books were widely read, and religious controversy, as we have seen, excited a keen interest. It is remarked by Mr. Finlay that "the very constitution of society seemed to forbid the existence of genius." The truth is that literature and art addressed themselves to a somewhat narrow circle, which completely set the fashion in taste and criticism. This will usually be the result of imperialism. The writers and artists of the time merely copied good models, and so their works, though not wholly without merit, were apt to be stiff and artificial.
The latter half of the fifth century—indeed, we may say, the whole period from the death of Theodosius down to Justinian—is obscure, from the scantiness of our historical materials. It embraces the reigns of five emperors. After Theodosius, who died in 450 from an accident in the hunting-field, the empire fell to a man strangely unlike his predecessor. Marcian, by birth a Thracian peasant, had begun life as a common soldier, and at the age of fifty-six he was a member of the senate. He had served in wars in Persia and Africa under an able general, Aspar, a man of barbaric origin, whom the imperial minister had found it useful to employ. Pulcheria made him emperor, and, at the same time, for political purposes, her nominal husband. She could do this—so at least she thought—without breaking the vow by which in early life she had bound herself. Marcian's reply to the ambassadors of Attila who came to demand from him the stipulated tribute has made him deservedly famous. "I have iron for Attila," said the soldier-emperor, "but no gold." As we should expect of such a man, Marcian
