Showing posts with label House of the Prince of Naples. Show all posts
Showing posts with label House of the Prince of Naples. Show all posts

Sunday, July 19, 2020

Exploring historical research with modern translation tools

by Mary Harrsch © 2020

As an education technologist I used computer-assisted translation for a couple of decades with mixed success whenever I was faced with research reports I needed to analyze in a language other than English.  Gradually, over the last ten years, however, I found the new tools introduced by Google and the German company, DeepL GmbH based in Cologne to be increasingly more accurate.  This advancement was particularly of interest to me when I decided to focus on Roman archaeology and the early 18th-19th century excavations in Pompeii in my "second act" after retiring from the university. 

First, a short history of machine translation

Machine translation dates as far back as the 9th century CE to an Arabic cryptographer named Al-Kindi who developed techniques for systemic language translation, including cryptanalysis, frequency analysis, and probability and statistics, which are used in modern machine translation.  Other ideas for machine translation were proposed during the Renaissance by such thinkers as RenĂ© Descartes, who, in 1629,  proposed a universal language, with equivalent ideas in different tongues sharing one symbol.  
The first patents for translating machines using an automatic bilingual dictionary and paper tape was applied for by Georges Artsrouni in the mid-1930s.  But progress was limited until the late 1950s when some of the first computers were developed.  In the meantime, successes in code breaking during World War II and theories about  the universal principles underlying natural language, coupled with computer development, prompted new proposals based on evolving information theory. 

A replica of Alan Turing's "bombe" machine used to crack the
code used on German Enigma encoding devices 
during
World War II.  Image courtesy of 
Wikimedia Commons.
Despite modest successes, though, the problem of semantic ambiguity of words or phrases with more than one meaning plagued the development of high quality machine translation.  Then the ALPAC report was published by the U.S. commissioned Automatic Language Processing Advisory Committee in 1966 stating that machine translation was more expensive, less accurate and slower than human translation, and that despite research expenditures, machine translation was not likely to reach the quality of a human translator in the near future.  The report decimated funding and machine translation was virtually abandoned in the U.S. and to a lesser extent in the Soviet Union and the U.K. for more than ten years. In Canada, France and Germany, however, research continued while in the U.S. two companies were eventually founded to provide automated translation services for the Department of Defense.  

As computers became more powerful, however, machine translation capabilities increased dramatically.  Models based on statistical and example-based machine translation were adapted for online use to facilitate global communication and provide the capability for rapid translation of even technical documents and texts using such free tools as Google Translate and DeepL, the German product from the firm in Cologne.

The Hauser in Pompeij Project


During this time I became increasingly interested in learning more about the archaeological remains of a 1st century Roman structure, dubbed the House of the Prince of Naples, in Pompeii. But, I quickly discovered that a comprehensive analysis of the remains published in 1984 was available only in German.  I also searched in vain for a digitized version and found the German hardcopy text, "Hauser in Pompeji (Volume 1): Casa del Principe di Napoli" published by the German Archaeological Institute was now out-of-print and used copies were difficult to locate. I finally found a copy up at the University of Washington and requested it through interlibrary loan.  I decided I would attempt to scan the hard copy and use the latest, much improved, online translation tools to produce an English version of the book.
Atrium of the House of the Prince of Naples in Pompeii
courtesy of Carole Raddato

When I was notified the volume had arrived and went to the university library to retrieve it, I was aghast at its size!  Although it is only 52 pages, the Germans apparently wanted to preserve the precise physical scale of the drawings in the book, so it was produced at a size of 19.6 x 13.6 x 1.2 inches. This made it very unwieldy to handle and  too large to scan with my personal oversize scanner or even the ones available at the university.  Not to be deterred, however, I tried reversing the head of my digital camera tripod so I could use it as a copy stand and photograph each page. 

Camera tripod with head reversed to create
a copy stand for a large book

I knew I could then OCR the resulting images and extract the text. My resulting tests with this approach were successful. To speed up the process, I centered the first right hand page as precisely as I could under the camera then photographed all the right hand pages without having to readjust the book's position between pages.  Then I centered the first left hand page under the camera and photographed all the left hand pages.  
I initially tried to use a sheet of glass to flatten the page and hold it in place but the overhead lights created too much glare on the glass so instead I pulled the page tawt with one hand and used my other hand to trigger remotely the shutter of my Olympus camera using its Blue Tooth connection to my iPhone.  

After I photographed all of the pages, I opened the JPEG for each page in Adobe Photoshop.  To produce as much contrast between text and background as possible (the book was printed on cream-colored paper), I converted the image to black and white with Topaz Labs' BW Effects plug-in Filter and adjusted the histogram for optimum black and white values using Photoshop's built-in Adobe Camera Raw filter.  I also straightened the image if necessary, then saved it first as a .JPG for a text reference when checking OCR accuracy, then exported the images as an Adobe PDF. I then opened the PDF in Microsoft Word 2016 (the latest version I have) and allowed it to use its built-in OCR feature to extract the text and create a Word (DOCX) file.  After proofreading several pages I noticed that the OCR was very accurate except for the footnotes because of their small font size (especially the letters o,e, i,j, and rn in place of m). So I decided to forgo proofing each page word for word except the footnotes to reduce my eye strain. I thought I would discover any OCR mistakes in the body of the text anyway when I translated a page and the translator could not make out a word, and that proved to be the case.

Translation finally begins


Now with the extracted text I was finally able to begin my translation. I started out using Google Translate then I compared its results with those of the free German translator, DeepL since I was translating mostly German except for the artifact find summaries that were left in their original 19th century Italian. As I worked, I noticed DeepL seemed to have a slight edge over Google Translate with the German text (understandable) although they were pretty comparable when translating Italian.  But, DeepL offers a Windows 10 add-in tool that can be activated by highlighting the passage you wish to translate then pressing Cntrl-C twice.  This helped to speed things up. The other really nice thing about DeepL is the ability to click on a word that seems weird to you in the English pane and a list pops up of other words it could mean in a particular context.  I was able to make some sentences sound more natural using this feature.  So I began using DeepL as my default translator and used Google Translate to verify particularly awkward passages.  Of course each time I reached a finds summary in Italian instead of German I had to translate that portion separately  because neither of the  translators could switch from one language to another within the same selection.

When translating the Italian find summaries from the late 19th century, however, I also encountered words that were either unique to Italian archaeologists or were no longer in use in modern Italian.  Fortunately, one of my Facebook friends majored in Italian at university and he was quite helpful in teasing out the meanings of some of the terms used.  He told me that part of the problem was that the Italian used in the excavation report appeared to be a regional dialect, and not the modern Tuscan version presently taught in universities.  Furthermore, the Italian archaeologists used special words, such as procoe, lagena, oleare, odorino, cocciopesto, punteggiato regolare,  that had no modern definition in current bilingual dictionaries.  

Architectural terms were also used by the German archaeologists that I had not encountered before either, such as lesbian cyma, dentil cornice (that kept being translated as "tooth-cut" cornice) and socle (that kept being translated as "base" which is descriptive of the architectural feature but not the proper term.)  So, as I worked I began compiling a glossary of these terms and researched their definitions which I later added as an addedum to my English version since the original text did not include a glossary.

The original text also included examples of both Latin and Greek "tituli picti", inscriptions on ancient amphora and other artifacts, using ancient letters not in my font collection.  For these references, I ended up just photographing them separately and embedding them in the text as images rather than text.
Example of "tituli picti" on an amphora in
The House of the Prince of Naples 

Footnote numbers also interfered with the translation.  At first I removed them but I wouldn't do that again since the placement of adjectives and adverbs is different in German (and Italian) than in English so replacing the footnotes afterwards was difficult because I couldn't just count sentences. 

Translators also don't always reword something in the proper English order either and I would have to read through the snippet I was translating and reword phrases with adverbs and adjectives to place them in the proper order to make the sentence read naturally from an English language perspective. 
To get around the problem with the superscripted footnote numbers that the translators could not understand, I added a space before the footnote number in the German pane of the translator so the translator would not become confused when translating the preceding word and would pass the number intact through to the English pane.  This gave me the indicator I needed to insert a footnote with Word after the translation was completed.

Capitalization was also an issue since the Germans capitalize all nouns not just proper nouns and many of these were passed through the translator.  I ended up using Word's search and replace feature after I completed the translation to correct a number of incorrect capitalizations.

The original text was lavishly illustrated and I wanted the English version illustrated as well.    So, I photographed each image separately without it's related caption then translated the German caption and inserted the caption in English with Word.  Some of the images were  graphics with German labels that required me to "paint out" the German references in Photoshop and replace them with English using the Text tool.  

Construction Period floor plan with German and English legends


I decided not to place all the images at the end of the text like Professor Strocka did. Instead I context mapped each image to the appropriate place in the narrative then allowed Word to assign a figure number and simply referred to the original plate number in the image caption.  I also added some Creative Content-licensed images that were not available at the time the book was originally published to illustrate some of the finds and painting comparisons made with other artwork elsewhere in Pompeii. 
 
I also did not translate or include the original index because a digital version can be searched at any point in the text.  I also did not bother to include the table of grayscale to color matrix for the grisailles produced for the interior paintings. Whenever you photograph a black and white image with a digital camera, the camera is calibrated to produce the image with an algorithm to create neutral gray for the midpoint of the visual scale.  Therefore, the precise gray scale values of my digital images would have been altered and no longer match the matrix included in the original text. 

Professor Strocka spent a great deal of effort describing the painted decorations in each room but I found his verbal descriptions rather difficult to follow. Although I did translate these descriptions and include them in the English version, I think a detailed map of images accompanied by a discussion of possible motivations for mythological content or style classification would be more easily understood.  In the book's comparisons of the decor of the house with other documented iconography elsewhere in Pompeii, I think visual comparisons of actual images would have been more effective as well. That is why I hunted for at least some of those that still exist to augment that section of the text.

Frescoes of Perseus and Andromeda (L to R) from the House of the Prince of Naples, House of the Colored Capitals and the House of Saffo

With this much effort, did I actually learn anything particularly significant? Definitely!  When I translated the artifact find summaries, I discovered three surgical instruments and a mortar and pestle were found in the original excavations. I also learned of the intriguing find of human skeletal remains in the cubiculum (bedroom) flanking the main entrance designated as entrance 8.  Further research revealed the existence of a list of houses in Pompeii where surgical instruments were found and, researchers suspect, may have been homes of physicians.  The House of the Prince of Naples was not on the list and appears to have been overlooked. 

Professor Strocka's team clearly focused on the construction aspects of the house and on full documentation of any surviving decorations.  Household inventory, however, was not evaluated, but simply included from original late 19th century excavation records.  I discovered through additional research that small finds, especially those of a non-luxury nature, were viewed with little interest by archaeologists during the late 1800s.  Furthermore, the House of the Prince of Naples was far from an undisturbed site. Three so-called "robber" holes were found in the cubiciulum containing the skeleton when it was eventually excavated in 1896-1898.  Artifacts could have been carried away by salvaging owners shortly after the eruption, or looters, either in antiquity or in modern times, who could have pilfered more valuable objects. The other potential "contamination" of the finds was the staged "excavation" by the Prince and Princess of Naples in 1898. We are led to believe the original excavators merely suspected the presence of finds in certain rooms of the structure and left them in situ for discovery by the royals.  But we must recognize the obvious connections between wealthy patrons and the archaeologists who desired to continue site exploration. If the finds were, in fact, "planted" for the royals to find, it is of no consequence if they were originally found in the structure by the original excavation team, although it would reduce the value any analysis of find assemblages and room function.  If, however, the finds were supplemented from the substantial inventory of finds recovered previously from other structures in Pompeii and had no connection with this structure, future comparisons of this structure with others possibly occupied by residents engaged in a similar occupation or in a similar social position would be tainted. 

At least apparently overlooked information was obtained from the project that could seed further research.  The results of this project can be reviewed here in .pdf form:


The Challenge Continues


Recently, I have begun another project, an article about the excavation of the House of Sallust (originally the House of Acteon) conducted between 1805 and 1809.  The excavation report was published in Italian as Pompeianarum Antiquitatum Historia. Leaping back in time another 80 years from the excavation reports of my first translation, though, I have found this excavation journal has proved even more challenging.  Some of the words used in it are unknown by modern translators.  On top of this, of course, are the special names given to the objects recovered by the early archaeologists that have no modern equivalent.  I also discovered spelling differences that cause translation problems, too.  Some words in the early 1800s are spelled with a "j" instead of an "i"  such as operaj which is now operai (workers) or caldaja which is now spelled caldaia (boiler).  Fortunately, when the translation fails, I can usually isolate the word that is problematic and "sometimes" the Italian-English dictionary will find a word that is the closest match and I can tease out the meaning from it.

At least with this project, I did not have to photograph and OCR anything.  I found a copy up on Google Play and can highlight a section of the text and select COPY from the popup menu then paste it into DeepL or Google translate.  The only problem this causes is that hyphenated words at the end of a sentence are output with only a space instead of a dash so when I paste the section into DeepL I then have to go back and check for line breaks in the original text, find them in the DeepL copy and remove the space so the translator identifies the complete word.  Using Google Play you also have the ability to select TRANSLATE from the popup menu but the result is less than optimal.  It will give you sort of the gist of what is being said but is not as accurate as I need, especially for the list of small finds that often includes specialized words.

The antiquated font used in the original text also causes problems with translation, especially the number 1 (the translators think its a 4) and fractions which I have to manually correct. 
In the early 19th century, Italy had not yet converted to the metric system either so measurements are given with the abbreviations: on. (oncia which equals .73 in.), pal. (palmo, which I assume is the palmo of Naples at 10.381 in. and not the palmo of the Papal States at the time which ranges from 8.79 to 8.347) and occasionally min. (minuti = .146 in. since 5 min. = 1 on.)  

As I am primarily focused on the years 1804-1809, I will translate that portion of the text and make it available when I am finished.

Tools needed for a translation project using an original hardcopy:

Adobe Photoshop or image editor with the ability to Export as .PDF

Microsoft Word 2016 or newer (built-in OCR and PDF export capability)

DeepL Translator (free) & DeepL Windows 10 add-in translator (free)

Google Translate (free)

Pre-metric list of Italian units of measurement:

German to English online dictionary (free)

Italian to English online dictionary (free)

Latin to English online dictionary (free)

and some great bi-lingual friends on Facebook!


Machine Translation History References:


DuPont, Quinn (January 2018). "The Cryptological Origins of Machine Translation: From al-Kindi to Weaver". Amodern (8).

Knowlson, James (1975). UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE SCHEMES IN ENGLAND AND FRANCE 1600-1800 ISBN 978-4-87502-214-5

White, John S. (31 July 2003). Envisioning Machine Translation in the Information Future: 4th Conference of the Association for Machine Translation in the Americas, AMTA 2000, Cuernavaca, Mexico, October 10-14, 2000 Proceedings. Springer. ISBN 9783540399650.

"Google Switches to Its Own Translation System". 22 October 2007. Retrieved 12 February 2018.

If you enjoyed this post, never miss out on future posts by following me by email!


Monday, June 8, 2020

The House of the Prince of Naples in Pompeii now on Wikipedia!

I just completed the new Wikipedia page for the House of the Prince of Naples in Pompeii based on my English translation of Hauser in Pompeji Volume 1: Casa del Principe di Napoli. I have managed to condense the book into an article for those of you who didn't feel like plowing through the entire academic text which I have made available on academia.edu. I even incorporated most of the color images and offer a big shout out to Carole Raddato who provided some of them via Wikimedia Commons. This is the most complex Wikipedia page I have ever published!



Image: Atrium with impluvium of the House of the Prince of Naples in Region VI of Pompeii courtesy of Carol Raddato.

If you enjoyed this post, never miss out on future posts by following me by email!


Tuesday, May 26, 2020

So-called "bed niches" and the function of rooms in a Pompeian house

Reconstruction of a cubiculum in a Roman villa in Oplontis near Naples, Italy courtesy of the University of Michigan's exhibit, "Leisure and Luxury in the Age of Nero."  
I've been studying more about the material culture of Pompeian Households and learned that since the excavations in Pompeii of the late 19th century, archaeologists have associated narrow wall recesses with bed installations, calling them bed niches and using their presence to determine a room to be a cubiculum (bedroom).  However, in the study of atrium houses conducted by current archaeologist Penelope Allison, correlating the find assemblages in 84 small closed decorated rooms off the front halls of these houses, less than 15 percent were found to have these types of recesses and only 16 percent of this subset contained identifiable evidence of bedding with only one actual instance of bedding found in conjunction with the so-called "bed niche."  She points out, though, that evidence of bedding may have gone unrecorded in the earliest excavations.  However, ten of thirteen rooms with recesses were excavated in the 20th century and she thinks such evidence would not have gone unrecorded in those structures.  Therefore, she concludes that there is no direct relationship between evidence of bedding and recesses attributed to "bed niches".

"More common  were assemblages consisting variously of the remains of small chests and caskets; a variety of  bronze serving, pouring, and storage vessels; ceramic vessels that were usually small and of fine  quality, but occasionally included large amphorae; and items related to dress, toiletries, needlework, and lighting. These were found, generally  in small quantities, in thirteen to eighteen decorated rooms of this type."  - Allison, Penelope M.. Pompeian Households: An Analysis of Material Culture (Monograph Book 42) (p. 72). Cotsen Institute of Archaeology Press. Kindle Edition.

Since things like toiletries and needlework sounded more "bedroom" related, I was a little confused by this conclusion but she went on to clarify it:

Actual evidence of bedding was rare, however,  implying that decorated rooms of this type functioned as a type of “boudoir” rather than as a  sleeping space. - Allison, Penelope M.. Pompeian Households: An Analysis of Material Culture (Monograph Book 42) (p. 72). Cotsen Institute of Archaeology Press. Kindle Edition.

In the case of the House of the Prince of Naples, though, she associates the finds there with "industrial" use, a space where craftsmanship was practiced. That actually coincides with my theory that cubiculum (c), immediately to the left of the front entrance, could have served as a physican's treatment room due to the discovery of a surgical instrument, an apotropaic figurine of a herm, and a human skeleton (as well as other surgical instruments and physician-related tools elsewhere in the house.)

However, earlier in the book Allison observes that there are multiple cases where skeletons are found in close proximity to "robber" or access holes as was the case in cubiculum (c), that I thought may have been an unsuccesfully treated patient.  Allison proposes that somehow the holes may have been created by these victims of the eruption and not salvagers or looters. I'm hoping she will explore this proposal more in a later chapter.

I found other things she mentioned quite enlightening as well.  She points out that 19th century archaeologists were not really interested in human remains or evidence of destroyed organic material like the wood of cabinetry or storage chests.  They did make note of metal hinges, though, whenever they found those.  She also said they rarely mention unmarked amphora either.  I noticed that in the find summaries for the House of the Prince of Naples, only amphora with inscriptions were noted. They also virtually ignored pottery or glass  fragments, too. Flinders Petrie must have been appalled!
If you enjoyed this post, never miss out on future posts by following me by email!


Saturday, May 16, 2020

A physician as "lower middle class" in the Roman world

Galen blood letting by Robert Thom (before 1958)

A history resource article by Mary Harrsch © 2020
I'm working on my article about the House of the Prince of Naples based in part on my translation of Hauser in Pompeji by Professor Volker Michael Strocka.  In the text, he concludes that the less skillful paintings and roughly finished earthquake repairs in the Casa del Principe di Napoli point to the occupants of the house being members of the lower middle class.  However, he seemed to have overlooked the findings of surgical instruments in several locations as well as a Roman version of a mortar and pestle which, to me, points to the last resident being a physician. So I wondered if physicians would be classified as "lower middle class" since they are  definitely more respected and usually much more well compensated in the modern world.  Yesterday, I was researching the issue of the social status of physicians in the ancient world and found a fascinating paper about the topic on JSTOR written by H. Horstmanshoff in 1990, entitled "The Ancient Physician: Craftsman or Scientist?" published in the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences.  In it Horstmanshoff points out that our modern opinion of physicians as a scientifically educated practitioner of a legitimate profession of high social status was not shared by the ancients and only emerged in the second half of the nineteenth century.

"The physicians of antiquity did not belong to a legitimate profession protected by legal and official recognition. For the most part he lacked scholarly academic training and he did not always enjoy a high social status. He had to compete with quacks and miracle workers.  He could not afford to risk his reputation by treating patients who had no chance of recovery...The borderline between rational and irrational medicine was not sharply drawn. There were priests who furnished medicines and dietary regulations and performed bloodletting, just as there were physicians who used amulets and prayers." - Horstmanshoff, "The Ancient Physician: Craftsman or Scientist?"

He points out that physicians, including those who treated emperors like Galen, were actually more respected if they spent time expounding philosophical observations about humoral theory and engaging in rhetorical discussions of prognosis than in actually practicing their craft.

"The Hippocratic physician constantly invested in his reputation, since with a good reputation he would not repeatedly have to demonstrate his competence, especially in the continual competitive battles waged with physicians of quite different alloy." - Horstmanshoff, "The Ancient Physician: Craftsman or Scientist?"

Horstmanshoff notes in Homer's Iliad two types of physicians are described, the "gentleman practitioner" who is more knowledgeable in the treatment of battle wounds than the average warrior (who can treat elemental wounds), and the traveling healers who are equated to manual workmen on par with builders, who do not belong to the noble elite but are not landless laborers.  So, depending on the type of physician, their social standing was somewhere in between the extremes of social hierarchy.

"The most desirable position for a physician was that of city or community physician.  The city physician enjoyed public recognition and, probably, a fixed minimum income by virtue of a contract through which he was obliged to remain in a given city for a number of years.  The advantage for the physician was that he no longer had to contend with other physicians in competitive forays.  The advantage for the city was that it could be assured of medical services." - Horstmanshoff, "The Ancient Physician: Craftsman or Scientist?"

Apparently epigraphic evidence of these arrangements during the Roman Imperial Period have been found.

Horstmanshoff quotes Cicero's De officiis to illustrate the prevailing attitude towards physicians in the late Republic and summarizes it in this way.  "A physician was a craftsman who had to live on what his craft would earn him, but in antiquity work for wages was considered to be of inferior worth, actually a form of slavery, compared with the ideal of the self-sufficient landowner who possessed wealth obtained through long-standing inheritance and who did not need to work for a living. The arts of healing, architecture, and teaching in the honorable disciplines (included are grammar, rhetoric, and philosophy) were respectable only if one exercised them as an amateur, not if one wanted to earn one's daily bread from them."

As for the roughly repaired earthquake damage, I researched the House of the Surgeon, (Reg VI, Ins 1, 10, 23) a site recognized as a probable home of a physician because of surgical instruments found there and also located in Region VI of Pompeii, and learned that it was actually in worse repair than the House of the Prince of Naples. Archaeologists point out they found holes in the floor of the atrium that they think were left by poles holding up its roof after the earthquake of 62 CE or subsequent quakes before Vesuvius' devastating eruption in 79 CE.

If you enjoyed this post, never miss out on future posts by following me by email!


Thursday, April 30, 2020

Explorations into Roman surgery

I'm researching and comparing the finds made in other houses in Pompeii designated as houses of physicians with the finds made in the House of the Prince of Naples since scattered surgical instruments were found there and came across an interesting observation in an Italian research paper describing the use of surgical instruments found in Pompeii. Michele di Gerio, in her article entitled "Study on surgical instruments of the National Archaeological Museum of Naples" published in the Rivista di Studi Pompeiani Vol. 25 (2014), pp. 93-110, observes that although cauterization was advantageous for the treatment of abscesses after the infection was drained and was sometimes applied to the bites of rabid dogs, it was rarely used in non-military settings and only if the patient was well fed and in otherwise good physical condition to limit the damage of stress. Pythagoreans, although they frequently used ointments and poultices for wound care, did not practice cauterization.
I also learned that late 19th century archaeologists divided scalpels into two categories, the flat type and the type shaped like an olive leaf. When I translated the Italian find summaries for the House of the Prince of Naples,I thought the reference to the olive leaf in regards to the scalpel found in the kitchen was a literal description of the handle and thought it may have been repurposed for use in the kitchen to disarticulate meat because I had never seen any surgical instruments in Pompeii exhibits that had olive leaves depicted on the handle. But in fact it was a common description for scalpel types used by late 19th century archaeologists. It may have ended up in the kitchen for cleaning since there was a water channel found running between the kitchen and cistern in the garden or the instrument may have fallen from the upper story where the inhabitants of the house had private rooms.
Image: Ancient Roman Surgeon's tools recovered from Pompeii at "Pompeii the Exhibit" at the Pacific Science Center in Seattle, Washington.
If you enjoyed this post, never miss out on future posts by following me by email!


Saturday, April 4, 2020

Fourth Style Frescos of the Casa del Principe di Napoli, Regio VI, 7,8 in Pompeii.

Fourth Style Frescos of the Casa del Principe di Napoli, Regio VI, 7,8 in Pompeii.

Note:  This is a crosspost from my blog "Antiquities Exhibits."
I am working on the illustrations for my translation of Houses in Pompeii, Volume 1, Casa del Principe di Napoli and have also uploaded the color photographs of its Fourth Style frescos from the book to Wikimedia Commons so they can be used for teaching and research independent of the embedded images in the book. (Under U.S. law these images are in the public domain because the original artist has been deceased for more than 70 years.)
Roman wall paintings in Pompeii are divided into four periods that were originally delineated and described by the German archaeologist August Mau, 1840–1909. These periods are usually referred to as First, Second, Third, and Fourth but are also known as Incrustation, architectural, ornamental, and intricate. Wall paintings were not only used for decoration, as Roman interiors often had no windows, but were used as a guide to function and social orientation for invited guests as well as the public at the morning salutatio. They also reflected the social status of the household.
The First style, also referred to as structural, incrustation or masonry style, was most popular from 200 BCE until 80 BCE and attempted to imitate Hellenistic culture and the Ptolemaic palaces of the Near East. Extremely wealthy Romans inset expensive stone like marble into the walls while the less fortunate had their walls painted to resemble marble. The marble-like look was acquired by the use of stucco moldings, which caused portions of the wall to appear raised. Other simulated elements such as suspended alabaster discs in vertical lines, 'wooden' beams in yellow and 'pillars', 'cornices' in white and the use of vivid color also combined to achieve the effect. Examples of the First Style include the House of the Faun and the House of Sallust in Pompeii.
The Second style, architectural style, or 'illusionism' that dominated the 1st century BCE retained the look of marble but painted walls with faux architectural features and trompe l'oeil (trick of the eye) compositions. Painters wanted to give off the illusion that the viewer was looking through a window at the scenery depicted. They also added objects that are commonly seen in real life such as vases and shelves along with items that appeared to be sticking out of the wall. During the reign of Augustus, the style evolved. False architectural elements opened up wide expanses with which to paint artistic compositions. A structure inspired by stage sets developed, whereby one large central tableau is flanked by two smaller ones. One of the most recognized examples is the Dionysiac mystery frieze in the Villa of the Mysteries in Pompeii.
The Third style or ornate style, popular around 20–10 BCE departed from illusionistic devices and, instead, obeyed strict rules of symmetry dictated by the central element, dividing the wall into 3 horizontal and 3 to 5 vertical zones. The vertical zones would be divided up by geometric motifs or bases, or slender columns of foliage hung around candelabra. In this particular style, more wall space is left plainly colored, with no design. When designs were present, they tended to be small, plain pictures or scenes such as a candelabra or fluted appendages. Delicate motifs of birds or semi-fantastical animals appeared in the background. Plants and characteristically Egyptian animals were often introduced, part of the Egyptomania in Roman art after Augustus' defeat of Cleopatra and annexation of Egypt in 30 BCE. These paintings were decorated with delicate linear fantasies, predominantly monochromatic, that replaced the three-dimensional worlds of the Second Style. The Villa of Livia in Prima Porta outside of Rome (c. 30–20 BCE) is considered a good example.
The Fourth style revived large-scale narrative painting and panoramic vistas while retaining the architectural details of the Second and First Styles. In the Julio-Claudian phase (c. 20–54 CE), a textile-like quality dominates and tendrils seem to connect all the elements on the wall. The colors warm up once again, and they are used to advantage in the depiction of scenes drawn from mythology, landscapes, and other images. Although the House of the Prince of Naples was once decorated in earlier styles, researchers think the house was totally repainted about 50 CE based on comparisons of its paintings with those of other more precisely dated structures like the House of the Silver Wedding. The House of the Prince of Naples is considered in the book to be a rather modest dwelling of a family of the lower middle class but I am not convinced of that. Some comparisons are made to the House of the Vetti in the same Regio as The House of the Prince of Naples but that would be like comparing Bill Gates mansion with a successful doctor or corporate manager's house today and I certainly would not consider those people "lower middle class." Sometimes I think 20th century archaeologists were so focused on palaces and the trappings of kings or the extremely wealthy that they lost sight of the reality of reasonably successful but not necessarily "elite" members of society.


Image: Triclinium North Wall in the House of the Prince of Naples, Regio VI, 7,8 in Pompeii.
If you enjoyed this post, never miss out on future posts by following me by email!