The marginalization of the mime actresses or mimae in ancient Rome from the dominant narratives of the male elites obscured the narrative of these talented performers. Mime actresses acted, sang and danced without masks in mime plays which included plots ranging from realistic, comic to vulgar scenes, sometimes with improvised dialogues. Due to legal constraints and prevailing societal attitudes, mimae were formally assigned the status of infamia and relegated to the lowest strata of Roman society, a designation that placed them alongside prostitutes and gladiators in the eyes of the law (Edwards 1993). Yet these women, despite these societal constraints, navigated the performance space to exercise agency and self-representation in ways that the literary tradition did not record but that other forms of evidence, their epitaphs in particular, allow us to recover. The recovery of such marginalized voices is not merely a historical exercise. At a time when the re-reading of history through feminist lenses in academia is being threatened by political ideologies that are pressing for normativity worldwide, it is crucial to explore the importance of feminist inquiries and alternative viewpoints in reshaping our understanding of the marginalized women in history. The study of mime actresses participates in this broader project: by focusing on the voices, experiences and self-representations of women who defied the margins assigned to them, it challenges the assumption that those margins tell the whole story. This re-reading intersects with women’s voices, agency, gender and class to examine the impact these women had on their audiences, on the cultural life of their cities, and on the performative traditions they lived through. Therefore, this further establishes the grounds for the impact of women who defied marginalization in the theatrical space and public life in Roman society.

This article examines the contributions of mime actresses in ancient Rome through a study of funerary epitaphs from the second century BC to the fourth century AD. These inscriptions reveal the identities and agency of women who, despite prevailing patriarchal norms and restrictive legal issues associated with infamia (‘a lack of public honour’), carved out roles in public performances. Those who made money by using their bodies for the entertainment of others, such as actors, gladiators and prostitutes, were denied the rights and laws that the Roman citizens enjoyed (Edwards 1997: 76; Duncan 2011). Despite all these restrictions, these inscriptions collectively challenge traditional narratives by highlighting the professional identities and talents of female performers, thereby providing insight into another aspect of their lived experiences. While addressing the limitations of the inscriptions, such as their fragmentary nature and selective content, this paper emphasizes how they nonetheless provide a counter-narrative to the literary accounts dominated by male perspectives.

Against the backdrop of such misrepresentation in historical accounts where the mime actresses were reduced to objects of moral condemnation, how can feminist theory reframe epitaphs of mime actresses as active sites of self-representation rather than mere passive records? First, the paper explores the limitations of historical narratives dominated by male voices and emphasizes how the narrative lens of ‘herstory’ can highlight the experiences of women. With that, an analysis follows, examining the perspectives of ancient writers on the mime actress. Finally, a selection of epitaphs commemorating mime actresses is taken as case studies to narrate ‘herstory’. This special issue of the Theoretical Roman Archaeology Journal, ‘For a feminist-postcolonial archaeology of the Roman world’, takes an intersectional approach to examine the fragmented past of the individuals and communities silenced by the androcentric and elite sources of the day. Therefore, I think this is the ideal space to address how feminist theory repositions these epitaphs of mime actresses as active sites of self-representation.

This article extends and broadens the analysis I previously developed (Dharmasiri 2021), in which I examined three Latin epitaphs of mime actresses found in Rome, demonstrating that funerary inscriptions offer a perspective on mime actresses that deviates noticeably from that constructed by ancient literary sources. This earlier study focused on a close reading of three specific epitaphs and the career details they preserve. The present article takes a wider scope, drawing on a few selected funerary epitaphs spanning the second century BC to the fourth century AD, and introduces a theoretical reorientation. Reading these inscriptions through the lens of ‘herstory’, I argue that they function not as passive records but as active sites of self-representation, through which mime actresses asserted professional identities and exercised a form of agency that conventional ancient and scholarly narratives have largely obscured.

A concept that originally started as an ideological social movement, ‘herstory’, aimed to replace patriarchal systems with narratives centred on women. Robin Morgan, a second-wave feminist and activist who coined the term ‘herstory’, along with her contemporaries, initiated this movement to recover women’s space and voice, aiming to include women in an equivalent historical narrative. As she states, the term was coined with the intention of ‘a consciousness raiser’, not as an etymological claim in the 1960s (Morgan 2014: 46). But at the same time, the concept was utilized in her writings as a linguistic tool to challenge the male-centred narratives, which also aligns with the linguistic analysis of the epitaphs discussed below. This narrative thus gives a central focus to those written in the margins of history or ignored completely. This method is not only a means to document the reality of women’s experiences but also acts to imagine different realities (Orton 2018: 7). Originating from the margins of society, these narratives recover the collective memory of women’s contributions. These are the narratives of everyday women whose work may have gone unnoticed by the elite male writers of the day. Saidiya Hartman (2008) reminds us of the ethical responsibility to recover and reimagine the lives of those who have been pushed to the margins of history, insisting that we must flesh out the past in new, critical ways (see Bhalerao, this issue). This means extending care and attention to individuals and events often overlooked, rather than using the gaps in the record as an excuse for silence. Even when the narratives are fragmented, conflicting, or partly hypothetical, they reveal how history is influenced by the desires and agendas of its narrators (Kamen and Levin-Richardson 2022). According to Antonio Gramsci (1971: 54–55), ‘the history of subaltern social groups is necessarily fragmented and episodic’, and the unification of these stories has been ‘continually interrupted by the activity of the ruling groups’. Similarly, with the case of the mime actresses, their social status and class clashed with those who preserved history at the time. To tell these stories from the perspectives of the oppressed is not to deny the blend of fiction and history involved, but to acknowledge that giving voice to the marginalized is both an ethical and realistic act.

Louise Revell (2010) argues that feminist approaches should be integrated into mainstream Roman archaeology rather than confined to different subfields. Building on Conkey and Spector’s (1984) three-stage development of feminist archaeology (critiques of male bias, studies of women’s lives and studies of gender relationships), Revell contends that Roman archaeology must now integrate gender studies into dominant narratives. Applying this analytical perspective to epigraphic data enables us to incorporate it within the dominant narrative. Following these approaches, Amy Russell (2016: 167) also argues for shifting the focus of women in the domestic spaces to their active role in the public spaces. Her analysis claims that status, more than gender, determines access to spaces of power, but still, the public spaces function as tools used to ‘police gender’. Certainly, when women appeared in public, they were either ‘constrained or stigmatized’ or ignored because they didn’t count (see Puddu’s introduction to this issue). This framework therefore demonstrates that although the women were physically present, their presence was scrutinized in such a way as to erase them from history. Similarly, the critique of androcentric approaches in Roman archaeology directly parallels ‘herstory’s’ challenge to male-dominated historical narratives; it is not just about adding women but reshaping the entire narrative. We should note that not only gender, but also class, age, legal status and occupation overlap when constructing the identities of the mime actresses. They were either enslaved or freedwomen, ages ranging from young to old, who performed in a socially stigmatized profession. This intersectional approach allows us to analyse how these overlapping factors appear in the epitaphs.

Therefore, ‘herstory’ recentres women’s agency within the patriarchal system that attempted to ignore or actively erase them. The epitaphs of the mime actresses themselves resist erasure. Additionally, this is not only about inclusion but also about shifting the lens of interpretation by taking the epitaphs not as mere data but as voices. Literary sources (discussed below) mainly highlight the stigma of infamia associated with these performers, their affairs with politicians or improper moral conduct. While the biases in literary sources should be addressed as cultural realities, one needs to look beyond that to learn about the women described. On the other hand, the epitaphs depict them as part of a profession and an art form which they were proud of. The epitaphs thus challenged the literary stereotypes that marginalized these mime actresses. Even with contradictory information, both these sources are essential to comprehend their stories.

By reading these epitaphs with a feminist approach, we move away from what these epitaphs tell us about Roman attitudes to what these epitaphs allow the mime actress to say about themselves or what their kin wanted to say about their relatives. Such a reading is an act of resistance to erasure and defamation, reframing these performers not as objects of moral panic, but as women whose artistry and identity were worth inscribing on stone. Thus, this methodological framework centres women’s voices and modes of self-commemoration rather than restricting them to appendices of male narratives.

The paper continues in three stages. First, it briefly examines how mime actresses were represented in ancient literary accounts, establishing the dominant male-authored narrative against which the epigraphic evidence must be read. It then focuses on a close reading of selected epitaphs, recovering from these inscriptions ‘herstory’ as the female performer represented herself or was represented by those who knew her. Finally, it analyses the nature of the knowledge these women had, arguing that the pride and professional self-awareness etched in these stones reveal a dimension of female theatrical life that the literary tradition systematically suppressed.

Mime actresses appear occasionally in classical works, but no narrative is exclusively dedicated to one of them. Instead, these mime actresses are written into broader narratives, where their roles serve the writer’s larger purpose. For example, in Cicero’s work, the mime actress Cytheris is mainly written into the narrative to criticize his political rival, Mark Antony (Philippicae 2.58; Ad familiares 9.26.1; Ad Atticum 10.16.5; see Traina 2001; Keith 2011). Antony kept Cytheris as his mistress and appeared with her in public, which generated a lot of scandal. Cicero disapproved of Antony’s behaviour, as he deemed her unsuitable for a tribune’s retinue. In his second Philippic, Cicero writes about an incident where Antony used to ride in a two-wheeled carriage, ‘with lictors in laurel leading’, lictores laureati antecedebant, and in the midst ‘a litter carrying a mime actress’, lectica mima portabatur. For Cicero, the act of a mime actress or a courtesan carried openly in a litter represents a shocking inversion of Roman dignity. He further shares his disdain by mentioning how ‘respectable men’, homines honesti, had to get out of their carriages and greet her out of ‘obligation’, obviam necessario. In this context, homines honesti parallels lictores laureati with the mima in between, further contrasting the classes.

Pliny also describes how Antony rides along with Cytheris by his side, displaying his disregard for the morals of Roman society, knowing society’s contempt towards mime actresses. The passage on Cytheris appearing with the descriptions of taming ferocious, unruly animals like lions, made the spectacle more scandalous, ‘for he [Antony] rode with the mime actress Cytheris, which was even more wicked than those other calamities of the day’ (Pliny, Naturalis Historia 8.55). While it certainly heightened the spectacle, it also elevated her image by positioning her with the extraordinary and the sensational. Rather than simply being a mime actress or a courtesan, she became a part of a show that blurs the lines between power, danger and spectacle. This presents her not merely as a passive participant but as a woman who used such a space to showcase her presence. It is both scandalous and captivating. Even though this is a fragmented historical piece, the idea of Cytheris being part of a spectacle is quite paradoxical. If we read beyond what his story states, of a mime actress or a courtesan as a scandal, ‘herstory’ also lies within these lines. She is both socially dangerous and yet became a part of a spectacle of male power. At the same time, she is invisible and visible, despite the biased narratives. She might see herself not as a scandal, but as a woman who claimed her own space.

As commentaries of social criticism and society’s evils, the satirical works of Horace, Martial and Juvenal often present mime actresses as models of immoral lifestyles. In Juvenal and Martial’s writings, the mime actress Thymele plays a part in their critique of societal degradation (Juvenal, Saturae 1.36; Martial, Epigrammata 1.4). Horace (Saturae 1.2.55–59) depicts Marsaeus’ preference for engaging with mime actresses and prostitutes rather than another’s wife, which would tarnish his reputation. The association of mimes with nudity, exemplified by the author’s description of Cato’s reaction at the Floralia festival, highlights concern regarding the scrutiny of performers’ bodies, extending their infamia (Valerius Maximus 2.10.8). Procopius’ portrayal of Theodora further highlights the objectification of mime actresses, whose bodies become the focus of attention, reflecting societal attitudes towards their profession (Anecdota 9.20). On a rare occasion, we find Cicero (Ad Att. 4.15.6) appreciating the talent of a mime actress, Arbuscula, who appears in his letters to Atticus. But at the same time, he was dismissive about the unnamed raped mime actress, whom he identifies as a mimula (‘little mime actress’), further reducing her status and the act of rape (Cicero, Pro Plancio 30.11–31.3). Thus, these mime actresses were subject to exploitation, objectification and admiration by society, situating them in a paradoxical position (Fantham 1989; Duncan 2006; Panayotakis 2006; Webb 2008). The mime plays served both to entertain and maintain stereotypes about women, frequently portraying them in provocative or comedic roles that reinforced gender norms. At the same time, the mime actresses were visible public figures in a way that would have been unusual for respectable women of the time.

The narratives of the Roman writers provide not only the perspectives of their own social and political views but also the attitudes of the class they represented. Apart from the success the performers had in theatre, the facts about which are mostly lost to us, the prejudices and moralistic views of the elite male writers shaped the literary narratives of the day. The writers’ own anxieties concerning female liberty and the influence of these women come to the surface as we read between the lines (James 2006). Therefore, if we are truly to appreciate the historical significance of the mime actresses, we must overlook such biased narratives and recognize the impact of their presence in a world that aimed to marginalize them. The literary sources alone cannot accomplish this. It is in the inscriptions they left behind or that were left in their name that an alternative reading of these women begins to emerge.

Epigraphy, on the other hand, provides insights into the lives of non-elite individuals and aspects of society that are frequently overlooked in mainstream literature. Despite this, epigraphic evidence is also not immune to bias. As John Bodel (2001: 35) notes, inscriptions are often our only direct evidence on topics where other sources remain silent, yet scholars have not always approached this testimony with sufficient caution or fully recognized the potential biases this creates. Nevertheless, inscriptions are crucial as they provide information about non-elite individuals irrespective of gender and social status. As Lin Foxhall (2013: 19) aptly observes, ‘the unevenness of epigraphic practices and survival over time and space … [presents] lots of individual trees which do not allow us to see the forest’, which highlights the complexities in discerning clear patterns. While scholars have faced challenges in documenting those marginalized by the dominant historical narrative, Sandra Joshel (1992) argues that epitaphs, despite providing limited information, such as a person’s name, legal status and occupation, are sufficient to uncover many obscured aspects of daily life. The occupational titles inscribed on their epitaphs provided enslaved individuals and freedmen with a sense of identity otherwise absent in their lives.

Funerary epitaphs of mime actresses from the second century BC to the fourth century AD, originating from Rome and the Roman Empire’s provinces, present a story unwritten in the literary sources. The epitaphs examined in this paper offer strong evidence that these women were not simply passive subjects of memorialization but capable of shaping the narrative of their own social and familial identities. However, a central interpretative challenge lies in separating genuine expressions of individuality from the constraints of conventional representation. Reading these inscriptions critically, against the grain of idealized images, offers a way to uncover the more complex realities of women’s roles in the performance space. Within the corpus of women being idealized and praised for a variety of qualities and virtues, the epitaphs dedicated to women in the performance field similarly reflect roles that were valued and accepted in public and within their social groups. The following sections analyse the epitaphs of mime actresses, with a focus on their agency and artistic skills that were praised in their final resting places.

There was a hierarchy within the theatrical field of mime. The existence of archimimae in imperial Rome suggests the agency that women had within the theatrical sphere, as evidenced by their roles as chief actresses and troupe directors with their own followers/heirs, earning both public praise and recognition. The two epitaphs of archimimae, Claudia Hermiona (CIL VI, 10106) and Fabia Arete (CIL VI, 10107), offer insight into the professional and hierarchical positions held by mime actresses at the time. The term archimima is identified as ‘a chief mimic actress’, ‘chief actress and directress of a troupe of female mimes’ (OLD, L&S, TLL). An archimima is the ‘protagonist’ of the show and the ‘head comedienne’ (Maxwell 1993: 24–27; Traina 2001: 84; Starks 2004: 188; Panayotakis 2006: 124; Sandon 2025). This term, then, signals appreciation of their acting ability and that a woman can have a leading role within a play, signifying not only their acting skills but also their authority and influence within a male-dominated theatrical sphere. At the beginning, tragedy and comedy were the most famous theatrical genres from ancient Greece to Rome. In tragedy and comedy, all roles, both male and female alike, were acted by male actors who used masks and costumes to feature the gender of the character they performed. Women, therefore, were absent from these theatrical forms entirely, excluded by convention from the stage that ancient culture regarded as most prestigious. While tragedy and comedy were significant imports from ancient Greece, Roman theatre evolved to favour theatrical genres such as pantomime and mime, paving the way for women to be a part of the performance space. In such a setting, the archimimus, who was the chief mime actor, was said to have been involved in creating the plot and script of a scene as well (Hugoniot 2004; Panayotakis 2006). The absence of the female term, archimima, in extant classical literature highlights that they were unnoticed or simply erased from literary history.

Another factor that highlights their agency is that both had heirs or followers. The word heredes is mentioned in Claudia’s epitaph: Dormi, Claudiae Hermionae, archimimae sui temporis primae, heredes (‘Sleep. Her heirs (dedicate this monument) to Claudia Hermiona, the best archimima of her time’). The dedication by her ‘heirs’ (heredes) can include either children, her partner and other relatives or even non-kin heirs (Saller and Shaw 1984: 140–141; Mueller 2010: 298). In this context, it can mean a group of mimes given her position as an archimima. Claudia’s heirs did not simply fulfil their social obligation but chose to promote their connection to her and her skills. This inscription, therefore, suggests that the legacy of the deceased mime actress, Claudia, would continue through her chosen heirs, highlighting their pride in the profession.

Fabia Arete’s epitaph lists a series of names, suggesting that they were part of her troupe, which further supports this idea (CIL VI, 10107). According to her epitaph, Arete had the tomb made for herself, fourteen members of the Fabii household, her patrons and a few others; dis manibus M. Fabi M. f(ilii) Esq(uilina) Regilli et Fabiae […] /Fabia M.et lib(erta) Arete archim[ima]/ temporis sui prima diurna fec[it]/ sibi et suis, quibus legavit testa[mento]: ‘To the dead spirits of M. Fabius Regillus, son of Marcus, of the Esquiline tribe and Fabia … Fabia Arete, freedwoman and wife of Marcus, the best archimima of her time, a salaried woman, dedicated this for herself and those of her household to whom she left bequests in her will’. These individuals are identified by name, suggesting they held some level of significance. Given the context of the inscription, it is plausible that they were members of her performing troupe. If so, Arete may have taken on a managerial or training role in relation to these fourteen freedpersons; although there is no mention of women training actors or actresses, this could be one such case (Maxwell 1993: 174–176; Starks 2004: 144). The names here are strongly suggestive of theatrical performers. Since Fabia Arete is explicitly identified in her epitaph as an archimima, it is likely that others among these freedmen and women were connected to the theatre. Stage names can be grouped into categories: objects or animals, people or professions (including mythical characters), emotions, attributes, abstract qualities which were selected for having a clear meaning, being uncommon or rare, and having some relevance to the stage (Maxwell 1993: 94–95). It is not apparent whether stage names were selected by the mimes themselves or their masters; power over naming was given to the masters of enslaved persons and accordingly, most of these names further objectified the slave or, in this case, the performer.

The names of the Fabii household align closely with patterns of theatrical nomenclature. Arete, implying ‘excellence’ in Greek, functions as a performative self-representation and corresponds directly to Maxwell’s category of abstract qualities, presenting the performer’s artistry. Cypare evokes Cyprus, the birthplace of Aphrodite, while Mimesis, meaning ‘imitation’, connects directly to the profession of performance itself. The prevalence of Greek-derived names among these women makes their theatrical associations highly probable. Several of the men’s names follow the same pattern. Fabius Hilarus (‘cheerful’), Fabius Regillus (‘regal’) and Fabius Peculiaris (‘peculiar’ or ‘special’) would all function effectively as stage names. The name Hilarus carries a well-documented theatrical resonance: Pliny (Naturalis historia 7.185) records the story of Marcus Ofilius Hilarus, a comic actor who died so peacefully at his own birthday celebration, still holding his stage mask, that no one noticed until a guest remarked that his drink had gone cold.

This convention was consistent across the broader world of performers. Other mime performers adopted names on the same terms: Cytheris is another name for Venus, the goddess of love, desire, beauty and sex, and Eucharis means ‘pleasing’ or ‘charming’ (CIL VI, 10096). A few other names, Aphrodito (CIL X, 7046), Ecloga, ‘short pieces of poetry’ (CIL VI, 10110), Thalassia meaning ‘sea’ (CIL VI, 10112), Phoebe Vocantia (CIL VI, 10127), an emboliaria, has the feminine form of Phoebus (Apollo) and vocantia ‘to summon’ or ‘the summoning one’, Sophe Theorobathylliana (CIL VI, 10128) arbitrix imboliarum, manager of emboliae, her name originates from the names of two pantomimes Theoros and Bathyllus. Eros, the comic actor (Cicero, Pro Roscio comoedo 30), the pantomime dancers Hylas (Macrobius, Saturnalia 2.12–15) and Paris (Juv. 6.89), were named after mythical characters. A name alone cannot confirm a profession. However, because Arete is explicitly identified as an archimima, there is a strong reason to read the names of Fabia Arete’s freedmen and women as theatrical in character, and to treat them as further evidence that her household was organized around the business of performance.

Returning to Fabia Arete’s epitaph, diurna, meaning ‘daily’, can also mean ‘daily salary’ in this context (archimima temporis sui prima diurna), suggesting a professionalized structure within the mime field (Csapo and Slater 2001: 375; Slater 2002: 318). Another study has shown that it can also refer to ‘guest stars’ who worked with companies that needed their services (Leppin 1992: 183–184; Caldelli 2015: 592). The term is consistently associated with archimimi, implying that the position carried some form of formal wage, as evidenced by the inscription of Eutyches the archimimus (CIL XIV, 2408 = ILS 5196). The exact nature and scale of such payment, however, are not well documented. That said, the potential rewards of a successful mime career could be significant. Those attached to the retinues of Sulla and Antony, for example, are known to have acquired substantial wealth and property, whether through professional merit or personal favour (Garton 1964). The case of Roscius, the famous comic actor and a favourite of Sulla, portrays how beneficial such patronage could be. Macrobius records the exceptional terms of his payment:

Macrobius uses the story to illustrate the close relationships that could develop between performers and powerful political figures. At the same time, it documents the material rewards such favour could bring. The anulus aureus, or gold ring, is particularly telling as the mark of equestrian rank; its bestowal on Roscius represented a public elevation of a man whose profession carried the stigma of infamia. Sulla’s gesture did not legally erase that stigma, but it complicated the social reality, demonstrating that personal distinction and political patronage could cut across the boundaries of Roman law. Diurna also indicates that the thousand denarii represented a daily payment from public funds. Equally significant is sine gregalibus: this amount was paid to Roscius alone, excluding the rest of the group. From this, we can deduce something about the internal economy of a performing company. Payment was not uniform but hierarchical, scaled to status, seniority, and possibly with personal connections as well. Leading performers likely earned more not just for their skill but for their name in effect, as commercial assets. Roscius’ case is exceptional: his ties to Sulla and his later association with Cicero, who defended him against fraud charges, suggest a man of wealth and distinction far removed from petty misconduct (QRosc.). Yet, the structural logic of his case implies that such rewards were available to any leading performer. Along with Roscius, Cicero mentions Dionysia, who was either a saltatrix (‘dancer’) or a mima, was known to have earned a considerable amount of money, around 200,000 sesterces, from her profession (QRosc. 23; Aulus Gellius, Noctes Atticae 1.5.3). It is not exactly clear, however, whether this amount was per year or over a lifetime. It is also mentioned in the Digest how an archimimus’ work or labour was regulated within Roman law (Digesta Iustiniani 38.1.25.1.1). The owner can rent out an archimimus (even as a freedman), and this was not considered exploitation. This, in a way, denotes the commodification of artistic labour as well as suggests the professionalization of these positions amidst the class and economic hierarchies.

Secondly, both Claudia and Arete identified as sui temporis primae, ‘the best of her time’. This is a formulaic term that appears in the epitaphs of theatrical performers. This term is quite popular in the inscriptions of male pantomime dancers (AE 2016, 00335 Lucius Aelius; CIL XIV, 02113 Agilius Septentrio), but intriguingly, this term does not appear in any of the male archimimi prevalent in the inscriptions. They had different status markers and their distinction was expressed in alternative formulaic expressions. For instance, Acilius Eutyches, a decurion who was identified as an archimimus in his honorary inscription from Bovillae, ‘a noble archimimus, admitted among the common mimes, appointed as a daily parasite of Apollo, a tragedian, comedian, and honoured in all theatrical arts, a decurion of Bovillae, whom the first among all those admitted called “Father”’ (ILS 5196). His is the only reference to an actor becoming a decurion of a city that is mentioned in the inscriptions (Hugoniot 2004). This could be an exception as well as an individual case. Apart from this, their epitaphs are either dedicated by their spouses or mention their spouses and the tomb is dedicated to both (CIL III, 7343 = ILS 5208 Uttiedius Venerianus; CIL VI, 33965 II = ILS 5209 Marcus Ulpius Hylas; CIL XIV, 2988 = ILS 5209a Marcus Junius Maior). Thus, it is quite praiseworthy for a woman to achieve such recognition because women had limited access to public honour as such.

Apart from archimima, a secunda mima also appears in an epitaph dedicated to Cornelia Nothis (AE 1993, 912; Caldelli 2015; Sandon 2025). This term can mean a mima who played subordinate roles to an archimima or the one who played the second main role (Starks 2004: 161). The hierarchy within the troupes is apparent from these designations. This terminology connects to the Greek tragic and comic actors identified as the protagonist (πρωταγωνιστής), second actor (δευτεραγωνιστής) and the third actor (τριταγωνιστής) (Maxwell 1993: 43–44; Starks 2004: 306–310). The only difference with the Latin terminology is the inclusion of women in these troupes. What we can discern from this epitaph is the importance that they have given to the specific work that they did in the troupe as a mime.

Besides the presence of such troupes, the only existing reference to a guild of mime actresses is through another inscription. This boundary stone found in Rome that marks the space reserved for the burials of mime actresses is direct evidence of an association of mime actresses. Sociarum mimarum, in fr(onte) p(edes) xv, in agr(o) p(edes) xii ‘(Property) of the associated mime actresses, which extends fifteen feet in length by twelve feet in depth’ (CIL VI, 10109 = ILS 5217). This type of measurement for a burial ground can be seen in both epigraphical and literary sources (Petronius, Satyrica 71.6). However, the presence of a guild of mime actresses further proves the agency and the established nature of the performers’ guilds and profession.

Another mime actress who belonged to a troupe is Ecloga (CIL VI, 10110 = ILS 5216). Eclogae regis Iubae mimae, quae u(ixit) a(nnos) XVIII [m(enses)] (‘Ecloga, mime of King Juba, who lived 18 years and months…’). It is possible that Ecloga was a mima in a mime troupe belonging to or hired by Juba (Duncan 2019: 40). However, as the literary sources commonly portray, having entertainers in the entourage of rulers is also a means of defaming certain rulers and their conduct (Leppin 2011: 673). In such a condition, Ecloga’s epitaph publicly displays her connection to the King of Mauretania. It is plausible to suggest that, due to his non-Roman origins, the negative designation in question was exclusively attributed to the political leaders within Rome. But most importantly, her time at the court of a client king of Rome in Africa indicates the widespread popularity of mime throughout the Roman Empire. Juba II valued arts and culture through the development of several theatres in his kingdom as part of his political program (Roller 2003: 174–177). However, given her epitaph was found in Rome, it is possible that she may have performed in Rome as part of Juba’s troupe during his visits and died during a performance tour.

Her name is Greek in origin, from ἐκλογή, meaning ‘choice’ or ‘selection’, and carries in Latin the literary connotation of short poetic pieces or selections drawn from longer works, a meaning that has led scholars to suggest she may have performed in brief theatrical sketches extracted from larger compositions (Höschele 2013: 38). The resonance with Virgil’s Eclogues would have been immediately legible to a literate Roman audience. Yet the name’s meaning, ‘choice’, stands in sharp irony against the reality of her existence: as an enslaved mime actress, Ecloga exercised no choice over her name, her profession, or her performances. The name captures in a single word the layered condition of a woman who was simultaneously enslaved, female, and a performer, three categories that Roman society placed at its margins.

What this epitaph eventually reveals is that these margins were not as stable as Roman social ideology made them out to be. That a mime actress and a king occupy the same stone is not incidental. It is a disruption of the hierarchies that Roman society elsewhere enforced so strictly, and it is exactly this kind of disruption that the epitaphs in this paper repeatedly enact. Their names, the terms used to describe their talents, and the very act of commemorating them in stone all participate in a counter-narrative that the literary sources could not preserve. It is to the nature of that counter-narrative, and mainly to the knowledge, skill and professional identity it sets, that the following section turns.

According to Zoa Alonso Fernández (2015: 329), the analysis of the data related to women associated with the term docta denotes ‘a specific form of female knowledge’. Building on her suggestion that the stage is conceived of as a locus for the construction of womanhood, as the forum is for the men, ‘where proper codes of Roman masculinity are displayed’, the stage presented the counterpart of it (Fernández 2015: 318). This type of knowledge, which is distinct from formal education or rhetorical training that an elite man pursued, marked women like Eucharis (discussed below) as culturally significant figures within the Greco-Roman performative space.

The epitaph of Eucharis reflects both the tragedy of burying one’s child and the intersection of familial devotion and professional recognition surrounding female performers in Rome. Since a proper title is not given for Eucharis in the epitaph, the scholars have categorized her as a dancer or a mime actress (Maxwell 1993: 138; Courtney 1995: 238; Starks 2004: 61; Fernández 2015: 322; Hov 2015: 138; Duncan 2021: 246; Sandon 2025). A few keywords and phrases that appear on her epitaph help to identify what type of performer she was. Omnes artes (‘all the arts’) has a broad meaning if taken out of context, ranging from different types of arts, from liberal arts, other skilled professions like various crafts, to performing arts. ‘By the hand of the Muses’ (Musarum manu) is a poetic way of expressing how she was gifted and trained in such skills, almost as if touched by divinity. Muses refer not only to one type of art but also to many different ones, ranging from music to dance. The fact that she participated in ‘the games of the nobles’ nobilium ludos or ludi, indicates that she acted in organized theatre festivals. There is a wide range of ludi (‘games/festivals’) in Rome, and this was advantageous for the performers because it reached a wider audience (Manuwald 2011: 41). The reference to the nobles can mean that the plays she participated in were organized by the wealthy or that she performed for a noble audience.

‘Herstory’ was inscribed by a parent. The fact that she had to be buried by a parent invites further reflection. It was common to see epitaphs of children being buried by their parents and quite often they refer to the unnaturalness of it, highlighting the role reversal (Lattimore 1962: 184–186). For instance, an epitaph states, Quod par parenti fuerat facere filium, Mors immatura fecit ut faceret pater, ‘What a child ought to have done for a parent, an untimely death caused the father to do for his son’ (CE 164). Except for Eucharis and Hellas (CIL XII, 1916, the only female pantomime dancer mentioned with the title, pantomima), none of the extant epitaphs of the female performers was dedicated by their parents (Starks 2008: 119). It is striking to see a parent praising the talents and skills of a daughter who was in the theatre field and who died young. Apart from her father, the epitaph highlights her close relationship with her patroness as well. This stresses how Eucharis was encouraged to pursue these performance skills by both her family and patroness. Eucharis’s epitaph mentions docta erodita twice, emphasizing the importance of her learned skills of dancing, acting and singing. The terms docta and erodita (erudita) are found in relation to female performers, mainly in the epitaphs of actresses, musicians and dancers.

This factor can be further supported by a few other epitaphs that mention docta and erudita. Docta and doctus are used in epitaphs relating to different contexts. It is striking to see how the term covers intellectual, artistic, moral, domestic and professional domains and applies to both women and men. Docta or doctus in Latin epitaphs is mostly formulaic, but it functions in a way as an identity marker. Most of it appears in the performative contexts as discussed below. Starting with Eucharis as a mima, several other female performers were identified with this term. Sabina, a hydraula (a water organ player), was praised for her skills in playing the hydraulis as well as for her voice (CIL III, 10501). This epitaph indicates that Sabina and her husband, Titus Aelius Justus, were both water organ players (hydraulae). For one thing, the high regard her husband (the dedicator) has for Sabina is quite evident when he says, artibus edocta superabat sola maritum (‘she alone surpassed her husband with her learned skills’). Sabina was not only skilled in playing the water organ but also ‘plucked strings with her thumb’ (pulsabat pollice cordas), which denotes the idea that she played another musical instrument, probably the lyre. Judit Topál (2002), examining the lives of musicians in Roman Aquincum, notes how music was an integral part of daily life, religion and military culture, as evident from archaeological, iconographic and epigraphic evidence. Sabina’s husband, Justus, being a legionary organist linked with the military (hydraularius salariarius leg(ionis) II Ad(iutricis)), also plays an important role because reliefs and gravestones depicting both military musicians (cornice ‘horn-player’ and tubicen ‘trumpeter’) and civilian performers show the importance of music in both public ceremonies and private gatherings (Topál 2002: 6).

Similarly, the tomb built by Marcus Annidius Ponticus for himself and his wife, Sabinia, docta lyra, grata et gestu formosa puella (‘a girl learned on the lyre, pleasing and beautiful in gesture’, CIL XI, 6249) stresses Sabinia and her skills. They were both buried together in this tomb. Only her learned skills are mentioned, further emphasizing how he valued her skills to be remembered alongside him in their ‘eternal home’ (aeterna domo). Apart from the performative and artistic skills, Euphrosyne, who lived for 20 years, is honoured as pia docta novem Musis philosopha (‘pious, learned by the nine Muses, a philosopher’, CIL VI, 33898). She is the only one attested to as a philosopher in an epitaph.

When considering the male qualifier, doctus, there are certain differences in the type of work they are praised for. Marcus Romanus Jovinus from Rome (second century AD), who is a rhetorician eloquent in Latin and a teacher, is known as docta loqui doctus, quinque loqui docui (‘learned in speaking learned matters, I taught five to speak’, CIL VI, 33904). This epitaph represents an instance that closely corresponds with the docta tradition employed in literary and historical accounts concerning men. He is compared to Cato and Cicero, giving him much honour for his learned skills in rhetoric. Similarly, an epitaph that is dedicated to a learned, skilled person is the one made to Dionysius from Rome (fifth century AD), a physician, praised for his moral virtues and skills in hand, which is medicine, …artis honestae functus et officio quod medicina dedit. Huius docta manus, famae dulcedine capta, dispexit pretii sordida lucra sequi (‘…performing in the honourable art and the duty which medicine gave him. His skilled hands were captivated by the sweetness of fame, refused to pursue sordid gains’, ICUR VII 18661). In this context, artes is used to present his skills in medical practices. This epitaph adds another layer by connecting practical skills with moral virtue.

These epitaphs highlight the fact that while docta and doctus function as a formulaic expression, they work in their own original sense as well, depending on the context in which they are used. As aforementioned, in settings ranging from the artistic to intellectual, domestic to professional, it has been applied to both men and women in different contexts. This further attests to the point regarding the division of skills according to mind and body. This gendered distribution of knowledge presents normative Roman ideals and upholds constructions of masculinity, but at the same time, the presence of female agency challenges the boundaries of traditional morality (Fernández 2015: 330). Thus, this term docta specifically links to non-elite praiseworthy women of that time who excelled in the alternative forms of knowledge. Even though these performances were done by talented women from the non-elite or lower classes of society, such practices must have been accepted forms in the social strata in which they lived. However, since they fell under the radar of accepted moral traditions of the Roman elite class, they were ignored, except in their epitaphs.

Another term that appears alongside docta is erudita (erodita), for instance, in Eucharis’s epitaph, docta erodita paene Musarum manu. The only emboliaria attested in the epitaphs, Phoebe Vocantia, carries the term artis omnium erudita, referring to her skills on stage, either acting, dancing or singing, given the acts she performed during the intervals of the performances (CIL VI, 10127 = ILS 5262). Phoebe Vocontia, emboliaria, artis omnium erodita, hunc fatus suus pressit vixsit annis XII, ‘Phoebe Vocontia, emboliaria, learned in the arts of all things. Her own fate struck her down. She lived twelve years’. The term embolium, meaning ‘an interlude’, derives from the Greek word ἐμβόλιον, which has the meanings ‘interlude’ and ‘episode’ (LSJ). Emboliariae were likely specialty dancers, gymnasts, singers or comedians who entertained during scene changes or between acts of longer programs (Starks 2004: 35). As with some of the performers discussed, Phoebe also died at a very young age of twelve. The extant evidence suggests that most of the young performers, puellae in a way, were mourned and given an epitaph remembering the path that they embarked on but failed to accomplish due to their untimely deaths. This very circumstance lends additional weight to the notion of doctrina, as parents or kin mourned not only the child’s loss but also the unrealized future she might have attained within the performative sphere.

In the Roman Empire, as Christian Laes (2011) discusses, children’s labour was deeply rooted in the social and economic setting, especially among the lower classes. For these families, child labour was both a necessity and an investment. Many children typically followed their parents’ occupations. For instance, Theodora followed her family into the theatrical arts when her mother put her children on stage as they came of age (Procopius, Anecdota 9.8–10). Additionally, the epitaph referring to the sons of Basileus, who were raised as slaves in the house of his enslaved father, mentioned that Elenchius (aged one), Euplus and Vincentius (both aged five) were referred to as ‘gymnastic boys’ (pueri gymnici) in the epitaph of their master (CIL VI, 10158). While underlining the fewer options that children of slaves had, in this case from a very young age they were trained in the occupational activity in preparation for their adult lives (Laes 2011: 195–197). Children of theatrical families seemed to have had little practical alternative. Born into such families predetermined their occupational and social standing, highlighting how, for the children of the lower classes and the enslaved alike, Roman society offered very little room for a life different from the one into which they were born. However, these individual cases highlight not only economic necessity but also a structured system in which children’s bodies were instrumental from the earliest possible age.

The final epitaph discussed here is of Bassilla, the mime actress, which is written in Greek (CIG XIV 2342; Figure 1).

Her epitaph, dated to the third century AD, is found in Aquileia, Venetia. Since she was a travelling performer, her ‘last resting place was a foreign land’ (Webb 2008: 45). ‘Many peoples and many cities’ present Bassilla as a travelling performer (Τὴν πολλοῖς δῆμοισι πάρος πολλάσι δὲ πόλεσσι) who is famous for acting in plays, mimes and choruses (dances or songs) (σκηναῖσι λαβοῦσαν … παντοίης ἀρετῆς ἐν μειμόις εἶτα χοροῖς). Travelling highlights her widespread fame as a performer. Given all these skills, scholars have debated what her profession may have been (Prauscello 2004; Webb 2008). This is, in a way, another instance where the genre can be blurry when it concerns these performance types because the term χοροῖς, meaning dances or songs, was mainly associated with pantomimes (Starks 2004: 186). Webb (2002: 289) interprets εἶτα (‘then’) as signalling that she performed both mime and pantomime either simultaneously or in succession. Considering all this, we may assume she had a versatile career. The dedicator Herakildes, being a βιολόγος, a synonym for a mime actor, further attests to this idea that Bassilla associated with the mime troupes (Maxwell 1993: 31, 41).

Bassilla’s portrait bust appears above the epitaph. She is wearing a tunic and palla, and she is making a gesture with her right hand, two fingers touching her palla, which is considered a gesture suggesting she is reciting or addressing the passerby (Webb 2008: 145; Stafford 2022: 350). Further, this creates a performative interaction between her and a passerby (akin to an audience member), in which she performs one last time for each passerby. This resonates with the portrait bust that appears in the epitaph of the mime actor Eucharistos, as he also makes the same gesture, suggesting that it is a conventional way of presenting mime performers. It is almost as if it is ‘a metatheatrical allusion to the drama of life’ (Prauscello 2004: 58). One of the main points regarding the visual representation of Bassilla is how she was portrayed in the dress of a respectable Roman woman of the time. Contrary to the popular stigma of social infamia attached to the actresses, she is given an honourable and respectable portrayal despite the nudity and revealing costumes associated with the mime actresses.

The theatrical expressions project the brief nature of life and performance. The once expressive body at the end yields to silence and stillness. Even though on the one hand this highlights the nature of death, ‘no one is immortal’ (οὐδεὶς ἀθάνατος), on the other hand, it preserves the everlasting impact of the performer’s art even in death. The reference to her as the tenth Muse (τῇ δέκατῃ Μούσῃ) resonates with the epithet given to the poetess Sappho in the literary tradition. None of the lyric poets of her time was given this honour, which elevated her poetic achievements and at the same time separated her from the male poets (Gosetti-Murrayjohn 2006: 42). The way they link imagery from the stage itself again is quite striking and shows the value of her talents and prestige. Further, her body lying on the ground of the Muses, μουσικὸν εἰς δάπεδον σώμ’ ἀναπαυσαμένη, indicates that her final resting place is possibly a land dedicated to the theatrical performers, similar to the boundary stone in the cemetery which was found in Rome dedicated to the association of mime actresses (CIL VI, 10109).

The way the commemorators link imagery from the stage itself again is quite striking and emphasizes the mime actress’s talents and prestige on stage. Thus, her final story is closely connected to her life as a mime actress. In fact, an unnamed epitaph of a mime actress describes her past success in performing the roles of the goddesses (ut divas pl]acidas saltavi), known for her expressive facial expressions (vocales vultus fui cognita digne), and it ends by asking both gods and people to keep telling ‘my story’ (meos casus) so that ‘herstory’ lives on (ut semper vivit mea fama per annos, AE 1968). This line sums up the collective memory of these performers that was preserved through time. Fama establishes the fact that their lives were deemed worthy of praise and that their narratives merited preservation within cultural history. The epitaphs discussed in this study collectively reveal that the mime actresses were not just set at the edges of Roman cultural life but were celebrated and mourned as skilled performers whose talents left a lasting memory on those who witnessed them.

This paper has sought to recover something that the ancient literary tradition was not designed to preserve: the professional identity, artistic authority and human complexity of the mime actresses of the late Republic and early Imperial period. In the eyes of those who commissioned their epitaphs, the mimae existed as talented and praiseworthy performers, deserving of commemoration and public memory. In the eyes of certain ancient writers, by contrast, they were figures of moral contempt, unworthy of praise and unfit for respectable society.

This paper recovers certain aspects that the ancient literary tradition failed to preserve: the professional identity and artistic authority of the mime actresses of the late Republic and early Imperial period. In the eyes of the commemorator, the mime actress exists as a talented, praiseworthy performer, while with certain writers, she is unworthy of any praise or even sitting next to her in public. Thus, these contradictory opinions hinder and prevent modern readers from grasping the position the mime actresses had in the past. These epitaphs collectively show that the doctrina of a female performer, whether a mime actress, singer or musician, was highly valued by their family and their social groups. The affectionate language used to memorialize these performers further reflects the honour bestowed on the dead.

In a way, looking into this alternate history is challenging and at the same time crucial. Adopting feminist perspectives and alternative readings to reassess history helps to understand the position of women in the theatrical space in ancient Rome. This is one reason why the mainstream literary culture may not be the only source for understanding their lives; one needs to seek elsewhere for more. Mime actresses have been misrepresented in literary sources due to the prevailing biases during that era. Their narratives as well-known, skilled artists were overshadowed by the narrative of the promiscuous actress. In this regard, inscriptions, due to their dual nature of being both literal and etched on stone, serve as valuable ‘archaeo-literary’ evidence, bridging the gap between literary and archaeological sources to narrate ‘herstory’. Therefore, these epitaphs of mime actresses clearly act as active sites of self-representation rather than mere passive records. By analysing their epitaphs to narrate ‘herstory’, there is the opportunity to rewrite the stories of mime actresses and recognize their historical significance.

The epitaphs, to a certain extent, give us a romanticized version of ‘herstory’. Beneath this surface lies a harsher reality, one which the contemporary literature presents, of women who faced endless scrutiny, social infamia and physical violence. These two contradictory portrayals are not mutually exclusive. Rather, they present different aspects of the same lived experience. We must read both truths in tension, the honoured memory inscribed in stone and the difficult circumstances written in literary record, recognizing that historical reality quite often exists between public commemoration and private struggle.

This case study of mime actresses reaches broader fields of erasure when understanding the lives of women in the Roman world. These selected epitaphs present a contrast to the silence and erasure that are evident in the literary records of the time. It is not about their insignificance in history, but it is about the androcentric literary world that decided whose voices and presence should be preserved. The lived reality that can be seen in these epigraphical sources presents how social hierarchies are deeply rooted in these fragmented records. As the rest of the articles in this collection clearly portray, material evidence from the ancient world helps us avoid re-enacting the ancient prejudices. Both literary and archaeological sources are essential to build up the narratives preserved from the past of marginalized women, due to their gender, profession and status, thus challenging the preserved knowledge.