Altheim, Franz - History of Roman Religion

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A HISTORY OF

ROMAN RELIGION

by

FRANZ ALTHEIM

PROFESSOR OF CLASSICAL PHILOLOGY, U N I V E R S I T Y OF FRANKFURT-AM-MAIN J MEMBRO ORDINARIO D E L L ' INSTITUTO D I STUDI ETRUSCHI, FLORENCE ; HONORARY MEMBER OF PARTHENON, B U D A P E S T ; KORRESP. MITGLIED D E S

D E U T S C H E N ARCHIOL. INSTITUTS

Translated by

HAROLD MATTINGLY

M E T H U E N & C O . L T D . L O N D O N

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HAROLD MATTINGLY

in Dankbarkeit und Verehrung

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PREFACE

T

H E present volume represents an enlarged

edition of my book that appeared under the

same title in German. Of the sections added,

some have already been published in periodicals,

others appear now for the first time.

The German version on its publication met with

warm welcome and equally energetic opposition. I

see no occasion to withdraw my former views, but I

have called attention to contrary opinions, as far as

seemed feasible, in the notes. Among the expressions

of criticism, those of G. Rohde and H. J. Rose seem

to me the most valuable, both where they agree and

where they disagree with me ; a general reference to

them may be made at the outset.

I much regret that K. Kerenyi's Apollon (Vienna,

1937) and C. Koch's Der romische Jupiter

(Frank-furt-am-Main, 1937, see below, p. 240 f.) were not

out in time for me to use. Again, in the case of

A. Alfoldi's An I sis festival in Rome under the

Christian Emperors (Budapest and Leipzig, 1937), I

was unable to quote as fully as I could have wished.

In general, scant attention has been paid to the

religion of the post-Augustan age. I hope to return

in a special study to this field of immense promise,

which has so far been exclusively treated from the

angle of ruler-cult. M. Guarducci's paper in Studi e

Materiali di storia delle religioni 12, 25 f., is only known

to me from the review in the Amer. Journ. of Archaeo

logy 1937, pp. 130 ff.

The study of Italian rock-sculptures has in the last

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viii A HISTORY OF ROMAN RELIGION

year entered on entirely new paths. The researches

of A. von Salis (Sitz. Ber. Heidelb. Akad. 1937) have,

it is true, reinforced and extended what is said here

on the Novilara Stelai. But, on the other hand, the

present author himself (with E. Trautmann—Welt als

Geschichte, 3, 83 f.) has proposed a theory of the

rock-pictures of Val Camonica, which diverges appreciably

from the older theory, represented in this book.

E. S. G. Robinson, Deputy-Keeper of the Depart

ment of Coins and Medals in the British Museum, has

very kindly read through the whole book in proof

and contributed many valuable suggestions.

To Harold Mattingly, who has kindly undertaken

the task of translation, this book owes far more than

is ordinarily due to a translator. To him, then, be it

dedicated !

FRANZ ALTHEIM

Val Camonica, end of August, 1937

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-e

V T H E RELIGION OF THE AGE OF AUGUSTUS 369

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BOOK V THE EMPIRE

CHAP. PAGE I THE CAUSES OF THE GREATNESS OF ROME 411

I I THE FIRST TWO CENTURIES OF THE EMPIRE 433

III THE AGE OF THE SEVERI 455

IV THE E N D 466 NOTES 475 I N D E X TO SUBJECTS 541

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Booh I

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INTRODUCTION

T

HE title of this book is A History of Roman Religion, not Roman Religion or Religion and Cult of the

Romans, as G. Wissowa entitled his famous

epoch-making work.1 This implies that from the outset my theme is subject to a particular limitation. My business is not with what one might call the system of Roman religion— with the rich complex of all those conceptions that meet us in cult and saga, in the forms of the divine world and in the order to which their servants are submitted. What I am concerned to do is to assign to Roman religion its place in the historical development of Rome.

Any setting of limits within a living whole is arbitrary, but it is none the less necessary. It may only be demanded that the part delimited should be held together by its relation to a definite conception. A history of Roman religion, as a special subject of study, can only be orientated by a history of Rome in general. It can only be understood as a part of a coherent whole, which, regarded from another standpoint, presents itself to us as the history of Roman literature, of Roman art, of Roman law, and which, like every history, has its focus in the history of the state.

It is undeniable that the history of ancient religion invites us most urgently to regard it from this angle. Since the time that the religion which raises the claim to be the universal religion appeared on earth, a certain antagonism between religion and state has been unmistakable. The state, above all, the national state, strives to realize its par ticular ideas; the church, on the other hand, is from the outset directed towards a principle, which stands above all national barriers. This antagonism, which runs through all our Western history, is in ancient times absent. Till the appearance of Christianity the histories of states and religions

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r u n on parallel lines. Both are intimately connected and mutually condition their historical form.

I t was a h a p p y stroke, then, when Mommsen and Wissowa after him placed the state religion of Rome in t h e centre of their view and subordinated the private cults t o it. Here, if anywhere in this field, Mommsen revealed his eye for the essential. B u t whereas Mommsen, in this epoch, t h a t has first t o occupy us, t h e epoch of the early religion of Rome, k e p t his eyes fixed on t h e whole of Italy, his successor took a step which was bound t o lead t o the isolation of Rome from the rest, in which Rome is b y nature and history included. Wissowa, of set purpose, discarded more or less completely from his survey the religious history of t h e Italian peoples. I n this, too, some have wished t o see a lucky stroke. T h a t might be admitted as long as it was a case of establishing certain main factors and fundamental conceptions ; a sim plification of the problems with reference t o t h e special conditions of Rome might then appear an inevitable require ment. B u t every particular bears in itself the reference t o a general context. And so t h e history of Rome of necessity points beyond itself t o the history of ancient I t a l y and of the ancient Mediterranean as a whole.

If this principle has long been admitted, or rather has never been ultimately questioned, for political history, it m u s t equally hold good for t h e history of religion. T h a t t h e process of isolation undertaken b y Wissowa was only an artificial one, a n d could therefore only remain provisionally, should never have been lost from view. Patiently endured for decades, it is becoming intolerable a t a time when a comprehensive picture of Italian culture and history is begin ning t o rise before our eyes.

I t is t h e excavations undertaken on t h e grand scale in I t a l y , particularly in t h e years since the War, t h a t have given t o us again t h a t picture of a lost world. We are thinking less of t h e excavations which are still being zealously pursued' in Pompeii of the late Republic and early Empire, or those of Ostia, which have given us a new Pompeii, b u t this time on t h e scale of a great city. W h a t we have in view is another realm—the culture of all I t a l y before Rome and outside Rome.

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We must remind our readers in the first place of the wealth of new loiowledge which we owe t o the inexhaustible soil of Etruria. The excavations of Mengarelli in the cemetery of Caere, of Minto in Populonia, the discoveries of Giglioli in ancient Veii (including t h e remains of the famous Apollo group), in Falerii, Orvieto, Marsiliana d'Albegna—to name only a few-—are in the centre of t h e picture. B y t h e side of Etruria with its highly developed civilization, Sardinia has taken its place as a mighty riddle. I t is not yet possible to link it up t o the development of ancient Italy, b u t t h a t from here in particular important discoveries are still t o be expected will certainly prove true. A third great circle is represented b y the Oscan-Campanian civilization and, on the other side of the peninsula, by the Illyrian tribes of Apulia. With these is associated t h a t other Illyrian folk, the Veneti, where E s t e represents the centre of activity in excavation, and where in Comacchio we m a y presume to recognize the cemetery of the famous harbour founded by the Etruscans at Spina. I n immediate association with these we find t h e Novilara civilization and the Euganean pictures chiselled in the rock. Finally we must remember the untiring activity of t h a t prince of Italian excavators, Paolo Orsi. I t is through him t h a t not only hellenized Sicily and Magna Graecia, b u t also the native civilization of these regions has come within our field of vision.

H a n d in hand with the discoveries of archaeology has gone the research into t h e languages of ancient I t a l y and their monumental remains. I n the field of Oscan and Umbrian, it is true, there has been comparative inactivity, since first the foundations were laid b y t h e investigations of the young Mommsen and of Bucheler. Work has been more vigor

ously concentrated on t h e Etruscan language, starting with

the decisive researches of W. Schulze.2 Ligurian in North

west Italy, Sicel, the language of the Novilara inscriptions in Picenum, have given much material for research, b u t it is our knowledge above all of the Illyrian tongues of Italy, Messapian and Venetian, t h a t has in t h e last few years suc ceeded in registering a notable advance.

I t must be obvious t h a t with this resurrection of ancient Italy a wider frame is given us, in which Roman civilization

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must be set. I n the field of language and archaeology the a t t e m p t has already been long in progress, t o grasp t h e position of the Roman element in its relation t o the whole field. I t is here t h a t t h e history of R o m a n religion likewise m u s t begin.

Up t o now we have not got beyond first essays.3 The

starting-point as a rule has been from definite single subjects, deities or cult-institutions ; their peculiar character, their special form has formed the centre of discussion. But, while questions were being asked about them, the question of their provenance and origin was bound t o be asked simultaneously. The historical discussions did indeed remain linked to the single case in question and could, therefore, hint a t a general historical view rather t h a n actually lead u p t o it. W h a t was only given in fragments in those essays is t o be set in place now in a wider context.

There can be no question of anything b u t a n a t t e m p t . F o r a historical representation in the fuller sense the subject is not yet ripe. W h a t has appeared to me clear is given in the following chapters ; t h e y represent a series of studies or a summarization of such studies, published elsewhere. F u r t h e r t h a n this we cannot yet go. The wealth of conclu-. sions and problems t h a t of late have been pressing in upon us demands a new and systematic t r e a t m e n t of the whole field. Any a t t e m p t to write a history of Roman religion will for long remain provisional. This is peculiarly true of t h e following sketch, which must necessarily be restricted t o general indications.

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Chapter I

THE FORCES OF EARLY ITALIAN HISTORY (a) ITALY AS UNITY

T

O Italy, as to few other lands, it seems to have been granted to form a geographical unit. The sharp ness and definiteness of its frontiers makes us in voluntarily transfer the same conceptions to all else that concerns it. And yet when this much is said, we have really said very little about its interior form. It is just here that Italy is the land of supreme contrasts.

Strictly speaking, Italy shares no less in the subtropical zone than in the regions of eternal snow—nay, more, even within those limits deep differences confront one another within the narrowest bounds. Criss-crossed by canals and tributaries, bursting with lush vegetation and fruitful green ery, filled with a damp mist and fading into the dim twilight of the far horizon of the sea, the levels of Venetia spread before our eyes. It is indeed a whole world apart from the dry and dusty chalk plain of Apulia or from the scorched steppe of the sulphur region of Sicily. But to the north of Italy belongs no less the country of the Ligurian coast: a rocky fortress, withered brown, with hill-forts and cities, a niggardly vegetation, but full of a dazzling brilliance, which sharpens the farthest contours and lights up the sea far and wide in its silver blue.

Nor are contrasts of this kind restricted to a single field. The climate of Italy is subject to variations so sharp that the terebinths, which in the south count among the ever greens, in the farthest north shed their leaves in winter. The olive, which only meets you occasionally as you come in from the Alps, begins from Bologna and Florence to define more and more the character of the country; as you go farther, you meet to-day the fruits of tropical origin,

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oranges and lemons. Or t a k e the conformation of the land ;. here too the chains of t h e central range of mountains separate t h e east of t h e peninsula from the west, as well as p a r t of the east from the region flooded b y t h e P o ; t h a t region —the r u m p of Italy—forms in natural configuration no less t h a n in climate a region b y itself.

W h a t is t r u e of t h e land is no less t r u e of its inhabitants. I t is astonishing how m a n y are t h e peoples, who in t h e course of ages have established themselves here and there on the soil of Italy. Differing not only in origin and essence, b u t in t h e measure of their diffusion, t h e y have all left behind

t h e m their traces in one or other form. Greeks and Phoenir

cians, Celts and Etruscans, Arabs and Byzantines, Romanic peoples of t h e adjacent lands, one and all can claim a share in t h e history and population of Italy.

The great variety of racial stratification runs parallel t o t h e geographical distinctions. Taken together these two will explain why it has always needed a decided, clear and resolute will, t o unite all the peoples and districts of the peninsula. Only twice in the course of a long history has such an a t t e m p t led t o success, whilst such mighty person alities as Frederick t h e Second of Hohenstaufen have been doomed t o waste themselves in a vain striving t o reach t h a t end.

Y e t every consummation of political union has been far from being a violent event, or a violation of t h e natural circumstances of t h e case. R a t h e r has it always been felt as the crown and completion of a requirement suggested b y t h e very n a t u r e and history of t h e land. Such a feeling would be inexplicable, were it not t h a t , behind all differences and contrasts of the Italian realm, there has ever stood t h e reality of unity.

F r o m t h e political field t o those of geography and race this unity is expressed in a system of concentric circles. We m a y define t h e m as State, Civilization and N a t u r e . I n the first and innermost of these circles unity is certainly most palpably revealed. B u t t h e unity could n o t be so revealed, so experienced as something natural and right, if it were n o t already present in the other circles and in one way or another established within t h e m .

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I t has always been the case in I t a l y t h a t a consciousness of essential spiritual kinship has preceded the political union of the nation. Civilization does indeed point inward t o the state, b u t it also points to nature as the outermost of our concentric circles. All formations, all spiritual creations in this field always imply a resumption and further development of what was already indicated in the natural realm. Or, t o put it in other words, the unity of Italy in state and civiliza tion merely expresses t h a t other unity, which, despite all internal differences, is given by the sharpness and defmiteness of the geographical boundaries. We then come back t o t h e observation with which we began ; b u t now we can p u t it in the right light. Actually it is the sea, t o which the penin sula surrenders on three sides, t h a t makes the bounds of Italy. I n one hard closed line runs the rim of coast, seldom relaxing into bays or outlying islands. On the n o r t h t h e Alps form a natural wall, a boundary t h a t is not easily transgressed.

Thus the history of Italy, so far as it is conditioned b y natural conditions, is revealed as the clash of two opposite principles, alternately ousting and seeking to overcome one another. On the one side is an extensive differentiation of geography and state, on the other a striving after unity. Beginning with the closed bounds set by nature t o the peninsula, this striving is extended into civilization and state, so t h a t , within these natural bounds, civilized life presses towards unification, and this effort then finds expres sion in the forms of politics.

In opposition t o a widely accepted view we must emphasize the fact t h a t the motley variety, intermixture and confused stratification of a diversity of peoples does not represent merely the result of a period of decline, which delivered u p the land t o the grip of foreign nations. No, these distinctions appeared at the moment when the first light of history fell on Italy. I n the first half of t h e last millennium B.C. the racial classification is already as rich as imagination can conceive. If we t r y now to divide the peoples into groups, we meet in the first place the Indo-Germans of Italy, the foremost bearers of its history. The mass of these is formed by those tribes which we are accustomed t o call Italian in t h e

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narrower sense. In historic times this mass was divided into two linguistic groups, the Latin-Faliscan and the Umbro-Sabellian. While the former group h a d originally scant enough room allotted it, t h e territory of the other extended over a mighty range. F o r the former group t h e boundaries are drawn a t the north of L a t i u m and a little strip on t h e right bank of the Tiber a t t h e foot of Soracte ; t h e realm of the other ran from the marshes and from Picenum in t h e n o r t h t o t h e farthest south, and, a t some points, took in t h e whole breadth of the peninsula.

The dialects of this group are correspondingly distributed. Umbrian in the beginning of history was confined t o a small strip east of the Tiber from Ameria t o the heights of Perugia ; t o this we m u s t add Iguvium and p a r t of the Apennine range. Closely attached t o it were Picentine in t h e east—its member ship of this group has only quite recently been recognized x—

and in t h e south t h e long series of Sabellian middle dialects. B u t it was the Samnite stock t h a t succeeded in extending its range wider t h a n any other. The mountainous country south of Maiella as far as the east coast, Campania in t h e west, Lucania and B r u t t i u m all succumbed t o it in t u r n . About t h e middle of the t h i r d century B.C. none could vie with it in extension and territory.

The Samnites themselves retained t h e memory of the fact t h a t it was relatively late before t h e y gained possession of w h a t was later their territory. F r o m the Sabine country in the north, it is said, t h e y came, advancing in a series of thrusts. Before t h e y came, other tribes, like t h e m of Italian character, were settled in the south of the peninsula—the, Oenotrians and Oscans, the Ausonians and Italians. The last-named people dwelling in the south of B r u t t i u m , gave their name t o t h e whole country.

Despite this extensive division into peoples and dialects, we h a d become accustomed t o regard t h e m all as one coherent whole. F o r t h e early study of languages it was a settled principle t h a t the two groups of Latin-Faliscan and Umbro-Sabellian sprang from an original unity. True, they were already separate when t h e y migrated into the peninsula, a t dates succeeding one another. B u t behind t h e m lay, as we thought we could discern, a single original stock of ' first

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Italians ', whose home was placed to the north of the Alps. Just as this people subsequently broke up into t h e two groups, Latin-Faliscan and Umbro-Sabellian, so each of t h e m

[n its turn broke u p into its separate peoples. This process

of separation and independent growth of smaller units might be compared to t h e growth of a tree, which, springing from a single root, pushes out an ever increasingly delicate texture of branches.

This ' t r u n k theory ', in t h e degree in which it once reigned undisputed, has to-day become subject t o doubt and question. We had tried t o conceive the manifold requirements of linguistic development under far too rigid a f o r m ; we had, to our contentment, reduced it t o one single process. Through fission and repeated acts of fission, linguistic units were held to have arisen, which, no sooner had t h e y appeared, entered on an individual development, largely isolated from their neighbours. Their growth must have been like t h a t of cul tivated plants, under ideal conditions artificially contrived. Yet any one who had made himself familiar with the story of the growth of t h e Greek dialects based on t h e migrations

of peoples 2 or with the distribution, say, of the Romanic

tongues,3 could not fail t o realize how m a n y were the possi

bilities of mutual influence, of blending and successive strati fication, of continued operation of older forms under the cover of a later stage, with which one had t o reckon.

Not less rigid is this theory in a second respect. On the strength of a postulate t h a t was purely theoretical, all similarities in the two groups of Italic dialects were placed in an assumed age before history, all distinctions, on the other hand, in a later stage of development. B y this means one passed over, without really solving it, an unmistakable difficulty, which lies in t h e separation of original Italic from a common Italic stock of language—let alone the fact t h a t the implied supposition of an original Italic linguistic unity, present in the beginning, was scarcely encouraged b y a com parison with the development of other languages t h a t has t a k e n place in historic times. I t is not the unity, b u t the dialects t h a t appear everywhere in the beginning. The due time must arrive, the conditions must be ripe for the formation of a language t h a t embraces a multitude of peoples and

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a wide range of territory. Such a language is the result of a definite historical preparation, and, as such, is a deliberate creation, not a gift t h a t tumbles a t the outset into the lap of nations before they have earned it.

These general objections to the earlier reigning theory are reinforced by certain observations, which have been made in the vocabulary of the two groups of Italic dialects.4 I t is dis

tinctive of that vocabulary, that it is just the most important and decisive conceptions that receive two distinct sets of names. And this is true of words that appear not only in the group in question, but are characteristic both of it and of one or more other Indo-Germanic languages. Thus, for example, the Latins share their term for fire (ignis) with Lithuanian, Slavonic, and Old Indian, while the Umbro-Sabellian shares its term (*pur) with Greek, Armenian, and Tocharian; the same is true of the terms ' man ', ' people', ' water ', ' wall', ' god', and many more. These facts have been correctly interpreted as implying that both this distinction in the description of just those conceptions, which are usually of fundamental importance for the life and ideas of a people, and the age of this distinction must involve an original and fundamental contrast between the two groups, into which the Italic dialects fall.

There are other indications, which might seem to point in the same direction, for example, t h e linguistic connexions, from an early date, by which Latin-Faliscan and Umbro-Sabellian can be classed with t h e two great divisions of Celtic respectively, b u t we need not go into t h e m here. Enough t o say t h a t we to-day are more and more inclined t o the view t h a t in these groups of Italian languages there is no question of an original unity, b u t rather of peoples once separate and independent of one another. Severally t h e y loosed them selves from t h e Indo-Germanic complex and arrived in I t a l y a t different periods. Only in I t a l y is there a gradual approxi mation of one t o other, which, from about the beginning of historical times, led t o an ever increasing contact and inter-penetration.

We have discussed this point with some fullness, because it seems to us of decisive importance. For in it is already reflected in some measure t h e historical destiny of Italy in its contrasts of differentiation and unity. As everywhere in the realm of things Italian, so in the dialects are the most

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violent differences a t first contrasted. On the other hand, mutual interpenetration and a degree of unity as its result represent the end of a process, which gradually ripens towards historical expression. All the more important and far-reaching is the observation t h a t this process of slow unifica tion did n o t remain confined t o those dialects which we have

up to now discussed.

Beside the Italians in the narrower sense of t h e word the Illyrians play a privileged p a r t among the Indo-Germanic peoples of the peninsula. I t is only the very latest research that has t a u g h t us in some measure t o appreciate this. This people settled at m a n y points, especially on the east coast. But it only held its ground in continuous succession a t two. To the south settled the Iapygians and Messapians in the region of Otranto and in Apulia, in the north-east, which still bears their name, the Venetians. These two groups stand in marked linguistic opposition, b u t their common derivation from the Illyrian stock is still undisputed.

Now it is most remarkable t h a t certain developments of sound which are common t o the two groups of Italian dialects and have therefore always counted as primitive Italian phenomena, appear again among these Illyrian tribes. For example, the variation of the diphthong eu ^> ou meets us not only in Latin-Faliscan and Umbro-Sabellian, b u t also

among the Venetians and the Messapians.6 A second

variation, of similar importance for t h e Italians—the passage from aspirated ' media ' t o sonant ' tenues ' (dh ^>p, gh^> %,

h &c.)—has in Venetian a t any rate something t h a t partly

corresponds t o it.6

The fact, that of all the Illyrian peoples only those resident in Italy have shared, partially or completely, in these two forms of sound change, can only be explained on the assumption that the change in both cases has taken place on the spot, where all the languages in question stood together side by side—that is to say, in the peninsula of the Apennines.7 This must also imply that

we are dealing in each case not with a primitive, but with a common Italian change, which can have taken place at earliest at the beginning of the historical period. A welcome confirmation 8 of the

transition from eu to ou is supplied by the form Polouces, under which the Greek Polydeukes was taken over by the Latins towards the close of the sixth century. Likewise the change from

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deriva-tive eu to ou can only be understood on the assumption that this change of sound was still in full force at that period.9

But even more important than the exclusion of primitive Italian origin is the establishment of the fact that a development of sound could go beyond the Italians in the narrower sense and be carried over to the other Indo-Germans of the peninsula. I t is certain of the change from eu to ou, that it took place from the farthest north-east down to Apulia. I t extends, then, over the whole length of I t a l y ; only at its boundaries does it come to a pause.

But the replacement of aspirate ' media ' by soft spirants too is by no means restricted to the Italians or to them and the Venetians. It can be traced over the whole mainland and even farther south. Among the Sicels, who once occupied the east of the land that bears their name as well as a part of Bruttium, a

similar phenomenon appears.10 The common labours of R.

Thurneysen,11 V. Pisani,12 and A. V. Blumenthal1 3 on the one

surviving inscription in Sicel (Jacobsohn no. 79 from Centorbi) have succeeded in establishing a series of remarkable agreements with the Italian languages. Of decisive importance is the evidence of the form eredes, nom. pi. = Latin heredes.14. For, in any case,

whether it is to be assigned to a root *ghe(i) or *gher,1B the

Indo-Germanic aspirate ' media ' must have developed through %, h to pure psilosis. In the first stage of this development, i.e. in the stage x> h, the Sicel word would stand by the side of the Italian dialects. In the same context we may place the words MTQO. and AITVT] which are attested as Sicel. The former, which should correspond to Latin libra from 'Hidlira, had still, as has been brilliantly observed,16 the sound value *lipraf when taken over

into Greek; the silent spirant in the lack of an exact equivalent was rendered by T.1' Similar is the case of Ahvtj, which belongs

to the root *aidli- ' burn ' (Latin aedes, Greek al'fltu).18 This too

came to the Greeks as *Aipnd and the spirant was rendered by x. In this latter case it can be shown that the further course of linguistic development brought Sicel nearer to Latin. Li agree

ment with further observations,10 the name of the mountain,

Hesiod, Theog. 860, in contrast to the rest of the tradition, was

'Acdvrj. That Aetna is meant is shown by Eratosthenes.20

Further, there is no reason for explaining the form by ' inexact acquaintance ' with the Sicel name, as long as a satisfactory linguistic explanation can be given. As in Latin initial p be comes / , in agreement with Umbro-Sabellian, but medial p, in contrast to it, becomes b or d, so too here ; the change from

*aipna- Alxvrj to *aidnd- 'Aidvij exactly corresponds to Latin, in

which it is only in the company of r, before I and after u, v, that p becomes b, whereas in all other cases d appears.

Here we can find an excellent place for the Sicel form tebei. This is one of the surest results of the newly discovered

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inscrip-tion of Licodia Eubea,21 and shows that in Sicel, Indo-German bh

medially becomes b. In this Sicel is again associated with Latin, jn which the form was tibi (from Hebei) in contrast to Umbrian

tefe. We may note in conclusion that this result is suggested by

further observations : Sicel t.6.yx.hr\ = Latin falcula.22

Here again is revealed in t h e history of the languages of Italy a principle t h a t works against differentiation and separa tion into ever tinier parts and t h a t drives t h e m towards union. But we can trace it yet a step farther t h a n before. Hitherto, despite all differences of detail, we have always been dealing with languages t h a t were related by kinship to one another. It will now appear t h a t this does not represent a final boundary to the workings of this principle.

As yet we have not touched one group among the languages of Italy, t h a t of the pre-, non-Indo-Germanic population. Under this heading are comprised very diverse elements. - For Corsica and Sardinia remains of such an original popula

tion are generally assumed. Besides t h e m we m a y t a k e account of the Sicanians in t h e west of Sicily and of the Ligurians ; b u t u p t o now it has not been possible t o place them with certainty. I n the case of t h e former no clear evidence for their membership of the Iberian stock has yet

been produced.2 3 Of certain non-Indo-Germanic origin,

even if not parts of t h e original population, are two peoples, the provenance of which in t h e Aegean is still under dis cussion. For the Elymians,2 4 round E r y x and Segesta, this

seems to be proved b y their place-names, as also b y their main cult. The Aphrodite of E r y x is, we must suppose, t h e special form of the goddess of Asia Minor, planted b y immi grants on the dominating cliffs. The second race, the Eastern origin of which has since ancient times been asserted and denied with equal passion, is t h e Etruscans ; it is the only one in this series t o attain t o historical importance.

We will not inquire a t this point whether the Etruscan language has relatives and where they are t o be sought—in Asia Minor or elsewhere. We need only observe t h a t , despite its general divergence from Indo-German, contacts do occur in a number of individual points. This is particularly true of the Italian dialects, among which again Latin takes a

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one-sided one, b u t there seems t o have been a balance of give and take on b o t h sides.

How vigorous was the exchange is shown not only by the number of loan words, but still more by the mixed formations that occur.36

The name of the Etruscan national hero, Mastarna, for example, was formed out of a Latin word, only superficially adapted (Etruscan macslrna — Latin magister with Etruscan suffix -na).vt

From the Latin loan-word parla (from *paterla) comes Etruscan

parliu ' cook \2 8 Again, the month lunius, called after the Latin

goddess Juno, shows Etruscan influence in its form, replacing regular Junonius or Junonalis.29

This mutual influence and penetration is seen far more clearly in the system of Italian names.30 I t is characterized by the

differentiation of individual name (praenomen), chief name

{nomen) and surname {cognomen). For the first Latin became

very generally normative even within the Etruscan sphere,31 but

for the last Etruscan supplied the model. I t appeared there far earlier than with the Italians aud served to distinguish different branches of one gens. Common to both languages is the main or* gentile name, which originally gave expression to descent from a father or ancestor; in becoming the most important element it involved the degradation of the individual name to the rank of a mere 'praenomen. We can observe, not merely that the descend ants of a man with Etruscan individual name are designated by Etruscan suffixes, those of a man with Italian name by Italian, but also that from the very first there was exchange between the two parties. As in this kind of name-formation a single suffix is usually insufficient and a heaping up and agglomeration of suffixes is characteristic, we can establish the most diverse variations of Etruscan and Italian elements. Here is the proof that a severe separation of the languages is not feasible. Both peoples, Etrus cans and Italians, have formed their system by what was essentially a common effort.

W i t h this bringing in of Etruscan t h e process of con formation and unification in the Italian languages reached its highest point of efficiency. Actually, almost the whole extent of the peninsula is in one way or another embraced b y it. The u n i t y of Italy, present b u t as yet latent, begins t o be drawn in its first outlines.

We have now reached the point where the purely linguistic survey leads beyond its narrower boundaries. The working out of t h a t system of names, which we call Etruscan, b u t ought rather t o call Italian, and no less its successful extension and completion imply as bearer a unified social stratum.

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■They are conditioned by a supremacy of gentes, by an aristo cratic organization of society. The gentile name could only attain to such a degree of importance, if great stress was laid on membership of the gens. So too in the Middle Ages t h e family name was first developed in those places where noble families played a part, in the Italian city republics and in Byzantium.32 So too in ancient I t a l y a mass of such gentes

may have felt itself a higher class, of common character and origin, and such a feeling might find expression in a closed form of life and custom. I n earliest Rome, it seems, we can

still in some degree grasp this as a fact.33 Noble gentes

from abroad with their whole body of adherents were t a k e n over without question into the R o m a n citizen-body, and were granted the social position t h a t matched their origin. Besides the Tarquins we m a y mention the Claudii, whose settlement jn Rome is placed b y tradition in the earliest days of the Republic. Only in later times did Rome pass t o a less open-hearted policy.

These last observations have brought us t o the discussion of general conditions of culture. I t will be no unwelcome completion of our argument if here too we can demonstrate phenomena of a similar kind.

Once again, it is not the case t h a t Rome and t h e R o m a n unification of Italy first gave it a unified surface. True, it was only with t h e m t h a t this unifying process became com plete, t h a t it was most lastingly carried through. B u t before it went another similar process, t h a t embraced t h e land from Upper I t a l y as far as Campania, and even as far as Samnium and Apulia. The s t r a t u m thus produced is

commonly called Etruscan, b u t t h a t name obscures its supra-tribal character ; we shall therefore in future call it ' ancient I t a l i a n ' . B u t even this was not t h e first of its kind. I t had its forerunner in those very times, when t h e tribes of the peninsula were preparing t o step out of the twilight of prehistory into the light of history.

Italy b y herself in the early Iron Age seems t o offer any

thing but a simple and obvious picture.3 4 The conception

of successive incursions of immigrant bands of Indo-Germanic tribes has been replaced b y the recognition t h a t m a n y divergent groups coexist and clash. No inconsiderable r61e

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18 A HISTORY OF ROMAN RELIGION

beside the ' Terramare ' people, up to now classed as Indo-German, must be assigned to the certainly non-Indo-Ger-manic, aboriginal element (the ' Extraterramaricoli'). The still unsolved problem of the origin of the Etruscans also comes into play; they were certainly already settled in the land that bears their name.36 All the more remarkable is it that the circle of Villanova culture, which spreads from the beginning of the first millennium, embraces at one and the same time Emilia, Toscana and Latium. The distinctions of district are by no means lost, but the development of a unified culture—the first to arise in Italy—may still be recognized as the new and salient feature.36

Two further peculiarities enable us to draw our picture with even clearer lines.

The first is, that the Villanova culture shows a very marked contrast to its predecessors in time and place. Its settle ments lack that rigid frame of circumvallation, that arrange ment by ' cardo ' and ' decumanus ', that was so characteristic of the Terramare fortresses. In their place appears an open and loose method of settlement, which continues even when for security's sake they withdrew to the heights.37 The ornamentation of Villanova products is distinguished by its tendency towards breadth and richness, even towards excess, from the incomparably simpler forms of the Terramare finds, nor less from the pointed and abrupt pictures in which the art of the ' Extraterramaricoli' finds its expression.38 It is a new development, a changed style of art and life that becomes clearly visible in the Villanova Age.

Further, the emergence of the new element cannot be brought into causal connexion with any immigration from north to south.39 Not only the earliest appearance,40 but also the highest quality of the finds 41 always belongs to the south. We cannot, of course, rule out the possibility that wanderings and shiftings of population may have gone hand in hand with the emergence of the new culture. But this possibility is without decisive importance and an attribution to definite tribes or to historically authenticated movements of peoples has nowhere yet been convincingly achieved.42 We must venture for once (and, I imagine, the venture must not be confined to this one case) to make a fundamental

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proration of culture and peoples' wanderings 43 a n d t o

admit for t h e former a supra-tribal, general Italian character. -r this we shall find an i m p o r t a n t agreement with t h e linguistic conditions t h a t we have sketched; t h e results in the two fields mutually support and confirm one another.

(J) FORMS OP T H E ANCIENT M E D I T E R R A N E A N CIVILIZATION

The a t t e m p t has been made t o regard t h e beginning of the Middle Age as an incursion of tribes till t h e n on t h e periphery, and, in particular, of t h e Germans and Arabs, into what was t h e n t h e main sphere of culture, t h e lands round the Mediterranean. W i t h o u t doubt this represents an important p a r t of w h a t actually happened, inasmuch as a series of tribes, which had lived aloof from the great historical centres, then first came into lasting contact with t h e late antique civilization. For t h e early history of antiquity too this point of view proves fruitful. The immigrations of t h e Greek peoples from t h e north of the Balkans must undoubtedly he considered as a similar incursion into t h e Mediterranean centre. Beside m a n y less-developed cultures, which can only be grasped to-day in faint traces, in Asia Minor and in Crete, the new-comers were confronted by a world, in which the nature of t h e ancient Mediterranean lands had created for itself one of its most highly developed and most expressive forms.

The settlement, which t h e immigrants made with this world and in which t h e y passed through every possible phase, from war-like encounter t o adoption and absorption of it, implies t h a t no account of Greejk history can pass by ancient Crete. Not t h a t in Crete and its culture any part of Greek nationality or Greek character found expression—quite the reverse; rather t h a t Greece h a d t o come t o terms with this . unlike, this opposite world and in t h e course of this process

developed its proper form. I n fact, a comparison of early Greece with ancient Crete is better suited t h a n any other to throw up in contrast t h e special quality of the Greek.

Our last remark yields a result of fundamental importance : through contrast with a prehistoric culture a historical culture

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has been grasped in its individuality. The inferences to be drawn for Italy are obvious.

The immigration of the Italians, like t h a t of the Greeks, ■ implies an incursion of people of the periphery into the Mediterranean zone. There t h e y did not a t once meet the Greeks, b u t in the west too the Indo-Germanic stratum is preceded b y another, which belongs t o the old Mediterranean

circle.44 The chance of comparison, which we have suggested,

is t h u s confirmed. Once again the new element—in this case the rise of the historical culture of I t a l y and, above all, of Rome in conflict with the Greeks—can be set off against t h a t older layer as against a background.

For I t a l y indeed a further peculiarity comes into play. I n the Aegean, the new Hellenic culture took shape almost exclusively in contrast t o what it found there, occasionally adopting and using what was a t hand, b u t always giving it an original shape ; with t h e inhabitants of the Apennine peninsula, the process was b y no means so simple. Non-Indo-Germanic tribes of ancient Mediterranean origin suc ceeded in maintaining their individuality till far into historical times, in fact did not complete their development till then. And, w h a t is more, large parts of the Indo-Germans of Italy opened their hearts t o the old Mediterranean ways and long clung t o their forms. B u t more of this in our next chapter, As representatives of the old Mediterranean culture in the Italian sphere we can reckon Malta, Sardinia and the zone of the rock-sculptures, which we have still to sketch. When we mention t h e m in this context we mean t o say t h a t we have in all these cases t o deal with a world of forms, which a t the time of its fullest development, b y virtue of its special character, diverges from the Greek and takes r a n k with the ancient and early cultures of the Mediterranean basin. We deliberately restrict our survey to those regions which attained t o monumental and clearly distinct forms. Sardinia, in particular, has enjoyed the exceptional luck of being able to develop this form with as good as no interference. The inaccessibility of the interior long preserved Sardinian civil ization from the contact of Carthaginians, Greeks and Romans and, when the Romans took possession of the island, t h e y still found there this relic of an age long past.

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1. Malta. The island of Malta can only with some reserve be assigned t o t h e Italian sphere. J u s t as it naturally be longs to North Africa, so too are close parallels t o its artistic achievements found there ; 45 other indications point t o t h e

Balearic Isles or t o Spain,4 0 only a few t o Sicily or Apulia.47

jp0r all t h a t , t h e neolithic and cyprolithic culture of Malta

has always had an exceptional importance for t h e recognition of the character of t h e ancient Mediterranean world. We cannot, therefore, entirely omit it in this context. Without any attempt a t completeness we select a few traits, which seem to us t o deserve attention.

A word first about t h e representation of human beings. We all know t h a t series of women, usually seated, of limestone or clay, t h a t so clearly determines t h e picture of Maltese plastic art.48 I t is remarkable a t once t h a t only women

appear, nor less t h a t t h e y are usually shown undraped. I t is buxom, almost wanton forms t h a t meet our eyes ; t h e type of the ' f a t ' woman of t h e old stone age is everywhere

retained here, if not actually exaggerated.49 There are few

examples of t h e representation of t h e elementary physical nature of woman in such direct forms.

To the excessive development of t h e body—breast, belly, hips and buttocks—corresponds a heavy, earth-bound, sitting posture. I t is not without significance t h a t these women sometimes actually squat on t h e ground ; in their whole nature t h e y seem to be fettered t o t h e earth, t o be sprung from it and t h u s t o be a p a r t of it. Similar is t h e impression made by t h e representation of t h e famous ' sleep ing ' woman,B0 who this time is clad in a d r e s s ; there is in

it a complete abandonment, a dull prostration t h a t lends itself to comparison with t h e sitting posture.

Comparatively seldom appears t h e standing motif, and it is remarkable enough how it is treated. If t h e woman wears the dress, which we have met with in t h e 'sleeping ' figure, it may perhaps rest on all sides on t h e ground, like a heavy mass, laid about t h e body, assisting it t o a stability which it could hardly attain of itself.61 Or t h e figures are half stuck

in the block t h a t serves them as a s u p p o r t ; B2 sometimes,

to our feeling, sculpture in t h e round, plastic, and relief are not clearly distinguished.5 3 Only occasionally in t h e figures of

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naked women 64 does a free standing posture appear. The huge masses of flesh, which are piled on one another, only sustain themselves by their own gravity; there is nothing else to strain and hold them, but, where everything is crowded together or piled up motionlessly, sheer heaviness is exalted into a principle of stability.

Indeed it is volume as such that dominates. The limbs and members seem scarcely to free themselves from the mass of stone, the human figure still stays bound fast in the material. Like heavy, unformed blocks, hips and navel, rump and arms are piled one above another; it is no archi tectural system, only a massing of solid forms. As though drenched in a heavy lethargy, these features shape themselves but slowly and with hesitation into sensibility and life.85

In this natural, earthy, elemental world it is no accident that the woman takes the first place. The male is not really in place at all here ; seldom does he intrude and then only in his most primitive form—the phallus.86

With this picture that begins to unroll before us the archi tecture corresponds to perfection and enriches it with new traits. Its masterpieces are the buildings of Hal Saflieni and Tarxien, Hagiar Kim and Mnaidra, and the Gigantia works on Gozzo. In megalithic structure lies the original and unshaped, the massy and unorganized element already im plied. At the same time there is revealed a delight jn lasting materials, which would vie with Nature herself in indestructibility. As in the design so too in the ground • plan appears, as determinant, a wide expansiveness, a spatial contour, that causes the round to pass over into the oval. A regard for the axis is in so far present as two oval spaces are sometimes laid one above another in such a way that their longitudinal axes run parallel; these spaces are joined in the middle by a short passage, which widens above the top space into an apse.57 Beyond this, however, the formation of larger groupings is only achieved by mere juxtaposition and mutual accommodation,58 like those stereometric compositions, the arrangement of which we : found distinctive for the character of plastic art.

Most important of all is the fact that these buildings are one and all vaulted 59 and were partially situated

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under-ground ; Hal Saflieni actually has two underunder-ground storeys.6 0

I t is no sense of breadth or joy in light and sky, in distance and transpai'ency t h a t finds expression here ; it is t h e cave

that is t h e model.6 1 Narrowness and earthiness, darkness

and love of depth are t h e determining motifs. W i t h t h e depression, weight and shapelessness t h a t we have already noted, these elements join unasked in union.

The purpose of these buildings has not yet been certainly determined. Religious significance, in t h e most general sense, is attested b y t h e altars, basins, sacrificial trenches,

and niches 62 t h a t have been found, by the menhirs and

baetyls.6 3 The underground cave of H a l Saflieni was used

from the first as a place of burial. Connexions with the ancient Sardinian graves of Anghelu Ruju force themselves on our attention.6 4 I n cyprolithic and aenolithic times the

sanctuary of H a l Tarxien was used for the deposit of urns, containing t h e ashes of the dead.6 6 Whether the rest of t h e

buildings were used in earlier times as graves, in which t h e corpses were laid u n b u r n t ,6 6 is uncertain. A chthonic cult,

whatever its exact character, is everywhere unmistakable 67

and with this harmonizes the view t h a t m a n y of the female statues represent a goddess,6 8 and also t h e supposed appear

ance of a place of oracle.69 The strongest and mightiest

buildings, then, t h a t this ancient civilization has produced, were raised for the dead and the nether gods ; t h e y stand in striking contrast t o the slighter, ephemeral character, which we usually find in the dwellings of the living.70 I t was towards

the other world, t h e powers of the earth and the underworld that this civilization was directed; for t h e m and for t h e m alone did they build a sure house and succeed in raising it to monumental forms.

Finally there should follow a reference t o the tower-build ings of Malta.71 B u t more vital observations on these lines

may be made in connexion with t h e Sardinian Nuraghi. 2. Sardinia. Our last remark has brought us t o t h e second sphere of ancient Mediterranean civilization, with which we have to deal. I n Sardinia t h e country itself seems a t once to strike t h e note, which rang so loudly in our ears in t h e last section—it is a depressed, heavy, unformed land. I t has been justly observed t h a t its original connexion with

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the civilization of the land can still be realized. ' That trees and heaps of stones on this island of chthonic cults of water-deities and the dead throw the deepest blue shadows that I have ever seen in an ancient landscape may be no more than an observation of modern sensibility. But a characteristic ally chthonic tendency in the natural form of the island is unmistakable. The low, huddled, knotty trees on the stony plateau of Santa Vittoria di Serri chime in with the tone of that religion that has erected its chthonic sanctuary there.' These are the words of Kerenyi,72 speaking of a form of ancient Sardinian civilization, expressed and revealed in stone.

The most conspicuous sign of this culture is the Nuraghe. In essential form a round tower, built without mortar in concentric layers of stone, it represents a development of the ancient Mediterranean round house, fashioned for purposes of defence and carried up to the monumental scale.73 The use of the pointed vault looks in the same direction; 74 indeed, this defensive tower of stone, designed both for the residence and the fort of the members of a war-like aristocracy, is most suggestive for the early forms of civilization in the whole Mediterranean basin.

There is a second point that expresses perhaps even more clearly than these formal agreements the associations of the Nuraghe. We cannot fail to see in it the aiming at the massive, the overpowering, the superhuman. While the outer shape stresses the solid block, the defiant, the enduring, obvious importance is attached to the piling on one another of the mightiest possible rocks. Even the coarse and irregular order, that such a procedure involves, seems to be sought rather than avoided. The analogy of Malta offers itself unsought. From Malta it is not far to the ' Cyclopean ' style of the castles of Tiryns and Mycenae; 75 everywhere the measureless and shapeless is exalted into a principle.

The meaning of all this becomes clear the moment that we apply the comparison with the later architecture of Greece. Here we find two things that are new after all that had gone before. From now on man is to be the measure of things for the architectural disposition of space and masses. His physical proportions supply the scale ; only beginning with

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him and them is an architectural creation any longer pos sible. Even when it rises t o t h e monumental scale i t never trespasses beyond the sphere assigned t o it, b u t develops the human principle t o its highest scope and dignity. The second point is this ; t h e architecture of this character is separated from the realm of nature as a world of its own. In contrast t o nature's limitlessness rules here a fixed norm ; in contrast t o her incomprehensibility and mystery an order, transparent because it is t h e creation of t h e s p i r i t ; in con trast to her growth and decay t h e shaping element implied in deliberate adaptation.

How contrary t o this is all t h a t is revealed in t h e building style of the Mycenaean civilization and even more in the Nuraghe ! If the h u m a n element dominated in Greece, here rules the immensity of the gigantic and Cyclopean. If there a spiritual order found expression, t h a t deliberately draws away from the facts of mere nature, here we find competition with her products and her method. The piling up of stone masses and mighty blocks, t h e emphasizing of the unbroken majesty of the elementally material selects definite sides of nature and of natural existence; t o . t h e m as a goal it tries to direct its own buildings.7 6

By a similar set of contrasts we can sketch t h e position assignable t o the first stages of Sardinian plastic art. The finds of votive figures of bronze and clay yield a relatively rich ' material."

We have already spoken of t h e solid pictures of which the plastic art of ancient Malta is composed. A similar character may be sought in a wider and more imposing form in other parts of t h e Mediterranean sphere. For all pre-Greek, most of all perhaps for Egyptian art, a principle of formation holds good, which some have even ventured t o describe b y t h e name

of l a w ;7 8 sculpture in the round appears as if regularly

confined within a system of limiting planes t h a t surround it. In detail it is so arranged t h a t these all r u n parallel t o t h e main plane t h a t is shown in frontal view or else meet it a t right angles. The result is a building u p of t h e figure from outside, from the surfaces t h a t surround it and include it within a cubic system.

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t h e minor plastic a r t of Sardinia and t h e productions of ancient, Oriental art, as well as those of others t h a t are geographically nearer t o it. We shall scarcely be wrong in admitting very considerable differences in quality and form (in t h e sense for mass, for example). F o r all t h a t , there seems t o be assur ance t h a t the principle we have just sketched extends t o Sardinia too.

I t is obvious a t once t h a t a main plane is sought after and is set in direct view before t h e spectator. I n the case of the statuette of a warrior in Paris 79 (to t a k e a single example)

this plane is determined by t h e level of the shield, which is held in front of the body. Parallel t o it runs t h e front plane of the body, formed b y the flat, almost board-like trunk, by head, upper a r m and front of the legs. B u t from the sides everything is done t o set t h e neighbouring parts in a single plane. The body is here determined b y a plane t h a t descends almost vertically; running from shoulder t o feet it meets a t right angles t h e main plane t h a t we have just sketched. This system is further worked out in t h e formation of groups. I n the common representation of a mother with a child in her bosom t h e principle is carried so far t h a t the two are arranged a t right angles t o each other ; while t h e mother looks straight ahead, the child t u r n s sideways from the main line of direction. I n this point, agreement with Egyptian a r t is so strong t h a t we can even point out identical solutions

of problems now and again.80

I n its inner meaning another characteristic of Sardinian a r t is most intimately connected with this. I n it is revealed an amazing contrast between an outward form t h a t is supremely realistic and devoted t o all actual details and a lack of any kind of architectural or organizing element in the building u p of the group as a whole. I n the one case there is a n alert sense of observation and a communicativeness which registers every detail of clothing or a r m a m e n t ; in the other, there is an incompleteness of inner form, which cannot advance its fundamental conception of a h u m a n body beyond t h a t of a doll-like idol. The closest possible comparison seems t o be offered by t h e nearly contemporary, late Mycenaean art.8 1 T h a t art, too—in contrast t o minor plastic a r t in

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vigour of growth and expansion, for the bloom of the vegetable kingdom 8 2—while as interested as t h e Sardinian in all ex

ternals of clothing is confined t o a similar formal presentation of the body.

Here Greek art diverges with deliberate emphasis.8 3 Not

from the outside, whether by a system of planes or b y com munication of clothing and appendages, of weapons Or gestures, does it essay t o realize t h e human form ; it appre hends it rather as a system, held together b y a principle working outward from within. The organic growth of the plant and the architecture of the body t h a t depends on it are here the prevailing principles. The parts t h a t are of functional importance—breast and navel, muscles and joints-—as representatives of this principle, are often visualized with a clearness t h a t is deliberately exceptional. I t is not the outward appearance, b u t the inner form, whose mere expression the outer is, t h a t Greece strives t o apprehend in its significant connexion.

In a world, t h a t still lacks feeling for the architectural build of the h u m a n figure, the eldoQ noXvyvuw 84 is consequently

legitimate. The plastic a r t of ancient Sardinia,8 5 in availing

itself of this form of expression for the representation of heroic and divine beings, again takes its place b y the side of the art of the Aegean and of t h e ancient East. At its root lies a conception of the divine, which runs in an exactly opposite direction t o t h a t which later found its full expression in Greece. No, m a n and m a n alone is not the only fit form to express the godhead ; he is not even its measure and spiritual norm. Rather he remains b y his very nature fettered t o nature. This is particularly evident, when by the accumulation of attributes and limbs an advance beyond the narrower h u m a n sphere and with it the sense of the super natural and divine finds expression. T h a t luxuriance, even in its excess, still denotes a t bottom once more a natural, definitely vegetable process.

To this suspension of interest corresponds a general linking up of the divine idea with the elementary world, again comparable t o what we m a y observe in t h e Aegean circle. The worship of streams and waters, incubation, a general chthonic direction of the divine powers, and a t t h e same time

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a direction towards reproduction and the creation of life, finally animal shapes for the gods themselves-—-these are its most palpable signs.80 I t is significant t h a t the bull-god,

who meets us in Sardinia, is one of t h e commonest forms .to occur in t h e east of t h e Mediterranean.8 7 T h a t the

double-axe—to add a further point—appears beside him as a religious

emblem, simply confirms the connexion.88 Places of worship

on hills, too, can be attested in m a n y places. Giara di Serri

is a magnificent example ; we might also mention Orulu,89

where the comparison with t h e Canaanite practice,3 0 and

also with such a Cretan hill-worship as t h a t of Petsofa,0 1

forces itself on the attention.

Lastly, a word about the organization of society ; it, too, seems t o fit into the picture we have drawn.

We have already mentioned the connexion between Nuraghe and round house. This round house appears in Sardinia not only translated into monumental form, b u t also in its original shape. Here, in direct contrast t o the Nuraghe, an isolated appearance is avoided and the group is preferred. There are whole villages of huts, where the single buildings unite in a kind of scattered, yet huddled formation, t o make

swarm-like masses.9 2 The very word ' swarm ' seems to me

t o express the fact t h a t the multiplicity here, b y the manner in which it is inwardly combined, belongs t o the order of nature. This is seen even more clearly in another case. The round building, as such, has no meaning except as a whole based on and bounded by itself. If i t is t o be fitted into an inclusive order of architecture t h e difficulty a t once appears, t h a t such a building has no proper axis, i.e. no definite orientation. A t t e m p t s t o remedy this were made in various ways,9 3 b u t

t h e y remained isolated and were scarcely ever effective in t h e lay-out of larger structures. Where several round huts combine t o form a continuous and regular whole, regulation of axis is entirely dispensed with. We have already used the simile of a swarm ; a second simile, also drawn from nature, is now a p p r o p r i a t e : I mean, the combination of crystals or of a beehive. Hut-wall is fixed t o h u t - w a l l ; separation into individual compartments is abandoned and the result is a system of cells, which is only interrupted by

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In the East, too, we know of a similar phenomenon in the

hut-ums of Melos ; 95 some have even wished t o associate

with them the royal palaces of Crete.9 6 B u t in the latter case

the straight lines at once imply a difference, whilst a second difference is revealed, the moment t h a t we scrutinize the social basis of the Sardinian style of building.

The close union of the lodgements, the natural.combination

and associated growth of the .single round houses must have

something t o correspond t o t h e m in the order of the in habitants Avho chose this form. Among them, too, must have existed a close unity and we are probably justified in inferring that it must have been one t h a t rested like t h e m on a natural order, i.e. one dependent on blood-relationship. I n other words, living together in a web of cells means in architecture what organization b y families, brotherhoods, clans, and tribes

means in human society.97 The shape of the architecture

and the organization of society b o t h essentially coincide with the conditions of the life of nature.

3. The Cultures of the Rock Sculptures. Interest in the

drawings scratched on Italian rocks 98 has quite recently

been aroused b y t h e penetrating observation devoted t o the ' stelae ' of N o v i l a r a . " These are funereal stelae of sand stone, all coming from the narrow range of northern Picenum ; they are covered with drawings of figures, which are scratched, and inscriptions, which, b y way of contrast, are chiselled. Norden assigned these ' stelae ', with the whole of the culture of North Picenum, t o an aboriginal people of Italy. Con firmation of this view was seen b y him in the obvious antiquity of t h e finds,100 in the non-Indo-Germanic character of the

inscriptional t e x t s and in the relationship of the scratchings to ancient northern rock-pictures (Bohuslan, Schoonen, Ostergotland), which seemed to him t o show the same style.

Little as I a m disposed t o contest Norden's main thesis,1 0 1

I must still make considerable deductions from the assertions just quoted.

I t is no doubt true t h a t the representations of ships on the Novilara ' s t e l a e ' is distinct from those of the Dipylon vases,102 b u t they are n o t on t h a t account t o be associated

at once with the drawings of Bohuslan. The different length of the ships, the difference, sometimes complete, in t h e

(40)

general shape, above all the fact, overlooked b y Norden, t h a t t h e northern ro'ck-pictures do n o t strictly show ships a t all, b u t rafts 103—all these exclude any possibility of prov

ing agreement.

Further, the 'stelae' bear inscriptions in an alphabet derived from t h e Corinthian.1 0 1 We must, then, a t least raise the

question whether in t h e pictures too a Greek influence, direct or indirect, can be demonstrated. Norden, indeed, thought t h a t the contrast between figures and legend constituted the point of peculiar interest in the Picentine drawings ; ' t h a t in t h e m there falls on the mysterious darkness of prehistory the gleam of an event of first-class importance for t h e history of civilization, the inscription in Greek letters '. H e himself, however, has seen 105 t h a t t h e figure of a lion on the ' s t e l a ' of

F a n o has its prototype on Corinthian vases.106 F u r t h e r this

lion advances against the m a n seated t o his left, t o tear or devour him : this feature too is familiar t o us from Corinthian vases or their Etruscan imitations.1 0 7 So too the warrior on

the right has his forerunners in the early Corinthian style ; 108

Etruscan or Venetian designs 109 m a y have been the inter

mediaries. Finally, for the erotic scenes on the ' s t e l a ' of Pesaro we know correspondences in the sepulchral art of Etruria ; 110 t h a t such scenes should recur on t h e Picentine

grave-monuments should surprise us the less, as t h e obscene

so often recurs in the realm of death and the grave.1 1 1

We cannot aim at heaping u p further material. The important point is, t h a t Greek and Greek-Italian influences are already recognizable. I n Picenum, it is true, t h e y were subjected t o a peculiar change ; the fact remains t h a t t h e comparison with the ancient material from t h e n o r t h can no longer be carried through.

B u t in what points are we to recognize t h e native adapta tion ? I t is not hard to see t h a t behind these pictures lie compositions in strips, arranged one over another in archaic style. On the ' stela ' of F a n o three such strips are present, whilst on the ' stela ' of Pesaro fragments of these are still t o be seen everywhere—only t h a t t h e y are distributed caprici ously over t h e surface, without any relation t o one another.1 1 2

The maker has broken u p the form allotted t o him to suit his own alien sense of form, has adapted, or, if you will,,

Altheim, Franz - History of Roman Religion

A HISTORY OF

ROMAN RELIGION

by

FRANZ ALTHEIM

HAROLD MATTINGLY

in Dankbarkeit und Verehrung

PREFACE

T

H E present volume represents an enlarged

edition of my book that appeared under the

same title in German. Of the sections added,

some have already been published in periodicals,

others appear now for the first time.

The German version on its publication met with

warm welcome and equally energetic opposition. I

see no occasion to withdraw my former views, but I

have called attention to contrary opinions, as far as

seemed feasible, in the notes. Among the expressions

of criticism, those of G. Rohde and H. J. Rose seem

to me the most valuable, both where they agree and

where they disagree with me ; a general reference to

them may be made at the outset.

I much regret that K. Kerenyi's Apollon (Vienna,

1937) and C. Koch's Der romische Jupiter

(Frank-furt-am-Main, 1937, see below, p. 240 f.) were not

out in time for me to use. Again, in the case of

A. Alfoldi's An I sis festival in Rome under the

Christian Emperors (Budapest and Leipzig, 1937), I

was unable to quote as fully as I could have wished.

In general, scant attention has been paid to the

religion of the post-Augustan age. I hope to return

in a special study to this field of immense promise,

which has so far been exclusively treated from the

angle of ruler-cult. M. Guarducci's paper in Studi e

Materiali di storia delle religioni 12, 25 f., is only known

to me from the review in the Amer. Journ. of Archaeo­

logy 1937, pp. 130 ff.

The study of Italian rock-sculptures has in the last

year entered on entirely new paths. The researches

of A. von Salis (Sitz. Ber. Heidelb. Akad. 1937) have,

it is true, reinforced and extended what is said here

on the Novilara Stelai. But, on the other hand, the

present author himself (with E. Trautmann—Welt als

Geschichte, 3, 83 f.) has proposed a theory of the

rock-pictures of Val Camonica, which diverges appreciably

from the older theory, represented in this book.

E. S. G. Robinson, Deputy-Keeper of the Depart­

ment of Coins and Medals in the British Museum, has

very kindly read through the whole book in proof

and contributed many valuable suggestions.

To Harold Mattingly, who has kindly undertaken

the task of translation, this book owes far more than

is ordinarily due to a translator. To him, then, be it

dedicated !

FRANZ ALTHEIM

Val Camonica, end of August, 1937

CONTENTS

-e

Booh I

INTRODUCTION

T

T

to me from the review in the Amer. Journ. of Archaeo

E. S. G. Robinson, Deputy-Keeper of the Depart