rejected by the theory and practice of modern policy; and we are more
apt to compute the national riches by the use and abuse of the public
credit. Yet the maxims of antiquity are still embraced by a monarch
formidable to his enemies; by a republic respectable to her allies; and
both have attained their respective ends of military power and domestic
tranquillity.

Whatever might be consumed for the present wants, or reserved for the
future use, of the state, the first and most sacred demand was for the
pomp and pleasure of the emperor, and his discretion only could define
the measure of his private expense. The princes of Constantinople were
far removed from the simplicity of nature; yet, with the revolving
seasons, they were led by taste or fashion to withdraw to a purer air,
from the smoke and tumult of the capital. They enjoyed, or affected to
enjoy, the rustic festival of the vintage: their leisure was amused by
the exercise of the chase and the calmer occupation of fishing, and in
the summer heats, they were shaded from the sun, and refreshed by the
cooling breezes from the sea. The coasts and islands of Asia and Europe
were covered with their magnificent villas; but, instead of the modest
art which secretly strives to hide itself and to decorate the scenery of
nature, the marble structure of their gardens served only to expose
the riches of the lord, and the labors of the architect. The successive
casualties of inheritance and forfeiture had rendered the sovereign
proprietor of many stately houses in the city and suburbs, of which
twelve were appropriated to the ministers of state; but the great
palace, the centre of the Imperial residence, was fixed during eleven
centuries to the same position, between the hippodrome, the cathedral
of St. Sophia, and the gardens, which descended by many a terrace to the
shores of the Propontis. The primitive edifice of the first Constantine
was a copy, or rival, of ancient Rome; the gradual improvements of his
successors aspired to emulate the wonders of the old world, and in the
tenth century, the Byzantine palace excited the admiration, at least
of the Latins, by an unquestionable preeminence of strength, size, and
magnificence. But the toil and treasure of so many ages had produced
a vast and irregular pile: each separate building was marked with the
character of the times and of the founder; and the want of space
might excuse the reigning monarch, who demolished, perhaps with