or a waste-disposal pit containing charred remains of fruit kernels and bones. These
observations should remind us not to infer from the building of a monumental site
the establishment of a (perhaps much older) cult or, vice versa, to conclude from
the destruction or dilapidation of a cult site the simultaneous cessation of all cult
activity (rather than a conceivable change).
At complex cult sites, the functional differentiation between cult building and aux-
iliary rooms is marked by differences in the layout of the rooms, their dimensions
and arrangement. The size, ceiling height, and monumental character of the central
building(s) were intended to impress the visitor, and therefore reserved for the rep-
resentative areas open to public access (entrance portals, temples, open squares,
porticos, or dining rooms). The subsidiary rooms, by contrast, are often found on
the periphery, inserted under staircases and into dead corners, even if that made
them less than user-friendly: kitchens, storage rooms, and latrines were badly lit and
exceedingly cramped – the comfort and safety of his workforce and his slaves were
of little consequence for the benefactor keen on external representation.
In the late republican era, visitors ascending the stairs and ramps of the imposing
terraced sanctuaries experienced a graded spatial hierarchy, from the storage rooms
and shops at the bottom via the representative structures (porticos, theaters, foun-
tains, and gardens) to the crowning temple (Scheid 1995). However, spatial differ-
entiation does not automatically presuppose monumental size: even a small cult space
could present a highly complex sign system, demarcating various levels of sacredness
by way of visual axes and orientation guides. Spatial borders, symmetry, and direc-
tion played a prominent part not only within the sanctuary but also in relation to
the urban environment of the cult site.
Nature and spring sanctuaries, which marked the city boundaries, also saw their
status raised during the Augustan period. The most prominent example is that of
the sacred grove of the Dea Dia (Scheid 1990): from the Augustan reforms onward,
the Arval Brethren responsible for the cult of the goddess were recruited from the
highest circles of the elite.
In the city, by contrast, outdoor cult sites with few or no architectural markers
had already disappeared as a result of the uncontrolled private building activity in
the late republican era. Within the sanctuaries, too, tree plantations were increas-
ingly encroached upon by grandiose temples and their extensions, as in the case of
the Vesta shrine, where the natural grove was taken over by the spacious residence
of the priestesses, only to be replaced by a man-made landscape garden and sacral-
idyllic wall paintings in the reception rooms. At the same time the members of the
elite sought to enhance their prestige by incorporating into the extensive grounds
of their villas little decorative garden temples or caves with marble images (Coarelli
1983); correspondingly, in the representative open squares of the Latin sanctuaries
(Gabii, Tibur), there is evidence of similar plantations with artificial irrigation
(Coarelli 1989: 14 –20).
The permeability and reciprocal convergence of religious and profane architecture
are reflected in the multi-functional nature of late republican cult compounds.
Closely intertwined with their secular environment, these compounds formed an intri-
cate spatial complex (Stambaugh 1978: 580 – 8): temple buildings in the city of Rome
208 Ulrike Egelhaaf-Gaiser