THE PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES OF THE EMPRESS ZOE

157. When she had grown old, she was somewhat lacking in stability. I do not wish to convey the impression that she was deranged or out of her right mind, but she was absolutely ignorant of public affairs and her judgment was completely warped by the vulgar extravagance that prevailed in the palace. Whatever intellectual advantages she may have enjoyed in the past, her character certainly did not suffer her to preserve even them free from insincerity, for a perverse delight in displaying her knowledge showed her [179] for what she was — not intellectually honest, but lacking in taste. We will not speak of her reverence for God: I cannot find fault with immoderation in that. Surely nobody could surpass her in that good quality, for she depended wholly on God, ascribed all events to His influence, thought all things were brought about by Him. I have duly commended her for this earlier in my history. For the rest, she was characterized not only by tenderness and laxity, but also by extreme harshness and tension, and these two aspects would interchange for no reason at all in a single moment. She could be both things to the same person. For instance, if one saw her unexpectedly and made pretend to fall down as if struck by lightning (many played this trick on her), he was at once presented with chains of gold, but if he expressed his gratitude with too much effusion, he would promptly find himself in chains of iron. Again, perceiving that her father was somewhat indiscriminate in the infliction of blinding as a punishment, one had but to commit the slightest error, and she would put him to a similar torture, without any hesitation. Had not the emperor frowned on this, many a man would have lost his eyes for no reason at all.

158. She was the most generous of women, and this virtue of generosity, which in her case knew no bounds, led her to pour out all her wealth regardless of all economy. With one hand she would pay out the money, and at the same time raise the other in supplication to God for blessings on the head of her beneficiary. Any enthusiastic account of the glorious deeds of her family, especially those of her uncle Basil, filled her with delight: the effect on her spirits was instantaneous. Although she had already passed her seventieth year, there was not a wrinkle on her face. She was just as fresh as she had been in the prime of her beauty. It must be admitted, though, that her hands were unsteady. She was subject to tremors too, and her back was bent. As for ornaments about her person, she absolutely despised them: she wore neither cloth of gold, nor diadems, nor beautiful things about her neck. Her garments were not of the heavy sort: in fact, she clothed herself in a thin dress.

159. She left the administration of the Empire entirely in the hands of Constantine, preferring to be relieved of all responsibilities in that direction. Nor was she interested in the things that appeal to women — looms, distaffs, wool, or weaving. One thing above all claimed her attentions and on this she expended all her enthusiasm — the offering [180] of sacrifices to God. I am not referring so much to the sacrifice of praise, or of thanksgiving, or of penitence, but to the offering of spices and sweet herbs, the products of India and Egypt.

160. As her life drew to its appointed close, when she was on the point of dying, slight changes made their appearance in her normal state of health, signs that the end was near. She lost her appetite and as the lack of nourishment made itself felt more and more, she caught a fever, which proved fatal. It was obvious from the pining away of her body — one might almost say its decay — that death was at hand. Her first thought was for those in prison. Debts were remitted, and an amnesty granted to condemned criminals. She opened up the imperial treasury and allowed the gold kept there to pour forth like a river. So the gold was squandered with all the uncontrolled profusion of a flood, and Zoe, after a short and painful illness, but little change in her outward appearance, departed this life at the age of seventy-two.**135

161. Having completed my account of the empress, I will return to Constantine. First, however, I have this observation to make. It was not my desire to write a history, or to acquire a reputation for veracity in that sphere. What I wanted to do was to compose a panegyric in honour of this ruler. Certainly I should have been able to contribute a host of compliments to my eulogy, for he afforded abundant justification for them. The encomiast, you see, passes over all that is unworthy in his hero, and concentrates on his nobler deeds. Where the bad deeds are in the majority, the orator needs to find only one incident where his subject conducted himself in a noble fashion, and he will produce a passable eulogy. By clever handling even mean exploits can be misinterpreted so as to become an excuse for praise. But the man who writes a history is like a judge, no respecter of persons and incorruptible. In his description of events he is biassed in favour of neither side, but adepts in his account a policy of strict impartiality. He brings forward no subtle arguments on behalf of the good, or of the bad, but purely and simply tells what happened. Where two persons are involved in the history, and of them one (a virtuous man) had previously treated the author with boundless contempt, while the other (a man of quite a different stamp) used to confer on him certain favours, the historian will not be influenced by the behaviour of either man towards himself, and each will be represented in his true character. Suppose the historian [181] were allowed to return favour for favour, in the case of someone who had been friendly to him in the past, and suppose he were granted the privilege of perverting the truth for that purpose, all because of some act of friendship or generosity, is there any man more entitled than I to eulogize this particular emperor in his writings? Indeed, Constantine never set eyes on me before he ascended his throne, and yet once he had seen me, he was so charmed with my eloquence that he seemed to 'hang on my lips by his ears', as the proverb says.

162. My difficulty is this — how am I to preserve the true story, and at the same time give him the credit that he deserves? If I am unduly particular in writing a true history, at least I preserve his great reputation in one respect, for when I make a thorough and candid examination of his career, even where his actions are apparently bad, if we still see the light of virtue shining through his good deeds, and if we find the good scale on the balance, carrying a fairly heavy weight of good deeds, outweighs the bad, then, surely, Constantine will be considered a greater man than all those emperors whose panegyrics appear to be suspects plausible rather than true. Was there ever a man (here I am trying to justify his mistakes), above all, was there ever an emperor, who won the crown of praise for all his deeds, without exception?

163. When we look at the great leaders of men, persons renowned for their characters and their words and deeds, men such as Alexander the Macedonian, the two Caesars,**136 Pyrrhus of Epirus, Epaminondas the Theban, Agesilaus the Spartan, not to speak of others who won brief commendation from their admirers, when we look at these men, we do not find in their lives an equal balance of virtue and vice, as we know from their biographers, but generally they incline somewhat to the worse. What then can one say of those who imitated them, if they seemed inferior to them in some small degree — I do not mean in all aspects of virtue, but in those where these great men have succeeded above all others?

164. When therefore I compare this very great emperor with them, I am aware that he is their inferior in bravery, but he is a finer man than they when one considers the other good qualities — and his superiority here is just as marked as theirs in the first case, where he had to yield them the palm. He was impetuous by nature, gifted with remarkable shrewdness and a most retentive memory, but he exercised such control over this lively temperament that he, more [182] than all the others, seems to have been endowed with kindliness. I was not deceived by appearances myself, though, and I knew that he had a temper, and that he held it in check, as a charioteer holds back a spirited horse. So, when the blood rushed to his face and his body was suddenly moved with anger, he would calm down more quickly still, and give way at once to reason. If, by any chance, in the course of his duties as emperor, he spoke rather sharply or threatened anyone with punishment, he would blush immediately afterwards, as if he revere ashamed of uttering words which were, to him, unusual.

165. When he acted as judge, it was impossible for an onlooker to distinguish either the successful litigant, or the defeated party, by their behaviour after he had given the verdict. To put it more clearly the party that obtained the white pebble naturally went away radiant with joy; his opponent, on the other hand, even before he knew that he had lost his case, had no hopes of success, but meeting with treatment more lenient than he had expected, he too went away in triumph, more privileged than he had dared to anticipate.

166. Numerous conspiracies were formed against him, and in the majority of them the rebels even went so far as to attempt assassination. Yet he preferred to draw a veil over their recklessness and talk with them in his normal way, as if he knew nothing of these attempts, or had at once forgotten their impudence. And when those who surrounded the throne, and who had not been deprived of the right to speak freely in his presence, tried to provoke him to anger against them, saying that he would very soon be killed if he did not take steps to defend himself against these adventurers, he was more concerned to score a verbal triumph over them in court, than to give them a regular trial. He appointed judges to hear them, and himself discussed their daring attempts in a speech full of bombast — and what a clever speaker he was, with what range of expression! Then, as he saw them shuddering with fear, he concluded his speech with a brief defence, conducting even that in frivolous vein — and straightway sent them away unpunished.

167. With regard to his public acts, I will leave the recording of them to many other writers who like to chronicle those things. But I will disclose a small number of intimate facts about him, things which are the common topic of conversation, the kind of deeds likely to be either praised or blamed. Of the qualities which have [183] built up his good reputation I choose one for special commendation: his clemency. He knew that he was by temperament a kindly and merciful man, and he never bore malice against any of the individuals who vented their spite on him. This gentleness was most obvious in his dealings with moderate offenders — I mean by 'moderate' those who did no great harm to others. But if he discovered men going so far as to utter blasphemies against the Lord Himself, he punished them by exile, or restricted their movements to a circumscribed area, or kept them in close confinement in prison, and he used to bind himself by secret oaths never to release them.

168. I once remarked that he would not find it easy to keep this resolve and he understood me to mean that that was the only way he could keep evil-doers in check. For a few days, anyhow, he stood by his original decision — his righteous indignation was still fresh in his mind — but as soon as his anger began to die (the inevitable result of hearing someone commend his kindness, or speak highly of some predecessor of his for the same virtue), he immediately recalled the culprits in prison. He burst into tears, quite at a loss how to deal best with them. He asked for my advice on such a problem, and I suggested that it was better to err on the side of humanity. He did so, too, appeasing God in some other way.

169. In all my past experience, I have never seen a man more sensitive to the feelings of others. In my opinion, none of the present generation can compare with him in that respect. What is more, I know of nobody more generous, nor one who in his behaviour more resembled the ideal emperor. He was persuaded that his power had been inherited for this very purpose, that he might exhibit these qualities. Any day, therefore, that passed without some kindly deed on his part, any day when he did not exercise in some way his generous instincts, marked a failure to fulfil his duties as a sovereign. Nor did he sow the seeds of well-doing in what I may call fertile hearts, in order to reap the harvest of gratitude at once, and certainly the recipients were not more eager to show forth the fruits of thankfulness than he to sow 'the earth, rich-clodded and fat'.**137

170. For the sake of those who appreciate such anecdotes, I will give a brief example of this characteristic virtue. A certain man was caught stealing military funds, and he was condemned to pay a heavy fine, far beyond his means. He was actually one of the moneyed class and a nobleman. The collector of fines was unrelent- [184]ing in his demands, for the imperial treasury, as well as the public funds, was concerned in the case. The debtor thereupon demanded an audience of the emperor, with the idea of getting him to pass judgment in his favour. The public tribunal would thus be prevented from enforcing the verdict against him. Both parties to the suit were granted the right of appeal to the emperor, and the trial attracted a large audience in court. I was there myself, in the important role of secretary, to record the decisions of Themis.**138 When the two parties came into court, the person who had committed the theft — or apparently had done so — defended himself in a straightforward and most pathetic manner. He pleaded that restitution to the public funds should be made from his own personal property alone: he did not want to leave the obligation to meet debts incurred by himself as a heritage to his children. At this point he proceeded to strip of his clothes, as if he could meet his liabilities in only one way — by divesting himself of all his possessions.

171. Here Constantine interrupted him, his eyes full of tears. 'Wait, my dear fellow! Surely you would be ashamed to bring this dishonour on your family? You mustn't reduce yourself to such sudden and extreme poverty that even food and clothing depend on others' generosity!' — 'But Sir,' replied the man, 'with all the good will in the world, I could not possibly provide the money they ask for.' And the emperor's answer to this? 'If someone were to pay off a part of this debt, would you be satisfied that justice had been done?' 'It would be a godsend,' said the man, 'but, so far as I can see, no angel or divine being has come down from heaven to watch over human justice and busy itself with the affairs of this world's cities.' 'Never mind,' answered the emperor, 'I will act the part and relieve you of a third of the debt.'

172. At these words the nobleman could restrain himself no longer, but fell on his knees on the ground and almost expired with joy. Constantine, deeply impressed by his gratitude, went on: 'I will do more. I will pay off two-thirds.' And then, before the other could really understand what he had said, he added: 'And the rest!' The debtor had never dreamed that the emperor could be so generous, and now, all his worries solved, like a man who has won a great victory, he clothed himself in his finest robes and with a garland on his head offered thanksgiving to God.

173. I could, if I wished, tell you other anecdotes of this sort about [185] Constantine. There are things which a historian would probably reject, but which a really convincing orator would not disdain to use as the legitimate material for a panegyric. I will give a few examples. The emperor devoted some time to amusements, and while to other men 'amusement', however they regarded it, had only one connotation, to him it was a serious business, invested with dignity. If he wished to make a grove, or to fence a park, or to flatten a racecourse, it was not sufficient to carry out merely the plan as he had first conceived it. New ideas at once occurred to him. As some men covered the meadows with soil, others were fencing them round (all with the greatest expedition): vines and trees were rooted up, but others immediately took their place, already loaded with fruit.

174. How was it done? Well, suppose the emperor wanted to transform a barren plain into a fertile, productive field. No time was lost. Trees which were growing elsewhere were transported to the plain, complete with fruit, and planted in the earth there; clods of soil covered with grass, brought from mountain groves, were spread all over it. And if grasshoppers were not soon chirruping among his blossoming trees, if nightingales were not soon singing everywhere in his grove, Constantine was a fiery disappointed man. He took the thing seriously and it was not long before he was enjoying all kinds of sounds to his heart's content.

175. These habits and the trouble they involve seem, to me at least, perhaps unworthy of 'a counsellor, one to whom the guidance of the people has been entrusted, one who has so many cares', to quote the poetic language of Calliope.**139 Another man, however, seeing the beauty of his works, may admire the emperor for their magnificence, and he will use every argument he can think of to persuade you that Constantine showed extraordinary acumen in dividing his life between business and pleasure, so that neither interfered with the other. No embellishments, he thought, were necessary for the serious side of his life — that was already endowed with a peculiar beauty of its own — but the pleasure he invested with a most gracious charm, or rather, with a rare dignity. And as for his acumen, that was proved by the profits he made; by the clever ways in which he saved labour; by the successful and yet economical basis on which he ran his estates; by the way he produced things from nothing, with their qualities already developed, like the Creator in the beginning of the world; by the way he forestalled the seasons in [186] the development of his crops; by the ingenious inventions which enabled him to dispense with farm-workers; by the miracles of improvisation he performed, so wonderful that most people could not believe their own eyes when they saw a field today, where yesterday they had seen a flat plain, and two days ago a hill.

176. When I make statements like that, I am using my arts of rhetoric and persuasion only to a minimum degree. If one were willing to bring into play the full force of one's powers of argument, it would be possible to convince any intelligent audience of anything. To me, however, such feats are not to be commended — I loathe the kind of clever dialectic that perverts the truth.

177. My object in this history is to stick to the truth, and, in my opinion, these trifles are absolutely inconsistent with Constantine's good qualities. So was his puerile infatuation for an extremely callow and foolish youth who, a year before, had near used pen and ink, a guttersnipe promoted to the centre of an empire's government Such an influence did this scoundrel exert over Constantine that he almost put in his hands supreme power. He used to call him 'his sweet boy', and made him a leading member of the Senate. The 'sweet boy' was in reality a thorough rascal and good-for-nothing, but the emperor looked upon his every word and deed as divinely inspired. I will explain the reason for this sudden affection and for the youth's promotion, but first I must go back to, events that happened before he obtained this power.

178. When Constantine acceded to the imperial throne, he thought the time had come for a rest, like a man who has reached harbour after a long sea-voyage. So he handed over the administration of the empire to someone else. The gentleman in question was of noble birth, a first-class scholar, a practised and witty speaker in all departments of oratory, and an experienced politician.**140 In addition to his study of rhetoric (an art on which he conferred greater distinction because of his unusual powers of persuasion), he had applied himself to civil law. This versatility enabled him to express in clear language the difficult points of legal interpretation. He had the ability to shed new light on any given law. Moreover, Providence had endowed him with an intelligence that was remarkably practical, with the result that he was most admirably adapted, by training and nature, to the intricate task of conducting public affairs. Although an ardent student of all branches of rhetoric, he devoted [187] himself to forensic oratory in particular. When delivering a public speech, he cultivated a style both elegant and pure Attic, but in everyday business he spoke simply, in the direct language of the ordinary man. He had a distinguished presence and a fine figure; his voice, too, lent him dignity, for it had resonance and clarity — qualities that were much in evidence when he read the imperial decrees from the balcony on the Palace.

179. The emperor, having entrusted his duties to this excellent man, indulged in some quiet recreation — a natural reaction for a mariner who had but lately escaped a storm at sea and who was still spitting out the brine. Meanwhile affairs prospered, or were changing for the better, and his vice-regent gradually became more prominent, until he was playing the leading role in the state. Then the emperor became jealous. He was unable to bear the thought that power had been transferred to someone else: he wished to control

matters himself, not that the Empire might be more efficiently governed, but in order to have his own way. At the moment he was nothing better than a puppet, and every time he tried to follow the example of his predecessors, his powerful minister restrained him.

180. I recognized what was going on — there were certain indications — and I warned the gentleman of the emperor's secret intentions. He, being a man of spirit, was by no means inclined to relax his hold, nor to hand over the reins to his master. With philosophic detachment, he remarked that he would not voluntarily stand by and watch the emperor crash, but when he did climb down from the chariot and resign the whip, he would not envy Constantine his new position.

181. After one stormy scene, the latter deprived him of his viceregal power, and turned a deaf ear to all remonstrance. One might, of course, argue that this act was to his credit: one could assert that the emperor was a highly intelligent man himself, quite capable of sustaining on his own shoulders the whole burden of government and in need of no outside assistance. Anyhow, he deposed him. But, by the will of God, he was promoted to a position even more important — no other than that of Interpreter of the Mysteries and of High Priest in the Church of St. Sophia.**141 The story of that elevation I will tell in more detail later in my history.

182. These acts are of doubtful interpretation — it depends on your point of view — but there was nothing at all moderate about certain other activities which I propose to speak about: he put his whole heart and soul into them. It was typical of the man, for instance, that where he loved, his love knew no bounds; and if he was angry with someone, he would recount his troubles most pathetically and with more than common bitterness, even letting his imagination run away with him. On the other hand, it was incredible how affectionate he could be if he liked.

183. Again, when the empress Zoe departed this life,**142 in extreme old age, he was completely heartbroken at his loss. Not only did he mourn her and shed tears at her tomb and propitiate Heaven on her behalf, but he even wished to pay her divine honours. One of the little columns that surrounded her burial-place became somewhat moist in a spot where the precious metal had cracked (it was plated with silver) and by some trick of nature a mushroom sprang up there. At this phenomenon Constantine was like a man inspired and he proclaimed loudly in the palace that the Lord had worked a miracle at the empress's tomb, so that all men might know that her soul was now numbered with the angels. Everyone knew, of course, what had really happened, but they all supported him in his ardent belief, some through fear and others because they saw in the lie some opportunity for enriching themselves.

184. Such was his attitude to Zoe, but his sister Helen's death passed almost unnoticed and mention of it had not the least effect on him. If his other sister (the one whom I wrote about earlier in the history) had gone before him, he would have been equally unperturbed.

185. In this catalogue of the emperor's foolish excesses, I now come to the worst example of all — the building of the Church of St. George the Martyr.**143 Constantine pulled down and completely destroyed the original church; the present one was erected on the site of its ruins. The first architect did not plan very well, and there is no need for me to write of the old building here, but it appears that it would have been of no great dimensions, if the preliminary plans had been carried out, for the foundations were moderate in extent and the rest of the building proportionate, while the height was by no means outstanding. However, as time went by, Constantine was fired by an ambition to rival all the other buildings that had ever been erected, and to surpass them altogether. So the area of the church and its precincts was greatly enlarged. The old founda-[189] tions were raised and strengthened, or else sunk deeper. On these latter bigger and more ornate pillars were set up. Everything was done on a more artistic scale. with gold-leaf on the roof and precious green stones let into the floor or encrusted in the walls. And these stones, set one above another, in patterns of the same hue or in designs of alternate colours, looked like flowers. And as for the gold, it flowed from the public treasury like a stream bubbling up from inexhaustible springs.

186. The church was not yet finished, however, and once again the whole plan was altered and new ideas incorporated in its construction. The symmetrical arrangement of the stones was broken up, the walls pulled down, and everything levelled with the ground. And the reason for it? Constantine's efforts to rival other churches had not met with the complete success he hoped for: one church, **144 above all, remained unsurpassed. So the foundations of another wall were laid and an exact circle described with the third church in its centre (I must admit that it certainly was more artistic). The whole conception was on a magnificent and lofty scale. The edifice itself was decorated with golden stars throughout, like the vault of heaven, but whereas the real heaven is adorned with its golden stars only at intervals, the surface of this one was entirely covered with gold, issuing forth from its centre as if in a never-ending stream. On all sides there were buildings, some completely, others half-surrounded by cloisters. The ground everywhere was levelled, like a race-course, stretching further than the eye could see, its bounds out of sight. Then came a second circle of buildings bigger than the first, and lawns full of flowers, some on the circumference, others down the centre. There were fountains which filled basins of water; gardens, some hanging, others sloping down to the level ground; a bath that was beautiful beyond description. To criticize the enormous size of the church was impossible, so dazzling was its loveliness. Beauty pervaded every part of the vast creation, so that one could only wish it were even greater and its gracefulness spread over an area still wider. And as for the lawns that were bounded by the outer wall, they were so numerous that it was difficult to see them in one sweeping glance: even the mind could scarcely grasp their extent.

187. It was not merely the exceptional beauty of the whole, composed as it was of most beautiful parts, but just as much the individual details that attracted the spectator's attention, and although he [190] could enjoy to his heart's content all its charms, it was impossible to find one that palled. Every part of it took the eye, and what is more wonderful, even when you gazed on the loveliest part of all, some small detail would delight you as a fresh discovery. To attempt to place its various merits in any order of preference was useless, for when all the parts were so lovely, even the least attractive could not fail to give pleasure inimitable. Its every detail excited the greatest admiration. People marvelled at the size of the church, its beautiful symmetry, the harmony of its parts, the variety and rhythm of its loveliness, the streams of water, the encircling wall, the lawns covered with flowers, the dewy grass, always sprinkled with moisture, the shade under the trees, the gracefulness of the bath. It was as if a pilgrimage had ended, and here was the vision perfect and unparalleled.

188. Yet to Constantine all this was but the prelude to the future. There were new miracles to be devised, fresh additions to be made. He lived in a dreamland, where past achievement, however won, however acclaimed, seemed to him at once despicable, and he neglected his masterpiece. But he had secret ambitions. These were his new incentives: it was they that fired him with a desire for paths hitherto untrodden.

189. He was moody and inconsistent, but he had one object above all others: to make his country great and famous. I must admit that, in this respects he was not altogether unsuccessful, for the boundaries of the Empire were much extended in the east, and a considerable part of Armenia was annexed. Certain kings of that country were deposed and forced to acknowledge Roman suzerainty. On the other hand, when expediency demanded that he should address other rulers in terms of extreme arrogance, he despatched envoys to them with letters that were abject, quite unworthy of an emperor — doubtless because he wished to win their friendship.

190. In the case of the Sultan of Egypt,**145 for example, he was far too conciliatory — deliberately so, to all appearances — and the Sultan flattered himself because of Constantine's humility. Like a wrestler who is losing his fight, he changed his tactics. Instead of allowing his opponent to dictate the strategy of the contest, he introduced grips of his own — and won. He was proud of it, too. Many a time the emperor trusted me with secret despatches and ordered me to write them for him (he recognized my patriotism and my love for the

[191] Romans), suggesting that I should voluntarily humiliate himself and glorify the Egyptian. Nevertheless, I conveyed exactly the opposite impression by subtle allusion: what I wrote had one meaning for Constantine and another for the Sultan. I had sly digs at the latter and hurt his dignity without being too overt. And that is why letters to the Egyptian were in future dictated by Constantine himself, my own efforts being ambiguous. Writing on states of bodily health, Hippocrates the Coan**l46 points out that when they have developed to their fullest extent, it is impossible for them to remain quiescent, owing to the constant changes going on in the body: they must, therefore, enter on a decline. Now Constantine did not suffer that experience himself, but he made his friends do so. He would quietly advance them to high office, then suddenly cast them down, his whole attitude completely altered. It is a fact, though, that some of them were reinstated in their former positions. It was all a gamble.