A Struggle for Rome, v. 3

by Felix Dahn

  CHAPTER V.

  Soon after the Emperor's refusal of the proposals of the Goths hadarrived in Rome, we find--in the dining-room of a simple buttastefully-built and furnished house upon the Forum Strategii atByzantium, which, close to the incomparable shore of the GoldenHorn, affords a view of the Straits and of the splendid suburb"Justiniana"--two men engaged in confidential talk.

  The master of the house was our old--and, we hope, notunloved--acquaintance Procopius, who now lived much respected as asenator in Byzantium.

  He zealously attended to the wants of his guest, but in doing so usedhis left hand. His right arm ended in a covered stump.

  "Yes," he was saying, "at every moment I am reminded by my missing handof a folly. I do not, however, repent it. I should do the same thingagain even if it cost me my eyesight. It was a folly of the heart, andto be capable of that is the greatest happiness. I have never been ablereally to love a woman. My only love was and is--Belisarius! I knowvery well--you need not draw down the corners of your mouth socontemptuously, friend--I see very clearly the weaknesses andimperfections of my hero. But that is exactly what is sweet in aheart-folly--to love the foibles of your idol more than the merits ofother people. And so--to cut my story short--it was during the lastPersian war that, one day, I warned the lion-hearted general not toride through a dangerous wood with a scanty escort. Of course he did itall the more, the dear fool; and of course Procopius, the wise fool,rode with him. All happened just as I had expected. The whole wood wassuddenly filled with Persians. It seemed as if the wind had shaken thewithered leaves from the trees, and every leaf was an axe or a spear.It was very like the ambush before the Tiburtinian Gate. Balan, thefaithful piebald, bore his master for the last time. Stuck full ofspears, he fell dead to the ground. I assisted the hero to mount my ownhorse. But a Persian prince, who was almost as tall as his name waslong--the pleasant fellow was called Adrastaransalanes--aimed a blow atthe magister militum which, in my hurry, I received upon my rightarm--for my shield was occupied in protecting Belisarius against aSaracen. The blow was well meant; if it had reached my hero's helmlesshead, it would have cracked it like a nutshell. As it was, it only cutoff my fore-arm as if it had never been part of my body."

  "Of course Belisarius escaped, and of course Procopius was takenprisoner," said the guest, shaking his head.

  "Quite right, you commander of perspicacity, as my friendAdrastaransalanes would call you. But the same man with his long body,scimitar, and name--you will not insist upon my repeating it--was somoved by my 'elephantine magnanimity,' as he expressed himself, that hevery soon set me free without ransom. He only begged for a ring whichhad been on the finger of my former right hand: as a remembrance, hesaid. Since then it is all over with my campaigns," added Procopiusmore gravely. "But in this loss of my pen-hand I see a punishment. Ihave written with it many a useless or not perfectly sincere word.However, if a like punishment overtook all the writers of Byzantium,there would soon be not a two-handed man left who could write. Writingis now a much slower and more difficult process with me. But that isgood, for then, at every word one considers whether it is worth thetrouble of inscribing or whether one is justified in doing so."

  "I have read with true enjoyment," said the guest, "your 'Vandal Wars,'your 'Persian Wars,' and, as far as it goes, the 'Gothic War.' Whenrecovering from my hurt, it was my favourite book. But I am surprisedthat you were not sent to the Ult-ziagirian Huns and the mines ofCherson to keep our friend Petros company. If Justinian so severelypunishes the forgery of documents--how harshly must he punish veracityin history! And you have so mercilessly scourged his indecision, hisavarice, his mistakes in the choice of generals and officers--I wonderthat you go unpunished."

  "Oh, I have not escaped punishment," said the historian gravely. "Heleft me my head: but he tried to rob me of my honour; and _she_ stillmore, the beautiful demon. For I had hinted that Justinian was tied toher apron-string. And she as passionately tries to hide her dominionas to uphold it. When my book was published, she called me to her.When I entered her apartment, and saw those pages upon her lap, Ithought--Adrastaransalanes took off the hand that wrote; this womanwill take off the head that thought. But she contented herself withgiving me her little golden shoe to kiss; smiled very sweetly, andsaid, 'You write Greek better than any other author of our day,Procopius. So beautifully and so truly! I have been advised to sink youto the dumb fishes in the Bosphorus. But the man who so well told thetruth when it was bitter to us, will also tell the truth when it issweet to our ears. The greatest censurer of Justinian shall be hisgreatest panegyrist. Your punishment for the book upon Justinian'swarlike deeds--shall be a book upon Justinian's peaceful deeds. Youwill write by the imperial order a book upon the edifices erected bythe Emperor. You cannot deny that he has done great things in thatline. If you were a better jurist than your camp-life with the greatBelisarius has, unfortunately, allowed you to become--you shoulddescribe the Emperor's great piece of mosaic--his pandects. But forthat your legal education is not complete enough' (and she was right!).'Therefore you will describe the edifices of Justinian; and youyourself will be a living monument of his generosity. For you mustconfess that, for far less heinous offences, many an author underformer Emperors has lost eyes, nose, and other things that it isdisagreeable to miss. No Emperor has ever allowed such things to besaid of him, and, moreover, rewarded candour with new commissions. Butif the edifices of Justinian were to displease you, then indeed I fearyou would not long outlive your want of taste--the gods would punishsuch ingratitude with a speedy death. See, I have procured this rewardfor you--for Justinian would have made you senator--so that you maybe right in your assertion that Theodora possesses a pernicious andall-commanding influence!' Another kiss of her foot; of which she tookadvantage playfully to strike me on the mouth with her shoe. I had mademy will before going to this audience. You now see how this demon in awoman's form revenges herself upon me! One really cannot censure theedifices erected by Justinian: one can only be silent--or praise them.If I remain silent, it will cost me my life. If I speak and do notpraise, it will cost my life and my veracity. Therefore I must eitherpraise or die. And I am weak enough," concluded Procopius with a sigh,"to prefer to praise and live."

  "You have consumed so much Thucydides and Tacitus, dry or liquid," saidthe guest, filling the glasses, "and yet have become neither aThucydides nor a Tacitus!"

  "I would rather let my long-named friend cut off my left hand also thanwrite about these buildings."

  "Keep your hand. But, after the public panegyric on the buildings,write a secret history of the shameful deeds of Justinian andTheodora."

  Procopius sprang from his seat.

  "That would be devilish, but grand! The advice is worthy of you,friend. For that you shall have one of the nine muses of Herodotus frommy cellar--my oldest, dearest, most excellent wine. Oh! this secrethistory shall excite astonishment! The only pity is that I cannotrelate the most filthy and most murderous deeds. I should die ofdisgust. And that which I can write will be always looked upon asimmensely exaggerated. And what will posterity say of Procopius, wholeft a panegyric, a criticism, and an accusation--one and all onJustinian?"

  "Posterity will say that he was the greatest historian, but also theson and the victim, of the Empire of Byzantium. Revenge yourself; shehas left you your clever head and your left hand. Well, your left handneed not know what your right hand formerly wrote. Draw the picture ofthis Empress and her husband for all future generations. Then _they_will not have conquered with their buildings, but _you_ with yoursecret history. They would have punished limited candour; you willpunish them by an unlimited revelation of the truth. Every one revengeshimself with his own weapons--the bull with his horns, the warrior withhis sword, the author by his pen."

  "Particularly," said Procopius, "when he has only his left hand. Ithank you, and will follow your advice, Cethegus. I will write the'Secret History' in revenge for the 'Edifices.' But now it is your turnto tell your
story. I know the progress of events, through letters andthe report of fugitives from Rome, or legionaries set free by Totila,until the time when you were last seen in your house, or, as they say,were last heard. Now relate what happened afterwards, you Prefectwithout a city!"

  "Immediately," said Cethegus. "But tell me first, how did Belisariussucceed in the last Persian war?"

  "As usual. You should not need to ask such a question! He had reallybeaten the enemy, and was on the point of forcing the Persian King,Chosroes, the son of Kabades, to conclude a lasting peace. Just thenAreobindos, the Prince of Purple Snails, appeared in the camp with theannouncement of an armistice of half a year's duration, granted,unknown to Belisarius, by Byzantium. Justinian had long ago enteredinto secret negotiations with Chosroes; he needed money; he againpretended to mistrust Belisarius, and let the Persian King escape for ahundred tons of gold, just as we were about to draw the net over him.Narses was wiser. When the Prince of Purple Snails came to him, on theSaracen side of the scene of war, he declared that the ambassador mustbe either a forger or a madman, took him prisoner, and continued thewar until he had completely vanquished the Saracens. Then he sent theimperial ambassador back with an excuse to Byzantium. But the bestexcuse was the keys and treasures of seventy forts and towns which hehad wrested from the enemy during the armistice, which Belisarius hadrespected."

  "This Narses is----"

  "The greatest man of our time," said Procopius, "the Prefect of Rome notexcepted; for he does not, like the latter, wish for impossibilities.But we--that is, Belisarius and the cripple Procopius--always growlingand grumbling, yet always as faithful as a poodle-dog, and never taughtby experience, kept the armistice, gnashed our teeth, and returned toByzantium. And now we wait for new commissions, laurels, and kicks.Fortunately, Antonina has renounced her inclination for the flowers andverses of other men, and so the couple--the lion and the dove--livevery happily together here in Byzantium. Belisarius, day and night,naturally thinks of nothing but how he can again prove his heroism anddevotion to his imperial master. Justinian is his folly, as Belisariusis mine. But now for your story."