THE JUNIAN LATINS
December 28, 1884.
This afternoon I paid M. Flamaran a visit. I had been thinking about it
for the last week, as I wanted him to help my Junian Latins out of a
mess. I am acquiring a passion for that interesting class of freedmen.
And really it is only natural. These Junian Latins were poor slaves,
whose liberation was not recognized by the strict and ancient laws of
Rome, because their masters chose to liberate them otherwise than by
'vindicta, census, or testamentum'. On this account they lost their
privileges, poor victims of the legislative intolerance of the haughty
city. You see, it begins to be touching, already. Then came on the
scene Junius Norbanus, consul by rank, and a true democrat, who brought
in a law, carried it, and gave them their freedom. In exchange, they
gave him immortality. Henceforward, did a slave obtain a few kind words
from his master over his wine? he was a Junian Latin. Was he described
as 'filius meus' in a public document? Junian Latin. Did he wear the
cap of liberty, the pileus, at his master's funeral? Junian Latin. Did
he disembowel his master's corpse? Junian Latin, once more, for his
trouble.
What a fine fellow this Norbanus must have been! What an eye for
everything, down to the details of a funeral procession, in which he
could find an excuse for emancipation! And that, too, in the midst of
the wars of Marius and Sylla in which he took part. I can picture him
seated before his tent, the evening after the battle. Pensive, he
reclines upon his shield as he watches the slave who is grinding notches
out of his sword. His eyes fill with tears, and he murmurs, "When peace
is made, my faithful Stychus, I shall have a pleasant surprise for you.
You shall hear talk of the Lex Junia Norband, I promise you!"
Is not this a worthy subject for picture or statue in a competition for
the Prix de Rome?
A man so careful of details must have assigned a special dress to these
special freedmen of his creation; for at Rome even freedom had its
livery. What was this dress? Was there one at all? No authority that
I know of throws any light on the subject. Still one hope remains:
M. Flamaran. He knows so many things, he might even know this.
M. Flamaran comes from the south-Marseilles, I think. He is not a
specialist in Roman law; but he is encyclopedic, which comes to the same
thing. He became known while still young, and deservedly; few lawyers
are so clear, so safe, so lucid. He is an excellent lecturer, and his
opinions are in demand. Yet he owes much of his fame to the works which
he has not written. Our fathers, in their day, used to whisper to one
another in the passages of the Law School, "Have you heard the news?
Flamaran is going to bring out the second volume of his great work. He
means to publish his lectures. He has in the press a treatise which will
revolutionize the law of mortgages; he has been working twenty years at
it; a masterpiece, I assure you." Day follows day; no book appears, no
treatise is published, and all the while M. Flamaran grows in reputation.
Strange phenomenon! like the aloe in the Botanical Gardens. The
blossoming of the aloe is an event. "Only think!" says the gaping
public, "a flower which has taken twenty springs, twenty summers, twenty
autumns, and twenty winters to make up its mind to open!" And meanwhile
the roses bloom unnoticed by the town. But M. Flamaran's case is still
more strange. Every year it is whispered that he is about to bloom
afresh; he never does bloom; and his reputation flourishes none the less.
People make lists of the books he might have written. Lucky author!
M. Flamaran is a professor of the old school, stern, and at examination a
terror to the candidates. Clad in cap and gown, he would reject his own
son. Nothing will serve. Recommendations defeat their object. An
unquestioned Roumanian ancestry, an extraction indisputably Japanese,
find no more favor in his eyes than an assumed stammer, a sham deafness,
or a convalescent pallor put on for the occasion. East and west are
alike in his sight. The retired registrar, the pensioned usher aspiring
late in life to some petty magistrature, are powerless to touch his
heart. For him in vain does the youthful volunteer allow his uniform to
peep out beneath his student's gown: he will not profit by the patriotic
indulgence he counted on inspiring. His sayings in the examination-room
are famous, and among them are some ghastly pleasantries. Here is one,
addressed to a victim: "And you, sir, are a law student, while our
farmers are in want of hands!"
For my own part I won his favor under circumstances that I never shall
forget. I was in for my first examination. We were discussing, or
rather I was allowing him to lecture on, the law of wardship, and nodding
my assent to his learned elucidations. Suddenly he broke off and asked,
"How many opinions have been formulated upon this subject?"
"Two, sir."
"One is absurd. Which? Beware how you give the wrong answer!"
I considered for three agonizing seconds, and hazarded a guess. "The
first, sir." I had guessed right. We were friends. At bottom the
professor is a capital fellow; kindly, so long as the dignity of the Code
is not in question, or the extent of one's legal knowledge; proverbially
upright and honorable in his private life.
At home he may be seen at his window tending his canaries, which, he
says, is no change of occupation. To get to his house I have only to go
by my favorite road through the Luxembourg. I am soon at his door.
"Is Monsieur Flamaran at home?"
The old servant who opened the door eyed me solemnly. So many young
freshmen come and pester her master under the pretext of paying their
respects. Their respects, indeed! They would bore him to death if he
had to see them all. The old woman inferred, probably from my moustache,
that I had taken at least my bachelor's degree.
"I think he is."
He was very much at home in his overheated study, where he sat wrapped up
in a dressing-gown and keeping one eye shut to strengthen the other.
After a moment's hesitation he recognized me, and held out his hand.
"Ah! my Junian Latin. How are you getting on?"
"I am all right, sir; it's my Junian Latins who are not getting on."
"You don't say so. We must look into that. But before we begin--
I forget where you come from. I like to know where people come from."
"From La Chatre. But I spend my vacations at Bourges with my Uncle
Mouillard."
"Yes, yes, Mouillart with a t, isn't it?"
"No, with a d."
"I asked, you know, because I once knew a General Mouillart who had been
through the Crimea, a charming man. But he can not have been a relative,
for his name ended with a t."
My good tutor spoke with a delightful simplicity, evidently wishing to be
pleasant and to show some interest in me.
"Are you married, young man?"
"No, sir; but I have no conscientious objections."
"Marry young. Marriage is the salvation of young men. There must be
plenty of pretty heiresses in Bourges."
"Heiresses, yes. As to their looks, at this distance--"
"Yes, I understand, at this distance of course you can't tell. You
should do as I did; make inquiries, go and see. I went all the way to
Forez myself to look for my wife."
"Madame Flamaran comes from Forez?"
"Just so; I stayed there a fortnight, fourteen days exactly, in the
middle of term-time, and brought back Sidonie. Bourges is a nice town."
"Yes, in summer."
"Plenty of trees. I remember a grand action I won there. One of my
learned colleagues was against me. We had both written opinions,
diametrically opposed, of course. But I beat him--my word, yes!"
"I dare say."
"My boy, there was nothing left of him. Do you know the case?"
"No."
"A magnificent case! My notes must be somewhere about; I will get them
out for you."
The good man beamed. Evidently he had not had a talk all day, and felt
he must expand and let himself out to somebody. I appeared in the nick
of time, and came in for all his honey. He rose, went to a bookcase, ran
his eye along a shelf, took down a volume, and began, in a low tone:
"'Cooperation is the mighty lever upon which an effete society relies to
extricate itself from its swaddling-clothes and take a loftier flight.'
Tut, tut! What stuff is this? I beg your pardon. I was reading from a
work on moral philosophy. Where the deuce is my opinion?"
He found it and, text in hand, began a long account of the action, with
names, dates, moments of excitement, and many quotations in extenso.
"Yes, my young friend, two hundred and eighteen thousand francs did I win
in that action for Monsieur Prebois, of Bourges; you know Prebois, the
manufacturer?"
"By name."
At last he put the note-book back on its shelf, and deigned to remember
that I had come about the Junian Latins.
"In which of the authorities do you find a difficulty?"
"My difficulty lies in the want of authorities, sir, I wish to find out
whether the Junian Latins had not a special dress."
"To be sure." He scratched his head. "Gaius says nothing on the point?"
"No."
"Papinian?"
"No."
"Justinian?"
"No."
"Then I see only one resource."
"What is that?"
"Go to see Charnot."
I felt myself growing pale, and stammered, with a piteous look:
"Monsieur Charnot, of the Acad--"
"The Academy of Inscriptions; an intimate friend of mine, who will
welcome you like a son, for he has none himself, poor man!"
"But perhaps the question is hardly important enough for me to trouble
him like this--"
"Hey? Not important enough? All new questions are important. Charnot
specializes on coins. Coins and costumes are all one. I will write to
tell him you are coming."
"I beg, sir--"
"Nonsense; Nonsense; I'll write him this very evening. He will be
delighted to see you. I know him well, you understand. He is like me;
he likes industrious young men."
M. Flamaran held out his hand.
"Good-by, young man. Marry as soon as you have taken your degree."
I did not recover from the shock till I was halfway across the Luxembourg
Gardens, near the Tennis Court, when I sat down, overcome. See what
comes of enthusiasm and going to call on your tutor! Ah, young three-
and-twenty, when will you learn wisdom?