Eutropius affected to treat the rebellion as a petty insurrection, the suppression of which belonged rather to the judge armed with instruments of torture than to a military force. He declined the proffered assistance of Gaïnas, but secretly negotiated with Tribigild, in the hope of subduing him by means of promotion or of a bribe in money. The Goth, proud to have turned the tables upon the minister who had recently treated him with scorn, steadfastly declined to accept any satisfaction but one—the head of Eutropius himself. Thus war was inevitable; but who was to conduct it? Eutropius dared not trust Gaïnas to act against his own countryman and kinsman. He retained him therefore at Constantinople in command of the city troops, and committed the management of the legions to one of his favourites, Leo, described by Claudian as a man “abounding in flesh, but scant of brains;”[467] once a wool-carder, but, under the administration of the eunuch, a military commander. His obesity made him an object of derision to the army, and, joined to his natural incapacity and ignorance, rendered him the most unfit man to conduct an expedition against the subtle and active barbarian. Leo crossed the Bosporus with a large, ill-disciplined army, whose approach was welcomed by the devastated provinces, which vainly rejoiced at the prospect of speedy deliverance from the ravager. The enemy, meanwhile, had retreated southwards through Pisidia, and after a narrow escape from destruction in the defiles of Mount Taurus, where the inhabitants made a fierce stand, he emerged into Pamphylia, and awaited Leo in the vast plain of the Eurymedon and Melas, which extends between the chain of Taurus and the sea. The doughty commander of the imperial forces eagerly pursued the Goths, and flattered himself, as the artful chieftain pretended to retreat in alarm, that he had cooped him up by the sea. In the confident anticipation of success, the discipline, such as it was, of Leo’s camp became still more relaxed. Little or no watch was kept; festivity, drunkenness, and disorder of all kinds prevailed; while the general had allowed himself to be drawn into a fatal position between a wary enemy in front and an impassable morass in his rear. In the depth of a dark night, the Goth swooped down upon his prey: all were asleep in the camp, the slumbers of many deepened by drunkenness. Those who were not killed on the spot fled in wild confusion, but only to flounder in the marsh, in the oozy bed of which large numbers were absorbed. A few scattered remnants reached the Bosporus by devious routes, to carry tidings of the disaster to Constantinople. Leo himself had plunged on horseback into the morass; the animal soon sank under the weight of his bulky rider, who, after vain struggles to extricate himself, was finally sucked beneath the quag. To such a bathos have the annals of Roman warfare descended! A Roman general suffocated in mud![468]
The news of this disaster struck panic into the population and Court of Constantinople. There was but one who rejoiced; for he saw himself master of the situation. This was Gaïnas; he was the only man at hand capable of confronting Tribigild, and he was despatched across the Bosporus with his barbarian auxiliaries. But he did nothing to check the enemy, who had resumed his career of pillage. He represented that the forces opposed to him were insuperable, but expressed a firm conviction that Tribigild would become as loyal a servant as himself on one condition—the surrender of the minister Eutropius, the principal author of all the evils of the State.[469]
Arcadius was placed in a state of cruel perplexity. We need not suppose that he was attached to Eutropius, but his weak and indolent nature shrank from the responsibility and labour to which, through the industry of his ambitious minister, he had been a stranger. Now, however, from all quarters the truth was forced upon him, that if he would save his throne, he must part with his newly-made consul. Ugly rumours were prevalent that Stilicho was meditating a march to the East, and at the same time a new king, hostile to the Empire, had ascended the throne in Persia.[470] But a nearer and more persuasive enemy of Eutropius was at hand to give the finishing impulse to his fall. The profound jealousy of his power entertained by Eudoxia has been already intimated. Not only had the title of Augusta been withheld from her through his influence, but he had even carried his arrogance so far at this time as to declare that his hand, which had elevated her, could also depose her from her present position altogether. The proud Frankish blood of the Empress could ill brook such words from the lips of an upstart menial, consul though he now was. With a passionate gesture she dismissed him from her presence, hastened to her two young children, Flaccilla and Pulcheria, and with them made her way into the apartment of Arcadius. To his inquiries as to the purpose of her sudden appearance she made at first no reply save by a flood of tears, in which the children, from natural sympathy, joined; but presently, in language broken by sobs, she related a tale of insults received at the hands of Eutropius, and the crowning insult of the whole series. This was the blow which was completely to fell the tottering minister. He was summoned to the imperial presence, and having been informed that he was deprived of his official dignity, and his property confiscated, he was commanded instantly to quit the palace under pain of death.[471]
The poor wretch, who had mounted from the lowest dregs of society to the grandest position a subject could occupy, was thus by a single blow suddenly reduced to the position from which he had started; and even worse, for death stared him in the face. The bows and smiles with which courtiers had greeted him that morning, when he was still the royal favourite, concealed, he well knew, a hatred and a scorn which were not confined to them, but animated the whole population, and only needed opportunity to declare themselves. That opportunity had come. He had no friends; whither should he fly? There was but one place to which he could in his extremity naturally turn—the sanctuary of the Church; but here, by the cruel irony of his fate, a law emanating from himself barred his entrance.
The right of asylum, which was once possessed by many of the Pagan temples, passed over, by a natural transition, about the time of Constantine, to Christian churches. However useful in ages of great rudeness and ferocity this right may be, either to shelter the innocent from lawless violence, or to give offenders protection from vindictive rage till the time of equitable trial, it inevitably becomes, sooner or later, an intolerable interference with the natural course of law and justice. Tiberius had found it expedient to restrict or abolish such rights attached to many of the Greek and Asiatic temples. Their suppression was resisted partly from feelings of pride, partly of mercenary interest, partly of respect for the sanctity of the places, as in the case in our own country of the sanctuary of Westminster.[472] In the reign of Theodosius I. a law was passed which excepted gross criminals and public debtors, and another in the reign of Arcadius, which excepted Jewish debtors who pretended to be Christians, from the privileges of asylum;[473] but by a law of September, A.D. 397, suggested by Eutropius, clergy and monks, in whose churches or convents fugitives might shelter, were obliged to surrender them to the officers of justice, though they might appeal to the Court in their favour.[474] The special object of Eutropius had been to cut off all retreat from the victims of his jealous ambition or avarice; and now he was one of the first to want the protection which he had himself abolished. But he knew, no one better, that the law had excited much resentment and resistance on the part of the Church; and it might well be that the Archbishop would gladly connive at the violation of the obnoxious measure by the very person who had framed it. He resolved to make the attempt. In the humblest guise of a suppliant, tears streaming down his puckered cheeks, his scant grey hairs smeared with dust, he crept into the cathedral, pushed aside the curtain which divided the chancel or sanctuary from the nave, and, clinging closely to the holy table,[475] awaited the approach of the Archbishop or any of the clergy.[476] The enemy was on his track. As he lay quaking with terror, he could hear on the other side of the thin partition the trampling of feet, mingled with the clattering of arms and voices raised in threatening tones by soldiers on the search. At this crisis he was found by the Archbishop, in a state of pitiable and abject terror; his cheek blanched with a death-like pallor, his teeth chattering, his whole frame quivering, as with faltering lips he craved the asylum of the Church.[477]
He was not repulsed as the destroyer of that shelter which he now sought. Chrysostom rejoiced in the opportunity afforded to the Church of exhibiting at once her clemency and power, by taking a noble revenge upon her former adversary. The clamour of the soldiers on the other side of the veil increased. Chrysostom led the unhappy fugitive to the sacristy; and having concealed him there, he confronted his pursuers, asserted the inviolability of the Church’s sanctuary, and refused to surrender the refugee. “None shall penetrate the sanctuary save over my body; the Church is the Bride of Jesus Christ, who has intrusted her honour to me, and I will never betray it.” The soldiers threatened to lay violent hands on the Archbishop; but he freely presented himself to them, and only desired to be conducted to the Emperor, that the whole affair might be submitted to his judgment. He was accordingly placed between two rows of spearmen, and marched like a prisoner from the cathedral to the palace.[478]
The populace meanwhile had heard of the wonderful event of the day. The news of the detested minister’s degradation had circulated through the Hippodrome, where a grand performance had attracted large multitudes. The spectators rose in a mass, uttered a shout of exultation, and vociferously demanded the head of the culprit.[479]
Chrysostom meanwhile maintained before the Emperor his lofty tone of authority in vindication of the Church’s right of asylum. Human laws could not weigh in the balance against divine; the very man who had assailed the Church’s divine right was now forced, in his day of distress, to plead in favour of it. The Emperor was moved, as he always was by any one who possessed some of that force of character which he himself lacked. Some feelings of compassion also for his late minister’s humiliation may have mingled themselves with superstitious dread of incurring Divine wrath. He promised to respect the retreat of Eutropius. But, on learning his decision, the troops which were in the city became indignant and furious in their demands that the culprit should be surrendered to justice. The Emperor made an address to them, entreating them even with tears to remember that they had received benefits as well as wrongs from the object of their present rage, and, above all things, imploring them to respect the sanctity of the holy table, to which the suppliant was clinging. By such words he restrained them with difficulty from the commission of any immediate violence.[480]
The following day was Sunday; but the places of public amusement and resort were deserted, and such a vast concourse of men and women thronged the cathedral as was rarely seen except on Easter Day.[481] All were in a flutter of expectation to hear what the “golden mouth” would utter, the mouth of him who had dared, in defence of the Church’s right, to defy the arm of the law, and to stem the tide of popular feeling. But few perhaps were prepared to witness such a dramatic scene as was actually presented, and which gave additional force and effect to the words of the preacher. It was a common practice with the Archbishop, on account partly of his diminutive stature and some feebleness of voice, to preach from the “ambo,” or high reading-desk, which stood a little westward of the chancel, and therefore brought him into closer proximity with the people.[482] On the present occasion, he had just taken his seat on the ambo, and a sea of upturned faces was directed towards his thin pale countenance in expectation of the stream of golden eloquence, when the curtain which separated the nave from the chancel was partially drawn aside, and disclosed to the view of the multitude the cowering form of the unhappy Eutropius, clinging to one of the columns which supported the holy table. Many a time had the Archbishop preached to light minds and unheeding ears on the vain and fleeting character of worldly honour, prosperity, luxury, wealth; now he would enforce attention, and drive his lesson home to the hearts of a vast audience, by pointing to a visible example of fallen grandeur in the poor unhappy creature who lay grovelling behind him. Presently he burst forth: “‘ματαιότης ματαιοτήτων!—O vanity of vanities!’” words how seasonable at all times, how pre-eminently seasonable now. “Where now are the pomp and circumstance of yonder man’s consulship? where his torch-light festivities? where the applause which once greeted him? where his banquets and garlands? Where is the stir that once attended his appearance in the streets, the flattering compliments addressed to him in the amphitheatre? They are gone, they are all gone; one rude blast has shattered all the leaves, and shows us the tree stripped quite bare, and shaken to its very roots.”... “These things were but as visions of the night, which fade at dawn; or vernal flowers, which wither when the spring is past; as shadows which flitted away, as bubbles which burst, as cobwebs which rent.”... “Therefore we chant continuously this heavenly strain: ματαιότης ματαιοτήτων καὶ πάντα ματαιότης. For these are words which should be inscribed on our walls and on our garments, in the market-place, by the wayside, on our doors, but above all should they be written in the conscience, and engraved upon the mind of every one.” Then, turning towards the pitiable figure by the holy table: “Did I not continually warn thee that wealth was a runaway slave, a thankless servant? but thou wouldst not heed, thou wouldst not be persuaded. Lo! now experience has proved to thee that it is not only fugitive and thankless, but murderous also; for this it is which has caused thee to tremble now with fear. Did not I declare, when you rebuked me for telling you the truth, ‘I love thee better than thy flatterers; I who reprove thee care for thee more than thy complaisant friends?’ Did I not add that the wounds inflicted by a friend were to be valued more than the kisses given by an enemy? If thou hadst endured my wounds, the kisses of thy enemies would not have wrought thee this destruction.”... “We act not like thy false friends, who have fled from thee, and are procuring their own safety through thy distress; the Church, which you treated as an enemy, has opened her bosom to receive thee; the theatre, which you favoured, has betrayed thee, and whetted the sword against thee.”[483] He thus depicted, he said, the abject condition of the minister, not from any desire to insult the prostrate, not to drown one who was tossed on the billows of misfortune; but to warn those who were still sailing with a fair wind, lest they should be hurried into the same abyss. Who had been more exalted than this man? Had he not surpassed all in wealth? had he not climbed to the very pinnacle of grandeur? yet now he had become more miserable than a prisoner, more pitiable than a slave.... It was the glory of the Church to have afforded shelter to an enemy; the suppliant was the ornament of the altar. “What!” you say, “is this iniquitous, rapacious creature an ornament to the altar?” Hush! the sinful woman was permitted to touch the feet of Jesus Christ Himself, a permission which excites not our reproach, but our admiration and praise.... The degradation of Eutropius was a wholesome example both to the rich and poor. “Let some rich man enter the church, and he will derive much advantage from what he sees. The spectacle of one, lately at the pinnacle of power, now crouching with fear like a hare or a frog, chained to yonder pillar not by fetters, but by fright, will repress arrogance, and subdue pride, and will teach him the truth of the Scripture precept: ‘All flesh is grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass.’ On the other hand, let a poor man enter, and he will learn not to be discontented, or to deplore his lot; but will be grateful to his poverty, which is to him as a most secure asylum, a most tranquil haven, a most impenetrable fortress.”[484] The Archbishop concluded by exhorting the people to mercy and forgiveness, following the example of their Emperor. How else could they with a clear conscience join in the Holy Mysteries about to be celebrated, or join in the prayer: “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us?” He did not deny that the offender had committed great crimes, but the present was a season not for judgment but for mercy. If they would enjoy the favour of God, who had declared, “I will have mercy and not sacrifice,” they would intercede with the Emperor for the life of their enemy. So would they obtain the mercy of God for themselves, and remission of their own sins; so would they shed glory on their Church, and win the praise of their humane sovereign, while their own clemency would be extolled to the ends of the earth.”
The people probably thought that sufficient mercy had already been exercised by respecting the asylum of the Church as against the law, and no further effort, so far as is known, was made on behalf of the fallen minister. He remained for several days more in the sanctuary, and then secretly and suddenly quitted it. Whether he fled designedly, mistrusting the security of his retreat, perhaps even, with the suspiciousness natural to a deceitful person, mistrusting the fidelity of his protectors, and hoping to make his escape from Constantinople in disguise; or whether he surrendered himself on the condition that exile should be substituted for capital punishment, cannot with perfect certainty be determined. It is implied by one writer[485] that he was seized and forcibly removed from the sanctuary. Chrysostom, on the other hand, declares that he would never have been given up, had he not abandoned the Church.[486] However and wherever he may have been captured, some promise appears to have been made that his life at least should be spared. He was put on board a vessel which conveyed him to Cyprus, that island being designed, it was said, to be the place of his banishment for the remainder of his life.[487] But his enemies had determined that his life should be brief. A suit was instituted against him at Constantinople on a variety of charges under the presidency of Aurelian, Prætorian Prefect. Over and above all his other crimes, he was found guilty of mingling with the ordinary costume of the consul certain ornaments or badges which belonged exclusively to the Emperors, and even of harnessing to his chariot animals of the imperial colour and breed. These were found to be treasonable offences, on the strength of which, in spite of some misgivings and hesitation on the part of Arcadius, which were overruled by Eudoxia and Gaïnas, the miserable culprit was recalled from Cyprus to Chalcedon, and there beheaded. As he entered that city, he might have seen affixed to the walls the imperial sentence, by the terms of which his property was declared confiscated to the State, his acts as consul were cancelled, the title of the year was changed, the world invited to rejoice at the purification of the consulship, and to cease to groan over the sight of the monstrosity which had disgraced and disfigured the divine honour of that sacred office. Finally, it was commanded that all statues or representations whatever of Eutropius in public places should be thrown down and broken in pieces.[488]