In a previous post on the pyramidal Tomb of Cestius, we had
occasion to note that tombs could take a great variety of forms. The Tomb of Eurysaces, built c. 20 BC, is
another case in point. Like Cestius’
tomb, it seems to have been built to attract attention. Located just outside Rome at the intersection
of two roads, the Via Labicana and the Via Praenestina, it was hard to
miss. Later it was somewhat easier to
miss, dwarfed as it was by the grandiose double gateway built by Claudius c. AD
50, known today as the Porta Maggiore.
The
tomb had a number of unusual features. It
had a trapezoidal footprint to fit into the angle between the roads. Its profile was odd, too. On a high base and within two wide corner
pillars stood pairs of cylinders separated by a narrow central post. Dividing this lower register was a horizontal
member bearing an inscription. Above it
was the upper register, with three rows of large circular cavities framed by
wide pilasters. Above that, below the
cornice, a frieze. Then a roof of some
sort.
The monument was made of concrete faced with
travertine. The eastern faςade has not
been preserved, but a full-length marble portrait of a couple found nearby is
thought to belong to the tomb. A
reconstruction is shown to the right. Below
the relief of the couple is an epitaph of Atistia, Eurysaces’ wife: “Atistia
was my wife. She was a wonderful woman,
and the remains of her body are in this breadbasket."
The tomb becomes a bit less puzzling when one reads the other
inscriptions and looks at the frieze.
“This is the tomb of Marcus Vergilius Eurysaces, baker, contractor—it’s
obvious (apparet)!” Why was it obvious? For one thing, the frieze makes it clear that
Eurysaces was running a large baking operation: it shows in detail the whole
process: workers are depicted milling grain, sifting flour, mixing and kneading
dough, forming loaves, putting the loaves into the oven, stacking the baked
loaves in baskets, and weighing them in the presence of state officials. And the cylinders in the lower register? Kneading machines. And the large round cavities in upper
register? Again, kneading machines, this
time lying on their side, so that one could see the wooden paddles mounted on
metal shafts (traces of rust in square holes attest to the presence of the
metal mounts—we have evidence for such machines from Pompeii). So Eurysaces created a monument that
incorporated the tools of his trade and celebrated his success as the head of a
major baking enterprise. He calls
himself a redemptor—a contractor—and this
must mean that he was somehow working for the state, perhaps in connection with
the annona or grain dole (i.e., distributions
of food to the Roman people), or in connection with the Roman army.
Finally, a couple of caveats. A good number of controversies surround this
monument. What was Eurysaces’ place in
the social hierarchy? Was he an ex-slave,
as many contend? Should his tomb be
understood as an example of “freedman’s art?”
Lauren Hackforth Petersen questions that long-standing assumption and
argues against the elite/subelite dichotomy in art history generally. For her, Eurysaces presents himself first and foremost as “a
baker who fed Rome and as a Roman citizen himself.” See Lauren Hackworth Petersen, “The Baker,
His Tomb, His Wife, and Her Breadbasket: The Monument of Eurysaces in Rome,” The Art Bulletin 85/2 (2003) 230-257. Another point: not everyone agrees that “apparet” in the central inscription means “It’s obvious.” But if it does, we
may begin to see Eurysaces as a bit of a jokester. When he says that Atistia’s remains are in “this
breadbasket,” the breadbasket (panarium)
could refer to an urn in the shape of a panarium,
or it could be a witty reference to the whole tomb. Indeed, the whole monument has been seen as
an architectural witticism.
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