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Published online by Cambridge University Press: 04 July 2014
It is one thing to find Medea compelling, another to make her art, let alone funerary art. This article faces this complexity head on by examining Medea's visual identity within a sepulchral context. It interrogates her presence on Roman sarcophagi of the mid to late second century CE. The corpus is not insubstantial—nine intact relief panels plus further fragmentary pieces offer ample testament to Medea's presence in the funerary context. Beyond this sphere, Medea's emotionally charged legacy needs no introduction, and her characterisation—outsider, avenger, semi-divine sorceress, victim and murderer—is fleshed out by her capacity to fascinate and repel. Modern scholarship fans the flames, as she remains a popular subject for scholars of Latin and Greek literature, mythology and gender studies.
In contrast, Medea's visual sphere of interest has attracted less in-depth attention. Recent studies have acknowledged the implications of her presence on pots and in freestanding sculpture, and most notably, wall painting is beginning to receive careful treatment. Yet art-historians have been more reluctant to confront Medea within the enclosed and predisposed funerary context. Traditional approaches to mythological sarcophagi more generally have favoured consolado as the dominant mode of commemoration, in which empathy and pothos are paramount and protagonists like Adonis and Endymion seen as positive exempla worthy of analogy and assimilation. The deceased is elevated by association with these figures (an association which is often underlined by the use of a portrait head) and the bereaved reassured by the implied interaction of mundane and heroic, mortal and divine. In this way, desire becomes a gloss for grief and loss is translated as yearning.
1. This article started life as part of a thesis chapter, and I would like to thank Caroline Vout for reading and commenting on an earlier draft, and Laura Schluderer for her translations of Euripides’ Medea. I would also like to thank the Antikenmuseum Basel und Sammlung Ludwig for permission to publish photographs.
2. The nine intact frontal relief panels are: Berlin, Altes Museum, inv. no. SK843b; Mantua, Palazzo Ducale, inv. no. 62.122; Paris, Louvre, inv. no. 813; Rome, Museo Nazionale, inv. no. 75248; Vatican, inv. no. 1242; Ancône, Museo Nazionale, in storage, no catalogue number; Rome, Museo Nazionale, inv. no. 222; Naples, Museo Nazionale, inv. no. 3257; Basel, Antikenmuseum und Sammlung Ludwig, inv. no. BS 203. For full catalogue details see Gaggadis-Robin (1994), catalogue numbers 2-4, 8-9, 20-22 and 24, figs. 2, 5-6, 10, 13, 31-32, 35 and 40. Gaggadis-Robin's study also catalogues the second smaller category of sarcophagi utilising the Medea myth, the so-called ‘Jason’ examples—see nos. 5, 12, 13, surviving examples that focalise Jason's quest for the golden fleece, making him the protagonist and Medea his assistant. For comparable statistics of mythological themes on sarcophagi, see Ewald (2004), 235.
3. See Mastronarde (2002), 66-69, and Schmidt (1992), 396-98, for a general overview of Medea in Greek and Roman art.
4. On pots, see Giuliani and Most (2007), 197-217, and for paintings see Fredrick (1995), 266-89, Bergmann (1996), 199-218, and Vout in this volume.
5. Important here is Koortbojian (1995). Not on sarcophagi, but relevant here is Bartman (2002), 249-71.
6. On portrait heads see Newby (2011), 189-228, and Huskinson (1998), 129-58.
7. Basel (n.2 above). Schmidt (1968), 5, dates the sarcophagus to the last phase of Antonine art, towards the end of Commodus’ reign (180-192 CE), based on its sophisticated composition and form. See also Gaggadis-Robin (1994), 20 (Cat. 24), and Gessert (2004), 227, who both suggest 200 CE. This chronology distinguishes the Basel sarcophagus as the latest surviving example. The Mantua example (n.2 above) and one of the examples in the MNR (n.2 above, 75248) are the earliest surviving examples of the corpus, dated to the mid second century; see Koch and Sichtermann (1975), 41f. (Cat. 37 and 38).
8. Zanker & Ewald (2004), 339, and Schmidt (1968), 5, acknowledge the more expressive and emotive style of the Basel sarcophagus as a marker of Antonine Stilwandel.
9. Euripides, Med. 1147-49:
ἔπειτα μέντοι πϱουϰαλύψατ’ ὄμματα
λευϰήν τ’ ἀπέστϱεψ’ ἔμπαλιν παϱηίδα,
παίδων μυσαχθεῖσ’ εἰσόδους
Then she veiled her eyes
and turned her white cheek away
loathing the children coming in.
10. See, for example the Louvre version (n.2 above), on which Creusa's hand grabs the edge of the relief panel.
11. Eur. Med. 1204-21:
πατὴϱ δ’ ὁ τλήμων συμφοϱᾶς ἁγνωσίαι
,ἄφνω παϱελθὼν δῶμα πϱοσπίτνει νεϰϱῶι.
,ὤιμωξε δ’ εὐθὺς ϰαί πεϱιπτύξας χέϱας
,ϰυνεῖ πϱοσαυδῶν τοιάδ’ · ὦ δύστηνε παῖ, ,
τίς σ’ ὦδ’ ἀτίμως δαιμόνων ἀπώλεσεν;
,τίς τὸν γέϱοντα τύμβον όϱφανὸν σέθεν
,τίθησιν; οἴμοι, συνθάνοιμί σοι, τέϰνον.
,ἐπεὶ δὲ θϱήνων ϰαὶ γόων ἐπαύσατο, ,
χϱήιζων γεϱαιὸν ἐξαναστῆσαι δέμας
πϱοσείχεθ’ ὥστε ϰισσὸς ἔϱνεσιν δάφνης
λεπτοῖσι πέπλοις, δεινὰ δ’ ἦν παλαίσματα.
ὁ μὲν γὰϱ ἤθελ’ ἐξαναστῆσαι γόνυ,
ἡ δ’ ἀντελάζυτ’ · εί δέ πϱὸς βίαν ἄγοι,
σάϱϰας γεϱαιὰς ἐσπάϱασσ’ ἀπ’ ὀστέων.
χϱόνωι δ’ ἀπέσβη ϰαὶ μεθῆχ’ ὁ δύσμοϱος
ψυχήν· ϰαϰοῦ γὰϱ οὐϰέτ’ ἦν ὑπέϱτεϱος
ϰεῖνται δὲ νεϰϱοὶ παῖς τε ϰαὶ γέϱων πατήϱ
[πέλας, ποθεινή δαϰϱύοι σισυμφοϱά].
But her poor father, ignorant of the disgrace,
entering the hall stumbled of a sudden upon her body.
And at once he wailed and throwing his arms around her
kissed her and said, ‘O unhappy child,
which of the gods has destroyed you so shamefully?
which has made me orphaned of you—me, an old man at death's door?
Oh, may I die with you, my child!’
But when he had ceased from his wailing and lamenting
and wished to raise up his aged frame to his feet,
he held fast, as ivy clings to laurel-shoots,
to the fine-woven dress; a terrible wrestling ensued.
For he wanted to rise to his knees,
but she gripped him. And if he used force,
his aged flesh he would rip from his bones.
Finally the poor man gave up and let out his last
breath, for he could not overcome the calamity.
They lie as corpses, the daughter and her old father
[nearby, a disaster that calls for tears].
Sen. Med. 879f.:
periere cuneta! concidit regni status;
nata atque genitor cinere permixto iacent.
Everything has perished! The state of the kingdom has collapsed;
daughter and father lie in mingled ash.
12. Berlin and Naples (n.2 above). The Ancône example is too damaged to reveal where Medea looks. On eight of the nine examples, the Basel version being the only exception, the children play obliviously at their mother's feet—one child holds a ball and the other chases to retrieve it.
13. Rome (n.2 above, 75248 and 222); Berlin (n.2 above); Louvre (n.2 above); Vatican (n.2 above).
14. Mantua (n.2 above); MNR (n.2 above, 75248); Vatican (n.2 above).
15. MNR (n.2 above, 222).
16. Pompeian wall painting depicts Medea's static moment of contemplation as an isolated episode, offering the viewer more potential for empathy; a distinctively Roman visual excerpt, as discussed by Vout in this volume. Refer to the version from the peristyle of the House of the Dioscuri, Pompeii, VI 9, 6-7 (Neronian or Flavian: Naples, Museo Nazionale, inv. no. 8977). Empathising with this scene, with its unconcealed attempts to elicit an emotive reaction, is hard enough; yet the need for empathy on a sarcophagus is far more immediate, and it is slotted between—and disrupted by—Creusa's death on the left and the corpse of Medea's son on the right.
17. Eur. Med. 1405-19; Sen. Med. 1022-25.
18. Berlin (n.2 above), Louvre (n.2 above), Mantua (n.2 above) and MNR (n.2 above). On two examples—Naples (n.2 above) and Ancône (n.2 above)—Medea's head is too damaged to tell in which direction she looks.
19. Sen. Med. 998-1001.
20. Important here is Vout (2010), 397-419, on depictions of children and the limits of representation in antiquity.
21. This second category of ‘Jason Sarcophagi’ home in on his role as task winner, and portray him, by extension, as hero. For the full catalogue see Gaggadis-Robin (1994), 9-20 (cf. n.2 above).
22. Gessert (2004), 227. See also Gaggadis-Robin (1994), 131, who agrees that whilst on most surviving examples the male figure on the left can be identified as Jason, the Basel example does not depict him precisely because he is present on the lid—she suggests the two cycles are separated.
23. See Zanker & Ewald (2004), 82-84, 337 and 339 (Cat. 20-21). In their landmark volume on mythological sarcophagi, the Medea sarcophagi are discussed under the heading ‘Hochzeit und Tod’, where the death of Creusa is focalised as the main theme of the visual narrative.
24. Fittschen (1992), 1056f.
25. See also Gessert (2004), 231, for a discussion of Creusa's anonymous, passive role within the literary tradition as a further rejection of her candidacy for mors immatura.
26. On the beautiful death, see Vernant (1982) and Vernant (1991b).
27. Vernant (1991b), 50-74.
28. Eur. Med. 1136-1230; Sen. Med. 817-42.
29. Eur. Med. 1195-1200:
πίτνει δ’ ἐς οὖδας συμφοϱᾶι νιϰωμένη,
πλὴν τῶι τεϰόντι ϰάϱτα δυσμαθὴς ἰδεῖν·
οὔτ’ ὀμμάτων γὰϱ δῆλος ἦν ϰατάστασις
οὔτ’ εὐφυὲς πϱόσωπον, αἷμα δ’ ἐξ ἄϰϱου
ἔσταζε ϰϱατὸς συμπεφυϱμένον πυϱί,
σάϱϰες δ’ ἀπ’ ὀστέων ὥστε πεύϰινον δάϰϱυ.
She fell to the floor, overcome by disaster,
hardly recognisable to any except her father.
No more clear stillness in her eyes
no more shapeliness in her features, and blood
dripped from the top of her head, mingled with fire,
and flesh from her bones like the pine's tears.
Contrast with Seneca's infamous accounts of Hippolytus' and Oedipus' deaths (Phaed. 1068-1114; Oed. 958-79). See also Ov. Met. 7.394: sedpostquam Colchis arsit noua nupta uenenis (‘but after the new bride was aflame with Colchian poison…’).
30. Traces of gilding remain on Creusa's hair in the Berlin example (n.2 above); see Schmidt (1968), 26-28, and Zanker & Ewald (2004), 337.
31. Niobid sarcophagus: Munich Glyptothek, inv. no. 345; see Zanker & Ewald (2004), 355-59.
32. Ov. Met. 7.226-312; his description is visceral, theatrical and bloody.
33. Relevant here is Touchette (1995) on Maenad iconography.
34. Seneca's Medea is assimilated to a Maenad: Sen. Med. 849.
35. See Fittschen (1992), 1054f., for a discussion of the possible relationship between the masks and an eschatological allegory of mimus uitae.
36. Fittschen (1992), 1056; Zanker & Ewald (2004), 82.
37. Schmidt (1968).
38. Cumont (1942); see also the conflicting response of Nock & Beazley (1946), 140-70.
39. Koortbojian(1995), 8f.
40. Gessert (2004), 217-49. Gessert assimilates Medea and the deceased through death, an analogy she sees expressed in Medea's departure. Reading deeper significance into the presence of Tellus on the Basel sarcophagus, Gessert builds on Schmidt's problematic interpretation of the earth goddess as a visual signifier for the hope of an afterlife. Tellus, a common inclusion in other mythological sarcophagi narratives conveying a transition from earth, namely those of Endymion and Persephone, features on the later of the Medea sarcophagi in the MNR (n.2 above, 222: c.180 CE) and on two extant cinerary urns discussed by Herbert (1960), 76-78, Schmidt (1968), 34 with plates 30 and 31, and Sinn (1987), 245. Tellus watches Medea's escape from the bottom corner of the relief, visible only from the shoulders up. Her presence aligns neatly with Medea's defiant escape of the earth. But it is not indicative of religious intent. Gessert (2004), 234f., homes in on Tellus' hand, and sees a purposefully symbolic gesture—the benedictio Latina—associated with the eschatology of the cult of Sabazios, an eastern cult notorious for its resurrection and afterlife beliefs, magnifying the potential for religious specificity to an extreme scale. It is impossible to place any legitimate theological value on the cultural discourse that sarcophagi invite, in light of the tense interplay between paganism and Christianity, and the probable disparity between the beliefs of the patron, the deceased, the sculptor and the griever.
41. Huskinson (1996), 96-99; Gessert (2004), 232.
42. See, for example, Zanker & Ewald (2004), 337: ‘Vom Mythos her kämen als Grabinhaber der Medea-Sarkophage natürlich vor allem junge Frauen in Frage, die vielleicht sogar Kinder hatten—obgleich die von Medea getöteten Kinder im Mythos ihre eigenen sind, Kreusa ist ja noch Kinderlos.’ They cite the epitaph of a woman on one of the surviving cinerary urns, with iconography that mirrors the last two scenes of the Medea sarcophagi model—Creusa's death and Medea's escape. See Sinn (1987), 245.
