BOTANIZING RULERS AND THEIR HERBAL SUBJECTS: PLANTS AND POLITICAL POWER IN

GREEK AND ROMAN LITERATURE

Author(s): Laurence Totelin
Source: Phoenix , Vol. 66, No. 1/2 (Spring-Summer/printemps-été 2012), pp. 122-144
Published by: Classical Association of Canada
Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.7834/phoenix.66.1-2.0122

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 BOTANIZING RULERS AND THEIR HERBAL SUBJECTS:
PLANTS AND POLITICAL POWER IN GREEK
AND ROMAN LITERATURE

Laurence Totelin

introduction: citizen balsam

I n the twelfth book of his Natural History, a book devoted to trees, Pliny
the Elder (a.d. 23/24–79) reports how balsam was first seen in Rome, when it
was led in the triumph of Vespasian and Titus over the Jews (a.d. 71):
But of all scents, that which is ranked highest is balsam. Of all the countries, it has
been vouchsafed only to Judaea, where formerly it was found only in two gardens, both
belonging to the king; one was no larger than twenty iugera in extent, the other even
smaller. The emperors Vespasian and Titus exhibited this variety of tree to Rome; and
it is a remarkable fact that since the time of Pompey the Great we have led even trees
in triumph. This tree is now a slave; it pays tribute together with its race . . . . Now it
is the public treasury that grows it, and never before was it more plentiful; but its height
remains under two cubits (HN 12.111–113).1

Although some wealthy Romans might have encountered the expensive bal-
sam resin (opobalsamum) or balsam bark (xylobalsamum) in some of their cos-
metics or medicines, very few would have seen the entire tree (or rather shrub).2
Seeing it paraded through the streets of Rome on the occasion of the triumph
was a new experience. As pointed out by Trevor Murphy, triumphs appealed

Preliminary versions of this paper were presented at the Cabinet of Natural History, Department of
History and Philosophy of Science, University of Cambridge (January 2007) and at the C Caucus
Seminar, Faculty of Classics, University of Cambridge (January 2009). I wish to thank the people
who attended these seminars for their useful comments. In particular, I am grateful to Geoffrey
Lloyd, Robin Osborne, and Liba Taub. Thanks also to John Scarborough for sharing his forth-
coming article with me and for stimulating e-mail exchanges. The comments of two anonymous
reviewers helped me strengthen my argument. The research leading to this paper would not have
been possible without the generous funding of the Wellcome Trust. My thanks also go to those at
Cardiff University who helped me “find my roots.”
Non-standard abbreviations used: Gal. Comp. Med. sec. Loc. = De compositione medicamentorum
secundum locos; Comp. Med. per Gen. = De compositione medicamentorum per genera; Simpl. = De simpli-
cium medicamentorum temperamentis ac facultatibus.
1
See also Solinus 35.5. Pollard (2009: 328, n. 58) notes that there are no mentions of balsam
in other ancient descriptions of this triumph. The ancient sources on balsam are collected in Stern
1974–1980.
2
On the medical properties of balsam, see Diod. 2.48.9; Dsc. 1.19; Gal. Simpl. 6.2 (11.846
Kühn). On balsam, see Schürer, Vermes, and Millar 1973: 298–300, n. 36; Cotton and Eck 1997;
Dalby 2003: 43; Milwright 2003. Greek b‡lsamon is usually identified with our Commiphora
opobalsamum Engl. For a discussion of this identification (and the problems it poses), see Milwright
2003: 196.

122
PHOENIX, VOL. 66 (2012) 1–2.

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 BOTANIZING RULERS AND HERBAL SUBJECTS 123

to the Roman imagination as “spectacles and education.” They were an oppor-

tunity to display new and strange material, including trees, while providing a
means of collating and digesting that knowledge.3
But parading the tree was above all an affirmation of power. The language of
this passage is political: the balsam tree is a slave (seruit), conducted in triumph
(in triumpho duximus),4 paying a tribute to Rome (tributa pendit); it belongs to
the race of the Judeans (sua gente). Pliny presents trees as political bodies—
or rather as non-political bodies since they are now enslaved—and examines
their interactions with another type of political bodies: rulers. Pliny’s analogy
between plant and slave works on at least two levels. First, like a slave, the
balsam tree is economically essential to its masters, bringing them significant
revenue. Most ancient authors who discuss balsam insist on its costliness, and
Pliny tells us that after the triumph the cultivation of the tree passed into the
hands of the fiscus (probably a part of the aerarium populi Romani, the treasury
of the Roman people).5 Second, the tree, like a slave, occupies an intermediate
position on a scale of humanity that stretches from “object” to “person.” Pliny,
together with other ancient writers (including Plato) conceived of plants as
living, breathing beings which were more than simple inanimate objects, even
though they were not actually human.6 To honour a tree “as if it were a loved
woman,” as the Persian king Xerxes (ca 480 b.c.) had allegedly done with a
plane tree, was considered rather silly since it granted too much individuality
to a plant.7 In a similar way, in ancient societies slaves were denied legal
status as individuals and treated as a commodity. Thus, Pliny and many other
ancient sources present a world where some humans are commoditized as slaves,
and where trees are sometimes individualized. A strict polar opposition between
“things” and “persons” is a modern phenomenon according to the anthropologist
Igor Kopytoff:
In contemporary Western thought, we take it more or less for granted that things—
physical objects and rights to them—represent the natural universe of commodities. At
the opposite pole we place people, who represent the natural universe of individuation
and singularization. This conceptual polarity of individualized persons and commoditized
things is recent and, culturally speaking, exceptional.8

3
Murphy 2004: 160. The Roman triumph has attracted much scholarly attention recently:
Bastien 2007; Beard 2007; Östenberg 2009: in particular 184–188 for the use of trees in triumphs.
4
Östenberg (2009: 188) notes that the verb ducere was only used in relation to living beings
(animals and prisoners) led in triumph, and not in relation to objects.
5
See Plin. HN 12.123; Joseph. AJ 14.54; 15.96; BJ 4.469; Strab. 17.1.15. For this interpreta-
tion of the word fiscus, see Alpers 1995: 291–304; Östenberg 2009: 187.
6
See for instance, Plin. HN 12.1, 16.181; Pl. Timaeus 77a–c. Aristotle (e.g., Gen. an. 731a) and
his student Theophrastus (e.g., Hist. pl. 1.1.1) do not push the analogy between plants and animals
as far as Plato. See Östenberg (2009: 188) for further references in Roman texts.
7
Ael. Var. Hist. 2.14 (see also 9.39). The story was first told in Hdt. 7.31; it was retold
numerous times in the Byzantine period. See Stubbings 1946.
8
Kopytoff 1986: 64.

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124 PHOENIX

Balsam was certainly a useful and productive slave, but it was nevertheless a
slave, which simply changed hands with the Roman conquest. Before bringing
good revenues to the Roman fiscus, balsam had served the kings of Judea, in
whose two gardens, according to Pliny, it exclusively grew. In the fourth cen-
tury b.c., Theophrastus (Hist. pl. 9.6.1) had also noted that balsam grew only
in two gardens, even though he did not link them to a king. Other ancient
sources, closer to the time of Pliny (Flavius Josephus b. a.d. 37/8; Justin, sec-
ond or third century a.d.; and Strabo, first century b.c.–first century a.d.), also
locate the production of balsam in two places: first, at Jericho (Jordan valley),
in the “balsam garden,” situated by the palace built by Herod the Great (first
century b.c.), and second, at En-Gadi in the Dead Sea area.9 This limited
geographical distribution of balsam was certainly linked to the extensive irriga-
tion effort necessary to make its cultivation prosper.10 The successive rulers of
Judea (Seleucids, Hasmoneans, and Herod) may have narrowed this geograph-
ical distribution even further by imposing a royal monopoly on balsam; some
of our sources do indeed allude to such a monopoly.11 As noted by Kopytoff,
power can assert itself by “singularizing an object or a set or class of objects.”12
Thus, the kings of Judaea had asserted their power by monopolizing for them-
selves the balsam tree; and by making the tree into a slave, Titus and Vespasian
strongly affirmed their power over its previous owners. Ida Östenberg suggests
that, after the triumph, the balsam tree was replanted in a Roman garden where
visitors could admire it along with the flora of the entire world.13 Although
works on the Templum Pacis and its gardens began shortly after the triumph, I
would doubt balsam ever found a place there; as we will see below (135–136),
transplanting trees in the ancient world was an activity often destined to fail,
and balsam was a particularly demanding tree.14 In addition, an obscure allusion
in Pliny seems to indicate that balsam did not grow anywhere else than in its
native country.15
By the time of Vespasian, the balsam tree had already had many interactions
with sovereigns, if we may believe Josephus. The Jewish historian tells us how
the legendary queen of Sheba offered the root of that plant to Solomon; how
Pompey heard of the death of Mithradates (63 b.c.) at Jericho, the land of palm
9
Jericho: Diod. 2.48.9; Joseph. JA 4.100, 14.54; BJ 1.138, 1.361, 4.469; Just. 36.3; Strab.
16.2.41. En-Gadi: Gal. De Antidotis 1.4 (14.25 Kühn); Joseph. JA 9.7. Dioscorides (1.19) also
notes that balsam only grows in Judaea. In other places, we read of balsam growing in Arabia:
Paus. 9.28.3–4; Strab. 16.4.19.
10
See Amigues 2006: 100–101. Netzer and Garbrecht (2002) describe the archaeological remains
of water systems in the Jericho plain that were linked to a royal estate dating to the Hasmonean
period. See also Nielsen 1994: 160.
11
Justin 36.3; Strab. 17.1.15. See Cotton and Eck 1997.
12
Kopytoff 1986: 73.
13
Östenberg 2009: 188.
14
On the gardens of the Templum Pacis, see Pollard 2009.
15
Plin. HN 16.135: fastidit balsamum alibi nasci.

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 BOTANIZING RULERS AND HERBAL SUBJECTS 125

trees and balsam shrubs; and how Marc Antony took away the balsam garden
from king Herod and presented it to Cleopatra (34 b.c.).16 The enslavement of
balsam by Titus and Vespasian may be read as one encounter among others—
one encounter too many—between the shrub and human rulers.
The various changes of hands of balsam partially constitute its biography.
As already mentioned, ancient trees occupied an intermediate position between
individuals and objects, but as recent studies have shown, even the most inani-
mate of objects can be said to have a biography; like people, objects are trans-
formed with time.17 Objects become invested with meanings through social
interactions. Moreover, people’s biographies are often tied up in objects; objects
give meaning to people’s lives. These special objects are what anthropologists
have called “biographical objects”; they may be so important to their owners
that they become “endowed with the personal characteristics of their owners”;
“[they] can come to be seen as surrogate selves.”18 Janet Hoskins comments on
the role plant metaphors have played in the definition of “biographical objects”
as opposed to “commodities”:
At the temporal level, the biographical object grows old, and may become worn and
tattered along the life span of its owner, while the public commodity is eternally youthful
and not used up but replaced. At the spatial level, the biographical object limits the
concrete space of its owner and sinks its roots deeply into the soil. It anchors the owner to a
particular time and place. The public commodity, on the other hand, is everywhere and
nowhere, marking not a personal experience but a purchasing opportunity.19

In this paper, I want to move from Hoskins’s plant metaphor to a more

concrete study of plants as biographical objects in the ancient world. It is my
contention that trees and other plants were significant biographical objects—and
at times even surrogate selves—in the lives of the Greeks and Romans, and in
particular in the lives of their rulers. Through these plants, rulers attempted to
root themselves in their territories, to achieve a sense of rootedness. The material
on the interaction between biographies of ancient plants and those of ancient
rulers is too extensive to be fully examined in a short study. As a way of limiting
myself, I will concentrate on those ancient kings who are reported to have
experimented with plants and wrote, or are reported to have written, on the topic
of botany (Attalus iii Philometor, ca 170–133 b.c.; Mithradates vi Eupator,
120–63 b.c.; and Juba ii, ca 46 b.c.–ca a.d. 23), as well as the Roman figures

16
Joseph. JA 8.174 (Queen of Sheba); 1.138 (Pompey and Mithradates); BJ 1.361 (Cleopatra
and Marc Antony). See also JA 14.54 for Mithradates and 15.96 for Cleopatra (on which see also
Plut. Ant. 36). On the links between balsam and rulers, see Östenberg 2009: 186–187. On the
donation to Cleopatra, see Schürer, Vermes, and Millar 1973: 288–289.
17
See Gosden and Marshall 1999 for bibliography up to 1999. Joy (2009) gives recent bibliog-
raphy, whilst claiming that biographical studies of objects are still needed.
18
Hoskins 1998: 7.
19
Hoskins 1998: 8 (italics mine). See also Morin 1969: 136.

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126 PHOENIX

of power with whom they interacted (Tiberius Gracchus, Pompey, Lucullus,

Caesar, and Augustus).20
Of course, my move from the metaphorical (i.e., the use of the notion of
rootedness in the study of biographical objects) to the concrete (i.e., the study
of plants as biographical objects) is not complete. I am not dealing with ar-
chaeological material (remains of plants, excavations of gardens), but with texts
in which plants are made to play the role of what we would call biographical
objects: where plants are made to become rulers’ surrogate selves or symbols for
the notion of rootedness. Whether plants actually played such important roles
in the lives of ancient rulers, I cannot ascertain.
By focusing on the personal links between kings and plants, I am able to
shift away slightly from the notions of “empire” and “colonialism” in my study
of ancient botanical literature. Until recently, these notions were mostly used in
discussions of early modern and modern botanical enterprises, but they have re-
cently entered the linguistic apparatus of classicists. For instance, in an excellent
recent article E. A. Pollard argued that the “gardens in the Flavian Templum
Pacis are best understood as colonial botanical gardens, populated with exotic
flora of the type catalogued by Pliny, and that these gardens . . . were monumen-
tal statements of imperial power.”21 I do not disagree with such conclusions, but
rather than discuss this at a general and abstract level, I want to concentrate on
more particular instances of relations between rulers and their “herbal subjects.”

attalus: agriculture vs. gardening

Ancient royal interest in plants took many forms: interest in vegetable ma-
teria medica, horticulture, pomiculture, and agriculture, the latter activity being
considered of the highest dignity, as Pliny writes in the eighteenth book of his
Natural History:
Therefore to give instructions concerning agriculture was an activity of the highest dignity
even amongst foreigners, since indeed kings performed it, Hiero, Philometor, Attalus,
Archelaus, and generals, Xenophon and also the Carthaginian Mago (HN 18.22.)

The kings in question are Hiero ii of Syracuse (270–215 b.c.),22 who or-
ganised the cereal resources of Sicily and to whom Theocritus dedicated his

20
For other studies of ancient kings and botany, see Dalby 2000; Massar 2005: 232–235. The
concept of “biographical objects” could be applied to other “things” that were led in triumph (such as
animals and stones), but I am here particularly interested in the notion of “roots.” Objects dug out
from the earth could also help the ancients to establish a sense of rootedness: see for instance the
story of the bones of Orestes, as told by Herodotus (1.67–68), on which see Mayor 2011: 110–112.
21
Pollard 2009: 312. Works on late periods include, for example, Miller and Reill 1996; Fara
2003; Schiebinger 2004; Schiebinger and Swan 2005. See Flemming 2005: 449 on the reluctance
of ancient historians to use the words “colonial” and “imperial.”
22
See P. Thibodeau, “Hierōn ii of Sirakousai,” in Keyser and Irby-Massie 2008: 394 and
bibliography. On hellenistic kings and agriculture, see Thompson 1984: 365; Dalby 2000.

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 BOTANIZING RULERS AND HERBAL SUBJECTS 127

sixteenth Idyll; Attalus iii Philometor, last king of Pergamum (170–133 b.c.),
whom Pliny divides into two kings; and Archelaus, whom scholars have identi-
fied with the King of Cappadocia from 36 b.c. to a.d. 17.23
Pliny also mentions these royal agriculturists as foreign sources in his table
of contents in relation to agriculture and many other topics: for his Books 8
(on land animals: Hiero, Attalus, Philometor, Archelaus); 9 (aquatic animals:
Archelaus); 10 (birds: Hiero, Philometor); 11 (insects: Attalus, Philometor);
14 (fruit-trees: Hiero, Attalus, Philometor); 15 (also on fruit-trees: Hiero,
Attalus, Philometor); 17 (cultivated trees: Hiero, Attalus, Philometor); 18
(crops: Hiero, Attalus, Philometor, Archelaus); 28 (drugs from animals: At-
talus, Archelaus, neither qualified as king); 33 (metals: Attalus medicus); and 37
(gems: Archelaus).24 However, Pliny is unlikely to have read these authors first
hand: he did not even realise that King Attalus and King Philometor were the
same person. The encyclopaedist also appears to have confused King Archelaus
with a homonym, Archelaus of Chersonesus, who wrote on animals and was
one of Varro’s sources.25
Before Pliny, Varro (116–27 b.c.) and Columella (fl. a.d. 50) had also listed
Hiero of Sicily and Attalus Philometor amongst their sources for their works
on agriculture. Again, these Latin authors are unlikely to have read these royal
writings first hand. Columella, like Pliny, thought of King Attalus and King
Philometor as two separate people, and it seems that Varro had knowledge of
these authors only through Cassius Dionysius, the translator into Greek of the
writings of Mago the Carthaginian.26
Of the reported writings of King Archelaus (if that king ever wrote any-
thing) and Hiero, we have absolutely nothing; on the other hand, some frag-
ments of Attalus’ writings may be known. We have several recipes (in partic-
ular a recipe for a plaster) preserved by Celsus, Galen, and Pliny under the
name of Attalus.27 The attribution of these recipes to the last Pergamene
king has been questioned by some modern scholars, but Galen did not doubt
that these remedies had been created by his co-citizen.28 Some fragments
from Attalus’ writings on animals may also be preserved: for instance, Pliny
(HN 28.24) informs us about Attalus’ method for avoiding the strike of scor-
23
See P. Thibodeau, “Arkhelaos of Kappadokia,” in Keyser and Irby-Massie 2008: 158–159 and
bibliography.
24
In Book 11, the references to “King Attalus” and “King Philometor” are separated by several
lines.
25
See A. Zucker, “Arkhelaos of Khersonēsos,” in Keyser and Irby-Massie 2008: 159.
26
Varro R.R. 1.1.8–10; Columella R.R. 1.1.8. On Cassius Dionysius, see P. Thibodeau, “Dionu-
sios of Utica, Cassius,” in Keyser and Irby-Massie 2008: 265 and bibliography.
27
Celsus De Medicina 5.19.11; 6.6.5; Plin. HN 32.87; Gal. Comp. Med. sec. Loc. 8.3 (13.162–163
Kühn); Comp. Med. per Gen. 1.13, 1.14, and 1.17 (13.414–415, 419–421, 446 Kühn); and 2.14
(13.525–526 Kühn).
28
Gal. Comp. Med. per Gen. 1.13 (13.416 Kühn). Massar (2005: 240) is uncertain as to the royal
origin of these remedies.

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128 PHOENIX

pions.29 Of Attalus’ work on metals, agriculture, and plants, we have no identifi-

able fragments, but biographical reports tell us of the king’s botanizing. Plutarch,
in his life of Demetrius (20.3), reports that the Pergamene king cultivated medic-
inal herbs (farmakQdeiw bot‡naw), “sowing and planting them himself in the
royal gardens, and making it his business to know their juices and fruits and
to collect these at the proper season.”30 Plutarch also lists some of the herbs
which Attalus tended: ¿oskœamon (henbane: Hyoscyamus niger L.); \llŽboron
(hellebore: Helleborus cyclophyllus Boiss.); kQneion (hemlock: Conium maculatum
L.); úk—niton (white henbane: Hyoscyamus albus L.); and dorœknion (thornap-
ple: Datura spp. L.).31 These plants are highly toxic, and may be the poi-
sons that Attalus, according to Galen (a.d. 129–216), administered to criminals
condemned to death in his search for antidotes.32 All these plants also appear
in Nicander’s poems on counter-poisons (Alexipharmaca) and counter-venoms
(Theriaca).33 The dating of Nicander is uncertain, but whether he lived at the
court of Attalus iii, as most scholars would argue, or much earlier, it is clear
that the Attalus character depicted by Plutarch had similar interests to those of
the poet.34
Plutarch (Dem. 20.1) regards Attalus’ botanizing and other hobbies practised
by ancient kings and generals as frivolous (diagvgˆw úxr}stouw), and so does
another ancient source, Justin (second to third century a.d., abbreviator of Pom-
pus Trogus, reign of Augustus). According to this historian, after having killed
his mother and wife Berenice,
Attalus assumed shabby clothing, let his beard and hair grow long as people on trial do,
and no longer went out in public or appeared before the people or held cheerful dinners
in the palace or, indeed, gave any other indication of being a balanced human being—to
the extent that he seemed to be paying his penalty to the shades of those whom he had
killed. With no regard for the administration of his kingdom (emphasis mine), he began to
cultivate gardens, planting various herbs (gramina), and mixing together the poisonous
with the harmless. He would then send assortments of all these, shot through with
the sap of the poisonous ones, as special presents for his friends. From this pastime

29
Galen also notes that Attalus wrote on animals at Simpl. 10.1 (12.251 Kühn). On Attalus’
pharmacological work in general, and on his research on the sea-hare in particular, see Scarborough
2008.
30
See Hansen 1971: 144–145; Massar 2005: 234. On gardens as features of hellenistic palaces,
see Nielsen 1994 and 2001.
31
The identification is by John Scarborough (2012).
32
Galen De Antidotis 1.1 (14.2 Kühn). Mithradates is also mentioned in this passage.
33
Alex. 13 and 42 (henbane); 186 (hemlock); 376 (thornapple); 415 (henbane); 483 (hellebore);
Ther. 941 (henbane). dorœknion is also described by Dioscorides (4.74). On úk—niton, see Amigues
2002. On ¿oskœamon, see Gaide 1995.
34
The ancient sources offer three possible dates for Nicander: first half of the third century b.c.
(contemporary of Aratus); end of the third century b.c. (contemporary of Ptolemy v); and end of
the second century b.c. (contemporary of Attalus iii). Most modern scholars believe Nicander to
be contemporary with Attalus iii: see Jacques 2002: xix.

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 BOTANIZING RULERS AND HERBAL SUBJECTS 129

he moved on to bronze working, and took pleasure in wax-modeling and pouring and
forging bronze (36.4.3, tr. Yardley).35

Plutarch and Justin probably used a common source, from which Justin
deleted exact references to plants.36 Justin’s mention of mixing together poi-
sonous and harmless plants might be read as a reference to Attalus’ experiments
on poisons and antidotes. Indeed, according to Pliny, it is through absorbing
both poisons and antidotes that Mithradates (who most probably emulated At-
talus’ example) became immune to toxic substances.37 Attalus’ “special presents”
might therefore have been quite useful in hellenistic courts, where the threat of
poisoning was omnipresent. Yet, it is clear that in Justin’s opinion botanizing,
playing with poisons, and other hobbies are not activities fit for a king; they
distract from more important administrative tasks. Although Justin does not say
this explicitly, he seems to imply that Attalus would not have had to leave his
kingdom to Rome at his death, had he taken care of administrating it properly,
instead of indulging in his pastimes.38
It is important to note that we have very few literary sources on Attalus
iii; Justin’s report, together with one by Diodorus Siculus (34.2), constitute
a large portion of our literary dossier on that king. These sources depict a
cruel, self-centred ruler, an image that has been accepted by modern schol-
ars until recently. The evidence of the inscriptions relating to Attalus’ reign,
on the other hand, is often adulatory, presenting him as a benefactor of the
people.39 It is tempting, and easy, to dismiss the stories told by Justin and
Plutarch relating to Attalus’ botanical enterprise as “anecdotal,” “fanciful,” “sen-
sational,” and “untrustworthy” as Reginald Allen does in his history of the
Attalid kingdom.40 Alternatively, one could dismiss the negative implications
found in the ancient historians’ testimonies, and argue that Attalus was a se-
rious “scientist.”41 We should probably follow Galen (another Pergamene) in
holding Attalus’ pharmacological work in high esteem. Yet, one needs to ac-
count for the critical tone of our sources. It is important to ask why literary
sources have insisted so much on Attalus’ personality and on his strange hob-
bies.
I would suggest that this insistence is linked to the circumstances in which
Attalus’ testament, bequeathing his kingdom and wealth to the Romans, reached
Rome. It was delivered by Eudemus when Rome was in a state of political up-
heaval. The agrarian law of Tiberius Gracchus (Lex Sempronia agraria), reorgan-

35
This passage is discussed by the scholars listed above, 128, n. 30 and by Hopp (1977: 117–118).
36
See Scarborough 2008.
37
Pliny NH 25.6. See Mayor 2010: 58 on the link between Mithradates and Attalus.
38
On other hobbies attributed to Attalus, see Hansen 1971: 146.
39
See Hansen 1971: 142–143; Hopp 1977: 108; Allen 1983: 6.
40
Allen 1983: 6 and 83–85.
41
See Rigsby 1988: 123; Habicht 1989: 377; Mayor 2010: 57–58.

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130 PHOENIX

ising control of public land (ager publicus), had just passed.42 From now on, cit-
izens would not be allowed to possess more than 500 iugera of public land, and
land possessed above this limit would be confiscated and redistributed to poor
citizens. Tiberius saw the testament of Attalus as an opportunity to further his
reforms. He introduced a bill stipulating that the king’s money, when brought
to Rome, should be given to citizens to whom land had been distributed, to help
them with the costs of equipping their new allotments. In doing so, Tiberius
ignored the Senate’s right to manage the treasury and foreign affairs, and at-
tracted immense opposition. Worse, because Attalus had been a client of the
Gracchi (since Tiberius’ father’s Asian embassy in 165 b.c.), Tiberius welcomed
Eudemus in his house.43 According to Plutarch (TG 14.2), one of the sena-
tors, Pompeius, “said that he was Tiberius’ neighbour, and therefore knew that
Eudemus of Pergamum had given Tiberius a royal diadem and purple robe, as
if he were about to be king in Rome.” Soon after, Tiberius was killed on the
Capitol.
At this time of crisis, botany might have been considered at Rome as a
dangerously “oriental” occupation. It is interesting to compare and contrast the
negative story of Attalus’ botanical pursuits (which I suspect is Roman in origin),
with the positive story of Cyrus the Younger. In the Oeconomicus, Xenophon
reports how the Persian king offered a guided tour of his paradeisos at Sardis to
Lysander:
When Lysander had expressed amazement at the beauty of the trees in it (for they
were planted at equal intervals in straight rows and all at regular angles), and many
sweet fragrances wafted about them as they strolled around, he exclaimed, in amazement,
“Cyrus, I certainly am amazed at all these things for their beauty, but I admire even more
the man who measured out each of the trees for you and arranged each of them in order.”
When Cyrus heard this, he was pleased and replied, “Lysander, I myself measured and
arranged everything and I even planted some of the trees myself” (4.21–22, tr. Pomeroy).

Whilst Cyrus is represented as planting trees himself (dŽndra . . . \fœteusa

a[t—w), Attalus plants dangerous herbs (Greek: bot‡nai, Latin: gramima),
which are by nature less orderly. Indeed, what makes Cyrus’ gardening so
admirable is the regularity, the order displayed in his paradeisos.45 A king like
Cyrus, with such a love of order, can be trusted with the administration of his
kingdom. Attalus, on the other hand, is depicted as having “no regard for the
42
The main sources on the arrival of Attalus’ testament at Rome are: Plut. TG 14.1; Liv. Per.
58. See, for example, Earl 1963; Badian 1972: 712–715; Bernstein 1978: 207–210; Stockton 1979:
67–69 and 153–154.
43
On the embassy of Sempronius Gracchus, see Plb. 30.27.1–4, 30.31.19–20, 31.1.1–2; Diod.
31.17 and 28; Cic. Brutus 79. See Earl 1963: 92–94; Badian 1972: 713; Bernstein 1978: 39.
45
There are several other examples of royal gardeners in the Near East, who were seen in a
positive light. See Stronach 1990 for the period 900–500 b.c. For an example closer to the time
of Attalus, see the story of Abdalonymus made king of Tyre by Alexander the Great: Plut. Mor.
340d–e; Diod. 17.46–47 (where the king is named Ballonymus).

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 BOTANIZING RULERS AND HERBAL SUBJECTS 131

administration of his kingdom.” All the positives in the Greek story of Cyrus’
botanical pursuits become negatives in the Roman account of Attalus’ hobbies.
As pointed out above, Attalus reportedly wrote on agriculture, a most noble
topic of interest according to the Romans. However, we are unable to identify
any fragment of those works in our sources. Rather than acknowledging Attalus
as a source of information on the vine or the olive tree, topics which the king
may have covered in his writings, the sources stress the more scandalous aspects
of his interest in plants: his fascination for poisonous, disorderly herbs—mere
gramina.
It is interesting to note that, according to Pliny (HN 19.169), the kings
of Rome had also tended their gardens with their own hands (Romani quidem
reges ipsi coluere). This activity, however, is not praised by the encyclopaedist;
rather, he stresses how Tarquinius the Proud cut off the heads of his garden
poppies as a metaphor intended to exhort his son to kill the chief men of the
state, a story also told by Livy (1.54). It seems that the Romans drew a link
between garden tending and the most negative aspects of monarchy. I would
therefore suggest that the insistence found in the sources on Attalus’ gardening
might be part of a propaganda warning against the orientalising threat posed
by the arrival of Attalus’ testament at Rome, and particularly against the threat
of monarchy.46 Indeed, in the texts of Plutarch and Justin, Attalus’ herbs are a
powerful metaphor: first, their roots dig deep in the Asian soil, the soil that was
once tended by Persian kings; second, as herbs they sprout and, unlike trees,
they do not grow in an orderly fashion; third, most are decidedly poisonous.
The ultimate danger posed by these herbs and their cultivator, Attalus, was to
poison the Roman republic with seeds of monarchy.
Mithradates, to whom I now turn, shared Attalus’ interest in poisonous
plants. However, the Roman attitude towards his medical research is markedly
different from that towards Attalus’. Instead of rejecting his findings, the Ro-
mans embraced them, as we shall see below, 135–136.

mithradates, lucullus, pompey:

translation and transplantation
In the introduction, I quoted a passage of Pliny the Elder on the balsam tree,
where the encyclopaedist noted that trees had been paraded in triumphs since
the time of Pompey the Great. Elsewhere (HN 12.20), Pliny tells us that the
first tree led in triumph was the ebony tree, in the triumph over Mithradates vi
Eupator and the pirates.47

46
On the orientalizing threat posed by Attalus’ bequest, see Carey 2003: 78.
47
On this triumph, see also Plin. HN 37.12–14; App. Mithr. 17.117; Solinus 52.52. On ebony,
see Meiggs 1982: 282–286. Marvels were also seen at the games organised by Pompey in 55 b.c.
(Plin. HN 8.70).

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132 PHOENIX

This triumph, held on September twenty-ninth (Pompey’s birthday) 61 b.c.,

was a magnificent and extravagant affair: exotic animals and plants, as well
as artefacts made of precious metals and pearls—in Ann Kuttner’s words, “the
Asian landscape”—were paraded through Rome.48 It should be noted, however,
that ebony did not grow in the parts of Asia closest to Rome; ebony is not a
Pontic tree.49 As Dioscorides and Pliny knew, it is native to India and Africa,
and Solinus in his short description of the triumph over Mithradates specifies
that the ebony on show came ex India.50 The Romans used the exotic wood of
ebony for furniture; Pliny (HN 24.89) also lists the tree’s medicinal properties.
More importantly, however, the ebony was symbolically significant, since, like
balsam, it was a tree that had a long history of links with rulers. According
to Herodotus (3.97.3), Persia after adding Ethiopia to her empire imposed an
annual tribute of two hundred ebony logs.51 Two thousand ebony logs were
also paraded, alongside six hundred ivory tusks, in the spectacular procession of
Dionysius that formed part of the grand procession of Ptolemy ii Philadephus
in Alexandria.52 It is likely that these Ptolemaeia provided a model for Pompey,
who was, on this occasion, more interested in establishing links with previous
demonstrations of power than in accurately representing the flora and fauna of
Pontus.53
The Ptolemaeia, described by Callixeinus of Rhodes (preserved by Athenaeus
197c–203b), were also a parade of marvels and riches, including plants and
animals, which served as a means to catalogue the wealth of the relatively new
Ptolemaic kingdom. Other curiosities on parade were elephants, antelopes,
ostriches, camels, frankincense, myrrh, saffron and cassia, a giraffe, and one
Ethiopian rhinoceros. Most of these exotica congregated in one section of
the parade, the “life tableau” depicting the triumphal return of Dionysus from
India (200d–201c). In this tableau, geographical “mistakes” were also made:
many of the items on parade were from Africa (“Ethiopia”) rather than India.
However, in the words of Rice, “the precise geographical origin of the goods
is less important than their general exotic associations and the fact that the
Ptolemies could claim credit for their appearance in Alexandria.”54
Pompey, the new Alexander, was most probably emulating his hellenistic
predecessors and staging his own return, if not from India (which he never
48
Kuttner 1999: 345. For other modern discussions of this triumph, see Murphy 2004: 162;
Beard 2007: 7 and 11–12.
49
On the distribution of the Diospyros genus, see Mabberley 2008: 277. Most trees of the
Diospyros genus are native to tropical regions.
50
Dsc. 1.98; Plin. HN 12.17; Solinus 52.52.
51
See also Plin. HN 12.17.
52
Callixeinus ap. Ath. 201a. On the grand procession, see Dunand 1981; Rice 1983; Wikander
1992; Thompson 2000.
53
See Östenberg 2009: 185
54
Rice 1983: 83–89. See also Trinquier 2002: 872.

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 BOTANIZING RULERS AND HERBAL SUBJECTS 133

reached), then from some outer reaches of the world. It should be noted,
however, that whilst at the Ptolemaeia ebony logs were paraded, in the triumph
over Mithradates the full tree was shown.55 The significance of this difference
becomes clear when we consider the important role plants played in Mithradates’
life. Allegedly, the king devoted much time experimenting with poisons and
their antidotes, hoping to devise a cure against all poisons. In order to do so,
he collected detailed knowledge of herbs (and other natural products) from all
his subjects, and recorded their medical properties in treatises, of which there
was a bookcase full, again according to Pliny:
He thus, among the brilliant qualities of his intellect, was particularly devoted to the
subject of medicine, and collecting information from all his subjects, who comprised a
great part of the world, he left among his private possessions a bookcase of these treatises
with specimens and [descriptions] of their properties. Pompey, however, on getting hold
of all the royal possessions, ordered his freedman, the grammarian Lenaeus, to translate
these into our language. This victory was thus beneficial no less to life than to the state
(HN 25.7).56
In this passage, as pointed out by Rebecca Flemming, empire and knowledge
are clearly linked: if Mithradates’ empire had not “comprised a great part of the
world,” the king would not have been able to accumulate his extensive knowledge
of materia medica (in antiquity a large proportion of medical products were
herbal).57 However, it should be noted that Pliny does not refer to Mithradates’
empire as a single entity (imperium), but rather as the sum of all the king’s
subjects (omnibus subiectis).
Mithradates could also rely on an impressive network of physicians and other
healers for his knowledge of the vegetable kingdom. Sources inform us that
Mithradates was in contact with Asclepiades (fl. ca 95 b.c.), the most famous
physician in Rome at the time, who addressed treatises to him;58 Crateuas
the famous root-cutter (111–64 b.c.) who dedicated a plant to him, which is
still known as Mithradatic mustard;59 and the empiricist physician Zopyrus of
Alexandria who sent to the king one of his antidotes to test on a man con-
demned to death.60 Not all these reports of links between the king and medical
55
See Östenberg 2009: 185.
56
On Mithradates’ antidote, see Totelin 2004; Mayor 2010: 237–247.
57
Flemming 2005: 458. See, for instance, the index to the recent translation of Dioscorides’
De Materia Medica (Beck 2005) to understand the prevalence of herbal products in ancient
pharmacology.
58
Plin. HN 25.6. On Asclepiades, see J. Scarborough, “Asklepiades of Bithunia,” in Keyser and
Irby-Massie 2008: 170–171 and bibliography.
59
Plin. HN 25.62. See Mayor 2010: 101 (however, Eupatoria, on which see Plin. HN 25.65,
is not said to have been dedicated by Crateuas). On Crateuas, see J.-M. Jacques, “Krateuas,” in
Keyser and Irby-Massie 2008: 491 and bibliography.
60
Gal. De Antidotis 2.7 (14.150 Kühn). On Zopyrus, see F. Stock, “Zōpuros of Alexandria,” in
Keyser and Irby-Massie 2008: 851 and bibliography.

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134 PHOENIX

authorities may be trusted (in particular, it is doubtful that Mithradates ever was
in contact with Asclepiades), but taken together, they indicate that Mithradates,
like other ancient rulers, enjoyed the company of learned physicians.61
By seizing Mithradates’ writings and having them translated into Latin, Pom-
pey took hold of the knowledge of the king’s subjects and distinguished network
of friends. Taking over this botanical knowledge was another way for Pompey
to affirm Roman power over the kingdom of Pontus and over his king, who
had been one of the toughest enemies of Rome. Thus, Pompey appropriated for
himself Mithradates’ rhetoric of power, whereby political authority and botanical
knowledge are linked.
One may find traces of Mithradates’ works on vegetable materia medica in
Pliny’s Natural History. The encyclopaedist lists Pompeius Lenaeus, the trans-
lator of Mithradates’ works, as his source for Books 14 and 15 (fruit trees), 20
(medicines from garden plants), 21 (flowers and garlands), 22 (importance of
herbs), 23 (drugs from cultivated trees), 24 (drugs from forest trees), 25 (nature
of self-grown plants), 26 (drugs by classes), and 27 (other drugs derived from
plants). The work of Lenaeus to which Pliny is referring is most probably the
translation of Mithradates’ writings.62 The identifiable fragments of Lenaeus’
writings in Pliny describe the tamarisk (24.67), mustax laurel (15.129), and a
plant called scordotion (25.63). In these fragments, Mithradates appears as a se-
rious student of flora, whose method of plant description may have been based
on that of Crateuas (it certainly resembles that of preserved botanical writers
such as Theophrastus and Dioscorides).
There is one final way in which Pompey emulated Mithradates’ interest in
plants. In 55 b.c., the general dedicated to Venus Victrix a portico, modeled
on Pergamene architecture, including a garden as one of its principal features.63
There grew, among other plants, the plane tree, the quintessentially Asian tree,
useful only for its refreshing shade, but nevertheless highly valued by Persian
kings.64 Katherine von Stackelberg, in her recent study of the Roman garden, has
shown how Pompey used his garden as a means to “advertise [his] political and
military power.”65 Pompey was not the first Roman, however, to plant gardens
that were reminiscent of Asian paradeisoi and to use them for political ends.
A few years earlier, another general who had fought and defeated Mithradates,
L. Licinus Lucullus, after his forced retirement from public life in 66 b.c., had
established gardens on the Pincian hill in Rome which were still known for
their luxury in the time of Plutarch (Luc. 39.2). According to von Stackelberg,
“Lucullus’ retirement was anything but retiring” as “from his Pincian gardens
61
See Massar 2005: 228.
62
See Beagon 1992: 236. On Lenaeus, see P. Thibodeau, “Pompeius Lenaeus,” in Keyser and
Irby-Massie 2008: 684 and bibliography.
63
See Gleason 1994; Kuttner 1999.
64
Prop. 2.32.13; Mart. 3.58; see Kuttner 1999: 355–356 and 369.
65
Von Stackelberg 2009: 76.

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 BOTANIZING RULERS AND HERBAL SUBJECTS 135

[he] continued to exert political influence against Pompey.”66 The gardens and
other landscape works in the vicinity of Naples earned Lucullus the nickname
“Xerxes in a toga” (Plut. Luc. 39.3), in reference to Persian precedents.67 Thus,
by the time of Mithradates, it was acceptable for a Roman general to enjoy a
garden, but it should be stressed that neither Pompey nor Lucullus are reported
to have tended their gardens with their own hands.
What grew in Lucullus’ gardens is not recorded for posterity, but one may
want to imagine them planted with cherry trees. Lucullus is also remembered for
his supposed transplantation of that tree from Pontus to Italy. This transplant
was allegedly so successful, that by the time of Pliny, the tree had “crossed the
ocean and gone as far as Britain” (HN 15.102).68 It is possible that Lucullus’
interest in the cherry tree led Pompey to show off the ebony tree in a feat of
competitive display, even though Pliny’s story whereby that tree was unknown
in Italy before Lucullus’ time is unlikely to be entirely accurate. Archaeology
has uncovered seeds from various cherry species in Bronze Age and Roman
archaeological sites throughout Europe.69 Whatever its truth, the story of the
cherry tree should be read alongside the story of Mithradates’ failure to transplant
myrtle and laurel to his territory:
In the city of Panticapaeus [Kerch] in the region of the Cimmerian Bosphorus, King
Mithradates and the rest of the inhabitants had toiled in every way to have the laurel
and the myrtle, undoubtedly for ritual purposes. He did not succeed, although trees
belonging to a gentle climate abound there, pomegranates and figs, as well as apples and
highly-praised pears (HN 16.137).70

Pliny’s story is in fact an adaptation of a passage of Theophrastus’ Enquiry

into Plants (4.5.3), which, of course, includes neither Mithradates’ name nor that
of any other ruler. The local inhabitants’ need of myrtle and laurel for ritual pur-
poses is noted in both Pliny’s and Theophrastus’ versions. The two plants played
an important role in Greek religious ceremonies.71 The Panticapaeans’ attempts
to grow these plants must therefore be understood as an effort to emulate Greek
mores. Their failure meant that they could not become completely Hellenized;
their country could grow Mediterranean plants, but not those that were most
significant from a Greek cultural point of view. The addition of Mithradates’
name to the story by Pliny or his source makes it even more poignant: with
66
Von Stackelberg 2009: 77.
67
See von Stackelberg 2009: 78.
68
On the cherry tree, see Meiggs 1982: 47; Dalby 2001: 111. It is interesting to know that
Cimon, to whom Plutarch compares Lucullus, was credited with importing the plane tree to Athens:
Plut. Cim. 13.5.
69
See Zohary and Hopf 2000: 182.
70
There are other stories of failed transplantations in HN Book 12 and 16.134. See Pollard
2009: 324–325.
71
On laurel and myrtle, see Dalby 2003: 48–49 and 227. Myrtle and laurel were also used in
wreaths worn by Roman generals during ovations and triumphs, respectively: Plin. HN 15.125.

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136 PHOENIX

all his knowledge, money, and power, the king was unable to transplant myrtle
and laurel. Modern botanists know that the climate in the region of Kerch is
too harsh for some, but not all, Mediterranean plants to grow.72 In antiquity,
on the other hand, climate was not the only factor believed to contribute to a
successful plant transplant; this success also depended on other, less tangible fac-
tors. Pliny, in the paragraphs preceding the story of Mithradates (HN 16.134),
even goes as far as to claim that some plants refused out of pride (contumacia) to
grow in foreign places. One could therefore suggest that, in Pliny’s eyes, myrtle
and laurel refused, of their own will, to become Mithradates’ herbal subjects.
Thus, the king’s reported failure is in stark contrast with the alleged success of
Lucullus in transplanting the cherry tree. The general did not spend much of
his life studying plants; he did not endeavour to gain botanical knowledge from
all Roman subjects, yet he was ultimately more successful than Mithradates in
his botanical enterprises.
Transplantation and “translation” are the phenomena that are most prominent
in the stories that link Mithradates, Lucullus, and Pompey to various plants.
Mithradates may have posed a serious threat to the Romans, but the generals
who came in contact with him did not hesitate to adopt and adapt his botanical
and medical discoveries. The king’s passion for plants had a deep and long-
lasting influence on Rome. It changed the shape of the Roman triumph, which
now included trees, and it may have been influential in the creation of lush public
gardens at Rome. The horti of Lucullus and Pompey inspired other prominent
political figures (such as Caesar), who competed to have the most beautiful,
luxuriant gardens. Less than a century after the death of Attalus, the Romans
were ready to accept the botanical legacy of an oriental ruler. The botanical
work of Juba ii of Mauretania, to which I now turn, would also be very well
received at Rome.

juba: botanical research in an imperial context

While still an infant, Juba ii was led in the triumph by Caesar in 46 b.c.—
his father Juba i was absent as he had committed suicide.73 Descriptions of
the African triumph do not mention trees, but according to Velleius Paterculus
(2.56.2), sandarac (citronwood, Tetraclinis articulata Masters) was paraded by
Caesar in his triumph over the Gauls, which had been celebrated the same
week as that over Juba i. Sandarac, an aromatic tree, whose bark was used in
the production of expensive furniture, was a produce of Juba’s country, and the
poet Lucan (Pharsalia 9.426–430) would describe it a few decades later as the
Mauretanians’ only wealth.74 Indeed, Juba himself is said to have sold two tables
made of sandarac, one for 1,200,000 sesterces, the other for a little less (Plin.
72
See Amigues 1989: 234.
73
App. BC 101; Plut. Caesar 55.
74
On sandarac, see Meiggs 1982: 288.

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 BOTANIZING RULERS AND HERBAL SUBJECTS 137

HN 13.91). Was the use of an African tree in a Gallic triumph a deliberate

geographical “mistake”? Or did Velleius Paterculus get his facts wrong about
the use of sandarac in Caesar’s triumphs? Was the tree in fact paraded in the
African triumph, as a substitute for the dead king? It is unfortunately impossible
to answer these questions.
After the triumph, Juba ii was educated in Rome, and in 25 b.c. he received
from Augustus the Kingdom of Mauretania, over which he ruled for almost half
a century. His kingdom would always be a client of Rome, never fully inde-
pendent. To use the words of Pliny, Juba was more famous for his erudition
than for his royal sovereignty (HN 5.16). The king was extremely learned and
wrote treatises, in Greek, on a variety of subjects, including history, geography,
grammar, and natural history.75 These treatises were quoted on numerous oc-
casions by Pliny, Plutarch, and Athenaeus. Pliny lists him as a source for his
Books 5 (on Africa), 8 (animals), 10 (birds), 12 (trees), 13 (foreign trees), 14
and 15 (fruit trees), 25 (self-grown plants), 26 (drugs by classes), 28 (drugs from
animals), 31 and 32 (drugs from aquatic animals), 33 (metals), 36 (stones), and
37 (gems). Pliny probably read at least some of Juba’s writings first hand, as he
gives numerous abstracts from his works.
Juba included information on flora in his two main geographical/historical
treatises, which were devoted to Libya and Arabia. In the former, for instance,
he may have identified the famous apples of the Hesperides with a product
of his country, the citron (Ath. 83b = FGrH 275F6). In the latter, a treatise
dedicated to Caius Caesar (the adoptive son of Augustus, whom the emperor
had intended to send on an expedition to the fragrant land in a.d. 1 or 2), Juba
included descriptions of myrrh, frankincense (see below, 138–139), and various
other wondrous plants such as a strawberry trees that reached seventy-five feet
and a plant that turned as hard as horn in order not to be gathered.76
In addition to allusions to plants in these geographical texts, Juba wrote at
least one book entirely devoted to botany: a treatise on the plant euphorbia
(Euphorbia resinifera Berg., a type of spurge).77 In one passage of his Natural
History, Pliny claims Juba himself had discovered that plant:
In the age of our fathers too, King Juba discovered a plant which he named euphorbia
after his physician. This latter was the brother of Musa who, as we have mentioned,
saved the life of the divine Augustus . . . . But the treatise of Juba on this plant is still

75
On Juba’s writings, see most recently Roller 2003: 163–182; A. Zucker, “Iouba ii of Maure-
tania,” in Keyser and Irby-Massie 2008: 441–442.
76
Dedication to Gaius: see Plin. HN 6.141 and 12.56 = FGrH 275F1 and 2. See Carey 2003:
36–37; Murphy 2004: 163. Strawberry tree: Plin. HN 15.99 = FGrH 275F68. Horn tree: Plin.
HN 13.142 = FGrH 275F67.
77
On this treatise, see most recently Riddle 1985: 14; Roller 2003: 178–179. Jacoby (1943:
329) doubted whether this text on euphorbia constituted an independent treatise. However, the
words used by Pliny (HN 25.77 = FGrH 275F7: volumen) and Galen (Comp. Med. sec. Loc. 9.4;
13.271 Kühn = FGrH 275F8a: bibl’kion) imply the independence of this text.

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138 PHOENIX

extant, and it praises the plant highly. He discovered it on Mount Atlas (HN 25.77 =
FGrH 275F7).78

Here Pliny stresses how the king himself discovered the plant while wandering
on Mount Atlas; elsewhere (HN 5.16 = FGrH 275F42), however, he attributes
this discovery to Juba’s physician, Euphorbus, the brother of Antonius Musa,
the famous physician to the emperor Augustus.79 Other sources dissociated
Juba from this discovery: Dioscorides simply mentions the fact that the shrub
was discovered during the life time of Juba; and Galen reports that the king
wrote a short work about euphorbia.80 The details of the plant’s discovery do
not really matter, however. It is more important to note two facts. First, Juba
seems to have devoted his only exclusively botanical work to an African plant,
growing on the Atlas, that is, on his own territory. Second, Juba was in contact
with important medical authorities of his time, medical authorities who in turn
were connected with Augustus. One may wonder whether the emperor himself
patronized an expedition to the Atlas in order to discover its natural products.
Juba’s description of euphorbia, which is also preserved by Pliny, stresses the
dangers involved in gathering its sap:
It has the appearance of a thyrsus and the leaves of an acanthus. Its strength is such that
the juice is collected from a distance, by means of an incision with a pole; it is gathered
in receivers made of kid’s stomach placed underneath. The juice, when it flows down,
looks like milk; dried and solidified, it is a copy (effigiem) of frankincense. Those who
collect it see clearer (HN 25.79 = FGrH 275F7).81

Like Attalus and Mithradates, Juba is dealing with a dangerous plant, but he
shows the ways in which it can be tamed and used to good effect. Juba’s advice
on how to collect the sap of euphorbia is sound since it is a skin and eye irritant.82
The juice of frankincense, to which Juba compares euphorbia, was a very
significant sap. It fulfilled an important role in ancient rituals, and was also
used in the preparation of luxury perfumes and pharmacological concoctions.83
Frankincense too was a plant with a long history of royal links, real or imagined.
Pliny reports that the Persian kings attempted to grow it at Sardis; that a King
Antigonus described it as a sort of terebinth; that Alexander the Great had
conquered Arabia for the sake of frankincense (this story is certainly untrue as

78
There are other stories of ancient kings discovering plants. See for instance the story of
Pharnaces, who may or may have not discovered pharnaceum according to Pliny (HN 25.33). See
Mayor 2010: 47.
79
On Antonius Musa, see J. Scarborough, “Antonius Musa,” in Keyser and Irby-Massie 2008:
101 and bibliography.
80
Dsc. 3.82.2 = FGrH 275F8b; Gal. Comp. Med. sec. Loc. 9.4 (13.271 Kühn) = FGrH 275F8a.
See also Simpl. 6.24 (11.879 Kühn). The sources are collected in Roller 2004: 103–107.
81
See also Dsc. 3.82.1 for a similar description of the gathering of the plant.
82
See Bown 2002: 210.
83
On frankincense, see Dalby 2003: 150–151 and bibliography.

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 BOTANIZING RULERS AND HERBAL SUBJECTS 139

Alexander never conquered Arabia); and that the Ptolemies had sown trees like
frankincense in Carmania:
King Juba in the volumes which he wrote for C. Caesar, son of Augustus . . . states that
the tree has a twisted stem and branches closely resembling those of the Pontic maple
and that it gives a juice like that of the almond. And he says that such trees (tales) are
to be seen in Carmania and Egypt, where they were sown under the influence of the
Ptolemies when they were ruling (HN 12.56 = FGrH 275F2).84

Why did Juba choose to compare trees that grew outside Arabia to frankin-
cense? Probably because by the time the king completed his writings on Arabia
(between a.d. 2 and 5), two Arabian expeditions sent by Augustus had failed:
after some success, the expedition led by the prefect of Egypt, Aelius Gallus
in 26 or 25 b.c., ended in failure; and although Gaius Caesar did visit parts of
northern Arabia (Arabia Petraea), he never made it to Arabia Felix, the won-
derful land of spices.85 Arabia Felix remained unconquered and its products
expensive imports; hence the need to find substitutes in friendly territories.
We do not know the relative dates of Juba’s writings, but I like to imagine
the treatise on euphorbia as a late work, written after the works on Arabia.
There, Juba would have praised the plant as a substitute to elusive Arabian
products. There he affirmed that the sap of euphorbia is as good as that of
expensive frankincense: why try to get in distant Arabia something one can find
in welcoming, Roman-friendly Mauretania?
Botanical research is not as central to Juba’s life as it had been to that of
Mithradates; it is only one of the king’s areas of interest. Yet, as Duane Roller
has pointed out, “Juba’s discovery of euphorbia and its medical use is one of
his most lasting accomplishments. All botanists are familiar with the genus
Euphorbia.”86 Only fragments of Juba’s writings survive, but his botanical legacy
lives on. Euphorbia must have been dear to Juba for him to devote an entire
treatise to it, and in our sources, the plant does appear to be a perfect surrogate
self for the king. Like the king, it has its roots in Africa, it can be dangerous,
yet it is potentially very useful to the Romans.
To sum up, Juba’s territory bore delicious fruits, grew precious timber, and
produced saps that were as good as frankincense gum. His kingdom was the
perfect garden, the perfect paradeisos. However, the king of this garden had been
uprooted in his youth, taken to Rome, and paraded in triumph. Juba’s main
power was his knowledge, which he appears to have been encouraged to acquire
by his patron, the emperor Augustus. Thus, by the time of the transition to
empire, the dangerous connotations attached to royal botanical enterprises—the

84
The other stories are at HN 12.55 and 62. See Murphy 2004: 100.
85
On the date of Juba’s writings on Arabia, see Roller 2003: 179. On the expedition of Aelius
Gallus, see Jameson 1968; Sidebotham 1986; Marek 1993. On Gaius Caesar and Arabia, see Romer
1979.
86
Roller 2003: 179.

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140 PHOENIX

implicit link between botanizing and an oriental type of rule—seem to have

lessened.

conclusions: uprooting and replanting

Vespasian, Titus, and the balsam shrub; Attalus and poisonous plants; Mith-
radates and the laurel and myrtle trees; Pompey and ebony; Lucullus and the
cherry tree; Caesar and citronwood; Juba and euphorbia: these are some of the
links between ancient political figures and plants I have discussed in this paper.
I have attempted to show how pregnant with symbolism these links are, but
also how individualized.
Mithradates appears to have been interested in cataloguing and organizing
the vegetable kingdom in a systematic way, and Juba discussed many plants in his
writings. However, the majority of the stories I have discussed were not about
systematic “mapping of the natural world” or “empires of knowledge”—these
were stories about particular rulers interacting with particular plants. In these
narratives, plants play the role of biographical objects in the lives of rulers. First,
these plants have much in common with their owners. Thus, like their royal
masters, balsam and ebony were exotic (oriental), henbane and hellebore were
dangerous, and citronwood and euphorbia were useful. Second, in our stories,
the fates of plants and rulers mirror each other and become entangled. Thus,
we have read stories of rooting, uprooting, transplantations, and geographical
spread of plants and rulers—tales of rootedness and its absence.
Taken together, the anecdotes we encountered told the story of a progressive
acceptance on the parts of the Romans of the rhetoric of power associated with
plants in the hellenistic and Hellenized world. Whilst the Romans rejected
the botanical activities of an Attalus as dangerously oriental, Roman generals
adopted and adapted some of Mithradates’ botanical practices, and Juba’s botan-
ical enterprise appears to have been actively patronized, if not by the emperor
himself, then by members of his close entourage. The model of the botanizing
king itself, however, does not appear to have transplanted to Rome. Indeed,
there are two major differences between the Roman and the Greek (or rather
Hellenized) characters mentioned in this paper. First, the Hellenized characters
wrote about their herbal subjects, whereas the Roman ones did not. Although
there are examples of politically powerful Romans who wrote on the topic, not
least Pliny the Elder, no Roman emperor did, and neither did the generals men-
tioned in this paper—Pompey left the task of translating Mithradates’ medical
work to his freedman Lenaeus. Certainly, Juba, Mithradates, and Attalus, when
composing their treatises, could rely on other people to collect the basic data, if
not to write the final text. Yet nobody in antiquity ever questioned the fact that
those kings had composed the texts on plants that were attributed to them, and
neither should we, as ancient notions of authorship differ from modern ones.
Second, Hellenized characters in these stories are represented as having a very
“hands on” approach to plants. Both Attalus and Mithradates experimented with

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 BOTANIZING RULERS AND HERBAL SUBJECTS 141

herbs; Attalus is said to have tended his gardens himself; and Juba is represented
in some of our sources as having discovered the plant on which he wrote his
treatise whilst exploring the Atlas. By contrast, the only Romans discussed here
as having allegedly tended their gardens were the first kings of Rome, and this
was portrayed in a negative light. Pompey and Lucullus may have enjoyed their
gardens, but they had no manual involvement with them. Thus, the Roman
characters presented here enjoy plants, seek to assert their power over plants
and by means of plants, but they do not write about or cultivate them. These
activities never totally lost their imagined link with oriental and/or tyrannical
forms of kingship.
Many of the conclusions drawn here could have been reached in a study of
the relations between ancient rulers and animals, or in a study of the relations
between ancient rulers and stones, bones, and other objects dug out of the
ground. Animals too occupy an intermediate position on the scale between
object and individual, although they are more like people than objects. Like
plants, animals were led in triumph, they too were used for the entertainment
of wealthy rulers; like plants, animals could rebel and become dangerous, and
like plants, they could bring significant revenues to their owners. Yet, there is
something unique about plants, something that makes them perfect symbols of
power: their roots. Roots dig into the soil, they anchor the plant to a particular
place; uprooting a plant can lead to its death; and attempting transplantation
often fails. As in English (and many other languages), the Greek and Latin
words for “root” could be used in a metaphorical sense. In this paper, I have
suggested that the metaphor of rootedness is present—that there is a subtext of
rootedness—in ancient accounts of rulers’ botanical pursuits.

School of History, Archaeology and Religion

Cardiff University
Humanities Building, Colum Drive
Cardiff CF10 3EU
U.K. TotelinLM@cardiff.ac.uk

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