Erotic Cameos From After The Reign Of Tiberius, Published In The 1770s

In the 1770s, a peculiar intersection of ancient artefacts and Enlightenment-era exploration brought forward a unique publication that would stir both academic curiosity and moral outrage. Pierre-François Hugues d’Hancarville, an art historian with a penchant for controversy, was central to this revival of ancient Roman erotica. His work on erotic cameos, particularly after the reign of Tiberius, culminated in publications such as Veneres uti observantur in gemmis antiquis, which reflected a fascination with the sensual and often explicit aspects of Roman material culture.

At the heart of this exploration was the concept of Roman society as radically different from the Christian moral framework of 18th-century Europe. As James A. Steintrager notes, the material culture that Sade, and by extension d’Hancarville, encountered was “radically other than Christian modernity, including — or most especially — with regard to religion and sexuality.” This contrast made Roman erotica not just a subject of titillation but also a window into an alternate moral universe that Enlightenment thinkers were increasingly keen to explore, albeit often in the guise of classical scholarship.

D’Hancarville’s life was one of perpetual motion, both literally and metaphorically. By the time he met the notorious Marquis de Sade in Florence in 1775, d’Hancarville had established himself as a key player in the art world, acting as an intermediary for Sir William Hamilton, the British diplomat whose antiquities collection would later become part of the British Museum. Together, the marquis and the baron were two men on the run, both physically and socially: Sade was fleeing the consequences of his libertine crimes in France, while d’Hancarville was constantly evading creditors and legal repercussions due to his involvement in dubious ventures, including the publication of risqué material.

D’Hancarville’s publication history reveals an ongoing fascination with the sexual customs of the ancient world. His Monumens de la vie privée des douze Césars (1780) and Monumens du culte secret des dames romaines (1784) pushed the boundaries of scholarly publishing, especially with regards to their content. These works, which d’Hancarville himself would perhaps have considered educational, were notorious for their explicit nature, particularly in relation to the depiction of Roman sexuality. His crowning achievement in this niche was Veneres uti observantur in gemmis antiquis, a two-volume work that presented detailed engravings of Roman cameos depicting erotic figures. These cameos, small gemstones intricately carved with intimate scenes, were not merely historical objects but evidence, in d’Hancarville’s view, of a liberated Roman attitude towards sex, fertility, and desire.

The book’s success in both France and England was a reflection of the period’s interest in antiquity and its art, but it also tapped into the more illicit undercurrents of 18th-century society. The publication of such works, particularly with their suggestive engravings, served as both a scholarly and subversive commentary on the sexual mores of the time. It was during this period that the classicist Richard Payne Knight published An Account of the Remains of the Worship of Priapus (1786), which, with its vivid frontispiece of wax organs, directly referenced and was inspired by d’Hancarville’s studies. Such works were not simply academic exercises but also reflections of an emerging recognition of sexuality as a legitimate area of historical and cultural study.

What makes d’Hancarville’s work so compelling today is its blend of scholarly ambition and playful irreverence. The prefaces and notes he provided are filled with arch glosses on the explicit images, often softening the more graphic elements with wry observations. For instance, in the image of seven erect penises circling a snail, d’Hancarville offers an explanation rooted in natural history: gastropods are simultaneous hermaphrodites and thus a fitting symbol of lust. In other instances, he delves into cultural references, such as attributing the left-handed sexual act depicted in one scene to the “complaisance” Livia Drusilla exhibited towards her husband Augustus.

However, despite these interpretative gestures, there was no escaping the fact that d’Hancarville was navigating dangerous waters. His erotic publications, particularly Priapi uti observantur in gemmis antiquis, though not widely digitised today, were part of a broader movement in Enlightenment Europe that sought to reconcile the classical world with modern sensibilities. His contemporary, Hargrave Jennings, who composed the ten-volume “Phallic Series”, even questioned whether a man as “serious” as d’Hancarville could express himself in the light tone evident in the notes accompanying such works.

D’Hancarville’s legacy in this regard is complex. On the one hand, his publications contributed to a growing scholarly interest in ancient sexuality and fertility rituals. On the other hand, they were unabashedly pornographic by the standards of his time, and it is likely that the market for such works was not limited to academic readers. As he noted in his preface, the images were deliberately small to remain true to the originals but also to limit their indecency — a detail that illustrates both the fine line d’Hancarville was walking and the titillating allure these works held for contemporary readers.

In many ways, the erotic cameos from after the reign of Tiberius, as interpreted by d’Hancarville, remain a testament to the enduring tension between antiquity and modernity. They are artefacts of a world where sex, art, and religion were intertwined in ways that still challenge our modern understanding. Through his work, d’Hancarville captured this complexity, offering a window into a past that was both familiar and shockingly alien. His writings, much like the cameos themselves, are small but potent reminders of a time when the boundaries between scholarship and sensuality were not always clear-cut.

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