A reform of this over-luxury ensued under Constantius II. (a.d. 350), and under the noble and glorious Julian[923] ‘the Apostate.’ The latter took a lesson from the Eastern Persian, Parthian, and Sarmatian (Slav?); moreover, he adopted the iron face-guard known at Nineveh, and the mail-coat found upon the Trajan column. These revivals and improvements extended deep into the Age of Chivalry.

The Sword was carried in the balteus, an Etruscan word applied indifferently, it would appear, to the bauldric (τελαμών), or to the waist-‘belt’ (ζώνη or ζωστήρ, cingulum). Both were of cloth or leather, either plain or decorated with embroidery, with metal plates, splendid and elaborate rings and fibulæ, and buckles and brooches of the most precious material. It is generally said that the Gladius, and its successor the long cut-and-thrust Spatha, were worn belted to the right, as amongst the Persians. The old Ensis, on the other hand, was slung to the left, like the Egyptians, Assyrians, Hindús, and other ‘barbarians.’[924] The latter fashion enabled the Swordsman to draw his weapon safely by passing hand and forearm across his body under the shield. He would also in this way grip the hilt with the thumb at the back of the blade, where it should ever be held, especially when delivering the cut. I believe, however, that the Sword was worn by the Romans, as amongst the Greeks, on either flank.[925]

We have no knowledge, except from books, of Roman fancy-Swords. Such, for example, was the Cluden or juggler’s ‘shutting’-Sword, which ran up into the hilt. ‘So great is your fear of steel,’ says Apuleius in his defence, ‘that you are afraid to dance with the “close-Sword.”’

Roman blades of iron are not often found, and yet they must have been made by the million. Captain Grose[926] figures a leaf-shaped blade, like that of the modern Somal, taken from the Severn near Gloucester. Meyrick tells us[927] that Woodchester produced an iron Sword-blade resembling a large and broad knife (the oldest form of Gladius?) and a dagger (pugio), nearly one foot long, and much resembling the modern French bayonet. He mentions another iron Gladius nineteen and a half inches long, with a fibula of brass. Rev. T. Douglas, in his ‘Nænia Britannica’[928] shows the find in a Kentish barrow. The Sword measures thirty-five and a quarter inches from pommel to point; the iron blade, thirty inches by two inches broad, is flat and two-edged. The wooden grip had decayed; the scabbard was of wood covered with leather and the weapon hung by a leather strap to the left side. Excavations at South Shields produced, says the Rev. J. Collingwood Bruce,[929] five Roman Swords, two to three feet long, with wooden scabbards and bronze crampets or ferules.

If Greece produced the golden youth of European civilisation, Rome bore the men of antiquity. She taught by example and precept the eternal lesson of individual and national dignity, of law and justice, and of absolute toleration in religious matters. She had no fear of growing great, and scruples about ‘territorial aggrandisement’ were absolutely unknown to her. The quondam Masters of the World effected their marvels of conquest and colonisation with these arts, urged by a forceful will, a will so single-viewed and so persistent that it levelled every obstacle. A similar gift of determination and perseverance made the Turks and Turcomans of a former generation, mere barbarians on horseback, bear down all opposition: hence the Arab still says: ‘Mount your blood mare and the Osmanli shall catch you on his lame ass!’ In virtue of an equal obstinacy, the Kelto-Scandinavian (I will not call him an ‘Anglo-Saxon’), the modern Englishman, has trod worthily in the footsteps of the old Italian, and from his ‘angle of the world,’ his scrap of bleak inclement island, has extended his sway far beyond the orb known to his Cæsars. May he only remember the word ‘Forwards!’ and take to heart the fact that to stand still is to fall back.

The Roman of the Republic was incomparably the first soldier of his age; and he equalled the best of the moderns in discipline, in loyalty to his loaders, and in enduring privations, hardship, and fatigue. But a glance at any of his campaigns—the famous ‘Commentaries’ suffice—shows how completely dependent he was upon the quality of his commander. Handled by second- and third-rate men, such as generals mostly have been, are, and will be, he was ignobly defeated, in his most glorious days, by the barbarous Gauls of Brennus; by the half-servile hordes of Hannibal; by the degenerate Greeks of Pyrrhus with their ‘huge earth-shaking beasts,’ and by the armed mob which the Cheruscan Arminius (Ormin or Hermann) led against the incompetent Varus. His campaigns, invariably successful in the end, were marked by many reverses; and in cases of sudden and sinister emergencies he was too often scared and put to flight. In fact, he could not fight a ‘soldier’s battle’; nor has any race done this effectively in modern days except the English and the Slavs.

But when following military genius, the Roman soldier performed prodigies of gallantry and valour. A Julius Cæsar, a conqueror in fifty pitched battles, whose practice was to order venite not ite! whose military instinct could cry at the spur of the moment in the Pharsalian fight, faciem feri, miles! and who could reduce mutineers to reason by one word, Quirites! never failed to point the way to victory. We learn from the Great Epileptic[930] himself the secret of his unexampled success; the care with which he cultivated the individual. ‘He instructed the soldiers (when exposed to a new mode of attack), not like the general of a veteran army which had been victorious in so many battles, but like a Lanista training his gladiators. He taught them with what foot they must advance or retire; when they were to oppose and make good their ground; when to counterfeit an attack; at what place and in what manner to launch their javelins.’[931]

His very arrogance was effective in making him a ruler of men, as when on receiving bad tidings he struck his Sword-hilt, saying, ‘This will give me my rights!’ And of his ‘politiké’ (as the Greeks call it) we may judge by what Polyænus[932] tells us of him. ‘The Romans had been taught by their commanders that a soldier should not be decorated with gold or silver, but place his confidence in his Sword,’ says Livy.[933] But Divus Cæsar encouraged his men to decorate their weapons with all manner of valuables for a truly soldier-like reason, that they might be the less ready to part with their property in flight. And though he plundered freely and rifled even the fanes of the gods, according to Suetonius, he was careful, like a certain modern Condottiere, to see that his men were well fed and regularly paid by means of the ‘loot.’

The Roman soldier had another valuable gift, which has not wholly left the Latin race. He knew the ‘magic of patience,’ and was aware that ‘le monde est la maison du plus fort.’ So in the Napoleonic days the Spaniards believed chiefly in General ‘No Importa’ (no matter), and made little of defeat, hoping it might lead to victory. Nor did the Roman soldier degenerate till the citizen set him the example. Velleius Paterculus dated the decline of Roman virtue after the destruction of Carthage, when civil disputes were decided by the Sword; others to the invasion of luxury with Lucullus. Yet Pliny could boast of his fellow-countrymen: ‘They have doubtless surpassed every other nation in the display of valour.’

But the Roman soldier generally prevailed against races whom he excelled in size, weight, and muscular strength. His superiority in arms, like that of the Greek, was not conspicuous when he came into contact with the ‘barbarians,’[934] especially with the northern barbarians, after they had learned the moral training and confidence of discipline and the practical art of war, as well as, if not better than, himself. For the man of the higher European latitudes has ever surpassed the Southron in strength of constitution, in stature, in weight, in muscular power, and in the mysterious something called vitality. Hence it is a rule in anthropology that the North beats the South; in the Southern hemisphere the reverse being the case, as we see in the wars of the Hispano-American republics, Chili versus Peru. In Europe I need only point out that the Northmen of Scandinavia conquered Normandy and that Norman-French conquered England. The only exceptions are easily explained. The genius of Divus Cæsar made his Romans overcome, overrun, and subjugate Gaul. Napoleon the Great found the road à Berlin open and easy. But intellectual monsters like these two are the rare produce of Time; and human nature requires a long period of rest before repeating such portents.

Those who read history without prepossessions and prejudices are compelled to conclude that the life and career of a nation are mainly determined by its physical size and its muscular strength. We have only to learn how many foot-pounds a race can raise and we can forecast its so-called ‘destinies.’[935]