The Night of the Colossal Head

The pursuit of antiquity rarely adheres to the quiet, methodical process often envisioned. More frequently, it is punctuated by moments of intense discovery, frantic activity, and the inescapable interference of contemporary affairs. The events at Aghios Photios, near the ancient site of Golgoi, in the early months of 1870, serve as a stark illustration. For Luigi Palma di Cesnola, then American Consul in Cyprus, what began as a routine check on a small exploratory dig rapidly escalated into a night of near pandemonium, culminating in the unearthing of one of Cyprus's most significant sculptural finds.

Cesnola's interest in the fields near Athieno, the modern village occupying the vicinity of ancient Golgoi, had been piqued some years prior. Earlier explorations, including those by the esteemed M. de Vogüé, had yielded results, identifying Golgoi and unearthing Phoenician inscriptions and sculptural fragments. Yet, Cesnola suspected more lay hidden. Initial digs near Athieno itself proved disappointing, revealing only shallow foundations of modest, seemingly less ancient houses and portions of a city wall. A nearby necropolis yielded sarcophagi and stelae, some bearing Cypriote characters, but many tombs had been plundered long ago.

His attention turned to a specific plot known locally as Aghios Photios, south of the main Golgoi site, where M. de Vogüé was also said to have found fine statues. Official duties and other excavations delayed Cesnola's plans until early 1870, when he dispatched two trusted diggers, providing funds and instructions to begin work at the designated spot. Nearly a week passed without word. Then, one morning as Cesnola breakfasted in Larnaca, a muleteer arrived bearing urgent news: an enormous stone head and other sculptures had been found. The diggers pleaded for carts to remove the finds immediately, fearing interference from the landowner.

Fate, however, intervened. Cesnola was obligated to preside over a consular corps meeting that afternoon and could not leave Larnaca immediately. The potential for delay was fraught with risk; news of significant finds spread like wildfire among the locals, often leading to chaotic, illicit digging and the loss of artefacts. Fortunately, M. Andrea Vondiziano, a consular employee (later Russian Consul), volunteered to go in Cesnola's stead, assess the situation, and report back. Cesnola instructed him to send an express message should any trouble arise with authorities or the landowner, promising to depart for Aghios Photios at once if needed.

Later that afternoon, during the consular meeting, a second messenger arrived from Vondiziano, confirming the initial report: the head was indeed colossal, larger than any he had seen, and other sculptures lay nearby. Reassured that the situation was calm, Cesnola dispatched two ox-carts, instructing Vondiziano to load them but wait until the following morning, when Cesnola would arrive to relieve him.

The plan, however, quickly unravelled. The sheer size and weight of the sculptures proved too much for the initial team. Additional labourers were needed, requiring a message to be sent to the nearby village of Athieno – a necessary step, but one that proved calamitous. News of the discovery ignited the village. As Cesnola, wearied by a protracted consular meeting marked by frustrating trivialities and a lack of unity among the corps, sought rest intending an early start, he was jolted awake near midnight by the frantic arrival of two, then three, mounted couriers from Athieno.

Their breathless, overlapping accounts painted a picture of chaos. The labourers sent from Athieno had broadcast the news, and a large portion of the village populace, armed with picks and spades, had descended upon Aghios Photios, digging haphazardly in the dark, fuelled by excitement and the hope of treasure. The landowner and his relatives were among them, staking their claim. Vondiziano found himself powerless amidst the frenzy. Worse still, two local Turkish policemen ('zaptiehs') had arrived, claiming the sculptures in the name of the Sultan, while villagers were secreting smaller objects, intending to claim they were digging for other consuls.

There was no time to lose. Cesnola mounted immediately, instructing a cavass to follow with supplies and camp equipment at dawn. Riding hard through the night, he encountered others also racing towards Larnaca – messengers for the Caimakam (Governor) and muleteers rushing to inform rival consuls, some of whom reportedly prepared to ride out themselves before learning Cesnola was already en route. In less than an hour, Cesnola reached Aghios Photios.

The scene that greeted him was "wild and weird". The plain was alive with bivouacked villagers from Athieno. Large fires cast dancing, fantastic shadows across the excited crowd, their shouts, arguments, and snatches of song creating a "perfect Pandemonium". The swarthy faces and colourful attire, lit by the flickering flames, gave them the air of brigands – which, in their opportunistic plundering, they somewhat resembled. Over a hundred people swarmed the site.

Cesnola's recent, decisive victory in a dispute with the Larnaca authorities had earned him a certain reputation, a degree of authority recognised even by the local populace. As word of the American Consul's arrival spread, an immediate hush fell over the crowd; the uproar ceased. Drawing on his military experience, Cesnola quickly assessed the situation. He rode directly towards the two Turkish policemen guarding the unearthed sculptures, dismounted, and coolly ordered one to walk his horse. The zaptieh obeyed without question. Cesnola then directed the other to disperse the crowd, clearing a space around the finds. This prompt assumption of command had the desired effect on the locals.

And then, by the fitful firelight, Cesnola beheld it: the colossal head. Its massive, stony features seemed to conjure visions of the master artisans, long turned to dust, who had wrought it. But sentiment had to wait. He ordered the carts brought near, supervised the careful loading of the head and other sculptures, and dispatched Vondiziano to escort them towards Larnaca, instructing him to hand them over to the oncoming cavass. Without a single dissenting voice, the chaotic scene yielded to Cesnola's direction; even the landowner merely followed him "like my shadow". Cesnola had, in effect, captured the treasure. He then motioned the zaptiehs to lead the way back to Athieno, and followed on foot, accompanied by the now subdued villagers, the moon rising to light their path. Arriving at the house of a familiar muleteer, he dismissed the police with a small gratuity and the crowd dispersed. Exhausted, Cesnola slept profoundly, still fully dressed, upon a hard wooden settle.

The following morning brought news of the sculptures' difficult but safe passage towards Larnaca, but also word that the Caimakam of Larnaca, Arif Effendi, was en route to Athieno, undoubtedly intending to seize the antiquities. Cesnola acted swiftly. First, he secured the land itself, negotiating with the owner who, initially demanding £1000, quickly settled for £20 upon hearing of the Caimakam's approach. The bill of sale secured Cesnola's legal right to the finds. Second, he forbade further unauthorised digging. When the Caimakam arrived at Aghios Photios expecting bustling activity, he found only a deserted field and learned the antiquities were already secure under the American flag in Larnaca. Frustrated, he could only report back to the Governor-General before returning to Larnaca himself.

Cesnola then turned his attention to recovering the pieces spirited away by the villagers. Using a blend of authority and liberal payment – enhanced by a clever ruse involving Layard's "Nineveh" as a supposed book of divination to identify concealed items – he successfully retrieved nearly everything that had been illicitly removed.

Upon closer inspection, Cesnola realised the discovery had been made not in the field he originally intended, but an adjacent one. The haphazard digging of the villagers made it impossible to determine if a structure had existed there. Cesnola ordered the area cleared and systematic soundings made, but found no substantial foundations, only a small semi-circular stone structure near the surface, far too small for a temple. Subsequent investigation in 1873 confirmed his conclusion: no temple stood on this precise spot. The colossal head, remarkably preserved, was found here, along with the base supporting its feet, but no other body fragments matched its scale. Thirty-two other statues, mostly mutilated, and numerous fragments, largely in a hieratic Egyptian or Assyrian style, were recovered from this field. These included a striking, nearly complete statue of a priest-like figure with a pointed headdress, Assyrian-style curled beard, holding a cup and dove.

Cesnola then commenced systematic excavation in the field originally targeted, just east of the first find spot, across a small mound. Here, his efforts were rewarded. At a depth of nearly seven feet, he struck a substantial stone wall, the foundation of a large rectangular structure measuring approximately 60 by 30 feet. This, Cesnola determined, was the true temple. Inside, lining the eastern wall, was a row of seventy-two rough pedestals. Just beyond them lay hundreds of statues, large and small, buried face down in compacted earth mixed with decomposed sun-dried brick – the material Cesnola believed formed the temple's superstructure. Extracting them was slow and arduous work, requiring water to soften the concrete-like soil. Statues were grouped stylistically – conical-headed Assyrian types together, Egyptian types likewise. Many were decapitated, seemingly from the fall when the temple collapsed. Finds included a magnificent, near-perfect Assyrian-style statue over seven feet tall, votive tablets, inscriptions in Cypriote characters, bas-reliefs, large stone lustral vases near the entrances, and eventually, near the western wall, sculptures showing marked Greek influence, including a masterful life-size statue, possibly of a priest.

The sheer volume of discoveries – nearly a thousand sculptures from the temple area alone, added to those from the adjacent field – attracted the attention of the Governor-General, who, spurred by exaggerated reports of gold, attempted to halt the excavations. Cesnola, citing his firman and employing diplomatic stalling tactics through correspondence, continued his work while simultaneously arranging the complex and costly transport of the heavy statues over difficult terrain to Larnaca.

The question of the colossal head's deposition remains intriguing. Found not within the temple proper, but in the adjacent field with other early, non-Greek style sculptures, it suggests a possible earlier shrine or deposit predating the main structure, or perhaps a ceremonial clearing and burial of older votives when the later temple was built or renovated. Its journey, along with the vast majority of Cesnola's other discoveries, was fraught with further diplomatic maneuvering. Facing an explicit refusal from the Turkish authorities to permit export, Cesnola ultimately shipped the massive collection, including the colossal head, under the flag of the Russian Consulate, exploiting a loophole in the prohibition order which specifically named only the American Consul. After a period in London, the collection found its permanent home, fulfilling Cesnola's desire, in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, where the colossal head remains a centrepiece – the largest stone head ever discovered in Cyprus and a silent witness to that chaotic night at Aghios Photios.