In the closing scene of his life Justinian is exhibited to us as agitated by his ruling passion, devotion to theological subtleties, and as expending his last breath in an attempt to impose on the Church a heresy which he had rejected when his faculties were more acute. With one foot in the grave he became convinced that the Aphthartodocetae or Incorruptibles had arrived at the true view as to the properties of the flesh of Christ; and the octogenarian Emperor embarked on the enterprise of elevating this tenet to the rank of an Orthodox dogma. The resistance of Eutychius, the Patriarch of Constantinople, who had presided at the Fifth General Council, was punished by expulsion from his see; and Anastasius, the Patriarch of Antioch, was threatened with a similar fate. To enforce conformity with the Emperor's most recent conviction an edict was prepared, which would have excited a commotion among the Orthodox communions throughout the Empire, but its issue was prevented by the unexpected death of its author.[861]
Justinian died in November, 565, at an early hour of the morning, in the thirty-ninth year of his reign, and the eighty-third of his age.[862] The news was at once conveyed to the Senate, who forthwith aroused Justin, the son of Vigilantia, and besought him to accept the Crown. He occupied the post of Curopalates, or intendant of the Imperial household, and his succession had doubtless been privately arranged for some time previously. After his formal acquiescence the funeral rites of the deceased monarch were the first care. The body was placed upon a golden bier in a hall of the Palace, and Sophia, the wife of Justin, and a niece of Theodora, herself enshrouded it in a purple robe, on which were pictorially embroidered all the great events of Justinian's reign. By sunrise the people had become informed, and the assemblage in the Hippodrome followed in accordance with time-honoured precedent. Justin appeared, was acclaimed and hoisted on a buckler, and all the customary preliminaries of a coronation were enacted. The new Emperor made a speech, in which he promised to reform all abuses, and gave a practical earnest of his intentions by announcing that his uncle's debts would be paid forthwith. A band of notaries, accompanied by a gang of porters bearing bags of gold, then entered the arena, and all creditors who presented themselves had their accounts settled. The completion of the obsequies was the next duty to be accomplished. The people thronged the hall where the corpse lay in state; the bier was lifted up and borne away amid a crowd of mourners carrying wax lights, and a choir of virgins who intoned hymns as the procession moved along. The Church of the Holy Apostles was its destination, and when that edifice was reached the body was deposited in a golden sarcophagus which had been prepared for its reception by Justinian himself. A popular festival followed; the city was decorated with flowers, fruits, reeds, and olive branches; a variety of musical instruments resounded from every quarter amid popular applause and rejoicings; and the reign of Justin II was inaugurated with all the illusive hopes which foresaw the return of the Golden Age in the accession of the new monarch.[863]
With respect to literature and art in this age, a few remarks may be added to what has already been said upon the subject in a previous chapter of this work. But in relation to the productions of the Eastern or Later Roman Empire, the words literature and art must be used in a modified sense, because there were no Byzantine classics and no artistic masterpieces. Greek poetry ended with Menander and Theocritus, nearly three centuries before the Christian era; the last Latin poet was Claudian, who flourished more than a century before the time of Justinian. During the succeeding millennium, however, there were many versifiers at Constantinople, but no poet. Yet we could rarely spare their works, as they are often valuable for the historical or other information which they contain. As regards prose, of course, the position is different; for in that domain highly meritorious works can be produced without the aid of genius. The chief Byzantine writer there is Procopius, to whose compositions, considerable in bulk as they are, we are indebted for almost all detailed history of the sixth century. He was, as we have seen, for the most part the companion of Belisarius in his wars, not in a military capacity, but as a civil adjutant; and hence he is generally describing events in which he himself took an active part. He appears to be absolutely truthful, and it is improbable that he has given currency to any deliberate falsehood. In recondite matters he is sometimes corroborated by other historians, and he has never been contradicted.[864] Close critics of his text are able to point out that he used Herodotus and Thucydides as his models.[865] He was a man of abundant common sense, well informed for his epoch, and less superstitious than any typical specimens of his contemporaries. In religion he was a freethinker, believing in a Providence, which, however, had not become concrete in the form of any personal being in his mind.[866] When making use of previous writers he adopts their accounts with little discrimination, though he sometimes suggests that the reader may disbelieve if he sees fit to do so.[867] Three terms may be distinguished in his literary career. During the first, which extends to about 550, he was actively engaged in the Persian, Vandalic, and Gothic wars, and wrote his account of them in seven books. In the meantime he had opportunities of becoming intimately acquainted with the system of government and personality of the bureaucracy; and his observations led him to feel a strong repugnance for the administration and all connected with it. In the second term he resolves to register in a secret work his adverse conclusions and private information respecting the actors in the scenes which were passing around him, in the hope that it may lead to their being one day shown up in their true colours for the common benefit of humanity, when the dangers of such a publication shall no longer exist.[868] In 550, therefore, he writes his Secret History or Anecdotes, which he anticipates will attain the desired end.[869] He then turns his attention to the more recent operations of the Persian and Gothic wars, in which he had not himself borne a part, and describes them by adding an eighth, and final, book to his historical compositions. Gradually his literary work becomes generally known, and its merit recognized; the Emperor himself becomes one of his readers, and concludes that Procopius is the historian by whom his name will be handed down to future ages. He becomes personally interested in him, and the third term sees him enjoying the sunshine of Court favour. Justinian, proud of his extensive building achievements, is anxious that his activity in this sphere shall not perish in obscurity, and employs the historian to compose a work in which all his notable architectural works shall be described in realistic detail. For this compilation the Emperor himself affords information, and has the book written under his own eye in the flattering style usually adopted by courtiers when referring to the sovereign. Procopius, not indifferent to material advantages, complies with established formalities, and receives the meed of his talents and industry from the Emperor impersonally, as the state official who acts as the deputy of the public. Later on he is promoted to the post of Praefect of the City; and it falls to his lot to become custodian of his former chief when arrested on suspicion of conspiracy.[870] He had no biographer, and of his private life and connections nothing is known except that he was a native of Caesarea, in Palestine.[871]
As literature, all other Byzantine authors are practically negligible, but their value as sources of historical information has been sufficiently evidenced in the course of this work. At no subsequent period did a second Procopius arise, but a few words may be said about his immediate continuator, Agathias. He was an advocate by profession, in modern phrase, a briefless barrister, whose tastes were literary rather than forensic. He attempted poetry with slight success, and finally hoped to find his vocation in writing history in emulation of Procopius.[872] Not being a man of action like his predecessor, nor occupant of a post which enabled him to base his narrative mainly on personal experience, he wrote as a student rather than as an observer of events. He is thus better acquainted with books than with men, more widely read than Procopius, but studied, diffuse, deficient in personal convictions, and lacking in historical insight. His short history, which was interrupted by death, is, however, invaluable as being a sole source; and it is unlikely that, had he not undertaken it, anyone else would have filled his place and done it better.[873]
The sixth century in the West was not altogether an age of darkness and ignorance, but was illuminated by two writers—who have already been mentioned as intimates of Theodoric—Cassiodorus and Boethius. The latter was a voluminous and able author; and his Consolation of Philosophy, composed in the prison from which he was released only by a death sentence, is well known to modern readers, and has every title to rank as one of the Latin classics. Cassiodorus, also a prolific writer, though of no great talent, is important in the world of letters as having been the founder of literary monkhood, which he originated in a monastery erected by himself at Squillace, whither he retired after his political career.[874] He is understood to have survived there for thirty years, and almost to have become a centenarian in the enjoyment of learned leisure. St. Benedict also flourished in the first half of the sixth century; and the well-known order instituted by him, the Benedictines, ultimately took up the work initiated by Cassiodorus, and produced some of the most erudite contributors to knowledge of the ancient classics.
When treating of Byzantine art the question must always arise whether that term can be applied to productions which in previous or subsequent ages would not have been accepted as competent work. The renaissance of art in Italy is a phrase virtually synonymous with emancipation from Byzantine methods, but the latter, as already explained, ultimately became rooted in a conventionalism which was not typical of earlier efforts.[875] In the time of Justinian there is no evidence that painting and sculpture in the higher sense existed at all. We know of no pictorial representations, with the exceptions of miniatures in manuscripts and mosaics on the walls of sacred edifices,[876] while the glyptic art seems to have been almost confined to columnar capitals and carving on plates of ivory.[877] Of the former class it can only be said that all specimens are not bad, of the latter that there is some meritorious work.
The Byzantines were great builders, and in this sphere alone are their artistic creations really worthy of consideration. The features of classical Greek architecture, which with certain variations subsequently became Roman, are familiar to all. A Hellenic city of the best period was a chaste arrangement in white marble, in which the simplicity of the straight line was applied to define the form of all public buildings. Rows of accurately proportioned pillars, supporting a continuous entablature, invested both edifices and open spaces, and formed sheltered colonnades which were a defence against extremes of weather at all seasons. The architectural conception originated at some time far back when timber was the only material used for construction. Geometrical curves were rarely if ever seen, except in fluted columns, but the diversity of form to be found in the undulating lines of nature was profusely represented by foliaceous capitals, and in pediments, friezes, and metopes sculptured with the various figures of animal life. The Byzantine Greeks, however, completely reversed the conceptions of their ancestors, and abandoned the purity of classical style. Interest in form was gradually lost along with the capacity to execute it; and the taste of the age found its refuge in an overwhelming attachment to diversity and brightness of colour. To satisfy this craving recourse was had to variegated marbles, of which lavish use was made, for pillars in the mass, and in thin slabs for mural decoration. For the latter purpose also every available space was invested with glaring mosaics, the gaudy hues of which compensated for the absence of grace and natural proportions in the gaunt figures with which they were crowded. But these methods were applicable only to interiors, whence the building itself came to be considered as merely a packing-case into which was to be stuffed the wealth of meretricious adornment. Thus a temple, that is a church, became a ponderous and shapeless mass of brickwork, with an appearance appropriate, perhaps, to a barrack or a barn, instead of being a civic ornament of light and beauty. The Romans had the secret of a form of construction other than the continued entablature, and were attached to the method of sustaining superimposed masses by means of the arch, akin to which was the dome, which they probably adopted after their arms had penetrated to the East. On the Tiber, therefore, the straight entablature began to be displaced by a series of arches; and vaulted roofs were occasionally seen under the first emperors. In the new Byzantine architecture, which originated, or, at least, came to maturity under Justinian, both these methods of building were developed to the fullest extent. Among the lost arts at Constantinople about this time, seems to have been the skill to sculpture capitals after the Corinthian or Ionic patterns, the place of which was taken by clumsy inverted pyramids, quadrangular and truncated, which were used to effect a junction between the pillars and the superimposed structure.[878] It is possible, as suggested,[879] that this device may have been first adopted to support the roof in the obscurity of an underground cistern, but it was afterwards transported to the upper air and employed, as at St. Sophia, to complete the columns in the most decorative edifices. In these positions it was necessary to abolish the crudeness of such capitals, and, as there was a partial revival of art under Justinian, this object was accomplished with some success by cutting the surface of the pyramid over with a tracery of vegetable foliage, in the midst of which simple monograms were often interspersed. As such shapes are not produced in any strict conformity of outline, they are usually imitated with facility, and a measured or geometrical treatment is, in general, satisfactory to the eye.
In the sixth decade of this century, three incidents occurred, which were of more or less importance in connection with the subject of this section. In 551 some Asiatic monks introduced themselves to Justinian, and informed him that it was in their power to solve the difficulties which oppressed him with respect to the silk trade. Having resided long in China, they had become familiar with the method of rearing the silkworm, and they explained that if the eggs were transported to Europe they could be hatched in dung, so that a native manufacture of silk could be established. The Emperor promised to reward them liberally if they should succeed in the enterprise; and the next year they again presented themselves, furnished with a stock of the eggs, which, as some say, they had been obliged to carry away furtively concealed in hollow canes. Successful incubation followed; the worms were fed on mulberry leaves; and from this beginning dates the active propagation of the insects throughout Southern Europe, from whence nearly half the quantity of silk in commercial demand is supplied to the markets of the world.[880] In 554 a severe earthquake occurred, the violence of which was chiefly operative along the Syrian coast. The city of Berytus was totally wrecked, and many persons, including numbers of law students, perished in the ruins. The law school was then removed to the neighbouring town of Sidon until Berytus should be rebuilt, but, although the restoration was effected satisfactorily, there is some doubt as to whether the city regained its celebrity as a centre of legal education.[881] Another disastrous earthquake happened in 557 and wrought much havoc at Constantinople. One of the results of the catastrophe was that the dome of St. Sophia collapsed, bringing destruction to many of the elaborate and precious structures which occupied the floor of the church. The original architects were dead, but a younger Isidorus was entrusted with the work of reinstatement, and a new dome was constructed, having its altitude increased by twenty feet. At the re-opening a grand ceremony was enacted comparable to that which had taken place on the first occasion a score of years previously.[882]
It appears that the requisites for the welfare of a nation might with general consent be defined as peace abroad, and prosperity at home. We have seen that the reign of Justinian was one of incessant activity, but we fail to discern that the continuous ferment, the motive impulse of which emanated from Constantinople, was in any way beneficial to the human race. For nearly forty years war was almost peripheral with respect to the dominions of that Emperor; in Africa, in Italy, aggressive; on the Danube and on the Euphrates, defensive. It is possible that the lot of the Orthodox Christians in Africa may have been ameliorated by the expulsion of their Vandal rulers; but we are told by an eye-witness that the country, which had previously been flourishing and populous, was thereby reduced for hundreds of miles to a desert, and that as an ultimate result the Byzantine invasion might be credited with the annihilation of fully five millions of the inhabitants.[883] There is good reason to conclude, however, that before the time of Justinian, the religious rancour which had prevailed between the Arians and the Orthodox in the African provinces had been subdued to the level of mutual toleration, so that in the best interests of that region a continuance of the Vandal administration would have been desirable. If there be any doubt as to whether the Vandal war was really harmful to the people chiefly concerned, there can be no question but that the invasion of Italy was an unmitigated calamity for the inhabitants of that peninsula. It would be difficult to define an age, even prior to the dissolution of the Roman Republic, during which the Italians could be said to have lived in the uninterrupted enjoyment of peace and prosperity. From the foundation of Rome the peninsula was distracted for more than twelve centuries, first by ethnical and then by civil commotion, and ultimately by barbarian devastation. But for nearly forty years under the rule of Theodoric, a settlement was reached, when beneficent government without fiscal rapacity went hand in hand with religious toleration.[884] It must be conceded that the successors of the founder of the Gothic monarchy were true neither to their own interests nor to those of the Italians, but the wanton warfare carried on so persistently by Justinian for nearly two decades, whilst he neglected the defence of his own dominions, was more fraught with disaster to Italy than the transient, though determined, barbarian irruptions: and we have it from the same authority that the depopulation of the country was even more evident to the contemporary observer than was that of Africa.[885]
The incapacity of the Byzantine administration to create and protect a thriving population, has been sufficiently exemplified in the foregoing chapters, wherein we have seen the results of fiscal oppression and of ineffective preparations for repelling the Persians and barbarians.[886] A glance at the course of events after the time of Justinian will complete the picture, and illustrate more fully the imbecility of the empire which that monarch attempted, but failed to consolidate. Scarcely three years had elapsed from the death of Justinian until the Lombards invaded Italy, and in a short time the greater part of the peninsula as far south as Naples was permanently wrested from the Byzantines. It is said that this irruption was provoked by Narses himself out of revenge for his having been treated with contumely by the Byzantine Court. He sent samples of fruits and agricultural produce to King Alboin, and counselled him to migrate southwards with his nation in order to enjoy the fertility of Italy.[887] But, being soon repentant, the eunuch died at Rome shortly afterwards at the age of ninety-five (568).[888] The fifty years' peace with Persia lasted only ten years, and in 572 Chosroes again crossed the Euphrates, ravaged the Roman provinces, and made himself master of Dara. Later on, however, he was successfully opposed by the Emperor Tiberius, and in 579 he died of chagrin, as it is said, at the ill success of his arms.[889] But early in the seventh century Chosroes II overran Syria and Asia Minor, taking Damascus and Jerusalem, and established his camp at Chalcedon, in sight of Constantinople. About 622, however, the fortune of the Byzantines was restored by the notable campaigns of the Emperor Heraclius; and in 650 the Saracenic successors of Mohammed conquered the Persian empire. But a decade before that event, they had overthrown the Byzantine armies, and had taken permanent possession of Syria and Egypt. In the meantime the Imperial capital itself had been severely oppressed by the martial activities of the age; and between 625 and 680 had undergone several sieges by Persians, Avars, and Saracens. Such was the state of the Eastern Empire less than a century after the death of Justinian. One third of its home territory had passed into the hands of the Mohammedans, and half of the appanage of Italy into those of the Lombards. Before the year 700 the Arabs had worked their way to the extreme West, and the whole of Christian North Africa had been effaced by the votaries of Islam. If the Vandal kingdom had been left undisturbed, there is no reason to suppose that it could have withstood the conquering fanatics who were inspired by the Apostle of Mecca; although the existence of a flourishing Western civilization for more than seven hundred years between the Red Sea and the Atlantic proves that states of the highest European type might be permanently established in those latitudes. The subject need not be pursued into further detail; the samples given illustrate sufficiently how the Græco-Roman power became progressively dilapidated, with occasional intervals of better fortune, until in the fifteenth century the Byzantine Empire became synonymous with the area circumscribed by the walls of Constantinople. In 1453 the city was taken by the Turks, and the fact announced to Christendom that civilization and progress in the modern sense had become extinct in three-fourths of the countries which lie around the basin of the Mediterranean.[890]