The social season is almost upon us, which means Ascot, Henley, Wimbledon and the rest. Or, as the Romans might have put it, a fresh round of panem et circenses, ‘bread and circuses’.
The phrase, coined in the first century by the poet Juvenal, might jar a little with our modern expectations of grandeur and luxury at such spectacles. The glossiness of the Ralph Lauren suite at Wimbledon is a far cry from the blood-and-sand flooring of the ancient arena. Look more closely, however, and you’ll find that there is something distinctly Roman about our favourite summer outings.
Perhaps the most obvious image evoked by the ‘bread and circuses’ phrase is that of politicians buying votes from plebeians and appeasing the disaffected masses with the distribution of free food and entertainment. This entertainment, of course, often took the form of a crowd baying for blood as some poor prisoner of war tried to defend himself from the onslaught of a panther in the Colosseum.
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The Romans were certainly not squeamish about watching certain people being torn apart. The same could arguably be said of the crowds at boxing matches or UFC bouts today. Blood sports, as evinced by the Saudi backers of recent boxing events in Riyadh and UFC boss Dana White (a close ally of Donald Trump), remain an attractive investment.
But ‘bread and circuses’ had a far broader application. The phrase would have been understood to encompass entertainments enjoyed by wealthy senators and fashionable equestrians (knights), as well as more impecunious members of society. Most public events in antiquity were enjoyed by people of all classes.
Politicians often used them to do business, network and gauge popular opinion on topics of the day, including, for example, the matter of whether Cicero should be recalled from exile. A chief magistrate put this very question to the crowd at a gladiatorial show and received a hearty ‘No!’ in response. Cicero, who recorded the episode himself, accused the magistrate of packing out the auditorium with hirelings.
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Under the Roman Republic, citizens would mix quite freely in the circus and arena, much like at a modern football match. The smelliness and stickiness would be familiar to both.
A change occurred only when Augustus, first emperor of Rome, realised what a crush was taking place as citizens tried to get to their seats. Driven predominantly by a desire to make the rich and powerful more comfortable, he introduced a new law decreeing that the front row of every public venue in Italy be kept free for senators. This marked only the beginning of the emperor’s stratification of the Roman populus.
Soldiers, married plebeians, boys and their teachers were each allocated their own places along the bleachers. With the exception of the Vestal Virgins, who were privileged to occupy a special platform over the entrance, women were resigned to the back rows. In Greece, by contrast, women were banned from the Olympic enclosure altogether – on threat of death. According to the ancient author and geographer Pausanias, one bold woman disguised herself as her son’s male coach in order to sneak in.
Today’s sporting and social spectacles may usually lack such rigid divisions, but a hierarchy in seating remains, with boxes, enclosures and hospitality packages available to those with the deepest pockets, best connections and grandest hats. The Stewards’ Enclosure at Henley, for example, could be seen as the modern equivalent of a senatorial seat in the Roman auditorium.
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Similarly at the All England Lawn Tennis & Croquet Club, the seats with the best views are reserved for invited members of the royal box. Exclusive spaces are likewise available to elected members of the Royal Enclosure at Ascot, where we find the modern equivalent of the ancient podium (on which the emperor and his family sat) in the form of the Royal Stand. It is notable that several ancient arenas had their own private club rooms for sponsors and local VIPs.
As in Roman times, attendance at these venues is about more than simply having fun. Today’s fixtures may not, on the whole, be run by patrons eager to gain political support, but they satisfy the same, ancient desires: for shared, live experiences – and for a certain sense of status within them.
Today, we might attend in the hope of seeing and being seen, just as Ovid wrote of young women attending the theatre in his poem The Art of Love in the late first century BC. Modern ‘circus’ organisers, like their ancient counterparts, know how to cater to our appetites – and every attendee comes to understand which side their bread is buttered.
This feature first appeared in Spear’s Magazine Issue 95. Click here to subscribe
