CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH.

PUBLIC AMUSEMENTS. MORALS, MANNERS, CUSTOMS, AND STATE OF THE
DRAMA AND LITERATURE AMONG THE ROMANS.

t is customary with the grandiloquent to declare that the page of history is stained with gore; but we limit ourselves to ink, which perhaps, after all, furnishes a decent type of mourning over the deeds we are compelled to chronicle. It is true that history has too often wars for her principal facts, and the numbers of dead for her figures; but she is apt to speak rather figuratively in estimating the thousands upon thousands who are said to have fallen, sword in hand, or to have been terribly put to it.

The weapon of war cuts, however, both ways; and a nation cannot play with edged tools more safely than an individual can indulge in such dangerous pastime.

The state of war in which Rome habitually lived, had encouraged the worst passions of the people; and nearly every vice had taken an iron hold of them. By continually fighting, they had become familiar with murder and violence, while the practice of plunder had accustomed them to robbery. Military stratagem—which was the very essence of strategy—had taught them to regard cunning as a virtue; and he was a hero, in their opinion, who would face the swords and spears of a foe, but sought in poison a cowardly refuge from the "slings and arrows" of his own conscience. The wealth taken by force was often appropriated by fraud; and a successful leader thought nothing of putting into his own pocket an enormous sum, declaring that it was unreasonable to expect a general to be particular.[56] The few became enormously rich, while the many were miserably poor. The higher orders grasped everything, leaving nothing to those beneath, and the consequence was a state of top-heaviness, which, when existing in the social column, exposes base and capital—but especially the latter—to extreme danger. Money had been acquired by some, who did not know its use; and its abuse was the inevitable result; for the improper employment of gold leads to every kind of guilt on the part of those who are possessed of it.

With the wealth of other nations, foreign fashions were imported, and Roman simplicity was superseded by the art and cunning of the Grecian craftsmen. The pleasures of the table were carried to a gluttonous excess; and a slave who, in the capacity of a cook, could set before his master an agreeable kind of sauce, was often allowed impunity for insolence.

Extravagance began to prevail to such an extent among the Roman women, that those females whose wardrobe was of a gaudy hue, were virtually condemned to dye, for a law was passed by the tribune Appius, prohibiting them from wearing dresses of a gay colour. The same law limited them to half-an-ounce of gold; but this was unnecessary; for the extravagantly-disposed would spend all they had; and they were further restricted from riding at or near Rome, or any other city, in a carriage drawn by two horses; for it was considered that with one the road to ruin could be quite rapidly enough travelled. This law occasioned some violent agitation among the Roman women, who manifested the force of female influence so effectually, that in a few years the law was repealed.

Roman Lady "Shopping." Roman Lady "Shopping."

The stern necessities of historical truth compel us to attribute to what is termed the gentler sex, the introduction, among the Romans, of some vices so foul, as to be at variance with all our notions of the fair. One of the worst of these enormities was the celebration of the Bacchanalia, introduced from Etruria; and recent discoveries[57] in that locality have initiated us into the secret of what are usually termed the Bacchic mysteries. The mystification of the votaries was accomplished by drink; under the influence of which they wound up their festivities with a reel, such as may be traced in ancient paintings; and round every such reel there is twined some important thread of history.

Imitation is seldom respectable in any case; for even merit loses half its value when it is not original; but nothing can be more contemptible than a people putting on bad habits at second-hand. Such, however, was the practice of the Romans, who borrowed nearly all their iniquities from Athens or other cities, and who wilfully brought upon themselves the moral stain of Greece. Cruelty, which goes hand in hand with depravity, had reached such an infamous excess, that it was practised openly by those whom the people delighted to honour. Among other instances, may be cited the example of the Consul L. Quinctius Flaminius, who, while encamped in Gaul, happened to be feasting with one of his degraded creatures, when the latter lamented he had never seen a gladiator killed. A noble Boian entering at the moment, to ask for shelter, Flaminius observed that, though unable to treat his friend to the sight of a dying gladiator, he might satisfy his appetite for cruelty by the exhibition of a dying Gaul. The "creature" had no sooner expressed his readiness to accept the lighter relish as a substitute for the more substantial meal, than Flaminius, drawing his sword, smote the unfortunate Boian on the head, and ran him through the body. So brutalised had the people become by continual war, that no notice was taken of this occurrence until eight years afterwards, when Cato, the Censor, brought up the charge, with a variety of others, more or less weighty, against Flaminius, and caused his expulsion from the Senate.

The name of Cato the Censor, naturally induces a few observations on the character of this ancient specimen of the

"Fine old Roman gentleman all of the olden time."

He was the son of a respectable Sabine farmer, and passed his earliest years in the country, where he followed the plough—a peaceful pursuit, which imprints no early furrows on the forehead, but leaves many on the earth it at once improves and lacerates. At seventeen, every Roman became, of necessity, a soldier; and though in the game of life fortune had dealt him a spade, he was obliged to throw it out of his hand. Such was the lot of young Marcus Porcius Priscus; for that was in reality his name, though he afterwards had the title of Cato, or the "knowing one," bestowed on him. His military duties were performed with credit, though he preferred cultivating any other seeds than the seeds of dissension; and he was more at home in a trench dug for celery, than in one designed for undermining a fort.

After returning from the wars, he took some ground adjoining that which had been occupied by Dentatus; and regarding that individual as a model farmer, Cato tried to make his own a model farm. So thoroughly did he throw himself into his agrarian occupation, that he may be said to have buried himself in his land. He wrote a work on Agriculture,[58] which included much miscellaneous information, from the mode of buying an estate to the art of making a cheesecake, the curing of a side of bacon, and the setting of a dislocated bone. While attending to his own business, he found leisure to attend to that of his neighbours; and in all their petty disputes before the local tribunals, he was in the habit of attending the hearing of summonses for and against his friends. He had a word of advice or a maxim to meet every circumstance in which his advice was asked or offered; and he could always cut through a difficulty with one of his wise saws. Some might be disposed to term him a busybody and a meddler; but at all events a young patrician, named Valerius Flaccus, considered him to be a meddler well worth transplanting, and persuaded him to go to Rome, "as," in the language of Plutarch, "a plant that deserved a better soil." Here he "put up" for various places in the public service, and we find him climbing successively to several very high posts, where the example he set by his externally virtuous mode of living, formed a decent contrast to the undisguised vices of the age.

Such was Cato in his earlier years; but the melancholy fact must be stated, that, though flattery paints only one side of every picture, there is none to which truth may not be called upon to add a reverse. In his youthful days Cato had worked with his labourers; had partaken of the same fare with them at the same board, and drank nothing stronger than water; but, in after-life, he contracted a disreputable marriage, and, giving himself up to the dissipations of the table, might have found himself occasionally under it. So thoroughly utilitarian was he in his political philosophy, that he looked upon a labourer as a mere machine, which, when worn out, he contended ought to be got rid of as speedily as possible. Cato the Censor owes much of his reputation for morality to the fact of his having set himself up as a professional moralist. Though he was useful as a castigator of the vices of his age, there was nothing very amiable in the rancorous and uncharitable spirit in which he performed his office. He had a keen appetite for an abuse or a piece of scandal, but, while crime or error excited his hatred, virtue and generosity seemed to rouse less of his admiration than his jealousy. If he had lived in modern times, he would, probably, have been a common informer, a rigid observer of all the outward appearances of virtue, and a discounter of bills; for it is said of Cato, that he advanced money at exorbitant interest to those whose necessities or recklessness induced them to comply with his terms.

Religion had, at about this period, sunk to a very low ebb in the hands of a crafty priesthood, who used the influence of their position for their own temporal purposes. Prodigies were declared to have happened; such as the talking of a cow, which was alleged to have "whispered low" in a priest's ear; statues were said to have wept; and the tale was listened to by those who believed that their augurs could, if they pleased, get blood out of a stone.

In literature, though it is customary to speak of Roman characters as an original form of letters, Rome had nothing new, but trusted to what was already known; for she not only copied the vices of the Greeks, but took a leaf out of their books in a more literal manner. She had no writers of her own; but what literary food she possessed was supplied by those translating cooks who make a hash of nearly everything they lay their hands upon.

The earliest Roman dramatist is supposed to have been one Lucius Andronicus, who had formerly been a slave, and who continued his slavish propensities by a servile adaptation of Greek plays, instead of boldly attempting an original production. Like many of the modern translators, he was himself an actor in his own pieces; and it is declared by Livy the historian, that he lost his voice by the frequency with which he was encored by the audience. This statement seems to show that puffs were not unknown when the Roman drama was in its very earliest stage; for the assertion in question could scarcely have been true, since Cicero[59] has told us that there was nothing worthy of being read or listened to twice, in the plays of Lucius Andronicus.

The greatest comic writer of the period at which our history has arrived, was Marcus Accius Plautus, of whose origin little is known; for the Romans held their wits and humorists in such little respect, that as long as they could raise a laugh, it mattered little who they were, whence they sprung, or what became of them. It was not until after a writer's death that any interest was felt in his life, and such was the case with regard to Plautus, who has been the subject of more invention than is to be found in all his comedies. Conjecture—the author of half the history, and three-fourths of the biography, which the world possesses—describes Plautus as a low-born fellow, made of the very commonest clay, moulded by one of Nature's awkwardest journeymen into a misshapen lump, and whose angular deformities constituted his chief points of humour. Having made a little money as a dramatist, he is said to have embarked it in the baking business; some would say that he might make his own puffs; but his shop failed, and as the public would not, he of course could not, get his bread at it. He next entered the service of a miller and master baker, where he attempted, in grinding corn, to turn at once the handle of a mill and an honest penny. Even in the bakehouse he was unable to forget the flowery path of literature; and while watching the bread, he managed to inscribe on different rolls no less than three comedies. Of these he made sufficient to enable him to quit the oven, which was incapable of warming his imagination; and taking lodgings in Rome, he resumed the life of a dramatist.

What Plautus may have wanted in originality, he made up for by industry, there being still extant twenty of his plays, and he was, according to some, the author of one hundred pieces.

The mantle of Plautus—supposing the dramatist to have died with a coat to his back—may be said to have fallen on Terentius Afer, or Terence. He is believed to have been born at Carthage, and to have been the slave of a Roman senator; for his biographers—who, by the way, were writers themselves—will not hazard the supposition that one of their own order could have been the son of a gentleman. Terentius, however, got into what is usually termed the best society, which had the usual effect of the "best society" on a literary man; for it took what it could never compensate him for—his time; it led him into idle and extravagant habits, and thus brought him, where it will inevitably leave him, if it once gets him there—to ruin. His fashionable friends carried their patronage so far, as to tax his reputation as well as his means, and even claimed a share in the credit of his writings, declaring the best part of them to be their own, though they suffered Terentius to affix his name to them.

Scipio Africanus, who stands convicted of fraud and embezzlement in a former chapter,[60] had the effrontery to say, or allow it to be said, that he had written portions of the plays in question, or, at least, contributed some of the jokes; but we have nothing to support the claim, except the fact that he might, perhaps, have made a pun, as he is known to have picked the public pocket. The following anecdote, related by his biographer, Donatus, or Suetonius—for the learned are at issue, and have long been stumbling over the two styles—may afford some idea of the treatment to which authors were submitted in the age we are writing of. Having completed his play of "Andria," Terence was desirous of getting it licensed, and applied to the Ædiles, who referred him to Cæcilius, for an opinion on the manuscript. The critic being at dinner, desired the dramatist to take a seat on a low stool, and read his piece, so that Cæcilius might, at the same time, swallow his meal, and digest the new comedy. Terence had read but a few verses, when the critic declared he could not continue selfishly putting good things into his own mouth, while so many good things were coming from the mouth of his visitor. He was requested to put the comedy away until after the dinner, which he was invited to share; and, having done so, the play was finished over a glass or two of wine, which increased the enthusiasm with which the author read, and the critic listened. Both were delighted with each other. Their better acquaintance was drunk; success to the comedy was drunk; their healths were drunk together; and, ultimately, Cæcilius and Terence were drunk separately as well as jointly, before the termination of the evening.

The plays of Terence, though of Greek origin, were moulded after a fashion of his own, and what little of the material he borrowed was almost immaterial to the value of his productions. He received for one of them "The Eunuchus," no less than 8000 sesterces (about £64), which was, in those days, the largest sum that had ever been paid for a five act comedy. After having been successful for some years, he embarked, according to some authorities, for Greece—as our dramatists embark occasionally for Boulogne—to lay in a new stock of pieces for future translation. Other authorities assert that he went to Asia, taking a number of translations with him, and was never heard of again, the ship having been sunk, perhaps, by the weight of his too heavy manuscripts.

Terence reading his Play to Cæcilius. Terence reading his Play to Cæcilius.

Among the writers of the period, we must not forget to mention Ennius, a Calabrian, who gave lessons in Greek to the patrician youths, at a small lodging on the Aventine. He is regarded as the father of Latin poetry; but Latin poetry could profit little from the paternal care of one whose devotion to the bottle rendered his own care of himself frequently impossible. His productions are of a very fragmentary kind; and, indeed, his habits of intemperance prevented him from making any sustained effort. He was the boon companion of several patricians, who helped him to ruin when alive, and gave him a monument at his death;—one of them (Scipio Africanus) accommodating the poet with a place in his tomb, so that the patron might literally go down to posterity with the man of genius.

While on the subject of the drama, as represented at Rome in the days of Plautus and Terence, we may refer to the fact that masks were worn by the actors, which gave to a theatrical performance some absurd and not very interesting features. There were several sets of masks among the properties of a regular theatre, beginning with that of the first tragic old man, which had a quantity of venerable white worsted attached to it for hair, with cheeks as chalky as grief and tears, strong enough to have washed out the fastest colour, might be supposed to have rendered them. The mask of the second tragic old man was less pale than that of the first, for he was not supposed to have attained to that universal privilege of aged heroism,—a countenance sicklied o'er with a pale coat of whitewash. The mask of the tragic young man, or youthful hero, was remarkable for its luxuriant head of hair, which, from the earliest days of the drama to the present hour, seems to be accepted as the stage indication of a noble character. The tragic masks for slaves embraced some interesting varieties, including a sharp nose, intended to be indicative of many a blow from fortune's hand,—a sunken eye, to bespeak a sorry look-out,—and, occasionally, long white hair, quite straight, which was supposed to convey the idea of the party having seen better days, though the analogy is difficult, unless the lankiness of the locks may be held to show that a favourable turn has in vain been waited for. The mask of a tragic lady had all those signs of a genuine female in distress which are even to this day required on the stage, where long black hair, in terribly straightened circumstances, is the emblem of an anxious mind, which has long been a stranger to curl-papers. When insanity, as well as anguish, had to be represented by the mask, the hair was undivided in the centre, but floated in wild profusion, as if the wearer had gone through a great deal, and as if, whatever she had gone through, her hair had caught in the middle of.

The classical mask of the first comic old man was drawn excessively mild and benevolent, to indicate that propensity for scattering purses among the poor, and bestowing his daughter, with some millions of sesterces, on young Lucius, which were the probable attributes of the Greek and Latin stage veteran. There was also the mask of the testy old man, who was represented perfectly bald, as if he was always taking something or other into his head which had torn all the hair out of it. The masks for comic young men had the ordinary characteristics of stage humour, including red hair, pug noses, broad lips, and raised eyebrows, which are in these days supplied from those recognised sources of dramatic drollery, the burnt cork, the gum-pot, and the paint-box.

We might enumerate a long list of different masks, without introducing any variety, for they were very nearly the same; but we have shown enough to prove that the classical taste for which so many clamour without knowing what they talk about, was very little, if at all, above the modern standard. Some authorities[61] assert that masks were not worn in the earliest representations of the Roman drama; but some of the oldest MS. of Terence contain figures of the required masks, just as a play of the present day has prefixed to it a list of the costumes of the characters. The admirers of the classical may be grieved and astonished to hear that the taste, for the restoration of which they so much pine, took greater delight in the deadly games of the Circus, than in the lively representations of men and manners.

Light Comedy Man of the Period. Light Comedy Man of the Period.

Historical literature was in a very humble condition, and had much, or indeed all, the prolixity, with little of the accuracy, of a modern report for a newspaper. It is, however, hardly fair to judge the authors severely for writings which we have never seen, and are never likely to see; for they have never come down to us, except in scraps—the result of the various cuttings-up they have encountered at the hands of Polybius and other critics. For the same reason, we are unable to praise conscientiously the "Origines" of Cato, which has long ago been lost, and we are unwilling to adopt the "opinions of the press," which have too often been at the disposal of the member of a clique, or of the purchaser of a puffing paragraph. Oratory always was, and always will be, an important art, except in those countries which are so excessively republican and free, that the people are free for every imaginable or imaginary purpose, except to do as they please, and to say what they think proper. The Romans took the art of rhetoric from the Greeks, but even a good thing is distasteful if forced where it is not asked; and, when the Athenians sent three professed orators as propagandists of their art to Rome, the foreign agitators were ordered—very properly—to quit the city.

As lawyers, the early Romans are entitled to high praise, and they evinced their prudence by making juris-prudence an essential part of their ordinary studies. The Roman youth were required to get the Twelve Tables by heart, or rather, by head, which was supposed to be sufficiently furnished when the whole of the Twelve Tables alluded to were crammed into it.

The science of Medicine was not in very high repute among the early Romans, and physic was, commercially speaking, in very little demand, so that it would have been a mere drug if brought into the market. The aristocratic families generally expected one of their slaves to know something of the healing process, as they usually did of other arts or trades; and a surgical operation, like a gardening operation, or any piece of merely manual labour, was frequently entrusted to the hands of a simple bondsman. Physic was scarcely known in Rome as a distinct pursuit, until the year of the City 534 (B.C. 219), when the Greek physician Archagathus opened a shop with an extensive stock, and an establishment of baths; the expense of which would have plunged him into hot water, had not the public come forward to make him a present of his premises. The shops of the doctors were lounging places for the idle, who are always the most profitable patients; for there is no ailing so troublesome as that of having nothing to do, and abundance of time to do it in. The Romans had made little advance in art, though they professed to show their love for it by robbing other nations of their treasures. On the same principle, the pickpocket, who pilfers a handkerchief, might ask credit for being attracted by the beauty of its design; and the knave who walks away with a set of silver spoons might pretend to be actuated by a desire to patronise their pattern or their workmanship. Rome, indeed, can scarcely be said to have introduced the arts from Greece, but merely to have introduced a few of the articles on which the arts had employed themselves.

Commerce was looked down upon for a long period as a degrading pursuit; but from the time of the Second Punic War, the equites, with a total disregard of equity, began lending out money at exorbitant interest. Though they would not condescend to trade for gain, they were prepared to pocket the profits of usury. They would also purchase corn at a low price abroad, and sell it at a dear rate at home; for they understood and practised all the tricks of the tradesman, though they sneered at and repudiated his position. The slave trade was also carried on to a vast extent by the higher classes, and even Cato is said to have done a little in that way himself, notwithstanding the stiffness of his notions, and the alleged purity of his morals. The patrician principle seemed to be, that the same thing which would be blamable on a small scale, was excusable when practised on a broad basis—that to sell a little was degrading, but to sell a great deal was no disgrace at all; and by a parity of reasoning, they must have held, that so far from its being the same thing whether to be hanged for a sheep or a lamb, it would only be the smaller depredator who would deserve any punishment whatever.

Robbery had greatly augmented the public wealth; but individuals were wretchedly poor, with the exception of the few who had had a hand in the pockets of the conquered nations. Slaves were brought in such numbers to Rome, that at length they would hardly fetch a price; and so many were brought from Sardinia, who were constantly being put up, knocked down at nothing, bought in, and left on hand, that "Sardians to sell!" passed into a proverb to express an unsaleable article. In vain were the poor creatures prepared to do as they were bid, for no one would give them a bidding. The Greek captives fetched a higher price, for they were many of them accomplished men, and became tutors, music-masters, or teachers of painting, in the families of their purchasers. Among the hostages brought to Rome, was Polybius the historian, who got so good a living by giving lessons, that though he had been brought to Rome against his will, he solicited the privilege of remaining there. His "Universal History," in forty books, was a work that ought to be, and would have been, in every gentleman's library, but for the unfortunate fact of its having been nearly all lost: and we may judge of the excellence of the whole, from the knowledge that though what remains of the work is very good, by far the best part of it is missing.

FOOTNOTES:

[56] P. Cornelius Scipio gave no better answer than this to a charge of having embezzled a sum amounting to 36,000l. sterling.

[57] Vide "The Cities and Cemeteries of Etruria," by Dennis.

[58] De Re rustica.

[59] Brut., c. 18

[60] Chapter xix., p. 202.

[61] Diomedes, iii., p. 486, ed. Putsch.