Funerary Shroud of a Woman

With gentle elegance and silent dignity, a woman emerges from the linen folds of this Roman-period funerary shroud, painted in vibrant tempera nearly two thousand years ago. Hailing likely from Antinoöpolis or the Faiyum region, this remarkable textile, measuring over two metres in length, blends the funerary traditions of Pharaonic Egypt with the fashion sensibilities and artistic styling of the Roman world.

The lady herself, round-faced and poised, appears to step forward as though from a soft grey doorway; an echo, perhaps, of the ancient False Doors of Old Kingdom tombs; the architectural features which once served as portals between the living and the dead, allowing offerings to pass through from this world to the next. Here, that same symbolic threshold remains, a faint but enduring whisper from the old world.

Clad in a finely rendered tunic with narrow clavi (vertical stripes favoured in Roman dress) she is enveloped in a mantle whose folds fall dramatically beneath her right arm. There is ambiguity in the garment’s construction: is the deep cascade of fabric a sleeve, or a flourish of drapery? Around her left wrist, a tighter sleeve peeks out (perhaps belonging to an undertunic) adding to the layered mystery of her attire. The hem of her garment is trimmed with a delicate fringe, while purple-triangle decoration at the neckline hints at a once-vivid ensemble of woven detail.

She is no stranger to finery. Gold glimmers at every turn: six twisted bracelets encircle her wrists, three rings adorn her fingers, and earrings frame her face. A trio of necklaces nestles at her throat; perhaps amuletic, perhaps simply luxurious. On her feet, red socks and neat black sandals complete her Roman-Egyptian fashion statement.

Acquired in Cairo by the Met in 1909 from the dealer Maurice Nahman, and previously passing through a Parisian sale, the shroud has travelled far across continents and centuries. Yet within its painted linen lies a timeless stillness: the face of a woman ready to step through the threshold of eternity, adorned in splendour, watched over by gods.

Deities

Flanking her image stands the jackal-headed Anubis, his black fur unmistakable even to those with only a passing acquaintance with Egyptian iconography. The second figure, though more worn and elusive, reveals the form of another canine deity, this time painted in golden hues. This subtle distinction suggests not a twin of Anubis, but rather his lesser-known counterpart: Wepwawet, whose name poetically translates as “Opener of the Ways”.

Often depicted in the guise of a jackal or wolf, Wepwawet shares much with Anubis in appearance, yet his role leans more towards that of a celestial pathfinder, guiding the souls of the dead, and in older tradition, even leading pharaohs into battle. His lighter colouring (grey, white, or, as here, golden) sets him apart as a beacon rather than a mourner.

Thus, the woman upon the shroud is shown in the care of two divine escorts: Anubis, guardian of the rites, and Wepwawet, herald of safe passage. Together, they form a kind of sacred tandem; watchful, guiding, and ready to usher her across the veiled threshold of eternity.

Summary:

Funerary Shroud of Linen and Tempera Depicting a Woman in Fringed Tunic

Roman Egypt, c. A.D. 170–200

From Egypt, possibly Antinoöpolis or the Faiyum

Now at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. 09.181.8