The antiquities gallery at the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge reopens to the public on Saturday – with some fascinating stories

In the Greek and Roman gallery in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge –
one of the most important collections of antiquities in the country,
which reopens to the public on Saturday after a £950,000 makeover –
there is one Greek pot the eye might easily flit past.

Unless, that is, you happen to take more than a cursory view at the
central figure's genital area. In the bowl of this 5th-century Attic
kylix (drinking cup), is the figure of a man, naked but for a cloak,
and holding a lyre and a staff. But something rather peculiar seems to
have happened: there's a noticeably smudged, discoloured patch around
the groin area.

According to conservator Christina Rozeik, who has been working with
the objects in the refurbished gallery, that penis will be "the
subject of much detective work over the next year".

The pot was once owned by the collectors Charles Ricketts and Charles
Shannon, whose lives spanned the 1860s to 1930s. The pair met at art
school in London in the 1880s, and they later became friends and
supporters of Oscar Wilde.

They amassed a fine collection of antiquities that was later
bequeathed to the Fitzwilliam. According to the museum's keeper of
antiquities, Lucilla Burn, the two "were a pair of aesthetes; and they
collected on aesthetic grounds".

The flesh-coloured blotch is actually the trace of a rescue attempt on
the pot by one of the couple. "Genitals restored by Ricketts," states
the original Fitzwilliam catalogue entry baldly. A century on, the
restored patch has discoloured and faded, while the original surface
of the pot, dating from about 480BC, has survived impeccably.
According to Rozeik, who counts the restoration as "quite skilful",
the problem is that "we don't know what's underneath". Ricketts – a
fine painter as well as a set designer and typographer of note – had
motives for drawing in the figure's genitals that can only be
inferred.

Nor is it a question of simply removing Ricketts' work and having a
look at what lies beneath. "Part of the dilemma is that Ricketts is a
significant artist," she said. "We would have to think very hard
before removing his work."

The question of the blotchy genitals is a very modern conservation
dilemma. Should Rickett's restoration be regarded as a valid part of
the history of the object and left, or should it be removed? As Rozeik
asks, "Is there any such thing as authenticity? What's the 'real'
object?"

The Ricketts-Shannon collection in the Fitzwilliam includes about 100
objects. They are mostly Attic vases, though the couple did also own a
very sultry head of Antinous, the lover of the Roman emperor Hadrian.
He is instantly recognisable, according to Mary Beard, professor of
classics at Cambridge University, "because he's got that lovely
pouting lip". Burn added: "And then there's the downwards gaze and
tilted head – very Princess Diana."

Not all the pieces are as controversial as the smudged-penis kalyx;
but in this new display of the Fitzwilliam's antiquities the curators
are coming clean about past gaffes made by the institution. It is what
Beard calls "the new transparency".

For instance, a miniature bronze statuette of a Roman priest (known as
the "Marlay Genius") isn't much to look at now. But in the mid-20th
century it was one of the favourite objects of the then keeper of
antiquities, Winifred Lamb.

The statuette was packed away with other precious items during the war
and hidden in Shropshire. But when it came out of storage in 1947, it
was found to be suffering from "bronze disease" – a condition arising
from damp that caused green pustules to burst out on the sculpture's
surface.

The condition could have completely destroyed the object, so advice
was sought from Cambridge's chemistry department. Various solutions
were proposed, and Lamb wrote to the director of the museum: "I'd
rather see him yellow, purple, any colour, like a Woolworth ornament
than have him in a galloping consumption."

The up-to-the-minute cure for the condition – which would be regarded
as rather extreme these days – was to dunk the figure into fearsome
solution including caustic soda for 50 hours. The little priest came
out cured – but also minus much of the exquisite surface detail that
had made him such a favourite of Lamb's.

According to Beard: "The story of the object goes right up to now. It
didn't just miraculously finish at the end of the Roman empire. In the
case of the Marlay Genius, it was like treating a cancer patient. Now,
he's lucky to be alive – if pockmarked."

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The antiquities gallery at the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge reopens to the public on Saturday – with some fascinating stories

In the Greek and Roman gallery in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge –
one of the most important collections of antiquities in the country,
which reopens to the public on Saturday after a £950,000 makeover –
there is one Greek pot the eye might easily flit past.

Unless, that is, you happen to take more than a cursory view at the
central figure's genital area. In the bowl of this 5th-century Attic
kylix (drinking cup), is the figure of a man, naked but for a cloak,
and holding a lyre and a staff. But something rather peculiar seems to
have happened: there's a noticeably smudged, discoloured patch around
the groin area.

According to conservator Christina Rozeik, who has been working with
the objects in the refurbished gallery, that penis will be "the
subject of much detective work over the next year".

The pot was once owned by the collectors Charles Ricketts and Charles
Shannon, whose lives spanned the 1860s to 1930s. The pair met at art
school in London in the 1880s, and they later became friends and
supporters of Oscar Wilde.

They amassed a fine collection of antiquities that was later
bequeathed to the Fitzwilliam. According to the museum's keeper of
antiquities, Lucilla Burn, the two "were a pair of aesthetes; and they
collected on aesthetic grounds".

The flesh-coloured blotch is actually the trace of a rescue attempt on
the pot by one of the couple. "Genitals restored by Ricketts," states
the original Fitzwilliam catalogue entry baldly. A century on, the
restored patch has discoloured and faded, while the original surface
of the pot, dating from about 480BC, has survived impeccably.
According to Rozeik, who counts the restoration as "quite skilful",
the problem is that "we don't know what's underneath". Ricketts – a
fine painter as well as a set designer and typographer of note – had
motives for drawing in the figure's genitals that can only be
inferred.

Nor is it a question of simply removing Ricketts' work and having a
look at what lies beneath. "Part of the dilemma is that Ricketts is a
significant artist," she said. "We would have to think very hard
before removing his work."

The question of the blotchy genitals is a very modern conservation
dilemma. Should Rickett's restoration be regarded as a valid part of
the history of the object and left, or should it be removed? As Rozeik
asks, "Is there any such thing as authenticity? What's the 'real'
object?"

The Ricketts-Shannon collection in the Fitzwilliam includes about 100
objects. They are mostly Attic vases, though the couple did also own a
very sultry head of Antinous, the lover of the Roman emperor Hadrian.
He is instantly recognisable, according to Mary Beard, professor of
classics at Cambridge University, "because he's got that lovely
pouting lip". Burn added: "And then there's the downwards gaze and
tilted head – very Princess Diana."

Not all the pieces are as controversial as the smudged-penis kalyx;
but in this new display of the Fitzwilliam's antiquities the curators
are coming clean about past gaffes made by the institution. It is what
Beard calls "the new transparency".

For instance, a miniature bronze statuette of a Roman priest (known as
the "Marlay Genius") isn't much to look at now. But in the mid-20th
century it was one of the favourite objects of the then keeper of
antiquities, Winifred Lamb.

The statuette was packed away with other precious items during the war
and hidden in Shropshire. But when it came out of storage in 1947, it
was found to be suffering from "bronze disease" – a condition arising
from damp that caused green pustules to burst out on the sculpture's
surface.

The condition could have completely destroyed the object, so advice
was sought from Cambridge's chemistry department. Various solutions
were proposed, and Lamb wrote to the director of the museum: "I'd
rather see him yellow, purple, any colour, like a Woolworth ornament
than have him in a galloping consumption."

The up-to-the-minute cure for the condition – which would be regarded
as rather extreme these days – was to dunk the figure into fearsome
solution including caustic soda for 50 hours. The little priest came
out cured – but also minus much of the exquisite surface detail that
had made him such a favourite of Lamb's.

According to Beard: "The story of the object goes right up to now. It
didn't just miraculously finish at the end of the Roman empire. In the
case of the Marlay Genius, it was like treating a cancer patient. Now,
he's lucky to be alive – if pockmarked."

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