The Historians' History of the World 06 [The Early Roman Empire]

Roman Netting Needles

(In the British Museum)

This opposition took many different forms and changed according to circumstances. Sometimes it was very much on the surface, at others it was hidden in the shade, but bold or timid, visible or hidden, it never died out, and it was this suppleness and obstinacy which composed its strength. Sometimes it dared to reveal itself to all through the medium of a pamphlet; one of those satirical testaments, for example, which it was the fashion to invent for important personages, in which the dead said exactly what they thought of the living. Sometimes it took the form of malicious verses which were whispered around, and after having travelled through every rank of this discontented population ended by being written, by an unknown hand, on the walls of the Forum. “Tiberius disdains wine,” they said, “now that he thirsts for blood; he drinks blood to-day as formerly he drank wine.” If this audacity seemed too risky, they fell back on malicious allusions which were easily grasped by wide-awake minds. When these allusions were followed up and punished, a few furtive words were exchanged by friends at meeting. If it became impossible to speak at all there was an eloquence in the people’s silence, which showed what they were thinking of, and means were found to render even silence seditious.

PUBLIC READINGS

Public lectures or readings became the fashion about the middle of the reign of Augustus—they were introduced by Pollio. They attained rapid success, which is not to be wondered at, taking into account the occupations and tastes of the people of that period. Literature was much liked, and if we believe Horace, nearly everyone cherished a belief in his ability to write. It is never customary to keep one’s writings for one’s self, seeming sin not to let them be known to the public. Unfortunately in antiquity books could not be so easily propagated as to-day. Those of celebrated writers spread quickly enough and went far, but the others ran the risk of remaining in obscurity. Thus the authors, to escape this sad destiny and to make themselves known in some manner, thought of reading their words in public, thereby saving their works from the death which threatened them. If these authors were poor they went where crowds were likely to gather, to the Forum, under the porticoes, in the public baths; they even stopped the passers-by and spouted their poetry to them at the risk of being hissed or torn to pieces, if the people were not in a humour to listen to them. If rich they invited their clients and friends to dinner, treated them well, and took advantage of their gratitude to cause themselves to be listened to and admired. Horace tells us the amusing story of a terrible creditor who gathered together his insolvent victims on the day of reckoning to read to them the very dull works he had written; they had to come or pay. In order to obtain leniency the unfortunate guests had to bend their backs as resigned victims and applaud.

Pollio was not poor enough to have to resort to the public places nor foolish enough to be satisfied with bought praise. He wished particularly to have his tragedies and tales become known. This vain person who had helped Cæsar and Octavius to the first place was not satisfied with the second, and expected to obtain in literature the importance and place that he had failed to get in politics. This gave him the idea of choosing a room in a house, of arranging it like a theatre, that is, with an orchestra and galleries, and inviting by tickets people whom he knew or wished to know, to come to hear his works read. Soon others followed his example, and it was soon the fashion to do nothing else in Rome during the months of April and August but to assemble in these lecture rooms.

It is easy to form an idea of the sentiments brought by the guests to these literary festivals. Auditors and lecturers belonged, as a rule, to the best society, and shared in all the hates and prejudices of the upper class. Opposition, as it may be supposed, flourished in these public lectures. It was here that one could speak, when speech was not forbidden; here that Titinius Capito, after the death of Domitian, read the story of his victims. It was a duty to come and listen. “It seemed,” says Pliny, “that we were listening to the melancholy praises of the victims who had not been given funeral honours.” Under the harsh rulers caution was naturally necessary, yet nevertheless a way was found to speak. In the darkest times of the reign of Nero, Curiatius Maternus, the poet, dared to read a poem full of disagreeable allusions to the emperor. He continued, under Vespasian, his little war of epigrams. “He read one day of Cato, and forgot himself,” says Tacitus, “to think only of his hero.” Applause was not wanting to the bold tirades of the poet; the next day the whole of Rome spoke about his audacity and the dangers to which it would expose him.

The tragedies of Curiatius Maternus are lost, but those of Seneca remain, and give us an idea of what was allowed to be said in the lecture rooms. These works are second rate, and could be judged very severely if considered in the light of plays for the theatre, or if compared to the works of Sophocles and Euripides. It must be remembered, however, that they were not written for the stage, being destined for public reading. They are drawing-room tragedy, hence must not be treated as tragedy for the theatre. This order of play may seem unworthy or false; it can be severely condemned; it is a distinct order, nevertheless, and is not subject to the rules that govern others; also, having a different public, certain defects are necessary to enable it to please. Seneca, who was eager to succeed, submitted to these conditions willingly. His aim was to flatter the tastes of his audience, and he knew that he could interest them only by speaking of their times and their friends; he did this openly and without hesitation; it might be said from the way he expressed himself that he wished them to see for themselves that the present interested him more than the past; that he was always thinking of Rome even when speaking of Argos or of Thebes. This is why political allusions are so frequent in his works.e

LIBRARIES AND BOOK-MAKING

It must not be supposed, however, that the author in Rome depended solely upon verbal utterance for the circulation of his ideas. Nothing could be further from the fact. The publishing no less than the writing of books was a recognised form of business and one that apparently flourished.

Notwithstanding the entire loss of all the books produced in Rome in the early days, we are supplied with tolerably full information as to the making and use of books there during the later period of the republic, and throughout the empire.

The private library discovered at Herculaneum gives a perfectly clear idea of the way in which the books were kept in an ordinary house. This library contained seventeen hundred books. It was so small a room, however, that all its shelves could be reached from its centre. The books themselves, consisting of rolls, were contained in round cases called capsæ, and we have the further evidence of various statues and pictures, as well as written descriptions, to prove that this was the usual method of caring for manuscripts.

The books of this period were always in rolls, never folded after the modern method. This applies not merely to papyrus books, but to the parchment ones also. Generally the strip of papyrus or parchment was inserted at one end into a slit in a reed or cane about which the manuscript was rolled as written. Usually a corresponding cane was supplied at the other end after the book was completed, so that the book could be rolled either way, thus greatly facilitating the reading. Presumably the book as ordinarily kept ready for use would be rolled on the lower reed, so that anyone unrolling it began at once with the first column, the columns being arranged transversely. A tag or label was usually attached to the manuscript, and these tags are represented in the paintings on the walls of Pompeii as projecting from the cases in which the books are stored. The length of a papyrus or parchment strip varied indefinitely, but it appears to have been usual to write an entire book of any given work on a single strip. The relatively short books into which most classical works were divided facilitated this method; or perhaps it became customary to divide works into small books for the convenience of the scribe, rather than because of any logicality in the method itself.