The Plague of Lust, Vol. 2 (of 2) Being a History of Venereal Disease in Classical Antiquity — A Closer Reading

Taxonomy of Ancient Sexual Pathologies

The first section of the volume is structured as a catalogue of diseases linked to genital misuse, each entry anchored by ancient authorities. Rosenbaum devotes particular attention to condylomata and thymus, describing their appearance, location, and supposed causes. He notes that condylomata were “evil-smelling” according to Hippocrates, and that thymus—named for its resemblance to thyme flowers—could appear on the palms, soles, or genitals, with those on the glans penis considered “more dangerous.” The author does not simply list symptoms; he compares accounts from different writers, highlighting contradictions. For example, Celsus describes thymus as reddish, while Paulus Aegineta allows for white variants. This comparative method reveals the unevenness of ancient medical knowledge, where nomenclature often overlapped and distinctions were imprecise.

Climate, Hygiene, and the Limits of Ancient Medicine

The second section shifts focus to external factors that influenced disease: cleanliness, depilation, circumcision, and bathing. Rosenbaum treats these as “influences which hindered” the inception of venereal diseases, implying a preventive framework. He draws on Hippocratic theories of climate and weather, but the excerpts show him more interested in cataloguing practices than in advancing a unified argument. The section on “Genius Epidemicus” includes a discussion of the Plague of Athens, though the connection to venereal disease is left implicit. Throughout, Rosenbaum’s tone remains clinical, and he avoids moral judgment. His reliance on ancient sources means that the text often reads as a compendium of received ideas rather than a critical analysis; he notes, for instance, that “scarcity of opportunities for observation” and “shame on the part of patients” limited physicians’ understanding.

The Translator’s Role and the Text’s Materiality

The volume’s paratexts reveal much about its production. The translator, identified only as “An Oxford M.A.,” has preserved Rosenbaum’s extensive footnotes, which sometimes exceed the main text in length. The Project Gutenberg edition notes that “the use of parentheses, especially in the footnotes, is rather wayward” and that “many index entries refer directly to multi-page footnotes.” This editorial apparatus shapes the reading experience: the footnotes contain crucial citations and alternative readings, but their erratic formatting can disrupt the narrative flow. The translator also silently corrected typographical errors but retained variations in spelling and punctuation, suggesting a fidelity to the original edition. Readers should be prepared to navigate a text where the scholarly apparatus is as dense as the primary argument, and where the boundaries between Rosenbaum’s voice and his sources are deliberately blurred.

This volume rewards readers who approach it as a sourcebook rather than a continuous narrative. The index and footnotes are essential tools for tracing specific conditions or authors. Because Rosenbaum often lets his sources speak without synthesis, the work is best read in segments, focusing on one disease or practice at a time. The medical terminology can be challenging, but the translator’s decision to retain Latin and Greek terms alongside English equivalents helps anchor the discussion. For those interested in the history of medicine or classical sexuality, this is a rich, if demanding, resource.

I found myself thinking of Rosenbaum’s meticulous catalogues of ancient ailments, and how they turned raw symptoms into quiet, orderly Latin names. Then my mind drifted to a stranger volume, Experiments on the Nervous System with Opium and Metalline Substances Made Chiefly with the View of Determining the Nature and Effects of Animal Electricity — Reading Notes, where the body becomes a similarly patient, puzzling text awaiting a reader’s gentle hand.