The series of Roman inscriptions with which the present paper is concerned belongs to a familiar and extensive class, examples of which will be found in any handbook of epigraphy—stones that were erected to commemorate the completion of some more or less important undertaking of a public character. But a peculiar, if not a unique, interest has always attached to this particular group because of its intimate association with one of the great historical monuments of the Empire. Ever since the dawn of the seventeenth century, when the foundations of our knowledge of Roman Britain were being laid, the fact of this association and its broad significance have been universally recognized.

The principal authorities for the route followed by the Triumphal procession are, naturally, the ancient authors themselves. They, unfortunately, are seldom precise in their descriptions, being more concerned to reproduce their own impressions than to provide accurate material for the future historian. So, when all the literary notices of the Triumphal Route are put together, the detail still leaves much to be supplied by archaeology.

The theories that have been advanced concerning the Roman Wall in England and its attendant works have been so many, so divergent, and at times so rapid in their succession as almost to justify the favourite taunt of irresponsible criticism, that their sequence is a matter of fashion or caprice rather than of rational development. Such a criticism, whether directed against historical, scientific or philosophical thought, hardly merits refutation. The object of this essay is rather to tell a plain tale, the story of the process by which, in the three centuries that have elapsed since Camden took it up, the problem of the Wall has been attacked first in one way and then in another till finally, within the last generation, a complete solution seems to have come within the range of possibility.

Modern students of Roman Britain have been taught to recognize the sharp line of cleavage, both social and regional, which intervened between the military and the civil zones of the province. Such recognition is essential both as a corrective to the indiscriminate marchings and counter-marchings of the earlier historians and as a safeguard against confusion in dealing with a comparatively restricted geographical area. The general validity of this distinction, however, is now so widely accepted that it is permissible to modify it in detail without risk of misunderstanding.

There is no shortage of literature on this subject. Almost every treatise on Roman law, public or private, contains a discussion of the Lex Calpurnia. In the development of Roman criminal law this bit of legislation occupies a central position, and it has accordingly been the starting point of many works of learning and insight. In fact so inevitably has the topic entered into all investigations as to the origin and procedure of criminal trials by jury in Rome, that it has seemed to some ‘almost flogged to death.’ Why, then, persecute the subject further ?

In the autumn of 1921 a scheme for the extension of the Exchange at Bordeaux led to the demolition of certain properties in the Rue du Pont-de-la-Mousque. During the operations the workmen encountered the original Roman wall of the town, built about A.D. 300 as a result of the great invasion of A.D. 276. The Chamber of Commerce, on the enlightened initative of their President, M. Étienne Huyard, decided to follow up the discovery by a systematic and careful excavation. The decision was justified by its happy results. Many interesting objects which had been utilized as building material were brought to light. These included a votive altar with an inscription which is of peculiar importance because of the light which it throws on the early relations of Gaul and Britain. A brief account of it may not be unwelcome to readers of the Journal of Roman Studies.

My attention was called to these two inscriptions in reading a chapter of Professor L. R. Taylor's book (soon to be published) on Local Cults in Etruria. Professor Taylor mentions the inscriptions in her discussion of the hirpi Sorani, members of a Faliscan family, who walked through fire at the annual sacrifice to Apollo on Soracte. Pliny tells of the special exemptions granted this family on account of their priestly service. The word hirpus is interpreted as wolf. In the two inscriptions cited in my title the word sorex is found, following the title haruspex (or haracna) referring to two men with the cognomen Clipearius. It has been recognized as probably connoting some priestly title, but I believe that no attempt has been made to interpret it. I suggest that as certain other families from the neighbourhood of Falerii had the hereditary title of Soran Wolves, so the two Clipearii had the title Shrewmice.

The frequent use of the first person singular in the text of this article makes it necessary that we should explain how the work has been divided between us. Mr. Fell, who was resident for two years at the British School at Rome, first as Craven Student of the University of Cambridge, and then as Gilchrist Student of the Faculty of Archaeology, History and Letters, is responsible for Section A (The Via Flaminia in History), and Dr. Ashby for Section B (The Topography of the Via Flaminia from Rome to Narni). In Section C the description of the road from Narni to Forum Flaminii by Terni and Spoleto is the work of Dr. Ashby, while from Narni to Forum Flaminii by Bevagna it is the joint work of both writers: but the concluding portion of the road was studied and described by Mr. Fell alone. The whole article has, however, been carefully read by both of us.

The subject is a large one, and in the treatment of it, from considerations of space, it is necessary to omit some of the less important aspects. The main purpose of this article is to show reason for thinking that the estimate generally prevalent of Tacitus as a historian is unreasonably high, and that the brilliance of his style dazzles the eyes of his readers and blurs them to imperfect consciousness of his many great defects. There are three great Roman writers, born within a space of twenty years, who strongly resemble each other in their general outlook upon the Roman state, and whose power of emitting epigrams of a biting, penetrating and even savage character is much the same. These are Lucan, Tacitus and Juvenal. All of them deal with history. There is the same ‘saeva indignatio’ gnawing at the hearts of all the trio. They write as though they were living in the worst of all possible worlds. All three look back with longing eyes on the great glories of the old Republic. All have a feud with the gods, who take so little care for mankind as to impose upon them the inexorable dominance of the imperial system. All three again feel that the Romans of their day are degenerate and corrupt. It may be reasonably said that the combination of pessimism with a capacity for savage epigram is not a promising equipment for the historian. Tacitus was saner than Swift, but if Swift had written the history of our great rebellion and of the reign of Charles the Second we should doubtless have found many points of comparison between him and the great Roman. Napoleon showed a sound instinct when he described Tacitus as ‘the detractor of humanity.’