Aetius to his friend Crispus, greetings.I have stayed true to my promise and, within my first week in Rome, have sat down to write a detailed account of my experiences. From Arabia, it was a long journey, indeed—sixteen days and sixteen nights by caravan—being burnt up by the sun by day, and shivering beneath the stars at night.
For a portion of my journey, I was accompanied by a band of monks whose figures were disconcertingly frail beneath their cloaks of brown linen, though what they lacked in physic they made up for in disposition. They spoke to me of the grandeur of Rome, but what I have seen is something much greater still. They particularly reveled in stories about Rome’s customs, and warned me that they would surely differ from those in Arabia. One monk suggested that so long as they do not offend my morals, I adopt these customs myself and relax into the Roman way of life. He told a tale regarding one of his teachers, Augustine of Hippo, whom he called a religiously strict man. In his hometown of Milan, this Augustine performs fasts on Sundays, he said, but when visiting Rome, he fasts on Saturdays as the Christians in this city do. Augustine advised these monks do likewise, arguing that when in Rome, do as the Romans do.
On that note, let me use the letters on this page to relate some of the interesting customs I have experienced here in Rome; some I have partaken in, while others have simply made me gawk, gasp, or split my ribs with laughter.
The first concerns a custom regarding the dead. As we caravanned into Rome, we passed by a graveyard on the city’s outskirts. Within eye’s sight, a funeral was being held. Among the crowd of mourners, I noticed something most odd—various people in attendance were wearing life-like masks. An old burial custom was then explained to me. Upon death, the Romans take wax impressions of the face and then paint them to look like the deceased. These ancestral masks are dawned during funerals, put on by people dressed as the deceased relative, in order that the whole family—from parents to grandparents to great-grandparents—be in attendance.
I was also told of another burial custom practiced by those Romans who believe that in order to pass from earth to the underworld, souls are required to cross a river called Styx. During burial, they place a coin beneath the tongue of the deceased—it is said to be his ferry toll—so that he be rowed across this river. I can only pray the soul whose funeral we happened upon made it to his final destination as safely as we did ours.
Upon arrival in Rome, I sought out Horatius, whom, as you noted, is an eccentric man prone to riotous laughter. I have enjoyed keeping his company. He first saw to it that my belly was full. In my week here, he has insisted that I sample a variety of Rome’s delicacies such as peacock brains, pike livers, cock crests, lark tongues, bear, and lion. Most were delicious, though some were of such odd texture or taste they required I dose my mouth with wine to help swallow.
Together we also attended the baths, which are wondrous works of architecture. Here in Rome, they do not cleanse themselves with rough salts, as you and I, but they stroll through a series of rooms within a bathhouse, each one increasingly hotter, in order to facilitate sweating. Then they oil their skin and apply scraping tools—curved blades made of iron—in order to loosen the dirt, which ultimately dislodges in water. While husbands soak, wives and slaves launder their garments using, of all things, urine. Horatius said urine cuts through the lanolin of wool, and perhaps sensing my distaste, he was quick to add that garments are rinsed many times over with water before wearing.
We have also visited the theater, which was spectacular. Horatius explained beforehand that a purple-robed actor signifies a rich man. Similarly, a red costume indicates a poor man, yellow-clad actors are characters of the female gender, and a yellow tassel signifies a god. Such colorful indicators did, in fact, make the plot’s unfolding easier to follow. What I found most intriguing, however, was something Horatius said about characters who meet their deaths on stage. Sometimes those characters are played by criminals who have, in fact, been sentenced to death, and on that stage, he said, they actually die. He himself had seen a man being burned to death on stage, and another who was castrated, as this was the end met by the character he portrayed. Whether I believe him or not, I have yet to decide.
We have had one special meal outside the home with the woman Horatius plans to betroth, having placed a fine ring, made of gold set with a plump ruby, on her left hand. It resides on her fourth finger, as the Romans believe a nerve runs from this finger directly to the heart. She is a beautiful woman with fine taste, and she recommended we go to a restaurant with seafood I found to be of the highest quality. We sat in a dining room, its top open to the air, with a large pool at the center. The pool was divided into sections—one saltwater and the other freshwater—in order to house fish that thrive in both environments. The pool featured small holes along the border so the fish may take shelter during the intense part of daylight. We dined at sunset, when the fish swarmed the waters, racing after breadcrumbs being thrown at them. Each of us approached the pool and pointed to the exact fish we wanted to consume that evening, and mine was so delicious it whets my appetite still. Let us remember this style of dining, as I am certain our countrymen would welcome it to Arabia.
While we dined, Horatius told a fabulous story regarding Emperor Caligula, of whom both you and I have heard many tales—so strange was his demeanor. This tale was most fitting for our location, as it concerned the great god of the sea Poseidon. Caligula had decided to wage war on Poseidon in order to prove that he himself was as powerful as a god. He ordered Rome’s soldiers to storm the beach, insisting battle cries be bellowed as they marched, and demanded they throw spears and other weaponry into the sea at random. Needless to say, Poseidon won that battle. Onlookers were said to have merely rolled their eyes and, in continuing to follow the advice of the monks—when in Rome, do as the Romans do—I would have done the same.
In my next letter, I shall describe to you all the wonders I have seen here including the Coliseum, the Pantheon, and the Circus Maximus. Greet your wife and children. Horatius greets you, and we pray that you fare well.
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