I confess that I have a preference for the smaller theatre which has been called the Odeon.  Is that because, possibly, tragedies were never played there?  Is it because this establishment seems more complete and in better preservation, thanks to the intelligent replacements of La Vega, the architect?  It was covered, as two inscriptions found there explicitly declare, with a wooden roof, probably, the walls not being strong enough to sustain an arch.  It was reached through a passage all bordered with inscriptions, traced on the walls by the populace waiting to secure admission as they passed slowly in, one after the other.  A lengthy file of gladiators had carved their names also upon the walls, along with an enumeration of their victories; barbarian slaves, and some freedmen, likewise, had left their marks.  These probably constituted the audience that occupied the uppermost seats approached by the higher vomitories.  On the other hand, there were no lateral vomitories.  The spectators entered the orchestra directly by large doors, and thence ascended to the four tiers of the lower (cavea) which curved like hooks at their extremities, and were separated from the middle cavea by a parapet of marble terminating in vigorously-carved lion’s paws.  Among these carvings we may particularly note a crouching Atlas, of short, thick-set form, sustaining on his shoulders and his arms, which are doubled behind him, a marble slab which was once the stand of a vase or candlestick.  This athletic effort is violently rendered by the artist.  Above the orchestra ran the tribunalia, reminding us of our modern stage-boxes.  These were the places reserved at Rome for the vestal virgins; at Pompeii, they were very probably those of the public priestesses—­of Eumachia, whose statue we have already seen, or of Mamia whose tomb we have inspected.  The seats of the three cavea were of blocks of lava; and there can still be seen in them the hollows in which the occupants placed their feet so as not to soil the spectators below them.  Let us remember that the Roman mantles were of white wool, and that the sandals of the ancients got muddied just as our shoes do.  The citizens who occupied the central cavea brought their cushions with them or folded their spotless togas on the seats before they took their places.  It was necessary, then, to protect them from the mud and the dust in which the spectators occupying the upper tiers had been walking.

The number of ranges of seats was seventeen, divided into wedges by six flights of steps, and in stalls by lines yet visible upon the stone.  The upper tiers were approached by vomitories and by a subterranean corridor.  The orchestra formed an arc the chord of which was indicated by a marble strip with this inscription: 

     “M.  Olconius M.F.  Vervs, Pro Ludis.”