ByzReview: Liudprand of Cremona and Constantine VII

Last time in my Byzantine Book Reviews we covered the late 9^th and early 10^th centuries, focusing on the reign of Leo VI the Wise (r.886-912). This time we shall cover the decades following Leo’s death, as seen through several curious sources – a historical account by the Italian bishop Liudprand of Cremona, and a couple of the great encyclopaedic works of Leo VI’s son, the emperor Constantine VI Porphyrogennetos.

                Leo VI had had an interesting reign, marked by marital controversy and foreign policy failures. By his fourth wife he had succeeded in producing one son, Constantine, still a child at Leo’s death. After a brief but unpleasant reign by Leo’s incompetent brother, Alexander (r.912-913), which resulted in the outbreak of another war with the Bulgarians, Leo’s son inherited the throne as the emperor Constantine VII – at the age of thirteen. For the next few years the empire was run by a regency council, whose inability to resist the Bulgarian invasion proved disastrous. With the countryside being ravaged by a Bulgarian king who had imperial pretensions, an underage and powerless emperor and a bickering regency council, at this moment enters a little-known admiral of the fleet by the name of Romanos Lekapenos, who in 919 enacts a palace coup, has his daughter married to the emperor, and then a year later has himself crowned emperor.

                The quarter-century reign of Romanos I (r.920-944) saw the blunting of the Bulgarian invasion, the establishment of Romanos’ family as supreme, and the beginning of great territorial conquests in the east. Despite having raised three of his sons to the rank of co-emperor, Romanos saw no reason to have his son-in-law, Constantine VII, removed from power or murdered. For this entire twenty-five year period, the legitimate emperor Constantine VII was kept in the background; not exactly powerless or mistreated, just under the firm eye of his father-in-law. Later in his reign Romanos I suffered a couple of upsets. His eldest son Christopher died unexpectedly in 931, and then in December 944 his surviving imperial sons decided to depose him and have him shipped off to a monastery. At this moment Constantine VII swooped in from behind, had his brothers-in-law arrested and forced into monasteries themselves. At last, after quarter of a century of control from Romanos I and his family, Constantine VII ‘the Purple-Born’ (r.913-959) could assume his birthright and regain power for the Macedonian dynasty. The fourteen years of his solo-rule allowed him to enjoy the successes of Romanos I, whilst he could devote his time to his encyclopaedic projects: the compilation of a vast handbook on palace ceremonies, the histories of his grandfather Basil I and his predecessors, an instruction-book for his son about imperial foreign-policy, and several other projects besides.

                The historical narratives for this period I covered last month, and what I said for them still stand. The Logothete Chronicle, which is the principle source for the reign of Romanos I, has so far not been translated into English, while the official history for Romanos I’s and Constantine VII’s, Theophanes Continuatus (which is virtually a word-for-word copy of the Logothete Chronicle where Romanos is concerned) has likewise not yet been translated. If you would like a full narrative history of this period in English translation, then the best thing you will find is the 11^th century chronicle of John Skylitzes, which reproduces much of the same information as Theophanes Continuatus for these emperors. I will review John Skylitzes in a couple of months, hopefully.

                That being said, there is a very interesting historical narrative currently available in English translation, one which recounts these very events plus much, much more. A certain 10^th century bishop from Lombardy in northern Italy, Liudprand of Cremona, felt a great desire to compose his own account of recent history – the Antapodasis, or Retribution to give it its English title. Amongst his narrative of western-European kings battling over control of Italy, Liudprand also tells us about recent events in the Byzantine/Roman/Greek empire to the east. He is in a fairly privileged position to do this, as his family has a tradition of leading embassies to the court of Constantinople on behalf of whoever is king at the time, and Liudprand is no exception. He speaks Greek, and through his travels and what his family has related to him, he can give a lively and attractive history of the Macedonian dynasty thus far. Whilst primarily concerned with western kings of the late 9^th and early 10^th centuries, particularly kings Berengar I, Hugh and Berengar II of Italy, Liudprand occasionally directs his focus on the east, telling us a little about Basil I and Leo VI, then more about the rise, reign and fall of Romanos I, and then ending by describing his own visit to Constantinople during the reign of Constantine VII. This was not the last time that Liudprand visited the Byzantine empire, but it is sadly the moment when he breaks off his narrative, offering a beautiful and tantalizing view of Constantine VII’s court.

                As a historical account, Liudprand’s Antapodasis is a confusing and jarring work to those unfamiliar with western-European history in the early Middle-Ages. It refers to so many different kings who ruled so many different kingdoms at different times that one can be forgiven in struggling to keep up with it. The confusing nature of this narrative is offset somewhat by Liudprand’s recourse to supplying amusing and scandalous anecdotes about the people he mentions, littered throughout the length and breadth of the book, and this style extends even to his sections on Byzantium. A brilliant story about Romanos Lekapenos before he became emperor, not found in the Byzantine sources, tells of how Romanos sailed his ship to the edge of a marsh, heard a lion roaring, and ordered it the entire marsh to be set alight with Greek Fire (somewhat like medieval napalm). But Liudprand’s best story is undoubtedly to be found in the final book of his work, when he travels to see Constantine VII. The description of the golden throne, flanked by life-size animatronic lions and birds, which rises into the air for the sole purpose of dazzling visiting dignitaries is wonderful – Liudprand knew about this before he arrived, and pretends not to be that impressed, but we all know he is. Likewise his personal encounter with Constantine VII gives us an oddly intimate view of a Byzantine emperor, more so than we usually get. In essence then, Liudprand’s Antapodasis is a long and confusing historical text, but is interspersed with any number of excellent digressions and a wonderful ending. Even if you aren’t a specialist in Byzantine historical texts, this one is well worth a read.

                With the history now covered, it’s time to look at a couple of the more interesting historical texts from this period – namely the encyclopaedic works of the emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos. Over the course of his reign Constantine ordered the writing and compilation of a number of antiquarian and historical texts for the sake of posterity. The two which are most easy to access – owing to the fact that they have both been translated into English – are De Ceremoniis (The Book of Ceremonies) and De Administrando Imperio (On the Administration of the Empire). I have had a fair amount of experience with both of these texts, and the first thing to note is that they are incredibly dull. They are compilations of explanatory texts and brief accounts, intended to aid future imperial rulers on orchestrating palace ceremonies and processions, and on foreign policy – there is no narrative structure, the text is oddly stitched together out of various disparate chapters, and to read them feels like wading through the driest textbook on a subject you barely understand.

                Let’s start with De Administrando Imperio, or D.A.I., the shorter of the two texts. This book was compiled on Constantine VII’s orders for his son Romanos II, to serve as a quick-reference guide for him in understanding foreign policy in relation to the various nations and empires surrounding Byzantium. There appears to be no formal logic to how the book is laid out or what information is provided. Constantine just begins by explaining about the Pecheneg (Patzinak) tribes to the north and how important it is to remain on good terms with them, and then moving from there and explaining about each of the other ethnic polities in turn. Within the D.A.I. can be found a wealth of historical, cultural and geographical information on the early-medieval Balkans and Black Sea regions; disjointed and random information, but information nonetheless. Each short chapter, if it is longer than a couple of sentences, talks at length on whatsoever the subject of the chapter might be, though expect it to be impenetrable if you do not already know much of this period of Byzantine-Roman history, or have any clue about the places and peoples he describes. A long chapter on the province of Dalmatia on the Adriatic coast is all very well and good, but it is only really useful if you understand what the hell is going on. So anyway, the D.A.I. is a very interesting hotchpotch of a book, if you’re very specific in your interests.

The Black Sea and Eastern Europe, around 1015 CE.

                De Ceremoniis is significantly longer than the D.A.I. and deals not with foreign policy but with matters a little closer to home. That is, it is focused almost entirely on the palace and the capital. This Book of Ceremonies is a massive two volume collection of instructions, proscriptions and descriptions of ceremonies and processions which the emperor and their court must take part in throughout the year. Each chapter is long, dull, and filled with tireless repetition. To give you a small idea about what to expect from this Book of Ceremonies, here is a short extract:

“Book I, Chapter 15

What it is necessary to observe on the Friday of Renewal Week

Everyone goes along to the Palace having changed into white chlamyses, as previously described, and when the Palace opens the procession goes into the new hall called the Hall of Justinian. When the time comes the banquet list is determined. Then dismissals take place. The guests who have been invited remain, while all the rest go away to their homes. The emperor goes out and sits at the gold table in the Chrysotriklinos [i.e. the Golden Hall] with the guests whom he has ordered to be invited, and when all the ritual of the table has been completed, they stand up and go away each to his home.

                Note this, too, that the same order applies also on the next day, that is, the Saturday of the said week.”

                                                [Moffatt and Tall translation, 2012. pp. 96-97]

That was a very short chapter about a very minor and undetailed ceremony. A great number of the other rituals are significantly longer, running on for many many pages and being packed with endless run-on sentences describing every instruction for individual members of the court at each moment until the whole thing becomes an unwieldy mess. Reading it becomes almost hypnotic. Instructions and descriptions almost become meaningless there are so many, and written in such an uninspiring manner that trying to delve into the text becomes more akin to a mining operation than simple reading. Despite the fact that I have worked my way through sizeable chunks of the text, I have come nowhere near reading the entire book all the way through, as I have with the D.A.I. or any narrative text. It is probably best treated as an encyclopaedia, to identify which points you wish to dive into and just make do with those sections. Anything more would be a titanic undertaking, and I am not ready for that yet. The advantage of this text is the way in which it is, in fact, so dull and packed with minute details. For a start, it offers us one of the clearest and most beautiful pictures of the Byzantine court and palace we could ever hope to find. I daresay that one could easily use the information it contains to re-create Byzantine ceremonies as they might have happened. Another cool thing about the Book of Ceremonies is that, as it contains so much information about which parts of the palace the ceremonies need to move between, it is to some extent possible to reconstruct a rough diagram of the Great Palace of Constantinople. As this is a building which no longer exists, this is a

The Great Palace, a wonderful sprawling mess of an imperial residence

most wonderful thing to see.

One interesting thing to note about De Ceremoniis is that aside from being a list of instructions on how to perform various ceremonies and when, more generally it is just a depository for random information on the ceremonies of the imperial palace and beyond from various periods of Byzantine history – not just Constantine VII’s own day. Along with a few historical examples of ceremonies which had occurred in Byzantium’s past, such as the proclamations of 5^th and 6^th century emperors, and the ordination of Romanos I’s son Theophylaktos as Patriarch, there are a couple of interesting miscellaneous texts. In book II for instance there is a long treatise on imperial feasts by a chap called Philotheos, written during the time of Leo VI. It is a long list of the various ranks and offices which could be found in the court at that time, setting out in what order they should enter the dining hall and how close they should sit to the emperor. This piece of the Book of Ceremonies can be read as a separate text in itself, as indeed it never was intended for incorporation into a larger compilation. Another interesting miscellaneous section in the book is Constantine VII’s three military treatises. I say military treatises; really they’re nothing about tactics or organisation, as the Strategikon of Maurice or the Taktika of Leo VI, but rather are an instruction manual for what the emperor ought to do when he personally leads an army on campaign. Mostly it explains, in a similar manner to the rest of De Ceremoniis, how the emperor ought to prepare his army, what he should take with him, and how he and his officers ought to behave.

A final point about this text (or collection of texts, as it probably might be considered), is that although Constantine VII definitely initiated its composition, it was added to even after his death. We know this thanks to a couple of chapters referencing the accession of Nikephoros II Phokas (r. 963-969), and Basil Lekapenos (bastard son of Romanos I Lekapenos – Romanos had a lot of sons, all right) in his promotion to proedros (president) of the senate, which did not happen until Nikephoros’ reign. Evidently the De Ceremoniis we have is one that was utilised and expanded by Constantine’s successors, in a fairly medieval fashion of never considering a work entirely complete if you could still make changes. As the book is introduced in the words of Constantine VII, however, and because much of the compilation of these texts occurred during the reign and at the instigation of Constantine VII, I have no issue with talking about this text here. Constantine VII was responsible for a couple of other encyclopaedic texts, such as De Thematibus (or On the Themes) which chronicles the theme/provincial system of the empire, but so far these texts have escaped translation into most modern langauges. We should just be thankful for what we have at the moment; and who knows? Maybe in another half-century somebody might get round to translating them.

                I should probably finish here. Liudprand has a rather interesting history to tell of the 9^th and 10^th centuries, while the works of the emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos are unique and captivating texts which can be mined for all sorts of useful information on all manner of subjects. Hurrah for the 10^th century, a most interesting sort of century.

Bibliozantium 11

Constantine Porphyrogennetos. De Ceremoniis Aulae Byzantinae. J.J. Reiske (ed). [Corpus Scriptorum Historiae Byzantinae], (Bonn, 1829-1830). In two volumes.

Constantine Porphyrogennetos. De Thematibus et De Administrando Imperio. I. Bekker (ed). [Corpus Scriptorum Historiae Byzantinae], (Bonn, 1840)

Constantine Porphyrogennetos. The Book of Ceremonies. Translated by A. Moffat and M. Tall [Byzantina Australiensia], 18, (Canberra, 2012). In two volumes.

Constantine Porphyrogennetos. De Administrando Imperio. G. Moravcsik and R.J.H. Jenkins (eds). [Corpus Fontium Historiae Byzantinae], 1, (Washington, D.C., 1967)

Liudprand of Cremona. The Complete Works of Liudprand of Cremona. Translated by. P. Squatriti [Medieval Texts in Translation], (Washington D.C., 2007)

Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley

If you like novels about dystopian futures, then alongside George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four this is one you must read. Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World is cynical, engaging and thoroughly interesting, set in a world where Henry Ford is revered as a messiah.

                Placed about six-hundred years in the future, the story begins in a human cloning facility where the director of the facility explains how the entire world’s population is test-tube grown, physically engineered and psychologically conditioned for fulfilling set, designated roles in this future society. There are no natural births anymore; humans are grown from eggs in test tubes and genetically altered to make them suitable for one of five castes: with super-intelligent, mentally unique and creative Alphas at the top, down to the vast hordes of drone-like, intellectually-stunted Epsilons at the bottom. The best and most knowledge demanding jobs are reserved for the higher castes, whilst low-skilled work which requires mindless drudgery is given to the lower castes. Each of these five groups are conditioned from birth to enjoy the kind of work they are predestined to perform, to make them compliant to this new world order, and are guaranteed any amount of physical or mental pleasure that they could ever want or need so that any thought of rebellion or unorthodoxy would never have a chance of occurring to them. There is no natural reproduction in this world, no conflicts, no disease, no loneliness, no social unrest. The only things wrong are the occasional Alpha caste member who feels a bit out of sorts with the world; as though they don’t quite fit in.

                On the fringes of this future society are areas not considered worthwhile by the powers-that-be; vast reservations inhabited by a vastly more primitive society, named savages by the rest of the human population. These ‘savages’ still worship gods, still repair their own clothes and items, still read the works of Shakespeare and, horrifyingly, still engage in sexual reproduction. Unlike the highly regulated, clone based society of the rest of the world, these ‘savages’ have families, still have mothers and fathers – both terms being obscene in this dystopia – and still believe in monogamy and love. When Bernard Marx, an isolated member of the Alpha caste working in the cloning facility, takes a trip to this reservation with a girl called Lenina, he stumbles upon a ‘savage’ named John who can speak his language. It transpires that John is actually the accidental biological son of Bernard’s boss, raised amongst the ‘savages’ on the works of Shakespeare. Bernard realises how much of a bombshell he could drop by bringing John back to his civilisation, and so does just that – guides him back home, reveals him to the world, and shows him just how far human society has progressed in six centuries. John is at first impressed, but it soon becomes apparent to him how ghastly, immoral and soulless the whole thing is.

                The setting itself is vividly laid out, and the story told by the book is purely in service of showing us this dystopian future. No one would want to read a story about how a man shows a stranger around their home city. Rather, what we want to read about is this weird new future in which everybody is cloned and conditioned into servitude, and how much has been lost in aid of this ultimate goal. To this extent then we can be unsurprised that the characters are not especially the best. They perform functions in the story of the world, and little more. The best character is the Resident World Controller for Western Europe, Mustafa Mond, for besides his cool name he fully understands how things have to be nowadays, and his knowledge of how life used to be makes him strangely enough one of the most relatable characters in the novel. Yet his character is still a result of his function, and his function in this story is to offer a couple of chapters of exposition towards the end of the novel about why the world is as it is, and why it must not be allowed to change. In many ways he could be considered the villain of the narrative, but he’s not at all villainous and in fact is just too nice a chap to warrant such a title. 

In the end the other characters: Bernard Marx the sceptic, the ‘Savage’ John, John’s drud-addled mother Linda - a woman who wants desperately to get back to her dystopian civilisation - and the ‘love-interest’ Lenina, all of them are there to perform mere narrative roles or delivery of exposition. Lenina for instance is largely in the narrative to show what life is like as a female, or to give something for the other characters, especially Bernard and John, something to bounce off. She performs her role within the story very well, but there was never anything more to her than that, which is a bit of a shame. I wonder if any of these characters could exist on their own merits, or whether we should just focus on the fact that this book nothing more than the presentation of an idea, of a vision of the future.

                Other than that, the novel is fortunately short enough not to wear out its welcome. The narrative, such as it is, is well structured and progresses at a relatively nice pace. If you’re aware of what sort of book you’re reading then it should not at any point become burdensome to read, and the early-20^th century writing style is quite easy to get your teeth into. Nothing too dry, nothing too difficult. The sci-fi jargon that is unfortunately a necessity is worked into the text well enough to not be upsetting to the reader - and, as we all know, it's easy to go wrong with sci-fi jargon.

                One additional point to the writing style. In chapter three I discovered a fairly novel way that Huxley could write, one that I’ve never seen successfully replicated. In this section there are at least three scenes occurring at one time, with different dialogues between the characters, and rather than present each scene as one long series of paragraphs one after the other, the writer blends them up. A sentence or line of dialogue from one person in one location, followed by a line or sentence from another, and then another, for pages at a time. During this period of the narrative, when Bernard Marx, Assistant Predesinator, is squaring off against two of his [physically larger] colleagues in the male dressing room, Mustafa Mond is explaining history to a group of students outside whilst Lenina and her friend Fanny are in the female dressing room discussing Bernard Marx’s attractiveness. The paragraphs get shorter and shorter until they consist of just one or two sentences from each location. It looks rather like this:

“              Bernard hated them, hated them. But they were two, they were large, they were strong.

                ‘The Nine Years War began in A.F. 141.’

                ‘Not even if it were true about the alcohol in his blood-surrogate.’

                ‘Phosgene, chloropicrin, ethyl iodoacetate, diphenylcyanarsine, trichlormethyl chloroformate, dichlorethyl sulphide. Not to mention hydrocyanic acid.’

                ‘Which I simply don’t believe,’ Lenina concluded.

                ‘The noise of fourteen thousand aeroplanes advancing in open order. But in the Kurfurstendamm and the Eighth Arrondissement, the explosion of anthrax bombs is hardly louder than the popping of a paper bag.’

                ‘Because I do want to see a Savage Reservation.’

                ‘CH₃C₆H₂(NO₂)₃ + Hg(CNO)₂ = well, what? An enormous hole in the ground, a pile of masonry, some bits of flesh and mucus, a foot, with the boot still on it, flying through the air and landing, flop, in the middle of the geraniums – the scarlet ones; such a splendid show that summer!’

                ‘You’re hopeless, Lenina, I give you up.’

                ‘The Russian technique for infecting water supplies was particularly ingenious.’

                Back turned to back, Fanny and Lenina continued their changing in silence.

               

                ‘The Nine Years’ War, the great Economic Collapse. There was a choice between World Control and destruction. Between stability and…’

                ‘Fanny Crowne’s a nice girl too,’ said the Assistant Predestinator.

                In the nurseries, the Elementary Class Consciousness lesson was over, the voices were adapting future demand to future industrial supply. ‘I do love flying,’ they whispered, ‘I do love flying, I do love having new clothes, I do love…’  ”

                                [Huxley, Brave New World, Pengin: 1955. pp. 48-49]

                Of course there is a much more gradual lead in to this scene which makes it less jarring, and if a style of writing were kept up like this for any greater length of time then the reader would soon be driven mad. Fortunately it only happens at one point in the story, at a significant time when we are fully introduced to most of our main characters, and this serves as a most memorable way of closing the first part of the story and opening the next. There is no attempt in the rest of the novel to be quite so avant-garde, but this moment is well placed and it does to a large extent work. Well done, Mister Huxley, for trying something original with writing and actually doing quite well with it.

                Now then, we must often see Brave New World compared alongside Nineteen Eighty-Four in terms of the great dystopian novels of the 20^th century, so as I’ve now read both I can attempt an elementary comparison of my own. George Orwell’s future is one in which people are kept in their place through constant government monitoring, perpetual warfare against the only two other sovereign states in existence, worship of a dictator through his cult of personality, and never-ending shortages of food and consumer goods.  Aldous Huxley’s future world is one in which people are genetically bred for service in certain sectors of work, kept in their place by psychological conditioning and kept happy by all the sex, drugs and super-cinema they can get. George Orwell has his sceptical non-conformist protagonist imprisoned and tortured until he finally cracks. Aldous Huxley has his sceptical non-conformist protagonist shipped off to live the rest of his life in solitude on a peaceful island where he will ultimately be happier. 

So yes, ultimately Aldous Huxley’s dystopia is far less dystopian than George Orwell’s, and as such when one reads Brave New World one doesn’t really feel quite so depressed about it all. If you happen to be in the lower castes then you will have a comparatively terrible life, but you will have been genetically altered and psychologically conditioned to enjoy it. You would never aspire to anything else. It raises countless questions about morality and human nature, but we can appreciate this work of science fiction as if we were looking at some alien society, whose morals and values are merely different to our own. The ending did leave me a touch dissatisfied, and I would not say it was the most riveting read I’ve ever had, but it was certainly an interesting book, and I am glad to have experienced it.

Bibliotopia

Huxley, Aldous. Brave New World. Middlesex: Penguin. (1955 [First published 1932]).