The final major topic to address in our survey of Roman arena spectacles is the complex of factors leading to their eventual disappearance; ultimately, such events failed to survive the state that created them. Although gladiatorial munera and the venationes were closely associated as arena events over the course of centuries, the factors leading to their respective demises were not identical. It is widely assumed that the growing influence of Christianity within the Roman state led directly to the end of the munera, and gladiatorial combats in particular, but as we shall see, the developments giving rise to the disappearance of both gladiatorial combat and the beast hunts as a formal institution were more varied than commonly assumed. We shall also examine how, particularly in the case of the venationes, traces of such events persisted in former Roman territories long after the fall of the Empire, which is not at all surprising when one considers how long arena spectacles had been a staple of public entertainment throughout much of Europe, North Africa, and the Near East.
Unfortunately, in tracing the history of Roman munera in the later Empire, the historian faces a number of disadvantages. Foremost, although epigraphic testimony is still extant for some of these later spectacles, literary texts are not nearly as abundant. Our fullest source for the reigns of emperors after the first century, in terms of its chronological scope, is the aforementioned Scriptores Historiae Augustae (SHA), a collection of imperial biographies extending from the reign of Hadrian (117–38) through to that of Carinus (283–85). As already mentioned, however, the SHA is full of not only inaccuracies, but also outright fabrications.
By way of example, the SHA claims that the future emperor Gordian I staged lavish monthly spectacles in Rome during his term as aedile under Septimius Severus, featuring no less than 150 pairs of gladiators at a time as well as, on various occasions, one hundred lions and 1,000 bears. There are, however, a number of reasons to doubt the veracity of this account, quite apart from the fact that no other extant literary sources mention these events. First of all, given the previously discussed imperial monopoly on the production of munera in Rome, it appears unlikely that Gordian as aedile would have been given permission to produce such a comparatively lavish series of spectacles which, through comparison with those put on by the Emperor himself, could have detracted from the prestige attached to the latter. Secondly, given what we know of the supply of arena performers in the later Empire, a topic that we shall presently discuss in more detail, it also appears doubtful that a mere aedile like Gordian would have had so many gladiators and animals at his disposal.1
For the first part of the period covered by the SHA, we are fortunate to have the histories of Dio and Herodian with which to corroborate the former’s testimony, but after the accession of Gordian III in 238, we no longer have anything comparable with which to verify, or correct, the information contained in the SHA. We must therefore be particularly careful in accepting at face value the accounts of Gordian III and his successors contained within the SHA. One redeeming feature, however, is that the scale of the events described within the SHA was presumably not so outlandish as to be completely unbelievable to its contemporary readership. We can still use the SHA with caution, then, to illustrate some of the general trends of the arena spectacles of the later Empire down to the fourth century.2
The man who ultimately emerged victorious in the civil war that erupted soon after the assassination of Commodus was the then governor of Pannonia, Septimius Severus, who established a new imperial dynasty that lasted until 235 AD. Fortunately, we are comparatively well informed as to the munera staged by Severus and his immediate successors. The most notable spectacle of his reign was undoubtedly the elaborate venatio over the course of seven days which Severus staged in the Circus Maximus as part of the festivities surrounding his tenth anniversary in power in 202 AD, an event commemorated not only by contemporary witnesses like Dio, but on contemporary coinage as well. On this occasion, the animals involved in the venatio did not enter the circus by any conventional means, but instead were conveyed inside an elaborate ship model which, according to Dio, could hold up to 400 beasts at one time. At a prearranged signal, the ship collapsed, whereupon a horde of animals, including lions, bears, ostriches, and wild asses poured out onto the arena floor. Dio states that 700 animals were killed in the course of this spectacle, one hundred for each of the seven days of festivities staged by Severus. Other notable features of these celebrations, according to the same author, included a combat involving the sixty wild boars of Severus’ praetorian prefect, Plautian, as well as the slaughter of an elephant and a corocotta. The fact that Dio draws special attention to a single slaughtered elephant suggests that the participation of such animals in contemporary spectacles was normally limited to nonviolent events.3
Severus’ son, Caracalla, who ascended the throne in 211 AD, was especially devoted to the spectacles, as testified to by a number of ancient sources. Dio states that Caracalla delighted in seeing the blood of gladiators on the arena floor and, like his predecessor Commodus, periodically fought as a gladiator himself. More specifically, he relates the story of an unfortunate gladiator by the name of Bato, who was forced to fight three men in one day, and subsequently was given a lavish funeral by Caracalla after perishing in the third bout. Dio, certainly no fan of this particular emperor, no doubt included this particular anecdote in his history as one of many illustrations of Caracalla’s cruel and erratic nature.4
The Emperor’s passion for spectacle and violence, however, was certainly not limited to gladiatorial combat. Caracalla not only drove chariots in public, but also, according to a number of ancient sources, slew multitudes of wild animals during his reign. Caracalla was so especially proud of having slain a lion that he thereafter likened himself to Hercules, just as his predecessor Commodus had done. Undoubtedly, Caracalla slew many such exotic animals in the wild when the chance arose, such as during his campaign against Parthia at the end of his reign, but others appear to have been slain in public, like the one hundred wild boars on one occasion specifically noted by Dio.5
The same author also notes that Caracalla, in addition to slaying numerous beasts, also kept many, especially lions, as pets in the imperial palace. One particular favorite of the Emperor, according to Dio, was a lion by the name of Rapier, which appears to have followed Caracalla docilely wherever he went. In fact, one of the alleged clear omens of the Emperor’s assassination in 217 occurred shortly beforehand when Rapier unexpectedly bit Caracalla and tore his clothing.6
Although contemporaries like Dio may have deemed certain actions of Caracalla unworthy of an emperor, the objectionable behaviour of this particular ruler was soon to be surpassed by the infamous emperor Elagabalus (218–22), who seized power less than a year after his relative Caracalla’s assassination. In studying the reign of Elagabalus, it is often difficult to separate fact from fiction as regards the depraved acts ascribed to him by sources like the SHA, but the emperor’s passion for spectacle is nonetheless clear in such accounts. The latter source, for example, credits Elagabalus with being the first emperor in some time to stage a naumachia in Rome, one evidently staged in a ditch or canal surrounding the Circus Maximus. The SHA also adds that the canal was filled with wine rather than water on this occasion, a detail which, if true, illustrates the extravagance (and wastefulness!) of Elagabalus.7
Other extravagant spectacles of the Emperor specifically recorded by the ancient sources occurred as part of the lavish festivities surrounding Elagabalus’ marriage to Cornelia Paula in 220. Dio gives no details of the number of gladiators slain on this occasion, but does record that the animals slain during the celebratory venatio included an elephant and fiftyone tigers. According to the author, this was the largest number of tigers ever slaughtered on a single occasion in the arena.8 If this claim is accurate, it would certainly underline the impression, as one might expect, that Elagabalus spared no expense for the celebration of his nuptials.
Despite the fact that the Colosseum was ravaged by fire in 217, just before Elagabalus’ reign, and was unusable for several years thereafter, the Emperor was nonetheless able to stage events such as these in alternate venues like the Circus Maximus. In fact, according to the SHA, such was the Emperor’s passion for bloodshed that he would often watch gladiatorial combats or boxing matches before one of his extravagant banquets, and have his couch positioned in such a way that he had a clear view of criminals torn apart by wild beasts while he enjoyed his repast.9
One particular venue in which Elagabalus could stage some of these more intimate spectacles was the so-called Amphitheatrum Castrense, part of a lavish new imperial palace complex (the Sessorium) built during his reign. Broadly speaking, the Amphitheatrum Castrense was a miniature Colosseum, seating at most 7000 spectators. In terms of the evolution of imperial spectacles, this particular arena is symptomatic of the development that saw later Roman rulers commonly stage more intimate events for themselves and a select group of guests, in effect monopolizing the current supply of both wild beasts and gladiators for their own private enjoyment.10 As we shall subsequently discuss, this development may well have reflected not only the decreasing supply of such performers in the later Empire, but also contemporary changes in the manner of imperial governance.
Like his predecessor Caracalla, Elagabalus not only drove chariots in public (pulled by a variety of exotic animals), but also kept numerous domesticated animals on the grounds of the imperial palace for his own amusement, including an assortment of Egyptian animals. Tame lions, in particular, were a staple of the imperial palace under both emperors. One particular prank Elagabalus allegedly liked to play was to have such animals, as well as bears and leopards, silently let into the bed chambers of his unsuspecting guests while they were sleeping: upon waking and seeing these unwelcome interlopers, of course, the guests would receive a nasty shock. Sadly, not everyone found this joke as funny as the Emperor, in particular those guests said to have died of fright at the sight of a lion or other carnivore in their bed chambers.11
Unfortunately, mention of specific gladiatorial events or beast hunts become more sporadic in the available literary sources following the assassination of Elagabalus in 222 AD. Mention is made of the gladiators involved in the riots that broke out in Rome in 238, for example, or those who participated in the emperor Aurelian’s triumphal procession in 273, but as compared to the late Republic or early Empire, we know comparatively little about the specific events in which such performers might have participated. The SHA, for example, relates that Aurelian staged venationes, gladiatorial contests, and a naumachia in the days following his triumphal procession, but provides absolutely no details about these events.12
One reason for this lack of detailed information, as mentioned previously, is the relative scarcity of extant historical sources for the later Empire. Another reason, however, appears to be that, following the assassination of Elagabalus’ successor, Severus Alexander, in 235, the Empire was plunged into a state of comparative chaos lasting almost five decades. The rulers of this period often did not have the time or the resources to stage as frequently the type of spectacles in which they might otherwise have indulged.
Nonetheless, the extant sources do provide us with some information on at least a few of the more noteworthy spectacles of the period. One such event (or group of events) was the Secular Games (Ludi Saeculares) staged by the emperor Philip the Arab to celebrate the millennial anniversary of the city of Rome in 248. As might be expected, Philip appears to have spared no expense when it came to such a momentous occasion. According to the SHA:
‘There were thirty-two elephants at Rome in the time of Gordian [Gordian III, Philip’s predecessor] … ten elk, ten tigers, sixty tame lions, thirty tame leopards, ten belbi or hyenas, 1,000 pairs of imperial gladiators, six hippopotami, one rhinoceros, ten wild lions, ten giraffes, twenty wild asses, forty wild horses, and various other animals of this nature without number. All of these Philip presented or slew at the secular games.’13
Some corroboration for the SHA’s account, at least in terms of the variety of animals presented to the Roman populace by Philip, may be gleaned from contemporary currency: namely, a number of coins minted in 248 depict Philip, his wife, or his son on the obverse, and various animals on the reverse, including a lion, hippopotamus and elk. The accompanying legend, SAECULARES AUGG (‘Secular Games of the Emperors [Philip and his son]) leaves no doubt that this issue of coinage was meant to commemorate the variety of animals which Philip presented to the Roman people as part of the munera staged to help celebrate Rome’s anniversary.
The SHA also provides a relatively detailed account of the massive spectacles allegedly staged by the emperor Probus as part of his triumphal celebration in 281. According to this source, one such event was staged in the Circus Maximus, whose track had been decorated with transplanted trees to make it look like a forest. This naturalistic illusion was further enhanced by the multitude of herbivores released into the Circus, including 1,000 wild boars, 1,000 stags, and 1,000 ostriches. Interestingly, the animals were not slaughtered: instead, the spectators were allowed to go onto the track and seize whatever animals they wished (or could!) for themselves. We have already seen that the giving of various prizes at Roman spectacles was not at all uncommon, but if the SHA is to be believed, this particular spectacle of Probus achieved new heights of generosity, as well as audience participation!14
The other spectacles staged by Probus for his triumph appear to have been much more conventional. A venatio in the Colosseum featured a hundred maned lions, 200 leopards from Syria and Libya, a hundred lionesses, and 300 bears: despite the relatively large number of animals collected for this event, however, their slaughter allegedly ‘… made a spectacle more vast than enjoyable’. Finally, Probus is also said to have staged a combat featuring 300 pairs of gladiators, many of whom had been captured as prisoners of war in the Emperor’s recent campaigns.15
The account of Probus’ munus found in the SHA is one of the last references to a specific gladiatorial combat to be found in the extant ancient sources. The SHA’s account of the various spectacles staged by Probus’ successor Carus (282–283), for example, makes no mention of gladiators. As we move into the fourth century and beyond, in fact, relevant references in the sources often seem to revolve around various animal spectacles, or a given emperor’s fondness for hunting and/or exotic animals.16
A good example of the latter theme is found in various accounts of the emperor Valentinian I (364–75 CE) and his sons. According to the contemporary historian Ammianus Marcellinus, Valentinian was such a fan of the venationes that he actually kept two ‘star performers’ in his residence for a time to ensure that they were in fighting trim for upcoming events:
‘… having two savage, man-eating she-bears, one called Goldflake and the other Innocence, he [Valentinian] looked after them with such extreme care that he placed their cages near his own bedroom, and appointed trustworthy keepers, who were to take particular care that the beasts’ lamentable savageness should not by any chance be destroyed. Finally, after he had seen the burial of many corpses of those whom Innocence had torn to pieces, he allowed her to return to the forest unhurt, as a good and faithful servant, in the hope that she would have cubs like herself …’17
Valentinian’s eldest son, Gratian (367–83), is said to have hunted wild animals in various enclosures (vivaria), and to have staged private venationes for himself and select groups of guests in order to further satisfy his love of hunting. Gratian’s younger sibling, Valentinian II (375–92) evidently shared his brother’s passion for hunting and the venationes, and only gave up such pursuits when criticized for this unhealthy obsession by Ambrose of Milan.18
Having identified some of the apparent trends in late imperial spectacles, we can turn to a discussion of the possible reasons for these developments. We cannot discount the personal preference of various emperors when it came to the arena: Commodus, for example, was a much more passionate devotee of gladiatorial munera than his father Marcus Aurelius. Nonetheless, there appear to be a number of much more general factors present in the later Empire that may have contributed to such phenomena as the increasing number of private gladiatorial and animal contests staged by various emperors in late antiquity, as well as the private exotic animal collections possessed by many of these same rulers.
We have already noted that the private animal enclosures possessed by Roman aristocrats in the later Republic appear to have been built at least partly in emulation of the royal animal preserves encountered by Roman troops in the Hellenistic East during the same period. The association of hunting prowess with royal virtue in Hellenistic ideology (itself derived from earlier Near Eastern propaganda) may also explain, to a degree, the fondness for hunting demonstrated by philhellene emperors like Nero and Marcus Aurelius. Similarly, the ideological influence of Rome’s later eastern rival, Sassanid Persia, appears to have influenced the perceived relationship between imperial majesty and the collection and/or hunting of exotic animals in contemporary Rome.
Following the establishment of the Sassanid state in 224 AD, its rulers proclaimed that they were entitled to all of the territory once possessed by the Persian Empire of old (that which had been conquered by Alexander the Great in the fourth century BC), including territories like Egypt and Syria which were under Roman jurisdiction: the latter, understandably, did not agree with this territorial claim. As a result, the Roman-Sassanid frontier zone was the site of frequent warfare between the two states over the succeeding centuries, and the frequent incursions of Roman troops into Sassanid-held territory allowed an increasing Roman familiarity with Sassanid customs and ideology. To judge from ancient accounts of Julian the Apostate’s ill-fated invasion of Sassanid Persia in 363, for example, the Roman soldiers participating in this campaign were particularly impressed with the royal hunting facilities they encountered during their march into Sassanid territory.19
One apparent effect of this cross-cultural exchange was an increased fondness for hunting on the part of the Roman elite, visible in mosaics and other artwork from the later Empire. More particularly, later Roman emperors like Valentinian, in addition to hunting, maintained their own collections of exotic fauna, evidently, like their Sassanid counterparts, believing such activities demonstrated their worthiness to rule. During the same period, as already noted in passing, Roman emperors appear to have frequently staged private spectacles for the enjoyment of themselves and a select group of guests, as opposed to the massive public events characteristic of the early Empire. While much of this apparent shift may well be due to a dwindling supply of the requisite performers, a topic to which we shall return shortly, another factor may have been the much more autocratic nature of the Roman state in late antiquity, an autocracy which had more in common with Sassanid kingship than the Principate of Augustus.
The Roman Empire’s movement towards a more authoritarian style of governance was precipitated by the period of the so-called ‘soldier-emperors’ between 235 and 284. This was a time of various crises for the state, not the least of which was the frequent and often successful attacks against the Roman frontiers launched not only by the Sassanid Persians, but by powerful Germanic tribal coalitions as well. During this period, as the term ‘soldier-emperor’ suggests, most of the Roman rulers, rather than belonging to the senatorial elite as had been the previous custom, were instead raised from the ranks of the army to deal with the various external threats against the Roman state, as well as the myriad other problems Rome faced at that time. Unfortunately, many of the short-lived emperors of this period were unsuccessful in their efforts, as imperial assassinations and civil wars between rival army commanders vying for the throne were also common phenomena during the heyday of the soldier-emperors. Not surprisingly, as the Roman army and its commanders achieved more and more political importance, the power of the Senate correspondingly diminished.
The culmination of this change towards a more authoritarian style of governance in Rome was reached with the reign of Diocletian (284–305), who emerged from the chaos of the soldier-emperor period to return some much-needed stability to the Roman state. One of the hallmarks of this renewed stability, however, was a pronounced elevation in status of the Roman emperor: the more exalted a figure the ruler was, the less likely (at least in theory!) the possibility that one of his subjects would dare to even think of assassinating him. Gone was the collaborative spirit of Augustus’ Principate, wherein the emperor was ostensibly ‘first among equals’ when it came to his colleagues in the Senate, and was expected to treat them with due deference. Instead, under Diocletian’s new system of rule, the emperor was clearly elevated above all his subjects, even members of the senatorial elite. Among the many manifestations of this change in policy were the emperor’s relative seclusion from his subjects, and the practice of adoratio, whereby those subjects fortunate enough to receive an audience with the emperor were forced to prostrate themselves in his presence.20
Many of these hallmarks of authoritarian government appear to have been borrowed from the Sassanid Persians to the east, where they had long been a staple of rule. Given the Roman willingness to borrow from their eastern neighbours at this time, it is not surprising that other aspects of Sassanid royal culture, like a fondness for hunting and the collecting of exotic animals, appear to have become more prevalent in the Roman Empire as well. It is also not surprising, given the relative scarcity of arena performers in the later Empire, as well as the changed nature of governance, that rulers of the period often appear to have staged more intimate spectacles for a select group of guests, rather than much larger events in venues like the Colosseum, where they would be forced to interact with the populace.21
Despite the ongoing popularity of Roman spectacles in late antiquity, however, whether staged in large arenas or in more intimate venues, they ultimately disappeared as a form of public entertainment. As we shall see, a variety of factors ultimately led to the demise of both gladiatorial combat and the animal spectacles. It should also be noted that while theses two types of events had been closely associated for centuries, their respective downfalls did not follow the same trajectory: in fact, the venationes ultimately lasted for over a century after the last recorded gladiatorial combat in Rome.
The most common reason brought forward for the demise of gladiatorial munera in Rome, of course, is the formal conversion of the Empire to Christianity, beginning with the emperor Constantine (306–37). Simply put, the new Christian ideals that became dominant in the state were incompatible with the concept of men fighting to the death, or being thrown to wild beasts, as a form of public entertainment.
It should be noted, however, that various Christian writers had attacked Roman spectacles on the grounds of their immorality long before Constantine took the throne. One of the most thorough denunciations of Roman entertainments, in fact, is found within the polemic De Spectaculis (‘On the Spectacles’) written by Tertullian at the turn of the third century AD. After attacking the spectacles, as well as the Roman theatre, for their pagan associations and, in his eyes, consequent idolatry, Tertullian goes on to criticize the moral turpitude and inconsistency of those who take pleasure in such events:
‘… he who shudders at the body of a man who died by nature’s law, the common death of all, will, in the amphitheatre gaze down with most tolerant eyes on the bodies of men mangled, torn in pieces, defiled with their own blood…he who comes to the spectacle to signify his approval of murder being punished will have a reluctant gladiator hounded on with lash and rod to do murder…the man who calls for the lion as the punishment for some notorious murderer will call for the rod of discharge for a savage gladiator and give him the cap of liberty …’22
Such denunciations, however, do not appear to have had much of an effect upon the Christian population of the Roman Empire, at least initially. Most continued to attend the spectacles just as eagerly as their pagan counterparts did. In addition, wealthy Christians, on occasion, even staged such events in their own communities. Nonetheless, various Christian writers continued to denounce the spectacles for centuries after the death of Tertullian, using many of the same arguments he had earlier employed.23
Apart from gladiatorial combat, another specific target of Christian critics in terms of arena spectacles was the slaughter of condemned criminals by wild beasts (damnatio ad bestias). Such a form of execution, although not exclusively reserved for Christians, was nonetheless commonly employed against them, as can be seen in many martyrdom accounts surviving from late antiquity. Even today, of course, the phrase ‘throwing the Christians to the lions’ (or its like) is still common parlance. Salvian’s comments on the arena, written in the fifth century, can be seen as typical of the disgust damnatio ad bestias could provoke in many Christians:
‘… the greatest pleasure is to have men die, or, what is worse and more cruel than death, to have them torn to pieces, to have the bellies of wild beasts gorged with human flesh; to have men eaten, to the great joy of the bystanders and the delight of onlookers, so that the victims seem devoured almost as much by the audience as by the teeth of beasts.’24
The eastern emperor Anastasius attempted to ban this particular form of execution at the end of the fifth century, but despite his efforts, damnatio ad bestias continued to be employed sporadically against unlucky victims at least as late as the early seventh century.25
Similarly, imperial legislation directed against gladiators and gladiatorial combat in general did not lead to an immediate cessation of such events. Statutes directed against the gladiatorial munera began to appear as early as the reign of Constantine: in 325, in fact, only a year after he had secured control of the entire Empire, the Emperor issued a rescript forbidding gladiators. Such legislation, however, did not put an end to gladiatorial spectacles, as subsequent imperial statutes directed against the practice make clear. Constantine’s alleged distaste for the arena, for example, did not deter him from condemning captured Franks to the beasts on two separate occasions during his reign, or condemning other criminals to fight as gladiators. Similarly, the Calendar of Philocalus clearly indicates that as late as 354, ten days in December, coinciding with the festival of the Saturnalia, were still reserved for gladiatorial contests in Rome. Just as the conversion of the Roman state to Christianity did not occur in one fell swoop, so gladiatorial combat disappeared only gradually from the Empire.26
A number of scholars in the past have suggested, based upon the testimony of the ecclesiastical historian Theodoret, that the gladiatorial munera were finally abolished during the reign of Honorius (395–423). According to Theodoret’s account, this measure was precipitated by the actions of the monk Telemachus, who descended to the arena floor in an attempt to stop a gladiatorial munus in 404. The spectators, enraged at this interruption, stoned Telemachus to death, whereupon Honorius, disgusted at the murder of so pious a man, forthwith banned the gladiatorial spectacles. Upon closer examination of the available evidence, however, it appears unlikely that this ban was universal, or more than temporary in its duration. There is, for example, some evidence to suggest that at least one gladiatorial combat was staged in Rome as late as the mid-430s. Nonetheless, if such a spectacle was indeed staged at this comparatively late date, it appears to have been the last of its kind; by 439, the year the imperial court moved to Ravenna, gladiatorial munera were no longer being produced in Rome.27
Many scholars have rightly pointed out that economic and political factors, in addition to the oft-cited Christian criticism of the arena, may have played an important role in the gradual disappearance of gladiatorial munera. In areas of the western Empire like Gaul and Britain, in fact, such spectacles had already begun to disappear in the third century, long before Constantine took the throne. One factor in their disappearance was the ever growing cost of gladiators, which made it more and more difficult for local magistrates to stage the munera. We have already discussed the efforts of previous emperors like Marcus Aurelius and Commodus to limit the costs of gladiators, to ease the financial burden of producing spectacles, but such efforts do not appear to have been overly successful.28
Exacerbating such problems was the aforementioned crisis that struck the Empire in the third century. The economic dislocation caused by the frequent attacks across the frontiers led to skyrocketing inflation across the Empire, which made expensive commodities like gladiators even more difficult to obtain for all but the wealthiest of Roman citizens. In addition, the physical damage done to a number of cities in the northwestern Empire during this period by various Germanic tribes, which in some cases included amphitheatres and other entertainment venues, made the staging of arena spectacles even more difficult, and consequently even more sporadic. By the fifth century, gladiatorial events could still be produced in a wealthy city like Rome, but elsewhere in the Empire, they appear to have become a thing of the past.29
As regards Roman animal spectacles, economic factors appear to have played an even more decisive role in their eventual disappearance than in the case of gladiatorial munera. This is not to say, however, that the venationes did not periodically come under the same kind of criticism from Christian writers to which gladiatorial games were subjected. John Chrysostom’s comments on the venationes, written in the late fourth century, can be viewed as typical of such criticism:
‘Why need I speak of the sort of charm which is found…in the contests of the wild beasts? For … [they] … train the populace to acquire a merciless and savage and inhuman kind of temper, and practise them in seeing men torn in pieces, and blood flowing, and the ferocity of wild beasts confounding all things.’30
It should be noted that in many cases, including the passage just cited, the particular target of Christian critics appears to be damnatio ad bestias, as opposed to the animal spectacles in general.31
In general, Christian criticism of the venationes does not appear to have been as strong as that directed against gladiatorial munera. One reason for this apparent discrepancy may be related to the prevailing Christian attitude towards wild beasts. A number of passages in the Bible associating various animals, like snakes and lions, with Satan understandably led many Christians to associate wild beasts with danger and evil. In addition, as supported by the Book of Genesis, Christians (like many of their pagan counterparts) felt they had the right to use animals in whatever way they thought best, which theoretically included using them in the arena. In any event, many Christians appear to have found the slaughter of animals in the amphitheatre far less objectionable than the slaughter of their fellow man.32
In fact, as gladiatorial games came to be staged less and less frequently in the late Empire, animal spectacles actually grew in popularity, evidently taking over much of the acclaim that had previously been reserved for the former events.33 Ample evidence of this development can be seen, for instance, in Libanius’ description of contemporary venationes in Antioch:
‘In the case of other entertainments, people stroll along to them at daybreak, but for the beast fights, they suffer under the night sky and think the stone benches softer than their beds, and the spectators’ eyes anticipate the beast fighters in action!’34
Such a situation is certainly reminiscent of fans in the present day who camp out for tickets to upcoming rock concerts and the like, or in order to get the best seat possible!
Certainly, even those Christian writers who advocated for the end of other arena spectacles could view the venationes as a perfectly viable substitute. In this context, the comments of Prudentius, dating to the early fifth century, are instructive:
‘Let no man fall at Rome that his suffering may give pleasure, nor [Vestal] Virgins delight their eyes with slaughter upon slaughter. Let the ill-famed arena be content now with wild beasts only, and no more make a sport of murder with blood-stained weapons.’35
Societal pressure, then, does not appear to have caused the demise of wild animal spectacles in Rome; rather, it was the worsening of the supply of animals that led to their disappearance. As in the case of the gladiatorial munera, problems with supply appear to have begun in earnest in the troubled third century. The complicated system that had ensured the shipment of untold numbers of animals to amphitheatres across the Empire came under severe strain because of the frequent warfare of the period, both foreign and domestic, and as a result, even the emperors in Rome had fewer exotic beasts at their disposal. In addition, of course, the cost of such animals, like other commodities in the third century, skyrocketed.
One of the clearest indications of the inflated prices for animals comes from the so-called Edict on Maximum Prices, a decree issued by the emperor Diocletian in 301 in an attempt to control commodity prices and thereby halt inflation. The document lists, among other commodities, the maximum prices for a number of exotic animals. A first-grade African lion, for example, is priced at 150,000 denarii (60 solidi), while a second-grade lion costs 125,000 denarii (50 solidi). By way of comparison, one should note that the approximate price of a cow in the eastern Empire at this time was approximately 10,000 denarii (4 solidi).36
Given these exorbitant prices, little wonder then that magistrates staging venationes often could not afford to purchase all of the requisite animals, and were forced to beg their political associates or wealthy relatives for assistance. A clear example of such a situation can be found in the correspondence of Libanius: in 356/57, in fact, he wrote a series of letters to his associates in order to try and round up as many animals as possible for his cousin’s upcoming spectacle in Antioch. The financial situation in the city ultimately became so dire that in 409 the imperial treasury granted the councillors of Antioch 600 solidi to help defray the costs of such spectacles. It is important to note, however, that this sum (discounting inflation in the century since Diocletian issued his price edict) would only pay for ten first-grade lions!37
Another factor in the worsening supply of exotic animals in the later Empire is the effect centuries of Roman animal capture and slaughter had upon various wild animal populations. One problem in assessing this factor, however, is that much of our available evidence is anecdotal, and we have no way to assess accurately the negative effect of Roman activities upon the different animal populations commonly used in their spectacles. Another complication lies in the fact that, in certain cases, declines in local animal populations could have been caused by other factors, like the clearance of arable land for agriculture. Nonetheless, the available evidence does suggest, for example, that species like lions, elephants, and hippopotami in North Africa were under duress, at least partly as a result of the Roman venationes, by the later Empire. Such a circumstance, of course, would be hardly surprising, since this region had been one of most important sources of exotic animals for Roman editores since such spectacles began.38
Evidence for the worsening supply of animals is found in accounts of various animal spectacles in the later Empire. If we closely examine the SHA’s account of the events staged by Philip the Arab in the mid-third century to celebrate the Secular Games, as well as Rome’s millenial anniversary, we see that the Emperor is said to have exhibited various exotic animals including: thirty-two elephants, sixty lions, thirty leopards, ten giraffes, and a rhinoceros, as well as ‘…various other animals without number’. One interesting aspect of this passage is that the numbers given for specific animal species (e.g. sixty lions) appears to be rather low, especially for such a grand celebration as that occasioned by the millennial anniversary of Rome. Compare this figure with the hundreds or even thousands of animals said to have been included in various spectacles of the early Empire.39
Other evidence for a worsening supply of animals involves the type of spectacles staged in the later Empire. As we have seen, nonviolent animal displays had periodically been staged in the late Republic and early Empire, but they appear to have become particularly prevalent in late antiquity, perhaps because editores were placing more of a premium upon the lives of the costly animals they had been able to obtain for their events. A few such displays were allegedly staged during the reign of Carus (282–83), when he not only presented a number of bears presenting a mime, but also an event involving a toechobates (wall-climber). The purpose of the latter event was that the wall-climber would entertain the crowd by climbing a wall and, in doing so, elude the attacks of a bear on the arena floor below him. The salient feature of both of these events, of course, is that the animal participants were evidently in no danger whatsoever.40
Much of our evidence for the nonviolent animal spectacles of late antiquity comes from the sixth century, in the form of ivory consular diptychs produced in the eastern Empire to commemorate various events, as well as the correspondence of Cassiodorus in Italy.41 By this time, the Western Roman Empire had fallen (an event traditionally dated to 476), and Italy had ultimately come under the control of the Ostrogothic king, Theoderic (471–526). Despite the change in government, however, the Ostrogothic administration still preserved numerous aspects of the previous Roman government, including the periodic staging of animal spectacles. Cassiodorus, who served Theoderic’s government in various capacities, was well-positioned to preserve for posterity various aspects of contemporary politics and society, including the venationes.42
One letter preserved in Cassiodorus’ correspondence was written by Theoderic himself to the consul Maximus in 523. Within this text, the king makes clear that contemporary animal spectacles posed far more of a risk to their human performers than their animal participants – it was the attempted evasion of animal attacks that entertained the crowd in such instances, not the slaughter of the animals involved:
‘… what gift should be spent on the huntsman who strives by his death to please the spectators? … trapped by an unhappy destiny, he hastens to please a people who hope that he will not escape. A hateful performance, a wretched struggle, to fight with wild beasts which he knows that he will find the stronger. His only confidence lies in his tricks, his one hope in deception.’43
Elsewhere in the same letter, Theoderic goes into detail describing the types of events in which these performers were forced to participate. One such relatively simple albeit dangerous display involved them pole-vaulting over onrushing animals, a feat that presumably did not always turn out as intended! Prudentius, writing over a century earlier, confirms that this particular type of spectacle was already popular among contemporary audiences by the late fourth century: ‘… rash figures spring with flying leap over wild beasts and sport amid the risks of death.’44
Another event that, although not unheard of in the early Empire, evidently attained much greater popularity in late antiquity, featured a device known as a cochlea. This mechanism consisted of two or more wooden panels fastened to a wooden pole, which was designed to rotate on the arena floor. One of the most vivid descriptions of the cochlea in action is found in the aforementioned letter from Theoderic to Maximus:
‘… one man trusts in angled screens, fitted in a rotating four-part apparatus. He escapes by not retreating; he retreats by keeping close; he pursues his pursuer, bringing himself close up with his knees, to escape the mouths of the bears. Draped on his stomach over a slender spar, he [?] lures on the deadly beast, and can find no way of surviving without peril.’45
The exact meaning of this passage is unclear, but what Theoderic is most likely describing is a situation wherein a performer has draped himself over the bars on top of the wooden panels, and has pulled his legs up and out of reach of the bears below. The reference to ‘…no way of surviving without peril …’ presumably refers to the bears keeping the panels constantly in motion by swatting at them in an attempt to reach their quarry above: if they were to cease their attacks, the cochlea would come to a standstill, putting the performer in even greater danger.
Fortunately, as mentioned earlier, a series of late antique diptychs provide important visual evidence on the use of the cochlea as well as other devices in contemporary spectacles. A particularly good example is provided by the lower half of one of the diptych panels commissioned to commemorate the games staged in Constantinople by the consul Areobindus in 506. In the top left corner of the arena scene, a performer is depicted hiding behind one of the panels of a cochlea, while an enraged bear pushes against it. To the right, another performer is shown at the apex of his vault over another onrushing bear. The right side of the arena scene, meanwhile, depicts performers emerging from two portae posticae, which were gates or doors set into the podium wall of the arena. Performers chased by animals could take refuge in the niches behind these doors, and venture forth once more onto the arena floor once the threat had passed.46
Two further contraptions used in animal events of the period are shown on the lower left and middle of the panel. In the bottom left corner, two performers are depicted attempting to evade a bear on what appears to be a railed bridge-like structure. Such artificial bridges or ‘pulpits’ were periodically used as early as the first century BC to add excitement and variety to a given spectacle, but were particularly well suited for the animal displays of late antiquity which, as we have already seen, commonly featured human performers attempting to evade various wild animals. In the scene depicted on the Areobindus diptych, one performer appears to have made it to safety on the bridge, while his less fortunate colleague is about to be bitten by a bear below.47
The final contraption depicted in the bottom centre of the diptych panel is arguably the most elaborate of the devices employed in animal spectacles of the period. Two performers are shown suspended above the arena floor in what appear to be large baskets, while yet another bear lunges at them. Each of the baskets is attached to a large central pole by smaller posts. In this particular instance, the baskets could apparently be pivoted back and forth around the axis of the central pole by the swats of the animal below: just as in the case of the cochlea, continued motion helped ensure the performers’ safety. In another variant of this device known from artistic evidence, the baskets or platforms were actually attached by rope pulleys to the central pole, which allowed the performers to raise them up or down in order to provoke and then escape the attacks of animals on the arena floor.48
One final way in which the emperors themselves, or those producing spectacles on behalf of the emperor, attempted to deal with the diminished numbers of exotic animals was through imperial monopolies: those outside the imperial circle who wished to use the animals in question for their own spectacles had first to seek permission from the emperor or his officials. An imperial monopoly on lions certainly existed in the late Empire, although it is not clear when it came into effect. Since lions, as we have seen, are still listed as a saleable commodity in the Edict on Maximum Prices, it may be that this particular monopoly came into effect after 301. Elephants, too, were brought under strict imperial control by the mid-third century: in this instance, permission had to be sought to even hunt these animals, much less use them in an upcoming spectacle. Other exotic animals, like leopards, may also have been brought under an imperial monopoly as their available numbers diminished, but unfortunately, we possess no conclusive evidence on this point.49
Despite the evident challenges in staging venationes, such events continued to be staged, at least on an intermittent basis, for over a century after gladiatorial spectacles had disappeared. Concessions were made to Christian sensibilities, such as the law of 469 that forbade the staging of beast hunts on a Sunday, but these do not appear to have hindered their production to any great degree. As we have already seen, venationes actually survived the fall of the Western Roman Empire, and continued to be staged in Rome as late as the reign of the Ostrogothic king Theoderic. The last recorded venatio in Constantinople was produced in 537, during the reign of the emperor Justinian. In summary, it appears to have been the increasing logistical and economic difficulties of staging such events that led to their demise, rather than a change in societal tastes or values.50
It is important to note, in this regard, the fate of the venationes in Roman North Africa. As we have already noted, beast hunts were very popular spectator events in this region under Roman rule, and just as in Italy, they continued to be staged even after the Western Roman Empire lost control of its African provinces. In 429, the Vandals, one of the main Germanic tribes migrating into Roman territory at this time, had crossed the Straits of Gibraltar from Spain and begun their conquest of Roman North Africa, a campaign culminating in the capture of Carthage a decade later. One of the many effects of this conquest was that Rome was now cut off from one of her main sources of exotic animals, which, of course, made the staging of venationes that much more difficult. The Vandals, however, like the Ostrogoths in Italy, continued to stage beast hunts in North Africa as their Roman predecessors had done, as amply attested by both literary and artistic evidence. Like other aspects of the Roman state and society, the venationes and their legacy ultimately survived the fall of the culture that had created them.