On This Day·Ancient Rome·Republican Rome
On This Day: Dies Comitialis—Debate and Decisions
September 12 on the Roman calendar: the city’s gates swing open for debate—today is a dies comitialis.
A day for voices and votes.
On September 12, the Roman calendar marked a dies comitialis. This was no ordinary date—custom and law allowed the people to gather, debate, and make binding decisions about Rome’s future. The forum buzzed with hope and threat.
No lawsuits, just laws.
Unlike the dies fastus or dies nefastus, a dies comitialis was reserved for political action. Consuls and tribunes could summon the people, propose new laws, or even try to overturn old ones. The stakes could be enormous.
On a dies comitialis like September 12, Romans could propose laws, assemble in the forum, and shift the city’s fate with a vote—all under the watchful eyes of Jupiter and the crowd.
Story·Ancient Greece·Hellenistic Greece, 267 BC
Pyrrhus' War Elephants Attack Athens
Imagine midnight in Athens—then the ground begins to shake. War elephants are coming.
When war came after midnight
It’s the year 267 BC. Inside Athens’ ancient walls, people are asleep when a distant rumble shakes the stones. Pyrrhus, the restless king of Epirus, attacks under cover of darkness—bringing war elephants into the city for the first time.
Streets not made for giants
With city gates forced open, Pyrrhus' men drive elephants into Athens’ winding alleys. But the beasts panic, torches flare, and the narrow streets become chaos. Ancient writers say the elephants trample soldiers and crash into houses, their drivers shouting in the firelight.
Athens survives—for now
The king withdraws at dawn, leaving the city battered but unbeaten. The Athenians held their nerve, not with armies, but by letting panic fight panic. No general planned it: stone and confusion saved the city that night.
Pyrrhus of Epirus tried to storm Athens by night—sending war elephants down narrow city streets. The beasts panicked, trampling their own soldiers. Athens was saved, not by armies, but by chaos and stone walls.
Quote·Ancient Greece·Hellenistic Greece
Epicurus on the Wealth of Simple Pleasures
“If you wish to be rich, do not add to your money, but subtract from your desires.” Epicurus, in plain Greek, flips the equation: «Πλούσιος οὐχ ὁ πολλὰ ἔχων, ἀλλ’ ὁ ὀλίγων δεόμενος.»
Rich is the one who wants little.
Epicurus, in Vatican Sayings 25, writes: «Πλούσιος οὐχ ὁ πολλὰ ἔχων, ἀλλ’ ὁ ὀλίγων δεόμενος.» — "Rich is not the one who has much, but the one who needs little." It's a philosophy built for survival — high walls, low expectations.
Why less was more to him.
Epicurus lived in an age of luxury and violence, but built a school in his own garden. He taught that real pleasure is freedom from pain and fear, not endless feasting. The secret? Enjoy simple things. Hunger makes dry bread taste rich. Friendship makes a shack feel like a palace.
The philosopher in the garden.
Epicurus didn’t care about fame or status. He walked barefoot among fig trees, taught men and women together, and let outsiders mock his simple meals. His radical advice: want less, live more. It hasn't aged a day.
Epicurus’s world was noisy with palaces and power struggles. He built his happiness on bread, cheese, and friends. His definition of wealth still wins every recession.
Fact·Ancient Rome·Imperial Rome
Roman Children's Funerals: Dolls for the Dead
A Roman family buries their child with a doll—carved from ivory, nestled in the grave like a last secret.
Buried With Their Favorite Doll
A Roman child's tomb sometimes holds a tiny, jointed doll—arms and legs that really move. Carved from ivory, the doll lies curled against bones that stopped growing too soon. Even the doll's wardrobe is tucked nearby, hand-stitched and mended by grieving hands.
Funeral Gifts, Not Toys
These dolls weren’t just playthings. For Roman girls, they symbolized life before adulthood. Parents buried them so their daughter wouldn't go alone into death—her last playmate, silent and eternal. Archaeologists still find these puppets in graves from the empire’s farthest edges.
In ancient Rome, archaeologists have found graves of young girls that hold exquisite jointed dolls, often carved from ivory or bone. These were not mere toys for play—they were part of the child's identity, buried alongside them as a final companion. Some of the dolls have carefully articulated limbs and traces of hair, a tiny wardrobe folded nearby. They tell us how Romans mourned: sending their daughters into the afterlife, comforted by familiar hands.
Myth Buster·Ancient Rome·Republican and Imperial Rome
Did Every Roman Wear a Toga?
You picture every Roman strolling the forum in a toga, folds billowing—citizen, senator, merchant, even the odd street vendor. Hollywood’s favorite ancient fashion statement. But hardly anyone actually wore one.
The all-toga Rome myth.
From movies to costume parties, the image sticks: every Roman—men, women, children—draped in snowy folds of wool, striding across marble streets. How else would you dress in ancient Rome?
Reality: No one wanted to wear one.
The toga was a stiff, heavy toga made from yards of wool—hot, awkward, and impossible to keep in place. Roman writers grumbled constantly about it. Most Romans wore simple knee-length tunics for work, shopping, or worship. The toga was for legal ceremonies, politics, or showing off your status—think of it as a mix between a judge’s robe and a graduation gown.
Where did the myth come from?
Early historians and artists loved the toga as a symbol of Roman-ness. Paintings, statues, and costume dramas doubled down, turning it into the ancient world’s everyday dress code. But ask a real Roman laborer? He’d be sweating in a tunic, not a mountain of wool.
Togas were formalwear, heavy and awkward. Most Romans—especially the working poor—lived their daily lives in tunics. The toga was reserved for citizens at official occasions, and even then, most dreaded it.
Character·Ancient Rome·2nd century BCE, Republic
Eunus, the Slave Who Became a King
A Syrian slave in Sicily claims he can breathe fire. Soon, fifty thousand men call him king.
A Slave King Who Breathed Fire
A Syrian slave named Eunus stands in the Sicilian night—mouth full of nuts and burning embers, with sparks leaping from his lips. His followers believe he’s touched by the gods. Rome laughs—until Eunus leads a revolt that sweeps across the island.
Sicily in Chains, Sicily in Flames
In the 130s BCE, Sicily’s vast estates are worked by tens of thousands of slaves—crushed by violence and hunger. Eunus, once forced to perform tricks for his master, weaves prophecy and spectacle into rebellion. His army defeats Roman forces, crowns him king, and coins money in his name.
The Cost of Fear and Hope
Eunus’ kingdom lasts four desperate years. When the Romans finally march in, they find a city of ashes—slaves who dreamed for a moment, then paid in blood. But every Roman landowner knows: the nightmare can rise again.
Eunus leads the largest slave revolt Rome has ever seen—turning myth and charisma into real, bloody power. For four years, the fields of Sicily burn as freed slaves crush Roman garrisons and crown Eunus their ruler. His trick? He spits out sparks and prophecy, keeping hope alive long after the odds turn hopeless.
