A History of Roman Literature | Page 4

as if by necessity, to ancient Greece for
inspiration. The Church of the second and third centuries, when
Christian thought claimed and won its place among the intellectual
revolutions of the world, did not disdain the analogies of Greek
philosophy. The Renaissance owed its rise, and the Reformation much
of its fertility, to the study of Greek. And the sea of intellectual activity
which now surges round us moves ceaselessly about questions which
society has not asked itself since Greece started them more than twenty
centuries age. On the other hand, periods of order, when government is
strong and progress restrained, recognise their prototypes in the
civilisation of Rome, and their exponents in her literature. Such was the
time of the Church's greatest power: such was also that of the fully

developed monarchy in France, and of aristocratic ascendancy in
England. Thus the two literatures wield alternate influence; the one on
the side of liberty, the other on the side of government; the one as
urging restless movement towards the ideal, the other as counselling
steady acceptance of the real.
From a more restricted point of view, the utility of Latin literature may
be sought in the practical standard of its thought, and in the almost
faultless correctness of its composition. On the former there is no need
to enlarge, for it has always been amply recognised. The latter
excellence fits it above all for an educational use. There is probably no
language which in this respect comes near to it. The Romans have been
called with justice a nation of grammarians. The greatest commanders
and statesmen did not disdain to analyse the syntax and fix the spelling
of their language. From the outset of Roman literature a knowledge of
scientific grammar prevailed. Hence the act of composition and the
knowledge of its theory went hand in hand. The result is that among
Roman classical authors scarce a sentence can be detected which
offends against logical accuracy, or defies critical analysis. In this Latin
stands alone. The powerful intellect of an Aeschylus or Thucydides did
not prevent them from transgressing laws which in their day were
undiscovered, and which their own writing helped to form. Nor in
modern times could we find a single language in which the idioms of
the best writers could be reduced to conformity with strict rule. French,
which at first sight appears to offer such an instance, is seen on a closer
view to be fuller of illogical idioms than any other language; its
symmetrical exactness arises from clear combination and restriction of
single forms to a single use. English, at least in its older form, abounds
in special idioms, and German is still less likely to be adduced. As long,
therefore, as a penetrating insight into syntactical structure is
considered desirable, so long will Latin offer the best field for
obtaining it. In gaining accuracy, however, classical Latin suffered a
grievous loss. It became a cultivated as distinct from a natural language.
It was at first separated from the dialect of the people, and afterwards
carefully preserved from all contamination by it. Only a restricted
number of words were admitted into its select vocabulary. We learn
from Servius that Virgil was censured for admitting avunculus into epic
verse; and Quintilian says that the prestige of ancient use alone permits

the appearance in literature of words like balare, hinnire, and all
imitative sounds. [1] Spontaneity, therefore, became impossible, and
soon invention also ceased; and the imperial writers limit their choice
to such words as had the authority of classical usage. In a certain sense,
therefore, Latin was studied as a dead language, while it was still a
living one. Classical composition, even in the time of Juvenal, must
have been a labour analogous to, though, of course, much less than, that
of the Italian scholars of the sixteenth century. It was inevitable that
when the repositaries of the literary idiom were dispersed, it should at
once fall into irrecoverable disuse; and though never properly a dead
language, should have remained as it began, an artificially cultivated
one. [2] An important claim on our attention put forward by Roman
literature is founded upon its actual historical position. Imitative it
certainly is. [3] But it is not the only one that is imitative. All modern
literature is so too, in so far as it makes a conscious effort after an
external standard. Rome may seem to be more of a copyist than any of
her successors; but then they have among other models Rome herself to
follow. The way in which Roman taste, thought, and expression have
found their way into the modern world, makes them peculiarly worthy
of study; and the deliberate method of undertaking literary composition
practised by the great writers and clearly traceable in their productions,