HAMILTON'S TREASURES ... by Susan Stokes-Chapman

Thankfully the ship rests in the shallows. He has not used this apparatus before and will not venture any deeper than he must. Twenty feet below the surface. No danger there, he tells himself. And he knows exactly where to look. Under careful instruction the object he seeks was safely hidden within the starboard bow, away from the other shipments tightly packed in the hold, but the ship broke apart in the storm; he hopes his luck stays true, that the crate has not strayed too far along the seabed, that no one else has managed to retrieve it ... ~ Extract from: Pandora

In the harsh winter of 1798, the Royal Navy’s formidable warship, HMS Colossus, met a tragic fate off the treacherous coast of the Scilly Isles, succumbing to a fierce and unforgiving storm. Hidden deep within its hull was the prized collection of Greek antiquities belonging to the British diplomat William Hamilton. With Napoleon’s forces poised to invade Naples, Hamilton had wisely chosen to send his treasured artifacts back to England for safekeeping. Yet, in a cruel twist of fate, these invaluable relics were lost beneath the waves, swallowed by the very sea meant to protect them.

William Hamilton harboured a profound passion for Greek vases, amassing an impressive collection during his 35 years residing in Naples. Serving as British Ambassador to King Ferdinand from 1764 to 1799, Hamilton’s official duties provided the perfect backdrop for his intellectual and cultural pursuits to flourish. He became deeply engrossed in antiquities, acquiring Greek vases from private collectors, sponsoring archaeological excavations, and even opening ancient tombs. What began as a scholarly interest quickly blossomed into a full-fledged obsession; by 1766, he had amassed a remarkable collection of over two hundred individual pieces.

For his own scholarly satisfaction — and perhaps to share his passion with the wider world — in 1766–67 Hamilton published a lavish four-volume set of engravings showcasing his treasures, entitled Collection of Etruscan, Greek, and Roman Antiquities from the Cabinet of the Honble. Wm. Hamilton, His Britannick Maiesty's Envoy Extraordinary at the Court of Naples.

Hamilton’s first collection of antiquities was sold to the British Museum in 1772 for the substantial sum of £8,410, where many of the pieces remain on display today. Among them is the celebrated red-figure volute crater famously known as the 'Hamilton Vase'. Yet, scarcely had he parted with this treasured assemblage — perhaps with some seller’s remorse — before Hamilton resumed his collecting with renewed zeal. He went on to publish a second catalogue, titled Collection of Engravings from Ancient Vases Mostly of Pure Greek Workmanship Discovered in Sepulchres in the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies but Chiefly in the Neighbourhood of Naples During the Course of the Years MDCCLXXXIX and MDCCLXXXX.

What makes this particular collection especially poignant is that it was among these very vases, immortalised in the engravings, that were tragically lost aboard HMS Colossus.

He was, understandably, devastated. In a letter he wrote to his nephew Charles Greville in 1799, he said of his vases 

“they had better be in Paris than at the bottom of the sea; have you no good news of them? they were excellently packed up, & the cases will not easily go to pieces, & the sea water will not hurt the vases. All the cream of my collection were in those eight cases on board the Colossus, & I can't bear to look at some remaining cases here in which I know there are only black vases without figures.”

Regrettably, only a handful of items from Hamilton’s lost collection were recovered during his lifetime. It was not until 1974 that a dedicated recovery team succeeded in raising some of the salvaged fragments from the depths. These damaged yet invaluable pieces now reside within the British Museum’s esteemed collection.

Despite this tragic loss, William Hamilton’s legacy endures. His meticulously published volumes became essential references for artists and craftsmen, notably influencing figures like Josiah Wedgwood. One of Wedgwood’s most celebrated creations is his exquisite reproduction of the famed ‘Portland Vase,’ pictured below—a testament to the lasting impact of Hamilton’s passion for antiquity.

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My debut novel Pandora opens with the recovery of an ancient vase from the shipwreck of HMS Colossus, and features William Hamilton quite prominently as a key character. To read all about it you can order by clicking the image below:

www.susanstokeschapman.com

Instagram: @SStokesChapman

AGE OF ELEGANCE ... by Susan Stokes-Chapman

In my previous blog post, I explored the world of Georgian jewellery, the crowning glory of any ensemble. But while those glittering finishing touches were undoubtedly important, they were only one part of the story. To truly appreciate the splendour of the era, we must also turn our attention to the fashions these jewels were meant to enhance, and the way dressmakers and tailors drew inspiration from the elegance and grandeur of the ancient world.

It was the Enlightenment that sparked this cultural shift. The Age of Enlightenment — a sweeping intellectual and philosophical movement that flourished across Europe during the 17th and 18th centuries — championed ideals such as human happiness, reason, empirical knowledge, liberty, and social progress. These Enlightenment values led to a renewed fascination with the classical civilisations of Greece and Rome, a reverence that inevitably found its way into the world of fashion, especially in what we now associate with the Regency period.

Women’s clothing, in particular, began to cast off the stiff structure of corsetry in favour of a more fluid and graceful silhouette. Inspired by ancient statuary and drapery, dresses adopted the flowing lines and high waistlines of classical antiquity — what we now call the Empire Line — designed to flatter the figure with a soft, slender elegance. Men’s fashion, too, echoed this classical ideal, embracing a leaner, more statuesque form reminiscent of the heroic figures of Grecian myth.

 

It is little wonder that the ancient world held such allure. With the rise of archaeology and the increasing accessibility of classical artefacts, many brought to wider attention through the aristocratic tradition of the Grand Tour, the beauty and refinement of classical imagery captivated the European imagination. The aesthetics of antiquity were irresistible: men were depicted as clean-shaven, with artfully curled hair and sculpted, athletic physiques that embodied virile strength and nobility. Women, by contrast, were portrayed with flawless skin, elegant hairstyles, and an air of serene grace, together forming the classical ideal of human perfection that so enchanted the Georgian mind.

© Victoria and Albert Museum

 
© Victoria and Albert Museum

The earliest Grecian-inspired gowns were simple, column-like shifts, most commonly made from muslin. Though other fabrics were occasionally used, muslin dominated the fashion plates of the day, prized for its soft drape and airy lightness. These gowns were intentionally unstructured, with shape achieved not through stiff corsetry, but by a ribbon or tie just beneath the bust, creating the now-iconic Empire Line silhouette.

This style offered women a remarkable sense of freedom and comfort. The dresses were lightweight, required minimal underpinning, and were paired with flat shoes, liberating wearers from the discomfort of high heels. White, in all its subtle variations, was the prevailing colour, evoking the purity and simplicity of classical antiquity. During the day, women often wore soft pastel shades, while deeper tones appeared in shawls, trims, or decorative tunics — many of which were edged in gold. These elegant overlays enhanced the Greco-Roman aesthetic, echoing the timeless beauty of ancient dress.

These ensembles were often complemented by delicate reticules (small handbags that sometimes echoed the elegant contours of a Grecian urn) and by hoods inspired by the Grecian caul, a fine cloth or netting designed to cover the hair and extend gracefully down the back in an elongated shape:

Returning briefly to jewellery, one accessory in particular captured the imagination of the era: the tiara. Frequently seen in contemporary portraits, these elegant headpieces also drew inspiration from the mosaics and pottery uncovered in archaeological excavations across Greece and Rome. As the examples illustrated below reveal, the classical heritage made tiaras a natural and highly fashionable adornment:

© The British Museum

Moreover, cameos were perhaps the most overt homage to the ancient world in Georgian jewellery. As early as 1805, the Journal des Dames observed that “a fashionable lady wears cameos at her girdle, cameos in her necklace, cameos on each of her bracelets, and a cameo on her tiara.” Below is a striking portrait of Queen Louise Augusta of Prussia, painted by the French artist Madame Le Brun, which beautifully showcases a cameo adorning her tiara, an elegant testament to this enduring classical influence.

The English potter Josiah Wedgwood found great success with his jasperware, renowned for its exquisite classical scenes. Featured below is a belt clasp framed in cut steel and adorned with Matthew Boulton’s faceted steel studs, depicting a priestess performing a sacrifice. Such cameos were a popular accessory among Georgian women (and even some men) who embraced these classical motifs as a mark of style and sophistication.

© The Walters Art Museum

And speaking of priestesses, the painting below by Madame Le Brun portrays Lady Hamilton — Lord Nelson’s famed mistress — as a graceful dancing priestess. Her layered garment and intricately patterned underdress blur the line between Regency fashion and ancient Grecian robes, so striking is the resemblance. In the background, the eruption of Mount Vesuvius serves as a vivid reminder of the recent excavations at Pompeii, an archaeological discovery that further fuelled the Georgian era’s fascination with the classical world.

For men, the approach to fashion was notably more restrained. Gentlemen wore breeches crafted from fabrics that stretched comfortably across the legs, subtly accentuating their form, while skin-tight pantaloons evoked the virile grace of classical statues much admired during the period. The dandy Beau Brummell — depicted below — famously asserted that the purpose of men's fashion was to “clothe the body so that its fineness may be revealed,” emphasising understated elegance over ostentation.

Of course, not all bodies conformed to the idealised shapes of the era. For women of fuller figure, the Empire Line dresses remained remarkably flattering, gracefully skimming the silhouette. Men, however, who lacked the muscular contours celebrated in Grecian heroes, often did not hesitate to enhance their form with padded garments to create the desired curves. This humorous caricature below playfully captures that very practice. Beside it is a surviving example of a padded stocking, a testament to the lengths men would go to achieve the perfect classical profile.

There is much more to be said about Georgian fashion, but for the purposes of this blog, I wanted to focus on the striking visual parallels between Regency styles and the ancient world. Personally, I believe they were truly onto something remarkable. It feels high time these fashions made a comeback. They were elegant and regal, wonderfully cool in the summer months, and flattering to every shape and size. What more could one possibly ask for?

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My Georgian-set debut novel Pandora acknowledges this obsession with the ancient world, and you can order by clicking the image below:

www.susanstokeschapman.com
Instagram: @SStokesChapman

The Secret Garden: Ancient World Contraception by Elisabeth Storrs

Etruscan woman holding a pomegranate

Childbirth is dangerous. The Western world often forgets this. The advances made in medicine and mothercraft to improve the mortality rates of both mother and babies have been remarkable but are now taken for granted. So too effective forms of contraception. Many forget that the development of the ‘Pill’ only occurred in the 1960s. And it can be argued that the introduction of reliable oral contraceptives gave impetus to the feminist movement as women were at last given the opportunity to plan their pregnancies as well as their careers.

Women of the ancient world did not have access to such sophisticated medicine; instead they relied on more humble ways to prevent falling pregnant. I was absorbed when researching the methods used in classical Greece, Rome and Etruria when writing my Tales of Ancient Rome series.

One of my protagonists is a young, innocent Roman girl who is married to an Etruscan man to seal a truce between two warring cities. She discovers her husband’s society offers independence, education and sexual freedom to women. Such freedoms, however, do not excuse her from the duty of bearing children.  In her quest to delay this destiny she learns that there were certain plants that offered a chance to avoid falling with child including a delicious fruit grown in her garden, and a mysterious plant from a distant land.

           

Prosperpine by Dante Gabriel Rosetti

Pomegranates were associated with the myth of Persephone (Roman Proserpina) and the vegetation cycle. Persephone was the child of Zeus, king of the gods, and Demeter, goddess of the harvest. When Hades, god of the Underworld, abducted Demeter’s daughter, the deity was so grief stricken she rendered the earth barren. Faced with a desolate world, the other gods pleaded for Zeus to intervene. He demanded Hades release Persephone whom he’d instructed not to eat while in the Underworld. Hades grudgingly agreed but before the maiden left his realm she ate some forbidden pomegranate seeds. For her disobedience, Persephone was ordered to return to live with Hades for three months of the year. And so, during winter, Demeter refused anything to grow until her daughter was once again returned in the spring.

           

In various ancient cultures, the pomegranate was seen as a symbol of fecundity. An Etruscan bride would offer a pomegranate to her groom during the wedding ceremony. However, the fruit was also considered useful for regulating menstrual flow. Accordingly the fruit was seen as holding the secret to both fertility and sterility.

           

Ancient physicians such as Hippocrates, Soranus and Dioscorides prescribed the seeds and rind of the pomegranate to prevent conception but details of the preparation or the quantities used are unknown. There is mention of the fruit being eaten while some sources state that the seed pulp was used on pessaries.

           

Did pomegranates work? Studies conducted during the 1970s and 80s on rats and guinea pigs revealed reduced fertility in females that had been fed the fruit. Furthermore, scientists discovered the pulp around the seed was most effective compared to the roots or the flesh. Accordingly, there may have been some efficacy to using pomegranate pulp in pessary form as was described in ancient sources although extrapolating the results of tests conducted on rats to human reproduction can be tricky.

Using pomegranates may have been haphazard as a means of prevention but there was another plant that clearly was considered as a viable contraceptive. The Romans called it ‘silphium’ while the Greeks knew it as ‘silphion’. 

Modern botanists have identified silphium as a member of the giant fennel (Ferula) family based on ancient descriptions, and pictures on coins and pottery. The plant was rare, growing in the dry climate of Cyrenaica in northern Africa (modern Libya). The pungent resin from silphium's stems and roots was known as laserpicium and was used as an additive which gave food a rich distinctive taste. It was also used to treat coughs, sore throats and fevers. Perfume was distilled from its blooms.

The crop became the main commodity of Cyrene (Shahhat, Libya) a city colonized by the Greeks in C7th BCE. These colonists had reluctantly migrated from the island of Thera, having been forced to draw lots. According to Theophrastus, a pupil of Aristotle, the settlers discovered the silphium plant which made them rich and their city famous. Demand across the ancient world for the plant bumped up its price leading the playwright Aristophanes to write in The Knights: “Don’t you remember when a stalk of silphium sold so cheap?”

           

Silphium stalk on Cyrene coin

The wealth brought from exporting silphium led Cyrene to recognize the importance of its prize export by stamping its coins with the distinctive symbol of the plant in a similar manner to Athens’ use of an owl. The design of one series of four drachma coins depicts a woman touching the plant with one hand while pointing to her womb with the other. Interestingly, there is also speculation as to a connection between the contours of silphium seeds and the traditional heart shape as silver coins from Cyrene from C6–5th BCE bear a similar design. The coat of arms of Italian Libya also bore an image of the plant indicating the importance of its history to the region even as recently as 1947.

           

There is a reference to the plant’s resin being applied to pessaries but silphium could also be taken orally. Soranus recommended women take about a chick pea’s size of silphium juice dissolved in water once a month. It is clear that he also considered it had abortive effects, as did Dioscorides.

           

The Roman poet, Catullus, advised his lover, Lesbia, in Carmen 7, that they could share as many kisses as there are grains of sand on the shores of ‘silphium producing Cyrene’ as follows:

You ask, my Lesbia, how many of your kisses
are enough and more than enough for me.
As big a number as the Libyan grains of sand
that lie at silphium producing Cyrene
between the oracle of Sultry Jupiter
and the sacred tomb of old Battus;
Or as many stars that see the secret love affairs of men,
when the night is silent.
So many kisses are enough
and more than enough for mad Catullus to kiss you,
these kisses which neither the inquisitive are able to count
nor an evil tongue bewitch.

           

Heart shaped silphium seed - Cyrene coin

Catullus’ endorsement of the plant to his lover was an assurance that their lovemaking could continue as long as silphium was obtainable. Unfortunately, at the time of the poet’s death in 54 BCE  stocks of the plant were dwindling with the Roman historian, Pliny the Elder, remarking during Nero’s reign in 37-68 CE “only a single stalk has been found there within our memory”. In effect, the plant was considered worth its weight in silver denarii or even gold. With its scarcity, a lucrative black market thrived.

           

Ultimately silphium became extinct. Various theories include demand outstripping supply, or simply over-farming by the Romans after they gained governorship over the Greeks. However, Theophrastus wrote that silphium was peculiar in that it couldn’t be cultivated and only grew in a narrow band of land along dry mountainsides facing the Mediterranean Sea. Repeated attempts to farm the plant proved futile; instead it was harvested from the wild under strict rules. It has now been posited that the plant was either a hybrid with unpredictable generational outcomes, or similar to wild huckleberries. This fruit is native to the mountain slopes, forests and lake basins of North America. The berries are sensitive to soil chemistry so when grown from seed, bear no fruit.

           

Was silphium effective? It’s difficult to say when scientists possess no specimens upon which to test. However, another member of the fennel family, asafoetida, exists and can be successfully cultivated. It is used today to give Worcestershire sauce its characteristic flavour. Early testing of asafoetida and other Ferula species on rats proved notable anti-fertility effects. In 1963, it was established that asafoetida was effective as a contraceptive for humans. Given this, the popularity of silphium as a drug of choice in the ancient world can be given credence.

           

There was a veritable pharmacopia of other herbs and plants used by women of the ancient world: Queen Anne’s Lace (wild carrot), rue, myrrh, juniper and pennyroyal to name a few. Unfortunately most of these are also poisonous when taken in incorrect dosages.

           

Despite the folklore and science surrounding all these natural remedies, it is a sobering fact that the average life expectancy of females in the Iron Age was approximately 27-30 years. We will never know how many women avoided an unwanted pregnancy through use of herb, fruit or plant, nor how many mothers and children perished due to the use of toxic abortifacients. And even those who welcomed a baby quickening within them weren’t guaranteed a long life - the mortality rate for both maternal and infant deaths in childbirth was incredibly high. 

Elisabeth Storrs is the author of the Tales of Ancient Rome saga. Learn more at www.elisabethstorrs.com  

Images are courtesy of the MET project, Wikimedia Commons and

Expedition Magazine Vol. 34, Nos. 1-2, 1992. "The Coins from the Sanctuary of Demeter and Persephone." by T. V. Buttrey .