ByzReview: Chronicon Paschale, Sebeos of Armenia, and John of Nikiu

Last time in Byzantine Historical Narratives and Primary Source Reviews I covered the tragic and war-filled reign of the emperor Maurice. The subsequent brutal rule of the emperor Phocas, and his overthrow by Heraclius (Herakleios) are covered primarily by several 7^th century chronicles. The first is the Chronicon Paschale (Easter Chronicle), a Byzantine source that – like all universal histories – tries to establish the entire history of the world from the Biblical creation down to the author’s own day; in this case the middle years of Heraclius. The second chronicle I wish to talk about here is actually not technically Byzantine – the Armenian History of Sebeos, who describes the dramatic events of Heraclius’ later years and was witness to one of the most important events in world history: the rise of Islam. A final third chronicle here is Egyptian; the chronicle of John, bishop of Nikiu, who recounts in great detail the rise of Heraclius and the civil war against Phocas, along with the Arab conquest of Egypt.

                When the emperor Maurice fell victim to a full-blown military revolt in the year 602 CE, which resulted in the death of his entire family and the accession of Phocas, the tentative peace which had been reigning on the eastern frontier with Persia was irreparably shattered. The Sassanian Persian king Chosroes II (Khosrow II, 590-628) had previously been saved from an internal rebellion thanks to the help of the emperor Maurice, but with the cost of significant concessions on the frontier with the Romans. With the violent regime change in Byzantium Chosroes saw an opportunity, and by claiming to support the legitimate ruling family he went to war against his former benefactors. Phocas’ ill-documented reign was marked by tyranny, murder, and a badly fought war against the invading Persians, and so it was not surprising that he faced extreme dissatisfaction from across the empire. A few years after Phocas assumed power a certain Heraclius, son of the exarch of Africa who was also called Heraclius, rebelled against Phocas and led an army towards Constantinople. Phocas’ control rapidly crumbled and Heraclius entered the capital in 610, having Phocas killed and assuming the throne for himself. The tyrant had been overthrown, but the new emperor still had a massive war with Persia to fight. Having no problem with the change in Byzantium’s government, the armies of Chosroes swiftly took huge portions of the eastern Roman empire – Egypt, Syria, the entire Levantine region. Most embarrassing for the Romans was the loss of Jerusalem, from which the Persians took back to their capital at Ctesiphon a number of relics, including the True Cross Upon Which Our Lord And Saviour Jesus Christ Was Actually Crucified. Thanks to renewed efforts by the Byzantines from 622 onwards, and especially the failure of a siege on Constantinople (626) by the Persians and their Avar allies, this long and terrible war finally swung in Heraclius’ favour. The Persians were driven back, occupied territories restored to Byzantine-Roman control, and when Persia itself was invaded and its army defeated between 627 and 628, Chosroes met a rebellion and was overthrown. The government of the newly-installed Persian ruler, Siroes (Kavadh II, who was Chosroes’ son) quickly sued for peace, and thus the final war between the Romans and Persians drew to a close. Heraclius could return to his capital in triumph, knowing that the empire had been saved at last.

The Herakleian Dynasty - or three of them, at least

                These are essentially the events that the Chronicon Paschale narrates. The chronicle itself begins with the mythical creation of the Earth and the story of Adam and Eve, extending down through the millennia and encompassing the entire history of the Roman empire and all that, but the fact is that the only really useful bit of a chronicle is in the final few sections. When the writer is relating events from their own day or immediately prior they can often grant a unique window onto that period of time, especially if they are the only witness to such events. The writer of the Paschale chronicle is not quite the only witness to the events he describes*, but nevertheless such sources are rare and ought to be treasured. Elsewhere in the narrative are occasionally useful bits of information gathered from sources we no longer have access to, such as a much fuller and more detailed account of the Nika revolt (532) against the 6^th century emperor Justinian I, which has information on the event not given in either Malalas or Procopius. But such details are few and far between, and it is the writer’s own day with which we must concern ourselves.

                Speaking of the writer, there is a reason we know this text as the ‘Easter Chronicle’; we know nothing about the person who wrote it. We certainly do not know his name. The name of the chronicle simply states that it is a history from Adam down to the twentieth year of the reign of Heraclius, and so no help can be found here. The name ‘Easter Chronicle’ has been assigned to it thanks to the text’s interest in reviewing the different methods of calculating the date of Easter, and its use of Easter cycles and Easter tables to frame its chronology. In absence of an actual name of an author, the name ‘paschale chronicon’ is as good as any. Speaking of chronology, this chronicle – or at least the later sections of it – is very keen on firmly dating the events it describes to a fairly exact year. Each year in this history has its own entry in the chronicle, dated according to fifteen year cycles (known as the indiction) and to which emperor was on the throne at the time, helpfully including which year of his reign it is, this chronicle is much more precise at dating events than John Malalas ever was. Alongside this, the chronicle also mentions who was consul that year (a practice that appears to be dying out during these later centuries of the Roman empire), as well as on occasion numbering which Olympiad each period could be (an Olympiad being a four-year cycle which, supposedly, showed when the Olympic games ought to be held, although the Olympic games had been discontinued by the emperor Theodosius I at the end of the 4^th century). These various systems of dating, which are weaved together in the Chronicon Paschale, give a rather nice and understandable – if not excessive – chronological framework to the entire text, one that would not be improved upon until the joint chronicle of George Synkellos and Theophanes the Confessor arrived nearly two centuries later.

                Until Theophanes the Confessor – and his fellow historian, Patriarch Nikephoros, whom I shall examine in the next review – the Byzantine historians essentially vanish without a trace. For the next two centuries we have virtually no contemporary eyewitness accounts to the history and events of the Byzantine-Roman empire. It is at times such as these in which we must seek information elsewhere, and for the remaining years of Heraclius and his immediate successors we have a historical work from nobody less than Bishop Sebeos, an Armenian. Sebeos’ history is a fascinating work, for it documents one of the most crucial world-shaping events ever to occur – the rise of the Islamic Caliphate.

                The prophet Muhammad died in the year 632 CE, and in the years immediately afterwards the Arabian tribes organised themselves and expanded northwards, into the war-weary empires of Rome and Persia. Heraclius’ regime had successfully defeated their Sassanian enemies, but barely a decade later they were near powerless to prevent Arab expansion into the war-torn provinces of the Levant, Syria, and Egypt. The Persian empire in the east, meanwhile, which was experiencing a chaotic series of coups and revolutions since the fall of king Kavadh II (Siroes), eventually collapsed under the Arabic onslaught, thereby ending centuries of Roman-Persian rivalry. 

                Sebeos understandably keeps Armenia centre-stage, and this is no bad thing for those interested in Byzantine, Persian or Arabic history. Armenia is a truly ancient culture, and its land, doomed to be forever wedged between greater powers, is intriguing to study when gauged in the light of Roman and Persian experience. The Byzantines are quite able to tell their own history, but through the outsider’s lens as shown by the Armenian historians perhaps we can gain a clearer picture, one less Byzantinocentric and truer to what was really going on with the all-important eastern frontier. Armenia was a vassal buffer-state, a border zone and plaything of the Roman and Persian empires whose destiny was more often than not decided by foreign powers.

            

Wow. I think this picture has just sold Armenia to me.

    The story Sebeos tells is of the rivalry between the Romans and Persians, and how this affected Armenia. The writer is understandably more sympathetic to the Roman side of things, for being a bishop in the oldest Christian nation in the world he leans towards the Christian Roman empire rather than the non-Christian Persians, who occasionally persecuted the members of that religion within its own borders. The war between Heraclius and Chosroes is recounted spectacularly, albeit a little confusingly if one is unfamiliar with Armenian titles and names, before the Byzantines triumph and Persia falls into chaos. Unlike the Chronicon Paschale, however, this is not where the tale ends. To the south the supposed descendents of Ishmael, bastard son of Abraham through his Egyptian maidservant Hagar (Genesis 16 and 21),** have united due to the teachings of a certain Muhammad and launch an invasion of the Levant. Heraclius is decisively defeated, Jerusalem falling only a decade after it had been retaken from the Persians, and the blossoming Islamic empire then turns on Persia. With the fall of Persia and Egypt, Heraclius dies as well, a new superpower having eclipsed the empire he had worked so hard to defend.

During the reign of Constans II

                With Heraclius finally gone, his son Heraclius Constantine (Constantine III) – co-emperor alongside his father for nearly three decades – smoothly ascends the throne only to die after only four months of solo-rule. This early death sparked something of a succession crisis in the empire, with the throne passing to Constantine III’s teenage half-brother Heraklonas, son of his step-mother Martina, rather than his infant son Constans. After the intervention of a general of Armenian extraction, Valentinus, Martina and Heraklonas are deposed and mutilated, and the young Constans II (Pogonatos – the Bearded) is allowed to accede to the throne. He was to rule for the next twenty-seven years, and it is during his reign that Sebeos’ history eventually concludes. For a brief run-down on this confusing old Herakleian dynasty, here is a little timeline:

Phocas                             (602 – 610) – Usurper who overthrew the emperor Maurice. Killed by Heraclius

Heraclius [Herakleios] I (610 – 641) – Founder of Herakleian dynasty, son of Heraclius the Elder

           

Herakleios II/ Constantine III (641) – Son of Heraclius by his first wife. Sole-emperor for four months

Heraklonas                    (641) – Son of Heraclius by his second wife. Violently overthrown and mutilated

Constans II Pogonatos  (641 – 668) – Son of Herakleios II/Constantine III

           

Constantine IV                    (668 – 685) – Son of Constans II. Emperor during the famous siege of Constantinople between 674 and 678

Justinian II the Slit-Nosed (685 – 711) – Son of Constantine IV. Overthrown and exiled from 695 to 705, retook the throne and was then executed in 711, ending the Herakleian dynasty

              

Is your beard as good as that of Constans II? No, I bet it isn't.

  As well as offering a rare glimpse into Byzantine history of the mid-7^th century, Sebeos is of primary value for his account of the rise of Islam. With his generally pro-Armenian sentiments, his story of the rise of the Caliphate is well worth a read should that be of interest to you. And it should. After all, this was a major event, and spelled the final end of the Ancient world and the beginning of the Middle Ages as we know them. Who wouldn’t want to have an eyewitness account of this?

                We shall now deal briefly with our last chronicle of the day, that of John, a late 7^th century bishop of the city of Nikiu (Pashati) in northern Egypt. While originally written in Greek, the only manuscript was preserved in the Ethiopian language Ge’ez, so again I cannot find any decent critical editions of it. The chronicle is very useful for the early Heraclian period, for it offers unparalleled detail on the reign of Phocas, the revolt of Heraclius and his father against the tyrant, the Islamic invasion and conquest of Egypt, and the Heraclian succession crisis of 641 CE. While it gets very bogged-down in religious sermonising, thanks to the theological disagreements between the Byzantine provinces and the capital, I found this chronicle (or at least its century-old translation by R.H. Charles) quite readable, and the ratio between theological, political and military events was kept nicely balanced. For an account of the rise of Islam, and how this was greeted in the former Byzantine provinces, John of Nikiu’s account is an absolute must.

                So that then is a beginners’ guide to the 7^th century. The final Roman-Persian war and the rise of Islam, as told by a Heraclian chronicler, an Armenian bishop and an Egyptian cleric.

* Aside from the Armenian history of Sebeos, one of the best sources of information on this period is the poetry of George of Pisidia. Like a flattering court minstrel, George wrote a number of compositions which recounted the heroic exploits of the Heraclian armies during this war. I have not found any translations of these pieces, so I have not given here any proper review of this material – just be assured that such material does exist, and that it is most useful for our histories of this war.

** Ishmael, Hagar – This Biblical explanation for where the Arabs originated is quite common in the Christian sources such as these. More often than not Muslims are referred to as Ishmaelites or Hagarenes, and this is especially so in the histories of Sebeos and John of Nikiu.

Bibliozantium 7

Chronicon Paschale. L. Dindorf (ed.) Bonn. [Corpus Scriptorum Historiae Byzantinae], 11/12, (1832). In two volumes.

Chronicon Paschale – 284-628 AD. Translated by Michael Whitby and Mary Whitby. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press. [Translated Texts for Historians], 7, (1989).

Sebeos’ History. Translated by Robert Bedrosian. New York: Sources of the Armenian Tradition. (1985)

The Armenian History Attributed to Sebeos. Translated by R.W. Thomson. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press. [Translated Texts for Historians], 31, (1999). In two volumes.

The Chronicle of John, Bishop of Nikiu. Translated by R.H. Charles. London: Williams and Norgate. [Text and Translation Society], (1916).

                [Helpful Foot-Gnote:  As always, the first entry in this list is the CSHB Greek text edition, entirely free on Google Books but useless to anyone who cannot read either Greek or Latin. The second entry is a partial English translation, covering the last quarter of the chronicle and therefore detailing the most useful section for historians. For Sebeos’ history, the R.W. Thomson translation is the more modern and scholarly edition, and it has an accompanying volume of studies on the text. The Bedrosian translation is older and much sparser on footnotes and studies, but it does have the beautiful advantage of being freely available for download on the internet. Go ahead; just type it into Google, and you should be able to find a working link where you can download the entire text instantaneously for free. You now have no excuse to avoid this most interesting of historical sources. Likewise the translation of John of Nikiu is a pretty old one, and can be found online for free download also.]

Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, by Jules Verne

This is one of the dullest and most tedious books I have ever read. Which is a shame to say, as I really enjoyed the other of Jules Verne’s works I've encountered: Around the World in Eighty Days. Alas Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea is significantly less enjoyable, for in terms of plot, pace, characters and readability we are left severely wanting. Imagine, if you will, being trapped on a submarine for a month where your only companion is a man who absolutely will not stop talking about marine biology. This in essence was my experience of the book.

          Our protagonist, M. Pierre Aronnax, is a mid-19^th century French marine biologist who tells us about some queer occurrences in the waters around the world. Global shipping has been attacked by some bizarre gigantic sea-creature, and as an expert on the matter (or the closest thing they can find) M. Aronnax is offered a chance to accompany the hunt for this mysterious monster. Bringing with him his dull and subservient man-servant, Conseil, and befriending the Canadian harpooner Ned Land, Aronnax and his two companions find themselves flung off their ship during an encounter with the creature, only to be rescued by self-same creature and learn that it is not, in actuality, a sea-monster at all. What they discover is nothing less than a gigantic submarine, entirely self-sufficient and powered by technological marvels. Its captain, the enigmatic Captain Nemo, treats the three men as his guests and takes them along on a spectacular underwater journey – with the caveat that they are never allowed to leave his custody again.

          Such then is the premise of the story. After this point, about sixty pages into the novel, we get nothing more really than a series of episodes stitched together into a non-stop voyage that takes the characters all across the globe. We go off into an underwater hunt in an underwater forest, get beached near an island of hostile native tribesmen, go treasure-seeking among sunken shipwrecks, battle sperm-whales and giant squids, discover the ruins of Atlantis, and cruise all the way to the South Pole. Aside from this nothing much actually happens; we learn nothing really of Captain Nemo and his fabulous craft beyond what he spends the first few chapters explaining in non-stop exposition, so the suspense and mystery of Nemo’s origins leave us frustrated and dissatisfied rather than intrigued. Of the other characters nothing much can be said. The Nautilus' crew are a bunch of faceless voiceless zombies, Conseil is Aronnax’s skulking unemotional sycophant and Ned Land is a whining carnivorous brute. As for Aronnax, our eyes into this supposedly fascinating under-water world, he is quite simply the dullest man we could hope to spend our time with. He definitely enjoys this captive journey he finds himself on, but at our expense – for he spends fully half the novel describing, or rather ‘classifying’, all the supposedly amazing life-forms and marvels he witnesses under the waves. Descriptions are brief and fleeting; but Latinized scientific names for species and genus are thrown around as if there were no tomorrow for this obsessively zoological imperialistic* dullard. Verne must have written this book with a good number of encyclopaedias open in front of him, and if he had concentrated on trying to write an interesting story to accompany this bewildering array of scientific facts then it might have enhanced its overall effect. As it is we just end up with a solid brick of tedious details, and even the odd squid-attack, iceberg collapse or jaunt on the ocean floor cannot alleviate the abject dullness that permeates the entire novel.

          Anything good to say about this book? Well, even though it makes you feel like an idiot, at least it doesn’t exactly treat you as one. Aronnax is speaking to an intellectual equal, and if you can resist his scientific jargon for any length of time then you might feel that you really are on an under-water Victorian journey of intellectual discovery. The Nautilus itself is, even today, quite an interesting setting; an entirely self-sufficient luxury submarine equipped with, among other attractions, a library and a museum. Nemo and his world are at least relatively interesting, though I would have preferred it had the secrets of the Nautilus and of Nemo been gradually revealed throughout the course of the novel, rather than been explained in a massive chunk near the beginning and then left pretty much unexplained for the remainder of the story.

          I sympathize with the character of Ned Land, unable to appreciate Aronnax’s marine lectures or else find anything really to entertain himself on board the Nautilus, for his only desire is to escape the confines of this peculiar prison-ship and cut short his underwater voyage by any means necessary. I particularly don’t like the faceless crew, who play no part in the story other than to serve Nemo without question – which I find somehow ironic as Nemo considers himself to be all about freedom from man and battling oppression, yet he remains in absolute, total control of the destiny of every last person on board his ship. These people are essentially enslaved in order that one man can carry out his insane wishes, unable as they are to leave the ship, doomed to follow their commander even when he puts all their lives in terrible danger – driving into the iceberg-clogged seas of Antarctica, wading in to do battle with giant tentacle-spewing monstrosities, or taking on armed warships because he sometimes feels cranky. And that’s nothing to say of the lack of women on board. Perhaps Nemo is happy to live a celibate life – it is part of his character, after all – but throughout the entire novel there is not a single female character anywhere. It’s almost as though women have been excluded from this boys’ own adventure, and the absence is most glaring amongst this all-male crew. Just seems fishy, is all.

          So as it is, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea is a long, tedious novel in which nothing much happens. While undoubtedly something of a classic, and a point of interest in the 19^th century imagination, overall I gained little pleasure out of having read it. I hear that Nemo’s origins are explained in Verne’s 1874 book The Mysterious Island, but I care little enough to read it now. If you want a book to delve into, then unless you’re willing to be lectured on marine biology jargon over the next three to four weeks, find something else to peruse.

* One must stress that this is a novel from the 19^th century, and as far as European-Victorian attitudes go M. Aronnax keeps his bigotry to a minimum, except for his jarring distinctions between ‘civilised’ and ‘un-civilised’ human-beings. His tendency to refer to the indigenous peoples of south-east Asia as ‘savages’ gets rather wearisome after a while, and the scene in which the Nautilus is besieged by these self-same ‘savages’ shows that attitudes have progressed some way over the past 146 years.

Bibliolitus

Verne, Jules. Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. Translated by Philip Schuyler Allen. London: Reader’s Digest. (1993 [First published in French in 1870])