Archaeological Sandwich: Casa Domus del Chirurgo, Rimini, Italy

Rimini today is a lovely seaside town on Italy’s Adriatic coast. Etruscans and Celts respectively resided in the area during the Iron Age, and then in 268 BC, Roman Ariminum (rolls off the tongue, that one, doesn’t it?) was founded. Obviously, a lot of history comes after that, because Rimini is still there. However, I’m focussing on the Roman era and the phase afterwards when it all went a bit retro and people gradually forgot how to do things like build in stone and take regular hot baths.

A standout destination for any historically inclined tourist visiting the area is the Casa Domus del Chirurgo, the so-called ‘Surgeon’s House’. Originally a seafront property, it is now considerably further inland as the sea has gradually gone away over the last couple of millennia. It’s actually a rather large site, covering 700 square metres, and the surgeon’s house is only part of it. Excavations began in 1989, and in 2007, the area was opened to the public, with glass walkways allowing visitors to view the unearthed treasures at close quarters. The ‘domus’ (Roman townhouse), dating from the second century AD, is known as the ‘Surgeon’s House’ because some 150 surgical instruments were found there. It is reckoned that the doctor was called Eutyches and was probably Greek. It does sound like a Greek name, so this seems a reasonable deduction. His name was scratched on a wall of the house, perhaps by a grateful patient, as the inscription simply described him as a ‘good man’. Most of the medical instruments found were for bone trauma and wounds, so he was likely a military physician. The house comprised a dining room (triclinium), one bedroom (cubiculum), and two living rooms, one of which was used to treat patients, so I should imagine it was filled with blood and screams rather than being a pleasant sitting room in which to relax of an evening. I suppose there was a kitchen (culina) and an entrance hall (atrium). I’m only mentioning these because I remember learning all about the names of Roman rooms in Latin lessons, so I am taking the opportunity to briefly show off. Just a little bit.

Anyway, during the second half of the third century AD, Germanic tribes sacked the town, and the house was burned down. However, the mosaics (lovely!) and frescos were well preserved in the aftermath. Their survival indicates that good Roman surgeons were wealthy and cultured. Plus ça change (or should that be omnia mutantur, nihil interit? I dunno, really). In the fifth century AD, things seem to have improved a tad as nearby Ravenna became the capital of the Western Roman Empire, and a palace was built on the Ariminum site near the Surgeon’s House. It had a sophisticated heating system, so it was still quite civilised at that point. But nothing lasts, even if nothing really changes. Things went downhill after that, and by the seventh century AD, the site was being used as a Christian cemetery. Tombs were dug right through the beautiful mosaic floors, and you can see some of the burials in situ, which is my abiding memory of the site. Not only does it look like an appalling act of vandalism (I don’t think it was actually Vandals), it also seems to me an odd thing to do. I couldn’t help wondering if it might not have been easier to just dig a hole in the earth outside rather than break up mosaic floors, but maybe there was some ritual significance linked to using these grand antique surroundings to bury their dead. Or perhaps they just liked making life difficult for themselves. In the eighth century AD, an early medieval dwelling was built, mostly out of mud and wood, with some reused material from earlier structures. Heating engineers had died out for about 1200 years, unfortunately, so they had to make do with a basic hearth, which can still be seen.

The mosaics (and gosh, I do like a mosaic) are fabulous, as you can see from the photographs. However, the fascinating thing about this place for me was the visual evidence of layers of history and human habitation. I think it’s properly called stratification or some such word based on the Latin ‘stratum’ (layer). Those Romans invaded everything, didn’t they? Especially languages. Anyway, I like to think of the Surgeon’s House as an interesting and, figuratively speaking, jolly appetising archaeological sandwich. Minus crusts, obviously. Alternatively, since we’re getting figurative, a sort of anatomy of history, or, as the Romans might say, corpus historiae. Perhaps I should leave it there; I am about as competent linguistically as I am medically, so, rather like the denizens of early medieval Rimini, I’m just digging a hole.

For more information: The Surgeon's House in Rimini (domusrimini.com)