COS ∙ TERIVM ∙ FECIT.53 The building is made mostly of concrete and consists of three parts – the porch, intermediate ‘block’ and rotunda – all of which stand on top of a podium (Fig. 6). The porch consists of a screen of eight unfluted Corinthian columns with two groups of four columns set behind, and a triangular pediment above. A bronze roof structure was removed by Pope Urban VIII in the 17th century.54 Rising

In 1959 the sculpture was given to the City of Liverpool as an unconditional gift, and was accepted by the Liverpool Museum and Walker Art Gallery. The Ince Blundell Pantheon - Influences

“The finer works of art being kept in the rotunda” and “here the best works of art are kept”, Spiker, S.H., Travels Through England, Wales and Scotland (London 1820), 315. See also, Vaughan, Blundell, 20, and Michaelis, 335. 51 Hadrian was in, or near Rome, between 125-128AD after extensively touring the provinces, and brick stamps provide a terminus post quem. See MacDonald, 13. 52 Both Dio Cassius and Pliny refer to a building constructed by Marcus Agrippa, at LIII.27, and Natural History XXXVI.13-38. See also Pantheon, 186-190. 53 “Marcus Agrippa the son of Lucius, three times consul, built this”. 54 Pantheon, 46. 50

In 1801 Henry Blundell planned the construction of a scaled-down version of the Pantheon, at Rome,49 for his

DNB. Some 161 drawings were purchased by Charles Blundell following Roscoe’s bankruptcy in 1816. 48 Catalogue. 49 See page 208. Originally designed on paper and in wood there has been some debate regarding its architect. 46 47

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Figure 6. Longitudinal section of the Pantheon at Rome, after Desgodetz (Pantheon, 217)

Figure 7. Plan of the Pantheon, Rome (Pantheon, 91) behind the porch is a right-angled intermediate block that features two external niches and staircase enclosures. Joined to this section is the rotunda itself, almost twice as high as the porch. The exterior of the rotunda is made of the ‘barrel’ and the dome. The barrel is split into three horizontal ‘bands’, each divided by a cornice, and the dome sits on top. The interior of the barrel echoes only the lower two bands, from which the dome springs (which corresponds with the second exterior band). The concrete dome features a large oculus at its centre. The proportions of this third section are based on simple geometry; the diameter and the height of the rotunda are both 43.2m, whilst, on the inside, the dome and the barrel are 21.6m each (Fig. 7).

Twin towers, added to the ends of the intermediate block in the early 17th century,55 were not removed until the 1880s. They formed part of the Pantheon when Henry Blundell saw it in the late 18th century. The interior decoration of the Pantheon is broken up into two ‘zones’ that correspond to the two bands of the barrel (Figures 6 and 8). The first, and lowest, contains four square niches at diagonals to each other and two semicircular niches along the horizontal line. All feature Probably of Carlo Maderno. See Pantheon, 241. For Piranesi’s etching of the Pantheon in 1760 see Piranesi, G.B., Vedute di Roma (Rome 1743), 97.

55

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Art, Religion and Society in Rome58 is a possible precedent. Only its podium and a few fragments of columns and wall remain from this tholos which was built in the mid-2nd century BC. In the 1st century BC a four columned porch was added and this was further extended in the next century thus forming the same relationship between square and circle as the Pantheon.59 “Other than Temple B, there seems to be nothing but inspiration to adduce in explanation of the crucial aspect of the design of the Pantheon”.60 The Pantheon is a ‘symbol’ of Rome, and one of its most one of its most celebrated monuments.61 The Temple to Asclepius at Pergamon (c.145AD)62 and the ‘Round Temple’ at Ostia (230-240AD)63 clearly show the combination of the rotunda and porch as well as similar interiors. Popularity continued throughout the centuries, especially in the 16th century, and played an instrumental role in another influence on the Ince Blundell Pantheon – the emergence and fashion for neoclassical architecture in the second half on the 18th century. Figure 8. The Pantheon at Rome, interior by Giovanni Paulo Pannini, c. 1750 (National Gallery of Art, Kress Collection, Washington DC. Shown in Stillman, Pantheon, 83)

Palladian and neoclassical architecture The 18th century witnessed an increased interest in the classical world. This is shown by the formation of the ‘Grand Tour’ and the Dilettanti Society,64 the collecting of antiquities, surveys of classical sites (such as the Athenian Acropolis in 1751 and of Palmyra in 1753), and excavations at Pompeii and Herculaneum (1738 and 1748). This interest manifested itself in architecture.

two columns in antis and surrounding pilasters. An apse faces the entrance and is surrounded by two freestanding columns, thus balancing the plan. Eight aediculae project between these niches. Materials vary from yellowishorange Numidian giallo antico to red-purple Turkish pavonazzetto and to Egyptian porphyry. These are also used in the floor, which was paved by a grid of alternating squares and circles in squares.

In Britain, the architects Colen Campbell65 and Lord Burlington (Richard Boyle)66 are credited with leading a ‘Palladian’ revolution to purify English architecture,67 abandoning the extravagant ‘Baroque’ style68 and reviving the more pure classical architecture described by Vitruvius, promoted by

The second zone augments the colours used below and adds greens, whites and blues in a repeating pattern of pilasters and blind windows. Between these is a veneer of circles and rectangles. The dome is decorated by 140 geometrically shaped coffers and arranged in five rows that decrease in size towards the oculus.

See Boëthius, 162, pls. 126 and 153, and Longhi, M., L’Area Sacra Largo Argentina (Rome 1960). 59 Indeed, Vitruvius discusses the relationship between the two shapes in Book 3 in his De Architectura. His ideals are exemplified in the human form in Leonardo Da Vinci’s ‘Vitruvian Man’. 60 MacDonald, 68. 61 Placed in 1632 a plaque to the right of its entrance reads – PANTHEON, AEDIFICIVM TOTO TERRARVM ORBE CELEBERRIMVM (‘The Pantheon, the most celebrated edifice in the whole world’). 62 See Deubner, O., Das Asklepieion von Pergamon (Berlin 1938). 63 See Rieger, A-K, “Heiligtümer in Ostia”, in American Journal of Archaeology 108 (2004), 320. 64 Founded in 1733/4 for the promotion of ‘Greek taste and Roman spirit’ the society funded excavations, travel, and publications (such Stuart and Revett’s Antiquities of Athens (1762) – an assessment of the minor classical buildings in Athens). 65 Colvin, 182-185. 66 Colvin, 128-132. 67 Watkin, 124. 68 See Summerson, J., The Classical Language of Architecture (London 2004), 63-88, Hook, J., The Baroque Age in England (London 1976), and Cliffe, J., The World of the Country House in 17th-century England (London 1999). 58

Circular buildings were not uncommon in both the Greek and Roman worlds,56 but the Pantheon was innovative in its “extraordinary combination of the porch (carrying all the religious implications inherent in its traditional forms) with the rotunda”.57 Temple B at the Largo Argentina

Most were either religious buildings or tombs, ranging from tholoi such as those in the shrines at Epidaurus and Delphi in Greece, or the Temple of Vesta in Rome, to the late 4th-century choragic Monument to Lysicrates in Athens. On tholoi see Seiler, F., Die Griechische Tholos: Untersuchungen zur Entwicklung, Typologie und Funktion Kunstmeisser Rundbauten (Mainz 1986). It is also worth noting that Hadrian’s ‘Island Enclosure’ at his Villa at Tivoli is of the exact same diameter as the Pantheon and of similar date. See MacDonald, W., and Pinto, J.A., Hadrian’s Villa and its Legacy (London 1995), 82. 57 MacDonald, 67. 56

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Simon Gregory : Displaying the Antique Andrea Palladio69 and employed, in the late 16th and mid 17th centuries,70 by Inigo Jones71. Two publications promoted this revolution – a translation of Palladio’s I Quattro Libri (1570) and Campbells’s own Vitruvius Britannicus.72 Such ‘Palladianism’ can be seen in Wanstead House,73 Greater London, and in the Assembly Rooms, York.74 William Kent75 continued this ‘revolution’ using the styles of Palladio, Jones, Burlington and Campbell. His work can be seen at Holkham Hall, Norfolk,76 which combines elements of Burlington’s Assembly Rooms with Campbell’s hexastyle portico, and in his Temple of Ancient Virtue at Stowe House, Northamptonshire.77 ‘Palladianism’ was arguably limited to Palladio’s own vision of the antique. The next generation of architects were subject to a “heightened impulse towards archaeology”78 and accuracy which was encouraged by the detailed measurement and publication of sites and buildings.79 John Summerson, writing on the emergence of neoclassical architecture in England, points to a new concept of ‘art through archaeology’ – an enrichment of the present through the detailed enquiry of the past.80 This interest encouraged British artists studying in Italy to adopt a more doctrinaire and precise approach to the study of architecture,81 and led to the emergence of ‘full neoclassical’ architecture.

Figure 9. Robert Adam’s design for the saloon at Kedleston Hall, Derbyshire, c. 1761 (Sir John Sloane’s Museum. Shown in Stillman, Neoclassicism, 323) Amongst architects such as Sir William Chambers, Henry Flitcroft, John Soane and the Wyatt brothers, James and Samuel,82 Robert Adam83 emerged as one of the leading, and most innovative, figures in the development and deployment of the neoclassical style. His designs often featured contrasting geometric shapes, as seen in Roman Thermae,84 and freestanding columnar screens employing the Doric, Ionic and Corinthian orders. His main fame rested on his interior display using plaster works and mouldings of various Roman designs.85

Boucher, B., Andrea Palladio: The Architect in his Time (New York 1994). 70 See, for example, the addition of a portico to the old St. Paul’s Cathedral in 1634-40, which was inspired by Palladio’s reconstruction of the portico of the Temple of Venus at Rome. See Watkin, 100. 71 Colvin, 467-474. 72 Three volume catalogue (1715-1725), with engravings of buildings in England by both Campbell himself, and others who where inspired by Palladio, such as Inigo Jones and Christopher Wren. 73 By Campbell and shown in the Vitruvius Britannicus. Considered to be anti-Baroque in its horizontality and was the first house to feature a hexastyle portico in England (based on Palladio’s thought that all Roman houses had similar porticoes). See Watkin, 124-26. 74 By Burlington and an attempt to reconstruct Palladio’s interpretation of an Egyptian Hall described by Vitruvius. The entrance, replaced in 1828, originally deployed themes from Roman baths which were also etched by Palladio. See Watkin, 127-29. 75 DNB. 76 Watkin, 128-9. 77 Based on the Temple of Vesta at Tivoli. See Boëthius, A., Etruscan and Early Roman Architecture (Yale 1978), 163, pl. 154. 78 Stillman, D., “The Neo-Classical Transformation of the English Country House”, Studies in the History of Art XXV (1989), 88. 79 Promoted, especially, by the Dilettanti Society, and including The Ruins of Palmyra (1753) and The Ruins of the Palace of the Emperor Diocletian at Spalato (1764). 80 Summerson, J., Architecture in Britain, 1530-1830 (New York 1944), 377. 81 It was common in the 18th century for British artists and architects to study in Italy, especially in Rome. The influence of Rome’s monuments is shown in the designs submitted to Italian architectural competitions. George Dance the Younger, for example, won the Concorso Clementino in 1763 with a design that featured four Pantheon-like halls. See Stillman, Pantheon, fig.13, the original design is now in Sir John Soane’s Museum, London. For further examples see Stillman, D., “British Architects and Italian Architectural Competitions, 1758-1780” in Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 32 (March 1973), 43-66. 69

Adam’s works gave the Pantheon form increased attention; “The domed rotunda with the temple-front façade became common in all western architecture”.86 Burlington’s Chiswick House in Greater London, provides an early example, and Adam incorporated a rotunda at Kedleston Hall, Derbyshire (Fig. 9),87 and at Newby Hall, Yorkshire (Fig. 10).88 The, unexecuted, plans for Syon House, Middlesex also show a 50-foot wide saloon modelled on the Roman Pantheon.89 Other architects were keen to recreate the Pantheon as a whole unit rather than simply using elements of it. Henry Flitcroft’s90 Stourhead House, Colvin, 940-952, and 955-959. Colvin, 46-55. 84 See, for example, the Baths of Diocletian at Rome. 85 See Stillman, D., The Decorative Work of Robert Adam (London 1966). 86 MacDonald, 123. 87 Watkin, 135-37. 88 Stillman, Pantheon, 86-87 89 See Stillman, Pantheon, 85, and Stillman, Neoclassicism, 91 and pl.45. For a further discussion on Syon House see Ibid. 124-134, pl.73 and pl.79. 90 Colvin, 309-313. 82 83

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Art, Religion and Society 1795,100 are evidence of this. Strength in simplicity replaced overwhelming intricacy in interior design; neoclassicism and its Pantheon began to emulate Roman gravitas toward the end of the 18th century and the beginning of the 19th. It is in this context that we must consider the Pantheon at Ince Blundell Hall. The Museo Pio-Clementino “Rome, the goal of religious pilgrimage, had also become the goal of artistic pilgrimage. The grandiose architectural relics of antiquity once again seized the imagination”.101 Certainly the popularity for classical architecture emerged from this “artistic pilgrimage”, undertaken by architects such as Adam, and the opening of the famous Museo PioClementino, to the public coincided with Blundell’s first visit to Italy. The Museo Pio-Clementino was established by the Popes Clement XIV (1769-74) and Pius VI (1775-99) in an attempt to curb the outflow of antiquities from Rome.102 In 1771 Clement decided to convert the Palazzetto di Belvedere,103 the apartment of Pope Innocent VII, into a series of rooms, based around the central court, to house art. The architect Alessandro Dori104 was initially employed but died in January 1772. He was replaced by Michelangelo Simonetti,105 some 50 years younger, who remodelled and surrounded the central court with an arcade, harmonizing the buildings facing it, and constructed galleries for statues, busts, mosaics, etc. Some of these rooms influenced the popularity for the Pantheon in England, including Blundell’s. The Sala Rotonda, for instance, is “a large room with a cupola in the style of the Pantheon”106 and accommodates some of the best examples of sculpture (Fig. 11). This room is certainly in the spirit of the Pantheon and holds many similarities to Blundell Hall in both architectural form and display.107

Figure 10. Newby Hall, Yorkshire. Gallery (Stillman, Neoclassicism, 309) Wiltshire,91 (constructed between 1741 and 1765) boasts various monuments built in a classical style, including a Temple of Apollo, Temple of Flora and a Palladian bridge, each set in a picturesque location.92 Flitcroft also built a Pantheon, constructed on the side of a lake and recreating a painting by Claude Lorrain showing Aeneas at the Temple at Delos.93 Similar Pantheons can be found at Kew Gardens, Surrey,94 and at Brocklesby, Lincolnshire.95 The early 19th century confirmed the continuation of the neoclassical trend and a sustained “concern for archaeologically correct elements”.96 Decoration became less intricate and flamboyant and colour schemes more modest. John Soane’s97 depiction of the rotunda in the Bank of England, London,98 and John Gandy’s99 design of a sepulchral church entered into a competition in Rome in

The uncertainty surrounding the architect responsible for the Blundell Pantheon adds to the likelihood that he was heavily involved in its planning,108 although the sophistication of design suggests that he was not unaided.

Woodbridge, K., The Stourhead Landscape (London 1982). Interestingly, Robert Adam proposed his adaptation of the domed Temple of Minerva Medica into an artificial ruin as fitting for the grounds at Kedleston (c.1759). See Fleming, J., Robert Adam and His Circle (London 1962), 257-58. Adam’s sketch is now in the Victoria and Albert Museum, 3436.59 and .60. 93 The National Gallery, London, ‘Landscape with Aeneas at Delos’, 1672 (NG1018). This represents the Trojan hero Aeneas’ account of his experience at the Temple of Apollo at Delos (as told by Virgil in the Aeneid). 94 Watkin, 133. 95 Stillman, Neoclassicism, 82-84, pl.35. 96 Stillman, Pantheon, 92. 97 Colvin, 765-772. 98 Summerson refers to his designs as “the last word in the reduction of classical concepts to sheer combination of light, surfaces and space”, in Summerson, J., The Classical Language of Architecture (London 2004), 115. 99 Colvin, 329-330. 91

See Stillman, Pantheon, 85. The original design is now in Sir John Soane’s Museum, London. 101 Trachtenberg and Hyman, 392. 102 There are numerous accounts regarding the formation of the Museo Pio-Clementino and the Vatican Museums. See especially Pietrangeli, and Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York), The Vatican: Spirit and Art of Christian Rome (New York 1982). 103 This site housed the “Antiquario delle Statue” in the Cortile Ottagono (Statue Court) and was chosen as the natural place to re-house parts of the overflowing Apostolic Library Museums (the Museo Sacro and the Museo Profano). 104 Pietrangeli, 58. 105 Ibid, 60. 106 Museo Vaticano, Marucchi, O. and Nogara, B., Guide to the Vatican Museum of Sculpture (Rome 1909) 15. 107 See page 27. 108 See Fejfer, v.1.1, 16. 100

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Figure 11. The Sala Rontonda, Vatican Museum, interior (Spinola, G., Il Museo Pio-Clementino (2) (Vatican 1999), 245) Combined with the Clementine-like display it is apparent that this structure was directly linked to Blundell’s experience in Rome and English neoclassicism. His earlier Garden Temple displayed similar traits, with, for example, the mask placed on the pediment a direct imitation of Simonetti’s treatment of the pediments in the Cortile Ottagono.

intact today.112 The cornice is also decorated; in its centre is a Roman sarcophagus panel showing a battle between cavalrymen and foot soldiers (303). The underside of the geison and raking sima are decorated with dentils. The rotunda, or barrel, is faced with simple, light brown, brickwork that accommodates two circular niches. These are visible from the front of the structure, and each originally held a bust. The frieze and geison dentils from the portico dictate the height of the barrel and their decoration has been discussed above. Both continue around the whole rotunda. The dome sits on top of the frieze and is silverwhite in colour. The outer materials are metallic, whilst a glass oculus provides light into the interior. The barrel and dome give the appearance of being equal in height, yet the dome is actually slightly smaller. Unlike the Pantheon in Rome, the portico does not obstruct the view of the dome or barrel as it is proportionally smaller.

The Ince Blundell Pantheon – Form The Pantheon at Ince Blundell (Fig. 4) owes much of its form to its precedent at Rome; consisting of a rotunda, dome, and portico. The portico features four ionic columns. Six engaged columns, incorporated into the rotunda, are behind these. Four correspond directly to the full columns, and two act as a ‘frame’ standing to the left and right respectively. The entrance to the Pantheon is between the middle columns, and two satyr heads perch above (184 and 185). Two niches, one to the left, and one to the right, have also been added. Above these and the door are relief panels from sarcophagi.109 These show, from left to right, the dioscuri (271 and 272), a hunting scene (393), and the rape of Perspehone (281). The architrave above the columns is lightly decorated and sits below a frieze. The frieze does not have a continuous sculptural decoration; instead, various pieces of sculpture are incorporated at sporadic intervals, including four herms (160),110 a Medusa mask (242),111 and a Roman tomb relief (227). This frieze continues around the rotunda and the sculpture remains

The design of the interior is based on planes of symmetry. Four large recessions, one being the entrance, face each other in pairs perpendicular to each other. All feature a pair of columns in antis. Four smaller recessions face each other across the diagonal planes and are thus interposed between their larger equivalents. Placed between each smaller and larger recession is a small apse-like alcove and, slightly higher up, a circular niche. Engaged Ionic pilasters separate each respective alcove (Fig. 12). Blundell describes the dimensions of the interior to Charles Townley as “about 37 feet inside diameter, circular, lighted from the top…; the walls 6 feet thick to get room for 4 large recesses… [and] 4 other smaller recesses”.113 The floor is decorated

N.B. Some exterior examples are still in place Ince Blundell Hall. Two of the heads are female, and two are male. The latter were possibly two halves of a double herm, and Ashmole suggests that one of the female heads may be modern, see 65. 111 Similar to 220. 109

112 Other sculpture includes a sun mask (probably 18th century), slabs of foliage decoration, and more male and female heads. See 382, 299, 300, 142, 293, 294, and 388. 113 Letter from Blundell to Townley, 23rd March 1801. Cited in Fejfer v.1.1, 18.

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Figure 12. The Ince Blundell Pantheon, interior. (Stillman, Pantheon, 95) with white marble squares arranged in a grid lattice and the external frieze is echoed above the pilasters giving the impression that they are carrying its weight. The inside of the dome is decorated with geometric coffers that decrease in size as they approach the oculus. The colour scheme employed is broad, and similar to that of the original Pantheon. Blues and blacks are used in the recesses whilst their columns vary in colour from purple to green. Both the pilasters and frieze are dark blue-purple and veined. Red is also employed on the walls.

Figure 13. Apollo Sauroktonos with a female head, mid-4th century BC (12). (Catalogue, pl.12) Sculpture116 The Pantheon housed 140 items of sculpture, and featured 22 further examples on its exterior. Of the interior works Ashmole characterised one piece as being identical to another (177),117 labelled two separated items as being part of the same work (398 and 246),118 and grouped three further items that Blundell had labelled individual (394).119 Thus, there are 135 different sculptural pieces.120 They vary significantly in form, quality, style, and age. 36 are examples of sculpture in the round, 63 are heads or busts, 33 are examples of relief sculpture, and there are 3 masks. Examples range from statues to statuettes (e.g. 40), sundials to cista mystica (e.g. 128 and 62), and sarcophagi to candelabras (e.g. 307 and 241).121

The pantheon was attached to the main hall in 1847 by the insertion of a large dining room. One of the smaller recessions was sacrificed for the new, interior, entrance. Sculpture and Display As stated, the purpose of the Pantheon was to house the finer examples of Blundell’s sculptural collection, despite his claim in 1790 that he did not intend to take collecting seriously – “I do not aim at a collection, or crowding my house with marbles, nor will I ever build a Gallerie”.114 An analysis of the sculpture displayed provides an insight into what Blundell viewed as ‘finer’, and approaches the question of why he did so? The sculptural display can be discussed as one unit as the Pantheon’s interior appearance remained untouched until its objects were removed to the Liverpool Museum and Walker Art Gallery in 1959.115

For good overviews on sculpture see, for Greek, Stewart, A., Greek Sculpture (London 1990) and Lawrence, A.W., Greek and Roman Sculpture (London 1972), for Hellenistic, Ridgway, B.S., Hellenistic Sculpture: The Styles of c.331 – 200BC (Bristol 1990) and Smith, R.R.R., Hellenistic Sculpture: A Handbook (London 1991), and for Roman, Kleiner, D.E.E., Roman Sculpture (London 1992). For current debates on pieces referred to, please see Catalogue. 117 Blundell, Account, nos. 137 and 178. 118 Blundell, Account, nos. 583 and 546, and Blundell, Account, no. 542 is seen as a modern addition to 239. 119 Blundell, Account, nos. 301, 535 and 596. 120 Excluding exterior items. 121 There are also examples of friezes such as 254, and cinerary urns such as 335. 116

Letter from Blundell to Townley, entitled ‘Rome, 4, 1790’ (Townley Papers). 115 See page 209-211. 114

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Simon Gregory : Displaying the Antique Ashmole (1894-1988), an Oxford scholar, who formed the most current complete catalogue of the collection in the 1920s.127 Michaelis refers to the “graceful but by no means finely executed style” of the large Zeus (2),128 the “clumsy and poor workmanship” of a statuette of Hermes (29),129 and the “pleasing composition” of a statue of Anchirroe (37).130 He reserves special praise for the statue of Theseus stating that “this most elegant statue is one of the principal treasures of the entire collection” (43).131 Ashmole is more objective providing a discussion of provenance, possible influences, proportions, and date. Naturally the pieces that have previously caused the most debate or received the most admiration are given more attention. The Theseus praised by Michaelis, and thought by Townley to be the best specimen (43), is thus granted over two pages of discussion and nineteen detailed measurements. Choice of Sculpture The choice of ‘finer’ examples by Blundell is not necessarily in accordance with the opinions of visiting scholars. Michaelis is clear when describing the Pantheon – “sight and mind become stupefied if they have to toil through the hundreds of inferior marbles”.132 However, he is not implying that the whole collection was of a low standard, or that the pieces on display were the best in a poor assortment. Instead, Michealis is criticising Blundell’s selections and display. For instance, he recognises a statue of Hermaphrodite to be of both good workmanship and of interest (25),133 yet it is placed in the Garden Temple and not the Pantheon. Did Blundell not see it as one of the finer pieces, or did he just prefer to house it elsewhere? This raises the question of how Blundell selected the sculpture for the Pantheon.

Figure 14. Head of a Hellenistic king, 3rd or 2nd century BC (178) (Catalogue, pl.31) The majority of pieces are Roman copies of Greek works, although there are some original Greek, Hellenistic, and Roman examples. A torso of Apollo Sauroktonos with a female head (12)122 dates from the mid 4th century BC (Fig. 13), a head of a Hellenistic king (178)123 dates from the 3rd or 2nd century (Fig. 14), whilst a sarcophagus displaying Phaethon before Helios (221)124 dates from the late 2nd century AD (Fig. 15). There are 10 wholly ‘modern’, or non ancient, examples, although some others are so heavily restored as to give the appearance of being modern.125 In fact, most pieces have been restored in some way. In terms of quality, the sculpture is varied. The main descriptions and assessments of Blundell’s collection are provided by Adolf Michaelis, a classical archaeologist writing in the late 19th century,126 and by Bernard

A letter to Townley from March 1801 provides an insight. Referring specifically to Lord Bessborough’s sculpture sale where Townley was to act as his buyer, he writes – “in your late letter you say you shd judge better what marbles out of Lord Bessborough’s collection wd better suit, if you

This statue stands 1.25m high and was purchased through Gavin Hamilton. The body is considered to be an unimportant replica of the Praxitelean Apollo Sauroktonos. 123 0.23m tall, this piece bears resemblances to Philip V of Macedon (the downward slanting of the eyes towards the nose) and Antigonus II, or perhaps his son Demetrius II (there are similarities to a painted portrait of one of the two at Boscoreale, see Pfuhl, E., Malerei und Zeichnung der Griechen (Munich 1923), vol. ii, 879). Stylistically the piece resembles the Apoxyomenos according to Ashmole. 124 0.60m high and 2.09m long, from Tivoli. Robert, based on a painting from Nero’s Golden House, identifies the scene despite the breaking off of Phaethon from the scene, See Robert, C.G., Die Antiken SarkophagReliefs (Berlin 1890-1952), 405. 125 E.g. 179a, a head of Antinuous. 126 Adolf Michaelis, considered to be one of the most perceptive and influential scholars of Greek and Roman sculpture in the 19th century, travelled throughout Britain in the 1870s-80s compiling a catalogue of private collections of classical sculpture - Ancient Marbles in Great Britain, described by Adolf Michaelis, translated into English by Fennel, C.A.M., (Cambridge 1882). On the Blundell collection see pages 333 – 415.

Catalogue, this publication, in 1929, is the first and only complete catalogue to provide photographs of the collection. The Trustees of the National Museums and Galleries on Merseyside established the Ince Blundell Research Project in 1984 “to make the collection available to the public and the scholar in the most appropriate way”, Fejfer, v.1.1, 1. However, at the time of writing the project is only in its first phase and has published the female and male portraits (Fejfer, v.1.1, and Fejfer, v.1.2). Blundell’s own account is largely recognised as amateur, often inaccurate and filled with “homely trivialities”, Michaelis, 101. 128 Michaelis, 337. 129 Michaelis, 345. 130 Michaelis, 349. 131 Michaelis, 351. 132 Michaelis, 101. 133 This statue, previously representing a hermaphrodite as a nursing mother, was reduced to a ‘Sleeping Aphrodite’ though the removal of the male genitals and the accompanying children. See Fejfer, v.1.1, 20. cf. Ibid, 20, where the Garden Temple is portrayed, in Blundell’s eyes, as a “dumping ground”.

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Figure 15. Phatheon before Helios, sarcophagus, late 2nd century AD (221). (Catalogue, pl.48.) know the size, plan and situation of my intended room” (he then provides a description).134 A number of points arise from this letter. Firstly, Townley, respected as a friend, scholar and antiquary, was an influence in deciding what the ‘best’ pieces were.135 He was buying specifically for the Pantheon and thus only bought what he thought were ‘finer’ pieces. Secondly, despite previous bulk purchases, he bought over one-hundred items from the Villas Mattei and Borrioni, and the Palazzo Capponi for example,136 Blundell, was attempting to buy selectively – he only wanted the “finer” pieces.137 And, thirdly, Townley’s request for a description of the Pantheon implies that his choice of sculpture was governed by display considerations. Townley could not simply choose what he thought were the ‘best’ pieces, he had to keep their setting in mind. This last point is interesting. In March 1801, the Pantheon had only been planned, not built, as the same letter testifies.138 However, it is clear that Blundell expected the sculpture to accommodate the building, and not vice versa; he asks for “marbles… [that] wd better suit”. It is possible that the Pantheon had been designed around his already large collection (he had now been collecting for 24 years and accumulated a large amount of sculpture) and that the Bessborough marbles would have to be squeezed in alongside, but this is not implied. He provides Townley with a description of the building; nothing is said about certain statues being placed in certain positions. If this is the case, then the design of the Pantheon has an important impact in Blundell’s display. He is restricted to its form and space.

Figure 16. Zeus, pre-Hadrianic copy of a 4th century BC original (2) (Catalogue, pl.12) As a result, the larger statues of Zeus (2 and Fig. 16), Theseus (43 and Fig. 17), and a statue with the head of a Roman lady (52)139 occupy the three principal recessions (the fourth being the entrance). Waagen is particularly critical

Letter from Blundell to Townley, 23rd March 1801. Cited in Fejfer v.1.1, 18. 135 For Townley’s role in previous acquisitions see page 198. 136 See page 198. 137 He eventually bought 22 items from Bessborough in total. See page 16. 138 “Nothing is yet done about it.” Letter from Blundell to Townley, 23rd March 1801. Cited in Fejfer v.1.1, 18. 134

The statues of Zeus, Theseus and the statue with the head of a Roman lady stand at 2.13m, 2.01m, and 1.64m high respectively.

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Figure 17. Theseus, Hadrianic based on a statue by Lysippus (43) (Catalogue, pl.19)

Figure 18. The ‘Ince Athena’, Augustan, inspired by Phiedias’ Parthenos (8) (Catalogue, pls.10 and 11)

of this arrangement stating that they are “so conspicuously displayed, but are not of great importance”.140 The large statue of Artemis (22), “of unusual type”,141 occupies floor space instead, and is surrounded by tables. The ‘Ince Athena’ (Fig. 18), recognised as one of the finest examples in the collection and inspired by the Parthenos of Pheidias, fills one of the smaller recessions, overshadowed by surrounding reliefs, busts and other statues. One hundred and forty works, roughly representing one sixth of the whole collection, are housed in the Pantheon. The gallery is, in fact, filled with far too many pieces to house the ‘finer’ examples as Blundell states, and his display is not based on such pieces.

Busts were placed in the circular niches above the small apse-like alcoves which, in turn, housed the smaller statues such as the 1.4m high statue of a Maenad/Muse (34). Reliefs were mounted on the walls at regular intervals with a balanced display, based on order and symmetry, a primary concern. Long relief examples, often from sarcophagi, are placed in the larger recesses behind the main statues, whilst square forms142 occupied the area between the alcoves and the circular niches. For example, the scene representing Phaethon before Helios (221), which received much attention by visitors to Blundell Hall,143 is largely hidden by the imposing Zeus in the middle of the recession. There is space to walk around the main statue, but this does little to attract attention to the relief which is relatively unlit by the oculus above. Reliefs, and busts, placed below are even more difficult to access/view.

Display Indeed, the filling of the recessions based on statue size shows a trend that continued throughout the arrangement of the sculpture in the Pantheon (Figures 12 and 19-20).

It is very apparent that, given the form of the Pantheon, there is not enough space to display all one hundred and E.g. 269, a mask of a wood, or water, god above a festoon. Many have debated the scene represented on the piece; see my footnote, number 22, and Catalogue, 86-87.

142

Waagen, G.F., Treasures of Art in Great Britain (London 1854), 256. 141 Catalogue, 13. 140

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Art, Religion and Society only partly accurate. Firstly, it is important to remember that the use of a rotunda as a sculptural gallery in England was a largely ‘Adamsesque’ feature.146 And, secondly, although the display of larger statues in recessions around the perimeter of the room shows the influence of the Museo Pio-Clementino, particularly the Sala Rotonda,147 the cluttered and crowded floor space is not in the same spirit. Certainly other galleries in the Museo were more informal, but none merited Michaelis’ comment on the Pantheon as a “tolerably motley confusion”.148 If the form of the Pantheon was the key guide in how Blundell chose what to display and how, then he chose too many pieces. The Pantheon gives the impression of having an ordered and systematic display that has literally spilt over onto the floor. It looks disorganised and cluttered, and the effects are codified by Michaelis – “the worst feature of the collection is that its really good, and in several cases exquisite, specimens are thrown into the shade by so many that are unimportant or quite worthless, or badly disfigured by restorations, or spurious”. He continues in a rather disappointed tone, “no collection in the world has need to be ashamed of the Theseus” (Fig. 17).149 The Danish scholar Frederick Poulsen visited the Pantheon in 1919 and was in agreement, describing the gallery as “a chaos of statues, busts, beams, plinths, packing cases with decayed straw”.150 Although the Pantheon may house some of the finer examples, the display does not emphasis it.

Figure 19. The Ince Blundell Pantheon, interior, 1959 (Fejfer, v.1.1, 19)

Blundell, however, should not be criticised for this. Ashmole claims that there were two main motives to collecting in the 18th and 19th centuries – the fashion and popularity of the Grand Tour, and a genuine interest with wide, but often inaccurate knowledge of antiquity. Despite being initiated into the world of antiquities through the Grand Tour, Blundell conforms to the latter. His catalogue often attempts to place his pieces in a historical or mythological context,151 virtually all of the sculpture represents classical deities or historical figures, and initially he bought modern pieces as well. “He was interested in the sculptures for the classical ideals that they represented and was not unduly worried initially whether a piece was ancient or not”.152 Townley claims that he was “perfectly aware that it was of eclectic and uneven quality”,153 and Blundell himself was not afraid to shy away from descriptions of his purchases,

Figure 20. The Ince Blundell Pantheon, interior (Stillman, Neoclassicism, 513) forty pieces of sculpture appropriately. Originally Blundell intended to place tables in the four smaller recesses on which he would place smaller statues and busts.144 Rather, these four tables, and many more, were scattered across the floor of the building with various statuettes and busts on top, arranged in an ad hoc manner (Fig. 20). Vaughan, writing on the formation of the Ince Blundell collection, suggests that the display in the Pantheon was “deliberately informal” and “reflected the new taste of the Pio-Clementino in Rome and left far behind the rigid symmetry of Adam’s approach to the display of antiquities”.145 This synopsis is

E.g. Newby Hall, Yorkshire, and Kedleston Hall, Derbyshire. See page 204. 148 Michaelis, 335. 149 Michaelis, 101. For the Theseus – Catalogue, no. 43. Liverpool Museum, no. 43. 150 Poulsen, F., Greek and Roman Portraits in English Country Houses, translated by the Rev. G.C. Richards (Oxford 1923), 18. 151 E.g. Blundell, Account, no. XCI, 42 (Catalogue, no. 85), Septimius Severus – “he was extremely cruel, and attained the throne by the murder of Pertinax. It was said of him that he never did an act of humanity…etc”. 152 Fejfer, v.1.1, 16. 153 Letter from Townley to Blundell, 9th November 1799. Cited in Vaughn, Blundell, 20. 146 147

144 “In the 4 other small recesses I shall place the 4 tables I bt last year at London; and place on them smaller statues, etc”. Letter from Blundell to Townley, 23rd March 1801. Cited in Fejfer v.1.1, 18. 145 Vaughn, Blundell, 19.

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Simon Gregory : Displaying the Antique on a bust of Livia he writes, “This is modern and has no great merit”.154

in the relative quality of sculpture available. The anecdotal nature of his catalogue, his bulk purchases of ancient, modern and heavily restored pieces and his somewhat haphazard display suggest as much. He was not trying to compile the ‘finest’ collection of classical sculpture; he was satisfying an interest for the antique.

The proposition that he wanted simply to furnish his hall is untrue. This may well have been his original motive, but Blundell took great pride in his collection. This is shown through the publication of his Account and Engravings, and by the construction of buildings such as his Garden Temple and Pantheon. Michaelis raises an interesting point on the issue – “the collector’s love for his treasure gave further proof of its sincerity in the stately buildings which he had erected for their reception”.155 Henry Blundell founded the tradition of public access to his collection. Not only did scholars such as Michaelis, Poulsen and Waagen visit; daily access was offered to the general public. This was unusual. The movement of sculpture into the Pantheon provided some relief for Ince Blundell Hall, as Henry’s home, which was struggling to accommodate increasing levels of visitors. Such was the popularity that visiting had to be limited to certain days, an arrangement which continued until the 1920s when damage was done to one of the statues.156

This is also shown by his choice of sculpture for the Pantheon. The reception of his collection by the public was a motive in his decision to build such a gallery.164 He was not providing a cross-section of his collection for scholarly criticism, but offering an assortment for public viewing. It is natural that he would want ‘finer’ pieces to be housed in such an imposing and purpose-built structure. As Vaughan rightly points out, “the Ince Blundell Pantheon, with its overwhelming array of ancient and modern marbles, provided one of the most perfect expressions in England of the neoclassical ideal”.165 It is in the context of this ideal that we must consider the use of the Pantheon form, and Blundell’s motives for collecting, and in his display. List of Abbreviations

Conclusion

Account Blundell, H., An account of the statues, busts, bassrelieves, cinerary urns, and other ancient marbles, and paintings at Ince (Liverpool, 1803). Ashmole, Marbles Ashmole, B., A Selection from the Ince Blundell Hall Marbles (Liverpool, 1961). Belchem Belchem, J. (ed.), Popular Politics, Riot and Labour: Essays in Liverpool History 1790-1940 (Liverpool, 1992). Black and MacRaild Black, J. and MacRaild, D.M., Nineteenth-Century Britain (Basingstoke, 2003). Boëthius Boëthius, A., Etruscan and Early Roman Architecture (Yale 1978). Catalogue Ashmole, B with Weld-Blundell, M.T., Weld-Blundell, A.M and Blundell, H. A Catalogue of the Ancient Marbles at Ince Blundell Hall (Oxford, 1929). Colvin Colvin, H.M., A Biographical Dictionary of British Architects, 1600-1840 (London 1978). Dallaway Dallaway, J., Anecdotes of the Arts in England; or, Comparative Remarks on Architecture, Sculpture, and Painting (London, 1800). Pantheon De Fine Licht, K., The Rotunda in Rome: A Study of Hadrian’s Pantheon (Copenhagen 1968).

The formation of Blundell’s collection is tied to the 18th and 19th century interest in the antique, and the fashion for collecting its relics. Blundell is one collector on a long list. His decision to construct a Pantheon must also be placed in the architectural trend of ‘neoclassicism’, as was his decision to house sculpture inside it. “The gallery as sculpture hall was a natural development in an age when British milords thronged to Italy, many of them acquiring antique statues or copies there of”.157 The rotunda at Kedleston Hall, Derbyshire,158 was built for Baron Scarsdale’s159 collection, as was Newby Hall, Yorkshire160 for William Weddell. Both the redesigning of Luton Hoo, Bedfordshire,161 and Syon House incorporated sculptural display. The use of the Pantheon as a gallery was a “logical conclusion”.162 Blundell’s collection was one of the largest of its kind in England, although as Michaelis points out, “they could be no wise be compared as to the quality with those of Townley”.163 However, Blundell’s main motive in collecting was a fascination for the antique itself, and not Blundell, Account, 34, no. LXIV (Catalogue, no. 189a). Michaelis, 101. 156 Catalogue, xiii. 157 Stillman, Neoclassicism, 310. 158 Stillman, Pantheon. and Stillman, Neoclassicism, 84-85, 124-126, and pls.38, 67, and 72. 159 DNB. 160 Stillman, Pantheon, 86-87 and Stillman, Neoclassicism, pl.208. 161 Watkin, 182-183 and Stillman, Neolclassicism, 84-86 and pl.85 and 104. 162 Stillman, Neoclassicism, 310. 163 Michaelis, 100. 154 155

164 165

211

See above. Vaughn, Blundell, 20.

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