CHAPTER XIX

GUESTS AT AN IMPERIAL BANQUET

Sumptuous gluttonies and gorgeous feasts.—Milton.

The Patriarch had a few days of respite before his consecration would plunge him into the incessant, onerous, and intensely responsible duties of his new office. They were only broken by the banquet at the Palace.

‘What am I to wear among hundreds of bejewelled popinjays?’ he asked Philip in amazement. ‘I have no conception in what sort of costume Nectarius would have appeared. Fortunately, I shall henceforth imitate the great Nazianzen, and refuse all invitations.’

Philip was equal to the occasion.

‘You have,’ he said, ‘the white robe which Anthusa embroidered for you in gold with calliculæ and gammadias that you might wear it at Count Lucian’s. That will do splendidly.’

So he was conducted by some of the palace eunuchs to the banquet, looking more dignified by far in his simplicity than the glittering courtiers whom Arcadius and Eudoxia had invited.

What a scene it was, and how distasteful to the simple Presbyter!

He was led up stairs carpeted with crimson cloths of which the borders were stiff golden broideries, and between tall lamps in which fragrant flames were burning, and of which the pedestals were covered with wreaths and garlands. The tables were of thyine and other precious woods, and were laden with crystal and myrrhine vases which had once been carried in Roman triumphs, and were now crowned with the choicest Chian, Lesbian, and Thasian wines. Between them were large golden salvers heaped 136 with the most delicious fruits, and there was no dainty of the earth, the air, or the sea which the thousand cooks of the Palace did not procure for the Emperor’s table. As for the richly dressed attendants, it seemed impossible to count the number of eunuchs and pages, of which the younger, specially chosen for their beauty, wore their hair in long, essenced curls. The whole spectacle was to Chrysostom inexpressibly distasteful. This materialism of luxury wearied and repelled him. The only thing which made it seem even excusable to his conscience was his reminiscence of Solomon feasting the Queen of Sheba in his halls of Lebanonian cedar, amid the dazzling display of gold and Tyrian purple, and slaves, and souls of men.

He was led to a seat at the sigma, or crescent-shaped table of rich mosaic rimmed with silver, which was pre-eminently the seat of honour. The Emperor sat at the centre, on a dais, in a chair of gold, with the Empress at his right. Next to her sat Theophilus of Alexandria. Chrysostom was placed at the left of Arcadius, and next to him sat Eutropius. The only others admitted to the royal sigma were the four Prætorian Præfects, who were highest of all in official rank.

Chrysostom barely touched either the dainties or the wines. Considerations of health, as well as his own tastes and wishes, made him habitually and to the highest degree abstemious; and, indeed, the chronic indigestion caused by the excess of his youthful austerities usually compelled him to take his meals alone. But all, or nearly all, of these assembled clarissimi and illustres were to be under his spiritual care, and he was interested in gazing round upon them.

Arcadius had the misfortune, for a ruler, of being intensely shy. He was overpowered with self-consciousness. After one or two half-attempts at commonplaces, uttered with blinking eyes, he gave up the fatiguing effort to converse. But the liveliness of Eutropius, who was in great good-humour, helped to while away the time. He pointed out to Chrysostom the three famous widows—Marsa, Castricia, and Epigraphia—in their upper robes of gauze, woven in gold with scenes from the Gospels, their necklaces, their earrings, their hands hidden with rings, and their 137 shimmer of numberless jewels. Chrysostom gazed at them with a look of disapproval, but in his own mind contrasted them most unfavourably with three others of the noblest ladies present, who were conspicuous for the severe and almost nun-like simplicity of their adornment. One of these was Olympias, once the betrothed of the Emperor Constans; another was the Princess Salvina; the third was the good Nicarete, who was—what was rare in ancient days—an old maid, and who found her sole delight—so Eutropius bore her witness—in deeds of kindness to the poor.

Chrysostom looked longer at the male guests. He did not know Theophilus by sight, and asked the Chamberlain who that stately and richly clad ecclesiastic was.

‘That,’ said Eutropius, in a meaning tone, ‘is the Patriarch of Alexandria.’

‘Why does he scowl so heavily at me when he looks this way?’

‘Because of jealousy, defeated intrigue, envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness.’

‘Impossible, surely!’ said Chrysostom. ‘I have never seen him before. How can I possibly have wronged him?’

‘I cannot tell you the whole story; but he wanted his presbyter, Isidore, elected instead of you. The man has a sinister and evil eye. May Christ protect you from it!’

‘Amen,’ muttered Chrysostom. ‘I will speak to him after the banquet in all friendliness. But will the Emperor like us to talk in this way, and neglect him?’

‘Oh!’ said Eutropius, laughing, ‘His Eter—— I beg your pardon, his Sublimity, is more than half-asleep already, and will be fast asleep soon. He will not notice.’

‘Well, then,’ said Chysostom, ‘tell me the names of those two Gothic warriors sitting near the top of the tables below us.’

‘The elder is Fravitta,’ said Eutropius. ‘Though he is a Pagan, as his fathers were, he is most friendly to the Empire, and can be absolutely trusted. Have you never heard how he saved the life of the Emperor Theodosius?’

‘No.’

‘When you have been here a little longer, and begin 138 to understand the intricate wheelwork of our intrigues, you will learn that there are two factions of Goths. One is thoroughly loyal to the Empire. It is scanty in number, and would be almost impotent if it were not headed by that noble Fravitta, a man who rises above the faithlessness of many of his fellows. One day Theodosius, who was always kind to the Goths, invited some of them to a banquet, unaware that Eriulph, the head of the hostile Gothic faction, was plotting to overthrow the Empire. When Fravitta and Eriulph grew warm with wine they fiercely quarrelled, and Theodosius had to break up the banquet. Fravitta, fearing that Eriulph directly he left the palace would stir up a civil war, impetuously drew his sword, and, taunting him with treachery, stabbed him to the heart. A fierce tumult arose, and Fravitta would have been torn to pieces by Eriulph’s followers if he had not been saved by the Imperial Guards. It is more than lucky for us that the Goths are not at one.’

‘Do you foment their disagreements?’

‘On that subject,’ said Eutropius, smiling, ‘as Æschylus says, “A great ox hath passed upon my tongue.”’

‘This man,’ he thought to himself, ‘has no idea of diplomatic secrets. He divines everything by sheer force of honesty.’

The Chamberlain was quite right, for Chrysostom replied:

‘I see you have not forgotten the old Roman secret of “Divide and rule.” But who is the other Goth?’

‘An entirely different kind of person. He is an Arian; and all the Goths are so devoted to the memory of their missionary, Wulfila, that I doubt their ever being converted to orthodoxy. You must have heard his name often, for he has played a great part in recent events. It was he who brought down God’s vengeance on the guilty head of Rufinus. It is Gaïnas.’

Chrysostom did not like the bitter tone in which the words were spoken; but as he was silent Eutropius continued:

‘Do you not mark his discontented look? He is a conspirator, and will, I fear, create trouble from his influence over the army. Near him is his countryman, the 139 barbarous Tribigild, and, if I am not much mistaken, they are at this moment hatching perilous plots.’

‘I see a group of bishops seated at yonder table.’

‘Yes, they are assembled under the presidency of Theophilus to settle some small ecclesiastical matter. Some of them have been here for weeks. Constantinople is constantly full of bishops. One cannot walk down the Chalkoprateia without stumbling across them. I see them very frequently at my humble abode,’ he added—his eyes and features all a-twinkle, as they always were when some mischievous fancy reminded him of men’s weaknesses.

‘I wish they would remain in their own dioceses,’ thought Chrysostom, with a sigh; but he only said; ‘It would be kind if you would tell me the names of one or two of them, that I may address them afterwards.’

‘Well, if I may lay aside formality in talking to your Beati—— Oh! I beg your pardon. Well, in talking about bishops, I will describe the one or two of them whom I know best. You see that ponderous—I had almost said elephantine—specimen of humanity? That is Maruthas, Bishop of Mesopotamia. The little, slim, highly venomous-looking personage——’

Chrysostom looked reproof, and Eutropius, more and more convinced that his Patriarch was quite a new phenomenon at Constantinople, said:

‘Oh ! I mean nothing; but for freedom’s sake let me talk in my own way. After all, my dear Archbishop, I am simply telling you the bald truth about the man, and setting down nought in malice. You will be able, later on, to judge for yourself. Well, the small man is Cyrinus, Bishop of Chalcedon. That portly, handsome, florid ecclesiastic, who looks as if one of our thousand palace-barbers had arranged his curls as well as those of the pages, is Severian, Bishop of Gabala, who would be exceedingly glad—if he could—to be bishop of something else. I could tell you a good deal about him, but I do not wish to shock your charity. Lastly, not to weary you, the old gentleman who is so heartily enjoying his dinner is Acacius, Bishop of Berœa.’

‘I wish, Chamberlain, you would speak more respectfully of the bishops.’

‘I have caught a Hun, as Leo remarked,’ thought Eutropius. ‘He does nothing but reprove me. No other presbyter or bishop speaks to me like this.’

‘Seriously, and quite apart from all levity,’ he said, ’I wish I could. But, in sober truth, I have not found that even the most exalted pretensions always carry with them the most elementary Christian graces. Sadly I say it to you, I find their Religiosities just as worldly and ambitious, just as unfair and bitter, as any of us poor laymen. Like priest, like people.’

‘Yes,’ said Chrysostom, with a deep sigh, ‘but the reverse is also true. Priests are what people make them. But there is one ecclesiastic whose face and manner profoundly interests me, and you have not told me who he is.’

‘That,’ said Eutropius, laughing aloud, ‘is a very distinguished person—Synesius of Cyrene.’⁹⁹ I have ventured here on a slight anachronism. Synesius was at Constantinople for three years about this time, but he did not become a bishop till a.d. 410.

‘I have heard of him. He is a brilliant writer. But why do you laugh?’

‘He is a great man,’ said the Chamberlain, ‘a poet, an orator, honest to the heart’s core, but the oddest mixture in the whole Church. I suppose he is an orthodox Christian, but he is a pupil and ardent admirer of the beautiful Pagan Neo-platonist, Hypatia. He is also a most enthusiastic sportsman, breeder of horses, and patriot. He is, moreover, a married man. He loves profane studies, is not very sure of the Resurrection, and——’

‘Then how did he become a bishop?’

‘You must ask Theophilus, who overcame his scruples, allows him to philosophise at home, and excused him from preaching what he calls “fables” abroad. But then, he has a genealogy of seventeen centuries, and much must be naturally excused to a lineal descendant of Hercules and the Spartan kings!’

‘What brought him to Constantinople?’ asked the Archbishop, without noticing the sarcasm.

‘He came as a sort of ambassador from Cyrene; and by the interest of his friends, to say nothing of the crown of 141 gold which he brought to Arcadius, he was allowed to deliver a great oration on the “duty of kings” before the Emperor and his Court. I never heard such audacity in my life!’ (‘Even you would hardly have surpassed its boldness,’ he added mentally.) ‘In the plainest way he arraigned the Emperor and the whole official system, and even me! If his——if the Emperor had not been fast asleep long before he got to the middle, and if I had not been very tolerant, the strange bishop might have lost his head. But people do me injustice. I am a very kindly and merciful person.’

‘Why, what did he say?’

‘It is easier to tell you what he didn’t say, for he passed a sweepingly comprehensive condemnation on things in general. He represents what is called the Roman party. He called the Goths “Scythian fugitives”; openly blamed Theodosius for admitting them into the army and into dignities; denounced them for avarice and contempt of our civilisation, and compared them to the stone suspended over the head of Tantalus. He told the Emperor—most lucky for Synesius that he was asleep—that he ought to be like his predecessors, who were soldiers in fight, leaders in counsel, flying hither and thither to defend the Empire, and that he should entrust our defence to a native army, not to barbarian mercenaries, whom he ought either to reduce to the condition of helots or to drive back into the solitudes of Scythia. I expected to see Gaïnas or one of them send an arrow through his heart, but, luckily, most of them did not understand half he said.’

’Was the Emperor much influenced by his oration?’

Eutropius laughed long and loud.

’I have told you he did not really hear it, and knew nothing about it, though it was the talk of all Constantinople. His only remark was that it was dull and very long. The next thing he did was to make Alaric the Visigoth Master-General of Illyricum. After all, what can Arcadius do? Have not our native troops become so slothful that, in the reign of Gratian, they actually laid aside their defensive armour because it bored them to wear it? Alas! we live in degenerate days. Our soldiers now wear neither helmet nor cuirass, nor carry broadsword, 142 nor pilum, nor even shields! Most of them have sunk down to miserable bows.’

‘But to object to foreign mercenaries was hardly to attack the Emperor.’

‘No; but he went on to say that a king who knows nothing about soldiers is like a cobbler who knows nothing about shoes; and then—after the condescending remark, “Do not be vexed at what I say; the fault is not yours”—he actually declared that the ruin of the Empire was due to surrounding the king with a theatrical pomp and semblance of “Divine mystery.” “It reduces you” (this to the Emperor!) “to a sort of State prisoner. You see nothing, you hear nothing that can be of any use to you. Your only pleasures are sensual. You live the life of a sea anemone!“ Imagine anyone saying this to a Theodosius! If he had said it to Valentinian he would have been flung to the bears in no time. Then he continued: “You think yourself great because you are arrayed in purple and gold; because you have gems from mountains and barbarous seas in your hair, your sandals, your robe, your girdle, your ears, your seats; and because, by walking on gold dust, you indulge the very soles of your feet in luxury. Things were far better when emperors were men with tanned faces, of simple habits, and in coarse dress.”’

‘But you were awake if the Emperor was not. Did he attack you?’

‘I should think he did!’ said Eutropius. ’He accused the Emperor of repelling the wise and noble, and admitting to his familiarity mere counterfeits of humanity. “You patronise men,” he said, “with small heads and scanty brains, with idiotic grins and equally idiotic tears, to relieve by buffoonery the cloud of tedium brought upon you by the unnatural character of your life.” But you see the satire was too ludicrous to hurt me; otherwise he should have had the fate of——’

‘Of——?’ asked Chrysostom.

’Never mind,’ said Eutropius.

He was ashamed to blazon the wicked and ungrateful revenge which he had inflicted on Abundantius, who had first introduced him into the palace, and whom he had driven into beggary at Sidon; on the sausage-seller Bargus, 143 whom he had used as his tool to defame and ruin the brave general, Timasius; and on Timasius himself, whom, by virtue of the forgeries of Bargus, he had got banished to Libya, where he was never heard of again. His widow Pentadia only saved herself by flying into sanctuary.

But at this point Arcadius began to show signs of vitality, and dismissed the guests. Chrysostom was deeply troubled by much that he had seen and heard. He paid his homage to the Emperor and Empress, and took the earliest opportunity to retire to his home.