IRENE OF MONTFERRAT
The story of the unfortunate Theodora has led us to make a somewhat
premature excursion into the fourteenth century. We have now to return
a few decades, in order to begin the story of the Empress Irene, who
succeeds her in the gallery of prominent Empresses. Andronicus had in
his sixteenth year married Anna of Hungary, a daughter of Stephen V.
One of the daughters of Theodore Lascaris, the first Nicene Emperor,
had married a King of Hungary, so that the daughter of Stephen V. had
Byzantine blood--the blood of the Angeli family--in her veins. Her
mother, however, was not of royal, or even noble, birth. Stephen had
fallen in love with a pretty Choman captive, and married her, and the
beautiful young girl whose hand Michael asked for his son was the issue
of their marriage. At her baptism according to the Greek rite her name
was changed to Anna, and she, with her husband, received the crown of
a junior Empress. Unfortunately she died the year before Andronicus
attained supreme power, and we have merely to record that she left two
sons, Michael and Constantine, to maintain the valuable dynasty of the
Paleologi.
As Andronicus intended that one or other of these sons should inherit
the purple, he did not seek his second wife among the more powerful
courts of Europe. Two or three years after his accession to the throne
he married Irene, daughter of the ruling Marquis of Montferrat. At
the time she was a very pretty little maiden of eleven summers, and
Andronicus may be excused for overlooking the possibility that, even
if there were no powerful Court to espouse or create her interests,
there might be a character in the lady herself which would interfere
with his designs. For some years nothing occurred to make him regret
his choice. In the Blachernæ and Bucoleon palaces, or in the old Nicene
mansions, Irene slowly grew up to womanhood, and added three sons and a
daughter to the imperial family. The daughter, Simonides, will interest
us no less than the sons, and an interesting light may be thrown on the
character of the time by telling the origin of her very unusual name.
Andronicus desired to have a daughter, and was in despair when Irene
had, in succession, three stillborn female children. A daughter, at
Constantinople, meant a useful foreign alliance; though Constantinople
never seems to have given any aid to the Courts from which it drew its
own Empresses. In the year 1292 Irene again approached childbirth, and
the anxious Emperor consulted “a venerable and experienced matron” in
regard to his hope. Acting on her advice he set up, in a room of the
palace, statues of the Twelve Apostles, with candles of exactly equal
weight and size before each. A group of monks were then introduced to
pray energetically for the issue, the candles were lighted, and careful
watch was made to see which of the candles burned the longest. The
apostle Simon won the contest, and it was resolved that the forthcoming
little daughter should be put under his protection and named Simonides.
The superstition must have gained enormous prestige when a daughter
_was_ born, and lived to experience a number of highly interesting,
though not very apostolic, adventures.
Another incident of the same year illustrates a different aspect of
high life in the Eastern metropolis. Theodore, the younger brother of
Andronicus, had now reached a marriageable age, and was, as I said,
observing a very discreet behaviour in view of the recent fate of
his brother Constantine. He bore the lower dignity of “Despot,” and
was careful not to aspire to anything more than the slender circle
of gold, with few jewels, which marked that dignity. Theodora had
earnestly pressed her son to grant Theodore the title of Augustus,
as it was customary to do, but he gravely replied that he had made
some mysterious vow in earlier years which prevented him from doing
so. He now decided to marry Theodore to the daughter of Muzalo,
one of his chief ministers. They were betrothed, but before the
day of the marriage arrived Muzalo’s daughter was found to be in a
painful condition, as a result of too great a liking for a cousin of
hers. Betrothal was a very solemn ceremony in the eyes of the Greek
Church, and it took a special synod of the bishops to determine that
in this case the bond was invalid. The affections of Theodore were
transferred to the daughter of another official, and, to reward the
faithful services of her father, the soiled hand of Muzalo’s daughter
was bestowed on Constantine, the second son of Andronicus and Anna.
Experience had taught Andronicus that, if his eldest son, Michael, was
to succeed him, all others must be kept away from the throne.
A third curious incident of the time may be recorded to illustrate the
kind of world in which Irene grew to womanhood. The fierce struggle
of the Arsenians and the Josephites still enlivened the environs of
St Sophia, but the controversy entered upon a new phase after the
imprisonment of Constantine. The young prince had been denounced
to his brother by a monk who was a favourite of the patriarch,
and, as this became known, the opponents of the patriarch assailed
him with a furious tempest of invective. Nearly the whole of his
clergy turned against him, and the charges they made against his
personal character--charges which were loudly echoed in the public
streets--were of the most sordid nature. He was compelled to resign,
but he planned an elaborate revenge. He wrote a letter in which he
invoked eternal punishment on the Emperor and all who had joined in
his humiliation, and, in the characteristic Byzantine vein of ruse
and intrigue, concealed the letter in one of the holes on the roof of
St Sophia where the pigeons nested. He then retired to a monastery
and contemplated with malicious joy the spectacle of the priests and
citizens going about their work with this dire and authentic sentence
of excommunication suspended over their heads. A year later the vase
containing the letter was found by some youths who had sought pigeons’
eggs, and a panic seized the Court and city. For twelve months they
had all lived, unconscious of their danger, on the very brink of hell.
Athanasius was quickly summoned from his monastery and forced to
withdraw his censure.
In this atmosphere of intrigue, ambition and hypocritical selfishness
Irene of Montferrat developed her character. The Empire was tumbling
into ruins, yet the one thought of the vast majority of its citizens,
of all orders, was to obtain as much money as possible out of its
shrinking treasury and close their eyes to its future. Even the
Emperor, who looked as far ahead as the next generation, consulted only
the future of his family. His eldest son was, apart from any question
of merit or competency, to succeed him in the tarnished splendour of
the Bucoleon palace. To ensure this Irene saw him stoop to the crime
of barbarously imprisoning his brother, and the spectacle of the young
prince, travelling everywhere among the Emperor’s baggage like a caged
bear, would impress deeply on her young mind the first duty of man, as
it was conceived in Constantinople. For her own part she would take
care to secure her position and that of her children.
Irene was now a mature and very spirited young woman in her early
twenties. She had great force of character, a keen and strong
intelligence, and an unchallenged virtue. It was an age of general
laxity of morals, as we shall realize, yet Irene is not assailed on
that ground. But ambition for her children became her dominant quality,
and, as it grew stronger and more imperious in face of obstacles, it
warped her character, saddened her life, and made her career inglorious
and futile. Had she been the first wife of Andronicus, she might have
rendered very valuable service to the Empire; as it was, she became
recklessly absorbed in her ambition, and only added to its formidable
burdens. When, in 1296, Andronicus married his eldest son to Maria of
Armenia, she began that sombre brooding on the inferior position of her
own children which was to embitter the latter part of her life. The
policy of Andronicus would be to make poor matches for her children;
her policy was to prevent it.
We shall be glad to think that Irene had no voice in the first
matrimonial settlement of one of her children--the marriage of
Simonides to the King of Servia--for it was a sordid and abominable
transaction, but she seems at least to have played her part in the
ceremony without resentment. We had, in the last chapter, a glimpse
of the condition of Servia in the thirteenth century. In the year
1298, which we have reached, there was on the throne a particularly
objectionable type of “kral,” as the Servians called their ruler. He
had first married the daughter of a neighbouring king, but he had led
astray his brother’s wife, who was a sister of Anna of Hungary, and,
when a third sister came on a visit to his Court, he conceived so
violent a passion for her that he sent his wife home to her father.
This lady was a nun, yet the Kral persuaded her to discard her black
robe and go through a form of marriage with him. He then tired of the
royal nun in turn, and married the daughter of King Terter of Bulgaria.
By the year 1298 he was ready for a third change. None of his three
queens had given him an heir to the throne, and he was therefore
disposed to listen to the expostulations of his clergy and the advances
of Andronicus.
At this time the Emperor’s sister Eudocia returned, a young and
attractive widow, to the Court at Constantinople. She had married,
and recently lost, the Emperor of Trebizond, and came home to enjoy
her fortune in her native city. Andronicus pressed her to marry the
Kral of Servia, whose army would be useful to him. When Eudocia
indignantly refused, there was no lady of the imperial house to offer
to the Kral except the little Simonides, who had not yet reached her
seventh birthday. The only serious obstacle which Andronicus saw to
the alliance was the fact that the Kral’s first wife still lived,
and both the Servian and Byzantine clergy would regard the marriage
as invalid. But this obstacle was opportunely, perhaps artificially,
removed by the death of that lady, and the child of six summers was
taken by Andronicus and Irene to the Servian capital--we notice the
caged Constantine still among the Emperor’s luggage--and married to the
middle-aged and hot-blooded barbarian.
Since we shall find Irene in the following year making a most violent
and effective protest against the marriage of her eldest son, and do
not find her making any protest at all in regard to the marriage of
Simonides, we must conclude that she consented to this abominable
procedure. The patriarch of Constantinople, who had been deceived by
them, felt so strong a repugnance to the marriage that he followed
the Emperor to Servia and vainly endeavoured to secure an audience.
Irene seems to have given him no assistance. The husband proposed for
her child was a king: the wife proposed for her son in the following
year was _not_ of royal birth. We see her ambition already corrupting
her nature. She was content to stipulate that Simonides should be
treated as a sister until she reached the condition of puberty, and
entrusted her to the “honour” of the fiercely sensual and unscrupulous
Kral; though we shall find in the course of time that Irene herself
became largely responsible for the Kral’s breach of his engagement
to respect the age of her daughter. Irene and Andronicus returned
to Constantinople, bringing with them the Bulgarian princess whom
Simonides had replaced. This lady, it is interesting to note, was
married soon afterwards to the Emperor’s brother-in-law, Michael
Cutrules, who had wedded, and recently lost, Andronicus’s youngest
sister. But her career ended in prison before many years, as Michael
was convicted of treason and placed for life, with his wife, in one of
the palace dungeons.
In the following year, 1299, Andronicus proposed to marry Irene’s
eldest son, John, and the struggle of her life began. The wife chosen
for him was a daughter of one of the chief ministers, Nicephorus
Chumnus, and Irene now fought her husband with such vigour that he was
compelled to desist. Andronicus wished to remove her children from any
possible rivalry with his son Michael; Irene was determined that they
should make royal matches and wear diadems. She had probably by this
time conceived the ambitious idea which wrecked her life, and trusted
to induce Andronicus to detach fragments of his Empire in which her
sons might set up independent Courts. In this she was, no doubt, mainly
inspired by ambition for her children, but the later course of the
quarrel will show that she had secret personal grievances against her
husband, and she may have contemplated retiring to the Court of one of
her sons. For five years Irene resisted the design of her husband and,
with tears at one time and threats at another, urged her own scheme
upon him. Andronicus became weary and irritated. The ecclesiastical
quarrel still distracted his capital, the Turk ravaged his provinces,
the pirate swept his seas, and a new burden was added to his cares.
An army of Spaniards, who had been set free by the termination of the
Twenty Years’ War in Italy, came eastward in search of adventure, and,
being employed by Andronicus to fight the Turk, soon proved a very
fertile source of anxiety and trouble.
In the midst of these harassing cares Andronicus impatiently resented
the importunity of his wife, and their life became one of incessant
quarrel. Irene threatened that she would not share his bed unless he
either associated her sons in power with Michael or secured them
independent kingdoms at his death; Andronicus retorted by locking his
door against her, and Irene was further embittered. In 1304 her son
John married Irene, the daughter of Chumnus, and the Empress went at
once to live at Thessalonica. The chroniclers relate that Andronicus
had at length persuaded his wife to consent to this marriage, but that
seems to be a half-truth put forward by the Emperor. He gave John the
government of Thessaly, and Irene accompanied him and the younger Irene
to Thessalonica, where, as we saw, there had been a palace since the
days of Boniface.
In the capital of the Greek province Irene now entered upon an activity
that gave her husband more anxiety than ever. He presently learned
that she was openly telling to the monks and matrons of her Court
certain indelicate details of their conjugal life which “the most
brazen courtesan would blush to tell,” says the chronicler. Through her
daughter these details were forwarded to the Kral of Servia, but such
matters were not of a nature to induce that monarch to declare war on
his erring father-in-law. The Duke of Athens was then assailed by the
ambitious Empress; he was urged to marry his daughter to her second
son, Theodore, and then wrest the province of Thessaly from Andronicus.
Irene’s plan was now clear. The most westerly part of the Empire was to
be detached and converted into a kingdom for her and her children. The
Duke of Athens declined to pit his small force against the Byzantine
mercenaries, and Theodore was sent to Lombardy to wed the daughter of
the Marquis Spinola, who held a small territory in the north of Italy.
The marriage was spiteful, as Andronicus was not consulted, but it did
not bring to Irene an alliance of any material value; and, as John
died, childless, about the same time (1307), she turned again to the
Kral of Servia.
Andronicus was alarmed. He was at the height of his trouble with
the Catalans and at war with Bulgaria, so that fresh trouble with
Servia would be a serious complication. He made every effort, short of
granting her extreme demand, to conciliate Irene, but the passionate
woman determined to profit by the Empire’s difficulties and carried on
the war with a spirit and ability that deserved a better cause. She had
taken with her to Thessaly a vast quantity of money and treasure, and
she now employed this more persuasive argument on the Kral of Servia.
She sent him a superb crown from the Byzantine treasury and some of
the richly embroidered robes of the Byzantine Court for himself and
her daughter; and she forwarded to him, the chronicler says, money
enough “to equip and maintain a hundred triremes for ever.” It is
unfortunate that we do not know more particulars about her departure
from Constantinople and the way in which she became possessed of all
this treasure. It looks as if she had been collecting resources for
some years, and had left with a quite definite intention of fighting
her husband. Her present policy was to induce the Kral to make war on
Andronicus and take Constantinople. Her ambition had degenerated into a
disease and a crime.
There is grave reason to blame Irene for another issue of her
ambition which, no doubt, she did not intend. Next to the taking of
Constantinople Irene most desired to see her daughter have a son to
inherit the new Empire, and it is plain that she impressed this on the
Servian monarch. Simonides was now fourteen or fifteen years old, and
would be regarded in the East as a possible mother, but, whatever the
details may be, the fact is recorded by the chroniclers that her womb
was injured in some way and Irene was told that her daughter would
never have children. Her next plan was that the Kral should adopt one
of her sons as his heir, and, as her treasury was ample, the Kral
consented. Demetrius, her youngest son, was sent with a splendid escort
and luxurious outfit to the Servian Court, but its rough ways disgusted
the spoiled youth and he returned to his mother. As a last resource
Irene recalled Theodore from Lombardy and sent him to Servia.
When Theodore also found the ways of the Servians unbearable, and
returned to Lombardy, Irene’s fiery spirit was quenched. Her four
years’ struggle for a kingdom had entirely failed, and her health
was affected. She confessed her defeat and requested Andronicus to
allow her to return to Constantinople. We are scarcely surprised that
Andronicus refused permission, politely assuring her that, as the Turks
now swarmed in the neighbourhood of Constantinople, she was safer at
Thessalonica. Even when, in the following year, the Catalan troops
returned to the West, and relieved him of one of his burdens, the
Emperor gave her no invitation to return. She lived on for eight years
in complete obscurity at Thessalonica, and died of fever at Drama, in
Thessaly, where she had a country palace, in 1317, leaving, in spite
of her great expenditure, a considerable fortune. The dead body of his
fiery spouse was not feared by Andronicus. He permitted Simonides to
bring it to the metropolis and inter it with imperial ceremonies among
the royal graves.
The further career of Simonides herself is not without interest, though
we have no very definite portrait of the daughter of Irene and protégée
of the Apostle Simon. Once in Constantinople, she declared that she
would not return to the less luxurious Court and the rough manners of
her husband. Andronicus did not interfere until, after a time, the
Kral sent word that he would attack Constantinople if his wife did not
return. She was forced by the Emperor to join the Servian envoys, and
set out with them for Belgrade. But Simonides had not a little of the
spirit of her mother. When they had proceeded some two or three days’
journey toward Servia, she cut her hair and donned the black robe of
a nun. The Kral’s servants were stupefied, and, thinking it better
to anticipate the order of their monarch, drew their swords. With
Simonides, however, was her half-brother Constantine, who saw a more
reasonable solution of the difficulty. He stripped her of the monastic
robe with his own hands, compelled her to put on her royal garments,
and sent her to her Court. The Kral died a few years afterwards, and
Simonides returned to live in Constantinople and find more congenial
lovers, as we shall see, amongst its more refined nobility.
But the adventures of Irene’s daughter continue into the next reign,
and it is time to turn back and consider the new Empress who had been
crowned in Constantinople in 1296. Once more we shall find a story of
a woman of excellent character, though less gifted than Irene, tainted
by the Byzantine atmosphere and driven to assist in rending the dying
Empire. Nothing but a strong infusion of virile moral feeling could
have arrested the decay of the Empire. Unhappily, moral sentiment sinks
lower and lower at Constantinople after the death of Irene, while the
energetic Turk slowly advances to its destruction.