As the Romans grew prouder and more fond of pleasure, no one could hope
to please them who did not give them sports and entertainments. When
any person wished to be elected to any public office, it was a matter of
course that he should compliment his fellow citizens by exhibitions of
the kind they loved, and when the common people were discontented, their
cry was that they wanted panem ac Circenses, 'bread and sports', the
only things they cared for. In most places where there has been a
large Roman colony, remains can be seen of the amphitheatres, where the
citizens were wont to assemble for these diversions. Sometimes these are
stages of circular galleries of seats hewn out of the hillside, where
rows of spectators might sit one above the other, all looking down on
a broad, flat space in the centre, under their feet, where the
representations took place. Sometimes, when the country was flat, or it
was easier to build than to excavate, the amphitheatre was raised above
ground, rising up to a considerable height.
The grandest and most renowned of all these amphitheatres is the
Coliseum at Rome. It was built by Vespasian and his son Titus, the
conquerors of Jerusalem, in a valley in the midst of the seven hills of
Rome. The captive Jews were forced to labour at it; and the materials,
granite outside, and softer travertine stone within, are so solid and
so admirably built, that still at the end of eighteen centuries it has
scarcely even become a ruin, but remains one of the greatest wonders of
Rome.
Five acres of ground were enclosed within the oval of its outer wall,
which outside rises perpendicularly in tiers of arches one above the
other. Within, the galleries of seats projected forwards, each tier
coming out far beyond the one above it, so that between the lowest and
the outer wall there was room for a great space of chambers, passages,
and vaults around the central space, called the arena, from the arena,
or sand, with which it was strewn.
When the Roman Emperors grew very vain and luxurious, they used to have
this sand made ornamental with metallic filings, vermilion, and even
powdered precious stones; but it was thought better taste to use the
scrapings of a soft white stone, which, when thickly strewn, made the
whole arena look as if covered with untrodden snow. Around the border
of this space flowed a stream of fresh water. Then came a straight wall,
rising to a considerable height, and surmounted by a broad platform, on
which stood a throne for the Emperor, curule chairs of ivory and
gold for the chief magistrates and senators, and seats for the vestal
virgins. Next above were galleries for the equestrian order, the great
mass of those who considered themselves as of gentle station, though not
of the highest rank; farther up, and therefore farther back, were
the galleries belonging to the freemen of Rome; and these were again
surmounted by another plain wall with a platform on the top, where were
places for the ladies, who were not (except the vestal virgins) allowed
to look on nearer, because of the unclothed state of some of the
performers in the arena. Between the ladies' boxes, benches were
squeezed in where the lowest people could seat themselves; and some of
these likewise found room in the two uppermost tiers of porticoes, where
sailors, mechanics, and persons in the service of the Coliseum had their
post. Altogether, when full, this huge building held no less than 87,000
spectators. It had no roof; but when there was rain, or if the sun was
too hot, the sailors in the porticoes unfurled awnings that ran along
upon ropes, and formed a covering of silk and gold tissue over the
whole. Purple was the favorite color for this velamen, or veil; because,
when the sun shone through it, it cast such beautiful rosy tints on the
snowy arena and the white purple-edged togas of the Roman citizens.
Long days were spent from morning till evening upon those galleries. The
multitude who poured in early would watch the great dignitaries arrive
and take their seats, greeting them either with shouts of applause or
hootings of dislike, according as they were favorites or otherwise; and
when the Emperor came in to take his place under his canopy, there
was one loud acclamation, 'Joy to thee, master of all, first of all,
happiest of all. Victory to thee for ever!'
When the Emperor had seated himself and given the signal, the sports
began. Sometimes a rope-dancing elephant would begin the entertainment,
by mounting even to the summit of the building and descending by a cord.
Then a bear, dressed up as a Roman matron, would be carried along in
a chair between porters, as ladies were wont to go abroad, and another
bear, in a lawyer's robe, would stand on his hind legs and go through
the motions of pleading a case. Or a lion came forth with a jeweled
crown on his head, a diamond necklace round his neck, his mane plaited
with gold, and his claws gilded, and played a hundred pretty gentle
antics with a little hare that danced fearlessly within his grasp. Then
in would come twelve elephants, six males in togas, six females with
the veil and pallium; they took their places on couches around an ivory
table, dined with great decorum, playfully sprinkled a little rosewater
over the nearest spectators, and then received more guests of their
unwieldy kind, who arrived in ball dresses, scattered flowers, and
performed a dance.
Sometimes water was let into the arena, a ship sailed in, and falling
to pieces in the midst, sent a crowd of strange animals swimming in
all directions. Sometimes the ground opened, and trees came growing up
through it, bearing golden fruit. Or the beautiful old tale of Orpheus
was acted; these trees would follow the harp and song of the musician;
but--to make the whole part complete--it was no mere play, but real
earnest, that the Orpheus of the piece fell a prey to live bears.
For the Coliseum had not been built for such harmless spectacles as
those first described. The fierce Romans wanted to be excited and feel
themselves strongly stirred; and, presently, the doors of the pits and
dens round the arena were thrown open, and absolutely savage beasts were
let loose upon one another--rhinoceroses and tigers, bulls and lions,
leopards and wild boars--while the people watched with savage curiosity
to see the various kinds of attack and defense; or, if the animals were
cowed or sullen, their rage would be worked up--red would be shown to
the bulls, white to boars, red-hot goads would be driven into some,
whips would be lashed at others, till the work of slaughter was fairly
commenced, and gazed on with greedy eyes and ears delighted, instead
of horror-struck, by the roars and howls of the noble creatures whose
courage was thus misused. Sometimes indeed, when some especially strong
or ferocious animal had slain a whole heap of victims, the cries of the
people would decree that it should be turned loose in its native forest,
and, amid shouts of 'A triumph! a triumph!' the beast would prowl round
the arena, upon the carcasses of the slain victims. Almost incredible
numbers of animals were imported for these cruel sports, and the
governors of distant provinces made it a duty to collect troops of
lions, elephants, ostriches, leopards--the fiercer or the newer the
creature the better--to be thus tortured to frenzy, to make sport in
the amphitheatre. However, there was daintiness joined with cruelty: the
Romans did not like the smell of blood, though they enjoyed the sight
of it, and all the solid stonework was pierced with tubes, through which
was conducted the stream of spices and saffron, boiled in wine, that the
perfume might overpower the scent of slaughter below.
Wild beasts tearing each other to pieces might, one would think, satisfy
any taste of horror; but the spectators needed even nobler game to be
set before their favorite monsters--men were brought forward to confront
them. Some of these were at first in full armor, and fought hard,
generally with success; and there was a revolving machine, something
like a squirrel's cage, in which the bear was always climbing after his
enemy, and then rolling over by his own weight. Or hunters came, almost
unarmed, and gaining the victory by swiftness and dexterity, throwing a
piece of cloth over a lion's head, or disconcerting him by putting their
fist down his throat. But it was not only skill, but death, that the
Romans loved to see; and condemned criminals and deserters were reserved
to feast the lions, and to entertain the populace with their various
kinds of death. Among these condemned was many a Christian martyr, who
witnessed a good confession before the savage-eyed multitude around the
arena, and 'met the lion's gory mane' with a calm resolution and hopeful
joy that the lookers-on could not understand. To see a Christian die,
with upward gaze and hymns of joy on his tongue, was the most strange
unaccountable sight the Coliseum could offer, and it was therefore the
choicest, and reserved for the last part of the spectacles in which the
brute creation had a part.
The carcasses were dragged off with hooks, and bloodstained sand was
covered with a fresh clean layer, the perfume wafted in stronger clouds,
and a procession came forward--tall, well-made men, in the prime of
their strength. Some carried a sword and a lasso, others a trident and
a net; some were in light armor, others in the full heavy equipment of a
soldier; some on horseback, some in chariots, some on foot. They marched
in, and made their obeisance to the Emperor; and with one voice,
their greeting sounded through the building, Ave, Caesar, morituri te
salutant! 'Hail, Caesar, those about to die salute thee!'
They were the gladiators--the swordsmen trained to fight to the death to
amuse the populace. They were usually slaves placed in schools of arms
under the care of a master; but sometimes persons would voluntarily hire
themselves out to fight by way of a profession: and both these, and such
slave gladiators as did not die in the arena, would sometimes retire,
and spend an old age of quiet; but there was little hope of this, for
the Romans were not apt to have mercy on the fallen.
Fights of all sorts took place--the light-armed soldier and the
netsman--the lasso and the javelin--the two heavy-armed warriors--all
combinations of single combat, and sometimes a general melee. When
a gladiator wounded his adversary, he shouted to the spectators, Hoc
habet! 'He has it!' and looked up to know whether he should kill or
spare. If the people held up their thumbs, the conquered was left to
recover, if he could; if they turned them down, he was to die: and if he
showed any reluctance to present his throat for the deathblow, there was
a scornful shout, Recipe ferrum! 'Receive the steel!' Many of us must
have seen casts of the most touching statue of the wounded man, that
called forth the noble lines of indignant pity which, though so often
repeated, cannot be passed over here:
'I see before me the Gladiator lie;
He leans upon his hand--his manly brow
Consents to death, but conquers agony.
And his droop'd head sinks gradually low,
And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow
From the red gash, fall heavy one by one,
Like the first of a thunder shower; and now
The arena swims around him--he is gone
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
'He heard it, but he heeded no--this eyes
Were with his heart, and that was far away.
He reck'd not of the life he lost, nor prize,
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay,
There were his young barbarians all at play,
There was their Dacian mother--he their sire,
Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday.
All this rush'd with his blood--Shall he expire,
And unavenged? Arise ye Goths and glut your ire.'
Sacred vestals, tender mothers, fat, good-humored senators, all thought
it fair play, and were equally pitiless in the strange frenzy for
exciting scenes to which they gave themselves up, when they mounted the
stone stairs of the Coliseum. Privileged persons would even descend
into the arena, examine the death agonies, and taste the blood of some
specially brave victim ere the corpse was drawn forth at the death gate,
that the frightful game might continue undisturbed and unencumbered.
Gladiator shows were the great passion of Rome, and popular favor could
hardly be gained except by ministering to it. Even when the barbarians
were beginning to close in on the Empire, hosts of brave men were still
kept for this slavish mimic warfare--sport to the beholders, but sad
earnest to the actors.
Christianity worked its way upwards, and at least was professed by the
Emperor on his throne. Persecution came to an end, and no more martyrs
fed the beasts in the Coliseum. The Christian emperors endeavored to
prevent any more shows where cruelty and death formed the chief interest
and no truly religious person could endure the spectacle; but custom and
love of excitement prevailed even against the Emperor. Mere tricks of
beasts, horse and chariot races, or bloodless contests, were tame and
dull, according to the diseased taste of Rome; it was thought weak and
sentimental to object to looking on at a death scene; the Emperors were
generally absent at Constantinople, and no one could get elected to any
office unless he treated the citizens to such a show as they best liked,
with a little bloodshed and death to stir their feelings; and thus
it went on for full a hundred years after Rome had, in name, become
a Christian city, and the same custom prevailed wherever there was an
amphitheatre and pleasure-loving people.
Meantime the enemies of Rome were coming nearer and nearer, and Alaric,
the great chief of the Goths, led his forces into Italy, and threatened
the city itself. Honorius, the Emperor, was a cowardly, almost
idiotical, boy; but his brave general, Stilicho, assembled his forces,
met the Goths at Pollentia (about twenty-five miles from where Turin now
stands), and gave them a complete defeat on the Easter Day of the year
403. He pursued them into the mountains, and for that time saved Rome.
In the joy of the victory the Roman senate invited the conqueror and his
ward Honorius to enter the city in triumph, at the opening of the new
year, with the white steeds, purple robes, and vermilion cheeks with
which, of old, victorious generals were welcomed at Rome. The churches
were visited instead of the Temple of Jupiter, and there was no murder
of the captives; but Roman bloodthirstiness was not yet allayed,
and, after all the procession had been completed, the Coliseum shows
commenced, innocently at first, with races on foot, on horseback, and
in chariots; then followed a grand hunting of beasts turned loose in
the arena; and next a sword dance. But after the sword dance came the
arraying of swordsmen, with no blunted weapons, but with sharp spears
and swords--a gladiator combat in full earnest. The people, enchanted,
applauded with shouts of ecstasy this gratification of their savage
tastes. Suddenly, however, there was an interruption. A rude, roughly
robed man, bareheaded and barefooted, had sprung into the arena, and,
signing back the gladiators, began to call aloud upon the people to
cease from the shedding of innocent blood, and not to requite God's
mercy in turning away the sword of the enemy by encouraging murder.
Shouts, howls, cries, broke in upon his words; this was no place for
preachings--the old customs of Rome should be observed 'Back, old man!'
'On, gladiators!' The gladiators thrust aside the meddler, and rushed to
the attack. He still stood between, holding them apart, striving in vain
to be heard. 'Sedition! Sedition!' 'Down with him!' was the cry; and
the man in authority, Alypius, the prefect, himself added his voice. The
gladiators, enraged at interference with their vocation, cut him down.
Stones, or whatever came to hand, rained down upon him from the furious
people, and he perished in the midst of the arena! He lay dead, and then
came the feeling of what had been done.
His dress showed that he was one of the hermits who vowed themselves to
a holy life of prayer and self-denial, and who were greatly reverenced,
even by the most thoughtless. The few who had previously seen him, told
that he had come from the wilds of Asia on pilgrimage, to visit the
shrines and keep his Christmas at Rome--they knew he was a holy man--no
more, and it is not even certain whether his name was Alymachus or
Telemachus. His spirit had been stirred by the sight of thousands
flocking to see men slaughter one another, and in his simple-hearted
zeal he had resolved to stop the cruelty or die. He had died, but not
in vain. His work was done. The shock of such a death before their eyes
turned the hearts of the people; they saw the wickedness and cruelty to
which they had blindly surrendered themselves; and from the day when
the hermit died in the Coliseum there was never another fight of the
Gladiators. Not merely at Rome, but in every province of the Empire, the
custom was utterly abolished; and one habitual crime at least was wiped
from the earth by the self-devotion of one humble, obscure, almost
nameless man.