At the period with which we are now engaged, the vast majority of the
people of Rome were giving their attention to one all-absorbing
occupation--that of amusing themselves. The wealthy had little else to
do; the chief industries of the poor contributed to this end. Never in
the history of the world has a nation been so completely given over to
pleasure. Production was almost entirely limited to such occupations as
had for their object the extravagant supply of the luxuries of art and
entertainment; common necessaries, such as wheat, were extorted from the
provinces. Agriculture had become almost unknown in Italy. The rich men
no longer, like the great republican patricians, prided themselves on
their skill in tilling the soil; it better suited their tastes, and was
more lucrative, to farm taxes. "We have abandoned the care of our ground
to the lowest of our slaves," said Columelia, "and they treat it like
barbarians. We have schools of rhetoricians, geometers, and musicians. I
have even seen where they teach the lowest trades, such as the art of
cooking, or of dressing the hair; but nowhere have I found for
agriculture a teacher or a pupil. Meanwhile, even in Latium, that we may
avoid famine, we must bring our corn from foreign countries and our
wine from the Cyclades, Boetica, and Gaul." The land had come to be held
almost wholly by the few who were exceedingly rich. Their interests were
in Rome. For the country they cared nothing, except as it provided them
with luxurious retreats where they might, for a short space, renew their
enervated faculties after the dissipations of the city. Their land they
gave up to pasture and cattle raising, as being more profitable and
requiring less care than tilling the soil. Thus there was no employment
or means of subsistence for poor freedmen in the country; and so they
flocked to the cities, crowding the wretched _insulæ_, or tenements, and
depending mainly upon the free distributions of corn for their living.
The mass of the people, however, were drawn to Rome and the other great
Italian cities as much by their desire to participate in the feverish
life of the times as they were driven thither by lack of employment in
the country. These were the people who amused Nero by fighting for
places in the Great Circus; these were the people who howled for bread
and for games, and rewarded an ample supply of the same by supporting
tyrants in their monstrous excesses. When it is remembered that all
domestic labor, as well as all work belonging to many other branches of
industry, was performed by slaves, we are necessarily left to suppose
that the proletariat of Rome had little with which to occupy itself
beyond the public exhibitions and the pothouses, of which there existed
an enormous number; great numbers of men were, however, required for the
immense armies which garrisoned the provinces.
Of the domestic life of the common people of Rome we have only the most
meagre information. We know that they inhabited huge tenements, in which
small apartments were rented at excessive rates. Housekeeping in these
tenements must have been conducted on a very simple scale, as one of the
comic writers pictures a poor family moving to other quarters and
carrying all their effects in their hands at one journey. Yet the men
who issued thence wore the _toga_ of the Roman citizen, tattered though
it might be and having no other significance than the mere fact that its
wearers were not slaves. For these men there was little occupation
except wandering about the city in search of amusement and the
opportunity to make a little gain by any means that came to hand. Of
course, there were trades and commerce, the workshop and the store; but
slavery made it impossible for a large proportion of the impecunious
citizens of Rome to make an honorable living by means of their own
labor. There was a larger army of the unemployed than our modern cities
can show. Yet the Roman government, laying tribute as it did upon the
whole civilized world, could keep the citizens of Rome from starving.
For the women, beyond their simple domestic duties, the field of honest
industry was yet more limited. They were employed as professional
mourners to sing songs of lamentation at funerals; they could work at
some few mechanical trades, such as cloth weaving; they could keep a
shop. Occasionally, there was a woman of exceptional talent who made
large profits by means of decorative art; among the wall pictures of
Pompeii there is one which represents a female artist engaged in
painting upon canvas a figure of Bacchus from a statue which serves her
for a model. We read of Iaia, who, though a Greek, lived in Rome and of
whom Pliny says that she was very successful in painting portraits, and
especially in engraving female figures upon ivory. One matron found a
unique occupation; she made large sums yearly by fattening and selling
thrushes for the tables of epicures. But the majority of women who were
able to make a living did so by virtue of their personal attractions and
by ministering to the voluptuousness of the wealthy, as harp players,
dancers, and in other avocations still more questionable.
During the reign of Nero, there were no wars of any great moment. The
old Roman passion for territorial expansion was in abeyance. The
government was concentrated in the person of a man whose ambitions were
histrionic rather than military. Nero was part actor, part clown, wholly
debased; what could be expected from the associates of such a man, or
from the people who tolerated him? If it be true that every nation has
the government of which it is deserving, then the officers and people of
the Roman Empire in Nero's time must be accounted as subordinates and
supernumeraries in a fatuous burlesque which frequently deepened into
mad tragedy. The way to the emperor's favor was not through victorious
conflicts with the enemies of the State, but by means of the lavishment
of fulsome applause of his own imbecile performances in the theatre and
the circus. Nero never entered Rome in military triumph, as had his
predecessors, followed by wagons filled with plunder and a train of
captives who had been formidable to the State; he was content to win
crowns from a debased people who hypocritically admired his voice and
his acting, and to triumphantly enter Rome as conqueror in the Grecian
games. "He made his entry into the city riding in the same chariot in
which Augustus had triumphed. For the occasion he wore a purple tunic
and a cloak embroidered with golden stars, having on his head the crown
won at Olympia, and in his right hand that which was given him at the
Parthian games; the rest were carried in a procession before him, with
inscriptions denoting the places where they had been won, from whom, and
in what plays or performances. A train followed him with loud
acclamations, crying out that they were the emperor's attendants, and
the soldiers of his triumph. He suspended the sacred crowns in his
chambers, about his beds, and caused statues of himself to be erected,
in the attire of a harper, and had his likeness stamped upon coins, in
the same dress. He offered his friendship or avowed open enmity to many,
according as they were lavish or sparing in giving him their applause."
Thus the Roman historian describes the order of that day, and from this
we may judge of the environment of the principal women of Rome in those
times.
Virtue and womanly dignity were inconsiderable qualities in the days of
Nero. The ladies of the court could only attain and hold their positions
by means of their personal attractions and by taking part in excesses
from which every vestige of virtue was eradicated. Prostitution had now
become fashionable. It is possible to give Messalina the benefit of a
doubt as to whether or not she were a mere freak of nature. Agrippina
was monstrously ambitious and as merciless as a tigress whose young are
threatened; but she adopted the only means which her times afforded. In
Poppæa, however, we see the typical woman of decadent Rome--of ordinary
intellect, intensely voluptuous, and devoid of natural affection.
Poppæa was the daughter of that beautiful but wanton lady of the same
name whom Messalina had forced to seek death by her own hand. In this
instance, heredity claimed its vindication; to the daughter descended
the loveliness of person and also the lax principles which characterized
the mother. "This woman," says Tacitus, "possessed everything but an
honest mind. Her wealth was equal to the dignity of her birth; she had a
fascinating conversation, and was not deficient in wit. She observed an
outward decorum, but in her heart was wanton; she rarely appeared in
public, and when she did she wore a veil, either because she did not
want to glut people's eyes with her beauty, or because she thought a
veil became her." It is said of her that she employed all the recipes at
that time known--and they were very numerous--to prevent the inroads
which age will make. She covered her face with a mask when out of doors,
in order to shield it from the sun; and when at last her mirror informed
her that the charms of that face were beginning to wane, she cried: "Let
me die rather than lose my beauty!"--a wish by no means unnatural, for
in the game which she so desperately played her beauty was her only
stake. Nero married her solely for her loveliness of person. The
conjugal fidelity which stands the test of changing years was not then
common; and the law did not enforce it upon the unwilling. Juvenal
doubtless truly pictures the contretemps which women like Poppsea had to
fear:
"Sertorius what I say disproves,
For though his Bibula is poor, he loves.
True! but examine him; and on my life,
You'll find he loves the beauty, not the wife.
Let but a wrinkle on her forehead rise,
And time obscure the lustre of her eyes;
Let but the moisture leave her flaccid skin,
And her teeth blacken, and her cheeks grow thin;
And you shall hear the insulting freedman say:
'Pack up your trumpery, madam, and away!
Nay, bustle, bustle; here you give offence,
With snivelling night and day;--take your nose hence!'"
We have no very trustworthy representation of Poppæa's appearance. There
are in existence medals showing her reputed portrait, especially a Greek
coin with the head of Nero on one side and that of his wife on the
other; but as the former is certainly not a good likeness, it is
Reasonable to suppose that the other is no better. Her face, as it is
here portrayed, is of the ideal Greek type--straight brows, and nose
almost in a line with the forehead. There is also a bust in existence,
which, according to archaeological students, may be held to represent
either the mythical Clytie or the famous wife of Nero. Her hair is said
to have been remarkably beautiful. It was very abundant and of a golden
amber color. Nero composed verses upon it.
There were serious obstacles between Poppæa and the imperial throne
which she speedily manifested an ambition to share--obstacles which, in
more virtuous days, or among women possessing the slightest degree of
modesty, would have been absolutely insurmountable; but with the rulers
of Rome in those times nothing was impossible except self-control for
the sake of honor. Nero was married to Octavia, the daughter of
Messalina and Claudius. Poppæa was also married. She had been divorced
from Rufus Crispinus, a Roman knight, to whom she had borne a son, and
was now joined in matrimony to Otho, the profligate confidant of the
young emperor. There are indications that Otho was fond of his
unprincipled wife. She was the choicest treasure in his magnificently
furnished house. He boasted of her beauty to Nero, and excited the young
ruler's pride as well as his passion by telling him that though he were
the emperor he could not vie with his subject in the possession of such
an example of female loveliness. He even permitted Nero to visit his
wife, but, in his self-esteem, did not count upon the result. Otho
maintained Poppæa in inordinate splendor; but he was not the emperor. He
could give her incalculable riches; but he could not make her the
mistress of the world. Poppæa saw her opportunity. She lavished upon
Nero all the powers of her coquetry; she intimated that she was smitten
with regard for him; she allowed him to flatter himself that he had won
her. But she would hear of nothing but marriage. Nero was at her feet;
but, having so far attained her end, she would listen to no
protestations until he removed all hindrances to their union. She would
be empress or nothing. With her beauty for a bait, she led Nero on to
the committal of the most heinous crimes. Agrippina was murdered because
Poppæa taunted Nero with being under the care of a governess. "Why did
he delay to marry her?" Tacitus represents her as asking. "Had he
objections to her person or her ancestry? Or was he dissatisfied because
she had given proof of her fertility? Did he doubt the sincerity of her
affection? No; the truth must be that he was afraid that if she were his
wife she would expose the insolence and the rapaciousness of his mother.
But if Agrippina would bear no daughter-in-law who was not virulently
opposed to her son, she desired to be sent to Otho. She was ready to
withdraw to any quarter of the earth, rather than behold the emperor's
degradation." Otho, in order that he might be out of the way, had been
appointed Governor of Lusitania.
It was some time after the death of Agrippina before Octavia was
removed, first by repudiation and then by death. We shall have occasion
to notice the character of this estimable woman in a later chapter. In
the meantime, the emperor did not have to wait wholly unrewarded by the
favors of Poppæa. He was entirely under her influence; but the memory of
the remorse which had seized him after the murder of his mother
restrained him, for a while, from adding to that crime another of equal
atrocity. Again, however, Poppæa cunningly worked upon his fears,
insinuating that unless he reinstated Octavia, whom he hated, as
empress, the people would give her another husband, whom they would make
emperor. This sealed Octavia's doom; shortly afterward, her head was
brought to Rome and laid at the feet of her infamous successor, Poppaea
was at last the empress in name as well as in fact; and when she
presented Nero with a daughter, he made a mockery of the title by naming
ner, as well as the child, Augusta. But the little one soon died, and
the Senate was obliged to console the father by decreeing that his
infant daughter had become a goddess.
All the historians agree that subsequent to his connection with Poppæa,
Nero deteriorated in his character, or at least in his conduct. The
influence of the woman seemed to bring out and encourage the worst that
was in him. For Poppæa, however, there was compensation; her principal
gain, in her own estimation, may perhaps be best typified by the palace
which Nero built. She cared little for political power; imperial
magnificence was the attraction that enticed her. Surely never did woman
have her wish in this respect so completely gratified as did the wife of
Nero! He built himself a house, having first destroyed many another in
order to furnish a site. The author of _Rome of To-day and Yesterday_
says: "It was upon the palace for the emperor that Severus and Celer,
the first architects ever mentioned by name in Roman history, lavished
all the resources of his boundless wealth and their skill. It seems so
extravagant to say that the Golden House extended over an area of nearly
a square mile in the very midst of the city, that if there had not been
left, from point to point, remains of it over a considerable part of
this area, the statement of the old writers to that effect would not
have seemed worthy of belief." By the Golden House is, of course, not
meant one continuous building; but there was an enclosure by means of
three colonnades, each a mile in length, and an entrance portico
somewhat narrower on the side opposite the Forum. Within this enclosure
were great courts resembling parks, fountains, and fishponds, besides
the residence buildings and baths. "In parts," says Suetonius, "this
house was entirely overlaid with gold and adorned with jewels and
mother-of-pearl. The supper rooms were vaulted, and compartments of the
ceilings, inlaid with ivory, were made to revolve and scatter flowers;
moreover, they were provided with pipes which shed essences on the
guests. The chief banqueting room was circular, and revolved
perpetually, night and day, in imitation of the motion of the celestial
bodies. The baths were supplied from the sea and from Albula. Upon the
dedication of this magnificent house, when finished, all Nero said in
approval of it was: 'Well, now at last I am housed as a man should be!'"
Amidst this magnificent splendor, Poppæa lived. We will endeavor to
recount her manner of living as closely as we may, in order that we may
know what was the ideal existence in the estimation of the majority of
the women of her time.
The chief concern of Poppæa, as of all the women of that period whom age
or nature had not unkindly relieved of this responsibility, was the
preservation of her beauty. The Roman authors have mercilessly laid bare
the methods and mysteries to which their ladies resorted for this
purpose. No pains or discomforts were avoided in order to retain the
freshness of complexion which was apt, in the dissipated life of the
palace, quickly to disappear. Poppæa is reputed to have invented many
cosmetics and face washes, and especially a mask which was worn at
night, which was composed of dough mixed with ass's milk; while for the
purpose of removing wrinkles another mask, composed of rice, was worn,
Juvenal mocks at the appearance of the ladies with their faces thus
encased, "ridiculous and swollen with the great poultice." He suggests
that what is fomented so often, anointed with so many ointments, and
receives so many poultices, ought to be considered a sore rather than a
face. It was held to be of great importance that these applications
should be washed off with ass's milk, and the old writers assert that
Poppæa kept large herds of these animals in order that she might bathe
in their warm milk every day. The Roman ladies were by no means averse
to assisting nature in augmenting their charms; they used white and red
paints with artistic effect. These were ordinarily moistened with
saliva, possibly on account of the Roman superstition in regard to the
efficacy of lustration. The brows and eyelashes were frequently dyed;
and so careful were the women to render nature all the assistance
possible, that even the delicate veins of the temples were heightened in
their effect by a faint touch of blue. The teeth had always received
most careful attention. There were many pastes and powders known to the
Roman beauty. Artificial teeth made of ivory had been in use from very
ancient times, for in the laws of the Twelve Tables there was one which
prohibited the deposition of gold in the graves of the dead, excepting
the material used for the fastening of false teeth. "You have your hair
curled, Galla," says Juvenal, "at a hair dresser's in Suburra Street,
and your eyebrows are brought to you every morning. At night, you remove
your teeth as you do your dress. Your charms are enclosed in a hundred
different pots, and your face does not go to bed with you." Many
instances are recorded of the costliness of the attire of these Roman
ladies. They wore silk which was sold at its weight in gold. There was a
kind of muslin so transparent that it was known as "woven air." Tunics
were ornamented with figures embroidered in gold thread, and encrusted
with pearls and precious stones. Pliny relates that he saw Lollia
Paulina wearing a dress which was covered with emeralds and pearls from
her head to her feet. She carried with her the receipts to show that
upon her person she wore a value of forty million sesterces; and this
was not her best dress, for the occasion was only a second-class
betrothal feast. At an entertainment given by Claudius on Lake Fucinus,
Agrippina wore a garment which was woven entirely of gold thread.
The women of Poppæa's day seem to have been fully acquainted with the
benefits to be derived from physical exercise. Agrippina, as we have
seen, could swim with no less expertness than Cloelia of ancient renown.
Indeed, Juvenal pictures the women breaking the ice and plunging into
the river in the depth of winter, and diving beneath the eddies of the
Tiber at early dawn. This, however, was for religious and propitiatory
reasons. The same satirist refers with evident disapproval to women
exercising with heavy dumb-bells in the same fashion as did the men when
preparing for the bath. It is apparent that in this age women deemed it
to be in keeping with their rights to share, as closely as nature would
permit, in the pursuits and the privileges of the men; just as there
were men who, beyond the boundary set by nature, usurped the position
which belonged to women.
We have spoken of the bath; and it being so large a feature in Roman
city life and so good an illustration--though the most innocent--of the
luxury of the times, it will not be amiss to afford a little space to
its description.
The Golden House and many of the palaces of the wealthy contained baths
which, while not on so large a plan as the public _thermæ_, were
doubtless even more luxuriously appointed. We will take, however, the
public baths for our example. In the period of the early Republic, the
Romans, though scrupulously cleanly as the warmth of their country
required, contented themselves with washing in the Tiber. Every ninth
day was deemed sufficient for a complete immersion. As the arts of
civilization advanced, tubs were placed in the houses, and a daily bath
before the evening meal became customary. The first aqueduct for the
conveyance of water into the city was built by Appius Claudius about
B.C. 310. Seven or eight others were afterward constructed, notably that
of Agrippa; so that no city was ever better supplied with water than was
ancient Rome. This made possible the public baths, which early made
their appearance and which must have been such a boon to the people. At
first these baths were solely for lavatory purposes, and were neither so
magnificent nor so much a social feature as they afterward became.
Seneca relates that at first the ædiles superintended not only the
decorum of the bathers, but also the temperature of the baths. Under
Augustus, these public conveniences began to be characterized with that
magnificence of structure in which all the emperors delighted. A great
many of these buildings were erected in various parts of the city; as
many as eight hundred have been enumerated. Some of these were
marvellous, not only for their dimensions, but also for the costliness
of the material and the artistic decorations. The baths of Caracalla
were adorned with two hundred columns of the finest marble and furnished
with sixteen hundred seats of marble, and it is said that eighteen
thousand persons might conveniently bathe there at one time. Yet these
were excelled both in size and magnificence by the Thermæ Dioclesianæ.
The gift of these establishments was one of the means by which the
emperors kept themselves in favor with the people. For a trifling sum, a
citizen of any degree could repair to this scene of magnificence and
luxury, where there were crowds of slaves to minister to his comfort in
a style which might arouse the envy of the proudest Oriental monarch.
Besides the various kinds of hot and cold baths, swimming tanks, etc.,
there were stately porticoes for games and exercise, there were
gymnasiums, magnificent galleries for the exhibition of specimens of
painting and sculpture, and frequently there were libraries where the
studious might rest and read after the refreshing luxury of the baths.
The bathrooms proper were duplicated in each establishment, one part
being open for the use of the men, the other set apart for the women.
There is a hint, however, that, during the reign of some of the worst of
the emperors, this propriety was not always strictly adhered to. Unless
the Latin writers wilfully calumniate their own times, it was not a
thing unknown for both men and women, in the private baths of palatial
residences, to be waited on by slaves of the opposite sex.
Whether or not Poppæa condescended to make use of the public baths, it
is impossible to ascertain. It is certain, however, that the emperors
frequently joined the multitude in their sports and lavations. At two
o'clock each day, the opening of the baths was announced by the ringing
of a bell. Everybody repaired thither; it was the common rendezvous for
gossip, recreation, and amusement. Authors frequently read at the baths
their new productions to those of the crowds who cared to listen. Much
of the afternoon was spent in this manner. Before taking the bath,
exercise was indulged in, a favorite form of which was ball playing.
Then one entered the _caldarium_, in which hot air was diffused by means
of pipes leading from a furnace in the basement; then came the
_tepidarium_, always followed by a plunge in cold water. While bathing,
the skin was rubbed or scraped with a silver instrument called a
_strigula_. The Romans concluded the toilet by rubbing the body with
odoriferous ointments, and, thus refreshed and anointed, proceeded to
the banquet.
In the early days of the Republic, meals were prepared with care, but
there was no sumptuousness, no art. The first signs of Asiatic luxury
made themselves noted on the table; delicacy and profusion were carried
to excess, resulting in extravagance and gluttony. The cook, who had
anciently been the lowest of the slaves, came to be the most important
officer in the establishments of the rich; that which at first was only
a low and necessary employment came to be a difficult and a highly
esteemed art. The price of a cook, says Pliny, was rated at as much as
would have formerly sufficed for the expense of a triumph, and a fish
was bought at the price anciently paid for a cook.
To make provision for banquets seems to have been more the province of
the master of a Roman house than it was that of the mistress. There is a
great contrast between the position of a Roman matron and that of a
modern lady in this respect; the responsibility for the entertainment of
guests did not so peculiarly rest upon the former as it does upon the
latter. We frequently read of banquets given by men in the account of
which no mention whatever is made of the wife, and these were ordinary
occasions when there can be no doubt as to her presence. The guests were
usually invited solely in the master's name. In Petronius's account of
Trimalchio's Feast, he represents one guest asking another who is the
woman that so often scuttles up and down the room. He is told that she
is Fortunata, Trimalchio's wife, that she counts her money by the
bushel, but that she has an eye everywhere, and when you least think to
meet her she is at your elbow. Her propensity for petty management seems
to have been stronger than her love for the entertainment; for another
visitor coming in later asks "why Fortunata sits not among us?" The host
replies: "Till she has gotten her plate together and has distributed
what we leave among the servants, not a sup of anything goes down her
throat." But that this was unusual is shown by the inquirer threatening
to leave unless the mistress sat down with them.
We have elsewhere described the Roman dining hall, or _triclinium_.
Doubtless the Golden House had many of these splendid salons. Lucullus,
who was famous for the enormous expense at which he lived, called each
of his numerous dining halls by the name of some divinity, and every
hall had a set rate of expense at which an entertainment in it was
given; so that when he ordered his household steward to prepare a
banquet in a certain salon, the servant knew exactly what to provide and
at how great a cost his master wished to entertain. It is told that
Cicero and Pompey once met Lucullus in the Forum and invited themselves
to supper with him. They declared that they wished to share the meal of
which he himself would partake if he were without company, and they
would not allow him to give any directions to the servants, only
permitting him to order his steward to prepare the table in the
Triclinium Apollo. The man knew exactly what to do, and the supper was a
great surprise to the guests, for a banquet in that hall was never
served at an expense of less than fifty thousand drachmas [nearly nine
thousand dollars].
In order that we may obtain as complete a picture as possible of the
Roman woman's life, we must attend in imagination one of those banquets
which she attended in reality.
On entering the dining hall, we notice that around the table,--or
tables, for there will be many if the company is a large one,--in place
of chairs, are couches with an abundance of soft pillows. These couches
are placed on three sides of the table; for it was the custom of the
Romans to recline at their meals. When this custom was first introduced
from Asia, the women did not think that it comported with their modesty
to adopt this new style, and until the end of the Republic they retained
the old habit of sitting at table, while the men lay on the couches; but
at the time of Poppæa women had entirely relinquished this relic of
their former scrupulousness of demeanor and were accustomed to follow
the habit for which the lassitude resulting from the bath prepared them
and which these prolonged feasts made necessary for comfort.
Having taken our places at the table, our attention is first drawn to
the fact that all the slaves, as they move about the room on their
various errands, are singing in a low voice. This is the custom of the
house; at the banquet everything must be done to the sound of music. All
the guests receive a crown or a wreath of flowers, which is worn upon
the head during the feast. Roses are to be seen everywhere in great
profusion. We are first served with some dishes which are designed to
excite rather than appease the appetite; these consist of dormice
covered with honey and pepper, hot sausages, and a large pannier filled
with both white and black olives. On the dishes in which these viands
are served we notice not only the host's name, but also the number of
ounces of silver of which the utensils are composed. An ostentatious
display of excellence was always sought after by the Romans.
A banquet must always begin with eggs; so, having picked a little of the
afore-mentioned dainties to sharpen our hunger, the repast really
commences. A table is brought in, on which we see a large hen, carved in
wood, sitting as on a nest. The slaves search in the straw and bring
forth the eggs, which are handed around. The host, after examining these
simple articles of diet, says that he commanded to have them placed
under a hen for a short time, but he is afraid that they are half
hatched. Just as we are inclined to put ours aside, we discover that
what appears to be the shell is nothing but paste, and, breaking it
open, find inside a delicately cooked little bird of the wheatear
species. We must be prepared for such culinary surprises. Then the music
strikes up, and the slaves clear the table, dancing instead of walking.
If a slave drops a valuable dish, she will not be scolded so much for
the loss as she will be if she stops to pick up the fragments, as though
the loss were of consequence. Wine is now brought in. It is contained in
sealed glass vessels, each with a label setting forth the age of the
vintage. Wine is plentiful; it is even passed to us in place of water in
which to wash our hands.
Now the viands are brought on in bewildering variety; and the marvellous
conceits of the cook baffle description. Here is an immense silver
charger, around which are carved the signs of the zodiac; and upon each
sign there is something suited to it, either in reality or its image in
pastry: a lobster, a goose, two pilchards, etc. There is a splendid
fish, and upon the sides of the dish are four little images which spout
a delicious sauce.
There must also be somewhat to amuse us; for this banquet is to be of
long continuance, and there is a limit to one's eating. A lengthy
interval occurs, during which a company of actors, women as well as men,
take their places in the lower part of the hall, which is left clear for
the purpose, and there enact a farce which ridicules the follies of the
times and causes us much laughter. Other women perform upon the harp;
some exhibit their marvellous acrobatic skill; and one girl, clothed
only in a diaphanous, silky robe which reveals more of her person than
it hides, performs a dance which is as remarkable for its grace as for
its immodesty. We may be glad that we are not treated to a gladiatorial
combat, as has sometimes been the case in this same house.
After these entertainments have been concluded, an enormous dish is set
before us, and in it a great boar. On his tusks hang two baskets, one
filled with dates, the other with almonds. About him are little pigs
made of sweetmeats. They are presents which we are to carry away with
us; for it is always the custom for the men at a banquet to carry some
part of it home to those women of their families who have not been
present. To our great astonishment, when the servant makes a hole in the
side of this boar, as though to carve it, there fly out a number of
blackbirds, which continue to flutter about the room until they are
again captured.
While we are beguiling our time with wine and conversing with the ladies
present, a large and entire hog is brought upon the table. Whereupon our
host, having examined the animal closely, expresses it as his belief
that it has not been disembowelled by the cook. That officer being sent
for, he confesses that in his haste that part of the preparation had
truly been forgotten. He is ordered to be flogged, and the executioners
prepare to carry out the command upon the spot in the presence of us
all; but mercy is implored for him by the women, and his master contents
himself by ordering him to finish his work there upon the table. At
this, the cook takes a knife and cuts open the hog's belly, and there
immediately tumble out a heap of delicious sausages of various kinds and
sizes. This done, all the slaves cheer their master, and a present of
silver is made to the cook.
While we are discussing this and the various other interesting episodes
of the feast, we are startled by the ceiling giving a great crack, and,
as we gaze up in considerable alarm, the main beam opens in the middle.
A large aperture appears, from which descends a great disk and upon it
are hung many beautiful presents for the guests, also fruits of various
kinds which when touched throw out a delicious liquid perfume.
Thus, eating and conversing and viewing these wonders and the various
performances of the entertainers, the feast begun in the early evening
has endured until the night has grown late. Wine has been flowing
without stint, and its effect is to be seen among the company. The
ladies present have indulged with almost as great freedom as the men.
Tongues have become loosened and stories are told and allusions made
which might bring the blush to some cheeks, were they not already
flushed with wine. The feast is likely to end in a revel. Men take the
wreaths of flowers from the heads of the women and dip them in the wine,
which they then drink as a mark of gallantry. There is no longer need
for the actors and female entertainers; the male guests play the
buffoon, and matrons, throwing aside their robes, dance, though possibly
with less grace, certainly with no more modesty than did the
professional women who had been hired for that purpose. Pranks are
played upon those who have fallen into an intoxicated stupor. Some are
roaring bacchic songs, some are loudly arguing concerning politics,
giving vent to opinions for which they may have to give an account to
the emperor on another day; some are brawling, while others are
conversing with the women in such unrestrained fashion as leaves no room
for wonder at the numerous matrimonial readjustments which are
characteristic of these times.
[Illustration 4:
_A ROMAN BANQUET
After the painting by Albert Baur
Around the tables, in place of chairs, are couches with an
abundance of soft pillow. These couches are placed on three sides of
the table; for it was the custom of the Romans to recline at their
meals. When this custom was first introduced from Asia, the
women did not think that it comported with their modesty to adopt
this new style, and until the end of the Republic they retained the
old habit of sitting at table.... After these entertainments have
been concluded, an enormous disk is set, and in it a great boar.
On his tusks, hang two baskets, one filled with dates, the other with
almonds. About him are little pigs made of sweetmeats; they are
presents to be carried away; it is the custom for men at a banquet
to carry some part of it to those women of their families who have
not been present..... when the servant makes a hole in the side
of this boar, as though to carve it, out fly a number of blackbirds,
which continue to flutter about the room until recaptured._]
These are some of the features of such banquets as those to which the
women of Poppæa's time were accustomed. We have drawn our description
principally from Petronius's inimitable account. Though in Trimalchio's
Feast there was, so far as it appears, no other woman besides his wife,
yet we know from other sources that the presence of women at such
entertainments was common. There is no evidence to the effect that they
were in the habit of leaving the _triclinium_ before the unrestrained
indulgence in wine had made their presence there entirely inconsistent
with any ideas of strict propriety; indeed, if the poets are to be
credited, it often happened that love making of an ardent nature was
carried on in the confusion which marked the termination of these
feasts.
Poppæa had married an imperial actor. Even at so late a period as the
days of Julius Cæsar, a citizen lost his civic rights by appearing on
the stage; but now the whole Roman Empire bent in fulsome adulation
before a crazy ruler who strained a wretched voice to sing _Canace in
Labor_. The Forum had become silent; the temples were frequented, but
with little faith or sincerity on the part of the worshippers. The
public life of Rome centred in the theatre and the circus. "After the
market place has been designed," says Vitruvius, "a very healthy spot
must be chosen for the theatre, where the people can witness the dramas
on the feast days of the immortal gods." In the days of Nero, the Roman
people did not wait for a religious motive in order that they might
indulge in shows which were certainly morally unhealthy, however
salubrious may have been the site of the theatre. The most popular and
best remunerated public servants were actors and actresses, dancing
women and female musicians. Mommsen, commenting on the condition of
theatrical art at an earlier time than that of Nero, says: "There was
hardly any more lucrative trade in Rome than that of the actor and the
dancing girl of the first rank. The princely estate of the tragic actor
Æsopus amounted to two hundred thousand pounds sterling; his still more
celebrated contemporary Roscius estimated his annual income at six
thousand pounds, and Dionysia the dancer estimated hers at two thousand
pounds." Later he adds, as indicating what was popular at the time: "It
was nothing unusual for the Roman dancing girls to throw off at the
finale the upper robe and to give a dance in undress for the benefit of
the public."
There is in existence an epitaph of a girl named Licinia Eucharis, who
is reputed to have been the first female to appear on the public Greek
stage in Rome. She died at the age of fourteen; but, notwithstanding her
tender years, she was "well instructed and taught in all arts by the
Muses themselves."
The theatrical displays of the Romans had always been characterized by
vulgarity and coarseness. The ancient Atellan farces were as full of
obscenity as were the fescennine songs of broad allusions. This being
so, even in the days when the Roman people deified chastity, it
naturally follows that unbounded license must have prevailed in the
degenerate days of the Empire. The surfeited taste of the licentious
populace was gratified by hordes of women as well as men, who strove to
give new piquancy to their exhibitions by the shamelessness of their
performances.
There is some evidence, however, to show that now and again there was an
actress who endeavored to "elevate the stage." Horace reports that when
Arbuscula was hissed by the people, though doubtless she was giving a
good performance, she had the courage to retort: "It is enough for me
that the knight Mæcenas applauds"; but such a spirit was unusual, and
the Roman theatre continued to deteriorate. As is always the case in
such matters, the demand created the supply; but the supply also renewed
and strengthened the taste from which sprung the demand. Watching some
gladiators who had been condemned to mortal combat, a Roman argued with
Seneca that they were criminals and deserved their fate. "Yes," answered
the philosopher; "but what have you done that you should be condemned to
witness such an exhibition?"
The moralist's stricture on their amusements was not concurred in by the
great mass of his female compatriots. Patrician and plebeian, rich and
poor, the women of Rome craved the realistic scenes of the theatre and
the terrible excitements of the circus with as much avidity as did the
men. Augustus had ordered that women should not be present at the
exhibitions of wrestlers, and that they should only be allowed to
witness gladiatorial combats from the upper and remote part of the
theatre; but in the days of Nero, the sex was placed under no such
restrictions. Augustus also severely punished an actor who allowed a
married woman, dressed as a boy, to wait upon him at table; but
afterward it became common for patrician ladies to be the paramours of
gladiators and pantomimists, with no fear of punishment save the
immortal lashings of the poetic satirists. These lashings, it is
evident, had no deterrent effect; despite the sarcasms of Juvenal, the
Ælias and Hispullas continued to be enamored of tragic actors. Hippia,
though the wife of a Senator, accompanies a gladiator to Alexandria. She
dines among the seamen, walks the deck in a rolling sea, and delights to
take a hand at the ropes. What was the attribute that captivated her?
Sergius was not handsome; "but then, he was a swordsman. The sword made
its wielder as beautiful as Hyacinthus. It was this she preferred to her
children, her native land, and her husband. It is the steel of which
women are enamored. This same Sergius, if he were discharged from the
arena, would be no better than her husband in her eyes."
In the times of the most dissolute emperors, the people of Rome lived
chiefly to attend the theatre and the circus; after bread, all they
asked for was shows. There were theatres in Rome capable of seating
eighty thousand persons. We may imagine such a concourse waiting while
Nero dines in their presence in the imperial box, and allays their
impatience by shouting: "One more sup, and then I will present you with
something that will make your ears tingle." But it is likely that the
Roman ladies of noble birth were wont to hear the announcement of Nero's
performances with little anticipatory pleasure. They dared not absent
themselves, for there were spies who would report to the emperor their
failure to attend; and, being present, they were compelled to submit to
the infliction of the whole of the wretched exhibition; for on such
occasions the doors were absolutely closed against all egress. So
thoroughly was this rule carried out that there are reports of infants
having been born in the theatre while Nero was displaying his skill as
an actor. More than that, it was never known when or under what
circumstances the lightning of his malicious displeasure would fall upon
some unlucky head. Once, when he was playing and singing in the theatre,
he observed a married lady dressed in the shade of purple which he had
prohibited. He pointed her out to his officers, and she was not only
stripped of her raiment, but her property was also practically
confiscated by means of fines.
Yet doubtless the fact that they were afforded the strange privilege of
witnessing the acting of an emperor did serve to arouse the interest of
the blasé Roman populace. Legitimate histrionic art had become for them
tiresome, as it always does where luxury and pampered idleness tend to
blunt the artistic conscience. Nothing less than libidinous vaudeville,
in which matrons of noble birth were by bribes or threats induced to
take part, could create the least sensation. Realistic performances were
more popular still. The actors in these were found in the dungeons,
therefore they were not costly and required little training. A much
truer idea of agony is obtained by watching a man really suffer than by
seeing it mimicked by an actor; and if the piece to be staged includes a
death, why not provide the audience with the opportunity of seeing a
criminal die in the manner designated? These were the scenes to which
the women of Rome grew accustomed, with the result that, for the
evil-disposed, bloodshed was no more than a pastime, while for the
better-natured it at least enabled them to look upon their own death
with diminished terror. But the favorite exhibition with the Roman
populace was the sanguinary gladiatorial encounter. Ten thousand men
were constantly kept and trained, that the people might witness their
combats to the death with each other or with ferocious animals. These
combats were to be seen in greater perfection at a later day than that
of Poppæa, in the Colosseum--the most stupendous show place ever erected
by man, and in which was exemplified the most enormous wickedness that
has disgraced the name of humanity. In the central space was "the sand,"
the arena, often red and soaked like a battlefield with human blood.
Around this was a gilded fence to prevent the animals or the more
desperate men from rushing with deadly hate upon the unfeeling audience.
Behind that stood the marble _podium_, on which were placed the imperial
seats and those of the nobility. Then came, tier above tier, the seats
of the commoner people, who ofttimes made the vast edifice resound with
their roar--more dreadful than that of the forest king: "To the lions!"
In the front seats and behind them sat women, beautiful of face but
hardened in disposition, who, when a man was mortally wounded, cried:
"_hoc habet_ [he has it!]" with an excitement as unsympathetic as that
which delighted their male companions; and who, when an unfortunate
combatant lowered his arms in token of defeat, were as likely to point
their thumbs downward, in sign that the unfortunate man was forthwith to
be despatched, as to raise them in token of mercy.
So long as Petronius, the man of taste, was the "arbiter" of Nero's
amusements, the people of Rome were not called upon to witness the most
outrageous examples of imperial depravity. Yet it must be confessed
that, if the women described in the _Satyrikon_ are to be accepted as
being typical of the majority of the Roman ladies, their morals could
not suffer much by the influence even of a Nero. Tigellinus incited the
emperor to greater lengths of profligacy than he otherwise would have
reached. Tacitus describes the feast given by Tigellinus, for which "he
built, in the lake of Agrippa, a raft which supported the banquet, which
was moved to and fro by other vessels drawing it after them. He had
procured fowl and venison from remote regions, and fish from far-off
seas. Upon the margin of the lake were erected brothels, filled with
ladies of distinction, and over against them other women whose
profession was apparent by the scantiness of their attire. As soon as
darkness came on, the surrounding dwellings echoed with the music, and
in the groves brilliant lights revealed everything that was obscene and
improper."
During the reign of the dissolute emperors, the virtue of women was but
little respected. Nero denied that any person was sincerely chaste. If a
woman of any social prominence in those days desired to retain her
honor, her beauty was her greatest misfortune. No ties or obligations,
not even the sanctity of the Vestals, were respected by the lustful
tyrants. If a man rejoiced in a beautiful and modest wife, she might
any day be requested to appear at the palace; and the husband, if he
would preserve his life, was compelled to bear the dishonor in silence.
Occasionally, however, there was a woman who showed more spirit;
Mallonia publicly upbraided Tiberius for his wickedness, and then went
home and killed herself. But the condition of morals was such that there
were a great many wives and husbands who did not regard such tyranny
with any special degree of horror. Piso, who was put to death for his
conspiracy against Nero, had robbed his friend Domitius Silius of his
wife, who was, the historian informs us, a depraved woman and void of
every recommendation but personal beauty; but "both concurred, her
husband by his passiveness, she by her wantonness, to blazon the infamy
of Piso."
Among these characters there was but little of that chaste love which
glorifies the marriage bond. Poppæa could have had no regard for the
despicable Nero; her sole concern was that she might be empress, and
maintain herself in that exalted position. The emperor prized nothing in
his wife except her incomparable beauty; and he placed her beside
himself on the throne only because it was necessary that Cæsar should
have legitimate heirs.
As to the character of Poppæa, Josephus credits her with being very
religious, and Tacitus says that she was much given to consulting with
soothsayers and eastern charlatans. Yet it may have been that,
notwithstanding her wild profligacy and shameless ambition, Poppæa felt
the vacuity of the glittering show by which she was surrounded, and that
at times a restless conscience compelled her to grope among the tangled
mysteries of the spiritual life. At the same time, it has been
suspected--and the suspicion is not totally without warrant--that the
Roman Jews, in their bitter animosity against the Christians, were
aided by the empress in instigating that persecution which rendered the
reign of Nero so superlatively infamous.
It was rare for an imperial consort to come to other than a violent end;
and Poppæa was no exception to the rule. Her death was the act, though
unpremeditated, of her husband. One day, she found fault with him for
returning later than she desired from a chariot drive. Angered by her
upbraidings and brutal by nature, he kicked her, and, being in a
condition of pregnancy at the time, she shortly afterward died of the
blow. It is said that her body was not consumed by fire, as was the
custom of the Romans, but embalmed in Jewish fashion and placed in the
tomb of the Julian family. She was, however, given a splendid funeral;
and there is no stronger witness to the terrible moral apathy which
characterized the times than the fact that her murderous husband
delivered on the occasion a laudatory oration. From the rostrum, he
magnified "her beauty and her lot, in having been the mother of an
infant enrolled among the gods." There being nothing else in her
character to extol, he treated her gifts of fortune as having been so
many virtues. It is impossible to doubt that the ancient historian is
correct when he asserts that though the people were obliged to put on an
appearance of mourning, they could but rejoice at the death of this
woman, when they remembered her lewdness and her cruelty; and although,
as Pliny tells us, all Arabia did not produce in a whole year as many
spices as were consumed at the funeral of Poppæa, there was no incense,
material or eulogistic, by which it was possible to overcome the evil
odor of her life.
The reign of Nero was typical of other ages that were to follow. The
Roman people were to drink still deeper of the dregs of servility, and
they were to become yet more morally apathetic, before they would awaken
to better things. Poppæa was simply a woman of her time, and she was
followed by generations of women, both of high and low degree, who were
like-minded with herself. Imperial prostitutes and plebeian courtesans
run riot through all the long drawn out decadence of the Roman Empire;
but, although a veritable picture of the Roman woman could not be given
without the inclusion of such types as those delineated in this and the
preceding chapter, we will at least spare ourselves and the reader
further recital of vice and crime by confining the exemplification to
this one period. We have not refrained from including the worst features
and employing the darkest colors that history warrants, in order that,
to use the expression of Tacitus, we may not have to repeat instances of
similar extravagance.
Although Nero was a monster of iniquity, he was not denied the
disinterested love of women. That strange, strong passion which holds
woman's heart to the most unworthy objects and feeds itself with
idealizations made the name of Nero dear to some when it was execrated
by all the world besides. And when at last he was driven from the
throne, and, uttering the words: "I yet live, to my shame and disgrace,"
drove the suicidal dagger through his throat, there were women who
tenderly cared for that body which sycophantic courtiers extolled while
it lived and neglected when it was dead and powerless. His nurses Ecloge
and Alexandra, who had cared for him when he was an innocent boy, and
that Acte who had been his first love and who had never entirely lost
her influence over him, laid his ashes in the tomb of his fathers, and
grieved over a death which gave to the world at large great cause for
rejoicing.