No More Learning

Among Ausonius' friends was the austere
Paulinus of Nola, and Ausonius himself was a convert to the Christian
faith. But his Christianity is only skin-deep. His Bible is Vergil, his
books of devotion are Horace and Ovid and Statius. The symbols of the
Greek mythology are nearer and dearer to him than the symbolism of the
Cross. The last enemy which Christianity had to overcome was, in fact,
Literature. And strangely enough the conquest was to be achieved
finally, not by the superior ethical quality of the new religion, but by
the havoc wrought in Latin speech by the invasion of the Barbarians, by
the decay of language and of linguistic study. To the period of
Ausonius--and probably to Gaul--belong the rather obscure Asmenidae--the
'sons', or pupils, of Asmenius. At least two of them, Palladius and
Asclepiadius, exhibit genuine poetical accomplishment. But the schools
both of Ausonius and of Asmenius show at least in one particular how
relaxed had become the hold even upon its enthusiasts of the true
classical tradition. All these poets have a passion for triviality, for
every kind of _tour de force_, for conceits and mannerisms. At times they
are not so much poets as the acrobats of poetry.

The end of the century gives us Claudian, and a reaction against this
triviality. 'Paganus peruicacissimus,' as Orosius calls him, Claudian
presents the problem of a poet whose poetry treats with real power the
circumstances of an age from which the poet himself is as detached as
can be. Claudian's real world is a world which was never to be again, a
world of great princes and exalted virtues, a world animated by a
religion in which Rome herself, strong and serene, is the principal
deity. Accident has thrown him into the midst of a political nightmare
dominated by intriguing viziers and delivered to a superstition which
made men at once weak and cruel.
Yet this world, so unreal to him, he
presents in a rhetorical colouring extraordinarily effective. Had he
possessed a truer instinct for things as they are he might have been the
greatest of the Roman satirists. He has a real mastery of the art of
invective. But, while he is great where he condemns, where he blesses he
is mostly contemptible. He has too many of the arts of the cringing
Alexandrian. And they availed him nothing. Over every page may be heard
the steady tramp of the feet of the barbarian invader.

After Claudian we pass into the final darkness. The gloom is illuminated
for a brief moment by the Gaul Rutilius. But Rutilius has really
outlived Roman poetry and Rome itself. Nothing that he admires is any
longer real save in his admiration of it. The things that he condemns
most bitterly are the things which were destined to dominate the world
for ten centuries. Christianity is 'a worse poison than witchcraft'. The
monastic spirit is the 'fool-fury of a brain unhinged'. The monasteries
are 'slave-dungeons'.

It was these 'slave-dungeons' which were to keep safe through the long
night of the Middle Ages all that Rutilius held dear.