remained at court, under what circumstances and in just what relation to
the emperor we are not informed. It is evident, however, that her power
was gone. Feeling herself more and more relegated to the background, and
ever watched by hostile eyes, it was natural that she should find life
at Constantinople unbearable, and should long for a place where, far
from the turmoils and intrigues of the world, she might devote herself
to retirement and to pious practices. She therefore asked permission of
the emperor to be allowed to retire to Jerusalem and there pass the rest
of her life. After the tender bond of love which had for twenty years
united the Athenian maiden and the royal prince had once been violently
broken, there was no reason why her petition should be denied, and
Eudocia was granted the privilege of retiring to the sacred scenes whose
solitude and religious atmosphere had already appealed to her.
So, some years after her first visit to the holy city, Eudocia withdrew
thither for a permanent abode. But what a contrast had a few years
wrought! With what different emotions did she now visit the sacred
shrines! Then a beloved wife, a happy mother, an all-puissant empress!
Now a voluntary exile, a discredited wife, an empress but in name!
Theodosius left her her royal honors and abundant means for her station,
so that she could not only have a moderate establishment at Jerusalem,
but could also adorn the city with charitable institutions. Yet even
here the hatred of her enemies and the jealousy of the emperor followed
her. Though so far from Constantinople, court spies watched and reported
her every movement, and in their malignity they recounted to the emperor
such a slanderous picture of her life and doings that he, in the year
444, with newly awakened jealousy, had two holy men--the presbyter
Severus and the deacon John, who had been favorites of Eudocia in
Constantinople and had followed her to Jerusalem--
executed by the order
of Saturninus, her chamberlain. This cruel deed, however, did not remain
unavenged, for Eudocia did not interfere when Saturninus, in a monkish
riot, or at the hands of hired murderers, lost his life.
Theodosius
punished her for this with undue severity, by removing all the officers
who attended her and reducing her to private station.
The remainder of the life of Eudocia, sixteen long years, was spent in
retirement and in holy exercises. Troubles heaped themselves upon her.
Her only daughter, whose future at her marriage with Valentinian had
looked so promising, also lost her royal station and was led a captive
from Rome to Carthage. She had to endure all the insults which could
fall to one who from supreme power had been reduced to private station.
But in the consolation of religion and in self-sacrificing devotion to
others more unfortunate, Eudocia found solace in her grief. Finally, in
the sixty-seventh year of her age, after experiencing all the
vicissitudes of human life, the philosopher's daughter expired at
Jerusalem, protesting with her dying breath her faithfulness to her
marriage vows and expressing forgiveness of all those who had injured
her.
In Constantinople, Eudocia's fall and exile had brought Pulcheria and
the orthodox party again to the front. The poetry-loving Cyrus, the head
of the Greek party, was deprived of his office and compelled to take
orders; and there was a return to the austerity which had characterized
the earlier years of Pulcheria's supremacy. Pulcheria and orthodoxy from
this time on controlled the court life and dominated the Empire.
Finally, in 450, Theodosius was fatally wounded while hunting, and upon
his demise Pulcheria was unanimously proclaimed Empress of the East. Her
first official act was one of popular justice as well as private
revenge--the execution of the crafty and rapacious eunuch, Chrysaphius.
In obedience to the murmur of the people, who objected to a woman being
sole ruler of the Empire, she selected an imperial consort in Marcian,
an aged senator who would respect the virginal vows and superior rank of
his wife. He was solemnly invested with the imperial purple, and proved
in every way equal to the demands of his exalted station.
Three years later, Pulcheria passed away. Because of her austerity of
life, her deeds of charity, her advocacy of orthodoxy, she won the
eulogies of the Church; but her controlling attribute had been a love of
power, which had wrought much evil. Our sympathies are naturally with
the beautiful and gifted Athenais, a Greek by birth, by temperament and
by culture, but yet a Christian in religious fervor and pious practices,
whose personal fascination had given her the authority she richly
merited, until the stronger nature of Pulcheria, by despicable means,
had wrought her downfall.
For four years after the death of Pulcheria, Marcian continued to hold
supreme power; finally, in 457, he too came to his end, and with Marcian
the house of Theodosius the Great ceased to reign in new Rome.
XI
THE EMPRESS THEODORA
There are few stranger episodes in literary history than the fate of
Theodora, the celebrated consort of the Emperor Justinian. To us in this
day she is a Magdalene elevated to the throne of the Cæsars, a beautiful
and licentious actress suddenly raised by a freak of fortune to rule the
destinies of the Roman Empire. All this is due to the remarkable
discovery made by Nicholas Alemannus, librarian of the Vatican, toward
the end of the seventeenth century, of the Secret History of Procopius,
a work which purported to reveal the private life of the Byzantine court
in the days of Justinian. Before the publication of this work Theodora
was in public opinion chiefly remarkable for the prominent place she
occupied in Justinian's reign. Of her early life nothing was known, but
from the date of her accession to the throne she had exercised a
sovereign influence over the emperor. In an important crisis she had
exhibited admirable firmness and courage. She had taken an active part
in the court intrigues and religious controversies of the epoch, and to
her sagacity the emperor attributed many of his happiest inspirations in
legislation. The ecclesiastical historians accused her of serious lapses
into heresy and of having laid violent hands on the sacred person of a
pope; but, with all their vituperation, there never was in circulation a
calumny affecting her personal character. Such is a brief resume of the
history of Theodora as handed down unassailed for a thousand years.
Then suddenly a startling revelation was made to the world concerning
the previously unknown period of Theodora's life.
Alemannus disinterred
from the archives of the Vatican library, where it had long lain
forgotten, an Arcana Historia which purported to be from the pen of the
celebrated historian of the Wars and the Edifices of Justinian. Edited
with a learned commentary by a hostile critic, the work immediately
attained wide circulation and universal credence. For the first time the
character of the illustrious empress was presented in the blackest
colors. The world, it seemed, had been really mistaken in its estimate.
Theodora's antecedents and early life had been of the vilest character,
and her public life signalized by cruelty, avarice, and excess. From the
date of the publication of this _chronique scandaleuse_, and thanks to
Gibbon's trenchant paraphrase of its vilest sections, Theodora was
condemned. Her name became the connotation for all the depraved vices
known in high life. The silence of eleven centuries was overlooked, and
the garish picture of the Secret History has formed the modern world's
estimate of Rome's most illustrious empress.
It becomes, therefore, an important problem to attempt to distinguish
the Theodora of history from the Theodora of romance. We must inquire
whether the startling "anecdotes" of the _Secret History_ justly
supersede the estimate and tradition of so long a period. Was Theodora
the grand courtesan she is represented to be in the modern drama, or was
she a great empress, worthy of the respect and admiration of Justinian
and of succeeding ages? To answer these questions we must first briefly
review the legendary history of Theodora, and then dwell more at length
on the authentic history of the empress. This will merit a recital, for
she appears to be a personality singularly original and powerful,
possessing both the qualities of a statesman and the unique traits of a
woman, a character of much complexity and of rare psychological
interest. During the first years of the sixth century there lived in
Constantinople a poor man, by name Acacius, a native of the isle of
Cyprus, who had the care of the wild beasts maintained by the green
faction of the city, and who, from his employment, was entitled the
Master of the Bears. This Acacius was the father of Theodora. Upon his
death, he left to the tender mercies of the world a widow and three
helpless orphans, Comito, Theodora, and Anastasia, the eldest being not
yet seven years of age. At a solemn festival these three children were
sent by their destitute mother into the theatre, dressed in the garb of
suppliants. The green faction scorned them; but the blues had compassion
and relieved their distress, and this difference of treatment made a
profound impression on the child Theodora, which had its influence on
her later conduct. As the maidens increased in age and improved in
beauty, they were trained by their mother for a theatrical career.
Theodora first followed Comito on the stage, playing the rôle of
chambermaid, but at length she exercised her talents independently. She
became neither a singer nor a dancer nor a flute player, but she figured
in the _tableaux Vivants_, where her beauty freely displayed itself, and
in the pantomimes, where her vivacity and grace and sprightliness caused
the whole theatre to resound with laughter and applause.
She was, if the
panegyrists may be believed, the most beautiful woman of her age.
Procopius, the best historian of the day, says that "it was impossible
for mere man to describe her comeliness in words or to imitate it in
art." "Her features were delicate and regular; her complexion, though
somewhat pale, was tinged with a natural colour; every sensation was
instantly expressed by the vivacity of her eyes; her easy motions
displayed the graces of a small but elegant figure; and either love or
adulation might proclaim that painting and poetry were incapable of
delineating the matchless excellence of her form." It is unfortunate
that we have no likeness which portrays her exquisite beauty. The famous
mosaic in San Vitale at Ravenna is the best authentic representation of
the empress, but a mosaic can give but little idea of the original.
But Theodora possessed other fascinations besides beauty: she was
intelligent, full of _esprit_, witty. However, with all these gifts
there was in her a deficiency of the moral sense and a natural
inclination to pleasure in all its forms. Sad to relate, her charms were
venal. If the Secret History be believed, her adventures were both
numerous and scandalous; to quote a piquant expression of Gibbon, "her
charity was universal." Procopius recounts memorable after-theatre
suppers and _tableaux vivants_ that would be excluded from the most
licentious of modern stages. After a wild career in the capital as the
reigning figure of the demi-monde, Theodora suddenly disappeared. She
condescended to accompany to his province a certain Ecebolus, who had
been appointed governor of the African Pentapolis. But this union was
transient. She either abandoned her lover or was deserted by him, and
for some time the fair Cyprian, a veritable priestess of the divine
Aphrodite, made conquests innumerable in all the great cities of the
Orient. Finally, she returned to Constantinople, to the scenes of her
first exploits, being then between twenty and twenty-five years of age.
In her bitterest humiliation, some vision had whispered to her that she
was destined to a great career.
Wearied of amorous adventures and of a wandering career, she began from
this moment to adopt a retired and blameless life in a modest mansion,
where she relieved her poverty by the feminine task of spinning wool. It
was at this moment that happy chance threw the patrician Justinian in
her path. Captivated by her beauty and her feminine graces, this staid,
business-like, and eminently practical personage, already marked as his
uncle Justin's successor to the Empire, wished to make the fair Theodora
his wife. But there were obstacles in the way. The Empress Euphemia
flatly refused to accept the reformed courtesan as a niece; Justinian's
own mother, Vigilantia, feared that the vivacious and beautiful
worldling would corrupt her son. It was even said that at this time the
laws of Rome prohibited the marriage of a senator with a woman of
servile origin or of the theatrical profession. But Justinian remained
inflexible. The Empress Euphemia conveniently died; Justinian overrode
the opposition of his mother; and Justin was persuaded to pass a law
abolishing the rigid statute of antiquity and to make Theodora a
patrician.
Soon followed the solemn nuptials of Justinian and Theodora; and when,
in 527, Justinian was officially associated with his uncle on the
throne, Theodora was also solemnly crowned in Saint Sophia by the hands
of the Patriarch as an equal and independent colleague in the
sovereignty of the Empire, and the oath of allegiance was imposed on
bishops and officials in the joint names of Justinian and Theodora;
while in the Hippodrome, the scene of her earlier triumphs, the daughter
of Acacius received as empress the adulation of the populace.
Such, according to the Secret History, is the romance of Theodora. The
reason why it has been given general credence is because the work
purported to be that of a contemporary writer, the greatest historian of
his age, who has weighted his charges with emphasis and detail, and
because the recital received the convincing endorsement of Alemannus and
of Gibbon. The principle which governed Gibbon was as follows: "Of these
strange anecdotes a part may be true because probable, and a part true
because improbable. Procopius must have known the former and the latter
he could scarcely invent." Reassured by this argument, and seduced by
the masculine taste for adventure, most historians have complacently
accepted this piquant history and have applied to Theodora the vilest
epithets. But recent writers, especially Debidour, Ranke, Mallet, Bury,
and Diehl, have not regarded the case as proved, and through a careful
analysis of the _Secret History_ have presented convincing arguments
against the reputed authorship of the work and the authenticity of its
narrative.
These later writers have called attention to the internal evidence of
the improbability of the picture of Theodora. There are in the
statements glaring inconsistencies with the other works of Procopius,
and inconsistencies within the anecdotes themselves.
Many stories told
of Justinian are obviously overdrawn and dictated by inventive malice,
and these vitiate the entire narrative. Furthermore, the question of the
marriage law is triumphantly set aside. The edict abolishing the Old
Roman law was passed seven years after Justinian's succession, and was
in accordance with other legislation inspired by Theodora, to ameliorate
the condition of woman. The external evidence, also, has been carefully
sifted. The legal maxim, _Testis unus, Testis nullus_, applies in
history as well as in law. A single witness has related the most
incredible stories. Nowhere in other historians is there a shred of
evidence to support the story of Theodora's flagitious life. These
stories could have no basis other than in popular rumors; how is it,
therefore, that no other chronicle alludes to them?
Orthodox
ecclesiastics violently attack Theodora's heresy, and speak of her as an
enemy of the Church, but write not a word against her private
reputation. Historians condemn in unmeasured terms certain features of
Justinian's administration, and dwell on other faults of Theodora, but
say never a word about her profligacy. Why are all other writers silent
about the dark passages in Theodora's history? Even the _Secret History_
alleges nothing immoral against her after her marriage: why then should
we take its testimony seriously regarding the earlier period of her
life? The silence of all other chronicles about extraordinary
occurrences, which, if true, must have been generally known, throws
doubt over the whole narrative and places it in the light of an infamous
libel.
And here is a final argument. Justinian was no mere youth when he
married, but a sober gentleman of thirty-five, the heir apparent to the
throne, who had to keep in the good graces of the people. Would he at so
momentous a time have perpetrated so infamous a scandal?
And would it
have been possible for a woman of such notorious profligacy to ascend
the throne without a protest from patriarch or bishop or senators or
populace? The outward life of the Byzantine people, owing to the
influence of Christianity, was usually correct. A little later an
emperor lost his throne because he divorced one wife and took another.
Theodora's triumphant ascent to the throne, without a protesting voice,
is conclusive evidence that no great scandal had sullied her reputation.
Yet, on the other hand, panegyrists never lauded Theodora as a saint.
She was neither a Pulcheria nor a Eudocia. Many traits in the character
of the empress accord well with the fact that her early life was not
passed amid beds of roses nor had been altogether free from temptation.
Hence, with the story reduced to its lowest terms, it seems probable
that Theodora was of obscure and lowly origin, that she was for a time
connected in some way with the Byzantine stage, and that, owing to her
beauty, her cleverness, and her strong personality, she was raised from
poverty to share Justinian's throne. But, whatever her career, her life
had been sufficiently upright to save appearances, and Justinian could
make her his wife without scandal.
The turn of fortune which elevated Theodora from modest station to the
imperial throne deeply stirred the popular imagination, and a cycle of
legends has gathered about her name. The stranger in Byzantium in the
eleventh century was shown the site of a modest cottage, transformed
into a stately church dedicated to the spirit of charity, and was told
the story how the great empress, coming with her parents from their
native town in Cyprus, had here maintained herself in honorable poverty
by spinning wool, and how it was here that the patrician Justinian,
drawn thither by the fame of her beauty and her learning, had wooed and
won her for his bride. However little value we may attach to this
tradition, it shows that in Constantinople the popular estimate of
Theodora was not that of the _Secret History_. The Slavic traditions of
the twelfth and thirteenth centuries not only dwell on her marvellous
beauty, but also recount that she was the most queenly, the most
cultivated, the most learned of women. The Syriac traditions were still
more flattering. In their devout reverence for the pious empress who
espoused their cause, these Monophysites of the thirteenth century name
as the father of Theodora, not the poor man who guarded the bears in the
Hippodrome, but a pious old gentleman, perhaps a senator, attached to
the Monophysite heresy, and affirm that when Justinian, fascinated by
the beauty and intelligence of the young maiden, demanded her hand in
marriage, the good father did not consent that she should marry the heir
apparent until the latter had promised not to interfere with her
religious beliefs.
A western chronicler, however, of the eleventh century, Aimoin de
Fleury, recounts a legend which has something of the flavor of the
_Secret History_. According to this story, Justinian and Belisarius, two
young men and intimate friends, encountered one day two sisters, Antonia
and Antonina, sprung from the race of Amazons, who, taken prisoners by
the Byzantines, were reduced to dire straits. Belisarius was enamored of
the latter, Justinian of the former. Antonia, presaging the future
destiny of her lover, made him promise that, if ever he became emperor,
he would take her as his wife. Their relations were interrupted, but not
before Justinian gave to Antonia a ring, as an assurance of his promise.
Years passed: the prince became emperor; and one day there appeared at
the gate of the palace, demanding audience, a woman in rich attire and
of wonderful beauty. Presented before the sovereign, Antonia was not at
first recognized; but she showed the ring and recalled his promise, and
Justinian, his love for her renewed, proclaimed straightway the
beautiful Amazon as his empress. The people and the senate expressed
some surprise at the impromptu marriage, but Antonia shared without
protest the throne of Justinian.
Thus the marvellous destiny of Theodora was embellished by legend and
romance, and, whether good or bad, severely correct or profligate, she
has become one of the most remarkable figures of history and fiction.
Questions as to the early life of Theodora, however, are secondary in
importance. We are interested not in the courtesan but in the empress,
and, for the incidents and the influence of her reign, we have
fortunately other information than that of the _Secret History_.
Sardou's drama Theodora represents its heroine as preserving on the
throne the manners of the courtesan, as delighting in the life of the
theatre, as leaving the palace by night to frequent the streets of
Constantinople, as having an amorous intrigue with the beautiful
Andreas, as being in fact another, but baser and more voluptuous,
Messalina. But even the _Secret History_ represents Theodora, after she
mounted the throne, as being, with all her faults, the most austere, the
most correct, the most irreproachable of women in her conjugal
relations.
Whatever her origin and her early life, Theodora adapted herself most
readily to the status and the duties of an imperial sovereign. She loved
and partook fully of the amenities which attended supreme authority. In
her apartments of the royal palace, and in her sumptuous villas and
gardens on the Propontis and the Bosporus, she availed herself of all
the luxuries and refinements of the royal station. Ever womanly and vain
of her physical charms, she took extreme care of her beauty. To make her
countenance reposeful and delicate, she prolonged her slumbers until
late in the morning; to give her figure sprightliness and grace, she
took frequent baths, to which succeeded long hours of repose. Not
content with the meagre fare which satisfied Justinian, her table was
always supplied with the best of Oriental dishes, which were served with
exquisite and delicate taste. Every wish was immediately gratified by
her favorite ladies and eunuchs. Like a true parvenue, she delighted in
the elaborate court etiquette. She made the highest dignitaries
prostrate themselves before her, imposing on those who wished audience
long and hum