there are qualities in human nature that are common to all mankind, and without copying an institution we may, by observing it, discover the secret of its success. Although we do not follow, we may learn.

Competition as an effective stimulus to scholarship in our colleges suffers to-day from a widespread feeling among the students that the distinctions won are a test of industry rather than of superior intellectual power. This conviction finds its expression in the term " grind," which is applied with great impartiality to all high scholars, instead of being reserved, as it seems to me it was formerly, to a certain kind of laborious mediocrity. The general use of the word is certainly unjust, for statistics show that, as compared with other men, the high scholars win a far larger share of distinction in the professional schools and in after life. But the feeling contains a grain of truth. In our desire to ensure from every student a fair amount of work, we are too apt to use tests that measure mere diligence, with the result that high rank in college is no sure measure of real ability. This has been to a great extent avoided in England by distinct honor and pass examinations, the questions in the former being of such a nature that industry alone cannot, it is believed, attain the highest grade; and this is an important matter if high rank is to command admiration. It is surely possible to devise tests which will measure any qualities that we desire to emphasize; but do we not touch here upon one of many indications that we have lost the key to the true meaning of the college? The primary object of the professional schools is knowledge, a command of the tools of the trade, and a facility in handling them; while in college the primary object is intellectual power, and a knowledge of facts or principles is the material on which the mind can exercise its force, rather than an end in itself. If we could make the world believe that high rank is a proof of intellectual power, our task in instilling among un

dergraduates a desire to excel would be simple.

The difficulty in stimulating a scholarly ambition is enhanced by a new, and on the whole a higher, moral tone among college men. The philosophers of a century ago preached the harmony of interests both in politics and economics. They taught that, in seeking his own highest good, a man promoted that of all the world; and they looked forward to a millennium based on universal self-interest. With the waning of this creed, a more altruistic spirit has replaced the extreme individualism of our fathers; and, as usual, the new tendencies are particularly strong in the rising generation. In college, the upper classmen feel a responsibility for the welfare of the younger students, and look after them, to an extent that would have been regarded as extraordinary, if not indeed meddlesome, half a century ago.

The sense of mutual obligation, and with it the corporate spirit, has grown apace. A man no longer wants to feel that he is working for himself alone; he wants to labor for the organization of which he forms a part, because that seems to him a nobler motive. This is one reason for the halo that surrounds the athlete; while the scholar seems to be striving for nothing better than personal distinction. If he is seeking a pecuniary scholarship, his aim, though needful, appears sordid; if not, it seems at best selfish, and therefore unworthy of the highest admiration. But the member of the football team, who risks his limbs in a glorious cause, whose courage and devotion are placed freely at the service of his alma mater, stands out as a hero worthy of all the praise that can be lavished upon him. Many a man, deaf to all other appeals, can be induced to make a creditable record in his studies on the ground that otherwise he cannot play upon a team, and that it is his duty to do something for the honor of his college. Such sentiments deserve respect, although to a serene philosopher they may seem a substitution of coöpera

tive for personal selfishness. But they assuredly place an obstacle in the path of any one who would try to raise the esteem for scholarly attainment. The undergraduate sees no way in which scholarship adds lustre to his college, and this complicates the problem of making it admirable in his eyes.

We have seen that the sifting out of young men capable of scholarship is receiving to-day less attention than it deserves; and that this applies, not only to recruiting future leaders of thought, but also to prevailing upon every young man to develop the intellectual powers he may possess. We have seen also that, while the Graduate School can train scholars, it cannot create love of scholarship. That work must be done in undergraduate days. We have found reason to believe that during the whole period of training, mental and physical, which reaches its culmination in college, competition is not only a proper but an essential factor; and we have observed the results achieved at Oxford and Cambridge by its use. In this country, on the other hand, several causes, foremost among them the elective system, have almost banished competition in scholarship from our colleges; while the inadequate character of our tests, and the corporate nature of self-interest in these latter times, raise serious difficulties in making it effective.

Nevertheless I have faith that these obstacles can be overcome, and that we can raise intellectual achievement in college to its rightful place in public estimation. We are told that it is idle to expect young men to do strenuous work before they feel the impending pressure of earning a livelihood; that they naturally love ease and self-indulgence, and can be aroused from lethargy only by discipline, or by contact with the hard facts of a struggle with the world. If I believed that, I would not be president of a college for a moment. It is not true. A normal young man longs for

nothing so much as to devote himself to a cause that calls forth his enthusiasm, and the greater the sacrifice involved the more eagerly will he grasp it. If we were at war, and our students were told that two regiments were seeking recruits, one of which would be stationed at Fortress Monroe, well housed and fed, living in luxury, without risk of death or wounds, while the other would go to the front, be starved and harassed by fatiguing marches under a broiling sun, amid pestilence, with men falling from its ranks killed or suffering mutilation, not a single man would volunteer for the first regiment, but the second would be quickly filled. Who is it that makes football a dangerous and painful sport? Is it the faculty, or the players themselves?

A young man wants to test himself on every side, in strength, in quickness, in skill, in courage, in endurance; and he will go through much to prove his merit. He wants to test himself, provided he has faith that the test is true, and that the quality tried is one that makes for manliness; otherwise he will have none of it. Now, we have not convinced him that high scholarship is a manly thing worthy of his devotion, or that our examinations are faithful tests of intellectual power; and in so far as we have failed in this, we have come short of what we ought to do. Universities stand for the eternal worth of thought, for the preeminence of the prophet and the seer; but, instead of being thrilled by the eager search for truth, our classes too often sit listless on the bench. It is not because the lecturer is dull, but because the pupils do not prize the end enough to relish the drudgery required for skill in any great pursuit, or indeed in any sport. To make them see the greatness of that end, how fully it deserves the price that must be paid for it, how richly it rewards the man who may compete for it, we must learn — and herein lies the secret- we must learn the precious art of touching their imagination.

I

M. JULES LEMAÎTRE once said, with characteristic irony, that he intended to spend the last half of his life in reading the books he had reviewed in the first half. Great critic that he is, he knows how to guard against warping his judgment. His frankness suggests the query, Is it wise for an editor to ask one historian to criticise the work of another historian in the same field? Some of the results I have seen might lead me to reply, unhesitatingly, No. For there is a certain class of mind which, when it takes up the study of history, comes to accept only one point of view and one method -its own. Infallibility is the forte, and sometimes omniscience seems to be the foible, of these students. Contrasted with them, however, is the class of men who, the longer they investigate, grow both more skeptical and more inquisitive. They suspect that no history written from only one angle can be final; they admit, for instance, that the Roman Catholic and the Protestant accounts of the Reformation, or the Northern and Southern accounts of the American Civil War, cannot be identical; they even believe that books equally excellent and equally true, though mutually contradictory, may have the same theme.

As I belong to the latter class, I heart ily welcome Professor Molmenti's striking work,1 which differs fundamentally

1 Venice. Its Individual Growth from the Earliest Beginnings to the Fall of the Republic. By POMPEO MOLMENTI. Translated by HoRATIO F. BROWN. Part I. The Middle Ages, 2 vols. Part II. The Golden Age, 2 vols. Part III. The Decadence, 2 vols. Chicago: A. C. McClurg & Co. 1906-08.

in aim and treatment from my own. An unwary critic might parade some line from Procopius to prove that he is incompetent; but the truth is that Molmenti knows more about the history of Venice - including the line from Procopius — than any other living historian. Nearly thirty years ago he published a monograph entitled The History of Venice in its Private Life. This almost immediately won distinction for him at home, was soon translated into French, and so went on its journey through the world; for French is still the language of international intellectual contacts, as German is the international medium for erudition. Molmenti, besides writing half a dozen other books on Venetian art and artists and manners, has from time to time expanded his monograph, until now he has nearly trebled its size, and reached the definitive edition before us. He has been fortunate in securing as his English translator Mr. Horatio Brown, whose own studies in Venetian life, and whose admirable history of Venice, are relished on both sides of the Atlantic. Of his translation, no more need be said than that it reads as if written originally in English - an achievement all the more remarkable in view of Molmenti's Italian style, which is often exuberant and sometimes ornate. The publishers, too, deserve praise for having made the book handsome, and for providing nearly four hundred rare or beautiful illustrations which really supplement the text.

Although Professor Molmenti takes Venetian private life as his main theme, and uses it as the register of political and national conditions from age to age, yet he nevertheless introduces a thread of historical narrative sufficient to bind his

He

miscellaneous material together. This is well, because it is not the manners and customs, but the historical origins and national evolution, about which historians still dispute; and on these matters Professor Molmenti's conclusions should have great weight. What sort of refugees fled before Attila to the mud islets of the Lagoon? What was their relation, after they had established some sort of a communal existence, to the ruler of Italy and to the Eastern Empire? Molmenti takes .the reasonable view in both cases. thinks that the refugees comprised all classes, although some of the patricians among them may have returned to the mainland towns after the invasion of the barbarian ceased. He thinks, further, that during the first three or four centuries the Venetians acknowledged the overlordship of their powerful neighbors on the West, or of the Byzantine Empire, but without sacrificing their virtual independence. Over this latter point there has been much debate. Students who put amazing faith in shreds of uncertain evidence, would make the Venetians mere everyday vassals; some of the local historians, on the other hand, describe Venice as an independent state from the moment the first fugitive leaped ashore on Rivo Alto.

Whatever the compact may have been on paper, — and as no official documents remain, this can only be conjectured,—the one great fact is that the Venetians did practically maintain their independence. No foreigner ever dictated laws in their city. If they paid tribute, it was to be let alone; if they were vassals, they did not lose their national initiative. In truth, between the time of Theodoric and the age ushered in by Charlemagne, the world was too chaotic for so remote and inconspicuous a community as theirs to attract much attention. They throve, after the Spartan fashion, on hardship. Obscurity was their best defense. And when at last they did excite the ambition of Charlemagne, they had grown to be strong enough to surVOL. 103 - NO. 6

vive him. The adroitness with which during the following centuries they played one Emperor against the other, professing themselves Eastern when the West pressed too hard, and Western when the East threatened their liberty, is one of the marvels of statecraft. The policy seems obvious enough now, but to carry it out successfully for three hundred years without a break gives the measure of their ability.

Brief as are Professor Molmenti's epitomes of the progress of events, they still serve in this way to reveal the rational point of view. Whoever desires to investigate in detail many of the critical episodes should turn to Mr. Horatio F. Brown's studies in Venetian history,1 which comprise a score of valuable monographs, and present the conclusions of a critical student on such much-debated subjects as Bajamonte Tiepolo's conspiracy, Marino Falier, Carmagnola, Caterina Cornaro, and the Spanish Conspiracy. The gem of Mr. Brown's essays deals with Fra Paolo Sarpi, who has never before been so admirably portrayed in an English essay.

That Molmenti passes over Sarpi with scanty mention, devoting more space to his achievements as a scientist and historian than as a statesman, is due to the general plan of his work. But Sarpi is one of the world's great men, the embodiment of an eternal principle, which nations can never neglect without putting themselves at the mercy of ecclesiastical domination. Under Sarpi's guidance, Venice, a thoroughly loyal Catholic country, refused to allow the Pope to interfere in a case which was brought before one of her criminal courts. Rome, flushed by the enthusiasm of the Catholic Reaction, spurred on by the eagerness of the Jesuits and confident of the support of Spain, could not bring Venice to terms. Even the interdict which the Pope laid upon her for a year had no serious effect: it

1 Studies in Venetian History. By HORATIO F. BROWN. 2 volumes. New York: E. P. Dutton & Co. 1907.

merely showed that the Pope's threats were harmless. The significant point in this episode is that it was a Catholic nation which thus unmasked the impotence of Papal pretensions, and kept inviolate the separation of State from Church. As this had been the Venetian policy toward Romish encroachments for a thousand years, it would have been proper, even in a book constructed on Molmenti's plan, to pay more heed to Sarpi and what he stood for.

II

But when we follow Molmenti along his chosen paths, we have nothing to complain of. He describes the life of the people on all its sides with great detail. We learn from him how the Venetians built their houses, what they wore and ate, how they amused themselves, and what customs they observed at birth, betrothal, marriage, and death. Some of their elaborate pageants pass before us in word-pictures. We go to the Arsenal and see the busy artisans construct and equip the famous galleys. We are told how the Venetians navigated, the volume and directions of their commerce, the extent of their industries. Molmenti analyzes minutely the government of their capital, and explains their colonial system. He their literature and fine arts, their music and drama. He sketches the political constitution, the law codes and procedure, the police, the military, the various councils or committees. And when he comes to individual men and women, Molmenti neglects no type or class, from doge and dogaressa down to the gondoliers and cooks. He does for the Venetians what Green and Traill did for the English people, and Burckhardt for the Italians of the Renaissance, and by his success he demonstrates afresh that the intimate life, the habits, work, and play of human beings, have a perpetual fascination.

surveys

As Professor Molmenti divides his work into three sections, we are able to

observe the changes in social life from the earlier ages, through the epoch of prime, to the decline and fall. At will, we can trace the social development in its sequence, or we can compare one generation with another. So far as Venice herself goes, this is enough; but we cannot appraise her civilization at any given era without knowing the condition of her contemporaries. Professor Molmenti might have summarized this information without adding much to the bulk of his work.

Take, for example, the question of the treatment of prisoners. Dramatists and romancers have curdled our blood with descriptions of the Pozzi and of the Piombi: and no doubt those dungeons were bad enough; but, relatively, they were better than most of the prisons of the Renaissance; and not merely that, they were better than those which philanthropist Howard found on his pilgrimages through Europe in the eighteenth century, and better than those in which the Emperor of Austria, who still lives, confined political suspects at Mantua less than sixty years ago. So of executions. Writers have argued that the Venetians must have been exceptionally cruel because they commonly resorted to strangling in capital punishment: but if we understand that strangling was regarded as the least painful form, that the condemned begged for it, when they were consulted,

and that in other countries prisoners were boiled or buried alive, or were destroyed by one of the many diabolical instruments of torture such as are still preserved at Nuremburg, we shall have a better basis for our estimate. Or again, many persons infer from Shakespeare's Shylock that the Venetians bore harshly on the Jews. The truth is, however, that from about 1550 the Jews in Venice enjoyed unusual privileges compared with their brethren elsewhere in Europe. The last great Venetian patriot, Daniele Manin, the hero of the glorious republic of 1849, was a Jew; the national historian of the Republic - Romanin—was a Jew;