THE GOLDEN GATE
A small, deep-arched postern leads our travellers out of the precincts
of the ruins that surround the Marble Tower. The masonry above the
postern bears inscriptions dating back to the days when several emperors
reigned together. Basil II and Constantine IX, who have been already
mentioned in connection with the Palace of Justinian, left records of
their reign upon this section of the walls. The postern leads us outside
the city walls, and as we turn for a last glance at the Marble Tower and
the wonderful view it commands, we notice a strange Byzantine device
carved on its keystone.
A narrow tongue of land runs out into the sea just here, and under its
lee the cargo of several small sailing craft is being leisurely brought
ashore, for staring us in the face is commercial enterprise and all it
entails in the shape of a tannery. Here in former days was open country
which many a time had witnessed thrilling scenes. For at this small
harbour
[Illustration: POSTERN, WITH INSCRIPTIONS OF BASIL II. AND CONSTANTINE
IX.
A small, deep-arched postern leads out of the precincts of the ruins
that surround the Marble Tower.]
the hero of a victorious campaign in Asia Minor was wont to land, and
with him his troops. Spoils taken in the war were stacked and hapless
prisoners paraded to follow in procession through the Golden Gate at the
conqueror's chariot wheels. From this harbour the Turkish fleet of 305
vessels attempted to cut off the five gallant ships that brought
provisions from the island of Scio to the city during the last siege;
these managed to force their way to the Golden Horn.
The sentry on the ramparts over the postern we have left behind us,
looking over this rolling plain, would see the glittering domes and
pinnacles of yet another lordly place away on the curving sea-coast--the
palace of the Hebdomon. This, it appears, served as a rustic retreat for
the emperors of the East. Important functions took place there, for here
Valens was inaugurated as colleague of his brother, the Emperor
Valentine, and proclaimed Augustus. And others followed him, such as
Arcadius and Honorius, raised to imperial rank by Theodosius the Great,
Leo the Great and Leo the Armenian, and he with whose fate we became
familiar when talking of Theophane, Nicephorus II Phocas.
But we will hasten away from that malodorous evidence of progress, the
tannery, for we are strongly drawn towards those towering ruins gleaming
through the dark cypresses. We cross the railway-line and note where it
has cut a path through the ancient defences of Byzantium.
Climbing a bank, we reach a little Turkish cemetery, its weird and
tumbling tombstones shaded by those solemn, watchful cypress-trees. Now
look towards the walls: between us and them is a deep fosse, where
fig-trees grow and throw out their twisted branches as if to protect
these ancient ramparts from crumbling further to decay. Ivy in dense
dark masses clings to the crenulated scarp, and beyond that a broad
roadway, all neglected, rises in gentle gradient till it turns sharply
towards an archway, guarded on either hand by massive towers built of
blocks of polished marble.
This is the Golden Gate, the "Porta Aurea" of so many glorious moments
in the life of Constantine's great city.
Here the procession that had formed on the plain down by the harbour
made its triumphal entry, and worthy was this monument in those days to
serve as frame to a conquering Augustus. Walls and towers were crowned
with parapets, over which glittered the glint of armour and the flashing
light of spear-heads. The gates, too, were all on fire with the precious
metal from which its name comes, though it now lives
[Illustration: THE GOLDEN GATE, FROM SOUTH-WEST.]
This is the Golden Gate, the "Porta Aurea" of so many glorious moments
in the life of Constantine's great city.]
only in memory. Statues and sculptured ornaments added to the splendour
of which the only traces now to be seen are some remains of marble
cornices, and, at the south-western angle of the northern tower, a Roman
eagle with wings outspread in solitary grandeur.
The Golden Gate had three archways, of which the central one was loftier
and wider, like those more familiar to us in the Roman Forum. These were
dedicated to Severus and Constantine respectively, and the gilded gates
of these three arches were those of Mompseueste, placed here by
Nicephorus Phocas to commemorate his victorious campaign in Cilicia.
Of all the many works of art that went to decorate the Golden Gate no
traces but those just mentioned can be found; but there are records of
them, and some are strange reading--for instance, the transactions
between an English ambassador to the Porte from 1621-28, Sir Thomas Rowe
and the "Great Treasurer." Good Sir Thomas, it appears, had mentioned in
his dispatches that two bas-reliefs which figured here were really well
worthy of note. This led to another English gentleman, a Mr. Petty,
being sent to Constantinople to see to the removal of these treasures to
the Earl of Arundel, who sought to share them with the Duke of
Buckingham. Much English gold changed hands and found its way into the
hungry pockets of the Great Treasurer, who, like all other Turkish high
officials before and since, had frequent and pressing need of money, and
was not plagued with petty scruples as to the means employed to obtain
it. The bargain was completed and all arrangements made, but at the last
moment, when it came to removing these marbles, the populace, under the
castellan of the castle, rose in mutiny. The precious life of the Great
Treasurer was in danger, and as he had probably pouched the money by
that time, he discovered it to be quite impossible to carry out his part
of the contract, at least for the present; and stout Sir Thomas reported
to head-quarters in these words, "So I despair to effect therein your
grace's service, and it is true, though I could not get the stones, yet
I allmost raised an insurrection in that part of the cytty."
We are standing now before the ruined remains of this, the culminating
point of many a page of glorious achievement in the history of the
Eastern capital. But let us now regard it with the eye of retrospection;
let the past ages envelop the broken, ivy-covered monument and restore
it to us in its pristine glory, for we, too, would take part in the
splendid pageant that once animated this now-deserted stronghold.
So we go back into the depth of time from which perchance we issued. The
fourth century of the Christian era is big with the names of those who
stamped themselves upon their time for good or evil, and thus the
capital of the Eastern Empire owes its second birth to one whose
glorious name is writ large upon the scroll of fame--to Constantine the
Great. Second only to Constantine in this succession of rulers of the
Eastern Empire comes Theodosius I, also called Great, and rightly so,
for Constantinople owes to him a debt almost as great as to the second
founder of the Imperial City. Constantine gave to this city a new lease
of life, and Theodosius insured it against capture by assault for many
centuries; for all those strong defences, the remains of which, some
broken beyond recognition, others practically intact, extend from the
Golden Gate to the Golden Horn, are a lasting monument to the Theodosian
dynasty.
This Golden Gate itself is said to have been erected by Theodosius to
celebrate his victory over a formidable rival; and to enter fully into
sympathy with the great incidents this monument has witnessed, let us
take note of the events that led Theodosius both to the Imperial Purple
and the towering place he holds in the history of the world.
The final separation into East and West of Rome's Imperial power had
not yet taken place, and Gratian was emperor. The latter years of his
reign were hard and full of troubles. Northern Barbarians ravaged the
provinces of Rome at their will, and none seemed capable of checking
their savage onslaughts. The legions of the Roman army had time after
time failed of their old tradition, and had so often been vanquished
that they held their foes to be invincible. Fiercest of all these fierce
foemen were the Goths, and it was they who caused the most distress.
Valens had fallen in the battle of Hadrianople, and with him two-thirds
of the Roman army; the rest had barely effected their escape under cover
of night. The Roman Empire was in sore straits; the Goths were flushed
with their victory, and likely to take advantage of it.
Five months after the death of Valens the Emperor Gratian did a deed
perhaps unparalleled. He sent for Theodosius, presented him to the
troops, who acclaimed him as Augustus, and invested him with the
Imperial purple. The strangeness of this act lies in the history that
precedes it. Theodosius the Elder, father of the new emperor, had but
three years before been put to death unjustly and with ignominy by
Gratian's orders, and his son banished. So Gratian's messengers found
Theodosius managing his estates in Spain. They gave him their message,
and forthwith the emperor-elect proceeded to his new duties imposed on
him by one whose keen discernment found the right man in the time of
need, and whose sense of right had sought the way towards redeeming a
terrible injustice.
Theodosius was thirty-three years of age when he ascended the throne of
the eastern division of the Roman Empire. In grace and manly beauty, in
his qualities of heart and intellect, contemporaries held him to
outshine Trajan. Like other military heroes--Alexander, Hannibal and the
second Africanus--he had been trained young in the profession of arms
under the stern discipline of his own father. Even at this early age he
had gained renown for valour in the field, where his experiences had
been many and varied. He had fought against the Scots in their inclement
climate, had heard the war-cry of the Saxons echoing among the primeval
forests of Germany, and faced the Moors under the fierce power of
southern suns.
He was now called upon to meet Rome's most dreaded foes, those mighty
Goths, who, as their king said, drove the Roman legions like sheep
before them. Theodosius showed no impetuous haste to gain new laurels
for his own adornment. Rather, he bided his time, placed his troops
cunningly, and kept himself so well informed that whenever an
opportunity offered of attacking a small force of the enemy in superior
numbers, or from some vantage ground, he would seize it, and always
proved successful. Thus he restored the confidence of his troops, who
now no longer believed the Goths to be invincible. In this manner
Theodosius had already earned his title as Great as a firm and faithful
servant of the Republic.
His statecraft helped him further in his plans for the welfare of the
Empire, of which a considerable portion was now under his control, for
Dacia and Macedonia were added to the Eastern Empire, which consisted
then of Thrace, Asia and Egypt.
The death of Fritigern, who had held together the Barbarian alliance of
Eastern and Western Goths, Huns and Alani, was another factor which
Theodosius knew well how to take into account. Once the bonds of the
alliance loosened, and the different parties to it went different ways,
the jealousy of Ostrogoths and Visigoths revived, and made it possible
to win the services of one or other discontented leader. The aged
Athanaric collected many of Fritigern's subjects round him, and with
them listened to a fair proposal of an honourable and advantageous
treaty. Theodosius met him outside the city walls, invited him to
enter, and here entertained him with the confidence of a friend and the
magnificence of a monarch. Athanaric marvelled at all the wondrous
things he saw, and, according to the chronicler Jornandes, exclaimed,
"Indeed, the Emperor of the Romans is a god upon earth; and the
presumptuous man who dares to lift his hand against him is guilty of his
own blood."
The Gothic king did not live long to enjoy the friendship of Theodosius,
though his death was probably of greater advantage to the Emperor than
his alliance might have proved to be. Athanaric was buried with all
proper ceremony, a monument was erected to his memory, and his whole
army enlisted under the standard of the Roman Empire. In consequence of
the submission of so great a body as the Visigoths, other independent
chieftains followed, and four years had barely elapsed since the defeat
and death of Valens when the final and complete capitulation of the
Goths was an accomplished fact.
The Ostrogoths, however, went their own way. They left the banks of the
Danube to visit other countries, where, having made themselves extremely
unpopular, they returned after many years to their former haunts,
reinforced by many of the fiercest warriors of Germany and Scythia.
Theodosius, by skilful tactics, brought about their destruction. His
spies had spread among the Goths a rumour that the Roman camp could, on
a certain night, be easily taken by surprise. One moonless night the
whole multitude of Goths hastily embarked in 3000 dug-outs, and set out
to reach the southern bank of the river, certain of finding an easy
landing and assailing an unguarded camp. But they found an insuperable
obstacle in a triple line of vessels strongly bound one to another; and
while they yet struggled to find a way out of this difficulty, a fleet
of galleys bore down the stream upon them, vigorous rowing giving them
irresistible impetus. The valour of the Barbarians was all in vain;
Alatheus their king perished in the fray, together with the flower of
his army, either by the swords of the Romans or in the waters of the
Danube. Those who escaped surrendered and became Roman subjects.
The Goths soon settled in the Empire, the Visigoths in Thrace, the
remnant of the Ostrogoths in Phrygia and Lydia, while many took service
under the Roman eagles. They were allowed to retain their own free
government, but the royal dignity was abolished, and their kings and
chieftains ranked as generals, to be appointed and removed at the royal
pleasure. Under the name of Foederati 40,000 Goths were maintained for
the perpetual service of the East; they were distinguished by their
golden collars, liberal pay, and licentious privileges. So here we find
the walls of Constantinople guarded by its former enemies, while the
population lose more and more of the military spirit of ancient Rome. No
love was lost, we fancy, between the citizens of Old Byzantium and these
haughty Barbarians. Indeed, one old chronicler relates how the city was
deprived for half a day of the public allowance of bread, to expiate the
murder of a Gothic soldier. There is no record of how many Greek
citizens a Barbarian guardsman was allowed to murder if he thought fit
to do so; probably statistics would be striking.
No doubt the idea was that a fine blend of races might thus be induced,
an idea that has occurred to other conquerors and has not always proved
successful. So in this case: the Goths, it was supposed, would acquire
habits of industry and obedience, while Christianity and education
smoothed over the very apparent roughness of their disposition.
Though gratitude is a virtue that is generally attributed to Barbarians
and denied to highly civilized races, the Goths made no signal display
of it, and from time to time deserted in large bodies to make the
neighbouring provinces unhappy. Thus on one occasion, when their
services were particularly required in a civil war against Maximus, the
Goths considered that the time had come for a little private
entertainment. They therefore retired to the morasses of Macedonia, and
indulged in a course of quite unnecessary outrage. It required the
presence of the Emperor himself to persuade them to return to their
allegiance. Some attributed these alarums and excursions to the sudden
rise of the barbaric passion, to which a strong, undisciplined race is
always prone. But others maintain that there was much method in their
madness, and that these outbursts were the result of deep and
long-premeditated design, for it was generally believed that when the
Goths had signed the treaty binding them to peace and service, they had
previously sworn never to keep faith with Romans, and to neglect no
opportunity favourable to revenge. The second opinion seems to have been
formed on quite sufficient grounds, and one occurrence tends to prove
it. Two factions there were among the Goths: the one led by Fravitta, a
valiant, honourable youth, considered itself friendly to peace, to
justice, and to the interests of Rome; the other and more numerous
faction asserted its independence under a fierce and passionate
leader--Priulf.
On one occasion, when a solemn festival had gathered all the great
officers of State together, Priulf and Fravitta, having according to the
custom of their race duly overheated themselves with wine, forgot the
usual restraints of discretion and respect, and betrayed in the presence
of Theodosius the secrets of their domestic disputes. The meeting ended
in tumult. Theodosius was compelled to dismiss his guests. Fravitta,
exasperated by his rival's insolence, followed him, drew his sword and
slew him. Priulfs companions flew to arms, and in their superior numbers
would have overcome Fravitta and his followers had not the Imperial
guard stepped in to save him.
Now Author and Artist are at variance in their views of the incident
just related. The Author looks upon the subject from a lofty pedestal
built of historic facts, and has just given this account of an abrupt
and unpleasant ending to a dinner-party in order to shake his head
reprovingly over the want of self-control exhibited by the invited
Gothic guests. He would also point to the degeneracy of the Roman
Empire, when such scenes could be enacted in the presence of the
Emperor. What was the Lord High Guest-Inviter about to ask Fravitta and
Priulf to meet? He should have known that they would quarrel in their
cups, and have sent out his separate invitations for two repasts, though
perhaps for consecutive evenings. And the Lord High Bottle-Washer?
Surely one in his exalted station should have recognized from long
experience the first symptoms, and substituted something less
stimulating than the blood of the grape on the third or fourth circuit
of the decanter. For surely concoctions equally tasty and considerably
under proof must have been known to "the Trade" in those ages of
gastronomic culture. However, matters turned out as recorded, and the
Artist revels in the episode. The Church's solemn feast had been duly
observed that morning; no doubt the Goths had taken part in church
parade, and had, as usual, failed to be sufficiently impressed with the
solemnity of the occasion. Then all the great ones proceeded to the
palace, and, already chafing at the length of the sermon, grew yet more
impatient at the delay of dinner while waiting in some ante-room. The
Emperor Theodosius Augustus enters, and a stir goes through the
assembly. A kind word here and there in Latin, Greek, or some barbaric
tongue as the kind-hearted Emperor recognizes a familiar face, and then
into the banqueting-hall--a lofty, spacious apartment, with arched
windows looking out to sea.
As to the fare--the Artist is no expert, but would suggest that the
festive board groaned, like all boards do on such occasions, beneath a
quite superfluous amount of all the food-stuffs then available. No doubt
at first the strict decorum of a court was carefully observed, and the
weather or the latest scandal discussed in a duly Christian spirit; but
after a while a louder laugh would strike a stronger, healthier note in
the clangour of the table-talk, till all of a sudden angry voices rose
and all the courtiers stared aghast at two Barbarians gloriously drunk
and quarrelling across the very presence of Augustus. The sequel, too,
seems quite appropriate to the Artist, and he can silence criticism by
pointing back but one short century in the life of his own beloved
country. Mention was made of Maximus just now, and it was he who gave to
the Porta Aurea its origin--for had he not risen as rival against the
power of Rome Theodosius would not have taken the field, vanquished him
and erected this triumphal arch in memory of his victory. And,
indirectly again, this arch owes its origin to Britain, for there it was
that the trouble first arose like a small cloud over the Western seas.
A native of Spain, a fellow-countryman of Theodosius and his rival as a
soldier, Maximus won golden opinions from the garrison of Britain, the
province he was called upon to govern. The legions stationed in Britain
had already earned the reputation of being the most arrogant and
presumptuous of all the Roman forces; the country itself, by its
isolation, fostered the spirit of revolt and justified the image
Bossuet, whom we imagine smarting from his latest channel crossing,
gives: "Cette isle, plus orageuse que les mers qui environnent."
So Maximus rose as rival to the throne, and some say that against his
better judgment he was compelled to accept the Purple. The youth of
Britain crowded to his standard, and he invaded Gaul with a naval and
military force that could be likened to an emigration. Gratian, in his
residence at Paris, became alarmed at this hostile approach, and found
himself deserted when he tried to rally his forces, for the armies of
Gaul received Maximus with joyful acclamations. The Emperor of the West
was forced to flee, for even those troops whose stations attached them
immediately to his person deserted to the enemy. So Maximus pursued his
triumphant way, leaving Britons behind him as colonists in Bretagne,
where it is said that their descendants endure to this day.
A romantic legend attaches to this tale of conquest. The whole
emigration from Britain consisted of 30,000 soldiers and 100,000
plebeians, who settled in Bretagne. In a spirit of rare patriotism the
brides of these settlers left England under special convoy of St.
Ursula, 11,000 noble and 60,000 plebeian maidens, but they mistook their
way. They eventually landed at Cologne, and there were cruelly slain by
Huns. A window in Cologne Cathedral commemorates this martyrdom, so all
doubts on the subject are dispelled for ever.
Theodosius was unable, for reasons of State, to avenge the murder of his
benefactor Gratian, but as time went on the rivalry between him and
Maximus became intolerable. One or the other had to make way, and it was
Maximus who succumbed. Then it was that this triumphal arch, this Porta
Aurea, came to be erected, to stand as a perpetual monument to one who
ranks with Constantine the Great in the romantic history of
Constantinople.
Nearly three centuries later another Emperor, Heraclius, entered in
triumph through this gateway, on his return from the Persian wars. One
hundred years later Constantine Copronymus followed through these golden
arches, after defeating the Bulgarians. Then came Theophilus in the
middle of the ninth century, to celebrate his hard-won victories over
the Saracens. Basil I, the Macedonian, followed, and of his first
acquaintance with the Golden Gate mention will be made hereafter. Then
Basil II of that name, called Bulgaroktonos, for he wreaked savage
vengeance on the Bulgarians who had dared to disturb his peace. A weird,
romantic figure this of Basil, we have had a glimpse of him when telling
of those dark influences that coloured his earliest days. Those days in
the Palace of Justinian when Theophane, his mother, worked wickedness,
can have had but the worst effect on a character like his. Learning and
all the gentler arts and crafts he heartily despised, and cared for
nothing but military glory. He first drew sword against two domestic
enemies, Phocas and Sclerus, two veteran generals who rendered insecure
his tenure of the Purple. He subdued them both. Then he turned against
the Saracens, proved successful, and as has been said already,
vanquished the Bulgarians. In spite of his achievements in the field
Basil did not gain the affection of his people. He was one of those
mournful figures that flit from time to time across the pages of
history. His only virtues were courage and patience, but they were
counterbalanced by a tameless ferocity. A mind like his in such an age
lends a ready ear to the dreariest superstition, and after the first
licence of his youth, his life in the field and in the palace was
devoted to the penance of a hermit. He wore the monastic habit under his
robes or armour, and imposed upon himself vows of abstinence from all
the lusts of the flesh.
His martial spirit urged him to embark in person on a holy war against
the Saracens of Sicily, but death prevented him. He was then in his
sixty-eighth year, and left the world blessed by the priests but cursed
by his people.
Another in this glittering pageant that passes through the Golden Gate
in triumph is John Zimisces the Armenian, whom our travellers first saw
in that dark night under the windows of Justinian's palace. His life was
spent almost entirely in the field, and he well deserved the triumph
that awaited him on his return to Constantinople after defeating both
the Saracens and Russians.
The last of all the Emperors to whom triumphal entry through the Golden
Gate was accorded was Michael Palæologus, in August 1261. It is not easy
to discover why this honour should have been shown him, for he had
achieved no renown in his endeavour to regain his own. No doubt the
people gladly welcomed back one of the former race of rulers, not only
because like most people they wanted a change, but because that change
could not possibly be for the worse, inasmuch as they had suffered
grievously for more than half-a-century under the rule imposed on them
by the Latins, and were willing to accept any possible alternative.
Baldwin, the last of the Latin emperors, had fled, and Michael
Palæologus entered Constantinople only twenty days after the expulsion
of the Latins. The Golden Gate was thrown open on his approach, he
dismounted, and on foot meekly followed the miraculous image of Mary the
Conductress into the city as far as the Cathedral of St. Sophia.
But Michael's joy at entering the capital was marred by the sights that
met his eye. Whole streets had been consumed by fire, no signs of trade
or industry were to be seen, and even his palace was in a state of
desolation, grimy with smoke and dirt and stripped of every ornament.
Standing inside the enclosure we look up at the Golden Gate--the stones
and brick that block up the three arches fade away, and in their place
stand the gleaming gates that helped to give it its name. A surging mass
of people moves excitedly around us pressing forward towards the
entrance. A body of troops appears: big men, of fairer skins than those
who form the crowd, clear with long-handled spears a roadway, thrusting
aside with undisguised contempt the over-curious spectators. Scowls and
glances of resentment vanish as sounds of an approaching multitude,
accompanied by martial music, are heard proceeding from the plain
outside the gate. Here they come! and already in a golden haze the
pageant seems to move towards us. Huns and Alani, the light cavalry
trained by Theodosius, on wiry horses, shaggy, savage-looking men, they
hurry on, followed by sturdy, heavy-treading infantry, stout warriors
clad in skins of animals, with here and there a touch of finer stuff,
betraying them not all unused to the refinements of the Empire's
capital. They surround him whom they are pleased to call master, the
Roman Emperor. And then comes endless misery, unchronicled and
long-forgotten--the captives taken in the wars. Red-headed Celts and
fair-haired Saxons, swarthy Moors and Saracens with desperate, flashing
eyes. Among the captives big-limbed Slavs, and then more troops, some in
the primitive costume of their native wilds, others in armour of all
periods.
Thus passes this glorious array--Emperors on horseback or in chariots,
their guards and soldiery, captives and slaves both men and women,
trophies and spoils of war. In these few minutes while we watch, the
triumphs of seven centuries of Empire rise up before us and fade away
into that general oblivion which so few men survive, and even those
often, as it seems, only by some chance or trick of fortune.
Thousands and tens of thousands have passed this way in their brief hour
of victory, have made the heavens ring with their deeds, that lived a
day or two in memory, and then have silently moved onwards into the
place of forgotten things. The vision passes and leaves us but a name
or two by which we may remember what greatness and glory have swept by.
The gilded splendour of the gates is dimmed, the stones and bricks
resume their place within the arches, and here before us stands that
hoary ruin grey with age, lichen-covered and festooned with ivy, while
rank weeds spring up round its foundation and flowering bushes form its
ramparts--the Triumphal Arch of Theodosius--the Golden Gate.
[Illustration: THE APPROACH TO THE GOLDEN GATE FROM NORTH WEST.
Here before us stands that hoary ruin, grey with age, lichen-covered and
festooned with ivy--the Triumphal Arch of Theodosius--the Golden
Gate.]