Archaeological and Literary Etruscans: Constructions of Etruscan Identity in the First Century Bce

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ARCHAEOLOGICAL AND LITERARY ETRUSCANS: CONSTRUCTIONS OF ETRUSCAN IDENTITY IN THE FIRST CENTURY BCE

John B. Beeby

A dissertation submitted to the faculty at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Department of Classics in the College of Arts and Sciences.

Chapel Hill 2019

Approved by:

James B. Rives

Jennifer Gates-Foster

Luca Grillo

Carrie Murray

James O’Hara

ABSTRACT

John B. Beeby: Archaeological and Literary Etruscans: Constructions of Etruscan Identity in the First Century BCE (Under the direction of James B. Rives)

This dissertation examines the construction and negotiation of Etruscan ethnic identity in the first century BCE using both archaeological and literary evidence. Earlier scholars maintained that the first century BCE witnessed the final decline of Etruscan civilization, the demise of their language, the end of Etruscan history, and the disappearance of true Etruscan identity. They saw these changes as the result of Romanization, a one-sided and therefore simple process. This dissertation shows that the changes occurring in Etruria during the first century

BCE were instead complex and non-linear. Detailed analyses of both literary and archaeological evidence for Etruscans in the first century BCE show that there was a lively, ongoing discourse between and among Etruscans and non-Etruscans about the place of Etruscans in ancient society.

My method musters evidence from Late Etruscan family tombs of Perugia, Vergil’s Aeneid, and

Books 1-5 of Livy’s history.

Chapter 1 introduces the topic of ethnicity in general and as it relates specifically to the study of material remains and literary criticism. Chapter 2 explores the construction of a local

Perusine/Etruscan identity within the contexts of Late Etruscan family tomb environments that were in use during the first century BCE. Chapter 3 analyzes how Vergil breaks from literary traditions to elevate his Etruscan characters and create a new place for Etruscans in literature and

Roman history. Chapter 4 examines how Livy uses Etruscan characters and places to explore issues related to Roman identity, Roman values, and their development. Taken together, these

iii seemingly disparate, interdisciplinary case studies provide significant insight into the same phenomenon—the construction of Etruscan identity in the first century BCE. This dissertation also shows that in addressing broad questions of social and cultural history, archaeological and literary evidence can not only work well together but also work on par with each other.

In loving memory of Betty Beeby

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The unflagging help of many advisors, colleagues, friends, and family have made this project possible. James Rives deserves my gratitude for being the most patient, kind mentor, for reading and commenting on countless drafts of my work without fail—I could not have asked for a better advisor. My committee members, Jen Gates-Foster, Luca Grillo, Carrie Murray, and

James O’Hara gave me much constructive criticism and helpful advice. In addition to my appreciation for the generosity of these faculty members and many others at UNC and elsewhere,

I thank the Graduate School for providing me with a grant that helped me make significant progress on this dissertation.

I must also thank my fellow graduate students and the many friends I have made during my time in Chapel Hill. This experience was all the more pleasant because of them. My friends were so caring, always willing to lend an ear and to offer words of encouragement and moral support at various times and places over the years. So many people have helped me that I cannot possibly name them all, but they know who they are. Through it all, my immediate and extended family has never wavered in their love for me. My thanks go to Josie and Roy Ellison for everything over the years, to Jane and Salo Suwalsky for helping spark my love for Italy and

Classics, and to Leslie Lee for always believing in me. The greatest thanks I reserve for my parents, John and Kathleen Beeby.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LIST OF TABLES ...... ix

LIST OF FIGURES ...... x

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS ...... xii

CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTION ...... 1

Introduction ...... 1

Ethnicity and Archaeology ...... 7

Ethnicity in Literature ...... 22

Structure of Dissertation ...... 31

CHAPTER 2: ARCHAEOLOGICAL ETRUSCANS OF PERUGIA ...... 32

Introduction ...... 32

Perusine Funerary Practice in the Late Etruscan Period...... 40

Case Studies of Perusine Tomb Contexts ...... 45

Case Study 1: The Vlesi Family Tomb ...... 45

Case Study 2: The Rafi Family Tomb ...... 54

Case Study 3: The Cai Cutu Family Tomb ...... 68

Other Epigraphic Evidence from Perugia ...... 81

Conclusion ...... 84

CHAPTER 3: ETRUSCAN IDENTITY IN VERGIL’S AENEID ...... 88

Introduction ...... 88

Enter Mezentius...... 97

vii Vergil’s New Literary Etruscan ...... 103

Tarchon, Arruns and Traditional Etruscan Stereotypes...... 117

Etruscans in the First Half of the Aeneid ...... 120

CHAPTER 4: ETRUSCAN IDENTITY IN LIVY’S FIRST PENTAD ...... 130

Introduction ...... 130

Etruscans and the Beginnings of Rome ...... 139

Etruscan People ...... 143

Etruscan Places ...... 165

Conclusion ...... 182

CONCLUSION ...... 184

APPENDIX: LIVY’S GENEALOGY OF THE TARQUIN FAMILY ...... 223

BIBLIOGRAPHY ...... 224

viii LIST OF TABLES

Table 1 – Burials and epitaphs from the Vlesi tomb ...... 192

Table 2 – Burials and epitaphs from the Rafi tomb ...... 193

Table 3 – Burials and epitaphs from the Cai Cutu tomb ...... 195

ix LIST OF FIGURES

Figure 1 – “Arringatore” ...... 198

Figure 2 – Comparison of Chiusine and Perusine urn shapes ...... 199

Figure 3 – Urn of Laetoria Vlesi ...... 199

Figure 4 – Urn of Tertia Avilia ...... 200

Figure 5 – Urn of L. Scarpus Popa with bilingual inscription...... 201

Figure 6 – Figural urn depicting Sacrifice of Iphigenia, Perugia ...... 202

Figure 7 – CIE plan of the Vlesi tomb ...... 203

Figure 8 – Guardabassi’s plan of the Vlesi tomb ...... 203

Figure 9 – Urn of Tania Vlesia Scarpes ...... 204

Figure 10 – Plan of the Rufi tomb ...... 205

Figure 11 – Isometric drawing of the Rafi tomb ...... 206

Figure 12 – Urn of Vel Rafi ...... 207

Figure 13 – Urn decorated with bucranium between peltae ...... 208

Figure 14 – Urn decorated with Scylla holding a ship’s stern ...... 209

Figure 15 – Urn decorated with Scylla holding an oar ...... 210

Figure 16 – Urn with banquet scene on ossuary ...... 211

Figure 17 – Urn of Thana Marci ...... 212

Figure 18 – Olla burial of Aule Rafi with bilingual inscription ...... 213

Figure 19 – Urn of Ar. Rufius Cepa ...... 214

Figure 20 – Olla burial of Aros Rufis ...... 215

Figure 21 – Olla burial of Lartia Octavia ...... 216

Figure 22 – Olla burial of L. Rufis ...... 217

x Figure 23 – Plan of the Cai Cutu tomb ...... 218

Figure 24 – Epitaph of A. Cutius Salvia ...... 219

Figure 25 – Urn of A. Cutius Aneinia ...... 219

Figure 26 – Urn of A. Cutius Peti ...... 220

Figure 27 – Urn of L. Cutius Gallus ...... 220

Figure 28 – Urn of A. Cutius Maenatia...... 221

Figure 29 – Urn of A. Cutius Pisentia ...... 222

xi LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

CIE Corpus Inscriptionum Etruscarum (Leipzig 1893-).

CIL Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum (Berlin 1863-).

ET G. Maiser (ed.), Etruskische Texte. Editio Minor. (Hamburg 2014).

FGrH F. Jacoby et al. (eds.), Fragmente der griechischen Historiker (Berlin and Leiden 1923-).

FRH T. Cornell (ed.), The Fragments of the Roman Historians (Oxford 2013).

ILS H. Dessau (ed.), Inscriptiones Latinae Selectae (Berlin 1892-1916).

OCD S. Hornblower and A. Spawforth (eds.), The Oxford Classical Dictionary, 3rd edn. rev. (Oxford 2003).

OED J. Simpson and E. Weiner (eds.), The Oxford English Dictionary, 2nd edn. (Oxford 1989).

OLD P. Glare (ed.), Oxford Latin Dictionary (Oxford 1982).

LSJ H. Liddell, R. Scott, and H. Stuart Jones (eds.), A Greek-English Lexicon, 9th edn. (Oxford 1996).

TLE F. Serra (ed.), Thesaurus Linguae Etruscae, 2nd edn. (Pisa 2009-).

xii

CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTION Introduction

The first century BCE is well known to Roman historians. Many rich literary sources survive from this era, which witnessed the end of the Roman Republic and the beginning of the

Roman Empire. For the Etruscans and many other Italians the first century BCE was a major turning point in their lives: at the beginning of the century, as a result of the Social War (91-88

BCE), all Italians received Roman citizenship. After 90 BCE, the people of Etruria are generally thought to have become Roman, and, as such, most histories of the Etruscans end there. The last century before the Common Era was a time of enormous changes in the lives of Etruscans, but the subject of Etruscans and their ethnic identity during this period has received relatively little scholarly attention. In order to examine Etruscan ethnic identity during the first century BCE, this project provides fine-grained analyses of both textual and archaeological evidence. It seemed necessary to me from the beginning to use both archaeological and literary evidence, especially for a project about Etruscan ethnicity. For without archaeological evidence of some sort, it would be impossible to account for an Etruscan perspective, and since ethnicity is by definition a social and personal construct, an Etruscan perspective, however difficult to access, is indispensable. Equally important is an outsider’s perspective on Etruscan identity, for it is only through contact with the “Other” that any ethnic group can define itself.

In this dissertation I will examine how Italians, both Etruscans and non-Etruscans, constructed and negotiated Etruscan ethnic identity during the first century BCE. In a series of case studies, I explore some of the ways that Italians engaged in a discourse about what it meant

1 to be Etruscan. From the burials placed in the family tombs of Perugia to the creation of

Etruscan characters in the works of Vergil and Livy, people of the first century BCE invented new social identities for themselves and others against the backdrop of the momentous political and social changes of the era. I will argue that both archaeological and literary evidence can provide insight into the complexities surrounding peoples’ notions of Etruscanness during the first century BCE, and that by using both types of historical evidence we can arrive at a more nuanced understanding of Etruscan identity.

Another goal of this project is more broadly methodological. Classical archaeology, philology, and ancient history are related disciplines, but scholarship in these fields is often specialized and divided along disciplinary lines. Interdisciplinary research is uncommon. In this project, I have explored the possibility of using both literary and archaeological evidence in tandem. I have endeavored to stay true to the specifics of both kinds of evidence and to employ research methods and theory appropriate to working with each. This was one of the more challenging aspects of this project, because each discipline often asks or is capable of answering very different questions of the evidence. Nevertheless, this dissertation will show that both archaeological and literary evidence together are well-suited for addressing socio-cultural historical matters, such as the discourse over Etruscan ethnic identity during the first century

BCE.

This opening chapter provides a general introduction to the major topics and themes under discussion throughout the dissertation. First, I discuss the fraught topic of ethnicity and its intellectual history, offering a working definition for the purposes of this project. Second, I provide an overview of the archaeology of ethnicity, the problems surrounding the identification of Etruscan ethnicity in archaeological remains, and my methods for finding “archaeological”

2 Etruscans. Third and last, I address the ethnicity of Etruscans as represented in literature

(ethnography), the ancient literary traditions and stereotypes of the Etruscan people, and my method for examining “literary” Etruscans.

Ethnicity refers to certain social identities that people construct through various discourses about descent and culture. Throughout history, people have employed ideas of a shared culture and descent to form shared communities, and this multiplicity of social constructions, both internal and external to a community, constitutes a group’s ethnic identity.1

Both the abstract concept of ethnicity and the word itself are notoriously difficult to define,2 and much confusion surrounds ethnicity and related terms such as race or nation—all of which imply an idea of shared ancestry or culture.3 It is for this reason that many authors echo the sentiment of Denise Kimber Buell, who writes: “[t]here is no single way that people think or speak about race and ethnicity today.”4 In what follows, I will briefly discuss the term ethnicity and its difference from race, and I will survey the history of thought behind the two words. Most importantly, I will provide an overview of the current scholarship on ethnicity and how it is to be understood within the context of this project.

The English word ethnicity derives from the ancient Greek adjective ethnikos, which is used in the New Testament to mean “foreign, heathen, [or] gentile.” Ethnikos comes from the noun ethnos, a more common word of greater antiquity, which comes to mean a “nation” or

1 Fenton 2010, 3.

2 Sollors (1996b, xii) observes that by the 1970s “four out of five social scientists and anthropologists simply prefer[red] to leave the term [i.e. ethnicity] undefined.”

3 Steve Fenton (2010, 12) begins his discussion of ethnicity by observing that concepts of ethnic group, race, and nation all share the same core idea of a shared ancestry.

4 Buell 2005, 5.

3 “people” in Greek literature after Homer.5 It is from ethnos that the adjective ethnic entered the

English language, but despite their ancient origins, both modern English terms—ethnicity and ethnic—have only acquired their current meanings recently. The adjective ethnic is earlier and appears in various spellings as far back as the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.6 In its earliest

English usage, ethnic carried negative connotations, for it was used to describe pagans (or

“heathens”) and differentiate them from Christians and Jews. It was not until the nineteenth century that ethnic was used to describe a race, nation, or their cultural and historical traditions.7

Likewise, ethnicity also refers to “heathendom” or “heathen superstition” in its earliest occurrences (ca. eighteenth century), and it later comes to mean “ethnic character or peculiarity” or “the fact or sense of belonging to a particular ethnic group” around the 1950s.8 Both ethnic and ethnicity only began to gain widespread currency in English in the mid-twentieth century.9

When ethnicity entered the modern English lexicon after the Second World War, it was used as a synonym or substitute for race, a word which had fallen out of favor due to its association with racism and fascism.10 Race originally supposed biological differences between peoples; ethnicity stressed peoples’ cultural differences.11 But even today the two terms are often used interchangeably, resulting in confusion over their meanings. The earliest ideas on ethnicity were rooted in race theories that developed in the newly-emerging social sciences

5 Johannes Siapkas (2014, 67) notes that even the Greek ethnos is difficult to define. In Homer’s epics, ethnos refers to a “body of men,” a “host,” or “swarms” and “flocks” of animals (LSJ, s.v. ἔθνος and ἐθνικός).

6 OED, s.v. ethnic.

7 OED, s.v. ethnic.

8 OED, s.v. ethnicity.

9 For a history of the use of ethnic and ethnicity in English with references, see Sollors 1996b, xxxvii n. 2.

10 Sollors 1996b, x and xxix; Brodkin 1998, 189 n. 1; Bartlett 2001, 39.

11 Brodkin 1998, 189 n. 1; Bartlett 2001, 39.

4 during the nineteenth century.12 The first anthropologists at that time concerned themselves with the taxonomy of human beings, and used the term race to denote their classification of humans based on selected physical or biological differences.13 Initially, the classification of people into races was not necessarily racist, but, in the wake of Darwin, racist theories regarding human biology and evolution abounded, in which some peoples (e.g. Whites) were considered more highly evolved than, and therefore superior to, others (e.g. non-Whites).14 Since human beings are biologically the same species, it is problematic to distinguish humans on the basis of race, which is a category imposed on groups (often minority groups) based on perceived physiological differences.15 In racist scientific theories certain groups of people were thought to possess fixed physical, behavioral, and moral characteristics inherent to their race. Such theories have now been soundly rejected by the academic community.16

In anthropological circles, ethnicity was first used “as an alternative [to race] that emphasized the dynamic aspects of identities, in order to solve the intrinsic problems with essentialism in preceding race theories.”17 Essentialist theories about race persisted, however, in some scholars’ adherence to what has been described as a “primordialist” view of ethnicity.

Such primordialist scholarship maintained that ethnicity was an immutable, inborn trait that determined human behavior.18 Most modern scholars, however, have rejected the primordialist

12 Siapkas 2014, 67.

13 Hobsbawm 1996, 265-266.

14 Hobsbawm 1996, 266; Siapkas 2014, 68.

15 Hiebert 2009, 215 (s.v. ethnicity)

16 Fenton 2010, 19.

17 Siapkas 2014, 66.

18 Siapkas 2014, 68.

5 insistence that ethnicity is fixed at birth,19 preferring instead a perspective on ethnicity that allows for flexibility in an individual’s expression of identity—as Jeremy McInerney contends:

“What ethnicity is emphatically not is a fixed biological entity based on primordial ties of kinship.”20

Since the 1960s, ethnicity has been generally understood not as a fixed, inborn trait, but rather as a changeable or performative aspect of an individual’s behavior.21 Ethnicity began to be thought of as an identity of one’s own making, so that, as Dan Hiebert writes, “ethnic affiliation arises from inside a group,” not from outside, as is often the case with race.22 This perspective is known as the “instrumentalist” or “constructionist” viewpoint. Instrumentalist scholarship argues that ethnicity is a situational construct dependent on context and resulting from one group’s interaction with other groups. Proponents of this viewpoint see a dynamism in a person’s performance of ethnic identity, as Hiebert is able to explain as follows:

In contemporary usage, ethnicity is seen both as a way in which individuals define their personal identity and a type of social stratification that emerges when people form groups based on their real or perceived origins. Members of ethnic groups [author’s emphasis] believe that their specific ancestry and culture mark them as different from others. As such, ethnic group formation always entails both inclusionary and exclusionary behavior, and ethnicity is a classic example of the distinction people make between ‘us’ and ‘them.’23

Worth emphasizing are two important observations in Hiebert’s definition of ethnicity. First, people construct their own ethnicity in consensus with other people. Second, a group of people

19 Hiebert 2009, 215 (s.v. ethnicity).

20 McInerney 2014, 3.

21 Siapkas 2014, 70.

22 Hiebert 2009, 215 (s.v. ethnicity).

23 Hiebert 2009, 214 (s.v. ethnicity).

6 of the same ethnicity delineates boundaries between their own group and other groups.24 The boundaries between one’s own group and others are subjective, and at the same time, the ethnic distinctions or boundaries between groups are neither mutually exclusive nor impermeable, for someone’s ethnic identity can change over time or they may perform different ethnic identities in different situations.25 And it is precisely ethnicity’s fluidity that makes it so difficult to define.26

Perhaps the simplest definition of ethnicity is that it is a person’s “sense of peoplehood,” to borrow a phrase from McInerney.27

Ethnicity and Archaeology

The Archaeology of Ethnicity

There was for many years, when essentialist views on race and ethnicity were prevalent, an easy acceptance of the idea that archaeological research on its own could detect ethnicity.

Many assumed that differences in the archaeological record reflected differences between ethnic groups, and in turn they explained changes in the archaeological record as cultural changes that were the result of the diffusion of ideas between ethnic groups or of ethnic migrations from one

24 Fredrik Barth (1969) was the first to elaborate on the importance of clear social boundaries between ethnic groups.

25 Lieu 2004, 99-100: “In practice the boundaries that mark identity are always subject to change.... This is because while boundaries persist, they are the result of human negotiation and interaction; they imply selection and the giving of value amidst the experience of difference, and so, perhaps, they are better seen as ‘temporary check points rather than concrete walls’ (Jenkins 1996, 99).”

26 In addition, there are some common misunderstandings over the meaning of ethnicity. Dan Hiebert (2009, 215 [s.v. ethnicity]) explains that often people assume that ethnicity or ethnic refers only to minority groups within a given population, but in fact every person has some kind of ethnic heritage, even if it is the dominant one in a given society and therefore unmarked.

27 McInerney (2014, 2): “Can we say that ethnic identity is anything more than a sense of peoplehood? It may [author’s emphasis] include an attachment to a territory, a common history, including its fictive and fictional elements; it may find expression in a shared language and customs; and it may be activated in response to oppression, but almost all of these elements are malleable. The one constant seems to be that some combination of these will result in a group identifying itself as a people.” But see also Lucy (2005, 100) and Antonaccio (2010, 38)—ethnicity is not infinitely flexible.

7 region to the next.28 Beginning in the nineteenth century and on into the twentieth century, archaeologists often attempted to correlate known historical peoples with diagnostic groups of artifacts, through which they might trace peoples’ national histories.29 These groups of artifacts were referred to as “archaeological cultures.” This approach, known as culture-historical archaeology, fostered nationalistic and patriotic attitudes in emerging modern nation-states, whose leaders often used conclusions drawn from culture-historical methods to legitimate their political power and justify state-sponsored racist or colonialist views.30 Yet even early on, V.

Gordon Childe, an Australian archaeologist who was the first to attempt to identify ethnic groups systematically through diagnostic artifacts, expressed reservations about the use of material remains to identify ethnic groups,31 and by the 1950s, other archaeologists had challenged the one-to-one connection between the so-called archaeological cultures and ethnicity.32 Ethnicity is but one of a great variety of potential explanations for differences in material culture, and, as

Bruce Trigger explains, it is “unlikely to be the sole, or even the primary explanation either of cultural variation in the archaeological record or of cultural change.”33 Today, many archaeologists ignore or reject the concept of “archaeological culture,”34 and look to other methods for examining the expression of ethnicity in the archaeological record.

28 Trigger 2006, 221.

29 Trigger 2006, 221.

30 Most notably, in the early 20th century, Gustaf Kossinna identified certain artifacts with certain ethnic groups and attributed the differences between them to racial differences. Kossinna’s focus on the superiority of the German race influenced the Nazi party, and Hitler’s Third Reich incorporated Kossinna’s ideas into their formal versions of history (Trigger 2006, 240). See Hall (1997, 1-16) for an overview of the history of the study of ethnicity and its consequences.

31 Trigger 2006, 246.

32 Trigger 2006, 308.

33 Trigger 2006, 309-310.

34 Trigger 2006, 309-310.

8 In the study of classical antiquity, one of the strongest challenges to archaeology’s role in the study of ethnic identity came from Jonathan Hall’s 1997 monograph, Ethnic Identity in Greek

Antiquity, in which he writes as follows:

It seems fairly clear that there needs to be a radical reconsideration of archaeology’s role within the study of ethnicity. It has been argued that since artefacts never served as defining criteria of ethnic identity in the past, it would be fallacious for archaeologists to treat them as such now. It is, therefore, hopeless to believe that archaeological evidence can identify ethnic groups in the past. Artefacts can, however, be taken and consciously employed as emblemic indicia of ethnic boundaries in much the same way as language or religion. The task, then, that should be reserved for archaeology, and for which it is well equipped, is to illuminate the ways in which ethnic groups actively employed material culture in marking boundaries that had already been discursively constructed.35

Hall questioned archaeology’s usefulness further, when he asserted that “the entire enterprise

[i.e. the identification of ethnicity] has little chance of success in situations where the only evidence to hand is archaeological.”36 Hall’s statements provoked a strong reaction from archaeologists, who have vehemently resisted the subordination of their field to the status of “the handmaid of history.”37 Privileging written documents over material evidence invalidates the discipline of archaeology itself, and diminishes its ability to interpret peoples and periods that are poorly documented, or altogether undocumented, textually.

Partly in reaction to Hall’s 1997 monograph, Sam Lucy and Carla Antonaccio have reconsidered the role that material culture plays in the study of ethnic identity. Lucy has agreed with those opponents of culture-historical archaeology that “characteristic artifacts, languages, and cultures have frequently been noted not to coincide,” and that there is no direct link between

35 Hall 1997, 142.

36 Hall 1997, 142. For a similar viewpoint, see also Cornell (1995, 222) on how archaeology cannot “speak on its own.” Cornell (1995, 224) maintains that “only by interpreting it [archaeology] in the light of written sources can it be made to speak at all” and that “the archaeological evidence is equally silent, which is hardly surprising, since material evidence is not capable of expressing opinions of any kind, least of all ethnic prejudices.”

37 Antonaccio 2010, 34; on the phrase “the handmaid of history,” see Hall 2014, 2.

9 specific artifacts and a people’s ethnicity.38 He thus takes a different approach to the connection between material culture and ethnicity, encouraging archaeologists “to pay more attention to the contexts in which things are used, and the ways in which people use them.”39 Lucy urges archaeologists to attend to material culture used in these social interactions, since ethnicity is more of an idea than a thing, and that it is an aspect of social interaction.40 Lucy provides a way forward for archaeologists interested in the archaeology of ethnicity: “By working at a local level, employing detailed analyses of data in order to tease out the complex interrelationships of artefacts and the minutiae of spatial patterning, archaeologists can at least start to identify the contexts in which social identities would have been recreated through everyday practices.”41

Antonaccio, expanding on Lucy’s work as well as her own earlier research, has firmly rejected Hall’s negative appraisal of archaeology’s role in the study of ethnicity. She has argued that not only can material culture express ethnicity, but that “it has an active role in shaping it, and in contesting it.”42 Although both Lucy and Antonaccio agree that all material culture does not necessarily express ethnicity, their important contribution is that it can, because people, as active agents, selectively create and use objects to shape their ethnic identities.43 Moreover, objects are not passive indicators of ethnicity set up by people; instead, objects themselves can affect the daily social interactions that establish a group’s “sense of peoplehood.” Antonaccio’s argument constitutes a crucial theoretical shift in the interpretation of ethnicity through

38 Lucy 2005, 86.

39 Lucy 2005, 87.

40 Lucy 2005, 101.

41 Lucy 2005, 109.

42 Antonaccio 2010, 34.

43 Not all material culture expresses ethnic identity: Lucy 2005, 87; Antonaccio 2010, 46.

10 archaeological remains. Even though a specific type of artifact does not automatically signify a particular ethnic group, material remains are traces of behavioral patterns that are themselves expressive of ethnicity, and objects, as Antonaccio maintains, can “shape and contest” ethnicity.

Furthermore, if, as Hall has argued, a shared homeland (territory) and descent (ancestry) are the main criteria for the expression of ethnicity,44 then artifacts can serve as vessels for both.

Antonaccio asserts that since humans have the ability to associate a given artifact with a specific place, said artifact becomes imbued with a homeland, and it may also possess an ancestry (or descent) if it can be traced to a certain place over time.45 The work of Lucy and Antonaccio encourages the archaeologist to investigate ethnic identity from material culture in new ways and, most importantly, supports the value of archaeology in the absence of texts.

Ethnicity and the Archaeology of Etruscans

Although Lucy and Antonaccio show that material culture can on its own can shed light on the ethnic identities of historical peoples, ethnicity can still be difficult to access through archaeological remains, because it is, after all, a “sense of peoplehood”—an idea. Due to its elusiveness, scholars have frequently identified external features that can serve as reliable indicators of a group’s ethnicity. A recent essay by Nancy de Grummond, one of the most prominent American scholars of Etruscan culture, provides a thoughtful and well-informed example of the sorts of elements that scholars have identified as indicators of Etruscan ethnicity.

De Grummond identifies five “areas that have the greatest bearing on defining [Etruscan] identity: language, nomenclature, religion, appearance, and biological characteristics [e.g. DNA

44 See Hall (1997, 20), on criteria vs. indicia of ethnicity. Hall (1997, 25) writes, “I would, nonetheless, suggest that the connection with a specific territory and the common myth of descent are more distinctive characteristics of ethnic groups,” and further that “[a]bove all else, though, it must be the myth of a shared descent which ranks paramount among the features that distinguish ethnic from other social groups, and, more often than not, it is proof of descent that will act as a defining criterion of ethnicity.”

45 Antonaccio 2010, 47, 50.

11 evidence].”46 In what follows I will address the extent to which each of de Grummond’s five areas facilitate the identification of Etruscans in the archaeological record.

In recent years, scholars have turned to DNA evidence from Etruria in order to identify ancient Etruscans with scientific precision and solve the longstanding debate over Etruscan origins.47 Researchers have acquired human DNA from burials in Etruria and have demonstrated that there may be a remarkable biological continuity among the ancient populations of Etruria.48

There may even be genetic evidence to support Herodotus’ claim of a Near Eastern origin for the

Etruscan people.49 These genetic tests, however, are still in their beginning stages, and their results are far from conclusive.50 Nevertheless, while improvements in the methods of DNA research may someday provide more detailed information on the biology of ancient populations, it is doubtful that future investigations will singlehandedly remove the fundamental limitations of genetic research as a tool for exploring ethnicity. Although DNA may show the spread (or lack thereof) of genetic information among different ancient peoples, it is unlikely to elucidate an individual’s or a group’s “sense of peoplehood.”51 In that respect, DNA research that uses biological markers to identify Etruscans is subject to the same criticism as the now-outmoded

46 De Grummond (2014, 407) admits that these are not the only factors involved in the identification of something or someone as Etruscan, and she allows for changes over time as well as differences in the lives of people of varied social status.

47 De Grummond (2014, 417-418) cites a number of previous studies on Etruscan biology, including a mid-twentieth century symposium on Etruscan origins (Barnicot and Brothwell 1959) and a study of skeletal evidence from burials at Tarquinii (Mallegni et al. 1980). The latter study claimed that the “strongly homogeneous” physical remains supported an argument for the Etruscans being indigenous to Italy or Etruria. For an overview of the contentious debate over Etruscan origins, which began in antiquity and continues today, see de Grummond 2014, 405-407.

48 Vernesi et al. 2004.

49 Achilli et al. 2007.

50 Vernesi et al. 2004 was the first rigorous genetic study of a pre-Roman people.

51 Moreover, Etruscans lived in close proximity to other people in Italy and likely intermarried with foreigners over many centuries (de Grummond 2014, 418-419), so even if there were an “Etruscan” gene, it would be able to identify neither how someone living in Etruscan society self-identified nor how others perceived them.

12 primordialist (or essentialist) theories of ethnicity.

The Etruscans had a reputation in antiquity, as de Grummond observes, for being a very religious people.52 An oft-cited sentence from Livy identifies the Etruscans as the nation/race

(gens) most dedicated to religion (religio),53 and Etruscan characters in literature frequently are connected in some way to religion.54 Livy writes about an Etruscan political organization

(sometimes known as a “league”) of twelve “peoples” (duodecim populi) or city-states that held a council (concilium) at the Shrine of Voltumna (Fanum Voltumnae) within the context of a religious festival.55 Organizations of this type continued in a modified form well into the period of the Roman Empire.56 The Etruscans are also famous for their native religious doctrines on the interpretation of divine omens, collectively known as the Etrusca disciplina.57 There is evidence that bilingual Etruscan authors translated Etruscan religious texts into Latin, and Etruscan priests

(especially haruspices) were longstanding, active participants in Roman religious ritual.58 Yet many ancient groups placed a strong emphasis on religious ritual, and although Etruscans may have been an extremely pious people, it is difficult (although not impossible) to use religion as an identifier for Etruscans in the absence of texts. Presumably certain buildings, such as

52 De Grummond 2014, 411-412.

53 Gens itaque ante omnes alias eo magis dedita religionibus quod excelleret arte colendi eas, 5.1.6.

54 A good example are the Aeneid’s Etruscans, who dutifully obey the divine mandate of a seer (haruspex, Verg. Aen. 8.498) almost to their own detriment. Evander tells Aeneas that the Etruscan people wait in their camp for foreign leaders, “terrified by the warnings of the gods” (monitis exterrita divum, Verg. Aen. 8.504).

55 The Twelve Peoples of Etruria and the Fanum Voltumnae are often mentioned together. On the twelve peoples: Livy 1.8.3, 4.23.5, 5.1.5; Serv. ad. Aen. 2.278, 8.475. On the Shrine of Voltumna: Livy 4.23.5, 4.25.7, 4.61.2, 5.17.6, 6.2.2. Archaeological and epigraphic evidence suggests that the Shrine of Voltumna was situated near ancient Volsinii (modern Orvieto) (CIL 11.5265; Stopponi 2011).

56 De Grummond 2014, 412. An inscription of imperial date on a statue base from Chiusi records a praetor XV populorum (CIL 11.2115), and Plutarch writes of eighteen Etruscan cities of the Po Valley region (Camillus 16).

57 On the Etrusca disciplina, see Thulin 1968; Rawson 1985, 298-316; de Grummond 2006; de Grummond 2013.

58 On haruspicy, see de Grummond 2013 with extensive bibliography.

13 Etruscan-style temples, as well as certain artifacts or images may be representative of Etruscan religion. In the later periods, however, when it is often difficult to distinguish between the material culture of Etruscans and Romans, for example, the identification of Etruscan religion through material remains is increasingly fraught.

De Grummond also attempts to use archaeological and artistic evidence to access the physical appearance of ancient Etruscans. Etruscans had a reputation in antiquity for luxury in their daily lives, and both Greek and Roman authors often describe the Etruscans’ decadent habits.59 Although ancient authors’ observations have obvious biases, de Grummond shows that some of their comments on Etruscan society may be supported by archaeological evidence. For instance, Etruscan tombs of the Orientalizing Period (seventh century BCE) have yielded exceedingly rich grave goods (e.g. gold jewelry and exotic imports) and are suggestive of the

Etruscans’ wealth and luxury.60 At the same time, however, de Grummond notes that there was a wide range of Etruscan burial types throughout Etruscan history, and more humble burials coexisted alongside extraordinarily wealthy ones.61 The renowned Etruscan tomb paintings from

Tarquinii seem to confirm that the Etruscan people had a predilection for luxury, for the frescoes show men and women banqueting lavishly.62 Nevertheless, these paintings do not appear to be true portraits—their images conform to a generic Mediterranean style of painting—and it is

59 On Etruscan luxury (or truphē), see Becker 2016.

60 De Grummond 2014, 413.

61 De Grummond 2014, 413.

62 But, as de Grummond (2014, 413) observes, “an abundance of grave goods need not be construed as simply luxury, but more as funeral practice focused on providing all that the deceased, conceived of as divine, would need in the afterlife.” For Etruscan tomb paintings in general with illustrations, see Steingräber 1986 and 2006. For a recent overview of Etruscan wall paintings, see Pieraccini 2016.

14 difficult to identify distinctive elements of Etruscan appearance.63 By the time (possible) portraits arrive in Etruscan art, Etruscans appear very similar to Romans in dress, hairstyle, and facial features.64 The problem of assessing Etruscan appearance is exemplified by the so-called

Arringatore (“Orator”) statue, a life-sized bronze sculpture found in the vicinity of Perugia and dated to the first century BCE (Figure 1). The figure, posed as if to speak, appears to be an aristocratic Roman, perhaps a senator, wearing a toga and sandals, but the statue itself has an

Etruscan inscription and was found in Etruria. De Grummond remarks that the Arringatore

“does not appear to be so very different from contemporary Romans. With this image and several other true portraits of the Late Etruscan period, as with the bilingual inscriptions that are close in date, it is no longer possible to be sure about Etruscan ethnicity.”65

Most scholars have identified language and, closely related to that, nomenclature as the essential indicators of Etruscan (ethnic) identity. The association of the Etruscan language with

Etruscan identity is so strongly felt and widely accepted that it has become customary to define the span of “Etruscan” civilization with the extant evidence for their written language. Most writers give the impression that Etruscan civilization emerges with the earliest Etruscan inscriptions around 700 BCE and ends with the last Etruscan inscriptions (depending on the region) around the late first century BCE/early first century CE. For the Etruscans, their language has become the privileged indicator of ethnicity, so much so that the prominent

Etruscan scholar Sybille Haynes has written that the Etruscans first became “linguistically (and

63 De Grummond 2014, 414. A predilection for wearing an abundance of jewelry may have distinguished (elite) Etruscans from other Mediterranean peoples (de Grummond 2014, 414-415; Castor 2016, 275, 277, esp. 282-285).

64 De Grummond 2014, 416.

65 De Grummond 2014, 416.

15 thus historically) identifiable” with the discovery of the earliest Etruscan inscription.66

Having used linguistic criteria to identify this period as the core of Etruscan civilization, scholars have then sought to extend its timeline back into the Iron Age and forward into the

Roman period. Haynes, for example, has traced the origins of Etruscan culture back to the so- called Villanovan Period (900-720 BCE). Haynes hypothesizes that Etruscans inhabited their traditional territories long before the advent of literacy in Etruria, and she cites archaeological evidence as her sole source for extending the boundaries of Etruscan civilization back in time.

For, she argues, most of the well-known, historical Etruscan city-states have Villanovan antecedents on site that provide archaeological continuity between the tenth century BCE and later periods, while some even have archaeological remains dating to the Late Bronze Age

(second millennium BCE), suggesting an even greater antiquity.67 In the absence of Etruscan language inscriptions, however, the identification of Etruscan culture, or their “sense of peoplehood,” is very difficult to pinpoint.68 De Grummond notes these difficulties, but she implies that people who use the Etruscan language and elements of Etruscan nomenclature, such as matronymics, identified themselves as Etruscan.69

At the other end of the core period, by the time of the latest-known Etruscan inscription, a

66 Haynes 2000, 1. The earliest known Etruscan inscription comes from Tarquinii (ET Ta 3.1). The Etruscan language is not Indo-European and therefore different from most other Italic languages, including Latin. It is possible that Etruscan is related linguistically to Lemnian and Raetic (for a discussion and bibliography, see Wallace 2008, 218-222 [Lemnian], 222-225 [Raetic]), but there is not yet enough evidence to prove the linguistic connections definitively. Aside from Lemnian and Raetic, no attempt to demonstrate a linguistic connection between Etruscan and any other known language has been widely accepted (Wallace 2008, 218).

67 Haynes 2000, 4: “In the absence of written sources from this early period, archaeology alone provides us with information on how the inhabitants of the Early Iron Age villages lived.”

68 Stoddart (2016, 13) writes: “In terms of timing, it is probably anthropologically incorrect to define anything as Etruscan until the seventh century BCE, when the level of political organization was of sufficient scale to sustain a crystallization of such a terminology by the communities themselves.”

69 De Grummond 2014, 408-411. “The Etruscan language is the single most important index of Etruscan ethnicity” (de Grummond 2014, 408).

16 bilingual epitaph dating to the first century BCE,70 Etruscan material culture is difficult to distinguish from Roman. This similarity poses problems for the study of Etruscan civilization in the traditional sense as something unique and foreign to the rest of Italy and the Mediterranean world. As such, many scholars avoid discussion of Etruscan culture’s survival after the death of its written language, and they limit their treatment of Etruscan ethnicity and identity to earlier historical periods when cultural differences between Etruscans and non-Etruscans were clearer.

Studies of Etruscan history often stop in the first century BCE, at which point attention shifts to

Roman history. The period of time during which Romans and Etruscans reckoned with their changing identities is frequently overlooked or considered mainly from a Roman perspective. In this dissertation, however, I will be focusing on this later period of core Etruscan history, the so- called “end” or “disappearance” of Etruscan civilization in the first century BCE.

Etruscans in the Late Republic / Augustan Period

Most scholars closely associate the disappearance of an identifiable Etruscan culture with the spread of Roman culture, a historical process that is usually termed the “Romanization” of

Etruria.71 William Harris’ 1971 book, Rome in Etruria and Umbria, includes a classic statement of that view. Harris admits that the process of Romanization was “one of the greatest complexity,”72 but at the heart of Harris’ concept of Romanization lies the simple, one-sided

70 The latest Etruscan inscription comes from Arezzo in northern Etruria (ET Ar 1.8).

71 Romanization generally refers to the imposition of Roman civilization and culture upon non-Roman peoples in both Italy and the provinces. Romanization as a theory of cultural change is an enormous topic and has been the subject of vigorous debate for decades. Much of the scholarship on the concept of Romanization deals with the nature of cultural change in the Roman provinces. Cultural change in Roman Britain has received particular attention, for it was the subject of Francis Haverfield’s The Romanization of Roman Britain (1915), which gave rise to the term, Martin Millett’s seminal work, The Romanization of Britain (1990), and many subsequent studies. Debate over Romanization has intensified since Millett, and many have challenged the usefulness of the concept. Some important studies include Alcock 1993, Mattingly 1997, Woolf 1998, Keay and Terrenato 2001, and Mattingly 2011. Despite challenges to the value of Romanization as an interpretive model, many scholars still use it as a tool to explain cultural changes in Etruria (e.g., Jolivet 2013 and Ceccarelli 2016, discussed below).

72 Harris 1971, 147.

17 imposition of Roman cultural identity upon the Etruscan people, marked most clearly for Harris by the “Latinization” of Etruria (the gradual replacement of Etruscan by Latin), which he describes in particular as “the best type of evidence that we have for the progress of

Romanization.”73 Harris does not subscribe to the idea that Romanization was the result of an intentional Roman policy, but he does maintain that over time it was the indirect result of Roman colonization.74 Modern historical studies of cultural change in Etruria generally follow Harris’ traditional Romanization model, which holds that the process was one of slow, inevitable, linear progression toward Roman assimilation from the third to first centuries BCE.75

Harris’ authoritative work dominates historical narratives of late Etruscan (cultural) history, and his influence is evident, for example, in the articles on the Romanization of Etruria recently published in handbooks on Etruscan civilization. In the introduction of the article, “A

Long Twilight (396-90 BC): Romanization of Etruria,” Vincent Jolivet indicates that the idea of

Romanization as a model for cultural change is problematic, for, as he observes, it describes both the process and the result of change.76 Nevertheless, Jolivet sees value in the Romanization model for understanding long-term changes in Etruria. Jolivet’s work provides a good summary of the historical events surrounding the conquest of Etruria related by Livy, but, while he gives a thorough overview of the historical factors involved in effecting cultural change in the region, he does not examine how the changes occurred or any precise elements of the process. The title of

Jolivet’s article is itself telling. First, it applies a language of decline to this period of Etruscan

73 Harris 1971, 147.

74 Harris 1971, 158.

75 One prominent challenge to the standard “Romanization of Etruria” narrative is the work of Nicola Terrenato (1998, 2001).

76 Jolivet 2013, 151.

18 history (“long twilight”), and, second, it ends at 90 BCE, when the people of Etruria received

Roman citizenship in the midst of the Social War.

Similar to Jolivet’s article, another recent treatment of the period follows the traditional narrative of Etruscan decline that culminates in Rome’s assimilation of Etruria. Letizia

Ceccarelli notes that Rome, following the sack of Veii in 396, began to establish colonies and arrange treaties with various Etruscan cities and, after defeating the Etruscans and their allies at the Battle of Sentinum in 295 BCE, to destroy some Etruscan cities over the course of the third century BCE.77 In addition to the outright conquest of major Etruscan cities, the Romans also built roads and colonies throughout Etruria to undermine the existing Etruscan infrastructure.

The colonies, such as Cosa (est. 273 BCE), brought Roman culture and laws and the Latin language into Etruria, while at the same time new Roman roads bypassed old Etruscan centers, diverting commerce and traffic toward Roman interests and weakening longstanding Etruscan social networks.78 Ceccarelli often describes the Etruscans as passive or willing recipients of

Roman influence: the Romans were able to control Etruscan society through their alliances with

Etruscan elites, who were eager to help Rome in order to maintain their ancestral power over the

Etruscan lower classes.79 Some Etruscan cities closer to Rome abandoned the Etruscan language and embraced Latin as early as the third century BCE, and, according to Ceccarelli, by 90 BCE

Latin becomes Etruria’s “official language.”80 Ceccarelli maintains that the Etruscans may have even changed their funerary iconography in late Etruscan tomb paintings to reflect their

77 Ceccarelli 2016, 28-29.

78 Ceccarelli 2016, 29-32.

79 Ceccarelli 2016, 32-33.

80 Ceccarelli 2016, 33.

19 pessimism about “the impending loss of their political independence.”81 And despite an Etruscan religious “revival” of sorts that continued well into the Imperial period, Ceccarelli argues that by the Augustan Period Rome had absorbed Etruria.82

Both Jolivet’s and Ceccarelli’s articles sketch out excellent examples of Harris’ traditional Romanization model for cultural change in Etruria. They effectively present the causes and effects of Rome’s influence upon Etruria, which is sufficient for showing major changes over long periods of time. For example, like Harris, these works often cite the sacking of Etruscan cities, the establishment of Roman colonies in Etruscan lands, the laying of Roman roads through Etruria, and the existence of Roman building programs in old Etruscan cities.

They do not, however, address specific details concerning the complex cultural negotiations between actual people in any of these examples. Here we might turn to the Arringatore again as an example (Figure 1). Jolivet describes the statue as a “masterwork of the last Etruscan bronze- smiths,” noting at the same time both the “purely Roman character of [its] production” and the

Etruscan inscription on the orator’s toga.83 Although Jolivet mentions the various elements that signal the cultural complexity of this object, he does not address them, nor does he take into account that the statue is not the result of Roman imposition but rather of a choice made presumably by an Etruscan-speaking patron and artisan. The complex intersection of Etruscan and Roman identities made manifest in the Arringatore statue is indicative of Etruscan and

Roman interactions in the first century BCE, a crucial period of great cultural change in Italy.

The failure to address the cultural complexities of the Arringatore exemplifies a major problem

81 Ceccarelli 2016, 36.

82 Ceccarelli 2016, 38.

83 Jolivet 2013, 168 fig. 8.23.

20 with the Romanization model, its one-sidedness, its Romanocentrism. Another key problem with Romanization as a theoretical model is that it glosses over the people who drive the processes of change. Instead, historical processes viewed through the lens of Romanization appear teleological: the paths toward historical outcomes seem linear and inevitable because we already know the results.

Method: Finding Archaeological Etruscans

The archaeological evidence recovered from Etruria is vast and continually growing. The most frequently-cited evidence for cultural change (for the “Romanization” or “Latinization” of

Etruria) are the Latin inscriptions from Chiusi and Perugia, where such inscriptions are found in greatest abundance.84 From these two cities alone, however, there are many tomb contexts and material remains associated with these Latin inscriptions that are rarely discussed. Since the abundance of material evidence from these two cities is too large for the scope of this project, I will focus on Perugia, which has a large number of Etruscan and Latin inscriptions found together within the same tomb contexts, some of which are relatively well-documented archaeologically. I have chosen three tombs that contained both Latin and Etruscan epitaphs and, more importantly, also have relatively thorough archaeological records. A close examination of these Perusine tombs provides an avenue for investigating the expression of

Etruscan ethnic identity through material remains of the first century BCE. Rather than focusing on the decontextualized inscriptions, I analyze each object and tomb context in its entirety. I study the situation of all objects and their relationships to one another within the tombs and, moreover, within the context of the larger community of Perugia and Etruria proper. The texts of the inscriptions will certainly be addressed, particularly because they provide much of the evidence cited in support of the “Romanization” of Etruria. In general, however, I consider them

84 This topic will be addressed at greater length in Chapter 2.

21 only as individual elements, albeit important and informative ones, of the entire tomb context under consideration. By using this more holistic method, I will demonstrate that the archaeological evidence from Perusine family tomb contexts reveals a multitude of complex ways that Etruscans of the first century BCE were negotiating their identities, and that these identities were far from uniform or one-sided.

Ethnicity in Literature

Ancient Ethnography

Ethnography, “the systematic study and description of peoples, societies, and cultures,”85 emerged as a scientific practice during the nineteenth century.86 Greg Woolf explains that ethnography is “both a practice and a genre,” because today ethnography is at once the act of studying and collecting information about groups of people and at the same time a mode of writing about those people.87 As Eran Almagor and Joseph Skinner have observed, it is tempting to see the origins of modern ethnography in the works of classical authors such as Herodotus, who studies and describes other non-Greek peoples in his Histories, sometimes at great length.88

Indeed, the description of ethnic groups and cultures in classical literature has a long tradition that stretches as far back the epic poems of Homer.89 Although it is true that ancient writers had

85 OED, s.v. ethnography.

86 Woolf 2011, 13.

87 Woolf 2011, 13.

88 Almagor and Skinner 2013b, 2. Herodotus is the earliest extant author to feature ethnographic “digressions” (Dench 2007, 496), including book-length ethnographies of the Egyptians (Book 1) and Scythians (Book 4) as well as many other shorter ethnographies interspersed throughout his Histories.

89 Rives 1999, 11; Dench 2007, 495; Almagor and Skinner 2013b, 6-7. Recent studies in ancient ethnography include Woolf 2011, Skinner 2012, Almagor and Skinner 2013a. For an excellent overview of the study of ancient ethnography, see Almagor and Skinner 2013b. On the ethnographic tradition in literature, see Rives 1999. Emma Dench (2007, 493) explains that in other media (e.g. art) the “ethnographical gaze” dates back even earlier than Homer.

22 an interest in studying and describing other peoples, there is some debate over whether the ancients considered ethnography as a “discrete realm of enquiry,” because ancient ethnographies appear in many different genres of writing and only later as standalone treatises.90

Ethnographic descriptions of peoples appear in a wide array of ancient literature of all genres—from Homer’s epics to the Hippocratic Corpus to Julius Caesar’s wartime

Commentaries. Although ethnographic content appears in different genres, ancient ethnographic writing in all its forms had certain literary conventions that marked it out as a “distinct category of knowledge.”91 James Rives has identified two “strands” that form the basis of all post-

Herodotean ethnographies: the “periegetic,” which was a kind of geographical survey of peoples, and the “ethnographic monograph,” which had a greater emphasis on individual peoples and their (often legendary) histories.92 As Rives has explained, ancient ethnographies such as these frequently possess certain elements, including, most importantly, descriptions of the people in question, but also accounts of their territory and any marvels (thaumata) associated with them.93

Moreover, ancient ethnographies across time also employ similar interpretive strategies, such as comparing and contrasting the familiar with the other and the assessment of the character of a given people on the basis of their climate.94

Despite the literary character of many of these ethnographic accounts, the earliest classical scholars of ancient ethnographies were relatively uncritical of them, and for the most

90 Almagor and Skinner 2013b, 2.

91 Almagor and Skinner 2013b, 2.

92 Rives 1999, 12.

93 Rives 1999, 15.

94 Rives 1999, 15.

23 part they accepted ancient ethnographic accounts unquestioningly.95 In the 1980s, however, scholars such as François Hartog and Edith Hall reevaluated ancient ethnographic accounts as literary texts and illustrated aspects of their rhetoric.96 Texts are necessarily biased and potentially inaccurate, and therefore possibly unreliable as a source of historical facts. This understanding has led to the more nuanced approaches of those who study ancient ethnographies today, but it has also encouraged some, especially archaeologists, to disregard ancient literary accounts as entirely useless for the study of ancient peoples. Because the study of Etruscans and their civilization is predominately archaeological, ancient ethnographic accounts are often dismissed as stereotypical (and therefore false).97

Ethnography of Etruscans – Literary Stereotypes

Nancy de Grummond concisely summarizes Etruscan literary stereotypes as follows:

“The Etruscans were described [in Greek and Latin literature] at one time or another as cruel, piratical, effeminate, sexually promiscuous (both men and women), ambitious and devious.”98

Early literary stereotypes of Etruscans were generally negative. De Grummond’s list includes the major stereotypes found in literary works, which all converge to construct an Etruscan literary identity from two distinct threads. First, Etruscans had a longstanding reputation as formidable seafarers, and because of this they were considered (positively) as a naval force to be reckoned with and (negatively) as ruthless pirates. Second, the earliest extant Greek

95 Almagor and Skinner 2013b, 5.

96 Hartog 1980; Hall 1989.

97 A classic statement of this view comes from Spivey and Stoddart (1990, 13-19, and esp. 17, where they write as follows: “[W]e believe that there are very good reasons for treating the Roman literary testimony as worthless for the proper history of Etruscan Italy.”). More recently, Vedia Izzet (2012, 17) has maintained, for example, that, “[t]here is simply nothing in [Livy’s] text that can tell us what Etruscan women were really like. It may be disappointing to recognize this point: Livy presents us with a window not onto Etruscan society but onto his own.”

98 De Grummond 2014, 412.

24 ethnographies say that the Etruscans came from the east, and in the minds of Greek authors, their eastern origins explain their cowardice, effeminacy, and promiscuity. Finally, their cruelty can be attributed to either their piracy or their eastern origins, since the Greeks often thought of easterners as barbaric and cruel. In what follows, I will survey Etruscan literary stereotypes leading up to the first century BCE.99

References to “Tyrrhenians” (Tyrrhenoi) or “Tyrsenians” (Tyrsenoi) begin as early as

Hesiod’s Theogony, which is generally dated to the late eighth century BCE.100 At the end of

Theogony, Hesiod writes that the Tyrrhenians, the children of Odysseus and Circe, live on far-off holy islands (1011-1016). Hesiod’s reference is brief, however, and it is unclear to what people he is actually referring. Another early literary representation of Tyrrhenians comes from the

Homeric Hymn to Dionysus, in which Tyrrhenian pirates (7-8) unwittingly kidnap the god

Dionysus, who punishes the sailors by transforming them into dolphins. Although the author of the hymn does not portray all of the Tyrrhenians in his poem negatively, the image of the

Tyrrhenian pirate evoked in the hymn endures in a variety of future texts, mostly religious and mythological, for over a millennium.101 It is still a matter of debate whether these early Greek

“Tyrrhenians” should be equated with the historical people known in Latin as “Etruscans.”

Some have argued that the early Greek references to Tyrrhenians refer more generally to pirates,

99 Gillett (2014) covers Etruscan literary stereotypes and identity extensively throughout her dissertation and in much greater detail than I will here.

100 Liddell and Scott (s.v. Τυρσηνός) define Tyrsenos as an Ionic and old Attic form of “Τυρρηνός, Tyrrhenian, Etruscan.” Tyrsenoi and Tyrrhenoi in Greek seem to be interchangeable, and both are often translated as “Tyrrhenian,” or even “Etruscan,” despite the obvious anachronism of using a Latin word for an Archaic or Classical Greek one.

101 Gillett 2014, 29. Gillett (2014, 41-54) surveys the topos of Tyrrhenian/Etruscan piracy in literary history and art as a case study in her dissertation.

25 or to various inhabitants of the Italian peninsula.102 As such, it is prudent to be cautious about assuming an Etruscan identity for the Tyrrhenians of Archaic Greek texts. Nevertheless, because later authors do indeed equate Tyrrhenians and Etruscans, the early Greek stories had great influence on later constructions of Etruscan literary identity.

By the fifth century BCE, it is much more likely that references to Tyrrhenians refer to historical Etruscans, because of the “accompanying descriptions of the land they inhabit,

‘typical’ customs and historical events.”103 The lyric poet Pindar, for example, writing in the fifth century BCE, refers to the naval battle of Cumae (474 BCE), in which Campanian and

Syracusan navies defeated Tyrrhenian enemies (Pyth. 1.72).104 The historian Thucydides includes the Tyrrhenians as allies of the Athenians during their ill-fated Sicilian Expedition in

415 BCE. Thucydides writes that the Athenians sought help in “Tyrsenia” (6.88.6),105 and that the Tyrrhenians sent three fifty-oared ships as reinforcements to aid the Athenians (6.103.2), because they hated the Syracusans (7.57.11). The Tyrrhenians are even said to have routed

Gylippus’ infantry (7.53.2), and Thucydides records that the Athenians erected a trophy in honor of their victory (7.54).

Herodotus, however, provides the most extensive early ethnographic treatment of the

Tyrrhenian people in Book 1 of his Histories. Herodotus’ position on the Tyrrhenians seems mostly neutral, but he does associate the Tyrrhenians with cruel acts of piracy. Herodotus is also the foremost source for the Tyrrhenians’ eastern origins. He explains that Lydia (in Asia Minor) was once in the midst of a great famine that persisted for many years (1.94). In order to alleviate the problem, the King of Lydia split the population in half, sending one group to seek their

102 Gillett 2014, 30-32.

103 Gillett 2014, 32.

105 Thucydides consistently uses the word “Tyrsenian” instead of “Tyrrhenian.”

26 fortunes elsewhere. The king appointed his son Tyrrhenus as leader of the Lydian colonists, and together they are said to have sailed west and settled in Italy. Once there, Herodotus says that they began to call themselves “Tyrrhenians” after their leader. Herodotus connects the western

Tyrrhenians to Croesus’ eastern Lydians, implying that the two groups shared similar ethnic identities and a similar “oriental” proclivity for luxury. Another episode from Herodotus’ first book highlights the Tyrrhenians’ naval power and reputation for cruelty. After the Battle of

Alalia (mid-sixth century BCE), the Tyrrhenians of Agylla (Caere) are said to have taken many

Phocaean Greek prisoners of war and stoned them to death (1.166). Herodotus writes that the people of Agylla were subjected to divine wrath as a result of the stoning, and after seeking the advice of the Delphic Oracle, they instituted games in honor of the dead in order to expiate their bloodguilt. In these two short passages, Herodotus lays the groundwork for all the major

Tyrrhenian, and therefore Etruscan, stereotypes that are developed later by both Greek and Latin authors.

After Herodotus, surviving Greek sources on the Tyrrhenians are quite fragmentary until the first century BCE. In the fourth century BCE, for instance, more extensive ethnographic accounts of Tyrrhenians were probably available. Aristotle is said to have written on the

Tyrrhenians and his works must have been quite influential, but little remains. Perhaps as many as two lost Aristotelian works dealt with the Tyrrhenians exclusively, Customs of the

Tyrrhenians and Constitution of the Tyrrhenians. Aristotle’s Protrepticus is also said to have contained information on Tyrrhenians. From the extant fragments, Aristotle seems to have discussed Tyrrhenian dining habits, for he records that Tyrrhenian husbands and wives reclined at dinner together under the same robe.106 In another fragment, Aristotle is said to have

106 Arist. F 607 Rose = Ath. 1.23d.

27 mentioned the Tyrrhenian practice of a particularly gruesome form of torture, whereby the living were bound to human corpses.107 Aristotle’s works appear to preserve or expand upon information about Tyrrhenians found in the works of earlier authors, namely their reputation for licentiousness and cruelty.

Around the same time as Aristotle, the fourth century Sicilian historian Timaeus of

Tauromenium is also said to have discussed the excessive luxury (truphē) of the Tyrrhenians in his Histories, and, according to Athenaeus, Timaeus wrote that young Tyrrhenian female servants waited on men naked.108 Similarly, Theopompus turned a moralizing eye toward the

Tyrrhenians’ behavior in his History. Theopompus’ description of the lascivious Tyrrhenian lifestyle is extensively quoted, presumably verbatim, by Athenaeus.109 Theopompus’ account focuses on the ways in which Tyrrhenian men and women differ from their Greek counterparts in their attitudes toward sex and grooming. He describes Tyrrhenian women as beautiful, hard- drinking, and promiscuous; Tyrrhenian men are effeminate. Both Timaeus and Theopompus seem to follow the literary traditions established by Herodotus and elaborated by Aristotle.

Theopompus could possibly be the originator of the topos of Etruscan luxury (truphē), even though Tyrrhenian luxury and decadence are already implicit in Herodotus’ ethnography of the

Lydians, for he characterizes them as oriental, and, like the Persians and other easterners, luxury

(truphē) is one of the defining traits that separates them from the Greeks.

From the time of Theopompus, the use of the word ‘Tyrrhenian’ by Greek authors

107 Arist. F 10b Ross = Arist. F 60 Rose = August. C. Iul. Pel. 4.15.78. Augustine is here quoting (apparently verbatim) Cicero’s Hortensius, and Cicero in turn cites Aristotle on Etruscan torture, which Vergil’s Evander will associate with the Etruscan Mezentius (see pg. 100); it is generally assumed that Cicero’s source was Aristotle’s lost Protrepticus. Other passages about the practice come from Iamblichus’ Protrepticus (Iamb. Protr. 8 = 48.3-9 Pistelli pg. 48, lines 3-9), who seems to refer to the same passage in Aristotle but does not explicitly mention the philosopher.

108 FGrH 566 F 1b = Ath. 12.517d; FGrH 566 F 1a = Ath. 4.153d.

109 FGrH 115 F 204 = Ath. 12.517d-518b.

28 appears to continue uninterrupted until the first century BCE. In the meantime, with the emergence of Latin literature in the third and second centuries BCE, the earliest use of the term

Etruscus or Tuscus to refer to Rome’s northern neighbors occurs.110 At precisely what point the

Latin Etrusci become synonymous with the Greek ‘Tyrrhenians’ is difficult to say due to the fragmentary sources, but (as I mentioned above) the equation could have been clear as early as

Hesiod, and most likely is as old as the fifth century BCE. In any case, later authors applied these literary traditions and stereotypes of the Tyrrhenians to the Etruscans.

Scholarly Assessment of Etruscans in Literature

For many years, scholars often discounted the portrayals of Etruscans in the works of

Greek and Roman authors, whom, from the earliest accounts to the most recent ones (this includes Vergil and Livy), they have generally viewed as proponents of biased stereotypes. As such, most scholars of Etruscans consider literary works as unreliable or worthless sources for

Etruscan history, ancient Etruscan character, or Etruscan identity.111 They generally believe that the ancient sources are too biased or ignorant because they are written from an outsider’s perspective (i.e. a non-Etruscan perspective).112

Recent work on literary accounts of Etruscans has shown that ancient authors, despite their biases, may reveal certain truths about their contemporary societies and about historical

Etruscans. Gretchen Meyers (2016), for example, sees interpretive problems in the Greek and

Roman authors’ treatment of Etruscan women, specifically Livy’s Tanaquil, but, regardless,

110 Forms of the word Tuscus appear in Plautus’ Cistellaria (562) and Curculio (482), which are roughly dated to late third/early second century BCE. The earliest known use of Etruscus appears in Varro’s De Lingua Latina (5.143), first century BCE.

111 Spivey and Stoddart 1990, 17.

112 De Grummond 2014, 413: “These observations [i.e. literary accounts of Etruscans], made by outsiders often hostile to the Etruscans, are somewhat exaggerated or at best simply unbalanced accounts.”

29 Meyers does find value in some aspects of Livy’s narrative. She argues that Livy’s stories may reveal certain truths about what elite Etruscan women were actually like. Meyers, therefore, does not discard the literary evidence completely, but insists that Livy’s text may be revealing of

Etruscan matrons of the distant past. In other words, Livy provides generally false stories that sometimes contain small kernels of truth, which can be supported by archaeological evidence.

Hillary Becker (2016) likewise surveys the Etruscan stereotype of luxury (truphē) and concludes that Greek and Roman authors may have communicated “facts” or truths about Etruscan society, but that they were uninterested in why Etruscans behaved in a “luxurious” way. Rather, Becker maintains, ancient authors were interested in “projecting and thereby reinforcing the social conventions that they found to be acceptable in their respective cultures,” in turn revealing more about Greeks and Romans than about Etruscans “through the medium of often hostile accounts.”113

Method: Vergil and Livy: Two Case Studies

Studies such as those discussed above reveal that literary sources on Etruscans are not entirely worthless for what they communicate about Etruscans and their society, but at the same time they indicate that the literary evidence should not be interpreted in a strictly positivist manner. Many authors write about Etruscans in some way or another, but I have chosen the works of Vergil and Livy because of their cultural importance and their relative contemporaneity, both to each other and to the archaeological material that is the subject of

Chapter 2. In this project, I will explore the works of Vergil and Livy and tease out how each author contributes to the construction of Etruscan identity in the first century BCE through the structure and deployment of things Etruscan in their works. I treat these literary works not as

113 Becker 2016, 302.

30 straightforward accounts of Etruscan culture or as factual narratives about Rome’s conquest of

Etruria, but as documents of Roman reflections on the interactions between Etruscans and

Romans and on the nature of their respective identities. Both Vergil and Livy play upon established Etruscan literary stereotypes and, in some cases, even defy them, and in so doing both authors fashion an Etruscan identity in their own time. Both authors create an important role for Etruscan identity in their own day by writing Etruscans into their ancient histories, whether mythological or traditional. Each author has important things to say about Etruscans and, I would argue, each contributes significantly to an ongoing discourse on Etruscan identity both in their own time and for their successors.

Structure of Dissertation

In an effort to examine Etruscan ethnic identity in the first century BCE, I take an interdisciplinary approach, analyzing in detail both literary evidence from Roman authors and the material remains left by Etruscans themselves. This dissertation comprises four chapters, including the present introductory one, and a short conclusion. Chapter 2 explores the expression of Etruscan ethnic identity in burial practices of the first century BCE by examining the environments of Late Etruscan (Hellenistic) family tombs of the city of Perugia. Chapters 3 and 4 each concentrate on a different Roman author’s literary representation of Etruscan characters. Chapter 3 explores Etruscans in Vergil’s Aeneid, which seems to be interested in establishing a new, elevated place for Etruscans in Proto-Roman history, while at the same time upending traditional literary stereotypes. Chapter 4 examines Livy’s treatment of Etruscan identity in the first pentad (Books 1-5) of his Roman history and its integral relationship to

Roman identity, a chief concern of Livy’s work. At the end I offer some conclusions.

CHAPTER 2: ARCHAEOLOGICAL ETRUSCANS OF PERUGIA

Introduction

The Latin inscriptions written on cinerary urns from Perugia (ancient Perusia) are often cited as evidence for cultural change in Etruria, but the original tomb contexts of these epitaphs are frequently ignored. The suburban necropoleis of Perugia have yielded hundreds of urns, many inscribed in Etruscan script and many inscribed in Latin script. There are over one hundred and thirty Latin epitaphs that come from the hundreds of Late Etruscan (Hellenistic) family tombs of Perugia, but, unfortunately, they are often poorly documented archaeologically.

Because the archaeological material from Perugia is vast, I have chosen to focus my attention on three Perusine family tombs. These tombs were chosen as case-studies for their relatively well- documented tomb environments and for the fact that all contained both Latin and Etruscan epitaphs. On the one hand, there are obvious limitations to a study that examines only three tombs out of hundreds, but, on the other hand, detailed analyses of the individual tomb environments provide a starting point for investigating the negotiation of ethnic identity through funerary remains. In this chapter I will demonstrate that the archaeological and epigraphic evidence from Perusine family tomb contexts indicates that during the first century BCE the people of Perugia were actively constructing and negotiating their “sense of peoplehood” through the creation, placement, and repeated interaction with their family tombs and the objects within.

Compared to the well-known histories of Rome or Athens, the history of Perugia is rather obscure. There are scant literary references to Perugia in Livy and in later authors, who provide

32 only brief glimpses into Perugia’s long history; archaeological evidence furnishes the rest. It is impossible, as Torelli and Curti have observed, to write a history of Perugia without relying mainly on material evidence.114 Even that is complicated by the fact that the primary source of archaeological remains from Late Etruscan (Hellenistic) Perugia are tombs, and the most abundant artifacts from the tombs are their travertine cinerary urns.115 Also known as

“cremation” or “ash” urns, cinerary urns served as containers for the burned remains of the dead, and they were the standard form of elite burial at Late Etruscan Perugia. Since they are sometimes decorated and often inscribed with epitaphs, the urns are a rich source of data for the daily lives (and afterlives) of Perugia’s people.

It is the inscriptions from Perugia’s many cinerary urns that have received the most attention from scholars, who have generally been more interested in the texts of the epitaphs than in their tomb contexts or the urns themselves.116 The epitaphs provide not only the names of the dead, but also important genealogical information and evidence for an apparent change in

114 Torelli and Curti 1993, 65; the best overall treatment of Perugia’s archaeology (with bibliography) is Berichillo 2004.

115 The Late Etruscan or Hellenistic Period in Etruria is traditionally dated from the third to first centuries BCE. For the general dates of these periods, I follow Haynes 2000. This period is long, spanning several centuries, and, as such, there are serious difficulties in dating Late Etruscan tombs and their contents. At best, most tombs can only be assigned a general range of dates or a terminus post quem. Individual urns may be dated according to associated finds, such as coins or Greek pottery, or perhaps the rare mention of a Roman voting tribe, but because the tombs were often in use for multiple generations, it is nearly impossible to be certain about the exact dates of tomb environments or the objects found within them. Following the work of Jürgen Thimme (1954, 1957), most agree (cf. Huntsman 2014, 31-32) that the presence of Latin epitaphs within a tomb indicates a first century BCE date. Thimme’s 1957 study of Chiusine urns established a terminus post quem of 100 BCE for Latin-inscribed urns, but Jorma Kaimio observes (1975, 191) that it is unclear if Thimme based this date on his assumption that Latinization was the result of the Social War, “i.e. that the Latin inscriptions must be later than 90 B.C” (Kaimio 1975, 191). I am working under the assumption that tombs with Latin epitaphs from Perugia were at least in use during the first century BCE. Some could possibly have been in use even later, but I think, at Perugia at least, that the Late Etruscan family tombs’ use probably ceased with the destruction of Perugia by Octavian in the early months of 40 BCE. If this is correct, Perusine tombs with inscriptions in Latin script would have a tentative date range of 90 to 40 BCE (with a terminus ante quem of 40 BCE). Both Kaimio (1975, 190-193) and Theresa Huntsman (2014, 27-33) include extensive discussions of the problems with the chronology of tombs, urns, and their inscriptions.

116 For a complete summary of the sources for the Latin (and incidentally the Etruscan) epigraphy of Perugia, see the introduction to Volume 11 of the CIL (Bormann 1926, 350-352).

33 Perusine burial practices, as we begin to see Latin language inscriptions in the same tombs as

Etruscan ones.117 The appearance of Latin inscriptions at Perugia and other locations in Etruria is often cited as evidence for a linguistic shift from the Etruscan language to Latin,118 and, by implication, as evidence for the Romanization of Etruscan society in the first century BCE.119 It is true that few, if any, Etruscan language inscriptions postdate the late first century BCE or the early first century CE, further bolstering the theory of Roman culture’s dominance over that of the Etruscans.120 The scholars who have used these inscriptions as evidence for the

Romanization of Etruria, however, have relied overmuch on the isolated texts of funerary inscriptions, usually from Perugia and Chiusi, and have often ignored their archaeological context. My goal in this chapter is to relocate these inscriptions in their broader context, by examining in detail three specific family tombs and their contents as thoroughly as possible.

Through these three case studies, I hope to shed some light on the ways that people of Perugia negotiated and expressed their identities in the first century BCE.

Perugia sits atop a lofty cluster of hills on the right bank of the Tiber.121 It lies about eighty-five miles upriver from Rome in the heart of the Italian peninsula about midway between

Italy’s two Mediterranean coasts. Perugia is the modern capital of the region of Umbria, which embraces Lake Trasimene in the northwest and the Apennine Mountains in the east, as well as the cities of Assisi and Orvieto, but in antiquity Perugia was one of the leading cities of Etruria.

117 Latin inscriptions appear at different Etruscan cities at different times: some southern Etruscan cities have Latin inscriptions starting in the second century BCE, but in northern cities Latin appears later, sometimes well into the first century BCE and beyond (Wallace 2008, 27).

118 Kaimio 1975 is the seminal work on the so-called “linguistic shift.”

119 For my discussion of Romanization and how it relates to Etruscan material, see Chapter 1, pgs. 17-21.

120 According to Benelli (2001, 11) the latest Etruscan inscription is a bilingual epitaph from Arezzo (ET Ar 1.8) dating to the first quarter of the first century CE (ca. 15-20 CE).

121 For a discussion of Perugia and its territory's geology, hydrology, and climate, see Berichillo 2004, 177-179.

34 Remnants of Perugia’s Etruscan past are visible today in its walls, gates, and numerous suburban necropoleis. For well over two-and-a-half millennia people have inhabited Perugia, yet its origins, and much of its history, remain hazy.

Although the truth about Perugia’s origins will probably always lie in obscurity, there are some ancient legends about the city’s beginnings. Servius, the fourth-century commentator on

Vergil, names one Aulestes as Perugia’s founder,122 and elsewhere says that Sarsinates

(Umbrians) inhabited the city.123 Servius’ sources are unknown and his comments lack detail, but there is no reason to dismiss his claims, which may preserve elements of the truth. For example, Perugia’s proximity to the borders of ancient Umbria makes Servius’ mention of

Umbrian inhabitants at Perugia entirely plausible, even though there is no evidence to support his statements.

Archaeological remains from Perugia and the surrounding area are rare before the end of the sixth century BCE. Scholars have attributed the dearth of early material evidence to

Perugia’s lengthy, continuous occupation,124 and, since Perugia is still a living city, archaeologists cannot easily conduct large-scale excavations in the modern urban center, which has yielded few artifacts to date.125 During the Iron Age or Villanovan Period (ca. 900-720

BCE),126 there is sporadic evidence of a settlement in and around the area of Perugia.127 The archaeological evidence from the following era, known as the Orientalizing Period (720-575

122 hunc Ocnum alii Aulestis filium, alii fratrem, qui Perusiam condidit referent (Serv. ad Aen. 10.198).

123 a Sarsinatibus, qui Perusiae consederant (Serv. ad Aen. 10.201).

124 Feruglio 1993a, 33; Cenciaioli 2002, 49; Nati 2008, 7.

125 Torelli and Curti 1993, 66.

126 For the dates of the various periods of Etruscan history, I follow Haynes 2000.

127 Feruglio (1966, 303) mentions the discovery of Villanovan ceramics in 1960. For a discussion of the archaeological material of the Villanovan Period in and around Perugia, see Bonomi Ponzi 2002 and Berichillo 2004, 179-180.

35 BCE), is even scarcer than the Villanovan Period, and most of the material comes from outside what would in later periods be Perugia proper.128

Perugia’s archaeological record is mostly silent until the end of the Archaic Period (ca.

575-480 BCE), at which time Perugia shows signs of urban growth in the form of wealthy burials, trade, and literacy.129 Late sixth-century tombs contain rich grave goods,130 such as chariots and imported Greek ceramics.131 Other items, such as the famous Sperandio

Sarcophagus (ca. 500 BCE), which is made of sandstone in a Chiusine style, confirm the existence of commerce, or at least communication, between the people of Chiusi and Perugia.132

An Etruscan alphabet incised on a bucchero cup from Perugia is evidence for the advent of literacy.133 This sort of evidence has led some to conclude that an urban center and a stratified society characterized Perugia by the late sixth century BCE.134

During the fifth century BCE, at which time Etruria is thought to have suffered political crises caused by serious military defeats throughout Italy,135 Perugia seems to have remained

128 Bratti 2007, 27. For the Orientalizing Period at Perugia see also Bonomi Ponzi 2002 and Berichillo 2004, 180- 181. For a brief summary of the early archaeological material found in and around Perugia, see Nati 2008, 7.

129 Neil 2012, 56.

130 Feruglio 1993a, 33; Torelli and Curti 1993, 68; Bratti 2007, 27-28.

131 Feruglio (1993a, 35) dates these chariot burials to 560-500 BCE; Bratti 2007, 28-29.

132 Feruglio 1993a, 38; Neil 2012, 57.

133 Feruglio 1993a, 38-40; Bratti 2007, 30.

134 Berichillo 2004, 181; Neil 2012, 56. The evidence for the Archaic Period comes from burials found predominantly during the nineteenth century at several suburban necropoleis (see Berichillo 2004, 181-182, n. 16-20 for an extensive bibliography).

135 In the fifth century BCE, this crisis had already begun for the cities in the south of Etruria: Etruscans had lost their foothold in Campania after Hieron of Syracuse defeated the Etruscan navy at the Battle of Cumae in 474 BCE. For the traditional account of this so-called Crisis of the Fifth Century, see Torelli 1984, 183-214.

36 largely unaffected.136 By the early fourth century, however, there is much more funerary evidence from Perugia, including new depositions at older cemeteries and the creation of some new suburban necropoleis.137 Tombs of the fourth century consist of individual inhumation burials.138 These people were interred in large stone or wooden sarcophagi, and their grave goods, which were relatively homogenous, included bronze weapons and armor, kottaboi,139 athletic equipment, imported Greek ceramics, bronze mirrors, and jewelry.140 The richness of their grave goods may indicate that the people of Perugia were flourishing at this time.141

Further indications of Perugia’s welfare during the fourth century include the construction of the earliest phases of Perugia’s city walls.142 More evidence for the city’s prominence is the mention of Perugia in Livy’s account of fourth-century historical events.143

During the third century BCE, the Romans destroyed several major Etruscan cities, including Volsinii (modern Orvieto), Perugia’s neighbor to the south, in 264 BCE,144 but there is no evidence for any destruction to Perugia during the third century, despite the historical

136 Nati 2008, 7-8; Neil 2012, 57. For a brief discussion of this crisis and how it affected Perugia, see Torelli and Curti 1993, 73-74.

137 Neil 2012, 57-58.

138 Feruglio 1993a, 40, 42; Bratti 2007, 30-31.

139 Kottaboi are stands for the drinking game kottabos, which involved casting wine dregs or lees at a target.

140 Feruglio 1993a, 38-40; Bratti 2007, 30.

141 Feruglio 1993a, 40.

142 Neil 2012, 62.

143 Livy recounts a battle supposedly fought in 310 BCE near the Ciminian Forest at Sutrium, or possibly on the other side of the forest near Perugia (Livy 9.36-37). Livy also says that the Romans defeated the allied forces of Etruscans and Umbrians, and that afterwards the leading cities of Etruria (capita Etruriae), including Perugia, Cortona, and Arezzo, sued for peace and agreed to a thirty-year truce with Rome (9.37.11-12). The treaty, however, was short-lived, and hostilities between Etruscans and Romans soon resumed.

144 Bratti 2007, 32. The power vacuum created by the elimination of Volsinii may have allowed Perugia to take control of commercial routes along the upper Tiber River, and Perugia may also have accommodated a great influx of Etruscan refugees from the surrounding areas (Neil 2012, 62-63).

37 tradition that the people of Perugia were defeated in battle by the Roman propraetor Gnaeus

Fulvius around this time.145 Perugia’s archaeological record seems to indicate that Perugia was flourishing again in the third century BCE, when most other Etruscan cities were struggling with internal and external conflicts.146 At this time the people of Perugia finished their city walls and built new roads and cemeteries,147 which in turn accommodated an increase in the numbers of burials.148 Beginning in the third century, burials favored the rite of cremation over inhumation, and in the new necropoleis there were now tombs of large, multigenerational families instead of tombs devoted to individuals.149 During the Second Punic War (218-202 BCE), even though the

Battle of Lake Trasimene (217 BCE) occurred close to Perugia, there is no archaeological evidence that Perugia suffered at the hands of the Carthaginians. By the end of the war, Perugia seems not only to have remained loyal to Rome, but also to have fared well economically, if we can believe Livy’s claim that the people of Perugia sent large amounts of timber and grain to aid

Scipio Africanus’ expedition to Africa in 205.150 From the end of the Second Punic War until the beginning of the first century BCE, momentous social and political changes came to Italy as

Rome became more powerful and its relationship with its allies more strained. During this period, Perugia does not appear to have experienced the same social tensions that were affecting

145 Livy 10.31.3.

146 The Etruscans suffered a major defeat at the Battle of Sentinum (295 BCE), an event which traditionally marks the end of Etruscan power and independence in Italy, and which coincides with the beginning of the Late Etruscan (Hellenistic) Period (third to first century BCE).

147 Feruglio 1993a, 48.

148 Neil 2012, 62.

149 Berichillo 2004, 220. For the next two centuries, burials in family tombs became an important funerary practice throughout Etruria (see pg. 40).

150 Livy (28.45.18) lists the contributions of many other prominent Etruscan cities, which are also said to have sent supplies, including Caere, Populonia, Tarquinii, Volterra, Arezzo, Chiusi, and Rosellae. Scipio’s African expedition ultimately resulted in the defeat of Hannibal at Zama and the end of the war.

38 other northern Etruscan cities.151 Nevertheless, at Perugia, the proliferation of the Late Etruscan cinerary urns and their group burials may offer evidence of a changing social structure.152

Enormous political changes came to the peoples of the Italian peninsula in the first century BCE.153 The political structure of Perugia prior to the outbreak of the Social War (91-88

BCE) is unknown, but aristocratic Etruscan oligarchies may have been still active in Etruria on the eve of the first century BCE.154 After 90 BCE, however, we know that the people of Perugia were enrolled as Roman citizens in the voting tribe of Tromentina, and that the city became a

Roman municipium, which had quattuorviri as its chief magistrates.155 Following the Social War there is no further mention of Perugia in the ancient sources until it emerges at the epicenter of a

151 Berichillo (2004, 265) attributes Perugia’s success to a “climate of social mobility” and “economic well-being,” in which the upper classes made concessions to the lower classes and created a so-called “middle class.” The Perusine “middle class” supposedly enjoyed the fruits of Perugia’s rich agricultural production and support from Rome.

152 Feruglio (1993a, 48) speaks of a more general wellbeing in Perugia, but also notes that the people were less wealthy than their predecessors. Scholars such as Feruglio see the cinerary urns as relatively cheap, simple burials, which in turn may indicate more egalitarian social practices, if we assume that funerary practices mirror actual social behavior.

153 When M. Livius Drusus promised to put forth a law that would grant Roman citizenship to the Italians (App. B. Civ. 1.35; cf. Scullard 1970, 64-67 on Drusus and the outbreak of the Social War), he met with considerable opposition from Roman and some Italian upper classes (App. B. Civ. 1.35-36; Scullard 1970, 65). Appian writes that Etruscans and Umbrians opposed Drusus’s reforms, probably in order to preserve their ancestral lands, because Drusus’ law included within it a provision for the establishment of new colonies in Italy (App. B. Civ. 1.35-36; Scullard 1970, 65). Drusus’s proposal failed and he was assassinated (App. B. Civ. 1.36), and soon afterward the Social War broke out between Rome and its Italian allies (socii), who wanted Roman citizenship. Etruscans and Umbrians only briefly entered the war at its outset, and by late 90 BCE Rome granted citizenship to its loyal allies and to any who would agree to an immediate truce, and, although the war continued for three more years, under the Lex Iulia the Etruscans were enfranchised (App. B. Civ 1.49-50; Sherwin-White 1973, 149).

154 It is generally thought that Roman policy in Etruria was to allow Etruscan aristocrats to maintain their traditional power, and that therefore the traditional social system of Etruria also remained in place. To quote Harris (1971, 202), “[their traditional power] is the dominance of the ruling class over the depressed but in some cases actively discontented serf class.”

155 On Perugia’s tribal affiliation: Harris 1971, 333; Perugia’s enrollment in the Tromentina voting tribe is attested in numerous inscriptions (cf. Bormann 1926, 353). On Perugia’s status as a municipium: Plin. HN 3.52. On the magistracies: inscriptions from Perugia indicate that there was both a board of quattuorviri and, later, of duoviri (CIL 11.1934 mentions a quattuorvir; CIL 11.1943 and 11.1944 mention both magistracies; CIL 11.1924 and 11.1941, only the duovirate; cf. Bormann 1926, 353); for the establishment of quattuorviri after the Social War, see Sherwin-White 1973, 63.

39 horrific clash between Lucius Antonius and Octavian in 41/40 BCE, known as the Perusine War

(Bellum Perusinum). In the midst of the civil wars following Julius Caesar’s assassination,

Octavian had wanted to appropriate land in Italy for his own retired veterans.156 L. Antonius and his brother’s wife Fulvia opposed Octavian’s plan.157 Lucius made Perugia the stronghold of his resistance to Octavian, and Octavian mounted a protracted siege against Perugia, eventually starving the city into submission.158 After the siege, a fire broke out and utterly consumed

Perugia—only the Temple of Vulcan is said to have survived.159 Perusine citizens did not escape

Octavian’s wrath: for their support of Lucius, Octavian was rumored to have sacrificed three hundred of its most prominent citizens upon the altar of the Divine Julius on the Ides of

March.160 After having survived seemingly intact for centuries, in 40 BCE Perugia was destroyed.161 Octavian confiscated Perugia’s surrounding territory.162

Perusine Funerary Practice in the Late Etruscan Period

Perusine Tomb Forms in the Late Etruscan Period

The city of Perugia is surrounded by many suburban necropoleis, some of which were in use for much of Perugia’s history. These necropoleis often consist of many small, subterranean,

156 Scullard 1970, 167.

157 Scullard 1970, 167; Bratti 2007, 34-35.

158 Ancient sources on the Perusine War: App. B. Civ. 5.32-49 and Cass. Dio 48.14.

159 App. B. Civ. 5.49; Cass. Dio 48.14.5.

160 There is no reason to doubt that Perugia was destroyed at the end of Octavian’s siege—the details, however, are questionable (cf. Carter 1982, 104: “it is impossible to believe this story of human sacrifice”). Appian writes that Octavian put the members of the town council to death (B. Civ. 5.48), but Dio includes the gruesome detail of the human sacrifice (48.14.4), which Suetonius also mentions (Aug. 15). Propertius (1.21-22) also mentions the siege of Perugia, and even talks about burials (Perusina...sepulcra, 1.22.3).

161 Neil 2012, 68.

162 Cass. Dio 48.14.6; Bratti 2007, 35.

40 rock-cut chamber tombs, which ranged in size. The general nature of the local soil—a sedimentary soil known as tassello—perhaps discouraged the construction of large chamber tombs. Anna Eugenia Feruglio notes that some Archaic tombs were larger and possessed multiple chambers, but, by the time of the Late Etruscan (Hellenistic) Period, larger tombs were exceptions to the rule and single-chambered, rectangular tombs were the norm.163 Most tombs had a dromos leading down to a single entryway, which was often sealed by large, travertine blocks. The interiors of the underground chambers were usually rectangular and sometimes had shelves, or sometimes niches, along the walls for the placement of burial urns.164 The Late

Etruscan family tombs were often dedicated to the interment of the members of an individual family (or clan) over multiple generations. Some tombs had only a few burials; others had dozens or, in the case of the Cai Cutu family tomb, around fifty burials.165

Perusine Burial Forms of the Late Etruscan Period

During the Late Etruscan Period, the chief funeral rite at Perugia was cremation.166 After a corpse was cremated, the ashes and bone were placed in a cinerary urn.167 Any receptacle could theoretically function as a cinerary urn, and therefore they came in a variety of forms and materials, but it is important to distinguish the cinerary urn from the sarcophagus, which usually

163 Feruglio 2002, 478, 478 n. 16. The Cai Cutu family tomb, which is cruciform, (see Figure 23) and the Hypogeum of the Volumnii (see Cenciaioli 2011) are examples of large Late Etruscan tombs with multiple chambers. There are also some barrel-vaulted tombs made from cut masonry, but these are rare (for discussion, see Oleson 1982, 30-36).

164 Barker and Rasmussen 1998, 288.

165 Feruglio (2002, 478 n. 15) observes that the Cai Cutu family tomb (discussed below, pgs. 68-81) had an “exceptionally high” number of burials. By comparison, however, some family tombs in other areas of Etruria had even more burials—the Calisna Sepu tomb at Monteriggioni, for example, housed well over one hundred interments (Barker and Rasmussen 1998, 288).

166 Sclafani 2010, 13; Pilo and Giuman 2015, 101.

167 Berichillo 2004, 219; Bratti 2007, 32.

41 held an entire inhumation burial.168 At Perugia, beginning in the third century BCE, there appears to have been a shift in funerary practices from inhumation burials in large stone (or sometimes wooden) sarcophagi (Figure 3) to cremation burials in smaller travertine cinerary urns or ceramic ollae (Figure 18), earthenware jars often covered with another ceramic vessel, such as a bowl or a cup.169 A cinerary urn has two essential parts—a container (or box) for the ashes and bone, and a lid of some sort. In Perugia, Late Etruscan cinerary urns came in two main types: stone urns and, less commonly, olla burials.170 Stone urns have a hollow box (chest or ossuary) to hold the ashes and bones, which a lid covered.171 Etruscan communities used local resources to craft their stone urns, whose material composition therefore varied from place to place.172 The craftsmen of Perugia produced urns from local travertine.173 The height of

Perugia’s travertine urn production was the second to first centuries BCE,174 during which time most urns had a characteristic Perusine shape, which was different from that of other cities

(Figure 2). Perugia’s stone urn boxes are tall cubes with a roof lid (gabled or peaked), the

168 Sclafani 2010, 13.

169 Berichillo 2004, 219. But sometimes, as we shall see in the Cai Cutu family tomb (see below, pgs. 68-81), cremation burials were interred alongside the older inhumation burials in sarcophagi.

170 Pilo and Giuman 2015, 101.

171 Sclafani 2010, 13.

172 Sclafani 2010, 13.

173 Urns from Volterra are commonly made of tufo or alabaster (Barker and Rasmussen 1998, 288), and the majority of Chiusi’s urns are made of terracotta (Barker and Rasmussen 1998, 288-289; Theresa Huntsman’s 2014 dissertation is a catalogue and study of figural terracotta urns from Chiusi).

174 Sclafani 2010, 143-144. A smaller number of terracotta urns (forty or so) have been found at Perugia and catalogued by Sclafani. Until recently, they were considered to be of Chiusine manufacture (Sclafani 2010, 143), but Sclafani sees the Perusine terracottas as distinct from the Chiusine ones, citing their square-shaped lids, which fit the traditionally cubic Perusine chests, and their “lapidary style”, or their frequent lack of iconic forms (Sclafani 2010, 147). Sclafani (2010, 352) contends that the terracotta urns from Perugia were produced there but influenced by Chiusine artisans.

42 pediment of which was meant to face the viewer.175 Figural lids, which were shaped to resemble reclining or recumbent men and women, are also found at Perugia from this time period (Figure

6).176

The box faces and lids of Perusine urns could be plain or decorated.177 Some urns lacked decoration altogether (Figure 3),178 but many Perusine urns had relief sculptures on their boxes, lids, or both.179 Perusine relief sculptures were carved directly into the travertine, and they sometimes preserve stucco, traces of paint, and gilding. Reliefs range from recurring, simple motifs to elaborately-carved mythological scenes. Simple decorations, such as peltae (curved shields, Figure 4), rosettes (Figure 4), or gorgon heads (medusas or gorgoneia, Figure 5), come in a wide variety of combinations.180 When mythological reliefs are present, they often cover the entire front of the box, and they are usually scenes identifiable from Greek myth. At Perugia, scenes representing Scylla, the Seven against Thebes, Troilus’ Ambush by Achilles, and especially the Sacrifice of Iphigenia (Figure 6) were popular.181

175 Sclafani 2010, 143. The Italian term for this type of lid is coperchio displuviato, which translates roughly into “a cover for keeping off the rain” (Pauli and Danielsson 1893-, 415).

176 Barker and Rasmussen 1998, 288.

177 In contrast, a typical urn from Chiusi is oblong, shorter, and bears its inscription or decoration on the long side. Its pediments are located on the short sides. The Chiusine urns are more like oblong chests; Perugia’s urns are like square boxes or perhaps even houses or temple facades (Pauli and Danielsson 1893-, 415).

178 In a count of the urns on display at the Archaeological Museum of Perugia, Pilo and Giuman (2015, 101 [Fig. 3]) found that 32 percent of urns were plain and the rest were decorated in some way. The percentage of plain urns from my own case studies is also around a third of the total urns.

179 Pilo and Giuman’s chart (2015, 101 [Fig. 3]) shows that 23 percent of urns on display at the Archaeological Museum of Perugia have decorative elements, 20 percent have mythological scenes, 16 percent have decorative figures, 5 percent have scenes of the deceased, and 4 percent have battle scenes.

180 Dareggi 1972, 20.

181 Scullard 1967, 162; Dareggi 1972, 19; for the different mythological scenes from Perugia, see Pilo and Giuman 2015, 102 (Fig. 4). There are at least thirty-three urns showing the Sacrifice of Iphigenia from Perugia, far more than any other scene (Pilo and Giuman 2015, 101).

43 In addition to the variety of decorations, it was standard practice at Perugia to include an inscription, the deceased’s epitaph, on cinerary urns.182 Epitaphs consist mainly of proper names, which were usually written somewhere on the front of the urn, often on the bottom of the lid or at the top of the box.183 The vast majority of epitaphs from Perugia are written in the

Etruscan script,184 but some are also written in Latin.185 Latin epitaphs probably entered the epigraphic record of Etruria at the beginning of the first century BCE.186 Enrico Benelli marks

90 BCE as the “watershed moment” for a so-called “linguistic shift” from Etruscan to Latin epigraphy in Etruria.187 In fact, the funerary inscriptions from Chiusi and Perugia are the sole source of data for the linguistic shift from Etruscan to Latin epigraphy: both Kaimio and Benelli have based their conclusions about the Latinization of Etruria (the so-called “linguistic shift”)

182 Dareggi 1972, 25. Inscriptions constitute the main source of our knowledge of the Etruscan language. Over ten thousand Etruscan inscriptions have been discovered, ranging in date from the eighth century BCE to the first century CE, but most postdate the fifth century BCE (Wallace 2008, 2).

183 On Etruscan nomenclature in general with grammatical explanations, see Wallace 2008, 77-94 and Bonfante and Bonfante 2002, 85-90.

184 There are four main resources for the study of Etruscan inscriptions: the Corpus Inscriptionum Etruscarum (CIE), Etruskische Texte (ET), the Thesaurus Linguae Etruscae (TLE), and Rivista Epigrafia Etrusca (REE), published regularly in the issues of Studi Etruschi (see Wallace 2016, 161).

185 The Romans may be famous for their “epigraphic habit,” but during the Late Etruscan (Hellenistic) Period Etruscans produced even more inscriptions than the Romans did. There are fewer inscriptions from Republican Rome than there are from some cities in Etruria. In the period following the Second Punic War until the time of Augustus, for example, the combined number of inscriptions from Perugia and Chiusi is nearly four times that of Rome. Together Chiusi and Perugia have produced “4000 Etruscan inscriptions datable to the post-Hannibalic period: Rome itself only provides 1100 Republican inscriptions” (Benelli 2001, 10). Other cities have not produced the same rich corpus of Late Etruscan (Hellenistic) funerary inscriptions (Benelli 2001, 10).

186 Due to problems with dating, it is often difficult to assign precise dates to these Latin inscriptions (see above footnote 115). There are many problems with dating inscriptions and burials from Etruscan family tombs, because they were often used for long periods of time. Nevertheless, Latin inscriptions are generally thought to date to the first century BCE, and they are assumed to be later than inscriptions in the Etruscan alphabet (Kaimio 1975, 191).

187 Benelli 2001, 11. As we have seen, in 90 BCE the Etruscans acquired Roman citizenship under the Lex Iulia during the Social War, and their participation in the Roman tribal system and enrollment in the census required new citizens to adopt an official Roman name. But these legal changes were gradual in Etruria: epigraphic evidence indicates that the Latin and Etruscan written languages existed side-by-side for several generations after the Lex Iulia took effect: “[T]he two name systems coexist for almost a century” (Benelli 2001, 11).

44 strictly on Perugia and Chiusi, since the epigraphic output of these two cities has dwarfed that of other Etruscan centers, including the larger southern metropoleis of Tarquinii and Cerveteri.188

As a result, our understanding of Etruria’s relationship with Rome and, more specifically,

Etruria’s so-called Latinization is inextricably linked to, and supported by, evidence from the epigraphy of Chiusi and Perugia. To understand the Latinization of Perusine epigraphy, to challenge existing theories of the Romanization of Etruria, and at the same time elucidate the dynamics involved in the expression and negotiation of ethnic identity in the first century BCE, a reexamination of the tomb contexts of the Latin-inscribed urns of Perugia is necessary.

Case Studies of Perusine Tomb Contexts

Thus far, I have provided an overview of Perugia’s history, as well as descriptions of the types of Late Etruscan tombs, burials, and inscriptions found there. In what follows, I shall be reexamining the evidence for three individual tomb environments in a series of case studies.

Here I have chosen family tombs that contain Latin inscriptions, because it is generally agreed that tombs containing Latin epitaphs were in use during the first century BCE. Many tombs from Perugia contain Latin inscriptions, but few have received documentation in enough detail to allow for a reconstruction of the tomb, and because it is beyond the scope of this chapter to examine the contexts of all the Latin inscriptions of Perugia, I have focused on three fairly well- known family tombs that housed both Latin and Etruscan inscriptions.

Case Study 1: The Vlesi Family Tomb

In November 1878 M. Guardabassi discovered a chamber tomb belonging to the Vlesi family at the Perusine necropolis known as Ponticello di Campo, and he later published his

188 Other cities have not produced the same rich corpus of Late Hellenistic funerary inscriptions (Benelli 2001, 10).

45 findings in that year’s Notizie degli Scavi.189 Excavators revealed a short dromos that led to the tomb’s entrance, and upon entering they found a single, square room (Figure 7). The tomb was small, measuring only about 3 meters square and 1.85 m high, and it seemed as though looters had already ransacked it, because urns lay toppled on the floor and hardly any precious metals remained. There were some remarkable finds, including a richly-decorated terracotta figural urn in the Chiusine style (now lost) and a travertine cinerary urn bearing inscriptions in both

Etruscan and Latin. Guardabassi paid close attention to detail in his report.190 He carefully recorded the locations of the urns in a tomb diagram, and he described almost every object, even those of the plainer variety (Figure 8). Guardabassi’s brief but thorough report included the urns, olla burials, and a list of grave goods that the looters had missed.

The contents of the Vlesi family tomb eventually came into the possession of the

National Archaeological Museum in Perugia, where the urns remain together today, presumably because of Guardabassi’s meticulous records, and because the epitaphs identify them as members of the same family. As such, this tomb group is relatively well known, having appeared most recently in Mafalda Cipollone’s 2004 museum catalogue, in which she describes all of the urns, transcribes the inscriptions and translates them into Italian, and provides images of the artifacts (although small and sometimes hard to see).191 From the photos it is clear that the urns’ inscriptions are still legible, and that they match those epitaphs first published by

189 Guardabassi 1878, 336-338.

190 The CIE’s editors have duplicated Guardabassi’s original tomb diagram (compare Figures 7 and 8), but they substituted their CIE numbers for Guardabassi’s original numbers. Some of the numbers on the CIE diagram, however, are incorrect: CIE 3684, 3685, 3686, and 3687 are marked on the diagram as CIE 3694, 3695, 3696, and 3697, respectively.

191 Cipollone 2004, 20-22. In addition to the missing terracotta urn, one of the travertine urns described by Guardabassi (his number 11, see Figure 8) is missing from Cipollone’s catalogue. Guardabassi’s report (1878, 338) says that the missing urn was made of travertine, unembellished, and uninscribed.

46 Guardabassi in 1878 and then again later by the editors of the CIE and ET.192 Ten of the eighteen burials had inscriptions. With the exception of the terracotta urn, which allegedly had a figural lid of a reclining female, the inscriptions indicate that seven urns held male burials and four female.193 The inscriptions also seem to show that the burials in the Vlesi family tomb comprise at least three generations, spanning the second and first centuries BCE, but four or perhaps even five generations are also possible.194

The tomb chamber was originally square, and by the time of its abandonment it was almost completely filled with burials (Figure 8). According the excavation report, Guardabassi recovered eighteen cinerary urns from this room: one in terracotta, five ollae, and twelve in travertine.195 Before the looters robbed it, there would have been many more grave goods, but all that remained at the time of discovery were some broken figurines, a plain bronze mirror, some metal fragments, and a tiny carnelian scarab, which was incised with the semi-nude image of a young man standing before a vase.196 It seems unlikely that one could have moved around the room when it was full, because the only empty space appears to have been immediately

192 Two items from Cipollone’s Ipogeo dei Vlesi group (nos. 10 and 11, pp. 21-22) have mismatched photos (Cipollone 2004, 20-22). Although item 10’s photo is difficult to read, item 11’s photo clearly belongs instead to item 10. Other early editors also record different readings of some of these epitaphs, so here I follow the most recent edition of ET (Maiser 2014).

193 I assume that the terracotta urn was a female burial, but it is no longer extant, or at least it is not kept with the original assemblage. The other uninscribed urns with one exception and the ollae are also lost, perhaps because they were of less interest to collectors, or because the inscriptions that would have identified them are absent.

194 Cipollone (2004, 20) maintains that the tomb held three generations of family members: “[La tomba] conteneva dodici urne di travertino, urna di terracotta e cinque olle appartenenti a personaggi della Famiglia Vlesi, liberi e liberti di tre generazioni.”

195 Benelli (mistakenly?) records twenty burials, fifteen urns and five ollae (Benelli 1994, 29). Guardabassi (1878, 337-338) includes only eighteen burials—thirteen urns and five ollae. Only the stone urns preserved inscriptions, although the olla burials probably also had painted epitaphs at one point. Guardabassi (1878, 338) says the ollae had no inscriptions. Unfortunately, early excavators rarely recorded any information about olla burials, especially if they had no inscriptions.

196 Guardabassi 1878, 338.

47 inside the entrance. Shelves in three successive tiers occupied the rest of the room: on the lowest shelf, closest to the floor and the door, sat three urns; the second and largest shelf wrapped around three sides of the room and held seven urns;197 the third shelf ran along the back wall and bore three urns facing the entryway.

The seven urns with Etruscan-language inscriptions are all quite similar objects, and they are closely grouped on the second and third tiers of the tomb. Six of these are Perusine-style travertine urns, and one was the now-lost terracotta figural urn. The travertine urns have the same basic shape, typical of Perugia: roughly cubic boxes topped with a roof lid (see Figure 2).

The urns are also approximately the same size: urns 1-10 range in length (of front) from 32 to 55 cm and 28 to 60 cm in height; the majority of the urns measure from 40 to 50 cm long and 40 to

50 cm tall.198

The Etruscan-inscribed urns in this assemblage are not only similar in shape, but also in decoration. Only six originally had decorations, but one of those, the terracotta figural urn, is lost.199 The remaining five decorated Etruscan-inscribed urns have variations on four common types of sculptural motifs: three have rosettes, three have peltae, one has a bucranium, and one has a gorgon head. When reliefs adorn the lids’ pediments, they are almost exclusively floral patterns (mostly rosettes). Two lid rosettes match boxes with rosettes (Vlesi 3 and 9), and one of the boxes with a gorgon head has a lid incised with dolphins flanking a floral motif (Vlesi 6).

197 There were four urns along the right wall, one in the center of the room and two along the left wall.

198 Guardabassi (1878, 337-338) records measurements for every urn. The most common measurements are 44 or 45 cm long by 44-46 cm tall, and seven out of ten urns have close length and height measurements, giving them their characteristic cubic or square proportions.

199 The missing terracotta urn was evidently the most elaborately decorated, and would have stood out from the rest because of its shape (figural), material (terracotta), and central placement within the tomb. Although it is an important missing piece, little can be said about the terracotta urn beyond Guardabassi’s description: he reserves his longest description for it, however, writing that it was “executed with great mastery” (Guardabassi 1878, 337).

48 The extant Etruscan inscriptions (Vlesi 1-6, and 9) indicate that the urns belong to the members of the Vlesi family or gens through their use of the nomen vlesi. Among the Etruscan epitaphs, six refer to male and one to female family members. All the urns along the room’s right-hand wall (Vlesi 1-4) possess a tripartite Etruscan nomenclature: praenomen, nomen, and patronymic, but the two urns along the back wall (Vlesi 5 and 6) have a four-part nomenclature including the matronymic.200 Furthermore, if 5 and 6 were lacking their matronymics, they would be identical to 1 and 4, respectively, and the addition of the matronymic may indicate that

5 and 6’s extra onomastic element is meant to distinguish them from their ancestors of the same name, suggesting that they may be more recent than those with shorter epitaphs. A precise genealogy of the members of the Vlesi family is impossible without more information, but, if we assume that Vlesi 1 is the oldest, the common praenomina and patronymics allow for the construction of a family tree of three or four generations, possibly more. In summary, the

Etruscan-inscribed urns from the Vlesi family tomb, with the exception of the terracotta outlier, exhibit similarities to one another in their material, size, decorations, and nomenclature.

The Latin-inscribed urns are like the Etruscan ones in form and decoration. Including the bilingual inscription, three Latin epitaphs come from the Vlesi tomb. All three sat on the bottom shelf of the room, perhaps indicating that they were the last interred there (Vlesi 11-13). They are made of travertine and have the same characteristic Perusine urn type—cubic box with roof lid— but they are slightly smaller than the average Etruscan-inscribed urn, measuring 32-45 cm in length (40 cm average) and 31-52 cm in height (40 cm average).201 The two female Latin-

200 An Etruscan name had anywhere from two to six components: praenomen, nomen gentilicium, cognomen, patronymic, matronymic, and gamonymic (Wallace 2008, 77-78). The most common components were the praenomen and nomen, followed by the patronymic and matronymic; other components are less common, and the cognomen appears only from the third century BCE onward (Wallace 2008, 77).

201 The Etruscan urns have an average size of 42.7 cm in length by 45.6 cm in height.

49 inscribed burials lack decoration, but the male burial is intricately carved, and its sculpture employs some of the same motifs seen among the Etruscan-inscribed urns, including a floral motif in the pediment and a gorgon head on the box’s front. In size, material, and iconography these three Latin-language urns are akin to the Etruscan ones, but the similarities do not end there: these objects also bear striking onomastic links to the rest of the assemblage and to

Etruscan-style burials in general. In what follows I consider each of them in detail.

Tania. Ulesia. Scarpes – “Tania Vlesia, (wife) of Scarpe” (Vlesi 11, Figure 9).202 This urn has no decoration, but it has the typical Perusine shape and travertine material. Its inscription only has three words, but it preserves many Etruscan elements, including an Etruscan praenomen, nomen, and gamonymic.203 Although it is written predominantly in the Latin alphabet, the inscription uses both Latin and Etruscan letter-forms. For example, the T in Tania is formed like a cross, typical of Etruscan Ts,204 the first A in Tania seems to show the influence of Etruscan script,205 and the R and P in Scarpes have the shape of a rho and pi, respectively.206

202 Vlesi 11 = CIE 3691 = CIL 11.1.1991 = ET Pe 1.210.

203 The Etruscan praenomen, or personal name, was limited in later periods to a set of approximately twelve names for men and about eight names for woman (Wallace 2008, 82). Men’s names included Arnth, Aule/Avle, Laris, Larth, Sethre, Vel, and Velthur; women’s names included Fasti/Fastia (Hasti/Hastia), Larthi/Larthia, Ramtha, Sethra, Thana/Thania, Thanchvil, and Velia/Vela (Wallace 2008, 82).

204 Eva Michelsen (1975) studied the palaeography of inscriptions from Perugia and Chiusi. Michelsen examined the use of certain letters and bilingual inscriptions and determined that there was little palaeographic mixing of Latin and Etruscan. She found that the two languages’ alphabets were not often confused, and that Latin inscriptions mostly used Latin characters. “As a result of this we can state that the Latin inscriptions in Clusium and Perusia to a very small extent can be regarded as having been influenced by Etruscan as regards the palaeography. Etruscan characters occur in relatively few Latin inscriptions, and even then mostly alone in an otherwise Latin environment” (Michelsen 1975, 262). With regard to this inscription, Michelsen notes that Latin T has a crossbar on the top; an Etruscan T is crossed in the middle (Michelsen 1975, 249), but she also observes that the T and the S in Etruscan and Latin differ so little that what appears to be an Etruscan T may in fact be a sloppily-written Latin T (Michelsen 1975, 259).

205 Michelsen (1975, 259) thought that the rounded first A in Tania was “influenced by the Etruscan way of writing.” According to the CIE’s editors, the A is Etruscan in form; they do not mention the R and P: “[L]itterae duae primae ta formam praebent etruscam, ceterae romanam” (Pauli and Danielsson 1893-, 471), and this conforms with what I can see on the image.

50 Tania is a traditional Etruscan praenomen, which in Etruscan would have begun with a theta (cf. abbreviation of thana/thania in Vlesi 9), but this spelling lacks the theta’s aspiration.207 The nomen Ulesia, or Vlesia, is a Latin transliteration of the family’s Etruscan nomen, which is visible in every other epitaph from this tomb. The word Scarpes is a perfect transliteration of an

Etruscan gamonymic, preserving the Etruscan genitive ending in –s, and cannot function syntactically as a Latin word.208 In addition to its unique grammar, Scarpes may also derive from scarpe, a known Etruscan family name.209 This remarkable inscription, although classed as

Latin, thus preserves at least five Etruscan elements, including a variety of paleographical, linguistic, and onomastic features.

Laetoria. Vlesi – “Laetoria Vlesi” (Vlesi 13, Figure 3).210 This urn has no decoration, but it has the typical Perusine shape and travertine material. The palaeography of the inscription shows no trace of the Etruscan alphabet, and this is the only epitaph in the tomb that has an entirely Latin inscription. Moreover, in true Roman fashion, the woman’s praenomen, Laetoria, seems to have derived from her father’s nomen, Laetorius, a name known during the Roman

206 The N in Tania also has an Etruscan shape, because its middle stroke does not extend all the way to the bottom (Michelsen 1975, 250).

207 In Etruscan, many letters were aspirated (on Etruscan aspirations, see Kaimio 1975, 137-140). Sometimes Latin inscriptions at Perugia preserve Etruscan phonetics in the form of aspirations (aspirated stops) in certain names. Examples of preserved Etruscan aspirations in Latin nomina include Hamphnea, Thormena, Caitho, and in praenomina Etruscan aspiration is seen in the frequent use of Than(n)ia instead of Tania. Latin typically, however, eschews these aspirations, as is evident here.

208 This type of inflection in Etruscan gamonymics is very common. See Wallace (2008, 46) on the Etruscan genitive case, and also Wallace (2008, 84) on the gamonymic.

209 Kaimio 1975, 213 n. 1. This name is also found as Scarpius/scarpe within this tomb and elsewhere, for example: CIE 3545, CIE 3692.

210 Vlesi 13 = CIE 3693 = CIL 11.1.1992.

51 Republic.211 On the other hand, Vlesi is either a gamonymic with a Latin genitive or a Latin transliteration of the Etruscan nomen.212 Two translations of this inscription are therefore possible: “Laetoria, (wife of) Vlesius” or simply “Laetoria Vlesi(a).” Depending on the reading, this inscription either has one Etruscan element, the nomen, or two, the nomen in an Etruscan grammatical form.

L(ucius). Scarpus. Scarpiae. l(ibertus). Popa / larnth. scarpe. lautni – “L(ucius)

Scarpus Popa, freedman of Scarpia / Larnth (sic) Scarpe, freedman” (Vlesi 12, Figure 5).213

This urn is crafted in the Perusine style and is decorated with a gorgon head on its box and a rosette on its lid, so it has decorative motifs similar to others in the same tomb.214 The urn has a bilingual Latin-Etruscan inscription. In the epitaph, there is no direct reference to the Vlesi family, and this man’s relationship must be inferred from Tania Vlesia’s inscription (Vlesi 11), which says that she was the wife of “Scarpe,” who is probably the Lucius Scarpus / Larnth

Scarpe buried here.

If first we look at the Latin epitaph, it appears to be a typical Latin inscription with some

Etruscan features. An examination of the letter-forms reveals that this inscription uses Etruscan

211 The gens Laetoria is attested throughout the Roman Republic, as early as the fifth century BCE as possibly one of the Decemviri Sacris Faciundis (Livy 2.27; Val. Max. 9.3.6; Broughton 1951, 13) and as late as the first century BCE (Appian [BC 1.60] names a Laetorius as a supporter of Marius).

212 Problems of interpretation arise in Latin inscriptions containing names ending in –i, because there is the potential for confusion between this ending and the Latin genitive singular in –i. In Etruscan, the –i ending is a feminine nominative, used commonly for a woman’s nomen, but the –i endings immediately cause problems for the Latin reader, because they look genitive. Men also sometimes employ this –i ending for their nomina. For example, some men within the same family seemingly alternate between the masculine and feminine endings of certain nomina, such as vete (masculine) and veti (feminine), or rafe versus rafi. Male names such as these cannot be gamonymics, so they are more readily accepted as Etruscan forms, but, in the epitaphs of women, readers commonly assume that a Latin word that looks genitive is a gamonymic and not a transliteration from Etruscan.

213 Vlesi 12 = CIE 3692 = CIL I2 2052 = CIL 11.1.1990 = ET Pe 1.211 = TLE 606 = Cipollone 2004, 21 (Fig. 2) = Benelli 25. Benelli (1994, 29) provides a full bibliography as of 1994.

214 Vlesi 6 has a gorgon head; Vlesi 2, 3, and 9 have rosettes on their boxes; Vlesi 3 and 9 have rosettes in the pediment.

52 Ps. The praenomen is the standard Latin abbreviation for Lucius, and the nomen, Scarpus, presumably derives from an original Etruscan name. In the third position, where there would normally be a patronymic, or in this case the name of the freedman’s former master, there is a feminine nomen in the genitive plus the abbreviation “l” for libertus. The Latin here seems to indicate that Lucius’s master was a woman of the Scarpius clan, because it reads Scarpiae instead of the masculine Scarpi. The cognomen, Popa, may be a name or perhaps even indicate this man’s profession—a popa was a priest’s assistant responsible for killing sacrificial animals.

There is less information in the Etruscan epitaph. The Etruscan praenomen, larnth, with its extraneous N, looks like a combination of the Etruscan names Larth and Arnth, but the epitaph is otherwise unmistakably Etruscan. The remainder of the epitaph states clearly the deceased’s nomen (scarpe) and freedman status (lautni, Etruscan for “freedman”). The Etruscan inscription omits the master’s name and cognomen. Here the Latin and Etruscan elements appear carefully balanced: on the one hand, the Latin inscription follows the order of standard Roman nomenclature more than the others in the tomb; on the other hand, it is balanced by an Etruscan counterpart.

The burials in the Vlesi family tomb present a strikingly cohesive family unit, which spanned multiple generations. In shape, material, decoration, and epigraphic conventions, all these cinerary urns are similar. In addition to sharing the same final resting place, the urns cohere in multiple ways. First, they have similar form and material: all (but one, Vlesi 8) are cubic with roof lids, about the same size (around 40 by 40 cm), and made of local travertine stone. Second, the urns, when decorated, favor similar motifs, including rosettes, peltae, and gorgon heads. Third, all of the Vlesi family urns refer to the same family. Indeed, the assemblage bears so many similarities that an illiterate onlooker would hardly notice any

53 differences at all—the most outstanding distinctive urn would undoubtedly have been the terracotta figural urn (a Chiusine style urn). Apart from the differences in the inscriptions, accordingly, there would be no grounds whatsoever for dividing these urns into distinct categories of “Etruscan” and “Roman.”

Yet the Vlesi family tomb environment is also multifaceted. The urns themselves show considerable similarities, but no two urns are identical. Most of the urns were made of travertine, but they are far from homogenous—there was a terracotta burial and ceramic burials

(now lost). The travertine urns have decorative themes in common, but the motifs are applied (or omitted) in different combinations. As for the inscriptions, the Etruscan epitaphs vary in length and the information they convey, as do the Latin epitaphs. The Latin epitaphs may differ most dramatically from the Etruscan ones in their choice of script, but none of the Latin inscriptions are exactly alike, and they each give different information in different ways about the deceased.

Each Latin inscription has many features of typical Etruscan inscriptions: one has both Etruscan and Latin lettering, one has some ambiguity to its gamonymic, and one has different epitaphs in each language. The more closely one looks at the objects and their environment, the less the labels Roman and Etruscan seem to apply. Each person buried in the Vlesi family tomb was at once embracing their family’s traditional burial practices (i.e. the same materials, forms, and location) and both new and old means of linguistic expression—these practices are part of the tomb environment, and they become more intricate and diverse with the introduction of each burial.

Case Study 2: The Rafi Family Tomb

In the course of renovating the old cemetery of Perugia (Cimitero Nuovo) on 9 August

54 1887 excavators uncovered a large chamber tomb, which once belonged to the Rafi family.215

Carattoli and Brizio soon recorded the discovery in that year’s Notizie degli Scavi, which briefly describes the tomb itself, the urns found there, and their inscriptions.216 When discovered, the tomb was intact, and archaeologists recovered forty burials in both stone and ceramic urns from the tomb. Nearly all of the urns have inscriptions, most in Etruscan, but some in Latin. Later

Pauli and Danielsson published the tomb’s inscriptions in the CIE, and they have since appeared also in ET, and Cipollone’s 2004 museum catalogue.

The most complete account and analysis of this material, however, is still Giuseppe

Bellucci’s 1911 article, “L’Ipogeo della famiglia etrusca ‘Rufia’ presso Perugia.” Bellucci’s handling of the Rafi tomb is remarkably sensitive for its age, as were the techniques of the original excavators, who took great care to measure artifacts and to record their locations. In his study, Bellucci dated the tomb from the first half of the third century to the middle of the first century, and created a genealogy of the Rafi family. Bellucci acknowledges the importance of the tomb and its artifacts’ context, which his predecessors had largely ignored in favor of the epigraphic material. Much to Bellucci’s disgust, however, the urns were separated from one another at the museum and their cremated remains were removed and stored in the basement.217

Bellucci’s work is an important early effort to reconstruct the tomb and its contents, and he was responsible for reuniting the Rafi family’s urns, which are still on display together at the

National Archaeological Museum in Perugia. The Rafi family tomb is a useful case study not only because of the richness of its material, but also for its well-documented tomb context.

215 Bellucci 1911, 123. The epitaphs in this tomb use many different spellings for the same family name (including Rufi, Raufi, and Rufius), but I have opted to call this the “Rafi” tomb, since most of the inscriptions use that spelling.

216 Carattoli and Brizio 1887, 391-395.

217 Bellucci 1911, 134.

55 The Rafi tomb was spacious and elaborate in its construction (Figures 10 and 11). It measured 112 square meters and had a ceiling some three meters high, easily ten times larger than the Vlesi tomb. An off-center doorway opened upon a single room consisting of two large areas, which together resembled one room in the shape of an inverted T.218 Bellucci’s drawings provided a plan of the tomb with the original locations of the burials (Figure 10). The arrangement of burials throughout the room was crowded but orderly. Urns sat directly on the floor of the tomb, but most of the olla burials rested on shelves. In the first area, which I will call “Area 1,” twenty-three large stone urns followed the walls of the tomb in a circle (or rectangle), and the urns themselves had little space between them, if Bellucci’s scale drawing is trustworthy. Along the right (southeast) and left (northwest) walls of the Area 1 were shelves meant for the deposition of olla burials. One shelf followed the entire length of the right-hand wall, and there was a truncated shelf in the lower left corner of the room. In addition to the shelves along the walls, there was a semicircular niche in the upper left corner of Area 1. The second area of the chamber, which I will call “Area 2,” extended to the back of the tomb, and its seventeen burials were arranged in five rows of three urns each, except in the second row, where, instead of an urn in the middle, there were three olla burials and some grave goods. If the orientation of the urns is correct in Bellucci’s isometric reconstruction, almost every urn seems to have had its front (decorated) surfaces turned toward the doorway.219

The tomb was rich in grave goods, so it is useful that Bellucci noted their locations on his plan.220 Excavators recovered four bronze mirrors that showed evidence of intentional breakage:

218 The first area of the tomb was perhaps originally a single, rectangular chamber, and at some point, the family probably had the back wall extended to accommodate more burials (Bellucci 1911, 125).

219 Bellucci’s drawing may be inaccurate in many ways, so we should use caution in consulting it. For example, he affords more space between urns in the isometric drawing than he does on the plan.

220 Bellucci 1911, 185-186.

56 two of the mirrors were circular (one intact, one broken) and two were rectangular (one intact, one broken).221 Scattered about the tomb were also other pieces of metal, including some loops and hinges (on the right-hand shelf, Area 1), presumably once attached to a wooden container

(now lost), a bronze mirror handle, and five rusted iron fragments.222 A carved bone hairpin, broken into three pieces, was also found.223 Finally, a large pile of ceramics of different shapes and sizes, some intact and some fragmentary, lay in the upper right corner of the first area.224

Cipollone has published images of thirty of the Rafi family’s urns in her catalogue,225 but she omits images of the ten olla burials. Thirty-eight of the forty burials bore inscriptions, but one of the (originally) inscribed ollae is illegible, leaving thirty-seven legible inscriptions.226

Going by these inscriptions, I count twenty-two male burials and fifteen female burials.227 One glance at Bellucci’s drawing of the Rafi family tomb reveals the striking similarity of form among these stone urns. Although the urns have a range of sizes, they are generally homogenous in appearance. Some of the differences between urns are subtle: for example, according to

Bellucci, one urn is made of a different kind of travertine and another is of sandstone (Rafi 33).

Otherwise, every stone urn is in the traditional Perusine style—cubic box with roof lid. One urn

221 Bellucci 1911, 185, 185 n. 2. Carattoli and Brizio’s (1887, 395) report listed six mirrors among the grave goods, but Bellucci says that two mirrors were found instead outside the tomb.

222 Bellucci 1911, 186.

223 Bellucci 1911, 186.

224 Bellucci 1911, 186. Five ollae of various sizes (not containing ashes or bearing inscriptions), twelve “truffle- shaped” (a forma di truffetti) vessels ranging from 13-20 cm in height, three “glasses” (bicchieri) and one “cup” (tazza), a “jar” (orcio) with a broken handle, a small vase (vasetto), and fragments of an alabastron (?) or unguent container (balsamari).

225 Cipollone 2004, 37-42.

226 Bellucci further divides the Latin language inscriptions into “archaic Latin” (2) and “Latin” (3) groups (Bellucci 1911, 187).

227 Bellucci somehow counts twenty-one male and eighteen female burials (thirty-nine total!), even though there are only thirty-seven inscribed urns (Bellucci 1911, 188).

57 (Rafi 21), however, is different from the others: a travertine figural urn of exceptional craftsmanship, covered with a lid in the shape of a reclining male (Figure 12). This urn occupied the tomb’s central space, and is thought to represent the tomb’s founder.228

The urns’ shapes are quite uniform, but their decorations distinguish them from one another. Eleven of the stone urns and all the olla burials lack decoration entirely, but the remaining nineteen stone urns, slightly less than half of the Rafi family, display an array of decorative relief sculpture. Most of the decorated urns have the usual, simple motifs found frequently in Perusine tombs. For example, in this tomb rosette and pelta designs are by far the most common. Nine urns have rosettes, ten have flanking peltae, and rosettes and peltae are combined on six of the urns. Also popular is the gorgon head motif, which appears on the front of three urns (Rafi 1, 10, and 23). An example of a bucranium is also present (Rafi 31, Figure

13).

In the Rafi tomb, there are at least five urns with outstanding decorations. Two urns have reliefs portraying the mythological figure Scylla (Rafi 29 and 39 [Figures 14 and 15]), who is wielding part of a ship in both.229 Three other urns have banquet scenes: on two of these, the scene is on the body (Rafi 30, Figure 16) or in the urn’s pediment (Rafi 22, Figure 17). In the final example (Rafi 21, Figure 12), the banqueter forms the urn’s figural lid. The two urns whose decorations have received the most attention are located in the center of the tomb, and they are thought to belong to the tomb’s founder and his wife (Rafi 21 and 22). The urn of

Thana Marci (Rafi 22, Figure 17) has a woman banqueting in its pediment, and its box has a

228 Bellucci 1911, 128.

229 Bellucci only records two urns with a Scylla relief (one inscribed and one uninscribed) (Bellucci 1911, 172, 183- 184). For some reason Cipollone includes these and another similar uninscribed Scylla relief, but only at the end of the end of her Rafi tomb section, so I do not think it belongs with this group (Cipollone 2004, 42 fig. 122). This motif occurs on at least four other urns from Perugia.

58 scene from the Trojan Cycle—Achilles’ ambush of Troilus.230 Her husband’s urn (Rafi 21,

Figure 12) is unique:231 sculpted in travertine, the lid depicts a garlanded man reclining on his left elbow and reads “Vel Rafi, son of Arnth and Caia.” The urn’s box shows an older, bald man carved in high relief, wearing a tunic, cloak, and sandals, and standing in front of an arched gate, which has two busts at the corners. The male figure may be a representation of Vel Rafi himself.232 The figure holds a ruler of some sort in his right hand, perhaps a symbol of the man’s profession, so he is often regarded as an architect, engineer, or sculptor.233 When it was discovered, Vel Rafi’s urn preserved evidence of gilding, which is no longer visible.234

The urn decorations from the Rafi family tomb show frequent mixing and matching among the common decorative schemes, such as rosettes, peltae, and gorgons, which they share not only with one another but also with other Perusine families (such as the Vlesi family, for example). Moreover, even the more elaborate sculptures have commonalities: there are multiple scenes of Scylla and banqueting in the room, for example.235 Only Vel Rafi and Thana Marci’s urns are unique, perhaps further attesting to their prominence within the family.

There seem to be only a few differences between the urns interred in the Rafi family tomb. First, there are two different kinds of burials: stone urns and ceramic ollae. Second, the urns are either decorated or plain, and, within that distinction, some urns have more elaborate,

230 This scene occurs on at least three other urns on display at the National Archaeological Museum of Perugia (Pilo and Giuman 2015, 102; Cipollone 2004, 23, 36, 44).

231 Bellucci 1911, 157-161; Cipollone 2004, 39.

232 Bellucci 1911, 160-161.

233 Bellucci 1911, 160-161; Cipollone 2004, 39.

234 Bellucci 1911, 159; Cipollone 2004, 39.

235 Bellucci has posited a direct familial relationship between the two family members with Scylla reliefs based on their decoration (Rafi 29 and Rafi 39), even though one of the urns is uninscribed.

59 higher-quality reliefs than others. Third, if inscribed, urns have either Etruscan or Latin script

(the bilingual urn is an exception, of course). Both Etruscan and Latin are found on olla burials and on stone urns. The stone urns with Latin epitaphs have decorations, but none of the olla burials do. In this tomb and at Perugia in general, urns with Latin language inscriptions are much rarer than those with Etruscan inscriptions, so it is not surprising to find less variety among them.

The Etruscan inscriptions from this tomb indicate overwhelmingly their membership in the Rafi family or clan. Family membership is indicated in the nomen or the gamonymic, yet there is some variation in the spelling of the name, which includes the forms rufi, raufi, and rfi.

Only two Etruscan inscriptions have no discernable onomastic connection to the Rafi family

(Fastia Ancari [Rafi 36] and Thana Caia Lethia [Rafi 3]).236 Since brothers Arnth Rafi (Rafi 1) and Aule Rufi (Rafi 2) spelled their nomina differently even though they must have been rough contemporaries,237 the orthographic shift over time appears minimal; rather, spelling seems to have been an ad hoc decision. Nonetheless it is noteworthy that all of the Latin inscriptions

(including the bilingual) prefer the R-U (Rufis/Rufius) spelling.

Although almost everyone in the tomb probably belonged to the same family, often the exact genealogical relationships between family members are unclear, because of some of the

236 Twenty of the Etruscan inscriptions use the form rafi, five read rufi, four have raufi. Although Fastia Ancari’s (Rafi 36) connection to the family is unknown, Thana Caia Lethia (Rafi 3) is probably the wife of Arnth (Rafi 1), and the mother of Sethre Rufi (Rafi 29), Arnth Rufi (Rafi 4), Larth Rufi (Rafi 26), and Vel Rafi (Rafi 21), the so- called founder. On the spelling and phonetics of the Rafi name, which is thought to be of Italic origin, see footnote 250 below.

237 Another example is the brothers Larth Raufi (Rafi 24) and Vel Rafi (Rafi 23), whose urns sat next to each other in the tomb, and who almost certainly had the same parents, Thana Marci (Rafi 22) and Vel Rafi (Rafi 21).

60 ambiguities of Etruscan onomastics.238 Hence the construction a family tree always requires guesswork. Ambiguous naming practices did not stop Bellucci from attempting to build a cohesive genealogy of the Rafi family.239 It includes every burial except five (Lartia Octavia

(Rafi 37), Thana Husetnei (Rafi 35), Vel Raufi (Rafi 33), Titia (Rafi 32), and Fasti Ancaria (Rafi

36).240 To account for the ambiguities in male praenomina and marriages, Bellucci had a clever solution: when faced with many men of the same name, Bellucci used those with the same praenomen as fathers and sons, so in his genealogy there are six generations of sons named

Arnth (Rafi 1 > 6 > 11 > 13 > 15), three generations of sons named Aule (Rafi 8 > 17 > 19), and two generations of Vels (Rafi 21 > 23). In such a way, Bellucci accounted for almost every burial in the tomb, and his solution is quite plausible.241

Including the bilingual inscription (Rafi 19, Figure 18), there were six burials with Latin inscriptions found scattered throughout the Rafi family tomb: three in Area 1 and three in Area

238 The Etruscan epigraphic expression of marriage is ambiguous, because only women ever indicate their spouses: a man rarely indicates the name of his wife; a woman sometimes includes her spouse’s name with a gamonymic. But the wife’s gamonymic only states the husband’s nomen, so in family tombs it is often unclear which man a woman had married, unless there are other corroborating inscriptions. For example, it is unclear whether Vel Rafi (Rafi 21) and Thana Marci (Rafi 22) were truly husband and wife, but it is assumed because of their children’s epitaphs—Vel (Rafi 23), Larth (Rafi 24), and Laris (Rafi 25)—each of which mention a father, Vel, and a woman of the Marci family. Second, the frequent reuse of a limited number of Etruscan (and Latin) praenomina makes it difficult to know which men are fathers and which are sons. For example, based on the inscription ar. rafi. arth / titeal (Rafi 6), it is clear this man was the son of Arnth and Titea, but which Arnth is unclear.

239 Bellucci 1911, 136.

240 Bellucci was of course unable to include the illegible and uninscribed burials in his genealogy. Of the five inscribed burials that he omitted, he thought one was a female (vel raufis l.t.i [Rafi 33]), translating it as “Velia, wife of Raufi,” but it is probably instead the inscription of a freedman, “Vel, freedman of Raufi.”

241 Bellucci did, however, mistake the Etruscan abbreviation “ls” (laris) as another way to write larth, so he may have put Fastia Rafi (fastia: rafi: ls. sech: casnis [Rafi 28]) in the wrong position. If Bellucci’s logic is followed, she is instead probably the daughter of Laris Rafi (Rafi 25), and therefore the granddaughter of the tomb’s founder (Rafi 21), whose urn abutted hers.

61 2.242 Four of the six Latin inscriptions were found on olla burials, and two on travertine urns.243

The olla burials lacked decoration, but the travertine urns with Latin inscriptions have reliefs.

There appears to be a direct familial relationship between these two decorated travertine urns.

Based on his reading, Bellucci proposed that Tertia. Avilia. C. f. Rufi uxor (Rafi 14, Figure 4), and Ar. Rufius. Ar. Avilia natus Cepa (Rafi 15, Figure 19) were mother and son. The two urns were set far apart in the tomb, but they had matching decorations—rosette with flanking peltae.

Not only are their motifs identical, but also the intricate details of the carvings are almost exactly alike: the placement and design of the rosettes is the same, and so is the shape and position of the peltae. The lids are slightly different, but both boxes have small feet at the bottom. The resemblance of the two urns is striking, and lends credence to Bellucci’s theory that they were mother and son.

The Latin-inscribed urns in the Rafi family tomb, except that of Lartia Octavia (Rafi 37), explicitly indicate their membership in the family.244 Bellucci places the Latin inscriptions in the last generations of his timeline, having assumed (as is probably the case) that Latin-inscribed

242 The two stone urns were about as far apart as possible (one in front of the doorway, the other against the back wall); the brothers (?) Aule and Lucius were in urns at opposite sides of the first area (Aule, the bilingual in a niche in the left wall, and Lucius on the shelf along the right-hand wall); the remaining two urns were among the group of three olla burials on the floor in the middle of the second area.

243 If Latin inscriptions are generally later than Etruscan ones, then the prevalence of Latin on ollae may suggest that olla burials are later than stone burials. The olla burial of Laris Rafi (Rafi 25), however, seems to contradict this chronology, however, since this urn most certainly belongs to the second generation of the family (the others, according to Bellucci, probably belong to the fourth, fifth, and sixth), and, furthermore, both of his brothers and his daughter (Fastia Rafi [Rafi 28]) are buried in stone urns. Bellucci’s reconstruction of the family tree remains the best guess about the internal chronology of the tomb, but the precise details of their familial relationships or why some chose olla burials over stone urns is unclear. There could be economic or other reasons (such as child burials, perhaps, but again there seems to be little evidence) why someone might choose ceramic over stone.

244 Kaimio agrees for the most part with Bellucci’s family tree and dating, and points out that the last (Latin- inscribed) burials would have belonged to the fifth or sixth generations of the family (Kaimio 1975, 211). Kaimio also insists, however, that the grave goods/pottery are useless for dating purposes (Kaimio 1975, 211). Maiser (2014, 724-725), on the other hand, dates the Rafi inscriptions to the second and first centuries BCE, but he does not explain how he arrived at such dates. Indeed, if Maiser provides a date for Perusine inscriptions, he usually assigns a second century date without explanation (for the entire ET on funerary inscriptions from Perugia, see Maiser 2014, 720-768). Most inscriptions in ET receive the abbreviation “rec,” meaning “recent” (Maiser 2014).

62 urns are later than urns bearing Etruscan inscriptions. As such, the Latin inscriptions alone constitute the fifth and sixth generations of Bellucci’s family tree, thus making the fifth generation, which (almost) used Latin exclusively, second cousins.245 Thus, it would appear, based on Bellucci’s reckoning, that there is a chronological progression from fully Etruscan inscriptions, to slightly Latinized Etruscan inscriptions (tana. atinia. rafi/s [Rafi 12]),246 to fully

Latin inscriptions (Rafi 13, 14, 19, 20, and, 15). A closer examination of the Latin inscriptions, however, reveals that they are by no means simply ‘Latin’, since they all have significant

Etruscan elements. In what follows, I will examine each of them in turn, and then discuss their. relationships to one another and the rest of the Rafi family, before concluding with a summary of my findings. I will discuss the olla burials first and then the travertine urns, since Bellucci placed the stone urns last in his genealogy.

Aros Rufis Atinea / natus – “Aros Rufi(u)s, son of Atinea” (Rafi 13, Figure 20).247 This inscription comes from an olla burial found on the floor of Area 2 next to Rafi 7 and 37.

Derived perhaps from the Etruscan praenomen arnth, the praenomen Aros may correspond to the

Latin Arruns,248 a name frequently associated with Etruscans.249 Rufis is a Latinized version of the nomen rufi, used often in this tomb, and its –is ending is a variation, which derives from the

245 According to Bellucci, these four had the same great-grandfather, Arnth (Rafi 4), who was also the brother of the tomb’s founder, Vel Rafi (Rafi 21).

246 This inscription is in Etruscan but tana is spelled without a theta (i.e. without the characteristic Etruscan aspiration), which suggests that there may be some influence from Latin phonology.

247 Rafi 13 = CIE 3498.

248 Aros (and Arruns also) is an unusual Latin praenomen, so that may explain why it is written out in full.

249 Kaimio 1975, 123, 144. “An Etruscan proper name, app. traditionally given to younger sons” (OLD, s.v. Arruns).

63 Umbrian and Oscan languages, on the more common Latin –ius ending.250 Finally, this epitaph omits the patronymic in favor of the traditional Etruscan matronymic, here expressed as the ablative of Atinea plus natus in the nominative. We know that Rufis comes from old Etruscan roots, but the nomen Atineus/Atinius is also of Perusine origin.251 This tomb also probably held the remains of this man’s mother, and her epitaph (tana. atinia. rafi/s [Rafi 12]) indicates that she married into the Rafi family.

Lartia. Octavia. – “Lartia Octavia” (Rafi 37, Figure 21).252 This inscription, like the previous one, was inscribed on an olla burial, which lay beside Rafi 7 and 13 toward the middle of Area 2. Although short, this epitaph still contains a few Etruscan elements. Lartia is a transliteration of an Etruscan praenomen, and, in accordance with Latin phonology, the original

Etruscan aspiration has disappeared. The nomen Octavia, although well known from Roman contexts, is itself thought to have its roots in a family name from Etruscan Perugia.253 Other than its location, it is difficult to associate this burial with the rest of the Rafi family, because no other

Octavii are present in the tomb and the epitaph lacks other onomastic indicators.254

L. Rufis. Cotonia / natus – “L(ucius) Rufi(u)s, son of Cotonia” (Rafi 20, Figure 22).255

250 “This ending evidently originates in Oscan and Umbrian dialects, in which it represents a typical phonetic development of –ios. Consequently, it is natural that most of the few instances of this ending in Etruria are from Perusia, where the Umbrian linguistic element is well in evidence. We may find there the forms Adanatis (CIE 3546), Brutis (CIE 3722), Rufis (CIE 3498 and 3501), and Sulpicis (CIE 3514). The ending –is was of no importance in Etruscan gentilicia” (Kaimio 1975, 153). Kaimio (1975, 153 n. 2) disagrees that this form was an Etruscan ending. Nonetheless, it is possible that Rufis is a transliteration of the Etruscan genitive.

251 Kaimio 1975, 213 n. 1.

252 Rafi 37 = CIE 3506.

253 Kaimio 1975, 213 n. 1.

254 Bellucci (1911, 136) includes Lartia Octavia with two other burials of women (Rafi 30a and 36) whose “relationship with the Rufia family cannot be determined.”

255 Rafi 20 = CIE 3501.

64 This inscription comes from an olla burial found against the right-hand wall of Area 1. Both stone and ceramic urns with Etruscan inscriptions surrounded this burial. The abbreviation L usually stands for the Latin praenomen Lucius, but in this context it may equally stand for

Etruscan larth.256 The nomen Rufis indicates without question this man’s connection to the Rafi family, and as in the inscription above (Rafi 13), the deceased has eschewed the patronymic in favor of the matronymic. The matronymic, Cotonia, here constructed using the feminine ablative nomen plus natus, is a Latin translation of a traditional Etruscan nomen from Perugia

(Cotonia < cutu). This man is probably the brother of Aule Rafi (Rafi 19), whose remains were on the other side of the room.

aule. rafi cutunial / A. Ru – “Aule Rafi, (son) of Cutu / A(ulus) Ru(fius)” (Rafi 19,

Figure 18).257 This bilingual inscription was found on an olla burial located in a niche in the upper left corner of Area 1. Like the other olla burials, a separate ceramic vessel was used as the urn’s lid. In this case, that vessel was a black-glaze bowl, which Benelli has dated to the first

256 Only four Latin inscriptions from Perugia bear male Etruscan praenomina for certain: Ar. Rufius, Ar. Avilia natus Cepa (CIE 3469), and Ar. Lenso La / fili (CIE 3721), in which “Ar” stands for the Etruscan praenomen “Arnth,” or possibly the Latin “Arruns;” La. Aconius. L. l. Ur. gn. (CIE 3734), in which “La” represents the common Etruscan praenomen, “Larth;” and finally Vel. Vibius Ar. Pansa Tro (CIE 3615), which has the Etruscan name Vel spelled out in full. Although four inscriptions are indeed meager evidence for the retention of Etruscan male praenomina at Perugia, this number is perhaps misleading, because there is reason to believe that the people of Perugia were exploiting the inherent ambiguity of the standard Latin abbreviations. To abbreviate a praenomen with a single letter was a Latin epigraphic custom, but it was common in Etruscan inscriptions instead to use two letters (au for Aule/Avle, lth for Larth, etc.) or to write praenomina out completely. Given the high frequency of Etruscan elements in Perusine Latin inscriptions, it is reasonable to assume that “L” or “A” in Latin praenomina could refer both to an official Latin praenomen and to a traditional Etruscan name at the same time. For example, a Roman seeing the “L” abbreviation would immediately read “Lucius,” but an Etruscan viewing the same text might read “Larth” or even “Laris” (another common praenomen beginning with L). “A” could easily have meant both “Aule/Avle” and “Aulus”—names that are essentially identical.

257 Rafi 19 = CIE 3500 = CIL I2 2082 = CIL 11.7099 = ET Pe 1.72 = ILS 7829a = Benelli 18.

65 half of the first century BCE.258 On one side of the urn is an Etruscan inscription, and on the opposite side is a brief Latin epitaph.259 The Etruscan inscription includes the praenomen, nomen, and matronymic, but the Latin version only includes an A abbreviation (Latin, Aulus) and the first two letters of the nomen, presumably Rufis (like his brother) or Rufius. (It is noteworthy that Etruscan rafi and Latin Ru[fius] are equivalent on this urn.)260 “A. Ru” is indeed a Latin version of the first two Etruscan names, aule and rafi, but the Latin is so truncated that some do not consider this a true bilingual inscription, and instead prefer the term digraph.261 The matronymic refers to someone from the Cutu family, but there was no woman with that name buried in this tomb. This individual was, however, buried with his brother, whose inscription

(discussed above) is entirely in Latin and employs instead the matronymic Cotonia natus.

Tertia Avilia C. f. Rufi uxor – “Tertia Avilia, daughter of Gaius, wife of Rufius” (Rafi

14, Figure 4).262 This inscription comes from an urn found immediately in front of the entryway in Area 1. This is one of two Latin inscriptions found on decorated travertine urns, thought to belong to a mother and son. These two urns are also considered to be some of the last, if not the latest, burials in the Rafi family tomb. Moreover, this pair’s epitaphs are the most traditionally

Latin, although they both have Etruscan features. Indeed, the nomenclature here is a typically

Roman one: praenomen, nomen gentilicium, patronymic, and gamonymic. The praenomen,

258 More precisely, Benelli (1994, 26) maintains that this urn dates to “certamente non oltre la prima metà del I secolo a.C.” (“certainly no later than the first half of the first century B.C.”). Benelli’s description of the urn is short, but he does mention two other urns (Rafi 13 and 20), and, after noting the same reservations as Kaimio regarding Bellucci’s genealogical reconstruction, Benelli says that these three urns come from the same generation, and that they are “entrambe in un latino fortemente etruschizzante, il che, insieme all’uso di una ciotola a vernice nera per coprire il cinerario, riporta ad un momento di romanizzazione incipiente.”

259 Benelli 1994, 25.

260 On the phonetic and orthographic changes, see Kaimio 1975, 127-128.

261 Benelli (1994, 25-26) does, however, include it in his section on bilinguals, not in the part devoted to digraphs.

262 Rafi 14 = CIE 3494.

66 Tertia, in usual Roman fashion, indicates that she was the third born daughter of one Gaius

Avilius, and that she had married into the Rafi family. Avilius is another nomen that probably derives from an Etruscan clan from Perugia (Avilius < avle).263

Ar. Rufius. Ar. Avilia natus Cepa – “Arnth(?) Rufius Cepa, son of Arnth(?) (and)

Avilia” (Rafi 19, Figure 19).264 This inscription comes from a travertine urn found at the back of Area 2. As discussed above, the urn was decorated in a manner similar to that of Tertia

Avilia’s urn (Rafi 14), and they may have been mother and son. The order of the onomastic elements in the inscription is a mixture of Latin and Etruscan epigraphic customs. The praenomen, nomen, and cognomen are in the traditional order, but an Etruscan-style matronymic is in the middle. The two abbreviations of Ar are uncommon in Latin, and could stand for either

Arruns/Aros or the Etruscan name arnth. In this context, I would argue, Ar probably works both ways. Cognomina ending in –a (as opposed to –na) are uncommon in Etruria, but common at

Rome, and Kaimio thinks that Cepa comes from Latin.265

Moving beyond the isolated texts of the Rafi family’s epitaphs, we may note that the objects themselves and the tomb’s larger context present a consistent visual appearance.

Twenty-nine urns, all in the Perusine style, filled the chamber. The most outstanding urn was the figural urn of Vel Rafi, located in the center of the room, and he probably stood out as someone important, because his urn was larger, taller, and more elaborate than the rest. Around the tomb’s perimeter (with a few clustered near the center) were some olla burials, but otherwise the differences between urns are rather imperceptible. For a family of six, possibly seven,

263 Kaimio 1975, 213 n. 1.

264 Rafi 15 = CIE 3469. Most editors have had difficulty reading this inscription. The CIE text has a lacuna in the middle: Ar. Rufi. V...... natus. Cepa. The reading given here is based on the text of Bellucci (1911, 150-153), who was able to read the patronymic and matronymic—more than anyone else.

265 Kaimio 1975, 148.

67 generations (perhaps some 150 years!) such continuity is quite remarkable. A visitor might have noticed different scripts in use, especially since Tertia Avilia’s urn was right before the entrance, but otherwise Latin would have been largely hidden from view: only two of the stone urns had

Latin inscriptions; the rest of the Latin was found on olla burials, which would have been difficult to read. As such, the difference in language was not obvious. The Latin epitaphs themselves include striking Etruscan elements, including names of Etruscan origin and matronymics. A close examination of the inscriptions reveals an interesting linguistic juxtaposition in the burials of two brothers: one urn bears a bilingual Latin-Etruscan inscription

(Rafi 19), and his brother in turn has a Latin epitaph with an Etruscan-style matronymic (Rafi

20). Although these siblings expressed themselves differently through language, it is clear that both Latin and Etruscan seem to have been important within the same generation of the Rafi family.

Case Study 3: The Cai Cutu Family Tomb

In December 1983, a farmer near Monteluce accidentally stumbled upon one of the largest Perusine chamber tombs to date, the Cai Cutu family tomb (Figure 23).266 It had four chambers in total: a large, rectangular antechamber with three short passages leading to satellite chambers. The entrance was still sealed, and the closed travertine double-doors indicated that the tomb was intact. The Cai Cutu tomb contained fifty-one burials, all but one of which were in

Perusine-style travertine urns. The tomb’s burials have a few noteworthy features. First, at the very back of the far chamber (Room A),267 placed in a prominent position facing the entrance,

266 For a brief account of the tomb’s discovery with bibliography, see Feruglio 2014, 199.

267 Identified as Room A by Feruglio (2014, 199). For ease of reference, I label the rooms in the following way: atrium/entry room, Room B; left-hand room, Room C; right-hand room, Room D. These labels are loosely based on the plan included in Feruglio (2002, 494 fig. 15), but she does not label any rooms except Room A.

68 was a large, sandstone sarcophagus, unlike any of the other burials. Second, the Cai Cutu tomb seems to have been reserved exclusively for male burials—none of the forty-nine inscribed burials belong to women.268 The tomb houses many generations of the Cai Cutu family with burials dating from the first half of the third to the mid-first century BCE.269 The family’s epitaphs are written in both Etruscan and Latin. After the tomb’s discovery, it was emptied and its contents transferred to the National Archaeological Museum in Perugia, where today a life- sized reconstruction of the tomb serves as a museum exhibit, preserving the layout of the tomb, complete with its artifacts in their original positions.270

Feruglio has handled the publication of the material from the Cai Cutu tomb in a series of articles.271 Because the tomb was found in the 1980s, its inscriptions are too new to have been included in the CIE or the CIL, but Maiser's most recent update of ET does include all forty-two

Etruscan inscriptions.272 Unfortunately, however, in keeping with the original format of ET,

Maiser does not list any Latin inscriptions, and Feruglio’s article in Studi Etruschi remains the sole publication of the Latin inscriptions from the Cai Cutu tomb. A complete publication of the tomb and its material has not yet appeared.273 As a result, the tomb has not received much attention from scholars, and, although much of what Feruglio has written is useful, it is chiefly

268 Tombs reserved for one sex/gender are fairly common in Etruria, and especially at Perugia, where at least 11 tombs housed only female burials (Nielsen 1999; Defosse 2008, 871). For bibliography on this custom, see Defosse 2008, 871 n. 1 and Feruglio 2014, 201, 201 n. 16.

269 Feruglio (2014, 199) maintains that the tomb was probably abandoned at the time of the Perusine War (41/40 BCE).

270 A virtual tour of this exhibit is available online at the following website: http://www.archeopg.arti.beniculturali.it/visite_virtuali/PG-02_museo_tombacutu/museo_tombacutu.html

271 Feruglio 2002; Feruglio 2014.

272 ET Pe 1.1297-1338 (Maiser 2014, 722-723).

273 Feruglio (2014, 199) stated that a comprehensive publication of the tomb was forthcoming, but it has not yet appeared.

69 descriptive. Despite the lack of a full publication, the Cai Cutu tomb is a crucial test-case for this study, because it was excavated relatively recently and excavators used every means possible to document and gather data.

The Cai Cutu tomb’s four chambers are arranged in the shape of a cross. The entire tomb was mapped digitally, and Feruglio has published excellent plans and cross-sections of each of the rooms together with isometric drawings. The tomb’s plans clearly show its shape and the exact position of every artifact. Additionally, there are photos from the very moment of the tomb's discovery. The tomb’s single entryway opened upon a large chamber (or atrium, Room

B) with three exits, one on each side. There were two chambers that formed the wings of the atrium (Rooms C and D), and another larger room straight ahead (Room A). Standing in the middle of Room B, a visitor would be able see the back of each side chamber, and there was a path for at least one person to move comfortably between the different rooms.

Urn burials and grave goods filled the rooms. The urns themselves were arranged in neat groups (usually of four to six burials). Often two deep, urns lined every wall, and some were even squeezed into the passages between rooms. Burials sat directly on the tomb floor, and a shelf, presumably also for urns, sat unused in the Room D. In the atrium, there were eighteen burials, including all the urns with Latin epitaphs. Room C had twelve urns, and another six were located in Room D.274 Room A contained fifteen travertine urns and one large sandstone sarcophagus.275 Generally speaking, inscriptions and decorations faced the viewer standing in the center of a given room. In one instance, however, in order to accommodate the reader, one of the urns in the Room B (Cai Cutu 17), has its epitaph on the urn's side, facing the middle of the

274 This number includes the one urn (Cai Cutu 21) located in the passageway between Room B and Room D.

275 This number includes the one urn (Cai Cutu 15) located in the passageway between Room B and Room A.

70 room.

In each of the other case studies, there was one outstanding figural urn located in the center of the tomb. In the Cai Cutu tomb, however, there are three urns with figural lids, and they are located along the sides of Room B and Room A. The most prominent burial is instead a sandstone sarcophagus, which was set against the tomb’s back wall, opposite the entrance. The sarcophagus is older and larger than any other urn in the tomb, and the burials in Room A seem to radiate outward from it. Due to the size, location, and prominence of the sarcophagus, it may have held the remains of someone of importance to the Cai Cutu family, perhaps the head of the family or the tomb's founder.276 Other urns would also have stood out, but because of their division into separate rooms they do not have the prominence that they would have had in a single-chamber tomb. Moreover, about a third of the urns were set behind other urns, obscuring them from view.277

In addition to the fifty-one burials, the tomb had rich grave goods, which have not been published in great detail. Feruglio has said that the grave goods were “abundant,” and that they included both bronze items and, “most of all, ceramic.”278 In Room B, immediately left of the entrance, was a large pile of pottery and animal bones, which are probably the remains of ancient

276 Given that female epitaphs are absent from this tomb, it is unlikely that the sarcophagus held the remains of a woman, but it is possible that a matriarch, or even a couple, could have been buried there. The fact that the sarcophagus is uninscribed makes it impossible to identify its original occupant. Feruglio (2014, 202) argues that the individuals buried in Room A were the oldest burials in the tomb, and that, due to the friability of the sandstone, it was probably never moved, and hence that it is an original third-century BCE burial.

277 If the photos from the time of discovery (see Feruglio 2002) are any indication of one's ability to view the urns, then it must have been difficult indeed, and we probably have to imagine the ancients having less effective light sources.

278 “[N]ella tomba era conservato abbondante materiale di corredo, sia in bronzo che, sopratutto, ceramico” (Feruglio 2014, 199). Feruglio (2014, 199) concludes that the tomb was closed around the mid-first century BCE (“la sua utilizzazione dovrebbe essere cessata con il bellum Perusinum”), and presumably bases this date on the Latin inscriptions, perhaps with some corroboration by the pottery evidence. Feruglio (2002, 486) describes each find briefly and locates them on a map; some of the grave goods (or replicas?) can also be seen in the museum website’s virtual tour.

71 funeral banquets.279 Toward the center of Room B, excavators found a fragmentary bronze kottabos next to Cai Cutu 44 and 45.280 A ceramic amphora and a bronze olpe leaned in front of the sandstone sarcophagus in Room A, which had a larger group of items, including pottery, placed to its left.281 A bronze shield, decorated on its border with geometric patterns, was found on the floor of the Room C. Underneath the shield lay more arms, including two bronze cheek pieces from a helmet, bronze greaves, and an iron sword.282 Other ceramic vessels were found sitting in front of individual urns throughout the tomb.283

The urns of the Cai Cutu family are similar in shape and in decoration—it is an extremely cohesive group. Although the urns vary widely in size, the fifty cremation burials are essentially identical in shape: over 90 percent of the urns are Perusine in style (cubic box and roof lid). The urns are also quite similar in decoration. About a third of the urns are plain, but two out of three have relief sculpture. The simple motifs found throughout the tomb include gorgon heads, vegetal motifs (including bunches of grapes, vegetal patterns, leaves, trees, and garlands), and also a couple of lion-head protomes. The most common adornments are rosettes: a rosette appears on over half of the urns and on twenty-eight of the decorated urns (82 percent), and some urns have multiple rosettes. Other common decorative motifs are the stylized peltae, which adorn half of the decorated urns. It is not unusual to find rosettes and peltae together, a

279 “[S]i tratta con ogni probabilità dei resti dei pasti funebri e delle libagioni in onore dei defunti” (Feruglio 2002, 478). The Rafi family tomb had a similar, yet smaller, pile, but there was no mention of animal bones in Bellucci's report.

280 Feruglio 2002, 486.

281 Feruglio has not mentioned the material at the side of the sarcophagus. I am guessing about what I can see in the published plans and digital scans.

282 Feruglio 2002, 486. The helmet itself is missing, probably because it was made of organic material.

283 I have gathered this information from the published plans and the museum website. Since Feruglio has been silent about inscriptions on ceramics or other types of burials, I am assuming that none of the individual ceramics are olla burials, but I cannot be certain.

72 combination that occurs on 40 percent of decorated urns (fourteen total).284

In this tomb, the Etruscan language appears in forty-two epitaphs of fairly consistent length. Three or four inscriptions have only two onomastic parts (Cai Cutu 8(?), 9, 10, and 39), but the rest have three- or four-part nomenclature, which usually consists of a praenomen, nomen, and either the patronymic, matronymic, or, most commonly, the names of both parents.285 The praenomina are not especially noteworthy, for they employ the same first names seen frequently in other inscriptions, although there seems to be a predilection in the Cai Cutu family for Etruscan names beginning with A: both Aule and Arnth are quite popular, whereas

Larth is less common.286

Each man in the tomb shared the nomen Cai Cutu or Cutu (except two in which the nomen is absent [Cai Cutu 9 and 10]), but the name forms vary slightly. The Etruscan nomina either use variations on the two-part nomen Cai Cutu, or the shorter Cutu, which is more common.287 The most common name throughout is Cutu, appearing not only alone, but also in six instances in a transliterated Latin form, Cutius, and in about seven epitaphs as part of Cai

Cutu.288 Feruglio has interpreted these changes to the nomen as part of a linear progression from complex to simpler names. She explains that the earliest inscriptions are those that have the

284 Rosettes and peltae would have been visible in every chamber of the tomb, and seem to be imagery common not only to the members of this family, but also to the city of Late Etruscan (Hellenistic) Perugia in general.

285 The use of both patronymic and matronymic together occurs in twenty-three epitaphs.

286 Frequency of Etruscan praenomina in the Cai Cutu tomb: Aule (thirteen times), Vel (ten times), Arnth (nine times), Larth (six times), Sethre (three times).

287 Cai Cutu 2, 3, [8], 11, 12, 13, and 29 (although this is written as one word: caicutuś). Cai Cutu and Cutu appear in both their nominative and genitive forms, but they would have had the same meaning. For Cai Cutu, we find cai cutu (nominative), caiś cutuś (genitive), and caicutuś (genitive, combining the two names into one gentilicium); varieties of Cutu include cutu (nominative), cutuś (genitive), cutunuś (an archaic(?) genitive or error(?), Feruglio 2014, 201), and cuntu (a misspelling of cutu).

288 Feruglio (2014, 200-201) observes that the seven inscriptions with cai cutu come from Room A, which houses the sarcophagus and, in her opinion, the older burials.

73 double nomen cai cutu,289 which is thought to derive from the family's servile origin.290 Over time, she argues, members of the family dropped cai in favor of cutu, which eventually became

Cutius as a result of Latinization.291 Feruglio's argument is plausible, but whether or not there is a linear progression in the changes to the nomen is debatable.

Although the name cutu is the family's common bond, nevertheless direct relationships between individuals are more difficult to parse. The men of the Cai Cutu family, by limiting inclusion in their tomb to one gender, have presented posterity with a genealogical conundrum.

In the other case studies, some direct connections between family members were relatively easy to determine, because it is possible to deduce genealogical connections by comparing male and female epitaphs.292 But when women’s epitaphs are lacking, it becomes much more difficult to connect fathers and sons remains, because they often have the same name, and the information from female burials, such as their nomina and gamonymics, is lost. In such a situation, the best, and perhaps only, way to link two men is through a common matronymic (that is, brotherhood).

These genealogical problems are further compounded by two factors specific to this tomb: first, very few Cai Cutu men use the same matronymic; second, the epitaphs sometimes omit the patronymic in favor of a matronymic.293 Approximately twenty-six different matronymics

289 Feruglio 2002, 479.

290 Feruglio 2014, 200.

291 Feruglio 2002, 479. Despite the prevalence of the name cutu (and its Latin version, Cutius), Feruglio and others always refer to this as the Cai Cutu Tomb, so I have retained this name.

292 Bellucci was able to connect mothers and sons in his family tree, but he had to rely on guesswork to link husbands to wives and, therefore, fathers to sons.

293 The matronymic occurs alone (without the patronymic) in these inscriptions more frequently than the patronymic alone, but the usual practice among members of this family is to use both the patronymic and matronymic (23 examples). The matronymic is used without the patronymic in ten inscriptions (Cai Cutu 16, 21, 22, 28, 29, [38], 40, 41, 42, and 43); the patronymic is used without the matronymic in seven inscriptions (Cai Cutu 2, 7, 9, 10, 26, 30, and 31).

74 appear in the tomb, but only five sets of brothers can be identified with any certainty, and so it is impossible to construct a coherent family tree that encompasses all burials.294

Although we lack a complete family tree of the Cai Cutu family, we can nevertheless make some family connections. Feruglio assumes a direct familial connection between the burials in Room A and, furthermore, that the sarcophagus inhumation burial was the common ancestor.295 Working from these assumptions, she has created a plausible family tree that spans at least three generations of Cai Cutu men. Feruglio's first generation is the anonymous sarcophagus burial, which is followed by a group of three or four brothers, arnth (Cai Cutu 2), vel (Cai Cutu 3), sethre (Cai Cutu 9), and probably larth (Cai Cutu 8), who share onomastic and paleographic features between them. Three of these inscriptions (Cai Cutu 2, 3, and 9) have the same patronymic in an identical form, velusa ("Vel"), and three of them (Cai Cutu 2, 3, and 8) have the same nomen, caiś cutuś.296 If these brothers are indeed the children of someone buried in the sarcophagus, then the sarcophagus probably holds the ashes of one Vel Cai Cutu, who was married to a woman from the aneini clan. Feruglio assigns three brothers with very similar epitaphs, arnth (Cai Cutu 11), larth (Cai Cutu 12), and vel (Cai Cutu 13), to the third generation as sons of arnth (Cai Cutu 2) and a fethiu clanswoman.297 Another pair of brothers from the third generation include arnth (Cai Cutu 14) and aule (Cai Cutu 17), sons of sethre (Cai Cutu 9) and larthia titia (gleaned from Cai Cutu 14). For the rest of her third generation, Feruglio

294 The following fraternal relationships are relatively certain: Cai Cutu 14 and 17; 11, 12, and 13; 23 and 25; 32 and 34; 21 and 36.

295 For the entire discussion of this genealogy, see Feruglio 2014, 202-204.

296 The patronymic is missing from inscription 8: larth caiś cutu[---; Cai Cutu 9 lacks a nomen.

297 The inscriptions have similar formats: all have the same patronymic and matronymic (although Cai Cutu 13's matronymic is spelled differently); they have multiple lines; they use the word clan, meaning “son;” two of them repeat information (Cai Cutu 11 and 12).

75 assigns the remaining burials to the other children of the second generation (Cai Cutu 3 and 8).

These genealogical theories are based largely on the epitaphs’ common patronymics, their position within the tomb, and their paleography.298 Feruglio concludes that the reconstruction of successive generations is fraught because of the problems with repetitive praenomina and the wide variety of matronymics.299

Indeed, the remaining Etruscan inscriptions record at least seventeen mothers from different clans, meaning that there were at least a few more generations included within the tomb. Feruglio argues that the many matronymics indicate that this tomb became available to a much larger group of descendants over time.300 The epitaphs are indeed quite vague, often only claiming membership in the clan and distinguishing the epitaph with a matronymic. There is, of course, much repetition of male names, and, for an outsider to the family, such redundancy gives the perception of continuity. It is difficult to say how many of the original family members would have even known their genealogy, for it is almost impossible to detect direct connections between family members on the basis of the inscriptions alone.

Latin influence on the Etruscan inscriptions also seems beyond detection. Etruscan elements abound in the Latin epitaphs, each of which I shall treat in turn, after I discuss their

298 “Arnth Cutu, son of Vel and Lusna" (Cai Cutu 6) and "Vel Cutu, son of Vel and Lusci” (Cai Cutu 29) are thought to be brothers, sons of Vel (Cai Cutu 3); "Arnth Cutu, son of Larth and Velsna" (Cai Cutu 4) and “Larth, son of Larth” (Cai Cutu 10, no nomen or matronymic) are both thought to be sons of Larth (Cai Cutu 8). The only individual Feruglio cannot place is “Arnth Cutu, son of Arnth,” whose inscription, arnth. cutu arn (Cai Cutu 7), lacks adequate information, and, moreover, there are too many other Arnths, so it is unclear where exactly he would fit. Finally, she discusses other pairs of brothers that have the same matronymics (and sometimes patronymics), but whose other family ties are inscrutable: 23 and 25 (Velczni), 32 and 34 (Visci), 21 and 36 (Tetnei/Tetni).

299 “Più difficile ricostruire le parentele dei personaggi successivi (dispersi in uno spazio più ampio e data la repetitività dei prenomi maschili), per i quali spesso non sono indicati i matronimici e, quando sono indicati, risultano assai vari” (Feruglio 2014, 203).

300 “Sembra perciò che—col passare del tempo—il sepolcro sia stato disponibile per i discendenti di una famiglia molto allargata. Contemporaneamente si percepisce una diminuzione della prosperità economica della famiglia” (Feruglio 2014, 203).

76 general features and context. The six Latin epitaphs come from urns in Room B of the Cai Cutu tomb. One group of three urns (Cai Cutu 18, 19, and 20) sat in a row toward the back of the atrium, facing the door; another group of three (Cai Cutu 46, 51, and 52) lay close to the doorway: Cai Cutu 46, the first urn on the left, and Cai Cutu 51 and 52, the first two urns on the right. The proximity of the Latin inscriptions to the entrance may indicate that they were the latest burials in the tomb. Feruglio generally assumes that the urns with Latin epitaphs are later than the others because of their language, but, other than the script (and the Roman tribe of

Tromentina recorded on Cai Cutu 52 [discussed in more detail below]), there is little to differentiate the urns chronologically.301 Two Latin-inscribed urns have relief decorations—the rest are plain—and like other urns throughout the tomb, they bear rosettes: one has a rosette on its box (Cai Cutu 52); the other has rosettes on both box and lid (Cai Cutu 19). Grape clusters, which adorn three other lids from this tomb (Etruscan-inscribed Cai Cutu 32 and 39, and the uninscribed Cai Cutu 50) flank the rosette on Cai Cutu 19. Latin-inscribed urns are consistent in form and decoration with the Etruscan urns from this tomb. Moreover, the urns have remarkably similar nomenclature: five have the same abbreviated praenomen, A(ulus), and all have the same nomen, Cutius, which is a Latinized, transliterated version of the Cutu clan name.302

A. Cutius. Sa(l)via. c(natus). – “A(ulus) Cutius, son of Salvia” (Cai Cutu 18, Figure

301 Feruglio is confident that these are the latest burials: “Le sei urne con iscrizioni latine, ovviamente le più recenti, sono tutte collocate nell’atrio.” Likewise, she assumes that the urns closest to the door are more recent than those at the back of the atrium, noting the differences in the two groups’ matronymics (cnatus/gen vs. natus) as further evidence for their chronological differences (Feruglio 2014, 204).

302 There seems to be some variation in the Latinization of this Etruscan name. Here we find the name Cutius, but in the Rafi tomb (and in others), for example, the same nomen appears as Cotonia.

77 24).303 This urn was the leftmost in a group of about six urns at the back of the Room B. Half had Etruscan inscriptions and half had Latin. The two other Latin-inscribed urns (Cai Cutu 19 and 20) were in a line to the right of this urn, which itself sat before another row of urns with

Etruscan epitaphs. The urn has no decoration. Its epitaph preserves a praenomen, nomen, and matronymic; each onomastic part has definite or possible Etruscan elements. First, the praenomen “A,” for Aulus, is abbreviated in the Roman fashion—the Etruscan abbreviation is normally “au”—yet, as in other examples, the ambiguity of the abbreviation allows for different readings of the name. Moreover, the names aule and Aulus have the closest correspondence of any Etruscan and Latin praenomina, so A is an obvious Latin choice for someone named aule.

Second, Cutius is an obvious Latinization of the Etruscan cutu. Finally, the matronymic is expressed by the name Sa(l)via in the ablative, followed by a “c,” presumably the abbreviation for cnatus.304 Although the epitaph actually reads Savia, Feruglio has argued that it is a transliteration of the Etruscan śalvi, a known Etruscan family from Perugia, which often appears as Salvius/Salvia not only in other Latin epitaphs from the city,305 but also within the Cai Cutu tomb itself (Cai Cutu 35).

A. Cutius. A f. Aneinia. gen – “A(ulus) Cutius, son of A(ulus and) Aneinia” (Cai Cutu

19, Figure 25).306 This urn was found between two other urns with Latin epitaphs (Cai Cutu 18

303 Cai Cutu 18 = Feruglio 2014, 215-216. In her publication of the inscriptions alone, Feruglio further complicates the numbering system that she had originally established in her 2002 article. In the later publication, she only numbers the inscribed urns, so that none of the original inventory numbers match the inscription identification numbers. For example, this particular inscription is from urn number 18 (museum inventory number 99.998), but it is labeled under inscription number 16 (Feruglio 2014, 215-216). To avoid confusion when discussing the inscriptions, I refer only to the original urn numbers from Feruglio 2002. Feruglio was the first to publish these inscriptions, so they have no CIE or CIL numbers, but they do have ET numbers.

304 The form cnatus, as opposed to the more common gnatus and natus, is also found abbreviated in another Latin inscription from Perugia: A. Petronius. L. f. Suciae cnat(us) (CIE 3451).

305 Feruglio 2014, 216. The Latin Salvius appears also in CIE 3348 and CIE 3657.

306 Feruglio 2014, 216.

78 and 20) near the back wall of Room B. There are rosettes on its box and lid, which also has flanking clusters of grapes. At the bottom of the lid was its Latin inscription,307 which was composed of four onomastic elements: praenomen, nomen, patronymic, and matronymic, each of which has possible Etruscan features. I have already discussed the praenomen and nomen above, but the patronymic and matronymic require some brief comments. First, the abbreviated patronymic A(uli) f(ilius) is typically Latin, but here again, given the context, the father’s name could be read as either Aulus or aule. Second, the matronymic is slightly unusual, because it uses the abbreviation gen, for genitus (from gigno, meaning “son” here), instead of gnatus/cnatus or natus.308 The mother’s clan name, Aneinia, is well known at Perugia from Etruscan inscriptions as aneini, and also appears in one of the Etruscan inscriptions from Room A

(aneinial, Cai Cutu 3). Feruglio notes, however, that the men buried in these two urns (Cai Cutu

3 and 19) were probably not brothers because she posits a great amount of time between the two burials.309

A Cutius Peti – “A(ulus) Cutius, (son of?) Peti” (Cai Cutu 20, Figure 26).310 This urn was the last in a line of three urns with Latin epitaphs (Cai Cutu 18 and 19) found at the back of the Room B. It has no decoration. According to Feruglio, the nomenclature of the inscription consists of three parts, the praenomen, nomen, and the matronymic.311 The first two parts I have already discussed above, but, if the third part is indeed a matronymic, then it is quite different

307 The middle of Feruglio’s squeeze (2014, 216) from the end of “Cutius” to “gen” is illegible due to “irregolarità del travertino.” Nevertheless, she reproduces a clean reading of the epitaph.

308 Feruglio 2014, 216.

309 She assumes that the Etruscan burial in Room A (Cai Cutu 2) is much older than this Latin one. In other circumstances men with the same matronymic are almost always considered brothers.

310 Cai Cutu 20; Feruglio 2014, 217.

311 Feruglio 2014, 217.

79 from the others, for it employs the genitive alone, omitting the word for “son.” The genitive form in Latin presents some interpretative difficulties: it could be a direct transliteration of an

Etruscan nomen in the nominative, which is known at Perugia and beyond,312 or it may refer to this man’s freedman status (omitting the word libertus).

L. Cutius / Gallus – “L(ucius) Cutius Gallus” (Cai Cutu 46, Figure 27).313 To someone entering the tomb, this urn was the first on the left, and sat facing two other Latin-inscribed urns

(Cai Cutu 51 and 52). The urn lacks decoration. The epitaph has three onomastic parts: praenomen, nomen, and cognomen. Unlike the other Latin epitaphs from this tomb, the patronymic and matronymic are absent. The praenomen, L, could stand for Lucius or possibly larth. The cognomen Gallus, found elsewhere at Perugia, may denote Gallic ancestry, making it the second ethnonym found in this tomb.314

A. Cutius. A. / f. Maenatia. / natus. – “A(ulus) Cutius, son of A(ulus and) son of

Maenatia” (Cai Cutu 51, Figure 28).315 This urn, the second on the right upon entering, was found near two other urns with Latin epitaphs (Cai Cutu 46 and 52). The urn was unadorned aside from its inscription, which had a four-part nomenclature, consisting of praenomen, nomen, patronymic, and matronymic (in the ablative, combined with natus). The name Maenatius is probably derived from the Etruscan mehnate/mehnati, found at Perugia.316

A. Cutius. A. f. Tro / Pisen / tia. / Hastia / natus – “A(ulus) Cutius, son of A(ulus and)

312 Feruglio 2014, 217.

313 Cai Cutu 46; Feruglio 2014, 230.

314 The other ethnonym (creice, meaning “Greek”) comes from Cai Cutu 45 (Feruglio 2014, 230), which was located next to this one.

315 Cai Cutu 51; Feruglio 2014, 232.

316 Feruglio 2014, 232; Kaimio 1975, 213 n. 1.

80 son of Hastia Pisentia, Tro(mentina tribe)” (Cai Cutu 52, Figure 29).317 This urn was found closest to the doorway, next to Cai Cutu 51 and across from Cai Cutu 46. This may have been the first urn visible to tomb visitors, and it was decorated with a rosette on its ossuary, where the inscription also was carved. The epitaph follows the usual epigraphic conventions already discussed (praenomen, nomen, patronymic, and matronymic) with two unusual additions: the matronymic (ablative plus natus) includes the mother’s Etruscan praenomen, Hastia, and the Tro abbreviation declares the deceased’s Roman tribal affiliation. Tro stands for Tromentina, the tribe assigned to Perusine Roman citizens after the Social War, so this inscription not only confirms this man’s Roman citizenship of this man, but also provides a terminus post quem of 90

BCE for this object and the tomb itself. If we assume that this was the last burial in the Cai Cutu tomb, we know that the tomb was still in use around the 80s BCE. Depending on how long this man lived after receiving citizenship, it is possible that the tomb remained in use as late as the

50s or 40s BCE, or even later.318 Furthermore, this may not be the tomb’s last burial, and if other depositions took place after this one, then the tomb’s final date may be even later.

Other Epigraphic Evidence from Perugia

As we can see in the case studies of the tomb contexts above, Latin epitaphs from Perugia often retain many elements of Etruscan epigraphic custom, both linguistic and onomastic. A single Latin inscription can preserve several different Etruscan features at the same time.

Although the inscriptions can be classed as Latin insofar as they use the Latin alphabet, each

317 Cai Cutu 52; Feruglio 2014, 232-233.

318 If we imagine a scenario in which this man lived to extreme old age, say 80 or 90 years, he could have been buried 60 or 70 years after receiving citizenship. In such an example the date of the tomb could be pushed past the middle and into the last quarter of the first century BCE.

81 inscription is in fact a mixture of Latin and Etruscan epigraphic customs in varying degrees.319

Etruscan elements sometimes overshadow Latin elements and vice-versa. But despite attempts to date inscriptions from Late Etruscan tombs based on their degree of “Etruscanity” or

“Latinity,” they have not been dated precisely; on the contrary, only date ranges and terminus post quems are trustworthy. Most assume that Latin gradually replaced Etruscan over the course of the first century BCE, and that Etruscan elements in Latin inscriptions slowly phase out over time until eventually arriving at a pure “Latinity.” In order to explain this so-called linguistic shift, Kaimio attempted to measure the amount of “Etruscanity,” or Etruscan linguistic and onomastic “interference,” in the Latin inscriptions from Chiusi and Perugia, and to quantify it over time. He produced a chart that illustrated the progress (or decline) of Etruscan elements in

Latin epitaphs, and argued for a gradual, linear shift from Etruscan to Latin.320 His analysis, however, is based on a circular argument. Because we cannot date any of these inscriptions precisely, it is impossible to be sure that inscriptions with more Etruscan elements are necessarily earlier than those with fewer Etruscan elements. Even though a slow, chronological progression from Etruscan to Latin seems logical because we know the end result—that Latin eventually supplanted Etruscan—it remains an a priori assumption.

Although an exact chronology of the linguistic shift may be unattainable at present, the presence of Etruscan elements in Latin inscriptions of Perugia is strong evidence for a complex linguistic exchange between the Latin and Etruscan languages during the first century BCE. The

319 Similarly, there are indeed Etruscan inscriptions—inscriptions written in the Etruscan alphabet—that betray Latin epigraphic customs, but these are more difficult to identify.

320 Kaimio 1975, 187.

82 total number of extant Latin epitaphs from Perugia is around 139.321 These Latin funerary inscriptions from Perugia preserve a high percentage of Etruscan elements. The number of

Etruscan elements in Perugia’s Latin funerary inscriptions is difficult to quantify precisely, but it remains quite high, especially when multiple Etruscan features coexist in a single epitaph. Out of the 139 Latin epitaphs, 76 (55 percent) show clear evidence of linguistic or onomastic

Etruscan elements, while 63 (45 percent) do not. If, however, the presence of Latin nomina of

Perusine origin counts as an Etruscan feature, then the number of Etruscan elements in Latin epitaphs increases by some 20 percent, from 76 inscriptions to 106 (76 percent), and hence the number of inscriptions where Etruscan elements are absent shrinks to 33 (24 percent). In summary, the range of Perusine Latin inscriptions that preserve Etruscan elements is somewhere between half and three-quarters of the total.322 This may seem like a wide margin of error, but we should probably assume that the truth lies somewhere from the middle to high range.

Probably around 60 percent of Latin epitaphs from Perugia retain Etruscan features, but, regardless, these estimates do not prove that Perusine inscriptions are more Etruscan than they are Latin. If we assume a first century date for these inscriptions, the evidence from the texts alone show that the Latin epitaphs of first century BCE Perugia preserve a high number of

Etruscan features. There are so many Etruscan elements present that the inscriptions cannot be labeled “Roman” or even purely “Latin” without qualification. At the same time, although

321 All numbers are approximate. I arrived at the number 139 by searching the CIE, the CIL, the issues of Studi Etruschi, which contains the annual Rivista di Epigrafia Etrusca (REE), and Feruglio’s 2014 publication of the inscriptions from the Cai Cutu family tomb. This number also includes the four bilingual inscriptions from Perugia, which are included in ET. I have endeavored throughout to account for all of the pertinent Latin funerary inscriptions from Perugia, but I may still have overlooked a few. Nevertheless, I believe my numbers represent a faithful record of the extant epitaphs from Perugia. The addition of more inscriptions will inevitably alter the statistics further, but, keeping in mind that new inscriptions will always be discovered, these statistics, however approximate, should be a fairly reliable measure of the epigraphic evidence.

322 Inversely, of course, this means that about half to one-quarter of the epitaphs preserve no discernable Etruscan linguistic or onomastic elements. In determining whether an element was Etruscan, my standards were quite strict, and I worked from the default assumption that there were no Etruscan elements.

83 around half of the inscriptions retain identifiable Etruscan features, they cannot rightly be called

“Etruscan” either, because they are written in the Latin language and in Latin characters. Rather than simply “Latin” or “Etruscan,” these epitaphs are traces of the complex ways in which the people of Perugia were negotiating their identities in the first century BCE.

Conclusion

The introduction of Latin epitaphs into the tomb environments is often used as a main indicator of change in the funeral rites of Late Etruscan Perugia. Furthermore, the apparent linguistic shift from Etruscan to Latin epitaphs invites the application of chronological interpretations to these changes. The tombs and their changing epitaphs are often read as a kind of linear narrative in which Etruscan practice gradually becomes more Roman. The Etruscan language slowly becomes Latin until it exists no more. In such interpretations, the process of

Perugia’s Latinization, and thus Romanization, seems obvious and inevitable. These interpretations, however, do not explain how the people of Perugia negotiated the great political and cultural changes in Italy during the first century BCE, nor do they explain how people played an active role in constructing their own identities, ethnic or otherwise. Nor do they do justice to the complexity of the evidence.

In fact, a close examination of these epitaphs reveals a much more complex and possibly less linear process. An examination of the tomb contexts and the cinerary urns that bear the epitaphs demonstrates further that using the limited, binary categories such as “Etruscan” or

“Roman” to refer to these objects is misleading. Moreover, the notion that Perugia’s epitaphs represent any one-sided process, such as Romanization, fades even more when we examine the inscriptions’ original contexts. Such linear interpretations of these tomb environments gloss over the complexities that emerge through a close reading of the epitaphs. I would argue that in the

84 larger context of the tomb, it is inappropriate to make a distinction between Roman and Etruscan, for there is not a simple binary opposition between the two. Even the Etruscan epitaphs are heterogeneous, since they exhibit many different naming practices, although they follow routine onomastic formulas of different sorts. Likewise, the Latin epitaphs are far from unadulterated

“Latin,” but rather they show various degrees of linguistic complexity and identity negotiation.

Moreover, there are a few bilingual epitaphs that employ both languages. The cinerary urns as a whole exhibit a new expression of identity constructed by the deceased for their family members and for posterity. These new identities could be expressed in myriad ways.

In the Vlesi tomb, each of the three Latin epitaphs seems to express a different degree of

Romanness, from Tania Vlesia’s inscription written with Etruscan letters to Lucius/Larnth

Scarpus’ bilingual epitaph to Laetoria Vlesia’s completely Latin inscription. In the Rafi tomb, no two Latin inscriptions follow the same onomastic formula, and even the two brothers, both buried in olla burials across the room from each other, have different epigraphic priorities: one preferred a bilingual inscription with an emphasis on the Etruscan language; the other chose a

Latin inscription comprising Etruscan elements. Although the Cai Cutu tomb’s Latin epitaphs come closest to a Roman formula in their repeated use of “A. Cutius,” no two include the exact same information in the same manner—some provide more details, some provide fewer, others use different words to convey the same idea. In all the case studies examined here (and, generally speaking, throughout the Latin epitaphs from Perugia), there appears to have been no fixed way or formula to express one’s Roman identity (or one’s Etruscan identity for that matter). The multiplicity of expression in these epitaphs suggests that there was great freedom and experimentation in each person’s expression of identity. The people who used these family tombs made an active choice to use the Latin language (in various ways), and at the same time

85 they placed themselves within the context of centuries-old, Perusine family burial practices. examination of Perugia’s Latin epitaphs has shown that many of these inscriptions preserve traditional Etruscan epigraphic and onomastic features.

A consideration of the material context of the epitaphs allows us to see the significant continuity in cultural practices within which this tentative adoption of Latin was located. The

Latin epitaphs were shown to occur on cinerary urns that were buried according to old Etruscan funerary practices. The ancient Etruscan tradition of cremation burial in cinerary urns is common in Northern Etruria (e.g. Volterra, Chiusi), and dates back as far as the third century

BCE. In addition to the local character of the burials, Perugia’s cinerary urns have a characteristic, regional shape (i.e. cubic with roof lid), and they are crafted from a local travertine stone. Moreover, the deceased with Latin epitaphs often have family names that frequently have direct connections to other Perusine families of local descent. Lastly, the urns and their epitaphs adhere to family burial customs—not only do the epitaphs often directly state connections between family members, but also their actual resting places have physically connected these groups of urns and their epitaphs for eternity. The visual image of the three family tombs examined here is also one of uniformity and consistency. These funerary environments demonstrate an overwhelming continuity of form and practice from pre-Roman times until their abandonment, presumably sometime in the first century BCE. One might argue that the different decorative motifs found throughout the tombs complicate any claim for continuity of form. The variation in reliefs does introduce an element of individuality to each urn, but the frequency of common motifs, such as the rosettes and peltae seen throughout the different tombs, reveals a remarkable homogeneity in the iconographic repertoire of Late

Etruscan Perugia. As such, the casual first-century observer or family member would have seen

86 a tomb full of like monuments with some variations or outstanding features, much like what archaeologists would find in an intact Late Etruscan tomb today. The last ancient visitors would have observed a tightly-knit family unit. Due to the similarities of the shapes of urns, their material, and arrangement, each unit would have appeared quite uniform. Indeed, the similarity in burials over multiple generations within Late Etruscan family tombs accounts for the difficulties in dating individual depositions.

In the wake of the Social War, throughout Italy there grew a strong interest in the expression of regional identities, and frequently this regionalism emphasized historical (or pseudo-historical) traditions amidst developing notions of Italian unity throughout the peninsula.323 At Perugia, the tombs, the urns, and their epitaphs evoke local historical and family traditions, and they express these multiple, complex identities—Etruscan, Roman, Perusine, and, above all, familial. At the same time, however, they are neither “Etruscan” because of their

Etruscan features nor are they “Roman” because of their Latin script. The objects are at once tied to their ancestral identity and to new, unique expressions of Romanness, Etruscanness, and

Italianness. The Latin-inscribed urns of Perugia represent an “active reimagining” of past funerary practices which at the same time were an integral means for the people of Perugia to express their contemporary selves in the first century BCE.324

323 “Scholars have connected the growing emphasis on regional identity to the concept of Italian unity that emerged in the same period” (Emmerson 2017, 353).

324 Emmerson 2017, 363.

CHAPTER 3: ETRUSCAN IDENTITY IN VERGIL’S AENEID Introduction

Etruscans are a major part of Vergil’s Aeneid. In the latter half of the Aeneid, through a series of surprising twists and breaks from literary and historical tradition, Vergil draws complex portraits of Etruscan characters, perhaps for the first time in literature, and, in making Etruscans both the allies and, through Dardanus, even the ancestors of the Trojans (and therefore, the

Romans), he encourages a reconsideration of Etruscan literary stereotypes.325 While all Etruscan characters in the Aeneid contribute to Vergil’s re-imagination of Etruscan ethnic identity, the

Caeretan king Mezentius is the prime exemplar of the Vergilian Etruscan. Vergil introduces

Mezentius in Books 7 and 8 as a villainous, arrogant tyrant who conforms to negative literary stereotypes of Etruscans, but by the end of Book 10 Mezentius’ words and actions have transformed him into a complex, sympathetic character. By engaging with familiar ethnic stereotypes about Etruscans and then subverting them, the Aeneid forges a new kind of Etruscan literary identity, a uniquely Vergilian one: at the end of the Aeneid, there emerges a richer characterization of Etruscanness than hackneyed stereotypes would allow. In this chapter, I will examine the Etruscans’ role in the Aeneid, how Vergil treats Etruscan ethnic identity, and how the Aeneid recasts literary and historical traditions through the use and subsequent subversion of

Etruscan ethnic stereotypes. In the Aeneid, I will argue, the Etruscans become indispensable actors in Rome’s origins, active agents in Roman history, and windows into Vergil’s understanding of contemporary Roman identity. Consequently, the text of the Aeneid itself

325 For more on Etruscan stereotypes, see the Chapter 1, pgs. 24-29.

88 actively plays a major part in the construction and negotiation of the ethnic identity of Etruscans in the first century BCE.

Scholars have discussed the Etruscans and their role in Vergil’s Aeneid since antiquity. It has been such a common topic of discussion that in 1987 Nicholas Horsfall opined that “Virgil’s treatment of the Etruscans continues to attract much, even too much attention,”326 despite his acknowledgement that Vergil’s treatment of the Etruscans is “striking” and “unusual.”327 The focus of these discussions, however, has generally been fairly limited. The central topic of debate concerns the differences between the historical tradition on the legend of Aeneas and the version Vergil presents in the Aeneid. With regard to the Etruscans, the Aeneid differs considerably from other versions of the Aeneas legend. For example, Vergil makes Dardanus, the founder of Troy, come from Etruria, whereas other accounts place his origin in Greece.328

Another element in the story that seems to have been uniquely Vergilian is the poet’s handing of the Etruscans’ relationship with Aeneas: the Etruscans are elsewhere some of the Trojans’ foremost enemies, but Vergil changes that tradition, making the majority of the Etruscans

Aeneas’ allies. The earliest source on the Aeneas legend for which we have evidence, Cato the

326 Horsfall (1987, 100) is responding to those who maintain (perhaps too often) that the explanation for Vergil’s “partiality” to the Etruscan element in the Aeneid is due to Vergil’s own Etruscan origins (see discussion in Hall 1982) or that he was possibly taught by Tarquitius Priscus, a great Etruscan antiquarian of his day. Horsfall (1987, 100) insists that the Aeneid does not display an advanced knowledge of Etruscan religion, but he does admit that in Vergil’s day things Etruscan were “alluring.”

327 Horsfall 1987, 100-101.

328 Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Ant. Rom. 1.60-61), evidently following Varro (according to Serv. ad Aen. 3.167), places Dardanus’ origins in Arcadia. Wilhelm (1992, 134) contends that Etruscan Dardanus occurs in Vergil first. Horsfall (1987, 98-99) argues that Vergil may not have been the first to set Dardanus’ origins in Etruria, based on some second or early first-century BCE Etruscan boundary markers from Tunisia that make reference to “Dardanii” (ET Af 8.1-8.8; see Heurgon 1969) and a quote from Pliny the Elder, who writes that the citizens of Cora were descended from Dardanus (Corani a Dardano Troiano orti, Plin. HN 3.63).

89 Elder’s Origines (FRH 5 F6-9),329 agrees with the later histories of Livy (1.2-3) and Dionysius of

Halicarnassus (Ant. Rom. 1.64-65), who were rough contemporaries of Vergil himself. In these versions, Mezentius, not Turnus, is the last enemy the Trojans face, and it is usually Ascanius who either slays Mezentius or makes peace with the Etruscans.330 Moreover, in these historical works Mezentius appears to be the sole ruler of the Etruscans, but the Aeneid names other

Etruscan leaders and makes Mezentius an exile from his own people. Indeed, in the Aeneid

Tarchon and the Etruscans unite under Aeneas’ banner and ultimately defeat the allied forces of

Mezentius and Turnus. Vergil thus retains Mezentius’ allegiances, but at the same time isolates him (and his son Lausus and their followers) from many of the other Etruscans, whom he portrays favorably.331

Vergil may have been the earliest extant author to make the Etruscans allies of Aeneas and treat the subject at length, but it is nevertheless possible that he drew inspiration from an earlier source, Lycophron’s Alexandra.332 Lycophron’s poem dates to the Hellenistic Period

(most likely the second century BCE),333 and it takes the form of a messenger speech to King

329 For the texts of the fragments and commentary, see Cornell 2013. The fragments of Cato’s Origines are preserved in paraphrases from Servius, Macrobius, and the so-called First Vatican Mythographer. In general on the Aeneas legend, see the commentary in FRH on 5 F4-12.

330 In the Aeneid, Aeneas kills Mezentius, but the Etruscan king rarely dies in other accounts. Cato does have Mezentius dying at Ascanius’ hands after Aeneas’ death or disappearance (FRH 5 F6-8). Livy’s Mezentius, however, makes peace with Ascanius after Aeneas’ death (1.3.4-5). Likewise, Dionysius’ Mezentius strikes a truce with Ascanius after the death of his son, Lausus (Ant. Rom. 1.65.5). See Eden 1964-65, 33.

331 In the Latin Catalogue, Mezentius and Lausus have one thousand, presumably Etruscan, troops (see below footnote 370).

332 Horsfall (1973, 76) had originally expressed doubts that Vergil had read Lycophron at all, positing instead that some other Republican authors had preserved Lycophron’s version of the myth, but he later (2005, 36) argued that, although Vergil knew Lycophron well, the Aeneas passages in the Alexandra postdate Vergil (Horsfall 2005, 39- 40). The most recent editors of Lycophron’s text argue convincingly that the Alexandra not only predates Vergil but also that there are enough detailed correspondences between the two works to show that Vergil indeed knew the text of the Alexandra and drew on it when composing the Aeneid (McNelis and Sens 2016, 167-168, 205, 210-217).

333 On evidence for the date of the Alexandra, see McNelis and Sens 2016, 10-11.

90 Priam reporting a prophecy made by Cassandra upon the departure of Paris from Sparta (before the Trojan War). At several points, Cassandra describes the wanderings of Aeneas and his arrival in Italy (the so-called “Roman lines”), prophesying that Tyrsenia (Etruria) will receive

Aeneas (Lycoph. Alex. 1239), and that he will meet Odysseus and the sons of Telephus, Tarchon and Tyrsenus, who will give him aid (Lycoph. Alex. 1242-1249). Despite Vergil’s possible use of the Alexandra of Lycophron as a source (or other previous sources, for that matter), questions still remain: why did Vergil diverge from the other traditions and make the Etruscans Aeneas’ allies? Why treat the Etruscans sympathetically and give them such prominence in Aeneas’ story? Some would argue that evidence from outside the Aeneid indicates that Vergil’s apparent interest in Etruria stems from his own personal background and relationships, for Maecenas,

Vergil’s patron, was himself of Etruscan heritage.334 Some maintain rather that Vergil was engaging in Etruscan antiquarianism that was part of Roman intellectual culture during his lifetime.335 Still others have downplayed or ignored the importance of the Aeneid’s Etruscans.336

Earlier critics set the stage for these debates, arguing that Vergil introduced Etruscan allies for Aeneas for practical reasons. Richard Heinze, for example, maintained that, in order for the Aeneid’s story to be plausible, Aeneas required a large number of troops to defeat Turnus’ army.337 Heinze argued further that by including Etruscans who were under Aeneas’ leadership

Vergil was advancing Augustan propaganda: the Etruscans’ subordinate position in the epic

334 Hall 1982, passim; Wilhelm 1992, 134-135. Maecenas, Augustus’ friend, was from Arretium (modern Arezzo) and descended from the Cilnii (mentioned as potentates of Arretium in Livy 10.3.2) on his mother’s side (Syme 1939, 129). The poet Horace writes about Maecenas’ descent from Etruscan kings (Maecenas atavis edite regibus, Hor. Od. 1.1.1; Tyrrhena regum progenies, tibi, Hor. Od. 3.29.1).

335 Hall 1982, passim; Horsfall 1987, 103-104; Wilhelm 1992, 134-135.

336 See, for example, Feeney 1999, 190-194.

337 Heinze 1915, 179.

91 mirrors their future submission to the Romans under Augustus.338 Heinze states that Vergil relied on contemporary stereotypes in his characterization of ethnic groups,339 but he also recognized that there are inconsistencies in the representation of certain nationalities in the

Aeneid, especially that of the Etruscans, whose general portrayal, Heinze observed, is at odds with other depictions of their cruelty, cowardice, and extravagance.340 Following Heinze’s lead,

Jean Gagé argued that Vergil’s creation of a positive role for Etruscans not only made them

(retroactively) willing subjects of the Romans through Aeneas, but also that in doing so Vergil sought to placate certain Etruscans of his own day, who were angry about their treatment by

Rome after the Social War and during the civil wars of the first century BCE.341

More recent scholarship on the Etruscans in the Aeneid has typically focused on individual episodes involving Etruscans, and has not been concerned with Vergil’s treatment of

Etruscans in general. Indeed, the 1960s and ’70s saw increased attention to the Etruscan

Catalogue and especially to the character Mezentius, both mainly from Aeneid 10, which itself was becoming a subject of greater interest to scholars, as was the latter half of the Aeneid more generally.342 Most studies of the Etruscan Catalogue and Mezentius episodes,343 however, have concentrated upon the scenes’ antecedents in Greek literature or their function within the epic, and Vergil’s treatment of Etruscans has not often been discussed comprehensively. Some even

338 Heinze 1915, 179.

339 Heinze 1915, 270.

340 Heinze 1915, 270-271.

341 Gagé 1929, 143.

342 Benario 1967, 23: “In the vast range of Vergilian studies, the tenth book of the Aeneid has been more completely ignored than any of its companions. A review of the bibliographies of Mambelli and Duckworth reveals how little attention has been devoted to the book that contains several of Vergil’s finest scenes, and comprehensive studies of the author and his work tend to treat it with a certain disdain.”

343 On Mezentius’ literary antecedents for example, see Glenn 1971 and Leach 1972.

92 more recent assessments of the Etruscans’ part in the Aeneid are rather dismissive. Stephen

Harrison finds the Etruscan Catalogue’s order and content baffling, confessing that “it might be argued that the Etruscan Catalogue is generally composed of nonentities who play no significant part in the Aeneid.”344 Building on Harrison’s observations, Denis Feeney argues that the

Etruscans’ disappearance from the narrative is precisely the point—Etruscans disappear from the narrative in much the same way that they disappeared from history through their conquest and subsequent Romanization.345 Often observations about the Aeneid’s Etruscans are limited in their scope to either short episodes or short articles, and, like many earlier scholars, they do not account for how Vergil treats things Etruscan throughout the entire poem.

Only one work is devoted entirely to the study of Etruscans and their role in the Aeneid, an unpublished dissertation by W. Duncan Stalker, whose ideas on the subject have largely gone unnoticed.346 Contrary to others who have argued that the Aeneid is about establishing connections between Greece and Rome, Stalker maintains that “it is in helping to define what is

Roman, in opposition to what is Greek, that Virgil’s Etruscans make their greatest contribution to the Aeneid.” He makes the case for the strong, positive involvement of the Etruscans in the

Aeneid, demonstrating their close relationship to the Trojans in the poem: “The Aeneid suggests that whatever is true of the Etruscan national character must ultimately be true, at least in part, of the Roman national character as well,”347 and he argues that their role was meant to add a

344 Harrison 1991, 108.

345 Feeney 1999, 190-194.

346 Stalker 1991. A note on page ii of the dissertation says that it was finished in 1980, but that it was not approved until 1991, shortly before the author’s untimely death. These factors may account for its relative obscurity, for I have not found Stalker cited by any author other than Syed (2005).

347 Stalker 1991, 68.

93 “uniquely Roman national mythology” to his epic,348 and moreover that the Aeneid substituted an

Etruscan (Italian/native) ancestry for a Greek one.349 Most importantly, Stalker’s thesis strives, often convincingly, to impose a clear unity on the Aeneid, explaining it as a kind of historical allegory.350 Because of his insistence, however, on an overarching, pro-Augustan interpretation of the poem, Stalker’s conclusions are perhaps too neat, too unilateral, for they do not allow for ambiguous or ambivalent meanings. And despite his compelling discussion of the Etruscans in the text of the Aeneid, Stalker does not explicitly address how Vergil portrays the ethnic identity of Etruscans, except to say that they are (like the Trojans) another source for the “divergent strains in the Roman character.”351 Stalker’s interpretation of the role of the Etruscans in the

Aeneid goes a long way toward understanding their function in the text, but his focus is not on how Vergil portrays Etruscan ethnic identity, perhaps because it is only in recent years that literary constructions of ethnic identity have become a great interest to scholars.

It is now generally agreed that identity, and especially Roman identity, is a major theme of Vergil’s Aeneid. Scholars have increasingly shown in recent decades that Vergil’s idea of

Romanness is accepting of those not born in Rome. Katharine Toll, for example, has argued that

Vergil works to create Romanness as an “open category,” and one that is especially inclusive of

Italians, like Vergil himself, who were new Roman citizens.352 Likewise, Clifford Ando has

348 Stalker 1991, 9.

349 Stalker 1991, 102.

350 Stalker (1991, 71-73) admits that allegorical readings of the Aeneid are problematic and that the text allows for multiple historical parallels simultaneously and that rigid one-to-one associations are impossible. In my opinion, his allegorizing is still too one-sided at times, although he states that “since we are assuming that the poem is not an allegory, we will examine the similarity between a fictional and a historical episode with the implicit understanding that we are revealing a similarity of kind and not a simple identification of the one with the other” (Stalker 1991, 73).

351 Stalker 1991, 215-216.

352 Toll 1997, 34. On Vergil’s own Italian identity, see Toll 1997, 36.

94 maintained that Vergil’s works promoted an idea of Italian identity that was synonymous with

Roman identity, for the Aeneid shows a version of Roman history in which Romanness derives from an Italian identity that had absorbed the Trojan.353 As Ando writes, “We would thus be remiss if we did not read [Vergil’s] poetry as a contribution to an on-going discourse about the nature of the community that then existed on the Italian peninsula.”354

In this spirit, recent years have seen the emergence of important book-length works on identity in the Aeneid, specifically the works of Yasmin Syed (2005), Jay Reed (2007), and

Kristopher Fletcher (2014).355 Syed shows that the text of the Aeneid “articulated Roman identity...through the reader’s identification and differentiation from its fictional characters.”356

She argues that Vergil’s textual strategies present ethnicity as an ambiguous construct and

“[allow] for ethnic diversity.”357 Reed likewise explores Roman identity in the Aeneid through

Vergil’s treatment of other characters, especially the pathos that Vergil evokes from readers as they gaze upon the deaths of young warriors. Reed argues that Vergil in doing so creates boundaries and oppositions of gender and nationality in the Aeneid. The works of Syed and

Reed contend that Vergil’s Aeneid encourages readers to identify and sympathize with others, especially Aeneas’ enemies. For his part, Fletcher has shown that Aeneas’ search for Italy in the first half of the Aeneid mirrors the experience of other non-native Romans whom Vergil wants to

353 Ando 2002, 138-139.

354 Ando 2002, 136.

355 See also Wimperis 2017, whose dissertation is a study of the rhetorical construction of cultural memory and ethnic identities through characters in Vergil’s Aeneid. Except for a footnote (2017, 56 n. 133), Wimperis does not include Etruscans as one of the ethnic groups of his study.

356 Syed 2005, 1, and also 8 on how the Aeneid “shaped the reader’s sense of self by various textual strategies that establish a relationship between the reader and the fictional characters.”

357 Syed 2005, 223. Moreover, Syed argues here that Vergil’s textual strategies potentially undermine or negate notions of ethnic essentialism.

95 come to love Italy. Each author explores the Aeneid’s treatment of identity in different ways, but all agree with Toll and Ando that, when it comes to identity in the Aeneid, Vergil’s text fosters a sense of belonging and inclusivity in the reader.

For the most part, however, these works on identity in the Aeneid focus on the meaning of Roman identity or Romanness. None of these authors address at length the construction of

Etruscan identity in the Aeneid or its relationship to Roman identity. Syed mentions Etruscans but once, and notes that she does not discuss the poem’s second half.358 Fletcher does so only briefly, because his main subject of study is Aeneas’ journeys in Books 1-6.359 Reed discusses some of the problems in Vergil’s treatment of Etruscans, but not in great detail;360 he focuses instead on specific characters, such as the Etruscan Lausus, but is not much interested in

Etruscan identity.361 As we have seen, although Etruscans in the Aeneid have been discussed often, they have not appeared in more recent, general discussions of ethnic identity in the Aeneid.

Despite a few recent works that do comment specifically on Vergil’s construction of Etruscan identity in the Aeneid, there is no recent work that discusses his treatment of things Etruscan in

358 See Syed on Etruscans (2005, 222) and on her omission of the poem’s second half (2005, 227).

359 Fletcher briefly discusses Etruscans and their connection to Aeneas and the Trojans twice, both in connection to Creusa’s prophecy of Book 2 (Fletcher 2014, 71, 242).

360 Reed 2007, 5-6, 11.

361 Reed (2007, 38) writes as follows: “The shared objectification of four fallen warriors [including Lausus] who come from different nations both symbolically unites those nations as constituents of a greater, and subjects them to an implicitly Roman eye. The gaze establishes difference. It delineates a subject position empty of nationality in itself, but defined by opposition to other nationalities: ‘we’ are not Trojan, not Greek, not Etruscan, not Italian. This empty nationality we are invited to identify as Roman; the Roman thus takes its lineaments and purpose from what it is not. The Roman, above all, is the subject, not the object, of a domineering gaze.”

96 detail.362 It is that lack that this chapter is meant to supply.

Enter Mezentius

Etruscans are first formally introduced in Aeneid 7, appropriately enough, after Aeneas sets foot in Italy. When they are introduced, Vergil gives every indication that the Etruscans will be some of Aeneas’ main enemies. By introducing the Etruscans in this way, Vergil sets up a surprise for his readers: he initially encourages us to think about Etruscans stereotypes through the introduction of the character Mezentius as a villain, but when the majority of the Etruscans turn out later to be Aeneas’ allies and Mezentius becomes a sympathetic character, Vergil invites us to question negative Etruscan stereotypes.

At the end of the first half of the Aeneid, Aeneas leaves the Underworld and returns to his fleet, and the beginning of Book 7 sees the Trojans sailing up the Italian coast until they reach the mouth of the Tiber. The Trojans finally disembark there and the narrator abruptly invokes the Muse Erato (7.37-45). This interruption by the narrator marks a turning point in the story

(maius opus moveo, 7.45) and hints at the nature of the story to come and the important role that the Etruscans, whom he calls a “Tyrrhenian band” (Tyrrhenamque manum, 7.42), will play in it.363 In this invocation, Etruscans are the only named group of people.364 Furthermore, the

362 Bittarello (2009) discusses Vergil’s (and other authors’) treatment of Etruscans in the Aeneid as one that is stereotypical and, on the whole, negative: “the representation of the Etruscans in Virgil, Livy, and Silius is constructed by using well-defined topoi. The Etruscans use inappropriate weapons, behave in war as hunters, can be defeated by women, and even behave like women—an aspect connected to their wealth and consequent excessive luxury, as well as to their (supposed) oriental origin. Their moral flaws include cowardice, tyrannical pride, cruelty, ‘softness,’ love of pleasures, and a peculiar relationship with sacral practices presented as dangerous and extraneous to the Roman religion.” In contrast, Miriam Gillett (2014, 173) notes in her dissertation that Vergil’s representation of Etruscans in the Aeneid is complex and favorable, but she does not treat Vergil at length. She does think that Vergil engages with Etruscan stereotypes, but positively (warfare: 75-76; cruelty: 76; luxury: 111-112; religiosity: 142-143).

363 For the Aeneid text, I follow Mynors’ 1969 edition. English passages are taken and occasionally adapted from David West’s 1990 translation, unless otherwise noted.

364 Vergil prefers the word Tyrrhenus for referring to Etruscans until Book 8.

97 narrator indicates that wars (horrida bella, 7.40) will involve Etruscans somehow. The text gives no clue about whether the Etruscans described here support or oppose the Trojans, and, as such, readers may assume that they are enemies, because the historical tradition on the Aeneas legend holds that the Etruscans were some of the Trojans’ foremost opponents. At this point in the epic, the Etruscan role in the story is unclear.

With the introduction of Mezentius in Book 7 the narrator seems to confirm the suspicion that the Etruscans are indeed hostile to Aeneas. Given the prominent place of the Etruscans in the Invocation to Erato, it is perhaps unsurprising that the Catalogue of Latins (7.641-817) begins with the Etruscan antagonists from Agylla (Caere)—Mezentius and his son, Lausus, and their army of one thousand men (7.647-654). On the one hand, the narrator elicits distaste for

Mezentius, and, on the other hand, sympathy for Lausus. Mezentius appears here as a cruel or harsh (asper, 7.647) “scorner of the gods” (contemptor divum, 7.648), a blatantly negative epithet.365 Lausus’ description, however, is quite the opposite of his father’s, for he is a handsome horseman and hunter (7.649-651). Furthermore, the narrator invites sympathy for him by mentioning the futility of Lausus’ involvement in the war. He says that Lausus’ men

“followed him in vain” (nequiquam, 7.652), a foreshadowing of the young man’s death.366 The final comment that Lausus deserved a better father than Mezentius both denigrates Mezentius and evokes pity for his ill-fated son. As the first named enemy in the war, Mezentius also compares unfavorably to Aeneas, who himself often receives the epithet “devout” or “pious”

365 And later also contemptor deum (8.7).

366 Fordyce 1977, 180; Gotoff 1984, 198. Fordyce (1977, 180) also notes the “pathetic” effect of the repetition (epanalepsis) of Lausus’ name here (7.649, 651). “Epanalepsis is the rhetorical, syntactically unnecessary repetition of a word or phrase from a previous line, to add emphasis, ornament, or pathos, producing the effect of lingering over a word or idea” (O’Hara 1997, 253).

98 (pius).367 Readers familiar with the history of Aeneas’ arrival in Italy would have recognized the figure of Mezentius, but Vergil varies Mezentius’ involvement in the war significantly and moreover sets up him as a villain. This passage marks the first appearance of actual Etruscan characters in the Aeneid, and, for the most part, it conforms to the established story that

Mezentius and the Etruscans were allies of Turnus and enemies of the Trojans.368

The next we hear of Mezentius is through the mouth of Evander in Book 8. After Aeneas and his men travel up the Tiber, they eventually arrive at the future site of Rome, which is inhabited by Greek colonists from Arcadia. There Aeneas seeks the help of Evander and his son,

Pallas, against Turnus. Evander tells Aeneas, perhaps surprisingly, that he cannot help much

(8.470-474), but that he knows where Aeneas might find aid. Evander says that he has “a plan to join vast peoples [ingentis populos] and the armies of wealthy [opulenta] kingdoms” to Aeneas’ cause (8.475-476). Evander starts with a description of the nearby city of Agylla (Caere),

“founded long ago on its ancient rock by the warlike Lydians who once settled there on the ridges of Etruscan mountains” (8.478-480). Here Evander conveys important information about the Etruscans—he invokes their eastern origins and praises their fighting ability. Evander is also the first to use the word Etruscus in the Aeneid (Etruscis, 8.480). In what follows, we might expect Evander to explain who these people are, but instead he digresses about the atrocities of

Mezentius. The next two lines are important, and it is worthwhile to examine Vergil’s word order closely here (8.481-482):

367 Fordyce 1977, 179; Gotoff 1984, 193.

368 Yet in significant ways, as we will see, Vergil’s account of Mezentius varies from these accounts, as Gotoff (1984, 195-196) has discussed: “As is the case with the other legends Virgil utilizes, the components were not canonized in tradition; and what was available, Virgil felt free to embellish, alter, and delete to suit his needs” (Gotoff 1984, 195).

99 hanc multos florentem annos rex deinde superbo imperio et saevis tenuit Mezentius armis

After this city had flourished for many years, Mezentius eventually took it under his despotic rule as king and held it by the ruthless use of armed force.

Evander begins the first line with a positive description of the city (hanc multos florentem annos), but he reveals by the end of the second line that Mezentius is responsible for its problems. In these lines Evander separates savage Mezentius and his “despotic rule” from his blameless people. His slander of Mezentius only worsens in the following lines (8.483-491).

quid memorem infandas caedes, quid facta tyranni effera? di capiti ipsius generique reservent! mortua quin etiam iungebat corpora vivis componens manibusque manus atque oribus ora, tormenti genus, et sanie taboque fluentis complexu in misero longa sic morte necabat.

I shall not speak of the foul murders and other barbaric crimes committed by this tyrant. May the gods heap equal suffering upon his own head and the heads of his descendants! He even devised a form of torture whereby living men were roped to dead bodies, tying them hand to hand and face to face to die a lingering death oozing with putrefying flesh in this cruel embrace.

Vergil, through the mouth of Evander, reminds readers of the Etruscan reputation for cruelty, but he places the responsibility for this barbaric practice, which as we have seen in Chapter 1 was once attributed as early as Aristotle to Tyrrhenian pirates in general, on Mezentius alone.369

After vilifying Mezentius, Evander attributes positive qualities to the other Etruscan people. Evander says that the rest of the Caeretans, who were tired of Mezentius’ crimes (fessi cives, 8.489), had expelled their king and burned his palace (8.489-491). Mezentius escaped and sought asylum with Turnus (8.492-493). At this new alliance, Evander says that “the whole of

369 Kronenberg (2005, 409) argues, “Mezentius’ binding together of living bodies to dead ones is a remythologization of the binding together of the soul to the body.”

100 Etruria rose in righteous fury and has now come to demand that Mezentius be given up for punishment” (8.494-495).370 Evander completes his digression and finally his original promise to Aeneas becomes clear—he intends to unite the Trojan and Etruscan forces, which an old haruspex’s prophecy is holding at bay (8.496-504). We learn here that the other Etruscan forces are considerable in size and ready for battle, but that they feel compelled to heed the prophet’s words. In this part of his speech, Evander characterizes the rest of the Etruscans in direct opposition to his portrayal of Mezentius. The other Etruscans are pious compared to Mezentius.

Evander describes them as “terrified by the gods’ warnings” (monitis exterrita divum, 8.504).

And as much as they hate Mezentius’ tyranny, they obey the haruspex without question.

Furthermore, Evander’s version of the haruspex’s speech also stresses the Etruscans’ eastern

“Maeonian” (i.e. Lydian) roots, as well as their ancestral valor and righteous anger toward

Mezentius. Evander at once sets up Mezentius as a notorious, tyrannical villain, who conforms to established stereotypes of Etruscan cruelty, and, in a surprising twist, he also reveals that there are other “good” Etruscans, including the Caeretans, who hate Mezentius and have rallied against him.

In Books 7 and 8, we can see how Vergil plays with readers’ expectations about

Etruscans and the traditional stereotypes of them. Vergil first introduces the Etruscans led by

Mezentius as prominent enemies of the Trojans. What little we know about Mezentius at first is negative. We might assume, based on the historical tradition, that Lausus will be the only

370 O’Hara (2018, 84) notes that Evander’s Mezentius seems to be alone, but that the earlier description says that he and his son led one thousand troops from Caere. Kronenberg (2005, 410 n. 26) tallies the number of Etruscan troops for and against Mezentius: “In fact, from Mezentius’ hometown alone, more than three times as many are fighting with him as against him: while 1000 men follow Lausus from Caere (7.652-53), only 300 fight on the side of Aeneas (10.182-183).” Kronenberg’s numbers of Caeretan forces are correct, but we should also note that more than three times as many Etruscans from other cities fight alongside Aeneas against Mezentius in the Etruscan Catalogue (10.163-210). Vergil lists at least 3,700 Etruscans (plus some Ligurians) sailing in thirty warships (mille, 10.167; sescentos, 10.172; trecentos, 10.173; mille, 10.178; ter centum, 10.182; quingentos, 10.204; ter denis nauibus, 10.213).

101 redeeming Etruscan character. Evander adds to our negative perception of Mezentius, and, moreover, he makes specific references to Mezentius’ use of a torture supposedly practiced by historical Etruscan pirates. At the same time, however, Evander introduces other Etruscans,

Aeneas’ would-be allies, who seem to have none of the traditional negative stereotypes, and whose character traits seem aligned with some of Aeneas’ own characteristics—they are easterners and pious. The more we learn about Mezentius, the more he becomes the recipient of the traditional, negative Etruscan stereotypes. Yet by putting some of these words in the mouth of Evander (as opposed to the omniscient narrator), Vergil has introduced the possibility that

Evander’s tales about Mezentius are false.371 The veracity of Evander’s characterization of

Mezentius and the other Etruscans is put to the test in Book 10, when he and the other Etruscan characters take center stage.372

In Book 9, however, Mezentius briefly appears in action for the first time and indeed cuts a terrifying figure in battle, leading one commentator to describe Mezentius as “monstrous...like some demon from an Etruscan Hell.”373 The poet describes Mezentius as “a fearful sight”

(horrendus visu, 9.521), for he brandishes smoking torches and threatens to burn the Trojan camp (9.521-522). Later, he sets aside his spears in order to kill a man, brutally splitting his head open with a single lead sling-bullet (9.586-589). Mezentius’ portrayal here, especially the image of him wielding a pine tree (trunca manum pinus regit, 3.659), has invited comparisons

371 Recent studies of Evander’s speech seem to indicate that his stories may be unreliable (Secci 2013; O’Hara 2019). With regard to Evander’s story about Mezentius, O’Hara (2019, 237) maintains that we cannot know the truth of his statement, but that “Vergil has [Evander] tell this story about Mezentius’ gory killing of prisoners partly because Evander is a character who loves gory stories of killing.”

372 O’Hara 2019, 237: “Mezentius, like Cacus...is depicted as a monster [by Evander]. Mezentius is a fierce killer in Book 10, but not a monster.”

373 Hardie 1994, 171.

102 with the Cyclops Polyphemus, who is described similarly in Book 3.374 One could argue that

Vergil portrays Mezentius as a monster here, and that Evander may be telling the truth about the

Etruscan king.375 At the same time, Mezentius’ violence in lines 9.586-589 is matched almost immediately by an episode in which Ascanius kills Numanus Remulus with an arrow through his head (9.632-634). And as Philip Hardie has observed, some of the language used in the description of Mezentius’ sling shot is repeated in or similar to that of Ascanius’ attack.376 As such, although Mezentius is terrifying to behold, like a monster,377 nevertheless, his actions are not unexpected of a warrior. Moreover, his violence literally invites comparison with that of

Aeneas’ son.378 In his first battle-scene, therefore, we see some ambivalence in Mezentius: he is comparable to both Polyphemus, a brutish monster, and Ascanius, scion of Troy. Mezentius neither engages in any excessive cruelty nor scorns the gods. In this scene, Vergil does not introduce any Etruscan stereotypes, but, on the contrary, he omits mention of them, even though this would be a logical place to characterize Mezentius as stereotypically cruel.

Vergil’s New Literary Etruscan – Aeneid 10

Book 10 is the turning point for understanding the Aeneid’s Etruscans. Here Vergil breaks from traditional literary stereotypes of Etruscans and creates a new literary Etruscan

374 Hardie 1994, 171. For more on the connection between Mezentius and Polyphemus, see Glenn 1971.

375 Kronenberg (2005, 410) argues against Mezentius being monstrous here: “In the end, however one interprets Evander’s biases, the reader still must question why the depraved tyrant of this tale has so little in common with the Mezentius of Books 9 and 10.”

376 Hardie 1994, 184. Mezentius’ attack (9.585-589): stridentem fundam positis Mezentius hastis / ipse ter adducta circum caput egit habena / et media adversi liquefacto tempora plumbo / diffidit ac multa porrectum extendit harena. Ascanius’ attack (9.632-634): effugit horrendum stridens adducta sagitta / perque caput Remuli venit et cava tempora ferro / traicit.

377 Hardie (1994, 171) notes that other people described as horrendus in the Aeneid include not only Polyphemus (3.658), but also Fama (4.181), the Cumaean Sibyl (6.10), Charon (6.298), Juno (7.323), and Camilla (11.507), not all of whom are monstrous.

378 A couple of differences, however, are worth noting. Ascanius prays to Jupiter, who assents to his prayer, before he fires his shot (9.625-631), whereas Mezentius does nothing of the sort.

103 identity. Thus far, the Aeneid’s Etruscans have generally conformed to literary traditions, but

Book 10 changes tradition by setting up the expectation of traditional Etruscan characters and then providing the opposite. In Books 7 and 8, Vergil played to expectations when he imposed, through the words of the narrator and Evander, negative Etruscan stereotypes onto Mezentius.

Book 9’s brief portrayal of Mezentius neither reinforced nor rejected those stereotypes. In Book

10, however, the poet introduces new Etruscan characters, who have positive characteristics, as

Aeneas’ allies, and at the same time Vergil transforms the villainous nature of Mezentius himself, by evoking sympathy for him at the death of his son and by his valorous death. By contradicting the traditional expectations of Etruscan characters, the Aeneid invites us to question what it means to be Etruscan. In Book 10, the Etruscans in the Aeneid become more complex characters.

The Etruscan Catalogue

Book 10 showcases the tragic deaths of both Lausus and Mezentius,379 but Vergil also introduces other Etruscans in the Aeneid, and of great importance for understanding their role in the text (and also that of Mezentius) is the Etruscan Catalogue (10.163-214).380 Many have noted, however, that these other Etruscan figures, especially the named characters in the Etruscan

Catalogue, do not figure prominently in the Aeneid’s plot, and they are often dismissively referred to as nonentities.381 I would offer instead that not only does the Etruscan catalogue

379 And Pallas, of course, but my focus is on Etruscans here.

380 For commentary on the Etruscan Catalogue, see Harrison 1991, 106-129 and Rossi (ad loc., forthcoming). Saylor (1974) compares the structure of the Etruscan and Latin Catalogues, noting that the Etruscan Catalogue is much more orderly than the Latin Catalogue. Basson (1982) discusses the sources for the various characters of the Etruscan Catalogue. Stratis Kyriakidis’ book on catalogues in Latin epic limits discussion of the Etruscan Catalogue to a footnote on its structural relationship to the Latin Catalogue of Book 7 (Kyriakidis 2007, 104-105 n. 41).

381 Harrison 1991, 108; Feeney 1999, 191; Kyriakidis 2007, 105 n. 41: “the epic nonentity of Massicus.” Much of the problem critics have with the Etruscan Catalogue is that after the grand introduction of these characters, only a few of them (three of eight) reappear in the narrative.

104 function as a counterpoint to the Latin Catalogue of Book 7, but also that the characterization of

Etruscans within it acts as a counterpoint to the portrayal of Mezentius. When taken as a whole and as a general representation of Etruscan ethnicity within the entire Aeneid, the Etruscan

Catalogue forges an identity for Aeneas’ Etruscan allies that is independent of both Vergil’s characterization of Mezentius thus far and also the larger literary tradition on Etruscans.

While the battle rages around the Trojan camp, Book 10 opens with a council of the gods on Mt. Olympus (10.1-117). After the council, the poet reveals that Aeneas was already sailing back to Latium with his new Etruscan companions. The reader thus learns that Aeneas has already met and formed an alliance with the Etruscans. The poet does not show their merger in real time, but rather presents the encounter between Aeneas and Tarchon, the Etruscan leader, in a short summary. In this flashback, Aeneas approaches the Etruscan camp and king (10.148-

149) and the poet relates the elements of their exchange rapidly.382 Aeneas reminds the king

(memorat) of his name and his race, what he seeks (quid petat), what he is offering (quidve ipse ferat), the kinds of arms Mezentius is bringing against them (10.150-151), and the violent threat

Turnus poses (10.151-152). Aeneas also reminds Tarchon “that in human affairs there is no room for certainty” and he begs for Tarchon’s help.383 The meeting between the two men is brief and one-sided. There are no formal speeches in this exchange, and after only a five-line summary of Aeneas’ entreaties, Tarchon agrees to join him without delay (haud fit mora,

Tarchon / iungit opes foedusque ferit, 10.153-154). The Etruscans then ready themselves for departure. It is noteworthy that the poet does mention the Etruscans’ eastern origins (gens Lydia,

10.155), and in this way connects them to the Trojans. References to the East continue in the

382 Harrison 1991, 101.

383 humanis quae sit fiducia rebus / admonet immiscetque preces, 10.152-153.

105 description of Aeneas’ ship, which has a prow bearing Phrygian lions and the likeness of Mt. Ida

(10.156-158). In addition to their oriental heritage, Vergil alludes to the Etruscans’ destiny and their religious piety in this passage, stressing another similarity between the Etruscans and

Aeneas pius himself. The arrival and newfound stewardship of Aeneas frees the Etruscan people from the haruspex’s earlier admonitions, or, as Vergil writes, “Then these Etruscans, these men of Lydian stock, having paid their debts to destiny, put to sea and committed themselves to a foreign leader in accordance with the will of the gods.”384

As Aeneas mulls over the possible outcomes of the war with Evander’s son, Pallas, close by his side, the narrator invokes the Muses again, beginning with a line identical to that which began the Latin Catalogue (10.163 = 7.641). In this instance, however, Vergil says he will survey the forces from Etruscan (“Tuscan”) shores who accompanied Aeneas (10.164-165). The catalogue proceeds in a somewhat formulaic manner. In general, the poet provides the name of the leader, the name of his ship, the number of men who followed him, his city, and some of his characteristics, but there is considerable variation within these lines. Vergil names only eight

Etruscan leaders (and two Ligurians) explicitly in the catalogue, and the passage itself is rather short, only fifty lines or so, compared to the lengthy Latin Catalogue that ends Book 7.385

At no point in the Etruscan Catalogue does Vergil resort to traditional literary stereotypes of Etruscans. Regardless of its origins or source material,386 Vergil’s portrayal of Etruscans here is entirely new to the text: Etruscans appear in glowing, heroic terms, as opposed to the

384 tum libera fati / classem conscendit iussis gens Lydia divum / externo commissa duci, 10-154-156.

385 As many have noted, literary antecedents to the Etruscan Catalogue include Homer’s Catalogue of Ships (Hom. Il. 2.484-760), the Catalogue of Trojans (Hom. Il. 2.817-877), especially the Catalogue of Myrmidons (Hom. Il. 16.168-197), and Apollonius’ Catalogue of the Argonauts (Ap. Rhod. Argon. 1.18-227). For discussion, see Harrison 1991, 106-107.

386 On the possible sources for the Etruscan Catalogue, see Basson 1982, passim and Harrison 1991, 109-111.

106 villainous, or even monstrous, earlier portrayal of Mezentius. The Etruscans Vergil describes possess powerful ships, are rich in manpower and materials, and know how to fight. The hero

Abas has troops that “shone in brilliant armour” (insignibus armis, 10.170) and are “skilful in the wars” (expertos belli, 10.173), and his entire entourage suggests wealth, from his ship’s golden figurehead of Apollo (10.171) to the “inexhaustible ores” of Elba’s fighting men (inexhaustis metallis, 10.174). Vergil describes Asilas as a “great mediator between gods and men” (ille hominum divumque interpres, 10.175), and a master of all types of divination (10.176-177).387

He is at once a haruspex, an astronomer, an augur, and a diviner of lightning, all of which were elements integral to the historical Etrusca disciplina.388 Astyr is pulcherrimus (“very handsome,” 10.180)389 in his “iridescent armour” (versicoloribus armis, 10.181). Aulestes is

“heavy” or serious (gravis, 10.207), and the entire assemblage of leaders Vergil describes as

“chosen” or choice, giving them an air of exclusivity (tot lecti proceres, 10.213). The city of

Mantua receives the most attention, for it is thought that Vergil himself was from that area.390

Vergil’s Mantua is “rich in the roll of its forefathers” and diverse, “not all of one race, but of three, and in each race four peoples.”391 Not only are the Mantuans allied strongly against the villain Mezentius (10.204), but Vergil notes that the city’s “strength comes from its Etruscan

387 The word ille suggests that Asilas was famed for his skill at divination (Harrison 1991, 115).

388 Harrison 1991, 115: “He is presented as a typical Etruscan seer, expert in extispicy, astrology, ornithomancy and divination by lightning, all parts of the Etrusca disciplina, traditional religious lore for parts of which (especially extispicy, haruspicina) Etruscan seers were still called to Rome in Vergil’s day.”

389 My translation.

390 The poet addresses Mantua directly (apostrophe) and repeats its name twice (10.200-201), three times if you count Vergil’s etymology of Mantua from Mantus (10.199). Harrison 1991, 124: “the apostrophe, followed by epanalepsis in the next line, shows the poet’s affection for the region of his birth.”

391 Mantua dives avis, sed non genus omnibus unum: / gens illi triplex, populi sub gente quaterni, / ipsa caput populis, Tusco de sanguine vires, 10.201-203.

107 blood” (10.203).392 Whether or not this apostrophe of Mantua is Vergil’s own signature, the passage itself represents Etruscans in an extremely positive light—it is difficult to read any negative connotations into the Etruscan Catalogue. Most importantly, the poet omits traditional

Etruscan stereotypes throughout.

In the Etruscan Catalogue, Vergil displays (or fabricates) antiquarian knowledge of

Etruscan history, its people, and places.393 The Etruscans of the catalogue are noble rulers and seafarers, a topos of early Greek literature, but here Vergil avoids any mention of piracy or cruel tortures commonly associated with Etruscans. The narrator’s voice elevates the position of the

Etruscans and sets them firmly in opposition to Mezentius, who himself has become the focus of the negative Etruscan stereotypes. The catalogue is notable because it is the first time Etruscans other than Mezentius and Lausus appear in the flesh, so to speak, outside Evander’s speech in

Book 8. And even if the Etruscan characters of the catalogue do not play major parts in the battles of the last few books, the catalogue asserts the Etruscans’ presence as Aeneas’ allies and supplies a dramatic counterpoint to the battle with Mezentius at the book’s end. Furthermore, we learn for the first time in the narrative that Mezentius is an atypical rather than a typical Etruscan.

The Mezentius Episode

The crux for understanding the Etruscans in the Aeneid is the character of Mezentius, whose central passage comes at the end of Book 10. As we have seen, Mezentius is the first

Etruscan to appear in the text, and he is present in every exchange regarding Etruscans, even when he is not physically present. For example, he features in the Etruscan Catalogue (10.204),

392 Harrison 1991, 125: “Mantua’s fighting strength comes from its Etruscan stock, an appropriate remark in a catalogue of Etruscan military forces.”

393 Harrison (1991, 110) and others have posited that Vergil used Varro as a source for the Etruscan Catalogue. Harrison (1991, 111) also notes that Vergil seems to avoid using Etruscological works that were available in his day, and there is also the striking omission of Maecenas and his hometown, Arretium.

108 even though he is not one of Aeneas’ allies.394 Not only does Mezentius’ omnipresence in

Vergil’s discourse on Etruscans signal his importance, but also telling is the sheer number of lines Vergil devotes to Mezentius throughout the Aeneid. The entire episode involving

Mezentius, including both his aristeia and final battle-scene, runs over two hundred lines until the very end of Book 10. Over the span of these lines, Vergil effectively transforms Mezentius, as Harold Gotoff (1984) has astutely shown, from the poem’s most anticipated villain into a sympathetic figure and victim of Aeneas.

After Juno tricks Turnus into leaving the battleground, Mezentius, at the behest of

Jupiter, takes the Rutulian’s place in the forefront (10.689-690).395 Mezentius, beset by the other

Etruscans “united in their hatred” (10.691-692), stands “unmoved” against their attacks (immota manens, 10.696).396 Mezentius proceeds to rip through the Trojan, Greek, and Etruscan ranks.

He kills his enemies left and right with every manner of weapon. The narrator gives Mezentius three Homeric similes, comparing him to a rock (rupes, 10.692-696), a wild boar (aper, 708-

718),397 and a “ravening lion” (impastus leo, 10.723-728) in the midst of his fighting. When

Orodes flees him, Mezentius seems to put an unusual emphasis on fighting fair: he “did not deign to cut [Orodes] down as he ran, or deal him a wound, unseen, from the back, but came to bar his way and meet him face to face, proving himself the better man by strength in arms and

394 Mezentius’ name is the subject of a verb, so he literally has an active role in the catalogue: “From here too, Mezentius had roused five hundred men to fight against him” (hinc quoque quinquentos in se Mezentius armat, 10.204).

395 “But Mezentius meanwhile, by the promptings of Jupiter, took the place of Turnus in the battle and fell furiously on the triumphant Trojans” (at Iovis interea monitis Mezentius ardens / succedit pugnae Teucrosque invadit ovantis, 10.689-690).

396 Here Mezentius is being compared to a rock (rupes, 10.692), which accounts for the feminine gender of immota.

397 There are some textual problems from 10.714-720. I follow Mynors 1969 here.

109 not by stealth.”398 Standing over the fallen Orodes, Mezentius taunts him in Homeric fashion.

With his last words Orodes predicts that Mezentius too will die soon, but the Etruscan only smiles angrily and replies: “Die now. As for me that will be a matter for the Father of the Gods and the King of Men.”399 The death of Orodes marks the end of Mezentius’ aristeia, and there is a short hiatus (10.746-761) before Mezentius returns to the narrative.

Mezentius’ aristeia is important because, although he has made a few appearances since his introduction in Book 7, Mezentius has rarely appeared outside of Evander’s speech and he has never spoken in direct speech. Moreover, many elements of this scene stand in stark contrast to much of what previous passages have established about Mezentius’ character. From the first words of this passage it is a surprise that Mezentius, well-known “scorner of the gods,” would do anything “by the promptings of Jupiter” (Iovis interea monitis, 10.689). Evander also implies that Mezentius is cowardly, when he says that he ran from the Etruscans to seek help from

Turnus (8.492-493), but here Mezentius is stalwart and fierce in the face of enemy attacks. Also surprising are the intertexts with Homer: three similes in a row elevate Mezentius, previously described as a cruel tyrant, to the status of a Homeric hero—not an unfavorable comparison. By associating Mezentius with heroes from the Trojan War, the narrator indicates that he is a worthy adversary for Aeneas.400 Mezentius also fights honorably when he refuses to kill the fleeing

Orodes, and his retort to Orodes also seems to contradict his reputation as a god-scorner:

Mezentius himself says, as the narrator said at the beginning of his aristeia, that Jupiter is

398 Atque idem fugientem haud est dignatus Oroden / sternere nec iacta caecum dare cuspide vulnus; / obvius adversoque occurrit seque viro vir contulit, / haud furto melior sed fortibus armis, 10.732-735.

399 ad quem subridens mixta Mezentius ira: / ‘nunc morere. ast de me divum pater atque hominum rex / viderit,’ 10.742-744.

400 Harrison 1991, 236: “[The Homeric similes and heroic comparisons] establish [Mezentius] as a mighty hero of the traditional Homeric type and a fit opponent for Aeneas.”

110 watching over him. In his first major appearance in the narrative, therefore, Mezentius is considerably different from the character the narrator and Evander have created.

Mezentius’ behavior continues to contradict his prior characterizations in the next scene.

When Mezentius returns to the battlefield, the poet includes another simile, comparing

Mezentius to Orion, and thus raising him to mythic proportions (10.763-768).401 He faces

Aeneas unafraid and attacks. Before he throws his spear, Mezentius taunts Aeneas, and conforms to his description as an arrogant “scorner of the gods” when he exclaims, “‘Let the right hand which is my god not fail me now, nor the spear which I brandish to throw. My vow is to strip the armour from that brigand’s body and clothe you with it, Lausus. My trophy over

Aeneas will be my own son!’” (10.773-776). But the spear intended for Aeneas ricochets off his shield and kills Antores instead. Vergil contrasts Mezentius’ impious remarks by invoking pius

Aeneas at line 10.783. Aeneas wounds Mezentius in the groin (inguine, 10.786) and rejoices when he sees the “Etruscan’s blood” (Tyrrheni sanguine laetus, 10.787). Lausus groans out of love for his father (genitoris amore, 10.789), and the poet interrupts the battle narrative to address Lausus directly in the first person (10.791-793) and signal his impending doom.

In the aristeia passage, Mezentius alone was the focus of the action, but in this passage,

Mezentius and Lausus are paired for the first time since the Latin Catalogue in Book 7. This is in fact the passage that Vergil hinted at when earlier he foreshadowed Lausus’ death. But the subject of this scene is not only the loss of young Lausus, but also, and chiefly, Mezentius’ and

Lausus’ relationship as father and son. This passage and the passages that follow are rich with words that signal their relationship and connect them with the overarching theme of fathers and

401 Hardie (1986, 155, 267) insists that Mezentius is a monstrosity, both due to the similarities in Vergil’s depiction of Polyphemus and Mezentius (Book 9, see pgs. 102-103 above) and in this comparison to Orion, who was himself a giant. Hardie does, however, puzzle over the ambivalence in Mezentius’ portrayal, because both Aeneas and Mezentius are compared to giants (1986, 155), and Mezentius’ demise is marked by “regret” (1986, 267). For the comparison of Mezentius to Polyphemus, see Glenn 1971. For Mezentius and the Orion simile, see Leach 1972.

111 sons in the Aeneid. For example, Aeneas wounds Mezentius in the groin (the anatomical source of his fatherhood), Vergil uses the word for “blood,” and repeats the word “father” (genitor) twice within the span of twelve lines (10.789; 10.800): the first time he uses the words “dear” and “love” to describe Lausus’ feelings; the second time, when Lausus actually steps forward to protect Mezentius from Aeneas’ blow, Vergil neatly shows their tight bond by setting the words for father and son next to each other in the hexameter (dum genitor nati parma protectus abiret,

10.800).

A flurry of attacks forces Aeneas to protect himself and allows Mezentius to retreat and tend to his wound. Aeneas is angry, and in his rage he threatens Lausus, mocking his filial devotion: “‘Your love for your father is deceiving you’”—402 a striking statement coming from a man known for his devotion to his own father. Aeneas easily kills Lausus. The imagery that follows upon Lausus’ death seems designed to evoke sympathy for Lausus (and Mezentius):

Aeneas cuts right through Lausus’ tunic, which “his mother had woven for him with a soft thread of gold” (10.818-819). The tunic fills with blood (sanguis, 10.819), and Lausus’ shade goes “in sorrow” (maesta, 10.819) to the Underworld (“shades,” Manis, 10.820). Upon seeing the deathly pallor of Lausus, the poet describes Aeneas with the epithet “son of Anchises” (Anchisiades,

10.822), a poignant reference to Aeneas’ own father. And Aeneas groans (ingemuit, 10.823), just like Lausus had before over his father’s injury (ingemuit, 10.789), and, stretching out his right hand, Aeneas remembers his own father (“he groaned from his heart in pity and held out his hand, as there came into his mind the thought of his own devoted love for his father,” 10.823-

402 ‘fallit te incautum pietas tua,’10.812.

112 824).403 Grief-stricken, Aeneas addresses Lausus’ corpse, calling Lausus “pitiable” [my translation] (miserande puer, 10.825) and himself, ironically, “devout” (pius, 10.825).404

The pathos of this scene and of the scenes that follow is extraordinary, and it is here that

Vergil humanizes the poem’s greatest villain.405 Indeed, aside from a single reference to

Etruscan (Tyrrhenian) blood, it is easy to forget that Mezentius and Lausus are Etruscans or villains at all. In such fine detail, the Etruscan stereotypes fall away completely in favor of the grander themes of war and the loss that it brings. After the death of Lausus, Mezentius appears again, and again he is unexpectedly different as Vergil introduces more nuance to his character.

Here the poet shows Mezentius recuperating as he leans against a tree by the Tiber, and he begins the passage with the word genitor (10.832)—Mezentius’ new epithet that stresses his fatherhood and his humanity. Momentarily Mezentius is no longer the Homeric hero or monster that Vergil compared to wild beasts and the mythical Orion. In this passage, as in the scene preceding the death of Lausus, Mezentius’ humanity and his relationship to his son is the focus.

And just as in the scene of Lausus’ death, in which the poet evokes pathos for the young man, in this passage Vergil elicits pity for Mezentius, not only by emphasizing his role as a father, but also in other ways. In direct contrast to the formidable Mezentius of the aristeia passage, the

Mezentius of this scene is full of emotional pain and anxiety. The poet describes Mezentius as

403 “He groaned from his heart in pity and held out his hand, as there came into his mind the thought of his own devoted love for his father” (ingemuit miserans graviter dextramque tetendit, / et mentem patriae subiit pietatis imago, 10.823-824).

404 Adding to the pathos of this scene, Vergil uses these same words (miserande puer) to address both Marcellus (6.882) and, later, Pallas (11.42). Mark Petrini discusses the connection that this phrase draws between Pallas and Marcellus (1997, 48), but he omits mention of Lausus. Petrini (1997, 48) sees Pallas as “[belonging] to the Roman future (as Euryalus belongs to the Trojan past): he is particularly associated with Marcellus...and like Marcellus, he should have lived to become a cornerstone of the Roman state.” In my interpretation, Lausus, too, Vergil implies would have also made a welcome addition to the Roman project, but was cut down (by Aeneas, of all people) too young.

405 Many have remarked on the similarities between the death of Lausus and the other pathetic deaths of young warriors, such as Pallas, Camilla, and Euryalus, in the Aeneid (e.g. Reed 2007).

113 “gasping with pain” (aeger anhelans, 10.837) and expressing great concern for his son.

Mezentius asks repeatedly “about Lausus, and [he] kept sending men to recall him and take him orders from his anxious father.”406 As his allies carry Lausus’ dead body back from the battlefield, Mezentius hears them mourning from far off and knows that something bad has happened (10.841-843).407 Yet the most unexpected and pathetic transformation of Mezentius in this scene is the revelation that he is actually an old man with “grey” or white hair (canitiem,

10.844).408 Up until this point, Vergil has never mentioned Mezentius’ age, and the Etruscan king has thus far shown the strength of a much younger man. With these subtle touches, Vergil sets the scene, but the most effective expression of pathos for Mezentius comes in his speech that follows.

When Mezentius realizes that his son has died, he throws up his hands and clutches

Lausus’ body. In agony he speaks to his deceased son, increasing the pathos of the scene

(10.846-856):

‘tantane me tenuit vivendi, nate, voluptas, ut pro me hostili paterer succedere dextrae, quem genui? tuane haec genitor per vulnera servor morte tua vivens? heu, nunc misero mihi demum exitium infelix, nunc alte vulnus adactum! idem ego, nate, tuum maculavi crimine nomen, pulsus ob invidiam solio sceptrisque paternis. debueram patriae poenas odiisque meorum: omnis per mortis animam sontem ipse dedissem! nunc vivo neque adhuc homines lucemque relinquo. sed linquam.’

406 multa super Lauso rogitat, multumque remittit / qui revocent maestique ferant mandata parentis, 10.839-840.

407 “But Lausus was dead and his weeping comrades were carrying him back on his shield, a mighty warrior laid low by a mighty wound. Mezentius had a presentiment of evil. He heard the wailing in the distance and knew the truth” (at Lausum socii exanimem super arma ferebant / flentes, ingentem atque ingenti vulnere victum. / agnovit longe gemitum praesaga mali mens, 10.841-843).

408 Gotoff 1984, 209.

114 ‘Was I so besotted with the pleasure of living that I allowed my own son to take my place under my enemy’s sword? Is the father to be saved by the wounds of the son? Have you died so that I might live? Now for the first time is death bitter to me! Now for the first time does a wound go deep. And I have even stained your name, my son, by my crimes. Men hated me and drove me from the throne and scepter of my fathers. I owed a debt to my country and my people who detested me, and would to heaven I had paid it with this guilty life of mine by every death a man can die! But I am still alive. I have still not left the world of men and the light of day. But leave it I shall!’

Although earlier Vergil had stated Lausus’ love for his father, he has not indicated that the feelings were mutual. But in his grief, Mezentius shows—too late—his great love for Lausus.

In a series of rhetorical questions and statements directed at himself as much as at Lausus,

Mezentius at last communicates his deep sorrow. He is regretful of his past behavior and the dishonor that it brought upon Lausus, and he thinks that he deserves punishment and death.

Mezentius’ speech is all about his close relationship with Lausus and the effects it has had on both of them. Even at the level of individual words, Mezentius frequently employs the words for

“father” and “son” and the pronouns “I/me” and “you.” His relationship to Lausus is especially emphasized by the enjambment of quem genui (lit. “[Lausus] whom I begat,” 10.848).409 In an ironic twist, as Mezentius holds his son’s corpse, he also uses many words for the living and dead, sadly echoing the vicious punishment of binding the living to the dead, a practice attributed specifically to him in Book 8 by Evander. So here, even though Mezentius’ punishment seems to suit his past crimes (if indeed they are true), Vergil uses a similar juxtaposition of living and dead to provoke sympathy for Mezentius (vivendi, nate, voluptas, 10.846; morte tua vivens,

10.849; omnis per mortis animam sontem ipse dedissem! / nunc vivo, 10.854-855). Almost every facet of this scene runs contrary to the picture of Mezentius from before: he was a bad father,

409 Gotoff 1984, 202. Father and son: nate, 10.846; genitor, 10.848; sceptrisque paternis, 10.852; debueram patriae poenas, 10.853. Vergil uses first and second person often throughout Mezentius’ speech, emphasizing the personal connection between the two men.

115 then a sadistic tyrant, more recently an intimidating Homeric warrior, and now a caring, grief- stricken father. So far Vergil has presented Mezentius as an incredibly complex character that increases in its richness with every episode.

Although injured and weak, he calls for his horse, and prepares to join battle once again.

The pathos of Mezentius’ speech to Lausus increases in the following scene in which he lovingly exhorts his warhorse, Rhaebus, and imagines two possible outcomes: together they defeat

Aeneas and avenge Lausus’ death, or together they die. Mezentius then arms himself and with turmoil in his heart faces Aeneas for the last time. Mezentius, mounted on horseback, assails

Aeneas with a shower of javelins, but he is no match for the Trojan hero. Aeneas kills Rhaebus, who in turn falls on his rider, pinning him to the ground. Incapacitated, Mezentius meets his death bravely, and as a last request he asks that Aeneas allow him to be buried unmolested alongside his son. If Aeneas complies with his wishes, Vergil does not mention it. In the next book, Aeneas makes a trophy out of Mezentius’ armor and declares “This [or Here] is

Mezentius” (Mezentius hic est, 11.16). Mezentius becomes but a trophy in the war and his burial is left unmentioned.

Mezentius’ final scene provides many surprises and revelations about his character.

Mezentius first appears very differently than expected down by the river—he is older. He learns the error of his ways through the death of his son, and we learn about his love for his son, which either did not exist before or was never previously realized. Mezentius prays, which is uncharacteristic of a god-scorner. Mezentius cares for his horse. He fights valiantly and, after

Aeneas easily beats him, accepts his death bravely. His last request is a pious one and (again) one that runs contrary to his earlier characterization as a contemptor divum.

The poet uses the death of Lausus to elicit sympathy for the villain Mezentius. Not only

116 specific language, but also pathetic imagery, for example Mezentius’ appearance as a wounded old man, encourages sympathy for this character. Mezentius also gives moving speeches to his deceased son and his warhorse, and the poet allows him a valorous, warrior’s death. At the last,

Mezentius’ actions are commendable, not cowardly. Vergil also creates pathos by using verbal cues that link Mezentius to Anchises, Mezentius to Aeneas, and Lausus to Pallas. There is great irony that Aeneas kills Lausus just as Turnus killed Pallas. In this scene, there is little evidence of the cruel Etruscan tyrant who scorned the gods, and even the stereotypes that Vergil previously focused on Mezentius have been seriously contradicted, if not erased. In the end of the book, immediately before Mezentius’ death, we are reminded of his ethnic identity: Vergil sets Mezentius’ Etruscanness (Tyrrhenus, 10.898) against the Trojans and Latins (notably not the other Etruscans) clamoring at his defeat (Troesque Latinique, 10.895).

Tarchon, Arruns and Traditional Etruscan Stereotypes

By the end of Book 10, Vergil has avoided or deliberately subverted traditional Etruscan stereotypes. As we have seen, the most prominent stereotype evoked is Evander’s story of

Mezentius’ cruel means of torture, once historically attributed to Etruscan pirates. When Vergil introduces new Etruscan characters, he presents them as pious (a positive Etruscan stereotype) and seems to omit mention of anything that might be construed as negative. Even Mezentius becomes sympathetic and heroic at the last. Because none of the Etruscan characters thus far have behaved stereotypically, Vergil has subverted the traditional Etruscan stereotypes of effeminacy, cowardice, luxury, and cruelty. But Vergil’s engagement with Etruscan ethnic identity does not end with the death of Mezentius.

In another unexpected twist, some of Aeneas’ Etruscan allies betray elements of Etruscan stereotypes that the poet had previously seemed to dispel. Vergil focuses the text in the second

117 half of Book 11 on the character of Camilla, one of Aeneas’ main enemies, who seems to be fighting predominantly Etruscan warriors, including some specific Etruscan characters. In a series of passages, Vergil makes it fairly clear that Camilla is fighting against Etruscans: the poet mentions the leader Asilas (princeps...Asilas, 11.620), presumably the seer included in the

Etruscan Catalogue, and during the bloody battle Etruscans (Tusci) repeatedly attack the

Rutulians and drive them against the walls (11.629). Camilla displays her fighting prowess in the thick of the melee, and during her aristeia she runs down Ornytus, kills him, and, while vaunting over him, identifies him as Etruscan (11.686-689):410

‘So you thought you were driving game in the woods, my Etruscan friend [Tyrrhene]? The day has come when you have been proved wrong by a woman’s weapons [muliebribus armis]! But it is no mean name you will be taking to your fathers when you tell them you fell by the spear of Camilla.’

More importantly, Camilla berates Ornytus for being defeated by a woman (11.687), suggesting that the Etruscan himself is unmanly or effeminate, a common Etruscan stereotype.

Camilla continues to rout the Etruscan forces, but Jupiter intervenes, inciting Tarchon to exhort his fellow Etruscans into fighting back. Tarchon, described here literally as the “father of the Tyrrhenians” (Tyrrhenum genitor, 11.727) unleashes almost every negative Etruscan ethnic stereotype in a short, bitter tirade directed at his men (11.732-739):

‘quis metus, o numquam dolituri, o semper inertes Tyrrheni, quae tanta animis ignavia venit? femina palantis agit atque haec agmina vertit! quo ferrum quidve haec gerimus tela inrita dextris? at non in Venerem segnes nocturnaque bella, aut ubi curva choros indixit tibia Bacchi. exspectate dapes et plenae pocula mensae (hic amor, hoc studium) dum sacra secundus haruspex nuntiet ac lucos vocet hostia pinguis in altos!’

‘What are you afraid of, you Etruscans? Will you never know shame? Will you always be so spiritless? This is rank cowardice!

410 Camilla may be killing even more Etruscans, but Ornytus is the only one clearly labeled as such.

118 One woman has turned this whole army and is scattering you to all points of the compass! What are weapons for? Why do we carry swords in our hands and not use them? You are not so sluggish when it comes to lovemaking and night campaigns, or when the curved pipe calls you up to the dancing chorus of Bacchus! Wait, then, for feasts and goblets from groaning tables. That is what you love. That is what you care about. Do nothing till the soothsayer gives his blessing and announces the festival and the fat victim calls you deep into the groves.’

This passage shows unequivocally that Vergil was well aware of many traditional Etruscan stereotypes: cowardice, laziness, luxury/truphē, sexual promiscuity, gluttony, and religiosity/superstition. At the same time, the placement of the speech near the end of the poem and the speaker himself, Tarchon, is important. Not only do the previous expressions of

Etruscanness in the Aeneid—the Etruscan Catalogue and Mezentius’ transformation—undercut

Tarchon’s words, but so does the situation at hand. Through Tarchon’s tirade, Vergil achieves an effect similar to the one created by putting Mezentius’ crimes in the mouth of Evander in

Book 8. The harsh words coming from Tarchon are meant to shame his men, make them angry, and fire them to action. The behavior of other Etruscans thus far, and the subsequent aristeia of

Tarchon, prove that the stereotypes are not accurate. Tarchon’s speech, but perhaps more his valor on the battlefield, does indeed spur the Etruscans (here “Maeonians”) back into the fight

(11.759-760).411 This speech is unique in that it shows an Etruscan character, aware of the ethnic stereotypes attributed to himself and his people, using negative stereotypes to effect a positive result. These stereotypes thus seem to have no real place in the world of the Aeneid’s Etruscans.

Yet the following scene of Arruns and Camilla complicates the Aeneid’s portrait of

Etruscan identity even further, and since Arruns is the last prominent Etruscan character in the

Aeneid, this scene carries a certain amount of weight. Arruns, unlike any previous character,

411 “Following their leader’s example, and seeking like success, the Etruscans, the men from Maeonia, rushed into battle” (ducis exemplum eventumque secuti / Maeonidae incurrunt, 11.759-760).

119 seems to conform to the traditional negative stereotypes of Etruscans that Vergil has earlier gone to such lengths to subvert. It is ironic that Arruns hunts Camilla, since she had just mocked

Ornytus for the same behavior, and all the more ironic because he is successful in hunting her.

He stalks her, waiting for the right moment, and, when he finds it, prays to Apollo and deals a killing blow from afar. After killing Camilla, Arruns flees in fear; Vergil likens him to a wolf running from hunters with its tail between its legs. The nymph Opis, following Diana’s command, seeks to avenge Camilla’s death. She kills Arruns (also from afar) and leaves him for dead near a remote burial mound.

The damning image of Arruns slinking away from the battlefield strongly suggests that he is a coward. At the same time he piously offers a prayer to Apollo Soracte and professes that he desires no spoils if victorious. In Arruns the Etruscan stereotypes of cowardice and religiosity are made manifest. Yet when Arruns dies, he dies alone in some unknown place. His behavior after killing Camilla and his manner of death are both dishonorable and they diminish his character, but they are in tension with his piety and his victory over Camilla, who herself is

Aeneas’ enemy.

Etruscans in the First Half of the Aeneid

After this examination of Vergil’s representation of Etruscans in the second half of the

Aeneid, we may consider more briefly his references to Etruscans in the first half. Although allusions to Etruscans and Etruria are concealed in such a way that most first-time readers would not even be aware of them, for second-time readers, attuned to Vergil’s complex treatment of

Etruscan identity, these references acquire significance. Less-obvious allusions to Etruscans and

Etruria throughout the Aeneid’s first six books are revealed through prophecies and embedded stories. One of the overarching themes of the epic in general, especially its first half, is the

120 Trojans’ search for their ancestral home, and Dardanus gradually emerges as the crucial Trojan ancestor.412 It is only in Book 7, when Latinus finally unravels the details of Dardanus’ Etruscan origin story, that the obscure references to Etruria in the earlier books begin to take on new significance.413

The surprising revelations of Books 7 and 8 thrust the Etruscans into an extremely important position in the narrative, but only upon rereading the Aeneid from the beginning do the clues from Books 1-6 take on new meaning. The clues to this “Etruscan surprise” come in the form of key words—Tyrrhenian, Lydian, Maeonian, Dardanus, Corythus, Thybris/Tiber—which, upon examination, hint at the Etruscans’ singular importance well before their appearance as full-fledged characters in Book 8.414 In addition to the words Tyrrhenian, Lydian, and Maeonian, which can suggest Etruscan because of historical traditions regarding their Lydian origins, references to Dardanus (the founder of Troy), Corythus (Dardanus’ Etruscan hometown), and the

Thybris (or Tiber) also allude to Etruria. Two revelations in Books 7 and 8 make these Etruscan connections possible: first, Latinus recalls an old story in which Dardanus came from the

412 Many have written on the piecemeal revelations about Dardanus’ origins (for a recent commentary, see Perkell 2012, 279 ad 3.84-120).

413 Stalker has shown convincingly that in Books 1-8 Vergil presents Aeneas and first-time readers with an “intellectual puzzle” or a “mystery” concerning Trojan origins, and that the obscure clues to this puzzle can only be understood after repeated readings. Stalker (1991, 75) explains as follows: “[t]hough Etruria and Etruscan places are frequently mentioned from the first lines of the poem, Etruria’s particular importance as the homeland of Dardanus is not made explicit to the reader until it is made explicit to Aeneas himself. In a sense, this part of the poem [Books 1-8] has the structure of a good mystery story: when we finally do learn that Dardanus came from Etruria many earlier references to Etruria and Italy gain a new significance.”

414 In addition to “Tyrrhenian,” Vergil uses “Lydian” and “Maeonian” to mean “Etruscan.” Vergil knew Herodotus’ story of the Etruscans’ alleged eastern origins (see Chapter 1, pgs. 26-27), and he drew upon it when he was composing the Aeneid. He uses a variety of alternative names for Etruscans throughout the Aeneid, showcasing his learning on the subject, for the use of arcane references and obscure variants was part of Vergil’s Alexandrian literary technique. Although there is considerable variety in the terminology Vergil uses for Etruscans, it is noteworthy that Vergil rarely uses the words Etrusci or Tusci, deploying them sparingly and omitting them entirely until Book 8 onward. Etruria occurs twice (8.494; 12.232); Tuscus, seven times (8.473; 9.629; 10.164, 199, 203; 11.316; 12.551); Etruscus, nine times (8.480, 503; 9.150, 521; 10.148, 180, 238, 429; 11.598).

121 Etruscan city of Corythus;415 second, Tiberinus, the personification of the Tiber itself, also known as Thybris, tells Aeneas that he has his source (lit. “head,” caput) in Etruria (8.64-65).416

Latinus’ and Tiberinus’ revelations about Dardanus and the Thybris/Tiber solve the Aeneid’s

“puzzle” about Trojan origins for both Aeneas and first-time readers.

Far and away the most common link to the Etruscans in the poem’s first half is Dardanus, forms of whose name are quite frequent and evenly dispersed. The words Dardanus, Dardania,

Dardanidae, Dardanis,417 and Dardanius occur often in Books 1-6.418 It is not necessary to discuss each instance, but I will survey their usage and discuss some in more detail, beginning here with Vergil’s first use of the word, which is often significant. Aeneas’ most important epithet in the Aeneid is arguably pius—the first he receives (1.220), and the most common in

Book 1, occurring three times (1.220; 1.305; 1.378).419 It is therefore noteworthy that

“Dardanian” (Dardanio, 1.494) is the second epithet that the narrator uses to describe Aeneas directly. When he first arrives in Carthage, Aeneas marvels at an image of the Trojan War on the

Temple of Juno (1.456-493). The poet describes Aeneas’ wonderment at the work of art and names him Dardanian Aeneas: “While Trojan Aeneas stood gazing, rooted to the spot and lost in amazement at what he saw” (Haec dum Dardanio Aeneae miranda videntur / dum stupet

415 Corythi Tyrrhena ab sede, 7.208.

416 The lines read: “‘I am the river Thybris, blue as the sky and favoured of heaven. Here is my great home. My head waters rise among lofty cities’” (caeruleus Thybris, caelo gratissimus amnis. / hic mihi magna domus, celsis caput urbibus exit, 8.64-65). The source of the Tiber does indeed lie in Etruria (Mt Fumaiolo on the edge of the Apennines), and these “lofty cities” presumably refer to the Etruscan practice of building their cities on top of steep hills, still evident in Tuscan hill towns today.

417 This feminine singular form occurs but once, when Creusa’s ghost is describing herself to Aeneas as “daughter of Dardanus and [daughter-in-law] of [divine] Venus” (Dardanis et divae Veneris nurus, 2.787).

418 Aeneas’ piety is mentioned very early in the poem: he is described as “a man famous for his piety” (insignem pietate virum) in the proem (1.10). Forms of Dardanus’ name occur a total of seventy-four times in the Aeneid.

419 Aeneas is also called meus (“my [Aeneas]”) by his mother Venus (1.231) and magnanimus (“great-hearted”) by Jupiter at line 1.260, but these are adjectives, neither of which rises to the level of an epithet.

122 obtutuque haeret defixus in uno, 1.494-495). West’s translation, “While Trojan Aeneas stood gazing,” is misleading, but it illustrates some problems in translating Vergil’s tricky language.

Here West takes Dardanio to mean “Trojan,” a word which would require no explanation to a general audience, but at the same time it loses the complexity of meaning associated with

“Dardanian,” namely that it can also mean “Etruscan.”

Later, when Aeneas speaks to Dido for the first time, Aeneas describes himself as

“Aeneas the Trojan” (Troius Aeneas, 1.596), but subsequently refers to his people as “whatever survives of the [Dardanian] race, scattered as it is over the face of the wide earth” (quidquid ubique est / gentis Dardaniae, magnum quae sparsa per orbem, 1.602-603). In Dido’s response, she also mentions Dardanus, this time with reference to Anchises, and furthermore she displays her expert knowledge about Aeneas and the Trojans by using a series of learned proper names, which are densely packed into only a few lines: “Are you that Aeneas whom the loving goddess

Venus bore to Dardanian Anchises in Phrygia by the river waters of the Simois? I myself remember the Greek Teucer coming to Sidon after being exiled from his native Salamis” (tune ille Aeneas quem Dardanio Anchisae / alma Venus Phrygii genuit Simoentis ad undam? / atque equidem Teucrum memini Sidona venire, finibus expulsum, patriis, 1.617-620).420 There are many patronymics that Vergil could have used to describe Aeneas in this passage, so it is significant that the poet has placed “Dardanian” so prominently in the first book.

Throughout Aeneas’ story about the fall of Troy, Vergil often uses forms of the name

420 Here Dido shows off her remarkable (Alexandrian) learning with regard to the confusion surrounding the two Teucers from myth: one was one of the traditional founders of Troy, the father-in-law of Dardanus whose name is used to describe the Trojans (“Teucrians”); the other Teucer was an enemy of the Trojans, a Greek, whom she had met in Phoenicia, and who claimed to have ancestral ties to the Trojan founder (“‘Teucer himself, your enemy, held the Teucrians, the people of Troy, in highest respect and claimed descent from an ancient Teucrian family’” [ipse hostis Teucros insigni laude ferebat / seque ortum antiqua Teucrorum a stirpe volebat, 1.625-626]).

123 Dardanus to refer to Trojans and Troy,421 but the first major clue to the mystery surrounding

Dardanus comes from Creusa’s ghost at the end of Book 2. Aeneas loses his wife Creusa while escaping Troy, and when he realizes that she is missing, he goes off alone in search of her, only to encounter her ghost. The shade of Creusa tells Aeneas about his future travels and gives him vague directions to Italy and, more specifically, Etruria. Creusa’s prophecy is (chronologically) the first clue that Aeneas receives about his destination (2.780-784).422 Creusa reveals that

Aeneas will come to Hesperia, where the Lydian Thybris flows, and she describes the fields as

“rich.”423

Scholars have noted that Creusa gives Aeneas (and readers) the “most specific information thus far about the location of the land fated to the Trojans,” but that the individual items are nonetheless “confusing.”424 Creusa says that Aeneas will come to Hesperia, a term that comes from the Greek meaning “evening star” and therefore “western,” which points in the general direction, but is perhaps unclear.425 The most perplexing reference in Creusa’s speech, however, is Lydius...Thybris, which would have seemed out of place to Aeneas (and possibly to readers), because “Lydian” is a place name associated with Asia Minor.426 Little does Aeneas know at this point that the Thybris is the Tiber, and that the Tiber is Lydian because it is

421 Dardania (“Troy”): 2.281; 2.325. Dardanius/Dardanus (“Dardanian”/“Dardan”): 2.582; 2.618. Dardanidae (“Dardanids,” i.e. “Trojans”): 2.59; 2.72 (Sinon speaking), 2.242, 2.445.

422 Stalker 1991, 80-84.

423 The Latin is unclear at this point. The phrase arva / inter opima virum could be construed as “rich lands worked by men” or “fields rich in men” (see Ganiban [2012b, 269 ad loc.] who describes the second meaning as “less natural”).

424 Stalker 1991, 81: “It is a message which Aeneas does not fully understand...Creusa does not refer to Italy in the most obvious terms.” See also Ganiban 2012b, 268 ad loc, and Khan 2001.

425 Ganiban 2012b, 268 ad loc.

426 Ganiban 2012b, 268 ad loc.

124 Etruscan. Creusa’s obscure reference to the account of the Etruscans’ Lydian origins requires more information to be helpful to Aeneas. She may also be alluding to things Etruscan when she ends her speech by making reference to Dardanus, calling herself his “daughter” (Dardanis,

1.787). Stalker argues that Creusa’s very language here—her definition of Italy with sly references to the Tiber and Dardanus, both Etruscan, indicates that Etruria is the bond joining

Troy and Italy, but he also makes the important observation that these hidden clues about Etruria are unnecessary to Aeneas and to readers.427 But it is noteworthy that in Creusa’s speech the words Lydian, Thybris, and Dardanus, all Etruscan-related, are named in close proximity to one another. Here Vergil adds further dimension to the Aeneid’s definition of Etruscan ethnic identity and reinforces its complexity: not only are the Etruscans Trojans through Dardanus, but they are also Lydian (i.e. easterners), like the Trojans. Moreover, the Thybris/Tiber is also

Etruscan.

In Book 3, Aeneas continues with the tale of his wanderings, during which he receives prophetic directions from Apollo, the Penates, Anchises (Cassandra), Helenus, and the Harpy

Celaeno. Dardanus is the focus of many of these prophecies. Aeneas and the Trojan refugees go first to Thrace and then to Delos, where Aeneas asks Apollo for direction and a sign (3.85-89).

Aeneas gets an immediate response from the god (3.94-98):

‘O much-enduring sons of Dardanus [Dardanidae duri], the land which first bore you from your parents’ stock will be the land that will take you back [reduces] to her rich breast. Seek out [exquirite] your ancient mother. For that is where the house of Aeneas and his sons’ sons and their sons after them will rule over the whole earth.’

Apollo’s prophecy opens with the word Dardanidae, “sons of Dardanus,” a clue that Aeneas’

427 Stalker 1991, 84: “...the detection of neither sort of allusion to Etruria is necessary to the overt meaning of Creusa’s message—that the Trojans must sail to Italy. Nor is it necessary to assume that, because we do recognize such allusions, they are present because Creusa ‘intends’ them to be understood by Aeneas. Logically, there is no reason at all for Aeneas to notice these references: in recognizing them we prove ourselves masters of the intellectual puzzle of which the poet is here setting out only the first disconnected pieces.”

125 destination is connected somehow with Dardanus.428 Aeneas, as the character in his own story, however, is unaware at this point that Italy, or more specifically Etruria, is his destination.429

Just as Creusa’s prophecy does, Apollo’s oracle describes the land as “rich” (ubere laeto, 3.95).

Furthermore, the phrase “the land will take you back” (reduces, 3.96) hints that Aeneas’ voyage to Italy is actually a return or nostos.430 The sentence “[s]eek out [exquirite] your ancient mother” also has implications for Aeneas’ journey. Not only can the verb exquiro mean “seek out,” but it can also mean “inquire into” or “find out” or “discover” something,431 meaning instead: “inquire into/discover your ancient mother.” In that sense, Apollo’s oracle frames

Aeneas’ wanderings as a quest to learn something new about the past of his people.

When Aeneas relays the oracle’s message to Anchises, his father surmises that Crete is their goal, since Teucer is said to have settled there before coming to Troy.432 Despite the oracle’s invocation of Dardanidae, Anchises focuses on Teucer instead of Dardanus (3.107-

109).433 The Trojans therefore move to Crete and begin to build a city, whereupon a plague besets them. Before Aeneas can travel back to Delos to consult the oracle again, the Penates,

Troy’s household gods, visit him in a dream (3.163-171):

‘There is a place – Greeks call it Hesperia – an ancient land, strong in arms and in the

428 Stalker 1991, 85; Perkell 2012, 280 ad 2.94-95.

429 Creusa had referred to Hesperia, not Italy specifically; Apollo’s oracle includes no specifics. It is worth remembering that in Book 3 Aeneas is telling a story about the past, so Aeneas-as-narrator is well aware of the Dardanus-Italy connection, but he is as yet unaware of the Dardanus-Etruria part.

430 Wilhelm 1992, 137-138; Perkell 2012, 280.

431 OLD s.v. exquiro/exquaero.

432 Teucer represents the maternal line of the Trojans through Dardanus’ wife, Bateia; Dardanus represents the paternal line, which includes both Jupiter and Atlas.

433 The following lines suggest that Anchises himself was in some doubt about his memory: “‘If I remember rightly what I have heard, our first father Teucer sailed from there to Asia, landing at Cape Rhoeteum, and chose that place to found his kingdom’” (‘maximus unde pater, si rite audita recordor, / Teucrus Rhoeteas primum est advectus in oras, / optavitque locum regno,’ 3.107-109).

126 richness of her soil. The Oenotrians lived there, but the descendants of that race are now said to have taken the name of their king Italus and call themselves Italians. This is our true home. This is where Dardanus sprang from [and father Iasius] from whom our race took its beginning. Rise then with cheerful heart and pass on these words to Anchises your father, and let him be in no doubt. He must look for [requirat] Corythus and the lands of Ausonia.’

This important oracle provides Aeneas with the penultimate clue to his destination. The Penates start by explaining more clearly what Hesperia is—the Oenotrians lived there, but now they are called Italians. They also provide the first clue about Dardanus’ origins: Dardanus is from Italy.

Their final injunction to Anchises— “[h]e must look for [requirat] Corythus and the lands of

Ausonia”—remains mysterious. Yet the verb requiro, “look for,” that the Penates use suggests through its prefix on the one hand that Aeneas’ voyage to Italy is a “return,” and, on the other hand, as a form of quaero (like exquiro earlier), it has the sense of “inquiry” or “discovery.”

Upon learning this new information from Aeneas, Anchises is reminded of a prophecy by

Cassandra, who often spoke of Hesperia and Italy, but whose prophecy was often ignored.434

The references to Dardanus and Dardanids continue in Books 4 and 5. Both Aeneas and

Dido use the term to refer to the Trojans. Presumably, by this point, after Aeneas’ story, the characters are aware of the implications that the name has for Troy’s past and future settlement of Italy. After leaving Carthage (Book 4) and hosting funeral games for Anchises in Sicily (Book

5), Aeneas finally arrives in Italy proper (but not yet Latium or Etruria) and travels with the

Cumaean Sibyl to the Underworld (Book 6). It is there that Aeneas reunites with his father one last time, receiving a prophecy from him about Rome’s future greatness and his descendants. It is also there that Aeneas sees the shade of Dardanus himself (6.650). Before Anchises goes through the so-called “Parade of Heroes,” Aeneas says that his fleet stands in the Tyrrhenian Sea

(6.697). Then when Anchises starts speaking, he calls his descendants “Dardaniam prolem,”

434 This may be a nod to Lycophron’s Alexandra (Stalker 1991, 88).

127 while the second line has the word Italian (6.756-757). By the end of Book 6, the Dardanus’ specific origins are still unclear, but the figure of Dardanus and his connection to Aeneas is more tangible than ever.

Conclusion

As we can see through the many references to Dardanus alone, throughout the Aeneid’s first half there are many references to Etruscans and Etruria that might easily escape the notice of a first-time reader. Upon a second reading, we can see how Vergil intertwines Trojan and

Etruscan ethnic identities by uniting their ancestries through the character of Dardanus. In retrospect, the relationship between Trojans and Etruscans turns out to be incredibly complex:

Dardanus came from Etruria, so the Trojans are Etruscan, and thus Italian, in origin, and therefore they are at once both easterners and westerners; the Trojans, because of their Etruscan heritage, are also doubly eastern, because the Etruscans themselves come from Lydia. Attention to other references—such as Thybris/Tiber, Lydian, and Maeonian—reinforce these relationships and underscore the importance of the Etruscans in the Aeneid. The second-time reader, who is already aware of the importance of the Etruscans in the poem’s second half, is able to pick up on these clues and see that the Etruscan presence in the epic is not fleeting but pervasive.

Furthermore, the references in the poem’s first half establish a framework that reinforces the

Etruscan involvement in Books 7-12, during which, as we have seen, Vergil gradually undermines readers’ expectations of Etruscan stereotypes (chiefly through the character

Mezentius).

The Aeneid presents Etruscan characters who are neither stereotypical nor black-and- white caricatures, but multifaceted and therefore more realistic and human. Various textual strategies, such as intellectual puzzles, twists, and reversals, employed in the Aeneid play on

128 readers’ expectations and encourage readers to reassess traditional Etruscan ethnic stereotypes.

Read in this way, the entire poem negotiates and (re)constructs a certain Etruscan identity of its own, one that is far different from the pat stereotypes of its literary antecedents. The resulting

Vergilian Etruscan literary identity is something new. Within the historical context of the first century BCE, Vergil has rewritten pre-Roman history for the Etruscan people of his own day, giving them pride of place as Aeneas’ ancestors and allies—not as inveterate enemies— and in so doing the poet assures Etruscans a significant role in the formation of the Roman state and as part of a complex Roman identity.

129

CHAPTER 4: ETRUSCAN IDENTITY IN LIVY’S FIRST PENTAD

Introduction

Over the course of the first pentad of his history of Rome, which appeared as or soon before Vergil was beginning to work on the Aeneid, Livy often writes about Etruscan characters and places. Although Etruscans are markedly absent from Book 3, which focuses on internal developments in Rome, they are otherwise prominent from the opening chapters of Book 1 to the end of Book 5. Despite the strong presence of Etruscans in the early books of Livy’s history, scholars have yet to address in detail how Livy portrays the Etruscans as a people and what overall part Etruscans play in the narrative of Livy’s first pentad. In this chapter, I will examine how Livy portrays Etruscan characters and places throughout the first pentad. Livy presents a complex portrait of the Etruscan world, which he fills with many different characters from a variety of Etruscan city-states. Livy’s Etruscans contribute much to early Rome and the Roman people, such as the symbols of Roman power that Livy says Romulus borrowed from Etruria, or the goddess Juno Regina, whom the Romans are said to have taken from Veii and installed in a temple on the Aventine Hill. Perhaps an even more significant Etruscan contribution to Livy’s

Rome is their role in the development of Romanness. When Livy includes Etruscans in the narrative, they are often set against Romans and accompanied by passages that explore or express aspects of Roman identity, a topic that Livy develops over the first five books. I will argue that the Etruscans in Livy’s first pentad function as both foils and models for Romans and that, as such, they contribute to the definition of Roman identity in an unusually complex way.

Despite what might on a superficial reading seem to be the case, Livy’s definition of Roman is

130 not, in the end, as the binary opposite of Etruscan, but is also inclusive of and inextricable from

Etruscan—Livy defines Romanness by ideals and location, not ethnicity or nationality, so that by the end of Book 5, Etruscans have shaped and formed a large part of Roman identity. Livy makes Etruscan characters and cities integral to the formation of the Roman national character and Rome itself, and, in so doing, the text of Ab Urbe Condita adds to the construction and negotiation of the ethnic identity of Etruscans in the first century BCE.

Foreign Peoples in Livy

Important twentieth-century studies of Livy have strongly criticized what they see as

Livy’s biased portrayal of foreign (i.e. non-Roman) peoples. Walsh asserts that Livy resorted to stereotypes in his characterizations of foreigners, if he characterized them at all: “[I]n vain does one seek in his history a clear portrait of Samnites or Etruscans, Carthaginians or Greeks.”435

According to Walsh, Livy’s depictions of non-Romans are “not distinguished by subtlety or insight; some reflect Roman insularity at its most biased, and others achieve a unique level of banality.”436 Walsh also criticizes Livy’s treatment of Italians as “conventional,” writing further that the historian “has not introduced any novel or penetrating views in his portraits of non-

Roman races, and in his characterisation of individuals he has often reproduced the traditional judgement.”437 Luce agrees with Walsh’s assessment, maintaining that “Livy tended to view nations and peoples as stereotypes,”438 and he laments Livy’s “failure to appreciate non-

Romans.”439 According to Luce, Livy’s general attitude is that of an isolationist who believes

435 Walsh 1961, 108.

436 Walsh 1961, 108.

437 Walsh 1961, 109.

438 Luce 1977, 276.

439 Luce 1977, 286.

131 that contact with non-Romans would inevitably alter Rome’s character:440 “[Livy] did think that national character will be changed by contact with alien cultures. Those whose lives are simple and rigorous will be adversely affected by peoples richer, more cosmopolitan, and more pleasure-loving than they. When the latter are surrounded by the former, the influence may be invigorating and beneficial.”441 While a concern with the negative influence of foreigners may be the norm in Livy’s later books, it is difficult to discern in Livy’s characterizations of

Etruscans or other local Italians in the first pentad, which neither Walsh nor Luce address in detail. Livy undoubtedly conceives of these groups as foreigners, and, if Luce’s argument holds, he should depict their interactions with Romans as having adverse effects upon the nascent

Roman national character in Livy’s early books—especially in the case of the Etruscans, who were generally considered to be a richer, more cosmopolitan, pleasure-loving people. Yet what we find in the actual text is considerably more complex. One could argue, for example, that Livy portrays Tarquin the Proud as having exactly this kind of foreign negative influence, but one could also make the case that he presents Tarquin the Proud, as someone born and raised in

Rome, as much Roman as Etruscan.

More recently, some scholars have begun to emphasize the nuances in Livy’s portraits of foreign peoples and Romans alike. Jacques-Emmanuel Bernard observes that, although Livy does employ stereotypes in his characterizations of foreigners,442 “[b]ecause foreign peoples are mentioned throughout the narrative, their characterization can be nuanced, or can change

440 Luce 1977, 284.

441 Luce 1977, 283-284. In support of this argument Luce cites episodes from Livy’s later extant books (Luce 1977, 283 n. 122): “The introduction to Book 39 (1) and the passage a few chapters later on Cn. Manlius’ triumph (6.3- 7.5) show clearly what Livy thought.”

442 Like Walsh and Luce before him, Bernard also expresses disappointment in Livy’s limited treatment of foreign peoples (Bernard 2015, 41). Bernard attributes Livy’s attitude to his singular focus on Roman affairs (Bernard 2015, 39) and his “essentially moral point of view” (Bernard 2015, 41).

132 entirely, depending on the circumstances.”443 As an example of Livy’s nuanced approach,

Bernard discusses his portrait of the Spanish, whom Livy describes generally as “fierce and warlike” (Hispanis, tam fera et bellicosa gente, 34.9.4), a description which later Livy slightly adjusts when referring to individual Spanish tribes.444 Another example of nuance in Livy’s characterization of peoples is the portrait of the earliest Romans of Romulus’ Asylum, whom

Livy depicts as a mixed crowd of drifters (1.8.6). Bernard contends that, because the first

Romans were foreigners themselves, “Livy admits that Rome is the result of a coalescence of ethnic elements that were once heterogeneous, but have since been integrated into the values that constitute ‘Romanness.’”445 Even ideal Romanness was not limited to Romans alone, for it was a universal quality that anyone, foreign or native, could possess:446 Livy’s native Romans might behave in a non-Roman fashion, or a foreigner might act like an ideal Roman.447 Furthermore,

Bernard also shows that Livy is ambivalent in his portraits of other non-Roman Italian peoples.

Much of this ambivalence is tied to a peoples’ geographical location, which for Livy can influence a person’s character.448 For example, Livy distinguishes mainland Greeks from the

Greeks of southern Italy, whom he treats more like Italians, and he portrays Samnites as having both positive and negative attributes: not only were Samnites uncivilized brutes but they also

443 Bernard 2015, 40.

444 Bernard 2015, 40.

445 Bernard 2015, 44.

446 Bernard 2015, 40-41.

447 Bernard 2015, 42.

448 Bernard 2015, 42: “The first nuance in this general Romanocentric plan, and in the interchangeable stereotypes mentioned in the preceding text, is that Livy accounts for geography when characterizing foreign peoples, which allows him to introduce a kind of specificity.”

133 possessed “ancient virtus, consisting of austerity and courage.”449 Bernard includes little discussion of the Etruscans, but it is clear that they form a significant part of Livy’s complex portrait of the great variety of Italian peoples.450 Bernard’s illustration of the nuances in Livy’s depictions of foreign peoples adds greater dimension to Walsh and Luce’s earlier observations, and, moreover, demonstrates that Ab Urbe Condita, “by not hiding the risks and consequences of imperialism for Roman identity, reflects the complexity of the regard that the Romans of the

Augustan era could have for the people they had conquered.”451

There has been relatively little Livian scholarship that focuses specifically on Etruscans, and much of what does usually centers on the extent to which Livy provides accurate historical information about them. Recently, however, some have investigated Livy’s construction of

Etruscan identity, arguing that he provides a nuanced, ambivalent portrait of Etruscan peoples.

In a survey of literary attitudes to Etruscans in works of the Early Empire, Bittarello concludes that “negative and positive representations of Etruria co-exist,” and she is able to identify some examples of both.452 Bittarello provides examples of the Etruscan cavalry on occasion fighting bravely against Roman forces, but at the same time she shows that Etruscans are often portrayed

(stereotypically) as cowards.453 Bittarello’s article is important for the attention she draws to the often-conflicting representations of Etruscans in Livy’s work.

449 Bernard 2015, 45.

450 On the Etruscans, Bernard (2015, 46) writes as follows: “Living further from the harshness of the mountains, the Etruscans represent an ancient and refined civilization. The image given by Livy is more positive than that found in Greek sources, surely because the Romans were aware that they owed much to this nation; the Etruscans were considered powerful on land and on sea, and the most religious of all nations because they excelled in cult practices.”

451 Bernard 2015, 47.

452 Bittarello 2009, 233.

453 Bittarello 2009, 217.

134 Expanding on the observations of Bittarello, Gillett explores the construction of Etruscan identity in both Greek and Latin literature. Gillett’s recent dissertation has an extensive discussion of Livy’s portrayal of the Etruscans.

Livy’s strong connections with Rome did not necessitate him constructing the Etruscans as enemies, though we can say that generally, throughout Books One to Ten, Livy fashions the Etruscans as an historical ‘other.’ In the early books in particular, he creatively shapes many Etruscans as enemies and outsiders, for at this point in Roman history they remain common Italians and not yet citizens of Rome. Livy seems little interested in aspects of Etruscan culture and shows them little sympathy.454

Gillett’s dissertation is broad in its scope, covering Etruscans not only in Livy, but in all of

Greco-Roman literature. She groups the various references from Livy thematically, and therefore the passages she cites are largely out of context, as she surveys the historian’s work as a whole. As such, Gillett is limited in the amount of detail she can feasibly devote to Livy’s

Etruscans, and she is not able to tease out the nuances of Livy’s portrayal as he develops it over the course of the text. Nevertheless, perhaps Gillett’s most important contribution is that she shows through numerous examples how Livy assigns different characters to individual Etruscan city-states, thereby constructing multiple facets within a broader Etruscan identity.455 This varied portrayal of the civic identities of individual Etruscan city-states, such as Caere, Veii, and

Tarquinii, Gillett argues, probably originated around the first century BCE and was “further developed and reinforced through Livy’s Ab Urbe Condita, undoubtedly with influences derived from the annalistic tradition.”456

454 Gillett 2014, 157.

455 Gillett 2014, 158, and 185-226 passim, especially 225-226, where in conclusion she writes: “It is clear that at least to the Romans, the Etruscans were not a homogeneous enemy.... Despite this Graeco-Roman discursive- construction of a united Etruria, if the individual cities within the texts are studied closely, it shows that there were many distinct micro-identities within this broad ‘Etruscan’ ethnonym, and that the Roman sources in particular perceived each Etruscan city differently, with their own civic identity.”

456 Gillett 2014, 226.

135 Recent scholars have done groundbreaking work on the subject of Livy’s literary portrayal of foreigners, but with regard to Livy’s construction of Etruscan identity much of the work to date has focused on individual characters or passages or has attempted to survey the entire Ab Urbe Condita. Building on the work of Gillett and Bittarello, in this chapter I will examine Livy’s construction of Etruscan identity, intentionally limiting myself to Books 1-5, for it is in the first pentad that the majority of the extant passages on Etruscans occur. In addition to being a more manageable selection of material than Livy’s work as a whole, it is generally agreed that the first five books were originally published together and that they form a cohesive unit, both structurally and thematically.457 Moreover, the date, subject matter, and themes of

Livy’s first pentad coincide nicely with those of Vergil’s Aeneid for the purposes of comparison.

Like the Aeneid, for example, the first pentad of Livy engages intently with the topic of Roman identity. Livy frequently raises questions about who is Roman and what it means to be Roman, culminating in Camillus’ speech, in which he pleads with the Romans not to abandon the site of

Rome. I will argue that, in the end, it is Rome the location and the ideals of its people, whether

Roman-born or not, that finally define Romanness and that Etruscan people and places play a large part in Livy’s exploration of these issues.

Roman Identity in the Speech of Canuleius (4.3-5)

Book 4 begins with a speech by the tribune Gaius Canuleius, who tackles issues that are central to Livy’s treatment of the topic of Roman identity throughout the first pentad. The ideas expressed in Canuleius’ speech about Romanness (or lack thereof) and the political legitimacy of foreigners at Rome are, as we shall see, ideas that Livy has already developed at some length in earlier books, especially in Book 1. By Book 4, the competence of foreigners as effective

457 On the debate over the date of the first pentad, see Mineo 2015b, xxxiv-xxxvii. Although the precise dating is controversial, internal evidence suggests that it was likely written and published sometime during the early- to mid- 20s BCE.

136 leaders is firmly established through the historical precedents set by the foreign kings of Rome’s past, and Canuleius uses these historical examples to make a strong argument in favor of the plebs’ right to the consulship and conubium.

In the speech, Canuleius puts forward two bills aimed at granting the plebs greater equality with the patricians. One bill would make the consulship open to plebeian candidates; the other would allow patricians and plebs the right to intermarry (conubium), which was forbidden. Speaking before the Senate in 445 BCE, Canuleius argues that the plebs’ denial of these two rights stems from the Roman aristocrats’ pervasive disdain for the lower classes.

Some sixty years after the foundation of the Republic, when Livy wrote that the Roman people became “free” (liberi, 2.1.1),458 there was apparently still great inequality between the common folk and the upper classes.

Livy divides Canuleius’ speech into two parts: in the first part, the tribune covers the right of the commons to hold the highest public office; the right of intermarriage is covered in the second part. Canuleius begins his speech with a rhetorical question in which he reminds the senators that the plebs are Roman citizens (cives, 4.3.3) and that they inhabit the same country

(eandem...patriam, 4.3.3), even though they do not possess the same wealth (non easdem opes habere, 4.3.3). Although the plebs and patricians are indeed countrymen, the two groups are by no means equal under the law, nor do the plebs even have more rights than some non-Romans.

On the contrary, Canuleius argues, in the past the Romans had granted conubium to neighbors and foreigners (finitimis externisque, 4.3.4) and citizenship to conquered enemies

(hostibus...victis, 4.3.4). He uses historical examples to prove that one need not be born at Rome to be a good ruler (4.3.10-17):

458 For the text of Livy, I follow Ogilvie 1974. For English translations of Livy’s text, I have used Luce 1998.

137 Have you never heard that Numa Pompilius—not only not a patrician but not even a citizen of Rome [non patricium sed ne civem quidem Romanum]—was summoned from Sabine territory and ruled at Rome at the bidding of the people and with the sanction of the senate? Or later that Lucius Tarquinius—not only not of Roman stock, but not even an Italian [non Romanae modo sed ne Italicae quidem gentis]—the son of Demaratus of Corinth, who came here from Tarquinii to settle, was made king despite the fact that King Ancus’ sons were still living? Or that his successor, Servius Tullius, born of a captive [captiva] of Corniculum—with a nobody for a father and a slave for a mother [patre nullo, matre serva]—occupied the throne by virtue of his character [virtute] and talent? I need not cite the case of Titus Tatius, a Sabine, with whom Romulus himself, father of his country, shared joint rule. In short, as long as no man of talent [virtus] was excluded from the highest office on the grounds of family, Rome’s power increased. And do they now reject a plebeian as consul, although our ancestors did not exclude foreigners as kings? Will they do so despite the fact that not even after the kings were expelled was the door shut to talent from outside [peregrinae virtuti]? For it was after the expulsion of the kings that the Claudian clan came from Sabine territory and received not only citizenship but even admission to the patriciate. May a foreigner become a patrician [ex peregrino patricius] and then be elected consul, while a citizen of Rome [civis Romanus] who happens to be a plebeian can have no hope of attaining to the highest office? Do we think it impossible for a brave and energetic man [vir fortis ac strenuus] who has shown his worth in war and peace to be a plebeian—someone like Numa, Lucius Tarquinius, and Servius Tullius? Or, even if he should be such, will we deny him the reins of government, preferring to have as consuls men like the decemvirs—utter monsters, and every one a patrician—instead of those who were like the best of our kings, self-made men [novis hominibus] though they were?

At this point the reader would have read Livy’s own account of all these characters: Canuleius is in effect basing his argument on Livy’s own text. Here in his survey of the Roman kingship,

Canuleius seems to concur with the concept and ideal of Romanness that Livy, through various characters and scenes, develops throughout the pentad: virtus, not birthplace or ancestry, is the essential quality of Romanness that establishes a person’s fitness for rule at Rome. And that fact explains Canuleius’ appropriate omission of Tarquinius Superbus, who had the same ancestry as

Tarquinius Priscus, and was presumably a native-born Roman, but was seriously unfit for rule.

And so, in Canuleius’ assessment and, I would argue, through Livy’s own examples, which

Canuleius cites here, “foreignness” does not preclude someone from being Roman, from ruling at Rome, or from being honored among Romans, provided that a person possesses virtus. In

138 addition to possessing virtus, the other thing that unites all of these historical figures is their connection to the city of Rome, another major theme of the first five books and one that is integral to Livy’s treatment of Etruscan characters and places. It will be useful to keep

Canuleius’ ideas about Romanness in mind throughout the following discussion of things

Etruscan in Livy’s first pentad.

Etruscans and the Beginnings of Rome

From the beginning chapters of Livy’s first book, the Etruscans are said to be the most powerful Italians and the biggest threat to Aeneas and Ascanius. Livy especially sets Etruscans against the earliest ancestors of the Romans, the Latins, and it is a truce between the two peoples that ultimately defines the traditional boundaries between the two nations. In the first chapter,

Aeneas and the exiled Trojans arrive and become allies with King Latinus and the so-called

Aborigines, Aeneas marries Latinus’ daughter, Lavinia, and founds a city named after her (1.1.6-

1.1.11). Turnus, king of the Rutulians, starts a war with the combined forces of the Trojans and

Aborigines because he had been promised Lavinia’s hand in marriage before Aeneas’ arrival

(1.2.1). After losing in the first war, the Rutulians seek reinforcements in Etruria (1.2.2-3). Livy characterizes the Etruscan nation as a wealthy monarchy (florentes opes Etruscorum, 1.2.3), ruled by King Mezentius of “prosperous” Caere (Caere opulento tum oppido, 1.2.3). Livy says

Mezentius was “unhappy with the founding of the new city [i.e. Lavinium]; he was now convinced that the power of the Trojans was growing too fast for the safety of the neighboring peoples. He therefore had no hesitation in forming a joint alliance with the Rutuli.”459

Meanwhile, facing the growing threat from Etruria, Aeneas officially unites the Trojans and

Aborigines under the “same rights” (sub eodem iure, 1.2.4) and a new name, the Latins (Latinos

459 minime laetus novae origine urbis et tum nimio plus quam satis tutum esset accolis rem Troianam crescere ratus, haud gravatim socia arma Rutulis iunxit, 1.2.3.

139 utramque gentem appellavit, 1.2.4), whom Livy says were “becoming more united day by day”

(coalescentium in dies magis duorum populorum, 1.2.5). The danger from the Etruscans was no small one. Livy claims that by this time the Etruscans’ power had long since spread far and wide: “Etruria was then so powerful that its fame had filled both land and sea throughout the entire length of Italy, from the Alps to the Sicilian strait.”460 At this point, the Rutulians fade into the background and are no longer mentioned. A war ensues between Etruscans and Latins.

Despite the great strength of the Etruscans, the Latins are victorious, even though Aeneas dies in battle (1.2.6). Later, rather than challenging the Latins again, the Etruscans agree to a truce with the Latins, marking the Tiber River as the boundary (finis, 1.3.5) between Etruria and Latium. In these first chapters, Livy blends the Trojans and Aborigines into one people, but the Etruscans stand out as starkly different from the Latins. By pitting Etruscans against Latins, Livy sets the stage for further interactions with Etruscans in later books.

Just as the Latins’ Etruscan neighbors were integral to the story of Rome’s earliest ancestors, so too are Etruscans and Etruscan influence important to Livy’s version of the reign of

Rome’s early kings. Romulus both borrows from and wages war against Etruscans. Shortly after founding the city of Rome, Livy has Romulus adopt Etruscan symbols and practices to help him assert his authority, because “[Romulus] thought that the rustics would feel bound to observe the laws if he made his own person more august and imposing by adopting various insignia of power.”461 Romulus is said to have instituted the practice of having twelve lictors attend the king (1.8.2). Livy argues that, contrary to some other anonymous sources, the lictors

460 tanta opibus Etruria erat ut iam non terras solum sed mare etiam per totam Italiae longitudinem ab Alpibus ad fretum Siculum fama nominis sui implesset, 1.2.5.

461 [iura] quae ita sancta generi hominum agresti fore ratus, si se ipse venerabilem insignibus imperii fecisset, 1.8.2.

140 and other official insignia had come from Etruria (1.8.3):462

Some think [Romulus] took the number [of lictors] from the number of augural birds that portended his kingship. I myself incline to the opinion of those who believe that, just as the attendants and other paraphernalia of office were borrowed from the neighbouring Etruscans, who gave us the curule chair and the toga praetexta, so also the number twelve was borrowed from the lictors the Etruscans furnished to the man they elected king of their league, each of the twelve Etruscan peoples contributing one lictor apiece.

After the Romans and the Sabines go to war over the Romans’ rape of the Sabine women,

Romulus and the king of the Sabines, Titus Tatius, join their communities and rule together for a time (1.13.4). Several years later, however, Titus Tatius is killed, and a new threat to Romulus’ newfound sole kingship arises from the Etruscans of Fidenae and Veii (1.14.4-15). Romulus defeats both cities, stopping short of attacking the city of Veii itself, “protected as it was by great fortifications and a naturally defensive site.”463 Livy’s inclusion of these two cities among

Romulus’ conquests is curious, especially because it seems so anachronistic. Unless Livy was merely relying on earlier tradition, Livy may have included Romulus’ wars with Fidenae and

Veii in order to enhance the importance of these cities as Rome’s enemies and to establish parallels between the opening chapters of Book 1 and later books, especially Books 4 and 5, where both cities feature prominently.

Toward this same end, Livy seems to make a concerted effort to keep the threat from the

Etruscans alive in the narrative. For example, before the Horatii and the Curiatii episode, the

Alban commander Mettius Fufetius speaks to King Tullus Hostilius about the looming danger from Etruria, warning him not to allow their armies to become too weak to defend themselves

(1.23.8):

462 Ogilvie (1965, 61-62) does not speculate on the opinion that the number of lictors came from the number of birds in Romulus’ augury, but he does note that the Etruscan origin of the lictors, the curule chair, and the toga praetexta was standard in the works of other extant historians.

463 [Romulus] persecutusque fusos ad moenia hostes, urbe valida muris ac situ ipso munita abstinuit, 1.15.4.

141 Let me remind you, Tullus, that the Etruscans surround both of us—and you in particular, for you know full well which of the two of us is closer to them, who are even more powerful on sea than they are on land. Please remember that the moment you give the signal to begin hostilities, they will be looking on as our two sides clash, ready to attack simultaneously the victors and vanquished in their exhaustion and affliction.

Mettius heeds his own warning. Not long after, he betrays his Roman allies by making an allegiance between Alba Longa and the Etruscans, unbeknownst to Tullus Hostilius. Tullus, like

Romulus before him, routs the Etruscan forces, whom Livy casts in a negative light. The

Veientes in particular are said to have been “panicked by the panic of others” (alieno pavore perculsum, 1.27.10) and to have thrown aside their weapons “in cowardice” (arma foede iactantes, 1.27.11) and to have jumped blindly (caeci, 1.27.11) into the Tiber only to be slaughtered.

In these accounts of the early Regal Period, Etruscans appear as enemies in the wars of

Aeneas and Ascanius, Romulus, and Tullus Hostilius. The Romans fight wars with other peoples—Latins, Sabines, and Albans—but whereas each of those groups becomes part of the

Roman state, the Etruscans remain outsiders and enemies. Nevertheless, although Livy depicts the Etruscans as some of Rome’s earliest and most persistent enemies, he simultaneously envisions the early Roman kings as willing to adopt certain elements of Etruscan culture, such as the lictors, the curule chair, and the toga, and to comport themselves (at least superficially) like

Etruscan monarchs. As such, Livy characterizes the Etruscans as a people who contributed significantly to early Rome even while at the same time Veii and Fidenae posed perennial danger to the city. Passages such as these establish Etruscans as a major theme of Book 1, which will carry into Books 2-5. The first things to arrive in Rome are Etruscan symbols, after which

Etruscan people follow. In the next part of the chapter, I will examine how Livy portrays individual Etruscan characters in the Books 1 and 2, and then I will examine the relationship

142 between the cities of Rome and Veii, one of the central subjects of Book 5.

Etruscan People

Tarquinius Priscus and Tanaquil

In the first pentad and especially in its first two books, Livy includes characters of

Etruscan ancestry who act as major players in Rome’s early history. In this section I will examine how Livy portrays characters of Etruscan origin, how other characters react to them, and how characters of Etruscan heritage negotiate their own identities over the course of the first pentad. Characters such as the Tarquins have equally complex relationships with both Etruscans and Romans. From the very beginning, for example, Livy portrays Tarquinius Priscus as a foreigner whose mixed ancestry often becomes a matter of debate. We will see that multiple identities are a part of Priscus’ character simultaneously.

Lucumo, who later becomes Lucius Tarquinius Priscus, the fifth king of Rome, is the first major character of Etruscan origin in Livy’s narrative (1.34.1). Livy describes Lucumo favorably as “an energetic man whose wealth gave him great influence” (vir impiger ac divitiis potens, 1.34.1) who moved to Rome from Tarquinii, seeking public office that his own hometown had denied him (1.34.1). Livy’s Lucumo—a word that is itself Etruscan for king and therefore indicates his Etruscan heritage464—is a man of mixed or multiple ethnic identities. By the end of the first sentence Livy complicates Lucumo’s Etruscan identity, adding that he was a foreigner at Tarquinii (peregrina stirpe oriundus erat, 1.34.1), for his father was Demaratus, a

Greek exile from Corinth (1.34.2).465 Although Livy’s Lucumo was born in Tarquinii to an

464 rex (Serv. ad Aen. 2.278, 8.65, 8.475, 10.202). The name, like Arruns, has an Etruscan flavor, even if by Livy’s time, as Ogilvie (1965, 142-143) argues, it had lost its original meaning.

465 It is widely known now that Etruscans often traced their lineage through their maternal ancestors, so it is interesting that Tarquin’s paternal ancestry carries such weight in Livy’s account.

143 Etruscan mother, other Etruscans spurned him because of his father’s origins (spernentibus

Etruscis Lucumonem exsule advena ortum, 1.34.5). Like his father before him, Lucumo marries an Etruscan woman, Tanaquil (1.34.4).466 Yet despite his wealth, talent, and marriage to a highborn Tarquinian woman (summo loco nata, 1.34.4), Lucumo has few options for political advancement in Etruria.

Neither Tanaquil nor Lucumo have much concern for their native Tarquinii. Livy says that Tanaquil was “unmoved by any inborn love of her [country]” (oblitaque ingenitae erga patriam caritatis, 1.34.5). Similarly, Livy is careful to distinguish between and even highlight

Lucumo’s multiple patriae again, when he says that Tarquinii was “only” Lucumo’s maternal country, implying that he had a paternal country as well (cui Tarquinii materna tantum patria esset, 1.34.6). It is for these reasons as well as for their own political ambitions that Lucumo and

Tanaquil move to Rome. In Tanaquil’s words, Rome was a place where “one’s own worth” breeds “nobility,” and where, she argues, just as Canuleius does in Book 4,467 that there was already, even at this early date, a historical precedent for foreign kings (1.34.6):

[A] brave and energetic man [forti ac strenuo viro] would make his mark in this new city where nobility could be quickly acquired and came from one’s own worth [ex virtute nobilitas]: Tatius had been king, though a Sabine, Numa had been called to the throne from Cures, while the nobility of Ancus, born of a Sabine mother, depended on only one distinguished ancestor—Numa himself.

Tanaquil’s assessment of the opportunities presented by the city of Rome seems to have been correct. Livy portrays her as wise in both political and divine matters. On the way to Rome, for example, when an eagle steals Lucumo’s hat and puts it neatly back on his head (1.34.8),

Tanaquil interprets the incident as a favorable sign from the gods: “Tanaquil is said to have interpreted joyfully this omen, for as an Etruscan she was well versed in the lore of prodigies

466 Tanaquil’s name is a Latin transliteration of a common Etruscan name, thanchvil (Ogilvie 1965, 143).

467 See above pgs. 136-139.

144 sent from heaven.”468 In this scene, Livy emphasizes Tanaquil’s prophetic skills and, in so doing, he portrays her as the most stereotypically Etruscan character in Book 1.469 Although her divinatory skills distinguish Tanaquil as an Etruscan and therefore as a foreigner, Livy does not portray her negatively.470 On the contrary, Tanaquil’s correct interpretations of divine signs, both concerning her husband and later regarding his successor, Servius Tullius, suggest that she is divinely inspired.471 Livy portrays both Tarquinius Priscus and Servius Tullius as good kings, and Tanaquil is closely involved in the promotion of their careers.

When Lucumo and Tanaquil finally arrive in Rome, they adapt to their new surroundings quite rapidly (1.34.10-11):

468 Accepisse id augurium laeta dicitur Tanaquil, perita ut volgo Etrusci caelestium prodigiorum mulier, 1.34.9.

469 Meyers (2016, 307-308) provides a useful summary of the Tanaquil story and the tradition surrounding her skill at divination, an aspect of her character that other authors stress, including Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Ant. Rom. 4.2) and Ovid (Fast. 6.629-636). Ogilvie (1965, 144) maintains that Tanaquil’s behavior as an interpreter of divine omens is “quite un-Roman,” because Roman women and non-professionals were prohibited from interpreting omens, but there is some inconclusive archaeological evidence for Etruscan women being more closely involved in religious matters than their Roman counterparts (for an overview of the evidence, see Meyers 2016, 308).

470 Some would argue, however, that Tanaquil’s behavior as a prophet and kingmaker is improper for a Roman and for a woman. Ogilvie compares Tanaquil to Dido and said that Livy “modelled [her] after the prophetic women of Greek myth, in particular Medea (Ogilvie 1965, 144). Ogilvie describes these speeches of Tanaquil as those of “a clever and unscrupulous woman.” Ogilvie’s negative assessment of Tanaquil has persisted. Meyers (2016, 308), for example, has recently written that “Tanaquil certainly seems to be a prototype for the manipulative, ambitious female that often characterizes later accounts of Imperial Roman women, such as Tacitus’ Livia.” Meyers (2016, 309) also has argued that Tanaquil is an “anti-exemplum for Romans not only due to her gender but also her foreignness,” comparing her unfavorably to Livy’s “exemplum of female virtue par excellence, Lucretia.” But others, such as Fantham (1994, 225) have characterized Tanaquil and her behavior as “beneficent,” and Stevenson (2011, 184) shows that Livy’s portrayal of Tanaquil is at least ambivalent: “[T]he strongly patriarchal society of Augustan Rome did not like the involvement of powerful women in politics. A positive reading of Tanaquil’s role in elevating Tarquinius Priscus and Servius Tullius to power might weaken this view. Yet again, however, her contribution proves decidedly questionable.”

471 Livy portrays both Tarquinius Priscus and Servius Tullius as good kings, and Tanaquil as a kingmaker. Granted, she is the mother of the worst king, Tarquinius Superbus, but Livy downplays the connection between Tanaquil and Superbus, for she does not appear much after the death of her husband, and Livy even raises doubts about Superbus’ parentage.

145 [A]fter acquiring a place of habitation, they told one and all that Lucumo was now Lucius Tarquinius Priscus [L. Tarquinium Priscum edidere nomen]. The Romans quickly came to know of the new and wealthy arriviste. He made strenuous efforts to promote his good fortune further by acquiring as many friends as he could through affable speech, openhanded hospitality, and benefactions. In time his reputation reached even the palace.

Lucumo, now Lucius Tarquinius Priscus, becomes a close friend and advisor to King Ancus

Marcius, who eventually names him guardian (tutor) of his children in his will (1.34.12). Ancus holds Tarquinius Priscus in high regard, but perhaps the same is not true of the Roman people.

Priscus is concerned with what the plebs think about his status as a foreigner. While Tarquin canvasses for votes, he gives a speech in order win over the minds of the plebs (ad conciliandos plebis animos, 1.35.2). In this speech, Tarquin echoes and expands upon Tanaquil’s earlier argument about the foreignness of past Roman rulers (1.35.3-4):

[H]e was not, he said, seeking anything unusual [rem novam], since he would not be the first but the third foreigner [peregrinus] at Rome to aspire to sovereignty, an achievement at which no one could take offence or be surprised: Tatius began not just as a foreigner [peregrino] but as an enemy [hoste], yet was made king, while Numa, who knew nothing of the city and did not seek the throne, was even solicited to accept it; as for himself he had immigrated [commigrasse] to Rome with his wife and all his wealth the moment he was no longer under his father’s power; the greater part of adult life that men devote to service of the state he had spent in Rome and not in his native city [vetere patria]; at home and in the field he had learned the ways of the Romans in law and religion [Romana...iura, Romanos ritus] under the best of teachers, King Ancus himself; he had vied with everyone in the obedience and attendance he paid the king, while vying with the king in his benefactions to others. The Roman people elected him king overwhelmingly, for what he said was perfectly true.

In this passage, Priscus not only validates his claim to the throne as a foreigner, but he also justifies his legitimacy as a Roman, saying that he had spent the greater part of his life in Rome and not in Tarquinii, his “old” Etruscan patria, and that he had learned Roman laws and Roman rites from the king himself. The people elect Priscus and he becomes a successful ruler. In general, Livy has little negative to say about him. Tarquinius Priscus was a good king and an accomplished military commander (1.35.7). He also planned important public works, including

146 the Circus Maximus (1.35.8) and a city wall (1.35.9), instituted public games (1.35.9), and elevated the status of augury (1.36.6).472

Not everyone, however, approved of Tarquinius Priscus, and some, even after many years, doubted whether a foreigner should be king in Rome. Much later into Priscus’ reign,

Ancus Marcius’ sons, having always harbored resentment against Priscus for tricking them—he had sent them hunting during his election (1.35.2)—conspired to assassinate the king (1.40.2).

In their complaint, Ancus’ sons use Tarquin’s mixed heritage against him. Ancus’ sons also object to Tarquin’s would-be successor, Servius Tullius, on the grounds that he is slave-born

(1.40.2-3):

The resentment of the two sons of Ancus had all along been at a dangerous simmer, for they had been smarting under the indignity of having been kept from their father’s throne by the deceit of their tutor, to say nothing of the fact that a foreigner [advenam] was king at Rome—a man not even from Italy, much less from one of the neighbouring peoples. But now their sense of outrage had reached the boil: it looked as if they were not even in line to succeed Tarquin, but that the throne was about to be sullied by one of servile origin [servitia]: in short, that their city, which some hundred years before had been ruled by Romulus as long as he was on earth, born of a god and himself a god, was about to pass into the hands of this Servius person, a slave born of a slave [servus serva natus]. It would be a disgrace to the entire city and particularly to their house if, while the sons of King Ancus were alive, the throne should be occupied not just by foreigners [advenis] but by slaves [servis].

In the speeches surrounding the successions of Tarquinius Priscus and Servius Tullius, Livy presents two arguments concerning foreign leadership in Rome. On the one hand, Priscus and

Tanaquil see Rome as a land of opportunity, where anyone with ability can succeed, no matter their origin. Moreover, they justify their own rule from the historical precedent of other Roman kings of foreign birth. The sons of Ancus (presumably native-born Romans), on the other hand, believe that the right to succession lies in blood ties and family origins, and they imagine a decline in Rome’s leadership from the time of Romulus to their own day. In their minds, an

472 Augury only attained an elevated status after the augur Attus Navius, whose prophecies Tarquinius Priscus initially doubted, successfully cut a whetstone with a razor on the king’s orders (1.36.3-6).

147 immigrant king is bad, but a king of servile origin is worse.

The former king’s sons stage a coup d’état and succeed in mortally wounding Tarquinius

Priscus (1.40.7), but, thanks to some clever stalling, Tanaquil is able to transfer the kingship to

Servius Tullius (1.41). In a short speech, Tanaquil urges Servius to take the throne, which she believes is divinely ordained to him, and her sentiments respond to the earlier comments on the importance of foreignness and slavery by the sons of Ancus (1.41.3):

The throne is yours, if you are man enough to take it, not theirs who suborned others to do this terrible deed. Take heart! Obey the will of the gods, who long ago encircled this head of yours with fire to portend its future greatness. May that heavenly flame truly waken you now! We too were foreigners [peregrini], yet we ruled. Think not of your birth but what kind of man you have grown to be.473 And should your mind be too clouded to make plans to meet this crisis, then follow mine.

Servius does become king, and a good one at that (1.48.8-9). Livy presents both sides of the argument, but in the end, he makes it clear that Tarquinius Priscus, Tanaquil, and Servius

Tullius, although of foreign, and, in the case of Servius, servile origin, were effective leaders.

Tanaquil, the most Etruscan of these characters, is the catalyst for both kings’ careers. It is she who persuades Priscus to move to Rome in the first place, she who interprets the divine prodigies, and she who orchestrates the succession of Servius upon Priscus’ death. Tanaquil is the kingmaker, wife, and mother of kings. Tanaquil is Etruscan, and she brings her Etruscanness with her through her skill at divination, but she is also Roman in that she has forsaken her former patria, Tarquinii. Likewise, Tarquinius Priscus has both Greek and Etruscan ancestry, but he too abandons his hometown, easily navigates Rome’s social and political scene, and advances to the highest office in Rome, making him no less Roman than his wife. Priscus and Tanaquil are prime examples of immigrants to Rome who have mixed identities. In this episode, Livy depicts the Romanness of Tarquin and Tanaquil as separate from birthplace, and he uses characters of

473 Et nos peregrini regnavimus; qui sis, non unde natus sis reputa (more literally, “Even we foreigners reigned; consider who you are, not whence you were born,” 1.41.3).

148 Etruscan ancestry as models to explore the intersections of foreign and Roman, Roman and

Etruscan.

Tarquinius Superbus

Livy emphasizes the foreign identities of Tarquinius Priscus and Tanaquil, but in the case of Tarquinius Superbus, also known as Tarquin the Proud, Livy repeatedly stresses that he is not foreign; unlike many of his predecessors as king, Tarquinius Superbus is presumably a native

Roman. Livy introduces Tarquinius Superbus as the son of Priscus and Tanaquil, so he has the same Etruscan and Greek heritage as his father, but his parentage is not without complication.474

Livy says that it is unclear to him “whether [Superbus] was the son or grandson of King

Tarquinius Priscus,” nevertheless he decides to “follow the majority of writers in saying he was the son.”475 In this way, Livy calls into question Superbus’ mixed ancestry and distances him from his parents and, therefore, his Etruscan heritage.

Other scenes further reinforce the Roman identity of Tarquinius Superbus. In a series of episodes, Livy explores Superbus’ ancestry in relation to his claim to the throne. Tullia,

Superbus’ wife, cites her husband’s foreign ancestry in order to goad him into taking her father’s place as king. Tullia’s speech echoes Tanaquil’s earlier exhortation of Servius Tullius in its harshness, but Tullia’s intent is malicious. Tullia bitterly mocks Superbus for his inaction, and during her tirade she insists that he is not a foreigner, and that, although his roots are Etruscan and Greek, his family had since become Roman (1.47.3-5):

If you are the man whom I think I married, I salute you as husband and king. If not, my situation is worse than before, for what I have now is a criminal as well as a coward. Why not arm yourself for action? You are not from Corinth or Tarquinii. You do not,

474 See Appendix for Livy’s genealogy of the Tarquins.

475 Hic L. Tarquinius—Prisci Tarquini regis filius neposne fuerit parum liquet; pluribus tamen auctoribus filium ediderim, 1.46.4.

149 like your father, have to win a kingdom in a foreign land [peregrina regna]. The gods of your house and of your ancestors, the image of your father, the palace that was your home, the royal throne in that home, the very name of Tarquin [nomen Tarquinium]— they all declare and make you king. If you lack the nerve, then why disappoint everyone’s expectations? Stop parading around as a prince of the blood royal. Clear out of Rome, slink back to Tarquinii or Corinth. Revert [devoluere retro] to what your family once was [ad stirpem], more like your brother than your father.

Tullia believed that she too was entitled to the throne, because her father was Servius Tullius, and because she was a native Roman. Livy says that Tullia compared herself to Tanaquil, and that she was “especially hard on herself,” because she thought that as a royal princess (1.47.6) she deserved to be a queen and kingmaker more than had Tanaquil, who, in Tullia’s eyes, was merely a foreign woman (peregrina mulier, 1.47.6).

Tarquinius Superbus seems to agree with Tullia’s ideas about his entitlement to the throne. Before ousting Servius Tullius, Superbus attacks the king’s ancestry in the Curia, using some of the same phrasing and reasoning that Ancus’ sons had used earlier against his father.476

In doing so, Superbus implies that he is more Roman and therefore more deserving of rule than

Servius Tullius. Superbus argues that Servius Tullius is not Roman, again using the same words as the sons of Ancus to describe the king (“a slave born of a slave”), and he also accuses Tullius of using deception to acquire the throne (1.47.10):

Tarquin began by attacking the king, going back to his base origin [stirpe ultima]: a slave born of a slave [servum servaque natum], he seized the throne after the shameful murder of Tarquin’s father, without the customary interregnum, without calling an assembly, without a vote of the people, without the sanction of the senate: the throne was the gift of a woman! Such was his birth, such was how he became king, a champion of the dregs of society from which he himself came.

But Tarquin fails to mention that it was his own mother, Tanaquil, who gave the throne to

Servius Tullius in response to a divine omen, and it is ironic that his own ascension will also be the gift of a woman, Tullia, who is herself descended from the same “dregs of society” as

476 Ogilvie (1965, 191) noticed the resemblances between Tarquin’s argument and that of the sons of Ancus.

150 Servius Tullius. Tarquinius Superbus and Tullia believe that their birthplace and birthright entitle them to rule, but they are decidedly less successful than rulers of the past, who were not

Roman-born and whose great achievements resulted from their virtus. Livy’s inclusion of a glowing eulogy for Servius Tullius (1.48.8-9) further strengthens the contrast between him and

Tarquinius Superbus.

In other passages, Livy asserts Tarquinius Superbus’ Roman identity. For example, one of the leaders of the Latins, a certain Turnus Herdonius, implies that Tarquinius Superbus is a

Roman. In a complaint about Superbus to his fellow Latins, Turnus refers to the Romans as

Superbus’ “own citizens” and “his own people,” while at the same time challenging Tarquin’s right to the throne (1.50.5-6):

If his own citizens [sui...cives] had done well in bestowing power on him—and if it really was a matter of bestowal rather than the usurpation through a father-in-law’s murder! — then the Latins would do well to do the same. But no—not even in this case, for it ought not to be given to a foreigner [alienigenae]. But if this was something his own people [suos] regretted—whom, in fact, he was killing, exiling, and stripping of property one after another—how could the Latins hope for anything better?

Herdonius indeed calls Superbus a foreigner here, but, as a Latin, he is most likely referring to

Superbus’ foreign Roman identity, not his Etruscan-Greek heritage. Herdonius bases his criticism of Tarquinius Superbus on the king’s arrogant behavior (Herdonius is one of the first to use the cognomen Superbus as an insult, 1.50.3), his murderous accession, and his poor treatment of his Roman subjects. In multiple passages, here and elsewhere, Livy confirms

Superbus’ Roman identity by explicitly calling him the “Roman king” (regem Romanum, 1.51.1; regi Romano, 1.54.10; rex Romanus, 1.57.1).477 There is in fact little to associate Tarquinius

Superbus with an Etruscan identity before his expulsion. He does renew a treaty with the

Etruscans (1.55.1), and Livy says that Etruscan workmen (1.56.1) and seers (1.55.6) were

477 My translation.

151 involved in the construction of the Capitolium, but in another instance Superbus consults the

Delphic oracle instead of Etruscan soothsayers (1.56.4).478

Despite every indication from Livy that Tarquinius Superbus is a Roman, Livy shows that his behavior is indisputably terrible and even sometimes “un-Roman.” Livy clearly states that Tarquinius Superbus and Tullia’s union was evil (malum malo aptissimum, 1.46.7).

Tarquinius Superbus and Tullia murder their mild-mannered spouses so that they can marry each other instead (1.46.9). Superbus assaults Servius Tullius (1.48.3) and forbids him burial (1.49.1-

2). He has senators killed (1.49.2) and rules through fear (metu regnum tutandum esset, 1.49.4) by proscribing citizens in sham trials (1.49.4). Livy also describes how Superbus resorted to “a wholly un-Roman stratagem, deceit and treachery” to defeat the citizens of Gabii (minime arte

Romana, fraude ac dolo, 1.53.4). Livy shows through Tarquinius Superbus that a person may be

Roman yet lack Roman ideals.

Tarquinius Superbus has some good qualities, but it is chiefly through his bad behavior that, Livy posits, he helped the Roman people discover their ideals. Livy praises Tarquinius

Superbus’ skill as a military commander (1.53.1) and commends his construction of the first

Capitolium, the Cloaca Maxima, and seating in the Circus Maximus (1.53.3; 1.55-1.56.2). In his introduction to Tarquinius Superbus’ character, however, Livy says that disgust with kings

(taedio regum) brought forth “liberty” (libertas) (1.46.3) and that time spent under the kings allowed the Roman character to develop (1.46.5; 2.1-6).479 Livy also surmises that the Roman

478 Etruscan seers were usually consulted on matters of public concern (ad publica prodigia Etrusci tantum vates adhiberentur, 1.56.5), but in the instance of a certain snake prodigy, which Tarquin thought concerned his own house, he sent his sons and Brutus to consult the Delphic oracle instead.

479 “It happened by chance that the two of violent temperament were not married to one another—or rather, I think, it was owing to the Fortune of the Roman people, whose purpose it was that the reign of Tullius endure long enough to lay a firm foundation for the building of Rome’s national character” (Forte ita inciderat ne duo violenta ingenia matrimonio iungerentur, fortuna, credo, populi Romani, quo diuturnius Servi regnum esset constituique civitatis mores possent, 1.46.5).

152 people appreciated their liberty more because Superbus was so terrible.480

Livy does not identify Tarquinius Superbus as Etruscan until he is banished from Rome, nor does he attribute the expulsion of the Tarquins to their foreign or Etruscan heritage; rather, in

Livy’s version, Superbus’ exile from Rome is the result of his tyranny, the kingship or royal family itself, and, ultimately, Tarquin’s very name. It is not until after Brutus exiles the Tarquins that they begin to embrace their Etruscan ancestry, seeking help among various Etruscan communities. Nowhere in the Rape of Lucretia story does Livy refer to the Tarquins as

Etruscans per se. Livy continues to call Tarquin the “Roman King” (rex Romanus, 1.57.1), and, in the tale of the “Best Wife” contest, the historian refers to the deeds of the “princes of the royal house” (regii...iuvenes, 1.57.5), among whom are Tarquin’s sons and Collatinus Tarquinius (and possibly Lucius Junius Brutus), all blood relatives of the Tarquins.481 Similarly, in his description of the men’s wives, Livy does not call them Etruscan, as is commonly assumed about them,482 but refers instead to the women as “royal princesses” (regias nurus, 1.57.9).483 After

Lucretia’s suicide, Brutus swears an oath by her blood, which he says was defiled by “royal

480 “The arrogance of the last king caused the advent of liberty to be all the more welcome” (Quae libertas ut laetior esset proximi regis superbia fecerat, 2.1.2).

481 See Appendix. In the genealogy of the Tarquin family, Livy says that Brutus, the first Roman consul, is Tarquin the Proud’s nephew (the son of Tarquinia, Tarquin’s sister) and grandson of Tarquinius Priscus and Tanaquil (1.56.7). Collatinus, Lucretia’s husband, is the son of Egerius, Tarquin the Proud’s first cousin and nephew of Tarquinius Priscus.

482 The wives compared to Lucretia are regularly thought of as Etruscan princesses, while Lucretia is thought of as an archetypal Roman wife. Livy, however, complicates his portrayal of these women by locating the partying wives in Rome and Lucretia in the city of Collatia and by never referring specifically to Etruscans. For an example in recent scholarship, see Becker 2016, 297: “Livy also invokes the loose reputation of Etruscan women at the end of the first book, when the daughters-in-law of Tarquinius Superbus are seen enjoying a luxurious banquet (much like the women in Theopompus’s account) while the quintessentially Roman wife Lucretia spins wool by lamplight....With such a story, Livy contrasts the simple lifestyle of a Roman matron with the degenerate Etruscan lifestyle of the king’s daughters-in-law, thereby using Etruscan decadence as a foil for Roman moderation.”

483 The word nurus can also mean “daughter-in-law” or a “(young) married woman,” (OLD, s.v. nurus).

153 wrongdoing” (regiam iniuriam, 1.59.1),484 and he vows to “drive out Lucius Tarquinius

Superbus together with his criminal wife [i.e. Tullia] and all his progeny...nor will I allow them or anyone else to be king at Rome” (1.59.1). Brutus’ ire is directed at the Tarquin family and the monarchy in general, not at Etruscans or people of Etruscan descent, of whom he himself was one. In the last lines of Book 1, Livy says that Superbus and two of his sons went into exile among the Etruscans in Caere (1.60.2), and soon thereafter Superbus performs his Etruscan identity for the first time in Livy’s text, most likely out of self-interest.

One of the first steps in the creation of a new government at Rome was to “other” or exile the Tarquin family, not only those complicit in Tarquinius Superbus’ tyrannical rule, but also those who shared the Tarquin name. Brutus’ first act as consul is to make the people swear an oath “never to allow any man to be king (regnare) in Rome” (2.1.9). After disavowing kingship in Rome, the people want to exile everyone with the Tarquin name (nomen invisum

[Tarquinium] civitati fuit, 2.2.3), including L. Tarquinius Collatinus, Lucretia’s widower, who becomes co-consul with Brutus. Livy says that the Roman people are upset that a Tarquin is in power. Their main objection to Tarquinius Collatinus’ consulship is his name. The people equate the name “Tarquin” with “monarchy,” arguing that the family’s lust for power had begun under Tarquinius Priscus and had continued under Superbus (2.2.3). Moreover, the people maintain that Tarquins do not know how to live as private citizens and that their name is unsettling and dangerous (2.2.3):

The mere name of one of the consuls, for example, who had never given offence in anything he had done, was detested. People said that the Tarquins had become all too used to monarchical rule; Priscus began it; then came Servius Tullius; but not even this interruption, when the throne belonged to someone outside of the clan, had caused Tarquinius Superbus to forget it; through violence and crime he had claimed it as his birthright; and now, after Superbus’ expulsion, Tarquinius Collatinus was in power! The

484 My translation.

154 Tarquins did not know how to live as private citizens; the name was an anathema because it was a threat to liberty.

In this instance, Livy himself opines that perhaps the Romans went too far (2.2.2), but, nevertheless, Brutus tells Collatinus to leave town because of his royal name, in order to convince the people (civitas) that the monarchy is gone. Collatinus goes into voluntary exile at

Lavinium, and Brutus together with the Senate pushes through legislation aimed at exiling the entire gens Tarquinia from Rome.485

But the people’s fears are misplaced in Collatinus, for Superbus still has his supporters in

Rome, young members of the former royal family, including two of Brutus’ own sons, who feel that the new rule of law threatens their own liberty and who long for a return to monarchy (2.3.2-

4). An incriminating letter acquired by a slave reveals their conspiracy to reinstate the monarchy; the traitors are caught, and, in an ironic twist, Brutus must put his own sons to death under the law. In attempting to define their newfound Romanness, the Roman people make the mistake of confusing external factors, like names, with internal factors, like political ideals.

Similarly, the Etruscan people are also swayed by names. Tarquinius Superbus is able to leverage his Etruscan name to gain the support of nearby Etruscan cities, and for the first time in

Livy’s narrative, he employs an Etruscan identity alongside a Roman one (2.6.2-4):

So he went around as a suppliant to the cities of Etruria, entreating Veii and Tarquinii in particular not to let him, an Etruscan blood brother, perish with his grown sons before their eyes—he who had once been a powerful monarch but now was reduced to an impoverished exile. Rome’s other kings, he said, had been called from outside to take the throne; he who had been born to it and had extended Rome’s dominion, had been expelled by his own kinsmen in a criminal conspiracy. The Romans, he maintained, had then carved up the state among themselves because not one of them seemed good enough to be king; and they had given the people his own property to loot, so that everyone would share in the guilt. He aimed to recover throne and country, and to make those ungrateful citizens smart for what they had done. He needed their help and assistance. What is more, they should avenge the wrongs they had long suffered: armies repeatedly

485 Brutus ex senatus consulto ad populum tulit ut omnes Tarquiniae gentis exsules essent, 2.2.11.

155 slaughtered, their land confiscated. These last arguments won over the Veientes, each man asserting belligerently that at least under a Roman general their humiliations would be cancelled and their losses in war made good. His very name and relationship prevailed with the people of Tarquinii: it seemed a fine thing for one of their own to be king at Rome.

Eventually there is a battle between the Etruscan forces led by Superbus and the Romans under

Brutus (2.6.5-11). During the fray, Brutus and Arruns, one of Superbus’ sons, kill each other

(2.6.9). Like the fight between Brutus and Arruns, the battle is a stalemate: The Romans rout the

Veientes on one flank (whom Livy says were used to losing), but on the other flank the

Tarquinians defeat the Romans (2.6.10-11). Nonetheless, Livy declares a victory for Rome

(2.7.2).

The Roman victory over the Tarquins and their Etruscan allies effectively ends

Tarquinius Superbus’ story.486 Throughout the tale of his rise to power and subsequent expulsion, Livy deliberately complicates his identity, just as he had with Tarquinius Priscus and

Tanaquil. Since his parents were immigrants and foreigners of multiple identities, Livy implicitly identifies Tarquinius Superbus with an Etruscan heritage, but he mainly associates him with a native Roman identity. The elder Tarquin and Tanaquil, having been denied public office in Tarquinii, had abandoned Etruria and had become Roman, yet they brought a certain

Etruscanness to their Roman public life and identity; Tarquinius Superbus reverts to his Etruscan roots only after being denied his rule in Rome, using his Etruscan identity in a self-serving effort to regain his former station. Superbus may be the most “Roman” of all the kings in terms of origin, but at the same time his behavior is the most “un-Roman.” In the tale of Tarquinius

Superbus, Livy proves the point that the characters Tarquinius Priscus and Tanaquil had propounded earlier—what makes someone Roman (or non-Roman) is not birthplace or birthright but moral character and appropriate ideals.

486 Tarquinius Superbus does appear a few more times until his death but he is no longer a major character.

156 Lars Porsenna

In Book 2, Livy introduces another major Etruscan character, Lars Porsenna, the Etruscan king of Clusium. Livy crafts a portrait of Lars Porsenna as someone increasingly impressed with the Roman character to the point that Rome achieves a military and, eventually, an ideological victory over him. Livy develops his portrait in two parts. In the first part, during the siege of

Rome, three exemplary Romans challenge Porsenna (and the Etruscans), eliciting Porsenna’s admiration and subsequent withdrawal from the city. In the second part, Livy further develops his portrait of Porsenna as a friend to the Romans and an admirer of their character.

After their defeat, in order to gain the support of Lars Porsenna, the Etruscan king of

Clusium, the Tarquins appeal to his most immediate concerns, his Etruscanness and his royalty

(2.9.1-2):

There [the Tarquins] mingled pleas with advice, now begging him not to suffer them, Etruscans by origin and of the same blood and nationality [oriundos ex Etruscis, eiusdem sanguinis nominisque], to be penniless exiles, now warning him not to allow the growing habit of expelling kings to go unpunished; unless kings defend their thrones with as much vehemence as nations [civitates] seek liberty—which itself is sufficient attraction—the highborn will find themselves on the same level as the lowest; there will be nothing left in nations that is exalted, that rises above the ordinary; monarchy would soon be a thing of the past, although it is the finest form of government among gods and men.

The Tarquins use their Etruscan identity and their nobility to ingratiate themselves with

Porsenna. Presumably, Porsenna’s character knows little else about the Tarquin family or the political situation in Rome, so he initially agrees to help the Tarquins promote monarchy and the

Etruscan gens: “Porsenna, thinking it a good thing for there to be a king at Rome and one of

Etruscan stock, advanced on the city in hostile array.”487 At first Livy portrays Porsenna as a staunch supporter of monarchy and Etruscan people.

487 Porsenna cum regem esse Romae, tum Etruscae gentis regem, amplum Tuscis ratus, Romam infesto exercitu venit (2.9.4).

157 Etruscans and Romans first clash on a bridge spanning the Tiber—a fitting place, for the river was the ancient boundary between their lands. The first battle is not between two armies, however, but between the entire Etruscan army and a single Roman soldier, Horatius Cocles, who Livy says was himself Rome’s “bulwark” or “defense” (id munimentum, 2.10.2). Although

Porsenna is absent from the Horatius story, the episode itself forms a thematic prologue to the

Porsenna scenes that follow. When the Etruscans suddenly capture the Janiculum, the Romans flee in cowardly fashion (2.10.3). Horatius alone has the wherewithal to stand against them.488

Horatius shouts at his fellow soldiers to stand their ground, but they ignore him, whereupon he decides to hold the bridge alone until his countrymen can destroy it (2.10.4). When the

Etruscans see that one man blocks their path to Rome, they are understandably dumbfounded.489

Horatius glares at the Etruscan leaders (proceres, 2.10.8) and derides them (increpare, 2.10.8), accusing them of being slaves to arrogant kings and oppressors of freedom (2.10.8).490 Horatius speaks for his fellow Romans, implying that the Etruscans are exactly what the Romans are not.

In doing so, Horatius at once stands against the Etruscans physically and ideologically. The

Etruscans hesitate at Horatius’ defiance. Shame (pudor, 2.10.9) moves them to attack, but

Horatius is able to resist them (2.10.9-10). Soon afterwards, Horatius escapes the collapsing bridge by diving into the Tiber and swimming safely to the Roman side (2.10.10-11). The state

488 pons sublicius iter paene hostibus dedit, ni unus vir fuisset, Horatius Cocles; id munimentum illo die fortuna urbis Romanae habuit (2.10.2). Later Livy says that two other men, Spurius Larcius and Titus Herminius, did assist Horatius Cocles temporarily (2.10.6). Ogilvie (1965, 259) provides evidence from other sources that both Sp. Larcius and T. Herminius have Etruscan names.

489 ipso miraculo audaciae obstupefecit hostes, 2.10.5. Livy often calls the Etruscans hostes in this scene, but it is clear that these enemies are Etruscans.

490 servitia regum superborum, suae libertatis immemores alienam oppugnatum venire, 2.10.8. For Etruscans stereotypes, see Chapter 1, pgs. 24-29.

158 honors Horatius’ courage (virtutem) by erecting a statue to him and granting him land.491

In the Horatius episode, the Etruscans win a Pyrrhic victory of sorts. Although the story describes a decisive Etruscan military victory, Horatius’ bold defense of the bridge and his attack on Etruscan mores make the Romans appear victorious. The Etruscans on the other hand appear weak despite their superior numbers, because they are unable to defeat one man, and, moreover, in Horatius’ words, the Etruscan way of life is inferior to the Roman. That said, the Etruscans still feel shame (pudor)—an admirable quality—when confronted by Horatius’ words and deeds.

Here Horatius challenges the Etruscan way of life and provokes momentary diffidence among the Etruscan soldiers; individual Romans will later challenge Porsenna himself directly with more effective results.

Roman and Etruscan values clash again in the Mucius Scaevola episode (2.12-13.5).

After some setbacks, Porsenna decides to starve Rome into submission through a concerted siege effort (2.12.1). Livy introduces Gaius Mucius, a young Roman noble who is indignant about the siege (2.12.2):

To Mucius it was intolerable that the Roman people, when subject to a monarch, had never been besieged in any war or by any enemy, but now, having gained their freedom, were hemmed in by the same Etruscans whom they had so often defeated.

Mucius’ motivation is ideological. He is upset that people subject to a monarch are besieging a free people, and he resolves to perform “some great and daring deed” in order to assert Roman ideological superiority (2.12.3). The Senate approves of Mucius’ plan to cross the Tiber

(2.12.5), and he sneaks into the Etruscan camp to assassinate Porsenna. But once he infiltrates the Etruscan camp, Mucius cannot distinguish the king from his scribe, and forced with a choice between the two, he mistakenly kills the scribe. The Etruscans apprehend Mucius and bring him

491 Grata erga tantam virtutem civitas fuit; statua in comitio posita; agri quantum uno die circumaravit, datum, 2.10.12.

159 before the Etruscan king, and, as with Horatius’ escape at the bridge, Mucius’ defeat and capture result in a victory. In Livy’s hands, Mucius’ failed assassination attempt elicits a striking expression of Romanness. Mucius gives a brief, bold speech about what it means to be Roman, perhaps the clearest thus far in Livy’s work (2.12.9):

I am Gaius Mucius, a citizen of Rome. I came here as an enemy to kill an enemy, and I am as ready to die as I am to kill. We Romans act bravely and, when adversity strikes, we suffer bravely. Nor am I the only one who feels this way; behind me stands a line of those who seek the same honour. If this is the sort of fight you want, go ahead; but it is one in which your life is at risk from hour to hour, on in which an assassin lurks at the very entrance to your palace, sword in hand. Such is the war the youth of Rome have declared against you. Pitched battles and the clash of arms are not what you should fear. Our business is with you alone, one on one.

Mucius angers and terrifies Porsenna. The Etruscan king threatens Mucius with torture unless he reveals more details about the assassination plot (2.12.12). But Mucius instead burns his own right hand in a sacrificial fire, defiantly proclaiming, “Look upon me and realize what a paltry thing the body is for those who seek great glory.”492 An astonished Porsenna jumps from his seat, comments on Mucius’ extraordinary behavior, and sets him free (2.12.14).

Leave this place. You have proved a stouter foe against yourself than against me. If you were a member of my own country I would congratulate you with bravos. But you are not, and I now release you untouched and unharmed, exempt from the laws that apply to prisoners of war.

Porsenna goes a step further and, out of fear for his life, he immediately sends envoys to the

Roman Senate to sue for peace. The two sides come to terms and Porsenna abandons the

Etruscan camp and leaves Rome for good, marking a watershed moment in the war.

In a similar story, Livy brings the sequence of exemplars of Roman virtue to its conclusion. He says that Roman women also felt inspired by Mucius’ example, and he relates the story of how Cloelia led a group of other hostages past their guards and across the Tiber to freedom (2.13.6). When Porsenna learns of Cloelia’s escape, he is initially angry, but soon his

492 ‘En tibi,’ inquit, ‘ut sentias quam vile corpus sit iis qui magnam gloriam vident,’ 2.12.13.

160 wrath turns to admiration for Cloelia (2.13.7-8). Porsenna wants only to meet Cloelia, so the

Romans return her to Porsenna, who surprisingly rewards the woman by allowing her to take back even more hostages to Rome (2.13.9-10). Cloelia impresses all with her bravery, which

Livy calls virtus (2.13.11).

Porsenna enters Livy’s narrative with seemingly little knowledge of the situation at

Rome, but his interactions with the Romans unsettle and surprise him. Mucius and Cloelia in particular shock Porsenna with their outstanding virtus. At first, Porsenna responds with anger

(ira) or fear (terror), but eventually he yields to respect (verecundia) and admiration (admiratio) for the Romans and their values. The Romans confront Porsenna with their new ideology, and the Etruscan king comes to understand and appreciate the Roman way of life. Faced with such selfless determination from Romans, both male and female, Porsenna deems his war effort worthless and resigns.

Livy further develops the portrait of Porsenna as a friendly admirer of Roman values in his treatment of the period following the siege. He argues that the Roman tradition of auctioning off enemy property, which the Romans called “Porsenna’s property” (bona Porsennae, 2.14.1-4), derives from the goods that Porsenna left as a gift to Rome when he abandoned his camp. Livy maintains that the Romans probably named the practice after Porsenna out of thanks for the gift

(gratiam muneris, 2.14.4). In so doing, however, Livy implies that there was another historical tradition in which Porsenna was much more hostile to Rome (2.14.1),493 but in making a negative tradition positive Livy adds to his image of a benevolent Porsenna.

In a final episode the Romans make peace with the Etruscan king, and Livy completes his

493 “The Etruscan king’s peaceful departure from the city is not consonant with the custom of auctioning off ‘the property of King Porsenna.” Ogilvie (1965, 268) contends that naming the practice after Porsenna “implies enmity not friendship,” because the property in question was always plunder.

161 portrait of Porsenna. In the year after the Etruscan siege of Rome, the king sends envoys to

Rome to negotiate for Tarquinius Superbus’ reinstatement (2.15.1). The Roman leadership responds by sending high-ranking senators to Clusium to settle the matter. In their speech, which Livy summarizes, the senators insist on keeping peace with Porsenna, but at the same time they state unequivocally that the Roman people will never reinstate Superbus. Allowing the return of the Tarquins, they insist, would be “inimical to Rome’s freedom” (contra libertatem populi Romani, 2.15.2). Porsenna responds as follows (2.15.5):

The king was deeply impressed by this impassioned plea. ‘Since your resolve’, he said, ‘is fixed and unshakeable, I shall not dun you by fruitlessly raising the issue in the future nor shall I disappoint the Tarquins in their expectation of help that is not mine to give. To avoid any compromise of the peace I have made with you, they must find another place, whether by war or diplomatic means, in which to find a home in exile.’ His subsequent actions gave even greater proof of his friendship, for he returned the remaining hostages and restored the Veian land that had been taken away by the treaty struck on the Janiculum.

In this passage Livy describes Porsenna as someone literally “conquered by respect” (verecundia victus, 2.15.5) for the Romans.494 The Romans defeat Porsenna not in battle but with their ideals. Livy’s portrait of Lars Porsenna thus ends with his acceptance of the Roman Republic and his rejection of the Tarquins’ claim to monarchy. Porsenna is not a native Roman, but his ultimate capitulation to Rome lends legitimacy to Roman republican ideals. Porsenna’s interaction with Rome during the siege also results in the Romans’ adoption of more Etruscan elements into the city that continued until Livy’s day—the practice of announcing the bona

Porsennae at auctions (2.14.1) and the establishment of an Etruscan district in Rome, the so- called Tuscus Vicus, where Etruscans are thought to have settled (2.14.9).

Lars Tolumnius

The last Etruscan character to feature prominently in the first pentad is Lars Tolumnius,

494 My translation.

162 the king of Veii. Tolumnius is said to have been responsible for the deaths of some Roman ambassadors, an act which incites war between Rome and Veii. Lars Tolumnius is perhaps most famous, however, for being killed in battle by A. Cornelius Cossus, who won the spolia opima in doing so—only the second man after Romulus said to have accomplished such a feat.495 Livy’s portrait of Lars Tolumnius is quite different from other Etruscan characters in Livy’s work, and it is worthwhile to contrast him with Lars Porsenna. Whereas Livy’s depiction of Porsenna was quite positive, the characterization of Lars Tolumnius is decidedly negative and much less elaborate than that of Porsenna.

Tolumnius’ story begins with the defection of the people of Fidenae, a Roman colony, to the side of Veii (4.17.1-2). After Rome sends ambassadors to inquire into the matter, the Roman representatives are killed. Livy accuses Tolumnius of their death, even though he says that other sources exist that “palliate the king’s action” and blame the Fidenates instead.496 Livy repeatedly calls Tolumnius’ murder of the ambassadors a crime,497 and the Romans go to war. With

Mamercus Aemilius acting as dictator, the Romans quickly move against the combined enemy forces of Veientes, Fidenates, and Faliscans, whom Livy describes as disorganized.498

On the day of the battle, the Roman soldiers easily defeat the infantry on all sides, but

Livy notes that the enemy cavalry fared better and that Lars Tolumnius fought with great distinction (fortissimus ipse rex, 4.18.8). Aside from that remark, Livy’s portrayal of Tolumnius

495 The spolia opima, literally the “glorious” or “rich spoils,” were the spoils stripped from an enemy leader defeated in single combat and consecrated in the Temple of Jupiter Feretrius on the Capitoline Hill. On the custom in general, see OCD s.v. spolia opima. In Roman history there are only three recorded instances of someone winning the spolia opima, those mentioned here and that of M. Claudius Marcellus over Viridomarus, the leader of the Gallic Insubres, in 222 BCE.

496 Some think that there was a misunderstanding that led to the envoys’ deaths (4.17.3); Livy, on the other hand, blames King Tolumnius (iussu Tolumni interfecerunt, 4.17.2; 4.17.4-5).

497 Livy uses the words scelus (4.17.2; 4.17.5) and facinus (4.17.3; 4.17.4).

498 “Opinions were split among the enemy” (Inter hostes variae fuere sententiae, 4.18.1).

163 is limited. Livy focuses instead on A. Cornelius Cossus (4.19.1), who watches Tolumnius on the battlefield and pledges to offer him as a sacrifice to the spirits of the slain ambassadors

(legatorum manibus dabo, 4.19.3). In a short speech, Cossus attacks Tolumnius, asking if he is

“the one who broke the treaty of man with man and violated the law of nations.”499 Cossus then rides into battle, kills Tolumnius, and secures the spolia opima. After the death of their king, the

Etruscans surrender and the Romans sack Fidenae.

Livy’s characterization of Lars Tolumnius is brief, but he portrays him almost as the polar opposite of Lars Porsenna. Porsenna is a benevolent ruler, Tolumnius an arrogant one.

The king of Veii has more in common with Tarquinius Superbus than with Porsenna—both are tyrants praised only for their skill at war. Both Tolumnius and Cossus seem to be emblematic of their home cities, and Tolumnius functions mainly as a fierce, albeit villainous, opponent for

Cossus. The result is that this episode is perhaps the most overtly negative portrait an individual

Etruscan, or Etruscans in general, in the first pentad thus far. Others have remarked on Livy’s negative tone: in his commentary on this section, Robert Ogilvie writes that, “The story of A.

Cornelius Cossus forms a separate episode which L[ivy] skilfully constructs to throw into relief the unprincipled wickedness of the Etruscans and the iustitia of the Romans.”500 Ogilvie is correct that Livy portrays the Etruscans in this episode negatively, but his statement is more applicable to the people of Fidenae, Falerii, and Veii than to the Etruscan people as a whole.

Lars Tolumnius is not so much as a developed character, but more as a symbol of Veii itself.

499 ‘Hicine est’ inquit, ‘ruptor foederis humani violatorque gentium iuris?’ (4.19.3). Cossus’ language is difficult to render into English, especially the words humani and gentium iuris, which can have multiple meanings, but the sense is that Tolumnius is an uncivilized oath breaker.

500 Ogilvie 1965, 557.

164 Etruscan Places

In Books 1 and 2, Livy often uses individual characters of Etruscan heritage or origin to explore issues of Roman identity, and these characters are integral to his treatment of the development of Roman ideals. Through them, Livy shows that ethnic origins are irrelevant for

Roman identity: Roman ideals are a person’s most important quality and both native-born

Romans and foreigners are capable of possessing them (Mucius Scaevola, Tarquinius Priscus,

Cloelia) and respecting them (Lars Porsenna). Livy also shows that native-born Romans occasionally lack Roman ideals (Tarquinius Superbus, Tullia, the sons of Brutus). If anyone, men and women, foreign and native, can enjoy Roman ideals, then what makes someone

Roman? Livy’s answer, which he explores chiefly in the latter half of the pentad, lies in the city of Rome itself. In addition to certain ideals, the city of Rome is another essential part of Roman identity. In his exploration of the importance of the site of Rome in the formation of Roman identity, Livy uses individual Etruscan places, especially the city of Veii, as counterpoints or foils to the city of Rome much in the same way he employs Etruscan characters in his examination of Roman ideals. Whereas Porsenna’s siege of Rome in Book 2 adds to the definition of Romanness through an Etruscan foil—even though there is already some apparent slippage between the two groups—the treatment of Veii in Books 4 and 5 complicates the distinction between Etruscan and Veientine while further exploring the meaning of Romanness.

Gillett has observed that Livy makes distinctions between the characters of different

Etruscan city-states.501 Throughout the pentad, Livy sets the stage for Rome’s war with Veii, characterizing Veii in particular as different not only from Rome but also from the rest of the

501 Gillett (2014) surveys Livy’s portrayal of three cities: Caere (199-202), Tarquinii (207-210), and Veii (213-218).

165 cities of Etruria.502 The seeds of these distinctions are in evidence as early as Book 1. Livy sometimes names individual Etruscan cities, and at other times he speaks of Etruscans in general.

In the first book, Romulus fights specifically against the enemy cities of Veii and Fidenae (as we saw above), but Livy also includes rumors about the great power and influence of Etruscans in general throughout Italy. Livy implies that there is a vague, omnipresent threat from the combined forces of Etruria (omnis Etruria)—a threat that never comes to fruition (at least in the first pentad), but looms in the background. Despite Livy’s idea that the cities of Etruria form a kind of alliance, it is unclear exactly who these generic “Etruscans” are, and they are often distinguished from the Etruscan cities closest to Rome.503

The Fabian Clan and Veii

The foremost Etruscan city-state in the first pentad is Veii, and although Livy mentions many other Etruscan cities throughout these books, my main focus will be on Veii, Rome’s nearest and most powerful Etruscan neighbor. In developing the thematic relationship between location and identity, Livy focuses on the foreign sites themselves rather than on individuals from those places. Livy’s treatment of the city of Veii and its people, the Veientes, is a portrait of a collective. As we have seen, even when Livy names a person from Veii—Lars Tolumnius, for example—the character has much less depth than his portraits of Tanaquil and Lars Porsenna.

Other than Lars Tolumnius, Livy usually refers to Veii in the collective, by naming either the city itself or its people. As such, Livy frequently draws attention to Veii, which has the effect of distinguishing Veii and the Veientes from other Etruscan cities and from Etruria as a whole.

This distinction begins as early as the end of Book 2, when the Veientes make their first major

502 Gillett 2014, 214.

503 See Gillett (2014, 163-165) on Livy’s characterization of omnis Etruria and its differentiation from his portrayals of individual Etruscan cities.

166 appearance in the text, in Livy’s narrative of the Fabian clan’s ill-fated war with Veii. In this episode, Livy begins to develop an individual character for the collective Veientes that is distinct from other Etruscans and Etruria proper.

Livy distinguishes Veii and its people from other Etruscans in many ways. First, he names the Veientes specifically, while speaking of other Etruscans rather vaguely. Livy says that a war broke out with Veii in 482 BCE (2.42.9). At that time, many men of the Fabii family had reached rank of consul, and the Fabian gens was one of the most powerful families in Rome.

In 481 BCE, Quintus Fabius becomes consul and, as the war with Veii continues, Q. Fabius wins a victory over the Veientes (2.43). In the following year, Marcus Fabius is consul and conducts another war against Veii, which by this time had enlisted reinforcements from “all parts of

Etruria” (undique ex Etruria, 2.44.7) intent on taking advantage of internal discord at Rome

(2.44.7; cf. also 2.49.10). Even though Etruscan people came from everywhere to help Veii fight

Rome, in these passages Livy makes a clear distinction between Veii and other nameless

Etruscans from greater Etruria. He calls the conflict the “Veian War” (Veiens bellum, 2.44.7) and says that the Etruscan auxiliaries were fighting more out of dislike for Rome than out of affection for Veii (2.44.7). He mentions the anonymous leaders of Etruria’s councils

(principesque in omnium Etruriae populorum conciliis, 2.44.8) who were plotting against Rome in its time of weakness, but he names no specific people or cities. Moreover, in the narrative of this war, on multiple occasions Livy literally separates the words Veientes and Etrusci with a conjunction, and he describes the Veientes specifically as “enemies” (hostes). As such, Livy distinguishes Veii from other Etruscans within the same sentence and marks the Veientes in particular as enemies of the state—indeed, “enemy” (hostis) becomes a kind of epithet for Veii

(Veiens hostis Etruscique, 2.45.3; Veiens hostis Etruscaeque legiones, 2.46.1; Veiente hoste,

167 2.48.5; Veiens hostis, 2.48.7).

Finally, and most dramatically, Livy singles out Veii by making the Veientes solely responsible for the almost complete eradication of the Fabian clan. After the Fabian triumph in the Veientine War of 480 BCE (for which they did not claim credit), Rome is engaged on multiple military fronts, and the Veientes take advantage of their divided attention by raiding their land (2.48.5). In an effort to defend Rome, 306 members of the Fabian clan volunteer to serve as a private army against the Veientes’ raids (2.48.8-10). Livy praises the Fabii even though they are doomed to failure. Initially, the plan of the Fabii proves successful.504 Livy commends victories of the Fabian clan over the greater Veientine forces: “[a] single clan of the

Roman people frequently prevailed over the most powerful [opulentissima] of Etruscan states”

(2.50.2). The Veientes, humbled and irritated by the Fabii, devise a plan to defeat them (2.50.3).

Eventually the Veientes catch the overconfident Fabii in an ambush at the Cremera River, and the vastly superior Veientine forces corner and slaughter the Fabii, leaving only one member of the clan to carry on the family name (2.50.11). Also by modeling his account of the Fabii after

Herodotus’ three-hundred Spartans at the Battle of Thermopylae, Livy makes their loss more heroic and Veii’s victory less so. Livy further undercuts Veii’s victory, not only by having them win through treachery in an unfair contest, but also by placing the blame for the loss squarely on one Roman clan as opposed to a Roman consular army. In this way, Livy portrays the Fabii as valiant patriots and the Veientes as perfidious cowards. And by setting a historical precedent for

Rome’s hatred of Veii, Livy sets the stage for his characterization of the Veientes in the latter books of the pentad.

After the tragic defeat of the Fabii, Book 2 ends. Book 3 deals with internal politics in

504 When Veii and the other Etruscan forces are routed, they seek peace, which is granted, but they break the agreement soon afterwards—Livy shows that the Veientes are also untrustworthy (ab insita animis levitate, 2.49.12).

168 Rome and for its entire length Livy avoids discussion of foreign wars. Veii emerges again in

Book 4 with the story of the war with Lars Tolumnius, whose tale functions as a link to the

Veientes of Book 2 and as a reminder of their collective character. After the defeat of

Tolumnius, Livy continues to characterize the Veientes as insufferable enemies, and he builds on the negative treatment of Tolumnius earlier in the book in order to show how wicked and cowardly the Veientes and their immediate allies are. Veii’s behavior in Book 4 provides the justification for Rome’s destruction of the city in Book 5.

Livy repeatedly sets Veii (and other nearby cities) apart from the rest of Etruria, for they are repeatedly rebuffed and, in a way, disowned by other Etruscans. Following upon the Lars

Tolumnius episode, Livy divides his account of the wars with Veii and Fidenae of Book 4 into two similar episodes that recount battles over the city of Fidenae, one of Rome’s nearest neighbors on Tiber.505 The first battle of Fidenae (436 BCE) begins after Rome makes raids into the territories of Veii and Falerii (4.21.1). In the following year, Livy says that the people of

Veii and Fidenae (not Falerii) attacked the gates of Rome but were repulsed and routed at

Nomentum (4.21.7-22.2). After pursuing the defeated army all the way to Fidenae, Rome’s dictator, Q. Servilius, is said to have invested and captured the city (4.22.2-7). Throughout this short passage, Livy refers to the combined forces of Fidenates and Veientes generally as

“Etruscans” and “enemies” (Etruscans: 4.22.2, 4.22.6; hostes: 4.22.2, 4.22.5). In the passage immediately following, however, Livy is careful to distinguish between Veii and Falerii (cities near Rome) and the rest of Etruria. Livy says that the news of Fidenae’s capture elicited fear in

Etruria (4.23.4), especially at Veii and Falerii, who sent envoys to the Etruscan capitals (the so- called Twelve Peoples) requesting a summit at the Shrine of Voltumna, the Fanum Voltumnae, to

505 The similarity of the two episodes has caused some to argue that they may be doublets, but Ogilvie (1965, 569- 570) argues that Livy’s account of multiple battles over Fidenae is plausible.

169 discuss the matter of reinforcements (4.23.5).506 Upon learning of the council and fearing a possible threat from a united Etruria, the Romans elect Mamercus Aemilius dictator (4.23.6), but merchants later inform the Romans that the Etruscan council had denied aid to Veii (4.24.1-2).

Moreover, although they are in conflict with Veii, Livy implies that the Romans’ relationship with Etruria proper is friendly, for the Romans sought grain there during a famine only a few years later in 432 BCE (4.25.4).507 Likewise, in the same year, Livy records that there was another meeting at the Fanum Voltumnae and the Etruscans again ignored the Veientes’ requests for help (4.25.8).

In his account of the second battle of Fidenae, Livy portrays the Veientes and Fidenates as cowards and oath breakers. Isolated from the rest of Etruria, Veii and Fidenae attack Roman territory again (4.30.5), but the Romans suspend retaliatory attacks because of a plague in the city (4.30.12). Livy says that in raiding Roman land the Veientes had broken a truce established after the first battle of Fidenae (indutiae, 4.30.14).508 In this war, it is the Romans who are disorganized at first. The Veientes hand the Romans a rare defeat (4.31.2-4), which Livy blames on the Romans’ poor leadership rather than on the skill of the enemy (4.32.2). The victorious

Veientes again request help from the other Etruscan city-states but are denied (4.31.6), and only the Fidenates and some volunteers (voluntarios, 4.31.6) come to their aid (4.31.7). Livy says that the Fidenates had killed the Roman colonists in their town before joining Veii (4.31.7-8).

Mamercus Aemilius, who had been victorious over Lars Tolumnius, is re-elected dictator in order to deal with the Veientes again, but the Roman populace remains terrified by their initial

506 On the Fanum Voltumnae, see pg. 13 above.

507 It is unclear to me from this passage whether or not the Romans actually acquired grain in this instance. But Livy does record receipts of grain from Etruria on a few other occasions during which the Romans were experiencing food shortages (2.34.3-5; 4.52.5-6).

508 As Ogilvie (1965, 584) observes, however, Livy does not mention this truce earlier.

170 loss (Romae terror ingens erat, 4.31.9). Throughout these passages the narrator and Livy’s

Roman characters often denigrate the Veientes and Fidenates. Mamercus, for example, reminds the Roman people of their own past victories over Veii and Fidenae (4.32.2), and in strong language recalls their crimes—the murder of the ambassadors under Tolumnius, the slaughter of

Fidenae’s Roman colonists, the broken treaties (4.32.5)—and he vows to avenge them.

Once the battle ensues, focalizing the furious Romans, Livy uses the most scathing words to describe their enemies, but he directs this abuse specifically at Veii and Fidenae, not at

Etruscans in general (4.32.12):

The Romans satisfied their hatred with deeds and with words, calling the Fidenates traitors, the Veientes brigands, reviling them because they were drenched with the gore of the envoys they had so foully murdered, covered with the blood of their new colonists, double-dealing allies, lily-livered foes.

People rush out of the gates of Fidenae brandishing torches,509 an unorthodox weapon that temporarily terrifies the Romans (4.33.1-2). Under the guidance of the dictator Mamercus

(4.33.4-5), the Romans gather their courage and turn the torches against their enemies (4.33.6).

The Veientes, having lost ground and suddenly finding themselves surrounded, run toward the

Tiber where the Romans slaughter them (4.33.10-11). The Fidenates, on the other hand, run into the city (4.34.10), but eventually the Romans breach the gates (4.34.1)—Fidenae is sacked, its people are sold into slavery (4.34.3-4). Rome grants Veii a twenty-year truce (indutiae, 4.35.2).

In these passages, Livy directs Roman animosity specifically toward Veii and Fidenae, whom he marks off from the rest of Etruria. Some have suggested that the Etruscans’ use of torches in the battle is an act of cowardice, as is their flight and slaughter at the Tiber, but Livy is silent on this;

509 Twice Ogilvie makes the perplexing mistake of identifying the torchbearers as women (1965, 585-586), perhaps because he is reminded of a similar passage of Tacitus in which women in Britain do carry firebrands (Stabat pro litore diversa acies, densa armis virisque, intercursantibus feminis, [quae] in modum Furiarum veste ferali, crinibus disiectis faces praeferebant, Tac. Ann. 14.30.1). Ogilvie’s confusion may result from the feminine gender of the words Livy uses to describe the people. Livy refers to the group as a nova acies, which was inaudita ante id tempus invisitataque (4.33.1), and as an ingens multitudo (4.33.2).

171 the notion of cowardly Etruscans is instead implied by the vitriolic statements about Veii and

Fidenae earlier in the episode.510

In his account of these two battles, Livy stresses the isolation of Veii and Fidenae from the rest of Etruria, and simultaneously portrays the cities as cowardly, perfidious, yet formidable enemies of Rome. By the end of Book 4, the truce with Veii ends and the Veientes again invite war with Rome by insulting Roman envoys. Yet there is concern at Rome among the populace about Veii’s strength and its ability to enlist help from the whole of Etruria (omnem Etruriam,

4.58.10). After much debate, the Romans declare war on the Veientes and select their military tribunes, who promptly begin the first siege operations against Veii (4.61.1-2). Livy says that a council of Etruscans met at the Fanum Voltumnae but, because they “failed to agree” (parum constitit, 4.61.2), Veii does not receive support from greater Etruria.511 Veii’s repeated attempts to get military aid from the rest of Etruria fail, and the council of the Fanum Voltumnae avoids conflict with Rome. Veii rarely receives any reinforcements from beyond its immediate vicinity and is eventually destroyed by Rome.

The Siege of Veii

Livy expands upon the theme of Veii as enemy that he laid out in Book 4, in which he presented the Veientes as untrustworthy and cowardly foils to the Romans. Livy continues to distinguish the Veientes from other Etruscans by further developing the physical and ideological isolation of Veii in Book 5. Moreover, Livy’s emphasis on the importance of a place or location

510 Bittarello (2009, 216) compares the use of torches as weapons here with Vergil’s description of Mezentius wielding a torch in Aeneid 9, arguing that Etruscans in the Aeneid use strange weapons that perhaps suggest their weakness or effeminacy, but see above pg. 97.

511 “At the beginning of the siege a well-attended meeting of the Etruscans held at the shrine of Voltumna failed to agree on whether the whole nation should join in a war to defend Veii” (sub cuius initium obsidionis cum Etruscorum concilium ad fanum Voltumnae frequenter habitum esset, parum constitit bellone publico gentis universae tuendi Veientes essent, 4.61.2).

172 and its relationship to identity, especially with regard to the city of Rome, becomes stronger.

The historian explores the theme of place and identity throughout the book.

The opening chapters of Book 5 isolate Veii from both Rome and Etruria. In the first sentences of Book 5, Livy indicates that the result of Rome’s war with Veii will end in annihilation (finem) for the conquered city.512 Livy makes a clear distinction between the governments of Rome and Veii in the opening chapters of Book 5. The Romans elect an unusual number of military tribunes (octo, quot nunquam antea, 5.1.2); the Veientes elect an anonymous king (5.1.3). By never naming Veii’s king, Livy allows the city itself to take center stage, and continues the development that we saw begin with Lars Tolumnius in Book 4 away from an individual character and more towards an emblematic representative of the city. In such a way, at the beginning of Book 5, Livy draws an ideological opposition between Rome and Veii by having Veii act contrary to the Roman Republic’s first, most sacred oath and ideal—that a king would never rule in Rome. Livy makes it clear that the “other Etruscan communities” disliked

Veii’s new government as much as the Romans did, for Veii’s king had become “hateful” to his people due to his “wealth and arrogance” (gravis iam is antea genti fuerat opibus superbiaque,

5.1.4).513 Monarchy was the traditional form of government in Etruria, so it is surprising that the other Etruscan communities are upset about the presence of a king on the one hand, and at his wealth and arrogance on the other hand, because wealth and monarchy are traditionally associated with Etruscans.

512 “With peace prevailing on other fronts, Rome and Veii faced one another in arms, harbouring such anger and hatred that defeat would surely mean the extinction of one of them” (Pace alibi parta Romani Veiique in armis erant tanta ira odioque ut victis finem adesse appareret, 5.1.1).

513 The last prominent Etruscan to appear in Livy's text was Lars Porsenna (a wealthy king but not necessarily arrogant) and up until this point Livy gives no indication that the Etruscans had changed their political views regarding monarchies. Yet Livy's text implies that the political structure of Etruria had changed in such a way that they had become disenchanted with the institution of monarchy.

173 Livy further distinguishes Veientine Etruscans from the other Etruscan communities in terms of their piety. Veii’s king had greatly offended the people of Etruria by abruptly curtailing the proceedings of some sacred games, because the Twelve Peoples of Etruria had denied him a certain priesthood. The historian explains Etruria’s reaction with the oft-quoted ethnographic statement about the Etruscan people (5.1.6):

Gens itaque ante omnes alias eo magis dedita religionibus quod excelleret arte colendi eas, auxilium Veientibus negandum donec sub rege essent decrevit.

Thus the Etruscans, who are more completely devoted to religion than any other people and pride themselves on their skill in divine worship, decreed that aid be denied Veii as long as it was under a monarch.

In a phrase Livy defines the national character of the Etruscan gens and at the same time explains why Veii does not fit in with their countrymen. The Etruscans as a whole are generally pious and skilled in the religious sphere, but the Veientine king’s impiety has severe consequences for his people. Etruria again refuses to aid Veii in their war against Rome because of their impious monarchy, which Livy also qualifies as an oppressive regime.514

In addition to the ideological distinctions between the Veientes, Romans, and Etruscans,

Livy physically separates Etruscans from Veientes at the beginning of Book 5. The Roman siege operations literally divide Veii from Etruria during the siege, even though Etruria seemingly posed little threat to the siege effort (5.1.8-9):

Although word reached Rome that conditions were quiet in Etruria, it was also reported that Veii was a subject of discussion in all the meetings held there; accordingly, Rome built her fortifications on two fronts at once, some facing the city to stop the inhabitants from breaking out, others looking north toward Etruria to prevent any help arriving from that direction.

514 “No mention of this [i.e. the denial of aid from Etruria] was made at Veii out of fear of the king, who reacted to such negative news by holding the messenger to be the instigator of insurrection, not the source of idle talk” (cuius decreti suppressa fama est Veiis propter metum regis qui a quo tale quid dictum referretur, pro seditionibus eum principe, non vani sermonis auctore habebat, 5.1.7).

174

The protracted siege of Veii causes problems in Rome from the start. There is a debate about whether or not to maintain the siege through the winter (5.2). The tribunes want to cancel the siege, but the senators want to continue it. Appius Claudius emerges as the champion of the senate, giving a speech in which he argues against raising the siege (5.3-6). After Appius' speech, a reverse at Veii turns the public sentiment in Rome toward support for the siege, temporarily settling the debate (5.7). The existence of a debate in Rome, however, implies that the Romans were at odds both with Veii and with one another. The civil discord at Rome extends to the following year's siege operations. The siege is going poorly, because the Roman commanders are bickering, and because, in the meantime, reinforcements arrive from the nearby

Etruscan cities of Capena and Falerii (5.8). The Romans, caught on two fronts (as they had predicted), suffer heavy losses as a result of their poor leadership (5.8.8-12). The siege of Veii's success is as much about internal politics as it is about a foreign war. At the outset of the siege, the Romans are as much at war with themselves as with the Veientes (5.8.13).

Leading up to and following the Romans’ sack of Veii, Livy includes a number of stories in which the Romans take Etruscan things from Veii and make them their own. It seems that the only way for the Romans to defeat the Veientes is to incorporate them into Rome, and, in doing so, they become more Etruscan as Veii is forced to accept being Roman. In the first instance, the

Romans abduct an Etruscan priest from Veii and use his prophecies to benefit themselves. Livy notes that because the Romans and the Veientes were at war, there were no longer any Etruscan seers at Rome to interpret the many “prodigies” (prodigia) occurring during the siege.515 The

Romans found a remedy for this situation at Veii. An old man from Veii was prophesying that

Veii would fall, but at first the Roman soldiers thought he was merely harassing them (5.15.4-5).

515 et quia, hostibus Etruscis, per quos ea procurarent haruspices non erant, 5.15.1.

175 After the sentries learn, however, that the old man is a haruspex, one of the guardsmen tricks the prophet (vatem) into leaving the protection of Veii’s walls and kidnaps him (5.15.6-7). The soldiers take the priest to the Senate, where he tells them that Veii has angered the gods (5.15.8-

9). Later, the Delphic oracle confirms the Veientine prophet’s predictions, which the Romans hold in high esteem forever after (5.16.8-17.1). This episode shows that the Veientes, despite their king’s impiety, were skilled practitioners of prophecy as befits Livy’s characterization of

Etruscans as skilled in religious matters. Furthermore, the tale of the old prophet of Veii shows the important position that Etruscan priests held in the Roman government, even as enemies of the state. Livy tells another story about the Romans co-opting Etruscan religious practice. He says that while the Romans were digging the tunnels under Veii, the king was making a sacrifice, and they overheard a haruspex predict that whoever cut the sacrificial victim’s entrails would be victorious. Upon hearing this prophecy, the soldiers are said to have opened the tunnel, stolen the entrails, and taken them back to Camillus (5.21.8). Livy dismisses the story as fanciful

(5.21.9), but nevertheless it shows the Romans taking sacred Etruscan rites for themselves.

Finally, things begin to turn against Veii with the election of Camillus as dictator

(5.19.2). Camillus informs the Senate that he is on the verge of taking Veii and asks for their advice (5.20.1-3). The Senate issues a decree that “anyone who pleased might go to Camillus and the army at Veii to claim his share in the plunder” (5.20.10). Many common folk leave

Rome in order to get their share of Veii’s spoils (5.21.1). Before the final assault on Veii,

Camillus swears a tithe of the spoils to Apollo and performs an evocation to Juno Regina, Veii’s patron goddess, inviting the goddess to move to a new temple in Rome (5.21.2-3). After a ten- year siege, the Romans finally sack Veii, killing many and carrying off a tremendous amount of loot from the city. In Veii’s obituary, it is named the “the wealthiest city of the Etruscan nation”

176 (urbis opulentissimae Etrusci nominis, 5.22.8). Both the Etruscan people and things of Veii are incorporated into the city of Rome: Veii’s people are sold into slavery (5.22.1), presumably becoming slaves in Rome, and eventually every Roman seems to have taken something from the

Etruscan city. After the sack, Roman soldiers respectfully remove the city’s religious items, including Juno’s statue, which is said to have nodded assent or perhaps even spoken to the soldiers. Livy claims that the statue was moved to Rome and installed in a temple on the

Aventine effortlessly, “as if she were moving with them” (sequentis modo accepimus levem ac facilem tralatu fuisse, 5.22.6). In the process of besieging, sacking, and plundering Veii, the

Romans incorporate many Veientine elements into their city, and the difference between Rome and Veii becomes blurred to the point that the Romans consider the prospect of migrating to

Veii.

The Migration to Veii

After the sack of Veii brought an influx of Etruscan wealth and religion into Rome, the

Roman people, supported by the tribunes of the plebs, begin a political movement to migrate to

Veii and form two Romes as it were, with half of the commons and half of the Senate in each location but both part of the same government (5.24.4-11). The commoners had been offered land in Volscian territory, but prefer the territory of Veii because of its better agriculture, its closer proximity, and its superior architecture (5.24.5-6). On the issue of migration the plebs and patricians were deeply divided. Camillus responds by speaking out vehemently against the migration and manages to convince the Romans not to move for the time being (5.25.4-6). The ensuing conflict with the Gauls, however, forces the Romans to become Veientes for some time, in effect to experiment with migration.

Three groups of people are included in Livy’s treatment of the Gallic invasion—

177 Etruscans, Romans, and Gauls. The invasion begins in Etruria. The Gauls surround Clusium and the Etruscans in turn seek help from Rome (5.33; 5.35.4). Rome sends three members of the

Fabian clan, whom the Veientes had almost completely annihilated earlier, to negotiate with the

Gauls (5.35.5). Upon leaving the city of Rome, the Roman character of the Fabii seems to fade, and, according to Livy, “It would have been a peaceable embassy had not the bellicose envoys behaved more like Gauls than Romans.”516 When the Gauls demand Etruscan land in exchange for peace, the Fabii ruin the negotiations, “contrary to the law of nations” (contra ius gentium), by attacking and killing a Gallic chieftain (5.36.6-7). The Gauls on the other hand react with surprising, perhaps uncharacteristic, moderation in the face of the Romans’ outrageous act. They send envoys to Rome demanding punishment for the Fabii, but the Romans instead promote the men to the rank of military tribunes (5.36.8-10). The Gauls are understandably indignant at the

Roman response and they fly into a rage, which Livy says is “characteristic of their race”

(5.37.4).

While Livy says that the Gauls are behaving according to their character, even though their temperance after being attacked is not characteristically Gallic, he also makes it clear that the Romans are behaving badly: they quickly forget military tactics, and even their gods, in the face of the attacking Gallic army. Livy writes that at the Battle of the Allia “no one behaved like a Roman” (nihil simile Romanis, non apud duces, non apud milites erat, 5.38.5), for they fled before the battle even began, running away across the Tiber to “enemy” Veii instead of Rome

(Veios in hostium urbem, 5.38.5). It is almost as if the Gauls effectively turn the Romans into

Veientes, and as if the Roman state, after conquering Veii and incorporating its wealth and religion into its own, had become changed by Veientine mores. The Romans break the unwritten

“law of nations” by killing a Gallic leader, much in the same way that the Veientes killed Roman

516 Mitis legatio, ni praeferoces legatos Gallisque magis quam Romanis similes habuisset, 5.36.1.

178 ambassadors. In their defeat at the Allia River, the Romans behave much in the same way as the

Veientes did when the Romans defeated them at the Tiber in Book 4. Worse, the Romans abandon their city and family members to the Gauls without a fight. They barricade themselves on the Capitoline Hill and send their most important priestesses and holy relics for safekeeping in the Etruscan city of Caere (5.40.10), allowing foreign invaders to destroy Rome. Rome’s leaders remain safe on the Capitol, but they are physically separated from the bulk of the populace at Veii.

Camillus’ Speech

Only Camillus is able to reunite the sundered Roman populace and defeat the Gauls, after which he receives the titles of “father” and “second founder” of his country. But Rome is in ruins, and Veii is bandied about again as a possible new home. Camillus refuses to resign his dictatorship until the matter of migration to Veii is finally resolved. Camillus delivers an impassioned speech that forms the climax of Livy’s first pentad. In this speech, Camillus argues strongly against the proposal to migrate to Veii and expresses the idea that Roman identity depends on the site of Rome itself. Camillus’ speech is important because it encapsulates the two themes of virtus and place that Livy has been exploring throughout the first pentad through, as I have argued, Etruscan and Roman characters and places. At its outset, Camillus speech addresses the question “whether our country is to continue in this place.”517 Camillus makes a number of arguments in support of staying in Rome, all of which center on the importance of place—the location of Rome itself. Camillus had been in exile in Ardea, and his absence from the site of Rome makes him a particularly eloquent proponent of its virtues.

Camillus dedicates the first part of his speech to Rome’s religious practices (5.52), which,

517 ut in sua sede maneret patria, 5.51.2.

179 he argues, belong in Rome itself, saying that,

nullus locus in ea non religionum deorumque est plenus; sacrificiis sollemnibus non dies magis stati quam loca sunt in quibus fiant.

There is no place in [Rome] not filled with religious associations and divine power. There are as many days fixed for religious ceremonies as there are places in which they are performed.

He lists certain cults and priesthoods that cannot be separated from the sacred places they inhabit.518 And after surveying the religious reasons for staying in Rome, Camillus insists that

Rome’s destruction is not a reason for leaving, but, rather, a chance to rebuild and live in the manner of their predecessors (5.53).

Toward the end of the speech, Camillus expresses his fondness for Rome itself, confessing that, when he was in exile, his love for his country often came to mind, and he extols the merits of its physical location (5.54.2-5):

Does our native soil [solum patriae], does mother earth, as we call her [haec terra quam matrem appellamus], have so little hold on us that love of country [caritas...patriae] is love for the buildings and timbers placed upon her? Let me now make a confession, even though I find it more painful to mention the wrong you did me than the suffering I endured. All the time I was in exile, whenever I thought of my country, I beheld in my mind’s eye everything that surrounds us here at the moment: the hills and plains, the Tiber, the familiar earth and sky, which saw my birth and upbringing. It is my fervent wish, citizens, that love [caritate] for this place will so fill your hearts [moveant] that you will remain where you are [in sede vestra], and that you will not, if you do leave, be wracked by longing, homesick for your native soil. Gods and men chose this place [hunc...locum] to found a city for excellent reasons: those health-giving hills, the river near to hand that conveys provisions from places inland and up which goods from abroad are brought, the sea conveniently close by, but not so near that we are exposed to danger from foreign fleets—the very heart of Italy, a place uniquely fitted to promote the growth of our city [ad incrementum urbis natum unice locum].

Camillus then praises the size of Rome, its antiquity, and its military prowess, making a point to emphasize Roman military superiority to the Aequi, Volsci, and especially “all of Etruria”

518 Religious cults: 5.52.6-7; priesthoods: 5.52.13-14. He also mentions that other practices are tied to the auspices, which are only done within the confines of the pomerium (5.52.15-16).

180 (universa Etruria), which he describes as “spanning the breadth of Italy from sea to sea.”519 He then follows this statement with a pointed plea for the Romans to stay, encompassing the two most important aspects of Roman identity that Livy has been exploring throughout the pentad, virtus and place: “[T]hough your valor [virtus] may accompany you, the good fortune that attends this site [huius loci] assuredly cannot” (5.54.6). Camillus concludes that the most important element of Romanness, besides virtus, is the actual location of Rome itself, and ends his speech with great emphasis on the site of Rome, repeating the word “here” (hic) in anaphora

(5.54.7):

Hic Capitolium est, ubi quondam capite humano invento responsum est eo loco caput rerum summamque imperii fore; hic cum augurato liberaretur Capitolium, Iuventas Terminusque maximo gaudio patrum vestrorum moveri se non passi; hic Vestae ignes, hic ancilia caelo demissa, hic omnes propitii manentibus vobis di.

You see the Capitol before you, where once the unearthing of a human head was taken as a sign that this spot marked what would be the centre of empire and head of the world. Here, when the Capitol was cleared of buildings, the gods of Youth and of Boundaries, Iuventas and Terminus, would not allow themselves to be moved to the great joy of our ancestors. Here is Vesta’s fire, here the shields of Mars fell from the sky, here, if you remain, all the gods in heaven will shower their blessings upon you.

Immediately following Camillus’ words, Livy makes a curious statement. He says that

Camillus’ speech was well-received but that it was not the deciding factor in the debate over the migration to Veii. Rather, a “fortuitous remark” (vox opportune emissa, 5.55.1) from a group of soldiers settled the matter once and for all. While passing through the Forum, the soldiers are said to have exclaimed, “Standard-bearer, plant the standard; we will do best to remain here [hic remanebimus optime]” (5.55.2), within earshot of the deliberating senate. The senators take the

519 universa Etruria, tantum terra marique pollens atque inter duo maria latitudinem obtinens Italiae, 5.54.5 (More literally translated: “all of Etruria, so powerful on land and sea and possessing the breadth of Italy between the two seas”).

181 exclamation as an omen and vote to stay in Rome and rebuild. With the rebuilding of Rome,

Livy effectively ends the first pentad.

The speech of Camillus, in Livy’s hands, represents the culmination of the historian’s exploration of Roman identity that he has developed over the course of the first pentad. Livy, through Camillus, finally puts into words what “Roman” means. This meaning is unintelligible without the experience that Camillus gained from exile and from the challenge presented by foreign enemies like the Veientes and the Gauls. Understood within this context, the plan to leave Rome for Veii presents a greater threat to Rome than the Gallic sack. The issue of Roman identity is far from settled, but it is decidedly clearer than at the pentad’s start.

Conclusion

From the beginning to the end of the first pentad, identity is a major concern to Livy.

Over the course of the first five books Livy gradually develops an ideal of Roman identity that is inextricably linked to his construction of Etruscan identity. Livy develops two ideas that are central to Romanness: first, the most important element of Roman character is virtus, which anyone, even those of foreign birth, can possess and appreciate; second, the location of Rome itself is integral to Romanness and perhaps even more important than virtus. In the first part of the pentad, Livy explores virtus and its relationship to Roman identity by representing foreigners, often prominent people of Etruscan heritage, as capable rulers. In the second part of the pentad, Livy examines the importance of the site of Rome through its interaction with nearby cities, especially Etruscan Veii, concluding with Camillus’ appeal to the Romans to remain at

Rome and rebuild. By portraying Etruscans in a variety of ways and setting specific Etruscan characters and places against Romans and Rome, Livy explores the complexities of their identity relations. There is a frequent discourse between Etruscan and Roman, most poignantly

182 expressed perhaps at the very end of the first pentad with the destruction of both Veii and Rome and the dilemma over where to live. By placing Etruscan characters and places so prominently in the discussion about what it means to be Roman, Livy creates an important, yet confrontational, role for Etruscans in the development of the Roman state. In these ways, Livy engages with issues of identity that were undoubtedly important to Romans and non-Romans, including Etruscans, of the first century BCE, and Ab Urbe Condita adds significantly to the discourse and negotiation of Etruscan identity at that time. For, as Livy laments in the prologue, those who inhabited Rome in his own day were also Romans, but different in character from the

Romans of the past because they had abandoned their ancestral mores (Praef. 9). According to

Livy’s history, what remained constant throughout the early centuries of Rome’s development was the site itself and the ideals associated with it, whether you were born there or not.

183

CONCLUSION

Using both archaeological and literary evidence, this dissertation has examined different facets of the negotiation of Etruscan ethnicity in the first century BCE. Earlier scholars treated this period in rather simplistic terms, as the tail end of Etruscan history, the period in which genuine Etruscan identity disappeared completely. They analyzed this process as one of

Romanization, in which Etruscan identity seamlessly gave way to Roman identity in a simple process of replacement. I have argued instead that the process was neither seamless nor simple.

A closer look at the archaeological and literary evidence for Etruscans in the first century BCE reveals much activity by Etruscan and non-Etruscan individuals deeply involved in a discourse on what it meant to be Etruscan and Roman. Taken together, the three case studies that form the core of this study bear witness to a time in which there were great changes in the ways that

Etruscans represented themselves and in the ways that others represented Etruscans. We can think in broad terms of Etruscanness being constructed out of a range of established strategies that existed in various aspects of culture (in this case, commemorative practices and the literary/historical tradition), both “internal” and “external.”

My method has relied on evidence from three seemingly discrete sources: Late Etruscan tomb groups from Perugia and their epitaphs, Vergil’s Aeneid, and the first pentad of Livy’s history. Although each chapter stands on its own, together they contribute to a more nuanced and detailed understanding of the construction of Etruscan ethnicity during the first century BCE, and to a better understanding of the complex ways in which Etruscan ethnicity was expressed at the time by both Etruscans and non-Etruscans. From the beginning, however, it was clear that a

184 study of this type would need to address the larger question of how to combine such different types of evidence. Epitaphs from Perugia and the works of Livy and Vergil do not speak directly to one another. Neither Vergil nor Livy mention anything specific about Perugia or its burial practices, nor do the cinerary urns refer to the works of these famous Roman authors. Even

Livy’s first pentad and Vergil’s Aeneid do not speak directly to each other about Etruscan ethnicity. Nevertheless, in certain respects the three case studies form a coherent group. Most obviously, they derive from related cultural contexts: all the material examined in this dissertation was produced by upper-class people living in Italy during the same general time frame. Moreover, they provide complementary viewpoints: the Roman literature of the first century BCE is a rich source of information about perceptions of Etruscans by outsiders, and the

Perusine tombs provide information on constructions of Etruscan ethnicity by people who presumably regarded themselves as to some extent Etruscans. We can therefore bring each source to bear on the same phenomenon: Etruscan ethnic identity in the first century BCE.

The challenge of combining literary and archaeological evidence lies at the heart of this project, which, on a broader level, is an experiment in interdisciplinary work in Classics, and which attempts to bridge the gaps that divide academic disciplines. Jonathan Hall has recently written on the subject of using textual and material evidence to answer historical questions. In his book, Artifact and Artifice: Classical Archaeology and the Ancient Historian (2014), Hall provides a series of case studies on specific historical questions, such as, for example, “Can the geology and geochemistry of the Delphi region offer clues to why the oracle of Apollo was so highly regarded in the ancient world?”520 In his case studies of this sort, Hall musters all the available literary and archaeological evidence that he can on the topic. In the end, Hall addresses the limitations of the evidence and surveys the pitfalls involved not only in combining textual

520 Hall 2014, 1.

185 sources with archaeological data but also, and perhaps most importantly, in interpreting the connections between the evidence.

Hall’s type of case studies, although useful, is suited only for answering questions on a smaller scale. Archaeologists, philologists, and historians often ask different questions of ancient evidence, and not all types of questions can be answered by all types of evidence. As noted above, although there are exceptions, material remains and literary sources cannot often speak to each other in a direct one-to-one correspondence, mainly because the questions that each type of evidence is capable of answering are quite different. If the question is quite specific and concerns, for example, the nature of Etruscan burial practices in the first century BCE, then very few literary sources will be equipped to provide any information on the subject. Therefore, in the majority of cases the research questions asked of the evidence must be framed broadly enough to allow both sides to weigh in on an answer. In this dissertation, I hope to have demonstrated that a research question involving the nature of the negotiation of Etruscan ethnic identity in the first century BCE is significantly broad enough to admit all sorts of both material and literary evidence.

Not only do archaeologists and philologists often ask different questions, they employ different types of analysis. It is accordingly also important when performing such a study to use discrete case studies that involve the kinds of theory and analysis that are appropriate to each discipline. Such a practice, as is the case here, will inevitably arrive at independent results for each study. Nevertheless, I hope that I have shown that if we devise an appropriately broad research question, the case studies, while remaining independent, will all speak to it. By maintaining the case studies’ independence from one another it is easier to avoid making direct

(often misleading) connections between the two types of evidence. Moreover, case studies have

186 the effect of limiting the size of the study as a whole. Such limitations of scope are necessary to provide adequate detail and to avoid another pitfall, that of supplying too much information.

Most importantly, in order to overcome the difficulties associated with combining the two types of evidence, Ray Laurence recommends that the researcher pay close attention to the contexts that produced both the archaeological and textual evidence.521 Temporal context is one of the key elements in the selection of the material for any study of this sort. Although there may be some exceptions, we cannot reasonably expect literary sources of the first century BCE to have much reliable evidence for Etruscans in the Archaic Period, nor can we assume that

Etruscan Orientalizing tombs have had a direct influence on the works of later authors. The most reliable way to create a space for the combination of archaeological and literary evidence is to select sources that are comparable in date. It can be difficult to do so, because archaeological evidence is most useful for assessing changes to groups of people over long periods of time, while the average literary source provides is the perspective of single person working within a relatively short time frame. Nevertheless, it is easier and potentially more useful to compare archaeological and literary data if they were produced around the same time.

In this dissertation I have tried to demonstrate in detail how both material culture and literature contributed to the construction of Etruscan ethnicity at a crucial time in Roman history.

In Chapter 1, I investigated the intellectual history behind the study of ethnicity in both archaeological and literary contexts, laying out a methodological framework for the following chapters. Archaeological work on Etruscans tends to focus on time periods before the first century BCE, when Etruria was still independent from Rome and when Etruscan culture was more or less distinguishable from the Roman. As a result, the dynamics of the expression of

Etruscan identity in the first century BCE have been largely ignored. Furthermore, because the

521 Laurence 2012, 2.

187 study of Etruscans has always been predominately archaeological, ancient literary accounts of

Etruscans, especially those of the Late Republic or Augustan Age, have often been either taken at face value or dismissed as biased. I argue that both literary and archaeological evidence from the first century BCE are valuable, and that, taken together, they can contribute to a better understanding of the phenomenon of the ongoing negotiation of Etruscan ethnic identity at that time.

Archaeological evidence for Etruscan ethnic identity was the subject of Chapter 2, in which I analyzed the tomb contexts of urns and their epitaphs from Late Etruscan (Hellenistic) family tombs of Perugia. The isolated texts of the Latin epitaphs on Perusine cinerary urns have often been used as evidence for the demise of the Etruscan language and for a corresponding end of Etruscan civilization. The urns’ original tomb contexts, however, show evidence of individuals actively engaged in a complex process of identity negotiation. People living in

Perugia had many ways to express their identities when they set about to commemorate their dead. On the one hand, they often retained Etruscan systems of nomenclature, such as matronymics, even in the Latin epitaphs; they used local travertine to sculpt the urns; and they decorated urns in a traditional Perusine style. On the other hand, some wrote in Latin on their urns, some Latinized their names or included their Roman tribal affiliation, and, in rare examples, some used both the Etruscan and Latin languages in their epitaphs. No two Perusine epitaphs, urns, decorations, or tombs are exactly alike. The families that created these spaces were not blindly adopting new Roman identities, imposed on them by external forces, nor were they abandoning their local Etruscan identities, but rather they were drawing on a wide variety of choices open to them, both old and new, and experimenting with various ways to express themselves.

188 In Chapter 3, I approached the construction of Etruscan identity in Vergil’s Aeneid as a significant break from literary tradition and the negative stereotyping of Etruscans that the poet had inherited from earlier authors. In a variety of ways, Vergil emphasizes the importance of

Etruscans as active participants in Aeneas’ quest to found Rome for his descendants. First,

Vergil makes the Etruscans Aeneas’ ancestors through Dardanus, and therefore he makes Etruria the Trojans’ ancestral home. Second, Vergil gives Etruscans pride of place as Aeneas’ staunch allies against Turnus upon his arrival in Italy. Finally, Vergil treats even the greatest Etruscan villain, Mezentius—himself an outcast from his own people and Aeneas’ enemy—with sympathy. In these ways, Vergil’s Aeneid challenges the traditional negative stereotypes of

Etruscans that date back at least as far as Herodotus and creates a new Etruscan literary identity, making the Etruscan people indispensable agents in the formation of Rome’s legendary history.

In effect, Vergil casts Etruscan and Roman history so as to intertwine the two groups’ legendary pasts farther back than anyone can remember, even Aeneas himself. Furthermore, by linking

Etruscan and Roman (and Augustan) pasts in this way, Vergil creates a special place for

Etruscans in the Rome of his own time, since the Aeneid’s narrative bridges past and present.

In Chapter 4, I maintained that the Etruscan characters and places of Livy’s first pentad

(Books 1-5) play a key part in Livy’s exploration and definition of both Romanness and the city of Rome. I have shown that Livy’s portrayal of the exchanges between Etruscans and Romans is more complicated than has been previously recognized, and moreover that the exchange between these two groups is a major theme throughout Livy’s first five books. From the beginning of his history of Rome, Livy uses Etruscan people and places to help define Roman territory and values by setting them against each another. But Livy’s Etruscans are not simple foils for Romans; rather, Livy’s history often blurs the boundaries between the two groups. Through Etruscan

189 characters in the pentad’s first half (e.g. Tanaquil and Lars Porsenna), Livy shows how traditional Roman values, such as virtus, supersede ethnic origins as the most important quality of being Roman. Likewise, in the latter half of the pentad, Livy pits the cities of Rome and

Etruscan Veii against each other, culminating in Camillus’ speech, which argues that the physical location of Rome is itself the quintessential element of Romanness. Livy makes historical Etruscans active participants in almost every aspect of the early stages of Rome’s development.

Each of the discrete case studies that comprise the core of this dissertation focuses on agents in the negotiation of Etruscan identity in the first century BCE. Each agent—the families of the Perusine tombs, Vergil, and Livy—is an agent of a different sort, and in different contexts each one draws upon a variety of traditions to engage with the subject of Etruscan ethnic identity. In the context of Perugia’s elite tombs and their grave monuments, we can see evidence of many individual people actively participating in the negotiation of their own ethnic identities through the placement of their cinerary urns, their choice of epitaphs, and their family’s repeated interactions with the tomb and its contents. In the case of Vergil and Livy, we have two elite literary artists, who as non-Romans themselves, or at least as new Romans (both were from north of the Po River), were not only engaging in the interplay between Etruscanness and Romanness, but also, in writing the origins of Rome, grappling with their own identities and constructing a place for themselves and other non-Romans in Rome’s legendary past. In this way, these three case studies all speak to each other: they represent three important, complex examples of different strategies, visible in different ways through both archaeological and literary evidence, that some people employed to deal with the momentous political and social changes happening during the first century BCE.

190 This dissertation has been an experiment, not only in addressing issues of Etruscan ethnic identity in the first century BCE, but also in combining different types of available evidence.

The case studies contained in this dissertation cannot definitively explain the status of Etruscan identity in the first century BCE, but I hope to have shown that detailed analyses of existing evidence, both literary and archaeological, can reveal new insights into the construction of

Etruscan identity at this time, and, in so doing, I hope to have challenged some of the established assumptions about the nature of cultural change in Etruria. Finally, I hope to have demonstrated that archaeological and philological analyses can complement each other effectively, despite their different methods and types of evidence, and that their use in tandem can address broad questions of historical significance—one discipline need not be subordinate to the other.

191 TABLES

Table 1 - Burials and epitaphs from the Vlesi tomb

ID Numbers Material Gender Language Inscription Decoration (box; lid)

Vlesi 1 = CIE 3684 travertine M Etruscan aule. vlesi. aules

Vlesi 2 = CIE 3685 travertine M Etruscan ar. vlesi. au. rosette

Vlesi 3 = CIE 3686 travertine M Etruscan au. vlesi. ar rosette; rosette, peltae Vlesi 4 = CIE 3687 travertine M Etruscan la. vlesi. ar.

Vlesi 5 = CIE 3688 travertine M Etruscan au. vlesi. au. casntinia/l

Vlesi 6 = CIE 3689 travertine M Etruscan au. vlesi. ar. tatnal gorgon, gates; floral motif, dolphins Vlesi 7 travertine

Vlesi 8 terracotta F gorgon

Vlesi 9 = CIE 3690 travertine F Etruscan tha. vlesi. afles carcus rosette, peltae; rosette Vlesi 10 travertine Etruscan bucranium, peltae; Vlesi 11 = CIE 3691 travertine F Latin Tania. Ulesia. Scarpes.

Vlesi 12 = CIE 3692 travertine M bilingual a) L. Scarpus. Scarpiae. L. gorgon; rosette Popa b) larnth. scarpe. lautni

Vlesi 13 = CIE 3693 travertine F Latin Laetoria. Vlesi

192 Table 2 - Burials and epitaphs from the Rafi tomb ID Numbers Material Gender Language Inscription522 Decoration (box; lid) Rafi 1 = CIE 3472 travertine M Etruscan ar. rafi. arzni. la gorgon; Rafi 2 = CIE 3471 travertine M Etruscan aule. rufi. arzni rosette; rosette Rafi 3 = CIE 3477 travertine F Etruscan tha. caia. lethia Rafi 4 = CIE 3473 travertine M Etruscan ar. rufi. ar. caial rosette, fans; rosette Rafi 5 = CIE 3489 travertine F Etruscan fasti: titia: rafis peltae; rosette Rafi 6 = CIE 3488 travertine M Etruscan ar. rafi. arth / titeal Rafi 7 = CIE 3504 ceramic M Etruscan au. rafi. ar. titial Rafi 8 = CIE 3487 travertine M Etruscan au. rafi ar(n)th(ial). titia(l) rosette, peltae; peltae Rafi 9 = CIE 3496 travertine F Etruscan fa. vipia. rafis Rafi 10 = CIE 3496 travertine F Etruscan thana. vi(pia). raufis gorgon; Rafi 11 = CIE 3503 ceramic M Etruscan ar rafi. ar. vipial Rafi 12 = CIE 3499 ceramic F Etruscan tana. atinia. rafi/s Rafi 13 = CIE 3498 ceramic M Latin Aros. Rufis. Atinea / natus Rafi 14 = CIE 3494 travertine F Latin Tertia. Avilia. C. f. Rufi rosette, peltae; uxor Rafi 15 = CIE 3469 travertine M Latin Ar. Rufius. Ar. Avilia rosette, peltae; natus Cepa Rafi 16 = CIE 3486 travertine F Etruscan thana. sutrinei. raufis Rafi 17 = CIE 3484 travertine M Etruscan au. rfi. suth/rinial Rafi 18 = CIE 3485 travertine M Etruscan lar. rafi suthrina(l) Rafi 19 = CIE 3500 ceramic M bilingual aule. rafi cutunial / A. Ru Rafi 20 = CIE 3501 ceramic M Latin L. Rufis. Cotonia / natus Rafi 21 = CIE 3474 travertine M Etruscan vl. rafi. ar. caial man before gate; figural reclining M Rafi 22 = CIE 3483 travertine F Etruscan thana. marci rafis Achilles/Troilus; banquet scene Rafi 23 = CIE 3481 travertine M Etruscan vl. rafi. vl. marcial gorgon, peltae; Rafi 24 = CIE 3482 travertine M Etruscan la. raufi. vl. marcial. Rafi 25 = CIE 3502 ceramic M Etruscan ls. rafi. marcial. Rafi 26 = CIE 3475 travertine M Etruscan la. rufi. ar. cai[a]l rosette; rosette, peltae Rafi 27 = CIE 3478 travertine M Etruscan lar: rafi: lathial Rafi 28 = CIE 3493 travertine F Etruscan fastia: rafi: ls: sech: cacnis vase, peltae; cypress tree Rafi 29 = CIE 3476 travertine M Etruscan 2) se. rufi. ar / 1) caial Scylla w/ stern?; Rafi 30 = travertine F Etruscan a) larthi. ceisinei banquet scene; CIE 3505 & 3480523 b) lth. cincun/ia. rafis vase b/t cupids Rafi 31 = CIE 3479 travertine M Etruscan ls. rafi. se. cincual bucranium, peltae; Rafi 32 = CIE 3490 travertine F Etruscan titia. rafis rosette, peltae;

522 For these inscriptions, I generally follow Maiser’s ET (2014), unless otherwise noted. Latin inscriptions are omitted in ET, so for these I have followed the CIE entry. In all cases I have consulted Bellucci’s comments on each inscription.

523 Rafi 30 is equivalent to both CIE 3505 and 3480. Pauli chose to separate these because he thought the inscriptions on the lid and box did not match, but Bellucci insists that they were found in the tomb like that.

193 Rafi 33 = CIE 3491 sandstone M Etruscan vel: raufis: l[a]t[n]i Rafi 34 = CIE 3492 travertine F Etruscan thana. rafi sentinates. Rafi 35 = CIE 3495 travertine F Etruscan tha. husetnei. rafis rosette, peltae; Rafi 36 = CIE 3470 travertine F Etruscan fa. ancari Rafi 37 = CIE 3506 ceramic F Latin Lartia. Octavia Rafi 38 ceramic ?? ?? Rafi 39 travertine ?? ?? Scylla (front), masks (sides); Rafi 40 ceramic ?? ??

194 Table 3 - Burials and epitaphs from the Cai Cutu tomb

ID Numbers524 Material Gender Language Inscription525 Decoration (box; lid) Cai Cutu 1 sandstone ?? Cai Cutu 2 = travertine M Etruscan arnth caiś cutuś / velusa bosses, man and ET Pe 1.1297 (stucco) griffons; figural reclining male Cai Cutu 3 = travertine M Etruscan vel caiś: cutuś: velusa / aneinial gorgon (front), rosettes ET Pe 1.1298 (sides); rosette b/t peltae Cai Cutu 4 = travertine M Etruscan arnth cutuś lar/thial: velsna/l leaves?, peltae; ET Pe 1.1299 rosette Cai Cutu 5 sandstone ?? Cai Cutu 6 = travertine M Etruscan arnth cutu veluś lusnal ET Pe 1.1300 Cai Cutu 7 = travertine M Etruscan arnth. cutu arn rosette; ET Pe 1.1301 rosette Cai Cutu 8 = travertine M Etruscan larth caiś cutu[---526 shield b/t rosettes ET Pe 1.1302

Cai Cutu 9 = travertine M Etruscan sethre: velusa 3 rosettes (front), ET Pe 1.1303 2 rosettes (each side); rosette b/t peltae Cai Cutu 10 = travertine M Etruscan larth larthial ET Pe 1.1304 Cai Cutu 11= travertine M Etruscan arnth: cai: cutu: arnthial / fethiunial. 4 peltae w/ vegetal ET Pe 1.1305 clan / arnth. cai. cutu. arnthial motifs; rosette b/t peltae Cai Cutu 12 = travertine M Etruscan larth: cai: cutu: arnthial / fethiunial: peltae with vegetal ET Pe 1.1306 clan / larth: cutu: arnthial motifs; vegetal motifs Cai Cutu 13 = travertine M Etruscan vel. caiś. cutuś. arnthial / fethual. rosette; ET Pe 1.1307 clan patera Cai Cutu 14 = travertine M Etruscan arnth: cutu. sethre/ś / larthial titiaś: rosette; ET Pe 1.1308 clan rosette b/t peltae Cai Cutu 15 = travertine M Etruscan au: cutu: au: aneinial: rosette; ET Pe 1.1309 Cai Cutu 16 = travertine M Etruscan vel: cutu: nuthrtinial lion head protome; ET Pe 1.1310 rosette b/t peltae Cai Cutu 17 = travertine M Etruscan aule cutu. / sethreś / titial clan527 peltae, vegetal motifs; ET Pe 1.1311 rosette b/t peltae Cai Cutu 18 travertine M Latin A. Cutius. Sa(l)via. c(natus).528

524 The ID numbers here are the same numbers used by Feruglio in 2002. The edited inscriptions were also included in the new edition of ET (Maiser 2014).

525 For the text of the inscriptions, I have compared the editions of Feruglio and Maiser (Feruglio 2014; Maiser 2014), and I have followed the Feruglio’s 2014 edition, which shows detailed squeezes of the inscriptions, unless otherwise noted. Throughout there are frequent discrepancies between Feruglio and Maiser’s texts regarding interpuncts, and here I have relied on Feruglio’s publication of the squeezes again. I have avoided Maiser’s “strange S symbol” for sigmas, and I have transcribed thetas as “th” and chis as “ch.”

526 Maiser (2014) has “larth caiś cut(uś),” but in the squeeze it is clear that another letter, probably a U, occupies the final position, so Feruglio has included it (Feruglio 2014, 208).

527 Inscription is on the side of the urn.

195 Cai Cutu 19 travertine Latin A. Cutius. A f. Aneinia. gen rosette; rosette b/t grape clusters Cai Cutu 20 travertine M Latin A. Cutius Peti Cai Cutu 21 = travertine M Etruscan au. cutu. tetnial gate, garlands, cypress ET Pe 1.1312 trees, rosettes; rosette, vegetal motifs Cai Cutu 22 = travertine M Etruscan au. cutu. vetial gorgon b/t fish; ET Pe 1.1313 battle scene529 Cai Cutu 23 = travertine M Etruscan ar. cutu. au. velcznial rosette and garlands b/t ET Pe 1.1314 peltae; rosette Cai Cutu 24 = travertine M Etruscan au. cutu. ar. theprial. rosette b/t peltae; ET Pe 1.1315 tree b/t peltae Cai Cutu 25 = travertine M Etruscan au cutu. au velcznial rosette b/t peltae; ET Pe 1.1316 rosette b/t peltae Cai Cutu 26 = travertine M Etruscan au. cutu. au ET Pe 1.1317 Cai Cutu 28 = travertine M Etruscan au. cutu. vipial. ET Pe 1.1318 Cai Cutu 29 = travertine M Etruscan vel caicutuś vel / luscial clan530 rosette; ET Pe 1.1319 rosette b/t peltae Cai Cutu 30 = travertine M Etruscan sethre. cutu: ar lion head protome, ET Pe 1.1320 rosettes; rosette b/t amphoras Cai Cutu 31 = travertine M Etruscan vel cutu a/rnth winged female, marine ET Pe 1.1321 creature; rosette b/t peltae Cai Cutu 32 = travertine M Etruscan ve: cutu: au: viscial: banquet scene; ET Pe 1.1322 rosette b/t grape clusters Cai Cutu 33 = travertine M Etruscan ve: cutu: ve / śamre: titial ET Pe 1.1323 Cai Cutu 34 = travertine M Etruscan au. cutu. viscial ET Pe 1.1324 Cai Cutu 35 = travertine M Etruscan aule. cutu. la. śalvia531 rosette b/t peltae; ET Pe 1.1325 Cai Cutu 36 = travertine M Etruscan se. cutu. au. tetnal. patera b/t peltae; ET Pe 1.1326 rosette b/t peltae Cai Cutu 37 = travertine M Etruscan la. cutu. vl. talpal ET Pe 1.1327 Cai Cutu 38 = travertine M Etruscan vel. cuntu. aneia532 ET Pe 1.1328

Cai Cutu 39 = travertine M Etruscan vl. cutunuś rosette b/t peltae;

528 The reading “Salvia” for “Savia” is based on the Etruscan inscription on urn 35 (aule cutu la śalvia), and Salvi/Salvia is a gentilicium frequently attested at Perugia (Feruglio 2014, 216; Kaimio 1975, 213 n. 1). 529 Feruglio has two interpretations of this scene: “una scena di combattimento riferibile alla battaglia fra Alessandro e Dario” (Feruglio 2014, 218); “Urna con scena di combattimento fra Greci e Persiani” (Feruglio 2002, 484).

530 Maiser (2014, 722) prints this as two words “cai cutuś,” but Feruglio (2014, 22) maintains that this time the gentilicium should be treated as a single word, because it only has one genitive termination.

531 Maiser (2014, 723) reads “aule. cutu. la. śalvia[l] --/-- [ś],” but I am not quite sure where he is seeing a difference.

532 Maiser (2014, 723) reads instead “vel. cu{n}tu. aneia(l),” marking the N as an error; Feruglio (2014, 226) agrees, but doesn’t mark it differently.

196 ET Pe 1.1329 rosette b/t grape clusters Cai Cutu 40 = travertine M Etruscan ar. cutu. lutnial rosette; ET Pe 1.1330 Cai Cutu 41 = travertine M Etruscan au. cutu. perial rosette and garlands b/t ET Pe 1.1331 peltae; Cai Cutu 42 = travertine M Etruscan au. cutu. rutzneal ET Pe 1.1332 Cai Cutu 43 = travertine M Etruscan la. cutu. acrial battle scene; ET Pe 1.1333 figural reclining male Cai Cutu 44 = travertine M Etruscan la. cutu. au. catrnil533 centauromachy; ET Pe 1.1334 figural reclining male Cai Cutu 45 = travertine M Etruscan ar. cutu. ar. pumpual. creice gorgon b/t trees; ET Pe 1.1335 Cai Cutu 46 travertine M Latin L. Cutius / Gallus

Cai Cutu 47 = travertine M Etruscan cutu larthial: harnstial ET Pe 1.1336 Cai Cutu 48 = travertine M Etruscan ve: cutu: / ve: lapiuś ET Pe 1.1337 Cai Cutu 49 = travertine M Etruscan au. cutu. ar. petinatal rosette; ET Pe 1.1338 rosette Cai Cutu 50 travertine ?? ; rosette b/t grape clusters Cai Cutu 51 travertine M Latin A. Cutius A. / f. Maenatia. / natus. Cai Cutu 52 travertine M Latin A. Cutius. A. f. Tro / Pisen / tia. / rosette; Hastia / natus

533 This word stands for the matronymic “catrnial” (Maiser 2014, 723; Feruglio 2014, 229).

197 FIGURES

Figure 1 – “Arringatore,” from area of Perugia. Florence, Museo Archeologico (Bonfante 1986, 141).

198

Figure 2 – Comparison of Chiusine (left) and Perusine urn shapes (Pauli and Danielsson 1893-, 415).

Figure 3 – Urn of Laetoria Vlesi [Vlesi 13] (Epigraphik-Datenbank Clauss-Slaby).

199

Figure 4 – Urn of Tertia Avilia [Rafi 14] (Epigraphic Database Roma).

200

Figure 5 – Urn of L. Scarpus Popa with bilingual inscription [Vlesi 12] (Epigraphik-Datenbase Clauss-Slaby).

201

Figure 6 – Figural urn depicting Sacrifice of Iphigenia, Perugia (Pilo and Giuman 2015, 110).

202

Figure 7 – CIE plan of the Vlesi tomb (Pauli and Danielsson, 1893-, 470).

Figure 8 – Guardabassi’s plan of the Vlesi tomb (Guardabassi 1878, 337).

203

Figure 9 – Urn of Tania Vlesia Scarpes [Vlesi 11] (Epigraphik-Datenbank Clauss-Slaby).

204

Figure 10 – Plan of the Rafi tomb (Bellucci 1911, Tav. I).

205

Figure 11 – Isometric drawing of the Rafi tomb (Bellucci 1911, Tav. II).

206

Figure 12 – Urn of Vel Rafi [Rafi 21] (Haynes 2000, Fig. 295).

207

Figure 13 – Urn decorated with bucranium between peltae [Rafi 31] (Cipollone 2004, 38).

208

Figure 14 – Urn decorated with Scylla holding a ship’s stern [Rafi 29] (Cipollone 2004, 40).

209

Figure 15 – Urn decorated with Scylla holding an oar [Rafi 39] (Cipollone 2004, 39).

210

Figure 16 – Urn with banquet scene on ossuary [Rafi 30] (Cipollone 2004, 38).

211

Figure 17 – Urn of Thana Marci (lid: banquet; box: death of Troilus) [Rafi 22] (Cipollone 2004, 38).

212

Figure 18 – Olla burial of Aule Rafi with bilingual inscription [Rafi 19] (Epigraphic Database Roma).

213

Figure 19 - Urn of Ar. Rufius Cepa [Rafi 15] (Epigraphic Database Roma).

214

Figure 20 – Olla burial of Aros Rufis [Rafi 13] (Epigraphic Database Roma).

215

Figure 21 – Olla burial of Lartia Octavia [Rafi 37] (Epigraphic Database Roma).

216

Figure 22 – Olla burial of L. Rufis [Rafi 20] (Epigraphic Database Roma).

217

Figure 23 – Plan of the Cai Cutu tomb (Feruglio 2014, 200 [fig. 1]).

218

Figure 24 – Epitaph of A. Cutius Salvia [Cai Cutu 18] (Feruglio 2014, Tav. XXXIVb).

Figure 25 – Urn of A. Cutius Aneinia [Cai Cutu 19] (Feruglio 2014, Tav. XXXIVd).

219

Figure 26 – Urn of A. Cutius Peti [Cai Cutu 20] (Feruglio 2014, Tav. XXXIVc).

Figure 27 – Urn of L. Cutius Gallus [Cai Cutu 46] (Feruglio 2014, XLId).

220

Figure 28 – Urn of A. Cutius Maenatia [Cai Cutu 51] (Epigraphik-Datenbase Class-Slaby).

221

Figure 29 – Urn of A. Cutius Pisentia [Cai Cutu 52] (Epigraphik-Datenbase Clauss-Slaby).

222 APPENDIX: LIVY’S GENEALOGY OF THE TARQUIN FAMILY

Demaratus of Corinth = Etruscan woman from Tarquinii ______|______| | Tarquinius Priscus = Tanaquil Arruns = Etruscan woman ______|______| | | | Tarquinius Superbus = Tullia534 Tarquinia = a Junius Brutus Egerius Tarquinius = ? ______|______| | | | | | | Sextus Arruns Titus L. Junius Brutus, cos. Collatinus = Lucretia

534 Tarquin had a brother, Arruns, and Tullia had a sister, Tullia. Livy says that both Arruns and the other Tullia were killed by their own siblings.

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