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OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 16/07/19, SPi
V ESSEL S
V I SU A L C O N VE RS AT I O N S
I N A RT A N D A RC H A E O LO G Y
General Editor: Jaś Elsner
Visual Conversations is a series designed to foster a new model of comparative

inquiry in the histories of ancient art. The aim is to create the spirit of a comparative
conversation across the different areas of the art history and archaeology of the
pre-modern world—across Eurasia, Africa, Australasia, and the Americas—in ways
that are academically and theoretically stimulating. The books serve collectively
as a public platform to demonstrate by example the possibilities of a comparative
exercise of working with objects across cultures and religions within defined, but
broad, historical trajectories.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Vessels
The Object as Container
Edited by
CL AU DI A BR I T T E N H A M
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
1
Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP,
United Kingdom
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford.
It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship,
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© Oxford University Press 2019
The moral rights of the authors have been asserted
First Edition published in 2019
Impression: 1
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a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the
prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted
by law, by licence or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics
rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the
above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the
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You must not circulate this work in any other form
and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer
Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press
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ISBN 978–0–19–883257–7
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Links to third party websites are provided by Oxford in good faith and
for information only. Oxford disclaims any responsibility for the materials
contained in any third party website referenced in this work.
The authors dedicate this book with gratitude to their students

and to the attendees at the Global Ancient Art conferences, whose
conversation and debate have inspired these essays.
P RE FA C E
Richard Neer
The Chicago Center for Global Ancient Art was founded in 2009 by members
of the Department of Art History at the University of Chicago. Its animating
idea is that a new research paradigm is emerging within art history. Antiquity
was, of course, one of the original topics of this discipline as it emerged in Europe
in the eighteenth century. For many years, however, art history derived its basic
research questions, and its accepted ways of answering such questions, from the
study of more recent epochs: the Latin Middle Ages, the European Renaissance,
nineteenth-century Paris, 1960s New York. That situation is changing: as the
discipline grows and expands, new questions, and new ways of answering them,
start to appear. The Center, in particular, explores two developments in recent
scholarship: an increasing tendency amongst art historians to study archaeological
corpora, and a corresponding tendency amongst archaeologists to move beyond
functionalism into “art-historical” topics like beholding, iconography, materials,
phenomenology, stylistics, and aesthetics. What happens when these two worlds
collide?
We define ancient in procedural terms: wherever it is from, whenever it was
made, art is “ancient” if our knowledge of it derives to a significant degree from
archaeological data: stratigraphic, archaeometric, typological/stylistic, even
quantitative. Antiquity is, in short, a function of method. Because these methods
apply to a broad range of regions and corpora, this definition makes it possible
to speak in global, comparative terms: a comparativism, however, not so much of
the objects of knowledge as of the ways of producing and ordering them. Scholars
of ancient China, Greece, and Mexico may work with radically different materials
and possess radically different research skills, yet they all use similar kinds of data,
and produce facts in similar ways. In a discipline that still partitions itself accord-
ing to nation, religion, and date (we have sinologists and classicists, modernists
and Islamists), these affinities of method provide a new, “horizontal” way to
organize research. On offer, in short, is a comparativism of method.
Perhaps the most controversial, even tendentious aspect of this program is
the use of the term art. This usage may seem cavalier: art, we are sometimes
told, is a quintessentially modern concept that can be applied to older or alien
materials only on pain of gross anachronism. We do not pretend to know in
advance the compass of this term, or the limits of the aesthetic. On the contrary,
it is only by testing the methods of art history against the materials and protocols
viii Preface
of archaeology that we may be in a position to discover whether our questions

are well-formed, our answers cogent. Like “global” and “ancient,” in short, our
use of the term “art” is procedural, a function of method: a usage that, in its turn,
enables comparison across cultures, times, and places.
Each volume in this series examines, and compares, a basic concept or category
of art-historical and archaeological inquiry. Unlike the widely available Handbooks
or Companions to standing fields of inquiry, these books do not codify or survey
well-defined bodies of knowledge. They are, instead, exploratory: at once primers
for students seeking to expand their research horizons, and provocations to spe-
cialists. On offer, in short, is theory from the ground up: an apt description, we
hope, of a truly archaeological history of art.
CO NT E NT S
List of Illustrations xi
List of Contributors xv
Introduction 1
Claudia Brittenham
1. Ancient Greek Vessels between Sea, Earth, and Clouds6

Richard Neer
2. A Roman Vessel for Cosmetics: Form, Decoration, and

Subjectivity in the Muse Casket 50
Jas ́ Elsner
3. When Pots Had Legs: Body Metaphors on Maya Vessels 81

Claudia Brittenham
4. Practice and Discourse: Ritual Vessels in a

Fourth-Century bce Chinese Tomb 120
Wu Hung
Index 173
L I S T O F I L L U S T RAT I O NS
1.1 Attic black-figure eye-cup by Exekias: eyes and battles. 9

1.2 Chalcidian eye-cup by the Phineus Painter. 11
1.3 Boeotian kantharos in the form of a ship and of a boar, by the
Painter of Boston 01.8110: triton, sirens, dolphins. 12
1.4 Attic bilingual cup by the Painter of London E2: youth with a
transport amphora, ships. 13
1.5 Attic red-figured cup in the manner of Douris: Herakles in the
cup of the Sun. 14
1.6 Attic black-figure eye-cup with phallic foot by the Lysippides Painter
(“the Bomford Cup”). 15
1.7 Attic black-figure cup in the shape of a female breast (mastos).16
1.8 East Greek oil flask in the shape of male genitalia (aidoion).17
1.9 Attic red-figured cup by Epiktetos: satyrs disporting with amphorae. 18
1.10 Attic red-figure statuette-vase (rhyton) in the form of a satyr
abusing a donkey. 19
1.11 Early Corinthian trick vessel of the Komast Group. 20
1.12 Terracotta flask in the form of a maenad, from Phanagoria. 21
1.13 Attic Middle Geometric belly-handled amphora from the
Kerameikos cemetery. 23
1.14 Attic Late Geometric belly-handled amphora by the Dipylon Master
(“the Dipylon Amphora”): laying out of corpse, mourner. 25
1.15 Attic white-ground le ̄kythos with false bottom by the Achilles Painter. 27
1.16 Attic white-ground le ̄kythos by the Vouni Painter: visit to the tomb. 28
1.17 Attic white-ground le ̄kythos by the Achilles Painter: visit to the tomb,
ghost with psyche ̄.29
1.18 Attic black-figure loutrophoros. Body: laying out of corpse.
Neck: mourners (including one with a loutrophoros).31
1.19 Stele of Aiskhron of Kephale, from Attica: loutrophoros with
figural scene. 32
1.20 White-ground le ̄kythos by the Painter of London 1905: visit to
the tomb, with loutrophoros-stele.33
1.21 Athens, Kerameikos cemetery: Koroibos peribolos tomb. 34
1.22 Attic grave stele: woman leaning on loutrophoros.36
1.23 Attic loutrophoros stele: gymnasium scene. 37
1.24 Attic grave stele of Panaitios: vessels. 39
1.25 Attic grave stele of Panaitios: detail of boy rolling hoop. 40
2.1 The major surviving items from the Esquiline Treasure now in
the collection of the British Museum. 51
xii List of Illustrations
2.2 The Muse Casket from the Esquiline Treasure. 52

2.3 Hanging bowl from the Water Newton Treasure, excavated in
England in 1975. 54
2.4 Fourth-century mosaic figure of a servant carrying a square casket
on three chains, from Piazza Armerina in Sicily. 55
2.5 Detail of a fourth-century silver repoussé figure of a servant
carrying a round casket with a lid hanging from chains, from the
Projecta Casket of the Esquiline Treasure. 55
2.6 The Toiletry Casket from the Sevso Treasure. 56
2.7 The Muse Casket from above. 57
2.8 The fluted dish from the Esquiline Treasure. 58
2.9 The fluted dish from the Mildenhall Treasure, excavated in
England in 1942. 59
2.10 The fluted dish from the Mildenhall Treasure, exterior view, upside
down (with base ring at top). 60
2.11 The Muse Casket, medallion at the top of the domed cover. 61
2.12 The Muse Casket, open, with the interior containers (four cylindrical
canisters and one flask, all in silver) in place. 62
2.13 The Muse Casket, fully open with the interior containers displaced
and fully visible. 63
2.14 The Sevso Casket, base showing the internal pierced silver disk
to accommodate seven flasks of equal diameter. 64
2.15 The Muse Casket, exterior of base: vase with central shaft, vine with
rosette and furled leaf and birds, flanked by Urania and Melpomene. 65
2.16 The Muse Casket, exterior of base: vase with central shaft, vine with
grapes and birds, flanked by Clio and Polyhymnia. 66
2.17 The Muse Casket, exterior of base: muse partly covered by solder:
either Erato or Terpsichore. 66
2.18 The Muse Casket, exterior of base: vase with central shaft,
vine with rosette and furled leaf and birds, flanked by
Euterpe and Thalia. 67
2.19 The Muse Casket, exterior of base: front with wreath and birds
flanked by Calliope and Urania. 68
2.20 Jug with the nine Muses, found in western Russia. 69
2.21 Lady at her toilet with a servant maid, open domed-lacquer toiletry
casket with interior vessels by her side. Admonition Scroll, after
Gu Kaizhi. 74
3.1 Basal-flange bowl excavated from Burial PNT-025, Tikal. 83
3.2 Tetrapod bowl with bird lid, excavated from Burial
PNT-062, Tikal. 86
3.3 Tetrapod bowl showing a bird on the lid catching a fish; four
peccary heads form the supports for the vessel. 87
3.4 Tripod bowl from Uaxactun Burial A20. 88
3.5 Basal-flange bowl with a bird on the lid and a turtle on the basal flange,
excavated from Burial PNT-062, Tikal. 89
List of Illustrations xiii
3.6 Tripod vessel from Burial 10, Tikal. 91

3.7 Line drawings of the tripod vessel from Burial 10, Tikal. 92
3.8 Teotihuacan Thin Orange Ware tripod vessel with lid. 92
3.9 Teotihuacan tripod vessel with stucco decoration. 93
3.10a–b Tripod vessel from Tikal Problematical Deposit 50. 93–94
3.11a–b Tripod vessel from Burial 10, Tikal. 97
3.12a–b Tripod vessel from Burial 10, Tikal. 98
3.13 Mold-made heads from Teotihuacan figurines. 99
3.14 Teotihuacan, aquatic scene from the Zona 5-A apartment compound. 100
3.15 Río Azul Tomb 1. 101
3.16 Plan of Burial 10, Tikal, Yax Nuun Ahiin’s tomb. 102
3.17 Lidded vessel from Burial 10, Tikal. 103
3.18 Stucco-painted lidded tripod vessel from Burial 48, Tikal. 104
3.19 Plan of Burial 116, Tikal, Jasaw Chan K’awiil’s tomb. 106
3.20 Jade mosaic vessel from Burial 116, Tikal, Jasaw Chan K’awiil’s tomb. 107
3.21 Line drawing of text on jade mosaic vessel from Burial 116. 108
3.22 Cylinder vase from Burial 196, Tikal, supernatural scene with
hummingbird messenger. 109
3.23 Jade mosaic funerary mask, from the tomb of K’inich Janaab
Pakal of Palenque. 111
3.24 Jade mosaic vessel from Burial 196, Tikal, perhaps Yikin Chan
K’awiil’s tomb. 112
4.1a–b “Design of Cuo’s funerary park,” found in Cuo’s tomb. 123
4.2 Cross-section of Cuo’s tomb reconstructed by Yang Hongxun. 125
4.3 Cuo’s tomb. 126
4.4 Photo of Cuo’s tomb, showing the second level and “storage pits.” 127
4.5 Reconstruction of Cuo’s tomb. 127
4.6 Drawing of the west chamber. 130
4.7 Drawing of the east chamber. 131
4.8 Group A in the west chamber. 134
4.9 Hu (vessel), commissioned by Cuo. 135
4.10 Ding (tripod), commissioned by Cuo. 136
4.11 Group B in the west chamber. 140
4.12 Group B in the west chamber. 141
4.13 Hu with an inscription by Ci from the east chamber. 144
4.14 Possible grouping of some objects in the east chamber. 147
4.15 Bronze lamp from the east chamber. 148
4.16 Inlaid table stand from the east chamber. 149
4.17 Middle stand of a folding screen from the east chamber. 150
4.18 Gold belt plaque, Siberia. 150
4.19 Inlaid hu from the east chamber. 152
4.20 Cylinder-shaped object from the east chamber. 153
4.21 Pottery ding from Cuo’s tomb. 154
4.22 Pottery he (pitcher) from Cuo’s tomb. 155
4.23 Pottery basin with a sculpted bird from Cuo’s tomb. 156
xiv List of Illustrations
4.24 Bronze basin with a sculpted bird from Cuo’s tomb. 157
4.25 Group C in the west chamber. 159
4.26 “Tomb quelling beast” from Tianxingguan Tomb 1. 160
4.27 Pottery dou (stemmed dish), Shandong. 167
Whilst every effort has been made to secure permission to reproduce the illustrations, we may
have failed in a few cases to trace the copyright holders. If contacted, the publisher will be
pleased to rectify any omissions at the earliest opportunity.
L I S T O F C ONT RI B UT O RS
Claudia Brittenham is Associate Professor of Art History and the College at the
University of Chicago. Her research focuses on the art of Mesoamerica, especially
Central Mexico and the Maya area, with particular interests in the materiality of
art and the politics of style. She is the author of The Murals of Cacaxtla: The
Power of Painting in Ancient Central Mexico (University of Texas Press, 2015),
The Spectacle of the Late Maya Court: Reflections on the Murals of Bonampak
(University of Texas Press, 2013; co-authored with Mary Miller), and Veiled
Brightness: A History of Ancient Maya Color (University of Texas Press, 2009;
co-authored with Stephen Houston, Cassandra Mesick, Alexandre Tokovinine,
and Christina Warinner).
Jaś Elsner is Professor of Late Antique Art at the University of Oxford and
Humfry Payne Senior Research Fellow in Classical Archaeology and Art at
Corpus Christi College, Oxford. He has been a Visiting Professor in Art History
at the University of Chicago since 2003, and also at the Divinity School since
2014, and was Senior Research Keeper in the Empires of Faith Project on art
and religion in late antiquity at the British Museum from 2013 to 2018. Since
2009 he has been an Honorary Foreign Member of the American Academy of
Arts and Sciences and in 2017 he was elected a Fellow of the British Academy.
He works on art and its many receptions (including ritual, religion, pilgrimage,
viewing, description, collecting) in antiquity and Byzantium, including into
modernity, with strong interests in comparativism, global art history, and the
critical historiography of the discipline.
Richard Neer is Barbara E. and Richard J. Franke Distinguished Service Professor
in Art History, Cinema & Media Studies and the College at the University of
Chicago, where he is also Director of the Franke Institute for the Humanities.
From 2010 to 2018 he was the Executive Editor of the journal Critical Inquiry,
where he continues to serve as a co-editor. He has published widely on Greek art,
early modern French painting, stylistics, and cinema. His most recent volumes
are Art and Archaeology of the Greek World: A New History, 2500–100 bce ,
2nd edition (Thames & Hudson, 2018); Davidson and His Interlocutors,
co-edited with Daniele Lorenzini (special issue of Critical Inquiry, Winter
2019); and Pindar, Song, and Space: Towards a Lyric Archaeology, co-authored
with Leslie Kurke (Johns Hopkins, 2019). He is also editor of Conditions of
Visibility, another volume from the Center for Global Ancient Art, forthcoming
from Oxford University Press.
Wu Hung is Harrie A. Vanderstappen Distinguished Service Professor of Art
History and the College at the University of Chicago, and also Director of the
xvi List of Contributors
Center for the Art of East Asia and Consulting Curator of the Smart Museum of
Art. He is an elected member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences and
the American Philosophical Society, and sits on the boards and advisory
committees of many research institutes and museums in both the United States
and China. He has published widely on both traditional and contemporary Chinese
art, experimenting with different ways to integrate these conventionally separate
phases into new kinds of art historical narratives, as exemplified by two of his
most recent books, A Story of Ruins: Presence and Absence in Chinese Art and
Visual Culture (Princeton University Press, 2012) and Zooming In: Histories of
Photography in China (University of Chicago Press, 2016). Several of his ongoing
projects follow this direction to explore the interrelation between art medium,
pictorial image, and architectural space, the dialectical relationship between
absence and presence in Chinese art and visual culture, and the relationship
between art discourse and practice.
The contributors to this volume are the founding members of the Center for
Global Ancient Art at the University of Chicago.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Introduction
Claudia Brittenham
The vessel might seem an unproblematic category. Vessels are, after all, essential
to human survival. They are necessary to contain water, to cook, to store food
and goods for future use. Nearly all societies have made and used them; indeed,
clay vessels, or their fragments, are one of the principal kinds of archaeological
data that give us empirical access into distant worlds of the past. A good propor-
tion of ancient art in museum collections around the world consists of things we
would categorize as vessels.
Such ubiquity makes vessels central to many kinds of historical investigation.
Archaeologists rely on quantitative surveys of durable potsherds to answer ques-
tions about chronology, population, trade, and the function of particular spaces,
while close attention to the iconography on vessels furnishes important docu-
mentary evidence about many aspects of ancient society. Yet as the essays in this
volume demonstrate, such approaches by no means exhaust the perspectives that
vessels may offer on ancient societies. Many vessels—and assemblages of vessels—
were in their own time sites of considerable intellectual power, smart and sophis-
ticated commentaries on the very categories that they embody.
On closer examination, the category of the vessel is complex. A vessel is defined
not only by its shape, but also by its function, by the presumption that it contains
something, though that something may be concealed when the vessel is in use
and is not always easy to reconstruct from the archaeological record. But what
about a Greek rhyton, a drinking horn with an opening at the bottom, so that
liquids poured into one end stream out the other? What about an unused vessel
that never held its intended contents; a Maya chocolate pot, broken and then
repaired in a way that is no longer watertight; or a thin and fragile gu cup from a
Chinese tomb, the form so attenuated that it could never be used? “Is it really a
vessel?” is perhaps the least interesting question we can ask about these objects.
As Richard Neer argues in his essay in this volume, for us as much as for the ancient
Greeks, the value of the category “vessel” might lie precisely in its openness.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
2 CL AUDI A BR IT TENH A M
In the ease with which the functional becomes conceptual, the ease with which
the idea of a container develops into a compelling metaphor, we can see ancient
people thinking through objects.
In exploring how vessels can both reflect and shape ideas about the world, it
becomes obvious that the analytical techniques ready to hand are only the begin-
ning—and, indeed, that our ways of classifying and studying ancient vessels often
work against a deeper understanding of their ancient meaning. As several essays
in this volume mention, the way that archaeological reports frequently separate
vessels by medium (clay in one place, wood or metal in another) and then further
sort them by shape and chronology works against fine-grained studies of context
and assemblage. It also makes it harder to see the play among media that fre-
quently characterizes vessels the world over. Likewise, art historians’ focus on
only the finest, most iconographically dense objects—the ones most suited to
traditional art-historical analysis—not only leaves its practitioners open to
accusations of elitism but also neglects vital relationships between these most
elite objects and the class or series of more mundane objects from which they
emerge. Vessels, like so many other kinds of ancient art, challenge traditional art-
historical methods, for which the normative object is a flat painting made by a
named artist and intended for display. In what follows, I outline some of the
defining characteristics of vessels that pose the greatest methodological chal-
lenges for their study.
A vessel is not flat. As a putative container—be it for a liquid, a solid food, or
a more evocative substance like incense—a vessel has certain functional con-
straints. By necessity it has an inside and an outside. The whole cannot be seen
at once; the surface is continuous and topologically complex. Vessels are the
ultimate tactile or haptic objects, utterly unsympathetic to the optic discourses
governing so much contemporary high art and to the flat photographic dis-
courses dominating our contemporary virtual consumption of art, whether as
reproductions in books and journals or as images in the world of the internet.
When we encounter a rolled-out image of the scene on a Greek vase or a Maya
cylindrical chocolate cup, we must also strive to recall the way the image spreads
over a three-dimensional surface, not all visible simultaneously, requiring that
the vessel be rotated in the holder’s hands.
A vessel is interactive. Contrary to the current museum model of objects
unavailable behind glass cases, vessels cry out to be handled, turned, peered into,
opened, fondled, eaten from. A vessel exists to connect a human being, its user,
to the materials stored inside the object. A vessel is thus always one element of a
triangle: the material form in which the user and the substance can meet, the relic
or memory of both a particular moment of personal usage and of a social institu-
tion of usage prevalent at a given time and place. For ancient societies, it is a
window—however opaque or pellucid, however clear or obscure its modes of
INTRODUCTION 3
usage—into how a world worked, how people used things, how they crafted
items to enable their further use of things, and how they thought about these
processes of crafting and using.
Yet a vessel not only invites human interaction, but also may define a particular
kind of space. A space where wine is mixed in a dinos in ancient Greece is a sym-
posium; a space where a reliquary contains a relic is a shrine in Buddhist or
Christian tradition; a place where the nine ritual vessels are assembled in the
proper order in China is a tomb or a temple that honors the ancestors. Of course,
vessels don’t always show up in the archaeological record in the contexts in
which they were used; rarely do we find an interrupted meal, for example, per-
fectly preserved, or a ritual procession in progress. And places where vessels do
tend to aggregate, like tombs, may be only the final stop on a long itinerary. In
other cases, as in Inka feasts, vessels might be destroyed after their use and only
painstakingly pieced back together in modern times.
No vessel is sui generis. Any vessel is an entry into a long series of objects related
by morphological and functional constraints, by the pragmatic possibilities of the
kinds of material in which its class of objects was normally made, as well as by the
bonds of tradition. If archaeology has traditionally focused on the aggregate at
the expense of the individual object, art history often places too much emphasis
on the genius of an individual work, losing sight of the series to which it belongs.
Yet even the most exquisitely decorated vessels, or the vessels made out of the
most precious materials, or even the ritual vessels elaborated beyond the possi-
bility of function are in dialogue with more humble and utilitarian objects.
Our evidence is always partial. Vessels that survive whole or in good enough
shape to be restored to something of their former glory, the kinds of objects
most likely to make their way into museums and other collections, are—we must
remember—only one small fraction of the vessels used in antiquity. Many more
vessels ended up in the midden or trash heap, worn out and used up, and those
fragments, particularly of clay vessels, might then find other uses, as supports for
spindles, as ballast for sailing ships, or as saggers to protect yet more pots during
firing. Vessels made out of perishable substances—wood, gourd, or animal hides,
for example—are radically underrepresented, as are vessels made of precious metals
such as gold, silver, or bronze that were often converted back into currency or
into another precious thing. Clay was always a choice, and its centrality to arch-
aeological schemes of classification and chronology should not blind us to that.
Finally, vessels as they have come to us in the archaeological record often exist
as part of assemblages. They may be part of matched sets of objects of similar
function and appearance, such as a set of wineglasses, that create relationships of
commensality and equality among those that hold them; or there may be
groupings of items with disparate functions, whose combination is required by
tradition, such as the nine types of ritual vessels required for a Chinese tomb or the
4 CL AUDI A BR IT TENH A M
numerous items of silverware so often found in late Roman hoards. As Wu Hung

argues in his essay in this volume, we need to pay more attention to the act of
assemblage itself as an intellectual and creative endeavor. Because of its place
within such a bound system, some substitution of any given vessel might be pos-
sible within the logic of its culture, like Saussure’s chess piece that can be replaced
with a walnut. Although functional constraints may be more stringent for vessels
than for chess pieces, one can still drink wine out of a coffee mug if all of the
wineglasses are in use, yet even this example demonstrates how tightly our con-
ception of a vessel is bound to its intended contents and function.
Indeed, vessel typologies, which name and classify vessels by their shape and
function, privilege this kind of analytical rigidity, ignoring possibilities of play
and pragmatic substitution. The very precision of terminology, with its instru-
mental uses to help us assign dates or places of production, can be a distraction
from broader questions, and we need to be aware of the distinctions between
ancient emic vocabularies for discussing and using vessels and our modern impulse
to typologize and classify.
The essays in this volume all go beyond and cut across traditional vessel
typologies. Richard Neer’s essay complicates the very category of the vessel in
Classical Greece, arguing that this category was, for the ancients as for us, open
and unbounded, subject to creative reinterpretation around the margins. Ranging
freely from eye-cups—simultaneously wine vessels and masks—to kraters in the
form of ships to vessels shaped like bodies or body parts to stone relief sculptures
of vessels marking graves, he demonstrates just what a fruitful and porous concept
the vessel was in ancient Greece, in contexts from the tipsy symposium to the
stillness of death.
Jas ́ Elsner’s essay focuses on a Late Antique silver vessel recovered from a
cached hoard. A container for cosmetics, with further vessels contained within,
it raises issues about inside and outside, concealment and revelation, gender,
ornament, and the process of self-adornment that it supports. Ultimately, he
concludes, the meaning of the object resides in the now-lost play between con-
tainer, contained, and user—or indeed users, for the vessel surely addressed the
bodies and subjectivities of servants as well as elites.
Yet morphology is not meaning, and formal similarity may conceal significant
difference, as I suggest in a study of vessels found in royal tombs at the Maya city
of Tikal during the first millennium ce. Examining three distinct historical
moments when vessels with human heads on the lids asserted a metaphorical
equivalence between a human body and a vessel, I argue that the precise resonances
of the body metaphor changed dramatically over the years, from a potentially
unsuccessful evocation of a generic female body to a eulogistic portrait of a
deceased king. At the same time, the context of the body metaphor moved from
the realm of the living to that of the dead, from vessels made for courtly feasts
INTRODUCTION 5
and only later deposited in tombs, to objects made specifically for funerary
urposes. Here, the artists of later vessels productively cited earlier exemplars,
p
transforming their meaning in the process.
Assemblage as well as the forms of specific vessels may be a site of significant
meaning, as Wu Hung argues in his study of a fourth-century bce Chinese royal
tomb. By paying close attention to the contexts and materials of the many vessels
recovered within the tomb, he is able to regroup them into sets, to reconstruct
different rituals carried out around the death of the king of Zhongshan, and to
tie them to the very particular historical circumstances surrounding his death.
Equally important, he demonstrates that these rituals represented a particular
kind of Confucian piety on the part of the king, his heir, and their advisors.
The goal of bringing together such geographically and chronologically disparate
objects of study in a single volume is not to seek abstract generalizations about
the nature of vessels the world over. On the contrary, the essays demonstrate a
conviction that the most fruitful comparative conversation is one that is historic-
ally grounded and contextually sensitive. Such comparison throws into relief
assumptions that we each take for granted in our particular time and place of
study and offers a new range of propositions to test against our respective cor-
pora. It also creates space for methodological experimentation and for reflection
about method, allowing us to look productively anew at familiar things.
In the end, all the authors agree, what matters as much as the function and
shape of a vessel is context—not just that the vessel effectively held what it was
meant to hold but the social situations in which the vessel was used and dis-
played. And, here, a vessel in the archaeological record can capture only a part of
a complex and multisensory experience: the delicious aromas rising from steam-
ing hot dishes; the increasingly fluent wit of tongues loosened by wine; the sol-
emn majesty of the proper ritual music attending an offering. Such context can
never be fully reimagined, but we hope that the essays gathered in this volume
suggest new avenues for investigating some of the ancient world’s most p ersistent
material metaphors.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Ancient Greek Vessels between Sea,

Earth, and Clouds
Richard Neer
We do not know the boundaries because none have been drawn. To repeat,
we can draw a boundary—for a special purpose. Does it take this to make the
concept usable? Not at all! Except perhaps for that special purpose.
Ludwig Wittgenstein 2009, §I.69
For François Lissarrague
What is a vessel? It is, first and foremost, a tool. It is a tool historically, in the
prosaic sense of an item manufactured in the more or less distant past for the
purpose of containing something. But a vessel is also a tool for historians: vessel
is a taxonomic term, naming a category of data that we use to build arguments.
An animating idea of the present volume is that these two tools may not be iden-
tical. It is for this reason that it makes sense to ask: What is, what counts as, a
vessel? One might rephrase this question more precisely to say: What are the
necessary and/or sufficient conditions of being a vessel? This way of putting it is
very Greek, even Socratic. But what if there are no such conditions, nothing that
does the work of essence when it comes to vessels? That seems, in fact, to be the
case when it comes to Archaic and Classical Greek materials. This is not to say
that ancient Greek vessels had nothing in common beyond the fact that they
were called vessels (angeia, skeue ̄). What these objects had in common is that
they were vessels, which is to say that they answered to a certain use. In early
Greece, the application of a term like vessel was arbitrary, not random, and could
be projected into new and unexpected contexts. There is no answer to the ques-
tion, What is a vessel? if, like Socrates, we take it to request a definition; the
demand for a definition only leads to problems. I will make this point informally,
by demonstration and reductio.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
A NCIENT GR EEK V ESSEL S BET W EEN SE A, E A RTH, A ND CLOUDS 7
It may be tempting to identify the two ways of using the word vessel that I have
just described with the anthropologist’s distinction between emic and etic cat-
egories.1 How does the “insider’s view,” the emic category, of a given type-concept
relate to the “outsider’s perspective,” the etic one? This way of putting the mat-
ter begs the question in at least two ways. The first way has to with the distinction
itself, the second, with the notion of category that it implies. Regarding the first,
a comparative archaeology brings out very quickly the flimsiness of the emic/etic
distinction. Exactly because archaeological evidence is so sparse and archaeological
inference so ampliative, it is apparent that we come to know emic categories only
through etic ones, only through our own “schematization” of the evidence.
Insofar as the vessel is a primary tool by which we come to know the ancient past,
a basic category by which we identify and organize data, it is a precondition, not
a product, of research. No emic categories, therefore, without etic ones, and so
the distinction collapses.
This is old hat. It is hardly news that taxonomies are the sine qua non of his-
torical discourse, even as they predetermine what sorts of questions we may ask
of our data, indeed, what can count as data at all. When it comes to vessels,
archaeologists have often drawn attention to just this point; the evidentiary status
of typology is a recurrent obsession of the discipline.2 In classical archaeology,
more specifically, critics often point to the tradition of classifying and publishing
finds by type, as opposed to findspot. In this subfield, it remains standard practice
to segregate vessels from the other finds and publish them according to shape in
site reports; the American School of Classical Studies in Athens, for instance, uses
this format to publish the finds from the Athenian Agora, the flagship excavation
of American classical archaeology.3 Alternatives—publication by assemblage, for
instance—are less common in synoptic volumes but more usual in preliminary
publications or supplementary volumes.4 The latter method is more congenial to
thick, contextualist description and, accordingly, often gets singled out for praise.
Digital publication is tending to obviate the distinction by making any number
of sorting options available in a single publication; for now, however, the vessel
continues to play a structuring role in the organization of data.
But the issue goes deeper than tabulation and hyperlinking. Neither the trad-
itional taxonomy (exemplified in the stand-alone volume devoted to vessels of
some kind or another) nor the leading alternative (exemplified in the site report
organized by assemblage) really puts pressure on the basic category. Even an
1
Headland and Pike 1990.
2
For basic orientation on the topic of typology see Adams and Adams 1991; Wylie 2002, 42–56;
Trigger 2006, 298–9. Key texts of the “typology debate” are collected in Deetz 1971.
3
See, for instance, Moore 1997.
4
For a fine example of such publication, see Lynch 2011. For a compromise involving large amounts
of data and a truly heroic system of cross-referencing, see Runnels, Pullen, and Langdon 1995.
8 R ICH A R D NEER
assemblage-based report will still, typically, include a heading for pottery and,
below that, subheadings for different types of vessel.5 To see how the category of
vessel remains a basic structuring principle, it suffices to note that pottery or
ceramics does not really include everything made of ceramic or pottery, at any
rate in classical archaeology. There is a separate category, terracotta, for items
made of fired clay that are not vessels, which may or may not include prosaic
things like roof tiles. One and the same material can be pottery when it is in ves-
sel form and terracotta when it is in figurine form. Pottery, in short, is willy-nilly
a subcategory of the larger heading: vessel.
This brings us to the second, more interesting way in which the emic/etic
distinction begs the question of historical meaning: the operative notion of a
category. In contrasting the historical, emic concept of vessel with the modern,
etic one, my claim is not that we have two concepts, each with necessary and/
or sufficient conditions of identity, and that these concepts turn out, on close
inspection, to be dissimilar. My claim is, rather, that the ancient concept is not
bounded in the relevant way at all. The ancient Greek category simply lacks
exhaustive conditions altogether; this is not to say it is not a proper category or
that the Greeks lacked a concept of the vessel. The emic vessel is in this case a
mirage both by virtue of being emic and by virtue of being a category in an
inapt sense of the term. Most of what follows is concerned with making this
second point, in the hopes that doing so will lend credibility to the first.
The question of what, if anything, a vessel might turn out to be can become
acute when a vessel seems to become something else. In the Greek drinking-
party or symposium, a space of intoxication and double-seeing under the sign of
Dionysos, god of wine and drama, a cup need not be merely a cup. It can also be
a mask, as in the famous class of so-called eye-cups (Figure 1.1). This type seems
to have its origins in East Greece, and the first Athenian examples date to around
the middle of the sixth century.6 Its peak of popularity was in the third quarter of
the century; it disappears thereafter, only to return briefly to vogue in the late
Archaic. Such cups interact with their users and viewers—the two need not
coincide—in a distinctive fashion. For whatever else they may be, eye-cups are
all, in a way, masks.7 The drinker will don this mask every time he takes a sip of
wine, and he will remove it every time he pauses to speak, listen to music, or play
a game. By the same token, the cup will return the gaze of any beholder; the eyes
5
See Runnels, Pullen, and Langdon 1995.
6
For the history of the type see Williams 1988. For a general discussion of intoxication at the sympo-
sium see Osborne 2014.
7
A classic discussion of eye-cups and their relation to masks is Ferrari 1986. On the type’s thematization
of beholding see Neer 2002, with earlier bibliography. More recently see Bundrick 2015; Grethlein 2016.
The present discussion draws liberally on the one in Neer 2002.
F igure 1.1. Attic black-figure eye-cup by Exekias: eyes and battles. Clay, ca. 550 bce. Munich,
Antikensammlungen 8729; Beazley Archive Database no. 310403.
Photo © Richard Neer.
“animate” it. This play between ingesting something, bringing it inside, and
masking, turning an outer face, was for the Greeks endlessly fascinating.
The Dionysiac emblem par excellence, the mask figures the alienation from
self that defines both dramatic performance and drunken reverie.8 The Greek
word for this state is ecstasy or ek-stasia, literally, a “standing apart from” the self.
With an eye-cup—any eye-cup—the symposiast becomes an actor, a participant
in a little drama of presence and absence. One minute he is there among friends,
and the next he is gone, replaced by the staring eyes of the cup/mask. He shut-
tles between the two, as the vessel’s eyes replace his own. The poet Theognis
apostrophized himself—that is, stood outside himself to address himself—in
very much these terms in the sixth century bce:
My heart, to all your friends keep turning about your painted complex self [poikilon
e ̄thos] to your painted complex self, properly mixing your temperament to the like
of each. Have the temperament of a tangled cuttlefish, who always looks like what-
ever rock he has just clung to. Now be like this; then, at another time, become
someone else in your coloring.9
Or, again, addressing his young lover:
Kyrnos, to all friends turn a painted complex self [poikilon e ̄thos], properly mixing
your temperament to the like of each; now follow this man, now like another raise
up your temperament. Surely skill is even better than great virtue.10
8
On masks see Frontisi-Ducroux 1991; Frontisi-Ducroux 1995.
9
̄
Theognis 213–18 IEG. On the poikilon ethos and pottery see Neer 2002, 14–23, 98–100.
10
Theognis 1071–4 IEG.
10 R ICH A R D NEER
The eye-cup—vessel as mask—literalizes this conceit. Donning it in the act of

drinking, one literally turns a painted, complex self to one’s friends. The interior
of the cup in Figure 1.1 shows Dionysos reclining on a boat as though it were a
couch; dolphins cavort around him, which we know from the god’s Homeric
Hymn are in fact Etruscan pirates whom Dionysos has metamorphosed. Donning
the mask, ingesting the supernatural drink, one is confronted with the power of
the wine-god to seize the unready and transform them utterly.
Such fluidity has limits. Often the center of an eye-cup contains the face of
Medusa, whose gaze turns men to stone.11 The monstrous, grinning face is what
the drinker would see as he poured the intoxicating liquid down his throat; at the
very moment that the eye-cup mask goes on and the wine empties out, a new set
of eyes stares you in the face. If the mask exemplifies or effects a certain vinous
fluidity of identity, then the Gorgon’s stare does the opposite, turning drinkers
to stone at the very moment they imbibe the supernatural. Behind the mask,
shielded from the eyes of his comrades, the drinker has no privacy, no respite, but
is one-to-one with Medusa. The result is an allegory of the Greek drinking-party,
a space of controlled and carefully regulated alterity: to don a mask, to ingest the
mind-altering drug, is to be turned to stone, fixed and pinned in a petrifying gaze.
The imagery on the exterior of eye-cups is similarly changeable. Examples
from ancient Rhegion (modern Reggio di Calabria), a fabric known as Chalcidian,
are particularly flamboyant in this regard (Figure 1.2).12 In many cases, vegetal
tendrils surround the eyes and scroll outward towards matching palmettes that
decorate the handles; a little lotus flower blossoms at dead center. Yet the tendrils
are also, obviously, a nose and a pair of ears. This doubleness, a sort of visual pun,
is very much to the purpose. Just as the cup is a mask to transform the drinker,
to give a “complex painted character,” so its imagery is fluid and changeable,
complex and painted in its own right.13
Returning to dolphins and metamorphosis: liquid imagery inevitably calls to
mind the sea, a constant presence in Greece, even as one who is drunk can feel
the earth heave like the ocean swell.14 Hence marine imagery abounds on Greek
vessels, oftentimes as complex and playful as the more overtly Dionysiac theme
of masking. A simple cup can undergo a sea change into something rich and
strange. Athenaeus, the ancient world’s most erudite foodie, gives a vast alpha-
betized list of the names of Greek drinking cups in the eleventh book of his
compendious Deipnosophistai, or “Banquet of Sages”; a startling number have
11
The iconography of Medusa has been much discussed; particularly outstanding is Mack 2002. More
recently, see Grethlein 2016.
12
On Chalcidian the essential study is Iozzo 1993. See also Iozzo 1999; Iozzo 2010.
13
On metaphors of fluidity in Greek vase-painting, see Gaifman 2013.
14
On marine imagery and the symposium see Corner 2010, with earlier bibliography. For the place of
marine imagery in ceramic iconography see Lissarrague 1990a, 107–22.
F igure 1.2. Chalcidian eye-cup by the Phineus Painter. Clay, ca. 520 bce. Malibu, J. Paul Getty
Museum 86.AE.50.
J. Paul Getty Museum. Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program.
to do with ships or boats. Thus a Boeotian cup or dipper takes the form of a
little boat, as it were to sail what Homer called the winedark sea, oinōpon ponton
(Figure 1.3).15 Dolphins skip along the sides, in company of a triton or merman
and the sirens whom Odysseus encountered. The handle has become a curving
ships’ stern, which in Greece would be carved to resemble the head of a water-
fowl (note the little eye); meanwhile, the prow of the ship takes the form of a
wild boar, a ferocious beast known to charge hunters just as a ship might ram an
opponent. The result is a cup made to look like a boat made to look like a wild
hog. The spatial logic is curious: a boat floats on the sea, but this cup does not
float atop liquid; rather, it contains it. What’s inside and what’s outside inter-
change, not for the last time.16
The Greeks never drank wine neat but always mixed it with water, and the cen-
tral element of their drinking parties was the large bowl (dinos or krater) in which
the two liquids mingled and mixed and blended.17 In some case, a flotilla of ships
circles the inside of the rim—sailing that “winedark sea.”18 When filled, this bowl
becomes an ocean to drain. A similar conceit governs an Attic drinking cup in the
15
On this vessel see Kilinski 1978, 181–2, 191; Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum Paris, Louvre fasc.
17: 27–8.
16
There is some uncertainty in the literature as to whether to call this a dipper (kyathos) or a high-
handled cup (kantharos); Beazley favored the former, the Louvre curators the latter.
17
See Lissarrague 1990b; Langner 2014; McNiven 2014; Schlesier 2016.
18
For this motif see Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum Boston, Museum of Fine Arts fasc. 2: 9. Available
online at http://www.cvaonline.org.
12 R ICH A R D NEER
F igure 1.3. Boeotian kantharos in the form of a ship and of a boar, by the Painter of Boston
01.8110: triton, sirens, dolphins. Clay, ca. 570–560 bce. H. 17 cm, W. 27 cm, D. 16.5 cm. Paris,
Musée du Louvre CA 577. Beazley Archive Database no. 300345.
Photo Hervé Lewandowski. © RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, NY.
British Museum: filled not quite to the brim, it too will give you floating ships
and sporting dolphins (Figure 1.4).19 If you drink the whole ocean’s worth of
wine you are transported; at center is young man holding a pointed amphora, the
kind used to ship wine from distant parts, hence an emblem both of intoxicating
drink and of places far away.20 Wine takes you elsewhere and so, again, a vessel is
a boat. The exterior of the cup shows young men sampling wine from such
another pointed amphora, as if to reinforce the point. Here again there is a play
of inside and out: an amphora bearing wine comes from afar by ship; the amphora
leaves the ship, the wine leaves the amphora and pours into a cup; drain the cup
and the ships are high and dry, and at the bottom of the cup we fine another
container, another vessel. The result is a continuum, like nested Russian dolls.
The longest journey by sea in the ancient Mediterranean would take you
beyond the Pillars of Herakles to the uttermost West, where the sun sets. Wine
19
Attic bilingual cup by the Painter of London E2: youth with a transport amphora, ships (London,
British Museum E2; Beazley Archive Database no. 202287). For discussion of this cup see Lissarrague 2009.
On this motif in cups see Oakley 1994. On the iconography of dolphins see Vidali 1997.
20
For the iconography of the pointed amphora see Cahn 1988.
F igure 1.4. Attic bilingual cup by the Painter of London E2: youth with a transport amphora,
ships. Clay, late sixth century bce. London, British Museum E2. Beazley Archive Database
no. 202287.
can take you there, too. A cup by or near Douris illustrates the myth of Herakles’s
journey to the West. The drinker, on draining his cup and feeling the god’s
power—the alcohol—take effect, sees the hero riding in the golden cup of the
Sun which the titan Helios has given him to come back home (Figure 1.5).21
There was much disagreement in antiquity as to the exact shape of this vessel.
The painter has followed the poet Arktinos of Miletos (fr. 8) in representing it as
a large cauldron as opposed to a small mug. Specifically, it is what modern
scholars would call a dinos, that is, a bowl for mixing wine and water. The histor-
ian Pherekydes describes how Ocean tried to swamp the vessel, but Herakles
fended him off with bow and arrow, a story that provides a ready conceit for the
consumption of wine.22 Having drained the cup, feeling a bit tipsy, we will see
the hero brandishing his bow to avoid being overcome himself. Herakles is inside
our wine vessel, and within the picture he is inside another wine vessel, such that
the picture’s setting and its narrative content double up, another example of the
Russian doll effect. Within the picture, the hero is trying to keep dry, to keep
liquid out of his wine vessel, and he only becomes visible when we have success-
fully drained the liquid from our own (do not try to make sense of this after a few
21
For the story see Athenaeus 11.469d–470d. 22
Pherecydes, FrGrH 3 F 18a.
14 R ICH A R D NEER
F igure 1.5. Attic red-figured cup in the manner of Douris: Herakles in the cup of the Sun. Clay,
ca. 480 bce. Vatican, Museo Gregoriano Etrusco 16563. Beazley Archive Database no. 205336.
Photo Alinari/Art Resource, NY.
drinks; one of the challenges of this material is, precisely, to understand the logic
of inebriation, which differs from syllogism).
When a cup is not a mask or a ship it can be a body part. A late Archaic eye-
cup in Oxford doubles up its own predicates: between the eyes is another pair
of eyes, the mask of a satyr in lieu of a nose (Figure 1.6). The interior shows
Greek drinkers dressed up like men of Lydia, a wealthy kingdom to the east of
F igure 1.6. Attic black-figure eye-cup with phallic foot by the Lysippides Painter (“the Bomford
Cup”). Clay, ca. 520 bce. Oxford, Ashmolean Museum 1974.344. Beazley Archive Database
no. 396.
Photo © Ashmolean Museum, University of Oxford.
Smyrna—more role playing.23 Then the foot of the cup is no foot at all but a
tripod made of a penis and scrotum.24 So the cup is also a body, presumably the
satyr’s body to go with his smiling face. Associations are piling up atop one
another with polymorphous perversity.
This curious object has a nickname, the Bomford Cup; it is, more formally, an
Attic black-figure type A kylix attributed to the Lysippides Painter; but vessel is
mask is body, nose is mask is face, foot (pous) is sex. The research question is
starting to change. If we began by asking What is a vessel? then that question, it
emerges, cannot be posed in isolation from What is a mask? What is a face? and
so on. Questions of this sort are not necessarily inimical to our modern taxo-
nomic categories, but classification does tend to decide them in advance. When
the Bomford Cup is classified as, exactly, a cup, as opposed to a fantasmatic mask-
vessel-surrogate phallus, it is not difficult to see why this should be so; we have to
classify it somehow, and cup seems as good a shorthand as any. The inadequacy
of the term should not be too hard to keep in mind. If this point seems
23
On this custom see Neer 2002, 19–23, with earlier bibliography, to which add Yatromanolakis 2007,
ch. 2; Moore 2008.
24
For a recent overview of phallus-footed vases see Coccagna 2009, 111–41.
16 R ICH A R D NEER
ncontroversial, still it does have some methodological consequences, notably in

u
underscoring the poverty of quantificatory approaches to such material. A statis-
tical study of the distribution patterns of type A black-figure kylikes can exclude
or include such an object only at its peril. What is a vessel?
And so we enter the realm of phantasmagoria. If a vessel can be a body, then
the body can shatter when dropped, and every piece can become a vessel in its
own right, like the splinters of the broom in The Sorcerer’s Apprentice.25 Take the
mastos, or breast-shaped cup, which cannot stand up on its own and must be
drained before being set down (Figure 1.7).26 This type has its origins in Corinth
and migrated to Athens in the sixth century bce. A horizontal handle at the rim
allows it to hang from a peg while projecting outward to give, as Kathleen Lynch
puts it, an “ ‘anatomically correct’ ” view.27 This effect is a good indication of the
sheer open-endedness of these puns, rhymes, tropes, and displacements; if a wall
F igure 1.7. Attic black-figure cup in the shape of a female breast (mastos). Clay, ca. 520–500
bce. London, British Museum B376 (1837,0609.37.a). Beazley Archive Database no. 313.
Photograph: © The Trustees of the British Museum.
25
For more general discussions of bodily fragmentation in Greek literature, see DuBois 1996;
Griffith 1998.
26
For a discussion of the mastos shape see Lynch 2002, 419–22; Coccagna 2014. For a convenient
overview of plastic vases see True 2006. More detailed discussions are Ebbinghaus 2008; Williams 2008.
27
Lynch 2002, 420.
can have a breast, does the wall thereby become a torso, and does the house of
which it is a part become a body? At some point such questions become over-
literal and silly, but it is hard or impossible to specify that point with any preci-
sion. Presumably it will shift depending on any number of factors, like whether
the beholder is drunk or sober. To conclude from this incertitude that the ques-
tion lacks heuristic value for research would be hopelessly reductive.
This breast-cup too can bear eyes, hence can be a mask. On the example in
Figure 1.7, satyrs cavort under the handles while swirling ivy leaves mimic eyebrows.
The eyes are white on one side, black on the other, giving a positive/negative
effect that seems to enact visually the curious shifting of the iconography: black
is white, wine is milk, breast is face is vessel, nipple is mouth, drinking is nursing.
As with the Bomford Cup, there seems nothing intrinsically pernicious about
classifying such artifacts as vessels; it only becomes pernicious when the clas-
sification proceeds at the expense of the fantastical or perverse instead of being
the methodological precondition of our own recognition of perversity and
difference.
A masculine counterpart to the mastos is the aidoion, or “shameful vase”: small
oil flasks in the shape of male genitalia (Figure 1.8). These little vessels were
popular on the island of Rhodes in the 500s bce; a well-accessorized man would
let one dangle from his wrist.28 The oil would be perfumed and could be used as
a scent, for hygiene (the Greeks did not use soap), as a moisturizer, or as a sexual
lubricant. Fantasy builds on fantasy in this case, in ways that can bring a blush to
the cheeks of even the most jaded art historian. We have already seen how drink-
ing vessels can play on inside and outside in terms of ingesting wine and wearing
F igure 1.8. East Greek oil flask in the shape

of male genitalia (aidoion). Clay, ca. 550–500
bce. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art
1999.78. Classical Purchase Fund, 1999.
Photo courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum
of Art.
28
For a recent discussion see True 2006, 241. See the classic study by Beazley 1927/1928.
18 R ICH A R D NEER
masks but, in this case, things are even more literal. For consider: one is supposed
to manipulate the genitalia with one’s hand until viscous oil squirts out and then
to rub or smear the substance all over one’s body. This container comes alive
when it ejaculates (the comedian Aristophanes already thought of this joke, as
seen in a notorious passage in his play Frogs).29 Conversely a vase can be pene-
trated; in the tondo of a cup dated to the end of the sixth century, a satyr is doing
his best with a transport amphora, over-literalizing the conceit that a pot can be
like a body and reversing the normal polarity of inside and out (Figure 1.9).30
Instead of the contents of a vessel going into his body, a part of his body is going
into the vessel.
In short a Greek vase is somatic, with an interior and an exterior, but the rela-
tions are fluid. Human bodies are not the only ones subject to this metamorphosis.
Tapping a long Near Eastern tradition, for instance, the Athenians produced
cups shaped like donkeys and deer, rams and dogs.31 A donkey vase, says
Aristophanes (Wasps, ll. 614–16), brays when you pour its contents. It is unclear
F igure 1.9. Attic red-figured cup by Epiktetos: satyrs disporting with amphorae. Clay, ca.
510–500 bce. London, British Museum E 35. Beazley Archive Database no. 200482.
Photograph © The Trustees of the British Museum.
29
Oil as lubricant and sexual puns on oil-flasks: Henderson 1972.
30
Illustrated here is an Attic red-figured cup by Epiktetos, ca. 510–500 bce (London E 35; Beazley
Archive Database Number 200482). Other examples include works by the Nikosthenes Painter (Kassel,
Staatliche Antikensammlung inv. no. ALG214; Beazley Archive Database no. 14933); Euthymides (Paris,
Louvre CP11072; Beazley Archive Database no. 200148); and Skythes (Palermo V 651; Beazley Archive
Database no. 200431). On these scenes in general see Lissarrague 1990c; Lissarrague 2013, ch. 5.
31
Ebbinghaus 2008.
how we are to take this statement. Does the pot really make some sort of a noise,
or are we to imagine the splashes and gurgles of wine as somehow like braying,
or is the wine itself a visual metaphor, pouring from the donkey as though it were
sound?32 Given the often puerile sense of humor on offer in Greek pottery, it is
to be expected that such jokes of pouring and filling can become obscene, as on
a recently discovered plastic vase from Ravenusa comprising a donkey, itself car-
rying a wine vessel, that brays when abused by a satyr (Figure 1.10).33
A trick vase of the early sixth century is perhaps a bit less crude in its play on
the themes of corporeality, ingestion, and visibility (Figure 1.11).34 Although
modeled on Egyptian flasks in the form of Bes, the benign god of childbirth, as
F igure 1.10. Attic red-figure statuette-vase (rhyton) in the form of a satyr abusing a donkey. Clay,
ca. 490–470 bce. Ravanusa, Museo Archeologico San Lauricella.
Photo Distritto Touristico delle Miniere.
32
Gaifman 2013, 51, on the idea of “pouring” music.
33
Fiorentini 2003; True 2006, 244. For everything there is to know about Greek donkeys see
M. Griffith 2006. On puerile humor see Mitchell 2009.
34
Illustrated here is an Early Corinthian trick vessel of the Komast Group, ca. 600–575 bce (Paris,
Louvre CA 454), on which see Lissarrague 1990a, 48–9. On trick vases see Noble 1968. On the iconography
see Dasen 2015.
20 R ICH A R D NEER
F igure 1.11. Early Corinthian trick vessel of the Komast Group. Clay, ca. 600–575 bce. 20.5 cm ×
20 cm. Paris, Musée du Louvre CA 454.
Photo Hervé Lewandowski. © RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, NY.
usual the Greek craftsman has interpreted the type in terms of wine and Dionysos.
Here it becomes a portly gent holding a mixing bowl between his knees. But his
body is in fact hollow and connects to the bowl by an open hole. Two holes in
back serve as vents: fill the bowl with wine and half flows into the man’s body;
tilt it back and all the wine will trickle inside; you then put your thumb over the
vents and return to the upright position. The wine stays inside the man. Hand it
to a friend while removing your thumb from the vents and the wine will flow
magically into the bowl. Drink it down and it keeps on coming. It is not enough
to drain the bowl, you have to drain the whole body and base as well before you
are done.
Far more tame are the small vessels in the form of maidens and young men—
the former being more common than the latter, for it is always congenial to the
Greeks to consider a woman as a vessel (Figure 1.12).35 Froma Zeitlin has described
how, from Hesiod through the Hippocratic corpus, a woman is variously an
35
Terracotta flask in the form of a maenad, from Phanagoria, 4th century bce (St. Petersburg,
Hermitage inv. no. T.1852.53). See Higgins 1967, 32–7 (East Greek “Aphrodite Group”); Williams 2008
(Attic figure-vases).
F igure 1.12. Terracotta flask in the form of a maenad, from Phanagoria. Clay, fourth century bce.
St. Petersburg, Hermitage T.1852.53.
all-consuming stomach (gaste ̄r) and a storage-jar (pithos) within which a child
can be kept (like fermenting wine, perhaps) until poured out.36 The satyr’s action
in Figure 1.9 is slightly more comprehensible in this light.
People are vessels, too, and so are their figural representations. Christopher
Faraone has shown that the idea of a statue as a container or a receptacle ran deep
in Greek thinking about images; in this he has been followed at greater length by
Deborah Steiner.37 The mythological paradigm is, of course, the Trojan horse,
itself one of the first incidents from the Trojan cycle to appear in Greek art. But
epic provides numerous other examples, like the magical automata into which
Hephaistos sets mind, wits, voice, and strength; or Pandora, a fair form contain-
ing a bitch’s brain and holding her sealed jar. Other accounts mention a bronze
lion into which Hephaistos sets beneficial pharmaka or drugs, and a hollow
36
See Zeitlin 1996, 64–8.
37
Faraone 1992, 18–35, 94–112; Scheer 2000, 20–1, 120–3; Steiner 2001, 79–134. Extending the
discussion to sculpture: Neer 2010, on which the present discussion draws liberally.
22 R ICH A R D NEER
statue of Artemis into which Medea likewise sets pharmaka, these ones harmful.
The legendary craftsman Daidalos was specially associated with the quasi-magical
filling of statues; he animated a statue of Aphrodite by filling it with mercury,
built the hollow bull in which Pasiphaë conceived the Minotaur (think of our
donkey vase), and also built the giant robot Talos, filled to the brim with vital
fluid—ichor—that the Argonauts would eventually drain.38 The Late Archaic
poet Simonides can say (albeit mockingly) of a grave stele that it contains menos,
a liquid, vital force akin to semen.39 Plato provides several examples, like a hollow
bronze horse in which King Gyges finds a giant corpse and a ring of invisibility.40
More famous are the carved or molded silens of the Symposium, each of which
conceals, beneath its lumpen exterior, a little image of the god.41 Such vessels are
metaphors for Socrates, an ugly man of divine soul. These varied examples attest
to a sense that statues are somehow hollow. Sometimes they contain secrets,
drugs, or an evil nature; other times they hold a vital force, like Talos’s ichor or
the mercury inside the Aphrodite of Daidalos. Susan Kane has recently
described statues of the goddess Demeter from Cyrene, in what is now Libya,
with internal compartments to hold aporrhe ̄ta or “secret things.”42 In the
Greek imagination, and sometimes in reality, a statue is a vessel, for good or ill.
The categories body, pot, and statue interrelate in ways that are difficult if not
impossible to hold in view.
Just so, a vessel can be a statue or, more precisely, a substitute or stand-in, what
the Greeks called a se ̄ma or sign. This function is especially clear in mortuary
contexts. Vessels can hold dead bodies (or, more often, cremated remains) and
at once stand in for, and iconically depict, the deceased.43 From the Kerameikos
cemetery in Athens comes a Middle Geometric belly-handled amphora, a shape
associated specifically with women that could often hold the ashes of the deceased
(Figure 1.13).44 Is it stretching a point to see a hint of anthropomorphism in this
squat shape? “Dead metaphors” like belly and neck—which the Greeks used no
less than modern English speakers to designate the parts of a vessel—can sud-
denly spark back to life when one sees the handles as arms, the compass-drawn
circles as breasts, and so on.45 John Boardman is probably right to dismiss this
38
On Daidalos see S. P. Morris 1992; Frontisi-Ducroux 2000.
39
Simonides fr. 581 PMG. Cf. Giacomelli 1980. 40
Plato, Republic 2.359d–e.
41
Plato, Symposium 215a–b, 216d. On this passage see Steiner 2001, 88–9, 132–4.
42
Kane 2008. For aporrhēta see Pausanias 4.26.7–8 and 8.15.1–2.
43
For a recent overview of Greek burial customs see Vlachou 2012, 378–9 for marker vases, with earl-
ier bibliography. For Athenian rituals in particular see Walter-Karydi 2015. On the “semi-figural” status
of vases and other items not usually classed as sculpture, see Gaifman 2012, especially 243–70.
44
On the gendered associations of certain shapes see Boardman 1988; Strömberg 1993; Whitley 1996.
45
For the iconography of a woman’s body as a vessel see Lissarrague 1995.
F igure 1.13. Attic Middle Geometric belly-handled amphora from the Kerameikos cemetery.
Clay, late ninth century bce. Athens, Kerameikos Museum.
resemblance as a rationale for the choice of shape itself, but we need not go so
far as to suppose that belly-handled amphorae were selected for women’s graves
because they resembled women; if anything, the reverse is more likely, and the
resemblance itself is conditioned by the association of the shape with feminine
graves.46 In these cases, the metaphor of woman-as-vessel attains to visibility in
the sense that it structures perception itself; we can see the entity in question
under various aspects: now as a simple pot, now as a (figure of a) woman, by vir-
tue of a Gestalt shift.
I do not wish to deny that such artifacts are vessels in the most prosaic sense,
specifically Middle Geometric belly-handled amphorae, nor to mount a cheap
attack on modern taxonomies by highlighting their inevitable reductiveness.
Reductive they may be, but that is the whole point of technical vocabulary;
archaeologists use words like vessel as specialist tools. Trouble arises only if we use
46
Boardman 1988, 172.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
torniamo, al plurale, perchè partendo io, non immagino che tu voglia
restare?
CLAUDIO (siede e sfoglia nervosamente il libro).
PIERO (con calma)

Ti pare?... In due sì, ma uno solo, tu solo?... Uhm! Non so se al
barone garberebbe trovarti qui, solo, al ritorno.
CLAUDIO (fissandolo)
Cioè?
PIERO
Cioè,... che vuoi, ho sempre sospettato un pochino che la tua
partenza precipitosa d’un anno fa, fosse causata da... non saprei
come dire... da un incidente, via, al quale incidente il barone e la
baronessa Galliari non erano estranei. Eri venuto alla villa per un
mese, come gli altri anni, e sei scappato via dopo due settimane, e
mi sei capitato a casa con una faccia,... e per offrirmi, così a
bruciapelo, d’accompagnarti in un viaggio, di cui non m’avevi parlato
mai, deciso lì per lì,... un’inezia, un giretto d’un anno! E poi non son
cieco, nè sordo, nè scemo nemmeno io...
CLAUDIO (con impeto)

Ebbene, quando ciò fosse, quando io avessi perduto per un
momento la testa e guardato donna Ida con occhi diversi da quelli
con cui la dovevo vedere, come mai ciò potrebbe riguardar te,
adesso! — A meno che non accada ora a te quello che accadde a
me in quel tempo!
PIERO
Oh!
CLAUDIO
Sarebbe un bel fatto la scoperta d’un Werther nel freddo Laneri!
PIERO
Sei matto!
CLAUDIO
Ebbene ti accerto che...
PIERO (pronto, interrompendolo)

Basta. Non è argomento da scherzi. Se non vuoi risparmiar me,
risparmia almeno la baronessa. Concludo. — Mi par che in questa
circostanza dobbiamo partire o restar tutti e due. Galliari ha diritto di
trovar le cose come le ha lasciate. È inutile ch’io mi spieghi di più.
CLAUDIO
Intendo, secondo la tua esperienza mondana...
PIERO
La mia esperienza mondana, caro mio, mi consiglia d’andar a letto
quand’è tempo. Buona notte. (gli dà la mano; entra a destra nella
porta più vicina al proscenio).
SCENA V.
CLAUDIO, NICOLA
Claudio va alla tavola a ripigliare il libro e rimane con

gli occhi fissi sul posto occupato dall’Ida, come se
ancor ve la vedesse.
NICOLA (entra)
Oh perdoni! Non sentivo più movere, venivo a spegnere.
CLAUDIO
Puoi farlo. (accende un sigaro al lume e va lentamente all’invetriata).
NICOLA
L’aria si è rifatta cruda.
CLAUDIO (apre l’imposta)
NICOLA
Vuole andar fuori senza cappello?
CLAUDIO
Mi duole il capo, rinfresco la fronte.
NICOLA
Si guardi, sa; come dicevo, l’aria è pungente, par piena di spilli; non
stia poi troppo. — L’uscio a vetri?
CLAUDIO
Va, va; lo chiuderò io.
(Nicola spegne e si ritira. Claudio scende in giardino).
SCENA VI.
PIERO, CLAUDIO
La scena rimane vuota. Piero riapre l’uscio pian piano,

guarda, porge l’orecchio, va all’uscio di donna Ida e vi
entra. Dopo un momento Claudio balza in casa, corre
all’uscio di Piero, vi entra e ricompare sulla soglia
pallido e stravolto. Cala la tela.
ATTO IV.
Stanza nell’appartamento di Serra in città. Armi e quadri sulle pareti.

Orologio a pendolo. Scaffale con libri. Una scrivania, poltrone,
canapè.
SCENA I.
CLAUDIO, LUIGI
CLAUDIO (alla scrivania con un candelliere acceso

davanti, in atto di suggellare una grossa busta. Pallido,
gesti febbrili)
Luigi?... (con impazienza) Luigi, Luigi!
LUIGI (entrando)
Eccomi!... comandi.
CLAUDIO (dopo un momento, guardandolo)

T’ho chiamato... (chiude gli occhi nello sforzo di richiamar le idee).
LUIGI (timidamente)
È pallido, sa. Si sente male?
CLAUDIO (dopo aver guardato l’orologio a pendolo)

Aspetto gente che non dovrebbe tardare. Aspetto il signor Laneri.
Può darsi... può darsi che non sia solo.... Comunque, introdurrai,
ecco tutto.
LUIGI
Sta bene, sì signore. Adesso... vuol caffè?
CLAUDIO (si alza e passeggia nervoso)
LUIGI
L’ho tenuto al caldo, il caffè; è pronto, è buono. Se preferisse una
tazza di cammomilla, può averla subito. — Ho veduto che non ha
toccato il letto, se vi si buttasse... Non le pare? Lo chiamerei quando
venisse il signor Piero... E se anche volesse il dottore... ne abbiamo
uno vicino...
CLAUDIO
Su te si può contare?
LUIGI (dopo essere rimasto un momento a bocca

aperta)
Su me, dice? Se non può contare su di me, su chi vuol contare? Da
quant’anni sono in casa?.... Non lo so più; era viva ancor sua nonna,
così dunque...
CLAUDIO
Va in pace.
LUIGI
Vado via. Se ha bisogno, sono di là... Non l’adopera più la candela?
CLAUDIO (siede)
LUIGI
No?... allora... (soffia il lume. Scampanellata. Luigi corre via. Claudio
scatta in piedi e si volge all’uscio).
SCENA II.
PIERO, CLAUDIO.
Piero, smorto, con qualche disordine negli abiti.

Entrando si libera dal cappello e viene difilato a
Claudio, senza alcun saluto.
PIERO (mostrando una lettera)

Vero, questo?
CLAUDIO
Vero.
PIERO
Hai fatto questo! — Tu?
CLAUDIO
Sì. (dopo un momento) Perchè dubiti? In certi casi... procedimento
sommario...
PIERO
Ah!?
CLAUDIO
E d’altronde poi...
PIERO
Vieni al fatto.
CLAUDIO
Il fatto è questo. Te lo ripeto tutto, perchè posso aver omesso
qualcosa, scrivendo. — L’altra sera, alla villa, la baronessa si ritirò a
mezzanotte. Restammo soli, vi furono fra noi poche parole aspre,...
le prime in tanti anni. Mi lasciasti per andare a letto. Mi sentiva male;
non so perchè, soffocavo. Scesi in giardino e mi gettai sulla panca
che sta sotto il cipresso grande; di fronte alle finestre di donna Ida.
V’era lume ancora, vedevo l’ombra di lei sulle cortine bianche,
abbassate. Ad un tratto, qualcuno entrò dalla porta vicina alla
finestra. Vidi l’atto delle braccia, e poi lei che sciogliendosi
bruscamente corse a chiuder le imposte. Era stato un attimo, un
lampo, un sogno! Subito non compresi qual enorme consenso
significasse quell’atto: la barriera nera sbattuta fra voi ed il di fuori...
Poi riafferrai la visione, ti vidi... Tu, tu nella sua camera a quell’ora?
Saltai in casa. — Era vero, era vero: la tua camera era vuota. (si
lascia andar seduto) E lo rimase... Passai la notte in sala; immagini
cosa si può diventare in una simile attesa? (alzandosi) Non vi ho
sturbati, non è vero? Non ho urlato, nè riso, nè cantato come ne
sentivo lo stimolo; non ho buttata a terra la porta... Avevo paura,
movendomi, di cascar morto. Credevo di scagliarmiti addosso
quando saresti uscito... Ma, e poi, bastava? — Sono fuggito a piedi,
in fretta, in furia, così com’ero perchè... Perchè poteva darsi che il
mondo finisse!
PIERO (alza le spalle con impazienza)
CLAUDIO (con ira)

Aspetta! Ho ben saputo aspettare a suo tempo? — Fui in città, a
casa tua; parlai al domestico, chiesi di veder le tue lettere tutte e di
comprar quelle che potevano interessarmi. Accettò, e... mi trovò egli
stesso in un ripostiglio ciò che cercavo. Intelligente; fedele anche, ne
volle un bel prezzo! Le avrei pagate con sangue... E seppi tutto, ebbi
completo il romanzo. Tu da più di tre anni amante di donna Ida; ella
si abbandonava già a te, al tuo amore quando respingeva così
superbamente il mio! Usciva forse dalle tue braccia, il giorno in cui
per dar lo scambio, sopir forse un dubbio e liberarsi di me, mi
denunziava al marito. Io partii; i vostri amori continuarono fino a che,
avendo Galliari voluto stabilirsi in campagna, i convegni si fecero per
forza più rari... Laneri non veniva in casa; bisognava introdurlo.
Come far accettare al barone un amico giovane, nuovo, inatteso?...
Un’ultima deliziosa letterina, scritta due giorni prima del nostro arrivo
alla villa, mi fa l’onore d’occuparsi di me; e mi rivela l’intrigo. Io, io
ero destinato a metterti in casa; io amico tuo; amico da tanto tempo
di Carlo, il quale, dopo l’ammirabile rivelazione fatta da sua moglie
un anno prima, non poteva più permettersi sospetti, nè su di lei così
franca e fedele, nè su di me, che credeva guarito e che glielo
giuravo!
PIERO
Meno parole... e poi?
CLAUDIO
Oh poi!... Quand’ebbi lette e assaporate le lettere, ne scrissi una
anch’io, alla baronessa, e l’hai tra le mani.
PIERO (padroneggiandosi)
Senti, Serra; parliamo con calma. Torna in te. Sai, che certe
confidenze sono impossibili tra amici, tra fratelli. Sono incompatibili
con... Insomma disonorano chi le fa. Che potevo dirti, io?
CLAUDIO (non risponde)
PIERO (dopo aver aspettato)

Renderai quelle lettere?
CLAUDIO
Senti, Laneri, parliamo con calma. Io ci ho un dubbio che non ho
potuto schiarir mai. Non saprei decidere se una lettera appartiene a
chi l’ha scritta od a chi la riceve. Perciò cambio avviso come a me
garba o conviene. In questo caso le lettere devono tornare, secondo
me, a chi le ha scritte.
PIERO
Spieghiamoci. Tu vuoi che la baronessa te ne faccia richiesta?
CLAUDIO
Ecco.
PIERO (avviandosi)
Bene. Torneremo.
CLAUDIO (alza le spalle)
PIERO (tornando)
Sola?... No.
CLAUDIO
Oh! e perchè?
PIERO (frenandosi)
Non acconsentirà mai.
CLAUDIO (con ironia)

Credi? — Però, le donne hanno modi così singolari d’intendere la
dignità... Foss’io te, non prenderei impegno per lei.
PIERO (con voce sorda)

Claudio!... Sai cosa penso di te?
CLAUDIO
Forse precisamente quello che ne penso io.
PIERO
Penso che sei... Ah! via, finiamola tra noi, tra uomini.
CLAUDIO (freddamente)
Un duello?! — Eh, certo sarebbe un sollievo trovarsi di fronte,
avventarci l’uno contro l’altro e soffocar tutto nel sangue..... Ma io
non voglio.
PIERO (va a lui, stravolto, coi pugni stretti)
CLAUDIO (impassibile)
Eeheh!..... Ho previsto tutto; sai. Non vi salverebbe neppur la mia
morte.
PIERO (si ferma. Dopo una pausa, durante la quale il

suo volto cambia espressione)
Claudio, e se fosse la mia?... La mia morte, dico. Per Dio, sei un
uomo, vendicati dell’uomo! — Dammi le tue condizioni, parla.
CLAUDIO
Ho parlato.
PIERO
Sono disposto a tutto, sai, a tutto. Come vedi, il campo è ampio, alla
tua vendetta. Non la rivedrò più..... Mi comprendi?
CLAUDIO (non lo guarda, non risponde)
PIERO (con angoscia crescente)

Non la rivedrò più... Andrò via, lontano; non tornerò, non udrai più
parlare di me, mai, mai..... Se mi troverai sulla tua strada potrai
uccidermi come un cane... Vado via, Claudio, partirò quando vorrai.
Te ne dò la mia parola d’onore. (con forza) Si può non credere in
Dio, ma alla parola d’un gentiluomo si deve credere.
CLAUDIO (non risponde)

PIERO
Ma... poichè ti giuro sulla memoria di mia madre che tutto sarà finito!
Non intendi, non ti basta? Ti par poco? Vuoi..... vuoi, vuoi che io ti
scriva qui di mio pugno una lettera nella quale ti annunzio che mi
uccido? — La mostrerai poi.
CLAUDIO (accenna di no, col capo)
PIERO
E rispondi! Ma cosa vuoi, che pretendi?... Dammi quelle lettere,
Serra... Claudio, dammi quelle lettere, dammele per lei..... Se l’hai
amata devi poter perdonare...; l’amore non può esser tutto svanito in
poche ore. — No, di lei, no, ma di me fa quel che vuoi. T’ho detto: a
tutto, disposto a tutto. (volgendo l’occhio alle armi della parete) A
non uscir vivo di qui, a morir sull’istante. Si può...; Non va... non ti
basta? Faccio di più. Ti prego, ecco. Dammi quelle lettere; ti
supplico, e, per Dio, mi vuoi a terra? eccomi a terra!... (alzando
subito la testa) Non ti basta!
CLAUDIO (voltandosi imperioso con voce terribile)

No... Ti accordo la giornata intera!
PIERO (esce).
SCENA III.
CLAUDIO, LUIGI.
CLAUDIO (correndo alla scrivania)

Luigi, Luigi?... Luigi!
LUIGI (accorrendo)
Signore...
CLAUDIO (prestissimo)
Vieni qui. (mostrando la busta suggellata) Ecco, tieni a mente, se mi
capita disgrazia...
LUIGI
Misericordia!!...
CLAUDIO
Taci. Prima d’ogni altra cosa, subito, subito, a qualunque costo, devi
portar al barone Galliari queste lettere; rimetterle a lui, a lui in
persona; trovarlo dovunque sia, e non affidarle a nessuno, per
nessuna ragione... M’hai inteso? Conto su te. (mostrando un’altra
busta) Quanto troverai qui, in questa busta al tuo nome, tutto per te.
LUIGI
Ah Signore! Madonna! per carità...
CLAUDIO
Zitto, va via e non entrare se non ti chiamo. (suono di campanello)
Corri, presto!
LUIGI (esce).
SCENA IV.
CLAUDIO, IDA
Ida entra e si ferma vicino alla porta, che le si chiude

alle spalle. Claudio, in piedi alla scrivania, le accenna
di avanzare.
CLAUDIO
Non l’aspettavo così, subito...
IDA (con voce bassa che si va rinfrancando)
Sono venuta in città, appena ricevuta la lettera. Laneri mi ha
accompagnata. Mentr’era qui con lei, ero sotto nel legno... Or ora mi
disse... che... dovevo salire...
CLAUDIO
Fu convenuto così.
IDA (con tono lento e grave)

Sono venuta perchè so d’aver a che fare con un gentiluomo,
incapace di usare d’un mezzo... d’una forza comprata. Ho pensato
che doveva essere tornato in sè; trovarsi pago, vendicato
abbastanza coll’affanno mio di queste ore, e coll’umiliazione che
m’infligge.
CLAUDIO (le accenna di sedere)
IDA (ricusando e restando dove si trova)

Così m’immagino... confido che mi vorrà restituir quelle povere
lettere.
CLAUDIO (freddamente)
Ecco, certo così si accomoderebbe subito ogni cosa; e per il verso
che conviene a lei e a qualcun altro. Sarei io solo a rimetterci. Lo
ammetta una buona volta, baronessa, abbiamo fatto una curiosa
giocata. Io con la forza, lei con l’astuzia. Avrei potuto perdere e mi
trovo aver vinto. Dunque... non sta a me a pagare.
IDA
Se le dicessi che tutto è finito e che non rivedrò più Laneri?
CLAUDIO
Egli pure m’ha parlato così, ma ha compreso... ch’era tardi.
IDA
Dunque per quei fogli maledetti non vuol nè giuramenti, nè
lagrime,... neppur sangue?
CLAUDIO (la guarda fissamente, senza batter ciglio)
IDA
No?... (alzando la testa con gli occhi sfavillanti) Ah no!? Ma sa quello
che fa? Lo sa che la sua è un’infamia, un’azione senza nome?
CLAUDIO
Oh sì! (accostandosi) Sì, sì, ma torniamo, torniamo indietro, signora;
che del cammino n’abbiam fatto in un anno! Detestato, respinto ed
infine denunziato, che dovevo fare? Partire? L’ho fatto, l’ho fatto
convinto che lei mi sacrificava all’onore, al dovere; ho piegato la
testa senza discutere, senz’approfondire; senza rivoltarmi, senza
protestar con un gesto, con una parola, con un pensiero. Partii e fui
morto per lei. Il pensiero di quel che mi costava la repressione d’un
amore qual era il mio non turbò certo i suoi sonni in quest’anno.
Ritornai. Troppo presto? — Non so... Così non fossi tornato mai! Ad
ogni modo agitazioni e desideri erano se non spenti, sopiti. Dopo
tanti disperati pensieri, avevo la pace; vagheggiavo una vita seria,
fatta di studi e di lavoro. Pensavo a lei ancora, sì... Come ad una
cosa santa, inaccessibile e pura. E, se nutrivo speranze, erano
placide e serene, trasvolavano avanti, verso giorni indefiniti, lontani,
in cui avrei potuto riaccostarmi placidamente, oramai vecchio, amico
saldo e sicuro. E..., lo affermo, lo giuro, vi avrei sfuggita, perchè lo
dovevo, perchè lo volevo, perchè con un lungo martirio ne avevo
comprata la forza... Chi mi cercò? (concitato) Chi mi chiamò e mi
rivolle vicino? Chi frugò sotto le ceneri e vi scovò i carboni mal spenti
e vi soffiò su tanto da ridestare più viva e più gagliarda la fiamma?
— Lei, donna Ida! — Fui debole, fui vile... Vi è chi può scagliarmi le
ingiurie più atroci che si possano sputare sulla fronte d’un uomo. Ma
nessuno al mondo doveva più di lei rispettare la mia passione! Non
vi è voce umana che valga ad esprimere quello che io provavo, e
sapendolo, si è servita di me per ridursi in casa l’amante, per
conservarselo al fianco... Sono io che gliel’ho buttato nel letto!
(Breve pausa, mutando tono) Infame io! Altro che infame. — Ma
lei?... La mia è azione senza nome, e sia; alla sua lo porrà chi dovrà
giudicarla. Quello a cui io la scoprirò nuda e svergognata!
IDA (trepidante)
Serra non lo farà ora che è forte.
CLAUDIO
Lo fu a suo tempo e tanto anche lei.
IDA
Non può perdere una donna che piange, che prega, che si metterà
ai suoi piedi, quando lo voglia...
CLAUDIO
Ai vostri, signora, ho pianto a lungo, ho implorato ancor io.
IDA
Espierò tutto, soffrirò, morirò, ma mi renda le mie lettere. Per quanto
ha di caro, di sacro nel mondo...
CLAUDIO
Più nulla di caro, più niente di sacro, morto l’amore; l’amicizia morta,
tutto è infamia, è tradimento, non vai più la pena di vivere!
IDA
Sì... la morte, questo sarà la mia morte; conosco Galliari, mi
ucciderà...... E voi lo volete?... Non potete volerlo, se mi avete
amata, se forse... se ancora... Oh poi, sentitemi... vi vendicate di me,
di Piero,... ma anche di Carlo: ed è troppo; anche lui ne morrà, o
perderà la ragione, o sarà infelice, disperato per sempre. (con
somma energia) Sta in voi, sta in voi il risparmiarlo, il salvarlo. Ma
Carlo non ha colpa, perchè punirlo con noi?
CLAUDIO (terribile)
Mi vendico; non penso, non cerco, non so. Non ho tempo a guardar
la giustizia, a pensare al futuro; tutto è finito, e vada ogni cosa in
perdizione!
IDA (venendo a lui)

Rendetemi le lettere per... oh! mio Dio! per l’amore che provaste per
me!
CLAUDIO
Oh! (battendo insieme le palme).
IDA (indietreggia e cade sul canapè)
CLAUDIO (viene a lei)
IDA (fissandolo mentre s’avvicina)

Serra, non vi amo, no... no...
CLAUDIO
Eh, chi parla d’amore, chi ve lo chiede?! Abbiamo giocato ed avete
perduto. Pagate... Rivincita, ricatto, che fa a me la parola! Tornerete
a Piero con le lettere; a Piero che aspetta, come ho aspettato io
nella vostra sala. (con un riso convulso) Ieri a te, oggi a me, così va
il mondo!
IDA (puntando le mani verso di lui, come per tenerlo

lontano)
Oh, l’infame!... Oh! ma non sentite come, quanto vi sprezzo?
CLAUDIO
Ed io?
IDA (con accento intensissimo)

Ma vi odio, io! (si copre la faccia)
CLAUDIO
Giuro a Dio che fra un’ora Carlo avrà le vostre lettere!
IDA (scopre il volto pallidissimo; rimane colle braccia

piegate, i pugni chiusi alle guance, il capo fra le spalle;
abbandonata, ma muta, fredda ed inerte)
CLAUDIO (dopo un momento si getta ai suoi piedi,

cerca invano d’attirare le mani. Ritraendosi subito)
Sei di gelo, sei un cadavere, sei la morte! (alzandosi rapidissimo,
prende le lettere e gliele getta in grembo).
IDA (le prende, si alza, e si avvia)
CLAUDIO (seguendola)
Ida!... Ma Ida,... ti amo io, ti amo sempre, ti amo ancora, ancor
tanto...
IDA (è sulla soglia)
CLAUDIO (disperatamente)
Ida, pietà! Guardami... una parola... una parola! una parola!...
IDA (senza voltarsi)

Vi perdono!
(Claudio rimane un attimo come impietrito a guardar

l’uscio rinchiuso, poi balza alla scrivania, fruga e ne
toglie un revolver. Cala la tela).
Dello stesso Autore
LA CONTESSA IRENE
ROMANZO
Un vol. in-12º, 1889 — L. 3.
· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·
I LANCIA DI FALICETO
Con Prefazione di G. GIACOSA
Un vol. in-12, con 30 illustrazioni — L. 4.
· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·
I PIFFERI DI MONTAGNA
UN PALADINO
Racconti
Seconda ediz. — Un vol. in-12, 1890 — L. 2,50.
· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·
VECCHIO PIEMONTE
RELIQUIE
LE MASSE CRISTIANE
Novelle
Seconda ediz., I vol. in-12º, con illustrazioni — L. 2
· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·
LA BELL’ALDA
Leggenda
Un elegante vol., con illustrazioni, in-8, 1885 — L. 2.
(Legato alla Bodoniana L. 2,50).
Nota del Trascrittore
Ortografia e punteggiatura originali sono state

mantenute, correggendo senza annotazione minimi
errori tipografici.
Copertina creata dal trascrittore e posta nel pubblico
dominio.
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General Editor: Jaś Elsner

Visual Conversations is a series designed to foster a new model of comparative

The authors dedicate this book with gratitude to their students

of archaeology that we may be in a position to discover whether our questions

1. Ancient Greek Vessels between Sea, Earth, and Clouds6

2. A Roman Vessel for Cosmetics: Form, Decoration, and

3. When Pots Had Legs: Body Metaphors on Maya Vessels 81

4. Practice and Discourse: Ritual Vessels in a

1.1 Attic black-figure eye-cup by Exekias: eyes and battles. 9

xii List of Illustrations

2.2 The Muse Casket from the Esquiline Treasure. 52

List of Illustrations xiii

3.6 Tripod vessel from Burial 10, Tikal. 91

xiv List of Illustrations

xvi List of Contributors

numerous items of silverware so often found in late Roman hoards. As Wu Hung

Ancient Greek Vessels between Sea,

For François Lissarrague

A NCIENT GR EEK V ESSEL S BET W EEN SE A, E A RTH, A ND CLOUDS 7

A NCIENT GR EEK V ESSEL S BET W EEN SE A, E A RTH, A ND CLOUDS 9

Or, again, addressing his young lover:

The eye-cup—vessel as mask—literalizes this conceit. Donning it in the act of

A NCIENT GR EEK V ESSEL S BET W EEN SE A, E A RTH, A ND CLOUDS 11

A NCIENT GR EEK V ESSEL S BET W EEN SE A, E A RTH, A ND CLOUDS 13

A NCIENT GR EEK V ESSEL S BET W EEN SE A, E A RTH, A ND CLOUDS 15

­ ncontroversial, still it does have some methodological consequences, notably in

Photograph: © The Trustees of the British Museum.

A NCIENT GR EEK V ESSEL S BET W EEN SE A, E A RTH, A ND CLOUDS 17

F igure 1.8. East Greek oil flask in the shape

A NCIENT GR EEK V ESSEL S BET W EEN SE A, E A RTH, A ND CLOUDS 19

A NCIENT GR EEK V ESSEL S BET W EEN SE A, E A RTH, A ND CLOUDS 21

A NCIENT GR EEK V ESSEL S BET W EEN SE A, E A RTH, A ND CLOUDS 23

CLAUDIO (siede e sfoglia nervosamente il libro).

PIERO (con calma)

CLAUDIO (con impeto)

PIERO (pronto, interrompendolo)

Claudio va alla tavola a ripigliare il libro e rimane con

CLAUDIO (apre l’imposta)

(Nicola spegne e si ritira. Claudio scende in giardino).

La scena rimane vuota. Piero riapre l’uscio pian piano,

Stanza nell’appartamento di Serra in città. Armi e quadri sulle pareti.

CLAUDIO (alla scrivania con un candelliere acceso

CLAUDIO (dopo un momento, guardandolo)

CLAUDIO (dopo aver guardato l’orologio a pendolo)

CLAUDIO (si alza e passeggia nervoso)

LUIGI (dopo essere rimasto un momento a bocca

Piero, smorto, con qualche disordine negli abiti.

PIERO (mostrando una lettera)

1. Ancient Greek Vessels between Sea, Earth, and Clouds6

3. When Pots Had Legs: Body Metaphors on Maya Vessels 81

1.1 Attic black-figure eye-cup by Exekias: eyes and battles. 9

2.2 The Muse Casket from the Esquiline Treasure. 52

3.6 Tripod vessel from Burial 10, Tikal. 91

ncontroversial, still it does have some methodological consequences, notably in