Death embodied

Archaeological approaches to the treatment of the corpse

Zoë L. Devlin, Emma-Jayne Graham, Emma-Jayne Graham

• Publisher: Oxbow Books
• Year: 2015
• ISBN:
  9781782979449
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Archaeology
• Index: Social Sciences

In April 1485, a marble sarcophagus was found on the outskirts of Rome. It contained the remains of a young Roman woman so well-preserved that she appeared to have only just died and the sarcophagus was placed on public view, attracting great crowds. Such a find reminds us of the power of the dead body to evoke in the minds of living people, be they contemporary (survivors or mourners) or distanced from the remains by time, a range of emotions and physical responses, ranging from fascination to fear, and from curiosity to disgust. Archaeological interpretations of burial remains can often suggest that the skeletons which we uncover, and therefore usually associate with past funerary practices, were what was actually deposited in graves, rather than articulated corpses. The choices made by past communities or individuals about how to cope with a dead body in all of its dynamic and constituent forms, and whether there was reason to treat it in a manner that singled it out (positively or negatively) as different from other human corpses, provide the stimulus for this volume. The nine papers provide a series of theoretically informed, but not constrained, case studies which focus predominantly on the corporeal body in death. The aims are to take account of the active presence of dynamic material bodies at the heart of funerary events and to explore the questions that might be asked about their treatment; to explore ways of putting fleshed bodies back into our discussions of burials and mortuary treatment, as well as interpreting the meaning of these activities in relation to the bodies of both deceased and survivors; and to combine the insights that body-centered analysis can produce to contribute to a more nuanced understanding of the role of the body, living and dead, in past cultures.

Chapter 1

INTRODUCTION: EMBODYING DEATH IN ARCHAEOLOGY

Emma-Jayne Graham

In April 1485, an unprecedented discovery was made on the outskirts of Rome. A marble sarcophagus, itself relatively unremarkable, was opened to reveal the well-preserved body of a young woman. Over four hundred years later, the nineteenth-century archaeologist Rodolfo Lanciani collated a series of contemporary accounts describing the discovery, amongst which were the following evocative passages:

The body seems to be covered with a glutinous substance, a mixture of myrrh and other precious ointments, which attract swarms of bees. The said body is intact. The hair is long and thick; the eyelashes, eyes, nose, and ears are spotless, as well as the nails. It appears to be the body of a woman, of good size; and her head is covered with a light cap of woven gold thread, very beautiful. The teeth are white and perfect; the flesh and the tongue retain their natural colour; but if the glutinous substance is washed off, the flesh blackens in less than an hour.

(Diary of Antonio di Vaseli, cited in Lanciani 1892, 295–296)

… a young girl, intact in all her members, covered from head to foot with a coating of aromatic paste, one inch thick. On the removal of this coating, which we believe to be composed of myrrh, frankincense, aloe, and other priceless drugs, a face appeared, so lovely, so pleasing, so attractive, that, although the girl had certainly been dead fifteen hundred years, she appeared to have been laid to rest that very day. The thick masses of hair, collected on the top of the head in the old style, seemed to have been combed then and there. The eyelids could be opened and shut; the ears and the nose were so well preserved that, after being bent to one side or the other, they instantly resumed their original shape. By pressing the flesh of the cheeks the colour would disappear as in a living body. The tongue could be seen through the pink lips; the articulations of the hands and feet still retained their elasticity.

(Letter written by Daniele da San Sebastiano, cited in Lanciani 1892, 296)

The remains of the woman were transported immediately to the Palazzo dei Conservatori in order to be viewed by ‘a large crowd of citizens and noblemen’ (Antonio di Vaseli, cited in Lanciani 1892, 295) composed ‘especially of women attracted by the sight’ (letter dated 15th April 1485, among Schedel’s papers in Cod. 716 of the Munich library, cited in Lanciani 1892, 298). These eyewitness accounts offer some sense of the incredulity that the discovery provoked, and the attention that the body of the woman received from the diarists and letter writers of Rome. She was evidently subjected to much prodding and poking by those who went to see her and, beyond the elasticity of her limbs, it was even reported that ‘if one drew the tongue out slightly it would go back to its place of itself’ (Lanciani 1892, 299). As well as assembling the evidence for the recovery of the sarcophagus and the human remains within it, Lanciani also commented on their unfortunate fate: after several days of exposure to the air, and the removal of the perfumed coating, the body rapidly turned black and decayed. He notes that she was ‘most abominably treated’, eventually being buried under cover of darkness at the foot of the city walls or possibly even thrown into the Tiber (ibid., 301).

A discovery such as this was unusual in the fifteenth century but would nevertheless be extraordinary even today, when we might assume that this woman would become the focus of similarly intense (media) scrutiny. We have become so accustomed to our archaeological encounters with the people of the past taking the form of skeletal remains that the presence of malleable flesh, fluids and other organic materials still has immense emotive power, as the continued widespread interest in the recovery and subsequent investigation of mummified remains attests. This fascination with the customarily absent corporality of archaeological remains might also be linked with the modern desire to ‘re-flesh’ the bones of the long dead with increasingly sophisticated techniques of facial reconstruction which seek to enable people to connect more easily with, and to somehow understand better, the character of these people as living humans. The discovery, in 2012, of the remains of King Richard III in Leicester, and the rapid facial reconstruction which followed, provide an instructive example of how important this sort of encounter might be within both the public and academic consciousness (on facial reconstruction see Prag and Neave 1999; Wilkinson 2004).

Interestingly, Lanciani (1892, 301–305) parallels the treatment of the body of the unknown woman with that of another, much more poorly preserved young woman found in 1889. In this instance her sarcophagus, inscribed simply with the name Crepereia Tryphæna, was discovered embedded in clay on the right bank of the Tiber, close to the tomb of the emperor Hadrian. It was found to be filled with water and, when opened, ‘we were almost horrified at the sight before us. Gazing at the skeleton through the veil of the clear water, we saw the skull covered, as it were, with long masses of brown hair, which were floating in the liquid crystal’ (ibid., 302). Ultimately, it became apparent that the ‘hair’ was in fact an aquatic plant which had attached itself to the skull whilst the body had been submerged by river water, although news of her apparently ‘prodigious hair spread like wild-fire among the populace of the district … and its remembrance will last for many years in the popular traditions of the new quarter of the Prati di Castello’ (ibid., 302). Presumably, it was the prospect that this girl, who had died some 1700 years before, might still retain the appearance of a recognisably living human (enhanced by the ethereal aura of the watery setting) that piqued the interest of scholars and public alike. It was this mirage of corporeality which caused Lanciani to juxtapose her discovery with that of the body of the unknown woman from several centuries earlier.

The preservation of a number of items within this second sarcophagus, including a jointed doll made from oak and a considerable number of items of jewellery and toilet equipment, as well as the skeleton itself, made it possible to determine that Crepereia Tryphæna had died at the beginning of the third century AD, was probably from a family of freedmen (former slaves), and had suffered from scrofula which had caused her ribs to become deformed. She had been betrothed to Philetus, whose name was engraved on an engagement ring worn on her left hand (ibid., 303–304). Once the remains had dried out it became apparent that the young woman had been wrapped in a white linen shroud, and a wreath of myrtle with a silver clasp had been placed on her head (ibid., 303). Other questions were posed by Lanciani (ibid., 304) about this young woman: ‘At what age did she die? What caused her death? What was her condition in life? Was she beautiful? Why was she buried with her doll?’ The questions that he asked (and was able to answer) bear some similarity to the types of questions that archaeologists well over a century later might ask of the same discovery. Questions of identity, health and cause of death, as well as those relating to the presence of the doll (and other grave goods) would undoubtedly be at the forefront of any modern investigation, even if it is unlikely that one of the first questions asked by a 21st century archaeologist would be to consider the extent of her beauty! Nonetheless, scientific developments and, equally importantly, an increased concern with the study and interpretation of the treatment in death of the human body itself, mean that Lanciani’s enquiries satisfy our modern concerns only partially. It would not take long to compile a list of questions that could be asked of the evidence in the light of more recent post-processual, cognitive and bioarchaeological approaches to mortuary behaviour. The manner in which her body had been treated, both in life and death, would feature much more prominently in modern discourse: had she been embalmed or otherwise prepared and what evidence is there for the substances and materials used for this? How can we use the evidence for perfumes and unguents to reconstruct the sensory experience of her funeral and burial? How was her body arranged in her coffin and what might this mean? What was the significance of the shroud and what are its implications for the preparation of her body prior to burial? What can we learn from her remains about the health and death of members of the ancient community who suffered from disease and potential deformity? What part, if any, did the fact that she suffered from scrofula play in her experiences and identity whilst alive as well as the choices that were made about the manner and location of her burial? The list could go on.

Archaeological bodies

The examples cited above highlight the two issues which form the core of this volume. Firstly, they remind us of the power of the dead body to evoke in the minds of living people, be they contemporary (survivors or mourners) or distanced from the remains by time (archaeologists or non-specialists), a range of emotions and physical responses, ranging from fascination to fear, and from curiosity to disgust. This need not be restricted to the fleshed body, still recognisable as a once animate individual, but might extend also to skeletal remains which emphasise, and thereby remind us of the inanimate biological reality of death (see papers in Gowland and Knüsel 2006). What is more, the different nature of the preserved remains of the two Roman women highlights for us the variety of forms that a human body might take over the course of its life and death, and provides a glimpse into the range of responses that might affect the way in which these bodies are understood, experienced or treated.

Secondly, these human remnants of the Roman past which drew the attention of Lanciani and others emphasise just how central the human body is to burial practice. This may seem like an obvious point to make: of course there is a dead body at the centre of the funeral, except in unusual circumstances, otherwise there would be no need for the funeral in the first place. However, it is one that is often overlooked until, like the crowds in fifteenth century Rome, we are confronted with it directly, in all its fleshy, material glory. Archaeological interpretations are sometimes written in such a way as to suggest that the skeletons which we uncover, and therefore usually associate with past funerary practices, were what was deposited in graves, rather than articulated corpses. In these instances ‘body’ essentially means ‘skeleton’ and we have developed a collective tendency to think of the dead body in terms of bones and the living in terms of flesh and fluids. Even studies which prioritise a body-centred approach to funerary remains might still give disproportionate attention to the skeletal evidence and think primarily of the ‘bodies’ under scrutiny in such terms (Gowland and Knüsel 2006, for example, present an excellent collection of papers but many of the contributors write of ‘bodies’ when really they refer only to ‘bones’). Interaction with bones was, and continues to be, unquestionably important in some cultural contexts – bone might be defleshed prior to its final disposal through various means, as well as burials being reopened and whole skeletons or elements of them (re)moved or reinterred elsewhere – but evidence suggests that throughout history this has not been the norm. In the overwhelming majority of instances it was a fleshed cadaver, an actual body, that lay at the heart of funerary rites, and it is important that we remember that even those burials which involved secondary treatment, or which dealt with the disposal of already defleshed remains, also involved a fleshed corpse at the very beginning of that process (see, for example, Nilsson Stutz 2003 and 2008 on burials from Mesolithic Scandinavia, as well as Connor 1995 on the significance of the act of washing the corpse).

The choices made by past communities or individuals about how to cope with a dead body in all of its dynamic and constituent forms, and whether there was reason to treat it in a manner that singled it out (positively or negatively) as different from other human corpses, provide the stimulus for this volume. These choices and the motives which lay behind them would, of course, be much clearer to us if we excavated, more regularly than we do, preserved bodies like that of the anonymous Roman woman. It would be much easier to identify and decipher the decisions that were made at the moment of burial, and in the process which led up to it, if we could see, smell or feel for ourselves the materiality of the body with which past mourners or disposal practitioners were confronted, and around which funerary rites were performed. Unfortunately this happens only rarely, and even when it does we are faced ultimately with a body which has been preserved at a particular moment in a series of potentially protracted activities. This is usually a moment subsequent to the final act in the mortuary process, once the body had been abandoned to the elements which, by chance or design, were responsible for ensuring its preservation. Here one might cite well-known examples of ‘bog bodies’ such as Lindow Man or Grauballe Man (Green 2001) or bodies preserved by extremes of temperature and aridity including the Pazyryk mummies of the Altai mountains (Parker Pearson 1999, 61–65; Rudenko 1970). Each of these might reveal much about the lives and deaths of individuals, but they nevertheless preserve their bodies at a particular moment of their death: their interment. Even the unknown Roman woman had been buried and the funerary process completed. What we do not find are bodies that were abandoned part way through the ritual process; bodies which had not yet been interred or cremated, or were awaiting the next stage of the preparation process. Moreover, even if we do, it is very difficult, if not impossible, to identify this fact. David Noy (2000), for example, has examined Roman cremations which ‘went wrong’ and left a body half-burned, but the most convincing evidence for such an event remains that provided by written sources and not archaeological data. We are therefore largely excluded from recognising and investigating these in-between stages of mortuary behaviour by the nature of the evidence available to us. Undoubtedly there must have been occasions on which the funerary procedure or even the moment of disposal itself was interrupted, but the ephemeral nature of these activities means that we must rely on our ability to work backwards from the end result of completed funerals in order to reconstruct the various stages, treatments, behaviours, emotions and rituals that they involved and the impact of the cadaver upon this (Weekes 2008). Moreover, even apparently preserved human remains might not always be what they seem. The realisation that the mummified bodies of Cladh Hallan on South Uist (Outer Hebrides) are actually composed of parts taken from multiple individuals, spanning several generations, provides us with an especially vivid reminder not to take our evidence at face value (Parker-Pearson et al. 2005; Parker Pearson et al. 2007; Hanna et al. 2012). Although a rare instance, this is certainly enough to make us question the meanings and significance that might be placed on the materiality of the corpse, as well as its variability and its manipulation at different stages of the mortuary practice and sometimes across significant expanses of time. It is therefore important that we do not lose sight of the fact that, for the majority of situations, what we excavate reflects only part of the story and in order to begin to comprehend the role that the corpse itself played in determining funerary behaviour it is necessary to explore ways of ‘re-embodying’ burial activities or, in other words, re-introducing bodily perspectives in their widest sense to our discourses on all aspects of past funerary ritual.

Embodying death

Rather than advocate a single approach, this collection of papers is intended to provide a series of theoretically informed, but not constrained, case studies which focus predominantly on the corporeal body in death. The aim of each of the authors is to ‘embody’ funerary practices by making the human body the central component of their investigations. With this in mind, contributors were free to choose how they wished to interpret the idea of ‘embodiment’ and whether they wished to define it in relation to a study of the bodies of the deceased, the living or in some cases wi...