A Week in the Life of Rome

by James L. Papandrea

  Stachys lit a lamp, and the three of them ducked their heads and went into the cubicle that held the burial place of his first wife. Stachys had spent a small fortune for the sarcophagus, carved with elaborate scenes of Elysium, with its gardens and grapevines. There were two faces carved into the side: the face of Tertius’s mother and a blank face, waiting for the sculptor to carve the features of Stachys’s own face when he died. Stachys’s heart turned a bit melancholy when he saw it. The death of his first wife had been hard on him, especially with Tertius losing his mother at barely one year old. Stachys thought about the prospect of his own death, and although suicide would preserve his honor, he knew it would break his family’s hearts, and so he knew he could never go through with it. But he remained stoic and showed no emotion.

  Maria opened the basket of food and set out lunch on the lid of the sarcophagus.

  “Can I do it?” Tertius asked.

  Stachys nodded. “Of course. Go ahead.”

  Maria poured some wine into a small clay cup. Tertius took the cup and poured the wine down the libation hole in the sarcophagus lid. The three of them ate their lunch without much conversation, except when Tertius begged Stachys to tell stories about his mother. It was always awkward for Stachys to tell stories about his first wife that would please his son without making his new wife uncomfortable. But he had come to appreciate Maria for taking part in the memorial meals. He looked at his son, who seemed so young. Still such a little boy. So young to be given to a tutor. Stachys could feel that his heart was softening, but he steeled his resolve against changing his mind.

  Figure 5.6. Libation hole in the lid of a grave marker. On the anniversary of a loved one’s death, people gathered at the burial site for a picnic called a refrigerium, and part of the ritual included pouring some wine into the hole for the deceased. (Capitoline Museum, Rome)

  At Urbanus’s home on the hill, Sabina was getting ready for an afternoon at the theater. She relished the process of choosing the brightest colors to wear and the most expensive jewelry. Urbanus was always telling her to tone it down, for fear of the evil eye, but she never listened—in fact, his pleas only made her exercise the freedom of her noble will all the more. She smiled at her ability to disregard her husband’s wishes as her slave put on her gold bracelets. She was of the senate class, after all, and he was only an equestrian. Sabina wondered to herself whether she would have married Urbanus if she had had more time to choose a second husband. Had she settled for him just because the end of the mourning period was coming up, with its two-year remarriage deadline? But the more she thought about it, the better he looked to her in comparison to other men. He was a good man, after all, and a good husband. He provided for her well, but more important, he took good care of her. No, she decided as she rested her sun parasol on her shoulder, she had not settled for him. She had chosen him.

  Sabina had invited Maria, Rhoda, Julia, and Prisca to join her at the baths, but they had declined. She thought it was odd that these Way-follower women, who were mostly poor, would spend the money to go to the private women-only baths. Where was the fun in that? But at least she could look forward to their company at the theater. Sabina had used the fact that they declined her invitation to the baths to coerce them into accepting an invitation to the theater. The women had been very reluctant at first but eventually relented and agreed to attend. Sabina smiled to her herself with pride over her small victory. Today promised to be much more entertaining than spending time with the stuffy old senators’ wives.

  Philologus noticed that Julia was preparing to go out and worried that she might be planning to spend the last of their money. She assured him that it wasn’t going to cost them anything, but he pressed for details. When she finally admitted where she was going, he shook his head. “You’re going to the theater? I really wish you wouldn’t. You know Marcus says that Way-followers shouldn’t go to the theater. They have the Bacchus dedication, with the live sex show, and then the plays are all about laughing at other people’s misfortunes. That’s not what we do, Julia.”

  “We’re going to arrive after the dedication. And the rest is not that bad. Anyway, the noble lady Sabina invited us, and we’re trying to tell her about Iesua.”

  “But how can you tell her about Iesua when you’re at the theater? Isn’t that kind of a mixed message? I heard they have a play called Cinyras and Myrrha about father-daughter incest!”

  “I don’t know about that play. I think we’re going to see Verae Matronae Romae. I want to find out what kind of schemes Agrippina is up to.”

  “It’s not real, Julia, you know that. Whatever they do on stage, it’s not what the real Agrippina is doing. It’s a farce. Do you think the emperor’s wife is really involved in all that intrigue, committing adultery, and murder?”

  “Just take care of the children until I get back, my dove. ” And with that Julia was out the door.

  The Theater

  The Roman theater was a decaying remnant of the Greek theater. Whereas Greek theater had two kinds of plays—tragedy and comedy—Roman theater replaced the comedy with an erotic musical farce known as the pantomime. Tragic plays continued to use masks and followed the tradition of all roles being played by male actors, but the pantomime did away with the masks and included actresses, who were expected to provide a lot of nudity.

  Pantomimes often entertained audiences by humiliating real people and famous families. They included elements of slapstick and vaudeville-like song and dance as well as real sex and fighting on stage. By the late first century there were also snuff plays, in which a condemned criminal could be cast in a role that would end in the character’s—and the criminal’s—death on stage.

  Greek theaters were usually built into hills, so that the audience sat on the rise of the hill, giving everyone a good view of the stage. However, the Romans, being more advanced architects and builders, did not need to build on a hill but rather built up the theater as a freestanding structure or as part of a larger complex. Like gladiatorial arenas, theaters had separate seating sections for men and women.

  Theater season was April to November, taking a break in the colder months since the theaters were open to the sky. Like the games and other shows, plays always began with pagan ritual, and so they not only paid homage to the Greco-Roman gods but also became a kind of participation in idolatrous worship.

  The theater was one of the few places where the common people had a voice. In the safety of numbers, a theater audience could shout slogans expressing political dissatisfaction and even boo the emperor. However, that could backfire if the crowd became riotous; the emperor Caligula once massacred an entire theater audience because they protested a tax increase.

  Early Christian writings tried (often in vain) to get Christians to stop going to the plays and other spectacles, since the humiliation, fighting, and public executions only served to add to the cheapening of human life and dignity. As several early Christian theologians wrote, if Christians are not allowed to do something, then they are also not allowed to watch it.

  At the time of our story, there were at least three theaters in Rome. The Theater of Balbus was near the Circus Flaminius on the south side of the Field of Mars. The Theater of Pompey was part of a large complex in the center of the Field of Mars. The Theater of Marcellus was near where the city wall met the River Tiber. This latter theater was later the model for the Colosseum.

  Figure 5.7. Remains of a Roman theater, Ostia Antica

  The women all met at the entrance to the Theater of Balbus, next to the Circus Flaminius. They went in and sat in the women’s section, as close to the stage as they could and still have enough room to sit together. The play was beginning, and Sabina spoke to the group in a whisper. She was playing the hostess, talking to them as if they’d never been to the theater before. Rhoda rolled her eyes a bit but didn’t say anything. The rest of the women were polite and listened.

  “I know it might be hard to keep up with the story,” Sabina said. “This
is one of Secundus’s most famous tragedies. Just remember that the men in white masks are playing the roles of the women, and the men in the brown masks are playing the roles of the men. The white costume means that one is supposed to be an old man, and the colorful costume means that one is supposed to be a young man. Yellow costume means a courtesan, short tunic means a slave. Um . . . purple costume is a rich person, red costume means a poor person. You’ll get it as the play goes on.”

  The women followed the play well enough to be a little embarrassed by a few scenes. When it was over, they stood up and turned toward Sabina. “Now it’s time for a pantomime,” Sabina said.

  “I want to see Verae Matronae Romae,” Julia said excitedly.

  “Are you sure?” Sabina said. “They’re doing Catullus’s Laureolus at the Theater of Marcellus.”

  Maria grimaced. “Oh . . . Catullus . . . I don’t think that’s a good one for us.”

  “All right, then,” Sabina said with a smile. “Verae Matronae it is.”

  The women made their way to the Theater of Pompey, where the pantomime was already underway. A woman who was playing the part of Claudius’s late third wife, Messalina, was dirty-dancing with a man playing the role of Silius, her lover, while another man playing the role of Claudius was limping and stumbling around the stage, seemingly oblivious to what was going on. The audience howled at Claudius’s pratfalls and shouted, “Take it all off!” as Messalina and Silius groped each other. The woman playing Messalina was wearing a royal toga and crown, and was producing gift after gift out of the folds of the toga as the audience laughed. Finally she produced a long sword and started tiptoeing toward an unsuspecting Claudius. But a group of men playing Praetorian guards came from behind the scenery and mimed killing Silius, at which point Messalina turned the sword on herself and played out an extremely elongated death scene, to the cheers of the crowd. Everyone on stage then broke into a song. Sabina seemed to know the lyrics, but the other women could only make out the refrain:

  Life is brutal, but at least it’s short.

  Maria wondered at the kind of life one would have to lead to have the free time to be able to learn the songs of the theater shows by heart.

  “She didn’t really kill herself,” Sabina said to the other women. Maria was starting to feel as though they shouldn’t be at the show, but the other women wanted to hear what Sabina had to say. “No, she didn’t kill herself. Narcissus had her killed quietly without waiting for Claudius’s permission. And then Claudius promoted him.”

  The second act began with another woman, very scantily clad, who was playing the part of Agrippina, Claudius’s new wife. She chased the limping Claudius around the stage, and every time he fell, the audience laughed as she helped him up to resume the chase.

  Rhoda leaned toward Sabina. “I heard she’s his niece.”

  “That’s right,” Sabina said, waving a feather fan in front of her face. “He forced the senate to change the law forbidding marriage to a niece. But marrying a niece is better than marrying a whore like Messalina.” She passed the fan down the row so the other women could take turns with it and get a break from the heat.

  Prisca was shaking her head. “It’s still incest. Nothing good can come of it.”

  Julia whispered, “The one I feel sorry for is young Brittanicus. His mother is dead, and now his stepmother has gotten her own son adopted by Claudius. That’s not going to end well.”

  Maria frowned. “Ladies, let’s not assume that all stepmothers are evil. Being a stepmother is a tough job. I can only imagine what it’s like if your stepson is a prince.”

  Julia and Prisca gave Maria a knowing look of agreement. Sabina said, “Don’t be fooled. The women have the real power. Agrippina rules Rome, make no mistake. She sits on a throne and rides around the city in a chariot, like a general or a priest. The men think they have it all worked out, with the laws in their favor, even giving them complete freedom to kill or have sex with whomever they want. But the women—we have our own forms of power, don’t we? We control the dowries, and we have magic. We have spells and incantations, and if all else fails, we have potions. History may be the story of great men, but they are just marionettes on a stage. It’s the women who hold the strings.”

  The other women looked at each other. All eyes landed on Maria. “Sabina,” she said. “About the magic. The spells, the curses, the amulets.” She gestured toward the medallion around Sabina’s neck. “They don’t really work, do they? I mean, you don’t really believe they work?”

  “Maybe they don’t, but maybe they do,” Sabina answered. “Anyway it’s worth a try.”

  “I don’t think so,” Maria continued. “What I mean is, we believe that those things are, at best, a distraction from the real Deity. And at worst, they could bring evil spirits into your home.”

  “Really?” Sabina’s eyes went wide. “You think that could happen?”

  “Way-followers believe that putting your trust in magic is a kind of superstition. We put all that away like a girl puts away her dolls when she grows to be a woman. Astrology, too.”

  “Alright, now you’ve gone too far,” Sabina scoffed, waving her hand in the air. “What could possibly be wrong with astrology?”

  Someone in the crowd shouted, “Hey, Claudius! How about sending the merda carts around to clean up the streets?!” The audience burst into laughter.

  Now the chase on the stage turned into a dance, with a steady stream of nude women dancing in from one side, looking at Claudius seductively and then miming their suicides as Agrippina handed them the sword, each in their turn. Then the woman playing Agrippina started stripping in front of Claudius, who mimed being embarrassed. The crowd went back to shouting, “Take it off!” and she didn’t disappoint them. The play ended with the actors having sex on stage, and then a patriotic song, with the whole audience joining in. Julia was starting to look as though she felt sick, and Prisca was blushing and looking down at the floor. Maria and Rhoda realized it was time to leave, so they started getting up and ushered the other women out of the theater, making their goodbyes and thank-yous to Sabina as quickly as possible.

  When Julia returned home to her apartment, Philologus and the children were not at home. She wondered where they could be but wasn’t too worried about it until she heard a loud rumbling noise. Her heart skipped a beat. The loud rumbling turned into an even louder crashing, and Julia knew what was happening. A building was collapsing nearby. She couldn’t tell how close it was, so she couldn’t know whether the collapsing building was going to bring her building down with it. So she ran for the stairs.

  Outside the noise was deafening. Everywhere people were running out of the buildings and into the street, pushing and shoving their way without even knowing which direction they should go. Julia called for her children. She spun around, looking in every direction, but she could not see them, and she could barely hear her own voice as she screamed their names until her throat was sore. The streets between the buildings were so narrow that not much light could find its way to the ground, and now a cloud of dust was rolling along the street, blocking out what little light there was in a gritty haze. Julia tried to figure out where the collapse was so she could run away from it, but she couldn’t see farther than the length of one building, and she knew that if any of the walls around her fell she would be crushed. She could hear yelling and crying, and she strained her ears to see whether any of the voices belonged to her children.

  Julia kept calling out her children’s names even after her voice gave out. She ran to the end of the building and looked around the corner. People seemed to be running in the direction of the Forum of Augustus, so she ran that way too, hoping that her children were also running away from the collapse, praying that she would find them at the forum.

  When the dust cleared, and her children were nowhere in sight, Julia ran back toward the collapsed building. She found it, now a pile of rubble, plaster, and wooden beams, and went to help pull the survivors out. All t
he while she kept scanning her surroundings, looking for her children. She was nearly blinded by her tears as she came upon the broken body of someone else’s child, pulling the small, lifeless form from a heap of plaster and stone. Then she found another, and she was paralyzed. She desperately prayed to the Lord that her children were safe.

  Julia worked as long as she could, digging through the rubble and helping to reunite other people’s families. When her hands were raw and bloody, and the sounds of crying had dwindled, and when it was clear that there was no more she could do, Julia walked back to her apartment, hoping to find her husband and children at home. But she was disappointed. The apartment was empty. Not knowing what else to do, she started walking toward Stachys and Maria’s house.

  When Maria saw Julia covered in dust and dirt, with bloody hands, she ran to her and grabbed Julia’s arms, looking into her expressionless face. “What happened? Where are the children?”

  Julia tried to speak through her tears. “Building collapse. Not our building, another one. But I don’t know where the children are. I was hoping they were here.” Julia started to cry, and Maria pulled her close. Julia’s head dropped onto Maria’s shoulder, and her red ponytail bobbed up and down with her sobs.

  “What’s wrong?” It was Philologus coming in, covered in black dirt from head to toe.

  Julia heard his voice and ran to him. “Oh, you’re not hurt, are you? Were you buried in the collapse?”

  “What collapse?

  “An apartment near ours. Do you know where the children are?”

  “Of course I do. They’re at Pudens’s house, with his daughters.”

  Julia breathed a sigh that immediately turned into crying. Through her sobs she asked, “Where were you? Why weren’t they with you?”