Roman Games Part Two

As mentioned at the beginning of this article (see Part One), the Roman Games were divided into publicly-organized festivals known as the ludi, which featured spectacles of various types; and privately-sponsored games, often presented in honor of the recently deceased, which were known as munera. It was in the munera that gladiatorial combats were first introduced, only later working their way into some of the ludi, as well.

The principal forms of entertainment offered at the festivals and games were chariot races; theatrical productions (including plays, mime, pantomime, and displays of oratory, singing, dancing and music); venationes (animal hunts), protagonized by specially-trained hunters and fighters known as bestiarii [105]; gladiatorial combats, featuring various classes of warriors, scales of production, and settings; and later, spectacular naval engagements known as naumachiae, which pitted "fleets" of opposing ships against one another. [106] Public, and often imaginatively conducted executions, were also a prominent feature of the games. [107]

Venues of the Games

When one thinks of the Roman Games, one’s imagination usually leaps to the world-famous Colosseum as the setting in which to envision the spectacle. However, the Colosseum was not actually completed and opened for business until 80 AD, during the reign of Titus. [108] Where, until then, did the Games take place?

Far and away, the most important site for presenting games was the Circus Maximus, a huge stadium built around 530 BC, which was, most notably, the domain of the frenetically popular chariot races. The stadium, which could accommodate 150,000 spectators, was 680 yards long and 150 yards wide; it enclosed a giant racetrack, which circled an elevated central island, or "spine", 1,000 feet in length, which was graced by statues, columns, fountains, and altars. [109] In pre-Roman days, the site appears to have been sacred to the sun and moon. [110] The track, itself, was elliptical in shape and one circuit was equal to about .7 miles in length, which is somewhat less than the track at Churchill Downs, where the 1 ¼ mile Kentucky Derby is run. [111] (However, the usual distance of the chariot race was seven laps, not just one.) In addition to chariot races, the Circus was frequently used to host footraces, boxing and wrestling matches, and animal hunts. It was, much less frequently, used to stage gladiatorial contests, or theatrical events, which would tend to be diminished by such a massive venue. [112] The Circus structure, which was originally built of wood, suffered numerous catastrophes throughout its history - collapses induced by the weight of boisterous crowds, and fires which burned it to the ground, at least one of these set by angry fans who rioted after their favorite charioteer lost. [113] On account of this, the Circus was finally rebuilt in stone, and decorated with marble. [114] Spectators sat in seats positioned along the two lengths and one end of the Circus (the other end was where the horses and chariots made their entrance, and where the starting gates were located). [115] Originally, all of the seats were made of wood, but the Emperor Trajan (98 - 117 AD) eventually replaced them with seats of marble. [116] Although there was individual seating, the spectators were most often crowded together in narrow rows of hard seats which, during a long day at the races, could come to be quite uncomfortable. Many racing fans, to try to improve their experience, therefore bought cushions from vendors on the way to the races, or else brought their own cushions with them. [117] In the Circus, men and women were allowed to sit together, and social classes were permitted to mix. This led to a more exciting and emotional atmosphere. Special seating, closer to the track, was reserved for Senators and nobles, although these figures were allowed to mingle with the other fans, if they preferred. [118] Like the city, itself, the Circus Maximus underwent a long history of growth and change. Julius Caesar made a special effort to protect spectators from the effects of the sun by utilizing huge awnings (vela) to provide shade, and he also dug a canal, ten feet in width, in front of the lower seats to neutralize the danger of wild beasts leaping into the crowd during the venationes. [119] Later, during the conflict between Octavian and Mark Antony, Octavian’s friend and favored military commander, Marcus Agrippa, helped to court the favor of the masses by embellishing the Circus Maximus with seven large silver dolphins, prominently displayed atop the spine, one of which was removed upon the completion of each lap. [120] This simple yet attractive feature was especially popular with spectators.

While chariot racing and animal fights were almost exclusively staged in the Circus Maximus during the days of the Roman Republic, other forms of entertainment took place in settings that were far less impressive. Although amphitheaters similar to those of ancient Greece existed, from early days, in the more heavily Greek-influenced south of Italy, and in Sicily, Rome, itself, for many years lacked a permanent theater for the presentation of plays, exhibitions of music and dance, acrobatics, and mime. [121] It seems that there was some resentment of Greek influence, which might dilute Rome’s deliberate cultivation of a simpler and harsher culture, as well as some fear regarding the social dangers of creating a permanent space where large crowds of people might gather together, masking revolutionary motives, or else becoming susceptible to political agitation. [122] For these and other reasons, theater presentations and related forms of entertainment were generally performed on temporary stages, which were assembled for the ludi and afterwards dismantled. [123] Large-scale gathering places were materialized for their intended purpose, then taken away before they could acquire any other. Although stages were occasionally erected in the Circus for the performance of theater events, the venue was too large and debilitating: it would tend to swallow up and defuse the impact of all but the grandest spectacles. A much more common setting for the construction of these temporary stages was in the Roman Forum, a large open space surrounded by hills, temples, and other edifices, where the Roman assemblies were accustomed to meeting. [124] The rostra, or platform which speakers used to address the people when an assembly was convened, was one excellent location for the staging of theatrical events. Spectators would utilize the naturally conducive topography of the Forum to find a place to watch; later, numerous porticoes and balconies attached to the surrounding buildings were made available for spectators, and temporary stands were also erected. These special viewing posts seem to have required tickets that must be paid for, and led to turmoil in 122 BC, when Gaius Gracchus and his followers forcibly removed stands that had been erected in the Forum, in an effort to democratize the spectacles which were becoming increasingly taken over by the elites. [125] Accessibility to entertainment was a major political issue in Roman times. Admission to the major festivals was expected to be free, and most forms of popular entertainment, including the chariot races, gladiatorial games, animal hunts, and theater events were generally accessible to the public, free of charge, although certain choice seats were sometimes paid for by those who could afford them. [126] Entertainment was considered to be the inalienable right of the Roman citizen, and whenever anyone tampered with, or degraded, that right, trouble was bound to occur. Later, the Forum’s capacity to serve as a center of entertainment was enhanced by the provision of awnings to shelter spectators during performances, and by the construction of various underground galleries and shafts which enabled theatrical entrances and exits to be better managed. [127]

Sooner or later, it seems inevitable that, in spite of patrician prejudices, the force of the people’s need for entertainment would overpower pride and fear, and lead to the construction of permanent theaters. In 154 BC, Rome came close: a large theater was begun and possibly near completion, when the political winds suddenly shifted, and the theater was ordered torn down before it was ever used. Attempts were made to recoup financially from this debacle by auctioning off the stone, and other materials that had been poured into the ill-fated project. [128] Still, the losses must have been severe, and the fact that they were accepted could only be an indication of the ferocity of resistance to the idea that still existed in influential quarters. It was up to Pompey, in 55 BC, to finally drag the concept of a permanent theater past its detractors and enemies into the heart of Roman life. As a powerful general, a Triumvir, and man of tremendous wealth accrued from the spoils of war, Pompey was in a strong position to finally materialize what had long been envisioned by the open-minded, and desired by the masses. He seemed motivated by the hope of better connecting himself to the people by means of providing a gigantic gift to their pleasure, at the same time that he hoped to permanently glorify himself, and to diminish the impact of the generosity of others, by enclosing the spectacles which they brought to the people within an enduring reminder of himself. [129] In both aims, Pompey most likely fell short, for although the masses fell in love with the edifice which he constructed, his aloofness and lack of rapport with the plebeians limited the political gain he was able to secure from it. As Beacham writes, quoting Yavetz’s contrast of Caesar and Pompey, who were both vying for the adoration of the masses in those days: "It is apparent that concern for the physical well-being of the masses was only one factor. All Roman rulers bribed the people with bread and circuses, and yet the one [Caesar] was popular and the other [Pompey] hated. Seneca provided the answer: the giving is not the decisive factor but the manner of its giving. The people were more easily swayed by how a ruler did than by what he did, and respected the one who at least took the trouble to appear popular." [130] Nonetheless, Pompey’s achievement, whatever its political shortcomings, was substantial as both an architectural achievement and cultural breakthrough. The principal auditorium (cavea) of his new theater had a diameter of 500 feet, and a stage that was the length of a football field (100 yards). Seats rising to a height of three stories sloped upwards from the "orchestra pit" and stage, and could accommodate up to 40,000 spectators. The stage, which was roofed, was backed by a huge scaenae frons, a painted and decorated facade also three stories in height, which contained three doors through which the actors and performers could enter. An awning, or vela, covered the seats in the cavea to protect the spectators from the elements, and during the summer time, Pompey arranged for streams of cool water to be sent flowing through channels running down the aisles, as a kind of primitive air-conditioning system. Well-planned stairways and corridors conducted spectators to their seats with a minimum of confusion and delay. Behind the seated spectators, but still within the limits of the vast theater structure, was a temple dedicated to Venus Victrix, Pompey’s favored goddess; while outside of the theater lay a gigantic park, the Porticus Pompeii, filled with trees, gardens, walkways, fountains, colonnades, and impressive displays of art. It rapidly became a favorite hangout for Romans, and gained a special and cherished reputation as the place where one went to smooch with one’s sweetheart. [131] With the success of Pompey’s theater, the construction of other permanent theaters was assured.

As theatrical events in ancient Rome were initially bereft of a stable home, so gladiatorial contests presented at munera originally lacked permanent sites and structures to showcase them. Some early combats may have been staged near the Circus Maximus at the Forum Boarium in a large open square, site of Rome’s cattle market. As Beacham writes: "… it is likely that the immediate occasion of the gladiatorial display transformed urban space from its normal function and associations into something extraordinary - just as an act of street theater or other out-of-the-ordinary events can temporarily ‘theatricalize’ a public space today." [132] More frequently, the central Forum was utilized to present these fights. In the beginning, spectators would merely assemble and seek out the spots which presented the best vantage points for viewing the violence. As one analyst has stated: "The lack of distance [between spectator and participant] conferred a violent and strongly emotional character on the bloodshed." [133] Later, as previously mentioned, the Forum’s ability to handle shows of this type was expanded by the introduction of viewing balconies on adjacent buildings, the construction of temporary stands, and the creation of underground passageways to facilitate the introduction (and removal) of participants. In any case, the audience was perhaps too exposed to the spectacle in this venue compared to the stadiums used in later days, which better protected the audience from the potential wrath and rebellion of the warriors they had assigned to kill each other. There must have been a sense of danger, at times, with these desperate armed men so closely linked to them in space. Although the hope of being spared, as the victor, may have acted as a kind of psychological wall preventing the gladiator from turning on those who had come to watch him die, it was a wall that must have been, in many ways, frighteningly intangible - a wall of faith, surely less calming to the senses of the viewer than a wall of stone. In these days, the number of fighters permitted to engage in gladiatorial combats at any one time was limited, for obvious security reasons. A large armed band of slaves and war captives assembled in the heart of the city was hardly a good idea, even if guards or soldiers were available to try to contain the spectacle. It was a logical development, then, that, as the desire to compete for the favor of the masses by presenting bigger and more exciting spectacles impelled Roman politicians, ways would be found to safely stage grander gladiatorial events - events which would require larger, more secure venues, as well as more space to accommodate the rising enthusiasm of the populace.

One step in this direction was achieved by C. Scribonius Curio, who between 53 and 52 BC built two large "revolving" wooden theaters, back to back. When facing away from each other, they were used to present plays (two shows could go on at once). However, when desired, they could be pivoted around to face each other (fit together), creating a single, large amphitheater suitable for the presentation of gladiatorial combats. In addition to the thrill of the shows, themselves, it seems that many Romans derived pleasure from remaining in their seats as the theaters, used to present plays in the morning, were slowly revolved around to face each other for gladiatorial displays in the afternoon. [134] Later, in 29 BC, Statilius Taurus completed another permanent amphitheater in Rome, which was especially geared towards the presentation of gladiatorial fights and animal hunts. [135] Then, in 11 BC, Augustus opened up a theater begun much earlier (and left unfinished) by Julius Caesar, which the Emperor named after his own deceased nephew, Marcus Claudius Marcellus. This so-called "Theater of Marcellus" doubled as a venue for theatrical performances, and - after its removable scaenae frons was taken down and its spatial contours changed - a center for gladiatorial contests and animal hunts. Its seating capacity was around 13,000. [136] The theater incorporated some of the most highly functional features of Pompey’s theater (well-designed stairs and corridors to manage the flow of spectators in and out of their seats) [137], and also set into place a very defined code of seating based upon class and sex, which in some ways symbolized the entire social agenda of Augustus. As a provider of entertainment, he was committed to ameliorating the pain of the poor, but without upsetting the class structure or disparities of wealth which were at the root of their poverty. The segregation of the classes, each confined to its own section of the theater, each standing out for the different coloring of the togas which they permitted to wear, was a powerful visual reminder of the social order, and implicitly, of the Emperor’s defense of the social order. [138] As the people enjoyed the games which the Emperor provided, the limits to his generosity and the system’s ability to change were, simultaneously, subliminally reinforced in their minds. The subtext of distraction was submission to authority, power, and money: old dynamics, unchanged by "revolution."

Finally, in 80 AD, twelve years after the death of Nero, the Colosseum was finally completed and ready to open its doors to a new generation of spectacle-loving Romans. What the Circus Maximus was, and would remain, to chariot-racing, the Colosseum would now become to gladiatorial combats and animal hunts: a powerful and enduring symbol, still standing, half-broken, in the streets of modern Rome, of a civilization’s addiction to entertainment, and indifference to the price of its pleasure.

With a capacity of about 50,000 spectators (some estimates place it as high as 100,000), the Colosseum, once again, integrated many of the successful features of previous theaters into its architecture. [139] Stairways and corridors, as well as seating plans posted in strategic areas, guided spectators efficiently to their seats. (Ivory tickets with seating designations were given to viewers either before or as they entered the stadium.) The seats were actually bits of space marked off on long marble benches. Giant awnings were provided to shelter spectators from the heat of the sun, and the interruption of rainstorms. Between the sand of the arena, where the bloodshed occurred, and the seats of the populace, were an inner barrier of wood, a moat, and finally, a fifteen-foot-high wall of marble topped with elephant tusks from which a system of nets was suspended, in order to turn back animals who might otherwise threaten the crowd, including elephants who were known to smash their way through all but the most formidable of barriers, and big cats, such as lions, leopards, and panthers, whose jumping abilities were not to be taken lightly. Two main doors led into the arena, itself: the Door of Life, through which the combatants frequently entered, and the Door of Death, through which the fallen fighters and the dead animals were removed. A system of special drains and sewers was constructed to carry off the blood from the carnage, but, additionally, a huge crew of slaves must have been employed to help "clean up" in the aftermath of the various battles, hunts, and executions, and to "prepare the stage" for subsequent events. Underneath the arena lay a complex system of passageways, rooms, cages, and cells, used to hold the combatants, prisoners, and animals until they were needed. In the case of the animals, they were sometimes lifted by elevators, which were operated by pulleys, up to arena level, and then released through trap doors into the arena itself; or, on the other hand, they might be pushed up ramps by movable wooden barriers into cages located in the arena wall, which were then mechanically opened. [140] Sometimes, slaves used flaming straw to drive the often intimidated animals out into the midst of the spectacle.

Although temporary stages and venues continued to exist, and to complement the new slew of permanent sites which was proliferating in Rome, more and more these splendid new buildings came to be the focus of the Roman Games. Not only did they provide vastly improved settings for the enjoyment of the spectacles, but their magnificence provided an illusion of opulence, a kind of part-time wealth, for the poor, the out-of-work, the compressed, the overcrowded, the miserable and the powerless. This was particularly important, because while Romans of wealth lived in spectacular homes with courtyards, gardens and fountains, staffed by slaves, and often had villas in the countryside to complement their city homes, the poor urban Roman lived in the midst of dehumanizing slums, in miserable apartment buildings known as insulae ("islands"). These insulae commonly took up an entire city block, and consisted of numerous private apartments, piled four to six stories high. They were very often flimsily constructed, and frequently collapsed due to structural defects, crushing the occupants within and burying passers-by in the street; they were also frequently ravaged by fire. In such cases, they were little more than death-traps. Upper-story apartments were reached by climbing rickety flights of stairs or even by ascending ladders. There was no heating, except for charcoal braziers, and no plumbing, either. Residents used public latrines which served the neighborhood, or else chamber pots, which were supposed to be emptied in special receptacles provided in each building, or in nearby garbage dumps, located outside. However, tenants often flung the contents directly out of their windows, into the street below: a frequent cause of violent quarrels and legal prosecution. Water for drinking and other household needs was gathered from neighborhood fountains, and brought home in jugs, to be dispensed as needed. These inhospitable apartments did boast windows, but rarely were they fitted with glass panes; they were mostly covered by curtains or by wooden shutters which could be opened and closed as desired. In the summertime, the heat was nearly unbearable, while in the wintertime, the insulae were often inhumanly cold. Rodent infestation, as might be expected under such circumstances, was rampant. In spite of the frequently wretched living conditions, tenants had to pay rent in order to dwell in the insulae, though it seems likely that in many cases, apartments must have been available for next to nothing, or else provided by charity or the State, since many Romans did not have the means to support themselves otherwise; nonetheless, evictions seem to have been common, and whole families were often thrown out into the street, and driven into desperate lives of homelessness. [141]

Given these circumstances, access to glorious public venues such as the theaters, the Circus Maximus, the Colosseum, the Porticus Pompeii, and the public baths [142] was indispensable to pacifying the poor. In some ways, it could be said that these sites "souped up" their pitiful living conditions, and that the public glory of Rome was grafted onto their poverty and powerlessness to create a strange, hybrid environment in which they might live below the threshold of open revolt: a fusion of public and personal space, of magnificence and squalor, which diluted the insult of the insulae with the intoxicating allure of spectacular edifices and parks that, wisely, did not deny them. Depressed and discarded at night, the poor were reborn each day, saved by their right to wander through what they did not own. Piri Thomas, the renowned Puerto Rican writer who began his life in the poverty of one of New York City’s toughest slums, once wrote of the city, as he surveyed it from a rooftop: "…when I look down at the streets below, I can’t help thinking it’s like a great big dirty Christmas tree with lights but no xxxxxxx presents." [143]. This feeling of alienation - of living amidst, and being tormented by, untouchable wealth, and possibilities of another kind of life which one cannot reach - is common in our big cities today. In ancient Rome, the poor also lived on the outside, but it is probable that they felt less like outsiders than the poor do nowadays, for their exclusion was disarmed by impressive pockets of inclusion: by extravagant monuments, theaters, and arenas that they were free to enter, and to wear like borrowed clothes; and by the great, if terrible, spectacles that took place within: the most amazing shows that ancient technology and the human imagination could materialize from the pillaged wealth of the world. Did the poor Roman, in some ways, possess all of this, as a man may be said to possess a flower that he admires growing in a neighbor’s garden? Or was he only mesmerized and deluded, paralyzed from action by his ability to temporarily inhabit a deceptive architecture of empowerment, created for the specific purpose of defusing the anger he should have felt for being a victim of social injustice- for being landless, jobless, and despised beneath the veneer of charity? What was reality? What was illusion? What was his life? What was only an emasculating masquerade? What was his city, and what was only a disguise for his de facto homelessness? What was his ruler’s generosity, and what was his ruler’s shield? Whatever the true significance of the theater-studded, arena-studded city in which he lived, it is now a city of ruins, crumbling between the flow of life after death, rivers of the modern world washing away its answers, leaving behind its questions…

And now, at last, it is finally time to delve deeper into the actual substance of the spectacular entertainments which both pacified and destroyed Rome. It is time to go from the house, to the life inside the house. And where better to begin than with the turbulent chariot races, the passion of Rome’s rich and poor?

Chariot Races

Just how much the chariot races of the Circus Maximus were loved leaps through time at one from a thousand different sources: the words of ancient scholars, letters exchanged between friends, graffiti left behind on walls, inscriptions on tombstones. The races were a national passion not exclusively linked to any class or gender.

The ludi (public games) in which the chariot races were featured were customarily introduced with tremendous pomp and ceremony, in much the manner of the Olympic Games, or, as some scholars have noted, of a military triumph. A huge procession through the streets of Rome (pompa circensis) would precede the opening of the games, led by the presiding official riding in a chariot. Following were youths of the Roman nobility, riding on horseback, and then, on foot, youths slated to join the infantry, both lending prestige and a sense of Roman military power to the games. Next came the contestants themselves, charioteers riding in two-horse or four-horse chariots, followed by other athletes who were scheduled to compete in complementary exhibitions - boxers, wrestlers, and runners who all marched on foot, and were simply garbed in loincloths. Dancers in helmets, armed with spears and swords, followed these, moving rhythmically to the sound of flutes and lyres. Behind these came bands of men dressed as satyrs, the half-man, half-goat creatures of ancient legend, renowned for their love of wine, their sexual excesses, and their fealty to Bacchus, the God of Mysteries and the Vine. Their lewd dances both mirrored and mocked the martial movements of the warrior-dancers who preceded them. After the "satyrs" came more musicians, then bearers of incense and treasures of gold and silver to impress onlookers with the wealth of the State. Finally, most importantly of all, came the images of the Gods, transported in chariots or else carried on platforms borne upon the shoulders of devoted attendants. This whole procession would march through the streets of Rome until it reached the Circus, whereupon it would enter the stadium and do one lap around the track as spectators cheered and waved handkerchiefs, or held up signs praising the public official who was in charge of putting on the games. The images of the Gods were then placed in a special viewing area reserved for them, the pulvinar, as though they, themselves, were guests of honor at the games, and given the best seats in the house. [144]

To be assured of getting a good seat, or a seat at all, large crowds of people often gathered outside of the Circus the night before the games. This custom was clearly very much imbedded into Roman culture by the time of Caligula, for he was so disturbed by the noise of one late-night pre-games gathering that he sent a group of guards armed with cudgels to disperse the mob, wounding and killing many. This fierce overreaction to the expected behavior of racing fans was, in fact, the beginning of Caligula’s loss of popular support. For his intolerance towards the apolitical passion of the poor momentarily politicized it, removing the obstacle of the masses from the plans of the wealthy, who sought to destroy Caligula and no longer needed to fear opposition by the plebeians. [145]

As the crowds outside of the Circus swelled to massive dimensions on the day of the races, nearby shops and brothels, some situated in the outer walls of the stadium, did a thriving business. [145] Meanwhile, beyond the area of the Circus itself, much of the city remained deserted. It was a field day for burglars and thieves. [146] So much of Rome attended the games, and was vocal and passionate about the games, that many travelers swore they could hear the din of the crowds cheering at the chariot races before they could even see the city. [147]

In early days, Roman racing fans might expect to see only one chariot race per day, while the games were on. But by the time of Augustus, the average number of races held on any given day during the ludi was up to twelve; Caligula increased the number of races to twenty-four. [148] And as the number of festival days and public games increased, in general, Rome’s obsession with the races grew proportionately, until a famous Roman philosopher was finally prompted to exclaim: "The art of conversation is dead. Can no one talk of anything except the skill of various charioteers and the quality of their teams?" [149]

The classic chariot race which mesmerized Roman sports fans for many centuries was a contest featuring four chariots (sometimes more), each one drawn by a team of four horses. These chariots, known as quadrigae [150], were light and fast, mainly constructed of wood with some bronze parts. They ran closer to the ground than the common chariot, and also had wider wheels. The central two horses, one positioned on either side of the protruding chariot shaft, were yoked together, while the two outside horses were generally attached to the chariot only by traces, allowing them greater maneuverability. While the central horses were hooked up to the chariot mainly for pulling power, the two outer horses had specialized roles: the left-hand horse, who was closest to the inside of the track, was pivotal in taking the turns, providing the speed, balance, and sense of timing needed to guide the team around the dangerous curves of the Spine into the following straight-aways; while the right-hand horse needed strength and stamina, and a great sense of what was going on with the whole team, in order to work the chariot entirely around as the left-hand horse set up the turn. Needless to say, these horses were specially bred and trained; the best of them were revered by fans, just as great racehorses like Man o’War, Seabiscuit, and Secretariat have been widely loved in our own times. [151] Although the skill of the charioteer was instrumental in bringing about victory, the raw talent, racing experience and intelligence of the horses they directed was also a critical factor. Indeed, there is one recorded instance of a driver falling out of his chariot at the very beginning of a race, and his team going on to win the very complicated seven-lap contest on its own, dragging his empty chariot across the finish line in first place. The officials and spectators were so impressed with this performance that the team of horses was awarded the victory. [152]

The charioteers, who were mainly slaves, guided their teams, to some extent, with the reins (as one would expect), which they tied about their waists in order not to risk losing control during the confusion of the contest, and the struggle to keep four powerful horses working together. However, they also guided their horses with the whip, which was not merely used to goad on the team, but also, more subtly and more importantly, to signal the horses (by means of touching or tapping), when to begin the turns or to execute particular racing maneuvers. [153] These charioteers were equipped with leather crash helmets and armed with knives. In the event that their chariot broke apart, or they somehow fell out of their vehicle, they were likely to be dragged behind their horses to their death, unless they could manage to cut themselves free of the reins which they had tied about themselves. [154] In fact, chariot crashes were a common, and for many spectators, exciting part of the games. Then, as now, capturing the inside position on the track was highly desirable, as it cut down the overall distance one had to cover in the race, and conserved the strength of one’s horses for the final sprint. In the initial dash out of the starting gates to try to reach the rail and capture this coveted position, many wrecks occurred: so many, in fact, that a special gate had to be constructed near the starting line so that slaves could rush out to drag away the wreckage and the wounded men and horses before the chariots that were still running had had time to come around for a second lap. [155] Sometimes, also, chariots spilled when the clean-start rope that barred their path, not far from the starting line, was not dropped in time. This rope, known as the Alba Linea, was used by officials to stop races whose beginning was marred by fouls, such as excessive bumping among the horses, or the premature start of some chariots. If the official detected a foul and wanted to call the racers back, the rope, which came up a little above the ankles of the horses, was left up, so that the teams could not pass over it. If the start was clean, on the other hand, the rope was dropped, freeing the race to continue. The trouble was, in the wild rush to get to the inside first, the charioteers would often not slow down as they approached the Alba Linea. This is because, many times, the rope was only dropped at the last possible moment, as the official struggled to decide whether a violation was significant enough to start the whole race over for. The driver who slowed down prematurely, because the rope had not yet fallen, would lose the rush to the inside lane; so the bolder charioteer would often "go for it", gambling that the start was clean enough for the race to continue, and pushing his horses forwards at full speed towards the rope. Whenever the charioteer miscalculated, and the rope stayed up, it would, of course, lead to a deadly disaster, tripping up his galloping horses and sending both man and animals crashing head-over-heels across the track. There are cases when entire races were wiped out at the very beginning. [156] After the perilous start, spills were most common on the turns, as charioteers sometimes misplayed the curves, turning too sharply, and losing control of their vehicles, which might overturn, collide with other chariots, or break apart under the strain of the physical forces at work. Wrecks also occurred as the results of collisions produced by aggressive driving, as chariots in the lead swerved wide or cut in to try to block rivals from passing, or as chariots behind tried to muscle their way through spaces that could not accommodate them; or made rash, even suicidal, moves that failed to intimidate their opponents into letting them by. Some drivers even mastered the art of tangling one of their wheels up with an opposing driver’s, then pulling away in such a manner that their own wheel stayed on, while their opponent’s came off, naturally trashing their rival’s chariot and hurling their opponent onto the track The maneuver does not seem to have been treated as a foul. Whether it was actually approved of (as a kind of gladiatorial embellishment of racing), or simply difficult to detect or prove in the chaos of close-quarters charioteering, is hard to say. [157] In all events, the life of the charioteer was exceedingly dangerous, and many of the crowd’s favorite racers died young. In one famous instance, a charioteer was so badly bruised and crushed by the fall from his chariot and by the trampling hooves of the horses that came up from behind him, that it was said his best friend could not have identified him. [158] Besides the knives that they carried to cut themselves loose from the reins in the case of a spill, many drivers also smeared themselves with boar dung before the race. The smell was said to have an instinctual effect upon horses, who would always try to avoid this dangerous and aggressive creature in the wild. Therefore, it was believed that they would swerve away from the fallen charioteer who had thought to protect himself in this way, rather than disregarding him in their thunderous advance and trampling him underfoot. [159] Probably, the boar dung was more of a psychological boon to the charioteer than an actual defense, as many spills happened so quickly that there was little time for the other chariots and horses to react.

While the life of the charioteer was dangerous, and often short, it was also glorious and frequently extremely lucrative. Originally horses and stables of horse were operated by private breeders. Later on, they were run by major racing corporations. In imperial days, these were known as the Whites, Reds, Greens, and Blues. [160] Charioteers wore tunics which were the color of the company they raced for, and fans of certain companies (which were something like the teams modern sports fans root for) also identified themselves by means of the color of the scarves, ribbons, or other items of clothing that they wore. The slave-charioteers who were their heroes - and men of the nobility frequently lamented this "unjust bestowal of prestige upon the unworthy" - were usually given half of the winnings that came from their races. [161] Over time, they were able to accumulate enough money to buy their freedom, whereupon they might retire from the races, or else continue competing in the races as freedmen: the adulation and fortune attainable through victory in the Circus Maximus were temptations not easy to overcome. Of all the ancient charioteers, a Spaniard by the name of Diocles was probably the most famous. During his long and illustrious career, he won over one thousand races, many in dramatic come-from-behind victories which were a magnificent blend of patience and daring. Between the age of eighteen, when he began his career as an unknown slave, and forty-two, when he ended it as a fabulously wealthy and famous freedman, he earned 36,000,000 sesterces in prize money - an average take of 1.5 million sesterces per year. Considering that the average yearly income of the Roman legionnaire of his times - the soldier who was the bulwark of the Roman Empire - was 1,200 sesterces, this was a phenomenal sum, indeed. [162] Not only was Diocles revered, in Rome, as a nearly superhuman embodiment of skill and confidence, so, too, were his horses, especially the Centenarius (hundred-race winner) Passerinus, who was his left-hand horse and leader on the turns. [163] Statues of famous charioteers were built and erected throughout the city [164]; while fans bonded in passionate and sometimes incredible ways with their racing heroes and their favorite teams. It was not infrequent for Romans to refer to their favorite team on their tombstones, in inscriptions such as: "Here lies XXXXX, who was a good man, devoted husband and staunch supporter of the Reds." [165] In one instance, a fan is reported to have jumped onto the funeral pyre of his favorite charioteer, convinced that life was not worth living without him. [166] Perhaps the ultimate proof of the allure of the races, however, was an incident which occurred not in Rome itself, but in another city fallen prey to the same obsession. In this case, the city was attacked in the midst of the chariot races. Not surprisingly, the distraction proved fatal: too many spectators and not enough defenders led to the capture and destruction of the sports-loving metropolis. [167] Could this, in some ways, be considered a metaphor for the fall of Rome itself?

While the excitement on the track, alight with skill, drama, and danger - with the brilliance of daring drivers and the calculated avalanche of powerful, beautiful horses - was clearly mesmerizing to the masses, some observers reported that, "The great spectacle at the circus is not the games but the spectators." [168] Certainly, the games were filled with life: intense, passion-filled, characterized by survivable levels of anarchy that provided a collective ritual of stress reduction which depoliticized the energy of the masses, and drew their minds to chariots and horses, and away from failed social policies and the harsh realities of power. Life not able to be lived outside the Circus could be lived inside of it. Emotions no longer possible to feel for governments and bureaucracies could be given to horses and men made simple by a track: creatures of pure struggle, unblemished by stolen histories, bearers of hope not thwarted by reality. At the races, men and women, and classes interacted in sometimes barely restrained ways, and at the very least were on display for each other’s curiosity or disdain. The poor could envy or admire the rich, as the rich could feel benevolent towards, or contemptuous of, the poor. At times, the games were capable of promoting a feeling of false solidarity, creating the illusion that Rome really was a shared experience. The growth of the four great racing teams - the Whites, the Reds, the Blues, and the Greens - although it sometimes led to bloodshed and even full-scale riots between fans [169] - contributed to this sense of union between the classes, for team loyalty had nothing to do with class. On racing day, a Green patrician might feel closer to a Green plebeian than to a Blue patrician - though without horses running in front of their eyes, the bond was sure to disappear. At other times, however, discord broke out and hints of class conflict appeared, as when patricians who had traditionally gone home for lunch or eaten food brought for them by slaves, began to intercept food packages given away to the poor. [170] These packages, which also sometimes contained tickets redeemable for expensive gifts (much as raffles do today), were known as sportulae - the customary name for presents given to clients by a patron. (From these packages, offered to spectators at major sporting events, comes our modern-day word of "sports.") [171] At the games, it was the State, embodied by the Emperor, which was the patron, and the common people who were the rightful recipients of its generosity. The interference of the wealthy, when it took place, was a bitter reminder of the greed that had ruined Rome, of the land and rights that had been robbed by law and by force of arms. When charity was mocked, old wounds bled again. Tension escalated, but usually did not explode without the excuse of a chariot, horse, or team; and was never socially useful when it did.

Men and women, and women and men was another great attraction of the chariot races. The excitement of the contests made spectators’ blood hot, their hearts pounded, their passions soared, people screamed, cried, embraced each other, broke through normal social barriers and inhibitions. A carnival-like atmosphere may have come and gone at some moments. Certainly, horrified Romans of the old school noted the unguarded responses of some women fans to the ups and downs of the races: the signs of emotional distress, joy, and despair which made them seem especially beautiful and vulnerable to some men, who had come with the hope of picking them up. [172] These men ranged from ostensibly well-intentioned comforters and instant confidantes, seeking to latch onto the excitement created by horses to further their own libidinous ambitions, to outright gropers and molesters. The presence of these pseudo-rapists, in turn, provided yet another chance for flirtation and dating, as protective companions or concerned bystanders, by assuming the role of defenders and warding off the unwanted advances of other men, could then capitalize on the trust and gratitude of the women they had just "saved" to make more subtle advances of their own. Sometimes, in fact, this phenomenon of defending the honor of woman fans may have gone too far, as perfectly innocent touching and jostling produced by the cramped conditions of the seating may have been conveniently interpreted as "improper conduct" by males eager to generate conflict for the purpose of impressing, and then seducing, the women they appeared to champion. [173]

While all of this interclass and man-woman/woman-man excitement was going on, the stands were also the scene of a huge economic melodrama being played out: a melodrama involving many thousands of lives, dreams, hopes, and futures. Then, as now, the races were a fierce, euphoric and desperate venue of gambling. The rich wanted more, or perhaps only relief from the boredom of being invulnerable. The poor sought to escape from their debts, from the heat and misery and cage-like feel of the insulae, the inhospitable tenements where they lived and died like rats; they wanted the "good things" in life, to be something more than what they were, something which they thought money could buy. And so, betting was rampant. Spectators studied and learned the strengths and weaknesses of the different horses and charioteers, but the races remained unpredictable, especially for those who bet with their heart, as so many gamblers do today. Besides the difficulty of picking a winner, unless an absolutely stellar driver (such as Diocles) and super team of horses were involved, rumors of fixed races and foul play abounded. On some occasions, concerned fans forced their way to the stables of the horses demanding to see the dung of the major protagonists, just in case any of them had been doped, or showed signs of sickness or improper feeding. [174] To add to their chances of success, many bettors and fans resorted to witchcraft and magic. One ancient curse tablet that has been found reads: "I conjure you up, holy beings and holy names: join in aiding this spell, and bind, enchant, thwart, strike, overturn, conspire against, destroy, kill, break Eucherius, the charioteer, and all his horses tomorrow in the circus at Rome." [175] For those less magically inclined, other forms of intervention prevailed. Malevolent fans would sometimes hurl wine jugs onto the track, hoping to trip up or startle the horses of rival chariots, and it is reported that some mothers would even send their children running in front of the chariots of other teams, hoping to disrupt them and force them to lose valuable time swerving to avoid an accident. It is said that if their children were run over by any of these chariots, the women would then file a lawsuit against the offending stable. [176] While some fans surely bet within their limits, and won money at the races, or at least did not lose more than the pleasure of gambling was worth, others seem to have bet themselves into ruin, as still happens today. There are even reports of some men, having nothing left to back up their bets, borrowing one last sum of money from a slave dealer, and wagering their freedom on a horse race. [177]

Part madness, part escape, part substitute for life, the chariot races of ancient Rome were, for many, the true hearth of the city, the center of public life, if not the center of life itself. But for many, the races, audacious and dramatic though they were, were not enough - not enough to compensate for the lack of a real life - not enough to carry away the anger, or to reflect the true dynamics of life and death, conquest and subjugation, which trapped them beneath a horizon of hopelessness which they did not dare risk changing. For these, who dull red could no longer revive, there was the bright red of the gladiatorial games…

Gladiatorial Games (and the Naumachia)

The word "gladiator" is derived from the name of the classic Roman short sword, the gladius, which was the basic weapon of the Roman legionnaire who conquered the world. "Gladiator", literally, meant "swordsman." [178] As previously stated, gladiatorial contests were originally associated not with the ludi (or public games), but with munera (or privately-sponsored games), put on to honor the deceased relatives of prominent men. In time, their popularity insured them a place in the public games, as well, as politicians struggling to win the favor of the masses injected them into the ludi.

Typically drawn from the ranks of slaves, war captives, and criminals, gladiators underwent a rigorous program of training in one of several specialized schools to help facilitate quality performances. [179] If there was anything the Roman spectator hated, it was an unskilled fight, or one in which cowardly or reluctant fighters had to be prodded into action by trainers armed with hot irons or whips. [180] Besides this, the private owners, promoters, and suppliers of gladiators to the games earned money for contracting their fighters out to the spectacles, and it was in their economic interest to have winners who could continue performing and making money for them. This was another reason for the intense training. [181]

As the gladiatorial fights originated from ancient funerary customs of non-Roman Italians, most likely as a form of human sacrifice accompanying the burial of an important man [182], the death of losing contestants was an expected result. However, training and maintaining gladiators also represented a significant investment on the part of owners, and they were not eager to lose their money by unnecessarily suffering the demise of their precious fighters. It seems, for this reason, that many gladiatorial combats were semi-staged, or "fixed", with warriors putting on an exciting show for the crowd, and even feigning injury or death, without actually maiming or killing each other. [183] At the end of the fight, the "defeated" warrior would hopefully be supported by the spectators, who could demand that he be spared if he had fought well and displayed courage, by signaling "thumbs down" to the presiding officials and the triumphant gladiator. (Contrary to the conventional interpretation of these hand signals, "thumbs up", representing the exposed blade of a drawn sword, seems to have meant "finish him off", while "thumbs down", representing a sheathed sword, seems to have meant "put your weapon away, and let him live.") [184] [184 TXT] Even if the crowd signaled for the death of the fallen gladiator, his opponent might well choose to spare him, only pretending to kill him. The charade would be kept up as the "corpse" would then be hauled away by a hook. Afterwards, the saved gladiator would be sent "out of town" to continue fighting, under another identity, in some distant provincial venue. [185] The money he made there would be less, but still better than nothing.

By no means, however, were the gladiatorial combats mainly a sham. Although some fights were fixed - especially those in which a "hero" and a "villain" were carefully cultivated and a theatrical-type melodrama crafted around their "personalities" [186] - the majority of fights were quite lethal, especially as time went on. Sponsors of the games sought to please the crowd by cutting back on fake fights, and raising the battles to new levels of desperation. While the crowd remained as a final court of appeal, which the vanquished gladiator might turn to for mercy, no escape from death outside of its will was tolerated. Attendants dressed as Charon, the mythological ferryman of the dead who grimly transported spirits across the River Styx into the realm of Hades, would wander among the fallen after a major gladiatorial battle, and poke the bodies with sharp rods, striking anyone who still showed signs of life with a deadly mallet blow to the head. [187] In games such as these, those who were dragged away as "corpses" really were.

Initially, gladiatorial contests revolved around pairs of fighters, each urged on by his lanista (trainer), who was allowed to stand nearby as his warrior fought, and to shout out words of encouragement and advice. [188] Certain classes of fighter became common in these events, and warriors gained fame by perfecting their skills in one. Among these basic classes were the Samnis, who was outfitted in the manner of the typical Samnite warrior, and therefore armed with short sword (gladius), oblong shield and visored helmet; the Myrmillo (or "swordfish"), dressed in the typical Gallic manner, with a helmet crested with a fish ornament, an oblong shield and a sword; the Retiarius, garbed as a warrior-fisherman, with a net, sharpened trident, and dagger; and the Thrax (or Thracian), armed with a curved sword and a round shield. Other less basic classes of fighter included the laqueatores, who fought with slings and stones; the dimachae, who fought with two short swords, one in either hand; and the essedarii, who fought from chariots. Besides these, there existed a class of fighters who could best be described as "boxers", armed only with the caestus, a kind of leather glove studded with brass knuckles or even nails which could easily disfigure or kill an opponent. [189] Just as youths who today play video games enjoy pitting one type of fighter against another, so Roman audiences loved to see the strengths and weaknesses of different styles of armament and forms of combat matched against one another. (Boxers, however, only fought boxers.) In the most classic match-up, a Retiarius would face a Myrmillo, who was also known, from his usual role, as a secutor, or "pursuer." Although the swordsman would seem to have had a tremendous advantage, in actuality the "fisherman" usually won by casting his net, balanced with lead weights on the edges, over the approaching fighter, and then dispatching him with either his trident or his dagger. If the swordsman succeeded in evading the net, the Retiarius could quickly draw it back to himself by means of a string. Oftentimes, if the swordsman gave ground, even if it was only for the purpose of maneuver, the "fisherman" would taunt him with a stock insult, calling out to him: "Why are you running from me, Gaul? I’m not coming after you, I’m coming after the fish!" [190]

Although many gladiators came and went without a name, living and dying without sympathy or fame, some rose, by means of their consistent victories and conspicuous courage or skill, to occupy a central place in the public’s eye. Statues were erected in their honor. Graffiti glorified their exploits, and also represented them as sex symbols, as revealed by love notes scrawled onto ancient walls by their adoring admirers. "Celadus, suspirum puellarum: Celadus, the sigh of the maidens," reads one. [191] Ludiae, or "groupies" of the gladiators, blossomed around their glory and their prowess, and even some highborn ladies seem to have caught the fever, fleeing from their mundane lives to fling themselves as lovers into the path of these desperate, worshipped men. [192] Young boys played gladiator, imagining themselves to be heroes of the arena, and women, too, were known to don the garments of gladiators and take up the practice of swordsmanship, so influenced were they by the spectacle. [193] And the imitation did not end with practice or with play. Free Romans, poor and in debt, or else craving glory, began to appear in the arena in the role of gladiator, then Romans of the upper class, and finally even a few highborn women, who were admitted as novelty acts. [194] This trend reached its zenith with the appearance of the Emperor Commodus in the arena as a gladiator. Not surprisingly, he won all of the matches he ever entered, and there were over a thousand of them. (None of his opponents was killed, however, as his "fights" seem to have been charades meant to glorify his "superior skill", without pushing any of his rivals to desperation.) [195] [195 TXT] But far and away, the majority of the fighters were slaves, prisoners, and captives, whose despised state was quickly inverted if they were successful in combat. It became customary for them to be awarded significant prizes after each victory, usually gold coins handed to them upon a silver platter by the presiding official, who was guided by the enthusiasm of the crowd. [196] With this reward, the poor man who could fight found it possible to grow rich through his willingness to kill and to risk death; while the slave who could win with style, and avoid death along the way, found himself headed towards a wealthy retirement. Typically, the gladiator-slave was compelled to fight for a total of three years, before being allowed to retire from the arena, whereupon he must serve his master for an additional two to five years, often helping to train other gladiators, before attaining his final freedom. [197] He could also be liberated instantly, in the event of an extraordinarily brilliant or courageous performance, in which case the presiding official of the games, usually swept along by the audience reaction, would offer the triumphant warrior a rudis, or wooden sword, symbolizing the end of his days of mortal combat. [198] Even a notorious sociopath, who had been condemned to fight as a gladiator as a punishment for his heinous crimes, could be saved in this way from the sentence of death that he had been given through the games: as it were, put "back on the streets" by a wooden sword. For the Romans, courage had a redemptive power that could wash away all sins. Not all warriors, however, accepted this way out of the arena. Some had become addicted to the lifestyle, filled, as it was, with women, riches, and adulation; and so, they insisted on continuing to fight, pushing their luck to its outer limits. One gladiator, Flamma, is reputed to have turned down the wooden sword four times. [199] [199TXT]

As gladiatorial combats grew in popularity, the scale of the shows increased. From the presentation of three matches, involving three pairs of gladiators, which were staged during one of the games in 264 BC, the number of matches offered increased to twenty-two in 216 BC; to sixty in 183 BC; and to ninety in 145 BC. In one gladiatorial show, staged in the days of the Emperors, a total of five-thousand pairs of gladiators was pitted against each other in contests which spanned a total of many days. [200]

In the days of the Republic, this dynamic of expanding gladiatorial productions was fueled by the ambitions of politicians competing for votes. What thrilled the audience yesterday wasn’t good enough for today; what one’s rival could offer to the masses had to be topped. Later, in imperial days, the escalation of the combats was not needed to win elections, which, in essence, did not exist anymore, but to impress the populace, which was not awed by the spectacles or dimensions of former days. Just as the effects of a drug may wear off with use, requiring higher doses or new drugs to get the same high, so the carnage became routine, requiring new breakthroughs of the imagination or feats of scale to keep the people excited and loyal to the giver of the spectacle. Increasing the number of gladiatorial matches during any given festival was one way of maintaining the entertainment value of the ordinary, after indifference had set in. Breaking out of the box of one-gladiator-versus-one-gladiator fights, to stage actual battles between large groups of armed men, was another. Julius Caesar was a master of this technique, bringing in warriors from many different lands to fight against each other, and against men trained and equipped to fight as Roman legionnaires. (In cases, actual Roman military units condemned for mutiny or for cowardice, were utilized.) In this way, in Caesar’s time and later, Roman audiences got firsthand looks at British warriors riding in their war chariots, accompanied by the fierce dogs which they had trained to fight beside them; "barbarians" from Germany, clad in bearskins and armed with javelins and swords; Greek hoplites, armored and brandishing fearsome pikes; African infantry and horsemen; and many other types of soldiers. At times, appropriate scenery would be erected in the arena, as when a mock forest was planted to create the setting for a German attack against a band of "Roman legionnaires." On another occasion, a Roman military camp was reproduced, to be assaulted by wild tribesmen, while on still another, a fortification occupied by Persians was constructed, to be besieged by "Roman troops" using the latest in siege machinery. Fights between units of elephants, manned by their drivers and archers, and units of Roman-style cavalry, were also staged. [201] These events were not only brilliant innovations in entertainment, and huge crowd-pleasers, they also turned segments of the games into a kind of laboratory for war planners, who could observe the strengths and weaknesses of potential enemies in carefully crafted experimental battles. In the case of the conflict between elephants and cavalry, an important training objective was also being materialized, under cover of the games: Roman horses, which were often frightened by the smell of elephants and therefore effectively blocked from attacking enemy formations which were accompanied by them, were being accustomed to their odor and behavior, and trained to overcome their aversion to them. [202]

Perhaps the most striking innovation of all in the realm of staged combat was the creation of the naumachia, or naval engagement, featuring full-scale battles between warships. Julius Caesar, a genius of both reality and fantasy - of war and entertainment - put on the first major spectacle of this kind by excavating a basin on the outskirts of the city, and filling it with water, then introducing sixteen galleys from the Middle East into it, and commanding them to fight. [203] The spectacle created such a memorable impression that Augustus Caesar, once the business of civil war had been taken care of, constructed a permanent lake beside the Tiber, which he surrounded with marble stands, and used to stage a naumachia of his own: in this case, a battle between thirty Greek and Persian ships (and some three-thousand men) replicating the famous battle of Salamis. [204] Claudius outdid him in 52 AD, staging a huge naval battle on the Fucine Lake in central Italy, which featured fifty ships on either side and a total of 19,000 combatants, nearly all of them condemned men conscripted into the fight. Large numbers of Roman troops were positioned around the lake to prevent the prisoners’ escape, and soldiers were also positioned on rafts armed with catapults to help control the event. Nearby hilltops and slopes served as a gigantic natural amphitheater for the spectacle, and it is possible that as many as 500,000 people may have gathered to witness this unprecedented entertainment. The commencement of the battle was signaled by a huge, silver figure of Triton (Neptune’s son) which rose mechanically from beneath the surface of the lake, blowing loudly on a trumpet: a feat of engineering which both amazed and delighted the audience. The two fleets of gladiators then set upon each other, utilizing the tactics of the day, which were ramming (to sink enemy ships), oar-shearing (to cripple their mobility), and/or boarding by means of the corvus, a spiked drawbridge which could be dropped down onto the deck of an enemy ship, allowing troops to storm across and slaughter the opposing crew in hand-to-hand combat. The battle was bloody, and a huge success. Claudius was so pleased that he freed all of the survivors (except for those who had survived by avoiding combat), and attempted to put on another show of lesser dimensions soon afterwards. This time, however, something went wrong with an engineering project that was taking place at the lake: a kind of levee broke, resulting in a sudden flood which produced mass panic and nearly drowned Claudius and his retinue. [205] To viewers safely out of the way of the flood, however, it could only have improved the spectacle, adding a new level of excitement and surprise. While specially-constructed or adapted lakes may have been the best setting for the flamboyant naumachiae, many important stadiums, including the Colosseum, were built in such a way that they could be flooded and used as venues for naval battles, when so desired. [206]

In the same way that ancient observers claimed that there were really two shows going on at any given time in the Circus Maximus - the intended show of the chariot races and the unintended show of the crowd - so the gladiatorial contests in the arena were complemented by the antics of the spectators, who came to watch the fights, and to watch each other. The leaders of society, including the Emperor, were frequently in attendance, and by coming to the games, commoners could get a look at them, and even, sometimes, make their wishes known to them. In much the same way that people today love to line up by the legendary red carpet and catch a glimpse of famous movie stars going in to the Academy Awards, so ancient Romans in the stands loved to catch a glimpse of their own "rich and famous." Besides this, the ecstatic camaraderie of shared "sports watching" united many in a passionate and powerful way that, although it lasted only for a moment, was far more rewarding than the lackluster bond of being citizens of an increasingly impersonal and disheartening society, filled with laws and handouts, and devoid of any real brotherhood. In the early days, there was also the sexual sideshow of men and women driven beyond the confines of propriety by the erotic charge of death. The dying, at times, seemed almost sexual, as exposed bodies fell and lay down in the sand in helpless vulnerability; as domination, conquest, submission, and surrender mirrored the fiercer, darker side of sex. How could loyalty to the moral order, to the proper relations between man and woman, remain intact in the presence of such a blatant and massive violation of basic human principles; in the face of a moral meltdown of such egregious dimensions? How could one surrender so completely to one’s primal urges in one dimension, while rigorously resisting them in another, especially as the passion of some spectators smacked of sexual ecstasy, triggering Dionysian responses in those who sat beside them? A kind of sexual contagion may have swept through the crowd at times, not affecting all, of course - probably, in fact, affecting only a relatively small minority - still leading, however, to many incidents of both wanted and unwanted sexual contact, and sexual acts of varying degrees. [207] For those not directly involved, these incidents may have proved a source of voyeuristic pleasure; or else of righteous indignation, helping to relieve them of the guilt associated with watching human beings be killed for their amusement, by giving them an opportunity to feel moral in the midst of their crime. In all events, Augustus seems to have taken measures to end this affront to Roman "family values" by instituting and enforcing new rules segregating women from men at all theatrical and gladiatorial shows. [208] Lewd public behavior at spectacles was brought under control, while the violence and destruction taking place in the arena was left untouched.

Although the chariot races seem to have been Rome’s outstanding excuse for gambling, the gladiatorial games were also accompanied by massive betting, as fans put their money on various fighters and staked their fortunes on possible outcomes. Some gladiators made big money selling tips and inside information to bettors before the bouts. [209] In addition to the thrill of the spectacles, and the chance of making good money by betting on the right gladiators, many spectators were attracted to the games for the baskets of free food that were frequently distributed to the crowd at lunch-time, and by the Lottery tickets that were also handed out - although "handed out" is not exactly an accurate term. These tickets were often hurled into the midst of the crowd via catapults, or even dropped among the seats by means of "arrows" fired by little Cupids - children outfitted with wings, who were suspended above the crowd on wires, and made to "fly about." [210] The tickets, if one was lucky enough to get a hold of one, were redeemable for various kinds of prizes, including furniture, clothing, jewelry, gold coins, even a ship, a house, or an estate if one was especially lucky. Others, however, were for "white elephants", such as wild bears, which no sane man would want to take home with him; while on other occasions, they turned out to be only jokes, as in the case of a man who, upon opening up a finely carved box that seemed fit for some expensive and worthwhile prize, was greeted by an exiting swarm of angry bees, and unwillingly forced to relive the legend of Pandora. Some spectators, not trusting the value of the prizes that their tickets might redeem, sold the tickets to others who were willing to gamble that the still-unknown prize corresponding to the ticket would be worth the money that they paid for it. Without a doubt, the buzz of excitement created by gambling and by the distribution of Lottery tickets, added greatly to the attraction of the games.

Although the gladiatorial games were, in and of themselves, diverse, featuring individual fights between well-known and well-loved gladiators who were armed in different styles, battles between small armies of warriors from near and far, and impressive naumachiae which pushed the limits of ancient technology, there was still a need for even greater diversity. For the "extraordinary" of one generation almost always becomes the "ordinary" of the next; what was wild seems tame, what was on the edge becomes mainstream, what was entertaining becomes depressing, proof that one is no longer capable of being entertained, and that the world is empty. Although the venationes, or animal hunts, were as old as the gladiatorial games, their use as a complement to the battles of human warriors was a crucial tool in keeping the games interesting to the Roman masses. As in the modern circus, timing, pacing, a fluid and diverse mix of events, was cultivated to keep the old from becoming old, to preempt satiation, to prevent the spell from being broken, and the mobs from waking up to the bottomless of their despair. [211]

The Use of Animals in the Games

The animal hunts, which were later to evolve into spectacular displays of exotic beasts, began humbly enough, utilizing local and easily attainable animals, such as foxes, hares, and wild goats. The creatures were introduced into the Circus Maximus during games such as the ludi Ceriales and the ludi Florales, which were held in honor of the Goddess of Agriculture (Ceres, the Roman "Demeter"), and Fertility (Flora). No doubt, the hunting of these creatures originally constituted a form of sacrifice meant to placate and win over the support of the Earth powers which the human world needs in order to survive. As time went on, other local Italian creatures including boars, bulls, stags and bears were brought into the Circus, either to be displayed or hunted by specially-trained animal fighters known as bestiarii. Finally, in the late Republican period, as Rome expanded territorially and as the games became an increasingly important means by which politicians hoped to impress the masses, exotic foreign animals began to appear consistently, and in large numbers, at the Circus and in other venues, as protagonists in the venationes. Eventually, lions, tigers, leopards, elephants, rhinos, hippos, crocodiles, apes, giraffes, ostriches, and many other alien species were to become familiar sights in the Roman arena. [212] As with other types of spectacles, the aim of the sponsor became to outdo what his predecessors had done and what his rivals might do. On a less personal note, there was also the civic function of impressing the Roman audience with the power of Rome. As Beacham writes: "The trend thus established encouraged the spectators to associate military prowess and the geographic expansion of Roman influence with various animals from the distant realms subject to Roman might. Through the display of such exotic booty, power was rendered both graphic and entertaining." [213] Venationes and other forms of animal displays and shows were frequently used as preludes to, or change-of-pace acts between, chariot races in the Circus Maximus, or gladiatorial combats in the Colosseum. [214] Many times, however, the spectacular qualities of the animals displayed, and the engaging situations invented for them and their human antagonists by the architects of the games, turned them into the premier event.

As the shows became grander and began to showcase more exotic creatures, a gigantic network of animal catchers, trainers, attendants, and specially-trained animal fighters had to be developed in order to make the phenomenon possible. Daniel P. Mannix, in Those About To Die, provides an interesting comparison between Victorian and ancient times which yields valuable insight into the scale and efficiency of the Roman operation, which was accomplished without the benefits of modern technology. Describing the appearance of hippos in the games as "fairly common", he goes on to write: "After the Roman Empire fell, the next hippo to reach Europe was in 1850. A whole army division had to be used to capture the animal. Getting the hippo from the White Nile to Cairo took five months. The hippo spent the winter in Cairo and then went on to England in a tank containing four hundred gallons of water to keep it cool. Yet the Romans imported hippos wholesale for their games." [215]

Animals of various types, it seems, were captured either by client kings eager to win favor with the leaders of Rome, or else by Roman politicians and entrepreneurs, who employed professional trappers to ensnare their prey. These trappers, in turn, might call upon the support of local Roman garrisons to participate in their animal-catching drives, or even resort to the conscription of local residents in order to mobilize the manpower needed to conduct large-scale sweeps through the wilderness. Then, as now, one favorite technique for capturing elusive animals was to send huge formations of "drivers", pounding on drums or blaring trumpets, through the habitat of the intended prey, driving them towards hunters with nets, and often taking advantage of local terrain such as canyons, or manmade obstacles such as fences, to compress the frightened, fleeing animals into a well-defined "capture area." Elephants might be driven into a gully, penned in, and starved into submission, or else babies might be separated from their mothers. Lions might be lured into jumping over fences they could not see through into a pit where the smell of a tied-up deer had attracted them; or else they might be ensnared in nets after a massive sweep of drivers had flushed them out of the bush. Antelopes might be driven into rivers by horsemen, then lassoed once their mobility had been cut down in the water. Exotic snakes such as pythons were threatened and tricked into slithering away into capture bags that they mistook for holes in the earth, while apes such as chimpanzees and baboons were lured to drink wine that was left out for them in bowls, then captured after they were inebriated. [216] The ecological impact of all this animal-catching was significant. On the bright side, many wild areas were cleared of "dangerous predators" and thereby made safe for the introduction of farming. On the down side, the wildlife in large swaths of territory under Roman rule was decimated, as many creatures vanished from their former habitats or were even driven to extinction due to the overwhelming demand for animals created by the games. The European lion, the aurochs (the wild ox of Europe), the Libyan elephant, and the African bear were all victims of Rome’s insatiable appetite to acquire exciting beasts for the games; while the interesting record of a correspondence between Cicero, then serving as a Roman governor in Asia Minor, and his friend Caelius Rufus, an ambitious politician back in Rome who was eager to stage impressive games which would advance his career, sheds light both on the desperation of the politician to acquire exotic animals (in this case he wanted leopards), and on the destruction of wild species produced by the massive Roman animal hunts (Cicero could not find any remaining leopards in his province, although they had once been abundant). [217] In addition to precipitating a fierce decline in local wildlife populations, the Roman hunts, by forcibly drafting large numbers of civilians from the provinces to participate in the capture of animals sought for the Roman games, frequently disorganized local economies, as these operations could last for weeks at a time. Human energy was kidnapped from the realm of productivity in the "periphery", and reassigned to the realm of entertainment in the "core." [218]

Once the animals were captured, of course, the problem of transporting them back to Rome had to be confronted. This was no small task, given the technology of the day and the gigantic scale of the operation. Large numbers of men were involved, both skilled and unskilled. Captive creatures might be moved about in cages, which could either be carried by men or transported in wagons - or else they might be restrained by harnesses and ropes, and prodded along by their captors - until they reached a port with ships bound for Rome, or else a river, where they could be loaded onto a boat bound for such a port. During the overland phase of the journey, before a port was reached, holding stations with spacious enclosures were sometimes provided, which would allow the animals time to rest and recover in between the stages of their trip so that they would not be as likely to die en route. Once the animals were brought to the boats that would take them across the sea, it seems that they were moved up gangplanks in their cages, or else pulled and pushed by men, who dragged and manhandled them aboard with ropes, and sometimes used specially-trained dogs to snap at their heels from behind. Having the animals aboard, however, was no guarantee that they would survive the grueling voyage back to Rome, nor that the human ordeal associated with their procurement was over. As one ancient Roman wrote of the sea journey back to Rome: "The sailors were afraid of their own cargo." In one instance, in Rome, itself, a sculptor had set up shop on the docks to make models of the lions who were due to arrive from abroad, when a cage transporting a leopard accidentally broke during unloading. Only by the narrowest of margins did the sculptor escape with his life. His story gives a small glimpse of what must have been a most dangerous business from start to finish. [219]

Finally, once the animals had been brought to Rome and introduced into their cages or into the yards which were maintained in the vicinity of the arenas (there was also space underneath some venues, such as the Colosseum), the all-important work of training them for the games began: for the animals, in their natural state, were not necessarily ready to participate yet. Many came from the wild with a natural fear of humans, or else did not associate humans with prey; while many others were easily disturbed and intimidated by the alien terrain of the arena, and by the roaring din of the human spectators, which provoked them into flight and withdrawal rather than combat and audacity. Whereas fear and evasion were totally expected in the case of antelope and deer, these responses were utterly unacceptable in the case of creatures billed as ferocious predators: creatures such as wolves or lions, who the audience had come to witness at their very fiercest. Expert trainers were therefore required to help overcome the natural instincts of these "savage beasts", and to get their demeanor in line with their public image.

Very quickly, trainers discovered that pure starvation was not the answer. Hunger, overutilized as a strategy for provoking aggression, often only weakened big predators such as lions to the point of completely shutting them down. In cases, animals let loose into the arena to kill, collapsed and died from exhaustion without hurting anyone. [220] Complicated procedures were therefore often necessary to mold the animal captives into convincing beasts of prey. Trainers preferred to start with young animals who had less experience in the wild, and to accustom them to attacking humans. They would feed them human meat (from the dead of the arena), and train them to be fearless hunters of men, by a variety of means. Heavily padded men would provoke them to attack and pretend to be bested (even by cubs who they could have beaten away), increasing the confidence of the animals; later, the predators would be incited to attack slaves whose arms had been broken and teeth knocked out so that they could not harm the beasts set against them or in any way create a mental deterrent for future attacks against humans. Finally, the animals might be unleashed against healthy slaves, and thereby accustomed to some degree of genuine resistance, which was usually futile, however. If the victim did manage to put up a good fight, the trainer would quickly end the struggle with a spear thrust, to prevent his animal from getting hurt or developing any inhibitions against attacking humans. Whereas the animal was trained to be confident and aggressive towards humans, the aggression he learned was specifically associated with a training area resembling the arena in which he would perform, an open space covered with sand, outside of which he would most often not act out; besides this, he was usually respectful of his master trainer, or handler. [221] There was, thus, a long process of preparation required before the deadly animals of the Roman circus could be counted on to give an optimum performance in the arena. In many cases, though, they must have been sent into the arena with little training, due to constraints of time and the finite number of individuals competent to train them. In cases such as these, the unprepared beasts sometimes had to be driven to fight by trainers armed with whips, flails with lead balls, hot irons and burning firebrands; or else pursued, cornered, and provoked to fight by determined and well-trained bestiarii. [222] After the show, many but not all of the animals would be dragged, dead, out of the arena. Sometimes still living animals which had no further use to the promoters or spectators of the games would be slaughtered by archers, then removed. But trouble would often be taken to lure or drive especially valuable animals who had survived their day in the arena back into their cages, which could be reached through gates in the sides of the arena walls. Often, a pan of water placed inside a cage by a slave would be sufficient to draw an animal in from the heat of the sun, and away from the exhaustion and confusion of the games. If an animal was reluctant to return, lines of men armed with spears could be deployed to drive him towards an open cage, which he would usually enter as a refuge once he had located it and been sufficiently impressed by his lack of an alternative. [223]

Just as there were many types of gladiators to match styles and add variety to the gladiatorial combats - fighters such as the Retiarius, the Myrmillo, and the Thrax - so there were many types of bestiarii to match the wide variety of animals presented in the games. Some bestiarii were outfitted like gladiators, with shields, helmets, light body armor, and swords. They might fight lions or other large cats, or even bulls. Other bestiarii, who specialized in fighting bears, came into the arena equipped with a dagger or sword, and a veil with which to distract or temporarily obscure the vision of their prey. Some warriors came armed with spears to fight the ever-dangerous wild boars; some came with bows and arrows, to destroy their prey from afar (but they were at great risk if their intended victims chose to charge); other venatores rode on horseback and brought down deer with spears, or battled bulls with lances. [224] And so on. These animal-fighters never acquired the same level of adoration from the public which the most successful of the gladiators achieved, perhaps because they were somewhat upstaged by the animals they fought; and yet, some did seem to capture the popular imagination, just like the greatest bullfighters of today, as in the case of one bestiarius known as Carpophorus, of whom the poet Martial wrote: "Carpophorus could have handled the hydra, the chimera and the fire-eating bulls at the same time." [225]

Obviously, some of the animal spectacles were more in the nature of hunts which displayed the skill of the huntsman as he dispatched relatively harmless but elusive prey; while some were more in the nature of combats, in which the bestiarius went up against animals quite capable of killing him. In these combats, the animal-fighter might go head to head against a single beast; or, on the other hand, he might be confronted with several at one time, or else placed in an environment in which multiple bestiarii and multiple animals were thrown together in a chaotic and dangerous melee of unpredictable and simultaneous threats. Besides these basic formats, fights between animals which did not involve humans, except in the role of provocateurs, were also staged. People wondered what would happen if a lion fought a tiger, if wolves fought a lion, if a leopard fought a bear, if a crocodile fought a hippo, if an African elephant was matched against an Indian elephant. In venues such as the Colosseum, they could find out. In one spectacular show put on in the days of Nero, four hundred tigers were pitted against bulls and elephants. [226]

In addition to these mainstay events, a wide variety of circus-type acts and idiosyncratic performances was laced throughout the animal shows. There were snake-charmers and exhibitions of pythons. [227] There were crocodile-wrestlers from Egypt. [228] There were bull-jumpers from Crete, replicating the dangerous acrobatics known to us from the frescoes of the Palace of Knossos (men and women would participate, seizing the charging bulls by the horns, and somersaulting over them). [229] Thessalian horsemen would ride up alongside bulls, and leaping onto them, wrestle them to the ground. [230] One man named Ursus Togatus perfected an act in which he would pole vault over a charging bear. Another performer thrilled the crowd by walking on stilts through a pack of ravenous hyenas, while yet another rolled around the arena inside a metal mesh ball as ferocious lions attacked it and tried to reach him. In concept, this mesh ball was something of a land-based shark cage; but one day, something went terribly wrong, a lion managed to catch the man inside, most likely with its paw, dragging him out of his protective apparatus just enough to get a better grip with its jaws, and rip off his arm. While this calamity put an end to his performances, it seems that the act had become so popular by then that other entertainers stepped forward to take his place. [231] Another common form of entertainment during the animal shows was the staging of races between chariots pulled by exotic creatures, which might be ostriches, camels, antelopes, or some other unexpected beast. [232] In cases, apes were taught to drive chariots pulled by horses [233], and there is also a recorded instance of a chariot pulled by bears, which was also driven by a bear! [234] One particularly beloved act featured a lion who was incited to kill a bull in order to prove its ferocity, after which, its trainer sent it to catch a hare. The lion did so, carrying the hare back to its master in its teeth, unharmed. [235] A rather unkind novelty filler act which demonstrated the cruelty which lurked in the Roman sense of humor, featured naked boys who were sent into the arena to try to catch porcupines. [236] On a more interesting, if still not very ethical note, Roman showmen displayed captured "unicorns" to the crowd, which were really oryxes or gemsboks (a kind of African antelope), whose horns had been bound together when young. As a result of this engineered deformity, they were each left with one straight horn protruding from their head, which gave them a striking resemblance to the public’s expectation of what a unicorn should look like. [237] At least while this deception was in progress, several moments of possible violence were deterred…

These, then, were some of the main uses of animals in the Roman games. They came from all over the world, by means of an enormous and effective, yet devastatingly costly network of procurement, to numb and amaze the Roman masses with their beauty, their ferocity, or their helplessness. They came as prey, as combatants, as entertainers, as oddities. They killed, and were killed, in massive numbers. [238] Clearly, they did not share in the guilt of the Roman games. They were forcibly uprooted from their homes and brought to a strange circle of sand in the middle of a strange land. Their instincts were used by humans as weapons against other humans, and when their instincts did not serve the purpose designed for them, their instincts were beaten and twisted until they did. And yet, when we think of animals and the Roman games today, we cannot help but think of ferocious beasts turned upon helpless men, women, and children. We cannot help but think of one-sided slaughter, and forget the ruthless hunts by well-armed men, and the evenly-matched battles against the bestiarii. This, of course, is because there was one other use of animals in the Roman games, not yet mentioned: the use of animals as executioners, which was an appendage of the frequent use of the games as a venue for the public execution of criminals.

Public Executions as a Feature of the Games

Capital punishment is currently practiced by our own society (2005 AD). Not long ago, even into the 20^th Century, there were public executions in our land. Hangings were major attractions, spectacles which were outwardly fueled by indignation and a desire to see the guilty pay for their crimes, yet inwardly, perhaps, propelled by a fascination with death and by a frustrated reservoir of aggression seeking to see its cruelest desires inflicted upon others. Romans were no different in this regard. Living, however, in a more openly barbaric world than we do today, perhaps because of their military technology which demanded harshness and ferocity in order to be used effectively (whereas we can kill without ever directly confronting our victims), Rome’s public executions acquired a particularly ruthless quality. With time, they evolved from being mere reminders of the value of morality (as Romans saw morality) into exciting new opportunities for entertainment. They became testing grounds for the morbidity of the human imagination and the artistry of revenge, the raw material of new distractions, and, more subtly, a reminder of the deadliness of opposition. Soon, they were fully integrated into the games. Why kill a prisoner unseen in the darkness of an underground cell, when you could bring him up into the light of the arena, and turn his demise into another day of catharsis and stability?

Animals, of course, became major players in the destruction of the condemned, probably because death by wild beasts seemed especially savage and terrifying to the Roman audience, as well as more unpredictable, and therefore interesting, than death by the hand of human executioners. At times, prisoners were tied to stakes and left to the mercy of bears, lions, wolves, or other predators who were trained or incited to attack them. At other times, unrestrained but also unarmed, the captives might be let loose to wander about the arena, as wild beasts were introduced. Since, as previously stated, predators such as lions were not always naturally inclined to attack human beings, their intended human victims were often coached into provoking the attacks that would end their lives. This strategy was most often employed with groups of what we might call "political prisoners", such as captive Jews from Palestine, imprisoned for their rebellious activities, or Christians, erratically but virulently persecuted for their "otherness", for their "un-Roman" ways and refusal to submit to the expected rituals of "patriotism." As leverage to convince the doomed to cooperate, the Romans would typically hold onto a portion of the prisoners as "hostages", promising those who were being sent to die that this portion would be spared as long as everyone else collaborated in their own destruction. With no escape from death - for if the lions did not kill them, they would be killed by men - and with the lives of some of their friends and loved ones, usually children, at stake - the captives would most often accept the terms of their captors, and participate in the precipitation of their slaughter. As one example: when lions were to be the executioner, the prisoners would be convinced to don the skins of zebras, antelopes, and other creatures familiar to their intended destroyers; they would, furthermore, be instructed not to shout, yell, or make any sudden movements which might startle or frighten the beasts, but rather, to move their hands about slowly, and sway their bodies gently, giving signs of life without radiating any hint of danger. As much as possible, they were to mimic the natural prey of the lion: to appear herd-like, vulnerable, familiar, and unthreatening, until one or more of the lions became interested enough, and brave enough, to charge. Usually, once the first blow was struck, and the killing had begun, the hunting instinct of the other lions would be triggered, and a general massacre of man by beast would ensue. When more "talented", well-trained or experienced man-eaters were "in stock", negotiations with prisoners could, naturally, be dispensed with. [239]

Of course, given the Roman imagination, which excelled in the fusion of cruelty and entertainment, other forms of execution-by-beast were invented to add variety to the bound-prisoner-torn-to-pieces scenario, and the mass-slaughter-by-wild-animals scenario. In one case, pairs of condemned prisoners were placed upon giant seesaws erected in the middle of the arena. Then, hordes of wild beasts were let into the arena, including large numbers of lions, wild boars, bears, and leopards. As the creatures moved towards the criminals, the men on the bottom end of the seesaws, exposed to attack, desperately pushed themselves high into the air, which lowered the end their partners were sitting on. These men, in turn, descending into range of the ravenous beasts on the arena floor, sought to bounce themselves back up into the air as soon as their feet had touched the ground. [240] The desperate effort of the criminals to "out-seesaw" each other, and get as high into the air as possible at the expense of their partners, was considered to be a wonderful piece of dark comedy by the audience, as it simultaneously delivered an important "lesson in morality", which went far beyond the mere fact that "crime does not pay." By vividly constructing a satire on the contemptibility of ruthless ambition, wherein one man tries to rise at the expense of others, it exposed the absurdity of such behavior once it is viewed from a higher plane (physically embodied, in this case, by the tiers of seats rising high above the arena). It was an invaluable lesson, unfortunately betrayed by its very medium of communication, and ignored by those who needed to absorb it most.

Another important and popular variation on the execution-by-animals theme was the rape-by-animals scenario. In no other type of event were the abilities of the animal trainers utilized by the Roman games in greater evidence. Whether donkeys, lions, bulls, chimpanzees, or baboons were slated to be the "rapists", very tame animals who had already been around people and crowds were needed, since, otherwise, the intimidating environment of the boisterous, exposed arena would deter them from the role assigned them. Besides this, it was obviously not within the animals’ normal range of behavior to have sex with humans. To produce the aberrant behavior required for such a spectacle, the animals being groomed to "perform" with humans had, first, to be isolated and denied sex with their own kind; they were then trained to mount slaves, who might be wrapped in cloths smeared with the scent of female animals in heat. Doubtless, the animals were generously rewarded for successfully learning to master their new "circus trick." Once trained, they were then put to use to humiliate, and/or kill criminals or slaves for the amusement of the masses. In one instance, a woman accused of poisoning several men in order to acquire their property, was tied, spread-eagled, in a bed which was placed in the middle of the arena; she was then mounted by a trained donkey and raped, as a ritual of humiliation and degradation, before other wild beasts were released to finish her off. [241] Whereas the use of animals to have sex with humans strikes us, today, as utterly perverse, it was consistent with the mythological traditions of ancient Greece and Rome, in which half-human satyrs and centaurs, drunk on wine, lustily pursued maidens through the hills, valleys, and forests of their land; and in which Gods, such as Zeus, frequently metamorphosed into animals, such as swans or bulls, to pursue and mate with the women they desired. Even so, the public staging of rapes could hardly be justified, even in a culture accustomed to the idea of rapist-Gods, and conquests of women by beasts. Most certainly, events of this nature struck a dark sexual chord within the hearts of many Roman men, the poor enjoying the symbolic degradation of all that was denied to them, the breaking down of closed doors through the medium of a woman’s violated body; while the wealthy, perhaps, could enjoy the spectacle, not as a black fantasy, but merely as another offering laid upon the altar of their endless sense of entitlement.

Mythology, historical tradition, and theater were often combined, by the Romans, to stage elaborate, and what they conceived of as, socially meaningful executions. In some ways, it could be said that the Romans became masters of "cultural enrichment via execution", feeding the lowest instincts of the masses at the same time as they reminded them of important episodes in Roman history, or kept the art of old legends alive in their minds. Carlin Barton, in her excellent book, The Sorrows of the Ancient Romans, refers to these death-producing reenactments of mythology and history as "snuff plays." [242] Whereas she regrets the lack of a better term, the phrase she’s utilized is actually perfect! In presentations of this sort, condemned criminals would be forced to play the roles of mythological and real personages who had lost their lives or suffered terrible injuries. Unlike in the plays and movies of today, however, the "actors" of these parts would not merely mimic the disasters associated with their characters; they would actually experience them. In this way, "Prometheus" might be chained to the ground while wild animals ate him alive (according to mythology, he was bound, and condemned by the Gods to have his liver eaten by an eagle, for the crime of stealing fire from Olympus); "Hercules" might be burned alive upon a funeral pyre (according to legend, he had thrown himself upon the flames in order to end his earthly life); "Glauce", the "Princess of Corinth and bride of Jason", might be immolated (according to mythology, she had been given a magical wedding dress by the jealous Medea, which burst into flames and burned her alive when she put it on); "Pasiphae" might be mounted by a bull (according to the story, she had been cursed by Poseidon to fall in love with a bull, and by him, sired the Minotaur); "Atys" might be castrated (he was an unfortunate king linked to the myth of Hercules and Omphale); while "Icarus" might be sent flying above the arena or the theater on a high-wire, then suddenly dropped to his death (according to the myth, he flew too high with the mechanical wings his father had built for him out of wax and feathers, so that he could escape from Crete. The sun ended up melting the wax, and Icarus, no longer empowered with wings, plunged to his death.) [243] How the criminals were induced to play such horrible roles is not clear, but it is possible that they clung to the hope that they might be spared if they cooperated; that more horrible fates (if such were possible), or reprisals against the still living, were threatened; that their wills were paralyzed by terror, and that they were simply swept along towards their doom like automatons; or that the hopelessness of their situation triggered a kind of pride, and a desire to die courageously, allowing them to transcend the pitiful and powerless conditions of their death by fusing into the role of a great hero or heroine at the very moment of their destruction. Suddenly, from being an unsympathetic "nobody" headed towards death as a "nobody" - from being lost in the crowd of the thousands of dying and dead - they could become a great and tragic figure, to themselves and to the audience. From being despised, they could be revered (at that moment when the audience "suspended its disbelief", and finally allowed them to become the person they were playing). For a man or woman doomed to die, this was, perhaps, a welcome opportunity for one last chance to give life meaning - to end a miserable existence with one final gesture encapsulating everything that had been missing from their life. For illusions lived with conviction are surely as real as life lived without hope.

Of all the characters who stood out in the "snuff plays", probably the most famous was Mucius Scaevola, an actual historical personage whose actions embodied the courage and spirit of self-sacrifice which had made Rome great. As the Empire slowly degenerated into a mire of self-seeking, brownnosing, and cowardice, reconstituting its power on the basis of money and inertia rather than on the ancient attributes of bravery and will which had built it, a kind of nostalgia for the past set in, a longing to remember the kind of men who no longer existed in Rome. As Livy, writing at the time of Augustus, expressed it at the beginning of his history of Rome: "I invite the reader’s attention to the much more serious consideration of the kind of lives our ancestors lived, of who were the men, and what the means both in politics and war by which Rome’s power was first acquired and subsequently expanded; I would then have him trace the process of our moral decline, to watch, first, the sinking of the foundations of morality as the old teaching was allowed to lapse, then the rapidly increasing disintegration, then the final collapse of the whole edifice, and the dark dawning of our modern day when we can neither endure our vices nor face the remedies needed to cure them. The study of history is the best medicine for a sick mind; for in history you have a record of the infinite variety of human experience plainly set out for all to see; and in that record you can find for yourself and your country both examples and warnings: fine things to take as models, base things, rotten through and through, to avoid." [244] For Romans of the late Republican and Imperial times, the story of Mucius Scaevola was one of those "fine things to take as models." To briefly relate the story, a brave Roman citizen named Mucius Scaevola sneaked into the camp of the Etruscan King, Porsena, who was besieging Rome at a very early stage of its history, and threatening it with destruction. Scaevola’s plan to save Rome was to infiltrate the enemy camp, a feat which he successfully managed; to approach the king, which he likewise accomplished; and finally to assassinate Porsena with a concealed dagger. However, at the critical moment, Scaevola mistook the king’s secretary for the king, and fatefully stabbed the wrong man. In an instant, before he could strike again, the brave Roman hero was overpowered by the king’s guards, captured, and placed in desperate circumstances, with death seemingly the only possible outcome. Here, it is best to let Livy continue:

Help there was none, and his situation was desperate indeed: but he never flinched and, when he spoke, his proud words were those of a man who inspires fear, but feels none. ‘I am Roman,’ he said to the king; ‘my name is Caius Mucius. I came here to kill you - my enemy. I have as much courage to die as to kill. It is our Roman way to do and to suffer bravely. Nor am I alone in my resolve against your life; behind me is a long line of men eager for the same honour. Gird yourself, if you will, for the struggle - a struggle for your life from hour to hour, with an armed enemy always at your door. That is the war we declare against you: you need fear no action in the field, army against army; it will be fought against you alone, by one of us at a time.’

Porsena in rage and alarm ordered the prisoner to be burnt alive unless he at once divulged the plot thus obscurely hinted at, whereupon Mucius, crying: ‘See how cheap men hold their bodies when they care only for honour!’ thrust his right hand into the fire which had been kindled for his sacrifice, and let it burn there as if he were unconscious of the pain. Porsena was so astonished by the young man’s almost superhuman endurance that he leapt to his feet and ordered his guards to drag him from the altar. ‘Go free,’ he said; ‘you have dared to be a worse enemy to yourself than to me. I should bless your courage, if it lay with my country to dispose of it. But, as that cannot be, I, as an honourable enemy, grant you pardon, life and liberty.’

‘Since you respect courage,’ Mucius replied, as if he were thanking him for his generosity, ‘I will tell you in gratitude what you could not force from me by threats. There are three hundred of us in Rome, all young like myself, and all of noble blood, who have sworn an attempt upon your life in this fashion. It was I who drew the first lot; the rest will follow, each in his turn and time, until fortune favour us and we have got you.’

The release of Mucius (who was afterwards known as Scaevola, or the Left-Handed Man, from the loss of his right hand) was quickly followed by the arrival in Rome of envoys from Porsena. The first attempt upon his life, foiled only by a lucky mistake, and the prospect of having to face the same thing again from every one of the remaining conspirators, had so shaken the king that he was coming forward with proposals for peace. [245]

Scaevola’s incredible courage and willpower, allied to his brilliant bluff - for there were no others waiting to duplicate his fearless assassination attempt against the Etruscan king - rescued Rome from one of its darkest moments, and set it free to conquer the world. In the case of this "snuff play", the role did not call for death; and it is likely that the criminal, if he played his part well, and bore the burning of his right hand with the courage of Scaevola, would be spared or even pardoned, much as the gladiator who had impressed the crowd with something it wanted to be, but could only be through him. Sparing the new Scaevola who had brought back to life, in times of weakness, the inspiration of Rome’s valiant past, was the least that could be done for the criminal-turned-hero-by-the-games.

Other criminals - real or created (by the politics of the day) - were also given the chance to die with a little more dignity than most, and sent into the arena armed as gladiators, where they could defeat death by facing it well; and even mock those who had sent them to die with the insult of their courage. For what executioner could not feel a tinge of shame, sitting in his seat, to know that he would never, could never, be the man he had just sent to die?

Whereas some criminals, doomed to be executed or mutilated, escaped from their degradation by joining in the fantasy that something very different was happening (in the case of the "snuff plays"), or by bravely transmuting their fallen souls through the purifying struggles of the gladiator (which allowed them to experience a kind of rebirth as they died), others were allowed no reprieve from the demeaning nature of their deaths. One of the worst forms of slaughter reserved for them was the "chain fight", a long drawn-out spectacle in which one criminal would be given a weapon, and sent out into the arena to fight another criminal who was unarmed. After the unarmed man was killed, the weapon would be taken from the man who had just killed him, and given to another criminal. Roles would be reversed: the armed man of the last fight would now be the unarmed man of this fight. And on and on it would go, until huge numbers of the condemned had been destroyed by their own hand. [246] Once again, the ritual seemed to drive home a moral theme: in this case, the idea that he who was merciless and cowardly in his subjugation of others could expect no better treatment when his own luck ran out; or, to put it more succinctly, that "what goes around comes around." The fact that this lesson did not always prevail in the real world made its triumph in the arena all the more attractive. Old-style connoisseurs of the games, men who had come to see gladiators’ feats of skill and daring, were repulsed by these artless scenes of carnage, however, just as the inane battles of the andabates, prisoners given swords and forced to fight against each other blindfolded, disgusted them. [247] As the philosopher Seneca said: "[This] is pure murder." [248] And he bitterly concluded that the majority of spectators had only come to watch people die.

Long ago in school, I remember being mistaught that the gladiatorial games in Rome were primarily focused on the killing of Christians. As this article has by now clearly demonstrated, that is a misrepresentation of shameful proportions, for the Roman games had a gigantic and complex existence completely independent of Christians, and their constantly-shifting status in Roman society. Nonetheless, a terrible reality did, indeed, exist, to give rise to this misperception, and allow it to pass by unchallenged in an American classroom, 1700 years later. The main trouble with Christians, from the Roman point of view, was their stubborn refusal to participate in public rituals of group belonging, which had been put into place in order to confirm the loyalty of citizens to the State. The rituals actually centered on the practice of "Emperor worship", but they were not particularly religious or spiritual in nature. "Emperor worship" was, in fact, something more of a civil "religion", a kind of adoration that did not imply godhood, only respect, and recognition of the divine forces that (hopefully) supported Rome through the Emperor’s mind and will. By burning incense before an altar dedicated to the genius (life force/spirit) of the man who was in charge of guiding Rome, the Roman citizen was expressing his hopes for Rome, and his desire and willingness to participate constructively in the collective journey of his society. In other words, he was being asked to verify his patriotism. No one ever asked the Christians to disown Jesus, or to stop believing in God as they perceived Him, or to worship Jupiter or Mars in His place, or to truly believe the Emperor was a God. However, for many Christians, the concept of "Emperor worship" was incompatible with their sense of loyalty to God. Influenced by the Stoics, but possessed of a more mystical bent, they elevated the will and conscience of the Individual above the demands of the State, and refused to undergo any rites of submission which might possibly undermine their connection to God, or seem to place any other man or God above Him, or on His level. For them, God was demanding, and their young faith was vivid. On this issue, they preferred death to compromise. When, at various times in her later history, Rome suffered from a lack of soldiers combined with the threat of dangerous foreign invaders, these Christians also refused and spoke against military service; for in those days, Christianity was still a citadel of pacifism. This apparent disinterest in the survival of Rome; this openly confrontational refusal to undergo seemingly harmless, yet crucial, rites of group belonging (burning incense before an altar dedicated to the Emperor); this strange veneer of "otherness" produced by their worship of an "insignificant" Jewish martyr, and their "superstitious" belief in miracles; as well as the low social status of many of the early Christians (who often came from the ranks of slaves or freedmen) isolated them from the Roman mainstream, and made them stand out as potential targets for any surge of social discomfiture, for any pent-up wave of frustration that needed to be vented. Nero (54 - 68 AD) exploited this vulnerability, as Hitler later exploited the vulnerability of the Jews, to satiate the enraged masses’ desire for revenge after the great fire of 64 AD, which ruined much of Rome. In this case, Christians were blamed for setting the fire which many suspected Nero, himself, had set in order to clear the way for his grandiose plan of rebuilding Rome as a perfect city. In the wake of the devastating conflagration, vast numbers of Christians were rounded up and executed in the arena, dressed in animal skins and ripped to pieces by dogs, crucified, and even bound to crosses after being coated with pitch, then set on fire as "human torches" to illuminate the spectacles by night. In later waves of persecution, Christian victims were thrown to the lions, gored to death by bulls, flogged to death, cut down by swordsmen, suspended in chains above fires, and in many other horrible ways, destroyed.

These persecutions were by no means constant nor consistent. They were cyclical, and periods of relative safety for Christians alternated with moments of sheer terror and ruthless massacre. The outlet for aggression and venting that was represented by the Christian community in Rome was not always needed by the rest of society, and for a time, the Christians might be ignored by those who distrusted or despised them; but whenever the rage and insecurity of the masses grew to the point that society was threatened by it - whenever the need for an outlet for aggression returned - so, too, did the dark attention of persecution. In many cases, the Romans were willing to forgive Christians who would give up their "obstinate disloyalty." Unlike Hitler, for whom "once a Jew was always a Jew", Christians frequently had the option of affirming their loyalty to Rome via the ritual of "Emperor worship", and thereby escaping persecution. Sometimes, in the very arena in which they were being killed, an altar with a flame burning on it was maintained for the benefit of condemned Christians, who for the seemingly small gesture of throwing a bit of incense onto it, would be spared the ordeal awaiting them, and let go. For many Christians, however, meeting even this small demand smacked of being "broken", and they would not risk losing their God. In the face of this suicidal stubbornness, Roman audiences were alternately baffled, amused, sadistically satisfied, distressed, and thrown into spiritual turmoil. Eventually, the pain of having nothing left to believe in themselves, combined with the spectacle of witnessing people who did have something to believe in, changed the dynamics of power between paganism and Christianity in the city, and in the empire. The old beliefs were by now half-hearted and hollow. The new ones were passionate and alive; in some ways rigid, but not yet strangled by rigidity. More and more Romans came to embrace Christianity, downsizing its vulnerability with their numbers and their influence. Finally, men in high places offered the outcast religion legal protection; and not long afterwards, it became the "official religion" of the State. Much purity was to be lost in the attainment of stature and security, but that is another story. For the purposes of this article, it is enough to state that huge numbers of Christians did die horrible deaths in the arena, falling victim to the culture of public executions which had already become integrated into the games before Jesus was even born; and that the arenas into which they were thrown to die became pulpits of sand from which they launched their religion into the center of the world. [249]

Surprises

With all these different facets of the games - chariot races, gladiatorial combats, animal hunts, and executions - there was always room for "improvement", for something new and different to rescue the audience from the freezing of emotions that is sometimes produced by overstimulation. One of the most important and prized means of keeping the audience engaged was the use of an unexpected twist or development in a familiar routine which would result in the surprise of either the victim or the spectator, or both. Many examples of "surprises" are already laced throughout this account, but even so, more explicit cases can, and should be, cited, to drive the point home.

The Surprise of the Fake Orpheus: In one well-received episode, a man dressed as Orpheus, the legendary Greek musician, was sent into the arena with a lyre to present an exhibition of singing. It is possible that he did not know of his impending fate as he was sent out to sing to the audience, which may have believed he was meant to provide an interlude of high-culture between the more exciting and lethal acts which they had come to see. Wandering about on a specially-constructed set, featuring a grove of trees and running brooks reminiscent of a mythological scene from ancient Greece, he is likely to have severely irritated the Roman spectators, in the same way that modern-day boxing fans would most likely be highly annoyed were a scene from "Swan Lake" to be staged in the ring between fights. However, in this case, it seems that a big surprise was awaiting both performer and audience. Suddenly, from among the rocks of the idyllic grove in which the unwanted "Orpheus" was wandering, trapdoors opened allowing the release of various hungry beasts. Whereas the beautiful hypnotic singing of the Orpheus of legend was said to have been able to soothe the wild beasts of the forest, and even to have pacified Cereberus, the three-headed guard-dog of Hell, the singing of this would-be Orpheus, put to the test, failed to appease the panthers, bears, and wolves who had been sent