of course, fully adopted, and the monuments show interesting transitions
of thought. Jove became a single supreme deity, while the most of the
other chief gods were associated with the planets and the days of the
week—1 Sol, 2 Luna, 3 Mars, 4 Mercury, 5 Jupiter, 6 Venus, 7 Saturn.
This stage of thought is represented by the Jove and Giant Pillars
before described.
[Illustration:
FIG. 75.
]
On the fragment from Chesterford at the British Museum we have Mercury
with his wand, Jupiter with bearded face, and Venus with a mirror. These
figures can be completed by comparison with others. There is a relief of
Mercury at Gloucester. Another, illustrated by Espèrandieu, is of the
same sort; he seems always to have carried a pouch in his right hand
(Fig. 75). At the Goldsmiths’ Hall is a little altar having a relief of
Diana on the front, a group of sacrificial utensils on the back, and
simple reliefs of two trees on the returns. The figure is charming,
graceful and well proportioned. The pose and setting in the panel are
very similar to the soldier relief at Colchester, and I should date it
about the same time, A.D. 100-150. The figure is very like a small
bronze found near St. Paul’s, of which Allen gave an illustration; that
also held a bow, and with the lifted right hand took an arrow from the
quiver behind her shoulder. The objects carved on the back of the altar
are a table of offerings (compare the leg of a piece of furniture in
Leicester Museum), a jug and probably a dipper (Fig. 76). Archer, who
published etchings of the reliefs, thought he saw a hare here, but this
was a misreading of the obscure forms. This altar must have belonged to
some temple or shrine. As Dr. Haverfield says of a somewhat similar
relief of Diana found near Bath: “We need not doubt that passers-by
worshipped Diana of the Romans.”
[Illustration:
FIG. 76.
]
At the Guildhall is the upper part of a terra-cotta image of Ceres, and
fragments of a Hercules, perhaps from a tomb, were found at Ludgate in
1806. There are many small bronze figures in our museums—altogether
quite a Pantheon could be made up of images found in Britain, and these,
I feel, belong to us in a special way.
In the form of impersonations of the days, the seven gods might still be
available in a modern art language if we had sufficient sense to
construct such an Esperanto.[2]
Footnote 2:
I may say here that I have made some collections for a sort of
Art-language Dictionary, attempting to register such forms and symbols
as might be available for modern use, but I suppose nothing will come
of it.
The Roman impersonations of places and ideas are nearer to us than the
gods, and they indeed belong to universal poetry. Chief of these is
_Britannia_, the “Sacred Britain” of the inscriptions. This
impersonation was “revived” (we may truly say so in this case, for it
had life and reality in it) for our coins in the seventeenth century. It
is astonishing evidence of the paralysis of modern architectural thought
how little use has been made of this noble imagination which ultimately
derives from the gold and ivory Athene of Phidias, and yet is our very
own. A seated variant of the standing Athene was made to represent the
goddess Rome, and this in turn was the source of our _Britannia_. Next
in importance were the impersonations of cities, and every city and
station had a representative figure which stood for its spirit, its
genius, itself. Our French friends, in their images of the City of Paris
or of Strasbourg, still make use of the idea, but we have ceased to know
that a city is more than a congested area where landlords hire out what
they call houses. I wonder if London were given an image whether it
might not acquire a new sense of soul.
In the London Museum is a pretty and well-sculptured figure which is, I
think, a city impersonation and may be _Londinium_. It is one of two
sculptures in marble which seem to have been found about 1887, together
with a Mithraic relief, on the bank of the Walbrook. It was at first
identified as Fortune, but Dr. Haverfield objected that Fortune would
have been a female figure, and he suggested “_Bonus Eventus_, or a
genius”; at the London Museum it is entitled _Bonus Eventus_. It would
be hardly possible to bring forward any nearly similar figure with such
a designation; on the other hand, a genius of Rome having a striking
resemblance to our figure is one of the commonest types of the later
coinage. Our figure, a graceful youth, holds a great cornucopia against
his left shoulder and pours with his right hand a libation on an altar
from a patera; a serpent rising from the altar winds around his wrist;
by his left leg is the prow of a ship. He has two wreaths or collars
around his neck and is partially draped; his mantle seems to have fallen
from his head like a veil, and this suggests that he wore a mural crown
or a modius. Now the genius of the Roman people on the coins was
represented with a modius on his head, a horn of abundance in his left
hand, and a patera from which he pours, in his right. Such a figure
occurs on several coins which bear the Mint mark of London and the
legend _Genio Populi Romani_. It is quite possible that our statue may
be the genius of Londinium itself. It is known that our British Roman
towns had impersonations wearing mural crowns—a fragment of such a
figure has been found at Silchester. Our figure is clearly of the nature
of Fortune, and the impersonations of towns were their Fortunes. The
ship and the horn of plenty, piled up with fruits, corn and articles of
commerce, are especially appropriate for a busy port. I suggest that
this figure might, and should be, adopted as the impersonation and image
of the City of London.
I had already written this when I found a figure illustrated in Bruce’s
book on the Roman Wall, which is a close parallel to our figure. It was
found at Netherby, and is described thus: “The best piece of sculpture
belonging to this station represents the Genius of the Castrum wearing
the mural crown and engaged in the grateful task of pouring an offering
to the superior powers” (Fig. 77). The resemblance of this figure to
that in the London Museum proves, I think, that that is the genius of a
place, as does also the serpent which rises from the altar. An altar “To
the Genius Loci,” found at Chester, represented the genius holding a
cornucopia. Compare two altars figured by Lysons (_Reliq._, pl. lviii.)
of similar figures apparently male, each with patera, altar, snake and
cornucopia. Fig. 78 is one of those in the British Museum.)
[Illustration:
FIG. 77.
]
Wren, in an early design for the Monument, proposed that it should be
surmounted by a civic impersonation.
[Illustration:
FIG. 78.
]
In Roman days every place and almost every field had its _genius
loci_—an idea which we still timidly preserve as a “figure of speech.”
Many British inscriptions and sculptures relate to Silvanus, Rivers and
Fountains; to the Deities of the Fields of Britain (think of that now!),
to Nymphs of the Springs (think again of ours choked with tins and old
shoes), and to the God of Ways and Paths (perhaps such an image would do
some good at Liverpool Street and King’s Cross).
[Illustration:
FIG. 79.
]
The other marble sculpture found with the Genius is the torso of a river
god of a well-known type—and very well carved. The figure reclined
supported by his left arm; the right hand carried a long water reed
which rested against his right shoulder (Fig. 79). The head, with long
curling hair and beard, is in a tradition which derives from the Zeus of
Phidias, and the body had its prototype in the reclining figures of the
Parthenon pediments. Some reliefs of similar river gods occupy the
spandrels of the Arch of Constantine. Bruce illustrated a very similar
figure which represented the North Tyne (Fig. 80). We have every right
to assume that the torso in the London Museum may be called the Thames.
There is some reason, from the conditions of discovery, to think that
this figure and the Genius before described occupied places in a
Mithraic cell by the Walbrook. That a river impersonation and a genius
of locality should be so found together strengthens the evidence that
they represented London and Father Thames. Modern figures of the Thames
and other rivers existed in seventeenth-century London.
[Illustration:
FIG. 80.
]
_Mithras, etc._—At the London Museum is a Mithraic relief, rough and
small, but a valuable document. In the centre is Mithras and the bull,
surrounded by the circle of the Zodiac. “Outside in one upper corner the
Sun drives up his four-horse chariot, and in the other the Moon is
driving her car downwards. Beneath are two winged heads, probably
symbolising the Winds” (Haverfield). These heads are very well carved
and quite pretty; so are the Zodiac signs. This is one of many cases of
the similarity of monuments in London and at Trèves. On the celebrated
Igel monument is found another Zodiac, the signs of which (so far as
they exist) are practically identical with those on our stone. In the
spandrels are “heads of wind-gods, emblematic of the four cardinal
points.” These heads are winged like those on the London stone, and the
comparison allows us to be sure of the interpretation of the latter: the
rising Sun is East, the setting Moon is West, the bearded head is North,
and the youthful one South.
A small figure found in Bevis Marks, and now in the British Museum, is
usually identified as Atys. I have some doubt whether it was not rather
Silvanus; but it may be a grave monument, and for such a purpose a
figure of Atys would be appropriate. A small figure of Hercules at the
Guildhall was also probably, as before said, a tomb sculpture.
In the London Museum is another small sculpture, this time in relief, of
a figure seemingly in countryman’s costume, standing in a roughly-formed
niche or rock recess. By his side is some implement like a yoke, but I
cannot suggest any explanation. It has “character,” and I should like to
know what it means. It was found in Drury Lane.
[Illustration:
FIG. 81.
]
Bagford, in his letter to Hearne (1714), mentions a Janus head dug up at
St. Thomas Watering on the Dover Road by Bermondsey, also a glass urn at
Peckham, and several other Roman things at Blackheath. The Janus head
was about a foot and a half high, and seemed to have been fixed to a
square column or terminus. It was illustrated by Horsley. One of the two
faces was Jupiter Ammon with ram’s horns, the other was female.
I cannot here do more than mention the dozens of small bronzes, some of
high excellence, which have been found in London; doubtless most or all
of these were imported. Mr. Chaffers saw a beautiful bronze of an archer
with inlaid eyes of silver taken out of the mud in Queen Street,
Cheapside, in 1842. A pretty bronze relief of Hope was found in Thames
Street in 1840 (_V.C.H._). I must just refer to a delightful little
bronze Genius, found at Brandon, and now in the British Museum, which
holds a double horn of plenty. This, again, is probably a locality
genius. Many of the small clay lamps found in London have pretty reliefs
on them, such as a figure of Victory, a head of Luna (Fig. 81), a bird,
or an animal. Altogether we have quite a large gallery of classical
imagery of our own.
[Illustration:
FIG. 82.
]
_Ornament._—Carved decorations were for the most part rude and rapidly
cut, but they show some fresh thought and are very different from the
defunct details which now pass for “classic.” At the Guildhall is part
of a frieze of small scale (Fig. 62) which has running animals
alternating with trees. This suggestion of the forest was a popular
motive of the time, and is found frequently on our native-made Castor
pottery. Haverfield suggested that it might be a Celtic motive, but it
is found on Samian pottery, and Espèrandieu illustrates a similar frieze
of higher quality found at Mainz. All the Roman architectural carvings
found in Britain, it may again be said, very closely resemble works
found in Gaul, and especially at Trèves.
[Illustration:
FIG. 83.
]
[Illustration:
FIG. 84.
]
The wide pilaster at the Guildhall (Fig. 70), also mentioned before, has
a boldly designed relief of foliage arranged in a series of oval forms,
one over the other. The interior of each unit is filled by the leafage
being bent downwards. The same scheme occurs on a mosaic floor found in
Dorsetshire, now in the British Museum (Fig. 82). Fine Corinthian
capitals have been found at Cirencester and Bath; even in these we find
the spirit of experiment constantly at work. An example sketched at
Angers in France is given in Fig. 83. The most elegant piece of
architectural decoration executed in Britain, which is known to me, is a
frieze found at Bath, which is somewhat singular in bold freshness of
treatment (Fig. 84). Again, this can be explained by comparison with a
mosaic pattern. At first sight it seems an ordinary piece of scroll
work, but examination reveals that the alternate elements were complete
circles. This frieze is broken at a point which might seem to leave room
for a little doubt as to this, and my figure is slightly restored; but
the border of a mosaic floor found at Frampton furnishes us with a
complete example of the same treatment, and this excludes any doubt
(Fig. 85). Fig. 86 represents a more ordinary scroll frieze from
Chester, but even this is brightened by the little birds set in the
corner spaces. Fig. 87 is the soffit of a corona member from Bath, also
alive and inventive.
[Illustration:
FIG. 85.
]
[Illustration:
FIG. 86.
]
All this is very different from the “Roman style” of books and the
commentaries on Vitruvius. We may see in such provincial Roman works an
early stage of Romanesque art and even the beginnings of Gothic. Again,
the fragment of a column at the British Museum, carved over with a
lattice pattern having foliage in the interspaces, is particularly
interesting as an example of an “all-over” diaper pattern, and a
prototype of Romanesque carved shafts. At Trèves there are many examples
of much more elaborate diaper patterns of the same type. Such continuous
surface decorations speak rather of what was to be in the romance ages
than of the past of classical art. Even the series of acanthus leaves
arranged like tiles on the “roof” of the sarcophagus found at Haydon
Square shows adaptive invention and pleasure (that is what it comes to)
in the doing (Fig. 50).
If ever we awake to make use of our inheritance and set about civilising
London, we might yet gain something of value from the Roman sculptures
which have been discussed. A replica of the splendid head of Hadrian
might be joined on to a bronze cast from one of the figures of the
emperor in the British Museum and re-erected, resurrected, as a visible
symbol of the Roman age in Britain and London. Set on a tall pedestal,
it would make a noble monument. Copies of the Ludgate Hill Soldier and
of the “Signifer” at the Guildhall, we might place against each side,
and the reclining River God—the Thames—in front, with an enlargement of
the Genius Loci at the London Museum above it. Such a monument would be
something to tell the children about, and it might even move the
business men to occasional thoughts outside the fluctuations of stock.
[Illustration:
FIG. 87.
]
_Symbolism._—Romano-British sculpture was certainly not over-refined;
indeed, much of it was just the opposite. But ideas were embodied, and
many of the things had simple and poetic meanings. The power of making
impersonations is specially to be noted, whereby an image stood for a
thing as definitely as its name—Sun, Moon and Planets, Seasons, Winds
and Waters, Countries, Cities and localities, events and wishes.
Fragments of a set of reliefs of seasons found at Bath, represented by
nude boys carrying flowers, a reaping-hook, etc.; the winged heads of
Winds; and the rising and setting Sun of the Mithraic panel at the
London Museum talk a universal language.
Some study of the sepulchral monuments of Roman Britain gives many
indications of the thought of the time. The coming in of the coffin, and
then of the double coffin of lead and stone, suggests some concern as to
an awaking after the sleep of death. The lack of late funeral
inscriptions is another indication of transition. The old mythology was
softened and the characters were allegorised and reinterpreted in
harmony with the mystery cults. We have seen that the Jove and Giant
columns suggested triumph over evil. Mrs. Strong has dealt with this
subject in regard to continental monuments (_J.R.S._, 1911): “There is
frequent preoccupation as to survival on these tombstones.” The cult of
Atys was revived under Mithraism, as appears from “countless gravestones
... an expression of hope, of resurrection; so, too, his pine-cone must
be symbolical of the belief; there are numerous examples in
_Britannia_.” In the Roman corridor at the British Museum is a fragment
from the North of England, described as the upper part of a niche, which
can hardly be other than the top of a grave slab; on it are two peacocks
between three pine-cones. Peacocks were symbols of immortality. The
baskets of fruit carved on the Haydon Square tomb could only have one
meaning. Compare a Gaulish tomb illustrated by Espèrandieu (iii., No.
1789), on which is carved a peacock pecking at the fruit from such a
basket, which is upset towards it. The sepulchral banquet symbolises
some sort of paradise. In examples of these at Chester, we find birds
perched on festoons above the main subject, and we have found an example
of birds and festoons in London.
The group before mentioned of a lion seizing another animal was in some
way “apotropaic”—that is, it warded off evil influences like a horseshoe
on a door. At Colchester is a group of a sphinx having a skull between
its paws, which is much finer in style (compare Espèrandieu, No. 4675).
Probably there were similar tombs in London; in the British Museum is a
pretty little bone carving of such a sphinx.
A grave slab at Cirencester has a sphinx and two lions carved on it as
acroteria. A somewhat similar slab, found in the north by the Roman
wall, has two lions with skulls. A lead coffin of specially fine
workmanship, found at Sittingbourne, but doubtless made in London, now
shown at the British Museum, has pairs of lions guarding a vase (compare
Espèrandieu, 4715), and little medallions of the Gorgon’s head on it
(Fig. 152). The most important example of apotropaic sculpture in
Britain is the great Gorgon’s head in the pediment of the small
Corinthian temple found at Bath.
The apotropaic nature of this sculpture has not, I think, been brought
out. It has been explained as a symbol of Minerva, and the building has
been called the Temple of Minerva; but for this there is no evidence. (I
may say here that Lysons assigned to this building a fragment of an
inscription which mentions repairs, but I do not think that this
fragment should be separated from another which clearly belonged to a
second building. Since writing this, I find that Mr. Irvine had already
made a similar observation. Wonder has been expressed that this head
should be bearded, but this appears to be the Italian tradition.)
In any story of life in Roman London, some of the atmosphere of mixed
faiths and symbols suggested in Kingsley’s _Hypatia_ should appear.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
+CHAPTER VII+
THE MOSAICS
“Here is grandeur of form, dignity of character, and great breadth
of treatment which reminds me of the best Greek schools. Were I a
painter I should venture to enlarge upon the quality and
distribution of colour.”
—WESTMACOTT.
SOME screen appears to be set up between us and our Roman works of art.
Even the mosaics, which we might have supposed would have been
interesting—even fascinating—seem to be regarded as mere museum objects
and subjects for antiquarian tracts. So far as I know there is only one
book which considers them as a whole (Morgan’s _Romano-British
Mosaics_), and this is rather a full index than a discussion of their
artistic qualities. An excellent chapter in Ward’s _Roman Buildings_
should be mentioned. Even professional scholars apologise for them. Dr.
Haverfield wrote: “They have the look of work imitated from patterns
rather than of designs sketched by artists.”... “We admire them mainly,
I think, because they are old and expensive. Few Romano-British mosaics
are real works of art.”
Against such a judgment I will call three witnesses—Westmacott, the
sculptor, as above, William Morris, the master pattern designer, and Mr.
Alfred Powell. Morris says: “This splendid Roman scrollwork, though not
very beautiful in itself, is the parent of very beautiful things. It is
perhaps in the noble craft of mosaic that the foreshadowings of the new
art are best seen. There is a sign in them of the coming wave of the
great change which was to turn late Roman art, the last of the old, into
Byzantine art, the first of the new.” Mr. Powell, who repaired the
Orpheus Pavement at the Barton, Cirencester, and became thoroughly
acquainted with the powerfully-drawn animals on it, says: “These
creatures of the forest have been set out here in the tiny scraps of
coloured stone with an ease and mastery that is remarkable. There is
grace in their gesture that has seldom been reached in the art of even
the highest period of the life of a nation.” The Woodchester Orpheus
Pavement, which, judging from points of resemblance in design and
details (a horned and bearded griffin, for instance), must have been by
the same master, was a magnificent work, as, indeed, the fragment of its
splendid border in the British Museum is enough to show.
Completer lists of London mosaics than I can attempt here have been
given in other places (see Morgan’s _Romano-British Mosaics_, C. Roach
Smith’s _Roman London_, and _V.C.H._). Here and there all over the city
at depths of from about 8 ft. to 20 ft. pavements have been found
submerged by the rising levels of the ground. Scores have been noted,
many must have been destroyed without a record, and doubtless some yet
lie hidden to-day. In an old MS. Common-place Book I have is the
following note: “On Wed., Aug. 15, 1733, some bricklayers digging
foundations in Little St. Helen’s, Bishopsgate, discovered a Roman
pavement, which by ye inscription [?] had been laid about 1700 years
ago. It appeared a very beautiful prospect, being in mosaic working, the
tiles not above an inch square.”
[Illustration:
FIG. 88.
]
My purpose is to record a few fresh observations, to bring out by
grouping and comparison some general inferences and indications of date,
to evoke, if I could, some clear idea of the buildings to which such
things belonged, and to prepare the way for a full study of these
remarkable works.
_The Bacchus Mosaic._—The central panel and fragments of borders of this
mosaic are in the British Museum. A careful original drawing of the
whole is at the Society of Antiquaries, and an admirable engraving by
Fisher was published in 1804 (Fig. 88). It was found in 1803 under East
India House, Leadenhall Street. The patterned part of the pavement
occupied a square of about 11 ft., “the whole was environed by a margin
consisting of coarse red tesseræ an inch square traced to the extent of
5½ ft. on the N.W. side—[note that it and the building it occupied was
diagonal to the points of the compass]—but could not be followed
further. The room could not have been less than 22 ft. square; but was
_in all probability considerably larger_.”
[Illustration:
FIG. 89.
]
The central panel of Bacchus reclining on a Tiger, at the Museum, has
been restored and repolished. It may not now seem very attractive, but
it is most competent in the balance of the forms and the strong, even
fierce, drawing of the tiger; its bold eye, gleaming teeth, powerful
paws, and the baggy skin of the legs are wonderfully truthful (Fig. 89).
Notice that Bacchus carries a wine cup; this is the essential part of
the design of the mosaic which doubtless was the floor of the central
hall of an important house. The brighter coloured tesseræ are of
coloured glass.
[Illustration:
FIG. 90.
]