12.4 - The Passion of Perpetua and Felicity (2012)

T h e Pa s s i o n o f P e r p e t u a a n d F e l i c i t y
Paris MS Biblilothèque nationale Latin 17626

The
Pa s s i o n
of
Perpetua
and
Felicity
Thomas J. Heffernan
1
1
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Heffernan, Thomas J., 1944–
The Passion of Perpetua and Felicity /Thomas J. Heffernan.
p. cm.
“The English translation”—P.
Includes bibliographical references (p.) and indexes.
ISBN 978-0-19-977757-0
1. Perpetua, Saint, d. 203. 2. Felicity, Saint, d. 203.
3. Martyrdom—Christianity. 4. Christian martyrs—Italy.
I. Passio SS. Perpetuae et Felicitatis. English. II. Title.
BR1720.P42H44 2012
270.1092′52093973—dc23 2011030628
1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
Printed in the United States of America

on acid-free paper
For Anne, Judy and Anne
Mother, wife and daughter
with love.
This page intentionally left blank
Contents
Preface / ix
Abbreviations / xv
Map / xxvii
I. T H E P E R S O N A E I N T H E PA S S IO / 3
II. T H E DAT E O F T H E PA S S IO / 60
III. T H E L A N G UAG E O F CO M P O S I T I O N / 79
I V. T H E L AT I N T E X T / 100
V. T H E E N G L I S H T R A N S L AT I O N / 125
VI. T H E CO M M E N TA RY / 136
A P P E N D I X I : M A N U S CR I P TS A N D E D I T I O N S / 369
APPENDIX II: THE GREEK TEXT / 445
Select Bibliography / 457

Index Verborum / 471
Index Nominum / 525
Index Biblicus et Patristicus / 527
General Index / 531
P r e fac e
I first came across the Passion of Perpetua and Felicity as a PhD student at Cam-
bridge University working one afternoon in the University Library. I was not
working on martyrdom in the early Church at the time, but rather I was reading
fifth- and sixth-century Latin texts of saints’ lives which had incorporated non-
Christian motifs. I will never forget my astonishment as I came upon the story of
Perpetua and her fellow martyrs. At first I did not know what to make of it. Such
a rhetorically powerful and layered narrative, I thought, must be a fiction, since
we had no evidence of other first-person narratives by women from this period. I
assumed therefore that this early composition was a skilled effort of a rhetorically
sophisticated hagiographer and that its appeal to later Christian audiences was a
foundational one. That is, these heroic figures were meant to function as the prin-
cipal, albeit sacral, figures of a tradition’s beginning—perhaps like Washington
and Jefferson—and thus, at some level, they exist outside of time as paradigms of
a noble but irretrievable past. I concluded that the rhetorical sophistication pre-
sent in some passages was evidence of its “literariness.” I remember being puzzled
as to how later medieval Christians might use these individuals as models of
imitation, particularly since the period of persecutions had long passed.
I remember pondering these matters and a host of other questions, but with
the quick conviction of a young graduate student, I dismissed the autobiograph-
ical claims as a rhetorical device, and I settled comfortably on the presumption
that yes, the Passion was a fiction, likely composed sometime during the eighth or
• ix •
x • Preface
ninth century by a pious Christian biographer, as it surely did not represent what
I had come to understand as a “typical” hagiography. While I put it aside, I could
never quite put the Passion out of my mind. It continued to inhabit a part of my
consciousness, where it remained as a trace memory of a behavior only barely
possible within a human frame. Yet I could not escape the intuition that the
behavior being celebrated could represent the very quintessence of human
agency—integrity held so dearly that life itself is worth sacrificing for it. Fifteen
years were to pass before I decided to return to this unique representation of late
antique Christian martyrdom.
I began my serious study of the text as a skeptic, believing the authenticity of
the narrative a traditional pious fiction. Yet the more time I spent reading and
pondering a host of issues concerning the narrative—for example, Tertullian’s
possible role in its composition, women’s education in third century Roman
North Africa, the role of the paterfamilias in the Empire, the actuality that people
were being executed in the most barbarous manner for their belief, the manu-
script tradition, the presence of historical figures in the narrative, the myriad
details correctly identifying what we know of Roman prisons—the more my
skepticism waned. I began to consider that perhaps the historical record could
include a unique record that violates what we have come to read as normative and
received. The idea of a young Roman matron composing so skillful a document
was unheard-of. Illiteracy was customary for non-elite men and most women. Yet
simply the fact that literacy rates for women were almost nonexistent cannot
mean that all women were illiterate. Thankfully, modern scholarship is beginning
to recover those lost voices. I became increasingly persuaded that the Passion was
indeed a document that preserved a memory of an actual event, an event which
had surely changed through transmission but at whose core was a historically
verifiable reality.
I grant that there is much in the Passion and, indeed, in the depiction of Per-
petua herself, particularly in her depiction at the hands of the redactor, that is
“literary” and indebted to earlier texts, and that there are very obvious and delib-
erate borrowings sprinkled throughout the text. But these borrowings were a tradi-
tional part of the rhetoric of such composition. They were not meant to deceive but
to enhance the narrative, and they were meant to be recognized by the audience.
For example, the redactor’s deliberate echo of the heroic figure of Polyxena from
Euripides’s Hecuba (2.568–70) in the Passion (XX.4) is purposely intended to par-
allel the heroism of Perpetua with that of Polyxena. Such a textual echo is a pal-
pable indicator of how significant the imagined figures of the classical past
remained to their newly converted Christian audience. In short, like other literary
compositions from the period, it moves easily and with non-contradiction between
the worlds of fact and fiction, if it understands such a distinction at all.
Preface • xi
I did not decide to embark on an edition of the Passion at first, but rather I was
interested in situating this text in the tradition of the literature of martyrdom,
which begins in earnest with the Martyrdom of Polycarp. While there are some
few notable female figures in the Gospels—Mary Magdalene, Mary mother of
James and Joses, and Salome—and in Paul’s letters, where we discover leaders
such as Lunia, Phoebe, Euodia, and Syntyche, the late second century provides
few names of genuinely historical figures. Prisca, Maximilla, and Blandina are
among the few females to emerge from the historical record. Yet none of these
emerge into the historical light with such vividness and such individuality as does
Perpetua. My early plan was to investigate different aspects of Perpetua’s life in
the context of what we could know of women in Roman African society and then
to account for the surprising lack of her cult’s popularity in the Middle Ages.
Here, I thought, we have someone whose historical presence was so much more
verifiable than her putative contemporaries, like her fellow martyrs Balbina,
Sophia, and Sophia’s three youthful daughters, Pistis, Elpis, and Agape, and yet
the hagiographers of the later Middle Ages appear to have ignored her story and
seized on more apocryphal ones. I have since decided that the relative silence
on the part of later hagiographers concerning the Passion has to do with their
belief in the text’s historicity, and hence their judgment that it was less malleable
to normative hagiographic embellishment. I suspect this understanding of the
Passion was the rationale which led to the creation of the Acta Perpetuae.
There is an ever-growing body of work on the Passion. Indeed, there has been
an avalanche of studies in the past half century, and many of them are very good.
As I read the various editions and translations of the text available to me and com-
pared them to those of Robinson (1890), Shewring (1931), and van Beek (1936),
it soon became evident that English lacked a good modern rendering of the text,
nor was there a satisfactory historical commentary in English. Indeed, until the
editions of Bastiaensen and Amat, there was little in the way of a satisfactory com-
mentary in any modern language. My survey of the editions and English transla-
tions revealed their enormous differences. For example, the Bindley translation
(1900) is not complete; Wallis (1925) has no notes; Muncey and Owen (both
1927) produced a reader’s edition with no notes, based on Robinson’s text;
Shewring (1931), though accurate in many details, is outdated despite Halsall’s
revisions (1996) and has few notes; Musurillo (1968) tends to theologize
unnecessarily and has virtually no commentary; Rader (1981) simply translated
Robinson, with few notes; Dronke (1984) took his text from van Beek, and his
commentary, while interesting, is abbreviated; Sebeste’s is not complete; and
Tilley’s (2000) has virtually no notes. Furthermore, none of the English transla-
tions mentioned above are based on a study of the extant manuscripts. My trans-
lation is based on a reading of the manuscripts and, while attempting to preserve
xii • Preface
the nuances of the Latin, is ever mindful of the inescapable truth of the Italian
proverb traduttore traditore.
I decided to translate the text but to base my translation on a fresh reading of
the manuscripts and to provide a new Latin text and a detailed historical com-
mentary. Van Beek’s text (1936) is laudable, but it is based only on the manu-
scripts available to him, and Amat’s does not provide detailed manuscript
descriptions or complete lemmata. I have tried to provide the English reader with
as authoritative an edition as that of van Beek, while also providing the first com-
plete description of all the known extant manuscripts. This has meant traveling to
some of the world’s most interesting places and finding myself having unex-
pected adventures: studying in the library of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher
and living in East Jerusalem during Israel’s bombing of Syria, or seeing the beauty
and the splendid isolation wrought by a March blizzard while working in the
Benedictine monastery of Einsiedeln. The Passion has increased my appreciation
for life’s unexpected surprises and contradictions, and for that I am thankful.
The present study contains three introductory chapters on subjects which
have concerned and vexed readers and editors of the Passion for centuries: the
individuals named in the Passion, the probable composition date of the narrative,
and the language of the original composition. I then provide a critical edition of
the Latin text using manuscript Monte Cassino 204 as my base text, with variant
readings drawn from the additional eight Latin manuscripts. I make reference to
the Greek text in the lemmata only when there is a significant variant. I next pro-
vide a translation of my Latin text, seeking to represent the text faithfully while
not sacrificing readability for the modern audience. This is followed by a detailed
commentary on the Passion which explains pertinent historical, theological, and
philological issues. I follow the commentary with the only extended discussion
of the Latin and Greek manuscripts of the Passion. My study of the manuscripts
was in every instance made in situ. I also make available in an appendix my tran-
scription of the Greek manuscript. I provide it as a courtesy to the reader, since I
cite the Greek frequently in the commentary and its presence will allow for ease
of comparison. I also make available an extensive index verborum which gives a
full morphological accounting of all the major words in the Passion. This is not
only useful in its own right, but it provides the reader with a tool for assessing the
myriad silent choices which went into making the translation. Lastly, the indices
provide a quick way to navigate throughout the volume. It is my hope that this
plan for the edition offers the reader what the world of commerce has come to
call “one-stop shopping.”
I have presented many papers on the subject of the Passion and have benefited
enormously from generous readers who have provided me with their invalu-
able comments. Among them I would be remiss if I did not thank my colleagues
Preface • xiii
Jan M. Bremmer, Michael Kulikowski, Alan Bernstein, Christine Shepardson,

Maura Lafferty, Gregor Kalas, Richard Emmerson, Laura Howes, Mary Dzon,
David Linge, James Fitzgerald, Barbara Gold, and many of my overworked and
talented graduate students, particularly those in our Late Antiquity seminar. I
was fortunate to have had the opportunity to lead a National Endowment for
the Humanities Seminar on Perpetua and Augustine in Tunisia in the summer
of 2010. We used my Latin text, translation, and commentary of the Passion. It
is difficult to imagine the Passion being discussed with more intellectual rigor,
insight, and sensitivity, and we were in the very city of its composition. I am
indebted to these wonderful scholars and friends and wish to acknowledge
Charlotte Allen, Sarah Byers, Stephanie Cobb, Kate Cooper, Jennifer Ebbler,
Kevin Gustafson, George Heffernan, Cindy Ho, David Hunter, Amalia Jiva,
Candida Moss, Katie Peters, Josephine Shaya, Ken Steinhauser, and John Whit-
mier. I wish to acknowledge the assistance of Will Fontanez of the University of
Tennessee Cartographic Services for the map and Ashley Combest of the Uni-
versity of Tennessee. Lastly, I would also like to thank my editor at Oxford Uni-
versity Press, Cynthia Read, for her enthusiasm for the project, as well as my
copy editor Stephen Dodson.
My work could not have taken place without the graciousness of so many
libraries and their staff, who provided me with their hospitality and their gra-
cious permission to print from their manuscripts. I would like to thank his emi-
nence the Orthodox Patriarch of Jerusalem, Theophilus III, for his kindness and
generosity to me, and particularly the Archbishop of the Office of the Greek
Patriarch in Jerusalem; the Reverend Dom Pietro Vittorelli OSB, Archabbot of
Monte Cassino, and the librarian Reverend Don Faustino of Monte Cassino;
Reverend Abbot Martin Werlen of Einsiedeln; the staff of the reading room of
the Bibliothèque nationale de France; the staff and the librarian of the Ambro-
siana Library, Milan; the Bodleian Library of the University of Oxford and the
Cambridge University libraries, as well as the college libraries of those two great
universities; Catherine Armett of Salisbury Cathedral Library; and the librarian
of Canterbury Cathedral Library, as well as the staff of the Hodges Library of the
University of Tennessee. I have been fortunate to have received support for this
project from the Hodges Better English Fund from the University of Tennessee,
from the University of Tennessee Graduate School, and from a fellowship
awarded by the National Endowment for the Humanities.
My work on the Passion took me to Tunisia where it would have been impos-
sible to do research without the support of the Centre d’Etudes Maghrébines à
Tunis, and its director Dr. Lawrence Michalak. I owe a special debt to its knowl-
edgeable associate director Mr. Riadh Sadaoui for his unfailing kindness and
patience and to Mr. Habib Messoud. Drs. Abdelmagid and Liliane Ennabli of the
xiv • Preface
Carthage Museum were generous with their time. Ms. Christina Hila showed me
the ropes early on and introduced me a number of helpful Tunisians. I owe the
greatest debt for the years I worked in Tunisia to my dear friend and gifted archae-
ologist Dr. Nejib Ben Lazreg of the Institut du patrimoine Tunisie. Nejib was a
source of support, unfailing good advice, good humor and knows the archaeology
of Roman Tunisia as only someone who has spent his entire life digging it could.
It remains for me to thank a most singular colleague. Professor James E. Shelton
has worked by my side for the last six years, listening to my ideas, rereading and
editing my drafts with his skilled pen and making his deep knowledge of Greek and
Latin available to me. I think it fair to state that this would not be the same without
Jim’s extraordinary effort. Lastly, I doubt if this project could have continued if it
were not for the support of my daughter Anne and my wife Judy and their patient
forbearance and good humor. Conversations around our dinner table for far too
long, I suspect, have ranged from persecution in Roman Africa to the role of elite
women in Roman African Christianity. I know they are delighted to see Perpetua
and her companions on my library shelf and absent from the evening meal. I want
to remember my mother Anne Heffernan; she did not live to see publication, but I
am certain she is smiling on us as this book finally sees the light of day.
A b b r e v i at i o n s
GENERAL
LXX Septuagint
Vet. Vetus
Vulg. Vulgate
P R I M A RY S O U R C E S
Books of the Bible
Old Testament
Gn Genesis Na Nahum
Ex Exodus Hb Habakkuk
Lv Leviticus 1–2 Chr 1–2 Chronicles
Nm Numbers Ezr Ezra
Dt Deuteronomy Neh Nehemiah
Jo Joshua Est Esther
Jgs Judges Jb Job
Ru Ruth Pss Psalms
1–2 Sm 1–2 Samuel Prv Proverbs
1–2 Kgs 1–2 Kings Eccl Ecclesiastes
• xv •
xvi • Abbreviations
Sg Song of Solomon Hos Hosea

Is Isaiah Jl Joel
Zep Zephaniah Am Amos
Hg Haggai Ob Obadiah
Jer Jeremiah Jon Jonah
Lam Lamentations Mi Micah
Ez Ezekiel Zec Zechariah
Dn Daniel Mal Malachi
Deuterocanonical books cited
Add Esth Additions to Esther

1–4 Mc 1–4 Maccabees
Tb Tobit
Ws Wisdom of Solomon
New Testament
Mt Matthew 1–2 Thes 1–2 Thessalonians

Mk Mark 1–2 Tm 1–2 Timothy
Lk Luke Ti Titus
Jn John Phlm Philemon
Acts Acts of the Apostles Heb Hebrews
Rom Romans Jas James
1–2 Cor 1–2 Corinthians 1–2 Pt 1–2 Peter
Gal Galatians 1–3 Jn 1–3 John
Eph Ephesians Jude Jude
Phil Philippians Rv Revelation
Col Colossians
Apostolic Fathers
Barn. Epistle of Barnabas Herm. Vis. Shepherd of Hermas,
1–2 Clem. 1–2 Clement Visions
Did. Didache Ign. Eph . Ignatius, To the Ephesians
Herm. Man. Shepherd of Hermas, Ign. Magn . Ignatius, To the
Mandates Magnesians
Herm. Sim . Shepherd of Hermas, Ign. Phild. Ignatius, To the
Similitudes Philadelphians
Abbreviations • xvii
Ign. Pol . Ignatius, To Polycarp Ign. Trall. Ignatius, To the Trallians

Ign. Rom . Ignatius, To the Romans Mart. Pol. Martyrdom of Polycarp
Ign. Smyr. Ignatius, To the Smyrneans
Ambrose
Expo. Luc. Expositio Evangelii secundum Lucam
Apuleius (Apul.)
Apol. Apologia
Met. Metamorphoses
Arnobius (Arn.)
Adv. Nat. Adversus Nationes
Artemidorus (Artem.)
Oneir. Oneirocritica
Augustine (August.)
Conf. Confessiones Faust. Contra Faustum

De Civ. D. De Civitate Dei Orig. An. De Anima et eius Origine
Enn. Ps. Ennarationes in Psalmos Serm. Sermones
Ep. Epistulae
Cassius Dio (Cass. Dio)

Catullus (Catull.)
Celsus (Cels.)
Med. De Medicina
Chrysostom, John (Chrys.)
Hom. 1–88 in Jo. Homiliae 1–88 in Johannem

xviii • Abbreviations
Cicero (Cic.)
Att. Epistulae ad Atticum Off. De Officiis

Brut. Brutus Rep. De Re Publica
Div. De Divinatione Sen. De Senectute
Invent. De Inventione Sest. Pro Sestio
Mil. Pro Milone Verr. In Verrem
Claudian (Claud.)
In Ruf. In Rufinum
Clement of Alexandria (Clem. Al.)
Paed. Paedagogus
Strom. Stromateis
Columella
Rust. De Re Rustica
Commodiaus (Commod.)
Carmen Apol . Carmen Apologeticum
Cyprian (Cypr.)
Adv. Jud. Adversus Judaeos Mort. De Mortalitate

Ep. Epistulae Op. De Opere et Eleemosynis
Laps. De Lapsis
Dio Cassius (Dio Cass.)

Eusebius (Euseb.)
Hist. Eccl. Historia Ecclesiastica

Praep. Evang. Praeparatio Evangelica
Abbreviations • xix
Festus (Festus)
Frontinus (Frontin.)
Str. Strategemata
Gospel of Mary (Gosp Mary)
Heliodorus (Heliod.)
Aeth. Aethiopica
Hilary of Poitiers (Hil. Poit.)
In Matt. Commentarium in Matthaeum
Hippolytus (Hipp.)
Dan. Commentarium in Danielem

Trad. Ap. Traditio Apostolica
Homer (Hom.)
Il. Iliad
Od. Odyssey
Horace (Hor.)
Carm. Carmina or Odes

Epod. Epodi
Irenaeus (Iren.)
Haer. Adversus Haereses
Jerome
Adv. Adversus Iovinianum

Adv. Ruf. Apologia adversus libros Rufini
In Ier. In Ieremiam
xx • Abbreviations
Justin Martyr (Justin)
1 Apol . 1 Apologia
2 Apol. 2 Apologia
Dial. Dialogus cum Tryphone Judaeo
Res. De Resurrectione
Juvenal (Juv.)
Sat. Saturae
Lactantius (Lactant.)
De Mort . Pers De Mortibus Persecutorum
Livy (Liv.)
Lucan (Luc.)
Ltr Chr Lyons & Vienn Letter of the Churches of Lyons and Vienne
Martial (Mart.)
Epig. Epigrammata
Minucius Felix (Min. Fel.)
Oct. Octavius
Musonius Rufus
Dis. Homiliai
Origen (Or.)
Comm. Jo. Commentarii in Evangelium Joannis

Cont. Cel. Contra Celsum
Exh. Mart. Exhortatio ad Martyrium
Hom . Ex. Homiliae in Exodum
Princ. De Principiis
Abbreviations • xxi
Ovid (Ov.)
Met. Metamorphoses
Petronius (Petron.)
Sat. Satyrica
Plato (Pl.)
Cra. Cratylus
Leg. Leges
Phdr. Phaedrus
Plautus (Plaut.)
Cist. Cistellaria
Pliny the Elder (Plin.)
HN Naturalis Historia
Pliny the Younger (Plin.)
Ep. Epistulae
Plutarch (Plut.)
Lys. Lysander
Mor. Moralia
Procopius (Procop.)
Vand. De Bello Vandalico
Prudentius (Prudent.)
Perist. Peristephanon
Quintilian (Quint.)
Inst. Institutio oratoria

xxii • Abbreviations
Sallust (Sall.)
Cat. Bellum Catilinae or De Catilinae Coniuratione
Seneca the Younger (Sen.)
Ep. Epistulae
Q. Nat. Quaestiones Naturales
Sophocles (Soph.)
Ant. Antigone
Statius (Stat.)
Theb. Thebais
Suetonius (Suet.)
Aug. Divus Augustus Otho Otho

Calig. Gaius Caligula Tib. Tiberius
Iul. Divus Iulius Vesp. Divus Vespasianus
Ner. Nero
Tacitus (Tac.)
Ann. Annales
Hist. Historiae
Terence (Ter.)
An. Andria
Phorm. Phormio
Tertullian (Tert.)
Ad Nat. Ad Nationes Carn . Chr. De Carne Christi

Ad Ux . Ad Uxorem Cor. De Corona Militis
Apol . Apologeticum De Anim. De Testimonio Animae
Abbreviations • xxiii
De Bapt. De Baptismo Mart. Ad Martyras

De Cultu Fem. De Cultu Feminarum Or. De Oratione
De Fuga De Fuga Paen. De Paenitentia
De Monog. De Monogamia Praescr. De Praescriptione
De Pal. De Pallio Haereticorum
De Pat . De Patientia Prax. Adversus Praxean
De Spect. De Spectaculis Pud. De Pudicitia
Exh. Cast. De Exhortatione Castitatis Res. De Resurrectione Carnis
Idol. De Idololatria Scap. Ad Scapulam
Iei. De Ieiunio Scorp. Scorpiace
Marc. Adversus Marcionem
Theophilus (Theoph.)
Ad Autol. Ad Autolycum
Tibullus (Tib.)
Eleg. Elegiae
Ulpian (Ulp.)
Dig. Digesta
Valerius Maximus (Val. Max.)

Virgil (Verg.)
Aen. Aeneis
Ecl. Ecologae
Xenophon (Xen.)
Symp. Symposium
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xxiv • Abbreviations
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CCSL Corpus Christianorum: Series Latina.
CIL Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum.
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CSCL Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Latinorum.
CSEL Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum.
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Abbreviations • xxv
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PIR Prosopographia Imperii Romani Saec. I, II, III, edited by E. Groag and
A. Stein. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1958.
RAC Reallexicon für Antike und Christentum.
Schmoller Schmoller, A., ed. Handkonkordanz zum griechischen Neuen
Testament. Stuttgart: Württembergische Bibelanstalt, 1994.
Seyffert, et al. Seyffert, O., H. Nettleship, and J. E. Sandys. The Dictionary of
Classical Mythology, Religion, Literature and Art. New York: Random
House, 1995.
Souter Souter, A. A Glossary of Later Latin to 600 A.D. Oxford: Clarendon,
1949.
TLL Thesaurus Linguae Latinae.
Werblowsky and Wigoder Werblowsky, R. J. Z., and G. Wigoder, eds.
The Oxford Dictionary of the Jewish Religion. New York: Oxford University
Press, 1997.
Vetus Vetus Latina, edited by P. Sabatier. Freiburg: Herder, 1953.
Africa Proconsularis
T h e Pa s s i o n o f P e r p e t u a a n d F e l i c i t y
I
T HE PERSONAE IN
THE PASSIO
The Passio’s claim to be an autobiography has elevated it to iconic status for

some and has made it a stumbling block for others. Let me first briefly discuss this
perplexing issue of genre. What precisely are we to call this narrative? I discuss the
complex tripartite structure (possibly quadripartite) of the Passio at length below,
and so will limit my remarks here to some reflections on the “autobiographical”
sections of the narrative (Chapters III–XIV), composed by Perpetua and Saturus.
Most discussions of the genre of the Passio attempt to define it by stating what it
is not. This is understandable, as the Passio resists easy generic categories. It claims
to represent at least two first-person narrative accounts of certain carefully
selected events. While there are certainly intimate details presented in Perpetua’s
narrative account of herself, it does not advance our understanding to label these
as constituent of an autobiography. The modern term has no ancient analogue.
First-person narratives typically seduce the reader into being a co-constructor of
a narrative, projecting into the text’s dynamic silences our unwitting assumptions
in order to resolve its aporias. Such assumptions then become part of our
understanding of the text, and eventually they become indistinguishable from the
historic ancient voices. The skeptical reader must seek to excise these unconscious
additions. It is partly because of this dual nature of first-person narrative—that is,
being neither history nor fiction—that the ancients avoided it. Even biography
was felt to belong neither to history nor to encomium and held a less exalted place
in the rhetorical arts of the classical world.
• 3 •
4 • T H E PA S S I O N O F P E R P ET UA A N D F E L I CI T Y
Perpetua provides no authorial decision, stated or implicit, that she intends to

provide an accounting of her life, unlike Augustine in his Confessions. Her narrative
begins in medias res with her discussion of her father’s visit to her while she is
detained under house arrest. She never reveals explicitly the reason for her arrest
and says virtually nothing about her life before her arrest. Saturus’s visionary
narrative is explicitly a post-mortem eschatological revelation set in heaven, with
no interest in self-analysis or description of life events. His narrative is a visionary
journey of the soul’s journey to God, hardly an autobiographical anecdote.
Both of the first-person sections of the Passio, we are told, are composed in
prison, likely in snatches. Perpetua’s account has the feel of a diary, but even this
term does not adequately describe it, since, unlike a diary, which is typically
composed diurnally and concerned with the moment, the Passio exhibits a more
deliberate reflective and occasionally allusive style.1 Further, unlike a diary, it has a
deliberate thematic teleology, and it was intended for an audience. Moreover, it is
not a memoir, since the events being described are largely set in the present or the
future, and they are not the avowed product of memory but rather have an
exemplary intention. I have argued earlier that the Passio more resembles the
ὑπóμνημα, but this form, while it was intended to be read by others, was not
typically used to record such intimate details as the condition of one’s breasts, the
fear of the dark, the personal conflict with a parent or the prison wardens, or scenes
before God’s throne.2 The Passio combines features of the ὑπóμνημα with other
genres, e.g., influences from the peripatetic tradition, from the literature of
consolation referred to as the exitus illustrium virorum, and from the epistolary
tradition. For example, it shares characteristics with Paul’s Epistle to the Philippians,
with the Letter of the Churches of Lyons and Vienne, and with more modern works
like Bonhoeffer’s Letters and Papers from Prison or King’s “Letter from a Birmingham
Jail.” However, in contrast to these works, its “pastoral” intention is subordinated to
a celebration of prophetic leadership. It is not merely the fact that some of the texts
I have cited are penned from prison. Yes, that is the common thread that unites
them, and though that is important, these narratives also embody the expression
of intimate details by a respected community leader, addressed to a community,
and intended—in the case of Perpetua—to offer words of consolation and
instruction, and further as a model to be emulated by her audience. While all these
characteristics do exist in the Passio, they are not programmatically present. Rather,
1. M. Corti, Un ponte tra latino e italiano, Bibliotheca di Autografo 9 (Novara: Interlinea,

2002), 39: “Perpetua, donna colta, geniale, di ventidue anni, sponsata con un bimbo, che scrive
personalmente il suo diario in prigione.”
2. “Philology and Authorship”; and LSJ, s.v. ὑπόμνημα.
The Personae in the Passio • 5
they are embedded organically in the imagination of the author, expressed in

narratives of dreams and out-of-body visions, and they frequently coalesce only as
a product of the text’s reception. Our attempt to locate it in genre is further
complicated by the oral texture of the narrative. The conversational tone and
almost idiomatic quality of the syntax lend to it the quality we are used to hearing
in an oral report provided by respondents at the end of a series of events.
The authenticity of the Passio is a perennial subject for scholarly debate, and one
that cannot be settled in any definitive manner. The issue of its genuineness can
even turn on sectarian lines: pious readers defend the historicity of the text against
those of a more skeptical nature, who read the martyr narratives as exemplary texts
created by a beleaguered community. The most frequently contested issue
concerns the historicity of Perpetua’s claim to having authored the narratives and
the depiction of her persona. We cannot claim with apodictic certainty that either
she or Saturus “authored” their respective narratives, but the weight of the
cumulative historical evidence in the text persuades me that they did, and that this
is a text authored in the early third century and edited by a close contemporary.
Those readers who argue against the claim of first-person authorship often
employ a recursive methodology in their argument. They frequently select textual
anecdotes from the Passio and compare them against what is known of lives of
third-century Roman females. The latter anecdotes, it should be emphasized, are
also derived from texts, though not from the styluses of women. If the textual
anecdote in the Passio differs too widely from the traditional historical record, the
Passio is suspect. While such skepticism is absolutely crucial to genuine historical
research, the figure of Perpetua qua author attracts an almost knee-jerk a priori
skepticism. This response is largely due to two assumptions concerning gender
and one concerning artistry: first, the normative “domestic” role of late antique
women and their limited literacy still exist as a monolithic given; second, since
the overwhelming evidence of the records we have of late antique women does
not represent women behaving as Perpetua does, this depiction, because it
deviates from the norm, is likely a forgery written by a male; and third, the text is
so artfully written—rich in metaphor and description, with allusions to Scripture,
Greek literary figures, and contemporary practices—that it surely must have
been composed in someone’s study and not in a dark, threatening prison by
someone awaiting execution.
While the voice of skepticism is crucial methodologically, these arguments are
founded largely on negative evidence alone or silence: if the historical record does
not provide for this narrative as a credible likelihood, then it is likely improbable.
Yet the opposite of this argument can also be made, and made plausibly—that
is, it is precisely the anomalous nature of the depicted behavior in the Passio that
speaks eloquently to its authenticity. People in all ages violate normative standards.
Indeed, standards exist because they seek to circumscribe deviant behaviors. The
reason the Passio exists is that it represents the desire by contemporary Christian
audiences to give voice to a behavior that challenged standards, a voice they all
knew from their struggle of managing the chaos of daily life to be well within the
realm of possibility, and one that serves as a testimony of their community’s
triumph over secular Rome. And as a record of that time, the Passio necessarily
employs rhetoric, which in its recreation of the past is as indebted to fiction as
much as to fact. A gifted writer need write (or dictate) no less well in prison than
in her study.
Readers since Augustine have asked important questions of the narrative,
questions which often have such unexpressed assumptions as the basis of their
skepticism. Augustine, who embodies the normative allegiance to gender roles of
a male of his time, is concerned with subordinating the feminine power explicit in
the Passio, praising Perpetua for having a male spirit in a female body, and noting
that her heroism is a process of Christ’s immanence in her soul (Serm. 281). He
reads her behavior and that of her slave Felicity as pious models of Christian
virtue and does not dwell on their historicity. Most inquiries concerning
Perpetua typically fix on the degree to which her behavior violates what we
expect of a Roman matron of the early third century. Such skepticism invariably
argues for male authorship of the Passio and is buttressed by analogous questions:
Can one trust her claim to have written the narrative in her own hand, given
what we know about the literacy of elite women in the Empire? Does the
sophistication of the narrative not suggest a carefully designed text, possibly
intended for catechesis? Does her public interaction with her father reflect
traditional Roman values? What was the jurisdictional basis which allowed her
father to take possession of her son? If she was married, why is her husband not
mentioned, and why did he or his family not claim the infant? Why, if she was a
citizen of some wealth, was she executed as if she were a criminal? How was she
able to write such compelling prose, and in a military prison of all places? Such
questions, and a host of others which focus exclusively on Perpetua, abound.
While such inquiries are necessary and significant, and need to be addressed, it is
important to note that the skepticism, as I proposed above, frequently proceeds
from a circular argument. Furthermore, there are an additional twenty-six men
and women mentioned in this brief narrative. These figures are rarely, if ever,
discussed. Yet they, too, are important, and an investigation of their histories can
add much to our understanding of the narrative; indeed, they add much to our
understanding of the representation of Perpetua herself.
While it is obvious that Perpetua is the most significant figure in the text, to
focus on Perpetua to the exclusion of the others restricts a fuller understanding of
the text. There is of course a salient reason why such an investigation has not been
undertaken: there is an absence of historic details concerning these other men

and women. In most instances we have just their names. Granting that as a grave
limitation, it does not follow that an investigation, even of the most meager
details, might not bring light where there is dark. While we cannot “know” them
as “individuals,” as agents seeking their way in the complex society of early
third-century Carthage, we can—if we seek to understand these men and women
as representative of contemporary social types—nonetheless deepen our
understanding of the text and the situation of the Christian community in
Carthage. In the ensuing discussion I have sought to broaden this exclusivity of
focus on Perpetua, and I will present what we can establish about the identities of all
the figures, including Perpetua, mentioned in the narrative. I will discuss these figures
as they appear in the narrative.
As I indicated above, the Passio is best considered a hybrid of different narrative
forms—prison narrative, hypomnema, oral reportage, and the epistolary tradition—
and the identities of the characters in the narrative cannot be known in any
substantial way. That is, I do not believe that the texts can provide a nuanced
understanding of their interior lives or of the complex personal histories which
underlie their actions. The narrative depicts men and women acting and being
acted upon. It provides us with behaviors but does not illuminate the complex
internal forces which gave birth to such actions. It may seem paradoxical, even
downright contradictory given my position that their internal lives are in a sense, a
priori, beyond our grasp, that I have chosen to begin my introduction with a
discussion of the people in the narrative, particularly as we have so little information
about them. However, this lack of any corroborative historical information limits
but does not close the door on what we can say about them as individuals acting
within assigned social roles.
Ancient texts—even creedal narratives like the Gospels, despite their diverse
depictions of the figure of Jesus—allow, by virtue of their differences, the close
reader to discern through textual comparison common characteristics. From these
depictions, historians can establish some baseline characteristics. Although it is far
more difficult to do such analysis when the testimony is limited to a single text, it
is nonetheless possible to construct the textual identities of the individuals if they
are read against the public roles assigned in the text. Such a method should allow
us to reconstruct how close to the historical reality these brief biographical
vignettes prove to be. In other words, we can construct what I would call a social
typology of an individual—a composite portrait based on what the textual rhetoric
tells us they were, and not on the ontology of who they were. Such a study can
provide a richer understanding of the types of individuals who were participants
in the drama. Such information should also prove useful in adjudicating the
Passio’s claims to authenticity, since the degree of correspondence or the lack
thereof that exists between the textual representations and the historical record—
as I suggested above—provides another way of weighing the authenticity of its
claim to be genuine, drawn from a unique life.
The Passio provides historical clues concerning twenty-seven individuals. From
this limited information, I hope to reconstruct something of their social personae
as they are depicted in the narrative. Sometimes the details are entirely inferential
and as scant as a single name. Yet even here I hope I have been able to elicit some
important details about those members of Perpetua’s circle and her persecutors
which will contribute to our understanding of this zealously eschatological
Christian community of early third-century Carthage.
T H E E XOR DI U M A N D T H E R E DA C TO R
Unlike all the martyr narratives that preceded it—a genre which encompasses
such rhetorically diverse texts as the Martyrdom of Polycarp, the Martyrdom of
Saints Ptolemaeus and Lucius, the Acts of Justin and Companions, the Letter of the
Churches of Lyons and Vienne, and the Scillitan Martyrs3 —the Passion of Perpetua
and Felicity opens with a wonderfully constructed introduction, an exordium,4
which, while it does not strictly follow the classical rhetorical norms, is nonetheless
important, as it presents a sophisticated argument that allows us to reconstruct in
part the biography of the redactor of the Passio (hereafter R) and provides
significant insight into the classes of individuals who belonged to this small
Christian community. Our discussion of the young converts who were martyred
will provide a depiction of what they were, with the single exception of Perpetua,
whose remarks allow us some insight into who she was.
Let us turn to R, the author of the introduction. R was well educated in rhetoric
and appears to have known well the classical models of composition. His
exordium, if it had followed the classical norms slavishly, would explicitly have
sought to accomplish at least three specific goals: to instruct his audience on the
nature of the ensuing narrative; to convince them that the subject is an important
one worthy of their interest, and thus engage their attention; and lastly, if the
3. While there is something arbitrary about all categories, it is important to establish some simple
generic criteria. Martyr narratives are those expository narratives which describe a martyrdom.
Therefore, texts like the Ignatian epistles, which celebrate the ideal of martyrdom, while they might
be categorized as sacrificial narratives, are not martyr narratives because they do not describe a
martyrdom.
4. None of the extant manuscripts number the text nor break it into chapters. T. Ruinart is
the first to designate the opening exordium as Chapter 1. See Ruinart, Acta primorum martyrum
sincera et selecta (Paris, 1689).
exordium were also elegantly composed, the author would have then established
his authority, his ethos, with his audience, having achieved what the Latin
tradition referred to as having completed the insinuatio. The author thus having
gained the confidence of his audience, having insinuated himself into their
horizon of expectations, would then proceed to his main subject, the presentation
of the narratio—the tale of the heroism of the young martyrs—with a now
receptive and sympathetic audience. R, however, has a different goal and
manipulates the classical form to suit his different end, as we shall see.
The exordium was the rhetorical threshold of a narrative in which the author
sought to ensure that one’s audience would be in agreement with the ensuing
discourse. While the exordium was a standard feature of much classical epideictic
discourse, the emerging genre of the martyr’s story—despite almost a century of
related Christian narratives—does not employ this rhetorical device before its
appearance here in the Passio. Its absence in those earlier Christian martyrologies,
those composed before the third century, may help to account for the rhetorically
heterogeneous exordium that confronts the audience of the Passio. There was no
Christian use of the exordium in the composition of the earlier acta or passiones,
and hence no appropriate model to imitate. Those earlier texts—for example, the
Scillitan Martyrs or, more particularly, the Letter of the Churches of Lyons and
Vienne—were composed by authors who were either not sufficiently trained in
classical rhetoric or chose not to employ it.5
As I indicated above, this exordium is the work of R, who is also responsible for
Chapters I, II, and XV through XXI. Although a carefully constructed introduction,
it follows the classical model only in part. While R appears to understand the
tradition of the exordium, he nonetheless rough-shapes it to his own creedal end,
and he often moves it outside its classical home to make a disputatious religious
point, clearly not paying heed to Aristotle’s statement that the author should use
the exordium to ingratiate himself with his readers. Furthermore, his Latinity is
not elegant; his syntax is often crabbed and difficult; and his argument is
polemical, divisive, and designed, in part, to inflame some of his audience. And
yet—and this is most important for our discussion of the prosopography of the
Passio—R’s exordium, in addition to providing an introduction to the Passio,
does provide some hints to his biography and to a partial prosopography of his
audience, as will be explained in what follows.
5. G. A. Kennedy, “Judeo-Christian Rhetoric,” in Classical Rhetoric and Its Christian and

Secular Tradition from Ancient to Modern Times (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press,
1999), 137–82.
R begins his exordium with a question, an erotema that will eventually argue for
the truth of his eschatological position, which is that the six young Christians
who went to their deaths in the arena died volitionally, praising their Lord for the
opportunity to die to this world in order to secure eternal life. There is nothing
particularly nuanced about his eschatology or the theology underlying it. The few
educated members of his audience would have recognized the opening form of
the exordium. R would hardly have followed the exordium model if he did not
expect some in his audience to appreciate his sophistication. The contemporary
audience for the composition of the Passio—that is, for the entire twenty-one
chapters of the Passio—would not have been more than the half dozen or so
house churches in Carthage.
The erotema can represent any thesis and is a commonly employed trope in the
exordium. Frequently, as the Ad Herennium notes, such an introductory question
functions rhetorically as a signal that anticipates an audience’s awareness of and
agreement with the authorial interrogative.6 Ideally, the erotema should also
indicate that the subject is an important one, worth the attention of his audience.
Such a rhetorical question was usually studied under the figure of anacoenosis, a
situation in which both the author and audience were known to share a common
interest and agreement. Mark Antony’s speech in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar—
where he seeks to exploit common cause with his audience against the actions of
Brutus—is an apt example of the use of the erotema under anacoenosis. R’s
question, like Mark Antony’s, is rhetorical, and it was an effective way of
introducing a discourse to arouse the sympathies of his audience. Like his Roman
counterpart in Shakespeare’s drama, R addressed an audience with divided
sympathies, but all could agree that the six who died were brave, inspired by God,
and, for those with the courage, worthy of emulation.
R raises a question that will become an ecclesial argument of great importance
in the house churches of Carthage: the emergence and legitimacy of the New
Prophecy’s position concerning canonical Scriptures versus revelation. In sum,
do we as a community acknowledge only the authority of the canonical Scriptures
or do we subscribe to the idea of maintaining an open canon that can be
supplemented by contemporary revelation? This question was being debated in
the small Christian community at Carthage, and the Passio is the earliest extant
evidence for any New Prophecy sentiment in Christian North Africa. Although
the role of charismatic prophecy is an early important part of Christian thinking
(evident in Romans 12.6, Ignatius’s Letter to the Philadelphians 7, and Shepherd
6. Ad Herennium, 1.7.11.
of Hermas, Mandates 11.7–8), the New Prophecy ideology had recently been
attacked by the Roman Church through the priest Hippolytus and the Roman
Bishop Zephyrinus (c.199–217).7 It is likely that these senior clerics objected
to the elevated role provided to women in this movement, notably Priscilla
and Maximilla, and also to the fact that the movement’s ecclesiology was not
supportive of the authority of the monarchial bishop.
R was undoubtedly aware that his efforts for these aspects of the New Prophecy
ecclesiology, notably its advocacy of the ongoing revelation of the Paraclete,
would require a struggle. His opening gambit, therefore, is a shrewdly modest
one and effects a tone of reasonableness. R asks—skillfully employing chiasmus
to increase the antithesis—whether, if the old deeds of the faith (I.1: vetera fidei
exempla) written in the Scriptures still have mimetic value for us, new examples
(I.2: nova documenta) ought not now be written down to serve the same end,
that is, become ancient (I.3: haec vetera futura). Although he expects some of his
audience, perhaps a majority, to nod readily in agreement, R, as I will show, also
is well aware of the negative reception the movement has received outside
Carthage, and that some in his creedal community will on hearing this react
against it, and react passionately, notably those church figures in authority.
The crux of the incipient conflict which R is broaching—a conflict that was to
split this ecclesial community within two decades, drawing the ire of Bishop
Zephyrinus—turns on issue of authority and who will govern the Church.8 R
proposes that his community accept an early form of the New Prophecy position
and embrace its surrender to the grace of charismatic revelation. His erotema,
however, is evidence of a dividing community, dividing between those who favor
the more orthodox response to tradition and the canonical Scriptures—the
position of Zephyrinus—and those who favor New Prophecy’s openness to
contemporary revelation. There is as yet no public rift separating the two groups
at this early stage in the New Prophecy’s appearance in Africa. This is its first
textual expression. And the creedal chasm which we see two decades later had
not yet emerged. The first hint of a moderate New Prophecy position in
Tertullian’s works is not until late 207 (De Anim.), and it is slightly later than the
composition of the exordium.
R presents his arguments for the value of ecstatic prophecy over scripture,
using the rhetorical figure of anthypophora, in which an interlocutor asks and
7. R. E. Heine, The Gospel of John and the Montanist Debate at Rome, E. A. Livingstone, ed.,
Studia Patristica, 95–100, vol. 21, Second Century: Tertullian to Nicaea in the West, Clement of
Alexandria and Origen, Athanasius (Leuven: Peeters, 1989).
8. C. B. Daly, Tertullian the Puritan and His Influence (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1993), 110.
immediately answers his own question. Thus he adopts a dialectic that employs
dialogue to entice his audience into the conversation. R’s question commends the
merits of prophecy and the ongoing revelation of the Holy Spirit against an earlier,
entrenched position which confers authority in the fixed tradition of canonical
Scriptures under the supervision of the growing authority of the role of the
monarchial bishop and the presbyters. The argument, drawn sharply by R, pits the
authority of Scriptural canonicity against that of charismatic revelation. He seeks
a church where openness to the promptings of the Paraclete is ongoing, open to all
believers and not a relic of a past revelation. The theological and political
implications are at once obvious: such an ecclesiology would allow a variety of
interpretative and exegetical positions whose authority would not be fixed on
canonical texts but open to revision. Politically, his ecclesiology would create a
leveling of authority in the Church. The clerical overseers of the canon and
tradition—bishops, presbyters, and deacons—although retaining important
ministerial roles, would have less authority in such a church if R’s argument were to
carry the day. R imagines a church that would inevitably pit the individual against the
growing ecclesial hierarchy of the African church. In addition to his belief in the
efficacy of New Prophecy, R may be reacting against the growth of the episcopacy
in Carthage, particularly that of the powerful figure of Bishop Agrippinus
(ca. 195?–217?); an even more tempting supposition is that he is contesting the
authority of Bishop Optatus, who is known to us only from his depiction in the
eschatological dream of Saturus in the Passio—and who may have been the first
bishop of Carthage—quarreling with his priest Aspasius. Both seek forgiveness
at the feet of charismatics like Perpetua and Saturus. R’s question, therefore, raises
ancillary issues, which, since they threaten those invested with the authority to
control the exegesis and therefore subsequent doctrinal matters—all of which are
dependent on the ancient authority of Scriptural texts—were of great concern to
the hierarchy of the nascent Carthaginian church. Augustine’s concern with the
popularity of the Passio two centuries later surely reflects a long-standing concern
of the hierarchy’s discomfort with the arguments of the Passio.
R’s query also identifies a segment of believers who are not in sympathy with
his position on the efficacy of charismatic prophecy. In short, he introduces the
reader to another audience in the text of the exordium, a notably non-classical
maneuver. R and those sympathetic to his message—let us, following Tertullian,
and at the risk of anachronism,9 liken the opponents to Catholics on the one
hand, and New Prophecy supporters on the other—knew, and were likely still in
communion with (indeed, they were likely members of the same house church),
9. Tertullian, Praescr. 26.9.

those opposed individuals, as he addresses both communities as sharers of a

common tradition. Yet his intent is not one of conciliation. While he seeks to
persuade the opposition of the correctness of his point of view, he reveals himself
as something of a rigorist. His argument loses some of its dialogic suppleness
when he establishes a divisive fault line between the two groups, arguing that
those who oppose the power of prophecy would restrict the power of the Spirit to
certain times (Spiritus unius Sancti pro aetatibus iudicent temporum, Passio I.3).
The judgment is explicit, unambiguous, and grave for a tranquil ecclesial polity,
since it implies that those who oppose this position are opponents of almighty
God. It is impossible to imagine the early bishops of Carthage, strong backers of
Roman praxis—in light of Rome’s hostility to the New Prophecy movement—
being persuaded.10 Moreover, R’s chiding indicates that he expects his audience—
that is, those in sympathy with the ideals of prophecy—to share his repudiation
of this second group, who value the authority and canonicity of Scripture
above all.
Such an explicit critique in the exordium is a move away from the rhetorical
rules governing the introduction, that is, the idea that the author should maintain
the focus on his audience and encourage their sympathetic interest for his ensuing
discourse. However, while R addresses and identifies a related community, it is a
divided one, some of whose members are not in sympathy with his point of view,
and who are not partisans of volitional martyrdom, his crucial subject. Yet, despite
his having compromised the idea of addressing the single sympathetic audience,
R employs the rhetorical figure of apostrophe, which allows him to address the
opposition. Although he has identified parallel creedal communities, he argues as
if he knew that both sets of believers were still part of his larger audience of
believers, despite their disagreement on this serious matter. For R, both groups,
although they might differ in such matters as the issue of ecstatic prophecy,
remained a single community, and they likely would have identified themselves as
such. The Roman authorities saw them as a single group. In sum, there is no
evidence of any major rift in the church at Carthage in the early years of the first
decade of the third century.
His next move is a bold stratagem as he buttresses the authority for his point
on the efficacy of prophecy by quoting (perhaps deliberately incorrectly) the
paraphrase of Joel in Acts (Acts 2.17–18; Joel 2.28)—a favorite proof text of the
New Prophecy movement.11 This is at once a shrewd and an ironic appropriation
of the Scriptural arguments of the opposition, who support the primary authority
10. Tertullian, Prax. 1.7; and D. Powell, “Tertullianists and Cataphrygians,” VC 29 (1975): 33–54.
11. Atkinson, “Montanist Interpretation”; see Amat, I.4.
of canonical Scripture. This expropriation of the other camp’s argument—he

deliberately employs the trope of authority under inventio—to show that the
canonical Scriptures legitimate his own argument empowers his discourse and
underscores that his audience, that is, those who favor ecstatic prophecy, have a
deeper and suppler understanding of their creed because they are able to cite
Scripture as an authority for their claim. Lastly, by means of this argument he has
diminished the authority of the canonical camp in their position as defenders of
the canonicity of tradition and Scripture, and he now shows them as ignorant of
the very thing they defend, and consequently in potentially grave error, that is, as
opponents of divine revelation and the power of the Holy Spirit.
Thus his exordium has subtly changed from an introduction to the tale of the
heroic martyrdom of five young catechumens—a subject he has never broached—
into an ecclesial argument and polemical sanction with a distinct, albeit early,
New Prophecy agenda against those who do not share his belief in the primacy of
ecstatic prophecy. The ecclesial rent in the fabric is apparent, but the cloth of the
community will remain seamless for another twenty years. At the time of the
writing of this exordium (ca. 203–09), we still have not had the break between
“Catholics” and the New Prophecy movement, which we find becoming more
evident after 212.
R’s argument next moves from the theological to the moral, since the logical
implication of his accusation of the opposition’s ignorance of the “original” intent
of Acts’s paraphrase of Joel is now palpably one of ignorance, a misreading or an
effort to avoid the ipsissima verba of the Scriptures. Such ignorance, he implies,
must lead inevitably to a misguided understanding of the historical Church’s
contemporary mission. Accordingly, R identifies and indicts the misguided faith
of these men and women in a particular arena of the greatest moment for the
survival of the community: their refusal to trust and understand the powerful
presence of the divine in their midst in the persons of the martyrs. This makes
them unable to stand against the onslaught of persecution (I.5: ut ne qua aut
imbecillitas aut desperatio fidei). His implication is clear: their terrible fear of
persecution derives from their inability to welcome the presence of the Paraclete
into their souls and into their communities. Intent on his evangelism, on
demonstrating the truth of his argument which privileges revelation and
charismatic prophecy over Scripture, R oddly never explicitly mentions the actual
subject of the larger narratio, the martyrdom. The introduction of the principal
subject, in this case the martyrdom, is one of the fundamental functions of the
exordium. He abruptly concludes his exordium with an affectionate embrace and
reassurance to his listeners (I.6: fratres et filioli) that those who today only hear
these stories (I.6: nunc cognoscitis per auditum) will nonetheless yet find fellowship
with them and the Lord Jesus Christ. His final efforts are, however, intended to
heal the rift emerging in his community, and so he ends on an upbeat tone,
celebrating the heroes who suffered and died heroically for the faith and whose
past actions are protective for the present. His exordium is by any account a subtly
shaped argument that is critical, while at the same time seeking to bring individuals
into community in order to strengthen them from the predations of the state.
R’s “Biography”
What does this remarkable exordium tell us about the author and perhaps
about his audience? Clearly he was well educated and sufficiently advanced in
his studies to retain a reasonable facility in and understanding of the employment
of classical rhetoric. His work in the exordium and elsewhere throughout the
Passio suggests that he would likely have had an education roughly equivalent to
that of Apuleius, or Augustine’s as described in the Confessions. His education
would have begun with a study of grammar, and then, if deemed talented, he
would have moved to the more advanced course of study of rhetoric, what
Libanius called the “long road to rhetoric.” Once he completed his training in
one of the local African schools, and if he was recognized as able and was from
one of the literate provincial towns outside Carthage like Hippo, Utina, Thuburbo
Maius, or Dougga, he would have transferred to one of the distinguished schools
of literature and rhetoric available in Carthage. The best students, particularly
those intended for a career in the imperial civil service, frequently sought to
study with distinguished teachers, even if that meant the hardship of leaving
their homes and traveling some distance. Augustine went from provincial
Madauros to Carthage, while Libanius went as far as Athens. R’s combined
course in grammar and rhetoric would have taken him ten years, from age
fourteen to twenty-four. Augustine would have been about fourteen when he left
Tagaste for Madauros. Such an education was profoundly parochial in scope:
Cicero, Virgil, Sallust, and perhaps a few others were exclusively studied in the
most painstaking detail, and other works were committed to memory. Yet, while
narrow, it provided the apt student with a phenomenal memory and an ability to
construct an argument extempore and to display such erudition in a variety of
written documents. The goal of such an education still centered on Quintilian’s
precept that it should produce the “perfect orator,” that is, the man who speaks
eloquently. Typically, only the sons of good families were provided with such
costly educations. Augustine’s father, Patricius, a man of limited means, was able
at some cost to secure financial assistance from his patron Romanianus. The
purpose of such an education was to provide the elite student with a good
position in the imperial civil administration. Since his education suggests a
background of some wealth, R may have held such a position in the provincial
bureaucracy before his conversion.
R tells us nothing about his personal domestic situation: whether he was

married, the composition of his family, his age, or his occupation. This is not
surprising, as an exordium was not intended for such discussion. R is, however, a
zealous Christian. In addition to his classical studies, R knew the Scriptures, as he
quotes and paraphrases books of the Bible (see Commentary) and does so from
memory, a legacy of his education. He has a good grasp of Paul, and is particularly
fond of Romans and Corinthians. He does not appear to have been a member of
the clergy, since his argument in favor of New Prophecy would place him in
conflict with the hierarchy. He was likely a lay leader, able to influence by the force
of his rhetoric. We do not know his age, but his obvious authority in the small
Christian community suggests that he would likely have been in later middle age
at the time he edited the Passio, ca. 203–09.12 As there is no evidence for
Christianity in Roman North Africa before 180, if he were at least forty at the
time of the writing R would have been born decades before the earliest evidence
for the Church. It seems likely that he would have been a convert, with all the zeal
of the converted. He seems to have been fearless, as he indicates that he personally
knew the martyrs, and he was possibly present at their execution. And hence he,
too, since he belonged to an unapproved hetairia, would have been technically in
violation of the Roman law, which remained a legal precedent since Trajan’s
rescript to Pliny.13 His celebration of the martyrdom of a powerful female leader
like Perpetua and his reverence for ecstatic prophecy show unambiguously
that he was an advocate of New Prophecy and a supporter of women in
positions of authority in the Church. His advocacy of Perpetua’s single-minded
commitment—even at the expense of her son’s future, her father’s public
shame, and her family’s ultimate welfare—placed R in complete opposition to
the hoary values of the Roman state.
R reveals no consistent allegiance to a particular philosophical school, nor does
he ever enter into serious philosophical argument. His work is not seriously
indebted to Stoicism, Gnosticism, or any of the varieties of middle Platonism
current in the city of Carthage. He is an advocate for the importance of prophetic
revelation in his Christian community. Since the Passio is the first document from
Christian Roman North Africa to acknowledge the New Prophecy movement, R
is the first advocate of that movement that we know of, writing before any schism
alienated it from the more Catholic leaning in the community. His sympathy for
the presentation of powerful depictions of Roman women (a depiction at odds
with most portrayals of Roman matrons), notably Perpetua’s rebuke of Hilarianus
12. See Chapter II, “The Date of the Passio.”

13. Pliny, Ep. 10.96–97.
and her father, suggests that he was strongly eschatological in outlook, believing
that the present norms of behavior have condemned humanity and that personal
salvation can only be won through the rejection of the greater mos maiorum and
the acceptance of Christ. Lastly, we can assume that within his community he
would have had the respected status of a wise elder. Although what I have said
about R seems to identify an individual like Tertullian as the editor, there is no
compelling evidence that R and Tertullian are one and the same. Tertullian is
often credited with authorship because his is the first extant contemporary voice
of authority from this Christian community. The absence of other voices in the
historical record should not force us to arbitrary selections. Tertullian may have
been one of a number of articulate and bold leaders who left no record of the role
they played in this community. Furthermore, compelling studies of R’s Latinity
and that of Tertullian’s show that they differ.14
The Martyrs
R prefaces the story of the persecution and death of Perpetua and her
companions with the bald statement that the young catechumens were arrested.
Nothing more. We are not told why they were arrested, where they were arrested,
where they were at the time of their arrest, why they were transferred to prison, or
who it was that arrested them. The lack of detail provokes the reader to raise many
questions. Did the authorities break in upon them during their study of the
Scriptures? What was the infraction charged against them? Were they, like their
Scillitan ancestors, found with incriminating books? Was their arrest violent?
Were they roughed up? Were they being watched prior to their seizure? Did a
member of the community betray them to the authorities? Did they even know
that they were acting outside the accepted social norms?
Perhaps their behavior drew the stares and gossip of the local population, and
scurrilous rumor—despite Trajan’s warnings to Pliny about anonymous rumors—
found sympathetic ears in the local magistrates. What was the actual crime which
prompted their incarceration? Were they formally charged, and were witnesses
brought against them at the initial hearing, as we would expect in a Roman
investigation? The absence of context provides a field of speculation—but one
that must be trodden with care and historical circumspection.
Surely they must have been terrified, as the author does note that they were
quite young and thus likely unfamiliar with such harsh treatment from the state.
Perpetua confesses her terror at prison life, and Felicity cries out in pain from her
squalid dungeon. Their families, too, share an exquisite sense of alienation, shame,
14. Fridh, Le problème de la passion.

and pain. Perpetua’s father is struck and publicly humiliated by the procurator
Hilarianus. Yet, despite these few instances of personal response, we are only given
a tantalizing, fleeting glimpse of the rich textures of their daily lives. A looming
silence fills the biographical void—a silence that refuses to speak of the rich mosaic
of their lives before their imprisonment and punishment. Is something being
hidden? Is R trying to protect contemporary Christians from further persecution?
Or perhaps such silence reflects the zeal of the convert determined to efface the
memory of the past, to be reborn in the present, and to enter into a new life. Yet
despite this historical void, despite the obvious efforts to represent the catechumens
as men and women reborn in Christ, their personal history intrudes ever so slightly
and can be salvaged.
We meet them first as committed Christians. Their past lives as Roman Carthaginians,
almost the entirety of their young lives—with all the attendant joys, enthusiasms, and
sorrows of the young—are sealed and beyond recovery, perhaps designedly so. Nor do
we know what prompted their seizure. While I have argued above the impossibility of
recovering their “personal” identities, I nonetheless believe we can recover a public
identity. Early Christian martyrdom is a public witness (μαρτύριον) of a private belief
in opposition to that of the majority. It is a bold statement about who controls one’s
fate, the state or the individual, and who has the ultimate power to decide the outcome
of that fate. The martyr embodies an alternative to the status quo and as such is a
palpable threat to social stability. Such witness in the third century was not merely an
expression of bravery or cultic solidarity but a manifestly harsh critique of traditional
Roman religion and the mos maiorum. Thus martyrdom is also political in the broadest
sense of that word. It identifies itself as a fundamental alternative to the ideology of the
governing elite and all they represent. The five young catechumens arrested on that
fateful day were seen by some in the Roman administration as a threat to the social
order. An examination of their public identities as exemplified by their depictions in
the Passio will contextualize the narrative.
What’s in A Name? Revocatus, Felicity, Saturninus, and Secundulus

What do we know with some certainty? We must begin at the beginning. There
are twenty-seven individuals mentioned in the Passio—four women and twenty-
three men. Some of them are part of the historical record, and understanding who
they are provides a richer context for reading and understanding this text. Others
exist purely as a gathering of syllables. We are told some names and statuses:
Revocatus and his fellow slave Felicity, Saturninus, and Secundulus. R then
mentions one named Vibia Perpetua, but saves her identification for the second
sentence and thus singles her out. He does not say another word at this juncture
about her four companions. If we look carefully, however, more than a little has
been revealed. What do these names reveal?
The first four are three men and a woman. The first two, Revocatus and Felicity,
are paired. They are also identified as slaves (conserua). Their names also provide a
confirmation of their bondage, since they are single names only, reflective of either
slave or freedman status. They only have cognomina, a sure sign of their status as
humiliores, unlike their compatriot, Vibia Perpetua, who has both a nomen (Vibia)
and a cognomen (Perpetua). Slave names in Roman Africa were often derived
from participles ending in -atus.15 Thus the single name ending in -atus confirms
R’s identification.
Felicity and Revocatus, since they are explicitly identified as slaves and paired
in the text, may have been members of the same domus. Felicity is in the final
trimester of pregnancy. Their pairing in the text might also suggest intimacy.
Could Revocatus be her conjugal partner? If so, they would not have had a legal
marriage, as slaves could not contract marriage. However, they could live in the
same domus, where the birth of a slave child was typically welcomed, as it
represented an economic gain to the master of the house. Furthermore, Felicity,
an unmarried slave woman—in the eighth month of her pregnancy—would not
likely have ventured far from the domus on her own. She would have been brought
to the meeting or attended with a familiar group—individuals apparently known
to one another, who even lived together—as we find suggested in the Passio.
Indeed, since the young people who are arrested are identified as catechumens
(II.1, catechumeni) and all were taught by the same teacher, Saturus, it is reasonable
to surmise that their instruction in Christianity would have been within a cohesive
group where all the participants were known to one another. It is also very
probable that such instruction took place in a house church sponsored by
someone whose household had sufficient resources to provide such a meeting.
The Roman familia could vary widely in size, and slave populations for these
households also varied. The Lex Fufia Caninia speaks of numbers ranging from
less than ten to more than five hundred.16 Indeed, all four individuals named here
could easily have been members of the same elite familia, perhaps that of Perpetua
herself. Strictly speaking, the word familia designates a socioeconomic gathering
of individuals under the potestas of the paterfamilias. As a term it is less reflective
of the modern family than is domus, but for the sake of this discussion I will use
familia when discussing Perpetua’s kin.
This community seems responsible even for negotiating Felicity’s child’s
surrogate mother, since after the birth of her daughter her fellow Christians
15. Bradley, Slaves and Masters; and R. Syme, “Donatus and the Like,” Historia 27, no. 4 (1978):
588–603.
16. Bradley, Roman Family.
provide a Christian home for her newborn. This is a curious matter, because it
suggests that this condemned group, at least two of whom were slaves, were able
to do this of their own volition. We would expect that the child of such a union
belonged to the master. It was his or hers—if the slave were under the jurisdiction
of a woman—to dispose of. For the imprisoned to have arranged it, they would
have had to have gained the permission of Felicity’s patron to give the child away
to a fellow Christian, here identified as a sister. We know nothing of the social
status of this anonymous sister. However, we do know that Perpetua was still
alive. If Felicity was Perpetua’s slave, Perpetua, acting as mistress, could legally
have had the infant’s care arranged. Perpetua’s mother, also a Christian, would
have had sufficient standing to have received the child. Furthermore, if the state
was still hostile to Christians at the time of R’s composition, it would have been
prudent in such a situation for R not to name the woman who received the child.
The disposal of the child represented the loss of an economic asset. It is true
that a female child was a somewhat less valuable asset; nevertheless, the mother
and child remained under their patron’s jurisdiction. If the master was a
paterfamilias he was under no obligation to respect the familial relationships
slaves might have formed, nor were slaves allowed to control the destiny of any
offspring. If it was already an economic blow to the owner to lose Felicity and
Revocatus, at least the child could be saved. It is possible of course that Felicity’s
unidentified patron was a Christian or someone sympathetic to her plight,
perhaps even a friend or, as I suggested above, a relative of Perpetua. Christians
accepted the normative status of slavery just as did their non-Christian brethren.
Thus Felicity’s child, while given away to a Christian, may still have been raised as
a slave, but as a Christian. It is interesting that Felicity’s premature birth takes
place while Perpetua is nursing her son. If Felicity were a slave of Perpetua’s
household, one wonders whether it was intended that she was to function as a
nutrix for her mistress once her milk came in.
Saturninus and Secundulus are not identified as being members of any social
group. They may also have been slaves, although it seems unlikely, since the
author explicitly identified the status of Felicity and Revocatus as enslaved. If
they, too, were slaves we would expect the same specific attention to their status.
Hence his representation of them with a simple cognomen suggests that they were
freedmen and not slaves. It is difficult to speculate further about their status. They
could either have been born free (ingenui) or they could have been manumitted
(libertini).17 As freedmen they could own and bequeath property and contract
legal marriages. They may have been unmarried, since no spouses are mentioned.
17. Lacus Curtius, see Libertus.

They are also described as adolescentes, indicating that they were about sixteen
years old. They may also have been members of the same household, and, as I
suggested above, all four may have been members of Perpetua’s extended familia.
There is ample evidence of freedmen living under the same roof as part of an
extended family.18 Such a suggestion of their residency in Perpetua’s domus, or in
a similarly sympathetic household, while obviously not open to proof, does also
have the advantage of accounting for their being arrested together. Furthermore,
given the hostile public environment that must have existed prior to the
persecution of 203—Tertullian composed Ad Martyras six years earlier—it
seems commonsensical that proselytizing was begun within the relative safety of
the domus, where some privacy could be assured. The domus in Roman North
Africa seems to be the likeliest place to look for early evangelizing. The spread of
the cult began in the familia and spread from the authority figures in the family to
the less important individuals, like freedmen and slaves. This reflects the social
order of those arrested.
Let us now consider Perpetua and what R reveals about her. She is the only one
of those arrested who has both a nomen and cognomen. Polyonymy among elite
females seems to have become fashionable under the Severans.19 If Vibia is her
nomen, it is well attested in Roman North Africa, and she would have been a
member of the same prominent gens. The gens Vibia is present in Africa from the
middle of the first century and is associated with military matters. Lucius Iunius
Quintus Vibius Crispus served as proconsul of Africa in 71. There was a large
presence of veterans in the countryside surrounding Carthage, suggesting the
gens still had a presence there under the Severans. Kajava, however, also produces
evidence of Vibia being used as a female praenomen. Her class associations are
not in doubt. She is a member of the elite. The text states unambiguously that she
is well born (II.2: honeste nata). Thus of the five catechumens arrested, two are
slaves; two, Secundulus and Saturninus, are freedmen; and one, Perpetua, is a
member of the honestiores. This grouping likely reflects the relative percentages of
the social classes who were joining the Christian Church at this time. It would have
been overwhelmingly subscribed to by the lower classes, because it was to them that
the message of the Gospel would have had greater appeal, since it actually offered
them more than they had as members of the Roman polity.
Although there is no tradition in classical rhetoric of names as indicators of
virtues, some of their names suggest a nascent Christian rhetorical technique—
that is, they identify a personal characteristic. “Revocatus”—the one called
18. Bradley 55; and Nathan, Family in Late Antiquity, 159.

19. See Kajava, Roman Female Praenomina, 242.
back—may have been a name selected as a catechumen, to underline his belief

that he was now called to the true path. Felicity—the faithful one (literally
“fertility” and secondarily “happiness”)—never vacillated in her faith, even at
the prospect that she would have to die alone without her colleagues because of
her pregnancy. Their prayers ensured that she would die in the faith with them.
Thus, these names also function as rhetorical markers, suggesting that this
Christian community was employing them as identifiers in opposition to the
Roman tradition.
Father
Perpetua introduces her father shortly after his arrest. All we know about him
is from her report of their interaction, which was fraught with difficulty. Hence
our observations about his background are based on limited information reported
under duress and trying circumstances, and our remarks must be conjectural. We
know that Perpetua was twenty-two at the time of her arrest, which suggests that
her father would have been a man of middle age, likely in his early forties, since
Roman men typically married by the age of twenty.20 He makes reference to his
gray hairs (canis patris tui, VI.3), which would have been normal for a man of
middle age. The omnipresence of early death for members of the family—with an
average life span in the mid-forties—created a complex tapestry of half-siblings,
different mothers, and extended family members, like Perpetua’s mother’s sister,
who seems to live in the father’s domus. It is likely that when family members did
have longer relationships—as between Perpetua and her father—that the bonds
were even closer. However tempting it is to view their relationship in contemporary
terms, we must not assume that the emotional bonds between father and daughter
were identical to those of modern parents.21 Her father is married and has two
additional sons, and one son long dead, her brother Dinocrates. He would have
married a woman from a similar class, and his wife, Perpetua’s mother, is
mentioned, though not by name (II.2).
Curiously, the father and mother are never spoken of as being together, nor
does Perpetua ever associate them in any way. Her father is never mentioned in
the company of any of the family members, but the mother is mentioned as being
in the company of the brother. This may reflect the actual state of their marriage,
or it might be a literary device illustrating the antagonism of the pagan members
of the family and the support from the Christian side, or simply the exigencies of
the father’s more public role in getting her to renounce Christianity. The father
20. Dixon, ed., Childhood, Class and Kin, 51.

21. Bradley, 61.
was a pagan, while the mother and the brother were Christians (III.3). This might
have been a cause of friction in the family, if not for the father then perhaps for the
mother, for Tertullian notes that such mixed marriages are not conducive to
creating the Christian family and are an unholy union in God’s sight (Ad Ux.
2.8.4). One can imagine the marital tensions Tetullian’s pronouncements would
have caused as husband and wife tried to negotiate each other’s cultic practices.
Her father must have been a man of some education and cultivation. He named
his deceased son Dinocrates. Greek names were not uncommon in Roman
households, particularly Roman households of the elite, who valued Greek
culture and learning. Her father appears to have loved Greek letters (see section
“Perpetua”). We know that Perpetua herself was fluent in Greek; she spoke Greek
to the bishop Aspasius and the priest Optatus (XIII.4) and occasionally
transliterates Greek words, like τέκνον, into Latin (tegnon, IV.9). She could only
have come by this learning within the domus with a tutor arranged by her father,
as the evidence for women attending schools outside the home for late adolescent
females in Roman Africa is nonexistent. The father would likely have arranged for
a Greek teacher to come to the home. Such practices were not rare—less common
for girls, of course—provided one had the means to pay the teacher. Lucian, for
example, notes that while in Rome, he taught native Latin speakers in Greek.22
Even if we grant the likelihood that her father would have provided such education,
the question is why he would have gone to such trouble to educate his daughter,
whom he would be seeking to marry off by the age of sixteen or seventeen at the
latest. The simple answer, and the text bears this out, is that he loved her deeply
and perhaps saw in her an intellectual ability not apparent in his sons.
The relationship between this father and daughter is an anomaly from the
point of view of a “typical” elite Roman family. Her father actually tells her at one
point that he values her more than her brothers (V.2). Heads of households rarely,
if ever, publicly esteemed daughters over sons. If the narrative can be believed—
and there is no compelling reason to doubt it on this point—it would seem that
Perpetua and her father had a particularly close and long-term relationship. Child
mortality was a fact of daily life, and likely half of all children born died before
their fifth birthday.23 Surviving children were precious. As we have seen, his son,
her brother Dinocrates, died at seven. The text is ambiguous on the age
distribution of the remaining siblings. It is possible that Dinocrates was the eldest
22. N. Hopkinson, ed. Lucian: A Selection, Cambridge Greek and Latin Classics (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2008), 4ff.
23. T. Wiedemann, Adults and Children in the Roman Empire (New Haven: Yale University
Press, 1989), 11.
son and that on his death the father transferred his love to his surviving daughter.
We should not let the received and somewhat stereotypical understanding of
paterfamilias as the authoritarian provider for his family obscure the fact that
Roman fathers were also often deeply attached to their children. The abundance
of poignant funeral stelae and funeral depictions in mosaics from Roman Africa
makes it perfectly clear that their attachments were very strong.24
Perpetua’s father was a member of the honestiores (likely from the curiales),
and as such was able to provide a good, and expensive, education for his daughter.
With his permission she made a good marriage. Since Perpetua was a Roman
citizen with civitas sine suff ragio and a member of the honestiores at her death, the
phrase ad bestias still presents an historical conundrum. Why was she not
beheaded as the law prescribed for Roman citizens? Did the provincial ruler have
some latitude regarding the nature of execution for capital crimes? If so, perhaps
he wished to make an example of Christians. Perhaps he hoped that by making an
example of these five young people the state could squelch this pernicious cult
before too many other young people fell under its spell. We know that Hilarianus,
serving as procurator, was a pious upholder of the traditional pantheon. The
latitude of his jurisdiction, although broad—particularly once the accused were
sentenced to death—was always within the bounds of what the law permitted.
For example, Felicity’s death was postponed until such time as she gave birth, as
Roman law held the fetus guiltless of any crime of the mother. Given that
Hilarianus upheld the law in that instance, it would appear that he did have local
legal jurisdiction to condemn a Roman citizen ad bestias.
The text notes that Perpetua was well married (nupta matronaliter). The Greek
text of the Passio uses the adverb ἐξόχως, suggesting that the marriage was possibly
an aristocratic one. While Roman children had to consent to the marriages
arranged for them, a marriage could not take place unless both patresfamilias
sanctioned the wedding (Dig. 23.2.2 and 23.2.9). Her father would have taken
care to ensure that his beloved daughter would have married into an elite
household of which he approved. However, her father’s authority, while it did
extend to the daughter’s dowry even in her marriage, did not by this period
(following a ruling by the emperor Marcus Aurelius) permit him to dissolve his
daughter’s marriage, even if it was an unhappy one (CJ 5.17.5).25 Although her
husband is never mentioned in the Passio—and many have speculated on her
current marital situation—it is not likely that her father would have tried to
contest the marriage, a marriage he agreed to, even if he wished to do so, since he
24. Note the funeral mosaics in the Bardo Museum.

25. Nathan, Family, 27, cites Dig. 23.3.2 unconvincingly.
had no legal grounds for proceeding. If her marriage was over at the time of the
conversion to Christianity—and we do not know what her martial status was:
separated, divorced, or widowed—it would have been an issue entirely between
herself and her husband. (See section “Perpetua.”)
The source of most Roman wealth was agriculture, and for someone of
Perpetua’s father’s class in Carthage, it is more than likely that the head of the
household would have gotten his income from the production of cereal crops.26
Carthage was the major provider of cereals and oil to Rome.27 The area immediately
around Carthage is not best suited for cereals and less well for oil. If we imagine
an area where such a family lived and would have derived its income, it would
likely be that they were resident in the city of Carthage with farms in the suburbs,
particularly those areas adjacent to the Medjerda river valley, which was among
the most productive for cereals in Africa. It is more likely that Pereptua’s agnatic
family made their money from cereal crops. The family would have had field and
household slaves, and it is tempting to speculate whether Felicity and Revocatus,
both referred to as slaves (II.1: conserua eius), were slaves associated with
Perpetua’s immediate family, from her husband’s household, or from her father’s
house. The further inland and southwest one travels, the better the conditions for
olive production, and the Passio implies that they were residents of Carthage or the
immediately surrounding suburbs.
Perpetua first mentions her father virtually in medias res. She notes that she
and her companions were still under arrest, presumably in a detention center, but
it is not the prison to which they were later transferred. We do not know the length
of time implied by the adverb adhuc in her remark, Cum adhuc, inquit, cum
prosecutoribus essemus et me pater . . . (III.1). It must not have been more than a
few days, as there is no mention of her being charged with a specific crime, and she
was not yet sentenced. There is no mention of any other relative, save her father,
being present at this first meeting. It is her father who is present at virtually every
public hearing his daughter received. Unlike her mother, who would have had
restricted access because she was a female, he appears to have had access to public
officials. Her mother is present at selected times during her imprisonment but is
26. R. P. Saller, Patriarchy, Property and Death in the Roman Family, Cambridge Studies in
Population, Economy and Society in Past Time (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 3.
27. Carthage, as Rickman and Peña have pointed out, was the major exporter of cereals and
oil to Italy. See G. Rickman, The Corn Supply of Ancient Rome (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1980), 110; and J. T. Peña, “The Mobilization of State Olive Oil in Roman Africa: The Evidence of
Late 4th-c. Ostraca from Carthage,” JRA Supplemental Series 28 (1998): 116–238, particularly on
page 118.
never represented as having much of a role other than that of a sympathetic supporter.
The father’s more public role is not surprising, particularly if he was a landowner and
a member of the curiales class. We do not know how he found out she had been
arrested, but it is significant that he appears at the place where they were being held
early in the proceedings, where his pleading might have gotten her released, and not
after she is imprisoned and formally charged, sentenced, and condemned.
The reader enters into the narrative as the father and daughter have already begun
a conversation. Their colloquy has a distinctly philosophical cast—admittedly
curious at such a time—a conversation reminiscent of Socrates’s and Hermogenes’s
dialogue in the Cratylus concerning the nature of names (see section “Perpetua”).
The narrative underscores that both father and daughter are well educated and are
possibly used to having such conversations. Literacy in Greek for a female native
Latin speaker was uncommon, yet Perpetua had such fluency.28 If Perpetua did read
Plato, as I suspect, and hence knew the Cratylus, she would have received a singular
education for a female at this time and would have been indebted to her father for it.
This Roman father, however, does not behave like an elite Roman male. He
overturns all our stereotypical understanding of the paterfamilias. In fact, his
behavior is so un-Roman that it embarrasses the procurator Hilarianus, who,
rebuking him, strikes him with a rod (VI.5: et virga percussus est).29 Such a public
beating is among the most grievous humiliations an elite Roman could suffer. Cato
likened such a public beating to being turned into a slave.30 Hilarianus’s violent
outburst is triggered by his shame that an educated male would stoop publicly to
beg his daughter to renounce her allegiance to this cult, rather than simply ordering
her to abandon her foolishness. Perpetua instantly realizes what a humiliation her
father has suffered for her at the hands of the procurator. Such scenes between
Perpetua and her father—those which depict him playing a subordinate role to
her—do not reflect what we know about the ways fathers and daughters interacted
in the public arena. They are the only records which depict such interactions, and
should be read with some skepticism. The Roman son or daughter owed his or her
father pietas, and it was expected that a child naturally owed a kind of respectful
compliance, an obsequium to the parent’s wishes.31 Such bold volitional choice was
28. G. D. Woolf, “Afterword: How the Latin West Was Won,” in Becoming Roman, Writing
Latin?: Literacy and Epigraphy in the Roman West, ed. A. Cooley, JRA Supplementary Series 48
(Portsmouth, RI: JRA , 2002), 181.
29. K. Cooper, “Closely Watched Households: Visibility, Exposure and Private Power in the
Roman Domus,” Past & Present 197, no. 1 (2007): 3–33.
30. Gellius, Noctes Att icae, 10.3.17.
31. Nathan, Family, 144; and see also H. S. Nielsen, “The Value of Epithets in Pagan and
Christian Epitaphs from Rome,” in Childhood, ed. Dixon, 171. Pius is the most important epithet.
even less tolerated in a female child, in whom subservience to the father was
considered a natural endowment. Artemidorus notes that daughters diminish a
man’s estate, since he is required to provide a dowry, and he goes on to say that a
female child often brings bad luck, while a son brings good fortune (Interpretation
of Dreams 1.4; 5.47). Indeed, even early Christianity, although information about
the nature of the interaction of children in the early Christian household is sketchy
at best, expected children to obey unquestioningly the Fifth Commandment. The
narrative here insists that Perpetua’s behavior is so extreme because the moral
issue which separates father and daughter is so great and is so much a part of their
sense of themselves that even expected reciprocal relationships do not apply.32
Perpetua’s decision is one made at the deepest level of conscience and binds her
irrevocably. She is willing to risk a personal violation of an elite woman’s
maintenance of pudor, thus publicly exposing her father and the household to the
judgmental gaze of others. She finds herself unable to turn away from her Christian
faith—though she is torn by her father’s painful plight—in order to affirm the mos
maiorum of the Roman familia and save face for her father and her domus. Her
assertion of conscientia over the mos maiorum and over the requirements of
feminine pudor, even at the expense of the dissolution of the family, is an indication
of the tenacious reach that Christianity achieved in some segments of the
population as it privileged conscience over custom.
Her father’s control of Perpetua’s son presents yet another historical
conundrum. Perpetua would have entered her marriage either in manu or—
almost certainly at this time—as a sine manu bride. Her children were the property
of the husband or, if he were to predecease his wife, his surviving male heirs. The
situation represented in the Passio is not easy to reconcile with the historical
record. Neither divorce, remarriage, nor the death of her spouse would have
legally allowed her father to claim her son. It is possible to understand this
anomalous depiction if her husband had earlier rejected her and his son as a
result of her conversion to Christianity. In short, her father’s custody can be
explained if her husband voluntarily gave the child up because he felt the same
public shame her father expressed and, therefore, wished to disassociate himself
from her and its taint. Admittedly, this explanation leaves many questions
unanswered. If the husband divorced her and formally rejected her and his child,
we might expect that his family would claim the son. However, it is possible that
his rejection of the child would have precluded any male members of his family
from claiming the child. Thus Perpetua is still left with the child. But as she is
32. Bradley, Roman Family, 117.

under the potestas of her father—as she would be in a sine manu marriage—she
would have to relinquish her son to her father, since the rejected child released
from the direct agnatic line of her husband would likely come under the
jurisdiction of his maternal paterfamilias before any competing claims from
the son’s paternal uncles. Her father makes one last appearance in the Passio
after she has been condemned to death and after her prayers have rescued her
brother Dinocrates from his Hades-like state. She tells us that the day of her
execution is drawing near. Her father visited her and again threw himself on the
ground before her, tore out the hair from his beard, and uttered imprecations that
might move creation. His behavior reminds one more of an ancient Jew than a
Roman male (see “Commentary,” IX). He had failed in his efforts to free her from
her attachment to her cult and, presumably, now had to await the death ad bestias
in the arena of his beloved and favored child.
Perpetua
We know a great deal more about Perpetua than about anyone else in the
narrative, since she writes in her own voice, and this makes reconstructing aspects
of her identity complex. However, it is difficult and may prove impossible to
define in satisfactory terms an understanding of identity that illuminates the
interior lives of those ancient men and women, particularly Perpetua, depicted in
the Passion of Perpetua and Felicity. Moreover, there are serious methodological
problems inherent in extrapolating “identity” from a Christian text of the third
century written in provincial Roman Carthage in order to determine how
individuals depicted there embody the quality of “Romanitas,” or even what it
meant to refer to oneself as “Christian” in that milieu. Perpetua’s own understanding
of where she belonged ethnically and religiously was likely fairly fluid—indeed
more than for most, as she was a convert—and involved multiple categories of
shifting allegiances at different stages in her life, some of which were overlapping
and contradictory. She was an educated elite Roman matron. Since she was a
native speaker of Latin, she would have identified herself with the Roman polity
and would have seen that as what we might label her “ethnicity.” Her emphatic
statement, Sum Christiana, to her father when they discuss identity—leaving aside
for the moment the phrase’s almost formulaic place in passiones—was not intended
to deny her ethnicity so much as it was intended to identify a different level of
identity, her spirit’s identity, her pietas or religio.
Our grasp of the interior lives of these antique men and women is made even
more problematic because the Passio was compiled by a Christian editor as an
encomium, perhaps as many as five years after the events narrated. He may not
have known any of them as individuals and has intruded himself into the narrative.
Furthermore, the figure of Perpetua, unlike that of her father, does oblige us
to discuss issues which concern her self-understanding, her understanding of her

own agency, and her struggle toward her understanding of the Christian life.
Moreover, since the act of martyrdom is a public act, one which reflects the
approbation of one community and the condemnation of another, the persona of
the martyr must have a political identity. Martyrdom is a public action and,
therefore, inescapably a political act. For the imperial administration of Carthage,
the games in the amphitheatre were a reminder to the population of their power
and potential largess. Killing the Christians was also an expedient and socially
reinforcing way to rid themselves of a rabble and a potentially destabilizing sect, a
religio illicita, to extend Tertullian’s remark (Apol. 21). For the people of the city,
it represented a chance to indulge themselves in the Roman passion for blood
sports and to participate, if only vicariously, in faux warfare. For the Christians,
however, the volitional spilling of innocent blood was a sacrificial and consecratory
ritual. It was the fulfillment of Christ’s eschatological promise of resurrection, and
their deaths were a ritualized repetition of his salvific death. For the spectators it
was a contest leading to death, but for the Christian it was a means to eternal life.
While both constituencies paradoxically claimed victory through death, the
Romans saw the Christians as rejecters of the mos maiorum and the gods,
whereas the Christians saw their deaths as witness to a cosmic struggle against a
demon-possessed state. It would be difficult to imagine greater polarity.
Perpetua’s individuality, if I may use this anachronistic label, also exists amidst
the contested psychological space of “sacrificial victim” on the one hand and
“seditious suicide” on the other. Her action, since it is public, is also exemplary.
She serves as a model of triumphant righteousness to her persecuted brethren
and as a dire warning to the mainstream dominant population about the dangers
of such rebellious thinking. She is simultaneously hero and villain. Although the
dominant community condemns her actions, her creedal brethren are
strengthened by her example. While the persecutors see her as a death-seeker, she
seeks a transcendent life beyond death. The identity of Perpetua is bound
inextricably to her choice to seek martyrdom.
The narrative of the Passio is also a conversion story, a tale about the cost of
forsaking one set of beliefs for the rewards of another. In the lines of the Passio
devoted to Perpetua, there is a deliberate effort to chart a change in her status
from that of a respected Roman matrona to that of a Christian matrona Dei, to
move from a position of authority in the Roman domus, answerable only to the
paterfamilias, to that of ecstatic prophetess, answerable to an almighty God. Such
a change involves a radical shift not only in her former embrace of her public
duties but also in every aspect of her psychic life. Perpetua abandoned all the
trappings of an elite Roman female head of household: her child, her family and
her wealth; she even abandoned her life in order to embrace a charismatic role of
ecstatic prophetess. The motivation for her embrace of Christian thanatos is

enormously complex, involving issues that are hidden from our view. But surely
they involved, at some level, her desire for intimacy with a transcendent God
combined with her concomitant search for greater authority—an authority she
believed was the gift of the Holy Spirit—within this nascent creedal community.
Her desire for agency is not at the expense of the promptings of the Spirit but a
result of those promptings.33 Her goal of martyrdom is not a triumph of narcissism,
although it does confer power and authority, but, paradoxically, it was viewed as
an envelopment of the ego into the fathomless love of the Holy Spirit.
There do remain, however, methodological obstacles which confront us as we
try to construct the Roman identity of Perpetua of Carthage, and these chiefly
involve issues of class and gender. Elite women of the Empire constructed their
identity from traditionally approved social models. They were defined and
defined themselves principally by the dictates of the public sphere they inhabited,
the domus, and not by psychological constructs. The Roman state’s jurisprudential
understanding of female responsibility, particularly with reference to those
women in the upper classes, was wholly gendered: females were daughters, wives,
and mothers, the latter being their principal adult role.34 Women were obliged to
be chaste (pudicitia), since chastity insured the legitimacy of their offspring, and
to bear children (fertilitas) as a part of their duty to the maintenance of the state,
and they were celebrated for having done so (Lex Iulia bce 18 and Lex Papia-
Poppaea ce 18).35 Conversely, female infertility was grounds for divorce and the
imposition of inheritance penalties (CIL 6.1527; 3.1670). A woman’s children—
if she had been given in marriage sine manu—were the property of her husband,
or of his family if he predeceased her. This is true for the elite as well as the poor.
It is certainly true that the elite had more visible public respect by virtue of their
class and its associations. If a woman was a matrona, for example, as was Perpetua,
she was accorded certain privileges, and her status was apparent even in her dress.
In the Republic, and there is some evidence of this in the Empire, a matrona
wore an undyed white wool stola, publicly acknowledging such honorific
33. A. Jensen, Gottes selbstbewusste Töchter: Frauenemanzipation im fr ühen Christentum?

(Freiburg: Herder, 1992), 201 and 254; but see in the same work, Chapter 2, “Frauen im
Martyrium,” 178–253.
34. Pliny, Ep. 1.14; 6.26; 6.32; and see M. Harlow and R. Laurence, Growing Up and Growing
Old in Ancient Rome: A Life Course Approach (London: Routledge, 2002), 58.
35. Lelis, Percy, and Verstraete, Age of Marriage, 68–9. These laws were not universally
respected, and Tertullian believed the laws ineffective, referring to them as vanissimas Papias leges
(see Apol. 4.8).
status.36 Furthermore, elite women in the Empire—as the jurists make abundantly
clear—could own (sui iuris), inherit, and bequeath property (Dig. 5.4.5.1 and
5.4.6.1); sue for divorce; and transact business ventures without seeking a tutor or
sponsor. They were citizens but could not exercise the franchise, and they were in
charge of the domus—the arena of their greatest power.37
However, as a member of the household she was, like all members of the
extended familia, subject to the paterfamilias and his potestas. Although it is
important that we not exaggerate the actual lived practice of the paterfamilias—
Perpetua and her father give the lie to such monolithic historical constructions—
it is clear that where his daughter was concerned he had considerable legal
authority over her, even concerning her choice in marriage. For example, neither
she nor her betrothed could consummate a marriage if either paterfamilas did not
approve, and either father could compel a divorce.38 We should assume that such
rules governed Perpetua’s marriage. By the time of the composition of the Passio
(ca. 203−207), elite women were given in marriage to their husbands sine manu.39
Thus, their fathers could in theory exercise legal claims to a daughter’s dowry;
although they lived in the domus of their husband, they remained under their
father’s potestas. They took their dowry with them into the marriage, and in the
event of a divorce or their death, the inheritance returned to the parental home if
the paterfamilias still lived.40 A dowry could be as much as one-quarter of an
intestate inheritance. The sine manu marriage thus protected the wealth of the
agnatic line of descent. All agnatic familiae were kin from the same domus (related
by blood through the male line). Although the nature of Perpetua’s marriage in
the Passio is not explicitly stated, it is almost a certainty that she would have been
given to her husband sine manu.41 Although some elite women enjoyed real
freedoms, they were as a group both de jure and de facto subordinate to men.
36. Livy, 34.5; and see M. George, “A Roman Funerary Monument with a Mother and Daughter,”
in Childhood, ed., Dixon, 180.
37. Saller, Patriarchy, 129–32. For the status of lower-class women in the workplace, see
N. Kampen, Image and Status: Roman Working Women in Ostia (Berlin: Mann, 1981), 133.
38. K.-J. Hölkeskamp, “Under Roman Roofs,” 115–16.
39. Ibid., 127. Cum manu marriage did not long outlive the Republic.
40. Saller, Patriarchy, 224; and note Dig. 24.3.66.2: Filia familias divortio facto dotem patri reddi
iusserat (“A daughter of the family after having concluded a divorce had directed the dowry to be
given back to her father”); and see Treggiari, Roman Marriage, 446.
41. There are nonetheless problems in the text concerning inheritance. Notice that the father
has control of her son. Even in a sine manu marriage, the husband, or if he was deceased, his family,
would take possession of all children. It is difficult to know how Perpetua’s father has usurped such
legal responsibility.
Their behavior was always at risk of being publicly censured; the charge was
typically one of transgressing approved gender lines.
Education was an arena where they were particularly open to such censure.
Women were intended to be illiteratae, and it was believed—even if the belief was
a stereotype which existed more for the sake of social control—that nature had so
designed them. Women who sought higher education or who displayed erudition
were thought to be not behaving like women and were viewed as threats to the
social order. While there are some notable examples of independent women,
typically among the most powerful elite who could afford to flout the tradition—
women like Antonia Augusta, or the empress Julia Domna, who read and was on
friendly terms with philosophers and who sponsored the sophist philosopher
Lucius Flavius Philostratus’s authorship of the Life of Apollonius—most women
who sought or displayed advanced education were vulnerable to public ridicule.42
Perpetua appears to have been a very well-educated matron. The text refers to her
as liberaliter instituta.43 In their homes, since the Roman household was not
segregated according to gender, wives also came into contact with friends and
patrons of their husbands and could and did participate in the husband’s domestic
social life.44 And even in their homes they could be subject to scathing attacks.
Juvenal in his ironically misogynist Sixth Satire mocks the woman who, dining in
her domus with her husband and his guests, wishes to discuss Virgil and Homer.
She is lampooned as a stereotypical matrona whose presumption to be educated
has turned her into her mirror opposite, the meretrix:
illa tamen grauior, quae cum discumbere coepit / laudat Vergilium, periturae
ignoscit Elissae, / committit uates et comparat, inde Maronem / atque alia
parte in trutina suspendit Homerum
(But most intolerable of all is the woman who as soon as she has sat down
to dinner praises Virgil, forgives the dying Dido and sets the poets against
one another, putting Virgil in the one scale and Homer in the other,
6.434–37/456).
Even if we read Juvenal’s verses as a fictive nostalgic evocation of an idealized

masculine past of the “good old days,” his sentiment, which depicts such female
42. Levick, Julia Domna, 107, 117–23.

43. P. Monceaux, Histoire littéraire de l’Afr ique chrétienne depuis les origines jusqu’a l’invasion
arabe (Paris: E. Leroux, 1901), 74: Perpetua had “une éducation très soignée.” See also McKechnie,
“Saint Perpetua.”
44. Treggiari, Roman Marriage, 414.
behavior as unnatural, likely still had coercive power, since educated literary
discourse remained the provenance of men. Thus, even within her domus an elite
woman, despite her moral authority, had to be circumspect in certain areas, and a
display of advanced education seems to have been one of them.
Women had somewhat more freedom for individual expression in their
participation in and maintenance of the religious cults. Religion allowed them
greater latitude for public expression without the attendant risk of public scorn for
having overstepped the bounds of gender roles, as it had been a prerogative of
women since the establishment of the Aedes Vestae. The Vestals, although they
were virgins dedicated to the state for thirty years, were not subordinate to men:
they had property, they had free access to households, they were able to commute
the sentences of prisoners they happened to meet on the street, and they served as
peace emissaries for the state. The six Vestals, however, were not representative of
Roman women, and their order—it is worth noting—is the creation of a patriarchal
mentality and, therefore, could in theory be abolished by that same ideology.
Women had greater association with those cults where the deity was female.45
The goddess Ceres was particularly popular in Carthage during the Severan
period. The empress Julia Domna was frequently represented on denarii with
Ceres on the reverse side. There is an early third-century marble statue of Julia
Domna in Ostia which depicts her holding corn and flowers. Forcing Perpetua
and Felicity to dress in Ceres’s robes on their initial entrance into the
amphitheatre was a way of reminding them and the spectators of the appropriate
cult for female worship and of using the robes of the goddess of fertility to mock
their abdication of the procreative role of Roman wives as professed Christians.46
To return to our subject of identity, for the overwhelming majority of Roman
elite women, identity was a product of internalizing socially defined roles. How
did such roles effect, complement, and possibly create the interior lives of these
women, and what can we say with any certainty about this private world? It is
45. P. Culham, “Women in the Roman Republic,” in Roman Republic, ed. Flower, 144. There is
a marked increase in the introduction of eastern cults from the middle of the second century, and
these seem to have attracted women. See M. le Glay, La religion romaine (Paris: A. Colin, 1971), 88;
and R. Turcan, Rome et ses dieux (Paris: Hachette, 1998), 157–99, and 179–87. Another facet of
traditional Roman religion and Christianity in North Africa is the likely persistence of earlier Punic
cults and the rigorism associated with them. See H. Hurst, The Sanctuary of Tanit at Carthage in the
Roman Period: A Reinterpretation, JRA Supplement Series 30 (Portsmouth, RI: JRA, 1999), 9. One
wonders whether the African Christians’ willingness to seek martyrdom may not owe something
to traditional practices of self-sacrifice associated with the cults of Baal/Saturn and Tanit/Juno
Caelestis. Apuleius suspected as much (Met. 11.5).
46. B. S. Spaeth, The Roman Goddess Ceres (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1996), 103.
difficult to discern even modern psychological identity—to know how an

individual woman might view her character, or how she understands her internal
strengths and weaknesses, as distinct from her social obligations. Yet despite the
difficulty of the recovery of such antique identity, we do have in the figure of
Perpetua in the Passio some idea of how a third-century Roman Christian convert
understood the constituents of what comprised her inner life or what today we
might refer to as her “self ”—an idea which is noticeably absent from the records
of women in this period.47 Higher education would have provided women a forum
for such reflection; it would have necessitated more literacy, and consequently, it
could offer a window into the intellectual and psychic world of women. The fear
of the dissolution of the social order as a by-product of female literacy seems to be
one reason that women were typically denied access to advanced education and
the reason that universal illiteracy was virtually normative among women of all
social classes.48 Perpetua, however, is a singular example of a Roman elite
matrona—though her singularity must make us cautious in extending her point
of view to her sisters—who not only received a very fine education but also went
the next step and wrote about her interior life.49
Public identity is brought into sharpened focus as we respond to the social
roles that society holds for each of us. Constituent social roles, such as marriage
and parenthood, were crucial measurements of the “good wife” in the Empire. If
a woman managed these conventions according to the mos maiorum, she was a
model wife. If, however, she transgressed such social roles, she was considered
dangerous, an unnatural woman, and suspected of being seditious and possibly
deranged. Her behavior was subject to penalties, stigmatized and to be shunned.
For example, even for a benign, possibly nonvolitional, departure from tradition,
like the misfortune of a miscarriage, the Lex Papia-Poppaea penalized those who
were married but childless by causing them to forfeit half of their inheritance and
47. G. Vidén, “The Twofold View of Women—Gender Construction in Early Christianity.” In

Aspects of Women in Antiquity: Proceedings of the First Nordic Symposium on Women’s Lives in
Antiquity, ed. L. L. Lovén and A. Strömberg ( Jonsered: Paul Å ströms, 1998), 142–53, in particular
pages 146–51.
48. B. Rawson, “Children in the Roman Familia,” in Ancient Rome, ed. Rawson, 170–200.
49. Sebesta, “Vibia Pereptua,” 1:103–30; A. Giardina, “Melania the Saint,” in Roman Women,
ed. A. Fraschetti and translated by L. Lappin (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999), 190–
208, who suggests (203) that elite Christian women were expected to be multilingual. In the same
volume see A. Fraschetti, “Introduction: Women and Silence,” 1–22; see page 4, where he notes that
some women might have received a liberal education. See also E. J. Watts, City and School in Late
Antique Athens and Alexandria (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006), 13.
their bequests.50 These constituent social roles are threshold experiences, and our
response to their invitation to enter and cross them, and thus embody them,
forms part of our public personality. Perpetua’s management of such crucial roles
is at odds with the social expectations of her Roman peers. She consistently
rejects the expectations of Romanitas, beginning with her repudiation of feminine
pudor, her refusal to follow her father’s wishes and her disdain for the jeering
crowd in the amphitheatre. There the angry mob mocks Perpetua and her
companions. They mock because they simultaneously hate and fear her. The
crowd’s fear is complex; it is a fear that Perpetua’s behavior might spread and
destroy the social system they represent. Their fear also represents something
deeper, something inchoate, and its expression likely embodies issues they are
unaware of—that is, it may also reflect an unconscious expression that Perpetua
represents, in her willingness to accept death, an autonomy denied them,
something powerful that is good and that they are afraid to embrace. The mob
understands at a subliminal level that her behavior, which they condemn as
subversive, also represents the degree to which their embrace of Romanitas has
subordinated their agency to that of the mos maiorum.
Matrona Dei
This shift in identity from Roman matrona to a Christian matrona Dei is
evident in two early passages:51
A. II.2. And among these was also Vibia Perpetua, a woman well born, liberally
educated, honorably married, who had a father, mother, and two brothers, one of
whom was also a catechumen.
B. III.1. . . . we were still with the prosecutors, my father, because of his love for
me, wanted to change my mind and shake my resolve. “Father,” I said, “do you see
this vase lying here, for example, this small water pitcher or whatever?” “I see it,”
he said. 2. And I said to him: “Can it be called by another name other than what it
is?” And he said: “No.” “In the same way, I am unable to call myself other than
what I am, a Christian.”
These lines are an account of the catechumens’ house arrest. Chapter II states
that Perpetua is a member of the elite, the honestiores, and her father likely a
curialis; she is well born (honeste nata) and admirably educated (liberaliter
50. Regulae Ulpiani, 15.16.18; Gaius 2.286; and J. E. Grubbs, Law and Family in Late Antiquity:
The Emperor Constantine’s Marriage Legislation (Oxford: Clarendon, 1995), 94ff.
51. The translations are mine throughout, based on a reading of the nine extant Latin
manuscripts, along with the Latin text of van Beek, Bastiaensen, and Amat, and informed by the
Greek of manuscript H.
instituta) and has made a successful marriage (matronaliter nupta). Chapter III,
written in her own voice, opens with the report of the background of an
immediately prior conversation with her father, which is not given. Chapter III
therefore uses aspects of verbal flashback to bridge past events with the present
conversation. She notes that in that earlier discussion with her father, while they
were still with the prosecutors, her father wanted “to change my mind and shake
my resolve”—presumably, at this moment they are in the midst of a discussion
concerning the reason for her arrest. She provides no more details of this prior
conversation but simply says that her father was speaking to her “out of his love
for me.” She provides little context for the conversation. It is not clear, for example,
whether the father and daughter were now “still with the prosecutors” or speaking
alone at this point. If the prosecutors were present, their presence certainly would
have affected the behavior and rhetoric of the father, who, given his status, would
not wish to be humiliated in front of officials by his daughter. While Chapter III
amplifies their relationship, its chief intention is to foreground her conversion to
Christianity, to showcase Perpetua’s education, to secure her role as leader of the
group, to illustrate the philosophical basis of her conversion, to depict her father’s
role in her education, and lastly, to demonstrate the risks to a woman if she is able
to reason like a man. All of these issues are a consequence of her education.
The ensuing colloquy between father and daughter is in dialogue, employing
short declarative sentences. Perpetua reports it omnisciently. Their conversation,
flirting with semiotics, concerns the philosophical nature of names. Such a
discussion between father and daughter is not what we expect in a scene where
both parent and child were under duress. She is under house arrest, and the
authorities have summoned him. Yet her narrative curiously ignores the reason
for his presence. Her rhetoric does not reflect the latent tension resulting from
her arrest or her potential persecution, but rather it depicts an atmosphere more
characteristic of two philosophers debating in the Stoa. The father, however, is
troubled and, it seems, must have been pleading with her, since she refers to his
behavior as one which, “out of his love,” tried to get her to give up what he
considers a destructive commitment. She, however, is focused on other issues,
particularly her membership in the new cult of Christianity. Accordingly, she
shifts dramatically the discussion from his immediate practical concerns for her
safety to an inquiry into the relationship of names to things. Imitating a
philosophical dialogue, she asks her father whether names are a mere convention
(arbitrary) or distinctive signifiers (natural), and if the latter, whether they point
to something innate and unique in the object signified. She then illustrates her
argument by pointing to a nearby small water jug and asks whether its name,
urceolus, is arbitrary or natural; can it be called by another name and still be a
water jug? Does urceolus define the intrinsic property of the thing named? The
father follows her argument; he agrees with his daughter’s prompting that the
name of the jug signifies its distinctive properties, and that it cannot be labeled
something else and still retain its natural property as a water jug. Perpetua at once
seizes the initiative and turns the question about the jug to herself, arguing by
analogy that if its name defines its unique property, then similarly her name
would define her unique character. She turns and asks her father, following the
logic of her argument, whether he would agree then that the name by which she
identifies herself (“Christian”) must also signify a distinctive property. Her father,
surprised by the turn of events, becomes apoplectic. He is unable to answer, and
he responds violently. Condemned by his own logic, defeated by his daughter’s
superior reason, and with his role as teacher and paterfamilias now usurped by
Perpetua, he turns against reason, the traditional manly virtue, behaves
unreasonably like an “emotional woman” and tries unsuccessfully to attack her.
The struggle is also reminiscent of the authority of naming given to Adam and his
subsequent role in naming living things (Gn 2.20). In identifying herself, naming
herself as “Christian,” she rejects the traditional male prerogative to name.
The dialectic has caused the two to change roles: the father ceases to use reason,
ceases to follow the logical imperatives of his beloved master Plato, and succumbs
to threats of violence, ceasing to be the paterfamilias. He regresses to a physical
prelinguistic state—a state in which language, argumentation, and the demands
of civilized dialogue do not exist. He has become a barbarian, someone outside of
culture, a child or an infans, one without speech. The daughter has become the
adult, the parent to the child-father. Perpetua’s identity has begun to shift as she
begins her pilgrimage toward Christian autonomy. This new dynamic relationship
between father and daughter is played out in all their subsequent interactions in
the Passio. This initial meeting ends when she says he only “alarmed her and left
defeated”—he is unable to hurt her. This remark reminds the audience that
previously this parent as paterfamilias had the authority to abuse her with physical
violence. But now she says he left defeated “along with the arguments of the
devil.”52 She has begun to assume her new identity: one of power and authority
conferred by membership in this religious cult. Furthermore, in the creation of
her new identity she will employ language which embodies tropes of masculinity,
another potential gift conferred by membership in the Christian community
(Passio X.7). Yet seeking such authority is not her goal; it is an ephemeral one at
best. Her conversion and all her subsequent actions result in her imminent death,
52. Tertullian believed unreason and irrationality came from the devil and reason from God (De
Anim. 16.2; and Marc. 1.13.1; 1.18.2).
which is her real goal, and that goal requires the sacrifice of her present life in
order to attain an eternal one.
This brief discussion between father and daughter marks a number of major
turning points in the Passio and illustrates the depth of the studied sophistication
of this text. First, it has a distinguished antecedent: the passage is a deliberate
invocation of a related discussion on the nature of names in Plato’s Cratylus, the
most significant of the dialogues on the significance of names. Plato considers
whether names are conventional and change as needed or natural signifiers
identifying unique and unchanging properties of things. The Cratylus, like the
Passio, employs a similar short declarative question-and-answer structure and
also makes use of homely utilitarian examples. Socrates asks Cratylus whether
the names we use for an “awl,” a “knife,” or a weaver’s “shuttle” are mere convention
or natural signifiers. Perpetua’s water jug serves the same end. That is, even base
objects reveal the existence of some permanent attribute conferred by nature.
Their names are not arbitrary. Plato’s investigation of the property of names in the
Cratylus is an effort to further demonstrate the existence of his forms, his
immutable ideas, showing how they exist in the onomastics of language. The
character Cratylus argues the point against Socrates that if you refer to an object
without using its actual name you fail to refer to it at all; it does not exist. Perpetua
and her father accept this “realist” position. Although there are no precise
linguistic echoes—the use of a borrowed word or phrase—from the Cratylus in
the Passio, the thematic similarity and intention of the two texts are parallel, and
I am confident that the author of this passage intended the reader to catch the
allusion to the Cratylus. These lines in the Passio suggest the protagonist had read
Plato, or some epitome of his work; this was an exceptional accomplishment for
an elite Roman woman living in a provincial imperial city. Moreover, she read it
with her father in his domus, because he (as we learn later) loved her more than
her brothers and saw to her education. This father-daughter relationship at the
expense of the male heirs is also an anomaly in imperial society, as is the father
supervising the education of the daughter. It contradicts much of what we can
discern from the normative historical record of such relationships. Although such
a learned allusion is uncommon in the literature of martyrdom, particularly one
that claims an autobiographical status, the thematic similarity of the two texts is
difficult to ignore. We do know that Perpetua was fluent in Greek (Passio XIII)
and that Greek was spoken in Roman Carthage and may have been the principal
language of the local Christian hierarchy (XIII.1).53
53. Giardina, “Melania the Saint,” 203.

The discussion with her father also confirms characteristics of her upbringing
briefly mentioned in Chapter II (see the section “Father”). She had an uncommon
education (liberaliter instituta), which gave her the ability to paraphrase
philosophical dialogues. Her identity is no longer merely contained under the
rubric of matrona, since she now appears to have usurped the privileges of
masculinity, which Juvenal so disapproved of in a woman.
But the most difficult question remains unanswered: What precise sort of
identity has she chosen with the ringing phrase, sum Christiana? What can she
possibly have hoped to gain by joining a small, outlawed minority cult despised
by the general population and one at least nominally not supportive of female
authority? Did being a member of that cult provide an alternative oppositional
identity? Women had been a signal presence in the membership of the Christian
Church since the earliest times. For example, those passages in the Pauline
Epistles which discuss the role of women reflect a tension which illustrates
Paul’s inherited cultural misogyny against his emerging understanding of
women as integral and equal partners in the Christian body. The Epistle to the
Romans suggests that there was an abundance of women playing a role in the
active ministry of the Church (16.1–16). Paul’s language—notably words such
as σ υνεργός, διάκονος, and ἀπόσ τολος—underscores this. However, as Meeks
and Witherton have shown, the overwhelming majority of these women were
from the lower classes—though there is evidence of some women of wealth and
from the artisan class—and their choice to join the Church was likely dictated
by the fact that they gained more than they lost.54 Celsus’s well known barb that
the Church appealed only to “slaves, women, and children” is likely not far from
the mark (Origen, Con. Cel. 3.44). And it is these women—as I will show below
(see the section “Mother, Aunt, Siblings”)—who may have been the principal
teachers who spread Christianity.55
The church of North Africa and the choice confronting Vibia Perpetua,
however, were very different from the first century church of the apostles, and
Perpetua’s decision as a woman was far more fraught with grave consequences.
She is a member of the elite; she leaves a world of defined status, albeit one socially
restrictive, to join a supersititio, a cult whose status was religio illicita. She abandons
54. B. Witherington, Women in the Earliest Churches, Society for New Testament Studies
Monograph Series 59 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 125–27; W. Meeks, The
First Urban Christians: the Social World of the Apostle Paul , 2nd ed. (New Haven: Yale University
Press, 2003), 57.
55. M. Y. MacDonald, “Was Celsus Right?: The Role of Women in the Expansion of Early
Christianity,” in Early Christian Families, ed. Balch and Osiek, 157–84; see 168ff.
her only son, her paternal family, and her husband’s family; accepts the indictment
of criminal; and becomes a social pariah who will die the most humiliating death
(ad bestias), reserved for the lowest classes, in the arena within a short time after
her conversion. Surely her expectations of what she would gain from her new
Christian identity must have been extraordinary, or we must conclude with the
Roman populace that she was unbalanced, an unnatural woman.
Was there a role in the church in Carthage that would provide such elite women
sufficient reward to sacrifice everything? If they received leadership positions,
were they such as to provide autonomy and the authority to lead and minister to
this small and persecuted Christian Church? At first glance, there appears to have
been little opportunity in this small gathering of house churches. The local
church in Carthage—possibly under the loose tutelage of its most outspoken
intellectual, Tertullian—does not appear to be a community which provided
such opportunity for women. The community was entirely Roman in its
orientation and had already appointed its first bishop, Agrippinus, a supporter of
Roman praxis and a cleric who was also convinced of the justification for a
monarchial bishop.56 Tertullian, himself, as is well known, was not sympathetic to
females who wished to leave their traditional roles, as seen in his famous diatribe:
“And do you not know that you are each an Eve? The sentence of God on this sex
of yours lives in this age: the guilt must of necessity live too. You are the devil’s
gateway” (De Cultu Fem. 4.14: tu es diaboli ianua). Such sentiments are hardly the
sort that would welcome a literate, powerful female with a view to her own
authority. However, such quotations, which are frequently cited as proof of
Tertullian’s irredeemable misogyny and used to condemn him, function more
like modern sound bites, and they may obscure the full spectrum of his thought
on the role of women in the Church.57
Tertullian’s attitude toward women is complex. He was married and wrote
beautiful prose in praise of marriage, referring to his wife as “my best beloved
fellow-servant in the Lord” (Ad Ux. 1.1; 2.1), and yet he also penned prose as
damning as the citation above accusing women of being the “devil’s gateway.” But
56. We know little with certainty about the earliest bishops of Carthage. Hippolytus in his list of
the “seventy” successors of the apostles lists in nineteenth place one Epaenetus, bishop of Carthage.
We know nothing about Epaenetus, though some have identified him with the individual of the same
name mentioned by Paul (Rom 16.5). Agrippinus is known to have presided over the first Council of
Carthage and is called by Cyprian bonae memoriae vir (Ep. 70.4; 73.3).
57. For a modern reading with which I disagree that insists on his misogyny, see B. Windon,
“The Seduction of Weak Men: Tertullian’s Rhetorical Construction of Gender and Ancient
Christian ‘Heresy,’” in Mapping Gender in Ancient Religious Discourses, ed. T. Penner and C. V.
Stichele (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 457–78.
if we pose the question differently and ask what Tertullian believed about the
status of women within the context of his theology, we find his thought altogether
more nuanced. In the same treatise, in a discussion of the ontology of the human
soul, he argues that men and women have the same natures and that they will
posses the same angelic bodies once they are freed from their earthly flesh: “You
realize of course, that the same angelic nature is promised to you, women, the
selfsame sex is promised to you as to men, and the selfsame dignity of being a
judge” (De Cultu Fem. 1.2.5). Tertullian’s theology—as distinct from his belief
and praxis as an educated male—reflects a more complex, albeit occasionally
contradictory, understanding of the role of women, particularly as they play a part
in the Church.58 Tertullian the Christian believed that men and women are equal
in God’s sight from creation and are created out of divine love ex nihilo. The
human soul has no gender (De Anim. 36). Eve and Adam share the same identical
soul and flesh. At creation, Adam’s soul suffused his entire body. When his rib was
taken and made into Eve, she therefore received the same soul as Adam. Adam
shares equally with Eve in the first sin, and indeed Tertullian argues that Adam
was principally responsible for the first sin (Marc. 2.8). Women’s subordinate role
in the present, he asserts, is a result of the first sin confirmed by the curse in
Genesis 3.16. If Eve’s gender caused the fall, Mary, the mother of God, repaired it
(Carn. Chr. 17.5), and as men and women did share this radical primal equality,
they also remain able to receive equally the gifts of the Paraclete. Women,
particularly the martyrs, are as strong as men (Mart. 4.2.3) and may even forgive
sin (Scorp. 6.10).59 Men and women will both be raised from the dead on the last
day, alike in every regard, physical and spiritual, and with the same freedom for
eternal bliss or damnation (De Cultu Fem. 1. 2.5). Both can receive equally the
gift of ecstatic prophecy. However, women seem to have greater access to the gift
of prophecy than men (Marc. 5.8.11).
Tertullian believed that women, perhaps because he saw them principally as
nurturers, were more open to the voice of the Spirit, and more suited to the
visionary prophetic ministry. He states this even before we see the pronounced
effect of the New Prophecy in his work, that is, after ca. 207. He addresses the
women in his congregation in the most endearing terms, calling them “my blessed
ones,” “very dear sisters,” and “partners in service”—hardly terms of opprobrium
(De Cultu Fem.; Ad Ux.). He even notes and approves that some women were
deaconesses (Exh. Cast. 13). He writes as early as (De Anim.) c. 207 that a certain
58. See D. Rankin, Tertullian and the Church (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995),
175–85, particularly on the roles Tertullian allotted to women in the Church.
59. Rankin, Tertullian, 181–83.
sister during the Sunday service “speaks with angels, sometimes with the Lord . . .
and gives remedies for those that wish it and shares her revelations with those
who remain in the congregation” (9.4). This woman received the gift of the
Paraclete and was a healer—two extremely important roles in the African church.
Notice that Tertullian has no objection to her healing ministry, and he does not
restrict it to females. We should note that at the beginning of Chapter IV in the
Passio the unidentified brother says to Perpetua that he knows she can speak with
God. Like the woman Tertullian mentions in De Anima, Perpetua, too, speaks
with God and agrees to tell her brother the fruits of her vision.
For Tertullian, women and men alike should seek only the things of God.
Hence allurements—jewelry, makeup, unguents, elaborate clothing—are all
divisive distractions and to be avoided. He goes further, however, and suggests
that even those things that we hold dear and that appear to be necessities—our
children, a spouse, the round of our daily moral responsibilities—are, to use
Turcan’s most apt word—retinacula. Tertullian argues that if we would move
more toward the spiritual and away from the corporeal we must put away even
these attachments (De Cultu Fem. 2.13.5). Such matters become even more
pressing when Christians are facing persecution and hold a passionate belief that
they are living in the end times. The church in Carthage in the early years of the
third century was decidedly eschatological. Tertullian urges women in vivid
language to “seek not to die on bridal beds, nor in miscarriages, nor in soft fevers,
but to die the martyr’s death” (De Fuga 9). This is the language of revolution, of
rallying the troops. Such language understands the role of women in the Church
as a public one, ready to stand against the tyranny of the state when required.
Some three years after Perpetua’s death, Tertullian refers most approvingly to her
public role as a martyr-heroine of the Church.
Tertullian was accepting of powerful women in the Church, particularly if they
were prophets who communed with the Paraclete. Although the date of the
Passio antedates his own New Prophecy point of view, knowledge of the powerful
female prophets Priscilla and Maximilla would likely have reached the Christian
house churches in Carthage by the early third century. Perpetua understands
herself as a part of that ecstatic female prophetic ministry—as one who is destined
for martyrdom, a ministry to which she fully believed she was providentially
called. She combines two of the most highly respected roles in the Carthaginian
church, prophet and martyr. As she began to shift her self-understanding from
Roman matrona to Christian matrona Dei, she became increasingly aware of the
gift of charisma bestowed on her by the Holy Spirit and the obligation which that
entailed—an obligation to offer herself as a sacrificial oblation. The Christian
community, which held her in enormous respect, reinforced this growing sense
of her own privilege. Both the Bishop Optatus and the presbyter Aspasius fell at
her feet and begged her to reconcile them. Tertullian notes that martyrs could
absolve from sin, and, while there is no suggestion that Perpetua is absolving sin
in this meeting with the clergy, she is certainly reconciling these two men. Her
status as a figure of authority and power must have been well established in the
community before her arrest. The highest-ranking members of the church, all
male, recognize her elevated spiritual rank from the beginning. The Christian
house church, or, if you will, this new domus of Christian fellowship, provides her
with the opportunity to construct an identity that privileges her as an intimate of
Almighty God. She has willingly given up her conventional identity as wife,
daughter, and mother and sought an analogous identity as the wife and daughter
of the Paraclete, who gives birth in her to the revelation necessary for the salvation
of humankind, and, to paraphrase Felicity’s remarks to the prison guard: alius erit
in me, “there will be another inside me” (XV.6). Soon Perpetua will be able
to sacrifice her body in order to join her spirit to the everlasting Spirit of her
Christian God. Her identity as a Christian prophetess and matrona Dei will then
be consummated.
Mother, Aunt, and Siblings

Perpetua says little about these close family members, but her silences are
revealing. In my ensuing discussion of these family members, I shall consider
those brothers (fratres) whom I believe to be members of her natal family and
disregard those to whom the title “brother” is applied honorifically and not as a
reference to a blood relative (e.g., IV.1: Tunc dixit mihi frater meus). Although her
mother and brothers exist more as ghostly shades, as sketchy rhetorical asides,
they nonetheless play a role in the drama. Her mother and her siblings, like most
visitors to Roman prisons, had easy access to the imprisoned. Unlike the practice
in modern prisons, the accused were not kept in the jail for long periods—
sentences were carried out swiftly—and prisoners depended on their families for
their meals during incarceration.60 We can assume that the mother and the
brothers were frequent visitors to the prison. Yet despite her acknowledgement
that she speaks with her mother during her imprisonment, we are not told the
nature of these conversations.
While we cannot know what they discussed, the contrast between her
conversations with her mother and father is deliberate and dramatic. Her father is
garrulous, takes the initiative, frightens and depresses her and simultaneously
arouses her sympathy. He engages her in public to demonstrate that he is not a
60. Rapske, Acts and Paul, 12.

Christian and to save the family’s reputation by getting his daughter to renounce
her allegiance to the cult of Christianity. The mother and brother are, by contrast,
Christians. They are silent, not public figures; their presence lacks all drama, but
Perpetua seeks them out rather than her father when in need. There is no evidence
that she sought her pagan father’s support. Indeed, it appears that the majority of
her immediate family are Christian. The mother and brother may even support her
behavior. Moreover, as Christians they can hardly have a public presence under
such circumstances. Thus, from a legal and literary standpoint it may have been
prudent for Perpetua to have limited their role in the narrative, as it kept them from
harm’s way. Yet she does turn to them in crisis. Perpetua had enormous regard for
her mother and her brother, as she gives her precious son into their hands for
safekeeping (III.8). She gives her son to the mother when she is emotionally
drained. She has not been in prison very long; it is dark, chokingly hot. The guards
are hostile, and they try to shake down the prisoners. She is frightened; the child
is faint from hunger despite being nursed, and so she turns to her mother. Her
description of this moment has the ring of truth. It is what the reader expects, and
it is a response that would come naturally to most individuals. The genuine horror
of imprisonment, her alienation from all who nurtured her and perhaps the reality
of her impending death have temporarily penetrated her piety.
After talking with her mother she immediately turns to her brother to offer him
strength and comfort (III.8: et confortabam fratrem). The Latin conforto is
nuanced—suggesting a shaping of ideas, a bringing into harmony, a training of
the will, educating and causing to agree (OLD, s.v. conforto). Her mother must
have provided the frightened daughter with reassurance and praised her
conviction, as Perpetua changed after the conversation. And such change is
manifest in her remark about comforting the brother. Perhaps her brother was
despairing, frightened that things had gone too far, that the state was going to kill
his sister and perhaps other members of the family, including himself. Perhaps he
urged her to reconsider, or he may simply have been concerned for her welfare.
He was likely younger than she, since he was still at home and had not yet secured
a suitable marriage. Therefore, he would have been less than twenty and under the
jurisdiction of the paterfamilias.61 If he had been married, he would have left the
natal home and would not be associated in such a subordinate way with his
mother. Cicero takes it for granted that brothers, after reaching adulthood, would
live apart outside the natal home.62
61. R. P. Saller, “Men’s Age at Marriage and Its Consequences in the Roman Family,” Classical
Philology 82 (1987): 21–34. The marital age of men could vary from sixteen to thirty.
62. J. Gardner, “Nearest and Dearest: Liability to Inheritance Tax in Roman Families,” in
Childhood, ed. Dixon, 205–20; see 210, in particular; and see Cic. Off. 1.54.
Perpetua’s conversation with her mother strengthened her and may have been
the inspiration she needed to embolden her brother. Somewhat later in the
account of her imprisonment, one of Perpetua’s blood brothers, perhaps this very
one, is granted access to the new section of the prison where the prisoners are
now housed. That the tribune specifically indicated that her brother, along with
the unnamed others, could visit the imprisoned is an indication of this sibling’s
obvious and persistent presence in the prison as a visitor (XVI.4: ut fratribus eius
et ceteris facultas fuerit introeundi et refrigerandi cum eis). Perpetua’s conforto has
passed on the strength her mother provided her.
The mother must have been a powerful figure in her daughter’s conversion,
since she is able to stiffen Perpetua’s resolve. Indeed, this conversation suggests
that the mother may have been the source of introducing Christianity into the
household. Perpetua turns to her at her lowest moment, seeking reassurance that
her desperate path will prove the true one. It is a poignant moment: the child has
embodied the parent’s teaching and now faces death. The mother must have been
torn in her care for her child and in her allegiance to her new religion. However, if
she was made of the stuff of Augustine’s Monica, we can expect that she would
have preferred her daughter a martyr rather than an apostate. Women were
frequently proselytizers of Christianity. The Shepherd of Hermas mentions a
female teacher named Grapte who taught Christianity to widows and orphans
who dwelled in her domus (Herm. Vis. 2.4.3: “Grapte shall exhort the widows and
orphans”). Additionally, we have the more recent case of the New Prophecy
figures of Prisca and Maximilla and Tertullian’s remarks on the prophetess teacher
in Carthage. Moreover, five of the Scillitan martyrs were women. My suggestion
that it is Perpetua’s mother who is the source of Christianity in this household
helps explain why so many of the members of this household were also Christian.
The composition of the Church at this time had a large female component. The
churches were located in the home. Tertullian mentions such house churches.
Rousseau views the family as an apt vehicle for the spread of the religion at this
period.63 An older woman in an elite household would have had the authority that
comes with maturity and would have had easy access to her sons, daughters,
freedmen, and slaves. Augustine’s mother played a similar role a century and a
half later.
It is curious that neither of her surviving brothers seems to have alienated their
father, despite their Christian convictions, since the father makes the argument to
Perpetua that even if she has no concern for her own safety she should consider
63. P. Rousseau, The Early Christian Centuries (London: Longman, 2002), 130.
that of her brothers, her mother, and her mother’s sister (V.3: Aspice fratres tuos,
aspice matrem tuam et materteram). Aside from the father’s heartfelt appeal, it
also reflects the correct internal hierarchy in the Roman family. First he
acknowledges the male heirs and then the females. Furthermore, the fact that her
father uses the plural fratres in beseeching her to consider the welfare of her
brothers suggests that she is his eldest surviving child and these two brothers are
still at home and not married with families of their own. The father’s appeal pits a
traditional Roman insistence on the maintenance of the family against the
Christian idea that the family may be an impediment to salvation. Christ said to
his disciples, “I did not come to bring peace, but a sword,” and the apocryphal
Gospels and acts of the second century are filled with such anecdotes about how
conversion challenged family relationships.64 Although only one brother has been
specifically identified as a Christian, it is entirely possible that both were.
Perpetua’s maternal aunt is mentioned only this once, and only by the father. She
may have been a widow who lived in his familia. Such arrangements were typical
of the nature of the extended Roman familia. The aunt’s religious affiliation is
unknown. However, the father clearly recognizes her as an intimate family
member whom he knows Perpetua cared about. Otherwise, he would not have
used her in his appeal. Perpetua seems to be the product of a Christian family and
likely got her first taste of this religio illicita from her mother.
Saturus
Saturus is the catechist (quia ipse nos aedificauerat, IV.5) of this small group of
catechumens. He may have had Greek ancestry, as his name is the Latin form of
the Greek name “Satyros,” which, as Lamberz has shown, was a popular slave name
in Roman Africa.65 However, Saturus was more likely a freedman than a slave.
Much less is known about the status of the libertini and the libertinae than any
other member of the familia. Saturus is literate. He controls his coming and going.
He voluntarily gives himself up to the authorities. He is never referred to as a
slave, as the narrator does with Felicity and Revocatus. Like his fellow believers
and his students, Saturninus and Secundulus, he may have been either born free
(ingenuus) or manumitted (libertinus). A catechist was a teacher. Freedmen typically
retained their former occupations. It is possible that Saturus was a paedagogus for
an elite household before converting to Christianity, where he performs an
analogous role. For example, Hermas was a former slave manumitted by his
64. Mt 10.34. For more on the Gospels’ ambivalence about the natal family, see also Mk 3.21,
31–35, 6.1–6a; and Mt 12.46–50.
65. Lamberz, Die Griechischen Sklavennamen.
Christian mistress. It is likely that Saturus was also a convert, as must have been
true of the overwhelming majority of Christians in Carthage. We conclude this
because the very earliest mention we have of Christianity in Roman Africa is that
of the Scillitan Martyrs (180 bce), just two decades earlier. Fridh suggests that
Saturus’s narrative was originally composed in Greek.66 His facility in Greek
would have been particularly helpful as a pedagogue in reading and interpreting
the Christian Scriptures, which were likely more easily gotten in Greek than in
Latin. There was still a native Greek-speaking population in Carthage, and they
seem particularly well represented in the church hierarchy. Neither his marital
status nor his age is given. While the relationship between Perpetua and Saturus
is described as being close, there is no evidence that allows us to construct any
deeper relationship between them—certainly not that they are married (pace
Osiek).67 While an elite woman could marry a freedman, it was seldom done and
was looked down upon, since freedmen technically had no cognates (no official
kin). An elite woman who married a man with no cognates—and thus with no
standing in Roman society—would bring her own agnatic line into disrepute.
Moreover, it is most unlikely that Perpetua’s father, opposed as he was to her
embrace of Christianity, would have sanctioned a marriage between his daughter
and a Christian catechist. Perpetua does acknowledge that it is Saturus who gave
the small group their strength, but there is no hint in this remark of any relationship
more intimate than that of teacher and pupil. Drake points out that the spread of
early Christianity was likely through very small groups—like the one depicted in
the Passio—and I would suggest it had its origins in the family unit.68 Saturus was
not arrested with the group, but at some later time he voluntarily gave himself up
to the authorities. This is another indicator of his status as a freedman. He acts
volitionally. He was subsequently imprisoned with the catechumens and assumed
his role as leader. He is the first to mount the ladder to heaven in Perpetua’s first
dream, and encourages her to join him. Saturus also has a series of dreams. They
make use of common eschatological tropes used in the Jewish-Christian literature
of this period. Unlike Perpetua’s dreams, they reveal little about Saturus other
than his attraction to the idea of dying for Christ and the attendant rewards
martyrdom will provide. He was the first to die in the arena; first he was bitten by
a leopard and then had his throat cut.
66. Fridh, 33.

67. Osiek, “Perpetua’s Husband.”
68. H. A. Drake, “Models of Christian Expansion,” in The Spread of Christianity in the First Four
Centuries: Essays in Explanation, ed. W. V. Harris, Columbia Studies in the Classical Tradition 27
(Leiden: Brill, 2005), 1–14; see page 10.
Tertius and Pomponius

Perpetua remarks that these two men are deacons who took care of the
prisoners (benedicti diaconi qui nobis ministrabant, III.7). Their names do not
reveal much: “Tertius” was both a praenomen and a cognomen, and “Pomponius”
may derive from the family name “Pompeius”. Although her remark tells us precious
little about them personally, it nonetheless allows us to speculate on the deacons’
role in the prison and their relationship with the prison guards in early third-
century Carthage. They had access to the prisoners, and they were able to bribe
the guards (constituerunt praemio) in order to bring refreshment to the
imprisoned. Perpetua not only refers to them by their ministerial title, deacon
(diaconi), but she also calls them blessed (benedicti). This latter term may have
been a polite and respectful epithet acknowledging their formal role in the
community, or it may signal her deep gratitude to them personally for making her
situation better in prison. She seems to have had greater regard for Pomponius, as
he appears twice more in two dreams (see VI.7 and X.1). The deacon, an ancient
office in the Church (Phil. 1.1), was at this time a lay surrogate for the bishop,
assisting him in a variety of details, ministering to the poor, assisting the sick and
the hungry, and serving as a general dogsbody for the bishop. The monarchial
bishop was recently established in Carthage, and the deacons became invaluable
in extending the authority and the ministry of the bishop. As early as Ignatius of
Antioch, we learn that the deacon could even serve as the bishop’s secretary,
managing his correspondence. The deacon frequently served as the bishop’s
legate. The deacons were likely appointed by the bishop, but with the approval of
this small community. Given such an appointment procedure in these small
Christian communities, it is probable that the nominees to the posts were known
personally to most converts (Lactantius, De Mort. Pers. 10.12.52). In the Passio,
Perpetua represents them as interceding for the arrested catechumens inside
prison. Davies argues that the deacon not only ministered to confessors in prisons
but even supervised the burial of the martyrs.69 Perhaps Perpetua’s epithet benedicti
is more than honorific, designed to show respect to the clerical hierarchy, but is
heartfelt, based on her personal knowledge of these two men and their assistance to
her and her fellow prisoners. Their role in the prisons—ministering to the poor and
the sick, among their myriad other duties—indicates that the Church, small as
it may have been, nonetheless had an effective administrative structure. It strains
credulity to imagine that the prison officials did not know they were Christians.
That Tertius and Pomponius, officials in the Christian Church, could enter and
69. J. G. Davies, The Early Christian Church (London: Weidenfield and Nicolson, 1965), 131.
leave the prison freely without fear of arrest suggests that the catechumens were
arrested precisely because they were new converts and not because they were
practicing baptized members of an existing church. Trajan’s rescript to Pliny
still had the force of law if any official chose to enforce it. Some scholars persist
in claiming that Septimius Severus issued an imperial edict forbidding
conversion to Christianity, but assiduous research has turned up no such
document.70 It is far more likely that anecdotes like this concerning the deacons’
easy access to imprisoned recent converts suggests a persecution sanctioned by
local governmental officials, designed to stop conversions.71
Hilarianus
P. Aelius Hilarianus is one of three individuals mentioned in the Passio for
whom we have additional corroborating material from non-Christian sources. His
family was probably of Greek origin (a family cognomen “Apollonianus” is from the
Greek “Apollonios”): they likely received Roman citizenship under Hadrian and
may have had humble origins, possibly even that of freedmen. The family was
probably from Aphrodisias in Caria. Hilarianus had a successful career and rose to
senatorial rank at the end of his life through the graces of Severus or Caracalla. He
may have risen through the military ranks. He is likely to be identified with the
Hilarianus who served in the role of procurator ducenarius in Spain in the early
190s. Rives speculates that of the six procurators in early third-century Carthage,
Hilarianus was serving as the senior procurator for Carthage, the procurator IV
publicorum Africae.72 He is shown in the Passio exercising his authority to preside
over capital punishment cases (VI.3: qui tunc loco proconsulis Minuci Timiniani
defuncti ius gladii acceperat). At first glance, this seems to confuse the role of the
procurator with that of the governor or proconsul and may suggest that the Passio
is historically inaccurate in this instance. However, the Passio is historically correct,
and, while such procuratorial authority had only recently been made part of the
law of the land, Rives has shown that there had been instances of procurators
70. Tilley, “North Africa,” 388: “A generation later, Septimius Severus made conversion to
Christianity illegal.” See also Sermons: (273–305A) on the Saints, translated and annotated by
E. Hill, O.P., vol. 3/8 of The Works of Saint Augustine, ed. J. E. Rotelle, O. S. A. (Hyde Park, NY:
New York City Press, 1994), 76, no. 1: “They suffered in 203 during a persecution instituted by the
African Emperor Septimius Severus, on 7 March.”
71. A. J. B. Sirks, “Making a Request to the Emperor: Rescripts in the Roman Empire,” in
Administration, Prosopography and Appointment Policies in the Roman Empire , 121–35, ed. L. de
Blois (Amsterdam: J. C. Gieben, 2001), 122.
72. Rives, “Piety.”
serving in such capacities in emergencies since Domitian.73 Notice that the Passio
is careful to identify correctly the legitimacy of his assumption of such powers.
Although capital cases were normally under the jurisdiction of the provincial
governor, Ulpian does note that the principal duty of the procurator is to maintain
the peace and punish criminals and those who were found to harbor them, and
that if the procurator was serving in the capacity of the governor of a province he
could adjudicate such cases (Dig. 1.18.13). Hilarianus is serving in this position
temporarily, due to the recent death of the proconsul Minucius Opimianus, and
he has assumed the ius gladii (see “Commentary”). There is the parallel case of
one Gaius Minucius Italius, the procurator for the province of Asia (c. 105 ce),
who was “entrusted to govern in place of the deceased proconsul.”74 Italius’s
situation is like that of Hilarianus, who was serving temporarily and had probably
been appointed by Severus or Caracalla in place of the recently deceased Minucius
Opimianus. While the role of the procurator was not one normally with
jurisdictional authority over capital cases, the jurisdictional role of this office was
clearly being rethought, and there is evidence of change. Ulpian points out
Caracalla’s ruling permitting a procurator to take cognizance of capital cases under
the Fabian Laws (Dig. 14.3.1).75 The Passio further shows its fidelity to established
practice in its depiction of Hilarianus, who follows the abbreviated court procedure
of the cognitio extra ordinem designed to expedite the backlog of cases that were
plaguing the jurists and creating enormous delays in the judicial system.76
Minucius Opimianus
Opimianus is the recently deceased governor of Africa. The Greek version
gives us a more correct version of his name, Μινουκίου Ὀππιανοῦ. The Latin
“Timinianus” is likely a corruption for “Opimianus” (See PIR5 M 622 (1983),
where he is identified as proconsul for Africa in 202/203 and consul ca. 186). He
was a descendant of an earlier proconsul for Africa, one T. Salvius Rufinus
Minicius Opimianus ca. 123, PIR5 M 623 (see VI.3). I assume that his death was
recent, probably just a few weeks before the trial of Perpetua. If the persecution
took place in March of 203, Minucius surely must have recently died, perhaps
immediately before, hence the appropriateness of the aside defuncti. It would
hardly be necessary to qualify his situation as defunctus if some time had passed after
his death and before the present persecution, since knowledge of the new provincial
73. Rives, “Piety,” 2.

74. Levick, Government, 61.
75. Levick, Government, 61.
76. Kaser, “Roman Jurisdiction.”
governor would have been well established. Such a qualification lends more
support to the text’s historical accuracy. Ulpian also notes that the procurator acts
in this capacity in times of emergency, which suggests that Hilarianus’s appointment
to replace Opimianus was likely recent. The Passio notes that Hilarianus had
received the “right of the sword” (ius gladii, VI.3). This phrase denotes one’s legal
right to levy the death sentence.77 Thus, Hilarianus had received the consular
responsibility formerly wielded by Opimianus (see procurator in Passio VI.3) for
exercising his discretion concerning the implementation of capital punishment
against all provincials other than aristocrats (see Dig. 1.18.6–8 and 2.1.3).78
The adjudication of capital punishment cases was one of the most serious duties
of the proconsul. The proconsul had authority to impose the death penalty without
restriction on all non-Romans and on citizens after consultation with Rome. When
Roman citizens were involved, the governor would usually pass the initial judgment,
but the actual sentence had to be authorized by the emperor. In the early years of
the first century, the defendant was often dispatched to Rome. By the second
century, however, all that seems to have been required was written permission to
execute. If this procedure was still in place at the time of the Passio, as seems likely,
there would have been a necessary delay in her execution because Perpetua was a
citizen, albeit holding the lesser rank of civitas sine suffragio.79 Might the delay in the
execution of Perpetua and her comrades support some presumption that the
decision was being ratified by Rome? The provincial governor of Lyons wrote to
the emperor concerning his disposition of the citizen Christians in 177: περὶ ὧν
ἐπέστειλε τῷ Καίσαρι (1.44, Martyrs of Lyons). Ulpian, writing after Caracalla’s edict
of 212, even remarks that women who have been sentenced to the salt mines for
criminal acts may retain their citizenship: si uero ad tempus damnantur, retinent
ciuitatem (Dig. 48.19.8). At least two questions present themselves that do not have
easy answers: Why was Perpetua not permitted an execution consistent with her
status as a Roman citizen, a beheading? And why was Perpetua’s father not liable in
his position as paterfamilias for “harboring” knowledge of his daughter’s recent
conversion to an outlawed sect? It seems unlikely, given that his wife and at least
one son were also Christians, that he had not known of her conversion, which she
emphasized to him in the Passio (III.2). Ulpian’s remarks on the procurator’s duty
to punish malefactors and those who harbor them seems perilously close to an
indictment of her father’s behavior of “withholding” such information.
77. Garnsey, “Criminal Jurisdiction,” 52, 55.

78. See also J. Ermann, “Ius gladii—Gedanken zu seiner rechtshistorischen Entwicklung,” ZRG
RA 118 (2001): 365–77. See, in particular, 365–66.
79. Peppe, Posizione giuridica, 14–16; and Bauman, Women and Politics, 2.
While the delay in their martyrdom may have reflected the exigencies of
sending a message to Rome requesting an opinion concerning her sentence, their
decision to sentence her ad bestias seems to have been a local judgment and one
intended to make an example of her and her fellow Christians. The father was
likely spared because he so publicly distanced himself from her Christianity.
There was little need to kill him, as it was now perfectly clear what happens to
those who deny the gods.
Pudens
“Pudens” is the cognomen of the prison guard. He is identified as an optio (see
“Commentary” IX.1). This rank is typically that of a junior staff officer (principalis)
subordinate to and often chosen by the centurion and someone who could
function as the centurion’s deputy.80 There are also instances of an optio carrying
out a permanent administrative duty. Pudens, however, is specifically referred to
as an optio carceris. This is a well-recognized junior military position and one
frequently associated with the urban cohort. These troops functioned principally
as an urban national guard and often served as riot control police at the games.
There is an analogous rank of optio custodiarum; the officer holding this post was
in charge of the guardhouse (the “brig”) in a legionary outpost.81 The distinction
between these two roles is an important one and worth making, since it
unequivocally identifies and physically locates this prison camp as a military one
inside the city of Carthage. There has been much scholarly confusion concerning
the location and type of prison depicted in the Passio. It seems indisputable that
they are being held at this point in a military prison under the jurisdiction of the
urban cohort located not in the forum but perhaps northeast of Byrsa Hill near
the site of the present presidential palace.
As a junior officer Pudens would have received approximately double the salary
of the simple miles, and in the urban prison camp he would have been in charge of
a rather small number of soldiers, perhaps no more than a dozen. Petronius
Fortunatus, also an African, was made optio after four years of service—a fact
which underscores the junior nature of the position and the speed to get to rank.82
The junior nature of the position implies that Pudens is a young soldier, likely
from a humble background, and impressionable, as he appears to have converted
80. For a concise definition of the optio see Webster, Roman Imperial Army of the First and
Second Centuries, 120.
81. See D. J. Breeze, “Note”; and also his “The Organization of the Career Structure of the immunes
and principales of the Roman Army,” 11–57, both in Roman Officers, ed. Breeze and Dobson.
82. Webster, Roman Imperial Army, 119.
to Christianity after having observed the heroism of the martyrs (Passio XXI.3).
Pudens as optio carceris could well have been in charge of the camp prison.
However, I am still unable to account fully for why these individuals, in light of
their indictment as Christians, were held in a military prison and not in the civil
prison near the forum on Byrsa Hill. The choice of the military prison may have
something to do with the senior authority’s concern that the Christians could
have been freed from the less well-guarded municipal prison. The Passio states
that the tribune (tribunus, XVI.3) was concerned that there was a plot to free
them, and thus he had them placed under even more restrictive conditions. The
Passio is again accurate in citing the tribune as the one with the necessary authority
to effect this change. The jurisdiction of the prison is simply one part of the
military camp that would have contained the urban cohort, the prison, and every
other part of the camp, all under the overall jurisdiction of a tribunus militum
(XVI.3 and XVIII). The officer with the rank tribunus militum normally served as
prefect of the camp.83
Dinocrates
The name is well testified in Africa at least since Deinokrates of Rhodes, who
designed the city of Alexandria (ca. 332 bce). Dinocrates’s name reinforces what
I believe was his father’s love of things Greek. It was not uncommon for Latin
families to give a child a Greek name. Green has ably illustrated Rome’s complex
and sometimes ambivalent adoption of things Greek and the influence of such
adoption on daily life.84 The story of Dinocrates comes to Perpetua suddenly, as if
a divine inspiration. She notes that she has not heard his name for many years,
and his name came unbidden out of her mouth. Dinocrates died from a disfiguring
disease of the face which must have led to a type of septicemia which would have
killed him (see “Commentary”). Perpetua notes that he was a child of seven
when he died. She sees him in a type of Hades or proto-purgatory. His death
cannot be construed as retribution, as a result of sin or some action he committed,
since neither Roman nor Christian religion held a child of that age culpable.
Artemidorus makes the wise point that children are innocents since they have
not yet learned to lie (Oneir. 2.69). The dream of Dinocrates is not only artfully
done, but it is situated most deliberately at this precise point in the narrative.
Immediately before the Dinocrates episode, the Passio described how Perpetua was
condemned to death and how her father had taken her son away from her and refused
to allow her to have him for the remainder of her time in prison. Her dream of
83. See Dobson, “Legionary Centurion.”

84. Green, From Alexander to Actium, 501, 507–8.
Dinocrates, situated as it is right after the loss of her son, is not a coincidence. As
a mother, she longs for her child, now taken from her.85 Dinocrates was also
cruelly taken from his mother and family. Thus, Dinocrates also serves here as a
surrogate figura for her recently lost son. In the dream of Dinocrates Perpetua is
able to illustrate how her power—mediated through the Paraclete—can save him
for eternity. Additionally, the Dinocrates episode is intended as an exemplum to
her fellow Christians to illustrate that the power of the martyr can triumph over
everything that the state can do, and that such power can overcome the laws of
nature itself. Perpetua can change the fortune of the dead. She is able to free
Dinocrates from his unpleasant dwelling—a kind of Hades/purgatory where he
cannot play as a child and cannot drink from the font of living water. Her prayers
remove the disfiguring disease from his face; his clothes are made fresh and clean,
and the hot, dirty cave where he has been placed has been changed into a place
where he now receives refreshment from the font and where he can play as a child
should (Artem. Oneir. 1.55). If we also read Dinocrates as a figura for her precious
son taken from her by her father, her dream reinforces the idea that her baby, like
his long-deceased uncle Dinocrates, will be nurtured by his mother’s love, kept
safe and able to play.
Jocundus, Saturninus, Artaxius, and Quintus

These Christian martyrs are mentioned by Saturus shortly after he and Perpetua
arrive in heaven. Saturus and Perpetua recognize these four as fellow martyrs, and
Saturus says that they died in the same persecution (qui eadem persecutione uiui
arserunt, et Quintum, qui et ipse martyr in carcere exierat, XI.9). He does not
specifically indicate which persecution but does state that Jocundus, Saturninus,
and Artaxius were burnt alive in the same persecution (eadem persecutione) and that
Quintus died in prison awaiting martyrdom. Saturus’s use of eadem does not refer
to the persecution which he and Perpetua suffered, but rather it indicates that these
four died together in the same persecution at an unspecified time. Furthermore, it
seems most unlikely that if these four died in this very persecution of 203, as
some have suggested, that they would have had such an oblique reference to their
persecution in the Passio (pace Graham Clarke).86 All the others who were arrested
are mentioned, and even Secundulus, who died like Quintus—with no narrative
description of his final hours—in prison, is mentioned. I am unable to date or
85. See H. Sigismund-Nielsen for a different view of the feelings of Romans toward their
children: “Children for Profit and Pleasure,” in Age and Ageing in the Roman Empire , 37–65, ed.
M. Harlow and R. Laurence, JRA Supplemental Series 65 (Portsmouth, RI: JRA , 2007), 53. The
Passio contradicts Sigismund-Nielsen.
86. G. Clarke, Christians and the Roman State.
locate the place of their execution or provide any specific details about them. As
persecutions had been ongoing since the deaths of the Scillitan martyrs in 180, these
four men could have been killed anytime between that date and the martyrdom of
Perpetua and her companions in 203, if Saturus’s remarks are credible. Their names
provide little unique information, as all had currency in North Africa in this period.
Indeed, one Saturninus, in one of history’s ironies, was the proconsul who presided
over the trial of the Scillitan martyrs. Another Saturninus was killed in the Diocletian
purge and was celebrated in mosaics.87 Cyprian corresponded with Quintus, the
Bishop of Mauretania (Ep. 70), and, save for one Jucundus, an early fifth-century
bishop of Sufetula (c. 411), I have found nothing specific on Jucundus from the early
third century and no contemporary Christians having the name Artaxius. Indeed, it
may be that there were unrecorded persecutions in Africa before that of the Scillitan
Martyrs, as the pagan author Maximus of Madaura ridicules the Punic name of one
Numidian martyr, Namphamo, in his correspondence with Augustine. Augustine
chastises Maximus for belittling the Punic language and, after providing an
etymology for the Punic name Namphamo, refers to Namphamo as archimartyr,
suggesting—depending on whether one construes archimartyr as “protomartyr” or
“chief martyr”—that Namphamo was the first martyr of Africa (see Ep. 16.2 and
17.2). Barnes, however, disputes this finding.88
Optatus
We meet Optatus in Saturus’s eschatological dream (Passio XIII). Saturus
depicts himself and Perpetua after their martyrdom as having been received into
heaven. There Saturus and Perpetua are confronted by Optatus and the priest and
teacher Aspasius (see below) who are described as being separated from one
another and sorrowful. The two men are at odds with one another, and they
throw themselves at the feet of the martyrs and ask them to make peace between
them. The martyrs respond by politely reminding them of their leadership roles
in the Church. The martyrs embrace them, and Perpetua speaks to them in Greek.
We know nothing of this Optatus save what is narrated here.
The earliest bishop of whom we have any mention is that of Bishop Agrippinus,
who Cyprian says ruled the Church at the beginning of the third century
(Cyprian, Ep. 71.4.1; 73.3.1). There are no lists of the bishops of Carthage for this
early period. There likely were a good many bishops even at such an early date, as
the first Council of Carthage (c. 198–220?) was said to have attracted seventy
87. D. Raynal, Archéologie et histoire de L’Église d’Afr ique: Uppenna II Mosaïques funéraires et
mémoire des martyrs, 2 vols. (Toulouse: Presses Universitaires du Mirail, 2005), 36.
88. See Barnes, Tertullian, 262, who disputes this and suggests alternatively that Namphamo was
a Donatist martyr of the fourth century and might have died in a persecution before July 380.
bishops. The role of the bishop with its roots in the New Testament is not depicted
there as having exclusive authority for the community. Despite the efforts of
Ignatius in advocating a more authoritarian bishop, as late as the end of the
second century in Carthage the responsibility of the bishop does not seem to
have extended beyond the house church to which he was attached. The monarchial
episcopacy with its elaborate administrative structure and host of subordinate
officials does not really exist in Africa before Cyprian, who believed it was the
bishop’s singular authority to maintain harmony and doctrinal discipline (see his
De Unitate Ecclesiae).89 Cyprian’s assumptions about Agrippinus’s leadership are
an anachronistic projection of his idea of the role of the bishop onto this early
third-century Church.
We do not know the nature of the dispute between bishop and priest in the
Passio; it may have been theological, since the office of bishop was entrusted with
maintaining doctrinal coherence. There were likely a number of house churches
in Carthage, and it is possible that each of them might have had a bishop and a
priest with competing theologies. Optatus and Aspasius clearly recognize
Perpetua and Saturus and know of their martyrdom. They may have belonged to
the same house church as the martyrs. It is easy to imagine how differences in
understanding could emerge from such a loose administrative structure, hence
the need to continually monitor belief and practice. Notice that at the end of
Saturus’s narrative the angels single out Optatus and upbraid him for not
correcting his people who “wrangle” over issues as if they were discussing
competing sides in the games. The dispute between Optatus and Aspasius,
however, may have been political as well as theological—that is, a dispute which
combined theological, jurisdictional, and ministerial functions. The jurisdictions
of the bishop and the priest were not yet clear-cut, and lines of authority were
ambivalent and often overlapping. Hermas, in the Shepherd, discusses the bishop’s
role in language virtually indistinguishable from that which he uses for the
presbyter. Irenaeus sometimes actually refers to the bishop as “presbyter” or
leader (προεστώς), suggesting a mutuality of functions between the two offices
(Haer. 4.26.2). We know nothing of the status of the bishop Optatus or what his
socioeconomic class was. His name, a participial form derived from opto (OLD,
s.v. opto, pray), may reflect his status as a freedman, ending as it does in -atus.
While we will never know the exact nature of the conflict, what is of greater
interest to students of the Passio is that both bishop and presbyter ask the martyrs
to make peace between them. This reinforces the point that neither the authority
89. S. G. Hall, “Institutions in the Pre-Constantinian ecclēsia,” in Origins to Constantine, ed.

Mitchell and Young, 415–33.
of the bishop nor the priest is yet paramount and that the figure of the charismatic
martyr was more esteemed. The important role of the ecstatic, the prophet, in a
liturgical setting and in the Church has Pauline authority (1 Cor 12.10–30) and
must have been well respected in this house church in Carthage. Optatus and
Aspasius clearly recognize Saturus and Perpetua and the authority due them as
martyrs and beg for forgiveness and reconciliation. Tertullian reminds us in Ad
Martyras that the martyrs were able to reconcile and absolve sin and were sought
out by the faithful for precisely that ministry. This appeal to the charism of the
ecstatic is an appeal to an older, pre-bureaucratic ministerial role (Acts 20.17–38
and 1 Clement 42.4–5) and may also reflect the North African penchant for such
prophetic ministry, which we will see develop in the New Prophecy movement.
Perpetua’s use of Greek, despite the essentially Latin nature of the Carthaginian
church, reflects the persistence in Christianity of the importance of Greek in the
liturgy and in its administrative hierarchy. Lastly, the angels single out the bishop
Optatus for a special rebuke, indicating that he needs to exercise his authority
concerning issues of belief and that he has failed to do so.
Aspasius
Saturus mentions Aspasius as a presbyter and teacher (XIII.1: Aspasium presbyterum
doctorem) in the same passage in which he refers to Optatus. The name is a Latinized
form of the Greek Ἀσπάσιος and testifies again to the considerable Greek influence in
the church at Carthage—both in clerical personnel and in its communicants. The
name Aspasius was a popular one from the late second century, and there are people
of prominence named Aspasius, like Aspasius of Biblus, who wrote widely about
rhetoric and composed an encomium on Hadrian, and the distinguished rhetorician
Aspasius of Ravenna, secretary to Alexander Severus. Furthermore, in identifying
Aspasius as presbyterum doctorem Saturus uses terms current in the Latin church of
Carthage that suggest Aspasius was an officially recognized minister (presbyter)
attached to a house church and, further, that as doctor he was specifically involved in
the instruction of the catechumens (Tertullian, Praescr. 3.5). Furthermore, in this
capacity as the teacher of those preparing to enter the Church, he would have
developed close relationships with his students, as the time required for preparation
as a catechumen was three years (Hipp. Trad. Ap. 17.21; and Tertullian, De Bapt.). This
supports their mutual recognition. Aspasius therefore would have been a man of
learning and certainly would have been literate and would have had access to the
Greek Scriptures. The role of Aspasius raises the question of what precisely was
Saturus’s role. Was he, too, a presbyter, and if so, why is he not so identified?
The Carthaginian Christians, when compared with their pagan neighbors,
possessed very little of public cultic munificence: they had no temples, shrines, or
statues of their gods, nor did they have public festivals which they could celebrate
openly. They had Scriptures and a simple liturgy which praised a transcendent
God, who promised, if they turned from the ways of the present world, life
everlasting. They were only obliged to be baptized, to celebrate the Eucharist, and
to live according to the teaching of the Bible as interpreted by their bishop and
priest. Both priest and bishop officiated in these liturgies. The absence of cultic
artifacts and the inability to express their religion openly in the public sphere
gave pride of place to belief based on the interpretation of the Scriptures. Hence,
there was a genuine need for these liturgical officials to be vigilant concerning the
opinions of their communicants.
Rusticus
Rusticus first appears in the narrative shortly before the two women are to be
killed. The name “Rusticus” suggests a peasant, a man of the country (OLD, 3)
and hence someone from a low social status. It does not appear to have been a
popular name in North Africa at this time. The text states that as Perpetua left the
arena after the first mauling by the cow, Rusticus was there and kept very close to
her (illic Perpetua a quodam tunc catechumeno Rustico nomine qui ei adhaerebat,
XX.3). Does this mean that he was the first to reach her as she stumbled back
from her mauling? If so, such a crucial position in the narrative suggests an
individual of some importance in this small Christian community. However, we
are provided no details about Rusticus save that he was a catechumen and
apparently an intimate of Perpetua and a dear friend of her brother. It is not likely
that a catechumen would have such status or influence in the community,
particularly as he was not a martyr. Nonetheless, having recovered her wits after
the mauling from the cow, Perpetua called her brother and Rusticus to her and
urged them to be firm in the faith and not to be shamed or offended by the
martyrs’ deaths (exinde accersitum fratrem suum et illum catechumenum, adlocuta
est dicens: In fide state et inuicem omnes diligite, et passionibus nostris ne
scandalizemini. . . . XX.10). The emphasis on shame is never far from R’s concern
for his small band of Christians. That Rusticus was a special friend of hers and her
brother’s is obvious from her intimacy with him at this final hour. She trusted
him, and appointed him and her brother as her personal witnesses to her
martyrdom. The text suggests that Rusticus was brave in venturing so close to the
place of death and was himself vulnerable as a Christian. Perhaps he had
influential friends who made it possible for him to have been so close to the
action. He was in the midst of the melee of the actual persecution and yet is
identified as a catechumen, the same status which brought Perpetua and her
companions to their untimely end (see XX.7). His presence raises some difficult
questions: Why was he, too, not arrested and executed? Does his apparent
immunity from prosecution imply that only certain catechumens were arrested?
Did the state single out certain men and women for persecution for other reasons
in addition to their Christianity? Was access to the victims so porous in the
amphitheatre during the games that anyone could approach the floor of the arena
and reach the condemned? The Passio provides no answers for these questions,
but Rusticus’s presence makes them pertinent and suggests that certain individuals
were indeed singled out for prosecution.
II
T HE DATE OF THE
PASSIO
The Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis (hereafter Passio) is extant in

nine Latin manuscripts and one Greek manuscript.1 The earliest of these, St. Gall
577, can be dated no earlier than the first quarter of the tenth century (c.ix/x1).
Although the St. Gall manuscript is a beautifully written copy by a professional
scribe, the text is unfortunately defective and incomplete.2 Even leaving aside its
textual shortcomings, the St. Gall text is at least seven centuries after the putative
date of the execution of Perpetua and her comrades in March of 203. None of the
nine Latin manuscripts can be reliably traced back to an authentic exemplar, and
the Greek manuscript (c.xi2) is derivative and almost certainly a translation of a
non-extant Latin version.3 The question of the original language of the Passio,
1. See the section “Manuscripts and Editions” for a complete codicological discussion.
2. Aside from a number of corrupt readings, it ends defectively in Chapter XVIII, folio 73va in
Chapter XIX.3 of the current Passio. For a description of the manuscript, see B. M. von Scarpatetti,
Die Handschriften der Stift sbibliothek St. Gallen, Band 1, Abt. IV: Codices 547–669 (Wiesbaden:
Harrassowitz, 2003), 90–96.
3. As I treat this in greater length in “The Language of the Passio,” I shall only provide a single
instance of one class of problems which leads me to conclude that the Jerusalem 1 codex is a later
translation of a Latin exemplar. The Greek author consistently does not appear to know specific
Latin terms and also frequently misunderstands ranks in the Roman military. For example, when
the Christians are placed in the stocks the Latin text reads: Die quo in neruo mansimus (VIII.1, em-
phasis mine), whereas the Greek text not only does not supply an appropriate Greek translation for
• 60 •
The Date of the Passio • 61
debated since Harris’s Greek text appeared, is now decided in favor of Latin.4
However, the situation as concerns the date for the composition of the Passio is
far from resolved. All efforts at providing an accurate date for the time of the per-
secution and for the date of the earliest complete version of the Passio must be
viewed through a paucity of datable allusions and a knotty historical prism of the
nearly seven centuries which separate the earliest manuscript from the putative
date of the persecution.
The Passio text as it exists today is a composite one, comprised of three sepa-
rately composed narratives: the redactor (Chapters I–II; XIV–XXI); Perpetua
(III–X); and Saturus (XI–XIII). The redactor at some short interval after the
martyrdom received the two hypomnemata of Perpetua and Saturus and to them
he joined his preface and his account of their final days.5 The date of their execu-
tion has traditionally been established as being in March of 203 on the basis of
internal evidence of a local persecution, aimed specifically at new converts to
Judaism and Christianity, under the aegis of the new procurator Hilarianus (VI.1:
Et Hilarianus procurator . . .).6 However, establishing the precise date, if this is
the stocks, like ποδοκάκη, or the more common ξύλον (see Acts 16.24; Lampe, s.v. ξύλον, and LSJ,
s.v. ξύλον), but rather simply transliterates the Latin: Καὶ εὐθὺς ἐν τῇ ἑσπέρᾳ ἐν ᾗἐ ν νέρβ ῳ ἐμείναμεν
(emphasis mine). This is the earliest instance of νέρβος in Greek to mean the restraint or “stock.”
The Greek νεῦρον was not used to indicate a restraining device for the feet (cf. LSJ, sv. νεῦρον). The
Latin Passio refers to one Pudens as the miles optio (a junior-level officer rank usually subordinate to
a centurion) who is in charge of the prison: Deinde post dies paucos Pudens, miles optio praepositus
carceris (IX.1, emphasis mine). The Greek version, however, treats the same individual as a sim-
ple soldier: Καὶ μετ᾿ ὀλίγας ἡμέρας Πούδης τις σ τρα τιώτ ης, ὁ τῆς φυλακῆς προιστάμενος (emphasis
mine). Historically, the individual in charge of a Roman military prison would at least have had the
rank of a miles optio. For a discussion of optio see Breeze, “Note”; see also Speidel, Framework ,103;
and Watson, Roman Soldier, 126 and 205. See also OLD, s.v. optio.
4. J. R. Harris and S. K. Gifford, The Acts of the Martyrdom of Perpetua and Felicitas: The Orig-
inal Greek Text (London: C. J. Clay and Sons, 1890); J. A. Robinson, The Passion of S. Perpetua
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1891); P. F. de’ Cavalieri, Scritt i Agiografici, “La Pas-
sio SS. Perpetuæ et Felicitatis,” in Studi e Testi 221 (Rome, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 1962),
41–154; J. Amat, Passion de Perpétue et de Félicité suivi des Actes, Sources Chrétiennes, no. 417
(Paris: Les éditions du Cerf, 1996). There is an irony in the fact that Harris, who discovered the
Greek version and initially argued for its primacy, subsequently changed his mind in favor of the
primacy of the Latin, but he never acknowledged this in print. B. Shaw, working in Harris’s papers,
made this discovery in the marginalia that Harris left in his transcription of manuscript Jerusalem
1; see the reprint of Shaw’s 1993 essay “The Passion of Perpetua,” in Studies in Greek and Roman
Society, ed. Robin Osborne (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 203.
5. Heffernan, “Philology and Authorship.”
6. VI.1. Hilarianus (Hilarianus). This individual has been identified as one P. Aelius Hilarianus,
a member of the equites class from Aphrodisias in Caria. His family was likely of Greek origin—a
family cognomen of Apollonianus is from the Greek Apollonios—and they likely received Roman
indeed possible, depends on limited evidence, some of which is often open to

conflicting interpretations. In this chapter, I will provide a systematic review of
the evidence and show that March 203 is the likeliest date of the actual games in
which the Christians were killed. I will then provide a terminus ante quem of
206–9 for the completion of the Passio. The year of the persecution is not pro-
vided in the contemporary historical record. However, there is important inferen-
tial evidence, as I will show, which points to the year 203 as the most likely date
for this persecution. The importance of determining the latest date for the co-
mposition is crucial. In order to resolve the correct terminus ante quem I have
used three corpora of varying importance which, I believe, when examined with
care, will show that the Passio was most likely completed by the redactor before
209; these, in the order in which they will be discussed, are: (1) the date of Ter-
tullian’s De Anima, (2) the redactor’s comments to his audience in the preface
(I.6), and (3) the mention of the anniversary of the Emperor Geta’s birth (VII.8).
T H E Y E A R O F T H E M A RT Y R D O M
Let us begin with the date for the onset of the persecution and the evidence for
the date of 203.7 Actually, we confront three different dating problems: the identifi-
cation of the year, the month, and the day. Unfortunately, the quality of the evi-
dence for determining each of these differs. Let us begin with the year for the games.
The Passio notes that one Hilarianus had recently assumed his procuratorial posi-
tion on the recent death of the proconsul Minucius Timinianus (VI.3: qui tunc loco
proconsulis Minuci Timiniani defuncti ius gladii acceperat).8 Timinianus, or more
citizenship under Hadrian. The Hilarianus of the Passio may have risen through the military ranks.
He is likely to be identified with the Hilarianus who served in the role of procurator ducenarius in
Spain in the early 190s. Of the six procurators in early third-century Carthage, Rives speculates that
Hilarianus was serving as the senior procurator for Carthage, the procurator IV publicorum Afr icae.
See Rives, “Piety,” 5 and 9. Prosopographia Imperii Romani Saec. I, II, III, eds. E. Groag and A. Stein
(Berlin: De Gruyter, 1958), 89, no. 175 (hereafter PIR): it locates him in Africa between 198 and
208 (PIR4 H 175); Birley conjectured that he may also have supervised his fellow Aphrodisians
who were at work constructing Lepcis Magna. (See Birley, “Persecutors and Martyrs,” 46; and also
Bremmer, “Perpetua and Her Diary,” 92.) Tertullian mentions some of the abuses that were visited
on the Christian community during this Hilarianus’s administration, which points to his piety for
the Roman deities. (See Scap. 3.1: quod nulla ciuitas impune latura sit sanguinis nostri eff usionem;
sicut et sub Hilariano praeside.)
7. Leclercq, “Perpétue et Félicité,” col. 420; P. Monceaux, Tertullian et les origines, 71–2, vol. 1
of Histoire littéraire de l’Afr ique chrétienne depuis les origines jusqu’à l’invasion arabe. 7 vols. (Paris:
E. Leroux, 1901–23).
8. VI.3. Minucius Timinianus (Minuci Timiniani) was the recently deceased governor of Af-
rica. If the persecution took place in March of 203, Minucius surely must have recently died, hence
the appropriateness of the aside defuncti. It would be hardly necessary to qualify his situation as
correctly Opimianus, is known to have served as proconsul for Africa in 202–3.

Note that the Passio remarks that Opimianus was succeeded on his death (defuncti)
by one Hilarianus (P. Aelius Hilarianus). We know that this Hilarianus was in Africa
from 198 through 208. Opimianus must have died very recently—that is, early in
203—because the writer would hardly have used the qualifier defuncti if his death
had not been a recent one. Moreover, Hilarianus’s recent assumption of that admin-
istrative post may also help account for the presence of the important legitimating
statement that he had at that time received the ius gladii (“who at that time” / qui
tunc had received the “right of the sword” / ius gladii).9 This remark was an acknowl-
edgment on the writer’s part that Hilarianus now possessed the legal basis for his
authority and the power to sentence an individual to death. Such concern for estab-
lishing Hilarianus’s authority would hardly have been necessary if he had been in
defuncti if some time had passed after his death and before the present persecution, since knowl-
edge of the new provincial governor would have been well established. Such a qualification gives
more credence to the text’s historical accuracy. The Greek version gives us a more correct version
of his name, Μινουκίου ’Oππιανοῦ. The Latin Timinianus is likely a corruption for Opimianus. (See
PIR5 M 622 [1983], where he is identified as proconsul for Africa in 202/3 and consul ca. 186.) He
was a descendant of an earlier proconsul for Africa, one T. Salvius Rufinus Minucius Opimianus,
ca. 123, PIR5 M 623. (See DNP, 8:218, “allerdings mit dem Cogn. Timinianus bzw. Oppianus, das
zu Opimianus zu verändern ist”; Musurillo, Acts, 113; Barnes, Tertullian, 267; Thomasson, Fasti
Afr icani, 79; Eck, “Erganzugen,” 326–28; and Bremmer, “Perpetua,” 92.)
9. VI.3. (ius gladii / “right of the sword”). This phrase denotes one’s legal right to levy the death
sentence. (See Garney, “Criminal Jurisdiction,” 52, 55.) Thus, Hilarianus had received the consular
responsibility (see procurator in Passio VI.3) for exercising his discretion concerning the imple-
mentation of capital punishment against all provincials other than aristocrats (see Dig. 1.18.6–8
and 2.1.3); see also J. Ermann, “Ius gladii— Gedanken zu seiner rechtshistorischen Entwicklung,”
ZRG RA 118 (2001): 365–66. The adjudication of capital punishment cases was one of the most
serious duties of the proconsul. The proconsul had authority to impose the death penalty without
restriction on all non-Romans, and on citizens after consultation with Rome. When Roman citizens
were involved, it was usually the case that the governor would pass the initial judgment, but the
actual sentence had to be authorized by the emperor. In the early years of the first century, the de-
fendant was often dispatched to Rome. By the second century, however, all that seems to have been
required was written permission to execute. If this procedure was still in place at the time of the
Passio, as seems likely, there would have been a necessary delay in her execution because Perpetua
was likely a citizen, albeit holding the lesser rank of civitas sine suff ragio. (See Peppe, Posizione giu-
ridica, 14–16; and Bauman, Women and Politics, 2.) Might the delay in the execution of Perpetua
and her comrades support some presumption that the decision was being ratified by Rome? The
provincial governor of Lugdunensis wrote to the emperor concerning his disposition of the citizen
Christians in 177: περὶ ὡν ἐπέστειλε τὧ Kαίσαρι (1.44). Ulpian, writing after Caracalla’s edict of 212,
even remarks that women who have been sentenced to the salt mines for criminal acts may retain
their citizenship: si uero ad tempus damnantur, retinent ciuitatem (Dig. 48.19.8).
this office for some time and had been performing the routine duties of that office.
Hence, it is most likely that this sentencing of Perpetua and her companions, which
took place in Hilarianus’s presence, occurred shortly after the death of Opimianus
and thus was at the beginning of Hilarianus’s term as procurator, sometime early in
203.
Eusebius states that a persecution broke out in Egypt and parts of Africa in the
tenth year of the reign of Septimius Severus (Δέκτον μὲν γὰρ ἐπεῖχε Σευῆρος τῆς
βασιλείας ἔππος δὲ Ἀ λεξανδρείας καὶ τῆς λοιπῆς Aἰγύπτου Aαῖτος in EH, VI.II.2), a
persecution which led to the martyrdom of Origen’s father Leonidas. Eusebius is
at least partly right. Septimius was declared emperor in Carnuntum on 9 April
193, and Leonidas, if he did indeed die a martyr in a pogrom of 203, would have
died in the tenth year of the reign of Septimius.10 Eusebius’s knowledge of the
western Church was limited, and this is likely the reason that he makes no men-
tion of the Passio and the persecution in Carthage which took place in the same
year as that in Alexandria, that is, 203. Although there is no evidence for assuming
that the persecution in Alexandria was related to that in Carthage, or that Septi-
mius Severus issued an edict forbidding conversion to Judaism and Christianity,
the simultaneity of these persecutions and the relative proximity of Carthage and
Alexandria do suggest a shared climate of hostility towards these two groups on
the Mediterranean’s southern shore. Thus it would not be surprising that these
provincial administrations should try to limit their growth through legally sanc-
tioned proscriptions.
The Passio contains certain passages which echo contemporary Roman legal
practice and thus support the historical basis for the persecution as having the
approbation of the provincial authorities. Chapter VI, for example, contains frag-
ments from the commentarius resulting from Hilarianus’s actual examination of
the catechumens as he exercised his prosecutorial role under the procedures
guaranteed him by the cognitio extra ordinem.11 A comparison of this passage with
the examination provided in the earliest Christian Latin text of Africa, the Passio
Sanctorum Scillitanorum (ca. 180),12 illustrates that the procurator’s question—
designed to discover the truth of whether the accused belonged to a religio illicita
and thus was guilty of superstitio—was becoming something of a formula, and
10. Early calendars record the feast of Leonidas’s death as 22 April, and the year varies from 202
to 203.
11. The traditional constitutional principles of the Republic—specifically, procedures like legis
actio, formula, and quaestio—gave way with the emergence of the Empire to what might be viewed
as a more expeditious method of adjudicating cases, the cognitio extra ordinem (see Kaser, “Roman
Jurisdiction”).
12. Musurillo, 86: Passio Sanctorum Scillitanorum, 9.
thus buttresses the idea that these persecutions were becoming more frequent
even in the provincial cities of the Empire. Notice also the language of the Chris-
tian response to such interrogation, a response which itself was fast becoming a
conventional trope:
Passio Scillitanorum (I.7):

Saturninus Proconsul Sperato dixit: “Perseueras Christianus?”
Speratus dixit: “Christianus sum”
Passio (VI.4):
Hilarianus: “Christiana est? inquit
Perpetua: et ego respondi: Christiana sum.”
T H E DAY O F T H E P E R S EC U T I O N
The earliest Christian calendar which provides evidence for the actual day of
the martyrs’ deaths dates from the mid-fourth century; it is the Depositio Mar-
tyrum in the Philocalian Calendar of 354. The brief entry reads mense Martio.
Non. Martias. Perpetuae et Felicitatis, Afr icae. It notes that they died on 7 March,
but unfortunately it gives no year.13 The next earliest text to provide a reference to
the day and, in addition, to tell how they died and where the place of the execu-
tion was—and which agrees with the Depositio—is Prosper of Aquitaine’s Epit-
oma Chronicon (ca. 445). Prosper, reflecting an earlier tradition but not necessarily
that of the Philocalian, states that the martyrs died on the nones of March in the
city of Carthage: Perpetua et Felicitas pro Christo passae sunt non. Mart. apud
Carthaginem Africae. Prosper also refers to the death of Leonidas as having taken
place the year before. Thus the earliest calendrical witnesses—albeit a century
and a half after the events—agree on the day of the actual martyrdom as the
nones of March and place the persecution in the year 203 or 204.14 Furthermore,
there is inscriptional evidence from Carthage which dates from the fourth cen-
tury and gives the day of the martyrs’ deaths as the nones of March.15 Hence, the
preponderance of all available textual and inscriptional evidence points to 7
March 203 as the actual date of their deaths.
13. Theodore Mommsen, ed., Depositio Martyrum, in MGH, Auctores Antiquissimi 9, Chronica
Minora, I (Berlin: Weidmann, 1892), 71.
14. Ibid., Epitoma Chronicon, 434, gives the year as 204, but note that Mommsen’s lemmata
show that all the variant MSS he cites record the day of their deaths as the nones of March.
15. CIL 7.4 25038a, but see the possible date of 7 March provided by 25273 and 25037; see also
nos. 25038, 25272, and 25273. All are Christian inscriptions from Carthage.
T H E L AT E ST DAT E F O R T H E CO M P O S I T I O N O F
T H E PA S S IO
Having decided on a likely terminus a quo we can now investigate a terminus
ante quem for the completion of the Passio. As I indicated above, although the
evidence is by no means conclusive, it does seem to suggest a composition date
between the end of 206 and late 209. We begin with Tertullian’s De Anima, which
contains the earliest allusion to the Passio. In his discussion of the necessity for
maintaining a belief in Hades, Tertullian rebuts those who would deny that the
faithful must descend to Hades before the Resurrection. He concludes in his typ-
ically rigorist fashion that all the faithful, save the martyrs alone, will have to wait
until the consummation of the earth (LV.3: Cum transactione enim mundi
reserabuntur regna caelorum)16 before they may attain heaven. He notes that mar-
tyrs are particularly blessed, as they die in Christ and not in Adam. He cites, as an
unimpeachable proof for this point, the example of Perpetua, who on the day of
her martyrdom saw only martyrs in Paradise.17 Tertullian would not have cited
this example as a proof if he did not expect his audience to have been familiar
with the events surrounding her death. Therefore, the Passio must already have
achieved some iconicity in the local church, suggesting that De Anima with its
brief mention of Perpetua and her companions was written not too long after the
actual martyrdom. It is impossible to determine from the extant manuscripts
what the exact nature of the Urtext of the Passio, which Tertullian cites, was like,
as he actually misattributes this dream to Perpetua. All extant manuscripts at-
tribute this remark to Saturus in the eponymous dream attributed to him. Fur-
thermore, while the De Anima bears evidence of New Prophecy sympathies, it
does not share the spleen directed against Catholic Christians or illustrate the
departure from Catholic thought that is increasingly evident in such later trea-
tises as Adversus Praxeam, De Ieiunio, De Monogamia, and De Pudicitia, all
written about 210/11.18 Accordingly, the De Anima must have been composed
after the Passio in 203 and before 210/11, the date when his Montanism was
more explicit and systematic in his works. Notice that he does not single out Per-
petua or Felicity as examples of prophetic female voices, as some in the emerging
New Prophecy movement would have done, but as faithful Christian martyrs.
16. Souter, s.v. transactio.

17. De Anim. 40.4: Quomodo Perpetua, fortissima martyr, sub die passionis in reuelatione para-
disi solos illic martyras uidit, nisi quia nullis romphaea paradisi ianitrix cedit nisi qui in Christo
decesserint, non in Adam? Tertullian’s remarks differ from the placement of the events as we have it
in all the extant manuscripts.
18. Osborn would date the first hint of Montanism in Tertullian’s work to 207; see Osborn,
Tertullian, 212.
Therefore, with Osborne, I would place De Anima in a somewhat early period of

Tertullian’s emerging Montanist sympathies and, while I would agree with Barnes
in the main—placing it ca. 206/7—it may date as late as 208.19
T H E R E DA CTO R
Let us now turn to consider certain of the remarks of the redactor in our efforts
to determine whether they might provide evidence for the date of the persecu-
tion. The redactor concludes his preface to the Passio with a direct address to his
audience, referring to them as “brothers and little sons” (I.6, fratres et filoli). Filoli
has a particularly nuanced meaning here. In addition to its obviously affectionate
overtones for the younger members of the congregation, it also indicates in this
context people not fully mature in the faith (cf. II.1: Apprehensi sunt adolescentes
catechumeni), who were studying Christianity at the time and who are still young
some years after the persecution took place.20 The redactor continues, and he is
very specific in acknowledging his audience’s actual witness to the events of the
persecution. He employs the second person plural of the pronoun, acknowl-
edging those eyewitnesses to the persecution of the martyrs as those of you who
were present (I.6, vos qui interfuistis).21 The intimacy of his address and his ac-
knowledgment of their joint witness suggest that those present at the persecu-
tion, the fratres et filoli, were still alive, still strong in the faith despite the
persecution, perhaps were even known to the redactor, and possibly were mem-
bers of the same house church. Language employing metaphors of kinship was
used in these house churches among coreligionists.22 Yet as important as his direct
address is, it does not allow us to be precise in our dating. It does, however, tangi-
bly connect the redactor and his audience with the events of the actual persecu-
tion as a significant past moment in their salvation history, and one having taken
place within their recent collective memory. Furthermore, it suggests, albeit
through silence, that at the time of this writing there was no active persecution
taking place, as there is no hint of current persecution in the redactor’s remarks.
19. See Barnes, Tertullian, 55; but see W. H. C. Frend’s review of Barnes in The Classical Review,
n.s., 24, 1 (1974): 72–76.
20. Souter, s.v. filiolus; Blaise, s.v. filius. Note that Chapter II.1 refers to the martyrs as adoles-
centes catechumeni. Hippolytus states that three years is the length of time spent as a catechumen
(Trad. Ap. 17). If three years had passed from March 203, the date of 206 would be most attractive,
since Tertullian may have finished De Anim. by 206.
21. The Latin reads fratres et filoli, uti et uos qui interfuistis rememoremini gloriae Domini , where
the Greek employs the less personal form of the substantive οἱ σ υμπαρόντες with ἀναμνησθω̂σιν in
the third person.
22. J. Hellerman, The Ancient Church as Family (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001), explores
the metaphor of kinship, which existed in these house churches.
G ETA C A E S A R
There are few precisely datable historical allusions in the Passio. However, there
is one allusion, and it is a significant one, which further corroborates my dating of
206–9. It is the allusion to the Roman Caesar Geta (VII.8). Perpetua’s allusion to
Geta is crucial to our dating, and it is the only contemporary historical allusion to
the birthday of this Caesar. The allusion is found only in manuscript Monte Cas-
sino 210 (s.xi2), the most complete text of the Passio (VII.8: quousque transivimus
in carcerem castrensem; munere enim castrensi eramus pugnaturi; natale tunc Getae
Caesaris). The celebration of the games on Geta’s birthday means Geta was still
alive, and thus this must have been written before his murder in late December
211, and certainly before Caracalla issued the damnatio memoriae of 212. Perpetua
mentions the name “Caesar Geta” immediately after she awakens from her first
dream of Dinocrates. She provides two dreams of Dinocrates. Her first dream
depicts her long deceased younger brother, who died from a hideously disfiguring
cancer at the age of seven. Dinocrates appears as a phantasm with a disfiguring
gangrenous wound of the face—a wound so horrible that she says his death hor-
rified all men (VII.5: ut mors eius odio fuerit omnibus hominibus). She continues
her oneiric narrative and says that she saw her brother, along with many others, in
a crowded, fetid, and dark place. She remarks that Dinocrates is hot, he has an
unquenchable thirst, his clothes are foul and his color pale. He is in a Hades-like
underworld, and her description of it is somewhat reminiscent of lines in the
Aeneid.23 Perpetua notes that she prayed daily for him until they were transferred
to the military prison.24 Dinocrates’s repellent situation and his subsequent painful
death must have reminded her of her own impending death, since she abruptly
shifts (immediately on awakening from her dream) from her description of Dino-
crates to her own situation and her transfer to the military prison where she will
die. It is at this point in the dream when she states that she and her colleagues
are to fight in the military games on the birthday of Geta Caesar (VII.8:
quousque transivimus in carcerem castrensem . . . natale tunc Getae Caesaris). It is
23. Compare particularly Aeneid, 6.237–38: Spelunca alta fuit vastoque immanis hiatu, scrupea,
tuta lacu nigro nemorumque tenebris (emphasis added), and for a somewhat more oblique echo see
lines 427, 679–81, 713–14, 739, and 750–51.
24. Neither this camp prison nor the amphitheatre has ever been discovered. The first reference
to it outside of the Passio is from Prosper Tiro Aquitanus (ca. 390–ca. 463) who states, Qua tem-
pestate Perpetua et Felicitas pro Christo passae sunt non. Mart. apud Carthaginem Afr icae in castris
bestiis deputatae. See Theodore Mommsen, ed., Depositio Martirum, in MGH, Auctores Antiquis-
simi 9, Chronica Minora, I. p. 434. D. L. Bomgardner speculated (private correspondence) that if
the camp prison and amphitheatre did exist, they might have been located at Bordj Djedid, the
present location of the Tunisian presidential palace.
important to ask why she makes this remark at this point in her narrative. While it
is not possible to answer that question with certainty, her oneiric depiction of the
child Dinocrates (her younger brother) suffering in a fetid, Hades-like prison may
have provided a subconscious prompting for her own allusion to her imminent
transfer to the military prison and her impending death on the anniversary of
Geta, coincidentally the younger son of Septimius Severus. Blood sports, including
gladiatorial combat, were a common way to honor the emperor's birthday.25 Some
time must have passed from the time of her dream, the interval of prayer, and the
transfer to the prison, as she very carefully underscores this with quousque.
Publius Septimius Geta was the younger son of Septimius Severus. He was
likely born in Rome—Milan has also been proposed—in March of 189.26 The
actual day of his birth is harder to fix with certainty, and dates range from the
nones of March to the kalends of June. The games of March 203 in Carthage
would have been in celebration of his fourteenth birthday. These games were
likely significant for the imperial family and for the inhabitants of Carthage. Geta
may have assumed the toga virilis (Pliny, Ep. 1.7 and HA, SS 14.8) that year, and
thus these games were possibly in celebration of his tirocinium fori.27 Although the
toga virilis was typically donned at sixteen on the Liberalia (17 March), the sons
of emperors were not held to a set age or time for its reception.28 Furthermore,
25. The tradition of games to celebrate the birthday of the emperor had been well established
and practiced at least since Claudius, who instituted games on the birthday of his mother, father,
and son. Cassius Dio remarks that Claudius did nothing on the anniversary of the day on which
he became emperor, but that some of the praetors celebrated that day and the birthday of Messa-
lina. The games celebrated on his son’s birthday included gladiatorial games (see Cass. Dio 50.17).
See also J. Colin, Les jours de supplices des martyrs chrétiens et les fêtes imperiales in Mélanges d’
archéologie et d’histoire offerts à Andre Piganiol 3 (Paris, 1966), pp.1565–80, and Reallexikon für
Antike und Christentum, 9, cols. 242–43.
26. The HA VG 3.1 notes that he was born in Milan on the kalends of June, but the veracity of
the Geta is in doubt. See R. Syme, Emperors and Biography: Studies in the Historia Augusta (Ox-
ford: Clarendon, 1971), 26, 64, 183. The HA, SS 4.2 states that Geta was born in Rome, likely in the
year of Septimius’s consulship in 189. Geta’s full name is on an inscription found in Cirta in Africa,
an indication that Caracalla’s damnatio memoriae was not entirely successful; see CIL 8.2:19493.
27. The chronology of events in the HA is often garbled and must be used with caution. For
example, in SS 14.8 it notes that Septimius killed Plautianus for perceived treachery, but immedi-
ately following in 14.9 it states that Septimius wedded his eldest son to Plautianus’s daughter Fulvia
Plautilla and that he conferred the toga virilis on Geta. Actually Caracalla married Plautilla ca. 202;
he killed her father Plautianus approximately three years after their wedding in ca. 205, and early in
203 the imperial family was not in Rome but in Africa. Cassius Dio (77.2) is more nearly accurate,
noting that Caracalla married Plautilla in the tenth year of Septimius Severus’s reign.
28. Nero and Commodus both donned it at fourteen, and Alexander Severus on 26 June 221
at the age of twelve and a half (see Suet. October 26; Ner. 7; Calig. 16; and Tert. Idol. 16.1, who
mentions the ceremony of the assumption of the toga pura).
Septimius and both his sons were in Africa from the late autumn of 202 until early
June in 203.29 They likely spent the winter in Lepcis, Septimius’s native city, in
202–03. Inscriptions indicate that they visited Lambaesis (the headquarters of
Legio III Augusta) sometime in the spring of 203, that they were involved in a
campaign against the Garamantes in April of 203, and that they returned to Italy
in early June of that year.30 If we consider that March was the typical time for the
Liberalia, that the imperial family was in Africa, and that they had likely visited
Carthage—Septimius granted Carthage and Utica the prestigious and financially
advantageous ius Italicum31—on their arrival in Africa, it makes the games of 203
assume an importance they otherwise might not have had, particularly for the
local officials. It is almost predictable that the citizens of the largest and most
prosperous city in Africa would wish to honor the ruling family and the birthday
of the youngest son of the first African imperial dynasty with a dedicatory cele-
bration, particularly since the emperor and his entourage were then in Africa.32
The imperial family need not have been present at the games for the honorific
dedication to have retained its significance.
Some have argued that the persecution of 203 was a response to an imperial
decree of Septimius Severus. The HA is our sole evidence for this decree, and it
notes in an incidental and abbreviated fashion that “conversion to Judaism”
(Iudaeos fieri . . .) and Christianity (HA 17.1) will be forbidden.33 Cassius Dio
never mentions any persecutions directed at the Christian population by the em-
peror. If indeed Septimius did issue such a decree, for which the evidence is scant
and the rationale provided to justify it unconvincing, it would have to have been
issued sometime before Septimius left Palestine and traveled into Egypt in the late
autumn of 199.34 Dio provides few details of Septimius’s stay in Palestine, other
29. R. M. Haywood, “African Policy of Septimius Severus,” Transactions and Proceedings of the
American Philosophical Society 71 (1940): 177, suggests that they remained there as late as through
part of 204.
30. See Southern, Roman Empire, 45; pace Platnauer, Severus, 1970, 127.
31. Dig. 50.15.8.11: In Afr ica Carthago, Utica, Lepcis magna a diuis Seuero et Antonino [Cara-
calla] iuris Italici [ius Italicum] factae sunt.
32. See Birley, Septimius Severus, 1971, 217–21. Haywood’s argument (185) in “African
Policy of Septimius Severus” against special feelings for Septimius among Africans is eccentric
and unconvincing.
33. HA 17.1: Iudaeos fieri sub gravi poena vetuit; idem etiam de Christianis sanxit.
34. See Euseb. Hist. eccl. 6.1; and Carrié and Rousselle, L’Empire romain, 192–337; S. Perowne,
Caesars and Saints, 94; but see Birley, 154, and A. Linder’s classic study, The Jews in Roman Impe-
rial Legislation (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1987), 101–6, who cites no rescript from
202. Septimius Severus and Caracalla did issue a rescript (Dig. 50.2.3.3) about the Jews which
specifically allowed them to hold office and only imposed on them obligations which would not
jeopardize their Judaism (Eis, qui Iudaicam superstitionem sequuntur, diui Severus et Antoninus
than his sacrifice to the spirit of Pompey (SS 76.13). The HA is somewhat more
detailed in its narrative and notes that while in Palestine, Septimius removed the
punishments he had formerly placed on the city of Neapolis (current Nablus)
because of that city’s earlier support of Niger (HA 17.1). Yet the account in the HA
of the emperor’s stay in Palestine is so garbled as to be quite unreliable.35 Placing
Jews and Christians on the same level, particularly in light of favorable remarks
made in contemporary Talmudic literature about Septimius Severus and the lack
of any official legislation from Rome proscribing either Christian or Jewish prac-
tice, should make one skeptical about the account in the HA.36 Conversely, there is
good evidence which supports Septimius’s friendship with Christians—evidence
from his traditional enemies, the Christian apologists. Tertullian for one acknowl-
edges Septimius Severus as a friend of Christians (Ad Scap. IV.5–6: Ipse etiam
Seuerus, pater Antonini, Christianorum memor fuit). However, even if one were to
grant that there may be some historical basis to the anecdote in the HA, the date
for that edict would have to be 199, while the emperor was still in Palestine.
It would appear that the hostility against the Christians of Carthage was
long-standing, if episodic, and occasionally erupted into moments of crisis, which
led to public persecution. The Scillitan Martyrs suggests that there was persecu-
tion as early as 180, and Tertullian is rather specific about violence directed
against Christians in his Ad Martyras, written ca. 197.37 The imperial directive in
the HA then is likely a later interpolation intended to blame Septimius Severus
for the outbreak of hostility. There is no record of persecutions in either Alexan-
dria or Carthage until 202 at the earliest. Hence, the persecutions of the early
third century were likely a continuation of local responses to local issues and were
not a direct response to the imperial decree noted in the HA .
Although Eusebius places the blame for the persecutions squarely on Septi-
mius Severus and notes that it took place in the tenth year of his reign in Egypt
[Caracalla] honores adipisci permiserunt, sed et necessitates eis imposuerunt, qui superstitionem eo-
rum non laederent). There is no mention of anti-Christian legislation. Despite Linder’s work show-
ing the genuine lack of evidence of any imperial legislation against the Jews, some scholars continue
to cling to the idea that Septimius did promulgate an edict against conversion and that Spartianus’s
account in SS is accurate despite its late date and obvious fourth-century interpolations. See Tilley,
“North Africa,” 388; and W. H. C. Frend, “Persecutions: Genesis and Legacy,” in The Cambridge
History of Christianity 1: Origins to Constantine, p. 511.
35. Birley, Septimius Severus, 135.
36. Barnes, “Legislation against the Christians,” JRS 58, no. 1/2 (1968): 40. Barnes calls the
remark in HA an “indubitable fiction.” See also J. Hasebroek, Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des
Kaisers Septimius Severus (Heidelberg: C. Winter, 1921), 116–20, and his most useful chronology
on 192–93.
37. Heffernan and Shelton, “Paradisus in carcere.”
and in Africa (HE IV.2.2), his knowledge of events in the west was limited, and
he was likely looking to make Severus a scapegoat, a type of Antichrist, who
ushered in the persecutions.38 It appears more likely that proscriptions against
Christian conversion in 203 may—like the earlier African persecution of
197—have been largely a local matter. And this seems to be confirmed by the
evidence in Tertullian’s Ad Martyras that the persecutions had begun already
in Africa by 197.39
The precise cause of such persecutions, particularly that of 203, is difficult to
know with any certainty. It may have resulted from resentment at a recent growth
of the Christian community, from pious officials like Hilarianus resentful of a new
and potentially hostile cult, from Christians’ membership in an unapproved
hetaeria, from the perception of asocial behavior on the part of Christians, or it
may have had a politico-economic basis, as did that which may have provoked
Pliny’s censure of Christians or indeed all of the above converging in a genuine
intolerance for this upstart cult.40 Indeed, our evidence is so slight that we cannot
even be certain that Spartianus himself knew what was being forbidden: Was it
study as a catechumen? Was it Christian baptism? Was it the name “Christian”
itself which was forbidden, or was it referring to oneself publicly as a Christian
which was proscribed?41
Returning to our discussion of Perpetua’s allusion, if we examine closely the
phrase Perpetua used to refer to Geta, it is worth noting that she says they were
to fight “on the birthday of Geta Caesar” (VII.9: natale tunc Getae Caesaris).
Geta received the rank and name of Caesar from his father in 198 and was made
consul in 205 and again in 208.42 The earliest coins bearing his image and name
do not appear before 198. Although there are a few coins which bear his title as
Caesar as early as 198 (late in the year), the majority of the coins bearing his
image and his title as Caesar date from 203. The legend of the coins typically
38. P. Keresztes, “The Emperor Septimius Severus: A Precursor of Decius.” Historia 19, no. 5
(1970): 570; and see Euseb. Hist. eccl. 6.7.1.
39. Ad Martyras, 4.2.
40. R. L. Wilken, The Christians as the Romans Saw Them (New Haven: Yale University Press,
1984), 15. Wilken suggests that the famous letter (Ep. 10.96) hints that these anonymous com-
plaints against the Christians were from the purveyors of sacrificial animals intended for slaughter
in the temple sacrifices. It is well to note that Pliny uses this very word hetaeria in his letter to Trajan,
a word with unmistakable political overtones. See R. Wilken, “Towards a Social Interpretation of
Early Christian Apologetics.” ChH 39, no.4 (1970): 452 on Pliny’s use of the word hetaeria.
41. Heffernan, Nomen Sacrum.
42. Neither the Greek manuscript nor any of the other Latin manuscripts identify Geta by
name. The Latin manuscripts simply state a variant of natale tunc Caesaris, while the Greek reads
γενέΘλιον γὰρ ἤμελλεν ἐπιτελει̂σθαι Καίσαρος.
reads L. Septimius Geta Caes, P. Sept Geta Pont, or P Septimius Geta Caes.43 Those
coins, which bear his image after 198 and before 209, frequently refer to him with
his rank of Caes. The Passio’s reference to Geta as Caesar must date after 198 and
before 209, the certain year of his elevation to Augustus. Having established
above the likelihood of March 203 as the date of the actual games, we can further
restrict our scope to the six-year period between March 203 and the end of 209.
Geta received the ultimate tribute when his father elevated him to the rank of
Augustus sometime in the year 209 (possibly in the late autumn), when he was in
Britain with his father and brother on campaign against the Caledonians. Septi-
mius likely gave him this new rank about the time he appointed him governor of
Britain. Herodian states that Septimius brought his sons on the British campaign
to restore civility between the two brothers (Her. 3.13.2 and 3.14.1). Septimius
was undoubtedly also thinking of the future of his dynasty, as he was sixty-three
and suffering from a painful condition of arthritic gout (Her. 3.14.3). The late
bestowal of the rank of Augustus—Caracalla, though only a year older, had
received the rank ten years before—may reflect the aged emperor’s reassessment
of Geta, or more likely his conviction that unless he gave both sons equal rank the
more senior Caracalla would surely destroy his brother. Unfortunately, Septimius
was prescient but powerless to change the course of history.
The imperial administration lost little time in representing Geta’s elevation to
Augustus, and we have numismatic evidence for his elevation. There are denarii
minted in Rome and dated as early as 209 which show the traditional iconographic
portrait of the emperor, now depicted as a mature and bearded Geta, and they
refer to him as Augustus. Geta and Caracalla appear together in a coin from the
Roman mint dated 209 (late in the year) with the legend CONCORDIAE AVGG
S C, and Geta’s image carries his new title of P Septimivs Geta Pivs Avg.44 A number
of coins, typically with a mint date after 210 and referring to Geta as Augustus,
show on the obverse side the statue of a seated Geta and read VICTORIAE BRIT,
celebrating his earlier achievement in Britain. Thus numismatic and inscriptional
evidence amply illustrates that Geta was raised to the rank of Augustus late in 209.
Such a change in his status would have traveled quickly throughout the Empire.
Certainly the population in Africa, the homeland of the Severi, would have been
43. H. Mattingly and E. A. Sydenham, The Roman Imperial Coinage, Pertinax to Geta, vol. 4,
pt.1 (London: Spink & Sons. 1936), 330, no. 109; and D. R. Sear, Roman Coins and their Values,
2 vols. (London: Spink & Sons, 2002), 2: 560, no. 7152, a gold aureus (BMCRE 196). His prae-
nomen on the earliest coins is usually given as L[ucilius] but after 198 changes to Publius. This may
have been an attempt to avoid confusing him with his father’s brother P. Septimius Geta.
44. Sear, Roman Coins, 572, no. 7258; and see Mattingly and Sydenham, Roman Imperial Coinage,
vol. 4, pt.1, 336, no. 151.
keenly aware of any changes affecting the first Roman African dynasty, particularly
a change which placed the younger brother, who was not thought to be his father’s
successor, on the same level as Caracalla.
Let us now return to consider in more detail the reference in the Passio to
Geta as Caesar in VII.8. I wish to make two points concerning the language of
the Passio and the redactor’s narrative voice. Although the redactor is singly
responsible for sections XIV through XXI, he did not hesitate in his construction
of the Passio to make changes in the hypomnemeta of Perpetua and Saturus. I
have argued this more extensively elsewhere and will provide a single instance
of his editorializing here.45 Immediately after the redactor announces that the
narrative is in Perpetua’s own hand (conscriptum manu sua), in the very next
line—which is the first chapter wholly attributed to Perpetua—there is a
transition which begins by employing the defective verb inquam in the perfect,
a usage which can only be by the redactor, as it refers to Perpetua: Cum adhuc,
inquit. . . .46 In other words, although the diaries of Perpetua and Saturus may
largely be attributed to them, the redactor has not refrained from adding to them
when he deemed it necessary. My second point concerns Perpetua’s distinctive
language, called sermo humilis by Auerbach because of its natural idiomatic style.
She concludes each of her four dreams, arguably the most significant part of her
narrative, with the phrase “I awakened”—Et experrecta sum or Et experta sum
(IV.10, VII.9, VIII.4, X.14). She always follows this phrase with a concise
interpretation of the future significance of the dream just completed. In every
instance of this interpretative coda, save that which concludes her first dream of
Dinocrates (VII.1), she ends it with a terse prediction and a reading of the
dream’s portent. While she does provide such an ending and a prediction in the
dream of her brother, that chapter (VII) also contains two additional sentences,
which on first reading seem simply to provide information. The first of these is a
traditional transitional device designed to account for the setting of her second
dream, that of Dinocrates (VII.8: et orabam pro eo omnibus diebus quousque
transiuimus in carcerem castrensem). This is the only time such a transitional bridge
is employed following one of her dreams. She states unambiguously that she was
being transferred to the military prison (transiuimus in carcerem castrensem),
which, it is well to point out, has never been identified, archaeologically or from
any contemporary historical document. Aside from its rhetorical difference in
45. See Heffernan, “Philology and Authorship.”

46. The tense of the Latin verb is inherently ambiguous, but the perfect makes the change
from the redactor to this new speaker smoother (see E. J. Kenney, Bryn Mawr Classical Review,
2004.02.45: “clearly indicates that the Roman ear accepted it [inquit] indifferently as present or
preterite according to context.” The Greek uses the present tense φησίν.
concluding the dream narrative, her remark raises a number of related questions:
Why would she add the information concerning her place and day of death in a
dream about her brother? Would a young Roman matron or her fellow Christians
have had knowledge of a military prison? Likely not. The meaning of castrensis
(s.v. castrensis, OLD) is restricted to military matters, and it is only used twice in
the Passio. It is a curious word for a young elite woman to use, as it is not a word
with wide application. Were the martyrs actually told that they would be
executed in games to be held in the military prison? If so, why would they have
been told the exact venue? Why would these young converts to Christianity be
executed in the military camp? Their expectation—as surely it must have been
the expectation of the general populace—must have been that such games
were to be held where they were normally held for such executions—in the
municipal amphitheatre. If they were found guilty of disregarding the
precedent going back to Trajan’s rescript to Pliny—as seems to be the likely
legal precedent which Hilarianus followed—then the normal place for such
public punishment was the municipal amphitheatre, where public humiliation
could be expected, and such degradation was an important part of the spectacle
for those individuals found guilty of superstitio. Although it is impossible to
answer such questions with certainty, they should at the very least be raised,
since they point the researcher towards additional avenues of exploration. For
example, might the redactor have added this line after the conclusion of the
games, after it was clear which amphitheatre was actually used?
The clause which follows in carcerem castrensem is suggestive of editorial
redaction, as it exists principally to provide a specific historical context and does
not amplify her dream vision narrative. The line reads: “For we were to fight in the
military games; then it was the birthday of Geta Caesar” (VII.9: munere enim cas-
trensi eramus pugnaturi; natale tunc Getae Caesaris). The allusion is superfluous in
this immediate context, as it adds little to our understanding of her dream of
Dinocrates, the signal event she wishes to communicate at this point. And, as it is
an allusion to an historical event yet to happen, it serves to distract the audience’s
attention away from the moment and focus it on the future. Moreover, the clause
is intriguingly well informed. Where did she learn that this would be the day of
her death? Who would have had such knowledge? As this is the only contempo-
rary record which records Geta’s birthday, it does not appear that the date of his
birth was well known to contemporaries. Neither her fellow prisoners nor her
guards appear likely informants. Furthermore, why would Perpetua imbed in her
scrutiny of her agonizing dream of her tragically deceased younger brother what
is rhetorically more like an aside for an appointment? The effect of the clause shat-
ters the heightened mood she has created. The dream has returned the dreamer
and her audience to a time past where the intimate details of her private life as an
adolescent are revealed. The dreams of Dinocrates are the only revelations the
audience is permitted of her life before her conversion to Christianity. Accord-
ingly, they are dense with allusions to Virgil and to her life as a non-Christian.
Notice also that immediately following this historicizing allusion the rhetoric
returns to the language of heightened emotion, and to what I believe to be the
genuine voice of Perpetua: “And I prayed day and night for my brother with
groans and tears so that this gift might be given to me” (VII.10: Et feci pro illo ora-
tionem die et nocte gemens et lacrimans, ut mihi donaretur).
The dream of Dinocrates comes to her unbidden, as if she were in a rapturous
state, and is a restatement of her prophetic powers. The announcement of the
location and date of their persecution is rhetorically of a different order of semantic
valence from the language in the rest of the dream. Furthermore, although this is
a narrative intended for dissemination to the public, and hence not simply a
private, diary-like entry, it is important to probe the psychological authenticity of
this portrayal. Would an individual imprisoned and sentenced to death—one
whose singular narratives to this point reveal a heightened awareness of her
internal world, and who reveals herself in frequent dream-like states, often
expressed in richly symbolic language—focus on the precise location and time of
her impending death in such rhetorically neutral language? Perhaps, but it does
not seem likely for Perpetua. Indeed, in situations of such severe emotional
distress, individuals often avoid the representation of such verifiable details and,
rather than represent them literally, if they do represent them at all, depict them
symbolically in dreams and by analogy, precisely as Perpetua typically does. Thus
this allusion to her being transferred to a military prison arena and dying on Geta’s
birthday has, in this precise context, a hollow ring. It does not sound like the
language Perpetua typically employs.
If Perpetua did not write this clause (and I propose this hypothesis cautiously)
the likely author must be the redactor, whose voice finds expression throughout
the text. If we consider for a moment that the line munere enim castrensi eramus
pugnaturi: natale tunc Getae Caesaris may have been from the pen of the redactor,
we must provide some plausible reasons for his having added it, other than that it
does not appear to be in language similar to Perpetua’s. Since the reactor com-
piled the Passio after the martyrs’ deaths, he would have known the precise day
and place of their deaths, particularly if they took place on a significant day and in
a unique venue. Furthermore, as a literate Roman male, he is more likely than
Perpetua to have had knowledge of the geography of the military amphitheatre
under the aegis of the urban cohort, particularly if the games did take place there.
In addition, the redactor is at pains throughout the narrative to provide his-
torical veracity for such “new acts” as Perpetua’s (cf. I.1, nova documenta), so as
to promote their value as being equal to the “old examples of the faith” (cf.I.1,
vetera fidei exempla). The allusion to Geta thus complements the redactor’s his-
toricizing intent, which is to legitimate the New Prophecy among his fellow
communicants. Perpetua herself makes few unambiguous comments which
explicitly advocate the New Prophecy point of view. And while this larger Afri-
can Christian church looks principally to the Scriptural books of the past, “old
examples,” for their spiritual guidance, the redactor, likely speaking more to
those gravitating towards the New Prophecy—a group at this time still within
the broad theological umbrella of “orthodox” North African Christianity—
insists that that same revelation, canonized in “old accounts,” is ongoing and pre-
sent in the Passio. Therefore the redactor’s allusion to Geta and the military
amphitheatre provide exactly such necessary historical verisimilitude with
which to buttress this claim for the new movement. Moreover, it is reasonably
clear, using Tertullian as a touchstone, that the New Prophecy movement only
begins to distinguish itself against the larger church after 207. The redactor’s is
the only one of the three narrative voices in the Passio that can be said to embody
distinctive and systematic New Prophecy ideologies.
It is noteworthy that the only other mention of the birthday of Geta as the
occasion for their martyrdom is unequivocally by the redactor (cf. XVI.3). In that
instance, the redactor depicts Perpetua upbraiding the tribune for not providing
them quarters equivalent to their status: Quid utique non permittis nobis refrigerare
noxiis nobilissimis, Caesaris scilicet, et natali eiusdem pugnaturis. Yet here the name
“Geta” is not cited, simply the title. While this omission may seem curious, if one
considers that the redactor may have been the one to have cited it earlier in Chap-
ter VII, there was little need to use it again, since his audience would likely remem-
ber the name from its prior mention. Hence, in Chapter XVI he need only refer to
the Caesar in an abbreviated manner.
Lastly, if the phrase natale tunc Getae Caesaris was added by the redactor in
Chapter VII, it was necessarily added before 209 at the very latest, as after that date,
as I have shown, Geta was made Augustus, became joint ruler with his father and
brother Caracalla, and bore the title (which is ubiquitous in inscriptions and on
coins) of P. Septimius Geta Augustus. The redactor was an intelligent, rhetorically
sophisticated African Christian, zealous to demonstrate the historicity of his
community’s heroism. If Perpetua was not responsible for the allusion to Geta and
the identification of the place of her impending death, as now seems likely, the
redactor certainly would have recognized the opportunity to promote historical
verisimilitude for his theological persuasion by providing the place and the precise
time of the martyrs’ deaths and therefore added natale tunc Getae Caesaris to the
Passio before the autumn of 209, the date of Geta’s ascension to Augustus.
While there is little chance of reaching complete certainty on the date of the
martyrdoms and the final date of the composition, given the present state of the
evidence, the evidence which we do have does suggests to this reader that the
most probable date of the games was on or close to the birthday of Geta, that is,
on or around the nones of March in the year 203. And finally, from the present
evidence, the most probable terminus ante quem for the completion of the redac-
tor’s copy of the Passio is the fall of the year 209.
III
T HE LANGUAGE
O F C OMPOSITION
The debate over whether Latin or Greek was the original language of composi-
tion of the Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis began in 1890 with J. Rendell
Harris’s assertion that the Greek variant he had recently discovered in the Library
of the Patriarchs in Jerusalem was the original composition.1 Harris further con-
cluded that the longer Latin version was a translation of this Greek version, now
known as Codex Hierosolymitanus 1 (MS H), which has been variously dated
from the tenth through the early twelfth century. In addition to the Passio, the
manuscript contains a menologium of the saints for February. Prior to Harris’s
discovery, the linguistic tradition of the Passio was believed to be exclusively a
Latin one. Within a year of Harris’s publication, J. A. Robinson challenged his
thesis and argued for the primacy of Latin.2 Neither scholar had access to all the
manuscripts available today. Indeed, even van Beek’s critical edition was not
based on all the known extant manuscripts.3 Since Harris’s discovery and subse-
quent publication of his text, the discussion of whether Greek or Latin was the
original language of composition has continued unabated, with neither position
having achieved complete unanimity in the scholarly community. Much of the
1. Harris and Gifford, Perpetua, 1. Years later, Harris noted in his unpublished papers the
primacy of the Latin text.
2. Robinson, The Passion, 3.
3. Van Beek, Passio.
• 79 •
commentary is, however, more opinion than analysis. For example, R. Lane Fox
averred with little argument that Greek was the original language of composition,
while J. Amat has recently argued more cogently the case for Latin. I am pro-
viding below a sample listing of the more significant positions, beginning with
Harris, whose discovery of the Greek manuscript prompted him initially to argue
for Greek as the language of composition, a position he later reversed, adopting
Latin instead.4 I am unable to address every author’s position, since, if I did, the
4. See also G. Rauschen, “Die Akten der hl. Perpetua u. Felizitas,” in Frühchristliche Apolo-
geten und Märtyrerakten, ed. O. Bardenhewer, Th. Schermann, K. Weyman, 2 vols. (Kempten: Jos.
Kösel’schen, 1913), 1:40–56, who argues that the Latin is original and the Greek a translation:
“Ausser dem lateinischen Originale ist auch eine alte griechische Übersetzung erhalten.” Muncey,
Passion, 9–10, argues for the primacy of Latin; Shewring, Passion, believes the Latin original and
the Greek a translation. See his more closely argued essay based on a close reading of clausulae, “En
marge de la Passion des saintes Perpétue et Félicité,” Revue Bénédictine 43 (1931): 15–22. G. Lazzati,
“Note critiche e testo della Passio SS. Perpetuae et Felicitatis,” Aevum 30 (1956): 30–35, refers to
the Greek as a translation of the Latin (30). De’ Cavalieri, “Perpetuæ et Felicitatis,” supports the pri-
macy of Latin. Musurillo, Christian Martyrs, xxv–xxvii, believes Latin the original. See also Fridh,
Le problème de la passion, who also argues for the primacy of Latin. Hamman, “Félicité et Perpé-
tue,” 70–85, 157–58, who accepts the primacy of Latin. V. Saxer, “Passion de Pérpetue, Félicité et
Compagnons,” in Saints anciens d’Afr ique du nord (Vatican: Tipografia Poliglotta Vaticana, 1979),
39–57, argues that Perpetua and R wrote in Latin but Saturus in Greek. Halporn, Passio, 3, states,
“both the Acta and the Greek version are derived from the longer Latin version.” R. L. Fox, Pagans
and Christians (New York: Knopf, 1987), 210, believes the original was Greek. Bastiaensen, “Atti
e Passioni dei Martiri,” accepts Latin as original based on the uniqueness of Perpetua’s Latin style.
Robert, “Une vision,” argues that Greek is the original language of composition because Perpetua
speaks Greek to Optatus and Aspasius (in Saturus’s dream actually, c. XIII.4), but argues for Greek
principally due to the depth of athletic knowledge in the arena fight scene: “s’agissent en ce chapitre
x d’un combat, d’une performance agonistique, le grec est plus apte à en traiter exactement que le
latin.” The idea that someone would have to have an intimate knowledge of the types of combat in
the pankration in order to describe such an event takes literalism a tad too far. Indeed, it could as
easily be argued that as a woman Perpetua would have had less access to the Pythian games, and
thus her Latin reflection, as vague as Robert finds it, represents a more accurate representation of
a twenty-two-year-old female. Bastiaensen makes a careful study of the two linguistic traditions in
“Heeft Perpetua haar dagboek in het Latijn of in het Grieks geschreven?” in De heiligenverering in de
eerste eeuwen van het christendom, ed. A. Hilhorst (Nijmegen: Dekker & van de Vegt, 1988), 130–
35, and concludes that “la traduction grecque est quelque peu postérieure à la Passion latine.” Shaw,
“Passion,” 302: “My position is that the Latin version is manifestly the original. The Greek version
is a ‘translation’ of this (‘translation’, that is, in the sense current at the time the version was made:
not a word-for-word translation, but rather what we might call a ‘close version’ with additions and
glosses made by the translator).” Amat, Passion, 50–66. Osiek, “Perpetua’s Husband,” fn. 1: “and a
Greek translation . . . derivative of the Latin text.” Bowersock, Martyrdom and Rome, 34, who bases
much of his position that Perpetua wrote in Greek and not in Latin on the use of φιλοτιμία versus
the Latin use of munus, seems slight in light of the considerable evidence for Latin presented below.
The Language of Composition • 81
argument would more resemble a rugby scrum—or what Jan Bremmer has
rightly called a “mine field”—than an exposition of my point of view.5
I believe that Latin was the language of the original composition, certainly
of those chapters attributed to Perpetua and R. While I am less sure of the chap-
ters assigned to Saturus, even here I feel there is a better argument to be made that
he, too, wrote first in Latin and that R, within a few years of their execution,
knitted the two memoirs together with his preface and Chapters II and XIV–XXI.
However, though I believe the case for Latin is far stronger than that for Greek,
the manuscript tradition of both is so late as to make our assertions provisional.
Complete codicological descriptions of the manuscripts have hitherto been
wanting. I provide these below (see Appendix I, “Manuscripts and Editions”).
My observations in these pages are based on a close study of all the manuscripts
in situ. Determining the readings of the original exemplar is a difficult task, partic-
ularly when the textual tradition is so attenuated. The earliest extant manuscript
version of the Passio is that of Saint Gall (MS G 577). It is a beautifully copied late
ninth- or early tenth-century MS, but unfortunately ends incomplete in Chapter
XIX. However, as a provisional conclusion, I believe that Latin is the language of
original composition and that it is best represented by the Monte Cassino variant
(MS M 204, late eleventh century). Furthermore, I do not think that the Greek
text, as we have it in H, is a translation of this extant Latin tradition, represented
most authoritatively by M. The discrepancies between the Latin and Greek texts
are too many and too significant to suggest a common exemplar. The evidence at
this stage suggests that MS M likely derives from a Latin exemplar different from
that for MS H.
To further complicate an already complex textual situation, there are two dis-
tinct Latin versions: the Latin longer version, traditionally called the Passio, and
the shorter Acta. The Passio survives in nine Latin texts and the Acta in some
forty-one manuscripts. The Passio represents an older tradition, is more com-
plete, contains more historically accurate details, and is less given to panegyric.
The two versions of the Acta appear to have been written as epitomes in the late
fourth and early fifth centuries, and their idealizing tendencies suggest they may
have been used in a liturgical setting, possibly in the Matins lectiones. The story
See J. Halporn’s sensible critique of Bowersock in Bryn Mawr Review 96.04.28. W. Tabbernee, Per-
petua, Optatus, and Friends: Christian Ministry in Carthage c.203 C.E in http://people.vanderbilt.
edu/~james.p.burns/chroma/clergy/Tabborders.html, fn. 18: “The sole extant manuscript (Codex
Hierosolymitanus 1 = Amat H) of a Greek translation attests to this edition.” M. Formisano ed., La
Passione di Perpetua e Felicita: Classici Greci e Latini (Milan: Biblioteca Universale Rizzoli, 2008),
believes the Latin is primary and the Greek a not heavily revised copy.
5. Bremmer, “Perpetua and Her Diary,” who argues the case for Latin and sensibly shows the
errors in Robert’s analysis of attribution based on her fight with the Egyptian.
of Perpetua and Felicity and their comrades had become so popular that Augus-
tine was concerned that their narrative would rival the popularity of the Gospels
in African churches.
Turning to the text of the Passio itself, we find that there are three distinct
authorial voices present (four if we were to view Chapter I as by another hand):
that of R and the two distinct autobiographical accounts by Perpetua and Saturus.
R is responsible for Chapters I–II and XIV–XXI, and his hand can occasionally be
found elsewhere, for example in XI.1. Perpetua wrote Chapters III–X and Saturus
Chapters XI–XIV, and some have argued that Saturus wrote originally in Greek.6
R assembled the Passio in its present state sometime after the spring of 203 and
certainly before 211. These narratives differ in their outlook, emphases, syntax, and
their lexical choices. The Latin of R (particularly Chapter I) is learned, theologi-
cally sophisticated, replete with Biblical allusions, indebted to the New Prophecy
movement, and frequently argumentative. His syntax is complex, frequently fa-
voring long sentences with multiple subordinating clauses. There are also occa-
sions when R’s voice can be found intruding into the autobiographical narrative.
For example, he introduces Saturus’s memoir with a prefatory remark attesting to
its authenticity, insisting that it is from the martyr’s own hand. Perpetua’s Latin, on
the other hand, is comparatively unadorned. Her sentences are short and fre-
quently begin with a coordinating conjunction, and her word choices are often
colloquial and concrete. Her concern is chiefly with domestic matters—the care
of her child, her health, her father’s distress, and the nature of the food one will
receive in paradise. Saturus’s prose is more literary, often derivative; allusions to
the Bible—particularly to Isaiah, 1 and 2 Corinthians, and Revelation—and to
works like the Shepherd of Hermas are intentionally transparent. His aim is to con-
struct an apocalyptic memoir, not to provide a diurnal account of their prison
experiences as Perpetua does.
The Greek text, on the other hand, is stylistically more homogeneous. The dis-
tinctions among the three voices are less obvious. The Greek variant is the most
indebted to the New Testament, with more allusions to scripture, and it appears
to have been reworked by a single author. Its lexicon is more learned, more theo-
logically nuanced, and almost clerical. For example, immediately after her bap-
tism, the Latin has Perpetua state that from “the water”—referring figuratively
and concretely to the sacrament—“she should seek nothing other than suffering” /
non aliud petendum ab aqua nisi sufferentiam carnis (III.5). The Greek author, how-
ever, always refers to the sacrament by its liturgical name (ἀπὸ τοῦ ὕδατος τοῦ
βαπτίσματος). Lastly, the Greek text has a penchant for idealizing incidents, and
6. Fridh, Le problème de la passion, 82; and Petraglio, Lingua latina, 86.

in a number of important instances it illustrates an ignorance of features of Roman

African life and Roman military matters (see “Commentary,” VII.9).
Since the manuscript tradition of the Latin text is earlier, more complex, and
more problematic than that of the Greek, which is limited to the one manuscript,
I will begin my discussion with that manuscript tradition. There are nine extant
Latin manuscripts, which date from the late ninth/early tenth century (MS Saint
Gall 577) through the late twelfth century (BL MS Cotton Otho D VIII). The
Saint Gall manuscript, the oldest copy extant but not the best exemplar, is still
some seven centuries removed from the events described in the Passio. Such a
temporal distance from the period of composition, particularly when we are
treating hagiographic texts, calls for a healthy skepticism. Of the various genres
that survive from Late Antiquity and the early Middle Ages, hagiographic texts,
although a crucial part of the historic record, have, from their inception, been
subject to the zeal of excess piety, bowdlerizing, forgery, and misinformation.
Furthermore, it is entirely possible, R’s phrase conscriptum manu sua et suo sensu
reliquit notwithstanding, that the original composition, particularly in the case of
the two dream sequences of Perpetua and Saturus, may have been first dictated,
copied by a scribe, and then conflated by the Christian redactor with additional
material some time after the events of March 203. For a detailed discussion of the
codicology of the manuscripts, see “Manuscripts and Editions.”
D I F F E R E N C E S B ET W E E N T H E L AT I N
A N D G R E E K T E X TS
The differences between the Latin and Greek texts are sufficiently numerous,
and in a few instances they are of such significance as to allow one to make a rea-
soned judgment, mindful of the above caveat, about the original language of com-
position. Differences alone would not allow us to argue for the primacy of the Latin
or the Greek, but significant differences do provide such evidence. What consti-
tutes a significant difference? This is not a trivial question, nor is it easily answered.
A significant difference, let us call it a variant reading, is one that alters or adds to
the text’s meaning and our understanding in a substantive way that can be shown
to support the historical claims of the text and, depending on the nature of the
anecdote, may not be subject to contradiction when compared against other
authentic contemporary records. The Latin and Greek versions of the Passio con-
tain different types of variants, which require a different heuristic weight depend-
ing on their value as evidence. For example, the Greek and Latin texts provide
instances of lacunae, additions, misunderstandings, variants which mention histor-
ical personages, variants which provide richer rhetorical nuance, and even variants
that appear to be mistakes. This is a spectrum of variant readings which clearly are
not all equal in importance. Each difference must be assessed and not only assigned a
unique value, but also given a value depending on the category of variant to which
it belongs. For example, the citation of an historical personage in one text and its
lack in the other (as I show below) would be more significant, and assigned a higher
order heuristically, than a variant which concerned the particular order in which a
sequence of events is represented in the Latin and Greek variants.
I have selected just a few instances of various sorts of differences, comparing
the Latin and Greek, and treated them in some detail, to illustrate my belief that
the Latin is primary.
(A) Lacunae and Historical Figures: Caesar’s Name

Let us look at a single instance where we might apply such an assessment. The
Passio indicates that it is a record of the events which were celebrated in Carthage
in the opening years of the third century. Among the internal evidence which
supports this dating is the statement that the magistrate who heard the case of the
martyrs was one Hilarianus procurator, serving as acting proconsul due to the
recent death of proconsul Minucius Timinianus (d. 202).7 Both these individuals
are attested in the historical record, aside from their mention by Christian apolo-
gists, like Tertullian, who refers to Hilarianus in Ad Scapulam. Both the Latin and
the Greek texts agree that the games in which the Christian prisoners are to be
executed will take place on the emperor’s birthday. The Latin text, however, is
more historically precise, stating unambiguously that the games will take place on
the birthday of the emperor Geta.
munere enim castrensi eramus pugnaturi: natale tunc Getae Caesaris (VII.9).
we were to fight in the military games; then it [was] the birthday of Geta
Caesar
7. This individual has been identified as one P. Aelius Hilarianus, a member of the equites class
from Aphrodisias in Caria. His family was likely of Greek origin—a family cognomen of “Apollonia-
nus” is from the Greek “Apollonios”—and they likely received Roman citizenship under Hadrian.
The Hilarianus of the Passio may have risen through the military ranks. He is likely to be identified
with the Hilarianus who served in the role of procurator ducenarius in Spain in the early 190s. Of
the six procurators in early third-century Carthage, Rives speculates that Hilarianus was serving
as the senior procurator for Carthage, the procurator IV publicorum Afr icae (see Rives, “Piety,” 5,
9; see also PIR, 89, no. 175: it locates him in Africa between 198 and 208 [PIR4 H 175]); Birley
conjectured that he may also have supervised his fellow Aphrodisians who were at work construct-
ing Lepcis Magna (see “Persecutors and Martyrs,” 46; also Bremmer, “Perpetua and Her Diary,”
92). Tertullian mentions some of the abuses that were visited on the Christian community during
this Hilarianus’s administration. This points to his piety for the Roman deities. (See Scap. 3.1: quod
nulla ciuitas impune latura sit sanguinis nostri eff usionem; sicut et sub Hilariano praeside.)
τῆς παρεμβολῆς οὗ ἠμέλλομεν θηριομαχεῖν· γενέθλιον γὰρ ἤμελλεν

ἐπιτελεῖσθαι Καίσαρος (VII.9)
the camp where we were going to fight the beasts, because the birthday of
Caesar was going to be celebrated
While the Greek text also acknowledges that the games will take place on the
birthday of the emperor, it does not specify on which emperor’s birthday. Why is
the mention of the name more significant than its lack? After all, it could be
argued that the lacuna in the Greek may actually be more apparent than real and
that Geta’s name in the Latin is an addition (seeking to insinuate historical
authenticity) that was not in the original composition. I believe, however, that the
presence of such a variant is more significant than its lack for two reasons: first,
the additive historical detail, in this case the name of the emperor, complements
what we know of the historical record at precisely this time; second, the nascent
genre of autobiography sought to justify itself as part of the historical record and
often cited contemporary detail to that end.8 The citation of the procurator Hilar-
ianus’s participation at this trial (in all appearances a cognitio extra ordinem) was
likely because there were local outbreaks of persecution requiring adjudication in
Africa Proconsularis at least from 180, the date of the Scillitan Martyrs. The
renewed violence of 202–3 appears centered in Carthage—though there were
some trials in Alexandria—and seems to have been principally directed against
new converts.9
A guilty verdict for professing membership in the cult of Christianity,
following the precedent established in Trajan’s rescript to Pliny (112), was pun-
ishable by death. Christians had not been particularly in favor with the Roman
intelligentsia since Tacitus had penned his attack, where he noted that they were
hated because they believed in supersitio and were guilty of odium humani ge-
neris (Ann. 15.44). Additional charges—such as Thyestian banquets, incest, and
cannibalism—were likely a cover for purely political antagonisms and used when
expedient. Some provincial governors who persecuted Christians were no doubt
pious and concerned about the emergence of yet another eastern sect. Others
were likely secular utopians believing in the “good old days,” who viewed the
Christians as individuals with no sympathy for this mos maiorum. The Christian
crime was to practice a religio illicita, and the charge was likely to be sedition,
8. To call the Passio an autobiography raises a host of questions, some of which are not trivial but
are not pertinent at this stage in the discussion. I use the term here to refer to an ego-driven narra-
tive which seeks to record personal experience at some remove from the event being described.
9. See Platnauer, Severus, 1970, 153; dal Covolo, “I Severi e il cristianesimo,” 189.
since Christians refused to sacrifice to the genius of the emperor or to the ances-
tral gods. Executions were regularly scheduled as part of the games put on in the
Carthage amphitheatre and in Alexandria.10 Leonides, Origen’s father, was killed
under the prefect Quintus Maecius Laetus (202) in Alexandria, and Origen was
himself thwarted in his efforts to become a martyr. There is no convincing evi-
dence, however, that Septimius Severus had anything to do with these persecu-
tions or was necessarily even aware of the martyrdom of Perpetua and her
colleagues.11 Indeed, a number of Severus’s favorites were Christian.
But let us return to the reason for the use of the imperial name. Septimius
Severus, the emperor at the time, appointed his eldest son Caracalla as Caesar in
195 and his younger son Geta as Caesar in 198. It was assumed that the eldest son
Caracalla would succeed his father. Thus he received the purple first. Severus
hoped that by settling so much authority on both sons he could build a bond of
trust between them. He was concerned that Caracalla, by all accounts the abler
but more tempestuous of the two, would kill his younger brother. Severus made
Geta Augustus in 209. This last action has puzzled historians, since Severus waited
years to effect it, more than ten years after having done the same for Caracalla
( January 198). This delay may have allowed the notion to get about that Caracalla
was next in line. However, when Septimius raised Geta to Augustus, he knew that
this would allow for an imperially ratified distribution of powers, something he
believed Caracalla would never permit independent of his father’s imperial will.
At this point in his life, Septimius believed that he had not long to live and that if
he did not make provision for the joint rule of the Empire it would never happen
after his death. Herodian notes that for much of the war against the Caledonians
(begun in 208) he was carried in a litter. Septimius died in York, England, on 4
February 211 during his campaign against the Caledonians. On his deathbed, he
made what has become an oft-quoted remark that his sons needed to get on with
each other and pay the soldiers well. The brothers had been rivals for years (hence
Severus’s dying wish), and in December of 211 Caracalla, feigning an interest in
reconciliation, had Geta murdered as he visited their mother Julia Domna.
In order to drive home the public lie that Geta was an enemy of Rome, Cara-
calla issued a damnatio memoriae about his younger brother in the spring of 212.
Seeking to legitimate his usurpation of sole rule, he wished to taint his brother’s
reputation by banishing his brother’s name and deeds from contemporary
records. Efforts to this end were made throughout the Empire, and they were
particularly successful in Africa, the ancestral home of the Severi. Inscriptions,
10. Garnsey, Social Status; and Arjava, Women and Law, 201–02.
11. Birley, Septimius Severus, 1999, 154.
both epigraphic and numismatic, as well as textual references to Geta were

effaced. Statues were toppled and destroyed. Cassius Dio mentions that Caracalla
also banned (and this is germane to our discussion) the observance of Geta’s
birthday and forbade on pain of death the very mention of his name and its
appearance in any written materials (78.5–6).
How precisely is this damnatio memoriae pertinent to our discussion of the pres-
ence of the name of Geta in the Latin text above, and how does it suggest that the
Latin is closer to the original than is the Greek? By identifying the games as honoring
Geta, the Latin text more fully imbeds itself in contemporary events. The Severi and
their court likely spent the winter of 202/3 in Lepcis and were visiting Africa Pro-
consularis in 203–4. They may have been in Carthage in 203. Indeed, it is possible
that these games were held in honor of Geta’s birthday because of the imperial fami-
ly’s presence in Africa and in hopes that the family might attend. Despite Septimius’s
lavish affection for Lepcis Magna, Carthage remained the cultural and economic me-
tropolis of Africa, and a visit there may have been politically expedient, particularly
since it was on the route from Lepcis to the headquarters of Legio III Augusta in
Lambaesis, Numidia. Troops from the Legio III along with conscripts from Numidia
assisted Septimius in his war against rebellious tribes possibly as far south as the
region of the Garamantes (southern Libya) in the late winter and early spring of 203.
The identification of the games with Geta’s birthday celebration in the Latin
version suggests that this line was likely written before the damnatio was issued in
212—there is further evidence in the text to this effect, which I take up below—
and thereby did not run afoul of Caracalla’s ire and the force of the edict, as it
would have if it were written after 212. Tertullian completed De Anima as early as
the end of 203 but before 211, and it is there that he cites a passage from the Latin
Passio. His citation provides further evidence for the existence of a Latin text after
203 and before 211. The Greek text, on the other hand, since it lacks the emperor’s
name, is more likely to have been written after the damnatio was in effect, since its
absence allowed the text to remain in compliance with Caracalla’s edict until his
death in 217 and the lifting of the curse by Elagabalus in 219. The Greek text thereby
avoided any prosecution for thwarting the imperial will. In fact, this variant may
provide a terminus ante quem for the Latin and Greek texts. In conclusion, the
Latin reading in this instance is more likely to be original than is the Greek.
(B) Lexical Misunderstandings and Technical Terms.
(i) Roman Military Nomenclature:
Variants which suggest a misunderstanding or ignorance of their opposite tex-

tual tradition in either the Latin or Greek texts would also be significant. Let me
give two examples of this type of variant. First, I would like to provide an instance
which suggests that the Greek author was ignorant of the nuances of Roman
military rank. The scene in the Passio concerns the prisoners’ recent transfer to
what appears to be a smaller urban military prison. There they are met by a
member of the prison staff who holds a supervisory position. The Latin text
gives his name and precise rank, while the Greek generalizes his rank. During
the Christians’ stay in this new prison, one of the officers of the watch is specifi-
cally referred to in the Latin by his nomen and his exact military title, as Pudens
miles optio. The Greek records the same nomen, but does not provide an analo-
gous word to indicate his rank, referring to him simply as a member of the mili-
tary, a soldier, Πούδης τις στρατιώτης.
Deinde post dies paucos Pudens miles optio, praepositus carceris . . . (IX.1)
Then after a few days, Pudens, the military adjutant, who was in charge of
the prison,
Kαὶ μετ ᾿ ὀλίγας ἡμέρας Πούδης τις στρατιώτης, ὁ τῆς φυλακῆς
προιστάμενος (IX.1).
And after a few days, Pudens a certain soldier, the one being in charge of the guard
How might this anecdote help us in determining the language of the original
composition? It appears that the Greek author does not know the precise rank of
optio nor what it refers to and so generalizes the phrase to the not incorrect, but less
historically accurate, “soldier.” Such a generalization provides as much information
as someone averring that Dwight Eisenhower was a soldier. Pudens is a soldier and
holds the rank of optio, which, if he were a field officer serving in the army, would
make him a junior officer usually subordinate to a centurion.12 The decurion or
centurion had the right “to nominate” his optio, hence the name. These junior
officers belonged to the order optiones, ranked as principales, and received
approximately from one and one-half to double the wages of the ordinary soldier.
Their duties would vary according to what they were required to do. There are a
number of references to different functions performed by the optio, e.g., those who
supervised hospitals were optiones convalescentium, and those in charge of a military
guardhouse within a military camp were called optiones custodiarum (OLD, s.v.
optio, 2: Festus, in re militari optio apellatur is, quem decurio aut centurio optat sibi
rerum priuatarum ministrum, quo facilius obeat publica officia; and Vegetius, Epitoma
rei militaris 2.7: Optiones ab adoptando appellati, quod antecedentibus aegritudine
praepeditis hi tamquam adoptati eorum atque vicarii solent universa curare).
12. For a discussion of optio see Breeze, “Note”; see also Speidel, Framework , and Watson,
Roman Soldier, 126, 205.
The Latin text is quite specific about the rank of this Pudens, but the Greek
is silent on his rank, while it does correctly translate his duties as being in charge
of the prison. Either the Greek author did not understand such specific Roman
military information, or possibly such specificity would have had little relevance
for his Greek audience and therefore could be ignored.
Further, the Greek and Latin texts disagree concerning whose ultimate jurisdic-
tion Perpetua is under. The Greek suggests she was under the jurisdiction of a
χιλίαρχος, literally someone who commanded a thousand men (LSJ, s.v. χιλίαρχος).
Xιλίαρχος is typically a translation of the Roman office of tribunus militum, a term
which the Latin has not mentioned up to this point. Thus far the Latin simply says
that they were transferred to a military camp, whereas here the Greek is more spe-
cific and identifies the camp as being under the jurisdiction of a χιλίαρχος. Thus far
the only official we have had identified in the prison is Pudens miles optio, a junior
officer.
transiuimus in carcerem castrensem (VII.9)

We were moved to the military prison
κατήχθημεν εἰς τὴν ἂλλην φυλακὴν τὴν τοῦ χιλιάρχου (VII.9)
we were brought into the other prison, the one of the chiliarch
The tribunus militum was an officer senior in rank. Someone holding this rank
would be the second in command of the legion. Tribunus was often a rank that
young aristocrats assumed before they took their positions in the Roman provin-
cial administration. Birley has shown nine provincial governors of England who,
prior to their appointment as governor, served as tribuni militum in that very
province.13 The probability that a young man likely to end up in the senate would
be assigned to supervise a small urban military prison, like our Pudens, is not
great. The Latin text’s choice of miles optio is more accurate, and historically more
likely than χιλίαρχος, if it is Pudens to whom the Greek refers. This difference
between the Latin and Greek terms is important, and it suggests that the Greek
scribe understood neither the jurisdictional distinctions in the Roman military
nor the physical layout of the city of Carthage. There is a distinction in rank made
between the tribunus and the optio in Chapter XVI which illustrates clearly that
the optio is subordinate to the tribunus.
While the Latin author could have rendered the Greek στρατιώτης as miles
optio, such a rendering is not a truncation of meaning like the Greek, but rather
13. Birley, Fasti, 30.

an additive level of interpretation not provided for in the Greek. In short, the
Latin scribe, if he were working from the Greek text, would have had to make up
this rank or have had access to a different exemplar which is no longer extant.
The Latin author correctly understood the rank and its relationship to this indi-
vidual’s supervisory role in the military prison. The Latin and Greek employ two
different interpretative systems. Let us assume the Greek author had the phrase
miles optio in front of him: his method was simply to select an appropriate Greek
variant for the word he apparently knew, miles, leaving aside the unknown optio. The
Latin text, on the other hand, assuming for the moment it was translated from the
Greek, not only would have had to extend the meaning of the Greek but also add to
the text information not present in the Greek. To turn Πούδης τις στρατιώτης into
Pudens optio miles requires knowledge of the Roman military penal system that is
not provided for, or indeed deemed necessary, in the Greek text.
(ii) Technical Terms:
Toward the end of their imprisonment, just days before the games were to begin,
the Passio notes that immediately before her third dream Perpetua was placed in
what we would call the “stocks”:
Die quo in nervo mansimus, ostensum est mihi hoc (VIII.1)

On the day we remained in the stocks, this was shown to me
Καὶ εὐθὺς ἐν τῇ ἑσπέρα ἐν ᾗ ἐν νέρβῳ ἐμείναμεν, ἐδείχθη μοι τοῦτο (VIII.1)
And immediately in the evening in which we remained in the stocks this was
shown to me
The Latin is quite specific about how the prisoners were punished and what
specific devices were used. The Greek scribe does not appear to understand the
word neruus and simply transliterates the Latin, as I will show. This remark pro-
vides information on how the Christians were imprisoned and possibly the loca-
tion of their cell in the prison. Some commentators have translated nervo as
“chains” (Musurillo, 117; Amat, 131), but this hardly captures Perpetua’s exact
meaning. In short, how specifically were they restrained? If it were a simple matter
of being “chained,” why does Perpetua employ the word more commonly used
for “sinew,” “cord,” or “string” (See OLD, s.v. neruus 1, 4; and see Isaiah 48.4) and
not the expected term vincula, a word particularly used to indicate a prisoner’s
fetters or chains, or indeed as a synonym for the prison itself? (See OLD, s.v. uin-
culum; and Cic. Rep. 6.14.14: qui ex corporum vinculis tanquam; and Verr. 2.3.24:
Mitto vincla, mitto carcerem, mitto verbera, mitto secures.) Livy uses both terms to
refer to different types of restraints: sed neruo ac uinculis corpus liberum territent
(Livy 6.2.8). The older meaning of the word as “sinew” or “strap,” which identified
a means of tying an animal or someone to a post or a ring, was apparently adapted
to a new context (Columella, Rust. 12.14).
A more precise translation of in nervo in the present instance would be “in the
stocks.” MS A (Milan) supports this reading with its use of constricto. If the pris-
oners were chained to the stocks, we might ask what part of their bodies was
constrained and where in the prison they were bound, since not all cells would
have contained such devices. Clearly her remark refers to some device—it may
even have been a chain or a bar—that constrained prisoners either by their feet,
arms, neck, or all the above (see Festus, 162.1–2: ferreum vinculum, quo pedes
impediuntur). Tertullian uses the term nervus to suggest a binding used on the
legs of the martyrs while they were being held in prison (Mart. 2: Nihil crus
sentit in nervo cum animus in coelo est). At least one manuscript of the Vetus has
Job complain to God that his feet have been placed in the stocks, in nervo ( Jb
13.27), and the apostles’ feet were fastened in stocks but specifically by wood (et
pedes eorum strinxit ligno, Acts 16.24). However, the term in nervo may suggest
that they were actually bound by the feet and some part of the upper body, since
if they were only bound by the feet, we might have expected her to use the more
common expression compes (See Vet. Jb 13.27, in compede pedem meum; and
OLD, s.v. compes), or if only by the neck, furca.
Roman stocks seem to have been fastened to the floor. Some of these con-
sisted of horizontal pairs of iron bars into which the prisoners’ ankles were fas-
tened. The skeletons of four prisoners were found still bound in the stocks in the
excavation of Pompeii’s Ludus Gladiatorius.14 It seems likely that Perpetua and her
companions were locked into something like these stocks. They would have had
to sit and sleep on the floor, or perhaps on some low bench. Their movement
would be very restricted. Any movement would cause chafing as the skin rubbed
against the metal or wood of the stocks. The stocks were often used as a severe
punishment. Some Christians even had their legs spread far apart and locked in
place in the stocks in order to cause additional pain (τὰς κατὰ τὴν εἱρκτὴν ἐν τῷ
σκότει καὶ τῷ χαλεπωτάτῳ χωρίῳ σ υγκλείσεις καὶ τὰς ἐν τῷ ξύλῳ διατάσεις τῶν
ποδῶν, in The Letter of the Churches of Lyons and Vienne, 27, in Musurillo, 70). The
cells with the stocks seem to have been among the most miserable ones, located
14. See Richardson, Jr., Pompeii, 85, who notes the skeletons of gladiators; and see also the draw-
ings of these same stocks in Gusman, Pompeii, 153. Raspke, Acts and Paul, 445, fig. 13 and 14, pro-
vides illustrations of horizontal and circular stocks. Note that κλῳός and κλοιός are spelling variants
of the same word.
deep (and perhaps underground) in the prisons (Martyrdom of Pionius and His
Companions, 11.4). The officials of the military prison where Perpetua and her
fellows are incarcerated appear to be treating them with the utmost contempt,
hence the torture of confining them to the stocks in the darkest section.
The Greek νέρβος simply transliterates the Latin, suggesting that the author
may have been unsure about the exact nature of the device being used. There were
good Greek equivalents to nervus in ξύλον and κλῳός (LSJ, s.v. ξύλον; and com-
pare the citation from Ltr Chr Lyons & Vienn above), as well as words to designate
a pillory for the neck, κλοιός (less commonly κύφων), and restraints for the feet,
ποδοκάκη. Liddell and Scott do not record an entry for νέρβος, nor does BDAG.
Lampe cites νέρβῳ in the Passio as the first attestation of the use of the word in
Greek. While none of these sources should be considered exhaustive, the like-
lihood of its use before the Passio is small. Hence this transliteration suggests that
the Greek text was copied from the Latin exemplar, since it is hardly likely that the
Greek text, if the original, would use an unattested word (a transliteration bor-
rowed from a Latin original), particularly when, as I have indicated above, there
were perfectly appropriate Greek terms for such stocks.
Notice also that the Latin and Greek disagree on whether this lockup took place
during the day or the night. Since the line introduces the onset of a prophetic dream
vision, the Greek text’s choice of “nightfall” may be an attempt to harmonize
Perpetua’s vision with the broader literary tradition that dreams and visions
frequently took place with onset of night and sleep, since it was at that time that God
“opens the ears of men and instructs them in what they are to learn” (Jb 33.14 and
Gn 31.24; Acts 5.9, 16.9, 18.9). Most of the visions in the Shepherd of Hermas, a text
the Greek author knew, appear to the dreamer at night.15 The choice of “nightfall”
illustrates the Greek author’s literary sensitivity to this tradition. But it is for precisely
this reason that I believe the Latin, with its lack of literary self-consciousness,
provides the harder reading—Perpetua’s dreams are less the product of sleep than
trance-like states—and is therefore more likely the original reading.
(iii) Legal Formula:
After their hearing was completed, Hilarianus rendered his judgment. At this
time in the Empire, most provincial magistrates, particularly in such cases,
were acting in compliance with the procedures outlined in cognitio extra ordi-
nem .16 The presiding magistrate was required to adhere to specific language
15. Cox Miller, Dreams, 131.

16. On the emergence of the cognitio see R. A. Bauman, Lawyers and Politics in the Early Roman
Empire (Munich: C. H. Beck, 1989), 150–3; O. Tellegen-Couperus, A Short History of Roman
Law (London: Routledge, 1993), 90–3, 130–1; D. Johnston, Roman Law in Context (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1999), 121–22.
when issuing his judgment. Specifically, he was required to begin his judgment
with the announcement that he was pronouncing judgment (Cicero, De Fini-
bus, 2.46; and OLD, s.v. pronuntio, 3) and then to follow this with a statement
of the actual punishment (Tertullian, Apol . 46). The Latin text follows this
legal mandate carefully, but the Greek text only records the condemnatory
part of the formula:
Tunc nos universos pronuntiat et damnat ad bestias (VI.6)

Then he pronounced a verdict on us all and condemned us to the beasts
Τότε ἡμᾶς πάντας πρὸς θηρία κατακρίνει (VI.6)
Then he condemns all of us to the beasts
While it may be objected that the crucial part of the magistrate’s message is
the pronunciation of the condemnation, the fact that the Latin follows the juris-
prudential system more carefully suggests that the Latin text is based on more
intimate knowledge of such proceedings, and is likely a more accurate reflection
of the manner in which the actual sentence was delivered.
(iv) Contradictions:
The last dream of Perpetua is one for which it is notoriously difficult to provide an
adequate interpretation (see “Commentary,” X). These are the last words that she
wrote or dictated. The dream is filled with rich apocalyptic and eschatological
imagery and reads very much like an allegory. In brief, Perpetua has a vision of
herself being led into the arena by her friend and teacher, Pomponius, who functions
here as a psychopomp. I would like to focus on his dress. Pomponius wears an
unbelted, white tunic and elaborately belted sandals. Perpetua assumes that this is
the final contest and that she will be thrown to the beasts. Instead, she discovers to
her amazement that she will fight against a large, hideously unattractive Egyptian
wrestler. She sees her opponent being prepared for the fight. At this stage she is
joined by some unidentified young, physically attractive males. They may be angelic
figures, and they serve as her seconds. They strip her of her clothes in preparation for
what appears to be a pankration.17 Once naked, she announces that she has become
a man: Et expoliata sum et facta sum masculus (X.7). She is then rubbed down with
oil before the impending contest. The rubbing with oil and the Egyptian rolling in the
dust (fine sand?) are historically accurate preparations for an athletic contest. The
eroticism of the scene is inescapable and yet somewhat mystifying. On the simplest
and most literal level, a fight between a man and a woman, even a powerful Christian
17. Robert, “Une vision.”

woman, would not satisfy contemporary audiences. It would violate the crowd’s
sense of decorum—women, no matter how powerful, did not defeat males—and
hence Perpetua is turned (turns herself) into an adequate warrior, a miles Christi (2
Tm 2.3).18 Her stripping is an echo of Christ’s being stripped of his clothes before his
agon. Her opponent, she notes, while an Egyptian, is in fact the devil (contra
diabolum, X.14). My explanation does not lessen the overt eroticism of the memory
of the young men rubbing her naked body, however. Gendered transformations are
inherently erotic as narratives and complement the bloody savagery of the fight. The
erotic moment passes and does not reappear, but it lingers in memory. At this point
in the narrative she meets the lanista. He is so tall that he towers over the walls of the
amphitheatre, and he wears a flowing, unbelted tunic with clavi running down from
the shoulders in two purple bands and wonderful sandals.19 He holds in his hand a
green staff on which are golden apples. Considerable care is taken with the
description of the lanista. Clearly, he is an important figure in adjudicating the result
of the outcome. I have argued elsewhere that he is likely a composite of her teacher
Pomponius and Hermes/Mercury/Christ the Good Shepherd (see “Commentary,”
IV.8) grafted onto a half-remembered historical depiction of the figure of the lanista.
The golden apples of the Hesperides underscore his authority and may be an early
instance of iconic syncretism: Hercules was superseded by the figure of Christ as the
Good Shepherd, and this syncretistic representation is depicted in later sarcophagi
and in apsidal mosaics.
Considerable care is taken to render this scene. Clearly it is of considerable
importance, as it contains her last words. It represents the apogee of her contest,
the outcome of which will be predictive of the actual battle in the physical arena.
More care and description are given to the figure of Pomponius and the lanista
than to any other individuals depicted in this scene. In a real sense, these two fig-
ures are the most interesting personages present in the amphitheatre. A compar-
ison of the Latin and Greek depictions of this crucial character reveal some
significant differences. The first thing to notice is that the Latin tells us that both
Pomponius and the lanista wore unbelted tunics. For the sake of brevity I shall
only use the depiction of Pomponius in our comparison.
qui erat uestitus discinctam candidam, habens multiplices galliculas (X.2)

He was wearing a white unbelted robe, and multilaced sandals
Καὶ ἦν ἐνδεδυμένος ἐσθῆτα λαμπρὰν καὶ περιεζωσμένος, εἶχεν δὲ ποικίλα
ὑποδήματα .
18. Castelli, Martyrdom and Memory, 61–67.

19. Saggiorato, I sarcofagi palaeocristiani, 74.
And he was wearing a shining garment and girdled about, and he had many-
colored sandals
The Latin text states that his white robe was unbelted. The figure of Pomponius
is a syncretistic character, who—since he functions as a psychopomp—coalesces
these images from Greco-Roman religion and Christianity. These recent converts
to Christianity lived their entire lives prior to their conversion fully immersed in
a Roman world. Every frame of reference—secular, religious, or familial—was a
product of the rich milieu of Roman African mores. That being said, however, we
would also expect that recent converts would seek to discern in past associations
and beliefs shadows of their new faith. Such reflection allows the believer to res-
cue those former associations from an otherwise abandoned and scorned prior
life. These are psychically redemptive strategies, and they allow the converts to
salvage from their past those moments which still remain important to them.
Now let us turn to consider the figure of Pomponius as psychopomp,
particularly as Christian psychopomp, to see if his depiction provides greater
evidence for the primacy of the Latin or the Greek. What is of particular interest
is the representation of his tunic. Images from Christian iconography from the
late second century frequently depict Christ as wearing a plain, unbelted, spotless
tunic. The image of Christ as the Good Shepherd in the Priscilla Catacombs (ca.
225) shows him in an unbelted tunic (exomis) with the right sleeve cut away.20
The unbelted tunic is also represented in the female figure of the orans, common
in North African funerary mosaics. The dalmatic was an unbelted tunic with
wide sleeves, which came into fashion in the second century and was usually
worn over a long, wide tunic. Seeking a parallel for this image in Perpetua’s
Roman imagination, we note that there are images in which the unbelted tunic
(discincta) was used in Roman rites for the dead and mourning. For example, in
the description of the burial of the ashes of Augustus, there are men of the
equestrian order who, barefoot and wearing unbelted tunics, collect his ashes for
placement in the family tomb (Suetonius, Aug. 100). This image in the Passio
influenced the Passio Sanctorum Mariani et Iacobi (7.3: vidi, inquit, iuvenem
inenarrabili et satis ampla magnitudine, cuius vestitus discincta erat in tantum
candida luce [praefulgens]). The unbelted, white tunic then was an important
artifact of clothing, as Perpetua was struggling to depict her confident belief that
this idea and image of Christ would be with her in this great contest and at this
time of her death. It was an image she was able to derive from both Christian and
Latin traditions.
20. See Veyries, Les figures.

Now let us turn to the Greek variant. The Greek reads very differently: Pomponius
is depicted “wearing a shining garment” (ἐσ θῆ’τα λαμπράν) and “girdled about”
(περιεζωσμένος; see also Hermas, Sim. 9.2.4 and 9.9.5). The Greek and Latin
contradict one another on this last point. Clearly neither one is here copied from the
other, unless the scribe was attempting to correct what he believed to be an error. I
would like to pursue this idea a bit further, and to propose that the Greek text
constructs a reading of the figure of the psychopomp that is more overtly theological
than the Latin and that the image used in the Greek is indebted to the New Testament.
The phrase ἐσθῆτα λαμπράν is exactly the one used by Luke when he describes
Herod’s throwing clothes on Jesus before he sends him back to Pilate (23.11). The
Gospel of Luke further employs an image of the faithful servant with belt fastened,
waiting patiently, as a symbol of spiritual watchfulness—the righteous who wait
patiently for the coming of the Lord (Lk 12.35, 37 and 17.8). In Ephesians 6, Paul
exhorts his listeners to prepare to stand against Satan and the dark powers of the
cosmos. In the middle of that chapter, he urges the faithful to gird themselves with
the belt of truth (6.14). In the first chapter of Revelation, John has a vision of the Son
of Man who wears a long robe bound around his waist by a golden girdle (1.13 and
15.6), and in his discussion of the angels who bear the bowls of God’s wrath he notes
that they wore clean, shining linen and had gold girdles around their breast.
The passages from Luke, Paul, and Revelation all emphasize readiness, pre-
paredness, and strength immediately before a contest. The Greek version of the
Passio uses the same verb, περιζώννυμι, in each of these echoes from the New Tes-
tament. Might this be a coincidental use of a common verb? I believe this is less
likely, particularly when one considers the pertinence of these Biblical allusions to
this beleaguered minority community and the pattern of indebtedness to the Bible
that the Greek version exhibits, a pattern of correspondences far greater than the
Latin text evinces. In conclusion, the Latin reading seems to me less dependent on
an external source, less literary and theological than the Greek. This is a fact of
particular pertinence in a dream narrative, and here, where we have two texts in
complete disagreement, I believe the Latin version more likely to be the original.
Another example of a complete disagreement, which I will just list:
Uniuersi odore inenarrabili alebamur, qui nos satiabat (XIII.8)

We were nourished by an indescribable scent which satisfied us
Ἐτρεφόμεθα δὲ πάντες ὀσμῇ ἀνεκδιηγήτῳ, ἥτις οὐκ ἐχόρταζεν ἡμᾶς
We were being nourished by an indescribable scent which did not satisfy us21
21. Editors have suggested emending οὐκ with οὖν to bring the Latin and Greek texts into
agreement.
(C) Rhetorical Embellishment.
(i) Characterization:
Variants which do not add or delete historical details but which may also contrib-
ute to a more nuanced narrative, even if they appear minor at first glance, would
also be substantive, if there are a sufficient number of them and if they can be said
to demonstrate a pattern found elsewhere in the text. The use of such textual vari-
ants is more dependent on literary judgment and hence does not have the same
weight as variants that can be verified against the known historical record. Let me
provide an example of such a variant. Perpetua’s father is the single most crucial
figure depicted in her dreams. Of the seven chapters that constitute her autobiog-
raphy, her father is a major presence in four (III, V, VI, IX) and is at least meta-
phorically present in another (IV). Given her intense interest in exploring this
relationship and its impact on the rest of her family, it was her intention to repre-
sent the struggle between them in as complete and nuanced a manner as possible.
Their relationship was very close, indeed exceptionally close for a Roman father
and daughter. At one point her father acknowledges that he favored her above her
brothers. Her conversion has left him bereft, grief-stricken, angry, and publicly
humiliated. Despite his position in society—he was possibly a member of the
equites—he was the only family member to intercede publicly for her.
(ii) Father and Daughter:
Let me provide a single example of a place in which the Latin and the Greek
differ, albeit subtly, in the dramatic representation of their relationship. During
Perpetua’s examination by the acting procurator Hilarianus, her father appealed
to her familial obligations in an attempt to get her to renounce her newfound faith.
He asks her to consider the fate of her child and that of her brothers, and finally
acknowledges that she will have brought irremediable shame on him. Frustrated,
hurt, and angry, he tries to drag her from the prisoner’s castasta.22 Hilarianus, who
22. The term catasta denotes a platform in a public area. The catasta was used initially as a platform
where slaves were displayed for sale (Tib. 2.3.63–64, quem saepe coegit / barbara gysatos ferre catasta
pedes). Subsequently, the catasta was employed for public confessions of faith (Cyprian, Ep. 38.2, CCSL
3b:184), for the prosecution of criminal offences, and latterly for torture, particularly of Christians
(Prudent. Perist. 1.56, post catastas igneas, and 2.399, ultro e catasta iudicem). It is used in the Passio
as a public platform where the accused are questioned. (See also Acta SS. martyrum Numidarum, 6;
Passio Sanctorum Mariani et Iacobi, 6, and Augustine, Ennarrationes in Psalmos, 96.16 CCSL 39:1367;
the latter uses the word to designate a place where the soul is tested on the scaffold of conscience:
Interroga fidem tuam, pone in catasta conscientiae animam tuam.) I have not found an instance of its
use as a platform reserved for torture before the middle of the third century. (See Cypr. Ep. 33.)
has watched this colloquy between father and daughter, loses his patience and is
clearly embarrassed as this Roman father behaves indecorously, and he orders her
father to be thrown to the floor and beaten with a rod.
Et cum staret pater ad me deiciendam, iussus est ab Hilariano proici, et virga

percussus est (VI.5).
And when my father persisted in his efforts to change my mind, Hilarianus
ordered him to be thrown to the ground and beaten with a rod.
Ἱ λαριανοὗ ἐξεβλήθη προσέτι δὲ καὶ τ ᾗ ῥάβδῳτῶν δορυφόρων τἷς
ἐτ ύπ τ ησεν αὐτόν (VI.5).
[At the order] of Hilarianus he was cast out; and also too a certain one of the
spear carriers struck him with a stick.
Immediately following the anecdote in which she relates how her father was
beaten with a rod by one of the members of Hilarianus’s retinue, she says in the
Latin text that she felt sorry that her father suffered so much sorrow for her sake.
The Greek does not refer to her father directly or use the repetition of pater as
does the Latin to intensify its emotional effect, nor does the Greek address his
diminished, broken situation (casus) in the same direct way that the Latin does.
Et doluit mihi casus patris mei, quasi ego fuissem percussa (VI.5).
And my father’s suffering made me sad almost as if I had been beaten
Κἀγὼ σφόδρα ἤλγησα , ἐλεήσασα τὸ γῆρας αὐτοῦ (VI.5).
And I very much grieved, having pitied his old age
Perpetua’s father’s public reputation has received a humiliating blow, and this
calamity (casus) causes her grief. This small detail, by itself perhaps not terribly
significant, if added to the dozens of other instances when the Latin contains greater
nuance, particularly as it concerns her relationship with the father, is significant
since it amplifies her filial affection for her father, deepens the pathos of the moment,
and heightens their tragic alienation caused by her conversion to Christianity. The
Greek text’s exclusive expression of concern for her father’s “old age” (γῆρας αὐτοῦ)
misses this change of public fortune from a hitherto respected member of the
community to one whose reputation has been overthrown (casus).
The Latin text uses the noun casus in another similar instance. Her father is
trying to persuade her to give up her faith and return to her senses and her family.
He becomes very emotional, kisses her hands, and throws himself down and
grasps her around the legs. She says:
Et ego dolebam casum patris mei (V.6)

And I was sorry for my father’s misfortune
Ἐγὼ δὲ περὶ τῆς διαθέσεως τοῦ πατρὸς ἤλγουν (V.6)
And I was grieving for the disposition of my father
The Greek διαθέσεως qualifies the ambiguity of the Latin casus. The semantic reg-
ister of διάθεσις, as it is used here, hints at the possibility that her father had a
medical predisposition to such unmasculine behavior (hysteria?; Aris. GA, 778.34
and LSJ, s.v. διάθεσις, 2). The Latin indicates that this is a calamity of the moment.
There is nothing in the semantic register of the Latin noun equivalent to the Greek
suggestion that the father may be a hyperemotional type of man. The suggestion
that he has such a predisposition tends to diminish his actions as the product of a
free will, acting solely with the intention to save his child. In sum, the Latin depicts
him as a parent in a bad situation, caused by his daughter, while the Greek adds to
this the possibility that the situation is not something with which he is unfamiliar.
The depiction of the father in the Latin is more in keeping with his biography as it
has been revealed, and hence more satisfactory.
(iii) Public Shame:
Another instance where the Latin text amplifies the alienation that is affecting
her relationship with her father concerns a meeting they had when she was as yet
only under house arrest (Passio III). Her father has rushed from the unidentified
city and begs her to have pity on him, pleading and telling her that he has loved
her more than her brothers: si te praeposui omnibus fratribus tuis. He ends by be-
seeching her not to expose him to the scorn of men: ne dederis in dedecus homi-
num. This is an important issue and highlights the very special relationship
between this Roman father and his precious daughter. Few records indicate such
a public paternal celebration of a daughter over her male siblings. The Greek lacks
this final plea. We can only infer why the Greek does not have this clause. Perhaps
such an idea as the shame a child would cause for her father was repugnant to the
Greek author, or perhaps, and this does not seem nearly as likely, the Greek scribe
did not believe that this was an issue of importance. It is unlikely that the clause
was unavailable to him, since his Greek text contains almost all of the narrative on
either side of this remark.
IV
T HE LATIN TEXT
Although the Latin manuscripts of the Passio have been edited for four and a
half centuries, beginning with Possinus’s edition of Holstenius’s posthumous text
of the Monte Cassino exemplar in 1663 and continuing most recently with the
edition of J. Amat (1996), the text is more frequently printed without apparatus,
using one of the principal scholarly editions of Ruinart, Franchi de’ Cavalieri, Rob-
inson, van Beek, Bastiaensen, or Amat (see table of “Selected Editors” below for
abbreviations). Like most past editors, I have chosen the Monte Cassino version as
my copy text. Although not the oldest of the extant versions, it is the most com-
plete, shows a genealogical relationship to an earlier, more reliable Latin version
(see Manuscripts “Stemma”), and contains the least “corrupt” readings of the nine
extant Latin exemplars (see my discussion under “Manuscripts”).
I wish to reiterate the reason I have changed the MS sigils from those of Rob, Be,
Bat, or Am. The earlier designation of the MSS by numbers is inherently ambiguous
and difficult to remember, particularly since Be used a number plus a superscript to
refer to the MSS. For example, his sigil 5a is British Library Cotton Nero E1, while MS
5c is MS British Library Cotton Otho D VIII, and so forth. Am dropped Be’s nu-
merals and adopted an alphabetic system, assigning A to Monte Casino and ending
with H for the Jerusalem Greek MS version. Her use of alphabetical sigils is a return
in part to that used by nineteenth-century editors, e.g., Rob. However, even here the
ambiguity remains, as her sigils for van Be’s 5a and 5c, for example, are not distinct
alphabetic identifiers but rather also employ alphanumeric identifiers plus super-
scripts, thus C1 and C3. She designates the four English MSS as C1 through C4. My
designation, on the other hand, uses the simple mnemonic principle of selecting the
first word of the MS’s name and using that as the sigil. Thus in the two instances just
• 100 •
The Latin Text • 101
cited, Be 5a (Am C1) is N for Cotton Nero and Be 5c (Am C3) is O for Cotton Otho.
The Monte Cassino MS is simply M, whereas it is Be’s 1 and Am’s A. I believe that this
mnemonic system provides a way to identify and remember (at a glance) which sigils
stand for which MS more efficiently and hence gives rise to less confusion.
Although there are some excellent editions that antedate that of Be, notably
those of Franchi de’ Cavalieri and Robinson, and some that have come after, those
of Bastiaensen and Amat, Be’s edition remains the most comprehensive and schol-
arly. Accordingly, my present remarks chiefly concern the editorial work of Be. His
transcription is remarkably careful and accurate. When I have a different MS
reading from earlier editors, I provide all pertinent readings in the lemmata and do
not explicitly cite their readings unless they are significant and might change the
meaning of the text. For example, in his lemma for Chapter 10 Be transcribes con-
laborabo in X.4 for MS P but P unambiguously (albeit incorrectly) reads cumlabo-
rabo (Bas & Am follow Be), or in X.7 Be records fautores in P but P clearly reads
factores. The scribe of P frequently will write a -t where a -c is normative, and Be
transcribes -c (silently correcting the scribe), e.g., XII.5, in fatiem P (Be faciem)
and c. XVII.1, where Be reads quantum, but two lines later in P, he reads iudicium
for the exact same letterform. Be will frequently rewrite the later Latin [e] as the
Classical [oe], as in P’s penas, which Be silently transcribes as poenas (XV.2). Four
MSS read representari (M, A, E, and G), but Be silently transcribes repraesentari.
When I print a reading that is not attested by the MS evidence, I place the
emendation inside square brackets, e.g., XX.8: adh[a]erebat. Occasionally Be ap-
pears to conflate orthographically different vowels whose phonemic quality was
viewed as nondistinct, e.g., XI.8, where MS A reads Satirum, MS E reads Saturum
and MS P reads Satyrum. Be, however, reads all three as Saturum. Occasionally,
Be will expand a suffix in order to correct it when there is no expansion mark
provided in the text. For example, at XX.3 M clearly reads revocate, but Be tran-
scribes it as revocatae. The scribe of M does, however, provide such expansion
signs as the very same word occurs in the very same chapter at XX.7 with the
unmistakable expansion sign present, thus revocatae. I have used established
spellings of proper names, e.g., XIII.4, where all the MSS read Grece, but I have
followed past practice and adopted Graece in the text.
The purpose of the apparatus that accompanies this Latin text is to alert the
reader to those places in the Passio where what is printed here varies significantly
from MS M. I have provided a listing of all variants or conjectures that may be con-
sidered significant. The textual tradition is now so well established that I believe
printing only those significant readings provides the best and most efficient textual
apparatus. While there are of course hundreds of variants among the Latin manu-
scripts of the Passio, many are not significant. The issue of deciding what is a “signif-
icant” variant is enormously complex. Does one weigh more heavily the earliest MS
version of a particular reading? The earliest version of the Passio represented by G is

incomplete, ending at Chapter XIX.4. Moreover, although G is the earliest version
we have, it is still some seven centuries later than the date of composition. For this
edition, a significant variant is one that changes, adds to, or subtracts from the
meaning of the passage or may point to some evidence of an important earlier
exemplar. Such variants may be intentional or, less commonly, they are the result of
unintentional scribal error where the meaning of the text is changed and that unin-
tentional scribal emendation has been subsequently transmitted through a manu-
script tradition. The use of a unique lexical item would be considered significant,
whereas some obvious orthographic variants or instances of the employment of a
different case would not be considered significant (e.g., MSS A & M III.5 read michi
versus MS E me and MSS N P S mihi), nor would a syntactic change where the
meaning is not changed (e.g., MS M III.5 sumus et michi spiritus / MS S sumus mihi
autem spiritus), or the substitution of a word with a close meaning (M III.5 non
aliud / MS N nihil aliud). Of course, even some slight variant manuscript readings
may prove significant in determining manuscript genealogies; if they point to perti-
nent manuscript affiliation I often provide them, or if they provide some evidence
of the idiosyncratic nature of the copyist (e.g., MS P XI.5 uniquely reads iestamur
for gestamur). If I cannot be certain of a manuscript reading, I will state in the lemma
the earlier editor’s supposition (e.g., IV.9 de caseo] de lacte proposed by Be based on
MS O). Thus the lemma reads Be/O. In many instances it is no longer possible to
verify with certainty the readings of Be from MS O, and thus I do not cite MS O in
those instances. MS O appears to have deteriorated from further oxidation in the
eighty years since Be read it. Additionally, in some instances Be simply cites the
numeral 3 (Am E) referring to the two Swiss MSS or the numeral 5 (Am C) refer-
ring to the four English manuscripts. This system gives rise to a certain ambiguity,
since at other times he is more specific and will cite the specific English manuscript,
e.g., VI.8, miseros MS 5 but VI.12, diaconem 5 a. b. Moreover, sometimes such a
global citation misleads. For example, Be (followed by Am) records that c. XV.2
reads aliquos in all the English MSS (C N O S). However, of the four English MSS,
S is the only one that unambiguously reads aliquos. Of the three remaining MSS,
MS C is a fragment and does not have the passage in question, MS N clearly reads
alios, and O is so damaged by the fire that I cannot read it with certainty. This is the
reason for citing every MS sigil when I can verify a MS reading.
I have silently expanded MS abbreviations throughout; for example, in I.6,
where MS M reads Ihu Xro I print Iesu Christo. MS G consistently does not pro-
vide scribal expansion marks, and one has to determine from the syntax the ap-
propriate reading. However, in other instances where a scribe normally inserts
the abbreviation mark and does not typically truncate endings and the ending is
problematic, I record what is written in the MS (e.g., MS A XX.2, unambiguously
reads mammi for mammis). My punctuation is independent of the manuscripts’
few diacritical marks, and I employ punctuation to clarify meaning. The lemmata
are given in alphabetical order, but when M is one of the variants it will be first.
When there are significant variant readings, I begin each lemma with the reading
printed from MS M followed by the variants. If, however, the word I am printing is
not transcribed from MS M, I identify the MS source—the MSS sigils and/or edi-
tors used for the reading, followed by significant alternatives with the MSS sigils
and editors who adopt them. In those instances when I follow and print MS M and
there are significant variant readings, I begin the lemma with the MS M reading fol-
lowed by the significant variants and the pertinent manuscript sigils and the abbre-
viated names of the editors who propose the variant reading (see “Abbreviations”
below). If a MS reading agrees with M, I do not provide that manuscript sigil in the
lemma, e.g., in VI.2, MSS M A E G read infanti but N O P S read canos meos, so I cite
only MSS N O P S and not MSS A E G, all of which agree with MS M. Variant read-
ings from MS O (severely damaged in the Cotton fire) are only given when I can
verify the reading unambiguously or Be’s reading appears accurate. MS C (Canter-
bury E. 42) is defective and begins in chapter XXI.8 with the word reddendo.
Selected Editors
Am. Amat Har. Harris

Bas. Bastiaensen Hol. Holstenius
Be. van Beek Laz. Lazzati
Cam. Campos Mus. Musurillo
Fra. Franchi de’ Cavalieri Rob. Robinson
Fel. Fell Rui. Ruinart
Geb. Gebhardt Sal. Salonius
Gey. Geyer Sol. Sola
Hal. Halporn She. Shewring
Abbreviations
abbr. abbreviatio illeg. illegibile

add. additum om. omissum
corr. correctio [] emendatio editorialis
corr. mg. correctio in margine . . . elisio
corr. ln. correctio linearis > textus additus ante verbum
corr. sl. correctio super linea < textus additus post verbum
eras. erasum txt. mg. textus in margine
PA S S I O S A N C TA R U M P E R P ET UA E ET
F E L I C I TAT I S 1
I
I. 1Si vetera fidei exempla, et Dei gratiam testificantia et aedificationem hom-
inis operantia, propterea in litteris sunt digesta, ut lectione eorum quasi repen-
satione rerum et Deus honoretur et homo confortetur, cur non et nova
documenta aeque utrique causae convenientia et digerantur? 2Vel quia proinde
et haec vetera futura quandoque sunt et necessaria posteris, si in praesenti suo
tempore minori deputantur auctoritati, propter praesumptam venerationem
antiquitatis. 3Sed viderint qui unam virtutem Spiritus unius Sancti pro aetatibus
iudicent temporum, cum maiora reputanda sunt novitiora quaeque, ut novissi-
miora, secundum exuperationem gratiae in ultima saeculi spatia decretam. 4In
novissimis enim diebus, dicit Dominus, eff undam de Spiritu meo super omnem
carnem, et prophetabunt filii filiaeque eorum; et super servos et ancillas meas de
meo Spiritu eff undam; et iuvenes visiones videbunt, et senes somnia somniabunt.
5
Itaque et nos, qui sicut prophetias ita et visiones novas pariter repromissas et
agnoscimus et honoramus, ceterasque virtutes Spiritus Sancti ad instrumentum
Ecclesiae deputamus (cui et missus est idem omnia donativa administrans in
omnibus, prout unicuique distribuit Dominus) necessario et digerimus [ea] et
ad gloriam Dei lectione celebramus, ut ne qua aut imbecillitas aut desperatio
fidei apud veteres tantum aestimet gratiam divinitatis conversatam, sive [in]
martyrum sive in revelationum dignatione, cum semper Deus operetur quae
repromisit, non credentibus in testimonium, credentibus in beneficium. 6Et nos
itaque quod audivimus et vidimus et contrectavimus, annuntiamus et vobis, fratres
et filioli uti et vos qui interfuistis rememoremini gloriae Domini, et qui nunc
cognoscitis per auditum communionem habeatis cum sanctis mart[y]ribus, et
per illos cum Domino nostro Iesu Christo, cui est claritas et honor in saecula
saeculorum. Amen.
1. Titulus: om.M C, illeg. in O sed praesens in A E G N P and S. Incipit passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et
Felicitatis Die Nonarum Martiarum civitate Tyburtina minore G Incipit Passio Sanctae Felicitatis
et Perpetuae quod est non Mar in civitate Turbitana S. Incipit: A E G N S O (sed illeg.), om.M
non. mar. passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis A Incipit Passio Sanctorum Revocati Saturnini
Perpetuae et Felicitatis in civitate tuburbitana minore E Incipit Passio sanctarum Perpetuae et
Felicitatis Die Nonarum Martiarum in civitate Tyburtinarum minore G Incipit Passio Sanctarum
Perpetuae et Felicitatis quod est nonis Martiis in civitate Turbitana N Incipit Passio Sanctae
Felicitatis et Perpetuae P Incipit Passio Sanctae Felicitatis et Perpetue quod est non Mart in civitate
Turbitana S
II
1
II. Apprehensi sunt adolescentes catechumeni: Revocatus et Felicitas, con-
serva eius, Saturninus et Secundulus; inter hos et Vibia Perpetua, honeste nata,
liberaliter instituta, matronaliter nupta. 2Habens patrem et matrem et fratres
duos, alterum aeque catechumenum, et filium infantem ad ubera. 3Erat autem
ipsa circiter annorum viginti duorum. Haec ordinem totum martyrii sui iam hinc
ipsa narravit, sicut conscriptum manu sua et suo sensu reliquit.
III
1
III. Cum adhuc, inquit, cum prosecutoribus essemus et me pater verbis
evertere cupiret et deicere pro sua affectione perseveraret: “Pater,” inquam “vides
verbi gratia vas hoc iacens, urceolum sive aliud?” Et dixit “video.” 2 Et ego dixi ei:
“Numquid alio nomine vocari potest quam quod est?” Et ait “non.” “Sic et ego
aliud me dicere non possum nisi quod sum, Christiana.” 3Tunc pater motus hoc
verbo mittit se in me, ut oculos mihi erueret, sed vexavit tantum, et profectus est
victus cum argumentis diaboli. 4Tunc paucis diebus quod caruissem patrem
Domino gratias egi et refrigeravi absentia illius. 5In ipso spatio paucorum dierum
C 1. only in M.
I.1. aedificationem] Hol. aedificatione M. repensatione] M repraesentatione Har. repensitatione
Rui 3. exuperationem] exuberationem Braun decretam] Rob. decreta M 5. admin-
istrans] Rob. administratus M administraturus Be. Mus. Laz. Am. administrator Gey. prout]
Hol. pro M lectione] lectionem M divinitatis] Hol. divinatis M divinitus Geb. [in] add.
Rob. 6. audivimus] add. < vidimus Cav. Rob. Be. Bas. R . martiribus] M add. [y] Rob.
II.1. Apprehensi] Adprehensi G N S Apprennsi O om.A P Saturninus et Secundulus] Satirus et

Saturninus A et Secundulus M hos] eos G quos E O S P Vibia] M Vivia E O P S honeste
nata] honesta om. nata M honestate A matronaliter] naturaliter E liberaliter O 2. patrem et
matrem] patre et matre G 3. Erat autem] Et erat ipsa P S O A et ipsa fuit E circiter anno-
rum] annorum circiter A E G O P S duorum] S duo M et duo P haec ordinem] hoc ordine
A ordine G sicut conscriptum] et conscriptum E G sicut scriptum S manu sua] sua manu E
G O S suam manu A P
III.1. Cum . . . cum] Cum . . . sub E G prosecutoribus] persecutoribus E G essemus] A G E P N O
S om. C essem M et me pater verbis] et me pater om.verbis M, et pater verbis om.me E , verbis me
G et me patrum verbis N, P add. a christianitate O evertere] auertere A E G N P S O cupiret]
cuperet A sua affectione] affectione sua E G inquam] inquit M iacens] iacet siue E ,
G 2. ei] om.E G potest] potes A ait] dixit E G N O P S add. inquam O recipimur]
recipimus P Aestus estos A N P aestus validi G estus validi E estus validos O 3. mittit] misit A E
GNPS nisi] quam A erueret] everteret N P S sed vexavit tantum] et nimium vexauit
me N vexavit A vexans me O vexauit me tantum E , G vexauero P profectus est] G profecto est
M 4. caruissem patrem] patre A E G N S carui patre O Domino] Deo E G N P S refrig-
eravi] A refrigeravit M refrigerata sum N P S refrigeravi me E G 5. paucos] paucos vero A Be/O
baptizati sumus; et mihi Spiritus dictavit nihil aliud petendum ab aqua nisi suf-
ferentiam carnis. Post paucos dies recipimur in carcerem: et expavi, quia numquam
experta eram tales tenebras. 6O diem asperum! [A]estus validus turbarum benefi-
cio, concussur[a]e militum. Novissime macerabar sollicitudine infantis ibi. 7 Tunc
Tertius et Pomponius, benedicti diaconi qui nobis ministrabant, constituerunt
praemio, uti paucis horis emissi in meliorem locum carceris refrigeraremus. 8Tunc
exeuntes de carcere universi sibi vacabant: ego infantem lactabam iam inedia
defectum; sollicita pro eo adloquebar matrem et confortabam fratrem, com-
mendabam filium; tabescebam ideo quod illos tabescere videram mei beneficio.
9
Tales sollicitudines multis diebus passa sum; et usurpavi ut mecum infans in car-
cere maneret; et statim convalui et relevata sum a labore et sollicitudine infantis,
et factus est mihi carcer subito praetorium, ut ibi mallem esse quam alicubi.
IV
IV. 1Tunc dixit mihi frater meus: “Domina soror, iam in magna dignatione es;
tanta es ut postules visionem et ostendatur tibi an passio sit an commeatus.” 2 Et
ego quae me sciebam fabulari cum Domino, cuius beneficia tanta experta eram,
fidenter repromisi ei dicens: “crastina die tibi renuntiabo.” Et postulavi, et osten-
sum est mihi hoc: 3Video scalam aeream mirae longitudinis, pertingentem usque
ad caelum, et angustam, per quam nonnisi singuli ascendere possent, et in lateri-
bus scalae omne genus ferramentorum infixum. Erant ibi gladii, lanceae, [h]ami,
macherae, verruta, ut si quis neglegenter aut non sursum adtendens ascenderet,
in aqua] N O P S om E G recipimur] recepti sumus O experta eram tales] tales experta

eram N Be/O P S 6. O diem] O die P odium A concussurae] concussure M concussura
N P S concussuras O om.E G novissime] novissimo N P S angustiae novissimae E angustie
novissime G 7. Tunc] Ibi tunc A E G N P S Pomponius] Ponporius A Pompinius
OS benedicti diaconi qui nobis ministrabant] diacones stabant A diacones E G diaconus N
constituerunt praemio] continuerunt praemium A N continuerunt premium O P precia E
pretio G uti paucis] She. ut hii M ut A E G O N P S refrigeraremus] refrigeremur P
refrigeraeremur N refrigeremus E 8. inedia defectum] om.E mane die illucescente de-
fectum G in taedio defectum A matrem et confortabam fratrem] om.A confortabam
matrem P fratri N S videram] videbam E G N P S viderem A mei] meo E G N P S
9. relevata] revelata P S elevata E G infantis] om.E G subito] quasi N P S esse] A
essem M alicubi] M alibi A E G N S
IV.1. frater] pater P meus om.G dignatione] dignitate N S tanta] add. es E G om.S tantese es
P postules] postulem M 2. beneficia] beneficio N S benefita P benefacta E fidenter]
fidens E G P N S repromisi ei dicens] repromissionibus eius N S repromissa ei P Crastina
die] crasA 3. aeream] A N aerea G eream E auream P om.M magnitudinis] M longitudinis
AEG pertingentem] M om.E G ad] M in] E G N S ascendere] E G N P S ascendi]
M possent] M possim] E P possint G N O S infixum] fixum A lanceae hami] om.A E G
O P ami M N S macherae] om.A verruta] Be Geb Am verutti E G om M N P S adtendens
laniaretur et carnes eius inhaererent ferramentis. 4Et erat sub ipsa scala draco
cubans mirae magnitudinis, qui ascendentibus insidias praestabat et exterrebat ne
ascenderent. 5Ascendit autem Saturus prior, qui postea se propter nos ultro tra-
diderat (quia ipse nos aedificaverat), et tunc cum adducti sumus, praesens non
fuerat. 6Et pervenit in caput scalae, et convertit se et dixit mihi: “Perpetua, susti-
neo te; sed vide ne te mordeat draco ille.” Et dixi ego: “Non me nocebit, in nomine
Iesu Christi.” 7Et desub ipsa scala, quasi timens me, lente eiecit caput; et quasi
primum gradum calcarem, calcavi illi caput, et ascendi. 8Et vidi spatium immen-
sum horti et in medio sedentem hominem canum, in habitu pastoris, grandem,
oves mulgentem; et circumstantes candidati milia multa. 9Et levavit caput et
aspexit me et dixit mihi: “Bene venisti, tegnon.” Et clamavit me et de caseo quod
mulgebat dedit mihi quasi buccellam; et ego accepi iunctis manibus et mandu-
cavi; et universi circumstantes dixerunt: “Amen.” 10Et ad sonum vocis experta
sum, commanducans adhuc dulce nescio quid. Et retuli statim fratri meo; et intel-
leximus passionem esse futuram, et coepimus nullam iam spem in saeculo habere.
V
1
V. Post paucos dies rumor cucurrit ut audiremur. Supervenit autem de civi-
tate pater meus, consumptus taedio, et ascendit ad me, ut me deiceret, dicens:
2
“Miserere, filia, canis meis; miserere patri, si dignus sum a te pater vocari; si
ascenderet] ascendens adtenderet P ascendens attenderet N S om A eius] illius A E G N P S illis

O inhaererent] O inhererent E G M N P haererent A 4. praestabat] parabat A N P S tendebat G
5. Saturus] M Saturninus E G quia ipse nos aedificaverat] A S G edificauerat E O P
om.M adducti] adprehensi N O P S sumus] fuissemus E G 6. in] ad P S convertit]
AEG evertit] M sustineo te] te sustineo E G mordeat te] te mordeat A E G N te
om.P ille] om.E G P N S Non me] nemo P nomini] add. domini P add. domini
nostri A N S et] add. draco N 7. S N. desub] sub A ipsa] om.A E G N P eiecit]
elevavit N P S quasi] cum A N P S calcarem] calcassem N O P S om.E G calcavi
illi] ei calcavi E G 8. vidi] video A E G N S P spatium] spacium E spatium G P spatio-
lum N S canum] G sanum M in habitu pastoris, grandem] grandem in habitu pastoris
A circumstantes candidati] circumstantium candidatorum A circumstantes candidatos G P S
circumstantes candida N 9. bene venisti tegnon] Bene venisti thecnon E G benedixisti nunc
N S Benevenies tegnum P bene venias O Bene venisti Nec non A clamauit me] amauit me P S
add. ad me E G quod] quem A O/Be caseo] add. lacte Be/O 10. Ad sonum vocis] a
sono A om.M experta] expergefacta sum A experrecta G commanducans] M S cumman-
ducans P manducans A E G dulce] E G S om.M dulci N P dulcedine A meo] om.E
G esse futuram] futuram esse E G coepimus] cepimus A N P cepi E coepi G nulla
iam] iam nullam A E G N P S saeculo] saeculum P
V.1. paucos] vero add. A cucurrit] occurrit N S ut] quod A E G N P S audiremur] audi-
remus N S supervenit autem et] Et supervenit N P S supervenit E G supervenit autem A superveniret
O/Be meus] om.E G 2. Et] A E G N P S om.M miserere filia] filia miserere A E G N P S
canis meis] carnis meae A patri N P S patri] patris M canis meis N P S
his te manibus ad hunc florem aetatis provexi, si te praeposui omnibus fratribus

tuis: ne me dederis in dedecus hominum. 3 Aspice fratres tuos, aspice matrem
tuam et materteram, aspice filium tuum, qui post te vivere non poterit. 4Depone
animos; ne universos nos extermines: nemo enim nostrum libere loquetur, si
tu aliquid passa fueris.” 5Haec dicebat quasi pater pro sua pietate, basians mihi
manus, et se ad pedes meos iactans et lacrimans me iam non filiam nominabat,
sed dominam. 6Et ego dolebam casum patris mei, quod solus de passione mea
gavisurus non esset de toto genere meo, et confortavi eum dicens: “Hoc fiet in
illa catasta quod Deus voluerit; scito enim nos non in nostra esse potestate
futuros, sed in Dei.” Et recessit a me contristatus.
VI
VI. 1 Alio die cum pranderemus, subito rapti sumus ut audiremur. Et per-
venimus ad forum. Rumor statim per vicinas fori partes cucurrit, et factus est
populus immensus. 2 Ascendimus in catastam. Interrogati ceteri confessi sunt.
Ventum est ad me. Et apparuit pater ilico cum filio meo, et extraxit me de
gradu, dicens: “Supplica; misere infanti.” 3 Et Hilarianus procurator, qui tunc
loco proconsulis Minuci Timiniani defuncti ius gladii acceperat: “Parce,”
inquit, “canis patris tui, parce infantiae pueri. Fac sacrum pro salute imperatorum.
his te] istis A ad hunc] om.P florem aetatis] etatis E P S aetatis florem A si te praepo-
sui] proposui P et preposui A quia et praeposui te E G tuis] meis E in] om.E G dedecus]
opproprium P obprobrium N S 3. aspice fratres tuos] aspice ad fratres tuos N P S aspice
matrem tuam et materteram] om.P non poterit] non potest P 4. ne universos nos exter-
mines] noli nos universos exterminare N O P S enim] om.E G N O P S nostrum] add.
in s[a]eculo A loquetur] A O loquitur E G N P S fueris] feceris P passa fueris A 5.
quasi] A N O P S om.E G M basians] osculans A E G et lacrimans] Geb. et lacrimis M et
iam lacrimans A N O P etiam lacrimans S lacrimans E G non filiam nominabat, sed dominam]
dominam me vocabat A N O P S vocabat sed dominam E G 6. casum] A casus E G causam M
canos N O P S gavisurus] gavisus A E G N O S gavissus P catasta] catastam A P deus]
E G dominus A N O P S voluerit] volet O esse potestate futuros] A E G N P S futurus O
constitutos M me] add. pater N O P S
VI.1. Alio] Alia A E G cum] dum A fori partes] partes fori E G N O P S cucur-
rit] concurrit N O S cucurrisset E G 2. Ascendimus in catastam] A E N O P S in catasta G
M Interrogati] et interrogati E G Et apparuit] Et paruit E G pater ilico] ilic pater A
illo pater E G ibi pater N O P S dicens supplica] A Supplica M et dixit supplicans N O P S
et dixit supplico E G rogo add. N O S infanti] canos meos N P S canis meis O 3.
Hilarianus] Elarianus N O S Helarianus P procurator] curator G (corr. facta a scriba recentio-
re?) tunc loco] om.tunc N O P S in locum] N O P S proconsulis Minuci Timiniani]
G minacii teminianii N minutii teminiani P timiani E minarii teminianii S pio solus minuci timiani
A acceperat] add. hoc ait E G Parce inquit canis] canes patris N canos patris S dixit parce
canos P dixit parce canis O pueri] puerili N S
4
Et ego respondi: “Non faciam.” Et Hilarianus: “Christianus es?” inquit. Et ego
respondi: “Christiana sum.” 5Et cum staret pater ad me deiciendam, iussus est
ab Hilariano proici, et virga percussus est. Et doluit mihi casus patris mei,
quasi ego fuissem percussa: sic dolui pro senecta eius misera. 6 Tunc nos uni-
versos pronuntiat et damnat ad bestias; et hilares descendimus ad carcerem.
7
Tunc quia consueverat a me infans mammas accipere et mecum in carcere
manere, statim mitto ad patrem Pomponium diaconum, postulans infantem.
8
Sed pater dare noluit. Et quomodo Deus voluit, neque ille amplius mammas
desideravit, neque mihi fervorem fecerunt, ne sollicitudine infantis et dolore
mamarum macerarer.
VII
VII. 1Post dies paucos, dum universi oramus, subito media oratione profecta
est mihi vox et nominavi Dinocraten. Et obstipui quod numquam mihi in men-
tem venisset nisi tunc, et dolui commemorata casus eius. 2Et cognovi me statim
dignam esse et pro eo petere debere. Et coepi de ipso orationem facere multum et
ingemescere ad Dominum. 3Continuo ipsa nocte ostensum est mihi hoc: 4Video
4. respondi] add. dicens A non facio helarius Christiana es] et hilarianus dixit A E G non fa-
ciam et helarianus ergo Christiana P (add. ait) N S elarianus N 5. staret] temptaret N S con-
temptaret P pater] add. perseverare Be/O Hilariano] elariano S clariano P proici]
A E G N P S deici M percussus est] A E G N P S percussit sic dolui] doluit A doluit enim
N S mihi doluit P om.sic N doluit mihi] dolui casus N S mei] om.A E G senecta]
senectute N S om.pro A misera] miser P miseros N S verbis quae sequuntur iungunt 6.
Tunc . . . universos] miser|tunc|universos P Be/O damnat] dampnat P dapnat A clamat
S 7. Tunc] et E G mammas] mammam N P S in carcerem] M Pomponium]
Pompinianum P diaconum] diaconem N S 8. Sed] om.A E G N P S dare noluit]
dare noluit Be/O amplius] om.A mammas] mammam N P S desideravit] desiderat
M fecerunt] effecerunt N P sollicitudine infantis] sollicitudinem A illius sollicitudine
EG dolore] dolorem M P macerarer] maceraret M (corr. ln.)
VII.1. Post dies paucos] post paucos dies N S oramus] oremus P oraremus N Osubito]
om.M subito dum N O S subito media A E G profecta] perfecta A prolatum N O P S nom-
inavi] A N S nomina M O P nominavit E G Dinocraten] E G N O P Dinocratem A Vidi-
craten M Vidinograte P obstipui] obstipui A stupui E G obstupui N O S add. eo O mihi]
om.G mentem] mente M venisset nisi tunc] nisitunc P om.E G commemorata casus]
A commemerata casus M commemoratum casum E G memorata casu N O P S 2. petere]
patere P pati N O S de] pro A N O P S ipso] ipsa E G illo A multum] multam N O P
S ingemescere] ingemiscere A E G N O P S Dominum] deum E G N O P S 3. con-
tinuo] corr. sl. M om.G est mihi hoc in oratione] P in oromate hoc A hoc in oromate N O P S
om.in horomate E G 4. Et video] E G
Dinocratem exeuntem de loco tenebroso, ubi et conplures erant, aestuantem

valde et sitientem, sordido vultu et colore pallido; et vulnus in facie eius, quod
cum moreretur habuit. 5Hic Dinocrates fuerat frater meus carnalis, annorum sep-
tem, qui per infirmitatem facie cancerata male obiit, ita ut mors eius odio fuerit
omnibus hominibus. 6Pro hoc ergo orationem feceram; et inter me et illum
grande erat diastema, ita ut uterque ad invicem accedere non possemus. 7Erat
deinde in illo loco, ubi Dinocrates erat, piscina plena aqua, altiorem marginem
habens quam erat statura pueri; et extendebat se Dinocrates quasi bibiturus. 8Ego
dolebam, quod et piscina illa aquam habebat, et tamen propter altitudinem mar-
ginis bibiturus non esset. 9Et experta sum, et cognovi fratrem meum laborare; sed
fidebam me profuturam labori eius. Et orabam pro eo omnibus diebus quousque
transivimus in carcerem castrensem; munere enim castrensi eramus pugnaturi:
natale tunc Getae Caesaris. 10Et feci pro illo orationem die et nocte gemens et
lacrimans, ut mihi donaretur.
VIII
VIII. 1Die autem quo in nervo mansimus, ostensum est mihi hoc: video locum
illum quem retro videram, et Dinocraten mundo corpore, bene vestitum, refriger-
antem; et ubi erat vulnus, video cicatricem; 2et piscinam illam, quam retro videram,
Dinocratem] A N O S Dinocraten M E G Vidinograte P conplures erant] conplures loca erant

M aestuantem] G P estuantem A E M N O S valde et sitientem] et sitientem valde A E G N O
PS 5. facie] faciem A M F eras. m E fatie P cancerata] carceratam M macerata N O S 6.
diastema] Hol. diadema M idiantem P diantem diantem N dianten n corr. sl. S spacium E spatium
AOG possemus] possimus E G possumus P 7. in illo loco] E G om.M ipso loco N P S eo
loco A Dinocrates erat] erat Dinocrates A N P S plena] om.E G add. cum E G aqua] aqua et
A aquae P atque N S altiorem] algorum N S alcorem P algas Be/O marginem] in margine
Be/O quam erat statura] quam staturam P quasi staturam S secundum staturam Be/O 8.
Et ego] E G et piscina] de piscina A habebat] haberet N O S P bibeat A altitudinem]
altitudines N O S bibiturus] quia bibuturus E G esset] add. ex ea A Et experta sum]
E O N P S Et experrecta sum G Et exporrecta sum M Expergefacta sum A 9. Et experta sum]
E O N P S Et experrecta sum G Et exporrecta sum M Expergefacta sum A fidebam] confide-
bam P considerabam N O S pro fide videbam E G me profuturam] om.me N O P S profuturam
orationem meam N O P S Et orabam pro eo] om.E G omnibus diebus] A E G N O P S
om.M in carcerem castrensem] castrensem om.N O P S enim castrensi] enim caesaris add.
EG natale tunc Getae Caesaris] natale tunc cetae Caesaris A natalis caesaris tunc erat E G natali
caesaris N O S natali gente tunc caesaris A 10. pro illo] pro eo A E G orationem] add. et N
OS gemens] A E G N O P S om.M lacrimans] add. fui O
VIII.1. Die] die autem A N O P S quo] qua A nervo] add. constricto A mansi-
mus] mansissemus A video] add. et ecce video E G locum illum] loco illo A retro]
om.N O P S videram] add. tenebrosum esse lucidum N O P S Dinocraten] Dinocratem
N O S Dinogratem P refrigerantem] regfrigeraentem N 2. piscinam illam] piscine illa
G quam retro videram] om.E G retro] prae N O P S
summisso margine usque ad umbilicum pueri; et aquam de ea trahebat sine ces-

satione. 3Et super margine fiala aurea plena aqua. Et accessit Dinocrates et de ea
bibere coepit; quae fiala non deficiebat. 4Et satiatus, accesit de aqua ludere more
infantium gaudens. Et experta sum. Tunc intellexi translatum eum esse de poena.
IX
IX. 1Deinde post dies paucos Pudens miles optio, praepositus carceris, qui nos
magnificare coepit intellegens magnam virtutem esse in nobis; qui multos ad nos
admittebat ut et nos et illi invicem refrigeraremus. 2Ut autem proximavit dies
muneris, intravit ad me pater meus Consumptus taedio, et coepit barbam suam
evellere et in terram mittere et prosternere se in faciem, et inproperare annis suis
et dicere tanta verba quae moverent universam creaturam. 3Ego dolebam pro
infelici senecta eius.
X
1
X. Pridie quam pugnaremus, video in horomate hoc: venisse Pomponium diaco-
num ad ostium carceris et pulsare vehementer. 2Et exivi ad eum et aperui ei; qui erat
vestitus discincta candida, habens multiplices galliculas. 3Et dixit mihi: “Perpetua,
summisso] summissa G N S submissa E P submisso A umbilicum] umbiculum P aquam]

aqua N S trahebat] trahebam cadebat Geb. profluebat Laz . 3. margine] marginem
AEGNOPS fiala] filam N add. erat A E G P S Dinocrates] Dinogratis P quae] et
quasi N O P S deficiebat] defitiebat P 4. satiatus] G N O P S saciatus M A E de aqua
ludere] ludere satiatus de aqua N O S ludere satiatus de ea aqua P infantium] infantum A E G
NOPS experta] E N O P S experrecta sum M G expergefacta sum A Tunc] Et tunc A et
EGNOPS de poena] E G N O P S de pena A M ad requiem sanctam iustorum add. A
IX.1. post dies paucos] E G Pudens] Prudens corr.al. S qui] Cav. & ex Graeco Geb. MS.
magnificare coepit intellegens] A magnifice M intelligere M virtutem esse] dei virtutem esse A
E G virtutem esse dei N S virtutem dei esse P in nobis] nobiscum E G qui] om. A N O P
S multos] multos fratres A N O P S admittebat] mittebat E illi] ille P refrigerare-
mus] refrigeremus P refrigerare mur N S corr. sl. re G 2. Ut autem] Et om. ut autem E G Ut om.
autem Be/O P Et ut om. autem N S intrat] intravit N P S Et intravit E G introivit A pater
meus ad me] N S consumptus] finitus E G evellere] vellere A N Be/O P S inprop-
erare] improperare E G inproperans se P imperans se N S moverent] moveretur M videbantur
movere Be/O 3. infelici senecta] infelicitate senectutis A
X.1. Pridie quam] pridie ante quam E G video] om.S hoc] huc E P hunc G diaconum]
ostium] hostium A N diaconem] M carceris] om.P pulsare] pulsantem E G pulsasse A N O P
S vestitus] add. veste A discincta candida] A G N O P Sdiscinctam candidam M distinc-
tus candidem E habens] habebat E G galliculas] calliculas M O P caliculas A galliluculas
N ex auro et argento add. N O P S 2. habens] habebat E G galliculas] calliculas M O P calicu-
las A galliluculas N ex auro et argenbto add. N O P S 3. Perpetua,
te expectamus: veni.” Et tenuit mihi manum, et coepimus ire per aspera loca et flex-
uosa. 4Et vix tandem pervenimus anhelantes ad amphitheatrum, et induxit me in
media arena, et dixit mihi: “Noli expavescere: hic sum tecum et conlaboro tecum. Et
abiit. 5Et aspicio populum ingentem adtonitum; et quia sciebam me ad bestias dam-
natam esse, mirabar quod non mitterentur mihi bestiae. 6Et exivit quidam contra
me Egyptius foedus specie cum adiutoribus suis, pugnaturus mecum. Veniunt et ad
me adolescentes decori, adiutores et fautores mei. 7Et expoliata sum, et facta sum
masculus, et coeperunt me favisores mei oleo defricare, quomodo solent in agone;
et illum contra Egyptium video in afa volutantem. 8Et exivit vir quidam mirae mag-
nitudinis, ut etiam excederet fastigium amphit[h]eatri, discinctatus, purpuram inter
duos clavos per medium pectus habens, et galliculas multiformes ex auro et argento
factas, et ferens virgam quasi lanista, et ramum viridem in quo erant mala aurea. 9Et
petiit silentium et dixit: ‘Hic Aegyptius, si hanc vicerit, occidet illam gladio; haec, si
hunc vicerit, accipiet ramum istum.’ Et recessit. 10Et accessimus ad invicem et coepi-
mus mittere pugnos; ille mihi pedes apprehendere volebat, ego autem illi calcibus
te expectamus] te expectamus Perpetua E G et coepimus . . . vix] om.P aspera] asperae

N flexuosa] om.P flectuosa E loca et flexuosa] flexuosa et loca A N O S 4. Et vix] A E G om.M
NOPS pervenimus anhelantes] ambulantes pervenimus N O P S anhelantes pervenimus A
venimus anhelantes E G amphitheatrum] amfitearum P induxit] introduxit E G me-
dia arena] media herena E G medio arenae N O P S mediam harenam A Noli expavescere]
Perpetua noli E G expavescere] pavere M conlaboro] collabora O collaborabo E conlabo-
rabo A G P [corr. ln: o ad abo] N S P 5. populum] add. multum O ingentem . . . sciebam om.A
sciebam me corr. sl. P quia] quoniam E G me] et me A om.me N P om.et O S bestias]
bestiam N O P S damnatam esse] E G datum esse M dampnatum esse A donatam esse N P esse
donatam O mirabar] minabar-corr. al—r M mitterentur] mittebantur E G N O P S 6.
quidam contra me] om.quidam A contra me quidam E G N O P S Egiptius] Aegyptius G P
Aegiptius A Egyptius E N O foedus specie] foedus turpis facie E foedus turpi G fedus spetiae
P Veniunt et ad me] Et ad me veniunt N O P S Et ecce veniunt ad me E G fautores]
factores P 7. Et expoliata sum] Et factores expoliata P facta sum masculus] om.facta N P
S masculus] masculos P om.Be/O favisores] fautores A G N S fauc tores eras.-c E factores
P defricare] E G N O defrigare P defrigere M perungere A agone] A E G N P S agonem
M Egyptium video] egiptium A N O S video egyptium E video Aegyptium G afa] aere
E aera G aqua N O P S volutantem] voluntate A volantem E G 8. Et exiuit] Me tenuit
A ut] qui A amphiteatri] A E G N S anpitheatri M anfiteatri P discinctatus] discinctus
A E G discinctam habens tunicam N O P S purpuram] purpura A E G pectus habens, et Fra. Be
Bas. pectus, habens Rob. Geb. et] E G N O P S om.A M galliculas] E G calliculas M N O P
S caliculas A ferens virgam] E G N O P S efferens virgam M virgam ferens A lanista] lani-
stam N O S mala aurea] malum aureum A erant] erat A N P S era/n/t eras.—n S 9.
petiit] petit N P S silentium] scilentium A Aegyptius] G Egyptius E P occidet] oc-
cidit E N illam] eam A haec, si] E G N O P S et si] M haec autem A ramum istum]
A N P S ramum istud M hunc ramum E G 10. et coepimus mittere pugnos] om. A pugnos] pug-
nas G N O S apprehendere] A E adprehendere G M N P S volebat] quaerebat O S querebat
NP ego autem] Et ego om.autem E G N P S
faciem caedebam. 11Et sublata sum in aere, et coepi eum sic caedere quasi terram non
calcans. At ubi vidi moram fieri, iunxi manus, ut digitos in digitos mitterem, et
apprehendi illi caput, et cedidit in faciem, et calcavi illi caput. 12Et coepit populus
clamare et fautores mei psallere. Et accessi ad lanistam et accepi. 13Et osculatus est
me et dixit mihi: ‘Filia, pax tecum.’ Et coepi ire cum gloria ad portam Sanavivariam.
14
Et experta sum. Et intellexi me non ad bestias sed contra diabolum esse pugna-
turam; sed sciebam mihi esse victoria[m]. 15Ho[c] usque in pridie muneris egi;
ipsius autem muneris actum, si quis voluerit, scribat.”
XI
XI. 1Visio Saturi: Sed et Saturus benedictus hanc visionem suam edidit, quam
ipse conscripsit. 2“Passi” inquit “eramus, et exivimus de carne, et coepimus ferri a
quattuor angelis in orientem, quorum manus nos non tangebant. 3Ibamus autem
non supini sursum versi, sed quasi mollem clivum ascendentes. 4Et liberat[i] primo
mundo vidimus lucem immensam, et dixi Perpetuae (erat enim haec in latere
meo): “Hoc est quod nobis Dominus promittebat: percepimus promissionem.”
caedebam] cedebam A G N P cededam E 11. aere] aerem A re N Be/O P S et coepi eum

sic] et sic eum coepi E G om.sic O et cept eum sic A et cepi eum sic P quasi terram non cal-
cans] N O P S terram concalcans M terram non calcans A E G At] ad P vidi] corr. sl.
O iunxi] A E G O iunexi M P eras.—e S unexi N manus] add. et E G ita N O P S digito]
NPS mitterem] om.E G et cedidit . . . caput] om.N O P S 12. Et] om.N O S fautores]
E G O P corr. ln. u S favisores M fauces oris A factores N favisores mei psallere] psallere et fau-
tores mei E G 13. Et] om.P coepi] coepit N cepit P Sanavivariam] sanavivaria M
sane vivariam A S scriptum ut unum verbum P vivariam E G N O 14. experta] experrecta G O
expergefacta A ad bestias] A E G a bestiis M ad bestiam N O S a bestia P esse victoriam]
om.esse add. permanere E G add. imminere A N O inminere P hoc usque] A E G N O P
S hos M pridie] pridiem A muneris] om.N O P S E G egi . . . muneris] om.A E G egi
. . . scribat] om.N O P S
XI.1. Visio Saturi] om.A E G N O P S Saturus] Saturninus G benedictus] benedictum P

benedictam N O S suam] om.N O S quam ipse] quam et ipse N O P S quam etiam ipse
A 2. inquit] om.E G inquid N P carne] carcere N O P S inquit] om.E G in-
quid N P carne] carcere N O P S ferri] fieri P nos] om.A corr. al. S tangebant] A E
G N O P tangebat M 3. ibamus] ibimus G ivimus E versi] versus A G N P S add. nec ad sur-
sum E mollem] A E G N O P S molle M clivum] glebam E G 4. liberat[i]] liberato M liberati
GNOPS primo] primum P primam O S add. de O add. iam N P S mundo] mundum A
O vidimus] videmus A immensam] inmensam AGNPS dixi Perpetuae] dixit
NOPS erat enim haec in latere meo] hoc M quoniam in latere nostro erat E G quoniam a latere
nostro erat P S quae a latere nostro erat N O nobis Dominus] Dominus nobis N O P S
5
Et dum gestamur ab ipsis quattuor angelis, factum est nobis spatium grande,
quod tale fuit quasi viridiarium, arbores habens rosae et omne genus flores. 6Alti-
tudo arborum erat in modum cipressi, quarum folia cadebant sine cessatione. 7Ibi
autem in viridiario alii quattuor angeli fuerunt clariores ceteris: qui, ubi viderunt
nos, honorem nobis dederunt, et dixerunt ceteris angelis: “Ecce sunt, ecce sunt,”
cum admiratione. Et expavescentes quattuor illi angeli, qui gestabant nos, deposu-
erunt nos. 8Et pedibus nostris transivimus stadium via lata. 9Ibi invenimus Iocun-
dum et Saturninum et Artaxium, qui eadem persecutione vivi arserunt, et
Quintum, qui et ipse martyr in carcere exierat. Et quaerebamus de illis, ubi essent
ceteri. 10Angeli dixerunt nobis: “Venite prius, introite, et salutate Dominum.”
XII
XII. 1Et venimus prope locum, cuius loci parietes tales erant quasi de luce aed-
ificati; et ante ostium loci illius angeli quattuor stabant, qui introeuntes vest-
ierunt stolas candidas. 2Et introivimus, et audivimus vocem unitam dicentem:
“Agios, agios, agios,” sine cessatione. 3Et vidimus in eodem loco sedentem quasi
5. gestamur] gestabamur E iestamur P quattuor] iiiiorum N factum] factus N S spatium]

spacium A E G grande] A E G grandem M magnum N O P S arbores] arboris A E P ha-
bens] habentes G rosae] rosa N P rosas A E G rosam Be/O S flores] corr. ln. M floris N O
P S florum E G 6. Altitudo arborum] altitudo vero A altitudo autem N O P S cipressi]
cypressi A E G P cadebant] ardebant N O corr. sl . S canebant Rob. 7. viridiario] viri-
dario Be/O alii quattuor angeli fuerunt] om.fuerunt A quatuor angeli fuerunt in viridiario alii
E alio G fuerunt quattuor angeli alii N O P S clariores ceteris] om.A qui ubi] ibi N
PS nos] add. et N P S eras. M cceteris] ceteri P Ecce sunt, ecce sunt] Ecce sunt N
Be/O P S Ecce assunt ecce E acceserunt A cum admiratione. Et expavescentes] add. Et > cum
A om. Et E G N O P S expavescentes om.G expavescentes cum admiratione N O P S illi] om.E
G gestabant nos] om.nos N P S stabant P deposerunt nos om. A 8. stadium] add. ad >
stadium E G via lata] violata M viae latae A om.E G violatum Rob. 9. ibi] A E G O P S ubi
M om.N Iocundum et Saturninum et Artaxium] Saturum et Artaxium E Satirum Artaxium
A Iucundum Satyrum Artaxium P Iocundum Artaxium N Be/O S eadem persecutione] ean-
dem persecutionem P passi add. < persecutione A N Be/O Am/O P S in carcere exierat] exi-
eraet N in carcere vitam exegit E de] ab A N S om.P illis] ipsis A ubi essent ceteri]
ubi essent. Ceteri M N Angeli] eras.—is M 10. Angeli dixerunt nobis] Et dixerunt nobis
ceteri angeli A dixerunt nobis angeli E G dixerunt autem nobis angeli N O P S Venite prius]
Venite primum A E G N O P S introite] intro G N O P S om.E salutate] corr. sl . ta E
XII.1. cuius loci] cui loco A de luce aedificati] de luce aedificate N S de luce edificati O P dulce
aedificium E ostium] E G N O P S hostium M A illius] ipsius E G angeli quattuor
stabant, qui introeuntes vestierunt] add. nos > vestierunt A angeli quatuor intro nos vestierunt E
G erant angeli quatuor introeuntes et nos vestiti N O P S quattuor] iiiiorum N stolas can-
didas] stolis candidis E G O stola candida A 2. introivimus] add. et vidimus lucem immensam
N O P S audivimus] audimus P add.< ineffabilem O unitam dicentem] unitam dicentium] N
S dicentium om. unitam O mutatam dicentium P agios] agius N P S bis A 3. vidimus] vidi
E eodem loco] medio loci illius N O P S om.loci G om.E add. eum > sedentem E
hominem canum, niveos habentem capillos et vultu iuvenili, cuius pedes non
vidimus. 4Et in dextera et in sinistra seniores quattuor, et post illos ceteri seniores
conplures stabant. 5Et introeuntes cum admiratione stetimus ante thronum, et
quattuor angeli sublevaverunt nos, et osculati sumus illum, et de manu sua
traiecit nobis in faciem. 6 Et ceteri seniores dixerunt nobis: “Stemus”; et stetimus
et pacem fecimus. Et dixerunt nobis seniores: “Ite et ludite.” 7 Et dixi Perpetuae:
“Habes quod vis.” Et dixit mihi: “Deo gratias, ut, quomodo in carne hilaris fui,
hilarior sim et hic modo.”
XIII
XIII. 1Et exivimus et vidimus ante fores Optatum episcopum ad dexteram et
Aspasium presbyterum doctorem ad sinistram, separatos et tristes. 2Et miserunt
se ad pedes nobis, et dixerunt: “Componite inter nos, quia existis, et sic nos rel-
iquistis.” 3Et diximus illis: “Non tu es papa noster, et tu presbyter? Ut vos ad pedes
nobis mittatis?” Et moti sumus et conplexi illos sumus. 4Et coepit Perpetua
Graece cum illis loqui, et segregavimus eos in viridiarium sub arbore rosae. 5Et
dum loquimur cum eis, dixerunt illis angeli: “Sinite illos refrigerent; et si quas
iuvenili] iuvenali A invenili S vidimus] vidi E G 4. eius] < dextera N S sinistra] sinis-
tra eius A E G N O P S quattuor] viginta quattuor A N O S xxiiiiorum P ceteri] om.A se-
niores] om. N O P S stabant] om.E G 5. Et] om.E G N O P S introeuntes] in-
troivimus A E G N O P S cum] add. magna < N O P S admiratione] add. et < A E G N
OPS quattuor] quatuor E G iiii P sublevauerunt] A E G N O S sulevauerunt M nos]
om.P illum] om.A add. scabellum pedum eius traiecit] traeiecit N tetigit A nobis in
faciem] facie N Be/O S fatiem P 6. nobis] om.P stetimus] state Be/O add. ad oratione
< et stetimus E G et ludite] ludite E G om.A add. exultate in Domino A dixi Perpetuae]
dixit Perpetua N Be/O P S dixit mihi] dixit E G mihi om.N P S michi A ut] quia E G quod
Be/O quomodo quo N sim] sum M E N om.P et hic modo] etiam modo A om.modo N P S
XIII.1. dexteram] om.A doctorem] doctores A dociorem N Be/O S sinistram] sinis-

traem N et tristes] om.A corr. al. et E 2. nobis] nostros A N Be/O P S et] om.N
P S dixerunt] add. nobis N Be/O P S Componite] conponite S add. pacem E
quia] add. intrastis et add. E G existis] exitis N S reliquistis] dereliquistis A relinqui-
tis N S 3. illis] illi N add. optati P obtate N S < non non] nonne N S papa] pater
S noster] noster es N Be/O P S presybter] presbiter noster A ut vos as pedes no-
bis mittatis] ut ad pedes nostros remittatis vos corr. ln. re A ut quid N S nobis] nostros A P
S mittatis] mittitis Be/O moti sumus] misimus nos N Be/O P S conplexi illos su-
mus] compleximus illos om.sumus E P conplexi sumus illos N S 4. coepit] cepit A N P grece]
A E G N P S om.M eos] illos A viridiarium] viridarium E viridiario A N P S viridario
Be/O arbore] arborem (corr. sl. Be/G) rosae] rose A N P 5. illis] illi E Sinite
illos refrigerent] M Quiescite ab illis ut refrigerent A Quiescite illi refrigerent E Quiescite illos re-
frigerare G Quiescite et refrigerate N P S si] om.A E G N O P S
habetis inter vos dissensiones, dimittite vobis invicem.” 6Et conturbaverunt eos,
et dixerunt Optato: “Corrige plebem tuam, quia sic ad te conveniunt quasi de
circo redeuntes et de factionibus certantes.” 7Et sic nobis visum est quasi vellent
claudere portas. 8Et coepimus illic multos fratres cognoscere, sed et martiras. Uni-
versi odore inerrabili alebamur, qui nos satiabat. Tunc gaudens expertus sum.
XIV
1
XIV. Hae visiones insigniores ipsorum martirum beatissimorum Saturi et
Perpetuae, quas ipsi conscripserunt. 2 Secundulum vero Deus maturiore exitu de
saeculo adhuc in carcere evocavit, non sine gratia, ut bestias lucraretur. 3Gladium
tamen etsi non anima, certe caro eius agnovit.
XV
XV. Circa Felicitatem vero, et illi gratia Domini eiusmodi contigit: 2Cum
1
octo iam mensium ventrem haberet (nam pregnans fuerat adprehensa), instante
spectaculi die in magno erat luctu, ne propter ventrem differretur (quia non
dissensiones] dissentiones N discensiones P discussiones O 6. Optato] obtato M obtate P O

S o beate N tuam] meam N Be/O S factionibus E G N P S fatigationibus M faccionibus
A 7. claudere] cludere N S 8. coepimus] cepimus N P illic] ex illis N S cog-
noscere] recognoscere A sed et] om.E G N P S martiras] martyres E G N P martires
S sed et] om.E G N Am./O S universi] om.N P S ubi universi A E G Ubi] om.A
M universi] om.N P S odore] odores E odoribus G inenarrabili] inennarrabili A inenar-
raebili N inenarrabiles E inenarrabilibus G alebamur] alebamus E alebatur N satiabat] N
S saciabat M A saciabant E G sanabit P gaudens] exaudiens A add. et < gaudens P exper-
tus] experrecta M experrectus G
XIV.1. Hae] G S haec A N has E et M P insigniores] insignorum A insigniores esse E sunt

in signo N P S sunt Be/O ipsorum] ipse ante. corr. sl. G om.E martirum] martyrum E
GNP Saturi] Satiri A Satyri N S Saturnini G Perpetuae] Perpetue N quas] quasi
ante corr. ln. E 2. Secundulum] Secundulam A deus] dominus A E om.G matu-
riore] martiris A de saeculo ad huc] om.A evocauit] vocauit E G revocauit N P S ut add.
Be/O lucraretur] lucraeretur N 3. Gladium] gladios A gaudium N P S etsi non]
et non P non solum N S certe] om.A N S tamen] < anima A sed] < anima N
S sed et Be/O caro] corpus E G eius] om.E G
XV.1. vero] add. nam P et illi] om.N S contigit] contingit E 2. octo iam] aethalamo
A mensium] E G N S mensuum M A meti suum P ventrem mensuum A pregnans . . . licet
om.E G nam pregnans] nam pregnatus S non pregnatus P inpraegnatum Be/O fuerat] erat
P S eraet N instante spectaculi] expectans et expectaculi N Be/O S expectans expectaculum
P die] diem N Be/O P S in magno] imagno corr. al.—n P eraet] add. N ven-
trem] N P S ventre M om.A hoc] add. < differretur A differretur] A differeretur M possit
deferri N deferri P differri corr. sl. S
licet pregnantes poenae repraesentari) et ne inter alios postea sceleratos sanc-

tum et innocentem sanguinem funderet. 3Sed et conmartyres graviter contrista-
bantur, ne tam bonam sociam quasi comitem solam in via eiusdem spei
relinquerent. 4Coniuncto itaque unito gemitu ad Dominum orationem fude-
runt ante tertium diem muneris. 5Statim post orationem dolores eam invaser-
unt. Et cum pro naturali difficultate octavi mensis in partu laborans doleret, ait
illi quidam ex ministris cataractariorum: “Quae sic modo doles, quid facies obi-
ecta bestiis, quas contempsisti cum sacrificare noluisti?” 6 Et illa respondit:
“Modo ego patior quod patior; illic autem alius erit in me qui patietur pro me,
quia et ego pro illo passura sum.” 7 Ita enixa est puellam, quam sibi quaedam
soror in filiam educavit.
XVI
1
XVI. Quoniam ergo permisit et permittendo voluit Spiritus Sanctus ordinem
ipsius muneris conscribi, etsi indigni ad supplementum tantae gloriae describen-
dae, tamen quasi mandatum sanctissimae Perpetuae, immo fideicommissum
pregnantes] pregnantibus E G poenae] G S poene M N penae A E penas P repraesentari]

representari M A E G presentari N P ne] om.E G alios] aliquos P S funderet] fundere E
G 3. et] om.E G conmartyres] G N Be/O P conmartires M A S commartyres E eius]
add. A E G N P S sociam] N A E S sotiam M G P comitantem] N Be/O P S in via] in
viam M in invia N (secundum in est otiosum) eiusdem spei relinquerent] derelinquerent E G
N P S om.eiusdem spei A om. spei E G 4. Coniuncto] coniuncto corr. sl.—n M consueto A
itaque] M add. et A E G N P S dominum] deum N P S orationem] add. omnes (corr.
mg.)-E G fuderunt] fecerunt A G N P S fundere E G tetium] tercium (corr. mg.) E fu-
neris M 5. Et statim] (corr. mg.)-E A G P S om. Et M post orationem statim A invaserunt]
eam invaserunt A E G N P S naturali] naturae N S natura P difficultatem] M difficul-
tam N octavi] om.N cataractariorum] E eras.—r S catarectariorum M cataraetariorum A
N caracteriorum G catastariorum O quae] om.E G quare Be/O quae sic] add. sic N Be/O P
S quomodo ecce modo] E add. hic < doles G obiecta] abiecta A N O P S cum abiecta
fueris N O P S quas] que N quae S quia P quas contempsisti] ad. et < contempsisti P cum
sacrificare noluisti] om.A 6. Et] om.N O P S respondit] respondit dicens A N Be/o P
S Modo ego] Ego modo A N Be/O P S add. hic > modo E G illic] ille N O P S autem]
om.O erit in me qui patietur pro me] est qui in me patitur pro me A pro me patietur N P S
patietur in me E et ego] om.E G passura sum] passurae sum N add. et haec dicens < sum
EG 7. pullam] A E G N O P S puella M quam] quamque E sibi] sibique eras.-que
G quaedam soror] om.quaedam E G N P S soror quaedam A filiam] A E G N P S filia
M educavit] A E G S edocavit M P
XVI.1. permisit] promisit P permittendo] permitendo M etsi] ut M indigni] A E G

indigna M indigne N P S supplementum] sublimendum P tantae] tangere N S glo-
riae] om.N S add. illorum E G Be/O P describendae] A describende P describenti M discen-
dendae Be/O discedendae S discendende N conscribendae E G Perpetuae] om.A immo]
imo A
eius exequimur, unum adicientes documentum de ipsius constantia et animi sub-

limitate. 2Cum tribunus castigatius eos castigaret, quia ex admonitionibus homi-
num vanissimorum verebatur ne subtraherentur de carcere incantationibus
aliquibus magicis, in faciem ei Perpetua respondit: 3“Quid utique non permittis
nobis refrigerare noxiis nobilissimis, Caesaris scilicet, et natali eiusdem pugnatu-
ris? Aut non tua gloria est, si pinguiores illo producamur?” 4Horruit et erubuit
tribunus; et ita iussit illos humanius haberi, ut fratribus eius et ceteris facultas
fieret introeundi et refrigerandi cum eis, iam et ipso optione carceris credente.
XVII
XVII. 1Pridie quoque cum illam cenam ultimam, quam liberam vocant—
quantum in ipsis erat, non cenam liberam sed agapem—, cenarent, eadem con-
stantia ad populum verba iactabant, comminantes iudicium Dei, contestantes
passionis suae felicitatem, inridentes concurrentium curiositatem, dicente Saturo:
exequimur] exsequimur N exequamur P adicientes] aditientes de ipsius] eius de E G

de eius Be/O constantia] continentiae P et] et de N P S animi] E G anima M A P
animae N S 2. Cum tribunus castigatius eos castigaret] E castigari G cum a tribuno castigatius
eo tractanti M qua tribuno castigati eos et male tractanti A (castiganti Be Bas Am) quia tribuno cas-
tigante eos et male traectante N tractante P S cum a tribuno castigatius eo tractarentur (trac-
tantur Rob. Geb. Fra.) Hol. Fel. Rui. Har. Rob. Fra. Geb. Be. Bas. Am. quae tribuno castigatius eos
tractante She. quia] qui A E G admonitionibus] A G N P S admonitiobus M admonitioni-
bis E verebatur] verberatur P admonebatur et verebatur A subtraherentur] subtrahentur
G magigis (corr. to magicis) M ei] et A N Be/O P Perpetua] om.M Perpetua
respondit] A E G et dixit add. N P S 3. permittis nobis] A E G permitis nobis M dimittis
nos N S dimisisti nos P noxiis] a noxiis G in noxiis E nobilissimis] nobilis E nobilissimi
G P Be/O Caesaris] E S Cassaris M Cesaris A G N P scilicet et natalis eiusdem pugna-
turis] depugnaturis A scilicet natali depugnaturis E G scis quia natale eius sumus pugnaturi N P
S -corr. natalt ad natale S -qua P —natale Be/O Aut] om.N P S si] sub A illo] illuc N
PS 4. Horruit] Orruit M tribunus] tribunos P et ita] om.ita N P S illos] illas N
S humanius haberi] A E G Be/O humanius habere N P S minibus hiberi M ut] ut et A E
G eius] om. A fieret] N P S fuerit A E G frerit M iam et] N P S tamen M E G tamen
et A ipso optione carceris credente] N P S ipsa opinione carceris crescente A obtione
credentem M om.carceris E G
XVII.1. quoque] om.A cum] Be/O illam] A E G N P S illa M cenam] A G N P S cae-

nam E N-eras. abbr.—m E cena M ultimam] A E G N P S om.M vocant] add. sed
Be/O quantum] quam G ipsis] illis A agapem] agapen G adipen N P S con-
stantia] A E G N S constantiam M P verba] verbum N S ista] M om.A E G N P S iac-
tabant] dabant E G comminantes] percominantes N percomminantes S Dei] domini M
EG contestantes] constantes P passionis] A E G P passiones N S passioni M suae
felicitatem] suae et felicitatem P suas et felicitatem N S inridentes] N S Be/O add. et irridentes
A E corr. sl.-r G inritantes M inredeantes P dicente] dicentes P dicentem A Saturo] Satiro
A Satyro N S Adtyro P Saturnino G
2
“Crastinus dies satis vobis non est? Quid libenter videtis quod odistis? Hodie
amici, cras inimici. Notate tamen vobis facies nostras diligenter, ut recognoscatis
nos in illo die. 3Ita omnes inde adtoniti discedebant, ex quibus multi crediderunt.
XVIII
1
XVIII. Illuxit dies victoriae illorum, et processerunt de carcere in amphitheat-
rum, quasi in caelum, hilares, vultu decori, si forte gaudio paventes non timore.
2
Sequebatur Perpetua lucido vultu et placido incessu, ut matrona Christi, ut Dei
delicata, vigore oculorum deiciens omnium conspectum. 3Item Felicitas, salvam
se peperisse gaudens ut ad bestias pugnaret, a sanguine ad sanguinem, ab obste-
trice ad retiarium, lotura post partum baptismo secundo. 4Et cum ducti essent in
portam et cogerentur habitum induere, viri quidem sacerdotum Saturni, feminae
vero sacratarum Cereri, generosa illa in finem usque constantia repugnavit. 5Dice-
bat enim: “Ideo ad hoc sponte pervenimus, ne libertas nostra obduceretur; ideo
animam nostram addiximus, ne tale aliquid faceremus; hoc vobiscum pacti sumus.”
2. crastinus] crastina A crastinus dies E G P S craes-N satis vobis non est] nobis satis non est A
EGNOPS quid] qui E G P videtis] videntis M vidistis P quod] quos E G odis-
tis] A E G O oditis N S hodistis M amici] add. et N S notate] notante corr. ln. notate
E vobis] nobis M diligenter] om.E G recognoscatis] renoscatis N illo] illa N add.
iudicii N O S add. iuditii P 3. omnes] multi N O P S inde] in die N adtoniti] attoniti
A E G N O S antoniti P discedebant] discesserunt A N O P S crediderunt] add. in Chris-
tum E G PASSIO UT SUPRA] M
XVIII.1. Illuxit] Inluxit G N P S illorum] eorum N O S in] ad A N O P S caelum]

celum A G N P add. ituri A caelo E hilares] add. et A E G N O P S si forte] sic forte E om.N
OPS quasi] N O P S timore] pavore N O P S 2. lucido vultu et placido incessu] Be Bat.
Am. lucido incessu M Rob. Fra. placido incessu E G N placido vultum et pedum incessu N O P S incessu
pedum A ut] et E G ut] om.N O P S dei] deo G vigore oculorum deiciens omnium
conspectum] vigore oculorum suorum docens omnium conspectum A vigore suorum deiciens omni-
um aspectum E G vigorem oculorum suorum deiciens ab omnium conspectu N O S deitiens P 3.
Item] iam O gaudens] gaudebat A ad] a M P om.N pugnaret] depugnaret A E G ad] M
NP a sanguine] om.E <-carnis pergit O ad sanguinem] om.M N P S add.—salutis O ab
obstetrice] N O P S ab obsetrice M ab obstetricem G ad obstetricem A E retiarium] retiarum N S
retiarii luctam O lotura] M E G locutura A loturam P luturam N S partum] primum ad par-
tum secundum add. O bapismo] baptismate A add. < sanguinis secundo E G 4. ducti] deducti
A deductae E G delati N S in] ad E G N P S Et delati ad portam cum essent P cogerentur]
congerentur N habitum] habitu M Saturni] Saturnini G P Saturi E feminae] femi-
ne M feminarum N Be/O P S sacratarum] sacrarium E sacraerum N sacrorum P sacrarum S sac-
rilegarum Be/O Cereri] cererum M cereris A G carceris E om.N P S illa] om.N P S in
finem] < add. Perpetua E G constantia] contra E G constantiam P om.A add. < plenam
E repugnavit] repugnabit P 5. Dicebat] dicebant M N S dicens E G enim] om.E G ergo
NPS hoc] hanc E G obduceretur] adduceretur N P abduceretur Be/O S animam
nostram] animum nostrum A animas nostras N P S addiximus] adduximus M P adiximus
N hoc . . . sumus] om.A
6
Agnovit iniustitia iustitiam: concessit tribunus, quomodo erant, simpliciter indu-
cerentur. 7Perpetua psallebat, caput iam Aegyptii calcans; Revocatus et Saturninus
et Saturus populo spectanti comminabantur. 8Dehinc ut sub conspectu Hilariani
pervenerunt, gestu et nutu coeperunt Hilariano dicere: “tu nos,” inquiunt, “te
autem Deus.” 9Ad hoc populus exasperatus flagellis eos vexari per ordinem venato-
rum postulavit; et utique gratulati sunt quod aliquid et de dominicis passionibus
essent consecuti.
XIX
1
XIX. Sed qui dixerat: “Petite et accipietis,” petentibus dederat eum exi-
tum quem quis desideraverat. 2Nam si quando inter se de martyrii sui voto
sermocinabantur, Saturninus quidem omnibus bestiis velle se obici profite-
batur, ut scilicet glorioiorem gestaret coronam. 3Itaque in commissione spec-
taculi ipse et Revocatus leopardum experti etiam super pulpitum ab urso
6. iniustitia] iniusticia E add. et N P S tribunus] tribuno P < add. ut A E N P S sim-

pliciter] < add. sic E G inducerentur] introducerentur E G 7. Perpetua] A E G
N P S om.M Aegyptii] N G Egyptii E Egiptii S Aegiptu A Egyptu M P et] om.N
P S Saturninus] Satyrus N P S Satirus A Saturus] Saturnus A Saturninus N P
S populo] populum P spectanti]—e G expectanti P expectante N S com-
minabantur] conminabantur A minabantur E G perminabantur N P S admittebantur Be/O
8. Dehinc] De hoc M A ut] iam N P S om.A sub conspectu] usque ad conspectum A—
conspectum E Hilariani] Hilaroni N pervenerunt] A E G pervenerint M pervenerant N
PS gestu et] et gestu Be/O nutu] notu A motu E G coeperunt Hilariano dicere]
ceperunt N P add . < -persecutori dicere E G Hilariano dicere coeperunt A inquiunt] om. N P
S Deus] add . iudicabit N S 9. ad] non ad. N P S tunc ad O eos] om. A E vexari]
vexare N O S per ordinem] A E G N O P S pro ordine M postulavit] om. E G et] At
O om. A N P S utique] om. O add . <-illi A E G N O P S et de] ex N O P S
XIX.1. dixerat] dixit O P dixerunt N S dederat] N O P S eum] cum N O P S quem

quis] quem quesiuit N quem unusquisque O que inquis P quem quaesiuit S desideraverat]
desideraeuit accepit N desiderauit accepit O P S desiderabat accipere A si quando] om. O add.
cum O se] om. A sui] om. A voto] votis G N O S vocis P sermocinabantur] sermo-
cinabatur P sermocinarentur E Saturninus] et Saturninus G quidem omnibus] quidem
velle se A profitebatur] prophetabatur N prophaetabatur S profabatur O txt. add. mgn. profite
A ut scilicet] scilicet ut A N O P S add. < felicem et N P S feliciorem et O coronam] et
curam P vitam N S 2. si quando] om. O add. cum O se] om. A sui] om. A voto]
votis G N O S vocis P sermocinabantur] sermocinabatur P sermocinarentur E Saturni-
nus] et Saturninus G quidem omnibus] quidem velle se A profitebatur] prophetabatur
N prophae tabatur S profabatur O txt. add. mgn. profite A ut scilicet] scilicet ut A N O P S
add. < felicem et N P S feliciorem et O coronam] et curam P vitam N S. In E hinc usque ad
finem legam “Acclamante vero turba . . . Explicit Passio Perpetuae et Felicitatis” excerptum ex Acta
I 9.3–5. 3. Itaque] add. cum N O P S spectaculi] expectaculi P ipse et] G N O P S om.
MA leopardum] O P leopardo M (-os ante corr. ln. A) leopardus N S leopardos G ex-
perti] G N O P S expertus M A add. essent < O pulpitum] pulpetum P pulsitum O S positum N
vexati sunt. 4Saturus autem nihil magis quam ursum abominabatur; sed uno
morsu leopardi confici se iam praesumebat. 5Itaque cum apro subministrare-
tur, venator potius qui illum apro subligaverat, subfossus ab eadem bestia
post dies muneris obiit; Saturus solummodo tractus est. 6Et cum ad ursum
substrictus esset in ponte, ursus de cavea prodire noluit. Itaque secundo Sat-
urus inlaesus revocatur.
XX
XX. 1Puellis autem ferocissimam vaccam, ideoque praeter consuetudinem con-
paratam, diabolus praeparavit, sexui earum etiam de bestia [a]emulatus. 2Itaque
dispoliata[e] et reticulis indutae producebantur. Horruit populus alteram respiciens
puellam delicatam, alteram a partu recentem stillantibus mammis. 3Ita revocatae et
discinctis indutae. Prior Perpetua iactata est, et concidit in lumbos. 4Et ubi sedit,
tunicam a latere discissam ad velamentum femoris reduxit, pudoris potius memor
vexati sunt] G N O P S erat vexatus M A add. EXPLICIT PASSIO SANCTARUM PERPETU-

AE ET FELICITATIS G 4. Saturus] Satirus A O Satyrus N P S nihil] N P nichil M A O
P abominabatur] abominatur N S sed] et N O P S leopardi] leopardisse P confici]
A conficisse M P conficise N O praesumebat] N presumebat M A O S consumebat P 5.
cum] add . < iam N O P S apro] aper O subministraretur] subministratur O apro
subligaverat] aprum subministrauerat A O P S subministraeuerit N subfossus] suffosso P
add . <est N S bestia] A N O P S bestiam M dies] diem N O P S Saturus] Satirus O
add . < autem A Satyrus N P S tractus] traectus N tractatus A 6. substrictus] subrectus
N Be/O S subreptus P ponte] porta O prodire] exire N P S add . de cavea Be/O no-
luit] add . Pudens (Prudens S) miles (milis P) de (cum S) industria efferatorum (effratorum P)
adfirmasset portras putris (patris N S) carnibus magis ne mitteretur (mittetur) efficit (effigit P
affugit N S) N P S itaque] ita N P S Saturus] Satirus A S Satyrus N P inlaesus]
illesus A Be/O secundo . . . revocatur] secundo Saturus revocatur illaesus Be/O
XX.1. vaccam] baccam M ideoque] A om. N P S consuetudinem] consuetudinenem

P conparatam] paraetam N paratam P S praeparavit] preparauerat A sexui earum]
rixui earum N S rixam Be/O sexuigearum P [a]emulatus] emulatus M N P S emolatus
A 2. dispoliata[e]] dispoliate M despoliate A expolitae S expoliate N spoliate P et reticulis
indutae] retigulis A om. N P S producebantur] promovebantur N P S horruit] N P S or-
ruit M alteram] om. N P S respiciens] aspiciens A N S aspitiens P delicatam] delec-
tam N dilectam O P S recentem] recenti N S mammis] mammi A 3. Ita] ite P itaque
A revocatae] revocate M et] om. A N P S discinctis] discinguntur N P S indu-
tae] induuntur A inducitur N P S iactata] iacta P est] om. N S et] om. N P S con-
cidit] cecidit A incidit P lumbos] lumbis N P S 4. ubi] ibi A ut N P S sedit] consedit
A conspexit N P S tunicam] A P S tonicam M N latere] lateribus N P S discissam]
A discisam M concissam N conscisam P conscissam S femoris] femorum N add. eam Be/O P
S reduxit] adduxit N P S pudoris potius memor] potius memor pudoris A
quam doloris. 5Dehinc, [acu] requisita, et dispersos capillos infibulavit; non enim
decebat martyram sparsis capillis pati, ne in sua gloria plangere videretur. 6Ita sur-
rexit, et elisam Felicitatem cum vidisset, accessit et manum ei tradidit et suscitavit
illam. 7Et ambae pariter steterunt. Et populi duritia devicta, revocatae sunt in por-
tam Sanavivariam. 8Illic Perpetua a quodam tunc cathecum[e]no, Rustico nomine,
qui ei adh[a]erebat, suscepta et quasi a somno expergita (adeo in spiritu et in extasi
fuerat) circumspicere coepit, et stupentibus omnibus ait: “Quando,” inquit, “pro-
ducimur ad vaccam illam nescio [quam]?” 9Et cum audisset quod iam evenerat, non
prius credidit nisi quasdam notas vexationis in corpore et habitu suo recognovisset.
10
Exinde accersitum fratrem suum, et illum cathecum[e]num, adlocuta est dicens:
“In fide state et invicem omnes diligite, et passionibus nostris ne scandalizemini.”
XXI
1
XXI. Item Saturus in alia porta [Pudentem] militem exhortabatur dicens: “Ad
summam,” inquit, “certe, sicut presumpsi et predixi, nullam usque adhuc bestiam
sensi. Et nunc de toto corde credas; ecce prodeo illo, et ab uno morsu leopardi
5. dehinc] om. N S acu] A a quo P om. M N S requista] recusuta A recurrit P et] om.
P capillos] capillis P infubulavit] infibolavit N S martyram] martiram A martirem
S ne in] om. in S non N P plangere] placere A 6. Ita] Itaque A elisam] A N S
helisam M (corr. sl .) elisan P accessit et manum ei tradidit et suscitavit] et add . > accessit N
P S (eras .) accessiss et ei manum etradidit et sublevavit P accessit et manum ei porrexit et susci-
tavit A accessit ei manum et tradidit et sublevavit N S accessit et ei manum tradidit et sublevavit
Be/O 7. revocatae] revocate A revocati N S portam] porta P sane vivariam] M sane
viva A om . N O P S 8. a] A N O P S ad M cathecumino] M catecumino A cathecumi-
num N S caticumina P qui ei] quia tunc P qui et tunc N S adh[a]erebat] adherebat M
ANPS suscepta] suscepit N P S suscipitur Be/O a] de N P S somno] sompno
A expergita] expergefacta A N P S in] om . N S quae add . < spiritu A in extasi]
in exitu A fuerat constituta] A fuerat nam N P S fuerit M circumspicere] circa spicere N
S coepit] cepit stupendibus] instupendibus M ait] dixit Be/O inquit] inquid
NP producimur] proiciemur A vaccam] A N P S baccam M nescio] A N P S ne-
scio quam om . M 9. Et] sed N P S evenerat] venerat A N P S evenisset Be/O quas-
dam] ut A vexationes] vexationis N S et] et in N P S suo recognovisset] N P S suo
recognousset add . et illum cathecuminum M recognouisset suo A 10. Exinde] et exinde N
PS accersitum] accersito P cathecum[e]num] catecuminum M A caticuminum N P
S ad locuta] allocuta A N S est] est eos N P S In fide state et invicem omnes dil-
igite] ut in fide starent et invicem se deligerent N P S omnes] om . A N P S et] et in N S
passionibus] add . inquit Be/O scandalizemini] scandalizabimini N O S
XXI.1. Saturus] Satyrus N P S Satirus A aliam portam] alis porta N P S Pudentem] N

P S om. M A militem] om. A ad summam] sumam A ad sum N P S inquit] om. N P
S presumpsi] promisi N S predixi . . . sensi] om. N P S nullam] add. < vim A et]
om. P ut] add. A N S nunc] nuntiet P corde] credas om. N P S ecce prodeo illo]
ecce producor illuc A S ecce productor illuc N et cum producar illuc P ab] om. A N P
S uno] om. N P S morsu] morsi P leopardi] add. sponte Be/O
consumor.” 2Et statim in fine spectaculi leopardo obiectus de uno morsu tanto
perfusus est sanguine, ut populus revertenti illi secundi baptismatis testimonium
reclamaverit: “Salvum lotum, salvum lotum.” 3Plane utique salvus erat qui hoc
modo laverat. 4Tunc Pudenti militi inquit: “Vale,” inquit, “et memento fidei et
mei; et haec te non conturbent, sed confirment.” 5Simulque ansulam de digito
eius petiit, et vulneri suo mersam reddidit ei hereditatem, pignus relinquens illi et
memoriam sanguinis. 6Exinde iam exanimis prosternitur cum ceteris ad iugula-
tionem solito loco. 7 Et cum populus illos in medio postularet, ut gladio penetranti
in eorum corpore oculos suos comites homicidii adiungerent, ultro surrexerunt
et se quo volebat populus transtulerunt, ante iam osculati invicem ut martyrium
per sollemnia pacis consummarent. 8Ceteri quidem immobiles et cum silentio
ferrum receperunt: multo magis Saturus, qui et prior scalam ascenderat, prior
2. Et . . . spectaculi] om. N fine] finem A P S spectaculi] exspectaculi P S leopardo

obiectus] A leopardus obiectus N S leopardi obiectus P leopardi eiecto M morsu] morsus N
P add. < eius A N P S tanto] tantum A populus] populo Be/O revertenti] reverten-
di N P S illi] om. N P S secundi baptismatis] secundo baptismati A secundi baptismi N P
S reclamaverit] reclamaverint dicentes A declamaverat (-aret Be/O) dicens N S declaraverat di-
cens P salvum lotum, salvum lotum] salvum locum (semel) N P S 3. erat] erit A modo
laverat] spectaculo claruerat N S om. P 4. Tunc] nunc A pudenti] prudentia N S puden-
di P inquit1] om. A N P S clamavit (post corr.) N Be/O clamaverat S vale] vade A om. N
S inquit2] ait P om. N S et] om. N P S memento] A N P S memor M et] A om. M
PNS mei] meae N S haec] hec A P confirment] confortent N P S 5. Simulque]
simulqui P ansulam] anulum S nullum N de digito eius] eius de dictu A petiit] petit
P peciit A vulneri] vulneris N P mersam] versam P ei] et A om. N P S add. < beatam
ANPS hereditatem] A N P S ereditatem M pignus reliquens illi et memoriam sanguinis]
reliquens illi pignus (pugnos P) et memoriam tanti sanguinis A N P S 6. Exinde] deinde N P
S exanimis] A N S exanimes M animis P iugulationem] A N S iugulatione M solito
loco] add. < in N P S 7. Et] sed N O P S medio] medium N P S postularet] A postolaret
M postulasset N P S ut] ut et A N P S et ut O penetranti] penetrante N O P S in eorum cor-
pore] in corpore eorum N P S om. in corpora eorum A O comites] committentes P homi-
cidii] homicidia N P homicidio O (ante corr.) S adiungerent] adiungeret O ultro] ultror N
S vulso P surrexerunt] rexerunt N S et . . . populus] om. O se quo] A P sequi N S quod
M volebat] voluerat N P S transtulerunt] om. N O S ante] add. se A osculati]
corr. in sl. M martyrium] martirum A martyrem P sollemnia] sollempnia N O P solemnia
S consummarent] P S consumarent M A N O 8. Ceteri] add. <et N O P S immobiles]
A N P S O inmobiles M et] om. N O P S cum silentio] consilio P Saturus] Satirus A S
Satyrus N P prior] prius A scalam] A N O P S om. M
reddidit spiritum; nam et Perpetuam sustinebat. 9Perpetua autem, ut aliquid

doloris gustaret, inter ossa conpuncta exululavit, et errantem dexteram tirunculi
gladiatoris ipsa in iugulum suum transtulit. 10Fortasse tanta femina aliter non
potuisset occidi, quae ab immundo spiritu timebatur, nisi ipsa voluisset.
11
O fortissimi ac beatissimi martyres! O vere vocati, et electi in gloriam
Domini nostri Iesu Christi! Quam qui magnificat et honorificat et adorat, utique
et haec non minora veteribus exempla in aedificationem Ecclesiae legere debet,
ut novae quoque virtutes unum et eundem semper Spiritum Sanctum usque
adhuc operari testificentur, [et] omnipotentem Deum patrem et filium eius
Iesum Christum Dominum nostrum, cui est claritas et inmensa potestas in
saecula saeculorum. Amen.
reddidit] reddendo C N P S nam et] C N O P S Perpetuam] A C N O P S Perpetua

M sustinebat] expectabat C N O P S 9. ut] add. ipsa C N O P S gustaret] gustasset C
NPS inter ossa] costos C N coctos S intercissa A inter quostas P conpuncta] A conpunct
M puncta C N P S exululavit] exultavit A errantem] eter stantem A tirunculi gladiato-
ris] trunculi gladiatoris A gladiatoris trunculi C N P S iugulum] gugulum P transtulit] n
corr. s.l. M posuit C N P S 10. Fortasse] fortasse enim A C N O P S aliter] alibi C N O P
S quae] A C N S que P qui M ni Be/O inmundo] immundo C O
V
THE EN GLISH
T RAN SLAT I ON
T H E PA S S I O N O F S A I N TS P E R P ET UA
AND FELICIT Y
I
1
I. If the old examples of the faith, which testify to the grace of God and lead to
the edification of men, were written down so that by reading them God should be
honored and man comforted—as if through a reexamination of those deeds—
should we not set down new acts that serve each purpose equally? 2For these too
will some day also be venerable and compelling for future generations, even if at the
present time they are judged to be of lesser importance, due to the respect naturally
afforded the past. 3But let those who would restrict the singular power of the one
spirit to certain times understand this: that newer events are necessarily greater
because they are more recent, because of the overflow of grace promised for the
end of time. 4In the last days, says the Lord, “I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh;
and their sons and daughters shall prophesy; and I will pour out my Spirit on my
servants and handmaidens; and your young men shall see visions and your old men
shall dream dreams.” 5And we, who also acknowledge and honor the new proph-
ecies and new visions as well, according to the promise, and regard the other virtues
of the Holy Spirit as intended for the instruction of the church (to which church
the same spirit was sent distributing all gifts to all, just as the Lord grants to each
one); therefore, out of necessity we both proclaim and celebrate them in reading
for the glory of God, lest any person who is weak or despairing in their faith should
think that only the ancients received divine grace (either in the favor of martyrdom
or of revelations), since God always grants what he has promised, as a proof to the
• 125 •
unbelievers and as a kindness to believers. 6And so we also announce to you, our

brothers and little sons, that which we have heard and touched, so that you who
were present may be reminded of the glory of the Lord, and that you who know it
now through hearing may have a sharing with the holy martyrs, and through them
with our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and honor for ever and ever. Amen.
II
1
II. Some young catechumens were arrested: Revocatus and Felicity, his fellow
slave; Saturninus; and Secundulus. And among these was also Vibia Perpetua—a
woman well born, liberally educated, and honorably married, 2who had a father,
mother, and two brothers, one of whom was also a catechumen. She had an infant
son still at the breast 3and was about twenty-two years of age. From this point
there follows a complete account of her martyrdom, as she left it, written in her
own hand and in accordance with her own understanding.
III
III. 1“While,” she said, “we were still with the prosecutors, my father, because
of his love for me, wanted to change my mind and shake my resolve. ‘Father,’ I
said, ‘do you see this vase lying here, for example, this small water pitcher or what-
ever?’ ‘I see it,’ he said. 2 And I said to him: ‘Can it be called by another name other
than what it is?’ And he said: ‘No.’ ‘In the same way, I am unable to call myself
other than what I am, a Christian.’ 3Then my father, angered by this name, threw
himself at me, in order to gouge out my eyes. But he only alarmed me and he left
defeated, along with the arguments of the devil. 4Then for a few days, freed from
my father, I gave thanks to the Lord and was refreshed by my father’s absence. 5In
the space of a few days we were baptized. The Spirit told me that nothing else
should be sought from the water other than the endurance of the body. After a
few days we were taken into the prison. I was terrified because I had never before
known such darkness. 6Oh cruel day! The crowding of the mob made the heat
stifling; and there was the extortion of the soldiers. Last of all, I was consumed
with worry for my infant in that dungeon. 7Then Tertius and Pomponius, the
blessed deacons who ministered to us, arranged by a bribe that we should be
released for a few hours to revive ourselves in a better part of the prison. 8Then all
left the prison and sought some time for themselves. I nursed my baby, who was
now weak from hunger. In my worry for him, I spoke to my mother concerning
the baby and comforted my brother. I entrusted my son to them. I suffered griev-
ously when I saw how they suffered for me. 9I endured such worry for many days,
and I arranged for my baby to stay in prison with me. Immediately I grew stron-
ger, and I was relieved of the anxiety and worry I had for my baby. Suddenly the
prison became my palace, so that I wanted to be there rather than anywhere else.
The English Translation • 127
IV
1
IV. “Then my brother said to me: ‘Lady my sister, you are now greatly esteemed,
so much so that you might ask for a vision, and it may be shown to you whether
there will be suffering or freedom.’ 2 And I, who knew that I was able to speak with
the Lord, whose great benefits I had known, confidently promised him, saying:
‘Tomorrow, I will tell you.’ And I asked, and this was shown to me. 3I see a bronze
ladder of great length, reaching up to heaven, but so narrow that people could
only climb up one at a time. And on the sides of the ladder, iron implements of
every kind were attached. There were swords, lances, hooks, knives, and daggers,
so that if anyone climbed up carelessly, or not looking upwards, he was torn to
pieces and his flesh clung to the iron weapons. 4And there was a serpent of great
size lying at the foot of the ladder, which would lie in wait for those who climbed
and deterred them from climbing. 5And the first to go up was Saturus. (Because
he had been our teacher and because he had not been present when we were
seized, he later voluntarily handed himself over for our sake.) 6And he reached the
top of the ladder and he turned back to me and said: ‘Perpetua, I am waiting for
you, but be careful that the serpent does not bite you.’ And I said: ‘In the name of
Jesus Christ, he will not hurt me.’ 7And from beneath the ladder itself, the serpent
slowly stuck out its head, as if it feared me, and I stepped on its head and climbed
up, as if it were the first step. 8And I saw an enormous garden and a white-haired
man sitting in the middle of it dressed in shepherd’s clothes, a big man, milking
sheep. And standing around were many thousands dressed in white. 9And he
raised his head, looked at me, and said: ‘You are welcome here, child.’ And he
called me, and from the cheese that he had milked he gave me as it were a
mouthful. And I received it in my cupped hands and ate it. And all those standing
around said: ‘Amen.’ 10And I woke up at the sound of their voice, still eating some
unknown sweet. And at once I told this to my brother. And we knew we would
suffer, and we ceased to have any hope in this world.
V
V. 1“A few days later, a rumor circulated that we were to be given a hearing. My
father arrived from the city, worn with worry; he climbed up to me, in order to
change my mind, saying: 2‘My daughter, have pity on my gray hair, have pity on
your father, if I am worthy to be called father by you, if with these hands I have
raised you to this flower of youth, if I have preferred you to all your brothers, do
not shame me among men. 3Think about your brothers, think about your mother
and your mother’s sister, think about your son who will not be able to live without
you. 4Give up your pride; do not destroy us all. For, if you are punished, none of
us will be able to speak freely again.’ 5My father said these things to me, as a father
would, out of his love for me, kissing my hands and throwing himself at my feet.
Weeping, he no longer called me daughter, but lady. 6And I grieved for my father’s
anguish, because he alone of all my family would not rejoice in my suffering. And
I tried to comfort him saying: ‘What God has willed shall be done in the prison-
er’s platform. Know that we are no longer in our own power but in God’s.’ And in
great sadness he left me.
VI
1
VI. “On another day, while we were eating lunch, we were suddenly rushed off
for a hearing. We arrived at the forum and immediately a rumor circulated
throughout the neighborhood surrounding the forum, and a huge crowd had
gathered. 2We climbed the platform. The others, having been questioned, con-
fessed. Then they came to me. And my father appeared in that very place with my
son and dragged me from the step saying: ‘Offer the sacrifice. Have pity on your
baby.’ 3And Hilarianus, the procurator, who at that time had received the right of
the sword on the death of proconsul Minucius Timinianus, said: ‘Spare the gray
hair of your father, spare your infant son. Offer the sacrifice for the health of the
emperors.’ 4‘I will not,’ I answered. Hilarianus then said: ‘Are you a Christian?’ ‘I
am a Christian,’ I replied. 5And when my father persisted in his efforts to change
my mind, Hilarianus ordered him to be thrown to the ground and beaten with a
rod. My father’s suffering made me sad, almost as if I had been beaten. I grieved
for his pitiable old age. 6Then Hilarianus pronounced sentence on us all and con-
demned us to the beasts. And we descended the platform and returned cheerfully
to prison. 7But because my baby had become accustomed to nurse at my breasts
and to stay with me in prison, I immediately sent Pomponius, the deacon, to ask
my father for the child. 8But my father would not give him back. And as God
willed, the baby no longer desired my breasts, nor did they ache and become
inflamed, so that I might not be tormented by worry for my child or by the pain
in my breasts.
VII
VII. 1“A few days later while we were all praying, suddenly, in the midst of our
prayer a voice came to me, and I cried out the name of Dinocrates. I was shocked
because never before then had his name entered my mind, and I grieved as I
remembered his fate. 2 And I knew at once that I was worthy and that I ought to
pray for him. And I began to pray intensely for him and groan before the Lord.
3
Immediately, on that very night this vision was shown to me. 4I saw Dinocrates
coming out of a dark place where there were many others; he was very hot, thirst-
ing, and his face was covered with dirt and his skin was pale. And he had that
wound on his face which was there when he died. 5This Dinocrates was my
brother in the flesh, who died horribly at the age of seven from a cancer of the
face. All men who saw it loathed the manner of his death. 6Therefore I prayed for
him. But between him and me there was a great gulf so that we were not able to
get close to each other. 7 Moreover, in that place where Dinocrates was, there was
a pool full of water with a rim that was higher than the height of the boy. And
Dinocrates stretched himself up as if to drink. 8I was saddened because, although
the pool had water in it, he was not able to drink because of the height of the rim.
9
And I awakened, and I knew that my brother was suffering. But I trusted that I
could help him in his suffering. And I prayed for him every day until we were
transferred to the military prison, for we were to fight in the military games; it was
on the birthday of Geta Caesar. 10And I prayed day and night for my brother with
groans and tears so that this gift might be given to me.
VIII
1
VIII. “On the day on which we were kept in the stocks, this vision was shown to
me. I saw that place which I had seen before, but now there was Dinocrates, his body
clean, well dressed and refreshed, and where the wound was, I saw a scar. 2 And that
pool which I had seen earlier, I now saw with its rim lowered to the boy’s navel, and
he drew water from it without ceasing. 3And above the rim there was a golden cup
full of water. And Dinocrates began to drink from it, but the cup never emptied.
4
And when his thirst was quenched, he began to play in the water, rejoicing in the
manner of children. And I woke up. I knew then that he was freed from his suffering.
IX
1
IX. “Then after a few days, Pudens, the military adjutant, who was in charge of
the prison, began to show us considerable respect, recognizing that there was
some great power in us. He allowed many to visit us so that we were able to com-
fort one another. 2Now when the day of the games drew near, my father, devas-
tated with worry, came to visit me, and he began to tear out his beard and to throw
it on the ground. He then threw himself on his face and, cursing his years, spoke
such words to me as might move creation itself. 3I grieved for his unhappy old age.
X
X. 1“On the day before we were to fight, I saw this in a vision: Pomponius, the
deacon, had come to the door of the prison, and was knocking loudly. 2 And I went
out and opened the door for him. He was wearing a white unbelted robe, and
multilaced sandals. 3And he said to me: ‘Perpetua, we are awaiting you: come.’
And he took me by the hand and we began to walk through places that were rugged
and winding. 4And finally, after great difficulty, we arrived at the amphitheatre, all
out of breath, and he led me into the middle of the arena, and he said to me ‘Don’t
be afraid: I am here with you, and I will struggle with you.’ And he went away.
5
And I saw many people who were astonished; and, because I knew that I had
been condemned to the beasts, I was puzzled that the beasts were not being turned
loose on me. 6And a certain Egyptian, foul in appearance and intending to fight
with me, came out against me, surrounded by his helpers. Handsome young men
came to me as my helpers and supporters. 7And I was stripped naked, and I became
a man. And my supporters began to rub me with oil, as they are accustomed to do
for a match. And I saw that Egyptian on the other side rolling in the dust. 8Next
there came out a man of such great size that he exceeded the height of the amphi-
theatre. He was wearing an unbelted robe, a purple garment with two stripes run-
ning down the middle of his chest, and decorated shoes made of gold and silver,
and carrying a rod or wand as if a gladiator trainer, and a green branch on which
there were golden apples. 9And he asked for silence and said: ‘This Egyptian, if he
defeats this woman, will kill her with the sword, but if she defeats him, she shall
receive this branch.’ And he departed. 10And we drew near to each other and began
to throw punches at each other. He kept trying to grab hold of my feet while I kept
kicking him in his face with my heels. 11And I was raised up into the air, and I
began to strike him stepping on his face, as though I were unable to step on the
ground. But when I saw that there was a hesitation, I joined my hands so that my
fingers were knit together and I grabbed hold of his head. And he fell on his face
and I stepped on his head. 12 And the crowd began to shout and my supporters
began to sing hymns. And I went to the gladiator trainer, and I took the branch.
13
And he kissed me and he said to me: ‘Daughter, peace be with you.’ And I began
to walk in triumph to the Gate of Life. 14And then I woke up. And I knew that I was
going to fight with the devil and not with the beasts; but I knew that victory was to
be mine. 15This is the story of what I did the day before the final conflict. But con-
cerning the outcome of that contest, let whoever wishes to write about it, do so.”
XI
XI. 1But blessed Saturus made known his own vision, which he himself wrote.
2
“We had suffered,” he said, “and we departed from the flesh and we began to be
carried towards the east by four angels, whose hands were not touching us. 3But
we were moving, not on our backs facing upwards, but as if we were climbing a
gentle hill. 4And when we were freed from this world, we saw a great light, and I
said to Perpetua (for she was at my side): ‘This is what the Lord promised us: we
have received the promise.’ 5And while we were being carried by the four angels,
a great space appeared before us, which was like a formal garden, having rose trees
and flowers of all sorts. 6The height of the trees was like that of cypress trees, and
their leaves were falling without ceasing. 7There in the garden were four other
angels more radiant than the others. When they saw us, they gave us honor, and
they said with admiration to the other angels: ‘Look, they are here, they are here.’
And those four angels who were carrying us became fearful and put us down.
8
And on foot we crossed the park by a broad path. 9There we found Jocundus and
Saturninus and Artaxius, who were burned alive in the same persecution, and
Quintus, who had died as a martyr in prison. And we asked of them where the
rest were. 10And the angels said to us: ‘First come, enter and greet the Lord.’
XII
1
XII. “And we came near a place whose walls seemed to be made of light; and
in front of the door of that place stood four angels, who clothed those who entered
in white robes. 2 And we entered in, and we heard a choir of voices chanting con-
tinually: ‘Holy, Holy, Holy.’ 3And we saw sitting in the same place what appeared
to be an aged man. He had white hair and a youthful face, but we could not see his
feet. 4And on his right and on his left were four elders, and behind them were
standing many other elders. 5And entering in a spirit of wonder we stood before
the throne, and four angels lifted us up, and we kissed him. And he stroked our
faces with his hand. 6And the other elders said to us: ‘Let us stand’; and we stood
and offered each other the sign of peace. And the elders said to us: ‘Go and play.’
7
And I said to Perpetua: ‘You have what you want.’ And she said to me: ‘Thanks be
to God, because just as I was happy in the flesh, I am even happier here now.’
XIII
1
XIII. “And we went out and we saw in front of the gates Optatus the bishop on
the right-hand side and Aspasius the priest and teacher on the left, separated and
sorrowful. 2 And they threw themselves at our feet and said: ‘Make peace between
us, for you have gone away and left us in this state.’ 3And we said to them: ‘Are you
not our father and our priest? How can you throw yourselves at our feet?’ And we
were greatly moved and embraced them. 4And Perpetua began to speak to them in
Greek, and we led them into a park under a rose tree. 5And while we were speaking
with them, the angels said to them: ‘Let them rest; and if you have any disagree-
ments among yourselves, forgive one another.’ 6And the angels admonished them
and said to Optatus: ‘Rebuke your people, because they are gathering around you,
just as if they were returning from the chariot races, arguing about the different
teams.’ 7And it seemed to us as if they wanted to shut the gates. 8And we began to
recognize there many of our brothers, and martyrs also. We were all nourished by
an indescribable fragrance that satisfied us. Then, rejoicing, I awoke.”
XIV
1
XIV. These were the extraordinary visions of the most blessed martyrs Saturus
and Perpetua, which they themselves wrote. 2 As for Secundulus, God called him
from this world while still in prison, and by his earlier death, one not without
favor, so that he might escape the fight with the beasts. 3Yet his flesh, if not his
soul, knew the sword.
XV
XV. 1As for Felicity, the Lord’s favor touched her in this way. 2She was now in her
eighth month (for she was pregnant when she was arrested). As the day of the games
drew near, she was in agony, fearing that her pregnancy would spare her (since it was
not permitted to punish pregnant women in public), and that she would pour forth
her holy and innocent blood afterwards, along with common criminals. 3But also
her fellow martyrs were deeply saddened that they might leave behind so good a
friend, their companion, to travel alone on the road to their shared hope. 4And so,
two days before the games, they joined together in one united supplication, groan-
ing, and poured forth their prayer to the Lord. 5Immediately after their prayer her
labor pains came upon her. And when—because of the natural difficulty associated
with an eighth-month delivery—she suffered in her labor, one of the assistant jailers
said to her: “If you are suffering so much now, what will you do when you are thrown
to the beasts which you scorned when you refused to sacrifice?” 6And she replied:
“Now I alone suffer what I am suffering, but then there will be another inside me,
who will suffer for me, because I am going to suffer for him.” 7And she gave birth to
a baby girl, whom a certain sister brought up as her own daughter.
XVI
XVI. 1Therefore, since the Holy Spirit has given permission that the narrative of
this contest be written down, and by such permission has willed it, although we are
unworthy to add to the description of such great glory, nevertheless we shall carry
out the command of the most holy Perpetua, or rather her sacred trust, adding one
further example of her resolve and sublimity of spirit. 2The tribune treated them
with great cruelty because of the warnings of the most devious of men. He feared
that they would be carried off from prison through magical incantations. Perpetua
said directly to his face: 3“Why do you not permit us to refresh ourselves—we, the
most noble of the condemned belonging to Caesar, who are to fight on his birthday?
Would it not be to your credit, if we were brought forth well fed?” 4The Tribune was
horrified and flushed; and he ordered them to be treated more humanely, so that her
brothers, and the others, might be granted the chance to visit and be refreshed with
the prisoners, for now even the adjutant in charge of the prison was a believer.
XVII
1
XVII. And then on the day before the games, when at that last meal which
they call “free,” they partook, as far as it was possible, not of a “free meal” but a
“love-feast.” They boldly flung their words at the mob, threatening them with the
judgment of God, bearing witness to the happiness they found in their suffering
and mocking the curiosity of those who jostled to see them. Saturus said: 2“Will
not tomorrow be enough for you? Why do you long to see that which you hate?
Today our friends, tomorrow our enemies. But take a good look at our faces, so
that you will be able to recognize us on that day.” 3And so the crowd left the prison
stunned, and many of them became believers.
XVIII
XVIII. 1The day of their victory dawned, and they marched from the prison to
the amphitheatre, joyously, as if going to heaven, their faces radiant; and if by
chance they trembled, it was from joy and not from fear. 2Perpetua followed, with
a shining face and a calm step, as a wife of Christ and darling of God, and the in-
tensity of her stare caused the spectators to look away. 3Likewise Felicity rejoiced
that she had given birth safely, so that she might fight with the beasts—advancing
from blood to blood, from the midwife to a net-bearing gladiator—now to be
washed after childbirth in a second baptism. 4And when they were led to the gate,
they were forced to put on costumes; the men, those of the priests of Saturn, and
the women, those of the priestesses of Ceres. But that noble-minded woman
fiercely resisted this to the end. 5She said: “We came here freely, so that our free-
dom might not be violated, and we handed over our lives so that we would not be
forced to do anything like this. We had this agreement with you.” 6Injustice recog-
nized justice. The tribune agreed that they should be brought in dressed simply as
they were. 7Perpetua was singing a hymn, already trampling on the head of the
Egyptian. Revocatus, Saturninus, and Saturus were threatening the spectators.
8
Then, when they passed under the gaze of Hilarianus, they began to say to him
through gestures and nods: “You [judge] us but God will [judge] you.” 9The
crowd, angered by this, demanded that they be whipped along a line of beast-
hunting gladiators. And they gave thanks that they had obtained some share in
the Lord’s sufferings.
XIX
1
XIX. But he who said: “Ask and you shall receive” gave to those who asked the
death that each desired. 2For whenever they spoke among themselves concerning
their desire for martyrdom, Saturninus declared that he wished to be thrown to
all the different kinds of beasts so that he might wear a more glorious crown. 3And
so at the beginning of the spectacle, he and Revocatus were attacked by a leopard,
and then while on the platform, they were charged by a bear. 4Saturus hated
nothing more than a bear, and now he was confident that he would die from one
bite of a leopard. 5However, he was offered to a wild boar. Yet it was the hunter
who had tied him to the wild boar who was gored by the same beast, and died a
few days after the games. Saturus himself was only dragged. 6And when he was
tied on the bridge awaiting the bear, the bear refused to leave its cage. And so
Saturus, unhurt, was called back for the second time.
XX
1
XX. For the young women, however, the devil prepared a wild cow—not a
traditional practice—matching their sex with that of the beast. 2 And so stripped
naked and covered only with nets, they were brought out again. The crowd shud-
dered, seeing that one was a delicate young girl and that the other had recently
given birth, as her breasts still dripping with milk. 3So they were called back and
dressed in unbelted robes. Perpetua was thrown down first and fell on her loins.
4
Then sitting up, she noticed that her tunic was ripped on the side, and so she
drew it up to cover her thigh, more mindful of her modesty than her suffering.
5
Then she requested a pin and she tied up her tousled hair; for it was not right for
a martyr to suffer with disheveled hair, since it might appear that she was grieving
in her moment of glory. 6Then she got up; and when she saw Felicity crushed to
the ground, she went over to her, gave her her hand and helped her up. 7And the
two stood side by side. The cruelty of the crowd now being sated, they were called
back to the Gate of Life. 8There Perpetua was received by a certain Rusticus, also
a catechumen, who clung to her side. She awakened, as if from a sleep—she was
so deep in the spirit and in ecstasy—and looked about her, and said, to the amaze-
ment of all: “When are we to be thrown to the mad cow, or whatever it is?” 9And
when she heard that it had already happened, she refused at first to believe it until
she noticed certain marks of physical violence on her body and her clothing.
10
Then after calling her brother and the catechumen, she spoke to them, saying:
“Stand fast in faith and love one another, and do not lose heart because of our
sufferings.”
XXI
1
XXI. At another gate, Saturus was exhorting the soldier Pudens, saying: “It is
exactly,” he said, “as I imagined and predicted. Until now no beast has touched me.
And now you must believe this with all your heart: See, I will go in there and be
killed by one bite from a leopard.” 2 And immediately at the end of the game, a
leopard rushed out and bit Saturus. He was so covered with blood from one bite
that as he was returning, the crowd roared in witness to his second baptism: “A
saving bath, a saving bath.” 3For truly one was saved who had bathed in such
manner. 4Then he said to the soldier Pudens: “Farewell, remember the faith and
me; and do not let these things trouble you but strengthen you.” 5At the same
time he asked Pudens for the small ring from his finger, and dipping it into his
wound, he returned it to him as a legacy, leaving it to him as a pledge and a memorial
of his blood. 6Then, being now unconscious, he was thrown with the others in the
accustomed place to have his throat cut. 7 But the crowd demanded that they be
brought back to the middle of the arena, so that as the sword penetrated the
bodies of the martyrs their eyes might be accomplices to the murder. The martyrs
got up unaided and moved to where the crowd wished them to be. First they
kissed each other so that the ritual of peace would seal their martyrdom. 8The
others, in silence and without moving, received the sword’s thrust, and particu-
larly Saturus, who had first climbed up the ladder, was the first to give up his spirit.
For once again he was waiting for Perpetua. 9Perpetua, however—so that she
might taste something of the pain—screamed out in agony as she was pierced
between the bones. And when the right hand of the novice gladiator wavered, she
herself guided it to her throat. 10Perhaps such a woman, feared as she was by the
unclean spirit, could not have been killed unless she herself had willed it.
11
O bravest and most blessed martyrs! O truly called and chosen for the glory
of our Lord Jesus Christ! Anyone who praises, honors, and adores his glory surely
should read these deeds, which are no less worthy than the old ones for building
up the church. For these new deeds of courage too may witness that one and the
same Holy Spirit is always working among us even now, along with God, the
Father almighty, and his Son, our Lord, Jesus Christ, to whom is glory and end-
less power for ever and ever. Amen.
VI
THE COMMENTARY
CHAPTER I
The Argument: Prophecy is Superior to the Canon

The lines that comprise this section function as a preface to the Passio,
introducing the principal theological arguments of the anonymous editor/re-
dactor (hereafter R). The preface is contained in the Latin version of the Passio in
MS M. The Greek, which is a translation of a no longer extant Latin exemplar, is
close in all essentials, save where indicated in the notes. R was an intimate of
the Carthaginian church and apparently an eyewitness to the persecutions of
individuals who were themselves also eyewitnesses. R shares sympathy with the
New Prophecy movement. However, while we may find in the preface a solidarity
with that segment of the church in Carthage which emphasized prophesy as a
manifestation of the Paraclete, there is no hint of heterodoxy in his remarks,
either in this section or in the others that he composed. The principal function of
this section is to outline his major argument, namely that revelation is not limited
to a particular time or place but is always active through the continued ministry
of the Holy Spirit. He presents the martyrdom of Perpetua and her companions
as a proof of that revelation and as a validation of the legitimacy of his Scriptural
position.
R begins his discussion in a modest tone, inquiring if, as all acknowledge,
the virtuous actions of the past were palpably redolent with God’s Spirit and
written to preserve their utility for men, why would such a Spirit not be similarly
• 136 •
The Commentary • 137
operating in the present? Indeed, if it were important to record the ancient

examples in writing, is it not as important to do so for our own day, since these
events too will eventually have the patina of age? Having begun with such an
apparently commonsensical remark, R’s next point is far bolder. The events of the
present are not merely equal to the past, but they are actually superior to the past,
since they are the heralds of the end time (ultima saeculi spatia, I.3), a time when,
as Scripture has foretold, the most extraordinary graces will be manifest. The
Passio then is the herald of such extraordinary graces, and it will serve as a clarion
of the new age. It is the community’s duty to spread the story of the martyrs’
heroism to serve as a comfort in difficult times and as a reminder of God’s salvific
promise.
The writer appears to refer to a series of disagreements in the local church of
Carthage between those who supported the efficacy of such present revelation
and those who would restrict it to the past (sed viderint qui unam . . . iudicent
temporum, I.3). He writes in agreement with those who endorse the continuance
of revelation by prophecy and vision. Appealing to the sanction given to prophecy
in Jl 2.28 and Acts 2.17, he asserts that Christians must always be open to the
spirit of prophecy and also of visions. The quotation from Joel and its occurrence
in Acts were important cruces for the New Prophecy adherents.
Although the date of the Passio cannot be decided with certainty, the preface
is written by someone who claims to have been an eyewitness, and it is addressed
to others who were also present. R addresses his audience with an intimacy
(fratres et filioli . . . uti et uos qui interfuistis, I.6, emphasis added) that suggests
that some were eyewitnesses to the events of the Passio, who themselves had felt
the brunt of the persecution and may have still been suffering persecution. The
written text of the Passio is designed to serve as a consolatio for the present and for
posterity. Tertullian’s first mention of the martyrs in De Anim. 55.4 (post 203 but
ante 207/08) suggests that the date of their deaths may well have been on
the birthday of Geta in the spring of 203 and the text written no later than the fall
of 209 (. . . natale tunc Getae Caesaris, VII.9; for a more precise date see Chapter
II, “The Date of the Passion”).
Chapter I Commentary
Title. Chapter I is present only in MS M and in H. Please refer to the table of

manuscript sigils, which also provides a cross-listing with the sigils of van Beek and
Amat. I use alphabetic sigils derived from the first letter of the place of the manu-
script’s location. Hence A stands for Ambrosiana, M for Montecassino, E for Ein-
siedeln, H the initial letter in the Latin spelling of Jerusalem, etc. The title of the
composition and the date of the martyrdom occur in four of the Latin manu-
scripts, E, G, N, and S, while G and S also record the date: G = Passio Perpetuae et
Felicitatis die Nonarum Martiarum and S = Incipit Passio Sanctae Felicitatis et Perpetuae
quod nonis Martis in civitate Turbitana. The single extant Greek MS (HS=H) gives
the date of their execution as the nones of February and states that the events
described took place in Africa during the joint reign of Valerian and his son Galli-
enus (253–60). This is too late, as Tertulian mentions the martyrs. While it is true
that Valerian did subject some Christians to persecution, these actions appear to
have been limited in scope and did not approach the ferocity of Decius, nor is there
any other textual support for the late date given in MS H (see Selinger, Persecutions,
157–70). The earliest physical evidence of the martyrs and their deaths, aside from
their mention in Tertullian, Augustine, and Quodvultdeus, is the important inscrip-
tion in a green-veined, white marble grave marker commemorating their deaths,
now on deposit in the Carthage Museum. I am indebted to Dr. Lilliane Ennabli of
the Carthage Museum for help with the epigraphy of this monument.
Only three Latin MSS (G, N, S) and the Greek MS H record both the title and
the date and place of the martyrdom. Both place the persecution in the city of
Thuburbo Minus, an unlikely attribution, as I show later. MS S reads Passio S. Felic-
itatis et Perpetuae quod est Non[is] Mart[iis] in civitate Turbitana. The Greek text is
slightly more specific in giving the precise name as Ἐν πόλει θουβουρβιτανῶν τῇ
μικροτέρᾳ (II.1). It is unlikely that the Greek text is reflecting a more primitive
tradition that recorded the precise location of the martyrdom, for which there is
no other ancient corroboration. The town of Thuburbo Minus (modern Teburbo)
is on the Mjerda River (ancient Bagradas) in a rich agricultural valley and is ap-
proximately fifty-five kilometers west of Carthage. It was a wealthy place in the
early third century, possessing a rich, loamy soil that made it a significant producer
of grain and oil. It contained an amphitheatre, which remains unexcavated and
overgrown. The modern town has used much of the ancient town fabric for its
building material, and consequently, the archaeological sites are in disrepair and
neglected. The amphitheatre is currently very near the cemetery.
While it might be tempting to see these six catechumens as residents of this
area, in view of the fact that Perpetua says her father, in great distress, rushed from
the city—from Carthage to Thuburbo seems unlikely—to see her (superuenit
autem et de ciuitate pater meus, consumptus taedio, V.1), it is difficult to imagine a
small provincial settlement capable of producing so many converts who, in turn,
would be visited in prison by such numbers of Christians and at whose execu-
tions such a crowd would be present. Until we have more substantial evidence,
the precise location of their martyrdom cannot be decided with certainty, and
Carthage appears more likely than does Thuburbo Minus.
I.1. old examples of the faith (vetera fidei exempla). R’s use of the word exempla is
significant, as it suggests events which not merely took place but also are worthy of
imitation and should be set down in writing. The text does not provide examples of
these exempla, but we may presume that at this relatively early date (about 200 ce),
Biblical accounts are likely what the author has in mind, and that earlier martyr ac-
counts were intended as well. An obvious possibility would be the Martyrdom of
Polycarp, particularly if it was available in North Africa in a Latin translation. Fur-
thermore, the reference likely would suggest the inclusion of the examples of the
present martyrs and their divinely inspired visions. As such, their visions would be
exempla as powerful as the vetera and thus provide the listener with the opportunity
to make connections with appropriate exempla and visions, e.g., Stephen’s martyr-
dom in Acts 7.54–60; Gn 18.2–5, 28.12; Dn 7.9; Additions to Esther (Gk) 10.4; and
Rv 7.9. The textual uncertainty (see Harris, van Beek, and Amat) of the Greek text
deprives us of the help which we would like to have. The reading δείγματα would be
a direct translation of exempla, since δεῖγμα can be used in the sense of “example,” as
in Jude 7. On the other hand, if we follow Amat and accept the reading δόγματα,
then it would be tempting to see a process of doctrinal development taking place
between the time of the original composition of the Latin text and the (presumably
later) Greek text. In this case the original exempla would have become religious
doctrines. In Christian Greek, δόγμα, by the time of the Epistle to Diognetus (5.3)
and the Apocalypse of Peter (1), meant “religious doctrine or dogma” (see Lampe,
s.v. δόγμα). Latin exemplum in the sense of “an example for imitation” or “pattern” or
“model” can be seen as early as Terence (An. 92,651).
I.1. which testify to the grace of God (Dei gratiam testificantia). This is the first
reason given for the significance of the vetera fidei exempla. Although the theology
of grace is yet in its infancy, these exempla are important because they bear witness
to the divine grace that inspired them. Testificor is a strong word—stronger than
the uncompounded testor—as it contains the roots of both testis and facio. The
force of the Greek is different—δόξαν θεοῦ φανεροῦντα means that these exempla
show forth the glory of God, whereas gratiam points to the favor which God gives
to man. Also, φανεροῦντα does not have quite the force of testificantia, since it does
not contain the root testis (“witness”).
I.1. edification of men (aedificationem hominis). R uses this noun “edification”
twice, here and again in the doxology in XXI.11. The phrase is an echo of St. Paul,
particularly 1 Cor 14.4 and 1 Tm 1.4. Both epistles are concerned with glossolalia
(cf. Acts 2.4–6) and prophecy and their relative importance for revelation. Paul
proposed that of the two charisms, prophecy was the more significant of God’s
gifts, because it contributed to the public “building up” the Church (ὁ δὲ
προφητεύων ἐκκλησίαν οἰκοδομεῖ, 1 Cor 14.4) and underscored the active presence
of the Holy Spirit. The primacy of prophecy is a sentiment that R shares with
members of the New Prophecy movement, even at the risk of minimizing the
established canon. Aedificationem is used here in the sense of English “edification,”
but it also has a lingering echo of its root words aedes and facio, a suggestion of the
“household of faith” and of building something important. The use of aedificatio in

XXI.11 should be noted also, where it is followed not by hominis, as here, but rather
by ecclesiae. The Greek reads οἰκοδομὴν for the Latin aedificationem. Here the root
for “house” or “building” is again used in the sense of “spiritual strengthening” or
edification. (See also 1 Cor 14.26; Tert. Res. 45.10; Paen. 5.1, 5.8.)
I.1. working in (operantia). This word indicates the continued presence of the
Holy Spirit. Here it modifies exempla and takes aedificationem as its direct
object, indicating that the vetera fidei exempla perform an active role and that
their completed work (opus) is the edification of man. The corresponding Greek
term, ἀποτελοῦντα , is similar, suggesting that they are bringing this edification to
a point of completion (τέλος). For Greek ἀποτελέω in the sense of “bring to
completion,” see Pl. Leg. 823d. In the NT, it has this semantic register in Jas 1.15
and in the more general sense of “perform” in Lk 13.32. OLD cites classical oper-
ari only in the sense of “to be at work” or “to perform religious rites.”
I.1. were written down (sunt digesta). R’s use of forms of digerere with exempla at
the beginning of the first sentence and with documenta at the end of the sentence
is deliberate, underscoring the importance of this present written word with the
older canonical written texts. The corresponding Greek is less effective, as it uses
the standard verbs for “write,” γράφω, at the beginning, and the equivalent noun
γραφῇ, concluding with παραδοθῇ. Although digerere typically means “to carry or
cause to move away in all directions” (OLD, s.v.), it can mean “arrange, organize,
classify” or “enumerate.” Amat (188) suggests “exposer dans l’ordre” (see Livy
2.21.3: nec quid quoque anno actum sit in tanta vetustate non rerum modo sed etiam
auctorum digerere possis; and Tert. De Anim. 9.4).
I.1. reading (lectione). Although the word commonly means “reading,” in
this context it suggests a public and possibly liturgical reading. Origen reports
that readings from the Acts of the Martyrs were taking place at their gravesites on
the anniversary of their deaths (natalis, heavenly birth). The ἀναγνώσει in the
Greek text can certainly mean this in Christian Greek, as it does in 1 Tm 4.13;
eorum following lectione refers to the vetera fidei exempla. Lectio in the ablative of
means emphasizes the role that such reading will play in the glorifying of God
and the strengthening of man. Such use is stronger than the Greek version, which
says, “so that we may use the reading of them” (see Delehaye, Sanctus; Fontaine,
“Le culte des saints,” 17–41).
I.1. reexamination (repensatione). OLD s.v. cites repraesentatio in the sense of
“the act of bringing before the mind” from Valerius Maximus 3.8 and others.
Although the OLD does not cite repensatio, the word has manuscript support here,
while repraesentatio does not. Although this textual crux may never be resolved,
the meaning of the passage is clear, and van Beek’s emendation of repraesenta-
tione seems hypercorrective, seeking a Latin equivalent for the Greek παρουσία
(first conjectured by Harris; see also van Beek and Bastiaensen). The παρουσία,
already theologically nuanced in Christian Greek (see Lampe, s.v. παρουσία, “pres-
ence”), while it best reflects repraesentatione as the most plausible reading, is not
congruent with the lack of theological nuance typically found in the Latin exem-
plar (see Amat, 188, and Waldner, 49, who prefer repensatione).
I.2. necessary (necessaria). These new dreams will become a “necessary” part
of the emerging canon. The Greek adds that they will also be held in esteem, καὶ
τ ίμ ι α .
I.3. power (virtutem). Although the word can mean the sum of all human excel-
lence, here its meaning is to be restricted to spiritual power, since the reference is
to the Holy Spirit. See Mt 26.64; Mk 14.62, ἐκ δεξιῶν καθήμενον τῆς δυνάμεως.
The Greek Passio uses δύναμιν as the equivalent of the Latin virtutem and hence
is borrowing from such passages as Mk.14.62. It is this same power that the New
Prophecy advocates argue cannot be constrained.
I.3. newer are . . . more recent (sunt novitiora quaeque, ut novissimiora). Formis-
ano (78, no. 9) points out R’s use (“volgarismi”) of the non-classical forms novi-
tiora and novissimiora.
I.3. promised for the end of time (in ultima saeculi spatia decretam). This phrase
has a New Prophecy millenarian tone common among some Christians of
the late second century. (See Rv 22.1–10; Iren. Haer. 5.26; Tert. Marc. 3.3–4.)
I.3. overflow of grace (exuperationem gratiae). MS M reads exuperationem. See
OLD, s.v. ex(s)upero, 2. TLL also provides some evidence that exsupero can mean
an abundance or excess. Bastiaensen (following Braun) emended to exuberatio-
nem. The Greek uses a genitive absolute αὐξανομένης τῆς χάριτος.
I.4. In the last days . . . your old men shall dream dreams (In nouissimis . . . somni-
abunt). This is a quotation of Peter’s speech from Acts 2.17–18, but cf. Jl 2.28 and
also Pss 16.8–11, 110.1. The passage’s deeply felt eschatological view was congenial
to the editor’s point of view, namely that Christians are now in possession of God’s
Spirit and that such Spirit is accessible to all. The passage in Acts is part of the Pen-
tecost discourse and inaugurates the missionary activity of the Church and the
beginning of the messianic age. The sentiment in Joel is not new in Christianity (cf.
Rom 10.13 and Ti 3.6, notably in the phrase “pour out,” ἐκχέω). The passage aptly
illustrates the editor’s point that the gifts of the Spirit, notably prophecy, cannot be
restricted to a particular time and place, because they are part of God’s salvific plan
for the consummation of the world. It is noteworthy that the editor changes the
order and consequently the emphasis of the passage as it occurs in Joel and Acts.
He moves the verse beginning “I will pour out . . . on my servants and hand-
maidens” so that it is before the visions of the young and the dreams of the old.
Since we cannot be certain of the Scriptural textual tradition available to the editor,
we must be prudent in our interpretation. However, in light of the fact that at least
some of those killed in the arena were slaves/servants—Felicity is described as

conserua, and the Greek is even more explicit with σύνδουλοι—we might expect
such textual manipulation. Moreover, such a privileging of the underclass would
bring to mind the community cited by Paul in Gal 3.28: in Christ Jesus “there is no
longer slave or free, there is no longer male or female.” While the prophecy in Joel
was intended for all Jews, the prophecy now is for all nations to become members
of the one ecclesia. Origen’s remarks on the verbal polysemy of Scripture are signif-
icant: “each word of divine Scripture is like a seed whose nature is to multiply
diffusely” (Hom. Ex. 1.1; see also Atkinson, “Montanist Interpretation”).
I.5. new prophecies (prophetias . . . nouas). R distinguishes between prophecies
and visions. Prophecies need not concern supernatural events but rather are pre-
dictions, chiefly of a religious sort, made earlier. Prophetia is not in the OLD, but
propheta (prophet) is taken directly from Greek προφήτης. Prophetia is a Chris-
tian Latin use; see Tert. De Anim. 35; and Vulg. 1 Tm 1.18. Prophetia is taken di-
rectly into Latin from Greek προφητεία (“the interpretation of the will of the
gods”), which occurs a number of times in the NT (see BDAG, s.v. προφητεία).
The Greek reads προφητείας for the Latin prophetias. It is tempting to read this
phrase as a public acknowledgment of the editor’s membership and that of his
audience (note the plurals agnoscimus and honoramus) in the New Prophecy
movement. If this is the case, it is significant, since such a public admission sug-
gests that the movement had not yet become apostate and likely reflected the
charismatic segment of the North African church still in full communion with
their Catholic brethren. The earliest date of Tertullian’s association with the New
Prophecy is 206–7. If the Passio were written before that (but after 203), it indi-
cates the movement had some following before Tertullian, despite complaints
made about its adherents and their condemnation by eastern synods and Hip-
polytus. For its early opponents see Trevett, Montanism, 55ff. Bastiaensen (413)
points to an emphasis on prophecy over vision.
I.5. new visions (uisiones nouas). Visio is the act or faculty of seeing. It can be
used in the sense of a visual image (equivalent to Greek φά ν τα σ μ α) or a mental
image. Here visio is used in the sense of “a supernatural vision,” translating the
Greek ὅρασις. Greek ὅρασις also occurs in this sense in the NT in Acts 2.17 and Rv
9.17. R was intent on legitimating the visions of the martyrs through the citation
of Acts 2.17 and Jl 2.28. Pariter, placed between visiones novas and repromissas,
suggests that the visiones have been promised “just as much as” or “in the same
way as” the prophetias. Extending the quotation from Acts, R, who is in sympathy
with the New Prophecy movement, welcomes the practice of the interpretation of
dreams and visions (see Trevett, Montanism, 170). Such an acknowledgement
here prepares the audience for the sequence of the four autobiographical dreams
of Perpetua and the one of Saturus (see Cox Miller, Dreams, 152ff ).
I.5. for the instruction of the Church (ad instrumentum Ecclesiae). Amat (191)
calls attention to the phrase in later Latin as a mode of instruction with partic-
ular reference to sacred texts. Although the noun instrumentum seems never to
have this meaning in classical Latin, the verb instruere was used in the sense of
“equip with knowledge” or “instruct” by Cicero (Brut. 59.214) and others. It is
tempting to recall that the most basic meaning of instruere is “to build” and to
connect this with the “building” idea in aedificatio in I.1. R, however, is still
working from Paul. Just as Paul sought to construct a model of the unity of the
Church—based on the metaphor of a body’s unity, despite being made up of
disparate parts—so, too, it is with the Church of Christ (cf. 1 Cor 3.10–17;
12.12–13) whose many and disparate members work in common for the
building up of the Church. The expression is used by a number of patristic
writers, notably Tertullian in Apol. 19.1, 21.1, 47.9; Marc. 4.10.13; in Jerome
Adv. Iovinian. 1.4; In Ier. 23.30; Adv. Ruf. 2.24; and in Augustine, Serm. 36.8:
lege euangelium instrumentum tuum. The Greek adds the modifier τ ῇ ἁγίᾳ
ἐ κ κ λ ησ ί ᾳ .
I.5. to which church (Cui et missus . . .). This must refer to the Ecclesia just
mentioned, and thus corresponds to πρὸς ἥν in the Greek version. The Latin
form could also be masculine or neuter, but then it is difficult to see what it
would refer to. In the Greek text, ἥν can only refer to the ἐκκλ εσία . In the Latin,
idem must be masculine (with long i), the subject of missus est, and it must refer
to the preceding spiritus sanctus. Then the Greek π νεῦμα ἅγιον must be sup-
plied as the subject of ἐπέμφθη , or it would otherwise be tempting to take πάν τα
τὰ χαρίσματα as the subject, recalling that a neuter plural subject takes a third
singular verb. The Greek διοικοῦν, which here must be the neuter nominative
singular of the present active participle of διοικέω, would agree with the implied
π νε ῦμ α ἅ γ ι ο ν and thus would lend support to the emendation administrans,
which would then correspond directly to διοικοῦν. I have adoped administrat[ur]
us, as the future active participle could be seen as having a “purposive” force (cf.
van Beek). The reading least likely to be correct is the administratus of MS M.
I.5. gift s (donatiua). The word has echoes of the gift given by the emperor to
a soldier on achieving his majority, or performing some other notable feat (see
Suet. Ner. 7.2.; OLD, s.v. donatiuum; and Souter, 112, who mistakenly dates it as
only from the fourth century). Its use here creates an association of this military
tradition with a militant, besieged church where the Spirit and the emperor
have changed places. The new miles is the miles Christi strengthened by the gifts
of the Spirit and may have some charismatic coloring as well. Tertullian in
Marc. 1.1 shows this association with charisma: dedit data filiis hominum, id est
donativa quae charismata dicimus. The Greek version uses this very word (τὰ
χαρίσματα).
I.5. just as (prout). This, corresponding to ὡς in the Greek version, must be

correct here, and not pro, as in some MSS. Distrubuit could be either present or
perfect, but the corresponding Greek has the aorist ἐμέρισεν. This phrase prout . . .
Dominus seems to be based upon Rom 12.3, and the Greek version is taken di-
rectly from Paul. It is reminiscent also of 1 Cor 12.11.
I.5. reading (lectione). Cf. I.1 above. I.5. we celebrate (celebramus). This may be a
reference to the public reading of the Acta martyrii and other liturgical celebra-
tions (singing of hymns and feasting) on the anniversary of the martyr’s death,
the new natalis (see Tert. Cor. 3), and at the grave site (Tert. Scap. 3.1), and may
also refer to the “reading” (lectione) mentioned at I.1 above.
I.5. lest . . . (ut ne). A variation on the more usual single ne to introduce a nega-
tive purpose clause.
I.5. weak or despairing in their faith (imbecillitas aut desperatio fidei). A phrase
that may underscore the presence in the community of such types and the threat
the community was under, and hence their despair and the enormity of the prom-
ise of gratiam divinitatis. Fidei likely depends on both nouns.
I.5. divine grace (gratiam divinitatis). An important aspect of the position that
the Holy Spirit continues to be present in the lives of the Church and not simply
at some distant past time for the ancients. R clearly understands grace as a
received, tangible gift, either in favor granted for martyrdom or of revelations.
Although the formal theology of grace had to wait until the great debates between
Augustine and Pelagius, grace was a subject of concern throughout the NT, nota-
bly in Paul. It is given freely to those in need (Mt 5.45; Lk 18.9–14) and is not
owed in any sense (Rom 4.13–16). Tertullian is among the earliest who wrote
about grace. He viewed grace as a freely given divine energy working in our souls
(see Marc. 2.9).
I.5. either in favor of martyrdoms or of revelations (sive [in] martyrum sive in
revelationum dignatione). The retention of in before martyrum seems logical and
is parallel to ἐν τοῖς τῶν μαρτ ύρων in the Greek version. Dignatio here could be
translated “grace,” but such a choice may place a theological burden on the
language which it may not support (see Souter, s.v. dignatio).
I.5. martyr (martyrum). The word originally referred to a witness who testifies
to a thing or condition or to one’s character (cf. LSJ, s.v. μάρτ υς), and it is only used
in this sense in the Septuagint (see Gn 43.3, διαμαρτ υρίᾳ μεμαρτ ύρηται). While
the word μάρτ υς is never associated in the Torah with volitional self-sacrifice for
one’s belief in the faith, Judaism does in fact have the concept of martyrdom. The
Jewish martyr, qiddush ha-Shem (death for “the sanctification of the Name [of
God]”), was permissible when the faith was being persecuted and the Torah
reviled. It is noteworthy that the earliest martyrdom from North Africa (an area
with an active Jewish population in the late second century), the Scillitan Martyrs,
illustrates witness and death for the name of Christ and their possession of libri
et epistulae Pauli viri iusti. The outstanding example of such martyrs (qadosh) is
that of Eleazar and the Maccabean mother and her seven sons (2 Mc 6–7.42; see
Werblowsky and Wigoder, 444, “Martyrdom”). In Rabbinical writings, crucifix-
ion was the punishment reserved for robbers and for martyrs (see Genesis Rab-
bah 65 [141a]). The ideal of martyrdom in Judaism likely has its roots in the
‘aqedah, God’s test of Abraham’s faith and call to sacrifice Isaac (Gn 22). Martyr-
dom here represents the willingness to make such a sacrifice. Pseudepigraphical
texts, like the Martyrdom of Isaiah (c.150–200 ce), amplify their respective
themes in the Torah.
In the NT the term is principally used in its older primary sense as a reference
to the apostles who were witnesses of Christ’s life and resurrection (see Acts 1.8,
22; and Cross and Livingstone, 1046). However, R’s use of “witness” as one who
testifies to a conviction at the cost of his life may also have its beginning in the
NT. In Acts 22.20, Paul acknowledges his presence in Stephen’s death by stoning
for blasphemy in the narrative of Stephen’s death in Acts 7.1–8.1, stating, “and
when the blood of Stephen the witness was being shed”/ἐξεχύννετο τὸ αἷμα
Στεφάνου τοῦ μάρτ υρός σου (Acts 22.20). Although being executed for blas-
phemy, his death is nonetheless as a witness to Christ.
Revelation mediated through the Vetus appears most central for this
persecuted church in Carthage and contains favorite passages and examples
that supported a theology of self-sacrifice. Rv 2.13 was a popular crux: “You
did not renounce your faith in me even in the days of Antipas, my faithful
witness (Ἀν τιπᾶς ὁ μάρτ υς μου ὁ πισ τός μου) who was put to death in your
city.” The word martyr became unequivocally associated with volitional
self-sacrifice for Christ (cf. 1 Clem . 5.4, μαρτ υρήςας). The least ambiguous use
of the term martyr as a blood witness and as an imitation (μίμησις) of Christ
can be found in the account of Polycarp’s martyrdom (Mart . Pol . 14.2, ca.
165/170) and in the Letter of the Churches of Lyons and Vienne 1.170, ca.
177). By the end of the second century, it appears that the terms martyr and
martyrdom had become so aligned with the idea of death for the faith that
their application to those who had not shed their blood was roundly rejected.
See Ltr Chr Lyons & Vienn 5.22–4, Tert. Cor. 2; Hipp. Dan . 2.36.6; and Cypr.
Ep. 5.2 and his Laps. 3–4. Such witnesses were to be called confessores
(ὁμόλογοι). The growing theology of martyrdom was also used as an argu-
ment against the Docetists, who viewed Christ’s physical body and hence his
sufferings as a chimera or disguise worn by the Messiah—Christ. His person
was wholly spiritual for Docetists, and thus hardly capable of suffering mar-
tyrdom. On martyrs and martyrdom, see Ferguson, 724–28; and Hastings,
Christian Thought , 411–12.
I.5. kindness (beneficium). R stresses the Lord’s charity to those who believe.
The word is nuanced and has a range of meanings that can include the idea of one’s
status and an obliged kindness to those in the military. Since it follows almost
immediately after “martyr[s],” those new soldiers of the Lord, it would be well to
hear such a resonance also. The Greek reads ἀντίλημψιν and thus has a slightly
different sense of “receiving help.” It is perhaps not coincidental that Paul also
uses the noun in Corinthians in discussing the gifts of the Spirit (1 Cor 12.28).
I.6. brothers and little sons ( fratres et filoli). R concludes the preface with a direct
address to some of his audience. He includes in this phrase both the eyewitnesses
to the events, the fratres, and a younger generation, filoli, who have knowledge of
the event only through oral teaching. The plural forms of the nouns connote both
sexes. The Greek uses τέκνα, “children.” Although it is tempting to use this as a
chronological marker to construct a date for the martyrdom, the best conjecture
one can make is that their deaths took place not too long before these remarks,
since among the new listeners are children, filoli. The diminutive might even sug-
gest a different class of people or ones not fully initiated. Bastiaensen has suggested
that here we have two categories of the Church being referred to, the fully pro-
fessed fratres, and the catechumen filoli. Perhaps all such meanings are intended.
I.6. you who were present (vos qui interfuistis, emphasis added). R directly ad-
dresses the eyewitnesses known to him to still be alive. The Latin’s use of the sec-
ond person plural form of the verb personalizes the expression, while the Greek
uses the less personal form of the substantive οἱ σ υνπαρόντες with ἀναμνησθῶσιν
in the third person. (See Robinson, 4.)
I.6. you who know it now through the hearing (qui nunc cognoscitis per auditum).
R’s emphasis on the oral nature of the reception underscores his insistence that
this is a significant and revelatory exemplum, like those of antiquity with which he
began his narrative, vetera fidei exempla. The Latin version is more “personal,”
employing the second plural form of the verb cognoscitis where the Greek uses οἱ
γινώσκοντες. This may be an echo of the Pauline idea (cf. Pss 18.4) that faith
comes through hearing (per auditum) in Rom 10.17 (ἀκοὴ).
I.6. may have a sharing with the holy martyrs (communionem habeatis cum sanc-
tis martyribus, emphasis added). R appears to be appealing to the idea of the mar-
tyrs as mediators between men and Christ. Traditionally, the doctrine of the
communio sanctorum, part of the ninth article in the Apostles’ Creed, has been
believed to date from the late fourth century. The kernel of such an idea of a holy
mediator who serves as an intercessor for the living may well derive from Judas
Maccabeeus’s dream in 2 Mc 15.12–16. There, Judas sees the deceased high priest
and the prophet Jeremiah praying with outstretched arms for the Jews. Paul
developed the idea of the mystical body in which, borrowing from the many dif-
ferent parts of the body and their various functions, he argues by analogy that
likewise we, who are many, are one body in Christ and “individually we are mem-
bers of one another,” τὸ δὲ καθ᾿ εἷς ἀλλήλων μέλη (Rom 12.4–5; cf. 1 Cor 12.12–
31). If this is a statement of the communio sanctorum, it is one of the earliest that
we have.
CHAPTER II
The Argument: The Martyr’s Arrest and Biographies

The narrative proper begins in Chapter II. Although R may have been respon-
sible for Chapter II, its Latinity, notably the much more straightforward syntax,
lexical choices, and lack of theologizing, is quite different from that of Chapter I.
For example, in contrast to Chapter I, this chapter contains no subjunctive con-
structions; the complex subordinating syntax is absent; the chapter is made up of
simple indicative statements; with the single exception of catechumeni, there are
no Greek words; and there is no argument made. The young people who are to be
martyred are identified by name as young catechumens. Two of them, Revocatus
and Felicity, are enslaved (conserua eius). The major figure in the narrative, Vibia
Perpetua, is identified by name and her age given as twenty-two. R further states
that she is well born and educated, and that her mother, father, and two brothers
are still living. A brother is identified as also being a catechumen. She has an infant
male child who is still nursing. R completed this chapter with the remark that
from this point on in the narrative, Perpetua is responsible for it, having written
it in her own hand and in her own understanding (conscriptum manu sua et suo
sensu, II.3)
Chapter II, although very brief, contains much important historical material.
We are told that the catechumens are young and that they appear to have known
one another. While a considerable amount of detail is given about Perpetua—her
nomen “Vibia” and her cognomen “Perpetua,” her educational level, her class, and
her present status as honorably married (matronaliter nupta)—some salient
details are omitted. For example, we are given no information about her hus-
band’s family—indeed, no information at all about her husband. This is a curious
matter and invites speculation. The average marital age of a daughter from a good
family—the family was of the honestiores class—during the Empire was early to
mid-teens. Shaw has suggested, however, that elite females from the provinces
married later than those in Italy, as late as their late teens. The text gives Perpetua’s
age as twenty-two, slightly older than the norm that one would expect for a newly
married woman with but a single child. While only one child is mentioned, it is
entirely possible that she had other children who are not discussed, since they
played no role in the narrative. She is depicted nursing her child, a task many
highborn women would have relegated to a wet nurse.
Most Roman marriages by the late second century were sine manu, and the
daughter remained in patria potestate. This situation would explain the prominent
position of her father throughout the narrative. Yet we still must ask why the
husband is never mentioned. Of course, we will likely never know. It may be that
he was deceased, or that they were divorced, or that the rigorist ideas concerning
celibacy that were present in both Montanism and in the Catholicism of the
North African church made it ideologically necessary for R or later editors to
suppress any mention of a sexual partner. Revelation is one of the more influen-
tial Biblical texts represented in the Passio, and John notes at the appearance of
the hundred and forty-four thousand saints that all were “undefiled with women”
(Rv 14.3–4). Furthermore, if the spirit of Montanism was present in the early
years of the third century in Carthage, the two principal priestesses of Montan-
ism, Prisca and Maxmilla—who abandoned their husbands (Euseb. Hist. Eccl.
13.3)—and their founder Montanus, who approved of annulment, would have
provided appealing role models (Euseb. Hist. Eccl. 13.2).
Chapter II Commentary
II.1. arrested (apprenhensi). The arrests were likely part of a localized pogrom con-
ducted under the aegis of the provincial governor. Scholars have debated whether
Septimius Severus was responsible for issuing an edict forbidding new conversions
(see Birley, Septimius Severus). The evidence of imperial involvement is inconclu-
sive, and the persecutions at Carthage were likely initiated under the jurisdiction of
the provincial governor (see Platnauer, Severus, 153; dal Covolo, “I Severi e il cris-
tianesimo,” 189). Certain of the Latin MSS (G, N, and S) of the Passio (though only
in their incipits and not in the body of the narrative)—and also the Greek text—
indicate that the arrest took place in the civitate Tuburbitana. The Greek MS reads
Ἐν πόλει Θου(βου)ρβιτάνων τῇ μικροτέρᾳ συνελήφθησαν, and the Latin copy closest
to this in the library of Saint Gall (G) reads Apprehensi in ciuitate tyburtina minore.
The tradition of localizing the place of their arrest in civitate Tuburbitanorum is also
part of the MSS of the Acta, where it is, in fact, part of the actual narrative. The
best MS of the Passio (M) does not localize the place of the arrest, and it is possible
that the tradition of attributing it to this town is a late addition. The story of Per-
petua and her companions is well known among the citizens of modern Teburbo
(ancient Thuburbo minus), and there is an active interest on their part to claim the
martyrs as citizens of this community. However, the historical facts that speak
against Thuburbo minus as a likely place of origin are the many physical and geo-
graphic details in the Passio (see below), which suggest a larger, more cosmopolitan
city (see my forthcoming “The Legacy of Misidentification: Why the Martyrs in the
Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis were not from Thuburbo Minus”).
II.1. young (adolescentes). That period of life just before adulthood and likely
the period before marriage; see OLD, s.v. 1. The emphasis on their youth high-
lights the class from which the majority of the converts were being made and
heightens the drama of the narrative, since it invariably pits the young against the
older generation and against their parents.
II.1. catechumens (catechumeni). From the Greek present passive participle
κατηχέω (“the one being taught”; see LSJ, s.v. 2; and see Lampe, s.v. ii). While the
verb ἠχέω means “to sound, or ring out,” as in 1 Cor 13.1–2, the secondary
meaning “teach” was used in late classical Greek and in the NT. The participial
form here may be the earliest citation of the word in Christian North African
literature. It is used here in both the Latin and Greek versions to designate those
who were receiving instruction before their baptisms. Saturus was the one respon-
sible for their instruction, possibly in a private residence (IV.5). While the cate-
chumens in the early Church attended church services, they were dismissed before
the celebration of the mystery of the Eucharist began (see Paul, 1 Cor 3.2, 14.19;
Rom 2.18; Lk 1.4; Acts 18.25, 21.21; and see 2 Clem. 17.1 and BDAG, s.v. κατηχέω).
Although there is some evidence concerning the length of time the initiate was
required to spend as a catechumen, it is difficult to know how widespread such
directions were. Hippolytus notes that three years is the length of time spent as a
catechumen, but he quickly adds that this practice should not be followed by rote
but that judgment about the candidate should enter the decision (Trad. Ap. 17).
Preparation for reception of the sacrament of baptism was of the utmost solemnity,
and considerable concern was shown for its appropriate liturgical solemnity and
the candidates’ suitability for its reception (see Tert. De Bapt. 6.7.20).
II.1. Revocatus and Felicity (Revocatus et Felicitas). These names appear to be
the names of members of the lower classes (for an extended discussion of the
names, see “The Personae in the Passio”). Indeed, the texts identify them both in
Latin and Greek as “slaves” (conserua/σ ύνδουλοι). The Greek plural is more spe-
cific about both their class affiliations. They may even have been free at this time.
The single name given to the males underscores their low status, lack of citizen-
ship, and provinciality. If they were members of the honestiores, we would expect
a typical male name to include praenomen, nomen, and cognomen. Felicity’s single
name also underscores her low social status. Further, the names “Revocatus”
(OLD, s.v. revoco 10) and “Felicity” (OLD, s.v. felicitas 2) suggest types of behavior
and may further suggest a name given them by an owner. Additionally, if we
were to read their names as Christian allegories of character, then Revocatus
has indeed been restored and “called back” to himself, and Felicity has enjoyed
“good fortune” in being freed from childbirth in time to join her comrades in their
moment of triumph. (See Solin, Die stadtrömischen [1996] and his Namenbuch;
and Kajava, Roman Female Praenomina. For the name “Saturus,” see Solin,
Beiträge zur Kenntnis, 68–70; on its presence in Africa, see Thieling, Der Hellen-
simus, 122; and Lamberz, 29ff, who sees it as a slave name.)
II.1. Vibia Perpetua. The name of the central character. Though our under-
standing of how names were assigned in the third century to well-born females of
the provinces is not at all clear, it appears that for Perpetua alone we have both a
nomen (Vibia) and very possibly a cognomen (Perpetua). While there was much
variety in cognomina, it is noteworthy that they frequently could designate per-
sonal characteristics. The Vibii, attested both in North Africa and in Italy, were a
large family of some distinction. Lucius Iunius Quintus Vibius Crispus was likely
proconsul of Africa in 71–2 (see Pillet, Histoire de sainte Perpétue, 69). The daugh-
ter Perpetua may have received that name from her family as a distinguishing
characteristic. Although women took the name of their fathers, they did begin to
receive cognomina to distinguish among sisters, e.g., Iulia Agrippina and Iulia
Drusilla.
II.1. well born (honeste nata). It would appear that the editor wishes to empha-
size that Perpetua was a member of the honestiores class in provincial North
Africa. There is a deliberate attempt to distinguish her from her fellow prisoners,
who represent the humiliores, and possibly the freed-slave segment of the popu-
lation. The expression may be reminiscent of an epitaph, and the phrase had cur-
rency, denoting someone well born, of high rank (see OLD, s.v. honeste 1b). Her
precise class affiliation is unknown, but from the text it appears that she would
likely have been a member of the decuriones, or less likely the equites (see the
members of the Vibii clan in the Index Nominum in L’Ordre équestre, 680). There
are certain problems that such class assignments do not easily explain, notably
her condemnation to death by a beast in the arena. Likewise, it is hard to imagine
the humiliating treatment meted out to her father (VI.5) if he were a member of
either the decuriones or equites. Further complicating the matter is the sanction in
criminal law that legislated more forgiving penalties for the honestiores than the
humiliores. Members of the honestiores rarely received the death penalty, and
never death by crucifixion or bestiis obicere , both of which Perpetua received.
(See Garnsey, Social Status; and Arjava, Women and Law, 201–2.)
II.1. liberally educated (liberaliter instituta) The phrase provides some hint of the
level of education that Perpetua received. She may have possessed an education
equal to that of an educated young man, and clearly had more than the young man
in Petronius’s Satyricon (58.7). The education provided to women in the Empire
was dependent on their status, wealth, and parental disposition, and since it likely
varied considerably in the provinces, it is not easily reduced to a general formula.
Elites like Perpetua may have received a very good education beyond that taught by
a grammaticus—a course of study that would have engaged her from approximately
the age of twelve through sixteen. Cicero notes the eloquent and polished letters of
Cornelia (Brut. 58.211). However, the text repeatedly provides indications, both in
her prose style and her pointed arguments, that her education had advanced
beyond that of most women, and might have included the study of rhetoric. Fridh
remarks on her intelligent use of rhythmical clausulae, and McKechnie on her
exposure to formal philosophical study, apparent in her dialogic argument. The
skillful deployment of rhythm in periodic sentences was normally taught by the
rhetor, a level of education immediately beyond that taught by the grammaticus. Her
study of rhetoric may have been for a period of two years.
R states that Perpetua was twenty-two at the time of her arrest and was still
nursing a child of about eighteen months. If this was her first marriage and first
child (as seems likely), her age at marriage would have been about nineteen or
twenty, a somewhat older age for first marriages of elite females. The average age
of marriage for most Roman women was approximately fifteen. Of course there
are notable exceptions: Caesar’s daughter Julia was in her early twenties when she
married Pompey, Antonia Minor was twenty when she married Drusus, and
Agrippina Maior was about nineteen at the time of her marriage to Germanicus.
Late marriage, however, provided more time for an elite woman to complete
an education. If Perpetua married at nineteen or twenty, she would have had
ample time to receive a liberal education. (See Lelis, Percy, and Verstraete, Age of
Marriage, particularly app. 2, “First Marriages of Roman Women,” 121.)
The education provided to certain women (e.g., Iulia Agrippina), whether
at home with private tutors or in some formal classroom situation, could have been
equal to that provided for males and may have continued even after marriage. While
the physical place of Perpetua’s education is unknown, it appears more probable for
an elite female to have been educated at home, if only for the reason that it would
have been safer for her (Quint. Inst. 1.2.6–8). Quintilian underscores the need for
parents to be educated and for both to assist in a child’s education (op. cit. 1.1.6–8,
15–17, 20). Perpetua’s father’s remark that he favored her even more than her
brothers (V.2) might be construed to mean that he treated her in all things, including
education, as if she were a son and, indeed, better than his sons. Perpetua appears to
have been trilingual. She was a native Latin speaker, spoke fluent Greek to the bishop
and priest who prostrated themselves at her feet (XIII.2), and likely would have spo-
ken a dialect of Punic in running her household. There are a number of instances
in her narrative when she alludes to classical texts and Scripture from memory
(IV.4.7 and VII.6). Her memory of Scriptural passages suggests a serious study of the
Bible as a catechumen, over some time, possibly years. (See Marrou, A History, 274;
Hemelrijk, Matrona Docta, 29 and 236, no. 53; McKechnie, “Saint Perpetua,” 279–
91; Hallett, Fathers and Daughters, 338–43; and Rawson, Children, 197–200.)
II.2. twenty-two years of age (viginti duorum). The adopted Latin reading
depends on whether duo is being treated as indeclinable or is declined to agree
with annorum. Van Beek, Bastianensen, and Amat read duo; MSS A, G, E, N, S,
and O read duorum.
II.2. honorably married (matronaliter nupta). The phrase points out that the
marriage was respectable, but the Greek adverb ἐξόχως hints that the marriage
was a prominent one.
II.2. who had a father, mother, and two brothers, one of whom was also a
catechumen (habens patrem et matrem et fratres duos, alterum aeque catechumenum).
This important biographical detail presents the entirety of her living family
members. One younger brother, Dinocrates (with a fashionable Greek name),
had died earlier (VII.1). One of her surviving brothers is a convert and a cate-
chumen. If the persecution was widespread and the document is roughly contem-
porary with the date of the persecution (c. 203 ad), might such an identification
have put him at risk? Might this acknowledgement of her brother’s status suggest
a later emendation?
II.3. written in her own hand and in accordance with her own understanding (con-
scriptum manu sua et suo sensu). R emphasizes that the text of her memoir was
written by Perpetua and reflects the sense of her actual words. This is an inter-
esting remark, for while it appears to underscore the point that the memoir was
authentic, the comment that the narrative reflects her own ideas (suo sensu)
seems almost redundant, given the first part of the expression conscriptum manu
sua (“she wrote it with her own hand”). If she actually wrote it, does it not follow
that it would reflect her own ideas? What then might R intend? The insistence on
both points allows R to address a number of concerns: first, to acknowledge that
the present editor is a faithful copyist; second, that he is a simple transmitter;
third, he is assuring a skeptical audience, not used to having a document so well
written by a woman, that this is nonetheless genuine; and lastly, his textual fidelity
is a charge to later editors not to change any of the text. Yet one is bound to ask
how she managed to write this text under such appalling conditions as crowding,
lack of light, hostile jailers, an infant to care for during at least part of her stay, and
her own terrible anxieties (III.9; see also Bastiaensen, 415; Amat 194; and Formi-
sano 82, no. 22). The Greek text adds nothing of substance to the Latin. See Tert.
De Anim. 9 and his plea that the faithful believe the prophecies of visionary
women. The Greek ends this section with a transitional phrase οὕτως εἰποῦσα,
which introduces the dialogue in Chapter III.
CHAPTER III
The Argument: Religion as Identity

Chapter III begins in medias res. It opens with a subjunctive clause (Cum . . .
essemus) indicating that Perpetua and her companions had been under arrest for
an unspecified time, presents a dialogic encounter with her father, and vividly
reports the beginning of her painful incarceration. R adds a clarification to her
opening sentence (inquit) as he seeks to limit the ambiguity of who is actually

speaking. Such an interpolation is a further indication of the likely genuineness of
the text that R received, since such an interpolation would not have been likely if
the entirety of the text were a forgery. No indication is given about how long they
have been under the jurisdiction of the authorities, or about who was arrested,
who the authorities were, or where the catechumens were seized, nor is any
reason given for their arrest. The deliberate lack of details may have been a
prudent one, considering the lack of tolerance for Christians in Carthage in 203.
However, from a stylistic point of view there can be no doubt that the suppres-
sion of the details focuses attention on the two principal antagonists and their
painful dispute. Additionally, since the text was to be read orally (“you who know
it now through hearing,” I.6), the exclusive focus on father and daughter would
have provided for an easier understanding of the narrative, and would have kept
the tragic dramatic tension between them central.
After their dispute, the chapter introduces Perpetua’s unnamed infant
son, two deacons named Tertius and Pomponius, Perpetua’s mother, and lastly
her brother. Although none of her family members are named throughout the
narrative, Perpetua typically names other historical figures whom she con-
fronts. The textual anonymity provided to family members appears deliberate
and, at the very least, would likely have spared them further public censure. The
chapter can be divided stylistically into two separate sections: the conflict with
her father, replete with concrete detail and rapid-fire dialogue, and her impris-
onment and the resolution of her appalling circumstances, where the narrative
details and chronology are vague and foreshortened.
The chapter opens with an intimate disputation and dialogue between
Perpetua and her father about the nature of her belief. Her father has presum-
ably been summoned to get her to recant. He visits her in the unidentified
place where they are being held. It appears that they were under a type of
house arrest, because she does not refer to an actual prison transfer until
some lines later (III.5). Moreover, the present location has some of the ac-
coutrement of domestic life about it, e.g., the small pitcher/urceolum . The
language is dramatic and suggests the natural rhythms of speech. Employing
a philosophical argument, reminiscent of Platonic dialogue, in a conversation
with her father, Perpetua points out that the names we assign to things are
not arbitrary, but serve to identify their essence (quam quod est). She then
suggests by analogy that the name “Christian” now identifies her most pro-
found sense of self. The argument has some similarity to Plato’s doctrine of
subsistent forms—that is, she acknowledges that her being is now part of a
pre-existing, universal Christian spirit. There is a subtle Christological point
here as well, as she acknowledges that she has now become one with the body
of Christ that Paul proclaimed (Gal 2.20; Col 1.24). This is the first time the
word “Christian” is used in her narrative. Its use sends her father into a fit of
rage, and he momentarily threatens her physically. On this latter point, see 1
Cor 4.11–13, and Tertullian’s remark that Christians were being killed for the
sound of the name “Christian” alone (Apol . 3.8).
From this point the dialogue ceases, and what remains is a tightly compressed
narration of the ensuing events that dispenses with a careful chronology. She
reports, in sequence, her baptism, her transfer to a dungeon-like prison, the bribe
of the prison authorities by the deacons, her removal to a better part of the prison,
the nursing of her child, a meeting with her mother and brother during which she
hands over the child to them, days of extreme anxiety, and lastly, her joy at the
return of her child. It is difficult to know how long this phase of her imprisonment
took. While she comments on the passage of time, her remarks are vague, using
such expressions as “few days” (III.4, 5) and “for many days” (III.9). Although it
is speculation to estimate the length of time she remained in this initial prison, it
must have been greater than a week, since it allowed her time to relinquish her
child, to be anxious for “many days,” and then to seek permission from the au-
thorities for her baby to stay with her.
It is interesting to note that initially, while she is under house arrest and before
entering prison, she does not mention her child. She only mentions him after the
transfer to the prison where, because of the harsh circumstances, she is concerned
for his safety. Might her initial silence suggest that she had her child with her at
the time of the arrest, and that the situation in that location (a residence of some
sort) was at least sufficiently tolerable so that she only mentions her son after they
arrive at the prison, where she first fears for his safety? Following this argument,
it is possible to construct a plausible scenario: Perpetua went to this unidentified
home with her child, where she was accustomed to receive training in the faith as
a catechumen. She was arrested at the house with her child and her companions,
also catechumens. It is reasonable to assume her visits took place over a signifi-
cant period, as it better explains the authorities’ awareness of their activities. Her
father was summoned to talk some sense into her.
Further, it is in this initial, quasi-residential place of detention that she was
baptized. Adult baptism in North Africa was entered into only after the most
serious soul-searching, as was still evident by the time of Augustine: “My
washing in the waters of baptism was delayed, since it was thought if I lived I
would foul myself with sin and once baptized the sin would be the greater and
more grievous” (Conf. 1.11). Tertullian writes in some detail on the liturgical
complexity of the baptismal rite. He suggests the presence of a high priest if
possible (nos . . . veri sacerdotes) or at least a pious layman (both Hippolytus and
Cyprian stipulate a bishop as the officiant), three witnesses, the prospect for
triple immersion, a period of fasting and of keeping vigils, formal confession, a
renunciation of Satan, and an imposition of hands, followed by a symbolic meal

of milk and honey. (See Tert. Prax. 26; De Bapt. 2.6.8–20; and Cor. 3; and also
Hipp. Trad. Ap. 21.27, and Cypr. Ep. 13.5.3, along with the above note to Chap-
ter II.1 for “catechumen.”)
The African church saw this initiatory sacrament as crucial to salvation. It
conveyed a passage from the world of idolatry to that of the blessed elect. How-
ever, the circumstances of Perpetua’s baptism were extraordinary; she was under
some type of house arrest. Although Tertullian has a profound concern for the
solemnity of the liturgy of baptism, he does allow even a lay person to baptize in
urgent situations (see De Bapt. 18). Presumably, the situation that Perpetua and
her fellows found themselves in would have been sufficiently grave to allow for
expedience in the ritual. The archaeological record bears out Tertullian’s interest
in the ritual’s solemnity. Among the glories of North African liturgical architec-
ture are the elaborate and beautiful mosaic baptisteries. I have visited a number
of such baptisteries in situ in Tunisia and was privileged to study the Kelibia
baptistery, presently closed to the public, located in the Bardo Museum, Tunis.
Chapter III Commentary
III.1. “While,” she said, “we were still with the prosecutors” (cum adhuc . . . essemus).
The noun typically referred to an attendant, an escort (OLD, s.v. prosecutor). In
later Latin, however, prosecutores begins to suggest an official judicial attendant
(OLD, s.v. prosecutio < prosequor). It is interesting to note the single reading from
MS E, persecutoribus, where the meaning is more explicitly “pursuers of Chris-
tians” (see OLD, s.v. persecutor; Prudent Perist. 1.28; and see Vulg. 1 Tm 1.13; and
Formisano 83, no. 23). The Greek genitive absolute reads that they were under
surveillance, being closely watched (Ἔτι, φησίν, ἡμῶν παρατηρουμένων), and is
consequently slightly less specific than the Latin prosecutoribus, which identifies
the officials as hostile. The subtle differences between evertere and auertere make
it impossible to argue for an authoritative reading here. While the Greek’s addi-
tion of ὁμολογίας is specific as to what Pepetua’s father wishes her to renounce
(her faith), such amplification suggests the Greek audience was unaware of the
specifics of the persecution, hardly something of which an individual in Carthage
at the time would have been unaware. (See Lampe, s.v. ὁμολογέω; the term was
used in times of persecution as a confession of faith in Justin 1 Apol. 2.1, and in
Clem. Al. Strom. 4.9.)
III.1. Father . . . whatever? (Pater . . . aliud). Perpetua’s question is introduced
with numquid, suggesting that a negative answer is expected through anxiety or
caution. The Greek μὴ is similar.
III.1. wanted (cupiret). Here we have either a scribal error or a confusion of

the third and fourth conjugations, where the author conjugated cupio following
the model for audio. This may have been a post-classical usage in Africa.
III.1. small water pitcher (urceolum) Although typically used for water, such
vases held a variety of items, even human ashes (cf. OLD, s.v. urceolus). Notice
that Perpetua uses two words to describe the object: vas and urceolum. The Greek
σκεῦος, meaning a “household implement of any kind,” lacks the specificity of the
Latin and reflects the Greek text’s intent to convey the breadth (aliud) of the
Latin (see Lampe, s.v. σκεῦος, 1). Christian Greek used σκεῦος metaphorically to
suggest that Christians are the instruments, the “chosen vessel” of Christ (see
BDAG, s.v. σκεῦος, 3, particularly Acts 9.15, where Jesus refers to Paul in language
similar to that of the Greek text of the Passio, σκεῦος ἐκλογῆς). The sophistica-
tion of the argument and the very dialogue between Perpetua and her father are
reminiscent of the Cratylus and the discussion between Socrates and Hermo-
genes concerning the nature of names, but not likely directly influenced by that
passage. Perpetua’s observation is that names are not arbitrary but identify a nat-
ural characteristic of the object being named. A name speaks to the essence of a
thing that cannot be other than what it is called. As she says to her father, the
water pitcher cannot be called anything other “than what it is” (quam quod est).
Such an argument is similar to the position taken by Socrates against Hermo-
genes. While upper-class women, like Marcia, Helva, and the empress Livia, did
read moral philosophy, it was certainly exceptional that a woman Perpetua’s age
would have had access to Plato. Yet there are the exceptions. The Stoic philoso-
pher Musonius Rufus (30–101 ce) remarked that a woman educated in philos-
ophy and sophrosyne would be more courageous and a better spouse (Dis.
3.14.13). Similarly, Plutarch remarked that a woman “charmed by the words of
Plato or Xenophon” would be indifferent to magic (Mor. 138a–146a). This narra-
tion about the vase, along with Chapter IV.9, influenced the Passion of Montanus
and Lucius 8.4 (though there, fialae). See Theoph. Ad. Autol. 1.9 on the use of the
sacred name in rituals and other important circumstances: σέβεσθαι θεῶν
ὀνόματα .
III.2. than what it is (quam quod est). The Latin and Greek versions, though
similar, do differ subtly. The Latin seeks to convey an ontological point, arguing
that the very existence of the object is rooted in its name, while the Greek intro-
duces a moral argument, saying, “it is not right” (μὴ θέμις) to call something by a
different name.
III.2. I am unable to call myself other than what I am, a Christian (ego . . . sum,
Christiana). Christ says, “You will be brought before kings and governors
because of my name” (τοῦ ὀνόματός μου in Lk 21.12; cf. Mt 24.9 and see BDAG,
s.v. ὄνομα). Christians knew that declaring themselves as Christians, forbidden at
least since Trajan’s rescript to Pliny (112 ce), was a necessary first step in the
legal proceedings that could lead to their deaths. There is ample evidence that a
declaration of creedal affiliation and, in particular, an acknowledgement that one
was Christian, could provoke a capital charge. See Justin Martyr, 1 Apol. 4.4:
“And those among yourselves who are accused you do not punish before they
are convicted, but in our case you receive the name as proof against us.” In his
disparagement of the Gnostic community of Lyons, Irenaeus states that only
“one or two of them have occasionally, along with our martyrs, borne the
reproach of the name and been led forth with them to death” (Haer. 4.33.9). One
important source for the type of interrogation that Christians underwent is in
the commentarius of the Cognitio extra ordinem. Here the interrogation of Chris-
tians amply illustrates the requirement that they swear allegiance and sacrifice
to the emperor and renounce their Christianity. (See Williams, Pliny, 70–1.) For
a critical edition of the correspondence, see Mynors, C. Plinii Caecili Secundi,
338–40, Ep. 10.96: nomen ipsum, si flagitiis careat, an flagitia cohaerentia nomini
puniantur. . . . Interrogaui ipsos an essent Christiani. Confitentes iterum ac tertio
interrogaui supplicium minatus: perseuerantes duci iussi (“the name itself, or if
without crimes, or only the crimes associated with the names are punishable. . . .
I interrogated them as to whether they were Christian. If they confessed it, I
asked them two more times but with a warning. If they persisted I ordered them
executed”). Tertullian’s response to the letter of Trajan and Pliny is typically hy-
perbolic, claiming with his characteristic flourish that Christians were being
killed for the sound alone: “and a sound alone brings condemnation on a sect
and its author both” (Apol. 3.8: At nunc utriusque inquisitione et agnitione
neglecta nomen detinetur, nomen expugnatur, et ignotam sectam, ignotum et auc-
torem uox sola praedamnat, quia nominantur, non quia reuincuntur).
III.3. alarmed (vexauit). Her father’s behavior frightened her. She was uncertain, if
only for an instant, if he would attack her. The Greek adds that the father “screamed”
or “cried out” (κράξας).
III.3. in order to gouge (ut oculos mihi erueret). Perpetua’s father’s anger is directed
at precisely the object, her eyes, she has just used to defeat his argument about
names and the objects which they signify. Just moments before, he acknowledged
her selection of the water vessel as the object of the argument with the verb video.
III.3. with the arguments of the devil (cum argumentis diaboli). It is not that her
father’s arguments are malevolent, diabolical (pace Musurillo), but that the argu-
ments are the devil’s arguments. Not only does the syntax insist on such a transla-
tion, but also the identification of the source of the arguments follows directly
from their discussion of the relationship of things and names, of the thing signified
and the signifier. Here it would appear that Perpetua names her father’s argument
as the devil’s own. The father is presented as one who is almost possessed, rather
than the child, who has taken up with the superstitio of Christianity. See OLD,
where argumentum can be a fictitious narrative. The Greek μηχανῶν/“devices” re-
inforces this idea of a contrivance (see LSJ and also Lampe, s.v. μηχανή).
III.4. for a few days (paucis diebus). The phrase normally would require an accusa-
tive of duration without a preposition (paucos dies), but the text uses an ablative (also
see Amat ad loc). The vague chronology used throughout III makes it difficult to esti-
mate the time elapsed between her arrest and baptism. It does, however, contribute
to the verisimilitude, as one would not expect exactitude in such a memoir. (For a
discussion of chronology in the Passio, see Heffernan, “Passio,” 314–25.)
III.4. by my father’s absence (quod caruissem patrem . . . absentia illius). Quod
could also be read in a temporal sense (see Sen. Q Nat. 5.11.1). It is a respite
gained as a result of her father’s absence and his offensive arguments that provides
her refreshment. (See Bastiaensen, III.10, 417.)
III.4. I was refreshed (refr igeraui). The use of this word in Christian Latin con-
veys the unambiguous sense of rest, of peaceful relaxation, and of a physical place
where there is no worry. (See Pss 65.12, transvivmus per ignem et aquam et edux-
isti nos in refrigerium; cf. Ws 2.1, 4.7; Is 28.12; Jer 6.16; Acts 3.20; Lk 16.24, and 2
Tm 1.16.) It can even suggest (in a Christian context) a heavenly good fortune
and the place enjoyed by the Elect after death (Souter, s.v. refr igerium). Although
refr igerium was not used in the classical period in this sense, there are hints of a
broader semantic range. (See Cic. Sen. 14.46, where the word suggests a sense of
natural vitality, a kind of freshness, and 16.57, et refr igeratio æstate, et vicissim aut
sol aut ignis hibernus. Cicero also used the word to indicate insouciance [see Verr.
1.10.31].)
Perpetua’s father’s absence and his defeatist arguments are the immediate
cause for her use of this verb. She is relieved of his vexatious presence and hence
refreshed, free from anxiety. The Greek MS reading is less overtly theological,
and the strength of ἥσθην here is simply “pleased/delighted.” The word refr iger-
ium became an important part of the Christian lexicon and figures prominently
on grave stelae. There is an important Christian stele (ca. 291 CE) that uses the
imperative form of the verb to require the deceased to take her rest with a holy
spirit, Refr igera cum spirita sancta (see no. 37 in the dated grave stones in I. B. de
Rossi’s Inscriptiones christianae urbis Romae, 2:1; we would normally expect
spiritu sancto (Supplementum, fasc. 1, ed. I. Gatti, 1888). Snyder reads this line
as “Eat the refr igerium with a holy spirit,” using the ablative of accompaniment,
and arguing that this is an extension of the pagan custom of the refr igerium,
where the family would celebrate the annual meal of the dead in the cemetery
(see Ante Pacem, 126–7). One Fl. Concordius built a kind of dining hall a very
short distance from an actual mausoleum for the purpose of celebrating an
agape type banquet: ita ut nulli liceat in eodem ædificio corpus sepulture mandare
sed tantummodo convivium copulantibus vel refr igerantibus pateat (see CIL
10.6222 and Hamman, Vie liturgique et vie sociale , 170–217). In Christian Latin,
refr igerium can signify a type of gathering place for good souls on their ultimate
journey to paradise (see Du Cange, s.v. refr igerium, and Mohrmann). The word
is nuanced in Tertullian. Refr igerium is a period of happiness that the blessed
souls will enjoy as they await Christ’s return, as well as the joys of paradise that
await the martyrs (see his De Anim. 55; De Monog. 10; Idol. 13). Commodianus
(Carmen Apol.) links this idea with the martyrs.
The practice of the repast at the cemetery came under some criticism, as Au-
gustine notes his mother’s pious but clearly embarrassing practice, and as he is at
pains to distinguish in a sermon the pagan and Christian practices (Serm. 311).
See Mohrmann on the changing meaning of the classical idea, as Christians
understood it, in “Locus refrigerii” (127), and also in “Locus refrigerii, lucis et
pacis”; and Le Goff, Purgatory, 46–51. See also Petraglio, 36ff. Note that in VIII.2
Perpetua, having prayed for her disfigured brother, who dwells in some nether
state, now sees him restored: Video . . . Dinocraten mundo corpore, bene vestitum,
refrigerantem. (See also Ex 23.12; the Vetus reads reficiat, but the Vulgate now
uses what has become the normative Christian Latin, et refrigeretur filius ancilliae
tuae; and see 2 Tm 1.16, quia saepe me refrigeravit.)
III.5. we were baptized (baptizati sumus). The Greek reading, τοῦ ὕδατος τοῦ
βαπτίσματος, may be a later addition providing additional clarification, and its
use here appears indebted to the New Testament sense, underscoring a type of
immersion in the water (see Mk 1.9–10; Mt 3.16). Such immersion would not
have been likely, since they were under house arrest. When immersion was im-
practical, as in the present instance, anointing was used (Did. 7). Note also that
she gives no indication of location for the baptism, but it appears they remained
in the place where they were initially taken.
III.5. The Spirit told me (et mihi Spiritus dictauit). Perpetua situates her bap-
tism within the broader context of a revelation from the Spirit. The Latin Spiri-
tus is vague—it may be the Holy Spirit—but it does not identify which spirit has
inspired her. We are unable to determine which aspect of the divine afflatus is
referenced. The Greek is more specific, making the identification explicit with the
third person of the Trinity, and reads τὸ πνεῦμα τὸ ἅγιον (see Lampe, s.v. πνεῦμα).
Her remark highlights her insistence that the Spirit of God speaks to her and,
thus, underscores her role as prophetess (see Acts 2.38). The Spirit’s revelation is
a minatory one and warns of her coming persecution. Tertullian remarks that per-
secution should be endured because it comes from God, the source of all good,
and thus persecution is itself a good, since it too comes from God. He points out
that in our flight from persecution, we may unwittingly flee from the providen-
tial good and, hence, from God (De Fuga 4.11).
III.5. endurance of the body (sufferentiam carnis). In Christian Latin, sufferentia

contains the idea of extreme forbearance, endurance (Tert. Marc. 4.15). The reve-
lation from the Spirit, which Perpetua receives fully after baptism (ab aqua),
informs her that she will be provided the forbearance to endure the tribulation to
come. The Greek is more precise, acknowledging it is τοῦ ὕδατος τοῦ βαπτίσμα-
τος. Paul’s remark, “when we were baptized into union with Jesus Christ we were
baptized into his death” (Rom 6.3–11), was interpreted from the middle of the
second century with far greater emphasis on the suffering side of this equation.
Baptism was understood as a charismatic gift that conveyed the grace to endure
grievous physical brutality (see Justin Dial. 14.86.138). The promise implicit in
Jas 5.11 is that those who “endure” (τοὺς ὑπομείναντας), who stand fast under
trials, will receive God’s mercy (cf. Vetus Jas 5.11: Sufferentiam Iob audistis). Bap-
tism comes at the beginning of their ordeal, and Perpetua’s remarks announce the
onset of the torments. Note that Perpetua’s remarks single out physical suffering
alone. The Greek is similar, σαρκὸς ὑπομονή. She has already vanquished the “ar-
guments of the devil,” and hence, spiritual temptation is behind her. She is left
with the physical contest. (See Tert. Marc. 4.15; Acta Saturni 9; Ecclus. 16.14.)
Such sentiment was of crucial importance to this community, and the idea of
sufferentia/ὑπομονή was also used in the sense of patient expectation (see Ign.
Rom. 10.3). Cyril of Jerusalem (d.c. 386) applied ὑπομονή to Christ’s own suf-
fering (see his Catech. 4.7; and Lampe, s.v. ὑπομονή). The martyrs designate are to
seek from their baptism the strength to endure the torture and martyrdom they
are about to undergo. This is the true sufferentia carnis or σαρκὸς ὑπομονή.
III.5. After a few days (Post paucos dies). The chronology is notoriously diffi-
cult to sort out. We have no idea how long she was with the arresting officials
before her father’s arrival. It was likely not long, however. The first hint of the
passage of time is after her father left her in what appears to have been their first
incarceration, a type of house arrest. She notes that she has a few days rest after
his departure. Then she indicates that another few days passed before her bap-
tism. Lastly, she notes that a few days have now passed since baptism, and she is
about to be moved to a prison. They would have been transferred from the place
they were first taken to a prison, as this is the first time the word carcer is used to
describe her situation. The prison is not identified. It well may be the municipal
or the military prison (more on this below) in Carthage. Any estimate of the
length of this early incarceration is a speculation, but the total time from arrest to
imprisonment (that is, transfer to the carcer) may have been as long as two weeks.
Roman law, particularly in times of persecution and particularly for those found
guilty of capital crimes, was typically expeditious.
III.5. we were taken into the prison (recipimur in carcerem). The prison is not
identified. Some have conjectured that it was the municipal prison in Carthage
(Amat, 197). At least one manuscript variant emended unnecessarily the present
recipimur to recepti sumus, so as to agree with the perfect expavi. The present is,
however, used as an historical present. The Greek uses the aorist, and the verb
έβλήθημεν (“we were thrown”) is more forceful (see Lampe, s.v. βάλλω) than the
neutral recipimur (see Heffernan and Shelton, “Paradisus in carcere”). Prison con-
ditions were appalling. Even valued agricultural slaves were often treated harshly,
chained in dark underground cells. The description of the cell depicted by Colu-
mella is similar to the extant cell (traditionally assigned to Perpetua and her com-
panions) in the Carthage amphitheatre. Particularly striking is Columella’s
discussion of the placement of the windows: “let there be an underground prison . . .
and let it be lighted by many narrow windows which are built so far from the
ground that they cannot be reached by hand” (see Rust. 1.6.1–24). Such a place-
ment of the windows is very much like the extant cell in the Carthage amphithe-
atre, but there is no conclusive evidence placing the martyrs there. It is less likely
(pace Amat) that Perpetua is using language with a deliberate juridical implica-
tion, since no formal charge has yet been lodged against them.
III.5. I was terrified (expaui). The acknowledgement of her fear lends a vivid-
ness to the ordeal she is about to suffer and distinguishes this narrative from the
idealizing propensity of many of the Acts of the Martyrs. The Greek ἐξενίσθην for
expaui with its root ξεν suggests “be surprised” and reminds one of the remark:
Ἀγαπητοί, μὴ ξενίζεσθε τῇ ἐν ὑμῖν πυρώσει . . . (see 1 Pt 4.12: “Beloved, do not be
surprised that a test by fire is happening to you . . .”).
III.5. such darkness (tales tenebras). The darkness is another accurate detail,
which we expect of a true description of a Roman prison cell. Tertullian remarks
on the darkness of the prison (Habet tenebras) where the martyrs are kept and
calls it the “devil’s house” (Domus quidem diaboli est et carcer; see Mart. 1.4, 2.4).
The dark of the night is, however, lit by Christ’s presence (see De Fuga 14.1 and
Cypr. Ep. 6.1, 37.2; Pass. Mont. 4.2).
III.6. Oh cruel day! (O diem asperum). A use of the exclamatory accusative, a
classical construction. (See Bennett, sec. 183.)
III.6. The stifling heat (Aestus ualidus). Roman prisons were not only dark but
often poorly ventilated. The cell in the Carthage amphitheatre would have been
dark and suffocatingly hot, as the extant opening is small and located near the
ceiling. I have visited it in the early afternoon in March, and it is dark inside the
cell. Christian authors remark on the oppressive heat; Tertullian, using somewhat
similar language, remarks, De uestris semper aestuat carcer (Apol. 44.3). An anon-
ymous Christian poet used the verb aestuat to describe the sulfurous air of Sodom
(PL 2.1104a). The Passio sanctorum Montanii et Lucii 4, although not using the
word aestus, provides similar descriptions of martyrs in a hot, dark prison, and
this passage appears to have been influenced by the Passio Perpetuae.
III.6. crowding of the mob . . . and there was the extortion of the soldiers
(turbarum beneficio, . . . concussurae militum). The crush of the crowd “causes” the
heat to be even more suffocating. The ablative form of beneficio without an ac-
companying preposition, plus a genitive, has parallels. The meaning is causative
and occurs later in this paragraph in the expression mei beneficio/“because of me”
(III.8). See Tert. Marc. 5.4; Cypr. Op. 16. The more difficult phrase is concussurae
militum. While concussurae (OLD, s.v. concutio) normally has a physically violent
association, such as an attack, a physical shock, or knocking objects together, it is
used here figuratively to describe a threatening encounter, a shakedown, an extor-
tion or blackmail by the guards (see Ulpian, Dig. 3.6.1.3; Tert. Marc. 1.25 and De
Fuga 13.4). The use of concussurae reinforces and extends a subtle thematic asso-
ciation of abuse from the jostling of the crowd (turbarum beneficio) through the
“shakedown” (concussurae) of the guards. The Greek use of συκοφαντία mini-
mizes the physical threat (since the word does not have the root for “strike”) and
emphasizes the slanderous nature of the soldier’s abuse (see Lampe, s.v.
συκοφαντία , 1). Schmoller gives calumniam facere and defraudare as the Latin
equivalents for συκοφαντέω. In the NT, the verb συκοφαντέω occurs only twice
(Lk 3.14 and 19.8) and means “falsely accuse” or “extort.” Amat suggests exactions.
III.6. I was consumed with worry (macerabar sollicitudine). The Latin under-
scores her mental anguish, while the Greek κατεπονούμην stresses the physical
exhaustion from toil. The root of macero denotes “lack of,” “thin,” “weak,” “wasting
away” when applied to persons (see Arn. Adv. Nat. 4.35). The word is important,
as it foreshadows the lexical nuance of her introduction of her starving baby
below (III.8). This careful choice of words, both here and with concussura above,
suggests an author with supreme literary skill.
III.7. blessed deacons (benedicti diaconi). The idea of a deacon as a minister
likely derives from an occurrence in the OT (Est 2.2, 6.3). There are only two
references in the NT that unambiguously associate this word διάκονος with
someone holding a church office (see BDAG, 4 and Phil 1.1; 1 Tm 3.8–12 and,
less likely, Rom 16.1). While the diaconate did not require ordination (but see
Acts 6.1–6), the deacon was nonetheless held in high regard, chiefly as a minister
who performed practical, service-oriented tasks. Such a practical function (min-
istrabant) is precisely the role being performed by Tertius and Pomponius (see
Clem. Rm. Cor. 42). Ignatius of Antioch remarks on the role of deacon and places
them slightly below that of bishop and priest (see Magn. 6, and more specifically
in his Trall. 3, and see his Smyr. 8). Pliny’s remark to Trajan suggests that even
slave women who converted to Christianity (cf. Rom 16.1: Φοίβην τὴν ἀδελφὴν
διάκονον) were called deacons (see Plin. Ep. 10.96; Herm. Sim. 9.26; Tert. Apol. 6,
and Scap.3). The Greek has an obvious paronomasia with its use of διάκονοι οἵ
διηκόνουν ἡμῖν.
III.7. Tertius and Pomponius. The use of the single name is usually the sign of a
freedman or a slave. The name “Pomponius” is attested in Carthage (Tert. Apol.
9.12.25 and De Spect. 8) as both a nomen and cognomen. Important individuals
bore this name, for example, Cicero’s friend Titus Pomponius Atticus, who
claimed descent from the legendary Numa Pompilius. While it is impossible to
determine the status of these individuals from the single name, it stretches credu-
lity that this community would elect or appoint freedmen to serve in so impor-
tant a role.
III.7. arranged by a bribe (constituerunt praemio). The phrase reminds one of
the extortion of the guards (concussurae militum, III.6). See Ulpian, Dig. 13.7.26.
III.7. better part of the prison (in meliorem locum carceris). It is difficult to recon-
struct and identify this prison and even to account for the uncommon situation that
women (some of rank) were held in common with men. Perpetua and her compan-
ions were initially held under house arrest (see III.5) until they were sent to a prison.
Roman prisons were not modern warehouses where criminals were sent to live.
Sentences were typically short, and late imperial legislation was designed to restrict
periods of detention, requiring that trials should take no longer than one month.
The exception to this is the case of the Christians, where presumably the longer
sentences were intended to give the prisoners time to reflect on their obduracy in
refusing to worship the emperor (see Krause, Gefängnisse, 240). Rather, prisons
were places where individuals typically were remanded for short periods before
their sentence was carried out. They seem to have been universally feared as hell-
ishly dirty. Christian writers typically refer to them as hot, dark, filthy, and crowded
(see Prundent. Perist. 5.550). There is some evidence that suggests the larger pro-
vincial jails had two levels, with the lower level being the dungeon, sometimes
called the Tullianum, after the notorious cell in Rome (see Rapske, Acts and Paul).
Women were only infrequently remanded to prison. This, however, seems not to
have applied to Christian women, even if they were Christian women of rank. The
Greek uses the surprising ἡμερώτερον τόπον (“more tame”) and thus avoids the
likely equivalent of ἀμείνων for melior (in meliorem). On the word carcer, see Mom-
msen, Römisches Strafrecht, 301–2, 960.
III.7. to revive (refr igeraremus). See above III.4. Presumably, the unidentified
place where such rejuvenation took place was free from the dark, stifling heat and
crowded conditions of the cell. Yet it was clearly within the prison compound. We
might have expected the Greek equivalent to be a variant of ἥδομαι (“take plea-
sure”), as was used for the equivalent of refrigeravi in III.4; however, the Greek
ἀναπνοῆς, used here as the semantic equivalent of refrigeraremus, literally sug-
gests “a recovery of breath.”
III.8. Then all left the prison (Tunc exeuntes de carcere). This is a confusing
remark, since it follows the suggestion that they had just moved to a better
location in the prison itself. The Greek is little help, suggesting the move was a
“movement forward”/προσαχθέν τες. Perhaps all that is being suggested is that
they were able to move out (exeuntes) to an outer courtyard, but one still within
the physical jurisdiction of the prison. This new location permits visitors from
the outside. While in this new location Perpetua has a visit from her mother
and brother, to whom she gives her son for safekeeping. The family members
would presumably have known in advance about the prisoner’s new location
and thus the possibility of such visits.
III.8. I nursed my baby (ego infantem lactabam). The Latin does not specify that
her son was brought to her as the Greek does. Perpetua’s nursing of her young son
poses another conundrum: elite Roman matrons seldom nursed their offspring.
The high rate of infant mortality, almost 8 percent of all births according to
French, functioned to keep parents from bonding until such time as they knew
the child would live. Furthermore, some have argued that elite women required
wet nurses to allow them freedom to socialize in the company of their spouse.
Wet nurses were exceedingly common. That Perpetua does not employ one and
gives the child into the care of her mother is yet another instance when this text
presents an anomalous historical event. (See French, “Midwives”; and Bradley,
Roman Family, 13.)
III.8. weak from hunger (inedia defectum). Her anxiety for her child fore-
shadows the distress her father feels for both Perpetua and the child (see VI.4)
and the death of her younger brother Dinocrates. Her fear points to the histor-
ical reality of high infant mortality. Roman families depended on their children
for their survival, and in this culture longevity was not a given by any means
(see Jolowicz, Roman Law, 119). Perpetua’s distress here is a model for her
father and underscores the importance of the family. A small child who has not
eaten (inedia) would be quickly weakened from the lack of food (see Frontin.
Str. 2.1.1).
III.8. I suffered grievously . . . suffered for me (tabescebam . . . tabescere). The
repetition of the verb is deliberate and intended to heighten the drama of her
dilemma; she, her son, and her family are suffering, and their mutual distress
creates greater anxiety for the audience. Moreover, the verb underscores that the
suffering, while principally emotional, has an unavoidable physical side. The
Greek does not repeat the verb and hence does not render the same intensity of
emotion. However, the Greek does underscore their grief ( λυπουμένους) and
amplifies the Latin. The Latin Passio uses repetition throughout to increase emo-
tional intensity.
III.8. When I saw how they suffered for me (mei beneficio). Another instance of
the “causal” use of the ablative of beneficium without a preposition (see above
III.6). Mei is the genitive singular of ego and not a form of meus.
III.9. many days (multis diebus). Another example of the ablative for the ac-
cusative of duration. The Greek employs the dative (see Blass, 108, sec. 201).
Perpetua uses such temporal references repeatedly to mark the duration of her
prison stay. The repetition of calendric concern is typical of prison life. How-
ever, here it masks a submerged eschatological urgency, her anticipation of
martyrdom and reception in paradise. See above III.4 and IV.8.
III.9. I obtained (usurpavi). The word, unlike its English equivalent
(“usurp”), has no negative overtones as it is used here, but it does suggest
some authority (based on status in the cult or her family background) that she
has, and furthermore implies that she was able to seek redress and argue for
the privilege to have her child in prison with her (OLD, s.v. usurpo, 2). See
Tert. Scorp. 12.9. The Greek ᾒτ ησα/“I asked” is neutral, possibly more deferen-
tial than the Latin.
III.9. for my baby to stay in prison with me (ut mecum infans in carcere maneret).
Some days earlier she had given her child into her mother’s care (see above III.9).
The narrative is silent about what transpired during the period of the child’s
absence. Perpetua apparently has had a change of heart during this period and
arranged to have the child back with her. The giving and taking back of the son
raise a number of interesting and difficult-to-address legal issues concerning who
had jurisdiction over this child. Ultimately, issues of jurisdiction over the child
must focus on her marriage at the present time and the type of marriage she con-
tracted. Roman marriage was eminently pragmatic. Individuals were married if
they lived conjugally, and if the husband took the bride into his house—that is,
marriage was not so much a de jure but a de facto matter. Marriage did not require
a specific solemnization. Perpetua’s behavior with her child suggests that she is
not under the jurisdiction of her husband’s manus or that of his family’s cult. If
she were, she would not have been able to give the child to her mother, as the
husband would have jurisdiction. We have no information about her husband
other than she was a well-married woman (matronaliter nupta). Her husband
may be dead, or they may have been divorced. Whatever her present situation,
her marriage must surely have been sine manu. However, even here we run into
problems, since her independent behavior toward her father and her control of
her son’s fate—in a sine manu marriage her father would still have dominica potes-
tas over her and her child—is difficult to reconcile with what we know of the
disposition of most Roman children. Yet she must have been still under the manus
of her father and not sui iuris, since her father is the one to appear before the mag-
istrate. It is unlikely that he would have been the one to appear in this official ca-
pacity as a male representative of the family if he did not have some nominal
jurisdiction (see V.1). Arguments that she and Saturus were married are based on
no evidence and fail to convince.
III. 9. I grew stronger (convalui). Some have emended conualesco to a third sin-
gular, possibly following the Greek ἀνέλαβεν. It is a difficult crux, and arguments
can be made on both sides. Surely she is using the verb to refer to herself. She
acknowledged that as soon as she had her child back with her in prison, her anx-
iety lessened, and as a consequence, she felt stronger. The sequence of events is
crucial to my reading: first, the child is with her in the dungeon; second, mother
and child are given a few hours in a better part of the prison where she is able to
nurse, and the child revives; and third, her continued concern for his well-being
causes her to give him to her mother. At this juncture—after having given up her
son—the narrative states, “I suffered . . . I endured such worry for many days.”
Notice that it is she who is suffering both anxiety and physical hardship. The child
is not present, nor is he mentioned. She then says (as a result of the anxiety), “I
arranged for my baby to stay in prison with me.” The crucial line begins et statim
conualui—an observation that she can only be making about herself, since its
force depends on our knowledge of her fatigue. Furthermore, the use of statim
suggests that her strength returns immediately as she sees the child is well. If
emended to convaluit, it is difficult to know whom it could refer to save the infant,
and she has already taken steps to ensure his health. It was her infant son who was
inedia defectum in the previous line, and he, having been returned from outside of
prison, would have presumably become stronger. However, he was not present
during her period of anxiety, and it is hardly likely that she would have used the
adverb statim in reference to him.
III.9. palace (praetorium). The sudden reversal of her feelings is brilliantly
mirrored in the use of “palace” as an antonym for prison. Her relief at having her
child with her has transformed her inner and outer world. This reversal of expecta-
tions plays on this opposition of prison and world and was a rhetorical device in
Christian texts concerning suffering and martyrdom (see Tert. Mart. 2.1: Si enim
recogitemus ipsum magis mundum carcerem esse, exisse uos e carcere, quam in
carcerem introisee, intellegemus). Did Perpetua know Tertullian’s Ad Martyras?
Praetorium originally designated a military commander’s tent (Cic. Div. 1.33) and
gradually came to mean the headquarters of the provincial governor (Cic. Verr.
4.65). The word also referred to a large home, or a palace (Suet. Tib. 39). Christian
authors used it in varying senses: as a provincial governor’s palace (Tert. Scap. 3),
the residence of the praetorian guard (Tert. De Pal. 5.4), and in the bold extension
of Augustine, who employed it as a metaphor for the capacity of memory to store
images and thoughts (Conf. 10.8.12). It was the common Greek word for an official
meeting hall. Matthew identifies it as the location where Jesus was mocked (τὸν
Ἰησοῦν εἰς τὸ πραιτώριον, 27.27). Unlike Perpetua, who turns prison into a palace,
Flavian departed the jail (carcer) and was summoned to the residence (praeto-
rium) of the prefect for judgment (see Passio Mont. 18.4 and Procop. Vand. 1.20.4).
CHAPTER IV
The Argument: A Ladder to Paradise

Chapter IV narrates the first dream of Perpetua. The chapter begins abruptly.
Such abruptness is deliberate and similar to the transition between Chapters I
and II. It is deliberate because it is intended to disarm the audience and forcibly
remind one of the diurnal quality of this narrative. The chapter opens with a
question: an unnamed Christian male, and fellow prisoner, acknowledges Perpet-
ua’s special status as a seer and asks her to seek a vision so that those imprisoned
Christians might know their fates. There are a number of interesting things about
her questioner’s request which deserve comment. First, he addresses her in a for-
mal and polite manner, indicative of her status. He then remarks that she is
esteemed among their fellow believers. Her privileged status as a visionary was
apparently well known to this man, and it might have been this reputation as a
prophetess (as well as a catechumen) that led to her arrest. Her anonymous ques-
tioner knows her reputation before she has this particular vision, and thus it
seems safe to assume that she was the recipient of such visions before her bap-
tism, which took place just days before. She shows no surprise at the gift of
prophecy, and there is no indication that this visionary quality was a recent gift,
say a result of her deprivation from arrest, or that it was associated with her recent
baptism. While baptism conferred many benefits, prophecy was not one of them.
Tertullian does not single out prophecy as one of the gifts from the water of
baptism. Indeed, he notes that John the Baptist’s conferring of baptism did not
furnish heavenly endowments and that John’s own spirit of prophecy failed after
he baptized the Lord (De Bapt. 10.6).
His question and her answer is the dramatic fulcrum around which much
of the narrative turns. His query also allows her to represent this aspect of herself
fully in the text. She agrees to have the vision and thereby tacitly acknowledges
her status as a prophetic leader in the community. She does more, however, than
simply agree to seek an answer to his question; her reply to his question reveals
her prior intimacy with God, as she says that she knows that she can speak with
God. This public admission of her history is not for the benefit of the unnamed
interlocutor, since he already knows this or he would not have asked her for the
favor, nor is it a type of soliloquy musing on her own power. Rather, the response
seems intended to fill in the blanks for an unseen and unacknowledged audience.
There is a hint of the literary artifact in her response. Her subsequent dream is
deeply eschatological, and it narrates Perpetua and Saturus’s ascent into heaven
on a ladder covered with weapons and guarded by a fearsome dragon. Having
surmounted the perilous ladder and attained heaven, the martyrs meet the Good
Shepherd and those faithful who have gone before them, all of whom appear to
have been martyred. This chapter’s significance is in its introduction of Perpetua

as a visionary, a woman who is able to foresee the future and one who does so
through her privileged conversations with God.
Before we discuss the dream, a caveat is in order. None of the narratives of her
dreams or those of Saturus report their original dreams, but rather they report
their memory and subsequent record of them. The importance of this seemingly
obvious point cannot be underestimated. All four dreams have been carefully
edited before they were put to pen. Therefore, read as literary artifacts they consti-
tute a conscious rewriting of the earlier visions in light of the ever-changing pre-
sent circumstances. Perpetua’s present conscious mind imposes a necessary order
and structure on her memory of these preconscious or unconscious reveries. Such
ordering, such structuring, however, does not diminish the “truth” of her revela-
tion. Rather, the representation of a visual chimera in language—particularly by
someone as skilled a verbal artist as Perpetua—and the dreams’ subsequent exis-
tence as an historical document are at a singular remove from the actual event. The
dreams do not exist. What exists is the narrative recreation of those past experi-
ences, shaped in light of present circumstances. It is the reader’s discovery of
tropes that are common to all the dreams, which I am calling structural elements,
which forge thematic links and thus unite the four dream narratives.
Saturus and Perpetua’s ascent to heaven begins with impediments—in
particular, with a ladder to whose sides are affixed instruments of torture. A
threatening dragon waits at the bottom of the ladder. Her dream has obvious
literary antecedents. It is a conflation of Jacob’s ladder, Jesus’s remarks on the dif-
ficulty of attaining the path to eternal life, the dragon of Revelation, and the
prophecy in Genesis that the woman will bruise the head of the serpent (Gn 3.15,
28.12; Mt. 7.13; Rv 12.3). Despite its reliance on commonly known Biblical
passages, Perpetua’s dream is no mere pastiche, but rather a tour de force in its
own right. For example, I am unable to find elsewhere an image of the ladder to
heaven with implements of torture fixed to its side, conflated with the image of
the docile dragon, nor does a narrative exist which has combined these elements
into such a remarkable whole. Their ascent up on the ladder is an allegory of their
future. Their emergence into the garden (i.e., heaven) allegorizes their forth-
coming suffering, death, and ultimate reception into heaven (XII). But this vision
is more than an allegory of personal salvation. It is a dream predictive of the salva-
tion of the community and how the faithful need to behave to attain such salva-
tion. The narrative answers a number of questions concerning the attainment of
salvation that such eschatological communities were debating at this time. Who
will achieve heaven? And at what time? Would one receive it at the moment of
death, or have to wait until the final judgment? These were urgent and highly con-
tested questions, and Perpetua’s dream provides a partial answer to them.
Tertullian, arguing on the basis of this vision of Perpetua’s, believed that

heavenly salvation was withheld from most until Christ’s Second Coming, except
for the martyrs, who received the beatific vision at their death. Tertullian, likely
reflecting Stoic ideas on the soul, taught that the soul was created and corporeal,
but it was not of the same flesh as the body (De Anim. 5.3). This soul, although it
is of a substance different from the flesh, nonetheless shares in Adam’s sin and
spreads that sin to the flesh (De Anim. 40.4). Perpetua sees herself and Saturus,
along with many thousands of martyrs, in paradise. She sees only martyrs there.
The Second Coming is still to come. Tertullian believed that Perpetua’s acknowl-
edgement that she saw only martyrs was consonant with his own teaching that
resurrection and salvation would be received at different times: Post cuius mille
annos, intra quam aetatem concluditur sanctorum resurrectio pro meritis maturius
uel tardius resurgentium (Marc. 3.6). However, those who were faithful and who
strove mightily and died for their faith would enjoy a union with God at the
moment of their death because their souls had been cleansed by the act of
martyrdom: Sed maiora certamina maiora sequuntur praemia (Scap. 4.8).
Having arrived in the immense garden, Perpetua sees a tall, gray-haired man
dressed as a shepherd, milking a sheep. It is the Good Shepherd, one of the most
popular representations of Christ in Carthage at this time. The Good Shepherd
gives her some of the cheese he has just milked from the sheep. She says she
received it in cupped hands. The scene invokes memories of the Carthaginian
churches’ liturgical practices, particularly the one immediately following the
baptismal ritual of immersion in the sanctifying water. The dream radically alters
time and spatial events. The Good Shepherd draws not milk, not a liquid from his
sheep, but cheese, and he gives her enough sufficient for a mouthful. The logic of
the dream is not the logic of consciousness. Hence, cheese is drawn from sheep
and given as food. Furthermore, the scene is in heaven, and the figure of the Good
Shepherd is a type of Christ, who, as a figure of the Godhead, cannot be con-
strained by the norms that govern nature. As with most of her visions, there are
analogues to the oneiric events in her daily life. Tertullian, constructing an argu-
ment on the nature and validity of the way tradition is construed, notes that after
the reception of baptism, the faithful partake of a mixture of milk and honey:
Inde suscepti, lactis et mellis concordiam praegustamus (Cor. 3.3). The moral is a
simple iteration that the ways of God and man are different. Having eaten the
sacred food, the martyrs who stood around her said, “Amen.” The sound of this
ringing in her ears awakened her. She says she awakened with the taste of some-
thing sweet still in her mouth. The world of heaven, the gift of the sacred food, is
at once transferred to the natural world in this single stroke and serves to validate
the experience. She concludes rather gnomically by saying that she now knew
they were to suffer and there was no hope left in this world.
Chapter IV Commentary
IV.1. my brother ( frater meus). Not to be confused with her biological brother,
this anonymous male surely is a recently baptized Christian, and he may indeed
be one of those arrested with her (but see Formisano 86, no. 37, whose suggestion
does not persuade me). Her form of address is polite but vague, perhaps deliber-
ately so. His identity is not important. What is important is his role in introducing
her as a visionary prophetess. Despite the fact that he asks her what will be the
fate of the imprisoned Christians—a question which precipitates her dream vi-
sion, a vision in which Saturus figures prominently—there is nothing in the chap-
ter that suggests his identity. Those who would propose Saturus as her brother do
so because of his presence in the dream. However, it is well to note that whenever
she refers to Saturus, which she does twice in the Passio (IV.5), she refers to him
by name. Moreover, if her teacher Saturus asked the question, and in effect
became the petitioner, the effect would be to cause the reader to feel a transfer of
authority from him to her.
IV.1. Lady sister (Domina soror). A term of formal courtesy and used to
aknowledge her exalted status in this small, beleaguered community. Later in
the Passio she reports that her father, having failed in his efforts to get her to
renounce what he believed to be a crude superstition, broke down weeping and
no longer called her “daughter,” but “lady” (V.5, sed dominam). See August. Serm.
14.3.4. The phrase domina soror is used in the Vita sanctae Euphrasiae 22. See also
Hoppenbrouwers, “Recherches sur la terminologie,” 83; Bastiaensen, Le cérémo-
nial épistoliare, 24; and Dickey (Latin), 77–85, 125–26.
IV.1. now greatly esteemed (iam in magna dignatione). See I.5 above. The phrase
is an acknowledgement that she is the recipient of God’s grace. Her ability to
speak with God and to see visions flows from this gift, and it is likely a result of her
willingness to witness for her faith (see Souter, s.v. dignatio). Iam underscores
that the period of grace begins now and continues to some point in time.
IV.1. so much so (tanta). There are two possible ways to read tanta, either as a
feminine nominative singular, the reading adopted here, or as an ablative mod-
ifying dignatione. The feminine nominative reading has the advantage of being
more contextually sensitive to the statement of the anonymous brother concern-
ing Perpetua’s ability to know the future. Furthermore, this reading has the sup-
port of the Greek τοσαύτη, which can only be nominative. Moreover, tanta read
as a feminine nominative focuses attention on the woman’s power as a proph-
etess, the point being made by her fellow prisoner. MS E provides support for the
second es.
IV.1. ask for a vision (postules uisionem). Her brother’s comment about her
special worth provides him an opportunity to ask his question. His question
assumes that she has had these visions in the past. Furthermore, there is a
matter-of-fact tone about his question that suggests she has had a number of past
visions, which the community knew about and which could have a genuine utility.
This vision is not concerned with an as yet unknown spiritual revelation, but
rather is a request for a specific, focused look into the future of their fate, and as
such it indicates the breadth of her power. There may be a proto-Montanist
quality in this depiction of her as prophetess.
IV.1. may be shown (ostendatur). The subjunctive here continues the result
clause.
IV.2. And I asked . . . was shown (Et postulaui . . . ostensum est). The phrase is
reminiscent of Matthew 7.7.
IV.2. whether there will be suffering or freedom (an passio sit an commeatus).
Cyprian used commeatus, a word with notable military overtones, in a similar
sense of being delivered from persecution (see Ep. 55.13, 10. 5, and Mort. 19). The
“brother’s” question is one that presupposes that their ultimate fate is either con-
demnation or freedom, and as such it underscores the nature and consequences
of their actions. Conversion to Christianity and Judaism at this time was a crime
punishable by death. Presumably, his question does not have to do with the out-
come of the magistrate’s deliberation, since the law would have stipulated that
action. It may, however, be a subtle inquiry into the faith of the martyrs. There yet
remained to the martyrs the opportunity to abjure their profession of faith and
acknowledge the genius of the emperor. Might his question be seeking some re-
assurances on that point? Her brother is in essence asking Perpetua whether any
of them will become apostates.
IV.2. to speak ( fabulari). Here Perpetua chooses a word with a homely,
domestic ring. It would not be too wide of the mark to translate it as “to chat”
with the Lord. The comic playwrights Plautus (Cist. 774) and Terence (Phorm.
654) used the word. Notice that R uses the less common sermocinari (XIX.2).
(See Tert. Ad Ux. 1.4.4.)
IV.2. great benefits (beneficia tanta). What are these great benefits? Although
we are not told, we can surmise that chief among them was the intimacy she
must have felt in the special presence of the Lord and the attendant graces
prophecy and authority.
IV.2. I had known (experta eram). This expression is typical of what I would
call Perpetua’s existential comprehension of her relationship with God. Her
knowledge of God was not limited to understanding or reason. The “great benefits”
that came to her were “known” in an existential, almost physical, sense. In the same
way that the urceolus (III.1) is what it is called and could be nothing other than
what it is, her Christianity is all-encompassing, both spiritual and physical. She is
Christian, body and soul. Her explicit recognition of the palpable knowledge she
receives in these conversations with God can be seen in her second vision of
Dinocrates—of which this is a foreshadowing—where, in a trance-like state brought
about by prayer, she groans to the Lord (ingemescere ad Dominum, VII.2).
IV.2. confidently promised ( fidenter repromisi). The confidence that Perpetua
has in her relationship with God is total. She is utterly convinced that she will be
able to talk with God and receive his revelation. This confidence is typical of her
throughout the narrative and characterizes her every action. The single instance
when she displays anxiety concerns her solicitude for her infant and the suffering
of her family on her behalf. Such confidence appears more a product of Platonist
than Montanist belief, since it is founded on her conviction that she will be
united with God after death. Her resolution encourages the reader to view her as
a fixed and immoveable presence, able to withstand the vicissitudes of fate. Her
confidence is to be seen against the depiction of her fretful father and the social
commonsense of the procurator Hilarianus (VI.3). R fashions a similar depiction
of such confidence in the face of death in his portrayal of Felicity and her response
to the prison guards (XV.8). The endurance of the martyr in the face of such
persecution is reminiscent of and possibly influenced by Paul’s probing psycho-
logical insight in Rom 5.3–4 that “suffering produces endurance, endurance ex-
perience and experience, hope” (οὐ μόνον δέ , ἀλλὰ καὶ καυχώμεθα ἐν ταῖς θλίψεσιν,
εὶδότες ὅτι ή θλῖψις ὑπομονὴν κατεργάζεται, ἡ δὲ υπομονὴ δοκιμήν, ἡ δὲ δοκιμὴ
ἐλπίδα).
IV.2. tomorrow (crastina die). Chronology is often compressed and ambig-
uous in the text. Why is Perpetua so precise in this instance, informing the un-
identified “brother” that she will tell him of their fate tomorrow? Her otherwise
ordinary expression “tomorrow” is of interest because it is one of the few markers
of definite chronology, and as such it may provide clues to the setting. Her remark
that she will tell him on the morrow indicates that it is made the day before.
Hence, her vision will come sometime after this, their initial meeting, and the
next day, possibly that very night. Night has always been propitious for visions
and dreams. “Tomorrow” may also be read as an implicit acknowledgment of an
obligatory separation in the prison at night. Roman prisons typically segregated
males and females, and thus her remark to tell him on the morrow makes good
sense within the context of prison life.
The tone of their conversation is informal, almost banter-like, and its tone may
provide a clue as to where it took place. It is possible to imagine such a conversa-
tion taking place in that better section of the prison in which they were earlier
given a brief respite (III.7). It is less likely that they would have had such a private
conversation in the dungeon-like cell from which they were released. At the
conclusion of the vision, on awakening, she remarks, “At once I told this to my
brother” (IV.10). Readers are given no indication of the time on awakening. Her
use of statim seems once again to collapse time, but presumably, her revelation of
her vision takes place on the next day (crastina), as she promised. Crastina die is
a more complete remark than crastina, and the former has support from MSS G,
P, and N.
IV.2. And I asked (Et postulavi, et ostensum). Again chronology is collapsed. In
virtually the same breath with which she promised to report back to her
“brother,” she reports her vision. She makes no mention of the passage of time
(crastina die), as it is not essential to the narrative. Perpetua often employs para-
tactic structures. For instance, in this chapter she employs “et ” twenty-three
times, often to introduce a clause. Such repetition lends a powerful reinforcing
rhythm to her prose. These phrases may be indebted to the sermo humiliis style
of the Scripture.
IV.3. I see (video). Her use of the present to begin her dream narrative per-
fectly represents the theology that God’s presence unfolds here at the present mo-
ment and knows no past or future, but exists only in an eternal present. The Greek
employs the aorist εἶδον.
IV.3. bronze ladder (scalam aeream). Why is the ladder described as bronze?
While there is some variation in the manuscript readings (see Appendix I, “Man-
uscripts and Editions”), aeream seems a richer reading than auream. Perpetua’s
choice of bronze may be an effort at creating a deliberate anachronism—bronze
had ceased to be used for building tools for millennia—thus providing a patina of
antiquity and authority to her vision. Bronze, however, is used metaphorically
dozens of times in the OT, but less in the NT (see Zec 6.1 for a nocturnal vision
where even the mountains are bronze; and bronze libation vessels are cited in Mk
7.4). Perpetua’s dream, although likely a conflation from other sources, has its
principal roots in Jacob’s nocturnal vision of the ladder leading to God’s habita-
tion (Gn 28.12). Jacob’s dream is the only instance in which a ladder is specifically
mentioned in the Bible, and his dream is alluded to ( Jn 1.51). It was a subject of
Christian Roman funeral art in the catacombs and was discussed by patristic
authors (see Ambrose on the death of his brother in “De Excessus Fratris sui
Satyri,” PL 16.1343; August. De Civ. D. 16. 38 CSCL 48.543: scala stabilita super
terram, cuius caput pertingebat ad caelum).
Perpetua’s is a very different ladder from the Biblical one, however. Jacob’s
ladder has angelic beings going unimpeded up and down, and God iterates the
covenantal promise made to Abraham (Gn 12.3). There are, however, similarities
between Jacob and Perpetua. First, they are both hated and exiles, the former by
Esau and the latter by the Roman state. Second, they are both on a quest: Jacob’s
to find a wife and fulfill the prophecy made to his grandfather, and Perpetua to
become fully a matrona Dei through a martyr’s death. Lastly, both individuals are
directly addressed by God. From this point in their respective narratives, they
have a new clarity of direction and confident purpose. After their respective
visions, they move from ignorance to knowledge.
Perpetua’s ladder is described animatedly with the participle (pertingentem)
“reaching” up to heaven (see below). This ladder is guarded by a dragon and is
alive with weapons of torture. The motif of the ladder as a means of ascent, as a
passage, to a better situation is a universal one and can be found in many national
literatures, from ancient Egypt to the mystery religions. In Perpetua’s dream, the
ladder is a symbol that leads from the earth to the sky, and it is contrasted with the
coiled and sinuous serpent, an unambiguously chthonic figure. The ladder leads
in a linear fashion to heaven, while the coiled serpent upsets this linear progres-
sion and leads one astray, away from the truth.
The Mithraic mysteries—popular at this time, particularly among soldiers
and veterans who were a significant presence in North Africa—make use of the
symbolism of a seven-rung ladder on which the prophet-King Kosingas threatens
to return to the goddess Hera. Mithraism was the closest of the mystery cults
to Christianity (see Justin, 1 Apol. 66; Tert. Praescr. 40.3; Gager, Kingdom and
Community, 132; Gordon, “Mithraism,” 103). However, Perpetua’s ladder, while pro-
viding such passage to a better state, also represents the ladder as a gauntlet (see
Habermehl 2004, 77). It provides safe passage only to the worthy whose Christian
witness is not compromised. De’ Cavalieri believed Perpetua’s ladder was the
catasta, a scaffold or platform that the accused was forced to climb for their trial
(de’ Cavalieri, “Gli Atti dei SS. Montano, Lucio e compagni,” 35; places of judg-
ment were frequently set on high and reached by climbing: see Lieberman, Texts
and Studies, 69–71). The catasta, however, was most frequently used as a plat-
form to display slaves for sale (Tib. Eleg. 2.3.60, Barbara gypsatos ferre catasta
pedes; Mart. Epig. 10.76.3 and 9.59.5). It does not appear to have been covered
with iron implements of torture, since Perpetua’s father climbs it unimpeded on
two occasions (cf. V.6, VI.2).
Her dream was the inspiration for its depiction on a palaeo-Christian
sarcophagus in northern Spain, the fourth-century sarcophagus of Bureba. (See
Fontaine, “Quatre ans d’ archéologie hispanique,” 548–60. Fontaine briefly
describes the depiction of the first vision as it appears on this sarcophagus, 556;
the sarcophagus is also discussed and illustrated by Schlunk, “Sur les sarcophages
paléochrétiens,” 139–66. The carving is amateurish, although not without artistic
power, and the ladder depicted there in an unsophisticated manner shows the
weapons attached to the sides and the recumbent dragon at its base; see Rossi,
“The Passion of Perpetua,” in the Appendix, 81.) The Catholic liturgy’s use of the
metaphor of ascending, of moving in the direction of the heavens, is discussed in
a general fashion in Beirnhert, “Le symbolisme ascensionnel,” 41–63, but on Per-
petua, 52–3; see also von Franz, Perpetua, and Cox Miller, who see it as a complex
symbol combining phallic associations 176; Hadot, “Patristique latine,” 184–89;

Amat, Songes et visions, 66; Penco, “Un tema dell’ascesi monastica,” 99–113;
Heck, “L’échelle céleste”; and Weitzmann and Kessler, Frescoes, plate 10ff.
IV.3. reaching (pertingentem). The choice of the participle animates the ladder
image. The Greek text, which uses a relative clause without a verb, is flatter rhetor-
ically. Cyprian uses the same participle to discuss Jacob’s ladder (see his Adv. Jud.
2.16, PL 4.740; see also August. Serm. 122 and De Civ. D. 16.38 CSCL 48.543:
scala stabilita super terram, cuius caput pertingebat ad caelum). The Vetus uses the
imperfect form of the verb pertingebat (see Vetus Latina, ed. P. Sabatier, 2, “Gen-
esis”), while the Vulgate adopts the participle tangens.
IV.3. up to heaven, but so narrow (ad caelum et angustam). The addition of the
detail concerning the ladder’s narrowness may be an echo of Mt 7.13, Intrate per
angustam portam, about the difficulty of entering the gates of eternal life. (See
Tert. Iei. 17; and Gn 28.12.)
IV.3. one at a time (nonnisi singuli). The emphasis on the climb being under-
taken only by a man or woman individually (literally, “unless alone, separate”)
underscores that the journey of faith leading to martyrdom can only be accom-
plished by an individual.
IV.3. iron implements of every kind (omne genus ferramentorum). Although
some have argued that this enumeration of iron weapons indicates Perpetua’s
familiarity with the gladiatorial games (see Bremmer, “Perpetua,” 118, but for a
different point of view, see Robert, “Une vision”), we need not assume that a
writer with such an extraordinary imagination actually attended the games to
know the sort of weapons used. Surely such information was widespread, as the
information about the equipment used in modern sport is well known even to
those who do not attend games. Perpetua is, after all, reporting the memory of her
dreams, and if we insist too strongly on memory’s fidelity to events in the con-
scious world, we minimize the dynamics of her imagination. If, however, we add
to this literal reading of the weapons from the arena a psychological dimension,
we discover a reading richer by far. For example, as weapons that are a product of
her imagination, they all have a common purpose, and that is to tear, pierce, and
wound. They are hard; her body is soft. Perpetua is married and has one child at
least. Her husband is never mentioned. The Christian church at Carthage was
strongly sexually encratic and promoted abstinence. Is it possible that in her
dreams these weapons of tearing and cutting represent submerged, threatening
sexual symbols? Is her sexuality also under assault? Notice that the Latin text goes
on to say that human flesh (carnes) clings (inhaererent) to the weapons for those
who are careless in their travel up the ladder. The Greek does not make this point,
but only remarks on the person being mangled (σπαραχθείη) by the metal points
(ἀκοντίοις). She is later called a wife of Christ (ut matrona Christi, XVIII.2), and
hence threats to her sexuality might render her unfit for such a lofty title. Such a
title might indicate a vow of perpetual virginity. The narrative frequently
focuses on human sexuality: she is nursing her son; Perpetua is accosted by the
prison guards; Felicity has a daughter in prison; they are displayed naked in the
arena; Felicity’s breasts are dripping milk; and lastly, they are condemned to fight
against an animal chosen to match their sex, a mad cow. The iron implements on
the ladder are symbolic and are simultaneously both real weapons used in the
arena and representations of her terror at being raped and violated while in prison.
The flesh that clings to the weapons might represent the unholy fruit of such a
union.
IV.3. daggers (verruta). Classical spelling is normally verutum, but post-
classical seems to favor the double rr.
IV.4. serpent (draco). The image of the serpent conflates the representations
of the serpent of Genesis, the dragon of John’s Revelation, and the beast from
the Shepherd of Hermas (Gn 3.15, Rv 13.1, and Herm. Vis.4.1.6). The serpent is an
archetypal motif representative of evil. It has no limbs, moves almost magically,
is cold-blooded, and frequently lives under the earth. It has been identified with
the gods of the underworld. Its position at the base of the ladder, lying in wait to
strike the unwary, may subtly reinforce the sexual symbolism of this entire image
of the ladder. While it would be psychologically reductive to read the serpent
merely as a symbol, for example, of male genitalia, it is difficult to escape a
reading that sees in the serpent-cum-ladder image a contemporary Christian
view that believed sexual cohabitation was a state less worthy than virginity
(Tert. Ad Ux. 1.4.4). Note that the most ubiquitous of the representations of the
slaughter of the sacred bull in mithraic iconography shows a coiled serpent at
the bull’s rib cage, reaching upwards toward Mithras’s dagger as it cuts into the
bull (see Vermaseren, Corpus Inscriptionum, vol. 1, 87–98 and fig. 84; vol. 2, fig.
460; Vermaseren records fifty-six inscriptions in Africa alone).
IV.4. lying (cubans). The serpent lies waiting to strike. The Greek simply has the
serpent under the ladder, and no reference is made to its posture.
IV.4. great size (mirae magnitudinis). She uses this very expression to describe
threatening objects, and so describes the dragon guarding the ladder (IV.4) and
the ἀγωνάρχης who convenes the contest between her and the Egyptian wrestler
(X.8). MS G reads longitudinis, which provides a more precise statement of the
ladder’s size and height.
IV.4. fr ightened (exterrebat). The first trial to overcome is the fear of the ser-
pent, here a symbolic representation of the temptation of the devil (see Tert.
De Fuga 10.3–5). The finite Latin form is replaced in the Greek by the parti-
ciple ἐκθαμβῶν, and ascenderent is made more dramatic by being expanded
into τολμῶσιν ἀναβαίνειν (“dare to go up”).
IV.5. the first to go up was Saturus (Ascendit . . . prior). Saturus is the obvious
choice, since he is their teacher and spiritual guide. Moreover, until this
point in the narrative he is the only one of the group fully initiated into the
sacramental mysteries of the Church. Although certain third conjugation
verbs are inherently ambiguous in their present and perfect forms, the pres-
ence of the unambiguous perfect (dixit) in sentence six makes it clear that the
other verbs are to be read as perfects. While the Latin is explicit in stating that
Saturus went up first, the Greek simply records that he went up (Ἀν έ βη δ ὲ ὁ
Σ ά τ υρ ο ς) and hence does not highlight his role as spiritual leader.
IV.5. Because he had been our teacher (. . . qui ipse nos aedificauerat). Perpetua
abruptly interrupts the narrative of her dream to account for Saturus’s role in
the community. She has already implied his status by having him go first. Why
does she need to supply these details about his role? It surely does not help the
narrative, since it moves our attention away from Saturus’s confrontation with
the terrifying threat of the dragon and the instruments of torture affixed to the
ladder toward a local, historical detail. For whom is this information intended,
and what purpose does it serve? Surely, all those arrested know who Saturus is
and his role. Perhaps it was intended for other Christians in Carthage? This point
is an equally unsatisfying supposition, as we know the community was still small
at this time. Would such identification be required of such a small Christian com-
munity? It is not likely, as one suspects the believers would have known the name
of the catechumens’ teacher, since he would probably have been an individual
with some standing in this community. Although her digression on his role as
their teacher and his subsequent arrest does portray him heroically, she need not
have broken her narrative at such a critical juncture to present this information. I
would like to offer an alternative proposal and suggest that the passage beginning
with the relative (qui) and ending with the pluperfect (fuerat) is not written by
Perpetua but is in the hand of R. There is a hint of R’s rhetorical presence in the
line, and that is the use of the word aedificauerat. Saturus “instructed/edified”
us; he literally “built” the faith in us (the Greek uses οἰκοδομὴ). The word is used
three times in the text, twice unambiguously by R (see note to I.1 above and
XX.11), and has echoes of Paul (see 1 Cor 14.3; see also Tert. Res. 45.10; Paen.
5.1.241; De Pat. 4; and August. Serm. 57). R, writing from some psychological
distance from the narrative, intends the story to communicate clearly and wishes
to construct an historical record of the events. Hence, here he is tidying up what
he perceives as unexplained gaps. Notice also that the very next sentence begins
with a coordinating conjunction, a style used very often by Perpetua.
IV.5. surrendered (tradiderat). The text highlights Saturus’s voluntary surrender
to the authorities. His refusal to hide, to flee the authorities’ dragnet—his decision
to turn himself in instead, so as to continue his role as leader and teacher in
prison—agrees with Tertullian’s position against flight during persecution in his

De Fuga in Persecutione.
IV.5. we were seized (adducti sumus). The expression avoids a more precise
legalism such as “we were arrested” for a more forceful one. The memory is of
their initial seizure, and it may not have been an official arrest. If, however, they
were under house arrest at this time, then the Greek is more exact (συνελήφθημεν).
IV.6. and said: Perpetua (et dixit mihi: Perpetua). Saturus is the only one who
calls her by her name, which is indicative of friendship. There is not the slightest
evidence for assuming the two have a special romantic relationship, and certainly
not that they are married (but see Osieck, “Perpetua’s Husband”).
IV.6. I am waiting (sustineo). Normally in classical usage, sustineo means to
“hold up,” “support,” or “sustain.” It could hardly have one of those meanings here,
since Saturus calls to her from the very top of the ladder, anticipating her ascent.
Here it is used in a post-classical sense, and “waits for” seems to best capture his
intent. Souter (s.v. sustineo) suggests that it is the equivalent of the Greek μένω.
The Greek text of the Passio uses the compound form περιμένω.
IV.6. the serpent does not bite you (mordeat draco ille). At first reading this ap-
pears simply a genuine expression of concern. It is what we would expect from
someone who cares for Perpetua and is her spiritual guide. However, it is pal-
pably naive, since the ensuing events demonstrate that such a warning is un-
necessary. Perpetua knows that she need not fear the serpent. Such intuition
serves to distinguish Perpetua from all those around her, including Saturus,
her teacher, whose passage via the serpent is never remarked upon.
IV.6. he will not hurt me (non me nocebit). In classical Latin, noceo is considered
an intransitive form with the dative. Here, used transitively with an accusative, it
is post-classical. Amat cites Tert. Exh. Cast. 12.5, and see Lk 4.35.
IV.6. in the name of Jesus Christ (in nomine Iesu Christi). The Acta martyrii
employ the name of Jesus as a talismanic utterance to shield the martyrs from all
evil. The idea clearly has sanction in the NT (Mk 9.38–39; Lk 10.17; Acts 2.38,
4.10, 4.17) and was used extensively from the first century on (see Heffernan,
“Nomen Sacrum”). The mere utterance of the name serves as an onomastic shield
from evil. Iesu is the standard genitive form of “Iesus” on analogy with Ἰησου.
IV.7. from beneath (desub). Although rare in classical Latin, desub may occur
(pace Amat; see OLD, which cites Columella, 12.34, although the text is uncertain).
The serpent is portrayed as being beneath the ladder, again reminding the reader
of his association with recesses in the earth. Perpetua subtly uses locational im-
ages (sometimes opposing, as here) of top and bottom, up and down, middle and
edge (see in medio below) to highlight the contrast between good and evil.
IV.7. slowly stuck out its head as if it feared me (quasi timens . . . lente eiecit caput).
The serpent has been cowed by Perpetua’s utterance of the sacred name and
tentatively moves out as if in fear of her power. As matrona Christi she has called
evil forth from its den beneath the ladder and commands it for the good.
IV.7. on its head (illi caput). Van Beek claims to have seen evidence for an era-
sure of the genitive us at the end of illi. However, illi can be read as a dative of
reference.
IV.7. stepped and climbed (calcarem . . . ascendi). The Latin is more definitive
than the Greek, which portrays Perpetua as “wishing to step” (ἠθέλησα
ἐπιβῆναι). The repetition of the word’s root (calc-) reinforces the power of the
action of dominance. The Greek uses two distinct words. The image of Perpetua
stepping on the serpent’s head and using it as a step extends and ratifies the
prophecy made against the serpent in Genesis that the woman’s seed shall bruise
his head (Gn 3.15; see also Pss 18.40 and 109.1). There may be some loose asso-
ciation with the polyvalent figure of the persecuted woman in Revelation (Rv
12.13), a book of some importance to this community. It is interesting to note
that these images of the triumphant woman do not readily associate Perpetua
with the Virgin Mary, but rather with the Old Testament prophecy. The anecdote
in Genesis is founded on a prophecy. Perpetua is a prophetess. Who could be a
better vehicle to carry out God’s plan? If Perpetua is the new Eve, she is one whose
roots are firmly imbedded in the Hebrew Bible. Unlike the mother of Christ, Per-
petua is not a virgin, is born in sin, and struggles against her own demons, one of
which is the serpent at the foot of the ladder. Amat notes that contemporary coins
illustrate the emperor with his foot on the head of the vanquished (204).
Although the contest is presented as a perilous one, Pepetua’s unconscious
self-image is bold, daring, triumphant, and one with the assurance that the out-
come will be victorious. It is more likely that the image, if it is deliberately bor-
rowed, derives from the Christian source, since that of the emperor would be an
unwanted association, as it illustrates her persecutors as victorious. Dölger, “Der
Kampf mit dem Ägypter,” has shown that the expression calcare diabolum had
considerable currency, being used in Tert. De Spect. 29; Cypr. Ep. 58.9; Acta Fruc-
tuosi 7; Prudent. Perist. 14. 112–18; Hil. Poit. In Matt. 3.4; and August. Serm. 280:
Calcatus est ergo draco pede casto.
IV.7. I climbed up (ascendi). This, the beginning of her journey to unification
with God in heaven, begins with a momentous first step. The dragon whose
head supports the step represents everything tangibly material and the oppo-
site of the spiritual awakening her witness will guarantee. Early monastics
read the text in this light (see Quasten, “A Coptic Counterpart,” 1–9).
IV.8. and I saw (et vidi). Perpetua’s dreams are notable for their graphic im-
ages. Her use of verb tenses in her dreams is significant. Although she began this
vision with a present tense (video), she quickly adopts the perfect in describing
all the subsequent events in the dream narrative. Her reason for this approach
may be twofold: the initial use of the present vividly introduces the dream, while
her subsequent shift to the perfect suggests a period of subsequent reflection on
the events of the dream and may provide a type of authentication for what she
saw. In other words, this specific narrative, though seen in a present tense dream
state, is composed at a time subsequent to her awakening and represents a
composition after the fact.
IV.8. an enormous garden (spatium immensum horti). The garden image is likely
based on the Biblical paradise before the Fall (Gn 2.8).
IV.8. sitting in the middle (in medio sedentem). Once again, Perpetua uses loca-
tional images to underline crucial points. Her gaze takes in the entire area of this
vast heavenly garden and locates the crucial figure precisely in its middle, the
place of maximum importance and the hub about which everything moves. It is
well to note that the Tree of Life (Gn 2.9) is also in medio.
IV.8. white-haired man (hominem canum). The figure of the white-haired man
is a complex association of skeins of her memory. The color of his hair indicates
his age, wisdom, and possible paternity. He acts like a father figure. We cannot
exclude the possibility that she has conflated the figure of her father, from whom
she is estranged, in this image and with whom—at least in the dream—she is at
pains to be reconciled. The man also suggests the figure of Christ in Rv 1.14,
which in turn is indebted to Dn 7.9. Thus, the figure also has an apocalyptic
dimension. He is a savior who comes and awaits her return, offering her succor.
All of her yearning to be free from her oppressive surroundings, to be finished
with the torment of arrest and imprisonment, to be safe, her obvious need to be
reconciled with her family and to be saved meet in this central image. Addition-
ally, her anxiety for her son is likely being abated by the unconditional safety
offered to her. It is significant that he is milking a sheep, and she is of course
nursing her child. If the white-haired man is able to rescue her, a sinner, from the
wrath of the persecutors, he surely will do so for an innocent child.
IV.8. dressed like a shepherd (in habitu pastoris). The image of the Good Shep-
herd as a symbol for Christ was a favorite of early Christians and has strong Bib-
lical roots (see Pss 23; Mt 18.12; Lk 15.4; Jn 10.11; Heb 13.20; and Is 63.11); it is
likely indebted to ancient sacral-idyllic landscape painting. The Good Shepherd
figure was used in influential early Christian texts both narrative and pictorial, like
the Shepherd of Hermas (Vis. 5.1), and in the Roman catacomb of Calixtus. (This
image is depicted eighty-four times between ca. 100 and 325 ce, often as a beard-
less youth). He is also depicted on the sarcophagus of Bureba, near the depiction of
Perpetua climbing the ladder, and in the beautiful mosaic of Ravenna. The motif is
an all-encompassing one of security: the Shepherd can fill all our wants. Tertullian
relates that the chalice used by some in the liturgy in Carthage had an image of the
Good Shepherd represented on it (see Pud. 12.10, pastor, quem in calice depingis).
IV.8. a big man (grandem). Here grandis is post-classical usage for magnus (see
VII.6 and XI.5). Amat suggests that the word is more nuanced than simply a
designation of size (which magnus would convey) and encompasses the great age
of the man, which the adjective (grandaevus) would suit.
IV.8. milking sheep (oves mulgentem). The obvious association is to see this
image and that of the Good Shepherd as part of a continuum. Wilpert in Le pit-
ture, pl. 117, 193, and I sarcophagi, pl. 3, 4, however, distinguishes between these
images, noting that this image should not be read as an image of communion,
since Perpetua has climbed the ladder and is now in heaven. Wilpert notes that
since the Eucharist is not received in heaven, the milk should be read as symbolic
of the joys of heaven. While of interest, Wilpert’s reading forces unnecessarily a
causal and theological logic that we do not experience in dreams. Let us review
Perpetua’s immediate history. She has been recently arrested and baptized, and she
longs for full communion. The Shepherd gives her something precious to eat. On
awakening she retains the taste of something sweet in her mouth. The image is
nuanced and totalizing, and Tertullian describes a rather similar experience in
the Eucharistic liturgy. To exclude Eucharistic overtones privileges theology over
her psychology. While we need not exclude Scriptural echoes of “the milk of
paradise”—a motif indebted to depictions of Canaan, the promised land, in ter-
ram quae fluit lacte et melle (Ex 3.8), and furthermore, an image commented on
frequently by the fathers and also appearing in apocalyptic texts, like the Visio Pauli
(ca. 250 ce)—the dream image is more nearly a yearning for the agape banquet.
IV.8. standing around were many thousands dressed in white (et circumstantes
candidati milia multa). Although I follow the MS reading above, this reading
might be improved in a bow to a more classical construction if we were to
emend to et circumstantium candidatorum milia multa taken with the pre-
ceding accusatives. We would normally expect a genitive after a plural substan-
tive form of mille. The image suggests the twenty-four righteous elders who,
sitting around the throne of the lamb, symbolize the twelve patriarchs of the
Old Testament and the twelve apostles of the New Testament (Rv 4.4): those
who had been slain for God’s word (Rv 6.9), and those who, dressed in white
robes, had recently been martyred under Domitian (81–96).
IV.9. And he raised his head, looked at me, and said (leuauit caput et aspexit me
et dixit mihi). Her fondness for parataxis is well illustrated in the use of these
three short independent clauses using coordinated finite verbs. The Greek subor-
dinates leuauit to the participle Ἐπάρας. Her sense of versimilitude in prose is
uncanny. Notice how she conveys a sense of the drama of the moment, under-
scoring the Good Shepherd’s preoccupation with milking through the use of
leuauit. The scene is drawn out and the prose almost cinematic in its visual rich-
ness: he raises his head, he looks up, and he speaks to her.
IV.9. You are welcome here, child (Bene uenisti, tegnon). A number of the manu-
scripts (P and N, for example) delete this Greek term of endearment; they rewrite
τέκνον as tegnum, thus replacing the Greek -ον with the corresponding Latin sec-
ond declension ending, or they substitute nunc for tegnon, thus missing the
warmth of the moment and the nuances of the relationship of father and daugh-
ter. The use of the Greek word is rhetorically nuanced: it surprises the reader; it
underscores her education; it may represent an idiom of intimacy in Roman
Africa; it serves to distinguish the figure of the Good Shepherd from the Latin
speakers; it foreshadows her conversation in Greek with her bishop Optatus and
priest Aspasius in XIII.1; and it intimates that Greek was a prestigious language in
Roman African Christian circles, particularly among the clergy. Dickey makes the
interesting observation that τέκνον is typically used in kinship addresses, and
hence, when not being used by a parent to address a child, the one using the term
“is usually in some sense in loco parentis for the addressees: tutors, old nurses,
friends of their parents, etc.” Tέκνον is the overwhelming choice of term (94 per-
cent) when a parent addresses a dead or dying son or daughter as well as when
parents wish to comfort their child, and when used by non-parents is typically
used for adults (see Dickey, Greek Forms of Address, 68). Formisano 90, no. 55
reads τέκνον as symbolizing a role reversal of Perpetua, from “mother” to “child.”
IV.9. And he called me (Et clamauit me). The phrase corresponds directly with
ἐκάλ εσέν. The verb typically is restricted to “cry out,” “shout,” and “declare.” Its
use here suggests the Good Shepherd wishes all to hear their conversation
(cf. Vetus Pss 129.1).
IV.9. from the cheese (de caseo). What precisely does caseus signify here? Why is
the word joined with mulgeo, whose meaning is clear? The word has vexed a
number of English translators. For example, Wallis suggests “milking sheep,”
Shewring has “from the curd that he had from the milk,” Musurillo renders it as
“milk,” Halporn as “curd” (cf. Tert. Cor. 3.3), and Shaw as “cheese.” An answer
may not be so easy to arrive at, since the product being “milked” is received with
iunctis manibus and eaten (manducaui). These ideas suggest a solid or, at the very
least, a curd-like substance. Amat suggests this is an example of brachylogy, a
type of ellipsis in which the omitted words are to be supplied from the abbrevi-
ated passage in question and which is intended for brevity’s sake. The expression
is condensed, and it is a dream, with the logic unique to dreams. For the sake of
brevity, events are juxtaposed differently, and time is often compressed. Nor-
mally, we would expect mulgeo would be used with an accusative referring to the
animal being milked, as in the preceding oues mulgentem of IV.8. Thus, de caseo
quod mulgebat (construing caseum as neuter) is likely a condensed way of saying
something rather like “from the cheese which he was making from the milk he
was drawing.” The Greek exhibits the same form of the ellipsis. However, it seems
best to read the passage as one of those genuine transcriptions of a dream whose
logic and time sequence are different from that of a conscious waking state. If we
maintain the logic of the dream, then the Good Shepherd’s gift of cheese from
milk is another indication of his miraculous ability (cf. Jn 2.1–10 and the wedding
at Cana). The figure of the Good Shepherd may have Trinitarian overtones.
IV. 9. And all those standing around said: “Amen” (et universi . . . “Amen”). The
elect who are standing around the dreamer cry out, “Amen.” The term “Amen”
in both the Old and New Testaments typically concludes doxologies, bless-
ings, curses, and commands (see Nm 5.22; Dt 27.15–26; Rom 1.25; 1 Cor
14.16). The word is used three times in the Passio, twice by R in exactly this
way, as a conclusion of a doxology in saecula saeculorum (I.6 and XXI.11), and
in this single instance by Perpetua as part of her memory of the dream. This
line may suggest a memory of a Eucharistic liturgy. “Amen” was said by the
congregation as a conclusion to a general prayer of thanksgiving (Did. 10) or as
a response to the Eucharistic elements for which the thanks were offered ( Jus-
tin, 1 Apol. 66; Hipp. Trad. Ap. 4), and, at times, at the end of the entire service
(Ign. Eph. 13.1).
IV.10. And I woke up at the sound of their voice (et ad sonum vocis experta sum).
The sound of their voice interrupts her reverie. This detail completes the first
dream and is a perfectly natural way to conclude it. Her use of a perfect form of
the verb experior (which here is used in the sense of expergiscor) signals that the
narrative of the dream she is relating is a product of her reflection in her waking
moments. She uses this form four times (IV.10, VII.9, VIII.4, X.14) to mark her
movement from the dream state to consciousness.
IV.10. still eating some unknown sweet (conmanducans adhuc dulce nescio quid).
The verb commanduco is not common (TLL and Souter, s.v. commando and
manduco). What does this “unknown sweet” taste refer to? First, it must be a
reference to the mysterious food she received from the Good Shepherd. The term
may also contain an additional resonance and refer to the liturgy of the Eucharist.
The Eucharist banquet for those newly baptized made use of bread, milk, and
honey. Tertullian remarks that “when we are taken up [from the baptismal pool]
(as newborn children), we taste first of all a mixture of milk and honey, and from
that day we refrain from the daily bath for a whole week” (Cor. 3; cf. 1 Pt 2.2). Hip-
polytus of Rome writes that newly baptized Christians were given a cup of milk
with honey and a cup of water: “the Bishop shall bless the bread, which is the sym-
bol of the body of Christ, and the bowl of wine, which is the symbol of the blood
which has been shed for all who believe in him; and the milk and honey mixed
together, in fulfillment of the promise made to the fathers, in which he said, “a land
flowing with milk and honey”; . . . the elders, and the deacons if there are not
enough, shall hold the cups and stand together in good order and with reverence:
first the one who holds the water, second the one who holds the milk, and third
who holds the wine” (Trad. Ap. 27–33). It is reasonable to assume that someone
just baptized, who is willing to give up her family, her son, and her life for her faith,
would be yearning to receive communion (Formisano 90, no. 57). Such a desire
left its impress on both her conscious and her unconscious mind.
IV.10. And at once I told this to my brother (Et retuli statim fratri meo). Notice
that after experta sum she writes retuli statim fratri meo (IV.10). The unavoid-
able conclusion is that she has written this narrative of the dream of the Good
Shepherd at some time after the conversation with her colleague, since statim is
unambiguous.
IV.10. And we knew we would suffer (et intelleximus passionem esse futuram).
Their immediate and unswerving conclusion that death lies ahead surprises the
reader at first glance. However, their judgment is based on their intuitive analysis
of the dream’s portent and their mutual awareness of the situation in Carthage
forbidding new conversions. The dream is apocalyptic, and the allusions to the
eschatological passages in Revelation arguably form the basis for their conclu-
sion (Rv 6.9, 7.13). Does their immediate response also presuppose an aware-
ness of earlier martyrs about whom we have no records, and the precedent of
whose deaths would have made their situation immediately clear to them? The
Greek speaks of the necessity of suffering: καὶ ἐνοήσαμεν ὅτι δέοι παθεῖν.
IV.10. in this world (in saeculo). The phrase is not being used in the classical
sense of “age,” “race,” or “generation,” but rather in the post-classical sense of
“world.” The ἐν τῷ αἰῶνι τούτῳ parallels the Latin (see Ep 2.12, ἐν τῷ κόσμῳ; and
cf. LXX, Ws 13.9).
CHAPTER V
The Argument: The Public Leave-Taking

For the prophecy of the dream in the proceeding section to be fulfilled, Per-
petua and her companions must begin to disengage themselves from all they
cherish in life. Death is the price they pay for salvation—a price paid publicly, as
a spectacle before the jeering crowd. Christian theology has always had as one
of its first principles the paradoxical idea that one must first give in order to
receive. The greater the gift given, the greater the reward. Crass egoism is avoided
through the concomitant practice of Christ’s radical charge to love (Mt 5.43–48).
During this period, particularly in Africa, martyrdom appears to have been for
some of the more zealous a viable alternative to apostasy.
Letting go of loved ones on the journey to God is the initial rung on the
ladder, whose first step is a witness that shreds the familial fabric. The metaphor
of the bronze ladder with the weapons that wound, that tear at the flesh, is
still fresh in memory (IV). The first wound given in Chapter V is a rending of
her relationship with her father. It is not steel but shame that wounds and
jeopardizes their affection. Accordingly, the chapter opens with words that
proclaim her “crime” to the entire city—words like rumor and audiremur
dominate the opening line. Such a public confession would bring the family
into disrepute, since, for the citizens of Carthage, it constitutes a rejection of
the Roman way and an embrace of an irrational superstition, and it is, of
course, illegal.
Her father arrives, shaken and breathless from his journey into the city. She
notes that he is exhausted from worry and is intent on changing her mind. His
anxiety is understandable. His daughter is to be charged with a capital offence. He
is an anxious and frightened parent, but he also stands as a figure of synecdoche
for the mos maiorum. The figure of the pleading father is one of the more pow-
erful portraits in the narrative. Their relationship is explored in more depth than
any other. They have the closest of bonds—affection so close that he claims it was
greater than that he had for her brothers. She refers to him as pater ten times
in Chapters III–IX. Although such a public declaration might appear to be an
astonishing remark from a Roman father, there is evidence that fathers and
daughters did indeed have very close, intense, and public relationships. A grave
stele (ca. first century CE) from Karanis (southwest of Cairo) reads: “I wish I
would have left my father a child when I died, so that he would not forever have
an unforgettable grief through remembrance of me” (Rowlandson, Women and
Society, 347). There is a fifth-century marble funerary plaque commemorating
Perpetua, likely from the Basilica maiorum, that proclaims her parents’ grief at
the loss of their daughter.
Her husband is never mentioned in the narrative. It is fruitless to speculate
why: he may be dead, they may be divorced, or he may have been edited out of
the text as we have it. The legal status of Roman women underwent considerable
change in the early Empire, and the situation in Africa was somewhat different
from that in Italy, particularly after the reforms of Antoninus Pius. However, her
father’s prominence in this chapter—whatever the status of her husband may
have been—makes it a virtual certainty that her marriage was sine manu and that
she remains in potestate patris. Thus, it is appropriate for him to appear at the
hearing.
She is deeply moved by her father’s anguish, principally, as she says, because
he—alone of her family—would not rejoice in her suffering. This is a curious
remark, since the text notes that not all her family were Christians. Such a remark,
however, reveals much about the emotional distance she has placed between
herself and the world. She has turned from being her father’s child in filiae loco to
someone in potestate Dei. Her last words announce the dissolution of this con-
tract between her father and herself.
Chapter V Commentary
V.1. A few days later (Post paucos dies).She regularly makes use of an indetermi-
nate chronology and uses this same expression of time a total of four times (III.5,
V.1, VII.1, IX.1). Why is she so imprecise? The specifics of duration are simply not
important. What is important is the nature of the events that are taking place and
the end to which all of this drama is inexorably moving. The final lines in Chapter
IV underscore what one might almost describe as a providential moving of history.
Further, given her circumstances—harassed, frightened, and imprisoned in a dark
and insufferably hot hole—it is understandable that she may not have been able to
keep a precise record of time passing (see Heffernan, “Philology and Authorship”).
V.1. that we were to be given a hearing (ut audiremur). A number of manuscripts
read quod, which seems more probable if we take in its post-classical sense of
“that.” The line appears to be a statement of fact, but it is ambiguous. There may
be a purposive or jussive idea present explaining the content of the “rumor.”
The hearing would have been entirely appropriate according to Roman law (see
Plin. Ep. 10.96 and notes above for III.1). Compare VI.1, where the phrase ut
audiremur occurs. Perpetua is fond of repetitious language.
V.1. Arrived unexpectedly (Superuenit). Why did she chose to use this verb
rather than something more common, like venio or pervenio or advenio? She only
uses this verb here but uses venio, for example, eight times (see IV.9, VI.2, VII.1,
X.1, 3, 6, XI.10, XII.1). Supervenio conveys the slight suggestion of “surprise” in its
semantic range, and this element of surprise is not provided by more common
forms (see OLD, s.v. supervenire; Livy, 30.25.9, cum legatis Carthaginiensibus
supervenerunt; and Souter, s.v. superuentio). Perhaps she was not expecting her
father to appear at her arraignment, given his hostility to her decision to convert
to Christianity. The Greek reads Παρεγένετο where the Latin has supervenit, and it
does not have this element of surprise (see LSJ, s.v. παραγίγνομαι; cf. Mt 3.13; Lk
11.6; 1 Cor 16.3; 2 Tm 4.16; and Heb 9.11).
V.1. from the city (de ciuitate). Where is her father coming from, and where does
that place her? Is she outside the city under house arrest or in some lesser prison?
The Greek ἐκ τῆς πόλεως reads much the same. Does this small detail with its
characteristic lack of exactitude suggest that the audience would have known
from whence her father was coming; that is, was the story so well known to the
audience that they knew details which we require? Carthage was a Roman civitas,
but she may be using the word to refer to any community of citizens. It is tempting
to read the phrase as a description of her father leaving from his home in the city
for the prison. Whatever the location of her place of arrest, it does contain a
catasta, and this feature may suggest that they were being held in a prison which
served a municipality that was of some size, but outside the city.
V.1. worn with worry (consumptus taedio). The verb is vivid, and the mood
of paternal care is palpable but somewhat qualified by taedium, which here
appears to represent a complex of feelings of concern, embarrassment, and dis-
gust. While her father is being devoured by his anxiety for his precious daugh-
ter, he is publicly humiliated by her conversion. The very phrase occurs twice,
here and in IX.2, and in both instances it concerns her father’s apprehension
concerning her.
V.1. he climbed up to me (et ascendit . . . deiceret). We sometimes see the use of set
phrases antithetically juxtaposed in a parallel structure for a rhetorical effect, as
here and III.1, for example. Her father “climbed up” (ascendit) to her so as to get
her to change her mind (deiceret)—literally, to “throw down” her belief. There
appears to be an intentional word play in ascendit and deiceret. The former is likely
used literally, since he has to climb to the catasta, and the latter metaphorically.
The Greek parallels the Latin use with ἀνέβη and καταβαλεῖν.
V.2. My daughter, have pity (Miserere, . . . filia). Miserere normally takes the geni-
tive, and its use with the dative is post-classical (see Bennett, sec. 209). Repeti-
tion is used with great effect here. Although her name is used ten times in the text
(II.1, IV.6, X.3, XIII.4, XVI. 2, XVIII.2, XVIII.7, XX.3, XX.8, XXI.9), her father,
the one individual with whom she appears to have the closest relationship, except
for her baby, never calls her by name, nor by any familiar forms (see notes IV.9).
Is her father’s use of a more formal form of address intended to distance their re-
lationship? Since the exchange may take place in front of others, her father, as a
Roman male, may feel the need to maintain a certain decorous authority.
V.2. gray hair (canis meis). Her father uses the figures of ellipsis (omitted
capillis) and metonymy and appeals to this visible sign of his old age and wis-
dom for her to recant. The only times such an allusion is used are in reference to
her father and the Good Shepherd (IV.8 and XII.3). I have suggested elsewhere
that she conflates her biological father and the Good Shepherd in her desire to
integrate her conversion with the fragmentation of her familial life.
V.2. have pity on your father (miserere patri). The use of the dative is late Latin.
See den Boeft and Bremmer, “Notiunculae Martyrologicae II,” 6, who suggest
that the father’s appeal is indebted to certain formulae found in Roman prayer.
They print parallels from Vergil, Statius, and Catullus.
V.2. if (si). The repetition of this conditional particle three times, introducing
sequential independent clauses, heightens the emotional tenor of the father’s
pleas.
V.2. I have preferred you to all your brothers (praeposui . . . fratribus tuis). This is
an unexpected and uncommon remark from the pater familias . It acknowl-
edges the hierarchy of female status in the Roman family, whether she be
daughter or wife, having a subordinate position to the males of the household.
It is also a private and tender moment, since he reveals to his daughter that he
has stepped outside the traditional bounds of the Roman father and taken a
risk. It is a risk because, if his behavior toward his daughter were made public, it
could make him a figure of ridicule. His argument is complex: first, he appeals
to his authority as her father; second, he reminds her that her present status
(florem aetatis) is a result of his labors; and third, he acknowledges that he has
privileged her above all others. Implicit in these pleas is the understanding that
if she does not recant, then she will have rejected all three of his claims on her.
It is a tragic dilemma that neither one of them can avoid.
V.2. do not shame me (ne me dederis). Ne with the perfect subjunctive is used
here in a prohibition, and in V.4 the present subjunctive is used in the same
construction (see Bennett, sec. 276).
V.2. shame (dedecus). The word is important because it concerns public com-
portment, an issue of great consequence to Roman culture. Perpetua is being
judged a criminal, an enemy of the state. Her father, if he is to maintain his
status as a loyal Roman citizen, must either control his daughter by persuading
her to give up her pernicious superstition or reject her. Tertullian uses the word
frequently in a host of applications, some of which have a parallel here (cf.
Carn. Chr. 5). He argues (against Marcion) that true safety lies in not being
“ashamed” of the Lord, and he quotes Mt 10.21–22. There may be an echo of
the Scriptural passage here in her remarks. The verses from Matthew seem most
pertinent, concerning, as they do, fathers and children: “Brother will hand over
brother to death, and the father his child; children will rise up against parents
and have them put to death. You will be hated by all because of my name, but
whoever endures to the end will be saved” (Tradet autem frater fratrem in mor-
tem, et pater filium . . .). Her father’s remarks may be an implicit criticism of the
entire Roman system of public mores.
V.3. Think (aspice). The repetition of the imperative verb dramatizes the ten-
sion between the father and the daughter. At each instance, the semantic charge
of the verb becomes more intimate. He demands first that she consider what her
actions will do to her brothers, then to her mother and her maternal aunt, and
lastly to her son.
V.3. your mother’s sister (matrem tuam et materteram). Whenever mention is
made of her mother, her other family members are also mentioned (see II.2,
III.8). The father wishes to root her solidly in her natal family and force her to
see the consequences of her actions on her loved ones. This personal detail is
likely a genuine fragment from her life, and her aunt is likely to have been some-
one with whom she was intimate. Festus identifies the maternal aunt closely
with the child’s mother: matris soror, quasi mater altera (see Lindsay, Sexti
Pompei Festi). The maternal aunt often played a significant role, particularly in
the birth and up to and including the lustratio, where she may have played the
role of Juno touching the eyes, the brow, and the lips with a finger moistened
with her own saliva in a kind of welcoming baptism; indeed, the matertera was
often viewed as a surrogate mother (see L. & P. Brind’Amour, “La Deuxième
Satire”). In the Aeneid (12.74), Turnus cries out in anguish to his aunt Queen
Amata (his mother’s sister), calling her O mater (see also Bettini, Kinship,
67–99). Note the effective use of alliteration in the repetition of the nasal con-
sonants matre m tuam et materteram.
V.3. who will not be able to live (qui . . . uiuere non poterit). After his appeal to
her sense of familial obligation, he adds what must be construed as a threat.
Why will the child die? It is because since she remains in potestate patris, her
child is subject to his jurisdiction, and her father has, by this admission, acknowl-
edged that he will not care for the infant (but see VI.8). The child’s precarious
situation has been alluded to earlier. She remarked that he was faint from hun-
ger (III.8), and she gave him to her mother and brother to care for. Once the
child was returned to her in prison, her spirits soared. Her father’s remark about
the child’s perilous future is a deliberate stratagem. He assumes that she will
abandon Christianity if she knows for a certainty that to pursue it will cause her
child to die.
V.4. Give up your pride (depone animos). Although animus was commonly
used in Christian circles as “soul” (see Tert. De Anim. 13), here, in the context
of this exchange, the plural is used in its classical idiomatic sense of pride (see
Verg. Aen. 11.366, pone animos et pulsus abi). The Greek reproduces this with
θ υμ ο ὺ ς .
V.4. do not destroy (ne . . . extermines). See V.2. The sense of “destroy” is post-
classical. Th is is the earliest instance I have found of this word used in this
sense. The Vetus and the Vulgate use this verb at least three times, but the use is
not univocal. For example, it is used in the sense of “to destroy” in Rv 11. 18 and
Ws 16.27, but not in Jas 4.14, where it is used to translate ἀφανιζομένη (“vanish” or
“disappear”), and it does not have the sense of extirpation or destroy (see TLL, 52,
col. 2015, and see Niermeyer, s.v. exterminare). The Greek of the Passio, however,
does catch this idea of “destroy” with ἐξολοθρεύσῃς (see LSJ, s.v. ἐξολοθρεύω; and
Gn 17.14; Acts 3.23).
V.4. none of us (nemo . . . nostrum). Nostrum is the genitive of ego, used parti-
tively, and not the neuter of noster, as is clear from the context and the Greek
ἡμῶν.
V.5. will be able to speak freely (libere loquetur). His remark reminds us of the
shame (dedecus, V.2) he is so acutely conscious of being branded with. His great-
est fear appears to be his loss of face in the community. Indeed, this seems of
greater moment than his concern for Perpetua’s safety.
V.5. if you are punished (si tu aliquid fueris passa). Her father’s language is eva-
sive. He knows she will die if she does not recant. He adopts pati as a euphemism
for a more direct verb, like mori, for example. His tone is idiomatic, almost casual,
and his use of the conditional particle si underscores his belief that it is her choice
that will bring all to grief, if she does not recant.
V.5. as a father would, out of his love for me (quasi pater pro sua pietate). Father
and daughter have the most complex and intimate relationship in the text. They
are deeply attached to one another but separated by their different faiths. Perpet-
ua’s father is, moreover, motivated by his acute sense of public shame (dedecus
hominum).
V.5. love (pietate) This complex word conveys a host of meanings and has
pagan religious overtones, as well as serving to indicate Perpetua’s awareness of
her father’s affection for her. Traditional Roman ideas of pietas concerned the ap-
propriate practice of ritual to ensure the success of the household. The father was
pater familias, the mother priestess of the Penates, and the daughters were the ser-
vants of Vesta. The description of her father’s behavior, which immediately follows,
may owe something to her memory of such rituals. The Greek use of the plural
“parents” (τῶν γονέων) tends to generalize and move the focus away from only the
father to the entire familia.
V.5. kissing my hands. . . . Weeping (basians mihi manus. . . . lacrimans). Her
father subordinates himself and kisses her as a suppliant, as a petitioner might
his patron. This episode reverses the traditional roles of father and daughter and
is a dramatic gesture on his part, and it illustrates the extent of his affection for
this particular child, who, as he has already said, was his favorite. His behavior is
markedly different from traditional paternal behavior and as such is likely to be
the memory of an actual incident. Some would draw a distinction between the
use of basiare as opposed to osculari. While both terms were typically used to
designate polite, public kissing, Catullus and Martial used them interchangeably
in romantic love poetry (see Catull. 5). Suavium, however, was restricted to a
romantic kiss.
V.5. lady (dominam). This honorific title at first glance appears to distance
the father and daughter. One might have expected a more personal response—for
example, her name, or filia (as the text states), or some other diminutive like par-
vula, or as the Good Shepherd did, who referred to her as tegnon (IV.9; cf. the
Greek τέκνον). Why then dominam? Domina follows naturally if one accepts the
idea that the supplication ritual described contains overtones of Roman religion,
particularly of the household. Is her father remembering these earlier rites, imag-
ining his daughter as some distant, newly transformed, exalted being? Is this perhaps
a fragment of a memory of those cultic rites which is conflated with his present
behavior? Although there is much to recommend their reading, I would not go as far
as den Boeft and Bremmer (see “Notiunculae Martyrologicae II,” 7), who view her
father as a suppliant before a goddess, since if her father were conscious of such a
change, such awareness would minimize their past special intimacy, which he cher-
ishes (V.1., si praeposui). We would expect his grasp of their new relationship to have
equally profound consequences; that is, there should be a change in his behav-
ior. However, that never occurs. He continues to behave as a distraught parent and
not someone with a new awareness of his daughter’s elevated status (see VI.2 and
IX.2, and also IV.1).
V.6. anguish (casum). The word casus typically suggests something that befalls
one, an event, accident, or an occasion (OLD, s.v. casus, 4). It may even suggest a
downfall. The word is used in all these instances in the Passio (see VI.5, VII.1).
Here its use signifies her sorrow for the unhappy situation of her father and
brother. It is thus in the latter instance only and by extension that it can suggest a
malady. The Greek διαθέσεως appears to qualify the ambiguity of the Latin, and
the semantic weight of διάθεσις hints that her father had a medical predisposition
to such unmanly behavior (perhaps hysteria).
V.6. he alone of all my family (solus . . . de toto genere meo). She is clearly proud of
her family. Her observation may also suggest the success of Christianity in these
upper-class Roman families in Africa. Chapter II.2 reveals that she has two
brothers and that one was a catechumen like herself. In light of her observation
here, should we now conclude that the other brother was already baptized and
in full communion with the Church?
V.6. would not rejoice (gavisurus non esset). The language is hyperbolic and is
meant to convey her sense of ecstatic joy and that of her family, as she is being
welcomed on earth as a martyr-to-be. See Tert. Mart. 4.9: Quis ergo non libentis-
sime tantum pro vero habet erogare, quantum alii pro falso?
V.6. I tried to comfort him (confortavi eum). The role reversal is now complete.
The daughter ministers to the father. The child has become a parent, and the
parent a child in need of solace. The word confortare appears to have been a favor-
ite of Christians (see above I.1, III.8; and Isa 41.11) and was used to represent the
hospitality of Abraham before the Lord (Gn 18.5). In particular, its occurrence in
the Psalms (see 9.20, 26.14, 30.25) seems to have contributed to its popularity.
See also Ambrose, Expo. Luc. 7.
V.6. platform (catasta). The term denotes a platform in a public area. The
catasta was used initially as a platform where slaves were displayed for sale
(Alb. Tib. Eleg 2.3.62–3, quem saepe coegit barbara gypsatos ferre catasta pedes).
Subsequently, the catasta was employed for public confessions of faith (Cypr. Ep.
38.2 CCSL 3b.184), for the prosecution of criminal offences, and latterly for tor-
ture, particularly of Christians (Prudent. Perist. 1.56, post catastas igneas and
2.399, ultro e catasta iudicem). It is used in the Passio as a public platform where
the accused are questioned. (See also Acta SS. martyrum Numidarum, 6; Passio
Sanctorum Mariani et Iacobi, 6; and August. Enn. Ps. 96.16 CCSL 39.1367, the
latter using the word to designate a place where the soul is tested on the scaffold
of conscience: Interroga fidem tuam, pone in catasta conscientiae animam tuam.) I
have not found an instance of its use for a platform reserved for torture before the
middle of the third century (see Cypr. Ep. 33).
V.6. What God has willed (deus voluerit). The phrase was rather common and is
often used by Tertullian (De Anim. 2.1; Scorp. 2.1).
V.6. Know (scito). This imperative form underscores her prescience and utter
confidence in God.
V.6. no longer in our own power but in God’s (in nostra esse potestate futuros, sed
in Dei). Her complete surrender to God’s power is summed up in this phrase.
We do not have the ability or the authority to manage, constituere, our own fate
(see Ign. Pol. 7.3). Futuros is a preferable reading, since the martyr designate is
moving toward this state of union in God as a future goal, and it has manuscript
authority. Conversely, constitutos suggests the goal has already been accomplished
and hence would vitiate, to some extent, their present course of action.
V.6. he left (recessit). This verb vividly contrasts with the opening verbs of mo-
tion in this chapter (e.g., cucurrit, supervenit). Her father arrived in great haste,
exhausted with worry (consumptus taedio), but with the expectation that he would
help his daughter. His failure is palpable in her use of this verb noting his departure.
V.6. in great sadness (contristatus). The use of the compound intensifies the
root of tristis. Her choice of this as her final word as her father departs is delib-
erate and heartbreaking. It sums up the pathos of the entire episode between
father and daughter. The verb is used most effectively for deep sorrow bordering
on despair in the Psalms (see 34.14, 37.7, 41.10, 54.3; and August. Enn. Ps. 76.12).
CHAPTER VI
The Argument: Confession and Condemnation

Chapter VI relates what might be called the public coming of age of the cate-
chumens: their public confession of faith leads to their subsequent sentence of
death, pronounced by the procurator Hilarianus. They are to be thrown to the
beasts (et damnat ad bestias). Without such public witness, their role as charis-
matic leaders would be in doubt, if not jeopardized entirely. The public nature
of their witness also leads to a collective maturation process, which implicates

all the members of the small band of fellow believers. The condemned’s procla-
mation of Christianity immediately moves them from the status of initiates—
drawn from the ranks of the recently baptized—and makes them leaders of the
community. Christian Carthage’s deeply eschatological leanings revered those
who were willing to die for the faith. The martyrs designate were believed to be
filled with charismatic gifts, and some faithful even visited them in prison to
seek forgiveness for sins. Catapulted into the ranks of the elders, their witness
ranked them even higher than their clerical leaders, including priests and
bishops (XIII). The martyrs’ willingness to die and the adulation of the ideal of
self-sacrifice by their clerical leaders suggest a community that was beleaguered,
a community so driven to desperate measures that it was alienated from the
mainstream and held together by the shared belief that the worst the authorities
could do was to kill its adherents. Even the threat of death did not prove to be a
deterrent to joining the sect, as such a humiliating end became the heroic path
through which they achieved heavenly salvation. Such extreme attitudes neces-
sarily left their stamp on this church. The administrative structure of the church
in Carthage would have been fluid, dynamic, and, it must be said, unstable to
have inculcated such values. No doubt, the local persecution exploited such
tendencies that might have been latent in this community. If the proclamation
of sum Christianus did not only lead to your death and your subsequent adula-
tion but guaranteed your elevation in the hierarchy, the leadership roles of the
more judicious and circumspect Christians surely always ran the risk of being
minimized by that of the zealot.
It is something of a surprise, then, that a narrative so deeply committed to
eschatology, which publicly proclaims the deaths of six young people who are
guilty of no offense other than the confession of Christianity, opens on such a
banal domestic detail: the prisoners are in the midst of eating their breakfast as
they are rushed off to the forum for their first public trial. Why does Perpetua
choose to open this crucial narration of their condemnation to death with the
scene of their having a meal? These two incidents, the domesticity of a meal
and the summons by the procurator, are, I believe, deliberately intended to
counterpoise one another. Such a juxtaposition allows her to throw into stark
relief the absurd dissonances of their situation. While she intends to represent
the details of their imprisonment, she is equally intent on isolating certain of
these details and placing them in an historical context. The juxtaposition of the
banal, the everyday need for food to maintain life, placed alongside the immi-
nent sentence for death highlights the fragility, the absurdity of the human
condition. However, it also underscores the historical fact that this did happen
and that it happened in this very domestic way, just as they were finishing
breakfast. Situating them in such stark relief highlights the surreal quality of
their imprisonment: they complete their daily routine, eat meals, wash, use
toilets, and breast-feed infants while they await the inevitable judgments of
others who are planning their death sentence.
The humdrum events of the catechumens’ day, however, continue under God’s
watchful presence, manifest in his church, as the prisoners draw ever closer to
their final ordeal. The banality of daily life highlights the imminence of their death
and salvation. Tertullian catches the essence of their polarized lives. The martyrs
exist in a liminal condition. They are neither full members of the world nor yet
fully outside it. The martyrs-to-be remain under the wings of a nurturing mater
ecclesia in the midst of the state’s persecution: Inter carnis alimenta benedicti mar-
tyres designati, quae vobis et domina mater ecclesia de uberibus suis et singuli fratres
de opibus suis propriis in carcerem subministrant, capite aliquid et a nobis quod
faciat ad spiritum quoque educandum (“Blessed martyrs to be, along with the pro-
vision which our lady mother the church from her bountiful breasts, and every
brother from his means, makes for your physical needs in prison, accept also from
me some gift for your spiritual nourishment,” Mart. 1.1). Tertullian fully expects
(possibly even hopes) that these anonymous imprisoned will die for their faith,
but he reminds the faithful of their obligation to support the physical needs of
their incarcerated brethren before that moment.
No details of the location, neither of the prison nor of the forum, are given.
The passage of time is invariably diffuse and very difficult to determine (e.g., III.7:
paucis horis), and the change of their location in all the scenes in the Passio is
rarely given with verifiable details (see V1.1). It is likely, however, that the prison
and the forum are close, since the passage of time from their transition from the
prison to the forum is rapid. Perpetua does not record the time it took to travel
from the prison to the forum. It is entirely possible that they were held in some
location on the Byrsa Hill itself, if not in one of the buildings adjacent to the
forum. Once they are in the forum, a crowd quickly gathers as word of their
appearance circulates throughout the neighborhood. The area enclosed by the
Roman forum in Carthage, despite the city’s population, was likely not great, a
few hundred square meters at most, since the hilltop did not allow for a new
forum commensurate with the city’s reputation and size. A residential area was
immediately adjacent to the forum, which would lend historical veracity to the
remark that “a crowd quickly gathered.” On their arrival in the forum, the mar-
tyrs ascend the platform (catasta) where their interrogation will begin.
The presence of the catasta and the mention of the forum suggest that they
are in a municipality of some size. Oddly, for someone so involved with the
persecution of the Church, catasta is a word that is absent from Tertullian’s
lexicon. Yet the small detail of the catasta is important. Carthage’s significant
slave population and its ongoing trade in slaves would have necessitated the
catasta for that reason alone, since it was used as a display platform for the sale
of slaves as well as for the questioning of individuals indicted for crimes. The
location of the catasta in the forum, hard by the basilica and the courts, was a
feature of many substantial Roman Mediterranean cities. Even if we allow that
Strabo exaggerated the city’s size at around seven hundred thousand—the city
walls were historically some twenty-three miles in circuit—it is nonetheless
likely that Carthage had a population of approximately three hundred thousand
in 200 ce . A city that large would have required a substantial forum and prison,
and would have had a catasta (see below, VI.1).
One of the most dramatic moments in the chapter is Perpetua’s struggle with
her father on the catasta. He appears suddenly and unexpectedly. It is a moment
of great crisis for them both. There he begs his daughter to have mercy on her
child and not to continue in this endeavor. The procurator then joins her father in
this plea. He appeals to her to consider the age of her father and her infant son,
and he asks her to make the sacrifice to the health of the emperor and thus spare
them both. The procurator functions as both judge and jury and is operating
under the legislative dictates of the cognitio extra ordinem. The traditional consti-
tutional principles of the Republic—specifically, procedures like legis actio,
formula, and quaestio—gave way with the emergence of the Empire to what
might be viewed as a more expeditious method of adjudicating cases, the cognitio
extra ordinem (see Kaser, “Roman Jurisdiction,” 129–43). The cognitio still func-
tioned as a type of summary investigative process, but it was now employed for
additional types of malfeasance and made use of extraordinary rules (extra ordi-
nem). This jurisprudential situation allowed the sitting magistrate to arrogate to
himself both municipal and police powers, the very situation we see in the pre-
sent instance. Perpetua’s refusal to sacrifice to the emperor obliges the magistrate
to pronounce her death sentence.
What did such a sacrifice to the salus imperatorum entail, and why did
Christians abhor it? Her refusal to sacrifice to the emperor is viewed as sedition
and brings upon her the death sentence, since by refusing to sacrifice she ac-
knowledges that she rejects traditional pietas. The ritual of sacrifice to both the
dead and the living emperors was, in practice, the recognition of a social contract
between the ruler and the ruled. There were mutual obligations on the ruler and
ruled: the ruler must be just, pious, and virtuous, and must defend the Empire;
the ruled, in recognition of the benefits bestowed upon them as members of the
state, were obliged to bind themselves through the ritual of sacrifice and respect
(pietas), a respect for the governing norms of the social, political, and religious
order. Christians’ refusal to sacrifice was an acknowledgment that they were
outside this compact. ( Jews were specifically exempt from having to make such
sacrifice during the Decian persecution; see Gradel, Emperor Worship, 368.)
Such a sacrifice would have consisted of a bloodless ritual of making a libation of
some wine and placing some incense on a fire and taking an oath of allegiance.
Emperor worship (likely initiated ca. 46 bce under Caesar, who had his statue
carried in procession along with that of the god Quirinus) was well established by
this period. Septimius Severus had Commodus and Pertinax deified, and he per-
sonally claimed to revere the latter. Whether he did so or not, his pronouncement
made for good public policy. Vergil and Horace both celebrated Caesar’s divinity.
Christians found such practice anathema. Despite the fact that Perpetua might
have been able to sacrifice to the genius of the emperor and, strictly speaking, not
commit idolatry, since every human being—it was believed by Christian and
pagan alike—had an immortal genius, she refused. After her refusal to make the
sacrifice to the emperor’s health, the procurator had no choice but to pronounce
the sentence. The legal precedent, if there was indeed an officially sanctioned per-
secution in the province supporting his sentence, was likely Trajan’s rescript to
Pliny. The persecution was not an imperial one, but seems to have been limited to
certain areas of North Africa. For example, Leonides, Origen’s father, was mar-
tyred in Alexandria in 202.
Her father, desperate to save her, tried to intervene and get her to recant
and make the sacrifice, but he was ordered by Hilarianus to be thrown to the
ground and beaten. She felt sorry for her father, as if she herself were being
abused. She remarks on feeling particularly sorry for his old age. On hearing the
sentence, she says that they left the platform and descended rapturously to the
prison. She next relates that she was concerned lest her child was hungry and,
since she had been nursing him in prison, she sent Pomponius the Deacon (see
III.7) to her father to ask for the child. Her father refused. She next observes
that her breasts were not inflamed from this sudden cessation of nursing, nor
was her son desirous of the breast any longer. The latter fact freed her from
anxiety concerning her son. Does her remark concerning the lack of inflamma-
tion in her breasts suggest genuine personal experience? Is this anecdote the
sort of intimate detail that a male forger might not have been likely to compose?
Do her remarks about the condition of her breasts point to a prior experience
of child rearing? If so, might she have had other children who, being somewhat
older, no longer required her nursing and so do not figure in this account? How
did she know that the child was no longer interested in nursing? Did her mother
visit the prison and tell her that they tried to nurse the child but he refused? We
will never know. This is one of the many instances of tantalizing silences in the
text. The chapter ends on a note of peace and calm despite the verdict. The die
is cast. The small band of catechumens is now in God’s hands. They have, to
paraphrase Tertullian, been translated from the world to the prison, a place
paradoxically of greater safety than the world: Quo vos, benedicti, de carcere in
custodiarium, si forte, translatos existemetis (Mart. 2.4).
Chapter VI Commentary
VI.1. On another day (Alio die). Perpetua uses chronology markers in an ex-
tremely vague manner. She uses dies fourteen times as an unspecified temporal
marker (III.4, 5 [2x], 6, 9; IV.2; V.1; VI.1; VII.1, 8, 9; VIII.1; IX.1, 2). She fre-
quently notes the passage of time with an expression like post paucos dies (V.1) or
with a vague future referent, as she does in her response to her brother: Crastina
die tibi renuntiabo (IV.2). This lack of precision in marking time is likely delib-
erate, since her pattern is so consistent. If deliberate, what does the narrative gain
by it? While it may appear eccentric for an individual constructing a prison diary
not to try and fix some precise time in these last hours, her method does allow
her the freedom to move between narrative events without the likelihood of tem-
poral contradiction. The Greek text is somewhat more precise in its chronology:
καὶ τῇ ἡμέρα ἐν ᾗ ὥριστο (“on the day on which it had been appointed”).
VI.1. lunch (pranderemus). This light meal was taken at about midday
(noon) and would be equivalent to a light luncheon. Wealthier prisoners
depended on their families to supply them meals, since the typical prison sti-
pend, which was served cold, was frequently not sufficient to keep one alive,
and for some Christian martyrs it consisted of bread and water: Nam et ante dies
octo per dies quinque medios modicum panis accepimus et aquam ad mensuram
(see Lucian to Cyprian Ep. 22.2 CCSL 3b.118). While Romans distinguished
between different meals (ientaculum, prandium, and cena), many simply ate one
meal, the cena, later in the day. In the wealthiest of homes, this could be an
elaborate banquet and last for hours. Suetonius remarks that Nero some-
times dined from evening until the early hours of the next day: a medio die ad
mediam noctem (Ner. 27). The Greek, which may be corrupt here, has nothing
to say about their eating a meal and has no equivalent of pranderemus. This is a
singular omission, as the setting of the meal is important in the narrative. It has
been conjectured, however, that ὥρισ το should be emended to ἠρισ τῶμεν,
which would correspond to Latin pranderemus.
VI.1. rushed off (rapti sumus). The word can have the specialized meaning, as it
seems to have here, of being “seized and dragged before a court.” It almost always
has overtones of an aggressive nature. See Lactant. De Mort. Pers. 15.4: Omnis
sexus et aetatis homines ad exustionem rapti.
VI.1. for a hearing (ut audiremur). Th is refers to an official hearing in front of
the procurator. See audiremur above (V.1).
VI.1. at the forum (ad forum). The forum in Carthage was substantial and
impressive, as was fitting for the third largest city in the Empire and, after Rome,
the second largest in the Western Mediterranean. However, the constraints of
reconstructing a forum on the top of Byrsa Hill did not permit building a forum
commensurate with the size of the city. Unfortunately, due to the Third Punic
War (149–46 bce) and modern urbanism, almost nothing of the original
forum survives, save the courtyard situated directly adjacent and to the south of
the present Museum of Carthage on Byrsa Hill. An indication of the city’s impor-
tance can be seen in the impressive Antonine Baths, due west of the forum
(ca. 149–62 ce), which still cover eight and one-half acres and were the largest
baths at their time. Perpetua remarks that the crowd that gathered was immensus.
VI.1. suddenly, immediately (subito, statim). The use of these two adverbs
underscores the importance of the coming events.
VI.1. throughout the neighborhood surrounding the forum (per vicinas fori partes
cucurrit . . . immensus). Her use of the perfect suggests that the crowd gathered
before the prisoners arrived and was awaiting their arrival. Therefore, the news
of their impending trial must have spread throughout the surrounding area and
allowed for the crowd to gather while the prisoners were still in jail. This small
detail is rich in ambiguity, for it suggests that the prison and the forum were
close and that a crowd of this enormous size may have had a special interest in
seeing this particular small group brought to justice before the procurator. We
will later see the crowd’s hostility directed toward the prisoners as they enter
the arena (XVIII.9). There was a residential district adjacent to the forum, and
thus it was easy for a crowd to gather quickly.
VI.2. We climbed the platform (Ascendimus in catastam). The platform is
elevated so as to emphasize the public nature of the event and to allow spectators
to view the proceedings (see V.6). The plural verb indicates they are all on the
platform. Thus, it was of some considerable size.
VI.2. confessed (confessi sunt). The word confiteri appears to have taken on a
special meaning in the Christian community by this time, slowly becoming
restricted to a profession of faith under duress. Tertullian, in a discussion com-
paring imprisoned Christians, asks the rhetorical question, Christianus vero quid
simile? And he answers in language remarkably similar to Perpetua’s, . . . interroga-
tus vel ultro confitetur, damnatus gratias agit (see Apol. 1.12). It is the basis for
the substantive confessor that identifies an ascetic and holy Christian in the post-
Constantinian Church.
VI.2. then they came to me (ventum est ad me). An impersonal passive construc-
tion (see Bennett, sec. 256.3). It is interesting to note that she is the last of the
catechumens to be interrogated. This is a curious detail, since we would have
expected a woman of some status to have been cross-examined before the two
slaves. The Latin is rapid, idiomatic, almost breathless, and more concise than
the Greek, which says “And I also was going to be questioned” (Ἤμελλον δὲ κἀγὼ
ἐξετάζεσθαι).
VI.2. And my father appeared (et apparuit pater). The appearance of her father
is most unexpected, particularly after she has just told us she was next in the
dock. The suddenness of his appearance with her son heightens the drama of
the moment as her father tries to save her from the state and herself. Her father is
depicted as continually interrupting these proceedings (see III.1 and V.1). These
interruptions and sudden appearances heighten the drama and highlight the
father’s desperation. Moreover, they show the small group of catechumens as
being consumed by the machinery of the state, a fate their parents are unable to
control. As these vestiges of parental care are abrogated, the narrative shows the
catechumens are left with but one protector, God.
VI.2. dragged me from the step (extraxit me de gradu). The Greek participle
κ αταγαγώ ν is softer, less angry than the Latin fi nite verb, and does not have the
primal force of dragging her (extraxit) against her will back to the floor of the
forum. The more common Greek correspondent to traho is ἓλκω. Perpetua uses
gradus twice, here and in her earlier remark that she used the serpent’s head as a
step (IV.7). This step is not the catasta proper but a stairway leading to the top of
the platform where, presumably, the rest of the recently confessed and the pre-
siding judge await her.
VI.2. sacrifice (supplica). This use of the imperative form (MS A) better cap-
tures the father’s emotional state, having just dragged his daughter from the step,
than supplicans (MSS M, P, N). The father wishes her to perform the sacrifice and
to offer the prayer to the emperor’s genius (Formisano 94, no. 70). Such a sacri-
fice was anathema to the Christians, and it was this refusal that brought the state’s
wrath against them (see Plin. Ep. 10.16; Acta Scillitanorum 3; Tert. Apol. 32: Sed et
iuramus, sicut non per genios Caesarum, ita per salutem eorum, quae est augustior
omnibus geniis[.] . . . Ceterum daemonas, id est genios, adiurare consuevimus, ut illos
de hominibus exigamus, non deierare, ut eis honorem divinitatis conferamus; Ad nat.
17: Sed non dicimus deum imperatorem). The Greek uses Ἐπίθυσον, which contains
the root θυ-/“sacrifice.” MS P has the intriguing but less convincing reading dixit
supplicans. This places her father in the position of begging, and the single com-
mand which he makes to his daughter is miserere.
VI.2. Have pity on your baby (miserere infanti). We might have expected a geni-
tive in place of her dative.
VI.3. Hilarianus (Hilarianus). Th is individual has been identified as one P.
Aelius Hilarianus, a member of the equites class from Aphrodisias in Caria. His
family was likely of Greek origin—a family cognomen of Apollonianus is from the
Greek Apollonios—and they likely received Roman citizenship under Hadrian.
The Hilarianus of the Passio may have risen through the military ranks. He is likely
to be identified with the Hilarianus who served in the role of procurator ducenar-
ius in Spain in the early 190s. Of the six procurators in early third-century Car-
thage, Rives speculates that Hilarianus was serving as the senior procurator for
Carthage, the procurator IV publicorum Africae. See Rives, “Piety,” 5, 9; see also
Prosopographia Imperii Romani Saec.I, II, III, hereafter PIR, 89, no. 175, which
locates him in Africa between 198 and 208 (PIR4 H 175); Birley conjectured that
he may also have supervised his fellow Aphrodisians who were at work construct-
ing Lepcis Magna (see Birley, “Persecutors,” 46; and also Bremmer, “Perpetua,”
92). Tertullian mentions some of the abuses that were visited on the Christian
community during this Hilarianus’s administration. Such abuses are an indication
of his piety toward the Roman deities (see Scap. 3.1: quod nulla ciuitas impune
latura sit sanguinis nostri eff usionem; sicut et sub Hilariano praeside).
VI.3. the procurator (procurator). Originally the term “procurator” designated
an official who managed property for a wealthy principal and, in the provinces,
watched over the emperor’s wealth. Hilarianus, however, has broader powers
than simply fi nancial ones and is functioning as the senior official of a province.
He is responsible for administering the public finances and in some instances, as
here, serves as a kind of magistrate or quaestor parricidii, charged with adminis-
tering justice in the province. The procurator was not a magistrate, and some have
argued that the office did not have the power to authorize a trial by a iudex (see
Jolowicz, Roman Law, 350). However, Hilarianus is also serving in the capacity of
the deceased proconsul Minucius Timinianus, vice praesidis, and hence govern-
ing the province with the powers due to that office.
VI.3. proconsul (proconsulis). Originally this term designated the official who
acted as if he were the official magistrate: that is, he served in the place of the
consul without actually being the consul, typically for the period of one year.
During the Republic the proconsul was the supreme civil and military official of
a province. For the period of the Empire, it was typical for the governor of a prov-
ince to have the title of proconsul, having frequently completed a term in office as
consul.
VI.3. Minucius Timinianus (Minuci Timiniani). The recently deceased governor
of Africa. If the persecution took place in March of 203, Minicius must have re-
cently died, hence the appropriateness of the aside defuncti. It would hardly be
necessary to qualify his situation as defuncti if some time had passed after his
death and before the present persecution, since knowledge of the new provincial
governor would have been well established. Such a qualification gives more cre-
dence to the text’s historical accuracy. The Greek version gives us a more correct
version of his name, Mινουκίου Ὀππιανοῦ. The Latin Timinianus is likely a corruption
for Opimianus. (See PIR5 M 622, 1983, where he is identified as proconsul for
Africa in 202/3 and consul ca. 186.) He was a descendant of an earlier procon-
sul for Africa, one T. Salvius Rufinus Minicius Opimianus, ca. 123 (PIR5 M
623). (See DNP, 8.218: allerdings mit dem Cogn. Timinianus bzw. Oppianus, das
zu Opimianus zu verandern ist; Musurillo, Acts, 113; Barnes, Tertullian, 267;
Thomasson, Fasti Africani, 79; Eck, “Erganzugen,” 326–28; and Bremmer,
“Perpetua,” 92.)
VI.3. right of the sword (ius gladii). This phrase denotes one’s legal right to levy
the death sentence (see Garnsey, “Criminal Jurisdiction,” 52, 55). Thus, Hilaria-
nus had received the consular responsibility (see procurator, VI.3 above) for exer-
cising his discretion concerning the implementation of capital punishment
against all provincials other than aristocrats (see Dig. 1.18.6–8 and 2.1.3; see also
Ermann, “Ius gladii,” 365–66). The adjudication of capital punishment cases was
one of the singular duties of the proconsul. The proconsul had authority to
impose the death penalty without restriction on all non-Romans. When Roman
citizens were involved, it was usually the case that the governor would pass the
initial judgment, but the actual sentence had to be authorized by the emperor. In
the early years of the first century, the defendant was often dispatched to Rome.
By the second century, however, all that seems to have been required was written
permission to execute. If this procedure was still in place at the time of the Passio,
there would have been a necessary delay in her execution, since Perpetua was
likely a citizen, albeit holding the lesser rank of civitas sine suff ragio. (See Peppe,
Posizione giuridica e ruolo, 14–16; and Bauman, Women and Politics, 2.) Might the
delay in the execution of Perpetua and her comrades support some presumption
that the decision was being ratified by Rome? The provincial governor of Lugdu-
nensis wrote to the emperor concerning his disposition of the citizen Christians
in 177: περι ὧν ἐπέστειλε τῷ Kαίσαρι (Martyrs of Lyons, 1.43.36). Ulpian, writing
after Caracalla’s edict of 212, even remarks that women who have been sentenced
to the salt mines for criminal acts may retain their citizenship: si uero ad tempus
damnantur, retinent ciuitatem (Dig. 48.19.8).
VI.3. Spare (parce). The procurator abruptly breaks into the conversation
between father and daughter. His repetitious use of the imperative conveys his
sense of urgency to get this unpleasant situation dispatched as quickly as possible.
His imperious demands contrast vividly with the terrible emotional struggle that
is destroying father and daughter.
VI.3. Offer the sacrifice ( fac sacrum). See above VI.2, supplica. The Greek again
(see VI.2, supplica) uses the imperative Ἐπίθυσον.
VI.3. for the health of the emperors (pro salute imperatorum). See the argument
above. Hilarianus expects her to sacrifice to the health of Septimius Severus
(193–211 ce) and to that of his two sons, Caracalla (211–17) and Geta (209–11).
Both sons had the title of Caesar bestowed on them, ostensibly to diminish
rivalry. The two sons served as joint emperors after their father’s death in York on
4 February 211. Caracalla and Geta, jealous of each other throughout their youth,
increasingly despised each other. Caracalla had his younger brother murdered in
December 211. The tradition of offering sacrifice to the emperors was likely also
dictated by political exigencies and was viewed as a shrewd way to knit together
an increasingly heterogeneous Empire. The emperor became through synecdo-
che a figure who represented and was, in a sense, the Empire. Hence, to sacrifice
to him as a deity was to acknowledge one’s allegiance to the state. Tertullian
mocks the practice of making Christians sacrifice to the emperor, claiming that
forced sacrifice has no value, that Roman gods are devils, that some Romans who
have sworn to the emperor’s genius are well-known traitors to the state, and lastly
that every human being has a right to worship whomever he chooses (see Tert.
Scap. 2.1: Ceteros et ipsi putatis deos esse, quos nos daemonas scimus).
VI.4. And I answered (Et ego respondi). The resultant dialogue between Per-
petua and Hilarianus sounds rather like the question and answer responses we
find in the cognitio extra ordinem and is likely her accurate rendering of this actual
event.
VI.4. I am a Christian (Christiana sum). The interrogation is formulaic and fol-
lows a procedure indebted to that promoted in Pliny’s letter to Trajan (Ep. 10.
96.3): Interrogavi ipsos an essent Christiani. Confitentes iterum ac tertio interrogavi
supplicium minatus; and Trajan’s response (Ep. 10.97.2): Conquirendi non sunt; si
deferantur et arguantur, puniendi sunt. The profession of the faith had by the sec-
ond half of the second century become a ritualized response on which the indi-
vidual’s guilt or innocence was determined. Polycarp, when asked to swear by the
emperor’s genius, refuses and acknowledges he is a Christian: (Governor)
Ὄμοσον τὴν Kαίσαρος τ ύχην, (Polycarp) Xριστιανός εἰμι (Mart. Pol. 10.1). The
Passio Sanctorum Scillitanorum 11 has a similar formal question and answer—
Saturninus proconsul Sperato dixit: Perseueras Christianus? Speratus dixit: Christia-
nus sum. Tertullian tells of a soldier in the field who refuses to wear the laurel
crown. When questioned by his superior why he will not do as others do and
wear the crown, he declares himself not at liberty to wear the crown and states
that he is a Christian (Cor. 1.2: Cur, inquit, tam diversus habitu? Negavit ille cum
caeteris sibi licere; causas expostulatus, Christianus sum, respondit).
VI.5. persisted in his efforts (staret). The word has overtones of the father
standing resolutely, almost defiantly, at her side. The Greek equivalent is
ἐσπούδαζεν (“was eager”). He must have been standing close to her, perhaps on
the catasta itself, since Hilarianus’s men, presumably close to the procurator
so as to protect the dignitary from the crowd, beat her father with rods. (See
virga below, VI.5.) His close presence underscores again his deep feelings for
this daughter. Certain manuscripts (P and N) read temptaret, to which one
scribe has added perseverare (MS O). An emendation with perseveraret might
be called for.
VI.5. tried to change my mind (ad me deiciendam). It is not immediately clear
why Hilarianus is so affronted by her father’s efforts to have her follow the ob-
vious request of the procurator. This verb is used four times (III.1, V.1, VI.5,
XVIII.2), and in three of those instances, it reports her father’s efforts at trying to
get her to change her mind.
VI.5. thrown (proici). The word suggests that the father was thrown violently
down from the platform. It is used in a similar fashion in both the Vetus and the
Vulgate (Lv 1.16 and Is 22.17).
VI.5. beaten with a rod (virga percussus est). The father is beaten by some of the
retinue of Hilarianus, who presumably carry the rods as weapons to control the
mob. The Greek states that only one of the guards (τῶν δορυφόρων) struck him
with a rod. Augustine sees the beating inflicted on her father as an effort on the
devil’s part; it is part of the devil’s plan to move her to pity for her father and thus
give up her quest for martyrdom (see Serm. 281.22). His reading is an effort at
trying to reconcile the divisions between a father and a daughter, one not as obe-
dient as Augustine might have liked, and to lay the blame for such divisiveness on
Satan. Aside from the obvious brutality of the Romans toward her father, if we
read the anecdote as her father’s efforts at thwarting her martyrdom, then his
beating might be construed as an act sponsored by God. If such a reading is plau-
sible, then certain semantic Biblical parallels—where the rod of Aaron, for
example, is used by the Lord to punish the mighty and chasten the faithful—are
worth investigating (see Ex 4.2, 7.12; Is 30.32, virga percussus; Heb 9.4; and the
rod of iron in Rv 2.27, 12.5, and 19.15). Note that Ulpian states that proconsuls
should prescribe being beaten with rods for minor offenses for people of rank: uel
fustibus castigare (Dig. 48.2.6). Is it likely that Hilarianus’s men are here to admin-
ister prescribed punishment in the event one of the accused recanted?
VI.5. made me sad (et doluit mihi). The depth of her feeling is very clear. Her
father, very possibly a member of the equites, is thrown down, beaten, and
humiliated in front of this vast throng in the middle of the forum. Certainly
one of her father’s great fears, that he would be exposed to the shame of men
(V.2, dedecus hominum), has come true.
VI.5. father’s suffering (casus patris). Here casus is wonderfully nuanced in that
it conveys both the father’s literal fall, being thrown to the ground, and his
grievous misfortune at being beaten and humiliated.
VI.5. almost as if I had been beaten (quasi ego fuissem percussa). Her deep feelings
for her father are so intense that she feels his pain as if it were her own. The form
fuissem percussa is an alternate use for the more common pluperfect passive sub-
junctive percussa essem (see Bennett, notes on 60–1).
VI.5. for his age (pro senecta). Perpetua notes on two occasions that she pities
her father for his old age (VI.5 and IX.3). Why does she single out his age for her
pity? There are so many other things concerning him for which she might feel
pity. Perhaps his age has become for her a sign of his frailty. He is no longer the
virile young man she knew as a child, but now he is victim to the vicissitudes,
both physical and emotional, of life. He cannot manage the burdens he once
shouldered. Her memory of a stronger, larger-than-life father collides with the
present spectacle of him lying on the ground at her feet, being beaten for her sake.
This juxtaposition, and possibly her awareness of her part in his humiliation, pro-
vokes immense sorrow.
VI.6. us all (nos universos). The solidarity of the litt le group is always a
constant, as the presence of an apostate would suggest a weakness in the
group’s faith.
VI.6. he pronounced (pronuntiat). The official, formal proclamation of the
death sentence under the rule of ius gladii is formally pronounced. An execution
could not proceed without its being made. This became a formal part of the Acta
Martyrum (see Carpus 4.1; Pionius 20.7; Cypr. 5.1; and Marian and James 11.8).
The Greek text only uses the single verb πρὸς θηρία κατακρίνει where the Latin,
apparently following the legal code more closely, uses both verbs: pronuntiat et
damnat ad bestias.
VI.6. and condemned us to the beasts (et damnat ad bestias). The presiding mag-
istrate had some latitude in choosing the nature of the punishment for a capital
crime. Aristocrats and those who were Roman citizens were treated somewhat
differently and often spared the more horrific forms of punishment. Being con-
demned to the beasts was one of the traditional methods of execution employed
by Rome for capital offenses (Dig. 48.10.9). Once her sentence is pronounced,
Perpetua is no longer considered a citizen, and hence she can be killed in this
manner. Gaius maintains that once sentenced to death, a citizen loses citizenship:
Quia ultimo supplicio damnantur, statim et ciuitatem et libertatem perdunt (Dig.
48.19.29). Hence, there seems to be little jurisprudential impediment that would
bar Hilarianus from sentencing her to death ad bestias.
VI.6. cheerfully (hilares). The martyrs have begun their journey toward martyr-
dom, and every step of the way as they move inexorably along this path they are
filled with an incrased spiritual joy. The idea becomes a veritable trope in the lit-
erature of Christian martyrdom, and some saints are portrayed singing joyously
as they go to their deaths (see Passio Sanctarum Agapes, Eirenes, et Chiones 7.2;
Vita Cypriani 15.2; Passio Sanctorum Montani et Lucii 13.2; Passio Beati Phileae
8.2). Some have tried to see Stoic influence in the martyrs’ joy at their impending
death (see Amat, 213). However, Stoicism did not discriminate among virtuous
actions, and it derived all virtue from reason, not faith. To be sure, there is much
in the ethical system of Stoicism that Christians could subscribe to, but there was
little to overlap in their epistemologies and, consequently, in their spiritualities.
To follow reason’s dictates—to be wise—was a duty, not a choice for the Stoics.
Lastly, notice how her mood has shifted from feeling deep grief for her father’s
sorrow to her present joy. Compare this with Acts 5.41: “They therefore departed
from the presence of the council, rejoicing that they were counted worthy to suffer
dishonor for Jesus’ name.”
VI.7. we went down [from the platform] to the prison (descendimus ad carcerem).
Their descent is from the catasta, but the prison itself is, as we have been told,
a dark and quasi-subterranean place: tenebras (III.5).
VI.7. become accustomed (consueverat). The child must have been with her for
some time throughout her prison stay; otherwise, she would not have used the
pluperfect of consuescere.
VI.7. to nurse at my breasts (a me infans mammas accipere). This is an intriguing
remark. Why does she specify that her child was willing to “accept/receive” the
breast from her? Might there have been someone else who nursed the child? Is
there a slight hint in this remark that her child had only become accustomed to
nursing at her breasts (a me) in prison, because when she was free, she employed
a freewoman as a nutrix? Wet nurses were ubiquitous in the Roman household of
individuals of this rank. Rawson suggests that in the upper classes it was rare for a
woman to nurse her child, and wet nurses were commonly employed. Children
were usually weaned at about the age of two, so Perpetua’s son would likely be less
than two. (See Rawson, Children, 123; and Bradley, “Wet-nursing,” 201–29.)
VI.7. I immediately sent (statim mitto). Perpetua appears to have held a position
of some respect and authority among the Christians, as she acts decisively and
without delay when she believes the need is imminent. Women without authority
who were writing at this time likely would have used less demanding language,
and used statim, for example, with rogo, or related synonyms like consulo and
posco. She uses statim at pivotal times: at moments of sudden awareness and at
times when she must make a decision (III.9, IV.10, VI.1, and here). The Greek
merely has πέμπω without an adverb.
VI.7. Pomponius (Pomponium). He is one of her spiritual teachers and deacon
to this small group of catechumens. He is a Christian but not a recent convert,
because he is not under arrest. Only recent converts seem to have fallen afoul of
the authorities. The name, occasionally written Pomponianus, may have been a
common one in Carthage. (See Tert. Apol. 9.12.25 and De Spect. 8; Cypr. Ep. 61;
and see Pomponium, III.7 above.)
VI.7. deacon (diaconum). See diaconum, III.7 above.
VI.8. father would not give him back (pater dare noluit). The Latin stresses the
unwillingness (ne + volo) of the father to return her child, while the Greek simply
states that he did not give (οὐκ ἔδωκεν) the infant back. The sequence of events
concerning the disposition of the child can be confusing. Perpetua rarely gives
precise sequences of time, and she seldom gives the names of those who serve as
her intermediaries. The narrator tells us (II.3) that she was arrested and that she
had a child at the breast. It is not clear from these remarks whether this comment
is simply an informational comment on her life situation—in the same vein as
honeste nata, liberaliter instituta—or whether he intends the reader to under-
stand that she has the child with her during and following her arrest.
The next mention of the child (III.8) is unambiguous—the child is in prison
with her. She states that she was concerned for his health and so nursed him in
prison. Shortly thereafter (also in III.8) she decides to give her son over to her
mother and brother for his care. However, the next mention of the child in the
following line, “after the passage of many days,” finds him returned to her in prison
(III.9). She has just received permission to have the child returned to her in
prison. She does not state from whom she sought such permission. The child is
not mentioned again until VI.2, when her father appears with her son and tries to
drag her from the catasta. It is not possible to say for certain whether the child has
been with her all this time (since III.9) or whether her father had somehow
assumed custody for an undetermined amount of time. The frequent comings
and goings suggest at the very least the porosity of the Roman prison for individ-
uals of status.
VI.8. the baby (ille). Although her son would have been named on his dies lus-
tricus, Perpetua never refers to him by name. This is noteworthy and only par-
tially explicable. Eight percent of all children died in their first month of life and
30 percent in their first year, and likely at least half of all children born were dead
before reaching their fifth birthday (see Hopkins, Death and Renewal, 225). It is
possible that Roman women steeled themselves from ever deepening attachment
to their infants by not using the child’s name more than absolutely necessary. Per-
petua may be behaving in this fashion. Of all the epitaphs recorded in the CIL,
only 0.4 percent are for children under a year old (Rawson, Children, 344). The
Romans viewed very young children differently from adolescents. Another pos-
sible reason Perpetua does not use his name is that she may wish to shield the
child from future association with her.
VI.8. God willed (Deus voluit). See V.5, Deus voluerit above. The contrast
between noluit and voluit seems intentional. Within the space of five words, she
compares her father’s unwillingness to return her child (noluit) with God’s will-
ingness (voluit) to grant her favors. The assonance and sonority of the verbs did
not escape her.
VI.8. (ne). If this is a result clause, the ne is used in the sense of ut non, but if it
is a purpose clause—and it seems to have this force—the use is perfectly classical.
VI.8. tormented (macerarer). See III.6 macerabar above. Mammas is the object
of desideravit. The medical situation she is describing is engorgement or, in her
case, its absence. When nursing is interrupted, the breasts typically can become
edemic, and the skin surface will be taut, hot, and tender to the touch, and some-
times this will be accompanied by a low-grade fever. Her surprise that she does
not have such inflammation is of interest, as it suggests her knowledge of nursing
and may speak to her past experience. Such a detail makes male authorship less
probable (see Moon and Humenick, “Breast Engorgement”).
VI.8. by the pain ( fervorem fecerunt). The noun (fervor) suggests an intense
heat, a virtual fire and pain in the breasts. She avoids the more common noun
inflammatio used by that time to describe such situations in the body (see Cels.
Med. 6.6.17).
CHAPTER VII
The Argument: Dinocrates, Power and Death’s Defeat

This dream, the first of two concerning her brother Dinocrates, serves multiple
functions: it allows the reader a further glimpse into Perpetua’s emotional state, it
fleshes out her biography, it provides historical details pertinent to the events in
prison, and, lastly, these two dreams concerning Dinocrates provide Perpetua
with the knowledge that God has granted her a special grace, a power which
extends beyond the boundaries of life itself. In short, she learns that she can
change the status of the souls of the dead, even the non-Christian dead. There are
other near-contemporary parallels of Christians praying for the non-Christian
dead; for example, in the Acts of Paul and Thecla, Queen Tryphaena’s deceased
daughter Falconilla comes to her in a dream and asks her mother to have the
Christian Thecla pray for her so that she may be translated “to the place of righ-
teousness” (1.28). Perpetua’s present dream opens with a uniquely personal rev-
elation: she and her fellow Christians are at prayer when a mysterious inner voice
prompts her to cry out the name Dinocrates. Her scream and her subsequent
recognition of her long dead brother’s name alarm her. She says that following her
shock she felt grief as she remembered her deceased younger brother. Grief rap-
idly gives way to her understanding that the incident of his name issuing without
volition was a divine gift done for a purpose. She concludes that she is found
worthy and that she is expected to pray for her brother. Perpetua’s emotions move
quickly from shock to grief to understanding her mission. How does she know
that the cry was prompted by God’s wish that she aid her brother? She lives in
such a heightened state of religious awareness that the smallest event, no matter its
significance, is a sign of God’s plan for her. The name of her brother, unprompted
and unbidden, is a divine sanction to prayer.
She gives no details of their prayer, nor does she say whether it was audible
or silent. Although we know that in their private services North African Chris-
tians prayed intensely and quite audibly (see Tert. Or. 17), there appears to be no
liturgical component attached to their prayer, which might suggest it is a silent,
meditative prayer, particularly since they are in prison and concerned lest they
raise the curiosity of their fellow non-Christian inmates and the anger of the
authorities. Moreover, if the small group were praying silently, surely her cry
would have startled them. It is interesting that no mention is made of her com-
panions’ response to her cry. Are they used to her prayerful exclamations? Per-
haps their response is not germane to the story she is about to tell, and thus she
does not mention it. Perhaps her outburst is a necessary part of establishing her
position as prophetic visionary. Is she deliberately placing herself in the tradition
of female visionaries, like Priscilla or Maximilla, and thereby seeking to reinforce
her authority in the community, despite her imprisonment? There are no certain
answers for our questions. It does appear important, however, that she situates
the onset of the inner voice in the midst of their communal prayer. Perhaps the
point she is trying to make is that, although they are under arrest, stripped of all
their rights, condemned to death by a hostile state, and awaiting their death, God
is in their midst and has not abandoned them to the mob.
While we are not told the source of this inner voice, the grammar and syntax
she employs suggest that she believed it came from a source outside herself. Her
shock at hearing the name of her long-dead brother prompts a rapid cascade of
differing psychological states—from peaceful prayer to surprise to sadness. His
name causes her to remember his terrible death. This involuntary cry shocks her,
precipitates her mental image of the dead child, and finally moves her to grief.
However, her grief at the vision creates in her a new awareness of her own
authority. She concludes that she is powerful, and that she can help her brother
even though he is long dead. Her difficult emotional pilgrimage is rendered in
spartan prose.
Dinocrates is a Greek name. It was not an uncommon custom in Roman
Carthage at this time, however, for Roman children to receive a Greek praenomen,
particularly among the privileged classes (see below VII.1, Dinocraten). The
child’s Greek name further suggests that his father was a Hellenophile. Such
parental disposition for things Greek helps explain Perpetua’s facility in the Greek
language (see below XIII.4). Indeed, such familial background and the existence
of centers of Greek learning across Roman Africa and Egypt bolster my earlier
suggestion that she was familiar with Plato, possibly having read him in Greek
(see above III.2).
Perpetua’s response to hearing her brother’s name prompts a rich narrative
image. She draws inspiration and takes direction from her cry of his name. This
direction leads her to two conclusions: first, she believes this unbidden utterance
is a sign of God’s favor, and second, she is convinced that Dinocrates needs her
prayers. She gives no reasons for these conclusions. She understands intuitively
the cry “Dinocrates” to be the voice of God emerging unbidden from within her,
that God has spoken to her, and that this is perhaps a sign of His divine favor—a
“still small voice” like that which spoke to Elijah (1 Kgs 19.12). But what should
she do about such confidence placed in her? She seeks the answer to this question
in prayer. Her prayer is intense, vocal, and filled with audible groans. No mention
is made of her companions. The prayer prompts a vision that very night, some
hours after she heard the voice. It would appear that she heard the voice during
the day; she states it was “a few days later” (post dies paucos). There is a difficulty
with the chronology that separates the two dreams of Dinocrates, and it may be
more likely that she was transferred yet again from the military prison after her
first vision to a smaller urban prison (where she finds herself in the stocks), under
the jurisdiction of the military but closer to the municipal amphitheatre of Car-
thage (see Chapter VIII below).
Let us turn to the vision itself. The vision consists of a child emerging from a
dark, crowded place. He is hot, thirsty, pale, and dirty. It is noteworthy that where
the Latin limits itself to a description of Dinocrates, the Greek describes many
others in this desperate state. Her dreams are very concrete. Yet there is much we
are not told, some of which may be significant. For example, we are not told
whether her brother is tall or short, brown-haired or blond, dressed or naked,
shod or unshod, or indeed, even whether he recognizes her. He is a mere name
attached to a shade. He is also mute. Are such details peripheral, or might they
contain insight into the text? Any number of such dream-visions, in both non-
Christian and Christian sources, have the deceased subject speak to the living
dreamer. Dinocrate’s lack of speech may indicate a reality, which she feels no need
to adumbrate, to wit, that the cancer of his face destroyed his ability to speak.
What can we learn from the four features she identifies and presumably
believes significant: hot, thirsty, pale, and dirty? The first two indicate the child
has a need, while the latter two suggest his lack of robustness and uncleanness.
She does not theologize about her brother’s situation, his physical state, or the
physical location of the dream. No further description is given of the place. While
many have found it to be a description of a soul in purgatory, it is well to note that
there is no explicit textual warrant for such an interpretation. Her dream is of a
brother who is dead, who longs to drink, and who is covered with the detritus of
the dead. There is no doubt, however, that she is praying for her dead brother.
Although explicit prayers for the dead were still comparatively rare in Christian-
ity, there was Scriptural sanction for such prayer (2 Mc 12.38–45 and 1 Cor 15.29,
and possibly 2 Tm 1.18, since Onesiphorus is already dead). Moreover, there is
post-Scriptural evidence, such as epigraphic fragments or acclamations in the

third-century catacombs (e.g., Vivatis in Deo, the epitaph of Abercius, Bishop of
Hieropolis ca. 216; and see Tert. Cor. 3.3: Oblationes pro defunctis, pro nataliciis,
annua die facimus).
Returning to her vision, we notice that the child has a wound on his face that
resulted from an ulcerous condition, possibly a cancer. She remarks that all men
who saw it were horrified. Was the disease disfiguring? Their horror was presum-
ably not directed against the child but against his disease and his suffering. He
died a miserable and painful death. She does not mention their parents or any of
his other siblings, nor their response to Dinocrates’ death. Her mention of the
men who saw her brother is to record their horror. Is there some shame con-
nected with the child’s death that is reflected in her memory of the mens’ horror?
She returns to her prayers, but she finds them futile. She notes that there is a
great gulf separating her from her brother. Dinocrates stands near a pool of water.
The pool appears to be directly outside the dark hole, or very near the entrance
to the hole. The child tries to drink from the pool; he stretches to his full height,
but the rim is higher than he can reach. Her description of the pool’s height and
Dinocrates’ efforts to reach it are significant. They are verbal reminiscences of
her first dream and her efforts to mount the high ladder on her journey to heaven
(see IV.3). Both dreams are narratives that depict an individual who struggles
toward salvation along a vertical axis. She uses metaphors of height to highlight
the idea that salvation needs to be striven after and that the axis of salvation is a
vertical one with God at its crown.
Her sorrow at seeing Dinocrates frustrated at not being able to quench his
thirst causes her more grief, and she awakens. On awakening, it becomes clear to
her, at least on a conscious level, that while Dinocrates is suffering, she is the
agent who can help him. She next says that she prayed for him every day until they
were transferred to the military prison. We have no idea how many days this may
have been. Yet we learn two important historical facts—that she will eventually
be transferred to the military prison and that the date of their execution has been
fixed. First, we may conclude that at the time of this dream she is not in the mili-
tary prison but probably in the municipal one. Second, they are to fight the beasts
on the birthday of the emperor Geta, the youngest son of the emperor Septimius
Severus. The date of the execution, although frequently given in other Acta mar-
tyrum during the actual sentencing, is omitted here; presumably, the specificity of
the Caesar’s birthday was sufficient. Written permission was typically required
from Rome to execute a Roman citizen. The obvious delay may owe something to
this judicial exigency, if in fact it was being sought by the authorities.
It is tempting to read the figure of Dinocrates as a subconscious projection of
Perpetua’s alter ego: to wit, she too must struggle from the dark, hot, and dirty
confines of the military prison before she reaches the cool, salvific waters of
redemption. While such readings have much to recommend them, they can be
reductive and impose twenty-first-century attitudes on antiquity. It is well to be
mindful that Perpetua is deliberately writing about the death of her brother Dino-
crates from the point of view of an educated Roman woman recently converted
to an eschatological Christianity. She believes that she can speak with God, and
accepts without skepticism that premonitions and dreams come from God. The
child Dinocrates and the young mother condemned to death are both important
figures in the dream. Yet two other figures are never far from her thoughts, those
of her son and her father. Her dream of Dinocrates does not exist outside the mind
of the dreamer. While her brother is the principal object in the dream, the subjec-
tivity of Perpetua is also fundamental to any genuine understanding, since it is her
interpretation of her dream which invests the whole with meaning. Therefore,
both their complex realities as they coexist in her mind—first as children together,
and second in her memory of a long-forgotten, beloved brother called to mind
after the passage of many years, in the mind of a young mother on the precipice of
death, about to lose her son and father but gain paradise—must be the subject of
investigation.
Chapter VII Commentary
VII.1. A few days later (post paucos dies). See above post paucos dies, III.4 and
III.5.
VII.1. while we were all praying (dum universi oramus). Dum with the present
indicative is standard use (Bennett, sec. 293). The prison authorities did not
restrict them from assembling together, nor from praying to their God. Tertul-
lian’s description of early Christian prayer in Carthage may have some bearing on
what they were actually doing. He says Christians pray, looking to heaven, arms
outstretched, heads uncovered, but with no leader, because they pray from the
heart: quia de pectore oramus (See Tert. Apol. 30.4).
VII.1. suddenly, in the midst of our prayer (subito media oratione). She uses this
adverb whenever a swift and significant change has overtaken her (III.9; IV.10;
VI.1, 7; VII.2).
VII.1. a voice came to me (profecta est mihi vox). The use of the perfect deponent
with the dative reinforces the mysterious occurrence of the voice and makes vox
the subject, using mihi in the dative to refer to Perpetua. Proficiscor implies that
the voice sprang unbidden out of her. The Latin suggests that the uttering of the
cry was not voluntary on her part, but suddenly arose from her mouth. Hence, we
can understand her amazement. The Greek use of a genitive absolute, referring
to the utterance of the cry, in place of the Latin dum universi oramus, makes
Perpetua the subject and suggests something voluntary on her part (ἀφῆκα
φωνὴν). Their differences are, of course, considerable and may highlight the his-
torical context for the Passio. Theologically, the unbidden voice would find more
fertile soil in the apocalyptic climate of early third-century Carthage. Montanus
compares someone in ecstasy to a lyre on which the Holy Spirit plays His mel-
odies; the man sleeps, but the Holy Spirit is awake. Tertullian believed that all
dreams came from God (De Anim. 49.3: Sed et a Deo deducimus somnia; see also
Acts 2.17). The Latin is more in sympathy with the utterance being from the Holy
Spirit.
VII.1. Dinocrates (Dinocraten). The name is well testified in Africa at least since
the Deinokrates of Rhodes who designed the city of Alexandria (ca. 332 bce).
The name of her brother suggests that his father was a Hellenophile. Extending
this assumption about her father helps explain her ability and education in the
Greek language. Hellenism penetrated even the rural areas. In the countryside
outside of Alexandria, for example, the Greek language was studied in schools,
and there is evidence of the adoption of Greek names in the local population (see
Thompson, “Ptolemies,” 111). Rome’s complex and sometimes ambivalent adop-
tion of things Greek and the influence of such adoption on daily life are covered
by Green, Alexander, 501, 507–8. Jews also, particularly the elite, despite their
suspicion of much non-Jewish culture and their considerable efforts at maintain-
ing cultural integrity in some major cities of the Empire, actively adopted Hel-
lenic culture and Greek names. For example, Jason of Cyrene, the author of 2 Mc,
identifies the Jews Jason and Menelaos as the villains of his narrative. Philo
remarks on the considerable attendance of Jews at the theater. The Jews of Alex-
andria were, among the other Greek-speaking inhabitants of the city, legally con-
sidered Hellenes (see Gruen, Diaspora, 69, 213–31).
VII.1. I was shocked (obstipui). Obstipesco conveys the depth of her profound
surprise and shock (cf. VII.1). She is overcome with a kind of amazement when
confronted with an event which she believes to have some divine origin. In each
of the four instances where the verb is used in the NT, it denotes the astonishing
power of God (see Mk 5.42, 16.5–6; Acts 10.45, 12.16: et obstupuerunt; Souter,
s.v. obstupesco). The Greek ἔκθαμβος ἐγενήθην (“I became amazed”) in a root
form was often used to signify a divine portent (cf. Od. 3.372 and BDAG, s.v.
θάμβος). The Vetus and the Vulgate use obstupescere as an equivalent for both
ἐξίσ τ ημι (“stand out”) and ἐκθαμβέω (“stupefy”). See Schmoller; and Lampe,
sv. εκθαμβέω; and Acts 3.10–11.
VII.1. never before then (numquam . . . nisi tunc). She illustrates the depth of her
surprise by acknowledging that never before had he come (venisset) into her
mind. Surely, she simply means that his name had not entered her mind for many
years, possibly since shortly after he died.
VII.1. remembered (commemorata). The genitive casus is used because of the

verb of remembering (see Bennett, sec. 205–6; see also Cypr. Adv. Jud. 3.57;
Souter, s.v. commemoro; and Halporn, ad loc, 36). This expression is also used in
the Passio Sanctorum Montani et Lucii, 7.8, immediately before Quartillosa speaks
of her recently martyred son and husband. Its use there is indebted to the present
text.
VII.1. fate (casus). See above VI.5. Although I have preferred to translate this
as her reflection on the fate that befell her brother, casus was sometimes used as
a euphemism for death (see Suet. Calig. 10). While there can be some ambi-
guity in the Latin casus (meaning “fall;” see OLD, s.v. casus, 1), the Greek
τελ ευτῆς means “end,” with the clear indication of “death.”
VII.2. I knew at once that I was worthy (cognovi me statim dignam esse). The Latin
does not specify in what way she is worthy and, therefore, why she “ought”
(debere) to pray for him. The Greek is more satisfactory and specifically notes that
she was worthy “to make a request” (ἀξίαν οὖσαν αἴτησιν ποιήσασθαι) concerning
him (see above IV.1, dignatione). It is the utterance of her brother’s name, long
forgotten, and her recognition of the origin of that prompting, i.e., the Holy Spirit,
that lead her to conclude that she is worthy, in other words, in a state of grace.
There is an intriguing textual variant in MS N which reads pati instead petere, and
thus has Perpetua say that she knew she was worthy to “suffer” for him.
VII.2. intensely (multum). The choice between the readings multum and multam
is not easy, but the meaning of the line is not affected by the choice. The adjectival
form agreeing with orationem would be multam. The adverbial use here has the
support of the Greek πλεῖστα.
VII.2. to groan (ingemescere). See OLD, s.v. ingemesco, which perhaps became
related to gemino, to “double the force” of a lamentation; and Souter, s.v. con-
gemesco (particularly his remarks on the spelling variants, e.g., ingemiscere). The
word represents the depth of feeling in Perpetua’s prayer. See the Vetus and the
Vulgate for this depth of prayerful feeling, a crying out to God when in desperate
straits (see Ex 2.23, ingemiscentes filii Israel; and see Pss 55.18; 2 Cor 5.2). Augus-
tine in his Confessions reports that his mother cried copious tears in her prayers
(5.8.15, 6.1.1) and, using the same verb as here, mentions his own heartfelt
prayers: Nec iam ingemescebam orando (6.3.1). Immediately before he hears the
child chanting tolle lege, tolle lege, he remarks on his emotional state and the fren-
zied state he was in and his efforts to shed those feelings: oborta est procella ingens
ferens ingentem imbrem lacrimarum (8.12.28).
VII.3. on that very night . . . shown (ipsa nocte ostensum est). Night is the tradi-
tional time for dreaming. Ostendo suggests that something was made manifest
and almost has the force of a formula for introducing a dream (see Cypr. Ep. 57.1).
The night seems to have been viewed as most propitious for dreams. Pliny uses
the phrase per noctem quietem in describing Fannius’ dream of Nero in Ep. 5.5,
7.27.5. Suetonius and Apuleius, in describing apparitions, use the phrases ea nocte
per quietem and per quietem respectively (Otho 7 and Met. 9.31).
VII.4. I saw (video). Perpetua uses this verb seven times, and of those seven she
uses it in six instances as an entrée to her narration of her dreams (IV.3, VII.4,
VIII.1 [2x], X.1, 7). Such emphasis on sight and seeing underlines her need to
communicate that these visions were not chimeras, but palpable and accessible to
her senses. Here video is used as an historical present.
VII.4. out of a dark place (de loco tenebroso). This is an intriguing description
chiefly because of what it does not tell us. It is a bare-bones description from
someone who can narrate the most vivid of dreams. Accordingly, we must con-
sider that Perpetua is actually revealing what she has seen, and her vision is of a
dark and gray sort. In short, the place she sees is the quintessence of absence. The
image of the child is of someone in considerable distress. There has been consid-
erable discussion about the physical place Dinocrates inhabits: is it Hades, or a
description of a type of proto-purgatory, or an early Christian portrayal of hell?
Rather than viewing these choices as mutually contradictory, an interpretation of
this vision that best reflects Perpetua’s background will provide the richest
reading. She is an educated Roman woman who has recently converted to an
eschatological form of Christianity. We will come closer to understanding the
genuine individual if we begin with the premise that Perpetua has cobbled
together bits and pieces from her past education and her recent conversion to
Christianity. The vision she has in her dream is a product of her conscious and
subconscious, with these disparate traditions yoked together. Her Christianity is
a graft onto a substantial pagan rootstock, and the one cannot flourish without
the other. Yet the actual written record of the dream is entirely indebted to her
conscious mind, and it is shaped by her present circumstance as the spiritual
leader of an embattled community.
There is no doubt that she is praying to relieve her brother’s suffering. Prayers
for the repose of the dead were common in pagan and Christian antiquity, and as
I have suggested above, there are examples of Christian women, like Thecla, who
even intercede for the souls of the pagan dead. There is little consistency, how-
ever, in classical authors concerning the origins of apparitions in dreams and the
actual status of these apparitions. The Epicureans denied the human images in
dreams any supernatural reality and tried to find a material explanation for them,
while the Stoics and Pythagoreans believed they could have a supernatural origin.
Aside from the materialists, most classical authors seem to agree that the realm of
the dream was in some proximity to that of the dead and that the images, particu-
larly of people, were their spirits (ψυχή) which exist, with some autonomy, out-
side the mind of the dreamer. Such an understanding is germane, since it allows
that the dreamer and the images of the dream possess a genuine reality. If we ac-
cept this position, then both image and dreamer can be changed in their oneiric
interaction, as Achilles says the ψυχή of Patroclus told him of his coming death
and asked that their bones be buried together (Il. 23.65–107). Biblical dreamers—
with the exception of Moses, who speaks “mouth to mouth” with the Lord (Nm
12.6–8)—also believed that in their dreams they confronted genuine, supernat-
ural realities, typically that of God or the spirits of men sent by God. Joseph and
Daniel understand even the nonhuman images as symbols sent by God as expres-
sions of His will. Elihu reminds Job that God opens the ears of men in their sleep,
often to warn of future events, so that they may heed his warnings and change
their behavior (see Jb 33.14–18). Joseph is warned by an angel in a dream to flee
to Egypt (Mt 2.13).
The dead were accorded certain privileges that were deemed sacred obliga-
tions on the part of the living. Antigone disobeyed Creon because she believed
that it was a heavenly imperative to bury the dead and that in so doing she was
following a higher power than her uncle’s edict against burying Polyneices (Soph.
Ant. 454–60). It is not too great a metaphoric and historical leap to see Perpetua,
the Christian, following what she, too, believed a sacred duty, to help her deceased
brother find eternal rest. Perpetua believes that she has actually seen the spirit of
Dinocrates and that his image is directing her to some appointed end.
The classical underworld is rich with classification of souls from the blessed to
the cursed and also contains the possibility for souls to be “rehabilitated.” Vergil
conceived a masterful synthesis of Stoicism’s anima mundi with Platonic and
Orphic-Pythagorean ideas on rebirth in his narrative of Aeneas’s descent to
Hades. Anchises visits Aeneas in a dream and asks his son to visit him. The
entrance to Anchises’ dwelling place is a large cave (6.237). Once in Hades,
Aeneas sees the hordes of the unburied and the infants at the entrance (6.427),
and when he sees his father, Aeneas learns of the rebirth of the good souls “to the
light of the upper world” (At pater Anchises penitus convalle virenti, / inclusas
animas superumque ad lumen ituras, / lustrabat studio recolens, 6.679–81), and
that fate owes them second bodies (animae, quibus altera fato corpora debentur,
6.713–14). Anchises responds to Aeneas’ incredulity about their passage back to
life by acknowledging that they first must be cleansed from their sins (veterumque
malorum supplicia expendunt, 6.739) before they are able to revisit the world
above (ut convexa revisant / rursus, 6.750–51).
The spatial geography and climate of classical Hades, as well as Biblical Sheol,
is not unlike the situation of Dinocrates. Homer understood the dead to exist in a
gloomy setting where the sun never shines and mist is omnipresent (Od. 11.13),
men are always thirsty despite Hades being surrounded by five rivers, and the
shades appear in our dreams as they appeared to us in life. Similarly to Dinocrates’
dream, water recedes from Tantalus whenever he seeks to drink. Vergil states that
it is a place of shadows, of sleep, and of sleepy nights (. . . alta terra et caligine
mersas / . . . umbrarum hic locus est, somni noctisque soporae, Aen. 6. 267, 390). In
his Metamorphoses, Apuleius describes the spirit of a woman who died violently
as lurore buxeo macieque foedata (9.30). See also Dölger, “Antike Parallelen”; and
Cox Miller, Dreams, 158–61.
Perpetua clearly believed that the dream of Dinocrates was a divine gift. Both
in the Old and New Testaments she would have found bridges to her under-
standing of the classical underworld, Hades, as a shadowy, dark, and hot under-
ground place. The Old Testament used the term Sheol to designate that
underground place which exists in some ambiguous manner between the grave,
on the one hand, and the underworld and the state of death, on the other (Pss
86.13 and Ez 31.15). Sheol is also a place of dust ( Jb 17.16) and darkness ( Jb
10.21). Turning to Christianity, Perpetua, like Ambrose, Jerome, and Augustine,
may have construed the eschatological sentiments found in Paul, who wrote (1
Cor 3.15), “But if, that one will suffer loss; the person will be saved, but only as
through fire,” as a reference to the necessity for some souls to undergo purgation.
While the New Testament shares much with the Hebrew Bible’s understanding of
Sheol, it does emphasize that Sheol is a place where one suffers often because of
excruciating heat. The rich man begs Abraham to send Lazarus and have him dip
his moistened finger in water and place it on his tongue (Lk 16.24). Clement of
Alexandria appears to have envisaged a period of purgation for certain souls
(Strom. 6.14). Tertullian certainly believed prayers for the dead were efficacious
and urged married women to pray for the repose of their husband’s soul so that
they might be joined together at the first resurrection (pro anima eius orat et
refrigerium . . . et in prima resurrectione consortium, De Monog. 10.5). He urged his
followers to say prayers in honor of the faithful dead on the anniversary of their
death (Cor. 3; see also Cypr. Ep. 12.2.57). A number of the apocryphal writings,
for example that of the Apocalypse of Peter (100 ce), provide vivid images of the
underworld. Perpetua would have had a rich mélange of classical and Christian
teachings on this subject, and she likely brought them together in her own escha-
tological frame of mind.
VII.4. there were many others (conplures erant). Late antique visions of the
underworld always comment on the crowding (see Acta Thomae, 52).
VII.4. he was very hot, thirsting (aestuantem valde et sitientem). The Latin version
only indicates Dinocrates as hot and thirsting, whereas the Greek states that many
of those there were feverish and thirsty (καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοὶ καυματιζόμενοι καὶ
διψῶντες). The Latin keeps the focus on the child Dinocrates’ situation, whereas
the Greek universalizes the condition. Dinocrates is consumed by a fever which
derives from the intensity of the fire of the underworld. Both Luke (Lk 16.23–24)
and Tertullian remark on the fiery nature of the underworld. In a discussion of

the similarity between certain pagan and Christian understandings of the under-
world, Tertullian remarked that the underworld, Gehenna, was a reservoir of
secret fire under the earth for purposes of punishment (Et gehennam . . . quae est
ignis arcani subterraneam ad poenam thesaurus, Apologeticum. 47.12), fueled by
the river of fire, the Phlegethon (Claudian, In Rufinum, 2.3.408).
VII.4. his face was covered with dirt (sordido vultu). The Latin uses ablatives of
description in discussing Dinocrates’ appearance, whereas the Greek uses accusa-
tives ἔχοντα and ὠχρὸν, modifying Dinocrates with ἐσθῆτα ῥυπαράν as the object
of ἔχοντα and with the dative τῇ χρόᾳ , indicating to what ὠχρὸν refers. The Greek
text notes that his clothing is soiled. Dölger suggests the interesting emendation
to the Latin text of uultu et cultu (“Antike Parallelen,” 18). There seems little need
for such emendation, however, as the textual tradition does not support it, and
the case of the child’s state is made as well without it (see Passio Sanctorum Mon-
tani et Lucii, 21: uultu pariter et cultu nimis claro).
VII.4. his skin was pale (colore pallido). The color of death. Dinocrates is among
the dead. Pallidus is often used to modify mors (Hor. Carm. 1.4.13) and is equally
often applied to the underworld; Tibullus’s description of Hades contains an
image of scorching heat and crowds with pallid skin: Illic percussisque genis
ustoque capillo, / Erat ad obscuros pallida turba lacus (Eleg. 1.10.38). The pale
horse of the Apocalypse on which Death rides followed by Hades is the most
powerful of the early Christian contexts for the use of pallidus in the context of
the underworld. (See Rv 6.8, where the Vetus and the Vulgate use equus pallidus
for ἵππος χλωρός.) The Greek Passio uses χλωρός but once (see X.8), and there it
refers to the “green” branches of the trees (see BDAG, s.v. χλωρός). The image of
the pale horse comes before that of the vision of the recently martyred souls, who
cry out for vengeance. These souls, not yet in heaven, are told that they should rest
for a bit until their brethren are killed, having thus completed their work on earth
(Rv 6.9–11). The Greek text of the Passio uses ὠχρὸν for “pale,” a word which does
not occur in the NT. This Biblical prophecy of more death confirmed the Car-
thaginian Christians’ view of the present, and this passage was commented on by
their clergy (see Victor of Vitensis, Scholia in Apocalypsin, 6.1). Lastly, the spirits
were often depicted as having a pale color, as Vergil and Apuleius indicate (re-
spectively, Aen. 4.26 and Met. 8.8, 10.10).
VII.4. wound (vulnus). This may be the wound that took his life. It was a can-
cerous wound (see below VII.4, cancerata). Cyprian uses the word vulnus to refer
to the wound given by sin (Laps. 30.260 CCSL 3: Ecce peiora adhuc peccandi
vulnera).
VII.4. which was there when he died (quod cum moreretur habuit). Quod refers to
Dinocrates’ vulnus, which he had in life and which horrified those who saw him
(see below VII.5, omnibus hominibus). It is likely this wound which killed him.
One manuscript (MS P) reads moraretur for moreretur. This reading (from the
verb moror “to remain, stay, linger,” here an imperfect subjunctive third singu-
lar) could be rendered as the “wound which he had while he was still alive.”
Whether one reads vulnus as a nominative or accusative, quod certainly refers
to it, and thus the phrase must mean that the wound which Dinocrates had at
the time of his death is visible in Perpetua’s vision of him. The Greek περιὼν ἔτι
(“still living”) would correspond more readily with cum moraretur (“when he
was still living”) than with moreretur (see Souter, s.v. moror, “to live,” citing
Commodianus).
VII.5. my brother in the flesh ( fuerat frater meus carnalis). Perpetua is carefully
distinguishing her brother in the flesh from her spiritual brethren (see above
IV.1, frater). This distinction here supports the assumption that the questioner in
IV.1 is her brother in the faith. Both the Vetus and the Vulgate use fratres to trans-
late Paul’s fellow believers (ἀδελφοί, 2 Cor 1.8), and both the Latin and Greek
forms respectively became a common form of address among Christians by the
second century. (See Souter, s.v. frater; and Min. Fel. Oct. 31.8: sic nos . . . fratres
vocamus, ut unius dei parentis homines, ut consortes fidei, ut spei coheredes.)
VII.5. age of seven (annorum septem). This age marked a transition in the lives of
most Roman boys. They typically passed from under the care of the household,
began to receive training under a regular teacher, and were thought to have com-
mand of speech and intelligence (see Knothe, “Zur 7-Jahresgrenze,” 239–56).
Quintillian saw seven as the end of infantia (Inst. 1.1.18). It is noteworthy in this
regard, however, that Perpetua uses the phrase more infantium to describe his play
after he is cured (see below VIII.4). The categories of developmental change were
not rigid.
VII.5. a cancer of the face ( facie cancerata) See OLD, s.v. cancer, 3. Care should
be used in assigning modern diagnostic terms to ancient descriptions of disease.
There were a number of words for tumors that we might today refer to as cancers.
Furthermore, the ancient diagnosticians rarely distinguished between malignant
and benign tumors, using the same word to refer to both (OLD, s.v. cancer, 3;
carbunculus, 5; and tumor; and see Der Neue Pauly, 6.798). The Romans were
well aware that facial cancers not only disfigured but could also blind and kill.
Celsus (fl. 25 ce) reported cancers that invade wounds of the eye, and Galen
believed that the disease was due to an unsanitary diet. The word cancer is rare in
the Vetus and in the Vulgate. It occurs once in 2 Tm 2.17, where it translates the
Greek γάγγραινα , and the Greek is best rendered as a type of ulcerous wound,
possibly “gangrene”; see Plut. Mor. 65d where it is used figuratively. Paul’s remarks
are allusive. He uses the word γάγγραινα as a metaphor to refer to idle conversa-
tion and disputation about the faith. He considers such talk a type of verbal
γάγγραινα . There is further difficulty, however, in his remark that this idle talk will
have a “pasture” (νομὴν). This word, when applied to diseases, can suggest some-
thing like “spreading” (an extension of the idea of a flock spreading in a pasture).
The phrase ut cancer serpit in the Vetus and the Vulgate conveys the sense of
spreading and provides the very faintest suggestion of the original meaning of
cancer as “crab,” a crawling creature (OLD, s.v. serpo, 1, “creep”). The Greek text of
the Passio uses γάγγραινα (see Souter, s.v. cancero).
VII.5. died horribly (male obiit). The child’s death was a hideous one, as he must
have suffered greatly.
VII.5. all men who saw it loathed the manner of his death (ut mors . . . hominibus).
What does she mean by this remark? Why precisely do all men loathe the manner
of his death? Surely all would regret and mourn the death of a child. Perpetua’s
remark has a different intent, however. Her remark directs our attention to the
nature of the malady which killed him and on how that particular disease itself
was abhorrent to all, both on a physical and a spiritual level. I have noted above
(see above VII.5, cancerata) that, given the amount of information contained in
the text, it is impossible to identify precisely what she terms Dinocrates’ cancer.
Nonetheless, there may be a hint concerning the nature of the disease in Perpet-
ua’s remark that all those who saw him were horrified (see Amat, 216). Leprosy
was such a disease (see Der Neue Pauly, 7, s.v. lepra, cols. 72–73). The leper was
shunned and believed to be unclean. In Judaism, and indeed even in early Chris-
tianity, leprosy was viewed not only as a terrible physical malady but also as a
spiritual wound which alienated the sufferer from the salvation afforded to
believers in the community (see Kittel et al., 233–34). The ancients found the
disease particularly abhorrent and typically shunned those who had it. In the
book of Leviticus, it is stated that if the leprosy or scaly disfigurement of the skin
(Tsara’at) is active—that is, suppurating—then the priest shall pronounce the
victim unclean. Judaism believed that Tsara’at or Seêth (which the Septuagint and
Vetus translate as “leprosy”) was a sign of divine wrath. The disease was believed
to be a divine punishment, and those with it had to remain apart from the com-
munity (Lv 13.9–29; Nm 5.4). Judaism in the time of Jesus expected that this af-
fliction would be removed with the advent of the Messiah and Messianic salvation.
The example of Jesus cleansing the lepers may have been in Perpetua’s mind (Mt
8.2–3; Mk 1.40–42; Lk 5.12–13, 17.12–14). I hasten to add that not all instances
when someone is labeled a leper in the Bible represent an accurate scientific diag-
nosis congruent with modern medicine, as is the case with Naman the Leper (2
Kgs 5.27), whose skin is described as white as snow, a condition more likely to be
leucoderma. The important point here is not to present an accurate diagnosis of
Dinocrates’ disease, but rather to consider what disease Perpetua believed her
brother died from. I believe she thought it was leprosy.
Dinocrates’ cancer, the disease that caused his death, has clearly alienated
him from the community of believers and hence from salvation. Unfortunately,
Perpetua’s verb cancerare is never used unambiguously in conjunction with a
discussion of leprosy in the Latin Bible—cancer is used once in 2 Tm 2.17 to
translate the Greek γάγγραινα (see above VII.4, cancer)—nor does its Greek cog-
nate καρκίνος appear in the OT, LXX, or NT. This fact makes identifying Dino-
crates’ particular illness an educated guess at best. However, the Greek version of
the Passio provides some help, as it identifies his disease as γάγγραινᾳ . This word
referred to an inflammatory disease that, if left untreated, could become a fatal
ulcerous condition, a gangrenous infection, or indeed, a cancer (see BDAG, s.v.
γάγγραινα; and 2 Tm 2.17). Leprosy, which attacks peripheral nerves, can cause
severe degeneration of facial tissue, particularly of the nose, throat, and eyes.
Thickening of the facial tissue produces a highly characteristic appearance, some-
times likened to the appearance of a lion, and it could appear as an open, suppu-
rating wound or vulnus. It was endemic in the Greco-Roman world from 300
bce, and those who had it were shunned (see LSJ, s.v. λέπρα). Grmek has noted
the rarity of cancerous diseases in ancient populations and suggests that this situ-
ation is likely a result of their earlier age of death, lack of environmental contami-
nants, and limited exposure to certain radiations (Grmek, Diseases, 72, 152–76).
Hence, it would appear reasonable to infer that Perpetua at least believed that her
brother Dinocrates died from leprosy and that he is therefore alienated from a
spiritual rebirth.
VII.6. I prayed for him (pro hoc ergo orationem feceram). As I suggested above,
Perpetua’s intercessionary prayer is one of the earliest instances we have of some-
one praying to aid a deceased soul and a crucial part of the episode (see above
VII.2). In light of this, it is worth noting that the Greek text makes no mention of
her praying to aid her brother, nor does it note those other instances where she
emphasizes she will pray for Dinocrates (see VII.8 below). Why is the Greek
silent on so salient a detail? The practice of refrigerium seems to have been wide-
spread in the Latin tradition at an earlier period than in that of the Greek, and
both the pagan and the Christian practices are attested in Latin inscriptions in
Africa proconsularis to the end of the third century (see Quasten, “‘Vetus Super-
sititio,’” 257). The Christian refrigerium was an evolved form of the Roman pagan
refrigerium, or funeral banquet, arranged by the family at the deceased’s grave,
where the deceased was expected to be the host. The earliest attestations of these
prayers for the deceased are in funerary inscriptions, and those that I have
reviewed are predominantly in Latin, as one might expect. Funerary practices are
the most conservative of social traditions and least subject to sudden change.
Although the ancient Greeks reverenced their dead with animal sacrifice and
libations, there does not appear to have been a festival similar to the Roman
refrigerium, or one of such regular occurrence. The absence of intercessory prayer

in certain sections of the Greek text, therefore, may suggest some nonnative
familiarity with this Roman, and now Christian, custom and may speak to the
primacy of the Latin text (see Buonaiuti, “Refrigerio,” 160–67; Nilsson, “Pagan
Divine Service,” 63–69).
VII.6. there was a great gulf (grande erat diastema). The word diastema is a Hel-
lenism and a direct transliteration of διάστημα , as used in the Greek version here
(see Acts 5.7, where it refers to an interval of time). The Latin simply refers to the
existence of the gulf between Perpetua and Dinocrates, while the Greek has Per-
petua saying that she saw (ἐθεώρουν) the gulf. The word διάστημα can suggest a
move from one location to another. However, here the word signifies not the
movement across a space but rather the enormous distance itself, which separates
her from Dinocrates. The passage is similar to that in Lk 16.26, but Luke employs
διαβαίνω, underscoring movement across a great chasm (χάσμα μ έγα ἐστήρικται,
ὅπως οἱ θέλοντες διαβῆναι᾿ ἔνθεν πρὸς ὑμᾶς μὴ δύνωνται . . .), and Luke’s διαβῆναι
reminds one of the Passio’s accedere/προσελθεῖν. The distance she describes is
more than a metaphor. It doubtless symbolizes the enormous distance between
the world of the living and the dead, as well as the vast separation between pagan
and Christian worldviews: Non magis vitae miscebitur mors, quam diei nox (Tert.
De Anim. 51).
VII.7. in that place (in illo loco). In view of the fact that Perpetua typically does
not pay great attention to details of time and place, save in a general way, her insis-
tence here that we understand the precise location of the pool of water which she
is about to describe should be noted carefully. The geography of this place is
important. Dinocrates is standing outside a hole. It is dark, misty, and hot. There
are many others visible near him. There is a great void that separates her from
him. Is she a character in the dream? Or is she simply reporting the vision and her
sense of separateness from him, caused by the chasm?
VII.7. pool full of water (piscina plena aqua). The pool she is describing is likely
a conflation of her memory of the pools in the public baths (Plin. Ep. 5.6.23) with
the pool Betheseda, where Jesus heals the man who has been sick for thirty-eight
years ( Jn 5.1–9). The scene has also been influenced by the baptismal immer-
sions practiced by this group (Tert. De Bapt. 7.1: Exinde egressi de lavacro). All
three images, the Greco-Roman, Semitic, and Christian, have healing as their
end. The Antonine Baths (145–65 ce), which she would have known and
may have visited, were the largest in the Empire, covering more than eight acres,
and served a therapeutic function. The many others (conplures, VII.4) who were
with Dinocrates may be an echo of the large number (πλῆθος) of sick people
mentioned in Jn 5.3. The piscina evolved into the baptismal fonts used in early
Christian basilicas. Although these were typically placed near the altar at the
sanctuary’s south wall and were small pools, often cross-shaped, with steps, which
allowed for complete immersion, R. Jensen suggests (private correspondence)
that no formal location seems to have been required. These baptismal fonts were
often approximately 60 to 70 centimeters high. Tertullian argues that water was
the first element to contain life, and he states that it is the water of baptism that
cleanses the faithful and that signs of physical healing actually betoken spiritual
healings (De Bapt. 3.6.5).
VII.7. as if to drink (quasi bibiturus). Quasi is a favorite adverbial qualifier and is
used nineteen times in the text. Here it is used with the future participle indi-
cating purpose: “as if he were about or going to drink.”
VII.7. of the boy (pueri). Perpetua’s use of terms designating age is not exact.
The two nonadult males in the text, her son and brother, are referred to respec-
tively as infans (ten times) and puer (three times). Note that with reference to her
son, Hilarianus uses the expression infantiae pueri (see above VI.3), and she, with
reference to Dinocrates’ play, says more infantium (see below VIII.3).
VII.7. rim (marginem). “Rim” seems more appropriate than “edge,” which is not
normally associated with something being sought as a drinking vessel. MS C
prints an ablative form margine, which could work here.
VII.8. he was not able to drink (bibiturus non esset). Although there is no
expressed subject of the bibiturus esset, the masculine ending of the participle
makes clear that it is the boy Dinocrates. The Greek is slightly more specific, using
the diminutive τὸ παιδίον as the subject. The phrase suggests her belief that he was
not able to take a drink.
VII.9. I awakened (experta sum). This phrase is used almost as a formula to
terminate a dream state (see above IV.10). See van Beek, who prints the more
classical form, experrecta sum.
VII.9. I knew (cognovi). How does she know that Dinocrates was suffering? He
is dead, after all, and should be free from pain. The only sign she has is the child’s
inability to drink. Dinocrates never recognizes his sister, and he never speaks. To
conclude from his inability to drink that “her brother was suffering” is to draw an
interpretation from some authority outside the elements of the dream itself. She
has these insights throughout her stay in prison (see above VII.2). We must con-
clude that her “knowing” is her deliberate effort at acknowledging a special intu-
ition that comes from God.
VII.9. was suffering (laborare). Perpetua’s choice of this word is richly ambig-
uous. Le Goff makes the thoughtful point that her choice of laborare, rather than
punire, in this instance suggests that the suffering is purely physical and does not
derive from punishment for sin, and hence this is at best a proto-image of purga-
tory (see Le Goff, Purgatory, 50; but note August. Orig. An. 1.12 CSEL, 60.312,
who did believe the boy had committed sin after baptism and, thus, was punished
for it). While there is a somewhat stronger connotation of punishment associated

with punire than that of laborare, the issue is not so easily resolved. Perpetua had
a wide repertoire of words available to her, including, but not restricted to, sup-
plicium and infortunium, which she also did not use. She repeats the root in the
next clause in the noun form labor. The Greek does not repeat it but simply speaks
of helping him (αὐτῷ). Furthermore, there are instances when labor is associated
with the horrors of the underworld. For example, Vergil personifies Labor as one
of the hellish furies and places it immediately following death, just inside the
Gates of Hell (Aen. 6.277: terribles visu formae: Letumque, Labosque). The Greek
uses κάμνω, which does not provide any definitive assistance, since it too can
mean “toil,” “affliction,” “harassment” and is also associated with the realm of the
dead spirits (οἱ καμόντες). Perpetua does use labor to express anxiety and not
physical pain (see above III.9). In sum, I think the ambiguity of labor does not
allow us to follow Le Goff with confidence.
VII.9. I could help him (profuturam). She is confident that she can help her
brother even though he is dead. The idea that the dead suffer from sin in the after-
life and can be freed from that sin and suffering has its first expression in 2 Mc
12.37–45, when after the battle against Gorgias at Adullam, Judas ordered the
dead to be buried and prayers offered for them: “Turning to supplication, they
prayed that the sinful deed might be fully blotted out” (εἰς ἱκετείαν ἐτράπησαν,
ἀξιώσαντες τὸ γεγονὸς ἁμάρτημα τελείως ἐξαλειφθῆναι). The idea that the dead
could be helped by prayer seems to have taken hold by the middle of the second
century in some circles. (See Acts of John, written ca. 160 ce, sec. 23 and 47, as I
suggested above in the argument to this chapter.)
VII.9. I prayed (orabam). The Greek does not contain this emphasis that it is
continual praying that effects the cure in Dinocrates. Such practice of frequent
prayer has New Testament sanction (see Lk 18.1).
VII.9. every day (omnibus diebus). See III.4 and 9 above. Tertullian discusses an
unidentified female member of his group, soror, who appears to use such prayer as
a tool for healing, seeking visions, and speaking with angels and the Lord (De
Anim. 9.4).
VII.9. until (quousque). Although it was used during the classical period, it
becomes a more common feature of post-classical use (see Halporn, s.v. quous-
que; Souter, s.v. quousque and usque; the Vetus uses usquoque and quosusque, but
quousque is only used in the Vulgate, in Mt 17.16).
VII.9. we were transferred to the military prison (transivimus in carcerem castren-
sem). This is the first indication we get of the specific sort of prison in which they
were detained (see OLD, s.v. castrensis, 2). This is an intriguing remark, but the
exact identification of this prison and its location in Carthage remain a problem.
Since it is a military prison, it would be under the jurisdiction of the Legio III
Augusta, whose headquarters from 123 ce was in Lambaesis, a considerable

distance (approximately 375 kilometers) west and south of Carthage. Typically,
such camps were large (often covering 50 acres) and garrisoned some five thou-
sand legionaries (see Coello, Unit Sizes, 12). Nothing approaching this scale
could have been contained within the environs of the city of Carthage, much less
Thuburbo Maius or Minus. It is worth noting that both Thuburbo Maius and
Minus are off the main Roman road that connected Carthage to Lambaesis.
Although textual evidence is scant, there is some mention of prisons within
the walls of the camps (see Webster, Imperial Army, 206). There was an officer
assigned to the jurisdiction of these prisoners, the commentariensis, and his assis-
tants, the auditores (see DNP, 3.99), who were associated with judicial record
keeping in the camps, as well as a camp superintendent, usually referred to as an
optio carceris. Certain of these fortified camps had amphitheatres outside their
walls where small-scale festivals and games were conducted. There is no evidence
of such a massive, fortress-like camp in Carthage. This makes Perpetua’s remark
hard to identify with what are typically called castra (the Greek agrees with
castra, calling the place παρεμβολή/“a camp where an army lives”). It is possible,
however, that she was in a military prison outside the city, under the jurisdiction
of Legio III Augusta, and was subsequently transferred to a smaller unit. If she
was placed in a military prison, it must have been a small, urban prison, under the
command of a local garrison of soldiers who helped with civilian crowd control,
as they did at Alexandria (Aristedes, 67; see also R. W. Davies, Service, 175–85).
Yet it is still unclear why these catechumens were transferred to a military prison.
Their offense as Christians was a crimen maiestatis and not an actionable offense
against the military. The Greek is more specific (but likely mistaken if, and this is
an important qualification, this is the same prison being discussed) and states
that she was under the governance of the χιλίαρχος, the standard translation for
tribunus militum, who exercised jurisdiction over the camp, often served at
court-martial, and could sentence individuals to severe punishment (see miles
optio, IX.1 below). This identification of the office of tribune does not make iden-
tifying the site any easier and, in fact, may argue against the Greek text’s genuine
understanding of the situation at Carthage during this period.
VII.9. in the military games (munere enim castrensi). Although certain military
camps did have amphitheatres (for example, Caerleon had an amphitheatre im-
mediately to its south and west), and some were substantial in size, they were
usually reserved for the legionaries and a limited number of the inhabitants of the
surrounding vici. The military games were typically small and reserved for festi-
vals, like the birthday of an emperor, and may have included some limited gladia-
torial combat and the use of animals (see Webster, Imperial Army, 207). There is
no definitive archeological proof of an exclusively military amphitheatre located
in third-century Carthage (see XXI.1). The Greek text (τῆς παρεμβολῆς) follows
castrensi.
VII.9. we were to fight (eramus pugnaturi). Pugno is a favorite verb, used seven
times in the Passio, and it is used on one occasion to describe the battle with the
devil (X.14). Halporn (37) suggests that pugno particularly identifies gladiatorial
and other fights in the amphitheatres. The martyr, the miles Christi par excellence,
was a Christian warrior who fought for his savior for the crown of glory (see Cypr.
Ep. 8: miles Christi ob gloriam coronetur). The Greek is more specific and iden-
tifies the impending fight as with wild beasts (θηριομαχεῖν). How does the Greek
text know the nature of the coming battle, since the nature of the struggle, with
whom or what they are to fight, has not been broached yet in the text? If, however,
the Greek is a later transcription of the Latin, it would be readily understandable
how the author could anticipate the end struggle and add it here to dramatize the
moment. The Latin remains vague because the outcome is still unknown. More-
over, there seems to be a lacuna in the Greek text following βοηθῆσαι (“to help”).
We might have expected after βοηθῆσαι a remark to follow up her intention to
continue her prayers for him. Instead, the Greek identifies the rank of the officer,
the type of camp, and the nature of the fight. If we put a period after βοηθῆσαι, we
might then follow it up with something like καὶ προσηυξάμην ὑπὲρ αὐτοῦ (see van
Beek, 23, no. 5). Then the rest of the sentence as it reads in the text would make
better sense.
VII.9. on the birthday of Geta Caesar (natale tunc Getae Caesaris). Publius Septi-
mius Geta was the younger son of Septimius Severus. Geta was born in Milan on
7 March 189, so the games of March 203 would have been in celebration of his
fourteenth birthday. These games may have been more significant than has been
thought, since Geta may have assumed the toga virilis (Plin. Ep. 1.7) that year, and
thus these games were celebrating his tirocinium fori. Although typically the toga
virilis was donned at sixteen on the Liberalia (17 March), the sons of emperors
were not held to a set age or time for its reception. Nero and Commodus both
donned it at fourteen, and Alexander Severus on 26 June 221 at the age of twelve
and a half (see Suet. Aug. 8; Ner. 7; Calig. 15; and Tert. Idol. 16.1, who mentions
the ceremony of the assumption of the toga pura). I believe Perpetua died in 203,
and I think this hypothesis is further strengthened by the fact that Septimius and
both his sons were in Africa from the late autumn of 202 until early June in 203.
They likely wintered in Lepcis in 202–3. Furthermore, inscriptions suggest that
they visited Lambaesis (the headquarters of Legio III Augusta) sometime in the
spring of 203, were involved in a campaign against the Garamantes in April of
203, and returned to Italy in early June of that year (Southern, Roman Empire, 45;
pace Platnauer, Severus, 127). If we consider that March was the typical time
for the Liberalia, that the imperial family was in Africa, and that they had likely
visited Carthage (Carthage and Utica both were granted ius Italicum) on their
arrival, it makes the games of 203 assume an importance they otherwise might
not have had, particularly on the part of the local officials and inhabitants. It is
almost predictable that the citizens of the largest city in Africa would wish to
honor the ruling family and the birthday of the youngest son of the first African
dynasty with a celebration, particularly since the emperor and his entourage were
then in Africa (see Birley, Septimius Severus, 217–21). Lastly, the rescript issued
by Septimius against Christians, if indeed he did issue one, seems to have been
issued in the late spring of 202 and hence after the 7 March birthday of Geta in
202, thus making the martyrs’ deaths in 202 quite impossible (see Euseb. Hist.
eccl. 6.1; and Perowne, Caesars and Saints, 94; but see Birley, Septimius Severus,
154; and Barnes, Early Christian Hagiography, 305–07).
The day of the martyrs’ participation in the games is given very precisely and
appears to be in celebration of the actual birthday. The tradition of games to cele-
brate the birthday of the emperor was well established and had been practiced at
least since Claudius, who instituted games on the birthday of his mother, father,
and son. Cassius Dio remarks that Claudius did nothing on the anniversary of the
day on which he became emperor but that some of the praetors celebrated that
day and the birthday of Messalina. The games celebrated on his son’s birthday
included gladiatorial games (see Cass. Dio, 60.17). See Tertullian’s description of
the festivities in celebration of the emperor’s birthday in his Apol. 35.1.
Geta became coemperor with his father Septimius Severus and older brother
Caracalla (186–217) in 209, and was proclaimed joint emperor with his brother
on the death of his father in York on 4 February 211. He quarreled with Caracalla
and was murdered by his brother’s centurions in Rome in late December 211 (see
Carrié and Rousselle, L’Empire romain, 275). Caracalla ordered a damnatio
memoriae, and Geta’s statues were destroyed and his name effaced from inscrip-
tions. The Greek version simply notes that they will fight on the birthday of Cae-
sar. The historical importance of identifying which actual Caesar is being referred
to cannot be ignored, particularly for the Severans in Africa during this period.
Furthermore, if we ask why the Greek text does not report the name, a ready
answer is available from the damnatio memoriae ordered by Caracalla: it was for-
bidden and not prudent to mention his name and suggests again a later date for
the Greek text. Furthermore, its presence in the Latin version suggests a compo-
sition date before the edict to abolish his memory was given, shortly after his
murder in December 211. Caracalla’s vengeance against those whom he sus-
pected of supporting the memory of his brother in Rome was merciless, and
thousands were killed within weeks of Geta’s murder. There is a marble pilaster
in the British Museum which shows Geta’s name chiseled from the inscription.
In the summer of 2005, I noticed a prominent inscription to Geta in the area of
the nymphaeum in Lepcis Magna where Geta’s name was chiseled off the face of
the stela. Geta’s restoration was begun under Elagabalus’s reign (218–22). It was
Elagabalus who had the murdered Geta’s remains interred in the Mausoleum of
Hadrian near those of his father and brother (Cass. Dio, 78.2; and see Bryant,
“Imperial Family,” 28).
VII.9. groans and tears ( gemens et lacrimans). See ingemescere, VII.2 above.
Such intense prayer had the sanction of the Psalms (cf. Vetus, Pss 102. 21: ut
audiret gemitum vinculatorum, ut solvat filios interemptorum), was believed pow-
erfully efficacious, and was thought to bring one into the realm of the Holy
Spirit (see Eph 6.18). The Latin emphasizes the element of sorrow more than
the Greek does, as the Latin uses two participles, gemens and lacrimans, where
the Greek just has the single prepositional phrase μετὰ στεναγμῶν (“with
groans”).
VII.9. gift might be given to me (ut mihi donaretur). Dono is normally used as a
transitive verb, but in the present instance the subject of dono is unexpressed.
The unexpressed subject of this subjunctive imperfect passive with the dative of
recipient is unclear, hence my translation as “gift,” since this can cover many pos-
sible meanings. The subject may be the nonmaterial gift of an answer to her
prayers, the gift of healing for her brother Dinocrates, his freedom from this
place of pain and suffering, Dinocrates himself, or all of the above. The Greek is
clearer, since it has αὐτὸν (which could only refer to Dinocrates) as the subject of
δωρηθῆναι .
CHAPTER VIII
The Argument: Healing and Redemption

Perpetua’s second vision about her brother Dinocrates serves to complete the
action of his deliverance, which she initiated in her first vision of him in Chapter
VII. At eighty-five words, it is the second shortest of her chapters, IX being the
shortest. Its brevity is a function of its intention to emphasize the suddenness of
the miraculous transformation of her brother’s condition from sickness to
health. The action of Chapter VIII opens with an identification of the time and
place of the vision. She frequently provides such information at the outset of her
narrative sections, almost as if she were reflecting the rhetorical tradition of
unity. It is also a traditional, diary-like entry. The Latin text begins by stating,
“On the day on which we were kept in the stocks, this vision was shown to me.”
This line announces that her vision took place during the day on which they
were first locked in the stocks. While this may appear so obvious as not to war-
rant mentioning, this detail is a crucial one, since it masks a more subtle theolog-
ical point, as we shall see. The Greek text, however, identifies the vision as taking
place at night (ἑσπέρᾳ) and thus associates the apparition more with dreams,
mysterious revelations, and omens that come during sleep at night. Why do
the Latin and Greek versions differ on such a seemingly small detail? Setting the
dream at night provides a more literary context to the narrative, since night is
the traditional time for dreams (see Jb 33.14–16; Cic. Rep. 6.10; and Artem.
Oneir.). Hence, the Greek seeks to emphasize the literary nature of the vision.
The Latin text’s insistence that the vision was shown to Perpetua during the day
disassociates the event from sleep and dreams, and it underscores that this vi-
sion was one that was shown to her (ostensum est mihi) by the power of the
Lord, since visions granted by God can come whenever He wills, day or night.
The point being made in the Latin is that God’s faithful martyr has prayed inces-
santly and He grants her request, despite the time. The Latin thus emphasizes
the divine power and mercy implicit in the revelation, while the Greek text
points the audience more in the direction of the mysterious quality of the night
vision. Moreover, from a purely historical and logistical point of view, the Greek
text’s choice of night as the time that the imprisoned Christians were placed in
the stocks (and hence the dream) appears unlikely, as prisoners would have been
transferred more properly to their different situations, particularly ones re-
quiring a lockdown, during the day. Moreover, the order to place them in the
stocks was not one that would have been the prerogative of the jailer, but rather
his superior. As I indicated above, placement in the stocks was a deliberately
humiliating punishment given to those guilty of such crimes, for example, as
fomenting civil unrest. The order for such punishment would normally have
been written down in the ratio carceris, and hence the jailer would know what
sort of prisoners he was housing.
From its opening, Perpetua’s narrative moves very rapidly to its conclusion:
the cure and liberation of Dinocrates. Perpetua’s rhetoric appears to be in-
debted to rhetorical handbooks on oratory. Indeed, she appears intent on
reminding her audience, following the pattern of judicial oratory, of the precise
past status of Dinocrates before she reveals and amplifies his present changed
state, which she presents in short, succinct phrases. Thus, she depends in part
on the reader’s memory of her previous related vision to dramatize his present
condition. For example, she says that Dinocrates now appears to her clean, well
dressed, and refreshed. She does not repeat that in his prior condition he was
dirty, hot, thirsty, and pale. The effect of such an economical style is to move the
narrative rapidly along and, in so doing, to allow the reader to appreciate the
miraculous nature of this sudden change in the child’s state. The implication
here, unstated of course, is her clear understanding that she is writing for an
audience who will have the entire text before them, either as a written narrative
or delivered orally.
The singular point of view of this chapter is to relate the healed state of the
child and his changed status as a result of divine mercy working through his sis-
ter’s intercession. In Chapter VII, the child is described as trapped in a hot, arid,
cave-like amphitheatre with many others. He is described as having an open
wound on his face that caused his death. His skin has the pallor of death, and he
and his sister are separated from one another by a great chasm. A pool filled with
water is near the child, but the rim is too high for him to quench his thirst. It is a
scene where the child has no control, a scene that suggests the child is there as a
punishment. He is utterly unable to help himself. His freedom, if indeed he is to
receive it, must come from outside. Volition and agency are denied him, as is
speech. He never speaks to his sister, or to any of the others with him. Indeed,
Dinocrates is never aware of his sister’s presence. She has identified a great chasm
that separates them. This chasm functions as a physical barrier and possibly as a
metaphor of their different spiritual states: she is a baptized Christian, and he an
unbaptized pagan. Despite the distance separating them, Perpetua understands
intuitively who he is, what has happened to him, where he is, and what he needs.
Part of her intuition is credible, as she recognizes the child who lived with her
until he was seven. However, how does she know where he is and what he needs?
Let us consider the circumstances of both visions, comparing the subject of
each vision and the role of the visionary. The child is unable to drink and is thirsty.
She prays for him, and his thirst is quenched. The child’s suppurating wound is
the primary cause of his death and is open and horrible to see in the first vision.
She prays, and it is healed and turned into a scar. Notice in her second vision that
the figure of Dinocrates fills her entire visionary canvas; the “hellish” location is
not described, except for her concise remark: “I saw that place which I had seen
before.” In these instances of crisis, it is the power of her intercessory prayer to
God that changes the child’s status. But notice that as audience we are never told
what she has prayed for, other than that she trusted that she could help him in his
suffering (VII.8, sed fidebam me profuturam labori eius). Trust is a crucial message
of this vision. She trusts in her God’s promise that He will bring her to paradise
with Him if she serves as a witness to the death for His gospel. She trusts that this
same God has endowed her with special powers of prophecy and has chosen her
to serve as an intermediary of His power in order to free Dinocrates from pain
and be a voice of prophecy for this beleaguered community. It is easy to see how
this idea of trust can be extended to her anxious situation.
But now let us also consider that Perpetua narrates this vision at the same time
as she has been placed in the stocks, her limbs locked into place. Indeed, she may
have open sores on her limbs where the stocks chafe. She too lacks all physical
control; she cannot move, and she cannot supply herself with water to quench her
thirst. Whether or not one wishes to read this as a projection of her situation onto
the existing predicament of the child, one point which is incontrovertible is that
both Perpetua and Dinocrates in the narrative which she constructs are unable to
help themselves and must depend on some power larger than themselves to effect
change. Perpetua is able to liberate Dinocrates from his grave predicament because
she has been found worthy by an almighty God, from whom she receives a special
favor. Dinocrates’ cure and liberation is a sign that her freedom from human thrall-
dom is imminent. The dream is thus very eschatological in its orientation. Per-
petua will receive the crown of martyrdom because the Holy Spirit, as Tertullian
argued, will provide his benedicti martyres designati with the Holy Spirit, who is in
prison with them, and that same Spirit will lead them to their Lord: et ita vos inde
perducat ad Dominum (Mart. 1.1–5). In sum, the vision serves to free the child
but, additionally, serves as a consolation and promise of her own redemption.
The effect of her intercession is that Dinocrates is now able to play in the water
of the pool, and a new element, the golden bowl, provides him water which not
only relieves his terrible thirst but returns to him his childhood, allowing him to
play happily as children do. Additionally, Perpetua’s trust and perseverance have
endowed her with a charism so palpable that even the prison guards respond to it,
as we shall see in Chapter IX.
Chapter VIII Commentary
VIII.1. On the day (die). The author is fond of opening her revelations with this
ablative of time (see IV.2, VI.1). Beginning with an announcement of the time,
whether it be day or night, is entirely appropriate to a diary-like memoir, which is
what we have here. Perpetua on two occasions uses this expression to announce a
sudden revelation (VI.1 and here). The Greek text, however, suggests the vision
was in the night when they were chained (καὶ εὐθὺς ἐν τῇ ἑσπέρᾳ). The Greek text
restricts the dreams to the evening and employs night as the traditional time for
such otherworldly visitations (see VII.3).
VIII.1. In the stocks (in nervo). This remark provides information on how the
Christians were imprisoned and possibly the location of their cell in the prison.
Some commentators have translated in nervo as “in chains” (Musurillo, Acts, 117;
Amat, 131), but this noun hardly captures Perpetua’s exact meaning. In short,
how specifically were they restrained? If it were a simple matter of being “chained,”
why does Perpetua employ the word more commonly used for “sinew,” “cord,” or
“string” (see OLD, s.v. neruus 1, 4; and see Is 48.4) and not the expected term
vincula, a word particularly used to indicate a prisoner’s fetters or chains, or
indeed, as a synonym for the prison itself (OLD, s.v. uinculum; and see Cic. Rep.
6.14.14, qui ex corporum vinculis tamquam e carcere evolaverunt, and also Verr.
2.3.24, Mitto vincla, mitto carcerem, mitto verbera, mitto secures)? Cyprian distin-
guishes between being in the rack and being in chains in his discussion of Celeri-
nus’ imprisonment: Per decem nouem dies custodia carceris saeptus in neruo ac
ferro fuit (Ep. 39.2). Livy uses both terms to refer to different types of restraints:
qui neruo ac uinculis corpus liberum territent (Livy, 6.2.8). The older meaning of
the word as “sinew” or “strap,” which identified a means of tying an animal or
someone to a post or a ring, was apparently adapted to a new context (Columella,
Rust. 12.14).
A more precise translation of in nervo in the present instance would be “in
stocks.” MS A supports this reading with its use of constricto. If the prisoners were
chained to the stocks, we might ask what parts of their bodies were constrained
and where in the prison were they bound, since not all cells would have contained
such devices. Clearly, her remark refers to some device (it may even have been a
chain or a bar) that constrained prisoners by their feet, arms, or neck, or all the
above (see Festus, 162.1–2: ferreum vinculum, quo pedes impediuntur). Tertullian
uses the term nervus to suggest a binding used on the legs of the martyrs while
they were being held in prison (Mart. 2: Nihil crus sentit in nervo cum animus in
coelo est). The Vetus has Job complain to God that his feet have been placed in the
stocks, Posuit in nervo pedes meos ( Jb 33.11). However, in nervo may suggest that
they were actually bound by the feet and some part of the upper body, since if
they were only bound by the feet, we might have expected her to use the more
common expression compes (see Vetus, Jb 13.27, in compede pedem meum and
OLD, s.v. compes), or if only by the neck, furca.
Roman stocks seem to have been fastened to the floor (see Richardson, Jr.,
Pompeii, 85, who notes the skeletons of four prisoners found still bound in the
stocks in the excavation of Pompeii’s Ludus Gladiatorius; and see also the draw-
ings of these same stocks in Gusman, Pompeii, 153). Rapske (Acts and Paul,
445, figs. 13 and 14) provides illustrations of horizontal and circular stocks. It
seems likely that Perpetua and her companions were locked into something like
these stocks. They would have had to sit and sleep on the floor or perhaps on
some low bench. Their movement would have been very restricted. Any move-
ment would cause chafing as the skin rubbed against the metal or wood of the
stocks. The stocks were often used as a severe punishment. Some Christians
even had their legs spread far apart and locked in place in the stocks in order to
cause additional pain (see Ltr Chr Lyons & Vienn in Musurillo, Acts, 70.27.7:
“confinement in the darkness of a prison or in most difficult places, the stretch-
ing of limbs in the stocks” (τὰς κατὰ τὴν εἱρκτὴν ἐν τῷ σκότει καὶ τῷ χαλεπωτάτῳ
χωρίῳ σ υγκλείσεις καὶ τὰς ἐν τῷ ξύλῳ διατάσεις τῶν ποδῶν). The cells with the
stocks seem to have been among the most miserable ones, located deep (and
perhaps underground) in the prisons (Martyrium Pionii, 11.4). The officials of
the military prison where Perpetua and her fellows are incarcerated appear to be
treating them with the utmost contempt, and hence the torture of confining
them to the stocks in the darkest section. The Greek νέρβῳ simply transliterates
the Latin, suggesting that the author may have been unsure about the exact
nature of the device being used, as there were Greek equivalents to nervus in
ξύλον and κλῳός (see LSJ, s.v. ξύλον), as well as words to designate a pillory for
the neck only, and restraints for the feet, ποδοκάκκη. LSJ does not record an
entry for νέρβῳ, nor does BDAG. Lampe cites its use in the Passio (νέρβῳ) as the
first attestation of the use of the word in Greek. While none of these sources
should be considered exhaustive, the likelihood of its use before the Passio is
small. Hence this transliteration suggests that the Greek text was copied from
the Latin exemplar, since it is hardly likely that the Greek text, if the original,
would use an unattested word (a transliteration borrowed from a Latin original),
particularly when, as I have indicated above, there were perfectly appropriate
Greek terms for such stocks.
VIII.1. we were kept (mansimus). It appears that they were confined to the stocks
throughout the day. This was a severe punishment, since it invariably caused con-
siderable distress to the limbs (see in nervo above, VIII.1).
VIII.1. this vision was shown to me (ostensum est mihi hoc). A favorite expression
of Perpetua’s, which she uses to describe the onset of her visions (see IV.2 and
VII.2). The Greek does not characterize the nature of what she sees but rather
states, “this was shown to me”/ἐδείχθη μοι τοῦτο.
VIII.1. before (retro). See Souter, s.v. retro. Retro is used adverbially here and in
VIII.2 in lieu of antea, in the sense of “previously” (see OLD, s.v. antea; see Tert.
Apol. 3.7, but also 3.3; and 1 Mc 15.27).
VIII.1. I had seen before (retro videram). Perpetua uses this pluperfect twice
(and see VIII.2). In the perfect tenses video can be used to emphasize having
had an experience of an event. She may also be using video in the sense of
seeing something in the “mind’s eye” (OLD, s.v. video, 7).
VIII.1. clean (mundo corpore). Her prayers have changed his appearance—
sordido cultu (VII.4)—to one now free from all dirt and soil. There may be a play
on words here, since mundo in the ablative suggests someone who belongs to
another world (OLD, s.v. mundus). It is debatable whether the noun mundus
(“world”) and the adjective mundus (“clean”) are etymologically related.
VIII.1. well dressed (bene vestitum). Why does she deliberately draw attention to
his new clothes? We know that he formerly was physically filthy (sordido cultu), but
there was no unambiguous reference to his clothes before this. Cultus, although
more frequently referring to one’s grooming, may possibly be a reference to his
clothes (OLD, sv. cultus, 6), but if so, it is a very understated one. It is more likely
that the reference to vestitus is meant to suggest that the miracle of his cleansing has
changed him wholly, both within and without. His clothing is a metaphor, likely
indicating that he has become like “the ones dressed in white” in heaven (see IV.8,
candidati above; and Tert. Scorp. 6.9).
VIII.1. refreshed (refrigerantem). See above refrigeravi, III.4. The verb refrigero
was important in early Christian discourse and had a range of meanings from a
simple feeling of well-being, to a state of grace, to a state of being best described
as “ecstasy.” The verb is employed five times in the Passio (III.4, XIII.5, XVI.3,
XVI.4). Although the Greek ἀναψύχοντα does not have the same variety of reli-
gious nuances as the Latin, tending more to restrict its meanings to physical relief
resulting from a sense of cooling and refreshment, there is a use of the word in
Acts 3.20 (καιροὶ ἀναψύξεως) that has eschatological overtones, announcing that
the presence of the Lord will be a time of refreshment.
VIII.1. was, . . . I saw (erat . . . video). The intimate proximity of the imperfect and
the present in this phrase compresses time and underscores the miraculous
nature of the transformation that has taken place in the body of her brother as a
result of her intercession.
VIII.1. scar (cicatricem). The scar is the experiential evidence of the healing.
There is an interesting parallel in Leviticus 13.28, where the wound left from lep-
rosy is identified as a scar—ουλή in the LXX and cicatrix in the Vetus and the
Vulgate—thus reinforcing my earlier point that Perpetua believed the disease
that killed Dinocrates to be leprosy. Might there be some literary echoes in this
anecdote? In Aeneid 6, Vergil depicts some notable marred individuals—
Eriphyle, a shade in the lugentes campi pointing to her wounds (6.445–46: mon-
strantem volnera), and “Phoenician Dido with wounds still fresh” (6.450: Inter
quas Phoenissa recens a volnere Dido). Augustine uses the example of Dinocrates’
wound to dismiss the Pelagian argument that one who is unbaptized can achieve
paradise (see Orig. an. 2.12, 3.13, and 4.18). He argues that the physical wound
which took Dinocrates’ life could not have killed his soul, since his soul was not
corporeal. However, Augustine continues, since the soul possesses the likeness
of the body (similitudines corporum), it therefore does share a resemblance of
the wound (apparet quasi vulnus, quod non est vulnus). This similitude of the
wound in the soul is nonetheless a true sign that the child’s soul, albeit nonphys-
ical, shared in some sympathetic manner in the misery of the sick body. Perpet-
ua’s prayers, he concludes, did then deliver the child from misery. Note also the
effective alternation of tenses from the imperfect erat vulnus to the present video
cicatricem.
VIII.2. pool (piscinam). This is a contained pool of water and is obviously mi-
raculous, since it is never diminished. Very early in Christianity piscina was asso-
ciated with the pool of Bethesda, where Jesus healed the sick man on the Sabbath
( Jn 5.2 and Tert. De Bapt. 6.1). By the end of the second century, piscina was
used as a term for the water of the baptismal font, and in the High Middle Ages it
designated the bowl in which the celebrant of the Mass washed his hands (see
Blaise, CCCM, s.v. piscina). Her use of this word likely suggests both healing and
baptism.
VIII.2. the boy’s navel (umbilicum pueri). Why does Perpetua specify the pre-
cise level to which the rim of the pool descended? And why this particular loca-
tion? The child’s navel is the source of in utero nourishment, and now that he is to
be restored (a second time) by the life-giving waters, it is a natural point of refer-
ence to underscore the life-restoring properties of God’s power, administered
through his prophet Perpetua. Although we have no details of the child’s height—
and allowing ourselves for a moment to indulge in textual literalism—an average
modern child of seven in the fiftieth percentile would be 119–46 cm. Even
assuming a slightly smaller size for a child in antiquity, the height of the pool, if
this is an analogy to a baptismal font (see above VII.5, piscina illa aquam), would
be roughly the correct height. The umbilical was a favorite symbol of the mythog-
raphers; Zeus’s umbilical cord fell near the river Triton, and this spot afterwards
was made sacred and known as Omphalus.
VIII.2. drew (trahebat). Traho is used here in the sense “to draw into one’s
body” the healing water without ceasing; it suggests Dinocrates is reveling in the
water, rather like splashing in it. Traho can also have the sense of “to drink.” (OLD,
s.v. traho, 7b; Hor. Epod. 14.3–4: pocula Lethaeos . . . fauce traxerim; Ov. Met.
15.330: quem quicumque parum moderato gutture traxit; and Plin. HN 6.188:
illum trahentem uina.) However, in the very next line we are explicitly told that
Dinocrates began to drink from the golden cup (de ea bibere coepit). A reading of
him playing and splashing in the water here is more congruent with the later
remark that he played as a child (ludere more infantium) than imagining him
drinking directly from the pool and later from the bowl, although I would not rule
that out. The Greek is quite different and emphasizes the autonomous agency of
the water’s unceasing flow (ἔρρεεν δὲ ἐξ αὐτῆς ἀδιαλείπτως ὕδωρ), and not that of
the child’s ceaseless playing, minimizing the child’s joy in the cooling waters. The
difference is significant. The child is the singular focus in the Latin, while the
Greek emphasizes the miracle of the flowing water.
VIII.3. golden cup ( fiala aurea). The word phiala is a borrowing from the Greek
φιάλη and designates a broad, flat dish used for drinking, libations, and unguents
(LSJ, s.v. φιάλη). The Latin use of phiala as a drinking vessel does not antedate the
early first century. Despite the presence of the word in Petronius, the elder Pliny,
Martial, and Juvenal, the Latin writers of this period commonly choose either
calyx or patera for cup or bowl. Juvenal’s spelling in his Sat. 5.39 (Virro tenet phia-
las: tibi non committitur aurum) is the latest I have found. Thus, we can cautiously
isolate the period when the Latin spelling as phiala—indicative of an awareness
of the Greek etymon and fashionable pronunciation—was current, i.e., from ap-
proximately the early first to the mid-second century. Perpetua’s spelling with
the initial f is the earliest I have found outside of the Vetus, which reads, for the
bowls holding God’s anger, fialas aureas, Rv 15.7 (but see the Vulgate, phialas
aureas; and F. Lo Bue, “Old Latin Readings of the Apocalypse in the ‘Wordsworth-
White’ Edition of the Vulgate,” in VC 19, no. 1 [1955]: 21–24). Perhaps this small
Christian community is attempting to adopt the growing tradition of Christians
to have their Scriptures in the sermo cottidianus by substituting the voiceless fric-
ative [f] for the Greek aspirated stop [ph].
The symbol of the golden bowl in Greek mythology is a ubiquitous and
polysemous symbol for safety, and its drink could provide immortality. Her-
cules borrowed the golden bowl from Helios to use as a vessel in order to
cross over the ocean. In the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures, phiala is the
word for a precious bowl (Nm 7.13, 85), a liturgical bowl used on the temple
altar (Zec 14.20), and notably, in the book of Revelation, the word designates
the seven bowls of the seven angels who pour eschatological monstrosities on
the earth (Rv 16, 17.1, and 21.9; and see Heffernan, “History ”). Perpetua’s vi-
sion of the water from the life-giving pool and the cup is the source for the
cup and the spring water in the Passio sanctorum Mariani et Iacobi , 6, and
very likely the source of Quartillosa’s dream of the handsome young man
bearing two cups filled with milk in the Passio sanctorum Montani et Lucii , 8.
VIII.4. began (accessit). One would typically read accessit to indicate that the
child “came to/approached” the water. Indeed, MS S, which contains punctua-
tion, reads: et accessit ludere, satiatus de aqua more infantum gaudens. . . . How-
ever, here the context implies that the verb initiates a new action; hence my use of
“began,” since the child is already standing in front of the golden basin, so that to
approach a second time (see the immediately preceding line) is a redundancy.
The Greek also endorses “began” with its choice of ἤρξατο. Reichmann and
Bastiaensen support this reading (but see Amat, 219).
VIII.4. rejoicing (gaudens). The word may even contain a hint of the child’s gen-
uine physical joy at being freed from his disability (see the reading from MS S
above). The word is used three times in the Passio, and on two of those occasions
(XIII.8, Tunc gaudens; and see XVIII.3), it is used after the converts are satisfied
by an otherworldly experience.
VIII.4. And I woke up (experta sum). She uses the phrase to signify the comple-
tion of each of her four visions and her passage to the conscious state (IV.10,
VII.8, VIII.3, X.13). The use of this set phrase at the end of each vision may be
just a concomitant of how she ends these discussions. However, this phrase, re-
peated as it is at the end of every vision, has a deliberate, almost rhetorical feel to
it. I believe that she may have added this phrase as she reviewed her text on its
completion so as to bracket carefully her different sorts of experience, that is, to

mark clearly the end of the vision and her conscious state. Moreover, after each
declaration that she has awakened, she provides an interpretation of the previous
vision. It is possible that gaudens could be read with experta sum (see XIII.8),
that is, Perpetua on seeing Dinocrates playing woke up rejoicing. The line is
ambiguous.
VIII.4. knew (intellexi). The reader is not told how or why Perpetua has this
understanding. However, her certain knowledge on waking from her vision must
derive from her now conscious memory of Dinocrates’ improved situation, as he
appeared to her in her second vision.
VIII.4. he was freed from his suffering (translatum eum esse de poena). Transfero
suggests a “transfer” of an individual to another state or situation (some read the
use here as particularly Christian; see Bastiaensen 430, Amat 219, and Formis-
ano 100, no. 93). It is tempting to read this line as a declaration that the child
Dinocrates has now had his moral condition changed, and this alteration in turn
has led to an improved physical and mental state. In Chapter VII even the least
theologically inclined reading has to acknowledge that his sister believed the
child to be suffering not only from the wound that took his life but from some
undefined, nonphysical problem which has compromised his spirit life after
death. The use of poena and the Greek τιμωριῶν reinforces this idea, since they
suggest a punishment or penalty for an offence of some sort. Hence Perpetua’s
remarks that he has been freed from these pains suggest a type of purgation that
has been accomplished by her intercession. We cannot identify precisely the
nature of either the place of his confinement or the complex reasons that he was
there. Those places and the rationale supporting them exist only in Perpetua’s
mind, and she is not explicit concerning them. Could this be a nascent depiction
of Christian purgatory? I see no reason why not. The idea that souls move off
into an underground afterlife of some ill-defined sort, living much as they lived
on earth (see VII.3), was common in Greek, Roman, and Jewish culture. Likely
under the influence of Orphic and Pythagorean teaching, this underworld was
bifurcated into two realms: the guilty being led to the dark, suffering one of Tar-
tarus (see 2 Pt 2.4) and the just to the Elysian Fields. Writers like Cicero, and
Vergil in particular, transported the entire apparatus of the abode of the dead to
the heavens, with the good souls in the upper regions and the bad in the depths.
What is significant about Perpetua’s depiction is her successful intervention
through her intercessory prayer into the fate of the dead child and his changed
status from that of a suffering shade to that of a happy child. It is difficult to
escape the positive agency she has employed and its departure from the earlier
traditions by virtue of that agency, along with its similarity to the later medieval
doctrine of purgatory.
CHAPTER IX
The Argument: Epiphany and Farewell,

Perpetua’s Public Assumption of Authority
Perpetua’s life, not unsurprisingly for a Roman matron, revolves around
male figures who play a significant and dominant role in her life: her father,
son, and brother, her teacher Saturus, the warden Pudens, and the presiding
magistrate Hilarianus, with the single exception of the absent husband, about
whom see “The Personae.” Such relationships were the norm for a woman in
her social class, since elite women in Imperial Rome had little public life as in-
dividuals, outside the power they wielded behind the scenes in the family.
While elite women appear to have gained some degree of public autonomy
during the first century in Rome, their situation in the colonies remained little
changed. This was particularly true in urban Africa and even more so in the
rural areas. While women of the imperial family, although obviously in the
public eye, exercised influence, they nonetheless continued to use the persona
of their male counterparts as a scrim for their politicking. Dio Cassius remarks
that Julia Domna cultivated learning and the arts. Although she never forgave
her son Caracalla for the treacherous murder of Geta—and according to Dio,
hated him for the remainder of his life—she played a substantial role as his
behind-the-scenes advisor (see Dio Cass. 78.18). Some few women, like Junia
Theodora and Julia Domna, did emerge from this social matrix as significant
public figures.
Although Christianity is a product of the same cultural milieu that proscribed
female roles in πολιτεία, it nonetheless provided women a greater opportunity for
roles of public leadership, and it thereby attracted a disproportionate number of
female recruits. It is well established that Christianity enabled even the lowest
classes to achieve positions of authority. Phoebe held the rank of deacon (Rom
16.1), and Pliny referred to the two female slaves he tortured as ministrae (“dea-
conesses,” Ep. 10.96.7). However, Paul’s letters are replete with the names of
women—like Prisca, Junia, Julia, Eudoia, Syntyche, and Mary, for example—not
all of whom were members of the lower classes, and who played important public
roles in his ministry and in the establishment of Christian diaspora communities
(see Winter, Roman Wives, 173–204). For Paul, it would seem that the idea of the
Church was inseparable from the household, and thus he blurred the distinction
between public and private spheres. Yet when these spheres were transgressed in
non-Christian Roman society, criticism was quick and often savage. In his Meta-
morphoses, Apuleius satirized the baker’s wife not only for her questionable
morality but also for her willful public independence. And Celsus’s sneer that
Christianity was a religion of women, children, and slaves is a significant testimony
to the public leadership role of women in the Church of the second century (see
MacDonald, Christian Women, 94–120).
Christianity, however—particularly the sort practiced by the eschatolog-
ical community of Carthage—encouraged Perpetua in her role as oracle and
provided her with an opportunity to transgress these normative Roman ideas
of female decorum. Her status in the Christian community as a prophetess
placed her outside the normative strictures governing the behavior of women.
The Montanist strain of religiosity in Carthage took Paul at his most literal—
“So my brothers, strive eagerly to prophesy” (ὥσ τε , ἀδε λφοί μου ζηλοῦτε τὸ
προφητεύειν, 1 Cor 14.39)—and did not discriminate against women in the
role of prophet. The figure of Perpetua represented in the diary exists in at
least two public spheres, pagan and Christian, and they are often difficult to
delineate. Her worlds, while often divergent, are at some times congruent. If
we consider her interaction with males who are her contemporaries, like that
of Saturus, it appears that she behaves mostly like a traditional Roman matron.
If, however, we examine her relationship with her father, she behaves most
unlike a Roman daughter. Perpetua’s description of her world is as daughter,
mother, sister, and wife, and as limited in detail as it is, it is always mediated
through male figures, or through her dreams about them. There is not a single
instance when she has a conversation with another woman or, indeed, reports
a conversation with another female. She mentions her mother but once
(III.8), and that is to express concern about her well-being (III.8). In sum,
with the exception of her relationships with her father and her conversion to
Christianity and role as prophetess, she behaves as an entirely appropriate
Roman matron of the upper class.
In Chapters VII and VIII we watched as she rescued her beloved and long-
dead brother Dinocrates from a painful afterlife. The two dreams of Dinocrates
provided her audience with an entrée into the domestic world of women, since
one of the subordinate concerns of those dreams is her unconsciousness, as it is
depicted in the narrative of her long-suppressed memory of Dinocrates’ death
and her relationship to that brother. She dreams as a Christian prophetess re-
membering her life as a pagan maiden. In all her dreams she works autonomously
but according to God’s plan. The world of this vision is a realm where she has full
authority and power. For example, she expresses her confidence in being able to
help Dinocrates, remarking, somewhat obliquely, that she knew she was worthy
(VII.2). This self-appraisal is presented as if she had received it as a communica-
tion from a source outside herself, from God himself. Her confidence allows her
to restore the trapped, thirsty, and suffering Dinocrates to a new life, albeit one
among the happy dead. Such powerful mediation she could only accomplish as a
Christian female.
Her narrative, like her life, is deeply divided between the sacred and the secular
spheres. For instance, while the second dream of Dinocrates certainly has ob-
vious Christian elements, to read it principally as an explicitly Christian allegory
separates the dreamer too radically from the dream. Perpetua was a Roman
matron before she was a convert to Christianity. Although a reading of her rescue
of Dinocrates as a consolatio, in which Perpetua and her brother are reunited in
paradise after the resurrection of the flesh “to play in the manner of children,”
contains powerful Christian imagery, such narratives of the afterlife were also
richly attested in pagan literature, notably in Book Six of the Aeneid, a work she
knew. Perpetua’s ideas of what such a redeemed world would resemble are a blend
of pagan and Christian images. Let us look at one salient concern: Does the exis-
tence of the soul after death require a body? Perpetua believes that life after death
is an existence that will require one. Her idea of a soul is inseparable from its situ-
ation in a body. She inherits this idea from both her pagan and Christian teachers.
The idea of the resurrection of the flesh has its doctrinal roots in the New Testa-
ment (see Jn 5.28; 1 Cor 15.12; 1 Pt 3.19) and was a cornerstone of the theology
of the earliest Christian writers (see 1 Clem. 25–26 and Justin Martyr, Res. 7).
Tertullian’s treatise De Resurrectione Carnis (ca. 208–11), written to confound
Marcion and his Gnostic critics, is an extended meditation proving Christ’s body
was a natural human body, that our actual bodies and souls will be reunited at
Christ’s Second Coming, and that although corporeal, we will exist as a type of
angelic being in heaven (see 62.1: Erunt, inquit, tanquam angeli). It is difficult to
parse precisely what Tertullian understands as “angelic beings,” since he also
believed that angels could change into human bodily forms and yet remain angels
(see Osborn, Tertullian, 57). Perpetua, the Christian, appears to subscribe to
much of the Christian position on the afterlife which we see in Tertullian.
Perpetua’s narrative of her brother’s situation in the afterlife is deeply in-
debted to Christian theology. If one were to read Dinocrates’ situation only as
an expression of the pagan idea of Hades, where all humans, the good and the
bad, go after death, then Dinocrates’ movement ludere more infantium gaudens
would represent a final separation away from her. Yet in a metaphysical way, this
meeting is their last, and Dinocrates does depart. The last scene we have of him
is a happy one, playing in the manner of children. Where does he go? Where
does she go? Although Dinocrates’ end is one that she has willed, sister and
brother will not share some eternal paradise, as she will be in the Christian
heaven and Dinocrates will exist forever in some sort of Elysian abode. Dino-
crates cannot join her because he is unbaptized and not a Christian. The best she
can do is secure for him an everlasting locus amoenus. Thus the traditions of the
afterlife, pagan and Christian, exist side by side and provide a richer under-
standing of her psychology.
Before she became a Christian, Perpetua was a child of Rome. The pagan idea
of a locus amoenus also had a considerable influence on the Christian representa-
tion of the afterlife. The gardens Perpetua sees in the Passio undoubtedly draw
from this tradition. One need only look to the child Dinocrates. Dinocrates has a
presence; he has a body which still bears the wound that killed him; he stands
upright, and he even runs as a child. Many pagan authors who treat the afterlife
represent it as being “peopled” by “shades,” the simulacra of their once-living
spirits. While these shades are embodied, and some can even drink blood, their
bodies are mysterious and often incorporeal substances, though they remain vis-
ible, palpable entities. Roman cemeteries always show evidence that bodies were
buried fully clothed with grave goods and food. Perpetua understood that her
brother as a dead shade had physical needs; he was thirsty, and she helped him
drink. The two traditions, paganism and Christianity, as she represents them, are
deeply indebted to one another (see J. Davies, Death, 195).
Th is brief recap of Chapters VII and VIII allows us to see the evolution of
certain ideas expressed there as they emerge in Chapter IX. That chapter is
divided into two halves. It begins with Perpetua interacting with Pudens, and it
ends with the tragic denouement between her father and herself. The chapter fo-
cuses our attention on the power of ἀναγνώρισις (“recognition”). Pudens recog-
nizes the intrinsic worth of the martyrs; her father, tragically, never does. Chapter
IX shares certain thematic concerns with those of VII and VIII, notably a wid-
ening acknowledgment of her power outside the purely sectarian world of be-
lievers and a final meeting and farewell with the most important male in her life,
her father. While the dreams of her brother illustrate her power in liberating
Dinocrates, removing him from a shadowy realm of the dead and apparently
beyond any further concerns on her part, the farewell with her father is cata-
clysmic, heart-wrenching, and utterly destructive of the Roman social fabric. Her
natal family no longer exists. She has, to paraphrase Mark, looked around at her
fellow imprisoned catechumens and said: ἴδε ἡ μήτηρ μου καὶ οἱ ἀδελφοιμου (Mk
3.34).
Chapter IX is not a dream. Reality is all too present. Prison life surrounds
them, and they are suffering. The chapter is divided by two major events: the
manifestation of their power and its recognition by the prison warden, Pudens,
along with the final break with her father. The chapter opens with Pudens, the
miles optio of the jail, acknowledging some great power in the martyrs. His rec-
ognition of their courage, their endurance, and their faith is a repetition of her
earlier expression that she knew she was worthy and that she had the power to
aid Dinocrates. There is a salient difference in these narrative settings, however.
First, Pudens appears to be a pagan. Since we, as audience, have as yet no knowl-
edge of his religious affiliation (XXI.4), we have to assume that he is a faithful
practitioner of the mos maiorum of the state. His recognition of their virtue is
significant and needs some amplification. This is the first hint we are given that
Pudens—who appears to be the same converted prison guard in Chapter XXI—
is so moved by their heroism that he eventually becomes a Christian. This scene
which illustrates his recognition of their charismatic courage underscores the
power of their witness, which is, after all, what they are being sentenced to death
for exercising. Pudens becomes the second pagan, following immediately after
Dinocrates, whom Perpetua leads to salvation. Perpetua recognized that she was
worthy to help her brother. She acted confidently and willfully on that insight. In
this present instance, she is the object of Pudens’s praise, and thus she occupies
a position analogous to that of her brother: she is under the power of a higher
power, the Roman jailer. It is Pudens’s will, born out of his recognition of the
good he sees in the martyrs, and very possibly his worthiness that initiates the
ensuing action. Yet it seems that he is moved by a recognition that there is some
power in them greater than anything he has ever known. Pudens’s order that they
be given better access to loved ones precipitates a series of actions in which
things are suddenly made better for the martyrs.
The first thing that happens after Pudens’s recognition of the martyrs’ power
is that they are given the freedom to have visitors, to meet together, and to offer
each other mutual support. The gates of the prison are opened, and friends may
visit. The historical record supports this detail. Tertullian records that many
sought comfort from the imprisoned which they were not able to receive from
church, and that fathers and mothers often accompanied the martyrs to the
prison gates (Mart. 1.6: Quam pacem quidam in ecclesia non habentes; see also
2.1: quousque et parentes vestri). Her father is her only visitor who is named. He is
her most important visitor. He is the visitor whose mind she cannot change, the
one whose allegiance she most craves, and the one who does not recognize the
power of God in her. Her father’s visit must be some days after Pudens gave them
their increased freedoms. The day of the games is fast approaching, and she ac-
knowledges that her father is sick with worry about her (IX.2, consumptus taedio).
The subject of his visit is not mentioned, nor is anything he said to her. The silence
of the interchange forces our attention to the only thing the narrative does report
on, their body language. Perpetua allows us only a glimpse, but a vivid one, this
time of her father’s comportment. He tears at his beard, throws himself on the
ground, curses his age, and speaks to her so passionately that his words could
move creation itself. All of these are heart-rending and desperate actions. They
are also violations of the Roman code (mos) governing male behavior. Her father
appears to have abandoned decorum. He is desperate; his daughter is about to be
executed in the arena by being thrown to wild beasts. His principal thought is
how he might save her. Weeks earlier he was humiliated when the procurator
Hilarianus beat him with a rod for his public display of grief and hysteria (VI.5).
His parental sympathies overwhelm all pretenses to maintain his rightful au-
thority of patria potestas. Willing to risk public shame, he is desperate to help her,
yet unable to do so and control himself. His rage, grief, and frustration have no
appropriate outlet. In desperation he turns on himself and tears out his beard.
Does it matter to him at this stage if he humiliates himself yet again? Are his
actions necessarily indicative of a state of desperation and grief?
His outbursts, while not normative for a Roman male as a public display of
grief, make more historical sense and are more in keeping with Roman practice if
we read the scene before us as a depiction of a father in mourning for his dead
daughter, rather than that of a parent pleading for her to reconsider her decision.
While this reading seems to disregard the text, consider that this meeting is their
last. They are never mentioned again as having contact. The day of the games is
almost here. She is sentenced to death. Could she be saved if she recants at this
point? Likely not. Look carefully at her father’s behavior. Her father’s gestures are
those we find familiarly used by Roman women mourning the death of a loved
one. Women grieving at the funeral of a loved one would be expected to mourn
publicly; their public display of grief ensured that the corpse was loved and that
the corpse’s final resting place was assured. Traditional Roman grief was not
restrained. Women were the guardians of the rites of the dead. The Roman male,
on the other hand, was expected to remain aloof from such public exhibitions of
grief. The male was the guarantor of the realm of the living. He represented the
continuity of life and its attendant traditions and, hence, had to appear publicly
as a bastion of reassurance. Perpetua’s father, however, steps quite outside these
traditional constraints. To some extent he can, since the child, his precious
daughter, is dead to him. His behavior is quite consistent with what we know
about his affection for this particular child and with how he has loved her above
all her brothers (see V.2). His behavior, as eccentric for a male of his class as it is,
illustrates again this text’s liminality, where behaviors follow their own trajec-
tories and are not dictated by fashion.
Chapter IX Commentary
IX.1. Pudens (Pudens). The cognomen of the prison guard. His lack of any
additional names is of interest, as it would normally indicate low status. How-
ever, he is identified as an optio (see below IX.1). The name “Pudens” appears to
have been a common one. The Pudens of the Passio was celebrated as a saint in the
diocese of Carthage, and his name appears as a saint for the third calends in May
(see PL, 13.1219, Kalendarium Antiquissimum Ecclesiae Carthaginensis). If, as I
believe, Pudens is a career military officer serving in an administrative capacity as
supervisor of the prison, he would have been a member of an urban cohort. Thus
the prison where the converts are being held is a military one, and probably not
the municipal prison of Carthage (see VII.9 above) but rather a comparatively
small facility used by the military police for special prisoners and military per-
sonnel who served in the urban cohort and committed infractions. One Pudens
was the subject of Martial’s epithalamium “Marriage of Pudens and Claudia,” and
another was a Christian known to Paul in his last imprisonment (see 2 Tm 4.21).
The name, at least in Paul’s epistle, has the suggestion of one selected for what it
reveals about the person, as it derives from the adjective pudens, “shy” or “modest.”
The practice was not uncommon in North Africa, and Augustine’s son Adeodatus
is such a name, “God’s gift.” There is an early tradition (with little substantiation)
that Pudens was married to the British princess Claudia, and their son Linus, also
mentioned by Paul, was the second bishop of Rome after Peter.
IX.1. military adjutant (miles optio). Pudens is a soldier and holds the rank of
optio, which, if he were a field officer serving in the army, would make him a junior
officer, usually subordinate to a centurion. The decurion or centurion had the
right to “nominate” his optio, hence the name. These junior officers belonged to
the order optiones, ranked as principales, and received approximately from one
and one-half times to double the wages of the ordinary soldier. Their duties would
vary according to what they were required to do. There are a number of references
to different functions performed by the optio; those who supervised hospitals
had the rank optio convalescentium, and those who were in charge of a military
guardhouse within a military camp were called optiones custodiarum (OLD, s.v.
optio, 2a: in re militari optio appellatur is, quem decurio aut centurio optat sibi
rerum priuatarum ministrum, quo facilius obeat publica officia; and Vegetius, Epit-
oma rei militaris 2.7: Optiones ab adoptando appellati, quod antecedentibus aegri-
tudine praepeditis hi tamquam adoptati eorum atque vicarii solent universa curare.”
For a discussion of optio, see Breeze, “Note,” 71–77; also Speidel, Framework , and
Watson, Roman Soldier, 126, 205.) The Latin text is quite specific about the rank
of this Pudens, but the Greek is silent on the matter. Perhaps the Greek scribe did
not understand such specific Roman military information, or possibly such spec-
ificity would have had little relevance for his Greek audience. Further, the Greek
and Latin texts disagree concerning whose ultimate jurisdiction Perpetua is
under. The Greek suggests she was under the jurisdiction of a χιλίαρχος, literally
someone who commanded a thousand men, and χιλίαρχος is a translation of the
Roman office of tribunus militum, a term which the Latin has not mentioned up
to this point (see above VII.8, transivimus). This rank of tribunus militum was
held by a very senior officer; he would be the second-in-command of the legion.
Tribunus was often a rank that young aristocrats assumed before they took their
positions in the Roman provincial administration. Birley has shown nine provincial
governors who, prior to their appointment as governor, served as tribunus mili-

tum in that very province (Birley, Fasti, 30). The probability that a young man
likely to end up in the Senate would be assigned to supervise a small, urban mili-
tary prison is very small. The Latin text’s choice of miles optio is more accurate,
and historically more likely. This difference between the Latin and Greek terms is
important and suggests that the Greek scribe understood neither the jurisdic-
tional distinctions in the Roman military nor the physical layout of the city of
Carthage. There is a rank distinction made between the tribunus and the optio in
Chapter XVI which illustrates clearly that the optio is subordinate to the tribunus.
IX.1. who was in charge of the prison (praepositus carceris). Although we might
not expect to fi nd military officers in charge of prisons containing civilians—I
have argued above that this may have been a military prison (see VII.8 above)—
we do have the interesting corroborating evidence from the NT. Indeed, the
Vetus uses the very words ingressus and optio (translating δεσμοφύλαξ) to identify
the jailer responsible for overseeing Paul’s incarceration: et ingressus optio carceris
(Acts 16.23, 27, and 36; note that the Vulgate reads custos; see also Ambrose, Ep.
Eph. 4 and August. Serm. 256). This position of praepositus carceris was typically
held by a junior officer in an urban cohort. The word optio is a term older than
custos, curator, or magister, all of which refer to ranks and duties performed by the
optio. These latter terms replaced optio as a distinguishing term for such ranks and
responsibilities in the course of the third century. Lastly, this jailer surely must be
the same Pudens who, having converted to Christianity, is alluded to in Chapters
XVI.4, XXI.1, 4.
IX.1. to show us considerable respect (magnificare). Here the word seems to have
the resonance of respect, rather than the more common sense of “to praise” or
“extol.” Souter suggests that from Tertullian on, the word begins to have the
meaning to testify to one’s “greatness,” particularly that of God (see Souter, s.v.
magnifico). R uses it this sense in reference to Christ (see XXI.11 below). How-
ever, here the sense does not imply a transcendental meaning, but rather the jail-
er’s respect for the courage of these men and women. The verb magnifico is used
in the Vetus in this latter sense to illustrate how the apostles are held in respect
and esteem because of their powers (Acts 5.13). The Greek text, however, theolo-
gizes the line, extending Pudens’s respect for the Christians under his control to
their God as well (καὶ δοξάζειν τὸν θεόν), presumably thinking ahead to the end of
the line where their power is acknowledged, and to the later identification of
Pudens as a Christian (iam et ipso optione carceris credente; and see XVI.3). Per-
petua seems to be trying to convey the sense that Pudens saw in the martyrs a
great “power” (see BDAG, s.v. μεγαλύνω).
IX.1. great courage (magnam virtutem). The common meaning of the word at
this time is as a reference to one’s excellence, to those qualities that make one’s life
exemplary to fellow humans; it denotes acting in the highest way that a man is
capable of behaving. With its roots in vir, the Roman virtus was inseparable from
the practice of exemplary deeds, often military (Tac. Hist. 1.83: res egregie gestae),
with the hopes that such deeds would lead to fama and thence to some notable
position in society. M. Claudius Marcellus, in thanksgiving for a military victory,
dedicated a dual temple to the gods Honos and Virtus in 208 bce. The figure of
virtus was often represented on Roman coins as dressed in a military helmet,
bearing a spear and sword. Despite its roots in martial prowess, the word is used
in a subtly differently manner here. Along with its inescapable origins in mascu-
line feats of a notable sort, here it bears the connotation of moral virtue, particu-
larly since the prison guard applies it to women. Indeed, although the martyrs
have not had their defining moment, their agon, in the arena yet, the guard rec-
ognizes in their comportment and courage a moral virtus. His remark does not
portray their virtuous qualities as something other than solely human (see OLD,
s.v. virtus, 3; and Cic. Invent. 2.159: nam virtus est animi habitus naturae modo
atque rationi consentaneus . . . habet igitur partes quatt uor: prudentiam, iustitiam,
fortitudinem, temperantiam). Tertullian adjures the martyrs in prison to accept
the old Roman military quality of virtus, seeing that such virtue is made stronger
by hardship (Mart. 3.5: quia virtus duritia exstruitur), and he extends the
meaning somewhat to include God’s special power (see Mart. 11.14). The word
seems to have begun to shift its meaning as Christians begin to use it as a lexical
marker of some special quality of holiness. The Greek suggests that this quality
in the martyrs is an ontological one, having its roots outside personal charisma,
likely bestowed by God (καὶ δοξάζειν τὸν θεόν), and calls this quality they pos-
sess a “great force or power” (δύναμιν μεγάλην). This is a theological nuance that
the Latin does not have. The Greek version of the Passio is obviously more in-
debted to the language of the Greek NT and the developing Christian theology,
and frequently seeks to theologize and generalize issues that the Latin is content
to leave unamplified.
IX.1. many (multos). Who were the “many” who were allowed to visit because
of the largess of the warden? The number of visitors is not given, nor their rela-
tionships to the prisoners, save in the single instance of Perpetua’s father. Does
the text suggest that some of these were fellow believers? The phrase invicem
refr igeraremus, particularly in light of Perpetua’s apparent lack of interest in non-
Christians, could be construed this way. The Christian population of Carthage is
unknown. Christian authors typically exaggerate the size of their congregations.
Tertullian’s comments are intended to dramatize Christians’ potential power
and their rapid growth (see Apol. 37.4: Hesterni sumus, et vestra omnia implevi-
mus, urbes insulas castella municipia conciliabula castra ipsa tribus decurias
palatium senatum forum; sola vobis reliquimus templa). The Acts of St. Cyprian
emphasize repeatedly the size of the crowds that attended his hearing conducted
by Proconsul Galerius Maximus (see Acta Cypriani, 3: mane multa turba
conuenit). A more sober figure of perhaps fifteen hundred, assuming about 0.5
percent of a population of three hundred thousand, would be closer to the mark
for the first decade of the third century. It is likely that this number lessened after
the pogroms of 202.
IX.1. one another (invicem). Used as a single word, invicem, although an adverb,
frequently functions as the reciprocal pronoun in post-classical Latin (in addition
to alius) and can designate a variety of interdependent relationships (see Souter,
s.v. inuicem). Tertullian frequently uses the word in this manner (see Spect. 16.3).
IX.1. comfort (refrigeraremus). It is best not to try and restrict the exact nu-
ance of Perpetua’s use of this word in this situation. Clearly the prisoners have
been suffering physical abuse—they were locked in the stocks—and emo-
tional deprivation, and they have probably been ill nourished. Here the word
refr igeraremus conveys more of the sense of mutual comfort and reassurance.
(For an extended discussion of refr igero, see III.7 above.) The Greek is only
subtly different, indicating that they exhort each other through continuous en-
couragements (παραμυθιῶν), which echoes 1 Cor 14.3 and Phil 2.1. (The cor-
responding verb is used in Jn 11.19, 31.) It is noteworthy that the passage in 1
Cor is a discussion of the importance of the voice of the prophet for encour-
agement. The noun παρηγορία (which is related to παρηγορεῖσθαι) is found in
Col 4.11 and is rendered in the Vetus as solatium . Colossians depicts Paul in
prison being comforted by fellow Christians Aristarchus, Mark, and one Jesus
called Justus (καὶ Ἰησοῦς ὁ λ εγόμενος Ἱοῦσ τος). The New Testament echoes are
more deliberate in the Greek version of the Passio.
IX.1. drew near (proximavit). This is a post-classical usage and is likely a de-
nominative formation from the adjective proximus. I have been unable to find
the word in use as a verb in other non-Scriptural Christian Latin texts prior to
its appearance in the Passio. It appears to have gained in popularity as a verb; it
occurs in some MSS of the Vetus, and, as one would suspect, is more com-
monly employed in the Vulgate and later authors (see 1 Mc 9.12; and in August.
Ep. 44).
IX.2. devastated with worry (consumptus taedio). Perpetua is fond of repetition,
and this very phrase is used to describe her father earlier in Chapter V (see V.1).
Her use of this phrase, with its expression of lingering concern for her father’s
situation, underscores the deep affection she had for him—she refers to him as
pater ten times in Chapters III, V, VI, and IX—and her recognition of his great
love for her. He repeatedly risks public humiliation in trying to get her to recant.
He is the only male figure in the entire Passio who elicits such emotional re-
sponses from her.
IX.2. came (intravit). The sense of the sentence seems to be to a past event. The
perfect here also agrees with proximavit and coepit in the same sentence (cf. van
Beek and Amat, who print intrat).
IX.2. tear out his beard (barbam suam euellere). This is a telling gesture, and
although it is nonverbal, it reveals the depth of his pain. In addition, it discloses a
world of complex associations, since public displays of such emotion by males
were infrequent; public outbursts of grief were traditionally expected of women
in ritualized rites of mourning for the dead (see OLD, s.v. rado; Quint. Inst. 3;
and Lizzi, “Il sesso e i morti,” 61–64). Gesture in Roman society was gender-
dependent. Roman decorum prescribed modes of expression of public grief that
were different for men and women. Traditionally, tearing of the hair, audible cries
of grief, and other acts of physical debasement were more commonly associated
with female mourning for the dead. However, there were notable exceptions.
Tacitus describes outbursts of public grief from both the male and female
mourners who accompanied Agrippina as she made her way with the ashes of
Germanicus (Ann. 3.1.5 and also Corbeill, Nature Embodied). Lucian mocks a
father for his exhibition of grief (De Luctu). There were Scriptural analogues to
Perpetua’s father’s behavior in the figures of David (2 Sm 18.33) and Ezra. The
latter tears his beard and pulls hair from his head at his disappointment at Jews
marrying foreigners (Ezr 9.3). See Levison, “Funerals,” 268. Tearing at the beard
is a traditional gesture, and read symbolically it may represent a renunciation of
his paternity, since his beard is obviously a symbol of masculinity.
IX.2. throw it on the ground (in terram mittere . . . faciem). The phase has some
ambiguity: is it the hairs from his beard that he throws on the ground or is it
himself? The proximity of the phrase to the act of tearing his beard, and the lack
of a reflexive suggesting that he threw himself down, indicates that Perpetua
intends the audience to understand that her father throws his hair on the
ground (see Corbeill, Nature Embodied, 82–139). Augustine is another African
male whose grief is not bounded by rules of decorum (see Conf. 4.4, 9.11–13).
IX.2. cursing his years (inproperare annis suis). This verb with the dative was used
more typically in everyday speech and means “to blame” a person. It is used here
to suggest her father’s assessment of his failure to save his daughter, and thus his
self-blame.
IX.2. spoke such words to me as might move creation itself (dicere . . . creaturam).
The intent of her poetic conceit and her use of the subjunctive (quae moverent) is
to underscore that her father’s sorrow was so great that when it poured forth, the
whole of the natural world itself might be moved to pity (see Gildersleeve and
Lodge, 403, 631). Her phrase may be a subtle echo of Rom 8.18–27.
IX.3. I grieved (dolebam). She uses this very phrase, employing the common
verb doleo, three times—once in reference to Dinocrates (VII.7) and twice
concerning her feelings for her father (V.5 and here). This phrase conveys the
genuine depth of her feeling of compassion for him.
IX.3. for his unhappy old age (pro infelici senecta eius). Perpetua typically qual-
ifies her grief for her father by a reference to his old age (VI.5, dolui pro senecta).
Why does she do this? Why is the pity not simply expressed unqualified, and why
is it associated with his old age? The answer lies in her awareness of his public
shame at his diminished public status, pudor, and of the role of masculine honor,
shame, and potestas in Roman culture. Moreover, she is an adult child and still
subject to his jurisdiction. He chooses not to punish her. Yet her public behavior
as an adult brings more potential embarrassment to him. There is a curious role
reversal between daughter and father: the father begs her, in a childlike manner,
to give up her Christian point of view. She responds as the adult. Her pity is gen-
uine, but her belief is fixed. She is torn between her love and respect for her father
and the obligation she feels to Christ, whose remarks concerning parents are
stronger: “Here are my mother and my brothers. . . . For whoever does the will of
my heavenly Father is my brother, and sister and mother” (see Mt 12.46–50). In
sum, in a society where shame is meant to play such a strong role in governing
behavior, anomalous situations like this one involving Perpetua and her father
flout every convention.
CHAPTER X
The Argument: Transformation and Leave-Taking

Arguably the most complex and surreal of Perpetua’s visions, the fourth dream
is structurally related to the first one in that it confirms the prophecy that she will
die and triumph over death as a martyr. The crucial theme, and Perpetua’s funda-
mental concern, in this dream is to illustrate the personal transformation of the
human soul, achievable through belief tested in disciplined, courageous action.
The faithful witness of the martyr strengthened the entire Christian community,
as apostasy diminished it. Clement of Alexandria believed that the soul of the
martyr “manifests the perfect act of love” (see Strom. 4.4.28). Clement intends
his readers to see in the act of the martyr the recapitulation of the act of Christ’s
atoning love on the cross. Perpetua’s dream in the amphitheatre is a symbolic
rehearsal of this impending “perfect act of love.” Additionally, as this is Perpetua’s
last dream, it represents the climax of her physical and spiritual journey toward
martyrdom (see Dodds, Pagan and Christian, 50–51; Amat, Songes, 76; Dronke,
Women Writers, 13; Cox Miller, Dreams, 161–65). Interpretations of this dream
range across the spectrum from an extreme Jungian position (von Franz) to a
strongly positivist one (Robert). The Jungian reading views every aspect of
Perpetua’s behavior as embodying a universal quality, and every anecdote in her
dream is seen to exhibit influences from the mystery religions—chiefly Gnosti-

cism, Mithraism, and Greco-Egyptian cults (see von Franz, Perpetua). Such a
reading turns the flesh and blood of the historical narrative into historical fiction,
a trot for source studies. Robert, while he rightly illustrates the text’s indebted-
ness to historical details, is rigidly positivist. Eschewing all symbolic readings, he
views the dream solely as a reflection of a Greek athletic festival. Relying princi-
pally on the Greek version, he believes the contest to be the pankration celebrated
in Carthage in honor of the Pythian Apollo, and not a symbolic depiction of a
gladiatorial combat (Robert, “Une vision”). For Robert, since only men partici-
pated in these contests, the need for Perpetua’s gender transformation is dictated
by the historical exigencies of the games: she must be male. Both the Jungian and
the positivist positions are too limiting: the Jungian is too dismissive of historical
details and the positivist reluctant to allow the author imaginative license. The
narrative does accurately depict scenes from the amphitheatre: it correctly names
the gates of the amphitheatre as the gates of Life and of Death, the manager of the
games is correctly referred to as the lanista,and the preparation for the contest in
the stripping of the garments and the application of the oil and the sand from the
arena floor is historically accurate. However, these details are the raw material
employed by the author in constructing a complex literary allegory concerning a
larger cosmic struggle. Both the historical and the symbolic exist in a mutually
reinforcing narrative.
Th is is a dream, and as a dream it must follow the logic of dream narratives,
a form which permits it to construct new orders of causality and temporal
sequences not found in more naturalistic genres. Therefore, we should expect
items gleaned from experience to be incorporated, refracted, and recombined in
representations that are themselves not bound to empirical strictures. Elements
from her personal experience, from what she knew of gladiatorial combats and
the pankration, exist side by side. The core of Perpetua’s dream is her employ-
ment of a complex allegory in which she pits herself against a foul-looking
Egyptian in a contest of boxing, wrestling, and kicking (Tert. Mart. 2.4: Nempe
enim et athletae segregantur ad strictiorem disciplinam). Perpetua, as is her custom
throughout her four dreams, provides her own interpretation of the nature of the
struggle in her own words. She sees the conflict cosmically, as one that represents
a mighty struggle for victory against the forces of Satan. Her unnamed Egyptian
opponent is simultaneously an Egyptian wrestler and an unnatural being, a devil.
In both the Latin and Greek versions she is quite explicit on this point: et intellexi
me non ad bestias, sed contra diabolum esse pugnaturam/καὶ ἐνόησα ὅτι οὐ πρὸς
θηρία μοι ἀλλὰ πρὸς τὸν διάβολόν ἐστιν ἡ ἐσομένη μάχη (X.14). The foul-looking
Egyptian is the physical embodiment of evil, that is, Satan, and the contest repre-
sents the struggle of the Christian soldier against Satan and his assistants.
This is her last dream, her last opportunity to represent her situation, and it
signifies the apogee of her narrative. She herself says, “This is the story of what I
did the day before the final conflict. But concerning the outcome of that contest,
let whoever wishes to write about it, do so.” This final remark is of interest, since
it provides evidence of her literary self-consciousness. Before a discussion of the
elements of the dream proper, I would like to consider briefly her words. First,
they function as a peroratio because they point to a summation of the events
of that day. Most such statements, however, we find as introductory elements,
as exordia to an audience on events about to occur. Perpetua employs this figure
at the end of her chapter. Why? She does this so that the narrative connecting
Chapters IX and X is not broken. Allow me to illustrate. Chapter IX ends on a
melancholy note with the pathetic image of her pitiable, beaten, and dejected
father. The opening line in Chapter X begins with the contrasting image of the
confident and bold deacon, Pomponius. Her biological father, representative of
the old order, of the mutable world of human relationships, is now replaced by
Pomponius, her spiritual father, who symbolizes the new order, the immutable
world of divine rapture she is about to join. The close juxtaposition of the figures
of these two men underscores her emphasis on this transformative change, a
necessary one if she is to defeat her new enemy, the embodiment of evil, the
Egyptian. The world of material concerns, of parents and of children, of lovers
and relationships, must now be jettisoned, and that world of the spirit taken on.
Her narrative must employ literary forms like that of allegory to illustrate this
total metanoia.
Her employment of rhetoric is again illustrated in her concern that an
anonymous author should take up the skein of her narrative. This remark,
although it is delivered as if it were a fleeting second thought, is actually deliberate
and hopeful. Its purpose is twofold: she seeks a biographer to record the martyrs’
last hours and to remind the listener that her death is imminent, since her narra-
tive now must end. Notice that she employs two rhetorical figures: first, she uses an
apostrophe in her address to two audiences, the listener/reader and the potential
eyewitness/author; and second, she uses the figure of pathos in her understated,
but nonetheless latent, emotional appeal that someone should continue and
bring the story to completion.
This dream, more than the preceding three, serves as a leave-taking and is in the
tradition of the exitus illustrium virorum, since Perpetua explicitly acknowledges
that the end of her life is at hand. She openly invites any sympathetic survivor
who knows the fate of the martyrs during and after the contest to complete the
story, presumably employing epideictic rhetoric. Her remark “the day before the
final conflict” is evidence that at the time of this dream, she has certain knowledge
of the day of the games—the first time she has provided so specific a detail—and
that she expects that her contemporaries will be watching the final events, having
read her account to this point, and compose a fitting conclusion. Her concern for
her readers provides insight into the care she takes with the composition and
what might be called its self-conscious artifice. Perpetua is writing a public docu-
ment; she expects it to be read, and she expects her history to be completed. Our
understanding of the public nature of the Passio must color our understanding of
her intention and her use of language to construct an ideology of sacrifice. Lastly,
we expect the character of her final dream to be invested with all the attendant
anxieties and aspirations one might have who faced the certain knowledge that
she will be dead on the next day. Her gladiatorial battle with the Egyptian—and I
believe it is a battle that combines actual historical details with the theology of the
miles Christi—is imbued with a heady optimism: it celebrates a rapturous
embrace of an expected death which leads to life. Her final depiction of herself,
immediately before she awakens, is of a solitary, victorious figure walking from
the floor of the amphitheatre “in triumph to the Gate of Life.”
Perpetua’s dream begins appropriately with a journey, an appropriate meta-
phor for her leave-taking and final denouement. Pomponius appears at the door
of the prison and knocks loudly. He announces that they (presumably, her fellow
Christian initiates) are awaiting her, and then he leads her to the amphitheatre via
a winding and rugged path. She arrives out of breath and is led to the middle of
the arena where he takes his leave of her. Before he departs, however, he tells her
that he will be with her in her struggle. She next notices many spectators who
look at her in astonishment. She is puzzled that no beasts have been set against
her. Although the narrative to this point is mostly a prelude to the contest about
to come, a number of subtle points have been intimated: first, Pomponius has
established himself as her spiritual guide, her psychopompos. He leads her not to
the next world, but to the brink of that eagerly awaited paradise. Pomponius is a
type of Christ knocking at the door (Rv 3.20). Christ himself was depicted as a
psychopompos—syncretistic images of “Christ as Orpheus” can be found in those
funerary images of Christ as the Good Shepherd, depicted in Phrygian dress, sur-
rounded by animals, and grasping a lyre, in the catacombs of Domitilla and in the
somewhat later cemetery of Peter and Marcellinus (see Veyries, Les figures).
An unnamed, foul-looking Egyptian next confronts her. His lack of name is
significant as it mutes his identity and allows her to use him as a type. None of the
participants other than her and Pomponius are named, and once named they
have individuality. A retinue of helpers surrounds the Egyptian. Helpers, too, sud-
denly surround her. They are handsome and strip her of her clothing. While there
is certainly an erotic element latent in the stripping of her clothing, the point of
her being stripped has a twofold importance: she must be naked to wrestle, but
more importantly, she must be naked so that her gender transformation stands
revealed. Her clothing hides her femininity, but her nakedness reveals her mascu-
line identity. As soon as she is stripped naked, she is revealed as a man. For the
contest to be credible, for her to emerge as the champion of Christ, his miles
Christi, she must divest herself of her femininity and take on a male persona
(2 Tm 2.3; see also Castelli, Martyrdom and Memory, 61–67). Christ, too, was
stripped before his final contest (Mt 27.35). This gender transformation is a
projection of her own unconscious desire to seek martyrdom, and as such it
exhibits her social understanding that the role of the martyr requires a transfor-
mation from the traditional depiction of females as nonaggressive and domestic
to one of male combativeness (see August. Serm. 280 and 281). As Polycarp
entered the amphitheatre before his martyrdom, a voice from heaven cried out
to him: “Be strong, Polycarp, and be a man/Ἴσ χ υε , Πολύκαρπε , καὶ ἀνδρίζου
(9.1; cf. Joshua 1.6–7). Moreover, since all martyrdoms are an imitation of
Christ’s martyrdom, for one’s death to be religiously efficacious it is necessary to
model it as closely as possible on that of Christ.
The depiction of the contest is accurate, as the rubbing with the oil, the
application of the dust, and the figure of the lanista are historical features drawn
from both gladiatorial combat and the pankration (see X.8 below). During the
course of their combat, Perpetua kicks her Egyptian opponent in the face with her
heels, knocks him to the ground, and finally stands triumphantly on his head. The
detail is reminiscent of the prophecy in Genesis concerning women and their off-
spring, who will bruise Satan with their heels (Gn 3.15; cf. Rv 12), and also paral-
lels Perpetua’s earlier use of the dragon’s head (the first dream) as the first step on
the perilous ladder to heaven (IV.7). Her dream reshapes what we would expect
an historical depiction of such a contest to look like. For example, at the Egyptian’s
defeat, the crowd begins to shout its approval of her victory, and her supporters
sing hymns. Perpetua has changed both the spectators and her helpers into types
of Christians. Further, her depiction of her interaction with the lanista is also one
that violates all the normative strictures of material creation. The behavior and
character of the lanista is changed from his traditional function in such contests as
a manager or referee (often despised and held in ridicule by the crowds) to some-
one who acts remarkably like a Christian minister performing in a semi-liturgical
fashion. Notice that at the end of the contest he gives Perpetua the kiss of peace, et
osculatus est me, saying as he does, Filia, pax tecum. Such behavior on the part of the
lanista is ahistorical. Yet the change is more profound than simply one which rep-
resents a change in attitude or belief exemplified in an individual’s behavior as a
type of pious propaganda meant to illustrate the lanista’s conversion as a result of
Perpetua’s bravery. Perpetua has artfully changed the very character of the lanista.
The deacon Pomponius has subsumed the anonymous persona of lanista. It was
Pomponius who promised Perpetua, immediately before he left her in the
middle of the arena, that he would be with her and help her in her struggle. He
has fulfilled his promise. He has returned—if he ever left her—as the lanista, or,
more in keeping with the spirit of this text, he exists within the lanista and in place
of that abhorred pagan official. There has been a miracle. One might almost call it
a metempsychosis, rather like the one Felicity describes later, illic autem alius erit
in me qui patietur pro me (XV.6).
The world of the dream is a plastic one, and the rigid boundaries that define
one’s waking states do not exist. Narratives that wish to represent that oneiric
world, therefore, follow the dictates of a reality freed from the strictures of a
three-dimensional world. Meta-realities become normative experiential states
within this framework. Women become men, dragons exist, travel to the stars is
achievable, and conversations with God take place. The dream narrative seeks to
impose shape and order on the fruits of the unconscious and to transform the
visionary experience into a textual artifact. The transposition from dream to narra-
tive is complex and is outside the generic rules governing composition in Greco-
Roman rhetoric. Chronologies slip, personae change, the fantastic becomes real,
divine and material beings conjoin; the content and the style used to express this
new order must differ from the rules governing classical rhetoric. Following the
language of Quintillian, we would say both res and verba are changed to address the
exigencies of the visionary experience. Imitation, the practice of copying earlier
models but supplying either a new content or style, was at the heart of classical
rhetoric. With dream narratives, however, we have no established models to imi-
tate, since every text is inherently sui generis and does not lend itself to imitation.
The beleaguered Christian community of Carthage—a small, isolated, inward-
looking sect with a deeply eschatological conviction, which believed it not only
possible, but necessary to pierce beyond the limits of the senses—would have
placed particular value on narratives like Perpetua’s. Tertullian, for example, wrote
admiringly and without skepticism about the sister in his own community who
had ecstatic visions, spoke with the angels and with God, and could read the minds
of men (Tert. De Anim. 9).
Such groups required a set of teachings that would complement and extend
their beliefs. Christian theology that considered issues of the inherent value of pro-
phetic revelation, and particularly the eternity of the soul, or metempsychosis—
ideas chiefly indebted to Platonism and Gnosticism—were popular with such
groups (see Or. Princ. 1.2.10; and Knight, “Apocalyptic”). For some, normative
boundaries, such as those concerning the roles of men and women and the repre-
sentations of these genders, were also transgressed. In the apocryphal Acta Pauli et
Theclae, Thecla disguises herself as a man in her search for Paul in Myra (9.25). The
issue of transformation, of personal liberation from pagan strictures on gender
roles, to cite one of just many examples, made Christianity particularly attractive
to well-born women but nonetheless required a radical reimaging of the self

through Christian discipline. It is this Christian ideology of personal liberation
from social strictures which is at the heart of her final dream. Hence Perpetua’s
transformation from female to male, the presence of Christ in Felicity, and the
shift from lanista to Pomponius are part of the transformation from pagan to
Christian.
Finally, at the battle’s conclusion, Perpetua walks to the “Gate of Life.” She then
awakens and gives her interpretation of the dream, namely that she was to fight
with the devil and not beasts and that she would be victorious. She sees no con-
flict in the apparent violation of all causal strictures in her narrative. The dream
ends as she takes her leave, acknowledging that the end of the contest will have to
be written by another.
Chapter X Commentary
X.1. On the day before (pridie quam). There is an abrupt transition, beginning
at the end of Chapter IX, to this phrase. It is the sort of shift that we expect in
a diary where the impulse to record the present event takes precedence over
logical continuity. Chapter IX ends with Perpetua’s remark concerning her pity
for her father, while Chapter X opens with a statement of the time when the
events in Chapter X took place and with a report of the vision she has had on
that day. Pridiequam, often written as two words, is used with the subjunctive
to express an expected action or outcome (Gildersleeve and Lodge, sec. 577).
There may be an echo in the canon of the Mass: Qui, pridiequam pateretur,
accepit panem .
X.1. vision (horomate). The Latin borrows this word from the Greek, where it
typically suggests a vision or dream (LSJ, s.v. ὅραμα). Greek is particularly rich in
verbs for seeing (ὁράω, φαίνομαι, βλέπω, εἴδω). The intransitive φαίνομαι also
meant “to appear,” “to be visible,” and this sense is likely the basis for its use here.
Plato discusses this particular seeing as the “eye of the soul.” Although the
prophecy or revelation through dreams is a commonplace in the OT—ὅραμα is
used forty-three times; see Gn 15.1; Ex 3.3; Jb 7.14; and Dn 1.17—it is used far
less in the NT: once in Mt 17.9, and after that only in Acts (eleven times). In those
instances in the NT when revelatory dreams are narrated, for example, the word
for vision (ὅραμα) can signify not only visions in the sense of seeing with the
mind’s eye (see Acts 9.10–12)—some of which have an exact time attached (Acts
10.3, 18.9)—but also visions that one believes are actually seen physically and do
not exist in the imagination alone (Mt 17.9; Acts 7.31). Perpetua herself uses the
normative Latin word for vision, visio, only once and ascribes it to her fellow
Christians (IV.1); she prefers the phrase ostensum est (IV.2, VII.2, VIII.1). She
uses horoma but once, and her use may be the earliest attestation of this word in
Latin (see Souter, s.v. horoma). Does her use here suggest that she intends a dis-
tinction (such as above, between a vision in the mind’s eye and a material seeing)
in those visions where she employs these different words? I think not. The pre-
sent vision of the fight with the Egyptian (horomate) is certainly as surreal as any
of the three revelations that have gone before, where she only uses ostensum est.
Moreover, this fourth vision is clearly less part of her conscious life than those
dreams concerning her dead brother, Dinocrates, and there is a suggestion that
this vision is more of the type that exists in the “mind’s eye.” The word ὅραμα does
appear in Christian texts of the second century. Hermas uses it to indicate a night-
time revelation (Vis. 3.2.3, 10.6), as does Justin, Dial. 78.3. The Vetus only uses
visio and does not employ the transliterated form. The word horoma appears in
the fourth century in Juvencus, Evang. Lib. 3.340, and in Augustine, Faust. 31.3.
The initial glottal fricative [h] is typically dropped in later Latin (see Niermeyer,
s.v. horoma). For additional bibliography, see Lampe, s.v. ὅραμα; Moulton and
Milligan; and Friedrich.
X.1. Pomponius (Pomponium). Perpetua refers to this deacon three times (III.7,
VI.7, X.1). Pomponius appears to have been an important presence in her life,
may have been instrumental in her conversion, and was a comforting presence
for Perpetua. The figure in her dream seems to be a conflation of the deacon
Pomponius, whom she knew, with the figure of Jesus and the god Mercury, since
Pomponius is described as wearing an unbelted white robe and marvelous san-
dals. Pomponius then tells her “not to be afraid” and that he will join with her in
the struggle. This last remark is ambiguous—does Pomponius mean that he too
will be martyred, or that he will be present to her in her struggle, as Felicity sug-
gests Christ will be in her, struggle in her, when she remarks to the prison guard,
“another will be in me who will suffer for me” in the arena (illic autem alius erit in
me qui patietur pro me, XV.6)? See the notes for III.7 and VI.7 above.
X.1. deacon (diaconum). This word, used three times, is only used to describe
the office of Tertius and Pomponius (III.7, VI.7, X.1). See note III.7 above for
discussion.
X.1. door of the prison and was knocking loudly (ostium carceris et pulsare vehe-
menter). The line may be an echo of Revelation: Christ knocks on the door and
invites those faithful to join him in a banquet (Rv 3.20). While a call to repen-
tance to the church of Laodicea, Jesus issues this invitation to all those who will
hear his message to join the Messianic banquet. Early Christians saw such a
banquet as the initiatory meal of the Parousia (1 Cor 11.26; see also Hughes,
Revelation, 68). Adopting this eschatological reading, as an echo of Revela-
tion, reinforces the figure of Pomponius as at least partly a Christ-figure (see
below X.2, multiplices). The image of the door as a portal to salvation is used a
number of times in Scripture (Lk 13.25; Acts 12.13). Christ actually identifies
himself as the door to salvation ( Jn 10.9), and this rhetorical figure was also used
in Ignatius Phild. 9.1–2, where Jesus is called the “door of the father” (θύρα τοῦ
πατρός). The issue is not so easily resolved, however, since in the Passio Pom-
ponius is knocking at the prison door, whereas in Revelation it appears that Christ
is knocking at the human heart of a church gone astray. If we extend such meta-
phorical meaning in the Passio—and in addition, factor in the eschatological
tones of this dream—to the prisoners, who may be fearful, it is possible to read
Pomponius’s knocking as both a physical knocking and also as a spiritual knock-
ing at the door to the prisoners’ hearts. See also Tert. Marc. 4.30, where ostium is
used as a metaphor for entrance into a divine presence.
X.2. He was wearing a white unbelted robe (erat vestitus distincta candida). In Per-
petua’s most pointedly eschatological dreams, the figures are often depicted as
wearing white robes. The influence from Revelation seems indisputable (see note
IV.8 above). The tunic was a basic item of dress and was typically worn under the
toga by upper-class Roman men; it also served as the outer garment for the less
well off and as an item of dress for the military (see Sumner, Roman Military
Clothing). Pomponius’s white robe is a complex image. Its color suggests purity.
The tunic is not described as having any stripes, and this indicates it is a simple
garment worn by someone not from the equestrian or senatorial classes. Other-
wise it would have colored, vertical-striped bars of varying breadth running from
the shoulders down the front and back. Images from Christian iconography often
depict Christ as wearing a plain, unbelted tunic. The image of Christ as the Good
Shepherd in the Priscilla Catacombs shows him in an unbelted tunic (exomis)
with the right sleeve cut away. The unbelted tunic is also represented in the female
figure of the orans, common in North African funerary mosaics.
The dalmatic was an unbelted tunic with wide sleeves which came into fashion
in the second century and was usually worn over a long, wide tunic. There is some
suggestion within Roman funerary rites that the unbelted tunic (discincta) was
used as a symbol of mourning. For example, in the description of the burial of the
ashes of Augustus, men of the equestrian order, barefoot and wearing unbelted
tunics, collect his ashes for placement in the family tomb (Suet. Aug. 100). This
image in the Passio influenced the Passio Sanctorum Mariani et Iacobi, 7.3 (vidi,
inquit, iuvenem inenarrabili et satis ampla magnitudine, cuius vestitus discincta erat
in tantum candida luce [praefulgens]). In the Passio Perpetuae et Felicitatis I have
adopted the reading of vestitus distincta candida, but note that MS M (Monte
Cassino) employs a double accusative (see Gildersleeve and Lodge, sec. 338).
The Greek reads very differently: Pomponius is depicted “wearing a shining gar-
ment” (ἐσθῆτα λαμπράν) and “girdled about” (περιεζωσμένος; see also Herm. Sim.
9.2.4 and 9.9.5). The phrase ἐσθῆτα λαμπράν is exactly the one used by Luke when
he describes Herod’s throwing clothes on Jesus before he sends him back to Pilate
(23.11). The Greek clearly draws from the Lucan account. Does the use of
περιεζωσμένος echo the use of this verb in the NT, and if so, might it have some
theological nuance here? See Lk 12.35 and 37, 17.8; Eph 6.14; and Rv 1.13 and
15.6. The tunic was also symbolic of priestly ministry. Aaron and his sons, out of
respect for their ministry, wore fine tunics, and this tradition may have had reso-
nance in Christianity (Ex 28.40, 39.27).
X.2. multilaced sandals (multiplices galliculas). The word gallicula or callicula is
post-classical (see Souter, s.v. gallicula) but likely derives from caligula, the shoe
worn by the Roman soldier (OLD, s.v. caliga, and caligula). Gallicula is the ear-
liest attestation of the term. The shift from the voiceless velar stop [k] to voiced
[g] is not uncommon. The word has caused much confusion among some mod-
ern commentators. Leclercq believed the term derived from the Greek κάλλος
and the multiplices galliculas to be small, elaborately designed roundels sewn
onto the fronts of clothing (see DACL , 2.2, 1655–57). The word indicates a san-
dal. The Vetus uses calceus, never gallicula. The next attested use of gallicula is in
Jerome, who—while it does not occur in the critical editions of the Vulgate
(where he typically uses sandalia or calceus, see Mk 6.9, Acts 12.8)—does use it
unambiguously in his translation of Pachomius’s rule, where it refers to an article
of footwear (see “Regula Patris nostri Pachomii Hominis Dei,” PL 23.78: Nullus
vadat ad collectam vel ad vescendum habens galliculas in pedibus). For the word in
later Latin, see Niermeyer, s.v. gallicula. Multiplices refers to the lacing or strap-
ping around the ankle and extending up the calf. It was often part of the decora-
tive feature of the sandal, and that appears to be the intent here and in X.10.
Christ, depicted as the Good Shepherd (ca. 225), appears in a circular fresco in
the Priscilla Catacombs wearing similar sandals and laces. The Church was some-
times personified as wearing beautiful sandals.
But a more important question concerns us. Why are Pomponius’s sandals
being referred to at all? What possible reason does Perpetua have for making such
a deliberate point in illustrating the elaborate nature of these sandals, particularly
on a Christian deacon? Her very mention of them leads one to expect that they
play a functional role in the depiction of Pomponius. The context provides a clue.
Pomponius and Perpetua are about to embark on a journey through a rough pas-
ture. He is to be her guide. The image of Pomponius is a hybrid characterization
and likely the result of an unconscious syncretism on the dreamer’s part. Perpetua
thus imagines Pomponius both as the Christ and as a god whom she knew before,
Mercury. Originally, Hermes/Mercury was a god associated with shepherds and
flocks—a figure not unlike early depictions of the Christ. These early associations
of Hermes/Mercury as a protector of the pastures—as someone who could lead
the sheep from danger to safety—coalesced with others that emphasized his role
as messenger and guide (Der Neue Pauly, 5.426–32). Mercury is also the psycho-
pompos and the god of rites of passage. His caduceus was thought to have power
over sleep and dreams. Hermes/Mercury as ἡγήτωρ ὀνείρων brings divinely
inspired dreams from Zeus to humans. Thus, the elaborate sandals seen in Perpet-
ua’s vision (multiplices galliculas) are a motif drawn from her memory of the god
Mercury, the messenger deity, the benevolent Olympian guide, who was invariably
depicted wearing elaborate sandals. The image of Mercury would have been well
known to the young Perpetua, as Septimius Severus had provincials minted in
bronze and silver which circulated widely in Africa, depicting the god Mercury
standing with helmet, purse, caduceus, and elaborately laced, winged sandals
(talaria). See also Orphic Hymns, 27.4; Ov. Met. 11.312; and Seyffert et al., 287.
X.3. And he said to me (et dixit). The narrative is initially very deliberate in its
portrayal of events, almost at odds with the sort of disjunctive chronologies
which we often expect in dreams. Notice that first Pomponius knocks at the door,
and then, when Perpetua opens the door to him, he speaks just as we would
expect, as if someone knocked at one’s front door. This attention to composi-
tional verisimilitude suggests authorial editing after the completion of the dream.
X.3. we are awaiting you (te expectamus). Pomponius is alone. What others are
awaiting her? At this stage in the narrative, the audience, ignorant of the events to
come in the amphitheatre, is forced by Pomponius’s use of the plural to imagine a
more complex scene. The plural underscores the mystery of her mission and
those unknown figures whom she is about to confront. It serves as a device to
heighten suspense.
X.3. Come (veni). Courcelle suggests that abbreviated syntax and imperative
idioms may also be appropriate for the visions depicted as dreams in these North
African martyrdoms (see Courcelle, Les Confessions, 128–30: “les paroles qu’il
adresse sont une admonition d’une concision extreme, se réduisant le plus sou-
vent à un ou deux impératifs”).
X.3. And he took me by the hand (et tenuit mihi manum). The phrase may have a
“pastoral” association. Similar language is used in the account of Jesus’ raising of
the daughter of Jairus: “He took the child by the hand” (κρατήσας τῆς χειρὸς τοῦ
παίδου/tenens manum puellae, Mk 5.41).
X.3. through places that were rugged and winding (aspera loca et flexuosa). The
prison where they are being held appears to be situated in the area of the forum,
which sits atop Byrsa Hill. The amphitheatre is approximately one-quarter mile
below the forum on the west. Even today, the road from the top of Byrsa to Car-
thage’s amphitheatre is a steep and tedious walk, as it takes a number of turns. Fur-
ther, the difficulty of the journey toward the victory of martyrdom is metaphorically
represented by the physical impediments which they have to traverse. Compare
this with Herm. Vis. 1.1.3, “And a Spirit took me and carried me away through a
pathless region through which a man could not make his way, for the place was
precipitous . . .” (Lightfoot, 335). The occurrence of sleep followed by dreams
before a difficult journey also appears in the Passio Sanctorum Mariani et Iacobi, 7.2:
ad medium fere diem inter illa itineris confragosa mirabili et alto sopore correptus.
X.4. And (Et). Two MSS, A and G, read Et vix. However, virtually all of Per-
petua’s sentences in this chapter have a paratactic flavor and begin with et.
X.4. all out of breath (anhelantes). This added emphasis on the difficulty of the
journey and the fatigue which it causes heightens the verisimilitude of the narra-
tive. Since anhelantes is a plural, we may conclude that Perpetua is not the only
one suffering from fatigue. There is no verbal equivalent to anhelo in the Greek
version.
X.4. amphitheatre (amphitheatrum). This is the municipal amphitheatre of Car-
thage, which sits at the bottom of Byrsa Hill. Tertullian had personal experience
of this facility. He had nothing but scorn for the games, believing that the amphi-
theater was a place of barbarous cruelty and idolatry (see Spect. 13: quot et quibus
modis specactula idololatrian committant, and sec. 12, 17, and 20). He believed it
to be inhabited by demons, and hence, from the Carthaginian Christian point of
view, the battle which Perpetua will undertake is, not surprisingly, said to be
against a demon: contra diabolum.
X.4. into the middle of the arena (in media arena). This may be a very early
instance of the breakdown between the ablative and the accusative. The context
here would require an accusative in classical Latin, since the notion is “motion
toward,” as Perpetua is being led into the arena. It is entirely possible, however,
that a later scribe could have introduced this change. Notice also that the events
that are about to take place occur in the middle of the arena and not in the dressing
room, as we would expect if this were a literal representation of a contest.
X.4. Don’t be afraid (Noli expavescere). Although the Vetus uses timeo for paveo
in the famous NT consolation of “fear not” (Lk 1.13, φοβέω), the context here is
appropriate for an echo of that Scriptural phrase and suggests consolation or
strengthening from a divine presence (see Lk 1.13, 30, 2.10, 5.10; Jn 12.15; and
Courcelle, 130; and see X.3 above. Van Beek, Bastiaensen, and Amat print the less
emphatic form of pavere, but MSS A, G, P, and C read expavescere).
X.4. here (hic). Used here adverbially (long i) and not as a demonstrative (see
the Greek equivalent, ἐνθάδε).
X.4. I am . . . with you (sum tecum). Tecum is used but three times in the Passio
and only in this chapter: twice in this line by Pomponius, and once when after
having defeated the Egyptian wrestler, Perpetua receives the kiss of peace and
the greeting pax tecum from the lanista. This latter greeting suggests the Eucha-
ristic kiss of peace but is oddly out of place from the lanista. Nonetheless, there
are parallels between Pomponius’s promise to be with Perpetua, along with his
use of tecum, and Christ’s promise to be always with the faithful, although
the Vetus uses the plural form vobiscum sum (see Mt 28.20).
X.4. I will struggle with you (conlaboro tecum). Conlaboro is a Christian use and
does not appear to have been much employed in classical Latin (Bastiaensen,
432). The sense of “to join another in struggle” or “to suffer with” is not classical
(see OLD, s.v. collaboro and laboro; but TLL 3.1574; Souter does not record the
form but does provide a late citation that is semantically equivalent, s.v. collaboro,
from Verecundus, c. 552 ce; see also Mohrmann, Études, 2.238, 3.261). The form
in early Latin may have been conlaboro, and assimilation of the final compound
nasal before a labial produced collaboro. The Vulgate uses the verb in this sense of
shared suffering but does not use the con-form, preferring collaboro or laboro (see
2 Tm 1.8, 2.3, Labora sicut bonus miles Christi Iesu). Paul’s injunction to “share in
the suffering as a good soldier of Christ” was influential in the development of the
theology of martyrdom (see the Martyrs of Lyons, 1.23 in Musurillo, Acts, 68; and
see Felicity’s classic remarks on this idea in XV.6: illic autem alius erit in me qui
patietur pro me).
X.4. And he went away (Et abiit). Why does Pomponius depart immediately
after declaring: “I am here with you, and I will join with you in the struggle”? At
first glance this appears to be just a statement of fact, although a contradictory
one. Does Pomponius’s departure presage something unsaid but understood by
Perpetua? If the figure of Pomponius is a hybrid figure, a conflation of the super-
natural with the natural, as I have been suggesting—a syncretized, oneiric image
of classical and Christian figures (Christ and an angelic being)—then the line can
be more richly read as a promise that Pomponius will not leave Perpetua alone on
the spiritual level during her trial, but rather that he will be present helping her in
spirit although she may not see him in the flesh.
X.5. astonished (adtonitum). The crowd appears to be stunned (adtonitus) at
Perpetua’s entrance. They seem not to have been expecting a young woman. The
word used here has the connotations of both fixation and surprise (OLD, s.v. atto-
nitus, 2) but principally that of astonishment. With this passage we may compare
XVIII.2: vigore oculorum deiciens omnium conspectum. Here Perpetua seems to be
a regal figure, and there is a boldness in her eyes which embarrasses the crowd.
Her appearance causes them to lower their gaze. While staring is occasionally
proscribed (see Prv 16.30), in this instance and in XVIII.2 there is no stigma
attached to it.
X.5. I knew (sciebam). Th is may be an example of the conative imperfect as,
Perpetua believes, the present events are her efforts at completing an action (see
X.5; on verbs employing the conative, see Gildersleeve and Lodge, sec. 227, 233;
and Quint. Herr. 2.1.2). Such intuitive knowledge is also divinely inspired, since,
as she states, her knowledge comes from God: ego quae me sciebam fabulari cum
Domino (IV.2). One has the sense that she is reaching into a memory older than
the judgment of the Roman jurist, Hilarianus.
X.5. condemned to the beasts (ad bestias damnatam esse). Hilarianus has earlier
condemned her to such a fate (VI.6), and this outcome is what she is expecting.
It is not clear at this stage whether Perpetua understands this sentence literally or
figuratively (see X.14). The punishment was usually reserved for criminals (Cic.
Sest. 64.135a; Suet. Calig. 27.3) but was also employed to punish Christians (Tert.
Apol. 12.10: Ad bestias impellimur, also 27 and 35; Spect. 12); it was so abhorrent
that some condemned individuals committed suicide rather than undergo the
public humiliation of fighting the beasts (Sen. Ep. 70.23). Apuleius calls being
damned to the beasts “the most cruel of deaths” (Met. 44).
X.5. I was puzzled that the beasts were not being turned loose on me (mirabar . . .
bestiae). She is expecting the sentence of Hilarianus (VI.6) to be carried out.
X.6. Egyptian (Aegyptius). The premier sport in the classical world, wrestling,
was extremely popular in Africa, particularly Egypt, and some of antiquity’s
greatest wrestlers were Egyptians. Heliodorus (fl. third cent.) notes in his
Aethiopica (10) a notable Egyptian or Nubian wrestler who is defeated by the
condemned Theagenes. While it would be well not to be too literal-minded con-
cerning Perpetua’s identification of the wrestler’s ethnicity, it is also important
that such details may add to the historical record and substantiate the authen-
ticity of the text and its age. There is some evidence, although it is hard to detect
here, that the depiction of the wrestler as an Egyptian or Nubian represents a
Roman stereotype of identifying a dark-skinned individual as having evil intent.
Additionally, the identification of the wrestler as an Egyptian has unmistakable
Scriptural overtones. The name of the country, Egypt, frequently functions both
in classical literature and in the Bible metonymically for the people (Stat. Theb.
4.709; 1 Clem. 17.5; and Barn. 9.5) and as a place of slavery and persecution for
the Jews (Gn 37.29; Ex 1.13). The pharaoh, since he was the king of the Egyp-
tians, was viewed as a satanic figure, and Egypt as the land of magicians (Ez 29.3
and Ex 7). This image from Ezekiel identifies the Pharaoh as the great dragon:
Ecce ego ad te, Pharao, rex Aegypti, draco magne. Draco, being for Christians an
image of the devil, is particularly appropriate here, as Perpetua says she is going
to fight against the devil (see Tert. Marc. 3.13.10: Aegyptus nonnunquam totus
orbis intellegitur apud illum, superstitionis et maledictionis elogio). Revelation uses
“Egypt” symbolically as a place of degradation and destruction (Sodom) and
clearly has in mind the city of Jerusalem, where Christ was crucified (Rv 11.8).
Perpetua’s identification of her combatant as an Egyptian brings all these associ-
ations to the fore.
X.6. foul in appearance ( foedus specie). The Egyptian’s description as loath-
some contrasts vividly with that of Perpetua’s youthful and physically attractive
male helpers (adolescentes decori, X.6) and foreshadows her judgment that she
is going to fight with the devil (contra diabolum, X.14).
X.6. Handsome young men (adolescentes decori). Decori, aside from its common
use to describe someone as physically attractive, can also refer to a nonphysical
beauty or grace (OLD, s.v. decor, 2). This latter meaning might better translate the
description of the martyrs as they walk into the arena on the day of their martyr-
dom: quasi in caelum, hilares, uultu decori (XVIII.1).
X.7. I was stripped naked (expoliata sum). The eroticism in this scene is palpable,
particularly since it follows immediately on her description of her assistants as
physically attractive. Her choice of the verb exspolio with its additional nuance of
“to strip something of its external covering” (OLD, s.v. exspolio, b. “to strip (seed)
of its sheath”), rather than spolio, may hint at the uncovering of the masculine
beneath the feminine.
X.7. and I became a man (et facta sum masculus). This revelation has always
proved the most controversial of her dreams. It can be read in at least two ways.
From the perspective of the games, it is simply a requirement: for one to perform
the agon as a wrestler, one had to be a man. Hence Perpetua, in order to achieve
verisimilitude in her depiction of the contest, adopts this persona. However, such
a reading does not address the deeper meaning of the transformation, namely the
spiritual dimension, which is the level on which she understands it. There was an
early tradition—chiefly Gnostic, but also present in Montanism—according to
which the issue of spiritual authority was discussed in gendered language. In the
final verse of the Coptic version of the Gospel of Thomas, Peter, who serves as the
voice of the anti-female faction, says, referring to Mary Magdalene, “Let Mary
leave us, for women are not worthy of Life.” Jesus answers Peter: “I myself shall lead
her to make her male, so that she too may become a living spirit resembling you
males. For every woman who shall make herself male will enter the kingdom of
heaven” (114). The Coptic Thomas is a translation of the three Oxyrhynchus frag-
ments (c. 130–250). Additionally, in the Gospel of Mary (c. 160), the Magdalene
addresses the frightened apostles and tells them, “He has prepared us and made us
into men” (5.2). Somewhat later in this same text, Levi urges all the apostles to
“put on the perfect Man” (9.9). The idea of “man” in this context is being used to
symbolize power, force, strength, and courage, things a mid-second-century audi-
ence would associate with “maleness.” To cite Gnostic texts is not for a moment to
associate Perpetua with Gnostic doctrines, but rather shows the ubiquity of such
concerns. Despite Paul’s injunction that “there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor
free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Gal 3.28), the association
of men with power and with the figure of Christ remained strong.
X.7. supporters ( fautores). The Greek text reads ἀντιλήμπτορες, “helpers” (see
the apocryphal and pharisaical Psalms of Solomon 16.4, where the word can refer
to God or Christ). I believe that Perpetua sees these helpers as spiritual beings.
On this matter, the Greek singles out one of the helpers as having a radiant
beauty, τῷ κάλλει ἐξαστράπτων, a rather standard topos to describe angelic beings.
The same word is used in Luke’s depiction of the Transfiguration (9.29) and in
the Greek Passio: ἐξαστράπτων (X.6). The word fautores appears in X.6, and Per-
petua enjoys verbal repetition (cf. van Beek, Bastiaensen, and Amat, who print
favisores, which only has the support of MS M, while fautores has MSS A, G, P,
and C).
X.7. rub me with oil (oleo defricare). This is a complex image indebted to both
the classical and Biblical traditions and combines elements of the profane and the
sacred. Oil was used as an unguent before the games to soften the skin and to
prevent it from tearing. The images of young athletes involved in such activities
can be found in both red and black figure pottery. There is a red figure kylix
(Rome, Villa Guilia) depicting a young athlete being rubbed with oil by the coach
(παιδοτρίβης). Athletes were rubbed with oil immediately on undressing before
and after their contests (Xen. Symp. 2). The Greeks were not unaware of the
erotic overtones of such behavior, as Aristophanes’ character “Wiser Argument”
makes clear (Clouds, 1227–36). In the Scriptures the application of oil is
commonly associated with anointing, consecration, making something sacred,
baptizing, and healing (Ex 30.30; Pss 89.20; Mk 6.13). Her image of the helpers
rubbing her is erotic because the nature of the erotic is inescapably a part of the
Greco-Roman tradition. Yet Perpetua is also a Christian athlete, rubbed down
with the sacred oil which consecrates her to the Lord. Anointing with oil was also
part of the ceremonies of exorcism and baptism. Hippolytus’s account of baptism
has catechumens standing naked before the priest. They are anointed with oil,
descend into the baptismal water, and on their emergence are again anointed
with oil (Trad. Ap. 21.6; see also Tert. De Bapt. 7.1, although his discussion is less
detailed than Hippolytus’s). It is worth repeating that the place and time
sequences of the events since she entered the arena are telescoped together. She
never enters a dressing room where the undressing, oiling, and other ablutions
would have been performed. The author is not focused on presenting a realistic
depiction of an actual contest but is using elements of the contest to portray a
cosmic struggle with the forces of evil.
X.7. for a match (in agone). The word used to signify an athletic contest or com-
bat (2 Mc 4.18; Plin. Ep. 4.22.1; Suet. Ner. 22). Christians adopted the word agon
(Gk, ἀγών) as a metaphor for spiritual struggle against temptation, and as an
all-embracing term to describe the Christian life in a pagan world. The Epistle to
the Hebrews uses it as a metaphor for the race which is life (Heb 12.1), and Paul
uses it the sense of a fight or contest (1 Tm 6.12). The Christian life, particularly
that of the martyr, was seen as an agon (1 Clem. 7.1). The word is used to describe
the efforts of the martyr athletes of Lyons who have completed a great contest
(Musurillo, Acts, Martyrs of Lyons, l.36, ποικίλον ὑπομείναντας ἀγῶνα), and Ori-
gen uses the word to describe Christ’s temptations in his commentary on John
(Comm. Jo. 10.1). It appears that the ablative better suits the action being
described than agonem, which, however, has MS support (MS M).
X.7. in the dust (in afa). The Latin is a borrowing of a less-common Greek term
for a fine dust sprinkled on the body during athletic contests (see LSJ, s.v. ἀφή, 5;
and Arrianus, Epic. 3.15.4). The Greek text interestingly employs the more famil-
iar term κονιορτῷ (see also Euseb. Praep. Evang. 14.2). If, as I believe, the Greek is
a copy of the Latin, this example is yet another instance of the Greek scribe
substituting a more familiar word for a less familiar one. To argue that the Latin is
a copy of the Greek forces one to account for the occurrence of afa when the
putative Greek exemplar contained a perfectly normal word in κονιορτῷ. Greek
and Roman athletes were commonly rubbed with a fine coat of olive oil and then
sprinkled with a fine dust so that they would be more difficult to grab and hold in
the wrestling contests (Plut. Lys. 13). Tertullian mentions the wrestlers’ oiling
and the sprinkling with dust in De Pallio 4.1 as an arid and ultimately futile
endeavour (studia palaestrae, male senescentia et cassum laborantia et lutea unctio
et puluerea uolutatio, arida saginatio). Notice that although Tertullian’s phrase
puluerea uolutatio is close to Perpetua’s, he uses a more familiar word (puluerea)
than her afa.
X.8. came out a man (et exivit vir). Perpetua rarely fills in such details as specific
locations or precise chronologies. We do not know where this fantastically large
man came from. He simply arrives on the scene. There are various possible reasons
for her not saying where he came from. She may be presuming that her readers are
so familiar with the amphitheatre that such an explanation is unnecessary. Perhaps
she is simply not interested in specifying an exact location. It is possible that in
view of his enormous size, his entrance is to be understood as essentially myste-
rious and inexplicable. Or the lack of any explanation may suggest that he is a
divine being who simply appears.
X.8. a man of such great size (vir quidam mirae magnitudinis). Perpetua exagger-
ates the size of the beings in her dreams. She applies the adjective grandis to the
Good Shepherd of her first vision (IV.8), and she uses the very same phrase, mirae
magnitudinis, to describe both the ladder and the dragon of the first dream (IV.3,
IV.4). Hyperbole is a feature of her dream narratives. The unidentified figure is in
charge of the contest and establishes the rules. He is described as acting as if he
were the lanista, wearing an unbelted robe and wondrous sandals made of gold
and silver, a portrayal which reminds one of the clothing of Pudens. The image is
a complex and syncretistic one and conflates the Greek master of the pankration,
the Roman lanista, and Christ as athlete-Savior. The man’s size allows one to read
the image as both protective and threatening. He may be Pudens redux, with
his Christ persona now exaggerated for all to see. Yet this same man carries in
his hand the staff containing the golden apples of the Hesperides. The athletic
hero Hercules’ attainment of the golden apples was a ubiquitous story and was
represented in verse, prose, pottery, frescoes, and mosaics, and his image influ-
enced early Christians. Those same apples were guarded on Mount Atlas by the
dragon Ladon, a possible parallel with the dragon in Perpetua’s first dream.
Perpetua’s image is a composite one; it is a product of her pagan background
and her recent conversion to Christianity. Hercules was superseded by the fig-
ure of Christ as the Good Shepherd, and, although the tradition is later than
our period, the larger-than-life figure of Christ, who towers above the roof of
the surrounding building, is depicted in sarcophagi and in the apsidal mosaics.
Christ is shown on a sarcophagus in a colonnaded architrave, towering above
his companions, and his head is higher than the architrave itself (see Saggio-
rato, I sarcofagi paleocristiani, 74). The apse depicting the towering figure of
Jesus in the church of St. Pudenziana, Rome (c. 400) represents a similar effort
of imagination (see Volbach, Early Christian Art, pls. 180, 251; and Mathews,
Clash of Gods, 96). Lastly, Tertullian mentions that it is Christ who has led the
martyrs into the arena and will act as the manager of the games (see Mart. 3.4:
Itaque epistates vester Christus Iesus, qui vos Spiritu unxit, et ad hoc scamma
produxit, voluit vos ante diem agonis ad duriorem tractationem a liberiore condi-
cione seponere).
X.8. a purple garment with two stripes running down the middle of his chest (pur-
puram inter duos clavos per medium pectus habens). Tunics with stripes indicate
status. The bands are technically called clavi (OLD, s.v. clavus, 4). Two stripes run-
ning from the shoulders down to the hem, front and behind, signified someone of
the Equestrian rank. The right to wear this tunic could also be bestowed by the
emperor (Suet. Vesp. 2: Sumpta virili toga, latum clavum, quamquam fratre adepto,
diu aversatus est . . . ; Plin. Ep. 2.9: Ego Sexto latum clavum a Caesare nostro, ego
quaesturam impetravi). This garment was called the tunica angusti clavi. The term
clavos has vexed scholars, but it now seems very likely that it was used to identify
the stripes on the tunic. Images of Christians wearing this tunic abound in the Pris-
cilla Catacombs on the Via Salaria Nova in Rome. There is an image in the cubicle
of the “Velata” in the Priscilla catacomb which depicts a female orans figure with an
unbelted tunic with two stripes from shoulder to hem, and immediately adjacent to
this figure is the image of a mother (also wearing this tunic) and child. A depiction
of the scene of Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well in a cubiculum of this
same catacomb shows Jesus and the woman dressed in such tunics. The Greek does
not translate this technical Latin name clavus. The Greek adds that the man’s gar-
ment “had not only purple from the shoulders but also in the middle on the chest.”
On this term see LeClercq, Manuel, 1.89. This passage appears to have influenced
the Passio Sanctorum Mariani et Iacobi (7.4).
X.8. decorated shoes made of gold and silver (galliculas multiformes ex auro et
argento factas). The shoes of the lanista indicate his elevated status. Footwear was
a sign of status in Rome. The elites often wore sandals of many colors, decorated
with gold, silver, pearls, and other precious stones. Poppaea wore sandals with
solid gold soles and straps covered with gemstones, and Pliny remarks on women
whose shoes were covered in gold leaf. The fashion to decorate their shoes reached
such proportions that the emperor Heliogabalus (218–22) tried to enforce sump-
tuary legislation, banning women from decorating their footwear with gold, silver,
and jewels (see Clem. Al. Paed. 2.11; and also X.2 above). The Greek makes little of
the sandals, simply referring to them as ὑποδήματα ποικίλα (“decorated shoes,” see
also X.2).
X.8. carrying a rod ( ferens virgam). The traditional staff carried by both the ref-
eree of the pankration contests and the master of the gladiatorial combat. These
figures are always depicted with their staffs. There are even images of the gladia-
tors holding these staffs. (See the mosaic pavements from El Djem, now in the
Bardo Museum in Tunis, which depict such scenes.) Of the numerous Biblical
references to the Lord’s rod, the one that is most logically associated with the rod
of the lanista seems to be that of Pss 23.4. The other citations refer to the Lord’s
rod as a tool for chastisement (see Prv 10.13, 22.15). There is an important depic-
tion of Christ holding a staff in a ceiling painting of the cubiculum of St. Claudius
Hermes, located in the catacomb of St. Sebastian (see Grabar, Christian Iconogra-
phy, fig. 11). There is an image of the referee bearing his rod with the two wrestlers
and their attendants surrounding the wrestlers and, in this instance, Atalanta and
Peleus on a Chalcidian hydra (see Munich no. 596, Antikensammlungen).
X.8. as if a gladiator trainer (quasi lanista). He is not a lanista but behaves as if he
were one. The qualification is significant, since it underscores that Perpetua is not
describing an actual scene from either the pankration or a gladiatorial combat, but
a contest between a Christian miles and some embodiment of evil (see Clem. Al.
Strom. 3.7). The contest is overseen by the lanista, who is a composite Christ-
Pudens-Mercury-Hermes figure. (On lanista, see Suet. Iul. 26.3.) Although the
presentation of this lanista contains certain elements not commonly found in
ancient depictions of the role—for example, the decorated shoes of gold and
silver and the green branch with golden apples—the figure nonetheless functions
as the mediator of the ensuing combat. Perpetua also introduces unexpected and
non-normative incidents into her narrative. For example, the lanista, who func-
tioned as the manager, and at times was in the midst of the actual combat as a type
of referee, here decides the outcome of the combat: he announces that if the
Egyptian defeats her, he can kill her, but if she is victorious, she receives the
branch. Normally, the death of the gladiator was determined by the spectators,
who, once a gladiator was down, would cry out habet or hoc habet (“he’s finished”)
or, if he were to be spared, mitte (“let him go”), and he received his freedom for
the day. The sentence of death was not that of the lanista’s to pronounce on his
authority alone (see Corbeill, Nature Embodied, 41–66). Notice in the terms laid
out by the lanista that, unlike the Egyptian’s victory over Perpetua, her victory
over the Egyptian does not appear to be associated with killing him but with sim-
ply defeating him: Hic Aegyptus, si hanc vicerit, occidet illam gladio; haec, si hunc
vicerit, accipiet ramum istum (X.9). The Christian martyr’s triumph in the arena is
one of passive resistance, not one of pugilistic belligerence. It is interesting that
the Greek version provides two words to translate lanista, βραβευτὴς ἢ προστάτης.
It might be said that in this instance the use of two Greek words to express the
idea of the Latin lanista indicates some confusion on the part of the Greek author
(cf. X.12); βραβευτὴς goes some of the way in rendering the meaning of lanista,
but προστάτης is wide of the mark (see BDAG for both terms). The former term
designates the “judge of the games” (LSJ, s.v. βραβευτὴς), while the latter signifies
“a leader, chief, someone who stands before one, as a protector” (LSJ, s.v.
προστάτης). Both terms had some currency in the Christian Greek of this period
and may be indebted to Paul’s use of the corresponding verb (Col 3.15). Clement
of Alexandria uses βραβευτής (in language very similar to that of the Greek text)
to designate Christ as the judge of the Christian life (see Strom. 7.3). Similarly,
Clement of Rome uses προστάτης to refer to Christ (1 Clem. 36.1 and 64). Chrys-
tostom used προστάτης in the sense of “martyr” (see Hom. 1 Cor. 26.5). The lani-
sta was not held in high regard by society. Seneca’s remarks likely reflect more
than his personal, moral rectitude: contemptissimus quisque ac turpissimus (Ep.
87.15).
X.8. green branch (ramum uiridem). The athlete who won an event in the games
received a wreath and often a sheaf of green, sometimes laurel (see the images on
Louvre vase K 518).
X.8. golden apples (mala aurea). The golden apples are the symbol of victory.
The mythology concerning golden apples is exceedingly rich, and frequently con-
tradictory. I noted above (X.8, ferens virgam) the important depiction of Atalanta,
the greatest female athlete, as a wrestler. The contest of Hippomenes and Atalanta
provides an explicit parallel, a contest where a female is pitted against a male, and
golden apples (received from Venus) are an important motif. Hercules’ efforts to
attain the fantastic golden apples of the Hesperides, symbols of fertility, may also
be part of her dream. Hercules and the Hesperidian apples were a subject widely
depicted in plastic arts and verse (see the Hydra, Brit. Mus. E 224; and Apol-
lodorus Lib. 2.113−14; Verg. Aen. 4.480–86; and Ecl. 6.61). Viewed from a Chris-
tian point of view, the apples are ambivalent symbols, but in this context they
must function also as a symbol analogous to their pagan counterpart—that is,

they are life-affirming symbols of attainment, and thus they may represent the
Tree of Life (see Gn 2.9; Rv 22.2, 14, 19; Enoch 25).
X.9. And he asked for silence (et petiit silentium). She adds a realistic detail; her
comment is the first indication that there has been any vocal response from the
spectators.
X.9. sword (gladio). The reference is likely to the common legionnaire’s dou-
ble-edged, stocky military sword. Its breadth was the same from point to hilt. The
term gladius had a wide range of meanings and, on occasion, might even refer to
the pugio, a dagger-like weapon. The use of μαχαίρᾳ in the Greek version suggests
a large knife or dagger. Perpetua uses the word five times, and in every instance
the context is threatening (IV.3, VI.3, X.9, XIV.3, XXI.7). The type of sword used
by the gladiators is a subject of considerable discussion. Petronius preserves an
example of the gladiator’s oath. He uses the general term ferrum for sword, as in
ferroque necari (see Petron. Sat. 117).
X.9. if he defeats . . . this branch (si hanc vicerit . . . ramum istum). On first
reading, there would seem to be a curious asymmetry in the prediction made
by the lanista concerning the outcome of the contest. If the Egyptian wins,
Perpetua dies. If she wins, however, he lives, and she gets the branch of golden
apples. Moreover, for the contest to have been viewed as an honorable one,
the contestants had to be reasonably matched (see Barton, Sorrows, 31). How-
ever, there are a number of subtle issues at play here. Perpetua will tell us
(X.14) that her fight is with the devil and that this contest was a foretaste of
that struggle. The devil cannot be killed but only triumphed over. Moreover,
a Christian martyr achieves martyrdom through voluntary and pacific witness
of the faith to the death. Hence the Egyptian cannot die, but the martyr must.
X.10. punches (pugnos). This was the type of fighting that was principally used
by boxers in the pankration, but it was also used by the gladiators (see Cic. Mil.
92). Such boxing and the use of the caestus (a leather strap sometimes filled with
lead and iron and favored by the Romans) frequently led to fatalities (see Verg.
Aen. 5.405).
X.10. He kept trying to grab hold of my feet (ille mihi pedes apprehendere volebat).
The contest has now moved to wrestling. This is a contest in which both boxing
and wrestling could be used interchangeably (see LSJ, s.v. παγκράτιον). For Per-
petua the struggle must be all-encompassing, since for victory over evil to be
complete, she must have vanquished whatever she is challenged by. Since she sees
this struggle ultimately as a cosmic one which taxes all her strength, a representa-
tion which uses manifold physical violence fulfills this requirement. Notice that
Tertullian is quite clear on the nature of this struggle, equating the art of the wres-
tler with things demonic, seeing in the nature of the athletes’ bodily contortions
a metaphor of the sinuousness of Satan (De Pal. 18.3, et palaestrica diaboli

negotium est).
X.10. kicking him in his face with my heels (illi calcibus faciem caedebam). Fol-
lowing the interpretation which views the Egyptian as a personification of evil,
there is a homologous parallel here with her stepping on the head of the dragon
as she mounts the ladder (IV.7, calcavi illi caput et ascendi). The line is also evoc-
ative of God’s curse on the serpent concerning Eve’s progeny crushing them with
their heels in Gn 3.15: “and he shall bruise your head.” Kicking in the face was
also permitted in the games, but typically not done unless one’s opponent was
down, making such kicks less likely to be parried. Attic red and black figure pot-
tery frequently depicts the participants in the pankration kicking and striking
one another. Note the deliberate use of alliteration in the Latin; there is none in
the Greek.
X.11. And I was raised up into the air (et sublata in aere). The use of the perfect
passive suggests that she was raised up by a power outside herself. The point is
that God has now joined her. The promise made earlier by Pomponius (X.IV) to
the effect that he would not abandon her is now fulfilled, and she is raised in the
air by God’s Spirit. Tertullian notes disapprovingly that during these games ath-
letes were able to leap into the air (Spect. 18.2).
X.11. as though I were unable to step on the ground (quasi terram non calcans).
Perpetua underscores the miraculous nature of what is happening to her while it
happens. For her, gravity no longer exists. She is at least five feet in the air at a
height where every movement of her foot strikes his face rather than the earth. The
blows are directed by the unseen power of God. She is above the earth, and not of
it, while her opponent is a chthonic force. Perpetua uses quasi nineteen times in
the text, frequently to qualify situations which are difficult to comprehend and to
convey her sense of wonder (see, however, Robinson, 78). Note again her use of
the alliterating velar stops in cadere . . . calcans. There is no alliteration in the Greek.
X.11. I began (coepi). Perpetua frequently begins a clause or a sentence with this
expression. The verb coepi occurs sixteen times in the Passio (IV.10; VII.2; VIII.3;
IX.1, 2; X.3, 7, 10−13; XI.2; XIII.4, 8; XVIII.8; XX.8). The frequent use of the
verb in this chapter (six times) propels the action of the contest forward, as it
emphasizes her continual activity. It is only used twice by R (XVIII.8; XX.8).
X.11. my fingers were knit together (ut digitos in digitos mitterem). There is compa-
rable language in Ovid’s depiction of Achelous’s and Hercules’ wrestling match
(Met. 9.58, et urgebam digitos digitis, et frontem fronte). Achelous’s transformation
from man to snake to bull forces us to consider the transformations here. Pom-
ponius changes from lanista to Christ, the Egyptian into a demon, and Perpetua
from a woman into a magical miles Christi. The reason for Perpetua’s choice of this
striking alliterative phrase might be her recollection of her own recent baptism,
when hands were laid on the catechumens as they were about to be baptized. Hip-
polytus remarks that those set apart for baptism shall have hands laid on them
daily, exorcising all evil spirits (Trad. ap. 20.3).
X.11. I stepped on his head (calcaui illi caput). She deliberately repeats the iden-
tical phrase she used in describing her stepping on the head of the serpent in IV.7.
X.12. And the crowd began to shout (et coepit populus clamare). See X.11 above
for coepit. The crowd shouts approval. These are Christians, ranged in the seats of
the amphitheatre, and they shout their approval of her triumph. Their roar,
coming from those who are sympathetic, is unlike the later angry bellowing of
their pagan counterparts, who cry out against the martyrs (XVIII.9).
X.12. and my supporters began to sing hymns (et fautores mei psallere). It is now
perfectly evident that the unidentified, attractive seconds were Christians and
possibly angelic beings (Rv 22.16). Psalm 47.7 urges the faithful to sing psalms
after the Lord has subdued nations and placed them under the feet of the righ-
teous. Origen writes that all the angels and men on God’s side hear the struggle
of the martyr in the arena (see Exh. Mart. 2.18). Tertullian reminds the psychics
of the importance of episcopal direction for church unity, as opposed to indi-
vidual judgment; he cites the singing of psalms, particularly Psalm 132 (see Iei.
13.7–8). Augustine urges Christians to sing the psalms as a device to praise God
and strengthen their faith (Enn. Ps. 67.6). The Forty Martyrs of Sebaste strength-
ened themselves through the singing of psalms. The Greek does not contain the
etymological equivalent to the infinitive psallere (ψάλλειν), but rather an
inflected form of a classical verb (LSJ, s.v. γαυριάω, with the meaning “to glory”).
This verb is not commonly used in Christian texts. It occurs once in the deutero-
canonical Judith and once in the Shepherd (see Jdt 9.7 and Herm.Vis. 1.1.8). It
may just be a coincidence that this infrequently used verb occurs in Judith, but
perhaps a subtle comparison is suggested between the OT heroine Judith and
Perpetua. Formisano 105, no. 114 suggests that psallere in a Christian context
suggests song with musical accompaniment. However, it is difficult to imagine
such accompaniment here.
X.12. and I took the branch (accepi ramum). Perpetua receives the symbol of her
victory. She uses this verb only once before, when she takes the curd-like cheese
from the Shepherd (IV.9). She concluded from that dream that she would die,
and from this dream that she will triumph over death itself.
X.13. And he kissed me . . . peace be with you (et osculatus . . . pax tecum). She is
clearly echoing the liturgy and the kiss of peace (Rom 16.16 and 1 Cor 16. 20). It
was early on associated with the baptism of the catechumen. Justin indicates that
the initiate was welcomed with such a kiss before proceeding to the Eucharist
(1 Apol. 65.1). Perpetua’s dream of her fight, although it exists in her unconscious,
is nonetheless framed by her desire for the sacrifice of Christ as reenacted in the
liturgy. There is no evidence that Perpetua has yet received the Eucharist. Her
longing for the reception of the sacrament, for the reception of the crucified and
resurrected corpus domini, is also a factor in the shaping of the details and the
characterization in this final dream.
X.13. Gate of Life (portam Sanavivariam). This is the name of the gate through
which contestants—gladiators whose lives have been spared—walked at the end
of the contest. Some argue that there were three gates in the amphitheatre: the
Gate of Death (Porta Libitinensis; see Commod. 16.7: galea eius bis per portam
Libitinensem elata est), the Gate of Victory (Porta Triumphalis), and the Gate of
Life (Porta Sanavivaria). (See also XX.7.) My own inspection of the ancient
amphitheatre at Carthage shows only two gates extant and no evidence that there
ever was a “Gate of Victory” there. The Porta Libitinensis (named after Libitina,
the goddess of funerals) was the gate through which the bodies were drawn on
their way to the spoliarium, where they were stripped of their weapons and any-
thing else of value (see Sen. Ep. 93.12). Perpetua’s victory allows her to walk
through the Porta Sanavivaria to eternal life (Or. Exh. Mart. 3.13).
X.13. And then I woke up (experta sum). She uses this phrase at the end of every
vision immediately before she provides the interpretation (IV.10, VII.8, VIII.3,
X.13). The use of the perfect form of experior (sometimes used in this period in
North Africa as the perfect of expergiscor) is a deliberate effort to separate the
visionary experience from her conscious state. It should alert the reader to the
deliberateness with which Perpetua reviews the contents of her dream. (See
Heffernan, “Philology and Authorship.”)
X.14. I knew that I was going to fight with the devil and not with the beasts (et intel-
lexi me non ad bestias, sed contra diabolum esse pugnaturam). On the literal level of
the events that later occur, she is quite wrong: she will fight with a beast, a mad
cow. I find her inability to predict her future contest correctly another indication
of the authenticity of the document. If this were a forgery, one would have expected
the anonymous Christian author to have chosen to underscore Perpetua’s pre-
science—particularly in light of R’s Montanist sympathies—by having her predict
accurately the nature of the forthcoming struggle. Here, however, her prophetic
voice errs, at least on the literal level. If, however, we read her remark as a Christian
summation of the coming contest, drenched in allegory, it is entirely accurate. She
will fight the devil. The devil and the beasts are interchangeable for Christian mar-
tyrs of this period (Tert. Mart. 1.5: quia pax vestra bellum est illi). In fact, the beasts
for the Christian zealots are the representatives of the idolatrous Roman state, and
the move from that image to the devil in another guise is a simple one (Rv 2.13).
X.15. the day before the final conflict . . . (in pridie muneris . . . autem muneris). See
above in the argument my discussion of Perpetua’s certain knowledge that she is to
die on the next day. Presumably, she has such certainty because the announcement
has been given to the martyrs through some official source. Is it curious that there
is no mention of her father, her son, or indeed any member of her family? They
have played a rather central role up until this point. She has apparently taken emo-
tional leave of them at this time. The battle with the Egyptian is a psychic, emo-
tional, and theological watershed. She has now entered the time of preparation for
her imminent death, and she steels herself to focus only on the contest to come.
Such focusing may have been an attempt to suppress the terrible anxieties they
must have experienced as they approached closer to death. Those who were unable
to go the course would have proved a great propaganda victory for the persecutors.
The Church was terrified of such apostasy, and that anxiety is evident in the writ-
ings of many of their leaders (see The Martyrs of Lyons, 2.1; Tert. Mart. 4.2; and Or.
Exh. Mart. 4.35–36, where Origen states that apostates will be denied by Christ,
and 7.48). Notice the alliteration in this line.
X.15. let whoever wishes to write about it, do so (si quis voluerit, scribat). Notice
that Perpetua is committed to an historical record of the contest (scribat) and not
an oral retelling of the tale. This attests to her belief in the permanence of the
written record and to her desire that her actions be remembered. See my discus-
sion above in the chapter argument.
CHAPTER XI
The Argument: Paradise Gained, The Heavenly City

Saturus’s dream is the substance of Chapter XI and the ensuing two chapters.
The chapter opens with a single line from the hand of R, which introduces the
vision of Saturus. R is intent to establish for his audience the authority of his copy
of the narrative, based on a prior written record from the martyr himself (quam
ipse conscripsit). This remark establishes R’s intimacy with Saturus, his original
composition, and thus situates himself within the historical context of the perse-
cutions. As a spokesman for the martyrs, R becomes a witness and a participant
in the struggle. However, while R emphasizes that the vision and its present ren-
dering is the work of Saturus alone, there are noticeable differences between R’s
attribution of the dreams to Perpetua and the vision to Saturus. (See II.3.) First,
in his discussion of the authenticity of Perpetua’s dreams, R remarked explicitly
that it was written in her own hand (II.4, conscriptum manu sua) and in the very
sense which she intended (II.4, et suo sensu reliquit). R is slightly less emphatic in
his attribution of the vision to Saturus and makes neither of these claims. His
choice of edo is of interest, as it also has currency at this time as an oral report, or
composition, as much as a written text. (See OLD, s.v. edo, 7; and Tac. Ann.
15.5.2.) Furthermore, R refers to Perpetua’s record as a narrative (II. 3, narravit)
but to Saturus’s vision (XI.1, uisionem), a word only used twice in the Passio and
never by R in reference to Perpetua’s dreams. The Greek employs σ υγγράφω in
both instances and has no equivalent to narro. While it is prudent not to insist on
restrictive lexical registers for edo, narro, and visio, it is nonetheless of importance
to note their different employments by R and the martyrs. Arguably, this is a
subtle difference, but such differences are at the heart of the language in this text,
which is so often focused on the precise nuances which words may have (IV.3).
What might account for this difference in R’s prefatory remarks concerning
Perpetua and Saturus? Perpetua’s dreams are the dreams of sleep or trances. She
has them while still alive; she awakes from her dreams and provides an interpre-
tation of each of them. At the conclusion of her last dream, she announces her
impending death. Saturus’s vision, on the other hand, is a vision of their souls’
experience after their martyrdom. They are now dead. His is the soul’s dream.
Saturus begins his story with the startling announcement that “we left our bodies”
after having suffered. None are alive in this narrative. Saturus relates a vision of
the soul’s afterlife beyond the grave. And although his vision contains the famil-
iar, yet startling, phrase expertus sum (XIII.8) at the vision’s conclusion, and
although the narrative is set in an imaginary future time, at the time of his awak-
ening it has already happened. This elaborate conceit suggests that the fictive ele-
ment is more palpable structurally in this vision than those dreams of Perpetua’s.
The conceit of the after-death visions owes less to Saturus’s unique imagination
than to a tradition. Similar visionary narratives were a staple of Christian escha-
tology, and Saturus—or R, or whoever wrote this section—was likely influenced
by those related themes in such works as the “Vision of Er” in Plato’s Republic,
Scipio’s dream in Cicero’s De Re Publica, Apuleius’s Metamorphoses, the Shep-
herd of Hermas, and, of particular relevance for Saturus’s narrative, the book of
Revelation. The elements of the vision, chiefly the declaration of their out-of-
body migration of souls, in so far as they illustrate an influence from chapters in
the book of Revelation, may account for R’s less emphatic emphasis on the text
being in Saturus’s own hand and as he left it, when compared to his insistence in
II.3 that Perpetua completed the narrative in her own hand.
Let us turn to the dream itself. Saturus begins his story with the announcement
of the death of the martyrs and their flight through the heavens. Only two of the
five who died are depicted, Saturus and Perpetua. Saturus is the leader of the small
group, and Perpetua their charismatic prophet. There is no indication that their
relationship is anything other than teacher and student, and there is no suggestion
that they may have been married or intimate (but see Osiek, “Perpetua’s Hus-
band”). Saturus states that four angels carried them but did not touch them. Since
their souls are journeying toward a meeting with God, it is necessary that these
souls be depicted as inviolate and pure, hence not touchable, but powerful and
capable of movement. Do their souls move under their own power? Saturus makes
a point of noting that the angels are not touching them. This motif underscores the
miraculous nature of their flight. Saturus next provides some visual images con-
cerning the geometry of their flight. They are traveling not on their backs in the
manner of a corpse, as we would expect of a body, particularly one lying in state.
Rather, he and Perpetua are upright, bent slightly forward as if they were climbing
a hill. Every opportunity is taken to deemphasize death and allegorize the animate
power of the soul. Indeed, he depicts the souls as if they were bodies: they walk,
talk, and act as if they were embodied. The scene is redolent of Plato’s idea of the
soul’s return to its origin, its source of being, developed in the Phaedrus.
Freed from the bounds of this world, the martyrs see a great light, a common
antique metaphor for heaven and the dwelling place of God (Gn 1.15; Acts 9.3).
What is being depicted is the resurrection of their spirits: they see a light as they
fly toward the east, toward the rising sun, the location of Eden, Jerusalem and the
place of Christ’s death and resurrection. The large space and the formal garden
which they see on their arrival in a kind of heavenly antechamber is reminiscent
of images of paradise, which is traditionally located in the east (Gn 2.8). Rose
trees, whose leaves fall without ceasing, towering like cypresses (Is 37.24), appear
before them. Flowers of every sort thrive in abundance. The contrast with the
senescence of the earth could not be greater. Here in this sacred space the mate-
rial universe exists on an enhanced scale: roses are as tall as cypresses, leaves fall
continuously while the bushes are never bare, and a profusion of flowers abound.
In this ethereal, cultivated garden they encounter another four angels who appear
higher up the angelic scale of importance. These are described as more radiant
then the four who brought them from the earth. Hence they are closer to the
divine light. As in many dreams in antiquity, doublets abound. The pseudepig-
raphal Book of Enoch identifies the various archangels and their particular duties.
For example, Raphael is over the spirits of men, and the souls of the just are
assessed according to the proportion of light which they exhibit (Enoch 20.1–8,
43.1). Once Saturus and Perpetua have been placed on the firmament, they begin
to exhibit all their physical abilities. They journey across this wonderful botanical
garden on foot. They stop along the way and greet four comrades whom they
recognize as martyrs. One is reminded that Perpetua in her first dream also saw a
throng of martyrs around the image of the Good Shepherd. Tertullian claimed
that the martyrs were granted the citizenship of heaven (Mart. 3.3), and the
Christian community of Carthage under his guidance was strongly eschatological
and gave the martyrs pride of place in heaven. The fact that Saturus provides
names for these four individuals suggests that this audience remembered them
and that they were likely killed in a recent persecution. There is no extant record
of the names of these four martyrs. It appears that they died sometime before the
deaths of Perpetua and her companions in March of 203. As they interrogate the
martyrs—Saturus, although it is his dream, always uses the plural verb, possibly
indicating his deference to his fellow martyr Perpetua—about unnamed others
whom they all knew, the angels interrupt this conversation, so as to hurry them
along to meet the Lord. The effect of this curious detail is artful and underscores
the eschatology of the entire episode. There is the strong suggestion that almighty
God cannot be kept waiting.
Chapter XI Commentary
XI.1. Saturus (Saturus). This is the praenomen of her teacher. He was a mem-
ber of some standing of the church in Carthage, but probably not a bishop or
presbyter. The use of his single name suggests that his social status was not high,
and he may even have been a freeman. He was nonetheless an important figure, as
he is referred to eight times in the narrative (IV.5, XI.1, XVIII.7, XIX.4–6, XXI.1,
8). His name is a curious one for a Christian, if it derives (as one would expect)
from the Greek σάτ υρος, the demigod or satyr whose habitation was the forest.
However, it may be that this is an adopted name from the adjective satur, used in
a Christian allegorical sense, meaning “abundance” or “plenitude.” Saturus was
thus one filled with the Spirit. The name remained popular in Carthage. Cyprian
mentions one Saturus with his family in Lucian’s reply to Celerinus (Ep. 21) and
refers to another Saturus whom he has appointed a reader (Ep. 28). The Arian
Vandal King Genseric employed an orthodox master of his household whose
name was Saturus (d.c. 460).
XI.1. blessed (benedictus). The term was applied honorifically to certain of the
clergy, to the dead, and in particular to martyrs. Tertullian begins his Ad Martyras
with the words benedicti martyres designati (1.1). See his Praescr. 30.2, Eleutherii
benedicti. Cyprian also used the epithet (see Ep. 22.2.1; Adv. Jud. 2.30; and see
Petraglio 86 on R in this line).
XI.1. vision (visionem). The Greek version uses ὀπτασία , which can correspond
to the meaning of visio in the sense of “supernatural or prophetic apparition” and
is seen for example in Lk 1.22, where the Vetus (and the Vugate) use visio. See also
X.1, horomate.
XI.1. made known (edidit). The word edo can be used with reference to either
the oral declaration of a tale or the publication of a written text (see OLD, s.v. edo,
7 and 9). Post-classical Latin frequently uses the word to mean “to reveal” or “to
relate” (See TLL, 5.2.89).
XI.1. he himself wrote (conscripsit). R is at pains to suggest that Saturus wrote his
dream, as he follows edo—which might have functioned alone to suggest the act
of writing—with the unambiguous conscripsit.
XI.2. we had suffered (passi . . . eramus). The pluperfect leaves one in no doubt
that the contest in the amphitheater is over, that they have been martyred, and
that the context for the ensuing dream is an after-death experience. Tertullian is
fond of using the word to refer to the suffering of the persecuted Christians. He
uses the verb in reference to the suffering of the martyrs in Scorp. 8.4 (O martyr-
ium et sine passione perfectum. Satis passi, satis exusti sunt, quos propterea Deus
texit. . . .) and in De Fuga, 7.5, citing Scripture as a justification for the ready and
volitional acceptance of suffering.
XI.2. departed from the flesh (exivimus de carne). The entire dream episode con-
tains colossal conceits. In the present instance, for example, the dreamer Saturus,
dreams of a time—a time already past—in which he and his fellow martyr Per-
petua are dead. Their spirits have left their bodies. His dream is thus an allegorical
account of the flight of their souls. The word “flesh” is used metaphorically to
signify the world of the living. The Bible frequently uses such corporeal language
to indicate life. See Heb 5.7: Ἐν ταῖς ἡμέραις τῆς σαρκὸς αὐτοῦ/Qui in diebus carnis
suae.
XI.2. four angels (quattuor angelis). The image of the four angels is likely derived
from Scripture. Here they resemble what Origen calls “celestial escorts,” who
receive the soul on its departure from the body. The number four appears to have
held some fascination for those who considered the characteristics of angels.
Cherubim, the most privileged angelic beings, served as the attendants of God
and were commonly depicted as having four faces—those of a man, ox, lion, and
eagle—and four feet. Ezekiel had a vision of four angels who, as they flew through
space, bore the chariot throne of God (Ez 1.5). Four angels also figure promi-
nently in Rv 7.1; they stand at the four corners of the earth and restrain the wind
from blowing. Robinson (32) has shown the possible influence of Herm. Vis.
1.4.3 on this passage. Saturus’s and Perpetua’s journey to this heavenly garden is
also reminiscent of Enoch’s translation into the Garden of Eden (see the pseude-
pigraphical, Book of Jubilees 20.1). The Book of Enoch and other Hekhaloth liter-
ature were known and popular with certain Christian groups, as well as leaders
like Tertullian. The idea of the winged being is also common in Greco-Roman
mythology, and thus this image may be a syncretistic blend of the Hebrew Bible—
there are no representations of winged angels in the Christian Bible—with the
winged figure of the goddess Nike/Victory. (See also Danielou, Les anges, 52;
Nebe, “Son of Man”; and Hunt, “Demons and Angels.”)
XI.2 toward the east (in orientem). The East is the mythological location of the
Garden of Eden. Although the location of “East” is not specified in the Vulgate,
some manuscripts of the Vetus for Gn 2.8 read: Plantavit, inquit, paradisum
voluptatis in Eden, contra orientem. (See LXX, κατὰ ἀνατολάς.) They are being
brought to a prelapsarian paradise.
XI.2. were not touching us (non tangebant). The martyrs have left their bodies.
Their incorruptible, and therefore sanctified, spirits are making this journey
alone. Thus the angels, out of respect for their spirits, do not touch them. It is not
a journey to death, though it does have funereal associations (Lk 16.22), but to
life everlasting. Tertullian refers to angels as the “summoners of souls” and makes
the association with Mercury (De Anim. 53.6: evocatoris animarum, Mercurii
poetarum), the god who traditionally escorted souls to Hades. Saturus’s phrase
may echo Christ’s words to Mary Magdalene when he asks her not to touch him
(Vetus: noli me tangere, Jn 20.17) since, although Christ is risen, he has not yet
ascended to his father.
XI.3. not on our backs facing upwards (non supini sursum versi . . . ascendentes).
This passage has often caused difficulty. Saturus wishes to underscore that it is
not their dead bodies flying through the air under the watchful gaze of the four
angels, typically depicted as lying on their backs in state, but rather that their ac-
tive, sentient spirits are in some manner involved in the ascent to heaven. The
Greek clarifies the phrase sursum versi with the prepositional phrase εἰς τὰ ἀνώτερα
(“into the higher things”), which immediately follows the verb. The Greek reads
“We were going into the higher things” and then adds “and not on our backs.” This
image of their flight may have influenced the iconography of the depictions of
other female saints (see for example the related iconography of Thecla in Grabar,
Martyrium, 14; and Davis, Cult of St. Thecla, 235, fig. 29).
XI.4. freed from this world (liberati primo mundo). The OLD suggests that the
word could mean “to pass over” a barrier of some sort (see OLD, s.v. libero, 10,
citing Petron. Sat. 136.9: Necdum liberaveram cellulae limen and Frontin Str.
1.4.13: si flumen liberasset). Saturus underscores the fact that they have been mar-
tyred and they have passed beyond the limits of the physical world and entered
another realm. The cosmology is Aristotelian, mediated through Ptolemy, whose
concentric spheres rotated around a fixed earth. Saturus and Perpetua have left
the fixed abode of the earth and moved into one of these spheres. The idea that a
person may go to heaven immediately after death is suggested in Paul’s Epistles
(Phil 1.21–24; 2 Cor 5.1–10) and in John’s depiction of the souls of the martyrs
waiting beneath the altar (Rv 6.9–11). See also Himmelfarb, Ascent to Heaven.
Van Beek, Bastianesen, and Amat print liberato, construing this as an ablative
absolute. Given the eschatological point being made, I prefer to read liberati
(masc. nom. pl.) as “freed from” and primo mundo as an ablative of separation.
The Greek version reads ᾿Ἐξελθόντες τὸν πρῶτον κόσμον/“having gone out from
the first world.”
XI.4. a great light (lucem inmensam). The great light signifies they have reached
the heavenly realm and the dwelling place of God (see 1 Tm 6.16). This recalls the
Transfiguration of Christ in the synoptics (Mk 9.2). A likely echo, on this theme
of the “light of the heavens” arrived at after a visionary journey, is also in the Pas-
sio Sanctorum Montani et Lucii, 11.3: Peruenimus autem in locum candidum. Note
that in Perpetua’s vision of heaven (IV) there is no mention of a great light. Satu-
rus’s remark has a somewhat more literary quality about it, as it makes use of a
number of standard tropes: they are borne by angels, fly to the east, and see a
great light. See also a related vision of paradise in 1 Enoch 14. The Greek empha-
sizes the light’s intensity and reads a “brilliant light”/φῶς λαμπρότατον. The Greek
does not use the adjective ἄμετρος, which means unmeasured and thus would
correspond to the Latin immensus. The use of λαμπρός conveys the idea that this
light is in some sense supernatural. The same idea in Latin would require a word
like splendidus, candidus, or praeclarus (see Schmoller, s.v. λαμπρός). In sum, the
Greek phrase suggests a theological orientation not present in the Latin.
XI.4. at my side (in latere meo). This emphasis of their physical closeness also
underscores their spiritual connection.
XI.4. the Lord promised us (Dominus promittebat). Saturus still retains his role as
teacher, reminding Perpetua of the Lord’s promise. The eschatological emphasis is
marked, as the theology of self-sacrifice was very strong in Carthage at this time. It
was believed that martyrs enjoyed special privileges and that on their death they
went immediately to heaven. See Tertullian (Mart. 3.3), who notes (coining the
post-classical use of politia) that politia in caelis will be their inheritance. Tertul-
lian’s phrase may be an echo of Phil 3.20, πολίτευμα. Promitto was used to conclude
vows to the gods (OLD, promitto, 2c).
XI.5. great space (spatium grande). Perpetua used similar language (IV.8) to
describe the garden where she encountered the Good Shepherd. The expression
is intended to underscore the magnificence of the place. The Greek text reads
στάδιον μέγα , a large place for walking or running, and this phrase is more
associated with games than is the Latin spatium grande.
XI.5. like a formal garden (quasi viridiarium). The Latin suggests a garden that has
been planned, filled with wonderful plants so as to delight the senses and create an
aesthetic pleasure (see Cic. Att. 2.3.2). This motif of the garden seen in a vision
proved popular, as a passage indebted to this appears in the Passio Sanctorum Mar-
iani et Iacobi, 6.11. The Greek continues to suggest some contest or game in its use
of κῆπος. For more on the Roman garden see Farrar, Roman Gardens.
XI.5. having rose trees (arbores habens rosae). Roses were among the most pop-
ular of flowers planted by the Romans, and the extant mosaics in Carthage from
the second and third centuries are filled with flower motifs. The image is of a
tree-like shrub; see Plin. HN 21.16 and Ep. 5.6. The rose eulogized the end of life
(see CIL 5.7454.13). In the Passio Sanctorum Mariani et Iacobi, James sees the
recently martyred young boy wearing a garland of roses around his neck: corona
rosea collo circumdatus, 11.5).
XI.5. flowers of all sorts (omne genus flores). Saturus’s depiction of paradise is
lexically economic. His lack of rhetorical amplification actually becomes a short-
hand way to emphasize the superabundance of beauty that surrounds them. Such
prose also allows him to focus more particularly on the miraculous nature of the
individuals they meet. It would be tempting to emend flores to florum and thus
agree with the Greek ἀνθέων. The reading of MS M, which van Beek and Amat
print flores, is distinctive. The other variants use either the genitive singular floris
(MSS P and N) or the genitive plural florum (MSS A, E, G). Actually, MS A
shows a corrector’s hand changing the accusative es to the genitive is, suggesting
scribal uncertainty. The original exemplar may have read omne genus flores, and
thus we have an uncommon example of an adverbial accusative (Allen and Gre-
enough, sec. 397a; and Gildersleeve and Lodge, sec. 336, note 2).
XI. 6. height of the trees (altitudo arborum). Their size emphasizes their antiq-
uity. Roman gardens favored large trees typically planted in alleés, and cupressus
sempervirens (see below) could reach 15.2 meters tall.
XI.6. of cypress trees (in modum cypressi). The cypress is sometimes identified
with death and dying. Often, after a death, a branch from a cypress tree was placed
at the home of a prominent man (see Luc. 3.442: et non plebeios luctus testata
cupressus, and Hor. Carm. 2.14.23). If the individual was to be cremated, logs of
cypress were placed in front of the pyre (see Verg. Aen. 6.215: cui frondibus atris /
intexunt latera, et feralis ante cupressos . . .). St. Marian sees tall cypresses and
pines in his eschatological vision in the Passio Sanctarum Mariani et Iacobi
6.12: opacum cupressis consurgentiibus in excelsum. The funereal images are bal-
anced against a garden tended by angelic hosts who cater to the recently mar-
tyred. It is not entirely clear what species of cupressaceae Saturus is identifying.
This may be a description of the cupressus sempervirens, commonly known as the
Italian cypress and as a conifer. It is also native to the littoral of Roman North
African. The tree is often cited in the Hebrew Bible; for example, Solomon builds
the doors of his great temple out of them (1 Kgs 6.34).
XI.6. their leaves were falling without ceasing ( folia cadebant sine cessatione). The
idea of the continuous falling leaves raises intriguing questions. Is the passage
corrupt as Robinson first argued, and might the original reading have been
canebant? Robinson appears to have adopted (38) canebant because he believed
that the idea of “singing” was more consonant with his understanding of this
entire passage than “falling,” which he saw as an image of decay and sin (cf. Amat,
who also prints canebant). He cited such Biblical allusions to nature and trees
singing as 1 Chr 16.33 and Is 35.1–2, 44.23, and 55.12: “the hills before you shall
burst into singing.” Yet the image of falling leaves in Revelation is life-giving: they
“were for the healing of the nations” (22.12, which passage Robinson does note).
Robinson, however, minimizes Rv 22 because it differs from its source in Ez 48.12
and from a passage in the Apoc. of Moses (20.4), where Eve notes that immediately
on eating the forbidden fruit “the leaves showered down from all the trees in my
part, except the fig tree.”
This crux is a difficult one and does not present an easy answer. However, while
the image of “singing” has a certain attraction, no manuscript records it, and more
importantly, the idea of cadebant may better suit Saturus’s theme. The falling leaf
suggests the end of a season, a life cycle now complete, and this is precisely what
we have in the present scene: Saturus and Perpetua have just died. Their physical
bodies have fallen away, and their spirits have just been freed from their bodies. Is
this not analogous to the leaf freed from the branch and falling in space? Further,
as the fallen leaves in Revelation will bring healing to the nations, Perpetua and
Saturus, immediately after they are welcomed to this new spiritual world, are
engaged in bringing healing (XIII.2: Componite inter nos) to the conflict between
the priest and bishop. Cessatio is used three times, and in each instance it signals
a remarkable event (VIII.1, XI.6, XII.2).
XI.7. four other angels more radiant than the others (alii quattuor angeli fuerunt
clariores ceteris). These angels, more radiant than the initial four who brought
them to the garden, are more notable than the others, as they dwell closer to
God. Traditionally, aside from their role as messengers, angels in Scripture are
attendants on God’s throne, as we shall see in XII.4. There may be some influ-
ence from Revelation (7.1–2, 11, 9.14–15), which also enjoys the repetition of
the number four, using it twenty-nine times to refer to all sorts of creatures,
angels, animals, thrones, old men, soldiers, and regions of the earth. The degrees
of hierarchy within the angelic community were often remarked on (see Jude
6–9; 2 Pt 2.11). Lastly, this is also a stylistic effort to achieve symmetry through
the use of the groups of fours. The Greek οἱ τέσσαρες ἄγγελοι , ἀλλήλλων ἐνδο -
ξότεροι suggests that each angel is more glorious than the other. The Greek
lacks an equivalent for alii.
XI.7. they gave us honor (honorem nobis dederunt). Th is is a signal moment and
emphasizes that even the elevated angelic beings recognize the virtue in the
martyrs. The Greek lacks the phrase.
XI.7. Look, they are here, they are here (Ecce sunt, ecce sunt). The forceful phrase
has a chant-like quality about it and may hearken back to a liturgical hymn. It is
not uncommon in the Scriptures (see Bar 2.25). It is interesting to speculate
whether the introduction of Saturus and Perpetua might possibly echo Pilate’s
introduction of the tortured Christ to the Jews, Et dicit eis: Ecce homo ( Jn 19.5).
The phrase is absent in the Greek.
XI.7. with admiration (cum admiratione). The chant is made by those who are
literally astonished and in awe at the two visitors (OLD, s.v. admiror, 1). There
is an interesting correspondence in 2 Mc 7.18, where the sixth son, who is about
to be martyred, rebukes the King and says, et digna admiratione facta sunt in
nobis.
XI.7. became fearful (expavescentes). Why did the angels become frightened?
Was it the sudden awareness of the preciousness of their burden, or perhaps an
awareness of the importance of their task with their sense of the increasing pres-
ence of the throne of the Lord? When the two Marys and Salome appear at the
tomb, the young man dressed in white robes says to them: Nolite expavescere!
(Mk 16.6). The verb is rarely used in either the Vetus or the Vulgate.
XI.8. on foot (pedibus nostris). Although transivimus is quite clear on its own,
“we crossed over,” Saturus provides the additional detail, pedibus nostris, to
emphasize that they are now free of their angelic escorts and moving volitionally.
XI.8. the park (ad stadium). The word stadium can mean a track for foot racing
or the measurement of 625 Roman feet, called a stade in English (OLD, s.v. sta-
dium). The line can be read with both senses. If we read via lata as a clarification
of the distance they traveled, the point is they went a stade (ad stadium). I prefer
the image of the park, since their walking brings them to or along a particular
place where they stop and meet earlier martyrs. Tertullian used the word to refer
a gracious place for walking (Si et Susanna in . . . stadio mariti non putem velatam
deambulasse quae placuit, Cor. 4.3), and in Mart. 2.9, he urges the martyrs to
allow their spirits to follow the way that leads directly to God and not be dis-
tracted by walking on shady paths or along colonnaded avenues: et non stadia
opaca aut porticus longas.
XI.8. by a broad path (via lata). Robinson preferred the reading violatum
(covered with violets; Passion, 39–40), believing that the MS tradition was corrupt.
He argued that MS M reads violata, which he believed a misreading for violatum.
Furthermore, he suggested that this reading harmonized more with the vision of
Josaphat in the History of Barlaam and Josaphat. Robinson (81) notes a singular use
of the word violatio, as a reference to the practice of decorating graves with violae on
the dies violaris (See OLD, s.v. violatio). While Robinson’s reading is a poetic one
and recalls the omne genus flores image (XI.5), the point of this passage is to empha-
size that they are walking, in my reading, toward a stadium, which is not a measure-
ment of distance, but a place with gardens and many shade trees (see Tertullian,
XI.8 above) and one that is reached by an elegant and broad avenue. There is no MS
evidence for his conjecture.
XI.9. Jocundus and Saturninus and Artaxius . . . and Quintus (Iocundum et
Saturninum et Artaxium . . . et Quintum). This list of martyrs is of interest because
it suggests that these martyrs had suffered in a persecution before the present one
of spring 203, and likely after that of the Scillitan Martyrs in 180, a generation
earlier. Saturninus is omitted in MSS M and G. Moreover, their Romanized
names, popular in Punic-speaking North Africa, suggest that these martyrs are of
low status and that some of them likely never knew Latin or spoke it haltingly and
in a highly accented manner. Apuleius notes the example of the young man of
good family who speaks only Punic, a touch of Greek, but never Latin: Loquitur
numquam nisi punice, et si quid adhuc a matre graecissat; enim Latine neque vult
neque potest (Apol. 98.8). Two Punic names of martyrs survive in the Scillitan
Martyrs, those of Nartzalus and Cintinus. On the survival and importance of
Punic as a viable language, see Augustine’s defense of it in his letter to Maximus
(ca. 389). Greek renders the Latin name “Quintus” with the shift from the velar
stop [kw] to [k], Kοΐντον.
XI.9. had died as a martyr in prison (in carcere exierat). Although the venue of
incarceration varied from the state prison to quarry imprisonment to military
prisons, in general Roman imprisonment was brutal and frequently led to death.
Roman prisons were not intended to serve as places where one served out a
long sentence (see Sall. Cat. 55.3). Cells, like the Tullianum, were common,
often underground, dark, and small. The cell in the present amphitheatre in
Carthage, the putative prison of the martyrs Perpetua and Saturus, is one such
dark, fetid place. It is not surprising that Quintus’s death in prison is described
as a martyrdom.
XI.9. in the same persecution (qui eadem persecutione). Saturus knows that these
three individuals, and perhaps Quintus, all died in the same persecution. Unfor-
tunately, we have no textual evidence concerning any persecutions in this area
between the Scillitan martyrdoms (180) and the present outbreak of hostility
(203). His remark is suggestive of persecutions during the procuratorship of
Minuicus Timinianus before his death in 202.
XI. 9. burned alive (vivi arserunt). The Romans believed burning a particularly
degrading form of death. Although as early as The Twelve Tables death by burning
could be applied to anyone, regardless of class, who maliciously commited acts of
violence or theft or burned down the property of another (Lex XII, 8.10), the
humiliores received this capital punishment more frequently than any other class.
Ulpian explicitly notes that members of the decuriones may not be burned alive
(Dig. 48.9.11: uel uiui exuri), though those convicted of treason, as well as arson-
ists, seem to be liable to burning despite their class (Dig. 48.8.2, 48.28.12). Tertul-
lian argues that the law is hypocritical and being applied unjustly as Christians are
being thrown to the flames while even those guilty of treason are let off: cremamur;
quod nec sacrilegi, nec hostes publici, verum nec tot maiestatis rei pati solent (Scap.
4.8). Polycarp is the first Christian martyr who was condemned to the flames
(13.1). Such scenes of immolation are also present in the death of the Christian
martyr Agathonice (6.5). Occasionally, the authorities, in order to show even fur-
ther disrespect to the Christians, had their bodies burned after torture and execu-
tion (see Martyrs of Lyons and Vienne, 62). Christian martyrs, like Bishop
Fructosus and his deacons (4.2), compared their burning to the punishments
meted out to Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah, who were sentenced to death by
Nebuchadnezzar (Dn 1.6–7). Although a cursory reading might suggest that the
Greek author’s κρεμασθέντας provided an equivalent for vivi arserunt, the sense is
quite different, and the verb suggests that these martyrs were hung on a pole
(κρεμάννυμι) as their punishment. Blandina was hung on such a cross, perhaps
two poles diagonal to one another: ἡ δὲ Bλανδῖνα ἐπὶ ξύλον κρεμασθεῖσα προύκειτο
βορά (see Mart. Lyons. 41; also Harris, 57).
XI.9. where the others were (ubi essent ceteri). It is difficult to know precisely what
Saturus intends by this question. It would appear to concern their immediate past.
Does Saturus wish to know where the martyrs went immediately following their
death? What other martyrs (ceteri) is he referring to? Were their souls transported to
this heavenly garden in the manner in which he and Perpetua were escorted, or were
their deaths and passage treated differently? It is a curiously colloquial question.
XI.10. First come, enter (Venite prius, introite). Although an invitation is ex-
tended by the angelic host, the imperatives give the phrase the flavor of liturgical
language, possibly hymnody. The verb venite is commonly used in the Bible in the
Psalms and the prophets (Pss 46.9; Is 55.1), but introite is rare elsewhere. The
Vulgate uses the form introite in but one instance (where the Vetus uses the plu-
perfect subjunctive introisset in the corresponding passage), but it is used in a
different context entirely (Mk 7.17).
XI.10. Greet the Lord (salutate Dominum). The imperative continues the litur-
gical aspect of the greeting. The angel’s invitation is the first indication that they
have arrived in heaven and are now about to meet the Lord. Notice that unlike her
colleague Saturus, Perpetua never identifies the grey-haired shepherd in her
vision as the Lord (IV.8–9). Perpetua’s dreams are less teleological and more con-
cerned with reporting the events that she “saw” than Saturus’s more programmatic
effort to construct a vision of the afterlife recognizable to his audience.
CHAPTER XII
The Argument: The Metamorphosis of Witness

Chapter XII takes up Saturus’s dream from his and Perpetua’s arrival at the gates
of the Lord’s palace to that moment when Perpetua turns to Saturus and remarks
that she is now happier than when she was alive in the flesh. This chapter contains
the apogee of Saturus’s dream as it narrates the singular goal of all martyrs, their
triumph over death and their subsequent reward of meeting God face to face in the
celestial city (see Mart. Pol. 17.3, 18.2–3). Such a meeting, however, requires a
radical change of character, a metanoia of the most profound sort, one that will
return an adult spirit to that innocence and guilelessness associated with a sinless
child. Such change is a process that Saturus believed was begun with public witness
but was only accomplished after the witness of martyrdom had been accomplished.
While the martyr lived, he or she was always just shy of the totality of witness and
lacked that chance at heavenly union. Death was the necessary step in the transfor-
mation and spiritualizing of the witness. Tertullian too understood the idea of
martyrdom as a process, as a movement toward a goal only accomplished with the
drawing of the last breath. He refers to the martyr’s progress as sed illam viam, quae
ad Deum ducit (Mart. 2.9).
Saturus and Perpetua approach a celestial city whose walls are made of light
and where four angels stand at the gate. Comrades in life and death, the martyrs
are reminiscent of a prelapsarian Adam and Eve. The two martyrs move together
cautiously, watched by the angelic spirits as they approach the throne of the living
God. They are clearly without sin; otherwise, they would never have been able to
initiate the journey. Their approach to the hallowed throne room, while joyous, is
nonetheless filled with contradictory feelings of trepidation and longing. The
audience feels their trepidation (expavescentes, XI.1) as they approach the throne.
The first evidence that they are in a world inaccessible to the life of the mind,
inaccessible to reason and observation, is the trope of the city of light. The motif
of the city of light had a considerable history even as early as the early second
century. Ignatius, in his own suffering, begged to be allowed “to win through to
the light” (ἄφετέ με καθαρὸν φῶς λαβεῖν), where he could embrace his Lord (Rom.
6.6). For Ignatius, “light” is the one undefiled substance (καθαρὸν φῶς). In Reve-
lation, God’s throne is depicted as one saturated with with images of radiance,
ἐνώπιον τοῦ θρόνου ὡς θάλασσα ὑαλίνη ὁμοία κρυστάλλῳ (4.6, 21.22).
Saturus and Perpetua enter this magical palace, whose walls of light gleam
radiantly. There is not another architectural feature of this structure mentioned
besides its gate: no roof, floor, or window. John, paraphrasing Isaiah, indicates
that in his heavenly city there is no need for a temple, as the temple is God him-
self, who supplies all (ὁ γὰρ κύριος ὁ θεὸς ὁ παντοκράτωρ ναὸς αὐτῆς ἐστι καὶ τὸ
ἀρνίον, Rv 21.22; and see Is 24.23, 60.1.19), including the light from the sun and
the moon. Saturus and Perpetua see only a series of walls of shimmering light
surrounding an unseen throne. The idea of domus, with all the physicality that
concept implies, is avoided. The residence of the Lord is a Johannine locus, exist-
ing outside of time and space, whose dimensionality is bounded by the photons.
This lack of materiality functions metaphorically to emphasize the distance sepa-
rating the world of the body from that of the spirit.
These angels clothe all who enter with white robes, the traditional garb of
the martyr (Rv 7.9), and escort them to the throne of the Lord. Who are these
four angels? Angelic beings frequently function as guardians at thresholds.
Angels came and opened the gates where the apostles were being jailed (Acts
5.17–19, 12.6–11). These unnamed four—there are no names given to angels in
the Bible until Daniel 10.13—may be the four angels of the presence—Michael,
Gabriel, Uriel, and Raphael—for which the Talmudic gloss on Numbers 2
provides names (see Numbers Rabbah, 2.10). The oral teaching of such Mid-
rashic tradition was known in Christian circles and may have had some influence
on the composition of Rv 7.1. The Jewish community at Carthage was certainly
sufficiently large to have supported the circulation of Midrashic tales, and doubt-
less some in the Christian community knew their traditions.
Depictions of the Lord as a hoary old man appear in some of the more apoc-
alyptic texts available to contemporary Carthaginian Christians, and Perpetua
has already provided such a model (IV.8). It is likely that this was the stock visual
representation of God for this community. In particular, this icon appears in-
debted to a number of popular Hebrew Biblical images, particularly Ez 9.11, Dn
7.9, 10.5–6, and subtly mediated through Revelation 1.12–20 (see Hanson, Living
Utterance, 168). The Lord is surrounded by angels (cf. Is 6.1). They are able to kiss
the Lord, and he strokes their cheeks. The moment of their meeting the Lord is
the climax of Saturus’s dream. It need not be reductive to see in this moment the
dream’s theme. Indeed, if his dream has a singular theme, as I believe it has, it is
one implicit in the martyrs’ dismissal from this beatific meeting. After they have
kissed the Lord, elders, not angels, ask them to stand and offer the kiss of peace to
one another. The two are then dismissed from God’s presence at the moment
when the elders tell them, employing imperatives, to “go and play.” The theme is
one of transformation of the sinful self into innocence. This depiction of Saturus
and Perpetua and the injunction of the elders embody Christ’s gnomic injunction
that unless one transforms oneself (στραφῆτε, Mt 18.3) and becomes like a little
child, he or she will not enter the kingdom of heaven. The “elders” (seniores) are
the perfect vehicle to deliver this injunction to become like children, since they
provide the illustration that the injunction is intended metaphorically. To seek
the innocence of the child is not to become the child, but to clothe the mature
individual in the garb of purity and innocence. This segment of the dream ends
then with the injunction to seek innocence, trust in God, and avoid the perils of
rationality, which often leads to pride. Utopianism joined to a radical Christian
eschatology is the caldron in which Saturus’s ideology is annealed.
Chapter XII Commentary
XII.1. We came near a place (venimus prope locum). Saturus emphasizes the
bravery and blessedness of the two martyrs as they approached the house of God
alone, without angelic guides. The Passio, with its small lexicon (3,637 words),
frequently generalizes time and place; locus is used as an all-purpose descriptor

eleven times. Rather than using domus or some variant—after all, they have come
to a walled structure—Saturus uses the general term “place” (see below loco sed-
entem, XII.2).
XII.1. four angels (angeli quattuor). These angels are fulfilling their traditional
role as attendants at the throne of the Lord (see Is 63.9, Tb 12.15, Rv 8.2–5,
and Dn 7.9–10; also Herm. Vis . 1.30) and are to be identified with the second
group of angels mentioned in the Latin text (XI.7). The Greek, on the other
hand, has only one group of four.
XII.1. clothed those who entered (introeuentes vestierunt). Some scribes had
difficulty with this reading—MSS E and P read introeuentes nos—and in their
zeal to remove all ambiguity supplied the pronoun. The ambiguity results
because introeuntes can be nominative or accusative plural and hence we cannot
be absolutely certain who is being dressed. The Greek employs the nominative
εἰεσλθόντες and ἡμᾶς (accusative) and is not ambiguous, indicating that the
angels enter in and dress the martyrs. The martyrs are the ones whose journey
has brought them this far, and it is they who must be clothed and then enter the
vestibule before appearing before the Lord. For confirmation of this position,
see XII.3–5, where they complete their entrance. Musurillo translates the phrase
“[the angels] who entered in” (as does Amat), while Shewring reads “[the mar-
tyrs] we went in.”
XII.1. in white robes (stolas candidas). The stole was used in religious ceremonies
(see Varro, Res Rust. 3.13.3: quo Orphea vocari iussit. Qui cum eo venisset cum stola
et cithara cantare esset iussus). The white garment symbolizes the pure in heart.
Apuleius uses it to indicate those who are morally pure: quod de pudore illo can-
dido (Met. 8.30). Jews and Christians used white to indicate purity, righteous-
ness, heaven, or a heavenly being, and to describe the Son of Man. It was also used
to characterize those faithful followers of Christ who were prepared even to die
victoriously for the faith (Rv 6.2, 19.11–14). The image of the Transfiguration
of Christ also played an important role in the extension of such symbolism
(cf. Vetus: et vestimenta ejus candida sicut nix, Mt 28.3). Although the double
accusative was used with verbs of asking and teaching, its use with verbs of
dressing may be a colloquialism. The accusative stolas candidas (even if this is an
eccentric reading) is paralleled in the Greek by λευκὰς στολάς.
XII.2. chanting (dicentem). The Greek, which reads λεγόντων, would corre-
spond exactly with dicentium (cf. MSS P and N).
XII.2. Holy, holy, holy (agios, agios, agios). The words are repeated without
ceasing, suggesting that they are being said rhythmically, perhaps as in a chant.
If a chant, it is used to sacralize the angels’ solemn entrance to the Lord’s throne.
If this were an abbreviated form of the Tersanctus or Trisagion, it would be among
the earliest attestations to that liturgical doxology (cf. 1 Clem. 34.6). The Trisagion
may have an apostolic origin in Revelation 4.8. In the earliest Greek liturgies it
was sung as the Lesser Entrance, when the Gospel book was carried in solemn
procession. The use of Greek is not surprising, as hymnody crossed this linguistic
barrier, particularly in the case of the liturgy. The Trisagion was used in the Gallican
liturgy, as Germanus of Paris (d. 576) states that it was sung both in Latin and
Greek: Incipiente praesule ecclesia Ajus [agios] psallit, dicens latinum cum graeco.
The North African community may have known the tradition from the Scriptures,
where threefold emphases are not uncommon. Isaiah sees and hears the six-winged
seraphs above the divine throne, crying to one another a remarkably similar hymn:
Ἅγιος, ἅγιος, ἅγιος (6.3). This passage from Isaiah likely influenced the version in
Revelation 4.8 (see Court, Revelation, 27).
XII.3. sitting in the same place (in eodem loco sedentem). Saturus’s rendering of
the heavenly realm tends to diminish its physicality so as to emphasize its tran-
scendence. Saturus is intent to convey a singularly contradictory idea: the materi-
ality of what is a nonmaterial realm. The house of the Lord, if that is in fact what
this is, “appears” to have walls of light, and yet it has entrance doors. In order to
emphasize the mysterious opacity of what the dreamer sees, Saturus employs
vague descriptors like locus, thus avoiding terms with more materiality, such as
domus, mansio, or praetorium.
XII.3 what appeared to be an aged man (quasi hominem canum). Saturus’s depic-
tion of the Lord and his heavenly court which follows is largely indebted to Rev-
elation 2, 4, and 5, which in turn owe much to Daniel 7.9. The depiction of the
Lord is qualified and made more opaque by quasi. Canum is used once before in
a similar manner when Perpetua describes the image of the Good Shepherd
(IV.8). Perpetua’s depiction of God as Good Shepherd owes more to the pastoral
genre than does that of Saturus, whose dream is more indebted to the apocalyptic
vision employed in Revelation.
XII.3 he had white hair (niveos habentem capillos). Saturus’s vision of the Lord,
while reminiscent of Revelation 1.14 (καὶ αἱ τρίχες λευκαὶ, but cf. Dn 7.9), is more
restrained than that of John. John’s apocalyptic vision is of the Christ, the “Son of
Man” (ὅμοιον υἱὸν ἀνθρώπου, 1.13). John’s image captivated later imaginations
(see Cyprian, Hab. virg. 16.6).
XII.3 and a youthful face (et vultu iuvenili). The conjunction of youth and old
age was an established trope and was used to suggest wisdom ( Juv. Sat. 12.31–32:
nullam prudentia cani rectoris cum ferret opem). Saturus’s depiction emphasizes
that the Lord is outside of time, that the person of Christ reconciles all contradic-
tions, and that He was all things. The grey hair with the young face suggests wis-
dom in youth, a situation not normally found in the world but always manifest in
the figure of Jesus, particularly as a child (see Lk 2.46–52, and Gospel of Thomas
15). The character of Peter remarks that Christ is “young and old, appearing in
time and yet in eternity” (Acts of Peter in Schneemelcher, New Testament Apocry-
pha). Revelation emphasizes this conjunction of opposites: ἐγώ εἰμι ὁ πρῶτος καὶ
ὁ ἔσχατος καί ὁ ζῶν, ἐγενόμην νεκρὸς καὶ ἰδοὺ ζῶν (1.17–18). The conjunction of
youth and age was a part of primitive Christology, and indeed, some early Chris-
tians understood the figure of the “Ancient of Days” in Daniel 7 as Jesus (see
McKay, “Daniel’s Vision”; Royer, “Ancient of Days”; and Hofer, “Old Man as
Christ”).
XII.3 we could not see his feet (pedes non vidimus). God’s transcendence is mag-
nified through absence of human limbs. The feet anchor one to the earth, and
they are the palpable signs of earth’s governance over humanity (cf. Rv 1.15). The
unseen feet of God reinforce both God’s transcendence and immateriality. I have
been unable to find an earlier analogue of this motif, but later medieval manu-
script iconography frequently depicts God as having no feet in order to punctuate
his divinity. A particularly beautiful depiction of such a scene is by the Orosius
Master, the fifteenth century illuminator of Augustine’s City of God, in the Collins
bequest to the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
XII.4. four elders (seniores quattuor). There is no precise parallel to these four
elders; the passage is a mélange reflecting the groups of four spirits in Revelation
who surround Christ the Lamb (Rv 4.5, 5.6, 6.1, and 7.1, but see Formisano 108,
no. 126).
XII.4. were standing many other elders (ceteri seniores conplures stabant). Cf. Vetus
Rv 4.4: et super thronos viginti quattuor seniores sedentes. It is the angels who are
standing, and hence it is the martyrs who enter into the Lord’s presence (see
above XII.1).
XII.5. lifted us up (sublevaverunt nos). The throne-chariot vision in Ez 1.15–21
influenced the depiction of the “living creatures” going up and down in Rv 4.1, and it
is likely that Saturus knew this passage and perhaps was influenced by it. The elevation
suggests humanity’s limitations and God’s awesome majesty, and the “lifting up” is
reminiscent of the homage due to an emperor.
XII.5. and we kissed him (osculati sumus illum). This is the kiss of peace and wel-
come mentioned in Lk 7.45. It is reminiscent of the repeated exhortations in Paul
that the faithful when they meet should greet each other with a kiss: ἀσπάσασθε
ἀλλήλους ἐν φιλήματι ἁγίῳ/Salutate inuicem in osculo sancto (Rom 16.16; 1 Cor
16.20; 2 Cor 13.12; 1 Thes 5.26; 1 Pt 5.14). The verb osculari is used two other
times in the Passio. Perpetua receives the kiss of peace from the Christ-like figure
of the lanista (X.13), and in the amphitheatre during their martyrdom the mar-
tyrs offer each other the kiss of peace before they are killed (XXI.7). Each instance
of its use notes a turning point. Here their souls have now been officially received
through the kiss into the bosom of God.
XII.5. in a spirit of wonder (cum admiratione). The word also suggests veneration
for the gods or astonishment before the fantastic. See Cic. Off. 2.71, admiratione
divitiarum. Likewise, the Greek θαῦμα in Rv 17.6 has this connotation. The author
of the Greek Passio uses the equivalent participle θαυμάζοντες here.
XII.5 with his hand (de manu). The de is grammatically unnecessary and may
be a scribal insertion or a feature of later Latin, as the phrase does not require the
preposition governing the instrumental ablative.
XII.5. he stroked our faces (traiecit nobis in faciem). Although the verb traiciere is
not normally used in such contexts, the gesture is nonetheless loving, welcoming,
and almost certainly reminiscent of a paternal one. Traiciere commonly suggests
“throwing” or “traversing,” and not a caress. It may be being used in the sense of
passing one’s hand across one’s face. The figure of the Lord reminds us of Perpet-
ua’s father, who is described as an elderly man with grey hair (V.1). The figure of
the father once lost but now found is a theme of the Passio. The Greek περιέλαβεν
does not carry the meaning of traiciere, but rather the Greek phrase τῇ χειρὶ
περιέλαβεν suggests a full, affectionate embrace, almost a rapturous hug, and not
a gentle stroking of the face (LSJ, sv. περιλαμβάνω; and see Amat). The open palm
is a universal symbol for peace, welcome, and benediction. There are Biblical
precedents for God’s stroking the face, and specific statements that God will wipe
away one’s tears (see Is 25.8; Rv 7.17, 21.4).
XII.6 elders (seniores). cf. XII.3.
XII.6 we stood and we offered each other the sign of peace (stetimus et pacem fecimus).
The liturgical kiss was well established by this time, finding its earliest Christian in-
junction in Paul’s command for the faithful to greet one another with a holy kiss: ἐν
φιλήματι ἁγίῳ (1 Cor 16.20). The practice at this time was to stand during the liturgy.
Tertullian warns about the misuse of the kiss by the insincere and notes that Chris-
tians in mixed marriages often were discouraged from offering this sign of peace (see
Ad ux. 2.4). Paul’s ideal of the “holy kiss” given as a greeting is first recored as a litur-
gical ritual in Justin (1 Apol. 65.2, ἀλλήλους φιλήματι ἀσπαζόμεθα παυσάμενοι τῶν
εὐχῶν). It is consummated immediately before the bread and wine are brought to the
celebrant. Hippolytus also records the practice. The Greek treats this anecdote dif-
ferently from the Latin. The Greek reads Σταθῶμεν καὶ προσευξώμεθα, “let us stand
and pray.” It does not mention the kiss of peace as part of the spoken injunction of
the elders; rather, the Greek employs the participle in the next line (Kαὶ
εἰρηνοποιήσαντες), following the injunction almost as afterthought and not as an
integral part of the liturgical practice. This is an odd placement, since the kiss was a
feature of the liturgy at this time, and Origen, among others, suggests it had some
antiquity, commenting that it was a “custom handed down.”
XII.6 go (ite). The imperative of eo for the liturgical dismissal ἀπόλυσις is an
ancient part of the Roman ordo. Its use here following the liturgical kiss of peace
suggests the importance of the liturgy—celebrant as symbolic representative of

Deity—in the consciousness of these recent converts.
XII.6. play (ludite). The verb ludo is used twice in the Passio. It is used previ-
ously in its more familiar association to describe the play of children after
Dinocrates has been restored to health (VIII.3). In the present instance the
imperative suggests a mélange of meanings—“be at rest,” “be merry,” “be well,”
“be at peace”—albeit this last meaning would extend the semantic register of
the word (OLD, sv. ludo). If this description of the garden partakes of the locus
amoenus topos (XI.5), the martyrs are being sent back into the garden for re-
freshment and rest after their ordeal. The Greek χαίρεσθε is more denotative
than the Latin and has a stronger, almost Pauline, nuance (Phil. 3.1; and see
BDAG, sv. χαίρω, 1, and Lampe, sv. χαίρω, 1) and provides further evidence of
the presence of the developing tradition of Greek theological language in the
Passio. The two verbs appear incommensurate.
XII.7. You have what you want (Habes quod vis). Perpetua has known and
desired this outcome since her remarks to her brother: et intelleximus passionem
esse furturam (IV.10). Saturus appears to remind her of her earlier dream and that
which she has long desired in his remark, percepimus promissionem (XI.4).
XII.7. Thanks be to God (Deo gratias). Perpetua uses the phrase not only as an
expression of thanks but as a recognition of the completion of the promise. The
phrase is Pauline (1 Cor 15.57 and 2 Cor 2.14), and the Greek version Tῷ θεῷ
χάρις is likely a Scriptural formula. Tertullian notes that Job’s response to his trials
was to exclaim, cum ille homo ad omnem acerbum nuntium nihil ex ore promeret
nisi “Deo gratias” (De Pat. 14.4). The exclamation may have been a greeting used
by the African Christians for some years. Augustine notes that Catholics tradi-
tionally used this as a greeting, while the Donatists, particularly the Circumcel-
lions, were more likely to use Deo laudes (see the view of Tilley, “Donatist
Self-identity,” 22). The phrase was even adopted in Africa as a name; one Deogra-
tias was Bishop of Carthage from 453 to 456.
XII.7. happy (hilaris). The Latin expresses the sense of well-being deep within
and also an external cheerfulness. The Greek χαρῶ suggests her joyful indebted-
ness, her gratitude for the grace to achieve her martyrdom. The word was used in
earlier martyrological literature with the suggestion of grace. In the Martyrdom of
Polycarp, the martyrs look to the grace of Christ (Mart. Pol. 2.3, καὶ προσέχοντες
τῇ τοῦ Xριστοῦ χάριτι).
XII.7. because (ut). Amat (239) cites Fridh’s argument that ut is used causally
in place of quod. There are instances in the New Testament where ἵνα is taken
causally (see Rv 22.14; and see Blass, sec. 369.2). But see Halporn (45), who
suggests that ἵνα introduces an epexegetic construction introducing an explana-
tory clause.
XII.7. here now (hic modo). Both used adverbially (OLD, s.v. modo, 5). The
Greek employs νῦν for modo but does not have any word equivalent to hic.
CHAPTER XIII
The Argument: Charism over Authority

The last part of Saturus’s dream centers around a curious meeting between the
two martyrs and two members of the clergy. Their encounter with the Lord is
over. They have just left his presence and that of the angelic host and their fellow
martyrs. Saturus and Perpetua are standing outside the dwelling place of the
Lord. In front of the Gates of Heaven they meet two members of the clergy, whom
they recognize, Optatus the bishop, and Aspasius the priest and teacher. Saturus
first calls our attention to their physical location, pointing out that Optatus is on
the right and Aspasius on the left. At first glance, this seems to be simply a narra-
tive device intended to illustrate spatial dimensions in an otherwise ethereal,
nonspatial universe. However, there may be more to it than that, as the next thing
we are told is that the clerics are in conflict and unable to resolve their dispute.
The “right” and “left” designations underscore their disjunction, their dishar-
mony, and suggest a fissure in the ecclesia.
The clerics throw themselves at the martyrs’ feet and beg that the martyrs
resolve their conflict. Curiously for two men at odds, the bishop and priest always
speak with one voice. Optatus’s and Aspasius’s remarks imply that the martyrs’
deaths have left the Church in this conflict. Such a suggestion hinges on the idea
that the presence of the martyrs in prison was a source of conflict resolution as
well as a source for pride for the community. The martyrs may have been the
most zealous of the Christians living in the community, and hence the founda-
tion of the faithful. As long as there were martyrs in the prisons, the Christians
could walk proudly in the midst of pagan scorn. The martyr is the Christian hero,
willing to die for principle, analogous to such classical figures as Socrates or Zeno.
The narrator of the Martyrs of Lyons suggests this very thing about the martyrs in
his community (13). Moreover, those who were being tortured in Lyons, even
after the most horrific punishment, continued to exhort and encourage the others
(καὶ τοὺς λοιποὺς παρορμῶντες καὶ παραμυθούμενοι, 28). Hence, the genuine loss
to the small Christian community in Carthage was heartfelt.
The prostration as an act of self-abasement is reminiscent of Perpetua’s
father’s prostration at his daughter’s feet and is a symbolic act which acknowl-
edges the power and the authority of the martyr over both bishop and priest.
The recognized norms of authority and subordination are reversed. The power
is not owned by the official clergy but by the charismatic few who profess their
faith even unto death. Does this anecdote in Saturus’s dream serve as an argu-
ment for elevating the role of the martyr over that of the church officials? It
would appear so. This point does not suggest that the dream is subtly advo-
cating a proto-Montanist agenda of the prophet over the bishop. There is
nothing but friendship between the martyrs and the clergy. Yet the martyrs
seem not to be so sure of their role as peacemakers, since they remonstrate with
their clergy, reminding them of the appropriate function of their authority
within the Church. The martyrs use the affectionate terms “father” for bishop
and “elder” for priest, and seem genuinely unaware of the nature of the specific
conflict. If this conflict—let us for the moment assume it is a theological dis-
pute reflected in the community and shared by the bishop and the priest—were
a serious, public one, one has to ask why the martyrs respond with a question
concerning issues of authority and why the actual nature of the dispute is never
broached. Our answer must be a conjecture, but perhaps a public disclosure of
the conflict was such a source of potential embarrassment that to reveal it would
bring the community into even greater disrepute among other Christians and
the Roman authorities. The martyrs, moved by the plight of their fellow Chris-
tians, embrace them.
Saturus next reports that Perpetua alone began to speak with the clerics in
Greek, as the martyrs led them into a garden filled with rose trees. The park with
the flowering roses symbolizes peace, tranquility, and transcendence. Why does
Saturus single out this incident of Perpetua’s speaking with the clergy in Greek?
What does it offer to his narrative? First, the incident reveals that these members
of the clerical hierarchy in Carthage were Greek speakers. However, this fact by
itself does not suggest that the liturgy was necessarily in Greek, nor is this why
Saturus highlights the incident. The Latin Church had had a presence in North
Africa at least since the late seventies of the second century, and this presence was
sufficient to have caused some secular authorities difficulty as early as 180, the
date of the Scillitan Martyrs, who were persecuted somewhere north and slightly
west of Carthage. Judging by the names of the martyrs, they were Latin in orien-
tation, and it is possible that the copies of the Scriptural books they possessed
were in Latin. Second, the incident unequivocally underlines that Perpetua was a
woman of education, sophistication, and authority. Her power is being under-
scored. Her authority is now greater than even that of her teacher, and so says her
teacher.
The angels abruptly interrupt this four-way conversation and admonish the
clergy, telling them to settle their disputes among themselves and leave Saturus
and Perpetua to rest. The angels single out the bishop Optatus for specific remon-
strance. This is worth a second look. Optatus is the bishop, perhaps of Carthage
itself, and the one who is charged by the universal church with overseeing the
community. Their rebuke is tantalizing: they tell Optatus to straighten out his
flock because the faithful have as many opinions as those partisans of the four
factions in the circus races. The angels, speaking with wisdom from on high, speak
against the pluralism and diversity that apparently existed in some segments of
this church. Perhaps this is simply an indictment of a particularly weak bishop, or
it may suggest the rich theological tumult of the early third century church in
Carthage before orthodoxy suppressed divergent views and brought others into
the fold. This may be a glimpse into the autonomy of some of these house
churches, where differing views were given free rein.
The dream ends abruptly. Their encounter with the Lord over, the angels
wish to bring their visitation to a close, and so Saturus writes that they apparently
wished to close the Gates of Heaven. As this is happening Saturus notes that he
and Perpetua became aware of many of their brothers and fellow martyrs there.
Where precisely is this “there” (illic)? Are these newly recognized and recently
dead milling about outside the gates with Perpetua and Saturus, waiting their
turn to enter into the throne room of God? Or is this final recognition a last,
longing look beyond the Gates of Heaven into the throne room of the Lord,
which they have just left and to which they hope to return? Saturus’s final remark
before awaking is his account of the indescribable odor of sanctity, which fills
their spirit with a rich well-being. He awakens from this joyous state. The dream
is prophetic and promises the martyrs a reward of the vision of God in heaven.
Like his fellow traveler Perpetua, Saturus represents his deity through the figure
of God the Good Shepherd (IV), who awaits their return home.
Chapter XIII Commentary
XIII.1. we went out and we saw (exivimus et vidimus). The syntax is terse, and the
repetition of the assonantal forms of the perfect plural force the action quickly
forward.
XIII.1. in front of the gates (ante fores). Although they are now in heaven, the “gates”
signify that there are gradations of the sacred in heaven. The “gates” symbolize the
transitional passage from the house of God (XII.1) to the garden just outside.
XIII.1. Optatus the bishop (Optatum episcopum). Saturus refers to this individual
as the “bishop” (LSJ, s.v. ἐπίσκοπος, “overseer”), but he never identifies his jurisdic-
tion. There is no other mention of Optatus in the historical record. The first source
of information about the bishops of Carthage is the Council of Carthage (ca.198?–
220?), possibly summoned by Agrippinus, Bishop of Carthage. Roman North
Africa was, however, rich in episcopal leaders, as seventy bishops attended the first
council. If Optatus was the bishop of Carthage, this early mention in the Passio,
would make him either the first or second bishop of the city. Monceaux places
Optatus’s episcopacy in the early years of the third century (see Monceaux, Histoire
littéraire, vol. 1, 19). While Cyprian refers to Agrippinus, who “ruled the Lord’s
church in the province of Africa and Numidia . . . many years and a long time before
(quando anni sint iam multi et longa aetas),” he makes no mention of Optatus (Cyp-
rian, Ep. 71.4, 73.3; see in Diercks, ed. “Sancti Cypriani Episcopi Epistularium,”
CCSL, IIIc. in Sancti Cypriani Episcopi Opera. Pars III.2). Hassett, among others,
has suggested (with no corroborating evidence) that Optatus was the bishop of
Thuburbo Minus. From the summons of the First Council of Carthage to the as-
cendancy of Cyprian (May 248–249), therefore, we only have the names of four
who were called bishop: Agrippina, Optatus, Cyrus, and Donatus. Hippolytus,
however, in a list of the bishops who followed the apostles, mentions one Epaene-
tus, in the nineteenth position, whom he calls “bishop of Carthage.” This allusion
may possibly be derived from Rom 16.5.
The bishop of Carthage by the middle of the third century was the principal leader
of the African church. Although the bishop of Carthage was not, in principle, the
leader of the African church at this time, he was in practice the primus inter pares, and
even those clergy (πρεσβύτεροι) under other metropolitans (e.g., Oea, now Tripoli)
could appeal to his authority over that of their immediate superior. The name Opta-
tus was not uncommon in Christian North Africa, as the late fourth century Optatus,
bishop of Milevis, makes clear. The name was used as a cognomen and likely signaled
that the birth of the child was wanted; it may suggest in this context “the one chosen.”
XIII.1. Aspasius the priest and teacher (Aspasium presbyterum doctorem). Aspa-
sius as a priest (BDAG, s.v. πρεσβύτερος, elder) was an elder of the community. As is
the case with Optatus, there is no mention of this individual outside the Passio.
It is clear from Saturus’s remark that Aspasius was their teacher and that Optatus was
his superior, the senior member of the clergy in this city (see Ign. Smyr. 8.1–2 and 1
Clem. 44.4). There is administrative ambiguity in the terms “bishop” and “priest”
(see also Lampe, s.v. πρεσβύτερος). In the first century, the terms appear to be used
interchangeably and likely signified overlapping jurisdictions and functions (1 Clem.
42; see also Baus, “From the Apostolic Community,” vol.1, 148 and Baker, Great
High Priest, 58). Although by the beginning of the third century the duties of the
bishop and presbyters were distinct and the presbyter served principally as a guide
and teacher to the catechumens, liturgical terminology was not yet fixed. Tertullian
states that one only receives the sacrament of the Eucharist from the hand of the one
who presides (Cor. 3.3: nec de aliorum manu quam praesidentium). The Greek does
not mention that Aspasius was their teacher (doctor), a significant omission.
XIII.1. right-hand side (ad dexteram). This use of right and left might be a further
indication of status with Optatus, the bishop and senior official on the right (the
side of righteousness and power), and Aspasius, his subordinate, on the left. The
Passio does use such location, however, without such apparent symbolism (XII.4).
XIII.1. separated and sorrowful (separatos et tristes). This image of discord is

strengthened because the two officials are outside the gates. They have not been
admitted to the house of God where the martyrs dwell. The differences are
striking between this scene and the representation of the faithful in Chapter XII.
There, the place of the meeting with God is filled with angels and many martyrs,
all of whom stand around chanting praise to the Lord. These two church officials
are depicted alone and isolated from one another; they stand in front of the gates
outside the house of God. The criticism of these members of the church hierarchy
is explicit.
XIII.2. they threw themselves at our feet (et miserunt se ad pedes). The martyr,
depicted as superior to these administrative officials, is able to bring harmony
out of discord. Charismatic leadership is superior to bureaucratic. There may
be a hint of the Montanist promotion of the prophetic and suffering ministry
over that of the administrative clergy. The martyrs’ respective dreams reveal
something of the personalities of these two individuals, Perpetua and Saturus.
Saturus seems concerned with issues of leadership and authority and so delib-
erately places the martyrs over all other members of the Church. Perpetua’s
dreams are more nuanced, more personal, and her critique is subtle and made
by the example of her action. Their submissive action is reminiscent of her
father’s behavior in V.4.
XIII.2. make peace between us (componite inter nos). The discord was local, since
there were no major public heresies dividing the African Church at this time (ca.
203–7).
XIII.2. for you have gone away and left us in this state (quia . . . reliquistis). The
church officials acknowledge the death of the martyrs, but the line also suggests
that the discord existed while the martyrs were alive and that they may have
known about it. Exeo is ambiguous in this context. Although exeo can mean “to
die” (OLD, s.v. exeo, 7; and XI.2), it seems more in keeping with their request for
help to translate it as “have gone away.” However, if, as Saturus tells us, they have
already died, perhaps the bishop and priest are requesting assistance from beyond
the grave. If one were to adopt “died,” one would be depending on their knowl-
edge of intercessory prayer. Tertullian acknowledges that it is good to honor the
dead on their birthdays, but he does not suggest that they can help the living (Cor.
3.3: Oblationes pro defunctis, pro nataliciis, annua die facimus; the Greek version
uses ἐξέρχομαι; and see also 1 Cor 5.10).
XIII.3. our father (papa noster). A childish form, equivalent to the Greek πάππας
(LSJ, s.v. πάππας). Its use in Latin may also represent a childish pronunciation of
paedagogus (OLD, s.v. pappas; and see Souter, s.v. papa), which, when it was
adopted in Christian Latin of the second century, served as an affectionate and
respectful name for the office of bishop (see also Tert. Pud. 13.7; and Lampe, s.v.
πάπας). Perpetua always refers to her father as pater and never as papa. See also
Bastiaensen, “Le cérémonial épistolaire,” 23, 38.
XIII.4. Perpetua began (coepit Perpetua). See X.11.
XIII.4. speak to them in Greek (Graece cum illis loqui). This suggests that the
clergy, at least in this case, were Greek speakers. Her use of Greek is not a
hyperbole underscoring her sophistication, particularly in light of what I have
suggested about her father’s fondness for things Greek and her own superior
education. Although some in the Church were hostile to Greek philosophy—as
aptly expressed in Tertullian’s ringing phrase, Quid ergo Athenis et Hierosolymis?—
some of the educated community of Carthage would have been bilingual. I would
not agree with Brown that the majority were (see Brown, Christianity & West-
ern Thought, 91; and Amat, 30). The subject of bilingualism, particularly among
Latin and Greek speakers, is a complex and important subject. Swain, in a fasci-
nating essay on code-switching, indicates that “there is (as has been pointed out)
no evidence to prove that any educated Roman did regularly hold conversations
in Greek with or write letters in Greek to his fellow Romans” (see his “Bilin-
gualism in Cicero,” 147).
XIII.4. and we led them (segregavimus eos). The martyrs are the ones who con-
trol the situation and hence lead the way; the bishop and priest follow.
XIII.4. park under a rose tree (viridiarium sub arbore rosae). Heaven is frequently
allegorized as a cultivated flower garden and also as the place where disputes are
settled and justice provided. Susanna was accused of a crime by two evil elders
but was saved by the visionary zeal of Daniel (see Dn 13.54). The rose flower
often figures in images associated with heaven. In the depiction of paradise in the
Apocalypse of Peter (Akhmim fragment), Christ goes off with his disciples, who
ask him to show them the righteous who dwell in heaven. At once they are shown
those whose transfigured bodies appear whiter than snow and redder than any
rose (Apoc. Pet. 1.8).
XIII.5. Let them rest (Sinite illos refrigerent). For refrigero, see above. The Greek
ἀναψ ύξαι is somewhat more literal, suggesting “a break, rest, respite,” with
perhaps less of the theological overtones inherent in refrigero. There are two NT
citations, 2 Tm 1.16 and Rom 15.32, but the latter may be σ υναναπαύσωμαι
(see Moulton and Milligan, s.v. ἀναψ ύχω; and see BDAG, s.v. ἀναψ ύξις and
ἀναψύχω). Refrigero can be the Latin equivalent of either. The Greek text of the
Passio suggests again a likely influence from the NT; but see also Ignatius of
Antioch, Trall. 12.2 and Eph. 2.1, who uses the verb ἀναψύχω transitively, as does
2 Tm 1.16.
XIII.5. disagreements (dissensiones). While it is tempting to suggest a reason for
their fractiousness—was it theological, or personal?—we have no means of
knowing with certainty. That it may be a religious dispute is suggested by the angels’
admonition to Optatus in XIII.6. The chief threat to orthodoxy at the time was
various forms of dualism, whether they were Marconite, Gnostic, Valentinian, or
proto-Montanist. All these were known in Carthage in the early years of the third
century (see A. Marjanen and P. Luomanen, A Companion to Second-Century
Christian “Heretics,” Leiden: Brill, 2005).
XIII.6. the angels admonished them (et conturbaverunt eos). The verb conturbo
strongly suggests that they were confounded and that the angelic dictum threw
their thoughts into disarray. The Greek καὶ ἐπέπληξαν αὐτούς is consultative and
ameliorative and has little of the force of the Latin conturbo. The Greek ἐπιπλήσσω
has more of the sense of rebuke, as in 1 Ti 5.1.
XIII.6. Rebuke your people (Corrige plebem tuam). The difficulty appears more
to be with the bishop Optatus and his congregation than with Aspasius the pres-
byter, since the latter is not singled out.
XIII.6. from the chariot races (de circo). For Christians the “circus” was a trope
for idolatry, since attendance there polluted the spirit: de contaminatis contam-
inamur (Tert. Spect. 5.8, 8.10).
XIII.6. arguing about the different teams (de factionibus certantes). The bishop
Optatus is criticized because his congregation does not hold to orthodox
truth but fight among themselves, proffering different points of view. He is a weak
shepherd of his flock and contrasts poorly with the figure of the Good Shepherd
in IV.9. The word factio reminds one of the four factions (“teams” and their sup-
porters) who competed in the races held in the circus (see Halporn, 47). The
rivalry of these contests almost led to a civil war during the Nike riots of January
532, during Justinian’s administration.
XIII.7. as if they wanted to shut (quasi vellent claudere). The referent for the vel-
lent is not altogether clear. However, it seems unlikely that neither Perpetua or
Saturus nor the clergy with whom they are talking would have authority to close
the Gates of Heaven. It must be the unnamed angels who wish to close the gates.
The house of the Lord was traditionally depicted with gatekeepers (2 Chr 23.19).
XIII.7. the gates (portas). The “Gates of Heaven” is a common expression in
Scripture and the Pseudepigrapha (see Enoch 9.2).
XIII.8. brothers ( fratres). The word frater here refers to a fellow believer,
whereas in II.2 it refers to a blood relative.
XIII.8. and martyrs also (et martyras). The syntax suggests that their brethren
whom they see in heaven consist of martyrs and others who are not martyrs,
since otherwise there would be little reason to cite both groups. Oddly, Tertullian
cites the Passio in his remark that Perpetua in her vision of heaven sees only mar-
tyrs there (De Anim. 55.4: Quomodo Perpetua, fortissima martyr, sub die passionis
in reuelatione paradisi solos illic martyras uidit). Tertullian believed that until
Christ’s Second Coming heaven was closed to all except the martyrs, and he used
Rv 6.9 and this citation from the Passio as his proof texts for that position. If, how-
ever, Tertullian is referring to this passage above, it is curious that in his citation
he attributes the dream to Perpetua, whereas it is Saturus’s vision. Perhaps Tertul-
lian is relying on the plural phrase et coepimus illic multos fraters cognoscere in his
attribution of the vision to Perpetua. Alternately, he may be conflating this vision
with her vision of the martyrs in IV.8, or he may have possessed a text different
from those that survived. If he is referencing this latter scene, it is well to point out
that Perpetua never actually refers to this group with the word “martyr” but says
et circumstantes candidati milia multa (see IV.8).
XIII.8. we were all nourished by an indescribable fragrance (universi odore inenar-
rabili alebamur). Antiquity always understood the gods as being enveloped with a
pleasing scent. The Elysian Fields and Mount Ida were believed to be sweet-
smelling. The Graces are depicted as wearing garments suffused with floral scents.
Incense was believed to propitiate the gods and to serve as a vehicle to ascend to
them. However, early Christians were skeptical of the use of scents, particularly
incense—Origen called it the “food for demons”—because of its association with
the ritual of sacrifice to the genius of the emperor. The idea of the sweet smell as-
sociated with the righteous dead was taken up by Christians who sought to legit-
imate, through such attributive characteristics, the idea of the resurrection of the
body—an idea that was well established at least from the time of Justin Martyr.
Polycarp’s immolated body is said to have smelled fragrantly like gold smelted or
bread baking in an oven (Mart. Pol. 15.2). Indeed, the tradition both in the clas-
sical and Christian world of identifying the afterlife and divinity with fragrance
may stem from the association of the memory of the sweet smell of the embalmed
body with this transition from life to death. Paul may have begun a tradition
which associated the priesthood with an aroma pleasing to God (2 Cor 2.15).
Incense and fragrance are ubiquitous in John’s vision of heaven (Rv. 5.8, 8.3–4).
The Greek text, however, reads exactly the opposite of the Latin and states that
the scent did not satisfy, οὐκ ἐχόρταζεν ἡμᾶς. Perhaps the Greek here is equivalent
to the idiomatic use in English where, when one wishes to praise something, one
says something which employs a negative to indicate genuine approval, for ex-
ample: “the aroma was so pleasant that I could not get enough of it.” It has been
conjectured that the reading οὐκ in MS H might be emended to οὖν (van Beek).
XIII.8. Then, rejoicing, I awoke (Tunc gaudens expertus sum). Perpetua uses the
perfect form of expergiscor four times, at the end of each of her dreams (IV.10,
VII.9, VIII.4, and X.14), and Saturus but once. The word marks the end of each
dream, and its placement makes clear that Saturus has but one dream, which tra-
dition has broken into three separate sections. I use expertus sum, following the
MS evidence in preference to the classical experrectus sum adopted by van Beek
from MS M. Expertus has the support of MSS A, E, P, and N.
CHAPTER XIV
The Argument: Wrapping Up and Afterthoughts

R has at least a threefold purpose in this brief chapter. First, it allows him to
conclude the narrative of the dreams of Saturus and Perpetua, repeating his claim
that they wrote the narratives themselves. Second, it accounts for the case of
Secundulus, and third, it provides the opportunity to make the transition from
autobiography to his narrative of Felicity, which immediately follows. R’s remark
that the dreams were extraordinary should not be read with the valence the word
insigniores might have if rendered in modern English, that is, “impossible,”
“bizarre,” “surprising,” or “fantastic.” Rather, insigniores suggests that the events
were simply outside the normal course of events. Because of God’s favor the
martyrs were able to transcend all normative bounds of material cause and effect,
including, in Saturus’s dream narrative, death itself. The dreams function as proof
of the Christian God’s power and authority and confirm Christ’s reply to Pilate
that his kingdom is not of this world ( Jn 18.36). To all those who would follow
the model of the martyrs, there is an explicit promise inherent in the word
insigniores that they too will be privileged to receive such treatment.
Let us turn to the situation of Secundulus. He is only mentioned twice in the
entire Passio, here and in Chapter II, where only his name is given. We know
nothing else about him. If he is so insignificant, why does R draw attention to him
again? The answer to the question is likely related to the situation at the end of the
Passio. R records by name—Saturus, Saturninus, and Revocatus—the deaths of
all the other martyrs who were killed in the arena. Perpetua’s three male compan-
ions are dispatched by various animals (XIX, XXI), and she and Felicity are
themselves killed (XX, XXI). Five of the six are accounted for. The obvious ques-
tion is what has happened to Secundulus? R may simply be trying to account for
the obvious void at the end of the Passio. Yet why call attention to his death at this
juncture, in the middle of the narrative, and not at the end? It is possible that
Secundulus died at about this point in the history of the actual events and that R
has added that fact here out of a respect for the historical accuracy of the narra-
tive. Conversely, the text as we have it may have become corrupted over the cen-
turies, and an anecdote that was formerly at the end of the Passio has been moved
to its present position. While we cannot answer definitively the question why
Secundulus is featured here, the nature of his death and what R says about it are
most important. In order to understand, we have to assume the posture of an
ancient listener. Imagine that you are a member of this small Christian commu-
nity and you are listening to this narrative being read to you. You know the story.
You may even have been at the very games. Secundulus was not present at the
climactic end. Rumors began to circulate almost immediately: Where was he?
What happened to Secundulus while in prison? Was he faithful? Did he kill him-
self? Did he apostatize? And did he flee? Read from this frame of reference, R’s
remarks reveal a certain anxiety to account for Secundulus. R is uncharacteristi-
cally explicit. He states that God called Secundulus from this world while still in
prison. Thus, he rules out apostasy and suicide, since if God took him, he must
still have been in God’s favor. R next addresses the specifics of how he died. His
prose has the tone of an apology. Although Secundulus did escape (lucror) the
fight with the beasts, R is quick to note that Secundulus still suffered in the flesh.
He was tortured. R’s concern that the faithful believe this about Secundulus
emphasizes that entrée to the ranks of the martyrs requires blood sacrifice. It
would not have been enough if Secundulus expired naturally.
Finally, R obliquely remarks that Secundulus’s soul did not know the sword. This
is a puzzlingly oblique comment, but in light of the entire context of his narrative
concerning Secundulus, it can be read as an affirmation of Secundulus’s faithfulness
to the end. His physical body succumbed to the sword; that is, he died of torture in
prison—the Greek suggests he was hung on a pole—while his spirit remained
steadfast (did not know the sword) because it resisted the deadly temptation to
apostatize. “Sword” is a metaphor for the temptation to apostatize. Secundulus
resisted the temptation to renounce his Christianity, despite the threat of death. R
may be alluding here to the suffering of the Blessed Virgin Mary in the New Testa-
ment (Lk 2.35). The verbal echo in the Greek text is clear: τὴν σάρκα αὐτοῦ διεξῆλθεν
τὸ ξίφος. Simeon prophesized to Mary that Jesus would be a glory to Israel but that
she would feel a sword pierce her soul at seeing her son’s persecution and death; the
sword is a metaphor for Mary’s suffering. Secundulus never succumbed to the
temptation to save his life and renounce his God. Yet his spirit, though steadfast,
resisted the pain of the sword that is the temptation of apostasy.
Lastly, these few lines of Chapter XIV allow R to provide a transition from the
autobiographical narratives he is so at pains to legitimate to the biographical
details he personally knew and felt privileged to recount.
Chapter XIV Commentary
XIV.1. extraordinary (insigniores). The Greek superlative ἐμφανέσταται is subtly

different, suggesting the visions are “real,” “plain,” “available” for all to see (BDAG,
s.v. ἐμφανής).
XIV.1. most blessed (beatissimorum). Although the term was used in the impe-
rial epithets, nobilissimus ac beatissimus Caesar (referring to Emperor Valerius
Constantius, 293−306), I am unable to find the term used in Christian Latin to
refer to martyrs earlier than this instance. The superlative indicates the enormity
of the martyrs’ sacrifice and their particular hallowedness in the Church. The
term caught on, as Cyprian uses it (Ep. 77), and Victor Vitensis, bishop of Byz-
acena, uses the expression in his martyrology, Passio beatissimorum martyrum
qui apud Carthaginem passi sunt (c. 484; see also Bastiaensen, “Le cérémonial
épistoliare,” 26–27; and Dickey, Latin Forms of Address, 131, 313). The Greek
lacks an adjectival form equivalent to beatissimorum.
XIV.1. which they themselves wrote (quas ipsi conscripserunt). R again under-
scores the autobiographical nature of the texts, thereby reinforcing their iconic
status. See my discussion in the argument for Chapter XI above.
XIV.2. As for Secundulus (Secundulum vero). This is only the second time (II.2)
that this martyr, whose name is a dimunitive of Secundus and means “second,” is
mentioned. His name suggests a status as a slave or freedman.
XIV.2. God . . . called him (Deus . . . evocavit). Secundulus died in prison before
the games. Because R emphasizes that he was called from this world by God, and
hence is a martyr, we may conclude that he likely died from his privations.
XIV.2. not without favor (non sine gratia). I have avoided “grace” as a translation
for gratia because the word bears an enormous semantic complexity which may
not be applicable to his situation (Souter, s.v. gratia, and BDAG, s.v. χάρις). The
Greek emphasizes the idea that his death was a calling and that he was worthy
(κλήσεως ἠξιώθη).
XIV.2. he might escape the fight with the beasts (ut bestias lucraretur). At first
glance the word lucror seems a peculiar choice, since it is so clearly identified with
the idea of financial gain. It is possible that lucror might be used in the sense that
Saturus “might gain” the favor of escaping the beasts. The word also meant to be
spared a difficult situation (OLD, s.v. lucror, 3; and see Apul. Met. 8.12: mora tem-
poris dignum cruciatum lucaris). Tertullian uses the word lucror to signal an
escape through death from the cares of the world (De Anim. 4.7). It is likely that
it is used in this sense in the Passio here. The Greek κερδάνας τὸ μὴ θηριομαχῆσαι
(“having gained not fighting the beasts”) is a bit clearer, stressing his “gain.”
XIV.2. Yet his flesh . . . sword (Gladium . . . agnovit). This is a curious and difficult
remark. Does the line suggest that Secundulus died from torture by the prison
guards but that during this persecution his spirit remained free of any temptation to
apostatize, and thus he did not recant? R’s phrase non anima is there for a purpose
and must indicate a difference between the deaths of those in the arena and that of
Secundulus. R is concerned to make it clear that Secundulus died honorably. Were
the events already so familiar that R wishes to correct any misunderstanding, or any
false rumors, concerning Secundulus’ death? R employs corpus and anima here as
traditional opposites: the former is the world and the latter the realm of the imma-
terial. Thus, although violence took Secundulus’s physical life, his spirit remained
true. Although the Greek verb διεξῆλθεν is reminiscent of Lk 2.35, it is difficult to
know how R might have understood Lk 2.35 as an influence in this line.
CHAPTER XV
The Argument: Victory through Suffering

Having completed his discussion of how Secundulus died, R now turns to the
more dramatic situation of Felicity. Her chapter is the longest and most detailed
of those devoted to a single character. This is a designedly triumphal chapter and
intended as such. It begins R’s introduction of the protagonist in a deceptive,
almost casual tone: “As for Felicity,” but it is one of the more theologically nu-
anced chapters of the entire Passio. It opens ominously with the time of Felicity’s
death and her impending alienation from her fellows because of her pregnancy,
but it ends joyously with the birth of a daughter, the promise of Christianity’s
triumph over the state. R amplifies the idea that a sincere imitation of the Christ
can prepare one as a worthy vessel and allow for a joining of the human with the
divine. These two natures, the human and the divine, can exist simultaneously,
hypostatically, not mixed, but independently alongside of one another, provided
the vessel is innocent and pure and follows carefully the Christian program,
particularly that of sacrificial blood-witness. Such eschatological theology also
provided, paradoxically, a depth of psychological support for this embattled com-
munity. There is little doubt that for this beleaguered church in Carthage the
physical enactment of martyrdom was a call to a new spiritual heroism. Such a
call to heroic valour provided a mechanism to cope with the corrosive fear of
imminent persecution. The uncertainty of not knowing whether the authorities
might learn of one’s conversion, whether a neighbor or a family member had
turned one in, and whether you might be arrested at any time and summarily ex-
ecuted would have been debilitating, and as the Letter of the Martyrs of Lyons and
Vienne shows, such fear led some converts to apostatize. Apostasy was the most
serious threat the Church faced from within, as it provided a model, a rational
model, which their non-Christian contemporaries could point to and argue that
once these Christians came to their senses they realized that to live a good life
within the mos maiorum was the only rational choice.
Martyrdom, turning persecution into an opportunity for personal transcen-
dence, mitigates the fear of torture and death—mitigates it only, it need be
stressed—and allows the persecuted and the persecutor to change places symbol-
ically. Within the Christian community, the persecuted becomes the victor and
the persecutor the vanquished. Martyrdom also limits the allure of apostasy, since
it provides a powerful response to those who would renounce their faith, to wit,
that immediate union with the transcendent God is available to them as against
the routine practice of a normal life within the rigid social obligations of the state.
R writes with a keen awareness of the important social and political implica-
tions of this chapter. Felicity is a slave. Her lack of status, her enslavement, is, once
she acts to violate the dictates of the state, a denial of the legitimacy of their au-
thority. Her action embodies the Pauline idea that in Christ there is neither male
nor female, slave nor free, a doctrine which, if followed prescriptively, was empow-
ering and attractive to the lower classes: the lowest members of Roman society
could aspire to the highest of spiritual heights. Such a promise was bound to at-
tract and did attract converts among such classes. Perpetua is the only one who
dies in this persecution who is not identified as either a slave or a freeman. Felici-
ty’s behavior also functions as a synecdoche. She is the figure who represents the
physical continuity and triumph of Christianity over paganism, despite all the
efforts of the old religion to expunge its new rival. Her enslavement is demon-
strable proof that the machinery of the state cannot control even the least of its
members once they convert to Christianity. R depicts the struggle and subse-
quent victory as one which pits the least of God’s creations against the most
powerful elite of Roman society. It is a narrative representation of a female David
against Goliath. Felicity’s weapon is not a slingshot but her body, her fecundity.
She gives birth to a child, a daughter, who is raised by an anonymous sister. The
implication is deliberate and clear: the unnamed child will be raised a Christian,
and her heel will bruise the old religion’s head. The child represents the victory of
Christianity in the face of every effort to annihilate it and the inevitable death of
classical religion in Africa.
R notes that Felicity was pregnant when arrested and that she is now eight
months pregnant. Why is he so explicit on this point? Acknowledging that she
was pregnant when arrested (absent in the Greek) is intended to allay any suspi-
cion that she may have become pregnant subsequent to her arrest, that is, that she
engaged in sexual relations after having become a Christian. This may not seem to
be such a pertinent piece of information, but the ambiguity concerning her mar-
ital status makes it imperative that R convey to his audience that her pregnancy is
a preconversion event. Moreover, this particular Christian community, or at least
this particular house-church, appears to have been ascetic in its inclination (Tert.
Ad Ux. 1.3.2). The chronology of her pregnancy might provide a hint as to the
length of time the authorities held them under arrest. Unfortunately, the text
does not provide sufficient information, and thus it will not support such an
analysis with any accuracy. We do not know how long she had been pregnant at
the time of her arrest. She may have been three or seven months pregnant. All the
text states is that she is eight months pregnant now. R’s specification of time is
intended to link parturition with the miracle of prayer.
Felicity’s pregnancy, paradoxically, is not a cause for her joy but for sorrow,
since it is likely to keep her from being killed with her fellow martyrs. If she is ex-
ecuted with common criminals and not with her fellow martyrs, her innocent and
pure blood will mingle with theirs and be polluted. This appeal to the ritual purity
of their sacrifice and their innocent blood, while it may echo the crucifixion and
the innocent blood of the Lamb slaughtered for the salvation of mankind, is an
idea that also has roots in earlier North African practices. And while these two
ideas are parallel, they are also different. R represents Felicity’s sacrifice as that of
an individual whose suffering has made her ritually pure, separate, set apart from
the criminal element in society (sceleratos). Christ’s sacrifice, on the other hand,
was redemptive. His sacrifice took place with that of two common criminals, one
of whom he welcomed into paradise. This idea of sacrifice as ritual purification is
also consonant with what we know of the extreme eschatological bent of the Car-
thaginian church, whose ideas on martyrdom may owe something to the indige-
nous religion and the practice of cultic killing to honor the deities of Baal and
Tanit. While one must be wary of blood libel charges, particularly with individ-
uals as volatile as Tertullian, his claim that such infanticide was still practiced spo-
radically in Carthage as late as the reign of Tiberius and that it was done secretly
during his own lifetime, Sed et nunc in occulto perseverat hoc sacrum facinus, ap-
pears credible (Apol. 9.2–3). The Tophet (cf. 2 Kgs 23.10) in Carthage contains
thousands of amphora, and the osteological evidence is unequivocal, showing
that most of the bones and ashes are from healthy children from two to three
months old, though some as old as five have been found there (see Stager and
Wolff, “Child Sacrifice at Carthage”; and Levenson, Death and Resurrection, 20).
R provides a reason for the delay in Felicity’s execution, citing that of the prec-
edent of the law. Roman law is nuanced on the issue of executing a pregnant
woman. It forbade the killing of the fetus, since the fetus was innocent of the
crime of the mother, and further, the unborn child was the property of the hus-
band, father, or owner (see XV.2 below). While R’s arguments are historically ac-
curate concerning the law, it is interesting to ask for whom was such rather specific
legal information intended. If the audience was a local and contemporary one,
that is, a mixed congregation of Christians and the newly converted in the years
just after 203, would they have required such jurisprudential information? Should
we expect a contemporary audience to require such amplification? It seems more
likely that such specific information would be of greater benefit to those not as
intimately acquainted with the Roman statutes. This might include colonials,
members of the nonelite classes, or both.
R is also concerned to construct what I would call a narrative symmetry in his
representation of the events. For example, the two infants in the narrative, Per-
petua’s son and Felicity’s daughter, have received almost no consideration by
scholars, yet their presence is nonetheless important to R’s purpose. The birth of
Felicity’s daughter reminds the audience of Perpetua’s loss. The loss of Perpet-
ua’s son to this struggling community—he will be raised a proper Roman by his
grandfather—is more than offset by the birth of Felicity’s daughter, who,
symbolically as a female child, will be fruitful and multiply the offspring of this
struggling Christian church. The female life-affirming aspect of human society,
particularly as lauded among these Christians, is contrasted against that of the
rule-based, masculine milieu of duty, respect, and obligation. It is Perpetua’s
father who takes the son and who raises him, while it is an anonymous sister who
does the same for Felicity’s child. The child taken by the grandfather, who is an
elite member of society, becomes a captive of the past. The child of the slave,
raised by an anonymous sister, is the promise for the future.
One last point needs to be addressed. Why are the children unnamed? The text
provides names for almost all persons that appear, even that of some prison guards.
Perpetua’s child is approximately eighteen months old, but Felicity’s child is taken
from her immediately. It is true that Roman practice would not have provided a
name for Felicity’s prematurely born daughter, but Perpetua’s son would have had
a name. Of course, R may not have had such information. From a social point of
view, however, to provide or represent the children with names, and hence an iden-
tity, might have been an unwise marker in such a polarized society. While naming
the children would provide them with an identity and add verisimilitude, from a
narrative point of view to identify the two children with names directs more of the
attention to the pathos of the children’s situation, and thus detracts the reader from
the heroism of the mothers. Furthermore, to provide the children with names
might allow for an implicit criticism of such unmaternal behavior on the part of the
two women, since children without names have no identity and exist more at the
level of symbols whose role is to highlight the heroic behavior of their mothers.
Chapter XV Commentary
XV.1. As for Felicity (Circa Felcitatem). R has just finished accounting for Secun-
dulus, who died in jail, and next wishes to provide an accounting for the unique
happenstance of the slave Felicity while she was in prison. Names were frequently
allegorized (see Jerome, Liber Interpretationis Hebraicorum Nominum), and her
name appears to be an onomastic device meaning the “fortunate” or “fruitful” one
(see II.1 “Revocatus and Felicity”). She is true to her name by having her child born
in an actual prison, which Tertullian says is less of a prison than the world (Mart. 2.1).
XV.1. favor touched her in this way (gratia . . . contigit). The verb contingo with
the dative illi allows for a graphic, almost physical association with the Lord. This
is an apt word as Felicity later rebukes the guard, punning on the verb patior to
show the physical intimacy of her association with God (XV.6: et illa respondit:
Modo ego patior quod patior; illic autem alius erit in me qui patietur pro me, quia et
ego pro illo passura sum).
XV.2. in her eighth month (octo . . . mensium ventrem haberet). This is a collo-
quial manner of indicating her pregnancy. Tertullian employs venter as shorthand
for pregnancy in De virginibus velandis, 14.
XV.2. for she was pregnant when arrested (nam . . . adprehensa). The Greek
σ υλ ληφθεῖσα is a play on words (σ υλ ληφθεῖσα ὀκτὼ μηνῶν ἔχουσα γασ τέρα . See
LSJ, s.v. σ υλ λαμβάνω, 4, which can be used concerning both pregnancy and
seizure).
XV.2. day of the games drew near (instante spectaculi die). This phrase is missing
in the Greek. This detail is important (as is its absence) because it provides a
more complete explanation of why she is in agony: she does not fear dying but
actually fears she will miss her opportunity to die as a martyr. The use of spectacu-
lum to indicate blood sports, particularly gladiatorial combat, is unambiguous
(see OLD, s.v. spectaculum, 2). The Greek θηριομαχεῖν/“to fight with the beasts”
is more graphic.
XV.2. fearing that her pregnancy would spare her (ne propter ventrem differretur).
No joy is taken in the termination of the pregnancy. Rather, the impending
birth is seen as an impediment to her primary goal of dying with her fellows.
The Greek does not mention that her great anxiety (in magno erat luctu) is
due to her pregnancy, which she fears will be the cause of her missing the
games. This is an important lacuna and fails to capture Felicity’s state of
mind.
XV.2. it is not permitted (non licet). The phrase was often used in the law. See
Gaius’ Institutes (ca. 155–70), [G] 14.183: Quasdam tamen personas sine permissu
praetoris in ius uocare non licet.
XV.2. it was not permitted to punish pregnant women in public (non licet preg-
nantes poenae repraesentari). The use of repraesentari underlines the objection-
able and legal nature of this practice as a public event. Roman law is complex on
this issue of the disposition of the unborn. Ulpian argued that the child was part
of the viscera of the woman before birth (Dig. 25.4.1.1), and Paulus argued that
the fetus does not have the intrinsic rights of a person prior to birth (Dig. 1.5.7).
Nonetheless, the law forbade the killing of the fetus, since the fetus was inno-
cent of the crime of the mother and, most importantly, the property of a spouse,
father, or master. Ulpian is quite specific on this point, arguing that until the
time of parturition the woman cannot be executed (Praegnantis mulieris con-
sumendae damnatae poena differtur, quoad pariat, Dig. 2.3.48, 19.3), and else-
where he cites a rescript of Hadrian: Liberam quae praegnans ultimo supplicio
damnata est, liberum parere, et solitum esse servari eam, dum partum ederet (Dig.
1.18.1). If the woman was married, the fetus was the property of her husband,
since by this time most marriages were either usus or sine manu. If the woman
was unmarried, or a slave, the property, that is, the fetus, was the property of a
father or master at the time of birth (Dig. 41.1.66). Hence the law against killing
the fetus is largely one based on ownership and on property rights. Felicity may
have been a freed slave (conserva, II.1), since she has the authority to give the
child to another sister (presumably, a Christian, XV.7) to raise. This issue of
property rights and the right of the husband was repeated in a rescript issued by
Septimius Severus (ca. 208–11). Marcan writes that Septimius and Caracalla
wished to provide the local governor with the authority to order temporary
exile for a woman who gets an abortion, “since it is disgraceful (indignum) that
she should with impunity deprive her husband of children” (Dig. 47.11.4: impune
eam maritum liberis fraudasse; see also Carrié and Rousselle, L’Empire romain,
283; and Quasten, “Mutter und Kind”).
XV.2. common criminals (sceleratos). Originally associated with grievous acts
of impiety, sceleratus identifies a more socially unacceptable criminal act than
does facinus, or dedecus. See their near contemporary C. Flaccus, Dec. H.9.10,
who uses scleratus as an epithet describing a young man who was accused of
blinding his father (Sussman, Declamations). The Greek equivalent ἀνόσιος sug-
gests the criminals are profane or unholy.
XV.2. her holy and innocent blood (sanctum et innocentem sanguinem). Voli-
tional self-sacrifice is one of the great ethical actions of Roman custom (OLD, s.v.
sanguis, 3). Felicity’s status as someone about to be martyred is underscored
through the use of the adjectives “holy” and “innocent.” Both these words (sanc-
tus and innocens), as they refer to an individual, are only used in the Passio in this
instance. Blood was believed to be the source of life, and in a young person it was
at its most vital. With age it was believed to have cooled and to have lost some of
its essence. She gives up her life in her prime. The Greek is less strong than the
Latin and lacks an equivalent to sanctum, simply using one adjective (ἀθῷον,
“innocent”; cf. Mt 27.4).
XV.3. fellow martyrs (conmartyres). This appears to be the earliest occurrence
of this word. Some manuscripts of Tertullian’s De Anima (ca. post 203; but see
Barnes, Tertullian, 34) use this noun form in remarking on Perpetua’s vision in
paradise (De Anim. 55.4 and Souter, s.v. conmartyr), and it is used in the mid-
third-century Passio Sanctorum Montani et Lucii, 7.2: nam Victori presbytero com-
martyri nostro . . . ostensum est hoc (see also Boustan and Reed, eds., Heavenly
Realms). Tertullian seems to be citing this vision of Perpetua, which is actually
part of Saturus’s vision. Some have argued that this is evidence that Tertullian had
a complete copy of the Passio. However, as I have suggested above, Saturus always
uses the plural form of the verb in his visions (XIII.8), and hence everything that
Saturus sees, Perpetua also sees. Accordingly, Tertullian, when referring to fellow
martyrs in paradise, may accurately be making a reference to the dual vision of
Saturus and Perpetua. While Tertullian restricts paradise to the martyrs, Saturus
and Perpetua acknowledge that there were others present as well: multos fratres
cognoscere (XIII.8).
XV.3. deeply saddened (graviter contristabantur). The martyrs are saddened
because Felicity may not have the opportunity to die together with them. They
fear that her death with the criminals will associate her actions with criminal acts
and hence diminish and perhaps change the nature of her sacrifice. The Greek
indicates that her fellow travellers were “unwilling” (μὴ θέλοντες) to leave her
behind. This phrase is not in the Latin.
XV.3. the way to the same hope (in via eiusdem spei). This is a beautiful and
memorable phrase. The noun via was frequently used as a metaphor for a journey
undertaken to achieve a goal and was occasionally used to refer to the desired
consummation of death (Tacitus remarks on Mela’s suicide in order to thwart
Nero’s desire for his wealth, Ann. 16.17). The eschatology in this remark echoes
sentiments in Heb 10.19–25 and Jn 14.6.
XV.4. joined together (coniuncto). The community could not survive unless all
the members were united in their efforts. Apostasy was a great fear of these radi-
cally eschatological communities and a cause of frequent concern (Mart. Lyons,
11). An apostate drew attention to the fragility of the belief system that the group
professed. For the contemporary non-Christian, an apostate was the certification
of good sense and recognition that the power these Christians claimed their God
gave them was at best a human claim and not a divine gift. Thus, the apostate
placed the entire community at risk.
XV.4. united supplication, groaning . . . to the Lord (unito gemitu ad Dominum
orationem). The Latin states that the groan is joined together, whereas the Greek,
perhaps seeking some slight clarity, suggests it is the martyrs who are united in a
groan (ἑνωθέντες), or moaning (στέναγμα). The prayer was audible and likely ec-
static and charismatic, and was thought to bring one into the presence of the Holy
Spirit (Eph 6.18). Perpetua used such prayer to heal her brother Dinocrates (see
VII.9). Tertullian believed prayer to be a natural predisposition of all created be-
ings, humans and animals (Or. 29.4). He discusses group prayer and states that
the living God and the angel of prayer are present during efficacious prayer (16.6),
but he does not appear to counsel such charismatic crying out (17.3) as is hap-
pening here. Paul indicates that the Holy Spirit intercedes for those who pray
with “groaning too deep for words” (στεναγμοῖς ἀλαλήτοις, Rom 8.26).
XV.4. poured forth ( fuderunt). The verb provides a rich metaphoric description
of the prayers flowing out of their mouths freely, as water from a vessel (OLD, s.v.
fundo, 4a and 5c), or as someone giving birth. Interestingly, this verb was used to
describe the labor of a woman in childbirth (Aen. 8.139: quem candida Maia /
Cyllenae gelido conceptum uertice fudit). The prisoners pray to cause Felicity’s
parturition.
XV.4. two days before the games (ante tertium diem muneris). The Greek is less
factual and more theological, reading two days before their suffering (τοῦ πάθους).
XV.5. she suffered in her labor (in partu laborans doleret). R’s remarks on the
difficulty of her physical suffering in labor allow him to introduce Felicity’s overtly
theological rebuke to the prison guard immediately following.
XV.4. one of the assistant jailers (quidam ex ministris cataractariorum). It is
interesting that R uses this rather infrequently occurring word cataractarius. This
may be the earliest extant use of this word (see Souter, s.v. cataractarius) to iden-
tify an occupation associated with a prison. It likely derives from the Greek noun
καταρράκτης, which originally meant “waterfall,” and then the portcullis which
enclosed the gates of a fortified camp or a city (see OLD, s.v. cataracta, 2b; Veget-
ius, Rei Mil. 4.4). It is an apt metaphor for a jailer whose place of employment is
entirely fortified. The jailer is unnamed and, unlike her other jailer, not in sympa-
thy with the Christian prisoners.
XV.5. which you scorned (quas contempsisti). The jailer knows their history. This
is the first acknowledgment that the others also were contemptuous of the judges’
request that they sacrifice to the emperor and the gods. The jailer’s anger is evi-
dent in his choice of so pointed a word as contemno.
XV.6. Now I alone suffer (Modo ego patior . . . passura sum). The Latin uses the
verb patior four times in this line for emotional emphasis. Felicity gives voice to
perhaps the single most important theological reflection in the Passio. The the-
ology of Christ joining his faithful in their suffering was well established in the
theology of martyrdom by the middle of the second century. Through the mar-
tyr’s death the nascent Christian world is fructified ( Jn 12.24). The zeal to become
as close to Christ as possible, embodied in the practice of imitation, allowed the
martyrs to project their suffering onto the figure of Christ crucified and to lose
themselves in that action. Paul adopts the idea of childbirth and its attendant suf-
fering in his suggestion that our redemption requires an act of the will which cre-
ates suffering in all creation, analogous to childbearing: καὶ αὐτοὶ ἐν ἑαυτοῖς
στενά vζομεν υἱοθεσίαν ἀπεκδεχόμενοι, τὴν ἀπολύτρωσιν τοῦ σώματος ἡμῶν (Rom
8.23). Suffering for Christ is a blessing, and after a short duration of suffering,
God will restore and strengthen the martyr (1 Pt 4.16 and 5.10). Such an ideal is
explicit in the figure of the martyr Sanctus, the Latin-speaking martyr who was
killed in the pogrom of Lyons (Mart. Lyons. 1.23: ἐν ᾧ πάσχων Xριστὸς μεγάλας
ἐπετέλει δόξας; see also Bremmer, Rise and Fall, 104). The belief that Christ is
inside Sanctus and Felicity is difficult to articulate in non-mystical discourse. The
idea owes something to Justin’s notion of the pre-existing seed of the Logos,
which exists in everyone but which Christians share more fully because they wor-
ship and participate in the life of the Logos (2 Apol. 7.1). The anecdote here seems
to have been the inspiration for the remark in Pass. Mont. 21.4. The Greek version
(a later interpolation?) adds the idea “so that he [the Lord] will suffer” in the
clause, ἔσται ἐν ἐμοὶ ἵνα πάθῃ. This is not in the Latin.
XV.7. and she gave birth (enixa est). Although enitor (see OLD, s.v. enitor) is a
verb for giving birth, it is one whose etymological overtones of “struggle,” “forcing
a way upwards,” “striving,” and “constancy” are also perfectly apt in this instance,
since Felicity’s struggle is not only with her body but with the harassment of the
prison guard. The Greek Ἔτεκεν (LSJ, s.v. τίκτω) is more neutral and lacks this
sense of struggle, focusing instead on the birth, and thus would be closer seman-
tically to the Latin parere.
XV.7. a certain sister (quaedam soror). Felicity’s status is ambiguous. She is
called conserva (slave) when we fi rst encounter her (II.1). Yet here her au-
tonomy appears to be underscored, since the child is not given to an owner but
presumably to someone of her choosing. The unnamed woman, while she may
be a relative through birth, is more likely to be a fellow believer and a member
of this Christian community, perhaps even a member of Perpetua’s familia. It
would be most unlikely for R to suggest that Felicity (or the community) per-
mitted her daughter to be given to someone who did not share her belief to
raise as her own (OLD, s.v. educo, 10, from educare and not educere). The Greek
identifies a particular relationship when it says that one of the sisters had “taken
her” (σ υλλαβοῦσα). The Latin lacks this specificity. Amat suggested that the
Greek εἰς θυγατέρα ἀνέθρεψεν αὑτ ῇ is indebted to Moses’ nurturing by Pha-
raoh’s daughter in Acts 7.21: καὶ ἀνεθρέψατο αὐτὸν ἑαυτ ῇ εἰς υἱόν. Moreover, the
sentiment in this line (soror in filiam educauit) suggests that R has some knowl-
edge of the future upbringing of this little girl. Does this suggest that it may
have been written some years after the event?
CHAPTER XVI
The Argument: Perpetua and the Tribune,

Civil Authority vs. Spiritual Power
R delays the narrative of the martyrs’ persecution momentarily, dropping Felic-
ity’s ordeal of premature childbirth and her rebuke to the guard, to remind his
audience that his composition is written with the express permission of the Holy
Spirit, willed by the same Spirit and commanded by Perpetua herself. He portrays
himself as the amanuensis of the Spirit and the faithful servant of the martyr. Thus,
his text is the product of the continuing revelation which the Spirit provides to his
faithful. R’s commingling of the expressed will of the Holy Spirit and the com-
mand or “holy trust” (fideicommissum) of Perpetua places her in a familiar role—
that of the medium of God’s will. R traces the obligation placed on him to record
the events which the Holy Spirit has made manifest in his prophet Perpetua. His
acknowledgement of her command is also intended to direct our attention to her
earlier remark to her fellow believer to the effect that she could talk with God
(IV.2) and thus is a powerful prophet. This argument allows R to establish an au-
thority for his narrative not unlike that claimed by Scripture itself. He is an eyewit-
ness to these events, which are under the direction of God, who speaks through
Perpetua. Her “holy trust” has the force of obligation and emphasizes R’s intimacy
with the martyrs and makes canonical his sacred promise to her to tell their story.
Having legitimated his authority, R next returns to the story of the martyrs’
suffering and to Perpetua herself. He now resumes the narrative of suffering with
an anecdote illustrative of the intrigue and cruelty directed at the imprisoned
martyrs. We are told that the tribune, who was likely in charge of the military
camp which included the prison, had earlier been approached by some unnamed
malicious men, who informed him that the Christians were going to use magical
incantations in order to secure their escape. Accordingly, the tribune had their
freedoms curtailed. Although the precise nature of the cruelty the martyrs suf-
fered is not given, it appears that they were kept locked up and denied access to
even normative standards of sanitation and nutrition (nobis refrigerare . . . pinguio-
res). This detail that the tribune acted at the bequest of anonymous men empha-
sizes the hostility of the local population against the Christians (which is made
explicit in Chapter XVII), and it alleviates the charge of gratuitous callousness
toward them on the part of the tribune. R’s anecdote concerning the calumny of
the anonymous men has a historic resonance. It reminds one of Perpetua’s father’s
earlier pleas that her behavior will also condemn her family, including her child, to
a shameful and pariah-like existence. Her father’s fears have been realized. The
rumors of deviousness, of magic, of non-rational behavior have been associated
with membership in the cult, and it has reached individuals of authority who have
access to the tribune. R intends to do more than just present this simple intrigue.
He is constructing a literary narrative with its roots in earlier Christian texts. The
tribune acts to uphold the laws of the state and not from personal antagonism.
The depiction of the tribune as a reasonable, almost sympathetic authority figure
(XVI.4, XVIII.6), who—although he initially treats the Christians poorly—is
finally able to recognize the virtue of the Christians, provides additional support
for the universal message of Christianity and has a parallel in the figure of Pilate.
He is powerless before the machinery of the state, represented by the anonymous
complainants. R argues that some members of the elite classes—those who by
their birth, wealth, and ability have risen in society—can and do acknowledge the
truth of the Christians. The tribune is a type of the righteous pagan, of Pilate who
struggled against the demonized Jews to speak for the innocence of Christ. The
Roman mob and the Jews of the Gospels are here viewed as analogous groups.
This anecdote of the devious men, although it seems an aside to R’s opening
remarks about the will of the Holy Spirit and the “holy trust” of Perpetua, is per-
tinent and functions to underscore Perpetua’s power, which has its locus in the
Spirit. The events are oblique, and the listener is forced to supply omissions in the
narrative. For example, who are these unnamed and devious men (hominum
vanissimorum) who report that the Christians will try to escape? We know
nothing about them, not even the reason for their anxiety concerning the Chris-
tians. They are stock characterizations of the “enemy” of the Holy Spirit. Notice
that they claim that their escape would be affected through “magical incantations.”
This is a reference to the Christian practice of ecstatic prayer, trances, and glossa-
lalia, gifts which Tertullian argued came from the Holy Spirit (Marc. 5.8.10–12)
and which were earlier featured in the text (VII.2). The early third century was an
age that took a keen interest in the mystical and the non-rational. Aristides’s
Sacred Orations were well known, the charge of witchcraft against Apuleius was
taken seriously, and the Chaldean Oracles had recently been “discovered.” And
slightly later, popular philosophers of the stature of Plotinus believed that magic
was a medium that could change the course of nature. Within that milieu, Chris-
tians particularly were believed to use language to summon powerful beneficent
spirits, to perform exorcisms, and to celebrate liturgies where wine and water
were transformed into their savior’s body and blood (Tert. Apol. 21.17, 23.12).
Christians used magical language as a part of their liturgies and could employ it
against their enemies. Moreover, Perpetua, as an acknowledged leader of this cult
and someone who publicly acknowledged that she could speak with God, would
seem, to a prudent prison official, a person to be zealously guarded. At the very
least, an escape could jeopardize the tribune’s reputation and damage his career.
Thus, he sensibly has the Christians kept in a more restricted situation.
The narrative frequently avoids strict chronology and does so at this point. R’s
narrative jumps from a discussion of the suspicion of anonymous men to the tri-
bune, to the martyrs’ harsh treatment, to a face-to-face meeting of the tribune and
Perpetua. No narrative details of this shift or the nature of the events which led to it
are provided. How long were they kept in such difficult circumstances? What was
the nature of the punishment? Did the tribune summon Perpetua into his presence,
or did she or her father ask for a hearing? Such questions are left to the imagination.
R is interested in illustrating the struggle between the anonymous denouncers and
the Christians, and such questions are irrelevant to his purpose. The scene displays
the meeting of two formidable opponents. There is no dialogue between them;
then it is only Perpetua’s accusation to the tribune that his most noble (nobilissimis,
with the emphasis on “virtue” and not class) prisoners are not treated as they should
be. Perpetua’s remarks convince the tribune. She reminds him of his role as guardian
of Caesar’s prized victims. This is an appeal to his self-interest. She does not beg for
mercy, or for better treatment to alleviate their suffering. Such petitions would di-
minish her status as Christian hero. Rather, she alludes to the coming contest in
sacrificial language, arguing that Christians should be brought to the contest in a
state of readiness, appearing before the mob like healthy sacrificial victims (pinguio-
res). She asks him, rhetorically, what merit will it bring to the tribune, to Rome, if
the Christians are dragged into the arena disheveled and half-starved? Her query
provides insight into the radical theology of martyrdom in Carthage among this
small group. Perpetua’s ideas concerning the sacrifice of martyrdom, as represented
by R, are reminiscent of the Jewish custom of providing an unblemished victim
offered as holocaust in the temple. Although her argument plays on the tribune’s
pragmatic self-interest, her focus is on her body as a worthy vessel in her impending
death and the efficaciousness of this sacrifice. R states that the tribune was horrified
and that his embarrassment was showing in his face. What precisely shocked him?
Was it her unkempt appearance, the obvious truth of her words, his fear at the pro-
vincial governor’s wrath lest the games appear to go badly because the victims are
presented in so dispirited and physically unattractive a manner, or his awareness of
her irrational desire to die as a spotless sacrifice?
The confrontation between the female prophet and the tribune is ageless. It
dramatizes the different approaches to decision making between the charismatic
leader and the representative of the state. Perpetua, although the prisoner, has
won this contest: she has secured a better situation for her fellows. Power has
shifted from the civil authority of the tribune to that of the spiritual leader. The
Christian audience is subtly reminded of the origin of Christ’s authority and his
remarks to Pilate that if he wished, he could bring legions to aid him against the
secular authorities. The achievement of better prison conditions foils the evil
machinations of her anonymous accusers, who poisoned the tribune against the
Christians, claiming that they would use magic to escape and that Perpetua was
an enchantress. The power of her witness is made most manifest in the final line
of the chapter; that is, the force of her example has converted the adjutant of the
prison. This may be the same Pudens mentioned in IX.1. The literary quality of
this chapter is inescapable, as are its muted Scriptural echoes; the charismatic
leader under the protection of God and with the explicit assistance of the Holy
Spirit is invincible, no matter what the forces raised against her seek to do.
Chapter XVI Commentary
XVI.1. Therefore, since the Holy Spirit has given permission . . . and by such permis-
sion has willed (Quoniam ergo . . . permisit et permittendo voluit Spiritus Sanctus).
The authority of the text is its divine mandate received from the Holy Spirit, who
has willed it and the very events it describes into being. The theology implicit in
this remark points to the necessary coexistence of all action in God. There is no
temporal horizon in God, and thus the act of “permission” and “willing” is one.
The collision and economy of these contrasting ideas of providing “permission”
(a variation on polyptoton) and “willing” highlights this theology and is also a
measure of R’s rhetorical skill. The Greek does not have this collocation. The Holy
Spirit is personified as one who permits and wills and thus is the embodiment of
the “replacement,” the comforter, exhorter, mentioned in Jn 14.16–26, 15.26, and
16.7 (ὁ παράκλητος). It is the Holy Spirit who “willed” that R write down the nar-
rative demanded (mandatum) by Perpetua. Volo is used most frequently in the
Passio in association with God’s desire for the martyrs. The theology implicit in
such usage is that God’s desire and that of the martyrs are the same (see also V.6,
VI.8, XXI.10).
XVI.1. written down (conscribi). R, like Perpetua, does not share a Christian
skepticism of the written word, so succinctly stated by Papias in his Expositions of
the Oracles of the Lord, 1.4: “For I did not think that I could get so much profit
from the contents of books as from the utterances of a living and abiding voice.”
R’s concern with the historical record suggests someone with a strong classical
education and possibly someone with an administrative position in his church.
XVI.1. although we are unworthy (etsi indigni). A routine use of the humility trope.
XVI.1. or rather her sacred trust ( fideicommissum). This is a legal term and
should be understood in relation to R’s earlier use of mandatum. The Greek
ἔνταλμα lacks the force of mandatum (cf. BDAG, s.v. ἔνταλμα; and Lampe, s.v.
ἔνταλμα; and OLD, s.v. fideicommissum) and does not have the Latin word’s addi-
tional nuance of an order expressly intended to commission a written text. The
term specifically signals a testamentary disposition made either orally or, if the
individual was literate, in a written fashion. Although usually having reference to
a hereditas, here the commission has placed R under obligation to perform a non-
material duty, and thus he is Perpetua’s fiduciarius. The use of this juridical term
is R’s representation of himself as both legally and morally obliged to fulfill this
command (Gaius, Inst. 2.184). Tertullian used the word fideicommissum in this
sense when he proposed that if his wife were to be faithful to his spiritual legacy,
she would regard a second marriage on his death as a lesser good. He contrasts a
fideicommissum with the obligations placed on one by a will (see Ad Ux. 1.1.3: Tu
modo solidum capere possis hoc meae admonitionis fideicommissum Deus faciat).
XVI.1. her resolve and sublimity of spirit (constantia et animi sublimitate). These
are two of Perpetua’s most singular character traits. The Greek lacks this phrase,
and although it catches some of the sentiment of the Latin with the μεγαλόφρων
καί ἀνδρεία ὡς ἀληθῶς Περπετούα , the phrase ἀνδρεία ὡς ἀληθῶς indicates an
uneasiness with attributing such qualities to a woman. The highlighting of
“resolve” is an influence from Stoicism. Stoicism understood constantia

(εὐπάθεια) as the one of the signs of a balanced life, a conjoining of consistency of
mind and action, and control over the passions. Constancy for the Stoic was the
enemy of psychic inconsistency and a principle means to avoid the conflict of the
passions and the corrosive fear of death (Sen. Ep. 120). Christ was the sine qua
non of constantia for early Christians. Paul preaches a type of Stoicism in his plea
that we find true human freedom once we surrender our will to God and follow
the dictates of the Spirit (Gal 5.13–26). Perpetua behaves in a recognizably stoic
manner and may have imbibed a type of Pauline Stoicism. Tertullian’s deep in-
debtedness to Stoicism caused him to see constantia and patientia as the founda-
tion of morality, particularly important for the martyr elect (see XVII.1 and
XVIII.4; Tert. Mart. 6.1; and Osborn, Tertullian, 235).
XV1.1−2. The Latin narrative shifts abruptly at this point from a discussion of
Perpetua’s spirit to the martyrs’ suffering in prison. The Greek text, on the other
hand, constructs a narrative bridge, Ὡς δὲ πλείους ἡμέραι διεγίνοντο ἐν τῇ φυλακῇ
αὐτῶν ὂντων, between these different events. While it may appear oxymoronic to
claim for the Latin lacuna a lectio difficilior potior, the Greek version’s bridge of
these two distinct narrative events appears just that, an editor’s effort to provide a
smooth transition where none existed.
XVI.2. tribune (tribunus). It is difficult to identify precisely the particular func-
tion of this tribune, since the term covered a variety of duties (see Southern and
Dixon, Roman Army, 61). This official most likely was of the rank tribunus augusti-
clavius (an equestrian officer) in Legio III Augusta, whose responsibility as an
officer in the urban and praetorian cohorts was typically to be in charge of 480
men, but who—unlike his counterpart tribunus laticlavius, who exercised direct
command—held a staff appointment and had administrative and judicial duties
(see also Webster, Imperial Army). The Greek versions’s use of χιλιάρχης (some-
one who commands a thousand men) suggests a misunderstanding of the exacti-
tude of rank in the Roman Army (pace Rapske, Acts and Paul, 144, who argues on
linguistic grounds). That Perpetua had such easy access to a man of such rank is
noteworthy and unlikely for most prisoners. It may be an effort on R’s part to em-
bellish her status by suggesting such access was in her prerogative. The toga worn
by the tribunus contained a broad purple stripe in the case of t. laticlavius and a
narrow one for t. augusticlavius. Note the figure of the lanista (X.8), whose toga
bears such stripes. The decoration of stripes on the toga was a commonplace and
was indicative of rank. However, R may have transferred this icon of authority as a
sign of the oppressor.
XVI.2. treated them with great cruelty (castigatius eos castigaret). Another
instance of polyptoton (cf. permisit et permittendo, XVI.1). The verb castigo con-
notes a wide variety of punishments (OLD, s.v. castigo, 2a). The tribune is cruel only
because he is deceived by deceitful men. Perpetua’s meeting with him provides R

with the opportunity to demonstrate the power of the Christian message; the tri-
bune’s sympathetic response to her argument exemplifies the Christian message.
XVI.2. warnings of the most devious of men (admonitionibus hominum vanissi-
morum). Admonitio here carries the weight of a cautionary, minatory reminder
(OLD, s.v. admonitio, 1). Vanus, when used to refer to individuals, has the sense of
“distrustful,” “unreliable” (OLD, s.v. vanus, 4). These unnamed men would pre-
sumably have been important members of the city, as they had direct access to the
tribune, and since he initially acted on their advice, he must have respected or
feared them. R accuses them of being liars.
XVI.2. magical incantations (incantationibus aliquibus magicis). The word
magicus could refer to a variety of practices and powers, and it was a charge com-
monly leveled at Christians. The accusation was not against the use of supernat-
ural power or its effects, but rather against the source of that power. In an age
when individuals took for granted the existence of gods, demons, angelic beings,
and the suspension of natural law, actions that defied reason were credible gifts
from beneficent gods. Here the charge of “magic” is an accusation of chicanery
and of deception (see Justin, 1 Apol. 14 and Dial. 69). Christian magicians were
accused of deriving their power from demons and not from the gods (Lactantius,
Div. Inst. 4.15). The anonymous men argue that the source of the martyrs’ power,
their “magical incantations,” is disreputable and not from a benign divine source.
Such accusations date from the earliest times of Christianity. Smith pointed out
that Jesus was accused of being a magician during his life (Smith, Jesus the Magi-
cian). This charge, refuted by Justin (1 Apol. 30), had considerable currency. The
discussion of magic and Christian charismatic power, and the differences between
the two, in Acts (see chapters 8 and 13) suggest that Christian cultic practices
were being attacked as demonic magic (see Klauck, Magic and Paganism). Paul,
while in Ephesus, a center of magic, was opposed by the false magician Bar-
Joseph, and Jewish exorcists (ἐξορκισ τῶν) also tried to use the name of Jesus to
rid individuals of evil spirits (Acts 19.13). Part of the association may be due to
the liturgical use of the name “Jesus” as a healing and miraculous utterance and
as a way of summoning his presence (Heffernan, “Nomen sacrum,” 11–28). Cel-
sus claimed that Christians used the name of Jesus as a magical and incantatory
formula (Or. Cont. Cel. 1.68). The charge of the anonymous men may also indi-
cate a class antagonism, since Tertullian associates the charge of “magician”
with the lower classes and suggests the Jews charged Christ with this practice
(Apol. 21.17).
XVI.2. Perpetua said directly to his face (in faciem ei Perpetua respondit). There
is another chronological break in the narrative, separating the expression of the
tribune’s fear that the martyrs might escape from his meeting with Perpetua.
Although we are not provided with any information as to how much time passed
while the martyrs were being treated poorly, it must have been considerable, since
the effect of seeing Perpetua in person and hearing her arguments horrifies the
tribune. He could only have been horrified if the evidence of their deprivation—
that is, the lack of food, hygiene, and sanitation—was visible in her person. The
Latin in faciem underscores her female bravery, which the Greek subtly mini-
mizes, attributing her bravery to a masculine quality, ἀνδρεία (XVI.1). Festus
points out to Agrippa that it was the Roman custom for the accused to meet their
judge “face to face” (κατὰ πρόσωπον, Acts 25.16).
XVI.3. Why (Quid utique). The phrase as an intensifier was commonly used
both by Tertullian (De Anim. 31.5, Pud. 9.2) and Cyprian (Laud. Mart. 16.4; and
see Halporn, 49, and notes XIX.1 below).
XVI.3. permit (permittis). A deliberate echo of the phrase in XVI.1, reminding
the audience that it is the power of the Holy Spirit that “permits” and that the
tribune must bend his will to that inevitable force.
XVI.3. refresh (refrigerare). Used in the sense of restoring their well-being, both
physical and emotional (see also refrigeraui, III.4).
XVI.3. most noble of the condemned (noxiis nobilissimis). The oxymoronic allit-
eration in the phrase noxiis nobilissimis is deliberate. R favors the figure of alliter-
ation (see the expressions in XVI beginning permissit . . .; cum . . .; carceris credente).
The word nobilissimis is ambiguous. Although it can refer to notoriety—that is,
being well known in a community (OLD, s.v. nobilis, 1), or even one’s birth, being
well born (OLD, s.v. nobilis, 5)—Perpetua likely refers to the martyr’s moral char-
acter. She could have used it to refer to herself as highborn, since she is honeste
nata, but her use of the plural nobilissimis includes all the condemned. Since two
of them, Felicity and Revocatus, are slaves, it is less likely that she intends it to be
a marker of birth, but rather one of nobility of spirit (but see Barnes’ literal
reading, Early Christian, 69).
XVI.3. belonging to Caesar, who are to fight on his birthday (Caesaris scilicet et
natali eiusdem pugnaturis). In what way do the martyrs belong to Caesar? The
tradition of identifying a prisoner as belonging to a ruler is of great antiquity.
Joseph was placed in the area of the prison where “the King’s prisoners were con-
fined” (Gn 39.20), and Paul refers to himself as a prisoner of Christ (Παῦλος
δέσμιος Xριστοῦ Ἰησοῦ, Phlm 1).
XVI.3. to fight on his birthday (et natali eiusdem pugnaturis). The reference is
to the birthday of the Emperor Geta (see natale tunc Getae Caesaris, VII.9) born
in Rome, 27 May 189. This visit of the Severi to Africa coincided with Geta’s
fourteenth birthday. The fourteenth birthday was significant, since at this time in
the Empire boys on this birthday could chose to enter their majority, dispense
with the toga praetexta, and assume the toga virilis during an official ceremony
which Tertullian calls the solemnitates togae, and which was often accompanied
by processions and games. Suetonius alludes to festivals when the sons of the
emperor received the toga virilis (Aug. 26, Tib. 54, and Ner. 7). If this practice
was still current, and the evidence from Tertullian suggests it was, the games in
Carthage would have been even more compelling, and it would be surprising if
the emperor and his family did not visit the greatest city in the province, as they
were in Africa from June 202 through May 204. Indeed, Geta’s assumption of
the toga virilis and its associated pageantry may be the very reason that his name
is mentioned in the Passio. The date of the martyrdom has traditionally been the
nones (7th) of March 203 (see the Depositio Martyrum). Games were tradition-
ally celebrated on the birthday of the emperor and on his accession. Both Sueto-
nius and Cassius Dio note that Claudius decreed that his parents’ birthdays were
public holidays to be celebrated by games in the circus (Claud. 11.4; and RH
60.5; see also Barnes, “Pre-Decian Martyrdom”). Birley places Septimius and
the imperial sons in Africa at this time but says they were likely not involved in
these games (see Birley, Afr ican Emperor, 153–54). For a useful review of Septi-
mius Severus’s career, see Hammond, “Septimius Severus, Roman Bureaucrat,”
particularly 162.
XVI.3. well fed (pinguiores). The word indicates unambiguously that their
punishment, in part, was the deprivation of food. The literature of martyrdom
records a number of such instances of near-starvation. The imprisoned martyr
Lucian was placed on a dole of bread and water (Cypr. Ep. 21.2), and Cyprian
also notes how the martyr Celerinus, who was imprisoned for only nineteen
days, “rotted away” (Diercks ed., Ep. 39.2: Per decem nouem dies custodia carceris
saeptus in neruo ac ferro fuit . . . Caro famis ac sitis diuturnitate contabuit). The
martyrs Montanus and Lucius were also placed on a severely restricted food and
water ration while in prison (Mont. et Luc. 6.5). There are Scriptural parallels as
well. When the imprisoned Daniel announces that he will not defile himself by
eating the King’s food, the steward reproaches him and says, if you fast and the
king can discern it, I shall lose my head (Dn 1.1–21). Perpetua argues that if they
are brought into the arena half-starved and disheveled, they would appear already
broken and hardly worth the price of the entry. If, however, they enter the arena
robust, healthy, and clean, the contest will have the appearance of like contesting
against like. Is there a desire in Perpetua’s request that the acceptable sacrifice to
the Lord must follow those Biblical admonitions, requiring the offering to be
unblemished and fat? (Cf. Ez 44.15.)
XVI.4. horrified and flushed (horruit et erubuit). R underscores Perpetua’s
authority and the tribune’s recognition of it with his emphatic use of horreo and
erubesco. Horreo connotes great fear, physical trembling, and the dread of a supe-
rior (OLD, s.v. 4, 6). Erubesco illustrates the sudden sense of shame that overcomes
him (OLD, s.v. 1), evident in his reddened face. The scene is a set piece designed
to inspire a Christian audience.
XVI.4. so that her brothers, and the others (ut fratribus eius et ceteris). The
word fratribus is ambiguous, and it is difficult to know with certainty the exact
reference. The word frater is used twelve times in the Passio: six times it unam-
biguously signifies blood kinship (II.2, III.8, V.1, V.2, VII.5, VII.9); four times
its use is ambiguous and may refer to a fellow believer or a family member (IV.1,
IV.10, XVI.4, XX.10); and on two occasions it identifies people other than
family members (I.6, XIII.8). We do know that at least one of her siblings is a
catechumen (II.2: et frates duos, alterum aeque catechumenum). Is the reference
here to that brother or one of the unnamed brethren, as in IV.1? The term frater
had long designated members of religious collegia (Plin. HN 18.16; I.6, fratres et
filioli), and Christians, following Christ’s extension of the term (Mk 3.33), used
it commonly to refer to fellow believers. Tertullian claims that the pagans are
angry at the Christians because they call themselves “brothers.” Christians
believed their spiritual brotherhood to be stronger than the bonds of pagan
blood kinship: Sed et quod fratres nos vocamus . . . simulatum est (Apol. 39.8).
Perpetua identifies individuals by name. The single time she mentions a family
member is when she refers to her deceased brother Dinocrates. Furthermore,
she has no hesitancy in providing the names of deacons, bishops, and presby-
ters. Moreover, the church in Carthage celebrated the memory of their martyrs
and held them in enormously high regard. R’s distinction between “her
brothers” and “the others” might suggest he did not have knowledge of their
names, or that he was concerned about making such information public at the
time he was writing.
XVI.4. to visit and be refreshed with the prisoners ( facultas fieret introeundi et
refrigerandi). Their family and friends will provide nourishment and solidarity.
Mommsen noted that prisoners could receive assistance from friends and family
outside the prison, and Roman prisons, like their Greek and Egyptian counter-
parts, placed the burden of providing adequate nourishment on the shoulders of
the prisoners (Rapske, Acts and Paul, 210).
XVI.4. now (iam). This underscores that the event took place sometime before
this time and points to the sudden conversion of the guard. Such a motif in the
literature of martyrdom may owe something to the tradition of the conversion of
the good thief (Lk 23.39–43).
XVI.4. adjutant in charge of the prison was a believer (optione carceris cre-
dente). The reference refers back to Pudens (Pudens miles optio, praepositus
carceris, IX.1). The Greek identifies the newly converted head of the prison as
τ ῆς φυλακῆς προεσ τώς , thus confusing this official with the tribune (see
XVI.2).
CHAPTER XVII
The Argument: Agape Widens the Circle of Believers

Although often vague in his chronology, R here provides a precious piece of his-
torical detail: he notes that the events narrated in this chapter took place the day
before the actual games. We can date the events of this day as the day before the
celebration of Geta’s fourteenth birthday. On this penultimate day in their imprison-
ment, the Christians, like those numberless others who faced imminent death in the
arena (gladiators, for instance), celebrate the custom of a “free meal”/cena libera,
their last meal (Kyle, Spectacles, 107–8). However, R is at pains to distinguish this
meal from pagan celebrations and states it is not “free,” but rather it is the agape or
love meal (sed agapem) which they eat. If this is a reference to the Eucharistic liturgy,
which seems likely, it is the first and only reference to the martyrs’ celebrating it.
Given that this is the most important liturgical ceremony of the Christians, why has
R provided so meager a description of the meal? Surely if it is the Eucharist it is of
paramount significance for this group. Perpetua has dreamed of eating this very
meal (IV.9). His prose is suggestive of some uncertainty as to what actually went on
during the meal. Notice, for example, that he uses the plural verb vocant. Such use is
a hint that their practice is something different from that which he knows or has
participated in. Why he chose to use this plural verb rather than a first person singu-
lar or plural, which would acknowledge his own lived experience of this liturgical
ceremony, is a mystery. Can there have been some special ceremony that was part of
the Eucharistic meal but only practiced by those who were about to die as martyrs?
Has he not been fully admitted into the faith and is himself still a catechumen? R
also suggests that the meal was celebrated under some duress, as it was managed “as
far as it was possible.” It is difficult to know precisely what the difficulty was. It ap-
pears that the prison was crowded and some who were there came as voyeurs and to
heckle the Christians. This may have contributed to a lack of privacy and hindered
their celebration. R’s terseness here seems more subjective than this, however.
The result of the meal is to make the Christians bold, fearless, even threatening
those who came to jeer at them. Although they are the imprisoned, R wishes to
convey that it is the Christians who are free, who are celebrating, who are acting
as judges, who turn suffering into joy and pain into pleasure. The agape meal has
fortified and provided them with vast reservoirs of inner strength. The celebration
of the agape meal has empowered them with the confidence of their righteous-
ness, and they have become fearless. Their behavior is an analogue to Felicity’s
remarks that once she suffers in the arena another will be in her suffering for her.
Their fearlessness is a result of Christ’s presence in them. The Christian’s stoic
attitude toward death, particularly death in these public spectacles, was frequently
remarked on by Romans.
The martyrs’ words, while indicative of disdain (iactabant), also suggest

some physical distance from the hecklers and provide evidence of how they
were jailed. The martyr Saturus’s remarks bear some extended scrutiny. It is
Saturus, their teacher, who remonstrates against the crowds. His role as cult
leader is emphasized. His series of barbed questions addressed to the crowd of
onlookers, while clearly rhetorical, provides evidence of a physical barrier of
some sort which separates the two groups. Saturus appears to address the
crowd of onlookers from some distance. The condemned are on one side, likely
in a large cell, and the crowds on another. The crowds “jostled” (concurren-
tium) to see the Christians. The language makes vividly present the melee that
characterized this prison. People are not described as jostling unless they are
struggling to get a view of someone. There must have been a barrier, perhaps a
barrier of bars or doors of some sort, which would have obstructed or inhibited
an easy access to the martyrs, since if they had access to one another, there
would be no need to indicate that there was this jostling and crowding to see
the condemned.
Saturus rebukes the crowd’s hypocrisy, and thus we learn that the some of the
visitors knew the martyrs (Hodie amici, cras inimici). Although the visitors feign
friendship initially, they loathe the martyrs for their membership in this cult. The
number of Christians in Carthage is notoriously difficult to estimate with accu-
racy. Their numbers surely reached no more than a few thousand. It is more
likely that those who came to see the prisoners would have been drawn largely
from those who knew them: their family members, friends, and neighbors. We
learned in the previous chapter that Perpetua has secured permission from the
tribune to have a more liberal visitation policy (XVI.4). Saturus’s censure of the
crowd and, in particular, his charge that they remember the faces of the con-
demned on the morrow, when they are led to their deaths in the arena, is a bold
statement of his refusal to be cowed, a refusal to bow to the wishes of the state at
the expense of their personal belief. It has all the hallmarks of the epic warrior
standing heroically but tragically alone against insurmountable forces. Saturus’s
rhetoric proves more powerful than the crowd’s disgust. The crowd’s skepticism
and disdain turn to admiration. His supplication effects its intended purpose—
many of those who came to gawk or to mock leave stunned and convinced of the
righteousness of the martyrs’ cause, and they convert. What began as a the
memory of an agape meal celebrated under duress ends with the vindication of
the sacramental theology of the agape meal as it now embraces those outside the
fold, turning the scorned into heroes and the scornful into believers. R skillfully
turns this brief vignette in the prison cell into a didactic trope on the power of
the martyr to draw the sting from the adder and invites the voyeurs into mem-
bership in the forbidden cult.
Chapter XVII Commentary
XVII.1. last meal (cenam ultimam). The tradition of the “last meal” of the con-
demned is resonant of the cena libera provided to the gladiators the night before
their contest so that they would maintain their strength (Cic. Phil. 2.23, gladitoria
totius corporis firmitas). Tertullian mocks pagan festivals, observing that he does
not recline at the feasts of Bacchus, as do the fighters of beasts at their final banquet
(Apol. 42.5: quod bestiariis supremam cenantibus mos est). Halporn (49) has noted
that the phrase only appears twice in Latin—here and in Petronius—and is likely
slang (Sat. 26.7: Venerat iam tertius dies, id est expectatio liberae cenae), but infre-
quence of use alone does not make it slang.
XVII.1. love-feast (agapem cenarent). Although the exact practice covered by the
word agape during the second half of the second century varied, its use here refers to
the Christian meal of fellowship eaten during their liturgy service. Ἀγάπη as a feast is
not singled out explicitly in the NT, but most scholars believe that Paul implies its
existence in 1 Cor 11. 17–34, particularly in the phrase κυριακὸν δεῖπνον (see also
Jude 12, ταῖς ἀγάπαις, and 2 Pt 2.13; and BDAG, s.v. ἀγάπη, 2; for a Roman observa-
tion of the practice, see Plin. Ep.10.96). Scholars debate whether ἀγάπη signifies the
actual meal or the distribution of food before and after the Eucharist, although some
ancient authorities, like Tertullian, clearly identify it with the Eucharist (Apol. 39.16–
19; and see Lampe, s.v. ἀγάπη, 4e).
XVII.1. at the mob (ad populum). This is an important phrase, as it confirms the
historical accuracy of the Passio. It was the customary practice the evening before the
games to open the cena libera to the public, who would gawk at the gladiators as they
consumed their last meal, which is precisely what is happening here to the Chris-
tians (see Shadrake, Gladiator, 120).
XVII.2. happiness they found in their suffering (passionis suae felicitatem). The
phrase has a Pauline ring (Nῦν χαίρω ἐν τοῖς παθήμασιν, Col 1.24).
XVII.1. Saturus said (dicente Saturo). When the martyrs are gathered together,
Saturus typically serves as their spokesman, confirming his leadership of the group.
XVII.1. curiosity of those who jostled to see them (concurrentium curiositatem).
Another example of R’s delight in alliteration (cf. XVI.3, noxiis nobilissimis).
XVII.2. Today our fr iends, tomorrow our enemies (hodie amici, cras inimici).
A brilliantly economic use of antithesis to sum up the situation.
XVII.2. take a good look at our faces (Notate . . . diligenter). The Christians insist
that their innocence and righteousness are apparent in their faces. Such goodness
allows them to “face” their accusers and the mobs without blanching (see XVI.2,
in faciem ei; XVIII.1, vultu decori; XVIII.2, vigore oculorum).
XVII.2. to recognize us (ut regnoscatis nos). Saturus insists that the spectators
remember their faces on the morrow. It is his hope that the mob will finally believe
their claim that they can rejoice in their suffering (passionis suae felicitatem), no
matter how harsh, if it is for and through Jesus Christ (cf. Felicity’s remark to the
guard in XV.6, Modo ego patior . . . sum).
XVII.2. on that day (in die illo). The phrase was a favorite of Christian writers
and could signify the parousia, that day when the righteous and the persecuted
would be saved and the evil punished (Mt 7.22), as well as the day Jesus died
(Gospel Pet. 12.50). However, in this context it appears, despite its inherent
ambiguity, to refer to the following day, when they shall be led in formal proces-
sion (pompa) into the arena for the start of the games.
XVII.3. the crowd . . . stunned (omnes . . . adtoniti). The crowd leaves their pres-
ence stunned because the truth of Saturus’s words and the conviction apparent in
the martyrs’ faces have transformed many in the crowd (see Mk 11.18).
XVII.3. many of them became believers (multi crediderunt). The phrase appears
indebted to the New Testament, particularly John (see 4.41, καὶ πολλῷ πλείους
ἐπίσ τευσαν). Compare this to the Greek version of the Passio, π λ εῖσ τοι
ἐπίστευσαν. This is yet another instance which illustrates that the Greek version
is more indebted to the Scriptures than is the Latin. Simplicius makes a distinc-
tion between πίστις and ἐπιστήμη, the latter term suggesting the special favor of
God unaided by a mediator (see Comm. Epict.). For some second-century apol-
ogists, the word ἐπιστήμη suggests an inherent characteristic of Christians (see
Justin, 1 Apol. 61.10 and Clem. Al. Strom. 7.16). The verb credo is only used by R
(XVI.4, XVII.3, XX.9, XXI.1) and has a distinctly Christian implication “to
become a believer” (see Souter, s.v. credens, “the faithful”). The Latin adjective
uses a positive degree, while the Greek has the superlative.
CHAPTER XVIII
The Argument: The Condemneds’ Door to Justice and Freedom

Let us examine the topography of this chapter with a view to understanding
whether it may provide additional insight into the historical setting of the events
being described. The chapter opens with a description of the martyrs marching
fearlessly and joyously on the day of their martyrdom. R notes that they marched
(processerunt) from the prison to the amphitheatre. His setting may allow us to
identify the historical topography of the scene or, at the very least, discount some
previous assumptions. The procession being described is the ritual celebratory
pompa, traditionally performed for funerals (see Suet. Iul. 37) and for the commence-
ment of the circus games, but here used to inaugurate the gladiatorial combats.
Such processions entered the Colosseum in Rome through the Porta Triumphalis.
The martyrs do not seem to have been imprisoned in the amphitheatre—as were
many who were executed in the games—since the text explicitly says they were led
to the gate of the amphitheatre. Their movement is toward the amphitheatre from a
point outside. The amphitheatre at Carthage, as one would expect of a major arena,
did have holding cells (still extant) beneath the floor of the arena, which today are
partially exposed. If the condemned were imprisoned in these subterranean cells, it
is hard to reconcile that place of imprisonment with R’s statement that they marched
to the gate of the amphitheatre (in amphitheatrum), where they were forced to
change clothes before they entered. For this to happen, they would have to have
been led from the subterranean cells, via one of the tunnels, to an exit outside the
walls of the amphitheatre, only to be led back to the arena through the gate. This
does not agree with R’s description, and these subterranean cells, moreover, were
not typically referred to as the “prison” (carcer).
Why march the condemned from beneath the middle of the amphitheatre
to the gate, force them to change there, and then march them back? And it is not
likely that he would have used the verb procedo if they were marching beneath the
arena hidden from view. Furthermore, even if we concede for the sake of argu-
ment that they were being held inside the amphitheatre, it would have been easier,
more efficient, and more dramatic to have dressed them in the pagan garb and
then have them brought up, either walking up the stairs or being winched up in
the cage-like boxes sometimes used to convey animals, and into public view. It is
more likely that they were imprisoned outside the amphitheatre and led into the
arena from a prison some distance away. Although we do not know the location
of their imprisonment, in her final dream Perpetua has provided some clue as to
where they were imprisoned: “And he took me by the hand, and we began to walk
through places that were rugged and winding. Finally, after great difficulty, we
arrived at the amphitheatre, all out of breath, and he led me into the middle of the
arena”: et coepimus ire per aspera loca et flexuosa, vix tandem pervenimus anhelantes
ad amphitheatrum . . . (X.3–4). If they were imprisoned in cells located in the
forum of Carthage or in the hypothesized prison of the urban cohort located on
the hill of Bordj Djedid, their movement would require that they descend from
Byrsa Hill, the location of the forum, a distance of at least half a mile, along a route
which still winds its way down to both the amphitheatre and the circus and, more
importantly, a route that would have allowed spectators to see them, thus
increasing the spectacle. This is a more likely location than the amphitheatre, but
until we have better archaeological data the precise location of this carcer will
remain unknown. However, although we cannot rule out that they may have been
imprisoned elsewhere, the likeliest place of their execution remains the civic
amphitheatre of Carthage.
Only Perpetua and Felicity are mentioned by name in this solemn procession,
and it seems they were at the end, following the column (Sequebatur Perpetua . . .),
the likeliest place for women in an otherwise all-male file. The language used to
describe the two women is important. Matrimonial language is used to charac-
terize Perpetua. She is the wife of Christ and the darling of God. The Greek avoids
the second epithet, but the term delicata was not uncommon on Roman funeral
stelae. Felicity is described in language that vividly reminds the audience of the
recent birth of her daughter. Although there are obvious class differences in the
language used to describe them—Perpetua, the noble-minded woman (generosa
illa), is Christ’s spouse, while Felicity is associated with birthing—both women
are nonetheless depicted in the language of the bedroom and the birthing stool.
The rhetoric focuses on their flesh. Why does R associate the two women alone
with marriage and birth at this crucial moment, just an instant before their deaths?
Does he harbor a lingering concern that the women’s single status might trouble
his audience? Do the women need to be legitimated socially even in the eyes of his
Christian audience through some quasi-marital alliance? Is there some lingering
shame R feels about their independence—a shame which he needs to exorcize?
To attribute such marital status to Perpetua provides a rationale and minimizes for
the Christians her present lack of a husband. It is also a sign that her social respon-
sibility is now complete and honorable. R answers the lingering concern about her
former legitimacy as a Roman matron (matronaliter nupta, II.1), since there can
be no suspicion as she now moves from her earthly marriage partner to the Lord.
Her imminent martyrdom is the moment when she will enjoy the fullness of that
final intimacy with God. Hence this is the perfect time to proclaim her betrothal as
she publicly walks to the waiting arms of her beloved savior.
The intensity of her gaze and the spectators’ inability to meet it in return is a
symbolic assurance to R’s audience that she is a noble woman, innocent and
proud of her status, and that it is the onlookers, those who cannot meet the inten-
sity of her gaze, who register shame. On this issue of the female gaze see Barton’s,
“Being in the Eyes.” Felicity is depicted in more corporeal language. R uses the
language of childbirth, evoking the bloodiness of her recent premature delivery
and the new blood she is about to shed. Lingering questions do remain: why is
Felicity’s death to be a second baptism? While the early Church used such
language when discussing the ordeal of martyrdom (see Tert. De Bapt. 1.16.1),
such language is here only used about a female character. R’s use of such language
in regard to the women alone is consistent with his position as a male Christian of
this period. Women, no matter how noble, no matter how independent, are none-
theless described in the traditional language of domesticity, of the body, of child-
bearing, and of their relationships with men. To be sure, in Felicity’s case his
language is commensurate with her recent experience and thus lends itself to
such description. R reassures his audience, presumably a predominantly male
one, that these two heroic women have not abandoned their proper place in the
social hierarchy, despite their election as martyrs, but have simply transferred
their matronly loyalties to a new Lord and master, Christ Jesus.
At the gate, the Christians are stripped of their clothes and forced to wear the
dress of the priests and priestesses of the pagan gods and goddess—the women
that of Ceres, a recently Romanized Tanit figure, and the men that of Saturn, the
former Punic god Baal. Tertullian identifies the priestly robes of Baal/Saturn as
red ocher and those of Tanit/Ceres as white (Apol. 15.4–5; De Anim. 2.7; and
AJA, x, 1895, 523). The indigenous pre-Roman people who worshiped Tanit and
Baal practiced human sacrifice, and these practices may linger in the unconscious
memory in this ritual redressing. The Tophet in Carthage contains thousands of
urns of the cremated remains of children and a number of stelae bearing the figure
of Tanit. This ritual redressing also serves to humiliate the martyrs by offering
them as sacrifices to these abhorred deities, and thus honors the emperor and the
traditional deities, whom the martyrs had earlier repudiated. Clothing them in
the garments of the priests of Ceres and Saturn also denies them the opportunity
to manifest their deaths as offerings to Christ. To die thus robed would be a signal
victory to the forces of evil they have fought against. Perpetua protests to the tri-
bune that to force them into these garments is to deny their freedom, asserting
that they came here freely to give their lives so that they might maintain that free-
dom of expression. Her efforts again persuade the tribune, who, it is said, recog-
nized the truth of her rebuke.
They are brought at last into the amphitheatre dressed in their normal clothing.
Perpetua is said to be singing a hymn, and R reminds his audience of her earlier
battle and triumph over the Egyptian (X.10). We are told that the three remaining
male martyrs threatened the spectators. As he has done for the two women, R
seeks to legitimate a normative social role for the men. Thus they are depicted as
fearless, brave warriors, as milites Christi. The appropriate balance in the Roman
social structure has been maintained even within this band of eschatological
Christians on their way to die. R depicts them as exemplary Romans who act
courageously, almost stoically, in the face of death. Caesar may take their lives but
not their dignity. Indeed, the condemned say as much to Hilarianus, his deputy.
They fearlessly accuse him through nods and gestures of his unjust judgment and
promise him that his actions will bring on his head the wrath and just judgment
of God. They turn the table and become the righteous judges passing sentence on
the entire assembly. Their unwillingness to be cowed infuriates the crowd, who
demand that the games begin. The games start with their scourging: they are
whipped by a line of venatores, those gladiators who fought with the beasts. Their
actual martyrdom begins symbolically with a whipping, precisely as did that of
their savior. R is careful to begin his depiction of their actual execution by showing
how it imitates that of Christ.
Chapter XVIII Commentary
XVIII.1. The day of their victory dawned (Illuxit dies victoriae illorum). The
language of the contest quickly became part of the rhetoric of martyrdom. The
struggle for the martyr was with sin and death itself. Their subsequent triumph
in martyrdom was not only over the Roman state but, as Paul states (para-
phrasing Isaiah 25.8), over death itself, which will be swallowed by their victory
(1 Cor 15.54, κατεπόθη ὁ θάνατος εἰς νῖκος). Early Christian writings understood
their “witness” as a struggle, as warfare both spiritual and physical (see 2 Clem.
16.2; Clem. Al. Strom. 1.8). Tertullian discusses the great anxiety the martyrs
feel on the day before they enter the arena and compares their struggle to that of
an athlete whose rigorous training prepares him for victory (Mart. 3.4: tanto plus
de victoria sperant), and Eusebius refers to the martyrs as “athletes of piety”
(Hist. Eccl. 6.1.1: τῶν ὑπὲρ εὐσεβίας ἀθλητῶν). Eusebius uses the expression “vic-
tory” in conjunction with the “crown of martyrdom” (Hist. eccl. 4.16.1). Blan-
dina is called a “noble athlete” (HE 5.19, ὡς γενναῖος ἀθλητὴς ἀνενέαζεν) whose
triumph over pain and refusal to recant is referred to as a “victory” (νικήσασα)
and who concludes her great trial in the amphitheatre, the very last to die, has-
tening after her spiritual children, having sent them on earlier “victorious to the
King” (Hist. Eccl. 5.1.55: καί νικηφόρους προπέμψασα πρὸς τὸν βασιλέα).
XVIII.1. their faces radiant (vultu decori). Decorus can indicate being adorned
with something, or a shining from within (the Greek version of the Passio uses a
similar term, φαιδρός, “radiant”). The Psalms frequently refer to the divine illumi-
nation that may brighten one’s face (Pss 66.1, 80.1–7, 88.16), and the transfigura-
tions of Moses and Jesus, their faces shining and radiant, were important Christian
literary motifs of transcendence (Ex 34.29; Mt 17.1–7; Lk 9.28–29). Some manu-
scripts of the Vetus translation of James use a similar phase, albeit in the context
of the fading of the beauty of nature, et decor vultus, alluding to Isaiah 40.6 (see Jas
1.11). Thus the idea that proximity to God or his grace could transform one’s
physical appearance became part of the rhetoric of martyrdom. Eusebius
describes the faces of those martyrs who remained faithful as they were paraded
out before the mob as “mingling great glory and grace” (Hist. eccl. 5.1.35: δόξης
καὶ χάριτος πολλῆς ταῖς ὄψεσιν σ υγκεκραμένης.
XVIII.1. and if by chance they trembled (si forte gaudio pauentes non timore).
This is a revealing aside. R anticipates the response of skeptics, perhaps in his
audience, who may have seen such a contest where the martyrs were so
terrified that they shook involuntarily from fear and perhaps some apostatized
(Euseb. Hist. Eccl . 5.1–12). R, with his idealizing impulse, is unwilling either
to allow the martyrs such feelings or to permit such an interpretation to his
audience.
XVIII.2. Perpetua followed (Sequebatur Perpetua). Presumably she followed

behind the male martyrs, as would have been customary for the women, who in
turn would have entered the arena as condemned criminals after the more impor-
tant figures had processed in. The Christians would have followed after the gladi-
ators and the bestiarii.
XVIII.2. darling of God (ut Dei delicata). The Greek lacks this significant
phrase—another example of R’s delight in alliteration—which amplifies the epi-
thet matrona Christi and emphasizes that Perpetua is an intimate and favorite of the
Lord (OLD, s.v. delicatus, 2b). The word has a rich semantic range; it can mean a
child slave, a companion of the household, a sexual plaything; a depraved lifestyle;
an animal kept as a pet; someone who is wanton, or a weak individual; and lastly, it
can be a term of fond endearment. The meaning of delicatus appears to have merged
semantically with that of delicia by the time of the Passio’s composition. This latter
use as a term of endearment (see TLL, s.v. delicia, cols. 447–48) is intended here—
perhaps with the subtle resonance that Perpetua, the “darling of God,” is also a
“child of God.” Used in this sense of endearment, the word is most commonly
found in texts from Late Antiquity and in some Christian literary materials. Tertul-
lian uses a synonym in Ad Uxorem 1.4.4: Deo speciosae, Deo sunt puellae. Robinson
first showed the use of the term in a funeral inscription from a cemetery in Lambae-
sis (CIL Afr. 2861: D M S / IVLIAE DELICATAE / MERENTI / DIDIVS FRVC-
TVS B / LATic); see also Laes, “Desperately Different?” Laes quotes Nielsen, who
suggests that the use of delicatus in Christian texts may underscore that group’s in-
terest in the conjugal nuclear family over the extended familia.
Perpetua uses the name of Christ and God sparingly, using the former only
three of the eight times it is used, and the latter only three of the thirteen times it
is used. R uses these names far more frequently, underlining his apologetic inten-
tion. We have no information on the situation regarding Perpetua’s husband. Her
marriage at this time was almost certainly sine manu, meaning she legally remained
a part of her natal family under the jurisdiction of her father, patria potestas (see
II.2, III.9). Such a reading also legitimates her father’s crucial role in the Passio
(see Treggiari, Roman Marriage, 28–36). A conundrum remains however, since,
even with a sine manu contract, Perpetua’s son would have been considered a
member of her husband’s familia. As the text vividly illustrates, the child is taken
by her father, a practice which normally would violate the husband’s jurisdic-
tional rights. It may be that we are dealing with a social anomaly. We cannot deter-
mine her conjugal status with the information provided in the text: Perpetua may
have been a widow; she may have been divorced, or indeed she may still have
been married but abandoned by her husband, or her husband may have been a
Christian in hiding. Moreover, there is no evidence that suggests her and Saturus
as husband and wife (pace Osiek, “Perpetua’s Husband”). Furthermore, such an
association raises the question of conjugal intimacy and thus runs counter to the
growing approval of sexual abstinence in Christian Carthage at this time (see
Tert. De Monog. 16).
XVIII.3. blood to blood (a sanguine ad sanguinem). This is another example of
R’s affection for alliteration.
XVIII.3. from the midwife to a net-bearing gladiator (ab obstetrice ad retiar-
ium). The Greek fails to render the specificity of the type of gladiator and sim-
ply remarks that she will fight in single combat alone, ἀπὸ μαίας πρὸς μονομαχίαν.
The Greek may be extending a theological argument about the testing of per-
sonal witness as ultimately a solitary act. Yet the failure to cite the specific type
of gladiator indicates that this Greek version, or the exemplar from which it is
drawn, did not know the word, did not think his audience would know it, or did
not think such detail important. The retiarius carried a weighted throwing net
(rete) and a short sword, and his role in the gladiatorial contests increased from
ca. 50 ce . There may be a hint of additional shame in the guise of this particular
gladiatorial combatant, as the retiarii had developed an unsavory reputation
even among the ranks of the gladiators by the time of Juvenal (see Juv. Sat.
2.143 ff.).
XVIII.3. to be washed after childbirth in a second baptism (lotura post partum
baptismo secundo). All those to be martyred have been baptized. Why is martyrdom
associated with a second baptism? Christianity preached the value of expiatory sac-
rifice, and the Gospels seem to link baptism and martyrdom (Mk 10.38; Lk 12.50).
What was only a nuance in the Gospels, however, became a veritable item
of belief in North Africa by the end of the second century. Tertullian, quoting Lk
12.50, appears to have believed that while the true Christian receives baptism
only once, there is a “second washing” (De Bapt. 16.1, secundum lavacrum) avail-
able only to the martyr and from which the martyr received an additional benefit.
Tertullian extends his ideas on martyrdom as the greatest Christian act (Scorp.
6.9–11), an act which makes Paradise immediately accessible (De Anim. 55.5)—
because the martyrs are led there by the Paraclete (De Fuga 9.4)—to a reentering
of the sacred sphere of baptism but in a more exalted manner. Hippolytus notes
that those who are martyred for the faith before baptism receive baptism in their
own blood (Trad. Ap. 19.2). Amat (251) is undoubtedly correct in identifying the
Greek τουτέστιν τῷ ἰδίῳ αἵματι as a gloss.
XVIII.4. they were led to the gate (ducti essent in portam). The Greek uses the
word “amphitheatre” instead of “gate,” πρὸ τοῦ ἀμφιθεάτρου. While this may ap-
pear to be a minor detail, it is important to note that the opening line of this sec-
tion specifically states that they were led from the prison to the amphitheatre.
Although we do not know which gate they entered through, the fact that they
processed in the pompa suggests it was one of the two main entrances.
XVIII.4. the priests of Saturn (sacerdotum Saturni). The male martyrs were
forced to wear the robs of Saturn, likely scarlet in color (Tert. De Anim. 2.7: et
pallio Saturni coccinata). This was an egregious insult because wearing the priests’
clothes identified them as his priests, and furthermore, Saturn was also associated
with the sacrifice of innocent children.
The Greek identifies the god as Cronus (Kρόνου). This difference in names is
an interesting example of religious syncretism. Saturn was an ancient and be-
neficent deity of agriculture and sowing indigenous to the Italo-Latin peoples.
The association of Cronus with Saturn seems largely to have happened after the
third century bce, when Saturn became increasingly associated with Cronus.
The Greek Cronus, according to Hesiod’s Theogony, castrated his father and
seized power. On learning that one of his sons would overthrow him, he
devoured all his children except Zeus, who was saved by his mother. Porphyry
reports a human sacrifice to Cronus in Rhodes at the start of his festival, when
a condemned criminal was killed to honor the god (De Abstinentia, 2.54). The
Saturn-Cronus association with human sacrifice begins with this branch of
Greek mythology, but his already complex image was enriched when the god’s
cult was transplanted to Africa. The Roman God Saturn in Afr ica Proconsularis
absorbed elements of the mythology associated with Baal Hammon. Carthag-
inians brought the cult of Baal-Hammon with them to North Africa in the ninth
century bce from their home in the Levant (see Leglay, Saturne Afr icain, 432
ff.). Baal Hammon was widely worshiped at Carthage, Thysdris, Cirta, Lambe-
sis, Utica, and Hadrumentum as well as in the smaller settlements. Baal was a
representative of the sun, fertility, and human sacrifice. Doubtless the early
Punic colonists brought their tradition of sacrificing children to Baal shortly
after their arrival. The Tophets at Carthage, Cirta and Hadrumentum, and
Minucius Felix testify to the extent of this practice, which continued through
the second century of our era (Min. Fel. Oct. 30.3). The Roman colonists
quickly assimilated the figure of Baal Hammon to Saturn. Unless we presume
the influence of Cronus on the Saturn cult before the Roman colonists came to
Africa, it would be a puzzle why the Romans assimilated this god, typically
identified with sowing, with the figure of Baal Hammon. Leglay also suggests
that the Roman Saturn received some of his associations with blood sacrifice
from the Etruscans.
Wilson notes that the syncretized version of Baal/Saturn was chiefly a votary
of the middle and lower classes and that the case for such syncretism was more
pronounced at military sites, like that of Lambaesis, the home of the Legio III
Augusta (see Wilson “Romanizing Baal” and Leglay, Saturne Africain, 128). That
the Romans did assimilate this figure is incontrovertible. They built some of their
most beautiful temples to Saturn over sites formerly dedicated to Baal Hammon.
The Temple of Saturn in Dougga (ca.195CE) is a notable example of this. It would

appear that the Saturn of agriculture and sowing was conflated with the Greek
Cronus of sacrifice, and in Roman Africa this syncretized Greco-Roman deity
was quickly associated with the indigenous Punic Baal Hammon and with the
history of blood sacrifice associated with that deity.
XVIII.4. priestesses of Ceres (sacratarum Cereris). The Greek version indicates
that Perpetua and Felicity were forced to wear the robes of the priestess of Deme-
ter, αἱ δὲ θήλειαι τῆς Δημήτρας. It is difficult to know exactly what these robes
looked like other than that they were recognized by the audience and offended
the martyrs. Apuleius suggests that Ceres wore a tunic and palla and that the
colors of her garments were so rich as to be almost unidentifiable, being of fine
silk and at some times appearing yellow or rose, at others dark, and covered with
a black robe (Met. 11.3: nunc albo candore, nunc croceo flore lutea, nunc roseo
rubore flammida et quae longe longeque etiam meum confutabat optutum, palla
nigerrima splendescens atro nitore . . .). Tertullian indicates that the priestesses of
Ceres also wore woolen wreaths on their foreheads (De Anim. 2.7: et vitta Cereris
redimita). Thus, as in the case of the gods Saturn and Cronus, we have an instance
of religious syncretism. The indigenous cult of the moon goddess Tanit, the con-
sort of Baal Hammon, influenced this Greco-Roman figure of Ceres-Demeter.
Likely brought to Africa by the early Phoenicians and related to the goddess
Astarte, she was an enormously popular deity, the goddess of the moon; her im-
ages are found frequently throughout the countryside and outside Africa, and
they are often represented abstractly as an equilateral triangle with a horizontal
line and a round disk. I have come across a Tanit stela in the floor of a merchant’s
house (ca. 200 bce) on the island of Delos. Additionally, there are a number of
stelae with Tanit figures in the Carthage Tophet. Attributes of the indigenous
goddess Tanit were assumed into the Roman moon goddess Dea Caelestis. And
by the time of the Severi, the goddess Ceres was particularly favored by those
who did not belong to either the senatorial or equestrian order. Thus there also
may have been issues concerning social class involved in dressing the female mar-
tyrs in her garb.
XVIII.4. that noble-minded woman (generosa illa). While both the Latin and
the Greek underscore her pedigree, the Latin uses the demonstrative pronoun,
while Greek uses her proper name, ἡ εὐγενεστάτη ἐκείνη Περπετούα (“that noble
Perpetua”). The Greek version has throughout sought to amplify and fill in
details, and this addition of the martyr’s name is in that same vein. Note also the
Latin uses the positive degree of the adjective generosa where the Greek uses
the superlative εὐγενεστάτη.
XVIII.5. fiercely resisted (repugnavit). This is an apt verb to describe her behav-
ior, as Perpetua herself uses a variant of this verb six times in her own narrative
(VII.8; X.1, 6, 14; XVI.2; XVIII.3). Perpetua is in a struggle that is both physical
and moral, and she chooses to resist both physically and with her will.
XVIII.5. We came here freely, so that our freedom . . . (Ideo ad hoc sponte per-
venimus). Tertullian uses sponte too, underlining an act of the will when he
describes the nature of the sacrifice Christ made on the cross (Apol. 21.19).
XVIII.5. handed over our lives (ideo animam nostram addiximus). Robinson
first identified this as an echo of the oath of the gladiator (see 89, no. 8, and
see Petron. Sat. 117). The gladiator’s oath (sacramentum gladiatorum), while
it bound the gladiator to the lanista and his “stable” of fighters, as Barton
states, paradoxically provided the gladiator some element of volition and
honor (see Barton, The Gladiator and the Monster, 15). Perpetua is defending
that crucially important element of free will, lest the martyrs be seen as con-
demned common criminals. (See also Mazzucco, “Il significato cristiano.”)
XVIII.5. Injustice recognized justice (agnovit iniustitia iustitiam). R’s use of
antithesis is another instance of his awareness of the rhetorical tradition. The
phrase is wonderfully economic and powerful in its effect. The truth of the Chris-
tian argument has persuaded the injustice of the system and the tribune, its adju-
dicator, to bow to its power.
XVIII.5. Perpetua was singing a hymn (Perpetua psallebat). Although psallo is
typically restricted to accompanying oneself on the cithara (LSJ, s.v. ψάλλω; OLD,
s.v. psallo, and Souter, s.v. psallo) and the association with psalmody was just being
recorded in Latin, the context demands the idea that she is singing an unidenti-
fied sacred song (see X.12). The earliest Christian Latin use of psallo
“to sing a hymn” which I have found is the Vetus versions of 1 Cor 14.15: Quid
ergo est? orabo spiritu, orabo et mente; psallam spiritu, psallam et mente , but see
also Eph 5.19, where Paul distinguishes among psalms (ψαλμός/psalmus), hymns
(ὕμνος/hymnus), and spiritual songs (ᾠδή/canticum): ψαλμοῖς καὶ ὓμνοις καὶ
ᾠδαῖς; and Col 3.16).
XVIII.8. trampling on the head of the Egyptian (caput iam Aegyptii calcans).
This is the entrance to a gladiatorial combat, and R’s depiction of the martyrs is
appropriately pugnacious. Perpetua, R reminds his audience, has already defeated
the Egyptian, and the ensuing battle, which Perpetua earlier identified as being
with Satan, was one which she knew she would win: sed sciebam mihi esse victo-
riam (X.11).
XVIII.8. of Hilarianus (Hilariani). This is P. Aelius Hilarianus, a member of the
equites class from Aphrodisias in Caria, who is serving as senior provincial procu-
rator of Carthage after the recent death of Minicius Timinianus (see above VI.3).
XVIII.8. through gestures and nods (gestu et nutu). Although both nouns are
ablative singular, they are used in a collective sense, since the reference is to the
martyrs. The Greek uses the plural forms κινήμασιν καὶ νεύμασιν. What precisely
the gestures were we can only surmise, but since the text notes that the audience
became angry, we can assume that they were pointing in a manner not designed
to show the proper deference to Hilarianus and the audience. Such gestures were
not unexpected in the amphitheatre and were also part of the repertoire used in
the mime shows, which were frequently performed in the amphitheatre and as
interludes in gladiatorial games. The relationship between the mimes and their
audience could be volatile, and there are records of outbursts (ad hoc populus
exasperatus) and obscene gestures between the mimes and the audience, rather
like what is depicted here (see Beacham, Spectacle Entertainments, 145). R may
be conflating his memory of the mimes in this depiction of their behavior.
XVIII.9. along a line of beast-hunting gladiators (per ordinem venatorum postu-
lavit). The presence of the order of venatores is significant, as it indicates that there
was very likely a venatio taking place on the same day as the death of the martyrs.
Although such combat with animals was traditionally reserved to the circus,
under the Empire the hunts were often staged in the amphitheatre, particularly if
savage animals were the game. That there was a line of venatores further suggests
that this was to be a large-scale venatio, underscoring the games as a celebration
of Geta’s birthday. Thousands of animals were often slaughtered at these games
(Dio Cass. 68.15; and see Epplett, “Capture of Animals,” who argues persuasively
that members of the Legio III Augusta went so far afield as to hunt lions in
Agueneb, Algeria, four hundred miles to the east of their camp). Tertullian knew
of the practice of whipping by the venator (Mart. 5.1: Alii inter venatorum taureas
scapulis patientissimis inambulaverunt). He scolds the present Roman leaders,
claiming that Christians’ lack of fear of the sword and of scourging has analogues
in their ancestors’ brave behavior (Ad nat. 1.18.11: Si flagris mulier insultauit, hoc
quoque, qui proxume inter venatorios ordine transcurso remensus est) and notes the
presence of such behavior pursued for glory by pagans.
XVIII.9. (utique). By the third century, utique has become simply an intensifier,
“yes” or “truly” (see Chapter XVI.3; Souter, s.v. utique; and Halporn, 49).
XVIII.9. they had obtained (essent consecuti). The Latin verb also conveys the
distinct sense of having sought this end as a goal (OLD, s.v. consequor, 9). The
Greek text, on the other hand, employs a quite different verb in the aorist, ὑπέμε-
ιναν, with a markedly different semantic register (LSJ, s.v. ὑπομένω, “endure”)
and one which appears to have been influenced by the New Testament and the
Christian Greek writers of the second and third centuries. If the Greek were
translating consequor, we would expect an equivalent like λαμβάνω, as we see, for
example, in 1 Cor 9.25, οὖν ἵνα φθαρτὸν στέφανον λάβωσιν. Can these different
lexical choices tell us something significant about the two versions? The Greek’s
choice of ὑπομένω reveals its greater indebtedness to the New Testament
(BDAG, s.v. ὐπομένω), used particularly in association with patient suffering.
The New Testament, particularly Paul, is at pains to inculcate the virtue of

patient endurance in times of trial (τῇ θλίψει ὐπομένοντες, Rom 12.12). Hebrews
12.2 makes the association succinctly, linking this patient endurance to Christ’s
sufferings ( Ἰησοῦν, ὅς ἀντὶ τῆς προκειμένης αὐτῷ χαρᾶς ὑπέμεινεν; see also 2 Thes
3.5). The literature of martyrdom of the second century (cf. also apologists like
Justin, 1 Apol. 39.5) also employs ὑπομένω to drive home the power of the Chris-
tian faith to overcome even the most difficult of torments. Polycarp is said to
have endured the fire, ὑπομεῖναι τὸ π ῦρ (Mart. Pol. 13.3), and in the Epistle of
Polycarp he is urged “to practice all endurance” (ἀσκεῖν πᾶσαν ὑπομονήν, 9.1).
CHAPTER XIX
The Argument: Let the Games Begin, Thrown to the Beasts

Chapter XIX offers a revealing insight into a conversation among the martyrs,
the radical eschatology of this group, and their desires for differing means of death.
The previous chapter ended with a depiction of the martyrs being scourged by a
line of venatores. This punishment was demanded by the mob. R begins Chapter
XIX with a Scriptural citation from John 16.24: “ask and you will receive”/petite et
accipietis. Surprisingly, however, rather than using this quotation to illustrate the
grace of God as the provider of life, he reverses one’s expectations and employs the
quotation to illustrate a human paradox, only understood by faith, and that is how
God has granted to each of them in the midst of life the death they have desired. R
next moves from this citation of canonical Scripture to a representation of the mar-
tyrs’ confessions of their most intimate thoughts on their imminent deaths, stating
that they spoke among themselves about their desire for martyrdom and the par-
ticular nature of the death which each desired. What does R’s bold disclosure of
these conversations accomplish? His revelation of their most private moments has
two important goals: first, it allows R to underscore his clout as the spokesperson
for the group and, second, it suggests that he was present at these conversations, or
that he had confidential, authoritative information about them. His rhetorical
strategy allows his audience to feel a certain privilege at being invited to join a small
band of initiates who know these heady secrets. Such privilege may also make some
slightly uneasy as they eavesdrop on this private conversation—the unguarded rev-
elation of the radical eschatology of this band of Christian zealots. There is some-
thing almost unwholesome, adolescent, bordering on the voyeuristic about R’s
reports of these intimate, overheard conversations. These are conversations which
the condemned had among themselves, unaware that they would be reported. At
the very least, R expected his Christian audience to respond to the implicit heroism
of their desires. His audience must also have shared some of these sentiments, even
if not to the degree of the imprisoned. Those hostile to the martyrs, the over-
whelming majority of the population, would have found such a discussion and
rationale for suicide shameful and worthy of condemnation.
The condemned’s expressed desire for martyrdom reminds one of the zeal to
be martyred which we see in the Epistles of Ignatius of Antioch. These young
Carthaginian converts who express this passion to die as martyrs, who specify
and revel in the precise nature of that death, whose behavior shows utter disdain
for authority, come perilously close to the border of a type of suicide well under-
stood in the Roman world, a world used to such examples of self-sacrifice in the
noble suicides of a Cato, Seneca, or Epictetus (see Seeley, Noble Death, 113 ff.). R
subtly reminds his audience that these men and women, however, die not as
Romans, not as heroic suicides, but as victims and inheritors of salvation who are
made sacred by their actions, since they follow the imitatio Christi. A further
factor that mitigates their actions as Christian suicides is the involuntary nature of
their arrest, imprisonment and death. They do not wish to die. They wish to live,
but only as Christians. If they cannot live as Christians, they prefer to die as
Christians rather than to live as Romans worshiping the traditional deities.
One of the most singular bits of conversation that the audience is invited to
consider is the condemned prisoners’ understanding of leadership roles within
the cult of the martyrs. Saturninus, for example, says that he wishes to be thrown
to all manner of beasts so that his glory will be the greater. Such a statement points
to a gradation of sanctity within the ranks of the martyrs, so that those who suf-
fered the most received the greater glory. In the Letter of the Martyrs of Lyons and
Vienne all eyes are on the young slave Blandina, who has distinguished herself due
to the degree of horrific abuse she was subject to. Later medieval hagiography
continued this hierarchy of sacrifice. When the age of the martyrs had passed,
Saints Augustine and Jerome fashioned a new hierarchy of sanctity with the
virgin ascetic saint at the apex.
R, although writing at some remove from their martyrdom, reveals many
details about their feelings and their executions. He notes that Saturninus and
Revocatus were first thrown to a leopard and then placed on a scaffold to be
attacked by a bear. R states that Saturus hated nothing more than a bear and hoped
to die from the bite of a leopard. Saturus’s expectations were thwarted in this
instance but were fulfilled later. Hoping to die from the bite of a leopard, he was
now tied to a wild boar but only dragged about the arena and not seriously injured.
The guard who tied him to the beast was gored and, in an ironic twist, died from
his wounds. Saturus was next tied to the scaffold awaiting the charge of a wild
bear. The animal, however, refused to leave its cage, and so Saturus was momen-
tarily spared, only to be recalled to return a second time to meet his fate—at
which time a leopard killed him. The audience is meant to see the providential
hand of God in these punishments and their miraculous postponements. R’s cita-
tion of Jn 16.24 at the beginning of the chapter has proved efficacious, since the
male martyrs do receive the deaths they desired (petite et accipietis . . .).
Chapter XIX Commentary
XIX.1. But he who said (Sed qui dixerat). Why does R use the masculine relative
pronoun rather than the name Jesus? Is this a reluctance to call on the divine
name except in the most critical moments? Jesus says in John 16.23, “Truly, truly,
I say to you if you ask anything of the Father, he will give it to you in my name”
(δώσει ὑμῖν ἐν τῷ ὀνόματί μου). The name “Jesus” is used only four times in the
Passio (I.6, IV.6, and XXI.11 [2x]). R uses it three of these four times, employing
it always in a doxology as part of a Christian formula. R avoids the use of the
divine name on its own as a unique utterance and a request. The single other use
of the name of “Jesus” is by Perpetua, who utters it as a talismanic protective cry
at a particularly difficult moment (see IV.6; and Heffernan, “Nomen Sacrum,” 26).
XIX.1. “Ask and you shall receive” (petite et accipietis). This phrase is an echo of
John 16.24. John employs the phrase so as to allow Jesus to introduce his impend-
ing death and inculcate the need for the disciples to pray to the Lord once Jesus
has returned to God. It was a consoling promise to Christians that God would
grant their requests, particularly in time of need. Tertullian is fond of this phrase
and glosses it three times. In De Baptismo he beseeches those who emerge from
the saving waters to ask for God’s blessings and to pray for Tertullian, a sinner:
etiam Tertulliani peccatoris memineritis (De Bapt. 20.5; Praescr. 8.11; Or. 10.1; see
also BDAG, s.v. αἰτέω).
XIX.1. the death that each desired (exitum quem quis desideraverat). R uses the
pluperfect in this context to underscore that the martyrs’ conversations about
their desire for death had taken place before the events narrated in Chapter XIX
(see Bastiaensen, “Le cérémonial épistolaire,” 447). Ignatius’s desire to die so that
he may be “a freedman of Jesus Christ” and through death reborn again in Christ
is the strongest statement of this desire before the Passio (Ign. Rom. 4.3, ἀπελεύ-
θερος γενήσομαι Ἰησοῦ Xριστοῦ, cf.1 Cor.7.22; also XV.3).
XIX.1. (quis). Quis is used in late Latin in place of quisque (Halporn, s.v. quis, 52).
XIX.2. desire (voto). The Greek τῆς εὐχῆς has a more theological connotation
(cf. Acts 18.18, 21.23, and Jas. 5.15).
XIX.2. For whenever they spoke among themselves (sermocinabantur). The verb
has the sense of holding an ordinary conversation among friends (OLD, s.v. ser-
mocinor). R’s change to the imperfect (also in the Greek συνελάλουν) dramatizes
the intensity of the martyrs’ habitual interest in this subject and indicates that it
was being discussed for some time.
XIX.3. on the platform (super pulpitum). This term belongs to the architecture
of the theatre (see Suet. Calig. 54.2, who refers to Caligula’s invitation to men of
consular rank to stand on the proscenium of the stage, super pulpitum conlocauit).
Within half a century, Cyprian used the term to refer to the platform from which
the Bible was read (Ep. 39.4). The Greek γεφύρας (“bridge”) misses this meaning,
and the author does not appear to know the term for this feature of the Roman
amphitheatre.
XIX.3. were threatened by a bear (ab urso vexati sunt). The Latin and the Greek
differ signicantly. While vexo can mean to be physically injured by violent blows
(OLD, s.v. vexo, 1), note that Saturus unambiguously remarks later to the soldier
Pudens that he has not yet been touched by a beast (XXI.1: nullam usque adhuc
bestiam sensi), hence my translation here of “threatened.” Note also that the Latin
is a plural. Both the martyrs were threatened, ipse et Revocatus. The Greek, how-
ever, employs an aorist passive singular, focusing entirely on Saturus, and further-
more states that Saturus was “torn apart” (ὑπὸ ἄρκου διεσπαράχθη), contradicting
Saturus’s prophecy and his own words repeated in XX.1. The verb for “tear apart”
is a compound form of διά and σπάω, or διά and σπαράσσω. This seems a particu-
larly important detail, since the text clearly indicates that Saturus dreaded
nothing more than the bite of a bear. Although not native to this part of North
Africa, bears were apparently familiar to those who visited the amphitheatre in
Carthage. Tertullian notes that the entrails of the bears killed in the gladiatorial
games, still filled with undigested human flesh, were highly sought after (Apol.
9.11: Ipsorum ursorum . . . de visceribus humanis).
XIX.5. offered to a wild boar (apro subministraretur). Wild boars were fre-
quently used in the amphitheatre at the games because they were less expensive
than large carnivores, as Diocletian’s “Edict on Prices” illustrates. The “Corridor
of the Great Hunt” in the Villa Romana del Casale in Armerina, Sicily, shows a
wild boar trussed in a restraining net, carried by two slaves, being loaded on a ship
for transport for the venationes in Rome.
XIX.5. the hunter (venator). This is the name for the gladiator who specialized
in hunting the animals.
XIX.5. who had tied him to the wild boar (qui illum apro subligauerat). Notice
that the Greek adds a detail not in the Latin, stating that Saturus was tied with a plaited
rope to the boar, σχοινίῳ προσδεθείς. The Latin subligo implies such a tying.
XIX.4. Saturus himself was only dragged (Saturus solummodo tractus est). The
Latin and Greek (ἐσύρη μόνον) both present this detail, which appears to func-
tion as an irony underscoring the horror of his being dragged across the coarse
sand of the arena floor. The role of the venator is frequently depicted in North
African mosaics (see also Apul. Met. 4.13). Commodus was notorious in the
arena and frequently played the role of Hercules venator, slaughtering animals and
men from the safety of a raised platform (Herodian, 1.15–17).
XIX.5. died a few days after the games (post dies muneris obiit). This small detail
adds to the historical verisimilitude of the narrative. While his death may also serve
some narrative point, that is, illustrating the irony of the hunter being killed by his
own machinations, it also points to R’s authority as an eyewitness to the totality of
the event, even to those things which happened after the martyrdom.
XIX.6. he was tied on the bridge (substrictus esset in ponte). The Greek lacks this
detail, indicating simply that Saturus was restrained and exposed. It is difficult to
identify precisely the referent for this ponte. The floor of the arena in most amphi-
theatre had a number of wooden trapdoors, which could open at right angles in
order to raise cages containing wild animals. It is entirely possible that ponte refers
to some such wooden trapdoor, which was in an open position and to which Satu-
rus was tied. The amphitheatre also had pegmata, which were wooden devices
that could be introduced into the arena via the trapdoors and counterweighted
lifts (see Suet. Calig. 26). In Cuiperi’s notes (185), which accompanied the 1692
edition of the Passio printed in Lactantius’ De Mortibus Persecutorum, there is a
woodcut of a pons depicting a naked woman lying on the platform being menaced
by a bear (see Cuiperi in my “Bibliography of Printed Editions” on Lactantius).
XIX.6. the bear refused to leave its cage (ursus de cavea prodire noluit). The bear’s
behavior points to the correctness of Saturus’s prophecy about being touched by
no animal other than a leopard, and thus this anecdote confirms that his pro-
phetic vision was a gift from God.
XIX.6. unhurt, was called back for the second time (secundo Saturus inlaesus
revocatur). This detail is lacking in the Greek, since that version has him being
mauled by the bear and ends on the note of the bear’s refusal to leave its cage. This
second calling underscores that the martyrs are not participating in a gladiatorial
combat but are being subjected to the punishment of a capital crime, since the
state’s intent is to kill all the Christians this day. Gladiators were an expensive
investment and, although many did die, every death cost their owners and dimin-
ished their profit. Hence it was financially beneficial to have a gladiator fight in as
many games as possible before his death.
CHAPTER XX
The Argument: Death Without Fear, Felicity’s Prophecy Fulfilled

R begins Chapter XX with the announcement that the women are to be matched
against a wild cow, ideoque praeter consuetudinem (“not a traditional practice”). The
reason for this strange choice of animals is so that their sex might be matched with
that of the beast. His remarks suggest his own experience of the games and of the
types of contests Christians were typically forced to endure. His explanation for the
fact that this curious beast was chosen by the authorities only hints at what they
intended. If the decision was made to match the women against a feminine beast,
would not a female of the cat family—a species frequently depicted in rhetoric with
feminine overtones, commonly used in the arena, and used here to kill Saturus—
have been at least as appropriate? Why then the mad heifer? The choice to torment
the women with the cow, the paradigmatic symbol of nurturing and fertility, is a
derisive comment on their domesticity, and their unnatural response to children,
birth, and lactation. The wild cow is a parodic symbol of their response to mater-
nity. The “cow” is a universal archetype of the nurturer, and its life-giving udders
parallel and mock the recent birth of Felicity and her unnursed breasts, still drip-
ping with milk. Plutarch notes the crucial need of a mother to nurse the child so as
to build the bond of mutual trust between them (see his De Liberis Educandis, 5.9,
in the Moralia). He notes further, and his point is pertinent here, that even animals
that have once nursed their young form an unbreakable and recognizable bond.
Thus, as the cow is the symbol of all that is motherly and nurturing, a wild cow
is its symbolic antithesis, and this scene argues that these Christian martyrs are to
civilized, human mothers as the wild cow is to its domestic relatives. Hence these
Roman women, who ought to have followed the customs of generations of their
sisters and given birth to productive Romans, are like this cow—mad, deranged,
barren, unnursed, and thus the antithesis of Roman maternity. Although it is
difficult to determine whether the Lex Iulia et Papia was enforced in Carthage at
this time, the cultural imperatives of those laws for Roman women to produce
offspring remained powerful (Dig. 38.1.37.1). Unmarried females and males alike
faced punitive taxes, and under Augustus adultery was a criminal offense which
could result in exile and loss of property, and brought, in theory, capital punish-
ment. Such traditions likely were even more applicable in a conservative society
like Roman Carthage.
Accordingly, since Perpetua and Felicity are in the eyes of the mob, at some
level, the analogues of this mad maternal symbol, they are brought out naked,
unclothed like an animal, and symbolically restrained by netting, a sign of human-
ity’s efforts to control the bestial, the erratic and irresponsible forces in its midst.
The officials, nuanced in their choice of beast and its symbolic signification, were,
however, unprepared for the reaction of the crowd. Even this crowd, one used to
frequent blood sports, was unprepared for what they saw: two young women,
one a delicate young girl (R’s reference to Perpetua’s status as a member of the
landed class) and the other, Felicity, days from childbirth, her breasts dripping
with milk. Such detail begs a moment’s consideration. The scene is a creation of
the omniscient redactor. We know what has happened only through the prism of
his imagination. He purports to be retelling an actual historic event. Yet it is diffi-
cult to know when he is transgressing historical details and constructing sacred
biography, a consolatio for the contemporary faithful. For example, was the
crowd’s lust for ritual violence slaked by what they saw, or is this anecdote an ad-
umbration meant to illustrate how Christian virtue can move even the benighted
crowd? R further notes that the crowd could readily see that Perpetua was a
woman of status and that milk was dripping from Felicity’s breasts. Such an anec-
dote provides both a rhetorical flourish and may prove to be an issue which can
be empirically tested. R’s emphasis on their youth and frailty and on Perpetua’s
class is intended to highlight their innocence and to portray the spectators, jailers,
and judges as the barbarous ones. Are these purely rhetorical embellishments, are
they a memory of what took place, or might they be an imaginative fusion of
history and epideictic? Might this visual anecdote also be a record of an actual
moment in the persecution? Was it even possible for the crowd to see their faces
and breasts? The material remains of the civic amphitheatre in Carthage provide
some assistance. I am assuming for this discussion that the scene takes place in
the extant civic amphitheatre (see X.4). The area of the arena of the amphitheatre
in Carthage is approximately 1,860 square meters, and it measures approximately
66 × 36 meters. Even if we allow that the two women were in the middle of the
arena during the assault, they would never have been further than approximately
18 meters distant, if that, from the crowd. Standing in the middle of the southern
cavea on a spring mid-morning facing the arena, I have been able to see with little
difficulty the expression on the face of someone who stood in the arena’s center.
Therefore, it is entirely possible that R’s reconstruction of this vignette is a fusion
of both rhetoric and the actual event.
While R provides details of their combat with the beast, his narrative functions
more like subtitles for a silent movie, lacking any strict denotative and chronolog-
ical correspondence between the actual image and the text. For example, R states
that Perpetua was thrown down; her clothing was torn and revealed her upper
thigh. But we are given no specifics: How was she thrown? Where was she when
it happened? Did the animal charge her; did she run, slip, and lose her footing;
was she gored (κερατισθεῖσα , as in the Greek alone); did she scream, or say any-
thing at all; did the crowd roar; where were her male colleagues? The events
which these questions throw into sharp relief are never mentioned. The narrative
depiction is sharply curtailed—deliberately so. R focuses on a few salient issues.
He limits the salacious details which would have made the narrative more dra-
matic and possibly more pious. Indeed, he actually introduces another element,
the figure of Rusticus, which moves the narrative away from the central character.
Who, for example, is this catechumen Rusticus? How did he and her brother
manage to get so close to Perpetua? Why does the focus shift to him at such a
critical juncture? Where are the authorities in all of this? Were other members of
her family present and watching, and where was R during the games?
Dozens of such questions press for an answer. R’s narrative and his attention to
detail in this, the most crucial of moments, are, however, surprisingly spare. While
he normally restricts his focus so as to isolate those moments which throw
Perpetua’s behavior into high relief, occasionally the historical record intrudes
and forces his narrative along a different path. This accounts for the presence of
Rusticus. He was a part of the oral tradition or textual exemplar from which R
received his story because he was there at the time. Such a strategy of highlighting
specific incidents to drive home his point—some might argue—obscures a full
and compelling narrative of the actual events and thus may jeopardize the histo-
ricity of the moment. It might be argued, from the opposite side, that R is uninter-
ested in a sentimental and tendentious view of their deaths through an extended
depiction of their torment, a depiction like the catalogue of abuses visited on the
young maiden Blandina in the Letter of the Churches of Lyons and Vienne.
Perpetua is the one who is first attacked and thrown to the ground, landing on
her side and ripping her tunic. Her response to the charge of the savage cow, if
read as a literal retelling of the actual moment, might strain credulity. The narra-
tive of her ordeal should be read with the understanding, as R states, that she is in
a state of shock. All of her actions are thus affected by this condition. Her first
action, to cover her thigh, is to defend her modesty and disdain her suffering. Are
we expected to believe that she acted in just this way? Does it matter? It apparently
did for R and his contemporaries. The next line may help to restore the balance
between idealizing biography and historical event. Perpetua asks for a pin to con-
trol the disheveled state of her hair. This is not an instinctual cosmetic response
on the part of a fastidious woman (see Tert. Cor. 2.1), or an act of Christian fem-
inine modesty. Rather, the reason for Perpetua’s behavior is her desire to provide
the crowd with a non-verbal account of her courage. Tousled hair signified
mourning for a traditional Roman matron. Her martyrdom signifies joy, not
grief, and she is determined that the semiotics of her action be clear—she needs
to appear well coifed. Her act is one of defiance, and it is in keeping with the
character of this young, independent spirit. Her actions may contain some his-
torical verisimilitude, as they support the presentation of character both in the
autobiography and what R has reported thus far. Likewise, the allusion to Polyx-
ena is intended to place Christian female heroism on a par with the greatest of the
Greek heroines. As an author, R has a responsibility to his audience to make his
case for Perpetua’s heroism with all the skills he commands. His use of literary
allusion need not jeopardize the historicity of his narrative. We do not doubt
Socrates’s existence or the depiction of his life because of Plato’s skill as an artist.
In the next frame of the narrative, Perpetua rises and helps Felicity up. We learn
of Felicity’s torment only by virtue of Perpetua’s offer of assistance to her fallen
comrade. The focus is entirely on Perpetua. Felicity’s role here, as subordinate,
exists only to emphasize the gracious courage of her mistress. Once on their feet,
the two stand invincible side by side. The crowd’s lust for ritualized violence tem-
porarily sated, the women were called back to the “Gate of Life.” This is an inter-
esting detail and likely an accurate historical one. Normally, if a gladiator was
returned to this gate, he would have had an opportunity to seek freedom. Per-
petua and Felicity are given only a temporary reprieve, as they are condemned to
death. The events which unfold at this gate are abbreviated but of great interest.
An entirely new and potentially important personage, Rusticus the catechumen,
is introduced into the narrative. We are told nothing about his identity save that
he is a convert. His name provides almost no evidence about his identity. Rusti-
cus was not an uncommon name. There were some notable individuals, some of
whom were native to Africa, who bore it. Tacitus writes about Fabius Rusticus,
the historian, who worked during the reigns of Claudius and Nero. There is a
funerary inscription to one Rusticus who was an architect and freedman of the
imperial family. What do we know about the Rusticus of the Passio? Virtually
nothing. He may have been a freedman, like his predecessor, since he goes only by
a single name, or conversely, there may have been reluctance to provide his com-
plete name so as to save him from the wrath of the authorities. Aside from the
pressing issue of his identity and his relationship to this group and to Perpetua in
particular, there are a number of issues concerning Rusticus which R leaves unre-
solved. Rusticus is in the midst of the action. What is he doing this close to the
condemned? How has he managed to have such access? He is identified as a cate-
chumen. His status is therefore illegal—if he converted after the imperial edict
was issued—and it is the same as that of Perpetua when she was first arrested. Has
he bribed the guards (III.6)? It seems most unlikely that a catechumen would
have had such easy access to her and not be among those who were also to die. We
would expect, if this were the case, for R to have mentioned him previously among
the names of those arrested or condemned. Why is Rusticus only mentioned so
vividly at the very end of the narrative? Paradoxically, the introduction of some-
one never mentioned in the Passio until this last moment, someone who thus
upsets the narrative congruence, might actually support the historical accuracy of
the moment. I would argue that his presence represents an unassimilated piece of
the historical fabric which R has felt it necessary to incorporate into his narrative.
Perhaps Rusticus is a fellow prisoner but one not slated to die at the moment.
If R had wished to develop the narrative and dramatize this moment, he would
have been better served to have had Perpetua meet one of her fellow martyrs,
preferably her teacher and leader, Saturus. She has been struck by the beast; she is
in shock and needs supporting. What better moment could there be to introduce
Saturus—her leader, teacher, and guide in the faith? Such a portrayal would
provide more narrative coherence than the meeting with the unknown newcomer
Rusticus. Nonetheless, it is Rusticus who is introduced. He is the single indi-

vidual at this stage who is named, and it is he alone who goes to her side to sup-
port her in her crisis. Their meeting then is surely not insignificant. Rusticus
supports Perpetua just as she supported Felicity. For the first time in the Passio,
Perpetua needs help. She is dazed from the shock of being trampled to the ground.
R is quick to minimize her actual physical condition, her state of shock, and
transforms it into a circumstance of spirit possession and ecstasy. Rusticus holds
Perpetua. The verb adhaereo is sufficiently nuanced to allow for a number of read-
ings. It is difficult to know who supports whom. Rusticus appears to derive emo-
tional strength from the martyr, but she less from him, despite the fact that she
has been knocked senseless by the beast and requires his physical support.
Perpetua is fully in the Spirit, and the Lord is suffering in her and for her, as
Felicity eloquently stated (XV.6). Perpetua’s first remark is revealing and indi-
cates genuine physical shock: she is unaware that she has been thrown by the cow
and even uncertain of the beast’s identity. She only acknowledges that she has
already been thrown to the animal when she sees the sign of violence on her body
and her torn clothing. We learn for the first time that she has suffered some
bruising and possibly more serious injury. Her last words in this chapter are an
exhortation and a quotation: “Stand fast in the faith and love one another,”
addressed to her brother and the catechumen, presumably Rusticus. It is signifi-
cant that these two men are joined with their “sister” at this final farewell. The
reference to her brother is a reference to her blood brother, who was also a cate-
chumen (II.2). The call to her brother reminds the audience of her family, her lost
son, her aunt, her mother, and, most significantly, her father and his desperate,
heartfelt pleas. Her prayer that her brother and Rusticus “love one another,” while
a Scriptural tag, also suggests some special familial intimacy that her brother
shared with Rusticus, perhaps through the person of Perpetua. Although the evi-
dence will not allow us to speculate further, it seems clear that these three individ-
uals had a prior history. This unknown past is likely the reason that Rusticus and
her brother are with her just before her death. Furthermore, this brief evocation
of family connects her to the lived world of Roman Carthage, emphasizes her
flesh and blood, the boldness or madness of her choice to die for her faith, and
diminishes her depiction as a type of Christian goddess.
Chapter XX Commentary
XX.1. For the young women (Puellis). The Greek adds the qualifier (absent in
the Latin) ταῖς μακαρίαις, implying that they are blessed as they go to their
deaths. The Greek text frequently theologizes the narrative, which emphasizes
its distance from the actual event. The Greek μακάριος may be an echo of the
beatitudes (Mt 5.3 ff.).
XX.1. a wild cow ( ferocissimam vaccam). This is a curious beast, and the exact
meaning of the phrase is itself ambiguous. Cows were almost never used in the
arena. The phrase has caused consternation among translators. Musurillo trans-
lates this phrase as a “mad heifer” (see the translations of Allard, Saxer, and Ham-
man, who render it as a vache furieuse). Such translations read ferocissimam as a
characteristic of the animal’s disposition and not, as I believe, as a description of
its natural state as a wild animal (Amat, 171: une vache des plus sauvages). The cow
may be “ferocious,” but this is not because it is suffering from some distemper
which makes it “mad,” but rather because that is its natural state as a wild animal.
If it were “mad,” as Musurillo and others have it, it is more likely that the author
would have chosen a more apt modifier, such as demens, irata, or truculenta. If we
read the expression as an allegory of an evil combatant, the beast’s nature is due
to the machinations of the devil (see below XX.1, diabolus preparavit).
Wild animals were used almost exclusively in the arena, but for special events
tame animals in considerable numbers were displayed, hence the need for the
specificity in this instance (see Friedländer, Roman Life and Manners, 2.69–70).
Wild bulls (tauri) were commonly employed in the arena during venationes and
are frequently depicted on North African mosaics and terracotta statues illus-
trating scenes from the arena (see the Carthaginian terracotta figure of the woman
tied to the back of a bull being attacked by a leopard, printed in Kyle, Spectacles of
Death, fig. 4, p. 93). There were also pornographic games in which condemned
females were forced to dramatize the tale of Pasiphae and the bull.
Furthermore, uacca is a much less used as a word for cow than bos, for example.
If the women had been matched against a bull, a symbol of hypermaleness, the
implication would have been clear, i.e., they were adulterers who were being pun-
ished for their crimes against a symbol of savage, rapacious maleness (see Shaw,
“Passion of Perpetua”). Being matched against a wild cow is a sign that their ma-
ternity is being mocked and ridiculed and through them the maternal instincts of
the class of women called Christian. Both Perpetua and Felicity have voluntarily
given up their children, a behavior which Roman women would have found in-
comprehensible and savage. The women, like the savage cow, are being referred to
as beasts, unnatural and a disgrace to their gender.
XX.1. not a traditional practice (ideoque praeter consuetitudinem conparatam).
R’s observation is important, as it shows knowledge of the venationes and the tra-
ditions of the games in the amphitheatre. The Greek version lacks this important
detail, which suggests that its author was less familiar with the games.
XX.1. the devil prepared (diabolus preparavit). We have been prepared for
this attribution to the wiles of the devil in Perpetua’s earlier remarks (X.4),
where she acknowledged that they would not be fighting against beasts but
against the devil.
XX.2. The crowd shuddered (Horruit populus). The Latin horruit is a strong
verb emphasizing the crowd’s shock at seeing the youth of the women. The Greek
verb is less intense (ἀπεστράφη) and does not emphasize the stunned look of the
crowd.
XX.2. stripped naked and clothed only with nets (despoliatae et reticulis indutae).
North African Mosaics invariably depict those who are fighting against the beasts
in the arena as naked (see the House of Orpheus floor roundel, Volubilis, Mo-
rocco). The nets would have restricted the women’s movement and thus made it
easier for the wild cow to hurt them. Despolio may signify the stripping off of
clothing before scourging (OLD, s.v. despolio, 2). The sequence of clothing
changes is important. The women martyrs were first brought into the arena in the
robes of the priestesses of Ceres (XVIII.4). Their protests to the Tribune were
heard, and they were then brought back into the arena “simply as they were”
(XVIII.6, quomodo erant, simpliciter inducerentur). Presumably this means that
they were allowed to dress in the clothing they were wearing before they were
forced to robe in the garb of Saturn and Ceres. After having been paraded around
the arena and having been scourged, they must have been returned out of sight of
the crowd, perhaps to some holding pens beneath the arena floor, where they had
their clothes stripped off and were wrapped in nets in preparation for this
entrance. The Greek does not mention the stripping of their clothes but simply
states they were naked (Kαὶ γ υμνωθεῖσαι). The martyr Blandina was also
wrapped in a net, but unlike Perpetua and Felicity, she was victimized by a bull
which tossed her about until she lost consciousness, when she was killed (Eus.
Hist. Eccl. 5 1.56).
XX.2. seeing that one was a delicate young girl (respiciens puellam delicatam).
Although puella regularly signified an adolescent, it could infrequently refer to a
married woman (Apul. Met. 6.10). The word delicata occurs twice in the Passio
(cf. XVIII.2). R uses this language not only to heighten the heroism of Perpetua,
but he wishes to convey that the crowd also recognized that she was attractive, that
she was someone of high status, and someone who was God’s favorite. There seems
also to be a subordinated erotic overtone in this phrase, particularly as it refers to a
young, attractive woman who is depicted naked and covered with restraints.
XX.2. the other (alteram). Unlike Perpetua, who is puellam delicatam, Felicity is
described entirely from the point of view of her recent parturition; she is “the
other.” The contrast between the two women could not be greater: Perpetua, men-
tioned first, is delicate, attractive, well born, and clearly of some social standing.
Felicity represents maternity. R’s language acknowledges that the former is a
Roman matron and the latter a slave.
XX.3. unbelted robes (discinctis). The participial adjective for “unbelted” tunic or
robe occurs in two other situations (X.2, 8), referring to the garb of Pomponius
and the lanista respectively (see X.2). The Greek is completely opposite and states
that their garments were belted (ὑποζώσμασιν). Lampe suggests the Greek
ὑπόζωσμα in this instance means “drawers, pants” (Lampe, s.v. ὑπόζωσμα), presum-
ably deriving it from “to fasten” (ὑποζώννυμι). If Lampe is right, this further indi-
cates the difference of the Greek from the Latin. Note that R’s fondness for
repetition is present in induo (cf. XX.2). There is no shift in the chronology of the
Latin narrative from the scene of their being dressed in unbelted robes and the at-
tack by the cow in the arena. The Greek seeks to smooth the transition with the
genitive absolute εἰσελθουσῶν αὐτῶν (“when they had come in”).
XX.3. Perpetua was thrown down first (Prior Perpetua iactata est). As she is first
in status, first to enter and first in the eyes of God, she is the first to be hit. The
Greek states that she was actually gored by the horn of the cow (κερατισθεῖσα).
The Latin never mentions that the animal is horned. The Greek “goring” has the
feel of a gloss attempting to explain the subsequent tear on the side of her tunic,
which oddly, however, is missing in the Greek. The Latin never mentions any
goring but simply notes the presence of a tear in the side of her tunic.
XX.3. ripped on the side (a latere discissam). The Greek never mentions that the
tunic was ripped. This is curious, since the Greek explicitly notes that Perpetua
was gored. It is not likely that an individual who was gored by the horn of such an
animal would not have a tear in his or her clothing.
XX.4. she drew it up to cover her thigh (ad velamentum femoris reduxit). Although
it is impossible to determine with certainty where she was first hit, the likelihood
is that she was hit obliquely, since if the blow came straight on, she would have
fallen backwards and landed on her back (tergum). We are told that she fell on her
side (OLD, s.v. lumbus, “about the hips”) and that the rip was on the side of the
tunic—presumably caused by the animal—and that she modestly drew the tunic
up to cover her thigh (OLD, s.v. femur, 1). All these words suggest that the blow
came from the side and that she was thrown to the side opposite where she was
hit. The narrative also is redolent with voyeurism as the crowd leeringly looks at
her suffering and her temporary dishabille.
XX.4. more mindful of her modesty than her suffering (pudoris potius memor
quam doloris). Musurillo suggested that this line reminds one of Polyxena’s
death (Eur. Hec. 569–70, ἡ δέ θνησκους / ὃμως, πολλὴν πρόνοιαν εῖχεν εὐσχήμως
πεσεῖν / κρύπτους᾿ ἃ κρύπτειν ὄμματ᾿ ἀρσένων χρεών). The figure of the noble,
virginal woman about to be sacrificed is present also in the person of Iphigenia,
who in Aeschylus’s version, dies at the altar (Aga. 218–49 and Eur. Iph. Aulis
1540–97). The question we have to address is not R’ s use of the allusion to
Polyxena, which seems apparent, but whether such use jeopardizes the truth of
his depiction, as some argue (see Bremmer below). It is impossible to answer

this question to everyone’s satisfaction. The women’s gestures are very similar.
What I would propose is that anyone who pretends to literary skill, as does R,
never serves as a simple reporter but as something of an artist with all the atten-
dant liberties. Does anyone doubt that Plato permitted himself the liberty of
dramatizing his depiction of Socrates? But for all that, we do not think that
Socrates is a fiction or that his final words to Crito were not, “I owe a cock to
Asclepius.” There is another question we might ask: Why would a Christian po-
lemicist wish to acknowledge such a parallel between Polyxena and Perpetua?
And while both women exhibit a similar concern for modesty, their characters
could not be more different. Perpetua is a mother with a two-year old son. Fe-
licity has just given birth to a daughter. Polyxena and Iphigenia are virgins.
Indeed the entire efficacy of the Greek maidens’ sacrifice depends on their state
as unmarried virgins. Their virginity was a measure of their innocence and youth
(see Mossman, “Death of Polyxena”). Furthermore, Neoptolemus sacrifices
Polyxena to his father in the hopes that her blood will summon the great Achil-
les. Lastly, Polyxena, immediately before Neoptolemus cuts her throat, tears her
robe off from her shoulder to her waist displaying her breast for him to strike.
These are significant differences in the Christian and Greek heroines’ death
scenes, just as there are parallels. See also Braun, who noted the popularity of
Polyxena in Roman theatre in the second century and the use of this figure by
such notable Christian stylists as Ambrose in his hymn to St. Agnes (see his
“Honeste cadere”). Bremmer in his review of Habermehl’s “Perpetua und der
Ägypter,” suggests that the presence of this echo of Polyxena’s death is a caution
that the depiction of the martyr’s death is untrustworthy. Such a judgment reads
R’s depiction in a binary fashion: an accurate depiction cannot employ literary
allusion. If literary allusions are present, then the depiction is untrustworthy.
Surely this cannot be correct. R is not a modern journalist working under the
imperative to “get it right.” The motif of the heroic female death from Euripides
was well known, and R, writing some months or even a few years after the
events, used the allusion to place Perpetua in that class of persecuted innocents
who emerge transcendent from their ordeal. To suggest that the presence of the
allusion renders the entire scene “untrustworthy” is to insist that this ancient
author is a cipher, copying the scene before his eyes with an unfailing effort to
reproduce some “factual” reportage. Such was not his interest or intent. The al-
lusion to Polyxena was deliberate, and it was meant to show that the Christians
have heroines every bit as heroic as the Greeks did. The Greek version adds an
otiose and repetitive phrase not found in the Latin, αἰδουμένη , μηδαμῶς
φροντίσασα τῶν ἀλγηδόνων, which Robinson referred to as a “curious addition”
(91; van Beek believes this spurious, see ad loc. 47, 17).
XX.5. requested a pin (acu requista). This anecdote is not in Hecuba. There is
some subtle ambiguity in her request, since it could also refer to pinning her torn
tunic (see Halporn, 54). The Greek is syntactically clearer, though βελόνην is less
specific a term for a hair pin than is acus (LSJ, s.v. βελόνη, and OLD, s.v. acus, 2a).
Furthermore, the Greek amplifies details not in the Latin and refers to both her
disheveled garments and her hair (τὰ ἐσπαραγμ ένα σ υνέσφιγξεν, καὶ τὰς τρίχας
τῆς κεφαλῆς περιέδησεν).
XX.5. a martyr (martyram). This is the first attested occurrence of the feminine
noun martyra (see Halporn, 54 and Souter, s.v. martyra).
XX.5. disheveled hair . . . glory (sparsis capillis . . . gloria). The traditional
cross-cultural gendered sign for public female ritual mourning is disheveled hair.
The disheveled hair is a sign of self-debasement, and this is precisely the note
that the martyr does not wish to convey. The martyr must project triumph and
glory, and not debasement (see Jerome, Ep. 118.4.1). Tearing the hair was a wide-
spread tradition. (See the anecdote narrated by Diodorus Siculus 19.34.1–3, and
Plutarch, who in Roman Questions notes that Roman women leave their hair
disheveled in mourning because it represents a reversal of normative practice,
Moralia, RQ , 14; also Osborne, Studies in Ancient Greek; and Halevi, “Wailing
for the Dead.” And cf. IX.2.)
XX.6. Then she got up (ita surrexit). The Greek lacks this detail. Ita is used in the
temporal sense (cf. Bastiaensen, 448, who cites TLL 72, c. 522). Although van
Beek suggests a lacuna in the Greek version, the text reads intelligibly as is (see
49.6).
XX.6. crushed to the ground (et elisam). The verb elido can suggest “crush to
death” and indicates that Felicity is so seriously injured that she is unable to
get up by herself and hence requires Perpetua’s assistance (OLD, s.v. elido, 1b;
and Souter, s.v. elido). Amat (256) suggests this is a Christian Latin synonym for
prosternere.
XX.6. and helped her up (suscitauit illam). The Latin suscito (OLD, s.v. suscito,
3a) principally means “to move from a recumbent position.” It can also can sig-
nify “to arouse from unconsciousness,” “to restore to life.” The Greek ἤγειρεν has
a more pronounced theological range of meanings, its semantic range extending
even to a resurrection (see BDAG, s.v. ἐγείρω, 7).
XX.7. called back to the Gate of Life (revocatae sunt in portam Sanavivariam).
There were three possible outcomes in a contest to the death in the arena. The
victim, if killed, was dragged first to the spoliarium where, if not already dead, he
had his throat cut. If he was defeated but his life was spared, he normally was sent
out through the Porta Sanavivaria, but if he was victorious and spared he was
sent out through the Porta Triumphalis (see X.13 above). The use of this gate at
this stage in the contest represents a temporary respite from suffering, since the
Christians must die because they have been sentenced for a capital crime. The
Greek does not transcribe the proper name but provides a translation, Zωτικήν.
(For a discussion of these terms see Bomgardner, Roman Amphitheatre, 137; and
Kyle, Spectacles of Death, 159.)
XX.8. received by a certain Rusticus (Rustico . . . suscepta). This is the first time
this catechumen Rusticus is mentioned. While his name suggests that he has a
low social status (OLD, s.v. rusticus), his familiar behavior with his social betters
and his appearance at this crucial juncture in the narrative belie this humble
origin. While we have no evidence about his personal connection to Perpetua, he
must have known her before the contest, as he alone welcomes her, at this most
crucial moment, on her return to the “Gate of Life.” He both welcomes her and
clings to her side (qui ei adhaerebat)—is this an embrace?—comforting her
and being comforted in turn. This is the only instance in the Passio when another
individual holds Perpetua and the only instance of the use of this verb (adhaereo),
which suggests closeness and intimacy. Was Rusticus a member of her familia or
a member of her house church? He is not under arrest, since he moves openly and
freely among the condemned and the authorities alike. Also, he is not mentioned
as one of those arrested. His apparent lack of detention, his apparent freedom, if
my surmise is true, raises the question of his exact identity. If Rusticus is a Chris-
tian, which seems likely from this anecdote, would the ban on conversions not
have applied to him as well? Perhaps he converted before the putative ban and
thus was not breaking the law. While we may never solve the mystery of his iden-
tity, his presence here at this moment suggests that he is an important figure in
Perpetua’s life (see Batiaensen, 448). It is tantalizing to note in our investiga-
tion of the person of Rusticus the presence of adhaereo in the context of Jesus’s
instructions on marriage, relinquet homo patrem suum et matrem et adhaerebit ad
uxorem suam (Mk 10.7 προσκολλάω). The majority of Vetus MSS read adhaero,
but the Greek Passio reads παρειστήκει (“standing near”).
XX.8. She awakened (expergita). Perpetua and Saturus use the participial form
of expergo (IV.10, VII.8, VIII.3, X.13, XIII.8) to conclude their respective dreams
and acknowledge their return to a state of consciousness. Perpetua awakens from
the shock induced by the attack of the mad cow.
XX.8. she was so deep in the spirit and in ecstasy (adeo in spiritu et in extasi
fuerat). R seeks to theologize her obvious physical shock by his suggestion that
her awakening was from an ecstatic state and not from the attack of the animal
alone. He uses adeo with spiritu and extasi to underscore the intensity of her com-
plete immersion in the Spirit and the overwhelming sense of divine afflatus which
embraced her. The use of the term “ecstasy” is deliberate and reflects the strong
attraction early Christianity felt for this state. The Passio’s use of the word extasis
is the earliest I have found in Christian Latin. Tertullian employs this term in a
number of his works, De Anim. 9.4, 45.3 and De Ieiunio 3.2, but neither work can
be dated earlier than 210 (see TLL, s.v. ecstasis).
Ecstatic prophets were a feature of late second-century life, and an educated
pagan could appeal to a hoary authority, notably the authority of the Pythia, who
uttered the ambiguous oracles of the god. Both the Attis and the Isis cults made
use of an ecstatic state (Apul. Met. 11.6, 21.24). Neo-Platonists like Plotinus under-
stood and valued the role of that state (Enn. 4.8.1, 6.7.22, 911). Both the Hebrew
and Christian Scriptures also depict individuals who are ecstatic. Deborah may
have been such a character ( Jas 4.4). Philo is perhaps the first to use the term to
characterize an out-of-body, trance-like experience in his commentary on Abram’s
dream (Gn 15.12). Although present in the Septuagint (Gn. 15.12), the Christian
Scriptures seem particularly to valorize the ecstatic state. John sees a door in
heaven and acknowledges, εὐθέως ἐγενόμην ἐν πνεύματι/et statim fui in spiritu (Rv
4.2); Luke records that Paul, referring to what happened to him after his Damas-
cus experience, said “After I had returned to Jerusalem and while I was praying in
the temple, I fell into a trance” (ἐκστάσει, Acts 22.17); and Paul himself accepts his
visionary ability (2 Cor 12.1). The early Church appears to have believed that the
revelations received in ecstasies were particularly beneficial in times of travail and
persecution. See Acts 10.10, where Peter falls into an ecstatic trance (ἐγένετο ἐπ᾿
αὐτὸν ἔκστασις, and 7.55 and 11.5).
XX.8. and looked about her (circumspicere coepit). R uses this detail to great ef-
fect to reinforce her awakening to the conscious state.
XX.8. or whatever it is? (illam nescioquam). The use of this indefinite adjective
is slightly dismissive and implies that Perpetua is not interested in the manner of
her punishment (see OLD, s.v. nescio, 6a). Her disdain for the manner of her suf-
fering exemplifies the Christian ideal emphasized in the New Testament (Mt
16.24) and in such spirituality as Ignatius’s desire to accept whatever self-sacrifice
the Lord has provided.
XX.9. she refused at first to believe it until . . . her body and her clothing (non prius
credidit nisi . . . habitu suo recognovisset). The syntax seems garbled, since classical
usage would not employ nisi in this position. Braun and Halporn have noted the
use of nisi for quam after a negative comparison in late Latin (see Braun, suggest-
ing it is an example of a “popular” use in his “Nouvelles observations linguis-
tiques,” 113 and Halporn, 55). The Greek πρὶν is unambiguous. Perpetua’s refusal
to believe she has actually been attacked until she sees the signs of violence on
her body, although intended to reinforce her ecstatic, out-of-body state and the
miraculous nature of God’s protecting grace, is, while different, nonetheless rem-
iniscent of Thomas’s remark to his fellow disciples: “Unless I see the mark of the
nails in his hands . . . I will not believe” (ἐὰν μὴ ἴδω ἐν ταῖς χερσὶν αὐτοῦ τὸν τ ύπον
τῶν ἣλων . . . οὐ μὴ πιστεύσω/Nisi videro in manibus eius figuram clavorum . . . non
credam, Jn 20.25). God’s saving power, which transcends the expected, is evident
in both instances. Thomas discovers that Jesus, though tortured to death, lives,
just as Perpetua discovers her own immunity to this affliction (cf. Felicity’s
remarks XV.6).
XX.9. certain marks (notas vexationis). Nota can signify the “marks” left by a
blow (OLD, s.v. nota, 9a). Tertullian uses vexatio in an analogous way when he
refers to the vanity of the mob, who exult in the way the Christians are tormented
in the amphitheatre (Apol. 49.6: Proinde et vulgus vane de nostra vexatione gaudet).
The Greek σημεῖον seems already to have acquired a strongly ecclesiastical register.
Its use in the New Testament for portent or miracle is well established, and Origen
also used this word to designate the wounds on the risen Christ’s body (Cont. Cel.
2.59.4: καὶ τὰ σεμεῖα τῆς κολάσεως ἔδειξεν ὁ Ἰησοῦς), its precise use here.
XX.9. her body and her clothing (in corpore et habitu). The Greek lacks “her
clothing” (cf. XX.1). The Greek version is inconsistent in the matter of whether
they were naked or dressed; furthermore, the Greek is entirely opposite from the
Latin and states that their clothing is unbelted (cf. XX.1, XX.3).
XX.10. her brother and the catechumen (accersitum fratrem suum et illum cate-
chumenum). The passage is difficult, but perhaps we can press it to reveal a less
obtuse meaning. This phrase identifies two different individuals, both of whom
are unknown. The identifications are ambiguous. Her “brother” may be her
brother by blood, who is identified as a catechumen (II.2), or one of her fellow
believers (XIII.8). R uses the word “catechumen” four times in the Passio (II.1, 2,
XX.8, 10). He first uses it to indicate the status of those who were first arrested
(II.1) and next to identify one of Perpetua’s blood brothers as a catechumen
(II.2). He then uses the word to identify the status of Rusticus (XX.8), the only
one identified by name as a catechumen. And lastly, he identifies the individual
whom Perpetua summons to her side as “the catechumen” (XX.10). R’s use of
accerso to call to her side her brother is understandable but not to summon Rus-
ticus, since we are told in the line above that he is clinging to her side. One hardly
needs to summon someone who is already present. Thus, it is more likely that this
frater is the one whom she has just summoned and that he is her brother by blood
and Rusticus the catechumen. Her blood brother has only been identified as
frater and catechumenus, and Rusticus as catechumenus. In order to distinguish
between the two, who are after all both catechumens, R uses the language of
kinship and ecclesiology.
XX.10. Stand fast in faith . . . (In fide state . . .). An exhortation and a quotation
from 1 Cor 16.13 addressed to the two men at her side. Most of the Vetus readings
are vigilate state in fide.
XX.10. and love one another (et invicem omnes diligite). This continues the ex-
hortation and is likely based on 1 Jn 4.7. That the final words of a hero or heroine
should contain direct quotations or parts of quotations is a traditional trope and

has been part of Christianity from the very beginning (cf. Lk 23.46).
XX.10. and do not lose heart (ne scandalizemini). This is Christian Latin and
derived from the NT idea that one should strive to believe and at all costs avoid
apostasy (Mt 11.6, 13.57, 26.31; Mk 6.3; Lk 7.23; Rom 14.21). Although originally
from the Greek σκανδαλίζω (“to cause to stumble, give offense or scandal to any-
one”), its use here need not depend on the Greek NT, as the word is present both
in the Vetus and Tertullian. The latter uses it to suggest that heretical teachings on
the Trinity give offense (Prax. 19.8: et tamen ne de isto scandalizentur) and to il-
lustrate prideful behavior which minimizes Christ’s sacrifice (Cor. 14.2: capite . . .
Fortasse tunc illos coronato scandalizauerit). For its NT and patristic use, see
BDAG, s.v. σκανδαλίζω, 1b; and Lampe, s.v. σκάνδαλον, 3–4.
CHAPTER XXI
The Argument: In My End Shall Be My Beginning

R begins his final chapter in medias res: Saturus is shown reminding Pudens, the
soldier, of the accuracy of his earlier prediction that he would die from a leopard’s
bite. Saturus stands at an unnamed gate on the arena floor. R frequently provides
names for places, things, and people; he mentioned in the last chapter that the
women were called back to the “Gate of Life.” Why does he leave unnamed this
important place, where Saturus was to provide his last lesson as leader? The question
is at the most literal level unanswerable. Perhaps R did not have that information, or
he did not know it, or it may have been one of the many unimportant entrances and
exits (vomitoria) from the arena floor, not deemed worth mentioning. From a narra-
tive point of view, however, its anonymity may tell us something about his audience
and a provide a crude clue to the date of composition. Leaving the gate unnamed
suggests that his audience would have understood the spatial geography of the arena
and would know where Saturus was standing and that they did not require such
specification, since they would have been to games in this amphitheatre. This was an
audience for whom events in the amphitheatre were part of their lived experience.
Hence, although it is a small matter, R’s not naming the gate where Saturus and
Pudens had their colloquy may further substantiate the historicity of the narration.
R’s description of the arena is actually quite complex and must be carefully
examined, since it reveals much about the amphitheatre. Saturus stands at this un-
named gate while predicting that he will be killed by the leopard’s bite. His remarks
are intended to call to mind the leopard’s earlier attack against Saturninus and
Revocatus and his own confidence that he would die from such a confrontation
(XIX.4). He then turns to Pudens and says, “See, I will go in there”/ecce prodeo illo.
Saturus must be standing outside the floor of the arena watching from a barrier
some unrevealed action taking place in there—perhaps the completion of the
wild cow attack against the women, or perhaps wild cats running in and out of the
arena—or some other undisclosed action which prompted these remarks. He
and Pudens are spectators, and it is through their discussion of their witness to
the events that the action moves forward. When their conversation breaks off
unfinished, the audience is left to conclude that Saturus has suddenly turned
away from Pudens and gone in to meet his fate. Their conversation emphasizes
the freedom with which Saturus chooses to enact his martyrdom. Saturus decides
when to return to the contest almost as if he were an athlete waiting for an oppor-
tune moment to return to the game. R is intent on placing the entire sequence of
events within the frame of volition. The end of their colloquy is most appropriate,
since it signals the next stage in the contest, when Saturus will fight with the
leopard. It would be remarkable if this brief vignette actually does represent a
Christian martyr looking at and discussing the events in the arena where he will
momentarily die.
R now jumps precipitously ahead to the end of the games, deliberately
sacrificing narrative verisimilitude, avoiding any description of Saturus’s fight
in the arena and remarking, matter of factly, that at the end of the game, a
leopard rushed out and bit Saturus. The lack of drama, the avoidance of climax
in his rhetoric (which he can manage so capably, as in the depiction of Felicity’s
childbirth) actually heightens the probability that something very much like
this actually happened, if not in this precise instance, then to other Christian
martyrs. Saturus went back—he does not appear to have been forced—into the
arena and a leopard rushed out and bit him. Saturus likely was bitten superfi-
cially in a fleshy part of the front of his body, rich in blood vessels, since he
bleeds copiously but is able to continue his discussion with Pudens. The bite of
the animal likely caused a serious laceration and tore away his flesh. The crowd
cries out, mocking him with an expression, “a saving bath,” commonly employed
in the baths. R reinscribes this as a Christian blessing. As the leopard only
wounded him, Saturus comes back to the soldier Pudens and initiates a discus-
sion on his post-mortem legacy. This is operatic melodrama. Saturus asks for
Pudens’s ring and dips it into his wound and returns it to him to keep as a legacy
and a memorial of his action. His request echoes a practice long enjoyed in the
gladiatorial games, where a memento of a great fighter was often saved as a
token of his prowess. Dipping the ring in his blood hallows the ring, iterates the
sacrificial nature of Christianity, and provides a very early example of a relic,
which was physically part of the saint. One can imagine how this small Chris-
tian community would have revered this ring. It would have been brought out
on the anniversary of Saturus’s death, his festal birthday, when Pudens and
other faithful would celebrate the refr igerium on or very near Saturus’s grave. It
was to become a talisman of one of the founders of the Carthaginian church
and would provide its owner with a certain authority.
Saturus passed out from the loss of blood from the wound. R says he was
unconscious and that his body was thrown (prosternitur) in the accustomed place
to have his throat cut. The verb prosterno is brutally honest and likely reflects the
historical situation. One gets the picture of slaves manhandling their bodies,
dragging them and tossing them into a heap. R does not name the place where
they were thrown (traditionally the spoliarium) and merely acknowledges it as
the accustomed place. The coup de grâce would have been administered, without
ceremony, in this place of slaughter by a gladiator or condemned slave. The crowd
is unsatisfied with such an expeditious and private end and clamours for more
action. They demand that the condemned be brought back into the middle of the
arena. R says the crowd desires this so as to watch the actual execution, and thus
be able to participate in it in a visceral way. R intends to demonize the crowd.
They become a howling, blood-lusting, savage rabble. The Christian martyrs are
by comparison civil, courteous to one another, compliant, and concerned even
for the timidity of their guards. They embrace one another, offering each other
the agape kiss of peace seconds before their throats will be cut, and they spill their
life’s blood on the arena floor. The amphitheatre crowd is bestial, a clamoring
mob who stamp their feet, wave their arms, curse, and cry out for blood. R’s con-
trast raises for his audience an unstated question: Which is the better system—
that of the Christian or the Roman? Who are the better people? Is it not better to
die as a Christian than to live as a Roman?
The martyrs get up from where they have been thrown. This is a curious
remark. We have just been told that Saturus was thrown while unconscious into
this throng. Are we now to assume that this was a writhing heap of human bodies,
some more horribly wounded than the others, but that all were alert enough to be
able to follow the orders of the guards? Has some time passed since Saturus was
thrown into their midst? Has he now recovered consciousness? R’s lack of con-
cern with such narrative chronological details stems from his sense that he has a
bigger picture to portray. He must construct a heroism of hyperbole which eulo-
gizes their heroic deaths in bold strokes. Whether they moved from one spot to
another is unimportant for this purpose. Allowing them to be dispatched lying
there in a heap, half-dead, would not provide nearly the dramatic flourish he has
in mind for their denouement. And thus to effect this drama, Saturus, their
teacher and leader, must get up, no matter what his state, and move to the arena’s
center with the other martyrs.
It is to R’s credit as a writer that we can visualize this scene. In our mind’s eye
we imagine them, horribly wounded and mutilated, struggling to move to the
center, supporting one another as they struggle forward. Perhaps we also see their
family members in the amphitheatre, and perhaps Perpetua’s father is also there.
He sees his precious child moving inexorably toward her death, a death she
desires more than family, more than life itself. There is suddenly no sound in the
arena. The crowd is silent. The condemned embrace, kissing one another. They
do not move but they wait as a gladiator moves quietly but swiftly among them,
savagely cutting their throats. The scene is surreal. Some drop immediately to the
sand, others linger before also dropping. Saturus their leader, the first to mount
the ladder (IV.5), is the first to die. He is again waiting for Perpetua. He is their
teacher; she is their prophet. They are joint leaders of the band. There is no
romantic fantasy being implied, as some scholars suggest. Their witness com-
pleted on earth, they now depart to assume their rightful place in heaven.
Questions abound in the audience’s imagination. Does the crowd remain
silent and thus parallel the muteness of the martyrs? Do those in the crowd who
recognize the martyrs from their prison visit to the condemned the day before
scream out? Are the martyrs mocked and ridiculed, or admired? What has the
devil’s role been in all of this (XX.1)? R never mentions the crowd again.
Henceforth, we focus on the dead and dying. How many are left standing before
the guard comes to Perpetua? Hers seems to be the last death. Is she alone
standing, while her comrades lie strewn at her feet? Is she standing in her
ripped, unbelted tunic, hair coifed, defiant in her gaze? What is she thinking at
this moment? And what of Hilarianus? What does this fragmented tableau sug-
gest about him? Perpetua stands alone in the arena; Hilarianus her judge sits in
the stands. Who is now victim, and who is vanquished? At last the guard comes
for her. He strikes, but the blow accidentally hits her in the ribs or in the clav-
icle. She screams in pain. There is an instant when the action stops. The guard
looks at her. Is he amazed that she still stands? How could a blow aimed at the
throat go so far awry? How could he miss? Why won’t she die? He raises his
sword yet again, but now his hand wavers. Perhaps he cannot kill her; perhaps
she cannot be killed. The action resumes. She reaches out to him, steadies his
hand and guides it to her throat. As we have seen in the anecdote regarding
Saturus’s slaughter, Perpetua is in complete control of how she shall die. What
is the reaction of the crowd to her action? Is the young gladiator an unwitting
part of God’s providential plan? Is this the precise moment that Perpetua has
been joined (as Felicity predicted) by her Lord, who will suffer in her stead?
The narrative draws to a close. The audience is never explicitly told that the
second blow killed her. It is intimated. R concludes his narrative enigmatically,
and there is a suggestion that Perpetua could not have been killed if she herself
had not willed it. It is a complete rout of Rome’s symbolic power, with the mar-
tyrs emerging victorious.
R concludes his narrative with a doxology. This brief paean of praise emphasizes
the providential nature of what has happened and celebrates the eschatological wit-
ness of this church. We hear in the concluding doxology echoes not only of Reve-
lation but of the first chapter of the Passio. The martyrs were called and chosen for
this task by Christ himself. These young Carthaginian Christians have indeed seen
visions and have acted on this truth. The continuing presence of almighty God
working through his Holy Spirit is the guiding force for these events in the arena in
Carthage celebrated in March 203 on the Emperor Geta’s birthday. The martyr-
dom of these six young people is not the result of a random series of events that
have moved to an ineluctable end. Rather, they have played their courageous part
in salvation history; they have responded to the prompting of the Holy Spirit.
Having demonstrated the power of providence, R can now return to the point he
made so strongly in his first chapter, namely that these new deeds manifest that
same Holy Spirit whose presence all acknowledge as an inseparable part of the old
accounts of the faith. Revelation never ceases. R concludes with an echo from the
Book of Revelation, underscoring the continuing presence of the power of the Son
in the Holy Spirit and the necessity for the faithful to be open to the Spirit, wher-
ever it may move, if the Church is to grow and thrive (cf. Rv 5.13, 7.12). Perhaps
even more significant is the deliberate echo of Passio I.6: cui est claritas et honor in
saecula saeculorum. Amen. This return to chapter I at the end of the narrative, while
in itself no more than the traditional doxology, nonetheless also acts as a subtle re-
minder of the thesis of chapter I and thus serves to frame the entire narrative.
Chapter XXI Commentary
XX1.1. At another gate (in alia porta). The gate remains unidentified, but it is
nonetheless important to att empt to identify this reference, as it can provide a
richer understanding of the topography of the events in the arena. The amphithe-
atre at Carthage (see “Argument” XVIII), begun under the Julio-Claudians,
retained the twin portals of the gates of life and death, located on the minor axis
running east-west and facing one another—even after the expansive late second
century reconstructions—(see Colvin, L’amphithéâtre romain, 199, no. 174, and
plates 15, 21). Bomgardner suggests that the Porta Libitinensis was at the western
end of the minor axis, with the Porta Sanavivaria at the eastern (Roman Amphi-
theatre, 137). The podium at Carthage, 2.5 meters above the arena and 2.9 meters
wide, would have provided the best seats (subsellia) in the cavea, and this is likely
where Hilarianus and other ranking citizens sat during these games. In keeping
with R’s use of specific names—for example, his identification of Perpetua at the
Porta Sanavivaria (XX.7)—we would expect him to name this gate, if he had
such information. This gate is not the Porta Sanavivaria, since Perpetua and her
two companions are there, and R is very clear that it is in alia porta. Therefore,
Saturus could only be at the Porta Libitinensis or one of the other two major gates
(at opposite ends of the north south axis and normally not given a name), located
at the north and south entrances. Since the gate in question is unnamed, it seems
unlikely, given R’s interest in providing specific names, that Saturus is standing at
the Porta Libitinensis, but rather he is at either the southern or northern gate, and
thus diagonally across from Perpetua and farther from her than if he were at the
Porta Libitinensis. Furthermore, this separation would have made it impossible
for him to have been at Perpetua’s side during her initial ordeal.
XXI.1. exhorting (exhortabatur). Always the teacher, Saturus here exhorts the
soldier Pudens to a greater fidelity in the faith. The Greek προσομιλέω is less strong
than the Latin exhortor; the Greek indicates individuals engaged in a simple conver-
sation (see Justin, Dial. 1.2, and the uncompounded form in BDAG, s.v. ὁμιλέω).
Moreover, the Greek’s lack of intensity does not capture the ruling personality of
Saturus or the extreme passions of the moment. There may be an echo here of the
Mart. Pol. 2.2: ὁ κύριος ὡμίλει αὐτοῖς.
XXI.1. Pudens (Pudentem militem). This is a common Roman name through-
out the Empire among both élite and humiliores. For example, L. Arrius Pudens
and Q. Seruilius Pudens served as the consuls for 165 and 166 respectively. Per-
haps most notable is Perpetua’s contemporary Gaius Valerius Pudens, who served
as governor of Britannia ca. 205−08. While it is tempting to identify this sol-
ider Pudens with the sympathetic miles optio of the same name (IX.1), that
military man is in charge of the prison (praepositus carceris), while this individual
has no title but is simply miles (see below XXI.3). This Pudens is a Christian, or at
the very least someone who believed completely in the righteousness of Saturus
and the cause of the martyrs.
XXI.1. as I imagined and predicted (sicut praesumpsi et praedixi). Saturus
refers to his earlier assumption (XIX.4) and thus underscores the power and
importance of prophecy (OLD, s.v. praedico, 2) in the lives of these Carthaginian
Christians. It is nonetheless a remark that has its roots in ideology, as it is hardly
the sort of comment one would expect of someone awaiting an imminent and
brutal death.
XXI.1. with (de). One might have expected the use of the instrumental abla-
tive with no preposition, but this appears to be a post-classical use of de gov-
erning the ablative, where the Greek uses the genitive to express the sense
that his belief is coming from his heart (see Amat, who argues for the instru-
mental, but note the typo on page 176, where it should read de toto).
XXI.1. must believe this with all your heart (toto corde credas). Saturus’s exhor-
tation to Pudens urges him to acknowledge the power of his prophecy before he
enters the arena for a second time, because he will now demonstrate the truth of
his remark, death from the single bite of the leopard. In other words, Saturus
wishes Pudens to believe by faith and not by experience.
XXI.1. in there (illo). An adverbial use of the demonstrative, suggesting “thither”
or “to that place” (see Halporn, s.v. illo, and Bastiaensen, s.v. Et . . . consummor).
XXI.1. at the end of the game (et statim in fine spectaculi). R’s remark that Satu-
rus is bitten at the very end of the game, when no animal was apparently visible on
the arena floor, heightens the drama of the moment and acknowledges the
unfailing power of Saturus’s earlier prophecy.
XXI.1. by one (ab uno). Post-classical use of ab as an ablative of means.
XXI.1. killed (consumor). The verb consummo, although it likely caused the
Greek scribe to write τελειοῦμαι (LSJ, s.v. τελειόω), is less apt contextually than
consumo, which makes far more sense here, since it a description of the bite of the
leopard which kills him. The Latin MSS are divided on this crux, some preferring
“to bring to perfection” (consummor), while others use “to consume” (consumo
for consummor and see Hamman). The Greek prefers the theologically nuanced
τελειόω. Consummor and τελειοῦμαι are theologically charged words, suggesting
that Saturus’s death will bring his life as a Christian to perfection (consummor).
The influence from the NT (Lk 13.32) is obvious. In his dying, Saturus will imitate
his Lord, who said to the Pharisees that he would bring his course to completion
on the third day (καὶ τῇ τρίτῃ τελειοῦμαι). The preponderance of the Vetus MSS
read the Lucan remark as the completion of an event and thus have et tertia die
consummor. See also BDAG, s.v. τελειόω; and Bastiaensen, s.v. Et . . . consummor.
XXI.2. a leopard rushed out (leopardo eiecto). This reading adopted by Robin-
son (92 and MS M) is more in keeping with the savage and dramatic attack of the
leopard at the game’s end than is leopardo obiectus (van Beek, 50; and Bastiaensen,
s.v. statim . . . obiectus). The attack is sudden, swift, and savage, all senses of which
are conveyed by eicio, but not nearly as well as by obicio, which has the force of
placing Saturus in the path of the leopard, an interpretation clearly not intended
by the editor. The Greek πάρδαλις αὐτῷ ἐβλήθη is closer to eicio.
XXI.2. from one bite (de uno morsu). Post-classical use of de as an ablative of
means.
XXI.2. so covered with blood (tanto perfusus est sanguine). The phrase, partic-
ularly in the Greek version, has a NT ring. The innocent martyrs are covered
with the blood of sacrifice. R stated that Felicity understood the blood she
shed was utterly innocent, and by extension the Christian audience was meant
to understand it to be like the blood of Christ (XV.2; see also Heb 9.22; 1 Pt
1.2; and Rv 7.14). The Greek makes this more explicitly theological by noting
that Saturus was “filled with the sacred blood”: τοῦ αἵματος τοῦ ἁγίου
ἐνεπ λήσ θη. This theological qualifier is lacking in the Latin.
XXI.2. roared (reclamauerit). The Greek ἐπεφώνει suggests intensity in the cry
of the crowd. The distinction between the idea of repetition in the Latin reclamo
and the Greek emphasis on intensity is admittedly a blurred one (cf. LSJ, s.v. ἐπί).
XXI.2. second baptism (secundi baptismatis). This is a reference to Saturus’s
baptism by blood. As a Christian teacher, Saturus has already received baptism by
water. This baptism of blood is typically associated with the remission of sins.
Purification of sins by blood sacrifice is an ancient idea in Judaism (Lv 11.44); it
left its impress on early Christianity principally through such texts as Heb 9.22:
καὶ χωρὶς αἱματεκχυσίας οὐ γίνεται ἄφεσις. Origen notes that such baptisms under-
gone by the martyrs were a way of atoning for and receiving forgiveness for post-
baptismal sins for others and possibly for oneself (Exh. Mart. 30.1–7: οὐκ ἔστιν
ἄφεσιν ἁμρμαρτημάτων χωρὶς βαπτίσματος λαβεῖν . . . καὶ ὅτι βάπτισμα ἡμῖν δίδοται
τὸ τοῦ μαρτ υρίου). See also Tert. De Bapt. 16.2. Tertullian suggests that the bap-
tism of blood returns the individual, already baptized by water, to a state that has
been lost through sin: hic est baptismus qui lavacrum et non acceptum repraesentat
et perditum reddit. This sacrificial baptism of blood was conferred by angels and
was greater in grace; see Cypr. Ep. 55.17. It is not clear from the text what Saturus
is atoning for.
XXI.3. For truly (Plane utique). Bastiaensen (450) suggests that utique is an in-
tensifying reference to Saturus’s valour, and its use was particularly popular in Africa
ca. 200. It is an intensifier frequently employed by Tertullian (see Ad Nat. 1.1.5).
XXI.2. a saving bath, a saving bath (saluum lotum, saluum lotum). Dölger notes
that this is part of the formulaic expression customarily used in regard to the
baths: salvum lotum te esse optamus (see his Gladitorenblut und Märtyrerblut,
particularly 198–201). Variations on this expression seem to have been a com-
monplace and appear on mosaics. While visiting the museum at Sabratha, I came
upon a small, hitherto unstudied mosaic which depicts a bathing scene; written
on it are the phrases Bene laua [et] saluum lavisse. The crowd’s cry is drenched in
irony. The word salvus would normally be restricted to a range of meanings sug-
gestive of good health and safety.
XXI.3. one was saved (salvus erat). R puns on the meaning of salvus. He
employs the word in the sense that Saturus’s bath in the blood of martyrdom
was a saving bath and thus mutes the irony of the crowd’s cry. The word was
used colloquially in classical Latin in this very sense (OLD, s.v. saluus, 1b) to
indicate being saved from something, unhurt. Cyprian also employs the term
in a theological sense and suggests, like R, that an individual whose perseveres
to the end will receive a salvific gift (see his Ep. 26.4). The Greek text com-
pletely misses the pun employed by the Latin and reads simply, καὶ μὴν ὑγιὴς,
attesting that he was fit. It is possible, however, that the Greek author, reflecting
his interest in “theologizing,” was employing ὑγιὴς in a figurative sense. See Ti
2.8; Shep. Vis 8.6.3; also Dölger, “Antike Parallelen,” particularly his remarks on
Tertullian and baptism (and see Herm. Sim. 8.6.3).
XXI.4. to the soldier Pudens (Pudenti militi). Notice that R uses the epithet
miles in identifying this Pudens, but when Perpetua mentions the head of the
prison complex, she specifically acknowledges his rank and refers to him as
miles optio (compare XXI.1 and IX.1).
XXI.4. he said (inquit). R takes considerable pains to reproduce the colloqui-
alism of the dialogue between Saturus and Pudens, employing the irregular
verb inquam in the perfect eight times in the Passio and three times alone in
the first four lines of this chapter (XXI.1 and XXI.4). This may reflect a post-
classical use. See Bastiaensen, s.v. inquit, 3.1.
XXI.4. remember the faith and me (et memento fidei et mei). Saturus’s remark
is an echo of Perpetua’s in fide state (XX.10), and, like her comment to Rusti-
cus, Saturus’s places the emphasis not principally on Pudens’s memory of the
man but rather on what he died for, that is, his steadfast faith in salvation.
XXI.4. do not let these things trouble you but strengthen you (et haec te non con-
turbent, sed confirment). R is fond of such negative parallel alliterative phrases
(XX.10). His use of conturbo idealizes the horror of the moment and is a veritable
topos of the literature of martyrdom. Saturus’s farewell is dependent on the genre
of the exitus illustrium virorum (see Horace, Ars. 469; A. Ronconi, “Exitus Illus-
trium Virorum,” RAC VI (1996): 1258–68. Saturus’s behavior suggests the Johan-
nine narrative of the death of the Good Shepherd who lays down his life for his
sheep ( Jn 10). The martyr, dripping blood from his recently inflicted, gaping
wound, comforts the neophyte Christian Pudens by counseling him not to be
troubled by what he sees—the faculty of sight as a metaphor is strong in this
chapter—but to seek the lesson of self-sacrifice beyond the physical gore, and to
allow that truth to strengthen his faith.
XXI.5. At the same time (Simulque). R uses the adverb to suggest the virtual
simultaneity of the farewell and the presentation of the ring.
XXI.5. small ring (ansulam). The word is a post-classical use for anulus and
appears to have an African provenance and is first recorded in Apuleius (see Met.
4.3.7). It is likely a small gold signet ring of the type that bore inscriptions to
Asclepius and other gods—Venus was frequently depicted—and was worn for
health and luck. Tertullian consistently uses anulus (see Pud. 9.11,16). Outside of
its use here, the earliest Christian use I can find is in the sermons of the African
Zeno, who was appointed Bishop of Verona ca. 362, and also in Augustine, who,
in a list of superstitious practices, condemns the custom of wearing rings of
ostrich bone on the fingers (ansulae in digitis, Doct. 2.20.30).
XXI.5. dipping it in his wound (et vulneri suo mersam). Saturus initiates this
action in such a matter-of-fact manner that, although unexpected, it causes
Pudens no surprise. The force of his action is to provide this relic as a lasting
token of purity and power—the power it derives from the slain Messiah (Rv
12.11, 19.13). The figure of the rider of the white horse (ὁ λόγος τοῦ θεοῦ)
depicted in Rv 19.13 wears a “garment dipped in blood” (καὶ περιβεβλημένος
ἱμάτιον βεβαμμένον αἵματι). We may assume that such an action was not utterly
unexpected and that retaining something of the one persecuted was already a
practice. Both Greeks and Romans employed some aspects of what we shall call
“relic taking.” Aesclepius’s ashes were said to be at Epidaurus, and Plutarch
writes most interestingly of the elaborate funeral rites involving the ashes of
Demetrius—wrapped in a king’s royal purple robe and a diadem—en route to
burial (Dem. 53.5). Judaism employed blood symbolism in a variety of ways,
particularly as a covenant-confirming bond (Ex 24.8), which Christianity emu-
lated (Mt 26.28). The anecdote of Elijah’s mantel (2 Kgs 2.14) and Paul’s hand-
kerchiefs (Acts 19.11), used to cure the sick, likely exerted an influence on the
growth of interest in relics and their power. The Book of Revelation specifically
acknowledges those martyrs who “have washed their robes and made them
white in the blood of the Lamb” (7.14). Saturus gives Pudens the means for his
salvation through the efficacy of his martyred blood. The Exultet proclaims that
Christ “ransomed” the faithful with his blood (Qui pro nobis aeterno patri Adae
debitum solvit . . . pio cruore detersit). Cyprian’s friends spread small linen cloths
and handkerchiefs before him prior to his beheading in the hopes that these
would be sprinkled with his blood: linteamina et manualia multa ante eum a
fratribus mitt ebantur (Acta Cyp. 5.4).
XXI.5. legacy (reddidit ei hereditatem). The gift of the bloodied ring is an unex-
pected gift to Pudens (OLD, s.v. hereditas, 2d). The Latin text, while it clearly
underlines the importance of the gift of the ring as a token of Saturus’s extraordi-
nary faith, does not sacralize the ring. The Greek text, however, does associate the
bloodied ring with a powerful spirit, referring to the gift as a μακαρίαν κληρονο-
μίαν. There are parallels here in the Roman use of magical amulets. Roman North
Africa was particularly interested in what we would call magic, or what Apuleius
(who himself carried a figure of Mercury, Apol. 61) called the “science of the stars.”
Septimius Severus consulted astrologers (Historia Augusta, Geta, 2.6), and there
are extant Roman rings with Sarapis and the magical beast-figure of the Angui-
pede on them. In the latter case, the Tetragrammaton is frequently imprinted
below the figure. If Saturus’s ring is given as a legacy, something to be cherished,
one might expect that these Christians would anticipate that the ring would
replace the lares and was worn, carried, or placed along side them in a domestic
cubiculum.
XXI.5. a memorial of his blood (et memoriam sanguinis). Carthaginian Christi-
anity early on appears to have reified Judaism’s understanding of blood as that
which contains life and expiates the sins of men (Lv 17.11–12) and extended the
idea to that of a physical memorial of that sacrifice.
XXI.6. Then, being now unconscious (exinde iam exanimis). The chronology
and the events during Saturus’s ordeal are telescoped. R writes to propel the nar-
rative to its conclusion and so avoids amplifying those moments when encomi-
astic rhetoric might have been expected. A brief expansion of the events will
clarify my point: standing at the gate Saturus discusses how he will die from the
bite of a leopard. At the end of the games a leopard rushes out and bites him. He
must have moved from the gate into the arena. The text then says “as he was
returning” (revertenti), a reference to his return from the arena to the gate and
Pudens. The crowd roars salvum lotum, salvum lotum (“a saving bath, a saving
bath”). Saturus then dips his ring into his wound. He next falls unconscious at or
near Pudens. The passage of time is suggested by the adverbs, but it is tantaliz-
ingly vague. We do not know whether they talked for five or twenty-five minutes.
R is interested in Saturus’s sacrifice and death and thus restricts his focal plane,
coalescing time and events.
XXI.6. the accustomed place (solito loco). Saturus’s body may have been dragged
to the spoliarium, where his throat was cut. Etymologically the spoliarium (OLD,
s.v. spoliarium) would initially have been a place in the amphitheatre where the
defeated gladiators or enemy were stripped of their arms (OLD, s.v. spolio, 2; Liv.
7.26.6: postquam spoliare corpus caesi hostis tribunus coepit). However, this custom
seems to have evolved into the name for the place where the coup de grâce was
carried out. The practice ensured that an individual—whether gladiator, convict,
or Christian—was truly dead. Seneca notes the practice of the cutting of the
throats in a location other than the arena and calls it spoliarium (Sen. Ep. 93.2: ut
iugulari in spolio quam in harena malit). Thus the physical spoliarium combined
charnel house with place of execution. Bomgardner has identified a small cross-
vaulted chamber (2. 2.3 × 5.6 m) beneath the cavea on the western end of the short
axis in the Carthage amphitheatre as the probable spoliarium. He based this on
this chamber’s proximity to the cemeteries outside the western side of the amphi-
theatre and the presence of two low stone benches (0.8 × 2.3 m) where bodies
could be laid out for stripping and dispatch (Roman Amphitheatre, 136–37; but
see Kyle, Spectacles of Death, 158–59, who is skeptical—as am I—about this cubic-
ulum as the Carthage spoliarium). The text provides no help, simply noting that
Saturus was “thrown with the others in the accustomed place.” Bomgardner’s loca-
tion is approximately 30 m from the exact center of the arena, and if, as I suspect,
Saturus is standing at either of the other two gates before losing consciousness
(see XX1.1), it could be as far as 45 m to Bomgardner’s spoliarium. This is a con-
siderable distance, particularly in light of the fact that the crowd then demands
that their bodies be returned to the middle of the arena (see XXI.7, in medio).
XX1.7. crowd demanded (populus . . . postularet). R underscores the crowd’s

barbarism through his emphasis on their demands to witness every aspect of
the savagery. Seneca writes scathingly of a similar scene of the cruel demands of
the crowds at the games, where, as they lust after more savage brutality, they are
made more savage by their own behavior (Ep. 7.6: Subducendus populo est tener
animus et parum tenax recti; facile transitur ad plures).
XXI.7. middle of the arena (in medio). Assuming that the solito loco is the spolia-
rium, it is a curious practice to have their bodies returned from such a distance.
Bastiaensen suggests that in medio simply means in public view and may not refer
to the center (see Bastiaensen, Atti e Passioni, 450; and OLD, s.v. medius, 3,
although such use is less frequent than “middle, centre”). Placing their bodies in
the “middle” also allows R to have the martyrs occupy center stage.
XXI.7. their eyes (oculos suos). The literary topos of the eye as signifying associa-
tive guilt or its lack is of great antiquity and particularly appropriate. The eyes of the
crowd, according to R, lust after homicide. The eye is a complex symbol. It could
symbolize the all-seeing presence of a deity, the evil eye, the organ that represented
one’s character, and the oculus mentis, a manifestation of the workings of the Spirit.
Oedipus avenges himself on his eyes and the pleasure they have taken in his unfortu-
nate life, and Paul uses synesthesia to discuss the enlightenment that is a result of the
eye of the heart: πεφωτισμένους τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς τῆς καρδίας ὑμῶν (Eph 1.18). See
also Bastiaensen, 450. Seneca (Ep.7) warns Lucilius not to attend the games lest
their savagery contaminate him. Augustine relates a similar situation in Confessions
6.7–8 in which his friend Alypius becomes almost a ravening animal from watching
the games.
XXI.7. the martyrs got up unaided (ultro surrexerunt . . . volebat). This is a cu-
rious detail, as immediately before this R notes that Saturus was unconscious
and thrown with the others, presumably in a similar state. Does he also get up or
does he remain unconscious (see XXI.8)? If we read this from a Christian point
of view, R is more intent on keeping his focus on the volition of martyrs and not
on the verisimilitude of the narrative.
XXI.7. First they kissed . . . martyrdom (ante . . . consummarent). The ritual of the
kiss of peace was a regular part of the liturgy even at this early date. R intends it to
signify the sacrifice of these martyrs within a liturgical context. This is a bold
theological addition to the literature of martyrdom, as it suggests that the mar-
tyrs are the holocaust being offered and, like Christ, they offer themselves as
willing sacrifices. Paul emphasized the importance of the “holy kiss” of peace as a
greeting of the faithful, ἀσπάσασθε ἀλλήλους ἐν φιλήματι ἁγίῳ (Rom 16.16). Jus-
tin mentions the “kiss” as a part of the liturgy (1 Apol. 65) which took place im-
mediately after prayers and before the Eucharist. While Tertullian understands
the kiss of peace as an integral part of the worship service, particularly as a way of
concluding corporate prayer (Or. 18.1: ieiunantes habita oratione cum fratribus
subtrahunt osculum pacis quod est signaculum orationis), he shared the contem-
porary feeling that public displays of affection might be misconstrued (Ad ux.
2.4). Despite this social hesitancy concerning public displays of affection, the
description given by R suggests that men and women shared this kiss, since both
Perpetua and Felicity are to be included in the group about to die. The verb con-
summo is nuanced and likely should be read as “bringing to perfection” and not
simply as a completion.
XXI.8. The others, in silence and without moving (Ceteri quidem immobiles et
cum silentio . . .). Clearly some of the martyrs—Saturus perhaps among them—
are too injured to move and hence are killed where they lay. See Bastiaensen, 451.
XXI.8. Saturus, who had first climbed up the ladder (Saturus, qui et prior scalam
ascenderat . . .). This is an allusion to Saturus’s earlier climbing of the ladder to
heaven: Ascendit autem Saturus prior (IV.5).
XXI.8. was the first to give up his spirit (prior reddidit spiritum). Although the
context strongly suggests that this is a reference to Saturus’s death, the phrase is
sufficiently ambiguous to allow an interpretation to the effect that Saturus was
the first to surrender himself in faith to the will of God. He is the first of their
group to become a Christian and is their teacher.
XXI.8. he was waiting for Perpetua (nam et Pereptuam sustinebat). R deliber-
ately repeats language from earlier in the text (IV.6) and delights in assonance,
as well as in his repetition of prior in the adjoining phrases qui et prior ascenderat,
prior reddidit spiritum.
XXI.8. so that she might taste something of the pain (ut aliquid doloris gustaret).
R’s use of the verb gusto, the single time this verb is used, may reflect a current
idiomatic use. It provides the reader with a very visual image of Perpetua’s suf-
fering. Bastiaensen suggests that it refers back to her state of ecstasy (451).
XXI.9. pierced between the bones (inter ossa compuncta exululavit). The location
of this stab wound on her body has long been debated. Traditionally the con-
demned were simply dispatched at this point by having their throats slashed. If
this is the case here, as is most likely, then inter ossa could refer to a poorly aimed
glancing blow, which struck between the clavicle and the cervical bones of the
neck (see tirunculi gladiatoris below, XXI.9; and OLD, s.v. iugulo). Although an
identifiable verbal allusion is lacking, the Bible does provide a number of well-
known passages concerning the righteous suffering servant, whose bones are
pierced (see Jb 30.17; Pss 22.17), and the stabbing of Christ on the cross in Mt
27.17. There is no ambiguity about the fact that the final blow was to her throat
(see XXI.9, iugulum).
XXI.9. right hand . . . wavered (et errantem dexteram). R’s attention to detail is
very valuable, and this detail of the trembling hand provides a human drama
otherwise lacking. The gladiator is hesitant, reluctant to kill the innocent young
woman. This gladiator is not a savage warrior. He is young and inexperienced.
Does he recognize her innocence and draw back? Seneca, in his wonderful letter
about Bassius’s bravery as he faces death (Ep. 30.5), notes the doomed gladiator
who proffers his throat to his foe and directs the “hesitant blade” to the vital spot:
si gladiator tota pugna timidissimus iugulum adversario praestat et errantem glad-
ium sibi attemperat. This depiction of the pagan who recognized the authentic
goodness of the Christian martyr was to become a topos of Christian hagiogra-
phy (see Prudent. Perist. 1.2). This motif likely influenced the depiction of the
executioner in Pontius, Vita Cypriani 18.4 (see Aronen, “Indebtedness to Passio
Perpetuae,” 73). The right-hand side is statistically dominant in all populations
(85 to 90 percent of all populations). Roman soldiers were taught to use the right
hand for the sword and the left as the shield hand. Young legionnaires, if they
were found to be left-handed, had their left hands bound to their side and were
forced to use the gladius with their right hand. If we assume that Perpetua and the
gladiator are facing one another, Perpetua, in order to guide his trembling right
hand, would likely have grasped with her right hand, and thus exposed her left
side to his sword.
XXI.9. novice gladiator (tirunculi gladiatoris). This is a beginning gladiator of
unknown type (see Robert, “Une vision,” 248ff., who suggests a retiarius). Since
he was a novice (OLD, s.v. tirunculus) this may be the first time he was called on
to kill. He would likely have been a slave. Here he is depicted killing a member
of the upper class. R’s emphasis on his timidity (errantem) brings all these issues
to the fore. Although there was no prescribed weapon for the gladiator, surviving
mosaics, ceramics, frescoes, tomb reliefs, graffiti, and vases, like the Colchester
Vase (c. 175), suggest that the sword used by most of the gladiators was the
double-edged gladius, which was used for thrusting and slashing at close range.
It was approximately 50 cm by 6 cm. (For images of such weapons, see the Glad-
iator Mosaic in the Villa Dar Buc Ammera and in the Galleria Borghese.) Halporn
adds that the beginning gladiator was trained for his profession by cutting the
throats of the dying in the spoliarium (57).
XXI.9. her throat (in iugulum suum). There is no ambiguity that the gladiator
dispatched her in the traditional manner by cutting her throat (OLD, s.v.
iugulum).
XXI.10. such a woman (tanta femina). The power of the female heroine as an
unalloyed exemplar of human courage is still celebrated in the Church. By the
time we reach the early fifth century, Augustine is anxious to divert attention away
from her feminine heroism, and acknowledges her as a member of the “weaker
sex” and theologizes her courageous behavior (Serm. 280.5, 281.1, 282.3; and see
Lefkowitz, “Motivations,” 421; Steinhauser, “Augustine’s Reading,” 244).
XXI.10. by the unclean spirit (ab immundo spiritu). R at this point seems to have
placed the devil in the person of the novice gladiator. Although this malign force
has now possessed the young man, even that force could not dispatch her if she
had not willed it. The early Christians clearly believed in demonic possession, and
R’s depiction here is perhaps indebted to the figure of the immundus spiritus from
the Gospels (Mt 12.43; Mk 1.26; Lk 11.24). Paul exorcized an unclean spirit out
of the young woman (Acts 16.18), and Tertullian discusses exorcism and unclean
spirits who possess women who attend theatrical productions in De Spect. 26.2:
itaque in exorcismo cum oneraretur immundus spiritus, quod ausus esset fidelem
aggredi, constanter: “et iustissime quidem” inquit “ feci: in meo eam inveni.”
XXI.10. she herself had willed it (nisi ipsa voluisset). The emphasis is on volition
and placing one’s will in concert with God’s will, which is what Perpetua does here.
This is her last action, and as such it is entirely in keeping with her character. She
has acted volitionally in every aspect of the life which we have been privileged to
see. If she were to die against her will, her martyrdom would be a mockery
and for naught. Furthermore, her action is not an act of suicide. (The Latin word
suicidium for suicide does not appear until the twelfth century.) The Romans, par-
ticularly the Stoics, did not scorn what they called mors voluntaria unless it was
done for an ignoble reason, or by a slave or a legionnaire. Seneca’s famous remark
typifies the Stoic attitude to suicide: a wise person “lives as long as he ought, not
as long as he can.” Suicide was never condemned in Roman law. Early Christiani-
ty’s attitude on voluntary death is very complex, and the literature on this subject
is considerable (see Droge and Tabor, A Noble Death; and Lampe, s.v. θάνατος, 3g
and 4). While Christians believed that human life is sacred and that one of the char-
acteristics of life is to struggle amidst the rigors of an oppressive state, the Christians
also celebrated heroic, volitional death. They viewed some suicides, such as Judas’
hanging, as despicable acts. However, Jesus’s remark “The man who loves his life
loses it, while the man who hates his life in this world preserves it to life eternal” (Jn
12.25) seems to allow for volitional death with dignity. Suicide is not clearly con-
demned by the Church until Augustine does so, citing the precedent of the sixth
commandment and the behavior of the extreme Donatist Circumcellions and those
bishops, like Gaudentius of Thamugadi, who did not condemn Donatist suicide.
XXI.11. O bravest and most blessed (O fortissimi ac beatissimi) R begins his
doxology with this lyrical paean to the character of the martyrs and their actions
(OLD, s.v. fortis, 7–8). These lines represent a grand finale, a coda, which allows
R to return his audience to his opening themes in Chapter I and his celebration of
the continuing presence and importance of revelation and prophecy. It is note-
worthy that fortis was also used to celebrate the deeds of the Roman warrior; R
uses it here to associate the martyrs’ bravery with that of the soldier. The martyrs
are milites Christi. This idea will be well explored by Cyprian, who borrows this
very phase (Ep. 8.2: Cyprianus martyribus et confessoribus in Christo Domino nos-
tro et in Deo Patre perpetuam salutem. Exulto laetus et gratulor, fortissimi ac beatis-
simi fratres). The Greek version, likely influenced by this developing idea of the
Christian soldier, is explicit in its comparison, referring to the martyrs as καί
στρατιῶται ἐκλεκτοί .
XXI.11. O truly called and chosen . . . who praises, honors (o vere vocati, et
electi . . . et honorificat). R again emphasizes the importance of the prophetic spirit,
a spirit which is imparted by the Holy Spirit and given to those who are called.
This calling appears to be something freely given by the Spirit, and it is nothing
one can strive after, as Luke notes in Acts 5.13: οὐδεὶς ἐτόλμα κολλᾶσθαι αὐτοῖς.
(Honorifico is first found in the second century; see Souter, s.v. honorifico; for
adorat, see Sir. 35.20.) I have noted R’s attention to rhetoric, and Amat notes here
the apparent similarity of the collocation of these three verbs to the ternary style
employed in Ciceronian clausulae (262). She does not discuss the specifics of the
metrics of the feet, e.g., a cretic followed by a spondee or trochee. While Amat has
directed attention to the metrics of these three verbs, it is likely that R was also
thinking of the Bible and that he has borrowed the phrase (hitherto unnoticed)
from Revelation, where the victory of Christ over that of the Antichrist is with the
called, the chosen and the faithful: Hi cum Agno pugnabunt, et Agnus vincet eos
quia Dominus dominorum est, et Rex regum, et qui cum illo sunt et electi et fideles
(17.14 in some MSS of the Vetus).
XXI.11. no less worthy than the old ones (minora veteribus exempla). R refers to
exempla only twice in the Passio, here and in his very first line (I.1: Si vetera fidei
exempla). Might he be referring to non-canonical Scriptural texts like that of the
Scillitan Martyrs, or the martyrdoms of Ignatius and Polycarp? He remarks that
the deeds of the present are as great, if not greater, than those of the past, and
these deeds should be studied (legere debet) because they are the actions which
lead to the building up of the Church (aedificationem Ecclesiae; see also I.1 for
this phrase).
XXI.11. these new deeds . . . witness that one and the . . . same Holy Spirit (novae
quoque virtutes . . . eundem semper Spiritum Sanctum). R argues that the personal
witness of the martyrs is as great a testimony as those in the past, since this pre-
sent witness is called into being by the power and authority of the Holy Spirit.
Thus he is at pains to underscore the crucial importance in the Church of this
ongoing charismatic outpouring of the power of the Holy Spirit as it is manifest
in his elect. The Greek text seems to soften this radical indwelling of the Holy
Spirit. It appears more indebted to a Trinitarian emphasis, and it does not high-
light or single out these new deeds to the Spirit’s power alone: δι᾿ ὧν δόξαν ἀνα-
πέμπομεν τῷ πατρὶ τῶν αἰώνων, ἅμα τῷ μονογενεῖ αὐτοῦ υἱῷ, τῷ κυρίῳ ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ
Xριστῷ, σὺν αγίῳ π νεύματι .
XXI.11. glory and endless power for ever and ever (in saecula saeculorum). R ends
his narrative with the triumphant liturgical expression of the eternal
majesty of God’s power stretching into eternity. The martyrs have joined that hal-
lowed celestial retinue and are meant to serve as examples to those of us who
remain in the world that they must be open to the power of God mediated through
the Father, the Holy Spirit, and Jesus Christ, His son. The phrase is of great antiq-
uity (see Tb 13.10) and was a favorite of Paul’s (Gal 1.5; Phlm 4.20; 1 Tm 1.17; 2
Tm 4.18) and used frequently in Revelation (Rv 1.6, 1.18, 4.9–10, 5.13, 7.12, 10.6,
11.15, 14.11, 15.7, 19.3, 20.10, 22.5). At least three of these instances (5.13, 7.12,
22.5) concern the blood sacrifice of the innocent witness, the martyr, who, John
says, will “need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and
they shall reign εἰς τοὺς αἰῶνας τῶν αἰώνων/in saecula saeculorum” (22.5). R con-
cludes by repeating the ringing exultant expression from the last chapter of Reve-
lation. The conclusion is at once traditional and polemical. How fitting a
conclusion to someone with R’s sympathies for the New Prophecy movement in
this hour of persecution.
Appendix I
Manuscripts and Editions
At the risk of proliferating manuscript sigils, for clarity’s sake I have adopted sigils
based on the initial letter of the name of the manuscript. For example, M is Monte Cas-
sino MS 204, and P is Paris MS BN 17626. Manuscript sigils H, VB, and A below stand for
Heffernan, Van Beek, and Amat respectively.
NAMES AND SIGILS OF THE MSS OF THE

PA S S IO
Editor’s Name H VB A
Monte Cassino 204 M 1 A
Ambrosiana C.210 A 2 D
St. Gallen 577 G 3a E1
Einsiedeln 250 E 3b E2
Bib. Nat. 17626 P 4 B
BL Cotton Nero E.I N 5a C1
Salisbury Cathedral 221Olim Fell.4 S 5b C2
BL Cotton Otho D.VIII O 5c C3
Canterbury E.42 C 5d C4
Jerusalem 1 (olim S. Sepulchri Greek) H H H
• 369 •
370 • A P P E N D I X I
A . T H E T E X T UA L T R A D I T I O N
The manuscript tradition of the Passio is late, and the surviving exemplars exhibit a
complex skein of relationships. There are nine surviving Latin manuscripts and one
Greek manuscript. None of the extant manuscripts can be reliably dated before the ninth
century ce. The Greek MS, MS H, which some have argued represents the language of
the original composition, is actually a fourth-century translation of a non-extant Latin
text. I have studied all the extant manuscripts in situ, and I provide their first full descrip-
tion both codicologically and palaeographically in this Chapter. Up to the present time,
the understanding of the status of and the relationships among the manuscripts has been
only partial. For example, van Beek was the first one to discuss the confusion and subse-
quent misidentification of S as having a Salzburg provenance, when in fact it is from Salis-
bury. And as recently as Amat’s edition, MS S was still being identified as Codex
Oxoniensis Fell 4. S, however, is a product of the scribes working in the Salisbury Cathe-
dral scriptorium in the late eleventh century. James Ussher, the Archbishop of Armagh,
borrowed it from Salisbury Cathedral Library in 1640. It was subsequently deposited in
the Bodleian Library around 1650, where it remained for 335 years—hence the Oxford
provenance—until it was returned to its rightful owner, Salisbury Cathedral Library, in
August 1985.
The earliest surviving text is MS G (figure 7.4), and on palaeographic grounds it can be
dated to the late ninth century—early tenth century. It was written at the Benedictine
Abbey of St. Gall and is a Legenda Sanctorum and Passionale with a strong representation
of local saints. Although it is beautifully written in a careful Caroline hand, unfortunately
the text of the Passio in G is defective, and ends with the words ab urso vexati sunt from
XIX.13 (f.174va). It also lacks the prologue. MS G is most closely related to the only other
extant Swiss Benedictine exemplar, MS E (figure 7.5), from the monastic house Our Lady
of the Hermits in Einsiedeln in the Canton of Schwyz. E is a twelfth-century Legenda
sanctorum, and the Passio is in the fourth volume of a handsome four-volume collection
used at Einsiedeln for liturgical purposes, likely for readings at matins or in the refectory
on the saint’s day. Unfortunately, the version of the Passio in E, like its counterpart G,
lacks the prologue and also ends defectively, concluding with the words gloriosiorem
gestaret coronam from XIX.2. E, however, then continues the narrative, but at this point
adds textual material from the Acta: Acclamante vero turba positi sunt in medio . . . (Acta
IX.3), ending with the concluding lines of the Acta, quod est benedictum in saecula saecu-
lorum (IX.5). E’s conflation of the Passio with Acta text suggests that the exemplar which
the single scribe of E copied from was itself corrupted and was therefore not that of the
related MS G family. Therefore, E was not copied from G or an immediate ancestor of G,
but they both likely descend and branch off from an earlier exemplar.
Yet while G and E do share an earlier common exemplar and share the bulk of their
readings, they do differ among themselves, indicating that their immediate exemplars
were different. The obvious instance of such difference is E’s use of the Acta to complete
the Passio where G simply ends defectively without adding material. Three additional
examples will suffice to illustrate the separate traditions of E and G. First, the incipit to
E is written in large majuscules and states Incipit Passio Sanctorum Revocati, Saturini,
Appendix I • 371
Perpetue & Felicitatis. Although other MSS also vary the order of the martyrs’ names in
their incipits, E is the only MS to place Revocatus first. The incipit to MS G reads differ-
ently and omits the masculine names altogether, stating Incipit Passio Sanctarum Perpet-
uae et Felicitatis. This is a more common incipit. My second example concerns Chapter
XI of the Passio, which introduces the narrative of the dream of Saturus, Perpetua’s teacher
and the leader of the small band of condemned. It is the only other autobiographical sec-
tion in the Passio and was justifiably popular with medieval readers and thus important
textually. E correctly attributes the dream to Saturus: Sed et Saturus benedictus hanc visio-
nem suam . . . (emphasis added). MS G, alone of all the nine Latin MSS, mistakenly iden-
tifies the dream as the narrative of the other male martyr with a similar name, Saturninus,
and writes Sed et Saturninus benedictus hanc visionem . . . (emphasis added).
However, despite these differences E and G share readings which differ sufficiently
from all the other extant Latin exemplars to place them in a related, separate line of
descent. For example, in VII.1, Perpetua notes that in surprise she uttered the name of her
long dead brother Dinocrates, stating, subito media oratione profecta est (MS M, my
emphasis). E and G alone share the reading for this line as subito media oratione per fecta
est (emphasis added). Lastly, E and G alone reverse the word order in Deinde post paucos
dies Pudens miles. All other MSS read Deinde post dies paucos Pudens miles . . . (IX.1).
MS M (figure 7.2), which has been the basis of the great modern edition of van Beek
and most recently that of Amat, I would date to the last third of the eleventh century. It
is the most complete text of the Passio extant and the least vexed by corrupt readings or
additions from the Acta. Although the Passio excerpt in M has long been thought of as
an original part of the manuscript and therefore a product of the great late eleventh-
century scriptorium of Monte Cassino under the guiding hand of Abbot Desiderius and
written in a Beneventan hand, my study of the manuscript suggests a different prove-
nance. Let us consider M. It is an important collection of the letters of Cyprian. The
Passio selection is the last quire gathering in the manuscript, and although the hand is
contemporary with the rest of the manuscript, the hand of the Passio is not Beneventan.
The quire containing the Passio was written by a scribe trained outside the Beneventan
area. The parchment in this quire is thicker and darker than those preceding, suggesting
they may have been planned for a different book and may have lain exposed before being
bound in M. I have been unable to determine the provenance of the hand of the Passio
quire, but I am certain that it is written by a scribe trained in a convention different from
that of the Beneventan or other south Italian scripts. The scribe who copied the Passio
selection may have been a visitor working in the monastic scriptorium of Monte Cassino.
The Passio quire was early bound with the rest of M, as the edges of the leaves of all the
MS fols. have been stained with a medieval rose-colored decorative pigment, consistent
with such rubricating practices of this period. The Passio excerpt is unlike anything else
in M, which, as I said, is an important early copy of Cyprian’s letters. It may have been
bound with the rest of M because the Cyprian Epistolae and the Passio were seen as
originally having an African source.
M is the earliest of the manuscripts to contain the most complete text of the Passio. It
is the manuscript copy of the Passio found by Holstenius and printed by Valois from
372 • A P P E N D I X I
Holstenius’s notes and transcriptions in 1664. It has served as the copy text since that
time. While M shares more readings with E and G than any of the other Latin exemplars,
it derives from an exemplar different from either of the Swiss manuscripts and the other
five extant Latin exemplars. For example, M uniquely contains the opening prologue,
which neither E nor G has. Furthermore, the important claim that R makes concerning
the autobiographical nature of the section attributed to Perpetua (conscriptum sua
manu)—extant in E, G, P, O, A, N, S—occurs uniquely in M as conscriptum manu sua,
thus reversing the word order. In Chapter XI, M alone identifies this section with the title
Visio Saturi. In that same chapter the large garden visited by Saturus and Perpetua is
described by M, E, and G with a variant of grandis (M, spacium grandem), whereas all
others use a variant of magnus (N, P, S spatium magnum). In the dramatic confrontation
between Hilarianus and Perpetua’s father, all the other Latin manuscripts read ab Hilari-
ano proici; M alone reads ab Hilariano deici. The list of variant readings singular to
M could be greatly expanded.
As I suggested above, it is curious in the extreme to have a single quire of a saint’s
passion bound with a collection of a patristic author’s letters. I can only conjecture that
it was copied in Monte Cassino roughly contemporaneously with the copying of M, and
it was added to the Cyprian collection because there were some in the community who
saw an affinity between the two African saints, both of whom were martyred in Carthage
in the third century. Finally, M derives from an exemplar that contained a complete ver-
sion of the Passio, including the prologue. It is highly unlikely that M was copied from a
third-century exemplar and much more likely that it was copied from a Passionale used
in a monastic liturgical setting, likely a product of the Carolingian resurgent interest in
such texts.
MS A appears to have derived from β, and, as the Bollandists and van Beek have sug-
gested, it also shows a relationship to MS H. I have hesitated to indicate such an affiliation,
as I remain uncertain of their claims for such a relationship.
Four of the manuscripts (C, N, O, and S) have an English provenance: C (figure 7.10)
and O (figure 7.9) from the scriptorium of Christ Church, Canterbury, N from the Bene-
dictine priory of St. Mary’s Worcester, and S from the Cathedral Library of Salisbury. C is
a collection of manuscript leaves which survive from the dismemberment of what was
once a handsome seven-volume Passionale for the entire liturgical year, written in Christ
Church scriptorium before 1128. It was dismembered in the late sixteenth century and
used for rent receipts and mutilated. The present volume in Canterbury contains leaves
from at least four of these volumes and was bound together in 1890. The Passio survives
only as a twenty-three-line acephalous excerpt beginning . . . prior reddendo spiritum Per-
petua (XXI.8). However, although C is not particularly useful in constructing an edition
or in determining manuscript relationships, I have compared the lines with the other
exemplars. MS O, also with a Christ Church Canterbury provenance, is an elegantly
written multivolume Passionale produced between 1130 and 1150. That indefatigable
sixteenth-century bibliophile Sir Robert Cotton purchased it, and it became part of his
extensive library. Unfortunately, O was severely damaged in the horrific fire at Ashburnham
House on October 23, 1731, which destroyed as much as a quarter of Cotton’s manuscripts
Appendix I • 373
and books. The text of the Passio was badly charred from the fire, and the intense heat
caused the parchment leaves to shrink into a tight ball. The Victorian conservators, hoping
to recover textual material, sliced into these balls in an effort at flattening them for binding.
Unfortunately, this caused even more loss, since sometimes they sliced through lines of
text. While MS O does contain the entirety of the Passio, it is so severely damaged that
much of it cannot be read even with the assistance of ultraviolet light. I have used the read-
ings selectively where legible, but I have been unable to collate this exemplar in extenso. N
(figure 7.7) is the first volume of a handsome two-volume Passionale written for the
monastic community of St. Mary’s Priory, Worcester, toward the end of the eleventh cen-
tury. Although it too was in the Ashburnham fire, it was little damaged, and here the se-
rious damage is restricted to the first three fols. It was evidently intended to contain other
readings in addition to passions and martyrologies, as is evident in Saint Augustine’s ser-
mon on the “Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mother” (f.142rb, l.15). S (figure 7.8) ap-
pears to have been written as a liturgical Passionale for the community of canons resident
in Salisbury Cathedral at the end of the eleventh century. It is a workaday volume, as is
evident in the quality of the parchment, presumably intended as a daily office book. For
example, fols. 98 and 106 contain holes—a not uncommon finding in parchment leaves—
which were present when the parchment was prepared and readied for writing. The scribe
simply wrote his text around them.
While there is a strong affiliation among the texts of the Passio in the manuscripts with
English provenance, these four MSS derive from different exemplars. N and S often share
a reading which all other MSS do not. For example, N and S both read post paucos dies
(VII.1), and they share uniquely with P the reading of the verb profero where the other
exemplars employ proficiscor. N and S alone agree in their reading of et Satyrus benedic-
tam (XI.1), against all others which read et Satyrus benedictus (emphasis added). How-
ever, N and S also disagree in a number of readings, which indicate they descend from a
different exemplar. N alone reads occurrit quod audiremus (V.1) where S, agreeing with all
the other Latin exemplars, reads cucurrit quod audiremur. N uniquely notes (combining
letters and numerals) that the four angels who assist Saturus and Perpetua are ab ipsis
iiiior angelis (XI.5). All other texts read quatt uor. In the important discussion about
delaying Felicity’s execution because she was in the eighth month of her labor, N alone
omits mention of the precise month—and thus misses the significance in Roman law of
pregnancy in the execution of a woman—reading pro naturae difficultate mensis (c.xv.5).
All other Latin exemplars read octavi mensis.
The exemplar of the Passio in MS P is contained in a collection of saints’ lives (four-
teen in total) for the month of March. As I state in my commentary, it was undoubtedly
part of a much larger collection, perhaps running to as many as a dozen volumes. Its prov-
enance is the Benedictine Abbey of Saint-Corneille in Compiègne and was written for
use in the monastery toward the end of the tenth century. The gathering of these fourteen
lives only represents a part of the calendar for March and suggests that some texts were
lost before the nineteenth-century rebinding. While P agrees most often with the most
complete English manuscripts, and while it is somewhat earlier than either N or S, it was
not part of the tradition from which they were copied, as the three exemplars can be
374 • A P P E N D I X I
shown to disagree. For example, both N and S name and identify the city where the mar-
tyrs are from as Turbitana. P, however, lacks any mention of the city. P alone of the man-
uscripts does not open the second paragraph with the mention of their arrest (M,
Apprehensi sunt adolescentes cathecumini . . .) but begins acephalously: Revocatus et Felic-
itas conserua eius. P appears to agree more often with S than it does with N. For example,
N begins c.xviii.1 Inluxit dies where P and S read Illuxit dies. However, P can differ from
either N or S, as in its use of the present tense in c. xxi.5, eius petit where N and S adopt
the perfect petiit. P uniquely reads per infirmitatem cancerata where N and S and all the
other exemplars read infirmitatem faciem. In that same line, P reads annorum vii where N
and S read annorum septem.
I have adopted MS M as the copy text for the present edition because of its complete-
ness and comparative lack of textual corruption. I have provided lemmata at the bottom
of the page citing noteworthy variants (Chapter 4). I have also placed significant textual
emendations in the commentary (see I.1, repensatione). The stemma below begins with
what might be called the three Urtexts, those of Perpetua, of Saturus, and of the Christian
editor R. It is impossible to say in what form R received the two autobiographies. How-
ever, I think it likely that he received them in a form close to what we have today, as the
Latinity of the three narratives is sufficiently different in lexicon, syntax, and style. R con-
structed the present version of the Passio, incorporating the narratives of Perpetua and
Saturus, sometime before the end of the first decade of the third century. R’s hybrid text is
the version I have labeled autograph. Six centuries separate the autograph version of the
Passio from the earliest extant manuscript, G. Comments from Augustine, Quodvultdeus,
and others underscore the popularity of the Passio in the mid-fifth century among the
populace and thus speak to the existence of a considerable number of manuscripts in cir-
culation. Despite such apparent cultural presence in early medieval Africa, it is virtually
impossible to account for the textual tradition during the half millennium separating its
composition from the earliest extant manuscript. The paucity of manuscripts from the
period of composition until the ninth century is due in part to the subsequent destruction
of these late antique Christian Latin manuscripts of African provenance in the Vandal
depredations and the Muslim conquests of the mid-seventh century. The study of the
dispersal of Christian Latin manuscripts from Africa to Europe after the Muslim conquest
is only now being undertaken, and one hopes with greater study more manuscripts with
an African provenance will come to light, as well as the paths of their migration from
Africa to Europe.
The stemma below shows that the Greek text is a translation of a no longer extant Latin
text that was closely related to M, as the translated text was also derived from α . In trying
to account for the differences between M and all subsequent Latin exemplars, I see at least
three distinct later traditions, which all derive from exemplar β. Manuscript A seems to be
the most closely dependent on β, while the Swiss manuscripts G and E are dependent on
an additional exemplar which I have labeled γ. The second important exemplar is δ, and it
is the ancestor of P. The manuscripts of English provenance are descended from δ, but I
postulate that another exemplar closely related to P influenced the copying of S, N, O, and
C. While there are strong similarities, as I indicted above, between P and some of the
Appendix I • 375
Perpetua Saturus
Autograph
M(xi) H(x)
A(xii)
γ δ
G(ix) E(xii) P(x)
S(xi) N(xi) O(xii) C(xii)
Plate 7.1: Stemma
English manuscripts, there are sufficient textual divergences to assume that there may
have been a no longer extant English exemplar between δ and the four extant English
manuscripts.
While the descriptions below follow a similar format, if there is no instance of a partic-
ular phenomenon or if it proves to be of little significance for an individual MS, for ex-
ample MS repairs or erasures, I do not list the category (see MS M). Although it would
have been preferable to treat every MS with a uniform format, the state of preservation of
the MSS sometimes precluded this. Hence, for example, MS C has an entry for “largest
folio” because its leaves were dismembered in the sixteenth century, and they have been
reset in modern parchment surrounds and rebound. Hence also the entry “Modern Con-
servation” for MS C. The bibliography cited after each MS description is not intended to
be exhaustive but rather to provide access to the better discussions of the MSS, and it is
provided in chronological order. All measurements are in millimeters unless stated
differently.
B. T H E M A N U S C R I P TS
Manuscript Name: Monte Cassino 204.
Sigil: M.
Subject: (1) Epistolae Cypriani, fols. 1r–164r. (2) Dispositio cene nuptialis facta a
Cecilio Cypriano, fols. 164v–168v. (3) Passio, fols. 170r–175r.
Provenance: Disputed. Fols. 1–169 are Beneventan script and are likely Monte Cas-
sino. Fols. 170–75 are in a different hand. The scribe writes a Caroline script, but these fols.
do not follow Beneventan conventions, and could have been written by a visiting monk,
376 • A P P E N D I X I
Plate 7.2: M Monte Casino 204
or have been brought to the monastery from outside, perhaps southern France. Newton
believes they exhibit some signs of a South Italian influence (pp.317, 325, 366–67).
Date: ca. last third of the eleventh century. Fol. iv verso: Written in ink on fol. iv verso
is “saec xi, ul-vis (E.A.L.).” The initials inside the parenthesis are those of E.A. Lowe. Fol.
v recto: written here is “Codex seculi X. post annum 950.” This script is older than that on
fol. iv verso.
Contents:
1. Fol.1r 164r Incipit Epistola Cipriani ad Silvanum et Regianum. It ends correctly

with an explicit.
2. Fol. 164r–168v: Incipit cena nuptialis facta a Cecilio Cypriano. At fol. 164r
there then begin four fols. of lists of names. The names and accompanying
descriptors are written in four columns down each leaf. The list contains
Biblical patriarchs and their spouses, men and women from the New Testa-
ment and some non-Scriptural personalities such as Thecla. Each name is
Appendix I • 377
followed by a phrase. For example, in the first column on 164v, there is the
name “Eva” [Eve] followed in the second column (but immediately to the right
of “Eva”) the phrase “super folium.” To the right of “Eva” on this same fol. is the
name “Iacobus” followed by the phrase “super Reab.” A few names below we
see on fol. 164v: “Moyses” followed to the right by “super lapidem” and to the
right of that is Rebecca and to Rebecca’s right “pallium,” followed by fol. 165r
“Danihel” and to the right “Leoninam,” “Adam” and to the right “Pelliciam,”
“His,” and the right “Columbinam.” The lists end on fol. 168v with “Explicit
Cena Cypriani.”
3. Fol. 168v–169v. At the bottom of fol. we read: “Incipit Oratio Cipriani.” Fol.
169r: this fol. is darkened, and the script heavily abbreviated and difficult to
read. The first line begins: “D[omi]ne s[an]c[t]e pa[ter] agios d[ominus].” The
scribe ran out of space or for other reasons did not wish to begin a new quire
and so changed the number of lines on the verso side. Fol. 169r contains
twenty-nine lines, but on fol. 169v he squeezed in forty-six. The last word
written in the lower inside margin of fol. 169v is “Felicia” with an abbreviation
mark over the final a, perhaps Feliciam or Feliciae?
4. Fol. 170r. The Passio begins. It has neither an incipit nor a header which would
provide an identifying title. The Passio begins “Sive Tera fidei exempla et dei
gratiam Testificantia.” Note that the first two words are written separately: “Sive
[space] Tera” (for Si vetera). See section on collation below.
Number of Folios: v + 175 + v. Note that of these five end sheets, only two are old—
that is, end leaves iv and v. The other three (i, ii, iii) were added at the time the manuscript
was rebound in the twentieth century (?), and the paper is discernibly newer.
Material: Good-quality parchment throughout. Most of the leaves are of high
quality—white and thin. The layout shows the arrangement of fols. according to flesh-
flesh, hair-hair in most instances (for example, fols. 147r flesh, 147v hair, 148r hair, 148v
flesh). The leaves are uniform in thickness except for those of the Passio, which are
thicker and darkened, suggesting they may have had a different placement in this volume
or in a different composition or they may have been unbound prior to being placed in
this manuscript. They are consistently thicker than those used for the Cyprian letters.
On a few occasions the scribe has employed leaves which were defective from the time
of their making. For example, on fol. 122 the lower right-hand side is missing a piece,
which is scalloped out in a curving fashion (140 cm long × 38 cm at widest at the bottom
of the fol.). The scribe has simply written around this curve in the parchment. For ex-
ample, on fol. 122v we read written on the edge of the curve (de locis pagina liberata). Fol.
99 has a similar shaped scalloping, but it is bigger, measuring in length 180 mm and in
width 30 mm. On fol. 12, there is a hole measuring 24 mm in length × 26 mm wide in the
inside margin, which the scribe has simply written up to.
Columns: Single columns throughout, except for fols. 164r–168v.
Lines per Folio: Selection 1, the letters of Cyprian, average between 25 and 29. Selec-
tion 2, 29 lines per fol. Selection 3, 32 lines per fol., last fol. 175v, 22 lines.
378 • A P P E N D I X I
MS Size:
Average size: width 181 and 270 length
Largest fol.: 11r width 186 and 272 length
Reconstructed: width (not damaged) and (not damaged) length
Passio average: width 183 and 270 mm length.
Pricking: Visible throughout in outside margin very close to the edge.
Catchmarks: Only one instance apparent on fol. 8v.
Foliation: 1–58, 67, 77, 8–168, 177, 18–198, 20 4, 218, 221, 234. The quires were all eights,
save for 20. Quires 6 and 7 are missing a fol. each. Quire 17 is missing either 139 or 140
depending on which numbering system one adopts. Quire 20 has only four fols. Quire 22,
which contains the Passio, is somewhat different. Fol. 170 is a singleton; fol. 171 has been
cut away, and all that remains is a 12.7 mm stub in the gutter; fol. 172 begins a new gath-
ering of four leaves. We cannot be certain from a codicological standpoint why 171 was
excised. The excision was likely done prior to the actual composition, as 171 was deemed
unnecessary. They would have had to end on a single fol., given the line length of each fol.,
and it made better sense in putting the quire together to have the singleton where it was
than at the end of the quire. I will follow the modern pencil numbering which appears in
the middle bottom margin of every recto.
There are three numbering systems used on the leaves; none are medieval, and all are
Arabic rather than Roman. The earliest system is written in ink in the upper right-hand
corner of every recto and may be eighteenth century. Directly beneath this is a pencil
number written very faintly (perhaps faded). The two numbering systems are rather dif-
ferent. The early one numbers fols. in the traditional manner, recto and verso. The pencil
records leaves as page numbers, numbering both recto and verso as different page
numbers. For example, fol. 154 (old numbering) is page number 309 (in pencil). In the
lower central margin of every recto fol. there is a new modern pencil number. For this
same page it gives the fol. as 156r.
Quire numbers followed by fol. number they begin on: 1–9r; 2–17r; 3–25r; 4–33r;
5–41r; 6–49r; 7–55r; 8–63r; 9–71r; 10–79r; 11–87r; 12–95r; 13–103r; 14–111r; 15–119r;
16–127r; 17–135r; 18–142r; 19–150r; 20–154r; 21–162r; 22–170r.
Running Heads: None.
Lineation: (ink quality, etc): The ink is typically black, and the contrast with the
white parchment makes it most legible. Occasionally there are fols. where the ink is faded
and not easy to read, for example fols. 125v–126r. Perhaps the ink in the quill was insuffi-
cient for fol. 125v, because it is dark again on fol. 126v.
Capitals: There are few large capitals. For example, on fol. 148v in the lower left-
hand side of the fol. at the beginning of Cyprian’s letter to Stephen, the initial C in Cyp-
rian is in red ink and large, measuring 39 mm high × 20 mm in width. The C has a
distinctive shape with its middle pinched and looks like a backwards 3. Here is how it
appears: “Incipit ad Stephanum de Concilio. . . . 3yprianus. (The waist of the C is pinched
as indicated above, and the pinched C in his name is 29 mm long × 19 mm wide.) This
majuscule C is used elsewhere; see the rubricated Cyprianus on fol. 161v. Note that this
same capital C beginning Cyprian’s name is the majuscule which begins the work on fol.
Appendix I • 379
1r. There the incipit begins Incipit Epistola Cipriani ad Silvanum et [in] regionem in Met-
tallo Constitutos. Cypriani Martyribus et Confessoribus ihesu Christi domini nostri in
Domino.
Historiated Capitals: None.
Illuminations: None.
Rubrics: The rubricator is the same hand throughout. For example, compare the
rubrics on fols. 56v, 57r, and 134v. There is no one single strategy employed in the use of
rubrics. They are used sometimes to depict incipits (fol. 1r and 134v), but sometimes they
are not used for incipits; see fol. 139r and fol. 17v. In other instances, selections of the text
extending from three to five lines of Cyprian’s letters are rubricated without any apparent
reason; see fols. 95r and 144v. Furthermore, there is no consistent use of rubrication to
highlight the beginning of capitals or paragraphs.
Corrections: The texts are comparatively free of corrections. There are instances
where an entire line has been removed through abrasion with pumice (see last line fol.
45r). Words left out in copying are added as superscripts in a small script; see fol. 3v, line
15. The corrector has often simply drawn a line through otiose or incorrect copying to be
deleted; see 118v and fol. 41r, where an entire line beginning “In opere elemosinis . . .” has
been drawn through.
Punctuation: There is punctuation in the MS. The Passio consistently uses the punc-
tus to end a sentence, for example fol. 137r, l.19. The punctus elevatus is also used, but less
frequently (see fol. 148r, l.14), and it suggests less of a pause. The Passio scribe uses the
punctus almost exclusively, save in two instances: fol. 172r, l.20 following vicerit and 174r,
l. 22 following quidem.
Marginalia: There are few marginalia. The longest extended marginal comment ap-
pears on fol. 5v. In the margin next to the incipit Divi Caecili Libellus unus Fortunatum . . .
we read the marginal notation Io Maria Genuesis, lectori. Cum videre candide lector in hoc
libro Diivi C. Cypriani, tum titulum, tum principium desideravi, Longobardis nihilominus
figurae depicto, tamen quia †se puis† evenit ut de emendatis inemendata et non †num†
quibus emendata corrigantur ne liber [. . .] falo esset, titulum et principium ex Erasmiana
correctione impressis exemplaribus apposui. There are small circles with an oblique line
drawn through them, which often appear in the margin denoting an incipit. There are no
figures, doodles, pointing hands, fingers, nota bene signs, etc.
Margins: Cropping is evident on fols. 150 and 151, but it was likely minimal else-
where, since the manuscript leaves were clearly prepared for this size from the outset. For
example, on fol. 150 a marginal annotation written perpendicularly to the text was
cropped, and thus now only part of the letter forms remain. This was done after the fol.
was written, since it is hardly likely that the annotation would have been prior to the main
text.
The outside edges of the leaves have been decorated with colored ink. Holding the
manuscript shut, the edges appear as muted reds, violet, and black. All the fols. of the
manuscript are so treated, and this suggests that the entire volume was together when this
was done, including the leaves of the Passio. It is a decorative feature.
Width: outside 30–35 mm, inside 15 mm.
380 • A P P E N D I X I
Length: top 10–15 mm, bottom 30–35 mm.

Written Surface: width 135 mm, height 220 mm.
Drypoint: Used throughout. There is no lead point used. Fol. 104r is a nice example as
the drypoint continues beyond the written lines of text into the margin and is very visible.
See also fol. 153r, which is entirely blank and only shows the drypoint awaiting the scribal
text, which was never written. The drypoint layout for the leaves shows a difference after
fol. 154. Prior to 154r there is one vertical line, which frames the inside and outside margin.
After fol. 154 there are two lines approximately 6 mm apart, which frame these margins.
The quality of the parchment changes at this point, being thicker and likely less select.
Hands: There are two hands. Hand number one is responsible for the bulk of the
manuscript from fol. 1r through 169v. Hand number two is responsible for the entire text
of the Passio from fol. 170r through 175v. Although scribe number one can vary the size
of his script when necessary, for example, to complete a text of a given piece of parch-
ment, it is nonetheless the same hand, as the letter forms are the same, albeit smaller. The
standard size of his lowercase letters is 2.5–3 mm. Those letters like s and r, which have
desenders, or f, which has an ascender, are typically 5 mm; see fol. 85r for examples of
these. When he chooses to reduce his letter size, the lowercase letters are 2 mm, and those
with descenders and ascenders are 3.5 mm; for examples see fol. 162r.
The second hand does not seem to employ Beneventan script. The ductus of the two
hands are strikingly different. Hand number one has an upright ductus and a formal look,
with the letters individually shaped, and has an angular appearance. Hand number two
has an artfully done ductus which leans to the right and provides the feeling of a cursive
influence in the script. Even the letter sizes are different. The letter sizes of hand number
two, particularly the nondescenders and ascenders, average about 1 mm larger than those
of hand 1, and are approximately 3.5 mm in height.
The scribe of the Passio employs a Caroline script but does does not use the standard
Beneventan script. His letter forms for lowercase a, r, d, t, e, and n are distinct from the
rest of the manuscript. His majuscules are also different; see for example his distinctive
use of capital Q compared to the Beneventan script throughout. The ampersand is also
distinctively different.
Binding: The manuscript has been recently bound, perhaps in the twentieth cen-
tury. The binding is brown wooden boards with brown calf leather covering the entire
spine and folding midway around both front and back wooden covers. It is a utilitarian
binding.
Bibliography
Reifferscheid, August, “Die Bibliothek von Monte Cassino,” Bibliotheca Patrum Lati-
norum Italica, 2. Aus den Sitzungsberichten der Philogische—Historische Classe der kais.
Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2, ix (Vienna: 1871): 91–97. He only lists Cyprian’s works
but does dates the entire MS x–xi cent (91).
Ramsey, H.L., “Our Oldest MSS of St. Cyprian, III: The Contents and Order of the Man-
uscripts LNP,” JTS 3 (1902): 585–94. He refers to MS 204 as N and makes the singular ob-
servation that the Passio passage is “in a later (post-Lombardic) hand.”
Appendix I • 381
Codicum casinensium Manuscriptorum cura et studio Monachorum S. Benedicti. Vol.

II, pars 1 & 2 (Monte Cassino: 1928–34), pp. 4–5, dates the MS as eleventh century but
notes that the fols. of the Passio are earlier and in a Caroline hand “etiam pagina integra
sed littera Carolina saec. x–xi sunt descriptae,” with which judgment I agree.
Shewring, W. H., “En marge de la Passion des Saintes Perpétue et Félicité,” in Revue
Bénédictine 43 (1931): 15–22. Shewring, in a discussion of MSS variants, dates M as elev-
enth century and dates MSS P (tenth), S (which he believed lost: “le ms est perdu”), A
(end of tenth), and H (tenth).
Newton, Francis. The Scriptorium and Library at Monte Cassino, 1058–1105. Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. pp. 317, 325, 366–67.
Manuscript Name: Ambrosiana C 210, infer.

Sigil: A.
Subject: A collection of miscellaneous texts, including Augustine on the Psalms (fols.119
through 134), a collection of saints’ festivals, and Pope Leo’s treatise on the Translation of St.
James, concluding with an acephalous and as yet unidentified treatise on the faith.
Plate 7.3: A Ambrosiana C.210 infer

382 • A P P E N D I X I
Provenance: The monastery of San Savino of Piacenza. Fol. 1r records the prove-
nance in faint tan ink of eight lines and in a hand of the same period as the texts of the MS.
The donation to the Ambrosiana is written on flyleaf iii in a contemporary hand of the
seventeenth century and states that the manuscript came to the Ambrosiana in 1603. Fol.
iv (my numbering 1) states that before the manuscript was given to the Ambrosiana it was
owned by James Bechetus, the Secretary to the Duke (of Milan?) and that he gave it to the
Franciscan house in Milan (though the precise location of the house is not stated) on 22
February 1572, with the proviso that they agree to say mass and the divine office in his
memory in the chapel of Saint Ludovicus: MDLXXII die XXII februarii hunc librum
donatur magnificus d. Iacobus bechetus ducalis Secretarius Conventui Sancti Francisci in
eius defunctorum suorum memoriam ad hoc ut fratres dicti couentus celebrent missas as
diuina offitia in eius capella nuncupata sancti Luodouici.
Date: s.xii.2
Contents: fourteen miscellaneous items.
1. fol. 1ra–63va: Augustini in Psalmos 119:134

2. fol. 63vb: Augustini ad Valerium
3. fol. 81ra: Passio Sancti Barnabae
4. fol. 83ra: De Natali Sancti Matthaei
5. fol. 87vb: De Natali Sancti Vincentii
6. fol. 88vb: Augustini de Natali Missa Candidatorum
7. fol. 89rb: Augustini de libro Cypriani de Sancto Quadrato
8. fol. 92ra: De Natali Petri et Pauli
9. fol. 93ra: Homilia Sancti Augustini
10. fol. 95ra: In Natali Confessorum
11. fol. 96vb: Augustini de Natali Virginum
12. fol. 100va: De Martyribus Hyacinthi et Eugeniae
13. fol. 109vb: Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis
14. fol. 115ra: Papae Leonis de Translatione Sancti Iacobi
15. fol. 117ra: An acephalous text beginning ut quidem et melius est alicui ut aliqua
atrocissima pena condempnatur temporalem mortem. It ends as a fragment
with the sentence: Quia dixerat dominus ue esse homini per quem.
Number of Folios: ii + 116 + ii. There is a seventeenth-century system of foliation in

Arabic numerals in the upper right-hand corner of the recto of every leaf. This same hand
numbered the flyleaves as well. The first three paper flyleaves are numbered correctly as i, ii,
and iii. However, the next leaf is parchment, and it is actually part of the first quire, yet it
nonetheless is numbered as number iv as if it were a part of the front matter flyleaves. The
scribe does not begin his text of Augustine on this recto iv/1ra but on 2ra. Presumably the
first leaf was kept blank for a dedication page and also to protect the first fol. of Augustine’s
Ennarationes in Psalmos from wear. The result of this old fol. numbering system is off numer-
ically by two leaves, since the enumerator did not count either the flyleaf leaf or number 10,
which is but a stub. Hence his leaf 117, his last leaf, is actually 119, since the first parchment
leaf is not front matter but an actual leaf, and he has missed number 10 in the first quire.
Appendix I • 383
Material: Good parchment throughout, except for the last fol., which is worn and
aged from exposure.
Columns: Double throughout.
Lines per Folio: 37
MS Size:
Average size: width 260–65 mm and 360 mm length
Reconstructed: width 260–65 mm and 365 mm length.
Pricking: Yes, throughout.
Catchmarks: Yes. There are six extant catchmarks: Fol. 56v, aliquid; fol. 80vb, peccata
conpuncta sum; fol. 88v, ergo anima eorum dominum; fol. 96, hodie volui recitare; fol. 104,
me[eis?] libertata fuissem solatio; fol.112v, et conturbauerunt eos.
Quire Signatures: There are four extant quire signatures in Roman numerals left on
fols. 24v (iii), 32v (iiii), 40v (v), and 48v (vi). The others must have been cropped off.
Foliation: 110 (missing leaf 10, only stub in gutter), 2–15.8 Quire 15 is missing leaves
1, 5, and 6; 5 and 6 are stubs in the gutter and have stuck together from being mashed
together over the centuries.
The quire number plus the recto fol. it begins on is given in the parentheses which
follow: 1(1), 2(9), 3(17), 4(25), 5(33), 6(41), 7(49), 8(57), 9(65), 10(73), 11(81),
12(89), 13(97), 14(105), 15(113).
Lineation (ink quality, etc): The ink is a faded sienna color throughout.
Initials: There are decorated initials throughout.
Capitals: There are eleven large decorated capitals; five of them are of figures. The
quality of the drawing is not of the highest order, but the figures do have a naive charm.
Historiated Capitals: Fol. 1ra, unidentified letter B or L; fol. 6ra, capital letter; fol.
12ra, rampant unidentified beast; fol. 17va, letter A; fol. 26ra; fol.38rb, rampant horse; fol.
43rb, letter P; fol. 46va, letter O; fol. 63vb, letter P; fol. 81ra, dragon twined on letter A;
fol. 100va, letter S; fol.109vb, letter A .
Illuminations: Although there are various figures of beasts and one of a man struggling
with a beast (fol. 29rb, man against dragon), these letters have backgrounds done in red,
green, yellow, and sepia ink and often use the parchment itself to depict the skin of the figure.
Rubrics: There is no systematic use of rubrication throughout the manuscript. Inci-
pits are typically rubricated, fol.163va. Some explicits, fol. 21vb, are rubricated but not all.
See fol. 83ra, where the explicit for St. Barnabas is not rubricated, but the following incipit
for the feast of St. Matthew is. Section number 2 alone uses rubricated majuscules (20
mm high × 12 mm wide) to mark the beginnings of new paragraphs.
Corrections: The MS is comparatively free from corrections. Those corrections
which appear are made above the element to be corrected. For example, fol. 37rb, qui is
inserted above quia in the phrase hoc dico quia excutit. Marginal corrections are far fewer.
See fol. 21va, line 15, where sedendo fatigatur appears in the margin with two small carets
indicating its appropriate placement in the line. The corrections are occasionally made in
different ink and possibly in a different hand. See fol. 31ra, line 22, exsufflaret.
Punctuation: The punctus is principally used to end a thought throughout. See fol.
24. Hands three and four used the punctus elevatus as well; see fols. 15ra, and 117rb.
384 • A P P E N D I X I
Margins:
Outside: 65 mm
Top: 65 mm
Bottom: 75 mm
Gutter: 24 mm
The space between the columns varies and measures 15–20 mm.
Drypoint: Used throughout. Ruled on one side only, and the subsequent depression
in the leaf was sufficient to allow lineation on both recto and verso.
Hands: There are four hands present: (1) fols. 1r–75rb; (2) 75va–114vb; (3) 115ra–
115vb; (4) 117ra–117vb. The hands are in Italian Caroline.
Binding: The spine is a worn brown leather, which is wrapped and extends over front
and rear boards some 45 mm. The boards themselves appear to be a heavy cardboard
covered in worn white parchment.
Bibliography
Boscha, Petrus Paulus, Bibliothecae Ambrosianae Hemidecas ad Eminentissimum Prin-

cipem S.R.E. Cardinalem Federicum Borromæ um (Milan: Ludouici Montiae, 1672), pp.
3, 15, 48; Boscha provides an important early account of the library’s history and dis-
cusses acquisitions.
Montfaucon, de Bernard, Bibliotheca Bibliothecarum manuscriptorum nova, 2 vols.
(Paris: Briasson, 1739): I, 521, simply notes “S. Perpetuae passio, pergam.”
Reifferscheid, August, “Die Ambrosianische Bibliothek in Mailand,” in Bibliotheca
Patrum Latinorum Italica, in Aus den Sitzungsberichten der Philogische—Historische
Classe der kais. Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2, ix (Vienna: 1871): 467–568. Reiffers-
cheid does not discuss C.210, inf.
Ceruti, A, “Un codice del Monastero Cistercense di Lucedio,” in Archivio Storico Ital-
iano serie V, 8 (1881): 365–89.
“Catalogus Codicum Hagiographicorum Latinorum Bibliothecae Ambrosianae,” in
Analecta Bollandiana, XI, 2 (1892):74–78, 278–82. The Bollandists give a brief descrip-
tion of C.210, inf. and provide the variant readings that it offers as against that of Monte
Cassino 204 and Paris, Bibliotheque Nationale Latin 17626 [Bollandist not named]. See
also in the same issue of Analecta Bollandiana on pp. 369–73, where a favorable compar-
ison of C.210, inf. with the Greek variant printed by Robinson is given. The Bollandists
find that MS C.210, inf. is closer to the Greek than either Monte Cassino or the Paris
exemplar. They note that C.210, inf. came to the Ambrosiana via the earlier ownership of
one James Becheto, who left it to the Franciscans in Milan (donation noted in a fif-
teenth-c. hand on fol. 1v): MCCCCCLXXII, die XXII Februarii. Hunc librum donavit
magnificus d. Iacobus Bechetus, ducalis secretarius, conventui sancti Francisci Mediolani.
Cipriani, Renata, ed., Codici Miniati dell’ Ambrosiana (Milan: Neri Pozza, 1968),
p. 197: dates manuscript as thirteenth c.
Gengaro, Maria Louisa, and Gemma Villa Guglielmetti, eds., “Inventario dei Codici
decorati e miniati (saec. vii–xiii) della Biblioteca Ambrosiana,” in Studia e Documenti 3
Appendix I • 385
(Firenze: Leo S. Olschki, 1968), pp. 85–86, provide a brief description with a date of be-
ginning of the thirteenth century and a list of miniatures. They argue against the former
librarian Ceruti’s date of twelfth c. on the basis of the colors used in the illuminations.
Paredi, Angelo, ed., Inventario Ceruti: Dei Manoscritti dell Biblioteca Ambrosiana. 5 vols.
(Milan: Etimar, 1973), p. 315: Paredi prints Ceruti’s handwritten descriptions of the
library’s manuscripts. Ceruti provides a one-line description of the manuscript, dates it as
thirteenth c., and gives a list of the contents, the Passio being number 13, fol. 109ff.
Merrile Ferrari, “Per una storia delle bibliothece francescane a Milano nel Medioevo e
nell’Umanesino,” in Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 72 (1979): 444–45.
Paredi, Angelo, A History of the Ambrosiana, trans. Constance and Ralph McInerny
(Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame, 1983); see pp. 101–10 for a discussion of the
groupings of the Latin manuscripts of the Ambrosiana.
Marcora, Carlo, ed., Catologi dei Manoscritti del Card. Federico Borromeo nella Biblioteca
Ambrosiana (Milan: Biblioteca Ambrosiana, 1988), pp. 113–14, 136–37; Borromeo’s collec-
tors were actively collecting books of saints’ lives, including passionals and martyrologies, but
MS C.210, inf. was not in the library when this catalogue of 146 manuscripts was compiled.
Jordan, Louis, and Wool, Susan, eds., Inventory of Western Manuscripts in the Biblio-
teca Ambrosiana, 3 vols. (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame, 1984–89). Although
they only discuss the superior manuscripts, their bibliography on the manuscripts of the
Ambrosiana is very good, and it should be consulted.
Manuscript Name: MS St. Gallen 577.

Sigil: G.
Subject: A Legenda Sanctorum and Passionale, with a strong representation of local
saints.
Provenance: The monastic scriptorium of the Benedictine abbey of Saint Gallen.
Date: s.ix/x.
Contents: The complete contents are given in Scarpatetti (pp. 90–6).
The first vita , the Vita Sancti Ermenlandi Abbatis, may have lost lines. The last line
written in pencil on page 7 ends enim in ea oratorium inpar. This parchment leaf is
followed by two paper leaves. The next parchment leaf (pencil 21a) begins †uamine †
velocius consummasset .
Liturgical Calendar: Page 3 has a calendar listing the vita and the passiones con-
tained in the MS. The calendar begins with the following sentence written in capitals (4 ×
4 mm) in red ink: “In nomine Domini Salvatoris incipiunt capitula libri sequentis.” The
items are listed as follows: first in the left margin, with their number of occurrence (i, ii,
iii) followed by the title of the text. Following the name is a fol. number written in a tiny
cursive fifteenth-century script. The last item given written in red is the date in the
calendar in which the item appears, hence viii. K apr.
Here are the first two and the forty-eighth item as examples:
i. Vita Sancti Ermenlandi Abbatis fol. primo viii K apr.
ii. Passio Sancti Meginradi heremite xix xii K Febr.
xlviiii. Item de sancto Dyonisio Episcopi cccl vii Id Oct.
386 • A P P E N D I X I
Plate 7.4: G St. Gallen 577
There is another medieval table of contents on page 5, which lists twenty items, none
of which, however, are saints’ feasts. The items in this table have a decidedly monastic
orientation, for example: De cella in qua amore vite contemplative se reclausit & de. None
of these items, however, are found in the present manuscript.
Number of Folios: 754 pages. The codex is substantial and was paginated in the late
twentieth century. Although the evidence of the medieval foliation is no longer legible,
the presence of medieval quire signatures (page 22b) suggests it was foliated at the time of
composition (see Foliation below).
Material: Good-quality parchment, but it has darkened through use. The manu-
script does not follow any consistent format of matching flesh-flesh, hair-hair.
Columns: Double columns throughout.
Lines per Folio: 28, average.
Size:
Average size: width 255 mm × 345 mm length
Largest fol.: p. 451, width 260 mm × 345 length
Appendix I • 387
Pricking: Throughout; see p. 407. Most of the pricking holes have been cropped,
however.
Catchmarks: Quire signatures are initially given in letters (see p. 22 b) and later in the
MS in Roman numerals in a small cursive hand of the fifteenth century (see p. 249, vii).
Foliation: 18 (lacking 1,2,7,8), 28, 312 (lacking leaves 4, 9, 12), 48, 56, 68–88, 914 (lacking
leaves 5, 6, 7), 108, 118, 128, 138, 148, 158, 168, 172, 188, 198, 20 6, 218, 228, 238, 248, 258, 268,
278, 288, 296, 308–368, 378 (lacking leaves 7, 8), 38–398 (39 lacking leaves 7, 8), 408–488
(48 lacking leaves 3, 6, 7, 8).
The manuscript begins with a recto leaf, which is numbered 3 in a modern hand in
pencil. The manuscript is paginated continuously from 3 to 754. There is also a fifteenth-
century system of foliation written in the middle of every recto page in roman numerals.
Quire signatures are provided in a twelfth-century hand in the bottom margin (see p.
22b). The first leaf of the manuscript (p. 3 in pencil) contains no medieval numbering.
The first medieval fol. number to appear is 1, written on a verso. This verso leaf also
contains the penciled number 6.
The first gathering is an 8 but is lacking the first and last leaves (i and viii). Between the
first and the second gathering are two thick blank paper pages, likely late sixteenth-cen-
tury paper. The first gathering is sewn mid-quire between penciled leaves 10 and 11 and
joins the quire to the spine. Page 11 contains the correct fol. number iiii in the top margin.
Pages 3 through 5 were not assigned fol. numbers in the fifteenth century. The reason for
this is that these leaves contain a festal calendar only and are not part of the actual text. The
fifteenth-century fol. numbers only appear on the text leaves. Hence the first full leaf of actual
narrative text, the Vita sancti Ermenlandi Abbatis, is in pencil on number 6 (a verso). The first
medieval fol. number (ii) begins correctly on p. 7. My analysis of the foliation agrees with the
mid-quire sewing, with the medieval fol. numbering and the quire signatures. Quire number
2—twelfth-century quire signature “b” appears in the bottom margin—begins correctly on
page 21; this page also shows the fifteenth-century fol. number vii of this leaf number.
Lineation (ink quality, etc): The quality of the ink is good throughout, with little
fading.
Initials: Yes.
Capitals: Typically, a rubricated capital is the first letter of the first word which begins
the actual text immediately following the incipit. For example, p. 427b has a capital S (45
mm × 29 mm), which begins the Passio Felicis et Fortunati. On page 198a, there is a cap-
ital Dominus (50 mm × 50 mm), which begins the text for Willibald’s preface to De Vita
Actibusque Sancti Bonifacii Archiepiscopi (see Scarpatetti, 91).
Rubrics: There is no consistent use of rubrics other than that discussed above under
capitals. For example, the Vita Sancti Cassiani, which begins on page 244, uses capitals to
mark every paragraph. These small capitals average 15 mm high. There can be some slight
variety in this, however, depending on the letter shape. For example, a T (p. 245a),
measures 16 mm h × 15 mm w, while an M (p. 245b) measures 15 mm h × 24 mm w.
388 • A P P E N D I X I
Margins:
Outside—50 mm (from last letter of text)
Top—25–35 mm
Bottom—63 mm
Gutter—25 mm
Between columns—18 mm.
Drypoint: Used throughout. Page 70 is a blank leaf, completely drypointed and ready
for writing. Two vertical lines form the uprights for the margin columns. These are
bisected at right angles by horizontal lines at the top and bottom. The depressions formed
by the stylus are deep, and one can see how readily the scribe wrote in these depressions.
Hands: There are at least ten hands in the manuscript (see Scarpatetti, p. 90). The
scribe who copied the Passio was also responsible for fols. 153–83. There is at least one
instance when two hands appear on the same leaf: on p. 367, hand one in column 1a cop-
ied the Gesta Sancti Germanii Episcopi, while another hand in column 2b copied the Pas-
sio Sancti Thrutberti Martyris.
Corrections: There is evidence of a corrector’s hand.
Punctuation: The punctus is the most commonly used sign to terminate a complete
thought, see page 468a, the Vita Sancti Augustini Episcopi: Scio item non solus. There are
two scribes who employ the punctus elevatus represented in the Passio sancti Peregrini
Episcopi; see the line on page 351b: ubi tunc temporis custodia obscurrissima habebatur.
Marginalia: There are no marginal doodles, drawings (apart from the capital letters),
or nota bene signs in the leaves. There are a handful of instances when, because of space
constraints, the rubricator was forced to draw a roman numeral in the margin; see page
319b, where he has written xviiii. There is but one marginal note in the entire codex, and
that is in the Vita Sancti Pirminii (p. 641a): Hinc colligitur q[ue] Sanctus Bonifacius
†maguntur† sedis archiepiscopi & sanctus Perminius.
Binding: The binding is medieval. It is made of pine boards with white parchment
stretched over the exterior. The parchment is turned over and covers some 40 mm on the
inside of the perimeter of each board. Five raised leather straps from the spine are visible,
anchored in corresponding grooves cut in the boards. Parchment leaves were formerly glued
over the inside surface of the both boards, as they have left their textual imprint on the boards.
Three clasps originally locked the manuscript, but presently only one leather clasp survives.
The strap is crudely nailed into the top board and fastened to a metal pin on the bottom board.
Bibliography
Scherrer, Gustav, Verzeichniss der Handschriften der Stift sbibliothek von St. Gallen
(Halle: Waisenhauses, 1875), pp. 187–88: dates the MS “ix/x.”
Munding, P. Emmanuel, “Das Verzeichnis der St. Galler Heiligenleben und Hand-
schriften in codex Sangall. No. 566,” Texte und Arbeiten Erzabtei Beuron, vols. 3/4 (1918):
provides the contents for MS 577 on pp. 99–101 and dates the MS “ix/x.”
Bruckner, Albert, Scriptoria Medii Aevi Helvetica: Denkmäler Schweizerischer Schreib-
kunst des Mittelalters, 14 vols. (Geneva, 1935–78), III: p. 112: dates the MS “ix–x s.”
Appendix I • 389
Von Scarpatetti, B. M., Die Handschriften der Stift sbibliothek St. Gallen, Band 1. Abt.
IV: Codices 547–669. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2003.
Manuscript Name: MS Einsiedeln 250 (382).

Sigil: E.
Subject: Codex Einsiedeln 250 (382) is the fourth volume in a substantial collection
of saints’ lives and martyrs’ passions for the liturgical year. The other three volumes that
comprise this collection are Einsiedeln manuscripts number 247(379), 248 (380), and
249 (381). Glued to the inside board of E 250 (382) is a label which identifies this volume
as “Vitae Sanctorum Ms 250 (382).”
The physical layout of all four volumes is the same, indicating that they were under-
taken as a single project. Every aspect of the volumes is similar: the way marginal correc-
tions are made, the particular dark black ink, the use of pricking, the disposition of the
running heads, the use of marginal pointing fingers as nota bene signs, the addition of a
table of contents on the first or second page of each of the four volumes, the drypoint
ruling for the frame, the number of lines (twenty-five), the single columns throughout,
Plate 7.5: E Einsiedeln 250 (382)

390 • A P P E N D I X I
and even the sewing to repair parchment damage. The quality of the parchment is remark-
ably uniform throughout, and the leaves are the same size for all four volumes, averaging
300 × 230 mm. The letters are consistently the same size, averaging 4 mm for lowercase to
5–6 mm for descenders and ascenders. The use of large rubricated capitals, which begin
each saint’s life or passion, is also the same. The bindings are virtually identical: a light,
almost white, parchment stretched over old boards, which contain closing clasps, and
leather straps at the top and bottom of the spine for additional strength. Athough there
are different hands present, the bulk of the composition is the work of one principal
scribe. Codices 247, 249, and 250 all appear to be in one hand. However, MS 248 (380)
is written by two different scribes—hand one from page 1 to 480, and hand two from 481
to 488.
MS E 247 provides a rubricated calendar for the saints’ festivals, assigning them their
liturgical importance—for example, assigning them either the status of semi-duplex or
duplex for this volume. This calendar includes feasts that appear in some of the other
three volumes. However, a note in this calendar (p. 6), written in a different hand in
brown ink following the “Passion of Saint Narbor,” suggests that the lives which follow
“Narbor” are to be found written in the other volumes.
The calendar lists the saints’ festivals under their respective months. The entries are
incomplete. Under February, we have only Dorothy, Polochronia, Montanus, and Nesto-
rius. For March, the calendar is also limited, providing the names of only six feasts: Albi-
nus, Focus, Deacon Apollonius, Pionus, Teoderius presybter, and Acasius. The calendars
in the other volumes are not as elaborate, nor do they assign the solemnity of the feast day,
and they are more in the manner of lists than festival calendars.
Date: s.xii. See Bruckner, Scriptoria V, pp. 49, 53, 57, 70, 88, 180. There is a possible
dating remark on page 2 in MS 247. There we read: “Ex consilio Bonifaci Papae qui quar-
tus a beato greg[orio] fuit quid liceat monachis bene sacerdotali officio ministrare.” Could
this be a reference to Boniface VIII or IX? A brief two-page treatise then follows.
Contents: This is a legenda Sanctorum. It contains a table of contents on page 2, which
lists thirty saints’ lives and passions and five treatises, which are the last five items in the MS.
1. p. 3: Vita Sancti Syri et Niuentii Episcoporum

2. p. 25: Passio sanctae Eullalie Virginis
3. p. 31: Passio Sancti Valenti Episcopi
4. p. 38: Passio Sanctarum Marie et Marthe et Valentini
5. p. 49: Passio sanctae Iuliane Virginis
6. p. 61: Vita sanctae Walpurge Virginis
7. p. 74: Passio Sanctae Magre Virginis
8. p. 78: Passio Sanctarum Perpetue et Felicitatis
9. p. 90: Passio Sanctorum Quadraginta Militum
10. p. 102: Passio Sanctae Gerdrudis Virginis
11. p. 129: Passio Sancti Pimenii Presbiteri
12. p. 136: Vita sancti Leonis Pape
13. p. 214: Passio Druthperti Heremite
Appendix I • 391
14. p. 224: Vita Sancti Athansii Episcopi

15. p. 232: Vita Sancti Iuuenalis Episcopi
16. p. 236: Passio Sancti Quiriari Episcopi
17. p. 247: Passio Sanctarum Virginum Fidei, Spei, et Caritatis
18. p. 257: Passio Sanctorum Septem Fratrum Filiorum Sanctae Felicitatis
19. p. 277: Translatio Sancti Alexandri M[artyris]
20. p. 286: Vita sancti Arbogasti Episcopi
21. p. 292: Vita Sancti Abrahem heremite
22. p. 310: Penetentia sanctae marie neptis eius [Abrahem heremite]
23. p. 322: Passio sancti Felicis
24. p. 332: De Puero †aseam† Maria Liberato
25. p. 333: Epistola Chromati, et Helidori, ad Ierominum
26. p. 334: Epistola Beati Ieromini ad eosdem
27. p. 336: De Infantia Sanctae Marie et Christi Salvatoris
28. p. 362: De Dormitatione S. Marie
29. p. 375: Festa Salvatoris Nostri
30. p. 412: Epistola Herodis (concerns a letter that Herod sent to Pontius Pilate
about John’s death)
31. p. 413: De Origene (a short treatise on the errors of Origen)
32. p. 414: De XII Lectoribus (a tract identified as by Jerome the Priest directed
to Desiderius, containing twelve readings: Augustine, Hylarius, Orienes,
Eusebius, Helidorus, Ambrosius, Dardamis, Paulinus, Pelagius, Souianus,
Iulianus, Fannonius)
33. p. 418: De Antichristo
34. p. 421: De Die Iudicii (a brief commentary on the signs foretelling the Day of
Judgment)
Number of Folios: 426 pages. There is a system of numbering in the MS, but it is
confused. It begins by assigning page numbers. Hence, written on the recto side of the
first leaf in ink is the number 1, and on its verso, also in ink, is the numeral 2. The next leaf,
which is number 2, following this system of pagination is numbered 3. Thus far it is a
correct system of pagination. However, on the verso side of this leaf, which is numbered
3, instead of the page number 4 there is written (now in pencil in a modern hand) 3,a. The
next leaf is 3b (a recto), and on the next leaf the verso is 4. From this point on the num-
bering system is paginated correctly to its end at page 426. The problem lies in assigning
the leaf numbers 3a and 3b. These should have been simply pages 4 and 5. Thus the pagi-
nation is off by two pages. The old pen numbering appears again at the end (see pp. 424,
425, and 426).
Material: Good quality white parchment throughout. It is difficult to determine if the
system of flesh facing flesh is used, as the quality of the parchment is uniformly an undar-
kened white.
Columns: Single columns throughout.
Lines per Folio: 25.
392 • A P P E N D I X I
Size of Text Letters:

Lowercase: 4 mm
With descenders and ascenders: 5–6 mm
Uppercase: 7 mm; see pages 25, 63. These uppercase letters are only used in the first
word of the text after the rubricated letter. For example, on page 49 in the Passio Sanctae
Iulianae virginis, the first word of the text is Martyrum. The M is a rubricated capital (60
mm h × 69 mm w), while the rest of the letters are capitals, not rubricated, and measure
approximately 7–8 mm.
Size:
Average size: width 230 mm and 295 mm length
Reconstructed: width 230 mm and 300 mm length
The leaves show some evidence of loss of identifying headers, which give saints’ names.
It appears that they were cropped approximately 3–5 mm. Fol. 108v has only the very
bottom of the letters for the name Gerdrudis, but on its facing fol. 109r the entire name
appears at the top of the top margin.
Pricking: Yes. See fol. 181.
Catchmarks: None.
Quire Signatures: Quire signatures are marked with small Roman numerals from ii
through xiii; xiv is not marked; xv is; xvi is not; xvii–xx are marked; xxi through xxiv are
not; and xxv and xxvi are marked. The last gathering is not marked, since this is the last
leaf and very damaged, and none were intended to follow.
Foliation: The MS consists of twenty-seven quires of eights, 1–278. It is only lacking
three leaves. Gathering 25 (quire 25) is lacking leaf number 6, which, following the pagi-
nation system, should be pp. 393–94. However, the enumerator has simply passed over
the stub and numbered the next full page 393 and 394. Quire 26 is lacking leaf 7, which
would be page numbers 411 and 412, but once again he passed over and continued num-
bering the next leaf 411 and 412. Quire 27, the last quire, is also lacking leaf 7, which would
be pages 425 and 426, but it is passed over and the last leaf numbered 425 and 426.
Running Heads: Throughout. The name of the particular saint is written in the top
margin in the middle of the leaf. In some instances, these have been lost due to cropping.
However, see page 109 for the name Gerdrudis. In some instances the verso contains part
of the title and the recto the rest. For example, page 34 (which is actually a verso) reads
Passio S[ancti] and page 35 (a recto): Valentini Episcopi.
Lineation (ink quality, etc): The ink is a rich black color throughout and has not
faded.
Initials: Are used.
Punctuation: The punctus is used throughout (see page 80, l. 25 in the Passio). The
punctus elevatus is also used, but seems to indicate a less-than-full stop; see page 96, l. 8,
in the text of the Passio Sanctorum Quadriginta Militum: Tunc duos iussit eos duci in
carcerem! [punctus elevatus here] ut cogitaret aliquid de eis [punctus].
Capitals: Large red-ink capitals are used throughout as the initial letter with which to
begin the saint’s life. For example, on page 31, a capital P (101 mm high × 68 mm wide)
begins the Passio Valentini, with the opening word Propheta. In the Vita Sanctae Walpurge
Appendix I • 393
Virginis, page 61, the text begins with a 70 × 70 mm capital D with the opening word
Domino. Additionally, there are occasional uses of large red capitals scattered throughout
the texts. For example, in the life of Saint Walpurga, there is a capital P (42 mm h × 38 mm
w) beginning the word Postquam. There are smaller capitals in the Life of Gerdrudis. For
example, see on page 112, line 7, Erat (12 mm h × 11 mm w) and scattered randomly
throughout the MS; see page 158, line 24, V ictoriosus (12 mm h × 20 mm w) in the Vita
Sancti Leonis Pape. One section of the life of Saint Leo, which purports to indicate the
miraculous signs after his burial, employs many of these small capitals. For example, on
page 209, ten appear, most of which are 12 × 12 mm.
Rubrics: Incipits are rubricated in red ink, but explicits often are not. Page 224 con-
tains the rubricated incipit Vita Sanctorum Alexandri et Athansii Episcoporum, but the
explicit, written immediately above this incipit, is not rubricated and simply reads: Finit
Passio Sancti Thrutperti [Heremite].
Corrections: The composition has been put together with care. Cuts in the parchment
have been carefully sewn; see page 159 in the lower margin, where a 35-mm tear has been
sewn, and page 119, where two such repairs have been made. Textual omissions are supplied in
the margins. In the margin of page 88, the scribe has written the text of a passage to be inserted
and has indicated with three dots in the margin and on the line where the insertion is to go.
Another example of this use of dots is on page 334 with the word uiris (to be placed after the
phrase domini †armenuis†) in the outside margin. Corrected letters are occasionally marked
above the letter to be replaced with a dot below the offending letter. See page 127, in sancto
exemplo radians, where the incorrect “e” in radiens has a dot beneath it and an “a” directly
above it in the line. Sometimes entire words are simply careted in where they should be. See
page 201, where the phrase in corruptorum is careted in before the word sacramentorum.
Marginalia: The margins are comparatively free from marginal annotations. How-
ever, there is a consistent use of the nota bene sign of the long, pointing finger.
Margins:
Outside: 50 mm from drypoint ruled mark to edge of leaf
Top: average 20 mm
Bottom: average 55 mm
Gutter: average 25–30
Drypoint: The MS is entirely in drypoint. There are no lines for formatting text lines
in the MS. The drypoint ruling consists of two vertical framing lines approximately 8 mm
wide, which run the length of the leaf. There are two horizontal lines, also of 8 mm, which
form the frame for the top and bottom lines.
Hands: There is only one hand in the MS for pages 1 through 423. The last two pages,
424 and 425, however, are in two different hands. The texts on page 424 are of the twelfth
century, and copies of these texts were made in the thirteenth century on page 425. Page
424 contains the Salve Regina misericordie, Vigilate omnes, with neumes, Alma redemp-
toris mater, and ends fragmentarily. Page 425 contains the Iuxta trenum Jeremie [Trental
of Jeremiah] . . . nec habebit iudicem, Vigilate omnes with neumes for singing the Salve
394 • A P P E N D I X I
Regina . . . O dulcis Maria. The twelfth-century scribe wrote these items on page 424, and
they were subsequently copied in a thirteenth-century hand on page 425.
Provenance: Einsiedeln or a related Swiss Benedictine house. There are no owner-
ship attributions in the MS.
Binding: The MS is in its original medieval board binding with white suede-like leather
stretched over the boards. The spine has two additional modern brown leather straps at the
top and the bottom to strengthen the binding. The top is 18 mm wide and only goes 35 mm
into the front and back of the board; the bottom strap is 32 mm wide and goes 45 mm onto
the boards. In addition, the MS binding has two leather straps with clasps for closing the MS.
Bibliography
Meier, P. Gabriel, Heinrich von Ligerz Bibliothekar von Einsiedeln im 14. Jahrhundert
(Leipzig: Harrassowitz, 1896), pp. 29, 56: dates the MS as XII cent.
———, Catalogus Codicum Manu Scriptorum qui in Bibliotheca Monasterii Einsidlen-
sis, Vol. 1 (Einsideln: Harrassowitz, 1899), pp. 215–19: provides very abbreviated desrip-
tion, dates it to twelfth cent. and lists contents.
Lang, Otto. Das Commune Sanctorum in den Missale-Handschriften und vortridentinischen
Drucken der Stiftsbibliothek Einsiedeln (Ottobeuren: Winfried-Werk, 1970), pp. 8–15.
Albert Bruckner, Scriptoria Medii Aevi Helvetica: Denkmäler schweizerischer Schreib-
kunst des Mittelalters, 14 vols. (Geneva, 1935–78), V: p. 181: dates the MS “xii s.”
Manuscript Name: MS BN Latin 17626.

Sigil: P.
Subject: Thirteen saints’ lives for March. In the top margin of fol. 1r, in a hand of the
sixteenth or seventeenth century, we read Vitae sanctorum q[ui] mense februar. In the top
outer margin, badly faded, there is a list of the contents of the saints whose texts appear in
the manuscript, beginning with [Vita] S. Yuentii and ending with S. Cyriaci.
Provenance: There are two ownership attributions in the margins on fol. 1r. They are
in a seventeenth-century hand and read S. Corneille Compiègne in the top margin in
black ink, and “Comp. 40 bis” at both the top and the bottom of the outer margin in black
ink. Similar annotations concerning ownership provenance exist on fol. 1r in the sister
manuscript BN Latin 17625, which was received by the Bibliothèque Nationale from the
Benedictine house of Saint-Corneille Compiègne in 1802.
Date: s.x2.
Contents: A selection of saint’s lives for the month of March. This volume is part of a
much larger and no longer entirely extant legenda sanctorum. For example, BN Latin
17625 (v+ 261 + iv fols.) is, I believe, sister to this volume but not presently identified as
such. The two codices, BN 17625 and BN 17626, are virtually identical in layout, quality
of parchment, format, and rubrication, and the same scribal hands appear in both vol-
umes. BN 17625 and 17626 also use the same rubricator for incipits as well as capitals
(see fol. 62 capital Beatorum in BN 17625, a capital which, in style, is very similar to the
R evocatus in the Passio in P). The codices share the same provenance, the Abbey of
Appendix I • 395
Plate 7.6: P Bibliothèque nationale Latin 17626
Saint-Corneille in Compiègne (but see L. Bieler in bibliography). There is an ownership

attribution (seventeenth century) in the front margin and on the last fol. 261v of BN
Latin 17625, which cites Saint Corneille as the place of composition.
However, MS BN Latin 17625 is considerably larger, as it contains thirty-three lives
and passions for the month of January. BN 17626 is smaller than one would suspect for a
legenda sanctorum for March, and evidently material has been lost from the original
composition. Assuming that these two volumes are part of a complete, but no longer
extant, legenda sanctorum for the entire liturgical year, the original collection would have
been massive, likely running to some dozen codices.
1. Fol. 1r: Sanctus Amandus (seventeen-line fragment, beginning “Alia quidem

sunt multa que †pereura† dominus operari dignatus est nobis & quia incog-
nita. . . . Anno incarnationis domini ihesu Christi dclxi In die[m] iiil †Epact† xv
Concurr[it] iiil Termino xii KL aprlis pascha v KL aprlis Luna xxi [uil or iiiil?]
id[us] febr die dominico luna i. Obit sancti Amandus plenus annorum circa xc.”)
2. Fols. 1r–4v: Sancti Yuenti
396 • A P P E N D I X I
3. Fols. 4v–22v: Vita Beatae Euphrasie

4. Fols. 2v–25v: Passio Sancti Nestorii Episcopi et Martyris
5. Fols. 25v–31v: Vita vel Obitus Sancti Vodoali cognomento Benedictus
6. Fols. 32r–40v: Epitomes for March saints. It begins with an epitome of these
saints for March. The epitomes average nine to twenty-one lines in length. The
epitome for Perpetua begins: “In Mauritania ciuitate tuburbitanorum passio
sanctarum martyrum Perptuae & Felicitatis.”. . .
7. Fols. 40v–41r: These fols. contain the festival calendar for the saints celebrated
in March. The calendar list does not correspond to the saints’ narratives which
follow and may indicate some damage to the manuscript. “Kl mensis martius
habet dies xxxi Mar Romae sanctorum martyrus cclx temporibus Claudii qui
via salaria harenam fodientes dampnati fuerant per Christi nomine.”
8. Fols. 41v–46r: Sancti Albini
9. Fols. 46r–55v: Sancti Adriani
10. Fols. 56v–64r: Sanctae Foce
11. Fols. 64r—71r: Passio Sanctae Felicitatis et Perpetuae
12. Fols. 72r–85v: Vita Sancti Patricii
13. Fols. 85v–115v: De Vita vel Miraculis Venerabilis Benedicti
14. Fols. 115v–122r: Passio Cyriaci
Note that Delisle’s list appears very much out of order. Could the MS have been
rebound differently after he saw it?
Number of Folios: ii + 122 + ii. The end leaves are all nineteenth-century paper con-
temporary with the binding.
Material: It is good-quality parchment throughout. There is some deliberate pairing
of flesh facing flesh leaves (f = flesh and h = hair; see fols. 29v–30r h; 30v–31r f; 31v–32r
h; 53v–54r h, and 54v–55r f). Care was taken in the MS’s composition and layout. The
parchment varies in quality. Many of the leaves are rather thick and stiff. The thicker fols.
are more prevalent at the beginning (fols. 1–17) and at the end (fols. 112–122). These fols.
are slightly thicker than the bulk of the interior leaves (fols. 62–64).
Columns: Single columns throughout.
Lines per Folio: 22
Size:
The size of the leaves is reasonably uniform and consistent throughout.
Pricking: There are no pricking holes in the manuscript.
Catchmarks: There are no catchmarks or quire signatures.
Foliation: 1–148, 156, 16 4. The MS was tightly rebound at the end of the nineteenth
century. We read written on paper leaf ii: “Volume de 122 feuillets. Les feuillets sont
mutilé 16 mai 1870.” The rebinding was so tight that it is impossible to determine, without
damage to the manuscript, whether the original stitching was maintained after every
fourth leaf. It is likely, as the first two gatherings and 15 do illustrate where the stitching
separating the midpoint of the quires is visible. The quire number is followed by the fol.
Appendix I • 397
number it begins on in parentheses: 1(1), 2(9), 3(17), 4(25), 6(41), 7(49), 8(57), 9(65),
10(73), 11(81), 12(89), 13(97), 14(105), 15(113), 16(119). The last leaf, 122, has been
backed with paper on the verso side.
Quire Signatures: It appears that the first 14 quires are all 8’s, and the last two contain
six and four leaves respectively.
Running Heads: There are no running headers.
Lineation (ink quality, etc): The ink is a clean dark color throughout (see fol. 64r)
and has not faded.
Initials: There are eight large capitals which are not mere rubricated intials.
Capitals:
1. Fol. 1r, Postquam (50 mm h × 40 mm w)

2. Fol. 4v, I n (92 × 25)
3. Fol. 32r, KL (40 × 45)
4. Fol. 41v, R eligio (30 × 25)
5. Fol. 55v, Sanctorum (43 × 24)
6. Fol. 64r, R evocatus (55 × 75); the most decorated initial of all, employing
black and red ink and some foliated design within the R .
7. Fol. 86v, Fuit (53 × 25)
8. Fol. 115v, Tempore (43 × 53).
Historiated Capitals: There is only one, a capital F in the shape of an animal’s body
and the head of a beast on fol. 22v (100 mm h × 55 mm w).
Illuminations: There are no illuminations.
Repairs: There are contemporary repairs, stitching long diagonal cuts on fols. 24 and
25.
Rubrics: For incipits to lives, see fol. 56v, Sanctae Foce, and Passio. In the piece on
Benedict, the names Petrus and Gregorius are rubricated throughout. Throughout the
narrative on Benedict (fols. 85v–115v), small capitals (20 mm h × 15 mm w) are randomly
rubricated (see fol. 104v).
Punctuation: Punctus exclusively. I found no use of the punctus elevatus. The punctus
does not function like a modern period but often simply acts as a brief pause, rather like a
comma.
Corrections: The manuscript is remarkably free from marginalia, corrections,
and commentary. There is not a single marginal annotation in the entire 122 leaves of
the manuscript. The single mark in the margin appears on 30v and is a bracket in the
margin enclosing ll. 13–18, and in the margin there is written what appears to be the
letters ol .
Erasures: I have only found eight erasures in the entire MS. On fol. 39r, l.4, the rubri-
cator has written a small capital A in an erasure area. On fol. 46v, l.14, an erasure was made
and the word “fingere” written in place; fol. 50v, l.17; fol. 72r, l.1; On fol. 105v, l.16, the
scribe has scratched out and erased his repetition of the words above inter eos qui com-
munionem; see also fol. 106v, l.20; fol. 107r, l.4; fol. 118v, l.13.
398 • A P P E N D I X I
In line: I have found only six corrections in a text line, and they are all made above the
word in question. For example, in fol. 60v, l.12, the scribe has careted ti above the end of the
word Omnipoten; on fol. 63r, l.16, above the line is in following quasi non fuisset; On fol.
78v, l.15, there is the single correction that appears to not be in the scribe’s hand: the word
diebus is inserted above ego vobis cum sum omnibus [diebus]. The last three are all this sort
of correction: fol. 81r, l.13; fol. 99v, l.3; fol. 101v, l.7.
Margins:
Outside: varies between 35–50 mm; for example, fols. 21 & 87 are 40 mm.
Top: average of 30 mm but can be smaller (20 mm, fol. 21v), and at times larger (35
mm, fol. 93r).
Bottom: 60 mm, fols. 1r and 15v.
Gutter: 35 mm, fol. 88r.
Drypoint: Drypoint is used throughout. The layout of the drypoint consists of two
outside vertical lines which run the height of the text. These vertical lines are 7 mm apart,
and they are bisected by one horizontal line at right angles at the top and bottom of the grid.
Hands: There are three hands present. They are all carefully and professionally written
and all of the same date. They are on the following fols.:
Hand one—Fol. 1–30v.
Hand two—Fol. 31r–48v.
Hand three—Fol. 49r–122v
Letter Sizes:
Lowercase: average 2.5 mm
Descenders and ascenders: lowercase 4–5 mm.
Binding: Full tan leather bound at end of nineteenth century. The binding has four ribs
across the spine. The top of the spine is dyed in purple, where Vitae Sanctorum is written in gold.
Bibliography
Delisle, Léopold, “Inventaire des manuscrits latins de Notre Dame et d’autres fonds
conservés à la Bibliothèque nationale sous les nos 16719–18613,” Bibliothèque de l’École
des chartes: Revue d’érudition, vol. 31 (1870): 464, 567: dates MS as “xii s.”
———, Le cabinet des manuscrits de la Bibliothèque Nationale. Vol. II. Paris, 1874,
pp. 264–65.
Bieler, Ludwig, ed., “Libri Epistolarum Sancti Patricii Episcopi: Introduction Text and
Commentary,” in Classica et Mediaevalia 11 (1950): 8.
Manuscript Name: Cotton Nero E.1, pt.1.

Sigil: N.
Subject: Passionale.
Provenance: Benedictine Priory of St. Mary of Worcester.
Date: s.xiex .
Contents: This manuscript is currently bound in two parts. I provide a detailed
description of Part I only, since that contains the Passio text. Part I begins with two
Appendix I • 399
Plate 7.7: N British Library Cotton Nero E.I
parchment fols. (ff.1r–2v) providing a table of contents. The hand of the table of contents
is seventeenth-century—almost certainly that of Richard James, Sir Richard Cotton’s li-
brarian, who died in 1638—and in a black ink commonly used at the time. James lists 146
saints’ festivals, the majority of which are the passions of the saints. The original compo-
sition was a Passionale, which followed the liturgical calendar. James’s table begins with
item number 1, the Vita sancti Oswaldi on fol. 3ra, and ends with item number 50 on fol.
208va, the Passio sancti Phylippi apostoli. The manuscript does contain some few texts that
are not passions, however. For example, fol. 142rb contains Augustine’s sermon on the
Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mother. The Passio sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis is
listed as item number 37 [fol. 161ra].
There is a second table of contents, contemporary with the composition of the manu-
script and likely the original one, which dates from the late eleventh century. This table
begins on fol. 55ra. This festal list does not always agree with that of James on fol. 3. For
example, the Passio sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis in this, the original table of con-
tents, is listed with an item number in Roman numerals followed by its liturgical date and
400 • A P P E N D I X I
the name of the feast, thus: XXXII: Non mar passio sanctarum perpetue et felicitatis, but
it is not James number 37. Moreover, this original table of contents records 108 items of
Libri passionales, beginning with number 1, the passio sanctae Martinae, and ending with
number 108, Vita sancti Hieronimi presbyteri. James’s table of contents, on the other
hand, begins with the Vita sancti Oswaldi Ebor[acensis] Archiepi[scopi]; the passio sanctae
Martinae is James number 5, and the life of Saint Jerome, Vita actus q[ue] B. Hieronymi
presbyteri, is James number 119 and not 108 as in the original table.
These differences suggest that the manuscript had already been altered when James
compiled his table, thus accounting for the differences in the two lists of contents. Com-
paring the original table of contents against that of James, we can speculate with some
accuracy on what the original composition contained, however. Specifically, the eleventh-
century table of contents does not list the first four items in James’s table: [1] fols. 1–23vb,
Oswald; [2] fol. 23ra, Saint Ecgwin (the headers on this life are written in gold capitals);
[3] fols. 35ra–52vb, Lanfranc’s, Life of Saint Swithun; [4] fol. 53va, de virtutibus sancti
Andreae Apostoli (item 4 is in a different hand from the first three items). The first vita
that both tables of contents have in common is that of the Passion of Saint Martin, which
begins on fol. 55r.
While all four of the above items were written in the eleventh and twelfth centuries,
there is nonetheless a question as to whether these initial four items (fols. 1–53v) were a
part of the original composition, which begins on fol. 55r. The texts are not named in the
eleventh-century table of contents, which itself appears more than ample to have filled a
significant volume of liturgical festivals. It is more likely that these four items were added
to this manuscript later, after the completion of the original composition (s.xii2). This
surmise is strengthened by the fact that hand number four for fols. 53r–54v is from the
second quarter of the twelfth century and thus at least a half century older than the prin-
cipal hands in the manuscript. Other codicological evidence also strengthens this view.
For example, the fol. containing the late eleventh-century table of contents (fol. 55r)
shows darkening and wear, suggesting that it was originally at the beginning of a volume
of the original passionale, and consequently, since it was used to locate individual texts,
received greater wear. The manuscript was assembled in its present state during the
Middle Ages, and items were added to it after the bulk of the composition was completed
but before James saw it. Furthermore, the initial four selections that begin the present
manuscript also differ from the texts which follow in their considerable length and subject
matter. They are more typical of Vitae sanctorum, since they celebrate the saints’ deeds
rather than their witness and suffering for the faith. The latter is typical in a passionale.
Material: Good-quality vellum. Although this manuscript has been partly damaged
by the Cotton fire, there is very little loss of text. Some scribal glosses have been lost on
fol. 13va in the outside margin, as the parchment shrank from the heat of the fire. The
outer margins have likely shrunk approximately 25 mm. For example, the outer margin on
fol. 86r is 19 mm at line 23 (almost midpoint), while it is 43 mm at the very bottom of this
fol., a difference of 24 mm.
Number of Folios: There are at least three systems of fol. numbers throughout, and
none original to the composition. I am following the latest foliation that is in pencil. An
Appendix I • 401
example of the three numbering systems can be seen on fol. 102r. The modern pencil
gives 102r, the next most recent in pen (eighteenth-century) states 100, and a somewhat
earlier hand (c. early seventeenth-century?) but not medieval states 47. The foliation is
not exact since, as I have suggested above, this is a reassembled manuscript and does not
reflect its original state of composition.
Size: The size is h: 390–400 mm × w: 243–280 mm. The fols. vary in size a bit as
they show a consistent pattern of being cut in a crescent-moon pattern from top to
bottom. The center of the fol., can be 25 mm less than the top and bottom corner of the
same fol. On average, the width of the upper right corner of the recto averages about
275 mm, while the middle of the fol. recto side is 257 mm and the lower recto corner is
275–80 mm. This cutting is consistent throughout the manuscript and may have been
an effort to remove the charred outer margins (see Material below). Hence, the upper-
most recto corner is slightly wider than the middle of the fol., and the lower recto cor-
ner is the widest.
Reconstructed Size: 410 mm × 280 mm.
Use: It was perhaps used for public reading in the monastery, like that in the refectory,
or at chapter or for the second Nocturn in Matins, when such lives were typically read.
Pricking: While there is evidence of pricking, it was not used to lay out the individual
lines for text (see fols. 30rb in the margin and 70rb in the margin, where the holes are
approximately 25 mm apart). Pricking was used to establish the general grid outline for
the outside margins and for the double columns.
Leaded Lines: are used infrequently for text guides (ff. 35r, 102r, and 208vb).
Drypoint: Drypoint ruling is the principal layout for lineation. Fols. 18r, 64v, and
164v have clearly visible drypoint for the text lines. The gutter in 164v still preserves the
outline of a frame in drypoint 13 mm outside the nearest lettering. The right-hand column
(b) on fol. 53r contains only fifteen lines of text, and while the remaining twenty-three
lines are empty, the lines have been drypointed.
Margins:
Outside 40 mm
Top 25 mm
Bottom 40 mm
Gutter 40 mm
The top margin averages 25 mm above the first line of text. However, these top margins
do show some variation, particularly in those earlier fols. that exhibit the results of the fire
and have lost their margins; see fol. 43r/v. The bottom margin averages 40 mm below the
last line of text, though in some instances it is considerably larger, and fol. 37r has the
largest margins in the manuscript at 58 mm. Gutter margins average 40 mm (see fol. 3r).
Columns: Two columns throughout (Part II, fols. 185v and 186r–v).
Lines per Folio: The fols. contain an average of forty-three lines in each column. This can
sometimes vary, particularly when a new text is begun or ended and when the scribe is writing
the incipit and explicit in slightly larger rubricated letters. For example, fol. 162r, containing
the incipit to the Passio, illustrates this larger rubricated script and has fewer lines on the leaf.
The rubricated letters are on average 2 mm larger than the script employed in the text.
402 • A P P E N D I X I
Line Width: They are approximately 100 mm per column. The middle margin, which
separates the columns, is on average 17 mm wide.
Catchmarks: None.
Running Heads: The top margins of the fols. record the name of the item number
and the saint or martyr in an insular script, the number and name corresponding to the
original table of contents on fol. 55rv. Thus fol. 162v records in the top margin XXXii
passio Perpetue et Felicitatis, which is also found on fol. 55ra. These headers are written
in a late eleventh-century hand. Written across the top margins on fols. 28v and 29r in
gold-lettered capitals is the title VITA SCI ECGWYNI EPI[SCOPI]. The capitals av-
erage 10 mm in height. These fols. (fols. 1–55) were not bound with this original vol-
ume, but all the fols. in this legenda are approximately the same size and share the same
layout, rubrication, and ordinatio. This suggests that they were intended for a related
composition.
Lettering: Every text begins with a large initial capital, often rubricated in red and
green. See fol. 47r, in the “Life of Saint Swithun,” where the rubricator used two initial red
capitals and two initial green capitals to begin the four paragraphs on that fol. The size of
these rubricated capitals varies throughout the manuscript (see also fols. 44vab and fol.
45rab). The largest green capital is on average 40 mm tall, while the smallest is approxi-
mately 15 mm. On fol. 185ra in the incipit for the Vita sancti Guthlaci, the opening lines
are rubricated in the standard red, but in addition the interior spaces of the letters are
filled in with blue ink. Gold capitals are used by scribe number one alone. Fol. 23r has a
beautiful capital E almost 33 mm tall beginning the name Eþelwinus. On Fol. 26r, begin-
ning at the bottom of column a, and in the first nineteen lines of column b, every line
begins with a gilded initial (5 mm high) of the first word of the sentence.
Historiated Capital: There is only one in the entire manuscript, a handsome capital
R , the first letter in the word “Regnante” (150 mm × 150 mm) on fol. 55v, which begins
the Life of Saint Martin. The initial contains what appear to be six dog- or bear-like faces;
three eagle heads and one very large monster face shown swallowing the left descender of
the R. The initial is illuminated in red, yellow, green, and blue and makes effective use of
interlace design.
Hands: Part I. Hand one: fols. 1 & 2, seventeenth century (a list of the contents);
hand two: fols. 3r–34v, 35r–52v, third quarter of the eleventh century; hand three: 35r–
52v, third quarter of the eleventh century; hand four: fols. 53r–54v, second quarter of the
twelfth century; hand five: fols. 55r–174v, third quarter of the eleventh century; hand six:
175r–208v (see below Anomalies in Calendar).
Part II: hand one, fols. 1–155v, 166ra–174vb, 177ra–180vb (these three sections are
part of same composition as pt. I); hand two, 156ra–165a (Feast of St. Frideswide; not
part of pt. I), 174vb–177vb; 187ra–188vb (first half thirteenth century); hand three,
181ra–186v (Old English cartulary from Westbury on Trym Monastery; see Ker); hand
four, 189ra–222vb (mid-thirteenth century). Part III then contains three sections from
the legenda passionalium from the second half of the eleventh century in part I, and three
miscellaneous texts added to this collection. The bulk of the legendary material may have
been completed by John of Worcester.
Appendix I • 403
Corrections: Although the texts in the passionalia were gone over by a contemporary
for lacunae, spelling errors, line repetitions, omissions, and other forms of error, they are
remarkably free from corrections. There are, to be sure, some corrections in the text. For
example, on fol. 58ra, l. 22 the scribe has indicated with three dots that the usque which
he has written in the middle column should be added to the end of the line. Spelling omis-
sions are typically made above the word, as the addition of ter in the word subuertere
(fol. 58va, l. 13), and similarly, te is indicated by a caret in the word potestate (fol. 114va,
l.40). While there are curious spellings such as delebam for dolebam (fol. 162vb, l.6), the
texts were written with care and hence seldom required corrections. For example, there
are none in the Passio fols.
Fire Damage: There is some damage to the edges of the first thirty-two fols., but even
here, save for the first three fols., there is only a slight loss of text in the lower right-hand
corner margin. See fol. 4, lower outside corner, where eight lines of text are charred and
shrunk but still readable. Those Cotton manuscripts that were not wholly consumed in
the fire often suffered damage to the parchment leaves through shrinking and charring
from the extreme heat. The conservators cut some of these leaves to get them to open and
to lie flat (see fol. 6, l.31).
Binding: Part I is bound in full brown morocco (nineteenth century) and has the coat
of arms of Cotton in gilt on the front board. The leather is tooled in the egg and dart motif
along the outside edge.
Passio Text: The Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis is listed as item number 37
[fol. 161ra]. The manuscript does contain some few texts that are not passions, however.
For example, fol. 142 rb (l.15) contains Augustine’s sermon on the Purification of the
Blessed Virgin Mother. The Passio sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis in this, the original
table of contents, is listed with an item number in Roman numerals followed by its litur-
gical date and the name of the feast. It is number 32 in this calendar. The entry assigns it
number 32 and reads: XXXII: Non mar[tis] passio s[an]ctaru[m] p[er]petue et felicitatis
( James assigned it number 37).
Punctuation: The text of the Passio uses the punctus to indicate pauses and what ap-
pears to be a punctus elevatus after the words cum prosecutoribus (fol. 162ra). The punctus
elevatus and the punctus are used commonly throughout. The hand is not heavily abbre-
viated.
Collation: Mainly quaternions of 8: 1–58, 6 4 (43r), 74(51r), 8–228, 23–249, 25–268.
The scribe has taken the item numbers of every calendar entry in fol. 55r and 55v and then
written these corresponding item numbers with the accompanying text, when the texts
appear in the manuscript.
Marginalia: There is a glossator’s hand throughout, written in both side margins and
interlinear in a small but good clear hand of the late eleventh century. The largest letters
made by the glossator are 2 mm, and the common lowercase letters are, on average, 1 mm.
He glosses a wide variety of issues, from expounding on major themes to expressing terse
opinions in the various texts. While there is evidence of this glossator throughout (see fol.
189rab), the overwhelming percentage of annotations are restricted to the first twenty-
seven fols. of the manuscript. For example, on fol. 25r, columns a and b, the glossator has
404 • A P P E N D I X I
made a considerable number of marginal and interlinear glosses. At times the glossator
provides, in addition to comments, synonyms for words in the text above the word in
question. For example, on 25ra, line 2, we read in the text clarius and above it glossed we
read splendidius, and in line 3 fol. 25ra, we read in the text potestatem and the gloss imme-
diately above reads virtutem. It may be that the glossator is providing variant readings
from another exemplar. He also writes in the liturgical calendar, glossing interlinearly,
whether the monastery possesses a text in English. For example, above the entry for Pas-
sio sanctorum Iohannis & Pauli, fol. 55rb, he writes habeo anglia. This is certainly evi-
dence of his intimacy with the monastic library.
Calendars: Part I begins with two parchment fols. (ff.1r–2v) listing the table of con-
tents in a seventeenth-century hand—almost certainly that of Richard James, Sir Richard
Cotton’s librarian, who died in 1638—and written in a black ink commonly used at the
time. There is, however, a late eleventh-century table of contents (hereafter calendar)
which differs in part from James and suggests that the collection was disassembled prior to
James’s study of it. The twelfth-century table of contents, labeled “Incipiunt Capitula,”
begins on fol. 55r. This is a festal calendar that was made to identify saints’ feasts for at least
two volumes of a larger, no longer extant work. It begins with the Passio sanctae Martinae
(to which it assigns the Roman numeral I, corresponding to James number 5). The actual
Passion of Saint Martina begins on fol. 55vb, reading Regnante primum omnium in ambitu
totius. The hand of the calendar is contemporary with the passion texts in both parts I and
II, that is, the second half of the eleventh century. The letterforms—particularly the low-
ercase c, g, a, e, and p and majuscules p, s, u, and a—are the same as the hand of the text
for Saint Martina. The calendar lists 108 lives, beginning with number 1 in part I, Kl.
Ian[uarius] Passio sanct[ae] Martinae u[irginis] and ending with number 108, Vita sancti
Hieronimi pr[es]bi[teri] found in Part II on fols. 149ra–151ra. That the calendar was
intended to locate texts in what was a multivolume work is borne out by the fact that Part
I ends with the Life of Saint Philip the Apostle, in the calendar listed as XLiiii Philippus
Apostolus Domini (but James number 50), and the calendar entry for Part II ends with
fols. 149ra–151ra, with the last item recorded in the calendar as Cviii, iii kl Octob[ri] Vita
sancti Hieronimi presybteri (to which it assigns the Roman numeral Cviii, but James
number 119). There would have been at least four other volumes, as these two present
codices (parts I and II) represent only part of what was designed as a passionale for the
entire ecclesiastical year.
Although the calendar’s last item ends on fol. 151ra, Part II continues with the Feast of
All Saints (fol. 151ra), which lists in summary fashion a variety of anonymous and named
saints, often as simple as: Puer quidam n[omin]e Petrus officium recepit manus dexterae
(f.152rb) or anonymous: Puer quidam regine coloseo habens dexteram manum aridam
cum toto latere & pede (f.152ra). This calendar is occasionally at odds with the actual texts
in the present composition and does not always agree with James. The discrepancies
between the calendar and the actual texts allow us an insight into the original composi-
tion and provide evidence for the scope of this collection. The simplest differences
between the original calendar and James are sequential ones. Part I ends with the Life of
Saint Philip the Apostle. It appears in the calendar as XLiiii Philippus Apostolus Domini
Appendix I • 405
(fol. 208r–v, but James number 50). The last item recorded in the calendar is Cviii, iii kl
Octb[ri] Vita sancti Hieronimi presybteri (to which it assigns the Roman numeral Cviii,
James number 119). Other entries also show similar lack of correspondence, which points
to dismemberment of the original volumes after the composition was completed and
before James saw it.
Other differences between the original calendar and the extant texts provide addi-
tional evidence for the existence of a large multivolume work completed in Worcester in
the late eleventh century. For example, an entry in the calendar for item number 38
( James 42) is XXXviii v Id apr[ilis] Vita sancta Marie Aegyptiae.
This entry correctly identifies that same life in part I on fol. 179ra–184vb. The next item
recorded in the calendar, number 39 ( James 44), appears as XXXIX ii Non apr Vita
Sancti Ambrosii Mediolanensis. However, this sequence does not agree with the actual
text extant in part I, which is the Vita sancti Guthlaci (part I, fol. 185ra–196ra). The life of
Saint Ambrose actually follows the life of Guthlac, and it appears on fols. 196ra–202ra
(Incipit vita sancti Ambrosii Mediolanensis Urbisepiscopi II Non Apr). There is no entry in
this calendar for the feast of Saint Guthlac. What do these differences reveal about the
way the present text is compiled? Might the compiler of the calendar have simply missed
the text of Guthlac in his construction of the calendar from the actual texts of the manu-
script? This is unlikely, as Guthlac is eleven fols. long and has a bold header on every leaf
identifying it as the life of Saint Guthlac. What is more likely is that Guthlac was not in the
compilation when the calendar for this volume of the compilation was written, and hence
Guthlac was not part of this composition or was intended for another volume, no longer
extant, of this legenda. Evidence for this hypothesis is strengthened by the fact that the life
of Saint Guthlac begins a new gathering (fol. 185r, quire 238), and it is in the same hand as
that of the scribe of Mary of Egypt and Ambrose, which precede and follow it respec-
tively. Guthlac was certainly contemporary with the majority of texts in parts I and II and
was written for this large collection of saints’ lives. The Guthlac piece was not in the pre-
sent volume when this volume and the calendar were first compiled, but was added to the
present collection after the calendar for parts I and II was written and the manuscript reas-
sembled. It is difficult to know when this discrepancy between calendar and text took
place, but it was certainly part of the present composition when James made his table of
contents, as he lists Guthlac as following Mary of Egypt and immediately before Saint
Ambrose.
There is further evidence to suggest that texts were added to the two manuscript vol-
umes (parts I and II) after the calendar was written. The last life that is listed in the calendar
and one that is actually in part I is the passion of Saint Vitalis (fols. 206va–207vb). It is,
however, not the last text in part I. The actual two last texts of part I are the Passion of Saint
James and the Passion of Saint Phillip (Incipit passio sa[n]cti Iacobi ap[osto]li fr[at]ris d[omi]
ni, and XLiiii Philippus Apostolus D[om]ini, fol. 208rb; James no. 49). Neither text is men-
tioned in the calendar. Conversely, the next three texts the calendar mentions are the
feasts of the Inventio of the Holy Cross, Saint Alexander, and Saint Jude. They are not in
either of the present two manuscript volumes, nor are they mentioned by James, and they
have been crossed through in a later hand in the calendar. They must have appeared in
406 • A P P E N D I X I
another no longer extant volume. In fact, part II begins with an explicit to the life of Saint
Gordian (a fragment), with the first complete text being the life of Saint Pancratius. The
calendar does record entries for Gordian and Pancratius.
This seemingly small discrepancy, however, allows us to conjecture that the surviving
two volumes were only part of a larger multivolume collection of libri passionales, perhaps
as large as six large manuscript volumes composed in the late eleventh century. They were
later dismembered, perhaps in the mid-sixteenth century, and reassembled in the early
seventeenth century by an antiquarian. An unreliable corrector (his hand is early, though
postmedieval) has tried to emend the discrepancies between the calendar and the actual
texts. Not finding the calendar agreeing with the texts in part I, that is, not finding certain
texts present, he drew a line through the entry for the Vitalis, the “Inventio crucis,” and the
next three calendar entries. It seems unlikely that he would correct the calendar without
reference to the actual text. Yet he also crosses out the item listed as XLiii passio sancti
vitalis mar et sanctorum protasii et geruasii, but this is in the text and is written as an incipit
and has a bold running head on fol. 206va and fol. 207va respectively. The postmedieval
corrector notes incorrectly, in an interlinear gloss, that the Passio Sancti Iacobi is actually
to be found as item 73, and he writes the title directly above the calendar entry for the
Seven Sleepers for the 6th calends of August, Passio sanctorum vii dormientium.
Let us next briefly examine James’s table of feasts, which appears in the first two fols. in
part I. James lists 146 saints’ festivals, the majority of which are the passions of the saints,
and all of which he has numbered in Arabic numerals. James’s table begins with item
number 1, the Vita s[an]cti Oswaldi Eborac. Archiepi (he provides the title for the actual
incipit in part I, on fol. 3ra, the Prologus De Vita et Virtute Gloriosissimi Archipresulis
Oswaldi; the actual Vita begins on 3va). Although part I begins with the Vita sancti
Oswaldi, Oswald’s feast is not mentioned in the calendar on 55r, which lists, as I indi-
cated, 108 named feasts. Indeed, the texts of the first four saints’ lives (Oswald, Ecgwin,
Swithun, and Andreas) that begin part I and precede the liturgical calendar are not men-
tioned in the calendar, and this placement suggests that they were not part of this volume
but that these initial leaves (fols. 1r–54v) were taken from a different volume in this col-
lection and reassembled here some time later, certainly by the time James worked on the
manuscript.
[1] fols. 1–23vb, Oswald; [2] fol. 24ra, Vita S[anc]ti Ecgwini (the capital letters
which frequently begin new sections of this life are written in gold capitals); [3] fols.
35ra–52vb, Lanfranc’s Vita S[an]cti Suithini Epi[scopi]; [4] fol. 53va de virtutibus sancti
Andreae Apostoli. (Item 4 is in a different later hand from the first three items. A stub 6.3
mm wide is in the margin between 53 and 54 and indicates that a leaf is missing. Two
leaves are missing between 54 and 55, and thus the text of Saint Andreas is fragmen-
tary.) The last line of Andrew on fol. 54rb reads “Et fiat nobis una dominus ex omnibus.”
The first vita that both tables of contents have in common is that of the “Passion of Saint
Martin,” which begins on fol. 55r.
While all four above items were written in the late eleventh century, there is nonethe-
less a question as to whether these initial four items (fols. 1–53v) were a part of the orig-
inal composition. The texts are not named in the extant eleventh-century liturgical
Appendix I • 407
calendar, which itself contains entries more than sufficient to have filled two significant
volumes of saints’ feasts. I surmise that each set of volumes had a liturgical calendar very
like the one which survives in Part 1. It is more likely that these four items were part of
different volumes of the same composition (c.s.X112) for which we have no surviving li-
turgical calendar. Other codicological evidence also strengthens this view. For example,
the fol. containing the late eleventh-century table of contents (fol. 55r) shows darkening
from wear, suggesting that it was originally at the beginning of a volume of the original
passionale, and consequently, since it was used to locate individual texts, it received
greater wear. The collection of saints’ feasts was finished in the late eleventh century.
Items were added to various volumes after the composition was completed but long
before James saw it. Furthermore, the initial four selections that begin the present manu-
script also differ from the texts which follow in their considerable length and subject
matter. They are more typical of Vitae sanctorum, since they celebrate the saint’s deeds
rather than the witness and suffering for the faith which are typical of a passionale, and
they may not have been written for inclusion in the libri festiviales.
James concludes his table of contents with item number 146, Passio sancti Stephani
martyris sub Galieno Imperatore (the title he provides for the incipit in part II, fol. 220ra,
Passio Sancti Stephani Mart IIII Nonas [Aug]). In James’s table, the contents of part I
consist of fifty lives and passions of the saints. He ends his contents of part I with an item
numbered 50 on fol. 208va, the Passio sancti Phylippi apostli. His next item 51, the Passio
Sancti Pancratii martyris, is his record of the first item in part II. Actually, Part II of Cotton
Nero E.1, fol. 1ra, begins with the last line from the Passio sancti Gordini Mart. simul cum
domino patre in unitate Spiritus Sancti in saecla saeclorum, Amen. It is then immediately
followed by the life of Saint Pancratius, which begins Incipit Passio Beati Pancrati
Mart[yris] Mense Maio Die XII. Comparing these feasts and their incipits against the
original calendar in part I, we find that Gordinius is item XLvii. James does not list it, and
Pancratius is item XLvii in the original calendar ( James number 51). Volume 2 also has
been disassembled and put together somewhat haphazardly, as the saints’ lives are clearly
out of order. These differences show that the manuscript had already been significantly
altered when James compiled his table, thus accounting for the differences in the two lists
of contents and the fact that the two volumes we have are part of a larger multivolume
liber festivialis for the entire church year composed in Worcester Abbey sometime after
the Conquest and before 1200.
Calendar Anomalies. The twelfth-century table of contents, presently placed at fol.
55r, was the probable beginning of this passionale, or of a similar book, which was part of
a multivolume legenda sanctorum that subsequently was broken into pieces. It began with
the Passio sanctae Martinae and continued through to the end with the Life of Saint Philip
the Apostle (XLiiii Philippus Apostolus Domini).
The original calendar is wrong in places and was corrected by a contemporary hand.
For example, the entry beginning XLiiii, Inventio Sancte crucis in the calendar does not
agree with the text, as the text actually in the manuscript at that placement is the Passio
sancti Iacobi apostoli, fol. 207vb (written this way in rubrics in the actual incipit in the
text), and followed by the last text (written in the actual text as an incipit in rubrics as:
408 • A P P E N D I X I
XLiiii Philippus Apostolus Domini, fol. 208rb). In fact, there is no liturgical calendar
entry for the feast of Saint Philip. Note again that the corrector, after having drawn a line
through the entry for the Inventio crucis, also draws a line through the next three calendar
entries, since they too do not correspond to what is in the text. In fact, the corrector
notes, in an interlinear gloss, that the Passio Sancti Iacobi is actually to be found as item
73, and he writes this in directly above the calendar entry for the Seven Sleepers for the
6th calends of August, Passio sanctorum vii dormientium . It does not seem likely that he
would correct the calendar without reference to the actual text. Yet he also crosses out
the item listed as xliii passio sancti vitalis mar et sanctorum protasii et geruasii , though
this is in the text; it is written as an incipit and also appears as a bold running head on fol.
206va and fol. 207va respectively. This corrector’s hand is an early one and appears con-
temporary with the hand of the scribe who wrote the actual calendar. There are other
problems with the calendar. Item XXXVI, for example, has been left blank, and in fact a
new scribe begins writing on fol. 175r and does not list the calendrical item number with
the running heads—he still lists the names—for any of the subsequent texts he com-
pletes.
Select Bibliography
Smith, Thomas, Catalogus Librorum Manuscriptorum Bibliothecae Cottonianae

(Oxford, 1696), p. 58. He lists all the items (145 of them, concluding with the “Passio S.
Stephani, martyris”) but has absolutely nothing to say about the manuscript itself. See
Smith’s account of the Cotton fire at Ashburnham House on October 23, 1731, pp. 25–46.
Planta, J., Catalogue of the Manuscripts in the Cottonian Library Deposited in the Brit-
ish Library (London, 1802), p. 239: “Codex membraneus in fol. crassiori; constans foliis
428. cujus pars longe maxima scripta fuit A.D. circiter 1000.” Planta then lists the items.
Levinson, W., “Conspectus Codicum Hagiographicorum,” Monumenta Germaniae His-
torica Scriptorum Rerum Merovingicarum, vii, 1920, who dates the MS “saec xi,” pp. 601–02.
Ker, N. R., “Membra Disiecta,” 2nd series. The British Museum Quarterly no. 4 (1940):
82, dates the MS to mid-eleventh century.
Ker, N. R., “Hemmings Cartulary,” in Studies in Medieval History Presented to F. M.
Powicke (1948), pp. 65 ff. Ker’s essay concerns fols. 181–84.
Ker, N. R., “Salisbury Cathedral Manuscripts and Patrick Young’s Catalogue,” Wilt-
shire Archaeological and Natural History Magazine Liii (December 1949), p. 179; and
Ker’s discussion in the Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy, vol. 30, C. pp. 310, descrip-
tion on p. 326.
McIntyre, E. A., “Early Twelfth-Century Worcester Cathedral Priory, with Special Ref-
erence to the Manuscripts Written There” (PhD diss., University of Oxford, 1978), p.
204) for provenance.
Jackson, P., and Lapidge, M., “The Contents of the Cotton-Corpus Legendary,” in Holy
Men and Holy Women: Old English Prose Saints’ Lives and their Contexts, ed. P. Szarmach
(Albany, N.Y., 1996), pp. 131–46. (They provide an inventory of the original contents and
cross list them with their BHL number).
Appendix I • 409
Wright, C. J., Sir Robert Cotton as Collector: Essays on an Early Stuart Courtier and His
Legacy (The British Library: London, 1997).
Gameson, Richard, The Manuscripts of Early Norman England (c.1066–1130)
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), item number 397, p. 101. “Additions to s.ximed
Legendary.” He also indicates that there are “Extensive corrections to original text, s.xii1.”
He says it is a “companion” to Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, 9 (no.54 above).
Tite, C. G., The Early Records of Sir Robert Cotton’s Library (London: The British Li-
brary, 2003), pp. 138–39.
Manuscript Name: Salisbury Cathedral MS 221.

Sigil: S.
Provenance: Salisbury Cathedral. Ker believes it is possibly “the work of the canons estab-
lished by St. Osmund in 1089” and a scribe he has identified as “A.” See Ker 1949 and 1992.
Date: Late eleventh century.
Plate 7.8: S Salisbury Cathedral 221 (Olim Fell.4)

410 • A P P E N D I X I
Contents: The manuscript contains a later medieval liturgical calendar, possibly mid-
thirteenth century (fol. ii). This list of festivals does not give the item numbers preceding
the texts, which we see rubricated in the fols. (fol. 164v). There is also a seventeenth-
century table of contents (fols. iii–iv) in the hand of Bishop Thomas Barlow (ca. 1655),
written on paper, which lists sixty items, beginning with the Passio sanctae Martinae mar-
tyris and ending with the Passio Pria[miani] et Feliciae (fol. 275r). Also written on fol. iiir
in Barlow’s hand is “Bp. Fell [3].” The manuscripts were in Bishop Fell’s possession from
sometime after 1679 until his death in 1686. A complete listing and discussion of the
sixty-seven items contained in MS 221 is available in Zettel and Weber (see bibliography).
The Passio text is fols. 165v–170r.
Collation: See Ker, Medieval MSS, IV: 257–62.
Use: It was perhaps used for public reading in the monastery, like that in the refectory, at
chapter, or for the 2nd Nocturn in Matins, when such lives were typically read.
Number of Folios: iv + 278.
Material: Parchment. Although the quality is good, the scribes did not hesitate to use
damaged leaves, some with substantial holes (fols. 98 and 106). The text was then written
around the tears. The leaves are noticeably darker from 225r on. A number of fols. show
medieval stitching used to repair damage to the leaves (fol. 48).
Drypoint: Drypoint is used throughout; see fol. 98rv.
Lines per Folio: The leaves average thirty-six lines.
Columns: Single columns are used throughout.
Pricking: The leaves were pricked, and the space between outside margin pricking
holes is 9 mm; see fol. 70. The top margins also show the pricking holes used to draw the
vertical drypoint lines for the grid which established the outer limits of the text; see fol. 56.
Abbreviations: Standard for the period.
Catchmarks: While uncommon on manuscripts of this date, there are catchmarks
for quires 3–8; for example, see fol. 48v, where the catchmark and the quire number uis
vi is barely visible on the bottom of the leaf near the gutter margin. See also fol. 88v,
where the catchmark survives, but the quire number is absent, voluptatibus.
Foliation: 1–348
Margins:
Outside: average 60 mm from end of outer drypoint vertical frame to edge of leaf
Top: varies from 32 mm (fol. 130r) to 17 mm (fol. 218v); average 25 mm
Bottom: average 60 mm, but can be as large as 70 mm (f. 193v)
Gutter: average 17 mm.
MS Size: 360 mm h × 250 mm w. This is the manuscript’s original size, as there is no
evidence that it was cropped.
Columns: The text is in single columns throughout, which measure on average 155
mm wide by 260/80 mm high.
Running Heads: These are very infrequent but do appear in some top margins; see
fols. 3v–4r, Passio Sanctae Ma[r]tinae.
Capital Lettering: There are rubricated initial capitals, in red only, that begin many of
the Passiones and Vitae. The capital initials in the incipits average about 20 mm tall and are
Appendix I • 411
normally rubricated (capital I on fol. 80v; capital M on fol. 128r, 20 mm × 29 mm; fol.
164v, capital A 22 mm × 30 mm). There are instances where there is no rubrication and
the incipit and explicit are in the same ink which the scribe is using; see fol. 223r. The
rubrics seem to be in the same hand as the scribe who is responsible for the individual leaf
where they appear.
Illumination: None.
Corrections: Although not heavily corrected, there is evidence of a careful reading of
the texts and the hand of a contemporary corrector throughout. The preponderance of
corrections and glossing is after fol. 210r. Corrections are typically above the word (fol.
77v, l.11). There are faint pen scribbles in an old hand in the outside margins throughout
the manuscript (see fols. 57v and 210r).
Punctuation: There is the occasional use of the punctus elevatus (fol. 165v, l.1), semi-
colon (fol. 165v, l.17), and period (fol. 165v, l.5).
Hands: Multiple. There are a number of hands in the manuscript. For example, on fol.
33v the scribe skillfully changed the ductus and the size of his script in the last four lines,
possibly to accommodate the exigencies of his exemplar.
Binding: Spine in twentieth-century brown leather, with the four corners in the same
material.
Ownership: There are no ownership marks in the manuscript except for the name Bp.
Fell and on fol. iir the stamp of the Bodleian Library, which had possession of the manu-
script from 1650 until 1984. This manuscript, along with six others, two of which (SC no.
8687, olim Fell 3 now Salisbury 223, and SC No. 8688, olim Fell 1 now Salisbury 222)
comprise this large Passionale. The history of the manuscript since the seventeenth cen-
tury is fascinating. It was only returned to Salisbury on 5 August 1985, having been absent
since it (along with MSS 222 and 223 and three other Salisbury manuscripts) was bor-
rowed by James Ussher, Archbishop of Armagh, on 30 September 1640. Ussher’s efforts
to return the manuscripts were frustrated by the Civil War. However, on 14 November
1650 he gave these manuscripts to William Bell, who was instructed to give them to Rich-
ard Baylie, president and a fellow of St. John’s College and Dean of Salisbury. Baylie in
turn gave the manuscripts to the Bodleian Librarian, Thomas Barlow, “until the Deane of
Sarum, and the chapter there shall call for them.” Two of the volumes that Ussher bor-
rowed (numbers 2 and 5) were not returned to Dean Baylie, since Ussher’s London resi-
dence was ransacked. One of these volumes is now Trinity College Dublin manuscript
174, and the other is lost. The dean and chapter tried to recover their manuscripts as early
as April 17, 1679. After some delay, Thomas Hyde, the Bodleian librarian, replied and said
that the curators had agreed to return them to Salisbury, but they requested that the
learned John Fell (1625–86), Dean of Christ Church and Bishop of Oxford, be allowed to
collate them before their return. Fell’s request of these libri passionales is a curious one, as
he was no friend of Rome or of its repertory of pious hagiographies. Fell likely received
the three manuscripts, in accordance with his request to see them (Bodleian SC no.
30248), sometime after 1679 and kept them until his death on 10 July 1686, when his
executor returned them to the Bodleian Library with the rest of Fell’s books later in that
412 • A P P E N D I X I
same year. They were subsequently catalogued as manuscripts Fell 1, 3, and 4 Vitae Sanc-
torum. There were some efforts on the part of Salisbury Cathedral to see to the return of
the manuscripts, but to no avail until the Dean of Salisbury contacted the Bodleian Li-
brarian on 18 April 1984 and requested their return, citing the history of their disappear-
ance. The curators of the Bodleian Library agreed and, asking that the transfer not be
publicized, acknowledged Salisbury’s rightful ownership. Accordingly, on 5 August 1985,
the Dean of Salisbury, the chancellor and the Salisbury Cathedral librarian drove to
Oxford to fetch the manuscripts which had been missing for 345 years. I am most grateful
to Miss Susan Eward, the Salisbury Cathedral librarian, for her unpublished typescript of
the books’ history.
Bibliography
Salisbury MS 223 (SC 8687, olim Bodley Fell 3) is a companion to Trinity College
Dublin MS 174.
Gallandii, Andrea, Bibliotheca Veterum Patrum Antiquorumque Scriptorum Ecclesias-
ticorum postrema Lugdunensi multo locupletior atque accuratior, vol. 2 (Venice: Joannis
Baptistae Albrithii Hieron. Fil., 1766). Gallandi prints an edition of the Passio with Hol-
stenius and Valesius’s notes (pp. 167–73), with variant readings taken from the Salisbury
manuscript. Gallandi argues that the martyrs were not killed in Thuburbo Maius (3. xiii),
that the text is not Montanist (6. vi), that it was written during the reign of Septimus
Severus in or near 203 and not during that of Valerius (4. xiv), and that even though the
style of the autobiographical sections is inimitable (a Perpetua & Saturo scriptam fuisse
nemo infitiari posset, 5.v), Tertullian likely wrote some of it. Gallandi cites remarks made
by ancient and medieval authors about the Passio (8. viii). Gallandi’s scholarship is still of
value.
Thompson, E. Maunde, Catalogue of the Manuscripts in the Cathedral Library of Salis-
bury (London: Spottiswood & Co., 1880), pp. 43–4.
Craster, H. H. E., and N. Denholm-Young, eds., A Summary Catalogue of Western
Manuscripts in the Bodleian Library at Oxford (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1937): II, part
2, Summary Catalogue number 8689 (olim Fell 4 now Salisbury 221), pp. 1211–13.
Contains a description of the MS.
Ker, N. R., “Salisbury Cathedral Manuscripts and Patrick’s Young’s Catalogue,” The
Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Magazine 53 (1949): 154.
Ker, N. R., Medieval Manuscripts in British Libraries, 4 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1977): IV, Paisley-York, 257–62, for a complete description of the manuscript.
Zettel, P. H., “Ælfric’s Hagiographic Sources and the Latin Legendary Preserved in B.L.
MS Cotton Nero E i + CCCC MS 9 and Other Manuscripts” (PhD diss., University of
Oxford, 1979): see pp. 15–27. Zettel provides a complete list of the contents and a discus-
sion of the texts.
Ker, N. R., “The Beginnings of Salisbury Cathedral Library,” in Books, Collectors and
Libraries: Studies in the Medieval Heritage, ed. Andrew G. Watson (London: The Ham-
bledon Press, 1985), pp. 143–73.
Appendix I • 413
Weber, Teresa, Scribes and Scholars at Salisbury Cathedral c.1075–c.1125 (Oxford:

Oxford University Press, 1992), itemizes contents of 221 on pp. 156–57.
Manuscript Name: BL Cotton Otho D.viii.

Sigil: O.
Subject: Passionale (fols. 2r–174a).
Date: s.xii2. Fols. 174 to 269 are s.xiv 2.
Provenance: Christ Church, Canterbury.
Contents: Fol. 1v contains a table of contents in the hand of Sir Robert Cotton’s li-
brarian, Richard James. Sir Robert Cotton’s signature is in the bottom margin of fol. 8r for
the feast of Saint John the Apostle: “Ro. Cotton (Bruceus).” The festal calendar following
the liturgical calendar appears on fols. 2r–7v. The Cotton fire severely damaged this man-
uscript, and many of the items are lost and rebound incorrectly (see Fire Damage). For
example, the festal days for the month of January are mostly lost. The first item in the
volume is the feast of Saint John the Apostle, beginning with the incipit Cum Traianus
Romanorum and followed by the feast of Sanctae Brigide Virginis, traditionally celebrated
Plate 7.9: O British Library Cotton Otho D.VIII

414 • A P P E N D I X I
on 1 February. Despite the ravages of the fire, it is still evident that this was a select MS, as
folio gilding is present in majuscules and incipits.
Collation: Impossible to provide a collation because the MS was so badly burned in
the fire.
Use: For public reading in the monastery, like that in the refectory, or at chapter, or for
the 2nd Nocturn in Matins, when such lives were typically read.
Liturgical Calendar: There are two tables of contents in the MS. The original twelfth-
century table on fols. 1v–7v is a badly burned calendar of the passiones. Fol. 1r in the hand of
Richard James, Sir Robert Cotton’s librarian, also contains a table of contents, which provides
the item number in Arabic numerals of the passions followed by the name of the text. James
also lists entries for Annales Nicholai Trevet a Rege Stephano ad annum Domino 1307 and a
Bruto anno domini 1388. The twelfth-century calendar is written in single columns and
although badly burned still shows its original splendor. The names of the saints are colored in
red. Gilding was used in the lettering on the O for Octave, on the initial S in Sancta, Sanctus,
Sanctarum or Sanctorum, and on the foliate tendrils which curl up the inside margin.
The foliate–like scrollwork moves down the interior margin in blue and gold, with foli-
ating leaves of gold branching off the vine. Roundels (25 mm in diameter), which contain
well-drawn human figures, mark the seasons. Fol. 4v, the figure for June, is drawn wielding
an agricultural instrument with a long handle. The roundel and icon for August (fol. 5v)
shows a man winnowing, beating the grain with a winnowing stick. Signs of the zodiac
appear on the verso side of some of the months. For example, October (fol. 6v) has a
scorpion inside a roundel.
Material: Vellum and of good quality.
Number of folios: 269.
Reconstructed Size: 265–70 mm × 175–185 mm. Due to fire damage, few fols. in the
MS have their original size. This reconstructed size is based on one of the larger fols. in the
manuscript fol. 95. The top margin of 95rv measures 18 mm above the first line, and it
appears the bottom margin was approximately18 mm (see fol. 58r 18 mm). The fols. av-
erage thirty-eight lines of text, each of which is approximately 5 mm high with a space of
1 mm between lines of text (see fol. 100r), giving approximately 234 mm for text alone.
Adding to this the top and bottom margins gives 260/270 mm for height. The width is
based on an average from a number of fols. Column a on fol. 115r is well preserved and
measures 70 mm. The open space between columns a and b is 15 mm. Assuming that
column b (which is damaged by the fire on that same fol.) was the same width, we would
have a total text width of 140. Unfortunately, the gutter margin and the outside margins
on fol. 115r have been damaged by the fire and cropped. However, fol. 147 maintains
something of its gutter margin, which measures at its widest 15 mm. Allowing for some
shrinkage from the heat, I assume that both the gutter and outside margins were at least
20 mm. Hence the width of the fols. would have been approximately 175–185 mm.
Columns: Double columns throughout; width of columns 70 mm with thirty-eight
lines per column.
Pricking: There is some evidence that the leaves were pricked in the page layout. For
example, fol. 107r in the inside margin (gutter) shows prick marks. However, the outside
Appendix I • 415
margin has been so greatly damaged that there are none visible. With the possible excep-
tion of fol. 109r, there are no prick marks visible on the outside margins. This surface of
the MS was exposed to the greatest heat and hence suffered the greatest damage.
Leaded Format Lines: They are used but not consistently throughout the manu-
script. Leaded lines are visible for the vertical layout and for each line of text on fols. 8r
through 93r, but there are none on fol. 95r. Fol. 45r illustrates clearly the space dividing
the columns a and b with three vertical framing lines. Two vertical ink lines lay out the
inside gutter margin frame and two the outside margin. There is no leaded lineation from
174r through 254v. Lineation resumes again on 256r through 267r. Fols. 267v through
269v (the final fol.) are too damaged to read.
Catchmarks: There is no evidence of catchmarks or quire signatures.
Quire Signatures: None.
Foliation: Since the MS has been dismembered and is so badly fire-damaged, it is
impossible to provide this with any certitude.
Running Heads: The texts do have running heads written in the top margins. The titles
of the respective works are written so that they cover two fols. For example, on fol. 114v we
read Gregorii, and on the facing fol. 115r we read pape. In those instances when the top
margins have been severely cropped (perhaps to remove charred parchment), we have lost
the heading. Thus, fol. 97v does not have Perpetue but the facing fol. 98r reads Et Felicitatis.
However, on fol. 98v, we do read Perpetue and its facing fol. 99r has Et Fel[icitatis].
Lettering: The saints’ lives frequently begin with a rubricated initial capital incipit
and an explicit (see 103vb). Because of the severe fire damage, many of these are lost or
impossible to read. For example, fol. 97r, which contains some of the text of the Passio,
rubricates the first letter in the word beginning chapter 2, line 1 of the Passio, Apprekennsi
(Apprekennsi sunt adolescentes catechumini), as a capital A measuring 50 × 39 mm at the
base of the A. The A is decorated in blue, green, and red ink and with foliation. The spelling
of the verb apprehendo is distinctive. Although the explicit on fol. 100va is badly damaged
and shrunken and has a hole immediately below it, one can still read the rubricated Ex-
plicit Passio Sanctarum Perpetue et Felicitatis. There is a handsome, albeit workmanlike,
initial B on fol. 169ra for the feast of Saint Wilfrid, Bishop. It is done simply in red, green,
tan, and blue and measures h mm 78 × w 58 mm. The leaves also show rubricated capitals
at the start of a line that the rubricator thought significant. See fol. 106rb, the capital M (h
15 mm × w 15 mm). Rubricated paragraph markers begin on fol. 174r (scribal hand
number 3) and continue through to 233vb. There is no rubrication from 234r through to
the end fol. 269r, and there are no rubricated initial majuscules after fol. 173va. The An-
nals of Nicholas Trevet (c. 1257–c. 1334) begin on fol. 174ra.
Historiated Letters: There are illuminated, decorated, and historiated intials
throughout. Rubricated capitals as the initial letter introduce the first line of each narra-
tive. There is a handsome historiated initial G on fol. 104ra (h 70 mm × w 65 mm) drawn
in concentric circles of red, blue, green, and a gold-tan, containing the figure of a headless
dog. Damage to the fol. has caused it to lose its head.
Corrections: There is a corrector’s hand in the text. Written on the top margin of fol.
98ra is hylares descendimus ad carcerem. Study of the text of fol. 98ra shows that the scribe
416 • A P P E N D I X I
omitted this phrase when he copied the Passio. The place in the text where we would
expect to see the sign directing us to the correction in the margin has been obliterated by
the incision of the Victorian conservator. On Fol. 98vb, a small caret shows where the
word video in the line beginning (X.11) “At ubi [caret video—above the line] was omitted
and correctly added. The texts were gone over carefully after they had been copied.
Fire Damage: The Cotton fire has made this MS almost illegible. In the original copy
of Thomas Smith’s 1696 Catalogue of the Cotton Manuscripts there is a note in a later hand
(late eighteenth century) that notes “VIII A burnt lump of little use.” This line was surely
written before the Victorian conservators worked on it, and its judgment must not have
been wide of the mark. The intensity of the heat likely caused the MS to shrivel up into a
cabbage-like ball. The greater fire damage is to the bottom and right side of the MS, that
is, the outside margin, suggesting that this part of the MS was more exposed than the
inside margin. The later fols. from 176rb on show ever-greater darkening of the vellum,
and this might suggest that the MS was lying facedown in a press with the beginning fols.
facedown, as one might place a book down on its face and leave the end face up. Fols. 267v
through 269r are so damaged and faded that without better technology they are lost and
cannot be read.
Conservation: The MS has been rebound in a modern half-leather binding (spine
and corners only are leather) and each fol. has been separately mounted in a paper frame
surround of h 270 mm × w 180 mm. A clear tape has been used to paste the fols. to the
page, but over time it has discolored and makes reading the text it covers impossible.
Since the tendency of skin as it gives up its moisture to a heat source is to shrivel, the fire
caused the manuscripts that were not completely destroyed to shrink to a fraction of
their size into cabbage-like shapes. The conservators cut into the shriveled and balled
parchment leaves so that they could flatten them. Fol. 100 shows the cuts made into the
middle of the fol. along a vertical and horizontal plane to allow for opening and flattening
of the leaf.
Punctuation: Punctus elevatus is used.
Drypoint: There is none visible, even in those areas where the vellum has been left
blank. For example, on fol. 125r in column a there are 35 mm of blank space where one can
see the evidence of lineation (about 4 mm spaces) but no drypoint.
Margins: The top margin averages 20 mm and the bottom 17 mm. The blank area
between the columns averages 15 mm, and the actual lines of text in the double columns
average about 70 mm in width. (See Reconstructed Size.)
Hands: There are four hands: (one) 8r–173v; (two) 174r–233v; (three) 234r–262v;
(four) 263r–269r.
Binding: The binding is late nineteenth-century tan morocco spine with four
bold horizontal bands identifying the subject and the name of the manuscript and tan
morocco on the four corners.
Passio Folio Numbers: 97r(a)–100v(a)
Passio Size: The average size of these fols. is 240 mm × 153 mm. The outside of the
leaf is the most badly damaged, which suggests that the MS was closed and the heat
attacked that surface first.
Appendix I • 417
Passio Text: Fol. 1v contains a badly burned twelfth-century table of contents where
one can still read with difficulty item number 17, Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicita-
tis. The text contains selections from both the Acta and the entirety of the Passio and im-
mediately follows that of the Breton Saint Wingvaloeius confessor [Saint Winwaloe]. The
incipit for the Acta in rubricated lettering reads Incipit Passio Sanctarum Perpetue et
Felici[ta]tis nonae martii (fol. 95rb). The narrative begins Acta persecutio [ne] [s]ub Vale-
riano (fol. 95va). Fol. 96rb contains two mostly illegible rubricated lines in the bottom
margin, which may gloss the text (anno victo[riae]). The Passio itself begins on fol. 97ra,
beginning Apprekennsi sunt, and ends on fol. 100va; the last line of the text (XXI.11),
which is defective, reads cuius est claritas in s[ae]c[u]la s[a]ec[u]lorum, followed by the
rubricated explicit Explicit passio sanctarum Perpetue et Felicitatis. The next incipit
begins Incipit Passio Sanctorum Quadringinta . . . and provides a list of martyrs’ names.
(See Canterbury Lit. E. 42 for a similar ordering of the lives.) The Passio text, while com-
plete, is severely damaged, and it is not possible to provide an accurate transcription. For
example, all of the columns b on fols. 97r through 100 are illegible due to charring from
the fire. Additionally, some of the fols. were placed out of order when the manuscript was
reassembled. The medieval table of contents on fol. 1v states that the Passio is preceded by
Saint Winwaloe and the Passio is followed by Vita Sancti Gregory papae libris 4, and the
Gregory vita is followed by Passio sanctarum Quadraginta martyr[um]. However, in the
reassembled volume the Passio sanctarum Quadraginta martyr[um] follows the Passio,
and that is followed by Vita Sancti Gregorii. Either the medieval calendar is wrong or the
manuscript was reassembled incorrectly, and the latter is far more likely.
Bibliography
Smith, Thomas, Catalogus Librorum Manuscriptorum Bibliotheca Cottonianae (Oxford,

1696), p. 76, lists the manuscript as a “kalendarium” and notes the Passio as item number
17. There is a note in a late eighteenth-century hand on a blank recto page in this volume
that states “viii. A burnt lump of little use.” This note was clearly made before the manu-
script was conserved and suggests that it was still shriveled in a ball.
For an account of the Cotton fire at Ashburnham House on October 23, 1731, see
Smith, 25–46. J. Planta, Catalogue of the Manuscripts in the Cottonian Library Deposited
in the British Library (London, 1802). 369: Planta’s entry is almost as terse as Smith,
reading: “The remains of a MS on vellum, in small fol., which once consisted of 267 leaves
now burnt to a crust, and preserved in a case. It contains the lives of many saints, several
historical tracts, chronicles, & etc.”
Bibliotheca Hagiographica Latina, Antiquae et Mediae Aetatis, ed. Société des Bol-
landistes (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1898–99), p. 964; for the Passio see numbers
6633–6.
A seventeenth-century transcript of part of the Life of St. Brigid from Cotton Otho D.
VIII was made before the fire of 1731. It can be found in MS Trinity Dublin no. 179, and a
copy of that exists in Marsh’s Library Dublin Codex Z.4.5.12. See also M. Esposito, “Notes
on Latin Learning and Literature in Medieval Ireland, IV,” Hermathena 49 (1935): 143–45,
418 • A P P E N D I X I
and T.K. Abbot, Catalogue of the Mansucripts in the Library of Trinity College Dublin
(Dublin: Hodges & Figgis, 1900), p. 24; and Marvin L. Colker, Trinity College Library
Dublin: Descriptive Catalogue of the Medieval and Renaissance Latin Manuscripts, 2 vols.
(Dublin: Scolar Press, 1991) I: 320–30, item number 179.
Ker, N. R., “Membra Disiecta,” 2nd series, The British Museum Quarterly 4 (1940):
79–86.
Ker, N. R., Medieval Libraries of Great Britain: A List of Surviving Books (London: The
Royal Historical Society, 1941), 23, labels the MS a “Passionale S. Ignaci s.xii,” giving the
foliation as 8–173.
Kaufmann, C. M., Romanesque Manuscripts 1066–1190 (London: Harvey Miller,
1975), p. 56, states that the end flyleaves in Cotton D. Otho VIII are taken from Cam-
bridge Trinity College MS O.2.51, and the latter’s provenance is Canterbury, St. Augus-
tine’s Abbey.
Dean, R. J. “Nicholas Trevet Historian,” in Medieval Learning & Literature: Essays Pre-
sented to Richard William Hunt, eds. J. J. G. Alexander and M. T. Gibson (Oxford: Clar-
endon, 1976), pp. 328–52, cites the MS and adds that fols. 174ra–231ra are s.xivM .
Tite, Colin G., The Manuscript Library of Sir Robert Cotton: The Panizzi Lectures 1993
(London: The British Library, 1994), provides a fascinating account of the collector and
the disposition of his library, including Tite’s reconstruction of it, p. 95-6: “First, the alloca-
tion of books to presses was dictated purely by size, the smaller volumes for the most part
on the upper shelves . . . most of the volumes must have been stacked on the shelves verti-
cally in a manner which would give us no surprises. But some have titles written, in Cotton’s
time, across the fore-edges of the leaves. . . .” The MSS were likely stored standing upright.
Jackson, P., and M. Lapidge, “The Contents of the Cotton-Corpus Legendary,” in Holy
Men and Holy Women: Old English Prose Saints’ Lives and their Contexts, ed. P. Szarmach
(Albany: State University of New York, 1996), pp. 131–46.
Gameson, Richard, The Manuscripts of Early Norman England (c. 1066–1130)
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 101, item number 401. Gameson lists the
manuscript as a Passional and records the first volume only (31 January–20 March). He
notes the presence of decorated initials, lists the items contained in this first volume of the
Passional in fols. 8–173, and gives the provenance as Christ Church, Canterbury with a
date of xii1–2/4.
Tite, C. G., The Early Records of Sir Robert Cotton’s Library (London: The British Li-
brary, 2003), p. 156.
Manuscript Name: Canterbury Lit. E. 42.

Sigil: C.
Provenance: Christ Church, Canterbury.
Date: s.xiiin (ca. before 1128).
Contents: The leaves bound in Canterbury Lit. E. 42 represent the remains of an orig-
inal seven-volume Legenda martyrum or Passionale. The narratives, chiefly of the martyrs
of the Church, follow the liturgical calendar. The liturgical year was begun with the feasts
Appendix I • 419
Plate 7.10: C Canterbury Lit. E. 42
for 31 December, 1 February, 2 April, 29 June, 3 August, 21 September, and 11 November.

The original volumes were ripped apart sometime in the late sixteenth century (ca. 1574 at
the earliest) and their leaves reused to bind other books. (See below, Folios Rebound.)
The present Passionale appears to have been in its original form taken from a very com-
plete series of readings for the entire liturgical year written in Christ Church, Canterbury,
in the first quarter of the twelfth century in some seven volumes. It was broken up perhaps
as early as the end of the sixteenth century and many of the fols. used as binding materials.
The original manuscript was a magnificent composition. Great artistry was exhibited, and
great care was taken in its composition, as it has some fine examples of decorated initials
that include human figures throughout. The Passionale was initially seven volumes.
The present fols. have been placed within parchment surrounds (holders) and rebound
in the present volume. There are sixty-two items, the overwhelming majority of which are
feast days for martyrs and saints. For a complete list of the items, see N. Ker, Medieval
MSS in British Libraries, II, 289–95 and R. Gameson, The Earliest Books of Canterbury
Cathedral: Manuscripts and Fragments to c.1200, London: The British Library, 2008.
420 • A P P E N D I X I
Collation. See Ker. Gameson says that fol. 69r through to the end at 75v is in the hand
of a Dutch scribe, Werken, of the late fifteenth century, likely working here after 1473 at
the behest of the prior to help “recondition” and copy manuscripts.
Use: It was perhaps used for public reading in the monastery, like that in the refectory,
or at chapter, or for the second Nocturns in Matins, when such lives were typically read.
Material: The leaves are vellum and of good quality, but due to the subsequent dis-
memberment of the original manuscript volumes in the late sixteenth century and their
later use as binding material, there are many darkened and damaged fols. showing stain-
ing, scarring, and general deterioration. Most of the leaves have parchment surrounds and
exhibit the work of conservation.
Columns: Double columns throughout.
Lines: Volume 1 averages thirty-five lines per column. Volume 2 has thirty-four lines
(see fol. 37r), but not a single bottom margin remains intact, all having been cropped.
Volume 3 has thirty-seven or thirty-eight lines; volumes 5 and 6, thirty-seven lines respec-
tively (see fols. 43r, 44r, 45r). Fol. 31, containing the Passio selection, has only thirty-three
lines in both columns but is also missing some final lines. Ker estimates thirty-six lines as
the average line length for the seven volumes.
Folios: 81 (75 + 6). The original Passionale for the entire liturgical year comprised
seven substantial volumes. Six of the original seven volumes were broken up in the last
third of the sixteenth century and their parchment leaves used as binding material and
outside covers for books. Volume seven has never been found. The present volume was
reassembled about 1890 and bound in the twentieth century. It contains leaves from as
many as four of these original volumes. A bifolium survives in Maidstone, Kent County
Archives (S/Rm Fae.2), and three considerable sections of the original composition are
in British Library MSS Cotton Nero C.vii, fols. 29–78, Harley 315, fols. 1–39, and Harley
624, fols. 84–143. Canterbury Cathedral Library acquired (1951–66) six unbound leaves
of the original composition. (See below Modern Conservation.) They were catalogued as
Lit.E.42A, and, despite their being separated from the main text, were foliated as 76–81.
Size: 380–400 mm × 285 mm (see below).
Largest Folio: fol. 75, 390 mm × 266 mm. Before it was cut, it may have measured
430 m × 280 mm. Such size and the decoration are evidence that this was a significant
composition. The text, written in two columns, measures 285 mm × 190 mm.
Pricking: Present. The pricks on fol. 31, for example, are 9 mm apart in the outer mar-
gin and provide spacing guides for the frame for the double columns. (See below, Leaded
Formatting Lines.) However, drypoint is used on this fol. and elsewhere to make the
indicators for the scribe’s text. (See Drypoint.)
Leaded Formatt ing Lines: Present. The text frame was laid out with leaded lines:
one line on the inside margin, one on the outside, and two parallel lines in the middle
running top to bottom so that two separate columns of text could be written. In some in-
stances, as on fol. 26r, there are three midlines, presumably because of the exigencies of
the historiated initial on that fol.
Line Width: 90 mm per column is an average text length for the entire manuscript.
(See fol. 31r.)
Appendix I • 421
Catchmarks: None present.

Quire Signatures: None.
Foliation: There are two existing systems of modern foliation present and no medi-
eval foliation. The earlier of the two is written in pencil in the upper right-hand corner of
the leaves. The latter system is written on the new parchment surrounds and so was done
after the manuscript was bound. The two systems differ considerably. For example, fol.
59r in the first modern hand corresponds to fol. 43r in the post-assembly hand. The
system adopted here is the latter hand, which records seventy-six fols. (sixty-one in the
earlier hand) and is more nearly correct. There are seventy-five fols. extant in the existing
bound volume 1 (1r–75v).
Running Heads: Yes; but they typically only appear above the start of a new passion
narrative. For example, on fol. 35vb (above the large historiated T), we read Incipit Passio
Sanc[ti] Maximilliani.
Binding: Full brown ribbed morocco modern binding. It is tooled with a simple series
of diagonal lines crisscrossing the binding. There are two clasps which lock the manu-
script.
Capitals: Twenty-three historiated (containing figural and zoomorphic elements)
and decorated (containing nonfigural and non-zoomorphic elements) initials are still
extant, and they serve to introduce the beginning of each new passion narrative. R. Game-
son suggests that they are all, save the T on 57v, the work of a single artist. I will provide a
few examples of the initialing to illustrate the quality of the original drawing and the mag-
nificence of the entire composition. On fol. 31rb (the fol. of the Passio), there is a beauti-
fully drawn majuscule I running almost the entire length of the inner margin, which
separates the two columns of text. It is rubricated in red, blue, and green. At the top of the
I is the figure of a man—a monk perhaps—in green robes (55 mm long) holding a dragon
over his head. Immediately below this figure is a roundel (14 mm in diameter) depicting
the head of an unidentifiable animal (cow?). The next figure down is a running dog (85
mm) holding a fish in its mouth. The entire initial ends with a vine-like tendril flourish 65
mm in length. From top to bottom, the initial rubricated I measures 240 mm. There are
other initials throughout volume 2. For example, on fol. 34rb there is a stunning, but now
very damaged, initial letter B (125 × 80 mm) containing two human and various animal
figures and luxuriant foliage in the bowls of the B. There is a beautiful letter T (115 × 100
mm) on fol. 35vb, the first letter in the name Tusco. It is rubricated in red, blue, green, tan,
and pink with animal and human figures. Fol. 50rb has a magnificent initial letter R , which
begins the passion of Saint Ypolita, martyr. Inside the bowl of the R , a dragon is shown
consuming another beast; a beast is consuming a man, and there is a drawing of a long-
snouted (unidentifiable) beast. This R is rubricated in green, red, and blue, and all the
figures are contained within the bowl of the R , which measures 130 × 115 mm. There is a
handsome and large letter P on 65rv.
Rubricated Lettering: 20-mm rubricated letters introduce paragraphs; see fol. 36ra
for the letter I.
Damage: Fols. from the Passionale were reused. Fol. 38v, for example, which still has
a faintly visible rubricated explicit to the Life of Saint Gertrudis the Virgin (Explicit vita
422 • A P P E N D I X I
sanct[ae] Ger[t]rudis Virgin[is]) and an historiated initial (which because of the severe
damage is difficult to identify; possibly a G?), has lost almost all traces of the medieval
writing in both its columns. The leaf ’s appearance suggests damage from exposure (likely
resulting from its use as binding material), which has effaced the medieval writing. On the
top of this fol. (38r), written prominently in English in an eighteenth-century hand, we
read “The booke of Rates.” These fols. were reused as bookkeeping ledgers. In some in-
stances the fols. have been damaged with black ink (fols. 56v and 57r). This is the same ink
used by the individual who was writing the dates on fol. 22r. Fols. 56v, 57r and the evi-
dence of the ink damage indicate that this manuscript was held in low esteem by this
seventeenth-century annotator. Fol. 60v shows this clear lack of regard for the medieval
composition, as there are two hands written carelessly across the leaves. The first hand in
an older script (early sixteenth century) in a faded tan ink has written: Liber 21, Liber
[Instantiarum]; below that in the hand of the late sixteenth-century annotator, we read
Acta ad Instantiam Partium Lib. 21, Anno 157 3. In some instances this same annotator
has turned the fols. upside down and written across the middle of the medieval text. Since
it would be simpler to complete such annotation on unbound manuscript leaves, this
writing suggests that the actual fols. were already unbound from their original volumes by
the late 1570s.
A number of fols. are only partially preserved, having been severely damaged, possibly
through exposure (fols. 66r through 68). These fols. are just ragged pieces and have been
set in parchment surrounds. Other fols. also show evidence of extreme darkening of the
leaves and damage suggestive of exposure to elements like water, particularly fols. 72 and
73. Fol. 73v is very dark from staining and is missing a section (w 30 mm × h 70 mm) in
the lower part of column a. Fol. 7 contains only the top nineteen lines in both columns,
and 8 preserves only the bottom fifteen lines in both columns.
Modern Conservation: This manuscript was rebound in the early twentieth century.
The binding is a full binding of brown tooled leather with two brass clasps for securing the
volume. This volume now contains all the existing fol. remains of a magnificent six-vol-
ume (possibly seven) early twelfth-century Passionale, except for three bifolia that were
placed in the library by a Church Council deposit of 1966. These 1966 bifolia were
removed from the Eastry Quitrents of 1513 and 1593, and they are shelved separately in
the Canterbury Cathedral Library under the accession number Lit. E. 42A. The evidence
for their association with Eastry is written in a sixteenth-century hand on the bottom of
fol. 80rb: “Estry: Rentals of Quitrents, 1513 & 1593.” This affiliation is written upside
down on 80r, directly across the twelfth-century text, showing the clerk’s complete lack of
regard for the earlier text. There remains a single leaf (bifolium) in Maidstone, Kent
County Archives, S/Rm Fæ.2, which I have not been able to see. It was used to wrap the
Common Expenditors Accounts 1574–79 of the Commissioner of Sewers for Level of
Romney Marsh, a text concerning sewer abatements.
The present order and sequence of the passion narratives is not correct. For example, the
text of the Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis is a twenty-three-line fragment of the
entire text, and it begins acephalously on fol. 31ra with the first line reading prior reddendo
spiritum Perpetua. The prior fol. 30vb has no relation to this text. It may be a narrative of
Appendix I • 423
the life of Saint Honoratus. It is a somewhat didactic discussion of how one should dedicate
oneself to the love of God, with the injunction that if a monastery follows this principle it
will surely flower.
1966 Bifolia Deposits: There is one bifolium in each of the three blue paper folders.
The envelope containing the bifolium with fols. 80 and 81 has written on it “Church
Council Deposit 1966, Eastry Quitrents of 1513 and 1596.” The fol. numbers in the three
bifolia which are not bound in the manuscript and whose descriptions follow were num-
bered to follow the last fol. in the bound manuscript, which ends with fol. 76v. These
bifolia contain texts which do not follow an order that depends on the texts in the litur-
gical calendar. Furthermore, since the manuscript was broken up, many leaves have been
lost; some of the survivors were used as binding material, and have subsequently been put
together without any genuine hope of reconstructing the original early twelfth-century
Passionale.
Packet 1: The text of Gregorius, Aurelius, Felix et socii starting on fol. 76ra begins with
a large historiated initial F (h 240 mm × w 75 mm), depicting a naked man, human heads,
a pig, a woodsman with an ax, and another human figure in an acrobat-like pose. The text
accompanying the initial (fol. 76ra–77vb) reads, Fuit quidam iuvenis temporibus Abdiram
Regis nomine Aurelius apud Cordubam Hispanie cuitate[m] natalibus & rebus plurimos
antecellens. Hic infantia matre Christiana & patre gentili orbatus. . . . This fol. has double
columns, and thirty-six lines of text are extant. Fol. 76 measures (height) 300 mm
(missing some of the bottom margin) and (width) 277 mm. Reconstructed, it was likely
at least 320/60 mm by 277/300 mm. There is a final single leaf in the packet, which con-
tains some illegible text and appears to have absorbed text from the original manuscript,
hence its illegibility. It also contains the fragmentary section of an historiated initial (a
fragment of the vertical ascender) in red, green, and blue. The colors appear to have been
inked onto the paper.
Packet 2: Begins acephalously. Fol. numbers 78 and 79 contain thirty-nine lines in
two columns. Size: h 345 mm × w 248 mm (the outside margin has been cropped).
Moreover, folding along the outside margin—the seam which resulted from the folding
is very visible but has been opened and pressed flat in subsequent conservation—shows
it has been used as a wrapper for a binding of a later text. The fold was made to stiffen the
edges of the new vellum bindings. The text of these fols. is identified at the top margin as
Lucia & Geminianus. Fol. 78 is severely darkened from being exposed as a wrapper and
hence difficult to read. The text mentions Diocletian 78rb, l.35, who was traditionally
responsible for St. Lucia’s death. The reconstructed size of the packet must have been
considerably greater than the present cropped size of 280/90 mm, on the order of 360
mm. The present parchment surrounds are h 360 mm. If fol. 80, whose bottom margin
is intact at 60 mm below the last line of text, was representative of the original size, then
we can assume a length of approximately 360 mm or so for the height of the leaf. If, as
seems likely, the leaves had approximately thirty-nine lines—that is, six more than fol.
31r now has (it has been cropped)—it would have had an additional 45 mm of text. If we
add to this additional line space a margin of approximately 30 mm, we would have a total
height of at least 360 mm.
424 • A P P E N D I X I
Packet 3: Fols. 80 and 81. This is another single bifolium (h 305 mm × w 210 mm).
However, evidence of a large historiated initial— possibly a P—on fol. 81ra suggests it
might have been originally 50 mm or 60 mm taller in height. If this is the case, as seems
likely, then this bifolium measured approximately 360 mm × 260 mm. If so, the six or
seven volumes of the original liturgical passionale would have been approximately the
same size. The fol. 80r column has been identified by Ker as containing the miracles of St.
Maurice, which begin with a faded historiated initial (M?) of a beast (dog or lion?) swal-
lowing a dragon.
Collation for Volume 2: There are a total of fourteen leaves in volume 2, if we count
the two leaves at Maidstone: fols. (1) 1r–2v.; (2) fols. 31r–34v; (3) fols. 35r–36v; (4)
37r–40v; (5) fols. 41r–42v.
Passio Text: Is wholly contained on fol. 31ra. The entire selection is twenty-three
lines long and concludes with a one-and-one-half-line explicit. The Passio begins (aceph-
alously) on fol. 31ra with the line prior reddendo spiritum Perpetua from the middle of
line 8, chapter XXI of the Passio. The text before the Passio on fol. 28rb begins the Life of
Saint Balthil[dis], and the text on fol. 29va with an historiated initial is the deposition of
Saint Hilary (. . . Sanctus Hilarius In Depositione), followed by the rubrication “XVII Kal.
Februarii.”
At the bottom of fol. 31ra, immediately following the Passio, is a series of alternating
red and green rubricated lines listing the passions which follow: Incipit S[an]c[t]orum
Quadringinta militum, [e.g., Domiciani, Diani, Quirionis, Valentis, Umarandi, Alexandri,
Valeri, Melliti, Eutici, etc.] for a total of thirty-two names. The narrative which begins at
the top of fol. 31rb starts: Et Clauicularii, v Idus martii . . . In tempore Licini Regis erat
persecutione magna Christianorum & omnes pie vivebant in Christo cogebantur sacrificare
diis; agricola[e] agente praesediatum in Sebastia impio & crudiliter persecutore & veloci ad
diaboli ministrationem. Some later hand has carefully gone over and darkened the letters
‘re’ at the end of persecutore and the ‘i’ and ‘e’ at the end of minsitrationem.
Punctuation: The punctus elevatus is used throughout for pauses (see line 3 on fol.
31ra).
Margins: The gutter margin measures approximately 25 mm and the outside margin
30 mm. Fol. 80, which contains the legend of St. Maurice, has a 60-mm margin below the
text. The top margins, although frequently cropped, would have averaged 40 mm.
Drypoint: Present; on fol. 31r, the fol. containing the twenty-three lines of the Passio
extract, there is clear evidence of drypoint in column b, in lines 3 and 4 from the bottom
of the fol. On fol. 16vr, immediately following the Life of Saint Julian the Bishop, the scribe
has not written on the eighteen lines that finish column a of fol. 16v, and the drypoint is
clear. Fol. 63v has never been written on and also shows the drypoint technique for line
layout.
Hands: There are six hands, with some apparent overlap on fols. (all of the twelfth
century) and two from the late fifteenth to the early sixteenth centuries. Hand one fols.
1r–37r; 2, 37v–42v, 48r–61v; 3, 43r–57r; 4, 57v–65v; 5, 62r–63r, 6, 66v–75v. Fol. 69r to
the end at 75v is in a later hand, which N. Ker dates as xv2 and Gameson identifies as that
of the Dutch scribe Theoodoric Werken, who was working in Canterbury after 1471.
Appendix I • 425
There are many later annotations throughout the manuscript, though they are chiefly
from the sixteenth century. On fol. 4r there is a sixteenth-century librarian’s identification
of the manuscript. Across the top of the manuscript on fol. 4r are three dates, written one
after the other with no separating punctuation: 1573 1574 1574. Directly beneath the
dates, written across the medieval text, we read expedit; 35 mm below that we read Ad
Instantiam Partium; 17 mm below that we read Lib. 22; and 20 mm below that in the space
separating columns a and b we read the date 1573, and immediately below it 1654. In a
similar hand (fol. 22r) we read “Ex officio, Comperta & Delecta, Decan Sittingbourn &
Lutton Lib. 24, 1577, 1588.” On fol. 28r there is much the same: “Comperta & Delecta, Lib.
17, Decan Bridge, 1577, 1584.” On fol. 33r we read “Ex officio, Comperta & Delecta, Lib.
14, 1574, 1576.” On fol. 35 in the top margin over column a there are three dates on top of
one another, reading from the top “1574, 1575, 1576,” and immediately to their right over
column b a signature in the same hand as the dates: “Thomas” (last name illegible), and
below that Ad Instantiam.
Size of the Passio Folios: The two widest lines of text on fol. 31ra are 90 mm (lines 4
and 19). The inner margin between the two columns of text is large (30 mm) to allow for
the beautiful initial I. The outside margin is large and continues approximately 60 mm
beyond the end of the text line. The gutter margin is approximately 25 mm; hence the
width of this fol. would have been 285 mm. The height at present is 295 mm, but the
bottom margins have been cropped, and it would likely have been considerably longer; a
reconstructed size for these fols. containing the Passio would be nearer to 310 mm × 285
mm. Fol. 75 is 380 mm high and has a fold of 40 mm at the bottom margin. Unfolded, it
measures 380 mm high, a very large fol. and the largest of the extant fols. All volumes of
the Passionale would have been approximately this size.
Binding: There is ample evidence that these medieval fols. served as binders for
later texts. There are two classic indicators of this practice extant in the manuscript.
First, some of the present fols. show a shadow outline across the text, which has dark-
ened the leaf. This darkening or stain resulted from the leather lacings being tightly
bound against the parchment leaves, which wrapped and secured these fols. around
later texts (see Eastry under Modern Conservation above). This darkening (or stain-
ing) resulted from lacings pressed against the parchment for a considerable time and is
visible on fols. 25vb and 30ra. Second, the outside margins of the parchment leaves all
show a dark seam approximately 50 mm from the cropped edge running the length of
the fol. The leaf was doubled over (hence the dark seam) for stiffening and used as a
binder. When the original manuscript volumes were disassembled in the late sixteenth
century and the fols. used for rebinding other leather books or to serve as book covers,
the outer margin of these medieval fols. were first folded back on themselves. This dou-
bled the thickness of the parchment leaf, which stiffened it and thus ensured that the
leaves would provide a more durable edge for the new bindings. The leaves darkened
along the fold. When the manuscript was reassembled in the 1880s, the conservators
unfolded and flattened these leaves. Today, the leaves, while perfectly flat, have a dark
vertical line indicating where the seam was. There are no medieval quire signatures on
the leaves.
426 • A P P E N D I X I
Bibliography
Todd, Henry J., Catalogue of the Books, both Manuscript and Printed Which Are Pre-
served in the Library of Christ Church, Canterbury (Clerkenwall: Bye and Law, 1802), p.
128. Todd identifies Lit. E. 42 as E. 25, “Lessons in the week . . . Those relating to the saints
are legendary.”
Edwards, E., Memories of Libraries (London, 1859), I: 122–235.
Legg, J. Wickham, and W. H. St. John Hope, Inventories of Christ Church Canterbury
with Historical and Topographical Introductions and Illustrative Documents (Westmin-
ster: Archibald & Co., 1902), for their discussion of the cathedral’s wealth in material
goods.
James, Montague R., The Ancient Libraries of Canterbury and Dover (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1903), p. 52. Lit. E. 42, appears to be recorded in Prior Eastry’s
(Prior 1284–331) catalogue of 1331 under the heading Passionale, number 360. See James,
p. 509, who notes “No. 360. The flyleaf is bound up in Trinity Coll. Camb. O.2.51. Article
19 in MS. C.C.C.C. 298 was copied from from liber eccl. Cantuar. vocatus passionale S.
Ignacii iam in manibus Magistri Bower.” Eastry’s Catalogue (covering the period 1190–
1331) indicates a rich and variegated collection, which James estimated at 1,850 books.
Woodruff, C. Eveleigh, A Catalogue of the Manuscripts in the Library of Christ
Church, Canterbury (Canterbury: Cross & Jackman, 1911), p. 22, item number 46, and
his Memorials of the Cathedral and Priory of Christ in Canterbury (London: Chapman &
Hall, 1912), pp. 1–116. This is still informative for the early period.
Ker, N. R., “Membra Disiecta,” British Museum Quarterly xiv (1940): 85, where he
discusses the provenances of Christ Church manuscripts.
Dodwell, C. R., The Canterbury School of Illumination 1066–1200 (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1954): pp. 66, 70, 75, 78, 121, and plate 42d.
Ker, N. R., Medieval Manuscripts in British Libraries, 4 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1977): II, pp. 289–96.
Ramsay, N., “The Cathedral Archives and Library,” in A History of Canterbury Cathe-
dral, eds. P. Collinson, N. Ramsay, and M. Sparks (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1995). Ramsay suggests (p. 370) that by the fifteenth century the Cathedral library was
so rich with early manuscripts that there was no need to commission or buy new ones,
and indeed some scribes produced what we might call facsimile copies of earlier volumes.
He cites fols. 69–74 from Canterbury Cathedral MS E. 42 as ones “that look back more
skilfully to twelfth-century models.”
Gameson, Richard, The Manuscripts of Early Norman England (c.1066–1130).
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 77, number 194, with Maidstone, Kent
County Archives, S/Rm Fæ.2. Gameson points out that Lit. E. 42 is a companion piece
to MSS BL Harley 315 and Harley 624, and Cotton Nero C. vii. Gameson dates Lit. E.
42 as xiiin–1: “Passional (frags.: parts of four separate volumes from a seven-volume set;
contents are inventoried in Ker, ‘Med. MSS in BL’, II, pp. 289–96. Companions to Lon-
don, British Library, Harley 624 + 315 + Cott Nero C.VII (no. 433). Xii in—1 (before
1128?) Canterbury, Christ Church.”
Appendix I • 427
Manuscript Name: MS Jerusalem 1.

SIGIL: H.
Subject: The Jerusalem codex is a menologion for the month of February and con-
tains accounts of approximately forty-two martyrs and saints, interspersed with homiletic
materials written in Greek.
Provenance: There is no identifiable medieval provenance in the manuscript.
However, the manuscript bears the stamp (fol. 1r) of the Orthodox Patriarch Cyril II
(1845–72), and the volume may have been received by the Patriarchial Library
during this period. Coincidentally, this was a period when many Orthodox libraries
in the East were being consolidated in the Jerusalem library. H has been shelved with
those manuscripts of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the largest manuscript col-
lection in the Jerusalem Patriarchate, containing some 645 manuscripts, since Cyril
II’s reign.
Date: s.x2. There is no internal evidence, save that of the scribal hands, for the date of
the manuscript.
Contents: A menologion for the month of February containing approximately forty-
two accounts of saints and martyrs. Folio numbers are provided when verifiable.
1. Saint Tryphon, fol. 1r.

2. Saint Amphilochius of Iconium, fol. 11r.
3. Saint John Chrysostom, fol. 15v.
4. Saint Timothy, Priest of Jerusalem, fol. 18v.
5. Saint Methodius, fol. 22r.
6. Saint Theodore, fol. 25r.
7. Saint Athanasius, fol. 28r.
8. Saint Photius
9. Epistle of John of Jerusalem
10. Saint John of Damascus, fol. 36r.
11. Saints Perpetua and Felicity, fol. 41r.
12. Saint Agatha, fol. 47v.
13. Saint Abramius
14. Saint Julian
15. Saint Faustus and Companions
16. Saint Parthenius, fol. 56r.
17. Saints Martha, Mary, and Lycarion
18. Saint Nicephorus, fol. 64r.
19. Saint Gregory of Nyssa
20. Saint Charalampus
21. Saint Blasius Bishop of Sebastius, fol. 79r.
22. Saint Mary
23. Saint Martinian
24. Saint Auxentius, Priest fol. 94r.
25. Saint Onesimus
428 • A P P E N D I X I
26. Saints Pamphilus, Valens, Paul, Seleucus, Porphyry, Theodolus, Julian,

Egyptians
27. The Ones commemorated in Martyropolis and Saint Maroutha
28. Saint Auxibius
29. Saints Sathod and Companions
30. Saint Chrysippus
31. Saint Polycarp, fol. 136r.
32. Head of John the Baptist
33. Saint Porphry
34. Saint Hippolytus, fol. 173r.
35. Saint Nestor
36. Saint John Chrysostom, fol. 195v.
37. Saint Anastasios Sinaitus, fol. 202v.
Number of Folios: ii + 209 + iii fols. The manuscript contains two paper front pieces
and three paper end pieces. The manuscript is enumerated in the upper right-hand corner
of every fol. recto. There are three blank fols.: 73, 80, and 201.
Material: The codex uses good-quality light-colored, thin parchment. The compilers
used the occasional thick bifolium to enclose a gathering, e.g., fol. 25 for gathering 4.
The entire last quire, gathering 28, is written on a consistently thicker parchment. Fol.
1r is dirty and discolored and suggests the manuscript may have been unbound for
some time.
Columns: Double columns are used throughout, except for fol. 87. The text columns
average w 70 mm × h 295–300 mm.
Lines per Folio: 38.
Size of Text Letters: The scribes use lowercase letters throughout, and these letters
average (except minims) approximately w 2.5 mm × h 4 mm. There are no spaces between
the words as the narrative is written. Abbreviations are used throughout and are common.
There are no paragraph marks or other indicators of thematic breaks.
MS Size:
Largest: fol. 82 width 268 mm and 404 mm length
Reconstructed: width 263 mm and 400 mm length
Pricking: Although there is no obvious consistent presence of pricking holes, fol. 74
has three pinholes in the bottom margin consistent with where pricking pins would have
been used to construct the double-column drypoint grid. This suggests that the edges of
the fols. were cropped and pricking holes lost.
Catchmarks: None.
Foliation: 1–138; 14 6; 1510; 16 6; 17–258; 262; 27–288. The codex contains twenty-four
quires of eights and four of differing lengths. Fol. 73 and 80 are blank and begin and end
quire number 10.
Running Heads: Every saint’s life or account of their martyrdom begins with an
identification of the individual in a bold abbreviated calligraphic hand in black ink. In
Appendix I • 429
addition, a block scroll of vines and tendrils forming a small rectangular grid (for ex-
ample, fol. 41ra: w 90 mm × h 53 mm) surrounds each incipit and encloses a varying
number of the actual opening lines of the each narrative.
Lineation (ink quality, etc.): The ink is a burned sienna color, the script of the prin-
cipal scribe is written with a sharp quill, and the letters are finely and thinly drawn.
Initials: There is little use made of Greek capitals, save in the running heads.
Capitals: Capital letters are only used to identify the individual whose feast is cele-
brated. They consistently use the abbreviation of the Greek word for martyr followed by
an abbreviation of the saint’s name, typically only providing the first initial of the name;
see fol. 47v, where the Martyrdom of Saint Agatha simply identifies her as A.
Illuminations: There are no illuminations in the codex. However, the codex does
begin every saint’s narrative with an ink drawing (possibly scribal) immediately below
the identifying grid pattern mentioned above. These drawings have been crudely gone
over in colored inks. For example, the text of the Passion of Perpetua and Felicity con-
tains, immediately below the bracket containing the incipit, a three-quarter roundel of
two birds facing each other (h 35 mm × w 23 mm). The ink outline of the birds has been
gone over in blue and green ink. The birds are skillfully drawn, particularly considering
the small area allowed for the drawing. The colored ink is rapidly and sometimes sloppily
applied over the outline of the drawing. There are occasions when the drawing is
intended to serve as a visual clue to an aspect of the martyr’s story. Hence, in the martyr-
dom of Saint Julian on fol. 52r, a roundel measuring 30 mm × 30 mm depicts the saint
being scourged by a second man wielding a whip. The saint’s body is covered with spots
indicative of the welts from the scourging. As in the depiction of the birds in the Passion
of Perpetua and Felicity, the line drawing of Julian has been outlined in blue, green, and
red ink.
Repairs: Strips of parchment have been carefully cut from some of the lower margins.
The manuscript has been carefully cut with a sharp instrument, causing no loss of text
(see fols. 35–36, 44, 117, 118, 160, and 161). Frequently, in those cut fols., a small tab of
parchment has been left in the gutter margin (see fol. 44). The reason for such mutilation
may have been to use the substantial lower margins for binding stiffening in other manu-
scripts. While the present codex does show such repairs made with vellum (see fol. 106 in
the outside margin), most of the repairs made in the present codex are made with paper
and glued into the weak areas in the gutter and or lower margin (see fols. 119v and 140v
respectively).
Rubrics: There is no use of rubrics.
Corrections: There is evidence of the manuscript’s having been checked for accuracy.
Corrections are not common, but when they do appear the correction might consist of a
word or words being scraped away and surrounded by a series of small dots (see fol. 70vb,
the last word).
Punctuation: The punctus is used, but not consistently. It is used most frequently to
distinguish the iota from other minims. The standard modern accent marks in Greek, for
example, the iota subscript and the breathing marks, are used inconsistently.
430 • A P P E N D I X I
Marginalia: Given the size of this manuscript and the popular nature of the contents,
there are a small number of marginal annotations throughout. The few examples are usually
concise remarks on the text being narrated (see fols. 30r, 97r, 104r, and 136r, all in the
bottom margin).
Margins: The generous margins suggest that the manuscript was designed to be read
publicly, perhaps in a liturgical setting, since the amount of white space provided by the
generous margins improves legibility considerably and would allow a lector to stand and
read the codex.
Outside: 40 mm from end of text line to edge of leaf
Top: average 38 mm
Bottom: average 63 mm
Gutter: average 40 mm
Drypoint: The codex is laid out entirely in drypoint. There is no evidence of leaded
or inked lines on the leaves. The drypoint layout is the familiar double-column grid. Fols.
32r and 171r exhibit very clear examples of the drypoint stylus, as it bit deeply into the
parchment.
Hands: There is a principal scribe in the codex. Three different hands are also present:
Hand one—fols. 1r–86v; 88r–143v; 194r–209v.
Hand two—fols. 87r–87v (an inserted paper singleton of medieval provenance).
Hand three—fols. 144r–154v. This hand is smaller and employs thicker letter forms
than hand one, and the ductus here slants decidedly toward the left.
Hand four—fols. 155r–193r. A small square and upright script that ends on the partial
fol. of 193, containing one column of twenty-nine lines (h 280 mm × w 140 mm).
Passio Text: The Passio begins on fol. 41ra and ends on 47vb at the top of the leaf. It is
in gathering number 6.
Binding: The binding is of the nineteenth century and is a complete red-tooled
morocco leather over wooden boards. The tooling on the front and back is of spiraling
double parallel lines along the outside margin and a large tooled diamond shape drawn
from the center of four sides of the exterior tooling lines. The spine contains two black
leather inlays which serve to identify the contents, attributing the collection to the
tenth-century civil servant and Orthodox monk Simeon Metaphrastes. Simeon, as is
well known, compiled ten volumes of the Orthodox Menologion at the request of the
Emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus. It is entirely possible that the codex is
contemporary with Simeon.
Bibliography: There is little scholarship available on the manuscript, save the descrip-
tion in the Catalogue of the Orthodox Patriarch’s Jerusalem library by Athanasios Papa-
dopoulos-Kerameus, Hierosolymitike Bibliotheke etoi Katalogos ton en tais Bibliothekais. . . .,
5 vols. (Brussels: 1891), pp. 1–8; Kleopas M. Koikylides, Kataloipa cheirographon Hiero-
solymitikes bibliothekes ( Jerusalem, 1899). See also Kenneth W. Clark, Checklist of Manu-
scripts in the Libraries of the Greek and Armenian Patriarchates in Jerusalem (Washington:
Library of Congress, 1953), p. 5, who lists it under Panagios Taphos. Although Clark’s is
but a brief report of the microfilming of the Patriarchate library, his introduction is none-
theless useful.
Appendix I • 431
C. T H E E D I T I O N S
Bibliography of the Principal Printed Editions and Significant

Translations of the Passion of Perpetua et Felicitatis.
Since Holstenius first printed the Passion of Perpetua and Felicity in 1661, the work has
remained a perennial favorite of scholars and has also enjoyed a wide popularity among
general readers. Translations continue to appear in virtually all the western European lan-
guages, and recently it has even begun to be translated into Asian languages. I cite below
all the significant editions of the Passio as well as translations in English. I would refer the
reader to Habermehl for a general bibliography and information about texts and transla-
tions in various languages. If I occasionally cite an edition which translates the text into a
language other than English, it is because there is additional information of interest in the
translation or commentary or because of the particular volume’s influence.
[L. Holstenius corrected by Valois] Passio SS. Perpetvae et Felicitatis. Cum notis Lucae
Holstenii. Vaticanae Bibliothecae Praefecti. Paris: Carolus Savreux, 1664. Much of
Valois’s brief Latin introduction (iv–xiii), “Henricvs Valesivs Lectori,” which praises Hol-
stenius, concerns Valois’s efforts to demonstrate the historicity of the martyrdom, its lo-
cation, whether in Thuburbo or Carthage, and under whose reign the martyrs suffered.
The text of the Passio is the second item in the book (pp. 1–37), the first being the Passio
SS. Martyrvm Tarachi, Probi et Andronici and the third the Passio S. Bonifatii. Each item
is individually paginated and begins anew on a page 1. Valois edits Holstenius’s edition of
the Monte Cassino exemplar. He acknowledges on the very last printed page (unnum-
bered) of the volume that his edition is taken from Holstenius’s Rome edition of 1663.
Pages 38–87 of this text contain excerpts from the earlier commentators who have
remarked on the Passio, beginning with a selection from chapter 55 of Tertullian’s De
Anima and ending with an excerpt from a MS of the Acta (Ex Manuscripto Codice Biblio-
thecae Sancti Victoris), which opens with Facta itaque persecutione sub Valeriano & Gali-
eno. . . . Pages 89–208 contain all of Holstenius’s notes, and Valois’s work concludes on
pages 209–16 with an Index Verborum. There are no chapter divisions in the text of the
Passio as printed here. This edition does not include what modern editors have referred to
as Chapter 1, beginning Si uetera fidei exempla, but rather Holstenius labels this chapter
Praefatio. The text proper begins on page Aiiii under the title Passio Sanctarum Mar-
tyrum Perpetuæ et Felicitatis. For more on Holstenius see Alfredo Serrai, La biblioteca de
Lucas Holstenius (Udine: Forum, 2000).
Acta sanctorum. Martii a Iohane Bollando, S.I. A. G. Henschenius et D. Papebrochius.
Antwerp: Iacob Meursium, 1668. The Bollandist’s text of the Passio is taken from Hol-
stenius’s text based on the Monte Cassino MS (p. 631). They do not cite the Valois edition
of 1664 as their base text. They simply refer to their edition as Vita Ex Ms. Casinensi eruta
à Lucâ Holstenio. Their brief introduction to the Passio follows the format of the two
earlier editions; they print brief excerpts from earlier commentators like Tertullian and
Augustine (p. 631), and argue many of the same points, notably the merits of Thuburbo
432 • A P P E N D I X I
versus Carthage as the likeliest place of the martyrdom. The notes to the texts are very
abbreviated, and while they do cite Holstenius’s readings, they do not give his notes in
full. For example, a typical note contains a lowercase letter, which agrees with the same
letter in the text followed by the note. Thus, glossing the word defatigationibus (XIII.6)
their note reads “d Holstenius . . . legi de factionibus.” Their reading is the same as that used
by Valois and indicates that they knew Valois’s emended text (see Valois p. 25).
Oxford edition of 1680. Lucii Caecilii Lactantii, De Mortibus Persecutorum. Accesse-
runt Passiones: SS. Perpetuae & Felicitatis, S. Maximiliani, S. Felicis. Oxonii: E. Theatro
Sheldoniano, 1680. The Passio is included in this volume which begins with Lactantius’s
great work. On page 5 of the front matter of the copy held in the British Library there is a
handwritten ink note in a contemporary hand (Thomas Spark? late seventeenth century):
Fuit hic liber dono missus a Johanne Fell Oxoniensi Episcopo ad Isaacum Vossium, ab eoque
postea datus Baulo Colomesio, cuius manus passim apparet, and slightly further down on
that page the date when the marginal emendations were made is given as 1684. The author
indicates that the corrections in the text of Lactantius were taken from an edition of Nich-
olas Toinard and made here in ex ciptas ex Editione hujusico Operas Abod improsse cura
ejusdem Toinhardi anno Domini MDCLXXXIV, forma quam in duodecimo appellant. The
hand is tiny, faded, and difficult to read, and my transcription is tentative.
The Passio proper is part of this edition of Lactantius and appears at the end after his
De Mortibus Persecutorum. The Latin text of the Passio is the 1663 edition of Holstenius.
However, it is compared in their notes against the Salisbury MS. This is the first citation
of the Passio text from the Salisbury MS, and is evidence of Bishop Fell’s possession of
this manuscript and its presence in Oxford before 1680. For a discussion of how Fell took
possession of this MS, see my remarks in the chapter on Manuscripts under “Salisbury.”
Robinson was the first to note that the Monte Cassino MS was collated in this edition
against the Salisbury MS. The entire text and the notes (all at the bottom of the page) are
on pp. 1–36. The notes are very brief and restricted to emending the Monte Cassino read-
ings with the variants from Salisbury, and Jean-Louis Quantin suggests they are by Henry
Dodwell (1641–1711). For example, on p. 1 (gathering k) in the printing of the Praefatio,
footnote 1 at the bottom of the page reads: “Inscriptio M.S. Sarisburiensis. Passio SS.
Fælicitatis & Perpetuæ, quod est Nonis Martiis in civitate Turbitana . Forte legendum Tur-
bitana.” Footnote number 2, glossing the phrase in line 1 of the preface propterea in literis,
reads 2 Rectius in literas. The glosses are brief throughout. Occasionally, the author does
refer to Holstenius’s edition by name, as in footnote 5 on page 23, which glosses the
phrase in chapter XI.8 [here printed] violata. Footnote 5 states: “5 Via lata Holst.” Valois
in his emendations of Holstenius also prints violata, noting in his gloss (p. 153):
“Pag.22.v.12 Transivimus stadium violata. Omnino legendum via lata.” In his footnote 4
on page K2, glossing the Latin in chapter I novissimiora, the editor cites the passage as
likely indebted to Montanists: Ex hoc loco conjici potest Montani sectatorem fuisse qui haec
Acta digessit. The anonymous editor occasionally cites from the Greek language, from the
scriptures or from the classics. For example, on page 10, he glosses the Latin translitera-
tion tegnon “1 Gr. Teknon.” On page 29, footnote number 2, glossing the phrase lucido
inces su, he cites “2 sic Xenophon de Socrate, cum morti addictus a judicum conspectu
Appendix I • 433
discederet” (and then the [problematic] Greek line απηει . . . . ομμασι βαδις μαν φαιδό).
Unlike his practice in the text of Lactantius’s De Mortibus Persecutorum, which begins the
book, he makes no comments in the margins.
Lucii Cæcilii Firmiani Lactantii, De Mortibus Persecutorum Liber. Accesserunt Passio-
nes: SS. Perpetuae & Felicitatis, S. Maximiliani, S. Felicis. Oxonii: E. Theatro Sheldo-
niano, 1680. This copy of the 1680 edition in the Cambridge University Library (CUL
Edition 3.38.34) has no annotations of any kind in the front matter or anywhere else, and
hence, unlike the British Library copy, it does not contain Spark’s autograph attribution
to Bishop Fell. The Præfatio is printed as a separate section (pp. 1–4) before the chapter
narrating their arrest, which begins Apprenhensi . . . (p. 5). Although the chapter divisions
are exactly where they appear in modern editions, the chapters are not assigned numbers.
There are some editorial conventions employed. For example, Saturus’s vision is preceded
by the header: Visio Saturi (p. 21). The only other chapter header in the text is on page 29,
where Passio Ut Supra appears in the middle of the page preceding Chapter Eighteen,
which begins Illuxit dies victoriae illorum. . . .
The Passio was well received after Holstenius’s edition appeared. The Passio made an
enormous impression on seventeenth- and eighteenth-century readers. It was frequently
referred to even when scholars were working on different texts. For example, it appears in
a very good edition of Lactantius’s De Mortibus Persecutorum. See Lucii Cæcilii Firmiani
Lactantii, De Mortibus Persecutorum, Cum notis Stephanii Baluzzi, editione secunda,
Accesserunt Gisb. Cuperi, Jo Columbi, Tho. Spark, Nic. Toinardi, Jo Georg. Graevii, Tho.
Gale, Elliae Boherelli, Trajecti ad Rhenum: Francisci Halma, 1692 (Cambridge Univer-
sity Library Edition 3.36.8). Cuperi provides an extended discussion of the scene of the
amphitheatre, the various implements of torture, and the anecdote of the bear in the Pas-
sio and its reluctance to fight (see part two of this volume). Cuperi was so intent to com-
municate the contents of the Passio that he used visual images to illustrate narrative
details. Page 185 of this text depicts an engraving of a bear and a naked female. The woman
is covered with a restraining net and shown lying on a large board (catasta?) which is
tilted at an angle and faces the bear. The bear has one paw on the bottom of the board
(here pontes) but seems reluctant to move further. Cuperi also cites Holstenius (p. 182):
Lucas Holstenius, vir paucis comparandus, censet Xiphilinum loqui de Pontibus Amphithe-
atri, quorum mentio in Passione SS. Perpetuae & Felicitatis; ad quam haec notat . . . .
T. Ruinart, Acta Primorum Martyrum sincera et selecta. Paris: Archbishop of Paris,
1689. Ruinart’s discussion of the emperors involved in the persecutions from Nero to
Maxentius, although largely drawn from Eusebius, is surprisingly balanced (pp.xxviii–
lxiii). Ruinart prints an Admonitio to the reader (p. 81) concerning his text of the Passio
with the acknowledgment that he has used the text of Holstenius supplemented by the
notes of Valois: Multum desiderata, & fr ustra in variis bibliothecis diu conquisita Acta ger-
mana Sanctarum Perpetuae & Felicitatis, invenit tandem studiosissimus sacræ antiquitatis
indagator Lucas Holstenius in cod. MS. Sacri monasterii Casinensis, unde eruta & Romæ
vulgata, eadem postea, cum ejusdem Holstenii notis, Parisiis edidit Henricus Valesius.
Ruinart discloses that he has also used two additional MSS to construct his text, MSS S
and P (p. lii): Passio SS. Perpetuae & Felicitatis cum sociis earum. Ex. 2 codd. Mss. Uno
434 • A P P E N D I X I
ecclesiæ Salisburgensis, & altero S. Cornelii Compendiensis, collata ad editionem Lucæ Hol-
stenii; also p. 81: Ecclesiae Salisburgensis, cujus codicis varias lectiones sapientissimi viri
Antonii Faure Theologi Parisiensis & Remensis Ecclesiae Praepositi beneficio accepimus;
alter vero qui ad annos 800 accedit, est bibliothecae nostri monasterii sancti Cornelii Com-
pendiensis. Ruinart is the first to misidentify the Salisbury MS (Sarisburiensis) as the Sal-
zburg MS (Salisburgensis), an error not corrected until Robinson, who did not see this
MS. Ruinart mistakenly dates the Salisbury MS four centuries too early. He does not use
all of Holstenius’s notes but uses them selectively, when he wishes to make a point. For
example, he acknowledges (p. 92, n. L) that where Holstenius read in c.XIII.6 defatiga-
tionibus, Ruinart prints de factionibus. Presumably he knew Valois’s gloss on this phrase.
Ruinart’s chapter divisions are those adopted in modern editions. The text is printed on
pages 85–96. He begins his text (p. 85) with this title: Passio Sanctarum Perpetuæ & Felic-
itatis, cum sociis earum, Ex 2. Codd. Mss. & editione Holstenii. He does, however, label the
opening chapter I as Præfatio, and he begins the next chapter with the heading Incipit Pas-
sio, following this with the Roman numeral for the next chapter and the text, i.e., II Appr-
enhensi sunt. . . . Migne used Ruinart’s text for the Patrologia Latina edition, volume 3
(Paris, 1844). Thus, by the mid-nineteenth century Holstenius’s edition, reworked by
Ruinart, who incorporated readings from the Salisbury and Paris MSS (BN MS Latin
17626), was the standard edition.
Andrea Gallandii, Bibliotheca Veterum Patrum. Venice: J. Baptistae Albrithii Hieron.
Fil, 1766. Gallandius notes in chapter XI on page xxiii that he is adopting Ruinart’s text,
Ex Actis Martyrum sinceris V.C. Theoderici Ruinart, pag. 77. Seqq. His chapter divisions
are those we use today, and even the doxology is included as part of chapter XX. Gallan-
dius acknowledges (p. xxiii) the existence of what he refers to as the Salisburgensis MS
(following Ruinart’s misidentification) and the codex from the Abbey of Saint-Corneille
in Compeigne (now BN Latin 17626). After noting that Holstenius has taken the Passio
from the Monte Cassino codex, he states (paraphrasing Ruinart): eadem postea cum ejus-
dem Holstenii notis, Parisiis edidit Henricus Valesius. Nos vero ea proferimus ex duobus
codicibus mss. cum eadem editione collatis: quorum unus est Ecclesiae Salisburgensis; cujus
codicis varias lectiones sapientissimi viri Antonii Faure theologi Parisiensis & Remensis
ecclesiae praepositi beneficio accepimus: alter vero qui ad annos 800 accedit, est bibliothecae
nostri monasterii sancti Cornelii Compendiensis. The text of the Passio appears on pages
174–98. Like Holstenius, Gallandius labels the chapter beginning Si vetera fidei exampla
as Præfatio (p. 174), but here he has numbered it I. His Chapter II is headed Incipit Passio.
The first chapter contains the title page, and his attributions (p. 165) are unambiguous:
Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis. Praemitt untur Veterum Testimonia. Subjiciun-
tur Vero Notae Postumae Lucae Holstenii, et Paralipomena Petri Possini e Soc Jesu. Gal-
landius prints excerpts from past writers on the Passio (pp. 164–73). He prints Holstenius
and Possini’s notes at the bottom of each page. In addition, Holstenius’s text is read against
what he calls Codd. Compend. & Salisb, the Paris BN MS and Salisbury MS. Allthough
Possini’s notes are far fewer than those of Holstenius, Possini’s notes, which Gallandius
cites, are learned and acute. For example, Possini typically cites Holstenius and then gives
one entire column to his own discussion of the event and its meaning. Possini’s gloss on
Appendix I • 435
what the Good Shepherd gave Perpetua to eat (p. 185) is still insightful. He reads this
passage as a prefiguration of Perpetua’s reception of the Eucharist. Gallandius presents a
long discussion of the date of the Passio, settles on the year 203, and identifies the likeliest
place as Thuburbo (p. 197): ad omnem certitudinem firmata remanet quam praeposuit
sententia de tempore Triumphi sanctarum Turbitanarum Martyrum Perpetuae et Felicita-
tis, anno Christi, Nonis Martii, gloriae immortalis palmam adeptarum.
J.R. Harris and S. K. Gifford, The Acts of the Martyrdom of Perpetua and Felicitas: The
Original Greek Text. London: C. J. Clay and Sons, 1890. This is a good edition providing
Latin and Greek texts on facing pages. Harris is the first to have produced in its entirety
the Greek text from MS; he also provides a lengthy commentary on the Passio, arguing,
among other things, the primacy of Greek as the language of composition, a position he
later rejected (see Shaw, The Passion of Perpetua).
J. Armitage Robinson, The Passion of S. Perpetua. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1891. Robinson prints the text based on his careful collation of MSS Monte Cas-
sino, BN Paris Latin 17626, and the readings from Salisbury taken from the Oxford edi-
tion of 1680 and those of Runiart. Although Robinson was the first to acknowledge the
confusion in the attribution of the Salisbury exemplar to Salzburg, he never discovered
the whereabouts of the Salisbury manuscript. Its provenance remains misidentified in
Amat’s edition (see below). Robinson provides a number of cruces which illustrate his
belief that the Latin exemplar was the original version and not the Greek (arguing against
J. Rendell Harris). Harris later acknowledged the primacy of the Latin. Robinson believed
that the Greek was filled with “blunders,” that the martyrs were from Carthage and not
Thuburbo, and that the Acta may have derived from the Latin version used by the Greek
redactor. Robinson also concludes on the basis of a close study of the different rhetorical
patterns in the Passio that Perpetua, Saturus, and the redactor are three different voices
written by the martyrs and the editor and that these distinctive voices are “entirely oblit-
erated” in the Greek version. He believes Tertullian to have been the redactor of the Passio
and cites a number of correspondences between his work and the Passio. He also posits
that the martyrs were familiar with the Shepherd of Hermas and that its language appears
in the Passio, and he suggests that the dream of Saturus may be indebted to the lost Apoc-
alypse of Peter. Robinson’s apparatus and notes are excellent. He also prints the Latin and
Greek versions of the Scillitan Martyrs.
Pius Franchi de’ Cavalieri, “La Passio ss. Perpetuae et Felicitatis,” in Scritti Agiografici,
Studi e Testi 221, Rome, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 1962, pp. 41–154. This volume
gathers together some of de’ Cavalieri’s writings on hagiography. The Passio essay is a
reprint from his earlier Römische Quartalschrift, Supplementhaft v, Rome, 1896. De’ Cav-
alieri prints the Latin text based on that of Holstenius and Possini and acknowledges that
he consulted the readings of Valois (1664); the Bollandists (1668); Spark (1680), who
first introduced the readings from what de’ Cavalieri calls “un cod. Sarisburiensis” (note
that de’ Cavalieri has the correct identification); and Ruinart (1689), who added readings
from “un ms. dell’abbazia di Compiègne (oggi nella Nazionale di Parigi, fonds Latin
17626) e si valse altresì delle varianti d’un codice Salisburgensis ora perduto (v. su questo
codice, forse = Sarisburiensis dell’ed. di Oxford, J. A. Robinson. . . .).” De’ Cavalieri
436 • A P P E N D I X I
numbers the text sequentially, identifying the chapter beginning Si vetera fidei exempla as
number I with no qualification that it had historically been called Praefatio since Hol-
stenius. The Latin and facing Greek texts are on pages 108–39. De’ Cavalieri prints three
black-and-white plates of the Greek codex (fols. 41r, 41v and 47v). He identifies the li-
brary for the Greek codex as “Codex gerosolimitano, S. Sepolcro 1.” He provides a detailed
introduction (pp. 40–106) to the relationship of the Latin and Greek versions and has
produced a solid edition. He believed Latin was the language of the original composition.
T. Herbert Bindley, The Epistle of the Gallican Churches: Lugdunum and Vienna. With
an appendix containing Tertullian’s Address to Martyrs and the Passion of St. Perpetua.
London: SPCK, 1900. Bindley bases his translation (pp. 61–76) on Robinson’s edition. It
is not a complete translation, as he abbreviates entire sections. For example, Perpetua’s
two visions of Dinocrates are cut and summaries provided: “In these sections Perpetua
narrates the substance of two further visions vouchsafed to her”. . . (p. 67). His translation
of the Good Shepherd and the milking episode, despite its liberties, likely reflects the
author’s intent better than most: “and gave me a piece of the cheese which he was making,
as it were a small mouthful, which I received with joined hands and ate” (p. 65).
Rudolf Knopf, Ausgewählte Märtyreracten. Tübingen and Leipzig: J. C. B. Mohr, 1901.
Knopf prints twenty-one of the “authentic” martyr stories. Perpetua and Felicity is the
eighth text he prints (pp. 44–57). He provides no textual commentary, prints only the
Latin text, and directs the reader to see Robinson and Franchi de’ Cavalieri for their notes
(p. 57). He concludes his very brief single note with a citation of his text’s indebtedness to
the PL edition (“Boll 7/III. Marz I 630–38. Ruin. 134–67”). See also the 4th edition, R.
Knopf, G. Krüger, and G. Ruhbach, Ausgewählte Märtyrerakten, 4 (Tübingen: Mohr,
1965).
Oscar V. Gebhardt, Acta martyrum selecta. Berlin: Alexander Duncker, 1902. He notes
in his introduction that he has used the edition of de’ Cavalieri. The entirety of his com-
mentary on the Passio is (p. vii): “Bei der Revision des lateinischen Originals der Passio
SS. Perpetuae et Felicitatis (VII) hat mir die Ausgabe von Pio Franchi de’ Cavalieri gute
Dienste geleistet; die Abweichungen des von mir dargebotenen Textes gehen, wo sie
nicht ausdrücklich als Konjecturen kenntlich gemacht sind, auf bisher unbenutzte hand-
schriften zurück, über die ich mir nähere Mittheilung für eine andere Gelegenheit vorbe-
halten muss. Für den griechischen Text konnte ich eine genaue Collation der einzigen
Handschrift benutzen, welche Herr H. Achelis mir vor Jahren in liebenswürdiger Weise
zur Verfügung gestellt hat.” He prints the Latin text on the top of the page and the Greek
below it. Gebhardt says (p. vii) he has made a new transcription of the Greek text and
seems to have read Cavalieri’s text against another Latin manuscript or manuscripts. Amat
notes with regard to Gebhardt: “L’édition fournit le texte grec et le texte latin, en colla-
tionnant les manuscrits de Saint-Gall et d’ Einsiedeln (E1 et E2; p. 93).” However, I have
found no explicit statement to this effect in his apparatus, and I presume Amat bases her
remark on textual evidence. Gebhardt frequently cites a MS F, but it is unclear if he means
this to refer to either St. Gall or Einsiedeln.
Gerhard Rauschen, “Die Akten der hl. Perpetua u. Felizitas,” in Frühchristliche Apolo-
geten und Märtyrerakten, O. Bardenhewer, Th. Schermann, K. Weyman, eds. 2 vols.
Appendix I • 437
Kempten & München: Jos. Köselschen, 1913. I: 40–56. Rauschen provides a translation
from the Latin to German. There is no Latin facing page, but he provides a brief commen-
tary. He takes his Latin text from Ruinart’s edition (hence C) from its printing in Migne
(PL . 3: 13–60). He refers his readers to de’ Cavalieri. He translates nine Acta martyrum
(1-Polycarp, 2-Justin, 3-Carpus, Papylus, and Agathonice, 4-Scillitan Martyrs, 5-Apollo-
nius, 6-Perpetua and Felicity, 7-Pionius, 8-Cyprian, 9-Lyons and Vienne). He notes that
the Passio is one of the finest of these narratives, calling it “eine Perle unter den alten
Märtyrerakten; der Verfasser ist wahrscheinlich Tertullian,” citing d’Alès, “L’auteur de la
Passio Perpetuae,” in Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique 1907, 5–18. He accepts Tertullian as
the likely author and indicates that the Greek is a translation of the original Latin, noting
“Ausser dem lateinischen Originale ist auch eine alte griechische Übersetzung erhalten”
(p. 295). On the issue of what the Good Shepherd gave Perpetua to eat, he translates
somewhat literally (p. 44): “Er gab mir von dem Käse der Milch, die er molk, einen Bis-
sen; ich empfing ihn mit zusammengelegten Händen und ass ihn, wobei die Umstehen-
den sagten: Amen.” He states, perhaps somewhat anachronistically, that this scene is a
dream-like depiction of the Eucharistic liturgy.
G. Sola, La passione delle SS Perpetua e Felicita. Rome: Liberia di Cultura, 1921. Pro-
vides a facing Latin and Italian translation and a brief introduction.
R. E. Wallis, trans. “The Martyrdom of Perpetua and Felicitas,” in Latin Christianity:
Its Founder, Tertullian, vol. 3 of The Ante-Nicene Fathers, eds., Alexander Roberts, James
Donaldson, and A. Cleveland Coxe. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1925. Appendix,
pp. 696–706. While Wallis never explicitly identifies the Latin text of his translation, it
appears to be taken from that of Ruinart as Migne printed it. This edition he believed “the
best and latest edition.” He believed Tertullian the editor and not the author of the Passio.
He accepts Carthage, and not Thuburbo, as the place of their death and dates their mar-
tyrdom about 202. Wallis believed the narrator a contemporary who wrote shortly after
the events. This is a translation only, with very few notes.
R. Waterville Muncey, The Passion of S. Perpetua: An English Translation with Intro-
duction and Notes. London and Toronto: J. M. Dent & Sons, Limited, 1927. This is a trans-
lation with no accompanying Latin text. Muncey accepts MS M as the best exemplar of
the Latin Passion of S. Perpetua (p. 2). He believes the Latin earlier than the Greek and
hence the original text (pp. 9–10); he equivocates on whether Tertullian was the author
(p. 12); his discussion of the MSS is taken from Robinson. He has very limited notes. This
is a reader’s edition only.
E. W. C. Owen, Some Authentic Acts of the Early Martyrs. Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1927. On p. 28, Owen repeats the no longer credible point that “(a) persecution [under
Septimus Severus] was regulated by a new series of edicts, (b) Christians were not ac-
cused by private prosecutor[s], but sought out by the state.” Owen accepts (p. 75) that the
autobiographic sections are authentic on the basis of a comparison of the style of these
sections with that of the redactor. He notes that the writing of Perpetua and Saturus dif-
fers from that of the redactor: “No one who has any sense of style can doubt that the
author of the remainder of the Acts is a different person from the writers of these chapters
[iii–x, xi–xiii]. His work is that of a man accustomed to composition, his sentences are
438 • A P P E N D I X I
often of considerable length and periodic in structure, he is fond of epigram, he is often

difficult (v. inf.). Their writing, on the other hand, is marked by extreme simplicity and a
complete absence of literary artifice.” He assumes Tertullian is the redactor on the basis of
style, similarity with Tertullian’s views on martyrdom, the Montanist sentiments in the
preface, and the textual alterations. Owen views the lack of appearance of the “Preface” in
some of the MSS as a reflection of orthodoxy’s anxieties about its Montanist sympathies
(p. 76). He states that Tertullian was a committed Montanist by 205, and he believes that
the Carthaginian Christians were heterodox. He uses Robinson and Knopf as his base text.
Walter Hayward Shewring, The Passion of SS. Perpetua and Felicity: A New Edition and
Translation of the Latin Text Together with the Sermons of S. Augustine upon These Saints
Now First Translated into English. London: Sheed & Ward, 1931. Shewring prints the
Latin text with an English translation and acknowledges that his edition is largely depen-
dent on Robinson and de’ Cavalieri, except that he has given greater consideration to the
MSS which he refers to as “BCMg”—MSS BN Paris BN Latin 17626, Salisbury, Ambro-
siana, and the Greek exemplar. He was aware of only four Latin MSS, these three and
Monte Cassino. Shewring accepts the primacy of the Latin exemplar over the Greek and
the authenticity of the autobiographical claims of Perpetua and Saturus. He accepts the
idea that Tertullian is the redactor, arguing principally that the Montanist elements in the
preface and epilogue were congenial to Tertullian’s own Montanist sympathies. His tex-
tual apparatus, notes, and bibliography are limited. Shewring also prints the sermons of
Saint Augustine which treat the Passio.
Cornelius Johannes Maria Joseph van Beek. Passio sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis.
Nijmegen: Dekker and Van de Vegt, 1936. With J. Amat’s edition and that of Bastiaensen,
van Beek remains the standard edition of the Latin and Greek texts.
———. Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis. Latine et Graece. Florilegium Patris-
ticum tam veteris quam medii aevi auctores complectens, fasc. XLIII. Bonn: Petri
Hanstein, 1938.
Primo Vannutelli, Atti dei martiri. Vaticano: Pontifico Instituto di Archeologia Cristi-
ana, 1939. Vannutelli’s small book provides the Latin texts of the Scillitan Martyrs, the
Passio, and the Acta proconsularia Sancti Cypriani with a facing page translation into Ital-
ian. There is little apparatus. The Latin text of the Passio he has taken from the edition of
R. Knopf, but he has emended that text with readings from the Latin text of Giuseppe
Sola, La passione delle SS. Perpetua e Felicita (Rome, 1921). Vannutelli translates the
scene of the Good Shepherd and the milking anecdote thus: “Poi me chiamò; e mi porse
tanto come un boccone di panna rappresa di quel latte che stava mungendo; lo ricevetti
con le mani giunte e lo mangiai. Tutti i circostanti dissero: Amen.” (p. 21). He calls the
Passio the gem of these passion narratives (p. 4, and see Rauschen): “La gemma di questo
genere è la passio sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis, che noi diamo in secondo luogo nel
nostro libretto.”
Marie-Louise von Franz, The Passion of Perpetua, trans. E. Welch and ed. D. Sharp.
Toronto: Inner City Books, 2004; 1st ed. 1949. This is a Jungian study of the dreams of
Perpetua and provides translations of the four dreams from von Franz’s German. Welch
compared the German against Shewring, Owen, and Roberts and Donaldson.
Appendix I • 439
Herbert Musurillo, The Acts of the Christian Martyrs. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1962.
Musurillo prints Van Beek’s Latin text and provides a facing-page translation. The twen-
ty-one notes he provides cite almost exclusively the text’s dependence on Biblical texts.
He provides a sketch of the Passio and accepts the primacy of the Latin over the Greek
version (pp. xxv–xxvii). Although there are some problems with his translation, Musu-
rillo’s version remains the principal English translation.
A. A. R. Bastiaensen, “Atti e Passioni dei Martiri,” Scrittori Greci e Latini. Milan: Fon-
dazione Lorenzo Valla, 1967. This is a thoughtful edition and is particularly useful for
Bastiaensen’s supple understanding of the language of the Passio. This is one of the best of
the recent editions and should be used in conjunction with that of Amat.
R. P. Julio Campos, “Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis,” in Suplementos de
Etudios Clásicos, no. 2, Madrid, 1967. This is a printing of the Latin text alone, with a
limited number of notes at the bottom of each page. Campos accepts Tertullian as the
redactor (p. 26) and argues this point at greater length in his “El autor de la Passio SS.
Perpetuae et Felicitatis,” Helmantica xxxiii (1959): 357–81. He uses van Beek’s text, and
on one occasion only does he cite from different MSS, in this instance from G and E in
his note on the gloss of prosecutoribus, indicating that these MSS read persecutoribus
(p. 29).
A. G. Hamman, “Félicité et Perpétue,” in Les premiers martyrs de l’église. Paris: Des-
clée de Browuwer, 1979, pp.70–85, 157–58. Hamman’s French translation of the Passio is
based on the Knopf edition (1901), corrected by G. Kruger (1929). This is a reader’s
edition, with no scholarly apparatus. He accepts the Latin version as the original but gives
no reason for his choice of the Latin over the Greek. He does not think that the tradition
that ascribes the text to Tertullian is terribly convincing, save for the prologue and the
conclusion.
Victor Saxer, “Passion de Pérpetue, Félicité et Compagnons,” in Saints anciens
d’Afr ique du nord. Vatican: Tipografia Poliglotta Vaticana, 1979, pp. 39–57. Saxer trans-
lates the Passio into French and appears to have taken his translation from both Robin-
son and de’ Cavalieri. Although he cites both editions in a note, he is not explicit about
whether he used both texts or one or the other in making his translation. This is a reader’s
edition, with few notes. Saxer believes that Perpetua wrote her original text in Latin, that
Saturus wrote his in Greek, and that the compiler wrote his additions in Latin. He does
not believe Tertullian had a hand in the composition. He leans toward Carthage as the
site of the martyrdom rather than Thuburbo. Saxer cites the Passio’s indebtedness to
works like the Shepherd of Hermas and other apocalyptic texts like Revelation, the As-
cension of Isaiah, the Apocalypse of Moses, and the Book of Henoch. He provides a limited
bibliography.
R. Rader, “The Martyrdom of Perpetua: A Protest Account of Third-Century Christi-
anity,” in A Lost Tradition: Women Writers of the Early Church, ed. P. Wilson-Kastner.
New York: University Press of America, 1981, pp. 1–31. Rader provides a brief introduc-
tion and notes to accompany her English translation, which is based on the Latin and
Greek texts in Robinson. She does not address the problem of the Greek versus the Latin
versions. This is a reader’s edition.
440 • A P P E N D I X I
Ioan Ramureanu, Actele Martirice. Bucharest: Institutului Biblic şi de misiune al Biser-

icii Ortodoxe Române, 1982, 372 p. This is an edition in Romanian. I have not read it.
Peter Dronke, Women Writers of the Middle Ages: A Critical Study of Texts from Per-
petua to Marguerite Porete . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984. Dronke’s
translation is based on van Beek’s Latin text. Dronke reads the text as deeply indebted
to classical literary antecedents and resists interpretations that see it as embodying a
programmatic Christian reading.
J. W. Halporn, Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis. Bryn Mawr Latin Commen-
taries. Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania, 1984. This is a student’s reading edition of the Latin text
alone. Halporn prints van Beek’s text. His notes chiefly concern grammar.
Giuliana Caldarelli, Att i dei martiri. Edizioni Paoline: Milan, 1985. A collection of acts
of the martyrs with brief introductions to each text and a general overall introduction to
the period of the persecutions (pp. 7–47). The two versions of the Acta are translated into
Italian but with few notes.
A. A. R. Bastiaensen “Atti e Passioni dei Martiri,” in Scritt ori Greci e Latini Milan:
Fondazione Lorenzo Valla, 1987. Bastiaensen prints the text (pp. 114–27) from van
Beek with a facing-page Italian translation by Giachino Chiarini. Bastiaensen’s notes
are intelligent and insightful (pp. 413–52). Chiarini’s translation of the scene with the
Good Shepherd is rendered thus: “Poi mi chiamò per nome e mi offrì un boccone del
formaggio che mungeva. Io lo presi a mani giunte e lo mangiai. Tutti i presenti dissero:
‘Amen.’” Bastiaensen provides an index of scriptural citations (pp. 609–10). He accepts
the primacy of the Latin chiefly because of the authenticity of Perpetua’s idiomatic
style (p. 416). He lists all the MSS except Canterbury E. 42 and adopts van Beeks’
sigils.
Andrzej Malinowski, Sylwetki diakonów w “Acta martyrum” [Exempla diaconorum in
“Actibus martyrum” proposita], Vox Patrum 9 (1989), f.17, pp. 757–79. A Polish version
which I have not read.
Clementina Mazzucco. “E fui fatta maschio”: La donna nel cristianesimo primitivo (sec-
oli I–III): Con un’appendice sulla Passio Perpetuae . Firenze: Casa Editrice Le Lettere,
1989. Provides a translation into Italian (pp. 142–61) and some notes.
Shôsaku Toki and Kenji Toki, Junkyôsha gyôden [Acts of the martyrs], Tokyo:
Kyôbunkan, 1990, 345–101p. (Kirisutokyô kyôfu chosakushu, 22). The Passio is on pp.
77–95. This is an annotated translation of Mururillo’s text with very detailed indexes of
terms and language in Japanese. I have not read it.
Brent Shaw. “The Passion of Perpetua.” Past and Present 139 (1993): 3–45. This is a
good, idiomatic modern translation. Shaw provides a particularly insightful and learned
commentary, which is especially good on certain issues such as the way in which R and
subsequent male editors “appropriated” Pereptua’s text.
Sara Maitland, The Martyrdom of Perpetua. Evesham: Arthur James, 1996. This is a
reprint of Shewring’s translation accompanied by Augustine’s sermons on the saints.
There is a brief introduction in which Maitland identifies herself as a feminist who finds
inspiration in the story of Perpetua and Felicity. This is a nonscholarly book intended to
be accessible and inexpensive.
Appendix I • 441
Jacqueline Amat, Passion de Perpétue et de Félicité suivi des Actes. Sources Chré-
tiennes, no. 417. Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 1996. Although Amat’s text is indebted to
that of van Beek, she collates that edition against all the other manuscripts except the
fragmentary bit in the Canterbury MS. She prints the Latin and the Greek texts one
atop the other (as Gebhardt did before her). Her introduction provides a thoughtful
discussion of the context for their martyrdom, the families of the martyrs, the nature of
the dreams, and literary influences on the text, particularly from the Shepherd of
Hermas. Her comments on the relationship of the Latin and Greek versions are very
informative; she argues for the primacy of the Latin text over that of the Greek. Her
collation has provided her with a useful stemma, showing the descent of the different
exemplars, the unique descent of the Monte Cassino MS, and the mutual dependence
of all the remaining eight MSS from a no longer extant text which she labels B. She pro-
vides only a limited discussion of the MSS. Her translation of both the Latin and the
Greek is thoughtful and keeps close to the original. Her notes are judicious and provide
solid historical information. In addition to the Passio, she prints and translates texts
types I and II of the Acta and provides a collation for both. She concludes her most
useful edition with an index of scripture, an index verborum, and an index nominum for
the Passio.
Jakob Balling, Ulla Morre Bidstrup, and Torben Brammung, De unge skal se syner: Per-
petuamartyriet oversat og kommenteret. Aarhus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag, 1997. This is a
Latin text with facing-page Danish translation. The Latin is taken from van Beek’s 1936
edition. Following Barnes, the authors argue that Tertullian or one of his disciples had a
hand in the composition (p. 58: “at forfatteren kan antages at have været en af Tertullian
påvirket ven eller discipel”).
Maria Corti, Un ponte tra latino e italiano. Novara: Interlinea, 2002. Corti translates
selections of the Passio into Italian. She is interested almost exclusively in Perpetua’s writ-
ings and so omits chapters 1, 2, 11–17.
Petr Kitzler, Umučení svaté Perpetuy a Felicity. Passio SS. Perpetuae and Felicitatis. In:
Teologický sborník (2, 2002), pp. 75–83. This is a Czech translation of chapters three
through ten with a brief introduction and notes. It is the only translation in Czech. I have
not read it.
Vincent Hunink, Elisabeth van Ketwich Verschuur, Arie Akkermans, and Toon Basti-
aensen, Eeuwig Geluk: De passie van de vroeg-christelijke martelaressen Perpetua en Felici-
tas & Drie preken van Augustinus. Zoetermeer: Meinema, 2004. Provides an edition of
the Latin and a translation into Dutch.
Peter Habermehl, Perpetua und der Ägypter oder Bilder des Bösen im fr ühen afr i-
kanischen Christentum: Ein Versuch zur Passio sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis, 2nd
ed. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2004. Habermehl provides a Latin text with a German
translation. His text is principally that of van Beek. He translates the episode of Perpetua
meeting the Good Shepherd: “Und er rief mich herbei, und von dem Käse, den er molk,
gab er mir gleichsam einen Bissen. Und ich empfing ihn mit ineinandergelegten Händen
und aß. Und sämtliche Umstehenden sagten ‘amen’” (p. 15; compare with Rauschen
above). He provides a thorough bibliography.
442 • A P P E N D I X I
Marco Formisano, ed., La passione di Perpetua e Felicita. Milan: Biblioteca Univer-

sale Rizzoli, 2008. Pp. xiii, 133. Formisano provides an introduction, the Latin text
(van Beek’s), and his translation into Italian, with notes. Eva Cantarella provides a brief
preface to the Passio addressing some of the difficult questions concerning Perpetua’s
background, arguing that the family is from Thuburbo Minus (viii), that Perpetua is
likely a divorcée (x), and that the father’s patria potestas is the reason for his dominant
role in her affairs (x). Formisano’s introduction of fifty-four pages (“seppur brevis-
simo”) discusses the form of the Passio, the three narrative voices, its place in the genre
of the Acta Martyrum , and an analysis of Perpetua’s dreams, with particular attention
to the language of physicality and its implications for gender, and compares the Passio
with the works of Borges and Levi. He concludes that as “diario” the narrative occupies
a Borgesian liminal space outside of the definitions of genre (61).
The Passio and the Acta

The Passio survives in far fewer MSS (9) than the Acta (41). As I am not presenting an
edition of the Acta, I am not providing a discussion of those MSS. The reasons for the
increased popularity of the Acta over that of the Passio are complex and reflect not only
changes in taste but likely certain ecclesial changes as well. The Acta are more “hagio-
graphic” than the Passio; that is, they generalize themes, idealize characters, and tend to
ignore narrative nuance. Presumably, the text of the Passio had achieved something of an
iconic status, and the redactors were reluctant to change it. The Acta are sufficiently dif-
ferent in form and content that they allowed for change. The Acta suggest a text that may
have been intended for the epitomized readings in the second nocturne. They fill in the
gaps, emphasize the miraculous, and domesticate the figures of these independent
women. For example, in the Acta Perpetua’s husband appears before the proconsul with
her mother and father with her infant child to plead that she recant. Moreover, the com-
parative brevity of the Acta allowed them to be epitomized for the Matins readings and,
after the mid-thirteenth century, for inclusion in the breviary readings. The latest extant
Passio MS A is late twelfth century (Ambrosiana C.210, infer), whereas the latest extant
Acta codex, is MS Treverensis (B8/2h) is late seventeenth century.
Occasionally, the two narratives have been misidentified, a version of the Acta being
mistaken for the Passio and vice versa. If one relies on catalog descriptions taken from
incipits only, such misidentifications are easy to make. For example, G. Becker in his
Catalogi bibliothecarum antiqui (Bonn: Max Cohen and Sons, 1885) notes two MSS
with tantalizing incipits. Becker notes that MS Reichenau 10, a liber festivalis of the
lives and passions of the saints which dates from the mid-ninth century, contains a text
labeled Perpetuae et Felicitatis (p. 21). This is almost certainly a version of the Acta; it
is likely the text later identified by Albert Holder in his catalogue of Reichenau MSS,
Die Reichenauer Handscrrift en, 1. “Die Pergamenthandschriften,” Leipzig: B.G. Teub-
ner, 1906, p. 128 (here number xxxii, but van Beek sigil 2a). However, Becker’s entry
for MS Saint-Nazare 510, passio sancti Saturnini et sancti saturi, Felicitatis et Perpetuae
in uno codice, is of interest, particularly because he refers to it as a single codex. If this
note meant a single quire, St. Nazare 510, for example, might well be a no longer extant
Appendix I • 443
Passio, since, depending on the size of the fols., the Passio text could fill a quire as it
does in MS M. Becker’s remarks about the Saint Nazare codex have been slightly ex-
panded in Theodor Gottleib, Ueber Mitt elalterliche Bibliotheken (Leipzig: Harrassow-
itz, 1890), p. 49m, no.109, who considered it a mid-ninth-century florilegium. Gottleib
referred to MS St. Nazare 510 as Euangelium pictum cum auro scriptum habens tabulas
eburneas.
APPENDIX II
The Greek Text
MAPTYPION THΣ AΓ IAΣ Π EPΠ ETOYAΣ KAI TΩ N

Σ YN AYTHI TEΛ EIΩΘENTΩ N EN AΦPIKHI· THI Π PO
TEΣΣ APΩ N NONΩ N ΦEYPOYAPIΩ N. EYΛOΓ HΣON
Ἐπὶ Oὐαλεριανοῦ καὶ Γαλιηνοῦ διωγμὸς ἐγένετο, ἐν ᾧ ἐμαρτ ύρησαν οἱ ἅγιοι
Σάτ υρος, Σατορνῖλος, Ῥεουκάτος, Περπετούα , Φηλικιτάτη, νόναις Φευρουαρίαις.
I
1. Eἰ τὰ παλαιὰ τῆς πίστεως δείγματα, καὶ δόξαν θεοῦ φανεροῦντα καὶ οἰκοδομὴν
ἀνθρώποις ἀποτελοῦντα, διὰ τοῦτό ἐστιν γεγραμμένα, ἵνα τῇ ἀναγνώσει αὐτῶν ὡς
παρουσίᾳ τῶν πραγμάτων χρώμεθα καὶ ὁ θεὸς δοξασθῇ, διὰ τί μὴ καὶ τὰ καινὰ
παραδείγματα, ἅτε δὴ ἑκάτερα ἐργαζόμενα ὠφέλειαν, ὡσαύτως γραφῇ παραδοθῇ; 2.
Ἢ γὰρ τὰ νῦν πραχθέντα οὐ τὴν αὐτὴν παρρησίαν ἔχει, ἐπεὶ δοκεῖ πως εἶναι τὰ ἀρχαῖα
σεμνότερα; Πλὴν καὶ ταῦτα ὕστερόν ποτε γενόμενα παλαιά, ὡσαύτως τοῖς μεθ᾿ ἡμᾶς
γενήσεται καὶ ἀναγκαῖα καὶ τίμια. 3. Ἀ λλ᾿ ὄψονται οἵτινες μίαν δύναμιν ἑνὸς ἁγίου
π νεύματος κατὰ τὰς ἡλικίας κρίνουσιν τῶν χρόνων· ὅτε δὴ δυνατώτερα ἔδει νοεῖσθαι
τὰ καινότερα, ὡς ἔσχατα, αὐξανομένης τῆς χάριτος τῆς εἰς τὰ τέλη τῶν καιρῶν
ἐπηγγελμένης. 4. Ἐν ἐσχ άταις γὰρ ἡμέραις, λέγει ὁ κύριος, ἐκχ εῶ ἀπὸ τοῦ πνεύματός
μου ἐπὶ πᾶσαν σάρκα, καὶ προφητεύσουσιν οἱ υἱοὶ ὑμῶν καὶ αἱ θυγατέρες ὑμῶν· καὶ
οἱ νεανίσκοι ὑμῶν ὁράσεις ὄψονται, καὶ οἱ πρεσβῦται ὑμῶν ἐνυπνίοις ἐνυπνιασθήσονται.
5. Ἡμεῖς δέ, οἵτινες προφητείας καὶ ὁράσεις καινὰς δεχόμεθα καὶ ἐπιγινώσκομεν καὶ
τιμῶμεν, πάσας τὰς δυνάμεις τοῦ ἁγίου π νεύματος ὡς χορηγεῖ τῇ ἁγίᾳ ἐκκλησίᾳ
• 445 •
446 • A P P E N D I X I I
(πρὸς ἣν καὶ ἐπέμφθη πάντα τὰ χαρίσματα ἐν πᾶσιν διοικοῦν, ἑκάστῳ ὡς ἐμέρισεν ὁ

θεός) ἀναγκαίως καὶ ἀναμιμνήσκομεν καὶ πρὸς οἰκοδομὴν εἰσάγομεν, μετὰ ἀγάπης
ταῦτα ποιοῦντες εἰς δόξαν θεοῦ καὶ ἵνα μή πως ᾖ ἀβέβαιός τις καὶ ὀλιγόπιστος, ἢ καὶ
τοῖς παλαιοῖς μόνον τὴν χάριν καὶ τὴν δύναμιν δίδοσθαι νομίσῃ, εἴτε ἐν τοῖς τῶν
μαρτ ύρων εἴτε ἐν τοῖς τῶν ἀποκαλύψεων ἀξιώμασιν, πάντοτε ἐργαζομένου τοῦ θεοῦ
ἃ ἐπηγγείλατο εἰς μαρτ ύριον μὲν τῶν ἀπίστων, εἰς ἀντίλημψιν δὲ τῶν πιστῶν. 6. Kαὶ
ἡμεῖς ἃ ἠκούσαμεν καὶ ἑωράκαμεν καὶ ἐψηλαφήσαμεν, εὐαγγελιζόμεθα ὑμῖν, ἀδελφοὶ
καὶ τέκνα, ἵνα καὶ οἱ σ υμπαρόντες ἀναμνησθῶσιν δόξης θεοῦ, καὶ οἱ νῦν δι᾿ ἀκοῆς
γινώσκοντες κοινωνίαν ἔχητε μετὰ τῶν ἁγίων μαρτ ύρων, καὶ δι᾿ αὐτῶν μετὰ τοῦ
κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Xριστοῦ, ᾧ ἡ δόξα εἰς τοὺς αἰῶνας τῶν αἰώνων. Ἀμήν.
II
1. Ἐν πόλει Θου[βου]ρβιτανῶν τῇ μικροτέρᾳ συνελήφθησαν νεανίσκοι
κατηχούμενοι· Ῥεουκάτος καὶ Φηλικιτάτη, σύνδουλοι, καὶ Σατορνῖλος καὶ Σεκοῦνδος·
μετ᾿ αὐτῶν δὲ καὶ Oὐιβία Περπετούα , ἥτις ἦν γεννηθεῖσα εὐγενῶς καὶ τραφεῖσα
πολυτελῶς γαμηθεῖσά τε ἐξόχως. 2. Aὕτη εἶχεν πατέρα καὶ μητέρα καὶ δύο ἀδελφούς,
ὧν ὁ ἕτερος ἦν ὡσαύτως κατηχούμενος· εἶχεν δὲ καὶ τέκνον, ὃ πρὸς τοῖς μασθοῖς ἔτι
ἐθήλαζεν. 3. Ἦν δὲ αὐτὴ ἐτῶν εἴκοσι δύο· ἥτις πᾶσαν τὴν τάξιν τοῦ μαρτυρίου ἐντεῦθεν
διηγήσατο, ὡς καὶ τῷ νοῒ αὐτῆς καὶ τῇ χειρὶ συγγράψασα κατέλιπεν, οὕτως εἰποῦσα·
III
1. Ἔτι” φησίν “ἡμῶν παρατηρουμένων, ἐπεχείρει ὁ πατήρ μου λόγοις πείθειν με
κατὰ τὴν ἑαυτοῦ εὐσπλαγχνίαν τῆς προκειμένης ὁμολογίας ἐκπεσεῖν. 2. Kἀγὼ πρὸς
αὐτόν· ‘Πάτερ,’ ἔφην, ‘ὁρᾷς λόγου χάριν σκεῦος κείμενον ἢ ἄλλο τι τῶν τοιούτων;’
Kἀκεῖνος ἀπεκριθη· ‘ Ὁρῶ.’ Kἀγὠ· ‘Ἄ λλο ὀνομάζειν αὐτὸ μὴ Θέμις; Oὐδὲ δύναμαι εἰ
μὴ ὅ εἰμι, τουτέστιν Xριστιανή.’ 3. Tότε ὁ πατήρ μου, ταραχθεὶς τῷδε τῷ λόγῳ,
ἐπελθὼν ἠθέλησεν τοὺς ὀφθαλμούς μου ἐξορύξαι· ἔπειτα μwόνον κράξας ἐξῆλθεν
νικηθεὶς μετὰ τῶν τοῦ διαβόλου μηχανῶν. 4. Tότε ὀλίγας ἡμέρας ἀποδημήσαντος
αὐτοῦ, ηὐχαρίστησα τῷ κυρίῳ καὶ ἥσθην ἀπόντος αὐτοῦ. 5. Kαὶ ἐν αὐταῖς ταῖς ἡμέραις
ἐβαπτίσθημεν· καὶ ἐμὲ ὑπηγόρευσεν τὸ πνεῦμα τὸ ἅγιον μηδὲν ἄλλο αἰτήσασθαι ἀπὸ
τοῦ ὕδατος τοῦ βαπτίσματος εἰ μὴ σαρκὸς ὑπομονήν. Mετὰ δὲ ὀλίγας ἡμέρας
ἐβλήθημεν εἰς φυλακήν, καὶ ἐξενίσθην· οὐ γὰρ πώποτε τοιοῦτον ἑωράκειν σκότος. 6.
Ὦ δεινὴν ἡμέραν καῦμά τε σφοδρόν· καὶ γὰρ ἀνθρώπων πλῆθος ἦν ἐκεῖ, ἄλλως τε καὶ
στρατιωτῶν συκοφαντίαι πλεῖσται· μεθ᾿ ἃ δὴ πάντα κατεπονούμην διὰ τὸ νήπιον
τέκνον. 7. Tότε Tέρτιος καὶ Πομπόνιος, εὐλογημένοι διάκονοι οἳ διηκόνουν ἡμῖν,
τιμὰς δόντες ἐποίησαν ἡμᾶς εἰς ἡμερώτερον τόπον τῆς φυλακῆς μεταχθῆναι. 8. Tότε
ἀναπνοῆς ἐτύχομεν, καὶ δή ἕκαστοι προσαχθέντες ἐσχόλαζον ἑαυτοῖς· καὶ τὸ βρέφος
ἠνέχθη πρός με , καὶ ἐπεδίδουν αὐτῷ γάλα ἤδη αὐχμῷ μαρανθέν τι· τ ῇ μητρὶ
προσελάλουν, τὸν ἀδελφὸν προετρεπόμην, τὸ νήπιον παρετιθέμην· ἐτηκόμην δὲ ὅτι
Appendix II • 447
ἐθεώρουν αὐτοὺς δι᾿ ἐμὲ λυπουμένους. 9. Oὕτως περίλυπος πλείσταις ἡμέραις οὖσα,
ᾔτησα καὶ τὸ βρέφος ἐν τῇ φυλακῇ μετ᾿ ἐμοῦ μένειν· κἀκεῖνο ἀνέλαβεν καὶ ἐγὼ
ἐκουφίσθην ἀπὸ ἀνίας καὶ πόνου, καὶ ἰδοὺ ἡ φυλακὴ ἐμοὶ γέγονεν πραιτώριον, ὡς
μᾶλλόν με ἐκεῖ θέλειν εἶναι καὶ οὐκ ἀλλαχοῦ.
IV
1. Tότε εἶπέν μοι ὁ ἀδελφός· ‘Kυρία ἀδελφή, ἤδη ἐν μεγάλῳ ἀξιώματι ὑπάρχεις,
τοσαύτη οὖσα ὡς εἰ αἰτήσειας ὀπτασίας, ὀπτασίαν λάβοις ἂν εἰς τὸ δειχθῆναί σοι εἴπερ
ἀναβολὴν ἔχεις ἢ παθεῖν μέλλεις.’ 2. Kἀγὼ ἥτις ᾔδειν με ὁμιλοῦσαν θεῷ, οὗ γε δὴ
τοσαύτας εὐεργεσίας εἶχον, πίστεως πλήρης οὖσα ἐπηγγειλάμην αὐτῷ εἰποῦσα· ‘Aὔριόν
σοι ἀπαγγελῶ.’ Ἠιτησάμην δέ, καὶ ἐδείχθη μοι τοῦτο· 3. Eἶδον κλίμακα χαλκῆν
θαυμαστοῦ μήκους, ἧς τὸ μῆκος ἄχρις οὐρανοῦ· στενὴ δὲ ἦν ὡς μηδένα δι᾿ αὐτῆς
δύνασθαι εἰ μὴ μοναχὸν ἕνα ἀναβῆναι. Ἐξ ἑκατέρων δὲ τῶν τῆς κλίμακος μερῶν πᾶν
εἶδος ἦν ἐμπεπηγμένον ἐκεῖ ξιφῶν, δοράτων, ἀγκίστρων, μαχαιρῶν, ὀβελίσκων, ἵνα πᾶς
ὁ ἀναβαίνων ἀμελῶς καὶ μὴ ἀναβλέπων τοῖς ἀκοντίοις τὰς σάρκας σπαραχθῇ. 4. Ἦν δὲ
ὑπ᾿ αὐτῇ τῇ κλίμακι δράκων ὑπερμεγέθης, ὃς δὴ τοὺς ἀναβαίνοντας ἐνήδρευεν,
ἐκθαμβῶν ὅπως μὴ τολμῶσιν ἀναβαίνειν. 5. Ἀνέβη δὲ ὁ Σάτυρος, ὃς δὴ ὕστερον δι᾿
ἡμᾶς ἑκὼν παρέδωκεν ἑαυτόν (αὐτοῦ γὰρ καὶ οἰκοδομὴ ἦμεν), ἀλλ᾿ ὅτε συνελήφθημεν
ἀπῆν. 6. Ὡς οὖν πρὸς τὸ ἄκρον τῆς κλίμακος παρεγένετο, ἐστράφη καὶ εἶπεν·
‘Περπετούα , περιμένω σε· ἀλλὰ βλέπε μή σε ὁ δράκων δάκῃ.’ Kαὶ εἶπον· ‘Oὐ μή με
βλάψῃ, ἐν ὀνόματι Ἰησοῦ Xριστοῦ.’ 7. Kαὶ ὑποκάτω τῆς κλίμακος, ὡσεὶ φοβούμενός με,
ἠρέμα τὴν κεφαλὴν προσήνεγκεν· καὶ ὡς εἰς τὸν πρῶτον βαθμὸν ἠθέλησα ἐπιβῆναι,
τὴν κεφαλὴν αὐτοῦ ἐπάτησα . 8. Kαὶ εἶδον ἐκεῖ κῆπον μέγιστον, καὶ ἐν μέσῳ τοῦ
κήπου ἄνθρωπον πολιὸν καθεζόμενον, ποιμένος σχῆμα ἔχοντα , ὑπερμεγέθη, ὃς
ἤμελγεν τὰ πρόβατα· περιειστήκεισαν δὲ αὐτῷ πολλαὶ χιλιάδες λευχειμονούντων. 9.
Ἐπάρας δὲ τὴν κεφαλὴν ἐθεάσατό με καὶ εἶπεν· ‘Kαλῶς ἐλήλυθας, τέκνον.’ Kαὶ
ἐκάλεσέν με καὶ ἐκ τοῦ τ υροῦ οὗ ἤμελγεν, ἔδωκέν μοι ὡσεὶ ψωμίον· καὶ ἔλαβον
ζεύξασα τὰς χεῖράς μου καὶ ἔφαγον· καὶ εἶπαν πάντες οἱ παρεστῶτες· ‘Ἀμήν.’ 10. Kαὶ
πρὸς τὸν ἦχον τῆς φωνῆς ἐξυπ νίσθην, ἔτι τί ποτε μασωμένη γλυκύ. Kαὶ εὐθέως
διηγησάμην τῷ ἀδελφῷ· καὶ ἐνοήσαμεν ὅτι δέοι παθεῖν. Kαὶ ἠρξάμην ἔκτοτε μηδεμίαν
ἐλπίδα ἐν τῷ αἰῶνι τούτῳ ἔχειν.
V
1. Mετὰ δὲ ἡμέρας ὀλίγας ἔγνωμεν μέλλειν ἡμᾶς ἀκουσθήσεσθαι. Παρεγένετο δὲ καὶ ὁ
πατὴρ ἐκ τῆς πόλεως, ἀδημονίᾳ μαραινόμενος, καὶ ἀνέβη πρός με προτρεπόμενός με
καταβαλεῖν, λέγων· 2. ‘Θύγατερ, ἐλέησον τὰς πολιάς μου· ἐλέησον τὸν πατέρα σου,
εἴπερ ἄξιός εἰμι ὀνομασθῆναι πατήρ σου· μνήσθητι ὅτι ταῖς χερσὶν ταύταις πρὸς τὸ
τοιοῦτον ἄνθος τῆς ἡλικίας ἀνήγαγόν σε , καὶ προειλόμην σε ὑπὲρ τοὺς ἀδελφούς σου
3. [ὅρα τοὺς ἀδελφους σου] ὅρα τὴν σὴν μητέρα καὶ τήν τῆς μητρός σου ἀδελφήν, ἴδε
τὸν υἱον σου ὃς μετὰ σὲ ζῆν οὐ δύναται . 4. Ἀπόθου τοὺς θυμοὺς καὶ μὴ ἡμᾶς πάντας
ἐξολοθρεύσῃς· οὐδεὶς γὰρ ἡμῶν μετὰ παρρησίας λαλήσει, ἐάν τί σοι συμβῇ». 5.
Tαῦτα ἔλεγεν ὡς πατήρ κατὰ τὴν τῶν γονέων εὔνοιαν, καὶ κατεφίλει μου τὰς χεῖρας
καὶ ἑαυτὸν ἔρριπτεν ἔμπροσθεν τῶν ποδῶν μου, καὶ ἐπιδακρύων οὐκέτι με θυγατέρα,
ἀλλὰ κυρίαν ἐπεκάλει. 6. Ἐγὼ δὲ περὶ τῆς διαθέσεως τοῦ πατρὸς ἤλγουν, ὅτι ἐν ὅλῳ τῷ
ἐμῷ γένει μόνος οὐκ ἠγαλλιᾶτο ἐν τῷ ἐμῷ πάθει. Παρεμυθησάμην δὲ αὐτὸν εἰποῦσα·
‘Tοῦτο γενήσεται ἐν τῷ βήματι ἐκείνῷ [ὃ] ἐὰν θέλῃ ὁ κύριος· γνῶθι γὰρ ὅτι οὐκ ἐν τῇ
ἡμετέρᾳ ἐξουσίᾳ, ἀλλ᾿ ἐν τῇ τοῦ θεοῦ ἐσόμεθα.’ Kαὶ ἐχωρίσθη ἀπ᾿ ἐμοῦ ἀδημονῶν.
VI
1. Kαὶ τῇ ἡμέρᾳ ἐν ᾗ ὥριστο ἡρπάγημεν ἵνα ἀκουσθῶμεν. Kαὶ ὡς παρεγενήθημεν
εἰς τὴν ἀγοράν, φήμη εὐθὺς εἰς τὰ ἐγγὺς μέρη διῆλθεν, καὶ συνέδραμεν πλεῖστος
ὄχλος. 2. Ὠς δὲ ἀνέβημεν εἰς τὸ βῆμα, ἐξετασθέντες οἱ λοιποὶ ὡμολόγησαν. Ἤμελλον
δὲ κἀγὼ ἐξετάζεσθαι. Kαὶ ἐφάνη ἐκεῖ μετὰ τοῦ τέκνου μου ὁ πατήρ, καὶ καταγαγών με
πρὸς ἑαυτὸν εἶπεν· ‘ Ἐπίθυσον ἐλεήσασα τὸ βρέφος.’ 3. Kαὶ Ἱλαριανός τις ἐπίτροπος,
ὃς τότε τοῦ ἀνθυπάτου ἀποθανόντος Mινουκίου Ὀππιανοῦ ἐξουσίαν εἰλήφει
μαχαίρας, λέγει μοι· ‘Φεῖσαι’ ‘τῶν πολιῶν τοῦ πατρός σου, φεῖσαι τῆς τοῦ παιδίου
νηπιότητος· ἐπίθυσον ὑπὲρ σωτηρίας τῶν αὐτοκρατόρων’. 4. Kἀγὼ ἀπεκρίθην. ‘Oὐ
θύω.’ Kαὶ εἶπεν Ἱλαριανός· ‘Xριστιανὴ εἶ;’ Kαὶ εἶπον· ‘Xριστιανή εἰμι.’ 5. Kαὶ ὡς
ἐσπούδαζεν ὁ πατήρ μου καταβαλεῖν με ἀπὸ τῆς ὁμολογίας, κελεύσαντος Ἱλαριανοῦ
ἐξεβλήθη· προσέτι δὲ καὶ τῇ ῥάβδῳ τῶν δορυφόρων τις ἐτ ύπτησεν αὐτόν· Kἀγὼ
σφόδρα ἤλγησα, ἐλεήσασα τὸ γῆρας αὐτοῦ. 6. Tότε ἡμᾶς πάντας πρὸς θηρία κατακρίνει·
καὶ χαίροντες κατῄειμεν εἰς φυλακήν. 7. Ἐπειδὴ δὲ ὑπ᾿ ἐμοῦ ἐθηλάζετο τὸ παιδίον καὶ
μετ᾿ ἐμοῦ ἐν τῇ φυλακῇ εἰώθει μένειν, πέμπω πρὸς τὸν πατέρα μου Πομπόνιον
διάκονον, αἰτοῦσα τὸ βρέφος. 8. Ὁ δὲ πατὴρ οὐκ ἔδωκεν. Πλήν, ὡς ὁ θεὸς ᾠκονόμησεν,
οὔτε ὁ παῖς μασθοὺς ἐπεθύμησεν ἔκτοτε, οὔτε ἐμοί τις προσγέγονεν φλεγμονή· ἴσως
ἵνα [μη]` καὶ τῇ τοῦ παιδίου φροντίδι καὶ τῇ τῶν μασθῶν ἀλγηδόνι καταπονηθῶ.
VII
1. Kαὶ μ ετ᾿ ὀλίγας ἡμ έρας προσευχομ ένων ἡμῶν ἁπάν των, ἐξαίφνης ἐν μέσῳ
τῆς προσευχῆς ἀφῆκα φωνὴν καὶ ὠνόμασα Δεινοκράτην. Kαὶ ἔκθαμβος ἐγενήθην,
διότι οὐδέποτε εἰ μὴ τότε ἀνάμνησιν αὐτοῦ πεποιήκειν· ἤλγησα δὲ εἰς μνήμην ἐλθοῦσα
τῆς αὐτοῦ τελευτῆς. 2. Πλὴν εὐθέως ἔγνων ἐμαυτὴν ἀξίαν οὖσαν αἴτησιν ποιήσασθαι
περὶ αὐτοῦ, καὶ ἠρξάμην πρὸς κύριον μετὰ στεναγμῶν προσεύχεσθαι τὰ πλεῖστα . 3.
Kαὶ εὐθέως αὐτῇ τῇ νυκτὶ ἐδηλώθη μοι τοῦτο· 4. Ὁρῶ Δεινοκράτην ἐξερχόμενον ἐκ
τόπου σκοτεινοῦ, ὅπου καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοὶ καυματιζόμενοι καὶ διψῶντες ἦσαν, ἐσθῆτα
ἔχοντα ῥυπαράν, ὠχρὸν τῇ χρόᾳ· καὶ τὸ τραῦμα ἐν τῆ ὄψει αὐτοῦ, περιὸν ἔτι ὅπερ
τελετευτῶν εἶχεν. 5. Oὗτος δὲ ὁ Δεινοκράτης, ὁ καὶ ἀδελφός μου κατὰ σάρκα ,
ἑπταετὴς τεθνήκει ἀσθενήσας καὶ τὴν ὄψιν αὐτοῦ γαγγραίνῃ σαπείς, ὡς τὸν θάνατον
αὐτοῦ στ υγητὸν γενέσθαι πᾶσιν ἀνθρώποις. 6. Ἐθεώρουν οὖν μέγα διάστημα ἀνὰ
μέσον αὐτοῦ καὶ ἐμοῦ, ὡς μὴ δύνασθαι ἡμᾶς ἀλλήλοις προσελθεῖν. 7. Ἐν ἐκείνῳ δὲ τῷ
Appendix II • 449
τόπῳ ἐν ᾧ ἦν ὁ ἀδελφός μου, κολυμβήθρα ἦν, ὕδατος πλήρης, ὑψηλοτέραν δὲ εἶχεν

τὴν κρηπῖδα ὑπὲρ τὸ τοῦ παιδίου μῆκος. Πρὸς ταύτην ὁ Δεινοκράτης διετείνετο πιεῖν
προαιρούμενος. 8. Ἐγὼ δὲ ἤλγουν, διότι καὶ ἡ κολυμβήθρα ἦν πλήρης ὕδατος, καὶ τὸ
παιδίον οὐκ ἠδύνατο πιεῖν διὰ τὴν ὑψηλότητα τῆς κρηπῖδος. 9. Kαὶ ἐξυπνίσθην, καὶ
ἔγνων κάμνειν τὸν ἀδελφόν μου· ἐπεποίθειν δὲ δύνασθαί με αὐτῷ βοηθῆσαι ἐν ταῖς
ἀνὰ μέσον ἡμέραις, ἐν αἷς κατήχθημεν εἰς τὴν ἄλλην φυλακήν τὴν τοῦ χιλιάρχου·
ἐγγὺς γὰρ ἦν τῆς παρεμβολῆς οὗ ἠμέλλομεν θηριομαχεῖν· γενέθλιον γὰρ ἤμελλεν
ἐπιτελεῖσθαι Kαίσαρος. 10. Eἶτα προσευξαμένη μετὰ στεναγμῶν σφοδρῶς περὶ τοῦ
ἀδελφοῦ μου ἡμέρας τε καὶ νυκτός, δωρηθῆναί μοι αὐτὸν ἠξίωσα .
VIII
1. Kαὶ εὐθὺς ἐν τῇ ἑσπέρᾳ ἐν ᾗ ἐν νέρβῳ ἐμείναμεν, ἐδείχθη μοι τοῦτο· Ὁρῶ τόπῳ
ἐν ᾧ ἑωράκειν τὸν Δεινοκράτην καθαρῷ σώματι ὄντα καὶ καλῶς ἠμφιεσμένον καὶ
ἀναψύχοντα· καὶ ὅπου τὸ τραῦμα ἦν, οὐλὴν ὁρῶ. 2. Kαὶ ἡ κρηπὶς τῆς κολυμβήθρας
κατήχθη ἕως τοῦ ὀμφαλίου αὐτοῦ· ἔρρεεν δὲ ἐξ αὐτῆς ἀδιαλείπτως ὕδωρ. 3. Kαὶ
ἐπάνω τῆς κρηπῖδος ἦν χρυσῆ φιάλη μεστή. Kαὶ προσελθὼν ὁ Δεινοκράτης ἤρξατο
ἐξ αὐτῆς πίνειν, ἡ δὲ φιάλη οὐκ ἐνέλειπεν. 4. Kαὶ ἐμπλησθεὶς ἤρξατο παίζειν,
ἀγαλλιώμενος ὡς τὰ νήπια . Kαὶ ἐξυπ νίσθην. Kαὶ ἐνόησα ὅτι μετετέθη ἐκ τῶν
τιμωριῶν.
IX
1. Kαὶ μετ᾿ ὀλίγας ἡμέρας Πούδης τις στρατιώτης, ὁ τῆς φυλακῆς προιστάμενος,
μετὰ πολλῆς τῆς σπουδῆς ἤρξατο ἡμᾶς τιμᾶν καὶ δοξάζειν τὸν θεόν, ἐννοῶν δύναμιν
μεγάλην εἶναι περὶ ἡμᾶς. Διὸ καὶ πολλοὺς εἰσελθεῖν πρὸς ἡμᾶς οὐκ ἐκώλυεν εἰς τὸ
ἡμᾶς διὰ τῶν ἐπαλλήλων παραμυθιῶν παρηγορεῖσθαι. 2. Ἤγγισεν δὲ ἡ ἡμέρα τῶν
φιλοτιμιῶν, καὶ εἰσέρχεται πρός με ὁ πατὴρ, τῇ ἀκηδίᾳ μαρανθείς, καὶ ἤρξατο τὸν
πώγωνα τὸν ἴδιον ἐκτίλλειν ῥίπτειν τε ἐπὶ γῆς, καὶ λέγων τοιαῦτα ῥήματα ὡς πᾶσαν
δύνασθαι τὴν κτίσιν σαλεῦσαι. 3. Ἐγὼ δὲ ἐπένθουν διὰ τὸ ταλαίπωρον γῆρας αὐτοῦ.
X
1. Πρὸ μιᾶς οὖν τοῦ θηριομαχεῖν ἡμᾶς βλέπω ὅραμα τοιοῦτον· Πομπόνιος ὁ
διάκονος ‘φησίν’ ἦλθεν πρὸς τὴν θύραν τῆς φυλακῆς καὶ ἔκρουσεν σφόδρα. 2.
Ἐξελθοῦσα ἤνοιξα αὐτῷ· καὶ ἦν ἐνδεδυμένος ἐσθῆτα λαμπρὰν καὶ περιεζωσμένος,
εἶχεν δὲ ποικίλα ὑποδήματα. Kαὶ λέγει μοι· ‘Σὲ περιμένω, ἐλθέ.’ 3. Kαὶ ἐκράτησεν τὰς
χεῖράς μου, καὶ ἐπορεύθημεν διὰ τραχέων καὶ σκολιῶν τόπων. 4. Kαὶ μόλις
παρεγενόμεθα εἰς τὸ ἀμφιθέατρον, καὶ εἰσήγαγέν με εἰς τὸ μέσον καὶ λέγει μοι· ‘Mὴ
φοβηθῇς· ἐνθάδε εἰμὶ μετὰ σοῦ, συγκάμνων σοι.’ Kαὶ ἀπῆλθεν. 5. Kαὶ ἰδοὺ βλέπω
πλεῖστον ὄχλον ἀπόπληκτον τῇ θεωρίᾳ σφόδρα· κἀγὼ ἥτις ἤδειν πρὸς θηρία με
καταδικασθεῖσαν, ἐθαύμαζον ὅτι οὐκ ἔβαλλόν μοι αὐτά. 6. Kαὶ ἦλθεν πρός με
Aἰγύπτιός τις ἄμορφος τῷ σχήματι μετὰ τῶν ὐπουργούντων αὐτῷ, μαχησόμενός
μοι. Kαὶ ἔρχεται πρός με νεανίας τις εὐμορφότατος, τῷ κάλλει ἐξαστράπτων, καὶ
ἕτεροι μετ᾿ αὐτοῦ νεανίαι ὡραῖοι, ὑπηρέται καὶ σπουδασταὶ ἐμοί. 7. Kαὶ ἐξεδύθην,
καὶ ἐγενήθην ἄρρην· καὶ ἤρξαντο οἱ ἀντιλήμπτορές μου ἐλαίῳ με ἀλείφειν, ὡς ἔθος
ἐστὶν ἐν ἀγῶνι· καὶ ἄντικρυς βλέπω τὸν Aἰγύπτιον ἐκεῖνον ἐν τῷ κονιορτῷ
κυλιόμενον. 8. Ἐξῆλθεν δέ τις ἀνὴρ θαυμαστοῦ μεγέθους, ὑπερέχων τοῦ ἄκρου τοῦ
ἀμφιθεάτρου, διεζωσμένος ἐσθῆτα, ἥτις εἶχεν οὐ μόνον ἐκ τῶν δύο ὤμων τὴν
πορφύραν, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀνὰ μέσον ἐπὶ τοῦ στήθους· εἶχεν δὲ καὶ ὑποδήματα ποικίλα ἐκ
χρυσίου καὶ ἀργυρίου· ἐβάσταζεν δὲ καὶ ῥάβδον, ὡς βραβευτὴς ἢ προστάτης
μονομάχων· ἔφερεν δὲ καὶ κλάδους κλωροὺς ἔχοντας μῆλα χρυσᾶ. 9. Kαὶ αἰτήσας
σιγὴν γενέσθαι ἔφη· ‘Oὗτος ὁ Aἰγύπτιος ἐὰν ταύτην νικήσῃ, ἀνελεῖ αὐτὴν μαχαίρᾳ·
αὕτη δὲ ἐὰν νικήσῃ αὐτόν, λήψεται τὸν κλάδον τοῦτον.’ Kαὶ ἀπέστη. 10. Προσήλθομεν
δὲ ἀλλήλοις καὶ ἠρξάμεθα παγκρατιάζειν· ἐκεῖνος ἐμοῦ τοὺς πόδας κρατεῖν ἠβούλετο,
ἐγὼ δὲ λακτίσμασιν τὴν ὄψιν αὐτοῦ ἔτ υπτον. 11. Kαὶ ἰδοὺ ἐπῆρα ἐπ᾿ ἀέρος, καὶ
ἠρξάμην αὐτὸν οὕτως τ ύπτειν ὡς μὴ πατοῦσα τὴν γῆν. Ἰδοῦσα δὲ ὡς οὐδέπω ᾔκιζον
αὐτόν, ζεύξασα τὰς χεῖράς μου καὶ δακτ ύλους δακτ ύλοις ἐμβαλοῦσα τῆς κεφαλῆς
αὐτοῦ ἐπελαβόμην, καὶ ἔρριψα αὐτὸν ἐπ᾿ ὄψει καὶ ἐπάτησα τὴν κεφαλὴν αὐτοῦ. 12.
Kαὶ ἤρξατο πᾶς ὁ ὄχλος βοᾶν, καὶ οἱ σπουδασταί μου ἐγαυρίων. Kαὶ προσῆλθον τῷ
βραβευτῇ καὶ ἔλαβον τὸν κλάδον. 13. Kαὶ ἠσπάσατό με καὶ εἶπεν· ‘Eἰρήνη μετὰ σοῦ,
θύγατερ.’ Kαὶ ἠρξάμην εὐθὺς πορεύεσθαι μετὰ δόξης πρὸς πύλην τὴν λεγομένην
Zωτικήν. 14. Kαὶ ἐξυπνίσθην. Kαὶ ἐνόησα ὅτι οὐ πρὸς θηρία μοι, ἀλλὰ πρὸς τὸν διάβολόν
ἐστιν ἡ ἐσομένη μάχη, καὶ συνῆκα ὅτι νικήσω αὐτόν. 15. Tαῦτα ἕως πρὸ μιᾶς τῶν
φιλοτιμιῶν ἔγραψα. Tὰ ἐν τῷ ἀμφιθεάτρῳ γενησόμενα ὁ θέλων συγγραψάτω.”
XI
1. Ἀ λλὰ καὶ ὁ μακάριος Σάτυρος τὴν ἰδίαν ὀπτασίαν αὐτὸς δι᾿ ἑαυτοῦ συγγράψας
ἐφανέρωσεν τοιαῦτα εἰρηκώς· 2. “Ἤδη’ φησίν ‘ἦμεν ὡς πεπονθότες καὶ ἐκ τῆς σαρκὸς
ἐξεληλύθειμεν, καὶ ἠρξάμεθα βαστάζεσθαι ὑπὸ τεσσάρων ἀγγέλων πρὸς ἀνατολάς, καὶ αἱ
χεῖρες ἡμῶν οὐχ ἥπτοντο. 3. Ἐπορευόμεθα δὲ εἰς τὰ ἀνώτερα, καὶ οὐχ ὕπτιοι, ἀλλ᾿ οἷον ὡς
δι᾿ ὁμαλῆς ἀναβάσεως ἐφερόμεθα. 4. Kαὶ δὴ ἐξελθόντες τὸν πρῶτον κόσμον φῶς
λαμπρότατον εἴδομεν· καὶ εἶπον πρὸς τὴν Περπετούαν (πλησίον γάρ μου ἦν)· ‘Tοῦτό
ἐστιν ὅπερ ὁ κύριος ἡμῶν ἐπηγγείλατο· μετειλήφαμεν τῆς ἐπαγγελίας.’ 5. Aἰωρουμένων
δὲ ἡμῶν διὰ τῶν τεσσάρων ἀγγέλων, ἐγένετο στάδιον μέγα, ὅπερ ὡσεὶ κῆπος ἦν, ἔχων
ῥόδου δένδρα καὶ πᾶν γένος τῶν ἀνθέων. 6. Tὸ δὲ ὕψος τῶν δένδρων ἦν ὡσεὶ κυπαρίσσου
μῆκος, ἀκαταπαύστως δὲ κατεφέρετο [τὰ δένδρα] τὰ φύλλα αὐτῶν. 7. Ἦσαν δὲ μεθ᾿
ἡμῶν ἐν αὐτῷ τῷ κήπῳ οἱ τέσσαρες ἄγγελοι, ἀλλήλων ἐνδοξότεροι, ὑφ᾿ ὧν ἐφερόμεθα·
πτοου μένους δὲ ἡμᾶς καὶ θαυμάζοντας καὶ ἀπέθηκαν καὶ ἀνέλαβον. 8. Kαὶ ὁδὸν λαβόντες
διήλθομεν τὸ στάδιον τοῖς ἡμετέροις ποσίν. 9. Ἐκεῖ εὕρομεν Ἰουκοῦνδον καὶ Σάτυρον καὶ
Ἀρτάξιον, τοὺς ἐν αὐτῷ τῷ διωγμῷ ζῶντας κρεμασθέντας, εἴδομεν δὲ Kοΐντον τὸν
μάρτυρα τὸν ἐν τῇ φυλακῇ ἀποθανόντα. Ἐζητοῦμεν δὲ καὶ περὶ τῶν λοιπῶν, ποῦ ἄρα εἰσίν.
10. Kαὶ εἶπον οἱ ἄγγελοι πρὸς ἡμᾶς· ‘Δεῦτε πρῶτον ἔσω ἵνα ἀσπάσησθε τὸν κύριον.’
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XII
1. Kαὶ ἤλθομεν πλησίον τοῦ τόπου ἐκείνου τοῦ ἔχοντος τοίχους ὡσανεὶ ἐκ φωτὸς
ᾠκοδομημένους· καὶ πρὸ τῆς θύρας τοῦ τόπου ἐκείνου εἰσελθόντες οἱ τέσσαρες ἄγγελοι
ἐνέδυσαν ἡμᾶς λευκὰς στολάς. 2. Kαὶ εἰσήλθομεν καὶ ἠκούσαμεν φωνὴν ἡνωμένην
λεγόντων· ‘Ἅγιος, ἅγιος, ἃγιος,’ ἀκαταπαύστως. 3. Kαὶ εἴδομεν ἐν μέσῳ τοῦ τόπου
ἐκείνου καθεζόμενον ὡς ἄνθρωπον πολιόν· οὗ αἱ τρίχες ὅμοιαι χιόνος καὶ νεαρὸν τὸ
πρόσωπον αὐτοῦ, πόδας δὲ αὐτοῦ οὐκ ἐθεασάμεθα. 4. Πρεσβύτεροι δὲ τέσσαρες ἐκ
δεξιῶν καὶ τέσσαρες ἐξ εὐωνύμων ἦσαν αὐτοῦ, ὀπίσω δὲ τῶν τεσσάρων πολλοὶ
πρεσβύτεροι. 5. Ὡς δὲ θαυμάζοντες εἰσεληλύθαμεν καὶ ἔστημεν ἐνώπιον τοῦ θρόνου, οἱ
τέσσαρες ἄγγελοι ἐπῆραν ἡμᾶς, καὶ ἐφι λήσαμεν αὐτόν, καὶ τ ῇ χειρὶ περιέλαβεν
τὰς ὄψεις ἡμῶν. 6. Oἱ δὲ λοιποὶ πρεσβύτέροι εἶπον πρὸς ἡμᾶς· ‘Σταθῶμεν καὶ
προσευξώμεθα.’ Kαὶ εἰρηνοποιήσαντες ἀπ-εστάλημεν ὑπὸ τῶν πρεσβυτέρων, λεγόντων·
‘Πορεύεσθε καὶ χαίρεσθε.’ Kαὶ εἶπον Περπετούᾳ· ‘Ἔχεις ὃ ἐβούλου.’ 7. Kαὶ εἶπεν· ‘Tῷ
θεῷ χάρις, ἵνα, ὡς ἐν σαρκὶ μετὰ χαρᾶς ἐγενόμην, πλείονα χαρῶ νῦν.’
XIII
1. Ἐξήλθομεν δὲ καὶ εἴδομεν πρὸ τῶν θυρῶν Ὀπτάτον τὸν ἐπίσκοπον καὶ
Ἀσπάσιον τὸν πρεσβύτερον πρὸς τὰ ἀριστερὰ μέρη διακεχωρισμένους καὶ περιλύπους.
2. Kαὶ πεσόντες πρὸς τοὺς πόδας ἡμῶν ἔφασαν ἡμῖν· ‘Διαλλάξατε ἡμᾶς πρὸς ἀλλήλους,
ὅτι ἐξεληλύθατε καὶ οὕτως ἡμᾶς ἀφήκατε.’ 3. Kαὶ εἴπαμεν πρὸς αὐτούς· 4. ‘Oὐχὶ σ ὺ
πάπας ἡμέτερος εἶ, καὶ σ ὺ πρεσβύτερος; Ἵνα τί οὕτως προσεπέσατε τοῖς ἡμετέροις
ποσίν;’ Kαὶ σπλαγχνισθέντες περιελάβομεν αὐτούς. Kαὶ ἤρξατο ἡ Περπετούα
Ἑλληνιστὶ μετ᾿ αὐτῶν ὁμιλεῖν, καὶ ἀνεχωρήσαμεν σ ὺν αὐτοῖς εἰς τὸν κῆπον ὑπὸ τὸ
δένδρον τοῦ ῥόδου. 5. Kαὶ λαλούντων αὐτῶν μεθ᾿ ἡμῶν, ἀπεκρίθησαν οἱ ἄγγελοι
πρὸς αὐτούς· ‘ Ἐάσατε αὐτοὺς ἀναψύξαι, καὶ εἴ τινας διχοστασίας ἔχετε μεθ᾿ ἑαυτῶν,
ἄφετε ὑμεῖς ἀλλήλοις.’ 6. Kαὶ ἐπέπληξαν αὐτούς, καὶ εἶπαν Ὀπτάτῳ· ‘ Ἐπανόρθωσαι
τὸ πλῆθός σου· οὕτως γὰρ σ υνέρχονται πρός σε ὡσεὶ ἀπὸ ἱπποδρομιῶν ἐπανερχόμενοι
καὶ περὶ αὐτῶν φιλονεικοῦντες.’ 7. Ἐνομίζομεν δὲ αὐτοὺς ὡς θέλειν ἀποκλεῖσαι τὰς
πύλας. 8. Kαὶ ἠρξάμεθα ἐκεῖ πολλοὺς τῶν ἀδελφῶν ἐπιγινώσκειν, ἀλλά γε καὶ τοὺς
μάρτυρας. Ἐτρεφόμεθα δὲ πάντες ὀσμῇ ἀνεκδιηγήτῳ, ἥτις οὐκ ἐχόρταζεν ἡμᾶς. Kαὶ
εὐθέως χαίρων ἐξυπνίσθην.
XIV
1. Aὗται αἱ ὁράσεις ἐμφανέσταται τῶν μαρτύρων Σατύρου καὶ Περπετούας, [ἃς]
αὐτοὶ συνεγράψαντο. 2. Tὸν γὰρ Σεκοῦνδον τάχιον ὁ θεὸς ἐκ τοῦ κόσμου μετεπέμψατο·
ἐν γὰρ τῇ φυλακῇ τῆς κλήσεως ἠξιώθη σὺν τῇ χάριτι πάντως κερδάνας τὸ μὴ
θηριομαχῆσαι. 3. Πλὴν εἰ καὶ μὴ τὴν ψυχήν, ἀλλ᾿ οὖν γε τὴν σάρκα αὐτοῦ διεξῆλθεν τὸ
ξίφος.
XV
1. Ἀ λλὰ καὶ τ ῇ Φηλικιτάτ ῃ ἡ χάρις τοῦ θεοῦ τοιαύτ η ἐδόθη· 2. Ἐκείνη γὰρ
σ υλληφθεῖσα ὀκτὼ μηνῶν ἔχουσα γασ τέρα , πάνυ ὠδύρετο (διότι οὐκ ἔξεσ τιν
ἐγκύμονα θηριομαχεῖν ἢ τιμωρεῖσθαι), μήτως ὕστερον μετὰ ἄλλων ἀνοσίων ἐκχυθῇ τὸ
αἷμα αὐτῆς τὸ ἀθῷον· 3. Ἀ λλὰ καὶ οἱ συμμάρτυρες αὐτῆς περίλυποι ἦσαν σφόδρα οὕτω
καλὴν σ υνεργὸν καὶ ὡσεὶ σ υνοδοιπόρον ἐν ὁδῷ τ ῆς αὐτ ῆς ἐλπίδος μὴ θέλον τες
καταλείπειν. 4. Πρὸ τρίτης οὖν ἡμέρας τοῦ πάθους αὐτῶν κοινῷ στεναγμῷ ἑνωθέντες
προσευχ ὴν πρὸς τὸν Kύριον ἐποιήσαν το· 5. Kαὶ εὐθὺς μετὰ τ ὴν προσευχ ὴν ὠδῖνες
αὐτ ὴν σ υνέσχον, κατὰ τ ὴν τοῦ ὀγδόου μηνὸς φύσιν καλ επαί . Kαὶ κατὰ τὸν τοκετὸν
καμοῦσα ἤλγει· ἔφη δέ τις αὐτ ῇ τῶν παρατ ηρούν των ὐπηρετῶν· “Eἰ νῦν οὕτως
ἀλγεῖς, τί ἔχεις ποιῆσαι βληθεῖσα πρὸς θηρία , ὧν κατεφρόνησας ὅτε ἐπιθύειν
κατεφρόνησας καὶ οὐκ ἠθέλησας θῦσαι;” 6. Kἀκείνη ἀπεκρίθη· “Nῦν ἐγὼ πάσχω ὃ
πάσχω· ἐκεῖ δὲ ἄλλος ἐσ τὶν ὁ <ἐν ἐμοὶ> πάσχων ὑπὲρ ἐμοῦ [ἔσ ται ἐν ἐμοὶ ἵνα πάθῃ],
διότι ἐγὼ πάσχω ὑπὲρ αὐτοῦ”. Ἔτεκεν δὲ κοράσιον, ὃ μία τῶν ἀδελφῶν σ υλλαβοῦσα
εἰς θυγατέρα ἀνέθρεψεν αὑτ ῇ.
XVI
1. Ἡμῖν δὲ ἀναξίοις οὖσιν ἐπέτρεψεν τὸ ἅγιον πνεῦμα ἀναγράψαι τὴν τάξιν τὴν ἐπὶ
ταῖς φιλοτιμίαις παρακολουθήσασαν· πλὴν ὡς ἐντάλματι τῆς μακαρίας Περπετούας,
μᾶλλον δὲ ὡς κελεύσματι ὑπηρετοῦντες ἀποπληροῦμεν τὸ προσταχθὲν ἡμῖν. 2. Ὡς
δὲ πλείους ἡμέραι διεγίνοντο ἐν τῇ φυλακῇ αὐτῶν ὄντων, ἡ μεγαλόφροων καὶ
ἀνδρεία ὡς ἀληθῶς Περπετούα, τοῦ χιλιάρχου ἀπηνέστερον αὐτοῖς προσφερομένου,
τινῶν πρὸς αὐτὸν ματαίως διαβεβαιωσαμένων τὸ δεῖν φοβεῖσθαι μήπως ἐπῳδαῖς
μαγικαῖς τῆς φυλακῆς ὑπεξέλθωσιν, ἐνώπιον ἀπεκρίθη λέγουσα· 3. “Διὰ τί ἡμῖν
ἀναλαμβάνειν οὐκ ἐπιτρέπεις, ὀνομαστοῖς καταδίκοις Kαίσαρος γενεθλίοις
ἀναλωθησομένοις; Mὴ γὰρ οὐχὶ σὴ δόξα ἐσ τίν, ἐφ᾿ ὅσον πίονες προσερχόμεθα;”
4. Πρὸς ταῦτα ἔφριξεν καὶ ἐδυσωπήθη ὁ χιλίαρχος ἐκέλ ευσέν τε αὐτοὺς
φιλανθρωπότερον διάγειν, ὡς καὶ τὸν ἀδελφὸν αὐτ ῆς καὶ λοιπούς τινας δεδυνῆσθαι
εἰσελθεῖν καὶ ἀναλαμβάνειν μετ᾿ αὐτῶν. Tότε καὶ αὐτὸς ὁ τ ῆς φυλακῆς προεσ τὼς
ἐπίσ τευσεν.
XVII
1. Ἀ λλὰ καὶ πρὸ μιᾶς ὅτε τὸ ἔσχατον ἐκεῖνο ‘δεῖπνον,’ ὅπερ ἐλεύθερον
ὀνομάζουσιν, ὅσον δὲ ἐφ᾿ ἑαυτοῖς οὐκ ἐλεύθερον ‘δεῖπ νον’ ἀλλ᾿ ‘ἀγάπην’ ἀπετέλουν,
τῇ αὐτῶν παρρησίᾳ πρὸς [δὲ] τὸν ὄχλον τὸν ἐκεῖσε παρεστῶτα ῥήματα ἐξέπεμπον,
μετὰ πολλῆς παρρησίας αὐτοῖς ἀπειλοῦντες κρίσιν θεοῦ, ἀνθομολογούμενοι τὸν
μακαρισμὸν τοῦ πάθους ἑαυτῶν, καταγελῶντες τὴν περιεργίαν τῶν σ υντρεχόντων,
Σατ ύρου λέγοντος· 2. “ Ἡ αὔριον ἡμέρα ὑμῖν οὐκ ἐπαρκεῖ; Tί ἡδέως ὁρᾶτε οὓς
μισεῖτε; Σήμερον φίλοι, αὔριον ἐχθροί. Πλὴν ἐπισημειώσασθε τὰ πρόσωπα ἡμῶν
Appendix II • 453
ἐπιμελῶς, ἵνα καὶ ἐπιγνῶτε ἡμᾶς ἐν ἐκείνῃ τῇ ἡμέρᾳ.” 3. Oὕτως ἅπαντες ἐκεῖθεν
ἐκπληττόμενοι ἐχωρίζοντο· ἐξ ὧν πλεῖστοι ἐπίστευσαν.
XVIII
1. Ἐπέλαμψεν δὲ ἡ ἡμέρα τῆς νίκης αὐτῶν, καὶ προῆλθον ἐκ τῆς φυλακῆς εἰς τὸ
ἀμφιθέατρον ὡς εἰς οὐρανὸν ἀπιόντες, ἱλαροὶ καὶ φαιδροὶ τῷ προσώπῳ, πτοούμενοι
εἰ τ ύχοι χαρᾷ μᾶλλον ἢ φόβῳ. 2. Ἠκολούθει δὲ ἡ Περπετούα πρᾴως βαδίζουσα, ὡς
ματρῶνα Xριστοῦ, ἐγρηγόρῳ ὀφθαλμῷ, καὶ τῇ προσόψει καταβάλλουσα τὰς πάντων
ὁράσεις. 3. ῾ομοίως καὶ Φηλικιτάτη χαίρουσα ἐπὶ τῇ τοῦ τοκετοῦ ὑγείᾳ ἵνα θηριομαχήσῃ,
ἀπὸ αἵματος εἰς αἷμα , ἀπὸ μαίας πρὸς μονομαχίαν, μέλλουσα λούσασθαι μετὰ
τὸν τοκετὸν βαπτισμῷ δευτέρῳ, τουτέσ τιν τῷ ἰδίῳ αἵματι . 4. Ὅτε δὲ ἤγγισαν πρὸς
τὸ ἀμφιθεάτρον, ἠναγκάζοντο ἐνδύσασθαι σχήματα , οἱ μὲν ἄρρενες ἱερέων Kρόνου,
αἱ δὲ θήλειαι τῆς Δημήτρας· ἀλλ᾿ ἡ εὐγενεστάτη ἐκείνη [Περπετούα] παρρησίᾳ
ἠγωνίσατο ἕως τέλους. 5. Ἔλεγεν γάρ· “Διὰ τοῦτο ἑκουσίως εἰς τοῦτο ἐληλύθαμεν,
ἵνα ἡ ἐλευθερία ἡμῶν μὴ ἡττηθῇ· διὰ τοῦτο τὴν ψυχὴν ἡμῶν παρεδώκαμεν, ἵνα μηδὲν
τῶν τοιούτων πράξωμεν· τοῦτο συνεταξάμεθα μεθ᾿ ὑμῶν.” 6. Ἐπέγνω ἡ ἀδικία τὴν
δικαιοσύνην· καὶ μετέπειτα ἐπέτρεψεν ὁ κιλίαρχος ἵνα οὕτως εἰσαχθῶσιν ὡς ἦσαν. 7.
Kαὶ ἡ Περπετούα ἔψαλλεν, τὴν κεφαλὴν τοῦ Aἰγυπτίου ἤδη πατοῦσα . Ῥεουκάτος δὲ
καὶ Σατορνῖλος καὶ Σάτ υρος τῷ θεωροῦντι ὄχλῳ προσωμίλουν. 8. Kαὶ γενόμενοι
ἔμπροσθεν Ἱλαριανοῦ κινήμασιν καὶ νεύμασιν ἔφασαν· “Σὺ ἡμᾶς, καὶ σὲ ὁ θεός.” 9.
Πρὸς ταῦτα ἀγριωθεὶς ὁ ὄχλος μαστιγωθῆναι αὐτοὺς ἐβόησεν· ἀλλὰ οἱ ἅγιοι
ἠγαλλιάσθησαν ὅτι ὑπέμεινάν τι καὶ ἐκ τῶν κυριακῶν παθῶν.
XIX
1. Ἀ λλ᾿ ὁ εἰπών· “Aἰτεῖσθε καὶ λήψεσθε,” ἔδωκεν τοῖς αἰτήσασιν ταύτην τὴν δόξαν
οἵαν ἕκαστος αὐτῶν ἐπεθύμησεν. 2. Eἴ ποτε γὰρ μεθ᾿ ἑαυτῶν περὶ τῆς εὐχῆς τοῦ
μαρτυρίου συνελάλουν, Σατορνῖλος μὲν πᾶσιν τοῖς θηρίοις βληθῆναι ἑαυτὸν θέλειν
[ἔλεγεν], πάντως ἵνα ἐνδοξότερον στέφανον ἀπολάβῃ. 3. Ἐν ἀρχῇ γοῦν τῆς θεωρίας
αὐτὸς μετὰ Ῥεουκάτου πάρδαλιν ὑπέμεινεν· ἀλλὰ καὶ ὕστερον ἐπὶ τῆς γεφύρας ὑπὸ
ἄρκου διεσπαράχθη. 4. Σάτυρος δὲ οὐδὲν μᾶλλον ἢ ἄρκον ἀπεστρέφετο· καὶ ἑνὶ δήγματι
παρδάλεως τελειοῦσθαι αὑτὸν ἐπεπόθει. 5. Ὥστε καὶ τῷ συῒ διακονούμενος ἐσύρη
μόνον, σχοινίῳ προσδεθείς, ὁ δὲ θηρατὴς ὁ τῷ συῒ αὐτὸν προσβαλὼν ὑπὸ τοῦ θηρὸς
κατετρώθη οὕτως ὡς μεθ᾿ ἡμέραν τῶν φιλοτιμιῶν ἀποθανεῖν. 6. Ἀ λλὰ καὶ πρὸς ἄρκον
διαδεθεὶς ὑγιὴς πάλιν διέμεινεν· ἐκ γὰρ τοῦ ζωγρίου αὐτῆς ἡ ἄρκος οὐκ ἠθέλησεν
ἐξελθεῖν.
XX
1. Tαῖς μακαρίαις δὲ νεάνισιν ἀγριωτάτην δάμαλιν ἡτοίμασεν ὁ διάβολος, τὸ θῆλυ
αὐτῶν παραζηλῶν διὰ τοῦ θηρίου. 2. Kαὶ γυμνωθεῖσαι γοῦν καὶ δικτ ύοις
περιβληθεῖσαι προσήγοντο· ὅθεν ἀπεστράφη ὁ ὄχλος, μίαν μὲν τρυφερὰν κόρην
βλέπων, τὴν δὲ ἄλλην μασθοῖς στάζουσαν γάλα , ὡς προσφάτως κυήσασαν. 3. Kαὶ

ἀναληφθεῖσαι πάλιν ἐνδιδύσκονται ὑποζώσμασιν· ὅθεν εἰσελθουσῶν αὐτων, ἡ
Περπετούα πρώτη κερατισθεῖσα ἔπεσεν ἐπ᾿ ὀσφύος. 4. Kαὶ ἀνακαθίσασα τὸν χιτῶνα
ἐκ τῆς πλευρᾶς αὐτῆς σ υναγαγοῦσα , ἐσκέπασεν τὸν ἑαυτῆς μηρόν, αἰδοῦς μᾶλλον
μνημονεύσασα ἢ πόνων· [αἰδουμένη, μηδαμῶς φροντίσασα τῶν ἀλγηδόνων]. 5. Kαὶ
ἐπιζητήσασα βελόνην τὰ ἐσπαραγμένα σ υνέσφιγξεν· καὶ τὰς τρίχας τῆς κεφαλῆς
περιέδησεν· οὐ γὰρ ἔπρεπεν τῇ μάρτ υρι θριξὶν σπαραχθείσαις ὁρᾶσθαι ἵνα μὴ ἐν τῇ
ἰδίᾳ τιμῇ δοκῇ πενθεῖν. 6. [καὶ κ ερατισθεῖσαιςὶδοῦσα τὴν φιλικιτάτην, προσῆλθεν
αὐτῇ] καὶ κρατήσασα τῆς χειρὸς αὐτῆς ἤγειρεν αὐτ ήν. 7. Kαὶ ἔσ τ ησαν ἅμα . Tῆς δὲ
σ κ ληρότ ητος τοῦ ὄχλου ἐκνικηθείσ ης ἀνε λήφθησαν εἰς τὴν πύλην τὴν Zωτικήν. 8.
Ἐκεῖ ἡ Περπετούα ὑπό τινος κατηχουμένου ὀνόματι Ῥουστίκου, ὃς παρειστήκει
αὐτῇ, ἀναδεχθεῖσα καὶ ὡς ἐξ ὕπ νου ἐγερθεῖσα (οὕτως ἐν πνεύματι γέγονεν ἔκστασιν
παθοῦσα) καὶ περιβλεψαμένη, θαμβούντων ἁπάντων ἔφη· “Πότε βαλλόμεθα πρὸς
τὴν δάμαλιν ἣν λέγουσιν;” 9. Kαὶ ἀκούσασα ὅτι ἤδη ἐξεληλύθει πρὸς αὐτήν, οὐ
πρότερον ἐπίστευσεν πρὶν ἢ σημεῖά τινα τῆς βλάβης ἐν τῷ ἰδίῳ σώματι ἑωράκει . 10.
<Kαὶ> καλέσασα τὸν ἴδιον ἀδελφόν, καὶ αὐτὸν [τὸν] κατηχούμενον, παρεκάλει ἵνα
ἐν πίστει διαμείνωσιν καὶ ἀλλήλους ἀγαπῶσιν, καὶ τοῖς παθήμασιν ἐκείνοις μὴ
σκανδαλισθῶσιν τοιούτοις οὖσιν.
XXI
1. Kαὶ ἐν ἑτέρᾳ πύλῃ ὁ Σάτ υρος τῷ στρατιώτῃ Πούδεντι προσωμίλει “Kαθόλου,”
λέγων [ὅτι] “κατὰ τὴν πρόλεξιν τὴν ἐμήν, ὡς καὶ προεῖπον, οὐδὲ ἓν θηρίον ἥψατό μου
ἕως ἄρτι. Ἰδοὺ δὲ νῦν, ἵνα ἐξ ὅλης καρδίας πιστεύσῃς· προσέρχομαι καὶ ἐν ἑνὶ δήγματι
παρδάλεως τελειοῦμαι.” 2. Kαὶ ευθὺς ἐν τέλει τῆς θεωρίας πάρδαλις αὐτῷ ἐβλήθη, καὶ
ἐν ἑνὶ δήγματι [τοῦ αἵματος τοῦ ἁγίου ἐνεπλήσθη] τοσοῦτον αἷμα ἐρρύη, ὡς
λογισθῆναι δευτέρου βαπτισμοῦ μαρτ ύριον· καθὼς καὶ ἐπεφώνει ὁ ὄχλος βοῶν καὶ
λέγων· “Kαλῶς ἐλούσω, καλῶς ελούσω.” 3. Kαὶ μὴν ὑγιὴς ἦν ὁ τοιούτῳ τρόπῳ
λελουμένος. 4. Tότε τῷ στρατιώτῃ Πούδεντι ἔφη· “ Ὑγίαινε καὶ μνημόνευε [τῆς]
πίστεως καὶ ἐμοῦ· καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα καὶ στερεωσάτω σε μᾶλλον ἢ ταραξάτω.” 5. Kαὶ
δακτ ύλιον αἰτήσας παρ᾿ αὐτοῦ καὶ ἐνθεὶς αὐτὸ τῷ ἰδίῳ αἵματι ἔδωκεν αὐτῷ μακαρίαν
κληρονομίαν, ἀφεὶς μνήμην καὶ ἐνθήκην αἵματος τηλικούτου. 6. Mετὰ ταῦτα λοιπὸν
ἐμπνέων ἔτι ἀπήχθη μετὰ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῷ συνήθει τόπῳ εἰς σφαγὴν. 7. Ὁ δὲ ὄχλος
ᾔτησεν αὐτοὺς εἰς μέσον μεταχθῆναι, ὅπως διὰ τῶν ἁγίων σωμάτων ἐλαυνόμενον τὸ
ξίφος θεάσωνται. Kαὶ οἱ μακάριοι μάρτ υρες τοῦ Xριστοῦ ἑκόντες ἠγέρθησαν·
ᾐσχύνοντο γὰρ ὀλίγους μάρτ υρας ἔχειν ἐπὶ τῷ μακαρίῳ θανάτῳ αὐτῶν. Kαὶ δὴ
ἐλθόντων αὐτῶν ὅπου ὁ ὄχλος ἐβούλετο, πρῶτον κατεφίλησαν ἀλλήλους, ἵνα τὸ
μυστήριον διὰ τῶν οἰκείων τῆς πίστεως τελειώσωσιν. 8. Kαὶ μετέπειτα ἀσμένως
ὑπέμειναν τὴν διὰ τοῦ ξίφους τιμωρίαν. Πολλῷ δὲ μᾶλλον ὁ Σάρυρος, ὁ καὶ πρότερος
τὴν κλίμακα ἐκείνην ἀναβάς, . . . ὡς καὶ ἔφησεν τὴν Περπετούαν ἀναμένειν. 9. Ἡ δὲ
Περπετούα, ἵνα καὶ αὐτὴ γεύσηται τῶν πόνων, περὶ τὰ ὀστέα νυγεῖσα ἠλάλαξεν, καὶ
Appendix II • 455
πεπλανημένην δεξιὰν ἀπείρου μονομάχου κρατήσασα προσήγαγεν τῇ κατακλεῖδι

ἑαυτῆς. 10. Ἴσως τὴν τοσαύτην γυναῖκα τοῦ ἀκαθάρτου πνεύματος φοβουμένου καὶ
[φονευθῆναι] μὴ βουλομένην.
11. Ὦ ἀνδρειώτατοι καὶ μακαριώτατοι μάρτ υρες καὶ στρατιῶται ἐκλεκτοί, εἰς
δόξαν κυρίου Ἰησοῦ Xριστοῦ κεκλημένοι. Πῶς μεγαλύνωμεν ὑμᾶς ἢ μακαρίσωμεν,
γενναιότατοι στρατιῶται; Oὐχ ἧσσον τῶν παλαιῶν γραφῶν [ἃ] εἰς οἰκοδομὴν
ἐκκλησίας ἀναγινώσκεσθαι ὀφείλει ἡ πανάρετος πολιτεία τῶν μακαρίων μαρτ ύρων,
δι᾿ ὧν δόξαν ἀναπέμπομεν τῷ πατρὶ τῶν αἰώνων, ἅμα τῷ μονογενεῖ αὐτοῦ υἱῷ, τῷ
κυρίῳ ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Xριστῷ, σ ὺν ἁγίῳ π νεύματι, ᾧ ἡ δόξα καὶ τὸ κράτος εἰς τοὺς
αἰῶνας τῶν αἰώνων. Ἀμήν.
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I n d e x V e r b o ru m
Compiled by James E. Shelton
This Index Verborum lists all nouns, verbs, adjectives, and adverbs, with their location in
the text and with a complete parsing of each form. Conjunctions, prepositions, pronouns
and demonstratives are omitted. In the case of these words any unusual features are dis-
cussed in the notes.
At the beginning of each lemma the word is given in the form in which it would appear
in the OLD. In the event it is a post-classical usage, the form will follow standard dictio-
nary practice for the period. All occurrences of the word are listed in alphabetical order,
and the location of each is given through a cross-reference to the chapter and line number
employed in this edition. The parsing of each word is expressed by the appropriate com-
bination of abbreviations taken from the list below. When adjectives or adverbs appear in
the comparative or superlative degree, the degree of comparison is indicated by ‘cmp’ or
‘spr’. The absence of such abbreviations indicates that the word occurs in the positive
degree. For deponent verbs the abbreviation ‘dp’ is used, and neither ‘act’ nor ‘pas’ is used,
because of the possible ambiguity. The small number of Greek words which occur in the
Passio are presented in transliterated form, identified by the abbreviation ‘Gr’ and parsed
appropriately. For Latin nouns, verbs and adjectives the inflectional ending is printed in
bold type and, where appropriate, the tense marking vowel or tense sign, which helps to
identify the form, is also printed in bold. Vowel lengths are indicated by macrons where
appropriate.
The meanings given for each word, following the initial Latin entry, are based on the
translation of the words in this volume and hence may differ from normal classical usage
• 471 •
4 72 • Ind e x Verbor um
as would occur in a typical Latin dictionary. Occasionally, when rendering the Latin into
English a word is not directly translated. In such cases a standard dictionary translation
marked by an asterisk is given in the lemma. Where appropriate, italicized notes are of-
fered which indicate the relationship, or lack of same, between the Latin and Greek lexical
items.
Abbreviations used in the Index Verborum
ab. = ablative inf. = infinitive

ac. = accusative itj. = interjection
act. = active ipf. = imperfect
adv. = adverb loc. = locative
cmp. = comparative m. = masculine
d. = dative n. = neuter
dp. = deponent nm. = nominative
f. = feminine p. = plural
fp. = future perfect pas. = passive
fut. = future pf. = perfect
g. = genitive plp. = pluperfect
gdv. = gerundive pr. = present
ger. = gerund ptl. = participle
Gr. = Greek s. = singular
Hbr. = Hebrew sbj. = subjunctive
imp. = imperative spr. = superlative
ind. = indicative voc. = vocative
Index Verborum
abeo, -ire, -ii, -itum, “go away”;
abiit – pf. act. ind. 3s X.4.
abominor, abominari, abominatus sum, “hate”;
abominabatur – ipf. dp. ind. 3s XIX.4. The Greek ᾿α π ο σ τρ έ φ ω used here can mean “hate.”
This use is seen as far back as Aristophanes (Peace 683) and occurs in the NT, as in Hb
12.25.
absentia, -ae, f., “absence”;
absentia, ab. s III.4.
accedo, -ere, accessi, accessum, “get close, come up”;
accedere – pr. act. inf. VII.6;
accessi – pf. act. ind. 1s X.12;
accessimus – pf. act. ind. 1p X.10;
accessit – pf. act. ind. 3s VIII.3, VIII.4, XX.6.
Index Verbor um • 473
accerso, -ere, accersivi, accersitum, “call”;

accersitum – pf. pass. ptl. acc. m. s. XX.10.
accipio, -ere, accepi, acceptum, “receive”;
accipere – pr. act. inf. VI.7;
accipiet – fut. act. ind. 3s X.9;
accipietis – fut. act. ind. 2p XIX.1.
actus, - us, m., “outcome”;
actum – acc. s X.15.
acus, - us, f., “needle”;
acu – ab. s XX.5.
addico, -ere, -ixi, -ictum, “hand over”;
addiximus – pf. act. ind. 1p XVIII.5.
adduco, -ere, adduxi, adductum, “arrest”;
adducti sumus – pf. pass. ind. 1p IV.5.
adeo, “so”;
adeo – adv. XX.8.
adhaereo, -ere, adhaesi, adhaesum, “cling to”;
adhaerebat – ipf. act. ind. 3s XX.8. The Latin seems more vivid than the Greek, as the root of
adhaerebat means “cling”, while the root of παρει σ τ ή κ ει simply means “stand”.
adhuc, “thus far, still, until now”;
adhuc – adv. III.1, IV.10, XIV.2, XXI.1, XXI.11.
adicio, -ere, adieci, adiectum, “add”;
adicientes – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. p XVI.1.
adiungo, -ere, adiunxi, adiunctum, “join to”;
adiungerent – ipf. act. sbj. 3p XXI.7.
adiutor, -oris, m., “helper”;
adiutores – n. p X.6; This is used to refer here to Perpetua’s helpers. In the Greek they are
called ὑπ ηρέ ται . This is a classical Greek word, going as far back as Aeschylus and occurring
a number of times in the NT, as in Lk 1:2.
adiutoribus – ab. p X.6. Here where the Latin uses adiutor to refer to the helpers of the
Egyptian. The Greek changes from ὑπ ηρέ τ η ς to the participle of ὑπο υρ γ έ ω.
adloquor, adloqui, adlocutus sum, “speak to”;
adlocuta est – pf. dp. ind. 3s XX.10;
adloquebar – ipf. dp. ind. 1s III.8.
administro, -are, administravi, administratum, “distribute”;
administrans – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. s I.5. There is a textual problem about the Latin here. The
Greek διο ι κο ῦν (nm. n. s. of the pr. act. ptl. of διο ι κ έ ω) would favor the conjecture
administrans.
admiratio, admirationis, f., “admiration, wonder”;
admiratione – ab. s XI.7, XII.5.
admitto, -ere, admisi, admissum, “allow to visit”;
admittebat – ipf. act. ind. 3s IX.1.
admonitio, admonitionis, f., “warning”;
admonitionibus – ab. p XVI.2.
adolescens, -entis, “young” (or as substantive, “young man”);
adolescentes – nm. m. p II.1, X.6.
adoro, -are, adoravi, adoratum, “adore”;

adorat – pr. act. ind. 3s XXI.11.
adprehendo, -ere, adprehendi, adprehensum, “grab hold, arrest”;
adprehendere – pr. act. inf. X.10;
adprehendi – pf. act. ind. 1s X.11;
fuerat adprehensa – plp. pass. ind. 3s XV.2;
adprehensi sunt – pf. pass. ind. 3p II.1.
adtendo, -ere, adtendi, adtentum, “look”;
adtendens – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. or f. s IV.3.
adtonitus, -a, -um, “astonished, stunned”
adtoniti – pf. pas. ptl. nm. m. p XVII.3.
adtonitum – pf. pas. ptl. ac. m.s X.5.
aedifico, -are, aedificavi, aedificatum, “be a teacher, make”;
aedificati – pf. pass. ptl. nm. m. p XII.1; Here where the Latin uses this in its literal sense of
“built” (with reference to walls) the Greek uses ο ἰκ ο δο μέ ω which also literally means “build.”
In other contexts both the Greek and the Latin can be used in the non-literal sense of English
“edify” or “teach,” as in IV.5.
aedificaverat – plp. act. ind. 3s IV.5;
aedificatio, aedificationis, f., “edification, building up”;
aedificationem – acc. s I.1, XXI.11.
Aegyptius, -a, -um, “Egyptian” (or substantively “an Egyptian”);
Aegyptii – g. m. s XVIII.7;
Aegyptium – acc. m. s X.7;
Aegyptius – nm. m. s X.6, X.9.
aemulor, -ari, aemulatus sum, “match”;
aemulatus – pf. dp. ptl. nm. m. s XX.1.
aeque, “equally, also”;
aeque – adv. I.1, II.2.
aer, aeris, m., “air”;
aere – ab. s X.11.
aereus, -a, -um, “bronze”;
aeream – acc. f. s IV.3.
aestimo, -are, aestimavi, aestimatum, “think”;
aestimet – pr. act. sbj. 3s I.5.
aestuo, -are, aestuavi, aestuatum, “be hot”;
aestuantem –pr. act. ptl. acc. m. s VII.4. The Greek here uses the plural participle
κα υμα τι ζόμε νο ι with reference to all the inhabitants of this place .
aestus, -us, m., “heat”;
aestus – n. s III.6.
aetas, aetatis, f., “time, youth”;
aetatibus – ab. p I.3;
aetatis – g. s V.2.
afa, -ae, f., “dust”;
af a – ab. s X.7. This is a Latinization of ἁ φ ή . Spelled as haphe it occurs in Martial and
Seneca. It was used specifically with reference to athletics—the dust with which the athletes
rubbed themselves after being anointed with oil. The Greek on the other hand uses the “more
general” term (as Amat says) for dust κ ο νιο ρ τός.
affectio, affectionis, f., “love”;

affectione – ab. s III.1. The Greek author’s choice of ε ὐσ π λα γ χνί α here may reflect the Biblical
and patristic use of this word and of the adjective ε ὔσ π λα γ χνο ς . See I Clem. 14:3 and I Pet
3:8.
agape, (Gr.), “love-feast”;
agapem – acc. s XVII.1.
agnosco, -ere, agnovi, agnitum, “acknowledge, know, recognize”;
agnoscimus – pr. act. ind. 1p I.5;
agnovit – pf. act. ind. 3s XIV.3, XVIII.6. In XIV.3 the Greek δι εξ ῆ λ θε ν might seem less
effective than agnovit, but Amat suggests that the Greek is an echo of Lk 2:35.
ago, -ere, egi, actum, “do, give”;
egi – pf. act. ind. 1s III.4, X.15.
agon, (Gr.), “match”;
agone – ab. s X.7.
aio, (defective verb), “say”;
ait – pr. act. ind. 3s III.2, XV.5, XX.8.
alibi, “anywhere”;
alibi – adv. III.9.
aliqui, aliqua (or aliquae), aliquod, (aliquis, aliquid if used
as pronoun), “some, any”;
aliquibus – ab. f. p XVI.2;
aliquid – acc. n. s V.4, XVIII.5, XVIII.9, XXI.9.
aliter, “otherwise”;
aliter – adv. XXI.10.
alius, alia, aliud, “another”;
alia – ab. f. s XXI.1;
alii – nm. m. p XI.7;
alio – ab. m. s VI.1;
alio – ab. n. s III.2;
aliud – acc. n. s III.1, III.2, III.5;
alius – nm. m. s XV.6.
alo, -ere, alui, altum (or alitum), “nourish”;
alebamur – ipf. pass. ind. 1p XIII.8.
alter, altera, alterum, “the other”;
alteram – acc. f. s XX.2;
alterum – acc. m. s II.2
altitudo, altitudinis, f., “height”;
altitudinem – acc. s VII.8;
altitudo – nm. s XI.6.
altus, -a, -um, “high”;
altiorem – acc. m. s cpr. VII.7.
ambo, ambae, ambo – “both”;
ambae – nm. f. p XX.7.
amen, (Hbr.), “amen”;
amen – I.6, IV.9, XXI.11.
amicus, -i, m., “friend”;
amici – nm. p XVII.2.
amphitheatrum, -i, n., “amphtheater”;

amphitheatri – g. s X.8;
amphitheatrum – acc. s X.4, XVIII.1.
amplius, “longer”;
amplius – adv. VI.8.
ancilla, -ae, f., “handmaiden”;
ancillas – acc. p I.4.
angelus, -i, m., “angel”;
angeli – nm. p XI.7 (bis), XI.10, XII.1, XII.5, XIII.5;
angelis – d. p XI.7;
angelis – ab. p XI.2, XI.5.
angustus, -a, -um, “narrow”;
angustam – acc. f. s IV.3.
anhelo, -are, anhelavi, anhelatum, “be out of breath”;
anhelantes – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. p X.4. Both the Greek and the Latin say that the martyrs had
difficulty in arriving, but only the Latin says that they were out of breath.
anima, -ae, f., “soul, life”;
anima – nm. s XIV.3;
animam – acc. s XVIII.5.
animus, -i, m., “spirit, pride”;
animi – g. s XVI.1;
animos – acc. p V.4.
annuntio, -are, annuntiavi, annuntiatum, “announce”;
annuntiamus – pr. act. ind. 1p I.6. This is a partial quotation from I Jn 1:1-3. Where the NT uses
ἀ πα γ γ έ λω the Greek of the Passio changes it to ε ὐα γ γ ε λ ίζω, perhaps because of the association
of this word with the proclamation of the Gospel, as in Acts 8:12.
annus, -i, m., “year”;
annis – d. p IX.2;
annorum – g. p II.3, VII.5.
ansula, -ae, f., “ring”;
ansulam – acc. s XXI.5.
antiquitas, antiquitatis, f., “antiquity”;
antiquitatis – g. s I.2
aper, apri, m., “boar”;
apro – d. s XIX.5 (bis).
aperio, -ire, aperui, apertum, “open”;
aperui – pf. act. ind. 1s X.2.
appareo, -ere, apparui, apparitum, “appear”;
apparuit – VI.2 – pf. act. ind. 3s.
aqua, -ae, f., “water”;
aqua – ab. s III.5, VII.7, VIII.3, VIII.4;
aquam – acc. s VII.8, VIII.2.
arbor, arboris, f., “tree”;
arbore – ab. s XIII.4;
arbores – ac. p XI.5;
arborum – g. p XI.6.
ardeo, -ere, arsi, “burn”;

arserunt – pf. act. ind. 3p XI.9.
arena, -ae, f., “arena”;
arena – ab. s X.4.
argentum, -i, n., “silver”;
argento – ab. s X.8.
argumentum, -i, n., “argument”;
argumentis – ab. p III.3. The Greek renders argumentum by μηχανή, reflecting what Amat
identifies as the pejorative sense of this word in Late Latin .
ascendo, -ere, ascendi, ascensum, “climb, go up”;
ascendentes – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. p XI.3;
ascendentibus – pr. act. ptl. d. m. p IV.4;
ascenderat – plp. act. ind. 3s XXI.8;
ascendere – pr. act. inf. IV.3;
ascenderent – ipf. act. sbj. 3p IV.4;
ascendi – pf. act. ind. 1s IV.7;
ascendimus – pf. act. ind. 1p VI.2;
ascendit – pf. act. ind. 3s IV.5, V.1.
asper, aspera, asperum, “rugged, cruel”;
aspera – acc. n. p X.3;
asperum – acc. m. s III.6.
aspicio, -ere, aspexi, aspectum, “look at”;
aspexit – pf. act. ind. 3s IV.9;
aspice – pr. act. imp. s V.3, V.3, V.3;
aspicio – pr. act. ind. 1s X.5.
auctoritas, auctoritatis, f., “importance”;
auctoritati – d. s I.2.
audio, -ire, audivi, auditum, “hear”;
audiremur – ipf. pass. sbj. 1p V.1, VI.1;
audisset – plp. act. sbj. 3s XX.9;
audivimus – pf. act. ind. 1p I.6, XII.2.
auditus, - us, m. “hearing”;
auditum – acc. s I.6.
aureus, -a, -um, “golden”;
aurea – nm. f. s VIII.3;
aurea – nm. n. p X.8.
aurum, -i, n., “gold”;
auro – ab. s X.8.
baptisma, baptismatis, n., “baptism”;
baptismatis – g. s XXI.2.
baptismus, -i, m., “baptism”;
baptismo – ab. s XVIII.3.
baptizo, -are, baptizavi, baptizatum, “baptize”;
baptizati sumus – pf. pass. ind. 1p III.5.
barba, -ae, f., “beard”;
barbam – acc. s IX.2.
basio, -are, basiavi, basiatum, “kiss”;

basians – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. s V.5. Here the Greek uses κα ταφι λ έ ω, which is used in the NT
for “kiss”, as in Mt 26.49.
beatus, -a, -um, “blessed”;
beatissimi – nm. m. p. spl. XXI.11;
beatissimorum – g. m. p. spl. XIV.1.
bene, *“well”;
bene – adv. IV.9, VIII.1.
benedictus, -a, -um, “blessed”;
benedicti – nm. m. p III.7. The Greek renders this by ε ὐ λο γ ημέ νο ι in III.7, but in XI.1 it
renders benedictus by μακ άριο ς. The former might recall the use of the pf. pass. ptl. of
ε ὐ λο γ έ ω in such passages as Lk 1:42 and I Clem 30:5, and the latter might recall such
passages as James 1.25, 1 Clem 44.5, and M Pol 1.1.
benedictus – nm. m. s XI.1.
beneficium, -ii, n., “benefit”;
beneficia – acc. p IV.2;
beneficio – ab. s III.6, III.8;
beneficium – acc. s I.5.
bestia, -ae, f., “beast”;
bestia – ab. s XIX.5, XX.1;
bestiae – nm. p X.5;
bestiam – acc. s XXI.1;
bestias – acc. p XIV.2, VI.6, X.5, X.14, XVIII.3;
bestiis – d. p XV.5, XIX.2.
bibo, -ere, bibi, bibitum, “drink”;
bibere – pr. act. inf. VIII.3;
bibiturus – fut. act. ptl. nm. m. s VII.7, VII.8.
bonus, -a, -um, “good”;
bonam – acc. f. s XV.3.
buccella, acc. f., “mouthful”;
buccellam – acc. s IV.9. Where the Latin uses the diminutive of bucca (cheek) the Greek uses
ψωμ ίο ν, the diminutive of ψωμός (morsel).
cado, -ere, cecidi, casurus, “fall”;
cecidit – pf. act. ind. 3s X.11.
caedo, -ere, cecidi, caesum, “kick, strike”;
caedebam – ipf. act. ind. 1s X.10;
caedere – pr. act. inf. X.11.
caelum, -i, n. “heaven”;
caelum – acc. s IV.3, XVIII.1.
Caesar, Caesaris, m., “Caesar”;
Caesaris – g. s VII.9, XVI.3.
calco, -are, calcavi, calcatum, “tread, trample”;
calcans – pr. act. ptl. nm. f. s XVIII.7, X.11;
calcarem – ipf. act. sbj. 1s IV.7;
calcavi – pf. act. ind. 1s IV.7, X.11.
calx , calcis, f., “heel”;
calcibus – ab. p X.10.
cancero, -are, canceravi, caceratum, *“become cancerous”;

cancerata – pf. pass. ptl. ab. f. s VII.5. The Greek is (as Amat says) more
realistic with the phrase ῎οψιν γαγγραίνῃ σαπείς—“with his face eaten
by gangrene”.
candidatus, -a, -um, “dressed in white”;
candidati – nm. m. p IV.8. The Greek version’s use of λε υ χει μο νέ ω may be intended to echo
the root λ ε υ κ - in the Book of Revelation, although this verb itself does not occur in the NT.
See Revelation 1.14; 2.17; 3.4; 6.2; 14.14; 20.11.
candidus, -a, -um, “white”;
candida – ab. f. s X.2;
candidas – acc. f. p XII.1.
cano, ere, cecini, cantum, “sing”;
canebant – ipf. acc. ind. 3p XI.6.
canus, -a, -um, “white-haired” (adj.) or “gray hair” (substantive);
canis – d. m. p V.2, VI.3;
canum – acc. m. s IV.8, XII.3.
capillus, -i, m., “hair”;
capillis – ab. p XX.5;
capillos – acc. p XII.3, XX.5.
caput, capitis, n., “head”;
caput – acc. s IV.6, IV.7, IV.7, IV.9, X.11, X.11, XVIII.7.
carcer, carceris, m., “prison”;
carcer – nm. s III.9;
carcere – ab. s III. 8, III.9, VI.7, XI.9, XIV.2, XVI.2, XVIII.1;
carcerem – acc. s III.5, VI.6, VII.9;
carceris – g. s III.7, IX.1, X.1, XVI.4.
careo, -ere, carui, cariturus, “be free from”;
caruissem – plp. act. sbj. 1s III.4. Instead of directly translating caruissem the Greek version
uses the genitive absolute ἀ πο δημή σα ν το ς α ὐτο ῦ, perhaps being influenced by ἀ πόν το ς
α ὐτο ῦ at the end of the sentence.
carnalis, -e, “in the flesh”;
carnalis – nm. m. s VII.5.
caro, carnis, f., “flesh”;
carne – ab. s XI.2, XII.7;
carnem – acc. s I.4;
carnes – nm. p IV.3;
carnis – g. s III.5;
caro – nm. s XIV.3.
caseum, -i, n., “cheese”;
caseo – ab. s IV.9.
castigate, “cruelly”; Rather than trying to reproduce the castigatius . . . castigaret of the Latin text,
the Greek uses the genitive absolute το ῦ χι λι άρ χο υ ᾿ α τι η νέ σ τερο ν α ὐτο ῖς προ σφερο μέ νο υ
(“as the tribune was attacking them rather harshly”).
castigatius – adv. cmp. XVI.2.
castigo, -are, castigavi, castigatum, “treat”;
castigaret – ipf. act. sbj. 3s XVI.2.
4 8 0 • Ind e x Verbor um
castrensis, -e, “military”;

castrensi – ab. s VII.9.
castrensem – acc. s VII.9.
casus, -us, m., “suffering, fate.”
casus – nm.s VI.5
casus – g.s. VII.1.
causa, -ae, f., “purpose”;
causae – d. s I.1.
cavea, -ae, f., “cage”
cavea – ab. s XIX.6.
celebro, -are, celebravi, celebratum, “celebrate”;
celebramus – pr. act. ind. 1p I.5.
cena, -ae, f., “meal”;
cenam – acc. s XVII.1 (bis).
ceno, -are, cenavi, cenatum, “partake”;
cenarent –ipf. act. sbj. 3p XVII.1.
certe, “exactly”;
certe – adv. XIV.3, XXI.1.
certo, -are, certavi, certatum, “argue”;
certantes – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. p XIII.6. When the Latin has de factionibus certantes the
Greek has περ ὶ α ὐτῶν φι λο νει κ ο ῦν τες without any specific reference to the factiones.
cessatio, cessationis, f., “ceasing”;
cessatione – ab. s VIII.2, XI.6, XII.2.
ceteri, ceterae, cetera, “the others”;
ceteras – acc. f. p. I.5;
ceteri – nm. m. p VI.2, XI.9, XII.4, XII.6, XXI.8;
ceteris – d. m. p XVI.4.
ceteris – ab. m. p XI.7, XXI.6.
cicatrix , cicatricis, f. “scar”;
cicatricem – acc. s VIII.1.
circiter, “about”;
circiter –adv. II.3.
circumspicio, -ere, circumspexi, circumspectum, “look about”;
circumspicere – pr. act. inf. XX.8.
circumsto, -are, circumsteti, circumstatum, “stand around”;
circumstantes – pr. act. ptl. n. m. p IV.8, IV.9.
circus, -i, m., “circus”;
circo – ab. s XIII.6. Here the Greek has ἱπποδρομιῶν in the plural.
civitas, civitatis, f., “city”;
civitate – ab. s V.1.
clamo, -are, clamavi, clamatum, “shout, call”;
clamare – pr. act. inf. X.12;
clamavit – pf. act. ind. 3s IV.9.
claritas, claritatis, f., “glory”;
claritas – n. s I.6, XXI.11. Used here in the sense of the glory given to God and hence rendered
in Greek by δό ξ α.
clarus, -a, -um, “radiant”;

clariores – nm. m. p cmp. XI.7. The Greek is ᾿ε νδ ο ξ ότερο ι , which may have the theological
connotation of “more glorious,” because of the root δ ο ξ–. The Latin however may mean
“more radiant,” as Amat suggests.
claudo, -ere, clausi, clausum, “shut”;
claudere – pr. act. inf. XIII.7.
clavus, -i, m., “stripe”;
clavos – acc. p X.8.
clivus, -i, m., “hill”;
clivum – acc. s XI.3.
coepio, coepere, coepi, coeptum, “begin”;
coeperunt – pf. act. ind. 3p X.7, XVIII.8;
coepi – pf. act. ind. 1s VII.2, X.11, X.13;
coepimus – pf. act. ind. 1p IV.10, X.3, X.10, XI.2, XIII.8;
coepit – pf. act. ind. 3s VIII.3, IX.1, IX.2, X.12, XIII.4, XX.8.
cognosco, -ere, cognovi, cognitum, “recognize”;
cognoscere – pr. act. inf. XIII.8;
cognoscitis – pr. act. ind. 2p I.6;
cognovi – pf. act. ind. 1s VII.2, VII.9.
cogo, -ere, coegi, coactum, “force”;
cogerentur – ipf. pass. sbj. 3p XVIII.4
color, coloris, m., “color”;
colore – ab. s VII.4.
comes, comitis, m., “companion, accomplice”;
comitem – acc. s XV.3;
comites – acc. p XXI.7.
conmanduco, -are, commanducavi, commanducatum, “eat”;
conmanducans – pr. act. ptl. nm. f. s IV.10.
commeatus, - us, m., “freedom”;
commeatus – nm. s IV.1. Whereas the Latin commeatus suggests “freedom” the Greek
ἀ ναβο λή ν used here suggest more of a “deferment” or “delay,” as in Acts 25.17.
commemoror, -ari, commemoratus, “remember”;
commemorata – pf. dp. ptl. nm. f. s VII.1.
commendo, -are, commendavi, commendatum, “entrust”;
commendabam – ipf. act. ind. 1s III.8.
comminor, -ari, comminatus sum, “threaten”;
comminabantur – ipf. dp. ind. 3p XVIII.7;
comminantes – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. p XVII.1.
commissio, commissionis, f., “beginning”;
commissione – ab. s XIX.3. For commissione (referring to the beginning of the games) the
Greek uses ἀ ρ χή , which Amat says is “beaucoup plus general.”
communio, communionis, f., “sharing”;
communionem –acc. s I.6. The Greek uses κο ι νωνί α , which occurs also in the NT passage
which is quoted here, 1 Jn 1.3.
comparo, -are, comparavi, comparatum, “prepare”;
comparatam – pf. pass. ptl. acc. f. s XX.1.
complector, complecti, complexus sum, “embrace”;

complexi sumus – pf. dp. ind. 1p XIII.3.
complures, complura, “many”;
complures – nm. m. p VII.4, XII.4.
compono, -ere, composui, compositum, “make peace”;
componite – imp. 2p XIII.2.
concedo, -ere, concessi, concessum, “agree”;
concessit – pf. act. ind. 3s XVIII.6.
concido, -ere, concidi, “fall”;
concidit – pf. act. ind. 3s XX.3.
concurro, -ere, concurri, concursum, “jostle”;
concurrentium –pr. act. ptl. g. m. p XVII.1.
concussura, -ae, f., “extortion”;
concussurae – nm.p. III.6. The Greek has σ υ κο ϕα ν τί αι , which might echo the corresponding
verb used in Lk 19.8.
conficio, -ere, confeci, confectum, “die”;
confici – pr. pass. inf. XIX.4.
confi rmo, -are, confirmavi, confirmatum, “strengthen”;
confirment – pr. act. sbj. 3p XXI.4.
confiteor, -eri, confessus sum, “confess”;
confessi sunt – pf. dp. ind. 3p VI.2. The Greek uses ὁμο λο γ έ ω, which is used for “confess” in
Biblical and Patristic writing. See Jn 1.20 and MPol 12.1.
conforto, -are, confortavi, confortatum, “comfort”;
confortabam – ipf. act. ind. 1s III.8.
confortavi – pf. act. ind. 1s V.5.
confortetur – pr. pass. sbj. 3s I.1.
coniungo, -ere, coniunxi, coniunctum, “join together”;
coniuncto – pf. pass. ptl. ab. m. s XV.4.
conlaboro, -are, conlaboravi, conlaboratum, “join in struggle”;
conlaboro – pr. act. ind. 1s X.4.
conmartyr, conmartyris, m. or f., “fellow martyr”;
conmartyres – nm. p XV.3.
conpungo, -ere, conpunxi, con punctum, “pierce”;
conpuncta – pf. pass. ptl. nm. f. s XXI.9.
conscribo, -ere, conscripsi, conscriptum, “write”;
conscribi – pr. pass. inf. XVI.1;
conscripserunt – pf. act. ind. 3p XIV.1;
conscripsit – pf. act. ind. 3s XI.1;
conscriptum – pf. pass. ptl. acc. m. s II.3.
consequor, consequi, consecutus sum, “obtain”;
consecuti essent – plp. dp. sbj. 3p XVIII.9.
conserva, -ae, f., “fellow-slave”;
conserva – nm. s II.1. The Greek uses the plural σ ύνδ ο υ λο ι , referring to Revocatus and
Felicity.
conspectus, - us, m., “gaze”;
conspectu – ab. s XVIII.8;
conspectum – acc. s XVIII.2.
constantia, -ae, f., “resolve”;

constantia – ab. s XVI.1, XVII.1, XVIII.4.
constituo, -ere, constitui, constitutus, “arrange”;
constituerunt – pf. act. ind. 3p III.7.
consuesco, -ere, consuevi, consuetum, “become accustomed”;
consueverat – plp. act. ind. 3s VI.7.
consuetudo, consuetudinis, f., “custom”;
consuetudinem – acc. s XX.1.
consummo, -are, consummavi, consummatum, “kill, seal”;
consummarent – ipf. act. sbj. 3p XXI.7;
consumor, -ere, consumpsi, consumptum, “wear, devastate”;
consumo – pres. pass. ind. 1s XXI.1.
consumptus – pf. pass. ptl. nm. m. s V.1, IX.2.
contemno, -ere, contempsi, contemptum, “scorn”;
contempsisti – pf. act. ind. 2s XV.5.
contestor, -ari, contestatus sum, “bear witness”;
contestantes – pr. dp. ptl. nm. m. p XVII.1. Th e Greek has ἀ ν θο μ ο λ ο γ ο ύ μ ε ν ο ι ,
as in Lk 2.38. Th e Greek may be stronger than the Latin, with the connotation of
“confess publicly.”
contingo, -ere, contigi, contactum, “touch”;
contigit – pf. act. ind. 3s XV.1.
continuo, “immediately”;
continuo – adv. VII.3.
contrecto, -are, contrectavi, contrectatum, “touch”;
contrectavimus – pf. act. ind. 1p I.6.
contristo, -are, contristavi, contristatum, “sadden”;
contristabantur – ipf. pass. ind. 3p XV.3;
contristatus – pf. pass. ptl. nm. m. s V.6.
conturbo, -are, conturbavi, conturbatum, “admonish, disturb”;
conturbaverunt – pf. act. ind. 3p XIII.6;
conturbent – pr. act. sbj. 3p XXI.4.
convalesco, -ere, convalui, “grow stronger”;
convalui – pf. act. ind. 1s III.9.
convenio, -ire, conveni, conventum, “serve, gather”;
convenientia – pr. act. ptl. nm. n. p I.1;
conveniunt – pr. act. ind. 3p XIII.6.
conversor, -ari, conversatus sum, “receive”;
conversatam [esse] – pf. dp. inf. I.5.
converto, -ere, converti, conversum, “turn”;
convertit – pf. act. ind. 3s IV.6.
cor, cordis, n., “heart”;
corde – ab. s XXI.1.
corona, -ae, f., “crown”;
coronam – acc. s XIX.2. Here the Greek uses σ τέ φα νο ς , perhaps echoing 1 Pt 5.4, where
there is a similar reference to a crown.
corpus, corporis, n., “body”;
corpore – ab. s VIII.1, XX.9, XXI.7.
corrigo, -ere, correxi, correctum, “rebuke”;

corrige – pr. act. imp. 2s XIII.6.
cras, “tomorrow”;
cras – adv. XVII.2
crastinus, -a, -um, “of tomorrow”;
crastina – ab. f. s IV.2;
crastinus – nm. m. s XVII.2.
creatura, -ae, f., “creation”;
creaturam – acc. s IX.2. Here the Greek uses κ τίσι ς , possibly echoing the NT usage of this
word, as in Mk 13.19.
credo, -ere, credidi, creditum, “believe”;
credas – pr. act. sbj. 2s XXI.1;
credente – pr. act. ptl. ab. m. s XVI.4;
credentibus – pr. act. ptl. d. m. p I.5 (bis);
crediderunt – pf. act. ind. 3p XVII.3;
credidit – pf. act. ind. 3s XX.9.
cubo, -are, cubui, cubitum, “lie”;
cubans – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. s IV.4.
cupio, -ere, cupivi, cupitum, “want”;
cupiret – ipf. act. sbj. III.1.
cur, “why”;
cur – adv. I.1.
curiositas, curiositatis, f., “curiosity”;
curiositatem – acc. s XVII.1. The Greek here uses περι ερ γ ία , which suggests “being a
busybody.” The related verb περι ερ γ άζο μαι is used in this sense in 2 Th 3.11.
curro, -ere, cucurri, cursum, “circulate”;
cucurrit – pf. act. ind. 3s V.1, VI.1.
cypressus, -i, f., “cypress”;
cypressi – g. s XI.6.
damno, -are, damnavi, damnatum, “condemn”;
damnat – pr. act. ind. 3s VI.6;
damnatam [esse] – pf. pass. inf. X.5.
debeo, -ere, debui, debitum, “owe, ought”;
debere – pr. act. inf. VII.2;
debet – pr. act. ind. 3s XXI.11.
deceo, -ere, decui, “be right”;
decebat – ipf. act. ind. 3s XX.5. The Greek uses πρέ πω, which goes back as far as Homer, in
the sense of “to be conspicuous,” as in Iliad 12.104. In the NT it is used only in the sense of
Latin deceo, as in Eph 5.3.
decerno, -ere, decrevi, decretum, “promise”;
decretam – pf. pass. ptl. acc. f. s I.3.
decorus, -a, -um, “handsome, radiant”;
decori – nm. m. p X.6, XVIII.1.
dedecus, dedecoris, n., “shame”; X.6.
dedecus – acc. s V.2.
deficio, -ere, defeci, defectum, “empty, be weak”;
defectum – pf. pass. ptl. ac. m.s. III.8.
deficiebat – ipf. act. ind. 3s VIII.3.
defrico, -are, defricui, defricatum, “rub”;

defricare – pr. act. inf. X.7.
defungor, defungi, defunctus sum, “die”;
defuncti – pf. dp. ptl. g. m. s VI.3.
dehinc, “then”;
dehinc – adv. XVIII.8, XX.5.
deicio, -ere, deieci, deiectum, *“change mind”;
deicere – pr. act. inf. III.1;
deiceret – ipf. act. sbj. 3s V.1;
deiciendam – fut. pass. ptl. acc. f. s VI.5;
deiciens – pr. act. ptl. nm. f. s XVIII. 2.
deinde, “moreover, then”;
deinde – adv. VII.7, IX.1.
delicatus, -a, -um, “darling, delicate”;
delicata – nm. f. s XVIII.2; Delicata dei is not reproduced in the Greek .
delicatam – acc. f. s XX.2.
depono, -ere, deposui, depositum, “give up, put down”;
depone – pr. act. ipv. 2s V.4;
deposuerunt – pf. act. ind. 3p XI.7.
deputo, -are, deputavi, deputatum, “assign”;
deputamus – pr. act. ind. 1p I.5;
deputantur – pr. pass. ind. 3p I.2.
descendo, -ere, descendi, descensum, “descend”;
descendimus – pf. act. ind. 1p VI.6.
describo, -ere, descripsi, descriptum, “describe”;
describendae – fut. pass. ptl. g. f. s XVI.1.
desidero, -are, desideravi, desideratum, “desire”;
desideraverat – plp. act. ind. 3s XIX.1;
desideravit – pf. act. ind. 3s VI 8.
desperatio, desperationis, f. “despairing”;
desperatio – nm. s I.5.
deus, dei, m., “god”;
dei – g. s I.1, I.5, V.6, XVII.1, XVIII.2;
deo – d. s XII.7;
deum – acc. s XXI.11;
deus – nm. s I.1, I.5, V.6, VI.8, XIV.2, XVIII.8.
devinco, -ere, devici, devictum, “sate”;
devicta – pf. pass. ptl. ab. f. s XX.7.
dexter, dextera, dexteram, “right hand”;
dextera – ab. f. s XII.4;
dexteram – acc. f. s XIII.1, XXI.9.
diabolus, -i, m. “devil”;
diaboli – g. s III.3;
diabolum – acc. s X.14;
diabolus – nm. s XX.1.
diaconus, -i, m., “deacon”;
diaconi – nm. p. III.7;
diaconum – acc. s VI.7, X.1.
diastema, diastematis, n., “gulf ”; The word occurs in its original form in the Greek version. Its
original meaning was “interval” and is seen with that meaning at least as early as Plato
(Republic 531 A). Well before the time of Perpetua it had been Latinized.
diastema –nm. s VII.6.
dico, -ere, dixi, dictum, “say”;
dicebat – ipf. act. ind. 3s V.5, XVIII.5;
dicens – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. or f. s IV.2, V.1, V.6, VI.2, XX.10, XXI.1;
dicente – pr. act. ptl. ab. m.s; XVII.1;
dicentem – pr. act. ptl. acc. f.s;XII.2;
dicere – pr. act. inf. III.2, IX.2, XXI.1;XVIII.8.
dicit – pr. act. ind. 3s I.4.
dicto, -are, dictavi, dictatum, “tell”;
dictavit – pf. act. ind. 3s III.5.
dies, diei, m. “day”;
die – ab. s IV.2, VI.1, VII.10, VIII.1, XV.2, XVII.2;
diebus – ab. p I.4, III.4, III.9, VII.9;
diem – acc. s III.6, XV.4;
dierum – g. p III.5;
dies – nm. s IX.2, XVIII.1;
dies – acc. p III.5, V.1, VII.1, IX.1, XIX.5.
differo, differre, distuli, dilatum, “spare”;
differretur – ipf. pass. sbj. 3s XV.2.
difficultas, difficultatis, f. “difficulty”;
difficultate – ab. s XV.5. The phrase pro naturali difficultate is rendered in Greek simply by
κ α τ ὰ φ ύ σ ι ν.
digero, digerere, digessi, digestum, “write down, set down, proclaim”;
digerantur – pr. pas. sbj. 3p I.1;
digerimus – pr. pas. ind. 1p I.5;
digesta sunt – pf. pas. ind. 3p I.1.
digitus, -i, m. “finger”
digito – ab. s XXI.5;
digitos – acc. p X.11. (bis)
dignus, -a, -um, “worthy”;
dignam – acc. f. s VII.2;
dignus – nm. m. s V.2.
diligenter, “carefully (translated with notate as ‘take a good look’)”;
diligenter – adv. XVII.2.
diligo, -ere, dilexi, dilectum, “love”;
diligite – pr. act. ipv. 2p XX.10. Rendered in Greek, as would be expected, by ᾿α γ α πά ω.
dimitto, -ere, dimisi, dimissum, “forgive”;
dimittite – pr. act. ipv. 2p XIII.5.
discedo, -ere, discessi, discessum, “leave”;
discedebant – ipf. act. ind. 3p XVII.3.
discinctus, -a, -um, “unbelted robe”;
discincta – ab. f. s X.2; Where the Latin says that the deacon was wearing an unbelted robe,
the Greek says the opposite with περι εζωσμέ νο ς . The same is true with regard to discinctis in
XX.3 and discinctatus in X.8.
discinctis – ab. f. p XX.3.
discinctatus, -a, -um, “wearing an unbelted robe”;

discinctatus – nm. m. s X.8.
discindo, -ere, discidi, discissum, “rip”;
discissam – pf. pass. ptl. acc. f. s XX.4.
dispergo, -ere, dispersi, dispersum, “tousle”;
dispersos – pf. pass. ptl. acc. m. p XX.5.
dispolio, -are, dispoliavi, dispoliatum, “strip naked”;
dispoliatae – pf. pass. ptl. nm. f. p XX.2.
dissensio, dissensionis, f., “disagreement”;
dissensiones – acc. p XIII.5.
distribuo, -ere, distribui, distributum, “grant”;
distribuit – pr. act. ind. 3s I.5.
divinitas, divinitatis, f., “divinity”;
divinitatis, g.s. I.5. For the Latin expression gratiam divinitatis the Greek uses τ ὴ ν χάρι ν κ αὶ
τ ὴ ν δύναμι ν. The Greek version might seem more effective here since it speaks of two forces,
“grace and power,” where the Latin speaks of “divine grace” only.
do, dare, dedi, datum, *“give”;
dare – pr. act. inf. VI.8;
dederat – plp. act. ind. 3s XIX.1;
dederis – pf. act. sbj. 2s V.2;
dederunt – pf. act. ind. 3p XI.7;
dedit – pf. act. ind. 3s IV.9.
doctor, doctoris, m., “teacher”;
doctorem – acc. s XIII. 1. The Greek has nothing equivalent to doctorem, although the
addition of τὸν δι δ άσ κ α λο ν has been suggested.
documentum, -i, n., “act, example”;
documenta – nm. p. I.1; The Greek here uses παρα δείγμα τα , which may not have exactly the
same connotation as documenta. Amat translates the Latin as “témoignages” and the Greek
as “exemples.”
documentum – acc. s XVI.1.
doleo, -ere, dolui, doliturus, “suffer, grieve”;
dolebam – ipf. act. ind. 1s V.6;
doleret – ipf. act. sbj. 3s XV.5;
doles – pr. act. ind. 2s XV.5;
dolui – pf. act. ind. 1s VI.5, VII.1;
doluit – pf. act. ind. 3s VI.5.
dolor, doloris, m., “pain, labor, grief ”;
dolore – ab. s VI.8;
dolores – nm. p XV.5;
doloris – g. s XX.4, XXI.9.
domina, -ae, f., “lady”;
domina – voc. s IV.1;
dominam – acc. s V.5.
dominicus, -a, -um, “Lord’s”;
dominicis – ab. f. p XVIII.9.
dominus, -i, m., “Lord”;
dominus – nm. s I.4, I.5, XI.4;
domini – g. s I.6, XV.1, XXI.11;
domino – d. s III.4;
domino, ab. s I.6, IV.2;
dominum – acc. s VII.2, XI.10, XXI.11, XV.4
dono, -are, -avi, -atum, “give”;
donaretur – ipf. pass. sbj. 3s VII.10.
donativum, -i, n., “gift”;
donativa – acc. p I.5. This is appropriately rendered in the Greek as χαρίσμα τα . Tertullian
points out the equivalence of donativa and charismata (Marc. V.8).
draco, draconis, m., “serpent”;
draco – nm. s IV.4, IV.6.
duco, ducere, duxi, ductum, “lead”;
ducti essent – plp. pass. sbj. 3p XVIII.4.
dulcis, dulce, “sweet”;
dulce – acc. n. s IV.10.
duo, duae, duo, “two”;
duos – acc. m. p II.2, X.8.
duorum – g.m. p. II.3.
duritia, -ae, f., “cruelty”;
duritia – ab. s XX.7. Rendered in the Greek by σ κ ληρότ η ς , a classical term for “hardness,”
occurring as early as the fi fth century, and in the NT in Rm 2.5.
ecclesia, -ae, f., “church”;
ecclesiae – g. s I.5, XXI.11.
edo, -ere, edidi, editum, “make known”;
edidit – pf. act. ind. 3s. XI.1.
educo, -are, -avi, -atum, “bring up”;
educavit – pf. act. ind. 3s XV.7.
eff undo, -ere, effudi, effusum, “pour out”;
effundam – fut. act. ind. 1s I.4.
eicio, -ere, eieci, eiectum, “stick out”;
eiecit – pf. act. ind. 3s IV.7.
elido, -ere, elidi, elisum, “crush to ground”;
elisam – pf. pass. ptl. acc. f. s XX.6.
eligo, -ere, elegi, electum, “choose”;
electi – pf. pass. ptl. nm. m. p XXI.11.
emitto, -ere, emisi, emissum, “release”;
emissi – pf. pass. ptl. nm. m. p III.7.
enitor, eniti, enixus sum, “give birth to”;
enixa est – pf. dp. ind. 3s XV.7.
eo, ire, ivi, itum, “move, walk, go”;
ibamus – ipf. act. ind. 1p XI.3;
ire – pr. act. inf. X.3, X.13;
ite – pr. act. ipv. 2p XII.6.
episcopus, episcopi, m. “bishop”;
episcopum – acc. s XIII.1.
erro, -are, -avi, -atum, “waver”;
errantem – pr. act. ptl. acc. f. s XXI.9.
erubesco, -ere, erubui, “be flushed”;

erubuit – pf. act. ind. 3s XVI.4. Ἐδ υσωπ ή θη as appears in the Greek version is not a real
equivalent, as it does not suggest the color red. It really just means “to put out of countenance”
(LSJ).
eruo, -ere, erui, erutum, “gouge out”;
erueret – ipf. act. sbj. 3s III.3.
evello, -ere, evulsi, evulsum, “tear out”;
evellere – pr. act. inf. IX.2.
evenio, -ire, eveni, eventum, “happen”;
evenerat – plp. act. ind. 3s XX.9.
everto, -ere, everti, eversum, “change”;
evertere – pr. act. inf. III.1.
evoco, -are, -avi, -atum, “call”;
evocavit – pf. act. ind. 3s XIV.2.
exanimis, exanime, “unconscious”;
exanimis – nm. m. s XXI.6. The Greek changes from the idea of “unconsciousness” in the
Latin version to that of “still breathing” λο ι πὸν ἐ μ π νέ ων.
exaspero, -are, -avi, -atum, “anger”;
exasperatus – pf. pass. ptl. nm. m. s XVIII.9.
excedo, -ere, excessi, excessum, “exceed”;
excederet – ipf. act. sbj. 3s X.8.
exemplum, -i, n., “example, deed”;
exempla – nm. p I.1; For exempla in I.1 van Beek prints δ είγμα τα , which seems likely and
would parallel the use of δ ε ῖγμα in Jude 7. However Amat prints δόγμα τα.
exempla – acc. p XXI.11.
exeo, exire, exii/exivi, exitum, “come out, die, depart, go out”;
exeuntem – pr. act. ptl. acc. m. s VII.4;
exeuntes – pr. act. ptl. nm. p III.8;
exierat – plp. act. ind. 3s XI.9;
exivi – pf. act. ind. 1s X.2;
exivimus – pf. act. ind. 1p XI.2, XIII.1;
existis – pf. act. ind. 2p XIII.2;
exivit – pf. act. ind. 3s X.6.
exhortor, exhortari, exhortatus sum, “exhort”;
exhortabatur – ipf. dp. ind. 3s XXI.1.
exinde, “then”;
exinde – adv. XX.10, XXI.6.
exitus, -us, m., “death”;
exitu – ab. s XIV.2;
exitum – acc. s XIX.1. Where the Latin speaks of the death (exitum) which each one desired,
the Greek speaks of the glory (δ όξ α ν) which each one desired.
expavesco, -ere, expavi, “be terrified, become fearful”;
expavescentes – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. p XI.7;
expavi – pf. act. ind. 1s III.5.
exspecto, -are, -avi, -atum, “await”;
exspectamus – pr. act. ind. 1p X.3
expergiscor, expergisci, experrectus sum, “awaken, wake up”;

experta sum – pf. dp. ind. 1s IV.10, VII.9, VIII.4, X.14;
expertus sum – pf. dp. ind. 1s XIII.8.
expergo, -ere, expergi, expergitum, “awaken”;
expergita – pf. pass. ptl. nm. f. s XX.8.
experior, experiri, expertus sum, “know”;
experta eram – plp. dp. ind. 1s III.5, IV.2;
experti – pf. dp. ptl. nm. m. p XIX.3.
expolio, -are, -avi, -atum, “strip naked”;
expoliata sum – pf. pass. ind. 1s X.7.
exequor, exequi, executus sum, “carry out”;
exequimur – pr. dp. ind. 1p XVI.1.
exuperatio, exuperationis, f., “overflow”;
exuperationem – acc. s I.3. The Latin might seem stronger here since it speaks of the
“overflowing” of grace where the Greek speaks of its “increase” (αὐ ξ α νο μέ ν η ς).
extasis, -is, f., “ecstasy”;
extasi – ab. s XX.8. Where the Latin speaks of being “in ecstasy” the Greek speaks of
“experiencing ecstasy”—῎εκ σ τασι ν παθο ῦσα (with reference to Perpetua).
extendo, -ere, extendi, extentum, “stretch”;
extendebat – ipf. act. ind. 3s VII.7.
extermino, -are, -avi, -atum, “destroy”;
extermines – pr. act. sbj. 2s V.4.
exterreo, -ere, exterrui, exterritum, “deter”;
exterrebat – ipf. act. ind. 3s IV.4.
extraho, -ere, extraxi, extractum, “drag”;
extraxit – pf. act. ind. 3s VI.2.
exululo, -are, -avi, -atum, “scream”;
exululavit – pf. act. ind. 3s XXI.9.
fabulor, fabulari, fabulatus sum, “speak”;
fabulari – pr. dp. inf. IV.2.
facies, faciei, f., “face”;
facie – ab. s VII.4, VII.5;
faciem – acc. s IX.2, X.10, X.11, XII.5, XVI.2;
facies – acc. p XVII.2.
facio, facere, feci, factum, “make, offer, do, become, be”;
fac – pr. act. ipv. 1s VI.3;
facere – pr. act. inf. VII.2;
faceremus – ipf. act. sbj. 1p XVIII.5;
facies – fut. act. ind. 2s XV.5;
facta sum – pf. pass. ind. 1s X.7;
factas – pf. pass. ptl. acc. f. p X.8;
factum est – pf. pass. ind. 3s XI.5;
factus est – pf. pass. ind. 3s III.9, VI.1;
feceram – plp. act. ind. 1s VII.6;
fecerunt – pf. act. ind. 3p VI.8;
feci – pf. act. ind. 1s VII.10;
fecimus – pf. act. ind. 1p XII.6;

fieret – ipf. pass. subj. 3s XVI.4;
fieri – pr. pass. inf. X.11;
fiet – fut. pass. ind. 3s V.6.
factio, factionis, f., “different team”;
factionibus – ab. p XIII.6.
facultas, facultatis, f., “chance”;
facultas – nm. s XVI.4.
fastigium, fastigii, n., “height”;
fastigium – acc. s X.8.
fautor, fautoris, m., “supporter”;
fautores – nm. p X.6,7, 12.
felicitas, felicitatis, f., “happiness”;
felicitatem – acc. s XVII.1. For the Latin term, meaning “happiness, “ the Greek uses
μα καρισμός , which has the more specific meaning of “blessing,” as seen in Galatians 4.15.
femina, -ae, f., “woman”;
femina – nm. s XXI.10;
feminae – nm. p XVIII.4.
femur, femoris, n., “thigh”;
femoris – g. s XX.4.
fero, ferre, tuli, latum, “carry”;
ferens – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. s X.8;
ferri – pr. pass. inf. XI.2.
ferox , ferocis, “wild”;
ferocissimam – acc. f. s. spl. XX.I.
ferramentum, -i, n., “iron implement, iron weapon”;
ferramentis – d. p IV.3;
ferramentorum – g. p IV.3.
ferrum, ferri, n., “sword’s thrust”;
ferrum – acc. s XXI.8. For the one word ferrum the Greek substitutes the expression τ ὴ ν δι ὰ
το ῦ ξ ίφο υς τιμωρί α ν (“punishment by the sword”). Tι μωρί α is a classical term for
“punishment” and occurs as early as Aeschylus. In Biblical and patristic Greek it is seen in
such passages as Hb 10.29 and MPol 6.2.
fervor, fervoris, m., “inflammation”;
fervorem – acc. s VI.8.
fiala, -ae, f., “cup”;
fiala – nm. s VIII.3 (bis).
fideicommissum, -i, n., “sacred trust”;
fideicommissum – acc. s XVI.1.
fidenter, “confidently”;
fidenter – adv. IV.2.
fides, fidei, f., “faith”;
fide – ab. s XX.10;
fidei – g.s I.1, I.5, XXI.4.
fido, -ere, fisus sum, “trust”;
fidebam – ipf. act. ind. 1s VII.9.
fi lia, -ae, f., “daughter”;

filia – voc. s V.2, X.13;
filiae – nm. p I.4;
filiam – acc. s V.5, XV.7.
fi liolus, -i, m., “little son”;
filioli – voc. p I.6.
fi lius, filii, m., “son”;
filii – nm. p I.4;
filio – ab. s VI.2;
filium – acc. s II.2, III.8, V.3, XXI.11.
fi nis, finis, m. “end”
fine – ab. s XXI.2;
finem – acc. s XVIII.4.
flagellum, -i, n., “whip”;
flagellis – ab. p XVIII.9. For the expressin flagellis vexari the Greek uses the one infinitive
μασ τι γ ωθῆναι . Mα σ τι γ όω is a classical term occuring as early as Herodotus. In the NT it is
used of the scourging of Christ in Mt 20.19. This is probably significant because the very next
statement in the Passio, in both versions, is that the martyrs rejoiced to have a share in the
Lord’s sufferings.
flexuosus, -a, -um, “winding”;
flexuosa – acc. n. p X.3.
flos, floris, m., “flower”;
florem – acc. s V.2;
flores – acc. p XI.5.
foedus, -a, -um, “foul”;
foedus – nm. m. s X.6 For foedus (“ foul”) the Greek uses ἄμορφο ς (literally “without form”
and hence “misshapen” or “ugly”). See 1 Corinthians 12.2, where this word (if it is the correct
MS reading) refers to idols.
folium, folii, n., “leaf ”;
folia – nm. p XI.6.
foris, foris, f., “door”;
fores – acc. p XIII.1.
fortasse, “perhaps”;
fortasse – adv. XXI.10.
forte, “by chance”;
forte – adv. XVIII.1.
fortis, forte, “brave”;
fortissimi – nm.m. p spr. XXI.11.
forum, fori, n., “forum”;
fori – g. s VI.1;
forum – acc. s VI.1.
frater, fratris, m., “brother”;
frater – nm. s IV.1, VII.5;
fratrem – acc. s III.8, VII.9, XX.10;
fratres – acc. p II.2, V.3, XIII.8;
fratres – voc. p I.6;
fratri – d. s IV.10;
fratribus – d. p V.2.
fundo, fundere, fudi, fusum, “pour”;
funderet – ipf. sbj. 3s XV.2;
fuderunt – pf. act. ind. 3p XV.4.
gallicula, -ae, f., “sandal, shoe”;
galliculas – acc. p X.2, X.8.
gaudeo, gaudere, gavisus sum. “rejoice”;
gaudens – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. or f. s VIII. 4, XIII.8, XVIII.3;
gavisurus – fut. act. ptl. nm. m. s V.6.
gaudium, gaudii, n., “joy”;
gaudio – abs. s XVIII.1. This is rendered in the Greek by χαρά , a word which occurs a number
of times in the NT. For example, in Lk 24.41 those who saw Jesus after his resurrection are
said to disbelieve ἀ πὸ τ ῆς χαρᾶς (“because of joy”).
gemitus, gemitus, m., “groan”;
gemitu – ab. s XV.4.
gemo, gemere, gemui, gemitum, “groan”;
gemens – pr. act. ptl. nm. f.s VII.10. The reference is to Perpetua’s prayer for her brother.
Where the Latin has feci . . . orationem . . . gemens the Greek has προ σε υ ξ αμέν η με τὰ
σ τε να γμῶν. The latter may be a Biblical or patristic echo. See Rm 8.26; 1 Clem 15.6; and Hv
3.9.6.
generosus, -a, -um, “noble-minded”;
generosa – nm. f. s XVIII.4.
genus, generis, n., “kind, sort, family”;
genere – ab. s V.6;
genus – acc. s IV.3, XI.5.
gesto, -are, -avi, -atum, “carry, wear”;
gestabant – ipf. act. ind. 3p XI.7;
gestamur – pr. pas. ind. 1 p XI.5;
gestaret – ipf. act. sbj. 3s XIX.2.
gestus, gestus, m., “gesture”;
gestu – ab. s XVIII.8.
gladiator, gladiatoris, m., “gladiator”;
gladiatoris – g. s XXI.9.
gladius, gladii, m., “sword”;
gladii – nm. p IV.3;
gladii – g. s VI.3;
gladio – d. s XXI.7;
gladio – ab. s X.9;
gladium – acc. s XIV.3.
gloria, -ae, f., “glory, triumph, credit”;
gloria – nm. s XVI.3;
gloria – ab. s X.13, XX.5;
gloriae – g. s I.6, XVI.1; For gloriae in I.6 (referring to God’s glory) the Greek, as would be
expected, uses δ όξ α , which is used with this meaning in the NT, as in Rm 1.23.
gloriam – acc. s I.5, XXI.11.
gloriosus, -a, -um, “glorious”;

gloriosiorem – acc. f. s. cpv. XIX.2.
gradus, gradus, m., “step”;
gradu – ab. s VI.2;
gradum – acc. s IV.7.
gratia, ae, f., “grace, thanks, favor”;
gratia – nm. s XV.1;
gratia – ab. s XIV.2;
gratiae – g. s I.3;
gratiam – acc. s I.5;
gratias – acc. p III.4, XII.7.
gratulor, -ari, gratulatus sum, “rejoice”;
gratulati sunt – pf. dp. ind. 3p XVIII.9. Here the Greek uses ἀ γ α λ λι άω, which is used in the
NT for “rejoice,” as in Jn 8.56. The force of the Latin may be more like “give thanks.”
graviter, “deeply”;
graviter – adv. XV.3.
gusto, -are, -avi, -atum, “taste”;
gustaret – ipf. act. sbj. 3s XXI.9. For gusto the Greek uses γ ε ύο μαι . Both verbs can mean
“taste” in a metaphorical sense. Γε ύο μαι is used in this way in such NT passages as Mt
16.28.
habeo, habere, habui, habitum, *“have, treat”;
habeatis – pr. act. sbj. 2p I.6;
habebat – ipf. act. ind. 3s VII.8;
habens – pr. act. ptl. nm. f. s II.2, VII.7;
habentem – pr. act. ptl. acc. m. s XII.3;
habere – pr. act. inf. IV.10;
haberet – ipf. act. sbj. 3s XV.2;
haberi – pres. pass. inf. XVI.4;
habes – pr. act. ind. 2s XII.7;
habetis – pr. act. ind. 2p XIII.5;
habuit – pf. act. ind. 3s VII.4.
habitus, habitus, m., “dress, clothing”;
habitu – ab. s IV.8, XX.9; Whereas the Latin in IV.8 refers to a man “in the dress of a
shepherd,” the Greek refers to a man “having the appearance of a shepherd”— πο ι μέ νο ς
σ χῆμα ῎ε χο ν τα . The Greek is thus more general, as it has no reference specifically to the man’s
dress. In Hv. V.1 there is a similar reference to a man with the appearance of a shepherd:
σ χήμα τι πο ιμ ε νι κῷ.
habitum – acc. s XVIII.4.
hamus, hami, “hook”;
hami – nm. p IV.3.
hereditas, hereditatis, f., “legacy”;
hereditatem – acc. s XXI.5.
hic, “here”;
hic – adv. X.4, XII.7.
hilaris, hilare, “happy, cheerful”
hilares – nm. m. or f. p. VI.6, XVIII.1;
hilarior – nm. f. s. cmp. XII.7;

hilaris – nm. f. s. XII.7.
hinc, “from this point”;
hinc – adv. II.3.
hodie, “today”;
hodie – adv. XVII.2.
homicidium, homicidii, n., “murder”;
homicidii – g. s XXI.7.
homo, hominis, m., “man”;
hominem – acc. s IV.8, XII.3;
hominibus – d. p VII.5;
hominis – g. s I.1;
hominum – g. p V.2, XVI.2;
homo – nm. s I.1.
honeste, “well”;
honeste – adv. II.1. Honeste nata seems to suggest that she is of good family, and this is
supported by the Greek version’s γ ε ν ν ηθε ῖσα ε ὐγ ε νῶς . The adjective from which the
Greek adverb is derived occurs in Lk 19.12, when it refers to a nobleman: ῎α ν θρωπός τι ς
ε ὐγ ε ν ή ς.
honor, honoris, m., “honor”;
honor – nm. s I.6;
honorem – acc. s XI.7.
honorifico, -are, -avi, -atum, “honor”;
honorificat – pr. act. ind. 3s XXI.11.
honoro, -are, -avi, -atum, “honor”;
honoramus – pr. act. ind. 1p I.5;
honoretur – pr. pass. sbj. 3s I.1.
hora, -ae, f., “hour”;
horis – ab. p III.7.
horoma, horomatis, n., “vision”;
horomate – ab. s X.1. A Latinization of the term ὅραμα in the Greek version. The term is used in
Biblical and patristic Greek to refer to a supernatural vision, as in Acts 7.31 and Hv. 4.2.2.
horreo, ere, horrui, “be horrified, shudder”;
horruit – pf. act. ind. 3s XVI.4, XX.2. For horruit in XVI.4 the Greek uses ῎εφρι ξ ε ν. Both
horreo and φρίσσω originally meant “bristle” and then “shudder.” Φ ρίσσω occurs in Biblical
and patristic Greek in the sense of “shudder.” See James 2.19 and Hv. 1.2.1.
hortus, horti, m., “garden”;
horti – g. s IV.8.
humane, “humanly”;
humanius – adv. cpv. XVI.4.
iaceo, iacere, iacui, “lie”;
iacens – pr. act. ptl. acc. n. s III.1.
iacto, -are, avi, atum, “throw, cast, fling”;
iactabant – ipf. act. ind. 3p XVII.1;
iactans – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. s V.5;
iactata est – pf. pass. ind. 3s XX.3.
iam, *“now, already”;

iam – adv. II.3, III. 8, IV.1, IV.10, V.5, XV.2, XVI.4, XVIII.7, XIX.4, XX.9, XXI.6, XXI.7.
ibi, *“there, then”;
ibi – adv. III.6, III.9, IV.3, XI.7, XI.9.
ideo, *“for this reason”;
ideo – adv. III.8, XVIII.5 (bis), XX.I.
ilico – “in that very place”;
ilico – adv. VI.2.
illic, “there”;
illic – adv. XIII.8, XV.6, XX.8.
illo, “there”;
illo – adv. XVI.3, XXI.1.
illuc, “there”;
illuc – adv. XXI.1.
illuceo, illucere, illuxi, “dawn”;
illuxit – pf. act. ind. 3s XVIII.1.
immensus, -a, -um, “enormous, huge, great, endless”;
immensam – acc. f. s XI.4;
immensus – nm. m. s VI.1;
inmensa – nm. f. s XXI.11;
inmensum – acc. n. s IV.8.
immo, “or rather”;
immo – adv. XVI.1.
immobilis, inmobile, “without moving”;
inmobiles – nm. m. p XXI.8.
immundus, -a, -um, “unclean ”;
inmundo – ab. m. s XXI.10. The reference here is to an unclean spirit. The Greek renders it by
᾿α κάθαρ το ς , which is used of unclean spirits in such NT passages as Mt 10.1.
imperator, imperatoris, m., “emperor”;
imperatorum – g. p VI.3.
imbecillitas, imbecillitatis, f., “weakness”;
imbecillitas – nom. s I.5. Where the Latin uses an abstract noun for “weakness,” Greek
personalizes the idea with ᾿αβ έβαι ός τι ς (“any weak person”). The original form β έβαι ο ς
occurs in Rm 4.16 and MPol 1.2.
incantatio, incantationis, f., “incantation”;
incantationibus – ab. p XVI.2. For the Latin word for “incantation” the Greek uses ἐ πωδή ,
an old word for “enchantment” or “spell.” In the form ᾿ε πα ο ι δή it is found in Homer (Od
19.457). It occurs in a passage in Origen (Contra Celsum 2.34) about sorcerers using
incantations to loosen chains and open doors. The reference is to the release of Peter and Paul
and Silas from prison (Acts 16.25–26).
incessus, incessus, m., “step”;
incessu – ab. s XVIII.2.
inde, *“from there”;
inde – adv. XVII.3.
indignus, -a, -um, “unworthy”;
indigni – nm. m. p XVI.1.
induco, inducere, induxi, inductum, “lead into, bring in”;

inducerentur – ipf. pass. sbj. 3p X.4, XVIII.6;
induxit – pf. act. ind. 3s X.4.
induo, induere, indui, indutum, “put on, cover, dress”;
induere – pr. act. inf. XVIII.4;
indutae – pf. pass. ptl. nm. f. p XX.2, XX.3.
inedia, -ae, f., “hunger”;
inedia – ab. s III.8.
inenarrabilis, inenarrabile, “indescribable”;
inenarrabili – ab. s XIII.8.
infans, infantis, m. or f., “infant”;
infans – nm. s III.9, VI.7;
infantem – acc. s II.2, III.8, VI.7;
infanti – d. s VI.2;
infantis – g. s III. 6, III.9, VI.8;
infantium – g. p VIII.2.
infantia, -ae, f. “infant”;
infantiae – d. s VI.3.
infelix , infelicis, “unhappy”;
infelici – ab. s IX.3. Here the Greek uses τα λαί πωρο ς , a word occurring as early as Pindar,
and seen in Biblical and patristic Greek, as in Rm 7.24, Rev 3.17, and Hs 1.3.
infibulo, -are, -avi, -atum, “tie up”;
infibulavit – pf. act. ind. 3s XX.5.
infigo, infigere, infixi, infixum, “attach”;
infixum – pf. pass. ptl. nm. n. s IV.3.
infi rmitas, infirmitatis, f., “weakness”;
infirmitatem – acc. s VII.5.
ingemesco, ingemescere, ingemui, “groan”;
ingemescere – pr. act. inf. VII.2.
ingens, ingentis, “many”;
ingentem – acc. s X.5.
inhaereo, inhaerere, inhaesi, inhaesum, “cling”;
inhaererent – ipf. act. sbj. 3p IV.3. This is not found in the Greek, but it has been conjectured
that a form of προ σ κο λ λά ω was there originally. See von Beek’s apparatus.
inimicus, inimici, m., “enemy”;
inimici – nm. p XVII.2.
iniustitia, iniustitiae, f., “injustice”;
iniustitia – nm. s XVIII.6.
inlaesus, -a, -um, “unhurt”;
inlaesus – nm. m. s XIX.6. The Greek author seems to intend ὑγ ι ή ς as the equivalent of
inlaesus, although it is positioned slightly differently in the text. Certainly ὑγ ι ή ς can be used
literally in the sense of “unhurt,” as in Hs. 8.3.1. It might be tempting to hear also an echo
here of the figurative meaning of “sound,” as in Titus 2.8 ( λόγ ο ς ὑγ ι ή ς), since Saturus would
have been a man of “sound speech” in his teaching.
innocens, innocentis, “innocent”;
innocentem – acc. m. s XV.2.
inpropero, -are, -avi, -atum, “curse”;

inproperare – pr. act. inf. IX.2.
inquam, (defective verb), “say”;
inquam – pr. act. ind. 1s III.1;
inquit – pr. act. ind. 3s III.1, VI.3, VI.4, XI.2, XX.8, XXI.1, XX1.4 (bis);
inquiunt – pr. act. ind. 3p XVIII.8.
inrideo, -ere, inrisi, inrisum, “mock”;
inridentes – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. p XVII.1.
insidiae, insidiarum, f., “ambush, lie in wait”;
insidias – acc. p IV.4.
insignis, insigne, “extraordinary”;
insigniores – nm. f. p cmp. XIV.1.
insto, -are, institi, “draw near”;
instante – pr. act. ptl. ab. m. s;
instituo, instituere, institui, institutum, “educate”;
instituta – pf. pass. ptl. nom. f. s II.1.
instrumentum, instrumenti, m., “instruction”;
instrumentum – acc. s I.5.
intellego, -ere, intellexi, intellectum, “know, recognize”;
intellegens – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. s IX.1;
intellexi – pf. act. ind. 1s VIII.4, X.14;
intelleximus – pf. act. ind. 1p IV.10.
interrogo, -are, -avi, -atum, “question”;
interrogati – pf. pass. ptl. nm. m. p VI.2.
intersum, interesse, interfui, “be present”;
interfuistis – pf. act. ind. 2p I.6.
intro, -are, -avi, -atum, “come to visit”;
intravit – pr. act. ind. 3s IX.2.
introeo, introire, introivi, introitum, “enter”;
introeundi – ger. g. s XVI.4;
introeuntes – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. p XII.1, XII.5;
introite – pr. act. ipv. 2p XI.10;
introivimus – pf. act. ind. 1p XII.2.
invado, -ere, invasi, invasum, “come upon”;
invaserunt – pf. act. ind. 3p XV.5.
invenio, invenire, inveni, inventum, “find”;
invenimus – pf. act. ind. 1p XI.9.
invicem, “each other, one another”;
invicem – adv. VII.6, X.10, IX.1, XIII.5, XX.10, XXI.7.
ita, “and so, then”;
ita – adv. I.5, VII.5, VII.6, XV.7, XVI.4, XVII.3, XX.6.
itaque, “and, and so”;
itaque – adv. I.5, I.6, XV.4, XIX.3, XIX.5, XIX.6, XX.2.
item, “likewise”;
item – adv. XVIII.3, XX.1.
iubeo, -ere, iussi, iussum, “order”;
iussit – pf. act. ind. 3s XVI.4;

iussus est – pf. pass. ind. 3s VI.5.
iudicium, iudicii, n., “judgment”;
iudicium – acc. s XVII.1. The Greek here has κρίσις , which is frequently used with reference
to the divine judgement, as in 2 Th 1.5 and MPol 11.2.
iudico, -are, -avi, -atum, “restrict”;
iudicent – pres. act. sbj. 3p I.3.
iugulatio, iugulationis, f., “cutting of throat”;
iugulationem – acc. s XXI.6.
iugulum, iuguli, n., “throat”;
iugulum – acc. s XXI.9.
iungo, iungere, iunxi, iunctum, “join, cup”;
iunctis – pf. pass. ptl. ab. f. p IV.9;
iunxi – pf. act. ind. 1s X.11.
ius, iuris, n., “right”;
ius – acc. s VI.3.
iustitia, -ae, f., “justice”;
iustitiam – acc. s XVIII.6.
iuvenilis, iuvenile, “youthful”;
iuvenili – ab. m. s XII.3.
iuvenis, iuvenis, m. or f., “young man”;
iuvenes – nm. p I.4.
labor, laboris, m., “anxiety, suffering”;
labore – ab. s III.9;
labori – d. s VII.9.
laboro, -are, -avi, -atum, “suffer”;
laborans – pr. act. ptl. nm. f. s XV.5;
laborare – pr. act. inf. VII.9.
lacrimo, -are, -avi, -atum, “weep”;
lacrimans – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. or f. s V.5, VII.10.
lacto, -are, -avi, -atum, “nurse”;
lactabam – ipf. act. ind. 1s III.8.
lancea, -ae, f., “lance”;
lanceae – nm. p IV.3.
lanio, -are, -avi, -atum, “tear in pieces”;
laniaretur – ipf. pass. sbj. 3s IV.3.
lanista, -ae, “gladiator trainer”;
lanista – nm. s X.8;
lanistam – acc. s X.12.
latus, lateris, n., “side”;
latere – ab. s XI.4, XX.4;
lateribus – ab. p IV.3.
latus, -a, -um, “broad”;
lata – ab. f. s XI.8.
lavo, -are, lavi, lotum, “wash, bathe”;
laverat – plp. act. ind. 3s XXI.3;
lotum – pf. pass. ptl. acc. m. s XXI.2;

lotura – fut. act. ptl. nm. f. s XVIII.3.
lectio, lectionis, f., “reading”;
lectione – ab. s I.1, I.5.
lego, -ere, legi, lectum, “read”;
legere – pr. act. inf. XXI.11.
lente, “slowly”;
lente – adv. IV.7.
leopardus, leopardi, m., “leopard”;
leopardi – g. s XIX.4, XXI.1;
leopardo – d. s XXI.2;
leopardum – acc. s XIX.3.
levo, -are, -avi, -atum, “raise”;
levavit – pf. act. ind. 3s IV.9.
libenter, “willingly”;
libenter – adv. XVII.2.
liber, libera, liberum, “free”;
liberam – acc. f. s XVII.1 (bis).
liberaliter, “liberally”;
liberaliter – adv. II.1. The Latin expression liberaliter instituta, referring to Perpetua’s
education, is not reproduced in the Greek exactly. Instead we find τραθ ε ῖσα πο λ υ τε λῶς ,
referring perhaps to her being brought up in a lavish style (see Amat). On the other hand,
τρέ φω can mean “educate") (as in Plato, Republic 5340), and πο λ υ τε λῶς can mean
“abundantly” as in Hm 4.2.2, where the reference is to “doing good abundantly.”
libere, “freely”;
libere – adv. V.4.
libero, -are, -avi, -atum, “free”;
liberati – pf. pas. ptl. nm. m.p. XI.4.
libertas, libertatis, f., “freedom”;
libertas – nm. s XVIII.5.
licet, licere, licuit, “be permitted”;
licet – pr. act. ind. 3s XV.2.
littera, -ae, f., *“letter”;
litteris – ab. p I.1.
locus, loci, m. or n., “place”;
loca – acc. p X.3;
loci – g. s XII.1;
loco – ab. s VI.3, VII.4, VII.7, XII.3, XXI.6;
locum – acc. s III.7, VIII.1, XII.1.
loquor, loqui, locutus sum, “speak”;
loquetur – fut. dp. ind. 3s V.4;
loqui – pr. dp. inf. XIII.4;
loquimur – pr. dp. ind. 1p XIII.5.
lucidus, -a, -um, “shining”;
lucido – ab. m. s XVIII.2.
lucror, lucrari, lucratus sum, “escape”;
lucraretur – ipf. dp. sbj. 3s XIV.2. Certainly lucror, of which the original meaning is “gain,”
must mean “escape” here—a meaning found as early as Cicero (Verr. 1.33). This is supported
by the Greek version which uses a word for “gain” followed by a negated articular infinitive:
κερδά νας τὸ μὴ θηρι ο μα χῆσαι (“gained not having to fight the beasts”).
luctus, luctus, m., “agony”;
luctu – ab. s XV.2.
ludo, ludere, lusi, lusum, “play”;
ludere – pr. act. inf. VIII.3;
ludite – pr. act. ipv. XII.6.
lumbus, lumbi, m., “loins, side”;
lumbos – acc. p XX.3.
lux , lucis, f., “light”;
luce – ab. s XII.1;
lucem – acc. s XI.4.
macero, -are, -avi, -atum, “consume, torment”;
macerabar – ipf. pass. ind. 1s III.6; Macero literally means “soften” and thence “torment.”
The Greek author’s use of κα τα πο νέ ω here may be more emphatic, since it means “subdue
after a hard struggle” (LSJ). In VI.8 another form of it is used to translate macerarer:
κα τα πο ν ηθ ῶ .
macerarer – ipf. pass. sbj. 1s VI.8.
machaera, -ae, “knife”;
machaerae – nm. p IV.3.
magicus, -a, -um, “magical”;
magicis – ab. f. p XVI.2.
magis, “more, particularly”;
magis – adv. XIX.4, XXI.8.
magnifico, -are, -avi, -atum, “show considerable respect, praise”;
magnificare – pr. act. inf. IX.1;
magnificat – pr. act. ind. 3s XXI.11.
magnitudo, magnitudinis, f., “size”;
magnitudinis – g. s IV.3, IV.4, X.8.
magnus, -a, -um, “great”;
maiora – nm. n. p. cpv. I.3;
magna – ab. f. s IV.1;
magnam – ac. f. s IX.1;
magno – ab. m. s XV.2.
male, “badly”;
male – adv. VII.5, XVI.2.
malo, malle, malui, “want”;
mallem – ipf. act. sbj. 1s III.9.
malum, mali, n., “apple”;
mala – nm. p X.8.
mamma, -ae, “breast”;
mammarum – g. p VI.8;
mammas – acc. p VI.7, VI.8;
mammis – ab. p XX.2.
mandatum, mandati, n., “command”;

mandatum – acc. s XVI.1. The Greek renders this by ῎ ε ν τα λμα , a word not common in the
language. Its use here may well echo its three occurrences in the NT: Mt 15.9; Mk 7.7, and Col
2.22 (all of which go back to LXX Is 29.13) or else 2 Clem 17.3.
manduco, -are, -avi, -atum, “eat”;
manducavi – pf. act. ind. 1s IV.9.
maneo, manere, mansi, mansum, “stay, be kept”;
manere – pr. act. inf. VI.7;
maneret – ipf. act. sbj. 3s III.9;
mansimus – pf. act. ind. 1p VIII.1.
manus, manus, f., “hand”;
manibus – ab. p IV.9, V.2;
manu – ab. s II.3, XII.5;
manum – acc. s XX.6;
manus – nm. p XI.2;
manus – acc. p V.5, X.11.
margo, marginis, m. or f., “rim”;
margine – ab. s VIII.2, 3;
marginem – acc. s VII.7;
marginis – g. s VII.8.
martyr, martyris, m. or f., “martyr”;
martyr – nm. s XI.9;
martyras – acc. p XIII.8;
martyres – nm. p XXI.11;
martyribus – ab. p I.6.
martyra , -ae, f., “martyr”;
martyram – acc. s XX.5. The Latin feminine form occurs only rarely. See Amat’s note. The
Greek uses the usual masculine form with the feminine article: τ ῇ μάρ τ υρι .
martyrium, martyrii, n., “martyrdom”;
martyrii – g.s. XIX.2;
martyrium – acc. s XXI.8.
masculus, -a, -um, “man”;
masculus – nm. m. s X.7.
matertera, -ae, “mother’s sister”;
materteram – acc. s V.3.
matrona, -ae, f., “wife”;
matrona – nm. s XVIII.2.
matronaliter, “honorably”;
matronaliter – adv. II.1. Where the Latin says that Perpetua was matronaliter nupta the
Greek says that she was γ αμη θε ῖσα ἐ ξ όχως , “prominently married”), suggesting the Greek
author’s ignorance of the technical meaning of matronaliter. The adjective from which the
Greek adverb is taken occurs in MPol 19.1 (μάρ τ υς ῎εξ ο χο ς , “a prominent martyr”) and in 1
Clem 33.4 (τὸ ῎εξ ὸχωτα το ν,“the most prominent thing,” referring to the human race).
maturus, -a, -um, “early”;
maturiore – ab. m. s cpv. XIV.2.
medius, -a, -um, “middle of ”;
medium – acc. n. s X.8.
meus, -a, -um, “my”;

meis – d. m. p V.2.
melior, melius, “better”;
meliorem – acc. m. s III.7.
memini, meminisse, “remember”;
memento – fut. act. imp. 2s XXI.4.
memor, memoris, “mindful”;
memor – nm. f. s XX.4.
memoria, -ae, f., “memorial”;
memoriam – acc. s XXI.5. The word here refers to the ring which Saturus dipped into his
blood. Its translation is perhaps debatable. Th e Greek author renders it by μ ν ή μη , and Amat
translates both the Latin and the Greek by souvenir. Maybe “reminder” would be best here,
and sanguinis is not just “blood” but “bloodshed” (as in Musurillo’s translation). Certainly
both memoria and μν ή μη literally mean “memory,” but it is an easy transition from
“memory” to “that which reminds.”
mens, mentis, f., “mind”;
mentem – acc. s VII.1. Instead of having Perpetua say that Dinocrates had never come into
her mind until then (as the Latin does) the Greek has her say that she had never had a
recollection (α’ νάμ ν η σι ν) of him until then. Perhaps the author intends his readers to hear at
this point an ech of the Biblical use of this word—a kind of remembering which makes the
past present. See Lk 22.19 and 1 Cor 11.24, where the reference is to the Eucharist .
mensis, mensis, m., “month delivery”;
mensis – g. s XV.5.
mensium – g. p XV.2.
mergo, mergere, mersi, mersum, “dip”;
mersam – pf. pass. ptl. acc. f. s XXI.5.
miles, militis, m., “soldier”;
miles – nm. s IX.1;
militem – ac. s XXI.1;
militi – d. s XXI.4;
militum – g. p III.6.
minister, ministri, m., “assistant”;
ministris – ab. p XV.5.
ministro, -are, -avi, -atum, “minister”;
ministrabant – ipf. act. ind. 3p III.7. The subject is diaconi. In the Latin there is no word
play, but it is easy and logical for the Greek author to write διά κο νο ι ο ἵ δι ηκ όνο υ ν ἡ μ ῖν,
using the noun for “deacon” and the verb for “serve.” The verb δι ακ ο νέ ω occurs in such
Biblical and patristic passages as Mt 4.11 (where the angels minister to Jesus) and Hs 8.4.1.
minor, minus, “lesser, less”;
minora – acc. n. p XXI.11;
minori – d. s I.2.
mirus, -a, -um, “great.”
mirae – g.f.s. IV.3, IV.4, X.8.
miser, misera, miserum, “pitiable”;
misera – ab. f. s VI.5.
mitto, mittere, misi, missum, “send”;
miserunt – pf. act. ind. 3p XIII.2;
missus est – pf. pass. ind. 3s I.5;

mittatis – pr. act. sbj. 2p XIII.3;
mitterem – ipf. act. sbj. 1s X.11;
mitterent – ipf. act. sbj. 3p X.5;
mittit – pr. act. ind. 3s III.3;
mitto – pr. act. ind. 1s VI.7.
mollis, molle, “gentle”;
mollem – acc. m. s XI.3.
mora, -ae, f., “hesitation”;
moram – acc. s X.11.
mordeo, mordere, momordi, morsum, “bite”;
mordeat – pr. act. sbj. 3s IV.6.
mos, moris, m., “manner”;
more – ab.s VIII.4.
morior, mori, mortuus sum, “die”;
moreretur – ipf. dp. sbj. 3s VIII.3.
mors, mortis, f., “death”;
mors – nm. s VII.4.
moveo, movere, movi, motum, “move, anger”;
moti sumus – pf. pass. ind. 1p XIII.3;
motus – pf. pass. ptl. nm. m. s III.3;
moverent – ipf. act. sbj. 3p IX.2.
mulgeo, mulgere, mulsi, “milk”;
mulgebat – ipf. act. ind. 3s;
mulgentem – pr. act. ptl. acc. m. s IV.8.
multiformis, multiforme, “decorated”;
multiformes – acc. f. p X.8.
multiplex , multiplicis, “multi-laced”;
multiplices – acc. f. p X.2.
multo, “much”;
multo – adv. XXI.8.
multum, “much”;
multum – adv. VII.2.
multus, -a, -um, “many”;
multi – nm. m. p XVII.2;
multis – ab. m. p III.9.
munus, muneris, n., “game”;
muneris – g.s XV.4.
munere – ab. s VII.9.
narro, -are, -avi, -atum, “tell”;
narravit – pf. act. ind. 3s II.3. The Greek uses δι η γ έ ο μαι . The possible NT echoes might be
Mk 5.16 and 9.9, Lk 8.39 and 9.10, Act 8.33, 9.27, and 12.17, and Hb 11.32. The most likely
echo, however, probably is of the equivalent noun δι ή γ η σις in Lk 1.1, since it refers to an
account of events, just as narravit here introduces Perpetua’s account.
nascor, nasci, natus sum, “be born”;
nata – pf. dp. ptl. nm. f. s II.1.
natale, natalis, n., “birthday”;

natale – nm. s VII.9;
natali – ab. s XVI.3.
naturalis, naturale, “natural”;
naturali – ab. f. s XV.5.
necessario, “out of necessity”;
necessario – adv. I.5.
necessarius, -a, -um, “compelling”;
necessaria – nm. n. p I.2.
neglegenter, “carelessly”;
neglegenter – adv. IV.3.
nervus, nervi, m., “chains”;
nervo – ab. s VIII.1. Here the Greek author simply transliterates the Latin into νέρβῳ.
nescio, nescire, nescivi, nescitum, *“not to know”;
nescio – pr. act. ind. 1s IV.10, XX.8.
nihil, n., “nothing”;
nihil – acc. s (indecl.) XIX.4.
niveus, -a, -um, “snowy”;
niveos – acc. m. p XII.3.
nobilis, nobile, “noble”;
nobilissimis – d. m. p spr. XVI.3.
noceo, nocere, nocui, nocitum, “hurt”;
nocebit – fut. act. ind. 3s IV.6.
nolo, nolle, nolui, “don’t, refuse”;
noli – pr. act. imp. 2s X.4;
noluisti – pf. act. ind. 2s XV.5.
nomino, -are, -avi, -atum, “call, cry out the name”;
nominabat – ipf. act. ind. 3s V.5;
nominavi – pf. act. ind. 1s VII.1.
nonnisi, “only”;
nonnisi – adv. IV.3.
nota, -ae, f., “mark”;
notas – acc. p XX.9. Since the reference here is to the marks inflicted on Perpetua by the cow,
we might expect an echo here of the wounds of Christ. Such a reminiscence might be intended,
but it may also be significant that the Greek author does not use a Greek word associated with
wounds—such as the τ ύπο ς of Jn 20.25—but rather σ ημε ῖο ν, which means “a sign by which
something is known” or even a “miracle.” Perhaps the Greek author is suggesting here that the
wounds of Perpetua now have a theological significance .
noto, -are, -avi, -atum, “take a good look”;
notate – pr. act. imp. 2p XVII.2.
nove, “last of all”;
novissime – adv. spr. III.6.
novitius, -a, -um, “new”;
novitiora – nm. n. p. cmp. I.3.
novus, -a, -um, “new, recent, last”;
nova – nm. n. p I.1;
novae – nm. f. p XXI.11;

novas – acc. f. p I.5;
novissimiora – nm. n. p cmp. I.3;
novissimis – ab. m. p spr. I.4.
noxius, -a, -um, “condemned”;
noxiis – d. m. p XVI.3.
nubo, nubere, nupsi, nuptum, “marry”;
nupta – pf. pass. ptl. nm. f. s II.1.
nutus, nutus, m., “nod”;
nutu – ab. s XVIII.8.
obduco, obducere, obduxi, obductum, “violate”;
obduceretur – ipf. pass. sbj. 3s XVIII.5.
obicio, obicere, obieci, obiectum, “throw”;
obici – pr. pass. inf. XIX.2;
obiecta – pf. pass. ptl. nm. f. s XV.5;
obiectus – pf. pass. ptl. nm. m. s XXI.2.
obstetrix , obstetricis, f., “midwife”;
obstetrice – ab. s XVIII.3.
obstipesco, obstipescere, obstipui, “be shocked”;
obstipui – pf. act. ind. 1s VII.1. Th e Greek renders this with the phrase ἔ κ θαμ β ο ς
ε’ γ ε ν ήθη ν. The adjective ἔ κ θαμ β ος (“amazed”) occurs only once in the NT, in Acts 3.11,
where the reference is to the astonishment of the people at the healing of a lame man. Here it
occurs with γίνο μαι . It occurs with γίνο μαι in the Apocalypse of Peter 4.11 and in Hv. 3.1.5.
occido, occidere, occidi, occisum, “kill”;
occidet – fut. act. ind. 3s X.9;
occidi – pr. pass. inf. XXI.10.
octavus, -a, -um, “eighth”;
octavi – g. m. s XV.5.
octo, “eight”;
octo – g. p XV.2.
oculus, oculi, m., “eye”;
oculorum – g.p. XVIII.2.
odi, odisse, “hate”;
odistis – pf. act. ind. 2p XVII.2.
odium, odii, n., “hatred”;
odio – d. s VII.5.
odor, odoris, m., “fragrance”;
odore – ab. s XIII.8. The Latin odore inenarribili is rendered in the Greek by ᾿ο σμ ῇ
᾿α νε κ δι η γ ή τῳ. Certainly the Greek adjective means “indescribable” in a good sense, as in 2
Cor 9.15, where it refers to the gift of God. Since this passage is in the context of the narrative
of a dream, the “fragrance” may have a figurative meaning, as in 2 Cor 2.14 or Eph 5.2, where
᾿ο σμή is used. This might be the fragrance associated with martyrdom, as in MPol 15.2
(although a different Greek word is used there— ε ὐωδ ί α).
oleum, olei, n., “oil”;
oleo – ab. s X.7.
omnipotens, omnipotentis, “almighty”;
omnipotentem – acc. m. s XXI.11. Where the Latin speaks of “the almighty father” the
Greek (which is in several ways different in its ending) speaks of “the father of the ages” (τῷ
πα τρ ὶ τῶν αἰ ώνων), which could echo the many occurrences of αἰ ών in the NT, particularly 1
Tim 1.17: τῷ βασι λε ῖ τῶν αἰ ώνων.
omnis, omne, “all”;
omnia – acc. n. p I.5.
operor, operari, operatus sum, “lead to, work, grant”;
operantia – pr. act. ptl. nm. n. p I.1;
operari – pr. dp. inf. XXI.11;
operetur – pr. dp. sbj. 3s I.5.
optio, optionis, m., “adjutant”;
optio – nm. s IX.1; Miles optio is not exactly reproduced in the Greek, which simply says
σ τρα τιώτ ης. Likewise in XVI.4 optione carceris is rendered by ὁ τ ῆς φ υ λα κῆς προ εσ τώς
(“the one in charge of the prison”).
optione – ab. s XVI.4.
oratio, orationis, f., “prayer”;
oratione – ab. s VII.1.
oriens, orientis, m., “the east”;
orientem – acc. s XI.2.
oro, -are, -avi, -atum, “pray”;
orabam – ipf. act. ind. 1s VII.9;
oramus – pr. act. ind. 1p VII.1.
os, ossis, n., “bone”;
ossa – acc. p XXI.9.
osculor, osculari, osculatus sum, “kiss”;
osculatus sum – pf. dp. ind. 1s X.13. In X.13 the Greek renders osculor by ᾿α σ π ά ζ ο μ α ι ,
which actually means “greet,” but it can be associated with a kiss, as for example in
Rm 16.16. In XII.5 the Greek renders osculor by φ ι λ έ ω, which sometimes had the
meaning of “kiss” as far back as Aeschylus (Ag. 1540) and in the NT in such passages
as Mt 26.48.
ostendo, ostendere, ostendi, ostentum, “show”;
ostendatur – pr. pass. sbj. 3s IV.1.
ovis, ovis, f., “sheep”;
oves – acc. p IV.8.
paciscor, pacisci, pactus sum, “have an agreement”;
pacti sumus – pf. dp. ind. 1p XVIII.5. Here the Greek uses σ υ ν τά σσω which may not be as
specific or as emphatic as the Latin, since it really just means “prescribe” (as in Mt 21.6). See
Amat.
pallidus, -a, -um, “pale”;
pallido – ab. m. s VII.4.
papa, -ae, m., “father”;
papa – nm. s XIII.3.
paries, parietis, m., “wall”;
parietes – nm. p XII.1.
pario, parere, peperi, partum, “give birth”;
peperisse – pf. act. inf. XVIII.3.
pars, partis, f., “neighborhood”;
partes – acc. p VI.1.
partus, partus, m., “childbirth”;
partum – acc. s XVIII.3.
passio, passionis, f.,*“suffering”;

passio – nm. s IV.1;
passione – ab. s V.6;
passionem – acc. s IV.10;
passionis – g. s XVII.1.
pastor, pastoris, m., “shepherd”;
pastoris – g. s IV.8. Here the Greek uses πο ιμή ν, which inevitably recalls the Biblical
depiction of Jesus as a shepherd, as in Jn 10.11 and Hb 13.20.
pater, patris, m., “father”;
pater – nm. s VI.2;
patre – ab. s III.4;
patri – d. s V.2.
patior, pati, passus sum, “suffer”;
passi eramus – plp. dp. ind. 1p XI.2;
passura – fut. act. ptl. nm. f. s XV.6;
pati – pr. dp. inf. XX.5;
patietur – fut. dp. ind. 3s XV.6;
patior – pr. dp. ind. 1s XV.6 (bis).
paucus, -a, -um, “few”;
paucorum – g. m. p III.5.
paveo, pavere, pavi, “tremble, be afraid”;
paventes – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. p XVIII.1;
pavere – pr. act. inf. X.4. Where the Latin says noli pavere the Greek says μὴ φο βηθῇς ,
which could be an echo of Biblical passages in which someone is being reassured of divine
help, as for example in Lk 1.30 and 2.10.
pax , pacis, f., “peace”;
pacem – acc. s XII.6;
pacis – g. s XXI.7;
pax – nm. s X.13.
pectus, pectoris, n., “chest”;
pectus – acc. s X.8.
penetro, -are, -avi, -atum, “penetrate”;
penetranti – pr. act. ptl. d. m. s XXI.7.
percipio, percipere, percepi, perceptum, “receive”;
percepimus – pf. act. ind. 1p XI.4. Where the Latin has percepimus promissionem the
Greek uses μεταλαμβάνω with the genitive: μετειλήφαμεν τῆς ᾿επαγγελίας, which may be
more effective, as it conveys the notion of receiving a share in something. See 2 Tm 2.6, and 1
Clem 35.4 (where the reference to “sharing in promised gifts” is very much like the one in the
Passio).
percutio, percutere, percussi, percussum, “beat”;
fuissem percussa – plp. pass. sbj. 1s VI.5;
percussus est – pf. pass. ind. 3s VI.5.
perfundo, perfundere, perfudi, perfusum, “cover”;
perfusus est – pf. pass. ind. 3s XXI.2.
permitto, permittere, permisi, permissum, “give permission, permit”;
permisit – pf. act. ind. 3s XVI.1;
permittendo – ger. ab. s XVI.1;
permittis – pr. act. ind. 2s XVI.3.

persecutio, persecutionis, f., “persecution”;
persecutione – ab. s XI.9. Here the Greek uses δι ωγμός , which is a persecution for religious
reasons, as in Acts 8.1 and MPol 1.1.
persevero, -are, -avi, -atum, “want”;
perseveraret – ipf. act. sbj. 3s III.1.
pertingo, pertingere, “reach”;
pertingentem – pr. act. ptl. acc. f. s IV.3.
pervenio, pervenire, perveni, perventum, “pass, reach”;
pervenerunt – pf. act. ind. 3p XVIII.8;
pervenit – pf. act. ind. 3s IV.6.
pes, pedis, m., “foot”;
pedibus – ab. p XI.8.
peto, petere, petivi, petitum, “seek, ask, pray”;
petendum – fut. pass. ptl. acc. n. s III.5;
petentibus – pr. act. ptl. d. m. p XIX.1;
petere – pr. act. inf. VII.2;
petite – pr. act. ipv. 2p XIX.1.
pietas, pietatis, f., “love”;
pietate – ab. s V.5. The Greek ε ὔνο ι α may not be as effective, since it really means
“goodwill.”
pignus, pignoris, n., “pledge”;
pignus – acc. s XXI.5. The Greek here uses ᾿ε ν θή κ η , which was originally a financial term for
“investment” or “capital” but here according to Lampe means “keepsake.”
pinguis, pingue, “well nourished”;
pinguiores – nm. m. p cmp. XVI.4.
piscina, -ae, f., “pool”;
piscinam – acc. s VIII.2.
placidus, -a, -um, “calm”;
placido – ab. m. s XVIII.2.
plane, “truly”;
plane – adv. XXI.3.
plango, plangere, planxi, planctum, “grieve”;
plangere – pr. act. inf. XX.5.
plebs, plebis, f., “people”;
plebem – acc. s XIII.6.
poena, -ae, f., “suffering”;
poena – ab. s VIII.4;
poenae – d. s XV.2.
pons, pontis, m., “bridge”;
ponte – ab. s XIX.6.
populus, populi, m., “crowd, spectators”;
populi – g. s XX.7;
populo – d. s XVIII.7.
porta, -ae, f., “gate”;
porta – ab. s XXI.1;
portas – acc. p XIII.7.
510 • Ind e x Verbor um
possum, posse, potui, “can, be able”;

possemus – ipf. act. sbj. 1p VII.5;
possent – ipf. act. sbj. 3p IV.3;
possum – pr. act. ind. 1s III.2;
poterit – fut. act. ind. 3s V.2;
potest – pr. act. ind. 3s III.2;
potuisset – plp. act. sbj. 3s XXI.10.
posterus, -a, -um, “future”;
posteris – d. m. p I.2.
postulo, -are, -avi, -atum, “ask, demand”;
postulans – pr. act. ptl. nm. f. s VI.7;
postularet – ipf. act. sbj. 3s XXI.7;
postulavi – pf. act. ind. 1s IV.2;
postulavit – pf. act. ind. 3s XVIII.9;
postules – pr. act. sbj. 2s IV.1.
potestas, potestatis, f., “power”;
potestas – nm. s XXI.11;
potestate – ab. s V.5.
praedico, praedicere, praedixi, praedictum, “predict”;
praedixi – pf. act. ind. 1s XXI.1.
praegnans, praegnantis, “pregnant”;
praegnans – nm. f. s XV.2;
praegnantes – acc. f. p XV.2.
praemium, praemii, n., “bribe”;
praemio – ab. s III.7.
praeparo, -are, -avi, -atum, “prepare”;
praeparavit – pf. act. ind 3s XX.1.
praepono, praeponere, praeposui, praepositum, “be in charge, prefer”;
praepositus – pf. pass. ptl. nm. m. s IX.1;
praeposui – pf. act. ind. 1s V.2.
praesens, praesentis, “present”;
praesens – nm. m. s IV.5;
praesenti – ab. n. s I.2.
praesto, praestare, praestiti, praestitum, “furnish”;
praestabat – ipf. act. ind. 3s IV.4.
praesumo, praesumere, praesumpsi, praesumptum, “be confident, imagine”;
praesumebat – ipf. act. ind. 3s XIX.4;
praesumpsi – pf. act. ind. 1s XXI.1;
praesumptam – pf. pass. ptl. acc. f. s I.2.
praetorium, praetorii, n., “palace”;
praetorium – nm. s III.9. Here we find the Greek form of the Latin word. Πραι τώρι ο ν is
found several times in the NT, as in Mt 27.27.
prandeo, prandere, prandi, pransum, “eat breakfast”;
pranderemus – ipf. act. sbj. 1p VI.1. This is not reproduced in the Greek, unless we accept the
emendation ἠρισ τῶμε ν for the ὣρισ το of the ms.
presbyter, presbyteri, m., “priest”;
presbyter – nm. s XIII.3;
presbyterum – acc. s XIII.1.
primus, -a, -um, “first”;

primo – ab. m. s XI.4;
primum – acc. m. s IV.7.
procedo, procedere, processi, processum, “march”;
processerunt – pf. act. ind. 3p XVIII.1.
proconsul, proconsulis, m., “proconsul”;
proconsulis – g. s VI.3.
procurator, procuratoris, m., “procurator”;
procurator – nm. s VI.3. Here the Greek uses ᾿ε πίτρο πο ς , a classical term which means
“steward” and occurs as early as Pindar. It is used in this sense in the NT in Mt 20.8. It can
also have the meaning of “procurator.” It possibly means this in Lk 8.3, and it certainly has
this meaning in Plutarch 2.813 E .
prodeo, prodire, prodii, proditum, “go in, leave”;
prodeo – pr. act. ind. 1s XXI.1;
prodire – pr. act. inf. XIX.6.
produco, producere, produxi, productum, “bring forth, bring out, throw to”;
producamur – pr. act. sbj. 1p XVI.4;
producebantur – ipf. act. ind. 3p XX.2;
producimur – pr. act. ind. 1p XX.8.
proficiscor, proficisci, profectus sum, “come, leave”;
profecta est – pf. dp. ind. f. 3s VII.1;
profectus est – pf. dp. ind. m. 3s III.3.
profiteor, profiteri, professus sum, “declare”;
profitebatur – ipf. dp. ind. 3s XIX.2. No equivalent of this word appears in the Greek text,
but the addition of ῎ε λε γ ε ν has been suggested, and van Beek prints it in brackets.
proicio, proicere, proieci, proiectum, “throw to ground”;
proici – pr. pass. inf. VI.5.
promissio, promissionis, f., “promise”;
promissionem – acc. s XI.4. Here the Greek uses ᾿ε πα γ γ ε λ ία , which basically means
“announcement” but later came to mean “promise,” a meaning which it has a number of
times in Biblical and patristic Greek, as in Acts 2.39 and 1 Clem 26.1.
promitto, promittere, promisi, promissum, “promise”;
promittebat – ipf. act. ind. 3s XI.4.
pronuntio, -are, -avi, -atum, “pronounce sentence”;
pronuntiat – pr. act. ind. 3s VI.6.
prophetia , -ae, f., “prophecy”;
prophetias – acc. p I.5.
propheto, -are, -avi, -atum, “prophesy”;
prophetabunt – fut. act. ind. 3p I.4.
prosecutor, prosecutoris, m., “prosecutor”;
prosecutoribus – ab. p III.1. The Greek does not directly translate this, but it renders cum
prosecutoribus essemus by the genitive absolute ἡ μῶν παρα τ ηρο υμέ νων.
prosterno, prosternere, prostravi, prostratum, “throw”;
prosternere – pr. act. inf. IX.2.
prosum, prodesse, profui, profuturum, “help”;
profuturam [esse] – fut. act. inf. VII.9.
proveho, provehere, provexi, provectum, “raise”;
provexi – pf. act. ind. 1s V.2.
proximo, -are, -avi, -atum, “draw near”;

proximavit – pf. act. ind. 3s IX.2.
psallo, psallere, psalli, “sing hymns”;
psallebat – ipf. act. ind. 3s XVIII.7; Here the Greek uses ψάλ λω, from which the Latin verb is
taken. However in X.12 the Greek uses γ α υρι άω, which perhaps is not really as appropriate.
It is a classical word occurring as early as Xenophon, meaning “to bear oneself proudly.” it
occurs in LXX Judith 9.7 and Hv 1.1.8.
psallere – pr. act. inf. X.12.
pudor, pudoris, m., “modesty”;
pudoris – g. s XX.4.
puella, -ae, f., “young woman”;
puellis – d. p XX.1. Whereas in the Latin this noun is not modified, the Greek adds an
adjective for “blessed”: μα καρί αις νεά νι σι ν.
pugno, -are, -avi, -atum, “fight”;
pugnaremus – ipf. act. sbj. 1p X.1;
pugnaret – ipf. act. sbj. 3s XVIII.3;
esse pugnaturam – fut. act. inf. X.14;
pugnaturi – fut. act. ptl. nm. m. p VII.9;
pugnaturis – fut. act. ptl. d. m. p XVI.3;
pugnaturus – fut. act. ptl. nm. m. s X.6.
pugnus, pugni, m., “punch”;
pugnos – acc. p X.10. Where the Latin says mittere pugnos the Greek uses
the “technical term” (as Amat calls it) π α γ κ ρ α τι ά ζ ε ι ν, which means to
perform the exercises of the π α γ κ ρ ά τι ο ν, which included both boxing and
wrestling.
pulpitum, pulpiti, n., “scaffold”;
pulpitum – acc. s XIX.3. The Greek has γ έ φ υρα , which really is a bridge. Then there is a
reference to a pons (bridge) in the Latin version of XIX.6 although there is no corresponding
reference in the Greek at this point .
pulso, -are, -avi, -atum, “knock”;
pulsare – pr. act. inf. X.1.
purpura, -ae, f., “purple garment”;
purpuram – acc. s X.8.
quaero, quaerere, quaesivi, quaesitum, “ask”;
quaerebamus – ipf. act. ind. 1p XI.9.
rapio, rapere, rapui, raptum, “rush off ”;
rapti sumus – pf. pass. ind. 1p VI.1.
recens, recentis, “recently”;
recentem – acc. f. s XX.2.
recipio, recipere, recepi, receptum, “receive, take”;
receperunt – pf. act. ind. 3p XXI.8;
recipimur – pr. pass. ind. 1p III.5.
reclamo, -are, -avi, -atum, “roar”;
reclamaverit – pf. act. sbj. 3s XXI.2.
recognosco, recognoscere, recognovi, recognitum, “recognize, notice”;
recognoscatis – pr. act. sbj. 2p XVII.2;
recognovisset – plp. act. sbj. 3s XX.9.
redeo, redire, redii, reditum, “return”;

redeuntes – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. p XIII.6.
reduco, reducere, reduxi, reductum, “draw up”;
reduxit – pf. act. ind. 3s XX.4.
refero, referre, retuli, relatum, “tell”;
retuli – pf. act. ind. 1s. IV.10.
refrigero, -are, -avi, -atum, “be refreshed, rest”;
refrigerandi – ger. g. s XVI.4;
refrigerantem – pr. act. ptl. acc. m. s VIII.1;
refrigerare – pr. act. inf. XVI.3;
refrigeravi – pf. act. ind. 1p III.4;
refrigerent – pr. act. sbj. 3p XIII.5.
relevo, -are, -avi, -atum, “relieve”;
relevata sum – pf. pas. ind. 1s III.9.
relinquo, relinquere, reliqui, relictum, “leave, leave behind”;
relinquens – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. s XXI.5;
relinquerent – ipf. act. sbj. 3p XV.3;
reliquistis – pf. act. ind. 2p XIII.2;
reliquit – pf. act. ind. 3s II.3.
rememoror, -ari, -atus sum, “be reminded”;
rememoremini – pr. dp. sbj. 2p I.6.
renuntio, -are, -avi, -atum, “tell”;
renuntiabo – fut. act. ind. 1s IV.2.
repraesentatio, repraesentationis, f., “imitation”;
repraesentatione – ab. s I.1.
repraesento, -are, -avi, -atum, “make present”;
repraesentari – pr. act. inf. XV.2.
repromitto, repromittere, repromisi, repromissus, “promise”;
repromisi – pf. act. ind. 1s IV.2;
repromisit – pf. act. ind. 3s I.5;
repromissas – pf. pass. ptl. acc. f. p I.5.
repugno, -are, -avi, -atum, “resist”;
repugnavit – pf. act. ind. 3s XVIII.4.
reputo, -are, -avi, -atum, *“consider”;
reputanda – fut. pass. ptl. nm. n. p I.3.
requiro, requirere, requisivi, requisitum, “request”;
requisita – pf. pass. ptl. ab. f. s XX.5.
res, rei, f., “deed”;
rerum – g. p I.1.
respicio, respicere, respexi, respectum, “see”;
respiciens – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. s XX.2.
retiarius, retiarii, m., “net-bearing gladiator”;
retiarium – acc. s XVIII.3.
reticulum, reticuli, n., “net”;
reticulis – ab. p XX.2.
retro, “before”;
retro – adv. VIII.1.
revelatio, revelationis, f., “revelation”;

revelationum – g. p I.5.
reverto, revertere, reverti, “return”;
revertenti – pr. act. ptl. d. m. s XXI.2.
revoco, -are, -avi, -atum, “call back”;
revocatae sunt – pf. pas. ind. 3p. XX.3, XX.7.
revocatur – pr. pass. ind. 3s XIX.6.
rosa, ae f. “rose.”
rosae – g.s. XI.5, XIII.4.
rumor, rumoris, m. “rumor.”
rumor – nm.s. V.1, VI.1.
sacer, sacra, sacrum, “sacrifice”;
sacrum – acc. n. s VI.3. For the idea of “sacrifi ce” the Latin uses here the phrase fac
sacrum. Th e Greek uses the imperative of ᾿ε πι θ ύ ω, a verb which occurs in MPol 4 and 8.2,
in contexts very similar to this one. In XV.5, however, the Latin uses sacrificare and the
Greek uses the uncompounded θ ύ ω, which occurs in the NT in such passages as Acts 14.18
and 1 Cor. 5.7.
sacerdos, sacerdotis, m., “priest”;
sacerdotum – g. p XVIII.4. Sacerdos, which refers to a pagan priest and for which the Greek
equivalent is ἱ ερε ύς , occurs only here in the Passio. In this text a Christian priest is always a
presbyter, or πρεσβύτερο ς in the Greek version.
sacrifico, -are, -avi, -atum, “sacrifice”;
sacrificare – pr. act. inf. XV.5.
sacro, -are, -avi, -atum, “priestess”;
sacratarum – pf. pass. ptl. g. f. p XVIII.4.
saeculum, saeculi, n., “time”;
saeculi – g. s I.3.
salus, salutis, f., “health”;
salute – ab. s VI.3.
saluto, -are, -avi, -atum, “greet”;
salutate – pr. act. imp. 2p XI.10,
salvus, -a, -um, “safely, saved”;
salvam – acc. f. s XVIII.3;
salvus – nm. m. s XXI.3. Here the Greek has ὑ γιής (just as in XVIII.3 salvam was rendered
by the phrase ᾿ε π ὶ τ ῇ ὑγ είᾳ). It is possible that the Latin author had in mind both the literal
meaning of salvus (“unhurt”) and the figurative and theological meaning (“saved”).
Something similar could have been intended by the Greek author in the use of ὑγ ι ή ς ,
although in this case the figurative meaning seen in religious texts is not so much “saved” as
“sound” or “correct,” as in Titus 2.8 and Hs 8.6.3.
sanctus, -a, -um, “holy”;
sanctis – ab. m. p I.6;
sanctissimae – g. f. s spr. XVI.1;
sanctus – nm. m. s XVI.1.
sanguis, sanguinis, m., “blood”;
sanguinis – g. s XXI.5.
satio, -are, -avi, -atum, “satisfy”;
satiabat – ipf. act. ind. 3s XIII.8; Here the Greek uses χορ τάζω, which could echo such NT
passages as Lk 6.21 and Mt 5.6. The ο ὐκ before ᾿ε χόρ τα ζε ν perhaps should be emended
to ο ὐν.
satiatus – pf. pass. ptl. nm. s VIII.4.
satis, n. indecl., “enough”;
satis – n. s XVII.2.
scala, -ae, f., “ladder”;
scalam – acc. s IV.3.
scandalizo, -are, -avi, -atum, “loose heart”;
scandalizemini – pr. pas. sbj. 2p XX.10. Here the Greek uses σ κ α νδ α λ ίζω, from which the
Latin is directly taken. The basic meaning of the Greek verb in the active voice is “to make to
stumble,” “to give offense or scandal,” or “to cause to sin,” as in Mt 5.29. In the passive it
means “to be made to stumble” or “to take offense,” as in Mt 26.33. In the context of
approaching martyrdom Perpetua’s statement may echo such passages as these.
scelero, -are, -avi, -atum, “criminal”;
sceleratos – pf. pass. ptl. acc. m. p XV.2.
scio, scire, scivi, scitum, “know”;
scito – fut. act. ipv. 2s V.6.
scribo, scribere, scripsi, scriptum, “write”
scribat – pr. act. sbj. 3s X.15.
secundus, -a, -um, “second”;
secundi – g. n. s XXI.2.
sedeo, sedere, sedi, sessum, “sit”;
sedit – pf. act. ind. 3s XX.4.
segrego, -are, -avi, -atum, “lead”;
segregavimus – pf. act. ind 1p XIII.4.
senex , senis, m., “old man”;
senes – nm. p I.4;
seniores – nm. p. cpr. XII.6 (bis).
sensus, sensus, m., “words”;
sensu – ab. s II.3.
sentio, sentire, sensi, sensum, “feel”;
sensi – pf. act. ind. 1s. XXI.1. The Greek might be more vivid here as it changes nullam . . .
bestiam sensi to ο ὐ δ ὲ ῞ε ν θηρίο ν ῞ η ψα το μο υ (“no beast touched me”).
separo, -are, -avi, -atum, “separate”;
separatos – pf. pass. ptl. acc. m. p XIII.1.
septem, indecl., “seven”;
septem – g. p VII.5.
sequor, sequi, secutus sum, “follow”;
sequebatur – ipf. dp. ind. 3s XVIII.2.
sermocinor, -ari, -atus sum, “speak”;
sermocinabantur – ipf. dp. ind. 3p XIX.2.
servus, servi, m., “servant”;
servos – acc. p I.4.
sexus, sexus, m., “sex”;
sexui – d. s XX.1.
silentium, silentii, n., “silence”;

silentio – ab. s XXI.8; For silentio the Greek substitutes the adverb ᾿ασμ έ νως (“ joyfully”).
This change might be considered quite effective, as it presents the martyrs as gladly submitt ing
to their execution, while the Latin gives more the impression of passive acceptance .
silentium – acc. s X.9.
simpliciter, “simply”;
simpliciter – adv. XVIII.6.
simul, “at the same time”;
simul – adv. XXI.5.
singulus, -a, -um, “one at a time”;
singuli – nm. m. p IV.3.
sinister, sinistra, sinistrum, “left”;
sinisträ – ab. f. s XII.4;
sinistram – acc. f. s XIII.1.
sino, sinere, sivi, situm, “let”;
sinite – pr. act. imp. 2p XIII.5.
sitio, sitire, “thirst”;
sitientem – pr. act. ptl. acc. m. s VII.4.
socia, -ae, f., “companion”;
sociam – acc. s XV.3. The Greek may be more effective here, since where the Latin has sociam and
comitem it has σ υ νερ γ όν and σ υ νο δο ι πό ρο ν, which contain the roots for “work” and “travel.”
Συ νερ γός may be an echo of such NT passages as Rm 16.3 and 1 Th 3.2.
soleo, solere, solitus sum, “be accustomed”;
solent – pr. act. ind. 3p X.7;
solito – pf. dp. ptl.ab. m. s XXI.6.
sollemnis, sollemne, “ritual”;
sollemnia – acc. n. p XXI.8. Where the Latin speaks of completing the “martyrdom” through
the ritual of peace (per solemnia pacis), the Greek speaks of completing the “mystery” δι ὰ
τῶν ο ἰκείων τ ῆς πίσ τεως . The Latin seems to refer to the “kiss of peace.” But to what does the
Greek refer? Amat translates it “par les rites propres à la foi.” It might more likely however
mean “those who belong to the household of faith,” which is the meaning of τ ο ὺς ο ἰκ είο υς τ ῆς
πίσ τεως in Gal. 6.10. The fact that the martyrs have just kissed each other might support the
idea that ο ἰκ εί ων refers to people and not to rites. And substituting “mystery” (μυσ τ ήριο ν)
for “martyrdom” suggests a more exalted theological concept.
sollicitudo, sollicitudinis, f., “worry”;
sollicitudine – ab.s III.9.
sollicitudines – ac.p III.9. The Greek may be more effective here, since where the Latin says
tales sollicitudines . . . passa sum it has περί λυ πο ς ο ὖσα (“being very sad”). The Greek
adjective is emphatic and is seen in such passages as Mt 26.38, Mk 14.34, and Hv 3.10.6.
sollicitus, -a, -um, “in my worry”;
sollicita – nm. f. s III.9.
solummodo, “only”;
solummodo – adv. XIX.5.
solus, -a, -um, “alone”;
solam – acc. f. s XV.3;
solus – nm. m. s V.6.
somnio, -are, -avi, -atum, “dream”;

somniabunt – fut. act. ind. 3p I.4.
somnium, somnii, n., “dream”;
somnia – acc. p I.4.
somnus, somni, m., “sleep”;
somno – ab. s XX.8.
sonus, soni, m., “sound”;
sonum – acc. s IV.10.
sordidus, -a, -um, “covered with dirt”;
sordido – ab. m. s. VII.4. Here for the Latin sordido vultu the Greek uses ᾿εσθῆτα . . .
ῥυ παρά ν, which seems to have been directly borrowed from Js 2.2.
spargo, spargere, sparsi, sparsum, “dishevel”;
sparsis – pf. pass. ptl. ab. m. p XX.5.
spatium, spatii, n., “space”;
spatia – acc. p I.3;
spatio – ab. s III.5.
species, speciei, f., “appearance”;
specie – ab. s X.6.
specto, -are, -avi, -atum, “look”
spectanti – pr. act. ptl. d. m. s XVIII.7.
spes, spei, f., “hope”;
spei – g. s XV.3.
sponte, “freely”;
sponte – adv. XVIII.5.
stadium, stadii, n., “park”;
stadium – acc. s XI.8.
statura , -ae, f., “height”;
statura – nm. s VII.7.
stillo, -are, -avi, -atum, “drip”;
stillantibus – pr. act. ptl. ab. f. p XX.3.
sto, stare, steti, statum, “persist, stand”;
staret – ipf. act. sbj. 3s VI.5;
state – pr. act. imp. 2p XX.10;
stemus – pr. act. sbj. 1p XII.6;
steterunt – pf. act. ind. 3p XX.6.
stola, -ae, f., “robe”;
stolas – acc. p XII.1. Here the Greek uses the original form σ το λ ή , which occurs as early as
the tragedians. Its use here may echo such NT passages as Mk 16.5 and Rev 6.11.
stupeo, stupere, stupui, “amazement”;
stupentibus – pr. act. ptl. ab. m. p XX.8.
subfodio, subfodere, subfodi, subfossum, “gore”;
subfossus – pf. pass. ptl. nm. m. s XIX.5.
sublevo, -are, -avi, -atum, “lift up”;
sublevaverunt – pf. act. ind. 3p XII.5.
subligo, -are, -avi, -atum, “tie”;
subligaverat – plp. act. ind. 3s XIX.5.
sublimitas, sublimitatis, f., “sublimity”;

sublimitate – ab. s XVI.1.
subministro, -are, -avi, -atum, “offer”;
subministraretur – ipf. pass. sbj. 3s XIX.5.
substringo, substringere, substrinxi, substrictum, “tie”;
substrictus esset – plp. pass. sbj. 3s XIX.6.
subtraho, subtrahere, subtraxi, subtractum, “carry off ”;
subtraherentur – inf. pas. sbj. 3p XVI.2.
sufferentia , -ae, f., “endurance”;
sufferentiam – acc. s III.5. The Greek author renders sufferentia by ὑπο μο ν ή , an important
word in NT and patristic vocabulary, as seen for example in Lk 21.19 and MPol 19.2.
summa, -ae, f., “summary”;
summam – acc. s XXI.1.
summitto, summittere, summisi, summissum, “lower”;
summisso – pf. pass. ptl. ab. m. s VIII.2.
supervenio, supervenire, superveni, superventum, “arrive”;
supervenit – pf. act. ind. 3s V.1.
supinus, -a, -um, “on our backs”;
supini – nm. m. p XI.3.
supplementum, supplementi, n., “completion”;
supplementum – acc. s XVI.1.
supplico, -are, -avi, -atum, “offer sacrifice”;
supplica – pr. act. imp. 2s. The idea that supplicare here is used in the sense of “offer sacrifice”
is supported by the Greek author’s use of ᾿ε πίθυσο ν as an equivalent.
surgo, surgere, surrexi, surrectum, “get up”;
surrexerunt – pf. act. ind. 3p XXI.8;
surrexit – pf. act. ind. 3s XX.6.
suscipio, suscipere, suscepi, susceptum, “receive”;
suscepta – pf. pass. ptl. nm. f. s XX.8.
suscito, -are, -avi, -atum, “help up”;
suscitavit – pf. act. ind. 3s. Here suscito is used with reference to Perpetua’s helping Felicity
up, but there may also be an overtone of “resurrection,” as the Greek author uses ᾿ε γ εί ρω,
which is used in this sense in such passages as Jn 5.21 and I Mg 9.3. Latin suscito can also be
used in this sense, as in the Vulgate of Jn 5.21.
sustineo, sustinere, sustinui, sustentum, “wait for”;
sustinebat – ipf. act. ind. 3s XXI.8; The fact that the Greek version here renders sustinebat
by ᾿α ναμ έ νω and sustineo (in IV.6) by παραμέ νω suggests that sustinere is used in this text
in its post-classical sense of “wait for.”
sustineo – pr. act. ind. 1s IV.6.
tabesco, tabescere, tabui, “suffer”;
tabescebam – ipf. act. ind. 3s III.8. Where the Latin uses tabesco twice in the same sentence
(tabescebam and tabescere) the Greek varies the vocabulary by using first τ ή κ ω and then
λυ πέ ω. Both tabesco and τ ή κω basically mean “waste away,” and λ υ πέ ω means “grieve.” The
repetition of the same verb in the Lain may make it the more effective version. Th e verb is
vivid, suggesting a decomposition of the person, and it links Perpetua with the others who are
also wasting away.
tabescere – pr. act. inf. III.8.
tango, tangere, tetigi, tactum, “touch”;

tangebant – ipf. act. ind. 3p XI.2.
tantus, -a, -um, “such great”;
tantae – g. f. s XVI.1;
tanto – ab. m. s XXI.2.
tegnon, Gr., “child”;
tegnon – voc. n. s IV.9.
tempus, temporis, n., “time”;
tempore – ab. s I.2;
temporum – g. p I.3.
tenebrae, -arum, f., “darkness”;
tenebras – acc. p III.5.
tenebrosus, -a, -um, “dark”;
tenebroso – ab. s VII.3.
teneo, tenere, tenui, tentum, “take”;
tenuit – pf. act. ind. 3s X.3.
tertius, -a, -um, “third”;
tertium – acc. m. s XV.4.
testificor, -ari, -atus sum, “testify, witness”;
testificantia – pr. act. ptl. nm. n. p I.1. Where the Latin has gratiam testificantia the Greek
has δόξ α ν φα νερο ῦν τα , which is perhaps more effective, since it seems to suggest an almost
visible display of the divine glory. The Greek author may have had Jn 2.11 in mind here,
where φα νερόω is used with δ όξ α with reference to the manifestation of the glory of Jesus at
the wedding at Cana. The question still remains as to whether the correct reading of the word
which φα νερο ῦν τα modifies is δόγμα τα , which Amat prints from the MS, or δ είγμα τα , the
conjecture which van Beek accepts. Th e former might seem to be more consonant with the
Greek author’s tendency to elevate the theology of the Latin.
testificentur – pr. dp. sbj. 3p XXI.11.
thronus, throni, m., “throne”;
thronum – acc. s XII.5.
timeo, timere, timui, “fear”;
timebatur – ipf. pass. ind. 3s XXI.10;
timens – pr. act. ptl. nm. m. s IV.7.
timor, timoris, m., “fear”;
timore – ab. s XVIII.1.
tirunculus, tirunculi, m., “novice”;
tirunculi – g. s XXI.9. Where the Latin has tirunculi gladiatoris (“novice gladiator”) the
Greek has ᾿α πείρο υ μο νο μά χο υ, using the adjective for “inexperienced” and employing the
adjective μο νο μά χο υ (“fighting in single combat”) substantively. This adjective occurs as
early as Aeschylus, and Lucian in the 2nd century C. E. used it substantively for “gladiator”
(Demonax 57).
trado, tradere, tradidi, traditum, “surrender, give”;
tradiderat – plp. act. ind. 3s IV.5;
tradidit – pf. act. ind. 3s XX.6.
traho, trahere, traxi, tractum, “draw, drag”;
trahebat – ipf. act. ind. 3s VIII.2;
tractus est – pf. pass. ind. 3s XIX.5.
transfero, transferre, transtuli, translatum, “free, move, guide”;

translatum esse – pf. pass. inf. VIII.4;
transtulerunt – pf. act. ind. 3p XXI.8;
transtulit – pf. act. ind. 3s XXI.9.
tristis, triste, “sorrowful”;
tristes – acc. m. p. For tristis the Greek uses περί λυ πο ς , which is really a stronger term (“very
sad”). It occurs in the NT and the Apostolic Fathers in such passages as Mk 6.26, Lk 18.23,
and 1 Clem 4.4.
tunica, -ae, f., “tunic”;
tunicam – acc. s XX.4.
turba, -ae, f., “mob”;
turbarum – g. p III.6.
uber, uberis, n., “breast”;
ubera – acc. p II.3.
ultimus, -a, -um, “last”;
ultima – acc. n. p I.4;
ultimam – acc. f. s XVII.1.
umbilicus, umbilici, m., “navel”;
umbilicum – acc. s VIII.2.
unio, unire, univi, unitum, “unite”;
unitam – pf. pass. ptl. acc. f. s XII.2;
unito – pf. pass. ptl. ab. m. s XV.4.
universus, -a, -um, “all, itself ”;
universam – acc. f. s IX.2;
universi – nm. m. p III.8.
unus, -a, -um, “one”;
unius – g. m. s I.3.
unusquisque, unaquaeque, unumquodque, “each one”;
unicuique – d. m. s I.5.
urceolus, urceoli, m., “small water pitcher”;
urceolum – acc. s III.1. The Greek does not translate this word. For urceolum sive aliud it
substitutes ῎ α λ λο τι τών το ι ο ύτων. For Latin vas it uses σ κ ε ῦο ς.
ursus, ursi, m., “bear”;
urso – ab. s XIX.3;
ursum – acc. s XIX.4, XIX.6;
ursus – nm. s XIX.6.
usurpo, -are, -avi, -atum, “obtain”;
usurpavi – pf. act. ind. 1s III.9. Here the Greek has αἰτέω (“ask”). Usurpare really means
“use,” but it came to have the meaning of “obtain,” as here. If the Greek author was not
familiar with this development of meaning then the change to the idea of “asking” is
understandable, perhaps being intended as a correction of the Latin.
uterque, utraque, utrumque, “each”;
utrique – d. f. s I.1.
vaco, -are, -avi, -atum, “seek some time”;
vacabant – ipf. act. ind. 3p III.8.
valde, “very”;
valde – adv. VII.3.
valeo, valere, valui, “farewell”;

vale – pr. act. imp. 2s XXI.3. Here the Greek uses ὑγ ιαίνω which is directly equivalent in
meaning to valeo (“to be strong”). As early as Aristophanes its imperative (like that of valeo)
was used as an expression of farewell. It might be conjectured that there is also a suggestion
here of the figurative use of ὑγ ιαίνω in the NT, as in Titus 1.13, where the idea is that of
“being strong” in the faith .
validus, -a, -um, “stifling”;
validus – nm. m.s. III.6
vanus, -a, -um, “devious”;
vanissimorum – g. m. p spr. XIV.2. This is expressed in the Greek by the adverb μα ταί ως
(“idly”), which really does not convey the meaning which vanus has here (“devious”).
vas, vasis, n., “vase”;
vas – acc. s III.1. Here the Greek has σκεῦος , which is certainly equivalent to vas, but there
could also be an echo of the figurative use of σ κ ε ῦο ς in Acts 9.15, where Paul is referred to as a
“chosen vessel.”
vehementer, “loudly”;
vehementer – adv. X.1.
velamentum, “covering”;
velamentum – acc. s XX.4.
venator, venatoris, m., “hunter”;
venator – nm. s XIX.5;
venatorum – g. p XVIII.9.
veneratio, venerationis, f., “respect”;
venerationem – acc. s I.2.
venio, venire, veni, ventum, “come”;
veni – pr. act. imp. 2s X.3;
venimus – pf. act. ind. 1p XII.1;
venisse – pf. act. inf. X.1;
venisset – plp. act. sbj. 3s VII.1;
venisti – pf. act. ind. 2s IV.9;
venite – pr. act. imp. 2p XI.10;
veniunt – pr. act. ind. 3p X.6;
ventum est – pf. pass. ind. 3s VI.2.
verbum, verbi, n., “example, name”;
verbi – g. s III.1;
verbis – ab. p III.1;
verbo – ab. s III.3.
vere, “truly”;
vere – adv. XXI.11.
vereor, vereri, veritus sum, “fear”;
verebatur – ipf. dp. ind. 3s. XVI.2.
verrutum, veruti, n., “dagger”;
verruta – nm. p IV.3.
vestio, vestire, vestii, vestitum, “clothe, dress, wear”;
vestierunt – pf. act. ind. 3p XII.1;
vestitum – pf. pass. ptl. acc. m. s VIII.1;
vestitus – pf. pass. ptl. nm. m. s X.2.
vetus, veteris, “old”;

veteres – acc. m. p I.5;
veteribus – ab. n.p. XXI.2
vexatio, vexationis, f., “physical violence”;
vexationis – g. s XX.9.
vexo, -are, -avi, -atum, “whip, charge, alarm”;
vexari – pr. pass. inf. XVIII.9;
vexati sunt – pf. pass. ind. 3p XIX.3;
vexavit – pf. act. ind. 3s III.3.
via, ae, f., “path, road”.
via – ab. s XI.8.
vicinus, -a, -um, “neighborhood”;
vicinas – acc. f. p VI.1.
victoria , -ae, f., “victory”;
victoriae – g. s XVIII.1;
victoriam – acc. s X.14.
video, videre, vidi, visum, “be careful, see, appear, understand”;
vide – pr. act. imp. 2s IV.6;
videbunt – fut. act. ind. 3p I.4;
videretur – ipf. pass. sbj. 3s XX.5.
viderint – pf. act. sbj. 3p I.3;
viderunt – pf. act. ind. 3p XI.7;
vides – pr. act. ind. 2s III.1;
videtis – pr. act. ind. 2p XVII.2;
vidisset – plp. act. sbj. 3s XX.6;
visum est – pf. pass. ind. 3s XIII.7.
viginti, indecl., “twenty”;
viginti – g. p II.3.
vigor, vigoris, m., “intensity”;
vigore – ab. s XVIII.2. For vigore oculorum the Greek uses ᾿ε γρ η γ όρῳ ᾿ο φθα λμῷ, which
suggests “watchfulness” where the Latin suggests “intensity.”
vinco, vincere, vici, victum, “defeat”;
victus – pf. pass. ptl. nm. m. s III.3.
vir, viri, m., “man”;
vir – nm. s X.8;
viri – nm. p XVIII.4.
virga, -ae, f., “rod”;
virga – ab. s VI.5;
virgam – acc. s X.8.
viridiarium, viridiarii, n., “garden”;
viridiario – ab. s XI.7.
viridis, viride, “green”;
viridem – acc. s X.8.
vivo, vivere, vixi, victum, “live”;
vivere – pr. act. inf. V.3.
vivus, -a, -um, “alive”;
vivi – nm. m. p XI.9.
vix , “with great difficulty”;

vix – adv. X.4.
voco, -are, -avi, -atum, “call”;
vocant – pr. act. ind. 3p XVII.1;
vocati – pf. pass. ptl. nm. m. p XXI.11.
volo, velle, volui, “want, will”;
vis – pr. act. ind. 2s XII.7;
voluisset – plp. act. sbj. 3s XXI.10.
voluto, -are, -avi, -atum, “roll”;
volutantem – pr. act. ptl. acc. m. s X.7.
votum, voti, n., “desire”;
voto – ab. s. XIX.2.
vox , vocis, f., “voice”;
vocem – acc. s XII.2;
vocis – g. s IV.10;
vox – nm. s VII.1.
vulnus, vulneris, n., “wound”;
vulneri – d. s XXI.5.
vultus, - us, m. “face.”
vultu – ab.s XII.3.
Index Nominum
Artaxius –An otherwise unknown African martyr who was burned to death in a persecu-
tion preceding the one described in the Passio. Passio, XI.8
Aspasius–Identified as a Greek-speaking priest and teacher. Passio, XIII.1
Dinocrates–A younger brother of Vibia Perpetua who died as a child of a disfiguring
disease. Passio, VII.1
Felicitas–Slave, catechumen and possible consort (?) of Revocatus who gives birth to an
infant girl while in prison. Passio, II.1
Geta (Publius Septimius Geta Augustus)–The younger son of Septimius Severus,
brother of Caracalla and co Emperor with his father and brother from 209. The games
in which the martyrs died were celebrated on his birthday. Passio, VII.9
Hilarianus–Likely one P. Aelius Hilarianus, a member of the equites class from Aphro-
dias in Caria; procurator of Carthage and acting as prosecutor in the trial of the cate-
chumens. Passio, VI.3
Jocundus–An otherwise unknown African martyr who was burned to death in a perse-
cution preceding the one described in the Passio. Passio, XI.8
Minicius Timinianus–Recently deceased Proconsul of Africa Proconsularis. He was a
descendant of an earlier proconsul for Africa, one T. Salvius Rufinus Minicius Opimi-
anus ca. 123, PIR5 M 623. Passio, VI.3
Optatus–Identified as a Greek-speaking bishop, whose diocese is never mentioned.
Passio, XIII.1
Pomponius–A Christian deacon who ministers to the catechumens in prison. Passio,
III.7, VI.7 and X.1
• 525 •
52 6 • Ind e x Nominum
Pudens–Pudens is a soldier and holds the rank of optio, which, if he were a field officer
serving in the army, would make him a junior officer usually subordinate to a centu-
rion. Passio, IX.1
Pudens–Identified simply as miles but a different individual from the man with the same
name in Passio, IX.1. This Pudens is a Christian, or at the very least someone who
believed completely in the righteousness of Saturus and the cause of the martyrs.
Passio, XX.III
Quintus–An otherwise unknown African martyr who was burned to death in a persecu-
tion preceding the one described in the Passio. Passio, XI.8
Revocatus–Slave, catechumen and possible consort of Felicity. Passio, II.1
Rusticus–A catechumen and an unidentified intimate of Perpetua’s present at the mar-
tyrdom. Passio, XX.8
Saturus–Freedman, teacher of the catechumens and possibly a native Greek speaker.
Passio, IV.5
Secundulus–Freedman and catechumen who died in prison and not in the amphitheatre
with the others. Passio, XIV.2
Saturninus–Freedman, catechumen and martyr who died in the amphitheatre with
Perpetua. Passio, II.1
Saturninus–An otherwise unknown African martyr who was burned to death in a perse-
cution preceding one described in the Passio. Passio, XI.8
Tertius–A Christian deacon who ministers to the catechumens in prison. Passio, III.7
Vibia Perpetua–Author of chapters III through X ; educated and well-born Roman
matron and mother of unnamed boy who she is still nursing. A member of the large
and prominent family Vibii, attested both in North Africa and in Italy, and a family of
some distinction, Passio, II.1.
I n d e x B i b l i c u s e t Pat r i s t i c u s
The books of the Old Testament, followed by those of the New Testament, are listed in
Biblical order, with the abbreviations following those in the Preface. Arabic numerals are
used for the citations. The chapters and sentences of the Latin Passio in which the cited
Biblical verses are quoted, or echoed, are listed directly across on the right in roman
numerals for the chapters and arabic numerals for the sentences. Direct quotations, of
which there are few, are marked with an asterisk.
Old Testament
Gn. 63.11 IV.8
2.21 XX.8 Ez.
2.8-9 IV.8 7.15 XVI.3
3.14 X.7 Dn.
3.15 IV.4, 7; X.10; XVIII.7 7.9 IV.8
28.12 IV.3 Jl.
Ex. 3.1–2 I.4
3.8 IV.8.
Ezr. Deuterocanonical Books
9.3 IX.2 2 Mc.
Pss. 7.18 XI.7
16.8–11 I.4
110.1 I.4 New Testament
Is. Mt.
25.8 XII.5 2.6, 31, 33 XX.10
• 527 •
52 8 • Index Bibli cus et Patristi cus
7.13–14 IV.3 Jude.

Mk. 7 I.1
14.27, 29 XX.10 Rv.
14.62 I.3 1.10 XX.8
Lk. 1.14 IV.8; XII.3
2.35 XIV.3 2.7 X.8
16.26 VII.6 3.20 X.1
Jn. 4.4 XII.4, 5
10.11 IV.8 4.8 XII.2
11.45 XVII.3 5.8 XII.4
12.15 X.4 5.13 XXI.11
12.42 XVII.3 6.9 IV.8, 10
13.34 XX.10 7.9 XII.5
14.6 XV.3 7.9–14 IV.8, 9
15.12, 17 XX.10 7.12 XXI.11
16.24 XIX.1 7.13 IV.10
19.5 XI.7 7.17 XII.5
20.25 XX.9 9.17 I.5
Acts. 11.16 XII.4
2.17–18 I.4 12.3 IV.4
4.4 XVII.3 12.9 IV.4
5.41 VI.6 12.13 IV.7
7.21 XV.7 13.1 IV.4
14.22 XX.10 17.14 XXI.11
16.18 IV.6 21.18, 21 XII.1
Rom. 22.1–10 I.3
12.3 I.5
1 Cor. Patristic Texts
12.4–11 I.3 Did.
12.11 I.5 10.1–6 IV.9
15.57 XII.7 1 Clem.
16.13 XX.10 5.4 I.5
2 Cor. 17.5 X.6
2.14 XII.7 Barn.
Gal. 9.5 X.6
5.1 XVIII.5 Ign.
1 Thes. Eph.
4.9 XX.10 13.1 IV.9
2 Tm. Pol.
4.8 XVII.2 7.3 V.6
Heb. Phild.
10.19–25 XV.3 9.1 X.1
13.20 IV.8 Rom.
13.21 I.6 4.3 XIX.1
1 Jn. 10.1 III.5
1.1–3 I.6. Herm.
4.7 XX.10 Vis.
Index Bibli cus et Patristi cus • 529
1.1.3 X.3 Dial.

1.1.8 X.12 69 XVI.2
4.1.6 IV.4 Ltr. Chr. Lyons and Vienne.
5.1 IV.8 1.23 X.4
1.1.3 X.12 5.22–24 X.6
1.1.8 X.12 Scill. Mart.
Mart. Pol. 1 VI.2
14.2 XX.1 Iren.
2.2 I.5 Haer.
Gosp Mary. 5.26 I.3
5.2 X.7 Clem. Al.
Justin. Strom.
1 Apol. 6.14 VII.4
14 XVI.2 Hipp.
66 IV.9 Trad. ap.
2 Apol. 1 I.3
7.1 XV.6
General Index
Aaron, 203, 257 Acta Primorum Martyrum sincera et selecta

Abbot, T. K., 418 (Ruinart), 433
abbreviations Acta proconsularia Sancti Cypriani, 438
editing expressions, 103 Acta sanctorum, 431
manuscript names and sigils, 369t Acta SS. martyrum Numidarum, 97n22, 192
selected editors, 103 Actele Martirice (Ramureanu), 440
sources, xv–xxv Acts and Paul (Rapske), 231, 315, 319
Abercius (bishop of Hieropolis), 210 Acts of John, 223
Abraham (Abram), 145, 173, 191, 216, Acts of Justin and Companions, 8
350 Acts of Paul and Thecla, 207
absolution of sin, by martyrs, 41, 43, 57 Acts of Peter, 288
abstinence, 175, 329 Acts of St. Cyprian, 245–46
Acasius (saint), 390 Acts of the Apostles (Acts), 13–14, 139, 141,
Achelous, 269 145, 205, 254, 310, 350
Achilles, 215, 347 The Acts of the Christian Martyrs (Musurillo),
Acta ad Instantiam, 422 439
Acta Fructuosi, 179 The Acts of the Martyrdom of Perpetua and
Acta martyrii, 144, 178 Felicitas: The Original Greek Text
Acta Martyrum, 204, 210, 437, 440, 442 (Harris and Gifford), 435
Acta martyrum selecta (Gebhardt), 436 Acts of the Martyrs, 140, 161
Acta Pauli et Theclae, 253 Adam, 37, 41, 66, 169, 284
Acta Perpetuae, xi, 80–81, 148, 370–71, 417, ad bestias condemnation, 24, 28, 40, 52
431, 435, 441 Additions to Esther (Add Est), 139
Passio and, 442–43 Adeodatus, 243
• 531 •
532 • General Index
Ad Herennium, 10 negative parallel, 360

Ad Martyras (Mart.) (Tertullian), 21, 57, oxymoronic, 317
71–72, 161, 166, 194, 196–97, 230, 241, Amat, Jacqueline (Am.), xi–xii, 80, 100–101,
245, 249, 274, 275, 284, 305 137, 139–40, 143, 162, 178–79, 181–82,
adolescentes, 21, 67, 149, 262, 374, 415 277, 279, 290, 310, 348, 367, 369, 371,
Ad Scapulam (Scap.) (Tertullian), 84, 436, 439, 441
200 Ambrose, 173, 191, 216, 244, 347
adult baptism, 154–55 Ambrosiana C 210 manuscript (MS A)
adultery, 339, 344 description of, 381, 381–85
Ad Uxorem (Ad Ux.) (Tertullian), 23, 328 references to, 91, 101, 102, 199, 231, 279,
Adversus Judaeos (Adv. Jud.) (Cyprian), 175, 372, 434, 442
213, 275 Amen, 183
Adversus Marcionem (Marc.) (Tertullian), amphitheatres, 75–77, 86, 224–25, 362
37n52, 143–44, 162, 256, 312 in dream, 229, 248, 251
Aedes Vestae, 33 Gate of Victory, 271
aedificationem, 104, 124, 139–40, 367 gates of life and death, 130, 134, 249, 251,
Aelius Hilarianus, P. See Hilarianus 254, 271, 342, 348, 352, 356
Aeneas, 215 Porta Libitinensis, 271, 356–57
Aeneis (Aen.) (Virgil), 68, 189, 215–17, 223, Porta Sanavivariam, 113, 122, 271, 348,
233, 239 356–57
Aeschylus, 346 in Roman Carthage, 138, 161, 209, 259, 271,
Aethiopica (Aeth.) (Heliodorus), 261 282, 324, 337, 340, 356
Africa. See Roman Africa amphora, 304
Afr ica Proconsularis, 85, 87, 220, 330 amulets, magical, 361
afterlife. See also Hades anacoenosis, 10
Elysian Fields, 236, 239, 298 Analecta Bollandiana, 384
hell, 214, 223 anathema, 196, 199
proto-purgatory, 53, 214, 222 Anchises, 215
purgatory, 54, 209, 236 The Ancient Church as Family (Hellerman),
underworld, 68, 223 67n22
Agape (daughter of Sophia), xi Ancient of Days, 288
agape banquet, 158, 181, 320–22 angels, 239. See also specific angels
Agathonice, 282 hierarchy of, 280
Agnes (saint), 347 of Jacob’s ladder, 173
agon, 94, 245, 262–63 as Nike/Victory syncretistic imagery, 276
agriculture, 25 of Saturus’s dream, 130–31, 273–74, 276–77,
Agrippa, 317 280, 284–86, 373
Agrippina Maior, 151, 247 Anguipede, 361
Agrippinus (bishop), 12, 40, 55–56, 293 animus, 91, 189, 231, 363
Akkermans, Arie, 441 Annales Nicholai Trevet a Rege Stephano, 414
Albinus (saint), 390 annulment, 148
Alexander to Actium (Green), 53, 212 anointing, with oil, 159, 263
allegorical themes, 93, 168, 249–50, 274, 296, Ante Pacem (Snyder), 158
344 anthypophora, 11–12
Christian, 149, 239, 271, 275–76 anti-female faction, of Christianity, 262
in names, 149, 305 Antigone, 215
alliteration, 189, 269, 272, 322, 328, 329 Antonia Augusta, 32
General Index • 533
Antonia Minor, 151 Attis cult, 350

Antonine Baths, 198, 221 Auerbach, Erich, 74
aorist tense, 144, 161, 173, 333, 337 Augustine (saint), 45, 144, 335
Apocalypse of Moses, 280, 439 City of God, 288
Apocalypse of Peter, 139, 216, 296, 435 Confessions, 4, 15, 166, 213, 363
apocalyptic imagery, 93, 180–81, 184, 285, 287 Contra Faustum (Faust.), 255
Apologeticum (Apol.) (Tertullian), 198, 211, De Anima et eius Origine (Orig. An.), 222,
217, 226, 245, 304, 316, 319, 322, 326, 233
332, 337, 351 Ennarationes in Psalmos (Enn. Ps.), 97n22,
Apologia (Apol.) (Apuleius), 282, 361 382
1 Apologia (1 Apol.) ( Justin Martyr), 155, 157, gender roles and, 6
270, 289, 316, 334, 363 mention of martyrs of Passio by, 49n70, 82,
2 Apologia (2 Apol.) ( Justin Martyr), 309 138
apostasy, 184, 248, 272, 300, 302, 308, 352 Sermones (Serm.), 143, 159, 170, 179, 203,
Apostles’ Creed, 146 365
apostrophe, 13, 250 Augustus (emperor), 95, 256, 339
Apuleius (Apul.), 15, 312 Aus den Sitzungsberichten der Philogische, 384
Apologia (Apol.), 282, 361 Ausgewählte Märtyreracten (Knopf), 436
Metamorphoses (Met.), 33n45, 214, 216, 217, authority
237, 261, 273, 286, 331, 360 charism over, 291–93
Archivum Franciscanum Historicum, 385 church, 11–12, 56–57
Arians, 275 civil vs. spiritual, 310–21
Aristarchus, 246 of martyrs, 291–92
Aristides, 312 Pauline, 57
Aristophanes, 263 Perpetua’s public assumption of, 237–48
Aristotle, 9 spiritual, 262
cosmology of, 277 autograph version, of Passio, 374, 375f
Arrianus, 264 Azariah, 283
Arrius Pudens, L., 357
arsonists, 282 Baal, 33n45, 304, 326
Artaxius, 54–55, 131, 281 Baal-Hammon, 330–31
Artemidorus, 27, 53 Bacchus, 322
Ascension of Isaiah, 439 Balbina, xi
Ascent to Heaven (Himmelfarb), 277 Balling, Jakob, 441
Asclepius, 347, 360, 361 baptism, 49, 58, 72, 149, 159
Ashburnham House, 372–73, 408, 417 of adults, 154–55
Aspasius (priest) of blood, 359
in commentary, 182, 291, 294, 297 by immersion, 221, 263
in English translation, 131 Paul on, 160
overview of, 12, 23, 42–43, 55–58, 80n4 baptismal fonts, 221–22, 234
Aspasius of Biblus, 57 baptisteries, 155
Aspasius of Ravenna, 57 Bardo Museum (Tunis), 24n24, 155, 266
Astarte, 331 Bar-Joseph, 316
Atalanta, 266–67 Barlow, Thomas, 411
Attic figure pottery, 263, 269 Barnes, Timothy D., 55, 67, 201, 307, 441
Att i dei martiri (Caldarelli), 440 Barton, Carlin A., 268, 325, 332
Att i dei martiri (Vannutelli), 438 basiare, 190
53 4 • General Index
Bassius, 365 Bodleian Library, 370, 411–12

Bastiaensen, A. A. R. (Bas.), xi, 80n4, 100–101, Bollandists, 372, 382, 384, 417, 431, 435
141–42, 146, 235, 359, 363–64, 438–41 Bomgardner, D. L., 68n24, 349, 362
Bastiaensen, Toon, 441 Bonhoeffer, Dietrich, 4
Bauman, Richard A., 63n9, 92n16, 201 Boniface (pope) VIII or IX , 390
Baylie, Richard, 411 Book of Enoch, 274, 276
bears, 133–34, 335, 337–38, 433 Book of Henoch, 439
beatissimorum, 116, 300–301 Borromeo, Federico, 385
Bechetus, James, 382, 384 Boscha, Petrus Paulus, 384
Becker, Gustav, 442–43 Bradley, Keith R., 205
Bell, William, 411 Roman Family, 19n16, 21n18, 22n21, 27n32,
benedicti, 48 164
Benedictine Abbey of Saint-Corneille, 373, Slaves and Masters, 19n15
394–95, 434 Brammung, Torben, 441
Benedictine Abbey of St. Gall, 370, 385 Braun, R., 141, 347, 350
Beneventan script, 371, 375, 380 breast-feeding , 194
Betheseda pool, 221, 233 by Felicity, 339
Bibliotheca Bibliothecarum manuscriptorum by Perpetua, 20, 44, 126, 147, 151, 154, 164,
nova (Montfaucon), 384 196, 205–7
Bibliothecae Ambrosianae Hemidecas ad wet nurses, 147, 164, 205
Eminentissimum Principem (Boscha), 384 Bremmer, Jan M., 81, 175, 187, 191, 347
Bibliotheca Hagiographica Latina, Antiquae et bribery, 48, 126, 154, 163, 342
Mediae Aetatis, 417 bronze, 127, 173, 185, 258
Bibliotheca Patrum Latinorum Italica, 384 Brown, Colin, 296
Bibliothèque Nationale Latin 17626 Bruckner, Albert, 388, 390, 394
manuscript (MS P) Brutus, 10
description of, 394–98, 395, 433 bull imagery, 176, 269, 344–45
references to, 101, 102, 173, 199, 218, 259, Bureba, 174, 180
263, 279, 286, 298, 373 burial customs, 240
Bidstrup, Ulla Morre, 441 Byrsa Hill, 52–53, 194, 198, 258–59, 324
Bieler, Ludwig , 398
bilingualism, 296 caduceus, 258
Bindley, T. Herbert, xi, 436 Caesar. See Julius Caesar
Birley, Anthony R., 62n6, 84n7, 89, 200, Caldarelli, Giuliana, 440
243–44, 318 calendars, 64n10, 373
bishops anomalies in, 407–8, 417
Council of Carthage, 13, 40n56, 55–56, liturgical, 385, 399, 404–8, 410, 413–14, 418,
293–94 423
role of, 12, 56, 183, 294 Philocalian, 65
Blaise, A., 67n20, 234 rubricated, 390
Blandina, xi, 283, 327, 335, 345 Calixtus, 180
blood Cambridge University Library, ix
baptism of, 359 Campos, Julio (Cam.), 439
sacrifice, 300, 359, 361 cancer, 68, 128–29, 209–10, 218–20
sports, 29, 69, 306, 339 cannibalism, 85
BN Latin 17626 MS. See Bibliothèque canon
Nationale Latin 17626 manuscript compared with prophecy, 10–15, 136–37
of Mass, 254 centurions, 52, 88, 226, 243

scriptural canonicity, 11–14 Ceres, 33, 133, 326, 331, 345
Cantarella, Eva, 442 Ceruti, A., 384, 385
Canterbury Lit. E. 42 manuscript (MS C), 102, Chaldean Oracles, 312
103, 222, 263 charism, over authority, 291–93
description of, 418–26, 419 charisma, 245
Modern Conservation of, 375, 422, 425 gift of, 42, 57
capital crimes, 24, 49, 204, 339 prophecy and, 10, 12, 14, 273
Caracalla (emperor), 49–51, 69n26, 73–74, Checklist of Manuscripts in the Libraries of the
226, 307 Greek and Armenian Patriarchates in
edict of 212 by, 51, 63n9, 68, 86–87, 201 Jerusalem (Clark), 430
elevation to Augustus, 73, 77, 86 cheese, 127, 169, 182–83, 270, 436
Caroline script, 370, 375, 380, 381 cherubim, 276
Italian, 384 Chiarini, Giachino, 440
Carthage. See Roman Carthage children
Carthage Museum, 138 custody of, 27–28, 31n41, 165, 304–5
Cassius Dio (Cass. Dio), 69n25, 69n27, 70, 87, obedience of, 26–27
226, 237, 318 of slavery, 306–7
castra, 224, 245 chiliarch, 89, 224, 243, 315
catacombs, 173, 210 Christian allegorical themes, 149, 239, 271,
of Calixtus, 180 275–76
of Domitilla, 251 Christiana/us sum, 65, 109, 202
Priscilla, 95, 256–57, 265 Christian diaspora, 237
of St. Sebastian, 266 Christian identity, 28, 35, 37, 39–40, 43
on Via Salaria Nova, 265 Christianity
Catalogi bibliothecarum antiqui (Becker), anti-female faction of, 262
442–43 Catholicism, of Roman Africa, 14, 16, 148,
Catalogue of the Cotton Manuscripts 290
(Smith, T.), 416 conversion to, 49, 61, 64, 70, 71, 95, 148, 171,
Catalogue of the Manuscripts in the Cottonian 184, 303
Library Deposited in the British Library gender roles in, 39–43
(Planta), 417 prayer in, 208, 211
Catalogus Librorum Manuscriptorum as religio illicita, 29, 39, 46, 85
Bibliothecae Cottonianae (Smith, T.), in Roman Africa, 16, 39–40, 137
408, 417 in Roman Carthage, 28, 192–93, 238, 329
catasta, 97, 187, 194–95, 198–99, 202, 205–6, Christianity and Western Thought (Brown),
433 296
to display slaves, 97n22, 174, 191–92 1 - 2 Chronicles (1 - 2 Chr), 279, 297
catechumens, of Passio, 19, 21–22, 57, 147, 149 Chrysostom (Chrys.), 267, 427
house arrest of, 4, 35–36, 99, 153–55, chthonic forces, 174, 269
159–60, 163, 178, 186 church authority, 11–12, 56–57
Catholicism, of Roman Africa, 14, 16, 148, 290 Church of the Holy Sepulcher Library, xii
Cato, 26, 335 Cicero, 15, 44, 143, 150, 158, 163, 236
Catullus, 187, 190 De Re Publica (Rep.), 90, 228, 230, 273
Celerinus, 231, 275, 318 Cintinus, 282
Celsus, 39, 218, 237, 316 Cipriani, Renata, 384
cena libera , 320, 322 circular stocks, 231
Circumcellions, 290 Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus (emperor),

citizenship, 51, 63n9, 149, 201, 204 430
City of God (Augustine), 288 constricto, 91, 231
civil service, Roman, 15 Contra Celsum (Cont. Cel.) (Origen), 39, 351
civil vs. spiritual authority, 310–21 Contra Faustum (Faust.) (Augustine), 255
civitas sine suff ragio rank, 24, 51, 63n9, 201 conversion
Clark, Kenneth W., 430 to Christianity, 49, 61, 64, 70, 71, 95, 148,
Clarke, Graham, 54 171, 184, 303
Claudia, 243 dangers of, 302
Claudius (emperor), 69n25, 226, 318, 342 of Felicity, 303
Claudius Hermes (saint), 266 of guard, 319
Claudius Marcellus, M., 245 to Judaism, 61, 64, 70, 71, 171
Clement of Alexandria, 216, 248, 267 of Perpetua, 25, 27, 36–37, 40, 45–46, 51,
Clement of Rome, 267 187, 214, 238
Codex Hierosolymitanus. See Jerusalem 1 of Rusticus, 349
manuscript Corbeill, Anthony, 247, 267
Codex Oxoniensis Fell, 370 1 Corinthians (1 Cor), 16, 82, 139, 144, 146,
Codici Miniati dell’ Ambrosiana , 384 149, 154, 209, 216, 246, 322, 332–33, 350,
Codicum casinensium Manuscriptorum cura et 351
studio Monachorum S. Benedicti, 381 2 Corinthians (2 Cor), 82, 213, 218, 277, 298,
cognitio extra ordinem procedure, of Roman 350
Empire, 50, 64n11, 92, 157, 195 Cornelia, 150
cognomen, 19–20, 48, 149–50 Corpus Inscriptionum (Vermaseren), 176
cohabitation, 176 Corti, Maria, 441
Colin, J., 69n25 cosmology, Aristotelian, 277
Colker, Marvin L., 418 Cotton, Robert, 372, 399, 404, 409, 413–14,
Colosseum, 323 418
Colossians (Col), 153, 246, 267, 332 Cotton Nero E.1, pt.1 manuscript (MS N),
Columella, 161, 178, 231 100–102, 213, 412, 420, 426
Commentarii in Evangelium Joannis (Comm. description of, 398–409, 399
Jo.) (Origen), 264 Cotton Otho BL D.viii manuscript (MS O),
Commodianus, 159, 218 100–103, 203, 372–73, 397
Commodus (emperor), 69n28, 196, 225, 337 description of, 413, 413–18
Das Commune Sanctorum in den Missale- Council of Carthage, 40n56, 55–56, 293–94
Handschriften und vortridentinischen Courcelle, P., 258–59
Drucken der Stift sbibliothek Einsiedeln cow, mad, 58, 134, 176, 271, 338–39, 344
(Lang), 394 Cox Miller, Patricia, 142, 174, 216, 248
communio sanctorum, 146–47 Craster, H. H. E., 412
Concordius, Fl., 158 crastina die, 106, 172–73, 197
confession, of faith, 154, 155 Cratylus (Cra.) (Plato), 26, 38, 156
public, 97n22, 185, 192–93 cremation, 279, 326
Confessions (Conf.) (Augustine), 4, 15, 166, Creon, 215
213, 363 Crito, 347
conlaboro, 112, 260 Cronus as Saturn syncretism, 330–31
conscientia, 27 crucifixion
conserua (slaves), 19, 25, 142, 147, 149 as punishment, 145, 150
consolation, literature of, 4, 137 symbolism of, 261, 271, 304, 309
cults pallor of, 229

of Attis, 350 salvation and, 184–85, 193
of Isis, 350 De Baptismo (De Bapt.) (Tertullian), 57, 149,
of martyrs, 335 154–55, 167, 222, 329, 336, 359
mystery, 174 Deborah, 250
Punic, 33n45, 326, 330–31 de’ Cavalieri. See Franchi de’ Cavalieri, Pius
of saints, 139 Decian persecution, 196
of Tanit, 304, 326, 331 Decius, 72n38, 138
women and, 33 De Corona Militis (Cor.) (Tertullian), 169, 183,
Cuperi, Gisberti, 338, 433 202, 216, 281, 294–95, 352
curiales, 24, 26, 35 De Cultu Feminarum (De Cultu Fem.)
custody, of children, 27–28, 31n41, 165, 304–5 (Tertullian), 40–42
cypress tree symbolism, 279 decuriones, 88, 150, 243, 282
Cyprian (Cypr.), 40n56, 154, 162, 171, 179 De Die Iudicii, 391
Adversus Judaeos (Adv. Jud.), 175, 213, 275 De Exhortatione Castitatis (Exh. Cast.)
De Lapsis(Laps.), 145, 217 (Tertullian), 41, 178
De Laude Martyrii (Laud. Mart.), 317 De Fuga in Persecutione (Tertullian), 159,
De Unitate Ecclesiae, 56 161–62, 178, 276, 329
Epistulae (Ep.), 55, 97n22, 231, 275, 294, De Ieiunio (Iei.) (Tertullian), 66, 270, 349–50
301, 318, 337, 359, 366–67, 375 Deinokrates of Rhodes, 53, 212
Cyril of Jerusalem, 160 De Lapsis(Laps.) (Cyprian), 145, 217
Cyrus (bishop), 294 De Laude Martyrii (Laud. Mart.) (Cyprian),
317
dalmatic, 95, 256 Delehaye, Hippolyte, 140
damnatio memoriae, against Geta Caesar, 68, delicata, 119, 121, 325, 328, 345
69n26, 86–87, 226 Delisle, Leopold, 396, 398
Daniel, 215, 318 De Martyribus Hyacinthi et Eugeniae , 382
Daniel (Dn), 139, 180, 254, 283, 285, 287–88, Demeter, 331
296 Demetrius, 361
dates demonic influence, 29, 259, 268–69, 298, 316,
of composition of Passio, 66–67, 78, 137 344, 366
of Passio manuscripts, 60–62 De Monogamia (De Monog.) (Tertullian), 159,
of Passio martyrdoms, 62–65, 78 216, 329
of R , 67 De Mortibus Persecutorum (Lactantius), 432
David, 247, 303 den Boeft, Jan, 187, 191
Davies, J. G., 48 Denholm-Young, N., 412
Dea Caelestis, 331 Deogratias (bishop), 290
Deacon Apollonius (saint), 390 De Oratione (Or.) (Tertullian), 308, 336,
deaconesses, 41 363–64
deacons, 48, 162 De Origene, 391
Dean, R. J., 418 De Pallio (De Pal.) (Tertullian), 264, 268–69
De Anima et eius Origine (Orig. An.) Depositio Martyrum, 65, 318
(Augustine), 222, 233 De Pudicitia (Pud.) (Tertullian), 180, 317, 360
De Antichristo, 391 De Re Publica (Rep.) (Cicero), 90, 228, 230,
death 273
without fear, 338–52 De Resurrectione Carnis (Res.) (Tertullian),
martyrdom and, 268, 284 239
Desiderius (abbot), 371 Dorothy (saint), 390

De Spectaculis (De Spect.) (Tertullian), 179, double accusative, 256, 286
246, 259, 269, 366 dowry, 24, 27, 31
De Testimonio Animae (De Anim.) (Tertullian), doxologies
42, 62, 66–67, 87, 142, 152, 159, 169, 192, liturgical, 183, 287
253, 297, 301, 307, 317, 331, 431 narrative, 139, 183, 336, 356, 366, 434
De Unitate Ecclesiae (Cyprian), 56 draco, 107, 176, 178–79, 261
devil imagery, 94, 249, 261–62, 344–45 dragon
De Vita Actibusque Sancti Bonifacii of dream, 174, 265
Archiepiscopi, 387 of Revelation, 168, 176, 179, 261, 279
De Vita vel Miraculis Venerabilis Benedicti, 396 Drake, H. A., 47
Dialogus cum Tryphone Judaeo (Dial.) ( Justin dreams
Martyr), 255 amphitheaters in, 229, 248, 251
diastema, 110, 221 dragon of, 174, 265
Dickey, Eleanor, 170, 182, 301 Good Shepherd in, 167, 169, 180–84, 287
Dido, 233 Jungian dream interpretation, 248–49, 438
dies lustricus, 206 as narrative, 167–69
Dinocrates Perpetua’s dream of wrestling match,
in commentary, 152, 164, 207, 208, 228–30, 129–30, 248–72, 332
233–34, 236, 238–41, 247, 308, 319 Perpetua’s dreams of Dinocrates, 68–69,
in English translation, 128–29 74–76, 172, 207, 209–12, 214–23,
overview of, 22–23, 28, 53–54 228–30, 255, 290, 371, 436
Perpetua’s dreams of, 68–69, 74–76, 172, Perpetua’s ladder to Paradise, 47, 127,
207, 209–12, 214–23, 228–30, 255, 290, 167–69, 173–81, 184–85, 210, 252, 264,
371, 436 269, 355, 364
Dio Cassius. See Cassius Dio Saturus’s, angels in, 130–31, 273–74,
Diocletian (emperor), 55 276–77, 280, 284–86, 373
Diodorus Siculus, 348 Saturus’s, of heavenly city, 130–31, 272–85
Diseases (Grmek), 220 serpent of, 127, 174, 176, 178–79, 199, 269–70
Divi Caecili Libellus unus Fortunatum, 379 time of day for, 92, 227–28
divorce, 27, 30–31, 148, 165, 185, 442 visions and, 272–73
Divus Augustus (Aug.) (Suetonius), 225, 256 Dreams (Cox Miller), 142, 174, 216, 248
Divus Iulius (Iul.) (Suetonius), 266, 323 Dronke, Peter, xi, 440
Divus Vespasianus (Vesp.) (Suetonius), 265 Drusus, 151
Docetists, 145 dualism, 297
Dodwell, Henry, 432 Du Cange, C. du F., 159
Dölger, F. J., 179, 216, 217, 359
dominam, 108, 170, 190 The Earliest Books of Canterbury Cathedral:
domina soror, 170 Manuscripts and Fragments to c.1200
dominica potestas, 165 (Gameson), 419
Domitian (emperor), 50 The Early Records of Sir Robert Cotton’s
Domitilla, catacombs of, 251 Library (Tite), 409, 418
domus, in Roman Carthage, 19–21, 30 ecce sunt, 114, 280
Donaldson, James, 437, 438 Ecgwin (saint), 400, 402, 406
Donatists, 290 ecstasy, 134, 212, 233, 343, 349, 364
Donatist Circumcellions, 366 ecstatic prayer, 312, 350
Donatus (bishop), 294 ecstatic prophecy, 14, 30, 41–42, 57, 350
editing expressions, abbreviations for, 103 Epistola Herodis, 391

editors, abbreviations for, 369t epistolary tradition, 4, 7
education Epistulae (Ep.) (Cyprian), 55, 97n22, 231, 275,
of Perpetua, 32, 36, 38–39, 150–51, 294, 301, 318, 337, 359, 366–67, 375
182, 212 Epistulae (Ep.) (Seneca the Younger), 267,
in Roman Africa, 15 362–63, 365
of women, x , 23, 32–34, 150–51, 156 Epitoma Chronicon (Prosper of Aquitaine), 65
Egyptian wrestler imagery, as Satan, 249, 252, equites (equestrian class), 61, 84n7, 95, 97, 150,
261, 332 256, 265, 331
Einsiedeln 250 manuscript (MS E), 137, 286 Ermann, J., 51n78, 63n9, 201
description of, 389, 389–94 erotema (question), 10–11
Elagabalus (emperor), 98, 227 erotic imagery, 93–94, 251, 262–63, 345
Eleazar, 145 Esau, 173
Elect, 155, 158, 185, 315, 367 eschatological imagery, 47, 93, 141, 167, 184,
Elegiae (Eleg.) (Tibullus), 217 230
Elihu, 215 eternal life, 10, 29, 168, 175, 271
Elijah, 209, 361 eternal present, 173
elite women, 30–31, 33, 47, 164, 237 Eucharist, 58, 149, 181, 183, 270, 294, 320
Elpis, xi Euodia, xi, 237
Elysian Fields, 236, 239, 298 euphemisms, 190, 213
emperor Euripides, x , 346, 347
genius of, 86, 171, 196, 199, 202, 298 Eusebius, 64, 71–72, 327, 433
as synecdoche for Empire, 202 Eve, 41, 179, 269, 280, 284, 377
worship of, 157, 163, 195–96, 201–2, 309 evil, 176, 178–79, 249–50, 261
Emperors and Biography: Studies in the eye, 363
Historia Augusta (HA) (Syme), 19n15, spirits, 270, 316, 366
69n26, 70, 71 Eward, Susan, 412
Emperor Worship (Gradel), 196 exempla, 138–40, 146
encomium, 28, 57 Exhortatio ad Martyrium (Exh. Mart.)
encratic culture, 175 (Origen), 270, 272, 359
end times, 42, 137 exitus illustrium virorum, 4, 250
Ennabli, Lilliane, 138 Exodus (Ex), 254, 257, 261
Ennarationes in Psalmos (Enn. Ps.) exomis, 95, 256
(Augustine), 97n22, 382 exorcism, 263, 270, 312
Enoch, 276 by Jews, 316
Epaenetus (bishop), 40n56, 294 Paul and, 366
Ephesians (Eph), 96, 332 exordium, 8–16, 250
Epictetus, 335 experior, 183, 271
Epicureans, 214 Expositions of the Oracles of the Lord (Papias),
epideictic rhetoric, 9, 250, 340 314
episcopacy, monarchial, 11–12, 40, 48, 56 extortion, 126, 162–63
Epistle of Polycarp, 334 eye symbolism, 363
The Epistle of the Gallican Churches: Ezekiel (Ez), 261, 276, 279, 318
Lugdunum and Vienna (Bindley), 436 Ezra (Ezr), 247
Epistle to Diognetus, 139
Epistola Chromati, et Helidori, ad Ierominum, Fabian Laws, 50
391 Fabius Rusticus, 342
5 4 0 • General Index
faith, through hearing , 146 forum, in Roman Carthage, 198

Falconilla, 207 Fox, R. Lane, 80
familia, 19–23, 27 Franchi de’ Cavalieri, Pius (Fra.), 100, 101, 174,
family, as impediment to salvation, 46 435–39
Fannius, 214 fratres, 14, 67, 137, 146, 218, 319
Fasti Afr icani (Thomasson), 63n8, 201 freedmen, 20, 46–47, 150
fasting , 154 Frescoes (Weitzmann and Kessler), 175
father of Perpetua, 22–28, 35–38, 51, 97–99 Fridh, Ake, 47, 80n4, 151, 290
beaten by Hilarianus, 26, 98, 128, 150, 196, Fructosus (bishop), 283
202–4, 242, 372 Frühchristliche Apologeten und Märtyrerakten,
in commentary, 138, 148, 151–58, 164–65, 436–37
174, 180–92, 195–96, 199–208, 211, funeral banquet, 220
237–38, 241–50, 328 funeral depictions, 24, 95, 173, 185, 277, 279
in English translation, 126–29
as synecdoche for mos maiorum, 185 Gabriel (angel), 285
Felicity Gaius, 204
breast feeding by, 339 Gaius Caligula (Calig.) (Suetonius), 69n28,
in commentary, 142, 147, 149, 172, 176, 213, 225, 261, 337, 338
253–55, 260, 299, 302–10, 317, 320, Galatians (Gal), 142, 262, 315
323–25, 331, 338–45, 347–48, 353, 355, Galen, 218
358, 364 Galerius Maximus, 246
conversion of, 303 Gallandius, Andrea, 412, 434
in English translation, 126, 132–34 Gallican liturgy, 287
manuscript issues, 373, 427, 429, 431, gallicula, 94, 111–12, 257–58, 266
436–38, 440 Gallienus (emperor), 138
overview of, 6, 8, 17–20, 24 games, 29
pregnancy of, 19, 22, 132, 302–4, 306, 373 for Geta’s birthday, 68–70, 72, 75–78,
slave status of, 25, 142, 147, 302–3, 307 84–85, 87, 129, 132, 137, 210, 225–26,
as synecdoche for empowerment, 303 317, 333, 356
Fell, John (Fel.), 370, 410–12, 432–33 gladiatorial, 69, 175, 224–26, 249
Ferrari, Merrile, 385 Pythian, 80n4
Festa Salvatoris Nostri, 391 traditional, for emperors’ birthdays, 69n25
Festus, 317 Gameson, Richard, 409, 419–21, 424, 426
fiala, 111, 156, 234–35 The Earliest Books of Canterbury Cathedral:
fideicommissum, 117, 310, 314 Manuscripts and Fragments to c.1200,
figure pottery, 263, 269 419
filoli, 14, 67, 104, 137, 146, 319 The Manuscripts of Early Norman England,
first-person authorship, 5 409, 418, 426
Flaccus, C., 307 gangrene, 68, 218, 220
Flavian, 166 Garamantes, campaign against, 70, 87, 225
Flavius Philostratus, Lucius, 32 Garden of Eden, 274, 276
Focus (saint), 390 Garnsey, Peter D., 63n9, 150, 201
Fontaine, Jacques, 140, 174 gates, of amphitheaters
Formisano, Marco, 141, 170, 182, 270 Gate of Victory, 271
La passione di Perpetua e Felicita, 81n4, 442 of life and death, 130, 134, 249, 251, 254,
formula, 64n11, 92–93, 195 271, 342, 348, 352, 356
forty martyrs of Sebaste, 270 Porta Libitinensis, 271, 356–57
Porta Sanavivariam, 113, 122, 271, 348, throne of, 4, 131, 181, 276, 280–81, 284,
356–57 286
Gates of Heaven, 291, 293, 297 transcendent, 30, 288
Gates of Hell, 223 golden apples, of Hesperides, 94, 265, 267
Gaudentius of Thamugadi, 366 golden bowl symbolism, 235
Gebhardt, Oscar V. (Geb.), 436, 441 Goliath, 303
Gehenna, 217 Good Shepherd
gender roles of dream, 167, 169, 180–84, 287
Augustine and, 6 Jesus Christ as, 94–95, 256
in Christianity, 39–43 milking anecdote, 182–83, 436, 438, 440,
gendered transformations, 94 441
prophecy and, 41 Gorgias, 223
in Roman Carthage, 32–35 Gospel of Mary (Gosp Mary), 262
soul and, 41 Gospel of Peter, 323
Genesis (Gn.), 41, 139, 173, 350 Gospel of Thomas, 262, 287
serpent of, 168, 176, 179, 252, 269 Gottlieb, Theodor, 443
Gengaro, Maria Louisa, 384 Grabar, Andre, 266, 277
genius, of emperor, 86, 171, 196, 199, 202, 298 grace
gens, 21 divine, 144
Genseric (king), 275 special, 207, 230
Germanicus, 151 state of, 213, 233
Germanus of Paris, 287 Gradel, Ittai, 196
Gesta Sancti Germanii Episcopi, 388 Grapte, 45
gestures, 133, 242, 247, 326, 332–33, 347 Greco-Roman religion, 95, 249
Geta Caesar (Septimius Geta, Publius), 62, Greek culture, 23
68–78 Greek language
damnatio memoriae against, 68, 69n26, Passio in. See Jerusalem 1 manuscript
86–87, 226 Perpetua’s fluency in, 23, 26, 131, 182, 292,
elevation to Augustus, 73, 77, 86 296
in English translation, 129 in Roman Carthage, 23, 26, 38, 47, 182
games on birthday of, 68–70, 72, 75–78, text of Passio, 445–55
84–85, 87, 129, 132, 137, 210, 225–26, Green, Peter, 53, 212
317, 333, 356 grief, 242, 247
Septimius Severus and, 69n26, 86, 201, 210, Grmek, Mirko, 220
225 Gusman, Pierre, 91n14, 231
Geyer (Gey.), 103 Guthlac (saint), 405
Gifford, S. K., 435
gladiatorial games, 69, 175, 224–26, 249 HA . See Emperors and Biography: Studies in
gladiators, 322, 329, 338, 364–65 the Historia Augusta
oath of, 332 Habermehl, Peter, 174, 347, 431, 441
gladius, 112, 123, 267–68, 365 Hades, 28, 53–54, 66, 68, 214
glossators, 403–4 classical, 215
glossolalia, 139, 312 Gehenna, 217
Gnosticism, 16, 157, 239, 249, 253, 262, 297 Sheol, 215–16
God Hadot, Pierre, 175
as Ancient of Days, 288 Hadrian (emperor), 49, 57, 84n7, 199, 306
intuition from, 222, 229, 260 Mausoleum of, 227
hagiographies, ix–x , 83, 365, 442 beating father of Perpetua, 26, 98, 128, 150,
normative, xi 196, 202–4, 242, 372
Halporn, J. W. (Hal.), 80n4, 182, 225, 290, 322, in commentary, 172, 192, 196, 199–204,
350, 365, 440 222, 237, 261, 326, 332–33, 355–56
Halsall, Paul, xi in English translation, 128, 133
Hamman, A. G., 80n4, 159, 344, 358, 439 Himmelfarb, Martha, 277
Hananiah, 283 Hippolytus (Hipp.), 11, 40n56, 67n20, 145,
hands. See scripts 149, 154, 263, 270, 289, 294, 329
Die Handschriften der Stift sbibliothek Hippomenes, 267
St. Gallen (von Scarpatetti), 389 History of Barlaam and Josaphat, 281
Harris, J. Rendel (Har.), 61, 61n4, 79–80, 435 A History of the Ambrosiana (Paredi), 385
Hassett, M., 294 Holder, Albert, 442
healing ministry, 42, 221, 227, 361 holocaust offerings, 313, 363
heavenly city, Saturus’s dream of, 130–31, Holstenius, Lucas (Hol.), 100, 371–72, 412,
272–85 431–36
Hebrews (Heb), 203, 263, 276, 308, 359 Holy Spirit, 329
Hecuba (Euripides), x , 348 gifts of, 30, 41–42
Heinrich von Ligerz Bibliothekar von intercession by, 308
Einsiedeln im 14. Jahrhundert (Meier), mandate for writing of text, 132, 310, 314
394 ministry of, 136
Hekhaloth literature, 276 ongoing revelation of, 11–14, 42, 54, 77, 136,
Heliodorus, 261 367
Heliogabalus (emperor), 266 holy trust, 310–12
Helios, 235 Homer, 32, 215
hell, 214, 223 Homiliae in Exodum (Hom. Ex.) (Origen), 142
Hellenes, 212 honestiores class, 21, 24, 35, 147, 149–50
Hellenism, 212, 221 Honos, 245
Hellenophiles, 208, 212 Hoppenbrouwers, Henricus, 170
Hellerman, J., 67n22 Horace, 196, 360
Helva, 156 horizontal stocks, 231
Hera, 174 horomate, 111, 254–55, 275
Hercules, 94, 235, 265, 267, 269, 337 house arrest, of catechumens, of Passio, 4,
Hermas. See Shepherd of Hermas 35–36, 99, 153–55, 159–60, 163,
Hermes, 94, 257–58, 266 178, 186
Hermogenes, 26, 156 house churches, in Roman Carthage, 10, 12,
Herod, 96, 257 42–43, 45, 56–57, 67n22, 303
Herodian, 73, 86, 337 human agency, x
Hesiod, 330 human sacrifice, 326, 330
Hesperides, golden apples of, 94, 265, 267 humiliores, 19, 150, 282, 357
hetairia, 16, 72 Hunink, Vincent, 441
Hierosolymitike Bibliotheke etoi Katalogos ton husband, of Perpetua, 24–25, 147–48, 165, 175,
en tais Bibliothekais (Papadopoulos- 185, 328, 442
Kerameus), 430 Hyde, Thomas, 411
Hilarianus (P. Aelius Hilarianus), 16, 18, 24, 61, hymns, 130, 133, 252, 270, 283, 326, 332
64, 72, 75 hypomnema, 4, 7, 74
background of, 49–50, 62n6, 84n7, 85,
92–93, 200 iconic syncretism, 94
identity Isis cult, 350

Christian, 28, 35, 37, 39–40, 43 Italian Caroline script, 384
political, 29 Item de sancto Dyonisio Episcopi, 385
religious, 152–55 Iulia Agrippina, 150, 151
Roman, 35 Iulia Drusilla, 150
social, 30–31, 33–34, 333
idolatry, 155, 196, 259, 297 Jackson, P., 408, 418
Ignatius of Antioch, 8n3, 48, 56, 335, 367 Jacob’s ladder, 168, 173, 175
Letter to the Philadelphians (Phild), Jairus, 258
10, 256 James ( Jas), 140, 160, 189, 327, 336, 350
To the Romans (Rom.), 284, 336 James (son of Mary), xi
To the Trallians (Trall.), 162, 296 James, Richard, 399–400, 403–7, 414
illiteracy, x , 32 Jason of Cyrene, 212
imitatio Christi, 335 Jensen, R., 222
immersion, baptism by, 221, 263 Jeremiah, 146
immolation, 54, 131, 282, 298 Jerome (saint), 143, 216, 257, 305, 335, 400
immunes, 52n81 Jerusalem 1 manuscript (MS H), 60n3, 61n4,
incantations, of magic, 132, 311–12, 316 79, 81, 100, 138, 298, 370, 372, 427
incense, 196, 298 compared with Latin texts, 83–99
Incipit cena nuptialis facta a Cecilio Cypriano, description of, 427–30
376 Jesus Christ, 46
Incipit Epistola Cipriani ad Silvanum et body of, 145, 153, 183, 239, 312, 351
Regianum, 376 Christ as Orpheus syncretistic imagery, 251
Incipit Epistola Cipriani ad Silvanum et as the Good Shepherd, 94–95, 256
regionem in Mettallo Constitutos, 379 Gospel depictions of, 7
Index Nominum in L’Ordre équestre, 150 Herod and, 96
infanticide, 304 lanista as Christ-athlete-Savior syncretistic
infant mortality, 23, 164 imagery, 264
ingenui (born free), 20, 46 Paul and, 156
inheritance laws, 31 redemptive sacrifice of, 304
in manu marriage, 27–28, 30–31, 165 Second Coming of, 169, 239, 297
in potestate patris, 185, 189 talismanic utterance of name of, 178, 336
insinuatio, 9 transfiguration of, 277, 286
Institutio oratoria (Inst.) (Quintilian), 151, 218 Jesus Justus, 246
intercessory prayer, 221, 229, 236, 295, 308 Jesus the Magician (Smith, M.), 316
intuition, from God, 222, 229, 260 Jews, 247, 261, 286
Inventario Ceruti: Dei Manoscritt i dell as exorcists, 316
Biblioteca Ambrosiana, 385 prophecy and, 142
Inventory of Western Manuscripts in the in Roman Carthage, 285
Biblioteca Ambrosiana ( Jordan and in Roman Empire, 70n34, 71, 195, 212
Wool), 385 Job ( Jb), 91, 215, 231, 254
invicem, 110–12, 116, 122–23, 246, 351 Jocundus, 54–55, 131, 281
Iphigenia, 346–47 Joel ( Jl), 13–14, 137, 141
Irenaeus, 56, 157 1 John (1 Jn), 351
iron implements, 127, 174–76 John (apostle), 96, 148, 176, 277, 413
Isaac, 145 John (Baptist), 167
Isaiah (Is), 82, 279, 284, 327 John ( Jn), 221, 246, 280, 314, 323, 334, 336, 368
Jolowicz, Herbert F., 164, 200 Kitzler, Petr, 441

Jordan, Louis, 385 Klauck, Hans-Josef, 316
Josaphat, 281 Knopf, Rudolf, 436, 438
Joseph (father of Jesus), 215 Koikylides, Kleopas M., 430
Joseph (son of Jacob), 317 Kosingas (prophet-king), 174
Joses, xi Kyle, Donald G., 320, 344, 349, 362
Jucundus, 55 kylix, 263
Judaism
blood sacrifice in, 359, 361 Labor, 223
conversion to, 61, 64, 70, 71, 171 Lactantius, Lucius Caecilius, 432–33
exemption from Roman sacrifice, 195–96 lacunae, 83–85, 225, 306, 315, 348, 403
leprosy and, 219 ladders
martyrdom in, 144–45 Jacob’s, 168, 173, 175
Talmudic literature, 71, 285 Perpetua’s dream ladder to Paradise, 47, 127,
Judas, 366 167–69, 173–81, 184–85, 210, 252, 264,
Judas Maccabeeus, 146, 223 269, 355, 364
Jude (book), 139, 322 Ladon, 265
Judith ( Jdt), 270 Laes, Christian, 328
Julia (daughter of Julius Caesar), 151 Lamberz, M., 46
Julia Domna, 32–33, 86, 237 Lampe, G. W. H., 92, 155, 232, 346
Julian (saint), 429 Lanfranc, 400, 402, 406
Julius Caesar, 151, 196 Lang, Otto, 394
Julius Caesar (Shakespeare), 10 lanista, 94, 249, 252–54, 259, 264, 266–69,
Jungian dream interpretation, 248–49, 438 288, 315, 332, 346
Junia Theodora, 237 Lapidge, M., 408, 418
Junkyôsha gyôden (Toki and Toki), 440 Latinity, 9, 17, 147, 374
Juno Caelestis, 33n45 Lazarus, 216
Justinian (emperor), 297 Lazzati, G. (Laz.), 80n4
Justin Martyr ( Justin), 160, 298 Leclercq, H., 62n7, 257, 266
1 Apologia (1 Apol.), 155, 157, 270, 289, 316, legal formula, of Roman Empire, 92–93
334, 363 legenda sanctorum, 370, 385, 390, 394–95, 435
2 Apologia (2 Apol.), 309 Leges (Leg.) (Plato), 140
Dialogus cum Tryphone Judaeo (Dial.), 255 Legio III Augusta, 70, 115, 223–25, 315, 330, 333
Juvenal, 32, 39, 234, 329 legis actio, 64n11, 195
Juvencus, 255 Leglay, Martin, 330
Le Goff, Jacques, 159, 222–23
Kajava, Mika, 21, 149 Leo (pope), 381
Kaser, Max , 64n11, 195 Leonides, 64, 65, 86, 196
Kataloipa cheirographon Hierosolymitikes leprosy, 219–20
bibliothekes (Koikylides), 430 Lesser Entrance, 287
Kaufmann, C. M., 418 “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.”(King), 4
Kelibia baptistery, 155 Letter of the Churches of Lyons and Vienne, 4,
Ker, N. R., 408–10, 412, 418–20, 424, 426 8–9, 91, 145, 302, 335, 341
Kessler, Herbert L., 175 Letters and Papers from Prison (Bonhoeffer), 4
King, Martin Luther, Jr., 4 Letter to the Philadelphians (Phild) (Ignatius),
kiss of peace, 252, 259, 270, 285, 288–89, 10, 256
316–17, 354, 363 leucoderma, 219
Levi (apostle), 262 Luke (Lk), 96, 216–17, 257, 300, 329
Levinson, W., 408 luncheon meal, 197
Leviticus (Lv), 219 Lunia, xi
Lex Fufia Caninia, 19
Lex Iulia et Papia, 339 Maccabeans, 145–46, 223
Libanius, 15 1 - 4 Maccabees (1 - 4 Mc), 145–46, 209, 223,
Liberalia (17 March), 69–70, 225 280
libertini (manumitted), 20, 46 Maecius Laetus, Quintus, 86
Library of the Patriarchs ( Jerusalem), 79 magic, 156, 261, 313
Liddell, H. G., 92 amulets, 361
Lieberman, Saul, 174 incantations of, 132, 311–12, 316
Life of Apollonius (Flavius), 32 Magic and Paganism (Klauck), 316
Life of Gerdrudis, 393 Maitland, Sara, 440
Life of Saint Gertrudis the Virgin, 421 majuscules, 370, 378, 380, 383, 404, 414–15, 421
Life of Saint Gordian, 406 Malinowski, Andrzej, 440
Life of Saint Martin, 402 Mandates (Herm. Man.) (Shepherd of
Life of Saint Pancratius, 406 Hermas), 10–11
Life of Saint Philip the Apostle, 404, 407 The Manuscript Library of Sir Robert Cotton:
Life of Saint Swithun (Lanfranc), 400, The Panizzi Lectures 1993 (Tite), 418
402 manuscripts, of Passio, 60, 369t, 375–430
liminal space, 194, 242, 442 The Manuscripts of Early Norman England
Linder, A., 70n34 (Gameson), 409, 418, 426
Lingua Latina (Petraglio), 159 Marcan, 307
Linus, 243 Marcellinus, 251
lions, 333 Marcia, 156
literacy, of women, 5 Marcion, 188, 239
literature Marconites, 297
of consolation, 4, 137 Marcora, Carlo, 385
Hekhaloth, 276 Marcus Aurelius (emperor), 24
of martyrdom, xi, 38, 204, 318–19, 334, marginalia, 61n4, 379, 388, 393, 397, 403, 430
360, 363 Marian (saint), 279
Talmudic, 71, 285 Mark, 246
liturgical calendars, 385, 399, 404, 406–8, Mark (Mk), 173, 240, 257
410, 413–14, 418, 423 Mark Antony, 10
liturgical doxology, 183, 287 marriage
Livia (empress), 156 in manu, 27–28, 30–31, 165
Livy, 90–91, 231 pragmatic aspect of, 165
Lo Bue, F., 235 sine manu, 27–28, 30–31, 148, 165, 328
locus amoenus, 239–40, 290 usus, 306
Logos, 309 Martial, 190, 234, 243
love feast, 132 Martina (saint), 404
agape banquet, 158, 181, 320–21, martyrdom
322 as consecratory ritual, 29
Lowe, E. A., 376 dates of, in Passio, 62–65, 78
Lucian, 23, 247, 275, 318 death and, 268, 284
Lucilius, 363 in Judaism, 144–45
Ludus Gladiatorius of Pompeii, 91, 231 literature of, xi, 38, 204, 318–19, 334, 360, 363
martyrdom (continued) Medjerda river, 25

narratives of, 8n3 Meeks, Wayne, 39
as public witness, 18, 29, 144–45, 283–84 Meier, P. Gabriel, 394
as victory, 29, 130, 133, 327 Mela, 308
volitional, 13 Mercury, 94, 255, 257, 266, 277, 361
Martyrdom of Isaiah, 145 as psychopomp, 258
The Martyrdom of Perpetua (Maitland), 440 meretrix, 32
Martyrdom of Polycarp (Mart. Pol.), xi, 8, 139, Messalina (empress), 69n25, 226
290 Messianic banquet, 255
Martyrdom of Saint Agatha, 429 Messianic salvation, 219
Martyrdom of Saints Ptolemaeus and Lucius, 8 Metamorphoses (Met.) (Apuleius), 33n45, 214,
martyrs 216, 217, 237, 261, 273, 286, 331, 360
absolving sin, 41, 43, 57 Metamorphoses (Met.) (Ovid), 269
authority of, 291–92 metanoia, 250, 283
cult of, 335 metempsychosis, 253
in heaven, 66, 169 Michael (angel), 285
of Sebaste, forty, 270 Midrashic tradition, 285
martyrs, of Passio Migne, J.-P., 434, 437
Augustine’s mention of, 49n70, 82, 138 miles, 52
overview of, 17–22 miles Christi, 94, 143, 225, 251–52, 269, 326
sentencing of, 64, 192–93, 204, 210 miles optio, 61n3, 88–90, 240, 243–44, 319,
Tertullian’s mention of, 137–38, 297, 307 357, 360
Martyrs of Lyons, 260, 264, 291 military nomenclature, Roman, 52–53, 87–90
Mary (mother of James and Joses), xi, 281 military prison, 6, 52–53, 62n3, 74–76, 210–11,
Mary (Virgin), 41, 179, 281, 300 223–24
Mary Magdalene, xi, 262, 277 milking anecdote, of Good Shepherd, 182–83,
Mary of Egypt, 405 436, 438, 440, 441
Mass, 234, 254 mime shows, 333
matrona Christi, 119, 175, 179, 328 Minicius Opimianus, T. Salvius Rufinus, 50,
matrona Dei status, 29, 35–43, 173 63n8, 201
matrona status, 29–30, 32, 34, 39, 42 ministrae, 237
Matthew (Mt), 166, 171, 188, 223, 248, 254, Minucius Italius, Gaius, 50
285, 364 Minucius Opimianus, 50–52, 63–64, 200
Mausoleum of Hadrian, 227 Minucius Timinianus, 50, 62, 63n8, 84, 128,
Maxentius (emperor), 433 200, 282, 332
Maximilla, xi, 11, 42, 208 Mishael, 283
Maximus of Madaura, 55, 282 Mithraic mysteries, 174, 176, 249
Mazzucco, Clementina, 440 mixed marriages, 23, 289
McInerny, Constance and Ralph, 385 Modern Conservation, of MS C, 375, 422, 425
McIntyre, E. A., 408 Mohrmann, Christine, 159, 260
McKechnie, Paul, 32n43, 151 Mommsen, Theodore, 65n14, 319
meal of the dead, 158–59 Monceaux, P., 32n43, 293–94
Medieval Libraries of Great Britain: A List of Monica, 45
Surviving Books (Ker), 418 Montanism, 66–67, 148, 171–72, 238, 262, 271,
Medieval Manuscripts in British Libraries 295, 432, 438
(Ker), 412, 419, 426 proto-Montanism, 171, 292, 297
meditative prayer, 208 Montanism (Trevett), 142
Montanus, 148, 212, 318, 390 Neo-Platonism, 350

Monte Cassino 204 manuscript (MS M) Neoptolemus, 347
as base text, xii Nero (emperor), 69n28, 197, 214, 225, 308,
description of, 375–81, 376, 434, 437, 443 342, 433
references to, 68, 100–103, 136–37, 141, 143, Nero (Ner.) (Suetonius), 69n28, 143, 197, 225,
256, 279, 281, 298, 358, 371–72, 374 263, 318
Montfaucon, de Bernard, 384 nervus, 91–92, 231–32
mosaics, 94, 265, 365 Nestorius (saint), 390
of Ravenna, 180 New Prophecy movement, 10–14, 45, 57, 82,
Moses, 215, 310, 327 139
mos maiorum, 17–18, 27, 29, 34–35, 85, 185, ideology of, 16, 41–42, 66, 77, 136–37,
241, 302 141–42, 368
mother of Perpetua, 22, 25–26, 43–46, 153 Newton, Francis, 376, 381
in English translation, 126, 127 Niermeyer, J. F., 189, 255, 257
Mount Ida, 298 Nike/Victory, 276
MS A. See Ambrosiana C 210 manuscript nomen, 19, 88, 149
MS C. See Canterbury Lit. E. 42 manuscript non-Christian motifs, ix
MS E. See Einsiedeln 250 manuscript normative hagiography, xi
MS G. See Saint Gallen 577 manuscript normative social standards, 5–6, 38
MS H. See Jerusalem 1 manuscript Numa Pompilius, 163
MS M. See Monte Cassino 204 manuscript Numbers (Nm), 215, 235
MS N. See Cotton Nero E.1, pt.1 manuscript Numbers Rabbah, 285
MS O. See Cotton Otho BL D.viii manuscript nutrix, 20
MS P. See Bibliothèque Nationale Latin 17626 nymphaeum, 227
manuscript
MS S. See Salisbury Cathedral 221 manuscript obsequium, 26
Muncey, R. Waterville, xi, 437 Oedipus, 363
Munding, P. Emmanuel, 388 Onesiphorus, 209
municipal prison, 53, 160, 210, 243 onomastics, 38, 178, 305
Muslim conquests, 374 Opimianus. See Minicius Opimianus,
Musonius Rufus, 156 T. Salvius Rufinus; Minucius Opimianus
Musurillo, Herbert (Mus.), xi, 80n4, 91, 157, Optatus (bishop of Carthage)
182, 286, 346, 439 in commentary, 182, 291–94, 297
Mynors, Roger A., 157 in English translation, 131
mystery cults, 174 overview of, 12, 23, 42–43, 55–57, 80n4
mystical body, 146 Optatus (bishop of Milevis), 294
optio. See miles optio
Naman the Leper, 219 optiones convalescentium, 88
Namphamo, 55 optiones custodiarum, 88, 243
Narbor (saint), 390 opto, 56
narrative doxologies, 139, 183, 336, 356, 366, oracles, 238, 312, 350
434 oral tradition, 7, 146, 272, 285, 341
Nartzalus, 282 orans figure, 95, 256
Naturalis Historia (HN) (Pliny the Elder), 234 Origen, 140, 276, 289, 298, 351
Nature Embodied (Corbeill), 247, 267 Commentarii in Evangelium Joannis
Nebuchadnezzar, 283 (Comm. Jo.), 264
negative parallel alliteration, 360 Contra Celsum (Cont. Cel.), 39, 351
Origen (continued) Passion of Saint James, 405

Exhortatio ad Martyrium (Exh. Mart.), Passion of Saint Martin, 400
270, 272, 359 Passion of Saint Martina, 404
Homiliae in Exodum (Hom. Ex.), 142 Passion of Saint Phillip, 405
Leonides and, 64, 65, 86, 196 The Passion of SS. Perpetua and Felicity: A New
Orosius Master, 288 Edition and Translation (Shewring), 438
Orphic-Pythagorean ideas, 215, 236 Passio Perpetuae et Felicitatis die Nonarum
Osborn, Eric, 66n18, 67 Martiarum, 137–38, 161, 256
Osborne, Robin, 61n4, 348 Passio S. Bonifatii, 431
osculari, 190, 288 Passio sanctae Eullalie Virginis, 390
Osiek, Carolyn, 47, 273, 328 Passio Sanctae Gerdrudis Virginis, 390
Otho (Suetonius), 214 Passio Sanctae Iulianae virginis, 390, 392
out-of-body visions, 5, 350 Passio Sanctae Magre Virginis, 390
Ovid, 269 Passio Sanctae Martinae, 400, 410
Owen, E. W. C., xi, 437–38 Passio Sanctarum Marie et Marthe et Valentini,
oxymoronic alliteration, 317 390
Oxyrhynchus fragments, 262 Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis
(Passio). See also martyrs, of Passio;
Pachomius, 257 Redactor of Passio
paedagogus, 46, 295 Acta Perpetuae and, 442–43
paganism, 240, 303. See also Roman religion authenticity of, 7–8
pallidus, 110, 217 authorial voices of, 82
Pancratius (saint), 406 authorship of, 3–6
pankration contests, 80n4, 93, 249, 252, 264, autograph version of, 374, 375f
266, 268–69 catechumens of, 19, 21–22, 57, 147, 149
Papadopoulos-Kerameus, Athanasios, 430 contradictions in, 93–96
Papae Leonis de Translatione Sancti Iacobi, 382 date of composition of, 66–67, 78, 137
Papias, 314 date of manuscripts, 60–62
Paraclete. See Holy Spirit dates of martyrdoms in, 62–65, 78
paradise, prelapsarian, 180, 276 editions of, 431–43
Paredi, Angelo, 385 English translation of, 125–35
paronomasia, 162 Greek and Latin texts compared, 83–99
Parousia, 255, 323 in Greek language. See Jerusalem 1
Pasiphae, 344 manuscript
Passio Cyriaci, 396 Greek text of, 445–55
Passio Druthperti Heremite , 390 house arrest of catechumens of, 4, 35–36,
Passio Felicis et Fortunati, 387 99, 153–55, 159–60, 163, 178, 186
passionale, 370, 372–73, 385, 407, 413, 418 Latin text of, 104–24
La passione delle SS Perpetua e Felicita (Sola), manuscripts of, 60–62, 369t, 375–430
437–38 Passio Sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis (van
La passione di Perpetua e Felicita (Formisano), Beek), 438
81n4, 442 Passio Sanctarum Virginum Fidei, Spei, et
The Passion of Perpetua (von Franz), 438 Caritatis, 391
The Passion of S. Perpetua: An English Passio sancti Felicis, 391
Translation with Introduction and Notes Passio Sancti Iacobi, 406–8
(Muncey), 437 Passio Sancti Meginradi heremite , 385
The Passion of S. Perpetua (Robinson), 435 Passio Sancti Nestorii Episcopi et Martyris, 396
Passio sancti Peregrini Episcopi, 388 brothers of, 43–46

Passio sancti Phylippi apostoli, 399, 407 conversion of, 25, 27, 36–37, 40, 45–46, 51,
Passio Sancti Pimenii Presbiteri, 390 187, 214, 238
Passio Sancti Quiriari Episcopi, 391 dream of ladder to Paradise, 47, 127, 167–69,
Passio sancti Stephani martyris sub Galieno 173–81, 184–85, 210, 252, 264, 269, 355,
Imperatore, 407, 408 364
Passio Sancti Thrutberti Martyris, 388 dream of wrestling match, 129–30, 248–72,
Passio Sancti Valenti Episcopi, 390 332
Passio sanctorum Iohannis & Pauli, 404 dreams of Dinocrates, 68–69, 74–76, 172,
Passio sanctorum Mariani et Iacobi, 95, 97n22, 207, 209–12, 214–23, 228–30, 255, 290,
235, 256, 259, 266, 278, 279 371, 436
Passio sanctorum Montanii et Lucii, 161, 166, education of, 32, 36, 38–39, 150–51, 182,
213, 278, 309 212
Passio Sanctorum Quadriginta Militum, 390, father of. See father of Perpetua
392 Greek language fluency of, 23, 26, 131, 182,
Passio Sanctorum Scillitanorum, 202 292, 296
Passio Sanctorum Septem Fratrum Filiorum husband of, 24–25, 147–48, 165, 175, 185,
Sanctae Felicitatis, 391 328, 442
Passio sanctorum vii dormientium, 406, metamorphosis of, 283–91
408 mother of, 22, 25–26, 43–46, 126, 127, 153
Passio SS. Martyrvm Tarachi, Probi et mother’s sister, 22, 46
Andronici, 431 as prophetess, 29–30, 43, 159, 167, 170–71,
paterfamilias role, x , 19–20, 24, 26, 31, 190 179, 238, 311
patria potestas, 242, 328, 442 public assumption of authority by, 237–48
Patricius, 15 perpetual virginity, vow of, 176
Patroclus, 215 “Perpetua’s Husband” (Osiek), 47, 273, 328
Patrologia Latina, 434 Perpetua und der Ägypter (Habermehl), 174,
Paul (saint), xi, 4, 39, 40n56, 96, 142–46, 153, 347, 431, 441
172, 177, 216, 237 Pertinax , 73n43, 196
on baptism, 160 Peter, 243, 262, 288
exorcism and, 366 Petraglio, Renzo, 159, 275
Jesus and, 156 Petronius (Petron.), 150, 234, 268, 277, 322
on prophecy, 139 Petronius Fortunatus, 52
on suffering , 309 Phaedrus (Phdr.) (Plato), 274
Pauline authority, 57 pharaoh, 261
Pauline Stoicism, 315 daughter of, 310
Paulus, 306 Pharisees, 262, 358
Pelagius, 144, 391 phiala, 234–35
Peleus, 266 Philippians (Phil.), 4, 246, 277, 278, 290
Penates, 190 Philo, 350
Penetentia sanctae marie neptis eius, 391 Philocalian calendar, 65
Peppe, Leo, 63n9, 201 Phlegethon river, 217
peroratio, 250 Phoebe, xi, 237
Perpetua (Vibia Perpetua) Phoenicians, 331
biography of, 28–35 pietas, 26, 28, 190, 195
breast-feeding by, 20, 44, 126, 147, 151, 154, pietate, 108, 190
164, 196, 205–7 pigments, 371
Pilate, Pontius, 96, 257, 280, 299, 311, 313, 391 Possinus, 100, 434
pillory, 92, 232 post-Lombardic script, 380
Pionus (saint), 390 potestas, 19, 27, 31, 248
piscina, 110, 221, 233–34 dominica, 165
Pistis, xi patria, 242, 328, 442
pius epithet, 26n31 praenomen, 21, 48, 149
Planta, J., 408, 417 praetorian guard, 166, 315
Plato, 37, 208, 347 praetorium, 166, 287
Cratylus (Cra.), 26, 38, 156 prayer
Leges (Leg.), 140 in Christianity, 208, 211
Phaedrus (Phdr.), 274 for dead, 214
Republic, 273 ecstatic, 312, 350
Platonism, 16, 153, 172, 215, 253 intercessory, 221, 229, 236, 295, 308
Neo-Platonism, 350 meditative, 208
Plautianus, 69n27 pregnancy, of Felicity, 19, 22, 132, 302–4, 306,
Plautilla, Fulvia, 69n27 373
Plautus, 171 prelapsarian paradise, 180, 276, 284
Pliny the Elder, 234 presbyters, 12, 56, 294
Pliny the Younger, 16–17, 49, 72, 75, 85, 157, principales, 52n81, 88, 243
162, 196, 213–14, 237, 322 Prisca, xi, 148, 237
Plotinus, 312, 350 Priscilla, 11, 42, 208
pluralism, 293 Priscilla Catacombs, 95, 256–57, 265
Plutarch, 156, 218, 339, 348, 361 prison conditions, 152, 161, 163, 313
poena, 111, 117, 217, 236, 306 prophecy. See also New Prophecy movement
political identity, 29 charisma and, 10, 12, 14, 273
Polochronia (saint), 390 compared with canon, 10–15, 136–37
Polycarp, 145, 202, 252, 282, 298, 334, 367 ecstatic, 14, 30, 41–42, 57, 350
Polyneices, 215 gender roles and, 41
polyonymy, 21 Jews and, 142
Polyxena, x , 341, 346–47 John (Baptist) and, 167
Pompeii (Gusman), 91n14, 231 ongoing revelation of Holy Spirit, 11–14, 42,
Pompey, 71, 151 54, 77, 136, 367
Pomponius Paul on, 139
in commentary, 153, 162–63, 196, 205, Perpetua as prophetess, 29–30, 43, 159, 167,
250–52, 254–60, 269, 346 170–71, 179, 238, 311
in English translation, 126, 128, 129 visions and, 142
overview of, 48–49 prophetic leadership, 4
as psychopomp, 93, 95–96, 251 Prosopographia Imperii Romani (PIR), 62n6,
Pomponius Atticus, Titus, 163 200
Pontius, 365 Prosper Tiro Aquitanus (Prosper of
Pontius Pilate. See Pilate, Pontius Aquitaine), 65, 68n24
Poppaea, 266 proto-Montanism, 171, 292, 297
Porphyry, 330 proto-purgatory, 53, 214, 222
Porta Libitinensis, 271, 356–57 proximavit, 111, 246, 247
Porta Sanavivariam, 113, 122, 271, 348, 356–57 Psalms (Pss), 191, 192, 227, 270, 283
Porta Triumphalis, 323, 348 Psalms of Solomon, 262–63
positivism, 248–49 Pseudepigrapha, 297
psychopomps Rauschen, Gerhard, 436–37

Mercury as, 258 Ravenna, mosaics of, 180
Pomponius as, 93, 95–96, 251 Rawson, B., 34n48, 205, 206
Ptolemy, 277 Redactor of Passio (R)
public confession, of faith, 97n22, 185, 192–93 argument of, 9–15, 136–37
public shame, 16, 27, 99, 190, 242, 248 biography of, 15–17
public witness, martyrdom as, 18, 29, 144–45, dates of, 67
283–84 interpolations of, 75–77
Pudens rhetoric of, 8–15
in commentary, 237, 240–44, 264–66, 313, Tertullian and, 17, 437–39, 441
319, 337, 352–53, 357–58, 360–62 redemptive sacrifice, of Jesus, 304
in English translation, 129, 134 refr igerium, 158–59, 163, 220–21
overview of, 52–53, 61n3, 88–90 refr igero, 233, 246, 296
sainthood of, 242 Die Reichenauer Handschriften, 442
pudicitia, 30 Reifferscheid, August, 380, 384
pudor, 27 religio, 28
pugno, 112, 225 religio illicita, 64
Punic cults, 33n45, 326, 330–31 Christianity as, 29, 39, 46, 85
Punic language, 55, 151, 281–82 religious identity, 152–55
Punic War, Third, 198 Republic (Plato), 273
purgatory, 54, 209, 236 resurrection
proto-purgatory, 53, 214, 222 promise of, 29, 41, 298
Purgatory (Le Goff ), 159, 222–23 salvation and, 169
Pythagoreans, 214, 236 Revelation (Rv), 82, 96, 148, 180, 235, 273,
Pythia, 350 284, 287
Pythian Apollo, 249 dragon of, 168, 176, 179, 261, 279
Pythian games, 80n4 revelation, ongoing, of Holy Spirit, 11–14, 42,
54, 77, 136, 367
quaestio, 64n11, 195 Revocatus
quaestor parricidii, 200 in commentary, 147, 149, 299, 305, 317, 335,
Quantin, Jean-Louis, 432 337, 352, 371, 374, 394, 397
Quartillosa, 213, 235 in English translation, 126, 133
Quasten, Johannes, 179, 220, 307 overview of, 18–21, 25, 46
Quintilian, 15, 151, 218, 253, 260 slave status of, 25, 147
Quintus Richardson, Lawrence, Jr., 91n14, 231
in commentary, 281–82 Rives, James B., 49, 62n6, 84n7, 200
in English translation, 131 Robert, Louis, 80n4, 81n5, 175,
overview of, 54–55 249, 365
Quirinus, 196 Roberts, Alexander, 437, 438
Quodvultdeus, 138, 374 Robinson, J. Armitage (Rob.), xi, 61n4, 79,
100–101, 276, 279, 281, 328, 332, 347,
R. See Redactor of Passio 358, 384, 432, 434–39
Rader, R., xi, 439 Roman Africa, 359–61
Ramsey, H. L., 380 Catholicism of, 14, 16, 148, 290
Ramureanu, Ioan, 440 Christianity in, 16, 39–40, 137
Raphael, 274, 285 education in, 15
Rapske, Brian, 231, 315, 319 Roman Carthage, xi
552 • General Index
Roman Carthage (continued) Rusticus

amphitheaters in, 138, 161, 209, 259, 271, in commentary, 340–43, 349, 351, 360
282, 324, 337, 340, 356 in English translation, 134
bishops’ council of, 13, 40n56, 55–56, overview of, 58–59
293–94
Christianity in, 28, 192–93, 238, 329 sacred bull, 176
domus in, 19–21, 30 Sacred Orations (Aristides), 312
forum in, 198 sacrifice. See also emperor worship
gender roles in, 32–35 blood, 300, 359, 361
Greek language in, 23, 26, 38, 47, 182 holocaust offerings, 313, 363
house churches in, 10, 12, 42–43, 45, 56–57, human, 326, 330
67n22, 303 infanticide, 304
Jews in, 285 redemptive sacrifice of Jesus, 304
Tophet in, 304, 326, 330–31 self-sacrifice, 33n45, 144–45, 307, 350
Roman Empire Saint-Corneille, Benedictine Abbey of, 373,
cognitio extra ordinem procedure of, 50, 394–95, 434
64n11, 92, 157, 195 Saint Gallen 577 manuscript (MS G), 60, 83,
emperor as synecdoche for Empire, 202 102, 148, 176, 369t, 370–71, 436
Jews in, 70n34, 71, 195, 212 description of, 385–89, 386
legal formula of, 92–93 Saint-Nazare 510 manuscript, 442–43
Romanesque Manuscripts 1066–1190 saints, cult of, 139
(Kaufmann), 418 Salisbury Cathedral 221 manuscript (MS S),
Roman Family (Bradley), 19n16, 21n18, 22n21, 102, 138, 235, 370, 408
27n32, 164 description of, 409, 409–13, 432
Romanianus, 15 misidentification as Salzburg MS,
Roman identity, 35 434, 435
Romanitas quality, 28, 35 Sallust, 15
Roman Law ( Jolowicz), 164, 200 Salome, xi, 281
Roman military nomenclature, 52–53, Salonius (Sal.), 103
87–90 salus imperatorum, 195
Roman Questions (Plutarch), 348 salvation
Roman religion, 33n45, 190–91. See also cults death and, 184–85, 193
emperor worship, 157, 163, 195–96, 201–2, family as impediment to, 46
309 history of, 356
genius, of emperor, 86, 171, 196, 199, 202, Messianic, 219
298 resurrection and, 169
Greco-Roman religion, 95, 249 Samaritan woman, 265
mos maiorum, 17–18, 27, 29, 34–35, 85, 185, 1 - 2 Samuel (1 - 2 Sm), 247
241, 302 Sanctus (Delehaye), 140
vows, to gods, 278 Sanctus (martyr), 309
Romans (Rom), 39, 40n56, 141, 160, 162, 172 sandals, 93–95, 129, 255, 257–58, 264, 266
Roman values, 6 Sarapis, 361
Rossi, I. B. de, 158 sarcophagi, 94, 174, 180–81, 265
Rousseau, P., 45 Satan, 96, 203, 269
rubricated calendar, 390 Egyptian wrestler as, 249, 252, 261, 332
rubricating practices, 371 renunciation of, 155
Ruinart, Theodorici (Rui.), 8n4, 100, 433–35 Saturn, 326, 330–31
Saturninus, 18, 20–21, 46, 54–55, 65, 281, overview of, 18, 20–21, 46, 54
335 sedition, 85, 195
Saturus seditious suicide, 29
angels of dream, 130–31, 273–74, 276–77, self-sacrifice, 33n45, 144–45, 307, 350
280, 284–86, 373 senatorial class, 49, 256, 331
in commentary, 142, 149, 165, 167–70, Seneca the Younger, 267, 335, 362–63, 365, 366
177–78, 237–38, 285–88, 290–95, 297, sentencing, of martyrs of Passio, 64, 192–93,
299, 301, 307, 321–23, 328, 335, 337–39, 204, 210
342, 349, 352–55, 357 Septimius Geta, Publius (brother of Septimius
dream, of heavenly city, 130–31, 272–85 Severus), 73n43
in English translation, 127, 130, 131, 133–35 Septimius Geta, Publius (son of Septimius
overview of, 3–5, 12, 19, 46–47, 54–57, 61, Severus). See Geta Caesar
66, 74, 81–82 Septimius Severus (emperor), 49–50, 64,
voluntary surrender to authorities, 47, 177 69–72, 86–87
Satyricon (Sat.) (Petronius), 150, 268, 322 in commentary, 148, 196, 201, 226, 361
Saxer, Victor, 80n4, 344, 439 Geta and, 69n26, 86, 201, 210, 225
sceleratos, 117, 304, 307 Mercury and, 258
Schermann, T., 80n4, 436 Pertinax and, 196
Scherrer, Gustav, 388 sermo cott idianus, 235
Schlunk, Helmut, 174 sermo humilis, 74, 173
Scillitan martyrdoms, 17, 45, 47, 55, 85, Sermones (Serm.) (Augustine), 143, 159, 170,
281–82, 292 179, 203, 365
Scillitan Martyrs, 8–9, 71, 99, 144–45, 367, serpent
435, 438 of dream, 127, 174, 176, 178–79, 199, 269–70
Scipio, 273 of Genesis, 168, 176, 179, 252, 269
Scorpiace (Scorp.) (Tertullian), 165, 192, 276, Serrai, Alfredo, 431
329 Seruilius Pudens, Q., 357
Scott, R., 92 Severan period, 21, 33, 86–87, 226, 331
scribal emendation, 102 Severus. See Septimius Severus
Scribes and Scholars at Salisbury Cathedral Severus, Alexander, 57, 69, 225
(Weber), 413 sexual abstinence, 175, 329
Scriptoria Medii Aevi Helvetica (Bruckner), Shakespeare, William, 10
388, 394 shame, 58
The Scriptorium and Library at Monte Cassino public, 16, 27, 99, 190, 242, 248
(Newton), 381 Shaw, Brent, 61n4, 80n4, 147, 182, 440
scripts sheep, 127, 169, 180–82, 257, 360
Beneventan, 371, 375, 380 Sheol, 215–16
Caroline, 370, 375, 380, 381 Shepherd of Hermas, 46, 56, 82, 435, 441
Italian Caroline, 384 Mandates (Herm. Man.), 10–11
post-Lombardic, 380 Visions (Herm. Vis.), 45, 92, 176, 180, 255,
scriptural canonicity, 11–14 258, 273, 276, 439, 441
Sebastian (saint), 266 Shewring, Walter Hayward (She.), xi, 182, 286,
Sebeste, xi 381
Second Coming, of Jesus Christ, 169, 239, 297 sigils, 100–101, 137–38, 369t
Secundulus Simeon, 300
in commentary, 299–302, 305 Simeon Metaphrastes, 430
in English translation, 126, 131 Simplicius, 323
sine manu marriage, 27–28, 30–31, 148, 165, Stephen (martyr), 139, 145
328 Stephen (pope), 378
Sir Robert Cotton as Collector: Essays on an stocks, 60n3, 90–92, 129, 209, 227–32, 246
Early Stuart Courtier and His Legacy horizontal and circular, 231
(Wright), 409 Stoicism, 16, 156, 169, 204–5, 215
skepticism, 5 Pauline, 315
slavery Stoics, 214, 366
catasta to display slaves, 97n22, 174, 191–92 Strabo, 195
children of, 306–7 suavium, 190
conserua, 19, 25, 142, 147, 149 Suetonius (Suet.)
jurisdiction of, 20 Divus Augustus (Aug.), 225, 256
slave status of Felicity, 25, 142, 147, 302–3, Divus Iulius (Iul.), 266, 323
307 Divus Vespasianus (Vesp.), 265
slave status of Revocatus, 25, 147 Gaius Caligula (Calig.), 69n28, 213, 225,
Slaves and Masters (Bradley), 19n15 261, 337, 338
Smith, Morton, 316 Nero (Ner.), 69n28, 143, 197, 225, 263, 318
Smith, Thomas, 408, 416, 417 Otho, 214
Snyder, Graydon F., 158 Tiberius (Tib.), 166
social identity, 30–31, 33–34, 333 suffering, Paul on, 309
Socrates, 26, 38, 156, 291, 341, 347, 432 suicide, 261, 300, 335, 366
Sola, Giuseppe (Sola), 437–38 seditious, 29
solemnitates togae, 318 sui iuris, 31, 165
Solomon, 279 superstitio, 64, 75, 85, 158
Some Authentic Acts of the Early Martyrs Susanna, 296
(Owen), 437–38 Swain, Merrill, 296
Son of Man imagery, 96, 286, 287 Swithun (saint), 400, 402, 406
Sophia, xi Sylwetki diakonów w “Acta martyrum”
sophrosyne, 156 (Malinowski), 440
souls Syme, Ronald, 19n15, 69n26, 70, 71
created, corporeal nature of, 169 syncretism, 94–95, 257, 260
eternity of, 253 angel as Nike/Victory, 276
gender roles and, 41 Christ as Orpheus imagery, 251
of just, 274 Cronus as Saturn, 330–31
Souter, A., 143, 178, 212, 213, 232, 244, 260 lanista as Christ-athlete-Savior, 264
Southern, Pat, 225, 315 synecdoche
Spartianus, 71n34, 72 emperor for Empire, 202
Spectacles of Death (Kyle), 320, 344, 349, father for mos maiorum, 185
362 Felicity for empowerment, 303
spectaculum, 306 Syntyche, xi, 237
spiritual authority, 262
civil vs., 310–21 Tacitus, 85, 247, 308, 342
spiritual songs, 332 talismanic utterance, name of Jesus as, 178, 336
spoliarium, 271, 348, 354, 362–63, 365 Talmudic literature, 71, 285
stade, 281 Tanit (moon goddess), cult of, 304, 326, 331
Statius, 187 Tantalus, 216
stelae, 24, 158, 185, 227, 325, 326, 331 Tartarus, 236
stemma, 375f technical terms, 90
Teoderius presbyter (saint), 390 Theogony (Hesiod), 330

Terence, 139, 171 Thomas, 350–51
Tersanctus, 286 Thomasson, Bengt, 63n8, 201
Tertius throne, of God, 4, 131, 181, 276, 280–81, 284,
in commentary, 153, 162–63, 255, 322 286
in English translation, 126 Thuburbo Maius, 15, 224, 412
overview of, 48–49 Thuburbo Minus, 138, 148, 224, 294, 431, 435,
Tertullian (Tert.), x , 11, 29, 37n52, 45 437, 439, 442
Ad Martyras (Mart.), 21, 57, 71–72, 161, Thyestian banquets, 85
166, 194, 196–97, 230, 241, 245, 249, 274, Tiberius (Tib.) (Suetonius), 166
275, 284, 305 Tibullus, 217
Ad Scapulam (Scap.), 84, 200 Tilley, Maureen A., xi, 49n70, 71n34, 290
Ad Uxorem (Ad Ux.), 23, 328 Timianus. See Minucius Timinianus
Adversus Marcionem (Marc.), 37n52, 1 - 2 Timothy (1 - 2 Tm), 139, 142, 159, 209,
143–44, 162, 256, 312 218, 263
Apologeticum (Apol.), 198, 211, 217, 226, tirocinium fori, 69, 225
245, 304, 316, 319, 322, 326, 332, 337, 351 Tite, Colin G., 409, 418
De Baptismo (De Bapt.), 57, 149, 154–55, Titus (Ti), 141, 297
167, 222, 329, 336, 359 toga
De Corona Militis (Cor.), 169, 183, 202, 216, solemnitates togae, 318
281, 294–95, 352 toga praetexta, 317
De Cultu Feminarum (De Cultu Fem.),40–42 toga pura, 69n28, 225
De Exhortatione Castitatis (Exh. Cast.), 41, toga virilis, 69, 69n27, 225, 317–18
178 of tribune, 315
De Fuga in Persecutione, 159, 161–62, 178, Toinard, Nicholas, 432
276, 329 Toki, Kenji, 440
De Ieiunio (Iei.), 66, 270, 349–50 Toki, Shôsaku, 440
De Monogamia (De Monog.), 159, 216, 329 Tophet, in Roman Carthage, 304, 326, 330–31
De Oratione (Or.), 308, 336, 363–64 Torah, 144–45
De Pallio (De Pal.), 264, 268–69 torture, 92, 192, 300
De Pudicitia (Pud.), 180, 317, 360 To the Romans (Rom.) (Ignatius), 284, 336
De Resurrectione Carnis (Res.), 239 To the Trallians (Trall.) (Ignatius), 162, 296
De Spectaculis (De Spect.), 179, 246, 259, traho, 199, 234
269, 366 Trajan (emperor), 16–17, 49, 85, 157, 162, 196
De Testimonio Animae (De Anim.), 42, 62, trances, 92, 172, 273, 312, 350
66–67, 87, 142, 152, 159, 169, 192, 253, transcendence motifs, 287, 292, 302, 327
297, 301, 307, 317, 331, 431 transcendent God, 30, 288
mention of martyrs of Passio by, 137–38, transfiguration, of Jesus, 277, 286
297, 307 treason, 282
R and, 17, 437–39, 441 Tree of Life, 180, 268
Scorpiace (Scorp.), 165, 192, 276, 329 Treverensis manuscript, 442
Tetragrammaton, 361 Trevett, Christine, 142
Texte und Arbeiten Erzabtei Beuron, 388 tribune, 53, 310–13, 315–19, 326, 332, 345
Texts and Studies (Lieberman), 174 tribunus laticlavius, 315
textual tradition, 370–75 tribunus militum, 89, 224, 243–44
Theagenes, 261 Trinity, 159, 352, 367–68
Thecla, 207, 214, 253, 277, 376 Trisagion, 286–87
Tryphaena (queen), 207 Villa Guglielmetti, Gemma, 384

Tsara’at, 219 vincula, 90
Tullianum, 163, 282 Virgil, 15, 32, 76, 187, 196, 236
tunic, 93–95, 256–57, 265, 346 Aeneis (Aen.), 68, 189, 215–17, 223, 233, 239
The Twelve Tables, 282 virginity, vow of perpetual, 176
virtus, 245
Ueber Mittelalterliche Bibliotheken (Gottlieb), visions
443 dreams and, 272–73
Ulpian (Ulp.), 50–51, 63n9, 201, 203, 282, 306 out-of-body, 5, 350
umbilical cord symbolism, 234 prophecy and, 142
underworld, 68, 223 Visions (Herm. Vis.) (Shepherd of Hermas),
unguents, 42, 234, 263 45, 92, 176, 180, 255, 258, 273, 276, 439,
universal Christian spirit, 153 441
urceolus, 36, 105, 153, 156, 171 Visio Pauli, 181
Uriel (angel), 285 Vita Beatae Euphrasie, 396
Urtexts, 66, 374 Vita Cypriani (Pontius), 365
Ussher, James, 370, 411 Vita sanctae Euphrasiae, 170
utopianism, 85, 285 Vita Sanctae Walpurge Virginis, 390,
392–93
Valentinians, 297 Vita sancta Marie Aegyptiae, 405
Valerian (emperor), 138 Vita Sancti Abrahem heremite, 391
Valerius Constantius (emperor), 300 Vita Sancti Ambrosii Mediolanensis, 405
Valerius Pudens, Gaius, 357 Vita sancti Arbogasti Episcopi, 391
Valois, Henri de, 371, 431–35 Vita Sancti Athansii Episcopi, 391
van Beek, Cornelius Johannes Maria Joseph Vita Sancti Augustini Episcopi: Scio item non
(Be.), xi–xii, 79, 100, 179, 222, 298, 348, solus, 388
369, 438–42 Vita Sancti Cassiani, 387
Vandals, 275, 374 Vita S[anc]ti Ecgwini, 406
Vannutelli, Primo, 438 Vita Sancti Ermenlandi Abbatis, 385, 387
Vegetius, 88, 243, 309 Vita Sancti Gregorii, 417
venatores, 326, 333, 334, 337 Vita Sancti Gregory papae, 417
Venus, 267, 360 Vita sancti Guthlaci, 402, 405
Verecundus, 260 Vita sancti Hieronimi presbyteri, 400, 404
Vergil. See Virgil Vita Sancti Iuuenalis Episcopi, 391
Verschuur, Elisabeth van Ketwich, 441 Vita Sancti Leonis Pape, 390, 393
Verzeichniss der Handschriften der Vita sancti Oswaldi Ebor, 399–400, 406
Stift sbibliothek von St. Gallen (Scherrer), Vita Sancti Patricii, 396
388 Vita Sancti Pirminii, 388
Vestals, 33 Vita S[an]cti Suithini Epi[scopi], 406
Vetus (Vet.), 91, 159, 160, 175, 189, 203, 212, Vita Sancti Syri et Niuentii Episcoporum,
231 390
Via Salaria Nova catacombs (Rome), 265 Vita Sanctorum Alexandri et Athansii
Vibia gens, 21, 150 Episcoporum, 393
Vibia Perpetua. See Perpetua Vita Sci Ecgwyni Episcopi, 402, 406
Vibius Crispus, Lucius Iunius Quintus, 21, Vita vel Obitus Sancti Vodoali cognomento
150 Benedictus, 396
Victor of Vitensis, 217, 301 volgarismi, 141
volitional martyrdom, 13 elite, 30–31, 33, 47, 164, 237

von Franz, Marie-Louise, 174, 248–49, 438 legal status of, 186
Von Scarpatetti, B. M., 389 literacy of, 5
vows, to gods, 278 status of, 30–31, 237
Vulgate (Vulg), 142, 159, 175, 189, 203, 212 Women Writers of the Middle Ages (Dronke),
440
Wallis, R. E., xi, 182, 437 Wool, Susan, 385
Weber, Teresa, 413 wrestling match, Perpetua’s dream of, 129–30,
Weitzmann, Kurt, 175 248–72, 332
wet nurses, 147, 164, 205 Wright, C. J., 409
Wilken, R. L., 72n40
Willibald, 387 Xenophon, 156, 263, 432
Winwaloe (saint), 417
witchcraft, 312 zealots, 193, 271, 334
Witherington, Ben, 39 Zechariah (Zec), 173, 235
women Zeno, 291, 360
anti-female faction of Christianity, 262 Zephyrinus (bishop), 11
cults and, 33 Zettel, P. H., 410, 412
education of, x , 23, 32–34, 150–51, 156 Zeus, 234, 258, 330

12.4 - The Passion of Perpetua and Felicity (2012)

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T h e Pa s s i o n o f P e r p e t u a a n d F e l i c i t y

Paris MS Biblilothèque nationale Latin 17626

Oxford New York

Copyright © 2012 by Oxford University Press, Inc.

Published by Oxford University Press, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Printed in the United States of America

APPENDIX II: THE GREEK TEXT / 445

Select Bibliography / 457

Jan M. Bremmer, Michael Kulikowski, Alan Bernstein, Christine Shepardson,

Sg Song of Solomon Hos Hosea

Deuterocanonical books cited

Add Esth Additions to Esther

Mt Matthew 1–2 Thes 1–2 Thessalonians

Ign. Pol . Ignatius, To Polycarp Ign. Trall. Ignatius, To the Trallians

Expo. Luc. Expositio Evangelii secundum Lucam

Adv. Nat. Adversus Nationes

Conf. Confessiones Faust. Contra Faustum

Cassius Dio (Cass. Dio)

Chrysostom, John (Chrys.)

Hom. 1–88 in Jo. Homiliae 1–88 in Johannem

Att. Epistulae ad Atticum Off. De Officiis

Clement of Alexandria (Clem. Al.)

Carmen Apol . Carmen Apologeticum

Adv. Jud. Adversus Judaeos Mort. De Mortalitate

Dio Cassius (Dio Cass.)

Hist. Eccl. Historia Ecclesiastica

Gospel of Mary (Gosp Mary)

Hilary of Poitiers (Hil. Poit.)

In Matt. Commentarium in Matthaeum

Dan. Commentarium in Danielem

Carm. Carmina or Odes

Haer. Adversus Haereses

Adv. Adversus Iovinianum

Justin Martyr (Justin)

De Mort . Pers De Mortibus Persecutorum

Minucius Felix (Min. Fel.)

Comm. Jo. Commentarii in Evangelium Joannis

Pliny the Elder (Plin.)

Pliny the Younger (Plin.)

Vand. De Bello Vandalico

Inst. Institutio oratoria

Cat. Bellum Catilinae or De Catilinae Coniuratione

Seneca the Younger (Sen.)

Aug. Divus Augustus Otho Otho

Ad Nat. Ad Nationes Carn . Chr. De Carne Christi

De Bapt. De Baptismo Mart. Ad Martyras

Valerius Maximus (Val. Max.)

Bennett Bennett, C. E. New Latin Grammar. Wauconda, IL: Bolchazy-

The Passio’s claim to be an autobiography has elevated it to iconic status for

Perpetua provides no authorial decision, stated or implicit, that she intends to

1. M. Corti, Un ponte tra latino e italiano, Bibliotheca di Autografo 9 (Novara: Interlinea,

they are embedded organically in the imagination of the author, expressed in

undertaken: there is an absence of historic details concerning these other men

5. G. A. Kennedy, “Judeo-Christian Rhetoric,” in Classical Rhetoric and Its Christian and

9. Tertullian, Praescr. 26.9.

those opposed individuals, as he addresses both communities as sharers of a

of canonical Scripture. This expropriation of the other camp’s argument—he

R tells us nothing about his personal domestic situation: whether he was