PART II PAGAN EDUCATION (continued 2)

On the other hand, he confesses that he was often disobedient through love of play, and admits ‘non enim discerem, nisi cogerer’.[555] Moreover, when he puts his punishments in the same category as ‘temptationes martyrum’, we are inclined to think him a sentimental prig. But there can be no doubt about the excessive severity which was prevalent, and the fact that it impressed Augustine’s mind to such an extent[556] is a measure of its wrongness. The worst feature of the system was not so much the general acquiescence in force as a scholastic panacea, but in the rigidity which made no distinctions or allowances.

Gaul was no exception to the general tradition. We find in Ausonius a fine gentleness of spirit and an elaborate courtesy; he shows an almost un-Roman sympathy with Bissula, the barbarian maid, and is fond of animals,[557] yet he is by no means thoroughly converted from the old Roman harshness. The gladiatorial games went on, and were significant of a prevalent disregard for human life and personality. The old spirit flashes forth under the veneer of culture; as when Ausonius surprises us by saying blandly to his secretary, who had been branded for running away: ‘on your branded face then, Pergamus, you have borne the marks; letters which your hand neglected are inflicted on your forehead.’[558]

When he writes a letter of exhortation to his grandson we feel that though there is something of the Greek spirit of pleasure in education, and though he says[559] that the Muses, too, must play,

and again:

yet there is an acquiescence in an almost savage system of control. Surliness and brutality on the part of the master is accepted as one of the ills that flesh is heir to. It was not always so, he says:

Chiron used to guide his pupils with gentle words (though Juvenal represents Achilles as trembling before the rod).[562] But that state of things belongs to a mythological age. The only thing to do in the circumstances is to remember Vergil’s dictum: ‘Degeneres animos timor arguit’, and face the master as a brave warrior would his enemy.[563]

He pictures to his grandson the cane, the birch, the strap, and the excited bustle of the school-benches (a confession that even the most rigorous system of force could not keep perfect order). These instruments are ‘the pomp of the place’ and the elements in its scene of fear. But the great consolation is that both his father and his mother went through the same storm of blows in their childhood—an indication that the girls were not more spared than the boys.[564]

The same assumption that flogging is the inevitable counterpart of teaching is found in Sidonius.[565] ‘Ferulae lectionis Maronianae’ becomes a synonym for education at a grammar school, and the phrase ‘manum ferulae subducere’, in the sense of attending school, goes down through the Middle Ages into modern times. Even at the universities corporal punishment was the usual thing. Eusebius, professor of philosophy at Lyons, moulds his pupils ‘castigatoria severitate’.[566]

There are signs that the finer spirits, in theory at any rate, felt that there was something wrong with all this external rigour. Partly, no doubt, they followed the lead of Quintilian, and partly, perhaps, there was a slow evolution past the stage of mere militarism. Libanius boasts ἑτέρους δὲ ἴσμεν μυρίας ῥάβδους ἀνηλωκότας,[567] but he had no need to; and experience has taught him that the desired end is not always reached in this way. ‘Now I avoided correction by means of blows, for I saw that this method often had the opposite of the intended effect.’ We gather that the applause, which was usual in the rhetor’s school,[568] often degenerated into rowdiness.[569] Yet we find that the relation between master and pupil was often very hearty. Gregory of Nazianzus tells of the farewell speeches, the laments, the tears, which used to mark the day of parting.[570]

The opposition to the regular tradition is not so clearly formulated in the West, but we find indications of a better ideal. In the letter to his grandson, Ausonius does not praise existing conditions, but rather accepts them as a necessary evil. Indeed, he describes his own teaching in words which are so contrasted with his picture of the ordinary school as to imply a direct criticism.

Paulinus of Pella has pleasant memories of his schooldays.[572] The affection with which he writes to his teacher Ausonius[573] proves that the professor’s statements about the mildness of his régime were not unfounded. He had referred to his work with Paulinus as that of a yoke-mate, and his pupil replies:

Similarly, Sidonius speaks of his master Hoënius in a way which implies at least some degree of familiarity,[575] while his general recollections of his schooldays seem to have been distinctly pleasing.[576]

(b) Play.

The Romans were not much interested in psychology, or in the full development of personality. It is not surprising, therefore, to find that practically all the child-games we know of in the ancient world are Greek;[577] nor can we wonder that the Gallo-Romans have left us no description of the sort of things the child mind does, the way in which its personality develops, when freed from the guidance of what is called education.

The subtler African mind of Augustine, however, has left us some record of such games; and they are all so human and lifelike that they may very well have been common not only to his country, but also to his age.

He mentions ‘nuts’, handball, and bird-catching (nucibus et pilulis et passeribus).[578] Games of ball were, of course, common to the children of all countries. We find Paulinus of Pella at the age of fifteen wishing for a golden ball just arrived from Rome,[579] and Augustine describes how desperately keen he was on beating a chum in the contest of the ball.[580] As for the sparrows, ‘to capture a bird’, says Bertrand in his Life of St. Augustine,[581] ‘that winged, light and brilliant thing, is what all children long to do in every country on earth’. The same author describes the game of nuts as it is played in modern Africa. ‘A step of a staircase is used as a table by the players, or the pavement of a courtyard. Three shells are laid on the stone and a dried pea. Then, with rapid, baffling movements, hands, brown and alert, fly from one shell to another, shuffle them, mix them up, juggle the dried pea sometimes under this shell, sometimes under that, and the point is to guess which shell the pea has got under. By means of certain astute methods an artful player can make the pea stick to his fingers, or to the inside of the shell, and the opponent loses every time....’

It may be, too, that there were battles in which they took sides as Carthaginians and Romans or Greeks and Trojans.[582] Augustine loved to listen to fairy tales and was passionately fond of watching plays and performances (curiositate magis magisque per oculos emicante in spectacula, ludos maiorum).[583] The spirit of adventure sometimes led him (as it has led children of all ages) to break the laws of property, as the incident of the pear-tree shows.[584]

Of the organized sport of youth and manhood we derive considerable information from Sidonius, who frequently mentions indoor games such as the duodecim scripta, a sort of backgammon,[585] fritilli[586] and pyrgus[587] (in which dice [tesserae] were used), as well as outdoor games. Paulinus of Pella tells us how he was taken ill with fever at the age of fifteen, and his parents, thinking his health more important than ‘doctae instructio linguae’, followed the doctor’s advice and removed him from his school at Bordeaux. Among the pleasures that were planned to speed his recovery was hunting, which his father resumed for his son’s sake.[588] The equipment of a well-to-do Gallic huntsman is described. The young Paulinus wishes for a fine horse with extravagant saddle and bridle adornments (faleris ornatior), a tall groom, a swift hound, and a smart hawk. Fine clothes and scent from Arabia are also objects of his desire.

The main details of the chase may easily be filled in from Sidonius. From the description of Theodoric’s hunting skill, we gather that spears were used as well as bows,[589] and that the unsportsmanlike Roman habit of driving the game into nets was practised in fifth-century Gaul.[590] The hawk was regarded as an indispensable item.[591] There is river and lake fishing,[592] either with nets or with lines laid before nightfall,[593] and we hear of boat-racing[594] on lakes.

The game of ball, which is so frequently mentioned in Sidonius, was undoubtedly the most popular outdoor game. It was played by two persons,[595] or four,[596] or more than four,[597] and we gather that there was a good deal of running about. That is practically all we know of its rules, so that it is, strictly speaking, an assumption to call it ‘tennis’.[598] There were professional ball-throwers or jugglers, and there is an epitaph, found at Narbonne, to one Capito, a ‘pilarius’.[599]

The games of the circus were still popular. Majorian held them at Arles,[600] and they are frequently mentioned in inscriptions, as in the one at Arles in which some thousands of sesterces are given ‘from the interest on which athletic or circus games are to be given yearly’.[601] At St. Pierre (Narbonne) a well-preserved inscription was found to a man who had been ‘flamen’ of Augustus and curator of the gladiatorial games, and had been honoured ‘for his exceptional munificence in providing games’.[602] A Massilian inscription mentions ‘agonothet(ae) agoni(s)‘,[603] and it is not impossible that the tradition of public games in Gaul received an initial impetus from the Greek city of the south.

Against these athletic displays there seems to have been a good deal of feeling. Pliny tells us that they were abolished at Vienne by Trebonius Rufus, whose judgement, when appealed against, was upheld by Junius Mauricus, who added ‘Vellem etiam Romae tolli posset’. The reason given was a moral one. ‘Mores Viennensium infecerat, ut noster (agon) hic (Romae) omnium’, says Pliny,[604] voicing the traditional Roman opinion on the subject. For Ennius had maintained: ‘Flagiti principium est nudare inter civis corpora’;[605] and Cicero had followed up the objection with ridicule: ‘Iuventutis vero exercitatio quam absurda in gymnasiis’.[606] Seneca[607] excludes gymnastics from his liberal studies, the main reason being ‘that they do not make for virtue’. Quintilian is more moderate. He has no objection to those who give them some little attention—‘paulum etiam palaestricis vacaverunt’. But those who overdo it, who spend part of their life in oil and part in wine, and so cloud the intellect, he would keep at the greatest possible distance.[608] There was a feeling that the ‘Graeculus magister’ who took charge of the exercises, instead of the old Roman veteran, was largely responsible for the degeneration.[609]

Now the question arises whether gymnastic exercises were part of the school programme, as in Greece, and whether there was anything corresponding to the State-governed training of the ‘ephebi’. There seems to be considerable confusion of thought on this point.

Denk[610] writes of the school buildings of Autun that they ‘lay in the shadow of trees, in the neighbourhood of murmuring fountains, the water of which was utilized by means of canals for bathing and swimming establishments, while the Gymnasium and the Palaestra provided for physical training and fitness’. For this he quotes Bulaeus.[611] But the reference is wrong. Elsewhere[612] this unreliable author vaguely mentions a palaestra in connexion with Autun, but cites no authority for his statement. Nor does Tacitus,[613] whom he quotes, refer to anything of this kind at Autun.

On the other hand, there is the fact that neither Ausonius, who was interested in education, nor Sidonius, who was interested in games, says a word about gymnastics in schools.

It is true that Sidonius, in describing the pictures of his country seat at Avitacum, refers to wrestling bouts and to the ‘virga gymnasiarchorum’.[614] But he is writing about artistic representations, the content of which were probably literary and without reference to Gaul, and the ‘virga gymnasiarchorum’, if, like the description of the misers who are practised in the palaestra of detraction and rub their limbs with poison instead of oil,[615] it has a realistic and a local ring, may refer with greater pertinence to the public performances such as took place at the Ludi Circenses.

Nor need we depend on the dangerous argument from silence. The whole of Roman traditional sentiment was against such an arrangement. Seneca, and the influential Quintilian, definitely excluded it from their scheme of studies. The most that Quintilian will concede is a master of deportment, who will teach the art of gesticulation (chironomia, lex gestus), which is important for the orator, and who will train in the pupil a decorous grace of body. He will even go so far as to pass the war-dance of the old Romans, with the qualification ‘nec ultra pueriles annos retinebitur nec in his ipsis diu.’ But he clearly means to exclude the gymnastic training as practised by the Greeks.[616]

It may be that the misconception of Denk partly lies in an unconscious confusion of the word ‘gymnasium’. Early writers like Plautus use it in the Greek sense of a school for gymnastic exercises, but where we find it in later authors like Cicero and Juvenal, the meaning is ‘public school or college’; and so it is that Sidonius uses it.[617] However that may be, it seems clear that on the whole Cramer is right, when he says that in the West gymnastics were never looked on as a part of public education.[618]

In so far as they appeared at all in the Roman world, they were due to original Greek influences, which, however, sometimes lasted surprisingly long. We read, for example, that Augustus was a constant spectator of the young men at their exercises, a considerable number of them (according to ancient custom) still being found at Capreae[619]—which was under the Greek influence of Naples. The inscriptions (as we have seen) point to the existence of a gymnasiarchia which superintended officially the physical exercises of the youths and children at Massilia,[620] though how late it persisted we cannot say. It is probable that even in the Greek city of the South the practice was discontinued in the fourth and fifth centuries, for Massilia’s glory was a thing of the past and her specifically Greek character had all but disappeared.

(c) Organization.

The Maeniana at Autun attracted so much attention that contemporary writers have left us a fairly complete picture of its organization and its structure, which may be taken as typical of the imperial schools in the larger cities of Gaul.

Autun, as we gather from the Panegyrici Latini, was full of big buildings—temples of Janus, Pluto, Jove, Apollo, Hercules, Venus, Proserpine, and Minerva—and possessed an amphitheatre, a ‘naumachia’ or artificial lake for mock naval battles, fountains, and aqueducts. To these, by the generosity of Constantius Chlorus, there had been added at the end of the third century the Maeniana, standing several stories high, in the most important part of the town between the Capitol on the one hand and the temples of Apollo and Herakles Musagetes on the other.[621]

The schoolroom was probably of the traditional type. The furniture was very simple. There were no desks (as we may infer, e.g. from the well-known fresco at Herculanum and the bas-relief at the Louvre)[622] and the pupils wrote on their knees. The benches on which they sat were arranged around the chair of the teacher. On the walls would be pictures of great historical events and geographical maps[623] according to Seneca’s principle ‘homines amplius oculis quam auribus credunt’.[624]

A gravestone relief discovered at Neumagen near Trèves shows a tutor in a comfortable seat holding a roll of papyrus. On either side sit two elder sons also reading from rolls, while a younger son stands on the right with his wax tablets, furnished with a handle, waiting for his writing lesson. The stone dates from the first centuries of the Christian era, and probably represents a private school in the home of a wealthy Gaul who wished to boast of the good education which he had given his children.[625]

We do not hear much about private tuition, but the old Roman custom of having a household slave to teach the rudiments must have persisted in the wealthy families of Gaul. Paulinus of Pella gives the impression that he had such training,[626] and Sidonius writes to Simplicius[627] that it is his duty to admonish his sons who are spoiled and refuse to submit to his assiduous care—which suggests, as Hodgkin remarks, that he was their tutor.

In the schools a ‘chair’ (cathedra) was occupied by the teacher, who was variously called ‘professor’, ‘praeceptor’, or, more rarely, ‘magister’, and a schola meant the number of people grouped under one cathedra, just as, in the official language of the time, it meant a group of officials serving under one head—soldiers, servants of the palace, and so forth.[628]

It is vain to look for any detailed scheme of arrangement in the subjects of the schools. As we have seen, no definite compartments can be distinguished in a subject like ‘Grammar’, nor were the same number of subjects found in every school: Law, Philosophy, and Medicine being taught in accordance with the traditions and the size of the place. We are not even quite clear as to the relation of the various grades of schools to one another when we try to look at Gaul in particular. For a point that is left vague in one’s mind after reading the authorities for Gaul, is whether a distinction was made between the elementary school and the more advanced classes of the grammarian. Julius Capitolinus, in his Life of M. Antoninus, the philosopher,[629] makes it quite clear that a different master was used at Rome during the second century for the two stages. ‘Usus est magistris ad prima elementa Euforione litteratore ... usus est praeterea grammaticis, Graeco, Alexandro Cotiaensi, Latinis, Trosio Apro et Pollione et Eutychio Proculo Siccensi. Oratoribus usus est Graecis Aninio Macro ... Latino Frontone Cornelio....’ Apuleius is just as clear. Drawn from the fountain of the Muses, he says that the first goblet provides the instruction of the elementary master, the second the teaching of the grammarian, while the third provides the rhetor’s eloquence; and that this is as far as most people go.[630] And in our period Augustine says that he was very fond of Latin literature ‘non quas primi magistri sed quas docent qui grammatici vocantur’.[631]

There is, therefore, a clear traditional distinction in the Roman world between the primus magister or litterator, the grammarian and the rhetor, and perhaps we may see this division in the stages of his career which Ausonius describes in the Protrepticon:[632]

But in the Gallic writers of our period the distinction between the first two stages is not at all clear. Ausonius, for example, who never directly mentions the elementary school, says that Macrinus was his first master, but he puts him under the heading ‘grammaticus’;[633] and in the Theodosian Code, while grammatici and rhetores are always distinguished in the laws of the emperors about teachers’ salaries and privileges, the elementary masters are never specially named. Probably the work of the primus magister was considerably diminished in the schools by the fact that many families employed private tutors for the initial stages of education; and whether a school had a separate master for the lower classes depended, no doubt, on its size and circumstances. The whole of ‘primary’ education was loosely considered the province of the grammaticus,[634] who in most cases would have an assistant, called by the less honourable name of litterator[635] or primus magister. The proscholus sive subdoctor, mentioned by Ausonius,[636] seems to have been an assistant grammarian, different from his chief only in social position. For the proscholus described seems to have been as much above the ordinary grammarian in learning as the grammarian was above the litterator. But his learning was in inverse ratio to his pay, for Ausonius describes him as ‘Exili nostrae fucatus honore cathedrae’.[637]

Of Minervius, Ausonius says that he supplied the forum with a thousand of his pupils, and added two thousand to the number of the senate,[638] and Jullian[639] doubles this number (three thousand) to get the total number which Minervius taught (for he was rhetor at Constantinople and Rome as well as at Bordeaux) and, dividing by thirty (the probable number of his teaching years), allots to him two hundred students per annum. But Ausonius’s style and character hardly admit of such mathematical speculation. He was much too vague and careless about things to make a calculation of this kind anything but extremely uncertain. The most we can say is that Bordeaux, the most flourishing Gallic university of the fourth century, must have had an exceptionally large number of students, several hundred, perhaps, drawn from all parts of Gaul, just as the professors sometimes came from Greece or Sicily.

Education was begun at an early age. Paulinus of Pella began when he was five,[640] and Ausonius took charge of children in their infancy.[641] At fourteen or fifteen the boy usually left the grammarian. Paulinus, who was probably retarded by the difficulty he found with Latin, was still in his grammarian’s school at fifteen.[642] If, as it appears, the law-course lasted five years, law students who went to Rome from Gaul would spend only a year or so in the school of the rhetor. For the emperor forbade students to continue their studies at Rome after the age of twenty, when they were removed by force if they omitted to return. ‘His sane qui sedulo operam professoribus navant, usque ad vicesimum aetatis suae annum Romae liceat commorari. Post id vero tempus qui neglexerit sponte remeare, sollicitudine praefecturae etiam invitus[643] ad patriam revertatur.’[644] Such was the stringent enactment of Valentinian in A.D. 370. We hear of students attached to the ‘Corpora’ who continued their studies at Rome after their twentieth year.[645] But it appears that the general age for leaving the rhetor’s school was, at any rate, before twenty.

says Ausonius to Exsuperius,[646] which means that fifteen was a common age for boys to be at the rhetor’s school.

About school-hours we know very little. It does not seem likely that the grammarian had so many hours per week for each of the seven liberal arts. What he aimed at was extensive reading, primarily for philological and literary knowledge, and only secondarily for such historical and scientific facts as came under Capella’s various heads. ‘The grammarian’, says Seneca, ‘attends to language, and, if he wishes to go farther afield, to history, while the utmost limit of his activities is poetry.’[647] ‘If he wishes to go farther afield’ is significant: the system was an elastic one.

Of the total number of teaching hours there is only one indication. Ausonius sends the teacher Ursulus six philippi, the usual New Year’s gift from the emperor which Ursulus had not received, and says that they are ‘As many as the men to whom the fates of the Romans and the Albans were entrusted, and as many as his teaching hours at school and the hours he sits at home’.[648]

Denk, therefore, seems to be wrong when he says of the teachers[649] that they had no limitations of subject or method or time.

When this schoolday of six hours started in Gaul we do not know; but it is probable that it began fairly early in the morning and went on into the early afternoon. This was the case at Antioch in the fourth century;[650] and Augustine says that the teacher is kept busy in the hours before noon.[651]

With regard to examinations we find nothing definite, but there is a passage in the famous law of 370[652] which points to the application of some test. The emperor wants a report from the prefect of Rome, with a view to imperial appointments, of all students who have completed their course and are going back to the provinces. Moreover, such reports (breves) must be lodged at the imperial office every year. ‘Similes autem breves etiam ad scrinia mansuetudinis nostrae annis singulis dirigantur, quo meritis singulorum institutionibusque conpertis, utrum quandoque nobis sint necessarii iudicemus.’

From a few scattered hints it looks as if there was some sort of academic dress. Domitius teaches Terence at Ameria, wrapped in a thick cloak (endromidatus) though the weather is warm[653]—a picture which reminds us of Augustine’s ‘paenulati magistri’.[654] At Antioch the rhetor wore a philosopher’s mantle[655] (tribon), a costume which was not unknown in Gaul, for Sidonius remarks that Claudianus, though a philosopher, wore ordinary dress.[656]

That there were holidays at regular intervals is clear from Ausonius’s letter to his grandson:

And Sidonius invites Domitius to come and share the joys of the country after his laborious teaching in the stuffy schoolroom.[658]

When exactly the vacations began and how long they lasted in Gaul we do not know, but it is probable that the order and duration of the Roman holidays were imitated. Ausonius’s verses in the ‘Thirty days hath September’ style on the Feriae Romanae[659] indicate that the Roman holidays existed at least in the memory of the schoolboy. Tertullian implies that they existed also in his experience, though less splendid in the provinces than at Rome (minore cura per provincias pro minoribus viribus administrantur).[660] We hear of ‘Florales Ludi’, which were different from the Roman Floralia, in connexion with the academy of Toulouse. There were ‘Agones rhetorici et poetici quotannis celebrari soliti, quique etiamnum hodie Kalendis Maii (sic) quotannis in domo publica committuntur’.[661] It is doubtful when these games were first introduced. Justinus mentions them in his description of the foundation of Massilia. Tradition at Toulouse said they were instituted by a maiden of literary tastes, Clementia Isaura; another version is that she merely renewed them. She is mentioned in the Agonisticon of one Petrus Faber of Toulouse in the sixteenth century, and Papyrius Massonius wrote an ‘Elogium Clementiae Isaurae’. They set up a statue to her on which the inscription ran: ‘Clementia Isaura ... forum frumentarium, vinarium, piscarium et olitorium ... Capitolinis populoque Tolosano legavit, hac lege ut quotannis ludos Florales in aedem publicam quam ipsa sua impensa extruxit celebrent....’

On such occasions a child would be taken by his parent to see the show, though he would not be allowed a seat (non sedens propter aetatem),[662] and at festivals such as those of St. Just he would enjoy a game of ball or dice.[663]

A calendar of about the middle of the fourth century would, Jullian[664] supposes, taking the evidence of Ausonius’s poem ‘de Feriis’, the calendar of Philocalus, and the Christian writers, show about eighty-nine holidays, of which he considers six doubtful. In the meantime Christian festivals were increasingly claiming recognition. Already in 321 we find Constantine prohibiting the exercise of certain trades on Sunday,[665] and in 389 the Biblical conception of Sunday is definitely recognized[666] (solis die quem dominicum rite dixere maiores) and a general cessation of business is enjoined. In the same year the pagan festivals were cut down; only the summer and autumn festivals (described, even in the law, with the usual literary diffuseness of the time), the New Year holidays, and the foundation-days of Rome and Constantinople were to remain.[667] On the other hand, shows on Sunday were forbidden, ‘so that the sacred rites enjoined by the Christian law should not be disturbed by any gathering of shows’[668] (A.D. 392), and at Easter the business of the forum and of the law courts[669] was suspended. In theory, therefore, there was a decrease in pagan and an increase in Christian holidays. In practice, however, pagan festivals long persisted,[670] and it is significant of the tenacity of paganism that the Lupercalia was celebrated in the fifth century. Very often the church kept the old festivals, merely changing their meaning.[671]

There can be no doubt that the pagan festivals were observed as school holidays: the references in Horace and his contemporaries and the Roman conception of festus, fastus, feriae, as indicating solemnity and reverence,[672] point to this conclusion. Such was evidently the case in the fourth-century Italian schools, for Augustine waits to resign his professorship until the holidays of the ‘Vindemia’.[673]

Of the Christian festivals it is harder to judge, especially after the revival of paganism under Julian at the beginning of our period. But it is probable that while the earlier laws (e.g. those of Constantine) had no widespread effect on the schools, the increasing emphasis laid on Christian festivals, passing through the fourth and fifth centuries into the Germanic period of Gaul, must have meant the recognition of Sundays and such festivals as Easter in the school curriculum.

Besides the public festivals there was the long vacation, lasting from the end of July till the beginning of October.[674] At Antioch, similarly, classes were taken only in the winter and in the spring,[675] the vacation lasting from midsummer till the beginning of winter. When the vacation came, the Antioch rhetors used to go in for public speeches and imperial panegyrics.[676]

Moreover, any special event produced a holiday. At Antioch any festive occasions, funerals,[677] or civil commotions,[678] served to close the schoolrooms. On the occasion of the marriage of Ricimer with the daughter of Anthemius, the schools of Gaul enjoyed a holiday.[679] Apparently the length of the holiday was not controlled by organized rules, and this time it lasted so long that even Sidonius protested.[680] ‘Tandem’, he says, ‘reditum est in publicam serietatem, quae rebus actitandis ianuam campumque patefecit.’

It is interesting to find signs of a common life among the students, the beginnings of a residential university. Aulus Gellius claims the authority of Pythagoras for this mode of life. ‘Here is another point we must not omit: all the students of Pythagoras, as soon as they had been admitted into that “corps” of his, pooled all their possessions, slaves, or money, and so a close and lasting society was formed.’[681] Suetonius tells of one C. Albucius Silus of Novaria (Cisalpine Gaul) who came to Rome and was received into the ‘contubernium’ of Plancus, the orator, i.e. lived under the same roof, became a ‘convictor’ with him.[682] ‘You can enjoy the possession of no good thing’, Seneca says, ‘without some one to share it.’ You will gain more by talking and living with (convictus) people than from set speeches. Cleanthes could never have interpreted the philosophy of Zeno if he had merely attended his lectures. But he lived with him, examined his private life, and watched him to see if he practised what he preached.[683] Similarly, Plato and Aristotle and the rest learned more from the conduct than the words of Socrates, and ‘Metrodorus, Hermarchus, and Polyaenus were made great not by the school of Epicurus, but by living with him (contubernium).’ Gellius gives many examples of this sort of literary fellowship. While master and students dined together, one of the servitors would read some passage from a Greek or Latin author, and if a difficulty arose the master explained. So at the table of Favorinus ‘servus assistens mensae eius legere inceptabat....’ and a discussion was introduced by the philosopher on the word ‘parcus’.[684] Literary criticism was the favourite thing, as when the Bucolics of Vergil and Theocritus were read together at a dinner, and it was noticed that Vergil had left alone passages which contained the peculiar Greek sweetness but could not and should not be translated.[685]

We have no direct data for supposing that this system was followed in Gaul in our period; but the Favorinus mentioned in Gellius came from Arles, and there appear to have been ‘contubernia’ in Massilia.[686] Moreover, the ‘Platonic clubs’ of Sidonius and the general social temper of the Bordeaux professors make it likely that something of the kind was found at the Gallic universities.

As to the payment of teachers, it is clear that before Vespasian it was very unequal. Verrius Flaccus, who was tutor to the children of Augustus, received a salary of 100,000 sesterces (£1,000).[687] Even the infamous Palaemon, to whom parents were forbidden to send their children by Tiberius and Claudius, got as much as 40,000 sesterces. Martial takes a pessimistic view. In his advice to a friend on a career for his son he counsels: Let him avoid grammarians and rhetoricians if he wants to make money:

In Gaul, it appears, teachers were paid by the State before this was the case at Rome; for Strabo remarks in the first century A.D. that he found State-appointed teachers there.[689] But there must have been great lack of organization and equality because State-payment meant, at that time, payment by the municipal town, which could not always provide proper security. Security, indeed, became more and more shaken, and the improvement made by Vespasian when he fixed the teachers’ salaries was a much-needed measure. In the famous decree of 376 Gratian and Valentinian ratified this enactment.[690] Rhetoricians are to receive twenty-four annonae[691] from the treasury, Greek and Latin grammarians, twelve. The chief cities of the provinces are encouraged to elect professors who are to be paid according to the standard fixed by the emperors. Trèves, the imperial favourite, gets something more (uberius aliquid), thirty annonae for a rhetor and twenty for a grammarian.

There can be no doubt that the emperors tried to monopolize education. Julian’s decree[692] that the appointment of all teachers was to be subject to the imperial approval, and the law of Theodosius and Valentinian in the next century forbidding all public schools outside the imperial academy, are illustrations of this tendency. Nevertheless, there must have been a large number of private-school teachers who were not paid by the State. The imperial legislation of the later empire could not have done away entirely with so established and widespread a class of men. They survived, especially in elementary education, and possibly their number exceeded that of the officially State-paid teachers.

The law makes it quite clear that the State-paid school and university teachers[693] were, at one time, dependent on their towns for pay; and the frequent mandates of the emperors to the municipalities not to neglect these salaries show that they were not always prompt in paying. Symmachus, also, complains of the withholding of salaries;[694] and it has been suggested in this connexion that the teachers were unpopular because they were mostly pagans. It is more likely that their unpopularity was due to the fact that their teaching did not touch the mass of the population, who nevertheless had to support them. That the municipal salary stopped when the imperial one came into existence seems unlikely. Denk thinks that the imperial-paid ‘auditoria’ were distinct from the lower municipal-paid schools,[695] but probably the individual cities went on contributing part of the professors’ salaries, even after the law of Gratian.[696] As to the amount received, the impression made by the upper circle of the Bordeaux professors is certainly one of material prosperity. Marcellus of Narbo,[697] Sedatus of Toulouse,[698] and Exsuperius[699] did very well for themselves, and Eumenius considers his salary of £5,000 as nothing extraordinary: ‘multo maiora et prius et postea praemia contulerunt’ (sc. principes).[700] Even of the grammarian Marcellus, Ausonius could say that riches came by teaching:

On the other hand the less distinguished seem to have had a disproportionately small salary. The frequent application of the epithet ‘sterilis’ or ‘exilis’ to the chair of the grammarian is a feature of Ausonius’s picture of them.

Besides the imperial and the municipal support there were the gifts from the emperor,[702] and the possibility of presents from the family of the pupils—a practice which is still very much in evidence in many country centres. Finally, there were the fees from the pupils, part of which seems to have been paid directly to the teacher.

The class fee (merces, minerval) seems to have been stipulated for by the rhetors individually. Axius asks Merula in Varro’s De Re Rustica,[703] ‘to be his master in the shepherd’s art’, and the reply is, imitating the practice of the rhetors, ‘Yes, as soon as you promise to pay my fee’ (minerval). Juvenal refers to the same practice:

Bulaeus says that the amount of the fee was sometimes left to the generosity of the parents.[705] He can hardly be referring to a common practice. The fourth century was far too business-like for this sort of thing. Most of the teachers who were in a position to do so probably demanded a large fee, like Exsuperius.[706] How far this bargaining went on after the law of Gratian we cannot tell: but the fact that it went on after Vespasian had fixed the salaries shows that it was not necessarily stopped in 376. Much more liberal was the East. Lectures at Antioch were open to all, even to pupils of other rhetors:[707] and sometimes invitations to attend were sent round by the servant of the lecturer.[708]

As to the number of the professors appointed little is known. Probably from what Ausonius says there were ten at Bordeaux, six ‘grammatici’ and four ‘rhetores’—the highest number, Jullian thinks, that Bordeaux ever reached. At Constantinople Theodosius appointed in 425 to his special auditorium[709] three rhetors and ten grammarians for Latin, five rhetors and ten grammarians for Greek, one professor of philosophy, and two for law. But this is Eastern exuberance. Trèves, the imperial favourite, had only two or three rhetoricians, one Latin grammarian, and one Greek grammarian—a post which could not always be filled.[710]

Denk, in remarking that the number of teachers was thus definitely fixed, adds that there is no trace of a principal who gave direction to the work of the students.[711] Now it is true that there was no definite organization, but it seems very probable that the emperors, when they interested themselves in a school and appointed teachers, would have some one at the head of the establishment to facilitate communication between the imperial offices and the school. Moreover, it is a natural and traditional thing the world over for a group of men more or less permanently banded together to have a chief. The Druids had their leader,[712] and among the Persian Magi there was an archimagus. Besides, we have at least one ‘trace’ which Denk does not notice. Eumenius, as head of the Maeniana, was called moderator, which looks like an official title. And in the Christian schools it was a common thing to have a head (primicerius), as will be shown later.

Jullian[713] notices as a praiseworthy feature of the fourth-century educational system that the master passed on with his pupils as they advanced from stage to stage. Our author reads into his idealized fourth century a method which has long been practised by the Jesuits. But perhaps the wish is father to the thought. For it is clear that this could not, in the majority of cases, apply to the elementary master, whose intellectual limitations would effectually prevent him from taking the higher classes. Ausonius tells us as much.[714] Such teachers were ‘humili loco ac merito’. He mentions Romulus and Corinthius[715] as the Greek grammarians who taught him ‘primis in annis’, and they do not appear again in the list of his masters. When quite young he was put under his uncle Arborius (qui me lactantem, puerum iuvenemque virumque | artibus ornasti),[716] who may have been a kind of general tutor to him at that time. When he was about ten years old he went to Toulouse (c. A.D. 320) and was taught for eight years in the school of Arborius, who in 328 was appointed tutor to one of the sons of Constantine at Constantinople,[717] where he died. Ausonius then returned to Bordeaux where he seems to have continued his studies in the rhetorical school, studying under Minervius,[718] and Luciolus,[719] who was once his fellow student, and probably under Alcimus[720] and Delphidius,[721] while Staphylius took the place of Arborius[722] as general tutor:

All these later masters, like Minervius, are spoken of distinctly as ‘rhetor’ or ‘orator’, just as his early masters are distinguished as ‘grammatici’.[723]

Ausonius’s experience as pupil, therefore, seems to contradict the statement that the master followed his students from class to class. But it may be argued that the scheme was upset in Ausonius’s case by his temporary removal to Toulouse, and his experience as master may be urged. This is a plausible contention. For he tells us in the Protrepticon of three stages in his career corresponding presumably to those of the litterator, the grammarian, and the rhetor. Yet Jullian’s supposition is not therefore true. Not every primary master was an Ausonius who could rise to the top of his profession and become an imperial tutor. Obviously there were a large number who found, as they left, the teaching profession a poor and dreary task. The grammarians whom Ausonius mentions,[724] except, perhaps, Nepotianus,[725] did not rise to the higher position, and some, in their old age, even lost the little glory they had achieved, as Anastasius did.[726] Moreover, Ausonius does not say that his promotion kept pace with the advance of his students. The terms he uses are quite vague (mox, idem). And even supposing the master could in this way remain with his pupils, what happened when they had reached the highest stage? Jullian maintains that he started at the bottom again with a new class: ‘Le même homme était tour à tour professeur de grammaire et rhéteur: il lui arrivait ainsi de suivre ses élèves, de les accompagner de classe en classe.’[727]

Now this is reducing the matter to an absurdity. The fixity of the distinction between grammarian and rhetor is so striking in all Latin literature, and particularly in Ausonius, that the system, however desirable, would have been impossible. It is quite clear that there was a definite status attached to the positions,[728] and the Theodosian Code prescribes different salaries. Is it conceivable (to mention no other objections) that a man would be constantly changing his social standing and his salary in order to accompany his class from stage to stage?

The most we can say is that the connexion between the lower and higher forms of education was sufficiently close (as in France to-day) to allow a man of merit to rise from the lowest to the highest. This is proved by Ausonius’s case, and Denk is not stating the whole truth when he says that the teachers were independent of one another.[729] There was a certain amount of independence, no doubt, between grammarian and grammarian, or rhetor and rhetor, but between the grammatical school and that of the rhetorician there was a considerable degree of interdependence.

C. OUTSIDE THE SCHOOL

(i) Administrative and Social Conditions

Before we can understand the working of the school and see it in its proper perspective, before we can grasp the inner meaning of the system and appreciate its merits and demerits, something must be known about the society in which the school flourished and of the imperial organization which gave direction to that society. As Guizot said in his History of Civilization, study must proceed from without to within.[730]

It is unnecessary to give a detailed account of a subject so well worn, but a brief summary of such points as bear on education is necessary.

An outstanding feature in the development of the later empire is the growth of civil power. The great military commands, so common previously, become more and more impossible, owing to greater subdivision. The imperial army was divided into one hundred and twenty[731] parts, as against forty-five at the end of Trajan’s reign, and of these Gaul had fifteen. The civil power was so far recognized that military and civil offices were separated. The civil administrator of a province was called ‘proconsul’ or ‘consular’ (which did not necessarily mean ex-consul) according to whether the province was reckoned as ‘old’ or not. Above him were the four supreme civil authorities of the empire, the Praefectus Praetorio (who had become a civil magistrate after the Praetorian Cohorts had destroyed themselves by supporting Maxentius against Constantine), the Praefectus Galliarum, the Praefectus Italiae, and the Praefectus Illyrici et Orientis. It is well to bear in mind the status of these officials, for it will help us to understand the meaning of the fact that a schoolmaster like Ausonius became ‘praefectus Galliarum’. Each praefecture was divided into ‘dioceses’ and at the head of each was a ‘Vicarius’. The tenants of the higher offices were divided, according to the honour of their position, into ‘Illustres’, ‘Spectabiles’, and ‘Clarissimi’.

An important point in this system is that there was no continuous official chain passing down from the emperor to the lowest official; the emperor could interfere at any point (a particular in which the Pope resembles the Roman emperors) and every official was regarded as directly responsible to him, though he was controlled by his superior official as well. Functionaries were made to change places rapidly, so as to prevent a man from obtaining undue influence by long residence in one place. Thus, though the growth of civil power was favourable to the development of schools, the coercive spirit which is destructive of true education remained. On the one hand, education was encouraged by the various departments of the extensive[732] Civil Service—the secretariat (scrinium ab epistulis), the Record Office (a memoria), the office for legal documents (a libellis), and that for the emperor’s engagements and arrangements (scrinium dispositionum); and on the other hand, the controller of the civil service (magister officiorum) sent forth his secret service men (schola agentium in rebus), who, beginning their career by superintending the post service (curiosi), became a pregnant source of corruption and oppression. Extraordinarily efficient as the imperial civil service was, it had this important loophole of corruption, while oppression was possible everywhere.

The centre of the bureaucracy was the ‘Consistorium’ or Privy Council.[733] Certain high officials became ‘comites consistoriani’, and special people were called in for particular points. The position of the senate in this scheme of things is interesting from Ausonius’s statement that Minervius added to it two thousand members.[734] The number of members tended to grow enormously owing to the increasing use made by the emperor of his ‘ius adlectionis et loco movendi’, and the ‘ordo senatorius’ was still in existence. Ultimately, all who were ‘clarissimi’ belonged to the senate. But in practice only the higher officials, the priests, and the ‘consulares’ actually took part in the proceedings, which tended to become municipal rather than imperial. The position of the senate, therefore, regarded as an imperial body, was merely nominal, though it was of considerable local importance. Its chief function was to provide ‘panem et circenses’, paid for by the holders of the consulship, the praetorship, and the quaestorship, which alone survived from the old ‘cursus honorum’. At the head of the senate was the ‘praefectus urbi’, whose powers were wide and undefined. Rome’s loss of dignity, with the emperors frequently residing in Gaul and elsewhere, affected the prestige of the senate, which still met in the ‘eternal city’. Yet as the emperors became weaker we find the senate growing in importance, and during the last twenty-five years of the Western Empire its activity is remarkable.[735]

Society in Gaul during the fourth and fifth centuries may be divided into four classes:[736] (1) the senators, (2) the curiales, (3) the common people, and (4) the slaves.

The senators were exempt from municipal offices and from torture, and had a right to be tried in a special court. These privileges were hereditary, though subject to the emperor’s good pleasure, and were counterbalanced by the heavy taxes, especially the senatorial ‘aurum oblaticium’. Distinguished from this political aristocracy were the ‘curiales’ or ‘decuriones’, members of the ‘curia’ or municipal council of their town. Entry into the class was by nomination, and could not be refused by anybody who had the property qualification, and, once procured, it was hereditary. It was a most unpopular honour,[737] because it involved the collection of taxes, for which the ‘decurio’ was financially responsible. In practice it was often a ruinous position, since no effective jurisdiction was open to the collector. In the fourth century there were about one hundred decurions in each town. The plebs comprised petty landowners, tradesmen, and free artisans. Whereas under the republic slaves worked for the family, and trade was domestic, free men now worked for the State, and trade became public. Guilds had sprung up under the republic, but, whereas they were then free, the empire more and more destroyed their liberty. Augustus made them dependent on the will of the prince and the senate, and in our period we find them regarded as rendering compulsory services under the tutelage of the emperor. What is more, the Theodosian Code proves that they had become hereditary.[738]

Finally, the slaves may be classified as domestic and rural, the latter comprising many different grades, from serfs of the soil to comparatively free labourers.

In spite of this rigid suppression of spontaneity and freedom, which is seen also in Diocletian’s Edict fixing the prices throughout the empire, there is a gain in other directions. The ‘societates publicanorum’ ceased to exist, and the provincial was less exposed to capricious plunder, which in some cases, however, was removed only to admit organized robbery. Diocletian had levelled the inequality of taxation, but had not made an equal oppression impossible. Yet there was the boon of peace, and the genuine efforts to help provincials on the part of emperors like Julian. He greatly reduced the land tax[739] and administered justice in person, revising the decisions of judges, and summarily dismissing corrupt officials. The supply of slaves had palpably decreased, for wars of conquest had ceased, and the Germanic prisoners, having been found to be unmanageable, had been granted a certain amount of independence. We find that as much as two hundred ‘aurei’ was paid for a single slave; and if we are forced to conclude that the slave in question must have been of a very special kind, we must grant that even so the price had risen enormously. This meant that people had to fall back on their own resources more frequently: a local and provincial independence was fostered, and we have something more nearly approaching ‘natural economy’.

Such was the system of which the fourth and fifth centuries witnessed the failure. As time went on taxes continued to be oppressive,[740] the bankruptcy that inevitably resulted from keeping an army continuously on a war footing became more apparent, and the security afforded by the empire became less and less. A weak ruler in a despotic state makes room for all manner of corruption, and under the weak emperors of the later empire this result is evident from ‘the frequent creation of new offices whose object was to curb the corruption of the old’.[741] When the imperial defence at length breaks down before the repeated waves of barbarian invasion, we feel that the severance of Gaul from an imperial government so rigid and so inelastic has merely been forestalled: it would have come in any case.

The deadening effect of this system is evident. It left no room for life and growth; spontaneity and genius were stifled, and progress checked. Naturalness and truth were not at home in this age of officialdom and adulation. The Theodosian Code bears witness to the elaborate and involved etiquette which revelled in high-sounding names,—‘tua sublimitas, tua excelsitas, tua magnificentia, praecelsa sinceritas tua’,[742] &c.—to which even the emperors were bound by the enormous stress which public opinion laid on these distinctions. Not that this Byzantine etiquette was wholly evil. As a means of counteracting the confusion which had previously reigned, of creating a respect for the person of the emperor which meant better order and fewer rebellions, it was a master-stroke on the part of Diocletian. But its evil effects in the direction of artificiality in times when the emperors could, with less justice, be called ‘divine’ is not to be denied.

But by the side of this mechanical pagan society there was growing up at this time ‘another society, young, energetic, fruitful of results—the ecclesiastical society. It was around this society that the people rallied ... the senatorial and curial aristocracy was a mere phantom: the clergy became the real aristocracy.’[743]

In this society lay the hope of the future.

(ii) Class Distinction and Education

The cast-iron rigidity of class distinctions is apparent even from the slight foregoing sketch of social conditions. Yet it is worth while dwelling on it a little longer in view of the statements that have been made. Every man had his place allotted to him by the divine will of the emperor, and there he must remain on pain of committing sacrilege. Valentinianus (says the emperor in A.D. 384) has prescribed for every rank its proper place and worth. If, therefore, any one occupies a position not his own, let him not plead ignorance. He stands convicted of sacrilege, for he has neglected the divine commands of the emperor.[744] This was the general scheme of Roman society. Nor was it modified to any great extent in Gaul by the admixture of the Visigoths, who had much the same system.[745] How did its details affect education in Gaul? Jullian maintains that practically every free-born child regularly attended the schools, which were equally accessible, he thinks, to the children of freedmen.[746] He does not deny that distinctions were rigid and many: ‘le IVᵉ siècle est, comme le XIIIᵉ, un siècle de privilèges, de distinctions et de hiérarchie’: but he thinks that all the classes were equal in the matter of education and that rank disappeared in the school.[747] In a similar strain Denk argues that the curials must have had a considerable school training in order to fit them for the management of municipal affairs. ‘In order to perform such duties thoroughly they must have had the necessary knowledge: and this they must have obtained from the school.’[748]

As for the free artisans and the slaves, Denk cites the education of the old Roman slaves. Cato had demanded that household slaves should be able to read and write, and Mommsen says[749] that the lower classes had considerable knowledge of reading, writing, and arithmetic. Similarly, Lavisse says[750] that the uneducated, on the whole, could not have been too numerous, for even the humble sergeant had to be able to read the word of command on the tablets, and there were schools for the sons of veterans.

What authority Jullian has for saying that the distinction between classes broke down in the matter of education he does not say; and an examination of the Theodosian Code and of contemporary authorities makes it entirely improbable.

First of all, it was only the upper class that could compete for the higher grades of imperial office, which was regarded as the prize of education. The pride which Ausonius took in his imperial honours is only half concealed,[751] and he puts before his grandson the same goal of studies.[752]

This particular incentive to education was lacking in all but the senatorial class, from which, Jullian confesses,[753] the greatest number of pupils was drawn. Freedmen were definitely excluded by law. The emperors of 426 forbade all of their station to stand for the higher offices, or to be admitted as soldiers of the Imperial Guard.[754]

The laws which prevented the curial from leaving his class[755] were many and stringent. Once a curial, always a curial, and not even flight from his town could save him. The prize of five ‘aurei’ offered by the government would be sure to find him a captor.

Denk’s argument that the curial must have had a school training to manage municipal affairs does not go very far. The reading, writing, and arithmetic taught by the ‘litterator’ he would certainly need, but there is no reason for supposing that he went any further. The respectable curial on his freehold farm probably had little incentive to education, and found no inspiration in his forced work of somewhat anxious tax-gathering. He would probably have considered the poetical flourishes of the rhetor beside the point for his son. It would be much more important for him to learn the practical wisdom which his father had formulated as to the best methods of making people pay their taxes or of managing the problems of agriculture.

Now it is true that a law of Constantius[756] enacts that no one shall attain to the first rank in the ‘ordo decurialis’ unless he has passed through a course of studies. But firstly, the law applies technically only to the city of Rome, and its ‘decuriae’; secondly, the amount of education required was not excessive: all the emperor wanted was that a man of the first rank should be able to speak grammatically (ita esse litteris expolitum, ut citra offensam vitii ex eodem verba procedant); and finally, the regulation that this elementary knowledge was specially laid down as a qualification for the first rank (librarii) suggests that the other two (fiscales et censuales) were frequently held without such proficiency.

If the law tended to stifle the curial’s interest in education, much more was this so with those who belonged to a lower grade. The incentive needed there was greater and the incentive given, less. The work of the artisans belonging to the rigidly separated ‘collegia’ was harder, though it varied with the trade. The bakers’ guild was not far removed from slavery. Here, too, frequent flight from the class points to oppression. The tendency to learn only the practical tricks necessary to make the trade a paying one must have been even more accentuated. For where there is no prospect except the drudgery of the trade in which he grew up, it must be an exceptional man who will take an interest in education or awaken it in his son. Even the school of the ‘litterator’ must have been a mystery to many of these ‘corporati’. Moreover, intermarriage between the classes was regarded with horror, and forbidden on the severest penalties. Senators or men who ranked as ‘perfectissimi’, or ‘duumviri’, or ‘quinquennales’, or ‘flamines’, or ‘sacerdotes’, suffered ‘infamia’ if they married a freedwoman or the daughter of a freedwoman, an actress or the daughter of an actress, a shopkeeper (tabernarius) or the daughter of a shopkeeper, or any one of low standing.[757]

Whatever we may think of the wisdom of such a measure, one thing is clear: the difficulty of imagining that all ranks were levelled, as Jullian says, in the school, and that the son of a senator sat on the same benches as the sons of freedmen.

Further, the tendency of the emperors to restrict people to the same place must also have had an effect on education.[758] For the imperial policy aimed at uniformity and immobility, and in attaining them it lost life and progress. The discouragement of travel must have meant a restriction of knowledge and a strangling of that wonder which is stimulated by new scenes, and is, as Plato said, the beginning of philosophy.

Again, the inspiration which comes from the feeling of citizenship, the realization of being a living member of a group and helping to further its ends, was crushed out by the mechanical fiscal system of the empire. Men like Claudian and Sidonius might write with an enthusiasm inspired by this feeling, but what chance was there for the anxious curial or the fettered artisan to share this inspiration? For him the round of daily duty was too narrow or too relentless, to allow much room for ideals. ‘Municipal self-government, bereft of its political significance, restricted to the sphere of local interests and ambitions, is apt to degenerate into corrupt and spendthrift practices.’[759] To the curial, as he carried out the commands of the emperor, it must have been difficult to see any inspiring meaning in it all, when Gaul was day by day being more abandoned to the barbaric invasions, while the burden of taxation remained unalleviated. And yet it is where a meaning, an ideal, is most clearly seen, that education has its truest incentive and its most fruitful results.

Denk appeals to the fact that many Roman slaves could read and write, to Cato’s requirements of a household slave, and to Mommsen’s statement that there was much reading and writing among the lower classes. But (as far as the artisans and free labourers are concerned) the reference is to republican times when the guilds were free, and when a fiscal imperial system had not yet enslaved the people and created the frightful inter-class rigidity which culminated, to the detriment of education, in the fourth century. That there were, however, even then, some ‘collegiati’ who attained to higher education is clear from the law of 370.[760] The emperor, in asking the Prefect of Rome for a report of provincial students, makes an exception of those who are serving in the public guilds. But we must remember that these ‘collegiati’ probably belonged to the higher guilds, like that of the ‘navicularii’, in which the higher classes had a share, and were probably picked men. Ritter, in his commentary on the law, suggests that they were young men who had voluntarily joined a ‘corpus’ and were allowed to stay longer than usual because they were doing public work. However this may be, they were certainly the exceptions. The impression derived from the Theodosian Code is that the ‘collegiati’ who had the opportunity of higher education were very much the fortunate few.

As for the slaves, it is true that there were some of them in the fourth century who could read and write like Ausonius’s ‘notarius’, but slaves qua slaves received no education. It was found useful to make them acquire a knack like shorthand, just as it is useful to break in a horse. Their knack was their only virtue. But there was no provision for them as a class, and no encouragement to extend their knowledge beyond their narrow speciality. A glance at the laws of the Theodosian Code is sufficient to show this. A ‘colonus’ is bound to the soil on which he is born, and if he runs away from the place of his birth he is to be brought back immediately, together with his family.[761] So says a law of A.D. 419. A law of Constantine had also enacted that ‘coloni’, who purposed flight, should be reduced to slavery and put in chains, and with this sentence upon them be compelled, as they deserve, to perform the tasks of free men.[762] The law shows that the ‘coloni’ were still regarded as belonging to the third rather than the fourth class. But their freedom did not exist in more than name, and it seems most improbable that they had any share in the education of the day.

Finally, the deduction of Lavisse that education was general from the fact that the sergeants could read, and that the sons of veterans had schools, is not altogether justified. For, again, the soldier would pick up just the minimum of school knowledge to help him through (and this he might conceivably have done even without going to a ‘litterator’) more especially as the army by this time consisted largely of barbarians. As for the veterans, they were a privileged class, as the thirteen enactments of the Theodosian Code[763] regarding their status and immunity from public burdens can prove.

Turning now to the contemporary writers, we can trace the effect of the code on their methods and ideas. Sidonius clearly thinks of men in ‘ordines’. At the feast of St. Just, in which all classes participate, there is not much trace of intermingling or exchange of greetings, and when they scatter for relaxation the lines of demarcation are still plain.[764] Eumenius, too, illustrates the value which men attached to class privileges. He had been ‘magister sacrae memoriae’, and the emperor, in appointing him to the school at Autun, assures him that his ‘dignitas’ will not be impaired by the change. The gratitude of Eumenius for this boon, ‘ut salvo honoris mei privilegio doceam’,[765] is effusive and significant.

But the important point is that the upper classes came to look on education as their monopoly. Sidonius rebukes a friend who is absorbed in the material concerns of his estate for neglecting his reading.[766] It is a nobleman’s business, he finely says, to maintain a noble level of culture. Think of the disgrace of being distanced in your old age by one of humbler rank, and surpassed in honours by men whose worth is that of a lower class—‘cum eos, quos esset indignum si vestigia nostra sequerentur, videris dolens antecessisse’. The argument is that the nobleman has to undertake administrative and other imperial offices; they are his by right. Therefore he must keep up his education, which is the road to office, and also peculiarly his prerogative.[767] And so, when Ausonius says: ‘It isn’t right that I, a royal master, should expound verses to the common herd’,[768] there is a background of fact to his jocularity. At the end of the empire, when the social fabric was tottering and the accustomed ranks and distinctions were vanishing away (iam remotis gradibus dignitatum), Sidonius sees in literary knowledge the only mark of nobility that will survive: ‘solum posthac nobilitatis indicium litteras nosse.’[769]

In these circumstances it is hard to see how Jullian is justified in calling the Roman society in Gaul during the fourth century ‘toute intellectuelle’.[770] Yet there are two considerations which must modify our conclusion. The first is that in practice the lines of demarcation were not so rigid as in theory. As we have seen in the case of the ‘collegiati’, there was higher education where we should not have expected it, and members of guilds were not always swallowed up in their guild work. The second consideration is that their interest in education was not always damped by discouraging surroundings. There was a strong and almost passionate loyalty to letters among the upper classes which must have spread lower down in society. The curial, no doubt, sometimes cultivated his intellect as well as land and tax-collecting, even though there was no material gain to be won. And it was felt, perhaps, that it was the respectable thing to send one’s son to a grammar school.

We must, therefore, allow a certain margin for higher education among the ‘curiales’ and the ‘corporati’, while we accept a very wide range of mere literacy,[771] such as could be obtained from an elementary school teacher. The enormous staff of scribes required for the imperial ‘scholae’ must have embraced many of a lower social standing. The need for people who could read and write was great, and we may perhaps see in the large[772] number of grammarians[773] (as compared with the rhetoricians), which the emperors provided, an indication of this need. But, as we go down the social scale, it is only the exceptions who go beyond the grammarian, while the majority probably knew none but the elementary master.

(iii) The Teacher in Society

Libanius draws a picture of the rhetor lingering in the classroom after the day’s work because of the unpleasantness of conjugal and family difficulties at home;[774] and Ausonius roundly declares, emphasizing another side of the teacher’s unfortunate lot, that a grammarian is not happy and never was; that the very name of grammarian is incompatible with happiness. If beyond destiny and fate there has existed one that was happy, he must indeed have passed beyond the bounds of the mere grammarian.[775]

Routine produced its usual discontent, and it was true of the fourth century as of the first:

Yet the striking thing about the Gallic teachers (if we may take Bordeaux as typical of the province) was their sociability. Alethius is ‘comis’ and ‘liberalis’;[776] Luciolus is commended by the poet for his geniality to his guests, his good temper to his clients, his gentleness with his servants;[777] and to Minervius[778] he says: ‘No gall embitters your heart; your wit is abundant; yet your jokes are never such as lead to strife.’[779]

They loved their dinners and their jokes, and could jest without malice and in gentleness of spirit. So Nepotianus is addressed as a man ‘old in years yet witty and young in heart; a spirit unembittered and overflowing with much sweetness’.[780]

Leontius earns the cognomen Lascivus,[781] and Jucundus, though condemned for inefficiency, is admitted to the ‘numerus grammaticorum’ on account of his social and personal pleasantness.[782] It may be noticed, too, that Constantius, in appointing Eumenius to the head-mastership of the Maeniana, stated as one of his qualifications ‘his pleasing ways’.[783] Wine played a great part among them. Crispus, the old master of Ausonius, was believed to have tippled occasionally.[784] To the reader Ausonius says in his introduction to Bissula that he is to be read only by those who have dined and dined well:

About the futile Griphus he declares that all serious judgement must be suspended, for ‘iniurium est de poeta male sobrio lectorem abstemium iudicare’,[785] and the convivial spirit is further illustrated by the epistles to Paulus[786] and to Theon.[787] Moreover, a favourite ideal among these professors was to marry an heiress. Like Dynamius, who found fortune and a wife as a teacher,[788] the jovial Marcellus won the goodwill and the daughter of a nobleman,[789] as did the rhetor Alethius Minervius.[790] Even the Syracusan Citarius ‘soon attained to wedlock in a rich and noble family’.[791]

The Theodosian Code clearly shows how eager the emperors of this time were to increase the social status of the teacher. A law of 425, for example,[792] raises certain ‘grammatici’ and ‘sofistae’ to the rank of comes, and adds that all such teachers, if they behaved well and showed skill in their profession, would enjoy the same privileges after twenty years of diligent service.

In the social world, therefore, these teachers ranked high: in the intellectual world their place was considerably lower. We find that there was a certain standard set for a teacher:

Jucundus[793] is reproached for not reaching this standard and being unworthy of his profession. But there can be no doubt that the requirements were fairly low and very irregularly fulfilled. Leontius knew only the little that his poor position demanded,[794] and masters like Ammonius and Anastasius were equally ignorant.[795] Ausonius twits Auxilius on his defective pronunciation and addresses him as ‘inscite magister’,[796] and Rufus, the rhetorician, had so little sense (cor) that he used to write ‘reminisco’ in his verses. Moreover, he was very like a statue in his lifelessness—only softer and more effeminate.[797] Philomusus, again, had stuffed his library full of books, but this was his only claim to knowledge.[798]

Jung[799] finds an illustration of the general tendency to superficiality in the fact that many of the Bordeaux professors were at the same time advocates, poets, and farmers.[800] But we feel that this is carping criticism, and that such combinations of activity are no more anomalous or indicative of shallowness than they are in many universities of to-day.

But, on the whole, we get the impression that Julian’s emphasis on the preparation of teachers,[801] apart from its motive, was much needed throughout this period, and that the level of the Gallic university was probably not much above that of a modern high school.[802]

In the professional world the status of the teacher had steadily risen, ever since Vespasian had given education the imperial blessing by appointing Quintilian to the first State-paid chair. We find Constantius, in his letter to Eumenius, deprecating the idea that the teachers’ task is a lower form of imperial service;[803] and there can be no doubt that Gaul in the fourth and fifth centuries, all enthusiastic as she was for literature and culture, honoured her teachers more than had previously been the custom. With the full light of imperial favour upon them, they were respected, not so much for what they were, but for all the golden avenues of imperial office to which their profession could lead.

The picture which Ausonius gives of the Bordeaux professors suggests a resemblance to Oxford. The division of studies between the grammarian and the rhetor gives an ‘institutio’ which is the forerunner of the Oxonian School of Classics. For the grammarian did ‘Mods.’ work, training the pupil in a wide range of detailed facts, while the rhetorician aimed (though in a poor way) at a philosophic combination of the facts into a speech, and at grace and lucidity of style. And this is largely also the aim of ‘Greats’.

Moreover, there is a similarity of social atmosphere. There is a bright and genial contact of man with man, which implies a study of men as well as of books, and there is that emotional content springing from such intercourse, which, if kept within bounds, serves to keep thought fresh and balanced, and prevents the letter from killing the spirit. That there was also the danger, as at Oxford, of the social side looming too large, is clear from a study of these professorial portraits.

(iv) Imperial Protection

A change had come over the administration of schools in the later part of the empire. In early republican times there had been no public interference with education: the ideal of men like Cato was ‘in gremio matris educari’.[804] But even the spirit of Cato could not stop Crates of Mallos from establishing the first school of grammar, after the Punic Wars had opened the flood-gates of Greek influence; nor could it prevent fathers from paying large sums for the services of these public teachers. A transition stage came in the first century, when the conflict between the old and the new reached a crisis. The censors grew alarmed, and issued a decree in 92 B.C. prohibiting the teaching of the Latin rhetoricians as being contrary to the ‘mos maiorum’.[805] They had endured Greek rhetoricians, but when Romans began to adopt the ways of these ‘Graeculi’ they thought it was time to interfere.[806] But public schools were rapidly growing, and when Vespasian fixed the salaries of teachers the old conservative Roman prejudice against public education had practically died out. In the second century Hadrian opened his Athenaeum—the first school for higher education. Alexander Severus gave salaries to teachers ‘etiam in provinciis’.[807]

The goodwill and personal interest of the emperors in the schools is seen in the letter of Constantius to Eumenius.[808] ‘Our loyal Gauls’, he says, ‘who enjoy the benefits of civilization in Autun, deserve that we should take thought for the development of their children’s talents. What gift, then, more fitting than that which fortune can neither give nor take away? Therefore, we appoint you to be head of this school; for we have learned to know from your service under us, your eloquence and your genial temper.’

Nor was this mere wordy benevolence. Public works, temples, schools had been repaired.[809] Augustodunum had suffered badly from the inroads of the barbarians, but so effective was the help given, that the restored city, says the orator, possibly with some exaggeration, was greater and grander than the old one (ipsa moles restitutionis immanior). Money was given for private as well as public buildings, and not only money, but artificers from over the sea, new inhabitants of high rank, and soldiers to guard them during the winter.[810] All this had a very real bearing on education. Like Britain, the city had gradually got rid of its ‘barbarism’, and had emerged into the light of Roman culture.[811] Amid all the benefits of the emperors, says Eumenius, the greatest is their zeal in fostering liberal studies. Though the cares of state are great and engrossing, they find time to attend to education, and herein perhaps the true future of Rome may lie—‘si non potentia, sed etiam eloquentia Romana revirescat’.[812]

The Theodosian Code shows how Constantine continued and developed this patronage of education. Gaul appeared prominently in this connexion with the promulgation of the Law of Gratian and Valentinian in A.D. 376 for the regulation of teachers’ salaries, addressed to the prefect of the Gauls.

In this, as in many other laws, it is clear that the imperial policy aimed at the spread of education. ‘In the most populous, powerful and famous cities of every district entrusted to your Magnificence, let all the best teachers be appointed for the education of the young: we refer to Greek and Latin rhetoricians and grammarians.’[813] Similarly, Valentinian and Valens had exhorted any one who was qualified, either to open a new school or to revive an old one.[814] But the emperors were not content with a general policy for education. They provided directly for all the details of a student’s behaviour and discipline. Those Gallic students who went to Rome for the study of law had to submit to the enactment of 370,[815] which prescribed many regulations for their studies and their conduct.

A different and a closer interest in the schools had been shown by Julian—the interest of a philosopher. He had laid stress on the morals and efficiency, and on the personal share he desired to have in the appointment of teachers, probably with a view to ejecting Christians.

‘Masters and teachers must show excellence first, in character, and then, in eloquence. But, since I cannot be present in person at every city, I command that all who wish to teach should not rashly and hastily leap into this profession, but only when their order has judged them fit and the unanimous vote of the best citizens has gained them a decree of the curials. This decree will be referred to me for consideration, so that the teachers may approach their work of public education with the higher honour of our approval.’[816] This moral emphasis is repeated in a decree of Valentinian and Valens: ‘si qui erudiendis adulescentibus vita pariter et facundia idoneus erit.’[817]

From pupil to teacher, from teacher to civil servant or imperial dignitary, the emperor’s influence was paramount. He decreed when studies must cease, and how they must be conducted; it was he who fostered the schools, and from him needy children received financial support. The institution of the ‘alimenta’ is said to be as old as Ptolemy, the founder of the Alexandrian library;[818] and we read that Nerva, like Augustus,[819] reared children at the public expense,[820] and that Trajan (as is proved by two famous inscriptions)[821] and Hadrian followed his example.[822] These ‘alimenta’, which had originally been instituted as a measure against the decreasing birth-rate, were fully organized in the early empire, but dwindled as financial difficulties grew.[823] Yet we find Constantine passing laws about the support of children which probably remained in force at least until the end of the fourth century. ‘Officium tuum’ is his mandate to the Praetorian Prefect, ‘haec cura praestringat ut si quis parens adferat subolem, quam pro paupertate educare non possit, nec in alimentis nec in veste impertienda tardetur ... ad quam rem et fiscum nostrum et rem privatam indiscreta iussimus praebere obsequia.’[824] Again, in 322, there is a similar law, this time specially intended for provincials: ‘Quiquis igitur huiusmodi reperietur qui nulla rei familiaris substantia fultus est, quique liberos suos aegre ac difficile sustentet, per fiscum nostrum ... stipem necessariam largiantur....’[825] As far as actual schooling is concerned, this kind of imperial support, being intended for the relief of the lower classes, applied only to elementary education.

The teacher was dependent on the emperor (as we have seen) for his appointment. Sometimes a man would be directly appointed by the emperor, as Eumenius was,[826] but generally in Gaul, as at Antioch,[827] he would be nominated by his municipality, and his nomination would be subject to the approval of the imperial patron,[828] to whom he looked for all good things. The Gaul of Panegyric VI speaks of ‘privatorum studiorum ignobiles curae’, and the suggestion is that it is the approving glance of the emperor that makes them ‘nobiles’. Eumenius clearly brings out this relation between the teachers and the emperors, who are praised because they found time to appoint schoolmasters as well as masters of the horse.[829]

And finally, both teacher and student depended on the emperor for promotion. Imperial service was the conscious motive of education, and the rhetor could count among the officials of the empire many a former pupil. One of the panegyrists looks proudly and wistfully back to those who left his school and rose high in the forum or the offices of the palace, and fondly thinks of them as his children. ‘For many and not ignoble are the streams that take their course from me,’ he exclaims to the emperor, ‘many whom I guided have risen to govern thy provinces.’[830] The reason why the emperors take so much care to appoint efficient teachers is, ‘lest those who ought to be appointed to the various forms of State service should be overtaken, as it were, by a sudden cloud midway on the waves of youth, and steer their course by doubtful stars of oratory.’[831] The service of the emperor is so obviously the best, that anything else looks like partial shipwreck. The imperial goal dominates everything. Ausonius served, like many of the Bordeaux teachers, on the municipality of his town, and rose to be consul and prefect. Even a man like Exsuperius, whom Ausonius criticizes as a trivial talker,[832] could become governor of a province. So much was a public career the fashion that Ausonius expresses surprise at Alcimus for keeping out of the imperial service:

All this finds its counterpart, of course, in the direct encouragement of the emperors. If Constantine had merely said: ‘We allow teachers to stand for office, if they wish, but do not compel them,’[834] Constantius, with an enthusiasm for letters rarely paralleled among princes, could promise that he would promote to higher rank him who by his studies and eloquence seemed to be worthy of the first place. ‘For literature must not be denied her rewards—literature which is the greatest of all virtues.’[835]

One of the main features of the imperial policy towards the teachers was the panegyric. The emperors had to mould public opinion, and, not possessing newspapers, they fell back on the professor. And perhaps this is the reason why, during the fourth century, they made such a special point of residing in Gaul and expressing their fondness for her by word and deed—Gaul the home of rhetoricians. However that may be, the panegyric obtained a regular place among the teacher’s duties.

Ever since Pliny had set the fashion with his panegyric on Trajan, ‘there had gradually grown up a custom, especially in the cities of Gaul, where rhetorical studies were flourishing, a custom which became frequent in the times of Diocletian and Maximian, and again under Constantine and Constantius, of sending rhetors to the emperor to congratulate him on successes and to thank him for benefits.’[836] The panegyric was one of the accomplishments of the famous Minervius,[837] and among the ‘Panegyrici Latini’ it was a much-coveted honour to be allowed to air this accomplishment. ‘Summam votorum meorum’[838] is the description applied by the sixth panegyrist to his speech before the emperor. Nor need we consider this mere flattery; for the rewards were many and substantial. Sidonius’s panegyric on Avitus procured him a statue in the forum of Trajan,[839] after his panegyric on Majorian (who had been nominated by Avitus’s murderer Ricimer), he was admitted into the court and became a count, and when he performed the same service for Anthemius in 468 he was made prefect of Rome and president of the Senate; he tells us himself that he obtained the praefecture ‘sub ope Christi, styli occasione’.[840]

These were the rewards of the brilliant. But even the humblest grammarian enjoyed the emperor’s favour as a potential panegyrist. Many laws at different times protected him from taxes and military service. Constantine had decreed this, and had added that they were also to be free from prosecution and shielded from wrongdoing. The magistrates were to exact a fine of £1,000 from any one who injured them, or themselves bear the punishment.[841] In the case of a slave whipping was prescribed. In 333 Constantine confirmed this law ‘to facilitate and extend the teaching of liberal arts and studies’.[842] His example was followed in 414 by Honorius and Theodosius, who decreed that grammarians, orators, and teachers of philosophy as well as certain court doctors, besides all the privileges granted to them by the emperors in the past, should enjoy freedom from the rearrangement, municipal or curial, of property which had been put together from several sources in order to be divided equally (conlatio), from the marking out of land for the senatorial or land tax (descriptio), and from all office and public burdens. Nor were they to have soldiers or judges billeted on them wherever they lived. Moreover, all these privileges were to be shared by their sons and wives, so that their children could not be forced to serve in the army.[843]

But the gratitude of the Gallic teachers to the emperor was based on more than personal benefits. They realized very clearly (in the fourth century, at any rate) that without the Roman military power education could not have flourished. Eumenius tells how, after the confusion of destroying barbarians, the trees flourish again and the corn-stalks lift their heads when the frontier is made secure. The age of gold has come again. ‘Adeo, ut res est, aurea illa saecula, quae non diu quondam Saturno rege viguerunt, nunc aeternis auspiciis Iovis et Herculis renascuntur.’[844] Panegyric inspires comforting pictures, but in this case there is a basis of truth. There is a true ring about the praises of the Aeduan who describes the evil condition of his country, and pours out his thanks before the emperor,[845] even though he has a tendency to hysterics.[846] There is a certain amount of real feeling in his exclamation: ‘O divinam, imperator, tuam in sananda civitate medicinam’;[847] and the Gallic orator of the sixth panegyric is not very far wrong when he says: ‘Thence, O emperor, comes this peace which we enjoy: not the waters of the Rhine, but the terror which thy name inspires is the rampart that defends us.’

Valentinian I, ‘the frontier emperor’, restored the defences of the West against the barbarians (367-8). Trouble was brewing among the Persians,[848] says Ammianus, ‘but Valentinian, conceiving in his mind great things and profitable’, fortified the whole of the Rhine from Rhaetia to the sea, strengthened camps and forts, planted many towers in suitable spots along the Gallic frontier, and sometimes even across the river close to barbarian territory.[849] Zosimus remarks on his care for the provinces and for the Celtic peoples.[850]

Even the usurper Constantine, ‘the vain deliverer of Gaul’, as Gibbon calls him, in A.D. 407 ἐγκατέστησε ... καὶ τῷ Ῥήνῳ πᾶσαν ἀσφάλειαν, ἐκ τῶν Ἰουλιανοῦ βασιλέως χρόνων ῥᾳθυμηθεῖσαν.[851]

One of the panegyrists[852] mentions ‘sapientia’ as a blessing of the empire, ‘ipsa ... illa quae videtur rerum omnium domina esse’, and this wisdom comes by experience of men and things, ‘perspectis hominum moribus et exploratis rerum eventis’. By giving opportunities to the Gauls for studying and mixing with different types from all parts of the world, Roman rule contributed to the general culture of the country; and the provincial orator is not guilty of his usual exaggeration when he emphasizes the fact that in this way, too, the empire was a boon at this time to the education of Gaul.

But against these real and undeniable advantages there may be set some corresponding drawbacks. Elaborate centralization[853] may be good from a purely military point of view, but it checks the progress of the human spirit. The panegyrists show how excessive the expenditure of the central court was, and how the interests of the empire were sacrificed to the sovereign.[854] The accession of Julian was a boon, for ‘the provinces were exhausted, partly by the plundering barbarians, partly by the greed, destructive as it was disgraceful, of the provincial governors.’[855] And of Julian the orator asks in a way which affirms the charge on the part of his enemy Constantius: ‘Flagitiis administrantium non modo frena laxaret, sed etiam stimulator accederet...?’

This over-centralization resulted in over-interference in education. ‘The traditional liberty which had formed the foundation of Roman education was seriously infringed by the appearance of imperial privileges.... All these benefactions were in reality an interference in the affairs of education.... Thus from the second to the fourth centuries of our era, the complete transformation of school organization was quietly accomplished. It is the transition period between the ancient Roman school and the formalism of the Middle Ages.’[856] This stiffening of the imperial support into formalism and tyranny is seen in the Theodosian Code. The personal liberty of the teacher becomes more and more restricted. Theodosius and Valentinian decreed[857] in 425 that no State teachers, on pain of being driven from the city with the stigma of ‘infamia’, were to hold classes in public outside the prescribed limits. Tutors in private families were permitted if they confined their teaching to the inmates of the house. But all who taught in the emperor’s Capitoline ‘auditorium’ were strictly forbidden to teach privately or else they must lose all the privileges of their office.

It looks as if this prohibition of all public schools outside the imperial academy was directed against the itinerant sophists. The law was issued at Constantinople and it may have been a salutary measure in some ways; but there is a suspicion that the emperor is rather abusing his authority to favour his own particular college, and the principle of vesting such unlimited powers over education in one man is a dangerous one. The penalty imposed on those who disobey this injunction (infamia and banishment) seems to be disproportionately severe. It smacks of that rigidity which made the emperor forbid the masters of his academy (intra Capitolii auditorium) to teach, even privately, elsewhere. And it is a continuation of that coercive attitude on the part of the imperial patron towards the schools, which we see increasing from the beginning of our period when Julian enacted that every teacher must receive the imperial approval before he was qualified to teach.[858] He was right in insisting on efficiency, but his evident attempt to abolish private adventure schools can hardly be justified.

Extreme centralization had also another and subtler influence. We feel, as we read the words of Eumenius or Ausonius to the emperors, that there was an unhealthy relation between them, one which tended to destroy the individuality of the subject. The deification of the emperor looms very large in the Panegyrici:[859] his favour was the summit of a man’s ambitions, to him all ideas and ideals had to be accommodated. It is quite pitiful to watch the hysterics of the panegyrists. It is no more a case merely of the rules of rhetoric and the laws of the game; it is the complete breakdown of all self-respect and individuality, an abasement of body and soul before the temporal powers, springing partly from the rhetorical tradition and partly from a real sense of dependence on the emperor.

‘O that fortunate journey of mine!’ exclaims one of the panegyrists of his visit to the emperor at Rome, ‘O labour excellently begun and ended! What blessings do I taste of! With what joys am I furnished! What wonders will I dispense when I return to the cities of the Gauls! What numbers of thunderstruck people around me, what huge audiences will listen to me when I say: “Rome I have seen, Theodosius I have seen, and both together have I looked on. I have seen him, the father of the prince, I have seen him, the prince’s avenger, him, the restorer of the prince.”’[860] Such is the recurrent language of a distinguished man, Pacatus the Gaul, a friend of Ausonius, who dedicated to him the Ludus Septem Sapientum and the Technopaegnion, and said of him that none, save Vergil, was better loved by the Muses.[861] Nazarius, who may be one of Ausonius’s professors,[862] solemnly maintains that it is wicked to form an opinion about the emperors, and reasons out his thin-spun absurdities thus: ‘Nam et in vestibulo suo inquirentem repellit obiecta veneratio, et si qui mentem propius adierunt, quod oculis in solem se contendentibus evenit, praestricta acie, videndi facultate caruerunt.’[863] The splendour of majesty (it is a golden glitter) affects the eyesight of the orator. Ausonius had been asked by the emperor to write a poem. ‘I have no talent for it: but Caesar has commanded: I will have. It isn’t safe to refuse a god.’[864] He speaks with great glee of his escape, in attaining to the consulship, from all the usual methods of candidature: all was summed up in Caesar ‘Romanus populus, Martius campus, equester ordo, rostra, ovilia, senatus, curia—unus mihi omnia Gratianus’.[865] The ease implied in the simplification of everything to the person of the emperor was no doubt pleasant: but it was a mark of decadence. It meant a limitation of ideas, a cramping of individuality, a slavishness of spirit which must eventually reduce education to spiritless formalism. What perverted results this militaristic control of education sometimes could produce is well illustrated by the Cento Nuptialis. Ausonius had enough education and taste to be half ashamed of his subject. ‘Piget enim Vergiliani carminis dignitatem tam ioculari dehonestasse materia.’ Yet what was he to do? ‘Iussum erat.’ Valentinian had commanded it: ‘sanctus imperator ... vir meo iudicio eruditus’. If we are to judge of this erudition by such fruits as these, we cannot say much for its depth or taste. ‘Ridere, nil ultra expeto’, says the poet. But there is more than one way of laughing, as he very well knew. Here, then, we have imperial interference making a man at the head of his profession, a man who would be imitated by his pupils and by other teachers as he imitated the emperor, write for the edification of the world the most asinine and disgusting verses ever produced.

Not only the personal, but also the collective individuality, tended to be impaired by over-centralization. The sense of citizenship, which it is one of the duties of education to foster, was crushed in the great mechanical organization of the Empire. Loyalty to Rome grew hollow for lack of a subordinate and more immediate loyalty. Loyalty is in the first place evoked by personal contact, and the emperor was sometimes very far away. The subordinate official lost the full sense of partnership because some mighty power from without imposed laws and made regulations, and could interfere between him and his superior official at any moment. Even in men like Ausonius, who could get into touch with the emperor and feel genuine loyalty towards him by reason of a sense of partnership and personal benefits, we find Rome appearing as the symbol of the Empire in a very official capacity. In his description of noble cities he gives one perfunctory line to Rome and forty to Bordeaux. ‘Bordeaux has my love, Rome my respect’,[866] he says, and he gives the reason: ‘here stood my cradle, there my chair of office.’ Officialdom may evoke respect, but it can never call forth that spirit of love which is the basis of true loyalty in every sphere. Paulinus of Pella, writing after the barbarian invasions of the early fifth century, expresses himself in a similar way. Rome is only cursorily mentioned[867] in conventional terms,[868] and there is no point at which Rome touches him personally. Indeed, he has rather bitter memories of her: