quired, but carefully stored for use; for the anxiety devoted to the search for words, to the exercise of the critical faculty and the power of comparison is in its place while we are learning, but not when we are speaking. Otherwise, the orator who has not given sufficient attention to preliminary study will be like a man who, having no fortune, lives from hand to mouth. If, on the other hand, the powers of speech have been carefully cultivated beforehand, words will yield us ready service, not merely turning up when we search for them, but dwelling in our thoughts and following them as the shadow follows the body. There are, however, limits even to this form of study; for when our words are good Latin, full of meaning, elegantly and aptly arranged, why should we labour further? And yet there are some who are never weary of morbid self-criticism, who throw themselves into an agony of mind almost over separate syllables, and even when they have discovered the best words for their purpose look for some word that is older, less familiar, and less obvious, since they cannot bring themselves to realise that when a speech is praised for its words, it implies that its sense is inadequate. While, then, style calls for the utmost attention, we must always bear in mind that nothing should be done for the sake of words only, since words were invented merely to give expression to things: and those words are the most satisfactory which give the best expression to the thoughts of our mind and produce the effect which we desire on the minds of the judges.) Such words will assuredly be productive of a style that will both give pleasure and awaken admiration; and the admiration will be of a kind far other than that which we bestow on portents, while the pleasure evoked by the charm will have nothing morbid about it, but will be praiseworthy and dignified. -H. E. BUTLER. The condemnation which I have passed on such carelessness in writing will make it pretty clear what my views are on the luxury of dictation which is now so fashionable. For, when we write, howhand cannot follow the rapidity of our ever great our speed, the fact that the thoughts gives us time to think, whereas the presence of our amanuensis hurries us on, and at times we feel ashamed to hesitate or pause, or make some alteration, as though we were afraid to display such weakness before a witness. As a result our language tends not merely to be haphazard and formless, but in our desire to produce a continuous flow we let slip positive improprieties of diction, which show neither the precision of the writer nor the impetuosity of the speaker. Again, if the amanuensis is a slow writer, or lacking in intelligence, he becomes a stumbling-block, our speed is checked, and the thread of our ideas is interrupted by the delay or even perhaps by the loss of temper to which it gives rise. Moreover, the gestures which accompany strong feeling, and sometimes even serve to stimulate the mind, the waving of the hand, the contraction of the brow, the occasional striking of the forehead or side, and those which Persius notes when he describes a trivial style as one that "Thumps not the desk nor smacks of bitten nails," all these become ridiculous, unless we are alone. Finally, we come to the most important consideration of all, that the ad 1 From The Loeb Classical Library, reprinted by permission. vantages of privacy are lost when we dictate. Everyone, however, will agree that the absence of company and deep silence are most conducive to writing, though I would not go so far as to concur in the opinion of those who think woods and groves the most suitable localities for the purpose, on the ground that the freedom of the sky and the charm of the surroundings produce sublimity of thought and wealth of inspiration. Personally I regard such an environment as a pleasant luxury rather than a stimulus to study. For whatever causes us delight must necessarily distract us from the concentration due to our work. The mind cannot devote its undivided and sincere attention to a number of things at the same time, and wherever it turns its gaze it must cease to contemplate its appointed task. Therefore, the charm of the woods, the gliding of the stream, the breeze that murmurs in the branches, the song of birds, and the very freedom with which our eyes may range, are mere distractions, and in my opinion the pleasure which they excite is more likely to relax than to concentrate our attention. mosthenes took a wiser view; for he would retire to a place where no voice was to be heard, and no prospect greeted the sight, for fear that his eyes might force his mind to neglect its duty. Therefore, let the burner of the midnight oil seclude himself in the silence of night, within closed doors, with but a solitary lamp to light his labours. But for every kind of study, and more especially for night work, good health and its chief source, simple living, are essential; for we have fallen into the habit of devoting to relentless labour the hour which nature has appointed for rest and relaxation. From those hours we must take only such time as is superfluous for sleep, and will not be missed. For fatigue will make us careless in writing, and the hours of daylight are amply sufficient for one who has no other distractions. It is De only the busy man who is driven to encroach on the hours of darkness. Nevertheless, night work, so long as we come to it fresh and untired, provides by far the best form of privacy. But although silence and seclusion and absolute freedom of mind are devoutly to be desired, they are not always within our power to attain. Consequently we must not fling aside our book at once, if disturbed by some noise, and lament that we have lost a day: on the contrary, we must make a firm stand against such inconveniences, and train ourselves so to concentrate our thoughts as to rise superior to all impediments to study. If only you direct all your attention to the work which you have in hand, no sight or sound will ever penetrate to your mind. If even casual thoughts often occupy us to such an extent that we do not see passers-by, or even stray from our path, surely we can obtain the same result by the exercise of our will. We must not give way to pretexts for sloth. For unless we make up our mind that we must be fresh, cheerful and free from all other care when we approach our studies, we shall always find some excuse for idleTherefore, whether we be in a crowd, on a journey, or even at some festive gathering, our thoughts should always have some inner sanctuary of their own to which they may retire. Otherwise what shall we do when we are suddenly called upon to deliver a set speech in the midst of the forum, with lawsuits in progress on every side, and with the sound of quarrels and even casual outcries in our ears, if we need absolute privacy to discover the thoughts which we jot down upon our tablets? It was for this reason that Demosthenes, the passionate lover of seclusion, used to study on the seashore amid the roar of the breakers that they might teach him not to be unnerved by the uproar of the public assembly. ness. There are also certain minor details which deserve our attention, for there is nothing too minute for the student. It is best to write on wax owing to the facility which it offers for erasure, though weak sight may make it desirable to employ parchment by preference. The latter, however, although of assistance to the eye, delays the hand and interrupts the stream of thought owing to the frequency with which the pen has to be supplied with ink. But whichever we employ, we must leave blank pages that we may be free to make additions when we will. For lack of space at times gives rise to a reluctance to make corrections, or, at any rate, is liable to cause confusion when new matter is inserted. The wax tablets should not be unduly wide; for I have known a young and over-zealous student write his compositions at undue length, because he measured them by the number of lines, a fault which persisted, in spite of frequent admonition, until his tablets were changed, when it disappeared. Space must also be left for jotting down the thoughts which occur to the writer out of due order, that is to say, which refer to subjects other than those in hand. For sometimes the most admirable thoughts break in upon us which cannot be inserted in what we are writing, but which, on the other, it is unsafe to put by, since they are at times forgotten, and at times cling to the memory so persistently as to divert us from some other line of thought. They are therefore best kept in store. -H. E. BUTLER. THE NEW FREEDOM SECOND CENTURY Some There can be no doubt that the self-centered and suspicious character of the emperor Domitian, whose rule extended from 81 to 96 A.D., was a continual threat against the lives of prominent members of the ruling classes of Rome. were put to death, and nearly all driven to a servile attitude or to a careful policy of silence and inaction. No wonder then that at the accession of Nerva, men felt that they were seeing the dawn of a new era. The pages of melancholy Tacitus and of genial Pliny alike reflect the horror of the old and the hope for the new. But it is not to be thought that any essential differences in the form of government involving any diminution of the emperor's powers were introduced. Trajan certainly exercised as much authority as Domitian. Nor was there thought of discarding or annulling the acts of Domitian in the governing of the empire, for the records show that Trajan often confirmed them. The new era, however, was a very real thing to men of the time. It grew out of a new relation, a new feeling, between emperor and senate. After the murder of Domitian, Nerva succeeded to the throne. He gained his place neither by dynastic succession, nor by the sword of the army, but by the deliberate choice of the senate itself. Nerva was an old man no longer possessed of the vigor necessary to rule the Empire. The idea of adopting as his son and ultimate successor a tried and capable administrator was conceived, and, on the advice of leading senators and with the consent of the senate as a body, Nerva adopted Trajan. The policy of adoption then successfully inaugurated was continued for several following reigns and played no small part in making possible the happiness of the succeeding century. The senate then had actually and freely chosen its emperor. It is noteworthy that there was no talk of a restoration of the Republic, as had at times occurred in years past. That is to say, the senate had come to realize the necessity for Imperial rule. Time had done its work in teaching this fact, and also had conveniently removed the irreconcilables, and had brought in new blood even from the provinces. The senate was now prepared to work with and under the presidency of any reasonable man. Nerva and Trajan responded to this attitude, publicly treated the senate with honor, and the individual senators with respect. The splendid tact of Trajan, which brings Augustus to mind, undoubtedly had much to do with the ensuing era of good feeling. He would have the senate really function as under Augustus, and it showed appreciation by unprecedented loyalty. This was the period which Tacitus hailed as "a rarely happy time when a man thinks what he likes, and says what he thinks." To men of letters this realization, with the general feeling of relief and hope, gave great encouragement. The result was the enriching of Roman literature by two works of real genius, the historical books of Tacitus and the satires of Juvenal, and by the respectable writings of Pliny and of Suetonius. But these were the final products in literature of the true Roman spirit. With the reign of Hadrian, successor to Trajan, set in a literary period of archaism which clearly marked a decline in originality. The same reign, however, saw the beginning of a great development in the science of law. 596 I. APPRECIATION OF THE NEW ORDER THE CONTRAST 1 TACITUS [From the Agricola] The reign of Nerva witnessed a marked literary revival, which was the result of the increased freedom of individual writers to deal with matters of public interest from which they had been excluded for the better part of a century. For Tacitus, see above p. 461. To hand down to posterity the works and ways of famous men was our father's custom: our age has not yet abandoned it even now, indifferent though it be to its own children, whenever, at least, some great and notable virtue has dominated and overpowered the vice common alike to small states and great-misapprehension of integrity and jealousy. But in our fathers' times, just as the doing of deeds worth recording was natural and more obvious, so also there was inducement then to the brightest spirits. to publish such records of virtue. Partisanship was not the motive or ambition: a good conscience was its own reward; nay, many men even counted it not presumption, but self-respect, to narrate their own lives. A Rutilius, a Scaurus, could do so without falling short of belief or provoking a sneer; so true is it that virtues are best appreciated in those ages which most readily give them birth; but to-day, even though the man whose life I am about to write is already gone, I ought to have craved an indulgence which I should not have needed, had invective been my purpose; so harsh is the spirit of our age, so cynical towards virtue. lenus extolled Thrasea Pætus, when Herennius Senecio extolled Helvidius Priscus, their praise became a capital offence, so that persecution fell not merely on the authors themselves but on the very books: to the public hangman, in fact, was given the task of burning in the courtyard of the Forum the memorials of our noblest characters. flames disappeared the voice of the peoThey imagined, no doubt, that in those ple, the liberty of the Senate, the conscience of mankind; especially as the votaries of Philosophy also were pelled, and all liberal culture exiled, in order that nowhere might anything of good report present itself to men's eyes. Assuredly we have furnished a signal proof of our submissiveness; and even as former generations witnessed the utmost excesses of liberty, so have we the extremes of slavery; wherein our "Inquisitors" have deprived us even of the give and take of conversation. should have lost memory itself as well as voice, had forgetfulness been as easy as silence. We Now at last heart is coming back to us: from the first, from the very outset of this happy age, Nerva has united things long incompatible, Empire and liberty; Trajan is increasing daily the happiness of the times; and public confidence has not merely learned to hope and pray, but has received security for the fulfilment of its prayers and even the substance thereof. Though it is true that from the nature of human frailty cure operates more slowly than disease, and as the body itself is slow to grow and quick to decay, so also it is easier to damp men's spirits and their enthusiasm than to revive them: nay, listlessness itself has a certain subtle charm, and the languor we hate at first we learn to love: what else were possible? For the term |