The translation and commentary of the first two books of the Wars of Procopius of Caesarea by G. represents the summation of more than three decades of research on a text that continues to shape modern perspectives on the age of Justinian. The two volumes form a whole: the slimmer, just above 250 pages long, contains the translation of the Persian Wars (‘Translation’); the heftier, over three times longer, is devoted to a detailed commentary (‘Commentary’).
Let us begin with the slimmer book. It opens with a series of tables and notes explaining the transliteration of proper names: G. conservatively opts for ‘the normal (Latin) versions of Greek/Roman names in the translation’ (p. xxiv), but renders most Persian and Arabic names by approximations of their original forms. A concordance sets out his choices in detail (pp. xiii–xxiii). There follows a concise introduction situating the Persian Wars in their sixth-century political context. Brief descriptions of the two opponents – the eastern Roman empire and the Persian kingdom – and a succinct characterisation of the relations between them and of the Wars themselves provide readers with the basic knowledge necessary to approach the text. No attempt is made, however, to introduce readers to tensions between the three works of Procopius.
The English text is based on the little known translation published by Av. Cameron in 1967 (Procopius, History of the Wars (Persian, Gothic), Secret History, and Buildings, trans. Av. Cameron [1967]). It does not differ substantially from the two previous translations of the Persian Wars into English, H.B. Dewing’s for the Loeb series (5 vols [1914–28]) and its modernised version by A. Kaldellis (2014), even if individual terms – such as δῆμοι (‘fan-clubs’ in Kaldellis, ‘factions’, ‘populace’ or ‘people’ in G.) – are rendered differently. Footnotes are kept to a minimum, and readers are referred to the other volume for a more detailed commentary (p. xxv). A short appendix provides the account of Roman embassies to Himyar and Axum by Nonnosus that elucidates the parallel narrative in Wars 1.19–20. Two detailed indexes of ‘persons and titles’ and of ‘peoples and places’ conclude the book. Even if the Translation can be used on its own as a self-standing volume, it has clearly been planned as a companion volume to the Commentary, which accounts for the significant overlap between the two volumes in much of the front and end matter.
Let us then move to the main volume of the set, the Commentary or rather, as the title specifies, the ‘historical commentary’ of the Wars. Its focus, as outlined in the preface, ‘is squarely on the events narrated by Procopius, seeking to clarify them and to put them in context’. Even if G. ‘tried nonetheless to include also discussions on stylistic and literary elements’ (p. xiii), such a scope is signalling to the reader a relatively lower priority given to the complex interplay between Procopius’ three works, and in particular between the Wars and their vitriolic appendix, the Secret History.
The introduction begins with a short biography of Procopius (pp. 1–3), followed by a discussion of the composition and structure of the first two books of the Wars (pp. 3–8). This leads directly towards the core problem of the Wars: whether or not they are, as argued by Kaldellis, ‘an indictment of Justinian’s policies’ – or, in other words, whether a hidden message is lurking beneath Procopius’ praise of Belisarius and the emperor. G. brushes this question aside on the grounds that ‘it would be surprising to be able to discern an overarching theme to [the] two books’ of the Persian Wars (p. 4), an argument relying on the significant chronological gap that he posits between them. In his view the Eternal Peace of 532 was ‘the natural concluding point for the first book’, the major part of which (down to Wars 1.22) was composed soon afterwards, and he sees the violation of the treaty by Khusro in 540 as the event that forced Procopius ‘to rethink the architecture of the whole account’ (p. 6). This rethinking took several years, as results from a chronological hint contained in Wars 1.25 (written in 546/7, if we accept the logic presented on p. 372); the entire work was completed a little after 549, the date of the last events mentioned in Book 2. Traces of such a two-stage composition of the Persian Wars are, however, faint, too faint to justify eschewing one of the central questions raised by Procopius’ oeuvre.
The introduction continues with a short analysis of Procopius’ style and its debt to Thucydides, and of his attitude towards Christianity (pp. 8–14). As for Procopius’ historical acumen, G. appears to diverge from the harsh judgement of Av. Cameron who saw Procopius ‘more as a reporter than as a serious analyst of events’ (p. 15). Procopius’ sources (pp. 17–19) are elusive: he relied primarily on autopsy, oral informers and perhaps reports from the frontline; the only explicitly mentioned written source is the History of the Armenians, a text related to the so-called Epic Histories (Buzandaran Patmut'iwnk') extant in Armenian, although G. does not explore the nature of this connection (p. 81). A section on the transmission of the Persian Wars (pp. 19–21), a summary of their contents (pp. 21–8) and an explanation of the structure of the commentary (pp. 28–9) conclude the introduction.
The commentary is a work of impressive erudition that contains all the information expected from such a publication. Sections of Procopius’ text, usually corresponding to a chapter or two, are introduced by general discussions of the events (entitled ‘History’) and the relevant modern debates (‘Historiography’). The commentary then proceeds almost sentence by sentence, each paragraph beginning with the Greek text and G.’s translation. Events and their internal logic are thoroughly explained, as are chronology and topography, the latter illustrated with 30 carefully produced maps disseminated across the text (the same maps are reproduced in the Translation). Procopius’ narrative is systematically compared with contemporary accounts, in the first place the chronicles of Malalas and pseudo-Zacharias of Mytilene. As promised in the preface, the literary aspect of Procopius’ work is also present: allusions to classical authors, in particular Thucydides and Herodotus, are identified, and much attention is given to the language of Procopius and its deviations from classical usage.
Even if the commentary takes a primarily Roman perspective, G. does not neglect Procopius’ information about Persia. He takes into account such recent studies as those on the Gurgan Wall or the Hephthalites (pp. 53–63), although one would perhaps expect to find more context on Sogdian cities of central Asia given Procopius’ emphasis on the sedentary way of life of the Hephthalites (Wars 1.3.3). The vexed question of native Persian historiography and its influence on later Muslim writers is treated in an appendix (pp. 665–85), where G. rightly expresses scepticism as to the scope of the Khwadaynamag, the supposed royal annals of Persia. Further appendices discuss the length of Procopius’ στάδιον (one seventh of the Roman mile or 210 metres, as established by D. Feissel) and reproduce the same passage of Nonnosus also included in the Translation (pp. 675–85). This is followed by an impressive bibliography, a detailed index locorum and the same indexes of people and places as in the Translation that do not cover, however, the commentary itself.
If the literal meaning of Procopius’ text is masterfully elucidated, there remains the question of a deeper layer of meaning in the Wars. That Procopius wanted to tell his readers more than he explicitly says in the Wars is certain: the aim of the Secret History is, in his own words, to ‘reveal what had previously remained concealed as well as to disclose the causes of those events that I did report there’ (Secret History 1.3; I use the translation by Kaldellis, Prokopios, The Secret History with related texts [2010]). The question is thus not so much whether the Wars tell the entire story – they do not – but rather how much of this hidden message, in principle reserved for the Secret History, is indirectly communicated in this work. In his 2004 monograph (Procopius of Caesarea. Tyranny, History, and Philosophy at the End of Antiquity) Kaldellis showed how Procopius’ use of allegories, anecdotes and subtle allusions in the Wars and the Buildings points readers towards meanings other than the literal. Kaldellis’s strongly religious interpretation of such literary strategies is rightly criticised by G. (e.g. Commentary, pp. 4–5, 8), but this does not invalidate his observations en bloc.
G.’s scepticism as to the existence of such a layer is manifest. ‘Kaldellis’ theories’ (p. 4) are flatly rejected, and so is the possibility that the Wars could be read as ‘an indictment of Justinian’s policies’. But no more is said, and G. disappointingly refuses ‘to enter into a detailed refutation of Kaldellis’ approach’ (pp. 4–5), despite the central importance of the matter to any reading of the Persian Wars. Failing a general discussion of the problem, the existence of a subtext is systematically denied throughout the Commentary: not only in the case of the famous anecdotes (or allegories?) about mounted archers or the pearl and the shark (Wars 1.1 and 4; cf. pp. 36, 68–9), but also when Procopius consciously refers to the Romans as ‘barbarians’ (Wars 1.5.11; cf. p. 83) or when he pictures Khusro weeping at the rape of a Roman noble woman during the Persian invasion of 540 and ‘pray[ing] to God to take vengeance on the man guilty of this crime’ (Wars 2.9.10). Procopius makes sure here that his message is understood: he immediately specifies that Khusro ‘meant to imply that this man was the Roman Emperor Justinian’, even if he softens the blow by adding that the Persian king ‘knew very well that he himself was the most responsible for all that had happened’ (Wars 2.9.11). But he did not need to be coy in the Secret History, where he attributes to Justinian the responsibility of breaking the peace with the Persians, as ‘I believe is explained not without concealment (οὐκ ἀπαρακαλύπτως) in my book on this subject’ (11.12; most modern translations appear to omit οὐκ despite the agreement of the manuscripts, see e.g. trans. Kaldellis, p. 51) – reminding readers, incidentally, of a strategy of ‘concealment’ in the Wars. This is as direct an indictment of Justinian’s policy towards Persia as it gets, which makes G.’s comment that ‘it is not necessary to see the criticism levelled here as being directed at Justinian’ (p. 455) sound problematic.
A certain against towards the Secret History is noticeable in the Commentary. Perhaps the most famous instance of Procopius ‘revealing what had previously remained concealed’ concerns Belisarius’ premature retreat from the Persian territory in 541 (Wars 2.18–19), caused – as we learn from the Secret History – by his haste to punish his wife for an affair (Secret History, 2.18–25). These two complementary narratives offer a good opportunity to reflect not only on ‘self-censorship’ applied by Procopius to the Wars, but also, more broadly, on the link between the Wars and the Secret History. Nonetheless, the Commentary limits itself to brief references to the Secret History (pp. 509, 531, 537–8, 542, 544–5), and the broader relation between the two works is never explored in more depth. It does not help that many references to the Secret History point to a study that does not seem to have been published (referred to as: R. Pfeilschifter and J.M. Thesz, A Commentary on Procopius’ Secret History [2022]) and that appears to take a very negative view on the historical value of this text (cf. R. Pfeilschifter, ‘The Secret History’, in: M. Meier, F. Montinaro [edd.], A Companion to Procopius of Caesarea [2022], pp. 121–36, at p. 126: ‘The Secret History is an extreme distortion of the impact Justinian, Theodora and some lesser figures had on the realm and on mankind’).
Such an approach limits the interpretative possibilities proposed in the Commentary. The most complex section of the Persian Wars, the opening chapters of Book 1, is dismissed as a ‘superficial and anecdotal’ survey of Persian-Roman relations in the fifth century (p. 43). It is true that modern readers do not have all the clefs de lecture to understand the full meaning of the perplexing comparison between modern and ancient mounted archers (Wars 1.1), the no doubt fabricated story of the guardianship of Yazdgerd I over Theodosius II (1.2; see M. Jankowiak, ‘Procopius of Caesarea and his Byzantine successors’, in: M. Meier, F. Montinaro [edd.], A Companion to Procopius of Caesarea [2022], pp. 231–53, at p. 234), the tale of the shark and the pearl (1.4), or the story of the Prison of Oblivion (1.5). But to apodictically label them ‘shaggy-dog stories’ (M. Kulikowski, quoted at p. 68) is to miss their point. Their precise meaning is a matter for a debate that needs to transcend the simple contrast between ‘intriguing anecdotes’ and ‘sober reportage’ (Translation, p. 12).
In sum, it is a somewhat diminished Procopius that emerges from the Commentary: an accomplished Atticist, to be sure, but one closer to Av. Cameron’s ‘reporter’ than to M. Whitby’s ‘great historian’ (cf. M. Whitby, ‘The greatness of Procopius’, in: C. Lillington-Martin, E. Turquois [edd.], Procopius of Caesarea. Literary and Historical Interpretations [2017], pp. 26–39). There is no doubt, however, that G.’s monumental commentary of the Persian Wars will enable students of Procopius to evaluate his narrative of the events more fully and thus to get closer, perhaps, to his intentions.
