History of the Moorish Empire in Europe, Vol. 3 (of 3)

by S. P. Scott

The government of the Byzantine Empire exhibited a curious mixture of irresponsible power and abject dependence. The emperors displayed all the insignia and all the arrogance of despotism, while at the same time they were really the slaves of their parasites. The career of a sovereign was certain to be a short one if he manifested an inclination to independence and to the assertion of his legal prerogatives. In the court of Constantinople poisoning was reduced to a science, and eunuchs, astrologers, priests, and charlatans were ready instruments of ambition and revenge. The formalities attending the intercourse of members of the royal family and the aristocracy were so complicated as to require a long course of study to master them. They were reduced to a code, familiarity with whose rules was considered the greatest accomplishment of a courtier. While this frivolous ceremonial was being sedulously perfected, the constantly receding frontiers of the Empire were abandoned to the encroachments of the barbarians of the Baltic and the Caspian. The state revenues were squandered by ecclesiastics and insatiable favorites. Rapacious tax-collectors displayed the character and adopted the customs of licensed brigands. Their extortions became so excessive and the distress of the people was so great that three-fourths of the inhabitants of the monarchy were officially inscribed upon the public registers as mendicants.

From the eighth to the twelfth century Constantinople was, in all probability, the most opulent and populous city in the world. It had inherited the traditions of the ancient Roman capital, while it had in a great measure discarded the policy which had made those traditions famous. The most exquisite of the works of art that had escaped the fury of the barbarous hordes of Scythia and Gaul had been conveyed within its walls. Its streets were lined with magnificent mansions, colonnades, temples. Everywhere rose suggestive mementos of that great power whose name had been renowned and feared from the Highlands of Scotland to the banks of the Oxus. In forum and garden the mean and stolid visages of sainted monk and anchorite stood side by side with the noble busts and statues of the most illustrious heroes and citizens of classic Rome. The royal palaces were modelled, some after the beautiful villas which had once adorned the Campagna, others after plans suggested by the Saracen architects of Bagdad. The churches also bore evidence of the imitative character of Byzantine art, which borrowed its inspiration from Greece and the Orient. It is said that in 1403 there were three thousand of them in the city. Monolithic columns of different colored marble supported their domes,—sometimes as many as five in number,—roofed with tiles of gilded bronze. Their walls were incrusted with lapis-lazuli and jasper. The sculpture in relief was covered with gold. Elaborate patterns of arabesques in mosaics embellished the walls and formed the pavements. The fountains were of silver and their basins were filled with wine instead of water, for the benefit of the Byzantine mob, whose struggles often diverted the indolent leisure of the monarch and his luxurious court. A separate dwelling was used by the Emperor during each season of the year, and the appointments and furniture of each of them were adapted to the atmospheric vicissitudes of the climate of Constantinople. In all the decorations of these sumptuous edifices jewels were lavished in ostentatious and semi-barbaric profusion. The perverted ingenuity of the Byzantine inventor was expended in the construction of curious toys that might delight the simplicity of childhood, but which could hardly be expected to engage the attention of royalty, even in a degenerate age. One of the masterpieces of these skilful artisans was a tree of the precious metals with foliage occupied by golden birds, whose shrill notes filled the halls of the palace. Notwithstanding its vast expenditure of treasure, such were the resources of the Byzantine monarchy that even after its territory was contracted almost to the walls of the capital, it still embraced the wealthiest community in Christendom. The unrivalled commercial facilities enjoyed by Constantinople more than counterbalanced for centuries the disadvantages of political incapacity, national idleness, and official corruption. The losses resulting from ecclesiastical quarrels, the sanguinary revolutions of political factions, the ravages of Crusaders and the pestilence were speedily supplied from the cities of Greece and the colonies of Asia Minor. The heterogeneous elements of its population, thus recruited from so many sources, early caused it to assume the appearance and the character of the most cosmopolitan of cities; and as the capital was the type of the entire region subject to the sovereign, it has been remarked, not incorrectly, that the Byzantine Empire was a government without a nation.

So marked, however, was the religious and intellectual debasement of contemporaneous Europe that the weakness and crimes of the Greek emperors passed unnoticed amidst the recognized superiority of the civilization which their wanton extravagance polluted. The extent and magnitude of their commerce, the splendor of their embassies, the munificence with which they rewarded their allies, afforded the most exaggerated ideas of their importance and power. The pomp which invested their presence concealed the deplorable conditions under whose restraints they were compelled to direct the affairs of their empire. The political imbecility of the Greeks was, therefore, not visible to their neighbors. These observed only the gorgeous theatrical effects which sustained the prestige of a decaying monarchy, and the alliance of the princes of Constantinople was solicited alike by the khalifs of Bagdad, Cairo, and Cordova, by the emperors of the West, and by the kings of England. In the social polity of the Greeks the court was everything and the people nothing. The natural law of progress, by which man is encouraged to accumulate wealth by the knowledge that he can enjoy it unmolested, and is impelled to intellectual pursuits through the hope of political advancement,—a law practically annulled by the Cæsars of Rome,—was entirely abolished under the emperors of Byzantium. Little security could be expected from a government which attempted to extort from the wretched peasant, whose harvests had been swept away by the barbarian, the same tax demanded from the prosperous merchant, and made no allowance for the destitution for which its own incapacity and corruption were responsible.

The most pernicious ideas relative to the duties and privileges of citizenship had been imported from Italy. The people were divided into castes. The aristocracy considered all occupations carried on for profit as disgraceful to a patrician. It was a maxim with the populace, and one which it would have been dangerous to controvert, that the state owed it sustenance and amusement. In maintaining such a principle, the lower classes could have no motive for labor, and the rabble of Constantinople had not forgotten that the Roman citizen who so far disregarded his dignity as to become an artisan was ignominiously driven from his tribe. The only career open to the aspiring plebeian was through the Church. To obtain a commanding position in the hierarchy, the favor and assistance of a eunuch or of a princess of the royal family was indispensable. The duties of the priesthood required the possession of little intelligence and less education. The affairs of palace and cathedral were usually administered by emasculated monks, indebted for their places to the ostentatious devotion or convenient servility by which they demonstrated their usefulness in furthering the designs of ambitious patrons. While the general licentiousness which scandalized the papal court did not prevail to an equal extent among the clergy of Constantinople, the lives of many of the patriarchs were stained with vices equal in baseness and impiety to any that defiled the character of the worst of the pontiffs. Soldiers, eunuchs, parasites, and tools of intriguing statesmen were elevated in turn to the most eminent dignity of the Eastern Church. Some carried with them into the episcopal palace the manners and the license of the camp. Others, by enlisting the services of the monks and the populace, fomented sanguinary and disastrous revolutions. Others again, by the monstrous extravagance of their behavior and the irreverence which they displayed in the discharge of their sacred functions, aroused the indignation and incurred the censure of the devout. Of the latter, Theophylactus offers a conspicuous example. The sale of ecclesiastical preferments furnished him regularly with means for the gratification of his unholy passions. He was raised to the patriarchal throne of Constantinople at the age of twelve years. He introduced into the Greek ritual absurd ceremonies and licentious hymns which, strange to relate, survived him for almost two centuries. To this practice are traceable the riotous and obscene festivals of the Middle Ages, when religion was travestied and the rites of the Church profaned by license as gross as that which characterized the excesses of the decadent empire of the Cæsars. He deprecated the wrath of the Devil with heathen sacrifices. In his stable were two thousand horses, which were fed on almonds and figs steeped in wine, regaled with costly liquors, and sprinkled with the most exquisite perfumes. Not infrequently in the midst of the mass he left his congregation to visit the stall of some favorite charger. Could piety or virtue be expected from a people whose spiritual necessities were ministered to by such a prelate?

With moral degeneracy came also intellectual decrepitude. A scanty but inestimable remnant of the vast stores of learning which had instructed and delighted the Pagan world had been rescued from the hands of the ruthless barbarian and preserved on the shores of the Bosphorus. But the scarcity of writing materials and the ignorance and prejudice of the unlettered ecclesiastics into whose hands many of these treasures fell insured their destruction. Great numbers of the productions of classic authors were erased from the precious parchment to make room for the legendary miracles of fictitious saints. Others perished by mould and mildew in the dripping vaults of monasteries and churches. Near the Cathedral of St. Sophia there stood in the eighth century a great basilica of unique and elegant design called the Octagon. It was approached by eight magnificent porticos supported by pillars of white marble. The edifice itself displayed the taste and skill of the Grecian architect, whose type, while suggestive of the decline of an art once carried to a perfection without parallel, was, even in its decadence, superior to the masterpieces of all other nations. Erected by Constantine the Great for purposes of religious worship, Julian had consecrated it to literature, had deposited within its halls his extensive library, and had established there an academy in imitation of the famous Museum founded by the Ptolemies at Alexandria. Here a corps of teachers, maintained at the expense of the state, imparted instruction gratuitously on all branches of theology and the arts. The library was open to every student of whatever creed or nationality. A number of expert calligraphists and scholars were constantly employed in adding to the collection, or in reproducing manuscripts that had been damaged by abuse or neglect. The professors of this university—the only institution worthy of the name in the entire realm of the empire—were held in the highest reverence. Sometimes their opinions were taken on important questions of law and diplomacy. Often their mediation was solicited by the heads of contending factions. By the pre-eminence of their acquirements and the weight attaching to their decisions, they averted many a national catastrophe. The incumbents of the most exalted places in the Church were frequently taken from their ranks. During the season of its prosperity no institution of learning outside of the dominions of the khalifs wielded such a salutary influence or was regarded with such respect and homage by all classes of mankind as the Octagon of Constantinople. In the reign of Zeno, when it was consumed by fire, this famous edifice contained a library of a hundred and twenty thousand volumes. Among the treasures lost in the conflagration was a wonderful manuscript of the works of Homer, more than one hundred feet long, composed of serpent skins inscribed with characters of gold. Restored by the emperors to some degree of its former splendor, Leo the Isaurian, who, after repeated interviews, had failed to convert to his iconoclastic views the teachers of the University, determined to effectually silence those who had so signally refuted his arguments. Secretly, and during the night, an immense quantity of combustibles was distributed about the building, the torch was applied, detachments of troops prevented all attempts at rescue, and the assembled wisdom and learning of the Byzantine Empire perished in one indiscriminate ruin. From this inexcusable act of vandalism dates the disappearance of many of the greatest works of the poets, philosophers, and historians of antiquity. What the iconoclast had begun the crusader completed. The storming of the capital by the Latins dealt another destructive blow to literature. The martial fanaticism of the West saw nothing to admire and much to execrate in the immortal productions of Pagan genius. The ignorant monks who followed in the train of the Count of Flanders and the Marquis of Montferrat showed scant consideration to such of the classics as fell into their hands. The precious remains that survived this age of violence, superstition, and intellectual apathy rested uncared for and forgotten in the seclusion of private libraries and the sacred recesses of the cloister until they were resurrected by the insatiable demand for knowledge which distinguished the people of Europe during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.

In every phase of social as well as of intellectual life, the national inferiority of the Byzantine was manifest. He could copy with a fair degree of skill, but he could not originate. He absorbed little and created almost nothing. The works of art in which he took most pride were rather indebted for their value to the nature of their materials than to the labor and ingenuity that had produced them. In the style of ornamentation,—especially as regards the pattern of textile fabrics and the settings of jewels,—the Syrian taste, which delighted in floral designs and the forms of grotesque animals, predominated. There was little in the work of the Byzantine sculptor to call to mind the simplicity and delicacy that pre-eminently distinguished the exquisite products of the Attic chisel. Yet its imitative tendency induced the genius of the Eastern Empire to borrow from all its neighbors, and especially from Greece, whose art had greatly retrograded even before the accession of Constantine. The adoption of Christianity as the religion of the state was most unfavorable to sculpture, which was associated by the ignorant with the representation and worship of the gods of antiquity. The term “Byzantine,” as applied to decoration, is most comprehensive, and, employed by writers at will, has become indefinite. When examples of this style possess marked characteristics, however, and can readily be identified, they show clearly the impress of foreign influence, resulting commercial activity, and intimate diplomatic relations of the Greek Empire with nations of the most discordant customs and religious traditions. The mural designs in mosaic peculiar to Constantinople were reproduced in temples dedicated to the ceremonial of widely different creeds, as the Mosque of Cordova, the Church of St. Mark at Venice, and the Cathedral of St. Isaac at St. Petersburg.

The division of society into castes was the most serious and insurmountable impediment to progress encountered by the people of the Greek Empire. Public opinion was voiced by the court at the instigation of the clergy. There was one law for the members of the imperial household and another for all who did not enjoy that adventitious privilege. What was a crime in the citizen was scarcely considered an error in the patrician. The tradesmen, who to some extent constituted a middle class, were not wealthy or influential enough to own slaves,—a criterion of social importance,—and in nine cases out of ten sympathized with, if they did not actually support, the claims of the rabble. The cultivator of the soil, uncertain whether he would be permitted to enjoy the fruit of his labors, through the rapacity of the imperial officials or the relentless fury of the barbarians, pursued his useful vocation to little purpose. In a region proverbial for fertility, under a sky unusually favorable to the husbandman, there was no uniformity in the amount of the yield, no certainty of even a moderate harvest. Under the same atmospheric conditions a year of famine often succeeded a year of the greatest abundance. The most lucrative branch of commerce was the slave-trade. The Saracen pirates, who swarmed in the Mediterranean, exchanged their captives in the markets of Byzantium for Baltic amber, Chinese silks, Arabian spices, and Indian jewels. These slaves, both male and female, were sold to Jews, who disposed of them to the Moslems of Persia, Egypt, Mauritania, and Spain. The manufacture of eunuchs was not only a profitable industry, but was often resorted to with a view to the future political or ecclesiastical promotion of the unfortunate subject. Parents mutilated their children in the hope that they might rise to the administration of important dignities in the palace or the Church. Unsuccessful aspirants to the throne were compelled to undergo this painful and dangerous operation, and were then confined for life in some secluded monastery. The abject degeneracy of the nation further revealed itself by the infliction of even more inhuman and revolting punishments. Political conspirators were flayed alive. Vivisection was practised upon criminals not sufficiently adroit or wealthy to escape the vigilance of the magistrate. Offenders guilty of public sacrilege were scourged, crucified, or burnt. With the intellectual debasement indicated by the enjoyment of human suffering were mingled the most puerile superstitions. Every class of society, from the emperor to the peasant, was a firm believer in visions, omens, auguries. The flight of birds was observed, the entrails of a slaughtered animal examined with an eagerness never surpassed by that of the votaries of Paganism. The occurrence of an inauspicious event, an unusual dream, an apparent prodigy, overwhelmed the unhappy Byzantine with dismay. Still tinctured with the idolatrous superstition of his fathers, he secretly placed gifts upon the defaced altars of ruined temples, consulted the silent oracles, endeavored to propitiate the neglected gods by nocturnal sacrifices. Belief in the evil-eye was universal, a delusion not extinct even in our day among the more ignorant peasantry of Italy, who think that the possession and exercise of this mysterious power is one of the prerogatives of the Pope. In such a community the charlatans who thrive by the weakness of mankind were not wanting. Astrologers were considered necessary appendages to the grandeur of the imperial court. They abounded in every quarter of the city, and were regarded by the populace with feelings of mingled fear and veneration. Even members of the priesthood, terrified by some unfamiliar natural phenomenon, which their ignorance suggested might portend an imminent calamity, did not hesitate to openly visit these impostors.

To the hands of these two great powers, the Papacy of Rome and the Empire of the Greeks, were virtually intrusted the destinies of the vast and constantly increasing population of Europe. Their evil influence over the minds of men was incalculable. What the unprincipled methods and insolent pretensions of the former failed to effect was supplied by the political duplicity of the latter. While often apparently at variance, they were in reality, though unconsciously, seeking to compass a common end,—the moral, social, and intellectual degradation of humanity. No conceptions of honor, consistency, generosity, or patriotism affected the policy of either. Is it surprising that under such circumstances and with such masters the society of the Christian world should have remained for many centuries absolutely stagnant, without advancement in the arts, without incentives to literary effort, without exertion in the fascinating domain of science, almost without the consolation of hope beyond the grave? When we consider the boundless opportunities for good in the grasp of these two great enemies of human progress, and the energy and ability employed by one of them especially to stifle all inquiry and every aspiration for mental improvement, we may realize the extent of the darkness which enveloped the society of Europe for nearly a thousand years, and appreciate the efforts of the Mohammedan nations, whose self-instructed genius illumined with such a brilliant light the path of civilization and knowledge.

The most pernicious and debasing conditions of Byzantine society prevailed to even a greater degree in the brutalized communities of Central and Western Europe. In no country of that continent did there exist a firmly established or legally constituted government. The authority of the sovereign was nominal and complimentary,—obeyed when it was more convenient to do so than to dispute it, and practically recognized under protest. The order of succession was perpetually violated. Ambitious vassals overturned thrones won by the valor of great chieftains, or ruled with despotic power in the names of their feeble progeny. Anarchy prevailed throughout those provinces whose population was not intimidated by the immediate presence of the court. Property and life were at the mercy of banditti in the pay and under the protection of powerful nobles, who complacently shared the spoils and the infamy of these highway plunderers. The savage and absurd customs imported by barbarians from the forests of Germany and Britain usurped the office of laws approved by the wisdom and practice of Roman jurisprudence. The decay of that science under the later emperors, and especially under the system established by Constantine, must be attributed to the increasing interest in religious doctrines and theological controversy, which ignored the talents and ambition once exercised in the profession of the civil law. The priest had become the successful rival of the advocate, and ecclesiastical preferment was prized more highly by the educated than the triumphs of judicial learning and forensic eloquence. The arm of the strongest determined the justice of a cause without the formalities of evidence and argument. A graduated tariff of compensation for bodily injury existed, and any offence could be expiated by the payment of a stipulated sum. The imposition and collection of taxes were not regulated by any established principles, and the obvious rules of political economy were violated in the application and enforcement of the fiscal regulations. Amidst the universal disorder, the Church lost no opportunity to increase her acquisitions and consolidate her power. She encouraged the continuance of the incredible ignorance and inhumanity of the age. She resolutely set her face against every attempt of the laity to shake off the fetters imposed upon it by violence and superstition. She punished with atrocious severity the slightest manifestation to question the genuineness of her pretensions or the validity of her canons.

The warlike and pugnacious spirit of an age governed by force affected even a profession generally associated with the offices of mercy and peace. For centuries among the Saxons it was the bishop and not the king who conferred the distinction of knighthood. In martial assemblies no difference existed in the appearance of the prelate and the warrior. The panoply and weapons of the field were often also a feature of ecclesiastical convocations. Godfrey, Archbishop of Narbonne, presided in complete armor over councils called to determine points of religious doctrine. The Bishop of Cahors, in Provence, refused to say mass unless his sword and gauntlets had been previously deposited on the altar. The Treasurer of the Cathedral of Nevers appeared in the choir armed to the teeth and with his hawk upon his wrist. In Languedoc, during the thirteenth century, it was the practice of priests to settle questions in dispute by fisticuffs.