Inside Rome’s Marble Latrine

Marcus Valerius

Step- step right in here, out of the glare of the Forum. Yes, yes, right through this archway. Don't- don't let the smell put you off, you get used to the vinegar and the damp stone after a minute. It- it actually gets quite pleasant once you're inside. Hear that? That's not a public fountain, though it sounds like one. That is the gurgle of the great Cloaca, or rather, the clean overflow from the Aqueduct of Trajan running right under our feet. Welcome to the local forica. Quite a crowd today, isn't it? No, don't look so shocked, there are no doors here. No- no wooden stalls, no little walls to hide behind. Just forty or fifty of our fellow citizens sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on these long marble benches. We Romans, you see, we- we do not do our business in secret. To us, privacy is... well, it's a bit of a strange concept. Why sit alone in a dark, cold closet when you can come here, enjoy the heated floors, and find out who's winning the chariot races at the Circus Maximus tomorrow? Look at those men over there, the ones in the fine wool togas. They've just draped their hems over their knees-- quite neatly, actually, to keep things decent-- and they are currently negotiating the price of three hundred amphorae of Spanish olive oil. It is a social club, really, just with... a very specific purpose.

Marcus Valerius

Look at the craftsmanship of this place. The Emperor Trajan doesn't do things by halves, even when it comes to... well, waste. These seats are solid, cool Carrara marble, polished to a shine by thousands of Roman bottoms. And those little keyhole-shaped cutouts in the stone? Yes, they have a very practical purpose, which I will demonstrate in a moment. But first, look down. You see that narrow channel in the floor, right in front of our toes? That is a constant stream of fresh, cold mountain water. It runs nonstop, directly from the aqueduct. It's not for washing your feet, mind you, though I've seen some country bumpkins try it. No, that stream is the very engine of our cleanliness. It- it is where we wash our... tools. But let's find a spot before they're all taken. Ah, there's a space right next to... oh, Jupiter protect me. No, wait, let's- let's try to slide in over there instead. Too late. He's seen me.

Marcus Valerius

It's Vacerra. The, the, the absolute pest of the Seventh District. I- I swear, the man lives in this latrine. He doesn't even need to use the facilities, he just sits here from dawn till dusk. Why? Because he is a parasite, a professional dinner-hunter. He knows that when a man is sitting here, trapped, with his toga tucked up, he cannot easily run away. Ah! Marcus! Vacerra calls out. What a magnificent tunic! Is that Coan silk? Your family must be doing incredibly well with the wine shipments! You see? That is how he starts. He flatters your clothes, he asks after your wife's health, he praises your business-- all in the hopes that you will finally snap and say, "For the gods' sake, Vacerra, just come to dinner tonight at my house if it will make you stop talking!" But I am too clever for him today. I just nod, keep my eyes firmly on the floor, and pretend I have a very urgent cramp. But it's- it's a delicate game, you know? You can't just run out mid-business. You have to finish. And that brings us to... the moment of truth. The tersorium.

Marcus Valerius

Down there, floating in the bucket of salt water by your feet. Yes, that is a sea-sponge, quite a soft one, firmly lashed to the end of a willow stick. There is only one, and yes, we do all share it. Don't look at me with that pale face! It is perfectly clean, rinsed in vinegar and running water. You take the stick, you guide it through that keyhole slot in the marble seat-- see? I told you they had a purpose-- and you... well, you do what needs to be done. A quick, practiced swipe, a thorough rinse in the running channel at your feet, and you pass it back to the bucket for the next citizen. Easy. No fuss. Now, watch me. I take the stick, I make it quick, and... there. Now I just need to make my escape before Vacerra realizes I'm standing up. Oh, look, Vacerra, is that the Senator's nephew who just walked in? Go, go, walk quickly! Out the door, back into the beautiful, noisy, sunlit street. Ah. Take a deep breath of that dusty Roman air. Smells of fresh bread from the bakery and donkey sweat. Absolutely beautiful. Much better than the vinegar. Well, that's- that's a Roman morning for you. Let's go grab a cup of cheap wine before the midday heat hits us, eh? My treat.