Learned Couples and Their Child Prodigies

A well-known fragment of a sarcophagus in the Townley Collection of the British Museum shows a seated, reading figure, dressed in Greek citizen attire, together with Thalia, the Muse of comedy (fig. 144).^[3] As he reads, the right hand makes a gesture of speaking. Is he reciting verses, or is this gesture directed at the Muse? This is the same schema that had earlier been used to depict the famous poets and philosophers of the past engaged in their intellectual labors (cf fig. 74). Here, however, the reader is evidently a contemporary individual, as implied by the portrait features and the standard Late Antonine style of long beard and contemplative brow. The deceased is thus celebrated for one particular quality: his learning, or, more precisely, literary learning.

Although found in Rome, this sarcophagus was in fact produced at Dokimeion, a small town in distant Phrygia, which had a famous workshop producing column sarcophagi of the Asia Minor type. The portrait of the deceased was presumably added only after the export and sale of the sarcophagus in Rome, about A.D. 200. The same work-

Fig. 144
Man reading, with his Muse. Fragment of a sarcophagus from Asia Minor,
ca. A.D. 200. London, British Museum.

shop also had in its repertoire other scenes of the ordinary citizen engaged in intellectual pursuits. In such scenes the spouse often sits opposite. On a more modest sarcophagus from a local workshop and now in the museum at Konya in Turkey, a man holds a book roll in his left hand and raises the right in a gesture of instruction (fig. 145).^[4] Once again, as with the portraits in the ancient Greek manner, the stimulus for this imagery on sarcophagi came to Rome from the Greek East. But the imaginative adaptation of the new iconography by Roman workshops, as well as the steady increase in popularity of sarcophagi of this type into the late third century, especially the more modest ones, shows how easily the Roman patron was able to identify with the new visual imagery.^[5]

Fig. 145
Sarcophagus of a married couple, from Asia Minor. Ca. A.D. 200. Konya,
Museum.

The notion of "learning" had already been a popular theme on Roman relief sarcophagi of the Antonine period. But there it was a variety of mythological motifs, especially a gathering of the Muses, that expressed the idea in allegorical terms. The great innovation in the imagery of the column sarcophagi imported from Asia Minor was in the direct representation of the deceased as a man of intellectual pursuits in the real world of his own time. It is quite revealing, for example, that a motif like that of the Konya sarcophagus found a particularly receptive audience in Rome, celebrating as it does both the importance of family values and the dominant position of the pater-familias (though here in a new guise, as the learned teacher of literature or philosophy; fig. 146). But unlike the Asia Minor column sarcophagi, those made in Rome very seldom employ the motif of the contemplative man lost in thought. The Roman amateur intellectual prefers to show off his learning. In other words, in the Roman view, reading and study should be put to practical use. The writings of the ancients are an ever-present resource that can be pressed into service

Fig. 146
Sarcophagus with a married couple before a chorus of Muses. Ca. A.D. 260. Rome,
Vatican Museums.

at any time and transmitted to the next generation. This reflects the traditional Roman attitude toward the uses of Greek literature, though it does not rule out the possibility that the teacher with his right arm raised is directing the lesson to no one so much as himself.

On Roman "philosopher sarcophagi," husband and wife often appear as a couple, a row of Muses in the background, and, at least at first glance, they seem to enjoy equal status. For the first time, at long last, we find women accorded an integral role in the commemoration of the intellect. There is, nevertheless, a clear division of roles by gender, one that may be problematical to modern sensibilities. While the man reads or reflects on his reading (in either case holding a book roll), his wife usually plays a stringed instrument, though she too may occasionally hold a book. This is undoubtedly more than just an idealized image. In the highly ritualized practice of home entertainment, women surely did offer just such musical diversion. The "fine arts" were most appropriate to the ladies, just as in upper-class society in the fast century it was the ladies who sang or played the piano for the evening's

entertainment.^[6] In Rome, however, a woman's musical talents are always expressed by means of mythological allusion. That is, on the sarcophagi, women are included among the Muses. On the sarcophagi from Asia Minor, by contrast, the women appear in normal, everyday citizen dress. The Roman woman is thus differentiated from her mythical counterparts, who often appear in the background, only by her prominent position and her portrait. The analogy has a long tradition, going back to Plato, who called the poet Sappho the tenth Muse (Anth. Gr. 9.506).^[7] This mythical overlay means, however, that the wife, unlike her husband, is distanced from the real world. There is thus no immediate spiritual rapport between the married couple, as had been the case on the Asia Minor sarcophagi.

The Roman amateur intellectual is often accompanied by professional philosophers, characterized as such by their traditional Greek dress and accoutrements. But unlike the relationship of the Roman matron to the Muses, these Roman men, while they may be reading or teaching, never really belong to the circle of philosophers that surrounds them, nor do they as a rule communicate directly. Indeed, no matter how deeply they immerse themselves in their reading or how passionately they teach, they are still clearly marked off from the professional philosophers around them by their fashionably Roman hair and beard styles and by their Roman dress. That is, the Greek philosophers are understood as the advisers to the educated Roman, and their constant presence underlines how seriously the deceased had cultivated a philosophical way of life.

It has been recognized since the work of Marrou that the men depicted in this intellectual guise cannot actually be those who had devoted their professional lives to scholarship, teaching, or philosophy, as some of the more impressive sarcophagi had originally led scholars to believe. The considerable number of the so-called philosopher sarcophagi alone makes this idea unlikely. But seldom do we learn what their actual profession was, as we do, for example, in the case of the centurion L. Pullius Peregrinus, who was buried in an expensive sarcophagus about the year A.D. 250 (fig. 147).^[8]

This commander, a member of the equites who probably served in the Praetorian Guard in Rome, is surrounded by a lively group of

Fig. 147
Sarcophagus of the centurion L. Pullius Peregrinus and his wife. The centurion is shown
as a "wise man" with philosophers, his wife as a Muse. Ca. A.D. 250. Rome, Museo Torlonia.

philosophers engaged in discussion or solitary contemplation. They are evidently intended to represent six of the Seven Sages, with Peregrinus, the scholar-officer, Joining them as the seventh. Remarkably, all the wise men are depicted as itinerant Cynic philosophers. Their asceticism and self-sufficiency are evident in the coarse mantle, the only garment they wear over bodies toughened with age and hardship. The straggly beards and hair, indicating a lack of concern for physical appearance, the knotty staffs, traveling sacks, and the "Cynic's club" that we have seen before (fig. 143), as part of the statue of the so-called Heraclitus, all contribute to this impression. As we saw in the story of Apuleius' day in court, this "costume" was considered proof of a rigorously philosophical way of life. On our sarcophagus too, the unusual presentation of the six wise men must carry the same connotation: the officer admires these men and considers them his moral exemplars. Perhaps this may even explain the significance of his cognomen, Peregrinus ("Wandering Stranger").

This hardly means, of course, that Peregrinus actually imagined himself as an ascetic, contemptuous of the world, any more than the men depicted in comparable Antonine portraits. Indeed, his own hair and beard reflect the fashions of the day, and his finely draped, voluminous Greek mantle, the chiton underneath, and the sandals comprise a relatively substantial outfit.^[9] This rather comfortable look makes a good comparison with that of the statue of Poseidippus that was reworked about the middle of the first century B.C. (fig. 110). If we may trust Tertullian, a contemporary of Peregrinus, the latter's leisure outfit, as depicted here, is perfectly authentic. While the toga continued to be reserved for public activities and obligations, the mantle (pallium ), as the Christian apologist explains, marks the relaxed ambience of the home. At the same time, according to Tertullian, this was the garment that made professional intellectuals of all kinds recognizable in public (De pallio 6.2).

On the surface, it seems not much has changed since the rituals of otium played out in the villas of the Late Republic. The difference is that for Peregrinus learning is no longer a casual occupation for his leisure hours, but rather, as implied by the presence of his ascetic philosopher friends, a means to his goal of a philosophically oriented lifestyle.^[10] The evocation of the Seven Sages need not surprise us. Their wise sayings probably served Peregrinus as a valuable guide to life, just as did the rules of behavior taught by the philosophers. Philosophy is here understood as the art of life, as we find it also in the Meditations of the emperor Marcus Aurelius. This included the ideal of asceticism, however it might be practiced (cf. p. 242). Thus the men surrounding Peregrinus, characterized as wandering Cynic philosophers, may convey the same basic idea as the unkempt and filthy hair of an Apuleius and his cronies, that is, a declaration of loyalty to a rigorously philosophical way of life. Borrowing from an analogous Christian practice, one could speak here of a "philosophical succession."^[11]

Meanwhile, Peregrinus' wife, in the context of his grandiose funerary rhetoric, enjoys the accustomed likeness to a Muse, but in a carefully chosen manner. She is immortalized in the pose of Polyhymnia, and, instead of joining her sisters in the background, she is positioned

Fig. 148
Sarcophagus with dual representation of the head of the family. Ca. A.D. 240. Rome,
Vatican Museums.

directly opposite her husband. This confers an added dimension on the conventional Muse comparison, as the wife takes on the role of her husband's personal Muse. The traditional grouping of a poet or philosopher and the Muse who inspires him (cf. figs. 74, 144) is here assimilated to the notion of marital concordia in the shared service of the Muses. Following her own death, the wife would have her portrait carved in the style of the period, so the sculptor has left her head incompletely worked.

The intellectual and musical activities portrayed on these sarcophagi are generally tied to a familial setting. On one of the big, impressive sarcophagi in the Belvedere of the Vatican, a family man, whose portrait could easily be mistaken for that of the emperor Pupienus (A.D. 238), is shown along with his wife and several daughters (the scene continues onto the short sides), who constitute the chorus of Muses.^[12] Remarkably, the father appears twice, both times in the guise of the intellectual (fig. 148). It is unlikely that such a striking

repetition was done only for the sake of symmetry. Presumably the two slightly different images are intended to divide the praise of learning into two categories, the philosophical and the rhetorical, as we have already noted in the case of the burial chamber of C. Valerius Hermia under St. Peter's (cf. fig. 139). On our sarcophagus, the deceased is portrayed in the left-hand scene with the mantle wrapped tightly, thus enveloping the right arm in the Classical manner. Even here, well into the High Empire, this pose could still connote an orator, even if that hardly suits the domestic setting. On the right side, by contrast, he is depicted as a teacher. The conception of learning is once again meant to be as all-embracing as possible.

The praise of education is often extended to the children as well, especially to the boys. Just as the little boys on mythological sarcophagi may be shown in the role of keen hunters, to signal their future virtus, so elsewhere the parents commemorate their precocious little scholar, particularly in the guise of the passionate orator. On a child sarcophagus in the Vatican, for example, a boy lectures to a group of his playmates decked out in the attributes of the Muses (fig. 149).^[13] The conventional relationship of the Muses to the man of learning is here both elaborated and turned upside down. It is not the Muses who inspire the little professor, but the other way 'round. Clio records the precious words of the wunderkind. But in order to make the scene halfway plausible, the artist has transformed the Muses into little contemporaries of the deceased. The serious purpose of commemorating the dead still admits an element of playfulness.

The same boy appears a second time, on the lid. He is accompanied now by his favorite puppy but otherwise is fully devoted to his studies. This apple of his parents' eye holds in one hand an open book roll (the hand with the book roll is a modern restoration). In front of him lies an open polyptych for taking copious notes. The motif of the precocious child intellectual, which we shall encounter again in connection with the iconography of Christ, is one that was popular throughout the Principate. But the numbers of both the carved scenes and the corresponding grave epigrams increase dramatically in the later third century.^[14]

Fig. 149
Sarcophagus of an intellectual wunderkind, who instructs the "Muses" in
the guise of boys his own age. Ca. A.D. 280. Rome, Vatican Museums.