Mundus Muliebris
Mundus Muliebris
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to Phoenix
Leslie Shumka
In the spring of 2008, Rome witnessed the re-opening of one of its most
opulent ancient tombs. Located in the impressive necropolis beneath St Peter’s
Basilica, the mausoleum of Gaius Valerius Herma has long been admired for its
complex decorative program and ornate interior. As part of its overall design,
full-length stucco portraits of Herma, his wife, and their daughter, who died on
the cusp of womanhood, are set into niches along the west wall of the tomb’s
interior.1 Rendered in stucco in the lunettes above each niche are items from
daily life which might have been chosen to reflect some aspect of the deceased’s
identity. In Herma’s case writing implements, perhaps symbolic of the urbane
man, take pride of place, while utensils commonly associated with women are
found in the other lunettes. More precisely, above the portrait of Herma’s
daughter, Valeria Maxima, are a hand mirror, a make-up or jewelry box, and a
perfume container. Directly above the portrait of her mother, Flavia Olympias,
are the implements normally associated with the virtuous woman’s industry: a
distaff, a spindle, and a basket of wool.2
This feminine paraphernalia is part of the gendered visual language found
in Roman commemorative culture that is generally thought to symbolize the
female world. What is striking about the accoutrements for the women of
the Valerii family, apart from the fact that these banal items seem unsuited
to such an elegant tomb, is that they constitute (as far as I am aware) one
of only three such representations from the entire city of Rome.3 Currently,
the overwhelming majority of toiletry reliefs come from humble memorials,
referred to here as mundus muliebris commemorations, that were found in the
many towns that once dotted the landscape of Roman Italy. The differences
between these reliefs and those from the Valerii tomb, elicit several questions.
This article is dedicated with much gratitude and affection to Professor Keith Bradley. I am grateful
to the anonymous reviewers and to Michele George, whose comments and suggestions improved
the focus and clarity of this paper. Warm thanks go also to Fiona Black, Patricia Clark, and Ronnie
Lee for their help at various stages.
1
Mielsch and von Hesberg 1996 is standard reading on the tomb of Valerius Herma and the
street of tombs in general. See also Steinby et al. 2003 and Wallace-Hadrill 2008.
2
A round disc to the right of the basket has not been identified. More detailed descriptions of
the west wall portrait niches are found in Mielsch and von Hesberg 1996: 166–170, with figs. 161,
180, 182–184, and 186. It should be noted that Herma also had a son, Gaius Valerius Olympianus,
who died at the age of four. He is named in an inscription on the tomb’s exterior but does not
appear to have been commemorated inside the mausoleum in the same way as his parents and sister,
on which see Mielsch and von Hesberg 1996: 190.
3
The others are found on a loculus cover belonging to the slave hairdresser Cypare (CIL 6.9727),
and a commemorative plaque for the slave Felicitas (ICUR 9.25171).
77
PHOENIX, VOL. 70 (2016) 1–2.
First and foremost, who exactly were the women honored with mundus muliebris
memorials and second, what did they or those who commemorated them wish
to communicate about their cultural identity? Third, does knowledge of the
women’s legal status alter our perceptions of what the iconography might have
meant to them and their dedicants? The latter question is a challenging one
to address, considering how little insight we have into the lives of women from
different social strata (especially those in marginalized social groups), and the
limited knowledge we have of the process by which funerary monuments were
designed. Nor can we ever view the Roman world from the perspective of
the women who experienced it.4 However, by attempting to comprehend the
significance of these memorials we might acquire a better grasp of what their
lives were like. This article is a first step towards such an understanding.
the memorials
The point of departure for this paper is a synopsis of the memorials’ general
features, their geographical distribution, and their chronology.5 There are sixty-
five relevant monuments commemorating seventy-two females and sometimes
their family members or intimate friends. Two commemorations have received
much attention,6 while publications on the rest are scattered widely in epigraphic
journals and major corpora like the Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum. Sixty-four
epitaphs are also found in the holdings of digital archives like the Epigraphische
Datenbank Clauss-Slaby and the Epigraphic Database Roma.7 These searchable
databases provide access in many cases to the original CIL entries, photographs,
and recent on-site examinations of the monuments.
When the cadre of editors assembled by Mommsen began the first studies
of these memorials in the mid-nineteenth century, they encountered carved and
incised toiletry representations predominantly on arae, cippi, and stelai. As they
prepared their entries for publication, the editors usually noted the approximate
position of toiletry items on the memorials, and for this reason the characteristic
labels common to the mundus muliebris genre occur above, below, or adjacent to
the epitaphs. The stelai for Claudia Lexsis (no. 15, fig. 1) and Valeria (no. 61,
fig. 2) provide some idea of the typical forms of monuments, the ways in which
4
I paraphrase here the remarks of Bradley (2008: 487), who comments on the challenges of
trying to get at the lived reality of Roman slaves.
5
The appendix to this article (below, 96–103) contains brief summaries of each memorial.
Due to the space constraints of this article, I have provided the CIL references where appropriate,
along with the identification numbers from online epigraphic databases, rather than fuller, strictly
bibliographic entries.
6
The best known are the cippus of Poppaedia Secunda and her mother (no. 35), and the stele for
Caecinia Digna and Numeria Maximilla (no. 49). See below 85–86. For examples of publications
which discuss these memorials, see Rossi 1843; Letta-D’Amato 1975; Wyke 1994; Shumka 2008.
7
The exception is the epitaph for the slavewoman Iadis (no. 23), commemorated by her fellow-
slave Amethistus. Details are available in Buonocore 1982: 733–734.
text and image are juxtaposed, and the range and types of toiletries that are
included. Depicted in the gable above the inscription panel of Lexsis’ stele is a
typical relief comprising a comb, cista (cosmetic or jewellery box), a mirror with
a handle, a pair of slippers, and two perfume bottles. On Valeria’s gravestone,
however, the objects are placed beneath the inscription and are incised rather
than modelled. A substantial fracture on the gravestone’s right side prevents us
from knowing Valeria’s cognomen or whether there was an additional article in
the lower right corner of the face, a problem which occurs with several other
memorials as well.
Combs, mirrors with handles, and slippers are the most commonly depicted
items, followed by perfume containers (variously labelled balsamaria, unguentaria,
lagoenae, or ampullae), pins or needles (aci, aci crinales) for sewing or arranging
the hair, and cistae. More rarely there are closed umbrellas or parasols (nos. 33
and 35) and round mirrors in square cases sometimes described as box mirrors
(nos. 32 and 35).8 Any number or combination of these items might appear
on a memorial. While we know little about the decisions that determined the
composition of a relief, personal preferences, finances, and the stock available at
the local sculpture atelier must have influenced buyers.
The geographic spread of the commemorations is rather uneven, with eighty-
three percent originating in central Italian towns, especially in Regio IV (Sam-
nium) and Regio VII (Etruria), fourteen percent in Regiones I–III and V–VI, and
a mere three percent in the city of Rome.9 Their concentration in Samnium and
Etruria is not wholly unexpected, given that the epigraphic habit in both areas
was fairly robust relative to the rest of Italy (excluding Rome, Regio I, and Regio
X).10 Pinpointing the exact provenance of all memorials is a challenge, as few
have been found in situ. Some were moved to church precincts, museums, or
private collections without any formal documentation of their original contexts
or material remains, while others were repurposed in building projects either in
antiquity or later centuries (nos. 11, 18, 36–38, 53). Still others have come into
the hands of affluent families or art collectors in the modern historical period,
again with little or no record of their provenance.11
8
Specimens of most toiletries depicted in the reliefs are also present in the material record of
Roman Italy. For discussion of these artefacts see, Virgili 1989 and 1990; Berg 2002; Allison 2015;
and Lohmann 2015.
9
The scarcity of evidence from Rome might reflect urban iconographical preferences, or stem
from the periodic eradication of active suburban cemeteries during the first few centuries of empire.
See Bodel 2008: 178–179 and especially Bodel 2014 on burial space at Rome. For a similar event
at Ostia, see Carroll (2006: 83) following Heinzelmann 2001: 381.
10
Beltrán Lloris 2015: 138, Table 8.2. Scopacasa (2015: 9–10) notes that the archaeological
record of Samnium is also particularly rich.
11
At one time, the sarcophagus of Iulia Basilia (no. 25) belonged to a baronial family of Sulmona
(CIL 9.3727), while Poppaedia Secunda’s cippus (no. 35) was acquired by the Bucelli family of Ortona
and eventually donated to what is now the Museo Lapidario Avezzano. More recently, the cippus
of Octavidia Genialis and her husband T. Poppedius Callidus (no. 31) was listed for sale in June
Precise dates for the memorials are elusive in the majority of cases, but ranges
have been established on philological and paleographic grounds.12 Because the
dates are imprecise and the number of monuments in the collection is small
our chronological picture is somewhat distorted. Still, a rise and fall can be
traced in the epigraphic evidence from Roman Italy approximating a similar
curve in the data that is posited for the imperial era.13 Five memorials date
to the late first century b.c. or early first century a.d., a period when non-
elite individuals were beginning to develop an interest in self-commemoration
(nos. 4, 20–21, 32, 49). The monuments appear with twice the frequency
throughout the first century, proliferate in the second, but by the early third
century their popularity seems to wane markedly. There are doubtless other
factors influencing this distribution, and we should be wary of placing too
much emphasis on the parallels between our picture and the one for the em-
pire. It is certain, however, that these monuments appear in the mortuary cul-
ture of Roman Italy over a 250-year span, which is a considerable period of
time.14
In general, an examination of the mundus muliebris commemorations reveals
a noticeable degree of variation in the type and number of articles represented
on individual monuments, a variation which cannot necessarily be attributed to
the status of an honorand. In marked contrast, there is a significant level of
uniformity with the funerary inscriptions, as biographical details such as types of
relationships (e.g., affective, patronal, and familial) and sentimental portrayals of
the deceased through the employment of traditional epithets, such as carissima
(“most beloved”) or bene merens (“well-deserving”), are reasonably consistent
across time and place. It is also worth noting that in seventeen cases we have
the honorand’s age at death, and in six others mention of the length of her
marriage. On the face of it, these details seem almost pedestrian, but they are
essential for helping to reconstitute something of the lives of the honorands
and to draw conclusions, however tentative, about what these women and their
dedicants wished to reveal about themselves.
2013 by the Pandolfini auction house in Florence (Pandolfini 2013: lot no. 531), with a pre-auction
estimate of 1000–1500 euros.
12
For the purposes of this paper, I have employed the dates assigned by the most recent on-site
examinations. Five monuments remain undated: nos. 25, 29, 42, 45, 47. Meyer (1990), Carroll
(2006: 26), and Edmondson (2015a: 562) all address the problems of dating inscriptions. On
epigraphic formulae of the late republican and early imperial period, see Salomies 2015. On the
invocations, see Carroll 2006: 126–127, and Bruun and Edmondson 2015b: 15.
13
MacMullen 1982; Meyer 1990; and Woolf 1996. Beltrán Lloris (2015) especially urges caution
in accepting uncritically the picture of this cultural practice.
14
It should be noted that the mundus muliebris commemorations do not seem to be peculiar
to Roman Italy, as two memorials from the Roman West suggest. See the “speaking” stone from
Mogontiacum (Mainz), set up for a twenty-eight-year-old slave named Paulla, and another from
Scupi (Skopje), for an eighty-year-old freedwoman named Teufia Nice. Lazzaro 1993: 188–189;
Amiri 2007: 450; Carroll 2007–2008: 52–53; and Lucreţiu 2008.
freedwomen (LIBERTAE)
Since it is generally accepted that freedpeople (libertini) are well represented
in Latin funerary inscriptions, with their epitaphs far outnumbering those of
freeborn and less affluent individuals,15 it is no surprise that freedwomen and
probable freedwomen form the largest category of honorands.16 As is gener-
ally the case with the epigraphic evidence for this often elusive social group,
there are significant challenges in ascertaining social status in the absence of
libertination, the epigraphic marker of “L” which guarantees that the deceased
was once a slave. It is also impossible to identify the motivations for nam-
ing the former slave-owner in the examples (fewer than ten) which do so.17
Incentives for a freedman to acknowledge a former master range from sim-
ple social convention, a sense of obligation, genuine affection for a patron, the
perceived social advantages that accrued in having a prominent former mas-
ter, or all of the above to varying degrees. The general lack of formal in-
dicators is comprehensible when we consider that the burgeoning practice of
self-commemoration in the Roman empire generally also coincided with the
increasing omission of status markers such as libertination and filiation (an “F,”
the epigraphic marker which indicated freeborn status) except among imperial
freedmen.18 The exclusion of filiation or libertination might have been a way
to lower the cost of the memorial by using a shorter, and therefore cheaper,
inscription; alternatively, the absence of these markers successfully obscured the
stigma of servile descent.19 Careful scrutiny of the nomenclature and personal
bonds of both dedicator and the deceased are essential for distinguishing legal
status.
The legal position of four women is resolved from allusions to relationships
with their inscribers. Two women stand out from the others by virtue of their
marriages to men who style themselves priests in the imperial cult of the Au-
gustales (seviri Augustales).20 The husbands of Nonia Lucusta (29)21 and Octavia
15
Mouritsen 2005: 38–39; Meyer 2011: 207–209; Morley 2011: 281; Bruun 2015b: 608–609.
16
Libertae (twenty-nine percent): nos. 4, 6, 10, 19–21, 25–26, 28, 31–32, 38 (two honorands),
39–41, 50–51, 54, 59, 65. Possible libertae (twenty-six percent): nos. 7–8, 13, 15 (two honorands),
16, 18, 29, 30 (two honorands), 34, 37, 43, 46–47, 52, 55–56, 62.
17
See nos. 4, 20–21, 26, 31–32, 38 (two honorands), 39, 41. With one exception, the dates for
these epitaphs fall within the the late first century b.c. and early second century a.d.
18
MacMullen 1982; Meyer 1990; Woolf 1996; Beltrán Lloris 2015.
19
On motives for excluding status markers, of the possible over-representation of liberti in the
epigraphic material, and of the social composition of those with uncertain status (incerti), see Taylor
1961 and MacMullen 1982. Cf. Joshel 1992: 167–168 and 183–186; Mouritsen 2005: 127–128,
229–230; Carroll 2006: 146; and Perry 2014: 99–100.
20
Bibliography for the sevirate’s titular variations and responsibilities, and their epigraphic habits,
is immense. For work on the Augustales in Italy, see Abramenko 1993 and Mouritsen 2006.
21
CIL 9.3442: Sex(tus) Sinitius | Memor VI vi[r] | Aug(ustalis) viv(it) sib(i) et | Noniae Lucusta[e] |
coniugi suae f(ecit) (“Sextus Sinitius Memor, sevir Augustalis, made [this monument] while he was
alive, for himself and for his spouse, Nonia Lucusta”).
Prisca (no. 34)22 held this relatively distinguished position, and the men indicate
that they erected the memorials for their wives as well as for themselves. Seviri
Augustales are well attested in the epigraphy of central Italy, and the vast majority
of these men appear to have been freedmen who paid a significant sum of money
(summa honoraria) for admission to this privileged order.23 Given the group’s
social composition, we can argue that Lucusta and Prisca were freedwomen. At
the same time, it must be acknowledged that unions between affluent freedmen
and freeborn women (ingenuae) did occur. A freeborn woman was undoubtedly
an attractive partner for a freedman concerned with social mobility, but very
few examples of these mixed marriages are found outside the city of Rome.24
The absence of status indicators beyond the capital might mean that the hus-
bands had no wish to be overshadowed by their freeborn wives, or it could mean
that status was not important enough to the couples to be included. A review
of surviving inscriptions erected by other Augustales in Peltuinum and Marru-
vium, where Nonia and Prisca resided, produces five examples of freedwoman-
Augustalis unions, and while this evidence is not abundant it suggests that these
unions were probably the norm.25
Patronal relationships are notable in two cases. Gaius Amaredius Aper, pre-
sumably the author of Amaredia Lucina’s epitaph (no. 10), draws attention to
his position as her patron,26 but beyond this connection we know little about
the nature of their relationship. Terms that would usually signify marital bonds,
22
Avezzano 56: Pon[tidiae Sex(ti) fil(iae) | Seve[rae infirma] | nata [est sana fuit] | die n[ull]o tulit
| a(nnos) V m(enses) [V]III d(ies) XX | Octaviae Priscae | rarissimi exem|pli f[e]minae | Sextus Pontidius
Hel(vi) | l(ibertus) Fortunatus sev(ir) Aug(ustalis) f(iliae) c(oniugi) et s(ibi) p(osuit) (“To Pontidia
Severa, daughter of Sextus, who was born frail and was healthy on no day. She endured five years,
eight months, twenty days. To Octavia Prisca, a woman of very rare example; Sextus Pontidius
Fortunatus, freedman of Helvius and sevir Augustalis, set up [this monument] to his daughter, his
spouse, and himself”).
23
Taylor 1914: 231; Mouritsen 2015: 239–240. Cf. Bruun 2014 on the summa honoraria.
24
Weaver 1972: 87. On marriages between freedmen and freeborn women, see also Treggiari
1969: 213 and Evans Grubbs 1993: 128–131, together with Mouritsen 2011: 297. Sextuleia
Secunda (no. 41), whose status is indicated by libertination, was also married to an Augustalis. CIL
9.3952: D(is) M(anibus) s(acrum) | T(itus) Tituleius | Successus | sevir Aug(ustalis) | sibi et | Sextuleiae |
M(arci) l(ibertae) Secundae | coniugi b(ene) m(erenti) | p(osuit) (“To the divine shades. Titus Tituleius
Sucessus, a sevir Augustalis, put up [this memorial] for himself and for his well-deserving spouse,
Sextuleia Secunda, the freedwoman of Marcus”).
25
Peltuinum: CIL 9.3441 (Q. Papius Natalis) and 9.3443 (Q. Vibullius Secundionis). Mar-
ruvium: CIL 9.3679 (P. Avius Lalus), EMarsi 78 (P. Ostorius Vitalis), and 9.3678 (T. Alledius
Ianuarius). For comparanda we might note that the epigraphy of Alba Fucens, just 46 km south
west of Peltuinum, reveals a further three freedwoman-Augustalis marriages: CIL 9.3932 (M. Al-
lidius Probatus), 9.3937 (Q. Gargilius Sabianus), and AE 1987, 333 (C. Populenus Natalis).
26
CIL 9.3971: D(is) M(anibus) s(acrum) | Amarediae | Lucinae | quae vixit annos | XVIIII men(ses)
VII quem con|didit in monumento | suo C(aius) Amaredius Aper | patronus C(aius) Amaredius | Severus
et Amaredia | [Psyche] filiae piissi | mae (“To the divine shades of Amaredia Lucina, who lived for
nineteen years and seven months. Gaius Amaredius Aper, her patron, allowed her to be interred
in his tomb. Amaredius Severus and Amaredia Psyche [put this up] for their most affectionate
daughter”).
for instance uxor (“wife”), maritus (“husband”), and coniunx (“spouse”), are ab-
sent. There is no reference to children of the marriage, and the only remark
on Lucina’s virtues comes from her parents, who were also dedicants. Aper did
consent to place Lucina’s altar in his tomb, which might be a sign of a more
intimate bond between the pair.27 By contrast, the freedwomen Septimia Satura
and Septimia Primigenia dedicated a memorial to their patron, Septimia Lyde
(no. 40), and paid for it out of their own pockets (de suis fecerunt).28 In effect,
these women performed the duties most often associated with the legatees of
the deceased, at least according to Cicero (Leg. 2.48–49), who says that legatees
(who were sometimes but not always heirs) were responsible for carrying out
the sacra or rites for the dead.29 He does not state categorically that setting up
a suitable memorial was part of the legatees’ obligations, but it is evident that
these freedwomen felt this to be among their responsibilities, perhaps because
their patron had left no instructions for funerary arrangements before she died.30
Unlike the inscriptions for the Augustales’ wives or the women in patronal
relationships, most of the funerary texts for freedwomen offer very little explicit
information about the honorands’ legal position; however, their nomenclature
can provide clues about the connections between them. When inscribers and
inscribed carry the same gentilicium (patronym) we can assume with some confi-
dence that they are former slaves who were manumitted by a common owner.31
Less straightforward are epitaphs where a patronym is supplied for the hono-
rand alone, as in the case of the freedwoman Herennia Psyche (no. 54),32 who
had three commemorators: a man named Chresimus, who refers to her as his
spouse, her daughter Adiecta, and her son-in-law Alexander.33 The status of her
dedicants, however, is not provided, and because their personal names are given
27
For the range of relationships that might exist between a freedwoman and her patron, see
Perry 2014: 106–114. On patronage ties, Nielsen 1996 and 1997 are pertinent.
28
CIL 9.4026: Septimiae | Lyde | Septimia Satura | et Septimia Primi|genia patron(ae) | b(ene)
m(erenti) d(e) s(uis) f(ecerunt) (“For Septimia Lyde. Septimia Satura and Septimia Primigenia paid
[for this monument] from their own funds, for their well-deserving patron”).
29
Cf. Beltrán Lloris 2015: 143.
30
It is possible that we have a third patronal relationship between Q. Mammius Saturninus and
Mammia Zoe (no. 28). CIL 9.3819: [D(is?) M(anibus?)] s(acrum?) | Mammiae Zoe c(oniugi?)
s(anctissimae?) | Q(uinto) Mammio Sa|turnino filio | pientissimo | Q(uintus) Mammius C(ai) f(ilius) |
Saturninus | pater infe|licissim(us) | suis et sibi | p(osuit) (“To the divine shades. Quintus Mammius
Saturninus, son of Gaius and a most unlucky father, put up [this monument] for his most pious
spouse, Mammia Zoe, and for his most dutiful son, Quintus Mammius Saturninus, and for himself
and his descendants”).
31
Segennia 1988 and 1990. For honorands identified in this way, see nos. 6, 19, 25, 28, 40, 54,
59, 65.
32
CIL 11.6998: D(is) M(anibus) | (Psycheni) (H)eren|ni(a)e posuit | C(h)resimus | co(n)iugi su[ae]
| et A(d)iecta fil(ia) | et gener eiu(s) | Alexander | curandu(m) | posuerun(t) | vix(it) an(nis) LXX (“To
the divine shades. Chresimus set up (this monument) for his spouse, Herennia Psyche. (Their)
daughter, Adiecta, and son-in-law, Alexander, also took the trouble to set up [this monument]. She
lived for seventy years”).
33
Neither Angeli Bertinelli (2011: 99), nor (Frasson 2014: 379) are convinced that “Syceni
Erennie” should be corrected to Psyche Herennia; but it seems to me that the original name is
without a gentilicium we might initially conclude that they are slaves. Intimate
relationships between slaves and freedpeople were common enough, to judge
from epigraphic evidence,34 so it might be the case that Psyche was the only
freed member of this group and pointed references to legitimate personal rela-
tionships, such as coniunx (“spouse”), filia (“daughter”), and gener (“son-in-law”)
were meant to convey the idea that these individuals conceived of themselves as
a family even though the law did not (Paul. Sent. 2.19.6). At the same time,
the honorand’s family name (gentilicium) might apply to them all as freed slaves
of a Herennius or Herennia.35
Psyche’s epitaph also brings into focus the question of how Latin and Greek
slave names with Roman gentilicia should be understood. In this collection,
half of the honorands identified as freedwomen carry Greek personal names
(cognomina) that are well attested in the nomenclature of slaves. In like fashion, a
number of honorands and their commemorators have Latin cognomina that derive
from words for happy, blessed, fortunate, and trustworthy, or the calendaric
cognomen Ianuarius,36 which were common slave names. A good example is
the freedwoman from Marruvium, Atilia Ianuaria (no. 13),37 whose husband
C. Pomponius Felix set up the memorial for his wife and took care to note their
fifteen-year marriage. To determine status solely on the basis of nomenclature is
not always sound practice especially when there were periods in which parents,
seemingly indifferent to the stigma often associated with Greek names, gave
their children these ethnic cognomina.38 Nevertheless, the honorands in this
study with this combination of names I generally regard as probable freedwomen
unless details in the commemorative inscriptions suggest otherwise.
Having established that the bulk of the honorands in this study were freed-
women, we can now consider the relevance of their social status to an inter-
pretation of the mundus muliebris iconography. There is great variation in the
number and type of articles adorning the freedwomen monuments, with some
honorands and their commemorators opting for a single, strategically placed ar-
nothing more than a phonetic spelling. Susini (1973: 39–49) attributes these oddities to either an
inattentive mason misspelling the words or the individual placing the order having a foreign accent
and the inscription writer (scriptor) being confused by his or her pronunciation. Cf. Carroll 2006:
118–119.
34
Rawson 1966: 72. In our study there are two examples of freed-slave unions. Hermes identifies
himself as the companion (contubernalis) of Claudia Rhode (no. 16), while an inscription set up by
a neighborhood club (Collegium Compitalicium) in Faesulae, for L. Terentius Fidus, clearly identifies
a woman named Novicia (no. 58) as his companion (eius contubernalis).
35
Bradley 1984: 77-78; Treggiari 1991: 52–54; Perry 2014: 40–41. Cf. inscription no. 7, in
which the status of Aurelia Septimina’s husband is ambiguous. Impetratus might have been a slave
or been owned by an Aurelius or an Aurelia.
36
Solin 1996 and Kajanto 1965. See in particular nos. 6, 13, 18–19, 47.
37
EMarsi 93: D(is) M(anibus) s(acrum) | Atiliae Ia | nuariae | C(aius) Pomponius | Felix coniug(i)
| cum qua vix(it) | ann(os) XV b(ene) | m(erenti) p(osuit) (“To the divine shades of Atilia Ianuaria.
Gaius Pomponius Felix put up [this monument] for his well-deserving spouse, with whom he lived
for fifteen years”).
38
Mouritsen 2011: 123–128, but see also the caveat of Bruun (2013: 22–23).
ticle and others choosing a range of items which might frame the inscription
or appear on the lateral faces of the memorial. As noted previously, the tra-
ditional perspective of this imagery is that it represents the world of women.
Placing these memorials in the context of a highly competitive social milieu
in which proper self-presentation was valued allows an expanded interpretation
of this iconography. For example, it is generally accepted that the stigma of
a freedperson’s servile origins could never be completely eradicated, a position
that must have been reinforced by literary stereotypes.39 Freedwomen, who were
often characterized as sexually dissolute, were especially vulnerable to this nega-
tive reputation. Valerius Maximus’ anecdote (6.3.11) about Q. Antistius Vetus’
repudiation of his wife provides a good example. Vetus apparently caught his
wife in public chatting a little too intimately with a certain common freedwoman
(libertina vulgaris). Rather than waiting for this woman to corrupt his wife, as
Vetus believed she inevitably would, he swiftly initiated divorce proceedings.
While this might be only a literary stereotype it almost certainly drew upon
existing social attitudes.40
45
Rossi 1843: 244.
46
AE 1994, 564: D(is) M(anibus) | Aeliae L(uci) f(iliae) Ingenuae | vixit annis XXX | Aelius Hermes
et | Aelia Philadel | phia parentes (“To the divine shades. Aelia Ingenua, the daughter of Lucius, lived
for thirty years. Her parents, Aelius Hermes and Aelia Philadelphia [set this up]”).
47
AE 1987, 328: D(is) M(anibus) s(acrum) | Arren(a)e | Marcian(a)e | P(ublius) Arrenus | Ianuarius |
pater et Al | bia Maxi | milla mater | filiae carissim | (a)e qu(a)e vixit an | nis XXIII men(sibus) III | d(iebus)
[---] (“To the divine shades of Arrena Marciana. Her father, Publius Arrenus Ianuarius, and her
mother, Albia Maximilla, [set up this monument] for their most beloved daughter who lived for
twenty-three years, three months, and [---] days”).
48
See above, 82, n. 22 for the text of the inscription.
49
Bradley 1984: 51–64; Mouritsen 2011: 284–287.
50
CIL 9.5025: Flaviae L(ucii) f(iliae) | Tertiae | L(ucius) Flavius L(ucii) f(ilius) | Maec(enas) Valens
| sorori p(osuit) | in fr(onte) p(edes) XV in ag(ro) p(edes) XV (“Lucius Flavius Maecenas Valens, the son
and Terminia Sabina (no. 45), set out identical dimensions for their cemetery
plots, which were fifteen Roman feet along the front, and fifteen feet in depth.
Tertia’s brother is her only inscriber, so it might have been the case that her stele
formed part of an already established family sepulchre which held the remains
of their parents, or that as boundary marker and memorial Tertia’s stele stood
on the frontage of the family’s plot. By way of comparison, the plot sizes at
Hadria can be set beside those cited in fifteen inscriptions from Amiternum,
located just 100 kilometres to the west. Parcels in that graveyard ranged in
size: the smallest, at 10 x 10 (Roman) feet, belonged to the ingenuae Flavia
Rufa (CIL 9.4379) and the largest at 20 x 20 was the final resting place of the
freedman P. Helvidius Flaccus (SupIt 9: 103).51 The plots for Tertia and Sabina
appear to have been rather average, which might indicate that their purchase
was not a hardship for either honorand’s family.52 The costs incurred might say
more about the value that inscribers and inscribed generally attached to proper
burial than about their financial resources,53 and it is possible that some Romans
might have been prepared to spare no expense in commemorating their loved
ones appropriately, even if this meant their households had to economize for an
extended period of time.
slave-women (SERVAE)
Nine honorands (thirteen percent) in this set of inscriptions are slaves whose
epitaphs present very few difficulties of interpretation, as they are easily iden-
tified on the basis of nomenclature and through the use of terms that typi-
cally characterize servile relationships (e.g., contubernalis, conservus).59 All of the
women seem to have been privately owned except Aste (no. 5), who was an
imperial wet-nurse.60 The nature of the relationship between servile honorands
and dedicants, however, is not always clear. Four inscribers identify themselves
or their commemoree as a fellow-slave (conservus; nos. 5, 12, 23, 36), a des-
ignation that might or might not signal an affective relationship between the
pair. In two other inscriptions (no. 42 and 58), the bonds are indicated by the
term contubernalis (“companion”), which signaled a de facto marriage between
the pair rather than a legitimate one, and which existed at an owner’s pleasure.
It is probably the case that slaves used the terms interchangeably to indicate
56
According to the Augustan laws passed in 18 b.c. and 9 a.d., regulations governing women’s
guardianship (tutela mulierum) were relaxed for freeborn women who bore three children, and for
freedwomen who bore four children (Gai. Inst. 1.145 and 1.194).
57
Gardner 1986; Perry 2014: 85–88.
58
Gardner 1986: 19–22; 166–167; Perry 2014: 85–88.
59
See nos. 1–2, 12, 15, 23–24, 36, 42, 58.
60
CIL 9.226: Aste Caesaris | n(ostri) | ser(va) vix(it) | ann(os) LV | fec(it) Silva | nus nutri | ci b(ene)
m(erenti) | h(ic) s(ita) e(st) (“Here lies Aste, the imperial slave-woman. She lived for fifty-five years.
Silvanus made this for the well-deserving wet-nurse”).
her mistress.67 Beyond these activities, for which presumably she had to appear
respectably garbed, one wonders how often this woman would have time for or
need of grooming implements. In the end, however, it makes little difference
to the memorials whether vilicae and other slave-women actually engaged in
grooming rituals on a regular basis; what emerges from the commemorations is
their wish to be remembered as if they did.
67
On the vilica’s duties, see Carlsen 1993: 198–201; Roth 2004; Schulz 2006: 126–127.
68
Riess (2012: 498) states that children were treated differently in funerary epitaphs, but the
three examples from this study do not support this practice.
69
Garnsey 1991.
70
CIL 9.3637: Restitutae Procu|lae Fidelia s{a}erva{e} | [v]ix(it) a(nnum) et m(enses) VIII | [---]e
mater | p(osuit) (“The slave-woman Fidelia, mother of [---]e, put up [this memorial] for Restituta
Procula. She lived eight years [?] and eight months”).
71
Scamuzzi 1964.
72
See Treggiari 1991: 231–232 on the adjectives most commonly used in tomb inscriptions for
women. Among the commemorations for 3728 women of Rome and northern Italy, references to
appearance are infrequent.
had to choose from the general stock on offer at the local workshop, rather than
having the time to personalize a memorial. Given the frequency with which
these motifs appear on the tombs of women, it is probable that workshops in
Italy kept a supply on hand.
conclusion
The mundus muliebris commemorations are conventionally interpreted as re-
flections of the world of Roman women, a reading that might be refined now
that we have a better grasp of the honorands’ legal identity. At least sixty-eight
percent of the commemorees were freedwomen or slaves whose perspective on
the imagery might have been shaped by their social position within Roman soci-
ety. Funerary inscriptions, for example, praised the bodies of exemplary Roman
matrons with flattering references to their fecundity and chastity, and occasion-
ally their modest appearance, aiding in the creation of a social identity with an
emphasis on respectability.73 As the epitaphs attest, freedwomen who could af-
ford to set up an inscription often embraced this paradigm of womanhood even
though it conflicted with the social, literary, and legal discourse that branded
them women of loose morals, and women whose way of life differed sharply
from that of chaste, respectable matrons.74 In addition, elite Romans generally
imposed on non-elite Romans a narrow and largely negative social identity that
was expressed in a number of ways: people who labored were uncouth, lacking
in virtue, and slovenly.75 Elite attitudes concerning work, however, were mit-
igated to an extent by the commemorative practices of slaves and freedpeople
who found dignity in their work, and who expressed this pride by erecting epi-
taphs stating their occupations, or monuments with vending or shop scenes.76
If we think of the mundus muliebris memorials in the context of these practices,
we might see in them a response by slaves and women of lesser rank to their
social liminality.
For women with little bodily integrity, and those who labored constantly,
either by coercion or financial necessity, small acts of personal care might have
been a subtle way of resisting the de-personalization they experienced. This
is not to say that all non-elite women felt marginalized, or that they suffered
73
A good illustration of such adulation is found in the fulsome eulogy for an elite freeborn
woman, traditionally identified as Turia (ILS 8393). Although questions about her identify remain,
the virtues her husband attributes to her are the same as those of the ideal Roman matron (including
simplicity of appearance). On Turia’s appearance and other qualities, see Shelton 2013: 93–94. On
the problems of provenance, textual idiosyncrasies, and the identification of the honorand and her
husband, see Wistrand 1979 and Horsfall 1983.
74
Perry 2014: 153–154.
75
Morley 2006: 27. Ancient discussions about work and leisure reveal much about the great
mass of individuals who comprised the lower stratum of Roman society, on which see MacMullen
1974: 110–120; Joshel 1992: 62–91; Whittaker 1993; Aubert 1994: 18–24; Toner 1995: 22–33.
76
Joshel 1992; George 2006.
from over-work or physical and sexual maltreatment; however, for those who
did endure this kind of humiliation, the capacity to engage in self-care might
have engendered a sense of control over a body that was constantly fatigued
or exploited. To what extent these women involved themselves in frequent
personal care we cannot say, for we know little about their daily lives. Financial
resources necessarily dictated the frequency and extent of their self-care, but
these limitations should not overshadow the fact that freed, servile, and humble
women found recognition and approval on their own terms, and celebrated this
agency with mundus muliebris commemorations.
ljshumka@gmail.com
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