You may be surprised to find that women receive their own chapter in this book. In Greek myth, women play an essential (if limited) role as the mothers of heroes, damsels in distress, and schemers. But Roman myths are mainly about men. The role of women in crucial cycles, like the foundation myths of Romulus and Aeneas, is small. Lavinia, the “love interest” of the second half of the Aeneid, doesn't have a speaking role; the most important female in Romulus’ myth is the she-wolf. It's useful to gather the myths that do give women a prominent role in one place, because these myths help us determine expectations for real-life Roman women.
Women in Roman myth tend to fall into two categories. One category deals with the divine: goddesses, nymphs, semi-divine women, or mortals who catch the eye of roving gods. Stories like these tend to be quite similar to Greek myths on the same themes, although the women involved have strong ties to Italy. We've in fact already seen some examples: in 2.3 and 5.6.4, we met the Sibyl; in 3.1, we read about Rhea Silvia's rape by Mars; and in 5.2.2 and 5.5.1, we learned about the goddesses Egeria and Fortuna.
The other category falls more on the “legendary” side of the spectrum. These myths are stories of real (or realistic) women who handle exceptional circumstances in a memorable way. These women are usually unmarried teenagers. Some of them behave more like men. They're remembered for military participation, or for their exceptional courage in warfare. Such stories capitalize on the blurry line between men and women before puberty. But even more Roman myths center on concerns about these women's fidelity. The stories question women's loyalty to Rome or to their families, and suggest that female sexuality needs to be guarded. Scholars have used these themes to argue both that myths echo the constrained lives of Roman women, and that they reflect the freedom of Roman women (relative to their Greek peers) and male concerns about that freedom.
To better understand how the same myths can support these opposing interpretations, we must examine the typical life of an elite Roman woman. In 1.2, you were introduced to exempla, or stories designed to teach a moral lesson. What lessons could a Roman woman learn from these myths?
It's unlikely that most female readers would strongly identify with the female warriors in these narratives. These women don't reproduce societal expectations about how women should behave, and would seem appropriate only in their mythic contexts. (Similarly, we don't expect to meet real wizards or superheroes, but can enjoy stories about them.) An elite Roman woman would be educated, at least to a certain level, with her brother(s) if she had any. In her teens, she would gain the status of a virgo: a female person old enough to marry, but not married yet. The virgo had a different position in society than either the prepubescent girl or the married woman. A virgo was vulnerable, since her reputation depended on her good behavior. But in myth, she was able to move in society more freely than a married woman (contrast the similar stories of the virgo Verginia and the married Lucretia (7.6, 7.8): Verginia is able to travel outside her home to school with her nurse to protect her, while Lucretia stays at home with her slaves). It's no accident that the moral of both stories is the same: myths taught women how to behave at different ages.
These lessons could take various forms. Some women, like Lucretia, are active participants in their own fate. Others, like Verginia, are passive. Such differences suggest that, while women had a limited number of options for good behavior, they could achieve the end result through different means. We could interpret the similar stories of Lucretia and Verginia as offering a Roman woman two possible avenues for dealing with unwanted male attention.
Another possible interpretation is to oppose women's lives to those of the male authors of our narratives. Elite Roman women got married in their late teens and at the wishes of their parents. In early Roman history, these marriages would be manus marriages (see 3.5.2n67), a custom that persisted among some noble families throughout Roman history. In a manus marriage, the woman transitioned from her birth family to her husband's family. Men, in contrast, typically remained in their birth households for life. Even men who were adopted by another family proudly retained the name of both adoptive and birth father (for example, the conqueror of Carthage L. Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus).
Girls in their twenties in particular were at a time of transition as they went from their own household to that of their husband. This change roused suspicions about their loyalty, which helps explain why mythical women betray their family for their husband (or desired husband). Such betrayals represented a real fear on the part of those retelling such narratives, as women occupied a space between two households. In this case, the myth provides an example of bad behavior, and the mythical women are duly punished to discourage contemporary Romans from imitating them.
Over time, manus marriages became less frequent and women remained part of their parents’ family forever. This transition is not clearly marked in mythic narratives, but we can imagine that it would have increased anxieties about women betraying their husbands. Instead of the woman gradually transitioning to her new household, she remains an interloper from another family. This status is particularly marked because of the Roman practice of guardianship (tutela), which ensured that most women, as well as all children, legally remained under adult male supervision. In the eyes of the law, women were children for life, despite their biological age. Guardians could marry off or force the divorce of mature women, redistribute their property, or bar them from other personal interactions. (Although scholars hold varying views on the historical realities of tutela in the late Republic and Principate, in Roman myth the practice exists and is strictly maintained.)
As we will see, tutela deprived women of agency when they were under threat, and empowered their guardians to take extreme measures. In fact, many stories about Roman women can be seen as a failure of tutela, or lessons aimed at teaching men how to react when the wrong person attempts to exercise power over their women. The “wrong” person can be a man outside the family (7.6, 7.8), a family member (7.5), or even the woman herself (7.4). Myths like these reinforce the right of male relatives to control female behavior.
Sandra Joshel (1992) has argued that the stories of Roman women reveal them to be “catalysts” for male action. As catalysts, the women have to suffer some wrong, typically a form of violence. Although Joshel's argument is primarily concerned with women of the early Republic, whose stories you'll read in this chapter, it shares many features with Bremmer's concept of the “mother's tragedy” in earlier mythic cycles (chapter 3 introduction).
The interpretations above are primarily centered on elite Roman women. So are most myths, although there are a few exceptions. In Rome, female slaves had considerably more freedom of movement, although they also had many fewer rights. This combination put them in a more vulnerable position physically, which is rarely the subject of Roman mythic narratives. But it also made the stories of their loyalty to Rome more remarkable. Roman authors consistently depict elite and non-elite women's acceptance of a status quo in which their lives were less important than a man's. But because they were less important, they were not expected to be as heroic. The rewards for good behavior, in myth and perhaps in life, were great, regardless of gender or status.
TEXTS
The Bona Dea was a goddess whose rites were celebrated both publicly and privately. In private worship, it seems that the cult was open to everyone. The state ritual was limited to elite women, however, which made men curious (and maybe also suspicious) about what went on there. The most famous result of this curiosity took place in 62 BCE, when the roguish nobleman Publius Clodius Pulcher dressed up in women's clothing and went to the ritual. He was put on trial for sacrilege, and the rites had to be repeated.
Because of its secrecy, we know little about the ritual. Myths offer limited information. Authors agree that the Bona Dea was related to Faunus (2.1, 5.2.3), and that part of the ritual involved abstaining from alcohol. Most focus on explaining men's exclusion from the cult and the deity's vague name (the “good goddess”).
The events of epic poetry typically center around men. But Vergil includes several female characters in his Aeneid. The most famous character is Dido, the queen of Carthage who kills herself when Aeneas leaves her for Italy. Vergil is interested in Dido herself; Ovid related the adventures of her sister Anna, who's largely ignored in Vergil's story.
Once in Italy, Aeneas marries Lavinia (2.5.1, 2.5.3, 2.5.7, 2.7), but other mythical women inhabit Latium. The female warrior Camilla bears many similarities to Greek Amazons, and may have been a Vergilian addition to Roman mythmaking. She joins the Latin side with her own band of hand-picked fighters and proves that female leadership can be equal to Turnus’ male leadership (but not Aeneas’: the distinction is important). Her role in the second half of the Aeneid thus parallels Dido's in the first half.
Acca Larentia may be the result of combining two earlier myths. We've already encountered one Larentia: she raised the twins Romulus and Remus (3.1, 3.4.5, 3.4.6). As the foster-mother of Romulus, her myth became the focus of an imperial-era cult (the Arval Brothers). But a separate myth connects her to Hercules. The two versions can't be reconciled, both for reasons of chronology and sense. The association is perhaps due to the fact that in both tales, Acca is a prostitute – a status rare enough in myth to force the identification.
The girl Tarpeia was the subject of much dispute in antiquity. Authors were divided on whether she had betrayed or tried to save Rome, whether she was Roman or Sabine, and whether she was a demigod or human. But everyone agreed that Tarpeia was the eponym of the Tarpeian rock and hill (the hill was later renamed the Capitol). Tarpeia's story seems to encapsulate the worries that teenage girls caused Roman men: their desires (for money, for sex, for fame) might destroy the city. But it's wise to remember that some versions of the myth glorified her as a heroine, rather than remembering her as a traitor. This is probably the reason behind her appearance on public art.24
The story of Horatia picks up on the duel of the Horatii and Curiatii in 5.3.2. Like the myth of Tarpeia, the myth of Horatia reveals anxieties about female loyalty: will women be faithful to Rome, or will they go over to the enemy? But Horatia's tale also raises questions about who ought to be the ultimate judge of a woman's conduct: her family or the community. The decision at her brother's trial establishes that a woman's family has the right to police her behavior, and depends heavily on their father's evidence. As the paterfamilias, he has the “right of life or death” over all of his children. While this right was rarely, if ever, exercised in historical Rome, in mythical Rome it features in several myths of childrens’ misbehavior (see also 7.8, 8.1.3, 8.1.4).
The story of Lucretia provides the strongest example of a woman as catalyst to male action. Lucretia was a Roman wife whose virtue was famous. After she was raped by prince Sextus Tarquin, she committed suicide; her reasoning was both shame and to avoid being an exemplum of bad behavior. Her body was the rallying cry for the expulsion of the Tarquins (see 5.6.5 and 8.1–8.5). Her long-term visibility stands in sharp contrast to her virtue and secluded lifestyle. Like many of the other Roman women we've read about so far, the myth of Lucretia gains power in part because her actions are unexpected – and show a boldness of spirit that Romans considered masculine. Indeed, Lucretia's actions are idealized throughout the entire episode.
The story of Cloelia revisits the masculine woman motif we saw in Camilla (7.2.1, 7.2.2). Cloelia was one of a number of youths in the early Republic who acted with particular heroism; she was the only woman.49 The tale takes place after the expulsion of the Tarquins (5.6.5, 7.6, 8.1–8.3), when Rome is at war with the Etruscan king Porsenna. The two armies make a truce and Rome provides hostages. Cloelia escapes with some other hostages (all female). Porsenna's angry at first and demands them back. But thanks to the good faith of the Romans, when the hostages are returned, Porsenna allows them to release several more hostages. The episode leads to an alliance with Porsenna (the Tarquins continue fighting).
Cloelia's story may have its origin in a mysterious female statue in the Roman Forum. Not knowing why a woman would be honored with a statue on horseback, Romans came up with the idea of a female hero in the early Republic. The story may also be connected to the family legends of the Cloelian house, and variants naming Valeria (7.7.2, 7.7.3) suggest that other families had similar myths. Modern scholars have noted that it's rare for an unmarried woman, like Cloelia, to engage in such virtuous behavior. Yet it is also possible that Cloelia's unmarried state is what enables her to act like a man, since she isn't tied down to a husband.
The story of Verginia is known almost entirely from Livy. Although the events he describes took place a century later than the rape of Lucretia, the moral is almost the same. This lengthy episode has been significantly excerpted; a brief summary follows. Rome's kings have been exiled and the city is governed by a council of ten men (the Decemvirs). One of them, Appius Claudius, falls in love with the virgo Verginia. He comes up with an elaborate scheme to get her: one of his underlings (clients) claims that Verginia is his slave and takes the girl to court; there's a delay while her father is brought in from the army; finally, Appius sits in judgment on his own case and declares that the girl is in fact a slave and is no longer under her father's authority. The decision that Verginia is a slave leaves her physically vulnerable to Appius’ client. Rather than give his daughter up, her father kills her.
In Livy's retelling, the kings and Decemvirs lose power for the same reason: because one bad apple can't control himself around women. It's perhaps not a coincidence that the Claudii, like the Tarquins, were known for their pride. One of the ways that this pride manifests itself is by usurping authority over a Roman man's possession: his daughter. The strikingly similarities between Lucretia and Verginia suggest an ongoing concern about women's bodies (if not women's safety) on the part of the Roman elite.
Although most Roman narratives of heroism focus on the elite, occasionally Romans admitted that non-elites performed acts of heroism, too. The following accounts of heroic slaves offer an aetiology for the strange rituals of the Nonae Caprotinae (the “goat days” of July). In this ritual, men run away and shout each other's names. A separate aetiology connects the rite to Romulus’ apotheosis (Romulization: see 1.2). The two aetiologies are mutually exclusive, but are often retold together.
The version related here focuses on slave-women immediately after the Gallic Sack (8.10). The slaves take the place of elite women in a reversal of the Sabine women myth (3.5). Modern scholars have noted dramatic elements to the story, as well as elements of reversal (not only women playing the heroic roles of men, but slave-women dressing as freed women). They suggest that this myth helped strengthen the normal gender and class roles in Roman society.
Many Roman myths about women center on sex. The Camillas and Cloelias of Roman myth, who function almost as equals to the men they meet, are rare; variations of the love story gone wrong are relatively frequent. We see women who fall in love with inappropriate men (Tarpeia), men who fall in love with inappropriate women (Lucretia, Verginia), and comic (or tragic) mistakes about love (Anna). The theme is not surprising: the myths we have were written by Greek and Roman men, and elite men in antiquity were concerned about controlling access to female bodies.
But saying that men chose the narratives about myth doesn't mean that these myths were meaningless to Roman women. The myths may, in fact, have been more significant to these women because they provided models to imitate and avoid in their daily life. Many women may have sympathized with Tarpeia, who longed for something (whether precious gems or a man) she could not have; they surely worried about their relatives in combat, like Horatia or Ovid's Lucretia; and many may have felt torn between the interests of their birth and marital households, which plays a role in most of these stories. Readers male and female may not have noticed the underlying societal expectations of these myths, such as Ovid's casual comment that women who fight an assailant are bound to fail (7.6.2), or the general consensus that Cloelia was brave primarily because courage of any sort wasn't expected in a girl (7.7). Similarly, they may not have noticed the stereotypes about women that cross the boundaries of time and space: that women are obsessed with jewelry, for example (7.2.2, 7.2.3, 7.4), or that alcohol gets women into trouble (7.1.3, 7.1.4, 7.6). But these stereotypes offer us important clues about Roman cultural attitudes towards women.
Some modern scholars have argued that women were able to play only limited roles in ancient Roman society, based on the myths that were told about them. You can compare these expectations for women in myth to the expectations of men you've seen in other chapters. Were the expectations for women lower, or only different? And are there any “Roman” themes that men and women share?