BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
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 Translated by 
 
 HAROLD BELL 
 
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 ALFRED-A- BN OES 
 
 CMXXVIUL 
 
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TO 
 THE HAPPY MEMORY OF 
 
 HOWARD CROSBY BUTLER 
 THIS TRANSLATION IS 
 AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
 
XIII. 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE LIFE OF A BYZANTINE EMPRESS 
 
 ATHENAIS 
 
 THEODORA 
 
 IRENE 
 
 A MIDDLE-CLASS WOMAN OF THE 
 EIGHTH CENTURY 
 
 THE BLESSED THEODORA 
 
 THE ROMANTIC ADVENTURES OF 
 BASIL THE MACEDONIAN 
 
 THE FOUR MARRIAGES OF LEO THE 
 WISE 
 
 THEOPHANO 
 
 ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 . A MIDDLE-CLASS FAMILY OF THE 
 
 ELEVENTH CENTURY 
 
 ANNA DALASSENA: A NOBLE FAMILY 
 OF THE ELEVENTH CENTURY 
 
 THE WISDOM OF CECAUMENUS 
 
 THE SACRED PALACE 
 KEY TO PLAN 
 
 105 
 125 
 
 148 
 
 172 
 
 206 
 
 231 
 
 276 
 
 300 
 326 
 
 341 
 
 PLAN in rear cover pocket 
 
 vil 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
I 
 
 THE LIFE OF A BYZANTINE 
 EMPRESS 
 
 I 
 if the most secluded part of the Imperial Palace 
 
 of Byzantium, far beyond the guard-rooms and 
 
 the apartments of state, in the midst of shadowy 
 gardens and running waters, which, to quote a con- 
 temporary chronicler, made of it ‘‘a new Eden”, “‘an- 
 other Paradise”, arose the private dwelling of the 
 Greek Emperors of the Middle Ages. 
 
 From the descriptions of Byzantine historians we 
 can still obtain some idea of the exquisite, splendid 
 abode which many generations of Princes had embel- 
 lished from age to age, and where, far from the noise of 
 the world, and the tedium of ceremonial, the Basilecs, 
 representatives of God on earth, were able from time 
 to time to become men for a space. Precious marbles 
 and glittering mosaics abounded. In the great saloon 
 of the New Palace, constructed by Basil I, above the 
 magnificent colonnade of green marble alternating 
 with red onyx, were vast compositions, monuments of 
 that secular art, which the Byzantine masters prac- 
 tised far more commonly than one imagines, repre- 
 senting the sovereign enthroned among his victorious 
 generals, and unfolding the glorious epic of his reign: 
 “the Herculean labours of the Basileus’’, as a con- 
 temporary chronicler has it, “‘his solicitude for his 
 
 [5] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 subjects, his deeds on the battlefield, and his God- 
 
 awarded victories.” But above all,the imperial bed- 
 chamber must, it seems, have beena marvel. Below 
 the high ceiling, studded with golden stars, in the 
 midst of which, in green mosaic, was a cross, the sym- 
 bol of salvation, the whole of the vast chamber was 
 magnificently decorated. In the mosaic floor a central 
 medallion enclosed a peacock with spreading plumage, 
 and in the corner were four eagles, the imperial bird, 
 framed in green marble, with wings outstretched ready 
 to take their flight. On the lower part of the walls, 
 the mosaic made, as it were, a border of flowers. 
 Higher up, against a background of glowing gold, 
 still other mosaics represented the entire imperial 
 family in state costume: Basil crowned and seated on 
 his throne, near him his wife Eudocia, and grouped 
 around them, very much as they may be seen in the 
 faded miniatures of a fine manuscript in the Biblio- 
 théque Nationale, their sons and daughters, holding 
 books on which were written pious verses from the 
 Scriptures. They all raised their hands solemnly to- 
 wards the redeeming cross; and long inscriptions 
 carved on the walls invoked upon the dynasty God’s 
 blessing and the assurance of eternal life. 
 
 The Pavilion of the Pearl, with its golden vault 
 upheld by four columns of marble and its mosaic 
 wainscot with hunting scenes, contained the summer 
 bedchamber of the sovereigns, and opened through 
 porticoes on two of its sides upon cool gardens. There 
 was the winter bedchamber in the Carian Pavilion, so 
 called from being constructed throughout of Carian 
 marble, protected from the violent winds that blew 
 from the Sea of Marmora; there was the Empress’s 
 
 La 
 
LIFE OF A BYZANTINE EMPRESS 
 
 wardrobe, wainscotted in the white marble of Pro- 
 connesus, and covered with pictures of the saints. 
 And, finest of all, there was the bedchamber of the 
 Empress, a wonderful room whose marble pavement 
 seemed like ‘‘a meadow of enamelled flowers’, the 
 walls of which, lined with porphyry, Thessalian breccia, 
 and whiteCarian, were such rare and happy combina- 
 tions of colour that it was known as the Pavilion of 
 Harmony. There was the Pavilion of Love also, and 
 that of the Purple, wherein, according to custom and 
 tradition, the imperial children must be born, and from 
 which they derived their title of Porphyrogenitus. 
 And everywhere was the splendour of silver and ivory 
 doors, purple curtains sliding on rods of silver, tapes- 
 tries embroidered in gold with fantastic animals, great 
 golden lamps swinging from the domes, precious fur- 
 niture wonderfully incrusted with mother of pearl, 
 ivory, and gold. 
 
 It was in this marvellous Palace, in the midst of her 
 court of eunuchs and women, far from the tedium of 
 ceremonies, far from the tumults of the capital, in 
 the quiet peacefulness of flowery gardens, amid the 
 clear sparkle of fountains, that she lived whose life 
 I shall attempt to describe in the followmg pages; 
 “the Glory of the Purple, the Joy of the World”, as 
 the people of Constantinople hailed her; “the Most 
 Pious and Most Happy Augusta, the Christ-loving 
 Basilissa”, as she was officially styled —in short, the 
 Empress of Byzantium. 
 
 II 
 
 One is apt to form a rather false notion of the life 
 of these Greek Empresses of the East. By an uncon- 
 
 Lod 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 scious association of ideas — the life of women in 
 ancient Greece, in mediaeval Russia, in the Moham- 
 medan Orient — one is too ready to assume that the 
 Byzantine Empresses were perpetual recluses, care- 
 fully cloistered in the Gynaeceum and guarded by 
 armed eunuchs; seeing none but women, “‘beardless 
 men”, as eunuchs were called in Byzantium, and old 
 priests; appearing in public only on very rare occa- 
 sions, and even then closely veiled from the public 
 eye. One is apt to imagine them reigning over a court 
 of women carefully separated from that of the Basi- 
 leus—living, inshort, a harem life in a Christian world. 
 
 This notion, though widespread, is very question- 
 able. Under few governments have women had a 
 better position, or played a more important part, or 
 had a greater influence upon politics and government, 
 than under the Byzantine Empire. It is, as has been 
 justly remarked, ‘‘one of the most striking character- 
 istics of Greek history in the Middle Ages.” 1 Not 
 merely did many of these Empresses dominate their 
 husbands by their beauty, or by their superior in- 
 telligence; that alone would prove little, and harem 
 favourites have done as much. But under the mon- 
 archy founded by Constantine, in almost every cen- 
 tury of its history, one meets with women who either 
 have reigned themselves or, more frequently, have 
 with sovereign power disposed of the crown and made 
 Emperors. And these Princesses lacked neither the 
 outward and visible signs of authority, nor the sub- 
 stance of it. We find evidence of this legitimately- 
 wielded power not only in the life of the Gynaeceum, 
 
 1 A. N. Rambaud, “Tmpeératrices d’Orient”’ (Revue des Deux Mondes, 
 1891, tome i, p- 829). 
 [67 
 
LIFE OF A BYZANTINE EMPRESS 
 
 but even more definitely in public affairs, in which 
 its legality is expressly admitted by contemporaries. 
 And therefore those who wish to know and under- 
 stand the society and civilisation of Byzantium must 
 learn some unexpected things about the life of these 
 forgotten Princesses of long ago. 
 
 iil 
 
 Throughout the vast extent of the Imperial Gynae- 
 ceum the Empress reigned supreme. Besides her 
 women, she too, like the Emperor, had a numerous 
 retinue of palace officials. At the head of her house- 
 hold was a Praepositus, or Lord Chamberlain, in 
 supreme command of all the chamberlains, referen- 
 daries, ushers, and silentiaries, attached to the service 
 of the Basilissa, all, together with the halberdiers, 
 or protospatharu, of her body-guard, carefully chosen 
 from among the eunuchs of the Palace. To serve her 
 at table the Empress, as well as the Emperor, had a 
 Grand Master and a Chief Taster. At the head of 
 her women was a Grand Mistress of the Palace, on 
 whom was generally bestowed the high dignity of 
 Patrician of the Girdle, and who, with the Protoves- 
 tiarius, managed the innumerable throng of maids of 
 honour, ladies of the bedchamber, and ladies-in-wait- 
 ing. As a rule, the Emperor appointed those who 
 were to serve the Augusta, and he especially reserved 
 to himself the privilege of personally investing the 
 Grand Mistress with the insignia of her office, as well 
 as that of receiving the homage of newly appointed 
 maids of honour. But for the majority of her attend- 
 ants the Empress held a special investiture in order 
 to emphasise the fact that they were in her service. 
 
 Led 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 And although, on the day of their installation, when 
 assuming their official robes — golden tunic, white 
 mantle, and high, tower-like head-dress (the propo- 
 loma) with long white veil—, the women of the Basilissa 
 were admonished by the Praepositus to fear God and 
 be sincerely faithful and wholly devoted to the Basileus 
 and the Augusta, there is reason to believe that, once 
 admitted to the imperial chamber, they soon forgot 
 the Emperor in their loyalty to the Empress. 
 
 Since she could rely upon the fidelity of her serv- 
 ants, the Empress was free to act as she chose within 
 the Gynaeceum, and she used this freedom in accord- 
 ance with her character and temperament. For many 
 of these fair Princesses their toilet was one of their 
 chief occupations. It is said that Theodora, accom- 
 plished coquette as she was, took great care of her 
 beauty; she slept far into the morning so that her 
 face might appear serene and lovely ; she took frequent 
 and prolonged baths in order to preserve the striking 
 freshness of her complexion; she loved splendid robes 
 of state, the dazzle of great purple-violet mantles 
 embroidered in gold, the glittering jewels, and the 
 precious stones and pearls; for she knew that her 
 beauty was the best guarantee of her absolute power. 
 Other princesses had simpler tastes; except in state 
 ceremonies, Zoé wore only soft, light dresses, which 
 were better suited to her fair beauty; but on the 
 other hand, she was addicted to the use of perfumes 
 and cosmetics, and in her apartments great fires were 
 kept going summer and winter for the preparation of 
 unguents and perfumes, so that they were rather like 
 an alchemist’s laboratory. And there were others 
 who despised all such refinements of luxury, prefer- 
 
 [84 
 
LIFE OF A BYZANTINE EMPRESS 
 
 ring, in the words of a contemporary, ‘“‘to adorn 
 themselves with the beauty of their virtues”, and 
 scorning as unworthy and futile ‘‘the cosmetic art be- 
 loved of Cleopatra.” 
 
 Some, like Theodora, thought an exquisitely served 
 table an inalienable privilege of supreme power; while 
 others spent but little on themselves, and took delight 
 in storing money away in great strong-boxes. Many 
 were pious; devotional exercises, long vigils before 
 the holy icons, and serious conversations with austere 
 monks, took up much of an Empress’s time. Many 
 had a taste for books, and gathered about them a 
 group of men of letters, who composed to their order 
 works in prose and in verse, for which they were 
 always well paid. Occasionally some of these Em- 
 presses, such as Athenais and Eudocia, condescended 
 to authorship; and the princesses of the Comnenian 
 dynasty in particular have the merited reputation of 
 being well-educated, scholarly, and learned. Others 
 took pleasure in buffoons and clowns: notwithstand- 
 ing her intelligence, the great Theodora herself, with 
 her native genius for acting, occasionally got up 
 amusements in doubtful taste, often at the expense 
 of her guests. And, finally, court intrigues and love- 
 affairs occupied much of their time, and often even 
 worried the Emperor. 
 
 It must not be supposed, however, that a Byzan- 
 tine Empress divided all her hours between religion, 
 the toilet, receptions, festivities, and holidays. Higher 
 matters often engaged the attention of many of them, 
 and more than once the government felt the power 
 of the Gynaeceum. The Augusta had her private 
 fortune, which she managed as she chose without 
 
 Lod 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 consulting or even notifying the Basileus; she had 
 her own political opinions, which were not infre- 
 quently at variance with those of the sovereign, 
 It is even more surprising in such an autocracy to 
 find that the Emperor gave the Basilissa complete 
 liberty in certain respects, and often was quite igno- 
 rant of what went on in her part of the Palace. For 
 the Gynaeceum was the scene of strange and mys- 
 terious happenings. When Anthemius, Patriarch of 
 Constantinople, was cited under strong suspicion of 
 heresy to appear before the Council and was excom- 
 municated by the Church and exiled by Justinian, 
 it was in the Palace itself, in Theodora’s apartments, 
 that he found refuge. There was some astonishment 
 at first at his sudden disappearance; he was thought 
 to be dead, and finally was forgotten. Great, there- 
 fore, was the general amazement when, after the 
 Empress’s death, the Patriarch was discovered in the 
 depths of the Gynaeceum; he had lived twelve years 
 in this safe retreat unknown to Justinian and (what 
 is perhaps even more admirable) unbetrayed by 
 Theodora. It was also in the Gynaeceum that the 
 plot was hatched to murder the Emperor Nicephorus 
 Phocas. Without any suspicion on the part of the 
 Basileus, Theophano was able to receive her accom- 
 plices, to introduce armed men into the women’s 
 quarters, and to hide them so well that when the 
 Emperor, who had been warned at the last moment by 
 an anonymous letter, sent to search the Gynaeceum, 
 no one was found, and it was thought that someone 
 had tried to play a practical joke. Two hours later in 
 a stormy night the chief conspirator was hoisted up 
 to the Empress’s chamber in a wicker basket, and the 
 
 [10] 
 
LIFE OF A BYZANTINE EMPRESS 
 
 Basileus, attacked defenseless in his bedchamber, fell 
 dead, his skull split open by a mighty sword-stroke, 
 and his body riddled with wounds. 
 
 One obviously must not draw very far-reaching 
 conclusions from such exceptional occurrences. But 
 the extraordinarily significant point is that there was 
 no such impassable barrier as one is apt to imagine 
 between the court of the sovereign and the Empress’s 
 apartments. Just as, on the one hand, the Augusta’s 
 women received investiture at the hands of the 
 Basileus in the presence of all his courtiers, so the 
 Basilissa permitted many of the high dignitaries, 
 who were by no means “‘beardless officers”, to visit 
 her in her own quarters; and that same Byzantine 
 etiquette which has been represented as so strict and 
 prudish demanded that on certain solemn occasions 
 the Gynaeceum should be open to everyone. 
 
 For example, when the new Empress, three days 
 after her wedding, left the bridal chamber to take 
 her bath in the Palace of Magnaura, courtiers and 
 people lined the paths of the garden through which 
 she went with her suite. And as the Basilissa passed 
 along, preceded by attendants bearing dressing- 
 gowns, perfumes, boxes, and vessels, and escorted by 
 three maids of honour holding red apples encrusted 
 with pearls, as a symbol of love, the organs played, 
 the people cheered, the court players made coarse 
 jests, and the high officers of state accompanied the 
 Empress to the baths, and waited for her at the door 
 to conduct her back again in pomp to the nuptial 
 chamber. 
 
 And several months later, when the Empress gave 
 birth to a son, a week after her delivery the entire 
 
 Pll d 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 court filed past the young mother. In the room, 
 hung for the occasion with gold-embroidered tapes- 
 tries and glittering with the light of innumerable 
 lamps, the Basilissa lay in a bed covered with golden 
 coverlets, and near her was the cradle of the young 
 heir to the throne. One by one the Praepositus pre- 
 sented to the Augusta the officers of the imperial 
 household, and afterwards, according to their rank, 
 the wives of the great court dignitaries, and even 
 the widows of high officials. Last of all came the 
 aristocracy of the Empire, senators, proconsuls, patri- 
 cians, and officials of all kinds; and each, as he made 
 his obeisance to the Empress, offered his congratula- 
 tions, and left a little present near the bed for the 
 new-born child. 
 
 One can readily see that these are not harem cus- 
 toms; and in the face of such testimony is it fair to 
 speak of the strict seclusion of the Gynaeceum, and 
 of the inflexible prudery of Byzantine ceremonial? 
 
 IV 
 
 A Byzantine Empress spent by no means all her 
 life within the narrow confines of her private dwelling. 
 Official rules of procedure regulated her position in 
 public life, and defined her part beside the Basileus 
 both in the state ceremonies and in the government 
 of the monarchy. 
 
 The importance of court ceremonies in the life of a 
 Byzantine Emperor is well known. One of the most 
 curious works transmitted to us from that distant 
 period, and one of the most useful in reconstructing 
 the strange and picturesque aspects of that vanished 
 
 [12] 
 
LIFE OF A BYZANTINE EMPRESS 
 
 society, is the Book of Ceremonies, written towards 
 the middle of the tenth century by the Emperor Con- 
 stantine VII. It is entirely devoted to descriptions 
 of the processions, festivals, audiences, and state 
 banquets, which a heavy and inflexible etiquette im- 
 posed as duties upon the sovereign. Although the im- 
 portance attached to these official acts has been often 
 misunderstood, like so many other things in connex- 
 ion with Byzantium — St. Louis, for instance, and 
 even Louis XIV, heard Mass more often than a 
 Basileus —, it is nevertheless certain that they con- 
 stituted a very large part of the business of being 
 Emperor. Now the Empress took part in them con- 
 stantly. ‘‘When there is no Augusta’, says a Byzan- 
 tine historian, ‘‘it is impossible to celebrate the 
 festivals and to give the entertainments prescribed 
 by etiquette.” 
 
 Thus, in the public life of the monarchy, the 
 Empress had her part and her share of royalty. The 
 Emperor naturally left in her hands nearly everything 
 connected with the ladies of the court. On Easter, 
 while the Basileus in the nave of St. Sophia was receiv- 
 ing the high dignitaries of the Empire, who solemnly 
 gave him the kiss of peace in memory of Christ's 
 resurrection, the Empress, enthroned in the women’s 
 gallery of the Great Church, surrounded by her 
 chamberlains and body-guards, received the wives of 
 the high officials according to their husbands’ rank; 
 and each in full court dress of silk, covered with 
 jewels and gold, and crowned with the propoloma, 
 came and kissed the Empress. 
 
 Ceaselessly the recurring festivals gathered this 
 brilliant throng of ladies around the Empress. In 
 
 [13] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 November, on the feast of the Brumalia, an ancient 
 pagan survival, the Basilissa in the Porphyry Pavi- 
 lion presented rich silks to the ladies of the court. 
 On the evening of the same feast-day she entertained 
 them elaborately, while the singers from St. Sophia 
 and the Holy Apostles recited poems in her honour, 
 and the court comedians and buffoons amused the 
 company with interludes, and towards the end of 
 dinner representatives of the circus factions with 
 some of the highest state officials performed a slow 
 and stately torch-dance before the Augusta and her 
 guests. It was the Empress, again, who assisted the 
 Emperor in the receptions given to foreign princesses 
 when they visited the Palace at Byzantium. She, 
 as well as the Basileus, gave them audience; she in- 
 vited them and the women of their suites to dine 
 with her; she showered them with gifts and atten- 
 tions. In this way she had a certain part in the 
 foreign policy of the monarchy, and on the gracious- 
 ness of her welcome depended many of the successes 
 of the imperial diplomacy. 
 
 But official etiquette by no means limited the 
 Basilissa to the reception of ladies. She often assisted 
 the Emperor her husband still more directly. On 
 Palm Sunday she received with him. At court ban- 
 quets she sat at table with him, among the senators 
 and high dignitaries honoured by a command to the 
 imperial entertamment. And since, according to 
 etiquette, she had her share in the prescribed accla- 
 mations with which the populace were in the habit of 
 saluting their rulers, she did not hesitate to shew her- 
 self in public with the Basileus. In the Hippodrome 
 on the occasions of the principal races, and in front 
 
 [14] 
 
LIFE OF A BYZANTINE EMPRESS 
 
 of the Sacred Palace at the performance of certain 
 political ceremonies of great importance, the multi- 
 tude chanted: ‘‘Appear with the Augustae, O God- 
 crowned Emperors’’! and again: ““O God-protected 
 pair, O Basileus, and thou, Glory of the Purple, 
 come and enlighten your slaves, and rejoice the 
 hearts of your people”! and again: ‘“‘Come forth, 
 Empress of the Romans’!— all of them meaningless 
 phrases if the Basilissa was not in the habit of show- 
 ing herself on those days in the box in the Hippo- 
 drome or on the balcony of the Palace. It was even 
 so little the custom for her to confine herself to the 
 imperial residence that she often appeared in public 
 without the Emperor. Thus, she used to go without 
 him in solemn procession to St. Sophia; she made her 
 state entrance into the capital without him; she 
 went to meet him on his return from military expe- 
 ditions. For a Byzantine Empress was something 
 more than the consort and associate of the Emperor: 
 the great part which she so often played in politics 
 is due to the fact that from the day that she was first 
 enthroned upon the throne of Constantine she re- 
 ceived the fulness of imperial power. 
 
 Vv 
 
 In Byzantium reasons of state had, as a rule, little 
 effect upon the Emperor’s choice of a consort. The 
 monarch selected his wife in a more original and 
 somewhat extraordinary fashion. 
 
 When the Empress Irene wished to find a wife for 
 her son Constantine, she sent messengers up and 
 down the Empire to seek out the most beautiful girls 
 
 [ 15 J 
 
i 
 
 BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 in the monarchy and bring them to the capital. 
 With a view to limiting the choice and facilitating 
 the task of her envoys, the Empress indicated care- 
 fully what she considered the suitable age of candi- 
 dates to be, as well as their height and their size in 
 shoes. After receiving these instructions the messen- 
 gers set out, and one evening arrived in a Paphla- 
 gonian village. Seeing in the distance a large and 
 splendid mansion which had the appearance of be- 
 longing to a rich landowner, they decided to pass the 
 night there. Their choice was unfortunate; the pro- 
 prietor was a saint, who had completely ruined 
 himself by his almsgiving to the poor. Nevertheless, 
 he welcomed the Emperor’s envoys with great hospi- 
 tality, and calling his wife said: “‘Serve us up a good 
 dinner.” Her resources being somewhat limited, she 
 answered: ‘“‘How can I? You have managed your 
 affairs so well that we haven’t so much as a single 
 fowl in the yard.” “Go light your fire’, the saint 
 replied, “get ready the great ‘dining hall, and set 
 the old ivory table; God will provide our dinner.” 
 God did provide; and when the envoys, who were 
 delighted at the way in which they had been made 
 welcome, questioned the old man over the dessert 
 about his family, they found that he had three grand- 
 daughters of marriageable age. ‘In the name of 
 the God-crowned Emperor”, they exclaimed, “‘shew 
 them to us, for there is not in all the Roman Empire 
 a young girl whom we have not seen.” The girls 
 were sent for and proved to be charming; and it 
 happened that one of them, Mary, was of the re- 
 quired age and proportions and wore shoes of the 
 specified size. 
 
 Ete] 
 
LIFE OF A BYZANTINE EMPRESS 
 
 The messengers were delighted with their find, and 
 took the whole family with them to Constantinople. 
 About a dozen other young girls had been assembled 
 there, all very pretty, and most of them of rich and 
 noble families. At first these beautiful creatures 
 rather despised the new-comer; but she, who was by 
 no means a fool, said one day to her companions: 
 “‘Girls, let’s make an agreement that whichever of us 
 shall be chosen by God to be Empress shall help the 
 others to find husbands.” Whereupon a general’s 
 daughter scornfully answered: ‘“‘Oh, indeed! I am 
 the richest, the best-born, and the most beautiful; 
 the Emperor will undoubtedly marry me. .None of 
 the rest of you need have any hopes, for you have no 
 families to speak of, and nothing but your pretty 
 faces.” Needless to say, she was punished for her 
 disdain. When the candidates were brought before 
 the Empress, her son, and the Prime Minister, she 
 was immediately told: ‘You are charming; but you 
 are not the wife for an Emperor.” Mary, on the 
 other hand, instantly won the young sovereign’s 
 heart, and he chose her. 
 
 There are other similar anecdotes to shew that 
 this was the usual manner of choosing a Byzantine 
 Empress, though sometimes the sovereign simplified 
 matters even more by taking a fancy to some beauti- 
 ful adventuress, as did Justinian to Theodora. One 
 can see at all events that the Basileis did not insist 
 upon noble birth, and that in their eyes any pretty 
 woman might make a suitable Empress. But it is 
 also noteworthy that the solemn ceremonies accom- 
 panying the coronation and marriage gave the future 
 Empress an entirely new character, and made of the 
 
 [17] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 poor girl of yesterday a superhuman being, the in- 
 carnation of power and holiness. 
 
 I shall not describe in detail the pompous cere- 
 monies — for all these Byzantine functions are some- 
 what alike in their monotonous magnificence — with 
 which the future Empress was conducted veiled into 
 the great hall of the Augustaeum to be invested by 
 the Emperor with the purple chlamys, which the 
 Patriarch had already blessed; nor shall I tell how 
 the sovereign placed upon her head the crown with 
 long diamond pendants; nor of the court reception 
 in the Palace Chapel of St. Stephen; nor shall I 
 describe the wedding, when the Patriarch placed the 
 nuptial crown upon the heads of the newly-married 
 pair. Outof all the complicated ritual it will be enough 
 to point out a few salient features, which will clearly 
 indicate the complete sovereignty implied in the glori- 
 ous title of Empress of Byzantium. 
 
 In the first place, the marriage follows the corona- 
 tion instead of preceding it. Itisnot as the Emperor’s 
 wife that the Empress shares the autocratic power; 
 it is no reflected authority that she receives from her 
 husband. By a pre-marital and independent act she is 
 invested with sovereign powers; and this sovereignty, 
 to which she like the Emperor is raised by God’s actual 
 choice, is equal in plenitude to that of the Basileus. 
 And so true is this, that it is not the Emperor who 
 presents the new Empress to the people. After the 
 imposition of the crown has conferred supreme power 
 upon her, she goes forth unaccompanied by the 
 sovereign, and escorted only by her chamberlains and 
 her women. Slowly, between the ranks of guardsmen, 
 senators, patricians, and high dignitaries, she passes 
 
 [18] 
 
LIFE OF A BYZANTINE EMPRESS 
 
 through the Palace and goes out upon the terrace, 
 beneath which are stationed the members of the high 
 public services, the soldiers, and the people. Aloft in 
 her rich imperial robes, glittering with gold em- 
 broideries, she shews herself to her new subjects and 
 makes herself solemnly known to them. Before her 
 the colours are dipped, grandees and people prostrate 
 themselves, their heads in the dust, and the factions 
 raise the time-honoured acclamations. Very rever- 
 ently, a candle in either hand, she first bows before 
 the cross; then she greets her people, while a unani- 
 mous cry goes up: “‘God save the Augusta!” 
 
 Here is another instance. The coronation of the 
 Empress, indeed, is surrounded with somewhat more 
 mystery than that of the Emperor, for instead of 
 being celebrated in St. Sophia it takes place in the 
 Palace. But one should not imagine this to be the 
 effect of certain so-called Byzantine notions “which 
 imposed”’ we are told, ‘‘a life of seclusion upon the 
 wife, and accorded ill with much publicity.” As a 
 matter of fact, all the courtiers, men and women alike, 
 are present at her coronation; and when at the con- 
 clusion of the ceremony the sovereigns hold a recep- 
 tion in St. Stephen’s Church, there are not, as is 
 sometimes thought, two separate receptions, the 
 Basileus receiving the men, and the Augusta the 
 women. First all the men and then all the women 
 of the court pass before the thrones on which the 
 Emperor and Empress are seated side by side. And 
 after being presented, each in turn, men as well as 
 women, supported under the arms by two silentia- 
 ries, prostrates himself and kisses the knees of the 
 Basileus and of the Augusta. 
 
 pad 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAETS 
 
 Here is a last instance. After their marriage in 
 St. Stephen’s the imperial pair are escorted to the 
 bridal chamber by the entire court, both men and 
 women. The people make a lane for them as they 
 go, and salute the new Basilissa as follows: ‘‘Wel- 
 come, God-chosen Augusta! Welcome, God-protected 
 Augusta! Welcome, Wearer of the Purple! Wel- 
 come, thou whom all desire!’’ The crowd is admitted 
 into the nuptial chamber itself, before the imperial 
 bed of gold, and the newly-married couple have to 
 listen to the acclamations and congratulations all 
 over again. And in the evening at the wedding ban- 
 quet, the greatest nobles of the court — those who are 
 styled Friends of the Emperor — and the greatest 
 ladies dine with the sovereigns in the Triclinium of 
 the Nineteen Couches. What strikes one most in all 
 these ceremonies is the freedom of association be- 
 tween men and women in this court which has been 
 stigmatised as prudish; and also how little secluded 
 is the life of such an Empress, who is required by 
 official etiquette as the first act of her reign to shew 
 her face to all the people of Byzantium. 
 
 We must, of course, guard against over-stating 
 the case. In these delicate matters, custom and 
 etiquette naturally varied with the times. It seems, 
 indeed, that towards the end of the ninth century and 
 during the tenth, perhaps under the influence of the 
 Mohammedan Fast, a stricter etiquette confined the 
 Empress more closely to the Gynaeceum, that she 
 veiled herself more, that she appeared less frequently 
 in public ceremonies. But between the fifth and 
 ninth centuries there is no trace of anything of the 
 sort; and when, from the end of the eleventh century 
 
 [ 201 
 
LIFE OF A BYZANTINE EMPRESS 
 
 onwards, Byzantium came day by day into closer con- 
 tact with the West, when Western princesses sat upon 
 the throne of Constantine, this rigidity of etiquette, 
 if it had ever existed, broke down, and the ancient 
 ceremonial perished. 
 
 One last example will serve to illustrate fully the 
 rights which law and custom conferred upon a 
 Byzantine Empress. When the Emperor Zeno died, 
 in the year 491, his widow, the Empress Ariadne, 
 seized the power firmly in her own hands, and going 
 forth from the Palace to the Hippodrome with the 
 great dignitaries of court and monarchy, stood up in 
 the imperial box in her robes of state and addressed 
 the assembled people. She told them that by her 
 order the Senate and the high officials were about to 
 meet, and that under her own presidency, they, to- 
 gether with the army, would choose a successor to the 
 deceased Emperor. As a matter of fact, the supreme 
 council of the Empire did meet in the Palace; but 
 its first act was to leave in Ariadne’s hands the choice 
 of the new sovereign. Extraordinary as such pro- 
 cedure may seem, one must be careful not to regard 
 it as revolutionary. The Augusta, legitimately in- 
 vested with supreme power from the day of her 
 coronation, exercises it legitimately in all its fullness, 
 and transmits it as it pleases her. The people in 
 ratifying her choice formally recognise her rights. 
 “Thine is the imperial power, Ariadne Augusta’, 
 cried the multitude. And the experienced minister 
 who in the sixth century edited the ceremonial code 
 from which this story is taken says explicitly that the 
 question of the succession becomes extraordinarily 
 difficult “when there is neither Augusta nor Emperor 
 to transmit the power.” 
 
 [21] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 And therefore it is that in every act involving a 
 change in the government of the monarchy, the elec- 
 tion or the association of a new Basileus, the Basilissa 
 always appears officially, shewing herself in the Hip- 
 podrome, haranguing the people, energetic and ac- 
 tive, without anyone’s being at all astonished or 
 scandalised. Since the power was vested in her, she 
 could as her fancy directed either create a new 
 Emperor, or rule as Regent in the name of her young 
 children, or even reign herself. At a time when the 
 Germanic West would have been indignant at the 
 idea of a woman reigning, oriental Byzantium ac- 
 cepted peacefully an Empress who im her official 
 documents proudly styled herself as a man: “‘Irene, 
 great Basileus and Autocrat of the Romans.” 
 
 Byzantine miniatures have preserved the por- 
 traits of many of these princesses of long ago. They 
 are of many different physical types, for as a matter 
 of fact every nation gave Empresses to Byzantium — 
 Europe and Asia, the Caucasus and Greece, Constan- 
 tinople and the provinces, Syria and Hungary, France 
 and Germany, and even the barbarous Khazars and 
 Bulgars. In like manner they shew equally profound 
 differences of character: “‘Among those Augustae”’ 
 as has been well said, ““was every conceivable type of 
 woman — politicians, like Theodora or Irene of 
 Athens; writers, like Eudocia or Anna Comnena; 
 women of pleasure, like Zoé Porphyrogenita; and 
 others pure and devout, like her sister Theodora; 
 some who cared only for concocting new combi- 
 nations of perfumes and elegancies of toilet, or for 
 imventing gowns and coiffures to revolutionise 
 Byzantine feminine society; some whom no one ever 
 
 [ 22] 
 
LIFE OF A BYZANTINE EMPRESS 
 
 talked of and others about whom there was too 
 much talk; some whose doors were opened only to 
 pious monks and zealot priests; others who wel- 
 comed buffoons and story-tellers; and some whose 
 windows opened now and again to drop out a human 
 body sewn in a sack into the silent waters of the 
 Bosphorus.” ! To understand them, we must there- 
 fore not be deceived either by the sumptuous uni- 
 formity of the imperial costume that they wore, 
 nor by the apparently rigid ceremonial which may 
 seem to have regulated their lives. Their natures 
 differed, and so did the parts they played; and it is 
 precisely this which constitutes their interest for us. 
 
 In the history of a vanished society it is not the 
 wars, picturesque as they may be, nor the palace 
 revolutions and barrack mutinies, though they were 
 often tragic enough, which should engage our chief 
 attention. The most fruitful procedure is to en- 
 deavour to reconstruct the varying aspects of daily 
 life, the different ways of living and thinking, the 
 manners and customs — the civilisation, in short. 
 On all of these the life of a Byzantine Empress may 
 perhaps shed some new light; and if, in addition to 
 these portraits of Empresses, this great lady and that 
 woman of the middle class are well enough known for 
 us to attempt their portrayal also, in restoring them 
 to their historical setting and in reconstructing the 
 surroundings in which they lived we may have 
 accomplished a not wholly useless task. From these 
 seemingly restricted studies there will emerge a more 
 general impression, and with it some vivid, pictur- 
 esque scenes from the little-known society of distant 
 Byzantium. 
 
 1 A. N. Rambaud, loc. cit., p. 838. 
 
 [ 23 1] 
 
Il 
 ATHENAIS 
 
 I 
 
 N the 7th of June, 421, the Most Pious 
 () Emperor Theodosius, then about twenty 
 years of age, married a young girl who came 
 from Athens, where her father had been a professor 
 in the university. She was born of pagan parents; 
 but in order to ascend the throne of Constantine she 
 had become a Christian, and on the day of her baptism 
 had changed her pretty name Athenais to Eudocia, 
 a name at once more Christian and more suited to her 
 imperial rank. 
 
 How did this astonishing marriage between a little 
 provincial girl and the all-powerful Basileus come 
 about? The answer is simple. It was a love-match, 
 and the Byzantine chroniclers have fortunately given 
 us the whole romantic story. The young Theo- 
 dosius, from the time he had reached man’s estate, 
 had contemplated marriage. He pestered his eldest 
 sister Pulcheria, who had brought him up and 
 governed the Empire in his name, and insisted that 
 she should find a wife for him. Neither birth nor 
 wealth mattered; but he insisted that she should be 
 beautiful, supremely beautiful, with a beauty such as 
 Byzantium had never before beheld. And so to 
 please him Pulcheria searched all the East without 
 
 [ 24] 
 
ATHENAIS 
 
 finding anyone possessed of the requisite perfections. 
 Paulinus, the friend of her childhood, the Emperor’s 
 crony, also made investigations, when chance un- 
 expectedly threw in their way the longed-for beauty. 
 
 Leontius, a professor at the University of Athens, 
 had two sons and a daughter. He was a rich man. 
 But when he came to die, he left his entire fortune, by 
 a curious whim, to his sons Valerius and Gesius. ‘““To 
 my beloved daughter Athenais” he wrote in his 
 will, “‘I bequeath one hundred pieces of gold. To 
 succeed in the world she will have her good luck, 
 which is better than any other woman’s.” In vain 
 Athenais begged her brothers to share their father’s 
 estate with her; she was obliged to leave home and 
 seek refuge with her mother’s sister, who took her 
 to Constantinople, where another aunt, Leontius’s 
 sister, lived. These two women persuaded the girl to 
 invoke the help of the Palace against her brothers, and 
 she obtained an audience of the Augusta Pulcheria. 
 Athenais was twenty years of ‘age. She was very 
 beautiful, being rather tall, with a wonderful figure, 
 and curly blond hair that framed her features in a 
 golden aureole and enhanced the brilliancy of her 
 fair complexion. Her lovely eyes were intelligent and 
 full of life, and she kept them modestly lowered. She 
 had a pure Greek nose, and she carried herself with 
 grace and dignity. Furthermore, she could express 
 herself well, and stated her request to perfection. She 
 made an immediate conquest of Pulcheria, who was 
 enthusiastic about her. The Augusta asked the girl a 
 few questions about her family and her past life, and 
 soon ran to tell her brother of the marvellous creature 
 she had discovered. Theodosius in great excitement 
 
 [ 25 J 
 
BYZANTINE SPORTRAITS 
 
 was smitten with Athenais from his sister’s descrip- 
 tion, and begged the Augusta to shew him the young 
 enchantress at once. So he hid himself behind a tapes- 
 try with his friend Paulinus, and waited for the young 
 petitioner to enter the room. The effect she made 
 upon the two young men was prodigious; Paulinus 
 was delighted, and the Emperor fell completely in 
 love with her. A few weeks later, after the Patriarch 
 Atticus had instructed her in the Christian religion 
 and purified her in the waters of baptism, Athenais- 
 Eudocia became Empress of Byzantium. 
 
 It is difficult to say how much truth there is in this 
 charming tale. The outlines of it do not appear 
 before the eleventh century and were greatly elabo- 
 rated by the fancy of later periods. Contemporary 
 historians know nothing of the details I have just 
 given. The only undoubted fact is that the new 
 Empress was born an Athenian and a pagan, and 
 that she was very pretty and perfectly educated. 
 That was sufficient to captivate Theodosius, who 
 was in any case anxious for political reasons to per- 
 petuate the dynasty; and one can understand, more- 
 over, that the ambitious Pulcheria, who was supreme, 
 and anxious to preserve her supremacy, should wish 
 to further a marriage in which the bride would owe 
 everything to her. She was her godmother; she wished 
 to adopt her; and she may well have thought that in 
 the circumstances there would be no changes in the 
 Sacred Palace. 
 
 II 
 
 At the time when Athenais-Eudocia became the 
 consort of Theodosius, life in the Imperial Palace at 
 
 [ 26 J 
 
ATHENAIS 
 
 Byzantium presented a peculiar appearance. For 
 seven years Pulcheria, a young woman of twenty-two, 
 the eldest sister of the Basileus, had ruled over it 
 with complete authority. She was astute, energetic, 
 ambitious, and essentially a politician. After the 
 death of Arcadius, she, as the oldest member of the 
 family, had carried on the government during her 
 brother’s minority, and in 414, at the age of fifteen, 
 had taken the title of Augusta, thereby regularising 
 her assumption of power. Being anxious to devote 
 herself without hindrance to her task — also, per- 
 haps, not wishing to share the authority with another 
 — she had made a vow, at the age of sixteen, never 
 to marry, and as a memorial of her promise had 
 dedicated in St. Sophia a golden table adorned with 
 precious stones. And, as she was very religious, she 
 had reformed the court and turned the Palace into a 
 monastery. Under the influence of the Patriarch 
 Atticus, Pulcheria’s two sisters, Arcadia and Marina, 
 had followed her example and taken the vow of 
 celibacy. And the suites of these pious Princesses 
 so modelled themselves upon them that, night and 
 day, hymns and religious exercises were constantly 
 in progress in the imperial dwelling. Instead of 
 gorgeous ceremonies and splendid costumes, military 
 processions and the cheers of the multitude, nothing 
 was heard but the intoning of the offices, nothing seen 
 but the sombre habit of priests and monks. The 
 Palace, having been purged of the licentious courtiers 
 who had dishonoured it, and carefully ruled in every 
 detail according to grave and holy precepts, pre- 
 sented a totally new appearance. Disdaining luxury, 
 beautiful clothes, and the idleness characteristic of 
 
 [ 27 |] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 high rank, these Princesses worked with their own 
 hands, spinning and sewing for the poor, extending 
 their charities and their good works. Pulcheria 
 founded churches and gave vast endowments to 
 hospitals and charitable institutions; her sisters imi- 
 tated her. A great gust of piety, charity, and renun- 
 ciation,| reinvigorated the Sacred Palace, and swept 
 away the old atmosphere of intrigue. 
 
 It was thus that Pulcheria had brought up the 
 young Theodosius. Highly educated herself — she 
 knew both Greek and Latin, an accomplishment 
 already rare at that period —, she had surrounded 
 him with excellent masters and carefully-chosen com- 
 panions. He profited by his good teaching, and was 
 really a very learned young man. He had been 
 taught Greek and Latin, astronomy, mathematics, 
 natural history, and many other things; he could 
 draw and paint, and was fond of illuminating his 
 manuscripts with beautiful miniatures. He had a 
 taste for reading, and had formed a large library, 
 and in the evening liked to work very late by the 
 light ofa lamp that he had invented. His reward is to 
 be known in history as Theodosius the Calligrapher. 
 But Pulcheria had watched even more carefully over 
 her brother’s moral education. He was very devout, 
 he took pleasure in singing hymns with his sisters, 
 he fasted regularly twice a week, and he liked to 
 dispute with theologians. Pulcheria herself had 
 even given him lessons in deportment; she had 
 taught him how an Emperor should wear his clothes, 
 how he should receive people, when to smile and 
 when to appear grave and serious — in short all the 
 refinements of ceremonial that an Emperor was 
 
 [ 28 J 
 
ATHENAIS 
 
 obliged to know. And thus, at the time of his mar- 
 riage, Theodosius was a nice young fellow, of medium 
 height, fair, with black eyes, very well brought up, 
 very polite, quiet, gentle, and amiable, and some- 
 what of a bore and a pedant. Of physical exercises, 
 he cared only for hunting, and, not being particularly 
 energetic, was not in the least attracted by war and 
 fighting. He was of a sedentary disposition and pre- 
 ferred to stay in the Palace; and, as his character 
 was feeble, he was easily influenced. In short, he 
 was a conscientious and mediocre Emperor, good 
 enough perhaps for quiet times, but totally unsuited 
 for the troubled century in which he lived. 
 
 Between her imperious sister-in-law and her easy- 
 going husband, what would become of Athenais? It 
 must not be forgotten that she too was a clever 
 woman. At the time of her birth Athens, her native 
 country, was still the great university town of the 
 Hellenic East, the finest museum of ancient Greece, 
 the last refuge of pagan learning. As a professor's 
 daughter she naturally had received an incomparable 
 education. Her father had taught her rhetoric; had 
 made her learn the masterpieces of ancient litera- 
 ture, Homer, the tragic poets, Lysias, and Demos- 
 thenes; had trained her, in the manner of the schools, 
 to improvise brilliantly on given subjects, to compose 
 pretty verses, to speak with elegance. Furthermore, 
 she had been initiated into the mysteries of the 
 Neoplatonic philosophy, whose most illustrious ex- 
 ponents had been made welcome in Athens; she also 
 knew astronomy and geometry, and _ succeeded 
 equally in everything. She pleased Pulcheria by her 
 intelligence and her gift of expression, and one may 
 
 [ 29 ] 
 
\ 
 
 BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 well believe that she delighted Theodosius as much 
 by her erudition as by her beauty. 
 
 The education that Athenais had received was 
 an altogether pagan one, and the thin veneer of 
 Christianity which the Patriarch had applied to her 
 soul failed, in all probability, to impair in any way 
 the teachings of her youth. Moreover, among people 
 who remained faithful to ancient ideas, the Emperor’s 
 marriage with the young Athenian may well have 
 appeared in the light of a victory for paganism, or, 
 at the least, as a promise of toleration. And, in fact, 
 the Empress did not at first differ materially from the 
 daughter of Leontius. 
 
 Indeed, Constantinople in the fifth century, not- 
 withstanding its position as a Christian capital, re- 
 tained a strong impress of paganism. It had been 
 enriched by Constantine and his successors with the 
 finest spoils of ancient sanctuaries; its squares and 
 its palaces were adorned with the most renowned 
 masterpieces of Greek sculpture; and in this incom- 
 parable museum the dethroned gods seemed still to 
 retain their prestige and their glory. At the court, in 
 spite of the dominant tone of religion and bigotry, 
 many ceremonies and festivals preserved the memory 
 of pagan traditions; and although pious folk con- 
 sidered any dealings with the Graces and the Muses 
 a mortal sin, poetry was by no means exiled from the 
 Imperial Palace. Eudocia was fond of verses and 
 took pleasure in composing them, and she found 
 about her people to share her tastes and encourage 
 her in them. One of her first acts immediately after 
 her marriage was to compose a poem in heroic verse 
 upon the Persian War, which had just been brought 
 
 [ 50 J 
 
ATHENATIS 
 
 to a successful conclusion. She could have done 
 nothing better calculated to please Theodosius and 
 win completely the love of her studious husband. 
 When, towards the end of the year 422, she in addi- 
 tion bore him a daughter, her influence increased still 
 more; on the 2nd of January, 423, the Basileus gave 
 her, as a New-Year’s present, the title of Augusta, 
 thus making her officially the equal of Pulcheria. And 
 in the privacy of the imperial family her ascendancy 
 over her weak husband drew steadily greater. 
 
 It is not unlikely that she had a voice in the founda- 
 tion, in the year 425, of the University of Constan- 
 tinople. In it we can see the preponderating position 
 given to Greek: whereas thirteen professors taught the 
 Latin language and literature, fifteen were appointed 
 to teach Greek; one chair was created in philosophy; 
 and the most eminent men of the times, some of them 
 very recent Christians, were invited to lecture at the 
 new university. It should, however, be observed 
 that, if the foundation of a university and the con- 
 sideration thereby shewn to letters are characteristic 
 of the taste of the period, the new institution had in 
 general a Christian tone — witness the subordinate 
 position given to philosophy — and was intended by 
 its founders to be in a sense a rival to the too-pagan 
 University of Athens. And this illustrates vividly 
 the evolution which was slowly taking place in the 
 soul of the Empress Eudocia. 
 
 Living in the devout atmosphere of the court, she 
 felt unconsciously the influence of her surroundings. 
 Her marriage may have seemed a victory for pagan- 
 ism; but as a matter of fact she had done nothing 
 for her former co-religionists; and in 424, the Emperor 
 
 [51 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 Theodosius, in renewing the edicts of proscription 
 against the worship of the false gods, declared 
 solemnly that he “thought there were no longer any 
 pagans.’ A further significant fact is that Eudocia, 
 like a true Byzantine, developed a passion for theo- 
 logical disputes. When, in 428, Nestorius, Patriarch 
 of Constantinople, taught the heresy which bears his 
 name, and the ambitious Cyril, Patriarch of Alexan- 
 dria, more from jealousy of a rival than from devo- 
 tion to orthodoxy, thereupon started a serious quarrel 
 in the Eastern Church, Eudocia joined with her hus- 
 band in championing the Patriarch of the capital 
 against his enemies, and tried to checkmate the 
 turbulent successor of Athanasius, whose chief aim 
 was to establish a primacy for his see over all the 
 eastern bishoprics. This episode is valuable not only 
 as an illustration of the part which Athenais-Eudocia 
 played in religious quarrels, but also as a proof of her 
 increasing influence and of the breach that was 
 widening between her and Pulcheria. 
 
 In arranging her brother’s marriage the imperious 
 Augusta had had no intention of resigning the power 
 that Theodosius had permitted her to exercise. 
 Nevertheless Eudocia’s star waxed ever more power- 
 ful. She advanced her friends and relatives in the 
 sovereign’s favour; she used her influence on behalf 
 of Paulinus, the Master of the Offices, and the Egyp- 
 tian Cyrus of Panopolis, who, like her, was fond of 
 books and wrote verses; she had her flatterers and her 
 party at court, and soon she was not afraid to oppose 
 her sister-in-law. Rumours of this underground 
 rivalry spread beyond the Palace, and clever intri- 
 guers egged the two women on in the hope of gaining 
 
 [ 52] 
 
ATHENAIS 
 
 some personal advantage. Cyril, especially, made 
 use of it in his quarrel with Nestorius; when writing 
 to the Emperor and his wife, he wrote also to the 
 Augusta Pulcheria, whom he knew to be hostile to his 
 rival, and whose influence with the weak Basileus he 
 counted upon. But even though Theodosius re- 
 proved him in very energetic terms for his conduct, 
 saying: ‘‘Either you thought that my wife, my sister, 
 and I, were not in harmony with one another, or Your 
 Piety hoped that your letters might sow dissension 
 between us” —, notwithstanding this protest, the re- 
 sults proved that Cyril had not been mistaken in his 
 calculations. Theodosius, after having convoked the 
 Council of Ephesus with the firm intention of uphold- 
 ing Nestorius, allowed himself finally to be imposed 
 upon by Cyril’s illegal audacity, by the clamour of the 
 monks of Constantinople, by the advice of the high 
 dignitaries whom the Patriarch of Alexandria had won 
 over, and above all by the influence of Pulcheria. 
 The gathering of 431 was a victory for the Alexan- 
 drians and a triumph for the imperious Augusta. 
 For Eudocia it was a serious reverse; she was later 
 to suffer even more cruelly from the consequences of 
 these court rivalries, and from the struggle for in- 
 fluence in which she was engaged. 
 
 iil 
 
 The journey which Athenais-Eudocia made in the 
 year 438 to Jerusalem provides interesting testimony 
 regarding the outstanding feature of her personality: 
 the mixture in her soul of pagan memories and 
 Christian preoccupations. 
 
 [53 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 In 423 the court of Constantinople had received 
 an important visitor. The celebrated Galla Placidia, 
 sister of Honorius and aunt of Theodosius II, having 
 been obliged to leave the Palace at Ravenna, had 
 come with her daughter Honoria and her young son 
 Valentinian to take refuge in Byzantium. A mar- 
 riage had been proposed between the imperial child- 
 ren, the new-born Eudoxia and the five-year-old 
 Caesar, who was now, by the death of Honorius, 
 heir to the Western Empire. Theodosius II spared 
 no pains to procure the recognition of his future 
 son-in-law in Italy, under the guardianship of Galla 
 Placidia. Fourteen years later, in 437, the cherished 
 scheme was fulfilled. Athenais-Eudocia had ar- 
 dently desired this alliance, which would set her 
 daughter upon the glorious throne of the West, and 
 had vowed, if the marriage took place, to make a 
 pilgrimage to Jerusalem, like St. Helena before her, 
 to give thanks to God in the very place where His 
 divine Son had died for mankind. Her necessary 
 separation from a child whom she adored made her 
 perhaps the more willing to undertake the journey, 
 and in 438 the Empress set out for the Holy City. 
 
 The first place she visited was Antioch. This city, 
 which was still full of the traditions and monuments 
 of ancient civilisation, awoke within her the memories 
 of her pagan youth. In the Senate House, seated on 
 a golden throne that glittered with precious stones, 
 she received the civic magistrates and the principal 
 inhabitants, and, recalling her father’s teachings, 
 improvised a brilliant speech in honour of the city 
 whose guest she was. She alluded to the distant age 
 when Greek colonies had carried Hellenic civilisation 
 
 [ 54 J 
 
ATHENAIS 
 
 throughout the archipelago as far as the coasts of 
 Syria, and ended by quoting a line of Homer: 
 
 I claim proud kinship with your race and blood. 
 
 The Antiochenes were too cultivated and too fond of 
 letters not to be wildly enthusiastic about a Princess 
 who thus invoked the purest traditions of Hellenism. 
 And, as in the splendid days of ancient Greece, the 
 municipal senate voted her a golden statue in the 
 Curia, and deposited in the museum a bronze stele 
 inscribed with a record of the imperial visit. 
 
 Her stay in Jerusalem is in striking contrast with 
 this vision of antiquity. Jerusalem was essentially 
 a Christian city, full of pious memories of the 
 Saviour, peopled with religious of both sexes, and 
 covered with churches and monasteries built over 
 all the spots which the Passion of Christ had hal- 
 lowed. Eudocia remained there an entire year de- 
 voting herself to religion and good works, visiting the 
 Holy Places, attending the consecration of churches, 
 and distributing rich gifts among the most venerated 
 sanctuaries. In return, she obtained precious relics 
 — some of the bones of St. Stephen and the chains 
 with which the Apostle Peter had been bound. These 
 she brought piously from Jerusalem to Constan- 
 tinople and deposited them with ceremony in the 
 Church of St. Lawrence. Half of the chains she sent 
 to her beloved daughter in Rome, the young Em- 
 press Eudoxia, the thought of whom had inspired 
 and accompanied her on her voyage, and the 
 Church of San Pietro in Vincoli was built to receive 
 them. 
 
 A few years later Athenais-Eudocia was to return 
 
 [ 55 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 to the Holy City of Jerusalem, and this time for the 
 rest of her life. 
 
 In 439, at the time of her return to the capital, the 
 Basilissa was at the height of her glory. Her daughter 
 was married to an Emperor, and she herself had just 
 made a royal progress through the East amidst 
 universal rejoicing. She seems to have thought that 
 the time was ripe for a more overt struggle with her 
 former benefactress and present rival, the Augusta 
 Pulcheria. At all events, between 439 and 441, her 
 friends became increasingly influential in the Palace; 
 the office of Praetorian Praefect of the East was given 
 to her protégé Cyrus of Panopolis, a poet and man 
 of letters whose essentially Hellenic culture had been 
 for some time past a bond between him and the 
 Empress. Such a man could never commend himself 
 to Pulcheria and the religious party, and it was thus 
 a personal triumph for Eudocia to have won him the 
 favour of Theodosius. This success encouraged her 
 to go still further. In the Sacred Palace at that 
 period the eunuchs had great influence over the 
 irresolute Emperor; Eudocia joined forces with 
 Chrysaphius, the favourite for the time being, in 
 order to effect the definite removal of Pulcheria from 
 the government; and fora while she seemed to have 
 won. The Augusta was obliged to leave court and 
 retire to her own house; but, while appearing to ab- 
 dicate, Pulcheria never abandoned the struggle. Her 
 orthodox friends, disliking the new direction of affairs 
 and the favour shewn to statesmen of over-liberal 
 opinions, were in the end to make Eudocia pay dearly 
 for her ephemeral victory. 
 
 The story of her downfall is no less romantic than 
 
 [ 56 J 
 
ATHENAIS 
 
 that of her elevation to the throne. Paulinus, the 
 Master of the Offices, was a great favourite of the 
 Emperor’s, with whom he had played as a child and 
 whose confidence he had won; and he was equally a 
 friend of the Empress’s, since he had used all his in- 
 fluence to bring about her marriage. The Basileus 
 had chosen him to be his paranymphos at his wedding, 
 and thereafter had loaded him with honours. Pauli- 
 nus was on terms of the greatest intimacy with the 
 sovereigns, whom he visited freely whenever he 
 chose, and his influence was powerful in the Palace. 
 Now, Paulinus was handsome, elegant, and of 
 haughty carriage; he is said to have made an im- 
 pression even upon the austere Pulcheria herself. 
 The enemies of Athenais were not slow in making 
 capital out of all this; the passionate devotion of the 
 Master of the Offices for the Basilissa and the real 
 friendship which she shewed for him became in their 
 hands weapons to arouse the jealousy of Theodosius 
 and thereby to produce the most unfortunate results. 
 
 The Emperor, so runs the tale, went to church one 
 day, and Paulinus, who was unwell, was excused 
 from taking part in the solemn procession. On the 
 way a beggar offered the Emperor a Phrygian apple 
 of extraordinary size. Theodosius bought it, and, 
 as he was still devotedly attached to his wife, sent 
 it to her. She, in turn, made a present of it to Pauli- 
 nus, and the Master of the Offices, not knowing who 
 had given it to the Empress, offered it to Theodosius, 
 thinking to please him. The Emperor was as- 
 tonished, and, as soon as he had returned to the 
 Palace, summoned the Empress and blurted out: 
 “Where is the apple I sent you?” “‘I have eaten it” 
 
 [37 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 replied Eudocia imprudently. Theodosius adjured 
 her as she hoped for salvation to tell him the truth; 
 but she gave him the same answer. Then, taking 
 the apple out from under his cloak, the Basileus 
 shewed it to his untruthful wife. There followed a 
 violent scene. Furiously jealous, the Emperor 
 ceased to live with his wife; and Paulinus was com- 
 pletely disgraced and exiled to Caesarea in Cappa- 
 docia, where soon afterwards Theodosius had him 
 assassinated. 
 
 Here again it is difficult to determine with any 
 degree of certainty what truth there may be in the 
 story. The oldest accounts of it that we have date 
 only from the sixth century, and contemporaries 
 knew nothing of it, or at least did not record it. The 
 main features, however, have an air of verisimilitude. 
 It is not necessary to assume that Eudocia was guilty 
 of anything other than imprudence; many years 
 later, when on her death-bed and about to appear 
 before her Maker, she swore that she and Paulinus 
 had been absolutely innocent. But the fury and 
 jealousy of Theodosius speedily resulted in the 
 Empress’s disgrace. Her enemies made good use of 
 the affair to her damage, and to regain their influence 
 over the Emperor. After the disgrace of Paulinus 
 came that of Eudocia’s other friend, the Praefect 
 Cyrus. At last, knowing that her influence was gone, 
 almost openly quarrelling with her husband, alone, 
 suspected in her own court, exasperated, further- 
 more, by the slanders which were circulated about 
 her, and justly outraged by the odious murder of 
 Paulinus, she sought permission of Theodosius to 
 retire to Jerusalem. The Emperor accorded it gladly, 
 
 [ 58 J 
 
ATHENAIS 
 
 and may even have urged her to go. He felt hence- 
 forth only hatred, suspicion, and bitterness, for her, 
 and found it easy to separate for ever from the wife 
 he once had loved so much. 
 
 It was about the year 442 that Eudocia returned 
 to the Holy City, and she lived there eighteen long 
 years until her death. This sad and melancholy end 
 of her life seems to have strangely altered the 
 Princess’s character. She had hoped, on leaving 
 Constantinople, to find peace and forgetfulness at 
 the tomb of Christ; but even in her distant exile she 
 was pursued by the rancour of enemies, and her 
 husband’s suspicions brutally invaded the calm of 
 her retreat. In 444, two of her intimate friends, the 
 priest Severus and the deacon John, whom she had 
 taken with her from Byzantium and who had great 
 influence with her, were denounced to the Emperor, 
 arrested, and put to death. The Empress, furious at 
 the outrage, revenged herself by bloodshed; Saturni- 
 nus, the governor of Jerusalem, was murdered by 
 assassins whom she had hired. Afterwards her pas- 
 sionate nature sought other means of satisfying its 
 restlessness. She devoted herself to religion, living 
 among ascetics and monks, and became an adherent 
 of the most mystical form of Christian theology. 
 The little pagan girl of Athens took sides with the 
 Monophysites, who at this very period were winning 
 a victory for their doctrine, under Dioscorus of 
 Alexandria, at the Conciliabulum of Ephesus (449), 
 and forcing their will upon Theodosius. It may be 
 that she hoped by associating with them to revenge 
 herself in some way upon the Emperor, upon Pul- 
 cheria, and upon those who had brought about her 
 
 [39 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 disgrace. Whatever the reason, she threw herself 
 heart and soul into the struggle, and put all that was 
 left of her influence and wealth at the service of her 
 friends. Even after the Council of Chalcedon, in 
 450, concurrently with the Roman legates, had 
 solemnly condemned her favourite heresy, she clung 
 to it obstinately, perhaps because it still pleased her 
 to oppose Pulcheria, whom she hated, and who, now 
 that Theodosius was dead, shared Eudocia’s throne 
 with a Prince Consort. The Basilissa eagerly en- 
 couraged the dissenters, and incited them to armed 
 resistance to the imperial forces. The representa- 
 tions of her daughter and of her son-in-law, and the 
 entreaties of Pope Leo the Great himself were neces- 
 sary to bring Eudocia back to Orthodoxy. 
 
 She yielded at last to the pontiff’s admonitions, 
 and in order to win the “‘eternal glory” which he 
 promised her, used all her remaining influence to 
 pacify the Palestinian monks who had risen against 
 their bishops, and to guide penitent heretics to the 
 faith of Chalcedon (453). Every year as it passed 
 brought fresh sorrows to the aged woman. Her 
 husband Theodosius died in 450, and in 455 her 
 sister-in-law Pulcheria followed him: her condition 
 as a dethroned Empress remained unchanged. In 
 the West, during the sack of Rome in 455, her 
 daughter Eudoxia and her granddaughters had fallen 
 into the hands of the Vandals, and one of them had 
 been forced to marry Genseric. In the East, another 
 dynasty had replaced the family of Theodosius the 
 Great upon the throne of Byzantium. Eudocia, now 
 no longer of any importance, was forgotten. In the 
 Holy City, which she loved, she found consolation in 
 
 [ 40 J 
 
ATHENAIS 
 
 building hospitals, convents, and churches, in repair- 
 ing the city wall, and in writing verses — the last 
 vestige of her early taste for letters. Thus engaged, 
 she died about the year 460, and was buried in the 
 Basilica of St. Stephen, which she had founded; and 
 the grateful people of Jerusalem gave to her who had 
 done so much for their city the title of “the New 
 Helena.” 
 
 IV 
 
 Athenais-Eudocia had indeed a strange career: 
 she was born in Athens a pagan; through a love- 
 match she became Empress of Byzantium; and she 
 died in exile at Jerusalem near the tomb of Christ, a 
 devoted and impassioned Christian mystic. And it 
 is just because of these contrasts in her romantic and 
 melancholy life that she is of such interest to the 
 historian. Placed on the borders of two worlds, at 
 the meeting point of two civilisations, combining in 
 herself the dying traditions of pagan culture with the 
 precepts of victorious Christianity, and having, withal, 
 sufficient intelligence and education to understand the 
 evolution in process around her, she presents a curious 
 and significant example of the way in which the most 
 contradictory ideas and the most violent contrasts 
 could, in that century, exist side by side in a single 
 personality. Her life has already demonstrated the 
 fusion of these diverse elements; in her writings it is 
 even more apparent. 
 
 Eudocia had always loved poetry. In the period 
 of her greatness she had, as we have seen, celebrated 
 in heroic verse the victories won by the imperial 
 armies over the Persians, and her eulogy of Antioch 
 
 Lat 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 may have been composed in verse. In the last years 
 of her life she once more diverted herself with literary 
 exercises; but this time she was inspired exclusively 
 by religious subjects. She translated into heroic verse 
 parts of the Old Testament, the Pentateuch, Joshua, 
 Judges, and Ruth; even in the ninth century so good 
 a literary critic as the Patriarch Photius admired 
 her work greatly, and considered it quite remarkable 
 “for a woman, and an Empress at that.” She also 
 made similar translations of the prophecies of Zecha- 
 riah and of Daniel which the grammarian Tzetzes 
 highly commends, referring to the talent of ‘‘the 
 golden Empress, the very learned daughter of the great 
 Leontius.”” Moreover she composed the Homerocentra, 
 or Homeric Centos, in which she undertook to tell the 
 episodes of the life of Christ by means of Homeric 
 verses ingeniously assembled. That happened to be 
 a style of composition greatly esteemed in her time; 
 and Eudocia, as she herself acknowledged, was only 
 continuing the work of one of her contemporaries, 
 Bishop Patricius. It must, however, be admitted, 
 in spite of the praises which Byzantine critics of 
 later times bestowed upon the imperial labours, that 
 her production was of no great value. At bottom it 
 has no sort of originality of any kind; and, notwith- 
 standing Eudocia’s vaunt that she ‘‘had made the 
 sacred stories harmonious”, the form is no better. 
 Her language is feeble and her versification mediocre. 
 In short, the only interesting and characteristic 
 feature of the work is the attempt to clothe the life 
 of Christ with the rhythm and language of Homer, 
 thus achieving a strange union of pagan and Christian 
 elements. There would therefore be very little to 
 
 [ 42 ] 
 
ATHENAIS 
 
 say about the writings of Athenais-Eudocia if she 
 was not the author of a more curious work — 
 namely, a poem in three cantos on St. Cyprian of 
 Antioch, much admired by Photius, and of which 
 some important fragments have been preserved. 
 
 According to the legend, Cyprian of Antioch was a 
 celebrated magician. One day a young pagan, 
 Aglaidas, came to ask him to use his mysterious 
 science on his behalf. He loved a Christian maiden, 
 Justina, who did not reciprocate his affection, and saw 
 no means other than diabolical of overcoming her 
 resistance. Cyprian consented, and in order to van- 
 quish the virgin put forth all his powers, to such effect 
 that he himself soon succumbed to Justina’s radiant 
 beauty. All the magician’s attempts were in vain; 
 the demons whom he invoked fled before the sign of 
 the cross which the young girl made. At last, becom- 
 ing convinced of the vanity of his horrid arts, Cyprian 
 burnt his books of magic, gave all his goods to the 
 poor, and embraced Christianity. The defeated lover 
 did likewise. Finally the repentant magician became 
 Bishop of Antioch, and with Justina bravely under- 
 went martyrdom for his faith. 
 
 The most interesting part of the poem that I have 
 briefly outlined is the second book, containing 
 Cyprian’s confession. When the time had come for 
 him to abjure his errors, the learned pagan deter- 
 mined to make the story of his life public, and to tell 
 the assembled people all that he had gathered from 
 the magic arts of paganism, all the sinful things he 
 had done with the accursed help of the demons, and 
 how in the end, when his soul was enlightened, he 
 had come to repent and be converted. In the course 
 
 [ 43 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 of his long recital Cyprian explains how he had been 
 initiated in all the holy places of paganism: at 
 Athens and at Eleusis; upon Olympus, 
 
 Where foolish mortals say the false gods live; 
 
 at Argos and in Phrygia, where the augur’s art is 
 taught; in Egypt and inChaldaea, where one can learn 
 
 the mysteries of astrology. Forcefully he tells how 
 he had studied 
 
 Those fleeting forms that ape the eternal wisdom; 
 
 how he had fed upon that ancient and baneful science 
 spread abroad by demons, to the undoing of the 
 human race. By his accursed skill he had been able 
 to raise up even the Prince of Demons, who had 
 
 Given the lordship of the world to him, 
 And power upon the legions of the damned. 
 
 But this Satan whom Cyprian describes is not the 
 Devil of the Middle Ages; in his sinister grandeur he 
 is more suggestive of the fallen archangel whom Mil- 
 ton was later to portray in Paradise Lost: 
 
 His face was like to a flower of purest gold 
 Shining in the flame-radiance of his eyes. 
 
 Upon his brow a glittering crown was set; 
 
 His vesture was resplendent. 
 
 Earth trembled when he moved; about his throne 
 Numberless hosts kept vigil; like a god 
 
 He seemed, and like one thought to vie with God, 
 Nor feared to battle with the Lord Eternal. 
 
 This fallen god is the father of vanities, and builds of 
 vain shadows all that can deceive and destroy man- 
 
 kind: 
 
 pad 
 
ATHENAIS 
 
 Cities and palaces and shadowy streams, 
 Deep woods, and even the longed-for sight of home, 
 And all the illusions of night-wanderers — 
 
 deceptive mirages, wherewith the demons fool men 
 and lead them on to damnation. 
 
 Next, he tells the story of the temptation of Jus- 
 tina. Cyprian lets loose demon upon demon against 
 her, even Satan himself; but all in vain. Then the 
 magician creates phantom seducers for her undoing. 
 In order to have the readier access to her, so that he 
 may tempt her even more sorely, he transforms him- 
 self now into a young woman, now into a beautiful 
 bird that sings entrancingly; he even changes 
 Aglaidas into a swallow, so that he can fly to his 
 sweetheart. But beneath the pure and steadfast 
 gaze of the maiden the lying bird falls heavily 
 to the ground. Cyprian then tries other means. 
 Justina’s family is overwhelmed with every kind of 
 calamity, and the plague decimates her native city; 
 but nothing can move the inflexible girl. In the face 
 of so many failures the defeated magician begins to 
 doubt his own power; he curses Satan, and resolves 
 to break the compact which binds him to the Prince 
 of Devils. And like Justina he now opposes the sign 
 of the cross to the onslaughts of the Enemy. But 
 Satan ironically and implacably taunts the victim 
 who would escape his clutches: 
 
 Christ will not snatch thee from my hands, he never 
 Opens his arms to one who has obeyed me. 
 
 And the wretch, terrified by the menace of eternal 
 damnation, ends his confession with this pathetic 
 
 appeal: 
 E45 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 Such was my life; say now, will Christ be moved 
 To grant my prayer? 
 
 Throughout this poem there are passages of real 
 and vigorous beauty, and it at once arouses in the 
 mind a host of literary reminiscences and compari- 
 sons. Cyprian and Satan are Faust and Mephis- 
 topheles; and in the proud, splendid demon of the 
 Greek writer, in the haughty speeches which are put 
 into his mouth, there is already something of the 
 fallen archangel of Paradise Lost. There are pas- 
 sages elsewhere which suggest The Divine Comedy, 
 such for instance, as that in which Eudocia describes 
 vigorously the personifications of the vices which 
 evil spirits spread throughout the world: Falsehood 
 and Lust, Fraud and Hatred, Hypocrisy and Vanity. 
 And indeed it is no small merit in a Greek work of 
 the fifth century that it should thus recall Dante, 
 Goethe, and Milton. Does this imply that Athenais- 
 Eudocia is to be credited with great originality? 
 Here again her personal contribution is but slight, 
 for not one of these admirable inventions is of her 
 creating. As early as the fourth century, proba- 
 bly in Syria, the legend of St. Cyprian of Antioch 
 had become sufficiently popular to be rendered 
 into Greek prose. This is the tale which the Em- 
 press put into verse, as she had versified the Scrip- 
 tures and the life of Christ. The beauty of the 
 subject she chose is no proof of her intellectual 
 superiority. 
 
 But she deserves some credit, at least, for having 
 chosen it; and it is by her very choice that her work 
 is of importance for the study of her character. One 
 
 E46 
 
ATHENAIS 
 
 may fancy that the story of Cyprian of Antioch had a 
 very special interest for Athenais-Eudocia, for it was 
 in a certain sense her own story. Her parents had 
 wished her to learn, like the magician, ‘All that there 
 is in earth and air and sea.”” Like him she had been 
 initiated “Into the foolish wisdom of the Greeks.” 
 Like him “She had thought she lived, though being 
 in truth but dead.” Then, like him, she had re- 
 nounced “The impious faith of idols”, and had broken 
 “Vain images of the gods.”” And like him, also, hav- 
 ing become a Christian and devout she longed to 
 convince “Those who take pleasure still in perverse 
 idols.” And this is why one has a right to imagine 
 that into her edifying story Athenais-Eudocia has 
 put something of herself. 
 
 And yet it cannot be said that even this sincerity 
 of hers has added any touch of genius to her per- 
 formance. Here, as in her other poems, the form, 
 her only contribution, is mediocre. The work itself, 
 however, is full of interest when we come to study 
 the psychology of our heroine. From the very be- 
 ginning of her contact with Christianity, the new 
 influence rapidly blotted out of her soul all the 
 graces of pagan antiquity and all the charm of the 
 recollections of her youth. Athens, Eleusis, and 
 Argos, all those holy places where her early years had 
 been spent, were to her from henceforth only cities 
 of refuge for the false gods. The learning in which 
 she had been brought up seemed an illusion sent by 
 malevolent demons; the beautiful legends that had 
 delighted her childhood meant no more to her now 
 than old wives’ tales. As Renan says in a celebrated 
 passage of his Saint Paul: 
 
 L474 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 Ah! beautiful, pure images, very gods and very 
 goddesses, tremble, all of ye! The fatal word has 
 gone forth: ye are idols. The error of this ugly 
 little Jew is your death-warrant. 
 
 It was thus that in a day triumphant Christianity 
 completely transformed Athenais. The learned 
 young pagan girl-philosopher of yesterday vanishes, 
 and in her place we have only the Most Pious 
 Empress Eudocia; and when some vague echoes of 
 her classical training sounded in her soul, when she 
 found that her Hellenic education still kept alive 
 within her the worship of form and the memory of 
 Homer, perhaps she feared that she was yielding once 
 again to the frauds and deceits of Satan — if it were 
 not rather that she thought, like a good Christian, 
 that by consecrating the glories of paganism to the 
 service of the Divine Majesty she had thereby made 
 them to become sanctified. 
 
 [ 48 J 
 
Ill 
 THEODORA 
 
 Byzantium, who, beginning her career be- 
 hind the scenes in the Hippodrome, rose to 
 the throne of the Caesars, has always aroused curiosity 
 and excited the imagination. During her lifetime 
 her extraordinary good fortune so greatly astonished 
 her contemporaries that the idle tongues of Constan- 
 tinople invented the most incredible stories to explain 
 it — hence all that mass of gossip that Procopius 
 has gathered together painstakingly in his Secret 
 History, and handed down to posterity. After her 
 death the legend grew to still greater dimensions; 
 Orientals and Occidentals, Syrians, Byzantines, and 
 Slavs, added more and more touches to the romantic 
 incidents of her romantic story; and because of this 
 rowdy fame Theodora, alone out of so many Prin- 
 cesses who sat upon the throne of Byzantium, has 
 been well known down to our own times, and al- 
 most popular.! 
 I do not feel, however, that we have the right to 
 assume any very exact knowledge of this famous 
 Empress, whom so many regard as simply an illus- 
 
 Te adventurous life of Theodora, Empress of 
 
 1 For the details of Theodora’s life I refer the reader to my monograph: 
 Théodora, impératrice de Byzance, Paris, 1904. I have felt, nevertheless, 
 the necessity of including a sketch of this celebrated Empress among my 
 portraits of Byzantine princesses. 
 
 Ea 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 trious adventuress. Down to the present time, the 
 majority of those who have attempted to describe 
 her have used chiefly, almost exclusively, the 
 anecdotes which Procopius retails. I am far from 
 maintaining that his work is of no value; I even 
 think that by a careful study of it one could become 
 better acquainted than heretofore with the psy- 
 chology of Theodora during her stormy youth. But 
 it must always be borne in mind that The Secret 
 History is not our only source of information. Other, 
 newer documents have been discovered, mainly in the 
 last few years, from which we can gather more 
 material for a character-study of the celebrated 
 Empress. Zhe Lives of the Blessed Orientals, which 
 was compiled about the middle of the sixth century 
 by an intimate friend of the Empress, John, Bishop 
 of Ephesus; the unpublished fragments of the same 
 author’s great Ecclesiastical History; the anonymous 
 chronicle attributed to Zacharias of Mytilene; and 
 other contemporary works, such as the biographies 
 of the Patriarch Severus and Jacobus Baradaeus, 
 the Apostle of the Monophysites, have all been 
 published or translated from the Syriac manuscripts 
 in which they lay forgotten; and they shed a curious 
 light upon the part that Theodora played {in ques- 
 tions of religion and politics. There are other writers 
 as well, longer known to us but rarely enough con- 
 sulted, suchas Johannes Lydus; there are the new 
 fragments of Malalas, not to speak of the Imperial 
 Novels, whose tiresome verbosity has, in spite of the 
 great amount of important material they contain, 
 damped the ardour of many; and even Procopius 
 himself, who, happily for us, has left other works 
 
 [ 50 J 
 
THEODORA 
 besides The Secret History. And from all these 
 
 writings, if one takes the trouble to read them care- 
 fully, certain facts emerge which place the people of 
 Justinian’s court in a different light from that in 
 which they are generally presented to us. 
 
 I 
 
 In the early years of the sixth century the no- 
 toriety of the actress and dancer Theodora was 
 widespread throughout Constantinople. 
 
 Little is known of her origins. Some of the later 
 chroniclers say that she was born in Cyprus, the hot, 
 passionate land of Aphrodite. Others, with greater 
 likelihood, bring her from Syria. But, whatever her 
 birthplace, she came while still a child to Byzantium 
 with her parents; and it was in the corrupt and turbu- 
 lent capital that her youth was spent. 
 
 Her family is equally obscure. In the legend, out 
 of reverence for the imperial rank to which she at- 
 tained, she is given an illustrious, or at least a pre- 
 sentable, ancestry in the person of a steady and 
 respectable father of senatorial rank. As a matter 
 of fact, she seems to have been of humbler origin. 
 Her father, if Zhe Secret History may be trusted, was 
 a poor man named Acacius, by profession guardian of 
 the bears in the amphitheatre; her mother was no 
 better than she should be, like many connected with 
 the stage and the circus. Into this professional house- 
 hold three daughters were born; the second, the future 
 Empress, about the year 500. 
 
 Early in life Theodora came in contact with the 
 people whom she was later to charm as an actress 
 
 [514 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 before governing as Empress. Acacius had died 
 leaving his widow and his three daughters in very 
 straightened circumstances. To retain her late 
 husband’s position, the family’s only means of 
 support, the mother saw no better way than to take 
 up with another man, who should obtain the guard- 
 ianship of the bears, and thus look after both the 
 family and the animals. But the success of her plan 
 depended upon the consent of Asterius, the head of 
 the Greens, and Asterius had accepted money to 
 support a rival candidate. In order to overcome op- 
 position, Theodora’s mother thought she might be 
 able to interest the people in her cause, and, one day 
 when the crowd was assembled in the circus, she 
 appeared in the arena thrusting before her her three 
 little daughters, crowned with flowers, who held out 
 their hands in supplication to the spectators. The 
 Greens merely laughed at the touching request; but 
 fortunately the Blues, who were always delighted to 
 oppose their adversaries, hastened to grant the prayer 
 which the Greens refused, and awarded Acacius’s 
 family an employment similar to that which it had 
 lost. Theodora never forgot the scornful indifference 
 with which the Greens had received her entreaties; 
 and from that moment began in the child the ten- 
 dency towards long-cherished rancour, and the im- 
 placable desire for vengeance, which became so strong 
 in the woman. 
 
 Thus Theodora grew up in the casual society of the 
 Hippodrome, and in the course of time was ready for 
 her future career. The elder of her sisters had made 
 a success on the stage, and Theodora followed in her 
 footsteps. She went on the boards with her big 
 
 [ 52] 
 
THEODORA 
 
 sister and played the part of lady’s-maid; she also 
 accompanied her to entertainments, where, in the 
 mixed company of the more public apartments, she 
 came across much impurity and indiscreet familiarity. 
 Then she, in her turn, became a full-fledged actress; 
 but she had no desire to be a flute-player, a singer, 
 or a dancer, like so many others; she preferred to 
 appear in living pictures, in which she could display 
 undraped the beauty of which she was so proud, 
 and in pantomimes wherein her vivacity and her 
 feeling for comedy could have full scope. 
 
 She was pretty and rather small, but extraordi- 
 narily graceful; and her charming face, with its pale, 
 creanry colouring, was lighted up by large, vivacious, 
 sparkling eyes. Little of this all-powerful charm is 
 left in her official picture in San Vitale at Ravenna. 
 Beneath her imperial mantle she appears stiff and 
 tall; under the diadem that hides her forehead her 
 delicate small face, of a narrow oval shape, and her 
 large, thin, straight nose, invest her with a sort of 
 solemn gravity, almost with melancholy. One fea- 
 ture alone remains unaltered in this faded portrait, 
 and that is the beautiful black eyes that Procopius 
 speaks of, under the heavy, meeting eyebrows, which 
 still illumine her face and seem almost to engulf it. 
 
 But Theodora had something else besides her 
 beauty. She was intelligent, witty, and amusing; 
 she had Bohemian high spirits which were often 
 exerted at the expense of her fellow-actresses, and a 
 pleasing and comic way with her that kept even the 
 most volatile adorers firmly attached. She was not 
 always kindly, and she did not stop at hard words if 
 they would provoke a laugh; but when she wanted to 
 
 [53 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 please, she knew how to put forth irresistible powers 
 of fascination. Bold, enterprising, and audacious 
 withal, she was not content to wait for favour to seek 
 her out, but set forth consciously and joyously to 
 provoke and encourage it; and having but little moral 
 sense — it is difficult to see where she could have 
 acquired it — as well as to a rare degree the perfect 
 amorous temperament, she made an immediate suc- 
 cess, both without and within the theatre. Belonging 
 to a profession of which virtue is not a necessary 
 attribute, she amused, charmed, and _ scandalised 
 Constantinople. On the stage she indulged in the 
 most audacious exhibitions and the most immodest 
 effects. Off it she soon became celebrated for her wild 
 suppers, her adventuresomeness, and the number of 
 her lovers. Soon she became so compromised that 
 respectable people passing her in the street drew aside 
 lest they should sully themselves by contact with a 
 creature so impure; and the very fact of meeting her 
 was considered an illomen. At this time she was not 
 yet twenty years of age. 
 
 Suddenly she disappeared. She had a Syrian lover, 
 Hecebolus by name, who was appointed governor of 
 the African Pentapolis; Theodora decided to ac- 
 company him to his distant province. The romance, 
 unfortunately, did not last long. For reasons un- 
 known Hecebolus brutally sent her away, and penni- 
 less, without the necessities of life, the unfortunate 
 Theodora for some time roamed all the East in 
 misery. In Alexandria at last she settled down for 
 a while, and her sojourn there was not without its 
 effect upon her future. The capital of Egypt was not 
 merely a great commercial centre, a rich and splendid 
 
 Eo 
 
THEODORA 
 
 city, of loose habits, corrupt, the favourite abode of 
 many celebrated courtesans. From the fourth cen- 
 tury onwards it was also one of the capitals of 
 Christianity. Nowhere else were religious quarrels 
 more bitter, nor theological disputes more subtle and 
 heated, nor fanaticism more easily excited; nowhere 
 else had the memory of the great founders of the soli- 
 tary life produced a richer flowering of monasteries, of 
 mystics, and of ascetics. The suburbs of Alexandria 
 were studded with religious houses, and the Libyan 
 desert was so full of hermits as to be worthy of its 
 name — “‘the Desert of the Saints.” 
 
 In her moral distress Theodora was not insensi- 
 tive to the influence of the sphere into which cir- 
 cumstances had cast her. She approached such 
 holy men as the Patriarch Timothy and Severus of 
 Antioch, who preached especially to women; and 
 it is not improbable that owing to them the penitent 
 courtesan may, momentarily at least, have entered 
 upon a purer and more Christian mode of life. By 
 the time of her return to Constantinople she had be- 
 come more sensible, more mature, and was weary of 
 her wandering existence and of her wild adventures. 
 Whether sincerely or not, she was careful to lead a 
 more virtuous, retired life. According to one tradi- 
 tion she was very respectable and proper, and lived 
 in an unpretentious little house, staying at home and 
 spinning, like the matrons of good old Roman times. 
 It was under these circumstances that she met 
 Justinian. We cannot tell how she went about to 
 enslave and hold this man, no longer young — he 
 was nearly forty —, this politician in so delicate a 
 situation, with a future which must not be compro- 
 
 [ 55 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 mised. Procopius talks of magic and philtres; but 
 that really complicates matters too much, and leaves 
 out of account the consummate intelligence, the easy 
 grace, the humour and wit, with which Theodora had 
 conquered so many hearts. Above all, it omits her 
 clear, inflexible courage, that was to influence so 
 powerfully her lover’s feeble and undecided character, 
 At all events, we know that the Prince was com- 
 pletely enslaved. Being madly in love, he refused his 
 mistress nothing. She was fond of money, so he loaded 
 her with wealth. She coveted honours and distinc- 
 tions, so he persuaded his uncle, the Emperor, to 
 raise her to the high rank of patrician. She was am- 
 bitious and keen for power, so he allowed himself to 
 be swayed by her advice and was the docile instru- 
 ment of her likes and of her hates. Soon he came to 
 the point of insisting upon marriage. The good 
 Emperor Justin was not worried by her lack of noble 
 birth, and does not seem to have grudged his consent 
 to his beloved nephew. The opposition to Justinian’s 
 scheme came from an unexpected quarter. In her 
 peasant mind the broad common sense of the Empress 
 Euphemia was shocked at the thought of having a 
 Theodora as her successor; and, in spite of all her 
 affection for her nephew, in spite of her usual compli- 
 ance with his every wish, on this point she stood firm. 
 Very fortunately, Euphemia died in 523, in the nick of 
 time. Henceforth it was plain sailing. Senators and 
 high dignitaries were forbidden by law to marry 
 women of servile condition, innkeepers’ daughters, 
 actresses, or courtesans. To please Justinian, Justin 
 abrogated the law. He went even further. When 
 in April, 527, he associated his nephew with him 
 
 [ 56 J 
 
THEODORA 
 
 officially in the imperial power, Theodora shared in 
 her husband’s elevation and triumph. With him on 
 Easter-day in St. Sophia, gleaming with candlelight, 
 she was solemnly crowned. Afterwards, according 
 to the custom of Byzantine sovereigns, she went to 
 the Hippodrome and received the acclamations of 
 the people in the place where she had made her first 
 public appearance. Her dream had come true. 
 
 II 
 
 Such is the history of Theodora’s youth; at least, 
 that is how Procopius tells it; and for some two cen- 
 turies and a half since the discovery of the manu- 
 script of The Secret History this scandalous narrative 
 has received almost universal credence. Must it 
 therefore be accepted without reserve? A pamphlet 
 is not history, and one may well inquire into the 
 truth of these amazing adventures. 
 
 Gibbon declared long ago that no one would invent 
 such incredible things, and that therefore they must 
 be true. Of late years, on the other hand, intelligent 
 scholars have at various times doubted the authority 
 of Procopius’s unsupported statements, and there 
 has been serious talk of the ‘Theodora legend.” 
 Without wishing to reopen the question, or to be- 
 little the value of some of the comments that have 
 been made, I should hesitate to whitewash too 
 thoroughly her whom The Secret History has so out- 
 rageously blackened. It is a pity that John, Bishop 
 of Ephesus, who had access to Theodora and knew 
 her well, should, out of respect for the great ones of 
 the earth, have omitted to give us full particulars con- 
 
 [ 67 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 cerning the insults which the pious but brutally out- 
 spoken monks more than once, so he tells us, directed 
 against the Empress. It is certain, at all events, that 
 Procopius was not alone among her contemporaries in 
 criticising her, and that there were persons attached to 
 the imperial court, such as the secretary Priscus and 
 the Praefect John of Cappadocia, who knew the joints 
 in her armour. I do not know whether, as Proco- 
 pius states, she really had a son in her youth, whose 
 birth was due to an unfortunate accident; but it is 
 certain, at all events, that she had a daughter of 
 whom Justinian was not the father. This reminder 
 of her stormy past does not seem, however, if we 
 may judge by the success that this girl’s son had at 
 court, either to have worried the Empress very much, 
 or to have troubled the Emperor. Certain of 
 Theodora’s characteristics fit in fairly well with the 
 stories that are told about her youth: the interest 
 she took in poor girls of the capital, who had been 
 led astray, more often through want than through 
 viciousness, and the steps she took to rescue these 
 unfortunates and to free them, as a contemporary 
 writer puts it, ‘from the yoke of their shameful 
 slavery”; and also the rather contemptuous harsh- 
 ness with which she always treated men. And if 
 all this that is undeniable is admitted, it will be im- 
 possible to reject The Secret History in its entirety. 
 
 1 It must be added that in an unfortunately somewhat obscure passage 
 in his Lives of the Blessed Orientals, John of Ephesus, who knew the Empress 
 well, calls her rather brutally, but without otherwise seeming to cast re- 
 proach upon her, “Theodora the strumpet.” If the translation ’e« Tod 
 mopveiov, by which Land renders the Syriac text, is accurate, the passage 
 would confirm in one word the essence of what Procopius relates in such 
 detail. 
 
 [ 58 J 
 
THEODORA 
 
 But are we therefore obliged to believe that 
 Theodora’s adventures had the blazing notoriety 
 that Procopius invests them with; that she was, as 
 in his account, a courtesan on the heroic scale, an 
 angel of evil, whom the Devil permitted to go flaunt- 
 ing her lusts to and fro upon the earth? It must not 
 be forgotten that Procopius has a habit of investing 
 his characters with an almost epic perversity; and 
 although he tries hard to determine to a_hair’s- 
 breadth the lowest point to which Theodora fell, I 
 for my part regard her — though her interest may 
 thereby be diminished — as the heroine of a less ex- 
 traordinary tale. She was a dancer who, having led 
 the same life as the majority of her kind im all ages, 
 tired suddenly of her precarious amours, and, finding 
 a sensible man who could provide her with a home, 
 settled down to married life and conjugal devotion — 
 an adventuress, perhaps, but at the same time astute, 
 quiet, and clever enough to be able to keep up ap- 
 pearances; one who could marry even a future Em- 
 peror without a fearful scandal. Ludovic Halévy, I 
 know, created just such a character and named her 
 Virginie Cardinal. But it is not this Theodora who 
 is of importance to us. For there is another, a less 
 well-known and far more interesting Theodora: a 
 great Empress, closely associated in all Justinian’s 
 work, who often played a decisive part in the govern- 
 ment, a woman of high courage, of exceptional in- 
 telligence, energetic, despotic, proud, violent and pas- 
 sionate, complex and baffling, but always extraor- 
 dinarily fascinating. 
 
 Eso 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 II] 
 
 In the apse of San Vitale at Ravenna, glowing 
 with golden mosaics, we may still see Theodora in all 
 the splendour of her majesty. The costume she is 
 wearing is of unparalleled magnificence. Clad in a 
 long purple-violet mantle with a broad border of 
 gold embroidery flowing in glistening folds, she wears 
 on her aureoled head a lofty diadem of gold and pre- 
 cious stones; in and out through her hair are wound 
 twisted strands of gems and pearls, while other 
 jewels fall in sparkling streams upon her shoulders. 
 Thus she appears in this official portrait to the eyes of 
 posterity, and thus in her lifetime she desired to 
 appear to her contemporaries. Seldom has upstart 
 accustomed herself more rapidly to the exigencies 
 of her newly-acquired majesty; seldom has high- 
 born sovereign loved and appreciated more thoroughly 
 the many pleasures, the delights of luxury, and the 
 little gratifications of pride, which the exercise of 
 supreme power can bestow. Very feminine, always 
 elegant and eager to please, she loved sumptuous 
 apartments, magnificent clothes, marvellous jewels, 
 and an exquisite and delicate table. She took careful 
 and constant care of her beauty. In order to keep 
 her face calm and serene she lengthened her hours of 
 sleep by endless siestas; to preserve the freshness of 
 her complexion she took frequent baths followed by 
 long hours of rest. For she felt that her charm was 
 the surest guarantee of her influence. 
 
 Even more tenacious was she of the circumstances 
 of power. She would have her own court, her own 
 following, her own guards and processions; like the 
 
 [ 60 J 
 
THEODORA 
 
 upstart she was, she loved the complications of cere- 
 monial, and added to them. To win her approval 
 one had to be constantly paying court to her, to 
 prostrate oneself at her feet, and to dance attend- 
 ance interminably every day in her antechambers at 
 her hours of audience. Her theatrical experience had 
 given her a taste for stage-effects as well as the 
 knowledge of how to obtain them; but above all, be- 
 ing very haughty, she insisted jealously upon her rank, 
 and it doubtless gave her a secret delight to see so 
 many great nobles, who in former days had treated her 
 with more familiarity, bending low over her purple 
 buskins. 
 
 It would be somewhat ingenuous, however, to 
 imagine that all this display, this apparent insistence 
 upon etiquette, must necessarily have excluded 
 such adventures as those that Sardou has invented 
 for his Theodora. It is certain that many mys- 
 terious things about which Justinian knew nothing 
 could take place in the Imperial Gynaeceum; the 
 story of the Patriarch Anthemius which I have 
 already related is proof of this. Nor would I be so 
 foolish as to insist upon Theodora’s post-marital 
 virtue. Although, as is well known, it is always 
 difficult to be certain on such points, I am not ready 
 to believe that the Augusta’s life was without re- 
 proach. I am fully convinced that during her youth 
 she went the pace, and I do not feel called upon to 
 be scandalised if she kept it up in later life; Justinian 
 would have been the only person entitled to complain. 
 But facts are facts and one must take them as one 
 finds them. 
 
 Now, it is certain that no contemporary writers 
 
 [61 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 nor any historians of a later age — and it is these 
 last who have strongly censured Theodora for her 
 cupidity, her despotic and violent temper, her exces- 
 sive influence over Justinian, and the scandal to 
 which her heterodox views gave rise —, not one of 
 them records anything which casts doubt upon the 
 correctness of her private life after her marriage. 
 Even Procopius, who has so calumniated her, re- 
 lating so fully the adventures of her youth, and 
 telling with his notorious wealth of detail of her 
 perfidies, her cruelties, and her infamies, as a grown 
 woman, even he — however little attentively one 
 may wish to read the text — does not hint at the 
 shadow of an amorous adventure after her marriage 
 on the part of this absolutely corrupt woman. I 
 think it will be readily allowed that, if the Empress 
 had given the slightest occasion, the pamphleteer 
 would not have been backward in describing her 
 adulteries in detail. He has told of nothing of the 
 sort because there was really nothing to tell. 
 
 But this reflects no credit upon Theodora’s moral 
 qualities. Aside from the fact that she was no longer 
 young when she ascended the throne — an Eastern 
 woman at thirty is almost on the threshold of old 
 age —, she was too intelligent and too ambitious to 
 risk compromising by love-intrigues the position she 
 had won for herself. Supreme power was worth 
 taking some pains to preserve, and the dignity of her 
 life reflects credit quite as much upon her common 
 sense as upon her moral qualities. But chiefly, this 
 courageous and ambitious woman, so eagerly desirous 
 of power, had other interests than the pursuit of vulgar 
 amours. She was endowed with several of the prin- 
 
 [ 62 J 
 
THEODORA 
 
 cipal qualities which justify the striving for supreme 
 power: a proud energy, a stern fixity of purpose, and 
 a serene courage that never failed her even in the 
 most difficult circumstances. It was owing to these 
 qualities that, during the twenty-one years that 
 she shared Justinian’s throne, she exercised a pro- 
 found — and legitimate — influence over her adoring 
 
 husband. 
 
 IV 
 
 One incident that must never be forgotten in 
 writing of Theodora is the part she played on that 
 tragic 18th of January, 532, when the triumphant 
 rebels stormed at the gates of the Imperial Palace, 
 and the distracted Emperor completely lost his head 
 and thought only of flight. Theodora was present at 
 the council; in the midst of the general discourage- 
 ment she alone was brave and self-controlled. At 
 first she said nothing; suddenly, in the silence, she 
 arose, disgusted with the universal cowardice, and 
 recalled the wavering Emperor and his ministers to 
 their duty. ‘‘If there were left me no safety but in 
 flight, I would not fly” said she. ‘‘Those who have 
 worn the crown should never survive its loss. Never 
 will I see the day that I am not hailed Empress. If 
 you wish to fly, Caesar, well and good; you have 
 money, the ships are ready, the sea is clear; but I 
 shall stay. For I love the old proverb that says: 
 ‘The purple is the best winding-sheet.’’’ On that 
 day, when, to quote a contemporary, “the very 
 Empire seemed upon the brink of destruction’, 
 Theodora saved Justinian’s throne; and in this 
 
 [ 63 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 supreme struggle, when her crown and her life were 
 at stake, ambition inspired her to real heroism. 
 
 At this decisive moment Theodora, by her coolness 
 and energy, shewed herself a statesman; and, as has 
 been well said, she proved herself worthy of the place 
 in the Imperial Council which until then she had 
 owed to the Emperor’s weakness. Henceforth she 
 never lost it, and Justinian did not begrudge it her. 
 To the very last he was passionately devoted to the 
 woman he had adored in his younger days; and as 
 he was completely under the influence of her superior 
 intelligence and of her strong and resolute will, he 
 never refused her anything, either the outward show 
 or the real exercise of supreme power. 
 
 Upon the church walls of that time and over the 
 gates of citadels Theodora’s name may still be read 
 alongside of the Emperor’s; in San Vitale at Ravenna 
 her portrait is a pendant to that of her imperial 
 husband; and in the mosaics that decorated the apart- 
 ments of the Sacred Palace Justinian had in like man- 
 ner associated Theodora with him in connexion with 
 his military triumphs and the brightest glories of his 
 reign. The people erected statues to her, and offi- 
 cials did homage to her, as they did to Justinian, for 
 throughout her life she was the equal of the Emperor. 
 Upon the most momentous questions Justinian was 
 pleased to take the advice of ‘‘the most reverend 
 spouse whom God had given unto him”, whom he 
 loved to call “‘his sweetest delight”; and her con- 
 temporaries are unanimous in declaring that she used 
 unscrupulously her boundless influence over the 
 sovereign, and that her power was quite as great as 
 his, and perhaps greater. 
 
 [ 64 J 
 
THEODORA 
 
 During the twenty-one years of her reign she inter- 
 fered in everything; she filled the administration 
 with her protégés; she meddled in diplomacy, in 
 politics, and in the Church, and managed things to 
 suit herself; she created and deposed popes and 
 patriarchs, ministers and generals, as her fancy dic- 
 tated; she was as eager to advance her favourites 
 as she was to ruin the influence and power of her 
 adversaries; nor did she even hesitate, whenever she 
 thought proper, to countermand openly the sover- 
 eign’s orders and substitute her own for them. In all 
 matters of importance she was her husband’s active 
 assistant; and, although her influence was sometimes 
 unfortunate, although her cupidity, her violence, and 
 her. pride, by arousing the pride and cupidity of the 
 Emperor, inspired unwise acts, it must be remem- 
 bered that she had often a truer insight than he into 
 the interests of the State, and that the political ideas 
 which she had at heart, if the times had permitted 
 of their full realisation, would have solidified and 
 strengthened the Byzantine Empire and perhaps even 
 have altered the course of history. 
 
 Whereas Justinian, carried away by the splendour 
 of Roman antiquity, revelled in fancies now magnifi- 
 cent, now hazy, dreaming of the restoration of the 
 Empire of the Caesars and the triumph of Orthodoxy 
 through union with Rome, Theodora, with a clearer 
 and more penetrating vision, turned her eyes to the | 
 East. She had always been in sympathy with the it 
 monks of Syria and Egypt, such as Zooras, Jacobus Ih 
 Baradaeus, and many others, receiving them in the i 
 Palace, and entreating their prayers in spite of their 
 ugly rags and their uncouth manners. Like all good 
 
 [ 65 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 Byzantines she was sincerely devout. But besides 
 this she was too acute and had too keen a polit- 
 ical sense not to understand the importance of 
 religious questions in a Christian State, and the 
 danger of ignoring them. Now, she felt that the rich 
 and flourishing provinces of Asia, Syria, and Egypt, 
 constituted the real strength of the monarchy; she 
 realised the danger that was brewing for the Empire 
 in the religious differences by which the peoples of 
 the East from this time forth began to manifest their 
 separatist tendencies; she felt the need of pacifying 
 the dangerous unrest by opportune concessions and 
 by broad toleration; and in trying to divert the 
 imperial policy to the attainment of this end she 
 may without paradox be considered to have shewn 
 better judgement and a clearer insight into the future 
 than her imperial colleague. 
 
 Whereas Justinian, a theologian at heart, gave up 
 his time to religious questions out of a love of con- 
 troversy, for the sterile pleasure of dogmatising, Theo- 
 dora, by her realisation of the deep political problems 
 which underlay the shifting and changing quarrels of 
 the theologians, proved herself of the race of the great 
 Byzantine Emperors. And that is why, in the inter- 
 ests of the State, she went on her way unswerving, 
 openly protecting heretics, boldly challenging the 
 Papacy, carrying the irresolute Justinian along with 
 her, throwing herself with her whole soul into the 
 struggle, and never acknowledging defeat. It was to 
 her protection that heretic Egypt owed many years 
 of toleration; it was through her that heretic Syria 
 was able to put its persecuted national church upon a 
 firm foundation; she it was who made it possible for 
 
 [ 66 J 
 
THEODORA 
 
 the dissenters first to be restored to favour and to re- 
 sume freely the spreading of their doctrines, and after- 
 wards to withstand the excommunications of many 
 councils and the harshness of the secular arm; and 
 it was to her that the Monophysite missions in 
 Arabia, Nubia, and Abyssinia owed their success. 
 To the day of her death she kept up a tenacious, 1m- 
 passioned struggle for her beliefs, like a statesman, 
 and yet like a true woman. She could be yielding or 
 brutal according to circumstances; she had the bold- 
 ness to cause the arrest and deposition of one Pope, 
 and the ability to bend another to her will; she had 
 the courage to protect her persecuted friends and to 
 furnish them with the means of reforming their 
 church, and the adroitness often to make the Em- 
 peror carry out her policies whether he would or no. 
 
 The Church has never pardoned Theodora the 
 brutal deposition of Pope Silverius, nor the tenacity 
 with which she clung to Monophysitism, nor the over- 
 bearing violence with which she settled scores with 
 ecclesiastics — with Vigilius in particular. Century 
 after century, ecclesiastical historians have hurled 
 curses and insults at her. But Theodora is worthy 
 of being judged with less violence and more justice. 
 Doubtless she carried out her plans with a too pas- 
 sionate eagerness, a too imperious brutality, a too 
 obstinate rancour, even with a too cold-blooded 
 cruelty; but she had great gifts as well: she was 
 keenly alive to the needs of the government and saw 
 clearly what was capable of accomplishment. The 
 policy she had at heart does honour to her clarity 
 of vision, and, taken all in all, was worthy of an 
 Emperor. 
 
 Eee] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 V 
 
 But her great interest lies in the fact that under 
 her statesmanlike qualities Theodora was a woman. 
 She shews it by her love of luxury and elegance, and 
 much more by the fierceness of her passions and the 
 strength of her hates. When her interests were at 
 stake, she had no hesitations and no scruples. Merci- 
 lessly she got rid of everyone whose influence might 
 outweigh her own; pitilessly she broke all whose am- 
 bition shewed signs of affecting her power or of under- 
 mining her influence. To avenge herself and to pre- 
 serve her power she would stoop to anything, force 
 and craft, falsehood and bribery, intrigue and violence. 
 And if she felt at times that the feeble Justinian was 
 escaping from her grasp, if circumstances and influ- 
 ences beyond her control caused her momentarily to 
 give way, she always contrived by means of her au- 
 dacity and her pliancy to stage a striking revenge; 
 ambitious and subtle, she always insisted upon 
 having the last word on everything —and_ she 
 always succeeded. 
 
 The gossips of Constantinople told dark stories of 
 secret executions at Theodora’s orders, of under- 
 ground dungeons, of prisons, silent and _ terrible, 
 where her victims were incarcerated and tortured. 
 One must be careful not to take these tales too liter- 
 ally. Some of the Empress’s most illustrious victims 
 did not fare so badly on the whole, and succeeded, in 
 spite of short periods of disgrace, in making credit- 
 able careers for themselves; it is a fact, moreover, 
 that her most dangerous adversaries were sent not to 
 death but merely into exile. 
 
 [ 68 J 
 
THEODORA 
 
 But, without enlarging unnecessarily the list of her 
 cruelties, one must not make Theodora out too merci- 
 ful and too good. When she hated, she was not the 
 sort of woman to stop at anything, whether at the 
 scandal of an unjust disgrace, or even, perhaps, at an 
 assassination. The stories of the Emperor’s nephew 
 Germanus, of Priscus the secretary, and of Photius, 
 the son-in-law of Belisarius, are enough to shew the 
 strength of her hatred. The fall of the Praefect John 
 of Cappadocia, the bold and formidable minister who 
 held her in his grip for a moment and made her fear 
 for her power, illustrates even better the unscrupu- 
 lous energy of her ambitious soul and the incredible 
 resources of her perfidy. In like manner, and by a 
 similar mixture of adroitness and violence, she made 
 so great a general as Belisarius pay for his rare 
 outbursts of independence, and through her ascend- 
 ancy over Antonia, the patrician’s wife, contrived to 
 make him her very humble and docile servant. Here 
 again one is forced to admire both the Empress’s 
 great ingenuity in managing an intrigue, and her 
 carelessness of the means and instruments employed. 
 Antonia, after a stormy youth, constantly deceived 
 her doting husband; but she was astute and bold, 
 consummate in intrigue, and capable, says Procopius, 
 who knew her well, of accomplishing the impossible. 
 Theodora quickly saw that by veiling this woman’s 
 love-affairs she could make her the devoted slave of 
 her schemes and the best guarantee of Belisarius’s 
 fidelity. They formed an alliance. Antonia put all 
 her cleverness at the Basilissa’s disposal, and in the 
 deposition of Pope Silverius, as well as in the disgrace 
 of John of Cappadocia, played an important part, 
 
 [ 69 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 and demonstrated the extent of her ability. In 
 return, Theodora covered up all her follies and her 
 slips, and on several occasions reconciled her to 
 Belisarius and made him pardon her. And thus, 
 having her favourite at her mercy, the Empress 
 through her kept the general under her thumb.! 
 From the favour she shewed Antonia, must we 
 conclude, with Zhe Secret History, that Theodora 
 tolerated women’s failings and concealed many lapses 
 under her imperial robe? The facts give a contrary 
 impression. It may be that, owing to her high- 
 handed impulses and her habit of subordinating 
 everything to her schemes, Theodora did at times in- 
 terfere indiscreetly in the family affairs of others, and 
 arranged marriages in the same despotic way that she 
 governed the State. But by the laws which she 
 caused to be made on divorce and adultery, as well 
 as by her actions, she shewed a constant interest in 
 strengthening the ties of marriage — “‘that holiest of 
 all things’, as a law of the period terms it —, and in 
 making this lawful and holy estate respected by 
 everyone. The truth is that she was, as an historian 
 says, ‘“naturally anxious to help unfortunate women”, 
 and this anxiety is shewn in the measures she caused 
 to be adopted with regard to women who were 
 badly treated or unhappily married, and also in those 
 which she advised for comedy-actresses and fallen 
 women. She knew from experience the slums of the 
 capital, and realised all the misery and shame that 
 they contained; and early in her reign used her in- 
 
 1 Upon these two incidents the reader may consult two chapters in my 
 book previously cited: “Théodora et Jean de Cappadoce,” pp. 173-90, and 
 “Théodora et Bélisaire,” pp. 191-216. 
 
 Lo 
 
THEODORA 
 
 fluence to improve them. But she was none the less 
 very strict, a watchful guardian of public morals, 
 and she undertook the task of making her capital 
 purer and more moral.! 
 
 Are we to believe that some memory of her own 
 experiences and a measure of sorrow for her past were 
 responsible for these measures? On the whole it is 
 probable, if not certain; and it cannot but enhance 
 our opinion of her. There is a singular nobility in the 
 following words from an imperial edict, which she 
 undoubtedly inspired: ‘“We have set up magistrates 
 to punish robbers and thieves; are we not even more 
 straitly bound to prosecute the robbers of honour 
 and the thieves of chastity?” 
 
 It would indeed be puerile to try to conceal 
 Theodora’s defects and vices. She loved money and 
 she loved power; she shewed perhaps too much 
 family affection in providing for her relatives, and, 
 in order to preserve the throne she had ascended, she 
 was unscrupulous, perfidious, violent, cruel, implac- 
 able, bitter, and adamant, to those who had incurred 
 her hatred. She was a woman of great ambition, 
 who by her intrigues troubled the Palace and the Em- 
 pire profoundly. But she had her good qualities as 
 well. Her friends called her “‘the faithful Empress’, 
 and she deserved the name. She had other, more 
 eminent virtues: a masculine vigour, a lofty energy, 
 and a statesman’s clear and powerful intelligence. 
 Her influence was not always good; but she made a 
 deep impress upon Justinian’s government. After 
 her death there followed a period of decadence in 
 which the once-glorious reign drew sadly to a close. 
 
 1 See the chapter, “Le Féminisme de Théodora,” pp. 217-230, in my book. 
 
 [71] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 When on the 29th of June, 548, Theodora, after a 
 
 long illness, died of cancer, Justinian mourned 
 bitterly a loss which he rightly felt to be irreparable. 
 During her lifetime he had adored her, and after her 
 death he piously treasured her memory. As a memo- 
 rial to her he desired to keep in his service all who 
 had been near her; many years later, whenever he 
 wished to make a solemn promise, he was in the 
 habit of swearing by the name of Theodora, and those 
 who desired to please him would talk to him about 
 “‘the excellent, beautiful, and wise sovereign” who, 
 after helping him faithfully in this world, was now 
 praying to God for her husband. 
 
 It must be admitted that this apotheosis is some- 
 what excessive. Theodora the dancer did not have 
 precisely those virtues which carry one straight to 
 Paradise. Theodora the Empress, in spite of her 
 piety, was possessed of faults and vices hardly con- 
 sistent with the haloes of the saints. But the point 
 is worthy of notice, for it shews the incomparable 
 fascination and charm that this very ambitious, but 
 thoroughly feminine, woman was able to exert even 
 from beyond the grave. 
 
 [721 
 
IV 
 IRENE 
 
 nople was in festive array; the Byzantine 
 
 capital was celebrating the marriage of the 
 heir apparent of the Empire, Leo, son of Constan- 
 tine V. 
 
 On the morning of November Ist, a flotilla of boats, 
 sumptuously spread with brilliant silks, had gone to 
 the Palace of Hieria, on the Asiatic shore of the 
 Bosphorus to fetch the young bride across for her 
 solemn entry into Byzantium. Several weeks later, 
 on the 18th of December, in the triclinium of the 
 Augustaeum in the Sacred Palace, before the as- 
 sembled court, the two Basileis had crowned the new 
 sovereign. Seated on golden thrones, Constantine and 
 his son, in the presence of the Patriarch, had lifted 
 the veil that hid the face of the future Empress, had 
 vested her with the silken chlamys over her long 
 golden robe, had set the crown upon her head, and had 
 fastened the jewelled pendants in her ears. Then, in 
 St. Stephen’s Church, the new Augusta had received 
 the homage of the high officials of the monarchy; 
 from the terrace of the Hall of the Nineteen Couches 
 she had shewn herself to the people and had been 
 acclaimed by them. Lastly, she had returned to St. 
 Stephen’s, with her brilliant following of patricians, 
 
 [75 J 
 
 [vee the end of the year 768, Constanti- 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 senators, cubicularies, and maids of honour, and there 
 the Patriarch Nicetas had solemnized the marriage, 
 and had placed the nuptial crown upon the heads 
 of bride and bridegroom. 
 
 The old Emperor Constantine V, that energetic 
 iconoclast, never dreamt when he arranged these 
 festivities and when he set the diadem of the Caesars 
 upon the young woman’s head, that this delicate 
 Basilissa was to destroy his life’s work and lose the 
 throne for his dynasty. 
 
 I 
 
 Like Athenais-Eudocia, Irene was by birth an 
 Athenian; like her, she was an orphan, when circum- 
 stances of which we know nothing, and in which her 
 beauty was doubtless the essential factor, made her 
 an Emperor’s daughter-in-law. But there the resem- 
 blance between the two Princesses stops. Athens in 
 the eighth century was wholly different from what it 
 had been in the fifth. It was no longer the home of 
 pagan letters, a university town, full of the glory of 
 ancient writers and the memory of illustrious philoso- 
 phers. It no longer preserved religiously the memory 
 of its exiled gods in the shadow of its temples. In 
 the time of Irene it was a pious, quiet, little provin- 
 cial town, where the Parthenon had been converted 
 into a church, where St. Sophia had driven Pallas- 
 Athene from the Acropolis, and where the saints had 
 replaced the gods. In such surroundings, education, 
 and, above all, feminine education, could no longer 
 be what it had been in Athenais’s time. Like the 
 majority of her contemporaries, Irene was devout 
 and pious, with an intense, burning piety, that was 
 
 Ea 
 
IRENE 
 
 aggravated by the events of the troubled times in 
 which she lived. 
 
 A serious religious conflict had been disturbing 
 the Byzantine Empire for more than forty years, and 
 the struggle, called the Iconoclastic Controversy, was 
 now at its height. The strictly theological nature of 
 the term must not blind one to the real character 
 of this formidable crisis; it was quite other than a 
 mere trifling question of discipline or worship. Un- 
 doubtedly the Iconoclastic Emperors, devout as 
 were all the men of their age, were inspired by the 
 most ardent and sincere religious motives; one of the 
 objects of their reform was to raise the moral plane of 
 religion by stripping it of such a renascence of pagan- 
 ism as the excessive veneration of the images of the 
 Virgin and the saints seemed to them to be. Another 
 point troubled them even more: above all else, they 
 were dismayed at the power that the monks, the 
 chief defenders of the images, had, by their wealth 
 and influence, acquired in the State. Beginning 
 with the eighth century, there was in fact — strange 
 as it may appear in so Christian an Empire as 
 Byzantium — a struggle between the State and the 
 monks. 
 
 Against the latter the Emperor Constantine V, a 
 passionate, violent, energetic man, had carried on 
 the war with peculiar severity. By his orders, brutal 
 and often terrible executions had taken place. The 
 monasteries had been secularised, and the religious 
 driven out, imprisoned, or exiled. Constantinople 
 had scarcely any monks left in it. All Byzantine 
 society had joined in the struggle in one or the 
 other camp. On one side was officialdom: the court 
 
 [75 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 clergy, the functionaries, the upper classes, and the 
 army, utterly devoted to so victorious a general as 
 Constantine V. On the other side were the lower 
 clergy, the middle classes, the people, and the women, 
 whose mystical piety was enthralled by the splen- 
 dours of ritual, whose devotion was kindled by the 
 magnificence of the churches, and who could not 
 bring themselves to give up the miraculous and 
 venerated icons. 
 
 Irene was a woman, and came besides from a prov- 
 ince ardently devoted to the images. Her sympathies 
 were thus not to be doubted. But at the time when 
 she became a member of the imperial family the 
 persecution was at its height, and it would not have 
 been wise for her to shew too decided an opposition 
 in the neighbourhood of the formidable Constan- 
 tine V. Irene, therefore, carefully dissimulated her 
 real beliefs. She even, at her father-in-law’s request, 
 went to the extent of swearing a solemn oath never to 
 accept image-worship; and at this moment some part 
 of her lying and unscrupulous spirit, later to shew 
 itself so forcibly, makes its appearance. 
 
 However, despite this apparent submissiveness, 
 the young woman’s piety was not without its results. 
 This became clear when, in 775, upon the death of 
 Constantine V, the new Emperor, Leo IV, perhaps 
 under Irene’s influence, which was very great at the 
 beginning of his reign, relaxed to some extent the 
 former penalties. The Basilissa was determined. 
 Many women harboured the proscribed images; it 
 is said that in the Palace itself Anthusa, a daughter 
 of Constantine V, fearlessly kept up her devotion to 
 the forbidden icons. Irene imagined she could imi- 
 
 [ 76 ] 
 
IRENE 
 
 tate her sister-in-law, and fancied she might be able 
 to restore the prohibited worship secretly in the 
 imperial residence. Her attempt was destined to a 
 tragic outcome. In April, 780, several of the Em- 
 press’s intimate friends were arrested and put to 
 torture by order of Leo IV, under suspicion of Icono- 
 dule sympathies. The Basilissa herself was compro- 
 mised. It was reported that one day her husband 
 discovered in her apartments two images of saints 
 hidden under the cushions. At sight of them he be- 
 came violently angry; and although Irene, who was 
 always ready to swear to anything, vowed she had 
 no idea who had put them there, her influence with 
 the Emperor was seriously impaired. She was in a 
 sort of disgrace when, happily for her, Leo IV died 
 suddenly in September of the same year. The heir 
 to the throne, Constantine VI, was a child of ten; 
 and Irene, his governor and regent, was Empress. 
 
 tT 
 
 Few historical personages are more difficult to esti- 
 mate correctly than the celebrated sovereign who 
 restored Orthodoxy in Byzantium. She is known to 
 have been beautiful; there is every reason to believe 
 that she was chaste, and that, although thrown while 
 still in her youth into a corrupt and dangerous court, 
 she always kept herself above reproach. And, lastly, 
 she was devout. But besides this what do we know 
 of Irene? What was the temper of her mind? What 
 was her character? The acts of her government, to 
 be sure, give us glimpses; but were these acts the 
 result of her own will? During her reign, did she 
 
 gee 
 
Whi 
 
 BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 have ideas of her own, or was she only an instrument 
 in the hands of astute advisers? These are a few of 
 the difficult problems to be decided, and they are the 
 more difficult from the fact that the writers of her 
 time exhaust all the expressions of unbounded admi- 
 ration in speaking of this devout, orthodox Princess, 
 
 It would be possible, by following their lead, to 
 describe Irene in the most flattering terms; and 
 some writers of our own times have not failed to do 
 so. A celebrated novelist who amused himself in his 
 younger days by making a sketch of this most pious 
 Empress, and who has just portrayed her more fully 
 in a picturesque and masterly novel,! describes her as 
 initiated into the mysteries of Platonic philosophy, 
 into the dogmas of “‘cosmopolitan Hermetism’’, as 
 knowing “‘the power-bestowing theurgical incanta- 
 tions’, and as using this power, when she had mas- 
 tered it, for one end alone, the greatness of Byzan- 
 tium and the restoration of the ancient hegemony of 
 the Roman Empire. Let him who would see her 
 through the eyes of Paul Adam read this: ‘Seated 
 beneath the imperial canopy at the extreme point of 
 the promontory overlooking the rapid waters of the 
 Bosphorus, she spent her evenings under the death- 
 less beauty of the Levantine sky watching her reflec- 
 tion in the polished metal basins, splendid as the 
 Mother of God in the shrine-like majesty of her 
 garments that caught the glimmer of the twin- 
 kling stars in every facet of their matchless jewels. 
 Thoughts of victory thrilled within her. She called 
 to mind the mysterious teachings of the schools. The 
 love of making a people vibrate to the breath of her 
 
 1 Paul Adam, Iréne ef les eunuques, Paris, 1906. 
 
 [ 78 J 
 
IRENE 
 
 soul left her panting and exhausted.”’! And such is 
 the author’s sympathy for this remarkable woman 
 that her very crime finds excuse in his eyes, and 
 seems to him almost justified. She dethroned her son 
 and had him blinded, says the novelist, ““because she 
 preferred to suppress the individual for the benefit of 
 the race. And she was absolutely right.” ? 
 
 These, of course, are poetic imaginings. But even 
 serious historians have portrayed Irene in no less 
 seductive ‘guise. One praises her talents, her great 
 ability, her resourcefulness, her clear-sightedness, and 
 her force of character.2 Another regards her as an 
 altogether remarkable woman, who gave the By- 
 zantine Empire ‘‘the best and most reconstructive 
 government that it probably ever had.” And he 
 adds: ‘‘She was a woman really born to rule, for she 
 had a masculine intellect, she was admirably en- 
 dowed with all the qualities of a great sovereign, she 
 knew how to speak to the people and make them love 
 her; she was excellent in her choice of advisers, and 
 was possessed of perfect courage and admirable 
 presence of mind.” 4 
 
 I must confess that to me Irene is much less at- 
 tractive. She was overwhelmingly ambitious — her 
 admirers remark that her dominating characteristic 
 was the love of power (7d ¢idapxov) —, and all her 
 life she was devoured by a consuming passion, the 
 desire to rule. She was young and beautiful; but 
 she never took a lover for fear of acquiring a master. 
 She was a mother; but ambition stamped out even 
 
 1 Paul Adam, Princesses byzantines, pp. 33-4. 2 [bid., p. 80. 
 8 A. Gasquet, L’ Empire byzantin et la monarchie franque, pp. 252, 287. 
 4G. Schlumberger, Les Iles des Princes, p. 112. 
 
 es 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 her maternal affection. To attain her self-appointed 
 ends she allowed no scruples to stand in her way; 
 she considered all means worthy, dissimulation and 
 intrigue, cruelty and treachery. She directed all the 
 powers of her mind and all the strength of her pride 
 towards one single object, the throne. And this was 
 her entire life. Even her very real and deep piety 
 helped her ambitious schemes; for it was a narrow, 
 superstitious piety, which made her fancy that she 
 was God’s chosen instrument, that she had a work to 
 accomplish in the world, a work that she must defend 
 and never permit others to overthrow. She thus 
 successfully combined religious promptings with 
 ambition and love of power; and, being conse- 
 quently always convinced that she was in the right, 
 and certain of her duty, she pressed sincerely on to 
 her goal without pausing at any obstacle or allowing 
 any difficulty to turn her aside from the path. She 
 was proud and passionate, violent, brutal, and cruel; 
 she was tenacious and obstinate, and followed up her 
 schemes with extraordinary and untiring persever- 
 ance. She was subtle and dissembling, and brought 
 an unprecedented resourcefulness and an incompar- 
 able genius for plotting and intrigue to the fulfillment 
 of her designs. There is, decidedly, an element of 
 grandeur in this familiar habit of supreme power 
 which ultimately gains a complete mastery of the 
 soul and so transforms it that all natural feeling is 
 abolished and nothing is left but ambition. 
 
 It is well to bear in mind that, as regards exter- 
 nals, Irene was admirably suited to the part of a 
 woman of great ambition. She was majestic, she 
 had the dramatic sense, she loved splendour and 
 
 [ 80 J 
 
IRENE 
 
 magnificence, and she loved to build; in all of 
 which she reveals her femininity. In addition, her 
 friends maintain that she governed well, that the 
 people loved her and regretted her downfall, and that 
 her reign was an era of unmixed prosperity. We shall 
 see presently what to think of this praise. In any 
 case, I am unable to distinguish the great intelligence, 
 the vigorous intellect, the masculine courage, and the 
 strength of soul in adversity, that her adherents at- 
 tribute to the Empress. One thing that makes me 
 doubt her statesmanlike qualities and her clearness 
 of insight is the fact that she was always too quick to 
 think she had succeeded, and that several times she 
 encountered obstacles which she ought to have fore- 
 seen. She was able and powerful, perhaps, at in- 
 trigue; but in her methods of operation I see rather a 
 petty trickiness and slyness, which, while it some- 
 times undoubtedly succeeded, in no way implies 
 genius. I grant that she was pertinacious, and that 
 she kept hammering at obstructions until she had 
 broken them down. But, in spite of her much- 
 vaunted greatness of soul (7d xparaiddpov) and 
 masculine spirit (76 dppevwrdy dpdvyya), she appears 
 to me neither truly energetic nor really brave. 
 
 In 797, when she was on the point of carrying out 
 the coup d état which overthrew her son, she lost her 
 head at the critical moment; she took fright, thought 
 of humiliating herself, believed the business had 
 miscarried, and wanted to abandon the whole project. 
 In 802, when some conspirators brought about her 
 own downfall, she allowed herself to be dethroned 
 without even attempting resistance. She was weak 
 in defeat, and in victory pitiless. The treatment she 
 
 [81 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 inflicted on her son makes it superfluous to mention 
 her heart. Undoubtedly she did some great things 
 during the twenty-odd years of her reign: she dared 
 bring about a political and religious revolution of 
 unparalleled importance. But she herself had neither 
 greatness of soul nor greatness of will. 
 
 But, whatever Irene was like, the times in which she 
 lived still remain strangely interesting and dramatic. 
 As has been truly said: “In all Byzantine history, 
 full as it is of incredible events, the reign of Irene is 
 perhaps one of the most astonishing.” ! 
 
 III 
 
 When the death of Leo IV gave into Irene’s hands 
 the substance of supreme power, there were many 
 rival ambitions in the field. At court she was con- 
 fronted by the silent hostility of her brothers-in-law, 
 the five sons of Constantine V, popular and ambi- 
 tious men, from whom she had everything to fear. 
 Their father, before he died, had vainly made them 
 swear never to conspire against the legitimate 
 sovereign; as soon as Leo IV had ascended the throne 
 they had broken their oaths; and even though, after 
 this attempt, the eldest of them, the Caesar Nice- 
 phorus, had been stripped of his dignities and exiled 
 to far-off Cherson, a numerous following undertook to 
 work on their behalf. Moreover, all the chief posts 
 in the government were occupied by zealous Icono- 
 clasts. The Master of the Offices, or Chancellor, and 
 the Domestic of the Scholae, or Commander-in-Chief 
 of the Army, were old and tried servants of the dead 
 
 1K. Molinier, Histoire des arts appliqués a UV industrie, tome i, p. 84. 
 
 [ 82] 
 
IRENE 
 
 Basileus Constantine V. The Senate and the high 
 provincial officials were no less devoted to the poli- 
 cies of the preceding reign. The Church, under the 
 administration of the Patriarch Paul, was full of ene- 
 mies of the images. With such men Irene could 
 undertake nothing, while they in their turn rightly 
 suspected the Basilissa’s tendencies, and feared lest 
 she should attempt some reactionary measures. To 
 realise her pious projects and her ambitious dreams 
 the Empress would have to look elsewhere for advice 
 and support. 
 
 And here appears her skill in preparing the way. 
 Some of her opponents she broke mercilessly by sheer 
 force; others she ousted more gently from positions 
 where they hampered her. A plot having been formed 
 to elevate the Caesars to the throne, she grasped the 
 opportunity to force them into holy orders; and, 
 so that no one should be in ignorance of their final 
 downfall, she compelled them to take part in the 
 solemn Christmas services of the year 780 in St. 
 Sophia, in the presence of all the people of the capi- 
 tal. At the same time, she little by little changed the 
 personnel of the Palace. She advanced her own 
 family, and gave positions to her brother, her nephew, 
 a female cousin, and other relatives. She disgraced 
 Constantine V’s old generals, in particular the terri- 
 ble Michael Lachanodraco, Strategus of the Thrace- 
 sians, who had made himself notorious by his savage 
 hatred of the monks, and by his jovial brutality in 
 forcing marriage upon them. Their places she filled 
 with her own creatures, particularly with the eunuchs 
 of her household, who were her especial friends. It 
 was to them that she entrusted all the great offices in 
 
 [ 83 J 
 
| 
 WU 
 i 
 
 BYZANTINESPORTRAITS 
 
 the Palace and in the administration, and it was from 
 their number that she finally selected her Prime 
 Minister, Stauracius. 
 
 This man, the Basilissa’s chief favourite, became 
 patrician and Logothete of the Dromos, and was 
 soon the acknowledged and all-powerful master in 
 the Sacred Palace. As diplomatist he negotiated a 
 peace with the Arabs; as general he crushed the 
 Slavic rebellion; and to enhance his prestige still 
 further Irene allowed him a solemn triumph in the 
 Hippodrome. The army, discontented under such a 
 commander, vainly manifested its hatred of the up- 
 start; he was certain of the Empress’s favour, and 
 increased in pride and insolence. Indeed, he attached 
 himself faithfully for twenty years to Irene’s fortunes, 
 always falling with her, and with her returning to 
 power. And perhaps this energetic, active, ambi- 
 tious man, whose merits cannot be denied, often 
 directly inspired the sovereign’s measures; but it is 
 obvious what a private character — of the nature 
 of a camarilla — this seizure of all the machinery 
 of the administration by the eunuchs of the house- 
 hold gave from the outset to Irene’s government. 
 
 Irene, while filling the public services with new 
 men, modified the general policy of the Empire. She 
 brought to an end the war in the East, and in the 
 West sought a reconciliation with the Papacy, and 
 began negotiations for an alliance with Charlemagne. 
 Above all, she restored a long-abandoned policy of 
 toleration. ‘“‘Pious men’, says a contemporary 
 chronicler, ‘““began to speak freely; once more the 
 Word of God could spread without hindrance; those 
 who sought eternal salvation could retire unmolested 
 
 [ 84 ] 
 
IRENE 
 
 from the world, and God’s glory was once more 
 celebrated; the monasteries flourished again, and 
 prosperity was universal.’ Monks reappeared in 
 Constantinople, and the cloisters were opened at 
 last to many who had long been forbidden to have 
 vocations. The Empress ostentatiously took meas- 
 ures to repair the sacrileges of the former régime; 
 she went in great pomp to restore to St. Sophia the 
 valuable crown that Leo IV had removed, and she 
 replaced solemnly in their sanctuary the relics of St. 
 Euphemia, which had been thrown into the sea by 
 order of Constantine V and miraculously recovered. 
 The religious party was delighted at these develop- 
 ments, greeting the accession of this pious sovereign 
 as an unexpected miracle; and they gave thanks to 
 God who ‘‘by the hand of a widow and a fatherless 
 child would now overthrow sacrilege and put an end 
 to the Church’s enslavement.” 
 
 An ably-managed intrigue gave into Irene’s hands 
 the only power she lacked — the Patriarchate. Sud- 
 denly, in 784 — without consulting the government, 
 says Theophanes, though it is more probable that 
 the suggestion emanated from the Palace — the 
 Patriarch Paul resigned his office and retired to a 
 monastery, declaring to all who cared to listen that 
 he was full of remorse for his sins, and desirous of 
 expiating his crimes against the images, in the hope 
 at least of dying at peace with God. This decision 
 of his, which made a great stir in the capital, Irene 
 very cleverly exploited; and in Paul’s place chose the 
 imperial secretary Tarasius, a layman, a man she was 
 sure of, to be head of the Church. He was an astute, 
 pliable politician, who played admirably the part the 
 
 [ 85 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 sovereign had doubtless mapped out for him. When 
 his name was proposed, and when the Empress herself 
 begged him to accept the nomination and allow him- 
 self to be elected, he refused, declining the charge 
 which he was asked to undertake and requesting 
 permission to explain to the people the reasons for his 
 refusal. In a long discourse he reviewed in detail 
 the deplorable condition of the Church, the discords 
 that rent it, and the schism that separated it from 
 Rome, and, very adroitly, naming it as the price of 
 his acceptance, launched the idea of an Oecumenical 
 Council to restore peace and concord to the Christian 
 world. At the same time, by a clever side-thrust, 
 he disavowed the Iconoclastic synod held in 753, 
 denying that it had any canonical authority, on the 
 ground that it had done nothing but register illegally- 
 promulgated decrees of the civil authority concerning 
 the Church. And, having thus prepared the way 
 for the Basilissa’s schemes, he finally gave in, re- 
 ceived all the sacred orders at one and the same 
 time, and ascended the patriarchal throne. 
 Provided with so valuable an ally, Irene felt able 
 to throw aside the mask. Writs were sent throughout 
 the Empire calling upon the prelates of Christendom 
 to meet in Constantinople during the spring of 786; 
 for the Empress was sure of victory. But she had left 
 out of account the opposition of certain of the 
 bishops, as well as that of the regiments of the 
 Imperial Guard, which was faithful to the memory of 
 Constantine V, and firmly attached to the policy 
 of that glorious Emperor. The error was obvious from 
 the moment the Council opened in the Church of the 
 Holy Apostles. The bishops were solemnly seated in 
 
 [86 
 
IRENE 
 
 their chairs; Irene and her son were in the Porch of 
 the Catechumens; Plato, Abbot of Sakkudion, one 
 of the most ardent defenders of the images, had the 
 floor and was delivering an appropriate homily, when 
 suddenly the soldiers, sword in hand, burst into the 
 church and threatened the prelates with death. 
 Irene, not lacking in courage, tried in vain to inter- 
 pose and calm the uproar: her efforts were useless 
 and her authority unrecognised. The Orthodox 
 bishops were insulted, hustled, and driven out, seeing 
 which the Iconoclastic bishops joined with the army, 
 applauding and crying: ‘“‘We have won! We have 
 won!” Irene herself escaped not without some 
 difficulty “from the lion’s claws”, as an ecclesiastical 
 chronicler says; and though she was unscathed, her 
 partisans ostentatiously proclaimed her a martyr. 
 She had gone too fast, and all was to do over again. 
 This time a tortuous policy was adopted. The 
 Basilissa and her Prime Minister brought to the task 
 all their wiles and all their capacity forintrigue. The 
 government by money and promises won over the 
 Asiatic army-corps, which were always jealous of the 
 troops on garrison-duty in the capital. A great ex- 
 pedition against the Arabs was then announced. The 
 guard-regiments were the first to leave for the front, 
 and they were immediately replaced in Constanti- 
 nople by divisions whose fidelity was assured. At 
 the same time, in order to force the recalcitrants to 
 obedience, the wives and children of the soldiers in 
 the field were arrested, and their property seized. 
 With these precious hostages in their hands the 
 government were able without danger to break, fur- 
 lough, and disband the ill-disposed guard-regiments. 
 
 [ 87 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 Irene had now the necessary support for her schemes 
 —namely, an army of men of her own choosing 
 under leaders devoted to her. Nevertheless, having 
 her failure of 786 in mind, she did not risk reopening 
 the Oecumenical Council in Constantinople itself. It 
 met, in 787, at Nicaea; and under the all-powerful 
 influence of the court, the Patriarch, and the monks, 
 it unhesitatingly anathematized the Iconoclastic de- 
 cisions of 753, and completely re-established image- 
 worship and Orthodoxy. Then, in November, 787, 
 the Fathers crossed over to Constantinople, and 
 at a last solemn session in the Palace of Magnaura, 
 Irene, in the presence of Pope Hadrian’s legates, sub- 
 scribed her name to the canons that restored her 
 cherished beliefs. 
 
 Thus, by seven years of patient skill, Irene had, in 
 spite of some precipitancy, made herself all-power- 
 ful. She had gratified the Church and her own 
 piety; above all, she had crushed under foot every- 
 thing that interfered with her ambition. And her 
 friends, the religious party, proud of such a sover- 
 eign, hailed her pompously as “‘the Christ-support- 
 ing Empress, whose government, like her name, is 
 token of peace” (xpicroddpos Eipnyvyn, 4 depwripws 
 Bacureboaca). 
 
 iy; 
 
 At the very moment that Irene was winning this 
 victory, when her triumph seemed most complete, 
 her ambition was seriously threatened. 
 
 Constantine VI was growing up; he was seventeen 
 years of age. Between the son, eager to reign, and 
 
 [ 88 J 
 
IRENE 
 
 the mother, passionately desirous of supreme power, 
 a conflict was inevitable; and it was destined to sur- 
 pass in horror anything that can be imagined. Ac- 
 cordingly, the pious historians of the period are 
 unable to account for this infamous struggle except 
 by diabolical inspiration; and in their anxiety to 
 excuse the most devout Empress, have so far as 
 possible cast the blame for her misdeed upon her 
 sinister counsellors. But these excuses will not stand 
 investigation: from what we know of Irene it is 
 certain that she was fully aware of her actions and 
 was completely responsible for them. She was bound 
 to safeguard the work that had just been accom- 
 plished, and to retain her usurped power: to do so 
 she halted neither at strife nor at crime. 
 Irene, domineering and passionate, continued to 
 treat her son like a child. At the beginning of her 
 reign, from political motives, she had begun negotia- 
 tions for a marriage betwen Constantine VI and one 
 of Charlemagne’s daughters; and a palace eunuch 
 had been dispatched to Aix-la-Chapelle to instruct 
 the young Rotrude in the language and customs of 
 her future country; the learned men of Charle- 
 magne’s Palatine Academy, in their pride at the 
 prospective alliance, were inspired with a longing to 
 learn Greek. But politics undid what they had done. 
 After peace had been re-established with Rome, the 
 Frankish alliance seemed less necessary to Irene; it 
 is said that she feared chiefly lest the mighty Charles 
 should become too strong a support to his son-in-law 
 and help him be master of the Empire. Thus she aban- 
 doned the cherished plan, and in spite of Constan- 
 tine’s protests — for he had conceived from afar an 
 
 Ee 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 affection for the young Western Princess — forced 
 another marriage upon him. I have already given 
 the charming tale out of the Lufe of St. Philaret of 
 how the imperial envoys, according to established 
 custom, travelled throughout the provinces to dis- 
 cover a bride worthy of the Basileus, and how, from 
 among the candidates for Constantine’s hand, Irene 
 and her minister chose a young Armenian girl from 
 the Paphlagonian Theme, Mary of Amnia. She was 
 pretty, intelligent, and devout, and came, moreover 
 of an unpretending family; above all, Irene felt that 
 she would submit with docility to her benefactress’s 
 wishes, and that from such a daughter-in-law she 
 need have no fear of inconvenient ambitions. The 
 marriage was thus determined upon, and Constan- 
 tine, in spite of himself, had to obey. This was in 
 November, 788. 
 
 Irene, furthermore, was careful to keep her son out 
 of all public business. The Emperor was practically 
 isolated in his own court, without friends or influence; 
 while the all-powerful Stauracius, on the other hand, 
 msolent and haughty, governed as he chose, and 
 everyone humbled himself before the favourite. At 
 last the young Emperor revolted against this tute- 
 lage; and with some of his intimates conspired 
 against the Prime Minister. But misfortune over- 
 took him. The plot was discovered, and Irene realised 
 at once that she had been directly threatened. From 
 that day forth ambition stifled her maternal affection. 
 She retaliated brutally. The conspirators were tor- 
 tured, exiled, or cast into prison; the Emperor him- 
 self was beaten with rods, like a disobedient child, 
 roundly rebuked by his mother, and kept for several 
 
 [ 90 J 
 
IRENE 
 
 days in close confinement. After this the Empress 
 thought herself safe. Her flatterers also encouraged 
 her illusion, proclaiming that ‘‘even God did not wish 
 her son to reign.” Being superstitious and credu- 
 lous, like all her contemporaries, she allowed herself 
 to be convinced by their words and. by soothsayers 
 who promised her the throne; and, m order to make 
 sure of it, she risked everything upon a single throw. 
 The army was asked to take a new oath of allegiance, 
 and the soldiers were obliged to swear in the following 
 unusual way: ‘‘So long as thou shalt live we will 
 never recognise thy son as Emperor”; and hence- 
 forth, in the official acclamations, Irene’s name was 
 put before Constantine’s. 
 
 As in 786, so again this time, the eager and ambi- 
 tious Princess had proceeded too quickly. In 790, a 
 manifesto was suddenly issued by the Asiatic regi- 
 ments in favour of the young Emperor. The revolt 
 spread from the Armeniac army-corps to the other 
 themes, and soon all the troops gathered together and 
 demanded that Constantine VI should be set at 
 liberty and recognised as the one and only Basileus. 
 Irene was frightened and gave in. She consented 
 to free her son and abdicate; raging but powerless, 
 she witnessed the disgrace of her closest friends. 
 Stauracius, the Prime Minister, was tonsured and 
 exiled to Armenia, and Aétius, another of her inti- 
 mates, shared his downfall. She herself was obliged 
 to retire to her magnificent Eleutherian Palace, and 
 she beheld in the enjoyment of the favour of the 
 young Prince, now solemnly proclaimed, all those 
 whom she had fought, all the enemies of the images 
 that she had restored. Among the foremost was old 
 
 por 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 Michael Lachanodraco, on whom was bestowed the 
 high dignity of Master of the Offices. 
 
 But Constantine VI bore no grudge against his 
 mother. Hardly a year had elapsed since Irene’s 
 downfall, when, in January, 792, the young monarch 
 granted her petitions, restored to her the title of 
 Empress, brought her back to the Sacred Palace, and 
 associated her in the government. At the same time 
 the Basileus weakly recalled her favourite, Staura- 
 cius. Irene returned thirsting for vengeance, de- 
 termined to punish those who had betrayed her, and 
 more eager than ever to fulfil her ambitious desires. 
 But this time she acted more circumspectly. In 790 
 she had been too certain of success; she had wished 
 to hurry matters and win the throne at one stroke, 
 and by her cruelty towards her son had scandalised 
 public opinion and caused the army to revolt. Her 
 failure taught her to be more careful; this time she 
 took five long years in the slow preparation of her 
 triumph by the most subtle and ingenious intrigues. 
 
 Constantine VI had undoubted qualities. Like 
 his grandfather he was brave, energetic, intelligent, 
 and capable; his very adversaries praise him, recog- 
 nising his merits as a soldier and his aptitude for 
 government. The accusations brought against him, 
 chiefly that of debauchery, are not to be taken as 
 literally as one might imagine, for in the minds of their 
 authors they are all inspired by the scandal of his 
 second marriage. His orthodoxy being beyond dis- 
 pute, he was extremely popular with the lower 
 classes and in good odour with the Church; and as 
 he was a brave and active general, quite willing to 
 resume hostilities against the Bulgarians and the 
 
 [92] 
 
IRENE 
 
 Arabs, he satisfied the army. It was Irene’s master- 
 stroke to embroil this estimable sovereign with all 
 his best friends in turn, to make him appear at once 
 ungrateful, cruel, and cowardly, to lose him the good- 
 will of the army, to turn popular feeling against him, 
 and, finally, to ruin him with the Church. _ 
 
 Her first use of the influence which she had re- 
 gained was to excite Constantine’s suspicions against 
 Alexius Muselé, the general who had issued the mani- 
 festo of 790; him she managed to compromise so 
 thoroughly that the Emperor disgraced and im- 
 prisoned him, and then had him blinded. This was a 
 double victory for Irene, for she not only revenged 
 herself upon the man who had betrayed her confi- 
 dence, but also stirred up against Constantine his 
 best support, the Armeniac troops. At the same 
 time, since there was still a party that continued to 
 plot on behalf of his uncles, the Caesars, the Emperor, 
 on Irene’s advice, sentenced the eldest to be blinded 
 and had the tongues of the four others cut out — a 
 useless cruelty, that made him very unpopular, es- 
 pecially with the Iconoclasts, who cherished in the 
 persons of the victims the memory of their father, 
 Constantine V. Finally, in order to arouse public 
 opinion against her son, the Empress devised one 
 last scheme, the most Machiavellian of all. 
 
 Constantine VI, as is well known, did not love his 
 wife, although she had borne him two daughters, 
 Euphrosyne and Irene; and he kept mistresses. 
 After Irene’s return to the Palace he soon developed 
 a lively affection for one of the Empress-mother’s 
 maids of honour. Her name was Theodota; she 
 belonged to one of the great families of the capital, 
 
 [93 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 and was related to some of the most celebrated men 
 of the Orthodox party, Plato, Abbot of Sakkudion, 
 and his nephew Theodore. Irene complacently en- 
 couraged her son’s passion for her lady-in-waiting, 
 and it was she herself who urged him to divorce his 
 wife and marry the young girl; for she knew quite 
 well the scandal that such a step would arouse, and 
 the help it would afford to her plans. Constantine 
 listened eagerly to her advice; and there then began 
 im the Palace a very curious intrigue to get rid of 
 Mary — an intrigue to which I must later return, 
 for it is altogether characteristic of contemporary 
 Byzantine customs. In the end, despite the Patri- 
 arch’s opposition, the Emperor put his wife in a 
 convent, and, in September, 795, married Theodota. 
 
 Irene’s expectations were realised. From all 
 Byzantine Christendom, even from the farthest 
 provinces, there went up a cry of horror at this adul- 
 terous marriage. The religious party were utterly 
 scandalised and made an uproar; the monks, fanning 
 the flame, thundered against the debauched, biga- 
 mous Emperor, and clamoured at the weakness of 
 Tarasius, the Patriarch, who, with characteristic 
 diplomacy, allowed such abominations to exist. 
 Irene quietly helped and encouraged their revolt, 
 ““because”’ as a contemporary chronicler says, “‘they 
 were resisting her son and bringing shame upon him.” 
 One should read the ecclesiastical writers to see to 
 what a paroxysm of fury the religious party attained 
 in their righteous wrath against the disobedient and 
 shameless son, against the debauched and corrupt 
 Prince. ‘“Woe to thee’, said Theodore of Studion, 
 quoting the words of the Preacher, “‘woe to thee, O 
 
 [etd 
 
IRENE 
 
 land, when thy king is a child!” Constantine kept 
 his head, and exerted himself by means of compromise 
 to allay this terrific outburst. The principal centre of 
 opposition being the monastery of Sakkudion in 
 Bithynia, he went on pretext of a holiday to Prusa, 
 the watering-place, and from there made all sorts of 
 courteous overtures to the monks of the celebrated 
 monastery. In the hope of placating them by such a 
 mark of consideration he even paid them a visit. 
 But nothing came of it. “If we have to shed our 
 blood”’ said Theodore of Studion, “‘we will shed it 
 gladly.” 
 
 In the face of this intransigence the Emperor was 
 so misguided as to lose patience, and he determined 
 to employ force. Arrests were made; some of the 
 religious were beaten with rods, imprisoned, or ex- 
 iled; the remainder of the community was dispersed. 
 But such rigorous punishments served only to com- 
 plicate the situation. The monks everywhere ful- 
 minated against the tyrant, ““the new Herod”; and 
 in the very Palace the Abbot Plato came and insulted 
 him to his face. Constantine had himself in hand. 
 To the abbot’s invectives he answered coldly: “I 
 have no desire to make martyrs,” and let him have 
 his say. Unfortunately for him, he had already made 
 too many. Public opinion was exasperated, and Irene 
 knew how to profit by it. 
 
 During the court’s sojourn in Prusa, the Empress- 
 mother had played her cards very cleverly, and cir- 
 cumstances were as favourable as could be desired. 
 Theodota, the young Basilissa, had had to return to 
 the Sacred Palace for her accouchement, and Con- 
 stantine, who was devoted to her, became restless 
 
 [95 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 in her absence. Therefore when, in October, 796, he 
 was told that she had borne him a son, he made haste 
 to depart for Constantinople. He thus left the 
 ground clear for Irene’s intrigues. By gifts and 
 promises and by her personal charm she quickly won 
 over the principal officers of the guard to her side, 
 and persuaded them to consent to a coup d élal mak- 
 ing her sole Empress. The conspirators, acting as 
 usual under Stauracius’s orders, arranged to await a 
 favourable moment. But there was still one reef 
 upon which the whole scheme might suffer shipwreck. 
 If Constantine were to achieve some brilliant military 
 success it would probably serve to restore his totter- 
 ing prestige; and, as a matter of fact, in March, 797, 
 he had just begun the campaign against the Arabs. 
 His mother’s friends did not scruple to turn the expe- 
 dition into failure by means of a lie very like treason, 
 and the Emperor was obliged to return to Constanti- 
 nople, having neither encountered the enemy nor 
 accomplished anything. 
 
 The crisis was drawing near. On the 17th of 
 July, 797, Constantine was returning from the Hippo- 
 drome to the Palace of St. Mamas. The traitors sur- 
 rounding him thought their chance had come, and 
 attempted to take him prisoner. He, however, suc- 
 ceeded in escaping, and jumping into a boat hurried 
 across to the Asiatic shore, counting on the fidelity 
 of the troops of the Anatolic Theme. Irene, who upon 
 the news of the attempted arrest had immediately 
 taken possession of the Great Palace, was terrified 
 and lost her head; seeing her friends waver, and 
 learning that the people were inclined to favour 
 Constantine, she decided to humble herself and send 
 
 [ 96 J 
 
IRENE 
 
 some bishops to him to intercede for her; when sud- 
 denly the passion for supreme power inspired her to 
 play a last card. Many of the courtiers had com- 
 promised themselves very deeply with her in the 
 plot; she threatened to denounce them to the 
 Basileus and to turn over to him the incriminating 
 documents. Terrified at this, and seeing no other 
 means of averting certain destruction, the con- 
 spirators plucked up their courage and seized their 
 unfortunate sovereign. He was brought back to 
 Constantinople and shut up in the Sacred Palace; 
 and there, in the Purple Pavilion where he had been 
 born, the executioner came by his mother’s orders 
 and put out his eyes. However, he did not die. He 
 was kept in seclusion in a splendid residence where 
 later his wife Theodota, who had stood bravely by 
 him during the crisis, was allowed to join him. She 
 even bore him a second son; and thus he passed the 
 remaining years of his life in quiet obscurity. But 
 his days as Emperor were over. 
 
 Very few mourned the unfortunate Prince. The 
 religious party in their narrow fanaticism looked 
 upon his disgrace as the righteous, divinely-ordained 
 punishment of his adulterous marriage, as the due 
 reward of his stern treatment of the monks, as a mem- 
 orable example whereby, says Theodore of Studion, 
 “even Emperors will learn not to violate God’s laws, 
 nor to unchain impious persecutions.” Pious souls 
 once more acclaimed with gratitude and admiration 
 the enfranchisement wrought by the Most Christian 
 Empress Irene. The chronicler Theophanes, in spite 
 of his devotion to the Basilissa, alone seems vaguely 
 to have felt the horror of her crime. “For seventeen 
 
 [4 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 days” says he, “‘the sun veiled himself and gave 
 forth no light, so that vessels went astray upon the 
 sea; and all men said that it was by reason of the 
 Emperor’s blinding that the sun forbore to shine; 
 and thus ascended the throne Irene, mother to the 
 Emperor.” 
 
 V 
 
 Irene’s dream was realised. From henceforth she 
 seems to have been drunk with success and power. 
 For she dared to do an unheard-of thing; a thing 
 Byzantium had never seen before and was never to 
 see again; she, a woman, assumed the title of Em- 
 peror. At the head of the Novels which she issued 
 she styled herself proudly: ‘‘Irene, great Basileus 
 and Autocrat of the Romans.” Upon her coins and 
 upon the ivory diptychs which have preserved her 
 portrait 1 she appears in all the pomp and circum- 
 stance of sovereignty. Thus, and more splendidly 
 still, she shewed herself to her people. On Easter- 
 Monday of the year 799, she returned from the 
 Church of the Holy Apostles to the Palace in solemn 
 procession, in a golden chariot drawn by four white 
 horses, each led by a high official. Wearing the 
 splendid imperial robes that glittered with purple 
 and gold, she, like the Consuls of Rome, threw money 
 by the handful to the assembled multitude. It was 
 her apotheosis, and the climax of her splendour. 
 
 At the same time, adroit as ever, she nursed her 
 popularity and strengthened her power. Her bro- 
 thers-in-law, the Caesars, whose ambition survived 
 
 1 One is preserved in Vienna, the other in the Bargello at Florence. 
 Cf. E. Molinier, loc. cit., tome i, pp. 81-4. 
 
 [98 J 
 
IRENE 
 
 their disgrace, intrigued against her once more. She 
 put down their attempts cruelly and exiled them to 
 distant Athens. To her friends the monks, on the 
 other hand, she was attentive and beneficent, build- 
 ing them new monasteries and endowing restored 
 ones lavishly. Owing to her favour, the great monas- 
 tic establishments of Sakkudion in Bithynia and of 
 the Studion in the capital attained to unprecedented 
 prosperity. Finally, to conciliate the people, she 
 undertook a whole series of liberal reforms — large 
 remissions of taxation, reform of the financial ad- 
 ministration, a lowering of customs duties both at 
 frontiers and at ports, and of taxes upon food-stufts 
 and articles of manufacture; and she pleased the 
 poor by her charitable foundations. Constantinople 
 was enchanted, and hailed her as its benefactress. 
 Nevertheless, veiled intrigues were in progress at 
 court around the aged sovereign; her favourites 
 were wrangling over the succession. At her death 
 the throne would be vacant, for only two daughters 
 were born of Constantine VI’s first marriage; as for 
 the children of his second marriage, the elder son, 
 Leo, had died a few months after birth, and the 
 second, born after his father’s downfall, was consid- 
 ered a bastard, the issue of an illegitimate connexion, 
 and disqualified for the throne. The two eunuchs 
 who governed the Empire, Stauracius and Aétius, 
 both hoped to obtain the power for their relatives, 
 whom they helped to high positions. Irene’s failing 
 health, moreover, seemed to warrant the approaching 
 fulfilment of their hopes. Jealous to the end, never- 
 theless, of her supreme power, and keenly suspicious 
 of anyone who appeared to threaten her crown, the 
 
 [27.4 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 old Basilissa held tenaciously to the throne her crime 
 had won. 
 
 For more than a year the Sacred Palace was the 
 scene of continual denunciations and violent quar- 
 rels, of sudden downfalls and unexpected returns to 
 favour. Aétius inveighed against the plots and 
 ambitions of Stauracius, and Stauracius stirred up 
 revolts to ruin Aétius, while between the two drifted 
 Irene, disturbed and irritated, now punishing, now 
 pardoning. There is something really tragic in this 
 struggle between the old, worn-out Empress, clinging 
 desperately to her throne, and the all-powerful 
 minister, ill likewise and spitting blood, in the care of 
 physicians and on the brink of death, but conspiring 
 still, and hoping for the crown against all hope. He 
 was the first to succumb, about the middle of the 
 year 800. While the Byzantine court was wasting 
 its time in such fruitless quarrels, at that very 
 moment, in St. Peter’s in Rome, Charlemagne was 
 restoring the Empire of the West. 
 
 It is said that a grandiose idea was entertained by 
 the Teutonic Cesar and the aged sovereign of 
 Byzantium — namely, a marriage which should unite 
 their monarchies under their joint rule, and restore 
 even more gloriously and more fully than in the time 
 of Augustus, of Constantine, or of Justinian, the 
 ancient unity of the Orbis Romanus. It does not seem 
 probable; but, at all events, negotiations were set on 
 foot to establish a modus vivendi between the two 
 states. Frankish ambassadors were present in Con- 
 stantinople when the final catastrophe occurred in 
 which Irene was overthrown. 
 
 As the old Empress grew more feeble, the intrigues 
 
 [ 100 7 
 
IRENE 
 
 became keener and bolder. Aétius, all-powerful 
 since the death of his rival, openly encouraged his 
 brother and endeavoured to assure him the support 
 of the army. Others of the great nobles were aroused 
 against the favourite’s haughtiness and insolent am- 
 bition; and one of the ministers, Nicephorus, the 
 Grand Logothete, took advantage of the general un- 
 rest to conspire in his turn against the Basilissa. The 
 Iconoclastic party silently prepared its revenge. On 
 the 3lst of October, 802, the revolution broke out. 
 ‘‘God, in his wisdom that passeth understanding,” 
 says the pious Theophanes, ‘‘permitted it to happen, 
 in order to punish the sins of mankind.” 
 
 Irene was taking a holiday at her favourite resi- 
 dence, the Eleutherian Palace. The conspirators, 
 among whom were former friends of Aétius who had 
 become discontented with the favourite, former inti- 
 mates of Constantine VI, several Iconoclastic officers 
 eager for revenge, high civil officials, courtiers, and 
 even some relatives of the Empress, all of whom she 
 had loaded with gifts, took advantage of her absence. 
 At ten o’clock in the evening they appeared at the 
 gates of the Sacred Palace and shewed the guards of 
 the Chalce forged orders, purporting to come from the 
 Basilissa, in which she commanded Nicephorus to be 
 proclaimed Emperor without delay, in order that he 
 might help her to withstand the intrigues of Aétius. 
 The soldiers allowed themselves to be persuaded, 
 and surrendered the Palace. 
 
 In every Byzantine revolution the Palace was the 
 essential point which had to be gained at the outset, 
 as the token and symbol of victory. And, as a matter 
 of fact, the night had not passed before messengers 
 
 riot y 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 had announced to the whole city Nicephorus’s 
 achievement and the success of the coup d’élat. No 
 resistance was offered. At the same time, Irene was 
 taken by surprise and arrested at Eleutherion, sent 
 heavily guarded to Constantinople, and shut up in 
 the Sacred Palace; while on the following morning 
 in St. Sophia the new Basileus caused himself to be 
 crowned in haste by the Patriarch Tarasius, who 
 seems to have forgotten his benefactress. Neverthe- 
 less, nothing was settled. Irene was popular; and 
 the mob, recovering from their first surprise, were 
 openly hostile to the conspirators. They insulted 
 the new master and cursed the Patriarch; and many 
 people, remembering the protestations of loyalty 
 with which the plotters had tricked the Empress, 
 taxed them vigorously with their ingratitude. They 
 sighed for the old order that had been overthrown 
 and for the prosperity it had brought, and dreaded 
 what the future might have in store; the multitude, 
 unable to believe what had happened, wondered 
 if they were not the victims of a nightmare. Con- 
 sternation and grief were universal, and the cold, 
 foggy autumn morning made the dawn of the new 
 reign even more desolate. 
 
 A woman of real energy might perhaps have prof- 
 ited by this situation; Irene did not. Between 
 ambition and piety, the two sentiments that divided 
 her soul and had governed her life, piety this time 
 proved the stronger. Not that her downfall in any 
 way weakened her courage, for she shewed no weak- 
 ness; but in the face of an accomplished fact, “‘as a 
 wise and God-fearing woman’’, to quote a contem- 
 porary, she yielded without a murmur. Nicephorus, 
 
 [102] 
 
IRENE 
 
 on the day after his coronation, went to visit her, 
 his eyes filled with hypocritical tears, and, shewing 
 her, with his customary feigned good nature, the 
 black shoes he wore instead of the imperial red 
 buskins, assured her that his hands had been forced, 
 and almost apologised for being Emperor. But 
 Irene, with Christian resignation, humbled herself 
 before the new Basileus as before God’s Anointed, 
 blessing the mysterious decrees of Providence, and 
 acknowledging her sins as the cause of her downfall. 
 She made no reproach and uttered no complaint; 
 upon Nicephorus’s request she even surrendered him 
 her wealth, asking only that she should be allowed 
 free use of the Eleutherian Palace. 
 
 The usurper promised all that she asked, and as- 
 sured her that during her life she should be treated 
 “‘as becomes a Basilissa.”” But he lost no time in for- 
 getting his promises. The aged sovereign was re- 
 moved from Constantinople and exiled at first to the 
 monastery she had founded on the island of Prinkipo. 
 But even there she seemed too near. In November, 
 802, despite the unusual severity of the winter, she 
 was sent to Lesbos. There she was kept closely 
 guarded, and no one was allowed to approach her — 
 to such an extent were her intrigues and the tenacity 
 of her ambition still feared. In this captivity she 
 died miserably, in the month of August, 803, deserted 
 by all. Her body was brought back to the monastery 
 on Prinkipo, and later to Constantinople, where she 
 was buried in the Church of the Holy Apostles, in 
 
 the mortuary chapel where so many Emperors slept. 
 
 Irene was so pious and orthodox a sovereign that 
 the Church has forgiven her everything, even her 
 
 E103] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 crimes.! The Byzantine chroniclers of her time cal] 
 her the Blessed Irene, the New Helena, ‘‘she who 
 fought for the true faith like a martyr.’ Theophanes 
 mourns her loss as a catastrophe, and looks back 
 upon the years of her reign as upon an era of unusual 
 prosperity. Theodore of Studion, a saint, addressed 
 the basest flatteries to her, not finding words raptu- 
 rous enough to describe “‘the wholly good sovereign’, 
 “‘so pure a spirit, so holy a soul’, who by her piety 
 and her desire to please God had delivered her people 
 from slavery, and whose deeds ‘‘shine like stars.” 
 Irene deserves of history less indulgence and more 
 justice. One can understand, and, if one wishes, 
 forgive, the error of sincere folk whom party spirit 
 has blinded in regard to her; but one must beware 
 of sharing their error. Rightly regarded, this famous 
 sovereign was a politician, ambitious and devout, 
 whom the passion for power drove to crime, and 
 whose achievements were totally insufficient to com- 
 pensate for the horror of her deed. For by her in- 
 trigues she reopened in Byzantium for a period of 
 eighty years, to the great detriment of the monarchy, 
 the era of palace revolutions to which for nearly a 
 century her glorious predecessors the Iconoclastic 
 Emperors had put an end. 
 
 1 Tt must, however, be noted that some Byzantines felt the horror of 
 Trene’s crime keenly enough, and tried to relieve her of the responsibility 
 of it. The chronicler George the Monk, writing in the ninth century, 
 
 declares that.Constantine was blinded “without her being present, or even 
 being privy to her ministers’ plans.” 
 
 L 104 J 
 
V 
 
 A MIDDLE-CLASS WOMAN OF 
 THE EAGHTH.GCENDTURY 
 
 E object of what is perhaps our liveliest 
 
 interest in any vanished society — namely, 
 
 the middle classes, their sentiments, their 
 ways of life and thought, their condition, and their 
 private life—, is that on which we have least infor- 
 mation, and into which the documentary evidence 
 affords us fewest glimpses. Concerning the great 
 personages, emperors and empresses, popes and 
 patriarchs, ministers and generals, all who have 
 stood in the foreground and filled the stage of history, 
 we have complete and sufficiently accurate accounts; 
 we know their deeds, we are able to unravel their 
 motives, and we may flatter ourselves that we have 
 penetrated to their very souls. But this is no longer 
 the case when we descend a few rungs of the social 
 ~ ladder; here with but rare exceptions all is darkness. 
 And yet these folk who never emerged into the full 
 blaze of history are sometimes more instructive to 
 the historian than persons of greater celebrity. A 
 great man, from the very fact of his greatness, is 
 always to some extent exceptional and abnormal; 
 whereas the common man is usually but a specimen 
 of an oft-repeated type, and has thus a certain repre- 
 sentative value. If we know one, we can imagine a 
 
 [105 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 thousand others; and, since these same obscure 
 thousands are the raw material of history, it is ob- 
 vious what a light such a study, whenever it is pos- 
 sible, will shed upon the character and opinions of an 
 epoch. 
 
 There may, then, be some interest in attempting to 
 portray, as a pendant to the Most Pious Empress 
 Irene, a woman of the middle classes who was her 
 contemporary. Theoctista was her name, and she 
 was the mother of that fiery monk and ardent contro- 
 versialist, that brave, impassioned fighter, Theodore 
 of Studion. Owing to the curious funeral oration 
 that her son delivered in her honour, and to other 
 documents besides, we know her fairly well. With 
 her as guide, therefore, we are able to penetrate a 
 little way into the family life and ideals of those 
 almost unknown Byzantine middle classes, whose 
 strong, sterling qualities were of such importance for 
 the prosperity of the monarchy. This is her first 
 contribution to our better understanding of that 
 society. But we shall be still further indebted to her. 
 By shewing us the character and prejudices of a 
 typical middle-class woman of her time, she will help 
 us to a glimpse of the character and prejudices of the 
 troubled century she lived in. She will help us, more 
 especially, to a clearer comprehension and to a less 
 exaggerated judgement of that Empress Irene, whom 
 at first sight we find so offensive and so utterly dis- 
 concerting; and, finally, she will help us to a better 
 understanding of the events of the picturesque, 
 stormy period in which, whether directly or through 
 her son, she was more than once implicated. 
 
 [ 106 Jj 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS WOMAN 
 
 I 
 
 Theoctista was born in Constantinople in the 
 eighth century, probably about the year 740, of a 
 middle-class family in easy, almost rich, circum- 
 stances. She was the third child. Of her sister little 
 is known except that she lived in the world; but her 
 brother, who bore the ancient name of Plato, later 
 became famous, and exercised a great influence upon 
 her. While still a child, Theoctista was left an 
 orphan. The great plague of 747, which wrought 
 such havoc in the capital, carried off her parents and 
 most of her near relatives. An uncle who had a 
 position in the Imperial Ministry of Finance took 
 charge of the unfortunate children. He educated the 
 boy very carefully, so as to fit him for public office. 
 His education was a complete success. Plato was a 
 wise, sensible young man, who carefully avoided bad 
 companions, spending neither his time in pleasure- 
 seeking nor his money in gambling—a prudent young 
 fellow, who soon learned how to take care of his 
 fortune and increase it, one who was regarded by 
 Byzantine mothers as an excellent match for their 
 daughters. But this object of maternal speculations 
 hated the world; he was very pious, and went more 
 often to church than to the theatre; he preferred 
 reading to amusements, and his precocious perfection 
 was the admiration of his confessor. In the brother 
 the sister is already foreshadowed. 
 
 As was customary among Byzantine families, the 
 uncle took much less pains with the girls’ education 
 than with the boy’s. In this, in many respects, so 
 oriental a society, daughters were always brought 
 
 E LO7 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 up at home; and, therefore, when relatives were 
 deficient in their duty, girls received little education. 
 Thus it was with Theoctista. She was very igno- 
 rant, and had later to work hard to fill in the gaps 
 in her early training. Her guardian troubled himself 
 only to see her suitably married. In those days, a 
 sensible man, capable of making the best of his life, 
 was the ideal husband in the eyes of Byzantine 
 parents. Theoctista’s uncle found his paragon in the 
 ministry in which he himself was employed. His 
 name was Photinus, and he was a high official in the 
 Treasury, well considered at court, and on the road 
 to higher honours. Since the girl was rich — her 
 personal estate had just been increased by part of 
 that of her brother, who had recently entered a 
 monastery —, matters were easily arranged, and the 
 proposed marriage took place. 
 
 Theoctista was a woman after many a husband’s 
 heart. She cared neither for dress nor for society. 
 She avoided vain ornaments and always wore dark 
 colours. When obliged to go out, as for example to 
 a marriage-feast, she was reserved and modest in her 
 demeanour, chastely lowering her eyes when the 
 comic interludes began at dessert-time, and hardly 
 venturing to taste of the dishes set before her. Not 
 that she was timid or awkward; but she was essen- 
 tially a virtuous woman, whose duties were her chief 
 concern, and whose horizon was bounded by her 
 husband’s wishes, the good management of her 
 household, and the proper education of her children. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to add that she was devout. 
 “To worship God and love Him alone” was for her 
 the essential virtue. Her piety was, nevertheless, 
 
 c 108 J 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS WOMAN 
 
 entirely devoid of superstition; and this fact does 
 honour to her sound common sense and her strength 
 of mind. In the eighth century, indeed, Christianity 
 still contained a large admixture of paganism; belief 
 in sorcery, incantations, and charms, was very wide- 
 spread. For example, to protect new-born children 
 from harm it was the general custom to hang amulets 
 in their rooms and on their cradles, to repeat magical 
 formulas over them, and to put strings of beads and 
 talismans around their necks; since it was a matter 
 of common knowledge that their frail lives were 
 threatened by innumerable dangers, and that hosts 
 of unseen sorceresses, with the power of passing 
 through the most securely-closed doors, lay in wait 
 to destroy them. Careful mothers, therefore, had 
 recourse to astrologers, who, by casting the child’s 
 horoscope, could dispel the danger. But Theoctista, 
 although severely censured by her household, took no 
 stock in such practices, believing that the sign of the 
 cross made over the child was ample protection. She 
 was constantly in the habit of praying, repeating 
 psalms, and reading religious books, even far into the 
 night; she fasted frequently, and never swore nor 
 told lies. She applied herself also to good works in 
 order to merit eternal life. Although not very rich, 
 her charity was unbounded. Widows and orphans, 
 the aged and the sick — even those suffering from 
 the most revolting diseases, such as epileptics and 
 lepers —, found in her a help and a support; and no 
 feast-day passed that she did not feed ‘“‘some one of 
 Christ's poor’, as she called them, at her own 
 table. Such being her character, it was natural 
 that she should feel a great detachment from mun- 
 
 r 109 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 dane interests; and it was natural likewise that she 
 should be devoted to the images, and most respectful 
 to the monks, their defenders. 
 
 Nevertheless, she was an energetic, strong-minded 
 woman, who liked authority, and who ruled her 
 household with a rod of iron. As in many Byzantine 
 families, she seems to have been far more important 
 in the home than her husband. She was an admirable 
 housekeeper, and her piety interfered in no way with 
 her duties; she thought of everything, oversaw 
 everything, often helping with her own hands, and 
 spared no pains to have the household well man- 
 aged and prosperous. She was always alert, and 
 never abandoned her responsibilities to the servants. 
 To them she was kind and considerate; on feast-days 
 she added some sweets, fresh meat, fish, fowl, and 
 wine of better quality to their usual diet of bread, 
 wine, and lard, saying that it would not be just for 
 her alone to enjoy these dainties. But when it came 
 to questions of morals or misconduct, or any one of 
 the thousand ways of “‘beating the devil around 
 the bush’, she was inflexible; and, as this dictatorial 
 woman was of an irritable disposition, she not infre- 
 quently suited the action to the word. She was 
 quick to strike, and when angry gave buffets thick 
 and fast. Her servants, however, were devoted to 
 her, for they knew that she meant everything for 
 the best, and that when her anger was past she would 
 earnestly ask their pardon. After striking one of her 
 women she was always a prey to deep remorse; on 
 such occasions she would retire to her bedroom to 
 beat her face and do penance, and then, calling the 
 servant she had struck, would go down on her knees 
 before her and humbly beg forgiveness. 
 
 [ 110 J 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS WOMAN 
 
 She ruled her family in the same firm, harsh way. 
 She loved her husband, and took great care never to 
 worry him; but nevertheless she persuaded him to 
 live with her like a brother, pointing out that life is 
 after all but a preparation for death, and that, in 
 order to be the readier for the great separation, it is 
 best to begin in this world the suppression of the more 
 intimate contacts. No less carefully did she keep 
 watch over the education and moral training of her 
 children. She had three sons and a daughter. 
 Although, as we have seen, fairly ignorant, she edu- 
 cated herself so as to bring them up well; but, being 
 conscientious, she studied by candlelight, sittmg up 
 very late, so as not to neglect the duties she owed in 
 the day-time to her husband and her household. In 
 the formation of her children’s character she was 
 careful above all to set them good examples; thus 
 it was that she associated her daughter with her from 
 childhood in works of charity, teaching her to succour 
 the poor and making her take care of lepers. At the 
 same time she set her to reading holy books, thus 
 arousing her piety and turning her away from the 
 world, and shewed her neither jewels nor purple 
 clothing, for already she intended her for the service 
 of God. 
 
 But her son Theodore was her favourite. He was 
 a quiet child, older than his years; he cared little 
 for games or for comrades, but preferred reading, 
 chiefly religious books, a practice in which his mother 
 naturally encouraged him. Until he was seven she 
 kept him constantly with her and guarded him ten- 
 derly; later, when he had tutors, and when, after the 
 elementary lessons were over, he studied grammar, 
 
 iil 4 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 dialectic, rhetoric, philosophy, and theology, she still 
 watched over him with care. In this, as in every- 
 thing else, she employed that combination of tender- 
 ness and sternness which was at the bottom of her 
 system of education and government — good advice 
 and maternal exhortations, often backed up with the 
 rod. Nevertheless, there was a charming simplicity, 
 piety, and deep, solid affection between the mother 
 and her children. Every night after they had gone 
 to bed, Theoctista came and made the sign of the 
 cross over them as they lay asleep; in the morning, 
 her first thought was to have them say their prayers. 
 Many years later, in writing to his dying mother, 
 Theodore of Studion gratefully recalls the constant, 
 tender care with which she prayed day and night 
 for the happiness and safety of her dear ones. 
 
 II 
 
 Such was Theoctista. But during the evil days 
 that befell the Church under Constantine V and his 
 son, it would have been imprudent to disclose one’s 
 true feelings too openly, especially when one was 
 the wife of an official. It is probable, then, that like 
 the Empress Irene, she concealed her opinions to 
 some extent. But when, after the death of Leo IV, 
 Irene’s regency brought better days to the forbidden 
 images and to the persecuted monks, her long-pent-up 
 piety burst forth in a torrent. 
 
 With the new order of things Plato, Theoctista’s 
 brother, returned to Constantinople; the first act 
 of this austere monk was to preach a kind of mission 
 on morals. In his discourses he advocated chiefly 
 
 C1124 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS WOMAN 
 
 contempt of the world, love for the poor, and the 
 cultivation of good habits; and as he was eloquent 
 and of a very ascetic appearance, he soon made a 
 great success. Naturally, he was not slow in exer- 
 cising a deep influence upon his devout sister and her 
 household, and in particular upon his young nephew, 
 Theodore. In Theoctista’s house monks became 
 constant and welcome guests, and, from contact with 
 them, the pious woman soon became convinced that 
 her best course was to devote herself to the Lord, 
 together with all her family. Her eldest son had long 
 been ready. Between them they won over the father; 
 and afterwards the other children. Finally Theoctista 
 prevailed upon three of her husband’s brothers to 
 embrace the religious life; and they all resolved to 
 retire from the world, with its temptations and 
 vanities. 
 
 When their decision became known, it made a 
 great sensation in the capital, and all the friends and 
 acquaintances of Theoctista’s family were profoundly 
 moved at the sight of these rich, well-considered, 
 happy people thus renouncing all the pleasures of 
 worldly life and all hopes of political advancement, 
 breaking the tender bonds of human affections, and 
 voluntarily abandoning all desire of perpetuating an 
 illustrious line. The Empress Irene herself is said to 
 have been deeply touched. But Theoctista was not 
 to be dissuaded by any argument. “‘On the day she 
 had fixed for leaving her home’”’ writes her son, “‘she 
 assembled the entire household as if to a feast. The 
 men were downcast and the women in tears at this 
 strange phenomenon of a willing departure; but all, 
 feeling the greatness of the mystery, joined piously in 
 
 E113 9 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 celebrating the event.’’ On this occasion Theoctista 
 attended to everything with her accustomed order- 
 liness and care for details. She began by sending 
 away her husband, who was more moved than he 
 perhaps should have been at leaving what had been 
 his life. Then she saw to the sale of the house and 
 the distribution of all the available money among 
 the poor. She discharged the servants, and gave 
 them each a small gift in memory of their former 
 masters. After which, having performed all her 
 worldly duties, Theoctista gave herself wholly to 
 God. Her taking of the veil was a solemn and 
 moving ceremony. 
 
 The general curiosity, greatly excited by all that had 
 taken place, drew an enormous crowd to the church. 
 “We too were there with our father,” says Theodore 
 of Studion, “‘not knowing whether to be happy or to 
 weep. We were losing our mother; already we could 
 no longer approach her or speak to her with our 
 former freedom; and, knowing that we were to be 
 separated from her, our hearts were oppressed with 
 grief. We ourselves, and our father, were to receive 
 the tonsure as soon as the ceremony was over; and I, 
 who was quite a big boy, found that my grief and 
 tears were mixed with gladness; but my youngest 
 brother, who was still a child, when the hour of 
 separation came and the time for the last farewell 
 and the final kisses, ran to my mother, pressing him- 
 self to her breast, and, clinging desperately to her, 
 begged her to keep him with her a little while longer, 
 promising that he would obey her in everything. 
 Do you imagine that her diamond heart wavered or 
 broke at the child’s pleadings? Not for a moment. 
 
 [1147] 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS WOMAN 
 
 What did the holy woman answer? Triumphing 
 over her maternal affection, she looked sternly at her 
 son, and said: ‘If you do not go immediately, my 
 child, of your own will, I myself will put you on 
 board the vessel that is to take you away.’” Theo- 
 dore greatly admires such stoic austerity of soul that 
 sacrifices everything to religion, even the most natural 
 and lawful affections of the human heart. We find 
 it more difficult, I admit, to share his admiration; 
 and even the pious commentators of Theodore’s 
 writings consider it somewhat excessive. But it is 
 none the less interesting to find both mother and son 
 sharing thoughts and feelings that surprise and 
 shock us. By reading of such states of mind as these 
 we are the better able to understand Irene’s evil deed, 
 and how it was that Theodore of Studion found no 
 word of censure for such a crime committed by a 
 mother against her son. 
 
 After Theoctista had taken the veil, the whole 
 family retired to one of its estates in Bithynia, called 
 Sakkudion. It was a hill planted with trees, at the 
 top of which was a little plain; it was watered by a 
 small brook, and there was a noble view, shewing wide 
 stretches of sky, and in the distance the silver line of 
 the sea. It would have been impossible to find a 
 quieter retreat, or one more suitable for a religious 
 house. But the monastery of Sakkudion was not 
 a worldly establishment, such as rich people of that 
 time often founded in a spirit rather of ostentation 
 than of piety. Such folk, on taking the vows, kept 
 their fortunes and their slaves, and led their usual 
 life, and, without any real vocation or previous ex- 
 perience, set themselves to govern a religious com- 
 
 c 1157 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 munity, “‘novices yesterday, abbots today.” At 
 Theoctista’s request the austere Plato had accepted 
 the task of organising and directing the monastery 
 in which his relatives were to live, and he acquitted 
 himself conscientiously of his task. He firmly ex- 
 cluded slaves and women from the monastery, and 
 following the usual custom of Byzantine monks, for- 
 bade female animals of all kinds to enter it. Theoc- 
 tista herself had to obey the general rule and live 
 apart from the others; and, since there had not been 
 time to build a house for the women, she dwelt at 
 first as a recluse in an isolated cell with her daughter 
 and one of her relatives. Later she entered a convent; 
 but, in spite of her humility and her desire to obey, 
 it does not seem as if this masterful woman made a 
 very accommodating nun. Her son Theodore speaks 
 with some embarrassment of the difficulties she had 
 with the other sisters, and of the vexations she under- 
 went; she was obliged at last to quit the convent 
 and find another retreat. Happily for her, circum- 
 stances were to give her piety an opportunity to 
 manifest itself on a higher plane, and in a manner 
 worthier of herself. 
 
 III 
 
 We have related the story of the Emperor Constan- 
 tine VI’s first marriage, and his great desire, about 
 the year 795, to be rid of his wife. In order to 
 repudiate Mary of Amnia and marry Theodota he 
 devised a curious scheme. In the characteristically 
 ingenuous conviction that everyone would believe 
 him “‘since” in his own words, ‘‘he was the Basileus 
 addressing his subjects”, he declared that his wife 
 
 C1164 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS WOMAN 
 
 had attempted to poison him. Thereupon he sent 
 one of his chamberlains to notify the Patriarch, and 
 asked that the Church should annul his marriage 
 without delay. But Tarasius was very sceptical re- 
 garding the alleged crime, and answered that the 
 law recognised only one ground for divorce, to wit, 
 duly attested adultery; and he refused to fall in with 
 the sovereign’s wishes. In vain Constantine sum- 
 moned him to the Palace, explaining that the crime 
 was clear and undeniable, and that by death alone, 
 or at least by seclusion in a monastery, could such 
 attempted treason be adequately punished. In vain 
 it was that in support of his accusations he pro- 
 duced vessels full of a muddy liquid, which he stated 
 to be the very poison that the Empress had tried to 
 administer to him. Tarasius persisted in his refusal, 
 threatening the Emperor with excommunication if 
 he did not renounce the project; and John the 
 Syncellus backed him up. Thereupon, im the 
 Emperor’s presence, courtiers, patricians, and gen- 
 erals, began to insult the two prelates, and, sword in 
 hand, threatened them with death if they did not 
 yield. It was all to no purpose. In the end, as we 
 know, Constantine did persist in his design; he 
 thrust his wife by force into a convent, and, amid 
 splendid festivities lasting no less than forty days, 
 married Theodota. Tarasius indignantly refused to 
 bless this adulterous union; but he was a politician, 
 and took care not to go to extremes. Without pro- 
 testing, he allowed another priest to solemnize the 
 imperial marriage, and, fearing to drive the Basileus 
 to the wall and turn him against the Church, fore- 
 bore to launch the threatened excommunication; 
 
 pels 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 he did not even punish the cleric who had performed 
 the ceremony. 
 
 We have seen the universal scandal that the Em- 
 peror’s conduct caused among the religious party. 
 It was peculiarly abhorrent to the monks of Sak- 
 kudion, not only because it violated their principles, 
 but even more because Theodota, the heroine of the 
 romance, was a near relative of the Abbot Plato, of 
 ‘Theoctista, and of Theodore. Moreover, while court- 
 iers and politicians acquiesced servilely in their 
 sovereign’s act, pious folk, excited and sustained by 
 the Sakkudion monks, thundered against the “‘new 
 Herod”, the disobedient son who, said they — and 
 the reproach has piquancy when we remember Irene’s 
 conduct in the matter —, had disrespectfully ignored 
 his mother’s good advice. And Plato and his monks 
 definitely refused to remain in communion with the 
 adulterous Prince, or even with the prelates who up- 
 held or tolerated his misconduct. 
 
 Constantine VI was exceedingly indignant at all 
 this uproar, and did his best to overcome the monks’ 
 stubborn and embarrassing opposition. He tried in 
 vain by presents and fair words to cause them to 
 relent; but to no effect. Theodota made an attempt 
 on her own part to appease her relatives, and paid a 
 visit to the monastery; but she was indignantly 
 repulsed. Constantine then moved to Prusa, and 
 went to Sakkudion in person, in the hope of persuad- 
 ing Plato and Theodore. All these negotiations 
 merely demonstrated to the religious party their own 
 power and served but to increase their obstinacy. 
 At last the Emperor lost his temper. The Domestic 
 of the Scholae and the Count of the Opsikian Theme 
 
 E1184 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS WOMAN 
 
 were dispatched with soldiers to the Sakkudion. The 
 Abbot Plato was arrested and sent strongly guarded 
 to Constantinople; and Theodore and three other 
 monks were cruelly beaten with rods. Then the ten 
 principal ringleaders, among whom, besides Theo- 
 dore, were his father and his brother Joseph, were 
 exiled to Thessalonica; the rest of the community 
 were dispersed, and people were forbidden to harbour 
 them. “‘Christ was asleep”, says Theodore of Stu- 
 dion, bitterly, in the interesting account he has left 
 of this persecution. 
 
 In her family’s trouble Theoctista shewed a singu- 
 lar strength of soul. Despite her sorrow she en- 
 couraged, upheld, consoled, and fortified the victims: 
 ““Go, my sons’, said she to the expelled monks, 
 “and may God protect you whithersoever you go, 
 since it is in obedience to His law that you have 
 ordered your conduct.’ She was always vigorous 
 and full of joy, visiting them in prison, dressing 
 their wounds, and cheering those who were fright- 
 ened and distressed. When the monks were obliged 
 to leave their monastery, she went with them, car- 
 ing nothing for the insults with which the crowd 
 assailed them. When the soldiers separated her bru- 
 tally from her beloved ones, she found means to rejoin 
 them on their road to exile, and there at night, in a 
 miserable hut, she saw them for the last time. When 
 morning came she bade them farewell. “‘My sons,” 
 said she, ‘‘I feel that I am taking leave of men who 
 are going to their death”; and pathetically, amid 
 sighs and tears, she covered with kisses every part 
 of those dear bodies that she never thought to see 
 again. 
 
 po | 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 Then she returned to Constantinople, as energetic 
 and brave as ever. Plato, who had dared repri- 
 mand the Emperor to his very face, had just been 
 sent to prison; and Euthymius, Theoctista’s young- 
 est son, had been cruelly flogged. Here again the 
 pious woman spared neither efforts nor trouble. In 
 spite of the imperial prohibition, she gathered to- 
 gether the scattered and proscribed monks, and 
 sustained her brother’s courage in the prison where 
 he was confined. She did so much that she herself 
 was finally arrested and sent for a whole month to 
 gaol, where she was badly treated by her warders, 
 ill fed, and loaded with insults. But among pious 
 folk she was accorded a martyr’s crown, and was 
 held to be a Mother of the Church, for being thus 
 persecuted in the good cause; and her glory was 
 great for having, as an eighth-century writer puts it, 
 in a phrase which became famous, “‘suffered for the 
 sake of justice and truth” (éexev dixavoobvys kal 
 &\nbetas). 
 
 IV 
 
 When, in 797, Irene’s coup d’élat brought the crisis 
 to an end and stopped the persecution, Theoctista, 
 no longer worried about the fate of her family, went 
 back to her Bithynian convent. And until her last 
 hour she lived as she had always lived. 
 
 Her piety, which had at first been aroused by 
 suffering, and afterwards made jubilant by the joy 
 of victory, had become greater than ever. The good 
 woman’s chief concern and true happiness was to 
 meditate ceaselessly upon God’s Word, to pray day 
 and night for the Church, for her family, and for 
 
 [ 1207] 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS WOMAN 
 
 salvation of her soul, and to assist devoutly at inter- 
 minable offices. She became more ascetic than ever. 
 In order to mortify the flesh, she had accustomed 
 herself to sleep upon a short narrow bed, to dress 
 herself in miserable clothes, and to take wholly 
 insufficient nourishment. She would have been 
 ashamed to eat her fill, and all that she allowed 
 herself was once a day to taste a few vegetables 
 cooked in water without any oil; and she never 
 drank wine with her frugal meals. She had also 
 imposed absolute poverty upon herself; she had no 
 servant, no money of her own, no change of clothes. 
 At her death her wardrobe, or rather her entire 
 fortune, consisted of a horsehair shirt and two poor 
 cloaks. 
 
 Nevertheless, Theoctista did not become a mystic. 
 In her “‘solitude with God’”’, to use her son’s beautiful 
 phrase, as in her life in the world, she had always 
 to be doing something. She never became absorbed 
 in useless dreams, but worked with her hands, and 
 took upon herself the task of weaving the material 
 from which to make the clothes for the whole com- 
 munity. She increased in good works, bringing poor 
 women to the convent, taking care of them, and 
 doing her utmost to collect money for them. And 
 as formerly at home, so also now, she watched affec- 
 tionately over the members of her family, their moral 
 progress, and their eternal salvation. She worried 
 about her husband, who at times was very lukewarm, 
 and about her son, Euthymius, whose vocation for 
 the monastic life did not seem to her very strong. 
 And, watching over them from a distance, she noted 
 their conduct closely and guided their souls. 
 
 ee 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 More than ever she strove for Christian humility. 
 Since Plato, her brother, was still in prison, she made 
 her son Theodore her confessor and spiritual director; 
 she got down on her knees to him, saying that she 
 was his servant, and did her best to obey him in 
 everything, regarding him simply as the revered head 
 of the community. And despite the views he pro- 
 fessed upon the surpassing merit of devotion, Theo- 
 dore was sometimes embarrassed by her excessive 
 reverence. However, the old quarrelsome, domi- 
 neering temper sometimes reawoke in her, notwith- 
 standing her humility. In the convent, as in the 
 world, Theoctista was still imperious and quicktem- 
 pered. When the other sisters seemed to be lacking 
 in earnest attention at the offices, or wanting in 
 diligence at their work or in the chants, she repri- 
 manded them and scolded them harshly; she was 
 as quick as ever to strike, and reinforced her loving 
 admonition with good sound blows. But the sisters 
 forgave her her outbursts, for they knew that she had 
 a kind heart; and in the convent, as in her former 
 home, all were devoted to her. 
 
 Thus she lived, ‘‘having forsaken all to give all to 
 God; she walked in the straight and narrow path of 
 the Lord.” She was universally respected; the whole 
 community looked upon her as a true Mother of 
 Souls, and the religious party, as a true Mother of 
 the Church. To enhance the glory of her sanctity it 
 was said that she had the gift of prophecy, and that 
 she was vouchsafed dreams in which she learnt 
 her own and her family’s destiny, and that of the 
 Church. 
 
 Nevertheless, she was slowly dying. She was over 
 
 F124 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS WOMAN 
 
 sixty, her life had been a difficult one, and her last 
 years had been saddened by a succession of sorrows. 
 One after the other she had lost her husband, her 
 daughter, and her son Euthymius; and the two sons 
 who remained were as good as dead, so far as she was 
 concerned. For her favourite, Theodore, lived in 
 Constantinople, where he ruled over the monastery 
 of the Studion, and she no longer saw him except 
 on very rare occasions. Her other son, Joseph, was 
 also separated from her; all her former friends were 
 dead or scattered. In her solitude she sometimes felt 
 sad unto death; but she never gave in for long to this 
 too-human weakness; and turning her thoughts to 
 God took courage once more. Thus she died, far 
 from her family, without even Theodore, who was 
 detained by the affairs of his monastery, at her 
 death-bed to close her eyes. Nevertheless, she de- 
 parted ‘ ‘joyfully, as one who returns to her native 
 land’’, praying for her son, and blessing those who 
 eteay dhs her- liar was just before the year 802. 
 
 The news of this good woman’s death made a great 
 sensation in the Church. At the monastery of the 
 Studion, of which her son was abbot, they had fol- 
 lowed all the phases of her illness with passionate 
 attention, praying solemnly for her soul; and they 
 held a splendid service in her memory. Theodore 
 himself delivered the funeral oration, and it is to its 
 fortunate preservation that we owe our knowledge of 
 Theoctista’s curious personality. 
 
 In this woman’s soul, commonplace in many re- 
 spects, there are some characteristics which to us 
 are strange and surprising indeed. Both mother 
 
 [Es i 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 and son have a native harshness that we find aston- 
 ishing and repellent. Theoctista loved her children; 
 but she sacrificed them unflinchingly on the altar of 
 her religion. Theodore loved his mother; but in his 
 curious letter to her during her last illness, though 
 mourning her approaching end, he calmly hopes for 
 her death as the glorious reward of her life. We find 
 some difficulty in understanding a religious emotion 
 that expresses itself so strangely; and even pious 
 souls have found it excessive. But whatever judge- 
 ment we may pass upon these people of the eighth 
 century, we must admit that they are a powerful 
 help in understanding the history of their times. By 
 studying these devotees, in whom religion has de- 
 stroyed all else, we can better understand the char- 
 acter of the Empress Irene, and are the less astonished 
 at her success, and at the almost universal applause 
 that her actions elicited. For it must be kept in mind 
 that the case of Theoctista is by no means unique in 
 the psychological history of her century. Many other 
 women of this period, such, for example, as the mother 
 of Tarasius and the mother of Nicephorus, the mother 
 of Theophanes and the pious women of the family of 
 St. Philaret, all seem very like her in the writings of 
 the hagiographers. To be sure, the women I have 
 mentioned are saints, like our Theoctista; and I do 
 not mean that all their contemporaries were cast in 
 the same mould. There were women of the world 
 as well, like Theoctista’s sister, and women of loose 
 morals, like her relative, Theodota. But their im- 
 portance to the historian lies in the fact that for 
 several years it was the saints who ruled the world. 
 
 pa 
 
VI 
 THE BLESSED THEODORA 
 
 T 
 [o the year 829, Michael II the Amorian, 
 
 Emperor of Byzantium, died, leaving the throne 
 
 to his son, Theophilus. The new sovereign was 
 unmarried; and at first, therefore, the Empress- 
 dowager Euphrosyne took the place in the court 
 ceremonies reserved by etiquette for the Augusta. 
 But Euphrosyne detested the world. Daughter by 
 his first wife, Mary, of the unfortunate Constan- 
 tine VI, so cruelly blinded by order of his mother, 
 Irene, she had retired, after the downfall of her 
 family, to one of the convents of Prinkipo. There she 
 had lived in quiet seclusion until, not without some 
 scandal, the Basileus Michael had taken the beautiful 
 nun, whom he loved passionately, out of her convent 
 and set her upon the throne of the Caesars. But as 
 soon as her husband was dead, Euphrosyne’s one wish 
 was to return immediately to some holy retreat; she 
 therefore bent all her endeavours to finding a wife for 
 the young Emperor, her step-son, without delay. 
 
 In accordance with the traditional custom of the 
 Byzantine court, messengers scoured the provinces 
 to find the most beautiful girls in the Empire and 
 bring them to Constantinople; and they were 
 gathered together in the great Pavilion of the Pearl 
 
 bala] 
 
BYZANEINE PORTRAITS 
 
 so that from among them Theophilus might choose 
 the future Empress. He first selected the six most 
 attractive; but, finding himself unable to decide, 
 postponed his definite choice until the morrow. On 
 the following day he appeared among the girls hold- 
 ing, like Paris among the three goddesses, a golden 
 apple, to be given to her whom he should choose, and 
 thus equipped he began his inspection. He stopped 
 at first in front of a very lovely, high-born maiden, 
 named Kasia, and being rather embarrassed, per- 
 haps, and not quite knowing how to start con- 
 versation, began sententiously with the following 
 dubious compliment: 
 
 ““A woman was the fount and source 
 Of all man’s tribulation.” 
 
 Kasia was witty, and retorted undismayed: 
 
 “And from a woman sprang the course 
 Of man’s regeneration.!”’ 
 
 This answer ruined her chances. Theophilus was 
 terrified by her quick repartee and her emancipated 
 point of view, and turning his back upon her 
 gave the apple and the Empire to an equally beauti- 
 ful candidate, Theodora. 
 
 Kasia consoled herself for the loss of the throne in 
 characteristic Byzantine fashion by founding a con- 
 vent to which she retired; and, being a clever 
 woman, passed her time composing religious poems 
 and secular epigrams that have come down to us and 
 
 1 This metrical translation is taken from J. B. Bury, 4 History of the 
 
 Eastern Roman Empire from the Fall of Irene to the Accession of Basil I 
 (A.D. 802-867), 1912, p. 82 and note (2). [Translator’s Note]. 
 
 [ 126] 
 
THE BLESSED THEODORA 
 
 that are not without interest. Meanwhile her suc- 
 cessful rival had been crowned with great ceremony 
 in St. Stephen’s Church in the Palace of Daphne, 
 and, as usual, all her family shared her good fortune. 
 Her mother, Theoctista, received the much-coveted 
 dignity of Patrician of the Girdle, her three sisters 
 were married to high, dignitaries, and her brothers, 
 Petronas and Bardas, moved rapidly from one honour 
 to another. They were destined to shew but little 
 gratitude to her whose unforeseen elevation and 
 sisterly affection had brought them to the very steps 
 of the throne. 
 
 The new Empress was an Asiatic, born in Paphla- 
 gonia of a family of officials. Her relatives were 
 pious folk, much attached to the worship of the 
 images, against which the successors of the most 
 pious Irene had resumed the struggle; it seems that 
 her family had given proof of considerable zeal for 
 their faith. Having been brought up in such an en- 
 vironment, Theodora was naturally devout and 
 entertained great respect for the holy icons; where- 
 fore at first she was not a little disconcerted by the 
 court life into which her marriage had suddenly 
 translated her. 
 
 The Iconoclastic controversy had been reopened 
 about twenty years before, and was perhaps even 
 bitterer than in the eighth century, since to the reli- 
 gious question a political motive had been added, the 
 State advancing the right of interference in matters 
 ecclesiastical, and the Church defending its liberties. 
 Michael II had persecuted his opponents openly and 
 unscrupulously; and Theophilus, an intelligent, 
 masterful, energetic Prince, followed his father’s 
 
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BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 example and continued his policy. Theodora tried 
 in vain to use her influence in her friends’ favour, and 
 temper by her entreaties the rigour of the persecution, 
 Theophilus was not a very good-natured monarch; 
 when he frowned and raised his voice his wife be- 
 came terrified and dared not press the point, and she 
 herself was obliged carefully to dissimulate her senti- 
 ments and her private sympathies. She had to con- 
 ceal under her clothes the. holy images that she 
 insisted upon wearing, she had to take innumerable 
 precautions in hiding away the forbidden icons in 
 chests in her own room, and she sometimes ran con- 
 siderable risk in performing her secret devotions. 
 One day the Emperor’s jester, a dwarf who used to 
 amuse the whole Palace by his malicious witticisms, 
 surprised the Empress at her prayers. Being of an 
 inquisitive turn of mind, he asked to see the objects 
 that so absorbed her attention. ‘“These are my dolls,” 
 said Theodora; ‘“‘they are pretty, and I love them 
 dearly.”’ The dwarf ran as fast as he could and told 
 the Emperor about the beautiful dollies that the 
 Basilissa kept under her pillow. Theophilus in- 
 stantly understood what was going on, and, furious 
 at finding his orders flouted in his own Palace, hur- 
 ried off to the Gynaeceum and began to make a vio- 
 lent scene. But Theodora was a woman, and knew 
 how to get herself out of the difficulty. ‘‘It is not 
 what you suspect at all,” she said to her husband; 
 “I was simply looking at myself in the mirror with 
 my attendants, and your dwarf thought that the 
 faces he saw reflected were religious images, and 
 stupidly went off and told you so.” Theophilus 
 quieted down, or pretended to be convinced; but 
 
 C128 J 
 
THE BLESSED THEODORA 
 
 Theodora lay in wait for the taleteller. A few days 
 later she had the dwarf soundly whipped for some 
 peccadillo, and then warned him never again to talk 
 about dolls in the Gynaeceum. And when, after 
 drinking, the Emperor would occasionally revert to 
 the subject and question the dwarf, the latter used 
 to make a significant gesture, putting one hand on 
 his mouth and the other upon that part of his person 
 which had been flogged, and say hurriedly: ““No, no, 
 Sir, let’s not talk about dolls.” 
 
 In the high society of the capital there was a 
 general conspiracy in favour of the icons. The old 
 Empress Euphrosyne, in the convent where she was 
 spending the last years of her life, shared Theodora’s 
 sentiments, and whenever the small daughters of the 
 Basileus came to pay her a visit, talked constantly to 
 them about the holy images. Theophilus, who sus- 
 pected as much, always questioned the children on 
 their return, without, however, obtaining any definite 
 information. But one day the youngest of the im- 
 perial princesses gave it away, for, after telling her 
 father about the lovely presents they had received 
 at the convent, and the wonderful fruits they had 
 eaten, she went on to explain that her grandmother 
 had also a chest all full of beautiful dolls, and that 
 she often touched them to the children’s foreheads, 
 and made them kiss them devoutly. Theophilus once 
 more became angry and forbade his little daughters 
 to visit the old Basilissa any more. But even among 
 the courtiers many, including statesmen, held the 
 same beliefs as the two Empresses; ministers and 
 privy counsellors were quietly but deeply devoted to 
 image-worship, and matters had reached such a pass 
 
 r 129 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 that even the astrologers whom the Emperor was 
 in the habit of consulting prophesied openly to him 
 the approaching overthrow of his work. He himself 
 felt it so strongly that on his death-bed he made his 
 wife and his Prime Minister, the Logothete Theoctis- 
 tus, swear a solemn oath not to alter his policy, nor to 
 interfere with his friend the Patriarch John, who had 
 been its chief instigator. Final precautions have 
 rarely been so useless. 
 
 i 
 
 The successor of Theophilus, his son Michael III, 
 was a child; in 842, at the time of his father’s death, 
 he was not more than three or four years old; so, 
 like Irene, Theodora assumed the regency during 
 the minority of the young sovereign. She retained 
 the principal ministers of the late reign, the Logothete 
 Theoctistus, who had great influence with her, and 
 the Magister Manuel. Both were devout men, 
 secretly attached, like the Basilissa herself, to image- 
 worship; and being, moreover, men of sense, who 
 were rightly worried at the long continuance of a 
 useless and dangerous conflict, they naturally en- 
 tertained the idea of restoring Orthodoxy. Never- 
 theless, in spite of their suggestions, the Empress 
 seems at first to have hesitated. Theodora had 
 loved her husband very much; she was devotedly 
 attached to his memory, and dreaded, furthermore, 
 the difficulties of the undertaking. But all the court- 
 iers did their best to convince her; her mother and 
 brothers were constantly giving her advice. In vain 
 the Basilissa objected, saying: ““My husband, the 
 late Emperor, was a wise man; he knew what was 
 
 C1307 
 
THE BLESSED THEODORA 
 
 expedient; we really cannot ignore his wishes.” The 
 danger of the situation was pointed out to her, the 
 unpopularity she would incur if she were to persist 
 in carrying out Theophilus’s policy; she was worried 
 by suggestions of a revolution in which her son might 
 lose his throne. Her piety, moreover, prompted her 
 to heed the advice that was given her so freely; and 
 she yielded. 
 
 A synod was assembled at Constantinople. But 
 in order that it should accomplish its task satisfac- 
 torily the Patriarch had first to be removed. John, 
 whom Theophilus had made Patriarch in 834, had 
 been the Emperor’s tutor. He was an intelligent, 
 active, energetic man, and had lent his powerful aid 
 to the sovereign’s purposes; wherefore the oppo- 
 nents of the Iconoclastic party detested him. They 
 represented him as a magician, nicknaming him 
 Lecanomantis, or the Sorcerer, the new Apollonius, 
 the new Balaam; they circulated the most horrid 
 stories about him: how he had been able to destroy 
 the Emperor’s enemies by magic; how he had come 
 by night, muttering mysterious charms, and cut off 
 the head of the bronze serpent in the Hippodrome; 
 and how, in his suburban house, he had fashioned 
 a subterranean and diabolical cave, where, in the 
 company of fallen women, generally of wonderful 
 beauty, several of whom, by a refinement of scandal, 
 were said. to be nuns consecrated to God, he conjured 
 up demons by impure sacrifices, and questioned the 
 dead to learn the secrets of the future. But, whether 
 or not this gossip was well founded, John was a man 
 of high intelligence and strong will, and therefore 
 very embarrassing. To get rid of him, he was ordered 
 
 Pi3gt t 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 either to consent to the re-establishment of Ortho- 
 doxy or to resign; and it seems that the soldiers sent 
 to convey this ultimatum did it rather roughly. At 
 all events, the Patriarch was deposed and shut up in 
 a monastery; and when, in fury at his overthrow, he 
 ventured to display his temper by mutilating the 
 images in the monastery, the Regent ordered him to 
 be severely flogged. 
 
 One of the victims of the former administration, 
 Methodius, was put in his place, and a general re- 
 action began at once. The bishops undertook the 
 restoration of image-worship; those who had been 
 exiled and proscribed were called home and received 
 in triumph; prisoners were set ‘at liberty and 
 honoured as martyrs; upon the walls of the churches 
 religious pictures reappeared, and once more the 
 figure of Christ, solemnly replaced over the Chalce 
 Gate, bore witness to the piety of the masters of the 
 Imperial Palace. At last, on the 19th of February, 
 843, clergy, court, and people, united in a solemn and 
 magnificent ceremony. All night long in the church 
 of Blachernae the Empress prayed devoutly with 
 the priests. In the morning a triumphal procession 
 wound through Constantinople; amid an enthusiastic 
 crowd Theodora, surrounded by bishops and monks, 
 went from Blachernae to St. Sophia, and gave thanks 
 in the Great Church to the Almighty. Adherents of 
 the defeated party were made to march in this 
 procession that celebrated their downfall carrying 
 candles and bending low under the anathemas that 
 were hurled at them. That evening, the Basilissa 
 gave a banquet to the prelates at the Sacred Palace, 
 and rejoiced with them over the success of her 
 
 E ise 4 
 
THE BLESSED THEODORA 
 
 undertaking. This was the Feast of Orthodoxy. And 
 thereafter, in recollection of this great event and in 
 memory of the Blessed Theodora, the Greek Church 
 held a stately festival every year, on the First Sunday 
 in Lent, to celebrate the restoration of the images 
 and the discomfiture of their enemies. She celebrates 
 it still with pious and grateful devotion. 
 
 In the revolution even the dead had a place. The 
 remains of the illustrious confessors Theodore of 
 Studion and the Patriarch Nicephorus, who had 
 suffered for their faith and had died in distant exile, 
 were brought back in triumph to the capital. The 
 Empress and the entire court considered it an honour 
 to go, candle in hand, to receive the venerated relics, 
 to escort with reverence the reliquary borne on the 
 shoulders of priests, and to accompany it through 
 an enormous multitude, to the Church of the Holy 
 Apostles. By way of contrast the tomb of Con- 
 stantine V was violated, and, regardless of the Im- 
 perial Majesty, the remains of the great opponent of 
 the images were cast into the gutter; his sarcoph- 
 agus of green marble was cut up into thin slabs, and 
 used to decorate one of the rooms in the Palace. 
 
 The Byzantine historians to whom we owe these 
 details have unfortunately omitted to explain how 
 this great revolution could have been accomplished 
 so quickly, and, to all appearance, without en- 
 countering very serious difficulties. It would seem 
 that the most important factor was the universal 
 weariness at an interminable struggle. But a further 
 motive may have induced statesmen to favour the 
 decision which Theodora succeeded in carrying out. 
 Although from the doctrinal point of view the 
 
 [1337] 
 
BY ZADMLINE* POR TRA Irs 
 
 Church was completely victorious, she was obliged 
 in return to renounce those leanings towards inde- 
 pendence manifested by some of her most illustrious 
 defenders. She was now absolutely subject to the 
 State; imperial control in religious matters was more 
 complete than ever before. To this extent, not- 
 withstanding the re-establishment of Orthodoxy, the 
 policy of the Iconoclastic Emperors had borne its 
 fruit. 
 
 For the great work that she accomplished Theodora 
 has been canonized by the Eastern Church. In 
 carrying out her task, however, she was troubled by 
 many pangs of conscience. One thing worried her 
 above all others. As we know, she had loved her 
 husband passionately, and she was unable to endure 
 the thought that he was included in the terrible 
 anathemas which had been hurled against the perse- 
 cutors of the images. Therefore, when the Fathers 
 assembled in the synod came to beseech her of her 
 favour to restore the holy icons, she in turn made a 
 request of them, — namely, that they should absolve 
 the Emperor Theophilus. And when the Patriarch 
 Methodius objected that, while the Church had the 
 incontestable right to pardon living penitent sinners, 
 she could do nothing for a man well known to have 
 died in mortal sin, Theodora invented a pious false- 
 hood. She asserted that in his last moments the 
 Basileus had repented of his errors, had devoutly 
 kissed the images that she had offered to his lips, and 
 had commended his soul like a good Christian into 
 the hands of God. The bishops readily accepted this 
 edifying story, realising that it was the price of the 
 restoration of Orthodoxy; and at the Regent’s 
 
 [ 134 7 
 
THE BLESSED THEODORA 
 
 request they decided to offer prayers for a whole 
 week in all the churches of the capital for the repose 
 of the dead Emperor’s soul. Theodora herself took 
 part in these devotions, and trusted that she had 
 thus won the mercy of God for the smning but peni- 
 tent Prince. 
 
 Legend in later times added many details to the 
 touching story of Theodora’s love for her husband. 
 It was told how the Empress had learned in terrible 
 dreams of the fate that threatened him. She had 
 beheld the Virgin, with Christ in her arms, enthroned 
 among the angels, summoning the Basileus Theoph- 
 ilus before her tribunal and having him cruelly 
 flogged. On another occasion she had dreamed that 
 she was in the Forum of Constantine when suddenly 
 a great mob surged into it, anda procession passed 
 through, of men carrying instruments of torture, 
 dragging in their midst the wretched Theophilus, 
 naked and in chains. Theodora had followed the 
 crowd to the square in front of the Palace, before 
 the Chalce Gate. There she had beheld, seated upon 
 a throne, a tall man of terrible aspect, in the awful 
 guise of a judge. The Empress, throwing herself at 
 His feet, implored mercy for her husband, and the 
 man answered: ‘‘Woman, great is thy faith. Be- 
 cause of thy piety and thy tears, and because of the 
 prayers of My priests, I pardon Theophilus, thy hus- 
 band.” And He commanded the Emperor to be 
 released. Simultaneously, the Patriarch Methodius 
 made an experiment of his own to satisfy himself as 
 to the designs of Providence. Upon the high altar 
 of St. Sophia he laid a roll of parchment whereon he 
 had written the names of all the Iconoclastic Em- 
 
 EAg5 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 perors; then he went to sleep in the church and saw 
 in a dream an angel who told him that the Emperor 
 had found mercy with God; and he affirmed that 
 when, upon awaking, he had removed the parchment 
 from the holy table, the place where he had written 
 the name of Theophilus had become white again, in 
 token of pardon. 
 
 Several men, however, proved more implacable 
 than God. Lazarus, one of the most celebrated 
 painters of icons, had had his right hand cut off by 
 order of the deceased Emperor; and although, ac- 
 cording to the legend, his hand had miraculously 
 grown again, the martyr cherished a bitter hatred 
 for his torturer, and to all that the Empress said 
 answered obstinately: “‘God is not so unjust as to 
 forget our sufferings and honour our persecutor.” 
 At the court banquet with which the Feast of Ortho- 
 doxy ended, another confessor proved no less in- 
 tractable. This was Theodore Graptus, so called 
 because Theophilus had had four defamatory verses 
 stamped on his forehead with red-hot irons. The 
 Empress, who was very anxious to flatter the mar- 
 tyrs, inquired of the holy man who it was who had 
 inflicted so horrible a torture upon him. “For this 
 inscription” he replied solemnly, ‘‘the Emperor your 
 husband shall answer to me atGod’s judgement-seat.” 
 At this unexpected reply Theodora burst into tears, 
 and, turning to the bishops, asked if it was thus 
 that they intended to keep their promises. Fortu- 
 nately the Patriarch Methodius intervened, and not 
 without some difficulty managed to calm the iras- 
 cible confessor and reassure the Empress. ‘‘Our 
 promises stand” said he; ‘‘and if they weigh lightly 
 
 [1564] 
 
THE BLESSED: THEODORA 
 
 upon some, that is of no importance.”’ What is im- 
 portant, however, is the evidence that these anec- 
 dotes afford both of the various considerations of 
 policy and humanity that entered into the restora- 
 tion of Orthodoxy, and of the compromises which 
 the holy bishops and the most pious Theodora ar- 
 ranged with equal facility with their conscience. 
 
 Ill 
 
 “‘Orthodoxy”’ says a chronicler of the time, “‘is 
 the greatest virtue.” Theodora possessed it in its 
 fullness. But she had other qualities as well. Byzan- 
 tine historians praise her political astuteness, her 
 energy, and her courage; they put into her mouth 
 such heroic speeches as that by which she was said 
 to have stopped an invasion on the part of the Bul- 
 garian king: “‘If you triumph over a woman, you 
 will reap no glory thereby; but if you are beaten by 
 one, you will be the laughing-stock of the whole 
 world.” At all events, she governed well during her 
 fourteen years of rule. Her government had, to be 
 sure, a religious colour. She was very proud of havy- 
 ing restored Orthodoxy, and was no less anxious to 
 combat heresy; by her order the Paulicians were 
 given their choice between conversion and death, and 
 as they refused to yield, blood flowed freely in the 
 parts of Asia Minor where they were established. 
 The imperial inquisitors who were sent to crush their 
 resistance did wonders: they succeeded in putting 
 more than one hundred thousand of them to death 
 by torture — a serious matter, destined to have still 
 more serious consequences. For by throwing these 
 desperate men into the arms of the Mohammedans, 
 
 [1377] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 the imperial government was preparing many troubles 
 for itself in the future. 
 
 But in other ways the Regent’s pious zeal inspired 
 her to happier undertakings; it was she who laid the 
 foundations of the great missionary enterprise which 
 a few years later carried the Gospel to the Khazars, 
 the Moravians, and the Bulgars. She had also the 
 glory of inflicting several lasting defeats upon the 
 Arabs, and of repressing vigorously the insurrection 
 of the Slavs of Hellas. But her chief concern was 
 the financial administration of the Empire. She is 
 said to have had a talent for money-making, and an 
 amusing anecdote is told in this connexion. One day, 
 as the Emperor Theophilus was standing at a window 
 of the Palace, he saw a large and splendid merchant- 
 vessel entering the Golden Horn. Upon inquiring 
 the name of the owner, he was told that it belonged 
 to the Empress. He said nothing; but the next 
 day, as he was going to Blachernae, he went down to 
 the harbour, had the vessel unloaded, and ordered 
 the cargo to be set on fire. Then, turning to his 
 friends, he remarked: “You were not aware that 
 the Empress my wife had made a merchant of me! 
 Never before has a Roman Emperor been a shop- 
 keeper.” Whether or not the story is true, Theodora 
 managed the wealth of the State as successfully as 
 her own. On laying down the power, she left a large 
 balance in the Treasury. And on this account she 
 would doubtless have been reckoned a great sov- 
 ereign, had it not been for court intrigues and palace 
 rivalries, always of rapid growth under a woman’s 
 government, and for the miserable son that Heaven 
 had sent her. 
 
 cr 1387] 
 
THE BLESSED THEODORA 
 
 IV 
 
 During the reign of Theophilus the Imperial 
 Palace, for so many centuries the residence of the 
 Byzantine Basileis, had acquired new splendour. 
 The Emperor was fond of building, and to the old 
 constructions of Constantine and of Justinian had 
 added a series of magnificent edifices, decorated with 
 the most elegant and exquisite luxury. He loved 
 pomp and splendour, and to enhance the magnifi- 
 cence of the Palace receptions had ordered miraculous 
 products of the goldsmith’s and the mechanic's arts. 
 Among them were the Pentapyrgion, a celebrated 
 golden cabinet in which the crown jewels were ex- 
 hibited; the golden organs that were played on 
 days of solemn audience; the golden plane-tree 
 standing near the imperial throne, on which me- 
 chanical birds fluttered and sang; the golden lions 
 crouching at the Prince’s feet, which at certain times 
 rose up and lashed their tails, and roared; and the 
 mysterious golden gryphons which seemed to watch 
 over the ruler’s safety as in the palaces of Asiatic 
 kings. Furthermore, he had entirely renewed the im- 
 perial wardrobe — the beautiful costumes glittering 
 with gold that the Basileus wore in the court cere- 
 monies, the splendid vestments of golden tissue 
 studded with precious stones in which the Augusta 
 arrayed herself. He was a patron of letters, science, 
 and art. He had showered favours upon the great 
 mathematician, Leo of Thessalonica, and in the 
 Palace of Magnaura had founded a school where 
 that scholar imparted the teaching that was one of 
 the glories of Byzantium. He himself, Iconoclast 
 
 [139] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 though he was, had become very tolerant of the 
 confessor Methodius from the moment that the latter 
 proved his ability to solve certain scientific problems 
 in which the Emperor was absorbed. Arabic archi- 
 tecture was much to his taste, and as he was very anx- 
 ious to replace religious painting by a freer, more 
 secular style, he had turned the Byzantine art of his 
 time into new channels. Owing to his efforts and 
 intelligent protection, court life in the marvellous 
 Sacred Palace, full of the refinements of splendour 
 and rare luxury, with its incomparable pavilions and 
 terraces, its gardens grandly opening upon the lumi- 
 nous reaches of the Marmora, had taken on a new 
 effulgence. But now that the Emperor was dead, 
 this glorious Palace was the scene of quarrels and 
 intrigues. 
 
 Under the regency of Theodora the real head of 
 government was the Logothete Theoctistus. He was 
 a man of no great merit, an incapable and always 
 unfortunate general, a statesman of but moderate 
 acumen, by temperament cold, melancholy, and 
 harsh. He was unsympathetic and unloved, and 
 maintained himself in power by the Empress’s 
 favour. Apartments had been assigned to him in the 
 Palace itself. He exercised an enormous influence 
 over Theodora, so that scandalous reports were cur- 
 rent in Byzantium concerning his relations with her. 
 He was known to be ambitious, and people remem- 
 bered the feverish haste with which he had left the 
 army in Crete at the false news of a palace revolu- 
 tion, in order to observe events in the capital. He 
 was suspected of aspiring to the throne, and it was 
 even reported that Theodora approved his desires, 
 
 [ 140 7] 
 
THE BLESSED THEODORA 
 
 and that she intended either to marry him herself or 
 to give him one of her daughters in marriage. It 
 was said that, in order to smooth his path to power, 
 she was quite prepared, like the great Irene, to de- 
 throne and blind her own son. At all events, being 
 deeply devoted to the Regent, and with unbounded 
 influence over her, the Logothete did his best to 
 arouse her distrust against all the counsellors who 
 shared the power with him. 
 
 By his intrigues he speedily rid himself of rivals. 
 The Magister Manuel, tutor with Theoctistus of the 
 young Michael III, was accused of conspiring against 
 the imperial family and forced to resign office. The 
 Empress’s brothers, Petronas and Bardas, were more 
 formidable, especially the latter, whose great intelli- 
 gence was combined with a total absence of scruples 
 and morals. With Theodora’s own consent Bardas 
 was, on some pretext, exiled from court, and the 
 Logothete imagined that his own power was defi- 
 nitely established. He had not realised that he 
 should have to reckon with the young Emperor. 
 
 For Michael III was growing up, and as he grew 
 he shewed himself utterly worthless. In vain his 
 mother and the minister had done their utmost to 
 give him an excellent education; in vain he had 
 been entrusted to the best masters, surrounded by the 
 most carefully chosen companions — legend includes 
 among the Prince Imperial’s comrades Cyril, later 
 the Apostle of the Slavs. All had been useless, for 
 Michael was fundamentally corrupt. He was now 
 fifteen or sixteen years of age, and cared chiefly for 
 horses, hunting, racing, shows, and athletic con- 
 tests, and he even stooped to the point of making 
 
 cit J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 an exhibition of himself before his associates by driv- 
 ing a chariot in the palace hippodrome. His private 
 life was still worse. He frequented the lowest society, 
 spending part of his nights in drinking; and he had an 
 acknowledged mistress, Eudocia Ingerina. 
 
 Theodora and Theoctistus decided that the only 
 thing to be done was to find him a wife as soon as 
 possible. Palace envoys once more searched the proy- 
 inces for the most beautiful girls in the Empire, and 
 brought them to Constantinople; from among them, 
 Eudocia, a girl of the Decapolis, was chosen and at 
 once crowned Basilissa. But in a few weeks’ time 
 Michael tired of his wife and of marriage, returned 
 to his former habits, his friends, and his mistress, 
 and launched once more into excesses. All the ri- 
 diculous and odious tales that Byzantine historians 
 tell about Michael ITI must be accepted with reserve; 
 for the chroniclers of the Macedonian dynasty were 
 too anxious to excuse and justify the assassination 
 by which Basil I won the throne not to be tempted to 
 blacken his victim a little. But, notwithstanding this 
 reservation, undoubted facts testify to the insanity 
 of the wretched Emperor’s behaviour. Constantly 
 surrounded by actors, debauchees, and clowns, he 
 and his unworthy familiars amused themselves by 
 playing grotesque or filthy jests, he scandalised the 
 Palace with his shocking practical jokes, and he re- 
 spected neither his family nor his faith. A favourite 
 amusement was to dress himself and his friends as 
 bishops; one took the part of the Patriarch, and the 
 others represented metropolitans; he himself as- 
 sumed the title of Archbishop of Colonaea; and thus 
 they went masquerading through the city, singing 
 
 [ 142 7] 
 
THE BLESSED THEODORA 
 
 disgusting songs and parodying the holy ceremonies. 
 One day, in imitation of Christ, Michael went to 
 dine at the house of a poor woman, all aghast at re- 
 ceiving the Basileus so unexpectedly. Another time, 
 meeting the Patriarch Ignatius in the streets with his 
 clergy, the Emperor improvised a sort of vaudeville 
 entertainment, and with his retinue of actors ac- 
 companied them for some distance, singing them 
 licentious songs, to the sound of cymbals and tam- 
 bourines. 
 
 His mother was the next victim of his disgusting 
 jokes. He sent her word one day that the Patriarch 
 was calling at the Palace, and that she would doubt- 
 less like to receive his blessing. The pious Theodora 
 came in haste, and in the great Golden Triclinium 
 found the prelate in full canonicals sitting on a 
 throne beside the sovereign, his cowl pulled down 
 over his face, and apparently lost in deep thought. 
 The Regent fell at the holy man’s feet and begged 
 him to remember her in his prayers, when all of a 
 sudden the Patriarch got up, made a few pirouettes, 
 presented his back to the Empress... and one must 
 consult the chroniclers to discover what he emitted 
 in Theodora’s face. Then he turned around and re- 
 marked: ‘‘You can hardly say, Madam, that even 
 in this we have not tried our best to do you honour” ; 
 and, throwing back his cowl, the Patriarch proved 
 to be none other than the Emperor’s favourite jester. 
 Michael burst into fits of laughter at this charming 
 pleasantry, while Theodora called down curses upon 
 him, saying: ‘“‘You wicked child! God has this day 
 withdrawn his help from you!” and left the room in 
 tears. But, in spite of so many evidences of boorish 
 
 [ 143 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 impropriety, his tutors dared not interfere, and, 
 whether from excessive indulgence, or because they 
 hoped to curry favour, were careful not to reprimand 
 him. 
 
 But it was Bardas, chiefly, who tolerated his 
 nephew’s amusements and so acquired an ascendancy 
 over him. Through the good offices of his friend, 
 the Lord Chamberlain Damianus, he had succeeded 
 in having the Emperor recall him from exile, and 
 very soon ingratiated himself into Michael’s favour. 
 Naturally, he detested Theoctistus, who stood in his 
 way, and he was constantly playing upon the Basi- 
 leus’s distrust of the minister. He hinted that the 
 Logothete was preparing some coup d élal, and did not 
 hesitate to slander his sister, the Regent Theodora, 
 presenting her conduct in the worst possible light. 
 He succeeded so well that an unimportant incident 
 (the minister had refused advancement to some 
 friend of the sovereign’s) grew into a violent quarrel 
 between Michael and Theoctistus. This was in 856. 
 Bardas took advantage of it to inflame Michael’s 
 bitterness still further; he told him that he was being 
 kept out of politics, and nettled his vanity by cynical 
 remarks. ‘“‘So long as Theoctistus and the Augusta 
 are together’ he used to say, “‘the Basileus will be 
 powerless”’; and he contrived to persuade the Em- 
 peror that his life was threatened. A plot was 
 formed against the Logothete. A great number of 
 the courtiers was won over to Bardas’s side; the 
 Prince agreed to everything; even a sister of the 
 Empress joined with Bardas, her brother, against 
 Theodora and her favourite. Thus the conspiracy 
 succeeded without great difficulty. 
 
 [1447 
 
THE BLESSED THEODORA 
 
 One day, in the discharge of his duties, when com- 
 ing with papers in his hand for an audience with 
 the Regent, Theoctistus, in the gallery of the Lausi- 
 acus, which led to the Empress’s apartments, dis- 
 covered Bardas, who did not rise at his approach, 
 but looked him up and down most insolently. A 
 little further on he met the Emperor, who forbade 
 him to go to the Augusta, and ordered the Logothete 
 to make his daily report to him. As the minister 
 hesitated in astonishment, the Basileus dismissed him 
 roughly; but as he was leaving, Michael cried out 
 to the chamberlains in waiting: ‘“‘Arrest that man!’ 
 Thereupon Bardas threw himself on the Logothete, 
 who fled; Bardas caught up with him, knocked him 
 down, and drew his sword to prevent anyone from 
 coming to the poor man’s rescue. It does not seem, 
 however, as if the death of Theoctistus had been an 
 essential part of the programme; at first, the Em- 
 peror simply commanded that he should be taken 
 under close guard to the vestibule of the Scyla, 
 there to await his commands. Unfortunately for the 
 Logothete, the noise had alarmed Theodora, who 
 came running, in disordered attire, her hair di- 
 shevelled, demanding the release of her favourite, in- 
 veighing against her son and her brother, and crying 
 that she forbade anyone to put Theoctistus to death. 
 It was perhaps her eagerness for his safety that cost 
 him his life. Michael’s companions feared, if he were 
 allowed to live, that the Regent would restore him 
 to power, and that he would then take cruel ven- 
 geance upon his enemies; for safety’s sake they 
 decided upon his death. In vain some of the guard- 
 officers who had remained faithful to him tried to 
 
 [145] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 defend him; in vain the poor wretch hid under the 
 furniture, attempting to avoid his fate. A soldier 
 bent down and with a thrust of his sword ran him 
 through the belly, and Bardas finished him off. 
 
 The assassination of the Prime Minister was a 
 direct blow at Theodora, and she took it as such. In 
 the mist of the tumult she had heard menacing 
 voices crying out against her; people had shouted 
 to her to beware, that it was the day of murders. 
 Moreover, in her wrath she refused all excuses and 
 all consolation. Savagely, tragically, she invoked 
 the vengeance of Heaven upon the murderers, but 
 chiefly upon her brother Bardas, and openly prayed 
 for their death. By taking this unyielding stand 
 she made herself irksome; and Bardas, whose am- 
 bitions she hindered, decided to get rid of her. 
 First, her daughters were taken away and put into a 
 convent, in the expectation that she would soon 
 follow them there of her own free will. As she still 
 hesitated, she was ordered to retire to the convent of 
 Gastria. Not wishing to trouble the State by a use- 
 less resistance, she nobly resigned the power, after 
 having delivered officially to the Senate the moneys 
 which under her sound financial administration had 
 been deposited in the Treasury. It was the end of 
 her political career. 
 
 In the convent where she found refuge, Theodora 
 lived piously with her daughters for many long 
 years, forgiving her son, over whom she seems later 
 to have regained some influence; but always bitterly 
 opposed to Bardas, whom she justly held responsible 
 for the death of Theoctistus. To such a pitch did 
 she carry her hatred that she, the pious, orthodox 
 
 [ 146 J 
 
THE BLESSED THEODORA 
 
 Empress, plotted against the brother she loathed, 
 and tried, with the help of some of her friends at court, 
 to have him assassinated. She failed in the attempt, 
 and seems to have been rather severely punished for it. 
 It was doubtless on this occasion that all her prop- 
 erty was confiscated, and that she was deprived of 
 the honours attached to her imperial rank. But to 
 console her for her disgrace, fate was to raise up an 
 avenger, destined to satisfy her hate even beyond 
 her hopes. This was Basil, the illustrious founder of 
 the Macedonian dynasty. 
 
 r 1477] 
 
Vil 
 
 THE ROMANTIC ADVENTURES 
 OF BASIL THE MACEDONIAN 
 
 I 
 
 N the days when the Empress Theodora shared 
 | the throne with her husband Theophilus, to- 
 wards the year 840, a young man in shabby 
 clothes, but with a fine, upstanding appearance, due 
 to his height, strength, and healthy complexion, 
 with his pack on his back and his staff in his hand, 
 entered Constantinople one evening by the Golden 
 Gate. It was Sunday, and night was coming on. 
 Tired and dusty, the traveller lay down in the porch 
 of the neighbouring Church of St. Diomed, and was 
 soon fast asleep. Now, during the night the abbot 
 of the monastery to which the church belonged 
 awoke suddenly, and heard a voice saying to him: 
 “Get up, and go and open the door of the church for 
 the Emperor.” The monk obeyed; but seeing the 
 court deserted, except for a poor fellow in rags asleep 
 on the stones, he thought he had been dreaming, 
 and went back to bed. Then a second time the voice 
 awoke him and repeated the same order; getting up 
 again and seeing no one but the sleeper, he returned 
 to bed once more. At last the voice sounded a third 
 time in the silence, more imperiously than ever, 
 and so that he should not doubt he was awake, the 
 
 [ 148 7] 
 
BASIL THE MACEDONIAN 
 
 abbot received a rough, mysterious punch in the 
 ribs. “Get up” said the voice, ‘‘and bring in him 
 who lies before the door. He is the Emperor.” The 
 holy man, trembling, left his cell in haste, and went 
 down and called to the stranger. ‘“Here I am, 
 master” answered the latter, rousing himself, ‘‘what 
 orders have you for your slave?” The abbot bade 
 him follow, and set him at his table; the next day 
 he made him bathe, and gave him new clothes; and 
 as the astonished traveller was unable to understand 
 the consideration with which he was being treated, 
 the monk, under pledge of secrecy, imparted to him 
 the mystery of his future, and asked him to be hence- 
 forth his friend and brother. 
 
 It was thus picturesquely — Paul Adam has made 
 ingenious use of it in his novel Basile et Sophia — 
 that, during the reign of Theodora and Michael III, 
 Basil the Macedonian made his entrance into history, 
 and guided his fortunes with such success that a few 
 years later he set himself and his family upon the 
 throne of Byzantium. 
 
 The historians who lived at the court of Constan- 
 tine VII, Basil’s grandson, as well as Constantine 
 himself, were naturally eager to make out a respect- 
 able and even a glorious genealogy for the founder 
 of the dynasty. If they are to be believed, the illus- 
 trious Basileus was descended through his father 
 from the royal family of Armenia, and on his mother’s 
 side from Constantine and even from Alexander the 
 Great. But his true ancestry seems to have been 
 far more modest. Basil was of humble origin, hav- 
 ing been born about the year 812 near Adrianople 
 of an obscure peasant family, poor settlers of Ar- 
 
 [ 149 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 menian extraction, transplanted by circumstances to 
 Macedonia. The Bulgarian war had ruined them; 
 and by a final misfortune, the father’s death, they 
 were left destitute. Basil, the sole support of his 
 mother and sisters, was at that time twenty-five 
 or -six years of age. He was a big, strapping fellow, 
 with powerful hands and broad shoulders; his ener- 
 getic face was framed in thick, curly hair. He 
 was absolutely illiterate, unable either to read or 
 write — just a splendid human animal. But that 
 was enough to make his fortune. 
 
 The Byzantine chroniclers, with their love of the 
 marvellous, have scrupulously set down the omens 
 that foretold Basil’s future greatness; how, one 
 fine summer’s day, as he was lying asleep in the 
 fields, an eagle flying over the child had shadowed 
 him with his wings; how his mother had dreamed 
 that a golden tree, laden with flowers and fruits of 
 gold, had sprung from her womb, and grown and 
 overshadowed the whole house; and how, on another 
 occasion, she had seen in a dream St. Elijah the Tish- 
 bite, in the guise of an old man with a white beard, 
 emitting flames from his mouth, who had told her 
 of the ;high destiny awaiting her son. Byzantine 
 superstition delighted in thus embellishing the youth 
 of great men, and these predictions were firmly 
 believed. But it was in fact by other means and 
 other qualities, his adroitness and pliancy, his un- 
 scrupulous energy, his physical strength, and his 
 influence with women, to whom the charm of his 
 athletic vigour made a powerful appeal, that Basil 
 the Macedonian was destined to succeed. 
 
 In his own poor Macedonia Basil, who had charge 
 
 [C1507 
 
BASIL THE MACEDONIAN 
 
 of the family, soon came to realise that farming 
 would never suffice for their support; and he began 
 by taking service with the governor of the province. 
 Then he went to seek his fortune in Constantinople, 
 where circumstances proved as favourable as could 
 be desired. The Abbot of St. Diomed, his host, had 
 a brother who was a physician; he saw the young 
 man at the monastery, found him a well set-up, nice- 
 looking fellow, and recommended him to one of his 
 patients, a relative of Bardas and of the Emperor’s, 
 Theophilus by name, who on account of his small 
 stature was nicknamed Theophilitzes (little Theoph- 
 ilus). This little man had a mania for servants of 
 great height and Herculean strength, whom he 
 clothed in magnificent silks; and nothing gave him 
 greater pleasure than to appear in public with his 
 escort of giants. No sooner had he heard of Basil 
 than he wanted to see him, and, having done so, he was 
 delighted with his appearance, engaged him on the 
 spot to groom his horses, and bestowed on him the 
 nickname of Cephalas, or ‘“‘Strong-head.” 
 
 Basil remained in the service of Theophilitzes for 
 several years, and it was during this time that he 
 met with an adventure that made his fortune. His 
 master having been sent on a mission to Greece, 
 Basil, in his capacity of groom, accompanied him; 
 but on the journey he fell ill, and was obliged to re- 
 main behind in Patras. There he met Danielis. 
 Danielis was a rich widow, no longer in her first 
 youth; when Basil met her she had a grown son, 
 and it seems that she was even a grandmother. But 
 her fortune was enormous, “‘the fortune of a king” 
 says the chronicler, “‘rather than of a private person.” 
 
 c 1517 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 She owned slaves by the thousand, immense estates, 
 innumerable herds, factories where women wove 
 magnificent silks, beautiful carpets, and linens of 
 marvellous fineness. Her house was full of sumptu- 
 ous services of silver and gold, and her cupboards of 
 splendid clothes; her strong-boxes were stuffed with 
 ingots of precious metals. She owned a large part 
 of the Peloponnesus, and seemed indeed, as an 
 historian says, “‘the queen of the country.” She 
 loved pomp and luxury; on her journeys she used 
 neither carriage nor horse, but had a litter with three 
 hundred slaves to accompany it, carrying it in relays. 
 She also loved handsome men — wherefore Basil 
 interested her. Must we imagine that she too, as 
 the superstitious chroniclers intimate, had premoni- 
 tions of the Macedonian’s glorious future? I be- 
 lieve rather that her sympathy sprang from more 
 material causes. At all events, she welcomed him 
 warmly to her house; and when Basil at last decided 
 to leave, presented him with money, clothes, and 
 thirty slaves to wait upon him. Thus the poor 
 fellow became a fine gentleman, and was able to cut 
 a figure in the world and buy estates in Macedonia. 
 He never forgot his benefactress. Twenty years 
 later, when he ascended the throne, his first thought 
 was to give Danielis’s son a high position at court; 
 and then he invited the old lady, “‘who’’, it is said, 
 “‘was very desirous of seeing the Emperor again” ; 
 to visit him in the capital. He received her in the 
 Palace of Magnaura as if she were an Empress, and 
 solemnly conferred upon her the title of Mother of 
 the Basileus. Danielis on her part, magnificent as 
 ever, had brought precious gifts for her old friend; 
 
 [ ¥52 | 
 
BASIL THE MACEDONTAN 
 
 she presented him with five hundred slaves, a hun- 
 dred eunuchs, a hundred astonishingly expert em- 
 broiderers, splendid fabrics, and much more besides. 
 Nor did she stop there. Basil was engaged at the 
 time upon the construction of the New Church; she 
 was anxious to share in this pious work, and offered 
 to have all the prayer-rugs with which the entire 
 floor was to be covered woven in her Peloponnesian 
 factories. Lastly, she promised to remember in her 
 will her son and former favourite. Then she returned 
 to Patras; but every year thereafter, so long as Basil 
 lived, his old friend sent him splendid presents from 
 Greece; and when he died, predeceasing her, she 
 transferred to the Emperor’s son the affection she 
 had felt for the father. She returned once more to 
 Constantinople to see him, and in her will appointed 
 him her sole heir. When the imperial envoy, sent 
 to make an inventory of the estate, reached her house, 
 he was astounded at such unparalleled wealth. Not 
 to speak of coined money, jewellery, precious serv- 
 ices, and thousands of slaves — the Emperor freed 
 three thousand whom he sent as colonists to southern 
 Italy — the Basileus inherited more than twenty- 
 four estates. From this one can form some idea of 
 the wealth of the Byzantine Empire in the ninth 
 century and of the enormous fortunes enjoyed by the 
 great families of the provincial aristocracy — families 
 that played so great a part in the history of the 
 monarchy. But above all, is she not a curious and 
 piquante figure — this old lady whose carefully cul- 
 tivated friendship proved so useful to the Macedo- 
 nian house? 
 
 On his return from Patras to Constantinople Basil 
 
 E 1534 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 had re-entered Theophilitzes’s service, when an un- 
 foreseen incident brought him to the notice of the 
 Emperor. One day a cousin of Michael III’s, the 
 Patrician Antigonus, son of Bardas, was giving a 
 banquet in honour of his father; he had invited many 
 of his friends, senators, and important people, as 
 well as some Bulgarian ambassadors who were pass- 
 ing through Constantinople. In accordance with the 
 custom at Byzantine feasts, wrestlers came in at 
 dessert-time to amuse the guests; whereupon the 
 Bulgarians with their usual boastfulness, being some- 
 what excited after dinner, began singing the praises 
 of a certain athlete of their own race, saying that 
 he was invincible and could defeat anyone who dared 
 stand up to him. They were taken at their word; 
 and, as a matter of fact, the barbarian champion 
 threw all his adversaries. The Byzantines were 
 greatly humiliated, and even more irritated; Theo- 
 philitzes, who was present, remarked, however: 
 ‘‘There’s a man in my service who can equal your 
 Bulgarian, and if you like I'll send for him. For 
 really it would be shameful for us Romans if this 
 stranger should go back home without meeting his 
 match.” The proposal was accepted; Basil was sent 
 for; the floor was carefully sanded; and the fight 
 began. The Bulgarian, with his powerful arm, tried 
 to lift Basil off the ground and make him lose his 
 balance; but the latter was even stronger, and, rais- 
 ing his opponent, turned him around, and by a clever 
 throw that was very celebrated among wrestlers at 
 the time, threw him on the ground breathless and 
 bruised. © 
 
 This exploit attracted the attention of the court- 
 
 [ 154 J 
 
BASIL THE MACEDONIAN 
 
 iers to the Macedonian. It happened that a few days 
 later the Emperor received from a provincial gover- 
 nor the present of a very fine horse, which he im- 
 mediately wished to try. But when he came up to 
 open the horse’s mouth and look at his teeth, the 
 creature reared and plunged so that neither the 
 Emperor nor his grooms could manage him. Michael 
 was very much put out; but Theophilitzes obligingly 
 came to the rescue, saying: ‘‘Sir, I have a strong 
 young man who is very clever at managing horses; 
 his name is Basil, if Your Majesty cares to send for 
 him.’ The Macedonian was immediately summoned 
 to the Palace, and when he arrived leaped to the 
 animal’s back “‘like Alexander upon Bucephalus”’, 
 to quote an historian, “‘like Bellerophon upon 
 Pegasus”, and soon was able to control him per- 
 fectly. The Basileus was enraptured, and gave 
 Theophilitzes no peace until this likely fellow who 
 was so good a groom and so strong a wrestler had 
 been turned over to him. Then in his pride of ac- 
 quisition he presented Basil to his mother, Theodora, 
 saying: ‘“Come and see the splendid creature I’ve 
 discovered.”’ But the Empress, after gazing search- 
 ingly at the new favourite’s face, said sadly to herself: 
 “Would to heaven I had never set eyes upon this 
 man! for he will destroy our house.” 
 
 Theodora was right. This athlete who had such 
 success with women was to shew himself capable of 
 other things. It was in 856 that he entered the 
 service of Michael III; eleven years later he was 
 Emperor. 
 
 Ease | 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 II 
 
 At the time of Basil’s arrival at court, Bardas, 
 the uncle of the Basileus, was becoming all-powerful. 
 The assassination of Theoctistus and the retirement 
 of Theodora soon made him the real head of the 
 government; he was nominated successively Magis- 
 ter and Domestic of the Scholae, soon afterwards, 
 Curopalates, finally he was almost associated in the 
 imperial power with the title of Caesar, and ruled as 
 master in Michael’s name. 
 
 Bardas, in spite of his vices, was a remarkable man. 
 He was devoured by ambition and passionately eager 
 for power, wealth, and luxury; but at the same time 
 he prided himself on being a good administrator, a 
 stern judge, and an incorruptible minister; conse- 
 quently, notwithstanding his unscrupulousness and 
 profound immorality, he became very popular. He 
 was extremely intelligent, was fond of letters, and 
 took an interest in science. The honour is his of 
 having founded the University of Magnaura, to 
 which he called the most distinguished masters of 
 the times. Grammar, philosophy, geometry, and 
 astronomy were taught; and to encourage the zeal 
 of the professors and the ardour of the students 
 Bardas paid it frequent and careful visits. Among 
 his intimate friends and associates he numbered the 
 famous Leo of Thessalonica, an eminent mathemati- 
 cian and a renowned philosopher and physician, one 
 of the greatest men of the ninth century, who like all 
 the important scholars of the Middle Ages had an 
 evil reputation among his contemporaries for being 
 a soothsayer and a magician. And in other ways, 
 
 [ 156 7 
 
BASIL THE MACEDONIAN 
 
 doubtless, Bardas scandalised the town and the 
 court. He was suspected of improper relations with 
 his daughter-in-law; this was the chief cause of the 
 serious quarrel that broke out between him and the 
 Patriarch Ignatius, when the latter decided that he 
 ought to forbid the all-powerful Regent to enter 
 St. Sophia. But even Bardas’s enemies had to rec- 
 ognise his great qualities. During his administra- 
 tion several noteworthy victories were won over the 
 Arabs; the bold attempt of the Russians upon Con- 
 stantinople was vigorously repulsed; most important 
 of all, with the help of Ignatius’s successor, Photius, 
 Bardas had the glory of bringing to a successful re- 
 sult the great work of evangelizing the Moravians 
 and Bulgarians. For it was under his protection that 
 Cyril and Methodius, the Apostles of the Slavs, 
 undertook their splendid mission, by which a whole 
 race was won to Orthodoxy. 
 
 While the Caesar was thus governing, the Emperor 
 continued on his mad career. He spent on ridiculous 
 excesses the money that his parents had amassed, 
 and astonished and shocked the capital by his un- 
 bounded love for horses and racing. He had built a 
 magnificent stable, decorated like a palace with the 
 most precious marbles, and was prouder of it than 
 Justinian of St. Sophia. He spent his time in the 
 company of charioteers, gave them large gifts of 
 money, and even stood godfather to their children; 
 he himself presided at the races in the Hippodrome 
 in charioteer’s costume, and often drove his horses in 
 person on the private race-track of the Palace of St. 
 Mamas, making the high officials of the Empire imi- 
 tate him, wear the colours of the circus factions, and 
 
 [1577 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 compete with him for the prize. And in a scandalous 
 spirit of mockery he set an image of the Virgin on the 
 imperial throne to preside over the festivities in his 
 place. 
 
 When Michael III was engaged in amusement, he 
 would not permit himself to be disturbed upon any 
 pretext. One day, when he was in the Hippodrome, 
 word was sent to him that the Arabs had invaded 
 the Asiatic provinces; and as the messenger from 
 the Domestic of the Scholae stood before the Basileus, 
 anxiously awaiting the imperial orders, Michael sud- 
 denly exclaimed: “‘What audacity to come and 
 bother me about such things when I am busy with a 
 very important race, and trying to decide whether 
 or not the right-hand chariot will smash at the turn.” 
 Between the Cilician frontier and the capital there 
 was a system of beacon-fires in operation, a sort of 
 optical telegraph, by which Mohammedan inroads 
 were promptly notified to the Government; Michael 
 had it destroyed, saying that it distracted the 
 people’s attention on holidays, and that bad news 
 sent in this way saddened the spectators and pre- 
 vented them from deriving full pleasure from the 
 games. We have described his debauchery, and the 
 practical jokes he delighted in with his crew of actors 
 and clowns; he also drank to excess, and is known 
 in history as Michael the Drunkard. After drinking, 
 when he was no longer responsible for what he said, 
 he would unconcernedly order executions or invent 
 the worst excesses. The only way to please him was 
 by joining in these strange diversions, and everyone 
 at court did his best todo so. The Patriarch Photius 
 himself is said to have found the Emperor’s enter- 
 
 [ 158 7 
 
BASIL THE MACEDONIAN 
 
 tainments very amusing, and he often got the best of 
 him by drinking him under the table. At all events, 
 Basil quickly learned that that was one way of get- 
 ting ahead. 
 
 He had the wit to join in everything, to consent to 
 everything, and to profit by everything. In 856 the 
 office of Master of the Horse fell vacant, the occupant 
 having conspired against the Emperor, and Basil got 
 it. In 862 the Lord Chamberlain Damianus, Bar- 
 das’s former friend, was removed for having been 
 disrespectful to the Caesar with whom he had 
 quarrelled, and Basil succeeded him in this con- 
 fidential position, which brought the occupant into 
 close relations with the sovereign. Michael doted 
 upon his favourite, and told everyone that the 
 Macedonian was his only really faithful and devoted 
 servant. Accordingly, he created him patrician, and 
 finally arranged a marriage for him. As a matter of 
 fact, Basil had a wife already, a Macedonian like him- 
 self, named Mary; but the Basileus made him divorce 
 her, and Mary was given some money and sent back 
 to her native province. Thereupon the Emperor 
 married his friend to his mistress, Eudocia Ingerina. 
 
 She was a very beautiful woman, whom Michael 
 had loved for many years, and still loved; in fact, 
 he stipulated when she was married that she should 
 continue to be his mistress, and the contract was so 
 faithfully observed that the unofficial chroniclers 
 say explicitly that the Emperor was the father of 
 Basil’s two eldest children. The court historians are 
 naturally more discreet on so delicate a question, 
 and content themselves with praising not only 
 Eudocia’s beauty and grace, but her wisdom and 
 
 [ 159 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 virtue as well; and their very insistence on this 
 point shews that it was always a sore subject with 
 the Macedonian house. Basil seems to have adapted 
 himself without difficulty to this embarrassing situa- 
 tion; he managed to find consolation elsewhere. He 
 was the lover of the Emperor’s sister, Thecla; and 
 Michael winked at the arrangement like Basil at his 
 wife’s adultery. It was the neatest arrangement 
 imaginable. 
 
 Basil, to be sure, was not so accommodating for 
 nothing. Beneath the surface of this finished, pliant 
 courtier Bardas easily discerned the Macedonian 
 adventurer’s secret and persevering ambition. “I 
 have turned out the fox’’ he said to his friends after 
 the downfall of Damianus, ‘““but in his place I have 
 put a lion who will end by devouring us all.”’ And 
 there soon began, in fact, a keen struggle between the 
 favourite and the minister. Basil did his best to 
 persuade the Emperor that the Caesar sought his life; 
 but Michael only laughed at these absurd accusa- 
 tions. ‘Then, to achieve his purpose, the intriguing 
 Macedonian sought an accomplice; he had a talk 
 with Symbatius, Bardas’s son-in-law, and with the 
 most solemn oaths confided to him that the Em- 
 peror esteemed him highly and was very well dis- 
 posed toward him, but that his father-in-law alone 
 stood in the way of his due promotion. This done, 
 Basil returned to the attack upon the Emperor and 
 called upon Symbatius to corroborate his charges. 
 The latter, duped and furious, did not hesitate to 
 join Basil in swearing that Bardas was actually 
 conspiring. Greatly shaken by these statements, 
 Michael came little by little to entertain the idea of 
 
 [ 160 7 
 
BASIL THE MACEDONIAN 
 
 proceeding against the minister. But the Caesar was 
 powerful; in Constantinople he was as much re- 
 spected as the Emperor, and even more. Through 
 his son Antigonus, the commander-in-chief of the 
 guard, he controlled the troops in the capital; to 
 take any measures against him in Byzantium was to 
 court certain defeat. In order to find a suitable occa- 
 sion, Bardas would have to be separated from his 
 supporters. The Emperor was therefore induced to 
 proclaim a campaign in Asia against the Arabs; 
 Bardas would be obliged to accompany the Basileus, 
 and would thus be defenseless in the hands of his 
 enemies. _ 
 
 The Caesar was aware of all these intrigues, and 
 his friends advised him to take defensive precautions, 
 and to say point-blank that he would not accom- 
 pany the Emperor to the army. Superstitious folk, 
 naturally, discovered all sorts of ominous signs fore- 
 telling the minister’s impending doom. It was said 
 that one day, when he was in church, absorbed in 
 prayer, he had suddenly felt an invisible hand behind 
 him plucking off his mantle of state. An unexpected 
 gift sent him by his sister Theodora was unfavour- 
 ably interpreted; this was a costume embroidered 
 with golden partridges that proved too short. The 
 soothsayers were agreed that partridges symbolised 
 treachery, and that too short a garment meant 
 death. Bardas himself was troubled with bad 
 dreams. He dreamt that he was entering St. Sophia 
 im solemn procession at the Emperor’s side, when 
 suddenly in the apse of the church he saw St. Peter 
 enthroned among angels, and at his feet the Patri- 
 arch Ignatius demanding justice against his perse- 
 
 rol J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 cutors. The Apostle, holding out a sword to a 
 golden-vested attendant, bade the Emperor go to 
 his right hand, but the Caesar to his left, and or- 
 dered him to be struck with the sword. But Bardas 
 was too intelligent and strong-minded to take much 
 stock in such matters. Moreover, the Emperor and 
 his favourite were at the greatest pains to restore his 
 confidence so that they might entrap him the more 
 easily. Before starting for the front, they both 
 went with the Caesar to the Church of St. Mary 
 of Chalcopratia, and there, in the presence of the 
 Patriarch Photius, who witnessed their oath, they 
 both swore solemnly upon the Blood of Christ that 
 Bardas had nothing to fear from them. The Regent 
 was almost convinced, and he decided to accompany 
 the court. Basil, thrice perjured, had compassed his 
 ends. 
 
 The chroniclers favourable to the Macedonian 
 dynasty have done their utmost to exculpate Basil 
 from the murder of Bardas, and have exerted them- 
 selves to prove that he played no part in the tragedy. 
 But the facts are otherwise. The army and the court 
 had crossed over to Asia. Basil, with the small band 
 of conspirators, consisting of his brothers, some 
 relatives, and some intimate friends, whom he had 
 made a party to the project, held himself in readi- 
 ness to await the Emperor’s orders; and to precipi- 
 tate matters he and his accomplices excited Michael’s 
 ill will against his uncle, and called attention to the 
 Caesar’s insolence in pitching his tent on an emi- 
 nence overlooking the imperial pavilion. Bardas was 
 perfectly aware of the plot; but, scorning danger, 
 treated his friends’ warnings lightly, and trusted to 
 
 [ 1627 
 
BASIL THE MACEDONIAN 
 
 his star, thinking his enemies would not dare attack 
 him. To shew how little he feared danger, he put 
 on a sumptuous habit, and with a large retinue went 
 on horseback early in the morning, as was the cus- 
 tom, to the imperial audience. Basil was waiting 
 for him. In his capacity of Lord Chamberlain, it 
 was his duty to receive the Caesar, and, holding him 
 by the hand, to bring him into the presence of the 
 Basileus. On entering the tent Bardas sat down 
 beside the Emperor, and engaged in conversation 
 with him. Then Michael indicated by winking at 
 his friends that the moment had come. When the 
 signal had been given the Logothete Symbatius left 
 the imperial pavilion, and making, by a precon- 
 certed arrangement, the sign of the cross upon his 
 face, notified the assassins, and admitted them into 
 the rear of the tent. Basil was already standing be- 
 hind Bardas, containing himself, with difficulty and 
 making threatening gestures towards the minister, 
 when suddenly the Caesar turned around, and un- 
 derstood. Feeling that he was lost, he threw himself 
 at Michael’s feet, and implored his protection. But 
 Basil drew his sword; at this signal the conspirators 
 fell upon their victim, and under the very eyes of 
 the impassive or powerless Emperor hacked the 
 unfortunate Caesar to pieces. To such a point did 
 they vent their rage upon the bleeding corpse that 
 with difficulty a few shapeless fragments of it were 
 gathered up; these were buried in the same Gastria 
 monastery to which Theodora had been forced by 
 her brother’s orders to retire. 
 
 The official version, obviously invented to excuse 
 this cowardly murder, was to the effect that the con- 
 
 [ 163 J 
 
DYZUN TINE PORTRALES 
 
 spirators, after much hesitation, had acted solely to 
 save the Emperor’s life, which had been threatened; 
 and that in the tumult following the murder Mi- 
 chael III had been in the greatest danger. But this 
 story deceived no one. That finished courtier, the 
 Patriarch Photius, to be sure, made haste to con- 
 gratulate the Emperor on having escaped so great a 
 peril; but the people, who were more sincere, and had 
 loved Bardas, cried out at the sovereign as he passed 
 by: “This is a fine thing that you have done, Basi- 
 leus — killing your relative and shedding the blood 
 of your own kin! Woe unto you! Woe unto you!” 
 
 II 
 
 Basil was winning. A few weeks later, the Em- 
 peror, who had no children, adopted him and made 
 him Magister. A little later he created him co- 
 Emperor. 
 
 On Pentecost of the year 866 the people were 
 astonished to see two thrones set up in St. Sophia, 
 and the gossips were vastly puzzled, saying to one 
 another that there was but one Basileus. Soon it was 
 all explained. At the usual time the imperial pro- 
 cession entered the basilica; Michael III walked in 
 front in full state costume; Basil followed him carry- 
 ing the insignia and the Lord Chamberlain’s sword. 
 With resolute pace the Emperor advanced to the 
 iconostasis and stood upon the topmost step; below 
 him stood Basil; lower still were grouped the im- 
 perial secretary, the Grand Master of the Court, or 
 Praepositus, and the chiefs of the factions, who repre- 
 sented the official people. Then, in the presence of 
 
 [1647] 
 
BASIL THE MACEDONIAN 
 
 the court and of the assembled crowd, the imperial 
 secretary read a proclamation from the Basileus, as 
 follows: ‘‘The Caesar Bardas conspired against me 
 to put me to death, and to that end lured me forth 
 from the capital. And, had it not been for the timely 
 warnings of Symbatius and of Basil, I should no 
 longer be among the living. But he fell the victim 
 of his own trangression. I therefore order that 
 Basil the Parakoimomenos, my faithful servant and 
 guardian of my Majesty, who delivered me from 
 my enemy, and who loves me, be henceforth the 
 guardian and administrator of my Empire, and that 
 he be by all acclaimed Emperor.” Basil was much 
 moved and burst into tears at this proclamation, 
 which was doubtless no surprise to him. Then Mi- 
 chael, after giving his own crown to the Patriarch 
 to be blessed, set it upon Basil’s head, while the 
 praepositi vested him with the dibelesion and with 
 the red boots. And in accordance with the pre- 
 scribed etiquette the people shouted: ‘‘Long live 
 the Emperors Michael and Basil!’ 
 
 Gratitude had never been the Macedonian’s dom- 
 inant quality. When his late accomplices, and chiefly 
 Symbatius, demanded their share of honours and 
 power, he, having no further need of them, un- 
 hesitatingly sent them about their business; and 
 when in their discontent they raised a revolt, he 
 suppressed it sternly. But with such a Prince as 
 Michael favour that seemed most deeply rooted was 
 always uncertain — the more so since many of the 
 courtiers, jealous of the favourite’s rapid elevation, 
 tried their best to undermine his influence and per- 
 suade Michael that his new colleague wished to 
 
 [ 165 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 put him to death. Basil did what he could; he went 
 to the imperial feasts; he drank with the sovereign; 
 he allowed him to take all sorts of liberties with 
 his wife Eudocia. With so inconstant and fickle a 
 person as Michael he had always to fear for his 
 power and for his very life. 
 
 He soon had clear proof of the danger that threat- 
 ened him. One evening, in honour of a victory that 
 the Basileus had won at the races, a state dinner was 
 given at the Palace of St. Mamas. During dessert 
 one of the guests, the patrician Basiliscianus, whom 
 the sovereign liked, began to compliment the Em- 
 peror upon the ability and success with which he 
 had driven his chariot. Michael, already rather 
 drunk, thereupon had an odd fancy, such as often 
 came to him in his cups, and said to the patrician: 
 “Get up and take off my red shoeé, and put them on, 
 yourself.” The patrician, in amazement, looked 
 questioningly at Basil, whereat the Emperor became 
 angry, and ordered him to obey at once; then turn- 
 ing to his colleague he said ironically: ‘‘I swear, I 
 think they look better on him than on you”; and 
 he began to improvise verses in honour of his new 
 favourite: 
 
 “Behold him all, with admiration! 
 Is he not fit to rule the nation? 
 Such beauty merits coronation, 
 Since all unite in adulation.” 
 
 Basil raged in silence; Eudocia burst into tears 
 and tried to make Michael behave himself, saying: 
 “Sir, the imperial dignity is a very great one; it 
 must not be dishonoured.”” But Michael, getting 
 
 [ 166 J 
 
BASIL THE MACEDONIAN 
 
 drunker and drunker, answered laughingly: “‘Don’t 
 you worry about that, my dear. It amuses me to 
 make Basiliscianus Emperor.” 
 
 Perhaps Theodora, who seems to have returned to 
 her son’s good graces, was also intriguing against 
 Basil and trying to overthrow him. The fact remains 
 that the Macedonian, feeling that his colleague was 
 slipping away from him, decided it was time to have 
 done with it all. In order to palliate the final scene 
 of the drama Basil’s grandson, Constantine VII, has 
 done his best to paint Michael in the blackest 
 colours; in a violent indictment he gathers together 
 the tales of all his excesses, his scandals, and his 
 crimes. Nevertheless, he dared not tell the part 
 played by his ancestor in the murder of his master 
 and benefactor. Here again, however, the facts do 
 not admit of doubt. 
 
 On the 23rd of September, 867, the Emperor was 
 supping at the Palace of St. Mamas. In spite of the 
 denunciations he had received against Basil, in spite 
 of the hatred he now felt towards his former friend, 
 he had invited his imperial colleague, with his wife, 
 Eudocia, to the meal. As usual, the sovereign had 
 drunk deeply; and it was well known that when he 
 was intoxicated he was capable of anything. Basil 
 was determined to act, and a few days earlier he 
 had come to an understanding with most of those 
 who had previously helped to rid him of Bardas. 
 Deciding that the hour had struck, he left the ban- 
 queting-hall on some pretext, and going to the im- 
 perial bedchamber forced the locks with his powerful 
 hands, so as to prevent the Emperor from fastening 
 them. Then he returned to his place at table. 
 
 [ 167 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 Eudocia, as usual, was exercising her fascinations 
 upon her lover. Late at night, when the guests 
 began to leave, Basil himself insisted upon helping 
 the staggering Emperor to his chamber, and at the 
 threshold kissed his hand respectfully. Michael, 
 guarded by two faithful servants, was soon sound 
 asleep. Then Basil and the conspirators entered the 
 room. They were eight in all. At this sudden irrup- 
 tion the chamberlain Ignatius cried out in horror 
 and tried to resist them. The noise of the struggle 
 awoke the Basileus, who stared at the scene, com- 
 pletely sobered. Thereupon John Chaldius, one of 
 Basil’s friends, drew his sword and cut off the Em- 
 peror’s hands; another knocked down Basiliscianus, 
 while the rest of the gang kept guard at the door to 
 prevent the soldiers on duty from coming to their 
 master’s help. After Chaldius’s blow the conspirators 
 consulted together. ‘We have cut his hands off”’ said 
 one of them, ‘‘but he is still alive; if he lives, what 
 will become of us?” Then one of the murderers 
 went back into the room where Michael, sitting up 
 in bed and covered with blood, was groaning and 
 cursing his assassins, Basil most of all. With a thrust 
 of his sword the man ran him through the belly, and 
 returned proudly to tell Basil that it was all over. 
 Constantine VII was not insensible to the horror 
 of this tragic and cowardly murder. In his biog- 
 raphy of his grandfather he merely says: ‘‘The 
 chief members of the nobility and of the senate, with 
 the help of several soldiers of the guard, put the 
 Emperor to death in the Palace of St. Mamas; and, 
 being in a drunken stupor, he passed painlessly from 
 sleep to death.” Michael III’s death was, on the 
 
 168 J 
 
BASIL THE MACEDONIAN 
 
 contrary, atrocious and terrible. He died, if not by 
 the hand, at least by order of him whom he had 
 created Emperor; and, rudely sobered at the last 
 moment, he was able in his cruel agony to realise all 
 the perfidy of Basil, the twofold parricide, murderer 
 of his lawful sovereign and of his adoptive father. 
 
 Theodora’s dark forebodings had come to pass; 
 the Macedonian, surmounting every obstacle that 
 stood between himself and the throne, had become 
 Emperor. To complete the revolution, the conspir- 
 ators, hastily crossing the Golden Horn, took posses- 
 sion of the Sacred Palace, and the next morning the 
 new master’s first act was to install with great 
 pomp in the Empress’s apartments his wife Eudocia 
 Ingerina, who had been Michael III’s mistress up to 
 the end. Unashamed, he appeared with her in public 
 in the streets of the capital on Christmas, 867, in a 
 magnificent chariot drawn by four white horses. A 
 few years later she even bore him a son, her first 
 legitimate child, and later four daughters. The 
 Macedonian peasant’s boorish nature was not, as we 
 can see, over-squeamish. 
 
 Indeed, it had never been. Three women had 
 played important parts in Basil’s life. Danielis, the 
 matron of Patras, was rich; by giving him money 
 she had assured his future; accordingly, he was care- 
 ful to remember her and to cultivate her lucrative 
 friendship. Eudocia had been and continued to be the 
 Emperor’s mistress; but he complacently married her, 
 and complacently he shut his eyes to all her lapses. 
 For she helped him in his ambitious projects and was 
 useful to him; and therefore it was that even after 
 Michael’s death, and in spite of her later irregulari- 
 
 [169 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 ties, he always put up with her, feeling that it would 
 be compromising the dynasty not to indulge her to 
 the fullest extent. And there was also Thecla, Mi- 
 chael’s sister, who had had a passion for the hand- 
 some Basil in other days; to her alone he was severe. 
 Learning after a time that she had taken another 
 lover, a former friend of the Caesar Bardas, he had 
 the man beaten with rods and the woman cruelly 
 whipped. It was not, as one might at first imagine, 
 an outburst of retrospective jealousy on the part of 
 the aged Emperor; Basil was thoroughly practical, 
 and confiscated Thecla’s property at the same time. 
 
 Thus all his life he remained a rough, primitive 
 human animal, with the same strong passions and 
 with the same coarse and brutal instincts as when he 
 began his career; and that sheds an interesting light 
 on the psychology of this dynasty-founder. He was a 
 clever and successful adventurer, and a great states- 
 man to boot, who by his government laid the founda- 
 tions of two centuries of glory and splendour for the 
 Byzantine Empire. He was always selfish and base, 
 without scruples or delicacy, without gratitude or 
 honour. 
 
 IV 
 
 The adventures of Basil the Macedonian seem to 
 have led us away from the most pious Empress 
 Theodora; but the tragedy of the 23rd of September 
 867, brings us back to her again. On this day of 
 sorrow she makes her last appearance in history. 
 After Basil had taken possession of the Sacred Palace, 
 the question arose of the murdered Emperor’s funeral; 
 and the emissaries of the Basileus, on arriving at the 
 
 [ 170 J 
 
BASIL THRE MACE DONITAN 
 
 Palace of St. Mamas, witnessed a lamentable scene. 
 They discovered the body of Michael HI lying on 
 the floor with the entrails hanging out, half wrapped 
 in the blanket of one of the horses he had been 
 so fond of. Around the corpse some women in 
 black were weeping and praying. It was the old Em- 
 press Theodora and her daughters, who had hastened 
 thither at the news of the tragedy, and were piously 
 beseeching God to have mercy upon the poor wretch. 
 By the circumstances that brought her to power, 
 and by the great effort she made to restore Orthodoxy, 
 the Blessed Theodora resembles another Empress of 
 Byzantium, the Basilissa Irene. But she was neither 
 so imperious and domineering, nor so ambitious and 
 criminal. A devout and tender soul, she loved the 
 images, her husband, and her son, and perhaps, after 
 Theophilus’s death, her minister Theoctistus. And 
 if she cherished any hatreds (against her brother 
 Bardas in particular), it was not from regret for 
 power lost, but rather from remembrance of her 
 favourite, so treacherously slain. She descended the 
 throne simply and without bitterness; in her long old 
 age she witnessed the end of her race and the fall of 
 her dynasty. If today she is celebrated in history, it 
 is chiefly for having been the restorer of Orthodoxy; 
 but she is worthy of being remembered for other 
 reasons as well. The events in which she took part 
 shed, like the adventures of Basil, a curious light 
 upon ninth-century Byzantium, where we find inter- 
 mingled — to appropriate the title of Maurice Barrés’ 
 excellent book —“‘blood, luxury, and death.” 
 
 gs Be | 
 
VII 
 
 THE FOUR MARRIAGES OF 
 LEO THE WISE 
 
 N the 29th of August, 886, Basil I died sud- 
 () denly from the results of a peculiar hunt- 
 ing-accident. One day, while pursuing his 
 favourite diversion in the neighbourhood of the 
 capital, he had become separated from his compan- 
 ions while giving chase to a stag of great size; the 
 animal on being brought to bay had turned quickly 
 and charged the Emperor’s horse, and, having acciden- 
 tally caught his antlers in the sovereign’s belt, lifted 
 him bodily from the saddle. When the terrified horse 
 rejoined the hunt riderless, there was a great uproar 
 among the courtiers, which increased when they per- 
 ceived in the distance the stag carrying along the 
 Emperor in its mad career. They tried in vain to 
 bring the animal to a standstill; but, whenever they 
 seemed to be gaining a little on it, it would make a 
 bold and successful dash for liberty. At last some of 
 the guard managed to head the stag off, and one 
 of them came up and cut the Emperor’s belt with his 
 sword. Basil fell lifeless to the ground, and was 
 carried back to the Sacred Palace in a critical condi- 
 tion. He was nearly seventy-four years of age, and 
 for some months past his health had been seriously 
 impaired. In these circumstances his accident — 
 
 ie 
 
MARRIAGES OF LEO THE WISE 
 
 the stag had carried him along for about sixteen 
 miles — was particularly grave. Internal complica- 
 tions set in, and a week later the founder of the 
 Macedonian house died, leaving the throne to his 
 eldest son, Leo. 
 
 I 
 
 Neither in appearance nor in character did Leo VI 
 resemble his father; and the general gossip concern- 
 ing his parentage — for everyone believed him to be 
 the son of Michael III — is sufficient to explain this 
 radical dissimilarity. The new Basileus was rather 
 frail and of indifferent health; and this fact at once 
 foreshadows the rival ambitions which were bound 
 to spring up throughout his reign because of the 
 uncertainty attaching to the succession. Further- 
 more, being of a sedentary disposition and disliking 
 the constant journeys and fatigues of military life, 
 Leo preferred to stay in the Palace, and took a great 
 interest in those matters of ceremonial that formed 
 the background of an Emperor’s official life; and 
 this explains the importance of favourites and the 
 great number of court intrigues which mark his 
 reign. He was a scholarly Prince, also. As a pupil 
 of Photius, he had acquired from this eminent 
 teacher a love of classical culture. He was well 
 grounded in all branches of learning, and had a taste 
 for authorship; we have from his pen verses, works of 
 edification, theological essays, a treatise on tactics, 
 and a collection of oracles. His contemporaries called 
 him the ‘‘very wise” Emperor (sodéraros); later 
 ages wove legends about him, and down to the very 
 end of the Byzantine Empire he retained his popu- 
 
 tt7s 4 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 larity as a profound and universal scholar, equally 
 learned in mathematics, astronomy, music, and, in 
 short, everything. 
 
 He was also very religious; there exists a collection 
 of homilies which he used to deliver from the pulpit 
 on the principal feasts; he had a great respect for 
 his confessor, whom he was wont to consult con- 
 stantly, though sometimes he had arguments with 
 him; and he took particular pleasure in the society 
 of monks, whom he often visited unexpectedly and 
 informally, dining and drinking with them, and 
 discussing* the quality of their wines. But a chief 
 characteristic was an extreme prudishness, at least 
 m utterance. In one of his Novels he inveighs 
 against people who “‘instead of bathing in the pure 
 waters of matrimony prefer to wallow in the mud of 
 fornication.”” Nor was he less severe on those who 
 married a second or a third time; “‘most animals,” 
 said he in one of his edicts, ‘‘when their mate is dead, 
 retire into perpetual widowhood. Human beings, on 
 the contrary, unconscious of the shameful nature of 
 their weakness, are not satisfied with one marriage, 
 but proceed immodestly to contract a second, and 
 not content with that, go from the second to a third”, 
 flouting the ecclesiastical law and the canonical 
 penalties attaching thereunto, regardless of civil law, 
 and the disfavour in which it held such unions. 
 
 However, the reign of Leo VI, as has rightly been 
 said, is epoch-making in Byzantine history. By his 
 legislative work and by his reorganisation both of 
 the provincial administration and of the ecclesiastical 
 hierarchy, this monarch left an indelible mark on the 
 Greek Empire of the East. And the reason is that, in 
 
 pie 
 
MARRIAGES OF LEO THE WISE 
 
 spite of the influence of favourites, he was a man of 
 greater energy and initiative than he is given credit 
 for being; and feeble and inconsistent as he often 
 appears, capricious and headstrong though he may 
 seem, he was, nevertheless, an astute sovereign, who 
 pursued unswervingly the end that he had in view, 
 with a versatile dexterity for discovering both the 
 means and the opportunities of attaining it. At the 
 same time, and, with whatever caution we receive 
 the too-generally accepted account of the Emperor 
 Leo VI, it is undeniable that this austere legislator, 
 with such regard for the proprieties and such con- 
 cern for ecclesiastical law, was fated by his succes- 
 sive marriages to give his contemporaries great 
 offence and profoundly to disturb the Church. The 
 reason was that Leo VI ascended the throne at the 
 age of twenty, and that he was married to a woman 
 he did not love. 
 
 II 
 
 Although for dynastic reasons Basil, in 869, had 
 created Leo co-Emperor, and although he had had 
 him brought up with the utmost care as heir apparent, 
 he had never loved him; and by the side of a stern 
 suspicious, irascible father the young man appears 
 to have led a dreary existence. Basil had a strong 
 preference for his eldest son, Constantine, the off- 
 spring, probably, of his first marriage, and regarding 
 whose parentage he had no doubts; towards Leo, 
 on the other hand, he displayed a manifest ill will, 
 to the point of entertaining the most improbable 
 accusations against him. 
 
 In growing older, Basil lost something of the solid 
 
 [475 4 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 common sense that had long distinguished him. He 
 allowed himself to be influenced by favourites, and 
 chiefly by a certain abbot, Theodore Santabarenus, 
 a protégé of the Patriarch Photius, whom his con- 
 temporaries strongly suspected of practising magic 
 and sorcery. The premature death of his favourite 
 son Constantine had had the effect of weakening the 
 Emperor’s sound judgement; he was inconsolable, and 
 imagined himself surrounded by intrigues and con- 
 spiracies to dethrone him. Thus, when Santabarenus, 
 who had been for a long time at odds with the Crown 
 Prince, denounced Leo to the Basileus for plotting 
 against his father’s life, Basil allowed himself to be 
 convinced with ease and on the flimsiest evidence. 
 By his orders Leo was imprisoned in one of the rooms 
 of the Palace and stripped of his red buskins, the 
 msignia of his imperial rank; and the sovereign 
 seems seriously to have considered blinding the young 
 man. At all events, the courtiers who were suspected 
 of having furthered the imaginary plot were tortured 
 or exiled; and for three long months Leo himself was 
 kept in confinement. His release was due to the 
 energetic intervention of the Patriarch Photius, but 
 chiefly to that of Basil’s intimate friend, Stylianus 
 Zaiitzes, commander of one of the guard-regiments, 
 who ventured to speak to his master with fearless 
 and honourable candour. 
 
 All the high officials and the entire Senate, dis- 
 turbed by Basil’s rapidly failing health, advised 
 clemency. In this connexion, some of the chroniclers 
 tell a rather touching story. In the great dining- -hall 
 of the Sacred Palace hung a parrot in its cage, and 
 it was in the habit of crying: ‘‘Alas! alas! poor 
 
 [L 176 | 
 
MARRIAGES OF LEO THE WISE 
 
 Leo!”’ One day, on the occasion of a great reception, 
 as the parrot was repeating his accustomed phrase, 
 many of the guests, thinking sadly of the prisoner, 
 were unable to conceal their sorrow. At last the 
 Emperor noticed it, and questioned them. “How 
 could we have the heart to eat” they answered, 
 “when a poor bird seems to reproach us with our 
 conduct? He is calling for his master, and can we, 
 in the midst of pleasures, forget our innocent prince? 
 Either he is guilty, in which case we stand ready to 
 condemn him; or else he is innocent, and how, then, 
 can a lying tongue prevail against him?”’ Whether 
 or not this story is true, Basil gave way; upon the 
 feast of Elijah the Prophet the prince was set free, 
 reinstated in his honours and dignities, and permitted 
 to take part once more in the imperial procession. 
 But the old Basileus, though granting pardon, had 
 by no means put aside his antipathy. When the 
 people, as Leo passed by, cheered, and cried: ‘‘Glory 
 be to God!” Basil remarked: ““You are thanking 
 God on my son’s account, are you? Well, he will 
 cause you much sorrow and trouble.” 
 
 These stories shew that relations between the Em- 
 peror and his son were anything but affectionate; 
 and it is probable that Leo was very much afraid of 
 his violent, terrible father, who bent him mercilessly 
 to his will. Early in life he had learned to be sub- 
 missive. Just before his sixteenth birthday Basil 
 decided to find him a wife. As was the custom, a 
 dozen or so of the most beautiful girls in the Empire 
 were assembled in one of the rooms of the Palace 
 of Magnaura. While awaiting the arrival of the 
 Basileus, the young girls were in a great state of 
 
 ee 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 excitement, and amused themselves by trying to 
 guess which would be chosen. One of them, an 
 Athenian, who, according to the chronicler, “‘ was ac- 
 quainted with the art of predicting the future by 
 omens, as practised in her own country”, proposed 
 in fun the following singular test. All the candi- 
 dates were to sit down on the floor and put their 
 shoes in front of them; and she who, at a given 
 signal, could get up the soonest, put on her slippers, 
 and make a deep curtsey, would infallibly become 
 Empress. While they were engaged in this diversion, 
 i came the Emperor. The first to get up was a girl 
 named Theophano, a member of an illustrious patri- 
 cian family of the capital, the Martinacii. As she 
 was of good stock, very pretty, and devout, she 
 pleased Basil and his wife Eudocia, thus fulfilling 
 the omen. Leo was not even consulted in the mat- 
 ter. It happened that his affections were elsewhere 
 engaged. Stylianus Zaiitzes, commander of the 
 Lesser Hetairia, an intimate friend and compatriot 
 of the Basileus, had a daughter, Zoé. Leo was deeply 
 in love with her, and wanted to marry her. But this 
 did not bother Basil in the least; he gave his com- 
 mands, and out of fear Leo obeyed him. So with 
 great ceremony, in the winter of 881-2, he married 
 Theophano. 
 
 Such a marriage was certain to turn out unhap- 
 pily, especially since Theophano, though her virtues 
 were many, was so foolish as to be jealous and so 
 stupid as to be inept. She fancied she had grounds 
 for believing that her husband was still paying court 
 to Zaiitzes’s daughter, and rushed off at once to 
 complain to the Emperor. With his usual brutality 
 
 [1787] 
 
MARRIAGES OF LEO THE WISE 
 
 Basil made a most violent scene; taking his son by 
 the hair, he threw him on the ground, and with kicks 
 and blows intimated to him that he had better be 
 faithful to his wife. After which, to make an end 
 of the matter, he treated Zoé as he had his son, 
 marrying her in spite of herself to one Theodore 
 Gutzuniates, and deluded himself that thus he had 
 restored peace in the household. It may easily be 
 imagined that Leo’s original antipathy for Theo- 
 phano was hardly diminished by this occurrence; 
 and although, during the period of his disgrace, the 
 young woman gave evidence of affectionate devotion 
 for him to the point of wanting to share his captivity, 
 domestic concord was never completely re-established. 
 Leo may well have esteemed his wife; but he loved 
 her no more than before. 
 
 So long as the terrible Basil lived, there was a 
 semblance of concord between husband and wife. 
 But when Leo became Emperor, and free from re- 
 straint, matters soon went from bad to worse. 
 Moreover, Theophano was a saintly woman, wholly 
 given up to good works, and whose chief concern was 
 the love of God. ‘“‘With morbid zeal’ says her 
 pious biographer, ‘‘the Augusta applied herself to 
 the salvation of her soul, treating as dirt under her 
 feet all the pleasures of worldly life. Day and night 
 her soul mounted to God in the chanting of psalms and 
 in constant prayer; and unceasingly she drew near 
 to Him by her works of charity. In public she wore 
 the flowers of the purple and was clad in all the 
 splendour of majesty. In private she dressed se- 
 cretly in rags. Preferring the ascetic life to all else, 
 she despised sumptuous fare, and when delicate 
 
 Ei 4 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 dishes were set before her took bread and vegetables 
 instead. All the money that she received, all the 
 things so highly esteemed by worldly folk, she dis- 
 tributed to the poor; her magnificent robes she gave 
 to the needy; she ministered to the necessities of 
 widows and orphans; she enriched the monasteries, 
 and loved the monks like brothers.” At night she 
 forsook her imperial bed, with its gorgeous gold- 
 embroidered coverlets, to lie in a corner on a coarsely 
 covered mat, and every hour she arose to pray. Such 
 a woman was a saint; but she was neither an Em- 
 press nor the fit companion for a Prince twenty years 
 of age. 3 
 
 The death of Eudocia, the only child of the mar- 
 riage, in the winter of 892, was a further aggravation 
 of the discord between them. After this sorrow 
 Theophano became more melancholy than ever and 
 more aloof from the world; furthermore, her ascetic 
 excesses had made her seriously ill. ‘The Emperor’ 
 says her biographer, ‘“‘could not hope to have an- 
 other child by her, since her body, weakened and 
 consumed by spiritual contemplation, was no longer 
 capable of giving itself up to the delights of the 
 flesh.” Leo, as we may imagine, grew more and 
 more tired of this woman who had been only a 
 constant source of vexation. Furthermore, he had 
 not forgotten the love of his youth; and he decided 
 to take Zoé as his mistress. 
 
 The Empress soon learned of this; and as, by a 
 curious contradiction of nature, this saintly woman 
 was still jealous, the misunderstandings of the im- 
 perial household were on the point of culminating in 
 an open breach. 
 
 [ 180 J 
 
MARRIAGES OF LEO THE WISE 
 
 There lived at that time in the monastery of 
 Psamathia in Constantinople a holy man named 
 Euthymius, whose recently-discovered biography is 
 one of the most instructive documents on the reign of 
 Leo VI that we possess. Held in great esteem by the 
 Emperor, to whom he had rendered important serv- 
 ices in Basil’s lifetime, he was in the habit of speak- 
 ing to him with unvarnished frankness, and was not 
 sparing of admonitions. To him the Empress turned 
 in her distress. She explained that since the death 
 of her beloved daughter there was no longer any 
 reason for her to live in the Palace; that she suffered 
 too cruelly from the situation in which she was 
 placed; that she asked only for permission to retire 
 to the convent belonging to the Church of Blachernae, 
 where she had long been accustomed to perform her 
 devotions; and that if this were granted she would 
 consent to everything, even toa divorce. Euthymius 
 comforted her, and pointed out the grave responsi- 
 bility she would be assuming if she were to leave a 
 husband already too inclined to go astray; after 
 which he went to see the Emperor. He found him 
 delighted at his wife’s proposal, and radiant at the 
 thought of being able before long to wed his mistress. 
 Euthymius reprimanded him severely; and when the 
 Basileus had aired all the grievances that he had stored 
 up for the past ten years against Theophano, and had 
 ended by saying: ‘‘After all, I am not turning her 
 out, and I shall have both civil and ecclesiastical 
 law on my side if I take another wife”, the indignant 
 saint said he would never willingly see him again if 
 he should persist in his wicked purpose. 
 
 In spite of this threat — a particularly serious one 
 
 fish | 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 to so devout a man as Leo —, the Emperor would 
 listen to nothing. To begin with, he loved Zoé 
 passionately. But a further reason for persisting 
 was his great desire to have a son to carry on the 
 Macedonian dynasty. He knew that his own health 
 was poor; his brother Alexander was ruining him- 
 self in wild debauchery; the interests of the dynasty 
 and the peace of the Empire alike bade him provide 
 the throne as soon as possible with a legitimate heir. 
 For a long time this had been his chief anxiety; to 
 obtain this ardently-desired child he had made pil- 
 grimages to the most famous shrines; in order to 
 discover whether his prayer would be granted he had 
 been diligent in consulting the stars; and since they 
 promised him a son, he did not hesitate to keep his 
 mistress ‘‘in the conviction” as a chronicler says, 
 that he was obeying the orders of God Himself, and 
 was yielding to inevitable fate.” 
 
 It should be noted, by the bye, that in the eyes 
 of contemporaries, and even of Theophano’s pane- 
 gyrists, this reason of State seems to have been suffi- 
 cient to explain and excuse Leo’s adultery. The 
 Empress at last bowed to necessity. Prompted by 
 Euthymius, who represented to her the eminent 
 merit of resignation, she consented to avoid the open 
 scandal of a separation, and left the field to her rival, 
 seeking consolation in God. She did not suffer long. 
 Shortly after the events related, on the 10th of No- 
 vember, 893, Theophano died. She was not yet 
 thirty years of age. Leo, as was right and proper, 
 gave his wife a splendid funeral. She was buried in 
 the imperial Church of the Holy Apostles, where her 
 little daughter Eudocia already lay; the Basileus de- 
 
 pee 4 
 
MARRIAGES OF LEO THE WISE 
 
 termined to build a church in honour of her, and to 
 dedicate it under her name. Soon the many miracles 
 and extraordinary cures effected at her tomb ap- 
 prised all Byzantium of the virtues of its deceased 
 Empress; the Church numbered the melancholy 
 Princess with the saints; and for many years the 
 Emperor was obliged by the ceremonial to go once 
 a year in person and offer incense and prayers in her 
 memory. 
 Ill 
 
 Leo was free. 
 
 He had once said to Euthymius: “‘I shall never 
 forget Zoé, and there will come a day when I shall 
 have compassion on her and on myself.” That day 
 had come. But, before he could marry his mistress, 
 he had to reckon with one more obstacle, her husband. 
 Gutzuniates had the good taste to die soon after 
 Theophano — so soon, in fact, that certain evilly- 
 disposed persons imagined that these two opportune 
 deaths were not, perhaps, altogether fortuitous. But 
 Leo was Emperor; Zoé was the Prime Minister’s 
 daughter; and no one cared to look closely into the 
 
 . matter. 
 
 Everything thus concurred to bring about the 
 desired marriage. The Basileus adored his mistress 
 more than ever, and she had been the means of 
 saving his life a few months earlier, by discovering a 
 plot against him. Zoé’s father, Stylianus Zaiitzes, 
 who had been in charge of the government from the 
 beginning of the reign, and whom the Basileus had 
 invested with the newly created, and in a sense 
 symbolic, title of Baowdeorarwp, or Father of the 
 Emperor, advocated the marriage with all his energy, 
 
 [ 183 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 thinking thereby to restore his declmmg influence; 
 and to help matters he had installed the young 
 widow in his own apartments at the Palace. Euthy- 
 mius, who had never been on good terms with the 
 minister, was alone in opposition. He told the 
 Emperor that his contemplated act was impious and 
 illegal. But Leo only laughed at his reproofs. “‘See 
 here, Father” he said to the holy man, “‘listen to me 
 and don’t be silly. I’ve lost my wife, as you know, 
 and like everyone else I’ve got to think about 
 marrying again. Now Zoé is in the same predica- 
 ment; she is free. "Why are you trying to prevent 
 a thing that the law commands and that Scripture 
 advises?’’ Euthymius lost his temper and retorted: 
 “‘No one is trying to prevent you from marrying 
 again; but you must not marry Zoé, whom people 
 accuse of so much evil. If you do, everyone will 
 believe the ugly rumours that are being circulated 
 about her.’’ And once more he declared that, if Zoé 
 became Empress, he would never see the Emperor 
 again. 
 
 A lover does not argue; between his confessor 
 and his mistress he scarcely hesitated. He invited 
 Euthymius to retire to a monastery, and married 
 Zoé. But his happiness was of short duration. In 
 less than two years, towards the end of 896, the young 
 Empress died of a mysterious illness, a very few 
 months after her father, Stylianus Zatitzes. Immedi- 
 ately the courtiers, in spite of Leo’s grief, foresaw 
 precisely what would happen; and Zoé’s relatives, 
 whose fortunes she had zealously promoted during 
 her lifetime, said openly: ‘‘The Emperor will take 
 another wife and send us all away.” 
 
 [1847 
 
MARRIAGES OF LEO THE WISE 
 
 IV 
 
 It must be admitted that Leo had very bad luck. 
 Of his connexion with Zoé one daughter only had 
 been born, the Princess Anna, and dynastic reasons 
 therefore required that the Emperor should marry 
 a third time. But this was a serious step for the 
 Prince to take. The canons of the Church formally 
 censured such a union; public opinion felt it to be 
 unworthy of a Basileus; and Leo himself in one of 
 his Novels had recently criticised with great severity 
 men who could be so incontinent. Nor was that all. 
 The Emperor had loved Zoé passionately, and pro- 
 foundly mourned her loss. He spoke to Euthymius 
 with great feeling of ““my poor wife’, as he said, 
 “‘whom you never liked.” In this state of mind he 
 soon came again under his confessor’s influence; and 
 although he had no intention whatever, as he said 
 very clearly, of “‘Ietting him be another Stylianus, 
 ordering and governing everything”’, he treated the 
 monk with great deference, for he knew and rather 
 dreaded his rough, uncompromising frankness. For 
 all these reasons the Basileus hesitated some time 
 before taking another wife. Since the imperial 
 etiquette absolutely demanded that there should be 
 a woman in the Sacred Palace to preside over cere- 
 monies in which the ladies of the court took part, he 
 had the young Princess Anna proclaimed Augusta, 
 which shews how distasteful a new marriage was to 
 him. But Anna was betrothed to a Carolingian 
 prince, young Louis of Provence, and was on the 
 point of leaving Constantinople for her new country. 
 To replace her an Empress was imperatively re- 
 
 [185 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 quired. Besides, Leo was young; he was thirty-two 
 or -three years of age; time had assuaged his grief, 
 and with it his scruples. In 899 he took the step. He 
 married a very pretty girl of Asiatic origin, Eudocia 
 Baiane, by name; but the Emperor had certainly 
 no luck at all in his schemes, for the new Basilissa 
 died a year later in giving birth to a son, who unfor- 
 tunately died also. 
 
 All was to do again, seeing that the longed-for 
 heir was still wanting. The question had now 
 reached an extraordinarily serious stage. The Em- 
 peror’s third marriage, though it was justified by 
 plausible enough reasons, and though the Church, 
 while holding it to be ‘‘an unclean act”, had not 
 formally censured it, had nevertheless scandalised 
 many pious souls. This was clearly shewn when, 
 after Eudocia’s death, the Abbot of St. Lazarus had 
 refused point-blank to allow her to be buried in his 
 monastery, so that the poor woman’s body had to 
 be carried back to the Palace. The same disap- 
 proval is evident from the attitude of Euthymius, 
 when he advised Leo to have her buried quietly; 
 saying that it would not be proper to make a display 
 of mourning in the midst of the splendour and joy 
 of the great feast of the Anastasis (Eudocia had 
 died on Easter-day); and that these official pro- 
 cessions, these tears and funeral laments, all ended 
 in a common tomb, in a common miserable end, in a 
 common extinction. To men who thought thus, a 
 fourth marriage would be simply an abomination. 
 The Church absolutely forbade it in the most formal 
 terms; the civil law did not even make provision for 
 such an utterly unheard-of measure of perversity. 
 
 [1867 
 
MARRIAGES OF LEO THE WISE 
 
 In Byzantine eyes, such a union was worse than 
 adultery. But what of it? Leo needed a son. 
 
 Conspiracies against the Emperor increased. In 
 the Palace itself the troublesome, untrustworthy 
 Alexander constantly intrigued against his imperial 
 associate, whom he had always cordially detested, 
 considering himself, rather than his brother, the 
 legitimate descendant of Basil; and the Emperor 
 very nearly fell victim to these machinations. The 
 attempt, planned to take place in the Church of St. 
 Mocius, had well-nigh succeeded, and it was pure 
 chance that the Emperor had not been beaten to 
 death that day by an assassin’s club. All these 
 things worried Leo, who fully realised the encourage- 
 ment afforded to such conspiracies by the want of an 
 heir apparent. But, not daring to marry immediately, 
 he began by taking a mistress. She was a certain 
 Zoé Carbonupsina, Zoé “‘Black-eyes,”’ who seems 
 to have belonged to one of the great families of the 
 Byzantine aristocracy, and who was related to the 
 famous chronicler Theophanes. She was intelligent, 
 ambitious, energetic, and astute; she soon came to 
 exercise great influence over her lover, and used it to 
 advance her relatives at court, so as to form a party 
 in her favour; and before long she dreamed of mar- 
 riage. 
 
 From the very beginning of the connexion Leo 
 seems to have intended to marry her. It was prob- 
 ably with this end in view that in 901 he raised to 
 the Patriarchate a relative of Photius, the mystikoys, 
 or private secretary, Nicholas. Adoptive brother of 
 the Emperor (Basil I had stood sponsor to him), he 
 had been brought up with him and had always been 
 
 [ 187 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 his friend; the Basileus thought, therefore, that he 
 could count upon his support to surmount the 
 Church’s opposition to fourth marriages, and he 
 soon sounded him on the subject. But Nicholas was 
 one of those prelates who were never wanting in By- 
 zantium, ‘‘both courtier and monk, versed in sacred 
 lore and in intrigue, knowing when to close their eyes 
 and when to give an example of lofty courage.” 
 He had taken orders somewhat against his will, and 
 cherished worldly ambitions in his haughty, imperi- 
 ous soul. Feeling that he had it in him to be a 
 statesman, he concerned himself rather with politics 
 than with church government; his desire was to rule, 
 and in order to realise his dream considered it un- 
 necessary to baulk at vain scruples of gratitude or 
 loyalty. He was several times accused, and not 
 without likelihood, of having conspired against his 
 lawful sovereign. He regarded his high ecclesiastical 
 dignity chiefly as the means to an end — the step- 
 ping-stone, as it were, to future greatness. In his 
 pride of place, he imagined that he could treat the 
 imperial authority with contempt, and did not 
 hesitate to dispute the Emperor’s commands. He 
 wrote somewhere as follows: ‘‘If, under the inspira- 
 tion of the Devil, the Emperor were to order some- 
 thing contrary to the law of God, one should not 
 obey him; an impious order emanating from an 
 impious person must be deemed devoid of all author- 
 ity. A servant of God will never obey such criminal 
 commands; rather would he lose his life than serve 
 such a master.”” He was no less haughty towards 
 the Pope, and was not afraid to lecture him, and to 
 
 1 A. N. Rambaud, L’ Empire grec au X° siécle, p. 10. 
 
 [188 7] 
 
MARRIAGES OF LEO THE WISE 
 
 criticise his decisions and his unwelcome imterven- 
 tion in the affairs of the Eastern Church; and 
 feeling that in his resistance he was upheld by all his 
 clergy he utterly refused, in spite of the Basileus’s 
 orders, to communicate with the Roman legates, 
 thus defying Pope and Emperor at the same time. 
 
 Although very unyielding and insolent when cir- 
 cumstances were favourable, under stress of necessity 
 he could be pliant and accommodating; for in spite 
 of his superior intellect his soul was base. Violent 
 and passionate, compact of old rancours and sturdy 
 hates, he neither forgot an outrage nor forgave an 
 enemy, and when the day of reckoning arrived 
 pursued his adversaries with the most pitiless cruelty. 
 His harshness then was inexorable towards those to 
 whom he had formerly been most servile; unscru- 
 pulous and merciless, he beat down his enemies to 
 the ground, but was ever ready, if luck should turn 
 and his own interests demand it, to become their 
 most humble, obedient servant once more. 
 
 Such a man would be sure to disappoint the hopes 
 that Leo had in him. When the Emperor broached 
 his matrimonial intentions to Nicholas, the Patriarch 
 seems to have refused ‘unconditionally to have any 
 hand in violating the canons of the Church. At all 
 events, it is clear that relations between the pre- 
 late and the Basileus became tense; the court 
 favourites, led by Samonas, openly incited the 
 sovereign against the Patriarch; Leo was irritated 
 to such a degree that he thought of holding Nicholas 
 responsible for the attempted assassination in the 
 Church of St. Mocius, and it needed the interven- 
 tion of Euthymius to prevent a prosecution. But in 
 
 E39 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 spite of his suspicions and his wrath, the Emperor 
 was at a loss for means to shake the Patriarch’s 
 opposition, knowing him to be upheld by the well- 
 nigh unanimous voice of his clergy, when, very for- 
 tunately for Leo, an unexpected circumstance gave 
 him a weapon against the prelate. 
 
 Seeing that he was in disfavour at court, Nicholas 
 had not hesitated to conspire with Andronicus 
 Ducas, who in 904 had revolted against the Emperor. 
 Now, it so happened that, when the rebel had been 
 obliged to take refuge among the Arabs, some of his 
 friends, to procure their own pardon, had delivered 
 up his papers to Leo; among them was an autograph 
 letter from the Patriarch affording incontestable 
 proof of his treason. The Basileus had now the 
 means of overcoming Nicholas’s haughty opposition; 
 and, in fact, when a palace servant indiscreetly ac- 
 quainted him with what had happened, he realised 
 that there was but one way in which he could save 
 his place and his head — namely, by ceasing all re- 
 sistance, and by appeasing the sovereign, if possible, 
 by various concessions. And thenceforth, by a sud- 
 den change of attitude, he was ready to do all that 
 was required of him. 
 
 This was in 905. Zoé Carbonupsina was about to 
 become a mother, and the Emperor was enraptured 
 at the expectation of his approaching paternity. The 
 haughty Patriarch now came every day to the Pal- 
 ace. He dined with the Basileus and his mistress, 
 assured Leo that the child would be a boy, and to 
 this end ordered solemn prayers to be said daily for 
 a week in St. Sophia; then with his own priestly 
 hands he gravely blessed the favourite’s womb, and 
 
 [ 190 7 
 
MARRIAGES OF LEO THE WISE 
 
 declared that the future prince would be the glory of 
 the Church. Events justified the prelate’s promises 
 and fulfilled the Emperor’s prayers. At the end of 
 905 the child was born, and it was a boy. The legit- 
 imation of the long-desired heir was thenceforth the 
 sovereign’s only thought. Nicholas did his best to 
 help; but the other bishops resisted, saying that 
 “the birth of a child could not render a prohibited 
 union licit”’, and refused in consequence to perform 
 the baptism, particularly with the imperial honours 
 with which Leo wished to celebrate it. At last a 
 compromise was hit upon. Since, after all, as the 
 Patriarch explained later, “paternal affection is a 
 human sentiment”, the clergy promised to baptize 
 the infant if Leo would promise to separate from the 
 mother. On these conditions the baptism was per- 
 formed, on the 6th of January, 906, in St. Sophia, by 
 the Patriarch himself. Alexander, brother of the 
 Basileus, and Euthymius, were the godfathers of the 
 young Constantine Porphyrogenitus. The Emperor's 
 desire was fulfilled. 
 
 But Leo stuck to Zoé. Three days after the bap- 
 tism, in spite of his promises and vows, he brought 
 his mistress back again to the Palace; im fact, he 
 was determined to marry her. Nicholas did not feel 
 able to condescend quite to the point of solemnising 
 this scandalous marriage himself; but he found an 
 accommodating priest to do it, who was immedately 
 afterwards deposed; and Leo with his own hands 
 crowned the new Empress. The capital, naturally, 
 was in a great flutter; and the Church, thus openly 
 set at naught, answered the tetragamous Emperor by 
 formally forbidding him access to the holy places. 
 
 E i9t J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 Thereupon, in order to obtain the dispensation neces- 
 sary to legitimate his marriage, Leo had an in- 
 genious idea which reflects great credit upon the 
 astuteness and tenacity of his diplomacy. From the 
 intransigence of the Byzantine clergy he appealed 
 to the Universal Church, and decided to consult 
 upon the question of fourth marriages the Roman 
 pontiff, and the Patriarchs of Alexandria, Antioch, 
 and Jerusalem; and the ambitious Nicholas, al- 
 though highly discontented by these foreign inter- 
 ventions, which diminished the prestige of his sole 
 authority, was obliged to consent. He expected, 
 indeed, that the consultation would result unfavour- 
 ably to the Emperor’s hopes. But in any event, 
 while awaiting the result of his embassies, Leo kept 
 Zoé in the Palace, refusing to be separated from her 
 even fora single day; he had her paid all the honours 
 due to an Empress, and the only concession he made 
 to the Church was to submit docilely to the interdict 
 against him. 
 
 The Patriarch Nicholas, in the account which he 
 later gave of these events, paints, as is natural, his 
 own attitude in the brightest colours. He maintains 
 that he spared his sovereign, directly the marriage 
 had been performed, neither counsel nor remon- 
 strance; that he begged him to send Zoé away for a 
 time until the Patriarchs had rendered a decision; 
 and that Leo met all these fair words with a refusal. 
 As a matter of fact, the Patriarch seems to have dis- 
 played much less energy in opposing the Prince; in 
 his great desire for pardon he seems, on the con- 
 trary, to have tried his best to please the Basileus 
 by his eagerness to arrange matters. In sources less 
 
 E192 J 
 
MARRIAGES OF LEO THE WISE 
 
 prejudiced than Nicholas’s letter the prelate is to be 
 seen at one time searching the Fathers for texts to 
 justify fourth marriages, at another encouraging Leo, 
 in spite of the interdict and without waiting for the 
 decisions of the Patriarchs, to enter the churches, 
 saying loftily that he would receive him in person. 
 Was it that Nicholas hoped, by inciting the Emperor 
 to a false move, to arouse public opinion still further 
 against him? Or did he rather seek, by his willing- 
 ness to serve the Basileus, to make him forget the 
 unfortunate document that proved his disloyalty? In 
 the case of such a man as he either alternative is 
 possible. The Emperor, however, did not fall in with 
 the prelate’s suggestions. “I do not wish to avail 
 myself of any permission that you may give” said he, 
 “until the arrival of the bishops from Rome.” 
 Meanwhile good news arrived from the West. The 
 imperial envoys informed the Basileus that the Pope 
 in no way disapproved of fourth marriages, and that 
 legates bearing the desired dispensation were on the 
 point of starting for Constantinople. This provoked 
 a sudden change in the Patriarch’s attitude. So long 
 as the marriage question was in suspense, making 
 the Emperor dependent, to a certain extent, upon 
 the prelate, Nicholas might have legitimately be- 
 lieved that Leo, having need of him, would be obliged 
 to treat him with consideration; and that in these 
 circumstances, by pleading his good offices, it would 
 be an easy matter to obtain pardon for his crime of 
 high treason. Affairs had now taken another turn. 
 Since he was sure of the approval of the Universal 
 Church, Leo had no longer any reason to consider 
 the head of the Byzantine Church, and he already 
 
 193 | 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 announced to his friends that, when the synod had 
 assembled, his first act would be to rid himself of a 
 Patriarch hostile and a traitor to his sovereign. 
 Nicholas saw that he had but one chance left, 
 namely, to throw himself heart and soul into the 
 opposition. He understood the long-standing hos- 
 tility which the Eastern clergy entertained to Rome, 
 and felt certain of a following if he were to pose 
 as the defender of Byzantine independence against 
 papal interference. If by these tactics he were suc- 
 cessful in checkmating both Pope and Emperor, 
 what a triumph for his ambition it would be! If he 
 were to fall in the struggle, his fall would at least be 
 noble, and a martyr’s halo would envelope the 
 inflexible champion of the violated canons. Thus 
 Nicholas, whose pride was very really wounded at 
 seeing Rome meddle in the affairs of his patriarchate, 
 resumed the most unyielding and haughty attitude. 
 
 At the same time Leo, anticipating the Roman 
 decisions, judged it unnecessary to continue any 
 longer in the humiliating position of a man under 
 an interdict, which in the long run had shewed signs 
 of prejudicing his imperial prestige. On Christmas- 
 day, 906, followed by the Senate and the entire court, 
 he presented himself at St. Sophia, thinking that the 
 Patriarch would not deny him the admission which 
 during the past months he had repeatedly offered. 
 But at the threshold of the imperial doorway he 
 found the prelate, who absolutely forbade entrance 
 to the church, though holding out the hope that 
 at the coming feast of the Epiphany he would con- 
 sent to receive him. Leo thought it best not to press 
 the point, and accepted the humiliation inflicted on 
 
 [ 194 7 
 
MARRIAGES OF LEO THE WISE 
 
 him; and the prelate imagined that he could carry 
 his insolence still further. On the 6th of January, 
 907, he once more stopped the Emperor at the gates 
 of the basilica. ‘‘ Without the unanimous consent of 
 the metropolitans” said he, ‘‘I cannot allow you to 
 enter; and if you force your way in, we will leave.” 
 This time the Patriarch had gone too far. “It seems 
 to me, my Lord Patriarch,” exclaimed the Emperor, 
 “that you are making a mock of Our Majesty. Are 
 you hoping that the rebel Ducas will return from 
 Syria? Is it from confidence in him that you thus 
 insult us?” At this unexpected outburst the as- 
 tounded Patriarch no longer knew what attitude to 
 take; standing at the threshold of the imperial 
 doorway he answered nothing, and seemed unable 
 to go either forward or back. Leo, on the other hand, 
 kept all his presence of mind and his dignity. As the 
 courtiers were urging him to enter the basilica, he 
 silenced them with a gesture, and knowing that by 
 his behaviour he was putting Nicholas completely 
 in the wrong, quietly returned to the Imperial Palace. 
 
 But at the official dinner that evening, towards the 
 end of the meal, the Emperor, in the presence of the 
 bishops and the high officials, made a violent attack 
 upon the prelate. He bade him remember his prom- 
 ises, his flatteries, his past indulgence, and he openly 
 called him a liar and a perjurer. Then, inviting the 
 metropolitans to his private apartments, he reminded 
 them with tears of his successive matrimonial mis- 
 fortunes, and sending for his son took him in his arms 
 and asked them all to bless him and pray"for him. 
 This touching scene moved many of the bishops who 
 had supported Nicholas’s unyielding policy only out 
 
 195 4 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 of fear. The Roman legates had arrived bearing 
 the dispensation; in the West, where fourth mar- 
 riages were not forbidden, the imperial request had 
 seemed perfectly natural. It was in vain that 
 Nicholas refused to enter into public relations with 
 the foreigners, hoping thus to fan the old grudges of 
 the Byzantines against the Latins, “‘who seemed” 
 so he said, “‘never to come our way except to declare 
 war.” Part of the Greek episcopate was won over 
 by bribes to abandon its chief; some of the most 
 recalcitrant were sent into exile; finally, to under- 
 mine the Patriarch’s influence with the clergy, it was 
 decided to take active measures against him. 
 
 On the Ist of February, at the end of a great court 
 dinner, the Emperor began a veritable indictment 
 of the prelate, and ended by formally denouncing 
 his intrigues with Ducas, and his treason; after 
 which he had Nicholas arrested, and ordered him 
 sent under strong guard to an Asiatic monastery. A 
 few days later the synod granted Leo the dispensa- 
 tions necessary for his marriage, and removed the 
 ecclesiastical penalties. And as the Patriarch Nicho- 
 las still persisted in opposition, the Emperor asked 
 him to resign. Fearing the prosecution with which 
 he was threatened for his crime of high treason, 
 Nicholas finally capitulated; and, although later 
 he complained bitterly of the libellous reports cir- 
 culated about him, and the odious partiality dis- 
 played by the legates in welcoming all the lies told 
 of him, the indisputable fact that he preferred to 
 resign voluntarily rather than let himself be deposed 
 is ample proof that his ‘conscience was not per- 
 fectly clear. In his place the metropolitans raised 
 
 E1964 
 
MARRIAGES OF LEO THE WISE 
 
 the pious and austere Euthymius to the patriarchal 
 throne, and he, in spite of his repugnance, yielded 
 at last to the unanimous request of the bishops, the 
 Roman legates, and the Emperor. 
 
 By this arrangement Leo imagined that the ques- 
 tion of his fourth marriage had been ended in accord- 
 ance with his desires; in reality he had started a 
 schism in the Eastern Church. Clergy and people 
 took sides, as between Euthymius and Nicholas. It 
 became necessary to exile the most eminent of the 
 metropolitans, who insisted on taking the part of the 
 deposed Patriarch, to order prosecutions, and to 
 imprison opponents; and these severities increased 
 the general criticism of Leo, of Zoé, and even of the 
 new Patriarch. Euthymius had, doubtless, agreed 
 only to a compromise (oixovoula); in removing the 
 ecclesiastical censures he had in no way recognised 
 the validity in law of fourth marriages, and had 
 firmly upheld the deposition of the priest who had 
 performed the ceremony. Nevertheless, the pam- 
 phlets spared him no more than his master, and Leo 
 indeed looked to him to remove the last stains of 
 illegality that still tarnished his marriage. He asked 
 that Zoé should be mentioned officially as Augusta in 
 the prayers in St. Sophia. But upon this point, 
 notwithstanding the Empress’s threats and entreat- 
 ies, notwithstanding the anger of the Basileus, who 
 thought for a while of deposing Euthymius, the prel- 
 ate was inflexible. He consented, nevertheless, to 
 crown the young Constantine Porphyrogenitus sol- 
 emnly as Emperor of the Romans in St. Sophia on 
 the 9th of June, 911. Thus, by his astuteness and 
 tenacity, Leo VI, in spite of all, had gained his ends, 
 
 [ 197 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 V 
 
 The affair of the tetragamy, however, was destined 
 to trouble the Byzantine world for many years. 
 When Leo VI died, in the month of May, 912, the 
 whole question, indeed, was reopened. During seven 
 years the struggle was carried on between two ambi- 
 tious rivals: Zoé, ardently defending herimperial rank, 
 her marriage, and her son; and the Patriarch Nicho- 
 las, no less ardent for revenge, and, through the victory 
 of his opinions, for the realisation of his constant lust 
 for power. It is true that, in conformity with the prom- 
 ises that the Senate had made to the dying Basileus, 
 the young Constantine VII was proclaimed Emperor. 
 But he had as colleague and tutor his uncle Alexander, 
 and the latter’s first act was to drive Zoé brutally from 
 the Palace, and to reinstate Nicholas upon the patri- 
 archal throne. The prelate returned from exile 
 thirsting for vengeance. Haughtier and more insolent 
 than ever in the moment of his triumph, he satisfied 
 all his rancour to the point of satiety, and in the cer- 
 tainty of pleasing the Basileus Alexander, whose policy 
 he thus subserved, spared nothing and nobody. The 
 venerable Euthymius was the first to suffer. Having 
 been cited to appear before an assembly held in the 
 Palace of Magnaura, not only was he deposed and 
 anathematised, but Nicholas so far forgot himself as to 
 insult him basely ; and the Patriarch’s servants, falling 
 upon the unfortunate man, tore his sacerdotal vest- 
 ments, knocked him down, pulled out his beard, broke 
 his teeth, and finally kicked and beat him so hard with 
 their feet and fists that he lay unconscious on the 
 spot, and with the greatest difficulty escaped death. 
 
 [198 J 
 
MARRIAGES OF LEO THE WISE 
 
 But this was not sufficient to appease Nicholas. 
 He was determined to be revenged upon all who had 
 been concerned in his disgrace and exile, upon Zoé, 
 upon the Roman Pontiff, even upon the deceased 
 Emperor. In a long memorial to Pope Anastasius 
 he gave his own account of the affair of the fourth 
 marriage, treating the conduct of the Basileus with 
 outrageous severity, insultingly pitying Sergius III 
 for his weakness in being duped by his legates, lec- 
 turing the Latins, and, above all, imperiously de- 
 manding reparation for the scandals that had been 
 committed. He refused to regard the Basileus’s 
 fourth marriage as other than an act of debauchery 
 (ropveta), a filthy union worthy of an animal, and a 
 disgrace to human nature; and if he should agree to 
 pardon the dead, he demanded in return a rigorous 
 condemnation of the guilty who were still alive; that 
 is to say, Zoé and her son. The Emperor Alexander 
 made similar representations at Rome. He hated 
 his brother’s son, whose existence kept him from 
 supreme power, and passionately desired to have 
 him proclaimed a bastard. He is said even to have 
 considered making him an eunuch, in order to be rid 
 of him, and it was with the greatest difficulty that 
 he was restrained from his cruel purpose. Fortu- 
 nately for the young Constantine, Alexander died 
 in June, 913; but before his death he took care to 
 nominate Nicholas President of the Council of 
 Regency. He knew that he could count on the prel- 
 ate to continue his policy and gratify his hatred. 
 
 While Alexander was dying, the ever-energetic Zoé 
 had attempted a bold stroke; she had come to the 
 Sacred Palace, saying that she wished to see her son 
 
 [199 3 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 and talk with the dying man, for she thought that 
 thus she could regain her power. Nicholas had had 
 her brutally driven away. Then, in order to free 
 himself for ever of this possible rival, the all-powerful 
 Regent, supreme master of the State, had issued an 
 edict forbidding Zoé access to the imperial residence, 
 and had withdrawn from her the title of Basilissa; 
 a little later he obliged her even to enter a convent, 
 thinking that henceforth she would be dead to the 
 world. But Zoé was an adversary worthy of the 
 Patriarch; in the convent to which she had been 
 forced to retire she was but awaiting an opportunity 
 to crush her rival. It soon came. The severity with 
 which the Regents had put down the rebellion of 
 Constantine Ducas had excited violent discontent; 
 and in the Palace the young Emperor was crying for 
 his mother. They were obliged to bring her back 
 to him. This was in October, 913. 
 
 Having thus returned to the Palace once more, she 
 improved the occasion by putting her own followers 
 into important posts; she dismissed the favourites 
 of the late Emperor Alexander, appointed by him to 
 the Council of Regency, and then boldly attacked 
 the'Patriarch. Being an enterprising woman, she de- 
 cided quite simply to have him assassinated; but 
 Nicholas managed to escape the murderers and took 
 refuge in St. Sophia, and for three weeks dared not 
 leave that inviolable sanctuary. Zoé had won. She 
 was already thinking of announcing the deposition 
 of the Patriarch, and offered the position to Eu- 
 thymius, who refused it. Nicholas, however, was 
 still powerful, and negotiations were begun. The 
 Patriarch promised to devote himself henceforth 
 
 [ 200 J 
 
MARRIAGES OF LEO THE WISE 
 
 exclusively to ecclesiastical affairs, to withdraw from 
 the government of the State, and not to come to the 
 Palace without being summoned. He agreed to in- 
 clude Zoé’s name in the official prayers with that of 
 the Basileus, her son, and solemnly to proclaim her 
 Augusta. At this price he obtained full pardon for 
 the past, and maintenance in his ecclesiastical dig- 
 nity. In this struggle for the crown between Zoé 
 and Nicholas, the churchman seemed definitely de- 
 feated (February, 914). 
 
 Nevertheless, it was he who won in the end, and 
 who finally settled as he wished the long quarrel re- 
 sulting from the fourth marriage of Leo VI. For Zoé, 
 on becoming Regent, proved incapable of resisting 
 the intrigues with which she was surrounded. The 
 Empress had for a long time had a favourite, the 
 Parakoimomenos Constantine, for whom even during 
 Leo VI’s lifetime she had been suspected of more 
 than mere friendship. This person, who had shared 
 the Empress’s disgrace, had naturally returned with 
 her to power, and he exercised complete imfluence 
 over her. The anxiety of the young Emperor was 
 at last aroused by his intimates, who told him 
 that the favourite was plotting his downfall, and 
 scheming to put his own son-in-law, the Strategus 
 Leo Phocas, on the throne. A conspiracy was 
 hatched. The navy was asked to lend its support 
 against the Parakoimomenos and his relative, and 
 the High Admiral Romanus Lecapenus received, 
 and accepted, written orders from the Basileus to 
 arrest the favourite. It was a direct blow at the 
 Empress. She ran in fury to the terrace of the 
 Bucoleon and asked her son and his friends what this 
 
 r 201 7 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 rebellion meant. She was told that her reign was 
 ended and that the power had passed into other 
 hands; on the next day an attempt was made to 
 turn her out of the Palace. Thereupon she burst 
 into tears, threw herself into her son’s arms, claiming 
 her rights as his mother, and begged him to keep 
 her with him. Constantine allowed himself to be 
 persuaded. ‘‘Let my mother remain with me” said 
 he. But though she stayed on in the Palace, she had 
 lost the supreme power. This was in 918. 
 
 In the crisis one man alone seemed capable of ex- 
 ercising authority. This was the Patriarch Nicholas, 
 who in his disgrace had lost neither energy nor 
 ambition. At the time of the revolution, when her 
 favourite had been overthrown, Zoé herself had 
 turned to him as her sole support; and it was he 
 whom the Basileus appointed Prime Minister. He 
 was still in possession of that post when, in March, 
 919, Romanus Lecapenus rose in his turn and took 
 possession of the Palace and of the person of the 
 sovereign, while awaiting the hour when he should 
 have himself associated in the Empire — the first of 
 that series of usurpers who several times during the 
 tenth century governed the Byzantine monarchy in 
 the name of the lawful Basileis. 
 
 It was concerning Romanus Lecapenus that the 
 two adversaries, whose struggles had occupied nearly 
 twenty years of the history of the Sacred Palace, 
 measured their swords together for the last time. 
 Zoé, who was still beautiful, is said to have conceived 
 the idea of returning to power by fascinating the 
 usurper and persuading him to marry her; it is cer- 
 tain, at all events, that after her party had been 
 
 [ 202 7 
 
MARRIAGES OF LEO THE WISE 
 
 definitely crushed in the rebellion of Leo Phocas she 
 tried to have Lecapenus poisoned. She failed, and 
 was exiled from court, this time for ever; and in the 
 convent of St. Euphemia of the Petrion ended her 
 tumultuous, dramatic life. Meanwhile Nicholas was 
 having his triumph. 
 
 In June, 920, as much to please Romanus and to 
 satisfy his own desire for revenge as to end the schism 
 started by the tetragamy, the Patriarch promulgated 
 the famous decree known as the Tomus Unionis. In 
 a solemn service the Greek Church, in the presence 
 of the Basileis Romanus and Constantine, celebrated 
 the peace which had been re-established between the 
 partisans of Nicholas and of Euthymius. The recon- 
 ciliation was made at the expense of the Emperor 
 Leo VI. In exceptional instances, to be sure, the 
 Church agreed to condone and even to legitimate 
 an Emperor’s fourth marriage, should the case arise; 
 but she shewed herself all the more inflexible in 
 maintaining the canonical principles, and in severe 
 condemnation of such unions. ‘‘We declare unani- 
 mously that a fourth marriage is absolutely for- 
 bidden” the prelates decreed. ‘‘Whosoever shall 
 dare to enter into such a contract shall be excluded 
 from every religious office for so long as he shall 
 persist in his concubinage. The Fathers before us 
 have judged likewise, and we, defining their thought, 
 proclaim that such an act is contrary to the spirit of 
 Christianity.” With equal severity the prelates 
 condemned third marriages. ‘‘This abuse’ they 
 said, ‘‘must be cleaned away, as one cleans away 
 filth, lest, if it be swept into a corner, it spread again 
 through the whole house.” And, commenting on 
 
 E203 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 these words, the Patriarch Nicholas wrote triumph- 
 antly to the Pope that, though out of respect for the 
 imperial majesty they had shewn leniency, fourth 
 marriages were contrary to the morals and discipline 
 of the Church. 
 
 The young Emperor Constantine VII was obliged 
 to be present at the reading of this decree condemning 
 marriages such as that from which he was issued; 
 and every year he was obliged to celebrate solemnly 
 this Feast of Union, which recalled to his mind so 
 many painful memories. It was a severe humiliation 
 for the imperial authority; for the Church it was a 
 victory of which she was justly proud; for the Pa- 
 triarch Nicholas it was an unparalleled triumph, 
 after so many struggles, disgraces, and unexpected 
 restorations. Nevertheless, in spite of appearances, 
 if one considers the root of the matter, it will be 
 seen that Leo VI by his obstinate desire to have a 
 son, by the successive marriages that he contracted 
 for this purpose, by the astute tenacity that he dis- 
 played on the question of fourth marriages, rendered 
 a signal service to the Empire and to the dynasty. It 
 was only the existence of a lawful heir, around whom 
 all loyal persons gathered, that kept Byzantium after 
 the death of the Basileus from being plunged into 
 the chaos of revolution. It was the life of this child, 
 the representative of the Macedonian house, that 
 caused the ambitious schemes of Constantine Ducas 
 and Leo Phocas to fail, and that prevented Ro- 
 manus Lecapenus from definitely establishing his 
 heirs in the imperial power. If the imperial house of 
 Macedonia, instead of spending a few brief years on 
 the throne, was able to govern Byzantium for nearly 
 
 [ 204 7] 
 
MARRIAGES OF LEO THE WISE Bie 
 two centuries, and give it prodigious glory and pros- bel 
 perity, it is due essentially to the foresight of Leo VI, 
 and to the clever diplomacy and steadfast courage 
 with which this monarch, in spite of every difficulty, 
 in spite of the opposition of the Church, pursued and 
 achieved his end. 
 
 r 205 7] 
 
IX 
 THEOPHANO 
 
 N the series of Byzantine Empresses Theophano 
 
 is almost as celebrated as Theodora. Since 
 
 M. Gustave Schlumberger in a charming work 
 set himself to evoke her picturesque, fascinating 
 personality, and tell the story of her romantic life, 
 this forgotten Princess has suddenly resumed her 
 place in history and in fame. Writers of renown, 
 like Maupassant, graceful writers like the Vicomte 
 de Vogiié, have been carried away by the charm of 
 this beautiful creature, ‘‘who disturbed the world as 
 much as Helen, and even more’’;! such novelists, 
 mdeed, as Hugues le Roux have described ‘“‘this 
 young woman of supernatural loveliness, contain- 
 ing in the delicate perfection of her harmony the 
 power that troubles'the world.” We too, therefore, 
 must find room in our portrait gallery for “‘this great 
 smner’, as M. Schlumberger calls her, ‘‘whose 
 charms had so fatal an influence, and who was des- 
 tined to be loved by three successive Emperors.” 
 It must be admitted at once that many points in 
 connexion with this mysterious, enigmatic Empress 
 are still obscure; and from the outset we must resign 
 ourselves to a large measure of ignorance. When the 
 sources are silent, imagination, however ingenious, 
 
 1 E.M. de Vogiié, Regards historiques et littératres, p. 189. 
 
 [ 206 J 
 
THEOPHANO 
 
 has, I think, no right to supplement them; in taking 
 such liberties with the text we run the risk of writing 
 fiction rather than history. Now, Byzantium is in 
 no sense what M. de Vogiié calls it — ‘‘a fairyland, 
 a country virgin and unknowable” —-; it isa very real 
 country, that one can and should endeavour to under- 
 stand in a scientific spirit. Studied thus, Theophano 
 may appear to some less picturesque than she is 
 usually portrayed; but I hope that she will at least 
 be more convincing. 
 
 I 
 
 Whence came this famous Empress, who, towards 
 the end of the year 956, married the only son of the 
 Basileus Constantine VII, Romanus, the young heir 
 apparent? Little is known. The court chroniclers, 
 in their concern for the fair name of the dynasty, 
 assert that she sprang of a very old and very noble 
 family, and that the Emperor and his wife were 
 overcome with joy at finding so well-born a bride for 
 their son. But if the historians less favourable to 
 the Macedonian house are to be believed, the parent- 
 age of the future Basilissa was far more modest. 
 Her father, Craterus, of Laconian origin, was an ob- 
 scure plebeian who kept a public-house in one of 
 the slums of the capital. She herself, before her 
 marriage, was called Anastasia, or more familiarly, 
 Anastaso; it was only on drawing near to the throne 
 that she received the more high-sounding name of 
 Theophano, “‘in order to indicate’’, say her panegy- 
 rists, ‘“that she was manifested and chosen by God.” 
 
 In one respect at least she was worthy of her name: 
 her beauty was radiant, superhuman, divine. “By 
 
 [ 207 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 her beauty and her elegance’ says a contemporary, 
 ““she surpassed all the women of her time.” ‘‘Her 
 beauty” says another chronicler, “‘was beyond com- 
 pare, a miracle of nature.” It was doubtless by 
 means of it that she fascinated Romanus. But where 
 did he meet her? how did he win her? We do not 
 know. Did she owe her extraordinary good fortune 
 to one of those beauty-shows that were commonly 
 held in Byzantium when a Prince was to be provided 
 with a wife, and in which the fairest girls of the mon- 
 archy were inspected by the Emperor and his rela- 
 tives? I think it not unlikely. Or had there been 
 some love-affair between the beautiful plebeian and 
 the young heir to the throne, that ended in marriage? 
 The adventures of Theodora prove that such things 
 were possible, and Romanus’s character as we know 
 it does not exclude the possibility. 
 
 He was a big, handsome fellow, broad-shouldered, 
 “straight as a cypress.” He had beautiful eyes, a 
 clear complexion, and an amiable countenance; his 
 speech was soft and persuasive. He was made to 
 please, and he loved amusement. Being a great 
 hunter and fond of every kind of sport, he was always 
 doing something; his vigorous constitution appre- 
 ciated the pleasures of the table, and other pleasures 
 as well. He was unfortunate in his companions and 
 ill-advised by them, thought only of larks and ad- 
 ventures, and rewarded ill the great pains his father 
 had taken with his education. The old Emperor 
 Constantine VII, who was so ceremonious and so 
 pious, had tried his best to impart his qualities to 
 his son. “‘He had taught him”’ says the chronicler, 
 ““how a Basileus should speak, walk, stand, smile, 
 
 [ 208 7] 
 
THEOPHANO 
 
 dress, sit down”; and after these lessons he would 
 say gravely to the young man: “‘If you follow these 
 precepts, you will reign many years over the Roman 
 Empire.” For the political and diplomatic instruc- 
 tion of his heir, Constantine VII, had, furthermore, 
 composed very learned treatises — and most valuable 
 they are to us — on the Themes and on the ddminis- 
 tration of the Empire. But Romanus was eighteen 
 years old and not at all anxious to become a states- 
 man. In any case, as his father adored him, there 
 were certainly no great difficulties made about his 
 marriage with Theophano, whatever her origin. 
 Soon after the marriage, in 958, the young wife bore 
 her husband a son, the future Basil II, and thereby 
 strengthened her position at court and increased 
 her influence in the Palace. When, in the month of 
 October, 959, Constantine VII died, Theophano of 
 course ascended the throne with Romanus II. At 
 that time she was eighteen years of age, and the 
 young Emperor twenty-one. 
 This young woman’s character is by no means 
 easy to ascertain. The court chronicler whom I have 
 already quoted says with unqualified praise: ‘‘She 
 was fair of body, lovely of face, and utterly pure of 
 soul.” Her most recent historian, on the other hand, 
 insists that she was ‘‘profoundly vicious and pro- 
 foundly corrupt”, and that this fascinating enchant- 
 ress, this ‘crowned siren”, was altogether ‘‘shameless 
 and lascivious.” These are hard words and ugly 
 names, considering the little we know of her. But it 
 should be observed, however, that among her con- 
 temporaries and even more among later chroniclers, 
 she had a well-established reputation as a sinister, 
 
 [ 209 J 
 
BYZANTINE -POLCERATTS 
 
 ill-omened woman. One historian says that, in or- 
 der the quicker to ascend the throne, she and her 
 husband poisoned the Emperor her father-in-law. 
 Other writers say that, when her husband died, it 
 was common talk in the capital that Theophano had 
 administered poison to him. If other reports are 
 to be believed, she rid herself thus of a prince 
 of the family of Romanus Lecapenus who seemed 
 likely to become a possible rival and pretender to 
 the throne, and thus likewise she is said to have 
 revenged herself upon her lover John Tzimisces for 
 having abandoned her. Armenian chroniclers go so 
 far as to say that the ‘‘infamous Empress” intended 
 poisoning her own sons. But all these tales, told 
 by people not living at court, and dating for the most 
 part from one or two centuries after her time, are of 
 small significance. Some of these ugly rumours are 
 flatly contradicted by the facts; others seem really 
 too incredible. Besides which, we must not forget 
 that when Theophano actually made up her mind to 
 commit a crime —a thing which happened at least 
 once in her life — it was not by poison that she did the 
 deed, but frankly and openly by the sword. 
 
 This observation must not be taken as an attempt 
 on my part to rehabilitate Theophano. But there are 
 plenty of known facts to lay at her door without 
 swelling the indictment unnecessarily by the addition 
 of vague epithets, and assertions that cannot be 
 proved. As I see her, she is above all else ambitious, 
 with a lust for power and influence, and capable of 
 anything, even crime, to hold the throne to which 
 she had attained; often intriguing, sometimes violent 
 and passionate, unscrupulous always; when her inter- 
 
 [ 210 J 
 
THEOPHANO 
 
 ests, dislikes, or fancies were involved, dissimulat- 
 ing and perfidious. On ascending the throne, she 
 exercised great influence over Romanus II, and would 
 allow no one else to share it with her. Not only were 
 all the favourites of the preceding reign dismissed 
 and all the principal personnel of the administration 
 changed; but the young Empress’s first act, when she 
 had become mistress in the Palace, was to send away 
 her mother-in-law, the Basilissa Helena, and her five 
 sisters-in-law. 
 
 These were charming princesses, and had been ad- 
 mirably educated by an adoring father. Under the 
 government of Constantine VII they had even taken 
 part from time to time in affairs of State; one of 
 them, Agatha, the old Emperor’s favourite, often 
 acted as his secretary, and the various departments 
 and the officials were aware of her influence. This 
 did not suit Theophano’s book. She therefore ex- 
 tracted an order out of the feeble Romanus inviting 
 them to enter a convent. In vain their mother 
 pleaded for them; in vain the young girls, clinging 
 closely to one another, begged with tears to be 
 spared. All was tono purpose. The Basilissa Helena 
 alone was allowed to dwell in the Palace, where she 
 died in sorrow a few months later. Her daughters 
 were obliged to bow to Theophano’s inflexible will 
 and enter the cloister, and, by a refinement of cru- 
 elty, were even separated from one another. The 
 princesses made a last vain resistance. When the 
 Patriarch Polyeuctes had cut off their hair, and they 
 had been clad in the religious habit, they protested, 
 pulling off their sackcloth garments and insisting 
 on eating meat every day. Romanus finally allowed 
 
 r 2117 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 them the same fare and the same state that they had 
 enjoyed in the Sacred Palace. They were none the 
 less for ever dead to the world, and Theophano had 
 won. 
 
 Must we believe that, because she acted thus to 
 such near relatives, she next poisoned her husband? 
 ““Most people suspect’”’ says Leo Diaconus, a con- 
 temporary, concerning the death of Romanus II, 
 ““that poison was administered to him in the Gynae- 
 ceum.” This terrible accusation clearly demonstrates 
 what the people of her time thought Theophano 
 capable of; and it is certain that a woman who could 
 have her second husband assassinated in order to 
 marry a third, might just as well have had the first 
 poisoned so as to marry the second. Nevertheless, 
 the historian’s accusation, grave as it is, seems in 
 this case utterly absurd. In the first place, the 
 chroniclers have given us a perfectly satisfactory 
 explanation of the premature death of the young 
 Emperor, exhausted in his youth by the love of 
 pleasure and excesses of all kinds; and the very writer 
 who brings poison into the affair mentions elsewhere 
 that the Basileus died of internal complications 
 resulting from a wild ride. But, above all, what 
 object could Theophano have had in getting rid of 
 her husband? She was Empress, she was all-power- 
 ful; she was furthermore on the best of terms with 
 Romanus, to whom, in their six and a half years of 
 married life, she had borne four children — only two 
 days before his death she had given birth to her 
 daughter Anna. Why should she have poisoned the 
 Basileus, when his death, by leaving her alone with 
 infant children, would expose her, more than any 
 
 P2127 
 
THEOPHANO 
 
 other conjuncture, to the sudden loss of the power 
 she loved? Theophano was too intelligent to run 
 such a risk groundlessly. 
 
 But it is worthy of special observation that in the 
 facts just cited there is really nothing that can be 
 characterised as vicious, wanton, or lewd. So long 
 as Romanus II lived there is every reason to believe 
 that his young wife’s conduct was irreproachable. 
 After his death she married, chiefly for reasons of 
 State, a man some thirty years her senior; but such 
 an event is neither rare nor extraordinary in the lives 
 of sovereigns or even of private folk; and, without 
 laying stress on the point that it was perhaps 
 Theophano’s only means of saving the throne for her 
 sons, at least she can hardly be blamed for believing 
 that supreme power was worth some sacrifice. The 
 only serious accusation that one can make against her 
 is not that five years later she deceived this old hus- 
 band of hers with a younger lover — for, however de- 
 plorable, this is not an exceptional occurrence—, but 
 that when she wanted to marry the latter she did 
 not hesitate to rid herself of the Basileus, her husband, 
 by a horrible murder. It must be added, moreover, 
 that she made bitter expiation for her crime. 
 
 II 
 
 At the time of Romanus II’s sudden death, on the 
 15th of March 963, Theophano was twenty-two years 
 of age. She was left alone with four children, two 
 boys and two girls. Without delay she assumed the 
 regency in the name of the two young Porphyrogeniti, 
 Basil, aged five, and Constantine, aged two; but the 
 
 (e213. 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 situation was a singularly difficult one for a woman, 
 and even more for an ambitious woman. She 
 found an all-powerful minister in office, the Para- 
 koimomenos Joseph Bringas, who had governed des- 
 potically during Romanus’s reign, and who might be 
 tempted to get rid of the Regent in order to have 
 the power to himself during the long minority of the 
 young Basileis. And, on the other hand, at the head 
 of the Asiatic army, she found a victorious general, 
 whose ambitions she might well fear, the Domestic 
 of the Scholae, Nicephorus Phocas. 
 
 Nicephorus Phocas was at that time the best- 
 known and most popular man in the Empire. He 
 belonged to a great aristocratic family of Cappadocia, 
 he was the descendant of a long line of illustrious 
 generals, and by splendid victories he had still further 
 enhanced his prestige and his fame. Crete, which 
 had fallen to the Arabs fifty years before, he had 
 reconquered; beyond Taurus, into Cilicia, he had 
 carried the imperial standards; the great city of 
 Aleppo he had just taken by storm, thus breaking 
 the pride of the Hamdanid Emirs of Syria. Being 
 an admirable soldier, an able tactician, and an in- 
 comparable general, who knew the way to talk to 
 his men and make them follow him anywhere, he 
 was the idol of the soldiers, all of whose fatigues and 
 dangers he shared. “‘He lived for the army”, one 
 of his biographers says of him. Nor was he less 
 popular in Constantinople. When, on returning from 
 the Cretan expedition, he had celebrated a triumph 
 in the Hippodrome, he had astonished the city by the 
 splendours of the stately procession, “‘in the course of 
 which all the wealth of the barbarians seemed to flow 
 
 r 2147 
 
THEOPHANO 
 
 into the circus in an immense and never-ending 
 flood.” The recipient of as many honours “‘as in 
 olden times the generals of Rome had received”’, 
 immensely rich, maintaining in his Asiatic domains 
 retinues of vassals passionately devoted to his person, 
 he was loved and admired by all; he seemed the only 
 leader capable of defending the Empire against the 
 Saracens, and Romanus II, on his death-bed, had 
 given explicit directions that he should be continued 
 in undisturbed possession of his command. 
 Whereas to a statesman such a man might seem a 
 formidable danger, it should be remarked that in the 
 eyes of a young woman this victorious general had 
 none of the attributes of a hero of romance. Nice- 
 phorus Phocas, in 963, was fifty-one years of age, 
 and not beautiful to look at. He was a little man, 
 rather fat, with a powerful body set on short legs, 
 and he had, furthermore, a large head, a very dark, 
 sunburnt skin, and long black hair; his nose was 
 aquiline, his beard short and grizzled, and his black 
 eyes, under their heavy eyebrows, were thoughtful 
 and sad. Liudprand, Bishop of Cremona, who came 
 on an embassy to his court, says that he was of unu- 
 sual ugliness, ‘‘as black of skin as a negro, and terrify- 
 ing to one who might chance upon him in the dark.” 
 Furthermore, he was hard and austere, of melan- 
 cholic disposition, and habitually taciturn. Since 
 the loss of his wife, and the death of his only son in 
 an unfortunate accident, he had become an ardent 
 devotee of religion and mysticism. He had taken a 
 vow of chastity, he no longer ate meat, he slept on 
 the ground like an ascetic in the hair-shirt of his uncle 
 Malinus, a religious, who had died in the odour of 
 
 [215] 
 
BYZANTINE; PORTRAITS 
 
 sanctity, and he took pleasure in the society of monks. 
 For his spiritual director, he had chosen Athanasius, 
 the future founder of the oldest monastery on Mt. 
 Athos, and, feeling unable to do without his advice, 
 kept him with him even in camp. In the society of 
 this holy man he conceived like him a longing for 
 the religious life, and thought very seriously of re- 
 tiring from the world. He was actually having a 
 cell constructed for his own use in the monastery 
 that Athanasius was building on the Holy Mountain. 
 Ascetic and war-like, hard, sober, stern, money-lov- 
 ing but unworldly, capable both of clemency and of 
 perfidy, he, like many of his contemporaries, united 
 in his complex personality the most unexpected 
 contrasts, and under his cold exterior was profoundly 
 passionate. : 
 
 It is very hard to tell whether or not he was 
 ambitious. With devoted and victorious troops at 
 his command, Nicephorus Phocas was in a position 
 to risk everything in the crisis arising from the death 
 of Romanus II; and the temptation to revolt was 
 the stronger because his own personal safety seemed 
 to demand the step. The general knew that Bringas 
 hated him, and that he had everything to fear 
 from the all-powerful minister. At first, however, 
 as a loyal and pious soldier, concerned chiefly with 
 the war against the infidel, he made no move. And 
 his final determination to take sides was almost en- 
 tirely due to Theophano. 
 
 One must beware of introducing too many ro- 
 mantic touches into the story of the relations between 
 Nicephorus Phocas and the fair Empress. It is 
 certain that during the lifetime of Romanus II there 
 
 [216 4 
 
THEOPHANO 
 
 was neither affection nor intrigue uniting the Basi- 
 lissa and the Domestic of the Scholae. But after her 
 husband’s death, the Regent soon understood that, 
 among the many perils threatening her, the general 
 was a real power, whom she could make use of to 
 offset the ambitions of Bringas. She saw that in 
 order to retain the throne she would have to win 
 over Nicephorus to her side, and, being an attractive 
 woman, she doubtless felt that it would not be a diffi- 
 cult task. Im any case, it was due to the Empress’s 
 initiative, and in spite of the Prime Minister’s op- 
 position, that Phocas was summoned to the capital; 
 and it seems that he was not long in falling a victim 
 to her charms and in espousing her cause. “It was 
 well known in Byzantium” says M. Schlumberger, 
 “that the exquisite sovereign’s intoxicating charm 
 had made an ineradicable impression upon the simple 
 soul of the austere Domestic of the Scholae.” It may 
 be imagined indeed, though contemporary evidence 
 is slight, that, whereas at first Nicephorus’s rela- 
 tions with the Regent had been confined to busi- 
 ness and routine, he soon gave evidence of his love 
 and declared himself ready to do anything to win 
 her. There are no grounds for believing that Theo- 
 phano reciprocated his affection — indeed, she never 
 loved him; but she fully realised the great power 
 that he wielded and the use she could’ make of it to 
 further her interests and her ambition. For political 
 reasons she encouraged his passion, just as later, for 
 the same motives, she married him. 
 
 It must also be observed that, during his stay in 
 Constantinople, another and no less decisive reason 
 was added to Theophano’s charms to overcome 
 
 [217 7 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 Nicephorus’s hesitancy. This was the revelation 
 which he had of Bringas’s implacable hatred. Of 
 course the Prime Minister had been unable to refuse 
 the general a new and splendid triumph. But the 
 increasing popularity of Phocas disturbed the states- 
 man, who is said, furthermore, to have suspected 
 that a plot was being hatched by the Domestic of the 
 Scholae and the Regent. In vain Nicephorus, with the 
 tortuous diplomacy so dear to Byzantine hearts, tried 
 to calm the apprehension of the Parakoimomenos by 
 announcing openly that his one desire was to em- 
 brace the religious life. Bringas was not deceived. 
 Blinding seemed to him the surest way of getting 
 rid of his rival. Phocas, fortunately for himself, when 
 he was summoned to the Palace on some pretext, 
 was either suspicious or else had received a friendly 
 warning, for he took refuge in the Great Church and 
 besought the Patriarch’s protection. Polyeuctes had 
 his faults; he was obstinate, unyielding, narrow- 
 minded, and short-sighted; but he was courageous 
 and outspoken, and he disliked the Prime Minister. 
 He hurried off to the Sacred Palace, insisted that 
 the Senate should be convoked without delay, and 
 expressed himself with such energy and directness that 
 Nicephorus was continued in his command with ex- 
 traordinary powers, in spite of Bringas’s ill will. The 
 Domestic of the Scholae immediately left the city and 
 went to his head-quarters at Caesarea; he was master 
 of the situation. 
 
 In these intrigues and counter-intrigues Theophano 
 did not appear openly. It is, nevertheless, highly 
 probable that she helped her ally to the utmost of 
 her ability, and backed up the intervention of the 
 
 2s] 
 
THEOPHANO 
 
 Patriarch Polyeuctes with all her might. Similarly 
 in the events that followed, when, in July, 963, 
 circumstances obliged Phocas to declare himself; 
 when, more and more threatened by Bringas’s hatred, 
 and fearing for his life, the general unwillingly al- 
 lowed himself to be proclaimed Basileus by his troops, 
 and in the camp at Caesarea puton the purple buskins; 
 and when at last, in August, 963, he appeared before 
 Constantinople, and a popular revolution, sweeping 
 away Bringas and his friends, opened the gates of the 
 capital to the usurper, Theophano played no visible 
 part and seemed willing to let events take their course. 
 But, as a matter of fact, if Nicephorus Phocas had 
 become ambitious, and if then, in spite of his hesita- 
 tions and scruples, he had decided to assume the 
 purple, the love that the beautiful Empress had in- 
 spired in his breast had figured largely in his resolve. 
 And likewise, during the tragic days of August, 963, 
 when the mob “‘in a fury of madness” were charging 
 the Minister’s soldiers and destroying his palace, and 
 when the Patriarch Polyeuctes and the former 
 Parakoimomenos Basil were in apparent charge of 
 the movement in favour of the pretender, we may 
 well believe that, in the depths of the Gynaeceum, 
 Theophano had come to a private understanding 
 with the leaders of the revolt. Although her name 
 is nowhere mentioned, this intriguing, ambitious 
 woman was the very soul of the great events that 
 had just taken place. 
 
 However it may have been, on the morning of the 
 16th of August 963, Nicephorus Phocas made his 
 solemn entry into Constantinople. On horseback, in 
 the imperial robes of state, he passed through the 
 
 £219 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 Golden Gate amid the acclamations of the entire city, 
 hailed by the people as the saviour of the Empire 
 and of Christianity. “‘The State insists that Nice- 
 phorus be Basileus!”’ cried the enthusiastic mob as he 
 went by. “‘The Palace awaits Nicephorus! The army 
 calls for Nicephorus! The world looks to Nicephorus! 
 Such are the wishes of the Palace, the Army, the 
 Senate, and the People! Lord, hear our prayer! Long 
 live Nicephorus!”’ Riding up the Mesé, he reached 
 the Forum of Constantine, where, in the Church of 
 the Theotokos, he devoutly said his prayers; thence 
 he walked in procession, the Holy Cross in front, to St. 
 Sophia, where he was received by the Patriarch, and 
 there he went, holding lighted candles, to prostrate 
 himself before the holy altars. Then, ascending the 
 ambo with Polyeuctes, he was solemnly crowned Basi- 
 leus of the Romans, as colleague of the two young 
 Emperors, Basil and Constantine. This done, he en- 
 tered the Sacred Palace. To complete his happiness 
 there remained only the sweetest recompense of his 
 ambitions, the hope of which had armed him and led 
 him forth; there remained only to wed Theophano. 
 
 Certain chroniclers say, however, that the Empress 
 was at first obliged by the new master to leave the 
 Palace. If that is true, it can have been nothing but 
 a ruse; the allies had had an understanding for sev- 
 eral months past. There is not the slightest doubt 
 that Nicephorus was passionately in love with the 
 young woman, and reasons of State, furthermore, sug- 
 gested such a marriage as a sort of legitimation of 
 his assumption of the purple. Theophano, though, 
 according to some writers, unenthusiastic over this 
 new marriage, felt it to be her only means of re- 
 
 [ 220 J 
 
THEOPHANO 
 
 taining the power, and was therefore quite willing. 
 The two partners thus had little difficulty in per- 
 suading one another. On the 20th of September 
 963, in the New Church, the marriage was solemnly 
 performed. 
 
 Nicephorus was at the pinnacle of joy. He took 
 new interest in life. He utterly forgot his austerities, 
 his mystical dreams, and his promises, in the happi- 
 ness of possessing Theophano. But, unlike him, his 
 friends the monks had not forgotten the past. When 
 Athanasius, in his solitude on Athos, heard of the 
 imperial marriage, he hurried off to Constantinople, 
 frustrated in his hopes and deeply offended. On 
 being received by the Emperor he treated him with 
 his usual freedom and reproached him harshly for 
 having broken his word and for the scandal he had 
 caused. Phocas exerted himself to calm the monk. 
 He explained that it was not for his own pleasure 
 that he had accepted the throne, and swore that he 
 intended to live with Theophano as with a sister; he 
 promised that as soon as affairs of State should 
 permit he intended to come and join the brothers 
 in the monastery. To these fair words he added 
 splendid gifts, and Athanasius returned somewhat 
 mollified to the Holy Mountain. 
 
 In Constantinople the astonishment caused by 
 the marriage was no less, and the scandal greater. 
 The Patriarch Polyeuctes was, as we have seen, a 
 virtuous, austere man, uncompromising towards the 
 things of this world, from which he was completely 
 detached, concerned solely with the duties and 
 interests of the Church, whose chief he was, and 
 endowed with unconquerable courage, inflexible 
 
 fF 22b 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 obstinacy, and formidable frankness. His first act 
 on becoming Patriarch had been severely to repri- 
 mand the Emperor Constantine VII, so pious a man 
 and with such respect for sacred things; this time 
 his ardent, unbending temperament shewed itself 
 more harshly still. It was not that he felt the slight- 
 est hostility towards Nicephorus, nor that he in- 
 tended to oppose him as a usurper; in the revolution 
 of 963 he had given evidence of his devotion to Pho- 
 cas, and his attitude had helped not a little in the 
 overthrow of Bringas and in the success of the 
 Domestic of the Scholae. But, on the ground of 
 canon law, he considered intolerable the marriage 
 of the Basileus, a widower, with a Princess likewise 
 widowed; and when Nicephorus, in accordance with 
 his privilege as Emperor, attempted to pass through 
 the iconostasis at St. Sophia to receive communion, 
 the Patriarch stoutly forbade him to approach the 
 altar, and as penance for his second marriage laid 
 this inhibition on him for the space of a year. The 
 Emperor, despite his irritation, had to give way be- 
 fore the Patriarch’s uncompromising firmness. 
 
 Soon another difficulty arose. Polyeuctes learnt 
 that Nicephorus had stood godfather to one of 
 Theophano’s children. Now, in ecclesiastical law, a 
 spiritual relationship of this kind was an absolute 
 impediment to the marriage that had been con- 
 tracted; and the Patriarch, without mincing words, 
 gave the Basileus his choice between repudiating 
 Theophano and the interdict. For so pious a man as 
 Phocas such a threat was peculiarly serious. Never- 
 theless, the flesh was weak; Nicephorus refused to 
 separate from Theophano, and thus did not pause at 
 
 [2204 
 
THEOPHANO 
 
 precipitating a grave quarrel between State and 
 Church. At last, however, an arrangement was 
 effected. A priest came forward and swore that the 
 godfather of the imperial child had been Bardas, 
 the Emperor’s father, and not Nicephorus himself. 
 Polyeuctes saw through the falsehood; but as he was 
 abandoned by all, even by his clergy, he yielded 
 to necessity and professed to believe what he was 
 told. In his distress he did not even insist that the 
 Emperor should carry out the penance which had 
 been imposed on account of his second marriage. 
 But the Basileus was none the less extremely irri- 
 tated by this attack upon his prestige and upon his 
 love. He never forgave Polyeuctes for his unseason- 
 able interference, and Theophano was no less bitter 
 towards the prelate. The Emperor and his wife 
 never succeeded in living the matter down; a few 
 years later Liudprand, echoing the stories that were 
 current in Constantinople, says outspokenly that 
 Nicephorus’s marriage was incestuous. 
 
 Li 
 
 A marriage so ill assorted and so inauspiciously 
 begun ran great risks of coming to grief. And this 
 indeed was the swift result. Here again detailed in- 
 formation upon the private life of the imperial house- 
 hold during these six years is of the scantiest; and 
 the part that Theophano, with her usual caution and 
 cleverness, played in it must be rather inferred from 
 hints than ascertained from direct testimony. We 
 have to content ourselves with a general view of the 
 situation and of the tragedy in which it ended. 
 
 [ 223 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 Madly in love with Theophano and intoxicated 
 with her radiant beauty, Nicephorus, to quote the 
 reserved, laconic phrase of Leo Diaconus, did ‘‘more 
 than was proper.’ This serious, austere, parsimo- 
 nious man loaded the beautiful Princess with sump- 
 tuous gifts, marvellous garments, and_ splendid 
 jewels; he surrounded her with all the refinements of 
 the most dazzling luxury; he presented her with a 
 fortune in estates and villas. ‘“‘Nothing was too 
 costly,’”’ says M. Schlumberger, “‘nothing too beauti- 
 ful to give his beloved Empress.’ He was totally 
 unable to tear himself away from her. When, in 
 964, he left to rejoin the army, he took Theophano 
 along with him, and for the first time, perhaps, in 
 the course of his long military career, interrupted a 
 campaign to return the sooner to her. 
 
 But at bottom this old soldier was nothing of a 
 courtier. After a brief interval of passion, war, his 
 old love, reasserted her supremacy over him; every 
 year he left for the frontier to fight Arabs, Bulgars, 
 or Russians, and now he no longer took Theophano 
 with him. Furthermore, he prided himself on being a 
 conscientious Emperor; and so, little by little, the 
 once-beloved Prince became more and more un- 
 popular. The people, groaning under the weight of 
 taxation; the clergy, whose privileges Nicephorus 
 diminished; the monks, whose enormous landed 
 property he tried to reduce; did not hide their dis- 
 content. The Patriarch was in open opposition to 
 the Emperor. Rioting broke out in the capital. 
 Nicephorus was insulted and stoned by the mob; 
 and, in spite of the admirable composure which he 
 displayed on this occasion, he would have lost his 
 
 [ 2247] 
 
THEOPHANO 
 
 life if his friends had not dragged him away in the nick 
 of time. Lastly, he became a prey to the same 
 religious mysticism that had troubled him in the 
 past; he became melancholy, and would no longer 
 sleep in his imperial bed, but lay down in a corner 
 on a panther-skin with a purple pillow on it, and he 
 resumed the hair-shirt of his uncle Malinus. He was 
 anxious, disturbed, and preoccupied; he feared for 
 his safety, and turned the Palace of the Bucoleon 
 into a fortress. Undoubtedly he still adored Theo- 
 phano, and was more subject to her soft, hidden 
 influence than was prudent or reasonable. But the 
 contrast between the rough soldier and the elegant 
 Princess was too pronounced. He wearied her, and 
 she was bored. The consequences were serious. 
 Nicephorus had a nephew, John Tzimisces. He 
 was forty-five years of age, short, but well built and 
 very elegant. He was white of skin, with blue eyes, 
 a halo of light-golden hair, a reddish beard, a deli- 
 cate and beautiful nose, and a bold look —a man 
 who feared nothing and nobody. Being likewise 
 strong, clever, agile, open-handed, and magnificent, 
 and a bit of a rake into the bargain, he was very 
 fascinating. ‘Theophano in her boredom naturally 
 found him pleasant; and it was now that passion 
 led her on to crime. Tzimisces was ambitious; he 
 was vastly irritated, moreover, at the disgrace which 
 had befallen him: as the result of an incident of war, 
 the Emperor had degraded him from his post of 
 Domestic of the Oriental Scholae and had invited 
 him to retire to his estates, and his one thought was 
 to revenge himself for an outrage that he deemed 
 unmerited. Theophano, for her part, was utterly 
 
 Pop8 9 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 weary of Nicephorus; their former understanding had 
 been succeeded by dislike and suspicion, and the 
 Empress even affected to fear that her husband in- 
 tended to make some attempt upon the lives of her 
 sons. She was still more impatient at being sepa- 
 rated from her lover, for Tzimisces seems to have 
 been the great and probably the only real love of her 
 life. In these circumstances she surrendered herself 
 gradually to the contemplation of a most revolting 
 crime. 
 
 Nicephorus, since his return from Syria, at the 
 beginning of 969, had been a prey to dark fore- 
 bodings. He had a feeling that plots were being 
 hatched against him in the dark. The death of his 
 aged father, the Caesar Bardas Phocas, had increased 
 his melancholy. However, he still loved Theophano. 
 The latter perfidiously used her influence to have 
 Tzimisces recalled to court. She pointed out to the 
 Emperor how annoying it was to have to forego the 
 services of such a man; and very cleverly, in order 
 to prevent Nicephorus from becoming suspicious 
 at too open an espousal of John’s cause, talked of 
 marrying him to one of her relatives. The Basileus, 
 as usual, gave way to his wife’s wishes. John re- 
 turned to Constantinople; and, owing to channels of 
 information skilfully contrived by Theophano in 
 concert with some of her household, the two lovers 
 met in the Palace itself, unknown to Nicephorus, 
 and prepared their plot. No less was planned than 
 the assassination of the Basileus. Among the dis- 
 contented generals John readily found accomplices; 
 many conferences were held between the conspirators 
 and between Tzimisces and the Empress; at last, 
 
 E226-| 
 
THEOPHANO 
 
 thanks to the many ramifications of the Gynaeceum, 
 armed men were smuggled into the Palace and hidden 
 in the Augusta’s apartments. 
 
 Leo Diaconus, who has left us a very striking ac- 
 count of the drama, says that it was now early De- 
 cember. The murder had been set for the night 
 between the 10th and the 11th. The day before, 
 several of the conspirators, dressed as women, had, 
 with Theophano’s aid, entered the Sacred Palace. 
 This time the Emperor was mysteriously warned, 
 and he gave orders to one of his officers to search 
 the women’s quarters; but, whether the search was 
 carelessly carried out, or whether by deliberate in- 
 tention, no one was discovered. Meanwhile, night 
 had fallen; they awaited only the coming of Tzimisces 
 to strike the blow. The conspirators became appre- 
 hensive; if the Emperor were to lock himself in his 
 room, if they had to break open the door and he were 
 to awake, would it not ruin everything? Theophano, 
 with revolting composure, took upon herself to over- 
 come this obstacle. Ata late hour she went to see 
 Nicephorus in his apartments and chatted pleasantly 
 with him; then, on pretext of having to visit some 
 young Bulgarian women staying in the Palace, she 
 went out, saying that she would be back presently 
 and asking him to leave the door open: she would 
 close it on her return. Nicephorus agreed, and when 
 he was left alone said his prayers and fell asleep. 
 
 It was about eleven o’clock at night. Outside, 
 snow was falling, and on the Bosphorus the wind 
 was blowing a hurricane. In a little boat John 
 Tzimisces reached the deserted strip of shore under 
 the walls of the imperial castle of the Bucoleon. By 
 
 207 ol 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 means of a basket fastened to a rope he was hoisted 
 up to the Gynaeceum, and at the head of the conspira- 
 tors went to the sovereign’s bedchamber. They had 
 a moment of fright, for the bed was empty. Buta 
 eunuch of the Gynaeceum, who was acquainted with 
 Nicephorus’s habits, pointed out the Basileus lying 
 asleep in a corner on his panther-skin. They rushed 
 furiously at him, whereupon he awoke and jumped 
 up. One of the conspirators with his sword split open 
 the Emperor’s head to the eyebrows. The wretched 
 man, drenched in blood, cried out: ‘‘Mother of God, 
 help me!’’ The murderers, paying no heed, dragged 
 him to the feet of Tzimisces, who abused him in- 
 decently and tore out his beard. At this they all fell 
 upon the poor creature, who was now in the last 
 throes. Finally John, with a kick, turned him over 
 and, drawing his sword, struck him a great blow on 
 the head; another of the assassins finished him off. 
 The Emperor fell dead, bathed in his blood. 
 
 At the noise of the struggle, the soldiers of the 
 guard hurried to the scene, but arrived too late. 
 They were shewn by torch-light at a window the 
 severed, bleeding head of their master. This tragic 
 sight stifled at once all thought of resistance. The 
 people followed the Empress’s example and _ pro- 
 claimed Tzimisces Emperor. 
 
 IV 
 
 Theophano, who had arranged everything, who 
 had, as it were, led the assassins by the hand, ex- 
 pected to profit greatly by the murder. But history 
 contains some examples of poetic justice, as the Ba- 
 silissa was shortly to learn. 
 
 E228 4 
 
THEOPHANO 
 
 Once more the Patriarch Polyeuctes gave evidence 
 of his indomitable energy. He had been openly at 
 odds with the dead sovereign. Nevertheless, when 
 John appeared at the gates of St. Sophia to assume 
 the imperial crown in the Great Church, the prelate 
 inflexibly refused him admittance on the ground 
 that he was stained with the blood of his relative 
 and master, and gave him to understand that he 
 would be denied access to the holy place until the 
 murderers had been punished and Theophano driven 
 from the Palace. As between the throne and his 
 mistress, Tzimisces did not hesitate a moment. He 
 impudently denied that he had had any share in the 
 crime; and, the better to clear himself, complied 
 with the orders of Polyeuctes, betraying his asso- 
 ciates and sacrificing Theophano. She had dreamed 
 of marrying the man she loved, and of sharing with 
 him the power so dear to her; but it was her lover 
 himself who decided her downfall. He exiled her to 
 one of the convents of Proti, in the Princes’ Islands. 
 
 But, with all her energy, and with the knowledge 
 that she was still beautiful —she was scarcely 
 twenty-nine —, Theophano refused to resign herself 
 to disgrace. A few months later she escaped from 
 prison and took refuge in St. Sophia. Was it that 
 she counted on her lover’s affection? Was it that she 
 hoped that, after the initial difficulties had been sur- 
 mounted, Tzimisces in gratitude would take her back 
 again? Did she flatter herself that the very sight 
 of her would win him over? It is indeed prob- 
 able. But the all-powerful minister who directed 
 the policy of the new reign, the Parakoimomenos 
 Basil, made short work of the fascinating Empress’s 
 
 [229] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 attempt. Disregarding the sanctity of the place, 
 he had her dragged away from the Great Church 
 and decided to send her to a more distant exile in 
 Armenia. All that she could obtain was permission 
 to see a last time before departing the man for whom 
 she had sacrificed everything, and who was abandon- 
 ing her. This final interview, at which the Parakoi- 
 momenos took the precaution of being present, seems 
 to have been extraordinarily violent. Theophano 
 reviled Tzimisces unmercifully, and then, in a par- 
 oxysm of rage, fell upon the minister with her fists. 
 She had to be dragged out of the audience-chamber. 
 Her life was over. 
 
 What became of her in her melancholy exile? What 
 sufferings did she endure in the distant convent 
 wherein she dragged out her life, far from the splen- 
 dours of the court, far from the elegance of the Sacred 
 Palace, with the bitterness of her frustrated hopes 
 and the regret of her lost power? No one knows. At 
 all events, if she had been guilty, she paid dearly 
 for her crime. Six years she languished in her sol- 
 itude, until Tzimisces’s death. She was then, in 
 976, recalled to Constantinople by her sons, who 
 had now become the actual rulers. But, whether her 
 pride was broken and her ambition burnt out, or 
 whether, as is more likely, the Parakoimomenos 
 Basil, who was still all-powerful, had made it a condi- 
 tion of her return, she seems never again to have 
 taken any part in affairs of State. She died in ob- 
 scurity in the Palace, the date of her death being 
 unknown. And thus to the very end this ambitious, 
 fascinating, perverse Princess remains to some extent 
 an enigma and a mystery. 
 
 £250 | 
 
x 
 ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 I 
 [' the month of November, 1028, Constan- 
 
 tine VIII, Emperor of Byzantium, realising 
 
 that he was very ill, and being moreover nearly 
 seventy years of age, decided that it was time to settle 
 the succession to the throne. One may, perhaps, be 
 astonished that, as the last male representative of the 
 Macedonian dynasty, he had not previously thought 
 of arranging so important and necessary a matter. 
 The truth is that all his life Constantine VIII had 
 never thought of anything at all. 
 
 Having been from childhood the colleague of his 
 brother Basil II, he had lived for fifty years in the 
 shadow of this energetic and mighty sovereign, 
 taking no interest in public matters and accepting 
 only the advantages and pleasures of power. Then, 
 when Basil’s death had left him sole ruler of the Em- 
 pire, he had been unable to abandon his old, ac- 
 customed habits, and had continued as before to 
 lead his own life to the neglect of all else. He was 
 a great spendthrift, and had squandered with open 
 hands his brother’s patiently-accumulated savings. 
 A devotee of pleasure and of the table — he excelled 
 in ordering a dinner, and occasionally condescended 
 to invent a sauce to suit himself —, he had entered 
 
 ok 4 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 with such fervour into these amusements that he 
 had become so gouty as hardly to be able to walk. 
 In addition, he adored the Hippodrome, was pas- 
 sionately interested in the circus contests, and doted 
 on animal fights and on spectacles. He loved gam- 
 bling, and when once he had the dice in his hands, 
 everything else, the reception of ambassadors, busi- 
 ness that needed his attention, was all forgotten. At 
 such times he even forgot his chief pleasure, the table, 
 and spent whole nights in play. One can understand 
 that, between so many absorbing occupations, it had 
 slipped his mind that he was the last male of his race, 
 and that his sole heirs were his three unmarried 
 daughters. 
 
 Their names were Eudocia, Zoé, and Theodora. 
 Concerning the eldest, Eudocia, history has little to 
 say. She was a woman of simple tastes, moderate 
 intelligence, and equally moderate looks: an illness 
 in early childhood had ruined her beauty for ever. 
 While quite young she entered a convent, and is 
 heard of no more. Her two sisters were totally 
 different and very much more interesting; but they 
 had both, by a curious chance, been left to grow old 
 m the obscurity of the Gynaeceum. Neither their 
 uncle Basil, who nevertheless liked them well enough, 
 but who seems to have had a certain contempt for 
 women — he himself had never married —, nor their 
 father Constantine, had ever bothered to find hus- 
 bands for them. In 1028 they were very old maids: 
 Zoé was fifty, and Theodora but little less. 
 
 It was upon these two somewhat ripe princesses 
 that, after the death of Constantine VIII, the throne 
 would devolve. But although, since the foundation 
 
 £2509 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 of the Macedonian house, the hereditary principle 
 had made sufficient progress in Byzantium for no 
 one to take umbrage at the Empire passing to women, 
 the Basileus thought that in the circumstances a 
 man would not be out of place in the Palace, and 
 hastily sought a husband to play the part of Prince 
 Consort for his favourite daughter Zoé, whom he 
 considered the better suited to the throne. He hit 
 upon an Armenian nobleman, Constantine Dalas- 
 senus, and had him sent for. But Constantine was 
 far from the capital, on his estates, and time was 
 short. Then, changing his mind, the Emperor turned 
 to the Praefect of the City, Romanus Argyrus. He 
 was a handsome man, of good family, over sixty 
 years of age; unfortunately, he was married and 
 loved his wife, who adored him. This did not deter 
 Constantine VIII. When he wanted anything, he 
 employed expeditious means and unanswerable argu- 
 ments: he gave Romanus the choice between divorce 
 and blinding, and to hasten his surrender and, above 
 all, his wife’s, pretended to be furiously angry and 
 ordered the Praefect’s immediate arrest. Thereupon 
 Romanus’s wife, in great distress, realised that, if 
 she wished to save her husband, she had only to 
 disappear; so she hastily entered a convent, and 
 Romanus married Zoé. Three days later Constan- 
 tine VIII died contented, and his two daughters and 
 his son-in-law ascended the throne. 
 
 For nearly a quarter of a century Zoé Porphyro- 
 genita was destined to make the Imperial Palace 
 hum with her scandalous behaviour; and the story 
 of her life is certainly one of the raciest in all Byzan- 
 tine history, and one of the most familiar. Whereas 
 
 eal 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 we are so ill informed about the majority of the 
 Empresses who reigned in the Sacred Palace that we 
 can with difficulty form even the slightest notion of 
 them, Zoé stands forth in the full light of day. She 
 has had the good fortune — for us— to have as 
 biographer one of the most intelligent and remark- 
 able men that Byzantium ever produced, namely 
 Michael Psellus, whose chronicle, or rather com- 
 ments on the history of his own times, was published 
 some fifty years ago. 
 
 Knowing the Empress well, and acquainted, in his 
 capacity as Grand Chamberlain and minister, with 
 all the court intrigues, interested in everything that 
 took place, eager for every bit of gossip, and very 
 indiscreet and loquacious into the bargain, Psellus 
 has, with admirable complaisance and often with 
 extraordinary freedom of language, revealed every- 
 thing he saw or heard. There is no secret hidden 
 from him, no detail, even the most intimate, that he 
 has not in some way become acquainted with; and 
 as he had a deep fund of wit, humour, and malice, 
 the story he tells is one of the raciest and most pun- 
 gent to be found anywhere. Doubtless, we must 
 not take all he says literally: at times he makes 
 a wide detour around the facts, when politics, in 
 which he played a great part, are too directly in- 
 volved; but with practically this one exception he 
 is very trustworthy; and since his natural idle cu- 
 riosity, always on the watch for the slightest event, 
 impelled him early in life to be observant, he is 
 usually perfectly informed. And then it is such good 
 luck to find, among so many dry, boring chroniclers, 
 one who can both use his eyes and write, a master 
 
 [ 234 7] 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 of the difficult art of portraiture, an incomparable 
 teller of spicy tales. It has been said, without too 
 much exaggeration, that Psellus reminds one of 
 Voltaire; and, as a matter of fact, he touched on 
 everything and wrote of everything. Besides his 
 history, we have hundreds of little treatises from 
 his pen on the most diverse subjects: speeches and 
 verses, letters and pamphlets, philosophical treatises, 
 works on physics, on astronomy, on physiology, and 
 even on demonology. And like Voltaire he touches 
 everything with a caustic wit, a malicious humour, 
 and a universal curiosity. By the boldness of his 
 conceptions and the originality of his ideas Psellus 
 was one of the most eminent men of his time; by 
 his love of classical antiquity and of Platonic philos- 
 ophy he, living in the eleventh century, is a kind of 
 forerunner of the renaissance. 
 
 His character was, undoubtedly, not the equal of 
 his intellect. His mediocrity of soul, his love of in- 
 trigue, his servile flatteries, his rapid and scandalous 
 changes of side, and his childish, unhealthy vanity, 
 shew that Psellus is but too perfect a specimen of the 
 court life and of the corrupt Byzantine society in 
 which he lived. But, on the other hand, he helps us 
 so well to understand it all that he is really invaluable. 
 In our narrative we shall have constantly to return 
 to his book; and to it I must often refer the reader 
 when his anecdotes, though always amusing and 
 witty, become much too embarrassing to translate. 
 
 Il 
 
 At the time when Zoé, with her husband, Romanus, 
 ascended the throne of Byzantium, she was, we are 
 
 [250 | 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 told, still perfectly charming, despite her fifty sum- 
 mers. Psellus, who knew her well, has drawn a very 
 mteresting portrait of her. She seems to have re- 
 sembled her uncle Basil: she had large eyes under 
 heavy eyebrows, a slightly aquiline nose, and beauti- 
 ful fair hair. Her complexion and her whole body 
 were of dazzling whiteness; she was of incomparable 
 grace and most harmoniously proportioned. ‘‘Any- 
 one not knowing her age” says Psellus, “‘would have 
 taken her for a young girl.’”’ She had not a single 
 wrinkle: ‘“Every part of her’ says the historian, 
 “was firm and in good condition.” She was of 
 medium height, but slender and well made, and she 
 had a very elegant figure. And although later in 
 life she grew somewhat fatter, her face remained to 
 the end remarkably young. At the age of seventy- 
 two, when her trembling hands and her bent back 
 betrayed her age, “her face” says Psellus, ‘was ra- 
 diant with youthful beauty.” She had a regal man- 
 ner and a bearing truly imperial. But she was 
 not overfond of the troublesome demands of cere- 
 monial. Being very careful of her beauty, she pre- 
 ferred simple dresses to the heavy, gold-embroidered 
 gowns decreed by etiquette, the massive diadem and 
 the splendid jewels. ‘She clothed her beautiful 
 body” says her biographer, ‘‘in filmy garments.” 
 On the other hand, she was devoted to perfumes and 
 cosmetics, and imported them from Ethiopia and 
 India; and her apartments, in which great fires were 
 kept burning all the year round for the preparation 
 of the salves and lotions that her women made for 
 her, had the appearance of a laboratory. And there 
 it was that she preferred to spend her time; she did 
 
 [ 236 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 not care much for fresh air, for walking in the gardens, 
 or for anything that might sully her borrowed loveli- 
 ness and impair a beauty that she was already obliged 
 to take great care of. 
 
 Zoé was moderately intelligent, absolutely igno- 
 rant, lively, enthusiastic, and irritable. Gaily and 
 thoughtlessly she decided matters of life and death, 
 quick to take sides and to change them; with but 
 little logic or stability of mind, she treated affairs of 
 State with the same frivolity as the amusements of 
 the Gynaeceum. In spite of her beauty she made a 
 sufficiently incapable sovereign, since she was rather 
 silly, very vain, childish, capricious, volatile, and 
 quite open to flattery. A compliment delighted her. 
 She was enchanted when one spoke of the antiquity 
 of her lineage or of the glories of her uncle Basil, and 
 even more enchanted when one spoke of herself. 
 And it became a game among the courtiers to make 
 her believe that no one could look at her without 
 being immediately struck dumb with amazement. 
 She was extravagant with regard to herself, absurdly 
 generous to others, and affected an insane prodigal- 
 ity; but on occasion she could be inexorable and 
 cruel. Like all her contemporaries she was pious; 
 but it was an exclusively external piety, of the kind 
 that burns incense before icons, and lights candles 
 on altars. Public matters bored her, nor did women’s 
 work interest her either. She did not care for em- 
 broidery, weaving, or spinning, but would sit idle for 
 hours at a time, fatuously. One can thus understand 
 that her active, untiring uncle Basil, though fond of 
 her, must have rather despised her. 
 
 This blonde, soft, silly creature had, moreover, 
 
 E267 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 none too good blood in her veins. As the grand- 
 daughter of that Romanus II who died young from 
 the results of fast living, and of the notorious 
 Theophano, and daughter of such an idler as Con- 
 stantine VIII, she had every right to the amorous 
 temperament which she was soon to manifest. Very 
 proud of her beauty, convinced that she was irre- 
 sistible, furious at having had to waste the best 
 years of her youth in the Gynaeceum, full of un- 
 satisfied desires, and fascinated by the call of the 
 unknown, she was now, at the age of fifty and more, 
 to fill court and town with her scandalous behaviour, 
 and with such passion and with so little restraint 
 that her contemporaries were often in doubt as to her 
 entire sanity. 
 
 Romanus Argyrus, finding himself married to a 
 woman so headstrong and so eager for new sensa- 
 tions, felt that he owed it to himself, to Zoé, to the 
 late Emperor his father-in-law, and to the State, to 
 produce an heir to the throne as soon as possible. 
 And at this point already I am obliged to refer the 
 reader to Psellus to learn by what means — both 
 magical and physiological —, by what learned com- 
 binations of unguents, massage, and amulets, Ro- 
 manus and Zoé set to work to realise their desire. 
 But, whilst engaged in these exercises, the Emperor 
 soon awoke to the fact that he was sixty, which was 
 considerable, and that the Empress was fifty, which 
 was excessive; and so, leaving his wife and con- 
 siderations of State in the lurch, he devoted himself 
 to the government of the Empire. 
 
 The lady had not reckoned on such treatment. 
 Deeply wounded in her pride, to begin with, at being 
 
 [ 238 7 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 thus scorned, Zoé had other grounds for discontent, 
 unconnected with either vanity or considerations of 
 State; as a crowning misfortune, and as if to cap 
 the climax, Romanus in forsaking her society had 
 had the idea of putting an immediate stop to her 
 ridiculous extravagance. Furiously angry, and feel- 
 ing more keenly than ever a longing for adventures, 
 Zoé cast about for consolation and found it with- 
 out difficulty. She singled out Constantine, the 
 High Steward, and after him another Constantine 
 of the great house of Monomachus, whose relation- 
 ship to the Emperor had gained him admittance to 
 the Palace. They both pleased her for a while on 
 account of their good looks, their charm, and their 
 youth; but their favour was not of long duration. 
 Soon Zoé’s choice settled upon another lover. Among 
 the intimates of Romanus III was a eunuch named 
 John, an astute, corrupt man and a great favourite 
 of the Emperor. This John had a brother named 
 Michael, a remarkably handsome fellow with spar- 
 kling eyes, a clear skin, and a fine figure, whom the 
 poets of the time unanimously praise for his captivat- 
 ing charm. John presented him at court: he pleased 
 the Emperor, who took him into his service; and he 
 pleased the Empress even more, so that she suddenly 
 developed an overwhelming passion for him. And, 
 as Psellus says, ‘‘since she was incapable of control- 
 ling her desires, she knew no rest until the handsome 
 Michael had reciprocated her affection.” 
 
 There followed a thoroughly amusing little comedy 
 in the Palace, which Psellus has maliciously related. 
 Hitherto Zoé had heartily detested the eunuch John; 
 but now, in order to have excuses to talk with the 
 
 P00 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 man she loved, she treated him with cordiality, and 
 sent for him to inform his brother that he would 
 always receive a warm welcome from his sovereign 
 whenever he should appear in her presence. The 
 young man, not in the least understanding this sud- 
 den and extraordinary kindness, came to Zoé in 
 some embarrassment, worried and blushing, to bow 
 and scrape. But the Princess encouraged him; she 
 smiled at him pleasantly, relaxed the sternness of her 
 awful brow, and even alluded in discreet terms to 
 her sentiments. Schooled, however, by his brother, 
 Michael finally understood. He grew audacious; 
 from loving attitudes he passed to kisses; soon he 
 became more daring still, ‘less fascinated perhaps” 
 says the impertinent Psellus, ““by the lady’s over- 
 ripe charms than flattered in his pride by the glory 
 of an imperial adventure.” Zoé was very seriously 
 in love, and committed every kind of imprudence. 
 She was to be seen kissing her lover in public and 
 sitting with him on the same couch. Naturally, she 
 delighted in decking her favourite like an idol; she 
 covered him with jewels and fine clothes, and 
 showered him with magnificent presents. She went 
 even further; one day she conceived the idea of 
 making him sit upon the Emperor’s very throne, 
 crowned and sceptred, and pressing him close to her, 
 called him by the most loving names: “My idol, my 
 flower of beauty, joy of my eyes, consolation of my 
 soul.” One of the inmates of the Palace, happening 
 to enter the room, nearly swooned at the shock of 
 this unexpected scene; but Zoé, unabashed, ordered 
 him to prostrate himself at Michael’s feet, saying: 
 “He is henceforth Emperor; one day he will be so in 
 very truth.” 
 
 [ 240 7 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 The entire court knew of their liaison. Romanus 
 was, of course, the only one who perceived nothing. 
 Some of his intimate friends and his sister Pulcheria, 
 who hated the Empress, thought it their duty to 
 enlighten him. But the Emperor refused to believe 
 it, and being a good-natured Prince called Michael 
 to his study, and asked him what truth there was 
 in the tale. Michael protested that he was the inno- 
 cent victim of odious calumnies, and the Basileus 
 was convinced and liked him even better than before. 
 As a mark of his confidence he went so far as to per- 
 mit him to enter the imperial bedchamber itself; at 
 night, when he was in bed alongside of Zoé, he used 
 to call the young man to his bed-side and ask him 
 to rub his feet. “‘Is it conceivable” says a prudish 
 chronicler, ‘‘that in doing so he never touched the 
 Basilissa’s feet?”” Romanus did not bother about 
 that, for he was not a jealous Emperor. 
 
 He could reassure himself, furthermore, if he so 
 desired. The handsome Michael suffered from an 
 unpleasant disease: he had attacks of epilepsy. 
 “Such a man” remarked the Emperor, “really could 
 neither love nor inspire love.’ In the long run, 
 however, Romanus was unable to doubt his misfor- 
 tune; but being a philosopher he preferred to pay 
 no attention. He understood Zoé, and knew that, 
 if he were to remove Michael, he would run the un- 
 doubted risk of seeing her plunge into fresh and more 
 numerous adventures; and considering a single in- 
 trigue less injurious to the imperial dignity than a 
 succession of blazing scandals, he systematically 
 shut his eyes to the proof. ‘And the Empress’s 
 liaison” says Psellus, ““was publicly established and 
 acquired an almost legal status.” 
 
 [2417] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 Romanus, meanwhile, was failing visibly in health. 
 He ate little and slept badly, and his character was 
 undergoing a change. He became violent, irritable, 
 and disagreeable; he no longer laughed; he distrusted 
 everyone and grew angry over nothing, and was in 
 fact wasting away. He insisted on performing con- 
 scientiously his duties as Emperor; but under his 
 splendid robes of state he looked a dying man; his 
 face was sunken, his skin was yellow, his breath came 
 short and panting, and his hair fell out by the hand- 
 ful. It appears that Michael and Zoé had been 
 administering a slow poison to the unfortunate mon- 
 arch — though he scarcely bothered them at all — 
 in order to rid themselves of his troublesome presence. 
 But the poison did not act quickly enough to satisfy 
 the amorous Empress. Consequently on the morn- 
 ing of Holy Thursday, when the Emperor was in his 
 bath, at the moment of dipping his head under the 
 water, as he always did, some servants, who had 
 received orders, held him in that position rather — 
 longer than was necessary. He was taken out faint- 
 ing and three-quarters suffocated, and laid on his bed, 
 breathing with difficulty and unable to speak. When 
 later he regained consciousness, he tried to convey 
 his meaning by signs; but, seeing that no one 
 understood him, he closed his eyes sadly and soon 
 expired. At this occurrence Zoé did not even take 
 the trouble to hide her feelings. On learning of the 
 accident she hurried to the imperial bedchamber to 
 see for herself what her husband’s condition was, and 
 did not consider it worth while to be present at the 
 end. She had more important things to think of. 
 
 [ 242 |] 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITITEA 
 
 Ill 
 
 Zoé’s sole aim was to secure the throne for Michael. 
 In vain the courtiers and the old servants of Con- 
 stantine VIII exhorted her to think it over, to give 
 the crown only to the worthiest, and above all not 
 to put herself too much into her new husband’s 
 power. She thought only of her lover. The eunuch 
 John, astute politician that he was, pressed her to 
 decide quickly. ““We are all lost’? thought he to 
 himself, “‘if there is any delay.” Without waiting, 
 therefore, on the night between Holy Thursday and 
 Good Friday, Zoé sent for Michael to come to the 
 Palace. She made him don the imperial robes, and, 
 putting the crown on his head, sat him on the throne 
 beside herself and commanded all those present to 
 recognise him as their lawful sovereign. The Patri- 
 arch, summoned at dead of night, came in haste. 
 He expected to find Romanus, but instead discovered 
 Zoé and Michael in robes of state in the great Golden 
 Triclinium; and the Empress asked him to marry 
 her without delay to the new Basileus. The prelate 
 hesitated; so in order to convince him they made him 
 a splendid present of fifty pounds’ weight in gold, 
 and promised him a like sum for his clergy. He 
 yielded to these arguments and obeyed. On the 
 morrow the Senate was convoked to render homage 
 to the new master and to pay their last respects to 
 the old. And while, with face uncovered, according 
 to the custom, Romanus III was being carried away, 
 unrecognisable and already decomposing — Psellus, 
 who saw the procession pass, has left a striking 
 account of it —, in the Sacred Palace the great digni- 
 
 [243] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 taries were prostrating themselves humbly before 
 Michael and kissing the upstart’s hand. Zoé had not 
 remained a widow twenty-four hours. 
 
 The soul of the new government was the Emperor’s 
 brother, the eunuch John. He was a man who 
 thought and acted with rapidity, hard and haughty of 
 mien, a remarkable politician, and a first-rate financier. 
 He had an excellent knowledge of public affairs, and 
 was in close touch with all that went on in the capital 
 and in the State; and he pursued the realisation of 
 his ideas and ambitions even in the noise of feasts 
 and the tumult of banquets. Amid the glow of 
 festivities he kept close watch upon his companions, 
 and had the valuable power of remembering pre- 
 cisely what those around him had said in their cups, 
 even when he himself had been intoxicated. Thus 
 he inspired a wholesome terror, and was feared more 
 perhaps when drunk than when sober. He was 
 absolutely devoted to his brother, whom he adored, 
 ambitious for him alone, and put at his service 
 his intelligence, his ability, and his deep knowledge 
 of men. It was he who had previously thrown 
 Michael into Zoé’s arms; but now that, thanks to 
 her, Michael had become Emperor, he considered 
 gratitude to the Basilissa altogether superfluous. 
 The Basileus after his coronation had been at first 
 very friendly to Zoé, obeying her least wish and seek- 
 ig every opportunity to please her. But under his 
 brother’s influence his attitude soon changed. ‘‘It 
 is impossible for me”’ says Psellus, ‘‘either to praise 
 him or blame him for it. I certainly do not approve 
 of ingratitude towards one’s benefactress; and yet 
 I cannot blame him for fearing lest he should meet the 
 
 [ 244 7 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 fate of her first husband.’ Michael knew Zoé too 
 well not to distrust her. 
 
 He began by exiling all on whom she had formerly 
 bestowed her favours. Next, on his brother’s ad- 
 vice, he took matters into his own hands and com- 
 manded the Empress to confine herself to the 
 Gynaeceum, and to refrain in future from appearing 
 in the official processions. At the same time he took 
 away her eunuchs and the most faithful of her 
 women, and in their place put some ladies of his own 
 family to spy upon her. An officer devoted to 
 Michael was appointed Master of Ceremonies to the 
 Empress, and soon she was kept under such strict 
 surveillance that she was allowed to receive no one 
 unless it were known in advance who he was and 
 what he had to say to her. She was forbidden even 
 to leave her apartments, to take a walk, or to go to 
 the baths without the Emperor’s express permission. 
 Zoé was exasperated at such treatment, but had no 
 means of resistance. So she put on the best face she 
 could and simulated unalterable sweetness and per- 
 fect resignation; she bore without complaint the 
 outrages and humiliations that were meted out to 
 her, never reproaching Michael, inveighing against 
 nobody, and gracious even to her very gaolers. But 
 after all that she had done for her former lover, the 
 blow was as hard as it was unexpected. 
 
 The most difficult thing for her to bear was the fact 
 that Michael himself, whom formerly she had loved 
 so well, now kept away from her in horror and re- 
 fused even to see her. Apart from some embarrass- 
 ment at having repaid her kindness with such in- 
 gratitude, he felt his illness to be gaining upon him; 
 
 [ 245 7 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 his epileptic fits became worse and more frequent, 
 and he was in constant fear of a seizure in Zoé’s 
 presence. Furthermore, as he was not a bad man, 
 he suffered from remorse and tried to make expia- 
 tion for his sins. All his time was spent in the 
 society of monks; in the Palace he surrounded him- 
 self with ascetics, clad in rags picked up in the 
 streets, and as penance he slept humbly at their feet, 
 stretched out on a board with his head upon a stone. 
 He built hospitals and churches; and he had a 
 special devotion for Demetrius, the great saint of 
 Thessalonica, and for Cosmas and Damian the 
 physician-saints, who bore the reputation in Byzan- 
 tium of being able to cure the most incurable diseases. 
 But nothing served to allay his sufferings or his 
 restlessness. Therefore his spiritual directors, to 
 whom he had confessed his follies and his crimes, 
 ordered him to refrain from all physical connexion 
 with his wife; and he piously followed their direc- 
 tions. 
 
 Zoé, cut off from all that she loved, finally re- 
 volted. She knew that she was popular in the 
 capital both as a woman and the lawful heir to 
 the monarchy, and also on account of her lavish 
 munificence. She rebelled, therefore, against the 
 treatment which she was receiving; soon she went 
 even further, and is said to have attempted to have 
 the Prime Minister poisoned, hoping that, once re- 
 moved from his baneful influence, Michael, whom she 
 still loved, would submissively return to her. Her 
 attempt was a failure, and its only result was to in- 
 crease her troubles. This state of affairs lasted until 
 the Emperor’s death. Michael’s health was steadily 
 
 [ 246 7 
 
ZOE PORPHY ROGENITEA 
 
 deteriorating, and was still further impaired by the 
 reaction following the burst of energy with which he 
 had overcome the revolted Bulgarians. He felt him- 
 self at the point of death. Overwhelmed with re- 
 morse and anxious at least to end his life piously, he 
 had himself transported in the month of December, 
 1041, to a monastery that he had founded, where in 
 accordance with a widespread Byzantine custom he 
 put] on the black monastic habit in order to die in 
 the odour of sanctity. When this news was brought 
 to the Imperial Gynaeceum, Zoé, wild with grief, and 
 anxious to see for the last time the husband and lover 
 whom she could not forget, despite her dignity and 
 in the face of all etiquette ran on foot to the monas- 
 tery to bid him a final farewell. But Michael was 
 eager to die in peace, and he coldly refused to receive 
 the woman who had loved and lost him. Soon after- 
 wards he passed away. 
 
 IV 
 
 For some time past the eunuch John had foreseen 
 this event and had taken the necessary steps. The 
 death of Michael IV, by necessarily restoring to Zoé 
 the fullness and the free exercise of imperial power, 
 would certainly be the ruin of all the hopes that this 
 exceedingly ambitious man had formed for his rela- 
 tives. He had therefore suggested that his brother 
 should associate with him in his lifetime one of their 
 nephews, likewise named Michael, and take advan- 
 tage of Zoé’s popularity to give the upstart a legal 
 investiture and smooth his path to power. It had 
 therefore been suggested to the aged Empress to 
 
 [ 247 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRALES 
 
 adopt this young man; and, strangely enough, in 
 spite of the insults to which she had been subjected, 
 Zoé had been only too delighted to comply with her 
 husband’s wishes. In the Church of Blachernae, 
 in the presence of the assembled people, she had 
 solemnly declared before the holy altars that she 
 took her husband’s nephew to be her son; after which 
 the new Prince Imperial had received the title of 
 Caesar and the rank of heir apparent. 
 
 Like all his family, Michael V was of very humble 
 origin. His father had even been a caulker in the 
 port, and that is why the inhabitants of the capital, 
 always ready for a jest, soon gave the young Caesar 
 the nickname of Michael Calaphates, or the Caulker. 
 He himself was an unpleasant sort of person, bad, 
 ungrateful, untruthful, with a private grudge against 
 all his benefactors. His uncle, the Emperor Michael, 
 who knew him well, cared very little for him, and, not- 
 withstanding that he had brought him to the steps of 
 the throne, excluded him from affairs of state and from 
 the court. His uncle, the eunuch John, though his 
 nephew professed great respect for him, likewise re- 
 garded him with distrust. He was destined amply 
 to justify all the misgivings that he inspired. 
 
 The power was transmitted peacefully, however, 
 when Michael IV died. Zoé, weak of character 
 and old, was “‘very easily led”’, as Psellus puts it, 
 and did whatever she was asked. Her former enemy 
 and persecutor, the eunuch John, had only to shew 
 her great respect; he threw himself at her feet and 
 said that without her the State was powerless; he 
 swore that, if her adopted son were to ascend the 
 throne, he would be Emperor only in name, and 
 
 [248 4 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 that all the actual power would be in her hands. 
 She was fascinated by this clever comedy and en- 
 chanted at the unexpected compliments and at the 
 influence that she enjoyed once more; and therefore 
 she characteristically consented to everything. Mi- 
 chael V was proclaimed Basileus. 
 
 The new Emperor repaid ill all who had helped 
 him rise. He began by getting rid of his uncle John, 
 and gave his place as Prime Minister, together 
 with the title of Nobilissimus, to another of his 
 uncles, Constantine. Then he decided that Zoé was 
 in the way. Like Michael IV, he too at first had 
 shewn great respect to his adoptive mother; “‘She 
 is my Empress,” he used to say in speaking of her; 
 “she is my sovereign. I am wholly devoted to her.” 
 But soon he thrust her aside; he diminished her 
 allowance, refused her the honours due to her rank, 
 and kept her in the Gynaeceum under strict guard, 
 taking away her women and openly ridiculing her. 
 His companions kept telling him that he had better 
 dethrone the aged Princess if he did not wish to suffer 
 the fate of his predecessors. Michael thought him- 
 self strong enough to carry out the scheme; he im- 
 agined that he was popular in the capital —had 
 not the people at the recent Easter festivities wel- 
 comed him in the streets with such unbounded 
 enthusiasm that the road beneath his horses’ hoofs 
 was spread with priceless rugs? Believing in his 
 star, proud of what he was daring to undertake 
 scorning all advice, on the 18th of April, 1042, he 
 determined to turn his benefactress out. 
 
 On Sunday night, Zoé was arrested in her apart- 
 ments on the pretext that she had tried to poison 
 
 [ 249 | 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 the Emperor; and notwithstanding her cries and 
 protests was put hastily, with only one servant, 
 aboard a vessel and taken to the neighbouring island 
 of Prinkipo. Upon her arrival there she was shut up 
 by the Basileus’s orders in a convent, and forced to 
 wear the habit of a nun, and her long grey hair was 
 cut off and carried to Michael as evidence that his 
 wishes had been executed. Having thus got rid of 
 the Empress and believing her for ever dead to the 
 world, the Emperor convoked the Senate and 
 solemnly pronounced her dethroned. But he had 
 not counted upon the traditional devotion of the 
 people to the Macedonian house. As soon as the 
 news spread through the city there was great dis- 
 turbance; everywhere there were sorrowful faces, 
 angry looks, anxious talk, and stormy gatherings, 
 which the guard-soldiers had great difficulty in 
 dispersing. The women, in particular, shewed in- 
 tense excitement, and filled the streets with their 
 cries. Moreover, when the Praefect of the City 
 appeared in the Forum of Constantine to read the 
 imperial proclamation announcing the event, he had 
 hardly finished before a voice cried out, bluntly: 
 “We don’t want the Caulker to be our Emperor! 
 We want the lawful heiress, our mother Zoé!”’ At 
 these words there went up a great shout: ‘‘Death to 
 the Caulker!”’ The revolution had broken out. 
 
 The people armed themselves in haste with any- 
 thing that came handy, and the mob went surging 
 through the city. Prisons were broken open and 
 houses burnt or pillaged. Soon the Palace was 
 attacked. On the advice of his uncle Constantine, 
 who with the people of his household had bravely 
 
 [ 250 7] 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 come to the aid of the Basileus and had organised 
 the defence, Michael decided to make a concession 
 to the rioters. Zoé was hurriedly brought from her 
 convent to the Sacred Palace, in dire apprehension 
 as to her fate. In the greatest haste, without giving 
 her time even to remove her religious habit, she was 
 taken to the imperial box in the Hippodrome, where 
 she and Michael appeared before the rebellious mob. 
 The excitement of the people on beholding the 
 Empress despoiled of the imperial robes, far from 
 diminishing, grew more intense. In vain the Em- 
 peror tried to address the rebels; he was answered 
 by insults and stones, and returning with the aged 
 Princess to the Palace the wretch thought only of 
 flight, until his uncle Constantine inspired him with 
 fresh courage and prevailed upon him to resist. 
 
 Meanwhile, in St. Sophia, an unexpected occur- 
 rence had infused new strength into the revolt. 
 
 Zoé, as we have seen, had a sister, Theodora. 
 Although she had been associated in the Empire 
 since the death of Constantine VIII, this Princess, 
 in spite of occupying a somewhat less exalted posi- 
 tion than her elder sister, soon became a nuisance 
 to the latter, who detested her. She was at first kept 
 in the Palace under secret surveillance; later she was 
 accused of conspiring against established author- 
 ity, and on this pretext was sent away from court 
 and banished to the convent of the Petrion. Then, 
 a few months afterwards, on the ground that other- 
 wise it would be impossible, as a chronicler says, to 
 put an end ‘‘to intrigues and scandals”, Zoé went 
 in person to the convent and in her own presence had 
 Theodora’s hair cut off. The Princess’s public life 
 
 C2517] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 was to all appearances over. She seems to have 
 accustomed herself without much difficulty to her 
 lot, satisfied with the external honours that the 
 Emperor Romanus, her brother-in-law, permitted 
 her out of kindness to retain; and in her cloister she 
 was gradually forgotten. Michael IV treated her as 
 he had treated Zoé — that is to say, badly enough. 
 As for Michael V, he does not seem even to have 
 suspected that, apart from Zoé, there was left any 
 lawful descendant of Constantine VIII, and he 
 would have been put to it for an answer had he been 
 asked whether Theodora was alive or dead. 
 
 The revolution of 1042 suddenly restored this for- 
 gotten nun to the highest rank. When Michael V 
 overthrew his benefactress, the insurgents, in casting 
 around for a legitimate heir with which to oppose 
 the usurper, remembered Theodora. She had re- 
 tained some friends, furthermore, among her father’s 
 former servants and even in the Senate. These 
 politicians realised that the doting, volatile Zoé was 
 quite capable, once restored to power, of receiving 
 again into full favour the man who had dethroned 
 her; and they felt it necessary, if the revolution 
 were fully to accomplish its end, to associate a 
 more energetic Empress with the old, indulgent 
 Basilissa. They therefore hurried to the convent 
 of the Petrion and offered the Empire to the nun, 
 and, when she hesitated and resisted, the mob car- 
 ried her off almost by force. The imperial mantle 
 was thrown over her shoulders; she was lifted upon 
 a horse, and, surrounded by drawn swords, amid 
 the cheers of the populace, was taken across the city 
 to St. Sophia. The Patriarch, who was devotedly 
 
 [ 252 7] 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 attached to the Macedonian house, awaited her there 
 in order to proclaim her. The rioters now had an 
 Empress. 
 
 This was on Monday evening. The first act of the 
 new government that had been formed in the Great 
 Church was to proclaim the dethronement of 
 Michael V and to appoint a new Praefect of the City. 
 But so long as the Palace held out, all was still to 
 win. During the whole of Tuesday fighting went on 
 around the imperial residence, and in the bloody 
 assaults upon it more than three thousand were 
 killed. But at evening the besiegers managed to 
 break in the doors, and, while the mob stopped to 
 pillage, the Emperor with his uncle the Nobilissimus 
 and some friends had time to jump into a boat and 
 make their way by sea to the venerated monastery 
 of the Studion. There the defeated Basileus and his 
 minister assumed the monastic habit, hoping thus to 
 save their lives. 
 
 The victorious populace were wild with joy. 
 “Some” says Psellus in a curious passage, ““made 
 offerings to God, while others cheered the Empress; 
 the people of the lower classes gathered in groups in 
 the public squares, dancing, and singing ballads about 
 the recent events.” Zoé, whom Michael V before 
 his flight had set at liberty, and who had immediately 
 resumed the power in the Palace, was no less happy, 
 and quite ready in consequence to grant free pardons. 
 But, in St. Sophia, the people of Theodora’s following 
 were less inclined to leniency; and the multitude, 
 who had already forced Zoé to recognise her sister 
 as colleague, now clamoured for the execution of 
 the guilty ones. Zoé tried in vain to persuade the 
 
 [255 1 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 Senate to be merciful; in vain, from a balcony of the 
 Palace, she addressed the people and thanked them. 
 When she went on to speak of the overthrown 
 Emperor, and asked what should be done to him, 
 a universal cry went up: “‘Death to the scoundrel, 
 the villain! Impale him! Crucify him! Blind him!” 
 
 While Zoé hesitated, Theodora, confident of her 
 popularity, acted. By her orders the Praefect of 
 the City dragged the dethroned Emperor and the 
 Nobilissimus, amid the jeers of the mob, from the 
 Studion, where they had sought sanctuary, and out- 
 side in the street, under the eyes of the spectators, 
 who ravened “‘like wild beasts” against their vic- 
 tims, had them blinded. Afterwards they were ex- 
 iled. The revolution was over. 
 
 In this crisis it was Theodora who, by her interven- 
 tion, her energy, and her decision, had really saved 
 the situation, and, as Psellus says, ‘‘overthrown the 
 tyranny.” In spite of herself, therefore, Zoé had to 
 share the fruits of victory with her sister. Indeed, 
 rather than have this detested colleague, she would 
 have preferred anyone else; she would sooner have 
 seen, says Psellus energetically, a stable-boy on the 
 throne than Theodora; and that was why she had 
 tried as hard to save Michael V as Theodora’s fol- 
 lowers to be revenged upon him. But Zoé had no 
 choice. The Senate and people pronounced in favour 
 of her sister, and she yielded. She had a reconciliation 
 with Theodora, threw her arms around her, offered her 
 half of the power, and had her brought in great state 
 from St. Sophia to the Sacred Palace. Theodora, 
 with her usual modesty, accepted the imperial dig- 
 nity only on condition that her elder sister should 
 
 [ 2547 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 have first place; and now was seen an extraordinary 
 state of affairs, unknown hitherto in Byzantium; 
 namely, the Gynaeceum becoming the official centre 
 of public affairs, and the Empire governed by two 
 old women. And, what is even more extraordinary, 
 these two old women made themselves obeyed. 
 Seldom, however, have two near relatives been 
 more unlike, both physically and intellectually, 
 than these sisters. Whereas Zoé was pretty, well- 
 proportioned, and elegant, Theodora, though rather 
 younger, was ill-favoured; she was ugly, and her 
 overlong body was wholly disproportionate to her 
 very small head. Whereas Zoé was lively, violent, 
 and flighty, Theodora was dignified, calm, and slow 
 to decide. Zoé threw money away by the handful, 
 was wasteful, extravagant, and ridiculously generous. 
 Theodora kept track of expenditures; she was very 
 economical — possibly because before coming to the 
 throne she had never had much to spend — and 
 loved to store up her wealth in great strongboxes; 
 and, having no taste for luxuries, nor being of a 
 generous disposition, she spent little on herself, and 
 even less on others. Whereas Zoé was eager and 
 passionate, Theodora was chaste, proper, and irre- 
 proachable, and had always energetically refused 
 to marry. She was a worthy creature, on the whole, 
 amiable, kindly disposed, reserved, unassertive, and 
 modest, and seemed made to fill the minor parts 
 which fitted her so well. One quality, however, she 
 had: she was a good speaker and liked to exercise 
 her gift; and she was also, as we have seen, capable 
 of occasional bursts of energy. Taken all in all, she, 
 like Zoé, was mediocre, without very much char- 
 
 [250 4 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 acter, and incapable of sustained effort. But, in 
 spite of their common mediocrity, the sisters were too 
 dissimilar to care greatly for one another or to get on 
 well together for long. 
 
 Psellus has drawn a very curious picture of the 
 court at this period. Every day, in accordance with 
 etiquette, the two Empresses came in state costume 
 and took their places side by side on the throne of the 
 Basileis. Near them stood their councillors, and 
 around them in a double circle were ranged the 
 ushers, the sword-bearers, and the Varangians carry- 
 ing the heavy double-edged ax, all with eyes lowered 
 out of respect for the sex of their sovereigns. The two 
 Princesses gave judgement, received ambassadors, 
 and dealt with affairs of State, giving at times an 
 order or an answer in low tones, and even venturing 
 occasionally to express their own wishes. And civil- 
 jans and soldiers gave obedience to these gentle, 
 tactful women. 
 
 But since, on the whole, they were both rather in- 
 competent, this régime could not be of long duration. 
 The luxury of the court — for now, as by a swift 
 change of scene, each vied with the other in magnifi- 
 cence — and Zoé’s absurd prodigality, soon emptied 
 the treasury. Money was scarce, loyalty grew slack, 
 and the need of a strong man was imperatively felt. 
 Furthermore the close association of the hostile 
 sisters was becoming embarrassing, and the court was 
 divided into two parties. Zoé could think of but 
 one way to end the situation; namely, by making a 
 third marriage. She was at that time sixty-four 
 years of age. 
 
 E 256 || 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 V 
 
 Having made up her mind — and, strange as it 
 may seem, everyone encouraged her —, the old 
 Empress set about to find a husband. At first she 
 considered Constantine Dalassenus, to whom Con- 
 stantine VIII had once wished to marry her. But 
 this great and ambitious noble, who had been sus- 
 pected several times of revolutionary designs, did 
 not evince the tact and deference proper in a Prince 
 Consort. He spoke out frankly, stated his conditions, 
 and announced sweeping reforms and strong and 
 vigorous resolves. This was not the sort of Emperor 
 that the Palace was seeking, and so he was sent 
 back to his province. Zoé next thought of another 
 of her former favourites, the High Steward Con- 
 stantine, who had been driven by the jealousy of 
 Michael IV from Constantinople. From the point 
 of view of personality he would have been just the 
 man; but unfortunately, like Romanus Argyrus 
 before him, he was married, and his wife was less 
 accommodating than Romanus’s. Rather than sur- 
 render her husband to another, she preferred to 
 poison him. 
 
 At last, after several fruitless attempts, the Basi- 
 lissa recalled to mind still another of her former 
 friends, Constantine Monomachus. As a relative by 
 marriage of Romanus III he had, some twelve or 
 thirteen years back, cut an important figure at court, 
 and by his beauty, his elegance, his fair speech, and 
 his talent for amusing the Empress, had so captivated 
 Zoé that there had been much gossip about them. 
 Michael IV indeed, immediately after his accession, 
 
 E257 3 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 had taken the precaution of exiling this compromising 
 friend. But Zoé had never forgotten him. She had 
 seized the opportunity afforded by the revolution of 
 1042 to end his disgrace, and had appointed him 
 governor of Greece. She now proposed to exalt him 
 still further, and, as her choice was very acceptable 
 to the court, where everyone was most eager for her 
 to marry, she decided on him. 
 
 One of the Augusta’s chamberlains was selected to 
 carry to the new favourite the imperial insignia, the 
 symbol and pledge of his high destiny, and to bring 
 him back without delay to Constantinople. On the 
 11th of June, 1042, he made his solemn entry, amid 
 the shouts of the enthusiastic multitude, after which 
 the marriage took place with great splendour at the 
 Palace. And although the Patriarch felt himself 
 unable personally to solemnise a third marriage that 
 the Greek Church condemned (Zoé, as we have seen, 
 was twice a widow, and Constantine had also been 
 married twice), a Byzantine prelate was usually too 
 much a courtier and too thorough a politician long 
 to withstand the powers that be. ‘‘ Yielding to cir- 
 cumstances,” says Psellus maliciously, “‘or, rather, 
 to the will of God”’, after the ceremony he cordially 
 embraced the newly-wedded pair. “‘Was that a truly 
 canonical act?” inquires the writer, ironically, “‘or 
 was it flattery pure and simple? How can I tell?” 
 Whichever it was, Byzantium had an Emperor. 
 
 In appearance the new sovereign fully justified 
 the Empress’s choice. He was a very handsome man. 
 “‘As handsome as Achilles”’ says Psellus. ‘‘He was 
 a finished work of Nature.’”’ His face was attractive; 
 he had a clear skin, delicate features, and a delightful 
 
 258 | 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 smile, and his whole personality irradiated charm. 
 He was admirably proportioned, with a fine and 
 graceful figure and beautiful, delicate hands. But 
 remarkable vigour lay hidden, nevertheless, under 
 this somewhat effeminate exterior. Accustomed 
 to every kind of bodily exercise, an accomplished 
 horseman, an excellent runner, a good fighter, Con- 
 stantine had large reserves of hidden force. Those 
 whom it amused him to squeeze in his arms felt the 
 effects for several days, and there was no object too 
 hard for him to break with his slender, well-kept 
 hands. 
 
 He was a man of great fascination and charm. His 
 voice was soft and he was a good speaker. Of a 
 naturally amiable disposition, he was always in good 
 spirits, ever smiling and ready to seek enjoyment for 
 himself and others. He was essentially a good fel- 
 low, neither haughty nor vain, unaffected, without 
 rancour, and eager to please everyone. And he had 
 other qualities as well. Although quick to anger, 
 so that he reddened on the slightest provocation, 
 he had learned to control himself perfectly, and, 
 as he was always master of himself, he was just, 
 humane, and benevolent, and granted pardon even 
 to those who conspired against him. “I have never 
 seen” says Psellus, “a more sympathetic person.” 
 He was generous to the point of prodigality, and said 
 repeatedly, somewhat like Titus, that a day on 
 which he had not performed a humane or generous 
 act was a day lost. As a matter of fact, his indul- 
 gence to others bordered upon weakness, for in order 
 to please his favourites he was in the habit of dis- 
 tributing the highest offices of State among them in 
 
 [259 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 the most casual way. Owing to his great desire to 
 make everyone happy and contented, his generosity 
 often amounted to wastefulness. He was unable to 
 refuse anything, whether to his wife or to his mis- 
 tresses; he was always open-handed, and ever ready 
 for amusement, and he often remarked that it was 
 the duty of all loyal subjects to participate in the 
 pleasures of the court. 
 
 Constantine, without being a particularly learned 
 man, was intelligent. He was quick-witted and en- 
 joyed the society of men of letters. Among his asso- 
 ciates were such scholars as Constantine Lichudes, 
 Xiphilin, John Mauropus, and Psellus; it was on 
 their advice that he reopened the University of Con- 
 stantinople and added to it a law school so as to in- 
 sure the proper training of men for the government 
 service. He went even further, and, instead of 
 assigning office according to the birth of the candi- 
 dates, instituted the merit-system. In order to make 
 this reform effective, he promoted his friends the 
 scholars to high office — Lichudes became Prime . 
 Minister; Psellus, Lord Chamberlain and Secretary 
 of State; Xuiphilin, Chancellor; Mauropus, Privy 
 Councillor. All this made Constantine very popular. 
 Furthermore he was brave. This virtue was, per- 
 haps, in his case a result of the somewhat fatalistic 
 indifference which he acknowledged openly and 
 which induced him to dispense, even at night-time, 
 with a guard at the door of his private apartments. 
 But from whatever source derived, his courage 
 was undoubted, and was manifested on many occa- 
 sions. And if we consider that on the whole during 
 the reign of Constantine Monomachus the Byzantine 
 
 [260] 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 Empire, more than once victorious and usually at 
 peace, preserved all its former prestige, we may 
 perhaps come to the conclusion that this monarch 
 was by no means so bad a sovereign as his detractors 
 later asserted. 
 
 Unfortunately, his undoubted qualities were bal- 
 anced by grave defects. Monomachus loved pleasure, 
 women, and an easy, luxurious life. Having attained 
 the throne by a stroke of luck, he regarded his posi- 
 tion as essentially a means of satisfying his fancies. 
 “After escaping a violent storm,” says Psellus 
 prettily, ‘‘he had reached the pleasant coast and 
 secure haven of royalty, and was not anxious to put 
 out again to sea.”” He bothered himself but little 
 about public affairs, and left them to his ministers. 
 The throne was to him, as Psellus says, only “a rest 
 after struggle and a realisation of desire.” In the 
 words of a modern historian: “‘To a government of 
 women there succeeded the government of a high 
 liver and a hedonist.” 1 
 
 Constantine was a man of very amorous tempera- 
 ment, and had always delighted in gallant adven- 
 tures, several of which before his accession had been 
 rather notorious. He had been twice married and 
 twice widowed, and had found consolation in his love 
 for a young girl, the niece of the second wife, a 
 member of the illustrious house of Sclerus, and known 
 as Sclerena. She was pretty and intelligent. Psellus, 
 who knew her, has left a very attractive account of 
 her: ‘‘It was not that she was a flawless beauty; but 
 her conversation was pleasant because it was free 
 from malice and slander. She was sweet and gracious 
 
 1 A.N. Rambaud, Michel Psellos (Revue historique, tome iii, 1877.) 
 
 [2617 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 enough to have melted a rock. She had a wonderful 
 voice, and a melodious and almost oratorical manner 
 of speaking; her tongue was endowed with a native 
 charm, and when she spoke, it was with indescrib- 
 able grace. She loved” adds the man of letters, ‘‘to 
 ask me questions about Greek mythology, and she 
 introduced into her conversation what she had learnt 
 from scholars. To a greater degree than any other 
 woman she possessed the gift of listening.” 1 
 
 She pleased not only Psellus, but everybody. The 
 first time that she took part in the imperial proces- 
 sion, a courtier both witty and educated greeted her 
 with a neat and delicate compliment, quoting the 
 two first words of the beautiful passage in Homer 
 where the old men of Troy, seated on the walls, re- 
 mark at the sight of Helen passing by in all her 
 radiant beauty: 
 
 Nor Greeks nor Trojans one can rightly blame 
 That, for a woman’s sake so beautiful 
 They have alike endured so many woes. 
 
 The allusion was ingenious and flattering; everyone 
 caught his meaning at once and applauded. And is 
 not this proof of the singular refinement of Byzan- 
 tine society in the eleventh century, a society which 
 in some of its aspects seems to us so barbarous, yet 
 which is shewn by this anecdote to have been so 
 impregnated with the great memories of classical 
 Greece, so endowed with acute intelligence, with lit- 
 erary taste, and with graceful and delicate thoughts? 
 
 At the beginning of his liaison with Sclerena, Con- 
 stantine Monomachus would gladly have married 
 
 ‘ This translation is taken from Rambaud’s article previously cited. 
 
 [262] 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 her. But the Greek Church, as we have seen, was 
 very unbending in the matter of third marriages, 
 particularly when the parties were mere private 
 persons; Constantine did not dare to flout its pro- 
 hibitions. So she became his mistress and was the 
 great passion of his life. The lovers were inseparable, 
 even in misfortune. When Monomachus was exiled, 
 Sclerena followed him to Lesbos, putting her entire 
 fortune at his disposal, consoling him in his disgrace, 
 rekindling his courage, holding out to him the hope 
 of future vengeance, and telling him that one day he 
 would become Emperor and that then they would 
 be married and never part. Without regret or hes- 
 itation the lovely young woman spent seven years 
 on that distant island; and naturally, when chance 
 raised Constantine to the throne, he never forgot 
 her who had loved him so well. 
 
 Even in Zoé’s arms his thoughts were of Sclerena. 
 He managed so cleverly that in spite of the Empress’s 
 notorious jealousy and in spite of the prudent advice 
 of his friends and of his sister Euprepia, he was able 
 to recall his mistress to Constantinople. From the 
 very evening of his marriage he had spoken of her to 
 Zoé, skilfully, of course, and with discretion, as a 
 person to be treated with consideration on account 
 of her family; soon he persuaded his wife to write 
 inviting Sclerena to come to the Palace, assuring her 
 at the same time of her goodwill. The young woman, 
 who strongly suspected that the Basilissa did not 
 care for her in the least, was not wholly convinced 
 that this invitation was all it purported to be; but 
 she adored Constantine, and so she returned. The 
 Emperor immediately had a splendid palace erected 
 
 [263] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 for his favourite, and every day, on pretence of 
 watching the progress of the work, spent many hours 
 with Sclerena. The people of his suite, who during 
 these visits were given an abundance of food and 
 drink, thoroughly approved of the meetings; and 
 when, in the midst of the official ceremonies, the 
 courtiers gathered from the sovereign’s bored manner 
 that he wanted to go to his mistress, they vied with 
 one another to find ways for him to escape to his 
 beloved. 
 
 Soon their connexion was openly avowed. The 
 Emperor provided Sclerena with a household and a 
 guard and made her wonderful presents: he sent her, 
 for example, on one occasion an enormous bronze 
 cup, beautifully engraved and filled to the brim with 
 jewels. Every day he made her a new present, for 
 which he emptied the Treasury. At last he treated 
 her as his recognised and lawful wife. In‘the Palace 
 she had her apartments, to which Constantine re- 
 sorted freely at any hour, and she received the title 
 of Sebaste, which gave her rank immediately after 
 the two aged Empresses. 
 
 Zoé, contrary to the general expectation, took the 
 affair very philosophically. ‘‘She had reached an 
 age” Psellus indiscreetly remarks, “‘at which one is 
 no longer very sensitive to wrongs of this nature.” 
 She was growing old, and was changing considerably 
 in the process. She cared no longer for dress, had 
 ceased to be jealous, and in her old age was turning 
 pious. She spent many hours now at the feet of the 
 holy images, enfolding them in her arms, talking to 
 them, calling them by the most endearing names; 
 dissolved in tears, she rolled before the icons in an 
 
 [ 2647] 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 ecstasy of mystical passion, giving to God what re- 
 mained of the love that she had so lavished upon 
 others. Therefore she consented without much 
 difficulty to the most extraordinary arrangements. 
 She gave Constantine his liberty, authorising him to 
 cease all intimate relations with her; and an official 
 document to this effect, called the Contract of Friend- 
 ship was signed by husband and wife and duly 
 registered by the Senate of the Empire. Sclerena 
 had a recognised position at court, figured in the 
 official processions, and was addressed by the titles 
 of Sovereign and Basilissa. Zoé looked on delighted 
 and smiling; she kissed her rival affectionately, and 
 between his two wives Constantine Monomachus 
 wasa happy man. For the convenience of the house- 
 hold a delightful arrangement was arrived at. The 
 imperial apartments were divided into three sections. 
 The Emperor occupied the central part, while Zoé 
 and Sclerena took those to right and left respectively. 
 By tacit agreement Zoé in future never visited the 
 Basileus except when Sclerena was not with him and 
 she could be sure of finding him alone. And this 
 tactful contrivance seemed to everyone a miracle of 
 ingenuity. 
 
 The people of the capital alone looked unfavour- 
 ably upon this curious association. One day, when 
 Constantine was going to the Church of the Holy 
 Apostles, a voice from the crowd called out as the 
 Emperor was leaving the Palace: “‘We don’t want 
 Sclerena for Empress! We don’t want our mothers 
 Zoé and Theodora put to death on her account!” 
 The multitude joined in and a tumult arose; and, 
 had not the aged Porphyrogenitae shewed themselves 
 
 [ 2657 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 on a balcony of the Palace and calmed the people, 
 Monomachus might well have lost his life. 
 
 To the day of her death Constantine remained 
 faithful to Sclerena. When a sudden illness carried 
 her off, he was inconsolable. Weeping like a child, 
 he made public manifestation of his grief, had her 
 buried with great magnificence, and built her a 
 splendid tomb. Then, being a man, he cast about 
 for other mistresses. After several passing fancies 
 he fell in love with a little Alan princess living as a 
 hostage at the Byzantine court. She does not seem 
 to have been very pretty; but she had what in 
 Psellus’s judgement were two great points, a very 
 white skin and wonderful eyes. As soon as the 
 Emperor became aware of the existence of this young 
 barbarian, he gave up all his other conquests for her, 
 and his passion grew so strong that, when Zoé died, 
 after having publicly announced her as his mistress, 
 he thought seriously of making her his lawful wife. 
 However, he did not dare take the step for fear of the 
 thunders of the Church and the reproaches of his 
 sister-in-law, the straight-laced Theodora. But at 
 least he bestowed on his favourite the title of Sebaste, 
 as he had formerly done on Sclerena; he surrounded 
 her with imperial pomp and circumstance, and 
 showered her with jewels and gold. And the little 
 Circassian might be seen, her head and throat 
 covered with gold, golden serpents around her arms, 
 great pearls in her ears, a girdle of gold and jewels 
 about her small waist, presiding like a typical harem 
 beauty over all the Palace festivities. For her and 
 for her parents, who came every year from distant 
 Alania to pay her a visit, the Basileus squandered 
 
 [ 266 J 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 whatever sums remained in the Treasury, and he 
 presented her to everyone as his wife and the lawful 
 Empress. She was destined, moreover, greatly to 
 sadden the last days of the sovereign who was so 
 infatuated with her charms. 
 
 VI 
 
 Thus, towards the middle of the eleventh century, 
 during the reign of Constantine Monomachus and 
 Zoé, the Byzantine court presented a very curious 
 appearance. 
 
 In leading the life he loved the Emperor soon 
 exhausted his vitality. He was no longer the hand- 
 some, elegant, robust Monomachus of former days. 
 He suffered much from stomach-trouble, but chiefly 
 from gout. The attacks were so violent that his 
 twisted, deformed hands could not hold anything, 
 and his tortured, swollen feet were unable to support 
 him. Sometimes at audiences he was incapable of 
 standing; on such occasions he received stretched 
 upon a bed. But even this position soon became 
 intolerable, and his servants had constantly to shift 
 him from one side to another. Frequently even 
 talking caused him pain. But his appearance was 
 particularly distressing when he was obliged to take 
 part in official processions. He had himself lifted 
 upon a horse, and he set forth between two sturdy 
 attendants who kept him from falling off. All along 
 the way stones were carefully removed to save him 
 from sharp, painful shocks; and thus the Basileus 
 proceeded, his face distorted, gasping for breath, 
 letting drop the reins that he was no longer able 
 
 [ 267] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 to hold. It must be put to Constantine’s credit that 
 he bore his troubles bravely, always smiling, always 
 jovial. He used to say in jest that God must have 
 afflicted him thus in order to curb his too fiery 
 passions; and he diverted himself with philosophical 
 reflections upon his sufferings. Moreover, as soon 
 as he felt better, he denied himself neither his pleas- 
 ures nor his mistresses. 
 
 Close by the sovereign lived the two old Por- 
 phyrogenitae, whose intellects age had somewhat 
 weakened. Zoé spent her time in making perfumes, 
 shutting herself up summer and winter alike in her 
 over-heated rooms, and never tearing herself away 
 from her favourite occupation except to burn incense 
 before her beloved images and to question them about 
 the future; while Theodora counted over and over 
 again the money that she had stored away, taking 
 little interest in other matters, a chaste and sanc- 
 timonious virgin. Around them revolved the ac- 
 knowledged mistresses, Sclerena, the little Alan 
 princess, and others, courtiers and favourites — 
 often people of low origin — with whom the Emperor 
 was infatuated and whom he raised to the highest 
 offices in the State. And all these gentry had an 
 excessively good time and did their best to amuse the 
 Basileus. 
 
 For Constantine loved gaiety. Anyone who wished 
 to command his attention in some important matter 
 found that the best and indeed the only way to get him 
 to listen was to begin with an amusing remark. 
 Serious looks frightened him; but a clown could win 
 his favour in a minute. He was, in fact, diverted 
 chiefly by broad jests, heavy practical jokes, and 
 
 [ 268 J 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 extravagant puns. Music, singing, and dancing, bored 
 him; he preferred amusements of a different nature 
 and often in questionable taste. Psellus relates some 
 of these pleasantries; and it must be admitted that, 
 however entertaining they may have been in the 
 eleventh century, to-day they seem very feeble. For 
 example, one of the Emperor’s greatest delights was 
 to hear someone stammer and exhaust himself in vain 
 attempts to enunciate distinctly. The story is told 
 of a courtier who achieved an enormous success in 
 the Palace by imitating perfectly an affliction of this 
 kind and relapsing gradually into inarticulate cries 
 and distressing stutters. His pleasing talent so en- 
 raptured Constantine that he became the sovereign’s 
 prime favourite, and was henceforth in the habit of 
 visiting the Emperor without ceremony at any time, 
 holding his hands, kissing him on the mouth, sitting 
 down laughing beside him on his bed, and sometimes 
 going to him even at night to wake him up and tell 
 him some more or less amusing tale, usually taking 
 the opportunity of extracting from him some favour 
 or gift. 
 
 As he was free to go wherever he liked, the buffoon 
 intruded even into the Imperial Gynaeceum, and 
 amused the court intensely with the stories that he 
 told there. He invented tales about the virtuous 
 Theodora herself, saying that she had had children, 
 relating the affair with many obscene details, and 
 ending by mimicking the Princess’s imaginary 
 accouchements, imitating her groans and the wails of 
 the new-born child, and putting into the aged and 
 respectable sovereign’s mouth all sorts of improper 
 remarks. Everyone was convulsed with laughter, 
 
 [ 269 |] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 even Theodora herself, and this fellow became the 
 hero of the Gynaeceum. Only the sober-minded were 
 somewhat pained, but like good courtiers followed 
 where the others led. ‘‘We were obliged to laugh,” 
 says Psellus bitterly, “‘though there was better cause 
 to weep.” 
 
 Relying on the universal indulgence, this extraor- 
 dinary favourite became bolder. He fell in love 
 with the young Alan princess, and, as he was an 
 amusing fellow, seems to have made a conquest of 
 the little barbarian. But his head was turned by 
 his good fortune, and, being really seriously in- 
 fatuated, he conceived the idea, in a burst of jealousy, 
 of assassinating the Emperor, his rival, and taking 
 his place. One evening he was discovered, dagger 
 in hand, at the door of Monomachus’s bedchamber. 
 He was promptly arrested, and the next day was 
 brought to trial before a court of justice presided over 
 by the Basileus. But now we come to the amusing 
 part of the story. When Constantine beheld his 
 dear friend in chains, his weak indulgence overcame 
 him and his eyes filled with tears. “‘For goodness’ 
 sake, free the man,” he exclaimed, “‘it distresses me 
 to see him in that condition.” Then he gently asked 
 the prisoner to be frank, and say what had impelled 
 him to crime. The fellow answered that it was owing 
 to an overpowering desire to wear the imperial in- 
 signia and to sit upon the throne of the Basileis. At 
 this, Constantine burst into laughter and immediately 
 gave orders that his fancy should be indulged. Then, 
 turning to his favourite he said: ‘‘ Now I am going to 
 put the diadem on your head and clothe you in the 
 purple. I ask of you nothing in return but to be your 
 
 E270 J 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 own agreeable self for the future.’ At this all present, 
 even the judges, were unable to retain their gravity, 
 and a great banquet sealed the Emperor’s reconcilia- 
 tion with his friend. 
 
 The man was encouraged by the indulgence shewn 
 him, and naturally continued his attempts upon the 
 sovereign’s mistress. In the presence of the entire 
 court and even under the Emperor’s very nose he 
 smiled and made signs to her. But Constantine 
 merely laughed at such conduct. “Just look at the 
 poor creature!” said he to Psellus. ‘‘He is still in 
 love, and his past misfortunes have not taught him 
 a lesson.” He himself was a “‘poor creature” after 
 Moliére’s heart. 
 
 Whilst the frivolous Emperor wasted his time in 
 these idiocies — the expression is Psellus’s —, whilst 
 he squandered the revenues of the State in absurd 
 prodigality, in magnificent buildings, and in childish 
 and ruinous caprices, neglecting the army, begrudging 
 the men their pay, and reducing the strength, the 
 most serious events were in preparation. Two storms 
 were already looming over the horizon and were 
 soon to burst upon the Empire — the Normans 
 in the West and the Turks in the East. Within the 
 monarchy, the discontent of the military party, weary 
 of the weakness of the civil authority and irritated at 
 the disgrace of its most illustrious generals, was 
 manifesting itself in dangerous leanings towards 
 revolutionary pronunciamentos. And, taking ad- 
 vantage of the heedlessness of Monomachus, an 
 ambitious Patriarch, Michael Cerularius, was com- 
 pleting the separation between Byzantium and 
 Rome. ~ 
 
 Port i 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 VII 
 
 In 1050, at the age of seventy-two, the long and 
 tumultuous life of Zoé Porphyrogenita came to an 
 end. Constantine Monomachus, her husband, who 
 for eight years, as we have seen, had been sufficiently 
 detached from her, felt that he had done his duty in 
 mourning her conscientiously. He even tried to find 
 a place for her among the saints, and did his best 
 to detect the performance of all kinds of miracles at 
 her tomb, so as to prove to everyone that her soul 
 was with the angels. This was doing a great deal of 
 honour to a sensual and passionate old woman who 
 had so disturbed the court and the capital with her 
 scandalous marriages and love-affairs. Monoma- 
 chus, however, did not insist very strongly upon this 
 attempted beatification; he soon consoled himself, 
 as we have seen, and found Zoé’s death an‘auspicious 
 occasion for announcing his most recent favourite. 
 Furthermore, he died a few years later, on the 11th 
 of January, 1055, in the monastery of St. George of 
 Mangana which he had founded, and to which he had 
 retired towards the end of his life. 
 
 Now, for the last time, Theodora, Zoé’s sister, 
 appears upon the scene. After Zoé’s third marriage 
 Theodora had lived at court, nominally associated 
 in the Empire, but playing in fact a very unimpor- 
 tant part. At the most, since the Empress’s death, 
 she had acquired a little more influence, and her 
 brother-in-law, Monomachus, seems to have stood 
 in terror of the old lady’s lectures. But this last 
 descendant of the Macedonian dynasty appeared, 
 nevertheless, to count for so little that Monomachus, 
 
 [2729 
 
ZOR PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 regardless of her undoubted rights to the throne, had 
 considered nominating another as his successor. 
 Then it was that once again there stirred in Theo- 
 dora’s veins the fiery blood and the proud energy of 
 the great Emperors her ancestors. While Constan- 
 tine Monomachus lay dying, she resolutely took 
 possession of the Great Palace, strong in her right of 
 birth and in the prestige which the sufferings of her 
 long life had given her among the people. The 
 guard-regiments pronounced in her favour and the 
 Senate followed their lead. Thus at the age of 
 seventy the old Princess firmly seized the power. 
 
 Warned by her sister’s example and knowing how 
 little a Basilissa could count on the gratitude of the 
 men whom she associated with her, Theodora to the 
 general amazement refused to take a husband. She 
 insisted upon governing alone, and, as she was sensi- 
 ble enough to allow herself to be guided by a capable 
 minister, she seems to have governed well. Her green 
 old age, furthermore, excited universal admiration. 
 Her figure was straight and her mind alert; she was 
 able to work seriously with her advisers and to make 
 the long speeches in which she delighted. She 
 gladly let her friends the monks persuade her that 
 her days were destined to exceed the allotted span 
 of human life. 
 
 But in the long run everyone in the capital and in 
 the Empire tired of this feminine government that 
 had lasted now for more than twenty-five years. The 
 Patriarch Cerularius, who had become since the 
 schism the Pope, as it were, of the Eastern Church, 
 said openly that it was a shame that a woman 
 should govern the Roman Empire. The military 
 
 F275 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 party, discontented at the position that the bureau- 
 cracy occupied in the State, and exasperated at the 
 insulting distrust with which the court regarded the 
 generals, were growing restless. And many good 
 citizens who, like Psellus, prided themselves on their 
 patriotism, recalled the glorious days of Basil II and 
 passed severe judgement on these Princesses whose 
 ridiculous prodigality, childish vanity, fantastic 
 caprices, and limited intelligence, had prepared the 
 ruin of the monarchy and sown the germs of fatal 
 decay in the healthy body of the Empire. Everyone 
 wanted aman anda soldier. Theodora was fortunate 
 enough to die before the storm burst. She passed 
 away on the 31st of August, 1056. 
 
 With her came to an end the Macedonian house, 
 founded two centuries earlier by that Basil whose 
 adventures and ambitions I have already related. 
 At the end of the ninth century the unscrupulous 
 energy of this able man had rescued the monarchy 
 from threatening decay and given Byzantium two 
 centuries of glory and prosperity. In the middle 
 of the eleventh century the death of his last descend- 
 ant plunged the Empire once more into anarchy. 
 But in the eleventh century as in the ninth this 
 anarchy was of short duration. Once more there 
 appeared a man who, by founding the Comnenian 
 dynasty, gave the Byzantine State another century 
 of splendour. Thus, at every crisis, Byzantium 
 always found a saviour; to each of these periods of 
 
 i . apparent decline there succeeded an unlooked-for 
 oe renascence, wherein, to quote a chronicler, “‘that 
 e old dame, the Empire, appears like a young girl, 
 
 [ 2744 
 
ZOE PORPHYROGENITA 
 
 adorned with gold and precious stones.’ Such 
 revolutions of fortune may perhaps surprise those 
 who see in Byzantine history only the corruptions 
 of court life and the tumults of the capital. It is 
 necessary, therefore, to insist that, vivid and pic- 
 turesque though their story may be, Constantinople 
 and the Sacred Palace do not constitute the whole 
 Empire. 
 
 Beyond court intrigues and conspiracies, beyond 
 military insurrections and civil discords, beyond the 
 scandalous and childish caprices of these depraved 
 Emperors and degenerate Empresses, beyond this 
 corrupt world of courtiers and persons bent upon 
 pleasure or upon ambition, there are reserve-forces of 
 strength and energy which long remained inex- 
 haustible in the middle classes of the great cities, in 
 the powerful feudal and military aristocracy of the 
 provinces, among the rough peasants of Macedonia 
 andof Anatolia. Itis to these middle classes that the 
 Byzantine Empire at so many turning-points in its 
 history owed its unexpected salvation; it was because 
 of them and their virile virtues that the Byzantine 
 monarchy was able to exist for so many centuries; 
 and therefore it is to them that we must turn if we 
 wish really to understand that little-studied Byzan- 
 tine society. It is a deplorable fact that there have 
 survived only very few manuscripts from which we 
 are able to reconstruct their history with any degree 
 of certainty. Some, however, do exist; and it is on 
 them that the concluding chapters in this volume are 
 
 based. 
 
 [2 FS. 
 
XI 
 
 A MIDDLE-CLASS FAMILY OF 
 THE ELEVENTH. CENTURY 
 
 woman whose portrait I shall now attempt 
 to draw differs in two essentials from the 
 commonly-depicted types of Byzantine 
 women: she belonged to the middle classes, and she 
 was respectable. If to the observer she is conse- 
 quently somewhat less picturesque and amusing 
 than such persons as Theophano, Zoé, and their like, 
 she may perhaps give one a better idea of the times 
 in which she lived than do these great ladies of excep- 
 tional behaviour. Her name was Theodota and she 
 was the mother of Michael Psellus, whose eminent 
 qualities I have already described !; and she is very 
 well known to us, thanks to a curious little work, 
 the funeral oration composed in her memory by her 
 devoted son.? She played no part, to be sure, in the 
 events of the century in which she lived; nothing 
 could be more even, more calm, more sober, and in 
 some ways more commonplace, than her life; and it 
 is precisely for this reason that she is of especial 
 interest to us. With her aid we shall penetrate a 
 little way into the intimate, domestic life of that 
 vanished society; and her portrait will thus have a 
 1 See Chapter X. 
 
 * The text was published in 1876 by Sathas in volume V of his Biblio- 
 theca graeca Medii Aevi. 
 
 [276] 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS FAMILY 
 
 kind of representative value. For she is, as it were, 
 typical of those thousands of Byzantine middle-class 
 women, her contemporaries, who, like her, never 
 moved in the full blaze of history, but who, like her 
 again, were honest women living pious, humble, 
 respectable lives; and in this way she affords us an 
 admirable opportunity of becoming acquainted with 
 the occupations, cares, and pleasures of a middle- 
 class Byzantine family of the eleventh century. 
 
 I 
 
 Theodota was born in Constantinople towards the 
 end of the tenth century of sober, plain, and honest 
 parents. She was the eldest of several children, and 
 in the closely united circle in which she grew up 
 seems to have been greatly admired and loved. 
 As a child she was extremely beautiful; in her girl- 
 hood she was charming, and though her circumstances 
 and tastes never permitted her to indulge in fine 
 raiment, her graceful figure, her beautiful hair, her 
 radiant complexion, and the splendour of her wonder- 
 ful eyes, awoke the admiration of all who met her. 
 “She was like a rose that has no need of borrowed 
 beauty” says Psellus in the little book that I have 
 mentioned. 
 
 Her character was compounded of common sense, 
 energy, and firmness — qualities apparent even m 
 her quiet, sedate manner of speech. Like other 
 young girls of her condition, she had been educated 
 at home, which, according to the custom of the pe- 
 riod, meant that she had learnt little enough. She 
 was taught feminine accomplishments: spinning, 
 
 (eo 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 embroidery, and weaving; to them were added the 
 rudiments of letters, which she worked at by herself 
 to develop. And being an intelligent woman she may 
 perhaps have yearned for more, regretting at times 
 that she was not a man, and that her sex forbade her 
 to go to school and listen to the conversation of the 
 learned. She was pious and went often to church, 
 cherishing already in her pure young soul a deep, 
 mystical devotion. In spite of the conquests her 
 beauty made, she seems to have been little inclined 
 to marriage, and lent an unwilling ear to the con- 
 stant suggestions of her family. At last her father, 
 when he had exhausted all his eloquence in vain, 
 became angry and threatened Theodota with his 
 curse if she did not choose a husband. She gave in, 
 and from among her eager suitors accepted Psellus’s 
 future father. 
 
 He was a man of good birth who prided himself on 
 having patricians and consuls among his ancestors; 
 but he was a gentleman of slender fortune. Luckily 
 for his family, our western aristocratic prejudices 
 were unknown in Byzantium; this patrician was 
 not ashamed to work for his living, and had taken to 
 commerce in order to ‘support them. In appear- 
 ance he was handsome, well set-up, straight and tall 
 ““as a well-grown cypress”; he had bright, laughing 
 eyes under clearly-pencilled eyebrows; an engaging 
 and gracious expression pervaded his countenance. 
 In character he was simple and honest, of a calm and 
 even disposition; he never became angry and never 
 struck anyone. He was active and industrious, and 
 liked to do things himself. He was not, to be sure, 
 “very ready of speech’’; but when necessary he could 
 
 Core 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS FAMILY 
 
 speak acceptably. In short, he was a simple soul, an 
 agreeable, commonplace sort of fellow. ‘‘The mere 
 sight of him,” says Psellus, ““even before hearing him 
 speak, would have persuaded men who pride them- 
 selves on a knowledge of physiognomy that he pre- 
 served in our century a spark, as it were, of the 
 classic simplicity.”” This modest man was never the 
 subject of much talk. ‘“He went through life” to 
 quote his son’s charming phrase, “‘lightly, without 
 making a false step, at an even pace, like oil flowing 
 noiselessly.”’ 
 
 His wife was a different sort of person. She had 
 all the strong qualities that were lacking in her hus- 
 band. He was timid and somewhat apathetic, where- 
 as she had a double share of energy and initiative, 
 and was really the man of the family. ‘‘ Providence 
 bestowed her upon my father” says Psellus, “not 
 merely as a helper and collaborator, but as a com- 
 mander, a guide who took the initiative in all matters 
 of importance.” But Theodota was tactful, and 
 took care that her weak husband should not perceive 
 the great influence she exercised over him. She pre- 
 ferred to treat this good creature, who never terri- 
 fied anyone, with the greatest respect; she spoke to 
 him as if she were an inferior, pretending to consult 
 and obey him in everything, “‘less from considera- 
 tion of his sensibilities” writes Psellus with a touch 
 of irreverence, ‘“‘than from respect for the ancient 
 traditions of the family.” 
 
 She made him, at all events, perfectly happy. 
 Gay, smiling, always sweet and amiable, she was 
 a wonderful housekeeper, ruling her home wisely 
 and making it prosper, supervising the servants, 
 
 [ 279 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 performing the usual tasks, and seeing to the petty 
 details of the life of the gynaeceum. But she had 
 still higher qualities. Since she was sensible, calm, 
 reasonable, and possessed even of the critical faculty, 
 she was able to converse with decorum and to keep 
 quiet when necessary. She knew how to comport 
 herself and how to impose her wishes. ‘“‘She was 
 much more resolute than her husband” — Psellus 
 himself says so—, and had indeed “‘a virile soul.” 
 But, for all that, she was a true woman. She was 
 reserved, modest, with a simple grace of manner, 
 charming and kind to all about her. To her aged 
 parents she was constantly and beautifully attentive, 
 caring for them when they were ill, watching over 
 and comforting them. To her children, as we shall 
 see, she was a mother in a thousand. Although a 
 pretty woman, she did not care for society. Costly 
 fare, rich furniture, and splendid garments of vivid 
 hues, made no appeal to her. Living only for her 
 family, she took interest in very little else, knowing 
 nothing of what went on in town and court, taking 
 no part in the gossip of the neighbourhood, and 
 ignorant even of the tumults and riots that disturbed 
 the capital. ‘““Not one of the women of her times” 
 says her son, “‘could compare with her.” She was 
 a quiet, decent, middle-class woman, somewhat 
 methodical and strict; and she inspired in all who 
 came in contact with her, even in her own relatives, 
 a kind of reverence. She was a superior being, and in 
 her family was generally referred to as ‘‘the Living 
 Law.” 
 
 Theodota would hardly have been complete if she 
 had not been charitable and pious. She loved to 
 
 [ 280 7 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS FAMILY 
 
 entertain the poor at her table; but not so as to 
 make a display of her generosity and humiliate the 
 recipients. She knew how to give. She received her 
 wretched guests in person, washed their feet, waited 
 upon them herself ‘‘as if they were great lords”, and 
 served them food and drink with her own hands. 
 By constant reading of Holy Writ, by steeping her- 
 self morning and night in fervent prayers, her soul 
 winged its way to God in ecstatic devotion. She 
 had always loved the monastic life, the rough serge 
 rags of the recluses, the austerities of the hermits, 
 and would have liked to ‘‘lead a life completely pure 
 to the glory of the God of purity.” But on this point 
 her husband stood firm. ‘Separation from my wife”’ 
 he declared, ‘‘would be worse even than separation 
 from God.” Theodota, being obliged to live in the 
 world, found consolation in visiting monks and nuns, 
 in sleeping like them on the ground, and in numerous 
 self-imposed mortifications. And in the long run 
 this enthusiastic piety might perhaps have plunged 
 her into unfortunate excesses had she not like, the 
 intelligent and sensible woman she was, found an 
 all-absorbing occupation in loving and bringing up 
 
 her children. 
 
 IT 
 
 The first child of Theodota’s marriage was a 
 daughter. The second was likewise a daughter. 
 She received a rather frosty welcome, we must admit, 
 for the entire household had been hoping for a son. 
 One was born at last in the year 1018, and this was 
 Psellus. He had been eagerly longed for and the 
 
 r 281 7] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 subject of many fervent prayers to God; and so the 
 infant Constantine, as he was baptized, began his 
 life amid cries of joy and paeans of triumph. In him 
 were centred all the hopes of his family; and his 
 mother, who insisted on nursing him herself, cher- 
 ished in secret the loftiest ambitions for her beloved 
 son. 
 
 Theodota applied herself with great care to her 
 children’s education. ‘‘Unlike the majority of 
 women,” says Psellus, “‘she did not regard mother- 
 hood as an excuse to abandon her activities and lead 
 a life of laziness. She was strengthened rather than 
 weakened by it, and it served, in consequence, to 
 order her life and thought more securely.” She 
 divided her attention between her daughters and her 
 son, dealing gently or sternly with them as occasion 
 demanded; and her children, regarding her as a 
 model of all the virtues, repaid her with unbounded 
 respect and admiration. Deep down in her heart, 
 however, Theodota secretly preferred her son, for 
 whom she had conceived so many brilliant and 
 flattering hopes. But she was very careful not to 
 shew him any particular favouritism, for this rather 
 stern woman would have considered it a weakness 
 if she had been too open with her affections. She 
 worshipped him; but kept herself well in hand, fear- 
 ing that, if she were too lax and tender towards 
 him, he might become less filial and less obedient. 
 But at night, when she thought he was fast asleep, 
 she used to go softly and take him in her arms, kiss- 
 mg him on the mouth and saying to him: “My 
 darling child, how I love you! and yet I mustn’t kiss 
 you too often.” Needless to say, little Psellus on 
 
 [ 282 7 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS FAMILY 
 
 these occasions was sleeping with one eye open, for 
 it is he himself who has left us this charming picture 
 of maternal affection. 
 
 Theodota directed her beloved son’s education 
 with the same sound common sense. She would not 
 allow anyone but herself to mould his character, 
 and she set herself from his infancy to make him a 
 good, pious, sensible child. Nor would she allow 
 anyone to tell him nursery-tales to put him to sleep, 
 or fill his mind full of silly stories of monsters and 
 devils. She told him, on the contrary, pious and 
 edifying tales, such as the story of Isaac, led to 
 sacrifice and perfectly submissive to his father’s 
 wishes; of Jacob, blessed by his father because of 
 his obedience to his mother; of the Christ-child, 
 subject to His parents in all things; and from these 
 stories she drew a moral appropriate to the child’s 
 age. But she was even more interested in his intel- 
 lectual upbringing. 
 
 Young Psellus was a sensible, industrious, and ex- 
 traordinarily intelligent boy. While still a child he 
 understood and remembered everything that was 
 said in his presence, and he already loved work and 
 study, preferring it to any kind of game. His mother, 
 who had always had a taste for the things of the 
 mind, was far from neglecting this auspicious pro- 
 pensity. When he was five years of age, she sent him 
 to school, where his success was immediate and bril- 
 liant. But when he graduated from the elementary 
 courses, at the age of eight, the more serious question 
 arose whether or not he should continue his studies. 
 His relatives and connexions, assembled in a kind of 
 family council, were of the opinion that he should 
 
 [ 283 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 be taught some useful profession, so that — since 
 learning never fed a man —he might be provided 
 with an easier and more certain means of livelihood. 
 Theodota rebelled against this sensible, but prudently 
 materialistic, advice, and the reasons with which she 
 prevailed over her relatives are perfectly character- 
 istic of the society of her time. 
 
 No people ever believed more strongly than the 
 Byzantines in the prophetic value of dreams. Psellus 
 himself, a man of great force of intellect, who ab- 
 solutely disbelieved in astrology and refused to admit 
 that ‘‘our lives may be governed by the movements 
 of the heavenly bodies”, Psellus, who mercilessly 
 makes fun of those who profess to be able to fore- 
 tell the future, and who calls magical arts and 
 formulae ridiculous humbug, even Psellus believed in 
 dreams and in their prophetic quality. His con- 
 temporaries, by the same token, had not the slightest 
 doubts on the subject. For so many dreams had 
 come true. When the mother of Basil the Mace- 
 donian had seen issuing from her womb a golden 
 tree that overshadowed the whole world, when the 
 Prior of St. Diomed’s dreamt that the man sleeping 
 before the door of his church was a future Emperor, 
 had not history justified their dreams by setting the 
 founder of the Macedonian dynasty on the throne? 
 Had not many other upstarts who attained to su- 
 preme power learnt previously in dreams of their 
 destined greatness? There existed a whole literature, 
 of which a few curious specimens have been pre- 
 served, devoted to the interpretation of dreams and 
 oracles. It is therefore easy to understand that 
 Psellus’s mother, like the thorough Byzantine she 
 
 [ 284 J 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS FAMILY 
 
 was, should have found in them guarantees of the 
 brilliant career in store for her son. 
 
 She related her dreams to the family council. She 
 had dreamt that a discussion was taking place in her 
 presence concerning the child’s future, and that, 
 overcome by the reproofs of her relatives, she was 
 on the point of yielding to their advice, when sud- 
 denly there appeared before her a holy man in the 
 likeness of St. John Chrysostom, the saint of elo- 
 quence, who addressed her thus: ‘Woman, be not 
 disturbed, devote thy son boldly to learning. I will 
 watch over him like a master, and like a teacher I 
 will fill him with knowledge.” Another night she had 
 dreamt that she was entering the Church of the Holy 
 Apostles, most reverentially escorted by a crowd of 
 strange people as if she were a lady of rank. When 
 she had reached the iconostasis, she saw a beautiful 
 lady advancing to meet her, who told her to wait an 
 instant until she returned. This she did; and the 
 lady, on coming back, said to two men who were 
 with her: ‘Fulfil this woman’s son with learning, 
 for you see how she loves me.” Then, looking at the 
 two persons whom the lady was addressing, Theodota 
 recognised them as the Apostles Peter and Paul, and 
 their interlocutress as the Theotokos herself, the 
 all-powerful Virgin, dear to every Byzantine heart. 
 Such were the dreams of Psellus’s mother. Before 
 arguments like these the relatives, who were as 
 superstitious as all their contemporaries, gave way. 
 It was decided that the child should pursue his 
 studies. 
 
 He succeeded admirably in them — at least, so he 
 says. He learnt to spell, he knew the whole Iliad by 
 
 [ 285 7] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 heart, and soon was able to expound its prosody and 
 its tropes and to appreciate the beauty of the meta- 
 phors and the melody of the verse. He was likewise 
 taught rhetoric and music. At this time he was ten 
 or eleven years of age. His mother followed her 
 precocious child’s progress carefully, and, when he 
 came home from school, made him repeat his lessons 
 to her. ‘‘Oh mother!” writes Psellus, “‘not only 
 were you wise in your advice, but you were my fellow- 
 worker and my inspiration as well. You questioned 
 me on what I had done at school, on what my teachers 
 had taught me, on what I had learnt from my com- 
 panions. Then you made me recite my lessons, and 
 it was as if nothing were so agreeable to hear as a 
 spelling or poetry lesson, or the rules of grammatical 
 agreement or of composition. With tears of admira- 
 tion I see you again as you used to sit up with me late 
 into the night, in bed and almost dropping with 
 sleep, to hear me recite my lessons, and sustain- 
 img my courage and perseverance better than ever 
 Athena did Diomed’s.” ! 
 
 It is a charming picture, and at times a touching 
 one. Psellus’s mother as we have already seen had 
 not received much instruction, and difficulties often 
 arose when the child became confused and unable to 
 understand something, and when Theodota, strug- 
 gling in vain to have him repeat the passage, did not 
 succeed in helping him out of his quandary. ‘“‘Then,” 
 continues Psellus, ‘“‘raising your hands to God and 
 beating your breast, you invoked Heaven to remove 
 my difficulties by inspiration from on high.” And 
 
 1 This translation is taken from A. N. Rambaud’s interesting article 
 upon Michael Psellus (Revue historique, 1877). 
 
 [286 7 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS FAMILY 
 
 the writer could truthfully affirm of this admirable 
 woman that she was not merely his mother after 
 the flesh but his spiritual mother as well, she who 
 had given his soul the adornment of letters. “‘I owe 
 you a double debt,” he goes on, “‘for not only did 
 you bring me into the world, but you also enlightened 
 me with the splendour of learning; you were not 
 willing to depend upon teachers, but desired to light 
 it yourself in my heart.” ! Nor are these, as we 
 might suppose, the exaggerations of a funeral eulogy. 
 Anna Comnena, the learned daughter of the Emperor 
 Alexius I, speaks of Psellus’s mother in a passage 
 in her history, mentioning her tender devotion to 
 her beloved son, and how she spent many hours on her 
 knees in the churches, praying with tears for him. 
 
 All the members of the family were closely attached 
 to one another. Between Psellus and his elder sister 
 — the younger does not seem to have lived long — 
 there was a strong and deep friendship. She was an 
 attractive young girl. With her beautiful golden 
 hair and fair colouring she was as pretty as her 
 mother, whom she resembled, whereas her brother 
 took after his father’s family. Like her mother 
 she adored young Psellus. She shared his thoughts 
 and inculcated right principles upon him; and he in 
 turn gave her absolute obedience, and respected her 
 enormously. Thus, between an attentive elder sister 
 anda devoted mother, this extraordinary child gradu- 
 ally developed. 
 
 Psellus tells us a pretty story about his dear sister 
 that shews us clearly the character and habits of this 
 
 ; ae translation is taken from A. N. Rambaud’s article previously 
 cited. 
 
 [ 287 7 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 pious, virtuous household. There lived near by a 
 very beautiful woman, whose painted face told the 
 tale of her dubious conduct; and in fact she had had 
 lovers by the dozen. Psellus’s sister talked seriously 
 to her and tried very hard to lead her back again into 
 the path of virtue. But the woman persisted in her 
 course, replying to all advice with this objection: 
 ‘“‘That’s all very well; but if I give up my profes- 
 sion, how am I to live?” The charitable young girl 
 promised that she should want for nothing; and 
 they made an agreement that the one should never 
 in future so much as look at a man, and that the 
 other should share home, food, clothes, and raiment, 
 with her penitent. And she rejoiced at having saved 
 a soul from perdition. Her strange rescue was rather 
 disapproved of, even in her own family; but she 
 replied to every observation with a smile, and let 
 them have their say. Fora time their little neighbour 
 kept to the straight and narrow path; she modestly 
 lowered her eyes, presented a respectable appearance, 
 went to church, veiled her face, and if a man looked 
 at her, blushed deeply. Fine clothes, jewels, beauti- 
 ful bright-coloured shoes — she gave them all up, 
 and her conversion seemed assured. 
 
 Unfortunately it did not last long. Meanwhile 
 Psellus’s sister married; unaware of her penitent’s 
 relapse, she continued to take an affectionate in- 
 terest in her. A rather tragic circumstance arose to 
 shatter her trust. Psellus’s sister was about to be- 
 come a mother, and her delivery was very slow. The 
 women of her kin were helping her, together with her 
 pretty friend, and the sufferer seemed to have looks 
 and thanks for her alone. At last, one of the women, 
 
 [ 288 4 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS FAMILY 
 
 becoming impatient and a little jealous, blurted out: 
 “No wonder things aren’t going as they should. A 
 pregnant woman has no right to help a woman in 
 childbed. That’s the rule of the gynaeceum.” 
 Psellus’s sister asked in amazement to whom she 
 referred, and was shewn — in a manner too brutal 
 to relate — that the girl had betrayed her friend- 
 ship. Deceived and deeply disgusted, she drove her 
 unworthy friend out of her sight, and was at once 
 delivered with the greatest ease. 
 
 In spite of sorrows such as this, the family was 
 happy and contented in the main. The children were 
 grown up, the daughter was settled in life, and the 
 son, who was now sixteen, had just obtained govern- 
 ment employment; and though he was sorry at hav- 
 ing to give up his studies, he rejoiced at the prospect 
 of travelling. ‘‘Then for the first time” says this 
 very stay-at-home Byzantine, “I left the city and 
 saw the walls; for the first time I discovered the 
 country.” But a terrible misfortune was suddenly 
 to ruin his happiness. 
 
 Ill 
 This was in 1034. Suddenly, his sister fell ill, and 
 
 in a few days she died, stricken in the flower of her 
 youth, and so radiant even in death that every- 
 one stopped as the funeral procession went by to 
 take a last look at the beautiful dead woman, lying 
 amid her lovely golden hair. Psellus at the time was 
 absent from Constantinople. His parents, knowing 
 his deep affection for his sister, feared that the sudden 
 news of their sorrow might perhaps cause another 
 catastrophe; and they resolved to call the young 
 
 £289 | 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 man home on some excuse in order to prepare him 
 gently and to comfort him in his affliction. They 
 therefore wrote to him to return to Byzantium to 
 finish his interrupted studies, and gave him, as usual, 
 good news of his sister. But chance brutally set 
 at naught all their affectionate precautions. Here 
 we must let Psellus speak for himself, for the passage, 
 surely one of the most beautiful in the funeral eulogy, 
 is charged with genuine emotion and sincere sorrow; 
 it is revelatory of the man, as distinct from the man 
 of letters; and it contains a mine of interesting in- 
 formation upon Byzantine customs, still thoroughly 
 saturated, despite Christianity, with classical and 
 pagan influences. 
 
 “‘T had just passed the wall,” says Psellus, ‘‘and 
 was within the town and near to the cemetery where 
 my sisterlay. It happened to be the seventh day after 
 the funeral, and many of our relatives were gathered 
 there to weep for her and to try to console my 
 mother. I greeted one of them, a good man devoid 
 of malice, who was not in the secret of the pious fraud 
 whereby my parents had ensured my return. I asked 
 for news of my father and mother and of several of 
 my relatives. He answered frankly without circum- 
 locution: ‘Your father is making the funeral laments 
 at your sister’s tomb, and your mother is with him, 
 inconsolable, as you know, from grief.’ Thus he 
 replied, and what my feelings were I do not know. 
 Voiceless and lifeless, as if struck by fire from heaven, 
 I fell down off my horse. The cries that went up 
 around me came to my parents’ ears and another 
 lamentation was raised; tears and weeping, this 
 time for me, broke forth again with greater violence 
 
 [ 290 J 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS FAMILY 
 
 than before, like an ill-extinguished brazier that a 
 sudden breeze starts up afresh. They looked wildly 
 at me, and for the first time my mother ventured to 
 lift her veil, careless of whether men saw her or not. 
 They bent over me, each one trying to touch me and 
 seeking to bring me back to life by their groans. I 
 was lifted up half dead and carried near to my 
 sister's tomb.” ? 
 
 One can see how many of the old customs of Hel- 
 lenic antiquity were still preserved in Christian 
 Byzantium in the eleventh century. These parents 
 and relatives coming seven days after the funeral 
 to weep over the grave of the beloved dead make the 
 very scene that figures on many beautiful Attic 
 funerary vases, and it is not uncommon to find on 
 the white-ground lekythoi from Athenian cemeteries 
 the same episode that Psellus here describes: the 
 young man returning from abroad, whom the sight 
 of his relatives gathered around a tomb acquaints 
 with the sorrow that in his absence has befallen 
 the family. It is not to the gates of Constantinople, 
 in the shade of the churches near the great wall, 
 that this narrative of the Byzantine writer carries 
 us back; but rather to the beautiful, melancholy 
 cemetery of the Ceramicus at Athens, with its high, 
 sculptured stelae decked by the survivors with fillets 
 and garlands of flowers. And a thing no less ancient 
 is the funeral lament that Psellus, on regaining con- 
 sciousness, improvised, amid his assembled relatives 
 above the grave of his dead sister. 
 
 “‘When I opened my eyes and beheld my sister’s 
 tomb, I understood the full extent of my sorrow, 
 
 1 From Rambaud’s translation. 
 
 f 291 7 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 and, coming to my senses, I poured upon her ashes, 
 as it had been a funeral libation, the rivulets of my 
 tears: 
 
 ““O my sweet friend!’ I cried — for I thought of 
 her not only as a sister, but called her by all the most 
 affectionate and tender names—‘O marvel of 
 beauty, matchless being, virtue without peer, fair 
 statue dowered with a human soul, spur of persua- 
 sion, siren of speech, grace invincible! O thou who 
 art all to me and more than mine own soul! How 
 hast thou abandoned thy brother? How couldst 
 thou tear thyself away from him who grew up with 
 thee? How hast thou resigned thyself to this cruel 
 separation? But say: what habitation hath received 
 thee? in what abode dost thou rest? in the midst of 
 what meadows? with what pleasant scenes and what 
 gardens dost thou refresh thine eyes? What hap- 
 piness hast thou preferred above me? By what 
 flowers art thou seduced? by what roses, by what 
 murmuring streams? What nightingales charm thee 
 with their sweet singing, what grasshoppers with their 
 burden?? Of thy beauty doth aught remain, or 
 hath death destroyed it all? Is the light of thine eyes 
 extinguished, the flower of thy lips faded away, or 
 doth the grave guard thy beauty as a treasure?’” 
 
 Around him his relatives were weeping, while the 
 multitude accompanied with tears the funeral lament. 
 Doubtless it contains a certain amount of rhetoric 
 —on the occasions of both his father’s and his 
 mother’s death Psellus uttered his woe in very similar 
 terms and with the same literary flourishes —; but 
 the emotion expressed is none the less sincere; and 
 
 1 From Rambaud’s translation. 
 
 £292 7 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS FAMILY 
 
 there are, besides, many points of interest in the 
 passage quoted for the history of the development 
 of ideas. It is not the Christian Paradise that 
 Psellus calls up to our eyes; those shady, flower- 
 starred gardens, where the souls of the dead wander 
 amid the song of birds and the murmur of running 
 waters, are the Elysian Fields of old. 
 
 But alongside of these pagan survivals, Byzantine 
 Christianity reappears. When, after some difficulty, 
 the parents had dragged their son away from the 
 grave, begging him to pity their own sorrow, Psellus 
 suddenly looked at his mother, and his grief was 
 redoubled. For Theodota was dressed in the black 
 habit of a nun, and her hair was cut off. At the 
 bed-side of her dying child, as soon as the girl was 
 dead, her head pillowed softly on her mother’s 
 bosom, Theodota, in tears, after closing her daugh- 
 fer’s eyes, resolved to devote herself henceforth to 
 God. Her husband, weak man that he was, groaned 
 and sighed, overwhelmed with sorrow. She, on the 
 contrary, mastering her grief, exhorted her husband 
 to follow her example in seeking consolation in the 
 religious life, and persuaded him into consenting 
 to the wish that she had cherished for so long. Near 
 where her daughter was buried there was a convent, 
 and thither she retired to be the nearer to her dead 
 and to God. She gave up the world and earthly 
 affections; and her husband, following her example, 
 likewise took the vows. Such renunciations were 
 by no means rare in Byzantium. In this society, 
 upon which mysticism had made a profound im- 
 pression, the cloister was the usual refuge both from 
 a great sorrow and from a great disgrace. In joining 
 
 F293. 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 them one was obliged to take neither orders nor the 
 final vows. Between the convent and the world the 
 separation was not complete nor the gulf impassable. 
 After having entered, whether from vexation or de- 
 spair, it was not very difficult to leave; and even in 
 the shelter of a monastery one did not lose all contact 
 with the outer world. In her retreat Theodota had 
 no intention of giving up the son she loved so dearly. 
 
 IV 
 
 The convent-life of this woman, always inclined to 
 devotion and still further aroused by a great sorrow, 
 is not difficult to imagine. Like all ascetics her chief 
 concern was the mortification of the flesh, ‘‘the mas- 
 tery of the beast’’, as Psellus puts it, the crushing 
 of every untimely imagination, of every unbecom- 
 ing word, of every vain thought of worldly glory, of 
 every earthly tie, so as to live wholly in God, a pure 
 spirit. She slept on the bare earth, fasted, drank only 
 water, was always closely veiled, and spent many 
 hours in prayer, hoping to find in these mystical out- 
 pourings a means of closer contact with God; and 
 Psellus describes her under these conditions as 
 wrapped in a sort of ecstasy, motionless, moving 
 neither hand nor foot nor head, like the lifeless icons 
 upon the church walls, with the light of her eyes 
 alone to shew that she was still of this world. One 
 thing, however, still held her to earth; namely, her 
 love for her son. Near the two monasteries to which 
 his parents had retired young Psellus continued his 
 studies, and we see him paying them frequent visits, 
 entering with them into long philosophical and reli- 
 
 [ 294 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS FAMILY 
 
 gious conversations, and ever seeking advice and con- 
 solation, mainly from Theodota. And the rule was 
 not so strict but that the young man could often dine 
 and spend the night in the convent. 
 
 In like manner, despite separation, the close, per- 
 sistent unity of the family found expression in time of 
 sorrow. One day Psellus’s father fell suddenly ill, 
 and the son, who seems at last to have perceived all 
 the good man’s charm and simplicity, hurried in 
 tears to his side. But Theodota was also by the 
 dying man’s bed; she gave him consolation in his 
 last hours, received his parting advice, and mourned 
 him sincerely. These are the touching words of 
 farewell which the dying man addressed to his son: 
 ‘“‘My child, I am about to set forth upon the great 
 journey. I charge you not to weep too much for 
 me, but rather to assuage your mother’s grief.” By 
 the death-bed, mother and son fell into each other’s 
 arms, and, notwithstanding her piety and her de- 
 tachment from earthly affairs, Theodota wept bit- 
 terly, and only with difficulty was able to recover 
 her composure. Doubtless the Church’s teaching 
 then came to her mind; she argued with herself 
 that now for the first time her husband was indeed 
 delivered from human ties, and truly free; and she 
 explained to her son that his own tears merely 
 proved that he had not escaped from the prison- 
 house of the world, that he had not yet reached 
 the haven, but was still a wanderer upon the stormy 
 sea of life. But those were her second thoughts; 
 and it is not unpleasant to see the motionless icon 
 affected as a woman should be. Her piety, great as 
 it was, had not obliterated every other feeling. 
 
 E205] 
 
PE 
 
 BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 After this latest trial the fires of devotion waxed yet 
 hotter within her impassioned soul. In her desire to 
 dispense with every superfluity she did without the 
 very necessaries of life, and her body became thin, 
 diaphanous, almost ethereal. In vain her relatives 
 reproached her for her excessive asceticism; in vain 
 her aged father remonstrated with her and urged her 
 to change her mode of life. Though at times she al- 
 lowed herself to be influenced by these loving admoni- 
 tions, and, to please her family, ordered a more liberal 
 meal, nevertheless, when she came to eat, she mas- 
 tered herself once more, feeling that she had been on 
 the point of committing a great sin, and hurriedly 
 sent out into the streets for some poor woman to eat 
 of the dinner that had been served to her; .and in her 
 delight at escaping temptation called her chance 
 guest her benefactress and deliverer. But she was 
 growing weaker day by day, and now needed two 
 servants to help her into church and support her 
 during the Office. And in this way Theodota had 
 acquired a great reputation for sanctity. 
 
 However, she had not assumed the religious habit, 
 humbly thinking herself unworthy of such an hon- 
 our, and yet, feeling that her end was near, she 
 eagerly coveted this supreme blessing. One of her 
 friends in the convent had a dream. She was in 
 the imperial box in the Hippodrome, and there she 
 saw a mysterious golden throne, so resplendent that 
 one could scarcely look at it, and around it other 
 thrones of gold or ivory ranged in a half circle. To 
 one side, a little to the right, was placed a throne 
 made of some special, unknown material, both dull 
 and shining at the same time. And when she asked 
 
 [296 J 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS FAMILY 
 
 for whom this splendid seat was prepared, a voice 
 replied that it was the throne of Theodota. ‘‘The 
 Emperor” — that is to say, the King of Heaven — 
 “has commanded it to be made ready, for she will soon 
 come to occupy it.’ This was her notification of 
 approaching death, and also the indication of her 
 future sainthood. So Theodota resolved to take the 
 veil. 
 
 It was a solemn and touching ceremony. The 
 convent church was decorated as if for a festival; 
 the nuns filled the apse, and the priest was at the 
 altar. Psellus was also there in the forefront of the 
 assembled multitude. To the general amazement 
 the new nun, usually so feeble and weak that she had 
 to be carried in on a litter, was able by a supreme 
 effort to stand on her feet on this great occasion. 
 Illuminated with a supernatural beauty, “‘like a 
 bride going to meet her bridegroom”, she came in 
 with no one to hold her up, and throughout the long 
 service of consecration stood erect and unfaltering. 
 From the priest’s hands she received the gold ring, 
 the sandals, and the cross; and then she made her 
 communion. Psellus in deep emotion fell at the 
 holy woman’s feet. Turning to him, she said softly: 
 “May you one day also experience all these blessings, 
 my son.” At the same time the expression of her face 
 changed and an unnatural clarity shone from within 
 her. The end was near. She needed a little rest, and 
 sat down on a low bench. Then suddenly, as if be- 
 holding on her right hand something invisible to 
 human eyes, she started up and fell back again life- 
 less. On regaining consciousness she called insist- 
 ently one last time for her beloved child, and died 
 
 [297 | 
 
seers 
 
 Seen ea 
 
 BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 peacefully, faithful to the end to the two affections 
 that had occupied and dominated her life — her love 
 for her son and her love for God. 
 
 We can imagine Psellus’s grief on arriving too 
 late to receive his mother’s last kiss; he himself 
 tells us of it. “‘I fell to earth like one dead, knowing 
 nothing of what went on around me, until those who 
 were present had thrown cold water on my face and 
 made me inhale perfumes to revive me.” I omit 
 the lament which, with his usual facility, he im- 
 provised before his mother’s bier, and pass to the 
 description of the funeral which Constantinople gave 
 to Theodota. The entire city gathered together, 
 everyone wishing to touch for a last time the body, 
 the hands, and the face of the holy woman. They 
 tore in pieces the last garment that she had worn 
 and divided it among themselves as relics; and the 
 dead woman’s aged father, as he stood by the bed 
 on which her body lay, could justly say to her 
 weeping mother: “‘Mark my words, woman, you 
 have borne a saint and a martyr.” 
 
 Vv 
 
 Nevertheless, it is not in her holy dying nor in the 
 last years of her pious life that Theodota’s chief 
 interest lies, but rather in her great love for her son. 
 All his life long Psellus was firmly convinced that 
 she who had guided his youth continued her loving 
 watch in Heaven; and more than once the phi- 
 losopher reproaches himself for having to some extent 
 deceived the holy woman’s hopes by embracing ideas 
 other than those of which she would have approved. 
 
 L 298 J 
 
A MIDDLE-CLASS FAMILY 
 
 And there is surely something paradoxical in the fact 
 that the good man whose life “‘was like oil flowing 
 noiselessly”, the worthy citizen, so “‘slow of speech”, 
 should have had for a son the busiest, the most active, 
 and the most intriguing of courtiers, and the readiest 
 of orators; and that the pious mother who died in 
 the odour of sanctity, should have given birth to the 
 most liberal, the most open-minded, and the most 
 scientific man of his time. Psellus was keenly aware 
 of the contrast, and of the extent to which he differed 
 from his parents. But with him the love of learnmg 
 was the stronger. ‘‘I ought to think only of God” he 
 says somewhere, “but my nature and the impe- 
 rious desire of my soul to attain all knowledge have 
 drawn me to science.” What this science was, its 
 immensity and its profundity, he himself has been 
 so good as to inform us. He tells us that at the age 
 of twenty-five he knew all that there was to be 
 known, rhetoric and philosophy, geometry and music, 
 law and astronomy, medicine, physics, and even the 
 occult sciences; and that, from Neoplatonism and 
 “the admirable Proclus”, he had risen step by step 
 to ‘‘the pure light of Plato.” And in the depths of 
 his soul, despite occasional scruples, his great, eman- 
 cipated intellect never regretted his knowledge; and 
 when all is said, his mother in Heaven must have 
 been pleased with him. It was because he was a 
 person of eminent learning that he, a man of letters, 
 became attached to the court and rose to the posi- 
 tion of Prime Minister; and thus, though after 
 another fashion, he fulfilled the great ambitions and 
 the splendid destiny that his mother had dreamt for 
 him at his cradle-side. 
 
 [299 || 
 
XII 
 ANNA DALASSENA: 
 
 A NOBLE FAMILY OF THE ELEVENTH 
 CENTURY 
 
 MONG the great feudal and militai-y families 
 BAN of the Byzantine aristocracy, one of the 
 most celebrated towards the middle of the 
 eleventh century was that of the Comneni. In addi- 
 tion to its wealth, its vast Asiatic domains, its many 
 vassals and clients, it could boast the splendid serv- 
 ices performed by its various members; and Isaac, 
 the head of the house, was one of the monarchy’s 
 most illustrious generals. Therefore, when in 1057 
 the great military leaders, weary of the distrust with 
 which the civil authority regarded them, decided 
 to revolt, they unanimously proclaimed Comnenus 
 Basileus of the Romans. Isaac thus foreshadowed 
 the future greatness of his house. 
 
 Hardly two years after he had ascended the 
 throne, however, the new Emperor in discourage- 
 ment, unable to effect the reforms that he had in- 
 tended, and ill into the bargain, decided to abdicate. 
 For a while he had considered transferring the throne 
 to his brother John, whom he had already raised to 
 the high rank of Curopalates and Grand Domestic; 
 but the latter was daunted by the weight of empire 
 and obstinately refused. In vain his wife, Anna 
 
 [ 300 (J 
 
ANNA DALASSENA 
 
 Dalassena, strove to arouse his courage; in vain 
 she pointed out the perils to which he was exposing 
 his family, since, as possible candidates for the 
 throne, they would naturally be objects of suspi- 
 cion to any government; in vain, with tears and 
 reproaches, she bitterly scoffed at such philosophical 
 detachment and such dangerous moderation. She 
 could make no impression upon him. On John’s re- 
 fusal, the throne fell to the President of the Senate, 
 Constantine Ducas. But all her life long Anna 
 Dalassena never forgot those embittered arguments 
 of November, 1059. She was never able to resign 
 herself to the loss of the imperial diadem which a 
 word from her husband would have placed upon her 
 head; she never forgave the house of Ducas for 
 ascending the throne on which she had hoped to 
 sit. Henceforth she had but one aim in life; namely, 
 to recover the lost opportunity, to be revenged upon 
 fate, and to regain for her family the supreme power 
 that she herself had thought to wield; and, since she 
 was as able and stubborn as she was ambitious, she 
 succeeded. The coup d éat of 1081, which set the 
 Comnenian dynasty upon the throne for more than 
 a century, was the indirect but certain and logical 
 result of her tenacious energy, of her passionate 
 desire for the glory of her house, and of the deep, 
 unalterable devotion for her children which she 
 displayed in every conjuncture. 
 
 I 
 
 If we leave out of account the difference in their 
 social positions, Anna Dalassena, the aristocrat, was 
 
 C301 7] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 very like Psellus’s middle-class mother. Like her 
 she was devout, charitable, and virtuous; like her 
 she took pleasure in the society of priests and monks, 
 and longed to end her days in a convent; like her 
 she spent a large part of her nights in prayer and in 
 chanting psalms, and in society maintained a grave 
 and serious countenance that inspired the frivolous 
 with a mixture of respect and fear. Like Psellus’s 
 mother also she joined to her great love of God a 
 passionate devotion to her children. In an official 
 document her son, the Emperor Alexius, at a later 
 day testifies to her thus: “Nothing can be compared 
 to a tender mother who loves her children. In all the 
 world there is no stronger support, whether against 
 annoyance or against impending danger. If she gives 
 advice, her advice is good; if she prays, her all-power- 
 ful prayer is an invincible protection to its object. 
 Such has been to me since my earliest youth my 
 revered mother and sovereign, who in every circum- 
 stance was my teacher and my guide. We were two 
 bodies with one soul, and by God’s grace this close 
 and beautiful union still exists to-day.” 
 
 It is certain that Anna Dalassena exercised a deep 
 and decisive influence upon her sons. Like Psellus’s 
 mother, she was the man of the family; and when, 
 in 1067, her husband’s death left her a widow with 
 eight children, five boys and three girls, her already 
 strong influence became even greater. It was she 
 who really brought up all her sons and made them 
 the remarkable men they were, capable of accom- 
 plishing the high destinies that she so keenly desired 
 for them and towards which she guided their steps. 
 She listened gladly to those who foretold that her 
 
 [ 302 7] 
 
ANNA DALASSENA 
 
 children would reign; but above all she spared no 
 pains to bring these prophecies to pass. “It was 
 through her prayers, mounting ceaselessly to the 
 ears of the Lord” continues her son Alexius, “that 
 we have risen to the pinnacle of power.” And his- 
 tory, therefore, rightly terms her “the Mother of 
 the Comneni.” 
 
 The only difference between those two equally 
 devoted mothers, the mother of Psellus and the 
 mother of the Comneni, is that Anna Dalassena, be- 
 cause of her birth, her wealth, and the prestige of her 
 great name, commanded resources for the further- 
 ance of her ambitions that the humble Theodota 
 lacked. As member of’a great house and daughter 
 of a man who had held high positions in the Theme 
 of Italy; belonging on her mother’s side to the illus- 
 trious family of the Dalasseni, whose fame had 
 worried many Emperors; married to a Comnenus, 
 and related to all that was greatest in the Byzantine 
 aristocracy; she had always lived in society and at 
 court, and there had learnt the art of intrigue which 
 she practised with great competence, surmounting 
 obstacles with extraordinary dexterity, and extri- 
 cating herself with consummate skill from the most 
 dangerous situations. 
 
 In addition to these valuable but rather subordi- 
 nate gifts, Anna possessed some eminent qualities. 
 Her son Alexius and her granddaughter, Anna Com- 
 nena, never mention her but in terms of unalloyed 
 admiration. She had a first-rate intellect, ““a pow- 
 erful mind, truly royal and worthy of the throne.” 
 From her youth up she had displayed a strong 
 energetic will and sound common sense; her clear 
 
 [, 503 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 and well-ordered brain was constantly active. ‘‘It 
 was extraordinary’”’ writes Anna Comnena, “‘to find 
 so old a head on such young shoulders; and all her 
 earnestness and worth were obvious at a glance.” 
 She had a statesman’s mind. Her admirable under- 
 standing of affairs and her thorough grasp of poli- 
 tics would have qualified her to rule a world. She 
 brought to her task some remarkable natural gifts, 
 such as that of easy, concise speech, never at a loss 
 for the right word, and rising without effort to elo- 
 quence. “‘Without her intelligence and acumen” her 
 son] said of her, “‘the monarchy would have been 
 lost.” And Anna Comnena pronounces her superior 
 to all the statesmen of her times. ‘‘She was” says she, 
 “‘an honour to her sex and the glory of the human 
 race.” Furthermore she was brave, full of lofty 
 assurance, for her sons’ sake capable of unbounded 
 devotion and skill; in short, a superior woman, 
 whose lofty qualities justified her immense ambi- 
 tions. Imperious and intriguing by turns, cautious 
 and bending when she had to be, strong and brave 
 when necessity demanded, and always extraordina- 
 rily astute, she was the true architect of the great- 
 ness of her house; and such being her character, it 
 is easy to understand the enormous influence which 
 until the day of her death she exercised over her 
 grateful sons. 
 
 I 
 In 1067, when her husband’s death left Anna 
 Dalassena head of the family, three of her sons were 
 already grown up. Manuel, the eldest, was in the 
 imperial army; Isaac and Alexius were young men 
 
 [304 3 
 
ANNA DALASSENA 
 
 of nineteen or twenty; only Adrian and Nicephorus 
 were still children. Two of her daughters, more- 
 over, were already established, having been married 
 to men of good family, the one to Michael Taronites 
 and the other to Nicephorus Melissenus. The two 
 objects that the mother kept henceforth before her 
 eyes were the education of the younger children and 
 the advancement of the rest. 
 
 Circumstances were most favourable. At this 
 time the throne of Byzantium was again occupied 
 by a woman, Eudocia, the widow of Constantine 
 Ducas, who was ruling as Regent in the name of 
 her young son Michael VII. She was an intelligent, 
 educated, even lettered Princess, for, although the 
 mythological poem entitled the Violarium, or The 
 Field of Violets, is wrongly attributed to her, it is 
 certain that she had a literary impulse; and several 
 of her verses, such as one on Ariadne’s hair, another 
 on the pursuits proper to a Princess, and a treatise on 
 the monastic life, are sufficient proof of her tastes 
 and of her literary pretensions. But she was above 
 all an energetic, ambitious woman with a passion 
 for power. ‘‘I intend” she said, “‘to die on the 
 throne.” Moreover, before his death her husband, 
 who appreciated her qualities, had deliberately in- 
 sured her succession, but not without extracting 
 from her in return — the strange precaution of a 
 loving and jealous husband —a written undertak- 
 ing never to marry again. Eudocia had consented, 
 and her signed promise had been solemnly confided 
 to the keeping of the Patriarch John Xiphilin. 
 
 Unfortunately for the Basileus Constantine X’s 
 last wishes, the Empire was in a situation that was 
 
 E305 | 
 
a Sat SES Fag 
 
 BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 singulary difficult for a woman; the need of a man 
 was strongly felt, and besides, Eudocia, though on 
 the verge of forty, was temperamentally unsuited to 
 widowhood. She had just fallen passionately in love 
 with the handsome Romanus Diogenes, a general 
 
 who upon the death of the Emperor had attempted 
 
 a military uprising. Having been conquered and 
 brought prisoner to Constantinople, he was await- 
 ing his sentence when, to the surprise of the court, 
 the Empress granted him a pardon; presently she 
 became determined to marry him. One thing, how- 
 ever, stood in her way; namely, the unlucky docu- 
 ment in the possession of the Patriarch. The Regent 
 very cleverly circumvented the prelate; she feigned 
 violent love of Xiphilin’s brother, and he, not wish- 
 ing to fly in the face of the good fortune that was 
 smiling on his family, consented to give back to 
 Eudocia the paper containing her promise. No sooner 
 had the Basilissa regained possession of it than she 
 threw off the mask and married Romanus Diogenes. | 
 
 “Man is a fickle animal,” says Psellus, philoso- 
 phising upon this incident, ‘‘particularly when he 
 can find special reasons for his fickleness.’ But 
 other people took it by no means so philosophically. 
 The Caesar John Ducas, ibrother to the deceased 
 Emperor, seeing himself thus thrust aside, and the 
 Patriarch Xiphilin, furious at having been tricked, 
 did not conceal their discontent; and Psellus him- 
 self, who had been Constantine X’s favourite minis- 
 ter and who was now tutor to the young Michael VII, 
 ended by being displeased at the new political situa- 
 tion. For the accession of Romanus was practically 
 the triumph of the army; and the civilian party was 
 
 [306 7 
 
ANNA DALASSENA 
 
 filled with anxiety, exasperated and absolutely op- 
 posed to an Emperor who threatened their influence. 
 
 It was this very situation that brought the Com- 
 neni into touch with the court once more. Besides 
 the fact that Eudocia was in some way related to 
 them, their name and the memory of the Emperor 
 Isaac, their uncle, caused them to be regarded as the 
 most illustrious representatives and as the strongest 
 partisans of the theories of military reorganisation 
 and energetic action symbolised by the elevation 
 of Romanus. Furthermore, Anna Dalassena was too 
 delighted at the downfall of her enemies, the Ducae, 
 to begrudge her help or refuse her sympathy to the 
 new régime. The entire family were thus in great 
 favour at the Palace. Anna Dalassena married 
 her youngest daughter to Constantine Diogenes, a 
 near relative of the Basileus; for her son Manuel 
 she obtained the highest dignities. He was made 
 Commander-in-Chief of the Army of the East, be- 
 came Protoproedros and afterwards Curopalates, and 
 distinguished himself by brilliant exploits at the head 
 of his troops. Thanks to him, the name of Com- 
 nenus was once more becoming popular with the 
 army, and Anna Dalassena was revelling in her 
 expectations, when suddenly the young general fell 
 dangerously ill in Bithynia. 
 
 At this news the terrified mother set out in haste 
 to her son’s bed-side; by a last effort of will Manuel, 
 already on the point of death, rose from his bed to 
 receive her and threw himself into her arms with 
 hardly the strength to utter a few words. Then he 
 fell back, and, after expressing the wish to be buried 
 in the same tomb in which later his beloved mother 
 
 [307 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 would rest, he grew weaker and expired. No better 
 proof than this anecdote is wanted of the profound 
 respect and tender love that Anna Dalassena had 
 inspired in her children; and no better demonstra- 
 tion than its sequel is needed of her extraordinary 
 energy. Manuel’s death was more to her than a 
 terrible sorrow; it was the ruin of all the hopes that 
 she had built upon his budding fame. But despite 
 her great loss and her despair, Anna Dalassena rallied 
 from the blow. One Comnenus was dead; therefore 
 another must continue the tradition and insure the 
 destiny of the race. She immediately decided to 
 send her third son, Alexius, to the army. But the 
 Emperor shewed more compassion than the mother. 
 When Comnenus came to ask his permission to leave, 
 he answered: ‘‘Your mother must not be left alone 
 in her sorrow, and I do not wish that her grief at 
 the loss of one of her sons should be increased by the 
 absence of another.”’ So he sent the young man back 
 to Anna Dalassena. 
 
 The revolution of 1071 destroyed at one stroke 
 all Anna’s patient toil. It is well known that the 
 defeat of Romanus IV at Manzikert by the Turks 
 and his capture by the Sultan unloosed at court all 
 the animosity that had long been accumulating 
 against him, and that the party of the Ducae, after 
 pronouncing him dethroned, never hesitated, when 
 he had been released from captivity, to make war 
 upon him as upon an enemy. Anna Dalassena re- 
 mained obstinately faithful to this Emperor whom 
 the Empire had placed under a ban. Soon she was 
 accused of being in secret correspondence with him 
 and was summoned before a tribunal; her condem- 
 
 [ 308 J 
 
ANNA DALASSENA 
 
 nation seemed a foregone conclusion. But, firm and 
 haughty as ever, she quickly produced a crucifix 
 from under her cloak and brandished it in the faces 
 of the disconcerted judges, saying: “Here is my 
 Judge and yours. Think on Him when you sentence 
 me, and take care that your sentence be worthy of 
 the Supreme Judge who knoweth the secrets of the 
 heart.” At this unexpected outburst the tribunal 
 was sadly at a loss. Some were already disposed 
 to acquit her; but the greater number were afraid 
 of the new master’s wrath. They made a cowardly 
 compromise which the friends of the Comneni aptly 
 styled ‘‘the judgement of Caiaphas.” Anna Dalassena 
 was banished with her sons to one of the Princes’ 
 
 Islands. 
 Il 
 
 Nevertheless, their disgrace was of short duration. 
 Their great adversary, the Caesar John Ducas, who 
 had taken the place of Romanus and Eudocia in the 
 government, soon fell out with his nephew, the 
 Emperor Michael VII, and was obliged to leave 
 court and retire to his estates in Asia. In spite of 
 their downfall, the Comneni were too powerful for 
 the new ministers not to feel at this juncture the 
 necessity of conciliating them and making sure of 
 their support. They were, therefore, recalled from 
 banishment. Presently, in order to be the more 
 certain of their co-operation, the Emperor married 
 Isaac, the head of the house, to a cousin of Mary 
 of Alania, the Empress, and soon afterwards ap- 
 pointed him Commander-in-Chief of the army of the 
 East, the post that his brother Manuel had formerly 
 
 [ 309 | 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 held. Isaac took his younger brother Alexius with him. 
 Henceforth the family fortunes waxed ever greater. 
 
 Alexius Comnenus, the future Emperor, was now 
 twenty-three or -four years of age, and Isaac but very 
 little older. Both were excellent soldiers, devoted 
 to war, and brave —the elder, at least —to the 
 point of rashness. He used to fall upon the enemy 
 “like a thunderbolt”, and more than once, through 
 his imprudence, fell into the hands of the infidel. 
 Alexius, though equally brave, was of a soberer and 
 calmer disposition. Physically, he was of medium 
 height, but well built and strong; with his swarthy 
 skin, his black hair, and his dark flashing eyes he was 
 very good-looking and most fascinating. He was 
 accustomed to every kind of physical exercise: a 
 mighty hunter, a graceful and tireless horseman, eager 
 for action and warlike adventures. But in addition 
 to these physical activities he was possessed of excep- 
 tional self-control and a singular aptitude for intrigue. 
 Intelligent, well-educated, and a good speaker, he 
 cherished in secret a firm and tenacious will; only, 
 being of a gentle disposition, he ‘preferred to attain 
 his ends by diplomacy rather than by force. Like all 
 his brothers he was devotedly attached to his mother 
 and was her unacknowledged favourite; she consid- 
 ered him better fitted than the others to realise her 
 ambitious hopes, and therefore had urged him from 
 the outset to a military career, and later had sent him 
 as lieutenant to his elder brother Isaac. In all of 
 which Anna Dalassena proved her clear-sightedness. 
 By their exploits and their brilliant courage the two 
 Comneni were to win a matchless glory for their 
 
 name. 
 
 £3107] 
 
ANNA DALASSENA 
 
 During the years 1072-1073 the position of the 
 Empire was extremely grave. On the Asiatic frontier 
 the Turks were threatening; and to this peril the 
 revolt of a leader of mercenaries, the Norman Roussel 
 de Bailleul, added a further complication. Though 
 obliged to carry on the struggle against the infidel 
 with forces greatly reduced by this insurrection, the 
 two brothers nevertheless accomplished wonders. If 
 we are to credit the family chronicles, which cele- 
 brate with a doubtless not impartial enthusiasm 
 their courage and their close friendship — Anna 
 Comnena says that they were as united as Orestes 
 and Pylades —; their exploits were those of heroes. 
 In an engagement one day Isaac had his horse killed 
 under him and fell into the hands of the Turks. 
 Alexius was doing his best under great difficulties 
 to save the army and cover his retreat, when sud- 
 denly the troops were seized with panic and scat- 
 tered, leaving their young general almost alone. 
 Obliged to fly, with the Mohammedans pressing 
 hard upon his tracks, Alexius escaped as by a miracle, 
 and after a short rest in a ruined village succeeded 
 at last with a few men in making his way to Ancyra. 
 His one thought now being to deliver his brother as 
 soon as possible, he hurried to Constantinople to 
 collect the necessary ransom. On his return he was 
 surprised to find Isaac already at liberty: the Cappa- 
 docian nobles had generously subscribed the money 
 to liberate the heir to so illustrious a name. The 
 two brothers then started again for the capital, and 
 once more, in the outskirts of Nicomedia, were set 
 upon by a band of Turks and surrounded. With 
 mighty sword-strokes they cleared a path, and after 
 
 ae 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 accomplishing the most prodigious feats of arms at 
 last got away, and, though desperately pursued, suc- 
 ceeded in bringing all their followers to a place of 
 safety. On returning to Constantinople after this 
 epic adventure the enthusiastic populace gave them 
 a triumphant welcome, and gazed with love and 
 admiration on him whom they called affectionately 
 ““the golden youth” (6 ypvaois veavias ’Adéévos). 
 
 So brilliant a renown was inevitably disturbing to 
 the authorities, and they tried to get rid of these 
 altogether too popular young men. Isaac was dis- 
 patched as Duke of Antioch, to distant Syria; Alexius 
 was raised to the rank of Stratopedarch and sent to 
 fight and conquer Roussel de Bailleul. But for this 
 difficult undertaking he was given few soldiers and no 
 money. In spite of the reluctance his mother felt 
 at seeing him endanger his youthful fame in an expe- 
 dition destined to failure, Alexius accepted the com- 
 mand. And such was his tact and diplomacy that, 
 in a situation which seemed likely to cost him his 
 reputation, he found means to enhance it. He began 
 by cutting off the rebel’s supplies and then, by a 
 cleverly-managed betrayal, took him captive and 
 brought him back in triumph to Constantinople. The 
 Emperor Michael VII in greeting the young hero 
 shewed him the utmost favour: “‘Welcome be he who, 
 after God, is our right arm.” At this time, 1074, 
 Alexius was one of the most conspicuous persons in 
 Byzantium. 
 
 Now, at this very time, dissatisfaction with the 
 Basileus was universal. The Prime Minister’s shame- 
 less greed was exhausting the finances and causing 
 _a famine in the Empire; and the army, no longer 
 
 [312 ] 
 
ANNA DALASSENA 
 
 receiving its pay, was mutinous. Ambitious men 
 profited by the confusion in which Michael’s feeble 
 government floundered. In Europe Nicephorus 
 Bryennius had proclaimed himself Emperor; and 
 in Asia Nicephorus Botoniates, with the support of 
 the great feudal nobility and even of a part of 
 the Senate, had assumed the purple. Between the 
 government and the rival pretenders Alexius Com- 
 nenus steered his way with great dexterity, and, by 
 becoming no one’s tool, strengthened his own posi- 
 tion, so that he soon became an indispensable person, 
 whose support all parties bespoke and endeavoured 
 to obtain. With consummate skill he profited by his 
 opportunities in order to fortify his position. 
 
 A short time before, Alexius had lost his wife. 
 To take her place two equally brilliant and useful 
 matches were proposed to him. The Emperor offered 
 him the hand of his sister Zoé, and the Caesar John 
 Ducas hoped to marry him to his granddaughter 
 Irene. Having to choose between these two alli- 
 ances, Comnenus easily understood the advantage 
 of the second, which, by uniting the interests of the 
 two most illustrious families of the Byzantine nobil- 
 ity, would supply an invaluable prop to his future 
 ambitions. He chose John Ducas’s granddaughter. 
 But his choice met with violent opposition from 
 several quarters. The Emperor, who was wounded 
 at seeing his offer refused, shewed determined hos- 
 tility; but more unexpected was the antagonism that 
 Anna Dalassena at first displayed to her son’s wishes: 
 the old obstinate hatred that she cherished towards 
 the Ducae obscured for a time her usual clearness of 
 vision, and led her to forget the obvious interests 
 
 ros | 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 of her house. But at this juncture Alexius’s firm- 
 ness and political acumen became apparent. While 
 protesting that he would never run counter to his 
 mother’s wishes, he refrained from yielding to her 
 reproaches; with skill and patience he undertook to 
 overcome her objections, and with the assistance of 
 his future mother-in-law’s astute diplomacy suc- 
 ceeded in breaking down all obstacles. Anna Dalas- 
 sena, not without reluctance, gave her consent; the 
 Basileus was induced to do likewise, and in the end 
 of 1077 the marriage took place. As we shall see 
 later, Anna Dalassena always nursed a stubborn 
 dislike for her daughter-in-law, the more so because 
 she had been obliged, for the first time in her life, 
 to bend to her son’s will. 
 
 But it must be conceded that in this contest 
 Alexius was right, as subsequent events were fully 
 to prove. The Ducas alliance was a very strong 
 point in his game; for, as between the rival parties, 
 it enabled him to give his support where his personal 
 advantage lay, and thus to become virtual master 
 of the situation. At first he remained faithful to 
 the established government, and in the beginning 
 of 1078 vanquished Nicephorus Bryennius in Mace- 
 donia. But when, shortly afterwards, Botoniates 
 dethroned Michael VII, Comnenus considered it 
 more profitable to throw in his lot with the new 
 régime. So valuable an adherent received the reward 
 that he deserved: Alexius was created Grand Domes- © 
 tic of the Scholae with the title of Nobilissimus, and 
 he was undoubtedly the chief defender and the best 
 support of the Basileus. A second time he defeated 
 Nicephorus Bryennius, and then crushed another 
 
 [ 314 J 
 
ANNA DALASSENA 
 
 pretender, Basilaces, and brought them both back 
 captive to the Emperor’s feet. A new dignity re- 
 warded this success: he was created Proedros. But 
 his chief gain was an immense increase of popularity. 
 Because of his brilliant victories he was the idol of 
 the soldiers, who shouted for him on every occasion 
 and would have no other leader. Through his mar- 
 riage he had rallied to his side the greater part of the 
 feudal aristocracy whose claims he represented, and 
 had furthermore won the support of the Patriarch, 
 who was blindly devoted to the house of Ducas. 
 And because of his good looks and the halo of glory 
 that surrounded his name he delighted the mob. 
 Alexius Comnenus was entitled to indulge in the 
 loftiest hopes. 
 
 IV 
 
 Now at this very moment the Emperor Nicephorus 
 Botoniates was becoming more and more unpopular. 
 His ministers, like those of Michael VII before him, 
 squandered the money that had been painstakingly 
 collected; and, since the need of the Treasury was 
 great, the exactions of the imperial bureaucracy 
 further augmented the unrest. The army, increas- 
 ingly disgusted with the feeble government of the 
 Empire, was irritated at being neglected, badly paid, 
 and for ever sacrificed to the interests of the civil 
 administration. The Asiatic regiments were mur- 
 muring; in the capital the Varangians, the guard- 
 soldiers whose fidelity seemed most certain, were in 
 revolt, and their mutiny was with difficulty sup- 
 pressed. Furthermore Botoniates was old, apathetic, 
 and rather ridiculous. From every quarter men 
 
 E ot5.| 
 
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 tat 
 Bal} 
 fit 
 i 
 it) 
 | 
 t 
 a) 
 | 
 i 
 i 
 | 
 
 BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 called for a new dynasty, and the revolt of Nice- 
 phorus Melissenus, who had assumed the purple in 
 Asia, was clear proof of the imminent crisis. 
 
 The civilian party was naturally much disquieted 
 at the situation, and its leaders, the ministers, were 
 greatly concerned at the popularity of the Comneni, 
 who seemed the chosen leaders of the feudal and 
 military party. They had already manifested their 
 distrust of Alexius by forbidding him, after his vic- 
 tory over Bryennius, to celebrate his triumph in the 
 capital. They now tried to compromise him with 
 the Emperor, pointing out that the Asiatic pretender 
 was brother-in-law to the Comneni, reminding him 
 that Alexius — very prudently, by the way — had 
 just refused to command the forces sent against the 
 rebel; and they tried to prove that an understand- 
 ing existed between Comnenus and the usurper to 
 bring about his downfall. But Alexius, as we know, 
 was a past-master at the subtle game of intrigue; 
 to his enemies’ plots he replied by counterplots, and 
 in the Palace itself, where they were conspiring to 
 overthrow him, contrived by a stroke of genius to 
 obtain an all-powerful coadjutor. 
 
 Michael VII, when he was Emperor, had married 
 the Princess Mary of Alania. She was a very hand- 
 some woman, tall, elegant, with skin as white as 
 snow and charming bright eyes, and was of unpar- 
 alleled grace and fascination. ‘Neither Apelles nor 
 Phidias”” says Anna Comnena, “‘ever created any- 
 thing so beautiful.’ ‘She was a living statue,” we 
 read elsewhere, “‘whom lovers of the beautiful could 
 never weary of admiring; or, rather, she was Love 
 incarnate descended to earth.” This beautiful crea- 
 
 C316 J 
 
ANNA DALASSENA 
 
 ture as may well be imagined, had inspired many 
 men with a great passion. Nicephorus Botoniates 
 himself on ascending the throne had not been in- 
 sensible to her charms, and, although he was no 
 longer very young and twice a widower, had deter- 
 mined to marry her. There was a difficulty, to be 
 sure; the young woman’s husband, the dethroned 
 Emperor Michael VII, was still alive; but he had 
 been forced to enter a monastery, and so might be 
 considered dead and his marriage dissolved. For a 
 while, however, Nicephorus hesitated, and being 
 most anxious to legitimate his usurpation by an im- 
 perial marriage, had thought of taking to wife the 
 widow of Constantine X and of Romanus Diogenes, 
 Eudocia, who would gladly have shared his throne. 
 That would have been a sensible match by reason 
 of the parity of their ages; but Mary was far more 
 beautiful and fascinating, and Botoniates was unable 
 to resist. In spite of the distaste of the Church at 
 sanctioning this doubly-incorrect alliance, the Basi- 
 leus decided upon a third marriage and wedded his 
 predecessor’s wife. 
 
 Mary of Alania had yielded without enthusiasm 
 to Nicephorus, and for no other reason than to 
 safeguard the interests of her young son Constan- 
 tine, aged four; but she was unable to love the old 
 husband who had thrust himself upon her. Alexius 
 Comnenus, on the other hand, was, as we have seen, 
 most attractive, and it appears that the Empress 
 soon fell in love with him; before long it was ru- 
 moured in the capital that they were on the most 
 intimate terms. It seems likely enough; in any case 
 it is certain that the Basilissa definitely sided with 
 
 oly 4 
 
BYZANTINE -POR TRAITS 
 
 the Comneni and shewed them every favour. Fur- 
 thermore, by her cousin’s marriage with Isaac, the 
 head of the family, she was a connexion of theirs, 
 and, thanks to this alliance, Isaac, who at that time 
 was in Constantinople, had ready access to her. He 
 used his opportunities to further his brother’s inter- 
 ests and to ingratiate him with the Gynaeceum where 
 everyone was working on his behalf; and even Anna 
 Dalassena, from dislike of her daughter-in-law Irene 
 Ducaena, watched her son’s manceuvres without dis- 
 approval and abetted him with all her power. The 
 result of these intrigues was an unexpected one: 
 Mary of Alania adopted Alexius Comnenus. Thus he 
 became a member of the imperial family, and, being 
 admitted officially into the private life of the Palace, 
 found himself in an even better position than before 
 to follow the progress of the conspiracy against him. 
 
 The Emperor had been won over by his ministers, 
 and had taken the serious step of nominating as his 
 successor his nephew Synadenus. When Mary of 
 Alania learnt of this choice that so brutally disre- 
 garded her son’s rights, her anger knew no bounds; 
 and, when informed of it by her, the Comneni, who 
 had been well coached by their mother, inflamed her 
 indignation still further. The Emperor’s advisers 
 now determined upon the decisive step of putting 
 out the brothers’ eyes. But for some time past 
 Isaac and Alexius had been so suspicious that they 
 are said to have taken the precaution of never both 
 being in the Palace at the same time. Having been 
 warned, doubtless by the Empress, of what was in 
 store for them, they decided to precipitate matters 
 and stake everything on a single throw. 
 
 [318 3 
 
ANNA DALASSENA 
 
 During the night of the 14th of February, 1081, 
 Isaac and Alexius with their chief supporters fled from 
 the capital, and, having thoughtfully provided them- 
 selves with horses from the imperial stables, made 
 their way unpursued to the headquarters of the 
 Army of Thrace. Their leave-taking was so sudden 
 and their flight so rapid that they had been obliged 
 to leave all their womenfolk behind them. And now 
 Anna Dalassena once again displayed all her accus- 
 tomed energy. Like the sensible woman she was, 
 she hurried in the early hours of the morning to seek 
 sanctuary in the inviolable refuge of St. Sophia, tak- 
 ing with her her daughters, her daughters-in-law, and 
 her grandchildren; and when Nicephorus Botoniates 
 summoned her to come to the Sacred Palace, she 
 refused point-blank, and, clinging to the iconostasis, 
 declared that they would have to cut off her hands 
 to get her away. Against so much resolution the 
 Emperor dared not use force; so he opened negotia- 
 tions, and finally guaranteed them their lives what- 
 ever might happen. He merely took the precaution 
 of imprisoning them in the Petrion convent, whither 
 the daughter-in-law of the Caesar John Ducas, 
 mother-in-law of Alexius Comnenus, soon joined 
 them. And there all these women anxiously awaited 
 the outcome. 
 
 They had not long to wait. The conspirators, to 
 whose support the Caesar John Ducas had lent his 
 wealth and his great name, prepared to deliver them. 
 In the camp at Schiza they had hastily proclaimed 
 Alexius Comnenus Emperor, in whose favour his 
 elder brother, Isaac, had generously allowed him- 
 self to be passed over, and, arming themselves, had 
 
 ee 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 moved upon the capital. Meanwhile the weak Bo- 
 toniates abandoned himself to his fate, hesitating 
 and taking no useful steps; he seems from the out- 
 set to have given up hope. A mercenary opened 
 one of the gates of the city to the rebels. But the 
 end was not yet. Fighting went on in the streets, 
 and Constantinople learnt all the horrors of cap- 
 ture. Perhaps if Botoniates, in the midst of this 
 disorganised strife, had taken some vigorous measures, 
 he might have won; but either he would not, or he 
 dared not. The defection of the fleet finally brought 
 about his downfall. To put an end to useless blood- 
 shed the Basileus, on the Patriarch’s advice, decided 
 to abdicate. He entered a monastery, saying merely: 
 “The nuisance is that I shall not be able to eat meat. 
 Otherwise, I don’t mind in the slightest.” 
 
 V 
 
 Anna Dalassena could be happy, for her son was 
 Emperor. And as it was she who had prepared 
 his way to the throne, so her influence was prepon- 
 derant at the beginning of the new dynasty. Alexius 
 Comnenus had family feeling to a high degree. His 
 first act on attaining supreme power was to load all 
 his relatives with honours. For his brothers and 
 brothers-in-law he created new and high-sounding 
 dignities and distributed amongst them the greatest 
 offices of State. For his mother he did even more. 
 From his youth up he had entertained profound 
 respect for her, and had been in the habit of follow- 
 ing her advice in everything; on becoming Emperor 
 he still desired her counsel. Therefore he bestowed 
 
 [320 (J 
 
ANNA DALASSENA 
 
 on her the title of Empress, kept her thoroughly 
 ‘nformed, and turned to her on all occasions. To 
 satisfy her piety he imposed a forty days’ penance 
 upon himself and upon all his relatives, in expiation 
 of the sack of the capital. To please her he very 
 nearly took a far more serious decision: he con- 
 templated a divorce. 
 
 Despite the downfall of Nicephorus Botoniates, 
 the Empress Mary had remained in the Sacred Palace 
 with her son Constantine, and this favourable treat- 
 ment caused a great deal of comment in Constan- 
 tinople. It seemed to confirm the rumours that had 
 long been afloat concerning the intimacy of the rela- 
 tions between her and Alexius; above all it con- 
 trasted strangely with the manner in which the 
 Basileus was then behaving towards his lawful wife. 
 Whereas the new sovereign, with his mother and all 
 his relatives, had taken up his residence in the Upper 
 Palace of the Bucoleon, Irene with her mother, her 
 sisters, and her grandfather, had been assigned to 
 the Lower Palace, as if to make a distinction between 
 the two families and prepare the way for a rupture. 
 At court and in town gossip was rife, and many were 
 uneasy. Everyone was aware that Anna Dalassena 
 hated the Ducae, and that she had never in her heart 
 approved of her son’s marriage with Irene. And, as 
 it was evident that she exercised an all-powerful 
 influence over Alexius and that the Emperor did not 
 disguise his estrangement from his wife, it was soon 
 rumoured that an imperial divorce was imminent and 
 that Anna Dalassena was urging it with all her might 
 andmain. It is certain that the Empress-mother was 
 intriguing with the Patriarch Cosmas, and trying to 
 
 Egle] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 get him to take sides against her daughter-in-law; 
 and it is also certain that on finding him obstinately 
 faithful to the Ducae she considered removing him 
 and putting a more accommodating prelate in his 
 place. One last incident troubled many people’s 
 minds. Alexius had himself crowned alone, without 
 associating Irene with him. All this seemed very 
 significant, and the Ducae were greatly worried. 
 
 As a matter of fact, Alexius Comnenus was con- 
 siderably embarrassed between the three women. 
 Mary of Alania pleased him immensely; he had 
 never loved Irene and had married her solely from 
 political considerations; and his personal feelings 
 fitted in only too well with the advice given him by 
 his imperious mother, whom for many years he had 
 been in the habit of obeying. But there lay great 
 danger in antagonising the Ducae. Their adherents 
 were numerous, and they maintained that in the 
 coup d élat they had worked far more for Irene’s sake 
 than for Alexius’s. Cosmas, the Patriarch, expressed 
 himself in no less energetic terms: ‘‘I shall not 
 descend from the Patriarchal throne until these hands 
 of mine have crowned Irene.” Here again Alexius 
 demonstrated the superiority of his political genius: 
 he overcame his personal inclinations and brought 
 his mother to reason, and before his strong will and 
 shrewd common sense everyone finally gave way. 
 The Ducae were given the satisfaction which guaran- 
 teed their support; and seven days after her husband 
 Irene was crowned Basilissa of the Romans. 
 
 It was the end of all Mary of Alania’s hopes; sie 
 retired to the Palace of Mangana after formally pro- 
 claiming the rights of her son Constantine to the 
 
 o22- | 
 
ANNA DALASSENA 
 
 throne. It was also a disappointment and a check 
 to Anna Dalassena. Her son consoled her by the 
 gift of full power in lieu of revenge. He satisfied 
 her by disgracing the Patriarch who had permitted 
 himself to withstand her; and in the government her 
 power increased day by,day. When in the month 
 of August, 1081, he was obliged to leave Constan- 
 tinople to go to Illyria and fight the Normans under 
 Robert Guiscard, he issued a golden bull investing 
 her with absolute power during his absence. 
 
 Anna Comnena has preserved the text of this pre- 
 cious document for us; there exists no more striking 
 proof of Alexius’s gratitude towards his mother or of 
 her great influence over him. After calling to mind, 
 in phrases I have already quoted, all that he owed 
 her, the Emperor goes on to entrust “to his sainted 
 and revered mother” the care of the entire admin- 
 istration of the Empire: justice, finance, the govern- 
 ment of the provinces, nomination to every office 
 and to every dignity, all are under her control and 
 subject to her approval. ‘‘Whatever she may de- 
 cree,” says the Emperor, “‘whether in writing or by 
 word of mouth, is to be considered final.’’ She had 
 her own seal, which has been preserved, whereon we 
 read: ‘‘Lord, protect Anna I, Dalassena, the mother 
 of the Basileus.” And such was her authority that, 
 according to Anna Comnena, “‘the Emperor ap- 
 peared to be giving up the reins of power and to be 
 running, as it were, by the side of the imperial 
 chariot in which she was seated, contenting himself 
 with the mere title of Basileus.” The Princess shews 
 respectful astonishment at the importance and influ- 
 ence of the Gynaeceum in the State: “She gave 
 
 325 J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 orders, and her son obeyed like a slave. He had the 
 trappings of power, but she the substance.” 
 
 For Anna Dalassena it was a splendid revenge for 
 the cruel deception she had suffered in 1059. She 
 had dreamt then of becoming Empress, and now 
 her dreams had come true. For some twenty years 
 her son permitted her to rule the Empire jointly 
 with him; and in justice to her it must be admitted 
 that she governed well. She brought order into the 
 government, and followed and regulated in detail the 
 most insignificant matters. She reformed the lax 
 morality of the Sacred Palace and made it as austere 
 and decorous as a monastery. Thenceforth in the 
 imperial dwelling a rigid programme determined the 
 hours of meals and of services, and all were obliged 
 to conform. She herself set the example. Anna 
 Comnena has left an account of her grandmother’s 
 daily routine. Part of her nights she spent in prayer; 
 the morning was given up to audiences and to the 
 signing of dispatches; in the afternoon she followed 
 the Divine Office in the chapel of St. Thecla, after 
 which, until evening, she devoted herself once more 
 to public affairs. 
 
 Throughout it all she was guided by one thought 
 alone. Being absolutely devoted to her son, she 
 worked only for the glory and prosperity of his 
 reign; but as in growing older she became more im- 
 perious and stubborn than ever, in the end her 
 tutelage became too burdensome, and Alexius seems 
 more than once to have been irritated by it. Further- 
 more she was too severe not to have soon become 
 extremely unpopular. The aged Princess had the 
 sense to realise from these symptoms that her influ- 
 
 [ 324 J 
 
ANNA DALASSENA 
 
 ence was nearing its end. She did not wait to be 
 thrust aside, but towards the year 1100 retired volun- 
 tarily to the convent of the Pantepoptes. There 
 about the year 1105, she died, leaving to all wath 
 whom she had come in contact the memory of 
 an extraordinary woman, and to her sons that of an 
 excellent mother. 
 
 [ 325 7] 
 
XI 
 THE WISDOM OF CECAUMENUS! 
 
 ANY years ago, in the second half of the 
 eleventh century, there lived in a remote 
 part of the Byzantine Empire a great 
 
 feudal noble. His name was Cecaumenus, or ‘“The 
 Burnt One,” and he doubtless derived this name 
 from some swarthy Asiatic ancestor. At all events, 
 he was well-born and well-connected, and was not 
 without importance in the aristocracy of the Empire. 
 Before retiring to his native Thessaly he had lived 
 in the great world; he had served in the army, had 
 been often at court, and during his long life had had 
 many experiences which had left him somewhat of 
 a misanthrope and even more of a misogynist. But 
 his chief interest lies in the fact that all his life long 
 he remained fundamentally and ineradicably pro- 
 vincial. The pleasures of society, the sophisticated 
 refinements of the capital, the political intrigues and 
 the love-affairs which were the chief pastime of the 
 imperial court, terrified rather than attracted him; 
 and when, having returned to his beloved province 
 
 1 This essay was first printed as a pamphlet, entitled Un Précurseur de 
 La Rochefoucauld a Byzance, at the press of Firmin-Didot et Ci®., in 1912. 
 It was republished with some alterations as Chapter VIII of Dans orient 
 byzantin (E. de Boccard, 1917). I am indebted to Mr. de Boccard for 
 permission to include it in the present volume, and to Mr. Diehl for allow- 
 ing me to translate the text of the earlier version, with some slight modifi- 
 cations. H. B. 
 
 [ 326 |] 
 
WISDOM OF CECAUMENUS 
 
 and settled down to the management of his estates, 
 he looked back upon the adventures and memories 
 of his younger days, his congenital provincialism 
 oozed from him at every pore. The lessons that life 
 had taught him crystallised into sententious maxims, 
 prosy rules of conduct, homely advice backed up by 
 anecdotes — all of which he distributed freely to his 
 household; and I should imagine that in domestic 
 life those who were privileged to see him every day 
 must have found this excellent man, with his heavy 
 good sense, his mediocre mental training, and his 
 endless stories and untiring advice totally devoid of all 
 idealism, at times rather insufferable. 
 
 We, who know him less intimately, find him more 
 amusing. It so happens that he wrote for his chil- 
 dren a curious little book that has been preserved, in 
 which he sums up all his wisdom and all that he 
 has learnt from experience. It contains advice for 
 every contingency: on morals and on manners, on 
 the administration of property and on the direction 
 of a career, on domestic economy and on social rela- 
 tions. And as this disillusioned, distrustful, sceptical 
 nobleman often displays both humour and the comic 
 spirit, his book casts some unexpected light upon an 
 entire phase of a vanished society. Furthermore, 
 though he in no way prides himself on any literary 
 skill, though he even affects contempt for well- 
 rounded periods, which, he says, “‘have no merit,” 
 though he boasts complacently of his rusticity and 
 his ignorance, the author of this veracious and sincere 
 little book (“‘I have set down nothing in these pages”’ 
 he says somewhere, “‘but the truth — things that I 
 myself have done and seen and learnt’’) is not with- 
 
 O20 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 out some points of resemblance to our own La Roche- 
 foucauld. His maxims are, as it were, in the manner 
 of La Rochefoucauld, only less finished — an oriental 
 La Rochefoucauld, feudalised and in the Byzantine 
 style. 
 
 I 
 
 “Do not decline public office; such positions are 
 the gift of God. But do not forget that your house 
 awaits you when business is over, and that there alone 
 you will find peace.”’ Our man, as we see, has not 
 an unmixed respect for the beauties of the adminis- 
 tration. Although he admits that one must serve 
 the State, he does so from a sense of duty and with- 
 out excessive enthusiasm. Also, he discriminates 
 carefully. To him the Exchequer as a career is 
 not worth mentioning: it brings one nothing but 
 boredom and the danger of ruin. The Bench and 
 the Civil Services are no less perilous; for those 
 engaged in them are constantly confronted with a 
 difficult problem: from whom is it permissible and 
 necessary to accept money, and to what amount? 
 (Bakhshish in the Orient, we see, is as old as the 
 hills.) Here, with his usual prudence, our author 
 lays down some curious distinctions. If the money 
 comes from an adversary, it may be accepted without 
 qualms, for it has not been given out of love for the 
 recipient. But if you have done a favour to anyone, 
 and he suddenly brings you a present, it is a different 
 matter. ‘“‘Accept it,” says Cecaumenus, “‘for by 
 refusing you would offend him. But if the gift is 
 large, do not take it all; keep only half of it.” In 
 general, the wisest course for an official is to accept 
 
 [328 J 
 
WISDOM OF CECAUMENUS 
 
 nothing whatever; first, because it is immoral, but 
 chiefly because it is dangerous. In his heart of hearts, 
 he feels that there is only one decent career open to a 
 decent man — namely, thearmy ... His was indeed 
 a feudal soul. 
 
 But it is the court, above all, that terrifies this 
 provincial gentleman. The apartments of the Im- 
 perial Palace are exceeding slippery ground. ‘“‘If you 
 serve the Emperor,” says he, ““be very careful; keep 
 the vision of your downfall ever before your eyes — 
 you cannot know all the plots that are woven be- 
 hind your back.’”’ In these circumstances, the utmost 
 prudence must govern one’s every move. One must 
 keep a guard upon one’s tongue, especially if the 
 conversation is about the Emperor or the Empress. 
 As far as possible, dining out should be avoided, 
 even at the risk of being thought unsociable; for, 
 besides the frivolity and the vain babble of social 
 gatherings, there is always the risk, in the contagious 
 warmth of the banquet, of wrecking one’s career by 
 a single word. In short, one must consider every 
 step, remembering that things seemingly of the least 
 importance may be the source of serious annoyance; 
 above all, one must be prudent in dealing with 
 ladies of rank, and not be taken in by their decep- 
 tive advances. ‘‘As regards the Empress, respect her 
 as your sovereign, as a mother, as a sister; and if 
 she seeks . . . to descend to your level, escape, re- 
 tire; never speak to her save with lowered eyes.” 
 It is evident that our author has known the times 
 when Zoé Porphyrogenita, of scandalous memory, 
 made town and court hum with her notorious adven- 
 tures, and was an adept in raising by her graciousness 
 
 E329] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 and cordiality the most obstinately lowered eyes to 
 the contemplation of her charms. 
 
 Cecaumenus’s political wisdom may be summed 
 up in a few very simple maxims: Serve the Prince 
 faithfully and loyally, as a good vassal should. In 
 the event of rebellion, espouse the cause of the law- 
 ful Emperor, at least as much from prudence as from 
 fidelity: ‘‘for he who reigns in Constantinople” says 
 he, “invariably wins in the end.” There are such 
 folk who are always on the side of the government. 
 But when all is said, it is wisest to live as far as 
 possible from the capital and the court. “If you 
 should feel a desire’”’ says he, “to worship the Im- 
 perial Majesty, to prostrate yourself in the holy 
 churches, or to admire the beautiful ordering of the 
 City and of the Palace, go once, but go no more.” 
 It is better to live independent and respected upon 
 one’s estates than to expose oneself to humiliation 
 and calumny in the imperial household. And in 
 this connexion our author tells an amusing anecdote. 
 
 An Arab Emir of the Syrian frontier came to pay 
 a visit to the Roman Emperor. Having been very 
 well received the first time and showered with gifts 
 and honours, he was foolish enough to return. This 
 time he was treated very badly, and kept in Con- 
 stantinople for two whole years in a sort of quasi- 
 captivity. Atlast he wasreleased. After crossing the 
 frontier, he gathered all his people together, and, put- 
 ting both hands to his head, asked them: ‘‘What is 
 this?”’ ““Your head, Lord!” they answered, laughing. 
 ““God be praised,” replied the Emir, “that I have 
 crossed the passes with my head on my shoulders, 
 and am come again into my good land of Arabia!” 
 
 L350] 
 
WISDOM OF CECAUMENUS 
 
 It is better to live on one’s estates and keep one’s 
 head on one’s shoulders, it is better to live in the 
 provinces and “‘cultivate one’s garden”, as says 
 Candide, than to associate with the intriguing court- 
 iers, the fair temptresses, the proud prelates, and 
 the conceited philosophers whom one meets in the 
 over-civilised, over-refined, over-educated, over- 
 corrupt court circles of Byzantium. And the maxims 
 that Cecaumenus lays down for the ordering of his 
 beloved provincial rustic life are not the least de- 
 
 lightful in his little book. 
 Il 
 
 “There is no better occupation” says Cecau- 
 menus, “than farming. Grow corn and vines, be 
 a husbandman and a cattle-breeder, and you will be 
 happy.” Some may perhaps regard this as an ele- 
 mentary form of happiness; but Cecaumenus found 
 it sufficient for his needs, and appreciated it the more 
 because it was lucrative. 
 
 For in such a life, according to this country gentle- 
 man, the money question is of perhaps even more 
 essential importance than in the affairs of the govern- 
 ment. Doubtless it is right and praiseworthy to be 
 pious and charitable, and not permit one’s neigh- 
 bours to be interfered with; somewhere in his book 
 is the following strongly-worded maxim: ‘Whoever 
 sees injustice committed and does not protest is 
 truly a devil.” But such outbursts are rare. His 
 constant prudence leads him to avoid getting into 
 difficulties, and to keep on the right side of his power- 
 ful neighbours by means of timely gifts. The righting 
 of wrongs has but little attraction for his unchiv- 
 
 [Son] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 alric nature; he resembles Sancho Panza rather than 
 Don Quixote. 
 
 But the chief effect of his practical good sense 
 is to render him economical, and careful of his re- 
 sources. Borrowing is to him a very disagreeable 
 business, owing alike to the trouble it entails and 
 to the refusals to which it is exposed; but lending 
 he considers far worse, and he adopts an amusing 
 method of putting his family on their guard against 
 the importunities of beggars. ‘“‘Beware’’ says he, 
 ““of cunning folk who try” (here I must beg to be 
 excused for using a slang expression; but it renders 
 the Greek to perfection) ‘to ‘touch’ you for money. 
 Heed what I say. When a man thinks he can bor- 
 row from you he will not ask outright for the money. 
 He will send you some dainties, hares, partridges, 
 fish, and other delicacies; then he will invite you 
 two or three times to dinner, telling you that he 
 esteems you highly. At last, one fine day, he will 
 shew you a large sum of money — which, as a matter 
 of fact, will have been borrowed from another — 
 and will say: ‘I had intended to use this money 
 after such and such a manner; but the amount is 
 not sufficient, and I need so much’ (naming, of 
 course, the sum he fancies you have available). ‘If 
 you love me, lend it me, so that I may proceed with 
 the matter. I will repay you to-morrow or at the 
 end of the week, with a handsome present into the 
 bargain.’ Or it may be another story, such as: ‘I 
 have the necessary money; but the key of the 
 strong-box has been mislaid’; or perhaps this: ‘A 
 friend asked me for some money, and now I myself 
 am in need.’ And having cajoled you by these 
 
 [ 3327 
 
WISDOM OF CECAUMENUS 
 
 smooth words, he will borrow a large sum of you. 
 And while you are thinking only of the dainties you 
 have received, and the good dinners to which he has 
 invited you, and more of which you hope to enjoy, 
 he, having gained his ends, will laugh in his sleeve, 
 saying to himself: ‘Blessed be the hares and other 
 gifts that I have sent him, and those good dinners 
 that have fetched me so much gold.’ And soon he 
 will begin to keep away from you, will not answer 
 your letters, and will make excuses to escape from 
 you, and if you press him will say to you at last: 
 ‘Are you not ashamed to press me so for those 
 badly alloyed and counterfeit coins? If I had known 
 you were that kind of man I should never have 
 accepted anything from you.’”” Moral: Kindness 
 is a dangerous virtue; confidence, useless ingenuous- 
 ness; and the wise man, desirous of peace, should 
 be constantly on his guard, and most of all against 
 his friends. 
 
 “What men call friendship” says La Rochefou- 
 cauld, ‘‘is but a partnership, an interplay of interests, 
 an exchange of favours.” And elsewhere he says: 
 “Most friends disgust one with friendship.” Cecau- 
 menus is of much the same opinion. ‘‘Beware of 
 your friends” says he, “far more than of your 
 enemies.” Elsewhere we read: ““Many men have 
 rumed themselves through friendship, losing not 
 only their bodies and their goods, but often their 
 very souls.”” Consequently the wise man will have 
 no friends. ‘‘I am willing” says the author, ‘‘that 
 you should love all men; but tell none your secrets, 
 for that is most dangerous. From the day that you 
 tell your secrets to any man you become his slave, 
 
 Looe J 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 and he can do you whatever mischief he chooses, 
 while you dare not reply. Why, therefore, should 
 you of your own will surrender your liberty?”’ Above 
 all, have no intimate friends — they are never sure, 
 and are often troublesome or imprudent —, and on 
 no account admit them into your home. ‘“‘If” says 
 Cecaumenus, “‘a passing friend happens along, give 
 him lodging anywhere you choose except in your 
 own house. If you bring him there, your wife, your 
 daughters, and your daughters-in-law, can no longer 
 go forth at will from their apartments and attend 
 to their household duties. Or, if they are obliged 
 to appear, your friend will stare at them, and, while 
 pretending to lower his eyes, will study their appear- 
 ance, their clothes, and their faces, and, in short, 
 will examine them from head to foot. Need I con- 
 tinue? If he gets the chance, he will make love to 
 your wife, pursue her with his insolent looks, and 
 do his best to seduce her, or at least will boast of 
 having done so.” 
 
 Here we tread on very delicate ground. Although 
 sceptical in regard to friendship, he is more so in 
 regard to feminine virtue. I do not know whether 
 he, like La Rochefoucauld, ever had dealings with 
 such a woman as M™: de Longueville; but, at all 
 events, he held very decided opinions on women, 
 love, and marriage. In his eyes woman is a most 
 formidable creature. ‘“‘It is dangerous” says he, 
 “‘to be on bad terms with women, and more danger- 
 ous still to be their friend; either condition is fraught 
 with much vexation.” In another place we read: 
 ‘‘Be very careful when you are talking with a woman, 
 particularly if she is pretty. Do not be too intimate 
 
 [, 334 (J 
 
WISDOM OF CECAUMENUS 
 
 with her, for you will not escape her wiles. Soon 
 your eyes will gleam, your heart will beat faster, and 
 you will no longer be master of yourself. You will 
 have to fight three adversaries at once: the Devil, 
 the lady’s words and comeliness, and Nature. And 
 Nature is not easily defeated.” 
 
 So much for women in general; his distrust of his 
 own wife in particular may be imagined. To be sure, 
 he says somewhere: “‘Who loses his wife loses half 
 his life, if she has been a good one.”” But he probably 
 thought, like La Rochefoucauld, that, though there 
 may be good marriages, there is nothing attractive 
 in wedlock, and he does not recommend anyone to 
 try it a second time. In his opinion one is never 
 entirely easy in mind with a wife, and she needs to 
 be constantly watched. For one’s friends to see her 
 is not prudent, nor is she wholly safe even with serv- 
 ants; and he ends by saying: “Keep your wife and 
 daughters under lock and key like guilty folk, so 
 that you may not fall a victim to the wiles of the 
 serpent.” And from the storehouse of his experience 
 Cecaumenus draws a very timely anecdote to point 
 his moral. 
 
 A great personage in Constantinople had a charm- 
 ing and pretty wife, fair to look upon, even fairer 
 of character, and intelligent, well-educated, and vir- 
 tuous. The Emperor made love to her; being unsuc- 
 cessful, he conceived the idea of sending her husband 
 away in an official capacity to a distant province; 
 the lady still resisted him. On her husband’s return 
 to the capital at the end of three years’ absence she 
 had not yielded. But at this pomt a young man 
 appeared on the scene; introducing himself as a 
 
 [ 335 7] 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 relative of the wife’s, he soon became a friend of the 
 husband’s and had the run of the house... ‘‘And” 
 adds our author, sententiously, ‘‘what the Emperor, 
 with all his promises of money and position had been 
 unable to obtain, friendship succeeded in accomplish- 
 ing.” Of course, such affairs were rare in Cecau- 
 menus’s quiet province, and the freer customs of 
 Constantinople had not penetrated at all into those 
 decorous households, whose Christian gynaeceums 
 had much in common with Mohammedan harems. 
 A prudent man, however, regards no precautions as 
 useless. And I should imagine that with a lord and 
 master who kept them so firmly cloistered and never 
 left them, Cecaumenus’s wife and daughters must 
 have had but few amusements in the empty idleness 
 of provincial life. Moreover, if we are to judge by 
 what we know of the education of Byzantine women, 
 they could hardly have had many resources within 
 themselves to occupy their time. 
 
 Cecaumenus, like the good provincial he was, had 
 many other prejudices. He had no love for phy- 
 sicians, and censures them amusingly; and like Cato, 
 whom he resembles in several respects, he had a 
 whole collection of old wives’ remedies, which were 
 more reliable and less expensive. He disliked play- 
 actors, flatterers, parasites, and, in short, all people 
 whom he deemed useless; and his universal dis- 
 trustfulness is well summed up in this maxim of 
 disillusion: ‘Human nature is fickle and changeable, 
 and slides easily from good to evil.” 
 
 The wisdom of this old Byzantine is not very 
 inviting, as we can see; and our great provincial 
 
 [ 336 J 
 
WISDOM OF CECAUMENUS 
 
 landholder — economical, circumspect, shrewd, and 
 sceptical as he was — has nothing of the hero of 
 romance or of the knight-errant in his composition. 
 But such as he is, he is of interest, both from what 
 he teaches us of the vanished world in which he 
 lived, and from the greater knowledge we gain 
 through him of the nature and character of his con- 
 temporaries. 
 
 Nowadays, when the word Byzantium is men- 
 tioned, we think instinctively of marvellous splen- 
 dour, of extraordinary refinement, and we conjure up, 
 in a setting of magical loveliness, scenes of unheard-of 
 cruelty and excessive corruption and baseness; we 
 think of palace intrigues, street riots, barrack revo- 
 lutions, and of theological quarrels, and subtle here- 
 sies that are meaningless to our lucid Latin minds. 
 We conceive a Byzantium splendid and corrupt, for 
 ever oscillating between two poles, a revolution and a 
 council. 
 
 But side by side with the Byzantium of our imag- 
 inings there is another that is hardly suspected, but 
 which we must learn of if we would understand how 
 the Empire contrived to exist for so many centuries, 
 not ingloriously. Over against the capital are the 
 provinces. Over against the rottenness of court life 
 are the provincials with their rough, solid virtues — 
 less refined, less elegant, perhaps, but at the same 
 time less corrupt. Over against the paltry minds 
 of courtiers and traitors are the earnest, sober middle 
 classes, the old provincial nobility — countrified, 
 brave, and warlike —, and the sturdy peasantry. 
 From their ranks the administration is recruited, 
 the framework of the edifice of Empire. They com- 
 
 F337 ‘| 
 
BYZANTINE PORTRAITS 
 
 posed the army that again and again carried the 
 imperial standards to victory over all the East. We 
 are granted, it is true, but very few glimpses of this 
 other Byzantium; the obscure lives of those who 
 constituted it come only too seldom into the full 
 light of history. Nevertheless, it did exist; and it 
 served as an inexhaustible reservoir of strength for 
 the preservation and glory of the Byzantine Empire, 
 and of Constantinople, its dazzling crown. The 
 Byzantine epic rightly honours those great feudal 
 barons who, on distant frontiers —in the Taurus, 
 or on the banks of the Euphrates — waged untiringly 
 for centuries fierce war against the infidel. Cecau- 
 menus’s prosaic wisdom shews them in a different 
 light, as they actually were, less knightly perhaps, 
 but no less interesting, and much truer to life. 
 
 Distant and forgotten as all these things may 
 seem, they have more vitality in them than we might 
 at first imagine. In the sanguinary events that every 
 century — our own among them — has witnessed in 
 the Balkan peninsula, Byzantium is ever the ultimate 
 goal, and her mighty influence dominates the strenu- 
 ous rivalry of those who proclaim themselves her 
 avengers or her heirs. Around St. Sophia’s Byzantine 
 dome whirls a multitude of high hopes and splendid 
 dreams. For all the ambitions that centre on the 
 Bosphorus Byzantine history provides the sanctions. 
 And therefore this dead history comes unexpectedly 
 to take its place among the realities of today; for it 
 bears within itself some of those dominant ideas that 
 often give the impetus to great events. 
 
 [ 338 J 
 
THE 
 SACRED PALACE 
 
THE PLAN OF THE SACRED PALACE 
 
 The Plan of the Sacred Palace is from Jean Ebersolt: Le Grand Palais 
 de Constantinople et le livre des Cérémontes (Ernest Leroux, 1910). The 
 Translator and the Publisher are very grateful to M*. Leroux for per- 
 mission to reproduce it. 
 
 It should be observed that this plan is based entirely upon literary 
 evidence. Mr. Ebersolt’s chief source is the Ceremonies, edited by Con- 
 stantine VII, a compilation of minute accounts, from widely varying periods, 
 of the official ritual that enveloped the daily life of the Emperor and his 
 court. By determining so far as possible the chronological sequence of 
 these texts M*. Ebersolt has been able to draw up a plan which is doubt- 
 less, as he himself points out, only tentative. But as excavation is out of 
 the question, since a large part of the site is occupied by the vast Mosque 
 of Sultan Ahmed and its dependencies, his reconstruction is likely to hold 
 the field for many years to come. 
 
 In the accompanying Key the names of buildings, apartments, etc., 
 to which reference is made in Byzantine Portraits, are printed in italic. 
 
 H.B 
 KEY 
 1 dugustaeum 13 Triclinium of the Candidati 
 2 Golden Milestone 14 Oaton (Trullus) 
 3 Baths of Zeuxippus a. Sacella 
 4 Numera 15 Consistory 
 5 Senate-house 8. Lesser Consistory 
 6 Palace of Magnaura 16 Triclinium of the Nineteen 
 7 Chalce Couches 
 8 Quarters of the Scholarian 17 Church of Our Lord 
 Guards: 18 Onopodion 
 I-VII Barracks 19 Palace of Daphne: 
 VIII Stables for mules a) Triclinium of the Augustaeum 
 IX Triclinium of theScholae 6) Octagon 
 X Church of the Holy Apos- c) Winding staircase 
 Hes d) Church of St. Stephen 
 9 Gate of the Excubitors e) Oratories 
 10 Tribunal Jf) Gallery 
 11 Lychni 20 Stables 
 12 Triclinium of the Excubitors 21 Scyla 
 
 [ 341] 
 
PLAN OF THE SACRED PALACE 
 
 Gallery of Justinian II 
 
 23 Gallery of Marcian 
 
 Church of St. Peter and Oratory 
 of the Archistrategus 
 
 Church of the Virgin 
 
 Oratory of SS. Paul and Barbara 
 
 Pentacubiculum of St. Paul 
 
 Apse 
 
 Baths and Building erected by 
 Theoctistus 
 
 Thermastra 
 
 31 Passages adjoining the Church 
 of Our Lord 
 
 Triconchus: 
 
 Sigma 
 
 Phiale 
 
 Pyxitis and Triclinium 
 
 Pavilion of Love 
 
 Carian Pavilion 
 
 Pearl Pavilion 
 
 Pavilion of Camilas 
 
 Second Cubiculum 
 
 Pavilion of Harmony 
 
 Fourth Cubiculum 
 
 Empress’s Bedchamber 
 
 Buildings adjoining K 
 
 Triclintum with four rooms 
 
 Gallery of Lausiacus 
 
 Passages of the Forty Saints 
 
 NE GK ROSE EOWA 
 
 35 Golden Triclinium 
 
 I Tripeton 
 
 II Diaetarikion 
 
 III Pantheon 
 
 IV Phylax 
 
 V Oratory of St. Theodore 
 
 Empress’'s Apartments 
 
 Emperor's Apartments 
 
 Dining-room 
 
 New Palace of Basil I 
 X Gallery 
 
 Terrace 
 
 Church of St. Demetrius 
 
 Church of the Virgin by the 
 Lighthouse 
 
 Church of St. Elias 
 
 Oratory of St. Clement 
 
 Oratory of the Saviour 
 
 Lighthouse 
 
 Gallery connecting Lighthouse 
 with New Church 
 
 New Church 
 
 Palace Hippodrome 
 
 Treasury of New Church 
 
 Administration of New Church 
 
 Treasury 
 
 Wardrobe 
 
 Oratory of St. John Evangelist 
 
 Pavilion of the Eagle and Ora- 
 tory of the Virgin 
 
 Pyramidal Apartments and 
 Oratory of the Virgin 
 Baths 
 
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