Kids interview Constantine I
by Charactorium · Constantine I (272 — 337) · Politics · 5 min read
Two twelve-year-old visitors step through the gates of a vast marble palace overlooking the Bosphorus. At the far end of a great hall, a man in a purple cloak awaits them, a diadem on his head. It is the Emperor Constantine, and he has agreed to answer all their questions.
—Is it true that you saw a cross in the sky before a battle?
You know, my child, it was in the year 312, before fighting Maxentius near the Milvian Bridge, at the gates of Rome. Imagine an immense sky, and above the sun, a sign of light. I was told these words: "By this sign, you shall conquer." I was afraid, I admit. In the morning, I had my soldiers' shields painted with the chi-rho — a design formed of two Greek letters, the initials of the word Christ. And we won. Believe me, when thousands of men raise their shields adorned with the same sign, you feel something greater than yourself.
When thousands of shields bear the same sign, you feel something greater than yourself.
—And that special flag, the labarum, what did it look like exactly?
Ah, the labarum! It was my standard, my child. Imagine a long wooden pole, raised high in the middle of the army. At the top, I placed the chi-rho, those two interlaced letters I told you about. When the wind made it snap above the legions, every soldier knew what he was marching behind. In my time, an army followed its emblem like a flock follows its shepherd. Before me, they carried golden eagles of Rome. I added this new sign. It was not just a piece of cloth: it was a promise I made to heaven.
It was not just a piece of cloth: it was a promise made to heaven.
—Why did you build an entirely new city, was it for yourself?
Good question, my child! Rome was old, full of ancient temples, and too far from threatened borders. So between 324 and 330, I built a new city on a small Greek town called Byzantium, facing the sea. Imagine: digging, laying out streets, raising a palace, forums, a great circus for chariot races. And I gave it my name, Constantinople. I wanted a capital turned toward the East, and turned toward Christ. You know, founding a city is like planting a tree whose full shade you will never see. Mine lasted more than a thousand years.
Founding a city is planting a tree whose full shade you will never see.
—But where did all the beautiful statues to decorate your city come from?
Ah... you touch on a point that earns me reproach, my child. To embellish Constantinople quickly and richly, I had statues and columns brought from all over the Empire. Many came from the old temples of the gods of Greece and Asia. I frankly stripped those sanctuaries of their treasures. Imagine a city seeing the works its ancestors had sculpted for centuries leaving on ships. Many cities were angry with me. I understand. But I wanted my new capital to dazzle at once, as if it had always existed. Power, you see, sometimes has a heavy hand.
I wanted my new capital to dazzle, as if it had always existed.
—What was your job when Christians disagreed among themselves?
You know, my child, becoming Christian is not enough: you also have to agree on what you believe! Christians argued fiercely. A priest named Arius said that Christ was not quite equal to God the Father — this was called Arianism. Others, in Africa, tore each other apart over something else, Donatism. I, the emperor, said to myself: I must bring them together so that they decide together. Imagine a huge hall filled with bishops from everywhere, talking, getting heated, voting. In 325, I summoned the Council of Nicaea. It was the first of its kind in history.
Becoming Christian is not enough: you also have to agree on what you believe.
—But what did you know about religion to decide all that?
You are clever to ask that! You are right: I was not a priest, I was a soldier and an emperor. I did not decide myself who was right about God. My role was to gather the bishops, seat them, listen to them, and force them to agree. Imagine a teacher separating two students fighting in the yard: he does not do their homework for them, but he restores calm. Before Nicaea, I had already tried this in 314, at the Council of Arles, for the African quarrel. An empire divided in faith is a fragile empire.
An empire divided in faith is a fragile empire.
—You were Christian, but they say you were also chief of the Roman gods?
It is true, my child, and it surprises many people. All my life, I kept an old title: pontifex maximus, which means "great pontiff," the head of the ancient religion of Rome, that of the many gods. At the same time, I protected Christians, I built churches. Imagine someone holding a door open from both sides at once. My empire was full of people who still prayed to the old gods; I did not want to rush them. The change of an entire world does not happen in the snap of a finger. It advances slowly, like a river wearing away stone.
The change of an entire world advances like a river wearing away stone.
—So when did you truly become Christian, at the end?
Very late, my child, later than you imagine. Baptism, for Christians, washes away sins. Many in my time waited until the last moment to receive it pure. I did the same: I was only baptized in 337, on my deathbed, in Nicomedia, by a bishop named Eusebius. All my life I had helped the Church without taking that step. Imagine a man walking a long time toward a house, and only pushing the door on the very last evening. It was a way of believing step by step, not in a single leap. Many around me did the same.
I believed step by step, not in a single leap.
—Is it true that something terrible happened in your family?
Yes, my child, and it is the dark part of my life. I will tell you with gravity, for it deserves respect. In 326, I had my own eldest son, Crispus, a brave young man, put to death. Shortly after, my second wife, Fausta, also died. Terrible accusations had circulated at court, perhaps lies. Even today, scholars do not know exactly what happened. Imagine an all-powerful emperor who cannot bring back those he has lost. Power gives much, my child. But it consoles nothing.
Power gives much. But it consoles nothing.
—That must have been very hard. Did you regret it afterward, alone in the evening?
What a gentle and difficult question at once... You know, in the evening, after banquets served on golden dishes, I would withdraw alone to pray and read. It is there, in the silence, that a man meets his ghosts. I will not tell you I slept peacefully. A father who has lost a son — especially by his own decision — carries that weight to the end. Perhaps I built so many churches and helped the Church so much to appease that within me. Imagine someone who erects great monuments because he seeks, deep down, to repair a fault. The powerful too have sleepless nights.
The powerful too have sleepless nights.
—And in your great palace, what was a normal day for you like?
Ah, you want to go behind the scenes! I rose at dawn. Servants helped me dress: gold-embroidered tunic, purple cloak, diadem on my head. In the morning, I listened to my advisers and dispensed justice, seated on a raised throne. In the afternoon, I signed orders for the whole Empire, received ambassadors. Sometimes I went to watch chariot races in the great circus, from my box connected to the palace — what joyful noise! Imagine an entire crowd screaming for horses racing at full speed. In the evening, banquet, then prayer. An emperor, you see, never quite belongs to himself.
An emperor never quite belongs to himself.
This imaginary interview was generated by artificial intelligence from sources documented in Constantine I's profile. It dramatises what the figure might have said based on what we know about them, but does not constitute attested historical testimony. For primary sources and factual documentation, refer to the full profile.