A remarkable artefact, the François Vase is a rare and invaluable example of Attic ceramic production—so much so that some scholars have proposed renaming it Rex vasorum, the King of Vases. Its fame stems from its unusual shape and the magnificent painted scenes that cover its surface. Dynamism and stillness, solemnity and heartbreaking pathos alternate in this unique piece, which still bears the signs of a fortunate—yet at times chaotic—history.
The tumultuous story of the “King of Vases”
The François Vase is named after the Florentine archaeologist Alessandro François (1796–1857), who discovered its many fragments between 1844 and 1845 in the Etruscan necropolis of Fonte Rotella, near Chiusi, part of the Medici estate of Dociano. The find was extraordinary. Buried twelve metres underground, the site was vast—its diameter equal to that of the Colosseum—and is the largest known chamber tomb of the Archaic period. Though previously looted, at the time of discovery it still contained the beads of a gold necklace, the head of a snarling marble tiger, and many Greek and Etruscan vases. It was immediately clear that the “Great Vase”—as François called it—was among the oldest and most refined examples of Greek vase art ever seen in Italy.
Crafted in the 6th century BC by the potter Ergotimos and painted by the artist Kleitias—their signatures are visible on both sides—the vase arrived in Chiusi under unknown circumstances. Greek pottery was highly prized among Etruscan aristocrats, and similar works had made their way to the region before. However, this particular krater (a vessel used to mix wine and water) must have been held in the highest regard, as it was included in a noble burial.
Shortly after its discovery, it was purchased by Leopold II, Grand Duke of Tuscany, and exhibited first in the Cabinet of Etruscan Vases at the Gallerie degli Uffizi in Florence, and later at the Museo Archeologico on Via della Crocetta, where it remains today. But its story is anything but ordinary: the discovery was only the beginning.
The damage, the theft, and the recovered fragment
Traces of lead still visible in some areas of the decoration reveal that the François Vase had already been broken and repaired once before—though whether this occurred in Greece or Italy remains unknown. What is known, however, is when the second and far more dramatic act of damage took place.
On Sunday, 9 September 1900, the museum was open to the public. Giuseppe Maglioni, a museum attendant with a history of mental illness, seized a wooden stool weighing nearly 5 kg and hurled it violently at the display case protecting the vase, shattering it. Moments earlier, he had stabbed the museum’s Chief Attendant—who would remain hospitalised for several days—and had destroyed other works in a rage sparked by a workplace dispute.
To make matters worse, amid the chaos, a visitor secretly stole a fragment of the shattered vase. The piece was returned anonymously a few years later—left inside a vessel in the Museo Egizio—after the heartfelt appeal of the Museo Archeologico’s director in a specialist journal.
By the time it was returned in 1903, the vase had already been restored. Not only had the 638 fragments caused by Maglioni been reassembled, but the so-called Strozzi fragment had also been added. This piece, though long held in archaeological collections, had never previously been integrated into the krater.
In 1866, the Marquis Carlo Strozzi had donated to the Gallerie degli Uffizi a fragment of the vase missed during the initial excavations and found by a peasant (whom the marquis had suggested should be hired as a museum attendant—though this never happened).
It wasn’t until the new restoration in 1973 that the stolen fragment was finally reinserted, allowing the vase to (re)appear in all its extraordinary beauty.
The iconographic apparatus and its meaning
Though it is often mistakenly claimed to be the largest Attic black-figure krater on terracotta, the François Vase is undoubtedly one of the most fascinating and controversial. Its 131 inscriptions—including the dual signatures of its makers—leave no doubt as to the identity of the 270 figures depicted, yet their precise meaning remains the subject of study and debate.
The main scenes painted on side A
The main frieze stretches around the widest part of the vase—Sides A and B—and depicts the wedding procession of Peleus and Thetis, future parents of the great Greek hero Achilles. The bride, barely visible due to gaps in the vase, sits inside a lavish palace marked by a white door panel, where a curious detail appears: a small rectangular opening—a “cat flap”—used for the passage of hedgehogs, once kept to ward off snakes and mice. The groom greets the guests outside, in front of an altar, shaking hands with the centaur Chiron. From this gesture emerges the vertical signature of the painter: “Kleitias painted me.” Behind them, in chariots, the major gods of Olympus and other figures proceed. From the muzzle of the horse bearing Zeus and Hera descends the potter’s autograph: “Ergotimos made me.”
The most enigmatic figure is surely Dionysus, the god of wine, shown at the centre of the frieze with an amphora on his shoulder. The meticulous details—such as his bearded face, the richly decorated garment, and the exaggerated height (he even reaches the upper edge of the frieze!) suggest his prominence in the scene, although interpretations vary.
Allusions to Achilles, his deeds, and those of his father appear in the vase’s other registers on this side. On the rim, we find the Calydonian Boar Hunt, led by Peleus, and just below, the funeral games for Patroclus, Achilles’ closest companion. Further down, the killing of Troilus, youngest son of the king of Troy, by Achilles during the siege: the tense posture and lifted foot of Priam, just warned of the event, convey the agony of the moment.
Achilles’ death is shown twice, symmetrically, on the outer sides of the vase’s handles.
The mythological episodes on side B
This side is dedicated to another hero of Greek mythology: Theseus. Having sailed to Crete to slay the Minotaur—the monstrous man-bull who annually devoured fourteen Athenian youths sent as tribute—Theseus succeeds, aided by Ariadne, daughter of the Cretan king and half-sister to the Minotaur, and her famous thread. The upper border of the vase illustrates this episode in a complex temporal sequence. From left to right, we see the ship carrying the rejoicing youths (above them, the second set of artisan signatures); the Crane Dance, a ritual Athenian dance established by Theseus on Delos during the return journey, to celebrate his victory over the monster; and the meeting between the lyre-playing hero and Ariadne, offering him the thread.
Below this, the Centauromachy—the battle of the Lapiths against the Centaurs, with Theseus taking part—unfolds. Finally, beneath the central frieze, we find the triumphant return of Hephaestus to Olympus, a popular Archaic motif.
Animals and other figures
Real and fantastic creatures fill the lower registers of both sides, rendered with precise linework and imagination—full of symbolism that remains elusive but visually striking. Two winged Gorgons appear in the volutes, facing inward. Their placement likely intended that, when the krater was full, they would be reflected on the wine’s surface, appearing to fly over the “wine-dark sea”, to borrow Homer’s phrase.
These aren’t the only animals on the François Vase. On the foot of the vessel, we find the so-called Geranomachy—the battle of Pygmies against cranes—unfolding in a continuous scene around the circumference. The tiny warriors riding goats bravely confront the cranes that destroy their crops each year. Yet, when compared to the other battles depicted, this one has a grotesque quality, as though Kleitias meant to soften the vase’s dramatic intensity with a lighter—even tragicomic—note.
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Possible Interpretations
As mentioned, plausible critical interpretations abound. Some scholars see a unifying theme of marriage, perhaps commissioned for a noble wedding. Others see it as a celebration of masculinity and the power of the human intellect over brute force, symbolised by the animals.
Still others propose it represents the stages of an Athenian youth’s life: initiation, warfare, and marriage. Finally, some suggest the two main sides of the vase contrast two heroic archetypes: Achilles, the pan-Hellenic hero, and Theseus, the distinctly Athenian one. None of these theories can be declared definitively correct—or incorrect—and this ambiguity only enhances the allure of this extraordinary object.
The recent redesign of the Museo Archeologico Nazionale’s display—featuring backlit, large-scale reproductions on a black background—allows visitors to closely observe the krater’s exquisite details. Enchanting for lovers of archaeology and Greek myth, the François Vase is also an endless source of inspiration for those interested in graphic design and illustration: its original formal solutions and unique compositional balance transcend time, making it powerfully relevant even today.
