The Apogee - Byzantium 02 (48 page)
Michael's position was now desperate. For hours he and his uncle, high in the
kath
isma,
had tried to make themselves heard above the angry tumult in the Hippodrome below, pushing the miserable Zoe in front of them, repeatedly prostrating themselves before her in vain attempts to persuade the crowd that she, not they, held the reins of power. But the shouting grew ever louder and when the mob began throwing stones, and even firing arrows, in their direction they had been forced to retreat once again into the Palace where, not long afterwards, the news was brought to them of Theodora's arrival and coronation. By now Michael thought only of escape, of taking a ship from the imperial harbour of the Bucoleon along to the great monastery of the Studium, in the Psamatia district where the land walls met the Marmara shore, and there claiming sanctuary. His uncle Constantine, however, forbade it. An Emperor, he insisted, could never take flight. He must conquer, or die fighting. He himself was determined to defend the Palace to the last man, and he expected to have his nephew at his side.
At this moment, by an extraordinary coincidence, there arrived at the Bucoleon the Empire's most distinguished general, Catacalon Cecaumenus, thanks to whose valour and determination in the previous year the city of Messina had been saved for the Empire when the rest of Sicily had fallen to the Saracens. It was hardly the homecoming that he had expected; Michael, however, seemed to derive some degree of encouragement from his sudden appearance and agreed to stand his ground. All that night the fighting continued; but the first streaks of dawn revealed that the Palace had been completely cut off by the rebels from the landward side. Moreover, they were now launching a three-pronged assault: one group attacking the
kath
isma
from the Hippodrome, one the Chalke Gate from the Augusteum and the third marching on what was known as the
Tsykanisterion,
a vast open arena established two centuries before by Basil I for the exercising of his horses.
Tuesday, 20 April 1042 was one of the bloodiest days that Constantinople had seen in all its history. The carnage was appalling especially that suffered by the insurgents, for the most part defenceless against the fully armed and mail-clad imperial troops. In that one day, we are credibly informed, and in the night that followed, over
3
,000 perished. But in the end, inevitably, numbers prevailed. In the early hours of Wednesday morning the Palace fell, and the whole vast complex of buildings was overrun by a frenzied, furious mob, pillaging and looting wherever it went but always with one supreme objective in mind: to find the Emperor and to kill him.
No longer could there be any question of a last stand. Shortly before dawn Michael and Constantine, pausing only to disguise themselves in dirty, tattered clothes, together boarded the waiting ship, sailed along the coast to the Studium, submitted to immediate tonsure and were forthwith accepted as members of the monastic community. Zoe, meanwhile, left alone in the Palace to fend for herself as best she might, was soon found by the insurgents, who immediately raised her on to their shoulders and set her upon the imperial throne. With the departure of Michael and Constantine, her courage had in some measure returned. Gratified as she was by this sudden reversal of her fortunes, she was nevertheless outraged when informed of the arrival and subsequent coronation of Theodora, whom she had thought - and devoutly hoped -never to see again. Her first reaction was to order her immediate return to the convent that she should never have left; only when she heard the cheering outside St Sophia and was told that it was for her sister did she begin to understand. This lugubrious and unattractive elderly virgin, forgotten by all until a few hours before, had suddenly and inexplicably become the idol of the populace. Reluctantly - and, we may be sure, fairly ungraciously - Zoe agreed to the partnership. It was better to reign as joint Empress than not to reign at all.
The scene now shifts to the Studium, where the Emperor and his uncle had hoped to lose themselves in monkish obscurity. They had, however, underestimated the strength of the popular feeling against them. As soon as their place of refuge became known, the mob left the Hippodrome and surged westward along the Mese, bellowing for their blood. Psellus followed, with a detachment of the imperial guard, and has left us a terrifying account of the events that followed:
We found the monastery already surrounded by huge crowds, many of whom were trying to smash down the building in their eagerness to get inside. We ha
d
appalling difficulty in forcing our way through the hysterical throng, all shouting abuse and threatening the miserable fugitives with unspeakable atrocities.
Until that moment I had had no strong personal feelings one way or the other, although I had deplored the abominable way in which the Empress had been treated; but when I arrived in the chapel and saw the two unfortunates — the Emperor on his knees, clutching the altar, the
nobilissimus
standing on his left, both of them scarcely recognizable in their sordid rags, their very faces transformed by mortal fear, I stood
there dumbfounded and my eyes f
illed with tears.
Realizing from his expression that Psellus was not entirely ill-disposed towards them, the two men cautiously
approached him. Constantine earnestl
y protested that he had neither helped nor encouraged his nephew in the plot against Zoe. He had not tried to restrain him only because he feared the consequences: had he had any real control, would his whole family have suffered mutilation as it did? Michael, on the other hand, made no attempt to justify his conduct. He was guilty, and now he was paying the price.
All that afternoon the two men cowered at the altar while the mob, conscious of the respect due to the holy sanctuary, held back. How long it might have continued to do so we shall never know, because at dusk there arrived the new City Prefect, a certain Campanarus, claiming that he had orders from the Empress Theodora herself to take charge of the fugitives and promising them safe conduct back to the Palace. Michael and Constantine refused: they did no
t believe his assurances - rightl
y, as it turned out - and clung still more firmly to the altar. But the Prefect was not disposed to waste any more time: he ordered his men to seize them, and they were dragged, shouting and struggling, from the building. Many of those present - Psellus included - sought further guarantees from Campanarus that the two would come to no harm in his custody; but public opinion was overwhelmingly against them. There was, it seems, a widespread fear throughout the city that Zoe — whose jealousy of her sister was known to be such that she would have infinitely preferred to have Michael as her co-ruler — would somehow intervene to reinstate him. It was a risk that simply could not be contemplated.
This fear was shared in full measure by Theodora herself. If Scylitzes is to be believed, she had given secret instructions to the Prefect that the Emperor and his uncle should be blinded without delay; and Campanarus for his part was determined to carry out his orders. The two men - still surrounded by the mob, whose imprecations had now given way to mockery - were mounted on donkeys and borne along the MesS towards the Palace. Psellus continues:
They had not gone far along the way when they were met by the executioner who had been commanded to carry out the blinding. Showing their instructions to the mob, his men there and then began to sharpen their irons. Meanwhile the victims saw the fate that lay in store for them and were struck dumb with terror. They would have nearly died on the spot had not one of the senators present consoled them in their misery and restored some courage to their hearts.
Despite these efforts the Emperor, overwhelmed by his misfortunes, moaned and wailed aloud, begging for help, calling upon God, the Church, and anything else that he could think of. His uncle, on the other hand, summoned all his strength and faced his destiny with courage. Seeing the executioners ready, he calmly approached them, offering himself as their first victim. As the crowd surged round him he turned to the senior officer present and said in a firm voice: 'Make these people stand back, and you will see how bravely I shall bear my fate.' When they tried to tie his hands he refused, saying, 'If I move, you will be free to bind me to a stake!' With these words he lay flat on the ground and remained motionless, without a cry, a groan, or any change of colour. His eyes were then put out, one after the other. The Emperor meanwhile, seeing the fate that was so soon to overtake him, beat the air with his hands, tore his face and filled the air with his lamentations.
The Nobilissimus, rising to his feet unaided, pointed to his bleeding sockets and, leaning for support on one of his close friends, spoke to all those who approached him with such astonishing calm, such superhuman courage, that one might have thought him almost indifferent to what had occurred. Then it was the turn of the
basil
eus,
who was now in such a condition that the executioner was obliged to bind him fast and to hold him down with considerable force, so furiously did he struggle. After he too had been blinded the insolence of the mob, so marked before, died away, and their fury was abated.
And so the reign of Michael V came to a close, and with it the Paphlagonian dynasty. Soon afterwards he was sent to the monastery of Eleimon on Chios, his uncle Constantine to another religious house on Samos. Whether the two of them lived out their full span in the darkness to which they had been consigned or whether, like John the Orphanotrophus, they eventually suffered a still more dreadful fate we do not know.
What are we to make of Michael? Professor Bury, doyen of British Byzantinists, suggests that he has been unfairly maligned, and that he was
in fact an ambitious and far-sighted ruler who aimed at nothing less than a radical reform of the imperial administration. Since this could not conceivably be realized while Zoe and John remained in power, their removal from the scene was, he continues, entirely justified: John in particular was by the time of his dismissal universally detested. For the rest, Michael can be credited with the release from prison of his uncle's arch-enemy Constantine Dalassenus and of George Maniakes - whom he sent back to Italy as
catapan
-
as well as with the appointment, as his chief minister, of Constantine Likhoudes, destined to become one of the greatest statesmen of his day.
1
Now all this may be perfectly true so far as it goes. Michael may — though the point is far from being proven - have had good intentions and, whatever we may think of his treatment of his adoptive mother, his elimination of the Orphanotrophus was probably a necessary measure. There remains, however, the inescapable fact that he managed to get himself deposed by a popular insurrection after only four months and eleven days on the throne. Any would-be reformer, if he is to succeed in his task, must tread warily; above all he must take account of popular feeling and make every effort to carry the people with him..Michael did neither of these things. Praiseworthy as his long-term ideas may have been, his statesmanship was consistently deplorable; and for this reason alone he could never have made a good Emperor. The story of his last days is scarcely edifying, and his subjects emerge from it with little credit; but they were right to get rid of him, and we too can be glad to see him go.
1
Professory Bury's opinion, not mine
18
Constantine Monomachus and
the Schism
[1042
-55]
Upon Michael, neophyte and false Patriarch, brought only by mortal fear to assume the monkish habit, and now for his abominable crimes notorious; upon Leo, so-called Bishop of Ochrid; upon Constantine, chancellor of that same Michael, who has publicly trampled the liturgy of the Latins beneath his feet; and upon all those who follow them in their aforesaid errors and presumptions, except that they repent, let there be Anathema Maranatha as upon the Simoniacs, Valesians, Arians, Donatists, Nicolaitans, Severians, Pneumatomachi, Manicheans, Nazarenes, as upon all heretics and finally upon the Devil and all his angels. Amen, Amen, Amen.
Last paragraph of Cardinal Humbert's Bull of Excommunication
When Michael V met his fate on Tuesday evening, 20 April 1042, the Empress Theodora was still in St Sophia. She had by now been there for well over twenty-four hours, steadfastly refusing to proceed to the Palace until she received word from her sister. Only the following morning did Zoc, swallowing her pride, send the long-awaited invitation. On Theodora's arrival, before a large concourse of nobles and senators, the two old ladies marked their reconciliation with a somewhat chilly embrace and settled down, improbably enough, to govern the Roman Empire. All members of the former Emperor's family, together with a few of his most enthusiastic supporters, were banished; but the vast majority of those in senior positions, both civil and military, were confirmed in office. From the outset Zoe, as the elder of the two, was accorded precedence. When they sat in state, her throne was placed slighdy in advance of that of Theodora, who had always been of a more retiring di
sposition and who seemed perfectl
y content with her inferior status. Psellus gives us a lively description of the pair:
Zoe was the quicker to understand ideas, but the slower to give them utterance. With Theodora it was just the reverse: she concealed her inmost thoughts, but once she had embarked on a conversation she would chatter away with an informed and lively tongue. Zoe was a woman of passionate interests, prepared with equal enthusiasm for life or death. In this she reminded me of the waves of the sea, now lifting a vessel on high, now plunging it down again. Such extremes were not to be found in Theodora: she had a calm disposition - one might almost say a dull one. Zoe was prodigal, the sort of woman who could dispose of a whole ocean of gold dust in a single day; the other counted her coins when she gave away money, partly no doubt because all her life her limited resources had prevented her from any reckless spending, but partly also because she was naturally more self-controlled
...
In personal appearance there was a still greater divergence. The elder, though not particularly tall, was distinctly plump. She had large eyes set wide apart, with imposing eyebrows. Her nose was inclined to be aquiline, though not overmuch. She still had golden hair, and her whole body shone with the whiteness of her skin. There were few signs of age in her appearance
...
there were no wrinkles, her skin being everywhere smooth and taut. Theodora was taller and thinner. Her head was disproportionately small. She was, as I have said, readier with her tongue than Zoe, and quicker in her movements. There was nothing stem in her glance: on the contrary she was cheerful and smiling, eager to find any opportunity for talk.
How well did this unlikely tandem govern the Empire? There are two schools of thought. For Psellus, the pair were a near-disaster: he claims that they understood nothing of finance or politics, that they were unable to distinguish between serious affairs of state and 'the most futile distractions of the
gynaeccum',
and that Zoe exhausted the exchequer by her insane largesse. John Scylitzes tells a very different story. He points to the imperial decrees against the buying and selling of offices, the improvements to the civil and military administration and several admirable high appointments, including that of Constantine Cabasilas as commander-in-chief of the European armies and - still more important — of George Maniakes as
catapan
in Italy with the rank of
magister,
the highest in the nobility outside the imperial family itself.
1
Meanwhile a tribunal was appointed to inquire into the abuses of the previous reign: the Nobilissimus Constantine was dragged from his monk's cell for searching interrogation, and ultimately revealed — by what means of persuasion
1
Scylitzes is almost certainly wrong here. We know that Maniakes returned to Italy as
catapan
at the end of April
1042,
i.e., only a few days after the fall of Michael Calaphates; his appointment must therefore have been due to Michael rather than to Zoe.
we do not know - the existence of a secret hiding-place in his Palace in which were found 5,300 pounds of gold missing from the treasury.
Whatever the truth of the matter, one thing was certain: the joint regime lacked that fundamental stability without which it could never enjoy the confidence of the people. As the weeks passed and the two sisters' mutual dislike became ever more apparent, officials and senators were inevitably obliged to side with one or the other; the government thus began to show signs of a potentially dangerous polarization. Before long it was clear that it could not continue without a firm male hand at the helm. This, however, could be achieved in one way only: by an imperial marriage. Theodora, after well over half a century of virginity, refused absolutely to contemplate such a step; Zoe, on the other hand, asked nothing better. Although her previous attempts at matrimony had all been notably unsuccessful and third marriages were, as we have seen, viewed with horror by the Eastern Church, hope sprang eternal in her sixty-four-year-old breast and she immediately began to cast around for a suitable husband.
Her eye first fell on the distinguished and handsome Constantine Dalassenus - recently released from prison - who, it will be remembered, had in 1028 been the choice of her dying father until the civil bureaucracy had persuaded him to reconsider;
1
but when summoned to the court he shocked everyone by appearing in civilian clothes, and then adopted a manner so cold and haughty to the old Empress that she dismissed him at once. The next candidate was a certain Constantine Artoclines, a court official (also remarkably good-looking) whom she had always admired - so much, indeed, that there had been rumours of an amorous intrigue between them in the days of Romanus Argyrus, thirteen years before. Alas, he died in mysterious circumstances a few days before the wedding was due to take place - poisoned, it was said, by his own wife, who doubtless remembered the circumstances attending the marriage of Romanus and was anxious to avoid a repetition. In desperation, Zoe now turned to a third Constantine, a member of the ancient and noble family of Monomachus. He too was outstandingly attractive - always an important consideration with Zoe - and had acquired a formidable reputation as a ladies' man; he was also elegant, sophisticated and immensely rich. After the early death of his first wife he had married the niece of Romanus Argyrus, long before the latter's
1
See p.
269.
elevation to the throne; but only during Romanus's brief reign had he ever been properly accepted at court. In the days of Basil II and Constantine VIII there had been doubts about his loyalty, his father having once been implicated in a minor conspiracy; while Michael IV and John the Orphanotrophus, uneasy about his increasingly close relationship with .Zoe, had banished him to Lesbos, where he had spent seven years in exile and whence he was now summoned.
Constantine Monomachus arrived in the capital in the second week of June. On the previous day he had been met at Damocrania on the Marmara where, in the Church of St Michael the Archangel, he had received the regalia and where an imperial vessel was waiting to carry him on the last stage of his journey. He was thus able to enter Constantinople in state, amid cheering crowds, and on n June he and Zoe were married in the chapel of the Nea. A slight cloud was cast over the proceedings by the absolute refusal of the Patriarch to officiate at what was, for both parties, a third marriage (one of the imperial chaplains fortunately proved more obliging), but by the following day he had overcome his scruples
sufficiently
to conduct the coronation service without protest.
The Emperor Constantine IX was more confident than Constantine VIII, more of a realist than Romanus Argyrus, healthier than Michael IV and less headstrong than Michael V. Politically, however, through sheer idleness and irresponsibility, he was to do the Empire more harm than the rest of them put together. By the time he died in 1055 the Normans of south Italy under their leader Robert Guiscard - the most dazzling military adventurer between Julius Caesar and Napoleon - were well on the way to eliminating once and for all the Byzantine presence in Apulia, Calabria and Sicily; the Seljuk Turks, now firmly established in Baghdad, were already beginning to contemplate their subsequent irruption into the Anatolian heartland; the Danube frontier had been broken by invading tribes from the steppes - Pechenegs, Cumans and Uz; the Eastern and Western Churches were effectively in schism; while within the Empire itself the nobility had made two near-successful attempts at revolt and the army had been allowed to decline until it was in a worse state than at any time in the past century. Constantine, meanwhile, scarcely seemed to notice. Unlike his predecessors in Zoe's bed, he made no attempt to check her wild prodigality; indeed, he spent even more than she did. Not since the days of Constantine VII had the capital seen such luxury and ostentation. The Porphyrogenitus, however, had used court ceremonial as a deliberate instrument of policy to increase his imperial prestige; Monomachus, by making no pretence of spending for anything other than his own pleasure, achieved precisely the contrary effect.
Zoe, for her part, proved equally tolerant towards her new husband. At last her interest in the physical aspects of marriage seems to have been on the wane: she certainly made no objection to his long-term association with the niece of his second wife, a lady of extraordinary charm who was the paternal granddaughter of old Bardas Sclerus, erstwhile rival of Basil II, and who had uncomplainingly shared her lover's seven long years of exile. When Monomachus had received his summons she had at first remained on Lesbos, obviously not wishing to compromise him and so prejudice his chances of the crown; knowing all too well the difficulties connected with third marriages, she seems not to have contemplated the possibility of his union with Zoe, the news of which had been a severe shock to her. Still greater, however, must have been her surprise when messengers arrived on the island with a letter from the old Empress, assuring her of her good will and encouraging her most warmly to return to the capital. There her initially modest dwelling was gradually transformed by the doting Constantine into a magnificent mansion while their affair, which was at first carried on with a seemly discretion, gradually became more and more open until finally the Emperor made a public admission. In the course of a most curious ceremony attended by the entire Senate, Monomachus and the Sclerina (as she is always called) were formally associated with one another by means of a contract known by the sycophantic senators as 'the loving-cup', after which she joined him and Zoe in an apparently happy
menage a
trois.
'In appearance,' writes Psellus,
without being beautiful in the true sense of the word, she was so elegant, graceful and attractive that it was difficult indeed to criticize her. As for her character and temperament, she could beguile a heart of stone. Her manner of speech was delightful, unlike that of anyone else: rhythmic, subtle and harmonious. She possessed an exquisite voice, and her diction was as perfect as her tone was sweet. Everything she said had an inexpressible charm. She would often bewitch me by plying me with questions, in that gentle voice of hers, about the Greek myths, adding here and there little glosses that she had picked up from other experts on the subject. No woman was ever a better listener.