Iucunda sepulta / est delicia eius: thus the mention of Iucunda on the late republican epitaph of the freedmen Publius Marcius Philodamus, from Beneventum, whose only defining characteristics are her name and identification as delicia (CIL IX, 1721). From imperial Rome hails the epitaph of Apate, delicium of Quintus Oppius, commissioned by her mother Laudice (CIL VI, 12096). In Germania Superior, the 16-year-old alumnus, verna and delicatus Diadumenus is buried by his freed father’s patron in the second century AD (AE 1929, 106), contemporaneously with the puer delicatus Eutyches, mourned by his dominus in Rome (CIL VI, 17416). An ash urn from Rome commemorates Teia Euphrosyne, delicata of a Vestal Virgin (CIL VI, 27133). The musician and singer Euceris, delicius of Mater Matuta, is buried by his son in the city (AE 1909, 75), as is the freedman Gnaeus Pompeius Astipa, deliciae populi Romani (CIL VI, 10151a). In Tusculum, Lucius Tarius Speratus commissioned a tomb for himself and his wife, Taria Gallia, granting the rights over it to their delicium, the freed Primigenius (AE 1896, 37).
Anyone reading these and similar epitaphs will be puzzled by the meaning of the signifiers that link them: delicata/us, delicia, deliciae, delicium, delicius. Some identify a beloved child, some a cherished slave (or the combination thereof); others reflect the use of these terms in a cultic setting. The simplicity of the texts in which these terms appear masks the complexity of their interpretation. Was, for instance, Primigenius—the ‘Firstborn’—the son of Tarius Speratus, with his wife Taria Gallia, perhaps his own freedwoman, illustrating not only familial relations but concurrent patronage and mastership? And how did Astipa come to be remembered as deliciae of the Roman people? Making sense of these terms is the task that Valeria La Monaca has set herself in her study of Delicati and Delicia in the Roman Empire.
Studying deliciae (vel sim.) is no pedantic task: leaving the kind of epigraphic evidence just cited aside, scholarship has repeatedly foregrounded the conspicuous role of enslaved deliciae (vel sim.) in wealthy Roman households, highlighting more often than not elements of abuse—emotional and sexual—that such slaves were subjected to by their enslavers. The critical role of sexual abuse in slavery, across the ages, and of diverse kinds, is long recognised and widely identified as both a powerful tool of slave domination as well as a crucially important dimension for understanding experiential aspects of enslaved life in many slaving cultures. In Roman history, the image of the sexually abused child is regularly attributed to several literary configurations of deliciae (vel sim.) from the imperial period, contrasting the depiction projected by the epigraphy sampled above. In light of this seeming divide between the meanings attached to the respective terms in literary sources on the one hand, and in inscriptions on the other, La Monaca attempts to bridge the gap by exploring both types of source materials, clearly indicated in the sub-title of her book: A Study of Epigraphic and Literary Sources. Such a full and rounded assessment is to be welcomed, even if La Monaca’s thesis raises eyebrows. Thus, the book sets out to challenge the notion that deliciae (vel sim.) were enslaved children subjected to sexual abuse. Instead, La Monaca argues that all the textual sources, epigraphic and literary, document rather more harmless meanings of the terms in question: ‘The erotic connotation that has long colored the relationship between domini and delicia slaves does not seem to be confirmed in light of the evidence examined’ (203).
This thesis is advanced across some 200 pages, of which nearly half present a catalogue of 280 inscriptional attestations of the terms, mostly funerary. Following an overview of earlier scholarship in Chapter 1, and brief discussion of etymological and semantic aspects in Chapter 2, Chapters 3 to 7 deal with literary representations, before the discussion crosses over to epigraphy. Chapter 8, thus, studies deliciae populi known from inscriptions, following exploration chiefly of two conspicuous cases in the imperial household: first, Flavia Domitilla, wife of the emperor Vespasian, identified by Suetonius as the delicata of the Roman knight Statilius Capella (Vesp. 3); second, the deliciae generis humani Titus, the emperor—so introduced by Suetonius (Tit. 1). Chapter 9 presents an overview of the main quantitative findings of the epigraphic analysis (that is not always easy to follow). Chapters 10 to 12 focus on specific socio-cultural settings reflected by the epigraphy of deliciae (vel sim.): the households of the elites (including also those of soldiers), those of so-called parvenus (meaning here mainly freedpersons and imperial slaves), and ‘all other inscriptions commemorating delicati and delicia in funerary monuments of individuals with a servile background’ (87). Chapter 13 analyses some visual representations on these monuments. The ensuing catalogue is followed by concluding remarks over three pages.
The 94-page catalogue, providing the texts, with an English translation, source references, dates, and more, is useful both for students and researchers. Assembling the inscriptions, La Monaca adopted a traditional approach, scrutinising the various volumes of CIL and related publications herself, not relying solely on the indices, or electronic databases. The description of the collection method is somewhat unclear, however, speaking merely of ‘all relevant corpora and epigraphic journals’ and ‘Online databases, particularly […] EDR […] and EDCS’ (1). A detailed list of the consulted volumes and electronic databases would have strengthened the usefulness of the catalogue.
Exceptions notwithstanding, as the introductory examples illustrate, the epigraphy seems to document primarily varied forms of familial endearment—with ‘familial’ to be understood in the context of the Roman household, including the extended setting of familia and domus. La Monica speaks of ‘an image of a slave integrated into the emotional life of the family to which they belonged’ (1). Put differently, these inscriptions do not readily speak to the topic of sexual abuse spotlighted by scholars in the exploration of literary texts. So what about these texts, then?
La Monaca rejects the equation of deliciae (vel sim.) with sex objects, as noted. Following brief discussion of relevant passages from—among others—Plautus and Cicero, Catullus and Virgil, Suetonius and Herodian, her key case studies concern (in this order) Petronius’ Satyricon, Statius’ Silvae, Martial’s epigrams, and Ausonius’ De Bissula (31-54). First, while not ruling out ‘the eventuality that [Trimalchio’s] relationship with his master turned into a sexual liaison’, La Monaca emphasises the freedman’s ‘intellectual talent’ and ‘moral qualities’ that made him ‘appreciated by his owner’ (33). Trimalchio’s own deliciae, Croesus, is also seen outside the sexual sphere, and instead as ‘a result of wealthy ostentation’ (35). The same idea underpins the discussion of favoured pueri, some of whom are identified as delicati and deliciae, in Statius’ poetry: from Glaucias to Philetus, these boys are seen through the lens of conspicuous consumption by families ‘whose need for ostentatious display of their economic capacity could prompt them to purchase these particularly attractive slaves’; they were ‘extravagant objects’, enhancing ‘the social visibility of their wealthy Roman masters’ (43). Martial’s deliciae Erotion, too, emerges from La Monica’s analysis principally as ‘a status-symbol of her master’s wealth’, a ‘luxury item’, but one whose birth in Rome puts her ‘above the other goods’ (48-9). In an essentially similar vein, for Ausonius’ Bissula, ‘an educational and cultural “metamorphosis”’ (54) under the banner of Romanisation is emphasised.
The ostentatious dimensions associated with human property viewed as exceptionally attractive as well as distinctly exotic in Roman society is rightly stressed, as are broader aspects of Roman cultural domination. But does this actually challenge the identification of ‘erotic contexts’ (47) and ‘sexual partners’ (33) in these texts?[1] To be clear, La Monica does not deny that enslaved children suffered sexual abuse in Roman society, such as for instance Philocommodus at the hands of the emperor Commodus (23). But she questions the link between such abuse and the terms under scrutiny (24):
the term deliciae, as well as the adjective delicatus, should be understood as expressions of affection, used ‘technically’ mostly in regard to the slaves who, in some way, aroused pleasure and delight in their owners—pleasure that was not necessarily sexual in nature.
In all types of texts, whether inscribed or written on papyrus, this affective meaning can be found, as can connotations that highlight the wealth of the enslaver, defining the deliciae (vel sim.) in the first instance as a status symbol. Likewise, it is sadly correct that a ‘sexual relationship could arise at any time and could involve any slave in the household’, a matter that ‘did not depend on the slave being deliciae of the dominus’ (36). Here as elsewhere, La Monica perceives of the role of the deliciae precisely as that, i.e., a role to which a slave may be recruited or appointed, a kind of category—one not comprehensively argued for. More critically, her attempt to question what she perceives as an excessively monolithic scholarly image of deliciae (vel sim.) as sexually abused children becomes similarly monolithic when all literary configurations of children labelled thus are removed from a setting of sexual abuse.
A case in point is Petronius’ Trimalchio. As observed, the character’s self-identification as his master’s deliciae is viewed by La Monica through a non-sexual lens. The arguments for a sexual interpretation are well known. To zoom in therefore on just one element of Trimalchio’s so-called autobiography, it establishes an explicit parallel between satisfying the wife of the man he calls dominus, which surely has a sexual connotation, and being the man’s deliciae (Sat. 75.10-11). Furthermore, a non-sexual reading of his engagement with the master’s wife renders Trimalchio’s demotion as punishment unintelligible (Sat. 69.3), and by extension the parallelisation of the two relations. There is also Trimalchio’s attempt at growing his ‘bearded beak’ (rostrum barbatum) through lamp oil. Emphasising that ‘reference to sexual abuses toward him seems to be lacking’ from the passage, La Monica argues instead that Trimalchio’s ‘frugalitas […] allowed him to be noticed and appreciated by his owner’; given the stress on the role of moral and intellectual dimensions, quoted above, she concludes that ‘the use of the lamp oil to accelerate the growth of Trimalchio’s beard was likely dictated by his desire not to be seen as a slave used only for entertainment’ (33). The question for me is, by contrast, which ‘bearded beak’ Trimalchio sought to grow fast through the oil—for which the nether regions provide likely another layer of meaning, especially in the light of Trimalchio’s explicit comparison with the near life-size anthropomorphic candelabrum, in turn increasing the sexual connotation of the freedman’s identification as his master’s deliciae and, thus, of the term itself, in this context.
La Monica is right that ‘deliciae’ (vel sim.) carried diverse meanings, and her book is a welcome reminder of the complexity of ancient life. It is precisely this complexity that moreover prohibits the uncritical equation of language with reality. Nothing excludes the outwardly caring master (or parent!) who buries their ‘well-deserving deliciae’ to be also the latter’s abuser. Indeed, it is highly unlikely that behind none of the seemingly harmless renderings lurks the sexual predator. Trimalchio’s kissing of Croesus should put us on the alert, not stifle any suspicions. From a modern vantage point, the household setting that characterises the bulk of the textual attestations creates a potentially disturbing echo: in many contemporary societies, a prime environment for sexual abuse, especially that of children, is the familial one. The UK’s Child Safeguarding Practice Review Panel, for instance, speaks of the ‘commonplace nature of familial abuse’ in its 2024 report. The hierarchical structure of Roman society provides a ready basis for sexual abuse in the domestic setting, especially through slavery. In the prevalence of sexual abuse in the modern household, we may see a chilling aspect of our Roman heritage, one we are charged to out.
Notes
[1] As these quotations imply, there are unfortunately unproblematised renderings of varied practices that merge consensual and abusive relations, including reference to ‘homosexual and pederastic behavior’ (7) and concomitant identification of especially boys as ‘potential lovers of their masters’ (24).