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My collection of Roman coins had acquired a new prize, a novel type called a Cistophorus.
Before you ask, “what the hell is a Cistophorus, and must it be so hard to spell?” let me pontificate. The fact is, that Cistophorii (plural) were somewhat rare until recently, when my favourite dealer seems to have acquired a considerable number. They far outstripped my limited means to afford, being priced from $250 to $400! The best examples sold quickly. But the more worn or more poorly struck ones stayed in the on-line catalog for months, stretching finally to a full year. I asked the dealer if he’d let the least desirable of his Cistophorii go for less than it was listed. He would. I’ll have to make two payments over time, but I bought it for a mere $180.
The coin shows the portrait of the emperor Trajan on one side, and three legion standards on the other. On the whole, it’s a good strike, it’s only real problem is that the reverse was struck somewhat off-center and weak, so that the full inscription can’t be read.
Cistophorii have an interesting history. They were originally struck by the cities of Pergamum and Ephesus, on the western coast of what is now Turkey, from around 175 to 180 BC. The early coin showed the sacred chest of Dionysus on one side, with entwined snakes, and a carriage carrying Demeter and drawn by snakes on the other. The people of Pergamum evidently held snakes in high regard. But in 133 BC the king died without an heir, and bequeathed the kingdom to the Roman Republic. At that period, the Romans didn’t replace local coinage, and left Cistophorii in circulation. In fact, even in the imperial period, the Romans tended not to interfere much with local affairs. It wasn’t until the death of Hadrian, in 138 AD, that Cistophorii finally disappeared from the scene. But the Cistophorii of the imperial period was a very different coin from the one of old. Somewhere along the line, the emperor and imperial devices replaced the original mystic symbols. I became interested in when. Who was the first imperial egotist who felt fit to remove Dionysus and Demeter from their places of honour?
I expected the change must have come in later Julio-Claudian times, but to my surprise it was not so! According to my copy of Sears catalog of Roman coins, the imperial portraits go right back to the beginning. Augustus himself appeared on late first-century BC Cistophorii. The notion occurred to me that Augustus might not be the start either, and he wasn’t. Before his victory at Actium, the eastern half of Rome’s empire was in the hands of Mark Antony. You may recall that Antony got on very well with the East, particularly with Cleopatra and exotic notions of Oriental monarchy. It was apparently he, and some of his associates, who first decided to advertise the legitimacy of their rule by replacing the images on the old Cistophorus with their own. They are a curious type, neither like the coin of old, nor like the later imperial coin. Antony’s rather brutally masculine face had replaced the mystic chest of Dionysus, but for some reason he was satisfied to be surrounded by the god’s snakes.
So what, exactly, was a Cistophorus anyway? It was a significantly larger coin than the Roman denarius. About the size of a modern quarter, and thicker. In fact, it’s original intent seems to have been a local replacement for the Tetradrachm. It doesn’t appear to have had the same value, however, weighing only three Drachm, or three Denarii. It is most likely, then, that whatever its official tariff, the Cistophorus circulated at the value of three Denarii.
The final question is why it disappeared when it did. Possibly there was no specific reason, but most likely a reorganization of Roman administration of that part of the empire was responsible. There was a tendency for local coinages to gradually die out as the empire went on. The last local coinage that I’m familiar with was the Alexandrine Tetradrachm. Although this large, chunky looking coin from Roman Egypt was once silver, by Nero’s time it was bronze with a silver coating, and by the end of the 4th century it was a just a small, crude chunk of “potin” bronze with a truly hideous portrait of the emperor Diocletian. The Tetradrachm vanished in Diocletian’s thorough reform of Roman coinage in 393 AD. With it, apparently, also vanished the tradition of local coinage such as the Cistophorus.
Before you ask, “what the hell is a Cistophorus, and must it be so hard to spell?” let me pontificate. The fact is, that Cistophorii (plural) were somewhat rare until recently, when my favourite dealer seems to have acquired a considerable number. They far outstripped my limited means to afford, being priced from $250 to $400! The best examples sold quickly. But the more worn or more poorly struck ones stayed in the on-line catalog for months, stretching finally to a full year. I asked the dealer if he’d let the least desirable of his Cistophorii go for less than it was listed. He would. I’ll have to make two payments over time, but I bought it for a mere $180.
The coin shows the portrait of the emperor Trajan on one side, and three legion standards on the other. On the whole, it’s a good strike, it’s only real problem is that the reverse was struck somewhat off-center and weak, so that the full inscription can’t be read.
Cistophorii have an interesting history. They were originally struck by the cities of Pergamum and Ephesus, on the western coast of what is now Turkey, from around 175 to 180 BC. The early coin showed the sacred chest of Dionysus on one side, with entwined snakes, and a carriage carrying Demeter and drawn by snakes on the other. The people of Pergamum evidently held snakes in high regard. But in 133 BC the king died without an heir, and bequeathed the kingdom to the Roman Republic. At that period, the Romans didn’t replace local coinage, and left Cistophorii in circulation. In fact, even in the imperial period, the Romans tended not to interfere much with local affairs. It wasn’t until the death of Hadrian, in 138 AD, that Cistophorii finally disappeared from the scene. But the Cistophorii of the imperial period was a very different coin from the one of old. Somewhere along the line, the emperor and imperial devices replaced the original mystic symbols. I became interested in when. Who was the first imperial egotist who felt fit to remove Dionysus and Demeter from their places of honour?
I expected the change must have come in later Julio-Claudian times, but to my surprise it was not so! According to my copy of Sears catalog of Roman coins, the imperial portraits go right back to the beginning. Augustus himself appeared on late first-century BC Cistophorii. The notion occurred to me that Augustus might not be the start either, and he wasn’t. Before his victory at Actium, the eastern half of Rome’s empire was in the hands of Mark Antony. You may recall that Antony got on very well with the East, particularly with Cleopatra and exotic notions of Oriental monarchy. It was apparently he, and some of his associates, who first decided to advertise the legitimacy of their rule by replacing the images on the old Cistophorus with their own. They are a curious type, neither like the coin of old, nor like the later imperial coin. Antony’s rather brutally masculine face had replaced the mystic chest of Dionysus, but for some reason he was satisfied to be surrounded by the god’s snakes.
So what, exactly, was a Cistophorus anyway? It was a significantly larger coin than the Roman denarius. About the size of a modern quarter, and thicker. In fact, it’s original intent seems to have been a local replacement for the Tetradrachm. It doesn’t appear to have had the same value, however, weighing only three Drachm, or three Denarii. It is most likely, then, that whatever its official tariff, the Cistophorus circulated at the value of three Denarii.
The final question is why it disappeared when it did. Possibly there was no specific reason, but most likely a reorganization of Roman administration of that part of the empire was responsible. There was a tendency for local coinages to gradually die out as the empire went on. The last local coinage that I’m familiar with was the Alexandrine Tetradrachm. Although this large, chunky looking coin from Roman Egypt was once silver, by Nero’s time it was bronze with a silver coating, and by the end of the 4th century it was a just a small, crude chunk of “potin” bronze with a truly hideous portrait of the emperor Diocletian. The Tetradrachm vanished in Diocletian’s thorough reform of Roman coinage in 393 AD. With it, apparently, also vanished the tradition of local coinage such as the Cistophorus.
Category All / All
Species Unspecified / Any
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File Size 135.2 kB
The dealer had others, that were nicer than this. But I was buying an example of the type, not a particular one, and this was the least expensive.
My next goal might be what the dealer calls a "medallion strike." These are perfectlys struck, perfectly centered antoninianii with full inscriptions on the flan. The one's I've seen are all oversized, as well. Robert tells me they don't usually get struck perfectly unless it is an oversized flan. They're also heavier than most of their type -- 5 or more grams instead of 3 to 4. Apparently the mints standards had slipped a lot by the 230s. There's a Gordian at around $135 I might manage to afford, but first to pay off what I owe Robert at present.
He also has a Clodius Albinus I have my eye on, but I can only afford these big prizes one at a time.
My next goal might be what the dealer calls a "medallion strike." These are perfectlys struck, perfectly centered antoninianii with full inscriptions on the flan. The one's I've seen are all oversized, as well. Robert tells me they don't usually get struck perfectly unless it is an oversized flan. They're also heavier than most of their type -- 5 or more grams instead of 3 to 4. Apparently the mints standards had slipped a lot by the 230s. There's a Gordian at around $135 I might manage to afford, but first to pay off what I owe Robert at present.
He also has a Clodius Albinus I have my eye on, but I can only afford these big prizes one at a time.
I always liked reading about Emperor Trajan, how he, along with the surrounding four Caesars of the nearest generations (Nerva, Hadrian, Antoninus and Aurelius), despite being a dictatorship, were very benevolent towards the people. But now, we have a sweet tuff puppy with his naughty but beloved bunny mistress. :)
They were "good" emperors, as far as that goes. But don't forget that they started wars in which many thousands died, presided over games in which gladiators and condemned criminals (including Christians) were killed, and were constantly condemning people for conspiring against the empereror (which they may or may not have been). Of course, that's what comes with being the head of state -- even today. How many tens of thousands died because George Bush thought it was the best way to deal with Saddamn Hussein?
As far as it goes, Claudius was also a pretty good emperor. My favourite is Vespasian -- he seems to be the sort of guy you could have a beer with, take your shoes off, and trade dirty stories.
As far as it goes, Claudius was also a pretty good emperor. My favourite is Vespasian -- he seems to be the sort of guy you could have a beer with, take your shoes off, and trade dirty stories.
Probably passed through the hands of people around Asia Minor, since that was where it was struck. (Just as 19th. century Ana from Hyderabad weren't seen often in Boston.)
Someday it may be impossible to collect ancient coins seriously. Countries like Turkey increasingly restrict the export of finds like ancient coins. Better, they figure, to have several million coins in trays in back rooms of museums in Turkey that nobody but professors will ever see, and then only infrequently, than that the coins end up in the possesion of collectors in other countries.
Someday it may be impossible to collect ancient coins seriously. Countries like Turkey increasingly restrict the export of finds like ancient coins. Better, they figure, to have several million coins in trays in back rooms of museums in Turkey that nobody but professors will ever see, and then only infrequently, than that the coins end up in the possesion of collectors in other countries.
That's the magic of collecting coins! You want to know everything about them -- who used them, when, where, why? What were they worth? How long did it take to earn one? Would it support a person for a day or a week or an hour? Why were they minted, and what does the stuff on it mean? Why was it lost? The list of questions is almost endless. Collecting bowling shoes or parakeet cages, on the other hand, tends to feed the imagination less well.
Pet peeve time: The popular idea that if one i in a Latinate plural is good, two i's are twice as good. The Romans actually had a system for this!
One denarius. two denarii.
One cistophorus, two cistophori.
Simple, innit?
(Also, the -i is for (most) words in -us, other groups of nouns had other plurals: One genus, two genera; one penis, two penes).
One denarius. two denarii.
One cistophorus, two cistophori.
Simple, innit?
(Also, the -i is for (most) words in -us, other groups of nouns had other plurals: One genus, two genera; one penis, two penes).
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