Theodora: Empress of Byzantium (Mark Magowan Books) (2 page)

Note:
Greek and Latin words that are particularly relevant are translated in the text and their definitions may be found in the Glossary, together with other technical terms relating to theology, the military, the government, and so on.

O ONE KNOWS
the name of the artist who portrayed her in the mosaics of the basilica of San Vitale in Ravenna [fig. 1], even though he was one of the leading craftsmen of the first Christian millennium. Each year, hundreds of thousands of people flock to this northern Italian city solely to admire the portrait of Empress Theodora and the image of female power and pomp that she projects—still a rarity in world art.

Her portrait exudes an authority that lingers like a seduction in the visitor’s memory, and yet many of her admirers are hard-pressed to link her to an exact event, or even to situate her in the immense grid of space and time.

In this, she differs from the other famous women of classical and Judeo-Christian tradition, women such as Sappho, author of achingly beautiful love poems, or Delilah, who stood up to arbitrary law by cutting Samson’s hair, or Judith, who beheaded Holofernes. Women such as Cleopatra, who dared to kill herself after having mastered the art of power and love, like Lucretia, the Roman virgin who put virtue before life, or like Perpetua, the early Christian martyr who chose faith over life.

But the famous—even notorious—Empress Theodora: What did she do?

One thing she undoubtedly did
not
do. Like most ancient women, she did not write her story; it was a man, Procopius, who wrote extensively about her. The scion of a distinguished family, he was proud of his
extensive studies in literature and law, although he was not very powerful in life.

1. Mosaic of Theodora with her retinue, c. 545–50, basilica of San Vitale, Ravenna. Some scholars have identified Antonina and her daughter Joannina among the attendants to her left.

Procopius was ten years older than Theodora, having been born in
A.D.
490 in Caesarea, Palestine, at the time one of the many attractive “small capitals” of the Mediterranean Levant; it is now known only as the ruins of Qaisariayyah, south of Haifa. He was in a good position as an observer, for he had been an advisor to Belisarius, the most brilliant military leader of the time, and he spent many years in Belisarius’s retinue. Procopius had been at Belisarius’s side in Mesopotamia from 527 to 531; had followed him in 532 to Constantinople, the capital of the empire; and had accompanied him from 533 to 534 to Africa, where he had remained at his side until 536. Still later, he had rejoined his general in Sicily on the march to reclaim Italy from the “barbarians.” In 540, Procopius had witnessed the storming of Ravenna, an event that seemed to mark the end of that conflict. In short, Procopius had witnessed firsthand the most promising expansionist period of the “Roman” empire of Constantinople in the
Mediterranean. The expansionist policy was conceived and pursued by Emperor Justinian, Theodora’s husband, who is portrayed in the mosaic opposite hers in San Vitale [fig. 2].

2. Mosaic of Justinian with his retinue, c. 545–50, basilica of San Vitale, Ravenna. Some scholars have identified Belisarius and Anastasius among the attendants to his right.

Procopius, an eyewitness to historic events,
¹
considered himself the person most suited to write the chronicles of his times, so that’s what he did. He left us three different types of works, all written in Greek and each one a masterpiece of sixth-century literature; they are, however, fraught with unique problems of interpretation as part of world literature.

His major accomplishment is his eight-volume
History of the Wars
, the first seven volumes of which were composed within the years 550 and 551, and the eighth after 553. In the
Wars
, Procopius tries to imitate the painstaking approach of ancient historiographers, drawing inspiration from their lofty impartiality, so much so that he even includes hints of reproach for the imperial couple and their circle—Belisarius is implicated as well—and praise for their enemies, including the Goth Theodoric, the famous “barbarian” king of Italy. In his work
On the
Buildings
(c. 554), Procopius strikes a different note with an emphatic celebration, in the encomiastic genre, of Emperor Justinian’s truly extraordinary activity as a builder of religious and secular edifices.

Though a marginal figure in the
Wars
and in
Buildings,
Empress Theodora appears in a positive light. But she and Justinian are portrayed negatively and in depth in Procopius’s most controversial work, the
Secret History,
²
a surprisingly scathing critique of the imperial couple’s achievements. It has been suggested that this third work, begun in 550, was a sort of rough draft to be reviewed and completed before its official release, something that would have happened only after the death of Justinian. By delaying, Procopius would have given an account of the aspects—particularly the economic and administrative aspects—that he had intentionally neglected in his other writings: “It was not possible, as long as the actors were still alive, for these things to be recorded in the way they should have been. For neither was it possible … if detected to escape a most cruel death.”
³
If that was indeed his plan, it failed, because Procopius died before Justinian.

It would be perhaps too simple to identify the voice of the
Secret History
as the authentic voice of Procopius, in contrast to the “rhetoric” or “convention” that supposedly informs his other writings. It would be tempting to include this work in the contemporary category of underground, anti-dictatorial opposition literature, but too many common threads run through all of Procopius’s works, including conceptions of the divine, the supernatural, and the oneiric. The rhetorical tradition is especially strong in the
Secret History
, which may be classified as a caustic sort of critique, a genre that has enjoyed a long literary tradition.
⁴
Therefore, no “genuine” Procopius—devoid of rhetoric—exists: such a thing is not even conceivable.

Dissatisfied with the conditions of the Roman Empire around
A.D.
550, perhaps disappointed because he had been left on the sidelines of power, or suffering from the typical syndrome of the veteran (who prides himself on having seen life’s true face in war, and thus devalues all other kinds of experience), Procopius chose to express himself not only in celebrations of the imperial couple but also through the rhetoric of vilification. And so, in order to describe the “base deeds
committed by … Theodora”
⁵
on the throne, he began slandering her from her earliest childhood history. While ancient biographers (Plutarch, for one) had lauded exemplary models of Greek virtue and Roman gravitas by presenting childhood signs that heralded the excellence of their heroes, Procopius identified and highlighted the earliest origins of what he calls her “abominations.”

Fortunately for historical research, his condemnations are so detailed and rich in information that, caustic as they may be, the
Secret History
is still the best tool for researching the life of Theodora. At the same time, it also documents a misogynist mind-set uncomfortable with innovation and social confrontation.

As specific elements of Theodora’s controversial personality, Procopius illustrates the typical traits of the environment in which she was raised, which was as lowly as it was uninhibited. He ascribes to the character and disposition of his imperial “victim”
⁶
what might actually have been the result of a (forced and painful) acceptance of a private situation. While it is true that Theodora was born into a family where the father worked as a bear keeper and the mother had to start her daughter on a career as mime actress while quite young, Procopius reduces everything to an exercise in prostitution—and he depicts it as voluntary, not forced, prostitution.

With his skillful rhetoric, in a section of the
Secret History
on Theodora’s “nurture and education,”
⁷
he describes what he finds especially scandalous: the fact that a woman born and raised in such humble circumstances could ascend to the imperial throne and exercise absolute power. Procopius narrates Theodora’s life by illustrating a progression of scenes that follow an elaborate narrative dynamic, much like the Biblical story cycles in early Christian murals—albeit, of course, with a different intent.

Just as the narratives in church frescoes were meant to illustrate the glorious sequence of sacred history, the unfolding of episodes and scenes in Procopius reveals an analogous intent of progressive exposition. He wanted to highlight his protagonist and characterize her within her environment. Preferring to focus on specific details rather than general descriptions, Procopius succeeds in separating Theodora
from her context, and then lingers over her with ever-increasing detail, even focusing on the different parts of her body, including the most hidden and private, not to celebrate them as sacred, but to scorn and debase them as “unworthy.” Procopius displays an attention to anatomical detail unparalleled in ancient historiography.
⁸
In modern terms, we might say that he “zooms in” obsessively for close-up shots.