FORM

The scale drawings in Dawkins Reference Dawkins1929 and personal observation demonstrate that most of the masks are rather smaller than life-size. The excavators found some below but many more above the ‘sand layer’ that was made in preparation for the new temple of Orthia in a sanctuary of the goddess on the western bank of the river Eurotas, just east-south-east of Sparta.Footnote ¹ This layer is dated by Dawkins et al. to 600 bce,Footnote ² by Boardman in this journal to 570/560 (Boardman Reference Boardman1963, 4) and (tentatively) by Catling to c.590 (Catling Reference Catling1977, 24–42). Since masks emerging from the same mould have been found either side of the sand (Dawkins Reference Dawkins1929, 164), the building of the temple did not particularly alter their forms. Because there are few comparanda, it is difficult to parse their style for indications of date, especially as there must be accommodation for some sort of use-life before inhumation. The earliest might therefore be dated to the late seventh century, though Dickins compares their style to Laconian III, which begins (by Boardman's reckoning) c.580. A very precise date may not be plausible, but c.615–575 for the earliest masks is reasonable. The series continues perhaps to the end of the fifth century, becoming truly miniature.

Dickins's seven types are fairly straightforward: old women, youths, warriors, portraits, satyrs, gorgons and caricatures (Dawkins Reference Dawkins1929, 166–9). Though some of the names are difficult to accept, the division is clear enough. Some, in the service of their arguments, have sought to collapse or unite some types, as Carter (Reference Carter1987, 35), who would recognise only ‘heroes’ and ‘furrowed grotesques’, to include satyrs and gorgoneia. Dickins's satyrs, portraits and gorgoneia cease by the end of the sixth century,Footnote ³ leaving a fourfold division, though many of the types bear subdivision.

The masks are made of local clay like that used for vases, and are unpainted about two-thirds of the time; Dickins writes that most were mould-made (Dawkins Reference Dawkins1929, 169), though, intriguingly, Bosanquet (Reference Bosanquet1906, 338 – by which point some but not all masks had been excavated) suggests that most were handmade. This can in fact have little effect on the final form, as there was a great deal of hand-working even on mould-made pieces, such that no two are identical. The fabric is quite friable, and generally a pinkish grey, though it can appear orange or yellow. Dickins attributes variation to firing (Dawkins Reference Dawkins1929, 169) but does not acknowledge that there are in fact several different fabrics used, ranging in colour but also in coarseness, inclusions and thickness. This seems to indicate several workshops.

So much for material; a wide variety of techniques was used in the forming of the masks. One of the best-illustrated and best-preserved mask fragments (Fig. 1), now in the British Museum,Footnote ⁴ demonstrates several. The mask was worked particularly heavily with tools, as opposed to the softer modelling executed by fingers visible in other masks. This is evident on the inside of the mask (Fig. 2), where small gouges with rough edges are the imprint of the process of hollowing the shape. While the fabric is not the thinnest of surviving masks’, it is not as coarse as others’. The hole in the chin is a sign of this: it removes an otherwise solid mass of clay that would be prone to crack or explode in the kiln because of the difference in water content and temperature between it and the mask's thinner portions. The nostrils (concavities rather than holes) serve the same purpose. The hole at the edge of the rim, however, must be for fastening. The hole is not positioned for the mask to sit flush like a protome, but is at an angle, suggesting either suspension or fastening to a rounded object. Some do have a flat rim but are unpierced – perhaps for display on a horizontal surface.

Fig. 1.

Τerracotta mask fragment, chin to cheek, Dickins type ii.b (caricatures of ‘old women’). Found near the archaic temple, Sanctuary of Artemis Orthia in Laconia. Max. height 11.5 cm; c.600 bce. BM 1923.2-12.249. Photograph: © Trustees of the British Museum.

Fig. 2.

Interior view. Photograph: author; © Trustees of the British Museum.

Turning to the exterior, the ‘wrinkles’ stand fully outside the smooth contour of the rest of the mask, which indicates two distinct processes: building them up past the surface and then excavating furrows. As is clear in the wrinkles furthest from the mouth and higher up the face, the tool used was flat or v-shaped, creating a straight slope rather than a curve. The sharp edges are visible too at the lips, with the ninety-degree ledge of the lower lip and the clean ridge of the upper lip. The lips are remarkably graphic; the corner of the mouth does not fade into the naso-labial fold but stands distinct. Perhaps this is an indication of paint on the lips; traces of black and yellow slip elsewhere on the mask point to polychromy.

By way of contrast, consider the upper part of a second mask (Fig. 3) composed of two joined fragments. The hair is parted in the middle, and there are five surviving holes in the forehead (for a wreath? radiate crown? fillet? individual tresses?). At its thickest 2.5 cm/1 in., this mask is in every way coarser than the previous one. The fabric is more orange and contains many more inclusions, though most are small. At a weight of 316 g/11.1 oz – the complete mask perhaps triple that at just under 1 kg/2 lb – this would have been difficult to wear, even though its size would allow it to fit over a very small face (in turn making the weight even more difficult to support). The technique of execution also differs from that used on Fig. 1; a broad, flat tool has been used to smooth the inside of the mask, leaving very clear marks (Fig. 4). The furrows of the outside are simply dug into the surface, allowed by the exceptional thickness, by a tool with a rounded-v profile – others (e.g. BM 1999.11-1.115) have furrows with u-shaped profiles, perhaps made by fingernails.

Fig. 3.

Terracotta mask fragment, hair and brow. Found near the archaic temple, sanctuary of Artemis Orthia in Laconia. Max length 15 cm; c.575 bce. BM 1923.2-12.254. Photograph: author; © Trustees of the British Museum.

Fig. 4.

Interior view. Photograph: author; © Trustees of the British Museum.

Features could also be indicated by means of added clay, more or less smoothed to appear integrated or to stand proud (as in Fig. 1). This ridge on the right cheek is difficult to interpret; perhaps it is meant purely decoratively, rather than as a referent to an anatomical feature, though it could be a tress of hair. This technique in particular raises issues of the connection of the surviving votives with the masks for which they stand in. If, as nearly every scholar who has written on the masks accepts, the masks are a durable replacement for ‘original’ masks made of linen or wood (vel sim.), we must concede that the connection is not perfectly straightforward; for example, working upwards from the surface via addition is not plausible (especially in wood). To use the terms of Gombrich, because of the variation of the output when the ephemeral medium is translated into the durable medium, we cannot distinguish the permanent (linen/wood) components (p) from the mobile (variations in the execution of the ceramic masks) components (m), since we see only their product (pm) (Gombrich Reference Gombrich1982, 126–9).

Dickins sees no influence of woodcarving in the technique of the masks,Footnote ⁵ though how precisely this would manifest is hard to say. Probably the moulds, if used, were themselves wooden, as wood draws moisture from clay, which eases its removal. This would account for no moulds having been found. The thick stacks of parallel lines that have been called wrinkles are very reminiscent of the graining of wood, which perhaps was their origin; compare the sixth-century Cypriot mask of a grimacing Bes (Fig. 5), whose ‘wrinkles’ are much more clearly wooden; the characterisation of Bes as facially expressive is long-standing in his iconography. What is remarkable about the Orthia masks is that some – one might be permitted to say the finest, e.g. that illustrated in Fig. 1 – have wrinkles that correspond to a deep anatomical understanding of the facial muscles’ motion. This motion is perhaps the key to better understanding the masks’ function.

Fig. 5.

Terracotta protome, probably Bes, from Amathus (Cyprus), site E, tomb 83. Height: 17.5 cm; 600–500 bce. BM 1894.11-1.189. Photograph: © Trustees of the British Museum.

FUNCTION

The use of the ceramic masks is not really at issue: they are dedications that were displayed in the temple or its temenos and eventually were cleared when they became too numerous or were no longer relevant to the cult.Footnote ⁶ Most of the ceramic masks are quite simply too small to be worn; moreover, wearing a clay mask is very restrictive, and is not practicable in the execution of the dances that were doubtless taking place.Footnote ⁷ Since the masks were buried together, it makes sense to consider them to have had a single function, so if most could not be worn, the whole lot was not intended for use; indeed, few believe that these masks were ever worn for performance or indeed any purpose at all. What has fascinated scholars and spurred their theories is the recapture and study of a vanished class of object that stands in some relation to those that survive, and what the use of those masks might have been.

The first theory, advanced by Bosanquet in this journal, and accepted by nearly all scholars, was that these masks were replicas of those used in some sort of ritual behaviour as described in Pollux and Hesychius (Bosanquet Reference Bosanquet1906, 338); Dickins, in the final publication of 1929, accepts and pursues this connexion. Pollux, writing of Spartan dances in a larger section on dance, names the βαρυλλικά, giving an eponymous ‘founder’ Βαρύλλικος, explaining them to be dances carried out by women for Artemis and Apollo.Footnote ⁸ There is no mention of masks. Hesychius has several similar headwords: βρυαλίκται,Footnote ⁹ βρυδαλίχα, βρυλλιχισταί (Lexicon, s.vv.), but to his or his source's knowledge, the masks are worn by men (or men and women, though this is ritually unlikely) and specifically impersonate women.Footnote ¹⁰ Dickins tries to defend the discrepancy in the mask-wearers’ sex as reported by Pollux and Hesychius, but it is not at all clear that the two are describing the same phenomenon.

Pausanias discusses Spartan Orthia, and disassociates her, notably, from Artemis – unlike Pollux.Footnote ¹¹ He does not mention masks at all, but instead the whipping of boys at the altar, of which much has been made by Calame and by Vernant (Reference Vernant, Breglia, Doria, Ellinger, Frontisi-Ducroux, Lepore, Montepaone and Vernant1984, 26–7).Footnote ¹² Which types were worn by ephebes donning masks as part of the embrace of humiliation? Parker suggests that they would don sometimes a shameful (old woman, grotesque, caricature, satyr, gorgon[?]), sometimes a heroic mask (warrior, portrait[?]; Parker Reference Parker and Powell1989, 152). In this case, the Spartiate absorbs the helot and forms a complete set, self and other married with a mask.Footnote ¹³ This certainly acts as a type of theatre, if not in a form that we would easily recognise.

Yet Bosanquet makes another suggestion in his 1906 publication, one that has not gained so much traction among later scholars: that these masks (i.e. the ‘originals’) were used more light-heartedly, ranging from rustic fertility rites to outright comedy, of which there is a description in Athenaeus:Footnote ¹⁴

Certainly τις τρόπος παλαιός suggests the recollection of a very distant past.Footnote ¹⁵ Moreover, δικηλιστής refers specifically to the wielding of a δείκηλον, an image or representation of some kind.Footnote ¹⁶ Athenaeus goes on to compare other words for the same practice – φαλλόφοροι, φλύακες – that clarify what sort of plays these were: depending in large measure on specific props, rather than on scripts (as Poetics 1449a9–14) or plot.Footnote ¹⁷

This is not to accord Athenaeus special status; quite simply, neither he nor any of the other ancient authors whom previous scholars have cited – Hesychius, Plutarch, Pollux, even Xenophon – can possibly have seen the Orthia masks, for they were buried intentionally many centuries before any of them wrote. The words of Athenaeus (and the others) are of value because they contain, perhaps, kernels of echoes of the practices at Orthia's sanctuary. Only Athenaeus’ account corresponds to what we know of early Greek drama by comparison to other dramas (ancient and modern) and by the account of Aristotle (Poetics 1448b22–4 and passim). Athenaeus is valuable for describing the first stage in the shift from a ritual drama to a non-ritual drama.Footnote ¹⁸

Carter's central argument is that the masks of Orthia are the relics of a ritual drama depicting the hieros gamos of Orthia and her consort or ‘the fiends who pursue and kill’ him (Carter Reference Carter1987, 383). Yet there are no masks depicting Orthia herself (despite her frequent representation in other media: bronze, ivory (e.g. Fig. 6), terracotta); if any of the males depicts her consort (of whom there is only little evidence), he has no particular traits or characteristics; and the ‘grimaces’ of the masks are not aggressive but aggrieved. Rather, the abundance of masks and the total lack of representations of the god for whom they were worn (or dedicated) should fairly straightforwardly banish the idea of a ritual drama. Instead, there remain masks of various types and, at their finest, masks of unusual subtlety and expressivity.

Fig. 6.

Ivory figurines representing xoanon of Orthia. From the sanctuary of Artemis Orthia in Laconia. 700–600 bce. Photograph: DAI (Neg. D-DAI-ATH-1975-0712A).

Not all, of course, were expressive; the classes of ‘heroes’ and satyrs largely lack facial expression. But many called ‘old women’ or ‘caricatures’ and ‘grotesques’ – categories not without problems – are emotionally expressive, setting them quite apart from contemporary surviving objects. Classical (tragic) theatrical masks, or rather representations of them, are essentially apathic.Footnote ¹⁹ There is a reason for this, viz. the varying emotions of a single character as seen in existing drama – though especially tragedy – and the use (generally) of a single mask for a character throughout a play.Footnote ²⁰ Strong facial expression prevents both the viewer from projecting his own assignations of emotion and the actor from making subtle physical changes that can affect the mask's appearance, as practiced in Noh theatre.Footnote ²¹

Let us look again at Fig. 1. Dickins labels this a caricature, presumably his type ii.b (Caricatures of ‘Old Women’), though he was hesitant about the assignation of sex.Footnote ²² Perhaps not a beautiful face, the only feature that might separate it from an entirely naturalistic rendering is the wrinkling beside the mouth. The wrinkles are not particularly deep or broad (unlike other masks’ wrinkles) – though if the carving is too subtle or shallow, the mask will be less discernible, especially in low light or at a distance – but fade and thin as they move away from the mouth. Compare a Japanese Noh mask of the ‘Kojo’ type (‘old man’, Fig. 7), which is similar in its expression and uses wrinkles in much the same way.Footnote ²³ Not all the masks’ wrinkles are so closely connected to the movement of facial features,Footnote ²⁴ but the wrinkles serve to enhance expression by shadows’ underscoring motion. To call a heavily wrinkled face a ‘caricature’ of an old face ignores the communicative purpose of a mask.

Fig. 7.

Wood-and-hair Noh mask of the ‘Kojo’ type. Height: 19.1 cm; 19th century ce. New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art 25.60.38. Photograph: Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund, 1925 <www.metmuseum.org>.

The expression of the mask illustrated in Fig. 1 is characterised by the opened and downturned mouth. The single tooth indicates old age. The muscle most active in this expression, the depressor anguli oris, the muscle lowering the corner of the mouth, is visibly contracted, creating a strong distension over which the wrinkles bend. Its action causes the lower lip to appear horizontal when viewed frontally and to curve back in profile; and the upper lip curves downward frontally and back in profile – a physiological accuracy not seen again until the Parthenon (e.g. London BM GR 1845.5-13.1).

In the upper portion of the fragment, two features are notable. One is the flaring of the right nostril, which is a companion muscular movement for strong contractions of the depressor anguli oris. More deliberate is the distension of the upper cheek that is the result of the contraction of the orbicularis oculi, the muscle surrounding the eye, which makes the eyes squint and brings the cheeks and brow closer together. If this was indeed the motion of the upper part of the complete mask, then the expression as a whole is of fear or pain.Footnote ²⁵

The greater part of the study of masking is devoted to tragic masks, which were largely expressionless; what of the expressive masks? Wiles writes:

This depends, of course, on what is meant by ‘distortions’: the mask of a ‘crétin’, with his bronchocele and mangled face;Footnote ²⁷ or simply a face altered, perhaps violently, from its neutral state by emotion? Presumably it is the latter, in which case the pejorative connotations of the word must be ignored. Since the sanctuary lacked a theatre at this period, one type of distortion to rule out is optical; the strong incline of a cavea produces an angled aspect – stronger higher – that literally shapes perception (see above, n. 21). Strong facial expression must belong to the permanent characteristics of the masks (Gombrich's p), since the ways of rendering the expressions are inconsistent and various (m).Footnote ²⁸ It is difficult, perhaps, to associate expressions of negative emotions – fear, pain, distress – with comedy or satire or farce;Footnote ²⁹ perhaps more difficult still to see what such a drama would have to do with the worship of Orthia.

With so many theories of Orthia's nature and role, it is little surprise that scholars have sought such far-flung explanations for the masks. Orthia has been variously described as a vegetation goddess, a male fertility goddess, a female fertility goddess, a livestock fertility goddess, a child-birthing or child-protecting/rearing (κουροτρόφος) goddess and a goddess of the transition from childhood to adulthood.Footnote ³⁰ Association with Artemis yields several other familiar roles – and some unfamiliar.Footnote ³¹ Fertility is the realm most often associated with Orthia, but this seems to be the collective fate of gods (especially goddesses) about whom little is known. The pattern exposes a rift in scholarship (long-standing if the accounts of ancient authors be considered) of the Orthia cult, viz. that some – Rose,Footnote ³² Calame (Reference Calame1986), Frontisi-Ducroux, Parker, Vernant on the evidence of Hesychius, Pausanias, Plutarch (Lycurgus 18.1; [Plutarch] Apophthegmata Laconica 239C) and Xenophon – consider it a (male) ephebe-initiation cult, and others – Calame (Reference Calame1977), Carter and Themelis (writing specifically of Messenian Orthia) on the evidence of Alcman,Footnote ³³ Plutarch (Theseus 31.2) and Pollux – consider it a female cult, one in which Helen and the girl-choruses of Alcman might take part. Surely these ought to be exclusive functions, or at least to operate at different times (of the year?), since one of the near-universal characteristics of initiation cults is the separation of the sexes.Footnote ³⁴ If she served both functions, it ought to have the effect of weakening the association with either.

The origins of Orthia herself are somewhat clearer: she is a Dorian goddess, not found in any Mycenaean texts, who was worshipped elsewhere and eventually became associated, though never quite identified, with Artemis. The cult statue was a small wooden pillar-like frontal representation of the Orthia.Footnote ³⁵ The cult of Artemis Orthia at Messene represents a later stage of development, with most of the trappings of Artemis;Footnote ³⁶ it was an essentially female cult, with female priests and a marked concern with childbirth. It is difficult to reconcile this with the cult of Orthia at Sparta in the Classical period being ‘a male initiation cult’,Footnote ³⁷ though only thirty miles distant.

Of Spartan Orthia's nature one thing is certain: it was not stable over the course of her worship. Gorgoneia and representations of the potnia theron cease; the masks are made over perhaps 150 years of her ten-century worship, records of the contests of endurance (perhaps equivalent to the scourging of boys described in texts) exist only from the end of the fourth century, her association with Artemis grows more prominent over time. What persists is the location of the cult, just outside of Sparta on the west bank of the Eurotas river. As a suburban sanctuary, it enjoyed easy access from city-dwellers, and its location in the ancient swamp called Limnai shaped its character.Footnote ³⁸

Bouvrie (Reference Bouvrie2009) asks whether Orthia is to be classed as a goddess of nature or of culture but does not consider whether she is both. Dionysos is god of both, and his connexion to drama in Athens is the index of that duality, as Aristotle articulates: as improvised drama migrates from country to town, its components become genres and diverge, and what is felt to be lost from the narrowing of one gives rise to others. The masks of Orthia are various, but most scholars focus on the grotesques, the caricatures, and the old women, yet exclude the male, the young, the ‘portraits’, even the satyrs. Their burial together makes clear that the masks were used together and were somehow in dialogue, yet few theories of their use account for the whole range. This must, at any rate, be a criterion of future theories.