Background: Research into Roman Toilets and Their Stinks

The study of Roman latrines has concentrated on the external features of archaeologically attested facilities. Ancient Pompeian toilets received some degree of attention in the early research of the town, most importantly in H. Mygind’s work in the early 1900s. The study of Roman (and Pompeian) toilets properly took off only several decades after Mygind’s input.

The mid-1980s work by A. Scobie on Rome’s sanitation practices paints an appalling picture of a city where open cesspits emitted irritating odors, and streets were used for defecation, echoing L. Mumford’s earlier depiction of the Roman sewage system as “absurdly spotty and inefficient”.Footnote ² Mumford’s view, in turn, was based heavily on R. Lanciani’s writings on Roman waste management.Footnote ³ Lanciani’s findings (which rarely include toilets) have been widely utilized as the source for Roman urbanism and the sanitary conditions of Rome, but recently his accounts of foul-smelling archaeological findings have been criticized as sensational exaggeration.Footnote ⁴

Additionally, previous scholarship asserts that heaps of rubbish, in which dogs and rats feasted, and (human) waste were omnipresent in Roman cities as people used streets for excreting feces and dumping chamber pots and other waste. For instance, in a chapter of the book Rome, Pollution and Propriety: Dirt, Disease and Hygiene in the Eternal City from Antiquity to Modernity,Footnote ⁵ P. Davies claims that the Roman streets probably were covered with excrement, leftover food, dead bodies, and dung.Footnote ⁶ A. Koloski-Ostrow also holds the view that the thoroughfares of Rome likely featured a mixture of manure, vomit, urine, and fecal matter.Footnote ⁷ In a similar fashion, G. Aldrete thinks that, due to the practice of emptying chamber pots into the streets and the absence of organized waste disposal, human excrement and general refuse were pervasive throughout Rome.Footnote ⁸

Naturally, this has led to arguments that ancient cities were malodorous due to the omnipresent (human) waste in urban space. Unfortunately, such arguments are based on unsupported assumptions, as there is no actual evidence to corroborate the dramatic narrative of excrement accumulating in the city streets. Instead, these statements are based on generalizations of very few, superficially interpreted literary passages, as I have criticized in a recent article.Footnote ⁹ Such attitudes have found their way into general history and popular writings about past defecation and toilets, which often offer a very misleading picture of Roman ways of relieving oneself.Footnote ¹⁰

Additionally, most of the scholarship on ancient sanitation maintains the belief that Graeco-Roman cities were malodorous due to their reliance on cesspits instead of sewers. The current consensus depends on modern (Western) preferences for sewage by over-emphasizing its role in removing waste from private dwellings. However, the preference for modern sewage systems over historical practices reflects our own values rather than accurately representing those of the past.Footnote ¹¹

In a similar way, studies that have discussed the sensory experiences of other historical cities often depict premodern urban spaces as lacking sanitation and malodorous due to factors like fetid industries, garbage accumulation, and unsanitary practices.Footnote ¹² For instance, the window scene illustrating the satirical allegory Daß Narrenschyff (Fig. 1) is often regarded as evidence of filthy medieval cities, where chamber pots were regularly emptied in the streets.

Fig. 1.

S. Brant: Das Narrenschiff, 1494, p. 156.

Fig. 1. Long description

The illustration shows a group of people gathered outside a building at night. One person is playing a lute, while others are dancing and making music. The building has an open door and a window with a person looking out. The scene is illuminated by a lantern held by one of the figures. The text around the illustration is in German and appears to be a poem or commentary on the scene. The border of the illustration is decorated with intricate floral and vine designs.

This myth has recently been busted by J. H. Teeuwisse in her Fake History Hunter blog series. She argues against perpetuating the misconception that medieval hygiene was nonexistent. According to her, to claim that all medieval cities were inherently filthy, or that people routinely and casually threw excrement out of windows is inaccurate and misleading.Footnote ¹³

Other detailed research into historical waste management practices has similarly challenged such views. For instance, D. Jørgensen questions the assumptions of the inefficacy of sanitation in Medieval Europe, stating that, contrary to popular belief, in medieval cities, waste did not accumulate on streets, as inhabitants of the cities were actively maintaining street cleanliness.Footnote ¹⁴ Similarly, R. van Oosten’s research on historical Dutch cesspits shows how the “Great Stink” in the Dutch city of Leiden in the 17th century is a feature of an early modern rather than a premodern city, not caused by cesspit latrines but by a sewage system that used canals for dumping waste.Footnote ¹⁵

Thus, in my opinion, it seems to be time to question the narrative of “civilizing process” proceeding in a linear manner from an “uncivilized and stinky past” towards a civilized, deodorized modern world. Bearing this in mind, I start my inspection into the book Sixty-Six Toilets and Urinals in the Ancient City of Rome.

Sixty-Six Toilets and Urinals in the Ancient City of Rome: A Sequel to Roman Toilets: their Archaeology and Cultural History

A great deal of prior Roman latrine research culminated in the 2011 book, Roman Toilets: their Archaeology and Cultural History, edited by G. Jansen, A.-O. Koloski-Ostrow, and Eric M. Moormann.Footnote ¹⁶  This volume included articles by pioneering scholars on Roman urban archaeology, sanitation, and toilets, such as Gabriel Zuchtriegel, G. Thüry, and A. Wilson, who outlined the form and function of Roman toilets across the Empire, primarily using archaeological evidence.

The new volume, Sixty-Six Toilets and Urinals in the Ancient City of Rome, explicitly places itself as a sequel to the 2011 work. As the editors note, “a great lacuna in the 2011, however, was immediately clear: … astonishingly few toilets from the city of Rome itself were featured, nor a synthesis of the toilets of this major capital city. The omission persuaded us to start the new project focusing on the toilets of Rome alone” (p. IX). Since this new book, by more or less the same editors, functions as a sequel, a few words about the predecessor are warranted. Roman Toilets offers a wealth of information but is limited in certain areas, particularly regarding the odors the toilets presumably produced, parallel with other research in the field. Furthermore, it did not offer an in-depth analysis of the cultural history of toilets and their users; while some ancient literature was cited, it was dealt with superficially. The new book introduces important contributions to our knowledge of the archaeology of toilets in the city of Rome itself, but sense-wise it offers little development, largely reiterating earlier attitudes.

The Evidence: Toilets in the City of Rome

The evidence presented, as the title implies, comprises sixty-six toilets and urinals found within the ancient city of Rome. The great majority are from public locations—baths, public buildings, imperial edifices, and the Late Antique Aurelian wall circuit. Three facilities in the sample are from the suburban area, the Villa of the Quintili along the Via Appia Antica, a little over ten kilometers from the center of Rome. A mere eight toilets belong to the private sphere, whether in living quarters or business facilities. This imbalance between public and private spaces is unsurprising, reflecting the archaeological situation in Rome where very few private houses and apartments have survived. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised to see this many private toilets in the sample. Similarly, and predictably, most finds date to the Imperial period, with only a few testifying to the Republican era. Facilities from unknown contexts and corrections to previously misidentified toilet features are also included.

The defining criteria of a toilet, presented in the forewords, include a channel for collecting excreta, seats or their supports or other remnants, and drains to carry away the excreta. Apparently, cesspit toilets were not considered in this classification, yet at least one example of cesspit-type latrines is found among the toilets of the sample (T 31). The body of evidence, the toilets and urinals, are presented in thematical order, by multiple authors, among them many Italian archaeologists who work in the Archaeological Parks of Rome. The chapters consist of meticulous buildings archaeology, i.e., stratigraphical analysis of the built environment, and detailed descriptions of extant structures, accompanied by maps and illustrations (photographs, drawings, watercolor paintings, and occasionally axonometric reconstructions). In some cases, the evidence comes only from secondary or literary sources, such as the Forma Urbis city plan (revealing at least one toilet) or Martial’s poem 12,77 (T 18 and T 22, cf. T 60).

In essence, the first part of the book is a traditional report of excavated buildings, which might not initially spark excitement except in those most eagerly devoted to buildings archaeology. Nevertheless, the detailed discussion of latrines offers an interesting journey into a side of ancient Rome rarely available even to scholars. The book invites us to look at the Colosseum in a new light, introduces public toilets in the Largo Argentina area, showcases magnificent latrine complexes—the luxurious prachtlatrine, following Neudecker’s terminology—in well-preserved bathing complexes, and reveals how imperial households arranged domestic space.

Domestic and Public Spheres

The first examples (T 1–8) offer a glimpse of private comfort in housing or business establishments. One of the very few Republican finds, a possible mid-first-century BC housing structure perhaps for slaves of a wealthy owner, featured a range of small bedrooms, each with its own urinal flushing into sewers. Another example, from a taberna in an Imperial-era insula, is a flushing toilet with good quality decorations. Drains for flushing away ordure are featured in the other domestic examples as well. The evidence, though limited, seems to point toward a “well-oiled machine” providing comfortable, well-functioning latrines for private users, even slaves. Similarly, the Villa of the Quintilii (T 61–66) had toilets serving different users, from the owning class to their upper-class friends, possible gladiators, and bath-goers.

The next ensemble introduces the toilets in bathing establishments (T 9–17). Baths are a well-known example of Roman hydraulic engineering, and some of them are among the best-known structures of ancient Rome, contrary to private housing. The Thermae of Caracalla offered luxurious, marble-decorated, multi-seater latrines for dozens, or even hundreds of bathers, but even smaller city baths had similar facilities, seating for multiple users, wall painting decoration, hand washing possibilities, and sewage to remove waste. Despite being multi-seaters, privacy of the toilet users was considered, by inserting doors on entranceways and placing entranceways so that the outside view was limited.

Latrines connected to baths are revisited later in the context of imperial buildings (T 32, T 33, T 38). The toilet and its waiting room in the area called Bagni di Livia (T 32), in the remains of Nero’s Palatial buildings apparently serving the construction of Domus Aurea, is strikingly well decorated for a construction site toilet, with red frescoes adorned with vegetal motives. In a similar vein, carefully finished gladiatorial scenes adorned another multi-seater in the imperial domain, namely the toilets connected to the bathing structures underneath Domus Tiberiana (T 33).

A special concern for the overall maintenance of large entertainment facilities is obviously the audience’s need for relieving themselves. Colosseum and Circus Maximus in Rome could house tens, even hundreds of thousands of people whose bodily functions needed to be taken into consideration in the spatial planning. Research into the Colosseum has now proposed that long gutters, which have been previously identified as wastewater gutters, were in fact urinals (T 19–21). The identification is uncertain, but plausible, as the stone gutters are placed in covered areas. Urinals are featured in Circus Maximus too, even though here also, there are uncertainties in the identification of the features (T 26–28).

The rest of the evidence of public toilets comes from various locations, including the Crypta Balbi complex (T 24) and the nearby Largo Argentina temple area, possibly connected to the Porticus Pompeii entertainment complex (T 29–30). Toilet facilities were available in the Imperial Fora too, including a small public toilet at an auditorium close to Trajan’s forum (T 25) and a larger one in the Forum Iulium (T 23). The multi-seater toilet situated close by the Magna Mater sanctuary (T 31) suggests that toilets were at the disposal of attendees to religious services too.

While the preservation of latrines is somewhat random, it becomes clear that toilets were a frequent feature in the Roman cityscape. It would not make sense to defecate outside on city streets when there were well-functioning toilets available aplenty. Some of the found toilets were in use for centuries, as for instance the multi-seater facility in Crypta Balbi (T 24), an entertainment complex first constructed during the Augustan period. This toilet was constructed during the Hadrianic era in a pre-existing exedra and served the users of the theatre in the same complex. Apparently, the toilet was in use until the late 4th or early 5th century, without even needing major structural modifications, which in my mind tells a story of functionality and of a thought-out system for urban sanitation.

Latrines as Part of City Defense

The largest entity of toilets presented in the book comes from the Late Antique Aurelian Wall circuit, where 17 single-seaters (T 39–55) remain of what must have been a much denser network. Apparently, in the original phase, there was one toilet for every three fortification towers. These toilets were situated on supports protruding outwards from the wall. Crucially, unlike most other latrines in Rome, they were not connected to a drain or sewer; their contents flowed freely onto the façade, seemingly intended to serve as a part of the defense. Hence, such structures were not a sign of mismanaged sanitation but designed for keeping the defensive perimeter inhospitable.

Sanitary, Urbanistic, and Social Agency

The final part consists of discussion chapters where the three editors summarize the uses of Roman latrines and associated topics, such as health and hygiene, based on the latrines presented in the book, combining it with evidence from the wider Roman world. Koloski-Ostrow begins the discussion with a much-needed criticism of A. Scobie’s influential 1986 article, Slums, Sanitation, and Mortality in the Roman World, which characterized much of Rome as an unsanitary breeding ground for diseases. Scobie’s argument maintained that Roman toilets were not connected to sewers and, as a consequence, human and animal waste “must have fouled Rome’s streets”.Footnote ¹⁷ Koloski-Ostrow points out that Scobie was not aware of the latrines in the city of Rome, which must have influenced his negative view. Therefore, she attempts to reconsider the hygienic conditions of Roman urban space.

As the latrine structures presented in the volume do not confirm the dirtiness of Roman streets, she is using literary evidence and archaeological material from outside Rome. Statedly, her evidence of “dirty Roman streets” comes from “[f]airly recent excavations of streets in Pompeii and elsewhere in the Roman world [which] show that Roman streets were littered with mud, manure, excrement, and even corpses, along with various types of refuse and garbage” (199). Let us take a closer look at the research used for this statement that carries a heavy weight (210, n. 53).

Firstly, Sordes urbis: la eliminación de residuos en la ciudad romana, is hardly recent, as it came out already in 2000, building on papers from a mid-90s conference.Footnote ¹⁸ It contains a multitude of thought-provoking and useful waste-related articles, but not such that could confirm that Roman street network was fouled by excrement. Quite contrary, many of the papers show that waste dumps were found in the outskirts of urban areas. Another referred work, Peña and McCallum’s article discusses pottery production and distribution in Pompeii and mentions dump deposits but not waste scattered on streets.Footnote ¹⁹ In contrast, the authors mention that refuse was dumped onto refuse middens that likely existed beyond the gate.Footnote ²⁰ Other work by T. Peña discussing the life cycle and reuse of Roman pottery, such as the Roman Pottery in the Archaeological Record 2007, could perhaps have been more helpful for this research.Footnote ²¹ In the same way, for instance, R. Berg’s work in Pompeian Insula dei Casti Amanti (IX 12) could have offered more substantial evidence for Koloski-Ostrow’s argument.Footnote ²²

In the other referred works I had access to,Footnote ²³ Dicus discusses discarded pottery and similar finds in pits dug within the ground inside Pompeii, filled with refuse material that has been collected outside city walls.Footnote ²⁴ In another article, not cited by Koloski-Ostrow, Dicus points out how such “[d]umpsites transformed peri-urban zones, yet scholars tend to conclude that most refuse remained within the city, occupying space on streets and in houses, neighborhoods, public zones, and subsurface features”.Footnote ²⁵ Analogously, other research suggests that no intramural middens have been identified in Pompeii).Footnote ²⁶

What appears to happen here is exactly what Dicus observes: that intramural city streets have been conflated with suburban, extramural spatial arrangements, and the situation in suburban Pompeii has been used as a testament to urban practices in Rome. The recycling efforts in the Roman towns are acknowledged later in the same section, but this information is not reflected in the discussion dirtiness Roman streets. What I have understood of Dicus’ and his colleagues’ work in the suburban areas of Roman towns is that in Roman cities and towns, a dynamic waste collection system was likely in place: temporary piles of rubbish might have been gathered in the city streets, but most refuse was moved just outside the city walls. This allowed for the resourcing of reusable materials for building projects.Footnote ²⁷

The notions of filth and stinks are repeated in the other discussion chapters as well. For instance, Jansen mentions how Roman streets were “full of dirt and foul smells” while discussing the Roman negative attitudes towards urinating near graves (245, cf. Neudecker 283). A spatial analysis of these waste heap locations, mindful of the Roman ideas of pomerium, sulcus primigenius, and hygienic city boundaries, could have steered such conclusions away from “dirty Roman streets”.Footnote ²⁸ It is likely not a coincidence that references to people urinating and possibly even defecating in the open, including inscriptions warning against such behavior, are found in relation to cemeteries, which were situated outside hygienic boundaries, often marked with city walls. In the same way, these liminal areas were used in waste regulation.