Brian Theng
Earlier this week I managed to sneak away from the autumnal idyll which is the Cam to the dreaming spires of Oxford to visit the ongoing major exhibition at the Ashmolean: Last Supper in Pompeii. Pompeii is a source of great wonderment. The drama of its final hours, the mysteries of its people and their last moments, and the tantalising opportunity to get up close and personal with them are all frozen in time, allowing us to discover and rediscover what life was like. This frozenness, paradoxically, makes Pompeii a locus of life as much as it is of death.
‘Facitis vobis suaviter ego canto’ – ‘get comfy, ‘cause I’m about to sing!’ So we are greeted by a fresco of a convivium from the House of the Triclinium.
Drink in one hand, the other arm raised, heads tossed back; the revelry of the banquet guests is palpable. Is this the jollity of a Sunday Formal Hall transposed to another time? Or perhaps a round before heading to the bop. But the Pompeian scene is not just of another time. For we feel at the very same time a sense of ‘otherness’, as we turn our eyes to the diminutive figure of the slave as he looks on, ready to pounce at the mixing bowl if so required. Another paradox to confront: we see ourselves in the scene as much as we don’t.
The jovial convivium scene is immediately and starkly contrasted with the cremation urns from Etruscan tombs: men and women depicted as reclining banqueters serve to juxtapose the liveliness of the feast with the stillness of the grave, and it is interesting to find this pose as both a marker of status and the image by which one wanted to be remembered. ‘Here lies so-and-so. They dined well, they lived well’. It is indeed one of the exhibition’s strengths to book-end the Pompeian highlights with Etruscan predecessors and artefacts from Roman Britain. In the latter we come full circle and find yet again the same pose on tombstones from Chester. Just as we find life in death here, elsewhere we find death in life – as we survey the Roman house, we come across a mosaic panel from the middle of a dining room floor. A smiling skeleton with an askos in each hand may have been a great conversation starter in those days, and it sure is one now, although we won’t be finding one on a dining room floor anytime soon, not even on Halloween. Life and death, sameness and differences.
The exhibition is no amalgamation of disparate curiosities; it is a well-thought-out narrative in which food ties everything together. Last Supper in Pompeii contextualises and vivifies the production, preparation, consumption, and setting of a Roman meal.
A comprehensive range of material culture is on display: we move from imported amphorae with tituli picti, carbonised bread, and pomegranates to an iron grill and non-stick baking dish, animal-shaped ceramic jugs, glass cups, and silver spoons. On several of the Bloomberg tablets we meet ‘Tertius the brewer’ and ‘Junius the barrel maker’. And since this is all about food, the subject matter is as approachable as it is thought-provoking both to the curious museum-goer and the wide-eyed classicist. Grandparents and grandchildren alike appeared to be engrossed in the many exhibits, with ‘Didymus the dormouse’ leading the latter on a Family Trail worksheet. Similarly, the creative palates of all can be easily excited by the opportunity to participate in the Ashmolean’s ‘Roman Master Chef Competition’, with a chance to win some tasty treats at the Rooftop Restaurant.
We thus end up being presented with an expansive tasting menu, a smorgasbord of objects and lives to think about. I will mention just two more, and these two in particular because I used them as examples in my essays. To see them ‘in the flesh’ was exciting. First is the well-known wall painting from the House of the Baker. At first sight it may appear to be a depiction of everyday bread-selling. What we have, rather, is a man decked out in a white toga which signifies that he is a candidate for office, sitting on an elaborate wooden platform, and surrounded by stacks of bread (on display next to the fresco is an actual carbonised loaf!), He towers over the other figures as he dishes out the dough, while a smaller, boyish, figure raises his hands in shock/delight/thanks. Despite the modesty of the house in which this fresco was found, here we have someone who boldly states his generosity of wealth to all who are received in the tablinum. More than a nostalgic snapshot of a past electoral canvass, this is – I think – an object by which Roman patronage and power can be lived and relived in the daily lives of ‘Mr. Baker’ and his company. At the same time, the suggestion that the baker was handing out bread as part of an election canvass is perhaps a timely reminder of our own upcoming election. But I shan’t tread that path. For now, one can appreciate the piece on its own terms.
Second is the one of the garum urceus mosaics from the House of Aulus Umbricius Scaurus. Four of these marked the corners of an atrium impluvium. Scaurus is a wealthy Roman, proud of his successful business, and displaying his wares to one and all. We read, ‘G(ari) F(los) SCO[M](bri) | SCAURI | EX OFFI[CI] | NA SCAU | RI’ – ‘the flower of garum, (made) from mackerel, of Scaurus. From the shop of Scaurus’. Sounds yummy – doesn’t it? (Mary Beard talks about garum with Prue Lieth here.) Now, for how this fits into bigger questions of social status, commerce, and the urban economy, I leave it to you to work out. It is a small but fascinating insight into the everyday life of Pompeii. And it is this ‘access’ – if one uses that word rightly – to the foody lifestyle of the Romans which I relish the most.
A final word. Visiting Last Supper in Pompeii is a trip well-worth making, and I would encourage you to do so if the opportunity presents itself. Now, if I had to be nit-picky, I found the flow in the last room a little less than perfect, because it feels like the section on Roman Britain should have come after the striking reality of the Lady of Oplontis, if only to reinforce that bookending I appreciate. Perhaps I turned the wrong way, or perhaps it was intended to be so. But this takes little away from all that is positive about the exhibition: the variety, the comprehensiveness, and the questions and paradoxes they raise. I’ve not visited Pompeii itself (the horror!), but the Ashmolean exhibition definitely left me hungry to do so. At the same time, I left sated, having had my fill from my first supper in Pompeii.
Last Supper in Pompeii is running until 12 January 2020 at the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford. A student ticket is £6, plus £1 if you book online.
https://ashmolean.org/pompeii