route or even be certain that such a thing existed. No ancient author
Constructions and Reconstructions
105
refers to any such fixed itinerary; the closest we come to that is Josephus’
remark about triumphs “always” passing through the (triumphal) gate.
That said, few students of Roman ritual would imagine that the tri-
umphal itinerary was invented completely new each time. After all,
what “ritualizes” ritual is the prescripted nature of its actions; and the
constraints of the topography of the city itself, combined with the fixed
endpoint on the Capitoline, the casual literary references, even the murky
tradition on the porta triumphalis, are enough to give us some idea of a
likely framework within which to plot the triumph’s layout.
The route sketched out on our map may not be too far from that
taken by some—maybe many—triumphs. But any more detailed recon-
struction than this must rest on all kinds of different imponderables,
and on different preconceptions. What degree of improvisation flour-
ished under the convenient alibi of ritual conservatism? How far did the
monumentalization of the city center shift (or, alternatively, fossilize)
the ritual route? What other factors prompted change or adaptation in
the itinerary? What role, for example, did the choices of individual gen-
erals play? Or the sheer amount of booty that had to be dragged through
the streets? For none of these crucial questions can we now do much
more than guess the answer or adduce more or less plausible parallels in
other cultures. Overall, as I have already noted, the main message from
the comparative evidence of more recent ritual traditions is that there is
likely to be much more innovation in the ceremony than any claims of
rigid ritual conservatism (whether vaunted by the Romans or their mod-
ern observers) would appear to allow. The triumph is likely to have been
much more conservative in theory than it was in practice.
ASKING THE RIGHT QUESTION
This close look at just two aspects of the procession has been intended
to show just how perilous is the process of reconstruction that lies be-
hind what we think we know about the triumph. It has been a lesson in
the limitations of our knowledge of the ceremony as it was actually per-
formed. But the issue is not simply one of the inadequacy of our histori-
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R o m a n Tr i u m p h
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cal “sources,” as we like to term them (and in so doing, painting ancient
texts as the passive object of modern historical inquiry, rather than one
voluble and loaded side of a difficult dialogue). As I have repeatedly
stressed, the triumph is the most lavishly documented Roman ritual
there is. If this lavish documentation fails to answer convincingly the
questions we are setting before it, then the chances are that we are asking
the wrong questions. However seductive the question of “what hap-
pened on the day,” this is not necessarily the question that produces the
most telling answers from the range of texts and images that we now
have: texts, in particular, that are recreating triumphs of centuries earlier,
fantasizing about imaginary ceremonies, or deploying the ritual (as we
saw in the case of Tertullian and the slave) as a way of thinking about
other aspects of Roman culture and ideology.
In the next four chapters, I shall therefore change my focus back to
the triumph and its conventions as a major part of the Roman cultural
economy, the Roman imaginary. Looking first at the victims and spoils,
then at the triumphing general himself, I shall not be turning my back
entirely on the practice of the ceremony and the hard material evidence;
wherever possible, I shall attempt to throw light on “what happened.”
But for the most part I shall be dealing with a richer subject. What did
the triumph and its participant signify in Roman culture? What did
“Romans”—and inevitably that shorthand often comes down to “elite
Romans of the first century bce through the second century ce,” think
when they thought “triumph”?
c h a p t e r
IV
Captives on Parade
THUSNELDA STEALS THE SHOW
One of the highlights of the Vienna World Exhibition in 1873 was a vast
new canvas by the German painter Karl von Piloty entitled Thusnelda in
the Triumphal Procession of Germanicus (Fig. 20). Though this is to many
modern eyes an uncomfortably overblown nineteenth-century extrava-
ganza, measuring some five by seven meters, it was chosen as the work of
art to represent Germany by the international jury then in charge of se-
lecting “the outstanding creations of all nations” to adorn the show.
Plaudits soon followed. It was a masterpiece, as one critic enthused,
which showed the capacity of modern art “to work on our deepest feel-
ings”—outclassing, as a history painting, even Rubens and Veronese.1
The painting takes as its subject the triumph of the Julio-Claudian
prince Germanicus celebrated on May 26, 17 ce, after his military suc-
cesses against various German tribes. His campaigns had been launched
in retaliation for one of the most resounding “barbarian” victories over
the occupying power: the “Varian disaster” of 9 ce (as it is usually called,
from a Roman perspective), when three legions under Publius
Quinctilius Varus were more or less annihilated in the Teutoburg Forest.
Germanicus had certainly done something to restore Roman fortunes,
notching up a few victories against the insurgents, taking a handful of
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R o m a n Tr i u m p h
1 0 8
[To view this image, refer to
the print version of this title.]
Figure 20:
K. T. von Piloty, Thusnelda in the Triumphal Procession of Germanicus, 1873.
Spotlit in the center of the painting is the German heroine Thusnelda, wife of the rebel leader Arminius, under the disgruntled eye of the emperor Tiberius watching from his dais.
The triumphing general himself is only just coming into view in the background.
prominent captives (including Thusnelda, the wife of Arminius, the
German hero of the “Varian disaster”), and recovering two of the legion-
ary standards lost with Varus. Yet Arminius himself was still at large
and inflicting serious damage on the Roman forces. The triumph was
a potentially awkward celebration, since it was far from clear that
Germanicus had definitively won the war.2
Not that any such awkwardness necessarily impinged on the splen-
dor of the occasion or of its celebration in history. Velleius Paterculus,
always as eager to support the imperial dynasty as some other writers
were to undermine it, praised Tiberius for laying on a triumphal specta-
cle “which matched the importance of Germanicus’ achievements.” At
least one roughly contemporary calendar of festivals, inscribed on stone,
Captives on Parade
109
appears to have memorialized May 26 as the day on which “Germanicus
Caesar was borne into the city in triumph,” while coins issued under the
emperor Gaius (Germanicus’ son) depicted the young prince on his tri-
umphal chariot, and on the reverse blazoned the slogan “Standards Re-
covered. Germans Defeated.”3
The most detailed surviving eulogy of the ceremony is given by the
geographer Strabo, who refers to Germanicus’ “most brilliant triumph”
and then proceeds to list the famous captives on parade in the proces-
sion, including: Thusnelda and her three-year-old son, Thumelicus; her
brother Segimuntus, the chief of the Cherusci tribe; Libes, a notable