CHAPTER XVII

CONSTANTINOPLE

A spacious barge, gay with streamers, was moored for them beside the quay at Chalcedon, with a gilded dragon at its prow and a gorgeous canopy of purple silk. It was manned by five rowers in the imperial livery, who speedily conveyed them across the sparkling waters. To the bewilderment of Chrysostom, whose unworldly simplicity had not even yet divined the secret, a vast multitude lined the opposite shore, and received them with acclamations and shouts of joy, in which he repeatedly heard his own name. The tall chariot of the Prætorian Præfect, who stood highest among ‘the illustrious,’ awaited them, and in this they were driven at a rapid pace to the Patriarcheion, or house of the archbishop. The streets were cleared before them by a band of liveried runners. The Presbyter looked in mute inquiry to his friendly captors. They only informed him, with renewed smiles, that for the present he would find rooms prepared for him in the Palace of Nectarius, and that, after he had refreshed himself by a bath and a morning meal, some of the palace officials would be waiting to conduct him to an interview, first with the Grand Chamberlain, and then with the Emperor himself.

Resigning himself to circumstances, and suppressing to the utmost of his power every impulse of curiosity, though he was conscious that some great crisis of his life was at hand, Chrysostom gave himself up to silent prayer. But Philip, in the young enthusiasm of his life, was in the highest spirits, and was all eyes. His journey had been full of exhilaration to him, and he delighted to catch a 119 glimpse of a great unknown. Who could fail to look with interest on the famous city which was the rival of Rome? In that rapid drive he could only get confused glimpses of cupolas, and baths, and pillars, and statues, and churches, and ancient temples scattered over the seven hills of Byzantium, until they entered the second of the fourteen regions of the city. It covered the hill on which Constantine had pitched his tent, and he chose it as the site of his principal forum. The chariot drove under a triumphal arch, and on all sides were porticoes filled with the choicest works of ancient Greek statuary. Beside the arch, in a shrine, was the old statue of Cybele, which the Argonauts were said to have brought from Mount Dindymus. It had been turned into a statue of the genius of the city by removing the lions at the feet of the goddess, and altering the arms from a gesture of command to one of supplication. In the centre of the Forum stood a pillar of marble and porphyry 120 feet high. On its summit Constantine had placed a statue of himself, which, with that half-and-halfness which characterised his religious attitude, might be regarded as wearing the attributes either of Christ or of Apollo. Round its head were some of the nails said to have been brought by his mother, St. Helena, from Jerusalem as the nails of the Cross; but Pagans might, if they chose, regard them as the radiated crown of the old sun-god. This statue had, however, been replaced by one of Julian, and Julian’s by that of Theodosius, which now surmounted the column. In this open space stood the Church of Santa Sophia, or the Holy Wisdom, once a Temple of Peace. South of it was a second forum, a long rectangle, bounded on one side by the wall of the Hippodrome, and on the other by the wall of the Augusteum, or Imperial Palace, now the Seraglio. In this stood the famous Milion, from which all the roads of the East were measured. It was a domed building, surrounded by an arcade of seven pillars, embellished with statues, and containing those of Constantine and St. Helena. On the east side of this second forum ran a long portico, called ’The Passage of Achilles.’ The adjacent baths of Zeuxippus were enriched with the Athene of Lindus, the Muses of Helicon, the Amphitrite of Rhodes, the Pan consecrated 120 by the Greeks after the defeat of Xerxes, and others of the loveliest works of the greatest Greek sculptors. North of the famous Baths stood the Senate-house built by Julian, and no sooner had the chariot passed this building than it drew up at a stately palace next to it. This was the Patriarcheion, the residence of Nectarius, and of the Archbishop of Constantinople. How unlike the humble lodging which had sufficed for the great St. Gregory of Nazianzus!

Here Chrysostom and Philip alighted after a courteous farewell to Aurelian and Amantius, whom they thanked heartily for their many acts of kindness and courtesy.

‘We shall often meet again,’ said Amantius. ‘Indeed, we shall see you at the palace in an hour’s time.’

A sumptuous breakfast was already laid out, and attendants were in waiting; but Chrysostom told them that he required but little food, and that Philip would wait on him. Philip opened the bag which he had hastily packed at Antioch, and provided the Presbyter with new garments instead of his travel-stained suit. He took the same opportunity to array himself in his best Antiochene costume, and, though he was not vain, a glance at one of the great polished silver mirrors told him that he looked well. When they were a little rested and refreshed Chrysostom, with Philip following him, was conducted in state to have an interview with Eutropius, the all-powerful Minister.

Passing through the great hall of the Patriarch’s house—known as the Thomaites—they passed by the little Church of ‘Our Lady the Theotokos,’ which stood in the quarter of the Jewish bronzesmiths, the Chalkoprateia. In the palace-wall was a gate, called the Gate of Meletius, in honour of the saintly Bishop of Antioch, through which the Emperor used to walk to the private wooden staircase—the Skepaste Skala—which spanned the space between the Church of Our Lady and that of St. Sophia.

Through this entrance they were conducted to the suite of rooms occupied by Eutropius—the Præfectus sacri cubiculi, or Grand Chamberlain.

The outer hall was full of attendants, and here Philip had to stop; but Chrysostom was ushered to the inner room.

The officers who were conducting him knocked with 121 their golden wands on the folding doors, which were flung back, and Chrysostom saw the Chamberlain seated at a table inlaid with precious marbles, on which lay a large golden inkstand, and a large pen-case, also of solid gold. On one side of him stood the Count of the Sacred Wardrobe, the Count of the Palace, and the Groom of the Bedchamber; on the other stood Amantius, as almoner of the Empress Eudoxia, and Aurelian, as captain of those palace bodyguards who were known as Silentiarii and Palatini. On either side of the doors stood four of these armed soldiers.

With these great palace officials stood the two prime favourites and most trusted agents of the Grand Chamberlain, men whom he had lifted out of the mire to set among princes. One was the Spaniard Osius, once a cook, and always a scoundrel, whom Eutropius had elevated to the post, first of Count of the Sacred Largesses, and then of Master of the Officers. The other was Leo, once a weaver, now a fat, cheery, bibulous general. He was nicknamed Ajax because, unlike Tydides

his greatness was wholly corporeal. Claudian describes him as

Eutropius instantly rose, and made a profound bow to the embarrassed Presbyter. Chrysostom saw before him the practical lord of the Eastern Empire, who shaped every whisper of the throne.

He was a little bald old man, with a fringe of grey hair round his baldness. His face might once have been beautiful in its features and pleasant in its expression, but now it was withered with premature old age, and there were deep wrinkles on the forehead. Years of degraded humiliation, years of anxious misery, years of triumph, avarice and guilt, years of cunning diplomacy, during which he held in his effeminate hands the threads of empire, had left their manifold, and therefore not easily decipherable, 122 traces on his countenance; and if something of that which was, or might have been, good in him still sometimes shone in his glance or twinkled about his well-shaped mouth, the expression of his face more predominantly expressed astuteness, ill-dissembled arrogance, and flashes of the bitter hatred and contempt which he felt for the majority of mankind. Like Sir Robert Walpole, Eutropius held that nearly every man has his price; and he had repeatedly enjoyed the sinister satisfaction of seeing men who stood very high in the civil and religious world ready and even eager to kotow to him, to kiss his feet, to sell their souls to him for a mess of pottage. It had been the curse of his life to be driven to radical disbelief in human nature. He despised almost every human being whom he knew; he trusted scarcely anyone, unless, indeed, their personal interests were, like those of Osius and Leo, indissolubly connected with his own.

But if there was one man in the world whom Eutropius did respect, and in whose moral superiority he firmly believed, it was the Syrian presbyter who had now been ushered into his presence. He had heard the thunders of his impassioned rhetoric waking the echoes of the great dome of the church of Antioch. In that fulminant eloquence he had recognised the cry which comes from a true human heart. Never before had he heard the unmistakable accent of intense and fervent sincerity. It had pierced like lightning through the thick crust of revenge, bitterness, and Oriental craft, under which, like a dying spark, beneath vast accumulations of embers, lay the true nature of Eutropius as God had meant it to be. Yes, this was indeed rhetoric—the ornate, if too Asiatic, rhetoric of a pupil of Libanius; but under the rhetoric burned the flame of conviction and of truth. Eutropius had heard and turned pale; and at the moment, trembling and terrified at accents so unlike those which breathed softly through the borrowed platitudes of Nectarius and the silken euphuisms of the corrupt and intriguing priests of Constantinople, his conscience had started up with pointed finger and outstretched arm. At those ‘grave rebukes invincible,’ though they were not addressed to him, and though Chrysostom had been wholly unaware of the presence of 123 the then obscure and miserable eunuch, Eutropius had stood abashed,

The impression had never been quite obliterated: he felt it now. But it gratified him to think that he had in consequence tried to do at least one purely good deed in his life, by elevating the preacher to an office which, in the hands of a great man, might practically be regarded as the highest in the world.

Chrysostom did not lose his self-possession, though he could not but be a little agitated to feel that now the well-kept secret, which any mind less absolutely unworldly than his would long ago have divined, must at last be revealed. He returned with dignity the low bows of Eutropius, of Osius, of Leo, and smiled faintly back to the smiles of his friends Aurelian and Amantius. But Eutropius, hardly knowing what excuse to offer for the way in which he had trepanned his visitor, stood there, still bowing, and a little uneasily, washing his hands in air.

‘I must,’ he said, with yet another bow, ‘apologise to your Beatitude——’

‘My Beatitude!’ exclaimed Chrysostom in amazement. ’Babai!’ (which we may render ‘Good Heavens!’) ‘I am but a humble Syrian presbyter of Antioch, and we are not addressed by such titles there.’

The officials, even Eutropius, could not help a little laugh at this; but the Chamberlain continued:

‘Pardon me, sir, you are no longer the humble presbyter of Flavian at Antioch; you are Archbishop of Constantinople and Patriarch of the East.’

Here, then, was the secret! It had, indeed, once flitted across the thoughts of Chrysostom in his journey, because the quick and curious Philip had suggested it to him as a possibility. But he had instantly rejected it as too wildly improbable to be even contemplated.

He stood there troubled and almost thunderstruck.

‘Oh, spare me!’ he cried at last, with one of those quick gestures of repudiation which come so spontaneously to 124 an Oriental. ‘I do not wish for this honour. I do not love this burden. I foresee that it will only end in trouble and misery. You yourself will repent of it, and regret it. I have never been consulted. I was wiled away from my home against my will. Oh, Amantius! oh, Aurelian! you have been cruel friends.’

‘Nay,’ said Eutropius, ‘the Presbyter John must forgive us all. We doubted whether he would consent; and we knew that the Antiochenes love him too well to part with him readily. That was the sole object of our little ruse, and we trust that in all other respects your wishes and comforts have been attended to.’

‘Oh! all that is nothing,’ said Chrysostom, wringing his hands. ‘But I must refuse. I cannot, I cannot be Patriarch of Constantinople. I am not ambitious. I am no courtier. Better by far the damp cave on Mount Silpius, in which I so nearly died. Would it had been God’s will that I had died there rather than that this should befall me.’

Eutropius was a little taken aback. He had meant to confer an immense favour; he had been foolish enough to expect an effusive gratitude. Why, he knew no other bishop or priest in Constantinople who would not have kissed his feet in transport for so magnificent a boon. And now he was finding it necessary to apologise and to plead.

‘I bear you witness,’ he said, ‘you have not sought this responsibility; but we must not shun responsibility when it comes. His Eternity the Emperor——’

‘His Eternity!’ exclaimed Chrysostom, on whom, unaccustomed to the fulsomeness of Byzantine Courts, the title jarred like a blasphemy.

‘Oh!’ said Eutropius, ‘it is only a title;’ while Leo and Osius were so struck by this strange specimen of independence that it was with difficulty they refrained from laughing outright.

It is surely a most unbecoming title,’ said Chrysostom gravely. ‘I thought it had been laughed out of fashion by Athanasius, even in the days of the Emperor Constantius. What higher title could you give to Christ Himself? But to give it to a man! All flesh is grass. The grass withereth, the flower fadeth. “His Eternity!”—oh! 125 let me return to my humble home in Antioch. I cannot breathe this perfumed atmosphere.’

‘By Bacchus!’ whispered Leo, whose expletives were not very carefully chosen, ‘you have caught a Hun!’

Eutropius was fairly disconcerted. Here he was conferring on this man one of the most supreme of sacred distinctions, and, so far from thanking him for the favour, he had already rebuked him twice! But the very rebukes made him feel more keenly the royal independence and sincerity of the Presbyter. Almost for the first time in his life he was met by a Christian and a disinterested man!

‘Well, well, my dear Presbyter,’ he said, ‘we will waive these little forms of speech; but I was going to say that we must all obey the wishes of the Emperor. He is now expecting you in the Purple Chamber. Are you ready to see him?’

‘I am ready,’ murmured Chrysostom. ‘Would it had been otherwise. But God’s will be done!’