Did the Romans Have a Special Room to Vomit In?

Late antique Roman mosaic with an asarotos oikos “unswept floor” displayed in Switzerland at the Chateau de Boudry.

When the armies of Vespasian descended on Rome in December AD 69, they had an absolute field day. The city was largely undefended, although the citizens that remained loyal to the emperor Vitellius put up a vigorous defence, hurling roof titles down on the troops as they swarmed the streets, pillaging, burning, raping and looting. Vespasian himself was largely able to shrug his shoulders and say that the bloodshed had nothing to do with him, as he was still in Egypt drumming up support and cash. His claim that he took the throne without shedding any Roman blood might have been technically correct as he didn't lift a finger, but to add to the piles of legionary corpses his troops had left at the Second Battle of Bedriacum, forty thousand citizens died as his men went crazy in the streets of Rome.

Among them was the outgoing Vitellius, whose eight-month reign had been universally unpopular. Thousands might have died defending against Vespasian's rampant swarm, but nobody was sad to see Vitellius go.

With the enemy at the palace gate, Vitellius, finding himself alone and abandoned, strapped a handful of gold pieces into a money belt, threw on an old cloak and then hid in the corner of a guard's hut, a mangy old dog tied up outside to protect him and a mattress propped up against the door.

When they found him, they didn't recognise him at first, but when he was spotted, he immediately began to plead for his life. He begged them to throw him in jail, telling them that he had some special information that was safe only for the ears of Vespasian himself, and they should hold him until the new emperor arrived.

They didn't do that.

"...they bound his arms behind his back, put a noose around his neck and dragged him, his clothes in tatters and half-naked, to the Forum. All along the Via Sacra, the people screamed abuse at him, laughing and mocking him, his head jerked back by his hair in the way that common criminals are paraded, the point of a sword pushed up under his chin so that everyone could see his terrified face.

They pelted him with mud and shit. They called him an arsonist and a fat, greedy bastard. Some of them even ran along next to him, mocking his physical defects. He was actually really tall, with the bloated, ruddy face of the habitual drunkard, a massive, flabby belly, and one leg permanently crippled from being hit by a chariot during a four-horse race when he was serving as an attendant to Gaius as he was driving.

They dragged him to the Gemonian Steps, where they took their time, flaying him alive and then beating him to death. They tossed his body down the steps and then dragged what was left of him off with a hook and threw it in the Tiber."

(Suetonius, Vitellius, 17)

It is all very gory, but what this highlights is Vitellius's famous penchant for eating. He was, indeed, a greedy bastard. One of his most famous public banquets involved a frying pan so immense that it had to be cooked on a huge bonfire in an open field. Called the "Shield of Minerva, Defender of the City," for its colossal size, it cost over a million sesterces to make, contained seven thousand birds and

"....parrot-fish livers, pheasant and peacock brains, flamingo tongues, and lamprey's gonads."

(Vit. 13)

On his journey through the countryside, he loved nothing more than

"... stopping for a bite to eat, snaffling up a delicious little morsel of roasted meat or a fluffy little cake from amid the altars, hot out of the oven, gobbling them up on the spot. Or he'd dart into a little roadside cookshops, wolfing down smoking hot sausages, even those left over from the day before, which someone else had nibbled before him."

(Vit. 13)

Vitellius's reputation for gluttony immediately brings to mind the old story about bloated Romans vomiting up stomachs full of lamprey's gonads so that they could just begin the whole process all over again, and for this, so the story goes, they would retire to a special room, the vomitorium, to puke their guts up.

But how true is this story? Let's take a rather queasy look!

Among the many persistent myths about ancient Rome, few are as enduring or widely misunderstood as the idea of the vomitorium. Popularly imagined as a special room where Romans would purge themselves mid-feast to make room for more food, the term has become a byword for decadent excess. This interpretation, however, is a modern fabrication with no basis in ancient textual or archaeological evidence. In reality, the vomitorium was an architectural feature of Roman theatres and amphitheatres - a type of corridor or passage designed to allow crowds to enter and exit swiftly.

Etymology and Proper Use of 'Vomitorium'

The Latin term vomitorium (plural: vomitoria) derives from the verb vomere, meaning "to spew forth" or "to discharge." In this architectural context, the term was applied metaphorically to describe passageways that allowed large numbers of people to be expelled rapidly from a public structure, typically an amphitheatre or theatre. It was never used in antiquity to describe a space associated with digestion or food consumption.

Vitruvius, the renowned Roman architect, does not use the word vomitorium specifically, but his descriptions of Roman theatres in De Architectura (Book V) anticipate the concept: he details multiple entry and exit points designed to allow audiences to move efficiently (Vitruvius, De Architectura 5.3). The earliest attested use of the term vomitorium in a recognisably architectural sense comes from the late antique writer Macrobius. In Saturnalia (VI.4.11), he describes them as openings through which the crowd pours out of a structure as if disgorged.

Archaeological evidence supports this interpretation. The Colosseum in Rome (also known as the Flavian Amphitheatre), completed in AD 80, includes numerous arched passageways radiating from the arena's seating area to the outer concourses. These passageways facilitated the rapid ingress and egress of over 50,000 spectators. Modern archaeologists and classicists have identified these as vomitoria due to their function and structural alignment. Their radial design and vaulted ceilings are consistent across amphitheatres from Pompeii to Trier.

These structures were feats of Roman engineering. Constructed using concrete faced with brick and tuff, vomitoria could efficiently handle immense foot traffic. The presence of these vomitoria in provincial amphitheatres, such as those in Arles and Nîmes, attests to their standardisation across the Roman Empire. Inscriptions such as CIL VI.32258 from Rome and CIL XII.3796 from Nîmes provide evidence of their planned integration into civic architecture.

Thus, vomitorium was a technical architectural term. No Roman source, contemporary or otherwise, uses it to refer to a location where vomiting was performed during banquets or meals.

Actual vomitorium at the Roman amphitheater in Trier

Origins of the Vomitorium Myth

The modern misinterpretation of the term vomitorium appears to have originated in the 19th century, largely as a result of orientalist and moralising attitudes towards Roman culture. Félix Pyat, in his 1871 political pamphlet describing Christmas festivities in England, refers satirically to supposed Roman decadence and links it to the idea of overeating and purging (Pyat, 1871). Around the same time, Augustus Hare’s Walks in Rome (1871) makes casual references to Roman excess that blends fact with fiction, likely helping to solidify the misunderstanding in the public imagination.

Aldous Huxley's 1923 novel Antic Hay significantly contributed to the popular myth. In it, he casually writes of a vomitorium as a place where Roman diners would vomit to continue eating without citation or contextualisation. This pseudo-historical flourish, presented in a work of literary fiction, was taken as fact by generations of readers. Its rhetorical effectiveness and scandalous implication of elite gluttony embedded the error in modern consciousness.

In effect, the word was torn from its architectural roots and redefined in service of a Victorian and modern fascination with the supposed moral degeneracy of ancient Rome. It became a symbol of excess rather than an engineering term. Once inserted into popular culture, the myth gained traction in school textbooks, films, and even dictionary entries despite lacking any ancient corroboration.

Roman Feasting Practices: Vomiting and Reality

To examine whether ritualised vomiting played a role in Roman banqueting, we must turn to literary sources that describe dining customs among the elite. Writers such as Suetonius, Seneca, Petronius, and Martial provide vivid, if sometimes satirical, depictions of Roman meals. These sources indicate that while vomiting did occur, it was neither standardised nor ritualised and certainly not performed to enable continued feasting.

The most relevant account is from Suetonius' Life of Claudius, where he reports:

“He would hardly ever leave the dining table unless he was stuffed full and slightly drunk, at which point he would fall asleep on his back with his mouth open, and a slave would tickle the back of his throat with a feather so he would vomit and relieve the pressure on his belly" (Claudius 33).

This passage clearly indicates that vomiting was employed to relieve indigestion or discomfort, not to make room for more consumption. It is also significant that this is presented as a peculiar and excessive habit, not a normative social practice.

Seneca, in his Moral Letters (Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium), often criticises luxury and indulgence. In Epistle 47.10, he laments:

"They vomit so they may eat, and eat so they may vomit.”

This rhetorical flourish is part of his broader Stoic critique of moral decline among the wealthy rather than a documentary claim. It is hyperbole, intended to shock and persuade, not to inform. There is no evidence from Seneca or any other source of designated vomiting rooms nor of systematic purging as part of dining rituals.

Petronius' Satyricon, too, presents exaggerated feasting in the house of Trimalchio. At one point, Trimalchio laments that he has overindulged and contemplates vomiting:

"I know that everything I ate is sitting like a rock in my stomach... I'll have to make myself throw up” (Satyricon 47).

Yet again, this is an individual response to discomfort, not an orchestrated part of the meal. There is no suggestion of dedicated spaces or assistance from slaves in performing the act.

No known Roman text, inscription, or archaeological report mentions a designated space for vomiting associated with dining. Latrines and chamber pots were common, but these were for excretion rather than purging. Buckets may have been present at large feasts, but their use for vomiting is speculative and unsupported by direct evidence.

Representations in Roman Literature

The literary record is rich with references to Roman dining, and vomiting appears periodically as a motif in satire, moral discourse, or comedy. However, such references must be interpreted in their generic and rhetorical context.

In Petronius' Satyricon, Trimalchio's dinner is a mockery of nouveau riche pretensions and excess. The narrator Encolpius describes absurd courses, forced merriment, and medical concerns amid the gluttony. However, the text’s genre—a Menippean satire blending prose and verse—warns us against taking its descriptions literally.

Similarly, Martial uses the idea of vomiting as a trope for decadence in his epigrams:

“He vomits in gold. Do you think him not poor?” (Epigrams III.50)

This is part of Martial's sardonic commentary on Roman wealth and hypocrisy. He evokes disgust deliberately, not to document actual practice but to mock the elite. Literary vomiting is an ethical metaphor, not ethnographic reporting.

Seneca's portrayal in his De Vita Beata (On the Happy Life) connects vomiting with loss of control and servitude to pleasure, echoing Stoic disdain for bodily excess.

Hence, vomiting in literature was deployed to provoke moral revulsion or comic effect. While based on the reality of overindulgence, it was never a formalised part of the Roman feasting culture.

The Broader Myth of Roman Gluttony

The enduring image of the Roman elite gorging themselves to the point of collapse is both culturally resonant and deeply misleading. While elite banquets could be lavish, they were by no means daily occurrences for most Romans.

Roman writers themselves provide evidence of a moral tradition that prized moderation and simplicity. Cato the Elder, in De Agricultura, praises the hardy, frugal lifestyle of the Roman farmer, contrasting it with urban softness. Cicero frequently lauds frugalitas (frugality) as a cardinal virtue.

Even emperors played into this ideal. Augustus was known for his modest tastes, reportedly eating plain bread and cheese (Suetonius, Divus Augustus 76). Though later emperors such as Nero and Elagabalus became infamous for excess, these were considered exceptions and often invoked as moral exempla of decline.

Archaeological data from domestic contexts also supports this view. Most Roman homes lacked the infrastructure for elaborate banquets. The triclinium—dining room—was typically small, with only elite domus having the space and furnishing for elaborate dinners. Graffiti from Pompeii includes menus and price lists from thermopolia (street food shops), indicating that ordinary Romans ate simple meals outside the home.

Thus, the notion of Roman society defined by gluttonous feasting is a selective and exaggerated narrative. The myth of the vomitorium as a space for purging excess fits neatly into this broader distortion.

The myth of the vomitorium as a room for vomiting during feasts is a modern fabrication, unsubstantiated by ancient texts or archaeology. The term, in its original and proper context, refers to architectural features in theatres and amphitheatres designed for crowd dispersal. Through primary evidence, we have seen how the misunderstanding took root in 19th and 20th-century literature and moralising discourse.

Roman texts that discuss vomiting in the context of feasting do so in satire, critique, or anecdote—not as ethnographic fact. Suetonius, Seneca, Petronius, and Martial use vomiting to highlight individual excess or societal decline, not to describe formalised practices.

Correcting this myth matters not only for historical accuracy but also for challenging the broader exotification of Roman culture. Misconceptions about Roman decadence serve to distance the past, transforming it into a grotesque other rather than a complex, lived reality.

References and Further Reading

Huxley, A. (1923). Antic Hay. London: Chatto & Windus.

Macrobius. (n.d.). Saturnalia (W.H. Stahl, Trans.). Columbia University Press.

Martial. (1993). Epigrams (D.R. Shackleton Bailey, Trans.). Harvard University Press.

Petronius. (1969). The Satyricon (J.P. Sullivan, Trans.). Penguin.

Pyat, F. (1871). Noël au bagne. Paris.

Seneca. (1917–1925). Moral Epistles (R.M. Gummere, Trans.). Harvard University Press.

Seneca. (1932). De Vita Beata (J.W. Basore, Trans.). Harvard University Press.

Suetonius. (2025). The Lives of the Caesars (J. Coverly, Trans.)

Vitruvius. (1914). De Architectura (F. Granger, Trans.). Harvard University Press.