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For centuries, historical understanding suggested that infant deaths in the Roman Empire were not publicly mourned, a reflection of high mortality rates. However, recent archaeological discoveries in York, England, are challenging this long-held belief. Researchers have uncovered evidence of elaborate burial rituals performed on babies as young as one month old, indicating a level of grief and commemoration previously thought absent in Roman society. These findings, centered around rare “gypsum burials,” offer a poignant glimpse into the emotional lives of families in Roman Britain and the complex relationship between societal norms and personal loss.
The discovery centers on a unique burial practice involving the encasement of the deceased in liquid gypsum, a plaster-like substance that hardened, preserving details of clothing and even impressions of facial features. While previously known to have been used for adults, the recent investigation, led by the Seeing the Dead project – a collaboration between the University of York and the York Museums Trust – has revealed that this practice extended to infants, offering compelling evidence of mourning despite historical texts suggesting otherwise. This challenges the notion that Roman legal and social customs completely suppressed displays of grief for very young children.
“Infants were the most vulnerable members of Roman society,” explains Maureen Carroll, a Roman archaeologist at the University of York. Given an estimated infant mortality rate of around 30%, it was commonly believed that the loss of a baby was so frequent it wouldn’t warrant public mourning. However, Carroll emphasizes that historical restrictions likely applied only to public displays of grief, stating, “They had no bearing on sentiments such as grief or the sense of loss felt and expressed by the surviving family in private.” This distinction is crucial in understanding the nuanced emotional landscape of Roman families.
Among the more than 70 gypsum burials Carroll has studied, at least seven were children, including three infants under four months old. These burials were not typical infant interments of the time; infants were more commonly buried in amphorae (large jars), ceramic tile boxes, or small wooden coffins. The gypsum burial practice appears to have been reserved for the Roman elite in York, suggesting a significant investment of resources and emotional energy in commemorating even the youngest members of their families.
A Newborn’s Lavish Shroud
One particularly striking discovery, unearthed during the construction of the York Railway in 1892, involved a newborn, estimated to be just one or two months old. This infant was wrapped in a cloak of purple-dyed wool, adorned with gold thread and tassels, before being placed in a lead sarcophagus and covered in liquid gypsum. Remarkably, although the infant’s bones have not survived, the impression of the luxurious cloak remains visible within the hardened gypsum casing. Sarah Hitchens, an archaeological textile expert at the University of York, notes that Here’s the only gypsum burial found to date containing dyed fabric. “This proves likely that the purple textile was made from an animal fibre such as wool,” Hitchens wrote, suggesting the cloak served as a burial shroud.
Researchers are currently analyzing the gypsum casing for traces of aromatic substances like frankincense or mastic, dried tree sap and resin, which were often used in Roman burial rituals. They are too examining the purple dye to determine its origin, specifically whether it was derived from murex snails, a source of reddish-purple dye in ancient Rome, and analyzing the composition of the gold threads. These analyses promise to reveal further details about the beliefs and practices surrounding death and mourning in Roman Britain.
Connections and Context
Other gypsum burials in York have revealed further insights into familial connections. In one instance, a child approximately four months old was discovered nestled between the legs of two adults. While it remains unclear if these individuals constituted a family unit, Carroll notes, “they were closely associated in life and in death.” Another burial contained a girl, aged between seven and nine, adorned with an array of jewelry – gold, silver, copper, jet, glass, and coral – and accompanied by two pairs of boots, a pair of sandals, and even the bones of a pet chicken. A 3D scan revealed the child was frail, potentially indicating a prolonged illness prior to her death.
These discoveries collectively challenge the traditional view that Roman legal texts accurately reflected the lived experiences of people in Roman Britain. The texts, often written by older men, may have downplayed the emotional significance of infant loss, but the archaeological evidence suggests a different reality. As Carroll succinctly puts it, “It all certainly suggests that children this young were valued and cared for, unlike the age-old notion that Romans did not care when their infants died because infant mortality was high. Utter nonsense!”
The ongoing research promises to further illuminate the complexities of Roman burial practices and the emotional lives of those who lived in Roman Britain. The analysis of the gypsum casings and associated artifacts will undoubtedly provide a more nuanced understanding of how families coped with loss and commemorated their loved ones, even the youngest among them. Further investigation into the chemical composition of the gypsum and textiles will continue to refine our understanding of these ancient rituals.
Disclaimer: This article provides informational content about archaeological discoveries and historical interpretations. It is not intended to provide medical, psychological, or historical advice.
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