Coins have long served as more than mere tools of commerce; they are miniature canvases that encapsulate history, culture, and artistry. Across centuries, nations and empires have minted coins that are not only functional but also artistically significant; capturing the essence of their time and place in ways that modern currency rarely achieves.
While some of these nations have long since disappeared and been nearly forgotten, their coins still survive and deserve recognition as treasures of human creativity and ingenuity.
The Rise of Numismatic Art
Throughout history, coins have been a medium through which rulers proclaimed power, celebrated achievements, and expressed cultural identity. From the grand empires of antiquity to the fleeting states of recent history, the artistry imbued in coins tells stories of political ambition, religious devotion, and societal values.
The Hellenistic Kingdoms: Coins of Divine Elegance
Silver tetradrachm of Lysimachus
The coins of Alexander the Great’s successors, the Hellenistic kingdoms, stand as some of the most artistically significant examples in numismatic history. These coins often depicted finely detailed portraits of rulers in a godlike manner, merging human and divine iconography. For instance, coins minted under Lysimachus, one of Alexander’s generals, feature the image of Alexander adorned with the horns of Zeus-Ammon, symbolizing his godly status. The intricate craftsmanship and symbolism of these coins evoke both reverence and admiration for the artistic prowess of their creators.
The Byzantine Empire: A Golden Legacy
The Byzantine Empire, which spanned more than a thousand years, left behind a numismatic legacy characterized by striking imagery and religious themes. Byzantine solidus coins, minted in gold, often featured detailed depictions of emperors alongside Christian iconography, such as Christ Pantocrator or the Virgin Mary.
Byzantine Christ Pantocrator Gold Coin
These coins were not merely currency but also objects of devotion and propaganda, reflecting the empire’s intertwining of faith and governance. Their luminous beauty and meticulous designs continue to fascinate collectors and historians today.
Forgotten Nations: The Artistic Echoes of Modern History
While the coins of ancient empires often garner the most attention, currencies from more recent, defunct nations also offer profound artistic insights. These forgotten coins tell tales of fleeting sovereignty and shifting borders, encapsulating moments of cultural pride and resilience.
The Austro-Hungarian Empire: A Symphony of Cultures
The Austro-Hungarian Empire, a melting pot of diverse cultures, produced coins that reflect its rich heritage. Silver crown coins minted during the reign of Emperor Franz Joseph I showcase intricate designs that blend classical motifs with the empire’s distinctive symbols. The harmonious artistry of its coinage and currency is a testament to the empire’s complex yet unified character.
Austro-Hungarian 100-coronas (1908)
Coins from the Austro-Hungarian Empire often bore inscriptions in both German and Hungarian. This was reflective of the dual monarchy established by the Austro-Hungarian Compromise of 1867, which recognized Hungary’s autonomy within the empire. For example, coins minted in Hungary during Franz Joseph I’s reign often included Hungarian inscriptions alongside German ones.
The Ottoman Empire: A Tapestry of Intricate Geometry
Ottoman Gold Coin of Sultani Sulayman
The Ottoman Empire, known for its architectural grandeur and calligraphic artistry, translated its aesthetic sensibilities into its coinage. Ottoman coins often featured elegant Arabic script and geometric patterns, embodying the empire’s Islamic heritage. These coins stood as not only a representation of monetary value but also as an extension of the empire’s artistic traditions, bridging the worlds of functional design and spiritual expression.
The Weimar Republic: Modern Art in Crisis
The Weimar Republic, marked by economic turmoil and political instability, nonetheless produced coins that reflect the artistic movements of the early 20th century. The designs of these coins often drew inspiration from Bauhaus and other modernist movements, showcasing sleek lines and geometric forms. While the republic itself was short-lived, its coins serve as reminders of the resilience and innovation that can arise even in times of hardship.
Coins of the Weimar Republic (1920’s – 30’s)
Conclusion
Today, these artistically significant coins from defunct nations and empires hold value far beyond their original worth. They are sought after by collectors, admired by art enthusiasts, and studied by historians. Their designs, often painstakingly crafted, provide a glimpse into the soul of their creators and the societies they represented.
Coins have long been more than mere instruments of trade; they have served as enduring symbols of power, authority, and ideology. From the ancient empires of Mesopotamia to the modern nation-states, rulers have harnessed the medium of coinage to disseminate political propaganda and immortalize their reigns. These small, tangible artifacts have transcended their economic function to become vehicles of communication, carrying messages of legitimacy, conquest, and cultural dominance across centuries.
The Origins of Coinage as Propaganda
The use of coins as a means of political messaging can be traced back to antiquity. One of the earliest examples comes from the ancient civilizations of Lydia and Persia, where rulers began issuing coins bearing their likeness or symbols of divine favour. The face of a king on a coin was not merely decorative—it was a statement. It affirmed the ruler’s divine right to govern and reminded subjects of their allegiance to a central authority.
Athenian Silver Owl (440 – 400 BC)
In the Greek city-states, coinage reflected not only the wealth but also the identity of the polis. The Athenian tetradrachm famously featured the owl of Athena, symbolizing wisdom and the city’s patron deity, alongside inscriptions that asserted Athens’ dominance in trade and culture. By circulating these coins throughout the Mediterranean, Athens projected its power and influence far beyond its borders.
Roman Coins: A Masterclass in Political Messaging
Perhaps no civilization perfected the art of propagandistic coinage quite like the Romans. From the Republic to the Empire, Roman rulers used coins as tools to consolidate power, celebrate military victories, and reinforce loyalty. Julius Caesar, for instance, was the first living Roman to have his portrait minted on coins—a bold move that signified his ambition and foreshadowed the transition from Republic to Empire.
Julius Caesar Silver Coin
The emperors who followed Caesar continued to exploit coinage as a medium of propaganda. Augustus, the first Roman Emperor, adorned his coins with images of Pax Romana, symbolizing the peace and prosperity brought under his rule. His successors, such as Trajan and Constantine, commemorated their military triumphs and religious policies through intricate designs and inscriptions. Constantine’s coins famously featured the Chi-Rho symbol, a Christian emblem, as a declaration of his support for the burgeoning faith and his vision for a unified empire under Christianity.
Pax Romana Coin of Caesar Augustus
Medieval Monarchs: Coins in the Service of Divine Right
During the medieval period, European monarchs used coins to assert their divine right to rule. Kings like Charlemagne and Alfred the Great issued coinage that featured Christian iconography—crosses, saints, and biblical inscriptions—to emphasize their role as God’s chosen rulers. These coins served dual purposes: economic and theological. They were tools of commerce and instruments of faith, reminding subjects of the divine order that legitimized monarchical power.
Umayyad Caliphate Silver Dirham
Islamic rulers, too, utilized coinage to assert their authority and religious identity. The Umayyad Caliphate, for instance, introduced coins bearing Arabic inscriptions, distinguishing them from the Byzantine and Sassanian coinage that had previously dominated the region. These coins were not merely currency; they were declarations of Islamic sovereignty, and the ideological shift brought about by the Caliphate’s expansion.
The Renaissance and the Age of Discovery
With the Renaissance came a renewed emphasis on art and humanism, which found its way into coinage. Monarchs like Henry VIII and Elizabeth I of England used coins to depict their portraits in increasingly lifelike detail, showcasing their wealth and power. These coins were often accompanied by Latin mottos that underscored their political philosophies and divine favour.
1754 Spanish Silver Pillar Dollar showing ‘Plus Ultra’ motto on two ribbons. The ribbon encircling the pillar is believed to be the origin of the modern dollar sign ($)
The colonial powers of the Age of Discovery also leveraged coinage to assert control over newly conquered territories. Spanish coins bearing the Pillars of Hercules and the phrase “Plus Ultra” symbolized the empire’s global ambitions and its expansion into the Americas. By distributing these coins in distant lands, Spain reinforced its dominance and the idea of a universal monarchy.
Modern Coinage: National Identity and Propaganda
In the modern era, coinage continues to play a role in shaping political narratives, albeit in subtler ways. The United States minted coins celebrating its founding fathers and national symbols, such as the bald eagle and the Statue of Liberty, to foster unity and patriotism. Similarly, Soviet coins featured imagery of workers and industrial progress, aligning with the ideals of communism and the glorification of the proletariat.
Even today, many countries issue commemorative coins to mark significant events, leaders, and milestones. These coins serve as reminders of national pride and historical achievements, ensuring that the messages of the state reach even the remotest corners of society.
A variety of national reverse designs for the modern Euro coin.
When the European Union introduced the Euro as a single form of currency for all 12 of its official members in 2002, the reverses of each Euro coin were uniform across the entire EU. But each Member Nation was allowed to create their own coin obverses, featuring national motifs and symbols.
Because euro coins circulated freely throughout the EU, the national obverses of Germany, Italy, Spain, and France could soon be found in markets in Ireland, Finland, Austria, and the Netherlands. But this only helped reinforce the message of European unity and strength through national cooperation.
The Power of Coinage in Historical Memory
Coins, though small and sometimes overlooked, have wielded immense power in shaping historical memory. They are artifacts of propaganda that encapsulate the ideologies, ambitions, and identities of those who issued them. As they passed from hand to hand, coins carried not just monetary value but also the weight of political authority and cultural influence.
By examining the history of coinage, we gain a deeper understanding of how rulers have sought to control narratives and consolidate power through one of the most enduring and universal mediums.
These minted messages, preserved in museums, archaeological sites, and private collections continue to tell the story of humanity’s political and cultural evolution.
When archaeologists unearth ancient coins, they’re not just finding currency—they’re uncovering miniature time capsules that can reveal surprising details about the civilizations that created them. Unlike many artifacts that deteriorate over time, coins often survive remarkably intact, preserving their messages across millennia and helping us reach back in time to directly touch their lives.
Perfect Messengers from the Past
Coins possess unique qualities that make them invaluable to archaeologists and historians. They’re officially dated, carry detailed imagery and powerful symbols, and they were usually mass-produced by central authorities and distributed across the lands ruled by that authority.
When a Roman emperor issued a coin proclaiming a military victory, for example, we have direct evidence of how the empire wanted that event remembered. Subsequent historians and even contemporary commentators may have interjected their own bias into their accounts. But the coins of the realm provide indisputable evidence of the ‘official’ tale – at least as the ruling powers wanted it represented.
Furthermore, the distribution patterns of coins tell stories that written records often miss. When Spanish pieces of eight appear in excavations across Asia, they help to map trade networks more accurately than any medieval document or shipping records. A single Byzantine solidus found in a Viking settlement speaks volumes about far-reaching economic connections.
Silent Emperors Speak
During the tumultuous Crisis of the Third Century (235-284 CE), the Roman Empire experienced rapid succession of rulers and civil wars. During this chaotic period, many emperors ruled so briefly (sometimes mere weeks or months) that traditional historical records either never documented them or their names were actively removed from all records over time. Coins bearing their portraits and names, however, have survived as tangible proof of their brief claims to power.
Some notable examples include:
Silbannacus – A complete mystery until the 1930s when a single coin bearing his name and image was discovered. Another coin was found in 2004. Beyond these two coins, we have absolutely no historical records of this emperor.
Domitian II – For centuries, historians considered him fictional until a single coin appeared in France in 1900. A second coin was discovered in 2003, confirming his brief rule around 271 CE as a rebel emperor.
Uranius Antoninus – A Syrian priest who declared himself emperor around 253 CE. Though mentioned very briefly in one historical source, our primary knowledge of his reign comes from his distinctive coins.
These “shadow emperors” demonstrate the remarkable historical value of numismatic evidence. When texts are silent, coins speak—preserving names, faces, and titles that would otherwise have vanished completely from historical record. Their survival also illustrates how thoroughly the Romans established their minting systems, where even short-lived usurpers quickly produced coins to legitimize their claims to power.
History Written in Metal
The true archaeological value of coins often lies in their unintended revelations. Consider the silver content analysis of Roman denarii, which shows gradual debasement—revealing economic stress long before written records acknowledged problems. Similarly, the wear patterns on coins show how long they circulated and how they were handled, providing insights into everyday economic life.
Spanish silver coins that were traded in Asia often feature ‘chop marks’ overstruck into their surface. This practice was particularly common amongst merchants who needed to verify the legitimacy of foreign coins in a market rife with counterfeits.
Coin hoards—especially emergency stashes buried during crises—create especially valuable archaeological snapshots. The Hoxne Hoard in Britain, containing 15,000 coins and buried around 410 CE, coincides precisely with Rome’s withdrawal from Britain. The newest coins in such hoards create terminus post quem dating (the earliest possible date) for whatever catastrophe prompted the burial.
Roman legions often buried their payrolls before a major battle (to avoid it falling into enemy hands if they were defeated.) To this very day, clay jars of Roman coins are still occasionally discovered during road or building construction projects.
Beyond Economics
Perhaps most fascinatingly, coins preserve cultural elements that would otherwise vanish. Religious symbols, architectural details of now-destroyed buildings, and portraits of rulers appear in miniature relief. The temple on Herod Agrippa’s prutah coin gives archaeologists architectural details of structures long reduced to rubble and bare foundations.
Coins also capture evolutionary changes in language, as inscriptions shift from Greek to Latin across the Mediterranean, or from Sanskrit to Arabic across Central Asia, documenting cultural transitions with remarkable precision.
Modern Archaeological Approaches
Today’s archaeologists apply advanced techniques to these ancient treasures. X-ray fluorescence reveals exact metallic compositions without damaging specimens. Digital mapping of find locations creates distribution patterns impossible to see before computerization. Each advance extracts more information from these tiny messengers.
For the dedicated numismatist and archaeologist alike, each coin represents far more than its face value—it’s a direct connection to the people who once held it, a microcosm of their economy, their art, their beliefs, and their identity. These miniature time capsules continue to speak volumes, one small disk at a time.
The Kingdom of Pontus was located on the southern coast of the Pontus Euxinus ‘hospitable sea’ in Asia Minor. Pontus Euxinus is an ancient name for the Black Sea and Asia Minor for an area which roughly covered that of modern day Turkey.
In the decades following the death of Alexander the Great, many new kingdoms emerged from his fragmented empire. Out of this period of formation came the Kingdom of Pontus which was proclaimed by its founder, Mithradates I, in 281 B.C. This new kingdom was Hellenized (i.e. culturally Greek) with Greek being its official language and its kings proudly proclaiming a bloodline through Alexander himself.
In general terms, Pontus was nothing special, it’s borders ebbed and flowed like most kingdoms. What it needed was a sign that great things were to come and they sure did come. Ancient sources record that in the birth year of one particular Pontic prince a comet burned brightly for 70 days, shining so bright as to be brighter than the sun itself. As a baby the prince was said to have been struck by lightning, a phenomenon which Alexander the Great’s mother, Olympias, had dreamt of happening to her womb and which had happened, too, to Semele, the mother of Olympian god, Dionysus.
Prophecies in the east had foretold the coming of a god-sent saviour king whose rise would herald the end of an evil empire. Was this the second coming of Alexander? In 120 B.C. Mithradates V, King of Pontus, was murdered by poison when his son and heir, also Mithradates, was only 13 years old.
The dead king’s wife and mother of young Mithradates, Laodice, took over the kingdom and set about having the young prince disposed of. Laodice had Mithradates ride dangerous horses and throw javelins and when this didn’t work she tried to poison him. That too didn’t work; Mithradates took flight and spent several years in the Pontic wilderness during which time he took a keen interest in the natural plant and wildlife of the kingdom.
Upon his return to court, Mithradates himself used a poison, possibly arsenic, to remove several treacherous relatives and rivals, managing to secure his kingdom in the process.
Mithradates VI ‘The Great’ had arrived.
This young man, the very prince whose birth, it’s said, had been heralded by a comet brighter than the sun and who had been struck by lightning as a baby, immediately set about writing himself into the history books. Through his father, Mithradates had a royal lineage harking back to the Persian emperors and through his mother he had a direct bloodline to Alexander himself. This meant that the new king was a perfect fusion of east and west, something which proved to be a potent political tool for the king whose dream was to form an empire unifying the towns and cities around the Black Sea.
In this endeavour, Mithradates was given a divine helping hand in inheriting Alexander the Great’s mantel, his purple cloak which, it’s thought, was imbued with the great emperor’s qualities. During a time when the Roman Republic was becoming increasingly powerful, perhaps it was Alexander’s inspiration which made Mithradates the republic’s most dangerous and relentless enemy.
The golden kiss
Mithradates’ rule saw the Kingdom of Pontus reach its largest extent and it wasn’t just his dreams of a Black Sea empire which caused this to happen but also a drive to liberate the Greek cities of Asia Minor from their oppressors, the Romans.
Using philhellenism (a love of Greek culture) as a political tool, Mithradates proclaimed himself as ‘great liberator’ of the Greek world and set about executing a ruthless plan which became known as the Asiatic Vespers. In 88 B.C. between 80,000-150,000 Roman and Italian citizens were murdered on a single day in the Greek settlements of Asia Minor. The plan was orchestrated by Mithradates who had convinced his friends and allies to rid themselves of their Roman oppressors in one foul swoop. It was a brutal move which is now considered to be one of the first genocides in history.
Rome wouldn’t stand for such defiance and the hornet’s nest was well and truly stirred. War was declared on Mithradates by the Roman Senate and what ensued became known to history as the Mithradatic Wars. Around this time Mithradates is said to have portrayed the Romans to his men as a group of people suckled by a she-wolf, who once had kings chosen from shepherds, soothsayers, exiles, and slaves, and who were hostile to him and other monarchs.
Not all kingdoms, however, bought into Mithradates’ cussing of the Romans who could be quite accommodating if it benefited them. King Nicomedes IV of Bithynia had been forced out by Mithradates and fled to Rome only a couple of years previously. With the aid of former Roman consul, Manius Aquilius, Nicomedes was able to gain his throne from the neighbouring Pontic kingdom but it didn’t end there. Aquilius encouraged King Nicomedes to encroach upon Pontic territory and this was seen as a massive affront by the proud and belligerent Mithradates.
Battle was inevitable. Aquilius’ forces took on Mithradates and were beaten with the former consul of Rome promptly fleeing in the direction of Rome to save his life. Aquilius got as far as the Aegean island of Lesbos before being handed over to Mithradates. Making an example of Aquilius, Mithradates had him placed upon a donkey and then forced to confess his wrongdoings all the way to the city of Pergamon. Waiting for Aquilius was an ignominious end. Here, Mithradates attempted to strike fear into all those who opposed or displeased him. Orders were given to heat a bar of gold to melting point which was then ceremoniously poured into Aquilius’ mouth. It was a bold move against the might of Rome and significant gains were soon made by Mithradates.
Liberation, divination and frustration
In the spring of 88 B.C. Mithradates was invited by the military leader of Athens, Ariston, to liberate Greece. If ever there was a chance to follow in the footsteps of Alexander as hero of the Greek people then it was now. A Pontic army was sent to Greece and anti-Roman rebellions erupted throughout the Greek mainland. Rome only had two Legions in the area but they were up in the northeast fighting against the Thracians.
Forced back to Greece to fight the first Pontic army, the Roman legions had their tails chased by a second Pontic army which had marched into Thrace. Now with two armies in the field, a heady sum of money was needed to realise Mithradates’ dreams of a liberated Greece. For this endeavour the spirit of Alexander was revived in a gold coinage which bore his youthful image. This was, however, more than a mere representation of the legendary King of Kings, this was the image of a god. Upon Alexander’s temple can be seen the curled horn of a ram; this is the deified Alexander as the god Zeus-Ammon. While building his empire, Alexander had insisted on marching his troops to the temple of Zeus-Ammon in the Egyptian desert. This famed oracle told Alexander that he himself was the son of Zeus-Ammon confirming the claims which Olympias, Alexander’s mother, had made years previously.
Subsequently Alexander’s portrait was sometimes adorned with horns of the Egyptian god, Amun, as confirmation of this divine status. On the reverse of Mithradates’ gold coinage is the seated image of Athena Nikephoros, meaning Athena ‘carrying Nike’, the Greek goddess of victory. Accompanying Athena and Nike is a Greek legend which translates as ‘Basileus Lysimachoi’ or in modern terms, ‘King Lysimachus’.
Why, then, do Mithradates gold coins name King Lysimachus and not Mithradates himself? These coins are direct copies of a gold coin struck by the founder of the Kingdom of Thrace, Lysimachus, over two hundred years previously. Lysimachus was a companion and bodyguard of Alexander the Great who had formed the new kingdom out of the chaotic power struggles that followed Alexander’s death in 323 B.C.
Lysimachus had struck the gold coins in honour of Alexander and they had become immensely popular, so much so that they were still circulating in Thrace and the Black Sea area when Mithradates’ army were campaigning there in the early first century B.C.. Recognising their popularity, Mithradates took to striking his own copies and used them to fund a contingent of Thracian mercenaries against the Roman legions.
As it happens, the famous Roman general and statesman, Sulla, eventually pushed Mithradates’ forces back into Asia Minor and the gold staters ceased to be minted around 86 B.C. It was a huge setback for Mithradates who was fined 600,000 gold staters and forced to abandon his attempted liberation of Greece. Rome would continue to deny the Pontic king from fulfilling his ambitions, however, during his reign, Mithradates did manage to conquer the historical regions of Colchis, Cappadocia, Bithynia, the Greek colonies of the Tauric Chersonesos as well as, for a brief time, the Roman province of Asia.
It was an awesome achievement but after a long struggle with his Roman nemesis, the mighty Mithradates was eventually forced to take his own life. The end game took place in the ancient Greek colony of Panticapaeon on the Cimmerian Bosporus in the northern Black Sea. In 63 B.C. Mithradates had hatched a plan to invade Italy by way of the Danube when his own troops led by his son, Pharnaces, revolted.
Reading the writing on the wall, Mithradates attempted to poison himself along with several other family members. Consuming the poison last, most had already been used and it was not strong enough to overcome Mithradates. He ordered a Gallic mercenary to finish the job by blade and Mithradates was dead. It’s believed that his body was taken by the famous Roman general, Pompey the Great, back to the old Pontic capital of Amasya to be buried in the rock-cut tombs of his ancestors. Pompey then awarded the Bosporan kingdom to Pharnaces for the betrayal of his father. Pharnaces ruled for sixteen years before making a decisive move on his original inheritance of Pontus.
The Romans reacted swiftly and a rapid five day war ended Pharnaces’ hopes, culminating in the Battle of Zela in 47 B.C. The victor at this battle was none other than Julius Caesar and it was a quick, clean and clinical routing of Pharnaces’ forces. Writing back to the Roman senate, Caesar summed up his actions in the famous words; ‘Veni, Vidi, Vici’ – ‘I came, I saw, I conquered’. It was the end of any hopes that the Kingdom of Pontus might be saved.
The Poison King
To this day, Mithradates is known as the ‘poison king’ but how did he earn this name?
From an early age Mithradates took a great interest in toxicology, taking the time during his years in the Pontic wilderness to become familiar with the poisonous plants and animals within the kingdom. Here could be found Monkshood, Hellebore, Nightshade, Hemlock, Azalea, Rhododendron and Pontic ducks, all poisonous if eaten. Once he ascended the throne, Mithradates set about building laboratories and collecting specimens from right across his new kingdom. Plants and animals with powerful healthful or poisonous characteristics were abundant throughout the Black Sea region and poison was built into the culture of some of Mithradates’ allies. The mounted nomad archers of Scythia, poisoned their arrows with a sophisticated concoction of viper venom and other pathogens.
Shamans from this area as well as physicians and healers were employed to help Mithradates find the holy grail of toxicology, a universal antidote to all poisons. A central part of this endeavour saw him consume a concoction of various poisons every morning as a means of building up immunity. In a world where poisoning was the preferred method of undetectable assassination, paranoia was a necessary evil. Mithradates employed guards in his kitchens as well as royal tasters. Poison cups of electrum (gold mixed with silver) were used which would reveal the presence of poison if a crackling sound was heard along with an iridescent colour. In addition, Mithradates used glossopetra or ‘tongue stones’ in his drinks. Believed to magically deflect poisons, glossopetra were, in fact, fossilized giant sharks teeth which, like the poison cups, would react with any hidden poisons.
Mithradates’ sleeping quarters were always guarded by a horse, a bull and a stag which would whinny, bellow or bleat whenever anyone approached the royal bed and while such measures may seem a little extreme they weren’t without foundation. It’s known that a group of Mithradates’ friends formed a plot to assassinate him but one of the conspirators, perhaps in fear of the king’s unorthodox methods of retribution, got cold feet. It was arranged that Mithradates would listen in on one of their meetings by hiding under a couch and the plot was known.
Retribution for this heinous plan, just like Aquilius’ faceful of molten gold, would serve as a potent antidote for anyone else thinking of doing the same. Naturally, the plotters were tortured and executed but Mithradates didn’t stop here, he then killed all the plotters’ family members and went on to kill each of their friends. Employing such brutal measures against his enemies and hunting down a universal antidote to poison were two of Mithradates’ most potent drives to ensure his position was kept secure.
Over the years a vast library was built, many notes taken and eventually a formulation was identified which would become the most popular and longest lived prescription in history. It was called Mithradatium and it led to Mithradates being hailed as the father of experimental toxicology.
After Mithradates’ death the formulation was reputedly found in his cabinet on a note written in his own hand. It was carried to Rome by Pompey and translated into Latin by his freedman, Lenaeus. According to Marcus Aurelius’ physician, Galen, Julius Caesar was prescribed Mithridatium and over time the emperors of Rome would all take a version of it. Roman poet, Juvenal, once wrote; ‘“If you want to survive to gather rosebuds for another day,” “find a doctor to prescribe some of the drug that Mithridates invented. Before every meal take a dose of the stuff that saves kings.”.
The formulation was said to contain many ingredients of which some of the more familiar are cardamom, anise, dried rose leaves,parsley, frankincense, myrrh, rhubarb root, saffron, ginger, and cinnamon. Nero’s physician, Andromachus, was one of the many doctors who claimed to have improved the recipe for which he replaced minced lizards with venomous snakes and added opium poppy seeds.
It’s Andromachus’ version of Mithradatium which archaeologists believe may have been found in a vat discovered near Pompeii in 2000. After the Romans made their mark on Mithradates’ universal antidote it went viral in Europe to the point where apothecaries were required by law to mix it outdoors in public squares.
For more than two millennia after the death of Mithridates, kings, queens, and nobles from Charlemagne and Alfred the Great to Henry VIII and Queen Elizabeth I would take some form of Mithridatium on a daily basis. It’s even been claimed that a form of Mithridatium was advertised by a pharmacy in Rome as recently as 1984.
Gold coins are something special. While silver coins were for the most part the common means of exchange in the mundane world, gold coins were destined for greater things, in this case the ransom of a captured king and in essence the arrival of two great powers, England and France.
In the 13th century, gold coins started reappearing in Europe. They were still scarce, but they at least existed. No longer were the Byzantine solidus coin, or is successor, the hyperpyron, the dominating gold coin. Northern Italian city-states took over the mantle, with especially the Florentine florin as the leading gold coin. First struck in 1255, was the first gold coin to be struck in significant numbers and for commercial use for about 600 years. In one coin lay the signal of a new dawn of European civilization.
Surprisingly quickly after the first florin, the French court introduced their own gold coin in 1266. King Louis IX, or Saint Louis, had the Coat of arms of France on the obverse, giving the coin its name, Écu, or “shield”. The coin was not popular, and disappeared again to make infrequent reappearances throughout the next century.
A Century to Forget
In fact, France was the richest country in Western Europe. The summers were long and warm, the winters mild and advances in agriculture gave a huge turnover. That, however, changed dramatically in the following century.
The Fourteenth Century was a saeculum horribilis, or horrible century, for Europe. The warm weather period which had lasted for two hundred years subsided, and a cold front took its place. These changes lead to bad harvests and a lack of food. The population, which exploded in the previous centuries, now faced several famines. As that was not enough, France and England were embroiled in a war from 1337 on which would take almost 116 years to resolve. Most of the fighting consisted of plundering of large areas in the French countryside. About ten years later, the extremely deadly plague, the Black Death, killed large amounts of the populous.
Gold for the King
In 1356, the French and the English clashed in the Battle of Poitiers. While they did fight honorably, the French forces were weakened by internal squabbles, and even though they had the numerical advantage, the English were both better tactically and better equipped. The English-Welsh-Gascoigne army, lead by The Black Prince Edward, captured the king of France, John II.
The French humiliation showed the open wounds in the French nobility for all to see. Outdated, divided and ineffective, they blamed each other, and mainly the king. When the English demanded first four, and then three million écu, many nobles balked.
The regent in the king’s captivity, Charles, had the unenviable task of raising money for the ransom and for the needed upkeep of the now weak army. The Estates General refused to grant the money, and ousted the regent. A civil war ensued, and Charles returned to power. He raised the money, and the king was set free.
Well, to be precise, the Black Prince treated the king to such luxuries during his captivity that the king probably saw little point in returning to the impoverished France. He would hunt pheasants, go to balls, eat lavishly, meet his family and converse with interesting people.
In fact, rumours have it that the king negated several reasonable demands made by the Estates General to prolong his stay. When he did return, it was in exchange for his second oldest son, Louis. As Louis escaped, John returned to England. If this was a matter of chivalry or longing for British hospitality is a matter of debate.
France would probably have produced gold coins faster and with much less opposition a century earlier, when the king was popular and finances were good. Now, however, the coins were minted in few numbers each year, and the amount was not met until the reign of Henry V about 60 years after the ransom was set.
The Majestic Coin
While the ransom was expressed in écu, it was paid in another currency. The coin had its own motif, and it did not feature a shield. To unite the French, Charles had made the image of King John II in full armor on horseback on the obverse. The motif was understood as the king free and on horseback, or in French: Franc à cheval. This, or possibly the legend “Rex Francorum” was the reason for the new name – the Franc.
The Franc lined the English coffers for a long time, and helped the English in their own development towards a sound money-based economy which was the backbone of the English Empire from the late 15th century onwards. The coin might have been French, but the fortunes were English.
It was also the start of a more sound financial policy for France. The Franc was fixed at a livre tournois, a specific weight, of gold. This predictability meant that for a good two hundred years, the French had a gold coin which could compete with both the Florin and the Ducat.
That is not all. The gold Franc followed the fortunes of the war. For while the gold coins did pay for the king who would defeat the French at Agincourt, it also paid for the 16 year old girl who rallied the French army to turn the tide and lift the siege of Orléans. Joan of Arc started the ousting of England from Europe and the defeat of their French allies.
This is therefore not only a coin, but also so much more. It is the start of sound French policy and unity. France had arguably never been in a more humiliating position than the one they were in when the coin was minted. When the Franc was discontinued in 1641, France was the strongest country in Europe militarily and arguably financially. It was feared by most and commanded the respect of all. This coin is quite simply French pride and honour minted in precious metal.
Byzantine bronze follis struck AD 969-976 and the face on the Shroud of Turin
Since I was a small boy, I have been fascinated by the Shroud of Turin, where the paths of history, science and faith combine in one unique artefact. Irrespective of your religious beliefs, any student of history or science will find much to captivate them in the faint image of a crucified man that appears on the ancient cloth. Whether the linen once wrapped the dead body of Jesus Christ or is the work of a more recent medieval forger, the mystery of how the image is imprinted remains unsolved, even with twenty-first-century technology. It is my view that the image of Christ that appears on Byzantine coinage provides compelling evidence for the Shroud’s authenticity and a plausible solution to one of history’s greatest enigmas – the location of the mythical Holy Grail itself.
A New Acquisition
At some time during the short but distinguished reign of Byzantine Emperor John I Tzimiskes (AD 969- 976), an artist working at the Constantinople Mint was entrusted with the task of engraving an image of Jesus Christ for a new bronze follis. Earlier emperors had depicted Christ on gold and silver coins, but this was the first time that his likeness would appear on a mass-produced circulating coin.
The Emperor’s decision to depict Christ on his coinage instead of his own portrait may have been prompted by an exciting new acquisition. Constantinople had recently taken ownership of the holiest relic in Christendom, a mysterious image of Christ ‘not made by human hands’ but miraculously transferred onto a cloth, it was said, by Christ himself. Although it was considered too holy to go on public display at the time, our coin engraver would almost certainly have been granted the privilege of entering the Pharos chapel of Constantinople’s Imperial Palace for a special viewing in order to capture a good likeness.
The cloth had arrived in Constantinople amidst much rejoicing on 15th August 944 after being acquired from the city of Edessa (today, Urfa in Southern Turkey). According to local legend, it had been presented to King Abgar of Edessa by Jesus’ disciples when he became the first ruler to convert to Christianity. However, when the King died, the city reverted to paganism, and the cloth was hidden to protect it. Workers repairing the city walls in AD 525 stumbled upon it in a niche high above one of the main gates.
Images of the Mandylion
Rediscovery
The rediscovery of the Edessa Cloth (or Mandylion) sparked considerable excitement throughout the Christian world. One contemporary account described the image as “a moist secretion with no paint or artistic craft transferred with no artistic intervention on the cloth”.
Since the New Testament provide no clues about Christ’s physical appearance, pilgrims flocked to Edessa to observe what they believed to be His true likeness. From the Sixth Century onwards, artists increasingly depicted him with the distinctive facial features that appear on the cloth – long hair with a centre parting, large owl-like eyes, a long prominent nose, a full moustache and a slightly forked beard.
Contemporary paintings made of the Mandylion suggest that it was kept in a wide rectangular frame with a hole cut into the centre through which the bearded face could be viewed. It is interesting to note that artists who painted the face often framed it within a circle. Could this be the origin of the halo, or nimbus that became a popular symbol of holiness in medieval art?
The First Depiction
Gold coin of Justinian II (AD 692-695)
The first coins to depict Christ were struck almost three centuries earlier during the reign of Emperor Justinian II (AD 692–695). On that occasion, the coin engravers may have made the 800 mile trip to Edessa to see the Mandylion for themselves. Both the gold solidus and the smaller gold tremissis (one third the weight of the solidus) incorporate many intricate details present in the mysterious image. However, political instability in the region may have restricted future access to the cloth, and later designs appear to have been copies of the first strikes. During the Eighth Century, a fierce debate raged through the Eastern Church about whether it was heretical to make images of the Son of God. Many paintings of Christ were destroyed, and no coins were struck bearing his image for over a Century until the debate was resolved.
The mass circulating bronze coin of Emperor John I Tzimiskes marked the first in a series of what has become known as anonymous Byzantine folles. For the next 123 years, successive emperors chose to depict Christ on their circulating coins instead of their own portraits, which is why they are collectively described as anonymous. Whilst doing so may have been no more than an act of piety, it also allowed them to promote their holiest relic throughout the ancient world. On the reverse of the coins, several different inscriptions boldly identify the face that appears on them. The most common is the four-lined IHSUS XRISTUS BASILEU BASILE (‘Jesus Christ King of Kings’). There is also a popular cross symbol with two letters in each quarter, IC XC NI KA (‘May Jesus Christ Conquer’).
Anonymous Bronze follis (AD 969-976)
The Engraver’s Art
Engraving a portrait directly onto a small circular die required formidable talent, consummate patience and perfect vision. Given the large number of circulating bronze coins required to circulate through the empire, a relatively simple design would have been required so that the Mint could replace the dies quickly as they wore out. This posed another challenge to the Mint engravers as there would be no time to create the intricate and exquisitely detailed dies which had been crafted for the more prestigious gold coins. They had to work quickly using a design that was relatively easy to replicate over and over again to keep the coins coming.
I am going to suggest, for reasons which will hopefully become apparent, that our engraver took a novel approach to create his coin design for the bronze follis. Unable to create a beautiful portrait incorporating detailed facial features, he instead carefully copied the faint lines that make up the image. The result may have lacked the elegance of the gold coins but accurately replicated the mysterious face on Constantinople’s most important holy relic, which was presumably his brief.
The Mandylion Stolen
So, how successful was the coin designer in copying the image from the Cloth of Edessa? To answer that, we have to determine whether it has survived to enable us to make a comparison. In 1204, Constantinople was attacked and plundered by the French-led Fourth Crusade. It was later reported that the crusaders had” taken many relics, including the linen in which our Lord was wrapped’. The Mandylion, with its mysterious ghost-like image, slipped quietly into legend.
The attack on Constantinople by the French led Fourth Crusade in 1204
Without the original cloth, inferior copies made of the ‘true image’ (Latin: vera icon) soon took on a mythical quality of their own. A new origin story emerged in the 14th Century in which a woman from Jerusalem wiped Christ’s face with her veil as he carried his cross to his crucifixion, only to find a supernatural image of his face imprinted on it. The event does not appear in any of the New Testament accounts, and the name Veronica is most likely a corruption of the words ‘vera icon’. Several churches claim to possess either the true veil or an ancient copy. In reality, they are most likely early copies of the image on the Edessa Cloth made before it was stolen from Constantinople in 1204.
The Templar Connection
There is strong evidence that the real Mandylion was entrusted to the safekeeping of the warrior monks known as the Knights Templar, who were fiercely protective of their most precious treasure and kept its location a closely guarded secret. A Vatican researcher recently claimed to have unearthed a Templar initiation rite from 1287. In it, a young Frenchman called Arnaut Sabbatier testified that he was “shown a long piece of linen on which was impressed the figure of a man and told to worship it, kissing the feet three times“.
The Templar leaders are executed
When the Knights Templar fell out of favour with the Pope, the Grand Master Jacques de Molay was arrested with sixty of his knights in a dawn raid on Friday 13th October 1307. Charged with heresy, which included worshipping the image of a bearded man, years of torture and imprisonment followed, but they refused to divulge the whereabouts of the treasure they guarded.
Eventually, the King of France lost patience and had Moloy and his deputy, the Templar ‘draper’ Geoffrey de Charny, burnt at the stake in Paris on 18th March 1314.
From Lirey to Turin
In 1349, a distinguished French Knight, also called Geoffrey de Charny, requested permission from Pope Clement VI to display the burial shroud of Christ in his hometown of Lirey. It is highly probable that he was a descendant of the man who died alongside Moloy in Paris, although the family always refused to explain how such a remarkable object had come into their possession. This led one local bishop to denounce the shroud as being “cunningly painted … a work of human skill and not miraculously wrought or bestowed“.
After Charny was killed fighting the battle of Poitiers in 1356, his family displayed the Shroud to the public and struck special souvenir pilgrim badges, depicting its distinctive double imprint of a human body and bearing the Charny family’s heraldry.
Souvenir pilgrim badge struck by the Charny family
In 1453 Geoffrey de Charny’s elderly grand-daughter Marguerite de Charny, knowing she would die childless, passed the Shroud to the pious Duke Louis I of Savoy. His successors installed it at their then capital, Chambery where it was folded up and placed in a silver casket. In 1532 a fire swept through the chapel, and a drop of molten silver from the casket burned a hole through the folded layers of fabric within. Fortunately, the image was left more or less intact, and in 1578 the Savoy family moved the cloth to their new capital Turin, where it resides to this day. In 1983 ownership of the Shroud was officially transferred to the Roman Catholic Church.
Scientific Investigation
The Shroud of Turin
Photographic negative
Today, the Shroud of Turin is the most studied historical artefact in the world. The scientific community began to take an interest after amateur photographer Secondo Pia photographed the face for the first time in May 1898. As he developed the image in his darkroom, he nearly dropped the photographic plate in shock. The negative revealed details of the face that had never been seen before. Pia was accused of tampering with the image and had to wait until the Shroud was publicly displayed again in 1931 before another photograph could be taken to validate his startling discovery.
In October 1978, an international team comprising over 40 scientists was granted unprecedented access to the Shroud for five days. Calling themselves the Shroud of Turin Research Project (STURP), they included a nuclear physicist, a thermal chemist, a biophysicist, an optical physicist, a forensic pathologist and specialist photographers. They brought over eighty tonnes of scientific equipment to Turin to determine how the image had been formed and where it had been.
Three years later, STURP published their findings, concluding that “there are no chemical or physical methods known which can account for the totality of the image“.
The image shows the anatomically correct human form of a scourged and crucified man with wounds consistent with the Biblical accounts of Christ’s crucifixion. These include a bleeding scalp, a severe scourging with multi-pronged whips, wounds in the wrists and feet and an elliptical wound in the side that appears to have been made by a spear.
No pigments, paints or dyes were found on the linen fibres that would account for the image, meaning that the image cannot be the work of an artist. The bloodstains that cover the cloth are human and contain a high concentration of bilirubin, produced when a body is suffering extreme stress and pain. Curiously, the blood was present on the linen before the image formed around it. Pollen grains taken from the cloth have been identified as coming from plants that flower in Jerusalem, Edessa and Constantinople, suggesting that the Shroud has spent time in these locations.
More Than A Face
One problem with linking the Shroud of Turin with the Cloth of Edessa is that the latter was often described as bearing an image of Jesus’ face while he was still alive and not an image of his whole body laid out in death. However, it would have made practical sense for the original custodians of the cloth to disguise the fact that it once wrapped a dead body. Grave clothes were considered untouchable and unclean by the deeply superstitious population, and it would have been far more palatable to display the face only and claim that the image had been miraculously transferred when Jesus was alive.
This might explain why the cloth was displayed in a wide rectangular frame with a hole cut into the centre to display only the face. The frame would have allowed room for a much longer cloth to be folded up inside it. Intriguingly, the original Edessan account of the cloth refers to it as being “tetradiplon“, which means four-folded. Analysis of fold marks on the Shroud of Turin confirms that it was indeed folded in this way for a considerable time.
There are also eyewitness reports that suggest that the Mandylion was a full-body image and not just a face. In the Eighth Century, Pope Stephen III (reigned AD 752 to 757) stated that Christ had “spread out his entire body on a linen cloth that was white as snow. On this cloth, marvellous as it is to see… the glorious image of the Lord’s face, and the length of his entire and most noble body, has been divinely transferred.”
Later, an English monk called Orderic Vitalis, writing in about 1130, confirmed that the cloth bore “the majestic form of his whole body… supernaturally transferred“.
In 1203, a French knight called Robert de Clari visited Constantinople and described seeing “the Shroud in which the Lord had been wrapped raised upright sothat one could see the figure of our Lord on it“.
Carbon Dating
Undoubtedly the greatest obstacle for linking the two cloths came in 1988 when laboratories in Oxford, Tucson and Zurich were granted permission to conduct a destructive Carbon 14 test on a sample cut from the Shroud of Turin to determine its age. They later declared that the Shroud was a medieval forgery, made between 1260 and 1390.
Regrettably, the laboratories showed no interest in understanding how a medieval forger had imprinted a full length anatomically correct image of a victim of Roman crucifixion complete with unique photographic properties onto the linen. At the Press Conference, Professor Edward Hall, Director of the Oxford Research Laboratory, suggested that “someone just got a bit of linen, faked it up and flogged it” as if this would have been an easy thing to do. Irrespective of when the linen was made, how the image came to be imprinted on it remains no less of a mystery.
Public exposition of the Shroud
In recent years, serious doubts have been cast on the validity of the 1988 test results. The test samples were cut from a corner of the cloth that priests had held up for hours at a time when displaying it to the faithful during outdoor expositions. We now know that smoke damage, prolonged exposure to the elements, and repeated handling can seriously affect the outcome of a Carbon 14 test.
Furthermore, in 2005 one of the original STURP scientists, Ray Rogers, examined a control sample cut for the test that was not destroyed and concluded that cotton had once been expertly woven into the ancient linen to repair the area and then dyed to disguise the repair. If correct, this would invalidate the 1988 results because it means that the samples cut from the corner “were not representative of the main Shroud“, which contains no cotton.
New Research
In 2013, a team of scientists from several Italian Universities led by Professor Giulio Fanti published the results of their non-destructive chemical and mechanical tests on the Shroud. Using Fourier Transform Infrared Spectroscopy (FTIR), Raman Spectroscopy, and other tests to measure the micro-mechanical characteristics of flax fibres such as tensile strength, the team was able to date the linen to “33 BC ± 250 years”.
To date, all attempts to date the Shroud using scientific methods have provoked controversy and accusations of bias, and the Catholic Church has wisely refused to have an official position regarding its authenticity. However, the new test results open up the genuine possibility that the Cloth of Edessa and the Shroud of Turin are the same historical artefact.
Facial Comparisons
I believe that the anonymous bronze follis struck between AD 969 and 976 make this connection even more compelling. The coins circulated throughout the Byzantine empire for many decades, meaning that surviving examples are often heavily worn. Frustratingly, the highest points on a circulating coin are inevitably the first to wear, so coins that still display clear facial features are rare. Fortunately, well-preserved examples exist, and we can see what the coin designer engraved onto the die simply by flipping the image that appears on the struck coin. When flipped and viewed alongside an image of the face on the Shroud, the similarities are extraordinary, especially when you consider that our engraver was working on an area little more than a centimetre in diameter.
Byzantine Follis (AD 969-976) compared with the face on the Shroud of Turin
Most striking of all is the distinctive cross shape incorporating the eyebrows, forehead and nose. There is a long horizontal band above the eyes, bisected by a long vertical line that starts at the hairline and extends downwards to become a long nose. The base of the nose connects to a smaller horizontal line that forms the moustache, which slopes down slightly on the left-hand side. There is a distinctive mark on the right cheek, and beneath the moustache is a small square and a forked beard. The long hair, which hangs down on both sides of the face, has two parallel strands of hair at the bottom left of the image. These features can be seen clearly on the Shroud image, and the result is a coin that resembles the Shroud image far too closely to be dismissed as a coincidence.
Byzantine Follis (AD 1028-1041) showing detail on the forehead that matches a bloodstain on the Shroud
A later bronze follis struck in Constantinople about fifty years later incorporates additional details that suggest that coin artists continued to have access to the original image. Intriguingly, there is a tiny mark in the centre parting of the hair in the forehead that resembles the inverted “3” shaped bloodstain that appears on the Shroud in the same area. In addition, the coin artist has replicated the way that the long hair appears to bunch at the shoulders. The eyebrows are represented with a long horizontal line, and there is the suggestion that the right eyebrow is slightly higher than the left. There is also a wound-like mark on the right cheek, a moustache that appears to slope down to the left and, most striking of all, a horizontal band across the throat.
Once again, I would suggest that the similarities are too many and too specific to be a coincidence.
Ramifications
So, if we are to consider these startling similarities to be compelling numismatic evidence that the coin artists working at the Constantinople Mint saw and copied the face on the Shroud of Turin, then the ramifications are significant. It means that the Shroud is considerably older than the flawed Carbon dating results indicate. It also provides compelling evidence that the Cloth of Edessa and the Shroud of Turin are one and the same. It is frankly inconceivable that there were two linen cloths present in Christendom at the same time, both containing a mysterious image of Jesus not made by human hands.
There is an additional, intriguing implication of this research. According to legend, the holiest relic protected by the Templars was the Holy Grail, a mysterious vessel that Joseph of Arimathea, a wealthy follower of Jesus, used to collect Jesus’ blood in at his crucifixion. The grail is often associated with the cup that Jesus used in his last supper with his disciples before his death. But why the Romans executing Jesus would have permitted one of his followers to catch his blood in a drinking cup makes no sense at all. So, could this vessel be something else?
The New Testament may provide us with the answer. Could it be that the vessel that Joseph of Arimathea used to contain Jesus’ blood in was not a drinking cup at all, but the blood-stained linen cloth that wrapped around Jesus’ crucified body in the tomb?
“As evening approached, there came a rich man from Arimathea, named Joseph, who had himself become a disciple of Jesus. Going to Pilate (the Roman governor), he asked for Jesus’ body, and Pilate ordered that it be given to him. Joseph took the body, wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and placed it in his own new tomb that he had cut out of the rock.” (Matthew 27:57-60 NIV)
Does the face of Jesus struck onto the coins of the Byzantine Empire reveal that the lost Cloth of Edessa, the legendary Holy Grail and the mysterious Shroud of Turin are, in fact, the same historical artefact?
The Coins & History Foundation is proud to announce the publication of a major new work explaining the history and impacts of the Islamic silver coins called “Dirhems.” The author, Jani Oravisjärvi,is an archaeologist currently working as a project researcher (University of Oulu) on The Silver and origins of the Viking Age -project. Jani is a former keeper of the numismatic collections at the National Museum of Finland and a former executive secretary and board member of the Finnish Numismatic Society.
Here is a short excerpt from the book’s introduction:
“One group of coins was issued during the period 1300 years ago, which we we know today as the Viking Age. The coins that started it all are dirhems. Those Islamic silver coins weighing just under three grams changed the direction of history and ushered in a whole new chapter in coins and currency. Dirhems formed a continuous stream of silver flowing along the eastern road through Europe to the North for two hundred for a year from the early 800s to the early 1000s. Without dirhams, the Viking Age and others to follow would have looked very differently.”
“Despite their importance, dirhems and other money of early Islamic culture are not very well-known among the general public. Early Islamic money is the oldest witness to Arab and Islamic identity so they can also be approached, for example, from a cultural and religious history point of view. In many matters related to Arab and Islamic history money is an excellent – and sometimes even the only – group of known objects, whose provable value cannot be underestimated or disputed.”
Tokharistanissa ryhdyttiin dirhemeitä lyömään paikallisten emiirien toimesta 870-luvulla. Alueen pääkaupunkina toimi tuolloin Balkh, mutta rahanlyönti oli keskittynyt Andarabaan, joka sijaitsi sopivasti kahden keskeisen hopeakaivoksen lähettyvillä. Samanidien ottaessa alueen hallintaansa vuonna 287h (900) rahapajat lisäsivät samanidiemiiri Ismailin nimen rahojen takasivulle vallan tunnustuksen osoittamiseksi. Tässä vaiheessa dirhemeitä ryhdyttiin lyödä myös Balkhin rahapajassa. Yleisesti erittäin vaativana pidettyyn leimasimen (meistien) kaivertajan tehtävään palkattiin vuonna 292h (904) poikkeuksellisen taitava käsityöläinen, jonka leimasimia pidetään yhtenä varhaisen islamilaisen historian kaikista kauneimpina (kuva 87). Tämä ei jäänyt myöskään muilta alueen rahapajoilta huomaamatta, sillä heti seuraavana vuonna muut rahapajat ryhtyvät jäljittelemään rahojen kaunista tyyliä.
Dirhemeiden tyylin muutoksen perusteella voidaan todeta, että vuonna 293h (905/6) Andaraban rahapaja irtisanoi siellä vuodesta 287h (900/901) asti työskennelleet leimasimen kaivertajat ja palkkasi näiden tilalle yhden tai mahdollisesti useamman taitavamman kaivertajan. Ainakin yhden irtisanotuista kaivertajista tiedetään siirtyneen samana vuonna avattuun Panjshirin rahapajalle, sillä siellä lyödyt tyyliltään kömpelöt dirhemit ovat täysin identtisia aiempien Andaraban dirhemeiden kanssa. Tämän kaivertajan ura leimasimien kaivertajana vaikuttaa kuitenkin päättyneen kyseisenä vuotena, sillä enää tämän jälkeen hänen kaivertamilla leimasimilla lyötyjä dirhemeitä ei tavata..
Uusien kaivertajien myötä laadullinen ero on välittömästi havaittavissa välittömästi Andarabassa lyödyissä dirhemeissä. Laadullisen eron ohella osaan rahoihin ilmestyy pienellä kirjoitettuna leimasimen kaivertajan nimimerkki ”Mujib”, joka sijaitsee yleensä takasivulla kehätekstin yhteyteen pienellä piilotettuna (kuva 88). Signeerattujen leimasimien perusteella hänen tiedetään työskennelleen Andaraban rahapajassa noin kymmennen vuoden ajan.
Andaraban ohella Mujibin tiedetään kaivertaneen leimasimia myös edellä mainitulle Panjshirin rahapajalle. Kyseisen rahapajan tekee poikkeukselliseksi kolmen eri nimen käyttö samanaikaisesti. Arabimaantieteilijä al-Hamdani (893-945) kertoo paikallisesta kaivoksesta kaivetun hopean jaetun kolmeen osaan: yksi osa kaivostyöläisille (Ma’din, suom kaivos), yksi osa paikallisille (’Askar Pansjhir) ja yksi osa paikalliselle rahapajalle (Pansjhir) rahaksi lyötäväksi. Näin ollen eri rahapajanimet vastaisivat todellisuudessa sitä, kenen laskuun Mujib kunkin leimasimen kaiversi. Signeerausten syy ei alkuaan välttämättä ollut erityinen ammattiylpeys, kuten oli esimerkiksi klassillisen kauden syrakusalaisten leimasimien kaivertajien kohdalla, vaan hyvin käytännöllinen syy. Mujib kaiversi leimasimia pienelle rahapajalle, joka löi rahaa lähinnä paikallisten tarpeisiin. Kaivertamalla nimensä leimasimiin hän varmisti saavansa oikean suuruisen palkkkion tekemästään työstä. Parhaiten tämä oli osoitettavissa nimimerkin avulla, joka kiistatta osoitti hänen valmistaneen kyseiset leimasimet.
Kuva 3. Samanidit: Nasr ibn Ahmad (301-331h 913-942)nimissä lyöty dinaari. Nishapur, 324h (935/6). Etusivun reunassa noin klo 9-10 kohdalla signeeraus “Abu Harith“.
Tapa signeerata leimasimia levisi myöhemmin, mutta se ei koskaan laajasti yleistynyt. Samanidien rahojen kohdalla tunnetaan yhteensä neljä eri leimasimen kaivertajaa, jotka ovat signeeranneet leimasimet. Volgan bulgaareiden keskuudestakin tunnetaan kaksi eri kaivertajaa. Rahojen yleisyyden perusteella kaikista tunnetuin leimasimien kaivertaja on todennäköisesti Nishapurin rahapajassa 930 luvulla työskennellyt Abu Harith, jonka signeeraamat samanidien dinaarit ovat kaikista yleisimpiä signeeratuilla leimasimilla lyödyt islamilaiset rahat (kuva 89).
Islamilaisessa taiteessa, arkkitehtuurissa ja käsitöissä teosten signeeraminen vakiintui hyvin varhaisessa vaiheessa vuosien 1050-1100 välisenä aikana. Rahojen osalta tämä käytäntö alkoi jopa sata vuotta aiemmin. Ensimmäinen signeeratulla leimasimella lyöty raha havaittiin vuonna 1938, jolloin Amerikan Numismaattisen Yhdistyksen (American Numismatic Society) islamilaisten rahojen kokoelmasta vastannut George C. Miles (1904-1975) havaitsi signeerauksen Isfahanissa vuonna 358h (968/9) lyödyssä bujidien dirhemissä. Signeeraus ”qabla ’amal al-Hasan ibn Muhammad” (suom. al-Hasan ibn Muhammadin työ) oli vain 1,5 millimetriä korkea ja 5 millimetriä pitkä.
Signeerausten perusteella al-Hasanin tiedetään työskennelleen kolmessa eri rahapajassa: Arrajanissa, Isfahanissa sekä al-Muhammadiyassa (nyk. Teheran). Näistä rahapajoista hänen tiedetään aloittaneen Arrajanin rahapajassa vuonna 354h (965-7), jolloin hänen signeerauksensa havaitaan ensimmäisen kerran. Hänen signeeramia rahoja tunnetaan vuosien 354-360h (965-971) väliltä. Tämän jälkeen hän siirtyi al-Muhammadiyan rahapajaan, josta tunnetaan hänen vuonna 362h (972/3) signeerama dirhemi. Hänen kohdallaan leimasimet ovat täydellisesti kaiverrettuja rahojen ollessa täydellisen kauniita (durust), joten al-Hasanin tapauksessa signeeraamisen avulla osoitettiin oman työn nousseen tavanomaisuuden yläpuolelle.
JANI ORAVISJÄRVI on arkeologi (MA), joka työskentelee tällä hetkellä projektin tutkijana (Oulun yliopisto) teoksessa The Silver and origins of the Viking Age (ERC-projekti). Jani on entinen numismaattisten kokoelmien pitäjä Kansallismuseossa ja entinen Suomen numismaattisen seuran pääsihteeri ja hallituksen jäsen.
In Tokharistan, dirhems were struck by local emirates in the 870s. Balkh was the capital of the region at the time, but the money was concentrated in Andaraba, conveniently located near two major silver mines. Samanidien took control of the area in 287h (900), and the mints added the Samanid emir Ismail name on the back of the money to show recognition of his power. At this point, dirhems were also struck at the Balkh Mint. These coins generally required very good engraving skills. An engraver was hired in 292h (904) with exceptional skill – an artisan whose dies are considered among the most beautiful in all early Islamic history (Fig. 1). This was not overlooked by other mints in the region, for the very next year the other mints will begin to imitate this beautiful style of coins.
On the basis of the change in the style of the dirhems, it can be stated that in 293h (905/6) the Mint of Andaraba dismissed one or more engravers who had worked there since 287h (900/901) and hired one or possibly more skilled engravers. At least one of the dismissed engravers is known to have moved in the same year to the opening of the Panjshir Mint, where the clumsy-style dirhams struck there are completely identical to previous Andaraba dirhams. This engraver’s career appears to have ended that year, however, for later dirhems struck with his engraved stamps are not to be found.
With the new engravers, the qualitative difference is immediately noticeable immediately in Andaraba for minted dirhams. In addition to the qualitative difference, some of the money appears small written with the nickname “Mujib” of the stamp engraver, usually located on the back in connection with the perimeter text in small hidden form (Fig. 2). Based on this signed stamp, she is known to have worked at the Mint of Andaraba for about ten years.
In addition to Andaraba, Mujib is known to have engraved stamps for the Panjshir Mint as well. That mint is made exceptional by three different names used simultaneously. Arab geographer al-Hamdani (893-945) tells of a local mine mined silver is divided into three parts: one part for miners (Ma’din, Finnish.mine), one part for the locals (‘Askar Pansjhir’) and one part for the local mint (‘Pansjhir’) to be minted. Thus, different mint names would actually correspond to who landing Mujib engraving of each stamp. The reason for the signatures was not necessarily professional pride, as was the case with the classical period Syracuse stamps for engravers, but for a very practical reason. Mujib engraved stamps to a small mint that struck money mainly for the needs of the locals. Engraving his name stamps he made sure he received the right amount of reward for the work he did. This is further evidenced by a pseudonym which he indisputably made for those coins.
Figure 3. Samanidit: Nasr ibn Ahmad (301-331h / 913-942) dinar. Nishapur, 324h (935/6). Obverse on the edge at about 9-10 p.m.signature “Abu Harith”
This practice of signing stamps did influence others, but it never became widespread. For samanid money, a total of four different stamp engravers are known to have signed the stamps. Two different engravers are also known among the Bulgarians of the Volga. Based on the prevalence of coins, the most famous stamp engraver of all is probably Abu Harith, who worked at the Nishapur Mint in the 930s and whose samidani dinars are the most common of all is Islamic money struck with signed stamps (Figure 2).
In Islamic art, architecture and crafts, the signing of works became well established at an early stage between 1050 and 1100. In terms of coins, this practice began up to a hundred years earlier. The first money struck with the signed stamp was detected in 1938 by George C. Miles (1904-1975) from the American Numismatic Association (American Numismatic Society.) Miles was in charge of the collection of Islamic money signature in the Bujid dirham struck in Isfahan in 358h (968/9). Signature “Qabla’ Amal al-Hasan ibn Muhammad ”(work of al-Hasan ibn Muhammad) was only 1.5 millimeters high and 5 millimeters long.
Based on the signatures, al-Hasan is known to have worked in three different mints: In Arrajan, Isfahan and al-Muhammadiya (now Tehran). Of these mints he is known to have started at the Arrajan Mint in 354h (965-7), when his signatures are detected for the first time. The money he signed is known between 354-360h (965-971). He then moved to al-Muhammadiya’s mint, of which the dirham signed by him in 362h (972/3) is known. His stamps are perfectly engraved, and the coins are perfectly beautiful (durust), so in the case of al-Hasan, signing was used to show that his own work had become the norm.
JANI ORAVISJÄRVI is an archaeologist (M.A.) currently working as a project researcher (University of Oulu) on The Silver and origins of the Viking Age -project (an ERC project.) Jani is a former keeper of the numismatic collections at the National Museum of Finland and a former executive secretary and board member of the Finnish Numismatic Society.
