it was finished, but it still remained. The piers, upon which the building was supported, not having borne the mass resting upon them, suddenly cracked, and seemed likely to be dissolved before long. And so, those around Anthemius and Isidorus, being in great fear regarding A what had fallen, brought the matter before the emperor, having lost all hope in their art. But the emperor, by what impulse I know not, though I suspect it was divine (for he is not a mechanic), commanded them to complete the curve of that arch. For it, he said, being supported by its own self, will no longer need the piers underneath. And if this account were without witnesses, I know well that it would seem like flattery and utterly incredible; but since there are many witnesses present of what was then done, there is no reason why I should be deterred from finishing what I have begun. And so the craftsmen carried out the orders; thereupon the arch, stretched upward to heaven, stood firm, proving by experience the truth of his counsel. And when this had been accomplished there, this same result occurred in the arches looking to the south and the north. The so-called "reins," by the subtraction of the part of the temple built above, caused all that was below to labor under the weight. The columns placed underneath had cast off splinters just as if someone had tightened them. Struck by a misfortune of this kind, the mechanics reported to the emperor again as to the state of affairs. B He, again employing his ingenuity, thus met the evil. He ordered the uppermost parts of the failing fabric and those adjacent to the arches to be cast down at once, and much later, when entirely all the moisture had departed from the structure, to be replaced. And when this had been done by them, the building from that time obtained strength: and this testimony to the work is not wanting for the emperor.
PROCOPIUS SOPHISTA GAZÆUS MONODIA ON THE HOLY SOPHIA WHICH FELL BY AN EARTHQUAKE
(IRIARTE Reg. Biblioth. Matrit. Cod. Græc. Mss. p. 264.)
Cod. LXXII, fol. 151: Procopii Sophistæ Gazæi Monodia on the Holy Sophia which fell by an earthquake. This Monodia, or Lamentation, of Procopius must be considered as unpublished, just like the other orations of his praised by Photius, which Fabricius (Biblioth. Græcæ vol. VI, pag. 259) thinks do not even exist. Wherefore I appear as though I shall affect the cultivators of Hellenic C eloquence with a rare and singular gift, if this most eloquent Sophist...
≫ raised from the tomb in which Fabricius gathered all things together, I might bring forth. Look upon it now, surviving and intact.
There was, therefore, calamity upon calamity, sorrow upon sorrow, A mourning upon mourning, groaning upon groaning, and lamentation greater and sharper than lamentation. Other afflictions, such as books and records report—the overthrow of cities, the desolation of temples, the destruction of houses, the ruin of statues, migrations, abductions, captivities—we have known and do know. But we have seen things which we did not hope for, did not expect, and never conceived in our minds; a calamity greater to see than to hear of, such that all would have wished to die before it. What is this? Our world, our heaven, [our] sun, our shelter, our escape, our hope, our only consolation, our only support, our mainstay, our propitiatory, this magnificent temple, B this incomparable house which Sophia, that is Wisdom, built in her own name, upon which she set those seven columns, in which she slaughtered her victims and mixed her cup! O the sorrow! O the calamity! O the magnitude of the evils! O the Iliad! Who would not bite his tongue so as not to speak? Who would not willingly choke before speaking of this house which God had chosen for Himself? Which He frequented, or rather, which He inhabited as a fatherland, in which He was propitiated, in which He took delight, in which were preserved the most precious things—the oil, the chrism, I mean the royal and the sacramental, the miraculous body and blood of Christ, in which He Himself was sacrificed? Who will dare to tell what has happened? What soul could endure to utter the voice? This famous, celebrated, inviolable [temple] has fallen, I think! It has fallen, shaken by an earthquake and cast down by the trembling of the earth. And He who looks upon the earth and makes it tremble, did He not stand in awe of you? Did He not pity you as you fell? For to you, O temple, is the word; and [He] did not heed the heap of ruins made, scattered, and cast down to the ground, and turned to dust! No compassion for you pricked Him! You shall be without sacrifices and beautiful rites, you shall remain without chants; yet He suffered nothing in your overthrow, but set His face like hard rock! If, as it seems, He is still unmindful of this; if I may speak in a human way, and as one moved, He who became man and took on C bodily things; but you, as sons of Sion, glorious and comparable to gold—ministers, priests, and sacrificers of the great and new sacrifice, and whatever else exists among deacons and subdeacons, and those who carry the vessels and cleanse them; and you, the numerous company of singers, musicians, and psalmists who, as Jeremiah says, are delicate and inexperienced in evils, and who celebrate the magnitudes of God with your voice—how have you now been displaced? Where will you assemble? How has our face been turned to squalor? How have joys been turned into lamentations? Would it not have been beautiful and just for us, as it seems to me and to everyone, to have died beforehand or to have died together with the fallen structure? Since, however, God has granted us to live, and has left you to us as a remnant, I ask: where does your temple sit, where does the venerable place of gathering D stand? Where is the synod? Where is the assembly?
A Where is the discussion of the Scriptural sayings regarding that calamity? Let it philosophize on providence, on allowance, on stewardship, on the unapproachable riches. If any word has been given or revealed to you, tell it to us, and do not suffer the fragments of the holy hymn to be left alone. For there is not, as it is written, at this time a ruler, or prophet, or leader; nor holocaust, nor sacrifice, nor offering, nor incense. There is no place to harvest before thee and to find mercy. But you, remember and behold the new Jerusalem ascending on high and being renewed; assist with your prayers, and you shall be glorified and magnified in her. B And you, O sun, and moon, and you stars, where do you shine now? Where do you beam? Where do you send your rising rays? What other house receives and entertains you? In what do you glory now? What do you illuminate? In what adornment do you rejoice? Who, looking upward, would desire to see you? Who rather, bowing his head, does not walk in darkness and turn away from the light? Did it not behoove you to be clothed in the darkness of mourning? This is already the second time this has happened, O best and greatest of luminaries, O sun; and you too, O full moon, did it not behoove you to run under some conical shadow and be hidden or eclipsed? But did you so overlook what has come to pass as if it had not happened? And where will you be glorified? C I, for my part, have often seen you in that light-bearing, circular temple; and seeing it, I marveled and investigated the cause why you dwelt there, and I learned that the beauty of the temple was the cause of that lingering. I even thought you were wretched in love, or devoid of love; but here, O sun, you appeared to me to be throughout the whole day an exile from your beloved seat, and spinning and shining and beaming, and you would not willingly depart or move away until night arrived, bringing the moon to succeed you. And seeing this, I reflected that the sweet singer David prophesied of you as a giant and a bridegroom coming forth from his bridal chamber. For he foresaw you enamored of that all-resplendent temple. And he spoke these things to you. D And now, do you not feel ashamed for it as it falls—the temple through which you were greater, through which you were more glorious, through which you were more radiant? And you, of all things, shall be shorn of glory, humbled for a little while, and you shall grow gloomy at its fall, that you might learn that you, too, have been made changeable and mutable, and subject to corruption. Whether this [temple] shall rise again, and be lifted up, and be established, or whether it shall be brought to an end, it is not for me to know; but it is mine, if I survive, if I enter, if I see, if I adore, if I hear the divine words, for God alone knows both this and that. . . .