by painting and fashioning impiety, they make it more plausible and acceptable to the many. For Plato does not speak the truth when he says that the Greeks made the traditions received from the Barbarians more beautiful, using education and the oracles from Delphi. Rather, they speak the truth who say that the search for truth among the Greeks was indolent, and that they were especially led astray in their opinion about the Divine. Those who say these things are not of our own number, but are the most reputable B of the Greeks—if one has encountered what Porphyry wrote to the Egyptian rising up, seeking to learn the truth from him in addition to what he had already learned from the Greeks. Whether, therefore, any other barbarian nation worshipped the Creator and King of this universe according to ancestral belief and laws, I cannot say; but that the religion of the Hebrews was celebrated throughout the whole world, and that their legislation was older both than this Hermes and than any other who is shown to be wise among the Greeks, has been demonstrated by many.
PART FOUR OF THE WORKS OF MICHAEL PSELLUS, COMPRISING HISTORICAL WORKS.
ΨΕΛΛΟΥ ΠΕΡΙ ΤΩΝ ΑΘΗΝΑΙΚΩΝ ΤΟΠΩΝ ΚΑΙ ΟΝΟΜΑΤΩΝ.
PSELLI DE LOCIS ET NOMINIBUS ATTICIS.
C You, then, do not love only the city of the Athenians, but also the names in Athens, as if they were sending forth a certain musical sound. You said, however, that you had not yet encountered a written work on these matters, hidden away as if in sacred D shrines; but you have met with some of them individually—I mean to say, with Sunium and Cephisia and those "I was in Sphetus"
and "Thria and Phalerum," and again, "I was departing from Sphetus and from Phalerum," as if you were possessed by divine furor, and you desire passionately to attain one of the two: either to be in Sphetus and Cephisia, or to learn something more clearly about these places. For this reason, having gathered material from many books, I write these things to you.
On Attic Places and Names
A coast of Attica, including the Megarid, stretches from Sunium to the Isthmus. Here, about the middle of this line, those who are sailing toward the city encounter the Piraeus, the famous harbor of the Athenians. After the Piraeus, the deme of Phalerum lies on the coast that follows; after it are the Anagyrasii. Then the Anaphlystii, reaching as far as the promontory of Sunium. Then Sunium, a very notable deme; after which is Marathon, where Miltiades utterly destroyed the forces led by Datis the Persian. After Marathon, Tricorythus; then Rhamnus, the sanctuary of Nemesis.
The names of the mountains are, for the most part, these: Hymettus, Brilessus, Lycabettus, Parnethus, and Corydallus. The rivers mentioned are the Cephisus and the Ilissus, flowing into the coastland from the regions above Agra and the Lyceum, and from the spring which Plato celebrated in the *Phaedrus*. B
To one rounding Sunium, there lies a coast toward the north, surrounded by sea on both sides, narrow at first, then widening into the mainland. The remaining part, toward the north, is the coast from the Oropian region, extending westward as far as the Megarid. Above Attica tower the Scironian rocks. After these, a promontory called Minoa juts forward, forming the harbor at Nisaea. Nisaea is the port of Megara, eighteen stadia distant from the city. The Megarid is also a not insignificant part of the territory; for Attica was called Ionia and Ias in ancient times. The Thriasian plain lies near Eleusis.
From Nisaea, for one sailing into Attica, Salamis lies opposite. It happens that the borders of the Megarian land and of Attica lie on the coast facing Salamis; there are two mountains there, which they call the Horns. C
Then the city of Eleusis, in which is the temple of Demeter of Eleusis and the mystic shed. Then the Thriasian plain. Then Psyttalia, a deserted, rocky island, and Munychia, a hollow place with a subterranean passage, having its entrance by a small mouth. In ancient times, it was walled and inhabited, and the long walls of the Athenians were joined to this wall; but many wars razed the wall and the fortification of Munychia, and reduced the Piraeus to a small compass and tore down the long walls—the Lacedaemonians having demolished them first, and the Romans later, when Sulla laid siege to them and captured both the Piraeus and the City. But the City itself is a crag in the plain... D
A circled round; and upon the rock is the temple of Athena, the old temple of the City’s Guardian, in which is the inextinguishable lamp, and the Parthenon, and the ivory Athena, the exceptional work of Pheidias. And so that I might imitate Hegesias in his writings about the city, I fear to exceed the limit, lest it happen that my writing fall away from its purpose. Whence I shall speak in parts and disconnectedly: There is the Leocorion; here the Theseum; there Marathon; yonder Rhamnus; here Deceleia, the famous stronghold of the Peloponnesians; here the Lyceum; yonder the Olympic stadium; here the Academy and the gardens of the philosophers, and the Odeum, and the Painted Stoa; and the famous demes: Cephisia, Phalerum, Sphettus, Cecropia, Cytherus, Aphidna, Eleusis. These are the vestiges of the old Academy; those are the ruins of the mysteries within the city, even more famous than the cities themselves.
In order that you may enjoy the city even more, from the coast which faces Euboea and is continuous with Attica, there immediately lies Oropus, and the sacred harbor which they call Delphinium, by which is the ancient Eretria. Then Delium, the temple of Apollo. And beside this is a great harbor, which they call the Deep Harbor. Then Aulis, a rocky place. And near it is the Euripus. And such is the coastline towards Euboea. B Now for the inland regions: from the west is Citheron, and towards the north is the city of the Phocians. From the Phocian mountains many rivers descend, of which the Cephissus is the largest. And the district of Schoenus belongs to the Theban territory, and a river named Schoenus flows through it. And Mount Citheron is high. However, the river Ismenus and the Asopus flow through the plain which is before Thebes; and Dirce is a fountain. And Citheron ends not far from Thebes.
Following these is the city of Thespiae, lying near Helicon and the Crissaean Gulf. And in Thespiae C is also Ascra, the home of Hesiod, to the right of Helicon. And Helicon is continuous with Phocis. The port of the Thespians is Creusa. And after Thespiae is Mycalissus, and near it Eleutherae, a city ambiguous to the Athenians and the Boeotians.
These things suffice for the lover of the Athenians regarding Athens. For we have done more than was requested, having made mention of the regions and cities neighboring to it.
OF MICHAEL PSELLUS On the bronze horse in the Hippodrome, which was lifting its foot.
(BANDURI, *Imperium Orient.* I, 178)
A This bronze horse, which you see, breathes; It breathes in truth, and perhaps it snorts. And lifting this, its front foot, It will strike you with a kick, should you pass too near. It is poised to run; stand still, do not approach, Or rather flee, lest what is said come upon you.
OF MICHAEL PSELLUS LETTERS
I. To the Metropolitan of Thessalonica, who was made master of the rhetoricians.
What is an orator, if not a brilliant tongue, whether he speaks, writes, teaches rhetoric, or applies his mind to philosophy—provided he possesses and lets loose this tongue simultaneously? For this reason, he is neither an Athenian nor a Spartan, but a citizen of the inhabited world, and, strictly speaking, a lightning bolt or thunderclap traveling and shining everywhere. For not only when you are among us do you handle the trumpet of your art, but even when you are away, you shoot your words at us like arrows; and while shooting, you do not wound, but by striking you give pleasure, and the drug of the shaft permeates the entire soul. Such is your diction, such is your mind, such your harmony, such the beauty of your phrasing; such is my orator, both common to all and truly beloved of the people; such is my Siren and honey-sweet mouth, the persuasion, the necessity, C the charm of hearts, the snare of souls, the Muse of thoughts, the sweetness of voices, the marrow of delights, Calliope,
A the immutable nature. For he is the same in Byzantium, in Thessaly far from Athens, in all of Greece, on the mountains and in the valleys; the same in the lush land and the arid soil, immutable, everywhere resonant, delightful, sweet to the ears; the same subtle, florid, pellucid, and therefore clear; the same grave, vehement, and acerbic. Add to this that he moves all things indiscriminately (so my dictation says). And indeed, where he philosophizes, he appears grave; he is truly an orator where he wishes to speak magnificently. Does he perform the priesthood? No one is more a priest than he. Does he discourse on art? He brings forth words and expressions clearly appropriate to the medium. No one is a more magnificent eulogist, explainer, explorer, investigator, or arguer than he. You yourself are capable in other things, and your letters, sweeter than sweetness itself, reveal the art itself. For you employ nature as a great patroness of eloquence, which seems to wish to sound most splendidly through your mouth. In ancient times, people from all parts of the world flocked to Thessaly for other reasons; but hereafter I feel that most will gather there to hear you speak. You may well be ambitious, because what flows from your mouth does not merely touch the body but enters the soul and creates pleasure, exalts, intensifies, relaxes, B suffuses, resolves harshness, retains, and vice-versa. And if you have your Thessaly offering you ears as you speak, I call both yourself and it blessed: you, because you have found docile listeners; it, because such a priest and orator has fallen to its lot. But if no demigods have appeared as listeners, you are blessed nonetheless. For there is nothing more perfect than your happiness: the stylus, the guarantee, the definition, the contrary, the reasoning, the preliminary instruction and arrangement, and finally the mixing of ideas are all at your disposal. For Greece (as I indeed reckon) and the regions which are adjacent or even lie in opposition to Greece (such as Ionia) were long ago learned in literature. Now, however, all things have been reduced to ancient monuments, rubble, and ruins. Now you know what you must do, lest your knowledge perish. Speak before us who are listening, without tightening the noose, without stretching the throat too much, without compressing the chest, but speaking to the scribe, and conveying the words to us in letters as through a conduit. Just as the heart communicates heat through the veins to the whole body; just as the liver sends blood through the flanks to the limbs; just as the brain disseminates the common sense everywhere through the spine: just as those who had to draw water elsewhere in the Great City made a C great trench, an underground and aerial river, as it were. Therefore, you too, through letters, offer us the streams of your words, give us to drink, irrigate us. I especially love the sweetness of your tongue, and the norm of your character is stored in my mind. The examples of your diction resonate in my ears, and the most perfect harmonies reside in my mind. When, finally, shall I see you as a bee? When, having left those hives, will you visit these gardens of ours in a lofty flight, and, sipping the dew of the flowers, carry the honey to your hives? D As for the rest, there is no reason for me to accuse your letter to us. Do not forget the things upon which we agreed, since you strengthened the matter with an oath.
if there were any release from an oath, I would not be slow to grant it. But if I should not myself become for you a burden of wickedness, consider that he who gives also receives. For I have made my own conduct such that, in giving, I also receive.
II. To the same.
B There are many and great things for which I have chosen to admire you, most admirable lord, but above all I choose your simplicity toward friends, which you preserve both when present and when absent. Myths may have originated with the poets, but the nobility of your character flows from your own soul. For this reason, and because of any subject that might be proposed in our assemblies, I immediately turn my mind to you, and I pray first to God that I might receive from you the same kindness that I continue to have for you. I would receive it if you would deem the present monk worthy of your protection; I have considered him a foremost and most beautiful person, and I have honored him above all others. Do not, therefore, become contradictory to yourself, but be the same everywhere—in your habits, in your behavior—showing yourself consistent from beginning to end, presenting a beautiful prelude to a good conclusion. Do not do what is good out of mere assumption, but out of the abundance of your own virtue, displaying it to all; set what is past as a model for what is to come, and transform yourself toward better ideals. Do not manipulate your own kindness severely, but gently and simply. For if there is anything most necessary for a high priest, it is these things, if you are able. It is overly fastidious to pretend to have customs and artificial ideals. Use these not by fixed periods but with consistency; and keep measure in all things—in your words and in the witticisms of your conversation. Leave everything beyond this to the depths below. For how could it be pious to perform something that is not even seemly to name?
III. To the same.
C It is clear, dearest soul, that you know what an oath is, what truth is, what the bond of friendship is, and what the sacred law is—and more than others, that an epiphonema is a sentiment uttered about any matter whatsoever, and that a period can take on the forms of many and various figures; and that arguments are in part apodictic, requiring much interpretation, that is, of a forensic nature, and in part panegyric; and all the other things of your rhetorical sophistry and artifice that I admire, though I marvel how such a great and most necessary matter has escaped you. D Yet you know how to construct a subject and manage a speech, often including in the narrative what has passed in time, and fulfilling the upper portion without difficulty, as if you were not about to trouble your hearers with the same things by outlining what is to come; but when you are dealing with a simple matter, not needing many circumstances nor more complex—
A sophistication, I do not know how you bypass the best management, as if you had mastered only the linguistic part of the art while remaining ignorant of the practical form. For my part, I acknowledge your pursuit of words up to the point of episcopal perfection; but after that, I do not accept you even as a craftsman of speech, not even if you toil much in attempting the most technical things. For in as much as you delve into sophistry, by so much do you remove yourself from sacred philosophy. But you seem to me to wish to depart from ancient customs; and I would not say that you are "Cretizing toward a Cretan" (this is the proverb). For I am not a Cretan, nor do I wish to be from there. But you are speaking rhetorically to a philosopher, who knows your art as well, but prefers to philosophize rather than to sophisticalize. And that I may converse with you briefly concerning the letter in which you thought your entire debt to us had been fulfilled: it is not, most learned soul, a fulfillment of debt to deposit favors in words while granting nothing of what was agreed upon in deeds. For this is deceit; B and it is not a bond of friendship, but its undoing. When, therefore, you sat upon the rhetorical throne, if you promised to unveil the mysteries of the art to the initiates, and then you did not do this, but opened to them a workshop of some vulgarity, would not someone accuse you of falsehood? But if you did not promise to teach us an art, yet received payment from us, or (not to put it offensively) preferred to offer me something of your own—as those who love one another are accustomed to exchange—do you think you have escaped the scriptures by giving idols of things? Not even that, but empty names of things, such as your "skindapsi" and the poly-celebrated "blityri"? Thus, indeed, Juno also deceived the Ixion of Homer. For since the hero was in love with her, amazed at her beauty, and she, having swathed herself in a little cloud and made herself look C like that, gave to Ixion an idol of the fleeting fire. But I, most learned one, am not Ixion, nor will I be, nor would I prefer idols to the substance of things. For this reason, then, I hate your art, because it is an idol of a desirable reality. And I do not rest in the shadow of the letter, but in the light of the truth; nor do I accept the sophist of Plato according to the presented wording, but I refer the name to the creator of that man. But if, instead of the ill-famed Dobryson, you were giving me the Elysian plain and that asphodel meadow, do you think I would have accepted even these, brilliant though the names may be? Or did you think you would provide me anything that exists? And when your monastery is ranked among the unholy and most ill-famed, would I choose the gift and the non-existence of the matter? I would gladly ask you: what came to you of the possession, D since I had not received the thing? Is it not all deceit and mockery, and in truth a deep fraud? And to apologize for such a clear mockery and irony, how great does it seem for the measure of the episcopacy? Are you, then, so magnanimous, and I so small-minded and stingy? I make a counter-gift to you: as much as the Western Ocean possesses, as much as lies within Hyrcania and the Caspian Sea, add to this the island of Thule, and the region outside the Phasis, and whatever the southern clime has encompassed, whatever is within either of the poles, and everything belonging to the *antioikoi* and the *antidoxoi*. Dearest brother, I will speak a brief word to you: if you wish to fulfill what you promised us, in
our affairs, do not do so merely in the names of the lord, but by the gift itself. But if this is not the case, I concede this to you, along with the Greek myths and baseless fabrications.
IV. To Caesar Doukas
ABelieve me, most honorable lord, you surpass every name and dignity; your ways and your words, if I may so speak, are those of a magician, and they bewitch my soul with their ineffable power. I live because I see you, I breathe because I hear your voice, and I rejoice because I read your letters. Regarding what you asked, I reply to you briefly: "No one has hired us." But I fear lest I also hear this: "Friend, how did you come in hither, not having a wedding garment?" For I do not know if our most divine emperor accepts my presence; for his countenance toward us is not as it was yesterday or the day before. Yet I will never depart completely, even if you drive me away violently, and with blows, and with insults; may I never become so insane. For even if he is turned away from me, he is still good and humane. Tomorrow, therefore, I will come, and I will insatiably enjoy you, the life of my mind and soul. B
V. To the Same
There is no one like you, most excellent lord, that I might say this confidently, neither in beauty nor in wisdom. I say this while looking toward the purpose of the letters you sent me. For you at once provide consolation to us, and you maintain the respect due to the great emperor, your brother, and you bring my assurance to the highest level of his faith and disposition—something which you yourself will attest to my mind. And have confidence regarding this, for I am ready to sacrifice even my own life for him. But I am ashamed of what I said, I swear by your sacred life. I fear he might judge me troublesome, or might take my words and presence ill, and for that reason neither converse with me pleasantly nor endure me when I speak. C Yet his prior disposition toward me, which was entirely full of sincerity and benevolence—not now retaining its wonted character—drives me to such a conclusion. Therefore, I do not approach him out of hatred, but out of shame or fear. Moreover, he is self-sufficient, and does not require the wisdom or experience of anyone else. I, however, am neither, yet I am faithful and true in matters pertaining to my masters, and I cannot but extol the actions of the sovereign; the long duration of time has borne witness of this to me, but I have attached myself even more to this emperor, and shall continue to do so forever. If indeed he does not provide me an equal disposition in return, I attribute this to my own faults. But may you preserve for me such goodwill toward your brother, and such incomparable kindness and disposition toward me in behavior, words, and deeds. D
VI. To the Same
I received your entirely luminous moon, most high Caesar and lord. For the sun completely filled it with light; whence, being surrounded by that light, I exalted your radiance with praises. If, indeed, while still of the earth, you pour forth such rays upon me, once you are placed above the earth, what kind of
splendor will you not illuminate? What kind of brilliance will you not emit? A Then you ask how I am? Just that you ask me is well, but in all else, extremely well; for no one asks about us, nor does anyone care. And, by your sacred and most august head, I need nothing else than to be asked. But even this the envious demon has snatched away from me; and if your golden scales did not balance my life’s beam, my soul would soon have dwelt in Hades; so dejected am I in spirit, so anxious. But your tongue, your muse, your Siren, your incantations, your whispers, your persuasion and eloquence often urge me to be of good cheer and to rejoice; and I rejoice in your words, in your exhortations, in your dispositions toward me. But for me to grieve is not impossible; may you, however, never grieve, may you not be wounded by the dart of envy, nor may an enemy prevail against you. If, however, some wind disturbs your mind, do not wonder; for life is agitated by contrary mutations, and it is necessary first for the sea to be tossed, and then for the storm to be calmed into a zephyr. B Such is Psellus.
VII. To the Same
But after the scales, most glorious emperor and greatest Caesar, and sovereign head of my soul, is there not also the balance and its rule? Why, then, in order to fill the balance for us, would you drain the udders of the beasts? Do not, I pray, dry up the safe sheepfold for us; and do not, in order to make the scales equal, bestow unequal favors, distributing more to us and setting us above all others, you who surpass language, encomia, and all rhetorical art and faculty. I indeed have now recognized what it is to be wise, because I hunt for your soul with my speeches; whence I have become altogether arrogant, and have lifted up my brow, and I walk on tiptoe; and if anyone asks me: "What is the meaning of all this, and what is this transformation and new presumption?" I immediately answer that the great Caesar has praised me, that he himself is captivated by my words, that he, superior to all others, is vanquished by my power. C But lest these things seem painted over and a lying opinion, I am what I am in truth, an ignorant man, and one who barely knows himself. But if you wonder at me, I will tell you a hunting story, which I do not know if you yourself have noticed. The owl, a bird most misshapen and most base in appearance, is wondered at by the eagle, which circles it, and gazes at it in astonishment, as if at a nature worthy of admiration. But the eagle is indeed thus, yet the owl is no less misshapen. Are you not, therefore, an eagle in strength and power, while I am an animal misshapen and devoid of art?
Then, passing over the ancient wise men, you cultivate me and my writings. What good is in them? What is beautiful? What is charming? But I will tell you another story more appropriate for us. D The bee, first gathering honey from the flowers, flies past the rose, but settles upon the eye of the flower, the lily,
the hyacinth, and the narcissus, and settles upon the thyme. The thyme is a very bitter plant and of almost no scent; but the bee draws from it springs of honey. Therefore, you likewise despise the roses which are with others, and from my scentless and unpleasant discourses, you make your tongue honeyed and bring forth a honeyed stream. A Sed vide exempla: neither does the eagle meditate upon the owl, nor does the bee cultivate the thyme; but as much as is within its power, the one gazes, the other harvests. Do you also imitate these, and enjoy my discourses whenever it pleases you. Will you therefore praise this letter of mine, in which there is no distinguished word, no sublime thought, no well-apt connection? Do you wish, therefore, that I offer you something small to smile at? But let it be far removed from the habit and life of monks. I too experienced something of the sort in my youth, and I was captivated by dark eyes, and a complexion not very white, and I loved one who was bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, and who was in such a state. Have you recognized for me the passion? Did you see your own face in a mirror? For you, too, were fashioned from the earth, just as I was. These are the words of your slave, both of his tongue and of his hand. B
VIII. To the same.
Am I not good and wise, O incomparable Caesar, by nature and by mind? And yet, I am ignorant of myself, neither using a mirror, nor reflecting upon how many books I have happened to unroll. C But when I converse with the writings of the wise, comparing my wisdom with their wisdom, I blush, I swear by your sacred soul, and I hide myself as one entirely ignorant; but when I encounter your testimonies about me, I seem to myself almost divine. You truly make my letters into books: I, however, engrave your letters upon my breast, and I read them more frequently, and I admire myself and am persuaded that I am wise, and I praise myself by your testimony. D Previously, I was not so. But when female monkeys give birth and see their newborns, they deem them objects of desire and wonder at their beauty, deceived by the natural love of offspring; but I, on the other hand, have never admired or loved my own children, I mean my speeches. Now, however, because of your testimony, I cherish, love, and embrace them. But that I might bring you something from the spectacles: they say that the charioteers themselves are ignorant of many things concerning what they do well or poorly; but those who are skilled in observing this art know perfectly well whether the horse is docile or stubborn, whether the charioteer directed the horse to the turning-post on the right, or has harnessed the horses to the yoke. Likewise, therefore, even I am ignorant of many things in my own [discourses]; but you, sitting above, judge and examine everything: the thought, the language, the style, the arrangement, the harmony, the rhythm, and the cadence. They also say that the Pythia indeed utters divine oracles, but does not know the meaning of the oracles; but the Gentiles, receiving the prophecies, interpreted
A and brought them together. Such a one you also turn out to be, my interpreter and a true Themistocles B. I myself am ignorant of my own oracles, but you understand them, extol them, and marvel at their beauty and subtlety; so that I fear lest I suffer the fate of Narcissus. Narcissus was a youth shining with delicate beauty, but very simple and devoid of all subtlety. One day, coming to a fountain of water, he gazed upon his own face. Not knowing that it was the reflection of his own body, he was seized with love for what he saw, and thought that it was a real youth hidden beneath the spring. Therefore, he did not depart from there, but looking on, he died; and the earth, pitying him, brought forth from its own bosom a flower of the same name. Let me not, therefore, while viewing my own wisdom in my writings as in a mirror, be seized by a violent love for myself and pine away in my own shadow. But take heart. Ixion loved Hera, and, forming her image in his mind, he seemed to kiss it; but when one day he beheld her himself, he blamed himself for having imagined a most deformed image. I, therefore, when I look upon your magnanimity and genius, abandoning my own figure, admire your beauty; just as I was once amazed at your cheese, now I am stunned by your butter. Moreover, I have no desire to converse much with kings; but for your sake, I shall reach the fourth page. These are the words of your servant's hand. C
IX. To the same.
What thoughts are yours, O Caesar! What counsels of your mind! You have opened two pipes into my fountains, that you might pour out all my water, that you might exhaust all my flow. But do you not know that I have an inexhaustible fountain, and that as much as is sucked out, so much are the paths opened and the veins widened for a more abundant flow from the abyss? I know that you are clever and adept at every virtue, and that you wish to take the pearl hidden in me, so that you may engrave it upon your diadem. But you have stolen not one from me, but many already; yet the greatest of these, most white in color and most excellent in shape, you will not be able to grasp. For I have it in the bosom of my mind, where the hands of the thief do not penetrate. Why do you encircle me on all sides, and dig around me in a circle? I am inviolable in the treasury of doctrine. As much as you draw from the well, so much more copious you make the stream. Exceptional, however, is your skill in theft. D
The sun, by natural virtue and faculty, is a most heat-bearing extractor of moisture. For this reason, in spring and summer, having drawn closer to us, it extracts the sap in trees and makes them fruit-bearing; yet it does not assign such power to the moon. But you are my sun, and you have brought your moon around, and you bid that she too should draw something from my fountain. What do the cheese and butter mean to me? These are allurements and birdlime
A and nets, to take me wholly and enclose me in your snares, either as one drawing a fish out of the sea, or bringing down a bird from the air. You use your hunting art upon bears and panthers; but me you shall never capture, nor shall you tear me apart with either dogs or spears. But to tell you the truth: I am entirely captured by you, and you hold me in your hands, a living and pleasant prey, and you tear me with your teeth, or rather, you comprehend me entirely in your mind. For what of mine could not be easily captured by you? Is it my mind? Let no one say that, but rather let him burst with lying. Is it my tongue? Behold, I offer it to you in words, in epistles, in writings; but if you wish, cut it and tear it. Is it my hands? But these too will serve you with many and great eulogies. Is it my feet? But I shall follow you wherever you wish, on hills, on plains, on the mountain tops, in the depths of the earth. Thus you have B me held entirely. But take care lest you be most justly accused of avarice. For today the Caesarissa has hunted me as if with the allurement of cheese and freshly pressed milk. For I am truly captured by these things, and I am greedy for food, and as I see the exquisite thing, I immediately gape with my mouth and the hook pierces me and holds me suspended by the throat. Do not therefore tear apart my discourse, or rather, do not make the prey entirely your own; but both of you divide the hunting between you. You indeed shall enjoy the thought and the phrasing; but grant the sentences of the epistle to my mistress, so that she too may partake of the sweetness of the words, and for the sake of the pleasure, may wish to hunt me more often. For I rejoice when you hunt me; for you have empty and winged words in your hands, but I have butter and cheeses.
X. To the same.
You have written, if not with your hand, certainly with your mind, for the copy is easily recognized and corresponds perfectly to the prototype.
Then, as to your not being filled with our words, nor sated with their sweetness, as you write, we proceed always gathering flowers, like bees, and devoting ourselves to the making of honey. But even if the sea is not filled, C according to the saying of the wise man, with all the rivers carrying their streams of water into it, yet from the mountains the springs are always pouring forth, and the insatiable greed of the moisture does not stop the tribute of the rivers.
The Athenians therefore, long ago, warring against Darius on the continent, and not being able to withstand his thousands and myriads of troops, turned toward the sea, and using ships, found safety in the waves; but I, where shall I flee? Whither shall I turn? Everywhere there are snares, everywhere D ambushes. I flee to the land; but immediately the butter hunts me, your flocks and herds block my way. I run back to the sea; but oh, the attack of the fish! The most powerful king of them himself meets me and surrounds me with his two circles, as if with the horns of his own army. You know then what I shall do? I shall fly to the air and have the ether as my defender; for not even the sparrows against me now
shall wage war, for the forty-day period checks them. These are of your servant’s mind, if not of his hand.
To the same.
A I had feared, greatest Caesar, to display the forms of my letters; for I was ashamed of them, as having neither natural nor acquired beauty. But since you have unexpectedly fallen in love with them and have persuaded me to produce new offspring, lo, I now openly lay aside all shame and display their beauty; and like the Median peacock—that elegant and familiar bird—I expand their form for you to behold, and, as you see, I stand at your gates, uncalled and receiving no reward for my beauty.
Solomon, therefore, among those friends whom he did not invite, pretends through caution to introduce them into familiar habits and conversations, lest they grow sated and come to hate the experience of their company. B I, however, have determined to do the opposite, displaying my beauty to you more through perseverance and making it more desirable.
For that Proteus—man or demon, whom Homer forms and deforms—was manifold and used to change his shapes; and now he was shown to the eyes as a lion, now as a serpent, now as a boar, fire, a tree, a stone, and iron. I, however, shall not transform myself into the natures of beasts, nor shall I strike you with wonder at the strangeness of the phantasms; but I shall imitate the cithara-players.
What do they do? When they perceive that their audience is sated with the melody, they change the strings, bending them with the reeds, shifting them, and manipulating varied harmonies, so C that through such change and modulation they may keep their listeners insatiate for the pleasure of the music. Thus, therefore, I too shall vary my discourses for you. Now I shall provide them to you as cheerful, now as vehement; now as remiss and soft, now as noble and strong, or finally, possessing some other form.
Homer, indeed, in praising a hoplite, adds this to his praises: that he knows how to shift his shield now to the right, now to the left. I, however, shall shift my equipment—my discourses, that is—not only to the sides, but to the front and the back. Not single is the color of words, nor is the figure unique; D but both are manifold and varied; and he who knows their temperaments and compositions will exhibit multiform spectacles to those who love them.
I once saw a bride in the bridal chamber, beautiful in her own form and adorned with added beauty. On the first day, purple adorned her, and a golden headband, and a tunic shining with a variegated color of flowers, and a breast-band of electrum; but, sitting beside her for a short time, I grew satiated from the sight of the shimmering ornaments. On the second day, however, changing her adornment and having put on a golden tunic
she again enticed; and the third likewise, and the fourth; and the beauty found no satiety. Therefore, Caesar, I too have spiritual armlets, intellectual necklaces, and ornaments for the neck and breast. If you are satiated with gold, I will display something of electrum to you. But if you are weary of that as well, I have sapphires, hyacinths, and other stones of every variety in color and power. And, as it seems, neither will satiety ever occupy you from seeing, nor will I suffer from a want of beauty to display.
XII. To Caesar
Most fortunate Caesar; clearly let this be the preamble of your letter. I call you most fortunate not only because you have attained the dignity of Caesar (for this has happened to many others who have fallen short of true happiness), but because you have been raised to this highest pinnacle by the best emperor and brother, who, indeed, moved by celestial providence and doing all things with the judgment of reason, has made you a partner in his rule, or nearly so, out of brotherly benevolence. For to providence and the judgment of reason, let the impetus of friendship also be added. Again, therefore, I shall utter the first voice to you: most fortunate Caesar; but I shall add "most eloquent" and "most wise": for I see both wisdom and eloquence in you along with your good fortune.
And do not suspect me of being a flatterer, or rather an ignorant laudator, in that I have left aside praising you for military strategies—both those you managed long ago and those you manage now—and instead bring to you the praise that comes from discourse, as if you had never practiced philosophy or rhetoric. I do not deceive myself in this way; nor do I wish to deceive you. For that love of yours for literature, your devotion to learning, your desire to converse among wise men, and to be charmed by the beauty of compositions and the grace of letters, bear witness that this wisdom is within you.
Well then, for those ancient Caesars, the name of "fortunate" remained with them, but no wise man ever enjoyed fortune through them; as for your magnificence, however, this title serves like the light of the sun; and whoever approaches you immediately enjoys fortune. And I myself am the first witness to this. For formerly I was admired for my speeches; but now, because of your friendship, I have become famous among all: for I have happily gained a new laudator of my words; and especially that, passing over other wise men (of whom there are perhaps many better and more sublime than I), you desire to take pleasure only in my witticisms, and leaving behind the Oceanic fountains of the ancient wise men, you draw my slender-flowing water and drink greedily from my rivulet.
But while I congratulate myself and boast concerning you, what demon has envied you, and corrupted your mind with thoughts full of despair, that you should imagine your brother—and I may say, your father—has diminished his former kindness toward you, and that while leading you to the pinnacle of good fortune, he has cast off his benevolence toward you? By what, therefore, on these
A matters shall I bear witness to the excellencies of your brother? Whom else shall I propose as the most accurate confidant of that sacred soul? You yourselves will suffice, you who both before his reign often portrayed the man to me, and after his reign spoke such things to us: "Is not the brother such as you described him to me and accurately wrote?" Also remember for me the letter from Edessa and the words that followed. But why should he, who has lived for so many years in such virtue, and has become kind and most benevolent to all, have changed the nobility of his soul toward you alone? Do not believe this, most excellent of all men. For if you think that I am able to look into a soul and know hidden and secret things through the keenness of my judgment, then his mind is fixed upon you, his goodwill toward you is affirmed, and his kindness has increased. You know better than I that your brother does not have the nature of a flatterer, and that he does not proclaim his friendship and goodwill with his lips, but hides them in his soul. For he leaves the praises of the lips to delicate and obsequious men; but he himself imitates the ancient manner of the greatest men and is endowed with noble judgment: he is the least willing to thunder against his friends, and is tranquil and serene, as if breathing the breeze of Zephyrus into the souls of his friends. Indeed, he has often deceived me by not running to me when I ran to him, nor embracing me sweetly; then the matter seemed to me a slight, but having penetrated it within a short time, I prefer that he persevere in his judgment rather than change his manner. Such is he in his mind; and knowing this, why does grief assail you, when you ought rather to embrace the pure and sincere disposition of the Emperor? B
I, therefore, while reading your letter to him, could see how he would smile at some parts, while others delighted him. But when I read to him about the monk and his complete change, he was little short of weeping, had he not been restrained by me, and he slightly reproached you. He made an apology concerning Antioch, adding solemn oaths that the command was not issued according to your surmises, but in order that he might learn from you something of those matters which were more secret. He said that the signs which seemed to you conspicuous were symbols of his excellent mental perceptions—I mean, of his pure disposition toward you, of his brotherly goodwill, and of the harmony and consensus of your wills, by which he was moved to place you in the vestibule of the empire, and indicated great things to you through lesser ones. C
If, therefore, you consider me a sincere and most truthful friend, and know precisely that I do not betray faith or friendship, then imagine your brother to be such as no other brother has ever been in friendship and sincere volition. Therefore, casting every pretext for grief from your mind, conceive sweet hope; and trust in your brother and lord. And if, as often happens, something occurs against your will, account it to the imperial administration, and rather as coming from the providence of God. By your sacred head, the greatest of fortunes are governed— D
and instead, having remained, they often submerge their possessors. For we who are faring well in this life and moving forward without stumbling have need of some bridle to restrain our irrational impulses and teach us to travel the common road. In these things, therefore, show yourself to me to be philosophizing, and once you have secured yourself upon a firm foundation—namely, the disposition of the Emperor and his brother toward you—be undisturbed by any thoughts that may assail you. A
FRAGMENTA
MICHAELIS PSELLI FRAGMENTUM EX ORATIONE NONDUM EDITA AD CONSTANTINUM MONOMACHUM.
(Apud Leonem Allatium De templis Græcorum recentioribus, p. 3.)… But you will not be delighted in every respect, nor will you smile upon all things visible; for the sacred bell will rouse you in the middle of the night, and you will bow down upon the sacred floors. B
MICHAELIS PSELLI
Ex variis opusculis ineditis fragmenta ab Leone Allatio Dissertationi de Pselli inserta.Epitaphii matris fragmenta. Vide supra col. 490. — Fragmentum libelli de admirabilibus lectionibus. Vid. col 491. — Proæmium libri medicinalis ad Constantinum Porphyrogenitum. Vide col. 523.