The Changing Faces of Death: Etruscan Funerary Urns in Central Italy

by Mary Harrsch © 2025

While visiting Oxford in 2017, I photographed two anthropomorphic funerary urns dated to the sixth century BCE at the Ashmolean Museum. One urn’s portrait sculpture is highly abstract, while the other is strikingly realistic. The difference reflects not only artistic style but also geography and trade networks: Sarteano and Todi occupied distinct positions in central Italy with differing external influences.

Terracotta anthropomorphic urn representing the upper part of a human figure, with a head-shaped lid featuring a stylized face and perforated hair or helmet pattern. Such urns were typical of funerary practice in southern Etruria, particularly around Chiusi and Sarteano, during the 6th century BCE. They mark the transition from Villanovan biconical urns to later lifelike Etruscan sarcophagi.

Photographed at the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford (Accession no. AN1896–1908 PR.361) by the author.

Anthropomorphic funerary urn from Todi, 6th century BCE. Terracotta urn with a naturalistic human head forming the lid, from Todi, Umbria. The urn reflects the increasing realism of Etruscan sculpture in the Archaic period, in contrast to earlier, more schematic examples such as those from Sarteano. By this stage, Etruscan artisans were influenced by Greek Archaic models, emphasizing proportion and individualized features. Photographed at the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford by the author.

Sarteano lies in the southern Chiusine area, where Villanovan traditions persisted longer. Todi, on the northern fringe of Etruscan territory near Umbria, was more open to external artistic influences — particularly Corinthian and early Greek Archaic naturalism spreading via Orvieto and Perugia.

The Sarteano urn represents a transitional stage in urn development. Its face is abstract, mask-like, and schematic, emphasizing the idea of the deceased rather than a true likeness. This reflects a symbolic or protective purpose, linking the deceased to an ancestor-focused belief system in which emphasis is on collective family or clan identity. The facial holes may have held metal appliqués or hair ornaments, and the simplified features recall the Villanovan ancestral mask tradition.

In contrast, the Todi urn, though approximately contemporary and often classified as Orientalizing, belongs to a more developed Archaic phase. It features naturalistic facial proportions, carefully shaped ears, and attempts to model hair texture and individual identity. This style reflects the Etruscan adoption of Hellenic ideals of form and beauty, as well as an increasing interest in the human body and realistic portraiture.

These urns foreshadow the reclining sarcophagi figures of the 5th–4th centuries BCE, such as the Sarcophagus of the Spouses. By the sixth century BCE, Etruscan sculptors in northern centers like Todi, Orvieto, and Perugia were exposed to Greek kouroi and korai through imported ceramics and itinerant artisans. These influences encouraged symmetry, proportion, rounded natural forms, and expressive individuality.

This evolution in artistic style parallels a cosmological shift. Funerary imagery increasingly blends ancestral reverence with broader religious cosmology: the deceased are envisioned as participants in a divine-human cosmos, not merely as household members. Across the Mediterranean, gods and mortals alike begin to appear in human form with relatable emotions, making both the afterlife and divine protection conceptually more accessible to the living.

References:

Brendel, O. J. (1995). Etruscan art. Yale University Press.

Carpino, A. (2016). The Sarcophagus of the Spouses: A terracotta portrait of Etruscan identity. In S. Bell & A. A. Carpino (Eds.), A companion to the Etruscans (pp. 219–231). Wiley-Blackwell.

Haynes, S. (2000). Etruscan civilization: A cultural history. J. Paul Getty Museum.

Izzet, V. (2007). The archaeology of Etruscan society. Cambridge University Press.

Spivey, N. (1997). Etruscan art. Thames & Hudson.

Steingräber, S. (2006). Abundance of life: Etruscan wall painting. J. Paul Getty Museum.

Torelli, M. (Ed.). (2000). The Etruscans. Bompiani.

Turfa, J. M. (Ed.). (2013). The Etruscan world. Routledge.

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7th century BCE Ivory depicting the "Sons of Tinia," precursor to Castor and Pollux

 7th century BCE Ivory depicting the "Sons of Tinia" precursor to Castor and Pollux

Here is another double horse-headed pendant carved of ivory said to be from the area near Tivoli, Italy and dated to the 7th century BCE that I also photographed at the Ashmolean Museum in 2016 while I was in Oxford.

Double horse-headed pendant carved of ivory said to be from the area near Tivoli, Italy and dated to the 7th century BCE photographed at the Ashmolean Museum by the author.

Tivoli (ancient Tibur) lay on the eastern edge of Latium Vetus, just east of Rome, in an area inhabited by the Latini, one of the Italic tribes that formed the Latin League. However, by the late 8th–7th century BCE, this region was deeply influenced by Etruscan art and trade from the north and Greek and Phoenician luxury goods arriving through coastal markets such as Veii and Caere.

Thus, the piece was most likely made by a local Latin artisan or a craftsman working in an Etruscan-influenced workshop—possibly even in nearby Veii or Praeneste (Palestrina)—where such hybrid artistic traditions flourished.

The horse motif itself was widely used by Etruscans, Latins, and Sabines as a symbol of power, fertility, and divine favor. Its mirrored composition echoes both Etruscan repoussé bronzes (like the one I posted yesterday) and Near Eastern ivory plaques, showing how international visual language was adopted by Italic elites.

Elephant ivory from Syria, Phoenicia, and Egypt was a prized imported luxury material in central Italy during this period, most likely obtained through Phoenician and Greek traders. Carthaginian and Cypriot merchants traded North African ivory as early as the 8th century BCE, which also reached Tyrrhenian ports. Workshops at Caere (Cerveteri) and Veii imported and crafted raw ivory into inlays, handles, and small sculpted objects similar in style to this pendant.

As with the bronze pendant I posted yesterday, the face-to-face horseheads probably reference the divine twins motif again, representing protection, fertility, or martial strength. In central Italy during the 7th century BCE, depictions of twin horsemen begin appearing in Etruscan bronzes, Praenestine cistae, and Latial ivory plaques, reflecting contact with Greek mythological imagery from the eastern Mediterranean.

Before full Hellenization, these paired horsemen likely embodied indigenous Italic guardian deities connected with fertility, initiation, and protection of travelers or warriors. The Etruscans referred to them as the Tinas Cliniar (“Sons of Tinia”), while the Latins later adopted the Greek names Castor and Pollux, integrating them into Roman religion.

The piece could have served as a pectoral ornament, harness fitting, or votive offering. The use of imported ivory would have underscored elite status and cosmopolitan taste—typical of aristocratic display goods in Latium and southern Etruria.

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Etruscan influence in metalworking of the Golasecca and Veneti cultures

 By Mary Harrsch © 2025

Another piece I photographed at the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford back in 2016 - a bronze pendant in the form of two pairs of horseheads with boot-shaped and plain pendants hanging from the base dated between 800-500 BCE. The piece was found in north Italy and the style is similar to some Etruscan work.

Bronze pendant from north Italy possibly from the Golasecca culture dated to between 800-500 BCE photographed at the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford by Mary Harrsch.

During this period, the Golasecca Culture, an early Celtic-Italic peoples often linked to the Insubres and Lepontii tribes, inhabited the area around Lake Maggiore and Lake Como. Golasecca artisans were skilled metalworkers, producing bronze ornaments, weaponry, and horse harness fittings. Trade with the Etruscans and Greeks via river and alpine routes is well-documented, and Etruscan bronze goods and motifs often appear in their artwork. Superior Etruscan metallurgy and artistic style spread widely including repoussé decoration, geometric and animal motifs, and use of pendants or dangling elements.

Another possible origin of the pendant may be the Veneti culture of northeast Italy around Padua. Distinct from the Veneti of Gaul, this Indo-European-speaking people inhabited the region around Venetia. They adopted many Etruscan artistic and technological innovations as well while maintaining their own distinctive alphabet and religious customs. Venetic bronze votive figurines and horse imagery are especially common, reflecting both trade contact and shared symbolic traditions with Etruria.

The paired horsehead motif was a powerful symbol across Italic and Celtic regions—representing nobility, fertility, and the divine twins associated with horses (akin to the Greek Dioscuri). It may represent aristocratic emphasis on charioteering or mounted warfare practiced by both Etruscans and their northern neighbors.

Some scholars interpret elaborate bronze pendants like this as pectoral ornaments or belt fittings, worn by high-status men or women during ceremonies. The combination of repoussé decoration and suspended elements may have been designed for visual and auditory impact during ritual dances or public appearances. In northern sanctuaries, such as those in the Po Valley, Etruscan bronze votive objects and inscriptions often appear alongside local artifacts.

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Signals, Colors, and Cuckolds: Reading Roman Comic Art

by Mary Harrsch © 2025

I found another interesting theatrical scene found in either Herculaneum or Pompeii and reproduced by Henri Roux Ainé in a copper engraving and reproduced in Barré’s 1839 text. Barré interprets it as a comedic slave holding his left hand in a signal indicating a cuckolded husband. On the right we see an embarrassed young woman and an older woman that Barré describes as wearing a red headdress and all red clothing that would normally signal to the audience she was, "a mother of a courtesan or an old woman who traffics in the dishonor of young girls," what we would call in modern terms, a Madame, who secures men for young women working as prostitutes. However, she looks equally grief-stricken at the gesture indicating she is either a matronly companion or mother of the younger woman. Barré uses this image to decry "the comic theater of the ancients in terms of decency, nobility, and dignity."

A comedic scene in which a slave on the left flashes a hand signal meaning a cuckolded husband to a young woman on the right accompanied by an older matron. This is an 1839 print of a copper engraving by Henri Roux Ainé of a fresco found in either Herculaneum or Pompeii published in a book authored by Louis Barré.

 Barré’s interpretation of the matronly figure is really just based on her red attire. The girl is wearing nothing immodest and her attire is described as a blue undergarment with a white overgarment. I assume he identifies the slave because of the comic mask and the fact that he wears a short, striped yellow tunic and cloak.

 In Roman comedy, masks and short tunics in yellow, brown, and other “common” hues were associated with low status.  Maidens were often depicted in delicate colors such as white and blue which Barré tells us in his translated text is the case here. A lena or procuress was usually depicted as an older woman in gaudy or bright colors, sometimes red as in this case that is meant to signal vulgarity on stage. However, the facial expressions of both the younger woman and the matronly woman appear to be embarrassment and I don’t think that would be the case if the older woman was a procuress even though Barré’s interpretation was based upon known ancient theatrical costumes.

 Red and especially crimson was produced with a luxury dye, that under normal circumstances connoted wealth. However, it was also associated with sensuality and women of questionable reputation when used in theatrical or satirical contexts. Wall paintings often transposed these stage conventions, but with artistic license. The frescoes in domestic settings weren’t exact reproductions of stage costumes — instead, they gave viewers enough hints (mask, garment length, bright vs. modest colors) to trigger recognition of stock types.

While it’s true that red was a lena/procuress signal on stage, we can’t be sure the painter meant the matronly figure here to be read that way in a domestic setting where these scenes were often reproduced. Barré (and many 19th-century antiquarians) tended to project moral lessons, assuming that color always mapped one-to-one with “vice” or “virtue.” Modern scholarship treats such identifications with caution — the same color could signal different things depending on context. If you enjoyed this post, never miss out on future posts by following me by email!

Decoding a 2,000-Year-Old Theatrical Mystery from Herculaneum or Pompeii

 by Mary Harrsch © 2025

I was searching through an 1839 publication of frescos found in Pompeii and Herculaneum and came upon this print made from copper engravings produced by 19th century artist Henri Roux the Elder. I was impressed by the realism of their poignant facial expressions so I translated the related text by Louis Barré to try to gain more insight into the scene portrayed and the structure in which the scene was painted. Unfortunately, there was no clue provided as to where in Pompeii or Herculaneum this painting was found. I did a keyword search for the word "tragic" and found no indications this fresco was represented in the corpus of either pompeiiinpictures.com or herculaneuminpictures.com.

Print from a copper engraving by Henri Roux the Elder of a fresco found in either Herculaneum or Pompeii of characters in a tragic play included in an 1839 text by Louis Barré

Barré mentioned the scene could represent mourners in a funeral procession or the chorus of a tragic play. He then mentions some early 19th century scholars thought the figure on the left represented a hero with disheveled hair and the central figure could be Telemachus because his hands were covered by his draped cloak. Neither of these seemed plausible to me since all figures appeared to be female especially due to the length of their garments. I checked my memory with ClaudeAI:

"In both Greek and Roman theater and art, male characters - even when portraying tragic heroes or kings - typically wore shorter garments that fell somewhere between the knee and mid-calf. The chiton or tunic worn by men was distinctly shorter than women's clothing.

"The long, floor-length robes we see on all three figures here are characteristic of female dress. Women's clothing (the peplos, chiton, or stola) was designed to reach the ankles and often had the elaborate draping we see in this fresco. Even high-status male characters like kings would not typically be depicted in such long, flowing garments."

I also pointed out the center figure appears to be wearing a sakkos, a common head covering for women in ancient Greek and Roman art - a soft cap or hood that covered the hair and often tied under the chin or at the back of the neck.

ClaudeAI agreed saying: "The way the fabric drapes around the center figure's head and face, creating that enveloping hood-like effect, is very characteristic of how the sakkos was typically depicted in ancient art. This head covering was particularly associated with older women, married women, and those in domestic or religious roles - exactly the kind of character you've identified as the nurse figure.

"This detail further supports your interpretation of this figure as the nurse or old woman character type from tragic drama. The sakkos would have been an immediately recognizable visual cue to ancient audiences about this character's identity and function in the scene - the wise, older female attendant or confidante to the tragic heroine.

"It's exactly the kind of costume detail that ancient artists used to help viewers instantly "read" the dramatic roles and relationships in a scene.

"This costume evidence strongly supports your reading of these as female figures - the tragic queen/princess (Jocasta), the old woman/nurse, and the female servant or attendant. Male servants or messengers in tragic drama would also have worn shorter garments.

"The only exception might have been certain priests or very elderly, venerable male characters who sometimes wore longer robes, but the body language, facial features, and overall presentation of these figures all suggest women rather than men."

I had read old nurses were a common character in Greco-Roman plays. I also thought the larger size of the character on the left could indicate a person of higher status such as a queen or princess. The smaller figure to the far right was probably a royal attendant.

I checked my theory with ClaudeAI and it said my interpretation sounded very compelling and aligned well with the conventions of ancient tragic theater.

"The old woman (or nurse) was indeed a standard character type in tragic drama, often serving as a confidante, messenger, or voice of wisdom. These characters frequently wore distinctive masks and would be positioned as intermediaries between the main tragic figures and the chorus or audience. The central figure's posture and drapery do suggest an older, more matronly character."

Your reading of the left figure as a tragic heroine makes perfect sense - the dramatic pose, flowing hair, and larger scale would be typical of a principal tragic character. The disheveled hair that the original text mentions could indicate she's in the midst of her tragic crisis - perhaps like Medea in her fury, Cassandra in prophetic madness, or Electra in grief.

The third figure as a mourning servant or attendant is a perceptive observation. The smaller scale and more subdued posture would fit a supporting character, and servants/attendants were common in tragic plays to witness and respond to the main characters' suffering. The positioning suggests deference to the heroic figure.

This grouping - tragic heroine, wise old woman/nurse, and faithful servant - would represent a classic tragic tableau, showing the heroine surrounded by the typical supporting figures who would help drive the narrative forward through their reactions, advice, and lamentations. The hierarchical sizing emphasizes the dramatic importance of each role."

I then expressed my opinion that the tableau could represent Oedipus' mother learning her husband/son's true identity and asked if the Oedipus play was popular during the 1st century CE.

"The Oedipus story, particularly focusing on Jocasta's discovery of the horrific truth, would make perfect sense for this tableau. The tragic heroine (Jocasta) realizing she has married her own son, with the old woman/nurse who might have been present at Oedipus's birth and abandonment, and a faithful servant witnessing the royal family's destruction - this would be an intensely dramatic moment perfectly suited to tragic theater.

"Regarding the play's popularity in the 1st century CE - absolutely! The Oedipus story remained one of the most performed and referenced tragedies throughout the Roman period. While Sophocles' original "Oedipus Rex" was from the 5th century BCE, Roman playwrights like Seneca wrote their own versions (Seneca's "Oedipus" dates to around 40-65 CE, right in line with your Herculaneum [or Pompeii] fresco's dating).

"Roman audiences were particularly drawn to the psychological horror and family dysfunction elements of the story. The theme of fate versus free will, the investigation/detective elements, and the spectacular tragic reversal made it enduringly popular. Roman tragic actors were known for their intense, emotional performances of such scenes.

"The moment of Jocasta's realization - that moment of anagnorisis or recognition - would have been one of the most powerful and memorable scenes in ancient theater, making it a natural choice for artistic representation."

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