This image of a painting of a musk rose, Rosa moschata, by Pierre-Joseph Redouté is in the public domain.
When asked to think about the smells of times long past one probably conjures up notions of the stench of animal dung and human faeces and urine strewn around the streets (Tim Brinkhof; Livia Gershon; Toldinstone), the malodorous outpourings from chamber pots casually emptied from bedroom windows onto unsuspecting pedestrians passing in the streets below, or the unpleasant aroma emanating from the village’s communal midden (K Kris Hirst) or dung-hill (which may, or may not, have had a cockerel crowing atop it*, which would add its own waste products to the pile…). All of which is admirably summarised in the words of Bruce Bower, “Roman cities** generally smelled of human waste, decaying animal carcasses, garbage, smoke, incense, cooked meat and boiled cabbage“. [Ed. – at last! A plant reference in this post to justify its inclusion in a plant-based blog]
Regardless of how accurate our modern-day notion of the ‘smellscape’ (Bruce Bower; J Douglas Porteous, 1985; PerMagnus Lindborg & Kongmeng Liew, 2021) (or ‘olfactory heritage’) of such long-past times may be (e.g. Mark Jenner, 2011; Jacquelyn Hodson) – and as unpleasant as such aspects of life in the olden days are to modern sensibilities – those ‘bad smells’ are probably more associated with the everyday, secular side of life. If you were lucky to get close to religious icons, etc. you might be in for a much better, and nasally more pleasant, experience, especially in ancient Greece and Rome. Or such is the conclusion of research by Cecilie Brøns (2025)***.
Carefully scrutinising the writings of authors of antiquity – such as Cicero, Kallimachos, “Christian apologist” Minucius Felix, “Roman Christian poet” Prudentius, and “Greek philosopher” Proklos – Brøns (2025) presents a most convincing case for the application of olfactory ointments, etc. to statues from ancient Greek and Roman times. Further evidence for the appropriate ‘aromatisation’ of ancient artworks came from examination of inscribed stones from the island of Delos [so-called ‘temple inventories’], which attest to the importance of applying perfume and scent to statues in the Delian temples (Brøns, 2025).
From a botanical point of view [this is a plant-based blog after all!], Brøns (2025) tells us that myron rhodion, “perfume made from roses” is mentioned specifically in connection with the adornment of statues on Delos. As “one of the most highly regarded perfumes”, it has been known and used since the times of Homer (Geoffrey S Kirk; James Lloyd). It is mentioned by Theophrastus [phytochronicler and father of Botany] as “a light perfume, best suited to men” Adding to its botanical credentials we are further advised by Theophrastus that “the rhodinon myron contained rose petals****, schoinos, and aspalathos, and kalamos” (Brøns, 2025). Although there will always be doubt and debate about what exactly those last three items may be, Brøns (2025) tells us that current scholarship suggests that: schoinos may be ‘camel-grass’, Cymbopogon schoenanthus L. (or Andropogon schoenanthus); aspalathos could be Calyctome villosa [or Calicotome villosa?], Genista acanthoclada, or an Astragalus species (Ruth Calder); whereas kalamos has been identified as sweet flag, Acorus calamus.
Pliny the Elder goes further and tells us rhodinum is the “most universally adopted type of unguent, being simple to make because roses grow everywhere” (Brøns, 2025). Grow everywhere roses might have done, but there is considerable present-day discussion as to which rose might have been used; “Rosa gallica, Rosa moschata, or Rosa centifola [sic., presumably Rosa centifolia (Paul F Zimmerman) is intended?*****] have been suggested” (Brøns, 2025, citing Gary Reger, 2005).
In addition to adornment with aromatics, Brøns (2025) also discusses the practice of ganosis (Elisabetta Neri et al., 2021). Derived from the Greek word ganos – which means shine – this term is used to describe coating of statues with oils and waxes that serve to protect them, and stop any paintwork from fading (Clarissa Blume-Jung, 2021). In particular, Brøns (2025) mentions the application of plant-derived olive oil to the statue of Zeus at Olympia (Mark Cartwright), which “kept its ivory from being harmed by the environment”.
Although aromatic adornment seems to have been a particular attribute of statues of deities, Brøns (2025) recounts the tale of a Roman citizen known as Ursus – “the first Roman to play with a glass ball properly” – whose statue was encouraged to be covered with rose and violet blossoms and many a leaf and ancient perfume. Whilst Brøns (2025) rightly says that we cannot know if that instruction was carried out, it allows of the possibility that statues of mortals may have been accorded treatment similar to those of the gods and goddesses.
As a purely text-based investigation, Brøns (2025)’s work cannot prove that ancient studies were suitably scented, etc. And, because the chances of any residues of the aromatics remaining on statues at the present time – which could be analysed to see if their chemical composition and botanical source can be identified (e.g., Barbara Huber et al., 2022), we must rely on the literary testimony of writers who were around at the time. Assuming they had no wish to misrepresent the truth of the matter – nor that there was any deliberately orchestrated attempt by such notable contemporary cataloguers of human behaviour to mislead 21st century investigators – the inescapable conclusion of Brøns’ work is that ancient statuary was anointed with scented materials. Whilst that doesn’t mean that all such statues were similarly ‘smellified’, the evidence is strong and persuasive that at least some – in particular those of gods and goddesses – were treated in this way.
All-in-all, Brøns (2025)’s article is a fascinating – and very detailed and carefully-considered – argument in favour of the ancient practice of adding an olfactory dimension to Greco-Roman sculptures. Although such statues have always appealed to the human senses of sight****** and touch, it seems we should also recognise that the sense of smell is likely to have been excited by such aromatically-adorned artworks. Additionally, in some instances, those statues were decorated with garlands and wreaths of flowers, which would also have added another visual, tactile, and olfactory dimension to the artworks (Brøns, 2025).
For more on this fascinating story, see Manny Moreno, oguz kayra, Guillermo Carvajal, Richard Whiddington, Nikolas Zois, Owain Williams, here, Benjamin Taub, Bill Giannopoulos, Abdul Moeed, Kaleena Fraga, here, Dario Radley, here, here, Margherita Bassi, Dimitris Polymenopoulos, Sarah Kuta, and James Doubek.
* Readers who know me well will have – rightly – guessed that this poultry fact was ‘shoehorned in’ solely so I could mention one Dick Turpin (Molly Dowdeswell; Graham Seal), notorious 18th century English ‘highway man’ who was – allegedly – hanged for shooting a dunghill cock.
** One smell of ancient Rome I would have liked to have experienced was the day when Emperor Nero – allegedly – burnt a year’s supply of cinnamon in 65 CE (Chris Mundigler; Peggy Trowbridge Filippone).
*** It is also noteworthy that the scientific paper is sole-authored by Prof. Cecilie Brøns, Senior Researcher and curator at the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek. That is an increasingly rare thing these days when so much research is published by multi-author – frequently multi-national – groups of workers. But, it is most heartening to know that there is still a place in 2025 for the meticulous scholarly work of the lone researcher.
**** Should you wish to have a go at making your own myron rhodinon, Brøns (2025) tells us that there is a recipe in Dioscorides’ Materia medica that involves 28.5 pounds of oil [olive oil], 5.5 pounds of cut-up schoinus, and 1000 unmoistened rose petals, and somebody to mix it all up whose hands have been smeared with sweet-smelling honey…
***** Since this rose was apparently not developed until the 16th century at the earliest, it seems an unlikely contender as an ingredient in the rose perfume of antiquity.
****** Whilst it has been long-established that the unadorned, pure white marble statues of ancient sculptors that we so admire in modern times were likely painted in bright colours (Jan Stubbe Østergaard; Brøns, 2025) or even clothed (Brøns (2025) [the act known in Greek as kosmesis or epikosmesis (Dimitris Polymenopoulos) (Brøns, 2025)] in times of antiquity, the widespread use of odoriferous lotions etc. to further beautify the statues was a welcome revelation, and is seen as an extension of the notion of kosmesis [Ed. – which gives us our modern-day English word cosmetic].
REFERENCES
Cecilie Brøns, 2025. The scent of ancient Greco-Roman sculpture. Oxford Journal of Archaeology 44(2): 182-201; https://doi.org/10.1111/ojoa.12321
Barbara Huber et al., 2022. How to use modern science to reconstruct ancient scents. Nat Hum Behav 6: 611–614; https://doi.org/10.1038/s41562-022-01325-7
Mark SR Jenner, 2011. Follow Your Nose? Smell, smelling, and their histories. The American Historical Review 116(2): 335-351; https://doi.org/10.1086/ahr.116.2.335
PerMagnus Lindborg & Kongmeng Liew, 2021. Real and imagined smellscapes. Front. Psychol. 12: 718172; doi: 10.3389/fpsyg.2021.718172
Elisabetta Neri et al., 2021. Wax finishing in Roman polychrome statuary: Ganosis on the colossal head from Dougga (Tunisia). Journal of Cultural Heritage 51: 29-36; https://doi.org/10.1016/j.culher.2021.06.013
Gary Reger, 2005. The manufacture and distribution of perfume, pages 253-297. In Making, Moving, and Managing: The New World of Ancient Economies, 323-31 BC, Eds Zofia H Archibald, John K Davies & Vincent Gabrielsen.
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