One of the most amazing things about the Near Eastern Collections here at the Penn Museum is their ability to continue to give. To say that we have “discoveries” in storage makes it sound like we don’t know what we have, but it’s more complex than that. Many of our objects were catalogued in the field in the 1930s, when not a lot of other examples existed. So only now, with newly identified examples in hand, can we correct some of the older descriptions.

For example, there still isn’t a lot known about the Mesopotamian demoness Lamashtu, nor about items we now call “Lamashtu amulets.” What we know comes from the written record—there are indeed texts that mention Lamashtu that have been collected and studied, and it is from these that we understand more about who she was, why she was feared, and how to stop her.

The author sits down with William B. Hafford, research associate at the Penn Museum, to talk about the demon Lamashtu.

The common myth about her is that she was cast out of the heavens after developing a taste for human blood, particularly that of unborn children. The tablets record ways to keep her away; they include particular incantations you would have to say, what kind of figurines and plaques to put up in your home and where, the types of items that you might want to “gift” her, and even the protective amulets that one could wear. So, even though our knowledge isn’t complete, it is fairly complex with layers of mythology and protection and physical things.

A year ago, our collection had one known Lamashtu amulet (pictured below and now on display in our Preserving Assyria show). It was from my study of that piece that I learned the common attributes so that I could best describe what this faded object was showing us: On a “spade shaped pendant” one could see a bird-headed demon with fingers outstretched. In the field around her are a sign for “god” as well as a comb and a spindle—typical items for women’s weaving work. The other side has a geometric pattern, as if it was mimicking an inscription. It is pierced at the top so it can be worn.

A Lamashtu amulet in the Penn Museum collection; PM 32-40-304.

Many art museums contain amulets with very clear imagery; these attractive amulets were all sold on the market years ago as museums were creating their collections. And it is from these beautifully carved examples that we understand what we see on our example. Our example was excavated at Ur. When we excavated at Ur, we did so in partnership with the British Museum; half of the materials stayed in Baghdad, and then one quarter went to the British Museum, and one quarter came to us.

Knowing we had one allowed me to surmise that the British Museum would thus have one as well: theirs is a black stone amulet (BM 122999). It is also spade shaped, and is also carved on both sides. But their Lamashtu is much more of an animal: you can see her open mouth and her claw feet on a ground line. However, she still has splayed fingers and there is still a textile comb and something that could be seen as a spindle in the field around her. Her “text” side consists of a pseudo-script as well as a dog. She is often seen with dogs, pigs, and scorpions since she was banished to the “uncivilized” parts of the world where such animals exist.

So, the British Museum piece was different from ours, but still similar in some sense. And in fact, the British Museum had a second Lamashtu amulet from Ur (BM 123217). Like ours, it is a paste amulet in the spade shape, pierced at the top for suspension. Like ours, the “text” side is just a series of triangles in a geometric pattern. Like ours, she appears striding, with outstretched fingers. Not much more is clear.

And so there were three Lamashtu amulets found at Ur that I knew of. I had no proof that any were in the Baghdad Museum, as the field records only recorded the British Museum’s black stone piece and our paste amulet.

But then suddenly, I found myself in the drawers of small finds from Ur, looking for an object for a colleague. And I spied a spade-shaped pendant (35-1-28) with hole at the top for suspension. It is black stone and when I moved it in the light, I could see her outstretched hands. And suddenly, everything was clear. Well, not quite clear to the naked eye, but I could now understand why this piece wasn’t given a field number in that Lamashtu sequence. It was only because I had been studying these objects and knew that the shape was unusual that it stood out. I had rehoused the piece about a decade ago and it didn’t even catch my eye. I was able to work with our Conservation Department, and they kindly performed reflectance transformation imaging (RTI) on the two Lamashtu amulets from Ur.

In these spectral images, parts of this black stone Lamashtu came to light. She is on a ground line. There appear to be feet of an animal (she is often seen with the previously mentioned animals, or atop a donkey as she is run out of town) which isn’t surprising. I could be convinced I saw a spindle, and I could see her outstretched fingers. The text side once again showed a geometric pattern instead of actual text. I immediately had it added to the Lamashtu amulet canon and had it listed in the official catalogue and told colleagues about it in time for them to include it in a pair of articles coming out this year.

What struck me about our two examples was how immediate they felt—you could see that they were worn down from their original state. And I could imagine a pregnant woman wearing this amulet, perhaps grasping it while she recited some of the incantations to help protect her unborn child. These items allowed me to see the people that wore them in a unique way.

As I was re-cataloguing the piece, I started to think about the rest of the collection. Did we have anything else that was so faded that mauybe it, too, could be a Lamashtu amulet? Perhaps at the time it came into the building it simply wasn’t noticed? Or was there something excavated really early and so there were no known examples for an excavator to use to inform a field description. Suddenly storage felt like a treasure chest!

Take, for example, amulet B14311. When it was excavated at the site of Nippur in 1895, it was so unique that a rubbing was made of each side in the field and sent to the Museum’s director. It was unknown what it was, but called a “talisman” in the letter home. That is, it was noted that it likely played a role in the protection of the wearer. It is a spade shaped pendant, with a hole on the top for suspension. And we start to see some familiar items: A scorpion, a spindle, a dog, a needle, animals on ground lines… but we don’t see her. By the second millennium they start to appear without her, standing in for her on only very few examples. Ours was previously uncatalogued as such, and now adds to this very important corpus of Lamashtu amulets without Lamashtu present.

Another object type that I would argue is part of the catalogue, but not considered before, is represented by two pendants in the collection: one from Fara (33-13-476) and one from Billa (32-20-385). They are spade shaped pendants with a hole at the top for suspension. They are blank, but does that mean they aren’t part of the discussion? Klaudia Limper, in her dissertation that published the small finds from Uruk excavated in the 1930s (like our examples), notes three similar pendants and includes them in her catalogue after the two actual Lamashtu amulets with a note that because of their shape, they should be considered with her.

And I agree—this shape is not common. This shape, as far as the Penn Museum collections are concerned, only appears with Lamashtu on them, or these two blank examples. Of course, they were simply listed as pendants (this is not incorrect)  in the field registers for their sites. But now that we are 90 years out, and now that we have seen so many more beads, we are able to re-catalogue these pendants, at least as possible Lamashtu amulets.

As for the Billa records, as I flipped through the field register, I saw a sketch of an object that was described as a “crudely etched man.” The sketch was of a spade-shaped pendant, pierced at the top for suspension. There was a figure with a mane of hair, outstretched hands, standing on a ground line. The back was a series of incised lines in a geometric pattern. It was noted to have gone to Baghdad in the split. I was amazed—here was a misidentified Lamashtu for certain!

I returned to the field register and found the same description of a “crudely etched man” and a note that it came to our Museum. I returned to storage where I found 32-20-457: a spade-shaped pendant, pierced for suspension. A figure with outstretched fingers on a ground line and a mane of hair with a beak for a face. Conservation’s RTI work proved there was what appeared to be a dog on the ground line next to our demon. The back is completely blank. I was able to re-catalogue this piece; and after 93 years, our Lamashtu is no longer identified as a crudely etched man!

Conservation conducted reflectance transformation imaging (RTI) work to prove there was what appeared to be a dog on the ground line next to our demon.

Things aren’t often “discovered” in storage. What happens is someone with advanced knowledge is able to spend time with material and see things anew. The amount of Lamashtu amulets known when that pendant at Nippur was excavated was likely zero, and today it is nearly 125. Not a huge amount, but then again, this time last year Penn only had one example and now we have six. Imagine how many pieces are waiting to be re-catalogued simply because we know more now.

This collection continues to give to the field. Every day someone has the chance to see something new—a piece on display or a piece in storage: none are dusty nor ignored, and there is always more to learn. This is why it’s so important for us to make sure these objects are catalogued properly so that researchers and the public alike can search our online collections to learn more about the past.

Katy Blanchard is the Fowler/Van Santvoord Keeper of the Near Eastern Collection.