The Alexiad, Preface

The Alexiad

by

Anna Comnena (Komnene)

Edited and translated by Elizabeth A. Dawes.

London: Routledge, Kegan, Paul, 1928.

PREFACE

I TIME in its irresistible and ceaseless flow carries along on its flood all
created things, and drowns them in the depths of obscurity, no matter if they
be quite unworthy of mention, or most noteworthy and important, and thus, as the
tragedian says, “he brings from the darkness all things to the birth, and all
things born envelops in the night.” [Sophocles Ajax, 646]

But the tale of history forms a very strong bulwark against the stream of time,
and to some extent checks its irresistible flow, and, of all things done in it,
as many as history has taken over, it secures and binds together, and does not
allow them to slip away into the abyss of oblivion.

Now, I recognized this fact. I, Anna, the daughter of two royal personages,
Alexius and Irene, born and bred in the purple. I was not ignorant of letters,
for I carried my study of Greek to the highest pitch, and was also not unpractised
in rhetoric; I perused the works of Aristotle and the dialogues of Plato carefully,
and enriched my mind by the “quaternion” of learning. (I must let this out and
it is not bragging to state what nature and my zeal for learning have given me,
and the gifts which God apportioned to me at birth and time has contributed).

However, to resume – I intend in this writing of mine to recount the deeds
done by my father so they should certainly not be lost in silence, or swept away,
as it were, on the current of time into the sea of forgetfulness, and I shall
recount not only his achievements as Emperor, “But also the services he rendered
to various Emperors before he himself received the sceptre.

II These deeds I am going to relate, not in order to shew off my proficiency
in letters, but that matters of such importance should not be left unattested
for future generations. For even the greatest of deeds, if not haply preserved
in written words and handed down to remembrance, become extinguished in the obscurity
of silence.

Now, my father, as the actual facts prove, knew both how to command and how
to obey the rulers within reasonable limits. And though I have chosen to narrate
his doings, yet I fear that the tongues of suspicion and detraction will whisper
that writing my father’s history is only self laudation and that the historical
facts and any praise I bestow on them, are mere falsehoods and empty panegyric.
Again, on the other hand, if he himself were to supply the materials, and facts
themselves force me to censure some of his actions, not because of him, but from
the very nature of the deed, I dread the scoffers who will cast Noah’s son. Ham,
in my teeth, for they look at everything askew, and owing to their malice and
envy, do not discern dearly what is right, but will ” blame the blameless ” as
Homer says. But he who undertakes the “role” of an historian must sink his personal
likes and dislikes, and often award the highest praise to his enemies when their
actions demand it, and often, too, blame his nearest relations if their errors
require it. He must never shirk either blaming his friends or praising his enemies.
I should counsel both parties, those attacked by us and our partisans alike, to
take comfort from the fact that I have sought the evidence of the actual deeds
themselves, and the testimony of those who have seen the actions, and the men
and their actionsthe fathers of some of the men now living, and the grandfathers
of others were actual eye-witnesses.

III The reason which finally determined me to write my father’s history was
the following. My lawful husband was the Caesar Nicephorus, a scion of the clan
of the Bryennii, a man who far outshone his contemporaries by his surpassing beauty,
his superior intelligence, and his accurate speech. To look at him, or to listen
to him, was a pure delight. But I must not let my tale wander from its path, so
for the present let us keep to the main story. My husband, as I said, was most
remarkable in every way; he accompanied my brother John, the Emperor, on several
other expeditions against the barbarians … as well as on the one against . .
. who held the city of Antioch. As Nicephorus could not abide neglecting his literary
work, he wrote several excellent monographs even during times of stress and trouble.
But his task of predilection was that enjoyed by the Queen, to wit, a compilation
of the history of the reign of Alexius, Emperor of the Romans, and my father,
and to set out the doings of his reign in books whenever opportunity granted him
a short respite from strife and warfare, and the chance of turning his mind to
his history, and literary studies. Moreover, he approached this subject from an
earlier period (for in this detail too he obeyed the will of our mistress), and
starting from Diogenes, [*Romanus IV Diogenes] Emperor of the Romans, he worked
down to the man about whom he had himself purposed to write.

At the accession of Diogenes my father had just entered upon his brilliant
youth and before this was not even a full-grown boy, and had done nothing worthy
of recording, unless, forsooth, the deeds of his childhood were made the theme
of a panegyric.

Such then was the Caesar’s intention as his own writing shews; but his hopes
were not fulfilled, and he did not complete his history. He brought it down to
the Emperor Nicephorus (III) Botaniates, and opportunity forbade his carrying
it further, thus causing loss to the events he meant to describe, and depriving
his readers of a great pleasure. For this reason, I myself undertook to chronicle
my father’s doings, that the coming generations should not overlook deeds of such
importance.]

Now, the harmonious structure and great charm of the Caesar’s writings are
well-known to all who have chanced to take a look at his books. However, as I
have already mentioned, when he had got as far as my father’s reign, and sketched
out a draft of it, and brought it back to us half-finished from abroad, he also,
alas! brought back with him a fatal disease. This was induced, maybe, by the endless
discomfort of a soldier’s life, or by his over-many expeditions, or again, from
his overwhelming anxiety about us, for worrying was innate in him, and his troubles
were incessant. In addition to these causes, the varieties and severities of climate
experienced, all contributed to mix the fatal draught for him. For he started
hence on an expedition against the Syrians and Cilicians when seriously out of
health; from Syria he went on ill to the Cilicians, from them to the Pamphylians,
from the Pamphylians to the Lydians, and Lydia sent him on to Bithynia, who finally
returned him to us and to the Queen of cities suffering from an internal tumour
caused by his incessant sufferings. Yet, ill as he was, he was anxious to tell
the tragic story of his adventures, but was unable to do so, partly because of
his disease, and partly because we forbade it through fear that the effort of
talking might cause the tumour to burst.

IV Having written so far, dizziness overwhelms my soul, and tears blind my
eyes. Oh! what a counsellor the Roman Empire has lost! Oh, for his accurate understanding
of affairs, all of which he had gained from experience! And his knowledge of literature,
and his varied acquaintance with both native and foreign learning! Think, too,
of the grace of his figure and beauty of face, which would have befitted not only
a king, as the saying goes, but even a more powerful, nay, a divine person!

To turn to myselfI have been conversant with dangers ever since my birth “in
the purple,” so to say; and fortune has certainly not been kind to me, unless
you were to count it a smile of kind fortune to have given me “emperors” as parents,
and allowing me to be born “in the purple room,” for all the rest of my life has
been one long series of storms and revolutions. Orpheus, indeed, could move stones,
trees, and all inanimate nature, by his singing; Timotheus, too, the flute-player,
by piping an “orthian” tune to Alexander, incited the Macedonian thereby to snatch
up his arms and sword; lout the tale of my woes would not cause a movement in
place, nor rouse men to arms and war, but they would move the hearer to tears,
and compel sympathy from animate, and even inanimate, nature. Verily, my grief
for my Caesar and his unexpected death have touched my inmost soul, and the wound
has pierced to the profoundest depths of my being. All previous misfortunes compared
with this insatiable calamity I count literally as a single small drop compared
with this Atlantic Ocean, this turbulent Adriatic Sea of trouble: they were, methinks,
but preludes to this, mere smoke and heat to forewarn me of this fiery furnace
and indescribable blaze; the small daily sparks foretold this terrible conflagration.
Oh! thou fire which, though unfed, dost reduce my heart to ashes! Thou burnest
and art ever kept alight in secret, yet dost not consume. Though thou scorchest
my heart thou givest me the outward semblance of being unburnt, though thy fingers
of fire have gripped me even to the marrow of my bones, and to the dividing of
my soul! However, I see that I have let my feelings carry me away from my subject,
but the mention of my Caesar and my grief for him have instilled devastating sorrow
into me.

Now I will wipe away my tears and recover myself from my sorrow and continue
my task, and thus in the words of the tragedian; “I shall have double cause for
tears, as a woman who in misfortune remembers former misfortune.” [Euripides,
Hecuba 518] To have as my object the publication of the life of so great
and virtuous a King will be a reminder of his wondrous achievements, and these
force me to shed warm tears, and the whole world will weep with me. For to recall
him, and make his reign known, will be a subject of lamentation to me, but will
also serve to remind others of the loss they have sustained.

Now I must begin my father’s history at some definite point, and the best point
will be that from which my narrative can be absolutely clear and based on fact.