神马福利影片

Wailing Women and Winged Horses: Funerary Rites on an Etruscan Hydria by Victoria Vening-Richards (November 2024)

Hydriai, meaning water-jars, were large practical objects created to hold liquids in domestic, social, and funerary settings and provide drink or liquid for libation. Such hydriai also carry an ideological purpose expressed through their black-figure iconography. This ideological purpose provides insights into the funerary beliefs of Etruscan society thus making black-figure hydriai compelling objects in the study of the ancient world. The hydria (Fig. 1), which is the focus of this article, is originally from Vulci and is said to have been created c. 510-500 BC.

Provenance

Following the pattern that more than 60% of Etruscan black-figure vases are without provenance, the 丑测诲谤颈补鈥檚 exact findspot is unknown; its place of deposition, however, can be assumed as the majority of pottery originating from Vulci was excavated from tombs in the 19th century. Vulci, now located in the modern province of Viterbo in central Italy, was one of 12 Etruscan cities. It was a coastal city whose ruins sit 16km from the sea alongside the Fiora river. In the 6^th century BC, it prospered economically due to trade and communication with foreign societies, particularly Greek. For example, it was one of the main importers of Attic pottery, as shown by the statistic that 52% of Athenian pottery in Etruria has been discovered in Vulci.

The 丑测诲谤颈补鈥檚 creation date of c. 510-500 BC lies at the end of the Archaic Period near the transition between the 6^th and 5^th centuries BC. Although it was a time of transition, pottery was still in demand and both Etruscan wares and Athenian imports continued to be produced in mass quantities. New wealth created by Etruria鈥檚 successful trade network broadened the upper and middle classes and subsequently formed a new consumer type in the Etruscan pottery market. It is argued that the new middle-class consumers preferred cheaper Etruscan made, lower quality pottery over imports, which thus influenced artists such as the 丑测诲谤颈补鈥檚 creator, the Micali Painter. However, recent statistical analysis suggests that black-figure vases were produced and consumed in the exact same place as Attic ones; thus, implying that Attic and Etruscan black-figure customers were the same rather than limited to a new middle-class.

Iconography

Prothesis was a ritual created to allow mourners to express their grief. It involved displaying the body in a room of a house or a tomb prior to burial in which members of society could visit and express their grief. This process is clearly depicted on the upper half of the body of the hydria (Fig. 2). The only comparable example attributed to the Micali Painter is a black-figure storage jar dated to c. 500 BC that depicts two mourners around a bed which holds the deceased鈥檚 body (Sidney and Lois Eskenazi Museum of Art 75.36.7; Spivey 1987).

The sole depiction of female mourners on the hydria suggests prothesis was performed to allow female members of society to mourn. This would align with D鈥橝gostino鈥檚 theory (1989) that prothesis was a female led ritual, however all members of society were known to display their grief at funerals as they were an opportunity to advertise status: the greater the range of individuals the greater the status of the deceased and their living family.

To emphasise the purpose of prothesis the artist has added details to accentuate the sense of loss. Firstly, the pairs of mourners have their hands raised to their foreheads. This was a pose associated with lamentation and emphasises how distressed the mourners are over the deceased鈥檚 death. Secondly, the pairs of mourners are painted with a frontal view to add depth to the feeling of grief. This frontal view directs the display of grief directly towards the viewer making it more impactful, which consequently increases the sense of loss. The emphasis on the purpose of prothesis highlights its importance in Etruscan society as it demonstrates that prothesis was an essential ritual required to allow members of the community to at least express their loss.

Winged horses and centaurs were mythical creatures believed to hold apotropaic powers, meaning they had the power to avert evil forces (Fig. 3). For this reason, tombs and tomb objects were decorated with their image to protect the deceased鈥檚 soul from harm in the afterlife. The funerary nature of the hydria, as indicated by its tomb findspot and prothesis imagery, connects the iconography to this apotropaic belief and suggests the mythological creatures were painted to protect the deceased鈥檚 soul. Additionally, the winged horse figure could be argued to be a representation of the deceased鈥檚 soul because Etruscan society believed winged horses were symbolic of spiritual transformation (Harrison 2013). In this way the 丑测诲谤颈补鈥檚 iconography is evidence for Etruscan society鈥檚 funerary beliefs, specifically the belief in the spiritual and apotropaic power of mythical creatures and their significance in protecting the dead.

Spivey (1987) counter-argues that the mythical creatures had no symbolic meaning; rather they were simply a popular decorative motif. However, the frequent recurrence of mythical creature imagery on Micali Painter vases recovered from tombs implies that they were deliberately painted as symbols to link the object鈥檚 role as a tomb possession with its decoration. Examples of Micali Painter pottery featuring apotropaic mythical creatures include an amphora with two sphinxes on its neck (Vatican Museum Cat.34604), an amphora from Caere decorated with sirens (Fig. 4, left), and an amphora which depicts a group of satyrs in a funeral procession (Fig. 4, right).

In closing, the provenance, iconography, and consumer of the black-figure hydria all link to the funerary culture of Etruscan society, whether that be communication of expectation for mourning, illustration of mythical creatures to protect the deceased鈥檚 soul, or deposition within tomb context to fulfil a funerary role. As such Etruscan black-figure hydriai although initially seeming practical in purpose are complex objects which should not be overlooked in the study of Etruscan funerary culture.

Bibliography

A 鈥榮tick figure鈥� Venus on a Roman token by Clare Rowan (October 2024)

Among the lead tokens that once belonged to , and which are now in the Hunterian Museum in Glasgow, is the following piece showing the goddess Venus on one side, and Fortuna holding a cornucopia and rudder on the other (Fig. 1).

Lead tokens were produced in Rome and Ostia by different groups and individuals: they might be created on behalf of the imperial family, by collegia, by magistrates or other individuals, including Roman women. They were cast from (Fig. 2); we find many mould halves discarded across the city of Rome and its harbour. This demonstrates that production of lead tokens was dispersed: these were not cast in a central workshop, but by different individuals in different localities.

Although they look a bit like coins at first glance, tokens were different to Roman coinage and played a different role in Roman society. From the evidence that survives, it appears that tokens were used to assist in distributions, gift giving, and in other contexts of benefaction. A good example of one context in which tokens might be used can be found in Cassius Dio鈥檚 description of Agrippa in his role as aedile. Dio notes that, when sponsoring events in the theatre Agrippa 鈥榬ained upon the heads of the people in the theatre symbola (tokens) that were good for money in one case, for clothes in another, and again for something else, and he also set out immense quantities of various wares for all comers and allowed the people to scramble for these things鈥� (Cassius Dio, Roman History 49.43.4). The goddess Fortuna is well-suited to the idea of lotteries like that described by Dio, as well as the festival occasions that might result in other acts of euergetism - she is a popular choice for the design of Roman tokens.

Our representation of Venus is little more than a 鈥榮tick figure鈥�; the varying quality of mould engravings for tokens is further evidence of the diversity of individuals creating these items. But although quite schematic, the posture of the figure tells us that we have represented here the well-known statue type of 鈥榁enus Pudica鈥�, with the goddess covering herself with her hands, after emerging from the bath (Figure 3). The token depiction does not need to be as detailed as a marble sculpture for the viewer to know what is represented: the body posture, sketched out in stick figure form, is enough. These types of representations help us to better understand how statues were identified and re-imagined in the Roman world. Those who received these tokens could, for a brief time before the token was redeemed, hold Venus Pudica in their hands. Given the relatively low quality of the token design here one imagines that the issuer of this token, and its recipients, may not have been able to afford a large marble statue like that shown in Fig. 3. But they nonetheless accessed and utilised the statue type for their own purposes and in their own way.

The token carries no writing, so we cannot know the precise use or person/people responsible for its production. This is also a characteristic of tokens 鈥� they were given out to a small group of people for a particular context, so, unlike Roman coinage (which circulated for years and moved from person to person and region to region), there was no need to communicate who the issuer was or what was represented: the recipients would know this already.

This is not the only time that this well-known statue type of Venus appears on tokens: pieces were also issued combining Venus Pudica with Mercury (TURS 3131), and with Cupid (, 3130). It is hard to know if a specific statue of Venus is being referenced on these tokens, or if the designers are just recalling a known type. On coins, statues might be specifically indicated by the inclusion of statue bases, a visual practice that is extremely rare on lead tokens. It may be that, as with who was responsible for the token and what its purpose was, the recipients of these pieces would have known if a specific statue was being referenced or simply Venus more generally. This implicit knowledge, not accessible to or communicated to 鈥榦utsiders鈥� (those without tokens), no doubt contributed to a sense of community and belonging.

If you are interested in learning more about the tokens in the Hunterian then please do visit the online exhibition (click on 鈥楻elated Items鈥� to visit all items in the exhibition).

BibliographyPrimary Sources:

Cassius Dio, Roman History, Volume V: Books 46-50. Translated by E. Cary and H. B. Foster. Loeb Classical Library 82. (Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press) 1917.

Secondary Sources:

Rowan, C. (2019) 'Lead token moulds from Rome and Ostia', in , eds. N. Cris脿, M. Gkikaki and C. Rowan. London, Royal Numismatic Society, pp. 95-110.

Rowan, C. (2023) Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.

Schmidt, E. (1997) 'Venus', in Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae. Z眉rich, Artemis Verlag, pp. 192-230.

Rostovtzeff, M. (1905) R枚mische Bleitesserae. Ein Beitrag zur Sozial- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte der r枚mischen Kaiserzeit. Leipzig, Dieterich'sche Verlagsbuchhandlung.

Rostovtzeff, M. (1905) Tesserarum urbis romae et suburbi plumbearum sylloge. Supplementum I. St.Petersburg, Commissionnaires de l'Acad茅mie imp茅riale des sciences.

TURS = Rostovtzeff, M. (1903) Tesserarum urbis romae et suburbi plumbearum sylloge. St. Petersburg. This has been updated and translated into English at

Less is More: The Transition from Hoplite to Phalangite by Jurriaan Gouw (September 2024)

Philip II, father of Alexander the Great, became King of Macedonia in 359 BC after the disastrous defeat of his elder brother Perdiccas III in battle against the Illyrians. Philip is said to have immediately reformed the Macedonian military, introducing the now renowned Macedonian phalanx (Fig. 1), which would dominate classical warfare for the next two centuries [Diodorus Siculus 16.3; Polyaenus, Strategemata 4.2.10]. Yet upon closer examination it becomes clear that the phalanx was a natural progression of broader trends in Greek warfare through the late 5^th and early 4^th centuries BC, rather than a moment of genius by Philip.

The preceding decades had shown the limitations of warfare reliant upon citizen hoplites, who were militias raised for war from among propertied males able to afford weapons and armour. The Peloponnesian War saw multi-year campaigns fought overseas, such as the Spartan campaigns in Chalcidice and the disastrous Athenian invasion of Sicily, which created a constant loss of citizens, depleting the city states used to fighting seasonal wars which ended at the harvest. Mercenary forces began to dominate the battlefield, their professional training and tactics proving more valuable than citizen levies. Previously neglected light infantry, traditionally recruited from those unable to afford hoplite armour, and cavalry played increasingly important roles. Thucydides鈥� [4.29-36] description of the defeat of the famed Spartan hoplites at Spachteria in 425 BC by Athenian skirmishers (lightly armoured soldiers often armed with javelins or slings) is a particularly famous example.

The increasing use of skirmishing infantry and cavalry on the battlefield in turn forced heavy hoplite infantry to become more mobile and co-ordinated in order to counter these new threats. This required a level of training and professionalism impossible for citizen levies to achieve, a trend that saw the creation of the first professional units in some city states, like the famous Theban Sacred Band. This was an elite 300-man unit of the best soldiers in Thebes, employed as a professional army rather than a citizen levy [Plutarch, Pelopidas 18-19] who would famously best the Spartans at the battle of Leuctra in 371 BC [Xenophon, Hellenica 6.4.8], helping to create a brief Theban hegemony in the Greek world.

These trends are borne out in the archaeological and artistic evidence. The iconic hoplite panoply - closed Corinthian helm, bronze cuirass, large hoplon shield, leg greaves and dory spear, as depicted on the Chigi Vase (Fig. 2) - fell out of fashion in the 5^th century BC before the Peloponnesian War. Lighter linen armour and open helmets like the pilos allowed for greater levels of communication and tactical flexibility; discipline and training became the new defence. The Sosias and Kephisodoros stele (Fig. 3) is now broadly accepted as a perfect depiction of these new lighter hoplites who were common in the Peloponnesian War.

Building upon these adaptations to hoplite warfare through the Peloponnesian War, mercenary generals and autocrats like Iphicrates of Athens, Epaminondas and Pelopidas in Thebes, or Jason of Pherae in Thessaly, began to dominate Greek geo-politics in the early 4^th century BC. Using private mercenary forces and the most professional armies yet seen in a Greek context, these men were able to create their own hegemonies over more traditional citizen levies. Epaminondas and Pelopidas used the aforementioned Theban Sacred Band of professional hoplites while Iphicrates commanded a renowned mercenary force. Iphicrates in particular was famously credited with the creation of a new type of soldier, termed a 鈥榩eltast鈥�, in 375 BC while leading a Greek force in service to the Persian King.

These 鈥業phicratean Peltasts鈥� were not the skirmishing 鈥榩eltasts鈥� known from Thrace and Illyria, javelin-men with distinctive crescent shields (Fig. 4). Instead, they were said to have been armed with a small, round, rimless shield and a spear up to twice the length of a hoplite dory. The term 鈥�pelta鈥� was applied to the small shield simply to identify it as a shield without the broad rim which had been a distinctive feature of the large hoplon (as depicted in Fig. 3). Incidentally, we do know that Greek mercenaries in Persia also used this round pelta while serving as skirmishers (Fig. 5). Diodorus Siculus [15.44] and Nepos [Iphicrates 1.3-4] both highlight that these reforms were famous and well known throughout the Greek world, and they should be interpreted as an early experiment in phalangite infantry, perhaps in response to the famous long spears of the Egyptian infantry which Iphicrates was fighting [Xenophon, Cyropaedia 6.2.10; 7.1.33].

Despite this, there has been a tendency to see this 鈥渆xperiment鈥� as a one-off, although Nicholas Sekunda (2007) is certainly correct in suggesting that Diodorus may continue referring to pike infantry as 鈥榩eltasts鈥�. The Phocian 鈥淧eltasts鈥� of Philomelus [Diodorus Siculus 16.24], therefore are quite probably Iphicratean phalangites rather than skirmishing javelin-men, based on the way they are described and praised as heavy infantry.

Crucially for the development of the Macedonian phalanx, Philip鈥檚 early life exposed him to these Greek hegemons鈥� professional armies and training. His eldest brother King Alexander II won a civil war in Macedonia ca. 371 BC, in part thanks to the aid of Iphicrates and his mercenaries. Just a few years later Pelopidas and the Thebans defeated Alexander II and Philip was held as a hostage in the household of Panmenes, a key lieutenant of Epaminondas. During this time he was educated and trained, and was exposed to the Theban Sacred Band of professional hoplites.

By the time Philip became the King of Macedonia in 359 BC, he would have been well-versed in Greek military tactics, training and equipment. The famous reforms he instituted seem to match those changes already noted across the Greek world and are backed up by the evidence of archaeology and art. The small pelta shield and long spear were taken from Iphicrates鈥� peltasts; the famous Macedonian sarissa pike is estimated to be almost exactly the same length as those used by Iphicrates, at least in this early period. Similarly, Philip鈥檚 elite infantry, the pezhetairoi (foot-companions), were likely an attempt to have a fully professional hoplite unit like the Theban Sacred Band, replacing the existing royal bodyguard (agema).

Therefore, by the time the phalanx became the dominant force on the battlefield, Greek warfare had already been moving towards a form reliant on training, discipline and tactics over heavily armoured hoplites for at least eighty years. Philip鈥檚 famous reform in 359 BC, rather than being particularly innovative, was more simply the adoption of these new tactics and panoplies in a Macedonian context. These were then gradually honed and perfected over his twenty-year rule and then by his son Alexander the Great.

BibliographyPrimary Sources:

Diodorus Siculus, Bibliotheca, esp. books 15-16, trans. C. L. Sherman, Loeb Classical Library 389 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press).

Nepos, Iphicrates, trans. J. C. Rolfe, Loeb Classical Library 467 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1929).

Plutarch, Pelopidas, trans. B. Perrin, Loeb Classical Library 87 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1917).

Polyaenus, Strategemata, trans. R. Shepherd (London: George Nicol Bookseller, 1793).

Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War, esp. book 4, trans. C. F. Smith, Loeb Classical Library 109 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1920).

Xenophon, Hellenica, esp. book 6, trans. C. L. Brownson, Loeb Classical Library 89 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1921).

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Anson, E.M. (1985), 鈥楾he Hypaspists: Macedonia鈥檚 Professional Citizen Soldiers鈥�, Historia Vol.34(2), 246-248.

Anson, E.M. (2010a), 鈥楾he Asthetairoi: Macedonia鈥檚 Hoplites鈥�, in E. Carney and D. Ogden (eds.), Philip II and Alexander the Great: Father and Son, Lives and Afterlives, Oxford, 81-90.

Anson, E.M. (2010b), 鈥楾he Introduction of the 鈥渟arisa鈥� in Macedonian Warfare鈥�, Ancient Society Vol.40, 51-68.

Bosworth, A.B. (2010), 鈥楾he Argeads and the Phalanx鈥�, in E. Carney and D. Ogden (eds.), Philip II and Alexander the Great: Father and Son, Lives and Afterlives, Oxford, 91-102.

Ellis, J.R. (1975), 鈥楢lexander鈥檚 Hypaspists Again鈥�, Historia Vol.24(4), 617-618.

Hammond, N.G.L. (1996), 鈥楢 Macedonian Shield and Macedonian Measures鈥�, The Annual of the British School at Athens Vol.91, 365-367.

Juhel, P. (2009), 鈥楾he Regulation Helmet of the Phalanx and the Introduction of the Concept of Uniform in the Macedonian Army at the End of the Reign of Alexander the Great鈥�, Klio Vol.91(2), 342-355.

Konijnendijk, R. (2021), 鈥楥avalry and the Character of Classical Warfare鈥�, in R. Konijnendijk, C. Kucewicz and M. Lloyd (eds.), A Companion to Greek Land Warfare Beyond the Phalanx, Leiden, 169-204.

Markle, M.M. (1977), 鈥楾he Macedonian Sarissa, Spear and Related Armour鈥�, American Journal of Archaeology Vol.81(3), 323-339.

Matthews, C. (2012), 鈥楾he Length of the Sarissa鈥�, Antichthon Vol.46, 79-100.

Milns, R.D. (1967), 鈥楶hilip II and the Hypaspists鈥�, Historia Vol.16(4), 509-512.

Pascual Gonzalez, J. (2018), 鈥楥ommander and Warlords in Fourth-Century BC Central Greece鈥�, in T. Naco del Hoyo and F. Lopez Sanchez (eds.), War, Warlords and Interstate Relations in the Ancient Mediterranean, Leiden, 89-112.

Sekunda, N. (2007), 鈥楳ilitary Forces: Land Forces鈥�, in P. Sabin, H. van Wees and M. Whitby (eds.), The Cambridge History of Greek and Roman Warfare Vol.1, Cambridge, 325-367.

Sekunda, N. (2010), 鈥楾he Macedonian Army鈥�, in J. Robinson and I. Worthington (eds.), A Companion to Ancient Macedonia, Oxford, 446-471.

Snodgrass, A.M. (1967), Arms and Armour of the Greeks, London.

van Wees, H. (2004), Greek Warfare: Myths and Realities, London.

Reinventing Rome's Forgotten Past - the lost significance of the Lacus Curtius by Chris Parr (July 2024)

No trip to Rome is complete without a visit to the Forum Romanum, once the commercial and cultural heart of the ancient city. Amidst the imposing marble columns which testify to Rome鈥檚 past glory, a rather unassuming site is often overlooked by visitors and experts alike. Here, the Lacus Curtius (literally translated as "Curtius鈥� pool"), a trapezoidal area of shabby-looking travertine pavement with the remains of a round structure (Fig.1) acts as a reminder to Rome鈥檚 forgotten past. Not even the ancient Romans could be sure about its significance, so what exactly was the reason for the Lacus Curtius鈥� existence? Who was the 'Curtius' who gave their name to the monument? And why should we care about someone or something which the ancient Romans themselves had very little idea about?

The visible remains have been dated to the end of the first century BC, when the Forum Romanum was repaved by Augustus. Beneath this layer are two older phases of the monument, the oldest dating to around 184 BC, and the other attributed to the time of Sulla in the early first century BC. The two earlier phases of the monument (Fig. 2) retain traces of rectangular bases, surely the 鈥榙ry altars鈥� (aras siccas) of the Lacus Curtius referenced by Ovid (Fasti 6.403-4), which would suggest some religious or spiritual significance of the site. Present across the three phases of the monument is a circular structure which has been identified as a well, surely the lacus (pool) to which the site鈥檚 name refers. Modern visitors to the site can see a replica of the relief originally from the late first century BC which accompanied the Lacus Curtius to explain its significance (Fig. 3). The relief depicts an armed knight on horseback in what appears to be a marshy area, but it is not clear exactly who this knight is supposed to be or what he is doing, leaving ambiguity as to what the story behind the monument was and revealing the Romans own uncertainty over the site鈥檚 origins.

Literary accounts of the monument's origin

By the first century BC, even the Roman author and polymath Varro, widely regarded as Rome鈥檚 greatest scholar, could not discern exactly what the Lacus Curtius complex commemorated. Instead, Varro presented three explanations for the monument, each recorded by historians before him (Varro, De Lingua Latina 5.148-50). The first of these, extant only in Varro鈥檚 account, claims that the Lacus Curtius marked a spot struck by lightning that was fenced off by order of the Senate during the consulship of C. Curtius in 445 BC, and so the monument was named after the presiding Consul. Modern historians have questioned whether this could have been the case because the consulship was only available to the ultra-elite patrician families, while the Curtius family was only of plebeian status and, therefore, ineligible to run for Rome鈥檚 highest political honour at that time. Additionally, other sources seem confused over the names of the consul for 445 BC, sometimes calling him Curiatius instead of Curtius, and occasionally adding the cognomen (last name) Chilo or Philo (Livy, History of R|ome 4.1.1 and 7.3; Diodorus Siculus, Library of History 12.31.1). Historians following Varro favoured other explanations for the Lacus Curtius, and so this version subsequently fell out of use.

The second account records the story of a young Roman equestrian named Marcus Curtius. The legend explains that a chasm opened in the Forum Romanum in 362 BC and the haruspices, Roman priests who determined the mood of the gods, proclaimed that the bravest citizen must be sent down into the crevasse to shut it. The young Curtius armed himself, mounted his horse, and plunged into the chasm, which then promptly closed. Livy鈥檚 version of the tale, in which the haruspices demanded that the Romans cast into the chasm the greatest strength of the Roman people, set the tone for later authors, such as Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Valerius Maximus, Pliny the Elder, Cassius Dio, and Festus, to use this as a story of great patriotism (Livy, History of Rome 7. 6; Dionysius of Halicarnassus 14. 11; Valerius Maximus, Memorable Sayings and Doings 5. 6. 2; Pliny the Elder, Natural History 15. 78; Dio Cassius, Roman History 7.30.1-2 = Zonaras 7.25; Festus 42L). This story also appears to be the origin of the tradition recorded by Suetonius (Life of Augustus 57.1), whereby visitors to the Lacus Curtius would toss a small coin into the well to pray for the Emperor鈥檚 health, just as nowadays we might empty our small change into a wishing well in the hope of good fortune.

The third tradition of the story places the Lacus Curtius鈥� origins at the time of Romulus鈥� war with Titus Tatius, leader of the neighbouring Sabines. According to this version, Mettius Curtius, a Sabine warrior, managed to escape Romulus and his men by hiding in a swampy spot, later commemorated by the Lacus Curtius (Varro, De Lingua Latina, 5.149). Whilst Varro gave a fairly favourable portrayal of the 鈥榲ery brave鈥� Mettius Curtius, possibly due to his own Sabine origins, the portrait of Mettius Curtius given by other authors became increasingly harsh over time (Livy, The History of Rome 1.12-3; Dionysius of Halicarnassus 2.42). This culminates in Plutarch鈥檚 version, in which Mettius Curtius, consumed by arrogance, rashly rode his horse into the marsh where the Forum would later develop, became stuck, and abandoned his horse to save himself (Plutarch, Lives, Romulus 18).

Receptions of the Lacus Curtius in contemporary Roman history

It is truly remarkable how few details these accounts agree on. The only features constant across all three versions are that a man called Curtius was involved in something that happened on a particular spot in the Forum Romanum. There is no sense of an approximate time at which the event occurred, with dating ranging nearly four centuries from just after Romulus鈥� foundation of Rome in 753 BC to the alleged opening of a chasm in the Forum Romanum in 362 BC. Later, the carved relief which accompanied the site also left a degree of ambiguity: by the time of the relief鈥檚 production at the end of the first century BC, both prominent Curtius stories featured the protagonist on horseback in his armour, whilst elements of both stories appear to be present (the marshy appearance of the ground from the Mettius Curtius version contrasts with the apparent downward trajectory of the rider and his horse from the Marcus Curtius version), so either version could be depicted.

In reality, it seems not to have mattered to the Romans of the later first century BC and thereafter what the original significance of the Lacus Curtius was. There did not need to be one 鈥榯rue鈥� story for why the monument existed; what mattered was that it did exist to remind them of the stories they had heard about the heroic Roman Curtius in tandem with those of the arrogant Sabine Curtius. Furthermore, by comparing the development of these two versions of the myth, we can see that they grew in dialogue with each other: as the Roman people presented themselves as the city鈥檚 most important resource, outsiders were characterised as arrogant and no match for Rome鈥檚 brave warriors, clearly demonstrating the Romans鈥� superiority. Logically, it was not possible that both stories could be the true reason for why the monument was constructed, but they existed in harmony because the values to which they spoke were culturally significant to the Roman people.

A later episode of the Lacus Curtius鈥� history can help us see this development in action. In the tumultuous AD 69, known as The Year of the Four Emperors, the Emperor Galba, facing his final hours, fled to the Forum Romanum. Tacitus (The Histories 1.41) records that Galba was thrown from his litter at the site of the Lacus Curtius, accepted his fate, and offered his life 鈥�if the good of the state demands it鈥� (si ita e re publica videretur). The echoes of both traditions ring out at this point. The parallels with the heroic sacrifice of Marcus Curtius are apparent: a Roman gives their own life for the benefit of the Roman state. Through this parallel with Marcus Curtius, Galba is portrayed as acting selflessly to save Rome. However, there are also links to the Mettius Curtius story: both Galba and Curtius faced certain doom at the hands of their enemies at that location. This comparison equates Galba with an enemy of Rome, and we can see parallels between the Sabine War, which involved neighbouring Italian states, and the civil war which followed Galba鈥�s death, presenting a more pessimistic view of Galba and his legacy. Tacitus presents Galba鈥�s death in relation to both traditions, each providing a different outlook on Galba鈥�s legacy, demonstrating that both versions of the Curtius myth survived in their own right and could exist together.

With this in mind, we can see the complex relationship between material culture and an oral tradition. The static, physical monument, whose very existence acts as a reminder of an event from the past, is unable to preserve a specific version of the origins of the Lacus Curtius, and even those for which we have evidence vary in their character. Whilst a physical object can prompt us to remember, memory exists in the minds of individuals, verbally shared between people and constantly changing form as it is recounted by every person in their own way. Each recollection of a memory is reshaped by the individual who remembers, unconsciously influenced by the values of the time, until the memory takes on noticeably different features and eventually becomes unrecognisable. Additionally, a monument鈥檚 significance is constantly evolving due to the events which occur at a particular place taking on qualities of the stories associated with the monument. Memories evolve and can be added to, becoming reflections of more current attitudes and ideas. In this way, the physical monument, whilst not changing its form in any way, gains new significance through the development of the memories attached to it.

Whilst we may never know the original significance of the Lacus Curtius, the monument鈥檚 later significance became valuable in its own right through its relation to ideas prevalent at different times in Roman history. As historians, it can be tempting to focus in on one particular moment of the site鈥檚 history and attempt to understand why the monument was constructed in the first place. To do so would be to misunderstand the role of monuments in culture, viewing them as fixed reminders of past events. Instead, the Lacus Curtius was significant for the stories attached to it and the meanings which people drew from the site, continually reimagined in the light of contemporary events and values. Although the original meaning of the Lacus Curtius has been lost to the sands of time, the constant evolution and reinvention of the monument鈥檚 significance renders this irrelevant at later points in the site鈥檚 history. The Lacus Curtius may have origins shrouded in mystery, but the monument survived through the constant development of its significance to align with contemporary values.

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Practical and Stylish- Gladiatorial Armour as Costume by Tallulah George (June 2024)

The image of a gladiator in the modern mind, owing to screen adaptations and legends, is one of a fearsome, blood-thirsty, killing machine, a pawn, with no rights or personal identity. Though undoubtedly a dangerous lifestyle, a re-examination of material, focused on the evidence closer to the subjects themselves, clearly demonstrates that gladiators were risking their lives, but not necessarily to the degree usually implied. In fact, gladiators might in some ways be imagined as something akin to actors, with whom they were inextricably linked through their shared social standing of 'infames' (non-citizens, social outcasts with no legal rights), but the similarities in role are more pronounced when the armour found in Pompeii is analysed sufficiently.

A large amount of gladiatorial armour and weapons were discovered in the exedra in the middle of the east end of the Quadriporticus at Pompeii (VIII.7.16), including helmets, greaves, armguards and retarii shoulder pieces (Figures 1-3). These finds allow examination of the materials, construction techniques and decoration. In fact the majority of the armour pieces are intricately decorated, with scenes of myth, society, and nature, with every element forming the costume.

Despite gladiators taking an oath (Sacramentum Gladiatorum) where they agreed to be burned, bound, beaten, and killed, they had more purpose than simply sacrificing themselves. They were Romans, doing their job, fulfilling their duties of putting on a show. They acted as vehicles of communication, embodying and projecting Roman values, such as military prowess and strength, fighting and dying willingly. Gladiators were more than murderous outcasts; they were fundamental to Roman society; they were performers and acted as human indoctrination devices.

The Roman amphitheatre was the grandiose stage for public representation of power and wealth, a place for spectacle and the witnessing of Roman dominance. Nearly every major theme of the Roman power structure was deployed in the spectacles: social stratification, political theatre, punishment and justice, civilization and empire versus barbarianism and the 鈥榦ther鈥�, and the exaltation of masculinity. The armour and its messages bridged the gap between the gladiator and wider society and added to the characterisation of each individual fighter, cementing them as actors in costume, and conveying Roman values.

Some motifs and imagery have simple meanings and their appearance is logical, for example: the distinguishing griffin demarcating the Thracian helmet acted as a protector from evil, instilling strength, military courage and leadership (Figure 4.1);Medusa鈥檚 head, often figuring centrally, was intended to ward off evil and serve as a symbol of justice (Figure 4.2); Hercules and his characteristic associations such as club and lion skin, suggested the incredible feats the gladiators are undertaking and their astonishing success (Figure 4.3).

A modern mind may overlook the flamboyance and pomp of gladiatorial games, and rather focuses on their sordid nature, nevertheless, there was a central pageantry framing the bloody entertainment at the arena. The armour was a costume worn to depict a frightening fighting machine but also acted as a prop in the artistic expression of ideology and communication of messages. Gladiators presented publicly as a standardised mob, their visored helmets, worn by all but the retiarius, removing individuality and encouraging emotional detachment from the man during combat. The helmets effectively anonymised and dehumanised the combatant whilst protecting the head and face from injuries. This further suggests the men were actors, doing their job, whilst designed to fight, suffer, and bleed, albeit not in a way serious enough for them to necessarily die. The murmillo, for example, was the most heavily armoured gladiator, with the armour weighing up to 18kg, upholding the image of a man designed to fight and withstand blows, while providing an extensive canvas for intricate symbols and imagery. The gladiators were meant to look imposing, so despite the immense weight of this armour seeming impractical, it was a fundamental aspect of forming the gladiator. They wear this armour and alter their identity: no longer the subjugated Roman man, they are the 'great gladiator'.

Due to the ornamental nature of the majority of the armour found at Pompeii, many scholars, noting the detail and intricate artwork, believe these pieces were not worn in combat and were only worn during the procession, pompa, before gladiatorial contests began or perhaps given as prizes. Yet despite the limitations the armour imposed, being heavy, impractical, and restricting manoeuvrability, I believe that it was still worn for protection during combats, forming their costume in the arena.

This theory primarily rests on two facts. The first is that no elaborate helmets for the secutor, who was the usual opponent for the net-wielding retiarius, have been found. The secutor wore a smoother, rounded, more streamlined helmet so that the 谤别迟颈补谤颈耻蝉鈥� net does not get caught and rather, slides straight off (Figure 5). If this elaborate armour was just parade wear, the secutor would have had an ornate parade helmet like every other type of gladiator, in addition to the plain combat helmet.. The second finding that compounds the theory that the elaborate helmets were worn in combat is the existence of a patched helmet of a provocator (Figures 6a & 6b). The helmet was patched in ancient times suggesting a blow to the head, and furthermore, the patch itself has signs of damage suggesting further impact to the helmet. This strengthens the argument that armour was a costume and the gladiators were playing a role.

The extensive work, time and expense in creating these pieces illustrates gladiators as valuable commodities, worthy of investment, and a pride surrounding their appearance. If a piece of armour was occasionally damaged, it not only would have been easy to repair, the armouries being close to the ludus (gladiatorial training school), but it would have been a minimal expense compared to the games in general. Gladiatorial injury and death would cost a lot more than the repair of equipment. In fact, the danger to a gladiator imight have been even less than it appeared; embossed armour was actually stronger than a piece with a smooth surface, as the decoration thickens and stabilises the metal. When compared with military armour, the bowl of Pompeiian gladiatorial helmets have an average thickness of around 1.5mm, with the visor gratings averaging 1.8mm and all edges faced with metal up to four times thicker than the bowl. By contrast, military helmets of the same period are not decorated and have an average thickness of 1mm, suggesting gladiators had to be better protected for harder and more consistent blows in close contact to their head. Admittedly, the armour found at Pompeii is in very good condition. Experiments have shown that the bowls of replica helmets, with the same thickness as the originals would suffer slight, barely perceptible denting even when struck with a direct blow, with the exception of a blow from a trident. Weaponry was also adapted: swords were light and short and could only injure unprotected parts of the body. Another counter point to this armour being worn solely for parades is that though the weight is very high, weighing a lot more than military armour, they would have to wear it infrequently for a short period of time in the arena, whereas military men would have had to wear their armour for hours, fighting and marching.

Like the games themselves, armour was both practical and stylised. This elaborate armour was not just worn in parades but in the arena as well: it was worn to protect but also to communicate. The decorated armour was essential for the concept of the gladiators as it not only added to the appearance of each individual combatant but also to the glory and wealth of the games, and thus Rome, with extravagance at the heart of the concept. The armour also cements the position of the gladiators as actors playing a part not only in the arena when they performed, but in Roman society as a whole communicating values, messages, and ideals through art. The difference between gladiators and actors, however, is that actors were seen as the inversion of the soldier-citizen, and the antithesis of 鈥楻omanhood鈥�, whereas gladiators embodied Roman masculine virtues, relating to courage and strength. Though actors were also celebrities patronised by the emperors, theatres were still sites of social tension where political authorities were challenged, whereas amphitheatres were places where political officials could enforce their authority, their autonomy, and their power, with armour being a useful tool of transmission. The Roman public disgraced the artist, in this case the gladiator, but glorified the art (Tert. De spect. 22: artem magnificant, artificem notant), their performances for the masses. This armour was imperative in the presentation of the gladiator to the public.

The analogy of gladiators as actors was fundamental in conveying the ability to adopt the mask, their role extending beyond 'fighter' or 'killer'. The armour exposes the gladiator as more than a legend, an inhumane destructive force, but also as an individual, playing their given or chosen role in ancient society. This material bridges the gap between the observed spectacle and the lived experience, exposing the man beneath the helmet, integrating humanity and history

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Beard, M. (2008). Pompeii: The Life of a Roman Town, (Suffolk: Profile Books Ltd).

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From puzzling images to a puzzle of images: a red-figure thread from Peucetia by Carlo Lualdi (May 2024)

Red-figure vases, though seemingly showing repetitive patterns and designs, nevertheless reveal rich details and narratives, offering insights into ancient cultures. Indeed, the decoration of these vessels can be analysed as part of a group of 鈥榮peaking objects鈥�, part of a 鈥榝igural speech鈥�, where the images on these objects can be seen as being specially selected to convey specific messages and concepts.

A notable case study linked to this topic is a group of red-figure vessels from Greece and Southern Italy, found in a tomb near Gravina di Puglia, dating to the end of the fifth century BCE and known as 'tomb 2/1994' (for more details on the tomb see Cianco 1997, and on the vases specifically, see Todisco 2018). This assemblage can deepen our understanding of ancient mindsets and the traditions linked to the Peucetians, the Italic people who inhabited the central part of the modern Puglia region in the southeastern part of the Italian peninsula.

The grave goods found in this tomb offer an interesting case study about Greek, proto-Lucanian, and local pottery styles. These items reflect activities like athletics, warfare, and Dionysian themes, signifying the aristocratic pride and wealth of the tomb's occupant. The vessels showcase red-figure designs, connecting them through a thematic 'red thread.' Despite some damage from ancient pillaging, these grave goods provide a glimpse into the cultural and social context linked to the Italic aristocracy of ancient Peucetia.

Indeed, it is interesting to focus on the images depicted on the only fragmentary red-figure Attic wine cup (usually labelled with the term of kylix) where it is possible to observe both female and male characters interacting (Fig. 1).

鈥楽carlet threads running through the colorful skein of the past鈥�: sashes and fillets

The most obvious detail that we notice is that the female figures on the kylix are shown holding boxes and long textile sashes. To precisely describe the use of these sashes or fillets (a cloth band or sash worn around the head) is a challenge: the images on the cup seem to outline some characters getting ready for an event that is hard to establish precisely. But we know that sashes and fillets are often linked to cultural practices where women with such fillets play a role in the process of honouring human figures. But we also note that this image is unique in the grave itself; the images on the other red-figure vases in tomb 2/1994 - those which were crafted by artisans in Southern Italy - do not show any fillets or sashes. How then is it best to understand this kylix and its images?

In fact the Attic kylix showing women with sashes might best be interpreted within the wider cultural context rather than in the isolated context of its representation within the tomb. Such images are a common occurrence in other Southern Italian pottery, conveying a wide range of symbolic messages, as is shown by a limited selection of vases produced by the Amykos Painter (c.425-400 BCE), and by artisans who operated shortly before and after him, such as the proto-Lucanian Cyclops Painter (c.425-400 BCE), the Lucanian Palermo Painter (c.410-390 BCE) and the Creusa Painter (c.380-360 BCE) (Figs. 2-5).

These images show fillets in various scenes with women, warriors, athletes, and gods like Herakles, as well as grave markers. Characters on the vases suggest fillets were used to celebrate, honour, and worship. Female figures holding fillets highlight women's roles as artisans and custodians, tied to celebrating privileged individuals. Male glory is affirmed by these females, reflecting a balance of power and shared cultural concepts like wealth and pride (Figs. 6-7). Such examples reveal a wide cultural understanding and interest in these items in these many contexts.

Fillets, images and vases: the many 鈥榲oices鈥� of a tradition in Peucetia

In summary, the Attic red-figure cup showing women with textile bands can be connected to a wide range of themes shown on vessels crafted in Southern Italy. Hence the decoration of the Attic kylix is harmonically part of a larger symbolic and complex tradition. These depictions also celebrate women as skilled aristocrats crafting luxury fillets for many different events. The grave goods from tomb 2/1994 suggest the Peucetian aristocracy aimed to convey symbolic messages through various vessels. The images on the vessels from Gravina-Botromagno should be viewed as linked to a broader cultural context: the images from a single Peucetian tomb echo some elements of a wider shared cultural background. Despite uncertainties about the reasons behind this choice, comparisons help to better contextualize the images on the vases from tomb 2/1994. The Attic and Italiotes red-figured threads contribute to a shared narrative. They highlight the roles of female figures within the social hierarchy, honouring their skills and societal ties. These artifacts reflect Peucetian aristocrats' pride in their background, culture, wealth, and social status.

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Reading and listening at the 'Colossi of Memnon' by Cameron Heagney (April 2024)

Herodotus was among the first Greek authors to write of the 鈥渟o many marvellous things鈥� found in Egypt (Herodotus, The Persian Wars 2.35), contributing to a developing interest in Egypt as a region conceived to be full of curious and obscure wonders. But for the growing communities of Greeks and Romans making their journey down the Nile, few spectacles could attract as many visitors as the so-called 鈥楥olossi of Memnon鈥�. These two enormous sandstone statues depicted Pharaoh Amenhotep III, and were built in the ancient city of Thebes (modern day Luxor) during the fourteenth century B.C. (Fig. 1). Gazing out into the eastern horizon, the two 18-metre statues mark the entrance to the Mortuary Temple of Amenhotep III and dominated the landscape as the largest monuments in the area. Their magnificent size and antique age were the subject of marvel, but the most wonderous of all of their qualities were the sounds that one of the statues could reportedly produce.

Indeed, as a result of damage and natural erosion, the slight dislocation of the statue鈥檚 stones allowed wind and air to pass through the northern Colossus and produce sounds at certain times of day. This curious phenomenon is reported by several Graeco-Roman authors, but it is Strabo who relates that the sound was so lifelike that he was unable to distinguish whether the noise was produced by the statue, or the men stood around its base (Strabo, Geography 17.1.46). Attracting frequent visitors for centuries, the sound of the Colossi of Memnon is referenced to in dozens of graffiti that cover the legs of the statue pair (Fig. 2). These inscriptions attest not only to the fascination with the statues by Graeco-Roman tourists, but also their desire to capture the fleeting moment of marvel in time forever.

But how could one capture such a moment of wonder with a graffito? For some, a scribble of 鈥楢gathocles was here鈥� would do; but in other cases, we can find striking examples of metrical inscriptions that accompany the marvel of the speaking Colossus. One, dated between the first two centuries A.D., is by a certain centurion named Julius, and reads as follows (Fig. 3.):

It is clear that in attempting to make sense of the Colossi, Julius has chosen 鈥� like many others inscribing at the monumental statues 鈥� to interpret their marvel with the tools of Homeric storytelling. Indeed, Homer is mentioned by name to 鈥渒now鈥� the statue pair as Memnon, and the vocabulary used in the first two lines are recognisable from the mention of Eos鈥� mourning of Memnon in the Odyssey (Odyssey 4.188). But this inscription, composed in dactylic hexameter, is consciously Homeric in its choice of language: Eos is 蠒伪蔚蟽蠒蠈蟻慰蟼, the 鈥榖earer of shining light鈥�, ringing of Homeric divine epithet; by the same measure 伪峒次澄晃� (鈥榬adiance鈥�) is found repeatedly in Homeric poetry (Iliad 2.458; Odyssey 4.45, 6.45, 7.84), formulated in dazzling and specifically visual terms. Moreover, Julius makes use of the Homeric Ionic dialect of Greek, electing to use lengthened and epic forms of verbs throughout.

The inscriber clearly identifies the statue with the Memnon of Homeric poetry, and this interpretation is enacted in the vocalisation of this graffito. But Julius鈥� inscription, capturing the moment of spectacle as if the statue produces a heroic roar, can conversely be read to provide a commentary on Homeric storytelling. Indeed, it is in the Odyssey that Eos weeps for her fallen son Memnon, but Julius recognises in the monumental statue of Amenhotep III that the heroic Memnon is alive and passionately vocal. In doing so, the heroic 鈥榬oar鈥� of the Colossus is turned into a moment of reflection upon the veracity of Homeric storytelling. Julius, a Roman centurion presumably garrisoning Upper Egypt, chooses to interpret Egyptian antiquity through expression of Greek cultural heritage; as an occupying force, his appropriation of the monument may speak to Roman cultural tastes and value judgements of 鈥楪reek鈥� arts over 鈥楨gyptian鈥� ones.

Another inscriber identified on the Colossi of Memnon is Julia Balbilla, a learned poet who travelled in Hadrian鈥檚 imperial retinue across the Roman Empire. In one of her poems (Fig. 4.), dated to 130 A.D., Balbilla鈥檚 encounter with the empress Sabina is memorialised in the shadows of the miraculous statues:

Balbilla鈥檚 poetry on the Colossi has been described as having a 鈥楽apphic voice鈥� for two reasons. First, her choice to write in the distinctive Aeolic dialect (the same dialect of Ancient Greek as the lyric poet Sappho), setting her graffiti apart from the Homeric-Ionic dialect of other metrical inscriptions. Second is her framing of erotic encounters in such fluid temporalities. Balbilla trains her lyric-poetic voice on the fleeting moments of the past, present, and imminent future, and seems less interested in the monumental 鈥楬omeric鈥� Memnon as she is in the empress鈥� presence at the epic encounter (cf. Sappho fr. 16). Sabina, the wife of Hadrian, is the real object of marvel for Balbilla; her eroticised descriptions of the empress have been read as pastiches of Sappho鈥檚 own description of feminine beauty (Sappho fr. 16.17-18, 17.2), and Balbilla鈥檚 poetic gaze seems fixed upon Sabina despite the epic miracles at present.

What does it mean for Balbilla鈥檚 poetry to be inscribed very publicly upon the Colossus? Her verses celebrated the imperial visit to Upper Egypt, and are testament to her learned poetic skill, but they frame a very different encounter to the other inscriptions at the Colossi. Where the hexametrical inscriptions in epic dialect and Homeric language ask their listeners to interpret the space in the world of early Greek epic, Balbilla鈥檚 Aeolisms and Sapphic voice mark the Colossi as a place of erotic, lyric encounters. As we have seen, both types of inscriptions are intentionally archaising, making use of older vocabulary and dialects to associate themselves with the rich Greek literary tradition. But Balbilla鈥檚 inscribed poetry is unique even in this sense; her choice to imitate Sapphic lyric invites an alternate, reinterpretative reading 鈥� perhaps listening 鈥� of the space as the site of a fleeting erotic encounter.

In our interpretation of these metrical inscriptions, we can hear a polyphony of voices, genres, and gendered encounters recorded by previous visitors. This aspect, of reading and listening had great sway over how the Colossi were remembered by Graeco-Roman tourists. But how can we incorporate the miraculous 鈥榲oice鈥� of the statue into our understanding of the 鈥榮oundscapes鈥� of these material and epigraphical encounters?

Some authors report a deep, vocal sound emerging from the northern Colossus: for Pliny, it was a creaking rattle at dawn (Pliny, Natural History 36.11), and Lucian reports 鈥渁 roar鈥� heard from the statue (Lucian, Toxaris or Friendship 27). Julius鈥� inscription, consciously reflecting upon Homeric storytelling, dictates a heroic 鈥榣istening鈥� of these sounds. We are asked to hear a heroic roar in the Colossus鈥� 渭蠉魏畏渭伪 (鈥榬oar鈥�), and interpret the statue with reference to the Homeric world of epic. In this way, the reader (or rather, the listener) and the inscriber collaborate to affirm the appropriation of the Egyptian monument. Should one consent to the interpretation of the statue鈥檚 roars as the roars of the Homeric Memnon, as Julius and many others have, the statues of Amenhotep III are rendered objects of Greek cultural reflection and discourse.

Other authors, however, reported that the statue鈥檚 voice was far more musical in quality. Pausanias likened the Colossus鈥� 鈥榲oice鈥� to 鈥渁 kithara when a string has been broken鈥� (Pausanias, Periegesis 1.42.3); Philostratus鈥� artistic description recorded that the sound was like a plectrum striking a lyre (Philostratus, Imagines 1.7.20-25). Should this have been the case, Balbilla鈥檚 markedly Aeolic lyric poetry, when read aloud, may have been accompanied by the musical song of the monument鈥檚 鈥榲oice鈥�. Her poetry sought to capture a fleeting and deeply personal moment in time, less interested in the Colossus and more in her time with the empress; yet, in this 鈥榣istening鈥�, the Colossus鈥� musical voice may have had the potential to compliment the poem鈥檚 registration of the monument as the site of erotic encounter and personal storytelling.

By the third century A.D., it is thought that the northern statue was repaired (perhaps during Septimius Severus鈥� visit, cf. Historia Augusta Septimius Severus 17.4) and, as a result, had stopped producing the miraculous noise. For this reason, we may never be able to know if the Colossus鈥� 鈥榲oice鈥� accompanied an epic or lyric 鈥榣istening鈥� of the inscribed poetry. There is potential, however, that visitors encountered both; Callistratus鈥� account of the statue鈥檚 voice reports both 鈥渏oy and delight鈥� at dawn as well as 鈥減iteous and mournful groans in grief鈥� at dusk (Callistratus, Descriptions 9.1). In whatever manner we choose to understand the 鈥榮oundscapes鈥� of the Colossi of Memnon, the metrical inscriptions on the statues nonetheless had the capacity to determine a visitor鈥檚 experience and interpretation of the space. They triangulated meaning around highly allusive poetry, the audible 鈥榲oice鈥� of the Colossus, and the listener鈥檚 experience of the site. Perhaps it is a greater marvel that such short, rhythmic verses could determine concepts as large as time, myth, and memory for Greek and Roman visitors!

Bibliography

Primary sources:

Herodotus, The Persian Wars, books 1-2, trans. A. D. Godley, Loeb Classical Library 117 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1920).

Strabo, Geography, book 17, trans. H. L. Jones, Loeb Classical Library 267 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1932).

Homer, Iliad, books 1-12, trans. A. T. Murray, Loeb Classical Library 170 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1924).

Homer, Odyssey, books 1-12, trans. A. T. Murray, Loeb Classical Library 104 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1919).

Sappho, Lyric fragments, trans. D. A. Campbell, Loeb Classical Library 142 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1982).

Pliny, Natural History, books 36-37, trans. D. E. Eichholz, Loeb Classical Library 419 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1962).

Lucian, Toxaris, or Friendship, trans. A. M. Harmon, Loeb Classical Library 302 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1936).

Callistratus, Descriptions, trans. A. Fairbanks, Loeb Classical Library 256 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1931).

Pausanias, Description of Greece, books 1-2, trans. W. H. S. Jones, Loeb Classical Library 93 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1918).

Philostratus the Elder, Imagines, trans. A. Fairbanks, Loeb Classical Library 256 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1931).

Historia Augusta, Septimius Severus, trans. D. Magie, Loeb Classical Library 139 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2022).

Secondary sources:

Baumbach, M. (2017) 鈥楶oets and Poetry鈥� in The Oxford Handbook to the Second Sophistic, eds. D. S. Richter & W. A. Johnson (New York: Oxford University Press) 493-508.

Bernand, A. and Bernand, E. (1960) Les Inscriptions Grecques et Latines du Colosse de Memnon (Paris: Institut Francais d'Arch茅ologie Orientale du Caire).

Bowersock, G. W. (1984) 鈥楾he Miracle of Memnon鈥�, The Bulletin of the American Society of Papyrologists 21 (1): 21-32.

Moyer, I. (2011) Egypt and the Limits of Hellenism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).

Rosenmeyer, P. A. (2008) 鈥楪reek Verse Inscriptions in Roman Egypt: Julia Balbilla鈥檚 Sapphic Voice鈥�, Classical Antiquity 27 (2): 334-358.

Rosenmeyer, P. A. (2018) The Language of Ruins: Greek and Latin Inscriptions on the Memnon Colossus (New York: Oxford University Press).

A Macedonian Grey Ware Mug from Thessaloniki: 'terra sigillata' or not? by Vaggelis Papaioannou (February 2024)

麓Terra sigillata麓 is a term which refers to the pottery produced, distributed and used throughout the Roman Empire. Pots which belong to that very broad category were produced in every corner of the Mediterranean and European world, from Spain, France and Germany to Tunisia, Greece, Turkey and Lebanon, over 9 centuries (from the 2^nd century BC to the 7^th century AD). The term generally denotes vessels used on tables, such as plates and cups, that bear a glossy red slip with various kinds of decoration, while the manufacturers very often leave their mark with a stamp.

On looking at 麓terra sigillata麓 objects exhibited in museums all around Europe the lack of uniformity is obvious. All the above-mentioned production centres made different kinds of 麓terra sigillata麓, distinguished by the color of the clay and the slip, and the repertory of shapes, or the decoration. A visit to the Roman Agora Museum in Thessaloniki offers a glimpse of different classes of red-slipped productions from the Mediterranean, for instance the African and Phocean Red Slip Ware. Eventually, the visitor will come across a series of table vessels with a glossy slip, which in many ways is unlike all the other 麓terra sigillata麓- red slipped products (Fig.1). Its name is Macedonian Grey Ware (MGW hereafter).

Our object (Fig.1) is exhibited in the Ancient Agora Museum of Thessaloniki (inv.no. 巍螒1728) and was found inside a late Roman shop, at the south wing of the ancient (Roman) agora. We are looking at a mug, a vessel for drinking. It has an outcurved rim, conical lower body with a flat ring base and has no handles. On the exterior surface it bears stamped decoration, which is divided into two zones. The upper zone consists of circle stamps, while the lower has semi-crescent motifs. The two zones are divided by two shallow grooves and a third one separates the lower zone from the rest of the body. Its distinctive features are the glossy grey slip and the sparkly micaceous grey fabric, that differentiate it from the rest of the 麓terra sigillata麓 family and result from a burnishing procedure and a lack of oxygen during its firing in the kiln (Fig.2). All the examples of the MGW are made of grey clay and bear grey slip, apart from only very few examples fired in brownish clay and coated with a red slip.

MGW is known by many other terms, some more helpful than others, such as 麓Macedonian terra sigillata grise麓 or 麓terra nigra麓, and is a category of tableware that covers the chronological span of the late Roman era, especially the spectrum from the second half of the 4th century until the middle of the 6th century AD. Unlike the more widely distributed 麓terra sigillata麓, it was circulated mostly around Macedonia and the southern Balkans. The majority of the published material comes from Stobi (North Macedonia), sites of Northern Greece (e.g. Philippi, Thessaloniki, Thassos), as well as sites in Bulgaria and Romania, while few examples managed to reach southern Greece, e.g. Athens and Corinth (Fig.3). The high frequency of the ware in the northern area has always been among scholars an adequate reason to attribute the production of MGW to Macedonia, with Stobi (Axios Valley), Upper Strymon Valley and Thessaloniki having been proposed as possible production centres. More intensive petrographic examinations of finds from Northern Greece and Southern Balkans will hopefully give an answer to the question of provenance.

The repertoire of MGW vessel shapes consists of open and closed forms alike, while bowls and dishes predominate over mugs and jugs. The first typology, after only a brief presentation of the ware in Late Roman Pottery (1972) and A Supplement to Late Roman Pottery (1980) by John Hayes, was established by Anderson-Stojanovic (1992) based on the material from Stobi, North Macedonia and contained 11 shapes, of which 7 are bowls and dishes. The remaining four are mugs and jugs. Recent excavations and studies of pottery material from Thessaloniki and Philippi (in Zachariadis 2018) have considerably expanded Stojanovic麓s typology and led to a list of 17 types and still counting (Fig.4). Our mug belongs to the type drawn under number 13. It is often hard to distinguish between those main types and their many alternatives, given also the fragmentary state of the majority of those, so the actual repertory has to be even greater (Fig.5). Pots and lids produced with the same fabric are also reported, along with shapes associated with special functions, like bowls with plastic (made with a mould) handles. Currently, my collaboration with the French School at Athens and the Ephorate of Antiquities of Serres in an excavation of another Roman and Early Byzantine city in Northern Greece, Terpni, and its pottery study has yielded valuable information regarding the ware麓s vessel variety and distribution.

The decoration of these vessels varies quite a bit, although, apart from the metallic grey slip that gives significant aesthetic value to the ware, is common feature of MGW (Fig.6). Impressed and stamped floral and geometric patterns, incised ridges, are often combined as in the mug from Thessaloniki and are found on the rims, on the interior bottom and sometimes on the external surface of the vases. One of the most distinctive types of decoration of the MGW, hardly attested in other tableware shapes, is the presence of scallop shaped rims. These are usually combined with the other decoration options. All in all, taking into consideration the grey metallic slip and the decoration as described above, it is not unreasonable to suggest that the ware likely initially imitated metallic prototypes.

Speaking of imitations, despite the fact that MGW stands alone compared to the other slipped tablewares, it has some features that are very reminiscent of other wares and indicate stylistic influences. For example, the stamped motives on MGW are identical to those attested in other late Roman fine wares, as well as in terms of shape. Many scholars have highlighted the resemblance of some of the shapes with African forms, while in Philippi we have evidence that an African Red Slip form (Type 61 of the Hayes typology for the Tunisian products) was directly copied (Fig.4.8). So far, my recording of the material from Terpni has enabled me to add two more forms directly copied in MGW -simultaneously expanding the typology even further-, the form 67 and form 1 of Hayes typology for African and Phocean red slipped vessels respectively.

The Western equivalent of MGW is the Gaulish Grey Ware. The resemblance between the two wares is striking, in terms of fabric and decoration, but also of shapes, even though the latter does not appear to produce jugs (Fig.7). For instance, our mug from Thessaloniki is quite similar to the mug under number 17. But how can that uncanny resemblance be convincingly explained, given the restricted number of Gaulish imports in Northern Greece, the regional character of the MGW distribution and the dependance of the Gaulish shapes on those of the earlier Samian production? That question, in my view, could be answered only in light of new finds from the area of Northern Greece.

One might argue that Macedonian Grey Ware is treated, bibliographically speaking, as the 麓麓black sheep麓麓 (or should we say 鈥� grey?) of the 麓terra sigillata麓 family, since very little attention has been given to it and given the features that separate it from the other slipped tablewares of the time, such as the slip color or the restricted distribution patterns. MGW does not fall short in terms of quality or significance of the information it is capable of giving, especiallyin relation to the late Roman pottery production and distribution patterns of Macedonia. All these assets and the veil of mystery still covering matters of typology, chronology and production create the imperative need for approaching these research desiderata, so that this grey ware can finally exit the 鈥� grey zone!

Bibliography

Abadie-Reynal, C. andSodini, J-P. (1992) La Ceramique Paleochretienne de Thasos (Aliki, Delkos, Fouilles Anciennes) (Athens, French School at Athens)

Anderson-Stojanovic, V.R. (1992) Stobi. The Hellenistic and Roman pottery (New Jersey, Princeton University Press).

Chrysostomou, A. (2010)麓麓 Late Antique pottery from Edessa and Almopia in the prefecture of Pella麓麓[in Greek],in Late antique pottery from Greece. Proceedings of Scientific Meeting. Thessaloniki, 12-16 October 2006, eds. D. Papanikola-Bakirtzi and D.Kousoulakou (Thessaloniki, Aristostle University), pp 505-519.

Graekos, I. (2010) 麓麓Closed pottery assemblages from cemeteries dating from Late Antiquity at Nea Kallikrateia, Chalkidiki麓麓 [in Greek],inLate antique pottery from Greece. Proceedings of Scientific Meeting. Thessaloniki, 12-16 October 2006, eds. D. Papanikola-Bakirtzi and D.Kousoulakou (Thessaloniki, Aristostle University),pp 429-443.

Grigoropoulos, D. (2010)麓麓 Tablewares and amphorae in Late Roman Piraeus: General trends in ceramic supply between the 3rd and 6th centuries AD麓麓 [in Greek], in Late antique pottery from Greece. Proceedings of Scientific Meeting. Thessaloniki, 12-16 October 2006, eds. D. Papanikola-Bakirtzi and D.Kousoulakou (Thessaloniki, Aristostle University),pp 671-688.

Hayes, J. (1972) Late Roman Pottery (London, The British School at Rome).

Hayes, J. (1980) A Supplement to Late Roman Pottery (London, The British School at Rome).

Hayes, J. (1997) Handbook of Mediterranean Roman Pottery (London, British Museum).

Karivieri, A., Forsell, R., andTulkki, C. (2010) 麓麓Late Roman and Early Byzantine pottery from Arethousa麓麓[in Greek], in Late antique pottery from Greece. Proceedings of Scientific Meeting. Thessaloniki, 12-16 October 2006, eds. D. Papanikola-Bakirtzi and D.Kousoulakou (Thessaloniki, Aristostle University), pp 421-428.

Mpoli, K. and Skiadaresis G. (2001) 麓麓The stratigraphy from the southern wing麓麓 [in Greek], in Ancient Agora of Thessaloniki. Proceedings of the two-day conference for the works of the years 1989-1999, ed. P. Adam-Veleni (Thessaloniki, University Studio Press), pp 87-104.

Panti, A. (2010) 麓麓Late antique pottery from the eastern cemetery of Thessaloniki麓麓 [in Greek],in Late antique pottery from Greece. Proceedings of Scientific Meeting. Thessaloniki, 12-16 October 2006, eds. D. Papanikola-Bakirtzi and D.Kousoulakou (Thessaloniki, Aristostle University), pp 466-485.

Rigoir, J. (1968) 麓麓Les sigill茅es pal茅ochr茅tiennes grises et oranges麓麓, Gallia, Vol.26, No 1, pp 177-244.

Tsoneva, A. (2016) 麓麓Towards the typology of Macedonian Gray Ware: unpublished vessels from the territory of Parthicopolis, 叠耻濒驳补谤颈补麓麓, Studia Academica 艩umenensia, Vol 3, PhD Suppl., pp 42-55.

Zachariadis, S. (2018) 麓麓Regarding the gray ware from Philippi麓麓 [in Greek], in LEPETYMNOS. Studies in Archaeology and Art in memory of Georgios Gounaris. Late Roman, Byzantine, Postbyzantine period, eds. Ath. Semoglou, I.P.Arvanitidou, Em.G. Gounari (Thessaloniki, Vizantinos Domos), pp 499-520.

Once a musician, always a musician by Francesca Modini (January 2024)

Probably in the last quarter of the third century CE, a Roman citizen with Greek origins named Marcus Sempronius Nicocrates was laid to rest in a fairly elaborate marble sarcophagus, whose lid is now in the Townley 鈥楤ronzes and Sculptures鈥� Collection at the British Museum (Figs. 1 and 2). The lid was found on the Via Flaminia in Rome at the end of the seventeenth century; it features two scenes flanking an inscription, in addition to what must have been the portrait of Nicocrates, on the right side. If we look at the two reliefs, we get the sense that Nicocrates must have been some sort of artist and performer: the two female figures in the scene are obviously Muses, the Muse on the right is leaning on what looks like a lyre, whereas a scroll and a scroll box can be found in the panel on the left. The male figures on the lid are reading or declaiming to the Muses in front of them; even more clearly, actor masks decorate both scenes.

Yet it is only when reading the inscription flanked by the reliefs (IGUR 1326 = GVI 1049) that we find out precisely what kind of performer Nicocrates was:

As the deceased himself explains, he was 鈥榦nce a musician, a poet鈥� and played the kithara, a concert lyre with a wooden soundbox bigger than common bowl lyres, and therefore able to produce a more powerful sound (Figs. 3 and 4; West (1992)). At first, Nicocrates pursued a professional career through his association with a synod of artists, which may have performed at numerous festivals and contests throughout the Empire, and it is as a musician that Nicocrates is recorded in repertoires of ancient performers (Stephan膿s (1998) no. 1781; Fauconnier (2023) no. 207; ). Since this activity forced him to go on exhausting musical tours, however, at last Nicocrates decided for a career change: he gave up performing and 鈥� in his own words 鈥� reinvented himself as a 鈥榤erchant of beautiful women鈥�. Much as in our own time, in antiquity, performative arts were clearly not the most profitable of activities; on the contrary, besides being legal and largely morally accepted, human trafficking, slavery and prostitution were always in high demand.

Despite the detailed and strikingly honest account of his professional woes and choices, however, Nicocrates鈥� personal narrative has only been partially unpacked. In one of the earliest modern analyses, Henri-Ir茅n茅 Marrou (1938) listed the sarcophagus as an example of 鈥榠ntellectual scenes on Roman funerary monuments鈥�, only mentioning Nicocrates鈥� career change as sign of his 鈥榣ively and picaresque life鈥� (1938). Similar treatments are found in studies such as Wegner鈥檚 (1966) repertoire of Muses on sarcophagi, or Webster鈥檚 (1995) collection of monuments featuring dramatic elements, where the focus is on iconographical features and their significance. Even when closer attention has been paid to the shift between Nicocrates鈥� former artistic life and his later activity as a procurer of women, the inscription has not always been taken seriously. According to Susan Walker (1990), for example, 鈥榯he text is self-mocking in tone鈥� and 鈥榳as evidently composed to amuse the passer-by鈥�.

Yet, while we cannot exclude the presence of an ironic undertone in the epitaph, the way Nicocrates decided to portray his life after his death must also have been a very serious affair for him (cf. Ewald 1999). Indeed, no matter how we read the mention of his career change and the reasons behind it, the once-musician still chose to be remembered as a poet and kithara-player, an idea that culminates in the closing image of the Muses 鈥榠n charge鈥� of his body, in turn mimicked by the word order of l. 12 (螠慰峥ο兾贬椒 and 魏蟻伪蟿慰峥ο兾刮� 鈥榮urround鈥� 蟿峤� 蟽峥段嘉�; and the verb 魏蟻伪蟿慰峥ο兾刮� may also be read a clever allusion to 螡蔚喂魏慰-魏蚁峤毕勎废�). This element creates a striking symbiotic relationship between the inscribed text and the sarcophagus lid and its iconography: it is precisely the Muses carved on the lid who are now in power of Nicocrates鈥� human remains. In a sense, the motif of female beauty mobilised by Nicocrates鈥� second career is thus recalled and sublimated through his intimate relationship with the Muses. At the same time, the Muses鈥� control, both textual and iconographical, over Nicocrates after death serves to remind the passer-by that, no matter what Nicocrates ended up doing professionally, his identity as 鈥榤an of the Muses鈥� (渭慰蠀蟽喂魏峤赶� 峒�谓峤迪�, l. 2) continued to be self-defining for him, and will now be what he is forever remembered for.

As if to confirm this, Nicocrates鈥� artistic self-presentation is further enhanced by the epic character of his personal narrative. The description of his tiring tours as a professional musician (鈥榓fter labouring much at sea | exhausted from the journey鈥�, 蟺慰位位峤� 尾蠀胃慰峥栂兾� 鈭� 魏伪渭峤轿� 鈭� | 峤佄次废�慰蟻峤肺迪� 未鈥� 峒�蟿慰谓峤迪兾毕�, ll. 4鈥�5) is a deliberate echo of the voyage undertaken by Odysseus, who 鈥榮uffered many woes in his heart at sea鈥� (蟺慰位位峤� 未峋� 峤� 纬峋� 峒愇� 蟺峤刮较勧砍 蟺峤蔽肝滴� 峒勎晃澄滴� 峤兾� 魏伪蟿峤� 胃蠀渭峤刮�, Homer Odyssey 1.4). As was fitting for such an impersonation, this epic portrait is delivered in dactylic metres, a metrical form, that is, related to the dactylic hexameter of the Homeric tradition (West 1982).

Overall, Nicocrates鈥� sarcophagus reveals the role 鈥� so far mostly neglected 鈥� that music played in the culture and self-presentation of Roman Greeks down to Late Antiquity. For imperial era musicians, it was clearly a source of pride, and a mark of identity, to be recognised as such 鈥� even when one stopped being a professional performer like Nicocrates. And while Nicocrates left his musical profession, dozens of imperial inscriptions point to kithara-players and other musicians who, despite hardships and uncertain profits, continued touring imperial cities with success, receiving crowns, citizenships and similar honours.

Bibliography

Ewald, B.C. (1999) Der Philosoph als Leitbild: Ikonographische Untersuchungen an r枚mischen Sarkophagreliefs (Mainz, Verlag Philipp von Zabern) pp. 111鈥�13, 117, 122, 124鈥�5, 216 no. 17.

Fauconnier, B. (2023). Athletes and Artists in the Roman Empire: The History and Organisation of the Ecumenical Synods (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press).

Hemingway, C. (2002) 鈥楾he kithara in ancient Greece鈥�, .

Marrou, H. (1938) MOYCIKOC ANHP: Etude sur les sc猫nes de la vie intellectuelle figurant sur les monuments fun茅raires romains (Grenoble, Didier et Richard) pp. 94鈥�5 no. 93, pp. 194, 209鈥�13, 230, 246鈥�7.

Stephan膿s, I.E. (1988) 螖喂慰谓蠀蟽喂伪魏慰委 蟿蔚蠂谓委蟿伪喂. 危蠀渭尾慰位苇蟼 蟽蟿畏谓 蟺蟻慰蟽蠅蟺慰纬蟻伪蠒委伪 蟿慰蠀 胃蔚维蟿蟻慰蠀 魏伪喂 蟿畏蟼 渭慰蠀蟽喂魏萎蟼 蟿蠅谓 伪蟻蠂伪委蠅谓 螘位位萎谓蠅谓 (H膿rakleio, Panepist膿miakes Ekdoseis Kr膿t膿s).

Walker, S. (1985) Memorials to the Roman Dead (London, British Museum Publications) p. 60 no. 48.

Walker, S. (1990) Catalogue of Roman Sarcophagi in the British Museum, CSIR Great Britain, vol. 2.2 (London, British Museum Publications) p. 28 no. 25.

Webster, T.B.L. (1995) Monuments Illustrating New Comedy, 3rd ed. revised and enlarged by J. R. Green & A. Seeberg (London, Institute of Classical Studies) p. 502 no. 6RS.24.

Wegner, M. (1966) Die Musensarkophage (Berlin, Verlag Gebr. Mann) p. 25 no. 45.

West, M.L. (1982) Greek Metre (Oxford, Oxford University Press) p. 176.

West, M.L. (1992) Ancient Greek Music (Oxford, Oxford University Press) p. 50.

Online Resources:

British Museum sarcophagus:

Database on post-classical agonistic networks, including musicians:

Reinventing Rome's Forgotten Past - the lost significance of the Lacus Curtius by Chris Parr (July 2024)

No trip to Rome is complete without a visit to the Forum Romanum, once the commercial and cultural heart of the ancient city. Amidst the imposing marble columns which testify to Rome鈥檚 past glory, a rather unassuming site is often overlooked by visitors and experts alike. Here, the Lacus Curtius (literally translated as "Curtius鈥� pool"), a trapezoidal area of shabby-looking travertine pavement with the remains of a round structure (Fig.1) acts as a reminder to Rome鈥檚 forgotten past. Not even the ancient Romans could be sure about its significance, so what exactly was the reason for the Lacus Curtius鈥� existence? Who was the 'Curtius' who gave their name to the monument? And why should we care about someone or something which the ancient Romans themselves had very little idea about?

The visible remains have been dated to the end of the first century BC, when the Forum Romanum was repaved by Augustus. Beneath this layer are two older phases of the monument, the oldest dating to around 184 BC, and the other attributed to the time of Sulla in the early first century BC. The two earlier phases of the monument (Fig. 2) retain traces of rectangular bases, surely the 鈥榙ry altars鈥� (aras siccas) of the Lacus Curtius referenced by Ovid (Fasti 6.403-4), which would suggest some religious or spiritual significance of the site. Present across the three phases of the monument is a circular structure which has been identified as a well, surely the lacus (pool) to which the site鈥檚 name refers. Modern visitors to the site can see a replica of the relief originally from the late first century BC which accompanied the Lacus Curtius to explain its significance (Fig. 3). The relief depicts an armed knight on horseback in what appears to be a marshy area, but it is not clear exactly who this knight is supposed to be or what he is doing, leaving ambiguity as to what the story behind the monument was and revealing the Romans own uncertainty over the site鈥檚 origins.

Literary accounts of the monument's origin

By the first century BC, even the Roman author and polymath Varro, widely regarded as Rome鈥檚 greatest scholar, could not discern exactly what the Lacus Curtius complex commemorated. Instead, Varro presented three explanations for the monument, each recorded by historians before him (Varro, De Lingua Latina 5.148-50). The first of these, extant only in Varro鈥檚 account, claims that the Lacus Curtius marked a spot struck by lightning that was fenced off by order of the Senate during the consulship of C. Curtius in 445 BC, and so the monument was named after the presiding Consul. Modern historians have questioned whether this could have been the case because the consulship was only available to the ultra-elite patrician families, while the Curtius family was only of plebeian status and, therefore, ineligible to run for Rome鈥檚 highest political honour at that time. Additionally, other sources seem confused over the names of the consul for 445 BC, sometimes calling him Curiatius instead of Curtius, and occasionally adding the cognomen (last name) Chilo or Philo (Livy, History of R|ome 4.1.1 and 7.3; Diodorus Siculus, Library of History 12.31.1). Historians following Varro favoured other explanations for the Lacus Curtius, and so this version subsequently fell out of use.

The second account records the story of a young Roman equestrian named Marcus Curtius. The legend explains that a chasm opened in the Forum Romanum in 362 BC and the haruspices, Roman priests who determined the mood of the gods, proclaimed that the bravest citizen must be sent down into the crevasse to shut it. The young Curtius armed himself, mounted his horse, and plunged into the chasm, which then promptly closed. Livy鈥檚 version of the tale, in which the haruspices demanded that the Romans cast into the chasm the greatest strength of the Roman people, set the tone for later authors, such as Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Valerius Maximus, Pliny the Elder, Cassius Dio, and Festus, to use this as a story of great patriotism (Livy, History of Rome 7. 6; Dionysius of Halicarnassus 14. 11; Valerius Maximus, Memorable Sayings and Doings 5. 6. 2; Pliny the Elder, Natural History 15. 78; Dio Cassius, Roman History 7.30.1-2 = Zonaras 7.25; Festus 42L). This story also appears to be the origin of the tradition recorded by Suetonius (Life of Augustus 57.1), whereby visitors to the Lacus Curtius would toss a small coin into the well to pray for the Emperor鈥檚 health, just as nowadays we might empty our small change into a wishing well in the hope of good fortune.

The third tradition of the story places the Lacus Curtius鈥� origins at the time of Romulus鈥� war with Titus Tatius, leader of the neighbouring Sabines. According to this version, Mettius Curtius, a Sabine warrior, managed to escape Romulus and his men by hiding in a swampy spot, later commemorated by the Lacus Curtius (Varro, De Lingua Latina, 5.149). Whilst Varro gave a fairly favourable portrayal of the 鈥榲ery brave鈥� Mettius Curtius, possibly due to his own Sabine origins, the portrait of Mettius Curtius given by other authors became increasingly harsh over time (Livy, The History of Rome 1.12-3; Dionysius of Halicarnassus 2.42). This culminates in Plutarch鈥檚 version, in which Mettius Curtius, consumed by arrogance, rashly rode his horse into the marsh where the Forum would later develop, became stuck, and abandoned his horse to save himself (Plutarch, Lives, Romulus 18).

Receptions of the Lacus Curtius in contemporary Roman history

It is truly remarkable how few details these accounts agree on. The only features constant across all three versions are that a man called Curtius was involved in something that happened on a particular spot in the Forum Romanum. There is no sense of an approximate time at which the event occurred, with dating ranging nearly four centuries from just after Romulus鈥� foundation of Rome in 753 BC to the alleged opening of a chasm in the Forum Romanum in 362 BC. Later, the carved relief which accompanied the site also left a degree of ambiguity: by the time of the relief鈥檚 production at the end of the first century BC, both prominent Curtius stories featured the protagonist on horseback in his armour, whilst elements of both stories appear to be present (the marshy appearance of the ground from the Mettius Curtius version contrasts with the apparent downward trajectory of the rider and his horse from the Marcus Curtius version), so either version could be depicted.

In reality, it seems not to have mattered to the Romans of the later first century BC and thereafter what the original significance of the Lacus Curtius was. There did not need to be one 鈥榯rue鈥� story for why the monument existed; what mattered was that it did exist to remind them of the stories they had heard about the heroic Roman Curtius in tandem with those of the arrogant Sabine Curtius. Furthermore, by comparing the development of these two versions of the myth, we can see that they grew in dialogue with each other: as the Roman people presented themselves as the city鈥檚 most important resource, outsiders were characterised as arrogant and no match for Rome鈥檚 brave warriors, clearly demonstrating the Romans鈥� superiority. Logically, it was not possible that both stories could be the true reason for why the monument was constructed, but they existed in harmony because the values to which they spoke were culturally significant to the Roman people.

A later episode of the Lacus Curtius鈥� history can help us see this development in action. In the tumultuous AD 69, known as The Year of the Four Emperors, the Emperor Galba, facing his final hours, fled to the Forum Romanum. Tacitus (The Histories 1.41) records that Galba was thrown from his litter at the site of the Lacus Curtius, accepted his fate, and offered his life 鈥�if the good of the state demands it鈥� (si ita e re publica videretur). The echoes of both traditions ring out at this point. The parallels with the heroic sacrifice of Marcus Curtius are apparent: a Roman gives their own life for the benefit of the Roman state. Through this parallel with Marcus Curtius, Galba is portrayed as acting selflessly to save Rome. However, there are also links to the Mettius Curtius story: both Galba and Curtius faced certain doom at the hands of their enemies at that location. This comparison equates Galba with an enemy of Rome, and we can see parallels between the Sabine War, which involved neighbouring Italian states, and the civil war which followed Galba鈥�s death, presenting a more pessimistic view of Galba and his legacy. Tacitus presents Galba鈥�s death in relation to both traditions, each providing a different outlook on Galba鈥�s legacy, demonstrating that both versions of the Curtius myth survived in their own right and could exist together.

With this in mind, we can see the complex relationship between material culture and an oral tradition. The static, physical monument, whose very existence acts as a reminder of an event from the past, is unable to preserve a specific version of the origins of the Lacus Curtius, and even those for which we have evidence vary in their character. Whilst a physical object can prompt us to remember, memory exists in the minds of individuals, verbally shared between people and constantly changing form as it is recounted by every person in their own way. Each recollection of a memory is reshaped by the individual who remembers, unconsciously influenced by the values of the time, until the memory takes on noticeably different features and eventually becomes unrecognisable. Additionally, a monument鈥檚 significance is constantly evolving due to the events which occur at a particular place taking on qualities of the stories associated with the monument. Memories evolve and can be added to, becoming reflections of more current attitudes and ideas. In this way, the physical monument, whilst not changing its form in any way, gains new significance through the development of the memories attached to it.

Whilst we may never know the original significance of the Lacus Curtius, the monument鈥檚 later significance became valuable in its own right through its relation to ideas prevalent at different times in Roman history. As historians, it can be tempting to focus in on one particular moment of the site鈥檚 history and attempt to understand why the monument was constructed in the first place. To do so would be to misunderstand the role of monuments in culture, viewing them as fixed reminders of past events. Instead, the Lacus Curtius was significant for the stories attached to it and the meanings which people drew from the site, continually reimagined in the light of contemporary events and values. Although the original meaning of the Lacus Curtius has been lost to the sands of time, the constant evolution and reinvention of the monument鈥檚 significance renders this irrelevant at later points in the site鈥檚 history. The Lacus Curtius may have origins shrouded in mystery, but the monument survived through the constant development of its significance to align with contemporary values.

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Practical and Stylish- Gladiatorial Armour as Costume by Tallulah George (June 2024)

The image of a gladiator in the modern mind, owing to screen adaptations and legends, is one of a fearsome, blood-thirsty, killing machine, a pawn, with no rights or personal identity. Though undoubtedly a dangerous lifestyle, a re-examination of material, focused on the evidence closer to the subjects themselves, clearly demonstrates that gladiators were risking their lives, but not necessarily to the degree usually implied. In fact, gladiators might in some ways be imagined as something akin to actors, with whom they were inextricably linked through their shared social standing of 'infames' (non-citizens, social outcasts with no legal rights), but the similarities in role are more pronounced when the armour found in Pompeii is analysed sufficiently.

A large amount of gladiatorial armour and weapons were discovered in the exedra in the middle of the east end of the Quadriporticus at Pompeii (VIII.7.16), including helmets, greaves, armguards and retarii shoulder pieces (Figures 1-3). These finds allow examination of the materials, construction techniques and decoration. In fact the majority of the armour pieces are intricately decorated, with scenes of myth, society, and nature, with every element forming the costume.

Despite gladiators taking an oath (Sacramentum Gladiatorum) where they agreed to be burned, bound, beaten, and killed, they had more purpose than simply sacrificing themselves. They were Romans, doing their job, fulfilling their duties of putting on a show. They acted as vehicles of communication, embodying and projecting Roman values, such as military prowess and strength, fighting and dying willingly. Gladiators were more than murderous outcasts; they were fundamental to Roman society; they were performers and acted as human indoctrination devices.

The Roman amphitheatre was the grandiose stage for public representation of power and wealth, a place for spectacle and the witnessing of Roman dominance. Nearly every major theme of the Roman power structure was deployed in the spectacles: social stratification, political theatre, punishment and justice, civilization and empire versus barbarianism and the 鈥榦ther鈥�, and the exaltation of masculinity. The armour and its messages bridged the gap between the gladiator and wider society and added to the characterisation of each individual fighter, cementing them as actors in costume, and conveying Roman values.

Some motifs and imagery have simple meanings and their appearance is logical, for example: the distinguishing griffin demarcating the Thracian helmet acted as a protector from evil, instilling strength, military courage and leadership (Figure 4.1);Medusa鈥檚 head, often figuring centrally, was intended to ward off evil and serve as a symbol of justice (Figure 4.2); Hercules and his characteristic associations such as club and lion skin, suggested the incredible feats the gladiators are undertaking and their astonishing success (Figure 4.3).

A modern mind may overlook the flamboyance and pomp of gladiatorial games, and rather focuses on their sordid nature, nevertheless, there was a central pageantry framing the bloody entertainment at the arena. The armour was a costume worn to depict a frightening fighting machine but also acted as a prop in the artistic expression of ideology and communication of messages. Gladiators presented publicly as a standardised mob, their visored helmets, worn by all but the retiarius, removing individuality and encouraging emotional detachment from the man during combat. The helmets effectively anonymised and dehumanised the combatant whilst protecting the head and face from injuries. This further suggests the men were actors, doing their job, whilst designed to fight, suffer, and bleed, albeit not in a way serious enough for them to necessarily die. The murmillo, for example, was the most heavily armoured gladiator, with the armour weighing up to 18kg, upholding the image of a man designed to fight and withstand blows, while providing an extensive canvas for intricate symbols and imagery. The gladiators were meant to look imposing, so despite the immense weight of this armour seeming impractical, it was a fundamental aspect of forming the gladiator. They wear this armour and alter their identity: no longer the subjugated Roman man, they are the 'great gladiator'.

Due to the ornamental nature of the majority of the armour found at Pompeii, many scholars, noting the detail and intricate artwork, believe these pieces were not worn in combat and were only worn during the procession, pompa, before gladiatorial contests began or perhaps given as prizes. Yet despite the limitations the armour imposed, being heavy, impractical, and restricting manoeuvrability, I believe that it was still worn for protection during combats, forming their costume in the arena.

This theory primarily rests on two facts. The first is that no elaborate helmets for the secutor, who was the usual opponent for the net-wielding retiarius, have been found. The secutor wore a smoother, rounded, more streamlined helmet so that the 谤别迟颈补谤颈耻蝉鈥� net does not get caught and rather, slides straight off (Figure 5). If this elaborate armour was just parade wear, the secutor would have had an ornate parade helmet like every other type of gladiator, in addition to the plain combat helmet.. The second finding that compounds the theory that the elaborate helmets were worn in combat is the existence of a patched helmet of a provocator (Figures 6a & 6b). The helmet was patched in ancient times suggesting a blow to the head, and furthermore, the patch itself has signs of damage suggesting further impact to the helmet. This strengthens the argument that armour was a costume and the gladiators were playing a role.

The extensive work, time and expense in creating these pieces illustrates gladiators as valuable commodities, worthy of investment, and a pride surrounding their appearance. If a piece of armour was occasionally damaged, it not only would have been easy to repair, the armouries being close to the ludus (gladiatorial training school), but it would have been a minimal expense compared to the games in general. Gladiatorial injury and death would cost a lot more than the repair of equipment. In fact, the danger to a gladiator imight have been even less than it appeared; embossed armour was actually stronger than a piece with a smooth surface, as the decoration thickens and stabilises the metal. When compared with military armour, the bowl of Pompeiian gladiatorial helmets have an average thickness of around 1.5mm, with the visor gratings averaging 1.8mm and all edges faced with metal up to four times thicker than the bowl. By contrast, military helmets of the same period are not decorated and have an average thickness of 1mm, suggesting gladiators had to be better protected for harder and more consistent blows in close contact to their head. Admittedly, the armour found at Pompeii is in very good condition. Experiments have shown that the bowls of replica helmets, with the same thickness as the originals would suffer slight, barely perceptible denting even when struck with a direct blow, with the exception of a blow from a trident. Weaponry was also adapted: swords were light and short and could only injure unprotected parts of the body. Another counter point to this armour being worn solely for parades is that though the weight is very high, weighing a lot more than military armour, they would have to wear it infrequently for a short period of time in the arena, whereas military men would have had to wear their armour for hours, fighting and marching.

Like the games themselves, armour was both practical and stylised. This elaborate armour was not just worn in parades but in the arena as well: it was worn to protect but also to communicate. The decorated armour was essential for the concept of the gladiators as it not only added to the appearance of each individual combatant but also to the glory and wealth of the games, and thus Rome, with extravagance at the heart of the concept. The armour also cements the position of the gladiators as actors playing a part not only in the arena when they performed, but in Roman society as a whole communicating values, messages, and ideals through art. The difference between gladiators and actors, however, is that actors were seen as the inversion of the soldier-citizen, and the antithesis of 鈥楻omanhood鈥�, whereas gladiators embodied Roman masculine virtues, relating to courage and strength. Though actors were also celebrities patronised by the emperors, theatres were still sites of social tension where political authorities were challenged, whereas amphitheatres were places where political officials could enforce their authority, their autonomy, and their power, with armour being a useful tool of transmission. The Roman public disgraced the artist, in this case the gladiator, but glorified the art (Tert. De spect. 22: artem magnificant, artificem notant), their performances for the masses. This armour was imperative in the presentation of the gladiator to the public.

The analogy of gladiators as actors was fundamental in conveying the ability to adopt the mask, their role extending beyond 'fighter' or 'killer'. The armour exposes the gladiator as more than a legend, an inhumane destructive force, but also as an individual, playing their given or chosen role in ancient society. This material bridges the gap between the observed spectacle and the lived experience, exposing the man beneath the helmet, integrating humanity and history

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From puzzling images to a puzzle of images: a red-figure thread from Peucetia by Carlo Lualdi (May 2024)

Red-figure vases, though seemingly showing repetitive patterns and designs, nevertheless reveal rich details and narratives, offering insights into ancient cultures. Indeed, the decoration of these vessels can be analysed as part of a group of 鈥榮peaking objects鈥�, part of a 鈥榝igural speech鈥�, where the images on these objects can be seen as being specially selected to convey specific messages and concepts.

A notable case study linked to this topic is a group of red-figure vessels from Greece and Southern Italy, found in a tomb near Gravina di Puglia, dating to the end of the fifth century BCE and known as 'tomb 2/1994' (for more details on the tomb see Cianco 1997, and on the vases specifically, see Todisco 2018). This assemblage can deepen our understanding of ancient mindsets and the traditions linked to the Peucetians, the Italic people who inhabited the central part of the modern Puglia region in the southeastern part of the Italian peninsula.

The grave goods found in this tomb offer an interesting case study about Greek, proto-Lucanian, and local pottery styles. These items reflect activities like athletics, warfare, and Dionysian themes, signifying the aristocratic pride and wealth of the tomb's occupant. The vessels showcase red-figure designs, connecting them through a thematic 'red thread.' Despite some damage from ancient pillaging, these grave goods provide a glimpse into the cultural and social context linked to the Italic aristocracy of ancient Peucetia.

Indeed, it is interesting to focus on the images depicted on the only fragmentary red-figure Attic wine cup (usually labelled with the term of kylix) where it is possible to observe both female and male characters interacting (Fig. 1).

鈥楽carlet threads running through the colorful skein of the past鈥�: sashes and fillets

The most obvious detail that we notice is that the female figures on the kylix are shown holding boxes and long textile sashes. To precisely describe the use of these sashes or fillets (a cloth band or sash worn around the head) is a challenge: the images on the cup seem to outline some characters getting ready for an event that is hard to establish precisely. But we know that sashes and fillets are often linked to cultural practices where women with such fillets play a role in the process of honouring human figures. But we also note that this image is unique in the grave itself; the images on the other red-figure vases in tomb 2/1994 - those which were crafted by artisans in Southern Italy - do not show any fillets or sashes. How then is it best to understand this kylix and its images?

In fact the Attic kylix showing women with sashes might best be interpreted within the wider cultural context rather than in the isolated context of its representation within the tomb. Such images are a common occurrence in other Southern Italian pottery, conveying a wide range of symbolic messages, as is shown by a limited selection of vases produced by the Amykos Painter (c.425-400 BCE), and by artisans who operated shortly before and after him, such as the proto-Lucanian Cyclops Painter (c.425-400 BCE), the Lucanian Palermo Painter (c.410-390 BCE) and the Creusa Painter (c.380-360 BCE) (Figs. 2-5).

These images show fillets in various scenes with women, warriors, athletes, and gods like Herakles, as well as grave markers. Characters on the vases suggest fillets were used to celebrate, honour, and worship. Female figures holding fillets highlight women's roles as artisans and custodians, tied to celebrating privileged individuals. Male glory is affirmed by these females, reflecting a balance of power and shared cultural concepts like wealth and pride (Figs. 6-7). Such examples reveal a wide cultural understanding and interest in these items in these many contexts.

Fillets, images and vases: the many 鈥榲oices鈥� of a tradition in Peucetia

In summary, the Attic red-figure cup showing women with textile bands can be connected to a wide range of themes shown on vessels crafted in Southern Italy. Hence the decoration of the Attic kylix is harmonically part of a larger symbolic and complex tradition. These depictions also celebrate women as skilled aristocrats crafting luxury fillets for many different events. The grave goods from tomb 2/1994 suggest the Peucetian aristocracy aimed to convey symbolic messages through various vessels. The images on the vessels from Gravina-Botromagno should be viewed as linked to a broader cultural context: the images from a single Peucetian tomb echo some elements of a wider shared cultural background. Despite uncertainties about the reasons behind this choice, comparisons help to better contextualize the images on the vases from tomb 2/1994. The Attic and Italiotes red-figured threads contribute to a shared narrative. They highlight the roles of female figures within the social hierarchy, honouring their skills and societal ties. These artifacts reflect Peucetian aristocrats' pride in their background, culture, wealth, and social status.

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Ciancio, A. (1997) Silb铆on: una citt脿 tra greci e indigeni: la documentazione archeologica dal territorio di Gravina in Puglia dall'ottavo al quinto secolo a. C. (Bari: Levante).

Montanaro, A. C. (2018) 'Death is not for me. Funerary contexts of warrior-chiefs from pre Roman Apulia' in Inszenierung von 滨诲别苍迟颈迟盲迟别苍. Unteritalische Vasenmalerei zwischen Griechen und Indigenen, Proceedings of the International Conference (Kolloquium, Berlin, Bodemuseum, 26-28 Oktober 2016), CVA Supplements, 8, eds. U. K盲stner and S. Schmidt (M眉nchen: M眉nchen: Verlag der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften): 25-38

Montanaro, A. C. (2007) Ruvo di Puglia e il suo territorio: le necropoli: i corredi funerari tra la documentazione del 19. Secolo e gli scavi moderni (Studia archaelogica 160) (Roma: L鈥橢rma di Bretschneider).

Todisco, L. (2012) La ceramica a figure rosse della Magna Grecia e della Sicilia, Vol. I Produzioni, (Roma: L鈥橢rma di Bretschneider).

Reading and listening at the 'Colossi of Memnon' by Cameron Heagney (April 2024)

Herodotus was among the first Greek authors to write of the 鈥渟o many marvellous things鈥� found in Egypt (Herodotus, The Persian Wars 2.35), contributing to a developing interest in Egypt as a region conceived to be full of curious and obscure wonders. But for the growing communities of Greeks and Romans making their journey down the Nile, few spectacles could attract as many visitors as the so-called 鈥楥olossi of Memnon鈥�. These two enormous sandstone statues depicted Pharaoh Amenhotep III, and were built in the ancient city of Thebes (modern day Luxor) during the fourteenth century B.C. (Fig. 1). Gazing out into the eastern horizon, the two 18-metre statues mark the entrance to the Mortuary Temple of Amenhotep III and dominated the landscape as the largest monuments in the area. Their magnificent size and antique age were the subject of marvel, but the most wonderous of all of their qualities were the sounds that one of the statues could reportedly produce.

Indeed, as a result of damage and natural erosion, the slight dislocation of the statue鈥檚 stones allowed wind and air to pass through the northern Colossus and produce sounds at certain times of day. This curious phenomenon is reported by several Graeco-Roman authors, but it is Strabo who relates that the sound was so lifelike that he was unable to distinguish whether the noise was produced by the statue, or the men stood around its base (Strabo, Geography 17.1.46). Attracting frequent visitors for centuries, the sound of the Colossi of Memnon is referenced to in dozens of graffiti that cover the legs of the statue pair (Fig. 2). These inscriptions attest not only to the fascination with the statues by Graeco-Roman tourists, but also their desire to capture the fleeting moment of marvel in time forever.

But how could one capture such a moment of wonder with a graffito? For some, a scribble of 鈥楢gathocles was here鈥� would do; but in other cases, we can find striking examples of metrical inscriptions that accompany the marvel of the speaking Colossus. One, dated between the first two centuries A.D., is by a certain centurion named Julius, and reads as follows (Fig. 3.):

It is clear that in attempting to make sense of the Colossi, Julius has chosen 鈥� like many others inscribing at the monumental statues 鈥� to interpret their marvel with the tools of Homeric storytelling. Indeed, Homer is mentioned by name to 鈥渒now鈥� the statue pair as Memnon, and the vocabulary used in the first two lines are recognisable from the mention of Eos鈥� mourning of Memnon in the Odyssey (Odyssey 4.188). But this inscription, composed in dactylic hexameter, is consciously Homeric in its choice of language: Eos is 蠒伪蔚蟽蠒蠈蟻慰蟼, the 鈥榖earer of shining light鈥�, ringing of Homeric divine epithet; by the same measure 伪峒次澄晃� (鈥榬adiance鈥�) is found repeatedly in Homeric poetry (Iliad 2.458; Odyssey 4.45, 6.45, 7.84), formulated in dazzling and specifically visual terms. Moreover, Julius makes use of the Homeric Ionic dialect of Greek, electing to use lengthened and epic forms of verbs throughout.

The inscriber clearly identifies the statue with the Memnon of Homeric poetry, and this interpretation is enacted in the vocalisation of this graffito. But Julius鈥� inscription, capturing the moment of spectacle as if the statue produces a heroic roar, can conversely be read to provide a commentary on Homeric storytelling. Indeed, it is in the Odyssey that Eos weeps for her fallen son Memnon, but Julius recognises in the monumental statue of Amenhotep III that the heroic Memnon is alive and passionately vocal. In doing so, the heroic 鈥榬oar鈥� of the Colossus is turned into a moment of reflection upon the veracity of Homeric storytelling. Julius, a Roman centurion presumably garrisoning Upper Egypt, chooses to interpret Egyptian antiquity through expression of Greek cultural heritage; as an occupying force, his appropriation of the monument may speak to Roman cultural tastes and value judgements of 鈥楪reek鈥� arts over 鈥楨gyptian鈥� ones.

Another inscriber identified on the Colossi of Memnon is Julia Balbilla, a learned poet who travelled in Hadrian鈥檚 imperial retinue across the Roman Empire. In one of her poems (Fig. 4.), dated to 130 A.D., Balbilla鈥檚 encounter with the empress Sabina is memorialised in the shadows of the miraculous statues:

Balbilla鈥檚 poetry on the Colossi has been described as having a 鈥楽apphic voice鈥� for two reasons. First, her choice to write in the distinctive Aeolic dialect (the same dialect of Ancient Greek as the lyric poet Sappho), setting her graffiti apart from the Homeric-Ionic dialect of other metrical inscriptions. Second is her framing of erotic encounters in such fluid temporalities. Balbilla trains her lyric-poetic voice on the fleeting moments of the past, present, and imminent future, and seems less interested in the monumental 鈥楬omeric鈥� Memnon as she is in the empress鈥� presence at the epic encounter (cf. Sappho fr. 16). Sabina, the wife of Hadrian, is the real object of marvel for Balbilla; her eroticised descriptions of the empress have been read as pastiches of Sappho鈥檚 own description of feminine beauty (Sappho fr. 16.17-18, 17.2), and Balbilla鈥檚 poetic gaze seems fixed upon Sabina despite the epic miracles at present.

What does it mean for Balbilla鈥檚 poetry to be inscribed very publicly upon the Colossus? Her verses celebrated the imperial visit to Upper Egypt, and are testament to her learned poetic skill, but they frame a very different encounter to the other inscriptions at the Colossi. Where the hexametrical inscriptions in epic dialect and Homeric language ask their listeners to interpret the space in the world of early Greek epic, Balbilla鈥檚 Aeolisms and Sapphic voice mark the Colossi as a place of erotic, lyric encounters. As we have seen, both types of inscriptions are intentionally archaising, making use of older vocabulary and dialects to associate themselves with the rich Greek literary tradition. But Balbilla鈥檚 inscribed poetry is unique even in this sense; her choice to imitate Sapphic lyric invites an alternate, reinterpretative reading 鈥� perhaps listening 鈥� of the space as the site of a fleeting erotic encounter.

In our interpretation of these metrical inscriptions, we can hear a polyphony of voices, genres, and gendered encounters recorded by previous visitors. This aspect, of reading and listening had great sway over how the Colossi were remembered by Graeco-Roman tourists. But how can we incorporate the miraculous 鈥榲oice鈥� of the statue into our understanding of the 鈥榮oundscapes鈥� of these material and epigraphical encounters?

Some authors report a deep, vocal sound emerging from the northern Colossus: for Pliny, it was a creaking rattle at dawn (Pliny, Natural History 36.11), and Lucian reports 鈥渁 roar鈥� heard from the statue (Lucian, Toxaris or Friendship 27). Julius鈥� inscription, consciously reflecting upon Homeric storytelling, dictates a heroic 鈥榣istening鈥� of these sounds. We are asked to hear a heroic roar in the Colossus鈥� 渭蠉魏畏渭伪 (鈥榬oar鈥�), and interpret the statue with reference to the Homeric world of epic. In this way, the reader (or rather, the listener) and the inscriber collaborate to affirm the appropriation of the Egyptian monument. Should one consent to the interpretation of the statue鈥檚 roars as the roars of the Homeric Memnon, as Julius and many others have, the statues of Amenhotep III are rendered objects of Greek cultural reflection and discourse.

Other authors, however, reported that the statue鈥檚 voice was far more musical in quality. Pausanias likened the Colossus鈥� 鈥榲oice鈥� to 鈥渁 kithara when a string has been broken鈥� (Pausanias, Periegesis 1.42.3); Philostratus鈥� artistic description recorded that the sound was like a plectrum striking a lyre (Philostratus, Imagines 1.7.20-25). Should this have been the case, Balbilla鈥檚 markedly Aeolic lyric poetry, when read aloud, may have been accompanied by the musical song of the monument鈥檚 鈥榲oice鈥�. Her poetry sought to capture a fleeting and deeply personal moment in time, less interested in the Colossus and more in her time with the empress; yet, in this 鈥榣istening鈥�, the Colossus鈥� musical voice may have had the potential to compliment the poem鈥檚 registration of the monument as the site of erotic encounter and personal storytelling.

By the third century A.D., it is thought that the northern statue was repaired (perhaps during Septimius Severus鈥� visit, cf. Historia Augusta Septimius Severus 17.4) and, as a result, had stopped producing the miraculous noise. For this reason, we may never be able to know if the Colossus鈥� 鈥榲oice鈥� accompanied an epic or lyric 鈥榣istening鈥� of the inscribed poetry. There is potential, however, that visitors encountered both; Callistratus鈥� account of the statue鈥檚 voice reports both 鈥渏oy and delight鈥� at dawn as well as 鈥減iteous and mournful groans in grief鈥� at dusk (Callistratus, Descriptions 9.1). In whatever manner we choose to understand the 鈥榮oundscapes鈥� of the Colossi of Memnon, the metrical inscriptions on the statues nonetheless had the capacity to determine a visitor鈥檚 experience and interpretation of the space. They triangulated meaning around highly allusive poetry, the audible 鈥榲oice鈥� of the Colossus, and the listener鈥檚 experience of the site. Perhaps it is a greater marvel that such short, rhythmic verses could determine concepts as large as time, myth, and memory for Greek and Roman visitors!

Bibliography

Primary sources:

Herodotus, The Persian Wars, books 1-2, trans. A. D. Godley, Loeb Classical Library 117 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1920).

Strabo, Geography, book 17, trans. H. L. Jones, Loeb Classical Library 267 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1932).

Homer, Iliad, books 1-12, trans. A. T. Murray, Loeb Classical Library 170 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1924).

Homer, Odyssey, books 1-12, trans. A. T. Murray, Loeb Classical Library 104 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1919).

Sappho, Lyric fragments, trans. D. A. Campbell, Loeb Classical Library 142 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1982).

Pliny, Natural History, books 36-37, trans. D. E. Eichholz, Loeb Classical Library 419 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1962).

Lucian, Toxaris, or Friendship, trans. A. M. Harmon, Loeb Classical Library 302 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1936).

Callistratus, Descriptions, trans. A. Fairbanks, Loeb Classical Library 256 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1931).

Pausanias, Description of Greece, books 1-2, trans. W. H. S. Jones, Loeb Classical Library 93 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1918).

Philostratus the Elder, Imagines, trans. A. Fairbanks, Loeb Classical Library 256 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1931).

Historia Augusta, Septimius Severus, trans. D. Magie, Loeb Classical Library 139 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2022).

Secondary sources:

Baumbach, M. (2017) 鈥楶oets and Poetry鈥� in The Oxford Handbook to the Second Sophistic, eds. D. S. Richter & W. A. Johnson (New York: Oxford University Press) 493-508.

Bernand, A. and Bernand, E. (1960) Les Inscriptions Grecques et Latines du Colosse de Memnon (Paris: Institut Francais d'Arch茅ologie Orientale du Caire).

Bowersock, G. W. (1984) 鈥楾he Miracle of Memnon鈥�, The Bulletin of the American Society of Papyrologists 21 (1): 21-32.

Moyer, I. (2011) Egypt and the Limits of Hellenism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).

Rosenmeyer, P. A. (2008) 鈥楪reek Verse Inscriptions in Roman Egypt: Julia Balbilla鈥檚 Sapphic Voice鈥�, Classical Antiquity 27 (2): 334-358.

Rosenmeyer, P. A. (2018) The Language of Ruins: Greek and Latin Inscriptions on the Memnon Colossus (New York: Oxford University Press).

A Macedonian Grey Ware Mug from Thessaloniki: 'terra sigillata' or not? by Vaggelis Papaioannou (February 2024)

麓Terra sigillata麓 is a term which refers to the pottery produced, distributed and used throughout the Roman Empire. Pots which belong to that very broad category were produced in every corner of the Mediterranean and European world, from Spain, France and Germany to Tunisia, Greece, Turkey and Lebanon, over 9 centuries (from the 2^nd century BC to the 7^th century AD). The term generally denotes vessels used on tables, such as plates and cups, that bear a glossy red slip with various kinds of decoration, while the manufacturers very often leave their mark with a stamp.

On looking at 麓terra sigillata麓 objects exhibited in museums all around Europe the lack of uniformity is obvious. All the above-mentioned production centres made different kinds of 麓terra sigillata麓, distinguished by the color of the clay and the slip, and the repertory of shapes, or the decoration. A visit to the Roman Agora Museum in Thessaloniki offers a glimpse of different classes of red-slipped productions from the Mediterranean, for instance the African and Phocean Red Slip Ware. Eventually, the visitor will come across a series of table vessels with a glossy slip, which in many ways is unlike all the other 麓terra sigillata麓- red slipped products (Fig.1). Its name is Macedonian Grey Ware (MGW hereafter).

Our object (Fig.1) is exhibited in the Ancient Agora Museum of Thessaloniki (inv.no. 巍螒1728) and was found inside a late Roman shop, at the south wing of the ancient (Roman) agora. We are looking at a mug, a vessel for drinking. It has an outcurved rim, conical lower body with a flat ring base and has no handles. On the exterior surface it bears stamped decoration, which is divided into two zones. The upper zone consists of circle stamps, while the lower has semi-crescent motifs. The two zones are divided by two shallow grooves and a third one separates the lower zone from the rest of the body. Its distinctive features are the glossy grey slip and the sparkly micaceous grey fabric, that differentiate it from the rest of the 麓terra sigillata麓 family and result from a burnishing procedure and a lack of oxygen during its firing in the kiln (Fig.2). All the examples of the MGW are made of grey clay and bear grey slip, apart from only very few examples fired in brownish clay and coated with a red slip.

MGW is known by many other terms, some more helpful than others, such as 麓Macedonian terra sigillata grise麓 or 麓terra nigra麓, and is a category of tableware that covers the chronological span of the late Roman era, especially the spectrum from the second half of the 4th century until the middle of the 6th century AD. Unlike the more widely distributed 麓terra sigillata麓, it was circulated mostly around Macedonia and the southern Balkans. The majority of the published material comes from Stobi (North Macedonia), sites of Northern Greece (e.g. Philippi, Thessaloniki, Thassos), as well as sites in Bulgaria and Romania, while few examples managed to reach southern Greece, e.g. Athens and Corinth (Fig.3). The high frequency of the ware in the northern area has always been among scholars an adequate reason to attribute the production of MGW to Macedonia, with Stobi (Axios Valley), Upper Strymon Valley and Thessaloniki having been proposed as possible production centres. More intensive petrographic examinations of finds from Northern Greece and Southern Balkans will hopefully give an answer to the question of provenance.

The repertoire of MGW vessel shapes consists of open and closed forms alike, while bowls and dishes predominate over mugs and jugs. The first typology, after only a brief presentation of the ware in Late Roman Pottery (1972) and A Supplement to Late Roman Pottery (1980) by John Hayes, was established by Anderson-Stojanovic (1992) based on the material from Stobi, North Macedonia and contained 11 shapes, of which 7 are bowls and dishes. The remaining four are mugs and jugs. Recent excavations and studies of pottery material from Thessaloniki and Philippi (in Zachariadis 2018) have considerably expanded Stojanovic麓s typology and led to a list of 17 types and still counting (Fig.4). Our mug belongs to the type drawn under number 13. It is often hard to distinguish between those main types and their many alternatives, given also the fragmentary state of the majority of those, so the actual repertory has to be even greater (Fig.5). Pots and lids produced with the same fabric are also reported, along with shapes associated with special functions, like bowls with plastic (made with a mould) handles. Currently, my collaboration with the French School at Athens and the Ephorate of Antiquities of Serres in an excavation of another Roman and Early Byzantine city in Northern Greece, Terpni, and its pottery study has yielded valuable information regarding the ware麓s vessel variety and distribution.

The decoration of these vessels varies quite a bit, although, apart from the metallic grey slip that gives significant aesthetic value to the ware, is common feature of MGW (Fig.6). Impressed and stamped floral and geometric patterns, incised ridges, are often combined as in the mug from Thessaloniki and are found on the rims, on the interior bottom and sometimes on the external surface of the vases. One of the most distinctive types of decoration of the MGW, hardly attested in other tableware shapes, is the presence of scallop shaped rims. These are usually combined with the other decoration options. All in all, taking into consideration the grey metallic slip and the decoration as described above, it is not unreasonable to suggest that the ware likely initially imitated metallic prototypes.

Speaking of imitations, despite the fact that MGW stands alone compared to the other slipped tablewares, it has some features that are very reminiscent of other wares and indicate stylistic influences. For example, the stamped motives on MGW are identical to those attested in other late Roman fine wares, as well as in terms of shape. Many scholars have highlighted the resemblance of some of the shapes with African forms, while in Philippi we have evidence that an African Red Slip form (Type 61 of the Hayes typology for the Tunisian products) was directly copied (Fig.4.8). So far, my recording of the material from Terpni has enabled me to add two more forms directly copied in MGW -simultaneously expanding the typology even further-, the form 67 and form 1 of Hayes typology for African and Phocean red slipped vessels respectively.

The Western equivalent of MGW is the Gaulish Grey Ware. The resemblance between the two wares is striking, in terms of fabric and decoration, but also of shapes, even though the latter does not appear to produce jugs (Fig.7). For instance, our mug from Thessaloniki is quite similar to the mug under number 17. But how can that uncanny resemblance be convincingly explained, given the restricted number of Gaulish imports in Northern Greece, the regional character of the MGW distribution and the dependance of the Gaulish shapes on those of the earlier Samian production? That question, in my view, could be answered only in light of new finds from the area of Northern Greece.

One might argue that Macedonian Grey Ware is treated, bibliographically speaking, as the 麓麓black sheep麓麓 (or should we say 鈥� grey?) of the 麓terra sigillata麓 family, since very little attention has been given to it and given the features that separate it from the other slipped tablewares of the time, such as the slip color or the restricted distribution patterns. MGW does not fall short in terms of quality or significance of the information it is capable of giving, especiallyin relation to the late Roman pottery production and distribution patterns of Macedonia. All these assets and the veil of mystery still covering matters of typology, chronology and production create the imperative need for approaching these research desiderata, so that this grey ware can finally exit the 鈥� grey zone!

Bibliography

Abadie-Reynal, C. andSodini, J-P. (1992) La Ceramique Paleochretienne de Thasos (Aliki, Delkos, Fouilles Anciennes) (Athens, French School at Athens)

Anderson-Stojanovic, V.R. (1992) Stobi. The Hellenistic and Roman pottery (New Jersey, Princeton University Press).

Chrysostomou, A. (2010)麓麓 Late Antique pottery from Edessa and Almopia in the prefecture of Pella麓麓[in Greek],in Late antique pottery from Greece. Proceedings of Scientific Meeting. Thessaloniki, 12-16 October 2006, eds. D. Papanikola-Bakirtzi and D.Kousoulakou (Thessaloniki, Aristostle University), pp 505-519.

Graekos, I. (2010) 麓麓Closed pottery assemblages from cemeteries dating from Late Antiquity at Nea Kallikrateia, Chalkidiki麓麓 [in Greek],inLate antique pottery from Greece. Proceedings of Scientific Meeting. Thessaloniki, 12-16 October 2006, eds. D. Papanikola-Bakirtzi and D.Kousoulakou (Thessaloniki, Aristostle University),pp 429-443.

Grigoropoulos, D. (2010)麓麓 Tablewares and amphorae in Late Roman Piraeus: General trends in ceramic supply between the 3rd and 6th centuries AD麓麓 [in Greek], in Late antique pottery from Greece. Proceedings of Scientific Meeting. Thessaloniki, 12-16 October 2006, eds. D. Papanikola-Bakirtzi and D.Kousoulakou (Thessaloniki, Aristostle University),pp 671-688.

Hayes, J. (1972) Late Roman Pottery (London, The British School at Rome).

Hayes, J. (1980) A Supplement to Late Roman Pottery (London, The British School at Rome).

Hayes, J. (1997) Handbook of Mediterranean Roman Pottery (London, British Museum).

Karivieri, A., Forsell, R., andTulkki, C. (2010) 麓麓Late Roman and Early Byzantine pottery from Arethousa麓麓[in Greek], in Late antique pottery from Greece. Proceedings of Scientific Meeting. Thessaloniki, 12-16 October 2006, eds. D. Papanikola-Bakirtzi and D.Kousoulakou (Thessaloniki, Aristostle University), pp 421-428.

Mpoli, K. and Skiadaresis G. (2001) 麓麓The stratigraphy from the southern wing麓麓 [in Greek], in Ancient Agora of Thessaloniki. Proceedings of the two-day conference for the works of the years 1989-1999, ed. P. Adam-Veleni (Thessaloniki, University Studio Press), pp 87-104.

Panti, A. (2010) 麓麓Late antique pottery from the eastern cemetery of Thessaloniki麓麓 [in Greek],in Late antique pottery from Greece. Proceedings of Scientific Meeting. Thessaloniki, 12-16 October 2006, eds. D. Papanikola-Bakirtzi and D.Kousoulakou (Thessaloniki, Aristostle University), pp 466-485.

Rigoir, J. (1968) 麓麓Les sigill茅es pal茅ochr茅tiennes grises et oranges麓麓, Gallia, Vol.26, No 1, pp 177-244.

Tsoneva, A. (2016) 麓麓Towards the typology of Macedonian Gray Ware: unpublished vessels from the territory of Parthicopolis, 叠耻濒驳补谤颈补麓麓, Studia Academica 艩umenensia, Vol 3, PhD Suppl., pp 42-55.

Zachariadis, S. (2018) 麓麓Regarding the gray ware from Philippi麓麓 [in Greek], in LEPETYMNOS. Studies in Archaeology and Art in memory of Georgios Gounaris. Late Roman, Byzantine, Postbyzantine period, eds. Ath. Semoglou, I.P.Arvanitidou, Em.G. Gounari (Thessaloniki, Vizantinos Domos), pp 499-520.

Once a musician, always a musician by Francesca Modini (January 2024)

Probably in the last quarter of the third century CE, a Roman citizen with Greek origins named Marcus Sempronius Nicocrates was laid to rest in a fairly elaborate marble sarcophagus, whose lid is now in the Townley 鈥楤ronzes and Sculptures鈥� Collection at the British Museum (Figs. 1 and 2). The lid was found on the Via Flaminia in Rome at the end of the seventeenth century; it features two scenes flanking an inscription, in addition to what must have been the portrait of Nicocrates, on the right side. If we look at the two reliefs, we get the sense that Nicocrates must have been some sort of artist and performer: the two female figures in the scene are obviously Muses, the Muse on the right is leaning on what looks like a lyre, whereas a scroll and a scroll box can be found in the panel on the left. The male figures on the lid are reading or declaiming to the Muses in front of them; even more clearly, actor masks decorate both scenes.

Yet it is only when reading the inscription flanked by the reliefs (IGUR 1326 = GVI 1049) that we find out precisely what kind of performer Nicocrates was:

As the deceased himself explains, he was 鈥榦nce a musician, a poet鈥� and played the kithara, a concert lyre with a wooden soundbox bigger than common bowl lyres, and therefore able to produce a more powerful sound (Figs. 3 and 4; West (1992)). At first, Nicocrates pursued a professional career through his association with a synod of artists, which may have performed at numerous festivals and contests throughout the Empire, and it is as a musician that Nicocrates is recorded in repertoires of ancient performers (Stephan膿s (1998) no. 1781; Fauconnier (2023) no. 207; ). Since this activity forced him to go on exhausting musical tours, however, at last Nicocrates decided for a career change: he gave up performing and 鈥� in his own words 鈥� reinvented himself as a 鈥榤erchant of beautiful women鈥�. Much as in our own time, in antiquity, performative arts were clearly not the most profitable of activities; on the contrary, besides being legal and largely morally accepted, human trafficking, slavery and prostitution were always in high demand.

Despite the detailed and strikingly honest account of his professional woes and choices, however, Nicocrates鈥� personal narrative has only been partially unpacked. In one of the earliest modern analyses, Henri-Ir茅n茅 Marrou (1938) listed the sarcophagus as an example of 鈥榠ntellectual scenes on Roman funerary monuments鈥�, only mentioning Nicocrates鈥� career change as sign of his 鈥榣ively and picaresque life鈥� (1938). Similar treatments are found in studies such as Wegner鈥檚 (1966) repertoire of Muses on sarcophagi, or Webster鈥檚 (1995) collection of monuments featuring dramatic elements, where the focus is on iconographical features and their significance. Even when closer attention has been paid to the shift between Nicocrates鈥� former artistic life and his later activity as a procurer of women, the inscription has not always been taken seriously. According to Susan Walker (1990), for example, 鈥榯he text is self-mocking in tone鈥� and 鈥榳as evidently composed to amuse the passer-by鈥�.

Yet, while we cannot exclude the presence of an ironic undertone in the epitaph, the way Nicocrates decided to portray his life after his death must also have been a very serious affair for him (cf. Ewald 1999). Indeed, no matter how we read the mention of his career change and the reasons behind it, the once-musician still chose to be remembered as a poet and kithara-player, an idea that culminates in the closing image of the Muses 鈥榠n charge鈥� of his body, in turn mimicked by the word order of l. 12 (螠慰峥ο兾贬椒 and 魏蟻伪蟿慰峥ο兾刮� 鈥榮urround鈥� 蟿峤� 蟽峥段嘉�; and the verb 魏蟻伪蟿慰峥ο兾刮� may also be read a clever allusion to 螡蔚喂魏慰-魏蚁峤毕勎废�). This element creates a striking symbiotic relationship between the inscribed text and the sarcophagus lid and its iconography: it is precisely the Muses carved on the lid who are now in power of Nicocrates鈥� human remains. In a sense, the motif of female beauty mobilised by Nicocrates鈥� second career is thus recalled and sublimated through his intimate relationship with the Muses. At the same time, the Muses鈥� control, both textual and iconographical, over Nicocrates after death serves to remind the passer-by that, no matter what Nicocrates ended up doing professionally, his identity as 鈥榤an of the Muses鈥� (渭慰蠀蟽喂魏峤赶� 峒�谓峤迪�, l. 2) continued to be self-defining for him, and will now be what he is forever remembered for.

As if to confirm this, Nicocrates鈥� artistic self-presentation is further enhanced by the epic character of his personal narrative. The description of his tiring tours as a professional musician (鈥榓fter labouring much at sea | exhausted from the journey鈥�, 蟺慰位位峤� 尾蠀胃慰峥栂兾� 鈭� 魏伪渭峤轿� 鈭� | 峤佄次废�慰蟻峤肺迪� 未鈥� 峒�蟿慰谓峤迪兾毕�, ll. 4鈥�5) is a deliberate echo of the voyage undertaken by Odysseus, who 鈥榮uffered many woes in his heart at sea鈥� (蟺慰位位峤� 未峋� 峤� 纬峋� 峒愇� 蟺峤刮较勧砍 蟺峤蔽肝滴� 峒勎晃澄滴� 峤兾� 魏伪蟿峤� 胃蠀渭峤刮�, Homer Odyssey 1.4). As was fitting for such an impersonation, this epic portrait is delivered in dactylic metres, a metrical form, that is, related to the dactylic hexameter of the Homeric tradition (West 1982).

Overall, Nicocrates鈥� sarcophagus reveals the role 鈥� so far mostly neglected 鈥� that music played in the culture and self-presentation of Roman Greeks down to Late Antiquity. For imperial era musicians, it was clearly a source of pride, and a mark of identity, to be recognised as such 鈥� even when one stopped being a professional performer like Nicocrates. And while Nicocrates left his musical profession, dozens of imperial inscriptions point to kithara-players and other musicians who, despite hardships and uncertain profits, continued touring imperial cities with success, receiving crowns, citizenships and similar honours.

Bibliography

Ewald, B.C. (1999) Der Philosoph als Leitbild: Ikonographische Untersuchungen an r枚mischen Sarkophagreliefs (Mainz, Verlag Philipp von Zabern) pp. 111鈥�13, 117, 122, 124鈥�5, 216 no. 17.

Fauconnier, B. (2023). Athletes and Artists in the Roman Empire: The History and Organisation of the Ecumenical Synods (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press).

Hemingway, C. (2002) 鈥楾he kithara in ancient Greece鈥�, .

Marrou, H. (1938) MOYCIKOC ANHP: Etude sur les sc猫nes de la vie intellectuelle figurant sur les monuments fun茅raires romains (Grenoble, Didier et Richard) pp. 94鈥�5 no. 93, pp. 194, 209鈥�13, 230, 246鈥�7.

Stephan膿s, I.E. (1988) 螖喂慰谓蠀蟽喂伪魏慰委 蟿蔚蠂谓委蟿伪喂. 危蠀渭尾慰位苇蟼 蟽蟿畏谓 蟺蟻慰蟽蠅蟺慰纬蟻伪蠒委伪 蟿慰蠀 胃蔚维蟿蟻慰蠀 魏伪喂 蟿畏蟼 渭慰蠀蟽喂魏萎蟼 蟿蠅谓 伪蟻蠂伪委蠅谓 螘位位萎谓蠅谓 (H膿rakleio, Panepist膿miakes Ekdoseis Kr膿t膿s).

Walker, S. (1985) Memorials to the Roman Dead (London, British Museum Publications) p. 60 no. 48.

Walker, S. (1990) Catalogue of Roman Sarcophagi in the British Museum, CSIR Great Britain, vol. 2.2 (London, British Museum Publications) p. 28 no. 25.

Webster, T.B.L. (1995) Monuments Illustrating New Comedy, 3rd ed. revised and enlarged by J. R. Green & A. Seeberg (London, Institute of Classical Studies) p. 502 no. 6RS.24.

Wegner, M. (1966) Die Musensarkophage (Berlin, Verlag Gebr. Mann) p. 25 no. 45.

West, M.L. (1982) Greek Metre (Oxford, Oxford University Press) p. 176.

West, M.L. (1992) Ancient Greek Music (Oxford, Oxford University Press) p. 50.

Online Resources:

British Museum sarcophagus:

Database on post-classical agonistic networks, including musicians: