r, must have had at
least a competent knowledge of Latin, understanded of the examiners;
but it is not surprising that the humanists desired something better.

The universities did not live upon the teaching of the colleges alone.
Scholars came from abroad and competed with the home-bred talent to
supply such private tuition as was required, and when their ability
had been proved, received licence from the university to teach
publicly. The advantage generally rested with the new-comer. _Omne
ignotum pro mirifico._ When there was so much to learn, so much
novelty that the stranger might bring with him, it was little wonder
that a new arrival aroused excitement, especially if he came with a
reputation. Teachers travelled from one university to another in
search of employment, and any one with a knowledge of Greek or Hebrew
was sure to find pupils and attentive audiences. So great was the
enthusiasm on both sides, that lectures often lasted for hours.

Aleander, when he returned from Orleans to Paris in 1511, kept quiet
for a month, in order to awaken public interest. Then he announced a
course of lectures on Ausonius, to begin on 30 July. His device was
entirely successful. Two thousand people gathered, and he was obliged
to lead them over from his own college, de la Marche, to a larger
building, known as the Portico of Cambray. He had composed an
elaborate oration of twenty-four pages. 'It took me two hours and a
half to deliver,' he says, 'and would have taken four, if I hadn't
been a quick reader; but no one showed the least sign of fatigue, in
spite of the heat. My voice lasted very well. Next day I had nearly as
good an audience, although it was the day for the disputation at the
Sorbonne. On the day after, all seats were taken by 11, though I do
not begin till 1.' His success was not mere imagination. One who was
present tells us that men looked upon him as if he had come down from
heaven, and shouted 'Viuat, viuat', as they were accustomed to do to
Faustus Andrelinus, another witty Italian who was then lecturing in
Paris. A lecturer to-day who went on into the third hour would
scarcely be so popular.

But Aleander was not alone in his powers of speech, and others besides
Parisians could listen. Butzbach tells us, not without humour, of a
certain Baldwin Bessel of Haarlem, a learned physician with a
wonderful memory, who was summoned to Laach to heal their Abbot, who
lay sick. On one occasion at Coblenz he harang