The Art of Citizens, Soldiers and Freedmen in the Roman World 9781841719634, 9781407329819

Table of contents :
01-Prelims
02-Leach
03-George
04-Laird
05-Clarke
06-Kondoleon
07-D'Ambra
08-Koortbojian
09-Cutler
10-McClanan
11-Kempen
12-Metraux
13-Bibliography
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
List of Illustrations
List of Abbreviations
Introduction
I. Freedmen: Art and Iconography
Freedmen and Immortality in the Tomb of the Haterii
Social Identity and the Dignity of Work in Freedmen’s Reliefs
Private Memory and Public Interest: Municipal Identity in Imperial Italy
II. Transpositions from High to Low
High and Low: Mocking Philosophers in the Tavern of the Seven Sages, Ostia
Provincial Pretensions: Salons of Literati in Roman Mosaics
III. Death and Commemoration
Imitations of Life: Style, Theme and a Sculptural Collection in the Isola Sacra Necropolis, Ostia
The Freedman’s Voice: The funerary Monument of Aurelius Hermia and Aurelia Philematio
IV. Ordinary Objects
The Violent Domus: Cruelty, Gender, and Class in Roman Household Possessions
Measuring Athena: Pagan Images on Late Roman Commercial Weights
V. Modes of Creation, Production and Distribution
The Art of Soldiers on a Roman Frontier: Style and the Antonine Wall
Consumers’ Choices: Aspects of the Arts in the Age of Late Roman ‘Mechanical’ Reproduction
Bibliography

Citation preview

BAR S1526 2006 D’AMBRA & MÉTRAUX (Eds)

The Art of Citizens, Soldiers and Freedmen in the Roman World Edited by

Eve D’Ambra Guy P. R. Métraux

THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN

B A R

BAR International Series 1526 2006

The Art of Citizens, Soldiers and Freedmen in the Roman World Edited by

Eve D’Ambra Guy P. R. Métraux

BAR International Series 1526 2006

ISBN 9781841719634 paperback ISBN 9781407329819 e-format DOI https://doi.org/10.30861/9781841719634 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

BAR

PUBLISHING

Table of Contents Acknowledgements ........................................................................................................................................................ ii List of Illustrations ........................................................................................................................................................ iii Abbreviations ................................................................................................................................................................. vii Introduction by Eve D’Ambra and Guy P.R. Métraux.............................................................................................. viii I. Freedmen: Art and Iconography Eleanor W. Leach (Indiana University) .................................................................................................................1 “Freedmen and Immortality in the Tomb of the Haterii” Michele George (McMaster University)...............................................................................................................19 “Social Identity and the Dignity of Work in Freedmen’s Reliefs” Margaret L. Laird (University of Chicago).........................................................................................................31 “Private Memory and Public Interest: Municipal Identity in Imperial Italy” II. Transpositions from High to Low John R. Clarke (University of Texas at Austin)...................................................................................................47 “High and Low: Mocking Philosophers in the Tavern of the Seven Sages, Ostia” Christine Kondoleon (Boston Museum of Fine Arts) ..........................................................................................59 “Provincial Pretensions: Salons of Literati in Roman Mosaics” III. Death and Commemoration Eve D’Ambra (Vassar College)............................................................................................................................73 “Imitations of Life: Style, Theme, and a Sculptural Collection in the Isola Sacra Necropolis, Ostia” Michael Koortbojian (University of Toronto) .....................................................................................................91 “The Freedman’s Voice: The Funerary Monument of Aurelius Hermia and Aurelia Philematio” IV. Ordinary Objects Anthony Cutler (Pennsylvania State University) ...............................................................................................103 “The Violent Domus: Cruelty, Gender, and Class in Roman Household Possessions” Ann McClanan (Portland State University) .......................................................................................................115 “Iconography of Useful Objects: Pagan Images on Late Roman Commercial Weights” V. Modes of Creation, Production, and Distribution Natalie Boymel Kampen (Barnard College) ......................................................................................................125 “The Art of Soldiers on a Roman Frontier” Guy P.R. Métraux (York University) .................................................................................................................135 “Consumers’ Choices: The Arts in the Age of Late Roman ‘Mechanical’ Reproduction” Bibliography.............................................................................................................................................................153

Acknowledgements The editors and contributors wish to acknowledge the help and advice of David Davison for facilitating the publication of this volume; his encouragement and the advice of two reviewers have been invaluable. The publication of this volume was made possible by a generous gift from an anonymous donor, and both BAR and the editors and contributors are grateful for this act of support. Finally, the editors wish to thank the contributors for their responsiveness to our questions and comments, in the hope that we have made this volume rise to the level of their scholarship.

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List of Illustrations Eleanor W. Leach: “Constructing Immortality: the Freedmen Q. Haterius and C. Trimalchio Ornament Their Tombs” Figure 1. Tomb built by Naevoleia Tyche for herself and her husband, the Augustalis C. Munatius Faustus, Pompeii, Via dei Sepolchri. (Photo: author). Figure 2. Relief from the Tomb of the Haterii, Vatican Museum. (Photo: Musei Vaticani, archivio fotografico neg. N. XXXII.II.45). Figure 3. Relief from the Tomb of the Haterii, Vatican Museum. (Photo: Musei Vaticani, archivio fotografico neg. N. L. 14. 315). Figure 4. Relief from the Tomb of the Haterii, Vatican Museum. (Photo: Musei Vaticani, archivio fotografico neg. N. XI.24.21). Figure 5. Detail from the Tomb of the Haterii, “tomb-crane relief,” Vatican Museum. (Photo: DAI neg. 34.1647). Figure 6. Detail from the Tomb of the Haterii, “tomb-crane relief,.” Vatican Museum. (Photo: DAI neg. 34.1635. Figure 7. Relief from the Tomb of the Haterii, Vatican Museum. (Photo: Musei Vaticani, archivio fotografico neg. N. XXXVI.30.64). Figure 8. Rome, Porta Maggiore, Relief from the Tomb of Vergilius Eurysaces. (Photo: DAI neg. 72.3). Figure 9. Relief fragments from the Tomb of the Haterii, Vatican Museum. (Photo: DAI neg. 1.266). Figure 10. Cinerary Altar, 1st century C.E., Rome, Museo Archeologico Nazionale delle Terme. (Photo: DAI neg. 74. 285). Figure 11. Inscription from the Tomb of the Haterii, Rome, Vatican Museum. (Photo: DAI neg. 85.2092 Figure 12. Pedimental Sculpture from the Tomb of the Haterii, Vatican Museum. (Photo: DAI neg. 81. 2869). Figure 13. Reconstruction model of the Tomb of Vergilius Eurysaces, Rome, EUR, Museo della Civiltà Romana. (Photo: DAI neg. 72. 2568). Michele George: “Social Identity and the Dignity of Work in Freedmen’s Reliefs” Figure 1. Relief of the Gavii, Rome, S. Giovanni in Laterano, Chiostro. (Photo: DAI neg. 6537). Figure 2. Relief of the Ampudii, London, British Museum. (Photo: BM Inv. 1920 2-20.1). Figure 3. Relief of the Licinii, London, British Museum. (Photo: BM Inv. 1954.12-14.1). Figure 4. Relief with cushion shop, Florence, Uffizi. (Photo: Alinari 29357). Figure 5. Altar of L. Cornelius Atimetus, Vatican Museum, Galleria Lapidario. (Photo: Musei Vaticani, archivio fotografico XIII.21.21) Figure 6. Scene of knife shop, altar of L. Cornelius Atimetus, Vatican Museum, Galleria Lapidario. (Photo: Musei Vaticani, archivio fotografico XIII.21.20). Figure 7. Stele of C. Iulius Helius, Rome, Capitoline Museum. (Photo: DAI neg. 77.1705). Margaret L. Laird: “Private Memory and Public Interest: Municipal Identity in Imperial Italy" Fig. 1. Foundation monument of P.Horatius Chryseros, Ostia. Vatican Museum, Museo Chiaramonti, inv. 1247; h 164 cm x w 94 x d 91.5; (Illustration: after Amelung 1903, pl. 84). Figure 2. Detail of Figure 1, front inscribed panel of the foundation monument of P. Horatius Chryseros, Ostia. Vatican Museum, Museo Chiaramonti, inv. 1247. (Illustration: after Amelung 1903, pl. 84). Figure 3. Tomb of C. Fabius Hermogenes, Ostia, Porta Romana necropolis. (Photo: author). Figure 4. Plan of the precinct of Magna Mater, Ostia, with approximate findspots of (A) the base of P. Claudius Veratius Abascantianus and (B) the dedicatory base of C. Iulius Cocilius Hermes. (Illustration: adapted from Calza 1953, pl. 13). Figure 5. Dedicatory base of C. Iulius Cocilius Hermes, from the precinct of Magna Mater, Ostia, h 59 x w 35 x d 28 cm; Ostia, Galleria Lapidaria, inv. 8207. (Photo: Archivio Fotografico della Soprintendenza per i Beni Archeologici di Ostia, neg. R 4333/2). Figure 6. Aedicula of A. Quinctilius A.f. Palatinus Priscus, from above the second forum of Ferentinum. (Illustration: after Rossini 1973, pl. LXIII). Figure 7. Statue base of A. Quinctilius A.f. Palatinus Priscus, from the second forum of Ferentinum, current whereabouts unknown. (Illustration: after Ramieri 1995, Figure 59). Figure 8. Artist's reconstruction of the distribution of the foundation of C. Fabius Hermogenes in the forum of Ostia. (Illustration: after Pascolini 1979, 30; courtesy Armando Editore).

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John R. Clarke: "High and Low: Mocking Philosophers in the Tavern of the Seven Sages, Ostia" Figure 1. Plan of the Caupona of the Seven Sages, Ostia (III, 10, 2-3). (After Clarke, Art in the Lives of Ordinary Romans, Figure 96). Figure 2. Caupona of the Seven Sages, Ostia, vault with Dionysian figure. (Photo: Michael Larvey, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica). Figure 3. Caupona of the Seven Sages, Ostia, south wall, east part, Solon of Athens. (Photo: Michael Larvey, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica Figure 4. Caupona of the Seven Sages, Ostia, south wall, west part, Thales of Miletus. (Photo: Michael Larvey, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica). Figure 5. Caupona of the Seven Sages, Ostia, west wall, south part, Chilon of Sparta. (Photo: Michael Larvey, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica). Figure 6. Caupona of the Seven Sages, Ostia, south and west walls. (Photo: Minstero per i Beni Culturali et Ambientali, Istituto Centrale per il Catalogo e la Documentazione, neg. E 40726). Figure 7. Forica on the Street of the Forica, Ostia (I, 12). (Photo: Michael Larvey, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica). Christine Kondoleon: “Provincial Pretensions: Salons of Literati in Roman Mosaics” Figure 1. Ephesos, Library of Celsus, view of façade with sculptures of personifications, second century C.E. (Photo: John Dean) Figure 2. Zeugma-on-the-Euphrates (Syria Secunda), House of the Euphrates, Paideia, Arete, and Sophia, detail of mosaic floor, late second/early third century C.E., Gaziantep Museum (Photo: Courtesy of Fatih Cimok). Figure 3. Sagalassos (Pisidia), Library of T. Flavius Severianus Neon, in situ view of library room with mosaic of Departure of Achilles for Troy, . 361-363 C.E. (Photo: Kent Severson). Figure 4. Seleucia (Pamphylia), Agora (area 10), Greek philosophers framing a panel with Homer, "The Iliad," and "The Odyssey," detail of mosaic floor, third century C.E. Antalya Archaeological Museum. (Photo: Author). Figure 5. Trier (Gallia Belgica), room 5, Procurator's Palace, teachers and pupils, detail of a mosaic floor, mid third century C.E. (room dimensions c. 4.50 x 6.60 m). Trier, Archeological Museum. (Photo: Author). Figure 6. Aphrodisias, Marble shield portraits of philosophers, found between the back wall of Sebasteion and the back of an apsidal building, early fifth century C.E. Aphrodisias Museum (Photo: courtesy of Aphrodisias Excavations /Courtesy of R.R.R. Smith) Figure 7. Memphis, Sanctuary of Serapis, Exedra with Seated Philosophers, late third or early second century B.C.E. (After Lauer and Picard 1955, pl. 28) Figure 8, a-b Baalbek-Soueidié (Syria Secunda), Villa de Soueidié, details of mosaics of Seven Sages and the Muse Calliope, and bath of Alexander, and detail of Aristotle panel, third century C.E.. National Museum, Beirut (Photo: after Maurice Chéhab, pls. xv, xxiii.1, xxv,). Figure 9. Set of 12 silver spoons engraved with sayings of wise men, from a treasure found at Lampsacus sixth century C.E. (c.265 mm long, approximate weight 75 grams). London, British Museum. (Photo: British Museum by permission). Figure 10. Merida (Augusta Emerita, Lusitania), from Calle Holguin, mosaic of triclinium with Seven Sages and Briseis taken from Achilles, mosaic floor, mid-fourth century C.E. (c. 8.50 x 4.80 m). Merida, Archaeological Museum. (Photo: Author). Eve D’Ambra: “Women at Work: Style and Theme in Two Ostian Tombs” Figure 1. Relief of a Midwife. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia, n. 280 Figure 2. Portrait Statue of Julia Procula. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Judith Barringer, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica ). Figure 3. Relief of a Surgeon. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Franc Palaia,with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica). Figure 4. Facade of Midwife's Tomb. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Franc Palaia, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica). Figure 5. Plan of the Isola Sacra Necropolis. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: after G. Calza, La Necropoli, tav. III) Figure 6 and 7. Herm of Hippocrates. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Judith Barringer, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica ). Figure 8. Head of a Kore. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Judith Barringer, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica ). Figure 9. Hellenistic Male Head. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Judith Barringer, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica ). iv

Figure 10. Statuette of Eros on Lioness. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Judith Barringer, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica ). Figure 11. Head of a Gaul. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Judith Barringer, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica ). Figure 12. Head of Domitian. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Judith Barringer , with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica). Michael Koortbojian: “The Freedman’s Voice: The Funerary Monument of Aurelius Hermia and Aurelia Philematio” Figure 1. Funerary Monument of Aurelius Hermia and Aurelia Philematio. 58 h x 100 cm w. London, British Museum. (Photo: BM neg. 197717). Anthony Cutler: “The Violent Domus: Cruelty, Gender, and Class in Roman Household Possessions” Figure 1. Ivory comb. Blinding of Polyphemus. 135 x 63 cm x .5 cm thick. New York, private collection. (Photo: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology, University of Michigan). Figure 2. Ivory comb. Oeneus Sacrificing; Meleager and the Calydonian Boar. New York, private collection. (Photo: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology, University of Michigan). Figure 3. Meleager, the Calydonian Boar and the Thestiades, short side of a sarcophagus. Rome, Galleria DoriaPamphili ((Photo: DAIRom). Figure 4. Venus and the Infant Bacchus , plaque from a book stand. Cologne, Römisch-Germanisches Museum. (Photo: Museum). Figure 5. Bacchus and Mercury, plaque from a book stand. Cologne, Römisch-Germanisches Museum. (Photo: Museum). Figure 6. Detail of Figure 1: Ulysses and Polyphemus. New York, private collection. (Photo: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology, University of Michigan). Figure 7. Detail of Figure 2: Meleager and the Calydonian Boar. New York, private collection. (Photo: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology, University of Michigan). Ann McClanan: "Iconography of Useful Objects: Pagan Images on Late Roman Commercial Weights” Figure 1. Drawing of Late Roman steelyard apparatus. Figure 2. Athena steelyard weight and apparatus. Bronze; rod length: 106.7 cm; weight 21.6 cm h. Boston, Museum of Fine Arts. museum purchase with funds donated by Cornelius and Emily Vermeule and Walter and Celia Gilbert in honor of Mary Bryce Comstock. (Photo: BMFA 2001.546.1-4). Figure 3. Modern steelyard weight in use, Izmir, Turkey. (Photo: author). Figure 4. Empress steelyard weight. Bronze filled with lead in weight;10.8 cm h, 23.2 cm h. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, purchase, Rogers Fund, Bequest of Theodore M. Davis, by exchange, and Gifts of George Blumenthal, J. Pierpont Morgan, Mrs. Lucy W. Drexel, and Mrs. Robert J. Levy, by exchange, 1980, inv. 1980.416a. (Photo: MMA neg. 223088 B). Figure 5. Athena steelyard weight, Anemurium excavation, Turkey. (Photo: Anemurium excavations). Natalie Boymel Kampen: “The Art of Soldiers on a Roman Frontier” Figure 1. Distance Slab from Bridgeness on the Antonine Wall, 141-43 C.E. Edinburgh, National Museum of Antiquities of Scotland, inv. FV 27. (Photo: National Museums of Scotland, after Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 68). Figure 2. Great Trajanic Frieze from Rome, c. 110-120 C.E., now set into the Arch of Constantine, Rome. (Photo: DAI neg. 86.354). Figure 3. Distance Slab from Hutcheson Hill on the Antonine Wall, 141-43 C.E. Hunterian Museum, University of Glasgow, inv. F 1969.22. (Photo: L. Keppie, after Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 149 and Keppie 1998, #9). Figure 4. Distance Slab from Summerston Farm on the Antonine Wall, 141-43 C.E. Hunterian Museum, University of Glasgow, inv. F 5. (Photo: L. Keppie, after Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 137 and Keppie 1998, #5). Figure 5. Decorative Slab from Corbridge, probably Antonine. Corbridge, Corbridge Museum. (Photo: English Heritage after Phillips 1977, # 86). Figure 6. Distance Slab from Old Kilpatrick on the Antonine Wall, 141-43 C.E. Hunterian Museum, University of Glasgow, inv. F 15. (Photo: L. Keppie after Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 156 and Keppie 1998, # 9). Figure 7. Distance Slab from Hutcheson Hill on the Antonine Wall, 141-43 C.E., now destroyed. (Photo: L. Keppie after Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 148 and Keppie 1998, # 8). Figure 8. Fragmentary Distance Slab from near Old Kilpatrick on the Antonine Wall, 141-43 C.E. Hunterian Museum, v

University of Glasgow, inv. F 14. (Photo: L. Keppie after Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 155 and Keppie 1998, # 15). Figure 9. Genii Cucullati Relief from Housesteads, Second quarter of the third century. Housesteads, Housesteads Museum. (Photo: English Heritage after Coulston and Phillips 1988, # 152). Figure 10. Genii Cucullati Relief from Carlisle, second or third century. Netherhall, Maryport. (Photo: Senhouse Museum Trust after Coulston and Phillips 1988, # 485). Guy P.R. Métraux: "Consumers’ Choices: The Arts in the Age of Late Roman ‘Mechanical’ Reproduction” Figure 1. Plan, Maison de la Cascade, Utica, in its final phase, third century C.E. (Illustration: after Corpus des mosaïques de Tunisie I, 1. Utique 1973, plan 7, drawing by J. Gretzinger). Figure 2. Plan, Maison de la Chasse, Utica, in its final phase, fourth century C.E. (Illustration: after Corpus des mosaïques de Tunisie I, 1. Utique 1973, plan 13, drawing by J. Gretzinger).

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List of Abbreviations AB ActaArchHung AJA AJAH AJP AnnÉcSocCiv ANRW Anthologia Latina ArhVest ASR BACrist BdA BÉFAR BIALond BIHB BullComm CIL CJ ClassMediaev CLE CP CQ DOP EAA Epigraphica Gymnasium Historia ILLRP ILS JDAI, JdI JECS JRA JRS JSAH Klio KölnJb Latomus MAAR Maia Meded MÉFRA MemLinc MZ NSc OpRom PastPres PBSR Phoenix RendLinc RM RStPomp StEtr TAPA TrZ ZPE

Art Bulletin. Acta archaeologica Academiae scientiarum Hungaricae. American Journal of Archaeology. American Journal of Ancient History. American Journal of Philology. Annales. Économies, sociètés, civilizations. H. Temporini, ed., Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt (Berlin 1972-). Beuchler, F. and A. Riese, eds. 1972. Reprint. Anthologia Latina sive poesis latinae supplementum. Vol. 1.2, Pars Prior: Carmina in codicibus scripta. Amsterdam: A. M. Hakkert. Original edition, Leipzig: B. G. Teubner, 1906. Arheološki vestnik. C. Robert et al., Die Antiken Sarkophagreliefs (Berlin 1890-). Bullettino di archeologia cristiana. Bollettino d'arte. Bibliothèque des Écoles françaises d'Athènes et de Rome. Bulletin of the Institue of Archaeology of the University of London. Bulletin de l’Institut historique belge de Rome. Bullettino della Commissione archeologica Communale di Roma. Mommsen, Th. et al., eds. 1863-. Corpus Inscriptionem Latinarum. Berlin: W. De Gruyter. Classical Journal. Classica et mediaevalia. Revue danoise de philologie et d'histoire. Buechler, F., ed. 1895-7. Carmina Latina Epigraphica. 2 vols. Leipzig: B. G. Teubner. Classical Philology. Classical Quarterly. Dumbarton Oaks Papers. Enciclopedia dell'arte antica, classica, ed orientale (Rome 1958-1984). Epigraphica. Rivista italiana di epigrafia. Gymnasium. Zeitschrift für Kultur der Antike und Bildung. Historia. Zeitschrift für alte Geschichte. Degrassi, A., ed. 1963-65. Inscriptiones Latinae Liberae Rei Publicae. 2nd ed. Florence: La Nuova Italia. Dessau, H., ed. 1979. Reprint. Inscriptiones Latinae Selectae. Chicago: Ares. Original edition, Berlin: Weidmann, 1892-1916. Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts. Journal of Early Christian Studies. Journal of Roman Archaeology. Journal of Roman Studies. Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians. Klio. Beiträge zur alten Geschichte. Kölner Jahrbuch für Vor- und Frühgeschichte. Latomus. Revue d'études latines. Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome. Maia. Rivista di letterature classiche. Mededeelingn van het Nederlands Historisch Institut te Rome. Mélanges de l'École française de Rome, Antiquité. Memorie. Atti dell'Accademia nazionale dei Lincei, Classe di scienze morali, storiche e filologiche. Mainzer Zeitschrift. Notizie degli scavi di antichità. Opuscula romana. Past and Present. Papers of the British School at Rome. Phoenix. The Classical Association of Canada. Atti dell'Accademia nazionale dei Lincei. Rendiconti. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Römische Abteilung. Rivista di studi pompeiani. Studi etruschi. Transactions of the American Philological Association. Trierer Zeitschrift für Geschichte und Kunst des Trierer Landes und seiner Nachbargebiete. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik.

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Introduction Eve D’Ambra and Guy P.R. Métraux being seen to be somebody. Then again, Alphius purchased an image for himself – an aristocratic point-ofview – in the form of a picture-window framing a pastoral view: while eating, watching the lambs return from pasture to the fold near the villa, observing the tired oxen come home dragging the upturned plow, and seeing the home-bred slaves (vernae) returning to the neat family altar (Lares) where they would gather to pray for the family and its continued prosperity. Thus Alphius had bought himself two commodities much in demand in Roman culture: pious tradition and social status.1

The Latin poet Horace, in the second poem of his Epodes (published around 30 B.C.E.) gives us access to the musings of a self-made man who ponders on what his money can buy to achieve the good life in Rome. Alphius the money-lender (foenerator) made enough money to buy himself a nice villa with a well-developed estate equipped with slaves who had been born on the property. Instead of eating the luxurious foods available in town – oysters from the Lucrine Lake, wild or domesticated poultry imported from Ionia and Africa, and expensive fancy fish – he contented himself with eating fare from his own property: olives from his own orchard, a lamb slaughtered in pious honor of a rural god, a kid saved from the tooth of the wolf, fruits strictly in season, and so on. Of course, there were duties: he oversaw the farm, in spring supervising the grafting of vines, the collecting of honey, and the shearing of sheep. The summertime would be devoted to napping on a smooth lawn under an oak tree, listening to the sound of birds and a nearby brook. In the fall and winter, of course, there would be hunting: boar, birds, and rabbits. Indispensible to this was a virtuous female, usually characterized as a stock character such as a Sabine woman, famous for her ancestresses’ role in the founding of Rome, or an Apulian wife, proverbial for domestic loyalty. Under her care, the house would be tended, the children raised with love, charcoal prepared for a nice fire, while a tender eye was kept alert for the return of a tired husband. The doubtful pleasures of business (negotium), the dangers and riches of sea-faring, the glories of a military career, the squalid entanglements of the Forum (which in context can mean practicing as a lawyer), and having to grovel in the splendid palaces of the rich and powerful – all these were incomparable to plucking a pear from a tree you had trellised yourself or cutting a bunch of grapes from a vine of your own cultivation.

Does all this sound too good to be true? Of course it does; Alphius himself – or, rather, Horace, who tells us his story – says so. Alphius was a jamjam futurus rusticus (the phrase is almost untranslatable: it means, literally, “one who once was a farmer-to-be”). Evidently all this life-style in the country was a great bore, and he didn’t last two weeks. On the Ides of the month (the 15th) he had taken all his money out of the market and bought the villa, the activities, the ideologies, the slaves, the loving thrifty wife, the picture window, the family altar. By the Kalends (the first of the next month), he sold the lot and put his money back into the market in town. Far from going back to his fictitious roots in the country, he returned to his true commercial calling. In reality or in reverie, depending on how we interpret the poem, Alphius didn’t belong in the sunny picture that he bought. Other freedmen thrived in the countryside. For an example of an actual successs story rather than a literary character, the grammarian Quintus Remmius Palaemon started out as a weaver but turned to teaching from his slave job of taking the son of his mistress to school.2 Once freed, Remmius founded a school that trained Quintilian. With his wealth and prestige, the former schoolmaster played gentleman farmer on an estate near Rome which he entrusted to the care of another freedman. Remmius took great pride in his landholdings, unlike the fictional Alphius who sold up within a fortnight.

Alphius did particularly well as a money-lender: he was rich, but his wealth came from an occupation (like most commercial and manual trades) considered sordid by the Roman elites. As such, Alphius was most probably a freedman, born a slave but manumitted by his master to bring in some added income as a silent business-partner and to make a living for himself. What were the rewards of villa-ownership for a person such as Alphius? There were two: ancestry and image. As (most likely) a former slave who had no legal family, he had, in a sense, to buy the ancestry that he lacked, or at least its appearance: on the basis of his purchase, he could tend quietly to fields inherited from a father and some ancestors (but not, of course, his father or ancestors). In terms of image, he could purchase a country seat and be seen to uphold aristocratic values. This established a social status, at least in appearance, and it gave him image in the sense of

The story of Alphius, even from Horace’s satiric point of view, is a poignant one because it is replete with the values and longings of individuals whose status, in Roman legal and social terms, was fragile, even marginal. Alphius and his peers are often categorized as “non-elite” citizens, lacking the characteristics of the upper social 1 It is a matter of poetic ambiguity on Horace’s part as to whether all this actually happened, or whether it was merely a matter of a freedman’s lovely day-dream. In any case, Horace is lampooning both the pretensions of the upper classes and the freedman Alphius’s aspirations. 2 Pliny, NH 14.49-51; Andreau 1989, 178 and 188.

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INTRODUCTION patrons who were non-elite.5 This term has been used as a catchall. It groups rich money-lenders together with poor carpenters and only separates them from that which they were not, namely citizens with esteemed ancestry, inherited wealth, and political careers. The term non-elite obscures significant differences among individuals in terms of finances, background, and cultural competence. It also fails to take into account regional differences of the local elites and provincial notables, whose tastes may not have always followed those of the court in Rome, and citizens in the provinces, including soldiers. Historically, it has been long understood that both the elite and nonelite groups were not monolithic constituencies, and the artistic choices they made were not one-sided: the lowlier social groups did not invariably imitate the artistic devices of the elite or official groups, nor was elite art neccessarily immune to visual ideas and iconographies originating from, or habituated in, non-elite strata of society.

ranks: aristocratic birth, established income from land, and the prestige of holding public offices generation after generation. Yet Alphius and others like him – ordinary citizens and soldiers – could be wealthy, ambitious, and prominent in their own communities. Freeborn and freed Roman without high birth made up the vast majority of Roman society, but that society took almost no account of their existence except to scorn them. This collection of essays is about the values and aspirations of these citizens. Some were prosperous, most were undistinguished, a very few rose to some kind of prominence. Whether they were rich or moderately well-off, all were engaged in commerce and professions, or skilled trades, while many more worked the land. Some were well-to-do folk who lived in the provinces and had only a local prestige. Others were ex-soldiers or ones on active duty, not out for glory but merely posted to camp-duties offering much adventure. They also include, conspicuously in these essays, freedmen and freedwomen whose status as former slaves conferred lasting stigma and, as a result, could prompt them to ferocious ambition or deft concealment of their former condition or both.3 By the mid-second century C.E., the period of the high empire, freedmen and freeborn Romans tended not to specify their status in their epitaphs, and freedman on the rise seemed to have had less appeal as a stereotype or cariacature in literary satires. As the status of a former slave only lasted for one generation (the children of a freedman attained the dignity of citizenship in most cases), freeborn Romans included many who were descended from slaves. Many families, however, included both enslaved and freed members at the same time, so that their actual status muddied the clear distinctions articulated by the legal codes. These families moved towards manumission (the granting of freed status to a slave) gradually.4 Other slaves were manumitted informally (usually prior to the minimum age qualification of thirty years). These individuals, called Junian Latins, had an opportunity to acquire citizenship if they had children and took the proper administrative measures but, without progeny or bureaucratic procedures, they remained in an intermediate status. On city streets throughout the empire in the second century C.E., the distinction between freed and freeborn status meant less than the wealth and clout an individual commanded.

The prime literary example provides a case in point: Trimalchio is a nouveau-riche freedman created by Petronius in his novel, the Satyricon, written in the midfirst century C.E. The character of Trimalchio has come to define the rich freedman as a paragon of bad taste driven by misguided imitation of his social superiors.6 Petronius certainly satirized Trimalchio’s vulgarity, his pretentions, his cruelty, and his foolishness, but he also invested him with energy and cunning. Trimalchio was proud of his own history as a former slave (he had his biography painted in fresco in the entrance-hall of his house), as were the other freedmen at his table who speak openly of their lives as slaves. Their accomplishments were measured against their origins, which they did not hide. Veyne has pointed out that Trimalchio is unique in his independence: he inherited a senator’s fortune from his former master and had no living patron to whom he owed homage and services.7 Dependence on their former masters, their patrons, was the bane of freedmen’s extistence, unless they owed their good fortune to them, as in Trimalchio’s case. As is typical of freedmen and merchants, Trimalchio’s career reflected the vicissitudes of fortune. He bought five cargo ships with his inheritance and lost all in a storm at sea. He continued in the sea-going trade until he made enough money to buy back his old master’s estates. For Trimalchio as with Alphius, the life of a country gentleman remained the ideal. The land, houses, livestock, and slaves could be bought, but the intrinsic values and virtues of the aristocrat were more difficult to acquire. During the dinner, Trimalchio demonstrates his incompetence in knowledge that any member of the

The art which adorned houses, shops, taverns, and tombs is the main topic of this volume, art commissioned by

3 The manners and customs of freedmen have their own particular history: in the first century C.E., freedmen of the imperial corps attained influence in emperors’ administrations, and Greek slave or freedmen came to be prominent as tutors and philosophers. Their status as freedmen was low, but their influence could be considerable, and there was some pride in being a freedman, even though access to high official position was not to be had. Later, by the mid-second century C.E., freedmen chose, in many cases, not to announce their status even though it was obvious in other ways. 4 Saller 2001, 109-111.

5 For representative studies of the history of non-elite groups in the Roman Empire, see: Weaver 1972, and 1991, 166-90. Garnsey and Saller 1987, Saller 1982. Hopkins 1978, Syme 2002. For the history of non-elite art and questions about it, see most recently Petersen 2000 and 2003. 6 Joshel 1992, 83-4; Andreau 1993, 194. 7 Petronius, Sat. 15.76. Veyne 1961, 213-47.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD upper classes would have taken for granted – the vintages of wine, the origins of Corinthian bronze, and mythology, history, and literature in general. His muddled learning makes for comedy, of course.

Petronius’s nuanced picture of Trimalchio must be taken seriously, and the essays in this volume treat various aspects of the art of non-elite patrons throughout the Roman Empire from the first century B.C.E. through the fourth century C.E. These essays contribute to that part of Roman art history which focuses on the patronage of people outside of the imperial court and the political classes – people who inhabited the back alleys of Rome and the towns of the far-flung borders of the Empire. This volume aims to make some of the new research on this topic available to a wider audience, and to extend the dialogue by revisiting familiar topics with different goals in mind as well as to introduce some less familiar ones.

It has been pointed out that Trimalchio’s character is formed by elite values and perceptions. He prefers big business to small and takes on risks as a merchant that put him at the mercy of chance and fortune.8 However, other passages in the novel also demonstrate that he diversified his business interests through freedmen intermediaries to engage in a range of activities, some agrarian, others commercial.9 This combination of pursuits was rarely mentioned by aristocrats who disdained trade, along with the widespread acquisitive drive that was not only confined to freedmen, as reading only elite texts might have one believe. Even the broad caricature of Trimalchio can reveal lives in flux and the ambivalence of social poses.

In the Roman world, the opportunities for self-expression for most citizens were very limited. Some, like Alphius and Trimalchio, attempted to graft themselves into good society by buying villas, estates, and slaves. Others sought posts in the imperial bureaucracy at the lower levels of administration without expectation of higher positions which would not have been open to them. Provincial grandees had a better time of it, though the majority remained obscure. Wealthy freedmen were encouraged as early as the time of Augustus (29 B.C.E. to 14 C.E.) to become Augustales, a new cult and religious organization devoted to the genius or spirit of the emperor. This gave freedmen, who were otherwise disqualified by reason of social status from the traditional priesthoods, an opportunity for religious and civic presence and occasions to display their wealth publicly in processions and festivities. Others lived quietly and in obscurity, barely making a living and leaving little behind in the archaeological record besides a stone inscribed with their name, if that. Most lived anonymously, continuing in their useful, quietly desperate, and loving relations as best they could.

Trimalchio is prouder still of the validation which wealth gave to his new status. Rather than exemplifying a “trickle-down” aesthetic from elite to non-elite, the artistry of the environment he created came from the unique assemblage of its borrowed parts, some of which derived from elite traditions but most of which were long adapted by local notables and bore the marks of their indigenous cultures.10 The wall paintings depicting his life story from the slave market to public renown can be compared to funerary reliefs depicting the occupations of urban artisans and merchants.11 The tomb that he describes after reading his will aloud to the assembled guests includes the imagery of a public benefactor: Trimalchio seated on a high platform giving largesse and a scene of a banquet hall to represent the meal that he funded for the town. These, too, had been represented on tombs of civic leaders in the Italian towns.12 Other motifs may have held even more importance for Trimalchio: the recurring signs of the zodiac (and Trimalchio’s birth sign in particular) and the figure of his patron deity Mercury.13 Both figure as symbols of luck and fortune, requisites for the successful businessman.14

What were these people’s resources for social and individual self-expression? One of them was words in the form of inscriptions: the authority and social value of written words, especially of words cut in stone and mounted in public places, united the habits of non-elite groups with the habits of the elite and the official circles. Once a name and pronouncement was set in stone, its intent and power would be permanent and its memory a matter of civic and personal presence. The corpus of Latin inscriptions is, in fact, asymmetrical in its distribution: there are relatively few extant official texts, decrees of magistrates and emperors, and so on. The humbler ones are much more numerous: the wills, the funerary notices, the indices of property, the legal quarrels, and so on, which constitute the day-to-day living history of Roman society. In public settings – streets, house-façades, urban open space, cemeteries – words inscribed in stone expressed personal or corporate intention, directed courses of action, and authorized repercussions if these were ignored – in other words, the inscriptions expressed agency. Inscriptions were, for Romans of every class, essential for representation.

8

Veyne 1961, 213-47. D’Arms 1981, 97-120. 10 Antonaccio 2003, 57-76, on hybridity as a dynamic “within which the colonizer’s culture and identity are transformed by an encounter that produces the necessity of communication between groups using different languages, cultures, and ideologies.” We may think of Trimalchio’s décor as a third space between the aristocratic domus and the plebeian imitations of it. 11 Zimmer 1982, 6-12; Whitehead 1993, 299-325. 12 Whitehead 1993, 306-7, 309-14. 13 D’Arms 1981, 120. 14 From an elite point of view, the “problem” of rich freedmen was evident already in the later first century B.C.E.: Cicero, in a moralistic passage on how the senatorial order should set an example for the lower classes, says that the great general Lucullus (L. Licinius Lucullus, c. 115-50 B.C.E.), when in retirement at his famously elaborate villa at Tusculum, answered a charge of ostentatious lavishness (luxuria) by remarking that he had to live up to the decorative standards of his neighbors, one a knight, and the other a mere freedman (Cicero, Leg. III.30). 9

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INTRODUCTION There was another resource: visual representation. Court clerks and midwives had artistic traditions – funerary and religious – which they could use and adapt freely, even create. They recognized that visual representation could mitigate their slight opportunities for social selfexpression and perpetuate their names, interests, ambitions, occupations, and memory as well as enhancing them. Visual representation allowed ordinary people to participate in the competitive world of Roman society in which statues in public places honored magistrates and generals. The banker Alphius and his peers may not have aspired to the glory and honor that accompanied such images, but they knew that a tombstone or epitaph would ensure their honorable memory, no small thing in a society with deeply ingrained social habits about the commemoration of the dead. Having a portrait in relief on a tomb-façade meant that the person was represented as a member of his or her family, peer-group, and occupation; in other words, that the person counted for something in life and beyond it, in death.

defined by a what subsequent generations considered to be excellent (e.g., the Ara Pacis).

Like the inscriptions, the quantity of private works of art, many of them falling into the category of material culture rather than the fine arts, vastly outnumbered the quantity of elite and official works, and the bulk of Roman visual artifacts belongs to the lower social orders. In part, modern archaeology has brought this material to the fore, and craft objects of all sorts as well as vernacular works of art are included, as a matter of course, in histories of Roman art and its text-books.15 However, these works have not always been integrated into the narratives of Roman art because art historians have concentrated on the great monuments and imperial patrons in order to formulate a master narrative of Roman art.16 The problem lies in the task of accounting for the quality of the works that differ considerably from the standards of artistic “excellence” allegedly inherited from the Greeks. A hierarchy of style and form informs the judgments of many art historians who have praised the sculpture which reproduces Greek models and the technological advances of Roman architecture. Relief sculpture representing the official functions of Roman emperors has suffered in comparison to the epic themes of Greek art, and Roman painting has sometimes not fared well either, mainly because of its private (funerary or domestic) contexts and its wide range of theme and quality. At first, art historians assumed there would be direct correspondences between the social status of the patron and the quality of the work he commissioned, but this has proven false: there were freedmen with superb collections of statuary in their tombs, and members of the elites with less-thanfine-quality objets d’art. While members of the lower social orders have been admitted to the roster of patrons of Roman art, they still play a minor role: the works they commissioned are described as coarse, awkward, and unappealing by scholars whose standards are narrowly

Roman society was organized into orders or statusgroups, categories of rank established by law and tradition. The senatorial order was the highest, with its requirements of aristocratic birth, wealth, and moral leadership, though there had always been room in it for men of conspicuous talent (the novi homines) such as Cicero. Augustus made membership in the Senate of Rome even more exclusive than it had become in the late Republic: he raised the minimum property requirement to one million sesterces (from the previous four hundred thousand) and weeded out Senators considered unsuitable because of their bad morals, politics, or poverty. Although membership in the Senate was not a hereditary privilege, the prominent members belonged to old families and had ancestors entwined with the history of the Republic (the nobiles): this made birth an influential factor in their election, and even Augustus could not ignore the fact.18 The Senate was the political statusgroup that provided magistrates and generals for the empire. In number, the senatorial order was quite small: several hundred senatorial families in the Republic, and only six hundred sitting members after Augustus’s reforms. Throughout the period of the empire, senatorial families died out at an alarming rate requiring replacements to be found in the local elites in the towns, at first mainly in Italy, then from the provinces. This new blood in the Senate reinvigorated the institution by extending the senatorial dignity to people outside the original status-group, even though the Senate itself was in losing competition with the prerogatives of the emperor and the imperial administrators.

15 16

There are thus two issues: social status and visual representation. We begin with an outline of social status because, although its importance is admitted, its effects in the field of artistic patronage and cultural acquisition are only beginning to be studied. In recent studies, Roman visual culture has been embraced as a phenomenon of social expression, restoring art to the social scene and liberating scholars from the straitjacket of artistic connoisseurship or archaeological classification. We briefly broach some of the historiographical problems after that, and we invite the reader to sample the essays that engage many of these issues, rejecting the claims or alternately supporting the observations that has led one scholar to declare that Roman art was the first modern art.17 ******************

The enormous prestige wielded by a Senator cannot be overestimated, especially in a hierarchical society bound by strict protocols for official business and social 17 Brendel 1979, for a succinct discussion of the historiographic problem. 18 Gelzer 1969; Wiseman 1971; Eck 1984, 129-67; Syme 2002; Nicolet 1976, 16-54, on citizenship as a “profession” in itself.

Henig 1983; Ramage and Ramage 1991; Brown and Strong 1976. Kampen 2003 and 1995.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD etiquette. Roman society has often been described as a pyramid with the emperor at the top and, below him, the steeply declining sides forming a wide base filled with the masses, freeborn workers (mainly agrarian), urban poor, slaves, and so on. The senatorial order filled a narrow wedge of social space immediately beneath the emperor, and that space remained unchanged both in its position and, for that matter, its relative size from the late moments of the Republic (about 50 B.C.E.) into late antiquity (about late 2nd to 6th century C.E.). In the period of the late Republic, a portrait type of the old, worn caretaker of the state seemed to present the face of the ruling elite, but because many of the portraits cannot be connected with known senators or members of the great families, we cannot assume that the portrait type was in itself the mark of elite status – some of those bald heads and lined faces may have portrayed individuals much lower down on the social scale. In the Augustan period, images that may or may not have portrayed Senators tended to be eclipsed, in Rome, by the representation of the emperor, and portraits of members of the senatorial order came to be more frequent in the provinces in the period of the high empire.19

the members of the town council brought them prestige in the community and gratitude from the local citizentry. As the lowest member of the elite orders, a decurion gave a face to the distant and aloof imperial authority of Rome.21 Several elegantly-outfitted and decorated houses in Pompeii belonged to local office-holders or candidates for office, such as the Casa della Venere in Conchiglia of D. Lucretius Valens and the house of L. Ceius Secundus, and the décor of these houses was virtually indistinguishable from those of prosperous merchants.22 In the project of self-representation, style may correlate more closely with the ambition of the home owner rather than with his status. Below these orders in the social pyramid lay the majority of the empire’s population. They were differentiated legally only between the freeborn and the freed, and the citizen and non-citizen. Freeborn citizens of humble background left few traces in the ancient literary sources and the archaeological record. When such men and women moved up in the social order, their promotions cannot be traced because their names (unlike those of freedmen) do not indicate their origins. An exception is found in a North African inscription in verse narrating the rags-to-riches story of a freeborn laborer known as the Mactar harvester.23 It was his epitaph for himself. This man supervised a gang of men who worked “under the fierce sun” in the fields of Numidia for eleven years, sometime in the third century C.E. He earned enough money to buy both a house and an estate – domus et villa, as he says – and to enter local politics in the curia of Mactar. As a man who began with nothing and ended up with requisite status symbols of those who had arrived in society, the domus and the villa, the Mactar harvester’s inscription indicates that the freeborn poor aspired to the good life in the same way as ambitious freedmen.

The equestrian order, ranked beneath the senatorial group, had similar qualifications: birth, wealth (at least four hundred thousand sesterces annual income), and respectability (under Tiberius, an individual whose ancestor had been a freedmen in the previous two generations could not qualify as an eques). Equestrians, however, flourished in far greater numbers than senators – there were thousands of them. Their duties differed in that some took on administrative or military offices in the period of the empire, to the extent of constituting a subsenatorial rank (with some even encroaching upon senatorial privileges), while others remained as local notables, the governing elite of their towns across the empire. So fervent was the desire to distinguish rank that certain equestrians ensconced in prestigious posts in Rome received epithets to indicate their role as the elite of their order.20

A slave became a freedman and a citizen upon manumission but could not move up into the elite orders (or marry a woman of senatorial family) and could not serve as a regular soldier in the legions. Sons of freedmen, however, could advance in the social life of towns, such as Pompeii and Ostia, and several accumulated substantial wealth; even so, while many deserved and achieved great local respect, as members of a status group, they were often targets of comic characterization in literature. In a special category were the imperial freedmen who were charged with mundane administrative duties or the very highest roles of advisors; as such, they were the target of envy because of their proximity to power and their success in the entourage of emperors. In contrast, most freedmen lived hard, unrewarding lives, out of range of the rich and prominent except as dependents on their former masters.24

Local town councils consisted of men (decuriones or councillors) who were also expected to have worthy lineage, money, and moral standards. The rules, however, were flexible: sons of freedmen were admitted to some town councils, and there were various thresholds of wealth required for election to the municipal bodies. Of the three criteria (with moral standards as the most slippery), wealth was often the deciding factor because decurions received no salary for their job and, furthermore, were required to pay fees for their offices or priesthoods and were expected to contribute to the cost of public festivals, services, and infrastructure (fountains, bridges, baths, and the like) as well. The beneficence of

The status of freedmen became more complex but less 19

For example, the munificence of Herodes Atticus in Greece: see Tobin 1997. 20 Garnsey and Saller, 1987; Purcell 1983 on the apparitores, a subgroup of clerks and attendants who served equestrians and magistrates in their official duties.

21

Stahl 1978. Leach 2004, 211-28. CIL VIII 11824 = ILS 7457. 24 Treggiari 1969, 87-162; Fabre 1981; Andreau 1993, 175-198. 22 23

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INTRODUCTION obvious as conditions of citizenship changed in the later Roman Empire, especially in the provinces. Literary and epigraphical sources become rather quiet about freedmen in the second century C.E., a period in which citizenship gradually lost its exclusivity as more provincials were given the franchise, which meant less and less in terms of privilege and more and more in the way of taxation (Caracalla granted citizenship to all free residents of the empire in 212). By the mid-second century C.E., a distinction between elite and non-elite took hold as citizens were classified either as honestiores (the three elite orders plus the veteran soldiers) or as humiliores (the undistinguished masses). This differentation came to supplant the distinction between citizens and non-citizens in the law.

men who were, in many cases, recruited from the edges of the empire and sent to serve in another strange and remote territory.27 Roman society offered traditional devices of affiliation and advantage that both reinforced the structure and allowed for movement within it. At the elite level, the incumbent head of the family, the pater, had considerable rights over his wife and his children, but he was also the paterfamilias, the head of the familia which could include near and distant blood relatives, free servants and household slaves, and other hangers-on.28 The elite incumbent was a father of another kind, a patronus, namely the head of a larger, loosely organized network of dependents, called the clientela. This group could be made up of family friends less fortunate financially or of lower status, families and individuals with long-standing ties to the family, former slaves who, as freedmen, were bound to support their former owner, corporate entities of professions such as collegia of firefighters or other occupations, people looking for jobs for themselves or their friends, and so on. Senators at Rome who had been governors abroad might have whole provinces as their clients, but decurions of towns would have both individuals and local clubs as clients as well. The clientage system was an important and very old tradition within Roman society, and its historical versatility made it applicable throughout the empire and even into its latest phases: Christian bishops certainly, and sometimes monks and holy men, could exercise the rights and pressures of the patronus. The system provided good benefits: the client got a job, an advantageous marriage for his children, insider information, gossip, a hand-out of food, and so on, and the patronus got his clients’ votes, service, and social respect.29 A complex etiquette of continual surveillance – in its simplest form a daily or twice-daily gathering of clients in the house of the patronus to greet him (salutatio) – was in place to guarantee the structure and function of the system. The relation of patronus and client was mutually exploitive in that it satisfied needs and codified the socially asymmetrical bonds between the powerful and the powerless in sociable ways.

Slaves were considered to be the masters’ property, no better than chattel and described as a “talking hardware” (instrumentum vocale).25 While masters originally could do as they wished with their slaves, the law eventually put some limits on their actions: the master’s right to kill his slaves was revoked, and masters who abandoned sick slaves did not get them back. Owners had inhumane rights over their human property including the use of the the whip to punish lazy or headstrong slaves, forcing sexual relations on slaves who could not refuse, and selling the children of slave marriages. Slaves who managed urban households or who ran businesses for their masters could manage to find some freedom or to accumulate savings (peculium) that may have served them if they were freed by their masters (occasionally to continue in the same occupation they had performed before, with their masters as silent partners in the business). Slaves on agricultural estates and in mines led harsh lives, frequently chained in groups to work and branded with their master’s marks on their bodies.26 Within the Roman social pyramid, there were very few opportunities for social expression and mobility. As we have seen, freedmen could become priests by becoming Augustales, and their sons could become decurions on town councils. From slavery to a town’s governing board in two generations was a spectacular rise; no doubt such advancement fueled the invective about freedmen who didn’t know their places. A more popular route of advancement was found in the army. Auxiliary soldiers (non-citizens) automatically earned citizenship on their discharge, and citizens who became legionaries had expectation of rewards upon demobilization. Soldiers received discharge payments at the end of their service that often brought them farms in the frontier provinces, the first step in becoming landed gentry and serving on town councils. Centurions could even reach equestrian status if they could show the requisite annual income. As an institution that instilled loyalty to Rome and camaraderie among its men, the army was a prime vehicle of Romanization: Latin lessons were given to

The pyramid model of Roman society ranked individuals in groups, but it does not predict either their taste in art or their claims to self-representation. That is the subject of many of these essays. In addition, the study of art at the lower social levels of Roman – or any other – society calls into question the definition of “art” itself. Romans would not have recognized our distinctions between high and low art because their environment provided a continuum of images of varying function and quality not easily classified into fine arts and functional objects – even cult statues had a crucial “practical” function for the ancients. Our classification of styles, with its obsessive 27

25 26

28

Varro, Rust. I.17. Hopkins 1993, 3-25; Fitzgerald 2000; Weiss 2004.

29

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Davies 1989; a well-illustrated introduction in Goldsworthy 2003. Treggiari 1991, 442-46; Saller 1994. Wallace-Hadrill 1989, 63-88.

THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD tracking of Greek vs. Roman elements and concern for minutiae, would have meant little to Roman viewers whose aesthetic appreciation depended on other factors, such as the value of materials and their tactile qualities, as well as the technical complications involved in manufacture. Art in this definition is disparate: it can easily include moulded counter-weights, large and small floor mosaics, sophisticated or crude statues and reliefs, and works in ivory and clay. The standard for assessing these disparate works can only be in categories just as disparate: that is why we emphasize visual cultures rather than any one definition of art or artistic production. The conceptualization of such art is under constant scrutiny in current scholarship, but its concepts have a modern history, so it is to the historiography of non-elite art that we briefly turn.

and not representing some kind of inevitable “decline.” Riegl also sought to normalize, in terms of visual development, the whole trajectory from Augustan classicizing styles (first century B.C.E) to the most hierarchic Constantinian products (fourth century C.E.), giving a distinctly modern account of Roman art. His interpretation differed conspicuously from previous views, which had seen Roman art as a process of continual decay, both visual and moral; by contrast, Reigl’s modernity came from the fact that his was a primarily visual method, unconcerned with questions of morality and decline of artistic standards that have often plagued the study of Roman culture.32 Thus the study of Roman art is a modern one, more or less contemporaneous with the development of nineteenth and twentieth-century ideas in the crafting of historywriting and visual theory. In addition, Roman art history has benefited from modern scientific methods of cataloguing and publishing different types of artifacts: sarcophagi, portraits, regional or town surveys, potterytypes and distributions, and the like. These aspects of modernity have resulted in rich interpretive projects of many different kinds, the views of historians being sharpened by the continual refreshment of contemporary ideas. Otto Brendel, with his customary lucidity, pointed out as early as 1953 that Roman art history was also not immune to other aspects of modernism: racialism and even nationalism, a search for “origins” to define socalled aboriginal elements in later artistic developments, a straining after “native” predispositions in the handling of such things as space and line, and the predominance of aesthetic theory over historical sequence.33 In addition, theories of Roman art history have stressed what Brendel called “monistic” definitions (in which a single theme, for example, Romanitas or the quality of “Roman-ness,” predominates) or “dualistic” interpretations in which two or many themes account, in a dialectical way, for the visual characteristics of Roman art (for example, “Italic” versus “Hellenic,” that is, native versus foreign elements). Many interpretations rely on discerning underlying structures of visual conceptualization in the manner of modern structuralist anthropology.34

******************* Edward Gibbon, in his Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (1776-88), had been among the first to separate the history of Rome as a phenomenon distinct from Greek and Christian history and to understand its unique development. Before him, J.J. Winckelmann in his History of the Art of Antiquity (1764) had credited the Greeks with the genius for creating timeless and meaningful works of art and the Romans with the good sense to copy their masterworks. Throughout the nineteenth century, most scholars maintained the critical notions proposed for the development of Greek art (especially sculpture) that had been outlined by Winckelmann, ignoring the challenge set out a little later by Gibbon. As it happened, the history of art in the Roman Empire detached itself from Renaissance antiquarianisms, connoisseurship of objects, and Greek art history more than a century after Gibbon’s work. The project then turned to defining what is Roman about Roman art, to legitimize it as a worthy field of study. In 1895, a study entitled Die Wiener Genesis appeared in German; in his introduction to the volume, Franz Wickhoff recognized Roman art to be a separate field of both development and conflict in visual history.30 As Otto Brendel, in his famous and indispensible comments on Roman art has pointed out, Wickhoff’s recognition involved, in part, substituting new and specifically modern ideas of visual construction derived from Impressionism and nineteenth century aesthetic theories for standards of “art” derived from classical precedents.31 Wickhoff analyzed specific tendencies in form as the defining principle of Roman art, ones which possessed an aesthetic that crossed media, from marble reliefs to manuscript illuminations, from gems to mosaic floors. Wickhoff’s colleague Alois Riegl, whose seminal book Die spätrömische Kunstindustrie was published in 1901, continued the project of analyzing Roman art as an entity independant of Greek art, autonomous in its development, 30 31

It was to be expected, then, that the modern history of Roman art should incorporate modern notions. Already in the nineteenth century, the sociology or cultural anthropology of antiquity rather than its history became potent methodological ideas, begun for Greek and Roman antiquity by Numa Fustel de Coulanges in his La cité antique of 1869.35 In the twentieth century, a potent method has been social history with its analysis of class and status, differences of wealth and resources, and social

32

Riegel 1927, 1985. Brendel 1979, 47-68. 34 Kaschnitz-Weinberg 1933, on his concept of “structure” as an underlying predisposition to form; see also Rykwert 1976 for spatial considerations in city plans. 35 Fustel de Coulanges1880; most recently, Favro 1996. 33

Wickhoff and Ritter von Hartel 1895; Wickhoff 1900. Brendel 1979, 27-37.

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INTRODUCTION friction.36 A Marxist view of Roman art was thus an entirely logical development, because the diversity of Roman styles and iconographies could be readily assimilated into a dialectical drama of social conflict and competition.37 How people behaved in institutions – artists and artisans as well as members of status-groups and economic classes – is also readily documentable in the Roman world, and historians have been successful in taking up the challenge.38 By the later twentieth century, studies of gender and sexuality (beginning with the advances of feminist scholarship), have illuminated aspects of Roman art.39 As in other historical projects, modern and contemporary concerns are reproduced rather closely in the “histories” of Roman art, as Natalie B. Kampen has aptly termed them.40

class-based frictions between the represented by the two visual modes.

social

groups

Bianchi-Bandinelli’s ideas were justly influential. They both ran ahead of (or anticipated) their own documentation and created a new field for research.43 To give some examples: Diana E.E. Kleiner’s work has focused on works of art, mainly portaits in relief on tomb façades and funerary altars that depict freedmen and their strategies of representation in both artistic and social terms. Natalie B. Kampen’s studies on gender and status, especially her work on the images of Roman working women on non-elite funerary monuments as well as women represented on state reliefs, have questioned the prevailing assumptions of art historians who have been loathe to reflect self-consciously on their labors and engage with social theory.44 Paul Zanker has interpreted the portrait reliefs of freedmen and funerary art under Augustus in terms of the patrons’ social aspirations and the reception of official art.45 Both Gerhard Zimmer and Valentin Kockel have examined tombs and their reliefs that depict occupations or reflect the honors awarded to the deceased in Ostia and Pompeii.46 Tonio Hölscher has considered Roman art as semantic system that embraces all the variants in a cohesive whole.47 The work of these scholars (among many others) has provided models of interpretation in which the often-conflicting evidence of style, iconography, inscribed texts, and patronage are analyzed with depth and nuance. Such interpretive works benefit by the numerous catalogues (many published earlier on the basis of archaeological or antiquarian research) of materials both vernacular and elite – for example, the corpora of reliefs from Gaul, or the mosaics from different provinces of the Roman Empire, and the Römische Herrscherbild volumes on imperial portraits48 – which are available from many different provinces of the Roman Empire. This documentation, by not excluding artifacts or works of material culture on aesthetic grounds, has given scholars valuable insights into old material that reveals new phenomena in Roman visual culture.

One of these histories of Roman art is that of the nonelite: or, rather, of the visual matrix and trajectory of the art patronized, exhibited, and promoted by members of the lower social orders and made for them.41 The most significant early study of these phenomena, one which attempted to define non-elite art, was that of Ranuccio Bianchi-Bandinelli. His numerous articles and two major interpretive books emphasized the contrast between, and the relationship of, what he called arte aulica – art made for the upper classes and the ruling establishment – and arte plebea – art made for the working masses.42 The former was distinguished by its classicism, its generous spatial and sculptural characteristics, and by the allegorical traditions and propaganda of its iconographies, whereas “plebeian” art had a vigorous immediacy, a sharply cartoon-like quality and flattened space, individuality, and other engaging strengths which, far from being crude, were sophisticated social expressions all its own. Bianchi-Bandinelli stressed the variety of “plebeian” art and its social differentiation in contrast to the homogeneity of elite art. His dichotomies created a dramatic conflict of opposites which allowed for mutual borrowings and reinforcements without mitigating the 36

This was reinforced by the scientific study of Greek and Latin inscriptions instituted mainly by Theodor Mommsen in the 1850s and resulting in the ongoing CIL and CIG (and ILS and IGS). The vast majority of inscriptions document the lives and deaths of quite humble people, with the result that the historically “silent” majority of the Roman world surfaced early in Roman historiography. Among many others, the use of inscriptions as well as artifacts and works of art was a novelty in M. Rostovtzeff’s social and economic account of Roman history: Rostovtzeff 1933. Rostovtzeff’s work became, and still is, the model for how to combine material, economic, and social documentation. The social and economic models of Roman historiography are numerous, and in the second half of the twentieth century they turned, quite naturally, on issues of slavery. For informed and extensive accounts, see Finley 1999 and Carrandini 1988. 37 Hauser 1982; Bianchi-Bandinelli 1933. 38 On collegia in general: Royden 1988; on commercial and artisanal collegia in Rome and its port: Japella Contardi 1980; on religious associations: Kloppenborg 1996. 39 Kleiner and Matheson, 1996 and 2000. Hallet and Skinner, 1997. Clarke, 1998. D’Ambra 1998. 40 Kampen 2003. 41 Petersen 2000; Clarke, 2003; see also Michele George’s article in this volume. 42 Bianchi-Bandinelli 1933. Brendel 1979, 105-07, on Rodenwaldt. Hauser 1957-58.

Did the lower social orders of the Roman Empire have an art of their own? In a status-bound society, “whom you know” might be quite important even if one was not specially powerful or rich, because access to status can 43

For an appreciation of Bianchi-Bandinelli’s work, see Brendel 1979, 105-07. His Marxist point of view did not appeal to all scholars who were, nonetheless, persuaded by his insights. In terms of surveys of Roman art, Kähler 1960, and Brilliant 1974, now both out of print, certainly benefited from Bianchi-Bandinelli’s ideas and introduced samples and examples of “ordinary” art to a wide audience of readers. 44 Kleiner 1977; Kampen 1981. 45 Zanker 1975, 267-315. 46 Zimmer 1982; Kockel 1993. 47 Hölscher 2004. 48 Espérandieu et al.1907-81 on reliefs and statues from Gaul; work on mosaics is documented by the publications of the Association international pour l’étude de la mosaïque antique (Paris); Roman portraits have been the subject of monographs in the Römische Herrscherbild publications of the Deutsches Archäologisches Institut (Rome).

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD actually be a powerful position, different from (and less difficult than) access to wealth. The cultural influence of well-connected people not powerful themselves but sufficiently well-placed to speak to the elite, namely the whole group of low-status individuals from wealthy freedmen to well-educated slaves, has yet to be assimilated by art historians of the Roman period. This omission is in part due to the problem of identifying freedmen in the archaeological record in the period of the high empire because, during the second century C.E., individuals tend to omit recording their legal status in their epitaphs. In addition, there is this social dissonance: individuals who were rich but of low status rarely surface in any Latin literary or Roman historical accounts – these sources commonly give only the elite side of the story about these patrons of the arts. Still, low-status but rich, well-placed, or influential people always exist in complex societies. Keith Hopkins has aptly termed this widespread group of literate professionals, businessmen, and low-level administrators the “sub-elite,” and by implication, he urges us to take them into cultural account in Roman history.49 Of course, notables in the provinces and affluent freedmen in the metropoleis could certainly call on – even create a market for – the skills of artists, builders, and craftspeople. While in some cases the artistic styles and ideas were reprises of metropolitan and socially “higher” ones, acquiring a reputation for taste and distinction may also have motivated the purchase and commissioning of art: the desire to acquire paideia (higher culture and education) and “keeping up with the Joneses” are not always too far apart. The motivations of provincial notables and wealthy freedmen were various: a display of fortune and pride together with, in many cases, a claim to literary and philosophic education, a devotion to the political establishment, and public piety. Pleasure in fine decoration, exercise of taste, and aesthetic sensibility must also have been spurs to investment in art: these values can be typical both of provincial elites and of socially-bereft but cash-rich individuals at many times in history.

themselves represented by a portrait was limited, and their choices were further limited if they were poor or lived far from the artistic centers. If they were rich, they could command the talents of artists, but there may have been a hierarchy among the artists and artisans themselves: some fulfilled imperial and élite commissions and undertook grand decorations, whereas the majority plied their trade targeting members of the lesser social orders. The social differentiation among patrons would, of course, have differentiated artists and artisans as well. Thus the styles and iconographies of Roman art which belonged to, or were commissioned by citizens, soldiers, provincials, and freedmen have been recognized in their social context: they contribute to the art we call “Roman” but have a social affiliation and history that may confound the conventional notions of artistic influence and social development. Art historians no longer ignore or discount social context, and they no longer analyze styles and iconographies as if they were flourishing in the hothouse environment of a closed system in which development moves inexorably along a supposedly progressive path from simple to more complex, from lower to higher forms. The essays in this anthology are examples of the ways in which scholars address the complexity of Roman visual culture and social status.

All these motivations exerted some influence at the lower levels of the social pyramid, although their realization was hampered by economic circumstances for some and lack of interest and a sense of common identity for others. While there were exceptions to Roman society’s hierarchical structure and occasional upward mobility for individuals, the self-expression of the lower classes was not merely limited to success in making money, being the client of a helpful patronus, or belonging to a collegium (corporate club). Most members of the lower orders simply spent their time keeping themselves and their families alive and well. They might be able to save up for a funerary plaque with epitaph, yet even a contribution to the cost of a statue honoring their patron or a mosaic floor in their clubhouse of their collegium may have put their accounts seriously behind. The ability of lowly citizens, soldiers, and workers to have

Historical accounts of Roman art have emphasized the autonomy of artistic developments independent of patron’s desires, or else they have asserted imitation of elite art in a “trickle-down” process through the social hierarchy, even though the bulk of works of the Roman period belongs to the lower social orders and to provincials. It would seem, on the surface, that the process of imitation relegates non-elite art to a subordinate position with regards to the grandeur and authority of works commissioned at imperial and elite levels. This is not our view, because it scants the complex processes of “trickle-down” itself – the conversion of artistic ideas from one status-group to another, a process that has a unique history in itself. Furthermore, the “trickle-down” model does not apply as a general phenomenon in all cases – there are portraits of citizens that do not imitate the looks of the reigning emperor and, in fact, display innovations in styles and iconography that are then taken up by elites.50 In addition, the art of ordinary citizens cannot be seen as a form of second-rate citizenship in Roman art history. While such may have been the case in the Roman social structure, it cannot be so in our view of the art-historical record. The terms of second-rate citizenship for Roman art have been various: it has been seen as a result of social frictions in the visual arts, as an element of conflict and contradiction within historical processes, or as an explanation for the emergence of medieval styles later on. Some of these simple (but overly simple) intepretations have arisen from the fact that Roman art historians have

49

50

Hopkins 1998.

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D’Ambra, forthcoming.

INTRODUCTION building-contractors which were combined with mythological scenes on the family tomb, probably built in the late first century C.E. There is something hardheaded about the choice of certain scenes, but it may be that a distinct sentimentality developed among freedmen as an autonomous mark of social distinction as well as a concern for immortality. Since the freedman group was eventually a source of recruitment for mystery-cults, including Christianity, deep feeling and promises of afterlife may have been predisposing elements of their culture earlier on.

busied themselves with problems of attribution and dating rather than with broad conceptual problems. The essays in this book vary in point of view and in method. We have not taken a methodological stance, preferring to adopt a pluralistic point of view to give the contributors a wide range to set out their own interpretive ideas. In addition, we hope that the multiplicity of views and insights will give undergraduate readers, graduate students, and fellow-scholars opportunities to set out their own interpretations of Roman art. We do so because we consider that, in Roman art history, more needs to be done in all of the areas under investigation here.

Doing good works – what was called euergetism in antiquity – and its visual commemoration are the topic of Margaret L. Laird’s essay on the monuments and inscriptions of freedmen and the sons of freedmen in Italy. Being remembered, and how that might be guaranteed with money, words, and a statue as part of the permanent environment of a municipality are certainly matters of sympathetic concern: this essay shows how these matters were arranged and how they affected the artistic landscape of towns in Roman Italy. Of course, this had to be a matter for relatively wealthy individuals who had ready money to put up to express their pride.

******************* It is usual, in groupings of essays, for the editors to introduce the essays and characterize their place within the “group” or in the current scholarship or both. We do so very briefly and, it must be said, with hesitation, because these essays have to do with the heartfelt motivations and fine sentiments of Roman individuals whose voices have been lost or recorded in small, sometimes sad, ways. This should make our task simple, but in fact it makes it complicated.

Not all freedmen were rich. If not money, what else could they take pride in? One of them, surprisingly, was the dignity of their work. All manual and retail occupations were regarded, in the view of the elites, as sordid. But it is clear from Michele George’s article that, on this issue, freedmen developed a culture of their own and were of a different opinion. Quite early, freedmen in Italy began showing themselves, with pride and in detail, as individual members of a “nation of shopkeepers” and trades-people. The reliefs and inscriptions from their tombs have a directness and clarity which may well have surfaced in the reliefs of work and cooperative activity in the “great” monuments of a later age, namely the Columns of Trajan and of Marcus Aurelius.

None of these essays is a conventional exercise in patronage studies of the visual arts because all take into account a more complex mix of social context, individual taste, personal motivation, and market-availability of art than most patronage studies usually offer. In addition, none of the essays concentrates on purely local issues of style or iconography, either regionally based or statusbased, because Roman art was geographically ductile (the same images and styles could be seen, more or less, from Britain to Egypt) and socially mobile (images and styles were both fluidly exchanged and rigidly separated at different times). Nor do the essays concentrate on any particular medium, because all Roman artistic media were continually informed by various styles and iconographies, from official reliefs to the humblest products of pottery manufactures. Artists and artisans themselves may have moved laterally across various media, and they certainly travelled from place to place. What unites these essays is this: they are about the choices – the choices within the entire offering of Roman visual cultures that were made by people in the lower ranks of Roman society.

The second grouping (II. Transpositions from High to Low) has to do with the vexed issue of how socially higher or geographically metropolitan styles and iconographies get down into the lower status-groups and out into the provinces from the cultural centers: “trickledown”. In part, the two essays have to do with literacy, both actual literacy and visual literacy. Humor helps, as John R. Clarke points out in his essay on the walldecorations of a bar in a working-class district in Ostia, the port of Rome. In bars, few may be able to read, but everyone can laugh at verbal and visual jokes. Art in the service of humor, particularly humor that pokes fun at elite iconography and style, is at once simple and complex, and Clarke’s interpretation gives us a subtle view of how the patrons of the bar laughed at what they looked at. It turns “trickle-down” upside down.

Loose and overlapping sections have been arranged in order to group the essays. The first group focuses on the art and iconography of freedmen (I. Freedmen: Art and Iconography). It includes three essays – two about freedmen who were rich, one on tradesmen operating at a distinctly lower financial level. Wealthy freedmen developed their own artistic and iconographic competences: Eleanor W. Leach’s essay on the freedman family, the Haterii of Rome, provides a nuanced picture of the images of the family negotium as

By contrast, Christine Kondoleon’s essay on how images from the great metropolitan cultures of Greece and Rome fared when they were translated and transposed to the xvii

THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD Roman provinces asks a question about cultural literacy among the provincial elites all over the empire. There must have been some, and provincial elites were motivated to be cultured as an expression of affiliation with Rome. Still, did how they decorate their homes actually correspond to their cultural literacy? Houses are very ambiguous: they are both accurate reflections of their owners competences and hopeful, but inaccurate, expressions of their aspirations. Since art in the form of floor-mosaics was a prominent part of domestic decoration, a close reading of them raises more questions than it answers, as Kondoleon shows. The third loose grouping has to do with death and its visual representation in the lower status-groups (III. Death and Commemoration). Eve D’Ambra and Michael Koortbojian have combined, without conspiring, to show how a midwife and a butcher felt about themselves, both in the simplest and most complex ways. Their essays extend Michele George’s contribution by elaborating how members of lower status-groups conceived and achieved one of the most important moments of Roman selfexpression, death itself.

the same reliefs fail to see as anything much more than coarse and crude. The Roman army was, by that time, a multi-cultural enterprise, and Kampen’s article suggests that it was “multi-visual” as well, with the implication that the Roman norm was visually more various than the crust of classicizing art which thinly salted the edge of the Mediterranean and brined the visual life of the elites. Guy P.R. Métraux’s essay asks some of these questions in the context of commercial exchanges between buyers and suppliers of visual goods. Artisanal and artistic work was, after all, a business, and in Roman times the market kept expanding because the number and range of customers kept growing. In an expanding commercial situation, both producers and buyers need to adapt, and Métraux’s article gives instances of different types of such mutual adaptation. The commercial oxymoron, “special off-the-rack,” may well have been an artisanal strategy in late Roman times, and “personalizing” quite standard products is a well-known (and notunsympathetic) device by which producers of Roman visual goods kept themselves in business.

Of course, death is only part of daily life, and many artifacts of quotidian activities had a visual detail which enhanced their use and their affiliation. The fourth category (IV. Ordinary Objects) is about personal haircombs and commercial counter-balance weights. Anthony Cutler’s essay addresses an important and, to us, very strange aspect of Roman domestic imagery, namely how myth and violent depictions were assimilated to objects of personal use. Roman cruelty in public spectacle has been a matter of debate in recent scholarly discussion, but its habituation in homes has not. Cutler’s article gives some good clues as to how the process may have happened. Ann McClanan shows how “great” images – those of Athena and of imperial women – were used as a matter of normal commercial activity in a type of standardized object (weights used as counter-balances for small retail sales all over the empire). As art, these objects might have been almost meaningless, but they carried a freight of cultural meaning nonetheless, in part because they illustrate, in popular visual culture, the lack of difference between a goddess and an emperor’s wife. This lack of difference ensured the smooth persistence, into the Christian period, of the image of a pagan goddess, at a time when the “great” images of the gods were being destroyed. The last section of this volume (V. Modes of Creation, Production, and Distribution) includes two articles which consider what the norms of visual culture might have been at various times in the Roman world. Natalie B. Kampen’s essay focuses on second-century C.E. reliefs from the Antonine Wall in Scotland, commissioned and dedicated by soldiers on a remote frontier. She shows that the visual life of expatriated military personnel of disparate ethnicities drawn from all over the empire had a variety, liveliness, and acuity which modern observers of xviii

I. Freedmen: Art and Iconography

THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD

20

Freedmen and Immortality in the Tomb of the Haterii Eleanor W. Leach “Imaginary as it may be, this life deserves to be taken seriously”. Thus Paul Veyne introduces his 1962 article “Vie de Trimalchion”1 in which he analyzes from a sociohistorical point of view Petronius’ well-known literary portrait of a wealthy freedman acting as the host of a dinner party in a colonia south of Rome. Veyne’s next sentences propose, “Let us try an experiment, considering Trimalchio as a real person and placing his biography among others given by this epoch. The Satyricon will then appear as profoundly realistic, and even typical; it is an excellent historical document.”2 Although realism may not adequately describe all facets of the Satyricon whose narrative profoundly engages such elements of late JulioClaudian culture as rhetoric, illusionism, theatricality, all seemingly better intended to subvert reality than to replicate it,3 Veyne’s essay highlights those aspects of Trimalchio’s portrayal that he considers pertinent to our general understanding of the freedman class. In this paper I want to press the experiment further by placing the Tomb of the Haterii, a major monument of the freedman class dating from the late 1st century C.E., within the context of ideas illuminated by his essay to consider how its visual self-representation may be reflective of an underlying social structure. In so doing I hope to close some gaps between the discourses of art history, literary analysis, and social history.

similarities that invite further comparison. Both are garden tombs, a form attributed to an Eastern origin that was much favored by freedmen from the Neronian period onward,5 Even more they are available to us as reader/viewers only as disjunctive segments of iconology whose lack of diagrammatic spatial interconnections requires considerable reconstructive effort and thus imaginative intervention on our part. The disjointed state in which we perceive Trimalchio’s sepulchral design derives of course from the manner in which the narrative unfolds its details as a set of instructions to the builder. Almost a hundred years subsequent to the discovery of the Tomb of the Haterii, the Roman art historian Antonio Giuliano asked, “How could all these pieces have been displayed on one monument?”6 Although physical reconstruction is impossible, the first requirement of a context for imaginative reconstruction is an understanding of the conditions of life giving rise to these monuments.7 In the case of Trimalchio’s selfrepresentation, literary interpreters have a tendency to fasten upon its assemblage of symbols as violations of decorum stemming from ignorance, poor taste, or perversion of custom,8 yet, with a somewhat revised reading, these practices show that Trimalchio is working within the limited status opportunities available to freedmen in order to convey messages quite suited to his social position and place. In outlining these limits Veyne provides a context for reading which allows for the

Within the scholarship of their respective artistic media, the freedpersons Trimalchio and the Haterii occupy similarly paradigmatic positions. Since its wellpublicized discovery in 1848 the Tomb of the Haterii has had an important place in art historical study, especially as it came to be regarded as a key to “popular” or “plebeian” style.4 Likewise Trimalchio in the midst of his self-gained wealth and his social counterparts is commonly seen as the quintessential portrait of a nonimperial freedman. Trimalchio approaches the Haterii most closely when he gives instructions to his friend, the stone-mason Habinnas, who is engaged in the construction of his tomb. Although the iconographical programs of the monuments differ, they have certain

5 For an epigraphical listing of the complete contents of a garden tomb see the discussion of the tomb of Claudia Semne, wife of a freedman’s son of Crotonian origin, Wrede 1971. Trimalchio makes clear his desire for a garden tomb when he specifies that all manner of fruits and an abundance of vines should surround his ashes (71) The generous dimensions of the tomb, also, 100 feet on the facade and 200 in depth is best explained as accommodating a garden. In the case of the Haterii, the identity, which earlier excavators had already suspected on account of the large compass of the perimeter wall, was firmly established in Coarelli’s 1970/71 excavations which showed clearly that this was a "garden tomb", containing several sculptural pieces: including a statue of Silvanus which stood on a base with appropriate natural imagery, both vegetable and faunal. A funerary altar within the tomb also served the role of a fountain collecting water in a pool. The interior space was used for ritual banquets. The sculpture within the enclosure was presumably for the contemplation of the family or for the benefit of the deceased. Since their type is thought to have been imported from the East, the choice might be a natural one for Trimalchio who speaks of himself as having been brought to Rome from Pergamon. 6 Giuliano 1968, 456, although he has previously (449) described the pieces as an “homogenous and well-defined collection of sculptures.” 7 With the exception of Wrede 1977, 83 who considers their forms within the category of garden tombs, comparisons between the Haterii and Trimalchio have focused upon the funerary monuments as examples of excess in freedman’s “taste”. Jensen 1978, 303-304; Coarelli 1984, 177-178. 8 E.g. Andreae 1963, 63, refers to “Trimalchio’s placement of a fruit tree and vine on his tomb” as a satirically intended banalization of the ...of Souls, paradigmatic of Trimalchio’s making everything as trivial as possible. But in fact these items are not ON the tomb, but belong to its garden precinct.

1

Veyne 1962.113. Veyne 1961, 113. From a literary point of view the “realism” of the material culture depicted in the Cena has been challenged on grounds of probability, initially by Bacon 1958, but subsequently by virtually all scholars. Veyne stands outside this context since his interest is not aesthetic, but social. 3 For discussions see inter al. rhetoric Zeitlin 1971, 631-684; theatricality Rosati 1983, 213-237; illusion Conte 1996, 20-21 et passim. 4 e.g. Von Blanckenhagen 1940. 315-316 who notes that the combination of realism and abstraction removes such “folk-art” from the category of “Flavian style”. Bianchi Bandinelli attributes its compositional genre to the Italo-Roman tradition, noting “the combination of detailed readings of a lifelike kind with a skewed perspective”. Bianchi Bandinelli 1970. 215-217. 2

1

THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD juxtaposition of the two objects with possibilities of mutual inter-illumination.

turns and remains favorable. Once he has comfortably increased his fortune, Trimalchio attempts to alter his identity from merchant to landed proprietor by repurchasing the property initially sold and imitating a cultured, aristocratic life-style. But at both stages we can see him divorced from any valid professional identity. As a tradesperson he lacked roots in an established agrarian society, while his transformation into a farmer grants him only an unreal status as a man of quality in a class to which he does not really belong.

The shape of Veyne’s argument is determined by his larger theoretical purpose of refuting the claims made by M.I Rostovstef concerning the rise of a bourgeois capitalist economy in the Roman society of the early empire insofar as Rostovstev had drawn much of the evidence supporting his arguments from Petronius’ picture of freedman society in the Cena (113; 124). Thus Veyne’s realistic approach reconstructs the financial career of the imaginary freedman for its implications concerning a broader picture of Roman commercial economy. Albeit the conclusions of the article fall into the economic and ideological sphere, the substance of the discussion is literary. By this I mean that Veyne sees more thematic patterns than hard core information in Trimalchio’s story which appears, under close examination, like a financial fairy tale built around the literary profile of the “solitary merchant,” a figure whose willingness to dare everything for gain figures proverbially in Horace’s Odes and Satires.9 When Trimalchio tells his life story we see this sketch fleshed out with motivation from the subject’s own point of view. Born, as he had earlier noted (39), beneath the sign of the Crab (in cancro), thus having “many legs to stand on” and “possessing much on earth and sea,” his prosperity owes more to intrepidity and luck than planning.10 Having served his rich master as a confidential favorite,11 he receives manumission and this master’s estate as a legacy. As an independent libertinus his first move is to convert land into liquid capital, motivated not by necessity, but rather by the freedmen’s tradition of engaging in business (232). His concept of commerce is primitive and risky, consisting only in buying goods for one price to be sold at a higher. As merchant investor he makes his ventures alone, even to the point of building the ships to carry his cargo with the result that nothing diverts the brunt of the losses he first sustains, enough, it would seem to discourage any provident mortal.12 At the point where his resources are close to exhaustion, his luck

What Veyne’s article brought out that has not previously been so well emphasized was the close intermesh between the eccentricities of Trimalchio’s life-style and the marginal status of the freedman in society. He cannot be, as he is so often called, a parvenu, because he has never actually arrived (228). As Veyne points out, a freedman’s rank is a transient condition that he neither inherits nor passes on to his descendants. Rather the class is one that reformulates itself with every generation. Freedmen are separated from normal Roman society by all circumstances: birth, dependency, and eventually by their form of employment. Amidst a population the majority of which are engaged in working the land, they have no links with the soil, but are rather an urban phenomenon, rootless by vocation and needing to create the rationale of their activities from themselves, to invent and realize new strategies (228). Thus they live in a perpetually provisory condition, a “false-door” between plebs and nobility and must make their way by trial and error. In this social borderland, however, nothing prevents them from amassing enormous wealth; thus creating a discrepancy between their monetary capability and social empowerment. Aspects of social dissonance appear at every turning point of Trimalchio’s history and are likewise embodied in his performance as host. Since a freedman’s only counterparts in isolation are men of equivalent social standing, it is natural for them to band together and create their own alternative culture. The freedmen within Trimalchio’s circle of compatible associates are for the most part merchants and artisans. Although their life-stories reveal their diverse stages of social and financial progress, they are, as Veyne points out, substantially like their host (227). One may recall that Augustus recognized this enforced social bonding when he devised the Collegia Augustalium to channel the resources of this unempowered class into social benefactions. Unsurprisingly, in view of their wealth, Trimalchio himself and two other guests have been elected to these societies. Membership in the seemingly more prestigious seviri is clearly a matter of pride for Trimalchio, in spite of gestures to play it down.13 Among these aequales, his head start and his superior achievements make him a leader and model; he is able to consider himself a member of a good society whose rules

9

Odes 1.15-16; Satire 1.6-7. In their suggestion of mercurial vacillations between one and another mode of life, these passages virtually encapsulate Trimalchio’s experience in which, however, he sees no cause for shame. 10 His astrology here is on target. In confirmation Veyne cites the picture of a merchant in Manilius’ Astronomica 4.165-172. Veyne 1961, 235. According to the astronomer, men born under the crab are enabled to carry foreign merchandise throughout cities, to entrust their fortunes to sea-winds, and to turn virtually all their ventures to sudden profit. In selling orbis bona orbi (the world’s goods to the world) they are as it were pioneers in globalization! But Petronius, as Veyne here claims, has so feeble of knowledge of contemporary commercial realities that he could only create his picture in vague and borrowed generalities. 11 Veyne 1961, 215, goes so far into inferential probability as to explain that Trimalchio cannot be a barbarian captive who would have been put to field work, or again a verna, who would have been reared within the household where he was born, but rather, coming from a settled interior province, he was either abandoned or sold. 12 Although allowing that this is “capitalism” of a sort, Veyne 1961, 234, points out that the more normal course of action would have been to join in some form of network, a society, and to hire ships insured by their captain for safe transit.

13

Veyne 1961, 229. Duthoy states that the positions and honors attributed in epigraphical notice to severi show their status to be higher than that of ordinary Augustales. These priviledges includesometimes the wearing of decurial insignia and of sitting among decurions. Duthoy 1974, 142-150.

2

ELEANOR W. LEACH: FREEDMEN AND IMMORTALITY IN THE TOMB OF THE HATERII he himself defines, with only such natural interferences as digestion and mortality opposing his opulent life-style.14

simply of our inability to share in his personal vision, no matter how eager he may be to have it publicized. Presumably Habbinas, being already at work on the tomb, does have this vision in mind, yet it seems that Trimalchio may be asking for additions and changes. All the same it is scarcely as Slater calls it “an incredible hodgepodge, a twisted map of Trimalchio’s image of himself and an important testimony to his confusions over the nature of art and representation.”18 Comparison with specific details of existing monuments adduces many parallels that place it within the realm of possibility. His description unfolds in two stages. Mentioning first his own statue and the appurtenances it should have (his puppy, some crowns and oil flasks and battles of the gladiator Petraites) he then circumscribes these with his tomb garden.19 Contemplating the idea of the tomb as a house in perpertuity, he distracts himself with thoughts of mortality and safeguarding the physical fabric of the tomb. Then returning to its iconography he adds images bearing witness to his prosperity and status: his ships going under full sail and a scene with himself seated in a curule chair giving money to the populace and then hosting a public banquet. Finally he comes back to portraiture, stationing Fortunata, with her own dog, beside himself and adding his puer delicatus as part of the family group. Whether we see them as standing relief, or as busts within a frame, these portraits are quite within the parameters of freedmen’s sepulchral imagery. The active scenes of ships and public ceremony should be imagined as carved on relief panels, similar in form as well as in symbolic import with those on the tomb built by Naevoleia Tyche for herself and her husband the Augustalis, C. Munatius Faustus, in the Via dei Sepolcri in Pompeii whose reliefs show a ship under sail and a sacrificial ceremony (Figure 1).20 In this late 1st century monument we see Naevoleia’s (conventionalized) portrait on the tomb face and a richly scrolled acanthus border surrounding the reliefs.21 Closest of all parallels, although smaller in size, the garden tomb built for Claudia Semne

The clarity of Petronius’ depiction is sharpened by his employment of his narrator Encolpius as a spectator from outside, to register impressions of Trimalchio’s alternative world. Not only is he an outsider in this society, but he is also an “unreliable narrator,” so absorbed in his own point of view and and blind to his failings that his intrusive presence induces a clash of cultures.15 Although he is educated, as the narrative itself requires, a reader should not be so led away by his illfounded sense of superiority as to identify his attitude with that of Petronius, or to consider his portrait as a satire aimed generally at the freedman class.16 Indeed many of the more egregious features of Trimalchio’s selfdramatization correspond with forms of ostentation that the historians attribute to Nero, suggesting that the surreptitious target for parody is the emperor himself. But however we wish to attribute the cultural imitation practiced by Trimalchio, it is scarcely a mannerism restricted to freedmen, but only a version of the largescale imitation that transversed all ranks of Roman society.17 One can remember Cicero’s passage in De Legibus 3.30 on the competition in luxury waged between L. Licinius Lucullus and the freedman and the eques who owned the villas above and below his own property at Tusculum. Lucullus claims that his social inferiors are setting the standards of extravagance while Cicero insists that Lucullus’ bad example came first. Petronius skillfully pictures a world that is on the one hand imitative, and on the other infused by a vital interior energy of its own: a coherence of disparate elements where status is at variance with ambition. In fact Trimalchio attempts to resolve this variance in his tomb. What I have termed the disjunctive character of Trimalchio’s not yet completed decoration reminds us 14 Arrowsmith 1966, 319-325 tempers his view of unhealthy “satiety” in Trimalchio’s material and culinary culture with sympathy for the human anxieties of the characters and appreciation of their comic embrace of everyday life. 15 Zeitlin 1971, exposes Encolpius’ self-contradictions and failures of perception throughout the Satyricon as owing to the defects of his formal traditional education in rhetoric [as clearly exemplified by his fulsome “declamation” in S. 1.1-2]. As she observes, 263, “a narrator who can see the pack on another’s back but not his own provides shifting planes of ambiguity and irony which are often difficult to fathom.” 16 Whitehead bases her discussion of Trimalchio’s biographical narrative on the assumption that the entire Cena constitutes a satire against freedman taste. Whitehead 1993, 317. To the contrary Petronius has no logical reason for satirizing freedmen of Trimalchio’s particular class which probably never interacted with his own. When Pliny (ep. 7.29; 8.6) rails against the freedman, Pallas who had served as treasurer to the Emperor Claudius, it was not because of his social status, but rather because the fulsome tribute paid him by the senate violated class boundaries. Animus against wealthy imperial freedmen, such as those who had served as Claudian bureaucrats, might be a different issue and one that would gain a sympathetic reception at Nero’s court. 17 Duthoy remarks on the hierarchy of imitation, and especially the importance of euergetism to members of the underclass seeking civic recognition. Duthoy 1974, 153 Likewise Dumont seems to make this point. Dumont 1990, 981.

18

Slater 1994, 76-77. Likewise Whitehead is off base when she complains that the images Trimalchio requests are “standardized and common” (Whitehead 1993, 311), since the language in which funerary sculpture communicates is necessarily conventional. However, Turcan makes room for the interaction of convention and individualization in his observations that “the iconography of tombs can vary in accordance with dominant tastes, with specific milieu, with the hope or despair of those ordering the tomb.” Turcan 1999, 15. 19 Whitehead 1993, 302-303, puzzles over the type of the statue, which, because of the dog to be represented at its master’s feet, she thinks might be a kline monument such as are frequently commissioned by freedmen. But she finds this hard to reconcile with T’s later mention of himself seated on a curule chair. Two representations are no problem; the tomb of Claudia Semne has more than one, but the real problem is where the statue of Fortunata is to go, whether alongside that of Trimalchio in a facade pair like that on the Tomb of Eurysaches or inside. 20 Kockel 1983, 104-108; Tav. 27-29. With the difference that this Augustalis is performing a sacrifice rather than sponsoring a public banquet, there is no less a status announcement here. Oddly enough, however, a second tomb in the Porta Noceria necropolis seems to be the real place of burial for the couple. (DeVos 1976, 263; 334). 21 On the basis of Naevoleia’s Claudian hair style Kockel sets this period as a terminus post quem for the monument, but finds no secure grounds for setting a definite date. Kockel 1983, 107-108.

3

THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD and her son off the Via Appia contains a triclinium, a vineyard, a spring or fountain, an altar and an aediculae with statues of Claudia “divinized” in the forms of the goddesses Fortuna, Spes and Venus.22 The thread that holds together the Trimalchio’s iconographical vignettes is the desire to gain affection through gratitude.23 “Pretend,” he says soon after, that you are invited to my Parentalia and say something pretty” (78.4-5). G. Rosati expands this plea to locate the tomb as the centerpiece of a dramatized Parentalia that includes the entire ritual of the dinner.24 Generous provisions for Parentalia celebrations to be enjoyed both by fellow Augustales and by townspeople are recorded in the statue base inscription honoring Q. Cominius Abascantus of Misenum that D’Arms has recently published. In the light of this recorded advertisement of public benefactions, Trimalchio’s more modest donations can scarcely seem out of line,25 yet there is a note here of ambiguity in his request to be shown as feasting the populace. Is this a commemoration or a bequest? In contrast with the future yearly banquets for which Abascantus leaves provisions in his will, Trimalchio mentions his largesse in the past tense as something already accomplished (71: scis enim quod epulum dedi binos denarios) and not necessarily to be repeated. Similarly a combination of banquet or “symposium” scene and a tribunal scene of uncertain import figure within the painted interior of the Pompeian tomb of Vestorius Primus, an aedile who died in his year of office at the age of 22.26 Finally the fragmentation of vision comes sharply home when Trimalchio’s proclivity for attractive boy slaves gives rise to a quarrel with Fortunata that ends with his banishing her image from the tomb (74.17). Would he have restored her? Habinnas

Figure 1. Tomb built by Naevoleia Tyche for herself and her husband, the Augustalis C. Munatius Faustus, Pompeii, Via dei Sepolchri. (Photo: author).

argues to this purpose (75), and certainly a real life Trimalchio would have done so in view of the importance attached to legitimate marriage as a proud privilege that new citizens gained by their manumission.27

22 Wrede 1971, 131. The inscriptions explain the statuary, but, as he points out, the images are sufficiently different from Claudia to show that the matron has been elevated by assimilation to the goddesses but not merged into their identity. Statius’ contemporaneous Epicediam in Priscillam pictures a similarly full complement of goddesses witin the burial chamber of the freedman Abscantus’ lamented wife, in that case Ceres, the maiden of Gnossus, Maia, and Venus (Statius Silvae 5. 229233. 23 His promise of manumitting all his slaves by will, however, exceeds the regulations of imperial Roman law which allows only a fraction to be manumitted in proportion to the number of the entire servile familia. Bradley 1994. 10-12. 24 Rosati 1983, 217 25 This wealthy Augustalis of the time of Antoninus Pius whose bequest is inscribed on a statue base in the Shrine of the Augustales at Misenum left 110.000 sesterces for a public wine feast on his birthday. Additionally he gave out sportulae in the Forum at the time that his statue was dedicated. D’Arms 2000, 128-135. 26 Whitehead makes several comparisons between Vestorius’ motifs and those of Trimalchio. Whitehead 1993, 306-307. The aedile’s painted, and somewhat rowdy, banquet which includes only nine persons rather than the entire populace may conceivably represent a celebration among friends of his election to office or his inauguration. Possibly a silver service arrayed on the table in another panel may suggest repetitions of the event. Although Whitehead follows the lead of J.M. Denzer (1962) in interpreting the representational iconography of this tomb as funerary, Mols and Moorman more correctly, as I think, take it for “a good example of the wish to ‘show-off’ among the middle-class bourgeosie in the last decade of Pompeii’s existence.” Interestingly they find in the succession of vignettes beginning with a salutatio a narrative of events that the visitor can easily read. Mols and Moorman 19931994. 47-48.

All the same this handsome protegé who figures as an immediate cause of discord gives particularly poignant witness to another aspect of freedmen’s social isolation that Veyne discusses. Protesting that he values the youth for his “frugality rather than his form” (75), he might seem to touch upon his lack of any blood heir who, as a free citizen, will be able to profit from his enterprise or his wealth. Agatho the perfumer, he tells his guests, had urged his marriage to Fortunata for precisely this purpose, (non patiaris genus tuum interire), which has gone unrealized, leaving only Fortunata as her husband’s heir. Veyne notices the challenge facing the first generation ingenuus who will not follow in his father’s condition, but must make his own way as a plebs (230). Trimalchio’s guests include Echion, a father who thinks in this manner about the possible futures of his sons (46). 27 Wrede notes how the possession of wife and children marked the progress of the freedman from his former slave identity, adding that the particular joy of family life will have motivated the desire to erect a grave monument as a kind of reversal. Wrede 1981, 107. Dumont explains the marble Venus in Trimalchio’s lararium as indicating pride in his married status (Dumont 1990, 973) as also D’Arms 2000, 129.

4

ELEANOR W. LEACH: FREEDMEN AND IMMORTALITY IN THE TOMB OF THE HATERII Although his treatment may be more severe than tender,28 he brags of their capacity for learning and hopes that education and training will advance them beyond his own level of achievement. Trimalchio sees self-replication in his young favorite’s aptitude for learning and his precocious acquisition of material objects. It can scarcely escape us that the process of replication also repeats T’s own beginning as a deliciae of master and mistress so that it is only his own limitations that he will reproduce.

and pilasters, segments of an impressive architrave, and a tympanum with heads of four deities. Portrait busts of the Haterii pater and materfamilias (Figure 2) along with a number of inscriptions mentioning additional members of the family are also in the collection, to which the Coarelli excavation have added still more pieces. Finally a drawing from the Codex Pighianus of a lost panel representing a Hateria sacrificing in the role of priestess to Dis Pater has been given some weight in interpretation.31 A powerful position in the building industry that would have enabled Haterius to operate as his own Habinnas has often been taken to explain both the variety of technical refinements characterizing such components of the tomb sculpture as the delicate rosepillar decoration, and also the architectural representations in the figured panels commonly cited as examples of plebian or popular art.32 It is primarily on these panels that I wish to concentrate.

Contrastingly the family of the Haterii has seen no lack of children, and seemingly within an atmosphere of greater marital harmony than Petronius grants to Trimalchio and Fortunata, yet they also through the premature death of at least some of these offspring have experienced disappointment of their hopes. Their garden tomb is genuinely a family tomb; its primary titulus carried the names of the conjugal founders with the customary inclusion of liberi and liberti. Although various dates for the monument have been proposed on stylistic grounds, the presence of recognizable Flavian buildings including the Arch of Titus in a segment of the tomb decoration argues for the Domitianic period. By the same token a widely favored identification of the founding Haterius, whose full name is lacking from the titulus, is Q. Haterius Tychichus, a contractor known from a lost Roman dedicatory inscription to Hercules and Silvanus, two deities that also figure in the iconography of the tomb.29

They constitute a series of relief sculptures which carry the narrative message pertinent to the occupants of the tomb. The reliefs might be compared with those of Trimalchio’s hypothetical tomb on another point: their meticulous attention to detail. The death of Hateria Helpis, the matron, seems to have occasioned the construction of the tomb.33 The first narrative panel, or compositio relief, shows her corpse displayed for the official lying-in-state before burial (Figure 3). The moment has been identified as that of transition from the planctus – lamenting – to the actual funeral dirge that accompanies the procession of the corpse to the pyre. The roofed and architecturally structured space surrounding the funeral couch is generally considered, with allowances made for proportional size, as a colonnaded

The puzzle of the Haterii fragments has challenged the imaginations of Classical scholars ever since the date in 1848/49 when the first pieces were accidentally unearthed during work along the Via Casalina (ancient Labicana), and published within the year in the Bulletin of the German Institute with the authorial declaration that they would be of great value to erudition. Although they were allegedly first inspected in situ, their assessor was clearly more interested in their content and artistic value than their distribution, and their almost immediate transfer into the cloister of St. John Lateran obliterated any recollection of their original positions. Even as uncovered, however, their positions might not have indicated much in the light of the observations made by F. Coarelli during his 1969/70 re-exploration of the site. For one thing, his theory that the tomb was developed during more than one period with its final plan remaining incomplete helps explain the difficulty of combining the fragments into a coherent reconstruction.30

31 Jensen 1978, 215-219 and fig. 70; Sinn 1993, 231-232. The inscription, as copied from a broken original, is incomplete, but the Ditis patr must surely be coupled with Proserpina. Macrobius mentions a cult of Dis in the Forum, which Coarelli associates with the Mundus. Aronen 1999, 242 s.v. Additionally Coarelli discusses the buried archaic altar of Dis and Proserpina in the Campus Martius originally associated with celebrations of the Ludi Saeculares. Additionally, Coarelli discusses the buried archaic altar of Dis and Proserpina in the Campus Martius originally associated with celebrations of the Ludi Saeculares. During the Ludi of 88 C.E., Domitian sacrificed in the Campus: Coarelli 1997, 87-99. 32 Jensen insists, with detailed comparisons, that the large-scale architectural decorations of the tomb show characteristics of Flavian style, but also that correspondences between the artistry of the rose and vine pillars and the miniature floral carvings in the tomb-crane relief show them to be products of the same workshop. Jensen 1978, 224-243. Coarelli further hypothesizes that the architectural ornament was executed by craftsmen with whom the Haterii associated in their daily business as contractors; while practiced in large-scale carving, these artists would have been more awkward when it came to the figured reliefs. Coarelli 1984, 177. 33 This name derives from the inscribed mater Hateria Helpis on the bust in the sacrificial representation of the Codex Pighiani drawing, which Sinn identifies on the basis of her Claudian “melon-coiffure” with the matron whose portrait appears in the principle niche. This identification is convincing, but less so Sinn’s proposal that the deceased Hateria of the compositio relief is actually the priestess of the Codex Pighiani drawing garbed as a bride of death. Sinn 1993, 231-232. Wrede points out how many of the freedmen’s tombs we know were comissioned for wives or children. Wrede 1977, 110.

The fragments now displayed in the Vatican’s Museo Gregoriano Profano are a mixed assortment, including four relief panels, such architectural members as posts 28

He kills his younger son’s three finches because he considers the boy morbosus in aves. 29 Coarelli 184, 175-176. This Haterius is in turn considered most probably a freedman of the senatorial Haterii who enjoyed some prominence in late Republican and early Imperial politics. 30 Coarelli 1984, 168-169. Earlier opinion, as represented in Guiliano’s descriptive catalogue of the major fragments had simply considered the excavations of the tomb site incomplete. Giuliano 1968, 456.

5

THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD

Figure 2. Relief from the Tomb of the Haterii, Vatican Museum. (Photo: Musei Vaticani, archivio fotografico neg. N. XXXII.II.45).

In contrast to the mood of well-regulated acceptance with which the mature matron’s death is being managed in this panel, the third panel shows the greater disruption of untimely deaths, with more tentative human efforts to bring mortality under control (Figure 4). It is a kind of landscape, depicting on one single plane surface both the exterior of the tomb and the furnishings of its interior chamber. The building is double storied in the shape of a temple with a broad staircase at the front leading to its entrance on the second level. Figures of the seasons appear in facade panels glimpsed between columns. Its columns and posts are richly decorated with vine and flower patterns which echo the larger scale patterns on the architectural members. Beside the structure stands a wheel-driven builders’ crane whose crew members show by their postures of active exertion that work here is still an on-going operation. Nineteenth century scholars were delighted to find illustrative evidence for ancient building technique in this curious lifting device – “a machine for raising an obelisk” as they saw it – apparently

atrium whose decorations and spatial volume are carefully depicted to suggest the prosperous condition of the family. Wreaths are used along with garlands as well as torches that may show that the deceased had social standing as a priestess. Another sign of prosperity are the former slaves wearing freedmen’s caps clearly recognizable among the subordinate figures. That these had been manumitted by will is proposed by those who think that the panel includes in its upper right corner an image of the matron writing the will. Identities of the figures striking their breasts, whether family members or hired mourners, are not certain, but the gesture of laying a fillet on the corpse is clearly preliminary to the funerary journey to the other world. Thus the panel shows the ceremonies of life and death carried out in good order in a manner comparable with Pliny’s observation concerning an octagenarian matron, Ummidia Quadratilla, that she had died with a most honorable will and testament (Ep. 7.24). For a freedperson this adherence to all the requirements of Roman custom is a matter for proud display. 6

ELEANOR W. LEACH: FREEDMEN AND IMMORTALITY IN THE TOMB OF THE HATERII

Figure 3. Relief from the Tomb of the Haterii, Vatican Museum. (Photo: Musei Vaticani, archivio fotografico neg. N. L. 14. 315).

corresponding with the heavy load lifter Vitruvius describes in De Architectura 10.2.6-7.34 Manifestly no obelisk is present here, and the function of the crane has sparked multiple interpretations, some related to cultic practices and others to the mechanical devices of the contemporary theater. Most recently John Bodel has proposed an explanation on the model of Augustus’ own funeral and those of his deified successors: that the wicker basket atop the crane holds a bird about to be released in token of apotheosis.35 Such a dramatization would comprise a temporal link between the tomb structure and the actual moment of burial while all the

more highlighting the prosperity of the Haterii clan. Although presumably representing a specific event, it could of course be repeated whenever a dead member of the family might be brought to the tomb. Finally there appears on a shelf positioned above the roof of the structure an assemblage of free standing images against a curtained background which, as Wrede has convincingly argued, represent the interior sculptures of the tomb.36 The tomb would seem to have a narrative connection with the compositio relief in that its chief occupant is the same Haterii matron, now visible in three places, as a bust within the pediment and among the tomb statuary both as a reclining figure on a kline and as a nude statue within a naiskos. If also we think of her as being the personage emerging on the lower level from a half-open door (Figure 5), she can be seen as represented four times.37

34

Braun 1848, 99. Rightly dismissing previous theories, Bodel proposes that the bird is an eagle in conformity with the eagles used elsewhere in decoration; but something more modest seems likely. Bodel 1999. 268-270. The obvious difficulty is that this item of funerary ritual is known principally as being imperial, although Cumont does refer to at least one monument showing an ordinary togate personage on an eagle. Cumont 1922. 157.158. For a private citizen, apotheosis itself might seem a large ambition. Cicero Consolatio Fr. 11 from Lactantius Inst div I.15.20 claimed the priviledge for his daughter Tullia, and placed her actually within the assemblage of the gods (teque ...adprobantibus dis immortalibus ipsis in eorum coetu locatam...consecrabo). He thought seriously of validating this translation by a fanum which, as he wrote to Atticus, should not resemble a tomb which would diminish the honor of apotheosis (Att. 12.12.1.3) 35

36

Wrede 1977, 83. Haarhof allows many possible interpretations for such a symbol, but emphasizes in general the idea of movement in and out of the tomb from the bringing of offerings inside to the emergence of the shade. Haarhof 1977, 30-56. Particularly relevent within the iconographical scheme of the Haterii are combination with the seasons to suggest renewal (36) and (43) with Hercules who can counter the inevitability of descent with ascent. 37

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD

Figure 4. Relief from the Tomb of the Haterii, Vatican Museum. (Photo: Musei Vaticani, archivio fotografico neg. N. XI.24.21).

All the same, the components that most conspicuously command our attention are the childish faces of two boys and a girl framed within wall niches on the second level of the tomb. The chubby features show enough similarity to suggest a family resemblence while the differences in their clothing and the sizes of their faces individualize them and suggest that they had lived to different ages. Erotes sport in the three compartments directly beneath them, while a still lower tier of compartments has images representing the three fates.

Opinions differ as to whether this tomb should be taken for a representation of the real shrine in miniature, or of its still incomplete master plan, or of a merely hypothetical tomb, perhaps more expensive than even this prosperous family could finance. In the interest of a narrative interconnection that would understand it to figure as the destination of the funeral procession, the notion of its being only in the final stage of completion makes sense. But it also appears that the matron whose portrait is so frequently repeated is in all instances a

8

ELEANOR W. LEACH: FREEDMEN AND IMMORTALITY IN THE TOMB OF THE HATERII

Figure 5. Detail from the Tomb of the Haterii, “tomb-crane relief,” Vatican Museum. (Photo: DAI neg. 34.1647).

younger woman, both in features and in the style of her hair, than is the corpse extended upon the couch. Certainly a part of her past life would seem to be represented by the portrait busts of the three children whose immature faces surely indicate that they had predeceased her, and the second representation on the sculpture platform of these three playing together before the couch (Figure 6), the two boys engaged in casting astralagoi (knucklebones) under the gaze of the third.38 Conventionally associated with children’s innocence, the

game might seem reminiscent of happier moments of familial interaction and well being, but a long tradition of funerary associations adds potentially greater complexity to the image. In documenting the history of astralagoi, bone pieces derived from animal sacrifice, Leslie Kurke notes their heroic, aristocratic affiliations as opposed to the low-life pastime of dice. Additionally she cites Pausanias’ mention of a mantic ritual for astralagia connected with an Attic shrine of Herakles, but also known elsewhere. More than random chance, then, the fall of the bones, linked by divine connections with cosmic order, may “open up the prospect to moira or kleros, each man’s particular fated allotment”. Perhaps it is not merely incidental that the children are playing

38 Noting the conventionality of the image, Wrede compares a funerary image in the Capitoline Museum of two boys intent on a game of astragalia, which comes to be a popular motif in later art. Wrede 1981, 89.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD

Figure 6. Detail from the Tomb of the Haterii, “tomb-crane relief”. Vatican Museum. (Photo: DAI neg. 34.1635.

beside an altar kindled for sacrifice, or that the one child who stands by as spectator wears Hercules’ lion skin on her head.39

while four more perch atop the column capitals in positions more appropriate to live birds than to statues. Certainly the remaining iconography contains multiple signs marking the progress of the Haterii matron from death to a happy afterlife in the presence of her children. Unlike Claudia Semne lying stretched on her kline, this matron who rests on her elbow holding in one hand a bird with a long bill looks awake and alert.41 The nude statue in the triumphal naiskos, although not in the pudicitia pose by which deceased matrons traditionally borrowed the goddess’ immortalizing body, still appears to exemplify “consecratio in formam dearum”.42 Other than through the attire of the young astragal watcher, Hercules plays a part in the decoration; a kindled altar beside the

Prophetic or not, we may plausibly see this domestic scene as the form in which the entire family will enjoy immortality. Wrede gives a double significance to this portrait gallery as representing not only the actual sculpted contents of the tomb’s interior, but also, by grace of the seasonal “door watchers of heaven,” capable of imaginary transformation into a “building on Olympus”.40 Indeed the number of eagles incorporated into the decoration is more than adequate to facilitate apotheosis. A series of five, linked by garlands seem to be supporting the sculpture platform above the ridge-pole of the shrine,

41

D’Ambra mentions the oddly tipped position in which the exemplary, but quite dead looking, Ulpia Epigone reposes. D’Ambra 1989, 104105. 42 Wrede does consider her as Venus. Wrede 1981, 83. D’Ambra 1996, describes and analyzes the type and its symbolic implications.

39

Kurke 1999. 287-295. As she notes the sources for this mantic connection are all late ones, a fact not at all adverse to its potential significance for the Haterii. 40 Wrede 1981, 82-83.

10

ELEANOR W. LEACH: FREEDMEN AND IMMORTALITY IN THE TOMB OF THE HATERII staircase bears his image,43 and an approximation of his celebrated Lysippan incarnation in a posture of repose stands within a small aedicula situated on the podium beside a ground-level doorway whose one half-open leaf reveals a woman’s figure in the space beyond. If we wish to put a mythological coloring upon this juxtaposition, the myth must be that of Alcestis whom Hercules recovers from the underworld. Additional Dionysiac elements occur on the architectural decoration. In the mysteriously placed building crane by the side of the tomb, which seems likely to refer to the involvement of the Haterii family in the construction trade, Wrede again sees a double significance bringing together public and private aspects of the Haterii father’s identity as a significant building contractor whose profession lends him power to render his wife and children immortal.44 The indisputably active operation of the crane, whatever the physical function that it may be performing, does confer a progressive coloring upon all parts of the landscape that can open-endedly point towards immortality.

termed Arcus ad Isis the entrance way of the Iseum Campestre with an allusion, in the form of Minerva’s statue to the nearby shrine of the goddess. The middle image, most puzzling of all, he reads from context as one of the triumphal quadrifrontes that Domitian may have erected throughout the city.45 Provided that this set of identifications is correct, there is something vaguely triumphal in the reading from left to right, from the Campus Martius along the Via Sacra to the Capitoline temple. But what have these civic monuments to do with a burial of a Roman freedwoman? Two explanations compete for authority. One, proposed by Castagnoli and recently affirmed by Filippo Coarelli, is that the freedmen Haterii, as inscriptional evidence documents, were a family of large-scale contractors commissioned to erect these buildings under Domitian.46 Thus the inclusion of the group would be analogous to the depiction of the successive stages of bread-making on the Tomb of Eurysaces the Baker (Figure 8). But the possibility remains, although Castagnoli branded it “absurd” that the buildings, representing sections of the city from the Forum to the Via Labicana, showed the route of the funeral procession to the tomb. Two considerations argue for this interpretation. In the first place the probable location of these panels inside the perimeter wall of the tomb area restricts their audience to members of the Haterii themselves so that an advertisement of family achievements makes little sense. More importantly, however, this reading allows for a narrative transition from the commencement of the funeral procession in the compositio panel to the tomb itself as shown in the succeeding relief. The order of the buildings beginning with the Temple of Jupiter Stator in the middle Forum passes by the Arch of Titus and the Colosseum to the start of the Via Labicana. The distinction is between symbol and narrative, and I invoke the surrounding narrative context to corroborate the narrative function of the relief. But in either case the relief contextualizes the family and its ceremonies within an urban environment which, being composed of the most important landmarks of the time, is the most distinguished possible.

The panel generally seen as connecting these two place scenes employs a linear format to set forth a unique succession of architectural monuments of familiarly Roman types: a temple, three arches and a three-storied ampitheater. Named the Via Sacra panel from an inscription on its largest arch which ostensibly indicates that the monuments were not simply generic but specific to time and place, this panel sparked immense interest at the time of discovery; it was “something never before seen in ancient art” (Figure 7). Most certain among the monuments is the Colosseum, seen in partial bird’s-eye perspective, with a triumphal image over its projecting porch, statues in the niches of the second and third stories and a vestigial allusion to interior staircases seen through a ground level arch. Second from the right is an arch in summa sacra via, which on the basis of this location, if not exactly by virtue of appearance, must be the Arch of Titus. All the same, the lack of topographical interconnections, and the apparent discrepancy of proportions among the buildings have made the series appear to resemble a catalogue more than a landscape, so leaving the rationale of selection open to debate. Taking the combination of the Colosseum (not yet having acquired its fourth story) and the Arch of Titus as chronological parameters, Castagnoli argued for a temporal rather than a spatial unity, completing the schedule of identifications with buildings for which Domitian had been responsible: a Capitoline Temple of Jupiter, which he rebuilt, and for the ungrammatically

The tension between disorder and restoration is reiterated even more directly in a fourth panel, which, although lacunose and pieced together from fragments is indisputably mythological in its representation of the Rape of Persephone (Figure 9). The choice is not intrinsically unusual. More than any other myth where rape represents the violence with which death seizes its victim, this carries an intimation of translation into a better life. Thus, as Cumont once noted, it “never stops being used on sarcophagi, tombstones and cinerary

43 Bartman takes this canopied altar to exemplify “a previously unrecognized type of Roman tomb monument popular during the late 1st and 2nd centuries A.D.” Made of marble with a bronze dome to shelter its fire this expensive monument adds “a further gradation to the nuanced commemorative system by which Romans expressed their social heirarchy.” Bartman 1997, 389. 44 Wrede 1981, 160. Jensen wants to give it an even more specificly Dionysiac meaning as a representation of apotheosis like machines employed in the theater to bring on the gods, but this seems bizarre in a strictly allegorical sense. Jensen 1978, 184-188.

45

Castagnoli 1941, 59-69. Castagnoli 1941, 61-65; Coarelli further suggests that, because of its evidence for the compromising connections of the family with Domitian, that this panel was being downgraded, or even removed from view, in the aftermath of his damnatio memoriae during the second construction phase. Coarelli 1984, 176-179. 46

11

Figure 7. Relief from the Tomb of the Haterii, Vatican Museum. (Photo: Musei Vaticani, archivio fotografico neg. N. XXXVI.30.64).

THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD

12

ELEANOR W. LEACH: FREEDMEN AND IMMORTALITY IN THE TOMB OF THE HATERII

Figure 8. Rome, Porta Maggiore, Relief from the Tomb of Vergilius Eurysaces. (Photo: DAI neg. 72.3).

Figure 9. Relief fragments from the Tomb of the Haterii, Vatican Museum. (Photo: DAI neg. 1.266).

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD

Figure 10. Cinerary Altar, 1st century C.E., Rome, Museo Archeologico Nazionale delle Terme. (Photo: DAI neg. 74. 285).

urns.”47 As if to emphasize this optimistic construction, the Haterii version distributes its figures as points in a landscape with space for imagined interaction and a development of the narrative towards Persephone’s return.48 This intimated conclusion stands out clearly in comparison with a contemporaneous representation on a (probably unutilized) cinerary altar in the cortile of the Museo delle Terme that portrays only the forward rush of Pluto’s chariot with the maiden (Figure 10). By contrast, the Haterii relief with its representation of the sun chariot in the upper left corner and a deeply carved figure of

Oceanus at the bottom demarcates the area of the panel as the distance from the sky to Hades, while the female figure moving downward at top center can only be Ceres coming either to seek or to greet her daughter. Although only the legs and swirled garment remain to locate the maiden swept off by a conjectural chariot moving across the center ground, the surprise and terror of her capture is reflected on the right by the group of companions who have let fly their flower baskets. The relationship between the coils of a large serpent to be seen at the far left and other figures is indefinite, but such a creature appears also in other versions of the myth. In a later sarcophagus dramatization it draws the chariot of Ceres hastening in pursuit of her daughter. Less conspicuous on the cinerary altar dominated by Pluto’s chariot, it twists alongside the raised front feet of the horses where, according to Giuliano, it conveys an apotropaic symbolism that

47 Cumont 1942, 95-96. Two others in this category are Ganymede and the Rape of the Leucippids. 48 Jensen argues that the original composition was even more spacious than the present reconstruction allows in the manner of contemporaneous scenarios of mythological landscape. Jensen 1978, 191-214.

14

ELEANOR W. LEACH: FREEDMEN AND IMMORTALITY IN THE TOMB OF THE HATERII

Figure 11. Inscription from the Tomb of the Haterii, Rome, Vatican Museum. (Photo: DAI neg. 85.2092

forecasts the resolution of the myth.49 Although the promise of the myth as allegory can always be read from its figures, the meaning is highlighted by the narrative amplification and full spatial embodiment of the Haterii representation whose direct relevance is established by the inscription commemmorating two Hateriae daughters as virgines raptae, and another footed altar on whose sides two children appear as Erotes (Figure 11).

devoted husband (Silvae 5.1. 253-257). Like all victims of death in Statius’ consolationes, Priscilla enters Elysium. While the sacrifice to Dis Pater (and surely also Persephone) shown in the Codex Pighianus drawing should procure an equivalent happiness for Hateria Helpis, the faces of the four underworld gods filling the pediment in manner like that of family portraits on a freedpersons’ tomb can be taken to create a suggestively Eleusinian context for the Persephone myth (Figure 12). As an institution that in Cicero’s words “receives the most remote peoples of the earth (De natura deorum 1.119),” the mysteries did welcome both Roman aristocrats and slaves on the theoretical premise of moral worth. Himself an initiate, Cicero in de Legibus 2.14.36 speaks in most exalted terms of the civilizing contribution of these rites from which “we have gained not only a

All the same, in her status as queenly matron of the underworld, Persephone’s significance is not confined to maidens alone. So Statius in his tribute to Abscantus’ wife Priscilla shows the goddess as commanding joyful torches and a crowd of garland bearing heroines to welcome the arrival of a shade who is commended by a 49

Giuliano 1981, 77-79.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD

Figure 12. Pedimental Sculpture from the Tomb of the Haterii, Vatican Museum. (Photo: DAI neg. 81. 2869).

pattern for living joyously but also for dying with a better hope.” This “better hope” procured, as Cumont mentions, came even to be extended to children “as a means of preserving them from the fatal lot which threatens them and of ensuring their happiness in the other life.”50 Nor should it escape us that these idealized rites, because of the expense they entailed, might also be a source of social prestige. Should we assume that some or all members of the Haterii family enjoyed this privilege? Or at least the virgines raptae? Since the story of the first matron’s children, of whom only one is female, seems to be told completely within the tomb crane relief, we might see these immature maidens as belonging either to another branch or another generation whose members may in fact have chosen to elevate the myth of Persephone with its prestigious Eleusinian associations over the less programmatic allusions to Hercules.

of Eurysaces’ narrative resembles triumphal painting, it also acknowledges the limitations of a freedman’s condition in that Roman aristocrats did not display such achievements figuratively on their tombs but rather in temples or other public locations.52 Likewise the shape given to the structure, a granary, participates in the idea of a tomb as imitative form – the aristocratic altar tomb for example – but on a lower utilitarian level (Figure 13).53 Comparing the Tomb that Trimalchio has ordered his friend Habinnas the stone-mason to construct with its extended family portraits down to puer delicatus and dog, we can see a resemblance to Eurysaces’ tomb with its conjugal portraits as well as certain tombs of the imperial period in Pompeii.54 Although lacking the coherence of Eurysaces’ unfolding narrative, the scenes of Trimalchio’s relief sculpture also commemorate achievements in the freedman’s life: his public banquet; his ships. Like other details of the cena these are not so preposterous when placed in cultural context. According to Mols and Moorman’s recent interpretation, the audience, banquet and gladiatorial scenes painted within the Pompeian tomb of C. Vestorius Primus also

To return to my initial proposition of contextualizing the family of the Haterii within the boundaries confining a socially marginalized generation of freedmen that Veyne has outlined for our understanding of Trimalchio, it is instructive to compare their familial commemoration with other examples from the equivalent social class. With its clear thematic focus on proprietorship in the craft of bread making, the Augustan Tomb of Eurysaces articulates a complex social statement within the parameters of class. Recent consideration of the succession of scenes in the bakery narrative and the placement of togate figures within them as inspectors of the process have suggested that the aspect of his profession in which the baker takes greatest pride is his official role in supplying bread on government contract.51 If this is true, then this frieze might be compared with the line-up of Roman monuments of the Haterii frieze as another allusion to work for the state. Although the order 50 51

52 Turcan sees Eurysaces as a kind of pioneer in his bid for survival by heroizing artisanal and commercial success, noting that “even for those who have not played a public role, nor made a career in the civic hierarchy or military and who have no pretension to heroization thorough rhetoric or literature, the simple exercise of a profession which assures them a rank in Roman society, which has given sense and value to their lives of labor is in itself a subject of pride.” Turcan 1999, 60-61. 53 Castiglione 1975, 157-161. The proposal that the entire structure replicates a granary with apertures for circulating air through the grain remains, in my opinion, the most satisfactory. 54 An interesting hint of familial or legal intrigue is to be found in the inscription on a tomb of the augustalis P. Vesonius Phileros, his wife and his freedman M. Orfellius Faustus in the Pompeian Porta Nuceria necropolis. Here below a line of three standing adult figures we read a warning (morare...et quid evites cognosce) concerning the treachery of a false accusation from one formerly trusted as a friend, ending with a prayer that neither the penates nor the shades will welcome the betrayer (De Vos 1976, 263).

Cumont 1922, 138. Brandt 1993. 14-17.

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ELEANOR W. LEACH: FREEDMEN AND IMMORTALITY IN THE TOMB OF THE HATERII

Figure 13. Reconstruction model of the Tomb of Vergilius Eurysaces, Rome, EUR, Museo della Civiltà Romana. (Photo: DAI neg. 72. 2568).

commemorate the achivements of the young aedile’s sadly abbreviated career.55 At the same time Trimalchio ornaments his memorial with an horologium at its center so that any person who reads the hours must, willingly or unwillingly, also read his name. With this detail – a seemingly small scale imitation of Augustus’ great urban horologium – the “prince among freedmen” seems to have let his self-representation stray into imperial territory.

versions of memory with which Trimalchio’s iconography expresses concern. Throughout the Cena we have watched this man attempting to orchestrate the rituals of his household as a species of harmony; struggling constantly against some imperfectly sensed and articulated perversity in nature and human nature. Climaxing the theatricalities of the banquet, his sepulchral blueprint may be seen as his valedictory effort to bring his life into orderly repose. In its proximity to Trimalchio’s inscribed name, the sundial unites his person with temporal process; it addresses the spectator with a memento mori which Trimalchio himself has highlighted throughout many stages of the dinner as a

But a further view of this focusing detail might suggest that it is not so much status or even love as particular 55 Mols and Moorman 1993-1994, 46-48. Also for an impressive but understudied Pompeian tomb relief that combines the image of a ceremonial procession with those of combat, see Köhne and Ewigleben 2000, 48, fig. 34.

17

THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD preoccupation coloring his endemic view of life.56 While signifying his due acceptance of time’s progression towards mortality, it also points towards the biographical legend which makes his tomb an orderly reinforcement of class parameters no less by its self-sufficient boast of rejecting proffered honors, membership in the decuriae of Rome than by the social benefactions it claims. All these ordering rituals exemplify the alternative culture, as Veyne explains it, in which freedmen attempt to over-ride their transient status: thus we may find our strongest parallel with the Tomb of the Haterii. Here also permanence is sought but in a more private manner for private reassurance. In the first place its decorations appear to be turned more inward than outward and secondly the lifetime achievements they commemorate are the personal virtues associated with matronhood, fertility and care for children. Even if the Roman buildings in the architecture relief are to be taken as creations of Haterius’ contracting organization, they are not ostentatiously self-celebratory; their function should be understood as contextualizing rather than publicizing, as asserting the Roman ties of a family whose founders, like Trimalchio, are most likely to have come into the city from abroad. At the same time this monument positions itself in a self-consciously oblique relationship to Roman social organization. While Trimalchio strives for public remembrance through imitation, the Haterii seek a route to immortality charted by cultic practices which circumvent the social separation of the freedman. The four narratives of the tomb panels move successively from the realities of death and mourning to a symbolic and ritualistic assertion of regained life. While encompassing the immediate burial of Hateria Helpis, this approach is especially fitting to the situation of the deceased Haterii children who, although born outside slavery, are paradoxically fated to repeat the social isolation of their parents because they do not live to enjoy their potential status as free-born citizens. In this respect the decoration may exhibit the over-abundance generally associated with freedmen’s self display but it also shows the Haterii developing their extra-societal status into a compensatory claim to immortality attainable outside the fabric of Roman society.

56 On the funereal preoccupations of Trimalchio’s theatricality throughout the cena, Arrowsmith gives a detailed account. Arrowsmith 1966, 306-312.

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Social Identity and the Dignity of Work in Freedmen’s Reliefs Michele George Et nunc spero me sic vivere, ut nemini iocus sim. Homo inter homines sum… “And now I hope to live such a life that no one can jeer at me. I am a man among men.”1

however, there were far fewer means through which they could bring honor to their name, and their engagement in the political arena was always indirect. Freedmen at Rome occupied a uniquely transient position, existing for one generation in this dual condition of freedom and limitation, and their particular social mobility makes it difficult to isolate them in the historical and archaeological evidence. Furthermore, although the sons of freedmen enjoyed the full benefits of Roman citizenship, it is equally clear that the stigma of servile descent which could be inferred from a foreign-sounding name had some enduring negative impact on their social acceptability.6 While in the absence of detailed personal histories it is impossible to ascertain the effect of a servile past on the identities of individual freedmen, it is feasible to glean some indication of the values of freedmen as a social group from their commemorative monuments. In this paper I would like to examine the earliest evidence for freedmen self-representation at Rome and in particular the theme of work on their tombs.

So spoke Hermeros, one of the freedman guests at Trimalchio’s dinner party in Petronius’ Satyricon, in angry response to a perceived insult against the freedman order. In fact, the insult was more imagined than real, but in his passionate and lengthy defence of libertini, Hermeros assumes a defensive posture that reflected the proverbial paradox at the core of freedman existence.2 Despite having achieved freedom, which, it must be stressed, most Roman slaves never did obtain, they lived with the omnipresent stigma of their former servile status, a stigma which could never be entirely shaken, whatever material or personal success they might attain.3 Although their legitimacy could not be denied, their social position was ambiguous at best. Social status, rather than legal status, definitively shaped and delimited the opportunities for freedmen, even though they were no longer slaves.4 With rare exceptions, they were prohibited from joining the ranks of senators and equestrians, they could not serve as magistrates, and they were forbidden from military service. By law they could marry freeborn Romans, but intermarriage with members of the uppermost orders met with social disapproval, and under Augustus such unions were prohibited altogether. In addition, freedom from slavery did not mean that they were completely free of their masters’ influence, for freedmen were obligated to provide work and allegiance (operae et obsequium) to their former owners, who after manumission became their patrons and who could demand their services at will.5 To be sure, manumission permitted many freedmen to enjoy great success in the financial, commercial, and manufacturing sectors of the Roman economy and to amass substantial wealth. Compared to the avenues available to the freeborn elite,

Early Freedmen’s Commemorations Relative to their number among the ancient urban population, the evidence for the commemoration of slaves at Rome is scanty, and only in unusual cases does it amount to anything beyond an inscription.7 Former slaves, however, could exert control over their own selfrepresentation as new freedmen and fashion memorials for themselves. Despite the wealth they accumulated, the limitations of their status prevented them from using the conventions of elite commemoration, which drew on military triumphs, political power, and an inherited tradition of family honor. They could not draw on an ancestral lineage in the manner of the contemporary elite, since as former slaves their masters were the only ‘family’ recognized by both Roman law and social convention. Prevented from pursuing the cursus honorum of Roman politics, they could not lay claim to the legislative or judicial achievements that were open to a ‘new man’ (novus homo) like Cicero, nor could they record in their epitaphs membership in the priestly colleges of the capital.8 Instead, for their first monumental funerary memorials they preferred a new genre of family portrait-groups rendered in relief which was apparently developed especially for them.9 In this

1

Petronius Sat. 57. The term libertus is used for an individual freedman, and libertini for freedmen as a social group. 3 Manumission, or freedom from slavery, was entirely under the master’s control. Using their savings (peculium) collected from tips or gifts slaves could negotiate with their masters to buy their freedom, but it was always the master’s right to deny them the opportunity. From the master’s perspective, the act of freeing a slave meant giving away a piece of property, one which in many cases had entailed a long-term investment in maintenance and care. For the legal details regarding manumission, see Treggiari 1969. 4 The term ‘legal status’ refers to the rights of citizenship under Roman law; since slaves were non-persons, they had no rights by law, although there was some protection against excessive cruelty by slave-owners. ‘Social status’ refers to the place of an individual in the complex social hierarchy at Rome, which was determined primarily by custom and cultural attitudes rather than by legislation. See Garnsey 1970. 5 For discussion of the circumstances of freedmen, see Duff 1928, Treggiari 1969, Fabre 1981. 2

6 The best known example is the poet Horace, whose father was a freedman; Horace’s expressions of filial love and gratitude imply a dregree of shame in which the descendants of freedmen were covered. See e.g., Sat. 1.6.72-92. 7 Rawson 1966; Joshel 1992. 8 For ‘new men’ and their efforts to carve out public careers, see Wiseman 1971. 9 Studies of the freedmen portrait reliefs: Zanker 1975; Kleiner 1977; Frenz 1985; Kockel 1993.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD

Figure 1. Relief of the Gavii, Rome, S. Giovanni in Laterano, Chiostro. (Photo: DAI neg. 6537).

way, freedmen could exhibit their most significant achievements – manumission from slavery and the creation of a prosperous family life as Roman citizens – in a manner which emphasized their new-found right to individuality but also granted them the associated benefits of family membership so highly valued in Roman culture. While their lack of personhood under Roman law prevented slaves from having legitimate families, with their master’s consent they could have informal, quasimarital unions (contubernia) that produced children and permitted them to live in a familial arrangement within their owner’s house.10 By utilizing family groups on their first funerary monuments, freedmen could bring the reality of their servile past into the present, commemorating those elements of their history as slaves that were most meaningful to them.

Before her manumission and marriage to Dardanus, Asia was probably his slave who lived with him as his wife in an informal arrangement that was legitimized after he freed her. Additional information is provided in the upper inscription outside the relief, where it is recorded that the first three figures were alive when the monument was created, suggesting that the death of the fourth, Salvius, motivated the grieving brother Dardanus to build a memorial.13 In expression and dress, the Gavii exhibit the formal and serious manner characteristic of these freedman reliefs: all the men wear the toga, the garment worn by men in public which was restricted by law to Roman citizens, while Asia wears the appropriate attire of a demure Roman woman and a hairstyle which was popular with her contemporaries. In portraying themselves as models of Roman respectability and moral rectitude, the Gavii and the many other libertini who used this form of funerary commemoration fashioned a public persona which stood in radical opposition to the oppressions of slavery and the reputation for immorality which marked their former slave existence, thereby demonstrating the dramatic change that manumission represented for the servile population. Their assertion of self-respect and pride is conveyed by the family composition which proudly proclaimed their adoption of the proverbial Roman values cherished and nurtured by the elite throughout the Republican period. As the institution at the heart of the Roman social structure, the family represented stability,

Archaeological evidence for self-representation by freedmen at Rome appears at the beginning of the first century B.C.E., when this new form of funerary monument attached to the façades of family tombs appeared in the public cemeteries that lined the roads leading into the City. The relief of the Gavii family (Figure 1), now in the Lateran, is typical in its illustration of the epigraphic and compositional elements generally found on such monuments. Dated to c. 40 B.C.E., the panel displays four members of the family who are identified by the inscription that runs along the lower border.11 Moving left to right, the inscription names the figures as the freedman Dardanus, his son Rufus, who was born while his mother Asia (the sole female figure) was still a slave, and Salvius, brother to Dardanus.12

13 The word ‘vivit’, or ‘living’, is placed above the portraits of the first three figures (Dardanus, Rufus, and Asia), but is absent for the fourth figure (Salvius), raising the possibility that the commemoration was purchased at the time of his death. Unlike modern tombstones, Roman funerary inscriptions do not provide the date of birth or death of the deceased, and in many cases surviving relatives arranged for the commemoration of themselves as well as loved ones who were already dead. Generally, the person who paid for the monument is identified, indicating that he/she was alive when the inscription was cut, but there is often no explicit notice of which, if any, of the other family members were also alive when the monument was produced.

10

On contubernia, see Treggiari 1981 and Bradley 1987. For the relief of the Gavii, see Kleiner 1977, no. 82, Kockel 1993, D 3. Inscription: upper frame: vivit // vivit // vivit // duo fratres fabrei tignu(ares); lower frame: C. Cavius C. l. Dardanus // C. Cavius Spu.f. Rufus // Cavia C. C. l. Asia // C. Cavius C.l. Salvius. 12 The notation Spu.f., or Spurius filius, signifies the illegitimacy of Rufus’ birth, i.e., his mother was still a slave when he was born and therefore not legally married to his father. 11

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MICHELE GEORGE: SOCIAL IDENTITY AND THE DIGNITY OF WORK IN FREEDMEN’S RELIEFS unity, and membership in the wider civic body. The family was a critical element in both the personal and collective identity of individual Romans, and core values such as affection, solidarity, and mutual support marked the family ideal.14 For freedmen, who as slaves had been denied the right to form legitimate families and who had no control over the informal family arrangements made in servitude, the family symbolized the fundamental freedoms of manumission and the agency it allowed. Furthermore, the related moral values of family life enabled freedmen to shed the reputation for deceit and corruption that was commonly associated with the slave’s behaviour in elite attitudes.15 Depicted in a highly formal manner, the figures on these reliefs reflect the most conservative of Roman values and stand in sharp contrast to contemporary elite forms of self-representation, which favoured Hellenistic heroisation and mythological allusion.16

isolate slave labor, Cicero does imply a generic association between work and slavery and labels all manual labor, in contrast to artistic skill, as ‘a pledge of servitude’. In particular, he associated profit with deceit and cites retailers as liars, while painting as disreputable all work done in a workshop (officina). The key distinction, for Cicero and for other ancient commentators, appears to have been the scale of the business; while the small businessman is held in contempt, those who engage in trade or production on a grand scale were portrayed as doing work worthy of praise. Neither, however, matches the nobility of agricultural investment, the purview of the landed aristocracy, the ranks of which Cicero himself longed to join.18 This elitist perspective had special resonance for freedmen who modeled their behavior on elite attitudes and mores, but for whom both the notion and the reality of work had ambiguous meaning. As the ‘talking tools’ (instrumenti genus vocale) in the master’s figurative toolshed, in Varro’s famous formulation, slaves did not choose their work; it was chosen for them.19 While they might be allowed to keep savings (peculium), they could not normally expect to enjoy the fruits of their own labor without their master’s permission, and appreciation for their toil stood in direct proportion to the benefits that accrued to their owners. At the same time, slaves could not afford the luxury of alienation from their work because their worth was directly related to their successful fulfillment of duties, and bringing profit and pleasure to the master increased the chances of freedom for domestic slaves. A personal investment in work, in time and energy as well as in emotional and psychological terms, was therefore very much in a slave’s interest. The elaborate nomenclature for specialized domestic labor that is legible in the columbaria of imperial slaves indicates a strong connection between individual slaves, their particular talents, and their valuation by the slave-owner.20 An appreciation of the value of work did not stop with manumission, for work was the means by which freedmen could gain financial independence and ensure security for their families. The tension between the importance of work for freedmen themselves and its disparagement by the elite is evinced in the varying modulations of this theme on the earliest monuments which use work as a commemorative device. While the family group-portraits symbolized social integration, a world antithetical to slave life, work motifs drew attention to toil, recalling the essence of slave existence and its powerlessness.

But although the imagery follows the pattern of the genre by showing a family group, an element in the inscription introduces a new aspect of the self-representation of freedmen, one that signals a change for the future. Added at the end of the inscription above the relief is the phrase fabrei tignuares, which identifies the occupation of the two brothers as carpenters, making it the earliest extant freedman monument to refer to work. This should come as no surprise, since it was by hard work that freedmen obtained their freedom and became wealthy enough to commemorate themselves. Yet a degree of caution can be detected, for the subtle way in which the reference to work is made reflects the subordination of the idea to the dominant motif of the family. Although work is explicitly mentioned in the inscription, it is relegated to the sidelines and given no artistic expression at all; the focus is on family harmony and compliance with traditional cultural values. It seems that, for all their newness, the Gavii wanted above all to be represented as upholders of socially conservative values. The Meaning of Work among Libertini The marginality of work on the relief of the Gavii belies the very real significance of work to the life experience of freedmen, raising the possibility that the denigration of work among the Roman elite might have discouraged the theme’s exploitation visually or in inscriptions. Although the ignominy of slavery itself gave grounds for prejudice against freedmen, part of this stigma can be attributed their involvement in trade and commerce after manumission. In the locus classicus on work in Cicero’s de Officiis, occupations are categorized as honourable (liberalis) or base (sordidus), and the latter discussed in a descending hierarchy of disrepute.17 While he does not 14 For the ideals associated with the Roman family, see Dixon 1991 and Saller 1994. 15 For the slave as the proverbial cheat and liar, see Bradley 1987, 2837. 16 See George 2004. 17 de Off. 1.150-151.

18

For the complex attitudes toward work among the Roman elite, see Garnsey 1980, Treggiari 1980 and D’Arms 1981, passim., but especially ch. 1 and 2. 19 Varro de Re Rustica 1.17. 20 Treggiari 1975.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD

Figure 2. Relief of the Ampudii, London, British Museum. (Photo: BM Inv. 1920 2-20.1).

singled out as a biographical element worthy of permanent memory.23

The Commemoration of Work To judge from the extant evidence, in the early imperial period there was a gradual but perceptible expansion in values which freedmen came to think were worthy of commemoration, as work, trade, and commercial production were increasingly emphasized.21 While still firmly located in the genre of family group-portraits, some reliefs introduced motives related to work alongside the formal family group. For example, the relief of the Ampudii (Figure 2), found near the Porta Capena in Rome but now in the British Museum and dated to the mid-Augustan era, portrays the standard family group composition with space left on the right and left borders for two modii, or grain measures, indicating involvement in baking or in the grain trade. Although only the male figure is named on the inscription, a familial connection of some kind seems probable. Philomusus, the man, inclines slightly toward the younger woman on the left, giving rise to the possibility that she is his young wife, while the older woman on the right might be his patron and former owner. Alternatively, the younger woman could be Philomusus’ daughter and the older woman his wife, since the portrait indicates that the latter is far closer to him in age.22 Unlike the relief of the Gavii, on this example the allusion to work is given visual form as well as epigraphic, indisputably displaying the man’s occupation and the source of the wealth that paid for the monument. The overriding impression, and the one given most space, is of the family and its associated values of stability and respectability, but pride taken in work is also

The addition of motives related to work can also reflect the strength of relationships formed in the workplace. For example, on the relief of the Licinii (Figure 3), it seems probable that the young Philonicus on the left and the more mature Demetrius on the right were two colliberti, freedmen who were former slaves of the same master who became co-workers in a metal or wood workshop, as suggested by the tools that frame the portraits. The inscription records that Demetrius erected a monument for his patron, although whether or not this is the monument in question is unclear.24 The representation of the two former slaves together on the same monument along with the symbols of their work might reflect a tie of friendship between two men who toiled together in the same workshop, Philonicus perhaps a metalworker, to judge by the hammer, anvil and forceps in the pediment over his heard, Demetrius a carpenter, whose drill, knife, and other assorted implements flank his portrait on the right. On the left side the inclusion of the fasces, the axes and rods of public office, possibly indicate that Philonicus was a sevir augustalis, a priest in 23 A similar example is the nuclear family trio on the relief of the Antistii, where space is made for the depiction of a spoon, crater, forceps, and anvil, denoting a career in metalworking (Zimmer 1983, no.127, Kockel 1993, L 4). 24 Kleiner 1977, no. 3; Zimmer 1983, no. 128; Kockel 1993, L 17. Inscription: P. Licinius P.l. / Philonicu[s] // P. Licinius P.l. / Demetrius patrono / fecit / [...]. Many freedmen put up memorials to their patrons out of obsequium, the obligation due as part of the relationship between a former slave and his master. Kockel identifies Philonicus, the younger man on the left as the patron to whom the Demetrius has erected the monument, which would mean that Philonicus was himself freed first and then bought and freed the elder Demetrius, thereby becoming his patron. While it is not impossible that the younger man was freed first, it seems an unusual circumstance. As an alternative explanation Eve D’Ambra argues that the relief simply depicts Demetrius and Philonicus, two colliberti of the same master, Publius Licinius, the patron who is referred to in the inscription but not represented on the monument. (D’Ambra 2001, 224-225).

21 For the theme of work on commemorative monuments, see Kampen 1981 and Zimmer 1982. 22 Kleiner 1977, no. 59; Zimmer 1982, no. 29; Kockel 1993, J 3. Left side: (on modius) L. Ampudius / L. et l. / Philomusus / modi(arius); lower frame: L. Ampudius L. et l. The reversed C (‘ ’) stood for Gaia, the legal notation for a woman, thereby indicating that the individual’s former owner was a woman. Further, see Keppie 1991, 20.

22

MICHELE GEORGE: SOCIAL IDENTITY AND THE DIGNITY OF WORK IN FREEDMEN’S RELIEFS

Figure 3. Relief of the Licinii, London, British Museum. (Photo: BM Inv. 1954.12-14.1).

the imperial cult, a position of considerable accomplishment for a former slave.25 If we assume that the identification of Philonicus as a sevir is accurate, it would seem that several notions lie at the heart of this memorial. The equal attention given to the social status he attained in the sevirate as well as to the commemoration of his work indicates the importance of two arenas of engagement which stand at opposite poles in the spectrum of Roman social values: the former (the sevirate) representing one of the rare honors by which freedmen might emulate elite participation in public life; the latter (work) a necessity for all but the very wealthy who scorned it. Commemorating two men with no obvious blood relationship, the portrait group highlights the camaraderie of their joint labor and the personal bond of a shared biography. Similar notions of solidarity in the workplace emerge from the epigraphic evidence in which co-workers of all status groups commemorate each other by citing their shared experience.26

Most conspicuous among the monuments to work is the well-known tomb of the baker Eurysaces built in the Augustan era near the Porta Maggiore in Rome.27 It is unique not only in its extraordinary scale and shape, but in its audacious display of its patron’s work. Although the exact nature of the tomb’s design is still disputed – is it an oven, a breadbox, a container for flour? – there is general agreement that it was inspired by Eurysaces’ occupation as a baker, in Latin pistor, a term used twice in the prominent inscription.28 On this tomb the family imagery common to other freedman monuments of the era is replaced with a commemoration of work, which dominates the monument and articulates unequivocally Eurysaces’ engagement in industry.29 The frieze which runs around the top renders in careful detail the stages of breadmaking, the source of the profits which paid for the structure, from the grinding of the grain through to the baking of the bread and its transportation to market. In its blatant celebration of work, the tomb of Eurysaces expresses a rare self-confidence for a freedman of the

25 The fasces were more commonly associated with the lictors, leading Manning (1965) to connect them in this instance with the official ceremony of manumission (manumissio vindicta), which the lictors carried out; contra this notion, and for parallel examples of the fasces as symbols of the sevirate, see Zimmer 1983, 191 n. 7; also D’Ambra 2001, 224 and n. 11. A third option is that the fasces represent Philonicus’ role as an apparitor, an administrative assistant to a lictor. For the office of apparitor and the freedman order, see Purcell 1983. 26 On affective relationships between slaves in the workplace, see Flory 1978, Joshel 1992, ch. 4.

27

Ciancio Rossetto 1973; Kleiner 1991, 105-109. For discussions of the tomb’s unusual form and possible explanations, see Zimmer 1983, 106 n. 33. 29 A statue group of a couple rendered in standing relief and found near the tomb is identified by Ciancio Rossetto as Eurysaces and his wife Atistia, who is also mentioned in the inscription; Kockel, however, upon examining the excavation reports, argues that there is no compelling proof that the standing relief, which he dates to just before 50 B.C.E., has any connection with the tomb (Kockel 1993, A 8). 28

23

THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD Augustan era which might seem on one level to challenge elite prejudices against work. Much like the family portraits, however, the message of this monument adheres as much as possible to elite attitudes and presents work in terms that honor, rather than defy, social hierarchy and economic power, offering a tribute to work to which the Roman elite would be most sympathetic. It is not Eurysaces himself who engages in bread production, but a corps of his slaves, and it is not the comradeship of shared labor which is commemorated, but the power and status of a former slave who is now a slave-owner. The frieze does not memorialize Eurysaces’ own work as much as his authority over the work of others, a point which is displayed through an emphasis on the magnitude of the business. According to the inscription Eurysaces was no mere shop-owner, but a redemptor, a producer who was under contract to provide goods, in this case bread, to the state.30 On the frieze groups of workers in tunics are shown carrying out the menial tasks as officials in togas stand by and supervise to certify that the product reaches the mandated standards. In doing his part to ensure the bread supply to the populace, Eurysaces occupied a small but significant place in the functioning of the city, despite being barred by his status from elected office. The imagery can be read as that of a libertus seeking to ameliorate his connection with base labor even as he advertises it, and his identification with work is mediated by the values of the uppermost echelon of the Roman social order, which judged businessman who operated on a grand scale less harshly than the small shop owner.

traced, it is in this era that the vending scene, a standard visual reference to work in the imperial period, starts to appear. Among the earliest examples of this type scene are two reliefs from Rome (now in the Uffizi museum) which are dated to the Claudian period, and which illustrate the sale of cloth.32 The absence of an inscription or of a detailed understanding of their findspot makes it impossible to be sure that the reliefs were in fact used to commemorate freedmen. They are of value to this discussion, however, for their unusual depiction of work, in which every aspect – the nature of the wares, the setting, the clients and even the design of the shop itself – is used to signal the genteel nature of the business and to bring prestige to the cloth merchant. In the first scene (Figure 4) two clients, a seated couple, watch as a towel is displayed by two shop workers. The clients are escorted by two attendants, a man to the right and a woman who stands behind them. Status distinctions between buyer and vendor are indicated by clothing, as the patrons wear the garments of the Roman elite – a stola for the woman, a toga for the man – while their attendants and the two shop workers wear tunics, the standard attire of workers and slaves in Roman visual representation. Supervising the sale on the left is a male figure, also tunicate, who is probably the shop owner. The interior of the shop is indicated by other wares such as cushions with elaborate trim and ornately embroidered insignia which are suspended from a bar above, and the grand exterior of the establishment is communicated by the carefully rendered architectural details of the columns and roof. The same attention to detail and social rank is visible on the second relief, and similarities in size, composition, and carving technique support the argument that these two panels are pendant pieces which were originally displayed on the same tomb.33 The details of the second scene echo the first: two seated patrons, both male and both togate, are accompanied by a standing attendant; all look at the large piece of cloth held out for inspection by two tunicate men, while the central male figure oversees the sale. The monumental structural frame of the shop exterior is much like the one in its related panel (Figure 4), but has an internal portico which is suggested by two additional columns in the background.

The tomb of Eurysaces is the great exception in freedman monuments, of its own time or in subsequent eras; as far as we know, nothing else quite like it was ever built again in Rome.31 Rather than reflecting the norm for selfrepresentation by freedmen in the Augustan period, its bold expression of individual achievement is best explained as a product of the competition in commemorative monuments which flourished briefly in the first century B.C.E. before being brought under imperial control. With the exception of Eurysaces’ tomb, references to work appeared only gradually in commemorative monuments throughout the first century C.E., and without the same homogeneity in composition and theme that marked the family group-portrait genre of the late Republic. In contrast to the elaborate depiction of work displayed on the Eurysaces’ monument, the inclusion of tools as marginal iconographical elements, in the manner of the relief of the Licinii (Figure 3), continues to be the most common way to allude to work in this period. Although no single monument type can be

In both the quality of execution and in their classicizing style, the reliefs differ from other contemporaneous work scenes, and the refined nature of the transactions that are illustrated separates them from associations with coarsely commercial activity. Located within a grand and spacious setting, rather than a small nook off a side-street or alleyway, the sale is presented as one of the pleasures

30 For the inscription see Ciancio Rossetto 1973 35-36, Zimmer 1983, 108. 31 The scenes of construction on the famous Tomb of the Haterii probably reflect involvement in the building trade, but they are balanced by an equally elaborate depiction of a funeral, and by refined portrait busts. Work is present in the visual biography but does not constitute the singular element, as it does on the tomb of Eurysaces. See Sinn and Freyberger 1991.

32

Zimmer 1983, nos. 38 and 39. It is also possible that both reliefs were produced by the same workshop for display on different tombs and that they therefore represent generic imagery for which a ready market was anticipated. However, the absence of any other contemporaneous scenes with the same details undercuts the notion, making it more probable that are from the same monument. For the motif of cloth display on other reliefs and shop signs, see Zimmer 1983, nos. 35, 37, 40, 41. 33

24

MICHELE GEORGE: SOCIAL IDENTITY AND THE DIGNITY OF WORK IN FREEDMEN’S RELIEFS

Figure 4. Relief with cushion shop, Florence, Uffizi. (Photo: Alinari 29357).

of wealth rather than merely a tedious task.34 Expensive cloth, whether imported silks or high quality Italian wool, was counted among the luxury goods in the elite household and was valued for its monetary worth as well as its aesthetic features. The comfortable pose of the buyers and the attention they are given convey that this establishment transcends the common shop and offers only the finest goods to the best clientele. The refined nature of this business and the high status of those who patronize it does credit to the shop owner by association, and the careful differentiation between buyer and seller highlights the social hierarchies at play. Work is the explicit theme in these reliefs, but its presentation is adjusted to accommodate elite values and to focus on related elite notions of luxury and the expenditure of wealth, rather than on the production of goods and the earning of money through hard labor. Work, and along with it the reputation of the cloth seller, is raised from the

degraded concept articulated by Cicero and positioned in the best possible light within the elite mentality. The imagery can also be directly related to the real social circumstances of Roman freedmen, whose own success often depended upon the good will of a rich and influential patron. Within the complex social network of Rome, contacts with wealthy households could have substantial benefits for a fledgling business and ensure the most desirable kind of clientele. Furthermore, in eschewing the more literal depictions of cloth production which were common at Pompeii, these scenes avoid the foul and malodorous aspects of the cloth industry, which was famous for its use of urine as a cleaning agent.35 Instead, by the mid-first century C.E., vending scenes from Rome such as these two flatter both client and shop owner and show the cloth industry at its best. Differing from the tomb of Eurysaces in representing work in an idealized way, the cloth shop scenes also represent an effort to deflect the humiliations which the elite

34

In her study of occupational inscriptions, Joshel notes that certain streets (e.g., the Via Sacra, Vicus Tuscus, the Velabrum) were specified more often in the epitaphs, reflecting the apparent cachet of the address compared to other, less attractive, districts of the city such as the infamous Subura (Joshel 1992, 107).

35 For cloth production at Pompeii, see Moeller 1976; in the western provinces, see Wild 1970; for images, see Zimmer 1983, no. 42; Ciarallo and De Carolis 1999 140-141, Figure 120.

25

THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD associated with manufacturing, and in shifting the emphasis from the seller to the buyer, the shop owner lays claim to his work in a more oblique manner and through the lens of the elite viewer. A New Attitude toward Work? By contrast, the scenes of a knife shop on an altar of Flavian date suggests that by the latter part of the first century C.E. others engaged in industry took a different attitude to their work. The altar, now in the Vatican museum, was dedicated by Lucius Cornelius Atimetus, likely either a former slave or of freedman heritage, to himself and his freedman Epaphra, as well as to other freedmen in his household.36 There are scenes on two sides: one (Figure 5) illustrates metalworking by two tunicate men in a workshop which is indicated by the background elements of a fiery hearth and hanging implements; the other (Figure 6) shows the sale of wares by a tunicate figure on the right to a togate customer on the left, with a cupboard filling the central portion of the scene. On display are some of their products, such as sickles and cleavers at the top, a row of knives in the middle, and cases with pointed metal pens (stili) on the bottom; hanging from the inside doors of the cupboard are the spatula-shaped implements used for spreading wax on writing tablets. While it is possible that Atimetus and Epaphra are actually portrayed in these scenes, their generic character suggests that the images should be taken symbolically as representations of the two sides of industrial work, the production of the goods themselves followed by their sale to well-heeled customers.37 On this altar, unlike the frieze on the tomb of Eurysaces or the scenes of cloth vending, the connection between the deceased and his work is unambiguous and unmediated by issues of status and authority. In contrast to Eurysaces’ grandiose monument, where the gap in status between the patron/owner and laborer is emphasized by differences in the size of the figures, their number, and the mode of representation, the small scale of this operation implied by the compression and tight spaces of the workshop eliminate any distance between the work depicted and the individuals mentioned in the inscription. Atimetus took pride in all aspects of his work, from the forge itself to the heavy labor, physical strength, and sweaty effort needed to operate it, and subsequently to the almost ostentatious display of wares to a customer of quality. The reluctance of the earliest freedman reliefs to show direct engagement in work has been superseded by an open acknowledgement and pride. The difference between the knife shop and the cloth shop scenes in content and tone can also be attributed to differences in the nature of the business at hand. The purveyor of fine cloth had the wealthiest among the population as his clientele, providing him with a less ignoble dimension on

Figure 5. Altar of L. Cornelius Atimetus, Vatican Museum, Galleria Lapidario. (Photo: Musei Vaticani, archivio fotografico XIII.21.21)

Figure 6. Scene of knife shop, altar of L. Cornelius Atimetus, Vatican Museum, Galleria Lapidario. (Photo: Musei Vaticani, archivio fotografico XIII.21.20).

36

Zimmer 1983, no. 114. Inscription: L(ucius) Cornelius / Atimetus / sibi et L(ucio) Cornelio / Epaphrae lib(erto) / benemerenti / ceterisq(e) libertis / libertabus posterisque / eorum. 37 For other scenes of metalworking, see Zimmer 1983, nos. 112, 113, 115 – 126.

26

MICHELE GEORGE: SOCIAL IDENTITY AND THE DIGNITY OF WORK IN FREEDMEN’S RELIEFS which to focus. For Atimetus and others engaged in work which demanded considerable physical effort, there was no such option to prevaricate. In choosing to commemorate himself directly through his work, Atimetus is in his own way bolder than Eurysaces, and his defiance of the social bias against work suggests an indifference to it. In their attention to detail, the scenes constitute a visual diary of small-scale manufacturing by a craftsman and businessman so engaged by his occupation that it dominates his self-representation.

references to work, so that different dimensions of identity could be expressed on a single monument by different means. Although both the visual and epigraphic material point to a rejection in some measure of the elite prejudice against work by those who were most engaged in it, it is difficult to ascertain a linear development for several reasons. The inscriptions, for example, can rarely be dated except in the broadest terms, making it impossible to discern an evolution in attitudes in the epigraphic evidence over time. Furthermore, paralleling the increase in visual references to work was the gradual decrease on inscriptions of both filiation and libertination, the epigraphic indicators which identified respectively freeborn and freed status, thus obscuring for us the status of the dedicant.40 With the exception of imperial freedmen, libertination declines in use in the first century C.E. and is especially poorly represented in figured monuments. Although no single reason accounts for the phenomenon, it is possible that the rising number of freedmen among the population made the achievement of manumission less of a positive distinction.

While visual images of work from the first century C.E. are relatively meagre in number, another kind of evidence, funerary inscriptions, provide parallel testimony of pride in work. In her study of the corpus of Latin inscriptions with occupational title, Sandra Joshel has shown that many slaves and freedmen privileged occupational titles in their epitaphs, reflecting a strong commitment to the work they did.38 She argues that references to work, such as the listing of specific functions, replaces the family name in importance, especially among epitaphs of the lower ranks. Work defined the value of a slave and, to a great extent, a libertus, and the proud inclusion of work in their commemorations reflects a reaction against the deracination and inhumanity of slavery. In defying elite prejudices against work, as Joshel asserts, this non-elite social group was exercising a form of resistance to the social order. Work and the workplace provided a vehicle for the formation of a collective identity in the absence of a legitimate family history or membership in a populous elite domestic household. The trend is paralleled by the growth of collegia, social clubs that developed around occupations and that provided another important element in self-representation among the lower orders. Membership in these associations also figured prominently in epitaphs, especially by those in positions of authority, who frequently claimed their leadership roles in the internal hierarchy as badges of honor.39

More importantly, as the number of freedmen increased, the relevance of such distinctions to an individual’s personal genealogy becomes more difficult to evaluate. Servile ancestry always retained an element of dishonour compared to free birth, although for many freedmen the stigma of slavery must have diminished after several generations or was offset if sufficient wealth and political influence had been attained. The denigration accorded to libertini in imperial commentators such as Juvenal and Martial, however, and the infamous caricature of Trimalchio drawn by Petronius in the Satyricon, indicate that the stigma associated with freed status did not disappear along with libertination and might even suggest that prejudice increased as the profile of freedmen and their descendants grew on the Roman social scene. Manumission, which in the late Republic was an achievement worthy of mention, might have become a biographical detail best left unspecified by the first century C.E. A final example reflects a persistent ambiguity in self-representation among some of the most fortunate and well-placed libertini at Rome, imperial freedmen. On the Trajanic stele of C. Julius Helius, his occupation as a sutor (shoemaker) was included in the inscription, and shoe lasts decorated the pediment (Figure 7); the deceased himself, however, occupies the most space on the monument, where he is represented by a

An apparent disjuncture between text and image on funerary monuments is suggested by the strong identification with work which emerges in the epigraphic evidence, and its relatively infrequent use in visual imagery from the city of Rome. It is likely that the extant inscriptions represent a greater proportion of lower income freedmen, while figured monuments belong to a higher economic stratum, for whom the negative connotations of work still had considerable force. Alternatively, different kinds of commemorative associations might have been defined by particular modes of expression, so that mythological or heroising allusions were preferred in visual imagery, while concepts with potentially pejorative interpretations such as work were kept to the written sphere. It is also possible that monuments with mythological imagery could have been accompanied by inscriptions, now lost, which included 38 39

40 Filiation was the indication of paternal parentage using the letter ‘f’ for filius, son, and the father’s praenomen (first name) (e.g., M. f. = ‘son of Marcus’) which signalled freeborn status. Libertination, which indicated freed status (and therefore a former slave) was shown by the letter ‘l’ for libertus, along with the former master’s praenomen (e.g., Q. l. = ‘freedman of Quintus’). The inscription on the tomb of Eurysaces includes neither filiation nor libertination, although it is assumed he was a libertus because his third name (cognomen) Eurysaces was Greek and not Roman (Ciancio Rossetto 1973, 35). For the Roman naming system and common short forms on inscriptions, see Keppie 1991, 17-35 and 106-107.

Joshel 1992. Joshel 1992: 113-122. On collegia, see Waltzing 1857-1929.

27

THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD social cachet of their association with the imperial household.42 Conclusion While caution is advisable in making definitive statements about either the taste of libertini as a monolithic group or changes in attitudes toward work, several constants and variables can be discerned. First, the negative connotations of work persisted into the late empire, as shown by the dichotomy between honestiores and humiliores, the noble and the ignoble, which is attested into the late imperial period.43 Secondly, in spite of this pervasive social bias, representations of work continued to proliferate in the second and third centuries C.E. Recognized as a valuable commemorative metaphor by the freeborn of moderate means as well as by the descendants of slaves, the motif of work became a commonplace in the funerary monuments of the middle stratum of Roman society, despite the antipathy of the elite. Among the most popular representations are the vending scene, in which items as variable as foodstuffs, footwear, cloth, and jewellery are depicted with the same care and attention to detail as the products of Atimetus.44 The most likely audience for these memorials to success in trade and manufacturing were the social peers of the deceased in the immediate region, not the elite at Rome. Generally employing themes and stylistic idioms distinct from those of contemporary elite commemoration, provincial monuments to work forego the taste for classicism and mythological allegory which continued to mark funerary monuments in Rome.45 Memorials which feature work, however, were far more popular outside the capital and appear with greatest frequency in the northwestern provinces, suggesting that beyond Rome elite prejudices against work were vitiated by the existence of local elites for whom the refinements of metropolitan social hierarchies had less potency. For this ‘Mittelschicht’, who did not participate in the same social arena as the elite at Rome and who were unconcerned about avoiding the stigma of slavery, work scenes provided a way to stake out their own iconographical territory, to claim a form of distinction otherwise unavailable to them.

Figure 7. Stele of C. Iulius Helius, Rome, Capitoline Museum. (Photo: DAI neg. 77.1705).

carefully rendered portrait with a heroic semi-nude upper torso, rather than as a participant in a narrative of work.41 His nomenclature recommends him as an imperial freedman, and the refined, restrained, and conventionally formal mode of presentation is appropriate to someone attached to the emperor, even a former slave. Although the nature of his work was explicitly declared in word and image, the arrangement of the constituent elements emphasised the deceased’s dignity and respectability, rather than his work, which was confined to the margins. The relative subordination of work motives even into the second century C.E. on a monument such as this represents a compromise for a member of the familia Caesaris, a particularly advantaged group of freedmen who were likely keen to maintain the privileges and

41

The limitations imposed on libertini and their anomalous position in the social hierarchy of the late Republic shaped their choices in funerary commemoration in crucial ways, and the visual imagery they chose in 42

On imperial freedmen, see Weaver 1972. On the notional division of the citizenry into two groups, the honestiores (‘the better off’), and the humiliores (‘the worse off’), which emerges in the third century juridical sources and which was partially defined by the need to work, see Garnsey 1970. 44 For studies of these scenes, see Kampen 1981 and Zimmer 1983. 45 For Zanker (1992: 252-254) the appearance of work motives in the commemorations of the second and third centuries era are part of the diminution of public life under imperial power. On the role of business and trade in the society and economy of the western provinces, with some discussion of the visual evidence, see Drinkwater 1977-1978, 1981. 43

Zimmer 1983, no. 54.

28

MICHELE GEORGE: SOCIAL IDENTITY AND THE DIGNITY OF WORK IN FREEDMEN’S RELIEFS making their claim for personhood reveals what they considered worthy of commemoration and what aspects of identity they valued most. It is critical to remember, however, that within every freedman was a former slave, someone who, with an abundance of luck and his master’s benevolence, had successfully made the change from slave, a being with no rights, no personhood, and no socially recognized identity, to a freed individual with Roman citizenship and personal autonomy. The forms of self-representation by freedmen in the early imperial period suggest that the slave experience did not wither away after manumission but continued to play a role in the mentality of freedmen and thus informed the choices they made in creating their own memorials. A degree of ambivalence toward work in funerary commemoration endured in the imperial period among the wealthiest freedmen at Rome, especially imperial freedmen, for whom work remained only a minor theme in funerary commemoration.46 On funerary altars and stelae, the dominant forms of monuments in the first and second centuries C.E., a wide range of artistic themes was exploited, with mythological allegory taking precedence over work. Under the empire, even with considerable financial success and social achievement, freedmen at Rome had to balance the significance of work to their personal biographies with a reluctance to perpetuate any link with their former condition as slaves. *** Thanks must go to Guy Métraux and Eve D’Ambra for their sound advice, and to the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada for financial support.

46

Wrede 1981: 158-175.

29

Private Memory and Public Interest: Municipal Identity in Imperial Italy Margaret L. Laird On 17 December, 182 C.E., the decurions and seviri Augustales gathered in the forum at Ostia to inaugurate a new statue. The image of P. Horatius Chryseros, a sevir Augustalis, stood atop a tall, narrow pedestal ornamented with an a ritual jug (urceus) and a shallow offering bowl (patera) on its sides (Figure 1).1 In a lengthy inscription crowding the front panel of the base, the seviri Augustales as donors laid out the circumstances behind the commission: Chryseros had donated 50,000 sestertii to their organization, HS 10,000 of which fulfilled his son’s or nephew’s summa honoraria for the office of curator, or treasurer (Figure 2). The remaining 40,000 sestertii was to be invested at a set interest rate, with the further stipulation that annually, on Chryseros’s birthday, the order should use 100 sestertii of the accrued interest to decorate the statue and tip the slaves of the seviri Augustales.2 The remaining moneys, estimated at 2,300 sestertii3 would be evenly distributed among the organization’s members. Chryseros ensured the fund’s successful oversight by stipulating that, should his fellow seviri fail to follow his specifications, the foundation and its interest would devolve to the citizens of Ostia. To celebrate the new monument (and to ensure a large turnout at its dedication), Chryseros promised a one-time distribution of five denarii to each decurion and sevir Augustalis present. Chryseros’s donation favored the members of the top two tiers of Ostian society, the decurions and the seviri Augustales. The decurions included freeborn male citizens whose wealth qualified them for positions of municipal leadership, similar to Roman senators.4 Figure 1. Foundation monument of P.Horatius Chryseros, Ostia. Vatican Museum, Museo Chiaramonti, inv. 1247; h 164 cm x width 94 x depth 91.5; (Illustration: after Amelung 1903, pl. 84).

This paper was originally given at the Annual Meeting of the College Art Association, 2002, and benefited from the comments of the respondent, John Clarke, and members of the audience. I also appreciate the support of the panel’s organizers, Sandra Joshel and Lauren Hackworth Peterson. I thank the editors of this volume for encouraging me to think more deeply about the problems of foundation monuments and for their generous suggestions. My thoughts on the topic have been furthered by conversations with Genevieve Gessert. Working independently, we have arrived at many similar conclusions about the functions of foundation monuments in their municipal contexts. Cameron Grey offered many helpful insights and Late Antique parallels. All translations are my own, unless otherwise noted. 1 Vatican Museums, Museo Chiaramonti; inv. 1247; CIL XIV, 367 = ILS 6164. The December dedicatory date is widely accepted. However, Gordon (1983, 151) reads nov(embres), for a date of 18 October. 2 I follow Mrozek (1977, 408), who views the HS 100 as a lump sum, to be used both to adorn the sculpture and provide a bonus to the familia. Meiggs (1973, 221) interprets the HS 100 as intended for the familia Augustalium alone, supplementing the sum required for decorating the statue. 3 Based on an interest rate of 6%; see Duncan-Jones 1982, 132-35. 4 Decurions in some towns were required by law to have an annual income of at least 100,000 sestertii; Lomas 1996, 221; Duncan-Jones 1982, 4; 147-8; 243. A farm laborer received 25 denarii per day (the denarius, a silver coin, was equal to ten asses, the sestertius to four. A loaf of bread in Pompeii in the first century C.E. cost 2 asses; DuncanJones 1982, 11-12; 244.

Members of the seviri Augustales, on the other hand, came primarily (though not exclusively) from among the ranks of wealthy ex-slaves, or libertini.5 These men might possess the property to qualify as members of the decurion class, they were legally barred from this organization due to their servile backgrounds or other legal restrictions. Membership among the Augustales provided them with a public role. The organization functioned in much the same way as the equestrian order in Rome; the freeborn sons of successful Augustales often rose to replenish the ranks of the decurion class. In studying this freedman organization, scholars have often 5 For the Augustales, see Abramenko 1997; Duthoy 1974, 1978. My unpublished dissertation, Laird (2002) examines the public and funerary monuments made by and for members of the group.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD members of the municipal government. Private individuals, both male and female, might underwrite games, pay for a building in a prominent area of town, or fund the distribution of food. Members of collegial organizations could finance banquets, erect statues of a prominent guild member or fund a new meeting hall. This inclusive system of munificence provided a means of public competitive display which benefited the donor(s) while enriching the town. Chryseros’s donation fell into a specific category of municipal euergetism. Although Romans lacked a precise expression to describe these capital grants, modern scholars term them “foundations.”8 The overwhelming majority of foundation documents are preserved epigraphically, as inscriptions on statue bases such as Chryseros’s, as funerary epitaphs or as engravings on public buildings.9 Foundation documents celebrate a gift made by a donor, either while alive or as part of his or her testament, and specify how the annual interest earned from the invested funds should become available to specific groups and/or organizations, or to the town collectively. Common uses include the underwriting of funerary banquets, tomb decorations or games, the financing of public distributions of money and/or food, or the maintenance of a public or funerary building. Often, the date of the apportioning corresponds with the donor’s birthday or similarly significant personal anniversary. Established throughout the Roman empire, foundations are proportionately best represented on the Italian peninsula, where over 140 examples survive, most dated to the period between the first and the third centuries C.E.10

Figure 2. Detail of Figure 1, front inscribed panel of the foundation monument of P. Horatius Chryseros, Ostia. Vatican Museum, Museo Chiaramonti, inv. 1247. (Illustration: after Amelung 1903, pl. 84).

emphasized the boundaries created by differing legal and financial and occupational qualifications (and sometimes by aesthetic tastes). However, recent work on municipal society has focused on the commonalties and social overlap of these two bodies. For instance, sons of freedmen, so-called new men (novi homines), were a consistent presence in municipal governments throughout the imperial period, while Augustales were frequently the freedmen or clients of prominent local decurions.6 The firm distinctions that we perceive may have been blurred in an ancient town. To better understand the roles freedmen played and the choices they made, it is helpful to examine their activities alongside comparable actions of social, collegial or political groups. Donations like Chryseros’ provide an opportunity to explore the impact of municipal beneficence on not only the individual freedman, but on his wider community.

Foundation inscriptions have received scholarly attention for the financial or testamentary information they contain and for the light they shed on municipal society and social relations during the Imperial period.11 Many of these studies emphasize classification, aiming to distinguish, for example, so-called “reflexive” foundations (whose interest only benefitted the donor and his/her immediate family), from “non-reflexive” (which assisted third parties), or funerary/privately motivated funds from socially/publicly oriented ones.12 It is true 8 The bibliography on the topic is vast. For a discussion of the major references, see Champlin (1991, 158-62, and n. 11). On the Greek origins of the practice, see Hands (1968, 58-9). 9 Non-epigraphic evidence for foundations include Pliny, ep. VII, 18; Philostratus, Lives of the Sophists II, 548; Dig. 31.1.21.3; 32.35.3; 33.2.16; 34.2.6.2; 36.1.59 pr.. 10 See Andreau 1977, 162-164. 11 For instance, Duncan Jones (1982, 259-87); Magioncalda (1994); D’Arms (2000, 133-4) use the information from interest rates and sizes of distributions to determine the population of Roman towns and the sizes of municipal bodies such as the decurions and Augustales. Mrozek (1977, passim) examines inflation rates in the later empire. Bruck (1949, 1-18) uses the rise of foundations in the second century C.E. as evidence for the decay of Roman religion and care for the cult of the dead. 12 For a summary, see Champlin (1991, 160-2, with bibliography). Throughout the paper, the term “funerary” will describe those foundations which underwrite activities specifically associated with the cult of the dead, while “public” foundation monuments describe funds

Both decurions and Augustales were subject to similar financial obligations as part of their official roles.7 These honorary sums, or summa honoraria, financed municipal public works, such as the construction or upkeep of buildings or roads, or underwrote public services, such as food doles. This system of liturgies, or euergetism, pervaded Roman civic life and was not restricted to elite 6

Mouritsen 1997; Laird 2002, 57-64. Veyne 1990; For a concise overview, with translated primary sources, see Lomas 1996, 218-51. 7

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MARGARET L. LAIRD: PRIVATE MEMORY AND PUBLIC INTEREST: MUNICIPAL IDENTITY IN IMPERIAL ITALY that foundations which, for instance, underwrote annual feasting at a deceased donor’s tomb differed in scope from those which provided food to the entire population of the town, or some portion of it. However, several scholars have correctly emphasized that, beyond these categories, all foundations have at their core a basic preoccupation with perpetuating the donor’s memory.13

donors’ wealth and social status, while the annual distributions accordingly benefited more widely or narrowly defined groups of recipients. Towns as a whole profited more regularly from senatorial foundations, which averaged 1,000,000 sestertii. For example, a gift of 1,500,000 sestertii to the municipium of Spoletium (Spoleto) underwrote a banquet for all citizens of the town and provided handouts of food.16 On the other end of the scale, funds established by freeborn plebeians averaged 3,500 sestertii. More often the generated interest covered the cost of annual funerary observances or collegial dinners.17

This important point recognizes, but fails to elaborate on, two important points. First, the perpetuation of the donor’s memory was substantially furthered by a constructed ensemble of monument and text.14 The otherwise ephemeral rituals involved in establishing and maintaining the foundation were inscribed upon a solid armature anchored in a fixed location. That our knowledge of these funds comes almost exclusively from these “foundation monuments” attests to their permanence. Despite the ubiquity of these monuments throughout the Roman world, there has been no sustained examination of their location of display or, more importantly, their function in the annual rituals they prescribe. Second, while a foundation benefited an individual’s memory and prestige, its annual distributions tangibly impacted a far wider pool of individuals. In some cases, every member of the community would have been affected by receiving (or not receiving) the annual donation. However, most studies overlook the social ramifications of these gift events. This paper examines the interrelation between the physical and the social / ritual aspects of foundation monuments, arguing that they functioned as potent temporal and spatial markers which articulated municipal society while promoting cohesion and continuity.

Foundations established by Augustales like Ostia’s P. Horatius Chryseros generally fell somewhere in the middle, but their donations were aimed at furthering the organization’s ties with the upper-class decurions, rather than aiding the town as a whole.18 This pattern can be illustrated by examining the details inscribed on a second foundation monument from Ostia. About fifty years after Chryseros made his donation, Ostia’s seviri Augustales celebrated a second gift with the dedication of another statue. Q. Veturius Socrates, himself a sevir Augustalis, had given 50,000 sestertii to the group, likely as a summa honoraria for the priviledge of an honorary chair (bisellium).19 Socrates, like Chryseros before him, stipulated that the interest from his invested gift be distributed annually to members on his birthday, after deducting 100 sestertii to decorate his statue. In a salute to his generosity, the ordo Augustalium erected a statue of him, which was paid for by Socrates’s son, an Ostian decurion, and his daughter.20 As with Chryseros, on the day of the dedication, cash gifts (sportulae) were distributed to the seviri Augustales (five denarii apiece) and the decurions (three denarii apiece). The foundations of both men, which amounted to 40,000 sestertii and 50,000 sestertii respectively, equal or approach half the required summa honoraria of a decurion, attesting to the wealth of the second municipal ordo.21 But above this sum, each man provided funds for a one-time monetary

Foundations were not restricted to a particular class but appealed practically to all levels of society with the exception of the Imperial circle and slaves, and other outsiders.15 The average initial outlay reflected the which benefit municipal populations or specific social, religious or collegial groups. 13 Visscher 1955, 201; Hands 1968, 55-61; Bossu 1982, 163-5; Champlin 1991, 162-8. 14 Van Nijf (2000) emphasizes the important role that honorific statues and their inscribed bases played in defining individual status and social order at Termessos, with particular attention to the topographical disposition of the monuments throughout the town. For an introduction to the physical importance of inscriptions in Roman towns, see Susini (1988). 15 Andreau (1977) distinguishes five categories of donor – senators, equestrians, members of the municipal elite (decurions and other magistrates), Augustales, and freeborn plebeians. Women could, and did, establish foundations. Champlin (1991, 158 and n. 8) parallels property donations made by Julius Caesar and Agrippa to the people of Rome with municipal foundations. Imperial largesse tended to focus on disaster relief or building projects which would benefit the infrastructure of Italy or Rome; Patterson 2003; Lomas 1996, 221. The imperial alimentary schemes, which provided funds and food to children in Italy, presumably took private alimentary foundations as a model; Woolf 1990, 208-10. Both the imperial alimenta and private alimentary foundations favored wealthy citizens over the destitute; Woolf 1990, 211; Hands 1968, 91. Non-citizens are rarely named as beneficiaries, though note a foundation established by a decurion from Ferentinum (CIL X, 5853 = ILS 6271) that provides nuts and wine to “plebeian children regardless of free status” (pueris plebeis sine distinctione

libertatis). For a further discussion of this foundation, see infra. Likewise, non-citizens are attested as founders in exceptional cases. A certain Druinus, slave and actor of the consul M. Nonius Arrius Mucianus, is the only slave attested as a founder; see Andreau (1977, 183, and nn. 54, 55). 16 CIL XI, 4789. For other large foundations, see Duncan-Jones 1982, 171-2; Andreau 1977, 167; 169. 17 Duncan-Jones 1982, 179-84; Andreau 1977, 181-7. 18 Andreau 1977, 174 and table 6. 19 CIL XIV, 431 = AE 1980, 182; Vatican Museums, Galleria Lapidaria, wall 37.31; inv. 6953. For the name of the recipient, which is missing, see Dessau, CIL XIV ad n. 431, and D’Arms (1976, 395-6). The statue was dedicated while Q. Veturius Felicissimus, freedman of Q. Veturius Socrates, held the curatorship of the seviri Augustales. Felicissimus was subsequently elected quinquennalis of the group in 239 (CIL XIV, 461). Since he probably held the curatorship prior to his election as president, CIL XIV, 461 provides a terminus ante quem for the dedication of the foundation monument. 20 The involvement of Socrates’s children suggests that he had died prior to the statue’s dedication; Dessau CIL XIV, ad n. 431. 21 Duncan-Jones (1965, 226), based on information from Comum and elsewhere. A gift of HS 50,000 secured the honor of decurionatus ornamentis at Ostia; Duncan-Jones 1982, 216; CIL XIV, 374 + p. 482 = ILS 6165.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD adopted son.29 However, he purposely included two groups, decurions and clerks, in the celebration of Hermogenes. The inscription on the statue base continues, specifying that proceeds from the foundation were to be distributed in front of the statue on Hermogenes’s birthday to the decurions, decurial lictors, and clerks, the latter of which Eutyches, the father, had been a member.30 While these groups worked closely together to ensure that Ostia’s government functioned smoothly, there was a clear social division between the town councilmen and civil servants. Yet Eutychus’s foundation placed himself and his fellow secretaries and clerks elbow to elbow with the municipal leadership, and its donation treated them as a cohesive unit.31

distribution to the decuriones and seviri Augustales, Chryseros between 4,400-5,200 sestertii, Socrates between 2,800-4,300 sestertii.22 These foundations likely appealed to an association such as the seviri Augustales, as the initial distribution gathered them alongside the more prestigious decurions, aligning the two groups and underscoring their ties.23 Moreover, the annual dibursements integrated the rituals of ordo Augustalium into the community’s ceremonial life.24 The seviri Augustales acknowledged the generosity of both Chryseros and Socrates by commissioning elaborate foundation monuments replete with statues of the two men. This was a common response: images celebrated foundations established by groups both more and less elite than the seviri Augustales. For instance, in the early third century, the decurions erected a posthumous equestrian statue in Ostia’s forum to honor the Roman knight, C. Domitius L.f. Fabius Hermogenes.25 Hermogenes was a young man, probably around thirty years old, though he had begun a promising career, having held several prominent positions in the town. These included clerk (scriba), priest of the Deified Hadrian (flamen Divi Hadrian) and magistrate for public works (aedile), a post that he was occupying when he unexpectedly died.26 His beneficence to the town in this capacity (financing theatrical performances, ludi scaenici), earned him a funeral at public expense and the statue. Prior to the monument’s placement, it seems, his adoptive father, L. Fabius Sp.f. Eutychus, established a foundation of 50,000 sestertii, whose details were engraved on the statue’s base.27

Eutychus acknowledged the importance of the foundation monument when he had the text of the equestrian base copied, with slight alterations, onto the tomb he and his wife commissioned for their adopted son in the Porta Romana necropolis, outside the city’s eastern gate (Figure 3).32 In choosing the site for his son’s sepulchre, Eutychus must have recognized the prestige and tradition of the cemetery. Many of the memorials here dated from the Republican or early Imperial periods, and would have lent an air of distinction both his son’s final resting place and to his own commission. In selecting this traditional necropolis, Eutychus visually mourned his son as he consolidated his own status.33 The inscription underscored this dynamic. By replicating the wording from the decurions’ statue in the forum, the father absorbed the honorific formulae of the town’s elite, claiming its official language for his son’s funerary monument. Furthermore, this duplication created a conceptual link between the necropolis and the city center, which firmly located Hermogenes within a municipal continuum spanning the distant and venerable

This may have been an extravagant gift for Eutychus, whose public career had not advanced as far as that of his adopted son’s. His first public role had been as a lictor, an official attendant who accompanied the decurions in public, bearing the fasces, bundled rods signaling their prestige. He had advanced to the position of clerk to the decurions (scriba librarius), before becoming a secretary in charge of public records (scriba cerarius).28 He found additional distinction as president of the builders' guild. While he was a member of a respected local family, his public persona was substantially below that of his

29 Many details about Eutychus’ career and nomenclature have suggested his servile origin. Meiggs (1973, 211) points to Greek cognomina and membership in the largely-freedman tribe Palatina as indications of servile status or orgin. The positons held by Eutychus (lictor, scriba cerarius et librarius) are posts largely held by libertini; Heinzelmann 2000, 128. However, his name does not bear this out, as it clearly includes filiation (though inconclusively suggesting that he may be illegitimate), and Eck (1987, 75) challenges his freedman status. Lacking more detailed evidence, it is impossible to assign a particular social status (freedman, illegitimate or freeborn) to the man. What is more important is the disparity between the cursus of Eutychus and that of Hermogenes. For the Fabii at Ostia, see Meiggs 1973, 199. I have appreciated S. Joshel’s insights on this question. 30 That the terms of the foundation were inscribed onto the front of the statue base suggests the fund was arranged prior to the statue’s erection. This inscription, CIL XIV, 353, survives in the Vatican Museums, Museo Gregoriano Profano. For the date of the donation, see Heinzelmann (2000, 128). Heinzelmann (2000, 128) postulates a third statue of Hermogenes as the site of the distribution, though this need not be the case. 31 For the opportunities for contact between the decurions and donors, see Eck 1994, 650-62; Van Nijf 2000, 33. 32 CIL XIV, 4642; Heinzelmann 2000, 127-8, Tomb PR A3b. 33 Heinzelmann (2000, 128) notes that the the tomb’s size and extravagance are unusual for the late second century, and sees the monument, the equestrian statue and the duplicated inscriptions as opportunities for Eutychus’s to advance his political influence.

22 Mrozek (1977, 408) calculates both Socrates’s and Chryseros’s distribution based on 110 decurions, and either 75 or 150 seviri Augustales. 23 Gessert 2001, 285-86. Ostia’s decurions and seviri Augustales were linked by ties of patronage and kinship, as the freedmen of municipal elites became seviri Augustales, and the sons (and grandsons) of these freedmen became, in turn, decuriones; Laird 2002, 57-61. 24 Gessert 2001, 286. 25 For this man, see Meiggs 1973, 211 and D’Arms 1976, 400-1. 26 Heinzelmann 2000, 128, with prior bibliography. 27 While Meiggs (1973, 211) casts Eutychus as the natural father of Hermogenes, who had been adopted by an unknown member of the Domitii, Heinzelmann (2000, 128) argues that Hermogenes had been adopted by Eutychus, adding the cognomen Fabius to his name. The Fabii were a long-established Ostian family, while the Domitii rose to prominence in the second half of the second century; Meiggs 1973, 199; Heinzelmann 2000, 128 and n. 22. 28 Meiggs 1973, 181.

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MARGARET L. LAIRD: PRIVATE MEMORY AND PUBLIC INTEREST: MUNICIPAL IDENTITY IN IMPERIAL ITALY

Figure 3. Tomb of C. Fabius Hermogenes, Ostia, Porta Romana necropolis. (Photo: author).

Figure 4. Plan of the precinct of Magna Mater, Ostia, with approximate findspots of (A) the base of P. Claudius Veratius Abascantianus and (B) the dedicatory base of C. Iulius Cocilius Hermes. (Illustration: adapted from Calza 1953, pl. 13).

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD goddess, perhaps the image sustained by the pedestal.41 This base was discovered in the southeast corner of the precinct (Figure 5). While damage to the inscriptions precludes matching the sums recorded on the bases with those on Abascantus’s calendar, the date of Cocilius’s distribution, the 28th of May, agrees with it. It is probable that both bases were erected to celebrate foundations whose disbursements subsequently were recorded on Abascantus’s calendar panel.

past (the cemetery) and the continuing present (the forum).34 Continuity and one's place in the community also lay at the heart of an inscribed list of the “names of those who (gave) money and their dates of birth” (nomina eorum qui pecuni[am] | et quibus dieb(us) natalis e[orum]) set up by the collegium of Ostian dendrophori).35 Adherents of this group, a religious college associated with the cult of the goddess Cybele (Magna Mater), included both wealthy and working class liberti and plebeians. Wealthy municipal notables participated as patrons.36 The words on the marble panel, simply framed and paid for by a certain P. Claudius Abascantus, freedman of the Three Gauls, schedules 23 separate distributions, to be made on the donors’ birthdays in the months of January through July.37 Most of the donations are small, averaging only 2,000 sestertii apiece, but members of Abascantus’s family, including his son, daughter-in-law and grandson, lavishly contributed 6,000 sestertii each. By underwriting the inscribed schedule of distributions, Abascantus collated a variety of different foundations in a single, durable format. The chronological list permitted members of the dendrophori to easily determine upcoming distributions. Further, Abascantus polished his family’s reputation for generosity – their gifts are remarkable for their frequency and substantial richness. Although its findspot is unknown, the panel likely stood within the precinct of Magna Mater, the meeting place of the dendrophori on the southern side of the town (Figure 4).38 This attribution is suggested by a pair of inscribed statue bases commissioned by two of the contributors listed on the calendar. One, a fragmentary plinth, honored P. Claudius Veratius Abascantianus, son of P. Claudius Abascantus, the underwriter of the panel on which the calendar was inscribed. The base, estimated to have measured over two meters when complete, was found close to the stairs leading into the temple of Magna Mater.39 Although damaged, its inscription describes a distribution of funds and the penalty for failing to meet the foundation’s conditions. The second base, a small pedestal, supported an image or object dedicated by a certain C. Iulius Cocilius Hermes, patron and quinquennalis of the dendrophori. Cocilius had contributed one of the gifts enumerated on Abascantius’s panel.40 The inscription on the base informs us that Cocilius had given 6,000 sestertii to fund a banquet on his birthday and had also donated a silver statuette of the

Figure 5. Dedicatory base of C. Iulius Cocilius Hermes, from the precinct of Magna Mater, Ostia, h 59 x w 35 x d 28 cm; Ostia, Galleria Lapidaria, inv. 8207. (Photo: Archivio Fotografico della Soprintendenza per i Beni Archeologici di Ostia, neg. R 4333/2).

All the foundations discussed above perpetuated their donors’ memories, annually recalling the original gift by distributing its interest on the most personally significant dates, their birthdays. In so doing, the donor continued as a benevolent presence in the community, with their dies

34

Gessert 2001, 282-3. CIL XIV, 326 + p. 615; Vatican Museums, Galleria Lapidaria, wall 33.13; inv. 6994. Certain individuals named on this list are attested elsewhere as dendrophori, strongly suggesting the identification. See also CIL XIV, 4450, cf. 350; 246 + p. 482; AE 1940, 94. 36 For the organization at Ostia, see Meiggs 1973, 360-2. 37 For more on Abascantus, see Herz 1989. 38 The findspot of the panel is unknown. Meiggs (1973, 360-6) discusses the precinct. 39 CIL XIV, 325; whereabouts unknown. Abascantianus is recorded on CIL XIV, 326, col. 1, l. 5. For the findspot, see Visconti 1868, 379. 40 Cocilius’s name appears on CIL XIV, 326, col. 1, l. 22. 35

41 AE 1987, 198; Ostia, Galleria Lapidaria, inv. 8207; Pellegrino 1987, 183-6. An inscribed panel, also found in the sanctuary, repeats much of the same information, but with slight variations; AE 1987, 199; Ostia, Lapidario inv. 11673; Pellegrino 1987, 186-7.

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MARGARET L. LAIRD: PRIVATE MEMORY AND PUBLIC INTEREST: MUNICIPAL IDENTITY IN IMPERIAL ITALY natalis written into the municipal or collegial calendar.42 But, as we have seen, the monumental armature that bore the foundation inscription played an integral role in promoting and guaranteeing this permanence. Indeed, the statues with their inscribed panels appear to have been an essential element of the foundations themselves. Although the Ostian examples discussed above vary substantially in the amounts of money they record and the locations in which they stood, each emphasized a monument – the seviri Augustales Chryseros and Socrates reserved funds to decorate their sculptures annually; Hermogenes’s distribution occured before his statue, and the schedule of the dendrophori was supplemented by individual monuments which not only explained the specifics of the donation but which were displayed in specific locations within the precinct.

given to the community of Ostia with the same condition as is written above.44 The shift in grammatical pattern and concomitant change in tone, the use of legal terminology and, at times, an explicit legal statement, indicate that this section excerpts or paraphrases the original foundation agreement and/or a section of the donor’s will that would have been made final before the commissioning of the statue.45 Visually, the inscription’s lettering becomes small, cramped and dense, punctuated by highly-visible numerical symbols and the prominent abbreviation for sestertii (HS). Occasionally, a change in orthography further emphasizes the citation, perhaps indicating that the stone carver was copying a document written in a cursive script.46 While this shift certainly represents a practical response to the challenge of packing the many details of a complex legal document into a restricted space, it also visually differentiates this section from the larger, well-spaced dedicatory lines above. The change in orthography also signals a temporal distinction, copying a document that was created prior to the commissioning of the statue.

Moreover, the inscribed texts themselves, which follow a common epigraphic pattern, formally emphasize the creation of the foundation monument on which they are carved (Figure 2). 43 Most invoke the monument from the outset, beginning with the donor’s name in the genitive or dative case, indicating that he or she is the subject of the portrait statue. This is followed by a list of his or her honors, where appropriate. Thus we learn that Chryseros, aside from holding the aedileship, had been a president, or quinquennalis, of the seviri Augustales, as well as a dues-exempt member of the college of the patron spirits of the emperor, the Lares Augusti. The names of the statue’s donors follow – in Chryseros’s case, the seviri Augustales as a body. This is an image of or for an individual, made by a group or individual. From here, most foundation inscriptions abruptly shift to the details of the foundation itself. The language becomes more complex, employing legal formulae to describe the establishment of the endowment, the conditions for its distribution, and penalties to be exacted for failure to comply:

Many inscriptions conclude by commemorating a onetime gift given to mark the erection of a foundation monument. This returns the focus to the monument, the tangible reward for the donor’s largesse, and it marks a temporal return to the day of its dedication.47 Thus, the inscription itself encapsulates a chronology. The transcribed foundation agreement references both the past (the establishment of the foundation) and the future (the successive distributions). This is framed by language commemorating a unique event: the dedication of the monument honoring the donor, and the one-time distribution. This emphasis indicates that the erection of the statue (or similar monument) was crucial to the process of instituting a foundation, whether the image anticipated or applauded the fund’s implementation.48 An excerpt from

...(he has) given their treasury 50,000 sestertii, of which 10,000 (was donated) on account of the honor of curatorship given to Sextus Horatius Chryserotianus, and the remaining 40,000 sestertii is to be held aside with the stipulation that the interest be distributed to the last copper every year on March 15th, his birthday, among those (seviri Augustales) present at the second hour of the day, after deducting the cost of decorating his statue and giving the servants of the Augustales 100 sestertii; and if it is not done this way, then this 40,000 sestertii (is) to be

44

...is arcae eorum HS L m(ilia) n(ummum) dederit | ex qua summa HS X m(ilia) n(ummum) ob honorem curae | Sex(ti) Horati Chryserotani et reliquorum (read reliqua) || HS XL m(ilia) n(ummum) excepta stipulatione ex usuris | semissibus et M II s(ummae) s(upra) s(cripta) quodannis (read quot-) Idib(us) Marti(i)s | natali suo inter praesentes hora II usque | ad asse dividatur deducta ornatione statue || et familiae Augustal(ium) HS c(entum) n(ummum) quot (read quod) si ita || factum non erit tum ea HS XL m(ilia) n(ummum) | dari rei p(ublicae) Ostn (iensi or -iensium) sub eadem condicione | qua s(upra) s(cripta) est (CIL XIV, 367 = ILS 6164, lines 7-17); translation follows Gordon 1983, 151-2. 45 See, for instance, CIL XI, 6173 (Suasa); CIL XI, 6377 (Pisaurum); CIL XI, 6520 = ILS 6647 (Sassina) CIL XIV, 2827 (Gabii). 46 In the case of the inscription of M’ Megonius Leo from Petelia (CIL X, 114 = ILS 6469), the excerpted chapter from his will which appears on the side of the statue base is actually lettered in a cursive script; for an illustration, see Barnabei 1894, 20, 21. 47 For instance, CIL XI, 6371 (Pisaurum); CIL XIV, 353 = ILS 6148 (Ostia); CIL XIV, 367 = ILS 6164 (Ostia); CIL XIV, 431 + p. 482 (Ostia). 48 A point acknowledged by, for instance, Hands (1968, 50). Champlin (1991, 163 and n. 22) suggests that the permanent monument held little interest for the founder.

42

Champlin 1991, 162-8. Mrozek (1968, 156-166) discusses the epigraphic patterns common to inscriptions recording dedications in general, and foundations (161-64) in particular. Eck (2001) discusses a notable exception, a large inscription made by Pliny the Younger, recording his beneficence to the town of Comum (CIL V, 5262 = ILS 2972). Here, Pliny’s name appears in the nominative, leading Eck to associate it with Augustus’s Res Gestae, and assign it to one of the buildings constructed by Pliny in the town. For other examples, see Mrozek (1968, 162). 43

37

THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD the will of a certain M’ Megonius Leo, decurion of Petelia, on his foundation monument unabashedly articulates this arrangement:

tomb is written into the foundation’s contractual stipulations; neglect of the monument that bore the foundation inscription could result in penalties to the beneficiaries.

If a standing togate statue of me will be placed in the upper forum with a stone footing (and) marble base following the example of the monument which the Augustales gave me, near the one which the townsfolk placed, (then) I wish the 100,000 sestertii which I promised while alive to be given, under the following terms... 49

Because many foundation agreements demanded continuing care for the monument that displayed them, it is important to examine the monument’s role in the enactment of the distribution itself. Foundations that prescribed annual funerary rites, such as feasts or banquets on significant festival days of the dead (especially the parentalia or rosaria / rosalia) or the deceased’s birthday, provide a helpful point of departure. In this case, the foundation inscription, carved onto the tomb’s epitaph or a funerary altar within the precinct, prescribed the attendance of the beneficiaries or the celebrants at its site, as with this example from Pisa:54

Megonius, not content with the two portraits of him which already stood in the Petelian forum, stipulated the successful completion of a third statue as a necessary prerequisite to activate disbursement from the foundation. His tactic may already have succeeded: the inscription labeling the statue given by the Augustales, which also survives, commemorates a fund established by Megonius for their benefit, so we can reasonably supposed that this organization received a donation similar to the one Megonius proposed as the reward for his third statue.50

Here rests Marcus Naevius Restitutus, the son of Marcus, of the Galerian tribe, soldier in the 10th praetorian cohort, who left in his will 4,000 sestertii to the oldest and most dutiful college of Pisan ship builders, with the interest from which they should celebrate the parentalia and the rosaria each year at his tomb...55

Such quid pro quo reciprocity is not restricted to foundations – the arrangement is common to other acts of municipal euergetism.51 However, foundation monuments differ, in that they remain an integral part of the successful execution of the foundation agreement. The annual care of the statues prescribed by Chryseros and others is one example of this continued attention. This beautification would likely have included cleaning and adorning with crowns and flowers and perhaps repainting, all of which physically renewed the memorial.52 Likewise, foundations that specified the upkeep of a tomb by their very nature emphasized the structure supporting the foundation inscription, because they often functioned as the donor’s epitaph, labeling the sepulcher.53 In these cases, the renewal of the statue or

As with the initial donation of the monument, the endowment imposes reciprocal strictures: its beneficiaries, members of the ship-builders’ guild (the fabri navales), must annually gather at Restitutus’s tomb to take advantage of its benefits, probably a celebratory meal.56 In so doing, the foundation monument widens the ritual’s participants beyond the circumscribed familia of the deceased, transforming a private funerary ritual into a quasi-public event.57 The texts of many funerary foundations indicate their sepulchral origins and signal their original display on a tomb in one of the many necropoleis that lay outside of Roman towns. It is more difficult to ascertain the appearance and sites of display of public foundation monuments. Some, like the inscriptions for P. Horatius Chryseros and C. Fabius Hermogenes at Ostia, refer specifically to statuae, either equestrian, like Hermogenes’s, or standing togate images, as suggested

49

...si mihi statua pedestris | in foro superiore solea lapidea basi marmorea ad exemplum basis | quam mihi Augustales posuerunt prope eam mihi municipes | posuerunt posita fuerit HS C m(ilia) n(ummum) q(uae) eis me vivo pollicitus sum dari volo || ea autem condicione... (AE 1894, 148 = ILS 6468, lines 11-15). For a discussion of this text, see Magioncalda 1994, 33-59. 50 CIL X, 114 = ILS 6469; Magioncalda 1994, 41-7. A third monument, of which only the front panel survives, was erected for Leo at Petelia (CIL X, 113). Epigraphic similarities between this panel and AE 1894, 148 = ILS 6468 suggests that it may too have commemorated a foundation; Barnabei 1894, 23; Magioncalda 1994, 35; 36. See also CIL XIV, 2934 (Praeneste). 51 Hands 1968, 26-61, esp. 49-50. 52 Decorations with crowns: AE 1954, 168 (Capena); flowers: CIL V, 5907 (triple crown of roses); CIL XI 132 + p. 1228 = ILS 7235 (roses); CIL V, 5878 = ILS 6735 (roses). An annual cleaning and crowning is prescribed for a statue in Cemenelum (CIL V, 7906 = ILS 8374). Friedländer (1979, 297) notes a woman in south Spain who left instructions and funds for her statue to be ornamented with jewelry. 53 Epigraphic conventions such as d(is) m(anibus) indicate that foundation inscriptions recording funerary funds often originated at the founder’s tomb. See, for example, CIL V, 2090 + p. 1068 = ILS 8371 (Venetia et Histria); CIL V, 4017 = ILS 8372 (Arilica); CIL V, 4489 = ILS 8370 (Brixia); CIL XI, 1436 = ILS 7258 (Pisa). I am unaware of any archaeologically documented foundation inscriptions from public buildings that were maintained by the foundation.

54 See also CIL XI, 132 = ILS 7235 (Ravenna); CIL V, 2090 + p. 1068 = ILS 8371 (Acelum? / Asolo). 55 M. Naevius M. f. Gal(eria) Restitutus mil(es) coh(ortis) X pr(aetoriae) h(ic) a(d)q(uiescit) | qui reliq(uit) testam(ento) coll(egio) | fabr(um) naval(ium) Pis(anorum) stationi | vetustiss(imae) et piiss(imae) HS IIII || (milia) n(ummum) ex cuius reditu pa= | rental(ia) et rosar(ia) quot= | ann(is) at sepulchrum | suum celebrent ... (CIL XI, 1436b = ILS 7258, lines 1-8); Magioncalda 1994, 125-33. 56 For meals associated with the cult of the dead, see Toynbee (1971, 62). 57 Krautheimer (1969, 46-7) describes a similar transformation as congregations gathered around the tomb of a martyr to celebrate his or her dies natalis.

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MARGARET L. LAIRD: PRIVATE MEMORY AND PUBLIC INTEREST: MUNICIPAL IDENTITY IN IMPERIAL ITALY

Figure 6. Aedicula of A. Quinctilius A.f. Palatinus Priscus, from above the second forum of Ferentinum. (Illustration: after Rossini 1973, pl. LXIII).

by the shape of Chryseros’s base.58 In several cases, fragmentary sculptures can be associated with individual bases, although no complete monument survives.59 Public foundation agreements could be inscribed directly onto the architectural members of a building, such as an architrave from a temple honoring Domitia Augusta,

daughter of Cn. Domitius Corbulo, at Gabii.60 Another clear example is furnished by a foundation inscription that was inscribed inside an aedicula carved into the living rock of a hillside above Ferentinum’s second forum (Figure 6).61 A. Quinctilius A.f. Pal. Priscus, a civic leader (quattuorvir), priest (pontifex) and prefect of the builder’s guild had purchased three estates (fundi) from the city, and subsequently donated them back, so that their interest could underwrite an elaborate series of donations to benefit a broad segment of the Ferentine population.62 The details of this foundation were

58

See also CIL V, 5272 (Comum); 7906 = ILS 8374 (Cemenelum); CIL IX, 4691(Reate); CIL X, 5654 (Fabrateria Vetus); 6465 (Setia); CIL XI, 3009 = ILS 6595 (Ager Viterbiensis); CIL XI, 6371 (Pisaurum); AE 1954, 168 (Capena). On togate statues in Rome, see Lahusen (1983, 4650), and on equestrian images (56-61). Cuttings on the base dedicated by C. Iulius Cocilius Hermes of Ostia suggest it bore a statuette; see supra, n. 33. Based on the language of M’ Megonius Leo’s foundation inscription which describes bases placed by the Augustales and citizens of Petelia (AE 1894, 148 = ILS 6468), Bossu (1982, 162 n. 26) proposes that the pedestals might have been dedicated without images. I have not been able to examine the bases to determine whether this was the case. 59 Pieces of two bronze statues, one male, one female, were found in the forum at Petelia, and are associated with donations made by M’ Megonius Leo; see Volante 1886, 172. The headless togate statue of A. Quinctilius A.f. Pal. Priscus remained near its base (CIL X, 5853) until it was removed to Rome in 1661; Ramieri 1995, 192.

60 CIL XIV, 2795 = ILS 272; Visconti 1797, 81. See also CIL XI, 5963 (Pitinum Mergens?): hoc tetrastylum... 61 CIL X, 5853 = ILS 6271; cfr. Supp. It. I, 31; Pasqualini 1992; Ramieri 1995, 187-92. Coarelli (1982, 192) erroneously describes the monument as funerary. For the second forum and its finds, see Quilici and Quilici Gigli 1995, 165-6; Bartoli 1954, 487-9. Gelsomino (1986, 59-60) argues that the area was the epigraphically-attested forum pecuarium, the “sheep market.” 62 On the distributions, which included the incolae of Ferentinum, see Pasqualini 1992, 401-5.

39

THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD recorded in the the rock-cut niche, below which stood a statue base bearing the image of the donor (Figure 7).63 A headless togate figure, perhaps that of Priscus, remained nearby until the mid 17th century.64 The inscription notes that the statue was erected at the behest of the senate to celebrate Priscus’s exemplary munificence (eximiam munificentiam) at a spot in the forum of his choosing (in foro ubi ipse vellet).

monuments may be postulated from abbreviations such as “in the place given by decree of the decurions” (l(oco) d(ato) d(ecreto) d(ecurionum)).69 Archaeological evidence from the Roman east has suggested that municipal elites held a virtual monopoly on these prestigious sites of display and were able to control the visual juxtapositions of those honored.70 It is true that, in many cases, members of the aristocracy acted as founders or as dedicants of foundation monuments. But often they acted in concert with one or more civic organizations, and many of the foundations outlined on these monuments spread beyond the elite decurions to benefit multiple municipal groups. Their location in the forum, the public hearts of Roman towns, thus reflects not only the selfpresentation of individual donors but also the inclusive, civic nature of the foundation itself.71 Less wealthy foundations, which enriched members of a specific collegium or a social group, more often remained within their respective guild halls. For instance, the temple of the Augustales at Misenum contained at least two (likely three) foundation monuments,72 and at least two stood in the sanctuary of Magna Mater, seat of the dendrophori at Ostia.73 Collegial groups such as the Augustales and dendrophori reproduced the leadership hierarchy of the local government on a smaller scale, and the disposition of foundation monuments within their precincts assimilates the collegial meeting halls to fora or similar public spaces under control of the decuriones. The final line of a foundation inscription from Comum, l(ocus) d(atus) d(ecreto) c(ollegi) f(abrum) c(entonariorum) (in the place given by decree of the rag dealers’ guild)74 demonstrates this emulation.

Figure 7. Statue base of A. Quinctilius A.f. Palatinus Priscus, from the second forum of Ferentinum, current whereabouts unknown. (Illustration: after Ramieri 1995, Figure 59).

Both fora and collegial halls were highly visible and housed a variety of honorific and religious monuments. However, their prestige came, in a large part, from the civic and institutional rituals performed within them.75 While foundation monuments gained distinction from these charged sites of display, they also actively

Priscus’s selection of the site in Ferentinum’s second forum was wise. The rock-cut aedicula commanded an imposing spot above the via Latina, the main road leading into or away from town.65 Archaeological evidence combined with epigraphic testimony suggests that many other foundation monuments were erected in fora or similarly prestigious, bustling spaces.66 M’ Megonius Leo’s base joined two others dedicated to him in the forum at Petelia.67 At Ostia, C. Fabius Hermogenes’s equestrian statue was found in front of the Capitolium in the forum, possibly near that of the sevir Augustalis, P. Horatius Chryseros.68 The locations of other foundation

Chryseros’s dedication would have been equally at home in this space. For these inscriptions, see infra, n. 67). G. Calza (1941, 204) postulates that both the monument of Chryseros and that of Q. Veturius Socrates stood in the meeting hall of the seviri Augustales (in his interpretation, the so-called “Sede,” V vii, 2, the site of the treasury specified in the inscriptions). These documents per se cannot furnish evidence for a meeting place maintained by the seviri Augustales, but it is still possible that they adorned the “Curia.” 69 See, for example, CIL V, 5128 = ILS 6726 (Bergomum); CIL IX, 23 = ILS 6472 (Rudiae); CIL IX, 3160 = ILS 6530 (Corfinium); CIL X, 107 = ILS 6466 (Croto); CIL X, 451 (Eburum); 5654 (Fabrateria Vetus); 5657 = ILS 6287 (Fabrateria Vetus); CIL XI 3009 = ILS 6595 (Ager Viterbiensis); CIL XI, 6371 (Pisaurum); CIL XIV, 2793 = ILS 5449 (Gabii). 70 Van Nijf 2000, 27-32. 71 Gessert 2001, 15-7, specifically on Ostia. 72 AE 1993, 467 + 468 = AE 1994, 426a, b; D’Arms 2000, A-C; A third base, CIL X, 1880 = ILS 6328a, had been assigned to Puteoli, although the discovery of the sacellum proves that it belongs at Misenum; see De Franciscis 1971, 433; Zevi 2000, 47-62; D’Arms 2000. Short essays describing the architecture, decoration and inscriptions of the sacellum of the Augustales can be found in Miniero, ed. 2000. 73 CIL XIV, 325 and AE 1987, 198; see supra, nn. 35, 36. 74 CIL V, 5272. 75 Witschel 1995, 332-34; Dyson 1992, 16.

63 CIL X, 5852. The base was drawn in the 1800’s by F. Bono, and today stands in Piazza Mazzini; Solin and Kajava 1992, 339 n. 7; Ramieri 1995, 127 and Figure 59. The inscription is translated in Lomas 1996, 233-4, no. 384. 64 See supra, n. 58. 65 Pasqualini 1992, 398-9. 66 Stewart 2003, 128-40. 67 AE 1894, 148 = ILS 6468 in (foro...posuerunt); CIL X, 114 = ILS 6469. Volante (1886, 172) briefly describes their findspots. 68 The base appears in excavation inventories compiled between 18011804, when efforts focused on the forum and the area immediately to the west; Paschetto 1912 508-24; Gessert 2000, 15-7. However, the area immediately to the west, including the so-called Curia, which may have functioned as a meeting place for the seviri Augustales, was also uncovered during this period; Laird 2000, 72-9. Foundation monuments found in the sacellum of the Augustales at Misenum suggest that

40

MARGARET L. LAIRD: PRIVATE MEMORY AND PUBLIC INTEREST: MUNICIPAL IDENTITY IN IMPERIAL ITALY

Figure 8. Artist's reconstruction of the distribution of the foundation of C. Fabius Hermogenes in the forum of Ostia. (Illustration: after Pascolini 1979, 30; courtesy Armando Editore).

participated in the creation of meaningful spaces. To understand their contribution, it is important to first examine the role public foundation monuments played in the annual distributions they prescribed. Again, space to the site of the annual allotment.76 Once gathered, the distribution became a civic performance, as the details of the foundation were read and the funds apportioned. C. Fabius Hermogenes’s equestrian base from Ostia attests to such a convocation and its municipal implications. While the inscription on its front records the commissioning of the statue by Ostia’s decurions and the concurrent establishment of a foundation by Hermogenes’s father, a second epigraph on the side clarifies the specifics of the donation -- the money would be distributed annually on Hermogenes’s birthday to those gathered in the forum in front of his image (praesentibus in foro ante statuas ipsius) (Figure 8).77 Likewise, a lost inscription from Comum that labeled a statue of Albinia Valeria given by her father in the meeting place of the collegium of rag pickers prescribes a feast (lectisternium) which occurred annually at her portrait.78 At the convivial banquet, the recipients would have had ample time both to celebrate Valeria, and to

inscriptional evidence suggests that these monuments were more than elaborate textual prompts. Rather, like their funerary counterparts, public foundation monuments compelled recipients to move physically through urban spaces and to socialize.79 The annual gatherings could also draw beneficiaries to public spots significant to the donor such as a temple of Neptune built by a certain L. Publicius Italicus in Ravenna.80 In honor of Italicus’s wife, the decurions of the builders’ guild received cash distributions (sportulae) there on the day of the Neptunalia. This inscription or a copy of it likely stood in the temple.81

79 On the symbolic aspects of commensality, particularly in the Roman east, see Van Nijf 1997, 150-88. 80 CIL XI, 126; see also CIL XIV, 2793 = ILS 5449 (Gabii). 81 As noted supra, it was not unusual for copies, partial or entire, of a dedicatory epigraph and the foundation agreement to be placed in significant locations throughout a town. Lucius Tullius Eutychus’s foundation of HS 30,000 benefiting the Augustales of Misenum (AE 1993, 467 + 468) specifies that a copy should be inscribed in bronze and placed in the group’s templum so that “those coming after can know about this act of generosity and benefit from it” (ut hanc largitionem eius etiam posteri perpetuo adgnoscere et frui possent). Likewise, the inscribed architrave honoring Domitia Augusta dedicated by two freedmen describes a temple (aedes) and a foundation established in her honor, copying the official decree of the decurions in the curia of Gabii in 140 C.E. (CIL XIV, 2795 = ILS 272). The decree (and, by default, the foundation inscription) both conclude with the stipulation that the proceedings should be written on a bronze tablet placed in public where it would be easily read by all. The Ostian tomb of C. Fabius Hermogenes, found outside the Porta Romana, replicates the text on his equestrian statue found in the forum (CIL XIV, 353 and 4642).

76 A point which is assumed, but only for those monuments which explicitly note the site of the distribution; see, for instance, Champlin 1991, 165. There are, of course, exceptions. For instance, the Ferentine foundation of A. Quinctilius Priscus specifies that at least one distribution should take place in triclin(io) meo (in my dining room); CIL X, 5853 = ILS 6271, line 17. 77 CIL XIV, 353 = ILS 6148. 78 CIL V, 5272.

41

THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD Annual distributions were only one of a series of gatherings signaled by the foundation monument and its accompanying inscription. As mentioned above, some recalled the settling of the donor’s will by transcribing verbatim sections of the donor’s final testament. For instance, the Petelian donor M’ Megonius Leo began the inscription recording the foundation with the words “a chapter from the will” (kaput ex testamento).82 The quotation recalled the first presentation of the will, which took place in public before a gathered crowd. Writing in the fourth century C.E., Augustine described the event:

The inscription begins with a description of the honoree and the foundation monument, in this case, a temple ornamented with statues. But it quickly turns to a transcription of the deliberations enacted in the curia, or town hall, on the day that the foundation was approved. Likewise, a foundation monument from Cales (presentday Calvi Risorta) copies the deliberations by that town’s decurions in their curia, who resolve to erect a statue of L. Vitrasius Silvester in appreciation of his donation to the town of gladiatorial games and annual distributions to the citizenry.86 Many foundation inscriptions also recall the gathering to celebrate the erection of the monument itself, marked by a special one-time gift of money or food.87

There is a dispute over inheritance from the dead, until the testament is produced in public. And when the testament has been produced in public, everyone is silent so that the tablets may be opened and read. The judge listens intently, the lawyers fall silent, the heralds enforce silence, the entire populace hangs in suspense...83

These foundation monuments were an integral element in the establishment of a foundation, given either in anticipation or appreciation of the donation. They recall, in their texts, a series of prior gatherings that establish the rules for the fund’s oversight and inaugurate the image itself. Further, foundation monuments remain active participants in the successful disposition of the euergetism they celebrate, as objects of perpetual attention as well as loci for the distributions their inscriptions describe. Thus, a foundation monument “stands for” a series of physical episodes, past, present, and future, which occur on temporally-discrete days in honor of the founder. As with annual journeys to visit tombs of deceased family members, remembrance becomes a kinetic, destination-focused activity, as beneficiaries convened at circumscribed times and places to perform a prescribed act: deliberation, celebration, or acquisition. But the ultimate goal was not the funerary and semi-private street of tombs outside of town, but its urban center. Rather than dispersing to individual sepulchers, recipients migrated from separate sites (places of work, households, etc.) towards a common gathering point. The active annual ceremonies of decoration, congregation and distribution, combined with the physical size of the bases and their accompanying statues, make foundation monuments remarkable and memorable, transforming them into spatial and temporal landmarks within the most conspicuous public spaces of their towns.

Augustine describes the public presentation of a private document that involves the town as a whole, both parties interested in learning of their gains and onlookers eager to learn of the gains of others.84 Foundation distributions echo this first convocation, literally, by reciting the testament’s text and, figuratively, by reuniting its beneficiaries. Although the pool of recipients might be reduced, the allocation of a foundation must have enticed a similar throng of participants and onlookers eager for the performance. Other foundation inscriptions explicitly recall the initial meeting under which the terms of the fund were arranged. An inscribed architrave from the forum at Gabii outside of Rome cites the decree passed by the town’s decurions in 140 C.E. in which they accepted moneys to construct a temple (aedes) in memory of Domitia Augusta and a fund to maintain it and benefit members of the town: In honor of the memory of Domitia Augusta, daughter of Cn. Domitius Corbulo, Domitius Polycarpus and Domitia Europe made a temple in the place given by decree of the ordo of decurions and decorated it with statues and with the remaining funds they gave money to the city for its perpetual upkeep under the terms written below. “During the consulship of Antoninus Pius (for the third time) and M. Aurelius Caesar, on the 23rd of April, in the town of Gabii, in the Curia Aelia Augusta; in the presence of the ordo of decurions, with the four leading municipal magistrates (quattuorviri quinquennales) ... bringing the motion...” 85

Recent studies of the ancient city have emphasized the role of sites as “active participants” in the rituals that are performed in them.88 In gathering an interested crowd and distributing money to recipients, foundation monuments promoted intra-organizational unity and municipal cohesion. Endowments that benefited a rebus pecunia sua eiusdem=| que tutelam in perpetuum rei publicae dederunt sub inscriptione infra scripta | Imp(eratori) Caes(are) T(ito) Aelio Hadriano Antonino Aug(usto) Pio (tertium) M(arco) Aelio Aurelio Caes(are) co(n)s(ulibus) (nonum) k(alendas) Maias Gabi(i)s in municipio in curia Aelia Augusta scribendo atfuit universus ordo || decurionum referentibus {...} (quattuor)viris q(uin)q(uennalibus)... (CIL XIV, 2795 = ILS 272, lines 1-5). 86 CIL X, 4643. 87 See supra, n. 43. 88 For instance, Favro (1999, 205-19) discusses the vallis Murcia in Rome, with prior bibliography.

82 See also, CIL IX, 449 (Venusia); CIL XI, 6520 = ILS 6647 (Sassina); D’Arms 2000, B. Many other inscriptions do not explicitly signal the testamentary origins of the text, but it can by inferred by changes in speech and language. 83 Augustine Enarr in ps. 21 2.30. Translation Champlin (1991, 5). 84 On the public disposition of wills, see Champlin 1991, 5-6. 85 In honorem memoriae domus Domitiae Augustae Cn. Domiti Corbulonis | fil(iae) Domitii Polycarpus et Europe loc(o) dat(o) decreto ordinis decur(ionum) aedem | fecerunt et exornavit statuis et reliquis

42

MARGARET L. LAIRD: PRIVATE MEMORY AND PUBLIC INTEREST: MUNICIPAL IDENTITY IN IMPERIAL ITALY restricted group, such as that of P. Horatius Chryseros for Ostia’s seviri Augustales, allowed this organization to demonstrate their successful integration into their community’s rituals and their alignment with the decuriones.89 By favoring their own organization, both as the foundation’s beneficiaries and with proportionally larger gifts of sportulae, individual Augustales vehemently confirmed the presence and prestige of the organization.90 At the same time, the body of seviri Augustales surrounding the statue of Chryseros would see themselves as members of a “recognized civic group,”91 with a definable past (the foundation’s donor), present (the current membership) and future (distributions to come). Building a diachronic identity, seviri Augustales would recall the history of their organization, witness its present incarnation, and perhaps plan their own dedications.

money on a graduated scale according to their status. Topping the list come the decurions, or town councilmen, who join the intermediate class, the Augustales, in a public banquet and receive correspondingly calculated amounts of money. The citizens of Petelia, apparently excluded from the banquet, receive one denarius apiece. Graduated distributions reiterated the town’s municipal structure, much in the same way that seating at theatrical performances or games both legally and architecturally displayed Roman social hierarchies.95 Here, social groups and organizations were classified not only by the seating areas allotted to them, but also by garments which differentiated senators from knights, knights from ordinary citizens.96 This social articulation would occur automatically when foundations underwrote games or similar entertainments. Graduated displays enhanced the prestige of the municipal elite, while ordering society along class or professional lines. But the distributions defined not only groups within the recipient pool, but those they excluded. Foundations, even at their most expansive, only extended to those individuals who counted as citizens, and so excluded slaves and the urban poor.97 Gathering the recipients around a foundation monument provided a tangible barometer of “who counted” in the city.98

Foundations which benefited multiple organizations, or the town as a body, also worked to define and promote identities. Like public festivals, foundation distributions “make serious political statements about the kind of community their organizers thought they were living in.”92 Foundation monuments not only summoned various groups, they classified them by stipulating gifts of varying sizes based upon an individual’s social (and legal) standing within the town.93 M’ Megonius Leo’s donation from Petelia provides an example.

Foundations were established by individuals of widely varying social status for the benefit of narrowly or broadly defined groups, and served to communally celebrate the donor’s memory. In examining their workings, the monuments upon which foundation texts were inscribed emerge as pivotal elements in the establishment and successful enactment of the fund itself, as objects of continued attentions and as sites of annual distribution. Whether writing the founder’s birthday onto the municipal calendar, compelling collective participation in an otherwise private (funerary) ritual or publicly reproducing the text of a will, foundation monuments move the celebration of an individual into the community. Likewise, in gathering recipients for the annual distribution, foundations physically and symbolically describe each individual within a specific group, whose past, present and future is firmly established in the collective continuum. Foundations for the benefit of multiple orders further pinpoint each group’s relative position within (or outside) the constellation of the community. Foundation monuments, in the continuing ritual of congregation and distribution, provide a locus for the performance of municipal definition and social identities.

...I wish the above-mentioned 100,000 sestertii to be given so that from the interest on my birthday, the 23rd of March, there should be a distribution of 300 denarii at a banquet for the decurions. After deducting from this sum the cost of preparing the banquet space, the remaining moneys should be divided among those present at the (specified) hour. And also I wish 150 denarii to be given to the Augustales under the same conditions, and I wish one denarius to be given to the townspeople of Petelia and their wives each year... 94 This explicit list identifies the town as a whole while simultaneously articulating social groups, who receive 89

Van Nijf 2000, 34; see also supra, n. 23. For Augustales favoring their own group, see supra, n. 18. Q. Veturius Socrates’s children gave HS 5 to each sevir Augustalis present at the dedication of the statue, two more sestertii than the decurions received (CIL 431 + p. 482). 91 Brown 1992, 85. 92 Van Nijf 1997, 135. 93 Bossu (1982, 160) notes that in a survey of inscriptions from Latium, Campania, Lucania and Bruttium, of the eighty four instances of donations to towns (both perpetual and single gifts), fifty five examples (65.5%) prescribed graduated grants. 94 ...ea autem condicione (sestertium) c(entum) m(ilia) n(ummum) q(uae) s(upra) s(cripta) s(unt) dari volo ut ex usuris semissibus | eius pecuniae omnibus annis die natalis mei qui est X kal(endas) April(es) | distributio fiat decurionibus epulantibus (denariorum) CCC deducto ex his | sumptu strationis reliqui inter eos qui praesentes ea hora erunt || dividantur item Augustalibus eadem condicione (denarios) CL dari volo | et municipibus Petelinis utriusque sexus ex more loci (denarios singulos) om= | nibus annis dari volo... (AE 1894, 148 = ILS 6468, lines 6-13) 90

95 Van Nijf 1997, 160-4; Parker 1999, 163-79, with prior bibliography. Images of crowds at games emphasize a segmented, though harmonious, society; see Lim 1999, 343-65. While representations of distributions are found, none can be securely connected with foundations; see Ronke 1987. An examination of the iconography of these distribution scenes is beyond the scope of the current paper. 96 Parker 1999, 166. 97 Brown 1992, 84-6. 98 Brown (1992, 86-117) discusses the Late Antique repercussions of excluding such a large segment of the population.

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44

MARGARET L. LAIRD: PRIVATE MEMORY AND PUBLIC INTEREST: MUNICIPAL IDENTITY IN IMPERIAL ITALY

II. Transpositions from High to Low

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46

High and Low: Mocking Philosophers in the Tavern of the Seven Sages, Ostia John R. Clarke Humor – more than any other aspect of culture – has the potential to articulate the differences between social classes. People belonging to the elite classes often create a “them” and “us” in their jokes (the “them” being lowerclass individuals). Non-elites do the same thing when they lampoon the upper classes. What is not immediately obvious is how humor that targets the differences among the classes is a way of claiming power – even if temporarily.1 This is especially true in a conservative, highly-stratified society like that of ancient Rome.

reveal a city that boomed in the second century, when the emperor Trajan created a huge harbor. It was not a city of marble but one of brick – rational in its planning but bleak in comparison with the wealthier cities of the ancient Mediterranean. The many inscriptions tell us that Ostia’s inhabitants were by and large of the lower classes: slaves, former slaves, and the freeborn working poor. These were the people who frequented the Caupona of the Seven Sages and laughed at the program of paintings we are considering.

We need only consider Roman festivals to see how this type of humor worked – how it temporarily reversed the dynamics of power that normally defined and positioned the social classes. Three festivals in particular temporarily overturned the rules: the ludi Florales, the triumph, and the Saturnalia. All three were official celebrations. To honor the Roman fertility goddess Flora, all the populace of Rome turned out to watch a series of spectacles culminating in the featured attraction: nude dancing by prostitutes.2 When the Senate voted a general a triumph, the entire city celebrated. Riding in the triumphal chariot, the general temporarily became a god, but – apparently to keep his feet on the ground – the soldiers marching with him traditionally sang obscene songs that mocked him.3 And in the feast of the Saturnalia, master acted the part of slave and slave acted the part of master.4 These three Roman feasts created carnival – the “world-upside-down.” They were the precursors of medieval carnival in Europe.

To help articulate and decode the humor in these paintings I invoke the work of Mikhail Bakhtin. In his great book, Rabelais and His World, Bakhtin constructs an effective hermeneutic for exploring the meanings of carnival – and by extension humor – in medieval and renaissance society.6 Bakhtin’s notions of how the humor of carnival temporarily empowered ordinary, non-elite people help explain the inversions and attitudes encoded in the tavern paintings of the Caupona. Why Bakhtin? The tools available for understanding ancient Roman humor in terms of class and social status are few. Existing literary studies of humor reveal, for the most part, what the elites found humorous.7 Amy Richlin’s study of the Priapea (collected poems to the phallic protector and fertility god) explores class differences to a certain extent but in the end relies heavily on authors like Cicero to define what was permissible for elites to laugh at – and what was off bounds.8 Anthony Corbeill’s Controlling Laughter explores how Cicero and others used humor – even to the point of ridiculing an opponent’s physical peculiarities – in their oratorical practice.9 Curiously, few scholars have attempted to read humorous Roman visual imagery in terms of class and social status. With the Ostian tavern, there’s an added advantage: the paintings are still in their original architectural setting, and it’s a place where ordinary people ate, drank, and chatted. The complex painted program is all Bakhtinian carnival.

In this article I explore the idea of carnival in a program of paintings that decorated a tavern or caupona at Ostia, ancient Rome’s supply city.5 I propose that the customers who frequented this caupona belonged to the lower classes. Ostia was a city of intense commerce, where everything from building supplies to food and luxury items arrived from the entire Mediterranean basin. Its residents performed humble but necessary work: loading and unloading ships, warehousing goods and carting them to Rome, building and repairing ships, providing food and lodging for sailors. Excavations

The Preserved Program Guido Calza excavated the tavern in 1936.10 The surviving paintings decorate the high walls of a tall barrel-vaulted space entered originally from a narrow street, marked via della Calcara on the plan (Figure 1).

1

Stallybrass and White (1986, 1-26) point out that since carnival is a licensed release, it can also be a form of social control of the low by the high. 2 Richlin 1992, 9-10. 3 Livy 3.29.5; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Antiquitates Romanae 7.72.11. 4 Martial, introduction to book 1 of the epigrams (Floralia), Martial 7.8 (triumph); Martial 11.2, 11.15 (Saturnalia), discussed in Richlin 1992, 6-11. 5 In this essay I rethink – at five years’ distance – part of chapter 5 of my book, Art in the Lives of Ordinary Romans: Visual Representation and Non-elite Viewers in Italy, 100 B.C.-A.D. 250 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003).

6

Bakhtin 1984. Helttula 1995, 2:145-159; Cèbe 1966; Maiuri 1950, 108-112; Becatti 1959, 342-8; Tiradritti 1994, 885-7. 8 Richlin (1992, 1-31), chapter 1, “Roman Concepts of Obscenity.” 9 Corbeill 1996, 3-13. 10 Horn 1936, 462-7; Calza 1939, 99-115. 7

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD

Fig. 1. Ostia, plan of Caupona of the Seven Sages (III, 10, 2-3). After Clarke, Art in the Lives of Ordinary Romans, fig. 96

The paintings date to about the year 100; they are preserved because someone painted them over about 20 years later, when the space was incorporated into a bath structure and became either a dressing- or massageroom.11 Because of the scatological nature of the imagery some scholars wish to interpret the space as a latrine, but the excavator found no traces of drains and water conduits beneath the pavement.

Roman antiquity, the vintages made from grapes cultivated in the Falernian plain north of Naples.13 Below these allusions to wine were large paintings depicting the Seven Sages of Greece, of which only three have survived in full. Scholars have established that the artist who painted them was reproducing sculptural types going back to the late Hellenistic period.14 The figure on left-hand side of the south wall (to left of the street entrance) is Solon of Athens (Figure 3). He is bearded and sits with his legs crossed. He holds a thin staff in his left hand, and rests his right hand in his lap. Greek letters spelling “SOLON” and “ATHENAIOS” frame him to right and left, but careful Latin capital letters spell out the words above him: Ut bene cacaret ventrem palpavit Solon, or “To shit well Solon stroked his belly.” Below him is more writing too fragmentary to read.

The best indication of its original function comes from analysis of the paintings themselves. It could only have been a bar that served wine. This explains the decoration of the vault and the upper part of the walls. At the top of the barrel vault is a nude male figure next to two wineamphorae supported by amphora stands. Although paint losses make it difficult to discern details of this figure, the fact that he is flying in mid-air connects him with similar flying figures associated with the god of wine, Dionysus. He is most likely a Pan, one of the followers of Dionysus who appear frequently in wall painting programs at Pompeii, Herculaneum, and Ostia (Figure 2).12 Along the upper zone of the wall we see more amphoras on amphora stands, one with the word falernum labeling it. Falernum was the most famous and highly prized wine in

13

Tchernia 1986, 61-5, 277-8, 330-3 and passim. Calza 1939, 104-7; Schefold 1943,154-5, pls. 2, 3, 6; Arias 1966, 223-5; Mols (1997, 90-1) proposes that the door on the east wall had been filled in, leaving only a window, by the time the paintings of the Seven Sages were executed – not earlier than the Hadrianic period. He proposes an asymmetrical arrangement with one Sage painted on the east wall and two each on the other three, with the only doorways on the south, where the present doorway is, and a little doorway on the west side of the north wall, where there is a niche today. For further details of the painting phases in the entire insula, see Mols 1999, 247-386, an excellent study that adds much to the analysis of the building in Heres 1992-3, 76-113. 14

11 In the 1960s conservators removed the best-preserved paintings from the walls, placed them on stable polymer resin supports, and returned them to their original positions. 12 At Ostia, see House of the Muses, room 9 (Clarke 1991, 283-5).

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JOHN R. CLARKE: HIGH AND LOW: MOCKING PHILOSOPHERS IN THE TAVERN OF THE SEVEN SAGES, OSTIA

Fig. 2. Caupona of the Seven Sages, vault with Dionysian figure. Photo Michael Larvey. With the permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica

Fig. 3. Caupona of the Seven Sages, south wall, east part. Solon of Athens. Photo Michael Larvey. With the permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD

Fig. 4. Caupona of the Seven Sages, south wall, west part. Thales of Miletus. Photo Michael Larvey. With the permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica

Fig. 5. Caupona of the Seven Sages, west wall, south part. Chilon of Sparta. Photo Michael Larvey. With the permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica

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JOHN R. CLARKE: HIGH AND LOW: MOCKING PHILOSOPHERS IN THE TAVERN OF THE SEVEN SAGES, OSTIA On the right side of the same wall is Thales of Miletus, framed by the Greek words “THALES” and “MEILHSIOS” (Figure 4). He is clean-shaven, with short hair, and he also holds a staff in his left hand. Above the sage the artist has written: Durum cacantes monuit ut nitant Thales or “Thales advised those who shit hard to really work at it.” There is an fragmentary inscription below the Sage that includes the words [u]taris xylosphongio, or “use the sponge on a wooden stick.”

last translatable lines appear above the man next to him: amice fugit te proverbium / bene caca et irrima medicos “Friend, the adage escapes you. Shit well and make the doctors blow you (literally, ‘force the doctors to fellate you’).” A more colloquial translation might be: “Hey buddy – don’t you know the saying? If you shit well – fuck the doctors – you don’t need them.” What would the original program of texts and images have looked like? It is relatively easy to fill out the rest of the middle zone of the wall. We would simply add three more Sages. One was opposite the entrance on the west wall (where the present doorway cuts through), between Chilon and Bias, and two others on the right wall. (The missing three Sages would be Pittakos of Mytilenai, Kleobulos of Lindos, and Myson of Chenai.)16 The Sages’ names and their cities, painted in Greek letters, would frame them, and a Latin saying having to do with some aspect of defecation would have appeared above.

Although the long back wall would have contained the images of three Sages, only one is fully preserved. It is Chilon of Sparta, on the left part of the wall, identified by the words “CHEILON” and “LAKEDAIMONIOS” (Figure 5). Chilon is bearded, and sits in the same threequarters pose as Solon. He brings his right arm up toward his chin and rests his right elbow on his left hand in which he also holds a scroll, the emblem of his great wisdom. Above him we learn why he was such a great wise man: Vissire tacite Chilon docuit subdolus or “Cunning Chilon taught how to fart without making noise.”15

Beneath this august lineup we would have to fill in the row of men sitting on a many-seated latrine. Using the size and positions of the four preserved torsos as a guide, there would have been twenty sitting figures in all, six on the left wall, eight on the back wall, and six on the right wall. The ancient viewer would have immediately recognized this configuration, since at Ostia many preserved latrines consist of a large entryway with a bench running continuously around the left, back and right walls (Figure 7). Holes in the marble of the bench designate the places where users would sit to defecate.

Another figure followed, but a door cut through this figure when the room became part of the bath complex. On the right of this wall appear the lower right leg of a chair and traces of drapery, along with the name of the Sage’s city: PRIHNEYS. This figure must have been Bias of Priene. Five figures remain lower down on the left and back walls; only the heads and torsos of four of them, and the head of a fifth, are preserved (Figure 6). The top of a red plaster dado, probably dating to when the room was remodeled in the 120s, destroyed the figures below the waist. They are men, and they must be sitting and defecating, to judge from the words written above their heads in Latin. Above the man on the left wall (beneath Thales) we read: mulione sedes, or “you are sitting on a mule driver.” Mule drivers were proverbially stupid – mulish – like the animals they handled, and in this context the phrase means that the man is constipated, making Thales’s advice all the more meaningful. The artist rendered his head in three-quarters, so that he looks to his left, across the corner of the room to address the men on the back wall.

Above and Below: Images of Bakhtin’s Material Bodily Lower Stratum The tall barrel-vaulted space itself must have inspired the artist to invoke what Bakhtin calls the upper and lower bodily strata. If Bakhtin were to analyze this space in terms of the material body, he would note that the upper register of the walls, with their paintings of the Seven Sages, stands for the head: intellect, reasoning, the face. The bottommost register represents what he terms the lower material body, specifically the belly, genitals, and anus.17

The first man on the back wall says propero, “I’m hurrying up”; the verb appears above his left shoulder. He may be responding to what the man next to him says: agitate celerius/ pervenies. Here the writer uses the verb agitare in its meaning of shaking or moving the body – here probably the belly – in order to hurry up the process of elimination: “shake yourself about so that you’ll go sooner.” Perhaps this is his remedy for constipation. The

16 Diogenes Laertius, On the Lives of the Eminent Philosophers 1.13 gives Thales, Solon, Periander, Cleobulus, Chilon, Bias, and Pittacus, noting that others add Anacharsis the Scythian, Myson of Chenai, Pherecydes of Syros, Epimenides the Cretan, and even Pisistratus the tyrant; more candidates in 1.41-42. 17 Bakhtin 1984, 368-436. Michael Holquist comments on the reception of Bakhtin’s notions of the material bodily lower stratum (prologue, xix): “In the prim world of Stalinist Biedermeier, that world of lace curtains, showily displayed water carafes, and militant propriety, Bakhtin’s claim that the folk not only picked their noses and farted, but enjoyed doing so, seemed particularly unregenerate.”

15 Courtney 1995, 87, no. 70A, provides the following translations: “To have a good shit, Solon rubbed his stomach. Thales instructed the constipated to strain. Crafty Chilon taught how to fart silently.”

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Fig. 6. Caupona of the Seven Sages, south and west walls. Photo Istituto Centrale per il Catalogo e la Documentazione. Neg. serie E no. 40726

below is shit and piss, for they are seated at a latrine. But Everyman also speaks, so that what unites both Sage and Everyman is speech. They share the ability to speak, to “hold forth” – and what they speak about is what the lower material body produces: shit and farts.

The painter added a third sphere. He made the vault into the celestial sphere. It’s a drinker’s heaven – with Dionysian flying figures flying around many amphorae filled with fine wine – even falernum. Under this canopy of spirits (the alcohol in the wine) we find both upper-and lower-class men. In the thinking of ordinary persons, the Sages stand for the values of elites and the sophisticated systems of philosophy, rhetoric, and religion that elites valued.

Heterglossia Just as the Caupona’s painted decoration opposes upper body to lower body, so it forces speech and social class to intersect. What can speech – whether in the form of labels, attributed utterance, or first-person dialogue – tell us about social class? The writing represents speech in several forms: in the labels for wine and for the “statues” of the Sages, in the form of sayings attributed to the Sages, and in the form of words spoken in the here-andnow by the shitting men.

The literal space also frames hierarchies of social class, intellectual ability, and physical activity. These are the hierarchies that the viewer must negotiate if she wishes to look at, read, and understand the painted program; she must scan the paintings, from vault to floor and back up again. To see the celestial sphere with its heavenly wine, the viewer has to crane her neck to take in the ceiling; to see the Sages she must tilt her head upwards; but she looks down on the seated men.

Bakhtin proposes that one of the innate features of carnival is its emphatic and purposeful “heterglossia” (raznogolosost’).18 In the Caupona of the Seven Sages, heterglossia (literally the use of different tongues or languages) occurs in the differences of form, syntax,

Orality and anality constitute another pair of opposites cleverly united within the decorative program. The wine (from high “up above”) is what goes into the mouths of both Sages and the ordinary men. What comes out of the philosophers is speech; what comes out of the men down

18

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Krystyna Pomorska, foreward to Bakhtin 1984, x.

JOHN R. CLARKE: HIGH AND LOW: MOCKING PHILOSOPHERS IN THE TAVERN OF THE SEVEN SAGES, OSTIA

Fig. 7. Ostia, I, 12, Forica on the Street of the Forica. Photo Michael Larvey. With the permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica

grammar, and lexicon in the labels and in the speech attached to the two groups of speakers. The written words play off each other and – like the out-of-place images of falernum, the Sages, and the defecating men – they overturn a viewer’s expectations.

Just as the wine is generally beyond the grasp of Everyman, so is the Greek wisdom – symbolized by the Greek labels that flank the paintings of the Sages. Like the words calling up visions of the gustatory delights of the rich, able to afford wines like falernum, the Greek words that identify the statues of the Sages point to a world beyond the Caupona. The use of Greek labels to tell the viewer each Sage’s name and city had two purposes. They emphasized the Sages’ Greek identity and connected that identity with the social practice of using Greek, rather than Latin, labels for images of philosophers and heroes from the past.

The two kinds of labels are seemingly innocent of heteroglossia, but upon reflection they participate in the overturning of word-image expectations that operate in the words used to denote speech. “Falernum,” the label next to an amphora high up on the vault, was a prized, expensive wine – beyond the means of the Caupona’s clients.19 If, as I believe, the other amphorae had similar labels, it is likely that up in “wine heaven” the viewer saw the pantheon of the finest – and, for the ordinary person – unattainable vintages.

What is more, the artist put the labels in the wrong place. They usually appear engraved on the bottom of on the plinth of a statue. Here they float in the air, in large letters, to right and left of the statues themselves, calling attention to the fact that the statues are images from elite culture – the kind that adorned both public buildings such as lecture halls and libraries as well as the villas of the rich. Our tavern-goers would have known them from grand public spaces at Ostia, Rome, or any large city.

19 A graffito at Pompeii found in a caupona (VII, 2, 42) communicating with the Casa dell’Orso (VII, 2, 45) illustrates popular appreciation of falernum: Assibus (singulis) hic bibitur; dupundium si dederis, meliora bibes; qua[rtum] (assem) si dederis, vina Falerna bibes. “You can drink here for one as, for two, you’ll drink better. If you pay four asses, you’ll drink falernum.” CIL 4:1679. Tchernia (1986, 36-7) notes that it is unlikely that this caupona sold the most authentic falernum.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD So far, our Bakhtinian heterglossia in the labels simply articulates social and cultural displacement: expensive wine and Greek Sages out of place in a common tavern. Analysis of the longer phrases takes us into a more complex use of heterglossia. The reader encounters two kinds of Latin, the carefully composed meter of the sayings attributed to the Sages, and the vulgar – that is, everyday – Latin in the mouths of the seated men. But there is a subtler inversion here: the Sages’ maxims painted high up on the wall are bogus and embarrassingly similar to the words coming from the sitting men’s mouths down below. What is more, the artist used the same, careful letter-forms for both kinds of utterance, his hand guided by painted black lines still visible today.

the third person, the past tense, and a time-honored poetic meter consisting of six iambs (iambic senarii) to disclose what each Sage is supposed to have taught about digestion. The men below speak in the present tense, they speak in everyday Latin, and they speak for themselves. The contrast between Sage and Everyman, then, is not just visual (statue vs. real person; above vs. below); the two kinds of language create the contrast between the “then” of history (or the pseudo-history of the Sages) and the “now” of men actually engaging in shitting. It’s a pity that such a small percentage of the speech of these ordinary men remains, but one example of Bakhtinian heteroglossia stands out in the use of the verb irrumare. It appears as a mild command in the longest preserved bit of dialogue: Amice te fugit proverbia / Bene caca et irrima medicos. There is a slight error here, in the artist’s substitution of irrima for the correct spelling, irruma. He may have recorded the word as he heard it (“u” often shifts to “i” in vulgar Latin). It was only in the 1970s that two scholars working and publishing independently proposed the correct, brutal meaning of irrumare, or “forced fellatio.”21 Yet it is a word that occurs frequently in Latin literature, particularly in invective – that is, writing aimed at defaming one’s enemies. For example, in his famous hate-poem against Aurelius and Furius, the poet Catullus puts anal penetration and forced fellatio together in the first line. It is through buggery and forced fellatio that Catullus will punish them and in so doing prove his own virility. He writes: “I will fuck you up the ass and I will fuck your mouths, / Aurelius, you pathic, and you faggot, Furius, / who have thought me, from my little verses, / because they are a little delicate, to be not quite straight.”22

To understand the full comic impact of this inversion, we have to look at what the Sages properly say – and just how they say it. In Diogenes Laertius, The Lives of the Eminent Philosophers, book 1, we find the Sages answering difficult questions, advising heads of state, and composing verses. But it is their one-line maxims that would have circulated widely – especially among ordinary people. Indeed, some of the Sages’ maxims are still with us today. Thales: “Know thyself!” Chilon: “Nothing too much!” Solon: “Pursue worthy aims!” Periander: “Practice makes perfect.”20 These are brief, unelaborated commands – the opposite of the convoluted iambic lines written above the Sages’ heads in the Caupona. Since the Sages’ pithy mottoes were widely known, the phrase “Know Thyself” always indicated that Thales was speaking. In this way, the Sages’ sayings became metonyms or verbal substitutes for the Sages themselves. In our Ostian Caupona, however, the viewer gets bogus texts that destroy this expected metonymy. The taverngoer sees the label “Thales of Miletus” but gets a surprise when he reads what Thales advises. By having Thales tell “those who shit hard to really work at it,” the artist has done more than simply destroy Thales’ metonymic label: he has, in fact, reversed the Sage’s proper role. Instead of speaking of the soul, as befits a Sage, Thales holds forth on the lower material body.

In the context of the Caupona of the Seven Sages, the phrase irrima medicos – literally, “make the doctors fellate you” – mocks the doctors and shows a way to avoid consulting them on matters of health. All you have to do is shit well and you don’t need doctors. Most doctors at the time were Greek, and many were of servile status. Everyman, in saying “fuck the doctors,” is also overturning the power of those other wise Greeks, the Greek-labeled Sages above the shitting men. In using the word irrumare in conjunction with medicos, the ordinary man is also defying intellectual wisdom from Greece. In the Caupona, the Greek Sages lose their highminded adages and are talking nonsense – like Greek doctors – about the functions of the lower body. The Roman distrust of Greek doctors is a thread that runs through elite literature, and here we have evidence that the non-elites shared that distrust.23

What the sitting shitters have to say also has a proper context. In a real Roman latrine – as opposed to this painted one – the words of the men sitting and defecating would not have been out of the ordinary. They belong there. But when the words were transferred to an urban tavern, they were transformed into a humorous counterpoint to the expertise in techniques of shitting and farting attributed to the Sages in the statements written above their heads. Both Sages and men say – in all seriousness – silly things about bowel movements. Grammar also comes into play. The maxims above pose as historical or factual reportage; they use the authority of

21

Krenkel 1980, 77-88; Richlin 1981, 40-6. Catullus16.1, translation Richlin 1992. On Roman intolerance for Greeks, see Balsdon (1979, 32-36); on mistrust of doctors, see Scarborough (1969, 96). 22

20

23

Diogenes Laertius, The Lives of the Eminent Philosophers 1.39 (Thales); 1.41 (Chilon); 1.60 (Solon); 1.99 (Periander).

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JOHN R. CLARKE: HIGH AND LOW: MOCKING PHILOSOPHERS IN THE TAVERN OF THE SEVEN SAGES, OSTIA astonishing variety of materials, both man-made and from the vegetable world, that he’s used to wipe his bottom. Bakhtin notes that “The first five objects: the scarf, the hood, the neckerchief, the earpieces, the cap, are apparel for the face and head, that is, for the upper part of the body. Their function as swabs is literally a transfer of the upper to the lower bodily stratum; the body turns a cartwheel.”24 The rump replaces the face. At the end of Gargantua’s list is the perfect swab: the downy neck of a goose. He describes the pleasure that comes from the softness and warmth of the goose – a warmth that makes its way up the rectum and the intestines, reaching the heart and then the brain.25 In his travesty of the Christian scheme, where the saints dwell in eternal bliss in heaven – the upper stratum – Rabelais makes the lower body the origin of spiritual fulfillment. In a similar travesty, the philosopher’s staff – symbol of elite intellectual precepts – becomes an ass-wipe for Everyman.

Two Kinds of Sitting Another Bakhtinian inversion in the paintings in the Caupona depends on the viewer understanding a visual pun, as he/she compares two kinds of sitting. The Sages’ sitting is inanimate and iconic – after all, they are statues. The men are also sitting but engaged in very animated conversation – they are living men sitting to shit. The Sages sit because a venerable artistic tradition represented them as seated while teaching; as we have seen, the artist emphasizes that they are really statues, by placing the Sages and their chairs on individual bases or plinths. Looking up, a viewer would compare the representations of the Sages with sculptures he had seen of them. Looking down, he would see the improvised and nontraditional images of living, workaday men – not statues – animatedly engaging in conversation while defecating. Perhaps some of them were even portraits of people the viewer knew.

Displacing the Sages A New Use for the Philosopher’s Staff The Sages don’t belong in the Caupona, and instead of their traditional wisdom they are holding forth on shitting and farting. Given the actual content of what the Sages and the shitting men say, it is remarkable that scholars have doggedly resisted seeing any humor in the painted decoration of the Caupona of the Seven Sages. Richard Neudecker has recently reviewed in great detail all the ancient texts that mention digestion and elimination in order to support his hypothesis, based on Michel Foucault’s research, that the luxury latrine of the imperial period comes about because of the development and diffusion of elite models of bodily care.26 In connection with our paintings, Neudecker cites Plutarch’s symposium of the Seven Sages, where after dinner they discuss, among other things, food. In Plutarch’s text, the Sages’ comments on digestion are a way to highlight the conflict between body and spirit. The closest the conversation comes to actual bodily functions is Solon’s exaggerated account of digestion: “For this, in truth, it is which constitutes the pollution of our flesh and its bowels of Hell, as it were, teeming with frightful streams and wind, intermingled with burning fire and corpses.”27 This highbrow utterance is a far cry from Solon stroking his belly, Thales telling shitters to push hard, or Chilon teaching people how to fart silently – yet Neudecker insists that the paintings of the Caupona of the Seven Sages are visual explanations of what Plutarch’s Sages say.28 If in Plutarch the Sages try to reach beyond the

Although the phrase u]taris xylosphongio beneath Thales of Miletus is fragmentary, most scholars agree – given the context – that it means “use the sponge on a wooden stick.” Because the phrase occurs along with other fragments of writing on the wall’s lower register, it must represent words said by another sitting man. In Roman latrines, a person who had defecated cleaned him- or herself with a sponge on a stick. Water ran in the channel at the base of the seats, making it a simple matter to rinse out the sponge and then use it to clean the anus. It was a shared swab, unhygienic by today’s standards – a stick holding an ever-dirty sponge that touched many anuses. Since the purpose of all the writing in the Caupona was to incite laughter by comparing the Sages with Everyman, “use the sponge on a wooden stick” must contain yet another joke at the expense of the Sages. Thales, seated solemnly above this phrase, holds a wooden staff in his left hand (as does Solon, to the viewer’s left). The fully preserved fragments of Everyman’s speech directly compare the Sages’ defecatory wisdom with that of Everyman. The phrase utaris xylosphongio must have been part of an invitation to the reader to use the philosopher’s staff in the same way he used the “sponge on a stick” – to wipe himself. If my reading is correct, we have an excellent example of what Bakhtin characterizes as the transfer of the upper to the lower bodily stratum. Bakhtin lays out the terms of this kind of comic inversion in his analysis of the episode of Gargantua’s swabs (ass-wipes) recounted in the first book of Rabelais’ Gargantua and Pantagruel (chapter 13). There, little Gargantua tells his father, Grandgousier, about his search for the perfect swab, and the experimentation that led to his discovery. “Once I mopped my scut with the velvet scarf of a damozel. It was pleasurable: the soft material proved voluptuous and gratifying to my hindsight.” Gargantua goes on list the

24

Bakhtin 1984, 373. Bakhtin 1984, 376-7. 26 Neudecker 1994, 21-39. 27 Plutarch, Moralia, Convivium septem sapientium 159B (Babbitt 1927). Later on (160A) we find: “Indeed, it is possible to enumerate more pains than pleasures derived from food; or rather it may be said that the pleasure affects but a very limited area in the body, and lasts for no long time; but as for the ugly and painful experiences crowded upon us by the bother and discomfort which wait upon digestion, what need to tell their number?” Plutarch (b. ca. A.D. 50, d. ca. 120) was roughly contemporaneous with the paintings of the Caupona of the Seven Sages. 28 Neudecker 1994, 35. 25

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD are annoyed and think of changing their lodgings because they cannot stand Diogenes.”29

body to the spirit, in the Caupona the paintings and texts bring the Sages back down to the body – and they dirty or soil the Sages’ wisdom. What is more, wise words coming out of their mouths end up being about what comes out of their bottoms. Although the Sages are not shitting, their words represent shit.

The artist who represented the Sages in the Caupona used a strategy like Lucian’s: he overturned their power by giving them the lowly job of sitting in a tavern. What is more, he has them speak – not eternal wisdom but mundane nonsense. Lucian’s comic reversal is a power reversal: the great men perform menial tasks; wise men act foolishly. The rich are poor; the wise make obnoxious company. In a word, the powerful on earth are powerless in Hades.30

Indeed, because the Sages are offering advice on the workings of the lower body stratum rather than the mind and the spirit, they become like ordinary men. Their teachings serve banal bodily functions and their wisdom is ordinary. By making their wisdom ordinary – even silly – the paintings in the Caupona subvert the Sages’ power over the ordinary men. In the sense that their wisdom serves ordinary men, the Sages become the servants, while the servants – that is the seated men below, whose quips about digestive functions make a lot more sense than what the Sages have to offer – become the Sages.

Because the paintings and texts in the Caupona of the Seven Sages upset accepted relations of status and power, they elicit laughter through the portrayal of power reversals. In this sense, they constitute a striking example of Bakhtin’s concept of carnival. Speaking of the comic images of carnival (including a substantial discussion of images of excrement and the bowels) he notes: “For thousands of years the people have used these festive comic images to express their criticism, their deep distrust of official truth, and their highest hopes and aspirations. Freedom was not so much an exterior right as it was the inner content of these images. It was the thousand-year-old language of fearlessness, a language with no reservations and omissions, about the world and about power.”31

If we look for literary parallels for this kind of powerand-role reversal in ancient literature, we can find it not in Plutarch but in Lucian of Samosota (born c. C.E. 120). In his Menippus or The Descent into Hades, Lucian finds that the great heroes and wise men of old have exchanged roles with the lowly. He stresses the element of travesty in this role-reversal: Friend: “But tell me, Menippus: those who have such expensive, high monuments on earth, and tombstones and statues and inscriptions – are they no more highly honored there than the common dead?” Menippus: “Nonsense, man! If you had seen Mausolus himself. . . you never would have stopped laughing, so humbly did he lie where he was flung, in a cubby-hole, inconspicuous among the rest of the plebeian dead . . . . But you would have laughed even more heartily, I think, if you had seen our kings and satraps reduced to poverty there, and either selling salt fish on account of their neediness or teaching the alphabet, and getting abused and hit over the head by all comers, like the meanest of slaves. In fact, when I saw Philip of Macedon, I could not control my laughter. He was pointed out to me in a corner, cobbling worn-out sandals for pay! Many others, too, could be seen begging at the crossroads – your Xerxeses, I mean, and Dariuses and Polycrateses. Friend: What you say about the kings is extraordinary. . . But what was Socrates doing, and Diogenes, and the rest of the wise men? Menippus: As to Socrates, there too he goes about cross-questioning everyone. His associates are Palamedes, Odysseus, Nestor, and other talkative corpses. . . . And good old Diogenes lives with Sardanapalus the Assyrian, Midas the Phrygian, and several other wealthy men. As he hears them lamenting and reviewing their former good-fortune, he laughs and rejoices, and often he lies on his back and sings in a very harsh and unpleasant voice, downing out their lamentations, so that the gentlemen

Everyman and the Written Word A final question remains: were the patrons literate? The answer must be a resounding “yes,” if we take into account the sheer quantity of writing on the walls (about five times the amount actually preserved), and the fact that the only way to enjoy the humor was to read the writing. Of course, there are degrees of literacy, and in this room it would only take one person reading out loud to the others to explain the jokes; his reading would transfer the written jokes into spoken ones. Someone who could recognize only some of words – the labels, or just the scatological words and phrases – would be able to make some sense of the whole if he understood who the Sages were and how they figured in elite cultural pretensions. But to get the points of the jokes, viewers had to recognize the contradictions between the images and texts. Because the written word constitutes an essential element that the ancient viewer had to grasp in order to get the jokes, the paintings are geared to three levels of literacy: labels, Everyman’s quips, and the Sages’ dicta. The labels are the easiest to decipher, whether the name 29

Lucian, Menippus (Harmon 1969:4) 17-18. Lucian also wrote an essay, “On Salaried Posts in Great Houses,” (Harmon 1969, 3:412-486) where Greeks with philosophical educations have to repackage their knowledge cheaply and facilely for trivial or topical occasions. For this they have to endure ridicule from their masters as well as from their fellow servants and common people. 31 Bakhtin 1984, 269. 30

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JOHN R. CLARKE: HIGH AND LOW: MOCKING PHILOSOPHERS IN THE TAVERN OF THE SEVEN SAGES, OSTIA statue-niches.34 The writing that we find in the Caupona of the Seven Sages is of a different kind; rather than commemorating the dead, proclaiming an emperor’s titles, or telling the reader who paid for a statue, it endowed painted images of human beings with speech. And it is a kind of writing with none of the serious purpose behind inscriptions on monuments; the writing on these walls was just for fun.

of a fine wine (falernum) or the names of the Sages and their cities. More difficult, but written in vulgar Latin, are the colloquial comments of the sitting men. Most difficult are the “maxims” of the Sages, cast in language and poetic meter. Because there is so much writing on the walls, Calza goes so far as to rule out an illiterate clientele in his tortuous argument that the Caupona of the Seven Sages was a sophisticated men’s club.32 Even if we discount the obvious anachronism of Calza’s claim, it is hard to make this an exclusive club merely on the evidence of the paintings and inscriptions. I believe that the partiallyliterate viewer would have simply needed more time – and assistance from his literate friends – to comprehend the humor. He would probably recognize the representations of the statues of the Seven Sages – or the seated-philosopher type in general – and get the visual pun between their sitting and the scene (familiar from his own everyday experience) of men sitting at a latrine. But the sheer quantity of the texts and their relatively complex grammar would have blocked the illiterate person from getting all the jokes until he heard people read them; he had to rely upon his literate friends for enlightenment and a laugh.

In proposing my interpretation of these tavern paintings, I have tried to avoid reading them as illustrations of elite values as we know them from existing ancient texts. Taken on their own terms and in context, they reveal the originality of the artists who created them; they also demonstrate the viewers’ visual and verbal literacy. The artist could not rely on existing iconographic models (aside from the images of the Sages themselves) for imagery. Rather, he had to make images that recreated a scenario drawn from the intended viewers’ world – one that fit with their experiences of the latrine. The artist also had to invent the captions. To get the points of the jokes, viewers had to recognize the contradictions in the visual representations as well as those in the written words. They’re full of irony, and compared with the endless, formulaic repetition of images and texts of Roman “high” art, these tavern paintings are quite complicated – a highly original expression that reveals the inventiveness, wit, and playfulness of ancient artists and viewers.

This tavern attracted drinkers who would have ranged from the fully literate to the entirely illiterate, but we can well imagine the literate ones helping their less literate friends and drinking-companions to sound out the written letters into words and jokes.33 Laughter, like wine, dissolves differences among literate, semi-literate, and illiterate, and even if only one person in the tavern could read, all could laugh. Being able to read writing was no impediment to fun in bars.

What is more, the paintings reveal a central mechanism of Roman humor: overturning power relations between elite and non-elite. The artist’s strategy is to exchange upper body for lower (soul for bowels) to make the body perform Bakhtin’s “cartwheel.” For this exchange to be transgressive and therefore funny, it has to undermine the social values of the elite and replace them with parallel but opposite non-elite values. The artist established a visual parallel between elite and non-elite by picturing both Sage and defecator sitting and holding forth. But then he reversed the viewer’s expectations by making Everyman sound “sage” and Sage sound silly. Carnival reigned. For everyone in Roman cities, it did so on the few days of the Floralia in May and the Saturnalia in December, or on the occasion of a military triumph. But for the patrons of this tavern in Ostia, there was carnival every day of the year.

Writing was everywhere in Roman cities, but most of it was formulaic: inscriptions on the tombs you passed as you neared the city walls; on triumphal arches that marked important passages; on statue bases and altars within the forum and temple precincts; on temples and

32

Calza 1939, 104: “Man würde sagen, ein distinguiertes Lokal, nicht für Lastträger und Fischer des Hafenviertels, sondern für ein weniger einfaches, gebildeteres Publikum, für eine Gesellschaft von Genießern, die Sinn hatten für den Spott und frechen Witz der Gemälde und darüber zu lachen verstanden; eine Kneipe nicht für alle, sondern exklusiv und besucht von den Bohemiens der Zeit.” “One might say that this was a distinguished pub, not for the porters and fishermen of the harbor quarter, but for a less simple, more cultivated public, for a community of bon vivants who had a taste for the irony and the impertinent wit of the paintings and knew how to laugh about them; a tavern not for all, but an exclusive one sought out by the Bohemians of the period.” 33 Harris 1989 proposes that only 5%-10% of Romans could read and write in this period; for more a more optimistic assessment based on the study of electoral notices at Pompeii, see essays in Humphrey 1991, especially Horsfall, 59-76; Franklin, 77-98; Corbier, 99-118. Horsfall and Corbier both note that illiteracy or semi-illiteracy was not a great impediment for most activities – except for high-ranking individuals and or for occupations that required extensive work with written texts. Inability to read numbers was much rarer than illiteracy. See also Dyson 1992, 190-2.

34

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Susini 1988, 124; Koortbojian 1996.

Provincial Pretensions: Salons of Literati in Roman Mosaics Christine Kondoleon The individuals who paid for and lived with the art discussed in this paper are not of a lower social order, they are not mute, and they do not represent a majority. They do reflect the aspirations of local cultures that sprang up in and around the Romanized cities and towns, sometimes remote, throughout the Mediterranean. While not the grandees of Roman society, these citizens had the means to live surrounded by fine furnishings, painted walls and mosaic floors that depicted stories and characters and proclaimed their values. One theme in particular is repeated throughout private and public spaces. Visual declarations of paideia or Greek learning and culture abound in Roman art of the imperial period. An alliance with the Muses and the possession of a cultured mind was celebrated and variously depicted. The impulse to “show-and-tell” is evidenced by the numerous labels in Greek or Latin that identify the figures and the scenes. Repeated representations of the Muses, the Seven Wise Men, historians, philosophers, and poets of ancient Greece appear in various combinations and guises with much the same effect and appearance in the Latinspeaking, as in the Greek-speaking provinces of the Roman empire. While the mosaics are too numerous to cover fully in the space of this paper, a few examples serve to reveal insights into the ways the provincial elites received such imagery.

with keepers and texts – records indicate sums of 100,000 sesterces, equivalent to $400,000.2 The intended messages and reception of such benefactions are eloquently recorded across the marble façade of the Library of Celsus at Ephesos, completed in the Hadrianic period (Figure 1). In a prominent location, along an urban thoroughfare of a metropolitan center stand four female personifications identified by the Greek words: Wisdom (sophia); Virtue (arete); Insight (ennoia); and Knowledge or Science (episteme). The gracious ladies stand in four niches flanking the entrance to the impressive structure that was both a memorial to a deceased proconsul of Asia and a functioning library that held about 3000 Greek scrolls.3 The association of the texts, a learning center, and the representations of classical values were made visually and conceptually tangible on the front of the Ephesos Library. Similar values celebrating learning were represented in the private realm, often in the most public rooms for dining and entertainments. The discovery of a miniaturized polychrome version of the Ephesos façade in a mosaic recently uncovered during the rescue operations at Zeugma-on-the-Euphrates speaks directly to our inquiry about reception in the provinces. The mosaic panel, set at the center of a dining room of a Roman house dated to the late second or early third century, contains two females standing on either side of a seated female with the Greek labels Paideia, Arete and Sophia above their heads (Figure 2).4 At the entrance of the same dining room was a horizontal panel with several Muses holding their attributes. These remarkable mosaics heralding classical values and embodying paideia were found in what was considered to be an outpost of the Roman legion, the town with the single bridge that linked Syria (and thereby the Roman empire) to Mesopotamia. In this reception room, the union of the Muses with classical learning is vividly portrayed. Might their pairing also be a visual reference to the Ptolemaic complex of privileged learning – the great Library of Alexandria and the adjacent Mouseion, the sacred precinct of the Muses?5 References to the library as part of the sacred space of the Muses, as part of the royal precinct, and as contiguous with the royal tombs, especially that of Alexander the Great, reinforce that the “classical model of the library is tied to the power, wealth and prestige of its patrons.”6

One result was that the subtleties of the groupings and interconnections typical of the sculpture collections of the late Republican and early Imperial periods were abandoned in favor of more formulaic compositions.1 The associational world displayed in portraits of illustrious men (imagines illustrium) arranged around a grand house undoubtedly inspired innumerable conversations, such as the many bronze and marble herms and statues in the Villa of the Papyri at Herculaneum, but these were supplanted by more fixed displays in the later imperial period. The images of the poets and philosophers were presented in set groups or framed sequences within compositional devices. The cultural and political authority associated with the ensembles of portraits and the implied conversations around such imagery became increasingly directed in later antiquity. Paul Zanker’s phrasing, “icons in the cult of paideia,” expresses this phenomenon of codification. The extant remains of the public learning centers, namely libraries and lecture halls, suggest an approach to organizing this widespread and long-lasting imagery of the learned. At various posts of the Roman Empire, the same citizens who had their homes filled with visual homages to Greek literature also donated their town libraries. They gave generously to maintain the libraries

2 See Casson 2001, 111, who cites the gift of a library and supporting fund of 100,000 sesterces (the dollar equivalent is given by Casson) by Pliny the Younger to his hometown of Comum (modern Como). 3 Casson 2001, 116. 4 Önal 2002, 50, illus. P. 51; where it is dated to the second century, but no evidence is given for this dating. 5 For a discussion of Hellenistic libraries, and especially Strabo’s description of the Alexandrian Library, see Nagy 1998, 185-232, esp. 194-199. 6 Nagy 1998, 198.

1 On the multiple readings of the collections of the Villa of Papyri, for example, see Warden 1991; Neudecker 1988; and Dillon 2000.

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Figure 1. Ephesos, Library of Celsus, view of façade with sculptures of personifications, second century C.E. (Photo: John Dean)

Such a combination would then have served as a topos of classical learning invoked as a sign of culture and prestige.

the Stoa of Attalos and now in the Agora Museum are thought to belong to the Library of Pantainos. The inscriptions on their bases identify them as “The Iliad” (S2038) and “The Odyssey” (S2039). The cuirass of “the Odyssey” bears images of three sirens, Skylla, Aiolos, and Polyphemos. The inscription for “the Iliad” indicates that these two statues flanked a statue of Homer. The focus on Homer for Greek libraries is superficially obvious, but there is also the underlining academic rationale, namely that the great Hellenistic libraries of Alexandria and Pergamon had research programs on Homer.10

Libraries and their artworks – personifications of learning, portraits of philosophers and poets, Homeric scenes – should not be lost on us as markers of status and commemoration. The evidence of more modest libraries donated by local benefactors in smaller towns reinforces the impression.7 At Sagalassos in Pisidia, a library was constructed around C.E. 120 with funds given by a local inhabitant, T. Flavius Severianus Neon, in memory of his deceased father and uncle.8 Sometime during the reign of Julian the Apostate (C.E. 361-363) a floor mosaic was added with a central polychrome panel depicting the departure of Achilles for Troy (Figure 3). Artistic references to Homeric texts can also be found in a Greek library at Athens dedicated in the Trajanic period by a local citizen, Titus Flavius Pantainos with an inscription that indicated that he donated the funds for the construction of the library, its books, the portico and all its decorations.9 Two cuirassed female statues found in

During the excavations of the Agora (area 10) in Seleucia in the province of Pamphylia, a mosaic floor was revealed with sixteen portrait busts of famous Greek poets, historians, philosophers identified by Greek letters (Solon, Thucydides, Pythagoras, and so on) (Figure 4).11 The portraits frame a fragmentary panel which once contained three figures whose labels are intact and read as “Homer” in the middle, with “Iliad” and “Odyssey” on either side. The constellation of Greek wise men surrounding the core author and texts of Greek learning is a visual counterpart to the library in Athens with its

7

Casson 2001, 109-123. Cf. Vandeput 1997, 23-24, esp. n. 40 with references to the preliminary publication of the library and mosaic. 9 Thompson and Wycherley 1972, 114-116, “The Library of Pantainos,” and on the pair of marble sculptures, p. 115, where the authors surmise that the statue of the Odyssey and the Iliad stood on either side of a seated statue of Homer in the library, 115, pls. 62d, and 63. 8

10

Nagy 1998, 215-228. Today the mosaic is on view in the Antalya Museum.See Bingol 1997, 123-124, fig. 88. No date or context other than Agora is given. The style of the mosaic belongs to the third century; some resemblance to the portraits found in the House of Menander in Mytilene. 11

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CHRISTINE KONDOLEON: PROVINCIAL PRETENSIONS: SALONS OF LITERATI IN ROMAN MOSAICS

Figure 2. Zeugma-on-the-Euphrates (Syria Secunda), House of the Euphrates, Paideia, Arete, and Sophia, detail of mosaic floor, late second/early third century C.E., Gaziantep Museum (Photo: Courtesy of Fatih Cimok).

Figure 3. Sagalassos (Pisidia), Library of T. Flavius Severianus Neon, in situ view of library room with mosaic of Departure of Achilles for Troy, . 361-363 C.E. (Photo: Kent Severson).

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD

Figure 4. Seleucia (Pamphylia), Agora (area 10), Greek philosophers framing a panel with Homer, “The Iliad," and "The Odyssey," detail of mosaic floor, third century C.E. Antalya Archaeological Museum. (Photo: Author).

Figure 5. Trier (Gallia Belgica), room 5, Procurator's Palace, teachers and pupils, detail of a mosaic floor, mid third century C.E. (room dimensions c. 4.50 x 6.60 m). Trier, Archeological Museum. (Photo: Author).

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CHRISTINE KONDOLEON: PROVINCIAL PRETENSIONS: SALONS OF LITERATI IN ROMAN MOSAICS representation of the Odyssey and Iliad as armed female figures at the center of the chamber with its scrolls.

with a graphic spatial clarity not often seen in late antique representations. These panels framed a central image which included compartments filled with muses seated on backless thrones who raise their hands as if to recite from their unrolled scrolls. The subject matter of these mosaics have led some scholars to suggest that they came from school buildings, but there is no evidence for this. Clearly, a devotion to learning inspired these monumental mosaics. Might we infer that the fashion for such imagery was not merely prompted by a desire to identify oneself as learned, or in the company of equals, but rather reflected pedagogical practices?

The emphasis on Homer and his epics is widely disseminated and finds expression in the private imagery of Roman houses both in the Greek East and Latin West. An unusually rich selection of third-century mosaics featuring learnèd men and their muses were found in Roman Trier and its environs.12 One of the most elaborate of these compositions was uncovered in the middle of Trier.13 Although an isolated find, the pavement decorated a large apsed hall (8.7 m x 6.0 m), most likely a grand reception room. While much of the mosaic is lost, enough remains to determine that it was a monumental composition of adjacent octagons, squares, lozenges, and trapezoids each containing a figural scene: eight octagons with a muse who stands besides a famous Greek practitioner of her arts; the square compartments with busts of Greek and Latin authors, other square panels are filled with busts of the twelve months and four seasons. All this revolves around a central octagon with the figure of Homer identified as OMERVS between the epic muse Calliope and the personification of “Genius” labeled as INGENIVM. In a rare gesture for ancient art, the mosaicist signed his name MONNVS FECIT above this illustrious trio.14

If we turn to accounts by contemporary viewers, the reception of the learned becomes ever more vivid. In the words of Libanius, the leading orator and teacher of fourth-century Antioch, portraits stimulated conversations about, even with, the authors. In a letter thanking his friend Theodorus for the gift of a portrait of his intellectual hero, Libanius wrote: “I have the portait of Aristides, something I have long desired, and I am almost as grateful to you as if you had resurrected the man himself and sent him to me. And I sit by his portrait, read some book of his and ask him whether he was the one who wrote that. Then I answer my question myself” (Letters 143.1-5).17 Aelius Aristides, a leading man of letters of the Second Sophistic, had spent most of his life in Asia Minor, and Libanius emulated his oratorical style. The letter goes on to express the disappointment Libanius experienced earlier on when another associate of his sent a portrait purportedly of the same sophist: “…I could not believe that this was Aristides, for the face seemed out of keeping with his serious illness and the hair indicated that it was someone else. So I began to form the opinion that instead of a picture of the orator I had received one of Asclepius… when your second portrait arrived [it] convinced me of the authenticity of the first, for the features were the same in both cases.” These comments offer a rare and nuanced insight into the interactions between ancient viewer and portrait. Indeed, the popular phrase “talking heads” aptly described Libanius in dialogue with his intellectual hero.18 Moreover, we gain a view into the complicated process of portrait-making and distribution. Libanius seems to think he knows what Aristides looks like and is put off by the disconnect between his knowledge and lack of recognition of the first portrait sent to him. Was the portait type conventionalized in a way that surprised Libanius? If so, what does that reveal about the market and the trade in standard types of images of learned men?

Roman Trier and its environs have yielded an innovative variety of poses and formats, mostly in the third century, for presenting the visual exempla of paideia. The bearded figure seated in a cathedra or throne holds up a pointer to instruct on the workings of the sundial.15 He is identified by comparison with a marble portrait in the Vatican labeled as Anaximander of Miletus, a pre-Socratic astronomer and geographer. Such figures give the impression of frontispieces or author portraits. Indeed, the bookish quality of several of the Trier mosaics invoke libraries and their contents. The role of learning and teachers is also interwoven. Another large-scale composition, far from being bookish, united two ends of a space to create an environment of learning for students and teachers. Though badly damaged and in an unclear context, a largish room near the Procurator’s Palace at Trier had twelve panels of standing male figures who represented bearded teachers or rhetoricians and their young pupils (Figure 5).16 This juxtaposition of age with youth, experience with innocence, and untutored with learnèd was the central drama of paideia, here presented 12 These are treated as a group with other mosaics of poets, authors, and philosophers from the Latin West, see Lancha 1997, pp. 344-359; for a review of Lancha, see Dunbabin 1999. 13 Today it is on display in the Rheinisches Landesmuseum in Trier, see Hoffmann 1999, 138-141, pls. 63, 64-49, for the extensive bibliography on this mosaic. 14 Another Homer was found in 1995 relatively near to Trier, on a farmer’s property near Luxembourg (Vichten); here, seated and crowned with laurel, he is engaged in discussion with Calliope who points to a capsa filled with scrolls; Lancha 1997 includes illustration as an addendum. 15 Only one fragment of the floor was found on the Johannisstrasse Nr. 23, see Hoffmann, 112, no. 57, pl. 22. 16 Hoffmann, 122-123, no. 72, pls. 37-39.

The confusion of Libanius suggests that perhaps labels were needed by late Roman viewers more than we have been willing to acknowledge. Rather than pretentious declarations of learning, the writing on mosaics (also on 17 Libanius (Norman 1992, 294-5). As Aelius Aristides lived in Bithynia and was the local hero, it is presumed that Theodorus was governor of the province and had access to many of the philosopher's portraits. 18 Dillon 2000, 38, and 30, n. 48 refers to J. Henderson’s use of this term as well.

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Figure 6. Aphrodisias, Marble shield portraits of philosophers, found between the back wall of Sebasteion and the back of an apsidal building, early fifth century C.E. Aphrodisias Museum (Photo: courtesy of Aphrodisias Excavations /Courtesy of R.R.R. Smith)

of Caria.23 No doubt the medallion portraits echo the tondi that adorned famous libraries.24

wall paintings and sculptures) served to inform naïve or ill-educated viewers and produced a viable rhetoric of visual culture. The collected heads and figures of the men of letters functioned as “stone lexicons”.19 The personal experience of Libanius makes clear that images of learnèd men served to make worthy predecessors present. Whether the local citizens of these diverse provincial towns actually connected the portraits with the thoughts and writings of the great men, or indulged in a kind of nostalgia for the excellence of the past, or a past that never was, or all of these, cannot be known.20

The privatization of learning could well have inspired learnèd themes in domestic decoration. More likely, both lecture halls and a fashion for the icons of learnèd men developed synchronically throughout the Mediterranean in response to the rising status of the intellectual in the era of the Second Sophistic. The interconnections between modest domestic spaces and actual learning is made by Eunapius who cites the dwellings of his colleagues where smaller statues of his fourth-century associates were set up in spaces that resembled miniature public theaters.25 This description corresponds to the archaeological discovery of four seated philosophers in a private residence in Dion; they were located in a room with niches off a large peristyle.26 The statues are in the pose of the seated Epicurus, but the heads were recarved in a third century style, perhaps to resemble members of the household who were “devotees of Greek philosophy,” or they could represent local teachers of this Macedonian city.27 Miniature philosophers in terracotta in late Republican houses speak to a widespread taste for these types in differently priced media for consumers at all levels.28 The evidence of the domestic sphere is

The discovery of a dozen marble shield-portraits and busts of illustrious men (Figure 6) in an area just behind the Sebasteion of Aphrodisias does provide a physical setting for these interactions.21 The portraits probably hung in the exedra with apsidal niches at one end of a peristyle court. The architectural complex includes a domestic quarter and is reminiscent of the fourth and fifth century houses excavated on the Areopagus and the “House of Proclus” in Athens. Textual evidence ties members of the Neoplatonic School at Athens to this district where, according to a later fourth-century account by Eunapius of Sardis, the esteemed sophists taught “in their own private theaters.”22 R.R.R. Smith concludes that the Aphrodisias medallions adorned a lecture hall for a philosophical school because of its architecture, the subject and date of its sculpture, and the fact that two of the busts are carved in a fifth century style and represent a contemporary sophist and his pupil active in the region

19 20 21 22

23

Smith 1991, 157-158. Tacitus, Annals II.83, who notes the donation of Tiberius of a gold medallion of Germanicus similar in size to marble portraits of classic orators “veteres inter scriptores”. 25 Frantz 1988, 45, n. 183. 26 Pandermalis 1997, 54-55 with illus., and pp. 87 and 90; Zanker 1995, 229-231. 27 Zanker 1995, 229-230. 28 Dwyer 1982, 128, seated figures of Antisthenes and one of Pittakos; see also marble examples of similar scale, for e.g., one in the Princeton University Art Museum (y1933-28), Ridgway 1994, 71-73, no. 21. Mario Torelli kindly informed me about a find of small terracotta group from a seaside villa on the shore of Tortoreto in the province of Teramo; as yet unpublished but dated to the first century B.C.E. A number of philosopher heads and figures representing Polyphemos and Odysseus 24

Neudecker 1988, 67 and 74. Zanker 1995…..??? Smith 1991, 144-158. Frantz 1988, 34-49, esp. 45, n. 182 for the quote from Eunapius.

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CHRISTINE KONDOLEON: PROVINCIAL PRETENSIONS: SALONS OF LITERATI IN ROMAN MOSAICS underlined by the decoration of tombs where philosophers, most likely private teachers, accompany the deceased.29 The individual figures and busts discussed above were probably excerpted from models with groups of sages, copies of which appear in paintings, sculpture and mosaic throughout the Roman period.30 A model of such a gathering is found in a late Republican mosaic from Pompeii.31 Seven famous Greek scientists and philosophers are shown both seated and standing in an outdoor park with colonnade.32 The scene captures a philosophical debate about the celestial theories alluded to by the sphere in the foreground presented by Herakleides of Pontus. Scholars suggest that the scene is set in the Academy of Plato and that the landscape in the upper right corner represents the Acropolis. The Naples mosaic presents both the physical setting of a famous topos of paideia and a paradigm of the learnèd conversation. The standardization of the formula can be seen in its manifestation in a fourth century mosaic from Apamea with its depiction of Socrates seated in discussion with six other philosophers.33 A three-dimensional version of the Naples composition survives from the Hellenistic period. Full-scale limestone statues of the sages were installed in an exedra at the sanctuary of the Serapieion in Memphis, dedicated in the late third century B.C.E. by Ptolemy I but reconstructed during the pagan revival under Julian in the mid-fourth century C.E (Figure 7).34 The statues were arranged in an outdoor hemicycle at the end of a dromos lined with various mythical creatures. The extant group includes Homer, Aristotle, Plato, and possibly Alexander the Great, and it offers a too rare glimpse at Ptolemaic sculptural traditions. Figure 7. Memphis, Sanctuary of Serapis, Exedra with Seated Philosophers, late third or early second century B.C.E. (After Lauer and Picard 1955, pl. 28)

We should bear this sculptural model in mind when we turn to the inlaid glass panels found in a building complex on the waterfront of Kenchreai, the eastern port of Corinth.35 A hundred panels of glass were packed in

their shipping crates awaiting installation in the apsidal hall of a sanctuary when a tidal wave destroyed the whole complex in 375 C.E. Because of their style and subject matter, scholars suggest that the panels were exported from a workshop in Alexandria.36 They include life size figures standing on pedestals with inscriptions to identify them: Homer with dark hair and long beard and Plato with short white hair and beard. These standing figures were set between columns with views of seaport towns and villas inserted behind them. The arrangement recalls a portrait gallery of learnèd men in a peristyle overlooking the sea.37 It is thought that the site corresponds to the sanctuary of Isis described by Pausanias.38 If indeed this was a building dedicated to an

in reduced scale that present a miniature version of library and villa decorations that couple Homeric scenes with images of the learned. 29 See for e.g., the second century funerary chamber of the freedman Gaius Valerius Hermia beneath St. Peter’s a with stucco reliefs of a rhetorician and a philosopher; these attest to a shared ideal of learning and the aspirations of a former slave, Zanker 1995, 254-255, fig. 139. 30 Many examples are gathered in Schefold 1997, 380-399. 31 The Pompeii mosaic, known as the Torre Annunziata mosaic, is displayed in the Archaeological Museum in Naples (inv. 124545); it was found in the House of T. Siminius Stephanus, outside the Vesuvian Gate in Pompeii. 32 The Pompeii mosaic is purportedly based on a Hellenistic painting. Another mosaic copy of this model was found in Sarsina in Umbria and is now in the Villa Albani Collection. For a discussion of the iconography, see Heintze 1977 and Gaiser 1980. 33 Many discussions of this important mosaic and its possible association with a Neoplatonic school in the publications of excavators, see Balty 1977. 34 Eleven life-sized statues and two smaller ones were found. Ridgway 1990, 131-134, for a useful overview of the scholarship on this important group. 35 Ibrahim et al. 1976.

36 Ibrahim et al. 1976, Scranton, 259-269, on the Egyptian roots of the style, technique and subject matter of the Kenchreai opus sectile panels. 37 The views to the sea might remind us of the terraces onto the sea at the Villa of the Papyri at Herculaneum which afforded a well-lit area for reading the hundreds of scrolls kept in this private library. 38 Pausanias, Description of Greece, II, ii,3.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD Egyptian goddess and the glass panels were made in Alexandria, then the ensemble can be seen to evoke an Egyptian topos, recalling to some degree the Ptolemaic hero shrines of learned men such as the Sanctuary of Serapis at Memphis.

himself with Eudoxios, a disciple of Plato. Immodestly, the inscription acclaims Patricius as “worthy, respected, and wise.” There can be no doubt that self-representation is at the heart of these displays. But for our study, two figural panels in another room are revealing. One side illustrates the birth of Alexander the Great with his mother “Olympia” reclining and a nymph giving him his first bath (Figure 8a); the other panel, mostly destroyed, probably represented a seated philosopher with letters spelling the name of Alexander’s mentor, “Aristotle” (Figure 8b). The thematic scheme of the house, at least in this wing, can be understood to glorify the intellectual heroes of Greece, with whom Patricius keenly wanted to be identified with for posterity. But it also seems that the inclusion of scenes from the life of Alexander present a biography of the hero and as such might also be seen to evoke a site, namely the heroon of Alexander within the precinct of the Library at Alexandria. In other words, the mosaicist and his client, in place of creating a topographic landscape of Alexandria, used the myths and portraits as metonymic devices in place of the actual site. If this seems reasonable as a layer of meaning, then the evocation of place is equal to the recollection of the authors and their texts. In this context, it should be recalled that Greek-speaking cities throughout the eastern Mediterranean initiated hero cults for local intellectual stars and erected heroa associated with grave sites and the like. For example, at Priene there was the Bianteion to honor the local statesman, Bias of the sixth century, who became one of the canonical Seven Sages. These same cities struck coins with the images of their local philosophers and poets and sometimes their sanctuaries or cult statues.42 There can be no doubt that the ancient landscape was populated with shrines of the learnèd and that these were present in the minds and eyes of the ancient beholder. Depending on the context, the myths and portraits presented in pictorial ensembles in domestic settings could have functioned as tropes for physical sites. One of the most recognizable landscapes of allusion was that of the learnèd men in apsed spaces. Even as late as the fifth century and in the provincial town of Nerodimlje in the modern region of Kosovo, the Seven Wise Men are arranged within series of arcades in an apsed hall of a villa.43 Here the philosophers are logically identified in Latin with their famous maxims below them. The viewer is invited to associate the physical space of the apsed hall with the mosaic philosophers within their niches. Given the late Roman private halls of learning found at Aphrodisias and Athens, perhaps this hall also served as a lecture space for local teachers. Certainly the large size of the lettering prompted the inhabitants and their guests to read the sayings aloud.

Romans subscribed to a view of geography and the divine that imbued sites with the memory of their associated myths and after-histories, often of Greek origins. The power and authority of this sacred topography was confirmed by imperial journeys which became more typical after Hadrian, who spent more than half of his reign on the road.39 The mixing of Roman and nonRoman images at his villa outside of Tivoli, especially around the Scenic Canal, formed a “symbolic recollection of society’s cultural foundations,” and probably served as a diary of his visits to sites and monuments.40 The timing of Hadrian’s ambitious voyages and the antiquarian interests of the intellectual circle that gave rise to the era of the Second Sophistic are surely related. A fascination with topographic archaeology, exhaustively demonstrated in the writings of Pausanias, is but one example of the enthusiasm for the monuments and sites of Hellenic culture. Beyond travel writing and imperial art collections, these journeys also informed art production. According to a recent proposal (not necessarily convincing), Cleopatra VII might have commissioned an Alexandrian to produce the premier travelogue mosaic, the Nilotic mosaic of Palestrina, for propagandistic reasons.41 If we take many steps down the social ladder from a Ptolemaic Queen to the world-view of provincial elites, might their interest in the imagery of the learnèd reflect an intellectual curiosity and ambition to record their familiarity with the must-see sites of their time? Topographic associations might explain some of the groupings of themes within and between rooms in Roman houses. On the pavement of a dining room of a late third or fourth century house in Baalbek-Soueidié, the Seven Wise Men appear as busts framed by interlacing circles within a large medallion. Each is identified by his name and city of origin, so one reads “Socrates of Athens” or “Thales of Miletus.” They were also accompanied by their famous sayings so that a guest could look down upon Chilon and read “Know thyself.” Some attempt is made to differentiate their hairstyles and facial features as well. In clear deference to Homeric epic, the muse Calliope occupies the center medallion and, to her left the inscription of the proud mosaicist: “Ampheion made it.” In an adjacent room, the owner of the house, Patricius, choose to include a Greek inscription in which he aligns

Reading the maxims and debating their meanings were part of the social banter of elite life as evidenced by finds such as a set of twelve silver spoons (Figure 9)

39 On imperial journeys and their significance, see Miller 1977, 28-40; and Holum 1990, 72-75; and Veyne 1993, p. 364. On the role of travel in the cultural imagination of the Second Sophistic, see a recent collection of essays on Pausanias, Alcock et al. 2001, especially relevant to our discussion is the commentary by Bettina Bergmann, 154166. 40 McDonald and Pinto 1995, 141. 41 This intriguing interpretation is offered by Goudchaux 2001, 332334, no. 352.

42 Harl 1987, 14-15, 78; and Zanker 1995, 158-166, esp. 162-163 on Bias, fig. 86 b. 43 Djuric 1994, 123-134.

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Figure 8a-b

Baalbek-Soueidié (Syria Secunda), Villa de Soueidié, details of mosaics of Seven Sages and the Muse Calliope, and bath of Alexander, and detail of Aristotle panel, third century C.E.. National Museum, Beirut (Photo: after Maurice Chéhab, pls. xv, xxiii.1, xxv).

Figure 9. Set of 12 silver spoons engraved with sayings of wise men, from a treasure found at Lampsacus sixth century C.E. (c.265 mm long, approximate weight 75 grams). London, British Museum. (Photo: British Museum by permission).

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Figure 10. Merida (Augusta Emerita, Lusitania), from Calle Holguin, mosaic of triclinium with Seven Sages and Briseis taken from Achilles, mosaic floor, mid-fourth century C.E. (c. 8.50 x 4.80 m). Merida, Archaeological Museum. (Photo: Author).

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CHRISTINE KONDOLEON: PROVINCIAL PRETENSIONS: SALONS OF LITERATI IN ROMAN MOSAICS found in the Lampsacus Treasure (Turkey).44 Not far in date from the Serbian mosaic, these sixth century spoons bear Greek inscriptions with the names of the Sages and their famous quotes on the bowls and handles. As you ate your meal you might read Chilon’s “Know yourself” or Pittacus’ “Nothing in excess.” How could such tableware not stimulate dinner conversation? The early Byzantine spoons follow in a long tradition of objects that engendered sophisticated interaction between viewer/user and image/object. A pair of gilded silver cups found in the Boscoreale Treasure of the Augustan-Tiberian period bear friezes of animated skeletons with banqueting paraphernalia arranged around the body of both cups; punched Greek inscriptions identify the figures as the Sages and label the scenes with their maxims.45 The underlining point of it all is “enjoy the moment” while you are alive. But the representation of favored Greek philosophers as skeletons is in itself a mockery of even those whose wisdom was celebrated – they too have died so what good was their wisdom?46 Plutarch’s “Dinner of the Seven Wise Men” (Moralia 146c.1ff.) confirms the performative aspects of the Sages in the banquets of the Roman period.47

elites were truly cultivated or merely collectors of imagery that they hoped or knew would confer status on them cannot be known. Public and private displays of learning, the domestic decorations as well as the townbased evergetism of libraries and hero-shrines, present an integrated picture of the dynamics of provincial patronage and social self-representation. The physical associations among author and portrait, text and label, and sites and settings were all operative in the production and reception of this imagery. Together, the imagery of learnèd men, either as individuals or in groups, offers an intellectual road-map for provincial society in the later Roman world. There was a consistent artistic vocabulary and iconography of prestigious learning and learnèd personalities all over the Roman Empire, from the most sophisticated cities to the most remote provincial towns. Men (and women) in the provinces made it their personal and public business to show their guests and fellowcitizens the great, even civic, value of paideia, at a time and in places when its symbolic meaning and conventional references were becoming greater than its substance.

Dinner conversation seems very much the impetus behind an unusual mosaic from Merida in southern Spain (Figure 10).48 Seven Sages are seated in their chairs and arranged around the dining room of a mid fourth century villa. Practically life-size, they sit facing each other using various rhetorical gestures. Each is labeled by his name and by his city of origin; at the top are Thales of Miletus and Chilon of Lacedamon. At the other end of the room, we see Briseis being taken from Achilles and brought to Agamemnon. The Homeric scene from Book One of the Iliad acts as both a reminder of the centrality of Homer to Greek paideia, as seen in the mosaic in Pamphylia or in the decorations of the libraries at Athens or in Sagalassos. One scholar has recently proposed that the Homeric scene stands for the “Anger of Achilles” about which each of the Seven Sages had various moral theories.49 The scene would then provide various “talking points” for the guests who would mirror the discussions of their large-scale floor companions. The divides between mere decoration and sophisticated cultural landscapes, or between authentic debate and entertainment, appears to have been porous. The imagery presented in this essay projects the ideal of a mousikos aner (Man of the Muses) and of paideia, the world of Greek learning and culture, first emulated by Roman aristocrats of the late Republic and then adopted by local elites throughout the empire. Whether the local 44

Mango 1994, 118-121, no. 133 (a-f). Dunbabin 1986, 224-231; and Schefold 1997, 300-303 with illus. 46 The sophistication and visual literacy implicit in these cups finds its very bawdy parallel in the Ostia tavern scenes as explored by John Clarke in his article in this volume. 47 For references, see Dillon 2000, 34, note. 68. 48 Alvarez Martinez 1990, 69-79. 49 Olszewski 2000, 37-46. 45

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III. Death and Commemoration

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Imitations of Life: Style, Theme and a Sculptural Collection in the Isola Sacra Necropolis, Ostia Eve D’Ambra A social history of style in Roman art remains to be written. Much of the literature on the subject still revolves around the question of Greek models and their Roman reception or attempts to establish criteria for dating.1 Although some have seen style as complementary or even integral to subject matter, style is often described as a feature separable from the content of the work of art in the manner of decoration, a glossy coating that could be lifted off. To be fair, the absence of a coherent progression of styles over the course of the empire has allowed the impression of a Roman free-forall, a stylistic grab-bag. In the art of the imperial court, style is seen to carry political meaning, as in Augustus’s appropriation of the moral character of the Greek past through monuments in archaic and classical styles or in Hadrian’s classicism set forth as the high culture for a panhellenic empire.2 A private citizen’s choice of styles, however, was constrained by the cost of the artwork or his sophistication and aspirations, among other factors.3 The essays in this volume point to instances in which this art emulates the rarefied elite world, and to others in which the state’s triumphal displays have little purchase. It is appropriate, if not crucial, to ask questions about the style of works commissioned by modest patrons to see how their preferences were shaped by social conditions, their rank and role in their communities or, conversely, how the artworks mask the realities and even render them irrelevant to the project of self-representation. In the following, I offer a case study of two second-century (late Trajanic-Antonine periods) tombs from the Isola Sacra necropolis in Ostia with sculpture commemorating deceased women in radically divergent styles and themes. Given that the families who buried their dead in this necropolis have been identified with the lower social orders, their choice of commemorative sculpture suggests the range of models available and allows us to consider why some were more appealing or useful than others in honoring the dead and preserving their memory. One tomb also may offer an example of a sculpture collection consisting of select examples from the major stylistic phases of Greek art. Since the reception of Greek art and the appropriation of its forms by Roman artists long dominated the field and has been revived from different perspectives in recent studies, the installation of a Hellenic sculptural collection in an Isola Sacra tomb provides significant evidence for the social context of patronage and the principles of collecting. I begin with the assumption that style cannnot be isolated from the

work’s subject, but I emphasize style because of its generally-assumed role as an index of class or status. The Isola Sacra Necropolis was located between Ostia, the port city of Rome, and Portus, the imperial harbor originally built by Claudius and then renovated and expanded by Trajan to accommodate increased traffic and commerce.4 To reach the necropolis from Portus, one crossed the canal cut from the river to the sea. From Ostia, one crossed the Tiber river. The necropolis, closer to Portus than to Ostia, served the inhabitants of the imperial port.5 The tombs are brick-faced and barrelvaulted columbaria, literally dovecotes, so named for the many niches for urns. In the second and third centuries C.E., the tombs also included larger arcosolia or recesses for burials in their walls. Some of these were rather substantial structures with property widths ranging between ten and twenty feet and included enclosures for dining tombside.6 Others offered the minimum required for commemoration: burials in the ground marked with the necks of amphorae (to receive libations poured down to the dead) or those covered with roof tiles.7 It is striking to observe how scrupulously the citizens of the port commemorated their dead, especially for those for whom the cost of a tomb may have represented a formidable investment or even hardship. Isola Sacra has been described as a working-class cemetery, yet the terminology and conceptual models from modern industrialized societies are misleading when applied to this community.8 The social identity of the tombs’ inhabitants defies easy classification. Although Isola Sacra’s deceased are said to be from the lower orders because of the evidence of inscriptions and several tomb reliefs depicting humble occupations, the demographics of the port’s cemetery is far more complex.9 Greek names in the inscriptions indicate that the subjects had been slaves. It is thought that Greek names in the inscriptions indicate that the subjects had been slaves. The practice of naming slaves after their places of origin, such as Serapion (from Egypt) or Corinthius (from Corinth in Greece), or after desirable states of being, such as Felix (fortunate or happy), has 4

Calza 1940, 7-28. Purcell 1987, 25-41. 6 Calza 1940, 61-96; on the cost of tombs, see Duncan-Jones (1982, 127-33) for the range between one hundred to tens of thousands of sestertii, with the median cost in Italy being 10,000 sestertii. Eck 1996, 228-29. 7 Calza 1940, 80. 8 Bloch (1944, 215): this cemetery was used primarily by middle-class and lower middle-class people of Portus. Yet the decoration of some of the tombs confounds this notion or, at least, stretches the definition of lower middle-class. 9 Zimmer 1982, 6-12; D’Ambra 1988, 85-100. 5

1

Brendel 1979, 3-137; see also Gazda 2002, 1-24, on issues of style for the question of reproductions, that is, Roman copies of Greek works, a field of study in which greater consideration is given to matters of style. 2 Zanker 1988, 243-263; Elsner 1998, 170-178. 3 Bianchi Bandinelli (1967, 7-19) is the seminal text.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD helped to identify them.10 The acquisition of names, however, was not always telling. By the second century C.E. many inscriptions conspicuously lack indications of legal status (freed or freeborn) and, furthermore, the inscriptions from the Isola Sacra necropolis name many citizens who seem to have been freeborn, and not all of these were first-generation descendants of those who had been slaves. For the freed and freeborn who lived and worked together in urban neighborhoods, the distinction of legal status seemed not to have been a compelling factor in their identities. In fact, the era of the proud “selfmade” freedman under Augustus was replaced with one marked by even greater disparities in wealth and power across the social spectrum by the late first century C.E. and after.11 Municipal freedmen, however, were still prominent because of their wealth enabled them to serve in the priesthood of the Augustales and to act as benefactors to their cities.12 With an economy based on trade rather than on landed wealth, Ostia exhibited a greater degree of social mobility and openness to immigrants and foreigners. The officers of the Augustales, prominent in the societies of the port dominated by the trade guilds or collegia, even received the honors of public funerals in Ostia.13 The Augustales and officers of the collegia formed the local elite of the mercantile communities of Portus and Ostia. As these men were likely to have had patrons among families which had acquired equestrian and senatorial rank, we should think of the port’s society in terms of a series of interlocking relationships that cut between the categories of elite and non-elite citizens or groups of higher and lower status.14

social ill.17 Yet those laid to rest in Isola Sacra had accumulated enough income to afford fine tombs; even the more modest burials demonstrated that successful artisans and shopkeepers were proud of the livelihoods that allowed them to purchase the memorials which preserved their names for posterity.18 Furthermore, inscriptions of a freedmen of Nero and two freedmen of Domitian in Isola Sacra indicate that members of the emperor’s staff, his ex-slaves, were also buried here, and as citizens of a higher status and cachet (who supervised the public grain supply and handled cargoes for the imperial household in Rome), the imperial freedmen complicate the conventional view of Isola Sacra as a lowly burial ground for paupers and carpenters.19 The port’s tradesmen and professionals had a wider range of occupations and income than usually assumed: the cemetery’s inscriptions and several reliefs depicting scenes of work indicate that laborers, saleswomen with market stalls, artisans with workshops and staff, soldiers, centurions, and administrative clerks or bureaucrats were buried here.20 In a hierarchical society obsessed with minute gradations of status, social divisions among the entrepreneurs and shopkeepers must have been maintained. The port’s citizens were not monolithic in their aspirations and values, as the commemorative sculpture of the two tombs in question demonstrate. To dismiss them all as lower-class fails to recognize the diversity of their backgrounds and the richness of their cultures, along with the various levels of affluence and clout that they had acquired in their own communities.

A number of Isola Sacra patrons owned slaves and had dependent freedmen: the epitaphs carved in marble and placed over the tomb doors indicate how frequently the tomb dedicator discriminated among freedmen and – freedwomen, some of whom were allowed in the tomb upon their deaths and others who were excluded on purpose.15 Many tomb owners were, no doubt, freeborn men and women, and some had enslaved parents or grandparents. I make a point of this because freedmen often take on the character of a middle class, even though most freedmen lived barely above subsistence levels while far fewer owned slaves (with whom they may have worked in their shops) and amassed enough capital to put away for a fine tomb.16 Our picture of the wealth and power of the freedman is no doubt skewed by elite literary sources decrying upstart freedmen as a pervasive

This case study focuses on two depictions of women, one of whom is portrayed in her occupation of a midwife delivering a baby as represented in a simple terracotta relief on the tomb façade (Figure 1). The other is shown as a personification of health, Hygieia, in an elegant marble statue that combines a portrait head with a draped figure (Figure 2).21 The sculptural commemorations are best analyzed through a discussions of the funerary inscriptions, the tomb architecture, and then the styles and themes of the works themselves. The epitaph from the midwife’s tomb lacks any indication of legal status, as is to be expected: the inscription states that Scribonia Attice erected the tomb for herself and her husband, M. Ulpius Amerimnus, her mother, Scribonia Callityche and Diocles; she allows her freedmen and freedwomen and their descendants in her tomb except for two, who are

Tombs and Epitaphs

10

Treggiari 1969, 5-11 . Taylor 1961, 121-122; Weaver 1964, 315; Andreau (1993, 197) on the freedmen at Trimalchio’s dinner who make no attempt to hide their origins in slavery. 12 See Margaret Laird’s essay in this volume; also Zanker 1990, 339358. 13 Meiggs 1973, 217-24; D’Arms 1981, 133. 14 Meiggs 1973, 198-99, on the Egrilii and the distribution of their name in trade guilds; 200, on Cn. Sentius Felix as patron of trade guilds. 15 Infra n. 22. 16 Bodel 1984, 111 and 208; Andreau 1993, 175-98. 11

17 D’Arms 1981, 121-148; see also Andreau (1993, 195-6) against this view of a widespread elite reaction to rising freedmen – rather it is the obligations that the former slave owed his patron that was at the issue. 18 Calza 1940, 46, fig. 10, and 54, fig. 13. 19 Bloch 1944, 214. 20 Calza 1940, 263-84, 369-78; of the two reliefs depicting saleswomen with market stalls, however, one lacks a provenance and the other was found in an Antonine building on the via della Foce. 21 Matheson (1996,182-94) on representations of Roman women as goddesses.

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EVE D’AMBRA: IMITATIONS OF LIFE: STYLE, THEME AND A SCULPTURAL COLLECTION IN THE ISOLA SACRA

Figure 1. Relief of a Midwife. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia, n. 280

named.22 The Greek names, especially Attice, and the lack of affiliations (f. for filia or filius, daughter or son of a freeborn father) are standard, as are the provisions for freedmen and freedwomen to enter the tomb. Two of their dependents, Panaratus and Prosdocia, are specifically excluded, not an unusual prohibition. That they merited such punishment could suggest a close working relationship between freedmen and patron thathad been irrevocably broken (by a breach of trust?).23 The lack of ages at death or expressions of sentiments in the inscription also conforms to the genre.24

have long fallen off) gave the names of the mother – Munatia Helpis, the daughter Julia Procula, her son – T. Munatius Proculus, and C. Marcius De[metrius], a doctor (archiatros) who was Munatia Helpis’s second husband and, thus, probably Julia Procula’s stepfather. It is not clear who dedicated the tomb (although Munatia Helpis and C. Marcius De[metrius] may have done so, on the evidence of the bronze letters), but its history can be roughly sketched: Julia Procula buried her son (who died when he was six years old), and then Munatia Helpis interred Julia Procula; we don’t know when C. Marcius De[metrius], Munatia Helpis, or Julia Nymphidia, sister of Julia Procula (also attested by another inscription) entered the tomb. In comparison to the midwife’s tomb, the tomb of Julia Procula provides for an extended family (with nine inscriptions in all) whose relationships to one another can be drawn.26 The inscriptions show filiation, that is, relationships to freeborn fathers. The sculptural decoration of the tomb is extraordinary among the Isola Sacra tombs and points to the wealth of the tomb owners. Although some have attempted to identify Julia Procula

In the other tomb, inscriptions provide a cast of characters, all of whom were freeborn. The woman represented in the portrait statue, Julia Procula, is identified as the daughter of Ti. Julius Proculus on the statue base.25 An inscribed ash urn is also dedicated to Julia Procula, dead at the age of twenty-nine, by her mother, Munatia Helpis. Furthermore, a Greek bronze inscription at the tomb door (legible although the letters 22 Calza 1940, 367; Bloch 1944, 217; Thylander 1952, 162-163, cat. no.: A 222. 23 See Michele George’s essay in this volume. 24 Hopkins 1987, 113-126. 25 Calza (1940, 374-376) and Bloch (1944, 217-218) on the inscriptions from the tomb of Julia Procula; see also, Thylander 1952, 120-124, cat. nos.: A 152, A154, A155, A 156, A 157, A 158, A 159, A 160. Sacco 1984, no. 42, 61-3, no. 52, 71-3.

26 In fact, Herbert Bloch (1944, 218) created a preliminary family tree for them; Bloch noted other inscriptions in the tomb attesting to a T. Munatius Quir. . . as Julia Procula’s husband and father to her son (who also has an inscribed sarcophagus, still unpublished – see infra n. 96), and to a Julia Phronime, who may have been Julia Procula’s sister. Becatti (1946, 128) lists ten inscriptions.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD (although the only son attested is Julia Procula’s whose premature death dashed hopes for his career). On the other hand, some scholars have speculated that the family may have also had commercial interests in a brickworks enterprise.28 Scribonia Attice, on the other hand, attended women in labor and, furthermore, her huband was probably a surgeon whose profession is depicted on a matching relief from the tomb façade (Figure 3).29 The dual-career couple, in complementary fields no less, may reflect the needs of prominent households whose staffs included both slave doctors and midwives; perhaps the couple met while in service and married once they were freed.30 The taint of servitude marks the epitaph of the midwife: the last names or cognomina, Amerimnus and especially Attice, have eastern or Greek origins, and other inscriptions indicate that midwives tended to be freedwomen who started out as slaves.31 Yet the ethnic names are not unambiguous for the question of status: the bronze inscription mentioning Julia Procula and her family in Greek may allude to the intellectual profile of noted physicians and the bilingual culture of elite Romans; the status of doctors varied more widely than that of midwives from enslaved, empirically trained physicians to highly esteemed public figures with learnèd reputations such as Galen.32 In other words, the Greek language was the tongue of recent immigrants and, perhaps, of a significant percentage of Portus’s labor force, yet the expense of the bronze letters and their resemblance to official texts of an honorary character conferred prestige on C. Marcius De[metrius], Munatia Helpis, and Julia Procula.33 The architecture and contents of the two tombs clearly point to disparities in wealth. The midwife’s tomb (Figure 4) provides an example of a typical structure, although it is not situated alongside a file of tombs as in other parts of the cemetery (Figure 5, tomb no. 100 on the

Figure 2. Portrait Statue of Julia Procula. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Judith Barringer, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica ).

28 Raepsaet-Charlier (1987, 390-391, no. 455) on a Julia Procula, Domina figlinarum Viccianarum Tonneianarum, although it is not likely that this is the same Julia Procula of tomb no. 107 of the Isola Sacra Necropolis because the name is quite common, and there is nothing in particular to associate the Julia Procula of Isola Sacra with this other person; see also Herzog (1983, 77-92) on the condition of many freeeborn women in Ostia having freed parents; it cannot be determined if Julia Procula was a descendant of an imperial freedman although this is a possibility; the “Julius Proculus” who figures as a character in Petronius’s Satyricon (38.12-16) was a freedman. 29 Kampen 1981, 143, no. 16, fig. 59. 30 Kampen 1981, 69-72. 31 Solin (1982, v. 1, 570-571, 851-852) on Attice and Amerimnus; many of those who bear these cognomina are either slaves or freedmen or women; Ulpius may also suggest descent from an imperial freedman; French (1987, 69-84) cautions that the high number of freed midwives attested in funerary inscriptions should not lead us to conclude that the majority of midwives were freedwomen; rather, it only reflects commemorative practises, i.e., that freedwomen were more likely to erect inscriptions than enslaved or freeborn midwives. 32 Nutton 1993, 49-78; see also Nutton 1992, 15-58 on Galen and his role in the medical profession and society at large. Bloch (1944, 216): “only about 4% of the inscriptions are in Greek,” (from Isola Sacra). 33 See Margaret Laird’s essay in this volume.

as the sister of the consul of 109 C.E. or a freedwoman of this family, the epigraphical evidence is not conclusive. Julia Procula’s commemoration seems to conform to the pattern of women’s status and identity depending upon those of their male kin because C. Marcius De(metrius) was a physician in Portus.27 It is most likely that Julia Procula was commemorated by a statue of Hygieia, a figure of the healing arts, because of her stepfather’s profession, and we may also assume that his prominenceis reflected in the expense of the bronze letters on the very large plaque at the tomb door, along with the bust of Hippocrates erected there. The family may have been noted for their dedication to medicine, that is, the profession passed down from father to son 27

Kampen 1981, 131-3.

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Figure 3. Relief of a Surgeon. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Franc Palaia, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica).

Figure 4. Façade of Midwife's Tomb. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Franc Palaia, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica).

plan).34 Dating to the Hadrianic and Antonine periods, the modest tomb has a brick façade while the flanks and back wall are varied, with the brick carefully finished in alternating patterns and contrasting colors of reticulate masonry (that is, the bricks arranged as if they formed a net). The vaulted roof is no longer extant, along with the interior painted walls and mosaic pavements found in 34

other similar tombs, although the niches and arcosolia are visible. The façade is adorned with a marble inscriptional plaque above the door, as mentioned above, and flanked by the two terracotta reliefs representing the professions of the midwife and the surgeon. The Trajanic tomb of Julia Procula is no longer extant (it was excavated but then covered over in 1938). It was much larger than the midwife’s tomb; the differences in

Calza 1940, 367; Baldassare 1984, 140-149.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD sizes can be seen on the plan of the necropolis (Figure 5): compare Scribonia Attice’s tomb, no. 100, to that of Julia Procula, no. 107.35 It is the most distinguished of a complex that comprised tomb nos. 106, 108, and 110. The building history of the lot is not clear: tomb no. 110 came first with its huge open-air precinct which was included in tomb no. 106. The others, tombs nos. 107, 108, and 109, were built later into the original precinct walls of reticulate masonry of tomb no. 110 and doorswere opened in the walls. The grandeur of Julia Procula’s tomb is indicated by its lavish sculptural decoration that impresses in both its quantity and quality.

Figure 5. Plan of the Isola Sacra Necropolis. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: after G. Calza, La Necropoli, tav. III)

Commemorative Sculpture The terracotta relief of the midwife from Scribonia Attice’s tomb, usually exhibited in the Ostia Museum (Figure 1), measures 28 by 42 cm. and is not mouldmade; it also retains traces of red and blue paint.36 It depicts a partially nude woman in labor, gripping the handles of the chair, while an assistant steadies the patient from behind. The midwife, seated in front of her patient and reaching between her legs, stares out at the viewer, as if momentarily interrupted from the matter at hand or perhaps forced to avert her gaze in consideration of her patient’s modesty.37 The most striking aspect of the relief is its economy of expression with the figures locked in a pyramidal composition. It gives the stark appearance of unmediated reality, that is, of a moment frozen in time.38 Described as a literal image of a birth scene in the scholarship,39 the relief seems to stand outside of the traditions of classical art in that its subject and style are best characterized by what they lack: a mythological theme to ennoble the activity; any indication of an interior domestic setting; figures endowed with willowy proportions along with a clear articulation of muscles and limbs or of the contours of drapery; and individualized facial features to indicate portraits of the various figures. Rather than merely designating the relief as a realistic representation of a midwife at work because it does without the formal vocabulary of classical art, we ought to inquire if the style and the subject work together in a meaningful way at all. It is tempting to fault the artist’s competence and the patron’s taste (as if the classicizing art of the imperial court in the mid-second century were the only model), but since Scribonia Attice erected the relief on her tomb, we must also admit that it may very well have “spoken” to her and her peers.

35

Calza 1940, 373; Baldassare 1984, 140-149. Ostia, Museo Ostiense, inv. 5204; Calza 1940, 248-249; Kampen 1981, 69-72, fig. 58; Berczelly 1978, 58; Squarciapino 1956-58, 183184. 37 Soranus, Gyn. 2.6: it is not simply the modesty of the woman in labor but the prospect of her body contracting out of shame. Soranus’s text offers a unique commentary on the relief. 38 My analysis builds on that of Kampen 1981, 74. 39 Kampen 1981, 83. 36

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EVE D’AMBRA: IMITATIONS OF LIFE: STYLE, THEME AND A SCULPTURAL COLLECTION IN THE ISOLA SACRA First, some caution about terminology is in order. Realism does not quite fit because of the lack of description and detail in the scene.40 The only equipment that identifies the midwife’s professional role is the birthing chair, a low-backed seat with handles for the woman in labor to grip as she bears down and a hole in the middle of the seat for the delivery of the infant. Soranus, an Alexandrian physician who practiced in Rome and wrote a handbook on gynecology in the early second century, stipulates that a midwife should have such a chair; it must have been constructed of fairly lightweight materials (caning?) because she brought it with her to her patients’ homes.41 That the birthing chair was synonymous with well-attended deliveries is shown by its schematic representation in a Ptolemaic amulet worn by pregnant women.42 None of the other supplies mentioned in Soranus’s handbook, such as the olive oil, warm water, sea sponges, pieces of wool or bandages necessary for the delivery, are depicted. We may infer that the birthing chair merited representation due to its practical value in the delivery (in allowing the patient some comfort, control, and dignity) and, perhaps, to its iconic value as an index of the midwife’s investment in her profession: consider how we may be reassured by the costly and gleaming apparatus of hospitals or doctors’ offices.

throughout the empire who usually appealed to the higher cultural tradition of the physician as a man of letters in Greek dress.46 The midwife’s relief is also atypical. It departs from the other representations of birth scenes whose protagonists tend to be goddess-mothers delivering divine progeny. The genre is notably under-represented: there are only two such scenes, a terracotta statuette from Cyprus of the sixth century B.C.E. and a Pompeian ivory plaque, probably from the first century C.E.47 The birth attendants are mere staffage in these works. By contrast, the Ostian relief, the woman in labor merely provides the opportunity for the display of the midwife’s skill. The moment of the birth is not the beginning of a narrative (for the mother or the child) but, rather, the culminating procedure of the midwife’s profession. Furthermore, in its style the relief diverges from the standards of “plebeian” art as defined by Bianchi Bandinelli: hierarchic scale is reversed.48 The most important figure, the midwife, is in the lowest position to have better access while the assistant stands above the others. Also, the paratactic arrangement of figures, which often complements hierarchically structured representations, gives way to a composition that links the figures through gesture. The standing attendant braces the woman from behind while the midwife examines her from below. The midwife’s most important asset is her hands, and here it is the right hand that is hidden from the viewer as she prepares her patient for the delivery. Soranus wrote in his Gynecology that the midwife should have slim fingers with short nails and that her hands must be soft to the touch.49 The midwife’s touch conveys her care for her patients. Soranus is informative about the background and training of the midwife: the ideal midwife is not only trained in theory and therapy but also must be endowed with a robust constitution and a calm, steadfast personality to reassure patients in a crisis.50

The accompanying fragmented relief on the tomb façade represents a surgeon and emphasizes the tools of his trade in a huge case of sharpened surgical instruments, left open as if on display (Figure 3).43 The tools of the trade are also emblazoned on other reliefs from tombs of Isola Sacra: for example, the representation of a smith or toolmaker focuses on the oversized tools as emblems of the occupation.44 This emblematic quality, a preference for the inanimate object as symbol over the figure, seems to have commercial origins. The reliefs did not serve as shop signs but were made for the tombs. In the surgeon’s relief, the doctor tends to the patient’s leg, which is being cut or bled into a basin; the other half of the relief is devoted to the surgical instruments that dwarf the figures and even have engraved details on the handles. It is as if the scene is divided in half, with a prosaic scene of a medical procedure on the left and the menacing display of gigantic scalpels in the doctor’s surgical kit on the right (his technique may have been another matter, especially given the satirists’ equation of doctors and butchers!).45 Clearly the scene does not provide a realistic representation of a clinic; instead, the doctor’s services are greatly enhanced by the display of medical equipment. Scribonia Attice chose to depict her husband’s profession (or so we assume) in a manner that was typical of the commemorations of craftsmen of the imperial harbor-town, but not representative of doctors

Soranus also discusses other aspects of the midwife’s relationships with her patients: she must be discreet because of the intimate nature of her profession.51 That the midwife was privy to family secrets was evident in commonly-held beliefs. Midwives gave expert legal testimony, useful to husbands, on whether their wives were pregnant or not. Artemidorus in his Interpretation of Dreams, also written in the second century, states that 46

Kampen 1981, 71-2. Speteres (1970, 157) on the Cypriote terracotta; the Pompeian ivory is in the Museo Nazionale Archeologico, inv. 109905 (Holländer 1912, 270). 48 Supra n. 3. 49 Soranus Gyn. 1.4: “She must also keep her hands soft, abstaining from such woolworking as may make them hard, and she must acquire softeness by means of ointments if it is not present naturally.” 50 Soranus, Gyn. 1.4. 51 Soranus, Gyn. 1.4: “She will have a quiet disposition, for she will have to share many secrets of life. She must not be greedy for money, lest she give an abortive wickedly for payment; she will be free from superstition so as not to overlook salutory measures on account of a dream or omen or some customary rite or vulgar superstition.” 47

40 Kampen (1981, 74) on the heraldic quality of the relief with its “flattened and undetailed style.” 41 Soranus, Gyn. 2.5; also, see Gourevitch 1984, 169-176. 42 Bonner 1950, 92-93, p. D 145; Lloyd 1983, 177. 43 See supra n. 27; Calza 1940, 250-251, fig. 149. 44 D’Ambra 1988, 91-100. 45 Jackson 1988, 56-60.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD dreaming of a midwife indicates that secrets will be revealed because she searches for what is hidden.52 Implicit in this remark is a suspicion of midwives because of their perceived power over an act fraught with anxiety and danger. Charges of witchcraft against midwives were not uncommon when things went wrong.53 To avoid this, Soranus advises the midwife to ignore superstitions and, instead, to consult his text for the proper measures to be taken.54 He appears to have written for an audience of highly trained and sophisticated professionals who may have worked in consultation with physicians. It is tempting to place Scribonia Attice, the wife of a doctor, among this group, although we cannot know.

been identified as a portrait of Julia Procula in the guise of the personification of health or Salus.58 The Roman Salus is derived from a Greek model of the fourth century B.C.E. depicting Hygieia, the daughter of the divine healer Asklepios. The type was later represented in a noted Ostian work, the Hope Hygieia, a Hadrianic statue found in the remains of an Antonine structure.59 Hygieia usually is depicted with a snake, the symbol of healing, draped across her chest which she feeds from the patera (shallow dish) in her right hand.60 The statue of Julia Procula, however, differs from the prototype by omitting the snake and adding a pyxis (small jar) in the left hand. It may seem odd that the personification would have been depicted without her identifying attribute, although liberties were often taken with the canonical types of classical statuary that ennobled the memory of those depicted in the form of the gods. The hybrid form of mythological portraits, with its bodies of the gods and its heads of worldweary men or matrons, allowed for the creative adaptation of classical models.61 Why the pyxis replaced the snake is a matter of speculation; perhaps the jar’s association with the feminine domain of homemade remedies and cosmetics rendered the sculpture type familiar, more domestic? The omission of the snake may also have distanced the subject from the clinical practice of medicine.

The striking transparency and simplicity of the midwife’s relief, no better exhibited than in the frontal faces of all three figures turned to viewers as if posed for a snapshot, may, in fact, have been composed and calculated to create this effect. The style and composition of the relief make explicit various aspects of the profession: the importance of the honesty and good faith of the practitioner, especially in consideration of the intimacy of her care. Clearly the cost of the work and the skill of the artist also were factors in the commission of the relief, but I would not attribute all aspects to a lack of talent or awareness on the part of the artist or the patron. The only model for commemorating physicians, the type of the scholarphysician, was inappropriate for Scribonia Attice (although a second-third century female doctor was commemorated in this type in Metz).55 Some of the bluntness of expression and crudity of forms in the midwife’s relief may have been a by-product of the invention of a new type of commemoration, one unfortunately that failed to develop because few midwives were commemorated with figured scenes (simple lettered plaques for epitaphs were far more common).56 Its seemingly straightforward depiction of the work of giving birth and the indelicacy of the midwife’s responsibilities (however delicately performed) did not inspire imitation. I would argue that it was not the relief’s realism but its underlying ideological characterization of the profession that lacked wide appeal.

The statue of Julia Procula conforms closely to its models in its full-bodied figure straining the drapery at the hips and the breasts. The contrapposto pose with the weight on the right leg creates a curtain of finely-cut pleats below, the fabric catching the left flexed knee up in shallowly engraved tension folds (these rather more carefully done in the Hygieia Hope than in Julia Procula’s statue, which renders the vertical pleats in a rigid alignment). A mantle wrapped over the left shoulder and under the right arm covers the torso in thick wool pulled across in a series of catenary folds, each heavily undercut to suggest the bulk of the fabric and the depth of the pockets formed under the folds, also fashioned as twisted bunches of cloth. A distinct contrast is made between the thin material of the tunic, visible at the right shoulder where buttons fasten the sleeve, and the overgarment. Although cloaked in two garments, the full breasts and rounded hips are made plainly visible by the drapery tugging against them. In the conceit of the mythological portrait, the matronly body provides a model of good health that was synonymous with fertility for women of childbearing age and thus appropriate for Hygieia. Julia Procula, a mother dead at the age of twenty-nine, may not have been too young to aspire to such a physique. In Roman life years,

On the other hand, the portrait statue of Julia Procula lacks any indication of a profession as practiced (Figure 2). The marble statue in the Ostia Museum is 2.10 meters tall and represents a draped standing figure turned slightly to one side with the head lowered and one arm partially extended.57 Dated to the late Trajanic period through the portrait type and the hairstyle, the statue has 52

58

Artemidorus 3.32. Pliny, NH 28.20. 54 Supra n. 51. 55 Kampen 1981, 157, cat. no. 52, fig. 64. 56 French, supra n. 31. 57 Ostia, Museo Ostiense, inv. 61; Calza 1940, 221-225, figs. 121 and 122; Helbig 4, 3122 (H. von Heintze); Calza 1964, 65-66, no. 100, pl 59; Kruse 1975, 339-340; Wrede 1981, 97 and 255, cat. no. 162, pl. 2.2.

Wrede, infra n. 61. Ashmole 1927, 1-11; Strong 1928, 8, no. 4, pl. 9; Bieber 1977, 49, 168, and 170; it is also similar to the Kore Albani type, for which see Bieber (1977, 121 and 254, fig. 543). 60 The snake is associated with powers of healing and the chthonic deities because it revitalizes itself by shedding its skin and hibernating underground. 61 Wrede 1981, 75-78.

53

59

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EVE D’AMBRA: IMITATIONS OF LIFE: STYLE, THEME AND A SCULPTURAL COLLECTION IN THE ISOLA SACRA matronhood started after marriage and the birth of a child – but we are not to identify this body, a statue type after all, with her own.

face from its high forehead to the expanse between the nose and upper lip. The eyes are larger and more pronounced than those of other Trajanic female portraits, yet they are framed by lids carved as narrow bands in a hard-edged linear style typical of this period. The downcast pose of the head, turned slightly towards the right, inflects the portrait with modesty, a valuable asset for a cherished and mourned matron.

Statues of Hygieia were publicly displayed in Ostia, mostly in baths. One statue, now in Kassel, was paired with a statue of Asklepios in the Porta Marina Baths; a similar pair was found in the Forum Baths, and a Hygieia statue came from the Baths of the Sette Sapienti.62 The pairing of statues of Hygieia and Asklepios was commonplace, but in the tomb of Julia Procula the founder of the science of medicine, Hippocrates, is instead represented. The shift in the equation may underscore the intellectual aspects of the profession rather than the wisdom of the divine healer. The popularity of the father-and-daughter couple, however, as bath statuary reflects their roles in health and hygiene, concerns that helped Roman baths to become broad-based social institutions divorced from the elite education of the Greek gymnasium. The personification of Hygieia occasionally appeared without her father, as in a statue dedicated to Salus Caesaris Augusti erected by a town patron, M. Acilius Glabrio, before the Porta Romana in the earlymid first century C.E.63 The figure was also familiar from coins that linked the imperial women with Salus through their representation in her guise.64 Models for the personification were at hand when Munatia Helpis planned the commemoration of her daughter.

Such portraits usually sport contemporary coiffures – in fact, the overly done-up hair of some of the Venus statues, for example, is the most obvious sign that the works are the peculiar hybrids of the mythological portrait.66 The portrait statue of Julia Procula, however, combines both a fashionable hairstyle and headgear of the classical past. The Trajanic style of the hair arranged in tiers of comma-shaped locked stacked up over a central part is then covered by a headwrap or kekryphalos more commonly found veiling the heads of classical statuary than of Ostian wives.67 The headwrap shows traces of applications in metal or stucco, most likely for the attachment of decoration. As a covering for the coiffure thats binds the hair close to the head with a cloth, the headwrap maintains strict modesty by restricting the display of a luxurious coiffure. Yet the ornament on the kekryphalos would attract attention to the very section of exposed hair, rolled up over the ears, plaited at the bottom, and molded into lacquered ridges in the front, the rest of which is concealed from view. Like its Greek fifth- century model, the sculpture plays off the beauty of its subject with a sense of propriety that displaces physical attraction in favor of higher cultural objectives.68 Just as the soft curves of the figure are constrained by the tight drapery, so, too, are the tiers of hair veiled by the headwrap. The Roman adaptation of the sculptural type into a mythological portrait, however, adds a moral imperative to the project of displacement: the fleshy form demonstrates the vigor of the personification of health (that is, the body is not Julia Procula’s), and the coiffure, which has manipulated the hair into the shape of a diadem, may be a wig or hairpiece (that, in turn, protects the subject’s real hair from unwanted attention). Scholars have long remarked on the Roman penchant for breaking up classical models into idealized bodies and individualized heads, but the most interesting aspect is the doubled quality of allusion and illusion evoked by the complementary character of self-conscious disguise (the bodies) and masterful sleights of hand (the coiffures).69

The statue of the personification substitutes an individualized portrait head of Julia Procula for the idealized visage of Hygieia. Although it is questionable whether sculptors rendered their subjects “as they were,” rather than relying on portrait types that combined conventional features of matrons with other more distinct physiognomic traits, the face is defined by the severe expression of the thin-lipped mouth and strong squarish jaw. Trajanic portraits of women tend to emphasize marks of age and experience in faces that bear somber and grave expressions, and Julia Procula’s portrait conforms to this type, though the carving of the elastic skin of the cheeks and under the eyes indicates the matron’s still youthful vitality and cautions us that “middle-age” may have started rather earlier for Roman women (recall that Julia Procula was a mother of at least one child when she died at twenty-nine).65 In the profile view, the fullness of the lower face at the jaw and chin is apparent; there are also naso-labial lines (that is, those flaring from the nostrils toward the outer corners of the mouth) to demonstrate maturity. Despite damage, the high-bridged nose gives emphasis to the length of the

Neither the style nor the subject matter of the portrait can be described as plebeian or popular in the manner of the midwife’s relief. The statue of Julia Procula took the form of an imperial personification, a figure from the imagery of the state propaganda asserting that the gods

62 Meiggs (1973, 104, 404, no. 2) on the Kassel statue and those from the Forum Baths; Bieber (1977, figs. 173-175) for the Kassel statue; Calza 1977, 18-19, no. 15, pls. 10-12; Helbig 4, 3039 (Zanker); the statue from the Porta Romana and that from the Baths of the Sette Sapienti may date to the Tiberian or early imperial period, and others to the second century. 63 Meiggs1973, 432 and 508. 64 Kleiner and Matheson 1996, 59, cat. no. 8 (with literature); see also Dixon 1988, 77. 65 Matheson 2000, 125-138.

66

D’Ambra 2000, 101-114. Ashmole 1927, 1-11. 68 The kekryphalos indicates a woman’s hair net in the shape of a pouch, while the kredemnon, the headdress or veil similar to a mantilla, also refers metaphorically to the battlements of a city walls. 69 Supra n. 66. 67

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD were in league with the regime and offered their protection. The selection of Salus was determined by the prominence of the physician in the family. Julia Procula’s mother, Munatia Helpis, probably buried her and, most likely, commissioned the portrait. As a matron married for the second time to a well-established physician, she may have been all the more eager to pose as one who has arrived in society. The mythological portrait, by its very nature, masks the identity of the subject so depicted and characterizes her by the virtues of the personification. The statue may have been a sign of the family’s social pretensions, of their claims to be superior to their peers. In comparison with the midwife’s relief, the portrait statue seems formal, cold, and distant.

message is less pungent, and typical of epitaphs with the somber tones of uninterrupted darkness and the individual being at the mercy of fate, for better or worse. The latter is often offered as consolation for the bereaved. The observation about time and afterlife, however, may also be relevant for the tombs’ contents: the assortment of Greek and Roman sculpture compressed centuries of artistic achievements in its confines. The image of the famous fifth-century Greek doctor summons the highest ideals of the medical profession, its foundations in empirical evidence and its sanctioned practices.73 The Isola Sacra herm represents an authoritative example of the portrait type of the father of medicine with the physiognomic features of the wise practitioner. The ancient sources only mention his baldness (Soranus, Life of Hippocrates, 12), and the portraits capture the partly smooth dome, along with lines of age, a blocky head, and a short curly beard. It is thought that the Isola Sacra head and other portraits reflect an original of the late third century B.C.E. that derives from types of philosophers and intellectuals.74 The presence of the well-crafted herm at the tomb entrance may have signified that Marcius Demetrius upheld the Hippocratic ideals, honored the founder of the profession, and continued to be inspired by him. The pioneers were constantly present to practitioners, if not in the form of busts then in visions: Galen dreamed of Asclepius appearing before him.75 We cannot know if the doctor communed with Hippocrates in such a manner, but the image of the founding father of physicians at the tomb entrance suggests the prestige conferred by his reputation. Images of Hippocrates could become demanding and disruptive presences: Lucian tells of a physician who complained that his bronze statuette of Hippocrates went about his house at night making noises, turning over vials, and mixing up medicines when he was owed a sacrifice.76 The account informs us that some physicians kept statuettes of their patrons in their homes, as well as in their tombs, and both Lucian and Galen demonstrate that the founders of the profession mattered to physicians and intervened in their lives. The fine portrait herm in the tomb of Marcius Demetrius affirms the importance of his profession to his identity and standing in the community and forges a common bond between the doctor at Portus and his revered patron in the world of Hellenic science.

A Collector’s Aesthetic? The wealth of sculpture in Julia Procula’s tomb, however, allows us to consider the family’s level of taste and cultural awareness. The works of art, ranging from familiar Greek ideal sculpture to Roman portraits, seem to form a collection deposited in the tomb according to certain principles of selection. One might have expected the theme of the medical arts to dominate. Instead a sampling of various Greek styles and sculptural types defines the collection. The sculpture at the tomb entrance not only displayed the bronze inscription of C. Marcius De[metrius] but was guarded by a marble herm of Hippocrates inscribed with a characteristic maxim about the brevity of life and irrevocability of fate (Figures 6 and 7).70 The inscription is on a separate shaft that supported a base beneath the herm, and reads: “Short is life, but long is the time that we mortals spend beneath the earth after death. To all is given part in the divine fate, whatever it be.” The epitaph borrows from Hippocrates’ aphorism on the brevity of life but diverges from its broad philosophical drift: according to the founder of medicine, life is short, and art is long, opportunity fleeting, experience precarious, and judgement difficult.71 The Hippocratic maxim has been revised for the inscription’s sepulchral context, a modification that suits the occasion but still reveals the esteemed source in its opening phrase.72 Its 70 Calza (1940, 244-245, fig. 144-145) considers it a portrait of an unnamed philosopher, no doubt because the bust and herm were not found together and are of different marble (Ostia, Museum inv. 98, height of bust: 46 cm, height of bust and herm:176 cm); Calza 1964, 17, cat. no. 6, fig. 4; Becatti (1946, 121-41) , was the first to identify the portrait as Hippocrates. Richter (1965, 151-54, no. 1) on the identification with Hippocrates, which has been accepted in the literature. Sacco (1984, no. 52, 71-3) and Guarducci (1946, 143-49) give the full text of the inscription. The findspot of the herm cannot be corroborated, despite reports that it was found near the tomb entrance, because there were no daily records of the excavations kept in 1938. The different types of marble used for the bust, intermediary block, and herm are not unusual given the decorative treatment lavished on herms. David Petrain discussed the epitaph with me, and brought up many useful points of interpretations. 71 Richter, 1965,151-2. 72 Guarducci 1946, 144-5.

The statue of Julia Procula as Hygieia continues the medical motif within the tomb, but the other sculpture appears to be a hodge-podge of heads broken off of bodies or erotes missing extremities. Despite the link between Hippocrates and Hygieia, the remainder of the tomb’s sculpture bears no easily discernable thematic coherence. The works, however, are recognizable to scholars of classical sculpture as types that have come to represent major stylistic developments of Greek 73

Krug, 41-5. Richter 1965, 154. Jackson 1988, 152. 76 Lucian, Philopseudes 21 (trans. A.M. Harmon). 74 75

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Figures 6 and 7. Herm of Hippocrates. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Judith Barringer, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica ).

sculpture, e.g., a head of an archaic kore, a Hellenistic female head, and one of the Pergamene little barbarians of the Hellenistic period. If variety instead of consistency was a factor in the selection of the sculpture, could the range of works and styles form a small collection or, rather, a sampling of signature Greek works and styles? The assortment of one or two archaic and Hellenistic pieces each may have served to abbreviate the Greek artistic achievement in the eyes of C. Marcius De[metrius] and Munatia Helpis. An encyclopedic survey of Greek art was not called for nor could it have been assembled. The works evoke not only the past but the cultural capital of Rome with its claims to the Hellenic heritage.77 For the emperor and high-profile citizens, the possession and installation of Greek art in public and private places aimed to recreate Greek monuments in a Roman realm and make Rome the heir to Greek artistic and intellectual traditions. 78

For small private collectors like C. Marcius De[metrius] and Munatia Helpis, such imperial ambitions did not matter much. As she commemorated the passing members of her family, Munatia Helpis probably sought out artworks that offered consolation and dispelled the darkness of the tomb with their depictions of ideal types of physical perfection or spirited resilience. The kore and the Hellenistic works, although present only as heads, allude to beautiful bodies that resisted the natural course of decay and death. Other works, the erotes and the little barbarian, evoke the high energy and exertion demanded in play or war. Both the aloof beauty of the former and the action of the latter grace bodies that animated the tomb chamber with simulacra of life, whether stately composure or its opposite, the quick and violent responses of the divine child or the enemy combatant. That the works also had historical pedigrees in the distant past demonstrated that they would hold up to the long term of service required of them in the tomb. 79 This is

77

79 Elsner 2000, 163, on “the compression of time so that the past . . . becomes assimilated into the present.”

78

Zanker 1988, 101-66. Bergmann 1995, 79-120. Bounia 2004, 165.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD not to imply that Munatia Helpis researched her pieces nor calibrated their effects precisely. Still, the fragmented works provide a threadbare guide to few well-established types of archaic through Hellenistic sculpture. The requirements were broad enough so that many types of Greek sculpture would suffice from her modest assortment of varied works, perhaps even cast-off or reused pieces from other contexts (see below). The average collection may well have looked like this. Collecting became the target of satirists by the late first century C.E. Martial mocked collectors and connoisseurs as obsessive shoppers, either intent on bargains or on paying spectacular sums for notoriety rather than on any intrinsic value of the curios they collected.80 Furthermore, the poseurs assume that the prestigious objects they buy lend themselves a cachet, as if “quality” goods were attracted to “quality” people.81 The demand for antiquities and the mystique surrounding them allowed for fakes to be passed off as the genuine articles, which further drove up prices and interest in silver vessels, citrus-wood tables, and old marbles.82 Overheated markets, social snobbery, and rampant greed gave satirists their raw materials. No scholarly antiquarians appear in Martial’s hypercompetitive world because disinterested appreciation of the objects was not the point.83 As Alexandria Bounia observes in her discussion of Martial’s attitudes, it is “the ideal self that a person collects”.84 If the “ideal self” seems too rarefied for this context, then we may think of the power of luxurious objects to project an image of its owners. The notion of the ideal self is key: it wrote up the shopping list for Martial’s status-conscious consumers whose upbringing and education did not allow them to acquire good taste. It allowed them to redefine or refine themselves by the objects with which they surrounded themselves. In the satirists’ eyes, ignorant collectors accumulated too much without achieving the elegant lifestyles of the elite – in other words, they lacked discrimination and restraint. In the tomb of Julia Procula, however, we find a sampling of art works that suggest some taste, whether the awareness of a few major developments in the history of art and of complementary subjects in works of different stylistic periods. For the ideal self we can substitute ideal types of sculpture, of which the tomb is replete. The marble maidens, Hippocrates, and the erotes provide ideal selves in the form of statuary types for Julia Procula, Demetrius, and Julia Procula’s son. Not as surrogates nor role models per se, the heads and figures evoke the high standards of Greek art that graced the tomb and brightened the bleak eternity of the dead.

crown of which is decorated in relief in a vine scroll motif reminiscent of Augustan art (Figure 8). In the Augustan period, Greek archaic art often had a connotation of the sacred with its linear ornament and frontal rectilinear forms.85 The simplicity of its form also suggested purity and its early origins, features for which the style was valued. In the pristine beauty of the kore with its crimped waves and cubic features, did Munatia Helpis and Demetrius recognize the Greek archaic style seen through the filter of Augustan art? The conflation of Greek archaic style and Roman Augustan taste in the form of the kore’s head may have served to compress time, that is, to make the archaic work seem familiar given its service to the Augustan revival of the arts.86 It also may have lent an aura of sanctity to the tomb.

Figure 8. Head of a Kore. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Judith Barringer, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica).

A look at several of the works is in order to consider the works’ diverse historical origins and the possible relationships among them. The Greek archaic period is represented by a mask and the head of the kore, the 80

85

Epigrams 4.39; 8.81; 9.59. Epigram 3.62; Bourdieu 1984, 318-71. 82 Epigram 8.34. 83 Isager 1991, 144-212. 84 Bounia 2004, 229.

Calza 1940, 241-243, figs. 139 (kore, height: 28 cm); Calza, however, considered these works and the following (excluding the mask, the portrait of Domitian and the statue of Julia Procula) as non-sepulchral and thought they were deposited in the tomb at a later date. 86 Bounia 2004, 165; Elsner 2000, 163.

81

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EVE D’AMBRA: IMITATIONS OF LIFE: STYLE, THEME AND A SCULPTURAL COLLECTION IN THE ISOLA SACRA there is no reason to associate the Hellenistic heads with those placed on the two bases. Although it is tempting to pair the heads, the motif of the couple runs aground in the missed opportunity for a statue of Asklepios to be paired with Hygieia in the tomb (instead we have Hippocrates). As mentioned above, a thematic program cannot be established from this collection of fragments that, rather, contains a little of this and that with a broad but significant appeal – the didactic motives of museum exhibitions are remote from this seemingly haphazard arrangement. The heads are fine works of high quality. The female head depicts a youthful woman with straight hair parted in the middle. Guido Calza suggested that it represents Aphrodite, although the features are only partially idealized.90 Both the eyes, which are narrow with crisply-carved lids, and the nose, long and pointed at the tip, suggest that it is a portrait of the late fourth-third centuries B.C.E. rather than an image of the goddess. Portraits of Ptolemaic queens often make use of the features of Aphrodite and are difficult to identify.91 The male head lacks the typical inexpressive and vacant look of the female and, instead, possesses the marks of an interior life with its tousled locks of hair, large eyes, a knit brow, and slightly parted lips (Figure 9).92 This was a type used to represent prominent figures with its robust but sensitive masculinity. A band worn around the head resembles the diadem of a king but it may actually be the narrow, rolled fillet of a victorious athlete.93 The other ideal sculpture consists of two erotes, one a statuette of a standing figure, the other a small group with an eros seated on the back of a sea-lioness. As erotes are ubiquitous in both Roman funerary and domestic art, they carried a range of meanings involving their incessant energy, playfulness and status, and their status as small children who resist the effects of time: they never grow up. 94 With its undeveloped body, plump face and long locks, the statuette of a standing figure can be identified as an eros. Calza thought it could represent the genius of Julia Procula’s son who died at the age of six, but there is little to identify it as such, especially without its arms.95 The depiction of the eternal childhood of the eros may evoke the bittersweet pleasures of Munatius Proculus’s all-too-brief life in contrast. Without an opportunity to see the statuette, I will not speculate further on it; nor was I able to examine the small undecorated sarcophagus that contained the remains of the child, T. Munatius Proclus, as noted by a plaque in the tomb.96

Figure 9. Hellenistic Male Head. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Judith Barringer, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica ).

Theatrical masks frequently adorned tombs due to their Bacchic associations and to the notions of changing identity pertinent to the deceased whose image and reputation may have been altered with death.87 The archaic mask confronts the viewer with the wide staring eyes and open mouth revealing the tongue as if an apotropaic device, appropriate for the context.88 In one sense, the stark mask seems the opposite of the kore with its bejeweled and well-groomed loveliness. Yet both archaic faces appear like masks in comparison to the Roman portrait heads in the tomb, especially that of Julia Procula. The Hellenistic heads depict ideal types of beauty in a soigné manner. Since they represent a male and female, it is tempting to consider them as a couple. In fact, another statue base was found in the tomb inscribed with the Greek “kyrios” and “kyria,” (dominus and domina in Latin), titles that probably indicated dedications to the couple who erected the tomb, Munatia Helpis and C. Marcus De[metrius].89 It is, however, impossible to reconstruct the works that belonged to the bases, and

90

Calza 1940, 241-2, fig. 138. Stewart (1990, v. 2, fig. 645, third century B.C.E.) on a similar head, once on the art market in Munich. 92 Calza 1940, 242-3, figs. 140-1. 93 Mattusch 2005, 178, fig. 4.75 for a comparable head. 94 Stuveras 1969. I have benefited from conversations with Crispin Goulet about her forthcoming dissertation on portraits of children as erotes in funerary commemorations. 95 Calza (1940, 233, fig.132) identified as “Heros.” 96 Again, as noted by Bloch (1944, 217); I was not permitted to see the statuette, boxed in the magazzino, and the sarcophagus, owned by the Regione di Lazio, during recent visits to the Ostia Museum on April 29 and May 17, 2005. 91

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Beacham (1991, 183-89) on masks. Calza 1940, 232, fig. 131. 89 Sacco 1984, 76, no. 54; Guarducci (1946, 145-49) on the possibilities of interpretation, whether portrait heads of the couple, now missing, or heads of deities. 88

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Figure 10. Statuette of Eros on Lioness. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Judith Barringer, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica ).

The other eros in the statuary group is shown seated on the back of a sea-lioness, a feline whose hindquarters are transformed into a dolphin’s tail (Figure 10).97 The lioness’ head is turned back to the eros, whose upper body (although now without the head and arms) is oriented towards it. This unremarkable statuette is documented by a literary source: the elder Pliny states that Varro once owned a work by the sculptor Arcesilaus depicting a winged cupids playing with a lioness.98 Pliny’s main interest lay in the technique of carving a figural group from one block, and he described differences from the Ostian sculpture in that Arcesilaus’s statue had the cupids holding the lioness with cords, making it drink from a horn, etc. Because of its damaged state, it is not clear if the Ostian sculpture reflected this work in some manner, but the motif of the eros teasing a ferocious beast seems to have been a familiar type. The style of both works derives from the Hellenic origins of the eros with the emphasis on full, fleshy forms and soft modeling. The sculptural group is done rather more

crudely than the standing figure. Both works representing erotes may date to the later first or early second century. Other works in the tomb depart from the formats of ideal types or sentimental genre subjects. A head of one of the Pergamene little barbarians, a Gaul, displays the ethnic features and grooming of a foreigner filtered through a Hellenistic style: long locks of wavy hair, a bulging brow, a light beard and moustache, slightly parted lips, and eyes focused off to the side (Figure 11).99 Deep undercutting of the hair and at the corners of the eyes enhances the sense of animation or crisis. Andrew Stewart’s recent study has established the group of little barbarians as Roman works erected in a Roman garden, probably the Horti Sallustiani.100 Although based on the Hellenistic works erected on the Athenian Acropolis in the late third-early second centuries B.C.E., the Ostian Gaul most closely resembles another representation of a Gaul found in Gizeh and also dating to the late third century.101 The Gizeh head is no doubt a variant of the 99

Calza 1940, 235-6, figs. 133-4. Stewart 2004, 157-63. 101 Smith 1991, fig. 229, 1-2, in Cairo.

97

100

Calza 1940, 245-7, fig. 146. 98 Pliny, NH 36.41; see Bounia 2004, 190.

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Figure 11. Head of a Gaul. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Judith Barringer, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica).

Figure 12. Head of Domitian. Ostia, Museum. (Photo: Judith Barringer, with permission of the Soprintendenza Archeologica di Ostia Antica).

type better-known from the Athenian dedication, and it would have been transmitted to Rome and Ostia through intermediaries. Copies of the little barbarians reflect popular interest in representations of Rome’s enemies in the second century C.E. and on imperial notions of ethnic and cultural difference.102 Savage, wily, and drunken, the Gaul fights for his life in the context of the original statuary group.103 The wild-eyed Gaul provides an example of all that was despicable in the uncivilized peoples that Rome conquered but the figure also exhibits spirit and tenacity in the face of doom. Romanfascination with marginal, victimized, and depraved characters has been of interest recently, but this figure (as seen in the complete sculpture that it imitates) demonstrates brute force and the desire to fight to the finish.104 C. Marcius De[metrius]’s and Munatia Helpis’s attraction to the subject may have been attributed to a mixture of repulsion and admiration for the barbarian. That the work was well-known and erected in a prominent place may also have been the reason for its display in the tomb. Most of the other works were recognizable by type in the repertory of statuary with Hellenic ancestry appropriate for home, garden or tomb.

The final work is a marble portrait of the emperor Domitian (Figure 12).105 An imperial portrait in an Isola Sacra tomb is in itself a rare phenomenon, but the condition of the head also provokes comment. It was found broken in two pieces and also sheared flat in the back (note the seam where it was repaired for display in the Ostia museum).106 Others have assumed that the head had been salvaged after the destruction of images and inscriptions wrought by Domitian’s damnatio memoriae in 96 C.E. and placed in the tomb for safekeeping. 107 However, some time had passed between the damnatio and the tomb’s erection. Many portraits in these circumstances were often reworked into new portraits and others seemed to have escaped the scope of the damnatio entirely108. It is not clear why this portrait of Domitian would have entered the tomb of Julia Procula merely in order to preserve it in this condition.109 Given the presence of the fragmented works, the carved heads 105 Calza 1940, 228, fig. 125 (although not identified as Domitian); Helbig 4, 3065, (H. von Heintze); Calza 1964, 46-47, no. 64, pl. 37; Daltrop, Hausmann, and Wegner, 1966, 33, no. 104, pl. 24, a-b. 106 Calza 1967, v.5–46, no.64, fig. 37. 107 Varner (2000, 17) on Julia Procula as a partisan of Domitian who may have secured the portrait out of loyalty, and for the identification of the family of Julia Procula as prominent freedmen of the emperor. The epigraphic evidence, however, does not support this claim. Supra n. 28. 108 Flower (2000) 58-9. 109 See Flower (2000, 58-69) on the implications of such erasures, particularly of inscriptions but relevant to portraiture, on the cultural act of memory.

102

Stewart 2004, 160-77. Stewart (2004, 159-60, fig. 183) on the head of the Paris Gaul, which resembles that of the Ostia work, and on the Paris and Venice Gauls as being “ready for the death blow.” 104 See, for example, Barton, 2001, 248-53. 103

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD without bodies, in the tomb, could we not allow that the damaged imperial head appealed to non-partisans of Domitian? 110 Perhaps Marcius De[metrius] and Munatia Helpis acquired the broken imperial portrait in a sale of works, as cast-offs that were not thought worthwhile to repair or rework into another portrait?

their compact size allows them to be more easily absorbed into a new décor and transformed by it.118 The ancient sources are silent on the integrity of the fragment in antiquity, on whether collectors were quick to patch up or discard deteriorated or damaged works rather than treasure them. If we also assume that the head taken from a statue was less valuable than an entire marble figure, then it would have been a more affordable acquisition for the small collector. The portrait head of an emperor, especially of one who suffered the condemnation of his memory and the images that perpetuated it, presupposes political meanings or audiences. Rather than as an act of loyalty to the assassinated emperor, the presence of the imperial portrait broken asunder may have been placed in the tomb as an expression of repulsion for the allegedly tyrannical ruler and a visible reminder of his demise. As a political act, the empty statue niche or the erased name on the plaque in a public setting marked the absence of the emperor.119 In the darkened tomb, however, the announcement of his absence had a limited range and meaning.120 On the other hand, the head in the tomb may have had little to do with politics and, instead, merited inclusion because it was once a prestigious object of civic life. As an image invested with some of the aura or power of its subject, the portrait in pieces may also have worked like a talisman. The broken head of Domitian was disempowered as an official image and disqualified from public display. The marble was also cut away in the back so that it was flattened like a mask. Merely the husk of the original portrait, the fragments of the face witnessed the lost authority of its subject. The world of magic and the black arts, however, attributed certain powers to those who had succumbed to violent deaths.121 If mere mortals who had been murdered were thought to have influence from beyond the grave, could more be expected of assassinated emperors? According to those who believed in unseen forces emanating from inanimate objects, the smashed portrait of a murdered, disgraced emperor may have been able to attract malevolent spirits and overpower them. Though, Marcius Demetrius and Munatia Helpis need not have dabbled in magic to have been drawn to a portrait of a toppled emperor.

Since no day journals of Guido Calza’s 1938 excavation are extant, no detailed account of the state of the tomb and its contents, neither their arrangement nor condition, exists. The result is that it is impossible to speculate on damage that might have occurred after their original deposit in the tomb.111 Calza mentions in passing that most of the sculpture was found piled up opposite the tomb entrance as if deliberately hidden .112 There was certainly disturbance of the original disposition of the pieces, if not looting. The tomb was built out of an enclosure of an older tomb and made use of its walls: could this pattern of construction have been repeated so that the addition of a later tomb in the precinct, which shared parts of its structure, provoked the descendants to accumulate all the sculpture into one heap?113 Calza’s brief description calls to mind romantic views of ruined tombs with great heaps of busts, altars, and bric-à-brac strewn about in an artistic composition.114 Our meager knowledge of the art market and collecting, gleaned from ancient literary sources and some archaeological finds, suggests that the demand for antiquities outstripped the supply. 115 The production of fakes and forgeries may have served the market by satisfying unwary or cynical collectors. Fragments of ancient sculpture may also have been valued because their venerable age was immediately apparent in their condition.116 We assume that Roman workshops restored antique works, but we don’t know if the fragment was considered as an aesthetic object in itself and could stand on its own as an evocation of its complete state. For example, the head of the little barbarian is sheared off at the top and has two holes in it, as if once affixed to a support (the unstable pose of the Paris Gaul, kneeling with the other limbs thrust out in opposing directions, requires some bracing, although typically it was from below).117 For the postmodern consumer, fragments of ancient works possess a privileged position as pieces of the past all the more authentic for having survived the centuries. Their battered and weathered surfaces bear witness to their origins in another time and place, and

If the damaged imperial portrait and heads were placed in the tomb in the condition that they were found, then we have evidence for the appreciation of the fragment among Roman patrons and viewers, the members of the family who visited the tomb on feast days and anniversaries. Both Greek and Roman statuary had a secondary market, and reuse, with or without restoration, seems to have been worthwhile. One wonders whether Marcius Demetrius and Munatia Helpis deposited the fragments in the tomb

110 Dr.ssa Paola Germoni of the Soprintendenza di Ostia is also working on the sculpture from this tomb and considers that the selection of heads is significant. I thank her for sharing her ideas with me. 111 Conversation with Dr. Jean Shepherd of the Soprintendenza di Ostia, April 29, 2005. 112 Calza 1940, 373. 113 Calza 1940, 373. 114 For example, see Piranesi’s frontispiece, the ancient intersection of the via Appia and the via Ardeatina, in Le Antichità opera di GIambattista Piranesi architetto veneziano divisa in quattro tomi, 1756, Roma. 115 Perry 2005, 172-88. 116 Perry 2005, 172-88. 117 Inspection in museum on May 17, 2005.

118 Elsner (2000, 175) on this process in antiquity. I thank Maura Lafferty for bibliographic assistance on the reuse of ancient sculpture. 119 Flower 2000, 59. 120 Flower 2000, 58-69. 121 Gager 1992, 42-77. The spirits of those who had been killed were said to activate or enhance curse spells, the most numerous of which were aimed at charioteers or their teams in the circus.

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EVE D’AMBRA: IMITATIONS OF LIFE: STYLE, THEME AND A SCULPTURAL COLLECTION IN THE ISOLA SACRA tomb).127 Realism does not adequately describe the midwife’s relief because its economy of expression obscures its radical independence from traditions and its strategic focus on both the professional requirements (the birthing chair, the midwife’s posture) and ideological underpinnings (the midwife’s touch, suspicions of witchcraft) of the profession. It is striking that the deceased’s work motivated the décor of both tombs, although with very different results. High culture, both of the Greeks and of the imperial court, was not out of reach of Isola Sacra patrons with means such as Julia Procula and Munatia Helpis.128 We are accustomed to thinking of style as a marker of social differentiation and, clearly, the gap between the schematic rendering of the midwife’s relief and the elegant modeling of Julia Procula’s statue indicates diverse cultural identities, social aspirations, and financial resources, even within the confines of the same necropolis of the port. Munatia Helpis may have assumed a position of superiority by her demonstration of cultivated taste and knowing sophistication in the decoration of the tomb, which may have also alluded to the elegant décor of her home. Even so, the tomb’s deceptively artless allegiance to the fine arts masks a social contradiction: Munatia Helpis, C. Marcius De[metrius], and Julia Procula lack the signal honors or titles of elite patrons despite scholars’ attempts to identify or affiliate them with their social superiors in Rome.129 Yet they may have had patrons among the port’s elite with whom they identified and from whom they adapted aspects of a life style. 130 The possession of a collection of sculpture suggests attitudes or pretentions that may have distinguished Munatia Helpis’ family from their neighbors, although their background may not have been all that different from that of Scribonia Atiice. The style (and subjects) of the sculpture found within the tomb of Julia Procula demonstrates awareness of the aristocratic world of paideia and projects an identity that the tomb owners and occupants may not have achieved in their lives. Unlike the midwife’s relief with its forthright depiction of labor, the collection in the tomb of Julia Procula elevates the work of C. Marcius De[metrius] through depictions of illustrious forebears and elegant personifications. Their social distinction lies in turning labor into a science and an art.

but kept the better-preserved works of art in their home for the appreciation of their survivors and heirs.122 Statues appropriate to decorate their house were also suitable for the tomb, that is, the categories of domestic and funerary art were not rigid, works could be easily apportioned between the two abodes. Despite the excavator’s observation of a jumble of sculpture in the tomb, the works admit to some principles of organization and classification, that is, they may form a collection.123 Like many collections, works of art of different historical periods are exhibited together with little regard for chronology and context.124 Archaic, late Hellenistic and Roman works were juxtaposed within the tomb without narrating a progression of stylistic development but, instead, offered a sampling of styles and sculptural types noted for their excellence. Collectors also set goals by pursuing a finite set of objects, whether precious gems or marble of a certain type.125 Although it concentrates on heads, the tomb’s collection seems to have two purposes involving the commemoration of a career and the depiction of ideal sculptural types.126 Two works, the herm of Hippocrates and the statue of Julia Procula, honor the medical career of C. Marcius De[metrius], and the two erotes may commemorate Julia Procula’s son, T. Munatius Proculus. The other works represent ideal types evoking the high standards of nobility and authority in heads of figures that may represent either divinities or mortals: for example, the kore and the female head both resemble goddesses or young women in their prime, making it difficult to pin down their identities. The male head also partakes of the ideal with its regal appearance. The archaic mask and the Gaul, however, are rather different in their representation of apotropaic devices (as, perhaps, with the head of Domitian) or marginal types that also called to mind known works of art. In conclusion, the contents of the tomb of Julia Procula should make us pause when we consider the art of the Isola Sacra Necropolis. The style and quality of the works do not differ significantly from those of elite patrons in Rome. The subjects, especially those of the personification depicted in Julia Procula’s statue and of the herm of Hippocrates, also conform to patterns of collecting and Hellenized habits of cultivated viewing. The choice of objects in the collection is all the more extraordinary when compared to the reliefs of the midwife’s tomb with their limited range of reference and style starkly different from that of the imperial court in the mid-second century C.E. (given the comparative evidence from Isola Sacra, it is highly unlikely that the midwife’s tomb had originally contained any sculpture similar in quality or quantity to that of Julia Procula’s

127

See Kampen’s essay in this volume. On mythological sarcophagi commissioned by freedmen and other patrons of the lower orders, see D’Ambra (1988, 85-100 ) and Huskinson (1996, 82-3). That patrons of the lower social orders commissioned mythological sarcophagi of good quality has long been known. 129 See supra n. 28. 130 D’Arms (1981, 133) on the patrons of trade and business collegia at Ostia coming from the senatorial equestrian orders in Rome.

122

128

Becatti (1946, 132) on the tomb’s sculpture arranged like the images of ancestors in the atrium of the domus. 123 Stewart 1993, 151-66. See also Stirling 2005, 165-227. 124 Stewart 1993, 158. 125 Pliny, NH 37.11. 126 Mattusch (2005, 353-59) on the sculpture collection of the Villa dei Papiri in Herculaneum. I thank Bettina Bergmann for pointing this source out to me, along with others on collecting in antiquity.

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The Freedman’s Voice: The funerary Monument of Aurelius Hermia and Aurelia Philematio Michael Koortbojian What you are reading – take note! – I am actually saying: indeed, your voice is mine. (Anonymous Roman epitaph, recorded in a 10th-century MS) Such epitaphs remind us that for the Romans, the dead were not always, as Vergil has it, “silent shades.”1 The memorials to the dead might allow the departed not only a final, but in fact a continual, chance to speak. Often, the funerary inscriptions aspired not merely to represent the spoken word, now engraved on the stones, for perpetuity; more significantly, these monuments sought to encourage their texts’ enunciation – and by so doing, those words’ animation. On these memorials, even if their visual imagery lacked convincing vividness, the illusion of the dead’s voices, re-vivified by those of their beholders, might make a profound claim on the imagination. By means of these monuments, the deceased were able to engage those who survived them in a dialogue that might span the divide between living and dead.

This marble plaque once adorned a monument in the Via Nomentana,3 and it bears both the dead couple’s portraits as well as two verse inscriptions that allowed them to speak, poetically, as if from beyond the grave. Their relief, dated on various grounds to the second quarter of the first century B.C.E. – as we shall see – appears to precede the conventionalization of form that characterizes the late Republican and early Imperial funerary reliefs.4 While neither the presence of portraits nor a verse inscription is unique, what distinguishes this monument is how, together, both these aspects serve not only in the representation of long-codified Roman virtues, but in the display of what appears to be real sentiment and emotion. But, because appearances may be deceiving, careful, indeed discriminating, scrutiny is called for.

This essay is presented as a contribution to recent attempts to treat the monuments produced by and for a segment of society that was decidedly not elite. What follows is an extended discussion of a single example, yet one whose juxtaposition of text and image provides multiple opportunities for an assessment of what was possible when it came to the commissioning of monuments by and for Romans of less than exalted status. But in this instance, as I hope to show, beyond the significance that may be imputed to the monument’s visual and verbal imagery, the very fabric of the stone has something to say.

2 Lucius Aurelius Hermia, Aurelia Philematium. In customary fashion, both man and wife bear the same “family name,” or nomen gentilicium (Aurelius, Aurelia), which they would have assumed upon manumission, from one Lucius Aurelius, to whom they owed their citizenship and freedom; their original names, which reveal their Greek origins, were, as was the custom, retained as cognomina.5 His derived from the god Ερμ±ς (Hermes); hers, the diminutive of φίλημα, thus “a little kiss.” For Aurelia the monument employs, somewhat unusually, both the Greek form (in the titulus) and a Latinized form (in the epitaph), as if in recognition of the differing appeal made by each of these formal aspects.6 One shows the titulus which she presents that which she customarily employed in daily life, while the formality of the poetic epitaph demanded conformity with Latin usage. Neither his nor her name was uncommon; for the city of Rome alone the known examples of Philematio /ium number 45; those of Hermia, 37.7

1 The funerary relief of Aurelius Hermia and his wife Aurelia Philematio [Figure 1] provides our example.2 An earlier version of the present essay was given in a seminar at Johns Hopkins University, and I am grateful to my colleagues there for a spirited discussion and a host of constructive criticisms – especially to Matt Roller. I am similarly indebted to Susan Walker for a stimulating discussion of the relief, to Michael Crawford for his advice on matters epigraphical, and to my graduate students at the University of Toronto, in whose presence some of the ideas presented here were initially conceived. 1 Vergil, Aeneid 6.264. The epitaph is Anthologia Latina, 1.2: 721 = CE 721 (from the Codex Parisinus 4841): Quod legis, ecce loquor; vox tua nempe mea est; cf. CIL 14.356, the epitaph of a member of the seiviri augustales from Ostia: [ . . .] scire viator / [ . . .] tua nempe mea est. 2 Now, British Museum (58 x 100 cm.); see Smith 1892, 3: 288-9, cat. no. 2274. While the relief is much-published, to my knowledge, the only sustained discussions of it are to be found in Kähler 1960, 112-13, Hofter, in Kaiser Augustus und der verlorene Republik 1988, 338, and Chioffi 1999, 14-17, cat. no. 4.

3 So Alphonus Ciacconius (“reperta via antiqua Nomentana III Maii 1592 prope muros in vinea Martella”); cf. Cittadini 1601, fol. 29r, “ritrovata in un antico sepolcro ... l’anno 1593, nella Via Nomenta, hoggi detta di S. Agnese, da man sinistra un trar di pietra lungi dalle mura”; both cited at CIL 6: 9499. 4 Corpus: Kockel 1993. 5 Sandys 1927, 217-9; Gordon 1983, 27. 6 Massaro1992, 42 n.50. 7 Solin 1996, III: 568-9, 290-1.

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Figure 1. Funerary Monument of Aurelius Hermia and Aurelia Philematio. h 58 x w 100 cm; London, British Museum. (Photo: BM neg. 197717). 3

4

The relief has generally been dated to the second quarter of the first century B.C.E. on antiquarian, stylistic, and philological grounds. Aurelius wears the toga exigua, the short, tight-fitting garment of the late Republican citizen, which here serves to proclaim his acquisition of freedman status and his citizenship (civitas). Its form corresponds to the toga as it is depicted on several other monuments, variously dated between ca 100-50 B.C.E. (the so-called Arringatore in Florence, the so-called Ara of Domitius Ahenobarbus, and a round Hercules altar in the Villa Borghese).8 Moreover, the work’s essentially neo-Attic style suggests a similar time of manufacture.9 Finally, the language of the inscription has been interpreted as indicating an analogous date. The epitaphs present an unusual admixture of forms, most of which vanished from use after the Republican period, including the doubling of vowels (faato, ree, ee), and the use of dipthongs that was common before their generalized reduction to a simple long vowel (feida, conleibertus, veixsit).10

On the relief’s central recessed panel appear Aurelius and Aurelia. The couple’s actions, not their features,11 or their statuary forms,12 constituted the monument’s visual focus. Husband and wife are shown standing, full-length, facing one another as she, with lowered head, grasps his hand. This is not, as several scholars have claimed, 13 a representation of the ritual joining of right hands, the dextrarum iunctio, whose formulatic appearance differs significantly. While the wife does clearly clasp her husband’s right hand, she does so with both of hers,14 as she lifts it towards her face and appears to raise it to her lips; indeed, the image seems to visualize a pun on her name: “little kiss.”15 Her tender, submissive gesture, however, is to be understood as an index of her wifely virtue; erotic it is not, as the inscriptions – to which we shall turn our attention shortly – make plain. 11

Her head was believed to be modern by Smith 1892, 3: 288. Neither represents one of the codified types that were indended to signal an “adherence to agreed ideals” (so, Stewart 2003, 163-4); for perhaps the most striking case – women represented with the body of one of the “Herculanean women” – see Trimble 2000. 13 Felletti Maj 1977, 167; Frenz 1985, 13 (by implication); von HesbergTonn 1983, 112. For the dextrarum iunctio, see Reekmans 1958, 23-95; Saladino 1995, 31-52. 14 So Mommsen, in CIL, correctly (“mulier stans viri dextram utraque manu prehendit”). 15 Sanders 1991, 427-80, at 467, recognized the sense of the image (“la femme portant à ses lèvres, d’un geste gracieux, la main droite de son mari”). Not among the related monuments surveyed in Riti 1977. 12

8 Arringatore: Dohrn 1968; Fittschen 1970, 177-84; Bonfante 1975, 190-1; Goette 1990, 20-2. Ara of Domitius and the round Hercules altar: Weickert 1925, 48-61; Goethert 1931, 21-2; cf. Felleti-Maj 1977, 168. 9 Vessberg 1941, 181; Felletti-Maj 1977, 168. 10 Cf. the brief summary in Chioffi 1999, 16; for the phenomenon of “monophthongization,” where the dipthong was reduced to a single long vowel, see Allen 1978, 61.

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MICHAEL KOORTBOJIAN: THE FREEDMAN’S VOICE Despite the fact that Aurelius declares his profession, proudly, at the outset – he was a lanius, or butcher16 – he chose not to commemorate himself by visual reference to his occupation as did others. Several reliefs on which other lanii show themselves plying their trade are known. One in Dresden shows a lanius at work in his shop, wielding his cleaver, surrounded by racks of meat and accompanied by a woman presumed to be his wife.17 Another, fragmentary, imperial example from Ostia displays a similar scene, as does that of Quintus Valerius, freedman of Quintus, now in Bologna, and that of Tiberius IuliusVitalis, now in the Villa Albani.18 Save for the last, all of these men, like Aurelius Hermia, were clearly successful freedmen; presumably more successful, for example, than Marcus Thorius Auctus, freedman of Marcus, the lanius who was interred outside of Rome together with fifteen other men of varying professions.19 Funerary monuments were expensive; success provided the means necessary for the more exalted modes of commemoration.

5 Scholars have pointed out the correspondence between the full-length depiction of this couple and one of the common forms of the late Hellenistic grave stele, a correspondence that extends to the work’s evocative, emotive content as well.23 Several comparanda have been recognized: Vessberg saw a resemblance to an Etruscan sarcophagus in Palermo;24 Frenz, to an Augustan period relief at Manziana;25 Zanker, to one at the Casino Massimo in Rome26 and another in the Villa Albani.27 Despite the paucity of related late republican examples (“not even half a dozen” – Zanker), one must recognize, with Felletti Maj,28 that the relief constitutes evidence of the presence, at Rome, of neo-Attic workshops, workshops that introduced to the Roman middle classes a decidedly foreign compositional format. While this would be, in large part superseded by the development of the socalled “freedmen” reliefs29 – with their half-length figures and their allusion to a window-like frame – such fulllength, “Hellenistic” portrayals were not unknown in late republican Rome;30 they were, however, to become progessively “Romanized,” as the type survived into the second century.31

This having been said, one must recognize that, despite the possibility of financial success, to the Romans of the aristocratic class, the status of the lanii was lowly indeed. In a famous passage devoted to the distinction between the occupations suited to the dignity of a free citizen (qui liberales) and those properly vulgar (sordidi), Cicero quotes Terrence’s list of the “least respectable of trades, those which cater to sensual pleasures” – “Fishmongers, butchers, cooks, poulterers, and fishermen” – with approval.20

6 On their funerary monument, Aurelius and Aurelia speak poetically, in elegiac couplets, a widespread usage on the funerary monuments, a poetic form that consists of the alternation of a dctylic hexameter with a dactylic pentameter. The husband speaks first, in the text at the left, adjacent to his image, below the larger titulus that bears his name. He offers his testimony to his wife’s virtues in lieu of his own:

Beyond the self-evident claims that tombs might make for their patrons’ social status, these sculpted monuments with their quotidian imagery were intended to evoke an established set of Roman values. For a man, there was virtus in labor, hence a recognizable place in society; conversely, a wife stayed at home, and “worked wool” (domum servavit, lanam fecit). Their virtues were manifest in their fullfilment of their social roles.21 Yet on the relief of Aurelius and Aurelia, one recognizes a decision to address such qualitative aspects of life differently – as we shall see – by means of the representation of their conjugal bond and the emotions by which that bond was forged.22

I am Lucius Aurelius Hermia, freedman of Lucius, and a butcher from the Viminal Hill. This woman, chaste in body, who went before me on account of Fate, my one and only wife, [who] lovingly presided over my soul, she lived, faithful to a faithful husband [who had] equal devotion, since no selfishness ever kept her from her duty. 23 Zanker 1975, 267-315, at 310 n. 146; followed by M. Hofter, in Hofter1988, 338; cf. Kähler 1960, 113 (“Es ist die Stimmung spätgriechischer Grabsteine, die diesem Denkmal den Reiz verleiht”). 24 Vessberg 1941, 182-3; Felletti Maj 1977, 166, and cf. a similar Etruscan sarcophagus, now in Boston: see Brilliant 1963, 35 and Figure 1.56. 25 Frenz 1985, 13; see Giglioli 1941, 5-28, Figure 6. 26 Zanker 1975, 310 and Figure 48; Matz and von Duhn 1968, I: 155, no.3798. 27 Zanker 1975, 310 n. 146; see now, Bol and Allroggen-Bedel 1988-98, I: cat. no. 87 (G. Lahusen), with a Claudian date. 28 Felletti Maj 1977, 168. 29 See Kockel 1993. 30 Late republican examples: Goette 1990, cat. nos. Ab59 (Rome, Mus. Naz.), Augustan; Ab80 (Rome, Villa Doria Pamphili), Augustan; Kockel 1993, cat. no. A8 (Rome, Conservatori), “shortly before 50 BC”; B1 (Rome, Conservatori), ca. 50 BC. 31 Cf., e.g., the funerary altars of Passienia Gemella or Grania Faustina: see Kleiner 1987, nos. 91 (ca 120 AD) and 100 (ca 130 AD); see notes 39-40, below.

16

Brewster 1972, 27-29; Chioffi 1999, passim. See Zanker 1992, 339-58, at 352, Figure 235; Zimmer 1982, 94, no.2. Zimmer 1982, nos. 4, 1, 5, respectively; Zimmer’s catalogue includes 13 other examples. 19 ILS 7483 (in agro Pomptino ad viam Appiam reperta) = CIL 10: 6493 = CE 211 = Chioffi 1999, cat. no. 61, Figure 33. 20 Cicero, Offices. 1.151, citing Terence, Eunuchus. 2.26. In fact, the Lex Claudia of 218 had expressly forbidden senators, or their sons, from owning ships of a size suitable for trade, which was deemed omnis patribus indecorus: Livy 21.63.3. 21 The representation of Roman values on the funerary reliefs: see Zanker 1992, 352. Lanam fecit: ILLRP 973 = ILS 52 = CIL I: 1007 = CIL 6: 15346; see Loven 1998, 85-95. 22 Cf. the related discussion of Dixon 1991, 99-113. 17 18

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD At the right, his wife responds:

spouse – coniunx), it is possible that their union had preceded their freedom, and was thus merely one of contubernium (literally, “tent-companions”).36

While I was living I was called Aurelia Philematium. I was chaste, modest, with no knowledge of the ways of the world, and faithful to my husband. My husband was a freedman himself, from whom -- alas! -- I am now deprived. In fact and in truth, he was more like a father to me. When I was seven years old he took me on his lap, but at forty I was taken by death. He flourished from my steadfast devotion in all things.32

Aurelia’s early death, before that of the older Aurelius, required the acquisition of such a monument, and it is striking that in both inscriptions the emphasis is on her, and her fulfillment of her duties as a wife. Whatever the legal status of their bond, their epitaphs convey something more than the standard conventions of loss. Here sentiment seems to emerge, in large part due to its very understatement; we hear none of the customary exaggerations: sine discrimine, sine offensione, or sine querella (without discord, enmity, or a quarrel).37 In this, their epitaphs were unsual, but not unique. On another monument we hear of how “not even cruel death, who alone has the power to separate such lovers, was able to sever them for long”; from another epitaph we learn of Rubria Tertulla, who died aged twenty, and how she took solace in her misery, since “she was allowed to relinquish her life in the arms of her husband.”38 The epitaphs need not have been poetry of the first rank to register profound sentiment.

Both Aurelius and Aurelia had once been slaves in the same household, and both had been granted their freedom.33 He seems to have been her older “protector” from the time she was seven, and the texts imply a longstanding and profound relationship between an older man and a young girl,34 one that would culminate, with their presumably joint manumission (conliberti), a circumstance replicated in other epitaphs.35 While their manumission would have afforded them, subsequently, the right to an official Roman marriage, a matrimonium iustum (perhaps implicit in Aurelius’ reference to her as a 32

CIL 1: 1001 = CIL2: 1221 = CIL 6: 9499 = ILS 7472 = ILLRP 793:

7

L. AU]RELIUS • L • L H]ERMIA LA]NIUS • DE COLLE VIMINALE H]AEC • QUAE • ME • FAATO PRAECESSIT • CORPORE CASTO C]ONIUNXS • UNA • MEO PRAEDITA • AMANS ANIMO FI]DO • FIDA • VIRO • VEIXSI[T STUDIO • PARILI QUM N]ULLA • IN AVARITIE CESSIT • AB • OFFICIO A]URELIA • L • L

The work’s emotive content – they face each other, she raises his hand towards her lips, and, as we have seen, they speak of each other in the inscriptions with a distinctively personal fondness – this is not only striking, but seldom seen amid the surviving repertory; while there are comparanda, they are few. For example, on the sides of the funerary altar of Passienia Gemella and her sons, Lucius Passienius Doryphorus and Passienius Sabinus, the mother is shown embracing each of her boys, both of whom return the gesture.39 Similarly, on the altar of Grania Faustina, erected by her contubernalis, Granius Papias, her unnamed son clasps his arms around his mother while she wraps hers around his shoulder; the father rests one hand on the shoulder of the son, the other on the arm of Grania.40 Yet the clearest correspondence, in both text and image, is found on a late first-century AD altar dedicated to a woman named Pedana.41 The deceased sits on the edge of her husband’s kline, at his side, and he – in a display of affection not dissimilar to that shown by Aurelia – rests his arm upon her shoulder. The affective force of this emotive display is vouchsafed by the altar’s verse inscription:

AURELIA • L • L PHILEMATIO VIVA • PHILEMATIUM • SUM AURELIA • NOMINITATA CASTA • PUDENS • VOLGEI NESCIA • FEIDA • VIRO VIR • CONLEIBERTUS • FUIT EIDEM • QUO • CAREO EHEU REE • FUIT • EE • VERO • PLUS SUPERAQUE • PARENS SEPTEM • ME • NAATAM ANNORUM • GREMIO IPSE • RECEPIT • XXXX ANNOS • NATA • NECIS • POTI ILLE • MEO • OFFICIO Σ OR ADSISUO • FLOREBAT • AD O[MNIS

To ungrateful Venus I was making offerings as a suppliant, after you had lost your virginity, wife. Pale 36

Definitions and distinctions in Treggiari 1981, 42-69. Cf. Dixon 1991, 108; Treggiari 1991a, 247. 38 CLE 1971 (quos nec mors potuit seiungere longe / crudelis quae sola potest disiungere amantes) and 386 (et tantum miserae solacia linquit amanti / coniugis in manibus licuit quod reddere vitam), with Wolff 2000, 90; for CLE 386, cf. Treggiari 1991a, 232-3: “it is hard to deny that this is the language of romantic love.” 39 Kleiner 1987, no. 91 (ca. 120 AD). 40 Kleiner 1987, no. 100 (ca 130 AD). 41 Now in Port Sunlight; see Waywell 1982, 238-42 and 1986, 24-5.

The inscriptions are much cited; slightly differing translations appear in Treggiari 1996, 116-25, at 121; Gardner and Wiedemann 1991, pl. 8; Shelton 1988, nos. 48 and 57; Warmington 1993, IV: 22-25, no. 53. 33 I see no good reason to follow Fabre 1981, 341-2, who suggests, without real argument, that the monument “represented” Aurelius and Aurelia’s patron; cf. Chioffi 1999, 17 n. 50, who voices similar doubts about this suggestion. 34 A typical pattern: Weaver 1991, 166-90, at 175. 35 E.g., CLE 995 = CIL 6: 12652 = IG 14: 1892 = Courtney 1995, no. 180: “...Atimetus, to whom I was dear since I was a little girl.”

37

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MICHAEL KOORTBOJIAN: THE FREEDMAN’S VOICE Persephone envied our prayers and snatched you away in an untimely death. Donatus carved a last offering of a verse, an altar and a pleasing lyre, learned Pedana. Now love tortures me, but for you sad care has departed, and you lie buried in a sarcophagus of forgetfulness.42

Another husband declares that to give his dear wife’s virtues the praise they deserved, they should have been inscribed in gold;48 yet another, that the image of his “incomparable, sweetest, most devoted and chaste wife ... will always be golden to his eyes.”49 At times, a surviving wife might acknowledge a final, virtuous act of marital duty: what she had hoped her husband would do for her, she has had to do for him.50 Similarly, a husband might declare in his wife’s epitaph that he had hoped she would have outlived him, rather than to have left him alone.51

8 Both inscriptions on our monument testify to Aurelia’s virtues―virtues for which many women were celebrated and which were well-known. They were expressed succinctly in another Roman matron’s epitaph, the famous Laudatio Murdiae:

The monument of Aurelius and Aurelia celebrated a long marriage – they were together for 33 years. Such lengthy unions are often explicitly acknowledged on the monuments. The correlative of such claims – that this was their only marriage – is here made explicitly. In the intensely patriarchal society of the Romans, this was more often asserted in the case of the wife, who might have died before her husband or refused to remarry if she survived him;52 on the monuments, seldom do husbands make such claims.53

The praises awarded to all good women are usually simple, and identical; the natural good qualities they have at their command do not require much variety of expression. It is enough that all of them have shown the same behaviour, deserving good repute, and since it would be a toilsome undertaking to seek out new praises for a woman, since the course of her life has less variation, it is unavoidable to use commonplaces, lest any proper precept be omitted, and discredit the rest. My mother, dear above all else to me, deserved all the greater praise for being the match of all worthy women with respect to her modesty (modestia), her uprightness (probitas), her chastity (pudicitia), obedience (opsequio), skill at wool-working (lanificio), diligence (diligentia) and faithfulness (fides); she yielded to none when her virtue, industry and good judgement were put to the test....43

“There is no mention of children here”; so Treggiari observes, without further comment.54 Aurelius and Aurelia were, it would appear, orbi – “those who do not have children”55 – although this term is often linked to the bereavement of those who have been “robbed” of their children by Fate.56 Moreover, it was customary on funerary monuments to acknowledge a family, the existence of heirs, and – if there were a son – the fact that the father’s name would live on.57 Given Aurelia’s age – she had died at forty (when Aurelius was probably at least fifty) – one imagines that they had long since given up thoughts of progeny. Here again we glimpse the profound character of their union that the relief seems designed to evoke.

In like fashion, Aurelia is declared by her husband to possess several of these same fundamental virtues, those most often associated with married women: castitas, pudicitia, fides.44 Nothing deters her in the fulfillment of her duty (officium) to her husband.45 These same virtues, and a series of other, thoroughly conventional ones, are enumerated by many husbands, in many epitaphs;46 the public character of such declarations might, at times, be explicitly acknowledged:

48

CIL 11: 6551 = Henzen 1856, 7386: si meritis possem dare munera tantum / quanta tibi debentur praemia laudis / aureus hic titulus et littera nominis auro / condecorata legi debet....; Friedlander 1928, I: 265. 49 CIL 6: 11082: illa meis oculis aurea semper erit; Friedlander 1928, I: 265. 50 CIL 9: 1921 = Henzen 1856, 7388: C. Papirio C.[ Statia M. L [ viro suo [ quod fore morte mea speraram[ id cineri infelix constitui ac la[ cf. Friedlander 1928, I: 265. 51 CIL 6: 16753. 52 Dixon 1992, 89 and notes, with sources; Lattimore 1962, 277-8. For this Hadrian was to praise his mother-in-law, Matidia, in a speech given in her honor: see the text, translation, and commentary in Jones 2004, 266-73, where the language still conforms, grosso modo, to that of the epitaph for Aurelia Philematio. 53 Cf. CLE 1038; see Treggiari 1991a, 235; CIL 11: 1491 = ILS 8461: post ea uxore non habitur. 54 Treggiari 1996, 121; the article by Lambert 1982, 123-38, is of little use here. 55 Treggiari 1991a, 72, citing Gaius 2.286a and 2.111; cf., e.g., CIL 6: 21151 (orbatos miseros fidosque parentes), and next note. 56 Cf. CIL 6: 10969 (orbatusque parens); 6: 17110 (pater orbatu[s]). 57 Precisely such concerns are found in the letters of the younger Pliny that followed his young wife’s miscarriage: Epistulae 8.10 and 11; cf. Shelton 1990, esp. 172.

I have added these words so that those who read them may understand how deeply we loved one another. Paternus set this up to her who deserved it. 47

42

Trans. Waywell (supra n. 41). CIL 6: 10230 = ILS 8394; translation from Gardner and Wiedemann 1991, 133, no. 157. 44 Cf. Ovid, Tr. 5.5.45 (pudicitia, virtus, probitas, fides); see the discussion of Shelton 1990, 163-86; Treggiari 1991a, 232-43; Lindsay 2004, 88-97, at 91, for the customary virtues unchanged over time. 45 Cf. Ferrari 2002, 139-59, at 158, on the notion of an officium pietatis (following Hellegouarch’h). 46 See Lattimore 1962, 295-99, and Friedlander 1928, I: 261-7, both offering numerous examples; Dixon 1992, 83-90 (“Inside Roman Marriage: Feelings between Husband and Wife”). 47 CIL 6: 29580 = ILS 8450; translation from Gardner and Wiedemann 1991, 53, no. 55. 43

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD In its childlessness, Aurelius and Aurelia’s long, and avowedly faithful marriage stands in stark contrast to the unions of many upper class Romans. Other childless couples might have adopted.58 Or, unlike Aurelius, upper class husbands might have availed themselves of divorce,59 in order to remarry in an attempt to produce an heir – as had famously been the case with Spurius Carvilius Ruga in the later third century B.C.E. Carvilius, we are told, put away his wife because, owing to some physical defect, no children were born from her.... And it is reported that this Carvilius dearly loved the wife whom he divorced, and held her in a strong affection because of her character, but that above his devotion and his love he set his regard for the oath which the censors had compelled him to take, that he would marry a wife for the purpose of begetting children.60

monument made? When might Aurelia have articulated such sentiments? Who really speaks here? Often the funerary reliefs bear an inscription, such as vivus sibi fecit (“he [or she] had this made for him- [or her]self while still living”), that acknowledges the patron’s role in his or her own monument’s manufacture; conversely, an epitaph might record that the tomb was provided ex testamento.63 In the case of our relief, which lacks such explicit testimony, the two epitaphs provide the solution. Aurelia died first, at forty; unexpectedly, and probably suddenly, or so it would seem. Her phrase, to be “taken by death” (necis potior), is echoed on other monuments that record the demise of those struck down, as it were, before their time.64 In other instances we hear of a couple “separated by an evil hand” (a manu mala disparati), “a youth torn away from a weeping bride” (flebili sponsae iuvenemve raptum), of children “stolen” (ereptam) from their parents, and even the young Gaius Caesar “snatched away by the cruel fates” (crudelibus fatis ereptum).65

One might well suspect that Aurelius’ sentiments were more of a piece with those recorded by the author of the long (and anonymous) funerary inscription known conventionally as the Laudatio Turiae. In this epitaph, composed by a man who had been proscribed by the triumvirs, supported in his exile by his steadfast wife, and eventually pardoned by her courageous intervention on his behalf, we hear of the culmination of her virtue – her offer to divorce her husband so he might produce an heir: “When you despaired of your ability to bear children and grieved over my childlessness, you became anxious lest by retaining you in marriage I might lose all hope of having children and be distressed for that reason. So you proposed a divorce outright and offered to yield our house free to another woman’s fertility. Your intention was in fact that you yourself, relying on our well-known conformity of sentiment, would search out and provide for me a wife who was worthy and suitable for me, and you declared that you would regard future children as joint and as though your own....”61

One may thus deduce that our monument was only then, hurriedly commissioned, or perhaps merely hastily completed, by Aurelia’s husband. A similarly unexpected death of a wife was precisely the fate recorded on another funerary monument, that of Pompeius Catussa. The sudden demise of his spouse, Blandinia Martiola, at the age of eighteen, forced Pompeius to dedicate “this memorial which he had erected in his lifetime for himself and his wife, and which he consecrated while it was still under construction.”66 While it is likely that Aurelius and Aurelia’s sculpted relief had been previously acquired – as Pompeius Catussa’s had obviously been – it is clear from its text that our couple’s inscription had not yet been carved.67 As we have seen, husband and wife each appear as if to speak in their own voices – given the circumstances revealed by the texts, a patent fiction. Despite the use of the first person in each case (“I was called Aurelia Philematio...;” “I am Lucius Aurelius Hermia...”), one recognizes that, since she had already died, it was he who provided both parts of the dialogue, hers as well as his own.68

9 So a surviving husband spoke on behalf of his wife. By contrast, on many Roman funerary monuments, women were allowed speak, often eloquently, in their own voice.62 But in the case of our relief, doubts obtrude. When in the course of this couple’s marriage was this

58 Having adopted, foster parents might refuse to surrender the child when challenged at law, as in the famous case of Petronia Iusta, whose natural mother sued to reclaim her illegitimate daughter, only to be rebuffed by the foster parents; see the recent discussion of Lintott 2002, 555-65. 59 Yet compare, strikingly, the case of Petronius’ childless Trimalchio, who had also declined to divorce his wife (Satyricon 74.15-16); the parallel was noted by Shelton 1990, 180 n.55. 60 Aulus Gellius, Noctes Atticae 4.3.1; cf. 17.21.44; Dionysius of Hallicarnasus, Antiquitates Romanae 2.25.7, Plutarch, Quaestiones Romanae 14, Theseus-Romulus, 35.[6].3.4, Lycurgus-Numa, 25.[3].12.13, Valerius Maximus, Facta et Dicta 2.1.4. For divorces, cf., generally Treggiari 1991b, 31-46; Treggiari 1991a, 442 and 462; and, for detailed legal and historical discussion, Watson 1965, 38-50. 61 Laudatio Turiae, II.31; text and translation in Wistrand 1976, 27. 62 Cf. Wolff 2000, 14; Rawson 1986, 26; Lattimore 1962, 20.

63

E.g., CIL 6: 1828 = ILS 1887; CIL 6: 33846 = ILS 7660. This was more often the rhetoric employed for young girls, “snatched away just before marriage”; for the topos, see the materials assembled by Bodel 1995, 453-60, at 456 and n. 10; in general, Ter Vrugt-Lentz 1960. Cf. the epitaph of Pedana, above at n. 41. 65 CIL 6: 18817; Horace, Carmina, 4.2.2.1; ereptam: cf., e.g., CLE 222, 379, 383, 1349, 1537, 1544; Gaius: ILS 140, line 12. 66 CIL 13: 1983 = ILS 8158 = Shelton 1988, no. 56 (I give her translation). For some related instances, in the realm of sculptural commemorations, see Walker 1988, 547-54. 67 See Susini 1973, 34-7, on the customary completion of the sculptural decoration before the addition, and personalization, by means of the epitaph. 68 Cf. Shelton 1990, 178, who remarks generally, that “epitaphs are formulaic, and often tell us what the husbands who commissioned them wished were true, rather than what was actually true.” 64

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MICHAEL KOORTBOJIAN: THE FREEDMAN’S VOICE But who composed these verses? Was this butcher literate? Capable of composing even mediocre elegiacs? This would seem unlikely, given what knowledge we have of the education of Rome’s lower classes. He was, perhaps, able to read – but probably at a level beneath even the meager sophistication evident in this monument’s inscriptions. In this regard we might imagine him as similar to Petronius’ extravagant and wealthy Hermeros, who so evocatively defined himself with his dubious claim to literacy, sed lapidarias litteras scio – “but I know how to read inscriptions!”69 The formulaic language that comprised so much of Roman epigraphic culture, whether public or private, no doubt allowed the less-than-fully-educated the illusion of literacy, since those omnipresent formulae made possible the simple recognizability of so many inscribed monuments.70 Indeed, it is more probable that Aurelius’ abilities were modest, and that he availed himself of a professional scribe.71 The carved verses were presumably composed for him, perhaps on the basis of his own suggestions regarding their content.72 But, while the epitaphs’ sentiments were likely his own, to what degree we may assign the inscription’s particular poignancy to Aurelius himself – or, like its poetry, to the scribe – is impossible to judge.

the rest of the relief’s two side panels. This differing treatment of the three surfaces suggests the possibility that the slab once displayed a different pair of inscriptions that framed its sculpted central image, texts which had been chiseled off so that the slab might then be reused. But there is more. The inscribed texts have an interest for us beyond that of the sentiments expressed by their verses. It is a striking feature of this monument that both Aurelius and Aurelia’s names are carved at a larger size, and in more regularized fashion, than the rest of the epitaphs. It hardly seems likely that a professional ordinator laid out the text prior to its being inscribed,73 as scored guidelines for the lettering were apparently provided for only part of the texts, particularly the larger tituli and the initial lines of each of the inscriptions; rather, it would seem that the mason himself proceded in somewhat haphazard fashion. After the line praecessit corpore in the left-hand field (line 6), scratched guidelines disappear, and the inscribed verses, without such an aid, seem to veer upward to the right. While there is more than one reason to believe this panel was inscribed first (as we shall see), it would seem that the mason, in response to the problems encountered in aligning the left-hand text, made a greater effort in the case of that at the right, where inscribed guidelines are visible for about two-thirds of the lines.

10

The lettering itself is somewhat crude. That of the tituli is larger than that of the verses, done with greater care, and these lines give a slightly greater prominence to the subtle serifs that appear, intermittently, throughout the two texts. While it is clear that the mason made an attempt at both formality and regularity, it is equally evident that he was less than successful.

What of the monument itself, materially? The relief plaque is broken in two, roughly at the center, and there is a large hexagonal hole, most likely having to do with the slab’s subsequent reuse, that has been cut between the two figures’ heads on the central panel. There are substantial losses at the upper left, along the right edge as well, and at the base of the left-hand panel. In one spot, near the center of the left-hand panel (in line 8, at una), the lettering is carved over what must be ancient, preexisting damage to the stone. The fact that the plaque’s front surface is not truly flat, as it would be if it had been sawn and carefully dressed, might well be related to this. The two text panels – but not the narrow strips that form the upper and lower borders to the central scene, and which protrude more than the side panels – were worked with a small-toothed chisel; in fact, the upper and lower borders protrude above the surface of the the two large flanking fields. The pattern made by the chisel marks is somewhat disorganized and done with a coarser tool at the upper left, yet more carefully and methodically over

The verse lines, with one exception, are begun at the left margin of the two panels, their continuation indented on the line following, and where a verse required a third line, it is devoted to a singe word (casto, animo, eheu) which is centered.74 Despite this evident attention to the articulation of the individual verses, the mason has shown only slight care in the preparation for carving. Not only are the lines of text not straight, but he ran out of room at the right end of a number of them. On the right-hand panel, which has more lines of text, the mason was clearly concerned about spacing: letters are generally pressed more closely together than on the left panel (a potentially confusing practice salvaged by the use of interpuncts), and the lines packed closely together. He obviously realized he would run out of space at the bottom, and the sixth verse, beginning XXXX (Quadraginta), is added to the end of the previous line,

69 Petronius, Satyricon 58.7; see the discussion and bibliography in Koortbojian 1996, 210-33, at 219 and note 30. 70 See the comments on the populus’ recognition of names and titles in Alfőldy 1991, 289-324, at 314-5. 71 Similarly, Kähler 1960, 112 (“...einem der Verskunst Kundigen, einem Zeitgenossen etwa des Lukrez”) – surely, if only implicitly, an overestimation of the poet’s ability; on such “public scribes,” see Harris 1989, 265 and note; Horsfall 1991, 59-76, at 69. The employment of scribes is to be presumed in the case of those epitaphs that repeat, verbatim, the same metrical inscriptions (e.g., CIL 6: 19175, lines 2-5 = CIL 6: 17056. 72 Cf. the explicitly individuated content of CIL 6: 29580 = ILS 8450, cited above, n. 47.

73 For the ordinator‘s role, see Susini 1973; for the practice of painting the letters on the stone prior to carving them, see Oliver 1941, 80-1 (the bequest of Gaius Vibius Salutaris, at Ephesus, 104 AD). 74 For this last aspect, see the discussion of Panciera 1995, 319-42, at 333-5; Gordon and Gordon 1957, 151-6. Kähler 1960, 112, called attention to the central placement and emphatic position of the words casto and eheu.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD reused once the text had been laid out on the stone.78 We should imagine that this was given to the mason as an undifferentiated text – as was so often the case in antiquity79 – with both epitaphs inscribed on the wax tablets in a single column, with the continuation of each verse probably indented, exactly as the mason reproduced them, yet without a significant break, or sign80 to separate one epitaph from the other. If this was indeed the case, we may readily comprehend how and why the repetition of Aurelia’s name at bottom left and top right was produced in error: the mason has mistakenly run the two epitaphs together, carving the initial line of the second text at the end of the first.81 The evident failure to have attended to the meaning of the text being carved is of a piece with our assessment of the mason’s less-thanmethodical working habits and literacy; we should imagine that Aurelia’s name was then recarved atop the right-hand column once the error was recognized. As in the case of so many other mangled inscriptions, here too, an illiterate, or semi-literate, mason may be imagined as having simply copied his model, with neither comprehension nor forethought. And, if the AURELIA·L·L at the base of the left-hand panel was indeed subsequently recarved, we must imagine such a scenario – of carving without either reading or thinking – happening twice; a first mason made the mistake, and a second restored it after it was damaged.

and the letters become even smaller and squeezed. The OR at the end of potior was even inserted on the line below, separated from the rest of the following verse by what appears to be a Greek Σ. 11 The damage to the stone along the panel’s bottom edge, especially at the left, poses the most perplexing problem of interpretation.75 At the right, there is no sign of any loss, despite the fact that the text seems to lack a final pentameter;76 there is no sign of another (now lost) line of lettering along the lower edge, as the cramped spacing of the previous lines would lead us to suspect if such had once been present. In fact, as we have seen, the mason has compressed his text to fit into the existing space. At the left, however, the final line, [A]URELIA·L·L, is inscribed over a lower border previously damaged. Given the overall layout of the monument, with its roughly equal framing above and below the imagines, it seems unlikely that her cognomen (PHILEMATIO) originally appeared at the base of the left column.77 The greater prominence given to the serifs employed here, and the slightly differing form of the R, strongly argue for a different carving hand; the addition of Aurelia’s name, over the clearly visible damage to the slab’s edge, suggests that it was added at a later moment.

Yet we have good reason to believe that at least the first of our two hypothetical masons was not fully illiterate – which makes his presumed blunder all the more remarkable, and surely testifies to the largely “mechanical” process of such stonework. For the form and meter of Aurelia’s verse epitaph demanded that the line in which she is made to declare “but at forty I was taken by death” should have the number written out;82 in its poetic form, the verse would have appeared as, Quadraginta annos nata necis potior.

But when? And why? And was this part of the stone damaged, or was something else chiseled off before Aurelia’s name was inscribed? It is hard to imagine why a second mason, at a later date, would add Aurelia’s name at the bottom of the left column – unless it had already been there, had been damaged, and there was a desire to restore it. We should perhaps imagine that the damaged border was chiseled away (at a slight angle to the surface), and her name was recarved, replicating what had originally existed. But why would Aurelia’s name have originally appeared at the base of the left column? There is no good reason, epigraphically speaking, for her name to have been there – ever; it rightly belongs at the top of the right-hand column, above the text that figures her voice. Indeed, the “newly” carved [A]URELIA·L·L merely redoubles what follows; what is wanted is an explanation of why it should have done so.

The substitution was not uncommon, and other metrical inscriptions show such a use of numerals – obviously in 78 Cf. Harris 1989, 193-6 on such usage. For similar small wax tablets, see Kleiner and Matheson 1996, cat. nos. 98-99. Cf., however, the fragmentary papyrus sheet bearing a text written in large, carefully and elegantly delineated capitals illustrated in Keppie 1991, 12 and Figure 1. 79 Although this is usually merely a lack of word division, a related phenomenon: see Reynolds and Wilson 1974, 4; cf. West 1973, 149. 80 For an example of such signs, intended to direct the mason’s (or perhaps the ordinator’s) layout, see Courtney 1995, 401, on CLE 1552 = CIL 8: 212-3. 81 Texts run together: Susini 1973, 45, for similar examples. Wax tablets: regarding their size, Harris 1989, 194, merely notes an average number of words – roughly fifty – “but a text twice this length could be accommodated.” One of the small (13.2 cm high) tablets illustrated in Kleiner and Matheson 1996, no. 99, shows 14 lines of text; those of the Pompeian banker Iucundus were roughly the same size (ca 10-12 by 1215 cm): Andreau 1974, 14; those of the Sulpicii archive, found at Murecine, are similar: Camodeca 1999. From this evidence, it would seem that each of our inscriptions covered more than one side of a common tablet, and the fact that each text would run from one tablet to the next would seemingly have added to the mason’s confusion about where one ended and the other began. 82 So Buecheler ad CE 959; similarly, Mommsen ad CIL 1: 1011.

If we imagine that Aurelius commissioned his verses from a professional scribe, then it follows that the scribe would have surely produced a written text for the mason. This would have probably been inscribed on wax tablets, as were customarily employed, since these could then be 75

Cf. Chioffi 1991, 15 (“È incerto che manchi qualcosa in fine di b [column at right], ma è sicuramente incompleto il testo a [column at left]”; cf. further, Degrassi 1963, 2: 191 (no. 793), who is merely descriptive: in angulo inferiore sinistro et destro paulum imminuta. 76 Buecheler ad CE 959: in dextra pentamentrum periisse unum probabile est. 77 As Chioffi 1991, 15, suggests.

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MICHAEL KOORTBOJIAN: THE FREEDMAN’S VOICE order to save space – and in all these cases the procedure testifies to the masons’ comprehension and his ability to abbreviate when a lack of space demanded.83

wishes. Finally, in the clumsiness of the redoubled inscription of Aurelia’s name, we witness the vagaries of such a relatively modest commission, and perhaps the charm of its limitations – artistic, poetical, and intellectual. In sum, in both text and image, the relief offers a salutary lesson that concerns the expressive potential of even such highly codified and standardized monumental forms as the funerary reliefs. For this monument – its modesty notwithstanding – as it represented these distinct individuals and their sentiments has preserved for us something of those lives it was enlisted to commemorate.

But what of Aurelius’ comprehension? Given the unlikeliness of a Roman butcher’s fully functional literacy, need we imagine him to have recognized the mason’s error in “doubling” Aurelia’s name – and if so, in having been perturbed by the mistake? The surviving ancient monuments display many such errors, often without the slightest sign of an attempt to rectify them, which would have no doubt been both costly and unsightly.84 Moreover, for one who was probably just on the margins of literacy, it is hard to overestimate the signal value of his surely recognizable gentilicium.... repeated three times. As a tradesman, Aurelius is certain to have known the form of his own name, which was most probably inscribed on the tools of his profession, as were those of so many others. The varied series of the instrumentum domesticum – those many and varied things of everyday life that come to find themselves inscribed – presents numerous examples of objects with names inscribed as a means of indicating ownership: “Do not touch; I am not yours; I belong to Marcus” (CIL I,2.499, on a lamp); or, “I am from the workshop of Lucius Canuleius” (CIL I,2.2489, on a mold for clay paterae).85 For Aurelius, as for all other such workmen, recognition would have come with contiuous use; familiarity would have bred comprehension. *** Thus, as an example of the sort of Roman “selffashioning” that was available to their social class, the relief of Aurelius Hermia and Aurelia Philematio was, in its own particular way, both typical and unusual. As we have seen, this was the result of a confluence of factors that gave a distinctive shape and character to what were, ultimately, conventional formulae, both visual and verbal. The image of the couple, in its striking reconception of the dextrarum iunctio, transformed that visible staple of social symbolism into an evocative and personal vision of their union. Similarly, their epitaphs voiced familiar sentiments, but did so without the hyperbolic language that so often marks such monuments. Despite the fact that husband and wife appeared to speak in their own voices – something reinforced by the relief’s design, with its separated texts – we have recognized that Aurelius was surely responsible for the sentiments each epitaph records. Yet, in the precise verbal forms employed we have rightly suspected the skills of a professional scribe – although in this instance, one who was remarkably sensitive to what must have been his client’s professed 83

E. g., CE 428, 459, 1128; cf. 1305, with the numbers spelled out. Many such examples are adduced by Susini 1973, chapter VI (“Errors: Their Causes and Their Lessons”). 85 Cf. Harris 1989, 270, n. 475 and Harris 1995, 19-27, at 24. Shop signs provide a striking parallel: cf. the tufa relief from Pompei (VII, 15, Vicolo del Gallo) inscribed “Diogenes Structor,” and depicting the tools of his trade (see Ciarallo and De Carolis 1999, cat. no. 392). 84

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MICHAEL KOORTBOJIAN: THE FREEDMAN’S VOICE

IV. Ordinary Objects

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102

The Violent Domus: Cruelty, Gender, and Class in Roman Household Possessions Anthony Cutler At the start of a study of late Roman ivory carving written some ten years ago, I noted that in scholarship, as in agriculture, the shape and confines of a field are broadly determined by those who laid it out.1 The point in rehearsing this fairly obvious remark is that the observation holds true not only for a particular period or medium but applies fundamentally to the ways in which we approach the cultures that give rise to the objects with which we are concerned. A case in point – and the topic of this paper – is the treatment, or rather the neglect, visited upon themes of violence on Roman domestic artifacts. These are remarkable because they move to center stage what has been recognized as Winckelmann’s “intimations of an uncontrollable violence hovering at … [the] fringes” of classical art. 2 Chronologically persistent and geographically pervasive, such motifs have either been ignored or, when they are recorded, are subordinated to purely technical and/or aesthetic considerations,3 as if the choice of subject matter were irrelevant to an understanding of the society whose desires were answered by their representation.

It comes as no surprise when the theorist, later in his essay, turns to what Richard Brilliant has recognized as “Lessing’s covert polemic against the visual arts themselves.”5 Near the heart of this critique lies a distinction between craftsmanship and art: Painting, as an imitative skill, can express ugliness; painting as a fine art refuses to do so. As a skill, it may take all visible objects as its subjects; as an art, it restricts itself only to those visible objects which awaken our pleasure.6 Pleasure may derive from representations of ferocious beasts and corpses,7 but it is only in literature – as when Achilles kills “the malicious, snarling Thersites” (who was also lame, a quality that Lessing chooses not to mention) – that the “terrible” and the “horrible” can justly serve as foils to nobler imagery and the “disgusting is [set] in its proper place.”8

Such aestheticization, I shall argue, is a form of selective anesthesia. But far from being a recent development in scholarship, it is a bequest from the mid-eighteenth century when Lessing raised to the level of an ethical imperative the qualities that for Winckelmann were the supreme achievements of ancient art:

The distinction between genres is in any case unhelpful, given the mythological basis of many scenes of violence in Greek and Roman art. Of course, not all imagery of this sort had its origin in literature: the early Antonine wall paintings of marine fauna from Pietra Papa on the Tiber9 in which inter alia giant polyps, sea snakes and mollusks devour each other would seem to have no such basis and thus constitute monumental examples of gratuitous savagery. Along with huge series of gladiatorial and animal combats, they suggest an a priori fascination with violence. No less on many domestic utensils, including the comb that is the starting point of this essay, text-based brutality is clearly in evidence, a taste all the more alarming to a modern society in which the home is ideologically championed as a sanctum, a respite from the anfractuosities of the world.10

The general and distinguishing characteristic of the Greek masterpieces of painting and sculpture are, according to Herr Winckelmann, noble simplicity and quiet grandeur, both in posture and in expression. “As the depths of the sea always remain calm,” he says, “however much the surface may be agitated, so does the expression in the figures of the Greeks reveal a great and composed soul in the midst of passions … Laocoön suffers, but he suffers like the Philoctetes of Sophocles; his anguish pierces our very soul, but at the same time we wish that we were able to endure our suffering as this great man does.”4

A broad enquiry into the reasons why men and women, even those in Greco-Roman society, desire images of violence is beyond the confines of paper. Suffice it to say 5

Brilliant 2000, 58. Ibid., 126. 7 Ibid., 127. 8 Ibid., 134. 9 Sapelli 1998, 63-4, Figures 60-1. I am grateful to Douglas N. Dow for drawing my attention to this and other examples. While Porta Pietra seems to have been a public space, bestial conflicts were a commonplace of domestic decoration, as illustrated by the mosaic in the triclinium of the House of the Dionysiac Procession at Thysdrus (El Jem). See infra 110. 10 On the bourgeois invention of this concept, see Rybczinski 1987, and compare the more nuanced attitudes of imperial Rome, especially well treated by Y. Thébert in Veyne 1987. 6

1

Cutler 1993, 1, reprinted in Cutler 1998, study II. Potts 1994, 5. 3 Among typical examples one could cite the following comment on a Castorware cup from Colchester showing a hunter about to plunge his huge spear into the chest of a springing lion: “The potter’s facility with the slip-can is astonishing, his beast imbued with a sense of bounding energy and urgency.” See R. J. Charleston in Charleston 1968, 38, caption to Figure 90. Textual discussion of this object, 39, is limited to the observation that “British potters delighted in the rendering of hunting themes, a subject-matter wholly natural to them.” 4 Lessing 1766, trans. 1984, 8. 2

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD that I am in sympathy with the view of Elaine Scarry who, although not primarily concerned with the visual arts, argues that the consciousness of pain, although a universal human condition, is resistant to articulate expression. This state, she suggests, can be partially remedied by its objectification: thus Odysseus could ignore Philoktetes’s stinking wound until forced to confront it by the Greeks’ need for Herakles’ bow.11 The weapon that had been necessary for the exile’s survival on Lemnos is declared by divine (or at least heroic) authority to be indispensable for victory at Troy, and only there will Philoktetes be cured.12 The attribute of the bow, then, functions “at the external boundary of the body, it begins to externalize, objectify and make sharable what is originally an interior and unsharable experience.”13 This destiny is alluded to in Sophocles’s tragedy (which concludes before the capture of the city), but to Romans of the first and second century C.E., the outcome of the story was conveyed by Ovid.14 As we shall see, the Metamorphoses, too, offers the best explanation for the unusual juxtaposition of scenes on our ivory. Yet to treat this text merely as a “source” for the iconography would be to misunderstand the social dimensions of the relation between mythology and imagery. The interplay between these forms of discourse requires that, after the Portland comb has received due consideration, we go beyond it to other Roman domestic instruments in order to see what their violent content has to say when construed in terms of our modern analytical categories of class and gender.

Collection in South Africa and, with the exception of the Portland comb, were then acquired in 1980 by the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge whose keeper of Greek and Roman Antiquities, R. V. Nicholls, had showed them to me in June 1983 and was the first to tell me about the absent comb.17 Three years after studying the object in Portland, I was then asked by the Edwin H. Merrin Gallery, to whom Ms. Whatley had consigned it, to write an entry on it for a forthcoming catalogue. This volume never appeared; instead, many of my observations on the piece were published, without acknowledgment of their source, in a journalist’s account of the Merrin Collection.18 Perhaps inevitably, this summary report ignored the syntax between the image on the “front” of the comb (Figure 1), the Blinding of Polyphemus, and those on its reverse (Figure 2), a figure kneeling beside an altar attended by two women on the left and Meleager’s encounter with the Calydonian boar on the right. Before turning to this mythographic structure, however, the matter of the comb’s date must be taken up, for this is a key aspect of its relation to other objects with scenes of the violence that we are attempting to understand. Nicholls accepted the first-century C. E. origin assigned in the sale catalogue to the group of grave goods as a whole,19 assent that extended to the Portland comb which he had not examined. This could well be correct, although such a date would place it a good hundred years before the time when one of its scenes – the slaying of the Calydonian boar – was in its heyday on Roman sarcophagi.20 Comparison with such larger monuments is also germane in that our ivory shares with examples of the last quarter of the second century C. E. a

The Portland Comb I label the object in this way simply because it was in this city in Oregon in February 1985 that I first examined it. (Since its recent history is as tangled as its provenance is obscure, a few words about the historiography of the comb – including the cautionary tale for younger scholars implied below – would seem in order here). At that time it was in the collection of Melba Davis Whatley who had bought it from the dealer Mathias Komor in March 1982 as an Etruscan work of “400-to-350 B.C.”15 In fact, the piece had long since been published, with photographs, as part of a large set of Roman grave goods, including twenty-six ivory artifacts – seven other (undecorated) double combs, two pyxides, a mirror back, a spatulate knife, boxes with sliding lids, a tray, a writing tablet, what is probably a reading-stand, a variety of rods, knobs and other small pieces, and a pair of sandal soles (18.7 cm long) with holes at the toe and heel to accommodate bindings, as well as a silver two-handled aryballos, and an agate amphoriskos.16 All the ivories entered the Lester

examples from Roman Greece now in the British Museum, see Zahlhaas 1975, 530-1 and pls. XIV, XV. 17 I am grateful to Mr. Nicholls for many kindnesses and to his successor, Christopher Simon, for further correspondence concerning the ivories which were catalogued under the numbers GR 2-27.1980. The acquisition was recorded in the Annual Report of the Syndicate and of the Friends of the Fitzwilliam Museum Cambridge for the Year Ending 31 December 1980, 13. 18 R. Rieff, The New York Times, 16 October 1988, section 2, 38. Much more honorable treatment was accorded by D. Buitron and A. Oliver who had heard a paper on the comb that I delivered at the College Art Association meeting in 1991 at a session chaired by Elaine Gazda. (I am indebted to her for photographs made when the comb was exhibited at the Kelsey Museum of Archaeology). Since the CAA paper was handwritten I answered their request for it with the report that I had written for Merrin. These findings were then incorporated (with due acknowledgment) in an entry on the comb in Buitron et al. 1992, no. 12 (B. Cohen). Through this entry, awareness of the comb passed into LIMC 8, 1 (1997), s.v. Polyphemos I (O. Touchefeu-Meynier), 1051, no. 31. It is apparently also the object to which Brommer 1983, 64, alluded in passing but without further identification. The comb is now in the possession of Vivian Merrin. 19 See supra n. 16. There exists the possibility that the Portland comb was added to the group of grave goods, a practice not unknown in the market when an object lacks the indication of provenance sought by museums and collectors. 20 Koch 1975, who considers the majority of examples to date between ca. 150 and ca. 300. An early imperial date for the comb would similarly remove it from the violence especially patent on Hunting sarcophagi of the mid- to late 3rd-century. See, in particular, Andreae 1980, nos. 28, 126, 149.

11

Scarry 1985, 17. See the speech of Herakles, who appears as deus ex machina at the end of Sophocles’s Philoct., lines 1425-40. 13 Scarry 1985, 15-16. 14 Ovid, Metamorph. 9: 231-2; 13: 53-54, 334-6, 401-3. 15 Personal letter to the author dated 25 October 1984. 16 Palladion Antike Kunst (Basel), sale catalogue 1976, 100-02, lot 120. The objects are here said to come from an unlocalized grave datable in the early 1st century C.E. Many, including pairs of sandals, are represented on reliefs depicting women’s toilet articles. For two 12

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Figure 1. Ivory comb. Blinding of Polyphemus. 135 x 63 cm x .5 cm thick. New York, private collection. (Photo: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology, University of Michigan).

Figure 2. Ivory comb. Oeneus Sacrificing; Meleager and the Calydonian Boar. New York, private collection. (Photo: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology, University of Michigan).

simplification of both form and content: this recurs in the economical number of planes of relief and the elimination of background detail in the Meleager sarcophagus in the Galleria Doria (Figure 3),21 where the flattened threequarter stance given to the hero as he attacks the boar is again apparent. Yet in terms of technique – a business

obliquely related to that of “style” – marble sculpture may offer only a poor analogy to the way in which ivory is carved. (The latter, using different tools on material inherently possessed of more limited dimensions, is much closer to the craft of woodworking).22 Certainly the comb was produced by a craftsman well versed in the production of such objects: it takes a fair amount of skill

21 Koch 1975, 87-8, no. 8 and pls. 4.18-20, here assigned to c. 180-190 C. E.

22

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Cutler 1987, 443-4.

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Figure 3. Meleager, the Calydonian Boar and the Thestiades, short side of a sarcophagus. Rome, Galleria Doria-Pamphili (Photo: DAIRom).

limits of the material that he had at his disposal.24 Similar moldings of this sort occur on double-sided ivory plaques found as far afield as Eigelstein in Cologne (Figures 4, 5) and Pompeii,25 objects analogous to our comb in the display of both mythological subject matter and curved terminals which, on these latter instances, are almost

to carve figures across the grain, a step dictated not only by the natural shape of the tusk section but also by the need to prevent the loss of teeth when these were sawn.23 One of the more elegant touches employed by the carver was to decorate the cornices from which the teeth emerge with pellets or pearls, a motif that he could continue within the comb’s bowed ends. By this means the picture fields seem to be defined by ornament more than by the

24 The picture fields measure 3.1 cm h. (6.3 cm if the maximum size of the preserved teeth is counted); it is 13.5 cm wide. 25 Römer am Rhein. Ausstellung des Römisch-Germanisches Museums Köln (Cologne 1967), 319, no. 44. I am grateful to Hansgerd Hellenkemper for photographs and for permission to examine the plaques in his care. The fullest study of these fragmentary objects is Schneider 1990, 255-69, who assigns them to an “early imperial” date. The plaques from Pompeii are reproduced in Tardy 1977, 31; for an astute discussion of their iconography and relation to other works see Koortbojian 1995, 53-58.

23 See the discussion in Galloway and Newcombe 1981, esp. 76, 81. That the teeth were cut at an angle is indicated by the oblique striations on both faces of the object. These inevitably weakened the material which has broken and been repaired in many places (see, e.g., Figures 6, 7). For similar striations, fractures and restorations on a late antique double-sided comb in Brescia, see Volbach 1976, no. 88.

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Figure 4. Venus and the Infant Bacchus, plaque from a book stand. Cologne, Römisch-Germanisches Museum. (Photo: Museum).

Figure 5. Bacchus and Mercury, plaque from a book stand. Cologne, Römisch-Germanisches Museum. (Photo: Museum).

which it would be wound after reading.27 It is this affinity between content and function on these comparanda that allows us to understand the nexus between the decoration on, and use of, the Portland comb.

lyriform. Various suggestions – miniature wagon walls, portions of boxes, and even weaving equipment26 – have been offered as to the function of these fragments, but, given their form and literary content, none is as likely as that they are the end plates of reading stands, that is, the uprights through which passed one shaft bearing a papyrus scroll and the other the “take-up” rod on to

26

27 Cf. the stand illustrated in the sale catalogue (supra n. 16), 102 (q), here described as an “ungeklärten Gegenstand” (unidentified object) and photograph on 100. Wood 2001 investigates those from Pompeii and some comparanda but omits the Eigelstein plaques (Figures 4, 5).

H. Berke in Schneider 1990, 271-2.

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Figure 6. Detail of Figure 1: Ulysses and Polyphemus. New York, private collection. (Photo: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology, University of Michigan).

out a scroll, the content of their imagery reinforced the act of reading: their subject matter and the texts that they carried were associated, physically and cognitively, in the mechanism and decoration of the apparatus.

Direct and Indirect Allusion In contrast to the Portland comb, on which, as we shall see, the content of only one scene is open to discussion, the iconography of the Eigelstein plaques, and therefore the connection between their iconographical elements and the relation between their two sides, pose problems.28

Does the Portland comb allow this sort of heuristic approach? Were this so, one would have to demonstrate a direct relation between the end to which it was put and the unmistakable iconography of at least two of its scenes – significantly, perhaps, those that present scenes of violence. Unless one adduces Polyphemus’s earlier use of a rake on his hair,29 there is no overt connection between the full-length and most dramatic scene (and hence conventionally its “front” side) on our ivory and the act of combing. This Ovidian moment should warn us against pedantic efforts to link the depiction with Homer, from whose account the scene deviates in several respects: at Od. 9:399 the Cyclops is identified as oneeyed, whereas on the comb he has at least two (Figure 6);30 the huge stake held by Ulysses and his companions

Despite these difficulties, there can be no doubt of the gently erotic nature of the imagery and the presumption of some familiarity on the spectator’s part with the subject matter of Greco-Roman romance. If, as I suppose, the plaques were parts of a mechanical device for setting 28 As against the Venus Anadyomene proposed by Koortbojian 1995, 55 n. 18 on one of the Cologne plaques, I see the goddess at her toilet, attended by a winged genius holding a mirror at left and, to the right, a nymph who presents bunches of grapes to the infant Bacchus. This offering is matched on the left side of the relief by the offer of a cantharus to the reclining wine god and, to the right, another seated woman contemplating Mercury who is presented with his petasos by an amorino. The faces of the relief are likewise linked by flanking ithyphallic herms. For further discussion see Schneider 1990, 256-65, who is, however, more concerned with the sources than the meaning of the imagery. She assigns all the reliefs in question to the period between the last quarter of the 1st century B.C.E. and the first quarter of the 1st century C.E., with those in Cologne being perhaps a little later and issuing from the hand of a more experienced craftsman.

29

See infra 109-10. Polyphemus’s left eye is in evidence on the ivory; it is less clear whether there is a another in the middle of his forehead. I take it that the giant’s right hand rests by the side of his head rather than over a concealed right eye from which the Greeks have already extracted the

30

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ANTHONY CUTLER: THE VIOLENT DOMUS: CRUELTY, GENDER, AND CLASS IN ROMAN HOUSEHOLD POSSESSIONS far exceeds the “fathom-length” section cut by the hero from the olive tree that Polyphemus had felled (Od. 9: 321-30); this weapon is carried by Ulysses and two companions rather than the four specified in the text (Od. 9: 339). This last departure could be explained in terms of the natural limits of the comb’s material basis. But so long and so diverse is the history of the event’s depiction31 that there is little point in pursuing a linear relation, either retrospective or anticipative,32 between the scene on the comb and any single text or other visual representations.

cultural operation have yet to be considered, but of its enactment there can be no doubt: already within the confines of this paper we have encountered two instances: the relatively rare scene of the hero’s slaughter of the Thestiades following the death of the boar (Figure 3) and the representation, so far unique, of the event that launched a chain reaction of violence (Figure 1 left).34 The fact that the Sacrifice scene is unknown on the Meleager sarcophagi is matched by the differences between their many variations on the climax of the Hunt and the way it is depicted on the comb. The ivory carver reduced this and the Blinding scene to their essentials, simplifications that are not necessarily best explained as efforts at economy of either labor or material. By eliminating what is circumstantial if not extraneous to the myths, he emphasized the kinship, both formal and thematic, of the scenes. Obviously, the inordinately long weapon that Meleager uses on the boar echoes the already remarked size of the stake turned against the Cyclops. So, too, the hunter’s Knielauf stance – his lunge with bent knee – rehearses that of the assailants of Polyphemus. Far from a Pathosformel (emotive formula) it is little more than a diagram of action, a movement that dispassionately suggests the motion necessary to achieve its brutal purpose. But in the minds of those able to move beyond mere analogy, other synapses would occur. The burning brand about to be plunged into Polyphemus’ eye could evoke that which determined the fate of Meleager, the log snatched by his mother from the fire at his birth, hidden away, then burned by her when she learned of her brothers’ death at Meleager’s hands. In turn, the hero’s slaughter of the Calydonian beast might remind the comb’s beholder, who need not be its holder, that Ulysses would be recognized by the scar on his thigh inflicted by the tusk of a boar which, as a boy, he had hunted on Mount Parnassus, the scar which would eventually prove his identity to his father.35 The two faces of our object, then, allude, however indirectly, to each other.

On its face, the imagery on the back of the ivory offers no more reference to an act of personal grooming that does the front. The story of the Calydonian boar is, of course, related in the Iliad (9: 532-99) but so broadly and so lacking in the circumstantial detail presented by the comb that the account cannot be regarded as the “source” of its iconography. Still, the beginning of this narrative in the epic (9: 532-4) provides a clue to the identity of the scene that precedes the hunt: Phoenix tells how Oeneus, Meleager’s father, offended Artemis by overlooking her when he offered first fruits to the gods. These would appropriately be made to Demeter/Ceres who is shown with her daughter Kore/Persephone holding a phallus (Figure 2). Oeneus’s negligence is described as the proemium to the tragedy by Bakchylides (5: 93), Hyginus (Fab. 172) and in Apollodorus’ Bibliotheke (1.8.1-3) but, as in their versions of the Boar hunt, in terms so general that, like Homer, they can be discounted as immediate stimuli to the comb’s design.33 Rather than any specific textual catalyst, responsibility, at least for the Sacrifice scene, would seem to be due to the amplification and visualization of what, two decades ago, Richard Brilliant recognized as the “Heroic Epos” of Meleager. Such exploitation may be part of a larger movement in the first and second centuries C.E. of cashing in on Rome’s mythological capital. The motive forces behind this stake. Were this the case, one might argue that the comb shows the moment after the blinding, a scene found occasionally on Roman reliefs and in wall painting; see Fellmann 1972, 49. But the stance of the attackers’ legs and their single-minded attention to their target suggest that the stake has yet to be used. 31 In addition to Fellmann 1972, see C. Bulas in EAA 5 (1963): 383, s.v. Omeriche illustrazioni. One example: on the comb Ulysses is bearded, as in the mosaic at Piazza Armerina, where, however, the scene depicted is the wine offered to Polyphemus rather than his blinding. The ivory shows the depleted wine sack at the far left of the frieze (Figure 1) while the giant’s drinking vessel lies beside the rocks on which he sleeps. 32 Thus alluding to Oeneus’s progeny, Meleager, and perhaps the birth of Polydora to Meleager and Cleopatra, as proposed by Brilliant 1984, 146-8. The sale catalogue (n. 16 supra), 102 (q), proposes that the figure offering the sacrifice may be Orestes who, however, unlike Oeneus, is essentially irrelevant to the Boar narrative. The suggestion also fails to take account of the deliberate assimilation of the figure, in physiognomy, body type and clothing, to Meleager in the adjacent image. 33 For these and other “literary sources,” see LIMC 8, 1 (1997), 915-19: s.v. Oineus I (E. Stasinopoulou-Kakarouga). Philostratos’s remark (Imag. 1:28) that the boar bounds from a thicket, observed in the Portland comb, postdates both Ovid’s description of lush vegetation and the comb itself. On most reliefs the beast emerges from a cave. See LIMC 6, 1 (1992): 425-6, s.v. Meleagros (S. Woodford and I. Krauskopf).

Yet even so, none of these observations accounts for the presence of these iconographies on a comb or their role in a synergy of function and decoration. Not just a text but a context36 is furnished by a passage in the Metamorphoses where the nymph Galatea, loved by Polyphemus but herself in love with Acis (in a story recalled on a ceiling by Annibale Carracci and in music by Handel,37 if forgotten by most of us), rejects him on the grounds of his appearance. In the text, she mocks his attempt at selfimprovement by combing his hair with a rake and 34 Some scholars, ever wary of unica, may see the Sacrifice image as evidence of the inauthenticity of an object unrecorded before 1976. Because the scene fits logically into the heroic cycle and, at the same time, comports with a larger cultural pattern of the time that I am trying to engage, I interpret it as testimony to a diametrically opposite reading. 35 Od. 19: 361-4; 24: 330-2. 36 But cf. J. Culler’s caution that context is “just more text” (Culler 1988, xiv) and, more broadly, Bryson 1992. 37 On Annibale’s cycle in the Palazzo Farnese see C. Dempsey, Annibale Carracci. The Farnese Gallery, Rome (New York 1995), 60-3. Handel’s oratorio, Acis and Galatea, was first produced in 1720.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD reminds him of Telemus’s prophecy that Ulysses would put out the eye in the middle of his forehead.38 These scenes, moreover, are conjured up by Galatea while Scylla39 sits combing her hair.

literature and behavior into the history of Roman society without any pretense that in doing so we can or should ignore standards of our own time and place. In 1985, even while he labeled his chapter “A World Not Ours,” T. P. Wiseman demonstrated the cruelty of judicial punishments in the late Republican and Early Imperial era through an analysis of Catullus’ dreams of revenge against his enemies.42 Five years later, K. M. Coleman asked why four centuries of audiences in Rome and the provinces found it entertaining to watch men and women being slaughtered in their presence, answering her own question by suggesting that the excitement offered them “an escape from the boredom of their daily routines,” an outlet gladly provided by a state that could thus “channel people’s enthusiasm into an area … that could be tightly controlled” and thereby divert them from more dangerous expressions of dissatisfaction.43

The domestic mise-en-scène of this narration, as posited by Ovid, strips of its horror the gory story of the Cyclops’s mayhem and Ulysses’s revenge, converting it into something close in tenor to the romantic episodes depicted on the book-stands in Cologne (Figures 4, 5) and Naples. In this sublimation, the poet is followed by the ivory carver who deprives the scene of emotion: Polyphemus, asleep, exhibits no fearful anticipation, his aggressors no blood-lust. The craftsman treats the Hunt in the same way. Meleager’s face is as impassive as that of Oeneus at his devotions in the neighboring scene; his dog trots by his side instead of leaping at the boar. The only hint of Ovid’s huge catalogue of the beast’s savagery40 is the tusk, “as long as the Indian elephant’s,” that rises from its jaw. It is this suppression of violence – in Roman representation and modern scholarship – that constitutes our problem.

Although Coleman mentioned in passing representations of amphitheater scenes on mosaic floors, statuary, artifacts and “decorative objects of all kinds,” only the first of these has been subjected to an inquiry that does justice at once to the cruelty of much of this imagery and the intersection of the values exposed on these pavements with the socio-economic and religious concerns of their sponsors.44 Yet on the walls of private houses we find paintings that deliberately emphasize the blood-letting involved in animal conflict,45 motifs that by the first century C.E. had found their way onto jewelry worn about the body.46 If even the most brutal of hunting scenes can be explained away as allegorical or apotropaic in purpose – exegeses that are sometimes intrinsically reductionist – the same can hardly be maintained of the gladiatorial representations not only on Castorware47 but a large class of glass beakers such as one found in a stone sarcophagus with a male skeleton at Sopron in Hungary.48 As these vessels bear the names of the combatants depicted they are more likely to be mementoes of famous contests than philosophical metaphors. No motive beyond a fascination with the exotic, if not the sadistic, is necessary to account for the ethnic freak show on a glass bowl from Nîmes enameled with pygmies in combat with giant cranes.49

Violence and its Negation Paradoxically, that which strikes the modern viewer of the Portland comb is that which doesn’t strike him or her. By this clumsy antimony I refer, of course, to its apparent absence of violence and, consequently and implicitly, to the absence of any need for emotional response to it. The “coolness” of the scenes of blinding and spearing may be disconcerting to us. Whether this is so or not doesn’t help answer the historical question of how they were perceived in their own day and hardly contributes to a second, historiographical problem: why scholars, especially those concerned with the Greco-Roman art, generally allow no place for moral outrage in their scholarship. A pat answer to this second point would be that ethics are relative, that our feelings have no place in the consideration of other societies, or that, like Lessing, we should recognize the inherent inferiority of the imitative skills and prefer “higher” things, to art “which restricts itself only to those visible objects which awaken our pleasure.”41 I have already commented on the difficulty that this position raises, especially for those who work on mythological representation, an art predicated on mimesis.

Surely we should not expect the decoration of such smaller objects to display an ethos different from that 42

Wiseman 1985, 5-10. Coleman 1990, esp. 58, 59. I am grateful to G. P. R. Métraux for drawing my attention to this compelling inquiry. For an earlier investigation of the political role of rituals in the amphitheater see Hopkins 1983, esp. 29. 44 Brown 1992. The function of Meleager mosaics as sites of selfrepresentation on late antique floors is tellingly probed by Raeck 1997. 45 E.g., in the House of Lucretius Fronto: Schefold 1962, pls. 150.2, 151.1. 46 Thus, among many such images, a carnelian in Vienna showing a stag savaged by a lioness: Zwierlein-Diehl 1973, 162, no. 532 and pl. 89. 47 Charleston 1955, no. 65, here assigned to the late 2nd century C.E. See also supra n. 3. 48 Harden et al. 1987, no. 88, here said to be of the 2nd half of the 1st century C.E. 49 Rütti 1991, 130 and color pl. XXXVc.

But the historiography of the ancient world suggests a better answer: some of the most insightful recent work has consisted precisely in the reinsertion of Roman

43

38

Metamorph. 13: 764-73. One might remark parenthetically on this nymph’s own hair story and the way she cut from her father’s gray head “the brilliant purple lock on whose preservation rested the safety of the throne”: Metamorph. 8: 910, 78-80, 86-94. Minos, loved by Scylla and the figure to whom she gives the lock is, after all, part of the prehistory of the Calydonian boar: ibid. 8: 95-100, 270-1. 40 The account of its ravages and the sequence of traumas inflicted on it goes on for well over a hundred lines: Metamorph. 8: 284-424. 41 See supra 103 and n. 6. 39

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ANTHONY CUTLER: THE VIOLENT DOMUS: CRUELTY, GENDER, AND CLASS IN ROMAN HOUSEHOLD POSSESSIONS embodied in monumental art nor to contradict norms of Early Imperial behavior. The historian will rightly treat them alike, as manifestations of a single culture, and the psychologist as alternative modes of concretizing suffering.50 But no more than the art historian who declines to investigate (and sometimes even to recognize) the function of violent depictions, do these generalizing undertakings make clear the nature of such imagery? I know of no reason to suppose that objects of “minor art” gave rise to imitative behavior in the way that mosaic pavements, according to Ammianus Marcellinus (14.6.20), led women “with curled hair” to act out the characters in stage plays. And there is even less evidence to support the belief that delineations in any medium of brutality in the arena, like the munera (liturgical offerings) that they represented, served to protect civilization and the social order against barbarism and cruelty.51

indeed, the very opposite of this view has been a central tenet of my argument. Nor do I charge either the makers or users of artifacts that celebrate this aspect of human existence with possessing Ovid’s psychological insight when he understood that he or she who perceives a wound is ipso facto wounded.54 Rather, it seems important to recognize the compromises in this regard evident on the Portland comb and comparable objects. One reason why we remain unmoved by the violence they portray is suggested in the first sentence of this section. Unlike the “realistic” drawings of Géricault and the ontarget caricatures of George Grosz, none of the faces is contorted with pain or rage. The triad that assaults Polyphemus (Figure 1), and Meleager in his bloodlust, are emotionless figures, lacking in those affective qualities that arouse us in much post-classical art. For all their gruesome activity, they appear impassive, their minds seemingly as unexcited as the motions of their bodies. Winckelmann was right when he said that “the majority of [the] images of the gods are undisturbed by feelings.”55

If sanitizing or moralizing was not the purpose of the sort of artifact with which we are concerned, we are left with sublimation as a partial explanation for their production or at least for the ends that they served. To be helpful in our investigation, however, this notion requires qualification and supplementation. In its classic (and somewhat dereistic) formulation, sublimation is regarded as a defense mechanism by means of which unacceptable urges to violence are redirected as art, that is, turned to socially beneficial ends.52 Yet, as we have seen, little about Roman society in the first and second centuries C.E. suggests that urges of this sort were considered unacceptable; their toleration and very encouragement is au fond the problem upon which we are engaged. Less objectionable is the supposition that they can be channeled into art, although in turn this view raises the question of the term’s meaning in the period under review and the broader problem (not to be entered into here) of the relation of art to human happiness. All in all, belief that desires of this sort are easily converted into art teeters on the edge of both the aestheticism that I criticize in Lessing and the willed unwillingness of his successors to confront what is disagreeable. By regarding such a conversion as a mere counterweight to enable the beautiful to function in some supposèdly better way is, in fact, a notion that effectively suppresses the existence of the ugly.53

Through the Lenses of Class and Gender No more than a moment’s reflection, however, is required to see that Winckelmann’s picture of classical art is no absolute truth but one framed by his own situation. (He rose from teacher in a provincial German town to commissioner of antiquities at the papal court and adviser to an international coterie of aristocratic amateurs).56 In particular, the adoption of his view that Laocoön’s restraint in the face of suffering offered an emblem of self-control57 cannot be divorced from the Stoic component of gentlemanly thought in the era of the Enlightenment. Much in the same way, the Freudian hypothesis that a wholesome society turns swords into plowshares, and its appropriation by intellectuals in the middle of the twentieth century are inseparable from a culture that saw itself threatened by two World Wars and a host of other horrors. Despite, or perhaps because of, these, it is maintained, healthy individuals would deflect their “worse instincts” in constructive directions. These agenda, masquerading as analyses, are presented as universals, whereas to be useful to the historian, they require modification according to the period under consideration. The nature of domestic artifacts in early imperial Rome suggests that they, like earlier and later objects, were inflected by the social status and gender of their possessors.

I am not suggesting that Roman craftsmen, or those whom they served, suppressed the horrible in this way;

The opinion that, in antiquity articles created of “luxury” materials were exclusively possessions of the senatorial class and the very wealthy has its origins in Early Modern scholarship shaped by aristocratic patronage and remains

50

Scarry, as supra 104 and n. 13. 51 Wiedemann 1992. On the other hand, private houses could be protected by scenes of violence, if one may generalize on the basis of a 3rd-century mosaic on Kephallonia where the threshold is guarded by an apotropaic inscription and a (much-damaged) image of Phthonos (Envy) strangling himself and torn by wild beasts. See Dunbabin 1999, 277 and fig. 312. 52 Freud 1967. The reader in search of an explanation of violence, more insightful in that it is couched in terms of social rather than individual psychology, can turn to C. Hodges, War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning. New York: Public Affairs 1992. 53 Fuhrmann 1986.

54

et qui spectavit vulnera vulnus habet: Ars amat. 1: 166. Winckelmann 1764, 168, trans. Potts 1994, 164. Potts 1994, 11-17. 57 Brilliant 2000, 51-4. 55 56

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Figure 7. Detail of Figure 2: Meleager and the Calydonian Boar. New York, private collection. (Photo: Kelsey Museum of Archaeology, University of Michigan).

an uninvestigated topic. But the notion that marble sarcophagi58 and, at least in Late Antiquity, silver plate59 were reserved to the upper orders has properly been called in question. Earlier we find a small-town magistrate, the owner of silver bowls, ladles, strainers and so on celebrating his chattels in a tomb painting at Pompeii.60 This “middle class” display of potorium argentum is expanded by Petronius who provides a contemporary description of the life style of Trimalchio, the freedman whose peas are shelled in a pan of solid silver (28-8), his olives offered in a “rare Corinthian bronze bowl” flanked by silver dishes stamped with their weight and his name (31.9-10), and about his person wears a gold bracelet and an ivory circlet with a shiny metal plate.61 True to the ethos under scrutiny in this paper, this parvenu’s cups showed the fights of Hermeros and Petraites, famous gladiators of his time (52.1-3). One can infer that while different ranks had differential access to relatively costly materials, this does not mean that

silver, ivory and the like were denied to all but the elite. Nowhere in Roman sumptuary law were liberti and auxiliarii prohibited from their possession. Indeed, there is no a priori reason to distinguish male or female members of these groups from the rest of the population. Particularly where ivory is concerned both literature and archaeology undercut the argument for such segregation. Horace (Sat. 2:6.103) refers to couches inlaid with ivory, Martial (Ep. 14.5, 14.12, 14.14, 14.77, 14.78) points gentle fun at the passion for writing tablets, medicine boxes and even a bird cage in this material, and Juvenal (Sat. 11:123-27) at the ultimate status symbol, a table with ivory legs. While few in proportion to the mass of utilitarian pieces in worked bone found at the workshop on the Palatine, the number of bits of elephant tusk uncovered there attests to the size of the Roman market for ivory accessories.62 Even if the object itself is of Indian origin, as has been argued, the double-sided ivory comb, depicting a naked woman adorned with gems and playing a musical instrument, that turned up in the excavations at Gorsium (Pannonia)63 suggests the breadth of the taste for gewgaws of this sort. We do not know

58 Koortbojian 1985, 13-15 and, esp. for Meleager scenes on the lid of a sarcophagus of a freedman and his wife, D’Ambra 1990, 89-90, 94-5, and Figure 6. 59 Cameron 1992. 60 D’Arms 1999, 311-2 and Figure 9. 61 Petronius Satyricon reliquiae, edited by K. Müller, 4th ed. Stuttgart and Leipzig: Teubner, 32.4: armilla aurea cultum et eboreo circulo lamina splendente connexo.

62

St. Clair 2003. Biró 1985, found in a context datable to the last third of the 1st or 2nd century C.E. I am not aware of the comb’s present whereabouts.

63

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ANTHONY CUTLER: THE VIOLENT DOMUS: CRUELTY, GENDER, AND CLASS IN ROMAN HOUSEHOLD POSSESSIONS what the owner made of its decoration. Yet while it can be fitted only with difficulty into a world in which the purchase of an elaborate sarcophagus was “a conscious expression of middle-class striving to emulate the cultivated taste and material signs of affluence associated with the Roman aristocracy,”64 it seems likely that combs that displayed more traditional, Greco-Roman subject matter played their part in a system in which literary awareness – though perhaps only indirectly related to the ideal of paideia – “cemented the bond between the verbal and the visual” and “readily recognizable forms facilitated the myths’ identification.”65 The narrative and formal simplifications that we have remarked on the Portland comb could only aid in this process.

“one who neatly arranges his curly hair [and] always smells of balsam and cinnamon”.71 Certainly by the Antonine era, when fashion dictated full beards and longer hair,72 combs would have come in useful. The presumption that concern with how one looked was, at any time in the early empire, the preserve only of women – a premise that manages to patronize both genders simultaneously – can, then, be discarded, along with the simplistic equation between men and brutality. It may indeed be the case that the Portland comb was truly part of the grave goods with which it was associated at auction.73 That these items formed the toilet set of a woman is made likely by their resemblance to the grooming implements depicted on stone reliefs74 and strengthened further by the already noted small size of the sandal soles said to have been found with it. Even if the Portland comb were never part of the set in the Fitzwilliam Museum it is, like the best myths, a story close to being true. In this case the violence of its imagery cannot be regarded as of concern to men alone; like the “pornographic” scenes found on gems, lamps, pottery and other household appurtenances, it belonged not “to a male sympotic provenance” but to the integrated world of the Roman domus.75 The relation between sex and violence in this environment may be more than a matter of analogy. While Frye (apparently accepted by Brilliant) saw the representation of Actaeon’s hunt as “normally an image of the masculine erotic, a movement of pursuit and linear thrust,”76 this delicate circumlocution finds no less fitting embodiment on the comb where the composition of both the Polyphemus and Meleager scenes is determined by horizontal motion.

The context in which the Indian goddess (?) was found at Gorsium does not allow us to infer the sex of the comb’s owner. One can imagine a male ogling the bejeweled nude, but it could be equally well a figure that served as a model for (or compliment to?) a female possessor.66 Where this sort of object is concerned, the Portland comb brings to the fore the problem of the user’s gender, especially insofar as this has bearing on the object’s iconography. Modern sentiment or sexist legend might suggest that its intrinsic violence befits an object made for a man, or at least one that appeals to him,67 a reading which, by excluding the possibility of female ownership, might be supported by the absence from the Hunt scene (Figures 2, 7) of Atalanta, regularly depicted as the first to wound the boar and therefore the figure to whom Meleager elsewhere awards the spoils of the chase.68 More has been written about the gendered role of mirrors than of combs, with the former sometimes described as “intended exclusively for female use.”69 In fact, the situation is more complicated. Tertullian, in his onslaught on female vanity, speaks of men, never women, as those who keep looking at themselves in a mirror.70 Already in the first century the male urge to cosmetic self-fashioning was mocked by Martial who describes the bellus homo as

But an approach of this sort is vitiated by both its formalist emphasis and essentialist tenor. Above all it errs in failing to recognize the social dimensions of both sexuality and brutality, to grasp that these forces can operate in the same field whether this is as large and popular as the amphitheater or as small and as personal as a cosmetic utensil. Indeed, it could well be argued that the decoration of our comb speaks to domestic appropriation of the sort of cruelty on display in the public arena. Instead of being negated, as proposed in sublimation theory, the desire for violence is brought, nicely wrapped in allusion, into the realm of private adornment. For an individual to whom literary high culture was closed or socially irrelevant – someone other, then, than the person who delighted in his or her papyrusroll winder – familiarity with the myths of Ulysses and Meleager could be gained through oral and visual images, representations that could take the form of public

64

Koortbojian 1995, 14. Ibid., 11. 66 cf. the marvelous image in Apuleius, Metamorph. 11:19 where women attending the procession of Isis hold ivory combs and mirrors and mime the dressing and adornment of the goddess’s hair. 67 Commenting on a mirror in Munich, Zahlhaas 1975, 533, describes battle scenes and the labors of Hercules as “thoroughly unfeminine motifs” (durchaus unweibliche Motive). The image of the Venus Victrix on Greek and Etruscan mirrors was imbued with political significance; this, she proposes, was converted in the Hadrianic era into “a… decorative, almost frivolous motif” (einem … dekorativen, fast frivolen Motiv). 68 According to Ovid, Metamorph. 8:379, she was the first to draw blood from the boar. For discussion of the numerous examples in which the huntress is present, see Simon 1970. 69 Myerowitz 1992, 142. 70 De cultu feminarum, 2:8.2, edited and translated by M. Turcan as La Toilette des femmes. Sources chrétiennes, no. 173. Paris: Cerf 1971, 134 line 11: tum speculum omni occasione consulere, anxie inspicere. The Church father goes on for two paragraphs about women’s hairstyles. For somebody who deplored female coquetry he certainly knew a lot about its mechanics. For a similar if slightly earlier critique by a “pagan”, see Lucian, Amores, 39-40. Neither he nor Tertullian mentions combs, presumably because these were used to dress the hair, rather than worn in the finished coiffure. 65

71 Ep. 3.63: Bellus homo est, flexus qui digerit ordine crines, / balsama qui semper, cinnama semper olet. 72 Bartman 2001, 3. For the care lavished on well-kempt chins and crania in portraiture, and the cultural and political significance of this attention, see Smith 1998, passim. 73 See supra 104. 74 Zimmer 1932, no. 90 and Zahlhaas (as supra n. 16). 75 Myerowitz 1992, 141. 76 Frye 1976, 104 cited by Brilliant 1984, 131.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD readings, reenactments in the theater, paintings and mosaics. And if literacy can no longer be held necessary to awareness of the brutal and erotic content of such narratives, so gender and class can no longer be regarded as prime determinants in the uses of many pieces of household equipment. To confine ourselves to the implements under discussion, it is worth considering a little known comb in the Antiquarium Comunale in Rome. Made of unassuming lead and even more unpretentious in that it lacks any decoration save for an inscription on each side, it belonged to a certain Lucius P(ublii) V(…) servus. Its owner, clearly, was a slave, somehow connected (via a gift to her?) with a woman, Aniae L V, whose ownership, denoted by the genitive of possession, is indicated on its other side.77 What her relation to Lucius was, and whether she, too was one of Publius’s slaves is uncertain. What is sure is that both a man and a woman at some time owned (and surely made use of) this modest object. If the gender of the Portland comb’s proprietor is assured by the nature of the goods said to have been found with it as that of Lucius and Ania is guaranteed by their names on the lead comb, enough has been said about the appeal of violence to both sexes to suggest that responses to its depiction cannot be tied to one or the other cohort. To limit interest in violence to men or women is ultimately as reductive as to assume that only one of these groups would respond to the erotic charge of the nude figures on the “front” of the comb or the male bodies on the “back” whose nakedness is emphasized by the mantles that cover only their shoulders.78 Above all, such gender-specific confinement is untrue to what we know about a society in which “distinguished women as well as senators disgraced themselves by appearing in the arena,” as Tacitus (Ann. 15:32) recalled, employing the image synecdochically for what he saw as the degradation of Nero’s time. It is this aspect of Roman culture that has been ignored as long as its products have been treated as works of art. One of the lessons of a remarkable study of the reception of classical statuary is that of the more than ninety works most prized between the early sixteenth and the late nineteenth century, the subject of only one (the Farnese Bull) is overtly brutal.79 Not least in this respect, twentieth- and twenty-first century art historians have followed in the paths of their predecessors.

77

Inv. no. 16246. See Bellezza e seduzione, no. 147, for a philological discussion of the nomenclature on the comb and an illustration of its “Lucius” side. The anonymous author of this entry suggests that Ania may have been Lucius’s wife. 78 Found alike on the Belvedere Antinous (that Winckelmann took to represent Meleager: Potts 1994, 149-50 and Figures 32, 33) and countless other figures (cf. our Figures 4-6). It remains a source of wonder that such costume is treated merely as the “standard” garb of a hero instead of being investigated for its potential as a sexual stimulus. 79 Haskell and Penny 1981, no. 15. A few others, such as the Laocoön (no. 52) and the three versions of the Pasquino (Menelaus holding the body of the dying Patroclus; no. 72), are pathetic but not, in my eyes, violent.

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Measuring Athena: Pagan Images on Late Roman Commercial Weights Anne McClanan pieces that survive.2 The example recently added to the Museum of Fine Arts’ collection in Boston represents typical usage (Figure 2), with the crossbeam, the hook from which the apparatus was hung, the attachment for weighing goods, and the counterpoise. The Boston weight is formed into the shape of a bust of Athena, surmounting a rectangular base decorated with tendrils and clusters of grapes. The aegis with a gorgon, high Corinthian helmet, and cuirass all denote the goddess’s identity, but the grape clusters are more likely just a fanciful decorative addition to the otherwise plain band. This type of device, in its simple but precise utility, is still used today (Figure 3).

The figure of Athena often appears as the counterweight of commercial scales used throughout the Mediterranean region of the Late Roman world, from the third until at least the seventh century C.E. Despite the obviously practical use and seemingly commonplace meaning of the goddess-adorned weighing devices, these pagan objects have long confounded convenient categorization. Early scholarship opined that the Athena weights must originate in the late fourth century’s brief revival of paganism, for it was inconceivable that any right-minded Christian ruler would permit the circulation of flagrantly pagan figures in an official context. After all, Theodosius’ decree of 392 represented only one of a series of official measures, extending into the seventh century and beyond, that attempted to end pagan cult practices. Nonetheless, the symbols of paganism remained pervasive throughout the early Byzantine Empire. Not only was the capital itself embellished by an array of classical statuary, but the new faith was lightly grafted onto preexisting practices in popular feasts and oaths.1

Second in popularity only to the weights depicting the empress, the goddess Athena was the most common kind of steelyard weight used in the early Byzantine era. These two types diverge perceptibly in form, size, and weight, and they seem to have been produced and used, at least initially, in separate manufacturing locations. To the extent that we know their origins, the locations of both the empress and Athena weights seem concentrated in Asia Minor. While no empress weights come from the western reaches of the early Byzantine Empire, a few Athena weights may come from the West. These locations are putative; no western examples have been legally excavated, but Norbert Franken nevertheless speculates that their manufacture began there before shifting to the more prosperous eastern part of the empire.3 It was the Romans who initiated the use of these weights in the eastern Mediterranean.4

While the monumental image of Athena (or Minerva, as she was encountered in a Roman context) was evident throughout the city, these grander depictions correspond to her image as it was portrayed in a more private dimension: some commercial weights shaped as miniature effigies of the goddess served merchants throughout the Empire. This paper will investigate what this ostensibly pagan figure connotes in a late Roman milieu; we shall look at the meanings these figures held in a Christian context – but we will consider, too, whether the weights actually represent the classical deity at all. For there is much ambiguity surrounding the depictions of Athena examined here, and, therefore, ample opportunity for misunderstanding or even misreading these depictions entirely.

A western origin may explain idiosyncratic differences in the craftsmanship between empress and Athena weights. For example, the upper loop, with which the figure would be attached to the steelyard weighing instrument, was aligned in two different ways, possibly reflecting divergent workshop traditions5. The loop on the empress busts ran front-to-back, so that the narrow profile pokes up from the top of the diadem when viewing the counterpoise from the front. The Athena figurines, in contrast, rotate that alignment ninety degrees, for the top loop presents a circular face in front. The Athena weights, furthermore, possess rectangular socles; the empress weights, oval socles, suggesting different workshops, or at least different streams of production. But given that no objects with this feature definitively come from the West,

First, a look at some details of physical appearance and usage, origin, and manufacture. Weights meted out many mercantile transactions, and the crossbeam-type weight that we now call a steelyard measured bulk goods by sliding the counterweight along a crossbeam (Figure 1), which is marked with varying grades of precision in the This essay is an expanded version of a related argument put forward in McClanan 2002, 29-64. I wish to thank both of the volume’s editors and the anonymous reader for their perceptive suggestions. Wendy Shattuck as well provided valuable assistance in the final revision. 1 Cyril Mango (1963) explored the changing meanings of Constantinople’s classical statuary much more fully than can be considered here, and his essay sparked ongoing debate by scholars such as Saradi-Mendelovici (1990).

2

Garbsch 1993, 341-48. Franken 1994, 87. Vermeule 1960, 13. 5 Franken 1994, 91. 3 4

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Figure 1. Drawing of Late Roman steelyard apparatus.

it is not clear why Franken supposes the rectangular socle indicates a specifically western origin.6

achieved by filling the interior of the bronze weight with lead and sealing off the bottom with a thin cap of bronze.

Whereas the Athena weights range in length from 12.4 to 28 cm., the empress busts are in general shorter – only 13 to 24.2 cm. – and the weight of the objects corresponds to this size difference. The Athena steelyards’ weight varies widely, from 1,070 g. to 11,200 g. in their extant condition. Empress counterpoises fall within a narrower, generally lighter band of weight, at 1,402 to 5,945 g.7 A typical counterpoise seemed to be equivalent to about four Roman litra or pounds, with the exact weight

A survey of the ancient and late antique written sources for manufacturing methods of these specific objects yielded no information specific to steelyard weights, but it seems reasonable to assume they were produced like other small ancient bronzes.8 Probably artisans used the lost wax process to form the basic shape, and then subtler details were worked at cooler temperatures.

6 7

All of these technical details help us come to terms with the material facts of these objects, but they also frame our interpretation. The weights’ dispersal over a wide

Franken 1994, 91. Franken 1994, 83.

8

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Franken 1994, 88.

ANNE MCCLANAN: MEASURING ATHENA: PAGAN IMAGES ON LATE ROMAN COMMERCIAL WEIGHTS

Figure 3. Modern steelyard weight in use, Izmir, Turkey. (Photo: author).

Given this official imprimatur, it would seem almost perverse that the pagan form of Athena/Minerva was chosen as one of the most popular types of commercial weights. Franken’s recent catalogue enumerates 72 empress weights as opposed to 53 Athena counterpoises. Alongside the empress and Minerva, one finds a scattering of seated male figures and a few single examples of what may have been other types, not otherwise known. The numerous associations of Minerva in the Roman Empire expanded still further in the reworking she received in the Late Antique intellectual world. The North African Bishop Fulgentius – who probably lived in the fifth or sixth century – is not unusual in his lively interest in paganism. He recounts several myths involving this goddess, albeit allegorically: “They associate her with the Gorgon, worn on her breast as a symbol of fear...They give her a plume and helmet...and Minerva in Greek is called Athene, … that is, immortal virgin, because wisdom cannot die or be seduced.”10 Following the cue of Fulgentius, later western

Figure 2. Athena steelyard weight and apparatus. Bronze; rod length: 106.7 cm; weight 21.6 cm h. Boston, Museum of Fine Arts. museum purchase with funds donated by Cornelius and Emily Vermeule and Walter and Celia Gilbert in honor of Mary Bryce Comstock. (Photo: BMFA 2001.546.1-4).

geographic area in the Late Roman world speaks not only to their popularity at a particular time, but also to the flexibility of the counterweight’s imagery. These weights were intimately connected with the assertion of centralized authority, being calibrated ultimately to the system of measures issued in contemporary coinage by the early Byzantine Empire. Based on the excavated examples, the weights were probably made privately but calibrated to imperial standards. Another kind of authority was asserted in the dissemination of weights and measures throughout the Empire, for as a law of Justinian in 545 indicates, an official set of weights housed in the local church served as the check for those used in the marketplace by potentially unscrupulous merchants.9

objects unwaveringly attained 96-98%, a standard achieved through overlapping mint and silver workshop locations. Painter 1988, 98-105. 10 Fulgentius the Mythographer, “Of Minerva”, 65. Another late antique view in Macrobius’ Commentary on the Dream of Scipio, “The reputation of virginity has so grown about the number seven that it is

9 Likewise we know that silver plate was strictly controlled in the Late Antique period through a system of official gifts in which purity of the

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD medieval authors continued to represent Minerva as the embodiment of wisdom, Sapientia. And Saint Augustine subverts the exalted status of Minerva to make the classical pantheon seem ridiculous – asking how can one belonging to the upper part of the ether be the daughter of one placed below? 11

sacrifices for Athena Polias simultaneously expressed devotion to Julia Domna (170-217 C.E.), thereby linking worship of Athena to that of an empress.17 James Oliver, in his reconstruction of this important inscription, concludes that, in the relationship of these two, “Julia Domna was not associated but identified with Athena Polias. The piety toward Julia Domna could have been partly expressed in the sacrifices to Athena Polias only if Athena Polias represented one aspect of Julia Domna. Sacrifices, accordingly, were made to the latter as mhnthr stratopevdwn and again as Athena Polias.”18

Objects such as the Corbridge silver lanx from the late fourth or early fifth century render Athena in lavish style, but the lanx’s relevance to the modest renditions of Athena on commercial steelyards from a few centuries later is problematic. Yet the image of Athena/Minerva appears also on several variants of Roman lamps, stamped as a bust figure and full length in addition to a more three-dimensional form.12 The polysemous nature of these classical mythological symbols in Late Antiquity is reflected as well in the pagan name of the fifth-century Christian empress, Ariadne. Names and identities that to a modern audience are redolent with paganism clearly possessed broader connotations for the Byzantines. There are rich precedents for such ambiguities in visual representation of the Roman imperial period. Henning Wrede’s work, for example, masterfully surveys the group of private individuals who chose to represent themselves in a deified form, and the imperial house’s assimilation and association with divinity was commonplace.13 Roman Augustae often assumed the guise of goddesses, a practice manifest throughout Roman Imperial coinage.14 Two distinct phenomena occurred in this earlier period: women took on the attributes of a goddess, but empresses also could be represented as the deified imperial figure: the Diva Augusta.15

This inscription entailed many provisions for the syncretic cult, including the addition of a cult statue of Julia Domna as Athena Polias to the sanctuary to stand beside the earlier statue of Athena.19 A gold statue of Julia Domna was ordered installed in the Parthenon, too.20 And in the first-century C.E. at Cyzicus, an aristocratic woman likewise dedicated a cult statue of Livia to Athena Polias during the reign of her son Tiberius.21 This kind of linked dedication may well provide a context for the later iconographic types of the steelyard weight counterpoises. The statue of the empress Livia prominently displayed in the Temple of Athena could be an initial step toward the early Byzantine connection made between the empress and Athena. Athena in her Roman form, Minerva, also possessed multiple manifestations that imbued her image with shifting and nuanced meanings during antiquity. Athena Ergane, the goddess of work, exemplifies industriousness by spinning, like any good Roman matron – for Athena’s transformation into the goddess Minerva included assimilation from a local deity an association with handicrafts. The frieze of the Forum Transitorium in Rome juxtaposed such domestic representations with one of Athena as the warrior.22 Suetonius’ Life of Caligula suggests, in addition, a maternal aspect of Minerva: “This babe, whom [Caligula] called Julia Drusilla, he carried to the temples of all the goddesses, finally placing her in the lap of Minerva and commending to her the child’s nurturing and training.”23 Although enshrined in Roman society as part of the Capitoline Triad with Jove and Juno, Minerva does not seem to have been a particularly popular goddess with whom women wished to identify, although a Flavian statue of a matron does take on the goddess’ helmet.24

The meanings that this pagan goddess had for the Christian merchants who used the balances pose several intriguing questions, for the most securely dated example is from the seventh century. The two most popular categories of representation on these weights – the empress and Athena – may not be so disparate.16 The cult of individual empresses often assimilated into longstanding goddess cults. Athena Polias (Guardian of the City) was paired with these new cults, although the goddess’ virgin status would not seem to offer the most obvious association for these women whose primary public role was procreation. A late second-century, fragmentary inscription from Athens indicated that

Potential nuances of Minerva’s image are suggested by Domitian’s coinage, on which he manipulated her representation in four different guises. This appetite for variety was manifest as well under the Antonines, who

called Pallas. Indeed, it is regarded as a virgin because, when doubled, it produces no number under ten…It is Pallas because it is born only from the multiplication of the monad, just as Minerva alone is said to have born of one parent.” VI.11 Macrobius’ Saturnalia (I.17) likewise quotes Porphyrius “that Minerva is the power of the sun which gives right judgement to the minds of men…” 11 St. Augustine, De Civ. D. IV.10. 12 Example of bust image: #1207 ff, of full-length figure #775, of sculptural form on lamp #399. Walters 1914. 13 Wrede 1981. 14 Matheson 1996, 182. 15 Matheson 1996, 182. 16 Marvin C. Ross (1946, 368-69) offers an early discussion of this type in his article on a steelyard weight he identifies with the goddess Minerva.

17

Price 1984, 217. Oliver 1940, 524. 19 Oliver 1940, 527. 20 Oliver 1940, 527. 21 Price 1984, 63. 22 D’Ambra 1993, 53. 23 Suetonius, Caligula 25. 24 Matheson 1996, 189. The location of this work is now unknown. Illustrated in Wrede 1981, no. 234. 18

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ANNE MCCLANAN: MEASURING ATHENA: PAGAN IMAGES ON LATE ROMAN COMMERCIAL WEIGHTS expanded still further the range of possibilities in her numismatic depictions. Minerva’s overriding meaning, particularly under Domitian, seems to have been political, intended to convey to the public that her mantle of patronage and protection covered the emperor.25 Karl Galinsky’s work on the Ara Pacis Augustae likewise points to the ways in which polysemy was a strategy deliberately deployed to attain certain ends that were desired in the self-representation of the state.26 Likewise, Gmyrek notes the conjunction and assimilation of Minerva’s image with Roma and Constantinoplis in her analysis of the political meanings of Minerva’s image for the Roman Empire.27

in 343 on a coin reverse, and share a place on the base of Arkadios’ column erected in Constantinople in 401/2.33

In the corpus of earlier imperial Roman steelyards, Minerva appears with the distinctive trappings of her mythological identity: a crested helmet, armor, and an aegis make this attribution fairly certain. The early Byzantine steelyard counterpoises that are the focus of our attention share these traits, but archaeological evidence anchors them in a later time, when the valency of their pagan identity requires scrutiny. E.B. Thomas suggested that these figures may depict personifications such as Roma, Constantinople, or even Sophia (Wisdom).28 Personifications of Constantinople and Victory were depicted on Byzantine coinage until the seventh century, but there is no exact match between the weights and these images of personifications. In this context it is worth remembering that the personification of Roma assumed two forms. The Amazon type used to depict Roma on the consular diptychs competed with another viable representation of Roma as Athena, known from Roman imperial gems.29 It was in the Greek eastern part of the Roman Empire that Roma often assumed the familiar insignia of Athena.30 Roma appeared as Athena, notably on the Gemma Augustea, an imperial gem probably made after the Dalmatian War in 10 C.E.31 Roma-Athena sits stolidly next to the emperor Augustus, but she can also be identified as his wife, the empress Livia, who as part of this composite identity wears a helmet and bears a shield.32 Later, the personification of Constantinople was carefully crafted to match Roma, in a pair of temple dedications to Roma and Constantinopolis made by Constantine. The two Tyches appear enthroned together

Figure 4. Empress steelyard weight. Bronze filled with lead in weight;10.8 cm h, 23.2 cm h. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art, purchase, Rogers Fund, Bequest of Theodore M. Davis, by exchange, and Gifts of George Blumenthal, J. Pierpont Morgan, Mrs. Lucy W. Drexel, and Mrs. Robert J. Levy, by exchange, 1980, inv. 1980.416a. (Photo: MMA neg. 223088 B).

25

Morawiecki 1977, 190. Galinsky 1992, 457-75, see especially concluding discussion, 473-75. 27 Gmyrek 1998, 124. 28 Thomas 1987, 157. 29 Corippus, the late sixth-century poet, describes a pall commissioned by the Empress Sophia that bore this type: “Old Roma holding out her arms and displaying her naked breast, her bosom bared, the ancient parent of empire and liberty.” Corippus, I, 285-290. 30 Mellor 1981, 1012. 31 Mellor 1981, 1013. Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Inv. Nos. IX A 59 (chalcedony) and IX A 79 (Gemma Augustea). 32 The faces are strongly idealized on these pieces: on the Gemma Augustea, for instance, the faces of Roma and those of the Victory crowning Augustus and female charioteer are very similar. Vermeule (1959, 84) notes the numismatic corollaries of this representation. 26

Furthermore, smaller inlaid metal weights, such as an example from about 400 C.E. in the British Museum, depict imperial figures flanked by two Tyches, strengthening the possibility that to some viewers these weights were read as personifications. A fine example of the Athena type is now in the Metropolitan Museum in New York (Figure 4).34 The details are well preserved 33 34

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Bühl 1996, 130. Franken catalog CB 28.

THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD and crisply delineate her fine aegis with a gorgon surrounded by four snakes. The partially-preserved Christian inscription along the base begins, “KURIE BOHQ (E)I...,”(Lord protect me...), a standard evocation for holy protection, which is particularly interesting given the ostensibly pagan shape of the weight. 35 This strange conflation of a Christian inscription with a pagan deity initially seems paradoxical, yet the cross etched onto the arm of the Athena weight in the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts echoes the sentiment of the words.36 The apotropaic force of her aegis conveys Minerva’s protective status, which seems to have continued in the early Christian era. Further research offers a surprising insight into what these objects meant to their sixth- and seventh-century audience. The inscription on the weight in the Metropolitan Museum contributes a tantalizing clue to the seemingly contradictory meanings of these banal objects.

favored patron of craftsmen, the former linking her specifically to shipbuilding.40 This association makes it particularly appropriate that one Athena weight was excavated from the seventh-century Yassi Ada shipwreck, though clearly these weights were used on land as well. The Parastaseis’ statement indicates that “empress-looking” and “Athena-looking” were not such distinct categories of visual representation at the time, which helps us understand their convergence in the weights. The Parastaseis author elsewhere muddles other mythological and imperial figures as well, even attributing an imperial identity to a statue of Scylla. In any event, these figures probably signified central authority and “just measure” to the merchants using them throughout the Empire. Thus, the counterpoise figures’ multiple meanings defy precise classification. In fact, the confusion of the Parastaseis author raises important questions about our own need to attach precise semiotic meanings to objects which we also classify in overly rigid ways, following methodology devised for more elite realms of material culture. As Dan Sperber has proposed in his work, Rethinking Symbolism, “symbolic interpretation is not a matter of decoding, but an improvisation that rests on an implicit knowledge and obeys unconscious rules.”41 The elusive iconography of these steelyard weights falters because the traditional attribution of this kind of static signification does not, in the end, seem appropriate to them. Their meanings shifted and fulfilled different roles for their numerous medieval spectators, who used these objects as part of everyday life. These shifts are nothing new, of course, and indifference or even cynicism to cult practices and beliefs certainly persisted in the ancient world.42

Within our tidy taxonomies of iconography, a viewer today might see a Christian ruler and a pagan goddess as distinct, even antithetical. But an anonymous ninthcentury text about Constantinople overturns these anachronistic categories of visual representation.37 The Parastaseis Syntomoi Chronikai offers insight into how these two classes of objects may have been understood to the Byzantine viewer.38 This text comprises part of the larger tenth-century gathering of Patria of Constantinople, texts of various dates that chronicled the local monuments and legends of Constantinople. Our writer wanders around Constantinople, stopping to ponder a statue: “the woman seated on a bronze chair in the hippodrome – she too is above (the imperial seat) as we mentioned before – Herodian told me is Verina, (the wife) of Leo the Great; but as I myself have heard from many people, it is instead the statue of Athena from Hellas, and this I believed.”39 A thirty-foot high statue of Athena dominated the Forum of Constantine in Constantinople, so perhaps these prominent figures of the goddess inspired the writer’s confusion. Such intense, personal associations of the pagan statue ultimately are indicated by its destruction, in the twelfth century, for supposedly having beckoned the Crusaders to the city.

The potential for misunderstanding images or misapprehending the divine is something that later aroused scorn as well. In the section of the courtchronicles of Charlemagne, the Libri Carolini, which describe reactions to contemporary Iconoclastic movements in the East, we encounter this story: “He was shown two pictures of beautiful women without captions. The painter supplied one picture with the caption ‘Virgin Mary’ and the other with the caption ‘Venus.’ The picture with the caption ‘Mother of God’ was elevated, venerated and kissed; while the other, because it had the caption ‘Venus,’ was maligned, scorned and cursed, although both were equal in shape and colour and made of identical material and differed only in caption.”43

The Roman association of Minerva with craft and trade may have carried over into the early medieval context, to make this connection particularly apt. Writers such as Claudian and Saint Augustine style Minerva as the 35

James Russell (1995, 48) has recently assumed an apotropaic meaning of these Athena-shaped objects. In conversation he speculates that the empress steelyard weights bear this association as well, but without the invocation such as we have on the Athena counterpoise the apotropaic function of the empress weights is harder to support. 36 Gonosovà and Kondoleon, 1994, 242-45, Cat. no. 83. 37 Sarah Bassett comments on the connection made between Athena and the “good of the state”: in late Roman sources as well: Bassett 2004, 91. 38 A. P. Kazhdan (1999, 309) views the Parastaseis as a document written to oppose the cult of Constantine the Great. He also reappraises the eighth-century dating given by the editors Cameron and Herrin and reascribes it roughly a century later. For an overview of recent discussion on the text, see Brubaker and Haldon 2001, 301. 39 Parastaseis, Sect. 61, p. 139.

40

St. Augustine, De Civ. D., VII. 3, Claudian, De bello Getico, 15/16. Sperber 1975, xi. 42 Even much earlier one encounters the same indifference and cynicism, for Cicero’s quotes the elder Cato that he didn’t know how one haruspex, a liver-diviner, could look at another without laughing. Cicero, de Div., ii. 24. 43 Opus Caroli regis, ed. Freeman, IV,16, pp. 528-9. Translation from Camille, 1985, 33-34. 41

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ANNE MCCLANAN: MEASURING ATHENA: PAGAN IMAGES ON LATE ROMAN COMMERCIAL WEIGHTS The anecdote is embedded in a whole set of issues regarding the perception of the Byzantine controversy abroad, but the Libri Carolini were written in the century after the Yassi Ada ship sunk with an Athena weight as part of its cargo. The story in the Libri Carolini also testifies to the ambiguity inherent in images, as well as the anxiety with which this ambiguity could be viewed at the time. The momentum for this resistance was real; pagan worship was still actively being suppressed during the time the counterweights here discussed were being used. As late as 692, the Ecumenical Council of Trullo (the “Quinisext Council”) forbade what seem to have been persistent pagan customs. Canon 62 of the Council reads, in part:

modeling. Full faces, big eyes, and high cheekbones earn a coveted place in the origin of the form before its descent into medieval abstraction.47 Because of the paucity of examples dated by external criteria, his sequence remains untenable. This period of transition at the end of antiquity is notoriously eclectic in terms of artistic style – a confusion sometimes understood by art historians as successive waves of classicism riding over a strengthening current of abstraction. The time span from which these objects originate remains speculative, and their rough-hewn typological representations do not lend themselves to a meaningful sequential ordering. Two excavated examples, from Anemurium and the seventh-century shipwreck of Yassi Ada, likewise push the use of these weights into the sixth and seventh centuries, giving us yet more reason to question the standard fourth- and fifth-century attribution of these pieces.48 In the archeological excavation of Anemurium in Cilicia, the steelyard weight was found by the Canadian team in the half meter of fill above the mosaic in the area of the palaestra (Figure 5). The fill layer in which the weight was found, however, was disturbed, and corresponded to the more than two hundred years of habitation of the area, until about 660. Given the disturbed state of the fill, the object could have found its way into the débris until the mid-seventh century.

“The so-called Calends, and what are called Bota and Brumalia, and the full assembly which takes place on the first of March, we wish to be abolished from the life of the faithful. And also the public dances of women, which may do much harm and mischief. Moreover we drive away from the life of Christians the dances given in the names of those falsely called gods by the Greeks whether of men or women, and which are performed after an ancient and unChristian fashion; decreeing that no man from this time forth shall be dressed as a woman, nor any woman in the garb suitable to men. Nor shall he assume comic, satyric, or tragic masks; nor may men invoke the name of the execrable Bacchus when they squeeze out the wine in the presses; nor when pouring out wine into jars [to cause a laugh] practising in ignorance and vanity the things which proceed from the deceit of insanity...”44

The secure seventh-century date of the Yassi Ada weight casts even further doubt onto the attributions of many of these weights to the Theodosian period.49 The methodology developed in the study of Roman imperial art that identified sculpture through numismatic comparanda was misapplied to these weights. Because of the number of Theodosian imperial women who issued coins, a matching constellation of attributions were made of the empress weights to these women. This maneuver shifted the dating of the whole body of material earlier than that indicated by other, more direct evidence.

The persistence of pagan festivals is only one concern here amongst a whole range of other transgressive behaviors, such as cross-dressing by men or women. Thus the vacillation of the Parastaseis author over the imperial or divine nature of the statue fits with the way that “pagan” and Christian elements of society jostled with one another at this time. The conundrums posed by the meaning of the form also carry over to uncertainty about the chronological and geographical origin of the weights. Franken places the Athena counterpoises into a linear sequence of stylistic development.45 The beginning of his series in the early fifth century is based on a correlation to empress weights, which he thinks were begun to be made slightly earlier.46 Following the expectations raised in the study of more elite arts, he orders the disparate grouping into a linear development that begins with the most naturalistic

Hence the speculation offered by Dalton that the Athena type might be the result of the short-lived revival of paganism under the fourth-century Julian the Apostate seems unlikely.50 In addition, Franken’s supposition that the best dated examples must emerge from the last gasp of production of the weights also seems debatable. But this distortion results from our initial discomfort with the idea of seventh-century Christians slinging a little pagan deity around as they sold goods in the marketplace. Likewise, Pfeiff’s survey of the representation of Athena mistakenly asserts that she was simply not visually represented in an early medieval Christian milieu.51 The Parastaseis text is but one example of the dexterity with which ostensibly pagan figures were recast in the early

44

47

Council of Trullo, 692 C.E., Canon LXII, in Schaff, P. and H. Wace, edd. 1890-1900. A Select Library of Nicene and Post-Nicene Father of the Christian Church, 2nd series. New York: the Christian Lierature Company. 45 Franken 1994, 94. 46 Franken 1994, 92.

Franken 1994, 92. Anemurium (Franken catalog CB 29) and Yassi Ada (Franken CB 39). 49 Sams 1982, 224. 50 Dalton 1901, 98. 51 Pfeiff 1990, 42. 48

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD these images may have suddenly “switched on” again. Perhaps when the measure of the weight was corroborated with imperial metrological standards, for instance, the quotidian object’s significance as a symbol retrieved its meaning. For the educated elite, Athena represented the pagan past. But for the ordinary person, the deity probably signified more vaguely from a tangled heap of related official images – empresses, Athena, and city personifications seeming to share the same space in this process of Late Roman citizens making sense of the world around them.

medieval world, and it is clear that, once her religious significance had been depleted, her image survived as a cultural symbol in the non-élite world of utilitarian objects. How did these images of authority register with their audience in the course of everyday use? Usually these weights’ imagery must have been witnessed as peripherally as any other commonplace pattern, the diffusion of the image weakening the impact of individual manifestations. At times, though, the force of

Figure 5. Athena steelyard weight, Anemurium excavation, Turkey. (Photo: Anemurium excavations).

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V. Modes of Creation, Production and Distribution

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The Art of Soldiers on a Roman Frontier: Style and the Antonine Wall Natalie Boymel Kampen At its greatest extent, the Roman Empire stretched from the western edge of Persia to the upper Nile and even to the south of Scotland. The emperor Hadrian ordered a great stone wall built along the northern edge of Britannia in the 120s C.E., and detachments of three legions and numerous auxiliary troops guarded the border there for several decades. But something drew the attention of the Romans still further north, and under Hadrian’s successor, Antoninus Pius, a new wall was constructed between 140 and 143. Never converted to stone, the earthen wall with its abutting ditch and encampments was abandoned after about twenty-five years, and the line marking the edge of the empire moved back to Hadrian’s Wall. Most of the stone in the construction was either buried or moved away to be used in building farms and other kinds of walls, so little remains of the original structure except for ditches and rises in the earth and some twenty or more relief slabs and fragments of reliefs. The slabs marked the distances that each legion’s detachment, or vexillation, built along the wall. All had inscriptions honoring the emperor and giving the name of the legion and the length of construction, and some were decorated with relief sculpture as well.

Frieze of c. 110 C.E., set up somewhere in the Forum of Trajan and showing battle and sacrifice scenes, provides a canonical example (Figure 2).2 There, the powerful bodies of all the men depicted are about the same size, and their joints and muscles are clearly rendered in such way as to evoke potential for motion. No one floats in a space unconnected to the single ground line, and even where the relations among figures are confusing, the confusion suggests the chaos of battle rather than any incoherence of space. Some of the distance slabs of the Antonine Wall differ strikingly in their appearance from the Trajanic frieze, but the styles used on the massive blocks differ often from one another as much as any of them from the sculpture of the court in Rome. However, their difference from Hellenized metropolitan work has usually been what art historians have noticed, and the response has generally been critical. The body forms are often seen as awkward, the spaces confused, and the imagery clichéd. When one of the reliefs receives praise, as does the Hutcheson Hill relief (Figure 3), it is usually because the style seems closer to that of metropolitan centers and court commissions. All these ideas about style are currently undergoing reconsideration in contemporary art history, but the unfavorable comparison with the monuments made for the ruler in the big cities of the Empire still needs questioning. Without at least trying to develop a language to describe non-metropolitan styles, we lose a valuable point of access into the ideas and taste of groups of patrons who constituted a major part of Roman society.

The styles of the reliefs on the distance slabs seem unprepossessing and apparently straightforward, as if born of a rather naive desire to imitate the arts of the city of Rome (Figure 1).1 Some of them look as if they had borrowed (not very gracefully) from the sort of public monument set up by and for the emperors on the great arches, forum walls, and other public buildings of the ultimate metropolis, Rome. On those fine monuments in Rome, styles varied depending on time, artist, and the political interests of the regime; it does all of them a disservice to try to capture their style in a sentence. Nevertheless, most of the objects honoring the ruler in the first and second centuries, C.E., shared a general reliance on the anatomical proportions and idealization of the Greek classical and hellenistic periods. Until the third century, C.E., when styles changed quite significantly, the forms of metropolitan public art, not just in Rome but in other metropolitan centers such as Athens or Ephesus, tended to choose a consistent scale for figures in Hellenizing styles and to make clear the relationships of figures to space and to buildings. The Great Trajanic

The Antonine Wall slabs were made around 141-42 by the Second Roman Legion Augusta, the Sixth Legion Victrix, and the Twentieth Legion Valeria Victrix.3 Of local sandstone or gritstone that was notoriously difficult to work with because of its crumbling or fracturing character, the slabs measure from two to four feet across and are usually around two feet high. Almost all of them give the name of the emperor and the name of the legion that constructed a specific unit of distance of the turf wall. Some of the reliefs contain only the inscription and a frame with or without flanking peltae, the axe-head shapes that may also evoke profile views of shields. Other reliefs add rosettes, dancing erotes, the legionary

Dedicated to the memory of Judith Ginsberg and Carol Kramer, both of whom were friends and scholars of great generosity.

2

Trajanic frieze bibliography: Leander Touati 1987. The Antonine Wall reliefs are fully catalogued in Keppie and Arnold 1984: they are items number 68, 84, 122, 123, 127, 135, 137, 138, 145, 146, 148, 149, 150, 152, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, and possibly 91, 126 and 127 which are too fragmentary for any certainty. Equally important is the recent catalog by Keppie 1998 on the material in the Hunterian Museum where the majority of the slabs are housed. See especially 4790. 3

1 Recent bibliography on the Antonine Wall: Breeze 1982, 97-124; Keppie, 1982, 91-111; Hanson and Maxwell 1983; Keppie and Arnold 1984; Frere 1987, 126-59; Robertson 1990; Keppie 1998, with full literature and most recent and reliable information. See also the essays in Roman Imperialism and Provincial Art, ed. S. Scott and J. Webster (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003).

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Figure 1. Distance Slab from Bridgeness on the Antonine Wall, 141-43 C.E. Edinburgh, National Museum of Antiquities of Scotland, inv. FV 27. (Photo: National Museums of Scotland, after Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 68).

Figure 2. Great Trajanic Frieze from Rome, c. 110-120 C.E., now set into the Arch of Constantine, Rome. (Photo: DAI neg. 86.354).

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Figure 3. Distance Slab from Hutcheson Hill on the Antonine Wall, 141-43 C.E. Hunterian Museum, University of Glasgow, inv. F 1969.22. (Photo: L. Keppie, after Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 149 and Keppie 1998, #9).

Trajanic frieze overlaps figures and makes the ground line the base for everyone in a horizontal spatial arrangement. The nude and dying enemies of the Bridgeness relief make use of a segmented body type, each element clearly marked off from the others by incision rather than blending through the use of modelling as the Trajanic frieze does. The difficulty is not in describing the differences so much as in avoiding a negative judgment of the Bridgeness relief’s style.7

animal such as the boar of the Twentieth Legion Valeria Victrix, and crouching captives (Figure 3).4 The most elaborate of the slabs include figural compositions and architecture. The relief from Bridgeness, by the Second Legion Augusta, combines a scene of military victory, Roman rider triumphant over naked and dying barbarians on the left side of the inscription, with one on the right side showing a military sacrifice (Figure 1).5 In both scenes the traditions of imagery can be traced to Rome, to just such monuments as the Great Trajanic Frieze (Figure 2) with the emperor at its center or to one of the many sacrifices, military and civil, conducted by a leader going back at least as far as the Louvre frieze of a census and sacrifice from the early first century, B.C.E.6 The comparison of the Bridgeness relief with the Trajanic frieze reveals different approaches both to composition and to figural forms. Whereas the former places figures vertically to indicate space while concentrating on making all figures fully visible, the

The Bridgeness relief would seem to be the perfect demonstration of a “trickle-down” theory of Roman art.8 The narrative might go as follows: scenes from the grand public monuments of Rome travel with the military to the farthest reaches of the empire, there to be transformed by the requirements of the genre and shape of the object they decorate and by the style which the joyfully inept sculptor brings to them. The merging of the failed imitation of 7 For an example of even-handedness in describing the reliefs, especially their content and its occasionally original approach, see Keppie 1998, 63-66. 8 See, for example, Henig 1995, 42-49, for judgments about quality, about the lives of soldiers on the frontier as being romanized in a Mediterranean way, and about the impact of elite taste on the soldiers.

4

Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 149 = Keppie 1998, # 9. Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 68. Trajanic frieze: Leander Touati 1987, and Louvre census: Stilp 2001; and Kuttner 1993, 198-229. 5 6

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD Although the presumption underlying these contributions seems to be that a sense of local identity is already in existence and the works of art reinforce it, I want to suggest that some works of art may actually generate identity for groups. In the case of the military, commissioning, producing and looking at art works forms one element in a set of identity – constructing processes, just as does sacrificing to the emperor, saluting an officer, and doing things that a previous generation of soldiers had also done. Unlike the localizing examples discussed by Zanker and Price, which are rooted in geographical and temporal narratives of cohesiveness, the military evidence from the northern frontier suggests the manufacturing of an identity based mainly on rank and status. A heterogeneous population of soldiers who came from all over the empire produced works in multiple styles, even within one legion in one brief period in one geographical area. At the same time, I would argue that all the styles participated in the construction of a Romanness that had little to do with the metropolis and Hellenism and much to do with non-elite status and social diversity.

Roman style with a “native” or “indigenous” element is sometimes seen as the explanation for such a combination of style and content, as is a narrative of progress from barbarism to civilization of which this image represents a transitional stage.9 For some, such as Adolf Furtwängler many years ago, it was a perfect example of Soldatenkunst, the art of the soldiers, carried by them from place to place and in some sense responsible both for the continuities in the empire’s more unhellenized styles and in another sense, at least in part, for the way the Hellenized styles of the metropolis gradually lost their grip on the empire.10 Finally, for others, in the 1960’s and 70’s, the model of assimilation and resistance to Greco-Roman style as a way of explaining art in the nonMediterranean provinces attempted a kind of recuperation of the unhellenized.11 None of these models seems, however, to do an adequate job of explaining the reliefs of the military periphery as they emerge along Hadrian’s Wall in northern Britain or the Antonine Wall in southern Scotland. I propose that these reliefs need to be understood not only through the ways they were produced and the people who produced them but through the audiences that viewed them. The combination of standard metropolitan motifs with styles that reveal a highly variable and unstable attachment to Hellenism helps to produce a particular viewing public and participates in its sense of itself as a collectivity and of the individuals within it as members of that collectivity.12 Style is thus just as meaningful and just as productive of identities as motif and iconography. Rather than provincial styles always being failed attempts to be unprovincial, i.e., either indigenous in some originary way or Roman in some metropolitan and Hellenizing way, styles may be both taken-for-granted (not really noticed or commented upon by an audience for whom they are adequate) and at the same time expressive vehicles for group identity. As both Paul Zanker and Simon Price, among others, have shown using sculpture from urban contexts, style can be consciously militated to express hegemonic political values, but it can also make visible a desire for more local identities. Zanker demonstrates the way the use of a regional style for an imperial portrait to be set up in a provincial town can convey local pride or sense of local specificity; Price and others have shown how the use of an explicit classical or hellenistic style reference in Asia Minor can reveal a sense of local continuity with a Greek past.13

I begin by demonstrating something of the multiplicity of styles in the region in works clearly made by and for the Second and Twentieth Legions who served at and did considerable construction work not only along the Antonine Wall in Scotland but along Hadrian’s Wall to the south in Britain. After the construction of Hadrian’s wall in the 120s, work in the area continued on forts, camps, and roads, but in the early 140s, vexillations of the Second, Sixth and Twentieth Legions were called north to build the defenses across Scotland.14 Why the northern wall was believed necessary is unclear, as are the exact motives for the building of Hadrian’s much more elaborate stone wall to the south, but the work done by the legions in Scotland was commemorated even more richly and obviously than along Hadrian’s wall.15 One has the chance to see several hands at work on the slabs made to document the length of the turf barrier built by each legion. One can compare, for example, the slab from Bridgeness for the Second Legion (Figure 1) with another for the same group found at Summerston Farm about 25 miles west of Bridgeness along the Antonine Wall (Figure 4).16 The motif on the left side of the inscription is similar to that of Bridgeness but the architecture is missing, and the figures, despite the comparable poses, vary anatomical proportions and tend to stick rather close to the edges; a

9 It should be noted that Keppie, the authority on the reliefs, seems never to engage in this kind of characterization: e.g. Keppie 1976 or Keppie 1998, 61-67. 10 Furtwängler 1903, 501-509; for a good overview of the issue, see Mansuelli 1965, 520-21. 11 International Congress of Classical Studies, 1974; and a useful critique by Kurchin 1995, 124-31. See also the useful contribution of Millett 1990, 112-17. 12 Anderson 1983, but see also James 1993, originally published in 1963, for a visual analysis of cricket as a ritual for the formation of community identities. 13 Zanker 1983, and Price 1984. See as well Alcock 1993 and Woolf 1998.

14 On the building of the wall in Scotland: Keppie 1972-74, 151-65; Holder, 1982: 91-93 and 104-107; Hanson and Maxwell 1983, especially 75-151; Hassall 1983, 262-64; Maxwell 1985, 25-28; Mann 1986, 191-93; Mann 1988, 131-37; and Keppie 1998, 47-56. 15 Reasons for the construction of the two walls: Hodgson 1995, 29-49; Keppie 1998, 47; and Hanson and Maxwell 1983, 59-74. See also SHA Antoninus Pius V.4, and Pausanias, Description of Greece VIII.43. 16 Bridgeness relief: Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 68; Summerston Farm relief: Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 137 = Keppie 1998, # 5.

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Figure 4. Distance Slab from Summerston Farm on the Antonine Wall, 141-43 C.E. Hunterian Museum, University of Glasgow, inv. F 5. (Photo: L. Keppie, after Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 137 and Keppie 1998, #5).

Figure 5. Decorative Slab from Corbridge, probably Antonine. Corbridge, Corbridge Museum. (Photo: English Heritage after Phillips 1977, # 86).

(Figure 5).17 The architecture is far more delicately and elaborately rendered than in other Second Legion reliefs of the period.

victory crowns the rider. The panel to the right substitutes for the military sacrifice a crouching nude captive beneath an eagle perched on the back of a capricorn, the symbol of the Legion (the birth sign of Augustus). Here again the way of composing space by stacking elements is quite different than that seen at Bridgeness. Another relief for the Second Legion but from Corbridge along Hadrian’s Wall, dated to about 140, supplies a third style variation as here a vexillum (a military banner) reading “Vexillus leg(ionis) ii Aug(ustae)” appears in a setting of elegant fluted pilasters

The graceful pilastered architecture of the Corbridge relief can also be seen in the distance slab made for the Twentieth Legion Valeria Victrix from Hutcheson Hill on the Antonine Wall (Figure 3).18 On a podium made of two inscription panels flanked by peltae, the legionary 17 18

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Phillips1977, # 86, now in the Corbridge Museum. Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 149 = Keppie 1998, # 9.

THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD

Figure 6. Distance Slab from Old Kilpatrick on the Antonine Wall, 141-43 C.E. Hunterian Museum, University of Glasgow, inv. F 15. (Photo: L. Keppie after Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 156 and Keppie 1998, # 9).

boar runs along beneath a central figural panel. There, in an arched frame, a female figure, wingless, crowns a soldier holding a standard. On either side of this group are pedimented niches supported by the pilasters. An inscribed shield appears in each niche behind a frontal crouching nude prisoner. The same architecture surrounds the slab of the Twentieth Legion at Old Kilpatrick where an elegant reclining victory holds up a wreath with the Legion’s name (Figure 6).19 This may well have been the work of the same person or shop as the previous one. However, comparing the figure forms with another slab of the same legion from Hutcheson Hill (now destroyed), one immediately notes that the flanking erotes carrying grapes and sickles beside the inscription panel are anatomically simpler, with less torsion and fewer visible joints than in the kneeling captives or the reclining victory (Figure 7).20 The architectural structure also differs significantly both in its simplicity and its lack of interest in evoking buildings. This pattern recurs in a fragmentary slab of the Twentieth Legion from near Old Kilpatrick (Figure 8).21 The same dancing eros and framing motifs appear here and testify both to the hand of the artisan who made the destroyed Hutcheson Hill panel and to the fact that in the Old Kilpatrick area as at

Hutcheson Hill, more than one shop was making distance slabs. Whether the sculptors were themselves members of the military or local people is unclear, but in these regions where so little non-Roman stone sculpture has been found, it seems most likely that the carvers were themselves soldiers who moved from one posting to another with the legions.22 Several different styles visible in the slabs for each of the three legions demonstrate that multiple hands were at work often in the same area, but the styles differ noticeably from those used for the rare civilian monuments in the surroundings of the two walls.23 This hints at a military identity, even though no

22

Keppie 1998, 59. Inscriptions for civilian stone carvers are found in the south, e.g. Birley 1980, 130, but the only evidence from the military area designates two men as architecti: RIB 2091: Amandus, RIB 1542: Quintus. The opinions on the identity of the sculptors vary, so see also, e.g., Laing 1997, 149, re the Bridgeness slab: “This is not the work of a professional military sculptor, but something carved on the frontier by a native Briton. Yet (my italics) it is a forceful work…” 23 Since virtually nothing can be documented as not associated with the military along the Antonine Wall, the only possible pieces for comparison from the area are the tombstones from Shirva, Keppie 1998, # 48-52, pp. 113-18. From Hadrian’s Wall area come two representative tombstones; both inexactly provenanced from around High Rochester, they are Phillips 1977, # 272-73, and women’s tombstones from Vindolanda: Coulston and Phillips 1988, # 211, from Great Chesters, # 216, and from Murrell Hill, Carlisle, # 497.

19

Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 156 = Keppie 1998, #16. Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 148 = Keppie 1998, #8. 21 Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 155 = Keppie 1998, # 15. 20

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Figure 7. Distance Slab from Hutcheson Hill on the Antonine Wall, 141-43 C.E., now destroyed. (Photo: L. Keppie after Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 148 and Keppie 1998, # 8).

Figure 8. Fragmentary Distance Slab from near Old Kilpatrick on the Antonine Wall, 141-43 C.E. Hunterian Museum, University of Glasgow, inv. F 14. (Photo: L. Keppie after Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 155 and Keppie 1998, # 15).

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direct epigraphic evidence for soldier sculptors exists; a few references to builders and carvers appear in the later legal codes and in Vegetius’ fourth century, and not always reliable, description of the army.24 Perhaps soldiers worked as sculptors as well as stone cutters, on altars, fort gates, walls and the like, but all that remains an open question.

the second century C.E., many soldiers came from provinces near or in which they served.25 Only about one percent still came from Italy, compared with 65% in Augustus’ time, and the majority throughout the empire now came from Africa, Spain, and the Danube. The epigraphic evidence for Britain is weak in the mid-second century, but by analogy one might suggest that the builders of the two walls came from the Danube provinces, from Gaul and Spain, from Germany, and from Britain itself, some in fact the sons of legionaries and auxiliaries who had settled near the places where they had been stationed and who followed their fathers into their regiments.26 By now many of the auxiliaries were citizens by birth, sons of veterans, and the legionaries continued to be citizens, but all tended to come from the ranks of the modest, socially and economically. Some, on retirement, might become participants in the civic life of towns and thus even part of the local elite, and this became another element in the routine of social mobility in the provinces, but legionaries outside the top of the officer level would seldom have come from the equestrian order.27

Despite the complicated issues and open questions, my point is a simple one. There is no single provincial style here (or for that matter anywhere else in the Roman empire), and yet the styles all apparently do their jobs adequately. There were officers here, men from higher social strata than the legionaries and auxiliaries (prefects of the camps for example, who were members of the equestrian order with money and a degree of social aspiration if not sophistication), and they will have had some experience of art in metropolitan centers or in the villas of the wealthy wherever they had been stationed. Presumably this military elite, if displeased with the styles and their dissimilarity from metropolitan work, could have ordered the work redone or have chosen more Hellenizing features; the Hutcheson Hill Second Legion slab and the Old Kilpatrick Twentieth Legion relief indicate that options did exist. But they didn’t make these choices, and we must assume that the reliefs appeared adequate to the majority of soldiers and to officers as well. Differences of style, internal to the legions as well as in relation to imperial commissions in metropolitan centers, may not have mattered much to viewers in these circumstances; what mattered was the setting up of the monument, the distance slab, or the commemorative relief, the altar or the tombstone. The act, the ritual of obtaining and offering the thing, of selfcommemoration in its various forms, and of looking on what one had done – these might have mattered far more than the specifics of style.

The work of making a community out of men from disparate worlds and social backgrounds was never simple or completed. The men shared social status but not ethnicity, and although an increasing number may have been sons of legionaries and auxiliaries, they need not have shared other elements of their experience prior to entering the military. The task of forging a military ethos and sense of identity thus needed constant reinforcement, and never more than in times when so many came from parts of the empire that had little direct contact with Rome and the cities of the Mediterranean shore. Institutions and rituals participated in making men into soldiers, as Stanley Kubrick showed so brilliantly in his film Full Metal Jacket (1985-86), and visual imagery played an important role. The architectural uniformity of the camps, forts, and roads did much of this work, as did the routine of military life. Similarly, becoming collective patrons for public monuments gave legionaries a shared identity within the Romanness that defined the content and iconography of those monuments. At the same time, style contributed to that shared identity, but it did so in a problematic way. If we assume that by the second century most soldiers had little or no exposure to metropolitan public monuments in Hellenizing styles, that their experience of style was local and geographically specific, then it may be that our expectations that Hellenizing styles were normative is wrong. Was Hellenism associated with the

If we take this point as possible, distancing ourselves a bit both from our modern and academic assumptions about elite tastes and perceptions, then I think we will see that the similarities among the styles on the legionary slabs may be more meaningful than the differences among them. We can go beyond the idea that style differences may not have mattered too much to this audience and can take up the positive notion that style similarities may have operated to forge a sense of commonality among people who felt Roman in a way that had nothing to do with the city of Rome or any other metropolis along the shores of the Mediterranean. Although there is no sure way to know what Roman soldiers felt about Rome or about the places from which they had come originally, one thing is certain: For twenty five years, they were members of a Roman legion. By

25 Dobson and Mann 1973, 191-205; Holder 1982, 46-56; Forni 1974, 339-91; and Bohec 1994, chapter 3. 26 On the epigraphic evidence for the military in Britain, see especially Mann 1983, 23-25, 63-66, and tables from 73-158. For the origins and status of officers, see Birley 1980, 37-81. 27 Birley 1980, 82-106.

24

Digest 50.6.7, and Flavius Vegetius Renatus, Epitoma Rei Militaris II.11, edited and translated by Leo F. Stelten 1990. New York: Peter Lang, 83; and also Webster 1998, 11-20 on immunes.

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NATALIE BOYMEL KAMPEN: THE ART OF SOLDIERS ON A ROMAN FRONTIER: STYLE AND THE ANTONINE WALL

Figure 9. Genii Cucullati Relief from Housesteads, Second quarter of the third century. Housesteads, Housesteads Museum. (Photo: English Heritage after Coulston and Phillips 1988, # 152).

Figure 10. Genii Cucullati Relief from Carlisle, second or third century. Netherhall, Maryport. (Photo: Senhouse Museum Trust after Coulston and Phillips 1988, # 485).

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD Mediterranean’s shores? With the elites of metropolitan centers? Or was it simply not part of the visual field for men who, as I have indicated, were rarely of equestrian or decurional status during their service and who might well have come to Britain from another far-flung corner of the Empire? If our expectations about the normative nature of classicism are routinely defeated by so much of provincial art, perhaps we need to rethink the whole business and see the metropolitan hellenisms of the Mediterranean as outside the frame of vision for the majority of non-elite people living in the Roman empire of the second century.

lower class, hybrid. It made the local into something generic and transformative, something that could be shared by people of many backgrounds, that could make of all of them a single self-identifying force, a legion. By looking at the reliefs, by seeing the taken-for-granted of their style as the local, hybrid clothing worn by a great number of Roman subjects, individual soldiers became Roman legionaries. Style provided them with a way to absorb sameness while preserving a fiction of connection to their local and social pasts. Versions of these styles occur elsewhere, in non-military contexts as well as military, in auxiliary as well as legionary settings, as for example from the sanctuary at Bath or from Virunum in modern Austria.30 My point is not that the styles we see at Hadrian’s wall and the Antonine wall are unique but precisely that they are NOT. They are generic, varied by local traditions brought along by individual workshops, but united by their distance from that complex of identities: elite, metropolitan, Mediterranean. The art they use is not well-served by the preservation of a notion of the normative nature of that complex of identities to which the provincial is always Other. Instead, we do well to imagine “provincial” styles as both ignoring the Mediterranean and unconscious of it, both outside of its reach and enframing it to give it its centrality. The end products testify to a vast world in which lives are lived under the Roman sky as if the Mediterranean metropolis were and were not there.

My earlier comparisons indicated that soldier carvers (if such they were) never had a consistent relationship to hellenism in sculptural style, but style was unlikely to have been a category for discussion in the routines of looking engaged in by people outside the elite. What style needed to do was simply to look familiar, perhaps generic, and unintimidating, in order to consolidate its audience. Individual hands are clearly visible as in reliefs of the Genii Cucullati (literally, spirits in traveling cloaks) from the area of Hadrian’s Wall (Figures 9-10), but they function within a frame of simplified legibility, where anatomical idealization is rarely an issue.28 I suggest that this is normative for much of the empire and that the metropolitan classicizing styles of great public monuments and elite commissions would have been as unfamiliar to viewers as they were to carvers here in northern Britain. Instead, the soldiers operated in a familiar environment of visual imagery that looked enough like what they were used to seeing at home, either because of region or class, to make them feel at ease. No one’s local style dominates here, except perhaps in cases like the tombstones made for Palmyrene retirees and their families who choose occasionally to preserve elements of their own traditions in composition.29 What does dominate in the work commissioned for public or religious settings is the generic style spectrum that is not metropolitan, not classical, not elite. Its meaning and function depend on precisely those qualities that we have traditionally named only as absences, as lack. Assimilation and resistance are in this situation problematic categories for thinking about military style. They assume the primacy, the normative nature of metropolitan styles and thus misunderstand the relationship of soldiers of the lower ranks to classical Mediterranean culture. The legions participated in forging a culture of their own, out of a multitude of local identities, none of which had much to do with the tastes of the court or the great cities. Their culture-in-process was military in a self-contained way that permitted the redefinition of Romanness and transformed it from Italian and Mediterranean, made it inland, small-town or rural,

30 For examples, taken at random, see Cunliffe and Fulford 1982, # 4-18 from Bath: here the cupids are most evocative of the style further north. Rinaldi Tufi 1983, # 48: the tombstone of Eglecta from York. Finally, to compare with the distance slab of the Antonine Wall with a reclining Victory (Keppie and Arnold 1984, # 146), see Piccottini 1984, # 295 of a Venus type from an altar of the first half of the second century.

28

Examples of Genii Cucullati from Roman Britain: Coulston and Phillips 1988, # 152 from Housesteads, # 155 from Netherby, and # 485 from Carlisle; and Henig 1993, #96 from Cirencester. 29 Palmyrene styles on tombstones: Phillips 1977, # 247-48 from South Shields.

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Consumers’ Choices: Aspects of the Arts in the Age of Late Roman ‘Mechanical’ Reproduction Guy P.R. Métraux In early autumn, on a companionable stroll toward the beach at Ostia, three friends chanced to see a little statue of Serapis in a street-shrine, and one of the flâneurs kissed his fingers and planted them on the statuette’s lips in passing. This became the occasion for a discussion on religious belief, Christian piety and pagan idolatry, and the nature of God. Minucius Felix’s dialogue, Octavius, begins with this pedestrian scene of casual piety, a kiss for an unimportant statue, a distracted and mechanical act for an image that was part of the normal decoration of urban streetscapes in the third century.1 Apart from the theological sequel (and granting that we do not know if the statuette was old or new), the importance of this vignette is that it illustrates the success and proliferation, in late antiquity, of public and private imagery, of works of art and craft, of their density in urban and domestic milieux, of their empire-wide spread, and ultimately of the reactions (like that of the flâneur at Ostia) they incited in the eyes and minds of their viewers. By the late Roman or late antique period (from the later second through the fifth centuries C.E.), the production of works of art and craft had reached explosive proliferation in terms of quantity and distribution, and the producers of art and decoration could congratulate themselves on having captured the minds and money of all ranks of society and in every region: the commerce of art was booming, and if the cost to the artisans was anonymity and some repetetive procedures, business was good nonetheless.2 The statue beckons, the passerby responds

with affection – what more could an artisan want? Even the banal products of common workshops had a power to attract, and the Roman public in its many social levels and geographic places had been confirmed as consumers of artistic and artisanal products.3 Consumption of images A statuette in an ordinary street-shrine is one example of what Roman consumers of art could take seriously as a prompt for serious concern – the dialogue of the Octavius itself – even if kissing it was casual. In another medium and scale, and three hundred years later, the same serious concern about works of art was evident in the townscape of Ascalon in Palestine as we know it from a mid-sixth century treatise intended to embody and improve the municipal by-laws.4 Works of art were an essential part of the quiet neighborly enjoyment of the streetscapes of this small and resolutely provincial locale. Besides forbidding the usual things (no new buildings should cast shadow onto adjacent properties, strict measures against smells, noise, changes-of-use, illegal subdivisions, overhanging balconies, and so on), there is this surprising restriction: no one was allowed to build in such a way as to restrict or block a neighbor’s view of public wallpaintings. Evidently these wall-paintings were large, abundant, and highly appreciated as urban amenities, and the citizens of Ascalon felt strongly about them; it may be significant that their subject-matter was mythological, not Christian.5 Street-shrines and wall-paintings were considered valuable visual amenities in towns and cities, and they are instances of the success of artisans in capturing the attention and expectations of the varied population of the Roman Empire.

1 Minucius Felix, Oct. 2; Minucius’s Latin text was probably written in the 230 or 240s. The three friends were Octavius Januarius, a Christian, Q. Caecilius Natalis of Cirta, a pagan philosopher from Cirta in Africa, and the author, also a Christian. The Octavius is an intellectually ambitious work, closely linked to the contemporary writings of Tertullian. The locale at Ostia, the port of Rome, is significant: the Octavius is a reprise of Platonic dialogue of which the most famous, the Republic, was also set in a port (Piraeus). In addition, all three friends appear to have been members of what Keith Hopkins has termed the “sub-elite” in terms of being customers of religious thought in late Roman times. In this case, Hopkins’s category of sub-élite can describe consumers of art (the image of Serapis) as well. Two of the friends bore the trinomina (Minucius and Caecilius) but both were provincials though Minucius was a lawyer; Octavius’s status seems lower. See Hopkins 1998: 185-226, esp. 207-9, for his useful statification of “élite, sub-élite, masses” as definining authors and audiences (not social ranks as such): the sub-élite can include literate and well-connected slaves, freedmen and freedwomen, and citizens of the ordinary kind. For the Octavius and its persons, Beaujeau 1964: xxiii-xxxi, for discussion of classes. The kiss with fingers that Caecilius gave the statue is the same kind of kiss that the statue of Jupiter Optimus Maximus Capitolinus gave the child who was to become Augustus in a dream reported by Quintus Catulus: Suetonius, Aug. 94.6. 2 On the topic of anonymity, there is a debatable issue which cannot, in my view, as yet be resolved analytically before more analysis on a comparitive basis has been made. Roman mosaicists sometimes signed their works, and makers of fine pottery stamped and signed them very abundantly, with the result that artisans or owners of manufactories names are actually numerous, without having their distinctive “styles”

(if that is what they were) analyzed as yet; this is harder to do for the sporadic mosaicists who signed their works but might be easier for the potters just because of the greater quantity of products. A comparison, factoring for the differences of production, between pottery-stamps and mosaic-signatures could be revealing; BullAIEMA maintains a running list of mosaic signatures, and for these last, see Donderer 1989. 3 The attraction to images and blowing them little kisses had its equal and inverse in being repelled by them and knocking off their limbs and noses: both kinds of behaviour are forms of fascination. Cassiodorus in the 530s inveighed against the casual lopping off statues’ limbs and made a plea for protecting them against such thoughtless destruction: Cassiodorus, Variae 7.13-15. 4 Julian of Ascalon, Treatise on Architecture 52.1 and 54; Saliou 1994a; Saliou 1994b; Saliou 1996; Hakim 2001. 5 We would like to know more about these paintings. Julian of Ascalon, whose treatise details and suggests reforms to the town’s bylaws, gives two examples: a painting of Achilles and another of Ajax. The restriction about blocking the view came into force only if the person whose view was being blocked understood the meaning of the painting! Saliou 1994b: 246-7; Saliou 1996: 74; Hakim 2001: 14-5.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD Statuettes could be casually amassed in urban centers as part of the street-scape furniture, or they could be specialorder items collected for reasons of special, personal piety. Emperors collected portrait-images or images of gods, small in scale, portable, and kept in personal (not familial) lararia for private worship: these could include images of teachers, heroes, philosophers, and others, and the most famous cupboard-collection was that of Severus Alexander, who had little images of Abraham, Christ, Apollonius of Tyana, and Orpheus in a personal shrine to which he prayed after a night of sexual abstinence.

around a little statue of a god in his book-bag and prayed to it,8 and as we shall see later, he was attracted to watching an artisan at work making statuettes and buying them. The artisans knew their business, even if they were engaged in making cheapish knock-offs and standardized souvenirs. The most famous instance of their shrewd commercial sense is one of the earliest: Demetrius, a silversmith in Ephesus, saw quite clearly that St. Paul’s preaching against images of divinities was cutting into his trade of making small reproductions of the famous Artemis and selling them to pilgrims, so he organized a riot against the Apostle.9 Although he and his fellowartisans were scolded by the municipal official for disorderly conduct and frivolous accusation, Demetrius achieved his goal anyway: Paul was hustled out of town and presumably the trade in tourist goods peacefully resumed. Commercial artisans always need a receptive public eager to buy, and to support their business they will try to block out negative advertising or contrary ideas.

The imperial collections of statuettes in personal shrines were not only a matter of personal piety: emperors also accorded their affability to artists as friends, as in the case of Hadrian. Later, in the second century and after, several emperors protected artisans and specialtytradespeople by surprisingly generous imperial edicts exempting them from taxation, providing them with cheap or free municipal work-space, not obliging them to accept official commissions if they did not choose to, and giving them other very valuable advantages and advocacies. In addition, several emperors took up artistic or artisanal hobbies and practiced them as dilettantes. When social elites take up artistic or artisanal hobbies, being an emperor and being an artisan have changed, especially when the hobbies correspond to commercial aspects of object- and image-making rather than aesthetic or religious ones, as they had by the later second century.6 Roman historians were quick to comment on these imperial hobbies and quick to make some distinctions among them for rhetorical and moral purposes. “Good” emperors in the Historia Augusta were almost invariably dillettantes at painting: Hadrian, Marcus Aurelius, and Severus Alexander were hobbypainters and were pretty good at it, we are told, and in the fourth century Valentinian was a fine hobby-painter and modeller in wax and clay. By contrast, the author of the life of Commodus tells us that the evil emperor danced, sang, whistled, clowned, and acted the role of gladiator, activities not suitable to his imperial status, besides which he also disgustingly moulded goblets out of clay: he was an amateur potter. Emperors who were collectors of images, hobby-painters or even amateur potters gave an encouraging context for lesser patrons to indulge and acquire, and the impetus provided by imperial interest must have been good for business.7 Apuleius carried

Demetrius, as a maker of souvenirs (even though they were in silver), was working at a pretty low social level, producing standardized objects and repurveying the original statue of the Artemis repackaged in portable sizes for a casual clientèle of pilgrims. However, the techniques of commercial artisans who streamlined their activity for artisanal reproduction and sale were not limited to relatively “low” works: there was enough demand at all levels of Roman society to prompt even purveyors of large-scale sculpture to streamline their procedures, offering élite customers some choices without diminishing the economies of production which standardized formulae also afforded. A sculptor’s discarded inventory of gypsum-plaster casts found at Baia, a notoriously classy resort and tourist-trap on the Bay of Naples, is an instance: the casts were made from moulds which, in some cases, were made directly from Greek bronze statues ranging in date from the early fifth century B.C.E. through Hellenistic times.10 The inventory indicates that the Roman sculptor needed “original wonderfully”). For Valentinian: Ammianus Marcellinus, Historia 30.9.4. For Commodus and his amateur potting in the Historia Augusta: Commodus 1, 8. For Hadrian’s friendship with artists: S.H.A., Hadrianus 16, 10. For edicts protecting artists/artisans: S.H.A., Alexander Severus 33; the edicts are recorded in the Codex Theodosianus 13, 4, 1 (encouraging architectural training), 2 (artisans of all kinds freed from civic duties to practise their art and given free work-spaces), 3 (building-trades and architects), 4 (teachers of painting). For little personal shrines: S.H.A., M. Antoninus 3, 5-6; Alexander Severus 29, 2. 8 Apol. 63. 9 Acts of the Apostles 19:21-20:1. This may be an example of sub-elite artistic and intellectual consumption: pilgrims to the Artemision both bought souvenir statuettes and enjoyed religious instruction in the form of public speeches. 10 Landwehr 1985. Of more than 450 fragments found, 293 were distinct enough to be catalogued, and 76 could be related to known statues. The pieces were discarded sometime in the Hadriannic or Antonine period.

6

Among many other examples of manual hobbies, in France, Louis XVI made and repaired clocks and engaged in tool-and-die cutting, and Peter the Great of Russia exercised the ship-wright trade; besides these, of course, members of elites very often exercise artistic and/or artisanal hobbies. 7 The list of painter-emperors comes from the Historia Augusta, a text by various authors hashed together in the late fourth century but amassed from previous materials: the biographical details, which are presented to authenticate the compilation and disguise its forged character, are not neccessrily inaccurate even though the attitude and moral view is that of pagan writers of later periods. For painteremperors in the Historia Augusta (S.H.A.): for Hadrian, Hadrianus 14, 8 (picturae peritissimus – “expert in painting”); for Marcus Aurelius, M. Antoninus 4, 8 (his teacher was a certain Diognetus); for Severus Alexander, Alexander Severus 27, 7 (pinxit mire – “he painted

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GUY P.R. MÉTRAUX: CONSUMERS’ CHOICES copies” to produce versions of “originals,” presumably in marble but possibly in other materials as well, and to different sizes. By equipping himself with casts, the sculptor as a supplier in the artisanal economy could give his artisans visual models to facilitate and speed up their work as well as offering choices among the gypsum models as enticements to potential customers. In addition, the wide range of styles, figure-types, and iconography intelligently culled from Greek art gave a pleasing variety to the exercise of his Roman customers’ tastes. In many ways, the pilgrims to the Artemision at Ephesus (Demetrius’s customers) and the tourists at Baia (the sculptor’s customers) converged: venues of piety and pleasure always prompt buying. The Baian sculptor’s fusion of streamlined artisanal procedures and commercial enticement was a powerful business device, and if it does not represent much increase in artisanal productivity as such, it offered the possibility of greater volume, more rapid production, better advertising, more choice, and a bigger business. A similar streamlining is evident in a formula widely used by Roman sculptors: the “Pasiteles” formula, namely that of two figures standing frontally but touching one another to indicate what their relationship might be. The formula is known in several quite different statue-groups showing quite different images.11 It provided a standardized framework which could be readily blocked out in marble (the remaining examples are all life-sized), then the details, both emotional and mythological, could be put in as “customized” elements. Thus, the formula could be used equally well to show two brothers (human or divine as needed), two male friends or relatives (as needed), a man and a woman from mythology or from an imperial iconography or both, a brother and sister, and so on. With a little turn of the figures toward one another and the addition of an embrace, the formula could show sister and brother, husband and wife, and so on, with the result that the customers’ choices multiplied while the artisanal procedures were standardized, even in large and relatively expensive sculpture.

who, despite not being wealthy, wanted customized items anyway. It is often said that Roman art at social levels below that of the élite was merely an emulation and aping, but this interpretation does not take into account the images and iconographies which the artisans themselves were offering their clients as an array from which to choose, and how that array may have been constituted. While studies of active patronage in late Roman times are abundant, they have emphasized what patrons wanted (or, at least, got) instead of what the array of goods and ideas the artisans themselves were offering in the visual economy. In any historical period, customers do not always know what they want, but if artists give them choices, they do. This essay is intended to be exploratory and tentative on the side of the suppliers of images, combining archaeological examples with instances from written sources which illustrate how artisans in the late Roman visual economy worked, without, of course, exhausting any of the topics but suggesting some themes for further research. Image-overload While street-shrine statuettes in Ostia and urban wallpaintings in Ascalon were taken seriously, the proliferation of images in late Roman times was not without its opposite consequences: revulsion and bemusement. At the level of revulsion, philosophers since Xenophanes and Plato had long since thought that worshipping images of gods was silly at best, a sop to human weakness. However, what happens when images are not really worshipped (or only casually so) but are present in embarrassing plenitude as part of urban and domestic furniture? After all, one of the conclusions of Minucius Felix’s Octavius was that images of all kinds are bad. By the third century, even ordinary people may have felt bombarded by images. The reaction was to inveigh against them and to question the legitimacy of art itself, and authors addressing an educated pagan and Christian (but not neccessarily elite) readership picked up on this. Tertullian, writing from Carthage in the late second or early third century, speaks knowingly to an audience that he reckons is pretty well fed-up: there are statues in temples, theaters, and circuses, he says, and that’s where they belong. But then he goes on to say, “Besides which, the streets, the forum, the baths, the bars, and even our own houses are not without idols: the entire world is full of Satan and his angels.”12 Besides being a Christian polemicist, Tertullian was a person of fine taste and cultivation, and his revulsion against “idols” came as much from his and his estimation of his readers’ fatigue at the promiscuous public proliferation of images as from his intellectual principles. He was not reasoning theologically but evoking a common feeling of visual overload.

The examples of cheaper and more ordinary images cited previously – a little statue in a street-shrine in Italy, some wall-paintings in Palestine, Demetrius’s souvenir business in Asia Minor – are disparate as to location, date (first to sixth centuries C.E), medium, and literary source. I wish to emphasize their disparity because I think that it corresponds more closely to the aggregate effect of artisanal production in the late Roman period than a strictly typological or archaeological categorization would offer. How artisans repurveyed or repackaged images and ideas from one medium and context (frequently élite ones) to socially lower, more public, and more widely distributed media and contexts is part of this essay. In addition, there are both artisanal and literary examples of works made to “special order” by customers 11

12 Tertullian, De Spect. 8: Ceterum et plateae et forum et balneae et stabula et ipsae domus nostrae sine idolis imnino non sunt; totum saeculum satanas et angeli eius repleverunt.

Simon 1987. The type could be transformed into a Castor and Pollux group (divine brothers), Orestes and Electra (brother and sister), Zethos and Amphion (human brothers), and so on.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD A little earlier, Clement of Alexandria had used satire to legitimize his readers’ fatigue with images. His Exhortation to the Greeks (Protrepticus) is a supremely cultivated work written to flatter the literary tastes of an elite audience as well as the pretensions of a sub-elite one while putting both groups in the way of Christian theology. In its fourth chapter, Clement discusses art and images at length, on the principle that when art became prominent, error increased, and he used as his instance the famous statue of Serapis by Bryaxis in the Serapeum at Alexandria. He made this statue and all other works of art seem weird and silly, recounting a bundle of “literary” and art-historical stories about the statue, all absurd.13 For example, he says that the statue was “maybe” by Bryaxis or “some other” artist, according to legend, but according to other legends, not made by human hands, and so on, in a crazy mix of burlesque and sarcastic feigned innocence. By emphasizing the dry-as-dust antiquarianism of art and the chaotic popular culture surrounding it, the strained exoticism and indecency of art’s legends and their vapid implausibility and contradictions, Clement made his readers laugh at his satire and then feel quite indignant at having been gulled and mystified about “art.” Clement and other Christian authors marshalled, for their themes, current Neoplatonic philosophy which denigrated images as ghosts or phantasms, following Plato’s lead on this matter. At the same time, both Christian and pagan writers used allegory and metaphor, sometimes translated into visual terms, as tools of philosophical argument, and they did not hesitate to use examples of art and imagery in their diatribes.

and theologian Origen, to come and entertain her with their talk.15 Minucius Felix, Tertullian, Clement, and even Septimius Severus all make the same point: the material culture of Rome was full of images, and by late antiquity the cup was running over, flooding both the mental and physical environment. This flood was the success story of ancient artisans: they were able to make their productions seamlessly continuous, culturally irreducible, and even, in a sense, obligatory in all environments, religious and secular. The images, styles, and iconographies of great artistic venues in the fifth and fourth centuries B.C.E. – mainly religious – had been thoroughly naturalized in Hellenistic and Roman times, becoming the common cultural usage of urban decoration in many different types of buildings – baths, homes, brothels, market-places, official buildings – all over the empire. In addition, works of art had become collectibles, either directly as objects of virtù or as art in public or private collections, or indirectly and at second hand, as copies, versions, and pastiches, or else at third hand, referenced and alluded to in floor-mosaics, easel-paintings, and wall-paintings as well as jewllery, embroidered and woven cloth, pottery, lamps, coins, and so on. Doubtless all three forms of images – works of art and versions of them, and their miniaturized or referred facsimiles – were collected together, in a process whereby the potency of the original image as art or idol was naturalized in other places and media. Difference of venue and medium does not neccessarily mean dilution of potency in late antiquity: if anything, it may have invested the “originals” with new urgency and relevance at lower social levels and geographically wider ones. During the Roman Republic and the early empire, works of art had mainly been items of prestigious culture, trophies of military conquest, and significant examples of contribution to the public enjoyment and education by high patrons.16 Then by the first century C.E., art had become part of normal culture among the metropolitan and provincial elites, and ultimately provincial towns and the lower classes came also to be furnished with artistic goods. The uniqueness and the exemplary quality of originals were streamlined for a wider distribution in different forms, but the pervasiveness of imagery and artifacts increased to the extent, in the end, of provoking a certain indifference or disgust at the meaningless proliferation of “art.” Christian authors cleverly saw that and worked on it.

Of course, philosophers and theologians took art seriously, even if negatively, but at the same time, images could be viewed with bemusement, with an uninvolved enjoyment of “impressions” – this can also be a reaction to visual overload. The strategies of tourism (as opposed to purposeful travel) were invented in the second century: Pausanias’s Description of Greece (about 150 C.E.) is an example of “serious” tourism, but the emperor Septimius Severus perhaps put it best and most revealingly. He commented, years after, that his stay in Egypt (in 202 C.E. at the end of a successful military campaign) had been “pleasant” (iucundum) because he had seen the sacred rites of Serapis in Alexandria, and he had learned a bit about old things by visiting some nice ruins, and besides all that, he had seen some really weird animals!14 His comment exhibits a touristic view, one of uninvolved pleasure, an enjoyment of meaningless variety for its own sake, and an inattentive viewing of an entertaining sequence of impressions and things. Even the ponderous glories of Egypt were subsumed into the white noise of images in late antiquity. In the same years, his wife Julia Domna engaged in similar tourism, albeit of an intellectual sort: when in residence at Antioch, she invited a salad of intellectuals, including the Christian scholar

Walter Benjamin and late antique art There are contradictions in the visual culture of late antiquity. Visuality, that is to say an intense involvement with visual stimuli of all kinds, increased with proliferation, larger means of production, and wider distribution of artistic goods, with a consequent increase

13

Clement of Alexandria, Protr. 4. S.H.A., Severus 17, 4. He visited Memphis, the statue of Amenophis III at Memnon, the Pyramids, and the Labyrinth of the Fayum; all these except the last are still on the tourist-routes of Egypt. 14

15 Dio Cassius, Roman History 75.15.6-7; Philostratus, VA 1.3; Mudle 1961; Bowersock 1969: 101-9; Birley 1999: 141, 168. 16 A good recent account in Haug 2001: 111-24.

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GUY P.R. MÉTRAUX: CONSUMERS’ CHOICES in the acceptability of images, iconographies, and artefacts but an inevitable decrease in uniqueness. At the same time, reverence for art and its images increased – emperors tried their hands at it as a hobby, laws were promulgated to protect it, little collections were put in cupboards and prayed to – while denigrating images of all kinds became a norm for both Neoplatonic philosophers and Christian theologians, possibly as a challenge to what they saw as the lumpen devotion to images by others higher or lower on the social scale. For the 20th century, Walter Benjamin recognized some of these paradoxes and contradictions in his famous article of 1936, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.”17 Benjamin saw a parallel between the visual environment of late antiquity and that of the early modern period, and he contrasted what he called the “aura” of works of art (their special quality of ritual or ritual memory as well as their site-specific character) to what can happen when they are reproduced and diffused. While Benjamin’s insights remain indispensible to account for certain processes of reproduction and diffusion of images, he emphasized the political implications of artistic phenomena and omitted their commercial aspects. Roman commercial artisans themselves participated in the processes of reproduction and diffusion, creating a world of images and artifacts which, by late antiquity, had become dizzying in its quantity and variety.

a recondite Mithraic iconography which, as objects, were special-order items from a factory that otherwise produced medium-sized quantities of standardized, utterly derivative moulded pottery, a red-polished product of indifferent quality from Germania Superior which its makers marketed in the frontier region and in Britain for a generation or so in the early second century.18 Pottery is not neccessarily art, but its means of production and diffusion may illuminate other aspects of Roman visual culture. In the case of the Mainz cup, one reason it is important is because it is predictive, challenging archaeologists and art historians to look for the sensitive special-order instances of wares rather than ones which fit into the known production-runs and decorations for dating purposes. Such special-order instances illustrate both the versatility of the artisans and the desires of the not-specially-wealthy patron who nonetheless might want something unique. The Wetterau factory may have developed the commercial strategy – not infrequent among pottery-artisans since Greek times – of making a small number of items to special-order for consumers who wanted something unique but not too costly, within a larger framework of manufacturing standard shapes and decorations for a much larger market. The possibility of customizing a relatively cheap, satisfactory, and standardized product seems to have appealed to a pious customer who, in the case of the Mainz cup and its companion-pieces (now destroyed), had an artist depict, in the en barbotine method with some incision-work, seven figures in relief (the Father or Mithras as Archer, the Raven, the Lion, and so on) corresponding to the arcane spatial and calendrical arrangements of a Mithraeum at Mogontiacum (Mainz) in Germania Superior.19 The cup may have been part of the shrine’s liturgical equipment. While its importance is mainly iconographical, it is worth noting that the cup’s seven figures are presented with gestures and proportions quite different from the more or less classicizing figures usual in the moulded relief of Roman wares derived from

Faced with standardized plethora, what is a not-wealthy patron to do if he/she still wants something special? The gap between “off-the-rack” and “special-order” in material goods can be daunting for consumers, but the challenge was recognized, met, and mastered by Roman artisans. A specific but, in my view, important instance of Roman consumers’ relation to artisanal work is the customizing of a piece of pottery within the context of a ceramic manufacture, Wetterau ware, which in its day-today activity produced standardized production-runs (mainly plates and bowls). Within these dull productionlines is an object at once unique in its iconography but standardized in its manufacture: the Mainz cup. This is one of a very small number of cups with handles bearing

18 On the Wetterau manufacture, Rupp 1987: 40-1, abb. 7 for standard shapes and 54-8 for dates between 100-140 C.E.; Rupp 1991. Pottery is an area of material culture that historians of Greek art readily broach but that is rarely investigated by historians of Roman art, probably wisely, even though Roman “fine” pottery for the table had an important artisanal history: it was both local and empire-wide, satisfying small ambient markets but travelling physically (over land-routes and especially in the river- and sea-borne trade), and its attractions were such that, given the right conditions, it could be imitated locally and thus spread indirectly. The Wetterau factory is certainly an instance of this: it supplied locally what was also being supplied from bigger manufactures further west, at Rheinzabern and Trier, for example. These manufactures in turn had been competitors from the earlier Gaulish factories to the south, e.g., those at Lezoux and La Graufesenque, and both of these had out-produced and probably extinguished the great manufactures at Arezzo (Aretium) in central Italy. See Oswald and Pryce 1966 and Standfield and Simpson 1958. I am not aware of a history of Roman pottery-manufactures which entirely describes their commercial, artisanal, and imagistic/iconographic histories and trajectories. 19 The cup was dedicated by grafitto to the “unconquered” (i]nv[icto) by Quintus Cas[ius] in H.G. Horn’s reading: see the account of the 1976 discovery of the cup and the rescue-excavation in Horn 1994; the iconography of the cup discussed in Merkelbach 1995 and Beck 2000.

17 Benjamin 1968. Benjamin’s 1936 article is seminal in the history of 20th century investigation of art and even other fields, and it has by now become a standard of literature on the arts, widely familiar and required reading to many publics, from specialists of all kinds to undergraduate students. My intention is to propose – without exhausting – some of the possibilities of Benjamin’s insights into the visuality of the 20th century vis-à-vis some problems of visual consumerism in late antiquity. Benjamin himself noted that his intellectual predecessors in his interpretation were Alois Reigl and Franz Wickhoff; as he put it, they had undertaken to understand the “organization of perception” in late Roman times rather than write a history of art which was based on the standards of classicism and/or derogations from it. However, what he criticized in the work of the Vienna School was its limitation to issues of style with little attempt to coordinate visual changes with social transformations. For his comments on Reigl and Wickhoff: Benjamin 1968: 222. He is referring to Reigl 1927 and Wickhoff and von Hartel 1895 (= Wickhoff 1900). In the case of Reigl, Benjamin’s criticism was not entirely just: while it is the case that Spätrömische Kunstindustrie scarcely broached issues of society and economic life, Reigl in other publications evinced interest in social and economic issues.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD Italian terra-sigillata prototypes. The special-order figures are long-waisted, short-legged, and short-armed, depicted with a cartoon-like clarity of pose, attribute, and gesture; the customer seems to have wanted plenty of detail, and the artisan supplied it at the expense of traditional figural formulation. The Mainz cup may be an example of how, at the lower levels of artistic consumption, normal production-runs also allowed for quite different styles and iconographies in the case of special-order items. Something new, recondite, and stylistically different occurred when the ceramic work was customized, and something of the same dialogue between standardization and special-order may have existed for floor mosaics as well.

at the simplest level meant newspaper lithography, then photographs and film, as a means of distributing visual information and standardizing audience reaction, but variety in the forms of image-distribution and artistic standardization is not merely a 20th century phenomenon. His insight, of course, was that the processes, distribution, and results of these media changed the perceptions and reactions of the public: imagery and art became devices to market further objects, culturecreators, and, in a sense, mechanical means by which culture, if not perception itself, might change by proliferation in new forms and at new levels. What was required were ever-increasing consumer-groups for images and artifacts going beyond the elite classes, to create the commercial conditions whereby artisans found new customers both vertically in social structure and horizontally in geographical spread. Again, I want to emphasize that not all of Benjamin’s insights fit the late Roman period; this article suggests that other phenomena of material culture related to the commercial processes and opportunity-sightings by artisans are part of the picture of late Roman art. An extension of Benjamin’s ideas might well emphasize how the suppliers of visual goods adapted to new, expanding, and large-market situations, rather than the desires of consumers and the promptings of propagandists which Benjamin stressed and that patronal studies of late Roman art have usually emphasized.

Any history of art has to be about how artifacts were consumed, and some of Walter Benjamin’s ideas seem relevant to late Roman antiquity because he presciently addressed the phenomena of how visual images in society were diffused to socially lower, larger, and futher-flung audiences than those for which they had been originally intended.20 Because Benjamin’s work concerns massculture and the psychology of non-élite visual consumerism, the implication is that the focus of arthistorical studies can validly be on ordinary art as well as that of the elites. Of course, the industrial means of production – Benjamin’s “age of mechanical reproduction” – did not exist in Roman times.21 Still, some aspects of visual art and its production which Benjamin saw having an effect on visual culture in the 20th century may be relevant, as investigative tools, to late Roman situations: there was a similar reliance on formulae, repetition, and standardization, an odd recourse simultaneously both to common visual clichés and to recondite reference, as well as – and this is important – a culture of participation and identification by consumers with art and a visualized (rather than a poetic, philosophical, scientific, or rhetorical) literary culture. Pictures, rather than words or speech, clinched culture. In this sense, the larger public in Roman times gained the role of both artist and critic in the way Benjamin discerned for the art- and image-consuming public in the 20th century, and that public developed some modern ambivalences: a simultaneous contempt for, bemusement with, and veneration of, images. As we have seen, the taste for visual stimuli was accompanied, already by the third century, with a feeling of bombardment and visual surfeit. Benjamin’s model of “mechanical reproduction”

Artisans offering choices: fish A visual economy that makes artisanal products available, in widely distributed, commercially viable, and reproduced form, changes the “aura” of the élite original, but these products could also confer prestige and supply meaning at lower social levels in several different ways. The choices that, over time, artisans offered customers, some richer, some poorer, can be illustrated in the houses, floors, and strategies of decorated spaces in a single urban insula (a city-block of houses surrounded by streets on four sides) in the town of Utica in the Roman province of Africa Vetus, about 60 kms north of the provincial capital at Carthage. The block of urban properties known as Insula II was near downtown Utica and had been laid out in the early first century C.E. when the town was designated as the seat of the Roman proconsular administration. In the original lay-out, all the insulae were 82 m (EW) by 34.60 m (NS), the cardines and decumani defining them were all 9.75 m wide, and, like the blocks in the town, Insula II had twelve equal house-plots, about 17.30 m deep by 13.50 m wide, six on each long street-front, two on the short ones.22 In the late first or early second century C.E. (by which time Utica had ceased to be the administrative capital and had become a quiet provincial town), the urban arrangement was changed, itself an interesting instance of modification in Roman social relations. The

20

Supra n. 16. The nature of the Roman economy is not an issue in this essay. There is no question of much technological enhancement of productivity or production-efficiencies by economies of scale, commodification of labor, and capital investment: the conditions for analysis to which modern economies and visual consumption can be subjected did not exist (or did so just barely) in the pre-industrial, precapitalist Roman economy in the way that became possible with and after the Industrial Revolution, nor, it can be added, did the psychological effects of such phenomena. Still, the expansion of trade in goods of all kinds was noted by Latin writers themselves, and economic historians are providing models of change in the later Roman economy: see, for example, Paterson 1998 and Parkins 1998. 21

22

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Corpus des mosaïques de Tunisie I,1, Utique 1973: 1-2.

GUY P.R. MÉTRAUX: CONSUMERS’ CHOICES knowledge existed – of the world and nature. Knowing about fish was one of them, and it had the glamour of being an elite hobby as well. In the second century, Apuleius’s hobby of purchasing fish for study was brought against him as a charge of magic in civil court, and he amusingly defended himself in sarcastic detail (he had written a book about fish) before a judge who would have known about fish as an elite item. Artisans repurveyed this upper-class hobby into visual terms: a congery of fish, sometimes with crustaceans, in a field almost devoid of natural sub-acquaeous elements but often accompanied by fishing-implements and fishermen or fishing-erotes, set out in a way which allows the viewer, as a matter of pleasurable learning and learnèd amusement, to recognize, name, and categorize the animals, implements, and fishing-techniques. This was fun, classy, and educational all at once. The motif also carried with it the glamour of élite pisciculture which had given its name to a whole class of leisured, very rich, and very aristocratic amateurs – piscinarii, “owners of fishbasins.”23 In addition, it reminded the viewer that fish and crustaceans were luxurious, expensive comestibles, and the representation of congeries of sea-animals recalled a famous painting.24 Among the many objects of the late second-century funerary treasure-hoards found at Lovere on the Lake of Iseo in northern Italy, a large silver plate depicted, in its central bosse, the engraved image of a seated fisherman with the shaved head and loin-cloth of a slave. The plate’s wide rim in repoussé showed various fish, rays, eels, mollusks, and crustaceans together with traps, carrying-baskets, fishing spears and tridents, and even a fish-eating water-bird. The images together combine luxurious and ordinary, encyclopedic and practical, and elite and servile contrasts viewed from a socially eminent stand-point; the plate at a fancy dinner could provoke a wide range of conversational topics and expressions of upper-class attitudes.25

NS cardines accessing the downtown area to the north were made narrower and more commercial by a coordinated effort to add shops and work-areas to the fronts of the houses on both sides, and some of the EW decumani were narrowed as well. These measures contributed to commercialization and greater density, and they may have been encouraged by the municipal government to generate added tax-revenue by increasing the amount of land in private possession at the expense of the public thoroughfares. The decumani then became quiet residential lanes in contrast to the busier commercial cardines, and the social result was that the equal division of residential properties was replaced with a distinctly asymmetrical one. In Insula II, four houses and part of another were bought up and knocked together to make one big luxurious one with an impressive façade on the decumanus, the Maison de la Cascade. Two other houses along the cardo on the west side were regrouped as a factory or warehouse with street-frontage shops, and only three of the original twelve house-plots remained. Social symmetry was thus replaced by a sharp spatial and social contrast among rich, commercial, and relatively poor, and the floors replicated these new divisions: opus sectile and fine mosaics for the Maison de la Cascade, utilitarian floors in the commercial spaces, sometimes a bit of simple mosaic here and there in the humbler houses but usually simple opus signinum, plaster, or pisé surfaces. For the Maison de la Cascade (Figure 1), the largest and finest house in Insula II, the only figurative mosaics were the floors and sides of water-basins and cascades depicting congeries of fish and crustaceans, sometimes with fishermen and erotes. These were all “add-on” decorations and came at a time when the house, which had been built and decorated with geometric or floral floors in the mid-second century, was remodelled to increase its ceremoniousness and luxury, at different times around the middle of the third century. The owner of the Maison de la Cascade invested in new wateramenties throughout the house, but the mosaicists which he hired supplied him with a theme – the congery of fish and crustaceans – which had always had a special place in late Roman imagery, one which Roman commercial artisans could nimbly repurvey.

The Lovere plate, of course, was a distinctly elite object, but its characteristics were ductile, capable of being repurveyed in ways that conveyed its luxury and learning to provincial and ultimately public venues. Mosaic artisans applied the motif of an aquatic congery to the ornament of water-basins and little cascades very widely in houses in North Africa. When it was redecorated in the mid-third century, the Maison de la Cascade at Utica had no less than three fish-and-crustaceans mosaics (Figure 1): one in a basin on axis of the entrance of the house (room II, no. 43), another in a basin in the axis of the peristyle (room XXIIIa, no. 51) opposite the entrance to a ceremonial room of some kind (room XXXIV), and a third on a cascade embellishing a light-well room (room

Commercial repurveying in late Roman commercial art meant, in many cases, recycling motifs and ideas from other contexts, and in a society concerned with status and meaning, images which seem innocuous or merely decorative to us came with plenty of social baggage in the Roman world. The encyclopedic culture of the early empire – notably Pliny the Elder’s Natural History and the systematic literature on agriculture which could include fish-husbandry – had provided readers of all sorts with compendia of phenomena and lists of things (materials, techniques, works of art, flora, fauna, and so on) which suggested that a visually ordered but kaleidoscopic assemblage might correspond to knowledge – or, rather, to the knowledge that ordered

23 Higgenbotham 1997; Apuleius, Apol. 29-41. Apuleius’s book about fish is lost. 24 Plutarch, Mor., Quaest. Conv. IV, 2, 688b; Athenaeus, Deipnosophistai VI, 274 ff. For a “famous” painting of fish surrounding the image Scylla by Androcydes, Plutarch, Mor., Quaest. Conv. IV, 2, 665d and 668c; Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae VIII, 341a. 25 For the Lovere plate, Degrassi 1961: 700, fig. 848.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD

Figure 1. Plan, Maison de la Cascade, Utica, in its final phase, third century C.E. (Illustration: after Corpus des mosaïques de Tunisie I, 1. Utique 1973, plan 7, drawing by J. Gretzinger).

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GUY P.R. MÉTRAUX: CONSUMERS’ CHOICES XVI, nos. 28 and 60) to the side of the grand triclinium (room XIV), with probably another one on the other side (in room XIII, where there was a cascade as well) to complete the symmetry. The motif appeared as a reference to knowledge and social distinction on the axes (entrance-hall) and in the areas of hospitality (triclinium) and delight (peristyle) of the house, as a stimulus to pleasure and discussion. In addition, the motif was positioned as part of the over-all plan of the house, at the apices of its symmetries or as flanking devices for a central space (the triclinium), so that, as each “point” was reached, the motif appeared or re-appeared. The animals are shown just about life-sized and in more or less correct proportion to one another, the human fishermen or erotes very small. All these compositions have the character of xenia, the depiction of simple comestibles intended to impress guests with their dazzling freshness and simplicity and to reinforce the sincerity of the patron’s hospitality, thrillingly simple in luxurious circumstances.26 In addition, xenia gave a glow of literary aspiration, as they were frequently the subject of letters, poems, and epigrams. Congeries of fish and crustaceans in mosaic were the image of the piscinarius, his villa, his fictive, referred, or real sea-side estate, his luxurious hospitality, and his wealth to the owner of this urban house. While the patronal intention is patent, its fulfillment depended what commercial artisans were offering in the way of choices. In the mid-third century, they were offering their customers congeries of fish and crustaceans among many other motifs.

audience in the Lovere plate) to a participatory mode in the big, coarse, public repackaging in mosaic for a bathbuilding at Carthage. In this last instance, accuracy no longer mattered, and with a little fantasy thrown in, the appeal of the fish-motif to a wider non-elite public was clinched. Commercial artisans made it their business to keep on securing commissions. Artisans offering choices: hunting scenes Repurveying images such as the congery of fish and crustaceans was a sure formula for artisans that worked well for four centuries. However, in artisanal commerce, versatility is also essential, and Roman artisans were well equipped to be versatile. A telling instance of commercial versatility in late Roman times is the Maison de la Chasse (Figure 2), a small house in the same Insula II at Utica as the Maison de la Cascade (just around the corner from the front door, or two doors down from the back door, of that grand house). The Maison de la Chasse stood on the south side of Insula II; it had retained its perimeter as one of the original twelve equal subdivisions of the urban block, and it had always been a very humble house with no nice floors from the time that it was first built in the late first century C.E.28 Then, around 350 C.E., the Maison de la Chasse was “gentrified.” Almost no greater demand on the versatility of commerical artisans is possible than “gentrifying” an old house in a mixed neighborhood. The difficulty comes from having to supply a believable and up-to-date array of images in a situation where the other houses in an urban block may be older and grander as well as poorer and meaner, and in which some spaces formerly occupied by houses had become ignoble shops, warehouses, and factories. Why the Maison de la Chasse was “gentrified” is uncertain. However, having been bare of anything except utilitarian floors heretofore, it was newly equipped with a nice-enough vestibule (Figure 2, room III) leading to a small peristyle (rooms IV-VIII) entered off-axis into the peristyle’s west portico (room V). The peristyle led to a small tablinum (room X), the main reception-room of the house. Two of the peristyle porticoes (rooms VII and VIII) had floors with coarse geometric or floral designs, but those on the west and north (rooms V and VI) were decorated with fancy framed pictures of hunting scenes, four on the west side going on to seven on the north. It was evidently these porticoes, cramped though they were, which led guests ceremoniously along an L-shaped track to the tablinum. The hunting scenes on the north start with the image of a villa with wings and turrets at the NW corner and continue eastward with scenes of birding, deer hunting, a rabbit hunt, a lion hunt, the return of the dominus on horseback with a servant, and the return from the deer hunt. This grandiloquent imagery was presented in this very small urban house, not at all comparable to the large, architecturally impressive, and decoratively luxurious Maison de la Cascade two doors down the

In public buildings, the same aquatic congery could also be offered to much larger numbers of less élite consumers. By repurveying the motif in the grandest public environments, artisans could work for an ever more socially diverse audience. The Maison de la Cascade was a distinctly wealthy domus, but the aquatic motif was extendible, by artisans, to public venues as well. Sometime in the sixth century C.E., the motif reappeared in the mosaic floor of a room in the Baths of Antoninus Pius at Carthage, but now at a huge scale (the aquatic animals are many times life-sized), in disproportion (the animals are in fanciful sizes one to another), and with an intensification of fantasy (birdbeaked turtles, griffins with eel-tails), the whole set out with sharp graphic boldness for a distinctly public venue.27 The centuries which separated the Lovere plate and the basins and cascades of the Maison de la Cascade from the Carthage mosaic mark changes of style but also, it seems to me, ways in which a single motif, that of an aquatic congery, might be transformed by artisans from a distinctly elite one into a showy decoration for a public place. In these examples, there is an artisanal trajectory from Benjamin’s “contemplative” mode (in this case, the accurate artistic presentation of various species according to visually encyclopedic norms for a learnèd and elite 26 Darmon 1990; the Palatine Anthology incorporates several descriptions of xenia in verse. 27 Corpus des mosaïques de Tunisie IV, 1, Karthago 1999: 10-12 with preceeding bibliography.

28

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Corpus des mosaïques de Tunisie I,1,Utique 1973: 67-81.

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Figure 2. Plan, Maison de la Chasse, Utica, in its final phase, fourth century C.E. (Illustration: after Corpus des mosaïques de Tunisie I, 1. Utique 1973, plan 13, drawing by J. Gretzinger).

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GUY P.R. MÉTRAUX: CONSUMERS’ CHOICES street. In the Maison de la Chasse, the hunting subjects, the villa in the country, and the dominus on horseback are very much cheaper knock-offs or social souvenirs of such scenes from really impressive African and Sicilian villas such as that of Lord Julius from Carthage or the villa at Piazza Armerina in Sicily, where the hunting scenes were deployed in a spatially expansive way, quite unlike the tightly directed arrangement of the small house at Utica. In the Maison de la Chasse, the arrangement of the hunting scenes along two sides of the peristyle rapidly funnelled guests from the entrance of the house to the tablinum without embarrassing detours into the less welldecorated areas, and the arrangement has a pretension and a (not unsympathetic) fussy thriftiness which, it seems to me, underscores the patron’s desire to claim an élite social status by means of pictures only: the images of the exemplum virtutis associated with hunting and the upperclass otium of villa-life in the image of the villa.29 The artisans smoothly repackaged, in mosaic for a small urban house and for a relatively humble patron, the images and ideas of the elite classes. The acquisition of status and competing with richer neighbors was something commercial artisans – in this case urban mosaic-workers – could readily supply.

Artisans offering choices: ideas In addition to motives (fish, hunting-scenes, and the like), artisans could repurvey ideas. In some cases, late Roman funerary iconographies were adapted for aquisition by customers at sub-elite levels, even though virtually the same iconographies were considered, at least by elite historians, to be vicious, impious, and ridiculous when they appeared at the upper social levels. My example is the practice of memorializing human beings, either living or, most often, dead, as divinities or personifications of abstract ideas. There is almost no greater gap between elite literary texts and actual social practices than this. Roman historians almost inevitably took the “senatorial” view in their interpretation of the reigns of emperors, in an elite tradition which started already with Suetonius and descended to the writers of the Historia Augusta and beyond. The point of the “senatorial” view was to praise emperors who were polite, kind, and accomodating to the upper classes and to disparage and vilify those who were not. Among emperors’ many vices cited by Roman historians (gluttony, adultery, niggardliness, and so on) was the habit of identifying with divinities and abusively arrogating a privilege of association with them. Augustus was criticized for a dinner he gave in which the guests appeared dressed as gods,31 Gaius (Caligula) divinized himself on the model of his ancestor Mark Antony, and by the second century association with divinities had become commonplace for emperors, their wives, and their children. This imperial tradition, much vilified and ridiculed by elite historians, went hand-in-hand with the empire-wide development and success of the imperial cult, which supplied connection and comfort as well as social status to people throughout the Roman hegemony. Its specific application comes in an unexpected way: in the consecratio in formam deorum, a funerary practice of the second century and late Roman times in which the belovèd dead were re-positioned as divinities or personified ideas.32 This often happened at the sub-elite level, in private situations of commemoration by wealthy freedmen families whose circumstances may have been one of financial comfort without the hope of high social status. Around 130 C.E. on the Via Appia just outside Rome, for example, an imperial freedman, M. Ulpius Crotonensis, had an elaborate tomb preceeded by a garden built for his wife, Claudia Semne, and for his son and namesake who had died in adolescence.33 Claudia was commemorated in the garden as Spes (Hope), the goddess Venus, and Fortuna; her portrait-statue reclining in death was inside the tomb-building. Her son was also memorialized in four guises: in a portrait-bust, in a statue as a youthful dying hero of the hunt (as Adonis or Meleager with a dog), and in two images of him wearing

The comparison between the third-century aquatic motifs in the Maison de la Cascade and the fourth century hunting images of the “gentrified” Maison de la Chasse reveals a difference in decorative and spatial conception and a development in Roman habits of visual consumerism. In the earlier redecorations in the Maison de la Cascade, the fish-basins were added as part of the symmetries of the over-all plan, supplying moments of stillness, contemplative thought, and pleasure reinforcing the acts of entering the house, enjoying its interior garden, and eating. Such a design corresponds to Benjamin’s “contemplative” mode of perception, which he contrasted with the other, vibrantly communicative devices of modern art (photography and film) in which close-ups, slow-motion or speeded-up segments, and tightly-focused views created a substantially different mode of perception.30 A century or so after the fishbasins of the Maison de la Cascade, the artisans of the much smaller, certainly less rich Maison de la Chasse supplied just that: strident and highly distilled images with sharp and grandiloquent references to the hunt and its meanings, along a tight track of movement from entrance-hall to tablinum, with a cinematic efficiency. The changes in artisanal design-practice corresponded, it seems to me, to a careful attention by artisans to what not-specially-wealthy customers might want and need in order to lay claim both to status and to an up-to-date visual environment.

31

Suetonius, Aug. 70.1. Wrede 1981. Wrede’s account is brief but his catalogue is invaluable; what is missing from his important study is how the relatively low and provincial status-groups who engaged in this funerary practice got the idea of doing so in the first place. 33 Wrede 1971; Wrede 1981: 77, 99, 83-90, 96-7; Kleiner and Matheson 1996: 182-3, Figure 1; Bignamini and Claridge 1998. 32

29 For the Roman iconography of hunting in general, Aymard 1951; a specific instance in Raeck 1997. 30 Benjamin 1968: 235-7.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD the toga, his privilege as a Roman citizen or at least a potential one had he lived. The combination of idealization in the form of divine ideas or goddesses for the mother, as well as the heroic athleticism, early death with mythological metaphor, and socially up-market representation of the son as a togate Roman, constitutes an iconography of social striving within a context of touching sentiment. At the same time, of course, the iconography when it appears in the sub-elite social context represented, for the freedman M. Ulpius Crotonensis as it did for Walter Benjamin, an opening of art’s resources and imagery’s meanings to new and socially active political expression by the consumer of visual goods.

that Benjamin claimed was possible only with photography and film but which, it seems to me, can also happen in the emotional and rhetorical contexts of Roman funerary commemoration as well. Ekphrasis Repurveying in a different way came about in the popular literary genre about works of art as developed by later Roman writers. The prestige of art – even the prestige of art history – came to be a common-place in late Roman literary culture. Lives and biographies could be framed up as if they were pictures and statues37 and, conversely, pictures and statues could be turned into words as if they were alive. This was ekphrasis, a type of elegant, glittery, or impassioned description of works of art which paraphrased pictures, statues, and even architecture into poetry, prose, rhetorical display, and sometimes in terms of the philosophy associated with the Second Sophistic.38 The Hellenistic and early Roman antecedants of this literary genre do not prepare us for its quantitative explosion in the second century, and it may have had an effect on ordinary homes: visual reprise of mythological events came to be even more intense and extensively used in domestic situations than they had been in earlier Pompeian wall-painting, supplying themes and subjects of conversation in situations of hospitable reception and feasting.39 Ekphrasis puts the audience of literary works which “reproduce” works of art in the position of critic or even of artist, inducing a species of participation which Walter Benjamin noticed was a conspicuous characteristic of audiences for art in a situation of "mechanical reproduction." In fact, ekphrasis flatters its readers by assuming that they have fluent literacy and knowledgable visuality, and the glamourization and personalization of images – making them relevant – is one of the goals of such literature.

For Roman artisans, commemoration of humans in divine guises was easy to supply, but they could do the opposite as well: identity memorialized in terms of work in the here-and-now. Roman purveyors of visual goods were versatile in such matters. In the task of commemoration, consecrationes in formam deorum converge with examples of representation which seem to be their iconographic opposite, namely those emphasizing the dignity of work or profession and the status it could confer, often with the clothing, equipment, and contexts of such occupations.34 This was the case, most affectingly, of a pair of statues of a charioteer and a woman, probably husband and wife, dated by their excavators to the first half of the third century, from the Yasmina necropolis at Carthage.35 The life-sized marble statues stood in niches in the walls of a square, multitomb masonry monument. The charioteer was dressed in the long-sleeved under-garment, tunic, boots, and distinctive abdomen-wide belt of his profession; he carried a small pitcher for libation in his right hand and a long whip in his left.36 His body sways in slight contrapposto to his left and puts his figure in relation to the female figure, who sways to her right. Besides a wreath and what may have been a ball of yarn, the female figure held a distaff in her right hand, top down as if it were a reversed funerary torch, corresponding to the charioteer’s whip in the composition of the pair. This correspondance of tools (male whip and female distaff, both sticks with cords attached to them!) emphasizes what and how the couple achieved in the exercise of their profession and work, athletic and domestic respectively. The implements they carry had conferred on them the wealth to ensure commemoration and public (male) and private (female) dignity without pretense to, or even possibility of, high social status. Their consecration was not in divine form, as it had been for Claudia Semne and her son, but rather with the implements of their work and dignity. The funerary context, of course, intensified these objects, making them vibrate with significance and magnifying their visibility, with something of the effect

At the most elevated level of ekphrasis, Dio Chrysostom (early second century C.E.) imagined a kind of courtroom defence of art by the sculptor Phidias himself, in the presence of his own statue of Zeus at Olympia,40 but ekphrastic literature could also deal with subjects halfseriously at the level of recherché gossip: Lucian (late second century) constructed a “picture” of Lucius Verus’s famously beautiful and famously low-born mistress Pantheia by bringing in the classical Greek sculptors and painters (Phidias, Alkamenes, Polygnotus, Euphranor, Apelles, and so on) to sculpt or paint her features according to the various talents exhibited in their (lost) works. After that, Lucian brought in the poets Homer 37 Cameron 1991: 150-2; Miller 1998 for other late antique and Christian instances. On the problem, for intellectuals, of commemoration in statues, see Too 1996. 38 For ekphrasis in general, an excellent account in Elsner 1995: 21-48 and Elsner 1998: 244-9; see also Roberts 1989: 31-9; Palm 1965; Fowler 1991; Anderson 1993: 144-70 for the Second Sophistic; and especially Bowersock 1990. For Byzantine developments, James and Webb 1991. 39 Kondoleon 1995; Muth 1998. 40 Dio Chrysostom, Or. XII. 49-85.

34

Kampen 1981; see also the article by Michele George in this volume. Norman and Haeckl 1993: 239-44. 36 Charioteers were men of distinction at Carthage: the Maison des auriges grecs had a mosaic floor showing drivers of the four competitive colors (green, blue, red, white) with their cars and horses. 35

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GUY P.R. MÉTRAUX: CONSUMERS’ CHOICES and Pindar as visual painters to “finish” the picture with a few common-place quotations.41 The whole is a fruity aestheticized confection intended to flatter its readers with knowledge which, in the case of the classical artists, they could never have had (the statues and pictures, by then lost, were merely famous for being famous in ancient art history), and, in the case of the poetic references, readers may have remembered them from epitomized, school-room, or “famous quotations” formats. The long persistence (into Byzantine times) of ekphrastic literature documents a reliance on visual effect, indeed an expectation of mainly visual stimulus, by late Roman readers and audiences.

that that’s the place they will want to live. Among the villa’s many other excellences, the god predicts its adornment with paintings which would show events of Roman history: incidents in the Mithridatic War of 74 B.C.E.43 The mythological allusions are made-up and mixed-up with no authenticity or authority whatsoever (Apollo and Bacchus never ventured to Gaul), and the historical scenes are there because they were visually dramatic. Still, the authenticities of myth (no matter how spurious) and history (no matter how recondite), when they were visually and poetically represented, gave a glow of authority to the house which brought the glamour of the gods and Roman history to a region and a family whose origins were provincial, without so much as a smirk on the part of the learnèd poet. The import and pious intentions of these paintings were clinched by the distinctly up-to-date representation, on the walls of Pontius Leontius’s wife’s quarters, of the history of the Jews (the family was Christian).44 As a subject for narrative painting, the Pentateuch had become fashionable: a few years earlier, Paulinus had it and other Jewish themes painted on the portico-walls of one of the basilicae of St. Felix at Nola in Campania.45 Late Roman artisans had smoothly moved the narrative from religious to secular venues, from a pilgrimage-site to a lady’s boudoir. In Aquitainia, the wife of Pontius Leontius exhibited her piety with a Pentateuch painting, whereas Paulinus at Nola had the walls of his establishment painted to prevent the poor but pious wretches who came on pilgrimage from drinking too much on St. Felix’s feast-days! The subject was the same, but the intention was different, and late Roman artisan-painters worked interchangeablely for both customers.

Pictures were a means of stepping onto the social escalator, especially when artisans and customers visually massaged mythology to associate the prestige of antiquity by analogy to present-day or present-person situations. The fictional account by Petronius in his “Dinner at Trimalcio’s” in the Satyricon (late first century C.E.) pokes fun at this kind of massaging of myth: Trimalchio is presented as the epitome of freedmen’s pretensions, in part because he marshalled mythology for personal purposes. What his guests first saw in his house was the grand peristyle with its high walls painted with frescoes depicting, on one side, the heroes of the Trojan War and, on the other side, the heroic life and business exploits of the rich freedman, some with direct intervention of divinities (Mercury, Minerva, Fortuna, the Fates) which would also have accompanied the heroes. Contemporary reference was added with a painting of gladiators in combat at a public entertainment (munus) for which Trimalchio had paid.42 The equation of myth with the host’s cult of personality and biography were made explicit by a guide (ostensor) who fussily underlined their parallels. Beyond its satire, the sense of cultural and social dislocation – grand myth and preposterous petty person melded together in a mixed-up analogy – is also patent: what might be acceptable at an imperial level would “not do” for members of the lesser social orders, at least in Petronius’s view. What is also clear is that Trimalchio himself – fairly uneducated – could not have conceived such a program. Rather, he had put himself in the hands of experts – artisans and decorators who supplied both the painting and the meaning.

Roman history could also be fictionalized in works of artisanal production which were then reinforced by ekphrasis, as Sidonius Apollinaris did for his friend Pontius Leontius in the Gallic provinces. The same could happen at metropolitan and elite levels as well. The author of the life of Titus or Quartinus, one of the “Thirty Tyrants” or imperial usurpers of the mid-third century, claims to have seen a statue of the emperor’s wife Calpurnia, a supposèd descendant of the Calpurnii Pisones, one of the foremost noble families of the late Republic and early empire.46 Calpurnia’s statue stood in the temple of Venus and was gilded but had hands, feet, and head of marble. We are told that she owned pearls that had belonged to Cleopatra and a silver platter

Massaging myth and history to raise or confirm status could also be a matter of high seriousness as patrons’ concern for high status by visual demonstration reached further afield. In the fifth century C.E., Sidonius Apollinaris, in his poem The Castle of Pontius Leontius, made Apollo and Bacchus describe (in the future tense) the house and estate of his friend, located somewhere in Aquitania (south-western Gaul). Apollo tells Bacchus

43

Sidonius Apollinaris, Carmina 22, 158-68. Sidonius Apollinaris, Carm. 22, 200-3. As far as I am aware, this is the only instance of one pagan god describing visual narratives of Jewish history to another pagan god! Late Roman poetry made for some strange bed-fellows. 45 Paulinus of Nola, Carm. 27, 511-29, the Pentateuch with the addition of a Joshua story and that of Ruth; in another courtyard, the two Testaments, Carm. 28, 167-79; elsewhere, Job and Tobias, and, in compliment to the ladies, Judith and Esther, Carm. 28, 16-27. See also Goldschmidt 1940:152-4, 168-70. 46 The authors of the Historia Augusta were much given to historically doubtful snobbery about such ancient families and made frequent allusion to them. 44

41

Lucian, Imagines and Pro Imaginibus, passim. Michael Koortbojian has reminded me that this is a version of the anecdote about Zeuxis of Heracleia, a painter of the fourth century B.C.E. Zeuxis, for a painting of Helen of Troy, chose the best features of five young women to make a composite of ultimate beauty: Cicero, Inv. Rhet. II.1,1. 42 Petronius, Satyricon 29

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD weighing 100 libra which showed, in relief, the history her ancestors. To clinch the glamour of all these improbable assertions, the silver platter had been the subject of ekphrasis: it had been written about by poets! The longing for antique authority, mythological or historical, and the glow of contemporary literary reference are among the most sympathetic characteristics of late Roman times; their manipulations and fictions are less attractive, but producers of both visual and literary goods were ready to satisfy the longing.

“praetor” of the city, begged him to cure his wife, Cleopatra, who was dead and even decaying, but when John came into the sick-room, Lycomedes was overcome with emotion and himself fell down dead. John then combined his capacities as a healer with his powers as a preacher and restored the couple to life and health by means of public speeches and exhortations, with plenty of witnesses. Then, of course, the revived and grateful Lycomedes wished to honor his guest with the finest gift possible: a portrait. He ran to the house of his friend a painter, to ask for a portrait made in secret, without his guest knowing that he was being portrayed. The painter and his assistant set off forthwith, and the painting materials were arranged in a room from which the painter could observe his subject without being seen himself. Meanwhile, the patron combined public enjoyment of John’s preaching with secret delight at having his guest’s portrait surreptitiously painted.

Artisans could also supply history and the glamour of historical figures, and for one family over several generations, they did so in several different specialitytrades. The family of the Macriani (of whom Macrianus and Quietus were emperors for a time in 260-1 C.E.) had this peculiarity: from the third through the late fourth century, the men’s rings and silver services, together with the women’s hair-nets, bracelets, rings, and other ornaments including embroidered garments bore portraits of Alexander the Great in gold or silver, and all who do so in these materials were successful in whatever they undertake. The account illustrates the seamless application, by artisans, of great iconographies to adorn artisanal products such as hair-nets. The author of this account tells us that he saw with his own eyes a big plate of electrum with the head of Alexander in the center and scenes of his life in relief around the rim, which a descendant of the Macrianus family used at a banquet.47

The portrait took two days to make: the first day was occupied with a sketch from life, the second (apparently not in the house but in the workshop) with putting in the colored encaustic. The painter delivered the portrait on the third day, and Lycomedes set it up in his bedroom. Observing that Lycomedes had developed a new habit of going into his bedroom alone after coming from his bathhouse, St. John jocularly asked his host what he was doing. In the bedroom, on an altar with lamps, he found the portrait of an old man crowned with garlands (these had evidently been added by the painter), in the kind of cosy personal shrine with images of holy men such as Marcus Aurelius and Severus Alexander also had. John had never before seen his face in a portrait or mirror and so did not recognize himself as the subject of the picture. In surprise, he asked why, after all his preaching, Lycomedes had set up an altar to some god of his own and was continuing in pagan practices. Lycomedes supplied him with a mirror to assay the portrait, and eventually John was convinced that it was an image of himself. Ultimately his objection, of course, was that he had been painted in color, time, and flesh – all perishable. The true painter, John says, is Jesus, to whom the shapes, forms, figures, dispositions, and types of our souls are known. True colors are not the earthly pigments in the portrait but the colors of kindness, purity, love, dignity, courage, and so on – those colors would correct the tangled beard, clear up the eyes, heal the wounds of time, cleanse the heart, slim down the stomach distended by gluttony, suppress the lust of the loins, and so on.49 Only with such spiritual “corrections” could the portrait become a soul-portrait – “courageous, intact, rounded in form” – to be presented once again to Christ, its original painter. Lycomedes and his painter, John tells him, have

Artisans at work making portraits At the same time and at other social levels, there is a distinct vein of antipathy to art, not only among philosophers or theologians but also in literature for which the audience was definitely neither elite nor metropolitan. Such literature can characterize habits of mind about art – in this case, contemporary art – which came about in late Roman times, and it may be that “resistance” to visual culture was a species of social selfexpression by disadvantaged, non-elite, and even persecuted classes. The Acts of John,48 one of the many apochryphal accounts originating in Asia Minor in the late second century and early third century, based on and imitatiing the Acts of the Apostles, contains a remarkable story of how a work of art was made, what the intentions of its patron were and how he used it, how the artist worked, and what the reaction to it was. The account is full of the kind of detail intended to prove, by its circumstantiality and record of interesting conversations, that it is factual. When St. John came to Ephesus, his reputation as a healer had preceded him; Lycomedes, described as a 47

S.H.A., Macrianus 12. The text incorporates stories about St. John, his travels, and revelations given to him by Christ, some of them Gnostic in intellectual character, and while the text never gained canonical status, it was still current in the fourth century and well known to St. Augustine. Hennecke1964, 2: 188-259. 48

49 While the small size of the portrait for exhibition on a domestic altar makes us think that it was a head-and-shoulders image, the portrait could have been a three-quarters or full-length one from the description of the stomach and loins.

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GUY P.R. MÉTRAUX: CONSUMERS’ CHOICES drawn “a dead likeness of what is dead.”50 Written for a specialized (Christian) but distinctly non-elite audience, this story incorporates several elements which characterize late Roman art: “honoring” a person by having a portrait of him made for one’s private delectation (for a cupboard-collection or a boudoir), the “secret” way in which the likeness was taken to give it expressiveness and authenticity, the addition of garlands to the image to give it classical dignity, and finally its setting up on an altar with lamps, in a process by which the secular image becomes sacred.51 This is a sympathetic and interesting account, and its interest in part shows how the cults of “holy souls” (animae sanctae) in late Roman times were not limited to emperors and the elites but were widely distributed in much lower social ranks and in the provinces.52 Such images were, from the late second through early Christian times, both desirable and despised. Constantia, the sister of the emperor Constantine, asked Eusebius for a portrait of Christ which she wished to add to her collection. She did so in all sincerity and as matter of course for imperial persons who had made such collections for several centuries. Eusebius replied that no such thing could or should be made.53

saintly Paulinus wrote two letters in reply with the usual strictures against images, especially portraits and even more especially one of himself. In addition, he worries that, besides the fact that spiritual likeness is impossible, the physical likeness might be bad if the artist is inept!54 The taste for portraits and images of famous men was as well ingrained among the elite as among the lower orders of society, and their producers – e.g., the humble encaustic artisan of Ephesus in the Acts of John, the proposed portraitist of Paulinus – were quick to fulfill the demand in many different media. Portraits – whether of Paulinus of Nola or St. John – were special-order items but also definitely part of elite, subelite, and lower-class visual economy, and while they could work as souvenir and commemoration, they could also coordinate status with claim to culture. This can happen when a visual representation identifies a person as an artist, or, even better, as the highest kind of artist, namely a poet. A third-century floor mosaic from Hadrumetum (modern Sousse, a town in Africa Byzacena) combined the grandest tradition with the most personal aspirations of a provincial person in representing himself, with the help of an artisan who could do both, an artisan who was hired as much for his ability to produce a traditional formula as to make a portrait. The mosaicist was asked to include the image of Vergil, togate (anachronistically with the toga praetexta of a senator which would not have been the right of the poet to wear) and seated on a throne, a scroll with words of the Aeneid (I, 8) in his lap and two Muses (Clio, muse of history, or Calliope, muse of epic poetry, and Melpomene, muse of tragedy) standing behind him. The image of the poetic artist is not infrequent in houses in the provinces, and Vergil’s image carried the freight of both Roman-ness and fluent literacy which laid claim to the most elevated cultural contexts possible. However, what is special about the representation is that the facial image of “Vergil” corresponded in only general ways to most traditional images of the poet. Rather, it has the bonyfaced, haggard, short-haired, and stubble-bearded features of a contemporary Roman, with the implication that the customer who commissioned the mosaic had himself depicted as “Vergil.”55 In this case, no clearer consonance between private person and poet can be found: a member of the image-consuming public has indeed become the artist, participating in full right as himself in a situation of visualized literary culture and portrayed poetic personnel. It also gave a provincial gentleman a foot on the social escalator; the mosaic

Later on, in the fourth century, Sulpicius Severus, writing from the community of dedicated men and women which he had founded on his estates near Bordeaux, wrote to his fellow-aristocrat Paulinus of Nola, asking his holy friend (whom he regarded as a living saint) to have a portrait made in encaustic and sent to Gaul: he proposed hanging it in the baptistry he was building, in such a position that the newly baptized would see it as soon as they emerged from the immersion-font. It was to be paired with a portrait of the recently deceased St. Martin of Tours whose biography Sulpicius had just then completed. The 50

The portrait incident in the Acts of John is a Christian myth intended for a pious but gullible Christian audience, but within a few years, Origen will be using painting as allegory in a similar way, but for a highly educated readership, in the published versions of his Homilies on Genesis and Exodus, delivered at Caesarea in the late 230s or early 240s. In his 13th homily on Exodus, Origen cites the act of painting: the painter, who is Christ, is perfect and the human subject is perfect at the beginning, so the result is a non-portrait – a bright, blank panel. It is the human subject who paints in the portrait – the colors of lust and covetousness are applied and blended, then the progressively more intense reds of rage, pride, and impiety, with the result that a portrait is painted on the luminous panel in colors of earthly malice. Origen’s allegory of painting is actually the inverse of the story of the portrait in the Acts of John, but both are intended to show the earth- and timebound character of images and their embedment in sin. 51 This process in late Roman times through the sixth century has aptly been called a process of “de-secularization”: Markus 1990: 16, 226. 52 The opus sectile glass decoration from Kenchreai near Corinth, dated to c. 375, contained full-length over-life-sized portraits of Plato, Homer, and Theophrastus, but the half-length (head-and-shoulders with one hand) image of a “holier soul” – a nimbed and bearded man dressed in a white tunic with clavi, his hand raised in a gesture of teaching or blessing – set into the marble marquetry wall decoration of a domestic basilica outside the Porta Marina at Ostia, dated to the late fourth century, may represent a late version of the type of intense portrait described in the Acts of John. For the Kenchreai glass panels: Ibrahim et al. 1976; for the Porta Marina basilica at Ostia: Becatti 1969: 49-71. 53 Eusebius, Epistle to Constantia Augusta. In Migne 1857: II, 154550.

54

Paulinus, Epistulae 30 and 32, 2-3. As we have seen, Paulinus was not adverse to representation as such, only to his own portrait. He had wall-paintings added to the tomb-sanctuary of St. Felix of Nola and throughout the pilgrimage-complex which he oversaw: Carmina 27, 580-95. 55 Even more remarkable may be this: that the face of the poet, perhaps different in the original execution of the mosaic, was then later changed to portrait features of a patron. The mosaic has been lifted and is now in the Bardo Museum; I am not aware of any study of its sub-strata which would indicate whether this occurred. See Dunbabin 1978: 131, n. 2; 242; pl. LI, Figure 130.

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THE ART OF CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, AND FREEDMEN IN THE ROMAN WORLD In late Roman times, it may very well be that, within an increasingly standardized visual production, special-order situations came to have increasing meaning, even an increasingly personal meaning. Artisans thought so. In the late second century, a bronze-worker called Celatus in Britain was commissioned by two brothers, Bruccius Colasunus and Caratius Colasunus (their names seem to be Romanizations of local nomina), to make a statuette of Mars which they dedicated to the divinity (numen) of the emperor. Exceptionally and movingly, Celatus signed it in letters as big as his clients’ names on the base (Celatus aerarius fecit; “Celatus made it”). The result was a splendidly exaggerated figure about 30 cms high, and Celatus added that he had contributed a pound of bronze worth three denarii to the work.58 Almost no more striking instance of an artisan striving to associate with his patrons and their piety can be found: the artisanal product was a step on the social escalator for its maker. Toward the end of the late antique period, in the later fourth or early fifth century when Christian piety had become ostentatious, an artist called Flavius Tertullus tellingly inscribed his statue (a Good Shepherd?) with this self-proud inscription: “Tertullus, by his own skill – a gift to the Church.”59 The artisan has become the patron.

artisan supplied the image and the visual means to step onto the moving stairs. Artisans at work making images of gods Within the vast quantity of standardized artisanal production in late Roman times, special-order items which satisfied patrons of no great wealth or social rank can always be found. Sometimes they were commissions like the Mainz cup or the portrait of St. John that I have already mentioned, or the funerary commemorations and the instances of signed mosaics. An unusual and early instance of special-order desires within a standardized array of goods set out for sale is the story of Apuleius’s Mercuriolum. Some months before he became rich and nicely settled by marrying the wealthy widow Pudentilla (in 155 C.E.), Apuleius (a professional writer and lecturer) was travelling about in North Africa. At Oea near Sabratha (Libya), he chanced to see some charming small statues carved in boxwood, exhibited for sale to the passing public in the shop of a sculptor named Cornelius Saturninus.56 As a man of taste (as much in literature as in the visual arts), Apuleius asked the sculptor to make him a few special-order statuettes in the same material, things that were portable to suit his travelling life-style. Evidently pleased with the results, Apuleius then asked Saturninus to make him the image of a divinity to which he could pray, leaving the choice of the god up to the sculptor as long as the statuette was of wood (whether boxwood or another didn’t matter). In this special-order situation, the iconography and even the god’s identity were matters of indifference to the customer: the sculptor’s skill and the material were more important, perhaps also the pleasure of a not-wealthy client in commissioning little things and even the fun of watching the sculptor working in public, sitting in his taberna (Apuleius comments on this). Ultimately Saturninus produced a tiny statuette of Mercury by glue-laminating thin sheets of ebony (recycled from a small jewel box). Apuleius was thrilled, as much by the artist’s skill as by the lovely material, and, as a bonus for his skill and ingenuity, the artist got his name in the papers, or at least some free advertizing in Apuleius’s speech.57 The god’s identity did not matter to the patron: the artisan supplied both the object and the iconography, style, material, and skill.

Conclusion Late Roman attitudes toward art, as well as how artisans streamlined craft processes for commercial distribution to local markets, created substantially changed conditions for the production and consumption of artifacts in the late Roman Empire, even though custom-made artifacts continued to be made in parallel with standardized products. In conditions of streamlining, reproduction, and wide distribution, the late Roman visual economy changed in at least four linked ways. First, visual goods came to be used as social and political expression at levels much lower than the imperial and elite ones, and in provincial venues well away from the metropoleis of the earlier empire – art becomes politics, in Benjamin’s formulation, and a way to lay claim to expression and social value without having much status. What had been purveyed for the elites came to be repurveyed for public or private consumption at lower social levels, taking recondite or special artistic ideas and repackaging them for a different audience, as in the case of the coarse but showy mosaic floor of fish for the Antonine bath-building at Carthage.

56 Apuleius, Apologia 61-62. The account of the Mercuriolum statuette is part of a defence, by Apuleius, against a charge of witchcraft brought by his stepsons, the children of his wife Pudentilla, and his brother-inlaw. The case was heard before a magistrate at Sabratha, and the sculptor Cornelius Saturninus was subpoened as a witness, oddly, for the complainants. The sculptor’s evidence about the special-order items he made for his casual patron exonerated Apuleius from the charge of owning the statuette of a skeleton for necromantic purposes. 57 It might be added that the ebony, a material much appreciated for its beauty and durability, was further distinguished in that it came from a box belonging to an honestissima woman, one Capitolina: the provenance of the material and the social status of its previous owner mattered, too: Apologia 61, 7.

Second, having the image and figuratively “owning” the represented object or its cultural and social baggage seem, in some cases, to have become one and the same 58 Toynbee 1951: 52; Toynbee 1963: 131, pl. 19; Toynbee 1964: 66, nn. 3-4; Henig 1984: 54, Figure 15; Henig 1995: 93, 126-7. The artist’s inscription reads: Celatus aerarius fecit et aeramenti lib[ram] donvit factam [denariis] III. “Celatus the bronze-worker made (the statue) and gave a prepared pound of bronze (worth) 3 denarii. 59 De Rossi 1887: 146-7; Mesnard 1935: 49-50. The inscription read: FL Tertullus de arte sua. Aeclesiae donum posuit.

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GUY P.R. MÉTRAUX: CONSUMERS’ CHOICES thing, be it at the level of cultural attainment, of grand iconography, or prestigious artifacts. Showing a picture of something came to be as good as having it. When representation became a substitute for ownership may not be datable, sudden, or universal, but it would seem that, as representation became upwardly mobile culturally, buyers like Trimalchio felt that they were stepping-up socially as well. This step-up created a visual culture in which esoteric, religious, poetic, philosophical, and mythological reference and allusion in pictures came to be almost as substantial as genuine literary education and real social status. The mosaic floors of the two very provincial houses at Utica both illustrate this intense proprietorial visuality, but in slightly different ways: the fish and crustaceans in the mosaic basins of the grander Maison de la Cascade alluded to encyclopedic culture and pisciculture as confirming high social position, while, later, the artisans of the humbler Maison de la Chasse supplied directed movement through the house and strident meaning in pictures to lay claim to status. By the same process of acquisition by means of pictures, the portrait features of a house-owner in North Africa could be used to represent Vergil, and by the magic of visual allusion and reference, the customer assumed both the poetic inspiration and the literary culture of the artist and became Vergil. In the same way, Sidonius’s friend Pontius Leontius and his wife, in the wall-paintings of their house, laid claim to culture (the images of the gods), patriotism (the scenes from Roman history), and piety (the Pentateuch cycle).

reverence for artistic images and a growing antipathy toward them. This ambivalence ultimately replaced Plato’s antipathy to art by a Christian elaboration of the strictures of the Second Commandment. Late Roman and early Christian artistic situations blended but also clashed, and the unresolved culture in which portraits were both desirable and despicable may have come from a visual surfeit of images and a search for a different life of images (in some cases, a desire for cessation of images). At the same time, ekphrasis distinctly puts the audience of both the literary work and the work of art in the position of critic, even of artist. It may be that what Walter Benjamin missed, in his analysis of how art changes in a situation of “mechanical reproduction,” was how artisans can be versatile and shrewdly address a mass-market from a standardized tool-kit of ideas, styles, motives, and media. In addition, his notion of mass-consumption might also be articulated from the patrons’ side: late Roman consumers in general were pliant and eager to buy standard products, but they could also be aggressive and assertive about art and imagery. The consumerism of the marginally powerful, non-elite, or sub-elite classes of the late Roman period has many examples, but as a species of behaviour, it has yet to be fully explored. As Minucius Felix pointed out, planting a casual kiss on the mouth of a little statue while walking to the beach is not actually an act of piety, just one of “mechanical” piety. But the combination of “mechanical” reaction (pious and/or cultural) and the environment of images supplied by artisans is a powerful one indeed: Roman artisans may well have seen it as a way to sell their goods, in accordance with the great merchandizing principle: “We don’t sell soap, we sell hope.”60

Third, the relation of social identity and the sense of participation in cultural and artistic phenomena – what Benjamin argued was the way in which the reader/public/audience becomes an artist and/or critic – certainly seems, if not newly minted, then at least in greater circulation at new low and provincial levels in the visual arts in the later Roman Empire. The longing not only to understand an iconography or a work of art but to be and become it is registered in imperial selfrepresentation as well as in the self-representation of quite ordinary people: dead wives of husbands of the freedman class and their sons became, in commemorated form, ideas and goddesses, tributes to the seriousness with which the upward-striving classes took their philosophy and religious imagery. Members of these classes also took another approach, one in which profession and work were the ingredients of commemoration, as in the Carthage charioteer and his companion. These active appropriations from different sources are instances of customers seeking an active appropriation of ideas, some from elite sources, others from the world of negotium. Artisans stood ready with a good range of choices for their customers. Fourth, there is a curious convergence, in late antiquity, of processes by which artistic imagery simultaneously became glamourized and repackaged in ekphrastic literature, and at the same time “de-secularized” and made into something which verged on religious meanings. The story of the portrait of St. John contains hints at both a

*** I wish to thank Eve D’Ambra and Michael Koortbojian for their advice and suggestions on a first draft of this essay; they corrected many mistakes, but the ones that remain are mine.

60 This was an Amway Company slogan in the 1950s and 60s. It is a continuation of the advertizing dictum: “Don’t sell ‘em soap, sell ‘em a way of life.” Amway made soaps, cleansers, and other detersive products.

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