Timgad is interesting and impressive in itself; in general as a town surviving through the ages almost untouched at least in its ground plan; and in particular for its several very uncommon and very informing details. But it is even more noteworthy in its suggestiveness. It flashes to us across a yawning chasm a message from a distant past, a message from a civilization not essentially different from our own; a civilization based on ordered liberty and individual effort, on public spirit and service, on private wealth amassed in agricultural and commercial enterprise; anticipating in its municipal buildings and in the dwellings of its citizens, rich and poor, with sufficient resemblance the conditions of our own life, public and domestic; yet reckoned in the lapse of centuries and the generations of men of an almost incredible remoteness, a remoteness emphasized, as everything is emphasized in this land of staring contrasts, by the hopeless barbarism and neglect which have filled the intervening gulf. Yet there are differences. The city stood on the very frontier of the Empire, but it was not built as men build in such situations to-day. Its solidity and magnificence suggest great local pride, the pride of wealthy citizens, who preferred to adorn their own city to spending their money as strangers in the “smart” world of Italy, who chose rather to rule in Africa than to serve in Rome; and they are evidence of provincial prosperity and contentment during that great second century which Gibbon regarded as the happiest period mankind had known. And we cannot suppress our surprise that the very existence of such a town is scarcely known to us from historical sources. If it were not for its ruins very few among scholars would have heard the mean of Thamagudi. In any endeavour to picture to ourselves the Empire as a whole such a fact is of great significance. And with such throbbing life at its extremities it is difficult to regard the heart as unsound.
The contemplation of such a town as Timgad helps us to realize the compelling force of Rome’s unequalled genius. On this remote frontier of her Empire we may trace to-day the same motives in building—all that meets the eye—which were dominant in the mother city. “In every branch of art, whether in sculpture, painting as displayed in the decorative forms of mosaic, or in architectural design, the same monumental remains await our coming; the basilica, the amphitheatre, the triumphal arch; the aqueduct and the fountain; the bridge, the temple and the tomb. They stand before us as examples of dignity of conception, unerringness of line, justness of proportion, fitness of purpose and soundness of construction.”[[11]] We see nothing but the remains of these buildings, but we may assume from them that in more vital matters,—in law, in public life, in the family and in individual habits the pattern set by the capital was equally predominant. And we may further reflect that Rome’s influence was not merely geographical in extent; it did not perish with her fall. Modern civilization is essentially Roman. The Roman’s “laws, his language, his literature, his festivals, even his calendar, keep their ground.” The Roman tradition is ingrained in our minds and conduct, and in small things as in great we unconsciously and as a matter of course pursue the Roman model. And it may be that the desperate struggle for the hegemony of Europe—and Africa—now proceeding is heralding the evolution of another Empire on Roman lines.
[11]. Graham, “Roman Africa,” p. 304.
XI—A PUBLIC LIBRARY
A romantic find—A municipal library of the third century—A Roman Carnegie—Christian Africa—The Donatists—Genseric the Vandal—Justinian—Timgad and Pompeii.
“They say that scholars thronged the column’d court;
To drain reluctant learning’s cup they sought;
Lo! all to utter nothingness have passed,
Alike for book and scholar life is short.”