No sh*t!

I have just returned from the sweltering 32° heat of Solin, ancient Salona (or, sometimes, Salonae) in Croatia. To be honest, I expected to see more archaeology, although there is a bijou amphitheatre for those willing to trek two kilometres, there and back; and the municipal baths building is impressive. (‘Provincial’ impressive, not ‘eternal city’ impressive.)

However, I was struck by the complete absence of inscriptions on the site. After all, Mommsen reported no fewer than 791 in 1873 (Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum Vol. III, pp. 304–355, nos. 1933–2674; pp. 1030–1034, nos. 6373–6405; pp. 1061–1062, nos. 6549–6564), besides an additional 1,134 published in the 1902 supplement (pp. 1509–1608, nos. 8565–9698). Since then, several hundred more have apparently come to light, judging by the indices in L’Année épigraphique, the annual round-up of newly-reported inscriptions.

So, while seeking some much-needed shade behind the site office (dubbed “Tusculum” by the Croatian archaeologist Frane Bulić, when he had it built in 1894), I was overjoyed to see an inscribed lintel on the door of this curious privy-like shed (pictured here).

An unusual inscription

I was overjoyed, because of its remarkable message, and I laughed aloud as I read.

Line 1: quisquis hoc in loco stercus non posuerit, “whoever has not dumped filth in this place ...” (stercus seems usually to mean dung or manure, as in Columella, On Agriculture 2.5 and elsewhere, but Vitruvius, On Architecture 7.9.1, uses it to mean the dross produced when extracting metal ore, so the word probably covers any unpleasant detritus.)
Line 2: aut non cacaverit aut non miaverit, “or has not shat or pissed ...” (miaverit confused me for a while, but it seems to be a variant of minxerit, the past tense of the verb meio, later mingo, “to urinate”.)
Line 3, lefthand side: habeat illas iratas, “may he (or she) make them angry ...” (It’s not entirely clear who illas, “them”, are supposed to be. I’ve seen the epithet iratae used of the deae Manes, the “ghosts of the departed”, who are supposedly tetchy; e.g. CIL X, 2289. That might be the point of the threat.)

Line 3, righthand side: si neglexerit viderit, “if he or she disregards this, watch out!” (a tricky line, not helped by an evident misspelling of NEGLEXERIT as NEGEEXEBIT.)

... with an unusual message

The message is an odd one: the gods will be angry with anyone who does not defecate here. Crap away! This seems strange, as normally in the ancient world people were preoccupied with the danger of their property being fouled, defiled, or otherwise polluted by others.

Graffiti from Pompeii repeatedly warns the cacator (literally, “defecator”, or “one who voids excrement”, according to the older, quainter dictionaries) that no good will come of his (or her) misdemeanor: cave malum, “beware of something bad” (e.g. CIL IV, 5438; 7714). A well-known graffito from the vicinity of the Nucerian Gate (CIL IV, 6641) gives the following advice: cacator sic valeas ut tu hoc locum trasia, “Hey, shitter! You would do well to keep walking!” (literally, “pass this place by”, reading transeas for misspellt trasia).

The mystery grew deeper as I finally noticed that the inscription must be a modern one, perhaps dating from the days of Bulić himself (although I was unable to verify this), for at bottom right I could just make out the letters “CIL 1966” (beneath the word VIDERIT).

The authentic inscription

In fact, this refers to CIL III, 1966, an ancient inscription discovered in Salona in the eighteenth century and taken to Vienna, where it now resides. However, the wording on this threatening message bearing the image of the diva triformis, the “three-formed goddess” Diana–Selene–Hekate, is subtly different.

Quisq(ue) in eo vico stercus non posuerit aut non cacaverit aut non miaverit habeat illas propitias si neglexerit viderit, “Anyone who has not dumped filth in this neighbourhood or shat or pissed, may he make them gracious; if he or she disregards this, beware!” (I’m still not entirely sure about illas iratas, “the angry ones”, and illas propitias, “the gracious ones”, but I think I might have got the gist of the message.)

Whoever designed the inscription that I saw in Solin was clearly making a joke based on the authentic inscription (now in Vienna).

And I can only assume that the privy-like shed was indeed a toilet, where people were encouraged to defecate and urinate (hoc in loco, “in this place”), as opposed to the original message threatening people not to defecate and urinate in eo vico, “in this neighbourhood”. In fact, it is remarkably similar to the one pictured here, even down to the padlocked door.

No shit!