Male prostitutes were also available. Condemned by law, tolerated by custom, homosexualism flourished with Oriental abandon. “I am stricken with the heavy dart of love,” sings Horace—and for whom?—“for Lyciscus, who claims in tenderness to outdo any woman”; from this passion he can be freed “only by another flame for some fair maid or slender youth.”37 Martial’s choicest epigrams turn upon pederasty; and one of Juvenal’s least publishable satires represents the complaint of a woman against this outrageous competition.38 Erotic poetry of indifferent worth and gender, the Priapeia, circulated freely among sophisticated youths and immature adults.
Marriage contended bravely with these rival outlets and, helped by anxious parents and matrimonial brokers, managed to find at least temporary husbands for nearly every girl. Unmarried women above nineteen were considered “old maids,” but they were rare. The betrothed couple seldom saw each other; there was no courtship, not even a word for it; Seneca complained that everything else was tested before purchase, but not the bride by the groom.39 Sentimental attachment before marriage was uncommon; love poetry was addressed to married women or to women whom the poet never thought of marrying; and women’s escapades came after marriage, as under similar conditions in medieval and modern France. The elder Seneca assumed widespread adultery among Roman women,40 and his philosopher son thought that a married woman content with two lovers was a paragon of fidelity.41 “Pure women,” sang the cynical Ovid, “are only those who have not been asked; and a man who is angry at his wife’s amours is a mere rustic.”42 These may be literary conceits; more reliable is the simple epitaph of Quintus Vespillo to his wife: “Seldom do marriages last without divorce until death; but ours continued happily for forty-one years.”43 Juvenal tells of a woman who married eight times in five years.44 Having been wed for property or politics rather than for love, some women considered their duty fulfilled if they surrendered their dowries to their husbands and their persons to their lovers. “Did we not agree,” an adulteress in Juvenal explained to her unexpected husband, “that we should both do as we liked?”45 The “emancipation” of women was as complete then as now, barring the formalities of the franchise and the letter of dead laws. Legislation kept women subject, custom made them free.
In a number of cases emancipation, as in our time, meant industrialization. Some women worked in shops or factories, especially in the textile trades; some became lawyers and doctors;46 some became politically powerful; the wives of provincial governors reviewed and addressed troops.47 The Vestal Virgins secured political appointments for their friends, and the women of Pompeii announced their political preferences on the walls. Conservatives moaned and gloated over the apparent fulfillment of Cato’s warning that if women achieved equality they would turn it into mastery. Juvenal was horrified to find women actresses, athletes, gladiators, poets;48 Martial describes them as fighting wild beasts, even lions, in the arena;49 Statius tells of women dying in such jousts.50 Ladies rode through the streets in sedan chairs, “exposing themselves on every side to the view”;51 they conversed with men in porticoes, parks, gardens, and temple courts; they accompanied them to private or public banquets, to the amphitheater and the theater, where “their bare shoulders,” said Ovid, “give you something charming to contemplate.”52 It was a gay, colorful, multisexual society that would have astonished the Periclean Greeks. In the spring fashionable women filled the boats, shores, and villas of Baiae and other resorts with their laughter, their proud beauty, their amorous audacities, and political intrigue. Old men denounced them longingly.
Frivolous or immoral women were then, as now, a conspicuous minority. Quite as numerous—though not always distinct—were the ladies who fell in love with art, religion, or literature. Sulpicia’s verses were thought worthy of being handed down with those of Tibullus; they were highly erotic, but as they were addressed to her husband they were almost virtuous.53 Martial’s friend Theophila was a philosopher, a real expert on the Stoic and Epicurean systems. Some women busied themselves in philanthropy and social service, gave temples, theaters, and porticoes to their towns, and contributed as patronesses to collegia. An inscription at Lanuvium speaks of a curia mulierum, “an assembly of women”; Rome had a conventus matronarum; perhaps Italy had a national federation of women’s clubs. In any case, after reading Martial and Juvenal, we are disconcerted to find so many good women in Rome. Octavia faithful to Antony through every betrayal, and rearing devotedly his exotic children; Antonia her loving daughter, the chaste widow of Drusus, and the perfect mother of Germanicus; Mallonia, who publicly reproved Tiberius for his wickedness and then killed herself; Arria Paeta, who, when Caecina Paetus was ordered by Claudius to die, plunged a dagger into her breast and, dying, handed the weapon to her husband with the assuring words, “It does not hurt”;54 Paulina, who tried to die with Seneca; Politta, who, when Nero had her husband executed, began to starve herself, and, when the same sentence came to her father, joined him in suicide;55 Epicharis, the freedwoman who suffered every torture rather than betray the conspiracy of Piso; the unnumbered women who concealed and protected their husbands in the proscriptions, went with them into exile, or like Fannia, wife of Helvidius, defended them at great risk and cost: these alone would tip the scale against all the trollops of Martial’s epigrams and Juvenal’s stings.
Behind such heroines were the nameless wives whose marital fidelity and maternal sacrifices sustained the whole structure of Roman life. The old Roman virtues—pietas, gravitas, simplicitas—the mutual devotion of parents and children, a sober sense of responsibility, an avoidance of extravagance or display—still survived in Roman homes. The refined and wholesome families described in Pliny’s letters did not suddenly begin with Nerva and Trajan; they had existed quietly through the age of the despots; they had survived the espionage of emperors, the debasement of a helpless populace, the vulgarity of the demimonde. We catch glimpses of such homes in the epitaphs of mate to mate and of parents to children. “Here,” reads one, “lie the bones of Urbilia, wife of Primus. She was dearer to me than life. She died at twenty-three, beloved of all. Farewell, my consolation!” And another: “To my dear wife, with whom I passed eighteen happy years. For love of her I have sworn never to remarry.”56 We can picture these women in their homes—spinning wool, scolding and educating their children, directing servants, carefully administering their modest funds, and sharing with their husbands in the immemorial worship of the household gods. Despite her immorality it was Rome, not Greece, that raised the family to new heights in the ancient world.
IV. DRESS
If we may judge from a few hundred statues, the Roman males of Nero’s day were stouter and softer in figure and features than the men of the young Republic. World rule kept many of them characteristically hard and stern, fearful rather than lovable; but food and wine and sloth had rounded many others into shapes that would have scandalized the Scipios. They still shaved, or, more usually, were shaved by barbers (tonsores). A youth’s first shave was a holyday in his life; often he piously dedicated his original whiskers to a god.57 Common Romans continued the republican tradition and had their hair cut close, or even cropped, but an increasing number of dandies had theirs curled; Mark Antony and Domitian are so represented. Many men wore wigs, some had the semblance of hair painted on their pates.58 All classes, indoors and out, now dressed in a simple tunic or blouse; the toga was donned only for formal occasions, by clients at receptions and by patricians in the Senate or at the games. Caesar wore a purple toga as a sign of office; many dignitaries imitated him; but soon the purple robe became a prerogative of the emperors. There were no irksome trousers, no elusive buttons, no drooping hose; but in the second century men began to wrap their legs with fasciae, or bands. Footwear ranged from the sandal—a leather or cork sole attached Nipponwise by a thong between the big and second toes—to the high shoe of full leather, or of leather and cloth, usually worn with the toga in synthesis or full dress.
Roman women of the early Empire
, as seen in frescoes and statuary and on coins, were much like the women of the United States at the beginning of the twentieth century, except that they were nearly all brunette. Their figures were moderately slender, and their robes gave their carriage a hypnotic grace. They knew the value of sunshine, exercise, and fresh air; some brandished dumbbells, some swam assiduously, some dieted; others reined in their bosoms with stays.59 Feminine hair was usually combed back and bound in a knot behind the neck, often enclosed in a net, and tied with a band or ribbon over the head. Later fashions demanded a loftier coiffure, supported by wire and elaborated with a wig of blonde hair imported from German maids.60 A woman of fashion might occupy several slaves for hours in manicuring her nails and dressing her hair.61
Cosmetics were as varied as today. Juvenal describes “beautification” as one of the most important technologies of the age; physicians, queens, and poets wrote volumes on the subject.62 A Roman lady’s boudoir was an arsenal of cosmetic instruments—tweezers, scissors, razors, files, brushes, combs, strigils, hair nets, wigs—and jars or phials of perfumes, creams, oils, pastes, pumice stone, soaps. Depilatories were used to remove hair, scented ointments to wave it or fix it. Many women applied to their faces a nocturnal mask of dough and asses’ milk in a mixture concocted by Poppaea, who found it helpful in repairing a bad complexion; therefore asses followed her in all her travels; sometimes she took a whole herd with her and bathed in asses’ milk.63 Faces were whitened or rouged with paint, brows and eyelashes were dyed black or painted over, sometimes the veins of the temple were traced with delicate lines of blue.64 Juvenal complained that a rich woman “reeks of Poppaean ointments that stick to the lips of her unfortunate husband,” who never sees her face. Ovid found these arts disillusioning and advised the ladies to conceal them from their lovers—all but the combing of their hair, which entranced him.66
Delicate lingerie was now added to the simple feminine garments of pre-Hannibalic Rome. Scarfs fell over the shoulders, and veils made an alluring mystery of the face. In winter soft furs caressed affluent forms. Silk was so common that men as well as women wore it. Silk and linen were colored with costly dyes; Romans often paid a thousand denarii for a pound of double-dyed Tyrian wool.67 Embroideries of gold and silver thread decorated dresses, curtains, carpets, and coverlets. Women’s shoes were made of soft leather or cloth, sometimes elaborately cut into an openwork pattern; they might be trimmed with gold and beset with jewelry;68 and high heels were often added to remedy the shortcomings of nature.
Jewelry was an important part of a woman’s equipment. Rings, earrings, necklaces, amulets, bracelets, breast chains, brooches, were necessities of life. Lollia Paulina once wore a dress covered from head to foot with emeralds and pearls, and carried with her the receipts showing that they cost 40,000,000 sesterces.69 Pliny describes over a hundred varieties of precious stones used in Rome. Expert imitations of these provided a busy industry; Roman “emeralds” of glass were superior to modern forgeries and were sold as genuine by jewelers as late as the nineteenth century.70 Men as well as women were fond of large and conspicuous stones. One senator had in his ring an opal as big as a filbert. Hearing of it, Antony had him proscribed; he escaped, carrying 2,000,000 sesterces on his finger; doubtless jewelry was then, as often, a hedge against inflation or revolution. Silver plate was now common in all but the lower classes. Tiberius and later emperors issued edicts against luxury, but these could not be enforced and were soon ignored. Tiberius yielded, and confessed that the extravagance of patricians and parvenus gave employment to the artisans of Rome and the East, and allowed provincial tribute to flow back from the capital. “Without luxury,” he said, “how could Rome, how could the provinces, live?”
Roman dress was not more luxurious than that of modern women, and far less gorgeous and costly than the garb of medieval lords. Fashion did not change in Rome as rapidly as in modern cities; a good garment might be worn a lifetime and remain in style. But compared with the standards of the Republic before Lucullus and Pompey had brought in the loot and hedonism of the East, upper-class Rome was now an epicurean paradise of fine clothing, varied food, elegant furniture, and stately homes. Shorn of political leadership, almost of political power, the aristocracy retired from the curia to its palaces, and abandoned itself, with no morals but philosophy, to the pursuit of pleasure and the art of life.
V. A ROMAN DAY
The luxuries of the home far outran the luxuries of dress. Floors of marble and mosaic; columns of polychrome marble, alabaster, onyx; walls painted with brilliant murals or encrusted with costly stones; ceilings sometimes coffered in gold71 or plate glass;72 tables with citrus wood standing on ivory legs; divans decorated with tortoise shell, ivory, silver, or gold; Alexandrian brocades or Babylonian coverings for which common millionaires paid 800,000, Nero 4,000,000, sesterces;73 beds of bronze fitted with mosquito netting; candelabra of bronze, marble, or glass; statues and paintings and objects of art; vases of Corinthian bronze or Murrhine glass—these were some of the ornaments that crowded the mansions of Nero’s age.
In such a home the master lived as in a museum. Slaves had to be bought to guard this wealth, and others to guard these. Some houses had 400 of them, engaged in attendance, supervision, or industry; the life of the great man, even in the privacy of his rooms, was spent in the publicity of his slaves. To eat with a servant at each elbow, to undress with a slave at each boot, to relax with a menial at every door—this is not paradise. To assure the misery of wealth the great man began his day, about seven, by receiving his “clients” and parasites and offering his cheeks to their kisses. After two hours of this he might breakfast. Then he received and returned formal visits of his friends. Etiquette required that one must repay the calls of every friend, help him in his lawsuits and candidacies, attend the betrothal of his daughter, the coming of age of his son, the reading of his poems, the signing of his will. These and other social obligations were performed with a grace and courtesy not exceeded in any civilization. Then the great man went to the Senate, or labored on some governmental commission, or attended to his personal affairs.
For the man of modest means life was simpler, but not less arduous. After the social calls of the early morning he gave himself to his business till noon. Humble folk were at their work by sunrise; as there was little night life, the Roman took full advantage of the day. A light luncheon came at noon, dinner at three or four—the higher the class, the later the hour. After luncheon and a siesta, the peasant and the employed prolétaire returned to work till nearly sunset; others sought recreation outdoors or in the public baths. The Romans of the Empire took their bathing more religiously than their gods. Like the Japanese, they could bear public better than private smells, and no ancient people but the Egyptians rivaled them in cleanliness. They carried handkerchiefs (sudaria) to wipe away their sweat,74 and brushed their teeth with powders and paste. In the early Republic a bath every eighth day had sufficed; now one had to bathe daily or risk a Martial’s epigram; even the rustic, says Galen, bathed every day.75 Most homes had bathtubs, rich houses had bathroom suites sparkling with marble, glass, or silver fixtures and taps.76 But the majority of free Romans relied on the public baths.
Ordinarily these were privately owned. In 33 B.C.. there were 170 in Rome; in the fourth century A.D. there were 856, besides 1352 public swimming pools.77 More popular than such establishments were the great baths built by the state, managed by concessionaires and staffed by hundreds of slaves. These thermae—“hot [waters]”—erected by Agrippa, Nero, Titus, Trajan, Caracalla, Alexander Severus, Diocletian, and Constantine, were monuments of state-socialistic splendor. The Baths of Nero had 1600 marble seats and accommodated 1600 bathers at one time; the Baths of Caracalla and those of Diocletian accommodated 3000 each. Admission was open to any citizen for a quadrans (1½ cents) ;78 the government met the balance of the cost, and apparently oil and service were included in the fee. The baths were open from daybreak to one P.M. for women, from two to eight P
.M. for men; but mixed bathing was allowed by most of the emperors. Normally the visitor went first to a dressing room to change his clothes; then to the palaestra to box, wrestle, run, jump, hurl the disk or the spear, or play ball. One ball game was like our “medicine ball”; in another two opposed groups scrambled for a ball, and carried it forward against each other with all the enterprise of a modern university.79 Sometimes professional ballplayers would come to the baths and give exhibitions.80 Oldsters who preferred to take their exercise by proxy went to massage rooms and had a slave rub away their fat.
Passing to the baths proper, the citizen entered the tepidarium—in this case a warm-air room; thence he went on to the calidarium, or hot-air room; if he wished to perspire still more freely, he moved into the laconicum, and gasped in superheated steam. Then he took a warm bath and washed himself with a novelty learned from the Gauls—soap, made from tallow and the ashes of the beech or the elm.81 These warm rooms were the most popular and gave the baths their Greek name; probably they were Rome’s attempt to forestall or mitigate rheumatism and arthritis.82 The bather progressed to the frigidarium and took a cold bath; he might also dip into the piscina, or swimming pool. Then he had himself rubbed with some oil or ointment, usually made from the olive; this was not washed off, but merely scraped off with a strigil and dried with a towel, so that some oil might be returned to the skin in place of that which the warm baths had removed.