Roman Women

by Alfred Brittain

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.