We like talking about death,
what about you?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nowadays, February is commonly associated with Valentine\u2019s day. Slowly but surely, little reminders start popping up around us coming the end of January or even before. Whether it be in the form of chocolates, cards, flowers, or heart-shaped everything: February is often called the month of love.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Was that the case in Ancient Rome? <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Of course not.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In addition to the Lupercalia <\/em>(February 13th<\/sup>\u201315th<\/sup>), an ancient festival related to the purification of the city and the aversion of bad numina<\/em> (you know, good vibes only), the other major festivity of the month were the Parentalia<\/em> (February 13th<\/sup>-21st<\/sup>), devoted to honouring the family dead. We have already made a brief mention to them and their May counterpart, the Lemuria<\/em>, over here<\/a>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n During the Parentalia<\/em>, families gathered around their relatives\u2019 funerary monuments and made offerings to their eternal rest, a moment that has been compared to a yearly renewal of the burial ceremony. Ovid spoke poetically about what kind of gifts could the manes<\/em>, the spirits of the deceased, expect during their big days (just paraphrasing here, but something along the lines of \u2018just get me something small\u2019 and \u2018it\u2019s the thought that counts\u2019):<\/p>\n\n\n\n Parua petunt manes: pietas pro diuite grata est Small things are what the manes<\/em> ask for; devotion pleases them, rather than a costly gift. Styx in its depths has no greedy gods. A tile covered with a spread of garlands is enough, and a sprinkling of corn and a meagre grain of salt, and Ceres softened in wine and a scattering of violets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n (Fasti<\/em> 2.535-539; transl. A. and P. Wiseman)<\/p>\n\n\n\n I mean, who doesn\u2019t like flowers?<\/p>\n\n\n\n As in today\u2019s society, also in ancient Rome flowers were an important part of funerary practices. They often appear in verse inscriptions, and, as you will be able to see, roses and violets are among the favourites.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My Epigram of the Month<\/a> is a funerary poem (CIL<\/em> VI 9118 (cf. p. 3469, 3895) = CLE<\/em> 467) set by one Hermes to his late wife Nice, who died at the age of 24, as we learn from the prose praescriptum<\/em>. Originating from Rome, the poem is a beautiful piece written in dactylic hexameters, full of emotion, but also full of colourful imagery:<\/p>\n\n\n\n (\u2026)<\/em> I, Hermes, have consecrated to you, Nice, an eternal abode and an altar, and would that I had prayed for your lot, so that you might have survived and done the same for me; however, because of unfair malign destiny you lie at rest, robbed of your years. May you have the violets of Cybele and the rose of Venus and the flowers that please the Nymphs and entwined lilies, and, I pray, may there be those who will produce for you my annual tribute because of your merits, and may your Manes rest in undisturbed night<\/strong>, and above you may the nightingale of Marathon sing in its nest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n (Trans. E. Courtney, Musa Lapidaria<\/em> 177, modified)<\/p>\n\n\n\n At the beginning of the poem Hermes expresses his grief over the untimely death of his wife, and, as we often see in funerary poetry, wishes it had rather been him who died. He then goes on to express his desire that in the future the monument will remain surrounded by violets, roses and lilies, among others.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The idea expressed on the tombstone for Nice \u2013 to remain being surrounded by different kinds of flowers, always in bloom and each linked to a goddess or divinity \u2013 is very striking: we only know of Nice through the lens of his husband, of course, so in a way, his idolised vision becomes also ours.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Towards the end he prays that there always be someone who can pay her this yearly offering \u2013 which could very well happen in the context of the Parentalia<\/em>. Most remarkably, Hermes links that to Nice\u2019s eternal rest and to her Manes in particular. If this tribute is met, her Manes will be able to \u2018rest in undisturbed night\u2019.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This image brings us back to Ovid and his vision of the Parentalia<\/em>. He mentions that, in the past, there was a time in which the offerings were overlooked, and he recounts what consequences this mistake had:<\/p>\n\n\n\n uix equidem credo: bustis exisse feruntur<\/em> For my part, I hardly believe it. Forefathers are said to have come out of their graves and complained in the silent night-time, and through the streets of the city and the broad fields they say misshapen spirits howled, a phantom crowd. <\/p>\n\n\n\n (Fasti<\/em> 2.551-554; transl. A. and P. Wiseman) <\/p>\n\n\n\n Yes, this is just a tale (we hope…!), but could Hermes have had this reference in mind when he wished rest and a placida nox<\/em> for Nice? <\/p>\n\n\n\n In any case, for him flowers were not only a part of the yearly tribute to his beloved, but also a symbol of the way in which she remained in his (and therefore our) memory: full of youth and beauty, in full bloom (so to speak), and not a \u2018misshapen spirit\u2019.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Naturally, flowers serve many different purposes in Latin funerary poetry. They are present in poems dedicated to individual of different times, places, ages, and social settings, each of them with diverse and meaning-laden uses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Let\u2019s have a look at a couple of them, so as to get a fuller picture still.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In some cases, flowers are not directly linked to youth, only to the eternal rest of the deceased. <\/p>\n\n\n\n This is the case in CIL<\/em> III 4185 (CLE<\/em> 578 = ILCV<\/em> 296 = RIU<\/em> I 80 = CLEPann<\/em> 25 = HD001731<\/a> = Ubi Erat Lupa 3319<\/a> = EPSG 501<\/a>), for example, an inscription coming from Savaria, in Pannonia Superior (modern-day Szombathely, Hungary), also written in dactylic hexameters and dating from the 3rd<\/sup> or 4th<\/sup> century:<\/p>\n\n\n\n Fl(auius) Dalmatius u(ir) p(erfectissimus) ex pro[tect(oribus)]<\/em> Flavius Dalmatius, uir perfectissimus<\/em> and former guard, who lived 40 years, and Aurelia Iulia, his sweetest wife, who lived 35 years, wrote this inscription for this reason. Owner of this house and of this garden after me, whoever you are, pick for me the roses that grow nearby, put on my monument the white lilies that this green orchard gives. This is what the blessed deceased deserve.<\/strong> [—] Their freedmen Volussius and Sabatia set up the monument. <\/p>\n\n\n\n (Transl. C. Cenati) <\/p>\n\n\n\n Flavius Dalmatius and his wife, Aurelia Iulia, left this text to their freedmen so it would be engraved after their death.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It is likely that they were not buried in this location, but that this inscription served as a reminder of the time they enjoyed living there as well as of their love for the house and its garden, very much like today\u2019s inscriptions on park benches and the like.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They ask for there to be lilies and roses around their monument, justifying this request with a succinct \u2018ista beatorum<\/em>\u2019: ‘this (being surrounded by flowers in bloom) is what the blessed (deceased) deserve’. Being remembered by someone is the highest fortune.<\/p>\n\n\n\n However, the connection between flowers and youth does not have to be always present. <\/p>\n\n\n\n That is the case of the epitaph for Lollia Procla (CIL<\/em> V 6693 (= CLE<\/em> 610 = ILVercel<\/em> 31 = EDR116274<\/a>)), beautifully presented on a sarcophagus and dedicated to her by her parents. Originating from Vercellae (modern-day Vercelli, in Piemonte), she died towards the end of the first century or sometime during the second.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
munere; non auidos Styx habet ima deos.
tegula porrectis satis est uelata coronis
et sparsae fruges parcaque mica salis,
inque mero mollita Ceres uiolaeque solutae.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
Aeternam tibi sedem Hermes aramq(ue) dicaui, <\/em>
Nice, optassemque utinam tua fata superstes<\/em>
ut mihi tu faceres, sed iniqua sorte maligna<\/em>
rapta iaces annis iam uiduata tuis.<\/em>
ia tibi Cybeles sint et rosa grata Diones<\/em><\/strong>
et flores grati Nymphis et lilia serta,<\/em><\/strong>
si[n]tque precor meritis qui nostra parent tibi dona<\/em><\/strong>
annua, et Manes placida tibi nocte quiescant,<\/em><\/strong>
et super in nido Marathonis cantet aedon.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
et tacitae questi tempore noctis aui,<\/em>
perque uias Urbis latosque ululasse per agros<\/em>
deformes animas, uolgus inane, ferunt.<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n
qui uixit an(nos) XL et Aur(elia) Iulia conp(ar) dulc(issima)<\/em>
qui uixit an(nos) XXXV ideoque hunc titulum<\/em>
scripserunt. quisquis {h}e(ris) post me d(o)m(inus) Laris huius<\/em>
et (h)orti, uicinas mihi carpe rosas mihi lilia pone<\/strong><\/em>
[ca]ndeda{s} q(uae) uiridis dabit (h)ortulus: ista beat(or)um<\/em><\/strong>.<\/em>
[- – -] Volussius et Sabatia lib(erti) posuerunt.<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n