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The Athenian Woman An Iconographic Handbook 1st
Edition Sian Lewis Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Sian Lewis
ISBN(s): 9780415232357, 041523235X
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 14.94 MB
Year: 2002
Language: english
THE ATHENIAN WOMAN
Ceramics are an unparalleled resource of evidence about women’s lives in ancient Greece,
since they show a huge number of female types and activities. Yet it can be difficult to
interpret the meanings of these images, especially when they seem to conflict with literary
sources. This much-needed study shows that it is vital to see the vases as archaeology as
well as art, because context is the key to understanding which of the images can stand as
evidence for the real lives of women and which should be reassessed.
Sian Lewis considers the full gamut of female existence in classical Greece – childhood
and old age, unfree and foreign status, as well as the ageless woman characteristic of
Athenian red-figure painting. Specific topics investigated include domestic labour,
women’s work outside the household, seclusion, status and relationships with men. Dr
Lewis explores the reasons for the artistic focus on some areas of women’s lives and the
neglect of others. The text also engages with deeper issues of methodology and explores
current debates about the portrayal of women in classical art.
Accessible, informative and lavishly illustrated with more than 150 photographs and
line drawings, The Athenian Woman: an iconographic handbook is indispensable as a guide
for students and a resource for academics in the disciplines of ancient gender, ancient
history and classical art and archaeology.
Sian Lewis is Lecturer in Ancient History at the University of Wales, Cardiff. She is also
the author of News and Society in the Greek Polis (1996).
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THE ATHENIAN WOMAN 51
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An iconographic handbook 8
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Sian Lewis 15
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London and New York 47
First published 2002
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN
Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada
by Routledge
270 Madison Ave, New York NY 10016
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group
Transferred to Digital Printing 2005
© 2002 Sian Lewis
Typeset in Garamond by
Keystroke, Jacaranda Lodge, Wolverhampton
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced
or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now
known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or
in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in
writing from the publishers.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Lewis, Sian.
The Athenian woman: an iconographic handbook/Sian Lewis.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0–415–23234–1—ISBN 0–415–23235–X (pbk.)
1. Woman—Greece—History—Sources.
2. Woman—History—To 500—Sources. 3. Women in art.
4. Pottery, Greek—Themes, motives. I. Title.
HQ1134 .L49 2002 2001058922

305.4 09495—dc21
ISBN 0–415–23234–1 (hbk)

ISBN 0–415–23235–X (pbk)
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CONTENTS 51
6
7
8
9
0
11
12
List of illustrations vi 13
Acknowledgements xii 14
15
Introduction 1 16
17
18
1 Becoming visible 13 19
20
2 Domestic labour 59 21
22
3 Working women 91 23
24
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4 The women’s room 130 26
27
5 Women and men 172 28
29
Conclusion 210 30
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32
Glossary 214 33
Abbreviations 217 34
Notes 219 35
Bibliography 247 36
37
Index 258
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v
11 ILLUSTRATIONS
1
2
3 Note on illustrations
4
One can never provide as many illustrations as one would wish: I have therefore tried to
5
illustrate representatively, and, where a pot is not illustrated, to make reference in the notes
6
to other recent works or collections of images where an illustration can most easily be
7
found.
8
In the interests of clarity, I have included in references to pots as much information as
9
possible: current collection, Beazley catalogue number(s), attributed artist (if useful) and
0
provenance. Where no provenance exists for a pot (the majority of cases), this is indicated
1
by ‘n.p.’. The use of names of attributed painters is intended as a convenience, and should
2
not be taken as a statement of belief in artists as individuals.
3
All line drawings (except figs. 1.2, 2.1, 2.25) are by Zadia Green, © Z.A. Green 2001.
4
5
6 0.1 Attic black-figure hydria, London, British Museum B329, c.520 BC 2
7 0.2 Attic black-figure hydria, Boulogne, Musée Communale 406, c.510 BC 3
8 0.3 Attic red-figure cup, Brussels, Musées Royaux A 890, c.460 BC
9 (drawing of detail) 8
0 0.4 Attic red-figure krater, New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art
1 08.258.21, 440–430 BC (drawing of detail) 10
2 1.1 Attic red-figure lekythos, Oxford, Ashmolean Museum 1925.68,
3 470–460 BC 14
4 1.2 Cypriot terracotta, Cyprus Museum, seventh century BC 15
5 1.3 Attic red-figure hydria, Harvard University, Sackler Art Museum
6 1960.342, c.430 BC 16
7 1.4 Attic white-ground lekythos, Athens, National Museum 12771,
8 c.450 BC 17
9 1.5 Italian terracotta, London, British Museum 68.1–10.725, c.450 BC 18
0 1.6 Attic red-figure chous, Athens, National Museum 1322, c.420 BC 20
1 1.7 Attic red-figure chous, St Petersburg, The State Hermitage Museum
2 P1867.89 (ST 2259A), c.350 BC 21
3 1.8 Attic white-ground lekythos, New Orleans (private collection)
4 460–450 BC (drawing) 22
5 1.9 Attic black-figure plaque, Dresden, Antikensammlung 814, c.520 BC 23
6 1.10 Attic red-figure loutrophoros, Karlsruhe, Badisches Landesmuseum
7 69/78, c.440 BC 24
vi
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
1.11 Attic red-figure krater fragment, Basel, Collection H. Cahn, inv.

HC501, 430–420 BC (drawing) 25
1.12 Attic red-figure hydria, Pregny, Collection Rothschild, c.460 BC
(drawing) 26
1.13 Attic red-figure lekythos, Paestum, Museo Nazionale Archeologico,
c.480 BC (drawing) 27
1.14 Attic white-ground lekythos, Brussels, Musées Royaux d’Art et
d’Histoire A1019, 470–460 BC 30
1.15 Attic red-figure alabastron, Glasgow, Burrell Collection 19.9, c.450 BC
(drawing) 31
1.16 Attic red-figure alabastron, Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale 508, c.470 BC 32
1.17 Attic red-figure phiale, Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 97.371, c.430 BC 33
1.18 Attic red-figure hydria, Naples 3232, 440–430 BC 34
1.19 Attic red-figure hydria, Heidelberg University, Archaeological
Institute 64.5, 440–430 BC 36
1.20 Attic red-figure pyxis, Sydney, Nicholson Museum 53.06, 460–450 BC 37
1.21 Attic red-figure amphora, Munich, Antikensammlungen J411,
500–490 BC (drawing) 40
1.22 Attic red-figure amphora, Oxford, Ashmolean Museum 280, c.460 BC
(drawing) 41
1.23 Attic red-figure lekythos, Tübingen 7319 (O.Z.119), 470–460 BC 44
1.24 Attic white-ground alabastron, Copenhagen, Nationalmuseet 3830,
460–450 BC 45
1.25 Argive Geometric krater, Argos Museum C26611, early seventh
century BC (drawing of detail) 46
1.26 Klazomenian amphora, Berlin, Staatliche Museen 4530, c.540 BC
(drawing) 46
1.27 Attic black-figure amphora, Berlin, Staatliche Museen 1686, c.540 BC 47
1.28 Attic black-figure hydria, once Rome Market, c.510 BC (drawing) 48
1.29 Attic red-figure pelike, Newcastle, Shefton Museum, c.470 BC 48
1.30 Corinthian flask, London, British Museum 1865.7–20.20, 625–600 BC 49
1.31 Attic white-ground phiale, Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 65.908,
c.440 BC 50
1.32 Attic red-figure squat lekythos, Berlin, Staatliche Museen 3248, c.350 BC 51
1.33 Attic red-figure stamnos, Oxford, Ashmolean Museum V523, c.460 BC
(drawing) 52
1.34 Attic red-figure skyphos, Berlin, Staatliche Museen 2589, c.440 BC 53
1.35 Attic red-figure lekythos, Naples H3353, c.460 BC 54
1.36 Attic red-figure hydria fragment, Athens, Acropolis Museum 2.1009,
c.480 BC 55
1.37 Boiotian terracotta, Paris, Musée du Louvre MNB 1003, c.320 BC 57
2.1 Attic red-figure pyxis, Paris, Musée du Louvre CA 587, c.450 BC
(drawing) 63
2.2 Attic red-figure hydria, Houston, Museum of Fine Arts 80.95,
470–460 BC 64
2.3 Attic red-figure pyxis, New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 06.1117,
vii
2.4 Attic red-figure skyphos, Malibu, J.P. Getty Museum 85.1 AE.304,
2.5 Attic red-figure cup, Berlin, Staatliche Museen 1966.21, c.500 BC
(drawing) 67
2.6 Rhodian terracotta, London, British Museum 233, c.450 BC 67
2.7 Attic black-figure amphora, St Petersburg, The State Hermitage
Museum 2065, c.540 BC (drawing) 68
2.8 Attic red-figure squat lekythos, Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum
4.1921, c.430 BC 68
2.9 Attic red-figure lekythos, Haverford College, 480–470 BC (drawing) 69
2.10 Boiotian black-figure lekythos, Athens, National Museum Serpieri
Collection 121, c.550 BC 69
2.11 Boiotian black-figure skyphos, Athens, Canellopoulos Museum 384,
525–500 BC (side A) 70
2.12 Boiotian terracotta, Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 01.7788, early fifth
century BC 70
2.13 Attic red-figure lekythos, Rome, Accademia dei Lincei 2478,
470–460 BC 71
2.14 Attic black-figure lekythos, Erlangen I429, c.490 BC 72
2.15 Attic black-figure hydria, Würzburg, M. von Wagner Museum L304,
c.530 BC 73
2.16 Attic black-figure hydria, Florence 3792, c.530 BC 74
2.17 Attic red-figure cup, Florence 76103, c.490 BC (drawing) 75
2.18 Attic red-figure pelike, St Petersburg, The State Hermitage Museum,
2.19 Attic red-figure pelike, Paris, Musée du Louvre G547, c.470 BC 76
2.20 Attic red-figure cup, Leipzig T530, 490–480 BC (drawing) 76
2.21 Attic red-figure cup, Tarquinia RC 1116, c.480 BC (drawing) 77
2.22 Attic red-figure cup, Munich, Antikensammlungen 2679, c.480 BC 78
2.23 Boiotian red-figure hydria, Paris, Musée du Louvre CA 1341, c.470 BC
(drawing) 79
2.24 Boiotian black-figure skyphos, Athens, Canellopoulos Museum 384,
525–500 BC (side B) 80
2.25 Attic red-figure pyxis, Athens, National Museum TE 1623, c.470 BC
(drawing) 81
2.26 Attic red-figure pyxis, Manchester Museum 40096, 470–460 BC 82
2.27 Attic red-figure cup, Berlin, Staatliche Museen F2306, c.480 BC 84
2.28 Attic red-figure pelike, London, British Museum E819, 440–430 BC
(drawing) 85
2.29 Attic black-figure lekythos, Braunschweig, Herzog Anton Ulrichs-
Museum AT 700, 480–470 BC 86
2.30 Attic black-figure amphora (Tyrrhenian amphora), St Petersburg, The
State Hermitage Museum B1403, c.560 BC (drawing of detail) 87
2.31 Attic red-figure hydria, New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art
25.2.11, c.420 BC (drawing) 88
3.1 Attic red-figure pelike, Berne 12227, 470–460 BC (drawing) 92
3.2 Attic black-figure pelike, Paris, Musée du Louvre F376, c.510 BC 92
viii
3.3 Attic red-figure pelike, Madrid, Museo Arqueologico Nacional L157,

c.470 BC 93
3.4 Attic red-figure cup, London, British Museum E61, c.480 BC 95
3.5 Attic red-figure column-krater, Taranto, Museo Nazionale Archeologico
0.6436, c.470 BC (drawing) 96
3.6 Attic red-figure cup, Würzburg, M. von Wagner Museum 479, c.490 BC
(drawing) 97
3.7 Attic white-ground lekythos, Harvard University, Sackler Museum
1991.28, c.470 BC 99
3.8 Attic white-ground lekythos, Baltimore, Johns Hopkins University
41.133, 440–420 BC 102
3.9 Attic red-figure cup, Athens, Agora Museum P24102, c.500 BC 103
3.10 Attic red-figure hydria, Copenhagen, Nationalmuseet Chr VIII 520,
440–430 BC 105
3.11 Attic red-figure cup, Tarquinia, Museo Nazionale Archeologico, c.480 BC
(drawing) 106
3.12 Attic red-figure cup, Tarquinia, Museo Nazionale Archeologico, c.480 BC
(drawing) 106
3.13 Attic red-figure stamnos, Brussels, Musées Royaux A717, c.510 BC 108
3.14 Corinthian cup, Athens, National Museum 992, c.580 BC (drawing) 109
3.15 Attic red-figure skyphos, St Petersburg, The State Hermitage Museum
4224, c.460 BC (side A) 110
3.16 Attic red-figure cup, New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art
Rogers Fund 1907 (07.286.47), c.500 BC 113
3.17 Attic red-figure cup, Basel, Antikensammlungen Kä 415, 460–450 BC 114
3.18 Attic red-figure psykter, St Petersburg, The State Hermitage Museum
B644, c.510 BC (drawing) 114
3.19 Attic red-figure cup, Copenhagen, Thorvaldsen’s Museum H616,
3.20 Attic black-figure cup, Rhodes, Archaeological Institute of the
Dodecanese, 550–540 BC 117
3.21 Etruscan tomb-painting, Tomb of the Bulls at Tarquinia, c.540 BC 119
3.22 Attic red-figure cup, Malibu, J.P. Getty Museum 86.AE.285,
3.23 Attic red-figure cup, University of Canterbury, New Zealand, James
Logie Memorial Collection CML 6 (on loan), c.480 BC 122
3.24 Attic red-figure cup, Yale University Art Gallery 1913.163, Gift of
Rebecca Dartington Stoddard, 510–500 BC 123
3.25 Attic red-figure cup, Berlin, Staatliche Museen 2269, c.500 BC (drawing) 124
3.26 Attic red-figure cup, Milan, Museo Archeologico A8037, c.490 BC 125
3.27 Etruscan tomb-painting, Tomba del Fustigazione at Tarquinia, 510–500 BC 126
3.28 Attic red-figure pelike fragment, Athens, Agora Museum P27396,
4.1 Attic red-figure hydria, New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art
06.1021.185, c.440 BC (drawing) 131
4.2 Attic red-figure lekythos, New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art
06.1021.90, 460–450 BC 132
ix
4.3 Attic red-figure cup, New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art
1986.322.1, c.480 BC (drawing) 136
4.4 Attic red-figure cup, Paris, Musée du Louvre G332, c.480 BC 137
4.5 Attic red-figure pyxis lid, Toronto, Royal Ontario Museum 919.5.31,
4.6 Attic red-figure lekythos, Syracuse 21972, 470–460 BC 142
4.7 Attic red-figure pyxis lid, London, British Museum E778, c.350 BC
(drawing) 143
4.8 Attic red-figure hydria, New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art
17.230.15, 440–430 BC (drawing) 143
4.9 Attic red-figure pyxis, Berlin, Staatliche Museen 3403, c.420 BC 144
4.10 Chalcidian black-figure cup, Würzburg, M. von Wagner Museum 354,
4.11 Attic black-figure neck-amphora, Berlin, Staatliche Museen F1843,
500–490 BC (drawing) 147
4.12 Attic black-figure stamnos, Munich, Antikensammlungen AS 2411,
440–430 BC 148
4.13 Attic red-figure cup, Brussels, Musées Royaux A889, 490–480 BC 150
4.14 Attic black-figure lekythos, once Kusnacht, c.480 BC 151
4.15 Attic red-figure hydria, Poznan, National Museum MNP A746,
440–430 BC 153
4.16 Attic red-figure onos fragment, Amsterdam, Allard Pierson Museum
2021, c.430 BC (drawing) 153
4.17 Attic red-figure hydria, Madrid, Museo Arqueologico Nacional 11128,
450–440 BC 154
4.18 Attic red-figure chous, Erlangen, Universität Erlangen-Nürnberg I321,
c.420 BC 156
4.19 Attic red-figure hydria, London, British Museum 1921.7–10.2, c.440 BC
(drawing) 158
4.20 Attic red-figure lekythos, Paris, Musée du Louvre CA 2220, 440–430 BC
(drawing) 159
4.21 Attic red-figure pyxis, Winchester College 29, c.450 BC 160
4.22 Attic white-ground lekythos, Athens, National Museum 1963, c.440 BC 162
4.23 Attic white-ground lekythos, London, British Museum D51, 440–435 BC 163
4.24 Attic white-ground alabastron, Palermo, Mormino Collection 796,
460–450 BC 164
4.25 Attic red-figure pelike, Lecce 570, c.460 BC 165
4.26 Attic funerary stele, Athens, National Museum Karapanos Coll. 1023,
400–375 BC (drawing) 166
4.27 Attic red-figure lekanis lid, Reading, Ure Museum 45.10.4, c.350 BC 167
4.28 Boiotian red-figure bell-krater, Reading, Ure Museum 35.iv.5, c.470 BC 168
4.29 Sicilian bell-krater, Reinbach, Koch Collection, c.340 BC (drawing) 169
5.1 Attic red-figure column-krater, New York, The Metropolitan Museum
of Art, Harris Brisbane Dick Fund, 1934 (34.11.7), c.460 BC 173
5.2 Attic red-figure pyxis, Manchester Museum 40096, 470–460 BC 174
5.3 Attic red-figure pyxis, Cambridge, Fitzwilliam Museum GR 1.1933,
c.470 BC 179
x
5.4 Attic white-ground lekythos, Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum 3746,

c.440 BC 180
5.5 Funerary stele of Peisikrateia, Athens, Piraeus Museum 1625,
375–350 BC 181
5.6 Attic white-ground lekythos, New York, The Metropolitan Museum of
Art, Rogers Fund, 1908 (08.258.18), 440–430 BC 182
5.7 Attic black-figure onos, Leiden, Rijksmuseum van Oudheden I.1955.1.2,
c.480 BC 184
5.8 Attic red-figure pyxis, Liverpool Museums 49.50.7, c.480 BC 185
5.9 Attic red-figure pyxis, Mount Holyoke College 1932 BS.II.5, c.450 BC
(drawing) 186
5.10 Attic white-ground alabastron, Palermo, Mormino Collection 796,
460–450 BC 187
5.11 Attic red-figure skyphos, St Petersburg, The State Hermitage Museum
4224, c.460 BC (side B) 189
5.12 Attic red-figure cup, Oxford, Ashmolean Museum 1911.618, c.440 BC 190
5.13 Attic red-figure alabastron, Oxford, Ashmolean Museum 1916.6,
520–500 BC 191
5.14 Attic funerary stele, Athens, National Museum 2062, late fifth century BC 194
5.15 Attic white-ground lekythos, London, British Museum 1914.5–12.1,
c.480 BC 195
5.16 Attic red-figure onos, Berlin, Staatliche Museen F2624, 440–430 BC 196
5.17 Attic red-figure cup, Florence 3961, c.450 BC 197
5.18 Attic red-figure column-krater, Rome, Villa Giulia 1054, c.480 BC 198
5.19 Attic red-figure pyxis, The Art Institute of Chicago 92.125, c.440 BC 201
5.20 Attic red-figure lekythos, Cambridge, Fitzwilliam Museum GR 28.1937,
500–480 BC (drawing) 202
5.21 Attic red-figure rhyton, London, British Museum E796, 480–470 BC
(drawing) 204
5.22 Attic red-figure hydria, Florence 81948, 420–410 BC 205
5.23 Attic red-figure cup, Tokyo, Bridgestone Museum of Art 89, c.450 BC 206
5.24 Sicilian red-figure krater, Bari 6264, c.380 BC (drawing) 208
xi
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The writing of this book has been a long process, and I am pleased to be able to thank so
many people who have assisted in different ways. I am grateful to the Arts and Humanities
Research Board and to my own institution, the University of Wales Cardiff, for their
support of the sabbatical which enabled me to complete the project. Many colleagues and
students at Cardiff and elsewhere have contributed discussion and practical advice,
particularly Nick Fisher, James Whitley, Robin Osborne, Stephen Mitchell, Paul
Nicholson, Doug Peksa, Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones, Fiona Hobden and Esther Cox. My thanks
are also due to Richard Stoneman, to Liz O’Donnell as production editor, and to the
anonymous reader for Routledge for comments on part of the manuscript. My greatest
debt is to Catherine Bousfield, without whose patience and assistance such a complex
project could not have been completed, and to Alan Fidler who, as copyeditor, saved me
from more errors than I care to imagine.
Thomas Mannack of the Beazley Archive, Oxford, offered invaluable advice and
assistance; the importance of the Beazley Archive in the researching of this book is hard
to overestimate. I am also grateful to the many curators of museum collections all over
the world who assisted with photographs and permissions, and in particular George
Ziombakis (Museum of Fine Arts, Houston), Christopher Atkins (Museum of Fine Arts,
Boston), Karin Sowada (Nicholson Museum, Sydney), Amy Smith (University of
Reading), Simon Bean (Liverpool Museum), Mette Catharina Hermannsen (National
Museum of Denmark), Nicole G. Finzer (Art Institute of Chicago), Margaret Evangelista
(Accademia dei Lincei, Rome), Giorgia Masone (DAI Roma), Michael Vickers (Ashmolean
Museum, Oxford), and Dr H.A. Cahn. Professor François Lissarrague very kindly gave
permission to reproduce several of his drawings. All other line drawings were prepared
by Zadia Green, whose enthusiasm was as important to me as her artistic skill.
The support of family and friends has been invaluable to me throughout the project;
most of all, no one could have been more patient and encouraging than my partner Robin
MacKenzie. I said many times that this book would never be finished, but now it is.
Sian Lewis
xii
INTRODUCTION
Fountains and fictions

The black-figure hydria illustrated in fig. 0.1 was made and painted in Athens c.520 BC.
A hydria is a type of container designed for carrying water, having two horizontal handles
for lifting, and one vertical at the back for pouring. This example is now in the British
Museum; its painter is identified as the A.D. Painter, to whom some ten other pots have
been attributed.1 The illustration on the pot depicts women fetching water at a fountain-
house. Four women, their flesh shown in added white paint, stand filling their water jars
at animal-head and equestrian spouts, among the columns of the fountain. Two of them
reach up to place garlands on the spouts, which are also decorated with branches. Three
of the jars shown are the same type as the hydria itself, and two are more rounded shapes.
The interpretation of this scene is usually presented as perfectly straightforward: it is a
scene of ‘everyday life’, drawn from the painter’s own experience in Athens. The illustration
of a fountain, and women fetching water from it, is an appropriate decoration for a water
jar: the hydria illustrates its own function, and because hydriai were regularly used by
women, a scene of women is doubly appropriate. The status of the women depicted offers
a subject for debate based on their appearance and activity: are they slaves or free women?
I have chosen this pot as an example with which to begin because it demonstrates very
well some of the pitfalls of the desire to find direct illustration of Athenian women’s lives
in vase-painting. A photograph, especially of a hydria, can be very deceptive. Until the
mid-fifth century, hydriai were divided by painters into two zones for decoration – the
body and the shoulder – with a 90 degree angle between them. A photograph of the body
scene thus tends to obscure the shoulder scene, and vice versa. The cropping of
photographs also obscures the frieze which runs under the main field. On London 329
(fig. 0.1), the shoulder scene depicts Herakles fighting the giant Kyknos, and under the
fountain-house scene runs a predella of opposed lions and boars. It is easy to say that water
jars carry water scenes, and that this represents suitable subject matter for women’s pots,
but what is Herakles doing here, and the beasts appropriate to the Homeric hunt? These
are not scenes of ‘real life’: how can the iconography be coherent?
Many hydriai follow this pattern, combining a fountain-house scene on the body with
an exploit of Herakles on the shoulder (e.g. fig. 2.15, p. 73); one example in Boulogne
(fig. 0.2, p. 3) brings these elements together in the most surprising way.2 The body of the
pot shows a fountain-house at the right, with a woman filling a hydria. Herakles is depicted
in the centre of the scene attacking a snake and a small lion which emerge from the
fountain. To the left stands Athena with her chariot. This suggests that distant though
1
INTRODUCTION
Figure 0.1 Attic black-figure hydria, London, British Museum B329, c.520 BC. Courtesy
British Museum. © The British Museum.
2
INTRODUCTION
Figure 0.2 Attic black-figure hydria, Boulogne, Musée Communale 406, c.510 BC.
Photo: B. Devos, courtesy Château-Musée, Boulogne-sur-Mer.
the individual motifs may appear, they are indeed connected – that the scenario of the
fountain is not ‘real’ in any easy sense. Suggestions for the interpretation of this image are
various: some see a version of Herakles’ labour in the Garden of the Hesperides, while
Boardman interprets it as a figurative labour of Herakles taking place in a fictionalised
Athens, possibly depicting an actual ceremony at a real fountain-house.3 He suggests
that the woman can be thought of as figurative as well, ‘an attribute of the fountain’.
Such an argument, however, must be open to question: if we think women on hydriai in
general are real, can we decide that this female figure is not real because she appears in the
same scene as Herakles? A fountain-house scene on another black-figure hydria in
the British Museum, on which the deities Dionysus and Hermes stand at each side of a
fountain-house, further indicates the interpenetration of the mythical and the realistic.4
Other images current on black-figure hydriai, such as bridal processions and warriors
arming, also tread the boundary between myth and reality, so why should women be
different?
3
INTRODUCTION
Second, in what sense was this hydria ‘used for fetching water’? The hydriai carried by
the women in the painting are not miniature representations of our pot: they are plain
and undecorated. The A.D. Painter’s hydria was found not in Athens, nor in the remains
of a house, but in the tomb of a wealthy Etruscan in Vulci in Northern Italy, placed there
as a grave offering by the relatives of the dead person. There is no indication that the
hydria was ever used for its ostensible purpose: most Athenian black-figure pots were
made, decorated, and immediately exported for sale in Italy.
Finally, the relationship between form and function. The A.D. Painter has credited to
him (or her) eleven hydriai, of which eight depict women at the fountain, with martial
scenes on the shoulder: one shows women picking fruit in an orchard, one Athena and
Herakles, and one mythical creatures (sirens). The shoulder scenes depict Dionysus
and his attendants.5 The identified output of just one painter, then, shows considerable
variation of subject. The hydriai are not always decorated with water scenes: chariots,
gods, the labours of Herakles and warriors arming are all equally numerous. Nor, for that
matter, are water scenes confined to hydriai: they appear on amphorae and lekythoi (oil-
flasks) as well. In fact the production of hydriai with fountain scenes is a speciality of one
group (workshop) of painters, centred around the Priam Painter. The popularity of
fountain-house themes lasts from 530 to 500 BC, after which the theme dies out and
hydriai are decorated primarily with scenes of myth. One cannot argue a necessary
connection between form and decoration, independent of other influences. The fountain-
house scene thus serves to show that images on pottery cannot be extracted from their
context and interpreted uncritically. The relation of one scene to the decoration of the
whole pot; the provenance of the pot and its actual use; the relation of the scene to those
on similar pots, all serve to qualify and question a single interpretation.
Pottery: the nature of the evidence

Athenian figure-decorated pots have been preserved in very large numbers. In museums
and collections across the world, tens of thousands of pots and fragments are displayed or
stored. The scenes they show are usually unique: there are very few true repetitions of
designs from one pot to another. Most of those we possess are repetitive genre scenes,
often poorly executed: there are hundreds of unimaginative scenes of athletes, women
conversing, warriors arming or leaving home. Any attempt to comment on so large a field
inevitably becomes an exercise in filtering: it is impossible to know and present every
example, so scholars concentrate on the best examples of themes, the most striking, the
clearest or the most aesthetically appealing. The rushed, the indistinct and the bad receive
very little attention. Most concentrate on one particular artist or one particular theme, or
offer an overview of development, one example at a time. This leads to the creation of a
‘canon’ of pots on specific themes: whenever that theme is discussed, a few high-quality
examples are reproduced. The black-figure amphora in New York with scenes of weaving
by the Amasis Painter is a case in point: it is in fact one of the very few examples of wool-
work in black-figure, yet its detail and skill of execution make it very hard to resist, and
it is always reproduced in discussions of female life.6 This illustrates one of the difficulties
of research on pottery: how can coverage of the pots be made representative? If there are
a thousand examples of a particular scene, one can illustrate it a few times and say ‘there
are many more’; if there are only two examples of a scene, one can illustrate both, and the
reader will be left with the impression that both scenes are equally representative. What
4
INTRODUCTION
if there are a thousand examples of one type, and only one counter-example? How can a
sense of balance be maintained? And finally, if there are no scenes of a particular type, how
can one illustrate a meaningful absence?
This is part of a larger question: how do we know when an absence is meaningful?
Recently attempts have been made to calculate the proportion of total Athenian pottery
output which survives today. How representative is the sample which we have?
Calculations have been made based on one type of pot, the Panathenaic amphora.7 These
were produced for the festival of the Great Panathenaia in Athens, held every four years
in the period 560 to 310 BC, at which prizes were awarded in the form of specially
decorated pots of high-quality Athenian olive oil. Each pot carries on one side a picture
of Athena, in whose honour the games were held, and on the other the event in which the
prize was won. More importantly, each pot carries the name of the magistrate presiding
in the year it was made. This allows an accurate assessment to be made: if we know how
many pots were made each year (one per event in the games), we can judge how many were
made in total through the period in which these prizes were awarded. The conclusion is
perhaps surprising: we possess between 0.5 and 1 per cent of the total Panathenaic
amphorae made. This may be high compared to less special pots: there is some evidence
that Panathenaic amphorae were valued as heirlooms, and so may have survived in larger
numbers than ordinary pots. Relating this to pottery overall, the sample that we have of
total output, although quite large in absolute numbers, is in fact a vanishingly small
proportion of the whole. Can we be sure that it is representative, that scenes which appear
to be uncommon are not just under-represented through accidents of survival, or that
scenes which appear to be frequent are simply fortuitously better preserved? In general
terms, it is possible to be fairly confident that our sample is not too badly skewed: one
can trace the development of Athenian painting through time in a way which seems fairly
smooth, and the proportions of genre scenes which we have (and their quality) indicate
that we have preserved a lot of the mass market. But the caveat is worth bearing in mind
when considering some under-represented topics.
The question of the circumstances of preservation of Greek pottery is also of great
relevance. Pottery has survived in such quantities because of its innate qualities (resistance
to decay), but also because, by and large, the Greeks did not use their pots as we use
ceramics today, that is, for domestic or decorative purposes. Enormous numbers of pots
were placed in tombs as offerings to the dead, and it is from these tombs that they have
emerged in such large numbers. Excavations in cities and sanctuaries have found some
evidence of figure-decorated pottery deposited as votive offerings or used in public and
domestic contexts, it is true, but still more than 80 per cent of the total has been recovered
from tombs.8 Ongoing excavation makes it unlikely that areas of other significant use will
be found, so this statistic must be borne in mind. It relates to the vexed question of
provenance, or rather the lack of it, which is the besetting problem of pot studies. Most
pots, as I have said, were excavated from tombs, primarily in Italy but also in Greece, in
the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.9 Only about half of recovered pots have a recorded
provenance today; the rest have no recorded origin, either because they were the product
of unsystematic and unpublished excavation, or because they were stolen or looted from
tombs and sold on to unquestioning collectors. The provenance of a pot sold long ago and
now in a museum simply cannot be traced. Modern excavations have produced some well-
documented groups of pots from tombs in Greece, but an enormous amount of information
has vanished for good. This means that any statistical analysis of the origins of pottery is
5
INTRODUCTION
necessarily based on weak foundations; in many cases we will never know where a pot came
from, or what it was used for.
In recent years new technologies have taken their place in the investigation of theme
and iconography. There has been a development from book-based to computer-based
catalogues, making search tools much more flexible and powerful. Any system, however,
is only as good as the information and structure with which it is set up; statistical analysis
is much more easily done, but this does not make it any more sound.10 Computers can
search a catalogue very widely and rapidly, but they have paradoxically made scholars
more dependent on someone else’s listing and interpretation of imagery. More seriously,
there remains a heavy bias, rooted ultimately in the aesthetic standards of earlier scholars,
in favour of Attic pots. Fabrics other than Attic – Corinthian, Boiotian, Ionian, Italian
and Etruscan – were regarded as ‘minor’, and were therefore not listed and catalogued in
the same systematic way; nor are the catalogues which do exist properly integrated into
the current system.11 This makes it very difficult to trace a theme across different fabrics,
and leads to even greater concentration on Attic painting.
The state of the subject

Such a diverse body of material, and such difficulties in its handling, has produced a
variety of different responses among modern scholars. There is a current debate among
archaeologists about the value of rival approaches to ceramic imagery. Traditionally the
‘connoisseurship’ approach has concentrated on the identification of artists and groups,
and the detailed description and elucidation of individual scenes and decoration. Clearly,
without the bedrock of this approach the study of imagery would be impossible; no one
can deny the value of Beazley’s initial cataloguing of Attic pots, which created the study
of ceramic iconography.12 Nevertheless, the study of individual pots or groups often all
but ignores meaning in the search for style and relative date, and ends up isolating pots
because of a concentration on artificial constructs like painters and potters. The habit of
naming painters encourages us to think of them as individuals, artists expressing personal
style and preferences in their work, but this is fallacious. Painters of Athenian pots are
not real individuals: peculiarities of style and execution in a pot’s decoration are used to
assign it to a particular hand, and each group of pots is given a name. The assignment of
pot to painter is subject to constant revision and dispute: the work of ‘the A.D. Painter’,
for instance, was later thought by Beazley to be the work of ‘the Priam Painter’ instead.13
‘The A.D. Painter’ is thus a twentieth-century invention, who enjoyed a brief existence
but has now been subsumed into a different invented personality. It is easy to start
crediting painters with personalities and ideas, but the arguments are inevitably circular.14
More recently this approach has been challenged by ‘iconology’, a method which seeks
to evaluate imagery across the whole range of available pottery, concentrating on the
ideology which underlies painting as a thought system. While this has provided some
very valuable studies, there is a tendency to treat all scenes as the same, all born from
the collective consciousness of the polis, and hence to draw completely generalising
conclusions.15 Considerations such as economics, use, findspots and the differing circum-
stances of potential viewers are sidelined as one discovers the ideals of the polis laid bare.
In its most extreme form, iconology sees a codified system of meanings across all images,
as though the production and decoration of pottery were controlled by a single entity,
expressing an unvarying set of ideas.
6
INTRODUCTION
In fact the extreme forms of both these views have attracted criticism: few accept that
pots are documenting life, just because they are lifelike, nor do many sink individual
differences into a ‘polis’ interpretation. But the central question is whether pots can be
considered more alike by similarity of shape, of theme, or of attributed artist. Is a pelike
with a picture of Theseus on it more like another pelike with a different picture, or more
like a pyxis with a theme of Theseus? Or is it more like an oinochoe with a picture of Medea
attributed to the same hand? Different scholars privilege different links in their work:
some concentrate on particular shapes (e.g. Philippaki, The Attic Stamnos, or Kurtz,
Athenian White Lekythoi), others on specific artists (e.g. Buitron-Oliver, Douris, Lezzi-
Hafter, Der Eretria-Maler), and yet others on particular themes (e.g. Kilmer, Greek Erotica,
or Pfisterer-Haas, Darstellungen alter Frauen).16 Clearly none of these has a monopoly
on correctness. My own aim in this study is to bring together iconology and archaeology:
to bring attention to the archaeological background of the pottery to bear on the
interpretation of the imagery. Such an approach, for the reasons outlined above, is not easy
to apply but, where knowledge of provenance and use can be combined with iconological
‘reading’, it can open up new understanding of our evidence.
Pots and literature

Do we need illustrations on Greek pottery to tell us that Athenian women visited fountains
in order to fetch water? Essentially, no: literary sources would make us quite well aware
that they did, even if not a single representation of the activity had been found. Herodotus
tells us that the tyrants in Athens constructed fountains for the benefit of their subjects,
and comedy indicates that women fetched water from them, and that this was a public
arena where men and women met.17 What, in that case, can vase-painting add, apart from
a purely illustrative role? Scenes by the Priam and A.D. Painters were certainly used in
1930 to provide evidence for the construction and appearance of fountain-houses.18 But
the relationship of visual evidence to literature needs careful analysis. The tradition
of using pots to illustrate ideas derived from literature is long-standing, as is the use of
literary sources to elucidate the imagery. And in its simplest sense, vase-painting can
provide knowledge of objects and processes too mundane or too trivial to find their way
into the literature – clothes, for instance, household equipment or armaments. Aspects of
female life too mundane to be recorded in literary sources can also be recovered through
visual evidence, such as the mother shown with her baby sitting in a high-chair (fig. 0.3).19
All too often, however, pottery and literature are contradictory. To return to the
fountain-house scenes, so far as the mechanics of the job are concerned the historians and
artists are in agreement: that women in Athens regularly fetched water from public
fountains. But the quotation from Herodotus illustrates the problems of further
interpretation. Initially, he says, Athenian citizen women carried out this task; only after
the Persian Wars was it deputised to slaves. This comment has caused continuing problems
for analysts of the pottery; the women depicted at the fountain-house do not appear (from
their dress or hairstyle) to be slaves. Extensive analysis has been applied to fountain scenes,
with the intent of determining the status of the women involved; the task has proved
intractable, status being one of the most vexed questions of female iconography on pottery.
This demonstrates that pots and literature cannot be read in tandem for mutual
confirmation. Statements about the role and preoccupations of women are not congruent
in the two media: they emphasise different roles. For example, there is a huge emphasis
7
INTRODUCTION
Figure 0.3 Attic red-figure cup, Brussels,

Musées Royaux A 890, c.460 BC (drawing of
detail). Reproduced by permission of Prof. F.
Lissarrague.
in written sources on the importance of status within Athenian society – on the gulf
which separated slave and free, citizen and non-citizen, wives and other women. Scholars
operating with these distinctions, explicitly or implicitly, encounter difficulty with
iconography, since status is one of a set of aspects which are very hard to discern in Attic
(and other) imagery; in most cases it is impossible to identify clear expressions of citizen,
non-citizen or slave status, direct or symbolic. The point has often been made that one
cannot ask of an image questions which it is not able to answer, and this is precisely where
the investigation of status leads. We expect to bring presuppositions from literature to
bear on pots, and are disappointed when the images cannot be made to accord clearly
with the evidence. In their reluctance to lose what we ‘know’ from literature, scholars have
advanced evermore complex arguments: because pots fail to illustrate the stereotypes
familiar from oratory, they are taken to be a sophisticated commentary on these
stereotypes, subverting and commenting on them, and probably only explicable if
the customer has read his Apollodorus.20 In a similar way, literature establishes our
expectations about the importance of certain occupations. Comedy, for instance, presents
the self-sufficient farmer as the quintessential Athenian hero (Trygaeus in Peace,
Dikaiopolis in Acharnians, Strepsiades in Clouds), yet representations of agricultural life
are very scarce on pottery: we see much more commercial activity than we do farming.
Legal activity is central to Athenian self-perception in literature, yet there is not one
painted scene of a law court. The record of pottery is therefore often seen as skewed,
fragmentary, incomplete as compared to literature, when the truth is that neither tells us
the whole story. The purpose of this study is therefore to examine literary and iconographic
evidence side by side: to expose both where they agree, and where they disagree, using
each to comment on the other.
Female iconography
It is not new to observe that Athenian (and other Greek) pots cannot be treated as a
homogeneous group. Some pots were made and sold in Athens itself, to be used in
domestic contexts, or as votive offerings. Others were created for a specific purpose within
a particular community and were used only for that purpose, such as the white-ground
8
INTRODUCTION
lekythoi, which are extremely common as burial deposits in Athens and Eretria and rare
outside these places. Yet others were created solely for an export market, and were exported
en masse to Etruria, where they were placed in tombs.
When considering the topic of women, both chronological and geographic distribution
of scenes are important. Images of women change through time, with themes becoming
fashionable and then fading in popularity. Scenes of mourning and the fetching of water are
common in black-figure, whereas slaves, sex and domestic work appear in archaic red-figure.
The repertoire of female scenes becomes much more standardised and limited after 440 BC;
many of the topics common in early red-figure, such as symposia, sex, courtship and domestic
work, disappear, to be replaced by scenes set in domestic interiors, preparations for weddings,
and funerary scenes. The most striking feature of any study of female iconography is this
huge increase in thematic types which takes place in the later period; at about the time of
the Peloponnesian War, images of women at home or engaged in ritual come to dominate
decorated pottery. There is at the end of red-figure a tendency to abstraction, with the female
head emerging as a decorative theme, and more stylised versions of familiar themes. This
change in emphasis is mirrored by a change in distribution: black-figure pottery was
primarily an export product, giving Athens dominance in the markets of the West, and this
trade continued with the invention of the red-figure technique. After the middle of the
fourth century, however, more decorated pottery began to be used in Attica, and the increase
in female scenes after 440 BC happens largely on pots which stay in Attica – pyxides, lekythoi
and hydriai. Rather than using all images of women indiscriminately, we have to be alive
to these changes, and to ask why fashions should come and go.
The stance of those using pottery as a medium for the study of social life is that theme
is the most significant factor: that one can draw together a range of pots of different shapes,
by different hands, and from different periods, and gain useful information by analysing
them. Pursuing a history of women in this way, however, will not work. Defining themes
is an entirely subjective process – we can gather images under a heading, but there is no
ancient source which can indicate whether contemporary ideas about pictures on pots
would agree with the categorisation. Images are grouped into themes such as ‘domestic’,
‘sympotic’, ‘erotic’, which are mapped by modern cultural perspectives. The category of
erotica is a case in point: for red-figure pots it was defined by Kilmer in his study Greek
Erotica, but his selection of images is not self-defining. Really his group of images is
defined as those which seem erotic to a modern viewer, which break our taboos or
concentrate on activities we define as sexual.21 To this extent we create the study as
we investigate – by deciding what to investigate one predetermines some of one’s
interpretations. Clearly there is a danger that a study of ‘women on pots’ will do exactly
this, bringing together widely varying images and presenting them as a unitary theme.
What I aim to do as an antidote is to restore the archaeology to the approach, asking
where and why pots were made, and how this affects our reading of the imagery.
This also allows questions of reception to be applied. A primary consideration must be
what use women themselves made of decorated pottery. It has become a truism that women
in Greece did not buy pots themselves, but had them chosen and bought by male relatives,
and that certain types of pot such as pyxides and lekanides were created and decorated for
exclusively female use. But what do we know about female use of pots? There is evidence
for women as ‘users’ of pots, in the widest sense. Women dedicated pots to deities in
sanctuaries across Greece, as inscriptions attest: a black-figure lekythos with a Dionysiac
scene was dedicated to Hera at Delos by a woman named Phanyllis; pots were dedicated
9
INTRODUCTION
by women to Artemis at Brauron. Many fragments of pots from the Athenian Agora carry
‘owner’s marks’, among which are nineteen with female names, on pots as varied as bowls,
skyphoi, cups and stands. The names vary from slave-type ethnics through to citizen
names.22 Other inscriptions reveal an eye-cup decorated with warriors, awarded as a prize
to a woman named Melosa in a carding contest at Taranto, and a present of a black-glaze
kantharos to a woman from her husband in Boiotia, ‘that she may drink her fill’.23 Both
of these run against the grain of our expectations, in that the Taranto cup, illustrated with
hoplites in battle, would not seem an appropriate subject for a female contest, and the
kantharos shows a wife drinking (in a festival context) with the approval of her husband.
The Taranto cup might make us reconsider some ideas about ‘appropriate’ subject matter,
especially given the cup’s status as imported object in the Greek colony of Taranto; it may
be that we expect too close a match between decoration and purpose. On pots themselves
women are depicted using pots in ritual: sacrifice, weddings and tomb offerings, in
cooking, in the gynaikeon (lekythoi and pyxides), in symposia, both with men and alone
(kylikes and skyphoi). Women used pots to earn a living – one example (a hydria in Milan)
shows us a woman painting a pot – and they used them in death: fig. 0.4, a detail of a
krater in New York, shows a dead woman, newly arrived in Hades. Her chin is still tied
with the binding used in the laying out of the dead, and she holds the alabastron which
has accompanied her to the grave.24
Figure 0.4 Attic red-figure krater, New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 08.258.21,
440–430 BC (drawing of detail). After Richter/Hall fig. 135.
10
INTRODUCTION
These examples indicate that one need not always assume a male viewer in order to
interpret the imagery, and this is a further problem of iconological approach. There is
frequently a rather glib labelling of pots as ‘symposium shapes’ or ‘women’s pots’, which
draws the commentator into interpreting them only from the point of view of the assumed
viewer. The discussion of black-figure hydriai above has already exposed the folly of this,
as has the eye-cup presented to Melosa. It should not be so surprising to suggest that an
image would reach a range of potential viewers, Greek, Phoenician, Etruscan, female,
slave, male, and might offer a different interpretation to each. It is more difficult to be
alive to these alternative interpretations, and to use the archaeological evidence wherever
possible to provide a real situation for particular images, but a number of recent articles
have demonstrated the value of such an approach.25
Setting the agenda

The traditional tendency to use Athenian vase-painting solely to illustrate conclusions
drawn from literary sources has, thanks to modern methodological awareness, all but
vanished, but in its place lurks the opposite danger. Any student of Greek pottery cannot
fail to be impressed by the variety of themes chosen by the painters, the wealth of roles
in which women and men are shown. It is possible to adopt a diametric opposite of the
traditional approach, and draw an account of female experience only from the pottery. One
can reconstruct a female life from vase-painting: childhood, marriage, participation in
ritual, work in the household, and death, with a brief detour for sex and slavery. If an
activity such as music is illustrated by the pot-painters, it is evaluated and given its place
in the reconstruction. The danger is that silences and omissions will be ignored. Painters
preferred to illustrate certain activities, very often those of the elite, but others, either
because they were not depicted, or because their depictions have not been found, are
absent. Also, fashion in pot-painting itself plays a part: the pioneers of red-figure show
interest in a huge range of novel themes, particularly trade, and the depiction of variant
human types, both of which fade away after 450 BC. Similarly, themes from the theatre
are very prominent in Italian red-figure painting, while domestic and athletic scenes
become much more generic. We must remain aware of the twists and turns of our evidence;
if one is led to discuss only what one can show on a pot, the version of female experience
resulting will reflect the potter’s choice and the accidents of preservation, rather than
creating a balanced and comprehensive account. Silence and absence, then, will play some
part in my analysis.
My aim in this book is thus to approach iconography not with expectations derived from
literature, nor as a symbolic system complete within itself, but purposely to expose and
explain the divergences between the images of Athenian women offered by competing
sources. I hope to present a rounded picture, taking images in their context, indicating
where our evidence fails or is lacking, and examining the nature and purpose of female
representations. Rather than focusing solely on women as objects of the gaze, I will try
to bring to the fore woman as subject, as reader, and to consider the multiple readings
available in the imagery of vase-painting. The conclusions thus drawn about women’s
experiences will not be simple, nor easily reached, but they will be founded on a
contextualised reading of all branches of the evidence. In structure the study is organised
into five thematic chapters, taking their lead from the iconography (although themes
such as status and reception are pursued across the whole). In the first chapter, I consider
11
INTRODUCTION
representations of the female life cycle, noting the painters’ emphasis on maturity and
the moment of marriage, but examining too how painters treat (or do not treat) stages
such as infancy, childhood and old age. Chapter 2 considers women’s labour and the
representation of domestic work, focusing on the nature and purpose of such imagery.
Chapter 3 turns to images of female labour outside the house, concentrating particularly
on the figure of the ‘hetaira’ in vase-painting, a topic on which the disparities with literary
evidence become acute; I examine the problematic representation of female sexuality, and
the relationship between the ideologies of painting and those expressed elsewhere. Chapter
4 treats representations of women at leisure within the house, examining the symbolism
of pastimes, pets and furniture, and the responses of female users. The final chapter treats
relationships between men and women, where the evidence is again at odds with literature:
pots allow one to investigate ideas about courtship and intergenerational relationships.
12
1
BECOMING VISIBLE
Many of the processes of a Greek woman’s life are mysterious to us. Comparative studies
suggest that the central concerns of female life in the ancient Mediterranean were the
family, including childbirth and child-rearing, events such as marriages and funerals,
illness and death, and domestic chores.1 Yet in the case of classical Greece we know little
of women’s early childhood, of female friendships, of training for married life, or of the
experience of motherhood, probably the most significant emotional relationship in any
woman’s life. In part this is due to the lack of literary sources written from a female
perspective, but it is also a result of the agenda of Greek artists. A lekythos in Oxford
attributed to the Providence Painter (fig. 1.1) illustrates very effectively the image of
Greek women transmitted by pottery: an ageless and serene figure stands alone on a pot,
lifting a chest in a vague domestic task; she is well-dressed, carefully depicted with clothes
and jewellery as an object to be admired.2 Both image and activity are abstract, and the
agelessness of the figure removes it from any consideration of the roles played by women
throughout their lives – as daughters, sisters, wives, mothers and grandmothers. Can such
an image offer any comment on the reality of female life at Athens?
Ceramic evidence, just like literature, is partial. It is possible to construct a cradle-to-
grave story of female life using pots as illustrations, but only at the price of a very broad-
brush use of evidence, taking scenes from disparate periods and regions to create an
apparent whole.3 The lekythos in fig. 1.1 is a case in point: it appears to encapsulate the
image of the ideal Athenian woman, yet it comes from Greek Sicily, from Gela, as do
most of the lekythoi attributed to the Providence Painter (and indeed most red-figure
lekythoi in absolute terms). The image was exported (possibly in a batch if the attributions
to an individual artist are correct), and placed by an Italian Greek in a tomb. It was not
painted for a specifically Athenian audience, nor was it a photographic representation of
real life. A closer examination of the evidence is needed to determine the ways in which
women became visible, both to Greek artists and to the citizens themselves. The woman
of the Athenian potter appears in certain roles (as wife, as mourner, as worshipper), but
is very infrequently shown in others (as young girl, as grandmother, as widow). Some
aspects of female life such as ritual are richly illustrated; others, such as pregnancy, are
never depicted. This arises at least in part from the use of the objects themselves; where
pots were used in ceremonies or in practice, they tend to illustrate the occasion of their
use, and hence evidence is plentiful, but where pots were not used, evidence is often
lacking. This chapter will consider female life in the polis through the prism of ceramic
iconography, to examine the ages of woman, and how they are (or are not) depicted on
pottery.
13
BECOMING VISIBLE
From the cradle . . .

Let us begin at the beginning, with the birth of a girl.
This immediately illustrates the nature of our evidence,
since there are no scenes of childbirth on extant Greek
pottery. The reason for this is complex, since childbirth was
not a taboo subject: in other media, images of pregnancy,
labour and birth are all found. On Athenian grave stelai, for
instance, scenes of women in labour are frequent, relating
either to mothers who died in childbirth, or to midwives
as illustration of their profession. Although scenes of actual
birth are rare, pregnancy is sometimes depicted.4 Birth
is shown more fully on votive plaques and
terracottas portraying pregnant women, or
birth itself, which were dedicated in shrines
across Greece, undoubtedly as offerings to
pray (or give thanks) for successful delivery
(fig. 1.2).5 Certainly birth is a topic more
appropriate to some media than others, yet
given the funerary use of so much pottery it is
surprising that painters should avoid a theme
so close to reality. From a comparison of the
frequency of their depiction on pots, one would
conclude that childbirth had a negligible
importance, and that marriage was the most
important event of female life. Pots illustrat-
ing weddings or preparation for marriage
are extremely numerous, yet simply counting
numbers of scenes does not expose the underlying
meaning of the representations. Circumstances
of survival play a part, since pots, especially
loutrophoroi and lebetes gamikoi, were used in
marriage ritual, and regularly carry images of
their own function.6 The vessels used in marriage
ceremonies were subsequently dedicated at the
sanctuary of the Nymph on the Acropolis, and
those who died unmarried often had them placed in
their tombs, so they have tended to survive in the
archaeological record. In contrast, pottery does not
appear to have figured in rituals of birth: we are perhaps
influenced by thoughts of our own customs in seeing
birth as a moment for commemoration – in the ancient
world, most babies would die, so their existence was
less assured at the time of birth. But just
Figure 1.1 Attic red-figure lekythos,
Oxford, Ashmolean Museum 1925.68, because childbirth does not appear on pottery
470–460 BC. Photo courtesy The does not mean that it was not important to
Ashmolean Museum, Oxford. women: the birth of a child was a moment of
14
BECOMING VISIBLE
enormous social significance. A marriage was completed

not by the ceremony but by the birth of the first child,
and the mother thereby completed the transition from
parthenos to wife.7 Perhaps because of this, labour and
birth formed, from the indications of both images and
texts, an intensely private and female occasion. We have
hints in Attic comedy that it was an occasion on which
women gathered, with men excluded, and births were
largely overseen by midwives.8 It was an occasion of great
danger for the mother, and hence one in which the favour
of the gods was essential. The arenas in which women
celebrated successful birth were also private – by
Figure 1.2 Cypriot terracotta, dedications of plaques, terracottas or personal belongings
Cyprus Museum, seventh at the shrine of female deities – and were not rituals in
century BC. After P. Dikaios,
A Guide to the Cyprus Museum which pottery played a part. As a personal and private
(Nicosia, Cyprus Government event, childbirth never became a theme of pottery, which
Printing Office, 1947), celebrated the public aspects of Greek life.
pl. 25.2. That birth was considered a private female domain can
be seen by comparing those scenes of birth which do
appear on Greek pottery: mythological births. Scenes of the birth of gods and heroes are
frequent: we see Athena and Dionysus emerging from Zeus’ head and thigh, Helen
emerging from the egg, or Erichthonios being born from the soil of Attica itself.9 What
these births have in common is of course their unnatural nature: the divine child emerges
fully formed, either from the ground or from some part of a male deity. Only those births
completely outside the regular pattern are depicted, the supernatural elements completely
divorcing them from the pain and danger of normal birth. The only exception to this rule
is Leto, mother of Artemis and Apollo: although representations of Leto actually giving
birth appear only on non-Greek reliefs, pyxides found at Brauron depict her labour, or Leto
with her infants.10 This is not coincidental: Artemis was the protector of women in labour,
and Brauron the most important centre of her worship in Attica. The appearance of the
scene illustrates the difference between male and female worlds; as we shall see, the creation
of special shapes or scenes for women’s rituals is particularly linked with the rites of
Brauron.
But if we see no female baby at birth, what about infancy? With childcare, as with
other themes, reproducing a few well-known images can give a distorted view of ancient
attitudes; it is easy to put together a set of images of mothers and children, both mythical
and non-mythical, but context is of great importance. The representation of children on
pottery was slow to develop, clearly because early artists found it difficult to depict babies
and older children accurately. Babies are not shown in black-figure at all (one example on
a pinax by Exekias demonstrates the struggle to define an iconography of the child), and
children appear only in genre scenes such as mourning families, the departure of warriors,
or with women at the fountain-house.11 In red-figure an iconography distinguishing
infant, toddler and child gradually develops, and the range of scenes in which children
are depicted becomes wider. Babies appear most often in the hands of a mother or nurse,
as on the hydria in Harvard on which a nurse in a sleeved garment reaches out to take a
baby from its mother (fig. 1.3), or another in London, on which a nurse hands a baby to
its mother.12 The intention behind representations of children, however, is of a distinctive
15
BECOMING VISIBLE
Figure 1.3 Attic red-figure hydria, Harvard University, Sackler Art Museum 1960.342,
c.430 BC. Photo: Michael Nedzweski. Courtesy of the Arthur M. Sackler Museum, Harvard
University Art Museums, Bequest of David M. Robinson.
16
BECOMING VISIBLE
kind. The fact which needs emphasising is the funerary meaning of most of these images
– rather than pictures of ‘everyday life’ they are pots illustrating death. The most obvious
examples are those found on white-ground lekythoi, which were used in Attica and Euboia
only, as funerary dedications, and on these the child of either sex is often shown in
death: on a lekythos in private hands, a little girl stands at a tomb and holds out a doll
(fig. 1.8); on another in Athens a child seated on the shoulders of a slave girl reaches out
to his mother (fig. 1.4); a famous example in New York shows a male child gesturing to
his mother as Charon’s boat approaches to take him to the Underworld.13 The lekythoi
share the iconography of tomb monuments, and girls are depicted in death in this way,
although boys are more commonly shown.
It is from white-ground painting that some of the more moving examples of
mother–child relationships come, such as the white-ground cup found in a tomb at Athens
(fig. 0.3), which shows a mother holding out her hand to a young child seated in a high-
chair. The expression of this kind of emotion was a private matter, rather than an aspect
of Athenian life for public display and export, and the same is often true of child
representations on red-figure pots: the Harvard hydria (fig. 1.3) is regularly used to
illustrate female life, but it is one of several pots from the same source, a tomb in Vari
(Attica); it forms a pair with another hydria, also in Harvard, which depicts three women
preparing for a visit to the tomb.14 In the light of both context and decoration it seems
reasonable to read the mother and child scene as funerary in meaning too, reflecting the
iconography of both white-ground lekythoi and grave monuments.
This fact has implications for the representation
of children. One factor which has received much
discussion in recent years is the idea that all of the
infants depicted on pottery are male, and that a
canonical twisting pose is given to babies by painters,
designed to present the male genitals to clear view.
This practice is presumed to be in the service of an
ideology: the production of a male heir was one of a
wife’s main roles, and so the depiction of a woman
with boy child is a scene of a job well done. To
illustrate a girl child would be second best.15 This
assumes that the role of the imagery is to endorse
fundamental social attitudes, but in fact the evidence
is more complicated than this view implies. Several
pots, it is true, present mother and baby in a
domestic setting, babies which are shown to be male.
Others, however, depict infants of indeterminate
gender: the white-ground lekythos in Athens (fig.
1.4) shows a child sitting on the shoulders of a slave,
and a red-figure example in Oxford a child whose sex
is obscured by the arms of its mother. We have
already seen the white-ground cup (fig. 0.3) with
Figure 1.4 Attic white-ground a child in a high-chair.16 In mythological scenes,
lekythos, Athens, National Museum
12771, c.450 BC. Photo courtesy the baby Erichthonios is sometimes shown in the
National Archaeological Museum, twisting pose that emphasises his masculinity, but on
Athens. other pots attention is not focused on the gender of
17
BECOMING VISIBLE
the baby. What is really significant, though, is that babies on pots provide us with a clear
example of the unrealistic nature of artistic representation, since the swaddling of babies
was the norm in Greece. This can be hard to remember, as in the images of mothers and
babies most commonly reproduced swaddling is absent; but there is clear evidence that it
was considered essential to the well-being of the infant. Literary sources are explicit
that infants in classical Greece were swaddled, at least for the first months of life; it was
considered necessary for the correct formation of the child’s limbs, and methods and
duration are discussed in the medical texts.17 The depiction of the swaddled child is
uncommon on pots – babies are depicted in ‘heroic’ nakedness, with swaddling bands
sometimes present (as on a scene of the birth of Erichthonios on a kalpis in London), but
never used. There is an obvious contrast between pottery and other media over such
depictions: among terracottas, for instance, images of the swaddled child are found as
dedications (fig. 1.5), and in the arms of nurses, and the same is true of grave stelai – for
example, a stele in Paris on which a woman and servant hold twin swaddled babies.18 Not
all babies on stelai are swaddled, but nor are all the naked ones male: on the grave stele of
Ampharete, for example, the deceased woman is shown holding her grandchild, which
is wrapped in her own mantle, leaving only its head unobscured. The sex of the infant
cannot be determined, and the accompanying inscription also avoids defining the child’s
gender:
τκνν µ ς θυγατρς τδ’ ω λν, µπερ τε αυ’ γς ´µµασιν "ελ
#$ντες, δερκµεθα, ε%ν µ&ς γνασιν κα' ν(ν θµενν θιµνη *ω.
[I hold the dear child of my daughter, whom I held on my knees while we were
both alive and beheld the light of the sun; and now that we are both dead I
hold (the child) still.]19
Similarly, on the stele of Phylonoe an infant is shown with a cloth wrapped around its
waist. There is greater realism in the iconography of sculpture and terracotta than on
pottery, and the indeterminacy of the gender of infants may therefore be deliberate, since
Figure 1.5 Italian terracotta, London, British Museum 68.1–10.725, c.450 BC. Photo courtesy
British Museum. © The British Museum.
18
BECOMING VISIBLE
stelai were required to suit a variety of customers. In most of these cases, however, the
artist’s focus is on the dead mother, and we may be wrong to assume that the child is the
focus of the image; they are as likely to be commenting on the parent as the child, and it
is worth remembering that the Sotades white-ground cup was found in a woman’s grave.
If this is the case there is no need to screen out female children in favour of male. The
typical scene emphasises interaction between mother and child, with the child often
making very adult gestures to reach out to the mother, something which swaddling would
simply obscure, reducing the personality of the infant. The few instances of swaddling
depicted on a pot provide an interesting counterpoint: a scene of a warrior departing on
a red-figure lekythos includes a woman holding a swaddled child, and in this instance
neither the gender of the child, nor its interaction with its parents, are important; it serves
solely as an indicator of the marriage relationship.20 If pots illustrating children are
funerary, then the interaction of mother and child is most important, not the gender of
the child or the mother’s achievement – especially if the child has died. While it may be
true, therefore, that baby girls were more visible in death than in life, it is not true to say
that they were totally devalued in art.
If female babies are infrequently visible in Greek art, the same is not true for girls past
the age of infancy. Greek potters are interested in small girls in a number of specific roles,
each of which provides valuable illustration of aspects of child life. Athens offers a
particularly good resource for the depictions of young children, through the group of pots
known as choes, miniature jugs associated with the festival of the Choes, part of the
Anthesteria. Choes are abundant because both in Athens and Eretria they were buried with
children who had died young. The age of celebrating the Choes festival was around three,
so a child reaching this stage had a good chance of growing up, while a child dying before
this age was buried with a chous as a memorial to lost childhood.21 Participation in the
festival was an early rite of passage, and while choes carry a range of scenes, associated more
or less closely with the festival, the greatest number depict children, singly or in groups,
in a range of ages from late infancy to older childhood. Most depict boys, but a significant
proportion carry images of girls. Modern conceptions of gender in the analysis of choes
imagery are interesting: in his extensive examination of the iconographic pattern of choes,
Hamilton refers to ‘the virtual absence of females from the paintings on the small choes’,
a view echoed by Demand, who suggests that girls played no part in the Choes festival.22
Such a view, however, is pessimistic: van Hoorn’s catalogue includes thirty-nine choes
illustrating girls, and Hamilton himself notes forty-three. This should suggest that choes
were given as presents to girls too, and that the disparity in numbers simply reflects the
proportion of child deaths.23
Given the range of images, we can draw several conclusions about the depictions of girls
as children. They are shown as babies with choes and cakes, playing with balls and roller
carts; as toddlers and older children they appear with pets, especially Maltese dogs,
carrying trays, driving carts, interacting with younger children, and playing in mixed-
sex groups. On fig. 1.6 from Athens a girl balances a stick on one finger; she is attended
by her pet dog, and a bunch of grapes (a reference to the festival) hangs in the backgound.24
Surprisingly little distinction is made between male and female pastimes: both girls and
boys play with balls, carts and animals. The choes are engaging as a celebration of the
energy and playfulness of childhood, and artists’ attitudes towards girls are just as positive
as towards boys. Children are not shown segregated by gender, but play together in mixed
19
BECOMING VISIBLE
groups, as on a chous in London, on which a

boy and a girl hold a hoop for a dog to jump
through, or another in Munich on which a
girl and two boys play together.25 Even in
depictions of older children with babies there
is no sign of different roles for girls: both sexes
hold out toys or rattles to entertain younger
children. The only significant difference in the
treatment of choic girls and boys lies in their
costume: boys appear naked more often than
not, but girls are usually clothed, and appear
as miniature adults (fig. 1.7). This is no doubt
because the representation of female infants
and children presented an artistic difficulty: if
a girl is too young to be provided with female
characteristics in physical form, how else can
she be marked as female except by dress? A
female infant needs to be given adult clothing,
jewellery and an elaborate hairstyle to mark
her gender.26 It is an interesting question as
Figure 1.6 Attic red-figure chous, Athens, to why we should see groups of boys playing,
National Museum 1322, c.420 BC. Photo but not groups of girls; they appear in mixed
courtesy National Archaeological groups, or with one boy, but never in pairs
Museum, Athens. or more. It has been suggested that sister
relationships were comparatively rare except
among the very wealthy, and perhaps we are meant to envisage the children of choes as
family groups.27 Images on choes, then, suggest that in early childhood girls were valued,
and that they shared the same roles as boys both at the festival and in death. Choes depict
girls as part of the life of the family and city, well-fed, well-dressed and important to their
family.
Youth
Choes, nevertheless, are the only major group of pots which exhibit an interest in girls as
children. Once past this rite of passage, girls offered far less interest as a topic for painters
than boys. One has to ask whether this represented reality or convention, since it is the
red-figure painters who introduce new themes of child life into their art at the beginning
of the fifth century, and while we can find newly popular themes of boys at school, playing
games, with their fathers in public, or in the women’s quarters, depictions of young girls
do not begin to match them in frequency.28 In fact girls fall out of the picture just as boys
enter it with scenes of masculine childhood. This possibly reflects a distinction between
public and private, with boys a part of the visible public world in the Greek city, while
girls took part in fewer activities beyond the household. But it also reflects a contrast
between forms of art for private and public consumption: pottery which is exported
displays a view of Greek life in which girls are of limited importance, but within the city
the visibility of girls is far greater. For example, contemporary grave stelai offer a very
full depiction of female childhood: a separate iconographic category exists for young girls,
20
BECOMING VISIBLE
who are shown wearing high-waisted dresses

emphasising their undeveloped figures, and
like the girls on choes they are shown with pets,
especially dogs, with birds such as doves, and
with playthings associated with childhood
such as balls.29 It is not coincidental that the
objects held by girls on stelai were those dedi-
cated later on to mark the end of childhood:
they are a clear reference to the preoccupations
of childhood. Little of this spills over onto
pottery, and where there are parallels they are to
be found on white-ground lekythoi, again
indicating the importance of the child in death:
one white-ground lekythos in New Orleans
depicts a woman and a girl on either side of a
tomb, the little girl holding up a doll (fig. 1.8),
and another in Harvard shows a woman and
little girl at a tomb.30 Girls might have had
little or no role to play in public, but were
clearly valued by their families and became
visible in death.
Figure 1.7 Attic red-figure chous, St
Petersburg, The State Hermitage At this point it is interesting to compare
Museum P1867.89 (ST 2259A), c.350 the literary evidence for this part of female
BC. Photo courtesy the State Hermitage life. Texts produced by men tend to focus on
Museum, St Petersburg. marriage as the central event of a girl’s life,
and girls rarely have a part to play if too young
to be marriageable: they become relevant to male concerns only in their early teens.
Texts produced by women, however, offer a different perspective, describing friendships
between young girls, childhood games, and the training of girls in the domestic skills
they will need in marriage.31 There is some difficulty in adopting this evidence wholesale
for Athens, since the poets who write about female friendships are from either the
archaic period (Sappho) or the Hellenistic (Erinna), and neither is Athenian. Similarly
texts from early Greece (Sparta and Lesbos) offer evidence of groups of young women
trained as choirs, to sing and dance at weddings and festivals, and we might assume that
similar kinds of training took place in Athens, although our sources do not say so. How
far girls socialised among themselves we simply cannot know – in images of childhood
Athenian pots very rarely show more than one or two girls together. There is, however, a
thread common to both female poets and to Athenian tragedians, which depicts female
childhood as a period of calm and happiness, before the alienation and loss of family
brought about by marriage. If this is a traditional literary motif, it may reflect popular
beliefs:
α, ναι µ-ν ν πατρς

.διστν, /µαι, #$µεν 0νθρ1πων 2ν.
τερπν$ς γ3ρ 0ε' πα&δας 4να τρει.
ταν δ* ς .2ην 5ικ1µεθ* µρνες,
6θ7µεθ* 5ω κα' διεµπλ1µεθα
21
BECOMING VISIBLE
Figure 1.8 Attic white-ground lekythos, New Orleans (private collection) 460–450 BC
(drawing).
θε$ν πατρ81ων τ$ν τε υσντων 9π,

α: µ-ν 5νυς πρς 9νδρας, α: δ- 2αρ2ρυς,
α: δ* ε;ς 0γηθ δ1µαθ*, α: δ* πρρθα.
[As young girls, I think, we lead the sweetest life of all mortals in our father’s
house; for innocence always keeps children in happiness. But when we reach
the age of marriage, we are thrust out and sold away from our ancestral gods
and our parents, some to strangers, some to barbarians, some to a good house
and some to a hostile one.]32
It remains, however, that there are no depictions on extant pots of girls’ friendships, or of
the process of training for marriage, beyond the odd image of girls with groups of women
(see Chapter 2). A cup in New York is sometimes reproduced as a scene of a girl being
educated, but it is not compelling as evidence: in the interior of the cup, a woman holding
writing tablets is led by another woman, and has been described as a ‘reluctant schoolgirl’,
but she is adult, not a child, and the scenes on the exterior of the cup show similar women
with no educational setting.33 This aspect of female life is simply closed to us, because
vase-painters (or rather their customers) were not interested in these activities.
There are, nevertheless, two domains in which young girls are of interest to pot-painters
because of the significance of their presence: mourning and ritual – and girls are in fact
more visible in these areas than boys because of their particular status within the family
and city. Black-figure painters produced both plaques and pots with scenes of prothesis,
where the dead person is laid out, surrounded by mourners. These were buried with the
dead, or dedicated on the Acropolis, and hence offer good evidence for mourning practices.
In these scenes of family mourning, small girls are unusually prominent, as can be seen
on the well-known plaque on which a small girl sits with hand to head in mourning on
22
BECOMING VISIBLE
a stool at the right of the prothesis scene.34 Boardman, in a study of black-figure funerary
plaques, notes the frequency with which a girl is depicted standing at the end of, or
beneath, the bier; on ten of his thirty-nine examples, a small girl mourner is among the
women. A plaque from Dresden (fig. 1.9) depicts a little girl among the mourners at
the bier, tearing her hair in adult fashion.35 The relationship of these small figures within
the family is made clear on a plaque by the Sappho Painter in the Louvre, which labels
each participant in the scene with their role (MHTHP, ΘHΘH), the girl standing at the
head of the bier is A∆EΛΦH, sister to the deceased, not child.36 While boys are
occasionally present too, the girl is more frequently depicted, presumably to represent the
completeness of the family’s grief, down the generations. Women had the primary role in
mourning, because of their capacity to bear the pollution of death, and pots emphasise
that this responsibility began for women in early childhood. It is interesting that girls
are so commonly shown as part of the extended family; the large numbers of mourning
women in funerary scenes suggests that the prejudice against raising female children
cannot have been as great as is sometimes suggested. An extension to the ritual role of
girls in mourning is found on a loutrophoros in Karlsruhe (fig. 1.10) depicting a wedding
procession, in which one of the women leads a small girl by the hand, and also on a volute-
krater in Ferrara, which has a scene of Dionysiac worship where women dance and handle
snakes, two small girls among them. Both of these suggest that from an early age girls
were required to fulfil the female role in family ceremonies together with the older
women.37
Figure 1.9 Attic black-figure plaque, Dresden, Antikensammlung 814, c.520 BC. Photo:
H.-P. Klut, courtesy Staatliche Kunstsammlungen, Dresden.
23
BECOMING VISIBLE
Figure 1.10 Attic red-figure loutrophoros, Karlsruhe, Badisches Landesmuseum 69/78,

c.440 BC. Photo courtesy Badisches Landesmuseum, Karlsruhe.
24
BECOMING VISIBLE
The other area where iconography becomes interested in the young girl is public ritual,
specifically the pottery produced in relation to female rites of passage. This relates mainly
to the pottery finds from Brauron; large numbers of miniature kraters have been found,
at Brauron and at other shrines of Artemis in Attica, used in, and illustrating, the ritual
of ‘playing the bear’ for Artemis Brauronia. These have been extensively documented by
Kahil, and like the choes are a category of evidence used and found solely in Athens.38 Some
show girls in procession to an altar, others girls’ races, clothed and naked. As well as the
young girls who play the ‘bear’, racing or dancing, we find older women helping the girls
to prepare for the rite (fig. 1.11), and the priestess herself playing the role of the bear.39
Dedications of all kinds by women were common at Brauron, from textiles to valuable
metal vases, because it was a site of particular importance for women. Our evidence,
however, demonstrates a three-way split between pots, archaeology and literature, each
of which emphasises different aspects of the ritual. Krateriskoi show girls running naked,
some of the bear symbolism, and the involvement of mothers in the rite. Aristophanes’
Lysistrata (644–645 BC) refers to the wearing and shedding of the krokotos, a yellow
tunic, as the central act of the ritual; but this act is not depicted by painters, nor indeed
is any identifiable krokotos. Archaeology reveals the dedication of both textiles and pots,
including small versions of the epinetra used in textile work.40 The discovery of large
numbers of figure-painted pots at Brauron, with images of the rites, has caused concern
that the images cannot easily be squared with the play or its scholia, but this is
undoubtedly because different aspects of the rites are reflected in the different objects
associated with them. This in turn has led to some more interesting features of the Brauron
material being overlooked. Given that the rare appearances of Artemis as a child with her
mother Leto appear on pyxides from Brauron, we might see in the depictions an aspect
of female bonding and solidarity; Artemis was not only a god of maturation but protected
children as kourotrophos, as well as helping women in childbirth and menarche. A series
of terracottas from Brauron shows the goddess with a young girl, and the evidence from
Figure 1.11 Attic red-figure krater fragment, Basel, Collection H. Cahn, inv. HC501,
430–420 BC (drawing).
25
BECOMING VISIBLE
Brauron offers us a very specific view of a women’s rite, in which mothers prepare daughters
for their maturation and marriage, in an all-female milieu.41 It suggests a dimension to
relations within the family not reflected in the texts, reinforcing bonds down the female
generations, and one which may also be paralleled in sources from other states, such as
the pottery from Corinth depicting all-female festivals (fig. 1.30). On some of the
Corinthian examples young girls appear alongside the women, and it may be that there
is a rich vein of female experience here which is only hinted at in our sources.42 An epigram
of Nossis from the third century records a dedication made to Hera by Nossis and her
mother, in which the women draw attention to the continuity of matrilineal descent:
‘Hρα τιµGεσσα, Λακνιν H τ θυ$δες

πλλκις Iρανθεν νεισµνα καθρ8 ς,
δ5αι 27σσινν εJµα, τ τι µετ3 παιδς 0γαυ3
Nσσδς Lανεν Θευιλ'ς 4 Kλεας.
[Queen Hera, you who from heaven often look down upon your fragrant
Lacinian shrine, accept this linen garment which Theuphilis daughter of
Kleodoche wove for you, with her noble daughter Nossis.]43
Other rituals placed young girls in a position of importance to the city, and these too
can be documented from a combination of art and literature. The festival of the
Anthesteria, for instance, involved swinging as a ritual activity, and this is shown on nine
black- and red-figure pots. Young girls are prominent in the black-figure swinging scenes,
sometimes with other children, and although the theme later expands into an erotic
motif (see Chapter 3), the pots place girls at the centre of the ritual.44 Second, there are
many scenes in both black- and red-figure of women engaged in ritual fruit-picking in
orchards, and a hydria in Pregny has a scene of this with a little girl at its centre (fig.
1.12).45 Third, and best documented, are the festivals of
Athena. The well-known (and much-debated) passage
in Lysistrata (638–647 BC) detailing female participation
in civic religion lists the rites in which aristocratic young
women would take part – as arrêphoros,
aletris, arktos and kanêphoros. These are
presented as canonical stages through which
girls would pass, yet the passage names two
roles which we can barely illustrate from extant
pottery, namely the aletris, or grinder of corn
for Athena, and the arrêphoros, who took part in
the rites of Athena at the Panathenaia. A lekythos
from Paestum (fig. 1.13) depicts a girl walking,
holding sprigs in her hands, followed by a woman
who shades her with a parasol, and it has been
suggested that we should see here an arrêphoros taking
part in the festival of the Panathenaia.46 Other literary
Figure 1.12 Attic red-figure sources tell us that ritual ball-games played a part in the
hydria, Pregny, Collection duties of the arrêphoroi, and one fragment of a red-figure
Rothschild, c.460 BC (drawing). cup seems to illustrate this.47
26
BECOMING VISIBLE
All of these roles are specific to a

particular period of female life, between
puberty and marriage, when a girl became
a parthenos. The idea of the parthenos,
marriageable but not yet married, was very
important in ritual terms, and in their
depictions of parthenoi pot-painters seem
to reflect the same ideology as Athenian
writers, who made the parthenos central to
their preoccupations because the role was
so significant. Dramatists represented the
parthenos as the self-sacrificing heroine
of plays like Antigone, Herakleidai and
Iphigeneia at Aulis, maidens choosing death
for the sake of family or city instead of
marriage; pottery too seems to recognise
and identify the role, making it more easily
distinguished than other ages of female
life.48 Studies of both pottery and grave
reliefs suggest that in general depictions
of children and young women are aimed
not at depicting a specific age, but at
defining females into age categories. So, for
instance, the children on choes are either
babies, at the stage before learning to
walk, or old enough to run and play: the
iconography depicts them either as ‘baby’
Figure 1.13 Attic red-figure lekythos, or ‘child’. Grave reliefs, acording to Stears,
Paestum, Museo Nazionale Archeologico, depict three stages of childhood: the baby,
c.480 BC (drawing).
the small girl and the parthenos.49 Little
girls are denoted by dresses with a high
girdle and lack of breasts, and are shown
holding toys and pets, while parthenoi tend to hold more adult objects like jewellery and
mirrors, and to have small-breasted figures. On pottery, as a rule, age distinctions are less
strong, but an interesting indicator of status is to be found in the depiction of hair; some
red-figure painters appear to have distinguished the unmarried girl from the married by
hairstyle. Although female hairstyles are not used consistently by painters to denote status,
they do sometimes have particular associations: little girls tend to be shown with loose hair
or a topknot, matrons with hair in a bun, held up with a kekryphalos, or in a sakkos.50 Some
styles can be quite elaborate, with the hair emerging from the bun and fanning out at the
end. Peculiar to the parthenos, however, is a style in which the hair is plaited down the
back, and the ends tied up in a small bag wrapped round with thread. It can be seen on
the girl in the orchard in fig. 1.12, and on fig. 2.2, a hydria on which three women put
wool into a basket: all three have the same style.
The appearance of a specific hairstyle was first noted as a historical feature of vase-
painting, and it is true that the style is a fashion of early red-figure painters, dying out in
the later period; it may therefore represent a real fashion of contemporary Athens.51 But
27
BECOMING VISIBLE
an examination of those scenes in which women wear it shows that its use is not
indiscriminate: in mythological scenes the style is shown most commonly on Artemis and
Athena, as well as Nike and the Nereids. It also appears on Medea in a scene with the
Peliades, and Amymone.52 Not all representations of these figures use the style, but deities
like Hera and Aphrodite never wear it, and we can identify it as a style of virgin goddesses
and attendants, and of human parthenoi, indicating youth (before a woman wore her hair
up) and pre-marital status. Representations of parthenoi in ritual, as we have seen, give
girls the style, and it also allows us to expand the meaning of some of the non-mythical
scenes where it appears – for example, a privately owned skyphos which shows two women
picking fruit.53 The women stand on either side of a fruit tree, one holding a situla, and
both with fruit in their hands; both wear crowns and have the ends of their hair tied. Just
as on the Pregny hydria, the scene is placed firmly in the area of ritual by their depiction
as parthenoi. A similar scene is found on a stamnos once in Copenhagen which shows two
girls folding cloth under the supervision of a woman; the girls holding the cloth both have
plaited and bundled hair, which has strengthened interpretations of the scene as ritual,
depicting the peplos presented to Athena every four years at the festival of the
Panathenaia.54 The style is also found on some white-ground lekythoi which carry scenes
of two women, and in these cases it comments usefully on the status of the individual
figures. Scenes on which two women place lekythoi and hold baskets and fillets (fig. 4.22),
or dress, are often characterised as ‘mistress and maid’, but it is unlikely that a slave would
be presented as a parthenos, and hence one should see preparation for a visit to the tomb
by two women of the family.55 This interpretation, however, is complicated by two cups
attributed to Douris: one, in Christchurch (fig. 3.23) has an exterior scene of a symposium,
matched by an interior of a young man and woman together in a bedchamber. The woman
embraces the youth, yet she has a hairstyle apparently appropriate to a parthenos. On the
other cup in New York two naked women are depicted placing their clothes on a chair,
and one of these also has the parthenos style.56 Do two contradictory examples indicate
that the style is no more than a fashion which could be given to any female? In the first
place, the images do not contradict the idea that it is a style appropriate only to unmarried
women, since mothers never wear it. But should a connection with sex make it impossible
to identify a woman as a parthenos? The idea of partheneia (maidenhood) is in fact created
by opposition to sexual maturity – a parthenos is so by virtue of being as yet unmarried,
so it should not be unduly surprising to find some connection of the imagery in art. Clearly
the parthenos representation does not appear solely in scenes of ritual, but it does serve
to mark out a particular status for the young woman. The existence of that status, and of
methods for its representation in the imagery, demonstrates that in early adulthood girls
were far more important in ritual roles than boys.
Child workers and child slaves

The discussion of status markers on white-ground lekythoi above leads to the question of
whether distinction can be made between slave and free children. The experiences
described so far are obviously those of the lives of the privileged: the daughters of citizens
who took their place in ritual and had no need to work. Can we compare the experience
of the child slave, or of the working child of the impoverished craftsman, through the
evidence of pottery? Child slaves at first seem numerous on pots, but they can be difficult
to distinguish, since realistic depiction was not the aim of the painters; slaves were so much
28
BECOMING VISIBLE
part of the everyday in Greece that few pots make explicit comment on the status of
slavery. There is great scope for confusion given that the indicators of youth – small size
and unsophisticated dress – are also used to denote slave status when necessary, and hence
it is not always possible to be certain whether we should see a slave or a child.57 This
attitude is of a piece with recorded behaviour towards slaves: they were denied full adult
status, male slaves were addressed as ‘pais’ whatever their age, and they were permanently
under the power of another. Nevertheless, we can recognise some child figures where slave
status may be intended to be shown: two lekythoi in Athens and Brussels depict women
attended by young girls dressed in black; the first carries a child on her shoulders (fig. 1.4),
while the second holds a box (fig. 1.14). The dark dress often marks lower status, as on
the Orchard Painter’s fruit-picking krater in New York: a figure stooping to carry baskets
in the foreground is set apart from her companions by a dark dress and short hair.58 On
another lekythos in Berlin, a woman visiting a tomb is accompanied by a girl with
apparently African features, who carries a stool on her head.59 Small stature also marks a
difference on an interesting alabastron in Glasgow (fig. 1.15) which depicts a mistress and
two maids, both of whom are dressed in the same way, but one, holding a fan, is clearly
smaller and younger than the other.60 This would fit well with the idea that menial tasks
were reserved for the young. Other images, however, are more ambiguous: a figure may
appear young for reasons of contrast rather than realism, and on the alabastron in Paris
(fig. 1.16) depicting a young woman and her bridegroom, the childlike figure standing
behind the bride has no features which we would recognise as slavish: her hair is long and
loose, and her full-length chiton pale in colour.61 It is therefore not always possible to
identify a child figure securely as a slave, largely because of the limited range of available
signifiers for age and status. The scenes which we have discussed also show the kinds of
work in which girl slaves are depicted – mostly fetching and carrying, and occasionally
looking after children. All these slaves appear with adult women, not in any scene
suggesting that they are the centre of interest themselves: this is in contrast to depictions
of boy slaves, who were a topic of considerable erotic interest to painters, especially the
Pioneers, and it bears out the idea suggested by Rühfel that the female slave is an attribute
of the citizen woman rather than a figure with a real and separate existence.62
Depictions of child slaves, then, have little to offer as evidence for the lives of the
underprivileged; although they are often simply dressed there is a margin of poverty
below which painters will not go in their depictions. But what about children’s work
outside the household? The literary evidence which we have for the training of girl slave
children in professions begins (and ends) with prostitution, most famously the seven small
girls bought as infants by Nikarete who were raised to be prostitutes and sold to customers
as soon as they were old enough ([Dem.] Against Neaira 18–19). In Aristophanes’
Thesmophoriazusai, the slave girl who fools the Scythian policeman is brought on by a
‘madam’ proposing that she practise her dance. She is then sold to the Scythian for sex for
a drachma, but the dance here may be more than a smokescreen for prostitution – dance
constituted a profession in itself, and Xenophon’s Symposium describes skilled slave dancers
and acrobats.63 Instruction in dance (rather than the performance itself) is a surprisingly
frequent theme on Attic pottery, and opinion is divided about the interpretation of the
motif: whether we should see an aspect of general female education, or the training of
young prostitutes. Rühfel includes in her study of child life a section on the education of
girls, focusing her attention on dance, and she relates training of this kind to girls’
participation in choruses and the education offered by teachers like Sappho. She interprets
29
BECOMING VISIBLE
Figure 1.14 Attic white-ground lekythos, Brussels, Musées Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire A1019,
470–460 BC. Photo: RMAH, courtesy Musées Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire, Brussels.
30
BECOMING VISIBLE
Figure 1.15 Attic red-figure alabastron, Glasgow, Burrell Collection 19.9, c.450 BC (drawing).
the girls as Athenian citizens and the dances they learn as part of civic festivals. Delavaud-
Roux, on the other hand, suggests that all female practitioners of dances like the pyrrhic
were professional entertainers, and characterises them as slaves and prostitutes too.64 The
blanket attribution of prostitution to dancers seems unjustified, given Xenophon’s
depiction of a dancer as a skilled professional, but it is worth asking how we can tell
whether those learning to dance are slave or free. Dance was a part of every woman’s life
in classical times, performed in ritual and on occasions like weddings, but it is not clear
whether formal training at dance schools was the province solely of working women. One
example of a ‘dance school’ appears on a phiale in Boston (attributed to the Phiale Painter),
found near Sunium (fig. 1.17): under the gaze of male and female instructors two girls
learn to dance, one with castanets, and the other ‘muffled’ in a cloak, while another plays
the aulos. Given the primary use of the phiale in cult, and the cult scenes often depicted
on them (such as the festival in honour of Artemis, fig. 1.30), it seems difficult to interpret
the scene as training for prostitutes – one of the women holds an oinochoe and phiale in
the scene.65 On the other hand, a hydria by Polygnotos in Naples (fig. 1.18) with a similar
dance-school scene introduces elements which belong far more strongly to the field of
entertainment: one girl performs acrobatics on a low table, while another dances among
swords on the ground.66 Learning to dance, however, is the only kind of obvious training
for girls that we find depicted: it is unreasonable to seize on it as denoting training in
prostitution, since other ‘accomplishments’ of hetairai are not depicted. Examining the
use of the pots can shed light on the problem: both the phiale, with its ritual use, and pots,
31
Figure 1.16 Attic red-figure alabastron, Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale 508, c.470 BC. Photo: Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris.
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
CHAPTER VI
THE HOUSE OF THE DANCE AND THE WALL-PAINTINGS IN THE

BASEL TOWN HALL
Holbein as a mural decorator—The “Haus zum Tanz”—The “Dance of Peasants”

frieze—Original studies and old copies—Decoration of the inner walls of the new
Basel Town Council Chamber—“Charondas of Catanea”—“Zaleucus of
Locris”—“Curius Dentatus”—“Sapor and Valerian”—The single figures placed
between the large compositions—Cessation of the work before its completion.
T this period of his life Holbein’s work was by no means

confined to the painting of portraits and church pictures.
His activity was ceaseless, and every moment of his
time must have been fully occupied. In addition to many
book illustrations for the publishers, and designs for
glass-painters, armourers, and other craftsmen, he found
considerable employment in decorating the street-fronts of houses of
certain of the leading citizens with large wall-paintings, and, in some
instances, painted similar decorations on the inner walls. It is evident
from various contemporary and later references that he covered
more than one house in Basel with decorative designs in this
fashion, and that the art of wall-painting, practised in that city to
some extent before his time, received a great impetus from his
example. He carried it to a far greater pitch of excellence than had
been achieved until then in any country but Italy, and founded a
school of monumental decorative design which existed for a
considerable period after his death, and has been revived again in
modern times in Lucerne, if not in Basel. Unfortunately, nothing
remains of his original work in this field except a few isolated
designs for one or two façades, and several tracings and inferior
copies of fragmentary remains of the actual wall-paintings; nor has
any definite record been handed down in Basel of any particular
dwelling so decorated by him, with the exception of the “House of
the Dance,” which obtained a wide celebrity in his own day, and was
evidently looked upon as his masterpiece. In carrying out the mural
ornamentation of this building he allowed his brilliant fancy full play,
and exercised the greatest ingenuity in turning to advantage the
wide, flat spaces of the commonplace frontage with its irregularly-
placed Gothic arched windows and openings, covering the whole of
it with painted Renaissance architecture rich in columns and friezes,
balconies and elaborate porticoes and other features, amid which
characters from ancient history and fable and modern life were
placed with admirable effect.
THE HOUSE OF THE

The “Haus zum Tanz” was so named by his
DANCE fellow-citizens from the large frieze representing
a number of peasants dancing with the wildest
merriment and abandon, which at once took the popular fancy,
though it only formed a part of the decoration. An original drawing
for the narrow front façade still exists, while there is an old tracing
of Holbein’s study for the general design, and some sixteenth-
century copies of his sketches, from which a good idea of the
decorative effect produced after he had finished the work can be
obtained. It was a corner house, and stood in the Eisengasse, near
the Rhine Bridge, and at that time belonged to the wealthy
goldsmith Balthasar Angelrot, from whom Holbein received the
commission. The decorations, probably carried out by him in 1520,
were still visible, and described by Patin, in 1676, but towards the
end of the eighteenth century their faded remains were
whitewashed over. The old building itself stood until 1907, when it
was pulled down and rebuilt.[261]
The plan Holbein pursued shows a marked advance in his
conception of decorative design when compared with the earlier
paintings of the Hertenstein house in Lucerne. In the latter large
pictures filled practically the whole of the wide spaces between the
windows, but he now abandoned this practice to a great extent, and
subordinated the pictorial effect to one in which architecture played
the leading part, the characters introduced appearing as actual
figures occupied in various ways amid this elaborate setting. The
main front of the house was very irregular in its features. There
were no straight lines, for the windows differed greatly in height and
breadth, and those of one storey were in most instances not placed
exactly over those in the storey below them. To a painter of lesser
mastership than Holbein such a nondescript frontage would have
greatly increased the difficulties to be overcome in carrying out a
successful decorative scheme; in his case the very difficulties appear
to have provided an added spur to his imagination and the fanciful
play of his humour, and he seized upon them and turned them to the
utmost advantage. According to Dr. Ludwig Iselin, in his notes on
Holbein written towards the end of the sixteenth century, the painter
regarded his work upon Angelrot’s house with some amount of
satisfaction, for when he revisited Basel in the autumn of 1538, and
saw his wall-paintings both on the house-fronts and in the Council
Chamber rapidly fading away, he proposed to repaint them at his
own expense, and in criticising his work found that the “Haus zum
Tanz” was “rather good” (“Das Haus zum tantz wär ein wenig gutt”).
According to Theodor Zwinger (1577),[262] he received only forty
florins (gulden) for the whole of this work, very inadequate payment
even for those days, considering the amount of labour which he
must have given to it. This reference of Zwinger’s is of great interest,
as, with the exception of the wall-paintings in the interior of the
Basel Town Hall, it is the only record so far discovered of the prices
the artist was in the habit of receiving for such undertakings.
The house, as already stated, was a corner one
THE HOUSE OF THE
DANCE of three storeys, the left-hand and narrow side
being the one which fronted the Eisengasse. The
decoration covered both sides, and was painted more or less in
perspective, so arranged that the spectator, in order to obtain the
full effect of the design, must stand at the corner angle of the
house, from which he could see both sides at the same time. On the
ground floor he placed on either side of the broad arched windows
and the narrower door at the end of the chief façade thick, stumpy
columns, with garlands hanging below their Ionic capitals. He made
skilful use of the Gothic forms of the openings, as they actually
existed, in such a way that the pointed arches appeared to be
merely the result of perspective foreshortening, as seen from the
spectator’s standpoint. Above these arches, in the flat space beneath
the first-floor windows, was painted the broad band containing the
“Bauerntanz,” or “Dance of the Peasants,” which gave the house its
popular name. This band was broken by a small oblong window over
the house-door, which Holbein utilised by turning it into a stone
table, with cans and jugs for the refreshment of the dancers, against
which two musicians are leaning, one playing the bagpipes and the
other a wind instrument of unusual shape. Boisterous mirth reigns
among the dancers. Their flitting shadows are cast upon the wall
behind them, as they give full vent to their delight in life by means
of measures more energetic than graceful, and much rough-and-
tumble play. Judging from the fine original study in the Berlin Print
Room,[263] which shows a part of this frieze, the wall-painting itself
must have produced a vivid effect of rapid, lifelike movement, and
even of noise and laughter. Above the Dance, decorated pilasters
supporting lofty columns, which ran up to the top of the building,
were placed between the windows, together with antique figures of
Mars, Venus, Cupid, and other gods. Above these again ran a
balcony with an open balustrading, supported on projecting cornices,
with numerous figures of Holbein’s fellow-citizens in contemporary
costume walking about and looking over into the street below, one
of them with a greyhound. Round the windows of the second floor,
which were of varying heights, he gave full play to his delight in
Renaissance architecture of a very intricate and fantastic kind,
including his favourite round medallions containing the heads of
Roman Emperors and other classical heroes and heroines, friezes
with rich ornamentation, grotesque figures with human bodies and
tails of dolphins, and columns and arches seen in strong perspective.
On the top floor of all the small windows were given the appearance
of little square towers surrounded by broken and ruined arches and
masonry, overgrown with bushes, and behind and between them the
blue sky. On one of the walls was a peacock, and on another a
paint-pot with the brush stuck in it, as though left up there by
accident by the painter after the work had been finished and the
scaffolding removed, a pictorial joke which no doubt entertained the
passers-by.
The other frontage of the house faced a side street. On the wall
nearest the corner Holbein painted a lofty arched doorway, with
steps leading to the interior, above which Marcus Curtius,
brandishing a battle-axe, was represented on a great white, rearing
horse, on the point of plunging into the street, and close below him
a Roman soldier in a crouching position, with right arm uplifted in
self-protection, as though fearful that the rider would fall upon and
crush him. Beyond this doorway there were no windows on the
ground floor, but merely a few small apertures. Holbein covered this
surface with arches and pillars with festoons, and a low wall below.
Over this wall the spectator was supposed to obtain a view of the
stabling below the level of the street, with a groom in charge of a
fine horse, the latter attached to a ring at the foot of a lofty column,
surmounted by a figure of Hebe. Between the windows on the floor
above stood a fat and youthful Bacchus, crowned with vine-leaves,
and holding a cup in his hand, and at his feet a cask with a second
boy asleep against it, and a cat stealing away with a mouse in her
mouth. Above this floor the treatment was mainly architectural,
following the lines of that on the Eisengasse frontage. The general
effect produced by the whole decoration must have been an
exceptionally gay and brilliant one, both from the effective manner in
which Holbein made free use of the Renaissance style of
architecture, and from the joyous life and movement of the
numerous figures depicted. The decoration was intended to amuse
as well as to delight, and the tricks of perspective, together with a
realism the main purpose of which was to deceive the eye, were
conceived as a jest which should provide a source of continual
interest and merriment to the passing citizens. Such a method of
covering house walls had little in common with the work he had
seen in Italy, except in the sumptuousness of its setting. Although it
may have sinned against many of the right principles of mural
decorative art, it nevertheless appealed strongly to the fancy and
taste of the Baselers of that day, and “took the town” so completely
that it set a fashion which lasted many years. The humour and
realism of it, however, were by no means its foremost features; in
many ways it must have produced a decorative effect of great
beauty and richness. Though he gave free play to his fantastic
imagination, he at the same time kept it within reasonable bounds,
so that it never offended against good taste, except in a certain
freedom of representation in some of the dancing couples, but was
always subordinate to the higher aims of his art.
WALL-PAINTING
There is a large tracing of the design in the
FOR AMERBACH Basel Gallery, which has evidently been taken
HOUSE from Holbein’s original drawing, and there are
other copies, almost contemporary, of his original studies for
portions of the work, one showing the lower part of the side wall
with the horse and groom. The Berlin Print Room, as already noted,
possesses the very beautiful drawing from Holbein’s own hand,
which is the original study for the front façade, showing the
musicians and three of the dancing couples of the “Bauerntanz,” with
which the Basel tracing is in close agreement, while in the Amerbach
Collection there is a slighter version, with certain variations, of the
upper portion of the Berlin drawing, showing the balcony with
figures. It is a chalk and pen drawing, touched with Indian ink.[264]
Dr. Woltmann suggested that the man with the flat cap on the
extreme left of the balcony in the Berlin drawing, who is looking
down into the street, is intended for a portrait of Holbein himself. In
addition, the Basel Gallery possesses good copies of the frieze with
the dancers (No. 353),[265] and of the portion of the façade with the
mounted figure of Marcus Curtius,[266] made by the glass-painter
Niklaus Rippel in 1623 and 1590 respectively. Rippel was master of
the Basel Painters’ Guild in 1587. The “Curtius” drawing is inscribed
“in frontispicio domus,” and is evidently a faithful transcript of the
original; so much so that by its means it is possible to obtain a very
adequate idea of the grandeur of Holbein’s design, more particularly
in the magnificent group of the horse and its armed rider, in which
the Mantegnesque influence is unmistakable. Finally, there is in the
same Gallery an excellent reconstruction of the whole frontage (No.
352), a water-colour drawing made by H. E. von Berlepsch in 1878,
based upon the Berlin study and the sixteenth-century copies of
Holbein’s sketches.[267]
One or two original studies remain, which were evidently made as
designs for exterior wall-paintings of which all record has been lost.
There is a slight but masterly washed pen drawing in the Amerbach
Collection (Pl. 40 (1)),[268] representing the upper part of a house in
which the irregularly-placed windows have been adapted with the
greatest skill to suit the purposes of the elaborate scheme of Italian
architecture, one part of which is made to recede by a series of flat
columns with ornamented capitals seen in sharp perspective, while
the other half appears to project, and shows the seated figure of an
Emperor, possibly Charlemagne, between two windows, to which
Holbein has given rounded arches with a medallion between them
containing an antique head. Dr. Ganz is, no doubt, right in his
suggestion that this drawing is a study for a scheme of decoration
for the façade of the family house of the Amerbachs in the
Rheingasse, in Little Basel, and that the figure of the enthroned
Emperor is a pictorial representation of the name—“zum
Kaiserstuhl”—by which the house was known. Probably Holbein
received a commission for its decoration in 1519, at the time he was
painting Bonifacius Amerbach’s portrait.[269] In the same collection
there is a design for a framework to surround an ordinary square-
headed window, either for internal or external wall-painting,[270] over
which he has thrown an ornamented arch filled in with scalloping,
and crowned with a brazier from which flames are blowing. It is
supported by pillars of elaborate and fantastic design, broken up into
various bands of rich ornament, among them ox skulls with small
hanging garlands. At the base, on each side, is a nude figure of a
woman with a basket of fire on her head. The window, only one half
of which is shown, is supported below with corbels, the central one
with a grotesque head with an iron ring suspended from its mouth.
A third sketch, for the ground floor of the Hertenstein house, has
been already described.[271]
Vol. I., Plate 40.
1. STUDY FOR A PAINTED HOUSE FRONT WITH THE FIGURE OF A

SEATED EMPEROR
Basel Gallery
2. THE AMBASSADORS OF THE SAMNITES BEFORE CURIUS
DENTATUS
1521-22
Fragment of the wall-painting formerly in the Basel Town Hall
Basel Gallery
LEGEND OF THE
In the collection of drawings in the Louvre
INN “ZUR BLUME” there is an elaborately drawn design for the
decoration of a house with a narrow frontage and
high-pitched gables,[272] which, although not from Holbein’s own
hand, bears considerable resemblance to his style and methods in
carrying out large mural paintings. It may be a contemporary copy
of one of his designs, or, perhaps, an original work by one of the
clever Basel artists who adopted his manner. The architectural
details, however, are characterised by a fantastic play of fancy
carried beyond the limits Holbein usually prescribed for himself in
work of this nature. Some of them are frankly impossible, and if
actually carried out in brick or stone would at once fall to pieces.
This element of architectural absurdity is to be seen very clearly in
the large capital in the centre supported by a much weaker and
smaller one, in the curious thin bands of projecting stonework with
circular openings through which all the columns pass, and the
equally curious circular vaulting over the door, with round openings
through which two cupids bend down in the act of supporting a coat
of arms. The principal features of the design are two deep bands
divided by the columns into panels containing combats between
sirens and grotesque men with fish-like extremities ending in spirals
of foliage. On either side of the windows of the second floor double
columns are set close together, between which three nude old men
are striving to force themselves. On the topmost storey two figures
are looking over a balcony in front of two small windows. Medallions
with antique heads are freely introduced, and every part of the
house-face is so lavishly covered with small ornamentation that the
eye becomes confused, and the general effect produced is one of
restlessness and over-elaboration. Below the ground-floor window a
fictitious opening is shown, in which two large dogs are fighting over
a bone. Woltmann suggests that a passage in Dr. Ludwig Iselin’s
notes has reference to these two animals, and may be taken as
some indication that this particular design for house-decoration was
Holbein’s own, and had been carried out by him in Basel. Iselin says,
in speaking of the artist’s truthfulness to nature: “He painted a dog,
at which dogs running past used to bark.”[273]
An old Basel legend, which, like so many other
LEGEND OF THE
INN “ZUR BLUME” legends, has no evidence to support it, connects
Holbein’s name with the decoration of another
house in Basel—the inn “zur Blume” in the Fischmarktplatz. The
story runs that the painter was deeply in debt to the innkeeper, and
in order to pay his dues he undertook to cover the outside of the
house with frescoes; but the work progressed too slowly for the
owner, and Holbein’s absences in search of enjoyment were too
frequent, so that the former kept a close watch upon him, and
threatened to cut off supplies unless he remained at his post. The
painter’s ingenuity, however, was equal to the emergency. When he
was at work high up on the building his body was hidden from the
view of those in the street by the scaffolding, but his legs were still
in sight, so he painted a fictitious pair on the wall, as though
dangling down, with feet crossed; and seeing these, the landlord
thought all was well, and so left his artist to his own devices.
The most important work in wall-painting undertaken by him at
this period was the decoration of the Council Chamber in the newly-
rebuilt Town Hall or Rathaus of Basel. In 1504 it was decided to
replace the old building with a new one, and the work was begun in
1508 and completed early in 1521, the Council assembling in it for
the first time on the 12th of March in the latter year. The decoration
of the interior walls of the chief room was given to Holbein, partly,
no doubt, through the influence of his patron, Jakob Meyer, who was
still burgomaster, though his troubles were already beginning, and
culminated before the close of that year, when he was removed from
office. The commission must have been mainly due, however, to the
Council’s knowledge of Holbein’s skill and inventive powers in this
branch of art, as shown in the decorations of several house-fronts in
the city. The painter continued his work in the Chamber after the
deposition of Jakob Meyer and the election of Adelberg Meyer, who
was unrelated to his predecessor, to the post of chief magistrate.
According to the account books of the Council, the commission was
given to the painter on the 15th June 1521, on the day of St. Veit
and St. Modestus, and the contract stated that he was to receive
120 gulden for the whole work, and that he was to be paid in
advance by the “Drei Herrn,” who were the members of the Council
who controlled the finances, on the day of the signing of the
contract, forty gulden, or fifty Basel pounds, the gulden being equal
to one Basel pound and a quarter.[274] The remaining payments, in
smaller amounts, were made to him on the 20th July and 14th
September 1521, and on the 12th April, 16th June, 31st August and
29th November 1522. He received no money during the winter of
1521-22, when the work, no doubt, would be temporarily suspended
owing to the shortness of the days and the lack of good light. This is
one of the few instances in which we possess authentic records of
the amounts received by Holbein for his work.
WALL-PAINTINGS
The Town Hall, which stood in the market-
IN BASEL TOWN place, with the house of Jakob Meyer, “zum
HALL Hasen,” adjoining it on the south, has undergone
considerable changes since its building, so that to-day both the
exterior and interior are by no means in the same condition as when
Holbein was working there. In those days the Council Chamber was
an irregular quadrangle, about 34 feet by 65 feet, and only 12½ feet
high, and the ceiling was supported by three columns down the
centre of the room. The wall fronting the market-place was entirely
filled with large windows and the doors leading to the chief
staircase, and provided no space for decorative treatment, so that
Holbein’s work was confined to the three remaining walls, the long
one opposite, which was also broken up by two windows and two
doors, and the two narrower ones at either end, which were not
parallel. Of these latter, the one on the north had a heating chamber
and a large stove at one end of it, and was separated from the rest
of the hall by a balustrade. The only unbroken wall was at the
southern end, next Meyer’s house. It was called in the accounts the
“back wall,” because the visitor turned his back on it on entering the
room, and this wall was not decorated by Holbein until after his
return from his first visit to England. Taking it altogether, the room
was so low and so irregular in its arrangement that it was by no
means well suited for carrying out a scheme of mural decoration on
a monumental scale; but Holbein triumphed over all difficulties, and
produced magnificent results, so far as can be judged from the few
studies, tracings, and copies which remain. The subjects selected for
representation were divided from one another by richly-ornamented
Renaissance columns, so that the room, when finished, appeared to
be open on all sides, here looking out upon some landscape, and
there into some great hall or palace made to appear vast by the
clever use of perspective. Between the principal pictures were placed
smaller, single-figure subjects, standing in niches on a somewhat
higher level, and forming part of the architectural framework. The
subjects of the larger paintings were of the kind then popular north
of the Rhine, and were intended, by means of celebrated examples
taken from ancient history, to bring home to those who used the
room, the absolute necessity of impartial justice in the administration
of the affairs of a state or community, and at the same time to
indicate the punishment which in most cases is bound to follow the
breaking of the law, and to extol the virtues of simplicity and a love
of country free from all self-seeking. These subjects, and the Latin
inscriptions which accompanied them, were not Holbein’s own
invention, but were, in all probability, selected for him by such
learned friends as Myconius and Beatus Rhenanus.[275]
The only records which remain of this great work, all of which are
in the Basel Gallery, consist of a few fragments taken from the walls
before the last traces of the paintings had finally faded away;
original studies for three of the chief subjects from Holbein’s own
hand; a few contemporary copies of his designs; and others taken
from those parts of the design which could still be discerned at the
time when the actual fragments of Holbein’s handiwork were cut
away from the walls. Unfortunately the paintings themselves had but
a short life. Less than fifty years after the last one was completed
they were already in a deplorable condition, largely through damp.
Probably the three months’ interval which elapsed between the
completion of the building and the beginning of its decoration was
due to the desire to allow the walls to become thoroughly dry; but
even this precaution was not sufficient to save Holbein’s handiwork
from gradual destruction. The walls, possibly from faulty
construction, appear never to have become entirely free from
moisture, while the paintings were also allowed to suffer from
general neglect. Wurstisen in his Epitome Historiæ Basiliensis,
published in 1577,[276] speaks of them as “delineations of the
choicest things by the hand of the German Apelles,” but two years
later the largest of them was reported to be so terribly injured by
the weather that it was in danger of complete destruction. The
Council, therefore, commissioned the painter Hans Bock to make a
copy of it in oils on canvas, which, when completed, was hung on
the wall in front of the original painting. This “large piece,” which
Bock copied in 1579, was probably the whole of the back wall,
containing the “Rehoboam” and the “Samuel and Saul.” This work
occupied his whole time for twenty-six weeks, and his application for
payment for this half-year’s work, dated the 23rd November 1579, to
be found among the Basel archives. In it he demands one hundred
florins, a sum which the Council evidently considered too great,
although it works out at little more than a shilling a day in modern
money, a moderate but not a contemptible wage as rates of
payment went in those days. Among the reasons Bock gives for
asking so much is that far more is really due to a copyist, who has to
imitate laboriously the work of another, than to one who paints
merely from his own fancy; and he goes on to say that, “among all
the Holbein pieces in the painted hall, this is not only the greatest in
length, but also contains the most difficult and laborious work, as,
besides landscape, there are one hundred faces drawn perfectly or
partially, so that I must copy them all piece by piece, besides many
horses, weapons, and other things.”[277] The details he mentions
were only to be found in one of the paintings, that of “Samuel and
Saul,” though it did not contain nearly one hundred heads, but with
the adjoining picture of “Rehoboam,” which Bock probably included,
the number would be nearly correct.
DESTRUCTION OF
One hundred years later the wall-paintings
THE WALL- were still to be seen, though rapidly deteriorating.
PAINTINGS They are mentioned by Tonjola (1661), who
quotes the various inscriptions which accompanied them,[278] and by
Patin (1676), who speaks of the three walls of this hall as painted by
Holbein. After this all traces of them were gradually lost, damp and
neglect almost obliterating them. They were no longer visible in
1796, for Peter Ochs does not mention them in his description of the
Council Chamber.[279] Even Bock’s copy seems to have fallen to
pieces, and in the end the walls were covered with tapestry
hangings, and Holbein’s work was completely forgotten. In 1817,
however, when some repairs were carried out in the hall,
necessitating the removal of the tapestries, a few remaining traces
of the original work were discovered. On the fresco of “Charondas,”
on the north wall, the date 1521 was still legible. Seven fragments of
considerable size were saved, from the three paintings of
“Rehoboam,” “Curius Dentatus,” and “Zaleucus,” and small copies of
the chief remains were made in water-colours by Hieronymus Hess
for the art firm of Birmann, and these are now preserved in the
Basel Gallery (Nos. 328-332). From such inadequate materials as
these it is possible to obtain only a very general idea of the original
beauty of this great undertaking. It would be supposed that these
mural decorations, painted as they were on interior walls, would
have long outlived Holbein’s work of a similar nature on the exterior
façades of Hertenstein’s mansion and the House of the Dance,
whereas the contrary was the case, for in both the last-named
instances the paintings remained in fairly good condition until
comparatively modern times. This indicates that the cause of the
rapid destruction of the Town Hall decorations was not owing to
Holbein’s lack of knowledge of the proper methods of fresco
painting, but was due solely to bad building on the part of the
Council’s architect, and, later on, to neglect at the hands of the
authorities, who made no adequate attempt to preserve works which
added so great a distinction to their building.
The four chief subjects painted by Holbein in 1521-22 were—(1)
Charondas of Catanea, the law-giver of the city of the Thurii, who
had issued a decree forbidding the wearing of arms in the public
assembly under pain of death, but himself inadvertently broke the
law. Hurrying to the council chamber from a journey, he forgot to
leave his weapons behind him; and on attention being called to this
by one of his enemies, he immediately cried out, “By Zeus! the law
shall be master,” and ran himself through with his sword. (2)
Zaleucus of Locris, whose laws punished adultery by the loss of both
eyes. His only son was found guilty of this crime, but the people
begged him to show mercy, as the culprit was his heir, and their
future ruler. Zaleucus resisted their entreaties for a long time, but in
the end yielded to the extent of sacrificing one of his own eyes, and
ordering only one of his son’s to be removed, thus upholding the
majesty of the law. (3) Curius Dentatus, who, kneeling before his
fire, preparing his modest meal, sends away the ambassadors of the
Samnites, who have come with rich presents in order to persuade
him to take no part in the war against them. (4) Sapor, king of
Persia, who is making use of the body of the captive emperor
Valerian as a step from which to mount his horse. Between these
pictures were placed single figures of Christ, King David with the
harp, Justice, Wisdom, and Temperance. The remaining large
subjects, which were painted in 1530-31, were Rehoboam spurning
the Elders of Israel, Saul rebuked by Samuel, and possibly Hezekiah
breaking the Idols.
In the picture of “Charondas” the action takes place in a lofty hall,
its roof supported by richly-decorated columns, with long architraves
covered with bands of sculptured figures and medallions. Charondas
stands in front of the councillors in the act of plunging his sword into
his breast, as with uplifted eyes he calls the gods to witness that he
is prepared at all costs to uphold the laws. Some of the onlookers sit
spell-bound, too overcome with surprise and agitation to attempt to
stay his hand, while others are still disputing among themselves as
to the necessity or justice of so severe a punishment for so trivial a
fault. This is one of the frescoes which Hess copied in 1817,[280] and
the Basel Gallery also possesses a contemporary copy of Holbein’s
original design,[281] which was probably made by some pupil or
assistant attached to his own workshop. When the two are
compared, it becomes apparent that Holbein, when he came to paint
the subject upon the wall, added considerably to its length. Hess’s
copy is almost twice as long as it is high, and on either side three or
four figures have been added to the group of councillors which do
not appear in the copy of the first design, which is almost square in
its proportions, and corresponds in size with Holbein’s original design
for the “Sapor” subject.[282]
“THE BLINDING OF
In the “Zaleucus” the scene is laid in a great
ZALEUCUS” chamber with a large arched opening at one end,
through which can be seen the outer walls of the
palace and other Renaissance buildings illuminated by sunshine. The
blinding of the two men is depicted with great realism. The son falls
back in his chair, with open mouth and a look of terror on his face as
the executioner prepares to tear out his left eye. Opposite to him his
father, crowned, in princely robes, an aged man, with long silvery
beard, sits in his chair of state, placed in front of heavy tapestry
hangings, freely offering himself to the torture. Holbein has very
skilfully marked the contrast between the abject fear of the culprit,
who appears about to scream aloud, and the old man, who makes
ready to meet the sharp pain with dignified restraint, and only
displays his feelings in the way in which he grips the arms of his
throne. In the case of the son, the executioner, dressed in the body
armour of a Roman soldier, is using considerable violence; in that of
the father, he is first examining the eye with a lens in order that he
may remove it with as little pain as possible. This severe object-
lesson in the majesty of the law is witnessed by a great crowd of
spectators, all clad in togas, who regard the scene with contending
emotions of horror and compassion. Two fragments of the original
painting are still preserved at Basel—the head of Zaleucus (No. 331),
and that of one of the spectators (No. 332). Of this fresco also there
is a water-colour copy at Basel made by Hess from the almost
obliterated original,[283] and a sixteenth-century copy of Holbein’s
design for it.[284] In this case the two copies agree in their
proportions, and indicate that the painting was one of the smaller of
the chief subjects with which the room was decorated. According to
Dr. Ganz, three other old copies of this wall-painting exist, one by H.
R. Manuel in a private collection in France, one by J. Wentz, done in
1551, now in the Basel Collection, and the third in a glass painting of
1580.[285]
Of the picture of “Curius Dentatus” no record remains beyond the
water-colour copy made by Hess in 1817,[286] and a fragment of the
painting itself in a bad state of preservation, showing the heads of
the three foremost of the five Samnite ambassadors (No. 330) (Pl.
40 (2)).[287] From Hess’s copy it is to be gathered that this
composition must have been an exceptionally fine one, though one
of the smallest of the series. The characters are placed under an
open portico with round arches through which a wide expanse of
country is seen. There is a tall tree in the foreground, and in the
distance buildings and a bridge over a river, and a lofty mountain.
Curius, dressed in Roman armour, is kneeling in front of his open
hearth, cooking his evening repast, and looking round, without
rising, at the five ambassadors, who are attired in rich Renaissance
dress, and bear golden vessels and a large dish full of gold. Curius,
refusing their bribes, points to the turnips he is cooking, and
exclaims: “Malo hæc in fictilibus meis esse et aurum habentibus
imperare” (“I would rather have these in my pot and rule over those
who have gold”). These words were painted over the picture itself.
Each one of the larger compositions, as well as the single figures,
had similar painted inscriptions in Latin, and other admonitory
couplets were placed upon the walls, the text of all of them being
given by Tonjola in his Basilea Sepulta. The hall in which Curius is
receiving the Samnites fills the upper half of the fresco, and is
supported on masonry which occupies the lower half, in which is
seen the opening to a vaulted chamber or cellar, in front of which
stands an armed man, possibly intended to represent the messenger
of the Basel Town Council, as he is dressed in the black-and-white
armorial colours of the city, and wears a small badge with the city’s
coat of arms fastened to his shoulder. His right hand is raised to his
feathered hat as though he were about to salute the spectator. This
picture was intended to glorify republican simplicity, and may have
had reference also to the burning question of the “French pensions,”
which helped to bring about Jakob Meyer’s downfall.[288]
“SAPOR AND
Of the fourth picture, “Sapor and Valerian,” the
VALERIAN” only record remaining is the beautiful design at
Basel from Holbein’s own hand (Pl. 41).[289] The drawing is lightly
washed with water-colour, chiefly red in the faces and the brickwork
of the architectural background, and blue and grey in other parts.
This picture was one of the narrower ones, and the space was
crowded with figures. In the centre, the aged Emperor, crowned,
and with a long white beard, kneels on the ground resting on his
outspread hands, his body pressed down by the weight of Sapor,
who places one foot on his back as he prepares to mount his horse.
The latter, like all the other figures, is dressed in the costume of
Holbein’s own day, with a long sword and a gold chain across his
shoulders. The horse is held by a foot-soldier, in a blue cloak, who
looks over his shoulder towards the spectator. The space behind the
central group is filled with soldiers, mounted and on foot. The
knights, some of whom are in full armour, carry long lances over
their shoulders, which add to the effect of the scene, while the men
on foot hold aloft great pikes. The mounted knight near the centre,
with plumes all round his broad hat, is a noble and dignified figure,
and the drawing of Sapor’s horse is excellent. The procession comes
along the street from the right, and passes round the corner of the
building, which fills in the background, as in several of the earlier
“Cross-Bearing” pictures. This building, which is seen from an angle,
with deep arched arcading below and a row of windows above, is a
representation of the recently-finished Town Hall of Basel, within
which the wall-painting itself was placed, and the quaint building
next to it, with its battlemented cresting seen against the blue sky, is
to be found marked on Matthaeus Merian’s plan of the city (1615). It
was in reality separated by two other houses from the Rathaus, but
Holbein, attracted no doubt by its picturesqueness, has moved it
nearer. Over Sapor’s head is a large ribbon label inscribed “Sapor
Rex Persar,” and below the Emperor is written “Valerianus Imp.” On
either side are shown the pillars which divided the chief
compositions from each other; flat columns, the upper half covered
with carving of Renaissance design, and the lower with slabs of
coloured marbles and a circular medallion containing an antique
head such as is to be found in almost all Holbein’s architectural
drawings. An inscription at the foot, which runs, “Hans Conradt
Wolleb schanckts Mathis Holzwartenn,” gives the names of two
consecutive owners of this drawing. Wolleb, who was Magistrate of
Basel, died on September 9, 1571. On August 6th of that year the
Alsatian poet, Matthias Holzwart, permitted a performance of his
play, King Saul and the Shepherd David, to be given in the Basel
market-place, and Wolleb may have presented the drawing to him at
that time in recognition of the event. The same border also contains
the letters A.V.E. in a monogram, probably the initials of a third
owner of the design.[290]
Vol. I., Plate 41.

SAPOR AND VALERIAN
Design for one of the wall-paintings in the Basel Town Hall
Pen and water-colour drawing
Basel Gallery
COMPLETION OF
The five single figures in painted niches which
TWO OF THE filled in the smaller spaces on the walls had each
WALLS an appropriate inscription in Latin. The Basel
Gallery possesses copies of Holbein’s preliminary studies for each
one of them, which, like the similar copies of the Charondas and
Zaleucus designs, are drawn on paper made in Basel with a water-
mark which was not used after 1524, thus showing that they must
be contemporary, and, as already suggested, very possibly done by
some one in Holbein’s own studio.[291] Christ[292] is represented
holding a long tablet with the words: “Quod tibi non vis fieri alteri
non facias” (“What thou dost not wish to be done to thee, that do to
no other”). In the band of ornament at his feet is a small tablet with
the date 1523. King David[293] is shown with his harp, and a scroll
over his head with “Juste judicate filii hominum” (“Judge justly, ye
sons of men”). Justice,[294] crowned, stands beneath an open arch
behind a balustrade, with her balance at her feet. With her sword,
grasped in her right hand, and with the forefinger of her left, she is
pointing to a large tablet suspended from the top of the arch, which
contains the inscription: “O vos reigentes obliti privatorum publica
curate” (“O ye rulers, forget your private affairs, and care for those
of the public”). Wisdom[295] is shown in a shell-crowned niche. She
has a double face, and her long hair falls below her waist. In her left
hand she holds a torch, and in her right a book with the inscription,
“Inicium sapiencie timor domini” (“The fear of the Lord is the
beginning of wisdom”). A scroll over the torch bears the words,
“Experiri prius consilio quam armis prestat” (“It is better to try by
counsel than by arms”). Finally, Moderation[296] is represented as a
young woman with long, clinging garments, in the act of pouring
wine from a large vessel of blown glass into a small flagon. The
admonition in her case runs, “Qui sibi plus licere vult quam deceat
sue studet ruine” (“He who wishes to enjoy more than is his due,
acts to his own destruction”). Other inscriptions quoted by Tonjola
appear to refer to further paintings, possibly single figures only, of
which, however, no traces remain. The compositions on the “back
wall,” with subjects from the Old Testament, painted some eight
years afterwards, are described in a later chapter.[297]
While Holbein was carrying out the earlier paintings, the sculptor
Martin Lepzelter was also at work in the Council Chamber. He carved
two half-length figures of prophets and four coats of arms for the
pillars which supported the ceiling, for which he was paid eight Basel
pounds on August 3, 1521.[298]
When, on the 29th November 1522, on the Saturday before St.
Andrew’s Day, Holbein received a final payment of twenty-two Basel
pounds and ten shillings, which was the balance of the 120 gulden
he was to receive for the whole work, he had completed two walls of
the Council Chamber, and he felt that he had more than earned the
amount of his commission, although the back wall was still
untouched. He, therefore, made representations to the Council to
this effect, and they appear to have felt the justice of the claim, as
they could hardly have failed to do, when they saw in how brilliant a
manner the completed portion had been carried out. In
consequence, they agreed that he had fully earned the money, and
ordered the balance to be paid to him, deciding “to let the back wall
alone till further orders.”[299] In any case, as the winter had begun, it
would have been necessary to postpone the completion of the work
until the following spring, and, no doubt, it was the original intention
that Holbein should finish the room as soon as the season permitted.
For some reason, however, nothing was done in the matter until
after his return from his first visit to England. Possibly the Council
were too busily occupied in attempting to keep order in a city in
which the spread of the new opinions brought about by the
Reformation was already dividing the townsfolk into two separate
camps. In the spring of 1522, also, Basel was engaged in several
military enterprises, which would cause the Council to hesitate
before spending money upon such luxuries as art, which could be
dispensed with until times were less critical and the city’s affairs
more prosperous.
CHAPTER VII
DESIGNS FOR PAINTED GLASS AND OTHER STUDIES
Holbein’s work as a designer for the glass-painters—Eight panels of saints—The

“Prodigal Son”—The “Two Unicorns”—Designs with landsknechte at Berne,
Basel, Berlin, and Paris—Heraldic drawings for Erasmus and others—Designs
showing the influence of North German art—“Virgin and St. John”—The
“Annunciation”—“St. Elizabeth”—“Virgin and Child with kneeling donor”—The
great “Passion” series—Studies of costumes of Basel ladies—“St. Adrian”—
Studies from the nude—“A Fight”—Animals.
N addition to his commissions, both public and private,

for wall-paintings, Holbein was frequently employed in
the preparation of designs for artificers in more than
one branch of decorative art. The Amerbach Collection
is rich in works of this class, more particularly in designs
for glass windows. It must be remembered in studying these
“scheibenrisse” that they were intended for painted, and not for
stained, glass. The older method of employing translucent glass of
various tints, in which the colour is incorporated in the body of the
glass itself, so that the window depended for its beauty on its
transparency, had already become, in the Switzerland of Holbein’s
day, a little-practised and, in some districts, an almost forgotten art,
its place being taken by glass, usually white, on which the design
was painted in enamel colours and afterwards permanently fixed by
refiring. Such glass painting produced the effect of a semi-opaque
design on a translucent ground, and, beginning merely with a few
brown lines to indicate the features, or the patterns on a dress, it
had gradually developed, in Germany and Switzerland, into a
method of pictorial representation which imitated as closely as
possible a painted picture, and was, therefore, in marked contrast to
the older and more beautiful art, in which the great aim of the artist
was to produce a lovely effect of transparent colour. In the newer
method, which in reality was opposed to the true nature of the
medium employed, but which nevertheless became a thing of beauty
when designed by a master, small panels, as a rule, were used,
which were surrounded by plain white glass, so that they had the
appearance of little pictures set in the middle of a window. The
panels being small ones, and the subjects on them drawn on a small
scale, it was necessary that the panes should be placed near the
ground so that they could be properly seen, and this, again, made it
essential that the draughtsmanship should be as careful and delicate
as possible, design having usurped the place of colour. These glass
paintings were usually surrounded by a framework of a decorative
nature which divided them sharply from the plain glass around them,
and helped still more to produce the effect of a picture. The lines of
leadwork, which, in the older method, held the pieces of vari-
coloured glass together, were abandoned as much as possible, as
they naturally marred the delicate pictorial effect of the work, and
were sometimes confined to the boundary lines of the panel. Under
such conditions it was natural that the glass-workers should turn to
artists for their supply of designs, since accurate draughtsmanship
was now all-important.
Holbein, who was largely employed by the Basel glaziers and
glass-painters for this purpose, made the freest and finest use of this
new convention in the decoration of windows. The convention was,
no doubt, a wrong one, and in the end all but extinguished the older
and more beautiful art, but Holbein took it as he found it, and
brought to it all his mastery of design and purity of line, so that the
panels he produced were of great beauty and fine decorative effect.
In his day glass-painting was no longer confined to the services of
the Church, but was introduced into the windows of all private
houses of importance, usually in the form of single panes with the
householder’s coat of arms, or with sacred or profane subjects,
according to his tastes. Thus he had many opportunities of showing
his skill in this form of decoration, and he made use of a great
variety of subjects. In some instances, such as the “Passion” series
described below, the treatment is frankly pictorial, and the
decorative effect is confined to the framework of Renaissance
architecture within which the subject is set; but in others, and more
particularly those intended for the display of shields with armorial
bearings, the design becomes largely a decorative one, in which the
artist gives free play to his imagination and taste for ornamentation
in the Italian manner. Whatever the subject, however, each drawing
displays wonderfully free yet delicate draughtsmanship, skilful
arrangement of the design in the space to be filled, and
extraordinary facility of invention. The studies appear often to have
been made to the exact size of the panel they were to decorate,
and, as a rule, Holbein left the question of colour to the taste of the
glass-painter; in a few cases, however, he indicated it by the
addition of one or two slight tints. There can be little doubt that they
were carried out largely in that combination of pale yellow for the
higher lights and brown or grisaille for the darker portions and
shadows which was the customary practice in Switzerland at that
period, with touches of more positive colour here and there in the
dresses of the figures, the landscape backgrounds, and the coats of
arms. The designs are in most cases drawn with the reed pen and
washed with Indian ink.
Only two or three of these designs, of which
EIGHT PANELS OF
SAINTS some thirty or more are in existence, are dated,
and, with the exception of four or five made
during his sojourn in Lucerne,[300] they were all produced between
the years 1519 and 1525 or 1526. Among the earliest are eight
panels of Saints at Basel (Nos. 333-40),[301] which were designed in
pairs, and were to be placed side by side in the two divisions of a
single window, the architectural framework and background in which
the figures are set corresponding in almost all details in each pair of
designs, so that it is evident that they were intended to be seen
together, forming between them a complete picture. They were
probably produced for the decoration of some large hall, or the aisle
of a church. Two other drawings belonging to the same series are
contemporary copies after Holbein from the hand of some follower,
one of which bears the date 1520 and the coat of arms of the town
of Basel, proving that the designs were made, most probably
towards the close of 1519, shortly after his return from Lucerne.
They appear to have been done for the cloisters at Wettingen.
The first pair represent the Virgin standing with the Infant Jesus in
her arms,[302] in the left division, and some prince of the Church in
the robes of a bishop in the right.[303] This last figure has been
described as that of St. Pantalus, the patron saint of Basel, but there
is little resemblance in expression to the fine head of that bishop in
Holbein’s design for the organ shutters in the minster. Here the face
is full of arrogance, rather than piety, and the prelate bears himself
proudly as though conscious of his exalted position. His mitre and
ecclesiastical robes are richly embroidered and ornamented. A
marked peculiarity in the drawing of all the figures in this series is
their appearance of stumpiness, the legs being too short for the
bodies. A similar defect is to be noted in some of Holbein’s earlier
designs for book ornaments. In the case of these glass designs it
may have been that they were to be enlarged afterwards by the
glass-painter, and placed at some height from the floor, and that
Holbein, therefore, attempted foreshortening. This, however, is not
very probable, as all his designs for this purpose seem to have been
intended for small paintings, to be placed near the eye, and it is
much more likely that this characteristic of his figures was a fault,
also to be noticed in his earlier woodcut designs, of which he
afterwards broke himself. The two in question are placed in an
architectural setting of a somewhat fantastic design, with large open
arches through which an extensive mountainous landscape is seen.
Below the hills, on the right of the bishop, are the houses of a village
and a stone crucifix by the wayside, and on the left a torrent rushing
down a mountain gorge crowned with trees, and forming a large
waterfall under a bridge of one wide arch where the stream joins the
plain. The same landscape is continued in the background of the
panel of the Virgin and Child, the river wandering away through
another gorge among the hills on the left. This view is strongly
reminiscent of the St. Gotthard district and the Devil’s Bridge over
the Reuss, and affords some slight additional proof of Holbein’s
expedition across the Alps.[304]
A second pair represent St. Anna with the Virgin and Child, and St.
Barbara.[305] Here again the unusual shortness of the figures is very
apparent. St. Barbara, who is dressed in the rich costume of a Basel
lady of the sixteenth century, stands in the characteristic attitude,
with the upper part of her body bent backwards, and the heavy
dress held up in front by the hand, as is the case in each one of the
series of studies of ladies’ costumes by Holbein to be described later,
which thus appears to have been the customary habit of walking at
that time. The setting is less fantastic and elaborate than in the two
panels just described, and consists in each of an open arch
supported by pillars, with sculptured figures above the capitals.
Although the details of the ornamentation of the columns do not
exactly agree in the two designs, they are evidently a pair. On the
left-hand panel, as in the one on the same side in the preceding set,
there is an empty shield for a coat of arms, and the background is
also a mountainous landscape, though drawn in less detail. In the
design of St. Catherine,[306] which forms one of a pair with St. John
the Baptist, the background is almost entirely filled with a building
with pointed arches supported by short pillars, but on the left a
narrow strip of landscape is visible, with an archway or bridge across
a road with a building on the far side of it, and distant mountains
behind. The face of the saint is a very charming one, and her hair
falls in elaborate ringlets down her back, and is surmounted with a
jewelled crown. In the pair representing St. Andrew and St. Stephen,
Dr. Ganz recognises, in the arcading with flat pilasters and shallow
scallop-crowned niches in front of which the saints are standing, an
architectural motive taken from the cathedral of Como.[307] There is
no need to describe every figure in this series in detail, each one of
which wears a halo, a symbol of which Holbein afterwards made
very little use.
THE “PRODIGAL
Two other designs for painted glass in the
SON” WINDOW Basel Gallery are of about the same date as these
eight sheets with figures of saints, and were done
in the earlier years of his second Basel period, either in 1519 or
1520. One represents the “Prodigal Son,” and the other is an heraldic
device with two unicorns supporting a shield. The former is a very
effective design, in which the Prodigal Son is shown tending a herd
of swine (Pl. 42 (2)).[308] He strides along, barefooted, in ragged
clothes, through which his bare knees protrude, his long staff on his
shoulder, and his short sword grasped in his left hand. His head is
turned towards the spectator, and there is a look of misery and
despair on his face. The animals he is driving have come to a halt
round the trunk of a large oak tree which fills the greater part of the
left-hand side of the sheet, and is one of the most considerable
pieces of tree-drawing Holbein ever designed. Some of the pigs are
devouring the fallen acorns; others raise their snouts as though
expecting the food to drop from the branches into their mouths.
Their keeper, whose miserable thoughts are far away from his task,
unconsciously thrusts the end of his staff into the eye of one of the
herd. The background is a landscape of wide expanse, with a large
walled-in building with farm outhouses on the bank of a river in the
middle distance, and a range of mountains on the horizon. The
whole is surrounded by a simple framework consisting of a single
arch supported by pillars, with two nude sculptured figures in the
angle above the capitals. The rather weak and wavering line of the
flattened arch, and the similar hesitating double spiral which runs
round the pillars, together with the very simple ornamentation of
arch, capitals and bases, indicate that the design is quite an early
one, though the drawing of the figure and the accompanying
animals is excellent and full of character. An empty shield for a coat
of arms is placed in the right-hand corner against the column, and a
flat space is left below for an inscription.

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1.11 Attic red-ﬁgure krater fragment, Basel, Collection H. Cahn, inv.

3.3 Attic red-ﬁgure pelike, Madrid, Museo Arqueologico Nacional L157,

5.4 Attic white-ground lekythos, Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum 3746,

Fountains and ﬁctions

Pottery: the nature of the evidence

The state of the subject

Pots and literature

Figure 0.3 Attic red-ﬁgure cup, Brussels,

Setting the agenda

From the cradle . . .

enormous social signiﬁcance. A marriage was completed

groups, as on a chous in London, on which a

who are shown wearing high-waisted dresses

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Figure 1.10 Attic red-ﬁgure loutrophoros, Karlsruhe, Badisches Landesmuseum 69/78,

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All of these roles are specific to a

Child workers and child slaves

THE HOUSE OF THE DANCE AND THE WALL-PAINTINGS IN THE

Holbein as a mural decorator—The “Haus zum Tanz”—The “Dance of Peasants”

T this period of his life Holbein’s work was by no means

THE HOUSE OF THE

Vol. I., Plate 40.

1. STUDY FOR A PAINTED HOUSE FRONT WITH THE FIGURE OF A

Vol. I., Plate 41.

DESIGNS FOR PAINTED GLASS AND OTHER STUDIES

Holbein’s work as a designer for the glass-painters—Eight panels of saints—The

N addition to his commissions, both public and private,

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