Ancient Rome in the English novel: a study in English historical fiction

by Randolph Faries

E. NOVELS WRITTEN BY SO-CALLED “POPULAR” NOVELISTS, WHO RELY ON THE MELODRAMATIC FOR THEIR APPEAL; THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE “POPULAR” NOVEL OF ROMAN LIFE FROM 1843 TO THE PRESENT DAY

As has been said, the growing insistence upon thoroughness of scholarship, which is seen in the work of both German and English scholars, resulted not only in a somewhat direct imitation of the methods which appear in Becker’s Gallus (1838), by a few pedantic novelists; but more especially in an attempted exhibition of scholarship by “popular” novelists, who wrote novels of Roman life after this date. These “popular” novelists were men who either turned out novels by the score, or produced a few novels of the made-to-order variety; who sought for material with the idea of obtaining “grist for the mill,” rather than of writing a masterpiece. Such novelists have in most cases relied for their appeal upon the use of melodramatic material; but even these “popular” novelists soon came to realize the necessity of sound scholarship to any author who intends to attempt a novel of Roman life. In the class of “popular” novelists, we shall also include those novelists whose principal desire seems to have been to tell a “rattling good story” or to present a series of gorgeous pictures from the life of the past,—though in some cases a more serious purpose seems to underlie work of this description. We shall begin our review of the “popular,” melodramatic novel of Roman life with the novel of Ellen Pickering, which appeared in 1843; but the “gorgeous romance,” which is a direct development of the “popular” novel, did not reach its height until considerably later. After 1843 all true novels of Roman life make at least some pretense of thorough scholarship.

Ellen Pickering, an American authoress, who turned out a score of “popular” novels, wrote as one of the last of them, Julia of Baiae; or the Days of Nero (1843). She clearly shows her realization both of the necessity for thorough scholarship in matters of history, and of her own shortcomings in such matters. This is plain from the diffidence of her preface to the novel, and from the fact that it was published anonymously. The story of the death of Burrus, and the appearance of Vespasian in the Praetorian guards, are matters introduced not in strictly historical order. But otherwise the book has no great faults. It is, however, not even intended as a great novel, and is only cited here in illustration of the fact that a reasonable display of scholarship was coming to be demanded even of popular novelists. Julia of Baiae appeared two years after the last of the Rev. Ware’s novels (Julian, 1841), and was dedicated to the Rev. Fred. J. Goodwin, M. A., Rector of St. George’s Church, Flushing, N. Y. Yet, while it contains a story of the martyrs, it is not to be considered a story of religious instruction, but as an attempt at a popular novel with a rather feeble essay at classical scholarship.

Wilkie Collins, who wrote Antonina in 1850, is a curious example of a novelist possessed of rather high talents, yet turning out novels which were made to the order of the popular taste, and did not have the stamp of permanence. Collins belongs to the school of Dickens rather than that of Scott; and he develops the melodramatic side of Dickens, while dispensing with Dickens’ humor. In fact, in Antonina, Collins goes back somewhat toward the style of the Gothic romancers, who preceded Scott. Bleak mountainsides, dark caverns and rushing torrents suggest the “Gothic” terror. The labyrinth motive appears as one of the principal motives of the story, in that its chief character, a priest of Serapis, spends his life in digging a secret passage through the walls of Rome, that he may thwart the Christians by letting in the pagan invaders. This motive is also used in a description of the secret passages under the temple of Serapis. Another “Gothic” element is shown in the ghastly scene at the banquet where guests and host resolve to die before leaving their couches. While the story describes the siege and sack of Rome by the Goths in 410 A. D., the invaders are made to appear less like the real Goths than like the characters of the “Gothic” romancers. In fact, the few historical characters of Antonina are not very well done, and its history is not very good. But in writing this, his first novel, Collins realized that he must be fairly accurate in matters of history,—and in his descriptions of Roman life in Antonina he sometimes achieves fine realistic effect.

It would be unfair to brand the excellent work of Henry W. Herbert as that of a “popular novelist,” since he displays a profound scholarship not usually found in the “popular novelist.” But it may be fair to consider that one of his aims was to tell a “rattling good story,” and in this he was certainly successful. His one important novel was called The Roman Traitor; or Days of Cicero, Cato, and Catiline, and was published in Philadelphia in 1853. It is a powerful story of the conspiracy of Catiline against the Roman republic in 63 B. C. The character of Catiline is portrayed with masterful strokes, while those of Lentulus, Cethegus, and other conspirators, are also well-done. Cicero, Cato, and the young Julius Caesar, also appear in a natural light, though of these three, only Cicero is made to play an important part. Scenes in the Senate and in the houses of the nobility are life-like, yet not over-done. The author has succeeded admirably in portraying real men and women, their thoughts, desires and passions. Scenes of politics, luxury, and intrigue, ring true to life. Speeches assigned to Cicero, Caesar, and Cato, are literal translations from the works of Cicero and Sallust. Yet the author makes them seem as real as though the words were being spoken today. He also shows a thorough knowledge of the topography of ancient Rome. Certain “Gothic” elements appear in the story, especially near the end, where the scene is a dark, dismal recess, overlooking a fearful chasm. But the general style surpasses that of any Gothic romance and is suggestive of Scott. Fine as it is in its portrayal of Roman life, The Roman Traitor is even finer in its telling of a remarkable story. It is also the only really effective handling of the conspiracy of Catiline in the form of fiction.

The chief aim of Major G. J. Whyte-Melville in The Gladiators (1863), is obviously to present a “gorgeous romance,” replete with hair-raising episodes. Whyte-Melville, who is the first of the brilliantly sensational writers of the “gorgeous romance” of Roman life in English, is well known for his novels of sporting life in England. In The Gladiators he portrays the brilliant and corrupt society of ancient Rome in the first century, A. D., in a way which suggests his knowledge of a similar brilliant sporting society in modern England. In his use of history in The Gladiators, Whyte-Melville is fairly accurate. While not a man of profound scholarship, he fortunately found his historical material in a compact and readily accessible form, in the work of the Jewish historian Josephus. There is not much genuine history in the first part of The Gladiators, in which portion the scene is laid in Rome; but in the latter part of the novel, the author followed Josephus, in his wish to find plenty of exciting and romantic episodes. It is interesting to note, for example, that the story of the secret passage through the walls of Jerusalem (which illustrates the labyrinth motive), was taken by Whyte-Melville from Josephus. Many other instances could be cited of Whyte-Melville’s indebtedness to Josephus. Croly, it will be recalled, followed Josephus to some extent, but made a more scholarly and imaginative use of his material. The latter part of The Gladiators, in which the author relies more on the guidance of history, is better than the first part of the story, and contains some really fine descriptions of episodes in the siege of Jerusalem. However, that part of the story which deals with life at Rome and the defeat of Vitellius is accurate in its portrayal of some characteristic scenes of Roman times. In general, The Gladiators, while it has an impossible plot, and consists mainly of a series of gorgeous scenes, may be said to portray Roman life very well in most of its scenes. It lacks unity in its story and probability in some of its details, and this is what prevents its having a completeness of realistic effect.

It would be absurd as well as unfair to call Ben Hur (1880), Gen. Lew Wallace’s great novel of Roman life, “merely a popular” novel. A gorgeous romance it certainly is,—but this is not all. Ben Hur has been and still is “popular” in the best sense of the word. Some of the finest novels of Roman life, even such great works as Kingsley’s Hypatia and Canon Farrar’s Darkness and Dawn, make their strongest appeal to the cultured few; Ben Hur appeals with equal power to all. Moreover, some novels of Roman life interest every one for a time, yet later lose their power to interest; Ben Hur has become a permanent thing, appealing to the popular taste of all time. Ben Hur is the first novel of Roman life in English which has with uniform success combined a high seriousness and sincerity of tone, with a use of the sensational achieving the utmost in realistic effect. Such a combination was only partly attempted in Hypatia,—which only makes a limited use of the sensational,—and was only equalled in isolated parts of Salathiel. Ben Hur has been called a romance, but as one reads it, his feeling is not, “This is romance,” but “This is life!”

Ben Hur is so universally known, that it is needless to review it here. It has never ceased to be sold in English-speaking countries; while it has been translated into French, German, Bohemian, Swedish, Turkish, Spanish, Portuguese and Arabic, and printed in raised letters for the blind. Its dramatization has also increased its popularity. Hence we need now only consider a few points about Ben Hur in regard to its relation to our subject. In the first place, Ben Hur is definitely a novel of Roman life, though its scene only goes to the city of Rome in occasional brief explanatory paragraphs. Other novels of Roman life so far considered have deserved to be called such, either because their scene was laid (at least in part) in Rome, or because it was laid chiefly in some great city of the Empire, (as Alexandria in Hypatia), in which life very strongly resembled the life of Rome. But from Ben Hur, more than from any other novel, one gets a sense of other related parts of the Roman world. Other novelists, as Croly in Salathiel, have successfully carried their characters to different parts of the Roman world, and have described scenes, which were of deep significance, but which none the less were associated in one’s mind with a definitely limited place. But in Ben Hur from the beginning of the story, when the three “wise men,” representing the antiquity of Egypt, the learning of the East, and the culture of Greece, meet and pursue the common purpose of their lives, one perceives that the important events and even minor episodes of the story are to be of such tremendous significance, that they throw off the limitations of time and place. The events of Ben Hur are accurately assigned by the author to different historical places, but they really belong not so much to separate, individual parts of the Roman world, as to the whole of that world. Christ was born in Palestine (the scene of most of Ben Hur), but His message was to the whole world,—and the world was then Roman. Ben Hur was a Jew, but the message he received was for Jew and Gentile, Roman master and Roman slave. That the entire world was Roman in the time of Christ is shown by Wallace with great care and fidelity. Wherever the story takes one, he meets with characteristic Roman scenes. Scenes in Palestine show the unmistakable marks of the Roman oppressor, and the bitter hatred with which Rome’s power is regarded. We meet with Roman soldiers, a Roman slave-gang, we witness the departure of a Roman galley, and a Roman fight at sea; we behold the conclusion of a Roman all-night revel, while the Romans take precedence over all other celebrants in the Grove of Daphne. Even the chariot-race scene,[28] the most famous in Ben Hur, could have been transferred to Rome, and is characteristic of the Roman world.

How then does Ben Hur show the coming of Christ into the world, the material part of which was under Roman sway? The novel is called in its alternative title A Tale of the Christ;—and such it is. The figure of Christ appears when he is a babe worshipped by the Magi, and later in scenes near the time of the Crucifixion; but these scenes are based on Scripture rather than created by Wallace. We have spoken of the fact that no novel of Roman life can be successful, if it makes Christ the central figure or character. Ben Hur does not do so; but its author shows enough of the life and death of the lowly Nazarene to convince one of His Divine Influence upon the Roman world, which has become the world of today. Ben Hur as he listened to the preaching of Jesus, and gazed upon His wonderful countenance, remembered having seen Him before. “That the look so calm, so pitiful, so loving, had somewhere in the past beamed upon him as that moment it was beaming on Balthazar, became an assurance. Faintly at first, at last a clear light, a burst of sunshine, the scene by the well at Nazareth what time the Roman guard was dragging him to the galleys returned, and all his being thrilled.” This quotation is typical of the story of Ben Hur; a Tale of the Christ. The mother and sister of Ben Hur suffered misfortune at the hands of the Romans, and were only freed from the cruelty of the Roman world by their acceptance of and meeting with The Master. Lew Wallace is equally great in his portrayal of the material life of Rome and the spiritual life of Christ.

Having chosen his subject, Wallace wisely refrained from making any very great use of Roman history, or of Roman historical characters not important in the Bible story. But just as the scenes of his novel are typical of life in the Roman world, so his characters exhibit the variety of race, creed and nationality to be found in the people Rome ruled. Beside a number of different types of Hebrew character which the author portrays, there are at least two kinds of Romans in Ben Hur, the proud, cruel oppressor, in Messala, and the magnanimous benefactor, in Quintus Arrius. Other characters represent the sage of whatever nationality, the youthful Greek with his perfect physical beauty, the Arab sheik, the seductive siren of the Nile, the devout Christian, and the pagan priestess. But Wallace does not rely too much on atmosphere or local color. His knowledge of Roman history was sound. While Messala, an imaginary character, is important in the story, Sejanus, who controlled the politics of Rome, is given his proper place in the background. In fact, the scholarship of Wallace was sound in every way. While he did not finish his schooling according to the prescribed course, he completed his own education more thoroughly than most men do. He was a great reader of good books, and at the age of 19, had read every book in his father’s library,—700 standard works. He continued to be a great reader and student, and formed a large library of his own. Besides his reading Wallace had a rich experience of life on the battlefield and in public life, and was peculiarly well fitted to understand with sympathy all sorts and conditions of men. Ben Hur is the only other novel of Roman life, besides Salathiel, to arouse successfully the reader’s sympathy for a Jewish hero. In his presentation of Ben Hur as a slave, Wallace showed his realization of antiquity of the slavery question; and he had shortly before done his part in settling forever that question. His sympathetic understanding of men, women, and little children of the present aided him in portraying with sympathy various types of character seen in the life of the past. Ben Hur is a novel which voices the hopes and aspirations of the common people of all the world.

Any estimate of the absolute value of Ben Hur must place Lew Wallace’s novel very high indeed. If one discounts the great influence the book has had upon its many readers, and considers it simply as a piece of art, it still ranks very high. While Ben Hur is said to have brought its author more sudden fame than any other novel has brought to an American author, this fame which came suddenly, did not as suddenly depart. If he is judged by the merits of Ben Hur, Wallace deserves to be ranked, as a novelist, with other great American novelists, such as Cooper, Hawthorne and Howells. In the opinion of a noted authority on American literature, Ben Hur “is in every respect a great novel.”[29] And it is impossible to differ with this opinion. Reduced to its lowest terms, all adverse criticism of Ben Hur lies in an arraignment of its so-called “faulty syntax.” Those who make this criticism in every case fail to give any quotation in illustration of their view, or to be specific in any other way. If one were to go through Ben Hur hunting for irregularities of syntax, doubtless he could find them just as easily as they may be found in the work of almost any other great novelist,—and perhaps no more easily. It is doubtful if the great majority of reviewers who have criticised the syntax of Ben Hur have had any thorough appreciation of what syntax is. Moreover, to quote a recent work on style, by a classical scholar, who is speaking of the style of Sophocles, it seems “that liberties of this kind are not confined to any particular stage of literary history, but are mainly due to the individual bent of the writer’s genius. No ancient author, however, has carried them to a greater length than Sophocles, ... he rejoices in those confusions of syntax ... by which one construction is suddenly merged in another.”[30] Sophocles has not perished on account of irregularities of style or syntax, nor will Lew Wallace, for any such reason. The free style of Ben Hur is well suited to describe its ever-changing scenes. Nor is the novel to be criticised for looseness of construction. Its combination of unity and variety make Ben Hur in every sense a great novel suited to a portrayal of life in the Roman Empire in the time of Christ. The chariot race, the sea fight, and the disentombing of Ben Hur’s mother and sister, are thrilling episodes in the world’s literature; and considered as a whole, Ben Hur is one of the great novels of all time.

After the appearance of Ben Hur many “popular” novels of Roman life tend toward a greater or less imitation of Lew Wallace’s great novel. There is, however, little such imitation in John W. Graham’s Neaera (1886), a novel the author of which displays genuine scholarship. In its description of the splendor and crime of the court of Tiberius, Neaera depends much on the Annals of Tacitus, which furnishes the best source for such a description of the Rome of Tiberius. The character of the gloomy Emperor is well drawn, as are also those of Sejanus, his mistress Livia, and Lygdus, the eunuch. Domitius Afer is made prominent, and through him we learn of the methods of the Emperor and others who make use of the ruffians of the Subura to attain their ends. The banquet of Apicius, and his suicide furnish the material for a realistic description of manners.

An example of a very poor kind of “popular” historical novel is found in The Son of a Star (1888), by B. W. Richardson. This is a wildly fantastic romance which bears on the title page a quotation from Horace, “Ficta voluptatis causa sit proxima veris,” but is certainly very far from the truth in most respects. While The Son of a Star makes occasional brief displays of accurate scholarship, chiefly borrowed from other novelists, its loose construction and false atmosphere make it a good example of the novel of Roman life “gone to seed.” The bright, though false, coloring of this romance suggests the work of Sir Rider Haggard, which has already been excluded from consideration in this study. His Cleopatra appeared in the following year (1889). This date, in fact, may be said to mark the point at which the pretended novel of Roman life, with its artificial coloring, becomes separated from the true novel of Roman life.

The idea of presenting the life of Rome as a gorgeous and at times bloody spectacle, with a frequent use of the sensational, reached its greatest height in Quo Vadis (1895), by the Polish author, H. Sienkiewicz. This idea had appeared in the English novel of Roman life, e. g., in Salathiel (1827), The Gladiators (1863), and Ben Hur (1880). There is no need to review Quo Vadis in detail here, since it is so well known; but let us establish its relation to the English novel of Roman life. It appeared after Eckstein’s Nero (1889), and a number of English novels of Roman life of the time of Nero, and may owe some of its inspiration to these, especially to Darkness and Dawn (1892). But after Quo Vadis was translated into English (1896), its influence upon later English novels of Roman life overshadowed even that of Canon Farrar’s great and more serious work. Quo Vadis has been translated and read in civilized lands even more widely than Ben Hur. These are the two novels of Roman life which have had the most widespread influence upon all subsequent novels of Roman life the world over. Quo Vadis adds practically no new element to the novel of Roman life, but puts certain elements which already existed into a more intensely vivid, and even lurid form,—in short, emphasizes the sensational. In its larger outlines Quo Vadis is reminiscent not only of Darkness and Dawn but of Hypatia. It represents the same struggle between the Christian Church and the Roman pagan world, the same triumph of Christianity. The contrast lies between the proud, voluptuous, and cruel spirit of pagan Rome and the spirit of humility and hope of the dwellers in the catacombs. A personal contrast is seen between Nero, the royal performer in the circus, and St. Peter, the fisherman who was to rule the world by his example. Other characters are those familiar to the novel of Roman life, Petronius the connoisseur in luxury, Vinicius the active young Roman noble, Lygia the beautiful Christian maiden condemned to the arena, Ursus the powerful slave, the dissolute Poppæa and members of Nero’s court, Croton the athlete, Glaucus the forgiving Christian, and others too numerous to mention. The scenes of Quo Vadis are also familiar, much the same as those of Darkness and Dawn, the picture of the fire at Rome being especially fine. While the moral lesson exists in Quo Vadis, what Sienkiewicz did for the novel of Roman life was to portray the life of the city of Rome itself in a form absolutely irresistible to the so-called “average” reader. Realistic effect was the most important thing to the writer of Quo Vadis; and in preparation for the writing of a novel which should portray the life of Rome with realistic effect he traveled widely and made a thorough study of numerous Latin authors, especially those who describe the life of Rome of the first few centuries A. D. The result is that Sienkiewicz was a profound scholar; and his scholarship appears in Quo Vadis,—though the novel shows some instances of error, chiefly topographical error, especially in the description of the great fire. None the less Quo Vadis is now the novel of Roman life which shows to the greatest extent a combination of careful scholarship and popularity of appeal. By 1900, nearly 2,000,000 copies of the English translation (1896), by Jeremiah Curtin, had been sold; and the influence of the novel upon popular taste is still important, since it creates beyond a doubt in every reader’s mind a desire to read further in Roman historical fiction.

The Sign of the Cross, by Wilson Barrett, appeared immediately after Quo Vadis, and, though very popular, is nothing but a weak and slavish imitation of Sienkiewicz’s great novel. This is all that need be said of The Sign of the Cross as a novel, since there is nothing original about it, and its brief popularity was due entirely to the reflected splendor of Quo Vadis. The fact that this novel was turned into a play with some success, following the example set by the dramatization of Ben Hur, shows that theatrical managers realized the possibilities offered by a novel of Roman life. Unfortunately the drama of Roman life presented either on the stage or the screen, has in nearly every instance, become more a gorgeous spectacle or a sensational melodrama, than a serious drama. But the drama of Roman life is mentioned here, since it has induced many who have seen such a play to read the novel on which it was based. This was the case with Ben Hur, which in the form of a novel offers, I believe, a higher and stronger appeal than any dramatic production based upon it.

Another novel which definitely goes back to Quo Vadis for its best scenes, but is possessed of some individual merit, is Amor Victor, the third edition of which appeared in 1902. This novel, by Orr Kenyon, is also marked by the seriousness of purpose which underlies the sensationalism of Quo Vadis. It particularly resembles Quo Vadis in its scenes in the arena, and in showing the tremendous difference between the appalling difficulties presented to the Christian at the time of the Empire, and those which he now meets. But Amor Victor also shows the similarity of atrocities committed by pagans then and now. This novel seems to be the first to draw parallels between events in the past and definite, specific occurrences of the present, taken sometimes even from personal experiences. For example, the author, in describing certain almost unthinkable atrocities which occurred in the Roman arena, shows how exactly the same outrages were committed upon the Christians by the Turks shortly before he wrote. Even since Amor Victor was written, these scenes have been repeated in Turkey. Moreover, Kenyon, in describing the scene in which Arsaces, the giant Parthian, kills a lion in the arena, is recalling the time when he himself had seen Sandow, the famous strong man, throw a lion in a public exhibition. This definite use of an incident, which the author has seen with his own eyes, aids him in achieving realistic effect. A similar use of an incident which actually occurred, is made by Mr. E. L. White in Andivius Hedulio (1921), in which the description of the miraculous escape of Commodus’ chariot from disaster was suggested by a real accident in the streets of Baltimore. Amor Victor takes its story of St. John the Apostle from the patristic writings. It is accurate in its historical coloring. In speaking of his serious purpose, the author says in a note at the end of Amor Victor, “Newell Dwight Hillis has shown that really great works of fiction are those which illustrate some vital principle, some deep moral lesson.” The novel conveys a moral lesson. Yet, while parts of it are also written in juvenile style, Amor Victor is not merely a story of religious instruction, but a true novel of Roman life. The Story of Phaedrus, by Hillis, to which Kenyon has reference in his quotation, is more a story of religious instruction written in distinctly juvenile style. Its hero does not see much of Roman life, since he spends most of his life in copying sacred writings in the depths of the catacombs.

An imitation of Ben Hur with some original touches is Mr. Irving Bacheller’s Vergilius; A Tale of the Coming of Christ (1904). The author reverses the plan of Lew Wallace, by placing the birth of Christ at the end, instead of at the beginning of his story. Mr. Bacheller’s attempt to use the birth of Christ as a climax, to which the rest of the story leads, is not very successful. His treatment of sacred scenes falls far below that of Lew Wallace, and the construction of his plot is poor. But he has described some scenes in Roman life with fine realistic effect, particularly those which take place in the magnificent palaces of Rome and Jerusalem. The descriptions of intrigues which take place in the court of Augustus, show the uncertainty of life at Rome at the time. The characters are few in number, Augustus and the young Jewish prince Herod Antipater being the only important historical figures. The crafty nature of Augustus is portrayed with a very keen insight into the depths of human nature, and the vindictive hatred of the Jewish prince forms a marked contrast to the noble, ingenuous nature of Vergilius, the imaginary hero of the story. Vergilius is a young patrician, and a favorite of Augustus; his character is not idealized and is quite representative of Roman times. In justice to Mr. Bacheller’s work, it should be said that he has not attempted to fill as large a canvas as did Lew Wallace in Ben Hur; his picture of life in Roman times is more limited in its scope, and more chaste in its outlines. Scenes which make use of the sensational are not overdone. Vergilius is a novel of Roman life, containing many beautifully written passages, which give it a very high position among such novels.

Lux Crucis (1904) is a very readable novel by Mr. Samuel M. Gardenhire. It is called by its author A Tale of the Great Apostle, and is dedicated to the Rt. Rev. Ethelbert Talbot, Bishop of Central Pennsylvania. Lux Crucis is, more than any other novel I know of, an attempt to portray Roman life by taking as much material as possible from previous novels of Roman life. Everything is thus taken at second-hand, without recourse to original sources. This method may show wide reading, but hardly shows thorough scholarship. Scenes in the arena depend upon Quo Vadis; scenes which have to do with St. Paul and Christian characters suggest Ben Hur and Darkness and Dawn; while other passages, especially that representing the gladiator’s school, undoubtedly go back to The Last Days of Pompeii. The author takes his history, chronology, and topography at second hand, and apparently he is confused in his remembrance of his own reading. The result is that Lux Crucis probably contains more ridiculous mistakes than any other novel of Roman life. For example, a so-called Briton is given the Anglo-Saxon name of Ethelred, though he lives in the time of Nero, before the Saxon invasion of Britain; he is made to come from Brittany, though Armorica did not receive that name until at least six hundred years later; and he speaks of crossing the channel to Angle-land, “with a smile.” (The reader also smiles.) An anachronism which is related to topography occurs, when the Forum of Trajan is mentioned in this story of Nero’s time, though the accession of Trajan did not take place until thirty-three years later. These typical instances of error in Lux Crucis are selected from a great number, some of which are almost equally bad. It is remarkable that, in spite of these inconsistencies, the novel is pleasing in its portrayal of characters, historical and non-historical, and many of its scenes are by no means devoid of realistic effect. Lux Crucis furnishes examples of the pitfalls awaiting an author who has attempted a piece of work requiring scholarship, but has been handicapped by his unscholarly methods.

Mr. Walter S. Cramp’s popular novel, Psyche (1905), describes the Rome of Tiberius, and contains much sound history taken from the Annals of Tacitus. In this it resembles Graham’s Neaera, which had appeared in 1886. In 1913 Mr. Cramp published another novel of Roman life, called An Heir to Empire, which is much like Psyche in its general outlines, except that the story centers in the life of Augustus’ court, instead of in the life of the court of Tiberius. It makes no great misuse of history, but adds too many fanciful details to historical episodes; this in spite of the fact that the novel is formally dedicated “To the Honorable Rodolpho Lanciani, whose genius touched the dust and ruins of Ancient Rome and made them live.”