Heliogabalus: Drowning in Roses

Lawrence Alma-Tadema, born in the Netherlands but not a successful painter until his emigration to England, was best-known for his depictions of the antique, or classical, past. Many of his works feature around recreations of ancient Rome or ancient Greece, focusing on the social life of individuals, ancient festivals and customs, and providing to his Victorian audience a window into a past they cherished and saw as their own. In an age devoid of television or cinema, Alma-Tadema’s images were perceived by many to be literal windows into the classical past; visual invitations into the Greek and Roman past that western European countries liked to claim as their own. Think of ancient Greek sculpture influencing western European painters; the classical Greek statues that inspired the first western art historians, such as Johann Joachim von Winckelmann and, later, Walter Pater; or think of the principles of Roman architecture that lies at the foundation of all medieval architecture; and, of course, think of the Renaissance, a western ‘reconstruction’ of the past for modern purposes. 

         Lawrence Alma-Tadema, Sappho and Alcaeus, 1881, oil on canvas, 66 x 122 cm, Walters Art Museum, Baltimore 

 

Alma-Tadema’s interest in Greek and Roman histories stemmed from his interest in archaeology, in landscapes of the Mediterranean, such as surrounded Italy and Greece, and he was very interested in the luxury and decadence of the Roman Empire. Nowhere is this more exemplified than in the visually stunning The Roses of Heliogabalus, a sumptuous work from 1888. 

Lawrence Alma-Tadema, The Roses of Heliogabalus, 1888, oil on canvas, 132.7 x 214.4 cm, private collection 

At first glance, we are drawn towards the flurry of rose petals dancing on the canvas, huge drifts of pink and red petals draw our attention. But when we look closer, we see that there are people being submerged underneath this sea of flowers as they fall from a false ceiling – we can just see the cloth of this false ceiling on the left. One of the visitors to the banquet being drowned in the petals even looks at us, directly at the audience; her gaze seems confused, even as her she still holds onto half a pomegranate. A deliberate nod to Greek and Roman mythology, where, when Persephone was kidnapped by Hades, upon eating the pomegranate seed she was stuck forever? Or merely a sign of the decadence and luxury of the banquet party? 

It's overseen, after all, by none other than the Roman Emperor Heliogabalus, or Elagabalus, depicted in the background on a raised dais, on the far left, reclining on a lavish bench made of mother-of-pearl, draped with decorated fabrics and purple silken pillows. Adorned with a gold headband, Heliogabalus looks on dispassionately, merely glancing at those he invited to his banquet, those he intends to drown. His table is laden with fruits, including a mountain of grapes, apples, pomegranates, and figs. The guests at Heliogabalus’s table are amused, clad in expensive fabrics, flower headdresses, laurel wreaths, and, in one case, a golden and bejewelled crown. 

Behind Heliogabalus, a woman in white drapery and a leopard skin (likely referring to the maenads, the female followers of Dionysus who were dressed in white drapery and a leopard skin – being followers of the god of wine and drunkenness, their name ‘maenad’ literally translates to ‘raving ones’ in Greek. In Roman mythology, they were also known as Bacchae, Bacchantes, or Bassarids). This maenad plays a two-reeded flute known as aulos or tibia in ancient Greece, an instrument Alma-Tadema painted in multiple of his works. 

The whole composition Alma-Tadema presents us with screams luxury, decadence, and opulence. There are silk robes, golden tiaras, benches inlaid with mother-of-pearl, luminous marble pillars; in the background we see a bronze statue of Dionysus, a statue copied after the real Dionysus with Panther and Satyr, known as the Ludovisi Dionysus, in Rome. Behind, we can just glimpse the Alban Hills, the remains of a quiescent volcanic complex in Italy. 

 

The moment that Alma-Tadema chose to depict is likely invented, though Heliogabalus was notorious for his promiscuity, eccentricity, taste for decadence, and zealotry. Edward Gibbon, an 18^th-century English essayist, wrote that Heliogabalus “abandoned himself to the grossest pleasures with ungoverned fury”. Adrian Goldsworthy, a British historian specialising in Roman history, has proclaimed Heliogabalus as “not a tyrant, but he was an incompetent, probably the least able emperor Rome had ever had”. 

There is a passage in the Augustan History, a late Roman collection of biographies written in Latin, that records Heliogabalus drowning in “violets and other flowers”. Though probably invented, Alma-Tadema chose to follow the passage in the Augustan History that describes Heliogabalus smothering his guests in flower petals. The original passage goes, “In a banqueting-room with a reversible ceiling he once buried his guests in violets and other flowers, so that some were actually smothered to death, being unable to crawl out to the top”. Clearly, Alma-Tadema chose rose petals – why not clear why, perhaps for aesthetic reasons, but roses were still out of season when the painter made this in 1888. He had roses shipped over from the south of France during the whole four months Alma-Tadema worked on the painting, which sounds excessive but it was commissioned by Sir John Aird, an English civil engineering contractor and later a member of parliament, for 4,000 pounds, equal to approximately 651,000 pounds today. So, he could afford it. Interestingly, and let’s not forget, the patron, Aird, was involved in building the Aswan Low Dam in Egypt on the river Nile after the Anglo-Egyptian war the British won in 1882, after which they illegally occupied Egypt. Aird was the main contractor on the project. The British imperial and colonial occupation of Egypt would last until 1956, after the Suez Crisis. 

 

To return to The Roses of Heliogabalus, was exhibited at the Royal Academy exhibition in 1888, where it was praised in the press. One critic wrote that the masses of roses were notable for its “brilliancy” and “gorgeous colouration of the purest kind”. The critic writing for the leading art magazine The Athenaeum wrote passage after passage describing the colours and textures of the luxurious materials visible in Alma-Tadema’s painting. The critic writing for The Graphicpraised it less; this author considered it confusing, though full of what he termed “individual beauties”, such as the emperor’s clothing and the golden tiara. 

All in all, the painting becomes a feast of the senses – just as Heliogabalus was known to throw banquets which engaged more than one sense. Sight – the petals; scent – the flowers; touch – the different materials and textures, ranging from cloth to metal and stone; taste – the fruits on the table; and finally, hearing – the maenad playing the pipes in the background. 

This visualisation of roses intermingled with death resonates with the then-popular poetry of Algernon Charles Swinburne, especially his Hendecasyllabics, or A Forsaken Garden. The latter explores the relationship between the passing of time and the loss of love, encapsulated in the following passage: 

“Heart handfast in heart as they stood, ‘Look thither’, 

Did he whisper? ‘look forth from the flowers to the sea; 

For the foam-flowers endure when the rose-blossoms wither, 

And men that love lightly may die – but we?’” 

 

I want to finish with a final comment on the visual excess of Alma-Tadema’s The Roses of Heliogabalus. Roses are this ancient symbol of sensual love, and in the Roman world they hold extra connotations of luxuriant excess. Indeed, Alma-Tadema himself, importing the roses from the French riviera out of season, acts like a Roman aristocrat; using his resources for the goal of luxury and decadence much the same as those Romans he painted.