dedicated to a strikingly appropriate—or inappropriate—deity). “In-
deed,” as Josephus puts it, “into that temple were accumulated and
stored all those things which, previously, people had traveled the world
over to see, longing to catch a glimpse of them while they were still in
their different countries.” Only the Jewish Law and the purple hangings
from the Temple in Jerusalem were treated differently: these, he ex-
plains, were kept in the imperial palace itself.24
What happened next, especially to the menorah, has been a subject of
modern controversy from at least as far back as the eighteenth century.
Various hypotheses have imagined the menorah criss-crossing the Medi-
terranean in the Middle Ages and falling into the hands of some unlikely
owners—moved to Constantinople in 330 at the foundation of the new
capital of the Empire and installed in its own shrine in the new imperial
palace; robbed from Rome by the Vandal Geiseric in 455 and carted off
to Carthage; robbed back by Belisarius and shipped to Constantinople;
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153
returned to Jerusalem but plundered by the Sassanians in 614; stolen
from Constantinople by crusaders in 1204; and so on. One particularly
picturesque version, based on nothing so dull as plausible historical evi-
dence, has the menorah lost in the Tiber on October 28, 312 ce, falling
into the river from the Milvian Bridge during the flight of Maxentius
from his victorious rival, Constantine.25
An alternative idea, however, persists in Jewish urban legend: that the
menorah never left the city of Rome at all, and that it remains stored
away in the basement of the Vatican. In 2004, when Israeli chief rabbis
visited the ailing Pope John Paul II, they are reported to have consid-
ered asking permission to search his storerooms for that and other Jew-
ish artifacts. Only half seriously, no doubt—but it would have been con-
sistent with an official request made the previous year by the president
of Israel for a list of all Jewish treasures held by the Vatican, and the de-
mand in 2001 by the Israeli minister of religion for a formal inquiry to
determine the menorah’s location. These diplomatic negotiations pro-
ceeded in the usual way: Israeli claims of “meaningful breakthroughs”
and rather more carefully judged optimism on the part of the chief rab-
bis were balanced by Vatican denials and earnest protestations of com-
mitment to multi-faith understanding and cooperation.26
Of course, no thorough search of forgotten cupboards at the Vatican
is likely to uncover the lost menorah, any more than the Vatican Mu-
seums are likely to hold Octavian’s replica of Cleopatra. The treasures of
the Jewish Temple much more probably lie at the bottom of the Medi-
terranean. Yet the continuing conflicts around this single piece of Ro-
man plunder offer vivid testimony to how the moral, religious, and cul-
tural controversies of the triumph and its parade of spoils can continue
to matter in our own world, too.
“THE TRIUMPHS OF CAESAR”
These extravagant accounts of late republican and early imperial tri-
umphs, with their emphasis on unimaginable wealth, exotic treasures,
and the artifices of display, have determined the modern image—both
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1 5 4
popular and academic—of the procession of spoils. They lie behind
what is probably the most influential visualization of the Roman victory
parade ever: Andrea Mantegna’s series of nine paintings of the Triumphs
of Caesar, commissioned by the Gonzaga family of Mantua at the end
of the fifteenth century, acquired by King Charles I in 1629, and brought
to Hampton Court Palace in England, where they are even now on
show.
As a placard displayed on the second canvas clearly proclaims (“To
Imperator Julius Caesar, for the conquest of Gaul”), the series evokes the Gallic triumph of Julius Caesar, which occupied one day of his quadruple celebration in 46 bce for victories also over Egypt, the Black Sea
kingdom of Pontus, and Africa (victory over King Juba masking what
was also a campaign of civil war against his Roman enemies). Ancient
writers offer vivid glimpses of these occasions: the effect of Arsinoe on
the crowd on the Egyptian day; the distasteful paintings of Caesar’s Ro-
man enemies; the broken axle; the inventive songs chanted by the sol-
diers; the placard in the Pontic triumph with the famous phrase “I came,
I saw, I conquered”; the representations (probably three-dimensional) of
the Rhine and Rhone, along with a “captive Ocean” in gold; a working
model of the Lighthouse of Alexandria, complete with flames.27 But no
detailed narrative survives. Hence, in recreating the parade of plunder
and captives, with Caesar himself riding on his triumphal chariot in the
ninth and final canvas (Fig. 27), Mantegna has had to look elsewhere.
He seems to have used such ancient images as the panels on the Arch of
Titus and (filtered no doubt through Renaissance scholarly treatises on
the triumph) those accounts we have just been considering—the elabo-
rate descriptions of various notable celebrations by Appian, Josephus,
Livy, Plutarch.
The second canvas in the series (Fig. 28), for example, vividly captures
a number of the elements detailed in the written versions: colossal stat-
ues balanced precariously on carts; models of (presumably) captured
towns carried on high; behind them the wooden contraptions belonging
to enemy siege engines; then more statues and model towns, some on
small wagons, some hoisted by hand; and finally in the background suits
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155
[To view this image, refer to
the print version of this title.]
Figure 27:
A. Mantegna, Triumphs of Caesar, 1484–92, Canvas IX: Caesar on His Triumphal Chariot. In this final scene the triumphing general is shown seated (not standing, as in a Roman triumph), holding a branch of palm, and being crowned with a wreath by an an-gelic boy. On top of the arch behind, the captives crouched beneath a trophy are reminiscent of Roman scenes (Figs. 23 and 26).
of armor paraded on poles. The next canvas foregrounds piles of weap-
onry—shields (including a particularly fine half-moon specimen featur-
ing a centaur carrying a naked woman on his back), greaves, spears,
helmets, swords, quivers, and pikes—“artfully arranged,” to quote Plu-
tarch, “to look exactly as if they had been piled up indiscriminately.”
This is followed by a bier (ferculum), derived almost certainly from the
Arch of Titus, on which are carried “vessels” brimming with coin, as well
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R o m a n Tr i u m p h
1 5 6
[To view this image, refer to
the print version of this title.]
Figure 28:
Triumphs of Caesar, Canvas II: The Bearers of Standards and Siege Equipment.
Among the loot of victory, statues, models, and military equipment, the placard strikes an ominous note. The triumph, it explains, was decreed for Caesar’s victory over Gaul, “after envy had been conquered and scorned.” It is hard to resist seeing the phrase as a wry reflection on the assassination—whether due to envy or not—that would soon be Caesar’s fate.
as a mixture of classical and decidedly Renaissance-style dining- and
drinking-ware.
The first canvas (Fig. 29) probably aims to show the multi-storey
pÃgmata from Josephus’ account. Although these are now usually imag-