Roman Women

by Alfred Brittain

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.