100% found this document useful (1 vote)

1K views414 pages

1hilsdale Cecily J Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in An Age of D

This is my upload

Uploaded by

Bozo Seljakot

We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.

Available Formats

Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd

100% found this document useful (1 vote)

1K views414 pages

1hilsdale Cecily J Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in An Age of D

This is my upload

Uploaded by

Bozo Seljakot

We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.

Available Formats

Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd

Cambridge University Press

978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline

Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline

The Late Byzantine period (1261–1453) is marked by a paradoxical

discrepancy between economic weakness and cultural strength. The
apparent enigma can be resolved by recognizing that later Byzan-
tine diplomatic strategies, despite or because of diminishing political
advantage, relied on an increasingly desirable cultural and artistic her-
itage. This book reassesses the role of the visual arts in this era by
examining the imperial image and the gift as reconceived in the final
two centuries of the Byzantine Empire. In particular, it traces a series of
luxury objects created specifically for diplomatic exchange with such
courts as Genoa, Paris, and Moscow alongside key examples of imperial
imagery and ritual. By questioning how political decline reconfigured
the visual culture of empire, Professor Hilsdale offers a more nuanced
and dynamic account of medieval cultural exchange that considers the
temporal dimensions of power and the changing fates of empires.

cecily j. hilsdale is Associate Professor in the Department of

Art History and Communication Studies at McGill University. Her
research concerns cultural exchange in the medieval Mediterranean,
in particular the circulation of Byzantine luxury objects as diplomatic
gifts, as well as the related dissemination of eastern styles, techniques,
iconographies, and ideologies of imperium.

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

Byzantine Art and Diplomacy

in an Age of Decline

cecily j. hilsdale

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

University Printing House, Cambridge CB2 8BS, United Kingdom

Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York

Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge.

It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of

education, learning and research at the highest international levels of excellence.

www.cambridge.org
Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781107033306

C Cecily J. Hilsdale 2014

This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception

and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements,
no reproduction of any part may take place without the written
permission of Cambridge University Press.

First published 2014

Printing in the United Kingdom by TJ International Ltd., Padstow, Cornwall

A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library

Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication data

Hilsdale, Cecily J., 1971–
Byzantine art and diplomacy in an age of decline / Cecily J. Hilsdale.
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-107-03330-6 (hardback)
1. Byzantine Empire – History – Palaeologi dynasty, 1259–1448. 2. Byzantine Empire – Foreign
relations – Europe. 3. Europe – Foreign relations – Byzantine Empire. 4. Arts and diplomacy –
Byzantine Empire. 5. Diplomatic gifts – Byzantine Empire. I. Title.
DF632.H55 2014
709.495ʹ0902 – dc23 2013030432

ISBN 978-1-107-03330-6 Hardback

Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of

URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication,
and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain,
accurate or appropriate.

.........................................................................................
This book was published with the generous assistance of a Book Subvention Award from the
Medieval Academy of America.

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

Contents

List of illustrations [page vii]

List of color plates [xv]
Acknowledgements [xvii]
List of abbreviations [xx]

Introduction: the imperial image as gift [1]

Pharmakon and apotropaion [3]
Historicizing imperial giving [13]
The gift and hindsight [20]
Organization [22]

part i adventus: the emperor and the city

Introduction to Part I [27]

1 The imperial image and the end of exile [31]

The end of exile: the Treaty of Nymphaion [34]
Verbal and visual tribute [42]
Weaving allegiances: hagiographic and imperial largesse [52]
The emperor, archangel, and saint at the doors of Genoa’s church [65]
Visualizing largesse through synkrisis [75]
Conclusion: gifts and rivalry [82]

2 Imperial thanksgiving: the commemoration of the Byzantine

restoration of Constantinople [88]
Constantinople as new Zion [90]
A New Constantine for the capital of a new empire [99]
Brazen thanksgiving [109]
Imperial prestation and proskynesis [122]
Conclusion: monumental afterlives and memories [146]

3 Imperial instrumentality: the serially struck Palaiologan

image [152]
The emperor, the angel, and Christ [160]
The Virgin of the Walls [169]
Divinely destined Palaiologan rule [180]
Conclusion: sins of the Palaiologan father and the end of gold [185]

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

vi Contents

part ii “atoms of epicurus”: the imperial image as

gift in an age of decline

Introduction to Part II [199]

4 Rhetoric as diplomacy: imperial word, image, and
presence [214]
Plato’s coins [214]
Aristophanes’s Blind Fortune [218]
Son of Laertes [221]
Hope of the Hopeless: material gifts and the immaterial [227]
Imperial generosity and the Corpus Dionysiacum [236]
Imperial mediation and the hierarchy of procession and return [248]
Conclusion: rhetoric as diplomacy [263]

5 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual

oikoumene [268]
Imperial ritual and evergetism [271]
On marriage: Palaiologan dynastic politics [279]
Wearing allegiances: a liturgical vestment with a political message [288]
Vested privilege [295]
Entangled agendas: ecclesiastical and dynastic intermediaries [316]
Constantinople as sacro-imperial source [325]
Conclusion: empire, evidence, and oikoumene [327]

Conclusion: the ends of empire [333]

Bibliography [344]
Index [388]

The color plates can be found between pages 202 and 203.

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

Illustrations

0.1 Hagia Sophia, Constantinople, general view of the mosaics on the

east wall of the south gallery (photo: author) [page 5]
0.2 Constantine IX Monomachos and Zoe with Christ, south gallery
mosaics, Hagia Sophia, Constantinople, eleventh century (photo:
author) [6]
0.3 John II Komnenos and Eirene with the Virgin and Child, south
gallery mosaics, Hagia Sophia, Constantinople, twelfth century
(photo: author) [6]
0.4a–b Chrysobull of Andronikos II Palaiologos, 1301, Byzantine and
Christian Museum, Athens (BXM 00534) (photo: Byzantine and
Christian Museum, Athens) [8]
0.5 Portrait of Theodore Komnenos Doukas Synadenos and Wife,
Lincoln College Typikon, Bodleian Library, MS. Lincoln College
gr. 35, fol. 8r, c. 1327–42 (photo: Bodleian Library,
C Lincoln

College, Oxford) [12]

0.6 Detail of the fresco cycle of the Akathistos Hymn from the
Katholikon of the Holy Trinity in Cozia, Valachia (photo: after
Spatharakis, Akathistos, fig. 146, by permission of the
author) [13]
1.1 Embroidered silk of St Lawrence, associated saints, and Michael
VIII Palaiologos, 1261, Genoa, Civiche Collezioni, Museo di
Sant’Agostino (photo: author) [32]
1.2 Embroidered silk of despot and sebastokrator Constantine with
angels, c. 1210, Treasury of San Marco, Venice (photo:
author) [47]
1.3 Detail of the upper register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa (Figure
1.1), scene 5, Byzantine emperor with the archangel and St
Lawrence (photo: author) [53]
1.4 Detail of the upper register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa (Figure
1.1), scene 6, Sixtus commanding Lawrence to distribute church
vessels (photo: author) [55]
1.5 Detail of the upper register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa
(Figure 1.1), scene 7, Lawrence selling church vessels, and vii

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

viii List of illustrations

scene 8, Lawrence distributing money to the needy (photo:

author) [56]
1.6 Detail of the upper register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa (Figure
1.1), continuation of scene 8, scene 9, Sixtus before Decius, and
scene 10, beheading of Sixtus (photo: author) [57]
1.7 Detail of the upper register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa (Figure
1.1), scene 1, Lawrence before Decius, and detail of scene 2,
Lawrence presenting to Decius the blind and the lame (photo:
author) [57]
1.8 Detail of the upper register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa (Figure
1.1), scene 3, Lawrence being beaten, scene 4, Lawrence
imprisoned, and scene 5, Byzantine emperor with the archangel
and St Lawrence (photo: author) [58]
1.9 Detail of the lower register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa (Figure
1.1), scene 11, Lawrence caring for the needy, and scene 12,
Lawrence converting Tiburtius Callinicus (photo:
author) [59]
1.10 Detail of the lower register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa (Figure
1.1), scene 13, Lawrence baptizing Tiburtius Callinicus, and scene
14, Martyrdom of Lawrence (photo: author) [60]
1.11 Detail of the lower register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa (Figure
1.1), scene 15, burial of Lawrence, scene 16, Hippolytus before
Decius, and scene 17, Hippolytus lacerated by hooks, and scene
18, Hippolytus dragged by horses (photo: author) [60]
1.12 Detail of the lower register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa (Figure
1.1), scene 19, burial of Hippolytus, and scene 20, burial of Sixtus
(photo: author) [61]
1.13 Communion of the Apostles, the first of a pair of aeres, 1185–95,
Cathedral Treasury, Halberstadt, Germany (photo: Landesamt für
Denkmalpflege und Archäologie Sachsen-Anhalt, Juraj
Lipták) [62]
1.14 Communion of the Apostles, the second of a pair of aeres,
1185–95, Cathedral Treasury, Halberstadt, Germany (photo:
Landesamt für Denkmalpflege und Archäologie Sachsen-Anhalt,
Juraj Lipták) [62]
1.15 Anastasis epigonation, fourteenth century, Byzantine and
Christian Museum, Athens (T. 714) (photo: Bruce White
C Metropolitan Museum of Art) [63]

1.16 Vladislav led to Christ by the Virgin, Church of the Ascension,

Mileševa, Serbia, c. 1235 (photo: Erich Lessing/Art Resource,
New York) [69]

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

List of illustrations ix

1.17a–b Christ with John Chrysostom and the Virgin with John, the Holy
Monastery of Iveron, Mount Athos, cod. 5, fol. 456v–457r,
thirteenth century (photo: Weitzmann Archive, Department of
Art and Archaeology, Princeton University) [70]
1.18 Enrollment for Taxation, outer narthex mosaics, Chora
Monastery (Kariye Camii), c. 1316–21, Constantinople (photo:
C Dumbarton Oaks, Image Collections and Fieldwork Archives,

Dumbarton Oaks, Washington DC) [71]

1.19 Marriage belt with bridal couple and Christ, sixth–seventh
century, Dumbarton Oaks (photo: C Dumbarton Oaks,

Byzantine Collection, Washington DC) [73]

2.1 Deesis, mosaic in the south gallery, Hagia Sophia,
Constantinople, thirteenth century (photo: author) [97]
2.2 Lead seal of Michael VIII Palaiologos, Seal of the Sekreton,
1261–2 (NM 2032/1998), Numismatic Museum, Athens (photo:
Numismatic Museum, Athens) [100]
2.3a Kastoria, Panagia Mavriotissa, external view (photo: C Svetlana

Tomekovic, Index of Christian Art, Princeton University/The

Svetlana Tomekovic Database of Byzantine Art) [102]
2.3b Kastoria, Panagia Mavriotissa, line drawing (redrawn after
Papamastorakis, “᾿Ενα εικαστικό εγκώμιο του Μιχαήλ Ηʹ
Παλαιολόγου: Οι εξωτερικές τοιχογραφίες στο καθολικό
της μονής της Μαυριώτισσας στην Καστοριά,” ΔΧΑΕ, 15
(1989–90), 2) [103]
2.4a Church of the Virgin, Apollonia (Albania), thirteenth century
(photo: Robert Ousterhout) [104]
2.4b Church of the Virgin, Apollonia (Albania), thirteenth century line
drawing (redrawn after Heide and Helmut Buschhausen, Die
Marienkirche von Apollonia in Albanien: Byzantiner, Normannen
und Serben im Kampf um die Via Egnatia (Vienna: Verlag der
Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1976), fig.
19) [104]
2.5 Constantinople, from Cristoforo Buondelmonti’s Liber insularum
archipelagi, Venice, Marciana Library, Lat. XIV, 45 (=4595), fol.
123r [112]
2.6 Detail of Constantinople, from Cristoforo Buondelmonti, Liber
insularum archipelagi, Venice, Marciana Library, Lat. XIV, 45
(=4595), fol. 123r [113]
2.7 Constantinople, from Cristoforo Buondelmonti, Liber insularum
archipelagi, private collection (photo: Bridgeman Art
Library) [114]

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

x List of illustrations

2.8 Detail of Constantinople, from Cristoforo Buondelmonti, Liber

insularum archipelagi, private collection (photo: Bridgeman Art
Library) [115]
2.9 Ivory Diptych (“Barberini ivory”), Louvre, Paris (photo:
Album/Art Resource, New York) [119]
2.10 Base of the Obelisk of Theodosius I, west face, Hippodrome,
Constantinople (photo: author) [120]
2.11 Apse mosaic, Church of San Vitale, Ravenna (photo:
author) [124]
2.12 Apse mosaic, Basilica Eufrasiana, Poreč (photo: Ann Marie
Yasin) [125]
2.13 Psalter of Basil II, Venice, Marciana Library, Venice, Gr.17.fol.3
(photo: Erich Lessing/Art Resource, New York) [128]
2.14 Embroidery of Manuel and the Archangel, Palazzo Ducale,
Urbino (photo: author) [131]
2.15 Joshua and the Archangel, Vatopedi Octateuch, Ms. 602 fol. 350v,
Vatopedi Monastery, Mount Athos (photo: Department of Art
and Archaeology, Princeton University) [132]
2.16 Constantine and Justinian with the Virgin and Child, southwest
vestibule mosaic, Hagia Sophia, Constantinople (photo:
author) [136]
2.17 Byzantine Emperor in Proskynesis, inner narthex mosaic, Hagia
Sophia, Constantinople (photo: author) [137]
2.18 Theodore Metochites, Church of the Chora/Kariye Camii,
Constantinople (photo: C Dumbarton Oaks, Image Collections

and Fieldwork Archives, Washington DC) [138]

2.19 Seal of the ekklesiekdikoi, Dumbarton Oaks (photo:
C Dumbarton Oaks, Byzantine Collection, Washington

DC) [142]
3.1a–b Gold hyperpyron of Michael VIII Palaiologos, Magnesia: Virgin
enthroned/Michael presented to Christ by St Michael (DOC V/2,
no. 1), Dumbarton Oaks BZC.1969.54.D2012 (photo:
C Dumbarton Oaks, Byzantine Collection, Washington

DC) [155]
3.2a–b Gold hyperpyron of Michael VIII Palaiologos, Constantinople:
Virgin and the walls/Michael presented to Christ by St Michael
(DOC V/2, no. 2), Dumbarton Oaks BZC.1.1957.4.101.D2012
(photo: C Dumbarton Oaks, Byzantine Collection, Washington

DC) [156]
3.3a–b Gold hyperpyron of Michael VIII Palaiologos, Constantinople:
Virgin and the walls/Michael presented to Christ by St Michael

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

List of illustrations xi

(DOC V/2, no. 11), Dumbarton Oaks BZC.1948.17.3590.D2012

(photo: C Dumbarton Oaks, Byzantine Collection, Washington

DC) [156]
3.4a–b Gold hyperpyron of Michael VIII Palaiologos, Constantinople:
Virgin and the walls/Michael presented to Christ by St Michael
(DOC V/2, no. 18), Harvard Art Museums/Arthur M. Sackler
Museum, bequest of Thomas Whittemore, 1951.31.4.1906
(Dumbarton Oaks, Whittemore Loan WH 760.D2012) (photo:
C Dumbarton Oaks, Byzantine Collection, Washington

DC) [157]
3.5a–b Silver trachy of Michael VIII Palaiologos, Constantinople, Class
IV: Virgin seated/Michael presented to Christ by St Michael
(DOC V/2, no. 29), Dumbarton Oaks BZC.1948.17.3594.D2012
(photo: C Dumbarton Oaks, Byzantine Collection, Washington

DC) [161]
3.6 Silver trachea of Michael VIII Palaiologos, Constantinople, Class
VIII: St George/two emperors crowned by St Michael (DOC V/2,
no. 36), Dumbarton Oaks BZC.2009.010.D2012 (photo:
C Dumbarton Oaks, Byzantine Collection, Washington

DC) [163]
3.7 Copper trachea of Michael VIII Palaiologos, Constantinople.
Class VII: bust of St Demetrios/Emperor Michael VIII with St
Michael above (DOC V/2, no. 70), Dumbarton Oaks
BZC.1960.88.4328.D2012 (photo: C Dumbarton Oaks,

Byzantine Collection, Washington DC) [164]

3.8a–b Copper trachea of Michael VIII Palaiologos, Constantinople,
Class IV: Virgin seated/emperor embraced by St Michael (DOC
V/2, no. 62), Dumbarton Oaks BZC.1977.19.D2012 (photo:
C Dumbarton Oaks, Byzantine Collection, Washington

DC) [164]
3.9 View of Constantinople, Vatican Library, Vat. Gr. 1851, fol. 2r
(photo: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana) [172]
3.10 View of Constantinople, Vatican Library, Vat. Gr. 1851, fol. 5v
(photo: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana) [173]
3.11 Nomisma of Leo VI, Harvard Art Museums/Arthur M. Sackler
Museum, bequest of Thomas Whittemore, 1951. 31.4.1256
(Dumbarton Oaks, Whittemore Loan WH 347.D2012) (photo:
C Dumbarton Oaks, Byzantine Collection, Washington

DC) [174]
3.12 The Martyrdom of Saint Euphemia (scene 12), from the Church
of Saint Euphemia, Constantinople (photo: C Dumbarton Oaks,

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

xii List of illustrations

Image Collections and Fieldwork Archives, Washington

DC) [176]
3.13 Electrum trachy (trikephalon), “coronation issue,” of Theodore
Komnenos Doukas, Thessalonike, Virgin orans/St Demetrios
presenting city model to the emperor, Dumbarton Oaks
BZC.1960.88.4205.D2012 (photo: C Dumbarton Oaks,

Byzantine Collection, Washington DC) [182]

3.14 (a) Copper trachea of Michael VIII Palaiologos, Constantinople,
Class XIV: bust of Christ/emperor seated with labrum and city
model (DOC V/2, no. 85), Dumbarton Oaks
BZC.1974.5.22.D2012 (photo: C Dumbarton Oaks, Byzantine

Collection, Washington DC). (b) Copper trachea of Michael VIII

Palaiologos, Constantinople, Class XIV: redrawn after S. Bendall
and P. Donald, The Billon Trachea of Michael VIII Palaeologos,
1258–1282 (London: A. H. Baldwin, 1974), 12 (cat. no.
C.14) [183]
3.15a–b Gold hyperpyron of Andronikos II Palaiologos, Constantinople,
Class I: Virgin and the walls/Christ blessing the crouching
emperor (DOC V/2, no. 228), Harvard Art Museums/Arthur M.
Sackler Museum, bequest of Thomas Whittemore, 1951.
31.4.1913 (Dumbarton Oaks, Whittemore Loan WH 764.D2012)
(photo: C Dumbarton Oaks, Byzantine Collection, Washington

DC) [189]
3.16a–b Gold hyperpyron of Andronikos II Palaiologos, Constantinople,
Class I: Virgin and the walls/Christ blessing the crouching
emperor (DOC V/2, no. 234), Dumbarton Oaks
BZC.1960.88.4451.D2012 (photo: C Dumbarton Oaks,

Byzantine Collection, Washington DC) [189]

3.17a–b Gold hyperpyron of Andronikos II Palaiologos and Michael IX
Palaiologos, Constantinople, Class II: Virgin and the walls/Christ
with Andronikos II on l. and Michael IX on r. (DOC V/2, no.
236), Dumbarton Oaks BZC.1960.88.5296.D2012 (photo:
C Dumbarton Oaks, Byzantine Collection, Washington

DC) [194]
3.18a–b Gold hyperpyron of John V Palaiologos, Constantinople,
Andronikos III kneeling before Christ/Anna and John (DOC V/2,
no. 942), Dumbarton Oaks BZC.1960.88.4636.D2012 (photo:
C Dumbarton Oaks, Byzantine Collection, Washington

DC) [196]

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

List of illustrations xiii

3.19a–b Gold hyperpyron of John V Palaiologos and John VI

Kantakouzenos, Constantinople, Virgin and the walls/Christ
blessing John V and John VI (DOC V/2, no. 1193), Dumbarton
Oaks BZC.1956.23.5040.D2012 (photo: C Dumbarton Oaks,

Byzantine Collection, Washington DC) [197]

4.0a–b Pyxis with imperial families and ceremonial scenes (Palaiologan
pyxis), Dumbarton Oaks (photo: C Dumbarton Oaks, Byzantine

Collection, Washington DC) [211]

4.1 Freising icon, Freising Cathedral (photo: Erich Lessing/Art
Resource, NY) [232]
4.2 St Dionysios in the Synaxarion of Basil II, Vatican Library, Vat. Gr.
1613, fol. 82 (photo: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana) [243]
4.3 Author portrait, works of Dionysios the Areopagite, Louvre,
Paris, MR 416 fol. 1r (photo: C RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource,

New York) [244]

4.4 Palaiologan family portrait, works of Dionysios the Areopagite,
Louvre, Paris, MR 416 fol. 2r (photo: C RMN-Grand Palais/Art

Resource, New York) [245]

4.5 Portrait of Manuel II Palaiologos from his funeral oration for his
brother, Paris BN Suppl. Gr. 309, fol. 6r (photo: Bibliothèque
nationale de France) [253]
4.6 Portrait of Nikephoros III/Michael VII and Maria of Alania, Paris
BN Coislin 79, fol.1 (2bis)v (photo: Bibliothèque nationale de
France) [255]
4.7 Portrait of John II Komnenos and Alexios, Vatican Library, Vat.
Urb. Gr.2, fol. 10v (photo: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana) [256]
5.1 Icon with Saints Peter and Paul (above), and Helena of Anjou
surrounded by her sons Dragutin and Milutin (below), Biblioteca
Apostolica Vaticana, Vatican Museums (photo: Scala/Art
Resource, New York) [287]
5.2 Front of the “major” sakkos of Metropolitan Photios, 1414–17,
Kremlin Museum, Moscow (TK-4) (photo: C Blagov V. V., State

Historical and Cultural Museum-Preserve “The Moscow

Kremlin”) [289]
5.3 Back of the “major” sakkos of Metropolitan Photios, 1414–17,
Kremlin Museum, Moscow (TK-4) (photo C Blagov V. V., State

Historical and Cultural Museum-Preserve “The Moscow

Kremlin”) [290]
5.4 Detail of John Palaiologos, hem of the front of the “major” sakkos
of Metropolitan Photios, 1414–17, Kremlin Museum, Moscow

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

xiv List of illustrations

(TK-4) (photo C Blagov V. V., State Historical and Cultural

Museum-Preserve “The Moscow Kremlin”) [294]

5.5 Detail of the hem of the front of the “major” sakkos of
Metropolitan Photios, 1414–17, Kremlin Museum, Moscow
(TK-4) (photo: C Blagov V. V., State Historical and Cultural

Museum-Preserve “The Moscow Kremlin”) [296]

5.6 Front of the Royal Crown of Hungary, eleventh century,
Hungarian Parliament Building, Budapest (photo: Hungarian
Pictures/Károly Szelényi) [299]
5.7 Back of the Royal Crown of Hungary, eleventh century,
Hungarian Parliament Building, Budapest (photo: Hungarian
Pictures/Károly Szelényi) [300]
5.8 St Dionysios, detail of the upper-left corner of the back of the
“major” sakkos of Metropolitan Photios, 1414–17, Kremlin
Museum, Moscow (TK-4) (photo: C Blagov V. V., State Historical

and Cultural Museum-Preserve “The Moscow Kremlin”) [306]

5.9 Sylvester, detail of the upper-right corner of the back of the
“major” sakkos of Metropolitan Photios, 1414–17, Kremlin
Museum, Moscow (TK-4) (photo: C Blagov V. V., State Historical

and Cultural Museum-Preserve “The Moscow Kremlin”) [308]

5.10 Photios, detail of the lower-left corner of the front of the “major”
sakkos of Metropolitan Photios, 1414–17, Kremlin Museum,
Moscow (TK-4) (photo: C Blagov V. V., State Historical and

Cultural Museum-Preserve “The Moscow Kremlin”) [309]

5.11 Front of the “minor” sakkos of Metropolitan Photios, Kremlin
Museum, Moscow (TK-5) (photo: C Blagov V. V., State Historical

and Cultural Museum-Preserve “The Moscow Kremlin”) [312]

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

Color plates

Plate 1 (=1.1) Embroidered silk of St Lawrence, associated saints, and

Michael VIII Palaiologos, 1261, Genoa, Civiche Collezioni, Museo di
Sant’Agostino (photo: author)
Plate 2 (=1.3) Detail of the upper register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa
(Figure 1.1), scene 5, Byzantine emperor with the archangel and St
Lawrence (photo: author)
Plate 3 (=2.7) Constantinople, from Cristoforo Buondelmonti, Liber
insularum archipelagi, private collection (photo: Bridgeman Art
Library)
Plate 4a–b (=3.1a–b) Gold hyperpyron of Michael VIII Palaiologos,
Magnesia, Class II: Virgin enthroned/Michael presented to Christ by
St Michael (DOC V/2, no. 1), Dumbarton Oaks BZC.1969.54.D2012
(photo: C Dumbarton Oaks, Byzantine Collection, Washington

DC)
Plate 5a–b (=3.4a–b) Gold hyperpyron of Michael VIII Palaiologos,
Constantinople, Class III: Virgin and the walls/Michael presented to
Christ by St Michael (DOC V/2, no. 18), Harvard Art
Museums/Arthur M. Sackler Museum, bequest of Thomas
Whittemore, 1951.31.4.1906 (Dumbarton Oaks, Whittemore Loan
WH 760.D2012) (photo: C Dumbarton Oaks, Byzantine Collection,

Washington DC)
Plate 6a–b (=3.15a–b) Gold hyperpyron of Andronikos II Palaiologos,
Constantinople, Class I: Virgin and the walls/Christ blessing the
crouching emperor (DOC V/2, no. 228), Harvard Art
Museums/Arthur M. Sackler Museum, bequest of Thomas
Whittemore, 1951. 31.4.1913 (Dumbarton Oaks, Whittemore Loan
WH 764.D2012) (photo: C Dumbarton Oaks, Byzantine Collection,

Washington DC)
Plate 7 (=4.3) Author portrait, works of Dionysios the Areopagite,
Louvre, Paris, MR 416 fol. 1r (photo: C RMN-Grand Palais/Art

Resource, New York)

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

xvi Color plates

Plate 8 (=4.4) Palaiologan family portrait, works of Dionysios the

Areopagite, Louvre, Paris, MR 416 fol. 2r (photo: C RMN-Grand

Palais/Art Resource, New York)

Plate 9 (=5.2) Front of the “major” sakkos of Metropolitan Photios,
1414–17, Kremlin Museum, Moscow (TK-4) (photo: C Blagov V. V.,

State Historical and Cultural Museum-Preserve “The Moscow

Kremlin”)
Plate 10 (=5.5) Detail of the hem of the front of the “major” sakkos of
Metropolitan Photios, 1414–17, Kremlin Museum, Moscow (TK-4)
(photo: C Blagov V. V., State Historical and Cultural

Museum-Preserve “The Moscow Kremlin”)

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

Acknowledgements

This book offers a critical reappraisal of the visual arts in the final centuries
of the Byzantine Empire. As such, it owes a great debt to the “Byzantium:
Faith and Power” exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 2004 and
the scholarly momentum that followed in its wake. It was this exhibition that
prompted me to reframe my longstanding interests in art and diplomacy
around the question of decline in the later Byzantine period. But the thinking
that led to this reframing and to the refining of this book’s central thematics
would not have been possible without the intellectual generosity, interest,
and engagement that developed through sustained dialogue with a range of
peers and mentors. Though it is not possible to list all of those who have
in some way influenced this project, special mention goes to Nell Andrew,
Jennifer Ball, Charles Barber, Elena Boeck, Sarah Brooks, Annemarie Weyl
Carr, Kristen Collins, Sally Cornelison, Anthony Cutler, Antony Eastmond,
Helen Evans, Hannah Feldman, Megan Holmes, Anthony Kaldellis, Hol-
ger Klein, Aden Kumler, Christopher MacEvitt, Ruth Macrides, Kathleen
Maxwell, Margaret Mullett, Bob Ousterhout, Maria Parani, Georgi Par-
pulov, Glenn Peers, Daniel Richter, Nancy Ševčenko, Alice-Mary Talbot,
Allie Terry-Fritsch, Thelma Thomas, Galina Tirnanic, Alicia Walker, War-
ren Woodfin, and last but certainly not least Ann Marie Yasin, who has been
a constant source of support and inspiration.
A number of individuals read portions of this study in advance of its
publication and offered generous comments. Chapter 3 benefited from
Jonathan Shea’s numismatic expertise, and Chapter 5 was vastly improved
by Christian Raffensperger’s extensive knowledge of the Russian material.
My longtime Chicago interlocutors Lucy Pick, Daisy Delogu, and Rebecca
Zorach read much of the book as a series of works in progress. Their critical
insights and encouragement were fundamental to the development of the
project. Portions of the final text were read by Anna Christidou and Tera Lee
Hedrick, who also compiled the index. Jonathan Sachs and the anonymous
readers for Cambridge University Press offered feedback on the complete
manuscript. I would like to extend my heartfelt thanks to all my readers for
their insightful comments; needless to say, the faults that remain in the final
text are entirely my own. xvii

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

xviii Acknowledgements

A number of institutions have supported this project and it is my plea-

sure to acknowledge and thank them formally here. My research has been
supported by a Standard Research Grant from the Social Sciences and
Humanities Research Council of Canada, a Franklin Research Grant from
the American Philosophical Society, a Junior Fellowship from Northwest-
ern University’s Alice Kaplan Institute for the Humanities, an Individual
Research Grant from Northwestern University, a Summer Stipend from the
National Endowment for the Humanities, and most recently a book sub-
vention from the Medieval Academy of America. I would also like to thank
Dumbarton Oaks for allowing me to include as Chapter 1 a slightly revised
version of my article “The Imperial Image at the End of Exile: The Byzantine
Embroidered Silk in Genoa and the Treaty of Nymphaion (1261),” Dumb-
arton Oaks Papers, 64 (2010), 151–99 ( C 2011, Dumbarton Oaks Research

Library and Collection, Trustees for Harvard University). The final form of
the book has also benefited from wonderful research assistants at McGill
University, including Victoria Addonna, Jackson Davidow, and Alexandra
Kelebay, who provided much-needed help with image permissions. I would
also like to extend my gratitude to the many collections that have offered
permission to publish portions of their holdings and to thank the many indi-
viduals who have helped facilitate the process of acquiring those images,
especially Kimberly Bowes.
At Cambridge University Press, I would like to thank Michael Sharp for
his early interest in and continued commitment to this project, as well as
Elizabeth Hanlon for shepherding the manuscript so efficiently through to
publication.
While work on this book progressed through a range of academic posts
across the Midwest from Ann Arbor, Michigan, to Lawrence, Kansas, to
Northwestern University, it came to completion in Montreal at McGill Uni-
versity, where it benefited from the support and encouragement of my
colleagues in the Art History and Communication Studies Department. In
particular, I thank Angela Vanhaelen for her mentorship: she was instru-
mental in bringing me to McGill at precisely the right moment in my
personal life and my academic career.
Although the book took on its final form at McGill, its roots reach back
further than I would like to admit, to the myriad graduate seminars on
Byzantine art at the University of Chicago offered by Robert S. Nelson, my
doktorvater who, quite frankly, taught me most of what I know about Byzan-
tium. Although this book bears only a loose connection to the dissertation I
wrote under his direction, it was through his discipline, combined with the
intellectually stimulating environment of the University of Chicago, that my

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

Acknowledgements xix

practice was shaped and the foundation for my current trajectory was laid
out firmly. I would like to acknowledge my other mentors there as well: the
late Michael Camille for his gleeful excitement about all things medieval,
Walter Kaegi for his comprehensive introduction to Byzantine historiog-
raphy, Tom Cummins for his wicked wit and anthropological rigor, and,
especially, Linda Seidel for serving as an inspiration in so many ways and
for insisting that I never lose sight of the stakes of an argument. At the Uni-
versity of Chicago I also benefited from an intellectually generous cohort
of fellow Byzantinists, many of whom continue to serve as the most chal-
lenging and supportive of interlocutors. The late Angela Volan in particular
deserves special mention: although her brilliance was cut tragically short,
her memory lives on.
Byzantine texts are fond of expressing gratitude through insufficiency.
Seldom are words capable of capturing the magnitude of a sentiment; words
fall short where gratitude is beyond measure. For gifts that should never be
measured but hopefully reciprocated in some small way, I thank Jonathan
Sachs most of all, and I eagerly await the new chapter in our lives that has
begun with the little belette growing inside me as I type.

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

Abbreviations

ArtB Art Bulletin

ArtH Art History
BFP Byzantium: Faith and Power (1261–1557), ed. Helen C. Evans (New
York: Metropolitan Museum of Art; New Haven: Yale University Press,
2004).
BMFD Byzantine Monastic Foundation Documents: A Complete Translation of
the Surviving Founders’ Typika and Testaments, ed. John Thomas and
Angela Constantinides Hero (Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks,
2000).
BMGS Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies
BSl Byzantinoslavica
ByzF Byzantinische Forschungen
BZ Byzantinische Zeitschrift
CA Cahiers archéologiques
DOC Catalogue of the Byzantine Coins in the Dumbarton Oaks Collection and
in the Whittemore Collection, edited by A. R. Bellinger, P. Grierson, and
M. F. Hendy (Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1966–99)
DOP Dumbarton Oaks Papers
ΔΧΑΕ Deltion tes Christianikes Archaiologikes Hetaireias
ΕΕΒΣ Epeteris Hetaireias Byzaninon Spoudon
EHB The Economic History of Byzantium from the Seventh through the
Fifteenth Century, edited by Angeliki E. Laiou (Washington, DC:
Dumbarton Oaks, 2002)
GRBS Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies
JÖB Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik
JÖBG Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinischen Gesellschaft
OCP Orientalia christiana periodica
ODB Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, edited by A. Kazhdan et al. (Oxford
University Press, 1991)
PG Patrologiae cursus completus, Series graeca, edited by J.-P. Migne (Paris:
Garnier, 1857–66)
PLP Prosopographisches Lexikon der Palaiologenzeit, edited by E. Trapp et al.
(Vienna: Verlag der Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften,
1976–96)

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Cambridge University Press
978-1-107-03330-6 - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
Cecily J. Hilsdale
Frontmatter
More information

List of abbreviations xxi

REB Revue des études byzantines

REG Revue des études grecques
RESEE Revue des études sud-est européennes
RN Revue numismatique

© in this web service Cambridge University Press www.cambridge.org

Introduction: the imperial image as gift

As Latin Crusaders gazed intently at the city of Constantinople for the

first time in June 1203, Geoffroi de Villehardouin claimed that there was
“no man so brave and daring that his flesh did not shudder at the sight.”1
Even docked at a distance from the illustrious Byzantine capital on the
Bosphoros, rich palaces and tall churches could be seen beyond the city’s
famed lofty walls and towers. While Constantinople had held a privileged
position in the medieval Mediterranean as the center of luxury, learning,
and holy Christian relics since its foundation by Constantine the Great in
the fourth century, the arrival and subsequent conquests of the Crusaders
inaugurated a new era for the capital and the larger empire. After more than
half a century of Latin occupation (1204–61), which included the massive
exportation of the city’s most precious treasures, the Byzantines reclaimed
Constantinople. But the reconquest came at a great cost, and scholars have
generally characterized the subsequent two centuries as a period of decline
marked by political fragility and economic scarcity.
In contrast to the awe of the European Crusaders, expressed in such
visceral terms by Villehardouin, over a century later in the mid-fourteenth
century, Byzantine historian Nikephoros Gregoras lamented the diminished
circumstances of his once-celebrated capital. After the coronation of Byzan-
tine Emperor John VI Kantakouzenos in 1347, Gregoras observed that there
was nothing left in the imperial treasury “but air and dust and, as they say,
the atoms of Epicurus.”2 Nostalgic laments such as this have shaped not only
contemporary perceptions but also most modern scholarly assessments of
what has come to be known as the Late Byzantine or Palaiologan period,
or the period between the Byzantine restoration of Constantinople in 1261
and the final conquest of the city by the Ottomans in 1453. Nostalgia is a
seductive sentiment. How can we not be moved by the fact that the Late
Byzantine imperial crown worn by John VI at his coronation was inlaid with

1 Chronicles of the Crusades, trans. Margaret Shaw (Harmondsworth, 1963), 59.

2 Gregoras, Byzantina Historia, vol. II (Bonn, 1829–55), 790: καὶ πλὴν ἀέρος καὶ κόνεως καὶ τῶν
᾿Επικουρείων εἰπεῖν ἀτόμων.
1

Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Oxford, on 21 Jan 2018 at 12:51:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.001
2 Introduction: the imperial image as gift

mere colored glass, the original gems having been pawned to the Republic
of Venice earlier in the century?3
Notions of decline and twilight, however, overshadow a reality of more
nuanced cultural relations during the Palaiologan period. In the face of
this economic and political adversity, classical education and intellectual
life flourished. Indeed, even in lamenting the sad state of the treasury, Gre-
goras betrays his learned status and his ties to a long Hellenic heritage
by describing bankruptcy (emptiness) in Epicurean terms. The visual arts
thrived as well, as testified, for instance, by the celebrated mosaics and fres-
coes of Constantinople’s Church of the Chora and the myriad icons and
precious portable objects brought together in the Metropolitan Museum
of Art’s 2004 exhibition “Byzantium: Faith and Power, 1261–1557.”4 The
unsurpassed vibrancy of Byzantine art during this period has often been
described, although somewhat problematically, as a “Palaiologan Renais-
sance,” and a spate of recent exhibitions have paid tribute to the artistic
traditions of later Byzantium on a grand scale.5 In celebrating the visual
culture of the final two centuries of Byzantium, an acknowledgment of the
empire’s diminished political and economic standing serves only to high-
light the very strengths of its artistic traditions. Despite poverty and political
fragility, the arts of the era held together the larger Orthodox oikoumene.6

3 The crown jewels were held in the Treasury of San Marco as a guarantee of a loan that was never
repaid. This episode will be discussed at greater length below in the introduction to Part II.
4 The 2004 “blockbuster” exhibition “Byzantium: Faith and Power, 1261–1557” at the
Metropolitan Museum of Art, with its sumptuous and weighty exhibition catalog and
symposium papers published subsequently, is to be commended for promoting interest in
things Palaiologan among both scholars and the general public. See Helen C. Evans (ed.),
Byzantium: Faith and Power (1261–1557) (New Haven, 2004) (hereafter abbreviated to BFP)
with accompanying colloquium papers edited by Sarah T. Brooks, Byzantium: Faith and Power
(1261–1557). Perspectives on Late Byzantine Art and Culture (New Haven, 2006).
5 Recent exhibitions at the Getty Museum in Los Angeles (2007) and the Royal Academy of Arts
in London (2008) included significant later Byzantine material. See Robert S. Nelson and
Kristen M. Collins (eds.), Icons from Sinai: Holy Image, Hallowed Ground (Los Angeles, 2006);
and Robin Cormack and Maria Vassilaki (eds.), Byzantium, 330–1453 (London, 2008). A
number of colloquia and exhibitions have resulted in the main literature on later Byzantine art.
See, for example, Art et société à Byzance sous les Paléologues: Actes du Colloque organisé par
l’Association internationale des études byzantines à Venise en septembre 1968 (Venice, 1971);
Slobodan Ćurčić and Doula Mouriki (eds.), The Twilight of Byzantium: Aspects of Cultural and
Religious History in the Late Byzantine Empire: Papers from the Colloquium Held at Princeton
University, 8–9 May 1989 (Princeton, 1991); Antonio Iacobini and Mauro della Valle (eds.),
L’arte di Bisanzio e l’Italia al tempo dei Paleologi, 1261–1453 (Papers presented at the Convegno
internazionale d’arte bizantina, Rome, 1994) (Rome, 1999 [Milion 5]); and the Byzantium: Faith
and Power exhibition catalogue and accompanying colloquium papers cited in note 4 above.
6 Maria Parani’s review of the catalogue for the exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, in
Speculum, 83(1) (2008), 191–3, characterizes this position well.

This book proceeds from the claim that the arts thrived in the face of
political and economic decline, but it further interrogates the particular
mechanisms by which the visual arts defined later Byzantium. How and
why were certain visual strategies adopted in the face of the decline felt so
acutely by Gregoras and other intellectuals of the time? Furthermore, what
sort of image did rulers of this impoverished empire cultivate and project
to the wider medieval world? Which particular ideological associations to
the past were visually cultivated and which were elided?
Although scholars recognize the paradoxical discrepancy between eco-
nomic weakness and cultural strength during this period, none of them has
pursued an explanation for this phenomenon. One way to understand this
apparent enigma, this book suggests, is to recognize that later Byzantine
diplomatic strategies, despite or because of diminishing political advantage,
relied on an increasingly desirable cultural and artistic heritage. In the later
Byzantine period, power must, out of economic necessity, be constructed in
non-monetary terms within the realm of culture. In an attempt to reassess
the role of cultural production in an era most often described in terms of
decline, this study focuses on the intersection of two central and related
thematics – the imperial image and the gift – as they are reconceived in
the final centuries of the Byzantine Empire. Through the analysis of art
objects created specifically for diplomatic exchange alongside key examples
of Palaiologan imperial imagery and ritual, this book traces the circulation
of the image of the emperor – in such sumptuous materials as silk, bronze,
gold, and vellum – at the end of the empire.
Drawing on diverse visual and textual materials that have traditionally
been eclipsed in favor of the earlier Byzantine period, this book interrogates
the manner in which previous visual paradigms of sovereignty and generos-
ity were adapted to suit diminished contemporary realities. It is therefore
situated at the convergence of art, empire, and decline. In this way, this
book expands discussions of cultural exchange and boundary crossings by
prompting us to question how the concept of decline reconfigures categories
of wealth and value, categories that lie at the core of cultural exchange.

Pharmakon and apotropaion

In an encomium for Michael VIII Palaiologos, court orator Manuel Holobo-

los expresses the power of the emperor’s image as a gift. According
to Holobolos, at the negotiations of the Treaty of Nymphaion through
which the Genoese joined forces with Michael Palaiologos with the aim of

recovering Constantinople (1261), the Genoese requested an image of the

emperor as a visible expression of protection and love for their city. The
imperial image for the Genoese, Holobolos claims, would be a great rem-
edy, a strong defense, an averter, a powerful parapet, a strong tower, and
an adamantine wall.7 The word choices here are significant. Not only is the
imperial image associated with key fortifications to protect a city (para-
pet, tower, wall), it is also described as a pharmakon (φάρμακον) and
an apotropaion (ἀποτρόπαιον). The former, an ambiguous term, which
can be translated in entirely opposite, almost contradictory ways, holds
a privileged position in theoretical discussions of gift-giving,8 while the
latter is suggestive of cult images and amulets. Holobolos thus ascribes
to the imperial image an efficacy usually reserved for sacred icons in
Byzantium.9 The Virgin’s icon was understood to be particularly effica-
cious. The Akathistos Hymn hails the Theotokos as the “impregnable wall
of the kingdom . . . through whom trophies are raised up . . . [and] through
whom enemies fall,” and her icon famously led battles and processions
along Constantinople’s walls at key perilous moments.10 In the oration,
however, Holobolos is describing the potency of the image of the emperor,
not the Virgin, and this raises complicated issues of imperial allegiance and
hierarchy.
The imperial image in Byzantium constituted the fundamental visual
manifestation of sovereignty, and it often commemorated imperial munif-
icence. In the heart of the empire at Hagia Sophia, the celebrated suite of
imperial mosaics on the easternmost wall of the south gallery conveys the
broader ideology of imperial largesse through the representation of very

7 M. Treu (ed.), Orationes, 2 vols. (Potsdam, 1906), 1:46.27–34; and X. A. Siderides, “Μανουὴλ
῾Ολοβώλου, ᾿Εγκώμιον εἰς Μιχαὴλ Ηʹ Παλαιολόγον,” ΕΕΒΣ, 3 (1926), 188: δύναταί Σου καὶ ἡ
εἰκών, ἂν ἡμῖν παρείν, πολλά· ἀμυντήριον ἔσται κατὰ τῶν ἡμετέρων ἀντιπάλων στερεόν, πάσης
ἐπιβουλῆς ἀποτρόπαιον, ἔπαλξις τῇ σῇ καὶ ἡμετέρᾳ πόλει κρατερά, πρσπύργιον ἰσχυρόν καὶ
τεῖχος ἄντικρυς ἀδαμάντινον. The Treaty of Nymphaion and this oration are discussed at
greater length in Chapter 1.
8 The significance of the pharmakon for discussions of the gift has informed a wide range of
critical thinkers from Friedrich Nietzsche to Jacques Derrida. The double-edged notion of the
gift as both a blessing and a curse appears in Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra. The
pharmakon’s contradictory ambivalence constitutes the opening premise, and even the
working method, for Derrida’s essay “Plato’s Pharmacy” in Dissemination, trans. Barbara
Johnson (Chicago, 1981), 131–2.
9 Given this evocative language, Henry Maguire, “Magic and Money in the Early Middle Ages,”
Speculum, 72(4) (1997), 1040 [repr. Image and Imagination in Byzantine Art (Aldershot, 2007),
V], links the portrait described by Holobolos to the wonderworking icon of the Hodegetria.
10 As will be further discussed in Chapter 3, the penultimate strophe of the Akathistos
emphasizes this powerful aspect of the Virgin: χαῖρε, τῆς ἐκκλησίας ὁ ἀσάλευτος πύργος; χαῖρε,
δι’ἧς ἐγείρονται τρόπαια, χαῖρε, δι’ἧς ἐχθροὶ καταπίπτουσι.

Figure 0.1 Hagia Sophia, Constantinople, general view of the mosaics on the east wall
of the south gallery

specific acts of donation to the church (Figure 0.1). These panels present a
double articulation of imperial gift-giving separated by roughly a century:
Constantine IX Monomachos (r. 1042–55) and Zoe with Christ occupy the
north side of the wall to the viewer’s left (Figure 0.2), and John II Komnenos
(r. 1118–43) and Eirene with the Virgin and Child appear on the south side
to the right (Figure 0.3).11 The Macedonian and Komnenian emperors hold
sacks of money, their monetary offering for the church, and the empresses
carry scrolls with inscriptions, signaling a recording of the donation.12 The

11 The scholarship on these mosaics is vast, much of it focusing on the changes to the
eleventh-century panel, including Nicolas Oikonomides, “The Mosaic Panel of Constantine IX
and Zoe in Saint Sophia,” REB, 36 (1978), 219–32; and Ioli Kalavrezou, “Irregular Marriages in
the 11th Century and the Zoe and Constantine Mosaic in Hagia Sophia” in A. Laiou and D.
Simon (eds.), Law and Society in Byzantium: Ninth to Twelfth Centuries (Washington DC,
1994). See also Robin Cormack, “Interpreting the Mosaics of S. Sophia at Istanbul,” Art
History, 4(2) (1981), 141–6 [repr. The Byzantine Eye: Studies in Art and Patronage (1989), VIII];
and Robin Cormack, “The Emperor at St. Sophia: Viewer and Viewed” in J. Durand and A.
Guillou (eds.), Byzance et les images: Cycle de conférences organisé au musée du Louvre par le
Service culturel du 5 octobre au 7 décembre 1992 (Paris, 1994), 223–53.
12 The monetary offering known as the apokombiοn (ἀποκόμβιον) was a heavy purse of coins for
imperial distribution on feast days. The name derives from the knot (kombos) with which the
sack was tied. On apokombia, see Alexander Kazhdan, “Apokombion,” ODB; and Albert Vogt

Figure 0.3 John II Komnenos and Eirene with the Virgin and Child, south gallery
mosaics, Hagia Sophia, Constantinople, twelfth century

emperor’s role as benefactor of the church is here made visually explicit, as

imperial largesse funded the celebration of the liturgy in the Great Church.
The mosaics themselves in turn constitute a gift to the church, one that
memorializes such imperial munificence.13
The middle Byzantine mosaics of the upper gallery of Hagia Sophia
encapsulate the manner in which the imperial office is inscribed through
the ritual performance and visual commemoration of gift-giving. A key
innovation in imperial imagery in the later Byzantine period testifies to the
continued if not closer alignment of the imperial image with largesse. The
emperor’s effigy was included on acts of donation themselves, chrysobulls,
for the first time in the early Palaiologan period.14 A number of chrysobulls
adorned with illuminated portraits survive from the Palaiologan period,
three of which are associated with Andronikos II (r. 1282–1328), including
one currently in the Byzantine and Christian Museum in Athens granting
and extending the privileges of the metropolitan of Monembasia in 1301
(Figure 0.4).15 Composed of four vellum sheets, which joined together reach

(ed. and trans.), Le Livre des Cérémonies (Paris, 1935), vol. I, Commentary, 64–6; A. Laiou,
EHB, 1014; and Michael Hendy, Studies in the Byzantine Monetary Economy, c. 300–1450
(Cambridge, 1985), 196, 338–9, 355–6.
13 For interpretations of the mosaics in terms of imperial largesse, see Natalia Teteriatnikov,
“Hagia Sophia: The Two Portraits of the Emperors with Moneybags as a Functional Setting,”
Arte Medievale, n.s. 10(1) (1996), 47–67, who reads the mosaics a reminder to the patriarch
and his clergy of the benevolent patronage of the emperor, and by extension of their
dependence on his largesse; and Leslie Brubaker, “The Visualization of Gift-Giving in
Byzantium and the Mosaics at Hagia Sophia” in Wendy Davies and Paul Fouracre (eds.), The
Languages of Gift in the Early Middle Ages (Cambridge, 2010), 33–61.
14 A. Heisenberg, Aus der Geschichte und der Literatur der Palaiologenzeit (Munich, 1920), 25–33;
Tania Velmans, “Le portrait dans l’art des Paléologues” in Art et société à Byzance sous les
Paléologues, 104–6; Iohannis Spatharakis, The Portrait in Byzantine Illuminated Manuscripts
(Leiden, 1976), 184–9; and, more recently, Anthony Cutler, “Legal Iconicity: Documentary
Images, the Problem of Genre, and the Work of the Beholder” in Colum Hourihane (ed.),
Byzantine Art: Recent Studies, Essays in Honor of Lois Drewer (Brepols, 2009), 63–80; and
Annemarie Weyl Carr, “Three Illuminated Chrysobulls of Andronikos II?” Nea Rhome, 6
(2009), 451–64. On chrysobulls more generally, see Nicolas Oikonomides, “La chancellerie
impériale de Byzance du 13e au 15e siècle,” REB, 43 (1985), 167–95; and Andreas E. Müller,
“Imperial Chrysobulls” in Elizabeth Jeffreys with John Haldon and Robin Cormack (eds.), The
Oxford Handbook of Byzantine Studies (Oxford, 2008), 129–35.
15 M. Evangelatou, H. Papastavrou, and P.-T. Skotti (eds.), Byzantium: An Oecumenical Empire
(Athens, 2002), 144–6 (cat. no. 53). In addition to the one in Athens issued for Monembasia in
1301 (now in the Byzantine and Christian Museum in Athens), the other extant chrysobulls of
Andronikos II include one issued to the see of Kanina in Albania in 1307 (now in the Morgan
Library in New York), and a third that, based on its iconography, was probably also issued for
the church of the Helkomenos in Monembasia (it presently serves as a prefatory page pasted in
a twelfth-century book in the British Museum, Add. Ms. 37006). See F. Dölger, Regesten der
Kaiserurkunden des Oströmischen Reiches (Munich, 1925), 34 and 49; P. J. Alexander, “A
Chrysobull of the Emperor Andronicus II Palaeologus in Favor of the See of Kanina in

Figure 0.4a Chrysobull of Andronikos II

Palaiologos, 1301, Byzantine and Christian
Museum, Athens (BXM 00534)

nearly 80 inches in length, the chrysobull concludes with the emperor’s

signature in deep red ink and commences with a miniature of Andronikos
offering to Christ a rolled white scroll meant to reference the chrysobull
itself. The miniature thus depicts the emperor in the act of donating the
very scroll that bears both the representation as well as the textual attestation
of the gift itself. The imperial portrait on Palaiologan chrysobulls such as this
solidifies the emperor’s gift in an almost legal manner, while simultaneously
transforming the viewer into a witness to the transaction.16

Albania,” Byzantion, 15 (1940–1), 167–207; N. Kavrus-Hoffmann, “Catalogue of Greek

Medieval and Renaissance Manuscripts in the Collections of the United States of America, Part
IV: The Morgan Library and Museum,” Manuscripta 52(1) (2008), 65–174; and Carr, “Three
Illuminated Chrysobulls,” 451–64. As Carr points out, the texts of a number of Andronikos’s
chrysobulls were copied into the vaults of a chapel of the Hodegetria in Mistra. On the
phenomenon of transferring documents to walls of Byzantine churches, see Sophia
Kalopissi-Verti, “Church Inscriptions as Documents: Chrysobulls – Ecclesiastical Acts –
Inventories – Donations – Wills,” ΔΧΑΕ, 24 (2003), 79–88.
16 Cutler, “Legal Iconicity,” 65ff. Cutler’s study takes as its point of departure the chrysobull
issued by Alexios III Komnenos of Trebizond for the Dionysiou Monastery on Mount Athos in
1374 that depicts the ruler, along with his wife Theodora Kantakouzene. The Dionysiou
example served as the source for an icon of the Emperor with the Prodromos in lieu of his wife.
On the Dionysiou chrysobull and icon, see Athanasios A. Karakatsanis (ed.), Treasures of
Mount Athos (Thessaloniki, 1997). A further illuminated chrysobull was issued by Đurađ
Branković for the Esphigmenou monastery on Mount Athos in 1429, which depicts the
Serbian despot alongside his wife Irene Kantazouzene and their family.

Innovations such as this highlight the alignment of the imperial

image and the gift in later Byzantium. Not surprisingly, there is a
rich corpus of visual material that relates to imperial gift exchange
in its various permutations. Accordingly, this book treats the later
Byzantine imperial image as a gift, and a series of objects that
invoke gift-giving constitutes its archive. Not all the objects, how-
ever, are gifts per se. Chapter 3, for example, focuses on coinage,
traditionally understood as the means of economic exchange in
contradistinction to the gift. But in Byzantium, the emperor dis-
persed coins bearing his effigy in a ritualized performance much
closer to giving than buying or selling. Moreover, in my reading of
the radical innovations in numismatic iconography following the
Byzantine restoration of Constantinople in 1261, coins constitute
an image of thanksgiving in and of themselves linked to the lost
bronze monumental representation of imperial giving, which is
the subject of Chapter 2. The other chapters examine objects cre-
ated as gifts and extended to such varied sites as Genoa, Paris, and
Moscow: one explicitly associated with a diplomatic treaty, another
offered at the conclusion of a failed diplomatic mission, and yet
another following upon a marriage alliance. Despite variations, all
the objects under investigation engage the action of giving, which
is inflected with subtle though discernible calibrations of hierar-
chy. Furthermore, they all represent the emperor in relation to the
action of giving. In this way, this book associates the image of the
emperor with the matter of gift-giving. As elucidated by a substan-
tial body of anthropological scholarship, gift-giving is neither free
nor disinterested, but rather works in complex ways to establish
and recalibrate contingent relations of power and hierarchy. For
this reason, my attention to the imperial image as a gift provides
a crucial optic for re-evaluating the reconfiguration of Byzantine
sovereignty at a time of diminished political sway through one of
its most important representations: the image of the emperor.
Throughout the Byzantine Empire, the likeness of the emperor
and imperial largesse consistently served as a centerpiece for diplo-
matic strategies. Rich source material from the middle Byzantine
period exposes the protocols of Byzantine diplomacy. These pri-
mary sources have been culled by scholars to demonstrate the
centrality of imperial largesse to the notion of Byzantine identity.
Imperial sources adumbrate what kinds of gifts are appropriate for
foreign ambassadors, both at court in Constantinople and abroad,
Figure 0.4b

and they emphasize the diplomatic rituals of reciprocity and display as

fundamental to negotiations. The emperor, as the embodiment of empire,
establishes and reinforces his superiority through extravagant demonstra-
tions of largesse, and he solidifies alliances through such means. It is through
the giving of gifts and the resulting enactment of allegiances that the very
contours of the empire are drawn. But this model becomes problematic
when seen through the lens of the later Byzantine period and its constricted
visions of imperium. If hierarchy is implicit in imperial gifts from Con-
stantinople, what happens when the distance between real and represented
grandeur becomes so vast? In other words, if to give a gift – and an imperial
image as a gift in particular – is to inscribe hierarchy and to position the
recipient as indebted, how can a gift from a beleaguered empire in the throes
of disintegration convey superiority? What are the precise mechanisms by
which giving can still convey the greatness of its giver? These questions
prompt a critical rethinking of our understanding of the period, not only
of the role of Byzantium within other cultural formations but also of the
relation of the visual arts to empire, ascendency, and decline.
Another development of the Palaiologan period underscores the power
of the emperor’s portrait to proclaim his suzerainty: the imperial image
became codified as official insignia in court dress in the later Byzantine
period.17 Pseudo-Kodinos explicitly describes a headdress that bears an
imperial portrait as a skaranikon,18 representations of which are attested in
most media, both portable and monumental.19 Among the most notable
examples is the fourteenth-century typikon for the convent of the Mother
17 Earlier art objects such as two ivory plaques depicting Empress Ariadne wearing a tablion
decorated with an imperial bust. See W. Volbach, Elfenbeinarbeiten der Spätantike und des
frühen Mittelalters (Mainz am Rhein, 1976), 49–50; and K. Weitzmann (ed.), Age of
Spirituality: Late Antique and Early Christian Art, Third to Seventh Century (New York, 1979),
31–2. But images such as these are rare, and only in the Palaiologan period does the imperial
image become codified as an integral – and official – component of court dress. See notes
18–22 below.
18 Pseudo-Kodinos, Traité des offices, edited by Jean Verpeaux (Paris, 1966), 152–3. See Maria
Parani, Reconstructing the Reality of Images: Byzantine Material Culture and Religious
Iconography (11th–15th Centuries) (Leiden, 2003), 70 and 358; and Maria Parani, “Cultural
Identity and Dress: The Case of Late Byzantine Ceremonial Costume,” JÖB, 57 (2007), 95–134.
19 In manuscript, the most notable example is in the Lincoln College Typikon, on which see
below. It is also worn by the Grand Duke Apokaukos in his copy of the works of Hippocrates
(Paris BN 2144), on which see BFP, 26–7 (cat. no. 2). The skaranikon also appears on icons.
Grand Primercerion John wears such a headdress on the fourteenth-century icon of Christ
Pantokrator in the Hermitage (on which see Alice Bank, Byzantine Art in the Collections of
Soviet Museums (New York, 1978), 281–4) and Constantine Akropolites appears in such a
headdress in the lower left corner of the silver frame of Virgin Hodegetria icon in the Tret’iakov
Gallery, on which see Bank, Byzantine Art, 252–4; and BFP, 28–30 (cat. no. 4). On the
ideological valences of court dress during the later Byzantine period more generally, which
includes a discussion of the skaranikon, see the compelling article by Parani, “Cultural Identity
and Dress,” 95–134.

of God of Certain Hope in Constantinople, known as the Lincoln College

Typikon, which includes a series of portraits of family members such as
Theodore Synadenos wearing precisely this tall headdress adorned with
the effigy of the emperor (Figure 0.5).20 It is also depicted on a group
of anonymous courtiers in the fresco cycle of the Akathistos Hymn on
the eastern wall of the narthex of the Katholikon of the Holy Trinity in
Cozia, Valachia (Figure 0.6).21 Here a group of dignitaries wearing skaranika,
which bear a bust-length outline of the emperor, stand behind the emperor
himself, who gestures in reverence toward the icon of the Virgin at the
center of the composition, which is mounted above an embroidered podea
echoing an image of the emperor in prayer. Such an image, which takes as its
inspiration the twenty-third strophe of the Akathistos, brings together two
of Byzantium’s most potent images – that of the Virgin and of the emperor –
and showcases each of them as worthy of veneration and emulation.
The skaranikon served to visualize imperial and courtly authority in
clearly legible sartorial terms: it glorified the imperial office by picturing
the effigy of the emperor as the source, even the defining feature, of the
elevated status of its wearer.22 The imperial image was conceptualized as a
privilege to be worn as a symbol of allegiance, precedence, and rank. Only
a privileged few were given the honor of wearing the emperor’s likeness.
Although the emperor’s image as a codified sartorial component of the
imperial court hierarchy originates in the Palaiologan period, the imperial
image was deployed diplomatically much earlier. The emperor’s likeness
proclaimed his suzerainty both within the empire and within the realm
of foreign diplomacy.23 To offer an imperial image as a gift is to inscribe

20 Bodleian Library, MS. Lincoln College Gr. 35 dating to 1327–42 includes depictions of the
skaranikon on the following portraits: John Synadenos on folio 2r, John Synadenos on folio 3r,
Manuel Asen on 5r, Constantine Raul on folio 6r, and Theodore Synadenos on folio 8r. On this
manuscript, see Spatharakis, The Portrait, 190–206; Anthony Cutler and Paul Magdalino,
“Some Precisions on the Lincoln College Typikon,” CA, 27 (1978), 179–98; and Irmgard
Hutter, “Die Geschichte des Lincoln College Typikons,” JÖB, 45 (1995), 79–114. On the text of
the typikon, see BMFD, 1512–78.
21 On this image and its context, see Gordana Babić, “L’iconographie constantinopolitaine de
l’Acathiste de la Vierge à Cozia (Valachie),” Zbornik Radova Vizantoloskog Instituta (Recueil des
Travaux de l’Institut d’Études Byzantine), 14–15 (1973), 173–89; and more recently (and with
color images), Iohannis Spatharakis, The Pictorial Cycles of the Akathistos Hymn for the Virgin
(Leiden, 2005), 68–73.
22 In Parani’s words (“Cultural Identity and Dress,” 108): “The presence of the imperial portrait
indicated not only the source of the authority of the officials but also highlighted their
proximity to the emperor.”
23 In the early Byzantine period, the conversion of the Lazi to Christianity, for example, included
the bestowal of a tunic embroidered with an image of the emperor. See Roger Scott,
“Diplomacy in the Sixth Century: The Evidence of John Malalas” in Jonathan Shepard and
Simon Franklin (eds.), Byzantine Diplomacy: Papers from the Twenty-Fourth Spring Symposium

Figure 0.5 Portrait of Theodore Komnenos Doukas Synadenos and Wife, Lincoln
College Typikon, Bodleian Library, MS. Lincoln College gr. 35, fol. 8r, c. 1327–42

of Byzantine Studies, Cambridge, March 1990 (Aldershot, 1992), 159–65. Moreover, in the
eleventh century, an enamel crown with the emperor’s image was sent to Hungary. See Cecily
J. Hilsdale, “The Social Life of the Byzantine Gift: The Royal Crown of Hungary Re-Invented,”
ArtH, 31(5) (2008), 602–31.

Figure 0.6 Detail of the fresco cycle of the Akathistos Hymn from the Katholikon of
the Holy Trinity in Cozia, Valachia

Byzantine hierarchy. It is to prescribe allegiance through an act of seeming

generosity, and the logic of this contradiction relates to the hierarchical
stakes of gift-giving more broadly.

Historicizing imperial giving

A contradiction lies at the heart of the term “gift.” The Oxford English
Dictionary emphatically stresses the free and disinterested nature of a gift,
but it is here understood as deeply imbued with agendas of hierarchy and
reciprocity.24 A gift, in general usage and by definition, is something freely
given; it is predicated on a lack of self-interest. Whether property, a thing,
an experience, or even personhood itself, a gift is offered in exchange for

24 Portions of the following discussion are drawn from Cecily J. Hilsdale, “Gift,” Studies in
Iconography, 33 (2012), 171–82, a special issue of the journal, edited by Nina Rowe dedicated
to Medieval Art History Today – Critical Terms, which assesses the utility of the term “gift” and
“prestation” as a critical term for medieval art history.

nothing. Yet anthropologist Marcel Mauss in his Essai sur le don famously
declared that there could be no free gift and that giving always involves
self-interest to a certain degree.25 From a philological-linguistic perspective,
Émile Benveniste has traced the ambivalent etymology of the gift in Indo-
European language, demonstrating that the languages of giving and taking
are intimately related.26 Later Jacques Derrida called the free gift further
into question, claiming that there could be no gift at all, let alone a free one:
to give always already negates the giving.27
At its core, Mauss’s study of the gift represents a commitment to the prin-
ciple of reciprocity. Cyclical rather than terminal, gifts, for Mauss, instill
three obligations: to give, to receive, and to return. Anthropologists and
social scientists have taken issue with the spiritual logic of this reciprocal
model and in particular with the mechanism compelling reciprocation or
the spirit of the thing given. For others, Mauss’s work serves as a springboard
for related aspects of prestation28 such as debt, expenditure, and largesse.
Maurice Godelier, for example, revisits Mauss in order to consider sacred
objects that do not circulate, proposing that the logic of such gifts con-
cerns the ungiveable, a proposal similar in many ways to Annette Weiner’s
examination of inalienable possessions, which were meant to be guarded

25 Marcel Mauss, “Essai sur le don: Forme et raison d’échange dans les sociétés archaı̈ques,”
L’Année sociologique, n.s. 1 (1923–4), 30–186, reprinted with an introduction by Claude
Lévi-Strauss in Sociologie et anthropologie (Paris, 1950), 145–279, translated by W. D. Halls
with foreword by Mary Douglas as The Gift. The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic
Societies (New York, 1990, repr. 2000). Since the Essai sur le don first appeared, generations of
scholars have re-evaluated Mauss’s method, his conclusions, and his larger ideological agenda.
No longer limited to the social sciences, ideologies of prestation have been invoked by
medievalists within the contexts of literature, philology, immunities, simony, liturgy,
inheritance, and more. Three relatively recent collections of essays stand out: Esther Cohen
and Mayke B. de Jong (eds.), Medieval Transformations: Texts, Power, and Gifts in Context
(Leiden, 2001); Gadi Algazi, Valentin Groebner, and Bernhard Jussen (eds.), Negotiating the
Gift: Pre-Modern Figurations of Exchange (Göttingen, 2003); and Davies and Fouracre (eds.),
The Languages of Gift. Florin Curta, “Merovingian and Carolingian Gift-Giving,” Speculum, 81
(2006), 671–99, also represents an important contribution to the debate.
26 Émile Benveniste, “Gift and Exchange in the Indo-European Vocabulary” in Problems in
General Linguistics, trans. Mary Elizabeth Meek (Miami, 1971), also excerpted in Alan D.
Schrift (ed.), The Logic of the Gift: Towards an Ethic of Generosity (New York, 1997), 33–42.
Shrift’s volume gathers together a number of important interventions on the gift, including
two seminal pieces by Pierre Bourdieu, one of which was written expressly for the volume.
27 Jacques Derrida, Given Time: I, Counterfeit Money, trans. Peggy Kamuf (Chicago, 1992). As a
representative of new phenomenology in France, see Jean-Luc Marion, Being Given: Toward a
Phenomenology of Givenness, trans. Jeffrey L. Kosky (Stanford, 2002).
28 Drawing on Mauss’s understanding of the gift as part of a system of “prestation totale,” the
term “prestation” is used in this study to “emphasize the critical role of the gift in the creation
and maintenance of social structures of reciprocity and bonds of debt and obligation.” See
Hilsdale, “Gift,” 172.

rather than extended as gifts.29 Complicating Mauss’s neat cyclicality, Pierre

Bourdieu characterizes the gift as a profound articulation of risk by high-
lighting the associated elements of contingency and implied danger that
result from the fundamental uncertainty of whether, what, or when a return
or counter-gift will appear.30 He thus reads giving as merely an incomplete
gesture, emphasizing that the cyclical nature of the exchange – the paths,
logic, and effects of gifts – can only be appreciated fully in retrospect.
Much of our understanding of medieval conceptions of gift exchange
is due to the survival of the Book of Gifts and Rarities (Kitab al-Hadaya
wa al-Tuhaf), an Arabic compilation of ceremonial court exchanges.31 The
language of reciprocity is explicit in Arabic, which exhibits a finely tuned
semantic range for expressing gifting. Two different words for “gift” are
specified: one signifies a contract with no expectation of return and is used
commonly for diplomatic gifts, while a second implies the obligation of a
return gift from the recipient. The distinction, in other words, is between
conditional and unconditional gifts.32 An often-cited anecdote from this
medieval compilation explicates the competitive nature of gift-gifting cross-
culturally. The text reports the response to a gift sent by a Byzantine emperor
to Caliph al-Ma’mun with the following instructions: “Send him a gift a
hundred times greater than his, so that he realizes the glory of Islam and
the grace that Allah bestowed on us through it.”33 This passage confirms

29 Maurice Godelier, L’énigme du don (Paris, 1996); and Annette B. Weiner, Inalienable
Possessions: The Paradox of Keeping-While-Giving (Berkeley, 1992).
30 Bourdieu builds on The Logic of Practice (Cambridge, 1990) in “Marginalia – Some Additional
Notes on the Gift” in Schrift (ed.), The Logic of the Gift, 231–2. Bourdieu’s reading of the gift
will be further elaborated upon in the Conclusion. One of the more significant recent
contributions to the scholarship on gifts concerns the temporal dimension of giving. In
response to the gift-versus-commodity debate, on which see Chris Gregory, Gifts and
Commodities (London, 1982), Arjun Appadurai and Igor Kopytoff have argued for a more fluid
model whereby objects can pass in and out of phases of commoditization and gifting. See
Arjun Appadurai, “Introduction: Commodities and the Politics of Value” in Arjun Appadurai
(ed.), The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective (Cambridge, 1996 [1986]),
3–59; and in the same volume Igor Kopytoff, “The Cultural Biography of Things:
Commoditization as Process,” 63–90.
31 Ghada al-Hijjawi al-Qaddumi (ed. and trans.), Book of Gifts and Rarities (Kitab al-Hadaya wa
al-Tuhaf): Selections Compiled in the Fifteenth Century from an Eleventh-Century Manuscript
on Gifts and Treasures (Cambridge, MA, 1996). See Anthony Cutler, “Gifts and Gift Exchange
as Aspects of the Byzantine, Arab, and Related Economies,” DOP, 55 (2001), 247–78; and
Anthony Cutler, “Significant Gifts: Patterns of Exchange in Late Antique, Byzantine, and Early
Islamic Diplomacy,” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies, 38(1) (2008), 79–101.
32 See al-Qaddumi (ed. and trans.), Book of Gifts and Rarities, introduction; as well as Ann
Christys, “The Queen of the Franks Offers Gifts to the Caliph al-Mutafi’” in Davies and
Fouracre (eds.), The Languages of Gift, 149–70.
33 Al-Qaddumi (ed. and trans.), Book of Gifts and Rarities, 77. See, however, the cautionary
remarks about agonistic giving by Cutler in “Significant Gifts.”

the basic premise advanced by anthropologists that giving is fundamentally

agonistic and that it triggers shifts in power and difference. Hierarchy, this
passage suggests, is articulated through the transfer of sumptuous presents.
Anthony Cutler has elucidated the dynamics of prestation in the context
of this text alongside contemporary Byzantine sources in relation to anthro-
pological theories. Evaluation or assessment, for example, is one point of
similarity between the Arabic Book of Gifts and Rarities and the roughly con-
temporaneous Greek compilation of court ceremonial known as the Book
of Ceremonies.34 In the account of the imperial reception of Olga of Kiev in
Constantinople, the Byzantine source emphasizes gift assessment: the text
relates how the gift is brought first “to the magistros so that he knows what
each gift [is worth], so that he will be able to recall to the emperor at the time
of the exchange of gifts what he should return through his ambassadors.”35
Diplomatic gifting at the highest level of the imperial administration, this
episode suggests, involved careful calculation. Although this Greek text lacks
the explicitly agonistic aspect of prestation found in the Kitab al-Hadaya, it
makes it abundantly clear that gift exchange was strategic and that giving
ultimately concerned getting.
The strategic necessity of thinking about gifts in the diplomatic context
is elucidated by a tenth-century Byzantine packing list that specifies luxury
items to be brought on military expeditions for distribution to foreigners.36
According to the specifications of this prescriptive list, the imperial

34 Michael McCormick, “Analyzing Imperial Ceremonies,” Jahrbuch der österreichischen

Gesellschaft für Byzantinistik, 35 (1985), 1–20; Averil Cameron, “The Construction of Court
Ceremonial: The Byzantine Book of Ceremonies” in D. Cannadine and S. Price (eds.), Rituals of
Royalty. Power and Ceremonial in Traditional Societies (Cambridge, 1987), 106–36. As Dagron
puts it in Emperor and Priest: The Imperial Office in Byzantium (Cambridge, 2003), 54, the Book
of Ceremonies synthesizes “various protocols and, according to the rules of the genre, removing
the proper names and dates in order to transform a historical document into a model.”
35 Reiske, De ceremoniis, I:89, 407, 7–13 as in Cutler, “Gifts and Gift Exchange,” 257–8, who notes
that this particular passage is taken from Peter the Patrician. Matthew Canepa also discusses
this passage in The Two Eyes of the Earth: Art and Ritual of Kingship between Rome and Sasanian
Iran (Berkeley, 2009), 30–1. Michael Featherstone, “Olga’s Visit to Constantinople in De
Cerimoniis,” REB, 61 (2003), 241–51, productively reassesses the ceremonial terms of Olga’s
reception.
36 John F. Haldon, Constantine Porphyrogenitus: Three Treatises on Imperial Military Expeditions
(Vienna, 1990), 108–11. On diplomatic gifts more broadly, see Telemachos Lounghis, Les
ambassades byzantines en Occident: depuis la fondation des états barbares jusqu’aux Croisades
(407–1096) (Athens, 1980); Peter Schreiner, “Diplomatische Geschenke zwischen Byzanz und
dem Westen ca. 800–1200: eine Analyse der Texte mit Quellenanhang,” DOP, 58 (2004),
251–82; Leslie Brubaker, “The Elephant and the Ark: Cultural and Material Interchange Across
the Mediterranean in the Eighth and Ninth Centuries,” DOP, 58 (2004), 175–95; Marlia
Mango, “Hierarchies of Rank and Materials: Diplomatic Gifts Sent by Romanus I in 935 and
938,” ΔΧΑΕ, 24 (2003) 365–74; and Franz Alto Bauer, “Byzantinische Geschenkdiplomatie” in

vestiarion’s load should include the imperial regalia, clothing, and items
of imperial ceremonial (vessels, swords, perfumes, textiles, etc.), books
(liturgical, strategic and prognostic manuals, and histories), and miscel-
laneous medical substances.37 In addition to these items, according to the
text, both textiles and specie were to be included for distribution. Tailored
and untailored cloths of varying degrees of quality and with an abundance
of decorative features from stripes to eagles, imperial symbol, and hornets,
all with precisely specified monetary values, were to be brought along to
be dispatched to distinguished powerful foreigners.38 But the question of
how such largesse should be distributed apparently required judiciousness.
An anonymous sixth-century Byzantine treatise on strategy speaks of the
importance of training envoys in the arena of diplomatic gift exchange. An
ambassador sent on a mission bearing gifts must judge whether to extend all
the gifts brought along, to retain the most valuable, or to hold back the gifts
and official letters altogether and deliver only expressions of friendship.39
The text suggests that the middle ground – offering some of the gifts but
not all of them – is the best option when dealing with a potential aggressor
as it reduces hostility without enriching the enemy.40
A critical methodological point emerges from these sources. Generally
gifts were extended strategically as part of negotiations for or celebrations
of peace, a peace that often did not last the lifetime of the gift itself. To read
gifts as evidence for friendly relations is therefore to miss the active role
they played in establishing those very relations by their exchange; it is to
miss their agency in the political sphere. A recognition of the strategically

Falko Daim and Jörg Drauschke (eds.), Byzanz, das Römerreich im Mittelalter. Teil 3: Peripherie
und Nachbarschaft (Mainz, 2010), 1–54.
37 See also Michael Hendy’s discussion of “the imperial baggage-train” in Studies in the Byzantine
Monetary Economy, 272–5.
38 Haldon, Constantine Porphyrogenitus, 108–11, 126–7: “διὰ τὸ εἰς εὐγενεῖς καὶ μεγάλους ἐθνικοὺς
ἀποστέλλεσθαι.”
39 George Dennis (ed. and trans.), Three Byzantine Military Treatises: Text, Translation, and Notes
(Washington DC, 1985), 126: 30–42.
40 In addition to offering gifts in the diplomatic field, the taktika of Leo VI warns of the dangers
of accepting gifts, at least out of rank. It reminds officers in no uncertain terms not to accept
gifts from soldiers under their charge (“Without exception, you must not accept any kind of
gift from any man under your command, whether of high or low rank”). George Dennis (ed.
and trans.), The Taktika of Leo VI: Text, Translation, and Commentary (Washington DC, 2010),
510: 121–3. The text also warns about the danger of bribery, which can lead to the downfall of
an army (566: 427–31). According to the text, not only will bribe-taking leave soldiers
resourceless and greedy, it will also result in the promotion of cowardly men and will
ultimately prevent the army from facing the enemy courageously. There is therefore an ethics
to proper giving and receiving. On bribes and gifts, see also Hendy, Studies in the Byzantine
Monetary Economy, 268–71.

significant motivation of giving prompts us to see an element of desire in

gifts. If giving is strategic, as contemporary sources make clear, gifts possess
a measure of the optative, the linguistic register or grammatical mood of
wish or desire. Objects extended as gifts, it is here suggested, cannot be
read as evidence for social relations in a straightforward manner. A gift
rarely illustrates political allegiance, but rather is often exchanged in an
attempt to establish such allegiance. A liturgical vestment sent from Con-
stantinople to Moscow in the early fifteenth century, for example, visually
celebrates the intertwined sacro-imperial authority of the Byzantine capital
(Figures 5.2–5.5). But my reading of the complicated program of this sump-
tuous vestment in Chapter 5 situates the motivation of its commission pre-
cisely in the loosening of imperial ties with Moscow. Likewise, as argued in
Chapter 4, the deluxe manuscript sent to Paris at roughly the same time is
motivated by failure rather than success (Figures 4.3–4.4). Its commission-
ing follows on the heels of the emperor’s protracted, and ultimately failed,
mission to Western Europe in an attempt to secure aid for Constantinople.
These gifts, in other words, were extended in the hope of strengthening ties
and building support. Their entire organization was fundamentally strategic
and contrived to underscore the Byzantine desire for future allegiance.
There are further methodological implications for invoking analytic tools
derived from the field of anthropology within the discipline of art history.
In theorizing material gifts, anthropologists and social scientists have for
the most part focused on tangible goods of a somewhat generic character,
such as foodstuffs or kula shells. The formal particularities of individual
objects generally lie outside their analysis and thus the contexts of exchange
are privileged over the objects of exchange. On this point, art historians are
positioned to offer a significant intervention. The tools of analysis particular
to the discipline – stylistic, technical, iconographical, and other – allow for
a thorough investigation of the specific material and formal properties of
medieval gifts and prestation. It is one thing for textual scholars to recognize
the power and hierarchy inherent in gift exchange, and quite another for art
historians to elaborate precisely how such agendas are visually constructed
by relying on texts, objects, images, and spatial environments.
Nonetheless, anthropologists have taught us to recognize the importance
of the ritual context in which gifts are exchanged as well as the social
relations triggered by their exchange. An account of the visual dimensions
of prestation therefore entails an examination of how the dynamics of
obligation and reciprocity are visually encoded not only in objects and
images but also in the spaces of their ceremonial performance, display, or
concealment. Robin Cormack, for example, has considered the imperial

palace of Constantinople as the ritual setting for the enactment of authority

through gift-giving.41 In addition to environments of gift exchange, gifts
themselves have been the subject of recent study, as scholars have begun to
consider classes of gifts and patterns of exchange, as well as individual art
objects created as gifts, with attention being paid both to their initial offering
and to their reception and transformation over time.42 Moreover, recent
scholarship has attended to the mobilization of gifts in the political, dynastic,
and sacred spheres throughout the medieval world. As such scholarship
makes clear, medieval gifts arbitrate diplomatic cross-cultural encounter,
they mediate familial and dynastic relations, and they triangulate sacred
transactions as votive offerings.43 In these diverse contexts, gifts negotiate
rivalries and also serve as agents of union.

41 Robin Cormack, “But is it Art?” in Shepard and Franklin (eds.), Byzantine Diplomacy, 219–36.
See also Franz Alto Bauer, “Potentieller Besitz: Geschenke im Rahmen des byzantinischen
Hofzeremoniells” in Franz Alto Bauer (ed.), Visualisierungen von Herrschaft.
Frühmittelalterliche Residenzen–Gestalt und Zeremoniell (Istanbul, 2006), 135–69. For a reading
of the ritual and spatial context of gift exchange in the Valois context, see Brigitte Buettner,
“Past Presents: New Year’s Gifts at the Valois Courts, ca. 1400,” ArtB, 83(4) (2001), 598–625.
42 Classes of objects extended as gifts have been treated most thoroughly by Anthony Cutler in
“Gifts and Gift Exchange,” and “Significant Gifts.” Two recent studies of particular Byzantine
gifts, with attention to their later reconfiguration in the West, include Warren Woodfin,
“Presents Given and Presence Subverted: The Cunegunda Chormantel in Bamberg and the
Ideology of Byzantine Textiles,” Gesta, 47(1) (2008), 33–49; and Hilsdale, “The Social Life of
the Byzantine Gift,” 602–31.
43 On the diplomatic gifts in particular, see note 36 above. Two studies of individual gifts
mediating familial tensions include Francisco Prado-Vilar, “Circular Visions of Fertility and
Punishment: Caliphal Ivory Caskets from al-Andalus,” Muqarnas, 14 (1997), 19–41; and Cecily
J. Hilsdale, “Constructing a Byzantine Augusta: A Greek Book for a French Bride,” ArtB, 87(3)
(2005): 458–83. In terms of sacred transaction, Hugo van der Velden’s important study, The
Donor’s Image: Gérard Loyet and the Votive Portraits of Charles the Bold, trans. Beverley Jackson
(Brepols, 2000), examines reciprocal complexes and votive portraits, with particular attention
to consumable materials and sacred transactions. See also Christopher Wood, “The Votive
Scenario,” RES: Anthropology and Aesthetics, 59/60 (2011), 207–21. Within the Byzantine
context, Nancy Ševčenko and Annemarie Weyl Carr have examined most fully the
self-referentiality of votive images with donor portraits: Nancy Ševčenko, “The Representation
of Donors and Holy Figures on Four Byzantine Icons,” ΔΧΑΕ, 17 (1993–4), 157–64; Nancy P.
Ševčenko, “Close Encounters: Contact between Holy Figures and the Faithful as Represented in
Byzantine Works of Art” in Durand and Guillou (eds.), Byzance et les images, 255–85; and
Annemarie Weyl Carr, “Donors in the Frames of Icons: Living in the Borders of Byzantine
Art,” Gesta, 45(2) (2006), 189–98. See also more recently Tania Kambourova, “Ktitor: le sens
du don des panneaux votifs dans le monde byzantin,” Byzantion, 78 (2008), 261–87; Tania
Kambourova: “Pouvoir et prière dans les images byzantines de don,” RESEE, 46 (2008),
135–50. Titos Papamastorakis, “The Display of Accumulated Wealth in Luxury Icons:
Gift-Giving from the Byzantine Aristocracy to God in the Twelfth Century” in Maria Vassilaki
(ed.), Βυζαντινές Εικόνες: Τέχνη, τεχνική και τεχνολογία (Voutes Heraklion, 2002), 35–47, has
read first-person petitions inscribed by donors on icons in light of the anthropology of
gift-giving. See also Franz Alto Bauer, “Herrschergaben an St. Peter,” Mitteilungen zur
Spätantiken Archäologie und Byzantinischen Kunstgeschichte, 4 (2005), 65–99; and Franz Alto

The conceptual framework of the gift as first elaborated in the field

of anthropology thus opens up broad avenues of art historical study.
While a single unified theory cannot adequately capture the complexity of
individual objects and visualizations, understanding gift exchange as a pow-
erful mediating agent in social and sacred dynamics is central to its produc-
tivity. As inherently relational, the gift operates on an optative register as
an active agent of social bond and fracture, and it obliges and orchestrates
power relations among individuals and sacred economies. A recognition of
the entangled agendas implicit in the diverse visual cultures of prestation
allows us to see the objects of analysis not as mere passive reflections of social
and sacred relations but as integral to the production of those relations.

The gift and hindsight

With its focus on the circulation of the imperial image and the gift in
the increasingly cosmopolitan later Byzantine diplomatic arena, this book
sits at the convergence of a number of key areas of research. Historians
have provided comprehensive analyses of foreign diplomatic protocol, prac-
tice, and objects.44 The later Byzantine period, however, often figures as a
mere adjunct, or even an unfortunate coda, to the more prominent earlier
period.45 This surely relates to the discrepancy between the political reality
of the later period and its self-representation, which is described by Nicolas
Oikonomides as a “constant opposition between a glorified past on the one
hand and the cold facts of the time on the other.”46 In light of this opposition,

Bauer, Gabe und Person: Geschenke als Träger personaler Aura in der Spätantike (Eichstätt,
2009). See also note 100 in Chapter 1.
44 The papers on Byzantine diplomacy edited by Jonathan Shepard and Simon Franklin represent
an especially important point of entry to this field. More recently, see S. Lamakis, Maria
Leontsini, T. Lounghis, and Vasiliki Vlysidou (eds.), Byzantine Diplomacy: A Seminar (Athens,
2007), which includes a chapter on the diplomatic efforts of Michael VIII. I thank Telemachos
Lounghis for sharing this study with me.
45 Nicolas Oikonomides opens his essay “Byzantine Diplomacy, A.D. 1204–1453: Means and
Ends” in Shepard and Franklin (eds.), Byzantine Diplomacy, 73, by noting the meager
treatment of the period in Louis Bréhier, Les institutions de l’empire byzantin (Paris, 1949) and
Dimitri Obolensky, “The Principles and Methods of Byzantine Diplomacy” in Byzantium and
the Slavs (London, 1994). Note also that of the studies of diplomatic activity mentioned above,
Franz Alto Bauer’s “Byzantinische Geschenkdiplomatie,” is exceptional in that it does not end
before the Fourth Crusade, unlike Lounghis, Les ambassades byzantines and Schreiner,
“Diplomatische Geschenke.” There are a number of dedicated studies of diplomatic activities
of the later Byzantine period, especially focusing on individual figures such as Demetrios
Kydones or Manuel Chrysoloras, which will be addressed in Chapter 5 (where more specific
studies of the diplomacy in this period will be cited).
46 Oikonomides, in Shepard and Franklin (eds.), Byzantine Diplomacy, 74.

it is difficult to avoid evaluative judgments, according to which diplomatic

strategies of the period are inevitably deemed unsuccessful.47 The means
and ends of later Byzantine diplomacy are fundamentally in conflict. At
least since Edward Gibbon, decline is inevitably associated with fall.48 With
hindsight, modern scholars who know that the end of the empire was near
cannot help but negatively evaluate late Byzantine diplomatic strategies. But
this book attempts to suspend such judgment. The perception of decline,
testified by intellectuals such as Gregoras with his lament about the pauper
“atoms of Epicurus” in the imperial coffers of his day, does not necessar-
ily signal defeat. For those historical actors living through the turbulent
later Byzantine period, the perception of decline did not inevitably and
teleologically result in the empire’s fall.
The suspension of evaluative judgment stems from the need to see conti-
nuity and change in non-teleological terms. Certain aspects of the glorified
past, including imperial imagery, were maintained in the face of decline in
the Palaiologan period. But despite the conservatism of imperial imagery in
general,49 in the final centuries of Byzantium we encounter subtle though

47 Shepard and Franklin (eds.), Byzantine Diplomacy.

48 In terms of the place of the late Byzantine period in the modern historiography of the
Byzantine Empire, it is noteworthy that one of our principal primary sources for the period,
Doukas’s Historia Turko-Byzantina, is published in English as The Decline and Fall of
Byzantium to the Ottoman Turks (Detroit, 1975). On the place of Gibbon in the literature on
decline, see Peter Burke’s “Tradition and Experience: The Idea of Decline from Bruni to
Gibbon,” and Steven Runciman, “Gibbon and Byzantium,” both in G. W. Bowersock, John
Clive, Stephen R. Graubard (eds.), Edward Gibbon and the Decline and Fall of the Roman
Empire (Cambridge, MA, 1977). With much of the foundational Byzantine historical
scholarship concerned with the decline and fall of the Roman Empire, Byzantium is read
generally as a fundamentally doomed state. For a succinct overview of these vast issues,
including a contextualization of Gibbon within the context of British imperialism, see F. K.
Haarer, “Writing Histories of Byzantium: The Historiography of Byzantine History” in Liz
James (ed.), A Companion to Byzantium (New York, 2010), 9–21. It could be argued that the
conflation of decline and fall as one teleology represents a fundamentally early modern or
modern construct decidedly at odds with the Byzantine understanding of the progress and
stasis of temporal power. The dissertation by the late Angela Volan provided an important
analysis of the Byzantine understanding of the teleological course of history and apocalyptic
prophesies. See Angela Volan, Last Judgments and Last Emperors: Illustrating Apocalyptic
History in Late- and Post-Byzantine Art (Chicago, 2005).
49 André Grabar’s L’empereur dans l’art byzantin (Paris, 1936 [1971]) remains the principal study
of imperial imagery, which he treats as inherently conservative in nature. Earlier monographs
include Jean Ebersolt, Les arts somptuaires de Byzance; Étude sur l’art impérial de Constantinople
(Paris, 1923); and Spyridon Lampros, Λεύκωμα Βυζαντινῶν αὐτοκρατόρων (Athens, 1930).
Among the more recent studies of imperial imagery, see Robert S. Nelson and Paul Magdalino,
“The Emperor in Byzantine Art of the Twelfth Century,” ByzF, 8 (1982), 123–83 [repr. Paul
Magdalino, Tradition and Transformation in Medieval Byzantium (Aldershot, 1991), IV];
Henry Maguire, “Images of the Court” in Helen C. Evans and William D. Wixom (eds.), The
Glory of Byzantium: Art and Culture of the Middle Byzantine Era, A.D. 843–1261 (New York,
1997), 183–91; Henry Maguire, “The Heavenly Court” in Henry Maguire (ed.), Byzantine

discernible innovations. Indeed, as discussed above, the addition of the

emperor’s portrait to chrysobulls during this later Byzantine period repre-
sents one such innovation, as does the introduction of the emperor’s effigy
to official court dress, where the skaranikon designates imperial allegiance
in clear visual terms – and again, representations of court officials and dig-
nitaries wearing skaranika survive in an impressive array of media from
the Palaiologan period. As the following chapters make clear, even when
largesse was compromised by an economic scarcity that rendered the gen-
erous imperial ideal highly problematic, the imperial image was extended
as a gift in the most urgent diplomatic contexts. This book thus insists that
decline itself is not simply negative, but also contains a recuperative, even
generative, dimension. It asks, in other words, what decline enables. What
new patterns of artistic practice, patronage, and munificence emerge in the
face of decline?

Organization

The trajectory of Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline is gov-

erned by the physical heart of the empire, Constantinople. The first part
of the book centers on Constantinople’s reconquest from the Latins in
the thirteenth century; the city’s eight-year-long Ottoman siege following
the devastating civil wars in the fourteenth century motivates the second
half. The beginning of the Palaiologan period and its near end, in other
words, provide the frame for the book.50 Under the rubric “Adventus: the
emperor and the city,” the three chapters that comprise Part I engage the
1261 Byzantine restoration of Constantinople. Collectively they investigate
the visual negotiation of legitimacy and sovereignty in the opening years

Court Culture from 829 to 1204 (Washington DC, 1997), 247–58 [repr. Henry Maguire, Image
and Imagination in Byzantine Art (Aldershot, 2007), XI]; and Alicia Walker, The Emperor and
the World: Exotic Elements and the Imaging of Byzantine Imperial Power, Ninth to Thirteenth
Centuries CE (Cambridge, 2012). Complementing these studies of imperial imagery are the
following studies of the imperial office, imperial ritual, and political theory: Otto Treitinger,
Die oströmische Kaiser- und Reichsidee nach ihrer Gestaltung im höfischen Zeremoniell: Vom
oströmischen Staats- und Reichsgedanken (Darmstadt, 1956); Dagron, Emperor and Priest;
Hélène Ahrweiler, L’idéologie politique de l’Empire byzantin (Paris, 1975); and Dimiter
Angelov, Imperial Ideology and Political Thought in Byzantium, 1204–1330 (Cambridge, 2007).
50 To be clear, the book is divided into two parts by the civil wars of the fourteenth century. The
first part of the book centers primarily on the reigns of the first Palaiologoi, Michael VIII, and
his son Andronikos II, whose abdication in 1328 ended the First Civil War (1321–8). Resuming
after the Second Civil War (1341–7), the second part is set primarily during the reigns of
Manuel II and his son John VIII.

of the later Byzantine Empire through three key images of Michael VIII,
the first Palaiologan emperor, that engage in differing manners the Byzan-
tine restoration of the imperial city, which was conceptualized as a divine
gift.
The opening chapter, set in the years immediately preceding the recon-
quest of Constantinople, provides a sustained analysis of a silk textile, or
peplos, sent to Genoa as part of the 1261 Treaty of Nymphaion, the treaty
through which Michael, then emperor in exile in Nicaea, formalized an
alliance with the Commune of Genoa in an attempt to reconquer Latin-
occupied Constantinople. At the center of the silk, the emperor is depicted
being led into the church of Genoa framed by a detailed hagiographic cycle
of St Lawrence, the patron saint of the Genoese church for which the silk was
destined (Figure 1.1). Through the imbrication of imperial image, hagio-
graphic narrative, and political pact, this diplomatic gift is read in Chapter 1
as a visual encomium to the emperor and to imperial transaction on the eve
of the defining event of the later Byzantine period and the event for which
the peplos was custom-created: the return of Byzantine rule to the imperial
city.
After 1261, the emperor celebrated the Byzantine restoration of Con-
stantinople through a new visual vocabulary of thanksgiving, as evidenced
by a monumental bronze statue erected in the restored city and a related
imperial design serially struck and circulated on gold coins, the subjects
of Chapters 2 and 3, respectively. Read as the emanation of a fundamen-
tally fraught reign, the bronze monument depicted the emperor offering a
model of the imperial city to the archestrategos and was erected in front of the
Church of the Holy Apostles as part of the emperor’s agenda of association
with Constantine the Great. Analysis of this no longer extant monument
elucidates the problem of legitimacy, one of the key contested issues facing
the early Palaiologoi. Beyond forging visual and thematic connections with
other imperial monuments from the past throughout the recently restored
city, this chapter proposes that the lost monument commemorates imperial
genealogy while simultaneously participating in the inauguration of a new
iconography of the prostrate emperor, one that signals a profound shift in
imperial ideology.
Imperial gold coinage, in all likelihood, provided the most immediate
pictorial source for the lost bronze monument. Like the bronze monument,
gold coins struck after the imperial restoration of Constantinople depicted
the emperor on his knees in a visual dialogue that similarly engaged issues of
thanksgiving and legitimacy. The reverse of Michael VIII’s gold hyperpyron
represents the emperor on knee being presented by his angelic advocate to

Christ, and the obverse presents an image of the orant Virgin surrounded
by the walls of Constantinople (Figures 3.2–3.4). Chapter 3 reads this
unprecedented iconography according to the transactional logic of displaced
giving and imperial instrumentality, a concept emphasized in rhetorical
sources of the period. Coinage, the very medium of economic exchange
that crossed geographical and political boundaries, disseminated this spe-
cific vision of imperium to a wide context and is thus ideally suited to trace
the circulation of the new image of the emperor for the much-changed later
Byzantine Empire. This chapter advances the claims of the previous chapter
in its discussion of the innovative visual rhetoric inaugurated by the impe-
rial capital’s reconquest, but it also constitutes the transition to Part II, in
that it traces the numismatic reconfigurations prompted by the instability
of Palaiologan succession, and the rupture of the fourteenth-century civil
wars when Byzantine gold ceased to be struck altogether.
In examining the art and politics of the restored Byzantine capital, Part
I argues for the instantiation of a new and distinctly Palaiologan impe-
rial image. It further assesses the nature of the empire’s restoration. What
previous models of rule were evoked and at what cost was the restoration
effected? The large silk peplos sent to the Italian maritime city, as well as
the monumental bronze effigy of imperial gift-giving and the serially struck
gold coins, usher in a period where largesse would be compromised by an
economic scarcity that rendered the generous imperial ideal more prob-
lematic. Within the new economic constraints of this age, what patterns of
artistic practice, patronage, and largesse emerged?
Part II of the book provides some provisional answers to these ques-
tions. Under the rubric of the “‘Atoms of Epicurus’: the imperial image
as gift in an age of decline,” Chapters 4 and 5 turn to diplomatic gift-
giving strategies in the early fifteenth century. These chapters argue for the
cultivation of two distinct later Byzantine imperial identities: that of the
emperor as custodian of a long and venerable philosophical tradition and
also as the guardian of Orthodox spirituality. In the restored but politically
and economically unstable diplomatic arena of the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries, new diplomatic gift-giving strategies needed to be developed.
Byzantine textiles, icons, and relics were still extended as gifts as they had
been in earlier times, though often recycled and re-gifted, but their status
across the Mediterranean was significantly diminished as the silk trade had
been demonopolized, trade routes relinquished, and sacred relics looted by
Latin crusaders.
New sources of value for exchange with the courts of Western Europe
were required, and Greek learning was cultivated in order to meet this

diplomatic need. Chapter 4 takes as its focus an illuminated manuscript

of the Neoplatonic writings of Pseudo Dionysios the Areopagite that was
sent to Paris in 1408 after Manuel II’s extended diplomatic mission to the
West (Figures 4.3–4.4). By tracing the elaborate genealogy of past gifts to
which it relates, this chapter sees this book as part of a conscious fostering
of Greek studies on the part of the Byzantine imperial administration.
The Renaissance fascination with Hellenism emerges here as an informed
Byzantine diplomatic strategy: the imperial court recognized western desires
for Greek texts and, taking advantage of that interest, fostered Hellenic
studies through gifts of manuscripts and teachers.
A vastly different visual rhetoric was employed within the larger Orthodox
oikoumene. One consequence of the tenuous socio-political climate of the
era was that Orthodoxy itself became the subject of diplomatic negotiation.
In the beginning of the Palaiologan period, Michael VIII attempted to
subject the Byzantine Church to Rome at the Council of Lyons (1274),
and in the final years of the Palaiologoi, John VIII agreed to a unification
of the Eastern and Western Churches at the Council of Ferrara-Florence
(1438–9). The tension between Byzantine spirituality and empire – and
in particular an impoverished empire – is explored in Chapter 5, which
considers an elaborate liturgical vestment made in Constantinople and
sent to the metropolitan of Kiev and all of Russia in the early fifteenth
century (Figures 5.2–5.5). Embedded within the elaborate liturgical cycle
are representations of the future Emperor John VIII alongside his bride
Anna of Moscow, in addition to her parents and the Metropolitan Photios,
who was appointed by the patriarch of Constantinople. While the vestment
celebrates the union through marriage of the Muscovite and Byzantine royal
houses, it ultimately emphasizes Orthodoxy as the source of their unity
above all. Chapter 5 argues that imperial Constantinople is positioned as
the source for Orthodoxy, and in this way the sakkos is read as a visual analog
to the celebrated letter of Patriarch Anthony reminding the Grand Duke of
Moscow that there could be no church without the empire.
∗ ∗ ∗

By taking as a point of departure art objects themselves – their agency, sta-

tus, and social lives – the present study brings conceptual issues of cultural
exchange to the concrete level of material culture. The theoretical stakes
therefore hinge upon the status of the art object. Following anthropolo-
gists who study the “social lives of things,” to borrow a phrase from Arjun
Appadurai, this book assumes that gifts from the beleaguered late Byzantine
Empire contain the kind of agency usually associated with individuals rather

than objects.51 As extended gestures of their givers, they become metonymic

evocations of the desires and aspirations of their creators. While I insist on
the strategic nature of gifts – and accordingly read their visual programs in
light of the very precise political and ideological contexts of their creation
and dissemination – it is imperative to distinguish between intention and
reception, and to acknowledge that gifts mediate a middle ground. The anal-
yses in the pages that follow are driven by the objects of analysis themselves
and their precise formal and material properties. This book thus remains
rooted in the techniques of art historical inquiry and hence attends to the
particular formal idiom expressed in each instance. The particular ratio-
nale for the focus on things, however, is to be found in the historiography
of Byzantine art itself within the wider art historical field. The insistence
on looking closely at particular moments, monuments, and trajectories of
cultural encounter serves as a means of countering broad generalizations
about Byzantine pictorial “influence,” where the eastern empire is rendered
passive and unchanging in a teleology that privileges the rise of the West.
By interrogating the concrete transfer of objects, this book seeks to provide
a more nuanced and dynamic account of medieval artistic exchange, one
that takes into account the temporal dimensions of power and the changing
fates of empires.

51 This approach to objects and their cultural life is indebted to anthropological theorists
discussed above, such as Mauss, Weiner, Bourdieu, Appadurai, and Kopytoff, as well as to
scholars of literary and cultural studies, such as Bill Brown and Bruno Latour. See Bill Brown,
“Thing Theory,” Critical Inquiry, 28(1) (2001), 1–22; and Bill Brown, “Reification,
Reanimation and the American Uncanny,” Critical Inquiry, 32(2) (2006), 175–207; and Bruno
Latour, “Introduction: How to Resume the Task of Tracing Associations” and “Third Source of
Uncertainty: Objects Too Have Agency” in Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to
Actor-Network-Theory (Oxford, 2005), 1–17 and 63–86, respectively. These investigations of
“thing theory” have been fruitfully embraced by art historians such as Jennifer L. Roberts in
“Copley’s Cargo: Boy with a Squirrel and the Dilemma of Transit,” American Art, 21(2) (2007),
20–41. A useful point of entry to this debate is Fiona Candlin and R. Guins (eds.), The Object
Reader. In Sight: Visual Culture (Abingdon, 2008).

Adventus: the emperor and the city

Introduction to Part I

On August 15, 1261, Michael VIII Palaiologos entered Constantinople,

after the fifty-seven-year Latin occupation of the famed Byzantine capital
resulting from the violent conquests of the Fourth Crusade. Like victori-
ous emperors of the past, his adventus followed the triumphal route from
the Golden Gate along the Mese to the Great Church and Palace.1 As in
previous eras, it featured potent symbols of divine grace as part of the tri-
umphal repertoire of imperial ceremonial, but it also struck a new tone of
thanksgiving. After all, Michael was not returning to the imperial city from
conquests at the fringes of an expansive empire, but rather was celebrat-
ing the restoration of the heart of a fragmented and beleaguered one, the
Queen of Cities, which bore associations of sacral-imperial authority like
no other. The emperor’s solemn procession took place on the feast day of
the Dormition of the Virgin and featured special reverence for the icon of
the Theotokos from the Hodegon Monastery.2 That icon was installed high
on one of the towers of the Golden Gate for the initial prayers and it led the
emperor’s procession into the city.3

1 On the adventus, see E. H. Kantorowicz, “The ‘King’s Advent’ and the Enigmatic Panels in the
Doors of Santa Sabina,” ArtB, 26(4) (1944), 207–31; Sabine MacCormack, Art and Ceremony in
Late Antiquity (Berkeley, 1981); Michael McCormick, Eternal Victory: Triumphal Rulership in
Late Antiquity, Byzantium, and the Early Medieval West (Cambridge, 1986); and for a western
perspective, see David A. Warner, “Ritual and Memory in the Ottonian Reich: The Ceremony of
Adventus,” Speculum, 76(2) (2001), 255–83.
2 Akropolites makes the point that although the emperor arrived at Constantinople on the
previous day, he waited until the next morning for his adventus. See Ruth Macrides, George
Akropolites: The History (Oxford, 2007), §88. On the Virgin Hodegetria, see Robert Lee Wolff,
“Footnote to an Incident of the Latin Occupation of Constantinople: The Church and the Icon
of the Hodegetria,” Traditio, 6 (1948), 319–28; and more recently, C. Angelidi and T.
Papamastorakis, “The Veneration of the Virgin Hodegetria and the Hodegon Monastery” in
M. Vassilaki (ed.), Mother of God: Representations of the Virgin in Byzantine Art (Athens, 2000),
373–87; and Bissera Pentcheva, Icons and Power: The Mother of God in Byzantium (University
Park, 2006), 109–43.
3 Macrides, George Akropolites, 383–4, §88: “Climbing up to one of the towers of the Golden
Gate, with the image of the Theotokos which is named after the monastery ton Odegon, [the
metropolitan of Kyzikos] recited the prayers in the hearing of all.” 27

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. Boston University Theology Library, on 28 May 2017 at 18:05:32, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.002
28 Adventus: the emperor and the city

Michael’s adventus was staged not only to coincide with the Virgin’s feast
day to honor her as the protector of the city but also to showcase the
emperor’s piety and the divinely sanctioned nature of the reconquest. Con-
temporary historian George Akropolites, who witnessed the event, empha-
sizes the reverential tone of the 1261 adventus. His description conveys the
solemn ceremonial mood through gestures and comportment, specifically
through a ritual cycle of prayer and prostration. He describes a staggered
progression of ritual gestures of reverence led by the emperor as follows:
The monarch took off his kalyptra and, bending his knee, fell to the ground and
all those with him who were behind him fell to their knees. When the first of the
prayers had been recited and the deacon made the motion to rise up, all stood
up and called out the “Kyrie Eleesion” 100 times. And when these were finished
another prayer was pronounced by the bishop. What happened for the first prayer
happened in turn for the second and so on until the completion of all the prayers.
When this holy ritual had taken place in this way, the emperor entered the Golden
Gate in a manner more reverential to God than imperial; for he proceeded on foot,
while the icon of the Mother of God preceded him.4

This arresting performance of thanksgiving, for Akropolites, gave the spiri-

tual precedence over the imperial in its stress on reverence. As Ruth Macrides
has demonstrated, Michael’s adventus emphasized thanksgiving far more
than victory.5
This is not to say that the adventus was not marked by joy as well. Akropo-
lites makes it clear that all Romans “felt gladness of heart and immense
joy” at the event. But this “extreme pleasure” was paired with near doubt
“because of the unexpectedness of the event.”6 As we will see in the following
chapters, the restoration of Constantinople to Byzantine rule was attributed
neither to Michael’s military might nor to his diplomatic prowess, but to
divine favor alone. Michael’s role in the restoration of Constantinople, in
other words, was promoted as emphatically instrumental, not causal.
Michael’s adventus is distinctive in its innovation. While selectively draw-
ing on ceremonial terms inherited from his predecessors, it was ritually
choreographed to emphasize the divine nature of the Byzantine restoration

4 Ibid.; and BFP, 20. Akropolites was commissioned to write thirteen prayers, each with a
different theme, to be read out by the metropolitan at the Golden Gate. The prayers themselves
do not survive, but Holobolos preserves the subject of each of the prayers. See Ruth Macrides,
“The New Constantine and the New Constantinople – 1261?” BMGS, 6 (1980), 36–7.
5 Macrides, “The New Constantine,” 13. See also Macrides, George Akropolites, 383–8; and
Vincent Puech, “La refondation religieuse de Constantinople par Michel VIII Paléologue” in
Patrick Boucheron and Jacques Chiffoleau (eds.), Religion et Société Urbaine au Moyen Âge
(Paris, 2000), 351–63.
6 Macrides, George Akropolites, 383–4, §88. The “unexpectedness” of the restoration is reiterated
in typika, as will be discussed in Chapter 2.

of the imperial city. This shift in ritual register sets the tone, to a certain
extent, for our understanding of the final centuries of the Byzantine Empire
ushered in by Michael’s reconquest of Constantinople.7 In his adventus,
we see the emergence of a new imperial image that is indebted to previ-
ous models of rule, but is simultaneously reconfigured in the service of
contemporary exigencies.8
Gilbert Dagron’s analysis of the role of ceremonial in the negotiation
of the imperial office emphasized that the transitions and transformations
enacted by the Byzantine adventus “gave the emperor not power, which he

7 The principal studies of the Palaiologan reconquest of Constantinople remain Alice-Mary

Talbot, “The Restoration of Constantinople under Michael VIII,” DOP, 47 (1993), 243–61;
Macrides, “The New Constantine,” 13–41; and Ruth Macrides, “From the Komnenoi to the
Palaiologoi: Imperial Models in Decline and Exile” in Paul Magdalino (ed.), New Constantines:
The Rhythm of Imperial Renewal in Byzantium, 4th–13th Centuries; Papers from the Twenty-Sixth
Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, St. Andrews, March 1992 (Aldershot, 1994), 269–82. On
early Palaiologan patronage in Constantinople, see Alice-Mary Talbot, “Empress Theodora
Palaiologina, Wife of Michael VIII,” DOP, 46 (1992), 295–303 [repr. Women and Religious Life
in Byzantium (Aldershot, 2001)]; Sophia Kalopissi-Verti, “Patronage and Artistic Production in
Byzantium during the Palaiologan Period” in Brooks (ed.), Perspectives on Late Byzantine Art
and Culture, 76–97; Vassilios Kidonopoulos, Bauten in Konstantinopel, 1204–1328: Verfall und
Zerstörung, Restaurierung, Umbau und Neubau von Profan- und Sakralbauten (Wiesbaden,
1994); as well as his “The Urban Physiognomy of Constantinople from the Latin Conquest
through the Palaiologan Era” in Brooks (ed.), Perspectives on Late Byzantine Art and Culture,
98–117. The main monographs on Michael VIII Palaiologos are Deno J. Geanakoplos, Emperor
Michael Palaeologus and the West, 1258–1282: A Study in Byzantine–Latin Relations (Cambridge,
MA, 1959); and C. Chapman, Michel Paléologue, restaurateur de l’Empire byzantin (1261–1282)
(Paris, 1926). See also Dölger, “Die dynastische Familienpolitik des Kaisers Michael VIII.
Palaiologo” in M. Grabmann and K. Hofmann (eds.), Festschrift Eduard Eichmann zum 70.
Geburtstag: Dargebracht von seinen Freunden und Schülern in Verbindung mit Wilhelm Laforet
(Paderborn, 1940), 179–90 [repr. Paraspora: 30 Aufsätze zur Geschichte, Kultur und Sprache des
byzantinischen Reiches (Munich, 1961), 178–88]; and Ahrweiler, L’idéologie politique de l’Empire
byzantin, 115–28.
8 Macrides, “From the Komnenoi to the Palaiologoi,” 274, points out that this first Palaiologan
imperial adventus combined Komnenian ceremonial with even older practice: in its honoring of
the icon of the Virgin, it echoed the triumphant entrances of John II and Manuel I Komnenos,
but the twelfth-century triumphs were not staged at the Golden Gate. The Komnenian
prominence of the icon of the Virgin, in turn, followed the tenth-century precedent of
Tzimiskes. It should be noted that Michael was not the first emperor to adopt such a spectacular
public performance of humility. In its tone, it is also reminiscent of the kind of humility that
characterized Heraclius’s ceremonial, especially the thanksgiving procession at the Golden Gate
following the Avar siege, on which see McCormick, Eternal Victory, 75–6. Note that Heraclius’s
adventus with the True Cross in Jerusalem, when he famously bathed the ground with tears, is
represented in a seventh-century relief in Mren, on which see Christina Maranci, “The Humble
Heraclius: Revisiting the North Portal at Mren,” Revue des Études Arméniennes, 31 (2009),
359–72, which substantially advances the arguments of Michel and Nicole Thierry, “La
cathédrale de Mren et sa decoration,” CA, 21 (1971), 43–77. Stephan Borgehammar, “Heraclius
Learns Humility: Two Early Latin Accounts Composed for the Celebration of Exaltatio Crucis”
in Millennium: Jahrbuch zu Kultur und Geschichte des ersten Jahrtausends n. Chr., 6 (2009),
145–201, has addressed Heraclius in the West, and the relation of the Latin legend to Byzantine
traditions.

already possessed, but legitimacy, which he still lacked.”9 This assessment

strikes an especially poignant note with regard to Michael Palaiologos.
While he had risen through the ranks in Nicaea, home of the Byzantine
Empire in exile, and had been crowned co-emperor there, the restoration of
Constantinople – and the reverential tone of his adventus – conferred a sense
of legitimacy on him and his line, despite the fact that he was, essentially, a
usurper. This point is elaborated in subsequent chapters, especially Chapters
2 and 3, which interpret two of the most prominent public images of Michael
VIII created after the restoration of Constantinople to Byzantine rule: the
no longer extant bronze monument erected in front of the Church of the
Holy Apostles and his gold coinage that disseminated a new imperial image
beyond the recently restored borders of the late Byzantine Empire (Figures
3.2–3.4). Both depict the emperor on knee and thus promulgate a message
of seeming humility in the service of an agenda of legitimation. What
follows immediately in Chapter 1, however, turns back to a time when
Michael possessed neither full imperial power nor legitimacy. In Nicaea,
on the eve of the reclamation of Constantinople, the emperor’s effigy was
embroidered on an elaborate silk peplos commissioned as a diplomatic gift
for the Genoese in conjunction with the Treaty of Nymphaion (Figure
1.1). Analysis of this sumptuous Byzantine silk of unparalleled political and
pictorial complexity reveals the mechanisms by which the imperial image
was deployed strategically at a moment of utmost diplomatic urgency.
Collectively, the three chapters that constitute Part I of this study approach
the opening years of the Palaiologan period and the Byzantine restoration of
Constantinople through the lens of the gift. An initial analysis of the extant
silken gift offered to seal the diplomatic pact designed to retake the city
precedes two chapters that explore the complex visual language of imperial
thanksgiving and commemoration that followed the emperor’s reverential
adventus. Each case reveals finely calibrated gradations of seeming imperial
generosity in the service of ultimately establishing hierarchy and Palaiologan
sovereignty.

9 Dagron, Emperor and Priest, 65.

When Manuel Holobolos described the image of Michael Palaiologos given

to the Genoese in conjunction with the Treaty of Nymphaion, he drew
analogies with a city’s fortification, its adamantine walls and parapets, in
order to emphasize the protective power of the portrait. Such invocations
linking the supernaturally efficacious material image to the city’s walls echo
the role of the Virgin’s icon in the protection of Constantinople.1 His further
characterization of the emperor’s likeness as a pharmakon casts the image
into the realm of the talismanic or amuletic by underscoring the potency
and agency of the image as a cure or remedy. But the term itself is laden with
ambiguity and contradiction in its wide semantic range covering both source
and solution, poison and cure. It cannot be reduced to a single definition,
but rather is marked by its irreducibility and ambivalence. This double-
edged valence of the term pharmakon has inspired modern theorists to
explain the contradiction inherent in gift-giving, that is, the fact that giving
usually concerns gaining and is thus strategically self-centered rather than
disinterested.2
Given the power attributed to the image by Holobolos, we might imagine
the imperial portrait as a majestic effigy of the emperor standing frontally
immobile and commanding the viewer’s respect as an icon worthy of the
potency ascribed to it – in other words, we might expect that it exhibited
the hieratic calm of traditional imperial portraiture. This is not the case, as
Holobolos was speaking about a particular and peculiar imperial image. In
fact, his oration, as we will see below, describes two silken imperial portraits
given to the Genoese. One of these survives in the collection of Genoa’s
Museo di Sant’Agostino (Figure 1.1).3 Until the seventeenth century, it was
held in the Treasury of San Lorenzo, Genoa’s cathedral, which is represented

1 See note 28 below for more on the oration. The role of the image of the Virgin and
Constantinople will be discussed further in Chapter 3.
2 Again, as noted in the introduction, the pharmakon features prominently in the studies of
Derrida in particular. See also the discussion of the linguistic roots of the double-edged
vocabulary of gift-giving by Benveniste, “Gift and Exchange.”
3 At the time of this chapter’s composition, the silk had been de-installed from the Palazzo Bianco
Gallery, where it had been installed since 1950 with the accession number GPB 2073, and was
awaiting transfer to Florence to undergo an extensive conservation program. Upon its return to 31

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. Columbia University Libraries, on 28 May 2017 at 18:01:49, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.003
Figure 1.1 Embroidered silk of St Lawrence, associated saints, and Michael VIII Palaiologos, 1261, Genoa, Civiche Collezioni, Museo di Sant’Agostino
Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. Columbia University Libraries, on 28 May 2017 at 18:01:49, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.003
The imperial image and the end of exile 33

at the center of the textile. Measuring approximately one and one-quarter

by three and three-quarter meters (1.28 × 3.74 meters), the large, well-
preserved purple embroidery depicts in two ten-scene registers the life
of St Lawrence and associated martyrs punctuated by an image of the
Byzantine Emperor Michael VIII Palaiologos with the Archangel Michael
and St Lawrence at its center. Although it adheres mainly to Byzantine
embroidery customs and depicts a Palaiologan emperor at its center, its
intended destination, Genoa, is equally prominent: the inscriptions are
Latin rather than Greek, and the subject matter, the life of St Lawrence,
corresponds to its destination, the cathedral of San Lorenzo in Genoa. The
dual emphasis of the silk is explained by the fact that it was custom created
as a gift for the Genoese in conjunction with the Treaty of Nymphaion, the
political pact through which Michael secured overseas assistance to reclaim
Constantinople from the Latins.
The imperial effigy on the silk in Genoa is thus embedded within an
elaborate pictorial cycle that relates simultaneously to the gift’s destination,
the church of San Lorenzo, and to the primary motivation for which it was
commissioned, the restoration of Constantinople to Byzantine rule. In this
sense, Holobolos’s invocation of the pharmakon seems especially poignant.
The imagery of the silk, with its embedded portrait of the emperor, sets
off a chain of associations that on one level seems generous, even flattering
for its recipients, and at the same time, when read more closely, articulates
Byzantine superiority. In this sense, the silk does not conform at all to our

Genoa, it will be installed in the Museo di Sant’Agostino. The primary studies of the Byzantine
“pallio,” as it has come to be known in the scholarship, are Pauline Johnstone, “The Byzantine
‘Pallio’ in the Palazzo Bianco at Genoa,” Gazette des Beaux Arts, 87 (1976), 99–108; Elena Parma
Armani, “Nuove Indagini sul ‘Pallio’ Bizantino Duecentesco di San Lorenzo in Palazzo Bianco a
Genova,” Studi di storia delle arte, 5 (1983–85), 31–47; Peter Schreiner, “Zwei Denkmäler aus
der frühen Paläologenzeit: Ein Bildnis Michels VIII. und der Genueser Pallio” in Marcel Restle
(ed.), Festschrift für Klaus Wessel zum 70. Geburtstag: In memoriam (Munich, 1988), 249–57;
Carla Falcone, “Il ‘Pallio’ bizantino di San Lorenzo a Genova: Una riconsiderazione,” Arte
cristiana, 84 (1996), 337–52; Anna Rosa Calderoni Masetti, “Considerazioni finali, con una
noterella minima sul Pallio di ‘San Lorenzo,’” in Calderoni Masetti, Clario Di Fabio, and Mario
Marcenaro (eds.), Tessuti, oreficerie, miniature in Liguria, XIII–XV secolo (Bordighera, 1999),
403–11; Andrea Paribeni, “Il pallio di San Lorenzo a Genova” in Antonio Iacobini and Mauro
Della Valle (eds.), L’arte di Bisanzio e l’Italia al tempo dei Paleologi 1261–1453 [Milion 5] (Rome,
1999), 229–52; and Ida Toth, “The Narrative Fabric of the Genoese Pallio and the Silken
Diplomacy of Michael VIII Palaiologos” in Hallie G. Meredith (ed.), Objects in Motion: The
Circulation of Religion and Sacred Objects in the Late Antique and Byzantine World (Oxford,
2011), 91–109. Much of this chapter is a slightly revised version of Cecily J. Hilsdale, “The
Imperial Image at the End of Exile: The Byzantine Embroidered Silk in Genoa and the Treaty of
Nymphaion (1261),” DOP, 64 (2010), 151–99, which, it should be noted, includes color photos
of the silk.

expectations of majestic, immobile, hieratic calm of imperial portraiture,

as seen in earlier mosaics in the south gallery of Hagia Sophia invoked
in the Introduction (Figures 0.1–0.3) or in the later manuscript images
of Manuel II Palaiologos, which will be discussed in Chapter 4 (Figures
4.4 and 4.5). Instead, as this chapter will argue, the emperor is integrated
into a complicated narrative of hagiographic largesse, one that hints at an
ulterior message of imperial hierarchy. As a gift, one astutely described as
a pharmakon by Holobolos, its logic is fundamentally contradictory and its
extension was strategic.
Following an overview of the political context surrounding the textile’s
creation, this chapter considers first its main contemporary textual source,
Holobolos’s encomium to the emperor. It then turns to the imagery of the
embroidered silk itself. An examination of the intersection of hagiographic
and imperial imagery clarifies the implications of the silk’s creation and
extension as a diplomatic gift in conjunction with the Byzantine restoration
of Constantinople in 1261. Hinging on a number of rivalries, including
political rivalries among Byzantine Greek successor states and commercial
rivalries among Italian maritime republics, this chapter argues that the
imagery of the textile constitutes a visual encomium to Michael VIII, an
encomium similar in many ways to the surviving imperial oration in which
it is described, but one intended for a foreign and strategically significant
audience. The end result is an image of imperial largesse particular to
the emperor’s diplomatic agenda on the eve of the end of exile, before
his spectacularly reverential adventus, before he was hailed in earnest as
the Emperor of the Romans and before he cultivated the epithet of New
Constantine as part of his agenda of Palaiologan legitimation.

The end of exile: the Treaty of Nymphaion

The embroidered silk now in Genoa is associated with the 1261 Treaty of
Nymphaion, the Genoese–Byzantine alliance forged with the intention of
reconquering Constantinople from the Latins who had occupied the coveted
imperial capital since 1204. With the Fourth Crusade and the establishment
of the Latin Empire of Constantinople, the Venetians gained a decided com-
mercial advantage over the Genoese, who were forced to cultivate alternate
maritime enterprises, and the Byzantines were expelled from their imperial
city and forced to regroup in exile. Although the restoration of Constantino-
ple to Byzantine rule was accomplished in 1261, the city’s successful recla-
mation did not depend fully on the Genoese assistance that was stipulated

in the treaty. The relationship of the treaty to the primary event it con-
cerned is therefore an odd one: with hindsight, it appears that the Byzantine
restoration of the imperial city was attained almost by accident, regardless
of the treaty.4 The garrison and fleet had left Constantinople defenseless
and Michael Palaiologos’s general Alexios Strategopoulos entered the city
without violence, causing the Latin rulers to flee. Yet the stakes of the treaty
should not be underestimated. Through this pact, the Genoese entered into
alliance with the schismatic Greeks against the Latins in Constantinople, an
act that put them at risk of excommunication,5 and the Byzantine Empire in
Nicaea, struggling for legitimation, received long-distance allies to support
its ambitions. In this sense, we should read the treaty as the culmination of
two major rivalries: the long-held commercial rivalry between the Italian
maritime powers of Genoa and Venice, and at the same time the political
rivalry between the Empire of Nicaea and the other Byzantine claimants in
exile.
The 1204 conquest and occupation of Constantinople revealed the
fragility of the Byzantine imperial office and called into question the limits of
imperial authority and ideology. In its aftermath, a struggle for organized
Byzantine resistance to Latin rule was divided among Nicaea in western
Asia Minor, Epiros in Greece, and Trebizond on the southeast corner of the
Black Sea. To consolidate the legacy of Byzantine imperium, each of these
three successor states claimed its own emperor of the Romans and each had
its eye on the recovery of Constantinople as the ultimate means of legiti-
mation. Territorial control was merely one aspect of the self-fashioning of
imperium in exile, where even commitment to Orthodoxy became a means
of distinguishing among the three rival claimants.6 The fact that Nicaea
engaged in unionist discussions, for example, proved a point of contention

4 The details of the treaty are discussed at greater length below.

5 Geanakoplos, Emperor Michael Palaeologus, 83–4; Peter Schreiner, “Bisanzio e Genova:
Tentativo di un’analisi delle relazioni politiche, commerciali, e culturali” in Studia
Byzantino-Bulgarica (Vienna, 1986), 2, 135–6. Steven A. Epstein, Genoa and the Genoese,
958–1528 (Chapel Hill, 1996), 150, describes the treaty as “an astute gamble” by the Genoese
which put them at risk not only of excommunication by the Pope but also of revenge by the
Venetians. Thus the treaty, according to Epstein, “combined business, pleasure from evening the
score with Venice, and risk.”
6 Antony Eastmond, Art and Identity in Thirteenth-Century Byzantium: Hagia Sophia and the
Empire of Trebizond (Aldershot, 2004), 3, has characterized the ethos of this period of exile well:
“While Constantinople remained in Latin hands and the Greek contenders sought to build up
their own power bases outside the symbolic capital, the war had to be fought by different
means, in which government and Orthodoxy, honour and legitimacy, ceremony and ritual were
all key weapons. It was a fight for the aura, symbols and authority of imperial rule as much as
for the real power that might accompany it. This was a battle to recreate the empire in exile; and
each successor state sought to argue that it was the true inheritor of the power and authority of

against which Epirote and Trapezuntine factions positioned themselves. It

is also during this period of exile that a more fully articulated form of a
Byzantine “Hellenic” identity was cultivated.7 Michael Angold has argued
that the concept of “Hellenic” as a pendant to “Roman” identity emerged
in this period as a means of differentiating Nicene Greeks not only from the
Latins but also from the other Greeks, particularly in Epiros.8 The Treaty of
Nymphaion was therefore set on the eve of the reconquest of Constantino-
ple, when the future configuration of the Byzantine Empire was still very
much uncertain – when negotiations over Byzantine identity in exile were
at their height and rivalries among claimants were still undetermined. It

the Byzantine Empire and that only its ruler could legitimately claim the titles and the attributes
of the emperor.” See also Dimiter Angelov, “Byzantine Ideological Reactions to the Latin
Conquest of Constantinople” in Angeliki Laiou (ed.), Urbs Capta: The Fourth Crusade and its
Consequences (Paris, 2005), 293–310, and also in the same volume, Alkmini Stavridou-Zafraka,
“The Political Ideology of the State of Epiros,” 311–23.
7 The literature on the subject of Hellenism in Byzantium, especially in relation to imperial
ideology in Nicaea, is extensive. See Hélène Ahrweiler, “L’expérience nicéene,” DOP, 29 (1975),
21–40; Ahrweiler, L’idéologie politique de l’Empire byzantin, 60–4; Michael Angold, “Byzantine
‘Nationalism’ and the Nicaean Empire,” BMGS, 1 (1975), 49–70; Michael Angold, “Greeks and
Latins After 1204: The Perspective of Exile” in Benjamin Arbel, Bernard Hamilton, and David
Jacoby (eds.), Latins and Greeks in the Eastern Mediterranean after 1204 (London, 1989), 63–86;
P. Gounaridis, “‘Grecs’, ‘Hellènes’ et ‘Romains’ dans l’état Nicée” in Vasilēs Kremmydas,
Chryssa Maltezou, and Nikolaos M. Panagiotakes (eds.), Αφιέρωμα στον Νίκο Σβορώνο
(Rethymno, 1986), 1:248–57; Dionysios A. Zakynthinos, “Rome dans la pensée politique de
Byzance du XIIIe au XVe siècle: La ‘théorie romaine’ à l’épreuve des faits” in Βυζάντιον·
Αφιέρωμα στον Ανδρέα Ν. Στράτο (Athens, 1986), 1:207–21; Speros Vryonis, Jr., “Byzantine
Cultural Self-Consciousness in the Fifteenth Century” in Ćurčić and Mouriki (eds.), The
Twilight of Byzantium, 5–14; Alexis Politis, “From Christian Roman Emperors to the Glorious
Greek Ancestors” in David Ricks and Paul Magdalino (ed.), Byzantium and the Modern Greek
Identity (Aldershot, 1998), 1–14; Paul Magdalino, “Hellenism and Nationalism in Byzantium”
in Tradition and Transformation in Medieval Byzantium (Aldershot, 1991), article XIV, 1–27;
Ruth Macrides and Paul Magdalino, “The Fourth Kingdom and the Rhetoric of Hellenism” in
Paul Magdalino (ed.), The Perception of the Past in Twelfth-Century Europe (London, 1992),
139–56; J. Koder, “Griechische Identitäten im Mittelalter: Aspekte einer Entwicklung” in A.
Avramea, A. E. Laiou, and E. Chrysos (eds.), Βυζάντιο κράτος και κοινωνία. Μνήμη Νίκου
Οικονομίδη (Athens, 2003), 297–316; Angelov, “Byzantine Ideological Reactions,” 299–303;
Roger Beaton, “Antique Nation? ‘Hellenes’ on the Eve of Greek Independence and in
Twelfth-Century Byzantium,” BMGS, 31(1) (2007), 76–95; Anthony Kaldellis, Hellenism in
Byzantium: The Transformations of Greek Identity and the Reception of the Classical Tradition
(Cambridge, 2007), 317–88; Anthony Kaldellis, “Historicism in Byzantine Thought and
Literature,” DOP, 61 (2007), 1–24; Angelov, Imperial Ideology, 95–98; Gill Page, Being
Byzantine: Greek Identity before the Ottomans (Cambridge, 2008); and Claudia Rapp, “Hellenic
Identity, Romanitas, and Christianity in Byzantium” in K. Zacharia (ed.), Hellenisms: Culture,
Identity, and Ethnicity from Antiquity to Modernity (Aldershot, 2008), 127–47.
8 Angold, “Byzantine ‘Nationalism,’” 64. Cf. Kaldellis, Hellenism in Byzantium, 383. The
particular relevance of Hellenism as the context for the textile in Genoa is addressed at greater
length toward the end of this chapter.

presented the possibility of legitimacy for Nicene rulers through the restora-
tion of the imperial city of New Rome.
From among the competing successor states of Nicaea, Epiros, and Tre-
bizond, Nicaea under the Laskarids ultimately assumed dominance. Nicaea
alone minted gold coinage during the interregnum, it was physically the
closest of the three states mentioned above to Constantinople, and it was
the first to claim a new ecumenical patriarch following the installation
of a Latin patriarch of Constantinople.9 Through a rapid series of events,
Michael Palaiologos assumed power of the Nicene Empire in exile: the death
of Theodore Laskaris and the subsequent revolt against George Mouzalon
resulted in the appointment of Michael as regent for, and then co-emperor
with, John IV Laskaris, the eight-year-old heir to the empire. Success at
the Battle of Pelagonia (1259), where Nicene forces overthrew the Epirote
coalition, further secured the position of Nicaea generally and Michael
Palaiologos in particular. This prompted an initial unsuccessful attempt
at recovering Constantinople (the Siege of Galata) and set the stage for
the Treaty of Nymphaion and the successful Byzantine restoration of Con-
stantinople (1261).10

9 On the coinage of Nicaea, see DOC IV/2, nos. 447–540. Cécile Morrisson, “Byzantine Money:
Its Production and Circulation” in EHB, 3:933, points out that Nicaea alone struck “a complete
series of Komnenian denominations.” Theodore I Laskaris did not strike gold, but Vatatzes
and Theodore II did. The main mint for the Nicene Empire was situated at Magnesia, which is
where the treasury was also located. The city of Nicaea was the ecclesiastic center and residence
of the patriarch – it was closer to Constantinople in order “to underline its claims to the
succession, but the city was of quite secondary importance in the organization of the state”
(DOC V/1, no. 57). In 1208, Theodore Laskaris had Michael Autoreianos elected patriarch. His
first act as patriarch, not surprisingly, was to crown and anoint Theodore and thus, in the
words of Michael Angold, “The Byzantine Empire was born in exile”: Church and Society in
Byzantium under the Comneni, 1081–1261 (Cambridge, 1995), 516. See also Michael Angold,
A Byzantine Government in Exile: Government and Society under the Laskarids of Nicaea,
1204–1261 (London, 1975); Donald M. Nicol, The Last Centuries of Byzantium, 1261–1453,
2nd edn. (Cambridge, 1993), 19–37; Nicolas Oikonomides, “La rinascita delle istituzioni
bizantine dopo il 1204” in P. Toubert and A. Paravicini Bagliani (eds.), Federico II e il mondo
mediterraneo (Palermo, 1995), 320–32 [repr. Society, Culture and Politics in Byzantium, article
XV]; and Günter Prinzing, “Das byzantinische Kaisertum im Umbruch – Zwischen regionaler
Aufspaltung und erneuter Zentrierung in den Jahren 1204–1282” in R. Gundlach and H.
Weber (eds.), Legitimation und Funktion des Herrschers vom ägyptischen Pharao zum
neuzeitlichen Diktator (Stuttgart, 1992), 129–83.
10 See Deno J. Geanakoplos, “Greco-Latin Relations on the Eve of the Byzantine Restoration: The
Battle of Pelagonia, 1259,” DOP, 7 (1953), 99–141; and Geanakoplos, Emperor Michael
Palaeologos, 47–74. Paribeni, “Il pallio di San Lorenzo,” 29, rightly points out that the Battle of
Pelagonia of 1259 marked a decisive change in the political situation. It is important to note
that following the Battle of Pelagonia, Michael secured diplomatic alliances on many fronts –
with the Seljuks, the Mongols, and the Bulgarians. The Genoese alliance therefore was one

The Treaty of Nymphaion thus aimed to distinguish Nicaea as the legiti-

mate Greek successor state, while at the same time marking the culmination
of a longer history of Byzantine–Genoese diplomatic relations that can be
traced back to an initial alliance of the mid-twelfth century that also involved
Italian commercial rivalries. Naval support was exchanged not merely for
gold or silver but also for trading privileges.11 The Byzantines relied on
western mercenary assistance and Italian cities competed with each other
for Byzantine commercial privileges, the most significant of which was
exemption from or reduction of the kommerkion, the ten-percent excise tax
on goods throughout the empire.12 By the twelfth century, the Republics
of Venice, Pisa, and Genoa vied for the favor of the Byzantine emperor
to secure economic privileges. Although both Genoa and Pisa in the late
eleventh century had focused their attentions on western Mediterranean
trade while Venice dominated eastern trade, the crusader states provided all
three cities with a common focus in the East. Venice had received substan-
tial privileges from Alexios I Komnenos as early as 1081, and Pisa followed
suit in 1111. It was not, however, until 1155 that Manuel Komnenos and
the Genoese entered into an alliance. The Byzantine emperor at this time

component of the larger diplomatic strategy. See Macrides, “The New Constantine,” 33; and
George Akropolites, 367–75.
11 See F. Dölger and J. Karayannopulos, Byzantinische Urkundenlehre (Munich, 1968), 1:89–107;
F. Dölger, Regesten der Kaiserurkunden des oströmischen Reiches: Von 565–1453, part 3, Regesten
von 1204–1282 (Munich, 1932); Sandra Origone, Bisanzio e Genova (Genoa, 1997), 87–124;
Michel Balard, La Romanie génoise: XIIe –début du XVe siècle, 2 vols. (Rome, 1978); Michel
Balard, “The Genoese in the Aegean (1204–1566)” in B. Arbel, B. Hamilton, and D. Jacoby
(eds.), Latins and Greeks in the Eastern Mediterranean after 1204 (London, 1989), 158–74;
Gerald W. Day, Genoa’s Response to Byzantium, 1155–1204: Commercial Expansion and
Factionalism in a Medieval City (Urbana, 1988); Società ligure di storia patria, Genova, Pisa e il
Mediterraneo tra due e trecento (Genoa, 1984); M. Tangheroni, Commercio e navigazione nel
Medioevo (Rome, 1996); and David Jacoby, “Byzantium, the Italian Maritime Powers, and the
Black Sea Before 1204,” BZ, 100(2) (2007), 677–99. See also Angeliki Laiou-Thomadakis, “The
Byzantine Economy in the Mediterranean Trade System, Thirteenth to Fifteenth Centuries,”
DOP, 34–35 (1980–1), 177–222 [repr. Gender, Society and Economic Life in Byzantium
(Aldershot, 1992), VII]; and her contributions to EHB, in particular “Economic and
Noneconomic Exchange,” 2:681–96, “Exchange and Trade, Seventh–Twelfth Centuries,”
2:697–708, and “Economic Thought and Ideology,” 3:1123–44.
12 On the κομμέρκιον, see David Jacoby, “Italian Privileges and Trade in Byzantium before the
Fourth Crusade: A Reconsideration,” Annuario de Estudios Medievales, 24 (1994), 349–68
[repr. Trade, Commodities and Shipping in the Medieval Mediterranean (Aldershot, 1997), III];
Hendy, Studies in the Byzantine Monetary Economy, 596–8; Nicolas Oikonomides, “The Role of
the Byzantine State in the Economy” in EHB, 3:987–88 and 1050–55; Nicolas Oikonomides,
“The Economic Region of Constantinople: From Directed Economy to Free Economy, and the
Role of the Italians” in Girolamo Arnaldi and Guglielmo Cavallo (eds.), Europa medievale e
mondo bizantino (Rome, 1997); as well as Klaus-Peter Matschke, “Commerce, Trade, Markets,
and Money: Thirteenth–Fifteenth Centuries” in EHB, 2:771–806.

promised a trading quarter in Constantinople replete with a piazza, an

embolos, and skalai,13 as well as a reduction of the kommerkion through-
out the empire.14 In return, Genoa was to defend Constantinople and was
forbidden to enter into alliances against her. In addition to such privileges,
which were advantageous for trade, the Byzantines offered the municipal
government of Genoa an annuity of 500 hyperpyra and two pallia of silk for
fourteen years. Furthermore, the archbishop of Genoa was to receive sixty
hyperpyra annually and one pallium of silk. Like most treaties of the time,
the factors under consideration were reductions of taxes on trade within
Constantinople and throughout the empire, cash (hyperpyra), and silk
(a total of three pallia in this instance).15
The stipulations of this pact were not honored by either party: neither
the full amount of money nor the silk was ever disbursed, and Genoa
formed an alliance with one of Constantinople’s main rivals, Sicily, within
two years. By 1160, the Genoese finally received their quarter in the cap-
ital, but were driven out within another two years by the Venetians and
Pisans, who had already established their own trading quarters there. After
these same events recurred in 1170 (a reinstatement of the Genoese and an
immediate attack on the compound by the Venetians), Manuel Komnenos

13 An ἔμβολος is a merchant street and σκάλαι are gangways for ships; both are advantageous for
trade within the city and throughout the empire. On ἔμβολοι and the trading edge of the
Golden Horn, see Paul Magdalino, “The Maritime Neighborhoods of Constantinople:
Commercial and Residential Functions, Sixth to Twelfth Century,” DOP, 55 (2001), 224 [repr.
Studies on the History and Topography of Byzantine Constantinople (Aldershot, 2007), article
III]. See also David Jacoby, “The Venetian Quarter of Constantinople from 1082 to 1261,
Topographical Considerations” in C. Sode and S. Takács (eds.), Novum Millennium: Studies on
Byzantine History and Culture Dedicated to Paul Speck, 19 December 1999 (Aldershot, 2001),
153–70.
14 Jacoby, “Italian Privileges,” 359, points out that the kommerkion reduction did not apply to all
commodities. Genoa’s privileges were modeled on the Pisan precedent and applied only to
imported goods, though there was a total exemption on bullion in order to encourage its
importation. Day, Genoa’s Response, 24–5, notes that Genoa was also re-enacting privileges
promised by the Holy Roman Empire and establishing new alliances with Marseilles and Sicily.
He describes 1154–61 as a formative period for the Genoese in terms of “networks of
privileged trade throughout the Mediterranean [so that] their parochial attitudes changed to
more cosmopolitan ones.” See Oikonomides, “The Role of the Byzantine State in the
Economy” in EHB, 3:1053–58; and Schreiner, “Bisanzio e Genova,” 133–5.
15 While the money was paid to the government immediately, the silk was not; moreover, the
archbishop received neither money nor cloth. Origone, Bisanzio e Genova, 264–74, includes an
appendix with all of the surviving acts of the diplomatic relations between Byzantium and
Genoa. Jacoby, “Italian Privileges,” 359, points out that the commercial and fiscal privileges
granted to the Venetians, the Pisans, and the Genoese differed greatly. See Steven A. Epstein,
Purity Lost: Transgressing Boundaries in the Eastern Mediterranean, 1000–1400 (Baltimore,
2007), 98–110. See below, 41, for the renewal of the 1155 provisions in 1261.

expelled the Venetians.16 These events were not minor disputes relegated to
the realm of trade alone. Rather, they carried substantial political weight,
with ramifications extending throughout the Mediterranean in the follow-
ing century.17 The enmity that Genoa felt toward Venice may have begun
with twelfth-century trade competition, but ultimately Venice’s commer-
cial supremacy during the Latin occupation of Constantinople, including
the Venetian defeat and expulsion of Genoa from Acre in 1258, exacer-
bated the rivalry and propelled the Genoese toward a second major alliance
with the Byzantines, specifically with the Empire of Nicaea, headed by
Michael Palaiologos, and it is here that the story of the silk in Genoa begins
in earnest.
In March 1261 Byzantine and Genoese leaders signed the treaty in
Nymphaion that solidified their stance against Venice.18 Previously, in 1260,
an advance Genoese embassy had opened negotiations with Michael Palaiol-
ogos, then regent for and co-emperor with John IV Laskaris.19 Sources con-
firm that both parties were united in enmity toward Venice: Michael wished
to re-establish Constantinople as the rightful seat of Byzantine imperial
power and Genoa desired commercial supremacy, which the Venetians had
secured during the Latin occupation. The treaty was signed on 13 March in
Nymphaion and was ratified in Genoa on 10 July. Constantinople was recon-
quered by Michael’s general Strategopoulos on 25 July, and the emperor in
exile triumphantly entered the city on 15 August, the feast of the Dormition
of the Virgin.20

16 Manuel arrested and expelled the Venetians in March 1171 and also confiscated their goods.
According to Joseph Gill, the attack was merely “attributed” to the Venetians by Manuel, while
they were not in fact responsible: “Venice, Genoa and Byzantium,” ByzF, 10 (1985), 60. On the
Genoese quarter, see C. Desimoni, “I Genovesi e i loro quartieri in Costantinopoli nel secolo
XIII,” Giornale Linguistico di Archeologia, Storia e Belle Arti, 3 (1876), 217–74.
17 Relations between Byzantines and Italians living in Constantinople were especially tense
following the Latin massacre by Andronikos I in 1182. See discussion in Day, Genoa’s Response,
27–9; and Gill, “Venice, Genoa and Byzantium,” 60–2.
18 As confirmed by three unrelated sources – Genoese, Greek, and Venetian – the negotiations
leading up to the treaty seem to have been initiated by the Genoese, specifically by Guglielmo
Boccanegra, “Captain of the People and virtual dictator of the (Genoese) Commune.” See
Geanakoplos, Emperor Michael Palaeologus, 85.
19 The Genoese ambassadors Guglielmo Visconti and Guarnieri Giudice presumably stayed in
the Empire of Nicaea through March 1261. Genoese annalist Caffaro narrates the events, an
excerpt of which is offered by Parma Armani, “Nuove Indagini,” 34–5. The animosity toward
Venice is explicit in this text. See C. Manfroni, “Le relazioni fra Genova, l’Impero bizantino e i
Turchi,” Atti della Società Ligure di Storia Patria, 28 (1898), 792; Geanakoplos, Emperor Michael
Palaeologus, 85–7; Origone, Bisanzio e Genova, 117; and Schreiner, “Bisanzio e Genova,” 135–7.
20 On the adventus, see the discussion in the introduction to Part I.

The treaty called for a permanent alliance between Byzantium and

Genoa.21 Fifty Genoese ships were placed at Michael’s disposal for the recon-
quest of Constantinople22 and, if victorious, the Genoese would receive all
the maritime rights that the Venetians had held previously. These included
the right to trade duty-free throughout the empire (present Byzantine ter-
ritories as well as those to be conquered in the future), a merchant quarter
in Constantinople and other significant cities, exclusive access to Black Sea
ports, and absolute possession of the city of Smyrna. In exchange for these
privileges, Genoa was obliged to defend the empire in times of war and to
prevent the arming of warships against Constantinople in Genoese waters.
In addition, a clause from the unsuccessful 1155 alliance was renewed.23
To guarantee Genoa’s commercial supremacy,24 Michael was to present 500
hyperpyra and two pallia of silk to the Commune of Genoa annually and
sixty hyperpyra and one pallium to the Archbishop of Genoa annually.25
The two treaties, separated by more than a century and by the loss of Con-
stantinople, involve a different set of privileges and yet each specifies, in
addition to specie, the transfer of silk. Silk was the precious, portable, and
prestigious currency of Byzantine diplomacy.26

21 A Latin copy of the treaty survives in the Genoese state archive: Archivo Segreto 2724 (B 5/39).
The stipulation of the treaty can be found in Dölger, Regesten der Kaiserurkunden, 3:36–38; and
Manfroni, “Relazioni,” 791–809 and 647–67. See also Geanakoplos, Emperor Michael
Paleologus, 75–91; Origone, Bisanzio e Genova, 113–24, especially 119–22; and G. Caro,
“Genova e la Supremazia sul Mediterraneo (1257–1311),” Atti della Società Ligure di Storia
Patria, n.s. 14 (1974), 1:100–13. The only Greek account of the Treaty of Nymphaion is
preserved in Holobolos’s oration, discussed below.
22 Of the fifty ships allocated, only sixteen vessels were actually dispatched: Geanakoplos,
Emperor Michael Paleologus, 86–7. The Byzantine emperor was responsible for the expense of
provisioning the ships.
23 The text is explicit on this. See Manfroni, “Relazioni,” 795. Both in 1168 and 1192, the original
terms of the 1155 alliance were almost reinstated, according to G. W. Day, “Byzantino-Genoese
Diplomacy and the Collapse of Emperor Manuel’s Western Policy, 1168–71,” Byzantion, 48(2)
(1978), 396 and 399.
24 Article 4 is summarized in Geanakoplos, Emperor Michael Paleologus, 87–9; and Nicol, Last
Centuries, 34. See Jacoby, “Italian Privileges,” 359; Schreiner, “Zwei Denkmäler,” 249; and
Epstein, Genoa and the Genoese, 149–51. In the words of Paribeni, “Il pallio di San Lorenzo,”
230, Genoa would receive essentially “le chiavi del potere economico dell’impero.”
25 Manfroni, “Relazioni,” 795: “duo palia deaurata . . . et palium unum deauratum ut memoratur
in privilegio felicis memorie domini Emmanuelis imperatoris quondam grecorum.” Schreiner,
“Zwei Denkmäler,” 253 n. 21, has noted that this repeats the provisions of the earlier treaty of
Manuel I Komnenos and suggests that they had not been fulfilled.
26 Byzantine textiles, and high grades of silk in particular, are widely acknowledged to have been
an important component of diplomacy throughout the medieval Mediterranean. Silk offered
the maximum advantage for long-distance diplomacy: it was easily transported – lightweight
and flexible – and bore maximum economic value, sometimes equivalent to specie. The

Verbal and visual tribute

Greek sources are largely silent concerning the Treaty of Nymphaion. Nei-
ther Akropolites nor Pachymeres provides an account of the treaty’s details,
presumably because its terms were disadvantageous for the Byzantines. The
silence is also understandable given that the reconquest of Constantinople
ultimately had little to do with Genoese assistance; instead, it is attributed by
most modern historians to luck and by Byzantine contemporaries to divine
will.27 The only Greek text to describe the Treaty of Nymphaion in any

combination of portability, cultural prestige, and high monetary value guaranteed silk’s
inclusion alongside specie in a tenth-century imperial packing list for military expeditions to
be used for diplomacy on the road, as noted in the introduction. See Haldon, Constantine
Porphyrogenitus, 108–11, 126–7. Scholarship on Byzantine silk is vast. On silk production and
economics, see R. S. Lopez, “Silk Industry in the Byzantine Empire,” Speculum, 20(1) (1945),
1–42 [repr. Byzantium and the World Around It: Economic and Institutional Relations (London,
1978), III]; Anna Muthesius, “The Byzantine Silk Industry: Lopez and Beyond,” Journal of
Medieval History, 19 (1993), 1–67 [repr. Studies in Byzantine and Islamic Silk Weaving
(London, 1995), 255–314]; Nicolas Oikonomides, “Silk Trade and Production in Byzantium
from the Sixth to the Ninth Century: The Seals of the Kommerkiarioi,” DOP, 40 (1986), 33–53
[repr. Social and Economic Life in Byzantium (Aldershot, 2004), VIII]; George C. Maniatis,
“Organization, Market Structure, and Modus Operandi of the Private Silk Industry in
Tenth-Century Byzantium,” DOP, 53 (1999), 263–332, as well as numerous studies by David
Jacoby, including “Silk in Western Byzantium before the Fourth Crusade,” BZ, 84–5
(1991–92), 452–500 [repr. Trade, Commodities and Shipping in the Medieval Mediterranean
(Aldershot, 1997), VII]; “Silk Crosses the Mediterranean” in G. Airaldi (ed.), Le vie del
Mediterraneo: Idee, uomini, oggetti (secoli XI–XVI) (Genoa, 1997), 35–79 [repr. Byzantium,
Latin Romania and the Mediterranean (Aldershot, 2001), X]; “The Silk Trade of Late Byzantine
Constantinople” in İstanbul Üniversitesi 550. Yıl, Uluslararası Bizans Ve Osmanlı Sempozyumu
(XV. Yüzyıl): 30–31 Mayıs 2003, edited by S. Atasoy (Istanbul, 2004), 130–44; and “Late
Byzantium between the Mediterranean and Asia: Trade and Material Culture” in Brooks (ed.),
Perspectives on Late Byzantine Art and Culture, 20–41. Particularly attentive to the role of
Genoa in Mediterranean textile trade is Jacoby, “Genoa, Silk Trade and Silk Manufacture in the
Mediterranean Region (ca. 1100–1300)” in Calderoni Masetti et al. (eds.), Tessuti, oreficerie,
miniature, 11–40 [repr. Commercial Exchange Across the Mediterranean: Byzantium, the
Crusader Levant, Egypt and Italy (Aldershot, 2005), XI]. On silk and diplomacy, see Jonathan
Shepard, “Silks, Skills and Opportunities in Byzantium: Some Reflexions,” BMGS, 21 (1997),
246–57; Anna Muthesius, “Silken Diplomacy” in Shepard and Franklin (eds.), Byzantine
Diplomacy, 237–48; and Franziska E. Schlosser, “Weaving a Precious Web: The Use of Textiles
in Diplomacy,” BSl, 63 (2005), 45–52. On the guild system and the Book of the Eparch, see
George C. Maniatis, “The Guild System in Byzantium and Medieval Western Europe: A
Comparative Analysis of Organizational Structures, Regulatory Mechanisms and Behavioral
Patterns,” Byzantion, 76 (2006), 516–59. On silk and cultural exchange more broadly, see
David Jacoby, “Silk Economics and Cross-Cultural Artistic Interaction: Byzantium, the Muslim
World, and the Christian West,” DOP, 58 (2004), 197–240; and Brubaker, “The Elephant and
the Ark,” 175–95, especially 189–94. Both papers were part of the 2002 Dumbarton Oaks
Symposium, “Realities of the Arts of the Medieval Mediterranean, 800–1500.”
27 Michael’s role in the Byzantine restoration of Constantinople as the instrument of divine will is
addressed in the next two chapters.

detail is an encomium to Michael Palaiologos composed by Holobolos.28

The encomium elaborates the details of the Genoese–Byzantine negotiations
in an attempt to praise the emperor’s skilled diplomacy, and also describes
the exchange of diplomatic gifts, including the textile that still survives in
Genoa.
According to Ruth Macrides’s generally accepted chronology, Holobolos’s
three encomia for Michael VIII were composed as a series to be delivered on
three successive Christmases: 1265, 1266, and 1267.29 The first oration nar-
rates imperial deeds that took place from 1259 to 1261, including the Battle
of Pelagonia, the siege at Galata, and the Treaty of Nymphaion; the second
focuses on the emperor’s return to Constantinople in 1261; and the third
and final address his proclamation as emperor and his building activities.
In praising the emperor’s skilled diplomacy at the Treaty of Nymphaion,
Holobolos’s first oration claims that the Genoese ambassadors, after an elo-
quent speech honoring the Byzantine emperor, swore oaths and received
gifts of silk (peploi): “swearing oaths of allegiance to you and receiving
two gorgeous peploi – a generous gift of your Majesty worth everything to
them. They turned home, praising your kindness with thundering voice and
proclaiming you a King like no other.”30 The orator then offers a lengthy
description of the two gifts, insisting that he “must leave a record of them.”
The first peplos, which is only briefly recorded, depicted the emperor’s “god-
like form.”31 The description of the second, however, is more detailed and
leaves no ambiguity about its technique or iconography. This second peplos,

28 Treu, Orationes, 1:30–50 (speech begins on 46); and Siderides, “Μανουὴλ ῾Ολοβώλου,” 168–91
(speech begins on 174). On Holobolos, see M. Treu, “Manuel Holobolos,” BZ, 5 (1896),
538–59; C. N. Constantinides, Higher Education in Byzantium in the Thirteenth and Early
Fourteenth Centuries (1204–ca. 1310) (Nicosia, 1982), 52–8; Ruth Macrides, “Holobolos,”
ODB; and PLP no. 21047. On Holobolos’s scholarly engagement, which included the
translation of Latin texts into Greek, see below, note 135.
29 Macrides, “The New Constantine,” 16–20. The dating of Holobolos’s three orations has been
the subject of considerable debate. Dölger, “Die dynastische Familienpolitik,” and Schreiner,
“Zwei Denkmäler,” 249–57, dated the first speech to Christmas 1261. Of the studies of the
textile in Genoa, Paribeni, “Il pallio di San Lorenzo,” 231, is the first to consider the textile in
light of Macrides’s revised dating.
30 Treu, Orationes, 1:47; and Siderides, “Μανουὴλ ῾Ολοβώλου,” 188. Unless otherwise noted,
translations are the author’s. Particular thanks are due to Anthony Kaldellis for discussing the
oration’s lexical nuances and possible interpretations. Holobolos uses myriad cloth- and
garment-related words in the passage describing the Genoese–Byzantine encounter (ἱμάτιον,
ἔνδυμα, χιτῶνα), but describes the silken gifts as peploi. On the terminology, peplos versus
pallium, see Falcone, “Il ‘Pallio’ bizantino,” 346 n. 16.
31 Treu, Orationes, 1:47.8–10; and Siderides, “Μανουὴλ ῾Ολοβώλου,” 188. While Holobolos rushes
over the iconography, he lingers on the medium: ὁ μὲν τὴν σὴν θεοειδῆ περιεῖχε μορφήν· οὐκ ἐκ
χρυσοῦ ἤ τινος ἄλλης πολυτίμου ὕλης ἐσκευασμένον, ἀλλ’ ἐκ χρωμάτων κομμωτικῶν. Thus, this
first peplos was woven with colored threads or even painted, although the latter seems unlikely.

the encomiast claims, is fashioned in gold threads and depicts the glorious
passion of St Lawrence and his companions.32 Holobolos describes a tableau
of the agonies of the martyrs, lingering on the instruments of their torture:
“One could see there the display of the wise martyrs in the face of tyranny,
their noble resolution, the varied and inventive punishments inflicted upon
them by their torturers: the iron nails, the trochanters, torsion, fire, swords,
chains, fetters, prisons, and every other instruments of torture.”33 He fur-
ther informs us that these visual details were explained by Latin inscriptions
(᾿Ιταλικῶν γραμμάτων)34 and could be read as a book. “The peplos was
not a peplos but a book,” he writes, “and a book not of God’s prophetic
commandments but of the trials of youthful martyrs of Christ.”35
Holobolos’s verbal description has been linked to the surviving textile in
Genoa.36 The iconography of St Lawrence is exceedingly rare in Byzantine
art and the addition of Latin inscriptions is rarer still. Even the notion
of reading the silk as a book matches the format of the extant textile, on
which the trials and tortures of St Lawrence, St Sixtus, and St Hippolytus
unfold from left to right along two registers in three distinct yet continuous
narrative segments. But what does it mean that the orator’s description
matches the surviving textile in Genoa?
There are a number of ways to explain this coincidence of text and
artifact.37 On the basis of the imperial oration, Pauline Johnstone, in the first
thorough art historical investigation of the silk, has argued that the silk in

See Paribeni, “Il pallio di San Lorenzo,” 231, who speculates on the relevance of the reference
to the Assyrian king, which follows on lines 10–12.
32 Treu, Orationes, 1:47.12–15; and Siderides, “Μανουὴλ ῾Ολοβώλου,” 188–9: τῷ δ’ ἄλλῳ ἐκ
χρυσοῦ πρὸς κλωστῆρα τετορευμένου οἱ τοῦ καλλινίκου μάρτυρος Λαυρεντίου καὶ τῶν σὺν
αὐτῷ περιφανεῖς ἐνεχαράχθησαν ἀγῶνες καὶ τὰ μέχρι θανάτου διὰ Χριστὸν σκάμματα.
33 Treu, Orationes, 1:47.15–25; and Siderides, “Μανουὴλ ῾Ολοβώλου,” 189: εἶδέ τις ἂν ἐκεῖ τὰς πρὸ
προσώπου τυραννικοῦ τῶν σοφῶν μαρτύρων παραστάσεις, τὰς γενναίας αὐτῶν ἐνστάσεις, τὰς
παρὰ τῶν βασανιστῶν σκευοφορουμένας τούτοις πολυειδεῖς καὶ πολυτρόπους κολάσεις, τοὺς
σιδηροῦς ὄνυχας, τοὺς τροχαντῆρας, τοὺς καταπέλτας, τὸ πῦρ, τὰ ξίφη, τὰς ἁλύσεις, τὰ δεσμά,
τὰς εἱρκτὰς καὶ πᾶν ἄλλο βασανιστήριον ὄργανον, ὧν ἕκαστον καὶ ἐπιστήμασι δι’ ᾿Ιταλικῶν
γραμμάτων ἐνεσημαίνετο· οὕτως ἔφερε θαυμασίως ὁ μέγας πάντα πέπλος ἐκεῖνος τὸ ἱερὸν τοῖς
γενναίοις ἀνάθημα μάρτυσιν οἰκονομίᾳ βασιλικῇ, ὡς ἄρα οὐ πέπλος ὁ πέπλος ἦν, ἀλλὰ βίβλος· καὶ
βίβλος οὐ προσταγμάτων θεοῦ τὸ προφητικόν, ἀλλὰ σκαμμάτων νεανικῶν μαρτύρων Χριστοῦ.
Paribeni, “Il pallio di San Lorenzo,” 232, points out that despite all the detail, Holobolos does
not mention the grate or grill of Lawrence’s martyrdom. Moreover, he makes reference to other
instruments that are not part of the hagiographic tradition or the iconography of the textile.
34 See Paribeni, “Il pallio di San Lorenzo,” 242 n. 27 on this phrase. 35 Ibid.
36 Holobolos’s oration has been cited by most of the major articles dedicated to the Genoese
textile (by Johnstone, Parma Armani, Falcone, and Paribeni).
37 The most significant difference between the two is that Holobolos describes the hagiographic
narrative of the peplos, but does not mention the image of the emperor alongside the archangel
and St Lawrence. This critical omission is discussed in the later part of the chapter.

Genoa was one of the very textiles specified in the Treaty of Nymphaion itself
and that it was given to the Genoese in fulfillment of the terms of the treaty at
some point after the 1261 Byzantine restoration of Constantinople, probably
in either 1262 or 1267, when Byzantine–Genoese relations were strong.38
Peter Schreiner, however, has called attention to the differences between the
orator’s description of the negotiations and the surviving copy of the treaty,
noting that according to Holobolos, the Genoese ambassadors were given
two elaborate peploi, whereas the treaty enumerates three textiles in total:
two for the commune and one for the archbishop.39 Even if the oration
describes the exact silk in Genoa, the surviving cloth may not have been
one of those stipulated in the original treaty.40 Following Schreiner, Carla
Falcone points out that Holobolos’s emphasis on the textile in his oration
suggests that it was a gift for a very specific circumstance, not an annual
donation stipulated by a pact.41 The critical distinction to bear in mind
is between silks bearing imagery custom-made for a specific diplomatic
occasion and more generic textiles, which could be packed in advance and
extended as diplomatic incentives in various contexts. Unlike more generic
textile gifts specified in either a diplomatic packing list or in the clauses of
treaties, the extant silk in Genoa is singular and its entire design corresponds
precisely to the circumstances of the Treaty of Nymphaion.42

38 Johnstone, “Byzantine ‘Pallio,’” 101, proposes that the textile in Genoa relates to church
unification, and hence should be dated to 1262, when Michael approached Urban IV on the
subject, or 1267, when similar efforts were made with Clement IV.
39 Schreiner, “Zwei Denkmäler,” 253.
40 Parma Armani, “Nuove Indagini,” 37, also believes that the textile was sent to Genoa on the
basis of the encomium, but points out that it is impossible to determine if any of the textiles
specified in the treaty ever reached Genoa in reality.
41 Falcone, “Il ‘Pallio’ bizantino,” 338. On the generic quality of the textiles specified in the treaty,
see Parma Armani, “Nuove Indagini,” 36–7. See also note 42 below.
42 Two manuscripts associated with diplomatic ventures clarify the distinction between
“custom-made” and “stock” gifts. It is often thought that Michael VIII sent Louis IX a New
Testament codex illuminated with full-page portraits of the evangelists. In the margin of the
miniature of St Matthew on folio 2v of Coislin 200, an inscription records Michael’s name,
thus indicating the codex to be a gift from him. Assuming the inscription is to be trusted,
which is not entirely a given, the manuscript exhibits no other visible traces of its function as a
gift. It was probably made in advance, not necessarily for any particular diplomatic purpose,
and selected by the emperor when he found himself in need of a gift to send to France with his
envoys. In the early fifteenth century, when Manuel II Palaiologos sought western aid, he too
sent a book to France, and this is the subject of Chapter 4. A pre-existing fourteenth-century
copy of the works of Dionysios the Areopagite was selected and amended with an author
portrait as well as an imperial family portrait and was then sent to the Abbey of Saint-Denis
outside Paris. Manuel’s gift therefore involved both recycling and originality. In other words, a
stock gift was customized to suit Manuel’s particular diplomatic occasion. Unlike both of these
instances, the surviving silk in Genoa associated with the Treaty of Nymphaion as well as the

While the textile in Genoa is unique among surviving Byzantine silks

in its sophisticated visual program tailored to its diplomatic context, a
similar historiated silk, no longer extant, is attested by a Vatican inventory
from 1295.43 Featuring an interweaving of contemporary political and holy
figures, this silk was given by Michael VIII Palaiologos to Pope Gregory X.
Its imagery too seems to have corresponded to the delicate political context
of its exchange. It was given to the Pope in conjunction with the Council of
Lyons in 1274, the council at which Michael agreed to the union of the Greek
and Latin Churches.44 According to the inventory description, the design of
this piece reflected the goals of the council, namely, unification. Inscriptions
were bilingual (litteris grecis et latinis), and in addition to scenes from the
life of Christ and the Apostles, it included a scene of Gregory leading the
Palaiologan emperor to St Peter. The imagery of the Byzantine Emperor
Michael being led to St Peter, as the patron saint of the Roman Church,
symbolizes the uniting of the Eastern and Western Churches, the purpose
of the diplomatic occasion that prompted its creation.
The Treasury of San Marco in Venice preserves another Byzantine silk,
which, though poorly restored in the eighteenth century, may be linked to
a promissio from the beginning of the thirteenth century (1210) between
Michael I of Epiros and Doge Pietro Ziani (Figure 1.2).45 On a bright

lost silk associated with the Council of Lyons (to be discussed momentarily) both exhibit
unique imagery that must have been specially designed for their particular diplomatic context.
On Coislin 200, see Annemarie Weyl Carr, Byzantine Illumination 1150–1250: The Study of a
Provincial Tradition (Chicago, 1987) (cat. no. 93); and John Lowden, “The Luxury Book as
Diplomatic Gift” in Shepard and Franklin (eds.), Byzantine Diplomacy, 256–9, who questions
the authenticity of the inscription, claiming it was written by an “unskillful Latin hand.” See
also P. Radiciotti, “Episodi di digrafismo grecolatino a Costantinopoli: Giovanni Parastro ed i
codici Coislin 200 e Parigino greco 54,” Römische Historische Mitteilungen, 39 (1996),
185–6 for a different interpretation of the inscription.
43 É. Molinier, Inventaire du trésor du Saint Siège sous Boniface VIII (1295) (Paris, 1888), 82–3: “et
subtus dictas figuras est imago B. Petri, coram quo est imago domini Gregorii tenentis per
manum Palealogum et presentat eum beato Petro reconciliatum, cum litteris grecis et latinis.”
This no-longer-extant textile is mentioned by Pauline Johnstone, The Byzantine Tradition in
Church Embroidery (Chicago, 1967), 73, 76–7; Johnstone, “Byzantine ‘Pallio,’” 101; Parma
Armani, “Nuove Indagini,” 37; and Paribeni, “Il pallio di San Lorenzo,” 234.
44 The policy of uniting the Western and Eastern Christian Churches was extremely unpopular
among Byzantines; more on this in the next chapter. On the ideological implications of the
central scene of the silk regarding issues of Church unification, see Johnstone, “Byzantine
‘Pallio,’” 100; and Paribeni, “Il pallio di San Lorenzo,” 234.
45 Two proposals about the dating and historical circumstances of this textile have been put
forward. Maria Theocharis, “Sur le Sébastocrator Constantin Comnène Ange et l’endyté du
Musée de saint Marc à Venise,” BZ, 56 (1963), 273–83; and H. R. Hahnloser, Il Tesoro di San
Marco (Florence, 1971), 91–7 especially 94–96 (cat. no. 115), propose the identification
accepted here, that is, that the Constantine in question is the son of Michael I of Epiros.

Figure 1.2 Embroidered silk of despot and sebastokrator Constantine with angels,
c. 1210, Treasury of San Marco, Venice

yellow silk ground, which is not the original support,46 two archangels
labeled Michael and Gabriel stand in full regalia, and in the lower-right
corner one may discern the contours of a kneeling figure. All that remains
of the disembodied donor is the luxurious textile pattern of his shell-like
cloak and the inscription embroidered below the feet of the two archangels,
identifying him as “despot Constantine” – that is, the son of Michael I –
“Komnenian born, sebastokrator of the Angeloi family, descendant of the
ruler of the Ausonoi.”47 The pact between Epiros and Venice specified cloth
for the Italian city’s main church of San Marco and also for the doge.48
Although the textile in San Marco is nearly identical in shape (measuring
80 × 240 cm) to the one in Genoa, the formal arrangement remains distinct

Anthony Cutler, “From Loot to Scholarship: Changing Modes in the Italian Response to
Byzantine Artifacts, ca. 1200–1750,” DOP, 49 (1995), 246–7, follows Theocharis. Conversely,
V. Laurent, “Le sébastocrator Constantin Ange et le peplum du musée de Saint-Marc à Venise,”
REB, 18 (1960), 208–13, followed by A. Guillou, “Inscriptions byzantines d’Italie sur tissu” in
Aetos: Studies in Honour of Cyril Mango Presented to Him on April 14, 1998, edited by I.
Ševčenko and I. Hutter (Stuttgart, 1998), 172–4, suggests that the protagonist of the
inscription is the brother of Emperors Isaac II and Alexis III, thus dating the cloth to the
second half of the twelfth century.
46 During eighteenth-century restoration efforts, the embroidery was lifted entirely and was reset
on a new ground. Because of the textile’s over-zealous restoration, it is useful mainly for its
inscription and general composition. Another Byzantine embroidery, an epitaphios, was
included along with this textile in some of the earliest treasury inventories. See Hahnloser,
Tesoro, 96–7 (cat. no. 116). It was likewise transferred to a new ground in the eighteenth
century.
47 Κομνηνοφυὴς δεσπότης Κωνσταντῖνος σεβαστοκράτωρ ᾿Αγγελωνύμου γένους ξύναιμος
αὐτάνακτος Αὐσόνων γένους. On the orthographic problems with the inscription, which may
be attributed to a later restoration campaign, see Guillou, “Inscriptions byzantines,” 173. On
the identification of “Constantine,” see note 45 above.
48 Hahnloser, Tesoro, 96: “unum pannum honorabile auro textum ad ornatum altaris sancti
Marci et aliud unum vobis et successoribus vestris.”

from both the surviving silk in Genoa and the lost Vatican silk. The design of
the San Marco textile does not in any obvious manner refer to its diplomatic
circumstances.49 Conversely, the imagery of the two silks sent by Michael
VIII Palaiologos – one associated with the Council of Lyons and the other
associated with the Treaty of Nymphaion – both speak to the very particular
diplomatic allegiances of their commission.
Andrea Paribeni has reached a conclusion about the relationship of the
surviving textile to the Treaty of Nymphaion similar to that of Falcone and
has further specified that the two peploi described by Holobolos were prob-
ably given to the Genoese delegation in July 1261 with the ratification of
the treaty.50 Following this argument, the extant peplos was created in the
Empire of Nicaea and was extended as a gift before Michael’s Byzantine
forces reclaimed Constantinople – that is, between March and July 1261.51
The peplos, in other words, was made for the conclusion of the Treaty of
Nymphaion and was not one of the annual cloths specified in the treaty’s
terms, which should have begun a year later, in 1262, after the Byzantine
restoration of Constantinople.52 Rather than seeing the silk within a contrac-
tual setting of a political pact or as a generic silk that would be appropriate

49 It identifies its patron but not its destination. In this regard, it functions like a coin,
proclaiming the particular current authority of its source to an undifferentiated audience.
50 Paribeni, “Il pallio di San Lorenzo,” 232.
51 Schreiner was first to suggest that the textile was made in Nicaea, not Constantinople, a
conclusion corroborated by art historical evidence offered by Falcone and Paribeni
independently of each other. From the perspective of silk production in and around the
Empire of Nicaea, such an attribution is also likely. We know, for example, that in order to
promote indigenous silk production, Nicene Emperor John III Vatatzes prohibited wearing
imported silk. See Jacoby, “Silk Economics and Cross-Cultural Interaction,” 220; and Jacoby,
“Genoa, Silk Trade and Silk Manufacture,” 24. The Genoese, Jacoby claims, purchased raw silk
from Byzantine and Turkish Asia Minor during the second half of the thirteenth century, but
not silks of Nicaean manufacture due to a diminished quality, preferring silk worked in Lucca.
Indicative of this is the very textile in Genoa under investigation here, about which he writes:
“instead of being woven into the cloth, its decoration was embroidered with gold and silk
threads on plain samite, a device that substantially reduced manufacturing costs.” Moreover, in
“The Production of Silk Textiles in Latin Greece” in Technology in Latin-Occupied Greece
(Athens, 2000) [repr. Commercial Exchange Across the Mediterranean, XII], 25, Jacoby points
out that after 1204, the Latin emperors of Constantinople and the Greek rulers of Nicaea and
Epiros produced silk dyed with cheaper purple colorants as alternatives to the murex of earlier
times. After the Byzantine restoration of Constantinople, the Genoese continued to barter with
silks obtained from Nicaea in addition to Italian textiles. See Dennis Deletant, “Genoese, Tatars
and Rumanians at the Mouth of the Danube in the Fourteenth Century,” Slavonic and East
European Review, 62(4) (1984), 515.
52 The possibility still remains that the textile was created and extended to the Genoese sometime
between March 1261 (when the initial negotiations took place) and December 1265 (the
delivery of Holobolos’s oration). But the argument advanced here is that the imagery of the silk
itself provides compelling evidence of its date and association with the particular diplomatic
context of the Treaty of Nymphaion. Paired with the textual sources, the overall design of the

in multiple contexts, the bestowal of the peplos should be understood as part

of a ceremonial conclusion of the particular treaty – not a single surviving
piece from among a series of anonymous fabrics stipulated in most diplo-
matic pacts of the time, but rather a singular, custom-made work whose
extension as a gift was integral to the performance of imperial ideology.
Holobolos’s panegyric discloses precisely this role for the silk he discussed.
While the oration offers textual corroboration for the extant textile, allow-
ing us to situate it securely within the diplomatic context of the Treaty of
Nymphaion, the encomium is also illuminating for what it reveals about
the status of the image of the emperor, and specifically a silken image, as
a diplomatic gift. In other words, Holobolos’s speech provides more than
documentary evidence; the verbal encomium provides the rhetorical tools
best suited to interpret the visual encomium – the embroidered textile.
Immediately before describing the two peploi given to the Genoese ambas-
sadors, Holobolos recounts their speech delivered to the emperor. The fictive
words of the Italian ambassadors underscore their complete and total sub-
mission to the emperor: the Genoese claim to have subjected themselves
entirely to the Byzantine ruler, abandoning democracy for the emperor’s
authority, hailing him not only as helmsman but as monarch and king.
Holobolos claims that they requested an image of Michael as a visible
expression of protection and love for their city: “Soothe the piercing love
of this [city], through your image [σοῦ χαρακτῆρος] rendered on a cloth:
for the form of the beloved is a great remedy [φάρμακον] for lovers. It will
be a strong defense against our enemies, an averter [ἀποτρόπαιον] against
every plot, a powerful parapet for the city [Genoa] which is yours and ours,
a strong tower and an adamantine wall to face the enemy.”53 The act of sub-
mission is followed by the bestowal of an imperial image; the image signals
allegiance and protection. As already noted, by describing the image as a
pharmakon and an apotropaion, it is associated with the efficacy of icons,
amulets, and the double-edged nature of a gift.54
This evocative description of the power of the image of the emperor is
cast in the voice of the foreign ambassadors. It is, in other words, delivered

piece suggests a date on the eve of the 1261 Byzantine restoration of Constantinople, and thus
must have been made within the Empire of Nicaea.
53 Treu, Orationes, 1:46.27–34; and Siderides, “Μανουὴλ ῾Ολοβώλου,” 188: δὸς ὡς δυνατὸν
σεαυτὸν τῇ σῇ πόλει καὶ ἡμετέρᾳ, παρηγόρησον διὰ τοῦ σοῦ χαρακτῆρος πέπλῳ καὶ γραφαῖς
ἐγκειμένου τὸν ταύτης διαπρύσιον ἔρωτα· μέγα τοῖς ἐρῶσι φάρμακον καὶ γεγραμμένον τὸ τοῦ
ἐρωμένου πέφυκε μόρφωμα· δύναταί σου καὶ ἡ εἰκών, ἂν ἡμῖν παρείν, πολλά· ἀμυντήριον ἔσται
κατὰ τῶν ἡμετέρων ἀντιπάλων στερρόν, πάσης ἐπιβουλῆς ἀποτρόπαιον, ἔπαλξις τῇ σῇ καὶ
ἡμετέρᾳ πόλει κρατερά, πρσπύργιον ἰσχυρὸν καὶ τεῖχος ἄντικρυς ἀδαμάντινον.
54 See the discussion in the Introduction.

as a speech within a speech, after which the text returns to the orator’s own
voice for a description of the textile gifts – the peploi. The context for this
passage in particular and the delivery of Holobolos’s panegyric in general is
also relevant. Imperial orations and encomia were part of Michael’s concen-
trated effort to foster an “annual cycle of court ceremonial.”55 The prokypsis
ceremony in particular became a “regularly staged ceremony” under him.56
This ritualized imperial epiphany began under the Komnenoi, but contin-
ued through the Nicaean period to find its fullest expression under the
Palaiologoi. In this still-life ceremony, the imperial family ascended a plat-
form (from which the ceremony takes its name) that was closed off from view
by a curtain until the appropriate moment – signaled by lights and sound –
when it was drawn to reveal momentarily the framed immobile imperial
bodies, and then closed again.57 Holobolos wrote at least twenty poems
to accompany the prokypsis ceremony, most of which date to Michael’s
rule.58 The emphasis on the potency of the imperial image in Holobolos’s
encomium, therefore, was part of a much larger ceremonial context of self-
reflexive imperial oratory, which showcased the epiphanic power of the
image of the emperor.
Although the prokypsis ceremony developed in the twelfth century, it is
best known in the Palaiologan period – surviving texts are almost all from
the later Byzantine era. The relationship of early Palaiologan ceremonies
to Komnenian precedents suggests something of the logic underlying the
Holobolos text and the textile in Genoa. Part of the evidence for the 1265–
1266–1267 dating of the imperial orations hinges upon Holobolos’s title
ῥήτωρ τῶν ῥητόρων, which signals the orator’s appointment to the post
of rhetor, a promotion that has been read as part of the emperor’s larger
agenda of renewal, related to his need for legitimation. Michael, after all,
was essentially a usurper. He had been crowned co-emperor in Nicaea in
1259 after swearing publicly to refrain from conspiring against his junior
and legitimate partner, John IV Laskaris.59 But on Christmas Day 1261,

55 Angelov, Imperial Ideology, 47, calls attention to Michael’s efforts to foster court ceremonial.
56 Ibid., 45.
57 On the prokypsis ceremony, see Michael McCormick, “Prokypsis,” ODB; A. Heisenberg, Aus
der Geschichte und der Literatur der Palaiologenzeit (Munich, 1920), 85–97; E. Jeffreys, “The
Comnenian Prokypsis,” Parergon, 5 (1987), 38–53; O. Treitinger, Die oströmische Kaiser,
112–18; E. H. Kantorowicz, “Oriens Augusti, lever du roi,” DOP, 17 (1963), 159–62; and
Angelov, Imperial Ideology, 29–77 and 41–2 on the prokypsis in Nicaea.
58 Angelov, Imperial Ideology, 69.
59 On the legacy of these events, see Teresa Shawcross, “In the Name of the True Emperor: Politics
of Resistance after the Palaiologan Usurpation,” BSl, 66 (2008), 203–27. I thank Sarah Brooks
for first bringing this reference to my attention.

after the reconquest of Constantinople, Michael ordered the blinding and

exile of his young co-emperor and was crowned again in Hagia Sophia.
This secured Palaiologan rule in a newly restored Byzantine Empire and it
also incited the rage of Patriarch Arsenios, who promptly excommunicated
the emperor. Manuel Holobolos too voiced objections to the blinding of
John IV, and after having his nose and lips slit, he retired from court life
to the Prodromos monastery under the name Maximos. Arsenios refused
to lift the anathema and eventually banned the emperor from entering the
Great Church altogether. The animosity between emperor and patriarch
having escalated to this level, Michael had Arsenios deposed, banished,
and excommunicated in 1265.60 Arsenios was then succeeded by Germanos
III (1265–6), during whose patriarchate Holobolos returned to court and
composed the imperial orations.
Ruth Macrides has suggested that Germanos III was responsible for the
orator’s promotion to the post of rhetor and has stressed that his appoint-
ment should be read within the context of revival at this time.61 Indeed,
Holobolos’s encomium emphasizes the renewal of ancient and venerable
but obsolete customs, such as the annual ceremony in which tribute is
offered to the emperor, including a peplos woven with scenes of the ruler’s
achievements for that year.62 Here we see a slippage between visual and
verbal forms of imperial tribute. Holobolos claims to know the appropriate
iconographies for such peploi from other authors, not from actual textiles.
Thus, the textual ekphrasis of the material gift is an essential component
of the imperial encomia, which themselves are conceptualized as gifts or
tributes to the emperor. Holobolos refers to one of his logoi explicitly as
“annual tribute.”63 His gift is his rhetorical invocation of the emperor’s

60 These events will be discussed in greater detail in the next chapter.

61 Macrides, “The New Constantine,” 26–8. In “Byzantine Imperial Panegyric as Advice
Literature (1204–c. 1350)” in E. Jeffreys (ed.), Rhetoric in Byzantium: Papers from the
Thirty-fifth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, Exeter College, University of Oxford, March
2001 (Aldershot, 2003), 56–7, and Dimiter Angelov, Imperial Ideology, 38, reminds us that the
position of rhetor had lapsed during the Laskarid period and was revived by Michael VIII in
1265, and with it the renewal of the annual imperial panegyric, which were delivered at
Christmas rather than Epiphany as they traditionally had been under the Komnenoi. See also
Constantinides, Higher Education in Byzantium, 50–3.
62 Macrides, “The New Constantine,” 28.
63 Ibid., 18 and n. 25, 30 and n. 92. Authors such as Theophylaktos of Ochrid and Nikephoros
Blemmydes describe their own logoi as gifts, which fulfill the function of annual imperial
tribute according to Macrides (ibid., 28–9). The tribute therefore functions on multiple levels:
the visual representations themselves (the textiles), their afterlife in oral performance, and
their textual recording.

textile gifts.64 Significantly, Holobolos concludes his description of the sec-

ond peplos given to the Genoese ambassadors by comparing it to the great
ancient peplos woven for Athena as part of the Panathenaia: the brightly
dyed peplos woven by the Athenians for their “civic patron Pallas” featured
an elaborate gigantomachy with cloud-gathering Zeus hurling thunderbolts
and Athena fighting at his side.65
With a classical allusion entirely in the spirit of the literati of his day,
Holobolos contrasts the trials and tortures of Christian martyrs with the
ancient prototype of civic tribute, a woven gift for the ancient goddess of
Athens. Not surprisingly, Michael’s gift is deemed superior to the ancient
counterpart, but both peploi are woven with myths and hagiographies and
both constitute tribute to their ruler: Athena as sacred patron and protector
of Athens and Michael as beloved emperor and protector of both Byzantine
and Genoese cities.

Weaving allegiances: hagiographic and imperial largesse

Holobolos’s encomium praises imperial generosity through an extended

ekphrasis on the peploi that were given to the Genoese ambassadors. The ora-
tor represents the Genoese as completely submissive to the emperor’s power
and ardent in their desire for a likeness of the emperor; again, it would be
their remedy (φάρμακον) and protector or averter (ἀποτρόπαιον). Despite
the emphasis placed on the emperor’s image in his verbal tribute, its power
to protect and sate the foreign ambassadors’ desire, the orator neglects to
mention the imperial effigy at the very center of the peplos (Figure 1.3).66
The central scene on the upper register of the textile unmistakably depicts

64 Tantalizingly, Macrides, “The New Constantine,” 41, has suggested that because of the
emphasis on textiles in the first encomium, it may have been intended to accompany the
installation of the peplos that Germanos commissioned for Hagia Sophia in 1265 that depicted
Michael as the “New Constantine.” Along with the peplos depicting the Patriarchs Germanoi,
the New Constantine silk was later altered in an act of damnatio memoriae. See Titos
Papamastorakis, “Tampering with History: From Michael III to Michael VIII,” BZ, 96(1)
(2003), 207–9. For more on this, see Chapter 2.
65 Treu, Orationes, 1:47.25–31; and Siderides, “Μανουὴλ ῾Ολοβώλου,” 189: τί πρὸς τοῦτο τὸ ἔργον
ὁ πέπλος ἐκεῖνος, ὃν ἱστούργουν ᾿Αθηναῖοι τῇ πολιάδι τούτων Παλλάδι καὶ τέχνῃ ποικιλτικῇ
λαμπροῖς ἐφάρμασσον βάμμασιν, ᾧ μῦθοί τινες καὶ τερατεῖαι ἱστούργηντο, γίγαντες βάλλοντες
λίθους. εἰς οὐρανὸν καὶ βαλλόμενοι· Ζεὺς ὁ νεφεληγερέτης καὶ τερπικέραυνος κεραυνοβολῶν καὶ
πληγὰς εἰσδεχόμενος· ᾿Αθηνᾶ τῷ πατρὶ συμμαχοῦσα καὶ μεγάλα κατὰ γιγάντων αἴρουσα
τρόπαια.
66 Again, Holobolos specifies two textiles: one with the emperor’s image and another with the life
of St Lawrence and associated martyrs.

Figure 1.3 Detail of the upper register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa (Figure 1.1),
scene 5, Byzantine emperor with the archangel and St Lawrence

Michael being led to the church of Genoa by St Lawrence, the patron of the
church and supposed protagonist of the hagiographic narrative.67 Despite
its central position on the silk, the imperial image is embedded within the
detailed hagiographic cycle, rendered in the same scale, and not separated

67 The Latin inscription, addressed at greater length below, precludes any ambiguity about the
identity of the figures. Given the prominence of this central scene, the encomium’s omission of
the Byzantine emperor’s portrait is particularly curious and will be discussed further below.

by a framing device from the rest of the visual narrative.68 The setting of this
sacro-imperial encounter, the architectural edifice identified as the church
of Genoa, and hence the intended repository of the textile, is the largest
formal element, but the triad of figures at the threshold of the building are
of similar scale and are on the same ground line as the actors of the hagio-
graphic drama surrounding the central scene. Yet previous scholars, with
the exception of Andrea Paribeni, have stressed the “autonomous function”
of the contemporary imperial scene.69 For Falcone, it is detached from the
other saintly scenes, while Johnstone has described it as an “irrelevant”
interruption of the hagiographic narrative.70 This position merits further
consideration, for although the inclusion of the emperor’s image compli-
cated the designers’ ability to create a legible hagiographic narrative, as
we will see momentarily, the addition of the emperor in the central scene
imbues the silk with precisely the sense of self-referentiality that permeates
Byzantine panegyric. Michael being led to the cathedral of the saint whose
martyrdom surrounds the image may be read as a symbol of alliance, a
pictorialization of the pact between the two parties, and at the same time a
strong assertion of Byzantine imperial ideology. Following an overview of
the hagiographic cycle and imperial scene at its center, I will consider how
their combination articulates a unique image of imperial largesse designed
for its particular diplomatic occasion.
Holobolos designates the peplos given to the Genoese ambassadors as a
book rather than a cloth.71 This rhetorical characterization is apt in many
ways, as the surviving textile in Genoa exhibits many pictorial conventions
found commonly in illuminated manuscripts. In particular, it employs con-
tinuous narration, where figures are repeated to suggest the unfolding of
events in time. On the upper register the individual scenes are separated
into two groups on either side of the central image, that of the Byzantine
emperor with the archangel and St Lawrence, and on the lower register they
read continuously from the left to the right edge of the cloth. The inclusion
of the extra-hagiographic imperial scene constrained the designers’ ability

68 In its lack of formal divisions between scenes, the format of the textile differs from iconostases
such as the epistyle with the Miracles of Saint Eustratios, on which see the entry by Nancy
Ševčenko in Robert S. Nelson and Kristen M. Collins (eds.), Holy Image, Hallowed Ground:
Icons from Sinai (Los Angeles, 2006), 174–6 (cat. no. 21), and the elaborate cycle of frescoes in
the church of St Euphemia, to which the silk in Genoa is often compared. See Hans Naumann
and Rudolf Belting, Die Euphemia-Kirche am Hippodrom zu Istanbul und ihre Fresken (Berlin,
1966), 150–1.
69 Paribeni, “Il pallio di San Lorenzo,” 233–4.
70 Falcone, “Il ‘Pallio’ bizantino,” 339; and Johnstone, “Byzantine ‘Pallio,’” 106.
71 See note 33 above.

Figure 1.4 Detail of the upper register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa (Figure 1.1),
scene 6, Sixtus commanding Lawrence to distribute church vessels

to adapt the pictorial source material, which affected the sequencing of the
scenes on the upper register. As a result, these scenes follow an unusual
sequence: the story begins on the upper register with the five scenes on
the right (along with the rightmost scene on the lower register) and then
continues with the four scenes on the upper left. At the chronological begin-
ning (scene 6, directly to the right of the Genoese church), as the inscription
makes clear, Sixtus commands Lawrence to distribute the belongings of the
church (Figure 1.4).72 Lawrence fulfills Sixtus’s orders in the next two scenes
to the right (scenes seven and eight): he sells the church belongings and then
he distributes the money from the sale to the poor (Figure 1.5).73 In the last

72 Pope Sixtus had made Lawrence archdeacon and then, before being imprisoned by Roman
authorities, he entrusted the church treasures to Lawrence with the instructions to sell them
and distribute the proceeds to the needy. The inscriptions are given by Siderides in “Πέπλος,”
376–8 (where there are a few errors); Parma Armani, “Nuove Indagini,” 42; and Falcone, “Il
‘Pallio’ bizantino,” 343 n. 2. Scene 6 (upper register): S(anctus) XISTUS EP(i)S(copus) ROME
/ P(re)CIPIEN(s) S(anc)TO LAUR(entio) ARCHID/IAC(ono) DISPENSARE VASA /
ECCLE(sie).
73 Scene 7: S(anctus) LAUR(entius) / VENUNDA(n)S / VASA EC/CLESIE. Scene 8: S(anctus)
LAURENT(ius) P(e)CU(niam) VASO(rum) / Q(ue) VENDIDIT DISP(e)RGENS
PAU/PERIBUS.

Figure 1.5 Detail of the upper register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa (Figure 1.1),
scene 7, Lawrence selling church vessels, and scene 8, Lawrence distributing money to
the needy

two scenes on the upper register (scenes 9 and 10) we are shown Sixtus’s
fate: he argues with Emperor Decius and then is decapitated (Figure 1.6).74
His burial is depicted on the scene directly below this (scene 20, the farthest
scene on the lower right), so that the designers of the textile could accom-
modate the contemporary imperial scene at the center of the upper register.
The narrative continues on the far left of the cloth with the first scene, where
Lawrence argues with Decius about what he had sold (Figure 1.7).75 This
scene mirrors that of Sixtus before the emperor (scene 9) both thematically
and pictorially: both are scenes of confrontation in which the martyrs stand
accused before the enthroned emperor debating the ramifications of their
actions. The Roman emperor demanded the return of the church treasures
that Lawrence had sold within three days. In that time Lawrence gathered
together the poor of the city and presented them to the emperor, saying:
“Behold the treasures of Christ’s church.” The textile conveys this in an

74 Scene 9: S(anctus) XISTUS DISPUTANS IM/PERATORI DECIO. Scene 10: S(anctus) XISTUS
GLADIO CA/PITE AMPUTATUS.
75 Scene 1: S(anctus) LAURENTI(us) DISPUTAN(s) IMPERA/TORI DECIO DE VASIS QUE /
VENDIDIT.

Figure 1.6 Detail of the upper register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa (Figure 1.1),
continuation of scene 8, scene 9, Sixtus before Decius, and scene 10, beheading of Sixtus

Figure 1.7 Detail of the upper register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa (Figure 1.1),
scene 1, Lawrence before Decius, and detail of scene 2, Lawrence presenting to Decius
the blind and the lame

Figure 1.8 Detail of the upper register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa (Figure 1.1),
scene 3, Lawrence being beaten, scene 4, Lawrence imprisoned, and scene 5, Byzantine
emperor with the archangel and St Lawrence

abbreviated manner. In scene 2 Lawrence stands next to an ox-driven cart

filled with people in simple tunics and the inscription verifies that indeed
the martyr has brought the blind and the lame to the emperor.76 As a result
of this, he was beaten, which is depicted in the next scene (scene 3), and
then imprisoned, as is seen in the next scene (scene 4) (Figure 1.8).77 Thus,
the visual narrative on the upper register is structured into two segments
surrounding the central scene whose inclusion necessitated a shifting of
Sixtus’s burial to the lower register.
The narrative continues on the lower register, where it reads continuously
from left to right in sequential order for the entire length of the silk (until
the final scene of Sixtus’s burial, that is). In the first scene on the lower left
(scene 11) Lawrence is shown imprisoned and caring for the sick. This is
made clear not only by the inscription but also by the architecture, which
repeats the setting of the prison from scene 4 (Figure 1.9).78 A scene of
conversion follows in the twelfth and thirteenth scenes. The jailer, identified
by the inscription as Tiburtius Callinicus, is depicted prostrate before the

76 Scene 2: S(anctus) LAUR(entius) QUI OPPEREBAT VEICULIS / CLAUDOS ET CECOS

QUIBUS DISP(o)SIT / PRECIUM VASORUM AD IMPERATOREM.
77 Scene 3: S(anctus) LAURENTI(u)S VAPULATUS. Scene 4: S(anctus) LAURENTIUS IN
CARCERE.
78 Scene 11: S(anctus) LAUR(entius) CURANS IN CARCERE / OM(ne)S INFIRMOS AD EU(m)
VENIE(n)TES.

Figure 1.9 Detail of the lower register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa (Figure 1.1),
scene 11, Lawrence caring for the needy, and scene 12, Lawrence converting Tiburtius
Callinicus

imprisoned Lawrence,79 and in the next scene, he is baptized by the saint

(Figure 1.10).80 The fourteenth scene represents Lawrence’s martyrdom on a
bed of coals and the fifteenth and central scene on the lower register depicts
his burial by fellow martyr Hippolytus.81 The remaining scenes, to the
right of Lawrence’s burial, concern Hippolytus. As a result of performing
the Christian burial for Lawrence, Hippolytus is shown before Decius in
scene 16 (as both Sixtus and Lawrence had been earlier). He is then tortured
by laceration with metal hooks in scene 17, is dragged by wild horses in
scene 18, and is finally buried in scene 19 (Figure 1.11).82 Therefore, the
two scenes at the end of the silk depict the separate burials of Hippolytus in
scene 19 and of Sixtus in scene 20 (Figure 1.12).83

79 Scene 12: TIBURCIUS CALINICUS PRE(ce)PTOR / CARCERIS CREDENS IN CR(ist)O.

80 Scene 13: S(anctus) LAURENTIUS BAPTISANS / TIBURCIUM CALINICUS.
81 Scene 14: S(anctus) LAUR(entius) SARTAGINIBUS / IGNIS EXCENSI DEO SP(iritu)M /
COM(m)ENDANS. Scene 15: S(anctus) YPOLITUS SEPEL/LIENS S(an)C(tu)M
LAURENTIUM.
82 Scene 16: S(anctus) YPOLIT(us) DI/SPUTANS IMPE/RATORI DECIO. Scene 17: S(anctus)
YPOLIT(us) UNGUIBUS / ENEIS LACERATUS. Scene 18: S(anctus) YPOLITUS P(er)
EQUOS / FEROCES TRACTUS. Scene 19: S(anctus) YPOLITUS / SEPULTUS.
83 Scene 20: S(anctus) XIST(us) / SEPULTUS.

Figure 1.10 Detail of the lower register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa (Figure 1.1),
scene 13, Lawrence baptizing Tiburtius Callinicus, and scene 14, Martyrdom of
Lawrence

Figure 1.11 Detail of the lower register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa (Figure 1.1),
scene 15, burial of Lawrence, scene 16, Hippolytus before Decius, and scene 17,
Hippolytus lacerated by hooks, and scene 18, Hippolytus dragged by horses

Figure 1.12 Detail of the lower register of the Byzantine silk in Genoa (Figure 1.1),
scene 19, burial of Hippolytus, and scene 20, burial of Sixtus

Regardless of the diverse pictorial and iconographic sources for the design,
which are treated by Paribeni and Falcone,84 the silk in Genoa draws on typ-
ical Palaiologan embroidery traditions and thus offers a crucial link between
pre- and post-conquest textiles – this despite the fact that it remains unique
with respect to other extant Byzantine embroideries, which are almost
entirely liturgical in function and imagery.85 Perhaps the earliest surviving
Byzantine embroideries are a pair of aeres in Halberstadt Cathedral from
the late twelfth century associated with Michael VIII’s maternal grandfa-
ther, Alexios Palaiologos, that represent the Communion of the Apostles,

84 While Lawrence is included in the Synaxarion of Constantinople, compiled in the late tenth
century, the iconography of this saint is extremely rare in Byzantine art. But both Falcone and
Paribeni have introduced extensive comparanda in different media to situate the piece within
more contemporary artistic trends. See more full discussion in Hilsdale, “Imperial Image,”
174–9. See also the helpful appendix of Toth, “Narrative Fabric,” 109, which coordinates the
iconography with the text from the synaxary.
85 Within the corpus of later Byzantine embroideries, the imagery in general relates to the
liturgical function in a fairly straightforward manner, as, for example, the Communion of the
Apostles appears most commonly on aeres, the veils used to cover the chalice. See Warren
Woodfin in BFP, 295–6. A similar argument may be advanced for the textile in Genoa. My
reading of the ideological message of the iconography of the silk relates directly to its function
as a diplomatic gift. The imagery, it will be seen, underscores imperial generosity in a manner
that echoes the concerns of the diplomatic exchange in which it was extended. Thus, form and
function in this instance too are intimately related.

Figure 1.13 Communion of the Apostles,

the first of a pair of aeres, 1185–95,
Cathedral Treasury, Halberstadt, Germany

Figure 1.14 Communion of the Apostles,

the second of a pair of aeres, 1185–95,
Cathedral Treasury, Halberstadt, Germany

the iconography found most frequently on such chalice veils (Figures 1.13–
1.14).86 Scene 8 on the silk in Genoa, where Lawrence holds out the

86 They date to 1185–95 and were brought from Constantinople to Halberstadt in 1205, after the
Fourth Crusade. See F. Dölger, “Die zwei byzantinischen ‘Fahnen’ im Halberstädter

Figure 1.15 Anastasis epigonation, fourteenth century, Byzantine and

Christian Museum, Athens (T. 714)

church property, resembles this configuration of Christ as priest offering

the chalice.87 The decorative features of the peplos are also very well situated
within later Byzantine embroidery traditions. The cross-in-circle motif scat-
tered throughout the Genoese textile has been described as the “hallmark”
of Byzantine church embroidery.88 An epigonation depicting the Anastasis
in the Byzantine and Christian Museum in Athens assigned to the late thir-
teenth or early fourteenth century represents this motif well (Figure 1.15).89

Domschatz,” Beiträge zur Geschichte der Philosophie und Theologie des Mittelalters, 3(2) (1935),
1351–60; Johnstone, Byzantine Tradition, 87 and 88; and, again, Woodfin, BFP, 295–6.
87 The same program of the Communion of the Apostles is found on a fourteenth-century pair in
the Collegiate Church of Castell’Arquato and on a single aer in the Benaki Museum in Athens.
The Collegiate Church of Castell’Arquato examples may be found in Johnstone, Byzantine
Tradition, nos. 87 and 88; Gabriel Millet, Broderies religieuses de style byzantin (Paris, 1939–41),
72–3 and plates CLIV–CLV; and Giovanni Morello, Splendori di Bisanzio (Milan, 1990), 204–5,
where they are reproduced in color. For the Benaki piece, see Johnstone, Byzantine Tradition,
no. 89; and Helen C. Evans, BFP, 310–11 (cat. no. 186).
88 Johnstone, “Byzantine ‘Pallio,’” 102.
89 BFP, 304–5 (cat. no. 180). Here, as in the Genoese silk, the stamplike circle-crosses are cut off
by the embroidered figural imagery in many places. The epitaphios in the National Historical

Although the textile in Genoa participates in the late Byzantine embroi-

dery tradition by virtue of the scattered cross-in-circle motif, it differs in
terms of technique, where we see a contrast between the embroidery of the
inscription and the figural imagery. For the figures, the work follows typical
Byzantine embroidery customs by using couched metal thread for every
aspect of the design, save the flesh parts, which are worked in silk.90 Yet the
inscriptions mark a significant departure: unlike typical Byzantine inscrip-
tions, where thread is laid horizontally across the strokes of the letters, in
this instance the thread follows their contours.91 In this way the inscrip-
tions, beyond the obvious fact that they are Latin rather than Greek, differ
from other Byzantine textiles. Moreover, the inscriptions appear to have
been embroidered after the main figural imagery. The letter scale changes
from scene to scene in order to accommodate the amount of space allot-
ted by the imagery, in some instances less successfully than others. In the
central scene on the upper register, for example, the letters conform to
the shape of the church domes, while the inscriptions of the two scenes
in the lower-right corner are awkwardly spaced both with regard to each
other and their corresponding imagery. In all probability the inscriptions
were executed by a western-trained artist, a position originally put forth by
Johnstone and followed by subsequent scholars. Again, the design draws on
well-established embroidery techniques and pictorial conventions found in
other media, but also exhibits particularities that are highly unusual. The
most significant idiosyncrasy, to which we now turn, is the configuration of
the central scene, the contemporary imperial image that is both integrated
within and interrupts the hagiographic narrative.

Museum of Sofia, which includes an inscription naming Michael VIII’s son Andronikos II
Palaiologos, includes the cross-in-circle design as well, but in a more regularized pattern. See
BFP, 314–15 (cat. no. 188). The delicate foliate pattern forms a single frame along the outer
edge of the silk in Genoa that also finds parallels in extant Palaiologan textiles. The Athens
epigonation employs a similar vine rinceaux frame (although much abraded). It also appears
on the fourteenth-century Vatican sakkos, a liturgical vestment entirely different in most
respects from the Genoese textile, but bearing important similarities in its embroidery motifs.
See BFP, 300–1 (cat. no. 177). Like the Genoese textile and the Athens epigonation, the surface
of the sakkos appears to be scattered almost randomly with the cross-in-circle motif, and the
pattern of the lower hem area – delicate tendrils encircling crosses set within a thin foliate
frame – closely resembles the Genoese silk’s rinceaux pattern.
90 Johnstone has handled the technical aspects of the textile’s production and Parma Armani,
“Nuove Indagini,” 31, offers a thorough summary of its condition. The silk underwent a
significant restoration campaign in 1948–50, but little documentation of this survives. As
mentioned at the beginning of this chapter (see note 3), the textile is currently undergoing a
thorough conservation campaign in Florence.
91 Johnstone, “Byzantine ‘Pallio,’” 102; and Paribeni “Il pallio di San Lorenzo,” 235, with further
thoughts on the script itself.

The emperor, archangel, and saint at the doors

of Genoa’s church

Initially, the design of the silk appears to meld two entirely separate and
distinct genres: a hagiographic story told in linear sequence and a single
symbolic imperial event, a potential church entrance.92 The emperor’s image
substitutes for the historic event for which the textile was created – the
diplomatic treaty that was conducted in the hopes of regaining the occupied
Byzantine capital (Figure 1.3). The privileged central position of this scene
and its placement along the vertical axis directly above St Lawrence’s burial
mark it formally as the pivotal episode. The church is the largest formal
element on the textile and the apex of its dome extends to the upper frame
of the textile.
The lengthy inscription, which follows the contours of the architec-
ture, identifies the figures, action, and setting of this pivotal scene: “Saint
Lawrence leads the Most High Emperor of the Greeks Lord Michael Doukas
Angelos Komnenos Palaiologos into the church of Genoa.”93 Each of the
figures is distinguished by a halo. St Lawrence stands closest to the doors of
the church. He gestures toward the church’s doors with one hand and with
the other he clasps the wrist of the imperial figure on the left – he leads,
as the inscription states. The emperor is recognizable by a gemmed crown
and loros, which according to Byzantine custom wraps around his body
and over his left arm, the arm by which he is being led by the saint. The
bulk of the inscription elaborates the emperor’s nomenclature, highlighting
the illustrious families from which he claimed descent. This is not unusual,
but it is highly unusual, even unprecedented, for a Byzantine inscription to

92 In the central scene on the upper register, the emperor, archangel, and saint stand at the
threshold of the church of Genoa and gesture toward its closed doors. The emperor, of course,
never physically set foot on Genoese soil and hence never entered the church of San Lorenzo.
In this sense, the image is analogous to the sixth-century mosaic cycle in the sanctuary of San
Vitale in Ravenna, where the celebrated portraits of Justinian and Theodora visually stand in
for the imperial couple in the church’s liturgical celebration. In both instances, the imperial
image acts as a surrogate for the person portrayed and, further, it constitutes the organizing
principle for the larger iconographic program. At San Vitale, the theme of gift-giving, the
chalice carried by Theodora and the paten by Justinian, ties together the broader narrative of
sacrifice and offering elaborated in the larger iconographic program of the ritual space. On the
silk in Genoa, giving also governs the overall design.
93 Scene 5 (upper register): S(anctus) LAU(rentius) INDUCE(n)S ALTIS/SIMUM
IMP(er)ATOREM GRE/CO(rum) D(omi)N(u)M MICH(ae)L(em) DUCA(m) /
ANG(e)L(u)M CO(m)NENU(m) PALEO/LOGU(m) IN ECC(les)IAM IAN(uensem or uae or
uensium).

invoke the Greek emperor (Imperator Grecorum) rather than the (Byzan-
tine) standard Emperor of the Romans (ὁ βασιλεὺς ῾Ρωμαίων). Moreover,
while the inscription names only two figures – the saintly and the imperial –
a third is portrayed: the archangel, beardless, unlike the other two figures,
standing behind and between Lawrence and Michael, his hand visible on
the emperor’s right shoulder and his wings extending beyond the emperor,
framing him.94
Another ambiguity involves the depiction of the sacred space. The inscrip-
tion leaves no doubt about the identity of the structure, but its depiction
is much more in keeping with Byzantine than Italian traditions. That the
designers of the cloth rendered the Italian church according to Byzantine
architectural conventions with which they were familiar seems logical. They
would not have been expected to know the distinctive striped façade of
the Romanesque basilica of San Lorenzo, and, after all, in Nicaea inspi-
ration could be drawn from Byzantine churches, including a number of
thirteenth-century structures that are praised in ekphraseis.95 But given the
unprecedented configuration of the textile’s design, it is worth lingering on
the setting of this scene before pursuing the action taking place at its doors,
which constitutes a wholly original visualization of imperial intercession.
By contrast with the other architectural edifice represented on the textile –
the prison with its pitched roof and triangular pediment, directly to the left
of the central scene (in scene 4) and in the lower left two episodes (in
scenes 11 and 12) – the church at the center of the textile resembles a
centrally planned Byzantine sacred structure.96 The building is arranged to

94 While Parma Armani, “Nuove Indagini,” 37, qualified the identification of the archangel as
Michael with a question mark, there is no doubt about the identity of the figure, despite the
fact that he is not named explicitly in the inscription. The Emperor Michael and his
eponymous archangel appear together on the most significant artistic commissions of the day:
the lost bronze monument erected in front of the Church of the Holy Apostles and on his
coinage (see discussion in Chapters 2 and 3). Curiously, the archangel, situated perfectly
between and behind the two figures, is present in upper body alone. This is evident especially
when examining the reverse of the textile, where a third pair of feet and lower garb is missing.
On the issues at stake in the representation of angels, see Glenn Peers, Subtle Bodies:
Representing Angels in Byzantium (Berkeley, 2001).
95 Hans Buchwald, “Lascarid Architecture,” JÖB, 28 (1979), 261–96; Clive Foss, Nicaea: A
Byzantine Capital and its Praises (Brookline, MA, 1996); and Christina Pinatsi, “New
Observations on the Pavement of the Church of Hagia Sophia in Nicaea,” BZ, 99(1) (2006),
119–26, who offers an important re-dating of the pavement mosaics to the early thirteenth
century.
96 The embroidered church may be compared to the painted architectural model represented in
the hands of Peter on the interior of the church of San Lorenzo, a fresco cycle produced around
1312. On these frescoes, see Robert S. Nelson, “A Byzantine Painter in Trecento Genoa: The
Last Judgment at S. Lorenzo,” ArtB, 67(4) (1985), 458–566; Clario Di Fabio, La Cattedrale di

emphasize its entrance, similar to the miniature of Constantinople preserved

in Vatican manuscript 1851 (Figure 3.9).97 Putting the viewer at a slightly
elevated vantage point, the manuscript depiction aligns the great bronze
doors, the ceremonial entrance to the city, with the entrance to the Great
Church, crowned by an immense tympanum and domed roof pierced by
windows. The embroidery similarly stresses the great doors of the church,
which are framed by rising tympana, windows, and dome. It is toward these
doors that the emperor, archangel, and saint are processing; the imperial and
saintly figure even gestures toward them. The sacred building stands for the
city of Genoa and is positioned to emphasize its threshold – in other words,
to emphasize potentiality and liminality.98 There may well also be a fluidity
of associations at play here: just as it represents San Lorenzo, standing for
Genoa, it may also allude to Hagia Sophia, metonym for Constantinople,
whose restoration to Byzantine rule was the objective of the treaty for which
the textile was created.
While the unique image of the emperor being led by St Lawrence to the
doors of San Lorenzo relates ultimately to the larger message of the textile
as a whole, there are Byzantine art historical precedents for the clasping of
wrists and the leading of figures. In terms of religious iconography, scenes of
the Anastasis, as in the Athens epigonation (Figure 1.15), present relatively
consistent conventions for the clasping of wrists, although they generally
exhibit a more pronounced sense of dynamism and urgency than the calm
procession-like tone of the central scene of the textile in Genoa.99 In the
central scene of the textile, St Lawrence moves toward the church on the

Genova nel medioevo, secoli VI–XIV (Cinisello Balsamo: Silvana, 1998); and Robert S. Nelson,
“Byzantine Icons in Genoa before the Mandylion” in A. R. Calderoni Masetti, C. Dufour
Bozzo, and G. Wolf (eds.), Intorno al Sacro Volto: Genova, Bisanzio e il Mediterraneo (secoli
XI–XIV) (Venice, 2007), 79–92. On the depiction of architectural models held in hands of
saints and patrons, see discussion in the next chapter. Also relevant to the discussion is S.
Ćurčić and E. Hadjitryphonos (eds.), Architecture as Icon: Perception and Representation of
Architecture in Byzantine Art (Princeton, 2010).
97 Also like the textile in Genoa, this illuminated manuscript was custom-made as a gift for a
foreign audience. The book, however, was made for a foreign princess arriving in
Constantinople to marry the heir to the throne of Byzantium. See Hilsdale, “Constructing a
Byzantine Augusta,” 458–83; and, for an alternate dating, Cecily J. Hennessy, “A Child Bride
and Her Representation in the Vatican Epithalamion, Cod. Gr. 1851,” BMGS, 30(2) (2006),
115–50.
98 On the importance of the threshold to imperial ceremony, the liminal narthex zone and
imperial doors of Hagia Sophia in particular, see Dagron, Emperor and Priest, 84–114, and
further discussion in Chapter 2. Again, the central scene’s potential entrance bears associations
of church union and has been related to the unionist agenda that marked Michael’s reign.
99 The principal study of the iconography of the Anastasis is Anna Kartsonis, Anastasis: The
Making of an Image (Princeton, 1986).

right – his body is turned ever so slightly in that direction along with his
feet, and his left hand gestures there – and yet his head is crooked back to
the left (echoing the much sharper crook of the archangel’s head) toward
the eastern emperor, whom he clasps by the wrist. Even though the saint’s
position lacks the drama typical of Christ in scenes of the Anastasis, it
subtly echoes such a pose. One of the most significant departures from the
Anastasis depictions, however, lies in the scale of the three figures: unlike
Christ, who is generally represented as larger than the other figures in
the Anastasis, the emperor on the peplos appears the same size and on the
same grounding as the sacred figure who holds his wrist and leads him to
the right.
Images of intercession and donation provide the closest model for the cen-
tral scene’s arrangement. It is in this pictorial context that we find the close
contiguity of holy figures and living patrons or donors most frequently.100
Two images in particular, which have been brought together by Nancy
Ševčenko as examples of the close encounter between holy figures and the
faithful, merit closer scrutiny.101 In monumental form at Mileševa, on the
south wall of the Church of the Ascension painted around 1235, Prince
Vladislav is depicted being led to Christ by the Virgin (Figure 1.16).102
Christ sits on the left, book held open in one hand, and the other hand
gestures in acknowledgment toward the pair approaching from the right,
first the Virgin and then the prince, who holds a model of the church with
his left hand, his right wrist clasped by the Virgin, just as the Palaiologan
emperor’s left is clasped by St Lawrence. A mid- to late thirteenth-century

100 The subject of portraits and donation has been surveyed by A. Stylianou and J. A. Stylianou,
“Donors and Dedicatory Inscriptions, Supplicants and Supplications in the Painted Churches
of Cyprus,” JÖBG, 9 (1960), 97–128; Sophia Kalopissi-Verti, Dedicatory Inscriptions and Donor
Portraits in Thirteenth-Century Churches of Greece (Vienna, 1992); Lynn Rodley, “Patron
Imagery from the Fringes of the Empire” in D. C. Smythe (ed.), Strangers to Themselves: The
Byzantine Outsider; Papers from the Thirty-second Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies,
University of Sussex, Brighton, March 1998 (Aldershot, 2000), 163–78; C. Jäggi, “Donator oder
Fundator? Zur Genese des monumentalen Stifterbildes,” Georges-Bloch-Jahrbuch des
Kunsthistorischen Instituts der Universität Zürich, 9–10 (2002–3), 27–45. Nancy P. Ševčenko
and Annemarie Weyl Carr have examined most fully the self-referentiality of votive images
with donor portraits. For the later Byzantine period in particular, see the surveys by Velmans,
“Le portrait,” 93–148, and Hans Belting, “Die Auftraggeber der spätbyzantinischen
Bildhandschrift” in the same volume, 151–76, as well as the recent studies by Kambourova,
“Pouvoir et prière” and “Ktitor: le sens du don des panneaux votifs,” 261–87; and Carr,
“Donors in the Frames of Icons,” 189–98. See also note 43 in the Introduction.
101 Ševčenko, “Close Encounters,” 255–85.
102 On Mileševa, see G. Babić, “Le portrait du roi Vladislav en fondateur dans le naos de l’église
de Mileševa” in V. J. Đurić (ed.), Mileševa u istoriji srpskog naroda: Međunarodni naučni skup
povodom sedam i po vekova postojanja; juni 1985 (Belgrade, 1987), 9–16, with bibliography.

Figure 1.16 Vladislav led to Christ by the Virgin, Church of the Ascension, Mileševa,
Serbia, c. 1235

Gospel book in the Iveron monastery on Mount Athos similarly depicts

intercession and donation (Figure 1.17a–b).103 On the recto of folio 457,
the donor, identified as John, holds a book in his left hand. His right is
clasped by the Virgin, who leads him to the left, where across the page
the enthroned Christ raises his hand in a gesture of speech, while John
Chrysostom stands close behind recording the encounter on a long scroll.
A legalistic tone of this scene of intercession closely resembles the protocol
of imperial petition, where court intermediaries would negotiate contact
between humble suppliant and supplicated emperor.104

103 Iveron 5, fol. 456v–7r. On Iveron 5, see Karakatsanis (ed.), Treasures of Mount Athos, 214 (no.
5.17); S. M. Pelekanides et al. (eds.), Treasures of Mount Athos (Athens, 1974), 2:296-303; and
G. Galavaris, Holy Monastery of Iveron: Illustrated Manuscripts (Mount Athos, 2002). Both
Falcone, “Il ‘Pallio’ bizantino,” 340, and Paribeni, “Il pallio di San Lorenzo,” 238–9, have
noted the close stylistic relationship between the textile in Genoa and Iveron 5. On the donor
image of Iveron 5 in particular, see Ševčenko, “Close Encounters,” 273; Spatharakis, The
Portrait, 84–7; Hans Belting, Das illuminierte Buch in der spätbyzantinischen Gesellschaft
(Heidelberg, 1970), 35–7.
104 See Belting, Das illuminierte Buch, 36; and H. Hunger, “Die Herrschaft des ‘Buchstabens’: Das
Verhältnis der Byzantiner zu Schrift- und Kanzleiwesen,” ΔΧΑΕ, 12 (1984), 37.

(a) (b)

Figure 1.17a–b Christ with John Chrysostom and the Virgin with John, the Holy
Monastery of Iveron, Mount Athos, cod. 5, fol. 456v–457r, thirteenth century

A similar mapping of contemporary court protocol onto a visual program

has been observed by Robert Nelson in the “Enrollment for Taxation” scene
of the early fourteenth-century narthex mosaics of the Chora Monastery
(Kariye Camii) in Constantinople, where the scene of biblical tax collection,
in part, adopts conventions of a contemporary imperial audience (Figure
1.18).105 In both mosaic and manuscript scenes, the authority figure (Cyre-
nius at Chora, Christ in Iveron 5) is accompanied by a scribe. At the Chora,
costume assists the viewer in making the associations between contempo-
rary imperial and biblical worlds. But in scenes of intercession, earthly and
divine figures appear together in the same composition either within the
same pictorial space, as in the Mileševa fresco, or across the page from one
another, as in Iveron 5. Moreover, on the Iveron manuscript and the tex-
tile in Genoa, sacred and earthly figures are brought into analogy through
name. John Chrysostom, who acts as scribe in the Iveron codex, records
Christ’s words of blessing for his earthly namesake John. And on the textile,

105 Robert S. Nelson, “Taxation with Representation: Visual Narrative and the Political Field of
the Kariye Camii,” ArtH, 22(1) (1999), 56–82.

Figure 1.18 Enrollment for Taxation, outer narthex mosaics,

Chora Monastery (Kariye Camii), c. 1316–21, Constantinople

the emperor Michael is embraced by his archangelic namesake – the leader

of the heavenly hosts sanctions the union of the earthly leader of Byzantium
and St Lawrence’s church.
In these intercession scenes, contemporary donors interact with sacred
figures. As on the textile in Genoa, the donors are led by the wrist. These
scenes also exhibit precisely the same self-referential logic as does the textile.
John, the ktetor of the Iveron manuscript, holds in his hand the codex that
stands as a smaller representation of the larger book whose very pages
contain the image itself. Similarly, Vladislav holds in his hand the church
that bears his representation. Michael too is depicted in front of the church
that is intended to be the repository of the very textile woven with his
portrait. But the silk exhibits displacement: Michael is the patron not of
San Lorenzo but of the textile destined for that church. Michael’s image
therefore functions as a donor scene despite the fact that his gift is not
depicted literally in his hand. His gift is the very silk, a gift intimately

bound with the diplomatic circumstances of its creation. The textile both
commemorates and participates in this diplomatic exchange.106
The scene of intercession at the center of the piece, which is the nexus
of the whole program, differs profoundly from other scenes of intercession.
The earthly figure, the emperor, despite his being led rather than leading, is
not reduced in scale, and he shares the pictorial space of the sacred figures
entirely.107 Moreover, he is being led toward the doors of the church, not
toward a holy entity, thus presenting a fundamentally locative scene of inter-
cession. Furthermore, the emperor is distinctly pictured as part of a triad.
The combination of triad and clasped wrists echoes early Byzantine scenes
of marital union, in particular that of the gesture of the dextrarum iunc-
tio. Perhaps this is not surprising, considering that Holobolos’s encomium
employed the metaphor of the lover and beloved for the Genoese ambas-
sadors and the emperor in order to underscore the potential power of the
imperial image. In addition to a series of rings bearing this imagery, a mar-
riage belt at Dumbarton Oaks depicts the bride and groom with hands
clasped in front of Christ, who presides over the joining of hands (Figure
1.19).108 Ernst Kantorowicz has examined the development of this imagery
from pre-Christian scenes of union, elaborating how the images take on a
quasi-legal valence, with Christ in the position of concordia pronuba wit-
nessing and sanctioning the union. The tripartite arrangement of pronuba

106 This self-referential logic of donation is consistent with donor figures on Byzantine icons,
which, Ševčenko has argued, “reenact the donation” rather than merely record it. The icon,
Ševčenko eloquently states in “Representation of Donors,” 157, “is both the commemoration
of the gift and the very gift itself.”
107 In the funerary context, the Archangel Michael acts as mediator for the deceased in the tomb
of John I Angelos Komnenos Doukas (d. 1289) at the Panagia Monastery, Porta (Pyle). There
he clasps the deceased by the wrist and leads him to the seated Virgin and Child, but the
archangelic figure is noticeably larger in scale than the earthly figure. See Sarah T. Brooks,
“Poetry and Female Patronage in Late Byzantine Tomb Decoration: Two Epigrams by Manuel
Philes,” DOP, 60 (2006), 235 and figs. 5–6.
108 E. H. Kantorowicz, “On the Golden Marriage Belt and the Marriage Rings of the Dumbarton
Oaks Collection,” DOP, 14 (1960), 1–16; Ioli Kalavrezou (ed.), Byzantine Women and Their
World (New Haven, 2003), 229–30 (cat. no. 131); Gudrun Bühl (ed.), Dumbarton Oaks: The
Collections (Washington DC, 2008), 108–9. See also Gary Vikan, “Art and Marriage in Early
Byzantium,” DOP, 44 (1990), 145–63, especially 161–2. A similar piece also exists in the
Louvre: see Musée du Louvre, Byzance: l’art byzantin dans les collections publiques françaises
(Paris, 1992), 133–4 (cat. no. 89). On one of the seventh-century silver plates in Cyprus
known as the David Plates, we encounter a similar configuration among Old Testament
figures. Under a stylized classical architectural backdrop with offerings placed in the
foreground, Saul presides over the marriage of his daughter Micah to David. See Ruth E.
Leader, “The David Plates Revisited: Transforming the Secular in Early Byzantium,” ArtB,
82(3) (2000), 407–27, followed by Ruth E. Leader-Newby, Silver and Society in Late Antiquity:
Functions and Meanings of Silver Plate in the Fourth to Seventh Centuries (Aldershot, 2003).

Figure 1.19 Marriage belt with bridal couple and Christ, sixth–seventh century,
Dumbarton Oaks

and dextrarum iunctio seen in early marital iconography does not present
an exact match for the central scene on the Genoese textile – for one, the
thirteenth-century emperor’s left wrist is clasped, not his right – but there
are some common formal and thematic echoes that make marital union
a fitting model for the visualization of a diplomatic pact. Gary Vikan has
pointed out that the supervisory role of Christ in scenes of dextrarum iunc-
tio is emphasized by his close physical contact with the couple in order to
suggest blessing. On nearly all of the series of rings with dextrarum iunctio
imagery, he writes: “Christ appears to be touching the couple, either on the
shoulders, the hands, or the head.”109 On the textile, the pronuba position
is occupied by the archangel. His hand rests intimately on the Byzantine
emperor’s shoulder in this scene of union, constituting a gesture of assent,
support, and sanction.
The close association of the emperor and the archangel is a consistent
feature of images of the first Palaiologan emperor. Not surprisingly, the
Genoese ambassadors of Holobolos’s speech explicitly address Michael as

109 Vikan, “Art and Marriage,” 160 n. 115.

an angel. “You are an Angel, an Angel of Light, a Benevolent Angel (ἄγγελος

ἀγαθός),” they intone, as they implore him to be their helmsman.110 The
Typikon for the Monastery of the Archangel Michael on Mount Auxen-
tios expresses a personal relationship between Michael and his archangelic
namesake. The emperor claims to have been “rescued” on a number of occa-
sions “through the ministry of the leader of the immaterial beings, Michael,
whom, from God and after God, I have been fortunate to have as the vig-
ilant guardian of my life in the midst of many dangers, many precarious
and fearsome situations, some originating within [the empire] while others
were due to external forces. He came to my assistance in time of war and
gloriously took me to his side. Many times he led me to victory over both
domestic and foreign foes.”111
The emperor and the archangel appear together in relation to the city on
significant commissions after the Byzantine restoration of Constantinople,
such as the bronze monumental sculptural group erected in front of the
Church of the Holy Apostles, the subject of the next chapter, and on Michael
VIII’s new gold hyperpyra, the subject of Chapter 3. The obverse of the
new coinage depicts the Virgin surrounded by the walls of Constantinople,
an image inspired by the Byzantine restoration of the imperial capital,
and the reverse shows the emperor on knee being presented to Christ by
his saintly namesake (Figures 3.2–3.4).112 While the combination of the
obverse imagery of the Virgin of the walls with the reverse of the emperor
with the archangel and Christ begins after the Byzantine restoration of the
imperial capital, to celebrate explicitly the return of the Virgin’s favor to
the city, as we will see in Chapter 3, this same reverse iconography was first
struck in Magnesia, mint for the Empire of Nicaea, before the Byzantine

110 Treu, Orationes, 1:46.16–17; and Siderides, “Μανουὴλ ῾Ολοβώλου,” 189. Many of Holobolos’s
orations, including those composed to accompany the prokypsis ceremony, include angelic
imagery. See, for example, J. F. Boissonade, Anecdota Graeca e codicibus regiis (Hildesheim,
1962), 5:167, 173–5. In emphasizing the assimilation of the imperial and the angelic in the
thirteenth century, in “The Heavenly Court” in Byzantine Court Culture, Henry Maguire
points out that the “angelic emperor was a topos, but not an unchanging one” in verbal and
visual rhetoric. See his related comments in “Style and Ideology in Byzantine Imperial Art,”
Gesta, 28(2) (1989), 217–31, 223–4.
111 BMFD, 3:1215–16. Typika, including this one, are discussed in greater detail in the next
chapter.
112 DOC V/2, nos. 2–25; Cécile Morrisson, “L’hyperpère de Michel VIII Paléologue et la
reconquête de Constantinople,” Le Club français de la Médaille, Bulletin, 55–6 (1977), 76–86;
and Anthony Cutler, Transfigurations: Studies in the Dynamics of Byzantine Iconography
(University Park, 1975), 111–41. In “The Emperor, the Saint, and the City: Coinage and
Money in Thessalonike from the Thirteenth to the Fifteenth Century,” DOP, 57 (2003),
179–86, Cécile Morrisson contrasts the treatment of the city and emperor on Michael’s
coinage to the ruler-city configuration on Thessalonian coinage.

restoration of Constantinople.113 The iconography of the reverse is therefore

contemporary with the textile in Genoa. This coincidence indicates that the
emperor alongside the archangel was a well-established trope in Nicaea, and
that their relationship was portrayed as close and intimate.
The coin and the central scene of the textile share another key element.
The emperor occupies a seemingly humble position on each – he is shown
kneeling on the coin and being led by the wrist on the peplos – and yet
this humility serves as a means of ultimately expressing power. At the same
time as he adopts a position of apparent humility, the emperor is shown
simultaneously being blessed or sanctioned by a holy figure. On the silk,
his archangelic namesake embraces him and rests his hand intimately on
his shoulder, and on the coin Christ touches his crown in a gesture that
suggests divine approval. This distinction in imperial tenor – between the
emphasis on coronation and legitimation of the coin versus the idiosyncratic
scene of intercession on the silk – indicates the different audiences for
each imperial image. While coinage is intended for a wide and anonymous
audience, the silk, materially related to specie in diplomatic contexts, was
designed with one particular foreign audience in mind.

Visualizing largesse through synkrisis

The addition of the contemporary imperial image, modeled primarily on

scenes of intercession, complicates the formal design of the textile. Not only
did it prompt a redistribution of the hagiographic sequencing (relegating
the scene of Sixtus’s burial to the lower level), it also put into direct dialogue
hagiographic and imperial narratives. Henry Maguire has emphasized that
the rhetorical technique of comparison, or synkrisis, introduces “paradig-
matic meanings into syntagmatically composed narratives.”114 Through
visual juxtapositions and comparisons, he claims, higher levels of significa-
tion are produced. According to rhetorical formulae for imperial encomia
handed down from Menander Rhetor, a good emperor should be compared
to noble figures such as David, Solomon, or Constantine, and a bad emperor
to Saul, Pharaoh, or Herod. Such rhetorical strategies abound in encomia,
where the emperor’s might typically surpasses that of Abaris, Gyges, and

113 DOC V/2, no. 1, departs from previous traditions by showing on its reverse the emperor not
being crowned by the Virgin, who appears on the obverse enthroned, but rather being
presented to Christ by his saintly namesake, the Archangel Michael. This reverse imagery,
then, continues on coinage struck in Constantinople.
114 Henry Maguire, “The Art of Comparing in Byzantium,” ArtB, 70(1) (1988), 88.

Kroises – and where his sins are forgiven like David’s.115 The art of com-
parison, Maguire argues, extended far beyond the literary genre of encomia
and constituted integral mental equipment for any educated Byzantine.
The visual arts in particular, he claims, became one of the main realms for
comparison, where one of the most “distinctive characteristics” of Byzan-
tine art was the topos of “compositionally balanced pairs that mirror each
other either formally, or thematically, or both.”116 Comparison through
formal mirroring occurs in the Genoese textile, where formal and thematic
juxtapositions of praise and censure produce a commentary on imperial
largesse.
The central image of the Byzantine emperor Michael, led by the saint
with the support of the archangel, is set in opposition to three other
scenes (1, 9, and 16) of the ancient Roman Emperor Decius. Titular
distinctions serve to distance the contemporary from the historic ruler: both
are described as emperors, but the ancient ruler is called merely “Emperor
Decius,” whereas more lengthy nomenclature designates the thirteenth-
century emperor: Altissimum Imperatorem Grecorum Dominum Michaelem
Ducam Angelum Comnenum Paleologum. The inscription specifies Michael
explicitly as Greek Emperor (Imperator Grecorum). While this profound
idiosyncrasy bears larger implications for the development of Byzantine
imperial identity in exile, within the pictorial program of the textile, such
a distinction verbally underscores a relationship of opposition between the
two imperial figures: the contemporary “Greek” emperor and the ancient
(Roman) emperor. Beyond titular distinctions, a subtle costume motif fur-
ther indicates that the two rulers on the textile correspond to each other,
though separated in time, as models of good and bad rule. In the two scenes
of confrontation between martyrs and the ancient ruler on the upper regis-
ter (scenes 1 and 9), Decius wears a sharply pointed headdress whose shape
is associated with contemporary Byzantine court costume. It is depicted on
courtiers in a late twelfth-century manuscript in the Vatican and it is also
worn by Cyrenius in the Chora mosaics (Figure 1.18).117 This headdress,

115 See Angelov, Imperial Ideology, 87–8, for a compilation of figures to whom Michael VIII is
compared in imperial panegyric, as will be further discussed in the beginning of the next
chapter. Significantly, Michael is lauded as the new Zorobabel for leading his people back to
the New Jerusalem. See also Magdalino and Nelson, “The Emperor in Byzantine Art.”
116 Maguire, “Art of Comparing,” 89.
117 On Vatican 1851, where the headdress appears on courtiers on folios 2v and 1r, see note 97
above. On court dress at the Chora, see Paul Underwood, The Kariye Djami (New York, 1966),
1:42; and Nelson, “Taxation with Representation,” 58–9. Paribeni, “Il pallio di San Lorenzo,”
244 n. 44, and Falcone, “Il ‘Pallio’ bizantino,” 347–8, refer to the headdress worn by Decius on
the upper register of the textile in Genoa as a toupha. The toupha holds a privileged position

possibly the skiadion described by pseudo-Kodinos, arches upward, form-

ing a peaked projection in front.118 The fact that it is the other emperor,
the ancient Roman emperor, who is contemporized through dress suggests
that he is to be read against, as a negative counterpart to, the only other
contemporary imperial figure on the cloth, namely the Byzantine (“Greek”)
emperor, Michael Palaiologos.
The rationale for Decius’s contemporary headdress has been explained
by one scholar as a means of demoting the ancient Roman ruler: “this hat
of higher nobility and officialdom [was] more suitable than any crown for
an emperor who was both heathen and tyrant.”119 However, contempo-
rary sources suggest that the skiadion was not limited to officials, but was
also worn by the emperor himself – it was a more fluid element of court
dress.120 Rather than fixing the station of the ancient ruler, the costume
motif guides the viewer through the visual program and differentiates the
two authority figures.121 The elaborate headdress exaggerates Decius’s posi-
tion of authority and highlights his role as a persecutor in contradistinction
to Michael. On the upper register of the textile, Decius sits enthroned, hand
raised in a gesture of command and speech, guarded by two armed sol-
diers (scenes 1 and 9). His portrayal is unmistakably – and stereotypically –
confrontational,122 whereas the Byzantine (“Greek”) emperor is depicted

in art historical literature on the lost equestrian statue of Justinian in the Augustaion, which
will be discussed at greater length in the next chapter. For the ideological valences of court
dress in the later Byzantine period more generally, see the compelling article by Maria Parani,
“Cultural Identity and Dress: The Case of Late Byzantine Ceremonial Costume,” JÖB, 59
(2007), 95–134.
118 Pseudo-Kodinos, Traité des offices, 141–66, 180, 207, 227, 279. On the skiadion, see Nancy
Ševčenko, “Skiadion,” ODB; and Parani, Reconstructing the Reality, 68–70 with a definition at
349. The headdress represented on the upper register of the textile is distinct from the sort of
winged headgear often designating persecutors, as in the mosaics of the Massacre of the
Innocents at the Chora, a headgear studied by Ruth Mellinkoff in “Demonic Winged
Headgear,” Viator, 16 (1985), 367.
119 Johnstone, “Byzantine ‘Pallio,’” 107. Johnstone compares Decius’s hat to contemporary dress
represented at the Chora, but does not identify the motif as either a toupha or a skiadion.
120 Parani points this out in Reconstructing the Reality of Images, 70. Again, Pseudo-Kodinos
describes members of different rank, including the emperor, wearing this headdress.
121 As a comparative example, in the exonarthex frescoes of the Vatopedi monastery on Mount
Athos, elaborate court headdresses also serve as visual clues of opposition. In order to draw a
contrast between asceticism and gluttony, a lavish banquet attended by wealthy guests wearing
a wide array of distinctive court headdresses sits adjacent to the representation of the Heavenly
Ladder of John Klimakos, which relates directly to monastic pursuits. Sharon Gerstel, “Civic
and Monastic Influences on Church Decoration in Late Byzantine Thessalonike,” DOP, 57
(2003), 234–5, notes the startling contrast “between the earnestly ascending monks and the
banqueters” that illustrates the twentieth step of the ladder “on Alertness.”
122 These are the basic visual configurations for the confrontation between a martyr and Roman
authority. The inscriptions too suggest a conventionality of the scenes involving Decius. In all

in a scene of union and affection, led toward the church by the saint, the
archangel’s hand resting intimately on his shoulder. The arrangement of the
ancient emperor follows well-established conventions for the persecutor,
while the configuration of the contemporary ruler innovatively draws on
scenes of intercession and union. To reinforce this comparison, the artist
has formally arranged the two scenes of Decius in this particular headgear
to mirror each other at either edge of the upper register, thus framing the
Palaiologan emperor, who appears in the privileged central space of the
textile.123 The design, in this sense, frames the example of good rule with
that of bad rule: while Decius condemns martyrs to death, Michael not only
brings peace but is invited to the sacred space of the church of Genoa, the
focal point of the textile and its largest formal element. This concept of
Michael as the exemplum of good rule is appropriate for the function of the
cloth. For, unlike past persecutors, Michael is an ally; in the words of his
encomiast Holobolos, he is Genoa’s “beloved” and his image will be their
great pharmakon.
While the praiseworthy and blameworthy emperors are put into explicit
visual synkrisis of opposition on the textile, the good Byzantine emperor
is also implicitly compared to the sacred hagiographic figures. Michael is
at once set against the tyrannical actions of Decius and is set alongside
saintly transaction and distribution. Although the iconographic cycle of
St Lawrence was uncommon in Byzantium in the thirteenth century, it
nevertheless presented the ideal imagery for this diplomatic occasion: the
identity of the saint relates to the church for which the silk was destined
and, moreover, the saint’s narrative is governed by exchange and transaction,
central concerns of the treaty for which the silk was created. Juxtaposing
saintly transaction with contemporary diplomacy, the imperial scene of
union is surrounded by hagiographic episodes that emphasize the sale and
distribution of wealth. The first scene on the upper register at the far left
(the logical spatial beginning of the story) and the sixth scene (its narrative
or temporal beginning) both refer to the selling of property. In scene 6
Lawrence is ordered to distribute the belongings of the church and in
scene 1 he is confronted about that sale. In a total of five scenes on the top

three, the inscriptions simply state the St Xistus, Laurentius, or Ypolitus “disputans
imperatori Decio.”
123 It is also significant that Decius does not wear the court headdress in the lower register, where
his relation to Michael is not as direct. In the upper register, however, the two instances of
such headgear physically point to the center, formally guiding the viewer’s eye. Cf. Paribeni,
“Il pallio di San Lorenzo,” 236, which notes inconsistencies in dress throughout the textile.

register, in fact, the inscription makes explicit references to the selling or

distributing of property (scenes one, two, six, seven, and eight), and in all
the other scenes, save the central scene on the top register, which evokes
contemporary diplomacy, the sale is implied by virtue of its consequences.
This is neither accidental nor merely conventional, I would argue, since
there was no well-established Byzantine pictorial tradition for the story
of St Lawrence. The textile’s visual program emphatically underscores the
notion of transaction through the noble and pious transaction that was
unjustly punished.
Furthermore, the seamless flow from the central imperial scene to the
opening of the hagiographic narrative suggests that both emperor and saint
participate in the same overarching plot of largesse. The Genoese church
serves as the formal setting for two scenes: the symbolic entrance of the
Byzantine emperor and also the backdrop for the opening scene of the hagio-
graphic story where Sixtus, book in hand, gestures toward Lawrence with
his command to distribute. Lawrence turns his head back to meet Sixtus’s
gaze while his body faces forward toward the group of potential buyers.124
He holds a chalice and censor in one hand and a paten in the other while
the group of anonymous buyers are positioned with outstretched hands.
The one closest to the saint touches the chalice base to suggest that the
process of transaction is already underway. Immediately following, the fig-
ure of Lawrence is repeated (scene 8), his body and attention directed
toward the mass of poor approaching with outstretched hands. Transac-
tion gives way to distribution with the next scene. The coin rather than the
chalice constitutes the point of physical contact between the saint and the
group: still in Lawrence’s closed hand, it touches the first figure’s open hand,
into which it is on the verge of being deposited. The scenes on the upper-
right register visually create an analog of sale and of distribution where the
recipients of both coin and church treasures (by both sale and donation)
are put in parallel, and they culminate in a scene of condemnation and per-
secution. Then in the pendant position on the far left of the textile (scene
2), a transformation of value ensues: the sold church property, already con-
verted again into money for distribution, is transformed into the recipients
themselves, loaded onto an ox-drawn cart for display before Decius. These
scenes again result in punishment. Formally, therefore, the top register is
divided into two narratives of sale and distribution, both presided over by

124 This posture echoes that of Lawrence in scene 6, where he is turned toward the right,
propelling the visual narrative, but his head turns back slightly toward the Byzantine emperor.

the “bad” emperor, and they are separated spatially and inaugurated by the
central scene of the “good” emperor, sanctioned by St Lawrence and the
archangel.
On a subtle rhetorical level, the textile provides a visual justification for
Michael’s diplomatic actions: in order to enter into an alliance with the
Genoese, he offered on very liberal terms substantial commercial privi-
leges in addition to silk and specie. Responding to the treaty’s terms, Peter
Schreiner notes: “Nel trattato del Ninfeo Michele vendette un intero impero
per niente.”125 As an appropriate comparative story, the life of St Lawrence’s
martyrdom concerns equitable and just distribution. To emphasize the
actions of sale and distribution, the design adopts the format of continuous
narration, where visual details are adumbrated rather than abbreviated to
a single scene of martyrdom.126 By selectively delineating and attenuating
the specific episodes in the saint’s life that relate to exchange or transaction,
the silk ultimately becomes a visual encomium to the Byzantine emperor
despite the fact that the intended recipients were Genoese. While the cloth
addresses its intended Genoese audience with its iconography and its Latin
letters, the piece as a whole articulates Byzantine superiority through dis-
tinctly Byzantine rhetorical conventions such as synkrisis. Michael’s actions
are sanctioned by the saint and archangel; he is beloved, pious, and power-
ful, while Decius is merely powerful. Decius persecutes those who distribute
wealth, while Michael, in the very act of giving the textile, demonstrates his
generosity.
In sum, the designers of the textile embedded the imperial narrative
within the hagiographic cycle so as to create through synkrisis a visual
encomium of contemporary imperial largesse. The emperor is explicitly
contrasted to Decius: through costume, titulature, and formal arrange-
ment, the praiseworthy generous Byzantine emperor is opposed to the
blameworthy ancient ruler who persecutes noble transaction. At the same
time, the emperor is also compared implicitly to the textile’s saintly pro-
tagonists through generosity and just exchange. Titos Papamastorakis has
noted the close correspondence between Michael’s panegyric and his visual

125 Schreiner, “Bisanzio e Genova,” 136. See also Parma Armani, “Nuove Indagini,” 35–6.
126 As in the icon of St Lawrence in the Malcove Collection, where the saint’s condemnation and
torture coalesce into a single scene of martyrdom: the roasting on a gridiron occupies the
foreground as the seated emperor, along with other soldiers, observes from behind, and an
angel reaches down from above. The events that precede and follow this moment are omitted
so as to focus on the martyrdom alone. See Sheila Campbell (ed.), The Malcove Collection: A
Catalogue of the Objects in the Lillian Malcove Collection of the University of Toronto (Toronto,
1985), 245–6; and BFP, 482 (cat. no. 291), where it has been assigned a date in the early 1300s.

representation at the monastery of the Mavriotissa near Kastoria, and has

characterized the latter as a “visual encomium” (Figure 2.3a and b).127
Holobolos highlights textiles as visual encomia when he describes the
revival of the ancient custom of presenting peploi woven with images of
the emperor’s deeds from that year.128 The silk in Genoa also celebrates the
emperor’s greatness and his generosity. Not only does it exhibit the same
qualities expressed in panegyric, the textile in Genoa also employs rhetorical
structures drawn from encomia.
Yet a fundamental difference exists between these verbal and visual enco-
mia. Unlike the one composed for oral performance before the emperor and
his court, the textile’s tribute was destined for a foreign audience. Holobo-
los’s speech is designed to praise Michael in front of the emperor himself,
while the textile’s message of imperial praise is directed toward the Genoese.
This shift in audience raises the challenge of how to celebrate the emperor in
a foreign land – and in a particularly delicate diplomatic context of potential
Byzantine–Genoese amicità against the Pope and the Latin Empire of Con-
stantinople.129 The solution to this challenge hinges on the vocabulary of
gift-giving and largesse, traditional attributes of the imperial ideal, but here
subtly crafted to convey a sophisticated message of just and pious largesse
without obvious triumphant overtones. Such an agenda governs the partic-
ular hagiographic and imperial arrangement, and helps to explain why the
emperor’s effigy is so seamlessly integrated into the saintly cycle. Recall that
there are no artificial divisions between the scenes and the figures are all
depicted in comparable scale. Instead of the traditional imagery of victory,
such as presiding over barbarian tribute bearers, immobile and majestic,
or triumphantly astride a mount – as on such classic imperial monuments
as the base of the obelisk of Theodosius I or the Barberini ivory (Figures
2.9 and 2.10) – Michael’s sovereignty on the silk in Genoa is underscored
through subtle rhetorical juxtapositions.

127 Titos Papamastorakis, “᾿Ενα εικαστικό εγκώμιο του Μιχαήλ Ηʹ Παλαιολόγου: Οι εξωτερικές
τοιχογραφίες στο καθολικό της μονής της Μαυριώτισσας στην Καστοριά,” ΔΧΑΕ, 15
(1989–90), 221–38. Kastoria will be further addressed in Chapter 2.
128 Macrides, “The New Constantine,” 28–30.
129 In the textile’s concerted effort to differentiate between the two imperial figures, it is tempting
to read another political message directed specifically toward the Genoese concerning their
diplomatic involvement with the Byzantine emperor of the “Greeks” against the other
contemporary emperor, the Latin Emperor of Constantinople. The textile offers a message of
pious transaction, sanctioned by a powerful sacro-imperial triumvirate – the leader of
heavenly hosts, head of the Byzantine “Greek” empire in exile, and patron of Genoa’s
cathedral. Through the Treaty of Nymphaion, the Genoese entered into an alliance
(transaction) with the schismatic Greeks against the Pope’s candidate for the Empire of
Constantinople. The imagery, on some level, visually justifies this engagement.

This more subtle visual logic is explained by its function as a diplomatic

gift given to seal a pact that aimed at the restoration of Constantinople
and the legitimation of Michael Palaiologos. The entire design of the silk,
I have argued, articulates this diplomatic agenda. In much the same way,
the lost textile given in conjunction with the Council of Lyons depicted
a saintly sanctioned pictorialization of Byzantine–western allegiance. Both
were extended as state gifts in moments of great diplomatic importance
and uncertainty. They each relied on unconventional modes of imperial
representation as visual solutions for praising the emperor in an urgent
yet delicate diplomatic situation abroad. The fact that Holobolos fails to
mention the imperial effigy on the St Lawrence silk, such an important state
gift, in the words of Macrides “is not surprising if one considers the position
in which the emperor is represented.”130 Holobolos could have said anything
he wanted – ekphrasis was not bound by the rules of veracity.131 He chose
not to mention the imperial effigy because, Macrides explains, Byzantine–
Genoese tides had turned by 1265, when the first of his imperial orations
was delivered.132 The diplomatic gift and the imperial oration recording it
belong to different worlds.

Conclusion: gifts and rivalry

The silk was executed on the eve of the 1261 Byzantine restoration of
Constantinople, a moment when the fate and future configuration of the
empire were still very much uncertain. While the design does not repre-
sent the emperor as a supplicant in any overt sense – he does not perform
proskynesis, nor are there first-person petitions in the inscription – he is
shown being led to the Genoese church by the wrist, a symbol of East–West
allegiance sanctioned by the archangel. But by 1265, when Holobolos’s
first oration was delivered in Constantinople, the Genoese were no longer
united with the Byzantines in enmity against the Venetians, but rather
were planning treason against Michael’s restored Byzantine Empire. Thus,

130 Macrides, “The New Constantine,” 35.

131 On ekphrasis, see Henry Maguire, “Truth and Convention in Byzantine Descriptions of Works
of Art,” DOP, 74 (1974), 113–40; Liz James and Ruth Webb, “‘To Understand Ultimate Things
and to Enter Secret Places’: Ekphrasis and Art in Byzantium,” ArtH, 14 (1991), 1–17; Ruth
Webb, “Ekphrasis Ancient and Modern: The Invention of a Genre,” Word and Image, 15(1)
(1999), 7–18.
132 Macrides, “The New Constantine,” 35, points out that the eagerness with which Holobolos
portrays the Genoese desire for an image of the Byzantine emperor “comes at a time when
Genoese-Greek relations were not good.”

Holobolos not only omits the scene of Byzantino–Genoese philia in his ora-
tion but also casts the exchange in such a way that the Byzantine emperor
is the recipient of Genoese supplication. The ambassadors even claim to
love being subject to Michael’s right hand.133 The idea that the Genoese
requested the imperial image further underscores their position of subor-
dination and Holobolos even speaks of the imperial image as a source of
love and protection for their city, “which is both yours and ours.” Such a
characterization of the Genoese ambassadors is appropriate in the context
of the encomium’s delivery before the undisputed emperor of Constantino-
ple. The textile, however, depicts a very different emperor, one still in the
process of achieving this singular imperial status. At the time of the textile’s
commission, Michael was in residence in Nicaea eyeing rival claimants in
Epiros, and he was still co-emperor with the legitimate heir to the Laskarid
throne.
Given this context of uncertainty surrounding the textile’s commission, it
is tempting to look for deeper meaning in the Byzantine emperor’s charac-
terization as Imperator Grecorum. The idiosyncratic nature of this titulature
has not gone unnoticed by scholars. Generally it is explained by the fact
that the inscription itself, and all the peplos’s inscriptions, follow western
embroidery techniques and were presumably executed by a western-trained
artist. The explanation thus accounts for the title as merely a western con-
vention: the Latin copy of the Treaty of Nymphaion, like other Latin doc-
uments of the time, describes the Byzantine emperor as the Imperatorem
Grecorum.134 This same designation on the textile may simply suggest that
a Latin artist was responsible for the inscriptions and was adopting the
Latin convention. Without denying this convention, I have attributed to
the titulature a narrative function within the textile’s overall design: to dis-
tance contemporary from ancient ruler as part of a larger logic of visual
synkrisis entirely appropriate for a gift on the diplomatic occasion of the
Treaty of Nymphaion. In closing, I would like to suggest, tentatively at least,
a further significance to the Greekness of the emperor on the embroidered
silk.
Regardless of western conventions, it remains difficult to imagine that
such an important state gift would include titulature, even in Latin, that
was considered objectionable from the Byzantine perspective. Members of

133 Treu, Orationes, 1:46; and Siderides, “Μανουὴλ ῾Ολοβώλου,” 188.

134 The Byzantine emperor is described as Greek numerous times in the treaty. See Manfroni,
“Relazioni,” 791–2, 795, 802. Cf. L. Pieralli, La corrispondenza diplomatica dell’imperatore
bizantino con le potenze estere nel tredicesimo secolo (1204–1282): Studio storico-diplomatistico
ed edizione critica (Vatican City, 2006), 42–3, 116–18, 149.

the court at Nicaea were not ignorant of Latin; in fact, Holobolos took the
study of Latin seriously and was actively engaged in translation activities.135
Despite our lack of knowledge about scriptoria and other artistic work-
shop practices in Nicaea, it is well known that scholarship flourished at
the Laskarid court.136 Undergirding the textile’s design is a sophisticated
rhetorical excursus on diplomacy, transaction, and imperial munificence.
With the understanding of the textile as the culmination of imperial ideolo-
gies developed in Nicaea, Michael’s characterization as Imperator Grecorum
assumes additional significance.
Scholars have observed that during the Nicene period the term “hel-
lene” came into general use among Byzantine intellectuals as a synonym
for “Roman.” While its origins lie in the late twelfth century, as part of
the burgeoning intolerance of foreigners at the late Komnenian court,137 it
intensified during the period of exile in tandem with the fragility of imperial
authority. Anthony Kaldellis and Dimiter Angelov have cautioned against
overemphasizing the impact of Hellenism on the imperial office – by no
means did it supplant the predominant Byzantine sense of Romanitas even
in exile – and yet with Patriarch Germanos II (1223–40) and Michael’s pre-
decessor, Emperor Theodore II Laskaris (1254–8), we see a concerted “eth-
nic Greek self-identification.”138 In official correspondence with Western
churchmen, for example, Germanos II used the term “Graikoi” to describe
the “orthodox population within and outside the boundaries of the Nicene

135 At a very young age, Holobolos translated Boethius’s De topicis differentiis and De hypotheticis
syllogismis. See Elizabeth A. Fisher, “Planoudes, Holobolos, and the Motivation for
Translation,” GRBS, 43 (2002), 77–104; Elizabeth A. Fisher, “Manuel Holobolos, Alfred of
Sareshal, and the Greek Translator of ps.-Aristotle’s De Plantis,” Classica et mediaevalia, 57
(2006), 189–211; B. Bydén, “‘Strangle Them with These Meshes of Syllogisms!’: Latin
Philosophy in Greek Translations of the Thirteenth Century” in J. O. Rosenqvist (ed.),
Interaction and Isolation in Late Byzantine Culture: Papers Read at a Colloquium Held at the
Swedish Research Institute in Istanbul, 1–5 December, 1999 (Stockholm, 2004), 133–57; and
Angelov, Imperial Ideology, 67–70. See also note 28 above on Holobolos.
136 This was an extremely learned court, as scholars such as Ahrweiler, Angold, Kaldellis, and
Angelov have shown. It is clear that books abounded in Nicaea. See Constantinides, Higher
Education in Byzantium, 5–27. Blemmydes traveled to Mount Athos and elsewhere to collect
books. As noted by N. G. Wilson, Scholars of Byzantium, rev. edn. (London, 1996), 220,
Theodore Laskaris had a personal copy of Aristotle’s Physics (Ambr. M 46 sup.), and a note in
the flyleaf suggests that he read it from beginning to end. It remains unclear, however, what
books, if any, were actually copied there. See Giancario Prato, “La Produzione libraria in area
greco-orientale nel periodo del regno latino d. Costantinopoli (1204–1261),” Scrittura e
civiltà, 5 (1981), 72.
137 The first “unequivocal use of the term ‘Hellene’ to mean Byzantine” occurs in a letter written
by George Tornikes to Manuel I Komnenos: Angold, Church and Society, 512. See Magdalino,
“Hellenism and Nationalism,” and also discussion below, 84–6.
138 Angelov, Imperial Ideology, 95.

state,” even referring explicitly to the “empire of the Greeks” (Βασιλεία τῶν
Γραικῶν).139 Greek identity – again as a pendant to Roman, not a replace-
ment – became a means of distancing Nicenes from the Latins but also,
perhaps surprisingly, from rival Greek successor claimants, especially in
Epiros. For Akropolites, Nicaea was Hellenis (the ancient theme of Hellas),
and the Pindos mountains separated “our Hellenic land” (τῆς ῾Ελληνίδος καὶ
ἡμετέρας γῆς) from Epiros.140 With this in mind, the description of Michael
Palaiologos as Imperator Grecorum on the textile sent to Genoa may bear
larger implications for the construction of imperial identity in Nicaea. This
is not to suggest that it was in any way common to refer to the emperor in
such a manner – it is indeed to the best of my knowledge a hapax. On the
eve of the Byzantine restoration of Constantinople, the designation is par-
ticularly significant because, as is well known, after Michael triumphantly
entered the imperial city, he was hailed as a New Constantine.141 Even in
a document from one year later in Genoa he is referred to as such.142 The
textile thus evokes a moment before Michael was the New Constantine,
when he lacked the legitimacy that Constantinople would later bestow on
him and his line.
On the eve of this momentous change, the grecorum of the inscription
references a number of intellectual currents described by Michael Angold: it

139 Angelov, “Byzantine Ideological Reactions,” 301; Angelov, Imperial Ideology, 95; and Kaldellis,
Hellenism in Byzantium, 353–4. In Germanos’s use of the term “Graikoi,” Angelov, Imperial
Ideology, 96, writes, he found a “religio-ethnic self-signifier applicable to the context of
antagonism towards the schismatic Latins.”
140 Georgii Acropolitae Opera (Teubner, 1903), 166.7; Macrides, George Akropolites, 356–8; and
Angold, “Byzantine ‘Nationalism,’” 64. Angold (ibid., 68) writes: “With the fall of
Constantinople the precise meaning of Roman was in doubt and Hellene gave Roman identity
a more precise cultural, linguistic, and racial context.” See also Kaldellis, Hellenism in
Byzantium, 345–88. Angelov, “Byzantine Ideological Reactions,” 301–3, considers the different
semantic trajectories of the terms Γραικοί and ῞Ελληνες, the former as religio-ethnic primarily
and the latter linked with secular antique associations. See also Page, Being Byzantine, 94–129.
141 See discussion in the next chapter.
142 In this 1262 document published by L. T. Belgrano, “Cinque Documenti Genovesi-Orientali,”
Atti della Società Ligure di Storia Patria, 17 (1885), 227, the Byzantine emperor is described
both as a New Constantine and as Greek Emperor: “Michael in Christo Deo fidelis imperator
et moderator grecorum a Deo coronatus semper Augustus, Ducas, Angelus, Comnianus,
Paleologus et novus Constantinus.” Another document in Genoa from about 1280 describes
him merely as Roman emperor, without reference to Greece or to Constantine: “Michael in
Christo Deo fidelis imperator et moderator romeorum, Ducas, Angelus, Comninus,
Paleologus semper Augustus” (236). In contrasting imperial ideology between Nicaea
post-1204 and Constantinople post-1261, Angelov (“Byzantine Ideological Reactions,” 306)
points out that Hellenic discourse did continue with the early Palaiologoi – Holobolos even
described the Orthodox as Graikoi in an official letter of Michael VIII to Clement IV in late
1266 or 1267 – but figured less prominently than before in Nicaea.

indicates a commitment to the preservation of Hellenic philosophy among

the Nicene literati; it offers a new metaphor for exile, casting the Byzantines
not only as the children of Israel but also as the ancient Hellenes; and it
further articulates an anti-Latin and simultaneously anti-Epirote stance.143
The two rival successor states were both actively engaged in building net-
works of alliances with the goal of reclaiming Constantinople. Both Epiros
and Nicaea by the mid-thirteenth century claimed imperial and ecumenical
sovereignty (i.e., both had a Byzantine emperor and patriarch). For Epiros
too, a diplomatic silk survives, the one associated with the 1210 promissio
between Epiros and Venice (Figure 1.2). While admittedly it differs from
the silk in Genoa in that nothing in its design caters to its particular circum-
stance, it testifies to many of the same aspirations. Although the Epirote
faction was defeated at the Battle of Pelagonia in 1259, as noted above,
Epiros remained a very real threat to Michael’s empire in Nicaea. After the
unsuccessful siege of Galata, it became clear that Michael would need over-
seas help in order to claim Constantinople before Epiros did. At the same
moment, Genoa, after suffering a defeat by the Venetians at Acre (1258), was
looking for more profitable trade networks. The coincidence of the Nicene
victory at the Battle of Pelagonia and the Genoese defeat at the Battle of
Acre set the stage for the Treaty of Nymphaion. Against this backdrop, the
use of grecorum in the emperor’s titulature may suggest more than evidence
of western conventions or artists – it serves as a means of differentiating
Nicaea from Epiros. This, paired with the distancing of the contemporary
Byzantine emperor from the ancient Roman ruler, suggests a sophisticated
design that interweaves contemporary rivalries – rivalries involving mar-
itime trading privileges (Genoa and Venice) – and the legitimate succession
of Byzantine imperial power (Nicaea and Epiros).144 Within the context of
these rivalries, the imagery of the silk portrays union, but a close reading of
the relationship between hagiographic and imperial scenes reveals a message
of Byzantine superiority.
The silk in Genoa constituted a point of departure for Hans Belting’s
reconsideration of Mediterranean artistic categories. Using the term lingua
franca, he described a class of objects that resist East–West categoriza-
tion as “un art ni occidental ni byzantin, mais qui développa un nouveau
langage, synthétique, aux composantes difficilement distinguable.”145 The
peplos initially seems to exemplify this concept well with its combination

143 Angold, “Byzantine ‘Nationalism,’” 62–70.

144 See further discussion in Hilsdale, “The Imperial Image at the End of Exile,” 197–9.
145 Hans Belting, Il Medio Oriente e l’Occidente nell’arte del XIII secolo (Atti del XXIV Congresso
internazionale di storia dell’arte 2, Bologna 1979) (Bologna, 1982), 3. Belting’s mention of the

of western and eastern pictorial traditions. The tenor of the silk, how-
ever, remains decidedly Byzantine. It does not blur boundaries, but rather
inscribes difference.146 Fundamentally it is the product of Byzantium, but
one that is tailored for its Genoese audience and its function as a diplomatic
gift. In this capacity, its understanding as a pharmakon comes into clearer
focus: the imperial image as gift may be conceptualized as a remedy for
the ardent love of its recipients, per Holobolos, but the design of the silk is
governed ultimately by an overarching ideology of hierarchy, not philia.

silk within this context has been invoked in nearly all art historical studies of the textile. The
four most recent dedicated art historical studies of the textile refer to Belting’s passage: Parma
Armani, “Nuove Indagini,” 38; Falcone, “Il ‘Pallio’ bizantino,” 350 n. 56; Calderoni Masetti,
“Considerazioni finali,” 407; and Paribeni, “Il pallio di San Lorenzo,” 246 n. 54.
146 A similar argument about visual hierarchy with regard to the formal arrangement of the
Byzantine enamels of the Royal Crown of Hungary has been advanced in Hilsdale, “The Social
Life of the Byzantine Gift,” 602–31. Other textiles, such as the so-called Grandson
Antependium or the textile of Giovanni Conti recently studied by Michele Bacci, better
exemplify the lingua franca model. See M. Bacci, “Tra Pisa e Cipro: La Committenza Artistica
di Giovanni Conti (+1332),” Annali della scuola normale superiore di Pisa, 4(2) (2000),
343–86; and M. Martiniani-Reber, “An Exceptional Piece of Embroidery Held in Switzerland:
The Grandson Antependium” in M. Campagnolo and M. Martiniani-Reber (eds.), From
Aphrodite to Melusine: Reflections on the Archaeology and the History of Cyprus (Geneva, 2007),
85–9 (with earlier bibliography).

As visual testimony to Michael’s aspirations on the eve of Constantinople’s

reconquest, the peplos was sent to Genoa not as an anonymous silk in
fulfillment of the terms of a treaty, but rather to seal a high-stakes diplomatic
pact, one that put the Genoese at risk of papal excommunication and offered
Michael the possibility of significant maritime support from abroad in
his attempt to claim Constantinople. The previous chapter suggested that
the portrayal of the emperor at the threshold of a church, identified by
inscription as the church of the Genoese but visually marked as Byzantine,
subtly evokes the desired outcome of the treaty for which it was created:
the return of the emperor to the Great Church, a symbol of the return of
Byzantine imperium to Constantinople. The next two chapters follow the
trajectory of the Byzantine restoration by considering two related imperial
images that commemorate this momentous event. After 1261, the emperor
celebrated the return of Constantinople to Byzantine rule through a new
visual vocabulary of gratitude and humility. A monumental bronze statue of
thanksgiving was erected in the restored city, and a related imperial design
was serially struck and circulated on gold coins.
In response to the Byzantine restoration of Constantinople, both bronze
and gold imperial images draw on certain well-established tropes for
commemoration, but they also convey a new visual rhetoric inflected by
gratitude and instrumentality, in that the emperor is characterized as an
instrument of divine will. Indicative of this shift, both depict the emperor
on knee. Although this is a conventional posture for Byzantine images of
supplication in general, it is exceptionally rare before the Palaiologan period
for the emperor to be represented in this pose; traditionally it is reserved
for those who supplicate him. Following the restoration of the capital city,
however, early Palaiologan emperors appear on knee in these two defini-
tively public works of imperial art. This profound shift in imperial register
is the subject of the present and subsequent chapters.
The motivation for this innovation relates to the problematic rule of
Michael Palaiologos, who was perceived not only as a usurper but also as
a betrayer of Orthodoxy. At the time of the recovery of Constantinople
88 in August 1261, he was, in theory at least, co-emperor with and regent

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. Columbia University Libraries, on 28 May 2017 at 18:01:55, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.004
Imperial thanksgiving 89

for the child emperor John IV Laskaris, heir to the line that had ruled
from Nicaea since the Crusader conquests of 1204. Michael was proclaimed
regent for and co-emperor with John IV, crowned and raised on a shield
in January 1259 in Nymphaion, then crowned again in Nicaea a few weeks
later.1 At this time, Michael swore a solemn oath, drafted and administered
by Patriarch Arsenios Autoreianos, to refrain from conspiracy against his
junior partner.2 After the restoration of Constantinople to Byzantine rule,
however, Michael was crowned again in Hagia Sophia, and on Christmas Day
1261, he ordered the blinding and imprisonment of the young Laskarid.3
He was then promptly excommunicated, an anathema that remained in
effect until 1267. During this period, he repeatedly attempted to receive
ecclesiastical penance and pardon from the patriarch. Although he was
eventually successful in obtaining pardon, he fell from favor again following
the Council of Lyons in 1274 and was ultimately denied the final rites of
the Orthodox Church in death.4 Despite his triumphant re-establishment
of Byzantine rule in Constantinople, it was in the end his usurpation and
unionate policies for which he would be remembered. His was, in other
words, a fundamentally fraught reign. The two very public imperial images
that form the focus of this chapter and the next – a larger-than-life bronze
monument erected at a key site of sacro-imperial authority in the restored
capital and gold coinage serially struck and disseminated far and wide – are
here read as emanations of this ambivalence. Responding to the Byzantine
restoration of Constantinople in terms of gratitude and instrumentality,
they negotiate tensions in the Palaiologan imperial office inaugurated by
such a problematic emperor.
The project of imperial restoration in and of itself inflects the tenor
of the imperial image in the early Palaiologan period in innovative ways.

1 John Laskaris was the son of Theodore II Laskaris, who died in August 1258, leaving George
Mouzalon as regent, who was then murdered by Latin mercenaries under Michael Palaiologos’s
command. See P. Wirth, “Die Begründung der Kaisermacht Michaels VIII. Palaiologos,” JÖB,
10 (1961), 85–91. See also Shawcross, “In the Name of the True Emperor,” 205–7; and Dimiter
Angelov, “The Confession of Michael VIII Palaiologos and King David,” JÖB, 56 (2006),
193–204.
2 On the significance of these oaths, see Angelov, Imperial Ideology, 329; and, more generally,
Renaud Rochette, “Empereurs et serment sous les Paléologues” in M.-Fr. Auzépy and G.
Saint-Guillain (eds.), Oralité et lien social au Moyen Âge (Occident, Byzance, Islam): Parole
donnée, foi jurée, serment (Paris, 2008), 160. As Shawcross, “In the Name of the True Emperor,”
205, points out, Michael had already been suspected of treason several times and “had been
required on no less than six previous occasions to swear fidelity to the Laskarid dynasty.”
3 According to Angelov, “Confession,” 195, Michael “broke the sworn constitutional
arrangement.” See also Macrides, “The New Constantine,” 17 n. 16.
4 These issues are treated in further depth later in this chapter and toward the end of Chapter 3.

The coinage and the bronze monument commemorate the good fortune the
emperor received, namely the restoration of Constantinople, which was con-
ceptualized as a gift from God – not from the Genoese or from the strength of
Michael’s troops, or his diplomacy. With the restoration of Constantinople
understood as a divinely ordained gift, Michael was characterized merely as
the instrument of divine power. In commemoration of this gift, the return
of Constantinople to Byzantine rule through Michael, the emperor erected
a monument of imperial gift exchange in front of the Church of the Holy
Apostles sometime after the Byzantine restoration of Constantinople. This
monumental bronze sculptural group, which no longer survives, featured
the emperor at the feet of the Archangel Michael offering him a model of the
imperial city that he had restored and triumphantly entered in 1261. The
discussion that follows considers the relationship between restoration, legit-
imacy, and genealogy. It begins with a brief overview of early Palaiologan
responses to Constantinople’s restoration and its patronage, including the
cultivation of Michael as a New Constantine. It then provides a sustained
investigation of the lost bronze monument and the web of visual associ-
ations on which it draws and in turn displays to the restored Byzantine
capital.

Constantinople as new Zion

How contemporary Byzantine authors described the restoration of Con-

stantinople is suggestive of a reconfiguration of imperial ideology in the
early Palaiologan period. Our main sources for the period by Pachymeres
and Gregoras have been mined for information about the circumstances of
the imperial capital upon its restoration and about the rebuilding program
begun thereafter. These authors also offer evocative statements about the
ideological import of the restoration in terms of order, or taxis.5 Gregoras
characterizes the city’s return to Byzantine rule as an emancipation and as
a return to order:

Enslaved, [Constantinople] had received no care from the Latins except destruction
of every kind day and night. The first and most important immediate task facing the

5 The concept of taxis, which can be understood as both “order” and “ceremony,” is central to
Byzantine imperial ideology and imperial imagery. See Ahrweiler, L’idéologie politique de
l’empire byzantin, 129–47; René Roque, L’univers dionysien: structure hiérarchique du monde
selon le Pseudo-Denys (Paris, 1954 [1983]), 36–40; Maguire, “Images of the Court,” 183–91. The
Dionysian valences of this concept are discussed in detail in Chapter 4.

emperor was as much as possible to cleanse the city and transform its great disorder
into good order, to strengthen the churches which had completely collapsed, and to
fill the empty houses with people.6

As the passage suggests, a program of repopulation and rebuilding was nec-

essary to restore order and cleanse the chaos and destruction of the Latin
occupation. Indeed, under the first two Palaiologan emperors, the Byzantine
capital saw an ambitious program of imperial and aristocratic patronage.7
This included the repair of the city’s fortifications, most importantly its
walls,8 and the development of commercial districts with infrastructure
for mercantile activities (mills and workshops), as well as the establish-
ment or renovation of key civic municipal structures (baths, schools, and
the Hippodrome), residential architecture (numerous palaces and aristo-
cratic residences),9 and myriad sacred and charitable houses (hospitals
and hospices). Religious foundations were both newly built and reno-
vated by imperial family members and aristocrats, and female members
of the extended Palaiologan family in particular were especially active
in restoring monasteries, churches, and convents in the capital. Vassilios
Kidonopoulos estimates that between the Byzantine restoration of Con-
stantinople in 1261 and the end of the first civil war in 1328, at least

6 Gregoras, Byzantina historia (Bonn, 1829), I.87–8, translated in Deno J. Geanakoplos,

Byzantium: Church, Society, and Civilization Seen through Contemporary Eyes (Chicago, 1984),
270. See also Talbot, “Restoration,” 249.
7 Scholars have charted a substantial construction campaign during the period under the first
Palaiologan emperors. Key studies of later Byzantine Constantinople include Kidonopoulos,
Bauten in Konstantinopel; and Klaus-Peter Matschke, Das spätbyzantinische Konstantinopel: Alte
und neue Beiträge zur Stadtgeschichte zwischen 1261 und 1453 (Hamburg, 2008), along with the
invaluable essays on Palaiologan building and patronage by Alice-Mary Talbot – “Restoration,”
“Empress Theodora Palaiologina,” and “Building Activity in Constantinople under Andronikos
II: The Role of Women Patrons in the Construction and Restoration of Monasteries” in Nevra
Necipoğlu (ed.), Byzantine Constantinople: Monuments, Topography and Everyday Life (Leiden,
2001), 329–44. See also the succinct overviews by Klaus-Peter Matschke, “Builders and Building
in Late Byzantine Constantinople” in Necipoğlu (ed.), Byzantine Constantinople, 315–28;
Kalopissi-Verti, “Patronage and Artistic Production”; and Kidonopoulos,“Urban
Physiognomy.”
8 Talbot, “Restoration,” 249. See also Deno J. Geanakoplos, “The Byzantine Recovery of
Constantinople from the Latins in 1261: A Chrysobull of Michael VIII Palaeologus in Favor of
Hagia Sophia” in Constantinople and the West: Essays on the Late Byzantine (Palaeologan) and
Italian Renaissances and the Byzantine and Roman Churches (Madison, 1989), 184: “we repaired
the walls all around the city, most of which we found completely ruined and which we
re-erected from their very foundations, in some other places extending the restored parts for a
considerable stretch.” The walls of Constantinople, as we will see in the next chapter, appear on
the obverse of the gold hyperpyron following the Byzantine restoration.
9 The emperor stayed in the Great Palace while basic restoration of the Blacherna was
undertaken. See Talbot, “Restoration,” 250–1; and Macrides, George Akropolites, 384–5.

twenty-eight new churches were built and at least ten pre-existing churches
were restored.10
Michael VIII is personally associated with the patronage of monasteries
in and around Constantinople. Specifically, he revived the foundations of
his forefathers, as attested by surviving typika, or monastic charters.11 The
renewal of these foundations bridged the Latin occupation and brought
the Komnenoi and Palaiologoi into alignment. Such a restoration of order
through imperial patronage emphasizes genealogy by stressing the con-
tinuity of imperial munificence to the imperial city and thus cleansing
Constantinople of the chaos and poverty of the interregnum.
The typika for the monasteries of St Demetrios of the Palaiologoi in
Constantinople and the Archangel Michael just outside the city each begin
with lengthy autobiographical statements in which Michael accounts for
key aspects of his rule, including his rise to power and the restoration of
Constantinople, and lays out the rationale for his patronage. Both monastic
foundations are associated with his illustrious forefathers and their typika
make much of this connection. The Monastery of St Demetrios of the
Palaiologoi was founded in the twelfth century by George Palaiologos, a
prominent member of Michael’s family who had played a key role in Alex-
ios I Komnenos’s rise to the throne in the eleventh century.12 Michael’s
sponsorship of this community thus aligns him through patronage with the
founder of the previous dynasty to rule before the Fourth Crusade.13 The

10 Kidonopoulos, “Urban Physiognomy,” 107. Talbot, “Restoration,” 253, notes that our main
textual sources describe the early Palaiologan building agenda in only the most general terms.
11 Talbot, “Restoration,” 254 with bibliography at n. 82; Kidonopoulos, Bauten in Konstantinopel,
37–9, 91–3. Typika preserve a wealth of information relevant for Byzantine art historians.
There are, however, methodological ambiguities involved with this invaluable archive. Charles
Barber, “The Monastic Typikon for Art Historians” in Margaret Mullett and Anthony Kirby
(eds.), The Theotokos Evergetis and Eleventh-Century Monasticism (Belfast, 1994), 198–214, has
astutely outlined the primary avenues art historians have taken with regard to typika as either
archaeological or what he calls “response,” which pertains to more contextual issues of use and
ritual.
12 BMFD, 1237–53. The typikon joins together the monastery of St Demetrios in Constantinople,
the exact whereabouts of which remain unknown, and the Kellibara monastery dedicated to
the Theotokos Acheiropoietos near Herakleia. On this monastery, see Kidonopoulos, Bauten in
Konstantinopel, 37–9. This monastery may have housed the deposed Emperor John IV
Laskaris, whose cult was promoted by Andronikos II in 1284. See BMFD, 1238. On the cult of
the young deposed Laskaris, see Shawcross, “In the Name of the True Emperor,” 218–21 and
the discussion at the conclusion of the next chapter.
13 The typikon, which dates back to 1282, emphasizes the blood relation between the current and
the original founder of the monastery, and in so doing, the editors of the text point out, it
stressed “the hereditary obligations of patronage”: BMFD, 1239. George Palaiologos is
described as receiving honors from the emperor and as the founder of the monastery: BMFD,
1247.

Monastery of Archangel Michael on Mount Auxentios, near Chalcedon, was

a more recent foundation, attributed to Michael’s grandfather according to
its typikon, and it was in need of renewal. Because it was “down on its
knees,” Michael “raised it up again, restored its strength.”14
Typika for both monastic foundations begin with similar statements of
thankfulness and indebtedness to God by elaborating all the gifts lavishly
bestowed upon the emperor. They continue with explicit descriptions of his
illustrious imperial lineage. Concerning the Constantinopolitan monastery,
Michael writes that “from far back then God established our illustrious
family and laid the foundations for my present rule.”15 Beyond emphasizing
Michael’s familial relation to great emperors of the past, the same typikon
also emphasizes the lineage of his family’s patronage, reminding readers of
the persistence of Palaiologan munificence:

their erection of religious houses, holy convents and monasteries, their donation of
property, their aid to the poor, their concern for the infirm, and their protection of
the indigent of all sorts, and all their pious deeds which bore fruit before God. By
proclaiming the donor of these, at the same time they purchased goods in heaven
in exchange for ephemeral and perishable ones.16

Michael thus traces the path to his own divinely ordained rule through
the sacred economy of salvation.17 The typikon for the Mount Auxentios
monastery similarly stresses his lineage and also includes an allocution to
future emperors urging his successors to follow his model and continue
serving as benefactors of the monastery.
Both typika further underscore expiation as the motivation of the
emperor’s building agenda. In the Mount Auxentios typikon, he writes:
“since, therefore, it is I who have led the struggle on behalf of the Romans,
I who because of human weakness bear the heavy burden of so many sins
on my soul, for the expiation of which I have presented this small offering
to God, I ask you too, God-loving emperors, to cherish it.”18 Similarly, the
other typikon stresses personal sin: “for the expiation of my many failings,

14 BMFD, 1217: “this blessed, illustrious, venerable monastery was founded by the revered
grandfather of my majesty.” The site was occupied by monks as early as the fifth century. See
BMFD commentary. According to Talbot (“Restoration,” 254), the monastery was probably
previously dedicated to St Peter and St Paul, and then rededicated by Manuel VIII to his patron
saint.
15 BMFD, 1242. 16 Ibid.
17 On this sacred economy as it is manifest in typika (predominantly in the pre-Palaiologan era),
see Vassiliki Dimitropoulou, “Giving Gifts to God: Aspects of Patronage in Byzantine Art” in
Liz James (ed.), A Companion to Byzantium (Hoboken, 2010), 161–70.
18 BMFD, 1232.

for it should be no surprise that I too have sinned inasmuch as I am human

and thus of a quickly changing or fluctuating nature.”19
Instrumentality and thanksgiving are common themes to both typika as
well. They both allude to the events leading up to the restoration of the
capital, including the conquests at Epiros at the Battle of Pelagonia (1259),
and they attribute the enslavement of the capital, and its recovery, to divine
plan. According to the St Demetrios of the Palaiologoi typikon:

Constantinople, the citadel of the inhabited world, the imperial capital of the
Romans, had, with the permission of God, come under control of the Latins. By
God’s gift it was returned to the Romans through us . . . This deed had not been
accomplished by the hand of men but was a triumph of God’s great power.20

Michael here serves as a mere instrument of divine will and exercise, and
agency is reserved for the sacred realm. Furthermore, both typika explain
the rationale for Michael’s monastic foundation as an act of thanksgiving
for the Lord’s favor. In the Mount Auxentios text, it is described as “some
small repayment to God,” “in gratitude for God’s benefactions to me,” “a
fair return for a favor . . . a recompense for our struggles and daily labors on
behalf of Romania, those undertaken with God’s help before our imperial
[accession] and those we continued after [attaining] the rule.”21
Like these typika, other sources associate the restoration of Constantino-
ple with divine ordination and expiation. Pachymeres, who seems partic-
ularly attuned to the historical distance between the glories of the great
empire of the past and the current realities of thirteenth-century Byzantine
Constantinople, connects the city’s restoration to sin and divine will. He
reasons that the Lord caused the Latins to force the Greeks into exile in
Nicaea as an act of divine punishment for previous sins. Then, as “chas-
tisement for the sins we had committed,” Constantinople, “the heart of the
empire,” became lifeless, divided among foreigners. “If we have undergone
so much fatigue trying to take Constantinople without securing any result,”
he writes, “it is because God wished us to recognize that the possession of

19 Ibid., 1247.
20 Ibid., 1245. St Michael’s typikon (BMFD, 1216) describes this “unexpected event which
astounded all who heard and learned of it . . . the recovery of the famous, the very queen of
cities from Italian tyranny, its freedom and redemption from the yoke of slavery.” The text
continues: “this great city of Constantine, clothed like a queen in its ancient and splendid
raiment, the New Jerusalem, built as a city.” The paragraph concludes: “it is not the confused
accents of a half-barbarian people [that one hears], but that of the native inhabitants, all of
them clearly and precisely articulating the polished Greek tongue and correctly pronouncing
it.”
21 Ibid., 1230.

the City is a grace that depends only on his bounty. He has reserved this to
our reign through his grace, which obliges us to an eternal appreciation –
and, in according it to us, he makes us hope that with Constantinople we
may retake the provinces that were lost with it.”22 The cleansing of sin is
thus linked to a restoration not only of the imperial capital but also to a
larger expansionist agenda.23
The centerpiece of Michael’s restoration campaign was the Great Church,
which figured prominently in his 1261 adventus and his larger agenda of
renewal. After passing through the Golden Gate, the emperor proceeded on
foot as far as the Stoudios Monastery, where he left the icon of the Virgin,
then rode on horseback to the center of the city, to Hagia Sophia. There
at “the shrine of the Wisdom of God,” according to Akropolites, “he paid
reverence to the Lord Christ, and when he had given Him due thanks he
arrived at the Great Palace.”24 The ritual cycle of prayer and prostration
before the ceremonial entrance to the city described in the Introduction to
Part I thus concluded with thanksgiving in the sacred heart of the city.25
A chrysobull outlines the significant gifts and privileges Michael offered
to the Great Church, and also conveys similar themes to the monastic typika
regarding the Byzantine restoration of Constantinople.26 Explicitly equating
Constantinople with Zion, the text opens by drawing an analogy between the
Byzantine return to Constantinople and the Israelite return from Babylonian
exile.27 Michael is further characterized as instrumental in the restoration of

22 Pachymeres, De Michaele et Andronico Palaeologis (Bonn, 1835), I, 153–5, translation adapted

from Geanakoplos, Byzantium, 36–7.
23 The aim of recovery and expansion is echoed in the chrysobull to Hagia Sophia discussed
below, 96.
24 Macrides, George Akropolites, 384.
25 It was here at the Great Church that the emperor was crowned again along with his son
Andronikos, thus firmly establishing his dynasty at the exclusion of the Laskarids, and
consequently inciting rage of Patriarch Arsenios, as will be discussed further below. The
coronation issues are complicated. See F. Dölger, “Die dynastische Familienpolitik des Kaisers
Michael Palaiologos (1258–1282)” in Festschrift Eichman (Paderborn, 1940), 179–90 [repr.
Paraspora, 1961]; and Peter Wirth, “Die Begründung der Kaisermacht Michaels VIII.
Palaiologos,” JÖB, 10 (1961), 85–91.
26 See Deno J. Geanakoplos, “The Byzantine Recovery of Constantinople from the Latins in 1261:
A Chrysobull of Michael VIII Palaeologus in Favor of Hagia Sophia” in F. F. Church and T.
George (eds.), Continuity and Discontinuity in Church History: Essays Presented to George
Huntston Williams on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday (Leiden, 1979), repr. Constantinople
and the West, 173–88. Talbot, “Restoration,” 251–2; Kidonopoulos, Bauten in Konstantinopel,
121–5. Pachymeres, Relations Historiques (Failler ed.), I 233: 6–15, describes the renovations to
the Great Church, undoing the damage of the “Italians” in preparation for Michael’s
coronation.
27 The text opens (Geanakoplos, “The Byzantine Recovery,” 174) as follows: “Hail Daughter of
Zion . . . the Lord has redeemed you from your sins,” and continues “The city has been

the city and the re-installment of patriarchal properties seized by the Latin
Church in 1204. According to the chrysobull, “Our Majesty has decided
to spur on this renewal and restore not only the buildings of this New
Zion, not only His church and the sacred vessels and holy objects but also
the estates and properties from which the yearly revenue is drawn for the
sake of the things of God.”28 Like Gregoras’s account, the text speaks of a
return to order, in this instance ecclesiastical and institutional order. The
restoration of order is contrasted with the sin and disorder of the past,
not just the treachery of the Italians but an even earlier and native sin:
“The inhabitants of Constantinople fled from their patris into exile, and the
cup which was allotted them to drink was overflowing as penalty for their
sins, and the bitterness was emptied like water into their entrails.”29 For
the return of order, expiation was necessary and, significantly, it was made
manifest through a return gift:

by the will of the Almighty, our Majesty entered Constantinople from which the
Romans had been expelled because of their sins, and to which the mercy of God
brought them back. And Our Majesty took care, first and above all else, to render to
God on this occasion of the restoration of the Romans, the first fruits of the return
of the Romans to their ancestral lands.30

Just as the Jews offered to the Temple the first fruits of their crops,31 Michael
restored order by restoring to the Great Church its dependencies, not only
the buildings in the immediate vicinity of Hagia Sophia, such as those in
the area of the Augusteion, Milion, and Hagia Eirene, but also those in Asia
Minor, near Smyrna.32
In addition to awarding properties, endowing precious liturgical ves-
sels, and ensuring necessary physical restorations to the structure of the
Great Church, Michael in all likelihood also commissioned the great
Deesis mosaic still standing in the south gallery of Hagia Sophia as a

delivered, not as were the Jews long ago from the hands of the Babylonians, but from the
contemptible Italians whose ethnos is worse than the Babylonian serpent” (175). Relevant to
the discussion is Paul Alexander, “The Strength of Empire and Capital as Seen through
Byzantine Eyes,” Speculum, 37(3) (1962), 339–57 [repr. Religious and Political History and
Thought in the Byzantine Empire (London, 1978) article II]. See also the introduction to Paul
Magdalino and Robert Nelson (eds.), The Old Testament in Byzantium (Washington DC,
2010), 25–7.
28 Geanakoplos, “The Byzantine Recovery,” 175. 29 Ibid., 179. 30 Ibid., 180.
31 For an interpretation of the tithe in terms of the anthropology of gift exchange, see Menahem
Herman, “Tithe as Gift: The Biblical Institution in Light of Mauss’s ‘Prestation Theory,’”
Association for Jewish Studies Review, 18(1) (1993), 51–73.
32 The properties are studied by Hélène Ahrweiler, “L’histoire et la géographie de la région de
Smyrne entre les deux occupations turques (1081–1317) particulièrement au XIIIe siècle,”
Travaux et Mémoires, I (1965), 1–204.

Figure 2.1 Deesis, mosaic in the south gallery, Hagia Sophia, Constantinople,
thirteenth century

visualization of thanksgiving for the restoration, as Robin Cormack has

proposed (Figure 2.1).33 The panel certainly accords well with what we
know about imperial patronage in his newly restored imperial city. Its posi-
tion in the eastern area of the south gallery near to the mosaics of his Middle
Byzantine imperial predecessors offering gifts to the church (Figures 0.1–
0.3) suggests a continuity and genealogy of the imperial office. This was a
central concern of the first Palaiologoi. At the same time, the panel departs
significantly in tone, scale, and iconography from the earlier mosaics.34 The
expressive qualities of the mosaic are unparalleled, signaling to scholars a
formal affinity with contemporary works of art created in Italy. The figures
are rendered larger than life but are far from imposing, the sensitive treat-
ment of the facial features of the Virgin, Christ, and the Prodromos being
ideally suited to the message of the iconography of the Deesis: petition and
entreaty, a more somber message for a new empire.35

33 Robin Cormack, “The Mother of God in the Mosaics of Hagia Sophia at Constantinople” in
Vassilaki (ed.), Mother of God, 119–22; and Cormack, “Interpreting the Mosaics,” 145–6.
34 Kalopissi-Verti, “Patronage and Artistic Production,” 76, characterizes the style as archaizing,
noting that it revives the artistic modes of his ancestors.
35 On the iconography of the Deësis, see Annemarie Weyl Carr, “Deesis,” ODB; Anthony Cutler,
“Under the Sign of Deesis: On the Question of Representativeness in Medieval Art and

The Deesis mosaic’s combination of monumental scale, sensitive style,

and emotive message of entreaty expresses a new tone in imperial commis-
sions of the early Palaiologan period. Although the precise circumstances
of its commission remain elusive, it should be recognized as the first mon-
umental mosaic installed in the Great Church following the return of the
city to Byzantine rule.36 As such, the new tone is significant. As opposed to
the previous mosaics of imperial munificence in the south gallery, which
commemorate the emperors’ generosity by depicting the annual imperial
monetary donation to Hagia Sophia literally as a purse of money in their
hands, the Palaiologan mosaic showcases sacred rather than imperial figures
in the service of an open-ended petition or prayer conveyed in monumental
scale yet intimate in tone. Especially seen against the textual backdrop of
sin and expiation evoked in Michael’s chrysobull to the Great Church, it
is significant that the first image installed in the south gallery following
the Byzantine restoration stresses entreaty and intercession, and this new
emphasis is ideally suited to the circumstances of the early Palaiologoi.
In the Mount Auxentios typikon, Michael asks: “how could I even briefly
manage to acknowledge God’s favor or even apportion some tiny recom-
pense to him who had presented me with so many great and magnificent
benefactions?”37 His answer is to offer his munificence to the monastic
community: “what one offers to God’s genuine worshippers, he in his great
goodness makes his own, and the honor shown to them is ascribed to him.”
To fund the monastery is to give thanks to God for the invaluable and

Literature,” DOP, 41 (1987), 145–54; Thomas von Bogyay, “Deesis und Eschatologie” in Peter
Wirth (ed.), Polychordia, Festschrift Franz Dölger zum 75. Geburtstag (Amsterdam, 1967), II,
59–72; C. Walter, “Two Notes on the Deësis,” REB, 26 (1968), 311–16, and “Further Notes on
the Deësis,” REB, 28 (1970), 161–87 (both repr. Studies in Byzantine Iconography, 1977);
Ioanna Zervou Tognazzi, “Δεησισ. Interpretazione del termine e sua presenza
nell’iconographia bizantina,” Milion (1990), 391–416. These studies should be complemented
by the essay by Ruth Macrides, “The Ritual of Petition” in P. Roilos and D. Yatromanolakis
(eds.), Greek Ritual Poetics (Cambridge, 2004), 356–70, which traces the role of “the one in
charge of the petitions” (ἐπὶ τῶν δεήσεων). Deesis, she notes (at 357), “provides the link
between liturgical petition and petitioning the emperor” and becomes an elaborate
component of rhetoric in the twelfth century. With this in mind, the iconography of the Deesis
panel comes into sharper focus as the first monumental mosaic image installed in the Great
Church since the restoration of Constantinople. For a recent study of the reconfiguration of
the Byzantine deesis in the West, see Sean Gilsdorf, “Deesis Deconstructed: Imagining
Intercession in the Medieval West,” Viator, 43(1) (2012), 131–74.
36 At present, evidence is insufficient to ascribe to the commission a specific historic moment and
motivation such as Michael’s coronation. Cf. Robin Cormack, “ . . . and the Word was God: Art
and Orthodoxy in Late Byzantium” in Andrew Louth and Augustine Casiday (eds.), Byzantine
Orthodoxies (Aldershot, 2006), 111–20; “Interpreting the Mosaics,” 46; and “Mother of God,”
120.
37 BMFD, 1217.

innumerable favors he has received. This emphasis on thanksgiving more

than expectation of future benefit marks a profound shift in Byzantine atti-
tudes toward donation in the early Palaiologan period, as most recently
elucidated by Nancy Ševčenko.38 Rather than expectation about rewards in
the afterlife, for example, typika of the period stress the repayment of great
debt already received and spiritual protection. This emphasis on thanksgiv-
ing, I propose, extends beyond the realm of monastic donation and inflects
the reconfiguration of the early Palaiologan imperial image.

A New Constantine for the capital of a new empire

Texts stress the divinely sanctioned nature not only of the restoration of
Byzantine Constantinople but also of Michael’s rise to power. The two are
deeply intertwined in that the return to Constantinople serves as valida-
tion for Palaiologan rule. To emphasize Michael’s role in (re)founding the
imperial city – again, as the instrument of divine plan – an association with
Constantine the Great was cultivated in the service of a new imperial image
for the renewed city and empire. The inscription on the obverse of a lead
seal in the Numismatic Museum in Athens, for example, links the emperor
explicitly to the city’s first founder by describing him as “Michael, in Christ
the Lord, Faithful Emperor and Autokrator of the Romans, Doukas Ange-
los Komnenos Palaiologos and New Constantine” (Figure 2.2).39 A concern
with tradition and imperial pedigree is evident in the Byzantine emperor’s
traditional title, Emperor of the Romans, and in his nomenclature, which
suggests genealogical descent from three illustrious imperial families of the
past – the Doukai, Angeloi, and Komnenoi – as well as symbolic descent

38 Nancy Ševčenko, “The Portrait of Theodore Metochites at Chora” in Jean-Michel Spieser and
Élisabeth Yota (eds.), Donation et donateurs dans le monde byzantin (Paris, 2012), 189–201. I
thank the author for generously sharing this work with me in advance of its publication. She
also invokes the typikon of Theodora Synadene, niece of Michael VIII, for the Bebaia Elpis
monastery in this regard. For related themes in the Komnenian period, see Victoria Kepetzi,
“Empereur, piété et remission des péchés dans deux ekphraseis byzantines. Image et
rhétorique,” ΔΧΑΕ, 20 (1999), 231–44.
39 BFP, 31–2 (cat. no. 6): ΜΙ / ΕΝ ΧΩ ΤΩ ΘΩ / ΠΙCΤΟC / ΒΑCΙΛΕΥ/C ΚΑΙ ΑΥ/[Τ]ΟΚΡΑΤ/[Ω]Ρ
ΡΩ/ΜΕΩΝ [ΔΟΥ]Κ/[ΑC] . . . ΑΓΓ/ΕΛΟC / ΚΟΜΝ[Η]/ΝΟC Ο Π/ΑΛΑΙΟ/ΛΟΓΟC / ΚΑΙ Ν/ΕΟC
Κ/ΩΝCΤ[Α]/ΝΤΙ[Ν]/[ΟC]. See Macrides, “The New Constantine,” 23; Chara Constantinidi, “῾Η
Παναγία τῶν Βλαχερνῶν ως ἐχέγγυο τῆς Δικαιοσύνης· ἡ σφραγίδα τοῦ Σεκρέτου μέ τόν Μιχαήλ
Η’ Παλαιολόγο καί ο Μιχαήλ Κακός Σεναχηρίμ,” ΔΧΑΕ, 27 (2006), 445–54; and Yorka
Nikolaou, “Το θαύμα των Βασιλέων και η Δίκη του Σεκρέτου: Μια Μοναδική Αυτοκρατορική
Βούλλα από τις Συλλογές του Νομισματικού Μουσείου” in Kermatia Filias, Festschrift for Ioannis
Touratsoglou, I (Athens, 2009), 593–603.

Figure 2.2 Lead seal of Michael VIII Palaiologos, Seal of the

Sekreton (NM 2032/1998), 1261–2, Numismatic Museum,
Athens

from the first founder of Constantinople. Michael was hailed explicitly as

New Constantine in an impressive array of genres, ranging from diplo-
matic correspondence, court oratory, seals such as this, and inscriptions on
both portable arts and monumental programs.40 In Nicaea, an image of the
emperor of the Greeks on the peplos sent to Genoa indexes a series of related
intellectual concerns of his empire in exile, as described in Chapter 1. With
the reclaiming of Constantinople, however, Michael cultivated an associa-
tion with the Roman emperor who founded New Rome. He was not the first
Byzantine emperor to draw this analogy, but, as Ruth Macrides reminds us,
given the circumstances of the Latin conquest and occupation of the impe-
rial capital, Constantine the Great offered the most cogent imperial model

40 Michael was described as New Constantine as early as 1262 in a letter sent to Genoa, on which
see Belgrano, “Cinque Documenti,” 227. On Michael’s adoption of the New Constantine
epithet, see Macrides, “The New Constantine,” 23 n. 55; Macrides, “From the Komnenoi to the
Palaiologoi,” 269–82; Talbot, “Restoration,” 260; M. Gallina, “Novus Constantinus – Νέος
Κωνσταντῖνος: Temi di memoria costantiniana nella propaganda imperiale a Bisanzio,” Annali
della Facoltà di Lettere e Filosofia, 27 (1994), 33–56, especially 53–5; and Puech, “Refondation,”
350–62. The New Constantine epithet is found in documents as well as major artistic
programs. For a succinct survey, see Heide Buschhausen and Helmut Buschhausen, Die
Marienkirche von Apollonia in Albanien: Byzantiner, Normannen und Serben im Kampf um die
Via Egnatia (Vienna, 1976), 153–4. See also Vojislav Durić, “Le nouveau Constantin dans l’art
serbe médiéval” in Birgitt Borkopp and Thomas Steppan (eds.), Λιθόστρωτον: Studien zur
byzantinischen Kunst und Geschichte: Festschrift für Marcell Restle (Stuttgart, 2000), 54–65.

to express Michael’s triumphant reconquest of the city.41 Use of this epi-

thet provided a tangible expression of Michael’s restoration: it served as a
reminder of his association with the city and its imperial legacy, and in so
doing it forged an imperial image rooted in continuity and genealogy. This
was a critical message, for, despite the illustrious families from which he
claimed descent, Michael Palaiologos was, again, a usurper. Given the cir-
cumstances of his rise to power, it should come as no surprise that Michael
exploited associations with Constantine the Great after 1261.
Beyond celebrating his ties to historic dynasties that ruled Constantino-
ple before the Latin occupation, the seal in Athens distinguishes Michael’s
rule as one of renewal, not only through inscription but also through
imagery. Standing frontally and hieratically at the center of the seal, the
emperor is depicted holding above him an icon of the Virgin, creating a
vertical axis of imperial and sacred authority. Generally associated with
Michael’s triumphal 1261 adventus described earlier, the image visually
echoes his dramatic entry into the city bearing the Virgin’s sacred icon,
but the seal’s particular reference is to the re-establishment of the office of
the imperial sekreton, the supreme judicial tribunal, which had ceased to
exist during the Latin occupation. The inscription on the reverse explic-
itly refers to the reactivation of the sekreton by the emperor.42 The icon
in his hands serves as a guarantee of the justice and authority that is rein-
stated with his reconquest of Constantinople. The emperor’s exercise of
authority, moreover, is portrayed as active, and he holds the sacred icon in
his hands above him as a contiguous extension of the imperial body. The
visual configuration and inscription of the seal expresses the divinely sanc-
tioned nature of the emperor’s restoration of the imperial city and its key
institutions.43

41 Macrides, “From the Komnenoi to the Palaiologoi,” 274: “The Comnenian renovatio was not
conducted in the name of Constantine. This element was added for Michael VIII because of
the specific circumstances of 1261.”
42 The inscription on the reverse of the lead seal (BFP, 31) reads: “The immediate punishment
and the judgment of offense are for those who violate the decisions of the sekreton, which,
after being gagged for a time, is now strengthened by Michael, the wonder of Emperors.” The
fact that the icon depicted on the seal is of the Blachernitissa and not Hodegetria Virgin (which
he carried at his adventus) is explained by Yorka Nikolaou in the BFP catalogue as an attempt
to associate the newly re-established office of the sekreton with the imperial palace and the
Blachernai. For Constantinidi, “῾Η Παναγία τῶν Βλαχερνῶν,” the Blachernitissa relates to
divinely guaranteed justice. See also A. Kazhdan, “Seckreton,” ODB.
43 The emperor’s responsibility to administer justice was part of the program of taxis. The
reinstating of the sekreton should be seen as part of the cleansing of the disorder of the city. See
Ludwig Burgmann and Paul Magdalino, “Michael VIII on Maladministration: An
Unpublished Novel of the Early Palaiologan Period,” Fontes Minores, IV (1984), 377–90 in
relation to this period directly; and Gilbert Dagron, “Lawful Society and Legitimate Power:

Figure 2.3a Kastoria, Panagia Mavriotissa, external view

While the New Constantine epithet on the seal relates to the renewal
of justice after the chaos of the interregnum, the same epithet outside of
Constantinople in the recently recovered northwestern provinces signals
a desired allegiance to the imperial capital in an attempt to consolidate
the fractured empire. The exterior of the katholikon of the monastery of
the Mavriotissa near Kastoria preserves an extremely fragmentary fresco
of the Tree of Jesse with military saints and imperial effigies, which have
been identified as Michael Palaiologos and Alexios I Komnenos, founders
of the Palaiologan and Komnenian dynasties (Figure 2.3a–b). According to
Titos Papamastorakis, the combination of these figures and their proximity
to the Tree of Jesse expressed a powerful statement in support of the legit-
imacy of the throne that Michael usurped by stressing his imperial ties to
the previous preconquest imperial dynasty. The author also argues that the
partially preserved inscription identifying the Palaiologan emperor orig-
inally included the New Constantine epithet.44 The visual program thus
combines two different references to the past in order to celebrate Michael

῎Εννομος πολιτεία, ἔννομος ἀρχή” in Laiou and Simon (eds.), Law and Society in Byzantium,
27–51, on the larger issues of sovereignty at stake.
44 Papamastorakis, “´Ενα εικαστικό,” 221–40, reconstructs the inscription as follows: [ΜΙΧΑΗΛ
ΕΝ ΧΡΙCΤΩ ΤΩ ΘΕΩ ΠΙCΤΟC ΒΑCΙΛΕΥC ΚΑΙ ΑΥΤΟΚΡΑΤΩΡ ΡΩΜΑΙΩΝ ΚΑΙ ΝΕΟC
ΚΩΝCΤΑΝΤΙΝΟC ΚΟΜ]ΝΙΝΟC ΔΟΥΚΑC Ο ΠΑΛΑΙ[ΟΛΟ]ΓΟC. See also discussion and color
plates in M. Chatzidakis and Stylianos Pelekanides (eds.), Kastoria (Athens, 1985), 66–83. The
epithet is further attested, but without extant imagery, in an inscription at the church of St
Nicolas near Monastir dated to 1271 (not 1371; cf. P. Miljković-Pepek, “Le portrait de

Figure 2.3b Kastoria, Panagia Mavriotissa, line drawing

as not only the refounder of the imperial city of Constantine but also as
the legitimate continuation of the imperial line, despite crusader conquests
and usurpation. To be clear, the program constitutes a visual encomium
to the new Palaiologan emperor that stresses a genealogical link both to
the founder of the imperial city and to the founder of the last dynasty to
rule that city before the Fourth Crusade. Through alignment with these
previous emperors, the fresco situates Michael as their legitimate extension
while simultaneously stressing his status as the representative of the new
dynasty and new empire, which included the northwestern territories.
We encounter a similar emphasis on continuity in the service of present
and future legitimacy at the Church of the Virgin at Apollonia, a Komnenian
monastic foundation on the Adriatic Coast in Albania with a portrait of the
first Palaiologan family on the east wall of the exonarthex (Figure 2.4a–
b).45 Here the message of genealogy is signaled not by the Tree of Jesse

l’empereur byzantin Michel VIII à l’église rupestre de Saint-Érasme près d’Ohrid,” CA, 45
(1997), 169).
45 Buschhausen and Buschhausen, Die Marienkirche von Apollonia in Albanien, 143–82, especially
153–4, figs. 16–19. Note that the emperor is not depicted on knee in front of the Virgin in this
image as claimed by Velmans, “Le portrait,” 97 and n. 14. See also, more recently, Anna
Christidou, “Ερευνώντας την ιστορία μέσα από άγνωστα βυζαντινά αυτοκρατορικά πορτρέτα
σε εκκλησίες της Αλβανίας” in ΑΝΤΑΠΟΔΟΣΗ· Μελέτες βυζαντινής και μεταβυζαντινής
αρχαιολογίας και τέχνης προς τιμήν της καθηγήτριας Ελένης Δεληγιάννη-Δωρή (Athens, 2010),
537–63; and Christidou’s unpublished doctoral dissertation, “Unknown Byzantine Art in the
Balkan Area: Art, Power and Patronage in Twelfth to Fourteenth-Century Churches in Albania

Figure 2.4a Church of the Virgin, Apollonia (Albania), thirteenth century

A B
C

Figure 2.4b Church of the Virgin, Apollonia (Albania), line drawing, thirteenth
century

iconography, with its obvious genealogical symbolism, but by donation.

In this severely damaged fresco, the Palaiologan emperor is described by
inscription as the New Constantine with a similar elaboration of his impe-
rial familial descent as on the seal of the sekreton. But it also hails him
as the true lover of Christ and monasticism, an allusion to the monastic
privileges originally granted to the monastery by Manuel I Komnenos.46

(London, 2011), I, 142–61, especially 151–61 for the imperial portrait. I would like to thank
the author for sharing both these works with me.
46 Buschhausen and Buschhausen, Die Marienkirche von Apollonia in Albanien, 146–7: [Μιχαὴλ ἐν
Χριστῷ Θεῷ πιστὸς βασιλεὺς] καί α[ὐτοκράτωρ: ῾ρωμαίων] νέος Κωνσταντῖνος Κομνηνὸς
Δούκας ῍Αγγελος ὁ Παλαιολόγος ὁ ὡς ἀληθῶς φιλόχριστος και φιλομόναχος (“Michael, in Christ

In addition to the fragmentary identifying inscriptions, the composition

also includes an inscription that has been identified by the Buschhausens
as a copy of the text of a chrysobull issued by the Palaiologan emperor for
the monastery.47 Through reference to Michael’s support of monasticism,
both in his description and in the invocation of the text of his chrysobull,
the composition weaves together the Komnenian and Palaiologan rulers
through their acts of generosity to the monastery.48
In visual terms, the emperor at Apollonia is pictured at the center of
a symbolic gift exchange involving sacred, imperial, and monastic protec-
tion, thanksgiving, and genealogy. Michael, his wife Theodora, and their son
Andronikos, all with halos, are situated on the left side of the fresco, where
they represent the present and future of Palaiologan Constantinople.49
On the right, the Virgin is pictured presenting to the emperor a
micro-architectural model of the church with one hand, while the other
hovers over the shoulder of another figure, poorly preserved but much
smaller in scale and lacking a halo. Behind the Virgin stands another figure,
severely damaged but with traces of a halo visible.50 The precise point of
contact between these two groups is extremely damaged, but it is likely
that the emperor is shown handing the chrysobull to the smaller figure in
the foreground of the composition. If we follow this reconstruction, the

the Lord faithful emperor and autokrator of the Romans new Constantine Komnenos Doukas
Angelos Palaeologos and true lover of Christ and monasticism”). On the Seal of the Sekreton –
and on the peplos in Genoa – he is described as Doukas, Angelos, Komnenos, Palaiologos – that
is, his patronymics are laid out chronologically, whereas at Apollonia, precedence is given to
his Komnenian lineage.
47 In Buschhausen and Buschhausen (ibid., 162–4), the authors propose that the fresco was based
on a lost chrysobull for the monastery and that the text on the right half of the composition
replicates the text of the chrysobull. On the monumentalization and remediation of chrysobull
texts, see note 15 in the Introduction. The fresco is generally associated with the Battle of Berat
in 1281, depictions of which were also painted in the palace in Constantinople – see note 82
below. On the context for the Battle of Berat, see Geanakoplos, Emperor Michael Palaeologus
and the West, 305–34; and Nicol, Last Centuries, 58–71. Christidou, “Unknown Byzantine Art
in the Balkan Area,” proposes a possible earlier date, in part because of the image’s association
with the chrysobull issued for the monastery.
48 Similarly, the rock-cut church of St Erasmus near Ohrid creates a sense of allegiance by
positioning the portrait of emperor, primarily identified by comparison with the Apollonia
frescoes, alongside St Erasmus. Miljković-Pepek, “Le portrait de l’empereur byzantin Michel
VIII,” 169–177, suggests the frescoes were installed between 1275 and 1280.
49 As Christidou, “Unknown Byzantine Art,” 147, has proposed, the imperial dress at Apollonia
is more in line with Komnenian precedents than contemporary trends, hence underscoring the
message of continuity.
50 Although the traces of six figures are visible today, descriptions from the nineteenth century
claim that another two were present. See discussion in Christidou, “Unknown Byzantine Art,”
145–51.

fresco represents the emperor confirming the privileges to the monastery.

In this regard, it functions as a monumental chrysobull affirming impe-
rial power through patronage to the monastery. The image, according to
this logic, acts as a commemoration of imperial generosity, portraying the
emperor as benefactor and protector of the monastery, again re-establishing
the imperial munificence that was instituted in the twelfth century. Signif-
icantly, this vision of imperial generosity transpires in the presence of the
future of Byzantium, Andronikos.51 It thus evokes the genealogy of impe-
rial munificence while simultaneously gesturing toward the future and thus
underscores dynastic legitimacy.
At Apollonia, the New Constantine epithet is employed in the service
of conveying allegiance to Michael and, by extension, to restored impe-
rial Constantinople. The imperial portraits at both Kastoria and Apollonia
project an image of Michael as the representative of the imperial capital to
local communities of the recently recovered provinces of the northwest.52
Their message of imperial genealogy presents the Palaiologoi as heirs of
the preconquest past and they thus provide justification for their present
and future rule. Regarding extant fresco programs in churches in Mace-
donia and along the Adriatic coast, Sophia Kalopissi-Verti proposes that
Michael’s patronage relates to the larger ideology of restoration in the north-
western provinces and in particular to the “ecumenical character” of the
empire.53 In addition to ecumenicism, however, these images stress the new
Byzantine capital headed by Michael as the New Constantine and hence
chart the ambitions of his imperial agenda.
In the restored empire’s capital, too, the emperor was represented as
a New Constantine for related but more specific ends. Again, the seal of
the sekreton employs the New Constantine epithet specifically to stress
institutional – and judicial – renewal (Figure 2.2). Here the nomenclature,
the New Constantine epithet, and the visual contiguity of imperial body and

51 The Mount Auxentios typikon includes an allocution to future rulers (BMFD, 1230–32) to
stress that Michael’s monastic patronage should be continued by his successors. The inclusion
of Andronikos may evoke this concern as well.
52 Generally, the inclusion of imperial references in donor epigrams and images is taken to be an
“expression of political allegiance and other ties which bound the patrons to central authority”
in the words of Vassiliki Foskolou, “‘In the Reign of the Emperor of Rome . . . ’: Donor
Inscriptions and Political Ideology in the Time of Michael VIII Paleologos,” ΔΧΑΕ, 27 (2006),
455, who presents a more nuanced relationship between the local and imperial on the basis of
epigraphic evidence.
53 Kalopissi-Verti, “Patronage and Artistic Production,” 77. See also Foskolou, “‘In the Reign of
the Emperor of Rome . . . ’,” 455–61; Christidou, “Ερευνώντας την ιστορία,” 537–63; and Part II
of Christidou, “Unknown Byzantine Art in the Balkan Area.”

icon of the Virgin on the obverse parallels the inscription on the reverse to
commemorate the re-opening of the sekreton and to celebrate the emperor
in his renewed exercise of order and justice.
In other instances in Constantinople, the promotion of Michael as a New
Constantine is embroiled in patriarchal politics. According to Pachymeres,
Patriarch Germanos III commissioned a peplos depicting the emperor to
be hung between porphyry columns at the west end of Hagia Sophia. This
purple peplos, embroidered with gold thread, displayed Michael as a New
Constantine.54 Exactly how this no-longer-extant textile did so remains
unclear, but we can assume that, at the very least, an inscription rendered
the association with the city’s first imperial founder explicit. Such a peplos,
Macrides insists, aimed at advertising the epithet in Constantinople: it was
created and displayed so as to present the Palaiologan New Constantine to
the Roman people.55 This New Constantine peplos, as we will see toward
the end of the chapter, was part of a more elaborate exchange of textile gifts
between the emperor and patriarch, an exchange related to the tensions
surrounding the emperor’s excommunication.
Like the silk hanging in Hagia Sophia, we know of another lost monument,
not of silk but of bronze, that publicly proclaimed the first Palaiologan
emperor as a New Constantine, but did so in visual rather than textual
terms.56 This bronze monument was erected in front of the Church of the

54 Pachymeres, De Michaele et Andronico Paleologis (Bekker, ed.), 614: B-16, reads as follows:
στήλην δὲ βασίλειον ἐκ χρυσονήματος διεσκευασμένην κατ’ ὀξὺν πέπλον, ἣν ἐκεῖνος βασιλεῖ
Μιχαὴλ πατριαρχεύων ἀνήρτα τῶν πρὸς τῇ δύσει μέσον ἐρυθρῶν κιόνων, κατά τέτι κλεϊσμὸν
τοῦ νέον ἐκεῖνον Κωνσταντῖνον φανῆναι ῾Ρωμαίοις. See Macrides, “The New Constantine,” 22–5;
Talbot, “Restoration,” 251–2; and Papamastorakis, “Tampering with History,” 207.
Pachymeres claims that it was Germanos who first called Michael by the New Constantine
epithet – Pachymeres, Relations Historiques (Failler, ed.), II, 391.5–15. See Macrides, “The New
Constantine,” 24 n. 58; and Macrides, “From the Komnenoi to the Palaiologoi,” 271.
55 See Macrides, “The New Constantine,” 24 n. 59.
56 The rest of the chapter is dedicated to the lost bronze monument of Michael VIII. It should be
noted that a number of other lost imperial images in early Palaiologan Constantinople are
textually attested. Clavijo claims to have seen an imperial portrait at the Peribleptos Monastery,
an earlier monastery restored by Michael VIII. M. de Montconys describes a fresco of the
imperial couple in the refectory there, although there is some dispute about the identity of the
imperial figures represented. On the Peribleptos, see Kidonopoulos, Bauten in Konstantinopel,
91–3; and Cyril A. Mango, “The Monastery of St. Mary Perivleptos (Sulu Manastir) at
Constantinople Revisited,” Revue des Études Arméniennes, 23 (1992), 477–83.
Seventeenth-century engravings preserve a portrait of Michael VIII and Theodora and
Constantine without Andronikos, although it is unclear what image they reproduce (i.e., a
monumental program or an icon). See John Osborn, “New Evidence for a Lost Portrait of the
Family of Michael VIII Palaiologos,” Thesaurismata, 23 (1993), 9–13; Velmans, “Le portrait,”
99; André Grabar, Portraits oubliés d’empereurs byzantins in Recueil publié à l’occasion du

Holy Apostles, Constantine’s place of burial, thus drawing into analogy in

locative terms the fourth- and thirteenth-century founders of the city.57
While sources characterize Michael Palaiologos as the divine instrument
in the return of Byzantine rule to Constantinople, he was in many ways
like Constantine the Great founding a new city for a new empire. When
Constantine first founded Constantinople in the fourth century, he erected
a monumental porphyry column at the center of his forum that supported a
sculpture of himself with glimmering bronze rays emanating from his head
and holding an orb and spear in his hands. It is said that he also placed below
that column the palladium of Rome, thus endowing the column with a sacral
and protective aura and, significantly, conveying a sense of Constantinople
as the New Rome.58 Just as Constantine raised a monument proclaiming
his city New Rome, Michael too had a monument erected to celebrate his
renewed city and himself as its refounder. This monument also consisted
of a colossal bronze statue atop a tall column, but its message was of an
entirely different tenor: it represented two figures, and the dominant one
was not the emperor but the Archangel Michael. This Palaiologan bronze
monument, to which the remainder of the present chapter turns, positioned
the imperial figure as secondary to a saintly figure – the emperor was situated
as a supplicant at the feet of the Archangel Michael, offering him a model
of the imperial city. Wholly original in conception, this early Palaiologan
bronze monument adopts and adapts visual reference from throughout the
city and the wider Byzantine repertoire in a startlingly original manner.
For an emperor who rose to power through violence and spent most of his
rule as an excommunicate excluded in part from the Great Church whose
restoration he enabled, the bronze monument forged links to particular
imperial images from the past in the service of a new icon of legitimate
Palaiologan sovereignty in an era of contested imperium.

cent-cinquantenaire de la société Nationale des Antiquaires de France, 1804–1954 (Paris, 1955)

[repr. L’art de la fin de l’Antiquité et du Moyen Âge (Paris, 1968) I, 191–4]; Parani,
Reconstructing, Appendix 2, no. 37; and R. H. W. Stichel, “‘Vergessene Portraits,’
Spätbyzantinischer Kaiser: Zwei Frühpalaiologische Kaiserliche Familienbildnisse im
Perivleptos- und Pammakaristoskloster zu Konstantinopel,” Mitteilungen zur Spätantiken
Archäologie und Byzantinischen Kunstgeschichte, 1 (1998), 75–125.
57 On the Church of the Holy Apostles in the Palaiologan period, see Kidonopoulos, Bauten in
Konstantinopel, 99–103.
58 While the sculpture no longer survives, the column still stands today in the Forum of
Constantine (çemberlitaş). See Cyril A. Mango’s work on the column reprinted as studies II, III,
and IV in Studies on Constantinople (Aldershot, 1993) and, most recently, Sarah Bassett, The
Urban Image of Late Antique Constantinople (Cambridge, 2004), 192–204 with bibliography.

Brazen thanksgiving

While the monumental bronze sculptural group no longer survives, its loca-
tion and appearance are attested by contemporary Byzantine historians as
well as later foreign travelers to the city.59 Pachymeres and Gregoras confirm
the location of the bronze sculpture and describe its basic organization.60
In the most detailed Greek description, Pachymeres asserts that it was “set
up on a column-like pedestal and represents the Emperor Michael at the
Archangel’s feet, offering to him the city which he holds [in his hands]
and commending it to his protection.”61 From this succinct passage, we
can envision the most salient features of the monumental sculptural group:
the archangel and emperor were cast in a ritual gift exchange of the city
founded by Constantine the Great and restored by Michael Palaiologos.
The terminus ante quem for the monument’s commission is provided by
the typikon for the monastery of St Michael on Mount Auxentios, which
includes a brief dedicatory poem addressed to the archangel who, it claims,
stands atop the column near the Church of the Holy Apostles.62 This
reference also allows us to see the commission as part of the emperor’s
larger restoration agenda and as integral to the economy of sacred trans-
action and patronage elucidated by the typika, as discussed above. Recall
that the Auxentios monastery in its typikon is described as “down on its
knees” and “raised up again” by Michael as “some small repayment to

59 See Talbot, “Restoration,” who first offered a survey of the textual sources on the monument;
Thomas Thomov, “The Last Column in Constantinople,” BSl, 59 (1998), 83; Jannic Durand,
“À propos du grand groupe en bronze de l’archange saint Michel et de l’empereur Michel VIII
Paléologue à Constantinople” in La sculpture en occident: études offertes à Jean-René Gaborit
(Dijon, 2007), 47–57 (a source kindly brought to my attention by Alice-Mary Talbot); and
Ševčenko, “The Portrait of Theodore Metochites.” Briefer mention of the monument is found
in Grabar, L’empereur, 111, 178; Mango, “The Columns of Justinian and His Successors” in
Studies on Constantinople, X, 12–14; Claudia Barsanti, “Costantinopoli e l’Egeo nei primi
decenni del XV secolo: la testimonianza di Cristoforo Buondelmonti,” Rivista dell’Istituto
nazionale d’archeologia e storia dell’arte, 56 (2001), 129, and Puech, “Refondation,” 355–6.
60 Both Gregoras and Pachymeres mention the monument in connection with the 1296
earthquake (more on this context at the end of the chapter). Antony Eastmond, “An
Intentional Error? Imperial Art and ‘Mis’-Interpretation under Andronikos I Komnenos,”
ArtB, 76(3) (1994), 502–10, has discussed the methodological ambiguities involved in
interpreting lost monuments on the basis of textual attestation.
61 Cyril A. Mango, The Art of the Byzantine Empire, 312–1453: Sources and Documents
(Englewood Cliffs, 1972), 246. Pachymeres, Relations Historiques (Failler, ed.), III, 261:1–5
reads as follows: ἐς πόδας δ’ἔχων τὸν ἄνακτα Μιχαήλ, τὴν πόλιν φέροντα κἀκείνῳ
προσανατιθέντα καὶ τὴν ταύτης φυλακὴν ἐπιτρέποντα.
62 Talbot, “Restoration,” 258 with citation at n. 108 to P. N. Papageorgiu, “Zwei iambische
Gedichte saec. XIV und XIII,” BZ, 8 (1899), 672–8, 676.54–5: πρὸς τοῦτο γάρ σε καὶ κίων ὑψοῦ
φέρει / ναῷ παρεστὼς τῶν σοφῶν ᾿Αποστόλων.

God” and “a small act of kindness to [his] ancestors” who founded the
community.63
Foreign travelers to the city located the bronze columnar monument at
the Church of the Holy Apostles, but mistook the imperial figure as Constan-
tine the Great – a confusion that underscores the success of the monument
in conveying Michael Palaiologos as a New Constantine. For an anony-
mous fourteenth- to fifteenth-century Armenian pilgrim, the brazen image
depicted Constantine and Gabriel, not the thirteenth-century emperor and
his archangelic namesake.64 The early fifteenth-century Russian deacon
Zosima (1419–20) likewise understood the imperial figure to be the city’s
first founder, but his account in other respects corresponds to the Byzan-
tine description: “A terribly large angel stands on the column, holding the
scepter of Constantinople in its hand. Emperor Constantine stands oppo-
site it, holding Constantinople in his hands and offering it to the protection
of the angel.”65 Around the same time, the Florentine Cristoforo Buon-
delmonti visited the city and described the monument in nearly identical
terms. He also identified the imperial figure at the summit of the column
as Constantine offering the city held in his hand, but unlike the Russian
visitor, the Florentine traveler expressly specifies his position as kneeling
before the angel.66

63 See discussion above and BMFD, 1217. 64 Talbot, “Restoration,” 258 n. 109.
65 George P. Majeska, Russian Travelers to Constantinople in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries
(Washington DC, 1984), 184–6 and 306.
66 Giuseppe Gerola, “Le vedute di Costantinopoli di Cristoforo Buondelmonti,” Studi Bizantini e
Neoellenici, 3 (1931), 275–6: “Apud denique eclesiam sanctorum Apostolorum quinta insultat
columpna; quo in capite Angelus eneus est, et Constantinus genuflexus hanc urbem in manu
sua offert.” Ševčenko, “The Portrait of Theodore Metochites,” also surveys these textual
accounts with special attention to the positioning of the emperor on knee. On views of
Constantinople in Buondelmonti’s Liber insularum, see Gerola, “Le vedute,” 247–79; Claudia
Barsanti, “Un panorama di Costantinopoli dal ‘Liber insularum archipelagi’ di Cristoforo
Buondelmonti” in Antonio Iacobini and Mauro Della Valle (eds.), L’arte di Bisanzio e l’Italia al
tempo dei Paleologi 1261–1453 (Rome, 1999), 35–54; Barsanti, “Costantinopoli,” 169–254;
Hilary L. Turner, “Christopher Buondelmonti and the Isolario,” Terrae Incognitae, 19 (1987),
11–28; Thomas Thomov, “New Information about Cristoforo Buondelmonti’s Drawings of
Constantinople,” Byzantion, 66 (1996), 431–53; and Ian Manners, “Constructing the Image of
a City: The Representation of Constantinople in Christopher Buondelmonti’s Liber Insularum
Archipelagi,” Annals of the Association of American Geographers, 87(1) (1997), 72–102. Most
recently, Çiğdem Kafescioğlu, Constantinopolis/Istanbul: Cultural Encounter, Imperial Vision,
and the Construction of the Ottoman Capital (University Park, 2009), 145–77, has provided a
sophisticated reading of Buondelmonti’s Liber insularum alongside other early modern
representations of Constantinople with an eye to the ideology of anachronistically including
both Byzantine and Ottoman monuments. In reading what are traditionally understood as
draftsman “mistakes,” she writes (at 151): “these conflations constitute a discourse of
ambiguity, as this representation of Ottoman Constantinople is marked with the persisting
reminiscences of its former self.”

Buondelmonti traveled throughout the eastern Mediterranean compos-

ing his geographic and historic treatise, the Liber insularum archipelagi,
which includes an entire final chapter devoted to Constantinople as well as
a schematic representation of the city preserving the only visual trace of the
lost bronze monument. In two copies of the Liber insularum, the view of
Constantinople renders legible Michael’s lost bronze sculpture among the
city’s famed monuments. In the upper-left corner of one of these justifi-
ably famous cartographic scenes from the 1420s in Venice, one can make
out the outline of a solitary kneeling figure facing east atop a masonry
column, accompanied by a caption identifying him as Constantine “gen-
uflexus” (Figures 2.5 and 2.6).67 The figure’s hands are outstretched in
supplication, but little else can be discerned with clarity. The city view in
a slightly later manuscript from c. 1450 follows this same configuration,
but offers further details relating to the emperor’s dress, including a crown
with sharp projections (Figures 2.7 and 2.8).68 Here the kneeling figure
faces west and his hands are held together before him in a gesture of prayer
rather than holding a city. Despite ambiguities about the precise appear-
ance of the sculpture in these representations,69 Buondelmonti’s maps do
provide a bird’s-eye-view of the city mere decades before the Ottoman con-
quest (1453) and thus allow us to consider the relation of the monument to
the topography of the city and the other imperial monuments that govern

67 BFP, 400 (cat. no. 246). In many of the cityscapes, the monument is given the legend “hic
Constantinus genuflexus,” even when the sculpture is not represented.
68 The provenance for this manuscript is complicated. In general it is listed as part of the Boies
Penrose collection, housed in the Historical Society of Pennsylvania (MS 4), having previously
been owned by Sir Thomas Phillipps (as MS. 2634). See Baltimore Museum of Art, The World
Encompassed: An Exhibition of the History of Maps Held at the Baltimore Museum of Art
(Baltimore, 1952) (cat. no. 80); C. U. Faye, W. H. Bond, and S. de Ricci, Supplement to the
Census of Medieval and Renaissance Manuscripts in the United States and Canada (New York,
1962); Barsanti, “Costantinopoli,” 196–7. Since the 1970s, the manuscript has been in private
collections. It was most recently owned by a Kenneth Nebenzahl, as correctly stated in the
caption for figure two of Magdalino’s essay in EHB, and was sold at Christie’s in April 2012 to
an unnamed private collector.
69 To be clear, the images of the Liber insularum are more revealing about perceptions of
Constantinople outside Constantinople than they are in relation to documenting the reality of
the Byzantine city. The original copy, which was completed for Cardinal Giordano Orsini
before 1420, is now lost, and most surviving copies of the book date to the latter half of the
fifteenth century, after the fall of Constantinople to the Ottomans. While both images
discussed here are dated to before the fall of the imperial city, they should not be considered
eye-witness representations of the city, but rather copies and elaborations of a lost original
manuscript. Cf. Manners, “Constructing the Image of a City.” See also the insightful discussion
in Kafescioğlu, Constantinopolis/Istanbul. On the lost monumental map of Constantinople sent
to the Lithuanian court, see the discussion in Chapter 5.

Figure 2.5 Constantinople, from Cristoforo Buondelmonti, Liber insularum

archipelagi, Venice, Marciana Library, Lat. XIV, 45 (=4595), fol. 123r

its terrain, in particular the honorific columns that punctuate the landscape
as manifestations of imperial magnificence.
In both manuscripts’ city views, a series of massive imperial monoliths
dominates the page. Three are further adorned with sculpture at their
summit. Michael’s column and bronze sculpture at the Church of the Holy

Figure 2.6 Detail of Constantinople, from Cristoforo Buondelmonti, Liber insularum

archipelagi, Venice, Marciana Library, Lat. XIV, 45 (=4595), fol. 123r

Apostles appears in the upper-left quadrant of the plan – again, the sculpture
on top of the column is clearly indicated, but is not visually legible in any
detailed manner. Further to the right, another column is crowned with a
monumental cross. This is the great porphyry column of Constantine the
Great in his forum, its larger-than-life imperial bronze sculpture replaced
by a cross in the late twelfth century.70 Beyond this, another great column
supporting a clearly articulated equestrian statue stands directly in front
of Hagia Sophia.71 This is the sixth-century bronze statue of Justinian I.
Although it too no longer survives, it was still standing on the western end
of the Great Church in the Augustaion when the Palaiologan monument
was erected in front of the Church of the Holy Apostles in the thirteenth
century, and the relationship between the two merits further elaboration
for thinking about the city’s monumental imperial image in these two
distinct eras. They are the two columns in Buondelmonti’s cityscapes to

70 The great cross was placed at its summit during the reign of Manuel I Komnenos to replace the
statue of the city’s founder, which fell in a storm in 1106.
71 See Mango, “The Columns of Justinian”; and Jean-Pierre Sodini, “Images sculptées et
propagande impériale du IVe au VIe siècle: recherches récentes sur les colonnes honorifiques et
les reliefs politiques à Byzance” in Jannic Durand and André Guillou (eds.), Byzance et les
images (Paris, 1994), 42–94.

Figure 2.7 Constantinople, from Cristoforo Buondelmonti, Liber insularum

archipelagi, private collection

be elaborated with figurative sculpture. In the Marciana manuscript, both

monuments are given a wash of ochre to suggest bronze, and in the slightly
later copy, both imperial figures are represented wearing the same crown
with distinctive projections.72

72 In a Vatican manuscript (Ms. Rossiano 702 f. 32v), the top of the column at the Church of the
Holy Apostles supports merely a large head of a king, but with the same distinctive crown. See
Barsanti, “Costantinopoli,” 203, fig. 78.

Figure 2.8 Detail of Constantinople, from Cristoforo Buondelmonti, Liber insularum

archipelagi, private collection

Justinian’s celebrated sixth-century equestrian statue is elaborated in the

greatest detail by early Byzantine historian Procopius, but is also described by
later Byzantine historians Gregoras and Pachymeres. Despite the westward
orientation on Buondelmonti’s map (in the direction of the Church of
the Holy Apostles), Procopius explains that Justinian’s colossal mounted
bronze image faced east – “he gazes towards the rising sun” – and that
the emperor held in his hand an orb surmounted by a cross signifying his
dominion:73

73 The equestrian monument is depicted in many copies of Buondelmonti’s map and in most
instances it faces east in accordance with the textual descriptions. It is visible in Hartmann
Schedel’s view of Constantinople from the Liber chronicarium from 1493, on which see BFP,
403–6 (cat. no. 28), despite the fact that it was no longer standing at that time. A drawing from
the 1430s, today in Budapest, is generally thought to represent Justinian’s lost monument,
although various other proposals have been advanced. In one journal alone, the Art Bulletin, a

In his left hand he holds a globe, by which the sculptor has signified that the whole
earth and sea were subject to him, yet he carries neither sword nor spear nor any
other weapon, but a cross surmounts his globe, by virtue of which he alone has won
the kingship and victory in war. Stretching forth his right hand towards the regions
of the East and spreading out his fingers, he commands the barbarians that dwell
there to remain at home and not advance any further.74

The monument, in short, celebrates the far-reaching sway of Justinian’s

dominance: with the arresting gesture of one arm he keeps potential eastern
threats at bay, while in his other he holds the globus cruciger,75 symbol-
izing his dominion over the Christian world, the oikoumene. It matters
little whether the monument originally celebrated Justinian’s strength with
regard to Persian aggressions specifically; the “barbarians” in the “regions of
the East” could encompass any eastern enemy.76 The ambiguity of the refer-
ent creates a timeless model capable of being reinterpreted for all emperors
facing eastern threats – Sassanian, Arab, Seljuk, and Ottoman.77 The com-
manding immobility of the emperor contrasts the potential for action of
his mount, which appears “about to advance” and to press forward “vigor-
ously,” his legs positioned on the verge of motion.78 The author describes

lively debate about the drawing was instigated by Phyllis Williams Lehmann, “Theodosius or
Justinian? A Renaissance Drawing of a Byzantine Rider,” ArtB, 41(1) (1959), 39–57, who
proposed that the drawing represented a lost gold medallion of Theodosius II, a claim refuted
by Cyril A. Mango, “Letters to the Editor,” ArtB, 41(4) (1959), 351–6 [repr. as essay X in
Studies on Constantinople as “Justinian’s Equestrian Statue”], followed by a response from
Lehmann printed directly after Mango’s (at 356–8), and Michael Vickers contributed to the
debate in “Theodosius, Justinian, or Heraclius?” ArtB, 58(2) (1976), 281–2. See Cyril A.
Mango, The Brazen House: A Study of the Vestibule of the Imperial Palace of Constantinople
(Copenhagen, 1959), 174–9; Mango, “The Columns of Justinian,” 1–8; Barsanti,
“Costantinopoli,” 215–19; Majeska, Russian Travelers, 237–40; and the most thorough
treatment by G. Prinzing, “Das Bild Justinians I. in der Überlieferung der Byzantiner vom 7.
bis 15. Jahrhundert,” Fontes Minores, 7 (1986), 6–14 with bibliography. On its afterlife, along
with other prominent public monuments of Constantinople, see also Julian Raby, “Mehmed
the Conqueror and the Equestrian Statue of the Augustaion,” Illinois Classical Studies, 12(2)
(1987), 305–13, and the discussion at the end of the chapter.
74 Mango, Art of the Byzantine Empire, 110–11.
75 On the Globus Cruciger, see DOC IV/1, no. 168 and DOC V/1, no. 73.
76 By contrast, the Greek Anthology describes another triumphal statue of Justinian in the
Hippodrome marking the specific victory over Persians. Anthol. Graeca, XVI: 62–3 excerpted
in Mango, Art of the Byzantine Empire, 117–18.
77 On misinterpretations versus reinterpretations of Constantinople’s statuary by native dwellers
in the city, see Ruth Macrides, “Constantinople: The Crusaders’ Gaze” in Ruth Macrides (ed.),
Travel in the Byzantine World (Aldershot, 2002), 201–2. See also the end of this chapter for
more on this.
78 “The huge bronze horse . . . seems to be about to advance and to be vigorously pressing
forward. Indeed, he lifts up his left front foot as if about to step on the ground before him,
while the other is planted on the stone above which he stands as though to take the next step.

a pregnant moment with respect to the quadruped, but the emperor’s pose
seems permanently calm, his outstretched arm, with no need for a weapon,
commanding respect. Further details of the emperor’s military attire rein-
force a sense of timelessness by evoking the heroic past: the colossal emperor
was “clad like Achilles” wearing a cuirass of the “heroic fashion.”
While Justinian’s monument was still standing in the later Byzantine
period, Pachymeres notes that by his day the ancient column had been
stripped of its precious metal sheathing, presumably during the Fourth Cru-
sade. His interpretation of the equestrian statue was guided by Procopius’s
text; he even uses the same word to describe the rider’s garb (“Achillean”)79
and echoes the earlier historian’s interpretation of the rider as balancing
military might with the power of the cross:

the right hand he holds upraised in a martial and courageous spirit as if he were
severely threatening the enemy, except that this is not indicative of folly or senseless
rashness. For the left hand removes such a grievous interpretation and justifies the
man sufficiently. Indeed, he holds in it, at a short distance from his body, a gilded orb
of brass upon which stands a cross made of the same material . . . The orb represents
the world and it is by the power of the cross that he, the master of the whole earth,
has been emboldened to grasp it.80

Both early and later Byzantine historians associate the imperial rider with
might and, specifically, with the ability to quell foreign aggression not
through brute violence but by calm, divinely inspired strength. They each
emphasize the emperor’s role as protector of the city and by extension the
whole oikoumene. While Justinian’s early Byzantine Empire spread across
Italy, North Africa, and the Levant, the message of the monument remained

The hind feet he draws together so as to have them in readiness when it is time to set them in
motion.” Translated in Mango, Art of the Byzantine Empire, 110.
79 But Pachymeres lingers on the dress of the rider, in particular the helmet, while Procopius
conveyed a sense of a plumed headdress with the utmost poetic economy by claiming that it
“gives the impression of swaying” (Mango, Art of the Byzantine Empire, 111). Pachymeres
describes the helmet (kranos) as strange, extending upward from the brow and temples
gradually “to a great [height] assuming the shape of golden feathers from the head.” He then
recounts that two of the feathers fell during his own day and were kept in the church’s treasury.
This description of the helmet of the Justinianic monument has sparked a surprising amount
of scholarly attention. Regardless of whether we can identify the specific type of dress that
Pachymeres is describing (through comparisons to textual sources), the author’s lingering
attention to the headdress may relate to the ever-increasing stratification of court dress in the
later Byzantine period. Treating one of the feathers as a relic underscores the sacrality of the
emperor’s headgear, perhaps echoing the understanding of the emperor’s crown as protected
(kekolumena).
80 Mango, Art of the Byzantine Empire, 113. Note that Pachymeres acknowledges the possibility of
imperial folly and rashness.

an ideal one for any Byzantine emperor in any era; it was a timeless image
of imperial dominion and protection.
The prominence of Justinian’s sixth-century equestrian monument
and the thirteenth-century sculpture of Michael with the eponymous
Archangel – their larger-than-life scale and bronze manufacture and their
location in front of key sacro-imperial centers of Hagia Sophia and the
Church of the Holy Apostles – distinguish them as being among the most
significant public markers of imperial ideology standing in the later Byzan-
tine capital.81 The difference in tone between these two lost monuments
as they are described by Byzantine observers is telling.82 The equestrian
format of Justinian’s monument is well situated in the Roman and Byzan-
tine repertoire for imperial portraiture.83 Extant examples of triumphant
imperial riders survive in early and middle Byzantine ivory and silk. The
sixth-century Barberini ivory depicts an emperor on horseback, often iden-
tified as Justinian, with personifications of bounty supporting him and
victory rushing to crown him, while barbarians present their tribute to him
below (Figure 2.9).84 Here the emperor is pictured as the recipient of trib-
ute, victory, and bounty from vanquished barbarians, much like the base of

81 A comparison of the two may seem unfair, not least because they both survive in textual
descriptions alone. Moreover, our descriptions of the later monument are so much shorter,
preserving only the basic outlines of the composition without the same antique rhetorical
flourishes or symbolic interpretations, whereas the earlier monument was celebrated far and
wide, and its ekphrasis by Procopius was read by later historians. Still, the two monumental
bronze works were standing in the thirteenth century in front of the main centers of
sacro-imperial authority – Hagia Sophia and the Church of the Holy Apostles.
82 It is important to note that other works associated with Michael Palaiologos described by
Pachymeres seem more in line with the victorious imperial ideology. For example, images of
Michael’s deeds were commissioned for the walls of the palace to represent his victory over the
Angevins at Berat in Albania (1281). According to Mango, Art of the Byzantine Empire, 246:
“Wishing that these deeds be immortalized, he ordered them to be painted on the walls of the
palace, and not only these, but also those that by God’s grace had been accomplished from the
beginning [of his reign]. The former were immediately painted in the vestibule, while the latter
were not executed, the Emperor having died in the meantime.” The visual memorialization of
victories in the palace goes back to Justinian’s campaign in Italy and reception of captives
painted, in encaustic according to Procopius, on the ceiling of the imperial palace vestibule.
See the description in Mango, Art of the Byzantine Empire, 109–10.
83 The second-century CE colossal bronze statue of Marcus Aurelius erected in Rome comes to
mind most immediately.
84 Similarly, a silk with an unnamed equestrian rider from one of the tombs in Bamberg
Cathedral depicts an unnamed nimbate emperor on horseback framed on either side by tychai
symbolizing cities; see Reinhold Baumstark (ed.), Rom und Byzanz: Schatzkammerstücke aus
bayerischen Sammlungen (Munich, 1998), 213–14 (cat. no. 66). The identity of the emperor
and event being commemorated is the subject of scholarly debate. See G. Prinzing, “Das
Bamberger Gunthertuch in neuer Sicht,” BSl, 54 (1993), 218–31; Paul Stephenson, “Images of
the Bulgar-Slayer: Three Art Historical Notes,” BMGS, 25 (2001), 44–66; and Titos
Papamastorakis, “The Bamberg Hanging Reconsidered,” ΔΧΑΕ, 24 (2003), 375–92. See also

Figure 2.9 Ivory Diptych (“Barberini ivory”), Louvre, Paris

the obelisk of Theodosius I erected and still standing in the Hippodrome

(Figure 2.10).85 Michael’s thirteenth-century sculptural group, by contrast,

Gudrun Bühl, Constantinopolis und Roma: Stadtpersonifikationen der Spätantike (Zurich,

1995). The traditional imagery of imperial victory is summarized succinctly by Paul
Stephenson, The Legend of Basil the Bulgar-Slayer (Cambridge, 2003), 49–65; and see also
Grabar, L’empereur, 45–54, for imperial rider imagery.
85 According to later Russian descriptions, Justinian’s monument included “three pagan
emperors . . . also bronze and on columns, kneeling before the emperor Justinian and offering

Figure 2.10 Base of the Obelisk of Theodosius I, west face, Hippodrome,

Constantinople

shares little of this obvious victorious rhetoric. In the Palaiologan monu-

ment, the emperor, traditionally supplicated, is positioned in the role of
suppliant. Like the early Byzantine images of tribute, gift-giving likewise
motivates the thirteenth-century monument, but the dynamics of imperial
prestation appear to be reversed: the emperor is represented offering his
city as his gift. This configuration is virtually unprecedented.86 Rather than
a straightforward reversal of hierarchy, however, the imagery of Michael’s
monument, as we will see, articulates a more ambiguous dialogue between
privilege and protection.
Michael’s establishment of Palaiologan rule in Constantinople looked
back to previous eras, and through this monument, he created a new impe-
rial image by forging connections to previous great rulers and dynasties in
the service of his present circumstances. The mode of colossal representa-
tion in and of itself and the medium of bronze recall the heroic mode of the

their cities into his hands.” See Majeska, Russian Travelers, 136. This has led Mango, “Columns
of Justinian,” 3, to propose a kind of “monumental tableau” of tribute bearing barbarians on
separate columns before a higher column with Justinian’s equestrian portrait.
86 The mosaic in the southwest vestibule of Hagia Sophia represents an important exception and
will be addressed below, 136, 139–40.

past. Alice-Mary Talbot points out that the use of bronze should be seen as
a deliberate revival of late Roman monumental art, especially since this was
the first monumental bronze sculptural group erected in the capital since
the early seventh century.87 As an exceptional commemorative monument,
the sculpture signified hallowed greatness and ties to the past on a material
level. Within the context of the later thirteenth century, it also proclaimed
prosperity. In a city stripped of its riches during the crusader occupation,
including countless bronze statues, the message of prosperity conveyed by
large-scale bronze work was particularly poignant. These prosperous asso-
ciations hold true regardless of whether the sculpture was created anew
or from reused antique fragments. Justinian’s bronze rider, after all, was
constructed from an older sculpture of Theodosius in all likelihood, and
according to some sources, Constantine’s bronze effigy on his porphyry col-
umn was recycled as well.88 Imperial images aside, the city of Constantine
and his successors had been filled with marble and bronze antique sculpture
until the Fourth Crusade, including the famous quadriga now at San Marco
in Venice that once stood above the starting gate of the Hippodrome. Indeed,
central to Constantine’s establishment of New Rome was the acquisition and
public display of antiques from all corners of his expansive empire.89
The erection of Michael’s colossal column followed in a long line of hon-
orific imperial columns that anchored the city in his day, and these feature
as prominent markers of the city on Buondelmonti’s views of Constantino-
ple. The Florentine, who was much more interested in civic structures and
commemorative columns than churches, remarks that a number of columns

87 Talbot, “Restoration,” 259, drawing on Mango. According to Choniates, Andronikos I

Komnenos intended to erect a bronze statue on a column, but was deposed before its
completion. Choniates explicitly says that he planned to set up the monument as part of a
larger agenda of what we might call imperial propaganda. See Harry Magoulias (trans.), O City
of Byzantium: Annals of Niketas Choniates (Detroit, 1984), 183. The Choniates passage is
analyzed by Papamastorakis, “Tampering with History,” 205. Choniates’ text is a rich source
for the imperial uses of public images. See Eastmond, “An Intentional Error?”, who discusses
the methodological ambiguities involved. Even if the late twelfth-century sculpture had been
erected atop the Anemodoulion as was planned, it would have been the first such monument
since the seventh century and thus would participate in an ideology of renewal – Komnenian
renovatio.
88 Thomov, “Last Column,” 82, proposed that the figure of the archangel was a reused and
reworked antique Nike sculpture. The impact of monumental bronze would not be diminished
either even if artisans were imported from Italy for the commission, as noted by Talbot,
“Restoration,” 259–60: “the technology was available in Italy if the emperor was willing to
pay.” Picking up on this idea, Durand, “À propos du grand groupe en bronze,” has argued that
the monument was of western manufacture and has provided comparanda in support of this
hypothesis.
89 Bassett, Urban Image, is crucial in this regard.

in particular stood out as being particularly tall, over 60 cubits, including

the columns of Constantine, Justinian, and the one erected in front of the
Church of the Apostles.90 Like monumental bronze sculpture, the construc-
tion of honorific columns seems to have come to an end in the early seventh
century.91 Through the revival of the older mode, medium, and technique,
Michael’s monument, in an immediately recognizable manner, conveyed
prosperity and even triumph.

Imperial prestation and proskynesis

Despite the triumphant connotations of the colossal bronze and columnar

format, the overall tone of Michael’s monument remains decidedly more
somber. Rather than receiving tribute from vanquished hands of barbar-
ians or holding enemies at bay with a raised arm, Michael is described at
the archangel’s feet commending the city to the protection of the archi-
strategos. Ultimately, the scene itself, triumphant in its monumental format
and medium, is one of offering and protection. It thus presents a dialectic
between two traditionally distinct pictorial modes: the older bronze heroic
mode, where the monumental scale marks the terrain and is visible from a
great distance, paired with a more intimate scene of gift-giving at its sum-
mit that would be difficult to see clearly because of its great height. In other
words, it employs an older, more hallowed format for a new – and, I will
argue, distinctly Palaiologan – iconography. This iconography, to which we
now turn, reconceptualizes earlier Byzantine conventions for imperial por-
traiture in order to display to the restored Byzantine capital city a distinctive
Palaiologan image of imperial thanksgiving.
Sources agree about the two basic components of Michael’s lost mon-
ument: the posture and the action are undoubtedly kneeling and giving.
The emperor appeared at the feet of the archangel to whom he entrusted
the city held in his hands. Keeping in mind that Constantinople itself was
conceptualized as a gift returned to Byzantine rule by the benevolence of
God, we should read Michael’s monument as a commemorative image of

90 Mango, “Columns of Justinian,” 10. Manuel Chrysoloras’s Comparison of Old and New Rome
speaks of extraordinary columns supporting commemorative statues throughout the city. He
even mentions the Church of the Holy Apostles specifically. See Christine Smith, Architecture
in the Culture of Early Humanism: Ethics, Aesthetics, and Eloquence, 1400–1470 (Oxford, 1992),
210–11.
91 Talbot, “Restoration,” 259; Mango, “The Columns of Justinian”; and Grabar, L’empereur,
100–1.

thanks for that divinely granted gift. Even with only the briefest of textual
descriptions, it is evident that Michael’s lost bronze monument engaged in
dialogue with imperial images in the city’s venerable sacro-imperial center,
Hagia Sophia, not only with the imperial bronze equestrian sculpture in
the Augustaion, as I have already discussed, but also with the building’s
inner fabric of mosaics, to which we will turn shortly, mosaics that evoke
imperial intercession, transgression, humility, taxis, and authority. Even
without full knowledge of its iconographic details, it is clear that Michael’s
monument recalls the past through its triumphant medium and format –
as, again, a larger-than-life bronze sculpture crowning a monumental hon-
orific column – and it also proclaimed a genealogy of imperial donation and
protection through specific visual citations of the Great Church’s mosaics
installed in zones associated with judgment, penitence, and the negotiation
of patriarchal and imperial authority.
The monument’s singular vision of Palaiologan imperium reconfigures
well-established visual conventions. Generally in Byzantine art, gift-giving is
conveyed through a symbolic scene of a donor offering a mimetic emblem
of his or her gift to Christ or the Virgin. Illuminated manuscripts often
emphasize their patronage by inserting the donors literally into a sacred
visual program of intercession offering their gifts, as in the thirteenth-
century Gospel Book on Mount Athos, Iveron 5, introduced in Chapter 1,
where the earthly contemporary donor figure holds his commission – his
book, his gift – in his hand as he is led by the Virgin towards Christ and
his holy namesake John Chrysostom (Figure 1.17a–b).92 In monumental
programs, too, such a self-referential logic is apparent, as at Mileševa, also
introduced in Chapter 1, where Prince Vladislav is pictured led by the
Virgin to Christ while holding a micro-architectural model of the Church
of the Ascension (Figure 1.16). In both, the ktetors hold the very book
or edifice that bears the representation on its pages and walls. Such mise-
en-abyme imagery, characterized by embedded self-reflexivity, is common

92 The Leo Bible best exemplifies this transactional logic of donation in its combination of a
visualization of pious intercession and donation with textual gloss. On the left of the opening
the book’s donor Leo, accompanied by an inscription detailing the precise titles of his office, is
depicted on knee before the Theotokos presenting to her his offering, the very book bearing
the representation. The standing Theotokos gestures toward the jewel-encrusted book with
one hand and with the other directs attention to the upper-right corner, where Christ offers his
blessing. Framing this visualization of pious donation and intercession, a versified epigram
expands upon the scene. The combination of the ritual gesture of abasement, visualization of
intercession, textual indication of court station as well as poetic epigram together convey the
full force of the stakes of the book’s commission and donation. See Evans and Wixom (eds.),
Glory of Byzantium, 88–9 (cat. no. 42).

Figure 2.11 Apse mosaic, Church of San Vitale, Ravenna

in medieval donation scenes where it serves to heighten the force of gift-

giving by reduplicating the gift in mimetic miniature. This topos has a long
and venerable history going back to the early Byzantine period, where,
for example, the sixth-century apse mosaics of San Vitale in Ravenna and
the Eufrasiana in Poreč feature their bishop-saints Ecclesius and Eufrasius
bearing church models in their hands (Figures 2.11 and 2.12). In each case,
the micro-architectural models convey a general sense of mimetic fidelity.
While not exact replicas of the actual structure within which the mosaic
images are installed, the correspondence is strong: Ecclesius’s mosaic church
model is centrally planned like San Vitale, and Eufrasius’s church in both
reality and representation is basilical.93

93 See J. Elsner, Art and the Roman Viewer (Cambridge, 1995); and Ann Terry and Henry
Maguire, Dynamic Splendor: The Wall Mosaics in the Cathedral of Eufrasius at Poreč (University
Park, 2007). See also Jäggi, “Donator oder Fundator?,” 27–45; Ann Marie Yasin, “Making Use
of Paradise: Church Benefactors, Heavenly Visions, and the Late Antique Commemorative
Imagination” in Colum Hourihane (ed.), Looking Beyond: Visions, Dreams, and Insights in
Medieval Art and History (Princeton, 2010), 39–57; and Maria Cristina Carile, “Memories of
Buildings? Messages in Late Antique Architectural Representations” in Angeliki
Lymberopoulou (ed.), Images of the Byzantine World: Visions, Messages and Meanings, Studies
Presented to Leslie Brubaker (Aldershot, 2011), 15–33. Grabar, L’empereur, 109, points out that
despite the limited number of extant instances of this, its popularity is testified by its imitation
from the twelfth century onwards in Slavic lands, Sicily, the Caucusus and later Romania. This

Figure 2.12 Apse mosaic, Basilica Eufrasiana, Poreč

This literal representation of gift-giving – where the identity of the donor

is explicitly linked to the micro-architectural model of the gift – conveys
the privilege of patronage in an immediately recognizable way. The act of
offering establishes a dialogue between earthly patrons and holy figures:
the giving of the model of the sacred edifice to the sacred entity implies
entrusting it to their protection, as Pachymeres’s text explicitly states with
regard to Michael’s bronze monument. Michael’s sculpture follows this
configuration, but rather than a single architectural building, he offers and
entrusts a model of the whole city to the archangel. By holding the city
in his hands, even as he offers it to his sacred namesake, he adopts the
role of the donor – and hence founder – of the entire city in an explicit
visual evocation of the Palaiologan New Constantine, an evocation made
more explicit by its location on a tall column in front of the Church of the
Holy Apostles, the imperial mausoleum of Constantine the Great and the
subsequent Byzantine rulers of New Rome.

mimetic fidelity is only on the most general level. The micro-architectural models do not
faithfully replicate architectural details of the architectural structures, but still convey a
recognizable sense of the buildings. Architectural representation is the subject of a
historiography too vast to fully engage here.

The visual language of gift-giving enables Michael to proclaim his cen-

trality to the imperial city in terms of humility, and this is key in light of
his fraught rule. Constantinople is literally represented in Michael’s hands,
but by offering it to the archangel as a gift, the emperor is shown as the
terrestrial participant of a sacred transaction of indebtedness, akin to the
logic expressed in typika of the period. A shifting sense of hierarchy is
implicit in most gift exchanges, as anthropologists have long acknowledged.
In this instance, the representation of giving implies that the city is his to
give, even if divinely granted to his possession. And at the same time, the
bronze casts Michael as a supplicant offering his city, in turn, to the sacred
authority.
This dialogue between authority and humility is generated not only by
the visual language of gift-giving but also by the posture of the emperor.
Pachymeres describes Michael at the feet of the archangel (ἐς πόδας δ’ἔχων),
and in the Buondelmonti manuscript he is described as kneeling (genu-
flexus). This posture is best characterized as proskynesis, the ritual gesture
of supplication or reverence that ranged in physical terms from a mere nod
or bow to genuflection and to full prostration.94 Michael’s adventus in 1261
fully mobilized this gesture as a sign of deference and respect to the Virgin
in order to recalibrate the ceremonial tone from triumph to thanksgiving,
as noted in the introduction to Part I. Again, Akropolites describes how the
emperor, after removing his headgear, led those assembled at the ceremonial
entrance to the city in a ritual cycle of prostration by falling to the ground
with bent knee for each of the 100 prayers before processing through the
Golden Gate with the icon of the Virgin.95 This spectacular performance

94 Cutler acknowledges the wide semantic range of possible poses used by Byzantine artists to
convey the concept of proskynesis. Cutler’s Transfigurations, 53–110, remains the most
exhaustive treatment of the visual dimensions of proskynesis; it surveys the different facets,
including defeat and submission (65–7), salutation and veneration (67–75), oblation and
dedication (75–80), and entreaty, penitence, and prayer (80–91). See also I. Spatharakis, “The
Proskynesis in Byzantine Art: A Study in Connection with a Nomisma of Andronicus II
Palaeologue,” Bulletin Antieke Beschaving, 49 (1974), 190–205 [repr. Studies in Byzantine
Manuscript Illumination and Iconography (London, 1996) XIV]; McCormick, “Proskynesis”;
Rodolphe Guilland, “Autour du Livre des Cérémonies de Constantin VII Porphyrogénète. La
cérémonie de la προσκύνησις,” REG (1946–7), 251–9; O. Treitinger, Die oströmische Kaiser,
84–94; Grabar, L’empereur, 98–106; and most recently Leslie Brubaker, “Gesture in
Byzantium,” Past and Present, 4 (2009), 36–56, who compares a series of descriptions of
proskynesis with the conclusion that “In Byzantium, the language of gesture cannot be
translated literally: when the social arena shifts, so may the nuance attached to the same word.”
To be clear, neither Pachymeres nor Gregoras use the word proskynesis explicitly in their brief
references to Michael’s bronze monument, and yet positioning the emperor at the feet of the
archangel suggests some form of proskynesis.
95 Again, see above, 27–28. Macrides, George Akropolites, 383–4.

of proskynesis emphasized humility rather than triumph and was entirely

in keeping with the rhetoric surrounding the Byzantine restoration of the
imperial city. Again, the prologues of the typika discussed above stress that
the restoration was not attributed to Michael’s military strength or his diplo-
matic acumen, but rather to divine benevolence. Just as the ritual cycle of
proskynesis at the ceremonial entrance of the city expresses gratitude and
reverence in gestural terms, so too does Michael’s bronze monument adopt
this pose for a similar message.
Two passages describing proskynesis involving diplomatic engagement
with Italian maritime communities encapsulate the two main significations
of this ritual gesture: subservience and honor or privilege. Pachymeres
relates an episode involving the punishment of Genoese merchants for their
insolence. Following an attenuated battle resulting from the abuse of export
regulations on alum dyes, a Greek sailor was taunted by a Genoese, who
exclaimed “We will soon become masters of Constantinople.”96 The Greek
immediately killed him, and then, in turn, was killed. When news of these
events reached the emperor, retribution was demanded. As imperial troops
surrounded the Genoese and “awaited the orders to put them to death,” the
following ritual display of entreaty ensued:

the Genoese, terrified by so formidable a spectacle, lost much of their arrogance and,
prostrating themselves on the ground as if with a cord around their necks, asked for
clemency from the emperor. Thus they appeased his anger by their submission and
purchased their lives with gold.

This passage vividly conveys the submissiveness of prostration as a necessary

component of entreaty. Triggering associations of complete submission, the
gesture itself conjures enslavement (“as if with a cord around their necks”) in
order to appease. The spectacle of abasement evokes images of vanquished
barbarians paying obeisance to the victorious ruler, as in the frontispiece
to the Psalter of Basil II, where the emperor’s investiture is surrounded by
fully prostrate figures with palms to the ground in manifestation of their

96 Pachymeres, De Michael et Andronico, I.421–25, trans. Geanakoplos, Byzantium, 201–92. The

source of the punishment was an abuse of the imperial regulation of alum export. At the
request of a member of the Genoese Zaccaria family, who had been granted control of an area
rich with alum mines, the emperor forbade the Genoese from exporting alum directly (hence
restricting the circulation through Constantinople and the Genoese community in Pera). In
defiance, however, Genoese pirates continued to pillage and transport alum and other
merchandise, even after their compatriots in Pera urged restraint. The Byzantine imperial fleet
thus attacked the Genoese vessel and subdued it after a protracted battle and with the
assistance of a vessel from the Catalan company.

Figure 2.13 Psalter of Basil II, Venice, Marciana Library, Venice, Gr.17.fol.3

total and complete submission (Figure 2.13).97 This episode as narrated by

Pachymeres suggests that in a case of extreme urgency, the defeated take
recourse to proskynesis in order to plead clemency.
Pseudo-Kodinos emphasizes a related facet of this ritualized gesture as
a privilege granted as a sign of esteem. In contrasting Michael’s reception

97 Venice Marc.Gr.17, fol. 3. See Stephenson, The Legend of Basil the Bulgar-Slayer, 51–62.

of Venetian and Genoese envoys, the two Italian maritime powers are dis-
tinguished from each other by their participation, or lack thereof, in the
ceremonial performance of proskynesis. The emperor and the Genoese were
at this time united in a perpetual peace, which entailed gestural honors to
be rendered to the emperor:

When the podestà arrived from Genoa, for the first and only time, upon entering
for the prostration (proskynesis) he flexed his knee twice, after which he entered the
door of the triklinium and stood in the middle. Then he advanced and kissed the
foot and hand of the emperor, who was seated on the throne. At the same time,
other Genoese nobles, coming from other places, prostrated themselves and kissed
the foot and hand of the emperor. Each day when they came for the prostration,
they removed their hats and bent their knees twice.98

According to this protocol, peace included proskynesis. The Genoese, when

in perpetual peace, were given the privilege of performing proskynesis to the
emperor. This was not the case with the Venetians, however, with whom the
emperor had only concluded a temporary truce.99 Pseudo-Kodinos tells us
that the precise ceremonies had not been established for the Venetians as they
had been for the Genoese. The arrival of their leader is described as follows:
“the first day, when he was supposed to prostrate himself, he and the men of
his suite only bent the knee; they did not kiss the foot of the emperor . . . and
in the future they only removed their hats and did not bend the knee.” Unlike
the Genoese, whose state of perpetual peace was given concrete ceremonial
expression in the protocol for prostration, the Venetians’ temporary peace
was not formalized or prescribed, and accordingly they did not honor the
emperor with proskynesis. This comparison suggests, as other scholars have
observed, that the Byzantines considered it a privilege for guests to be
allowed to pay respect to the emperor in this way.100
The ritualized gesture of abasement could be employed as a form of
entreaty for the defeated, as in Pachymeres’s narrative, and for Pseudo-
Kodinos it could also manifest the finely tuned degrees of status for foreign
envoys in a hierarchical court system. As a key component of Byzantine
ceremonial, proskynesis was a prescriptive element for imperial audiences

98 Pseudo-Kodinos, Traité des offices, 235–6; Geanakoplos, Byzantium, 23–4, whose translation is
followed here; Macrides is preparing a new edition and commentary of Pseudo-Kodinos,
portions of which appear in Brubaker, “Gesture in Byzantium,” 49.
99 Michael “wanted to make war with them after a short time, for this reason he did not make a
lasting peace but concluded a truce for a certain short period of time.” Brubaker, “Gesture in
Byzantium,” 49.
100 Cutler, Transfigurations, 70; Spatharakis, “Proskynesis”; and Brubaker, “Gesture in
Byzantium.”

and processions, and was essential in visualizing ceremonial taxis.101 In

either case, it was a position of supplication underscoring the power and
potential magnanimity of the supplicated emperor. While foreign digni-
taries paid their respect to the emperor through the ritual act of proskynesis,
the emperor himself performed proskynesis as a visible sign of his piety.
When Michael staged his elaborate entrance to Constantinople in 1261, he
adopted this gesture, likening himself to a supplicant as an act of spectacular
humility at the perimeter of the city. His proskynesis was directed toward
the divine, the icon of the Virgin. No ritual gesture could better express the
reverential mood of the event.
Often in Byzantine art, proskynesis constitutes a ritualized form of debase-
ment reserved for encounters between donors and holy figures as a votive
visual strategy.102 Donors who adopt this pose liken themselves visually
to the debased in order to heighten the worthiness of the one being sup-
plicated. It is from this lowered position that their prayers might most
effectively be heard and heeded. In a scene of supplication embroidered
on a textile in the Palazzo Ducale of Urbino dating to the beginning of
the fifteenth century, a contemporary male figure crouches at the feet of
the Archangel Michael, looking up beseechingly, hands outstretched in a
gesture of prayer (Figure 2.14),103 echoing the lost bronze monument of
Michael Palaiologos (despite the fact that the supplicant does not offer a
gift). The contemporary figure’s position at the feet of the archangel, who
stands with sword drawn, evokes a particular reference: the Old Testament
hero Joshua at the feet of the angel of the Lord as described in Joshua

101 Brubaker, “Gesture in Byzantium,” 46, has most recently reconsidered the ritual gesture of
proskynesis by comparing its articulation in three distinct contexts to emphasize that “the
diplomatics of gesture were finely tuned to gradations of status.” This is one of the episodes
that are also discussed by Brubaker – the other two are the receptions of Liudprand of
Cremona and Olga of Kiev.
102 The scholarship on votive strategies and donor imagery is vast. Some of the relevant literature
is listed in note 43 of the Introduction as well as note 100 of Chapter 1.
103 D. Giuseppe Cozza-Luzi, “Di un antico Vessillo Navale” in Dissertazioni della Pontificia
Accademia Romana di Archeologia (Rome, 1890), ser. II, vol. III, 1–85; Alberto Gibelli,
Monographia dell’antico monastero di S Croce Avellana (Faenza, 1895), 41; Luigi Serra, “A
Byzantine Naval Standard (circa 1411),” Burlington Magazine, 34 (1919), 152–7; Luigi Serra,
L’Arte nelle Marche, Vol. I: Dalle Origini Cristiane alla Fine del Gotico (Pesaro, 1929), 324–6;
Luigi Serra, Il Palazzo Ducale e la galleria nazionale di Urbino (Rome, 1930), 40–5; Silvio
Giuseppe Mercati, “Sull’iscrizione del cosı̀ detto ‘vesillo navale’ di Manuele Paleologo
conservato nella Galleria Nazionale delle Marche in Urbino” in Collectanea Byzantina II (Bari,
1970), 242–8; Sergio Bettini and Furlan Italo, Venezia e Bisanzio (Venice, 1974), no. 119;
Antonio Carile, “Manuele Nothos Paleologo. Nota Prosopografica,” Thesaurismata, 12 (1975),
137–47; and André Guillou, “Inscriptions byzantines d’Italie sur tissu” in Ihor Ševčenko and
Irmgard Hutter (eds.), ΑΕΤΟΣ, Studies in Honour of Cyril Mango (Stuttgart, 1998), 174–6.

Figure 2.14 Embroidery of Manuel and the Archangel, Palazzo Ducale, Urbino

5:13–15. At the walls of Jericho, Joshua encountered a man with his sword
drawn who revealed himself to be the commander of the army of the Lord,
at which point the leader of the Israelite army fell to the ground before
him. This scene features frequently in illustrated Octateuchs, as in the
thirteenth-century Vatopedi codex 602 (fol. 350v), where the archangel’s
frontal pose directly engages the viewer as a figure worthy of venera-
tion, with Joshua in full proskynesis before him reaching in supplication
(Figure 2.15).104

104 Two distinct temporal moments of the narrative are conveyed through continuous narration
on this page: on the left, Joshua is shown with sword drawn and then, having realized the true
identity of the archangel, he appears crouching before the archangel with arms outstretched as
suppliant, as the text relates. On the Vatopedi manuscript (Athos, Vatopedi Monastery, Cod.
602), see John Lowden, “The Production of the Vatopedi Octateuch,” DOP, 36 (1982),
115–126; John Lowden, The Octateuchs: A Study in Byzantine Manuscript Illumination
(University Park, 1992), 29–33; Kurt Weitzmann and Massimo Bernabò, The Byzantine
Octateuchs (Princeton, 1999); and most recently, John Lowden, “Illustrated Octateuch
Manuscripts: A Byzantine Phenomenon” in Magdalino and Nelson (eds.), Old Testament in
Byzantium, 107–52, with specific discussion on the relationship between Vatopedi 602 and its
model Vat.Gr.746 at 115–18. See also Cutler, Transfigurations, 65–67 and 59–61, for
proskynesis in biblical iconography.

Figure 2.15 Joshua and the Archangel, Vatopedi Octateuch, Ms. 602 fol. 350v,
Vatopedi Monastery, Mount Athos

The embroidered contemporary scene of supplication in Urbino is struc-

tured by this biblical context not only through gestures but also by the verbal
petition that frames the piece. In this first-person petition the supplicant
compares himself explicitly to Joshua:

As once Joshua, son of Navi, having bent knee threw himself at your feet asking
for strength to defeat hordes of enemies, so now I, your servant Manuel, son of
Eudocia, glorious and thrice-blessed who had for father an emperor and mother
of the purple branch, now I throw myself at your feet as a suppliant and pray that
you shelter me with your golden wings, and, going before, save me from all danger,
[I pray that] I may have you as protector and guardian of my soul and body through-
out my life, and that at the last and terrible judgment I find, thanks to you, a favor-
able Lord; from my mother’s womb, I was entrusted to you, O Commander of the
Angels.105

105 Carile, “Manuele Nothos,” 143–4; and Guillou, “Inscriptions byzantines,” 175. For
comparative epigrams, see the appendix of Valerie Nunn, “The Encheiron as Adjunct to the
Icon in the Middle Byzantine Period,” BMGS, 10 (1986), 91–102.

The supplicant opens his appeal by invoking the Old Testament hero, thus
establishing an analogy between himself, Manuel of Byzantine imperial
lineage,106 and Joshua, son of Navi. In the Urbino silk, the contemporary
Byzantine patron appears in the guise of Joshua, intertwining his own
petition with the Old Testament narrative – according to the inscription,
Manuel beseeches Michael “just as” (῾Ως πρὶν) Joshua once did. The two
are linked both through linguistic comparison and also visually by the
same posture of deep proskynesis.107 In this instance, the donor’s prayer is
answered as the archangel assents to his wishes by inscription at the center
of the silk.108
Even though Michael’s bronze monument lacks the textual context to
render such a comparison explicit, the emperor’s position at the feet of the
archangel echoes the iconography of the leader of the Israelite army kneeling
in supplication before the angel of the Lord. Joshua was an exemplum of
military might and his humility before the angel at the walls of Jericho pro-
vided a concrete exemplum for Michael, who processed through the walls
of Constantinople in repeated proskynesis and prayer. For a monumental
public commemoration of the empire’s restoration, the delicate balance of
triumph and humility so marked out in texts of the period could be best
conveyed by visual reference to Joshua at the feet of the archangel. Joshua
is invoked explicitly in Michael’s panegyric by both Manuel Holobolos and
Gregory of Cyprus.109 Both of these orators also compare the emperor to the

106 The figure in question is generally taken to be Manuel, illegitimate son of Byzantine Emperor
John V Palaiologos (1373–91), distinguished from his brother and future Emperor Manuel II
(1391–1425) by the epithet nothos (illegitimate). Little is known about Manuel nothos,
although sources agree that he was appointed commander of the Byzantine fleet that
defended the empire from an Ottoman naval attack in the early 1400s. See Carile, “Manuele
Nothos,” 145–6; John Barker, Manuel II Palaeologus, 1391–1425: A Study in Late Byzantine
Statesmanship (New Brunswick, 1969), 285n 153. See the ODB’s genealogical table of the
Palaiologan family, 1558–9; Averkios Papadopoulos, Versuch einer Genealogie der Palaiologen,
1259–1453 (Speyer, 1938), 58; and PLP, nos 91885 and 92618. Ivan Drpić’s forthcoming
study, “The Patron’s ‘I’: Art, Selfhood, and the Later Byzantine Dedicatory Epigram,”
introduces further literature and points out that the identification of the donor is not based
on direct evidence.
107 Recall also the early thirteenth-century peplos in Venice, introduced in the previous chapter,
where the disembodied donor appears at the feet of the archangels – the inscription not only
identifies the donor but it also explicitly says that he commissioned the textile with his own
image at their feet so as to gain the support of the heavenly allies.
108 In response to the metric words inscribed in gold along the periphery of the piece, the
first-person petition or prayer, an affirmative reply is embroidered beneath the archangel’s
wing: “My ear is attentive to your necessity and I protect you with my wings as my servant,
and with my sword I will put your enemies to flight.” Again, see Carile, “Manuel Nothos
Paleologo,” 143–4; and Guillou, “Inscriptions byzantines,” 175.
109 Angelov, Imperial Ideology, 87–8.

Old Testament figure of Zorobabel, more specifically to celebrate Michael

as liberator of the city, much in keeping with the rhetorical tradition of
Constantinople as the New Zion discussed above.110 They also compare the
emperor to David, the favorite biblical antetype or “model” for usurpers
who had sinned, repented, and received mercy.111 Byzantine emperors
had often been compared to David; Komnenian emperors in particular
employed this comparison frequently, and David would continue to serve
as a rhetorical model in encomia for the early Palaiologoi, particularly for
Michael.112 Significantly, Byzantine images of David included an established
iconographic program of proskynesis to signify intense prayer or penance
(metanoia).113
One of Holobolos’s orations that draws extensively on analogy with the
biblical King David also addresses Michael as a New Constantine in its
title.114 This combination of key models of foundation and repentance,
themes that are evoked in the bronze monument, calls to mind the par-
ticularly fraught context of the emperor’s consolidation of imperial power.
By breaking the oaths of allegiance sworn to John IV Laskaris in Nicaea,
Michael secured the imperial throne for his own line, but also incited
the rage of Patriarch Arsenios Autoreianos, who had drafted and admin-
istered the oath in 1259. After dethroning, blinding, and expelling the
legitimate heir to the Laskarid throne, Michael was excommunicated by the

110 Michael was celebrated as a “New Zorobabel” for liberating Constantinople. His successor,
Andronikos II, was also compared to Zorobabel but for liberating the Church (heavenly
Jerusalem), as discussed further in the conclusion to Chapter 2. See Angelov, Imperial
Ideology, 99–100, 87 and table 2.
111 In terms of biblical comparisons for Michael VIII, Holobolos cites David most, five times in
fact, followed by Moses, Solomon and Zorobabel. See Angelov, Imperial Ideology, 87 and table
2. Gregory of Cyprus also compares Michael to David most. Dagron, Emperor and Priest, 50,
writes of Old Testament antetypes: “No new event was wholly true nor any new emperor
wholly authentic until they had been recognized and labeled by reference to an Old Testament
model.” See the introduction and various essays in Nelson and Magdalino (eds.), Old
Testament in Byzantium, especially Claudia Rapp, “Old Testament Models for Emperors in
Early Byzantium,” 175–97.
112 See Magdalino and Nelson (eds.), Old Testament in Byzantium, 24ff.; Ioli Kalavrezou,
Nicolette Trahoulia, and Shalom Sabar, “Critique of the Emperor in the Vatican Psalter gr.
752,” DOP, 47 (1993), 195–219; Robert Deshman, “The Exalted Servant: The Ruler Theology
of the Prayerbook of Charles the Bald,” Viator, 11 (1980), 394–417; Macrides, “From the
Komnenoi to the Palaiologoi,” 279; Angelov, Imperial Ideology, 128–30; and Dagron, Emperor
and Priest, 114–24. David is invoked for Andronikos II as well, although with significantly less
frequency than his father, despite the fact that Andronikos was the most lauded Palaiologan
emperor according to Angelov, Imperial Ideology, 130.
113 The pictorial cycle of Vatican Psalter 752 fully exploits this gesture of proskynesis in the service
of imperial critique. See Kalavrezou, Trahoulia, and Sabar, “Critique of the Emperor.”
114 See Angelov, “The Confession.”

patriarch early in 1262, a sanction that remained in effect for the next five
years. As a special concession, the emperor’s name continued to be litur-
gically commemorated, but his access to the Great Church was curtailed –
he could venerate the icons before the commencement of the liturgy and
he could stand behind the ambo during the liturgy only until the cate-
chumens left the church.115 During the period of his excommunication
(1262–7), Michael pleaded with the patriarch to assign penance. But even
after removing his crown and performing proskynesis before the patriarch,
Arsenios would neither lift the anathema nor prescribe a specific eccle-
siastical penance, and eventually he banned the emperor from entering
the Great Church altogether.116 The deepening animosity between emperor
and patriarch having escalated to this point, Michael had Patriarch Arsenios
deposed, banished, and excommunicated in 1265.117 Arsenios was initially
succeeded by Germanos III (1265–6)118 and then Joseph I (1266–9), the
emperor’s own spiritual confessor, under whom Michael was pardoned
at last. In an elaborate performance of penance in Hagia Sophia on the
feast day of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin on February 2, 1267, the
emperor performed proskynesis before the new patriarch and each bishop,
who all in turn granted him forgiveness. This event came to take on special
veneration for the duration of Michael’s reign: according to Pachymeres,
the feast of the Purification, and hence his own pardon, was specially
celebrated.119
These circumstances provide a more specific lens through which to view
Michael’s commemorative bronze monument and the wholly original impe-
rial image it displayed to the city. While the monument should be read as a
pictorial evocation of the emperor’s New Constantine epithet – its location

115 On this “third degree of excommunication,” see ibid., 195 n. 8; and Pachymeres, Relations
Historiques (Failler, ed.), III. 14. Arsenios had been originally appointed patriarch in 1254
under John IV’s father, Theodore II Laskaris, and thus Macrides, “The New Constantine,”
19–20, points out that Michael essentially inherited him as patriarch and had to endure
Arsenios’s loyalty to the Laskarid cause.
116 Macrides, “The New Constantine,” 20. However, he did not allow his sword to be removed.
See Angelov, “The Confession,” 195; and Marie Theres Fögen, “Kaiser unter Kirchenbann im
östlichen und westlichen Mittelalter,” Rechtshistorisches Journal, 16 (1997), 527–49, who
emphasizes that unlike western examples of royal excommunication, Michael VIII relied on
the theocratic image of New David in need of patriarchal blessing to rule.
117 Angelov, “Confession,” 197. These events gave rise to the Arsenite schism, which will be
discussed at greater length in the next chapter.
118 On Germanos, see Macrides, “The New Constantine,” 21–2 with bibliography, especially
n. 50 on the pre-existing relationship between Michael and Germanos.
119 Angelov, Imperial Ideology, 45, and “Confession,” 197; Pachymeres, Relations Historiques
(Failler, ed.), II, 397–99, and II, 573; and Vitalien Laurent, Les regestes des actes du Patriarcat
de Constantinople, vol. 1, fasc. 4: Les regestes de 1208 à 1309 (Paris, 1971), no. 1386.

Figure 2.16 Constantine and Justinian with the Virgin and Child, southwest vestibule
mosaic, Hagia Sophia, Constantinople

in front of the Church of the Holy Apostles underscores this point, as does
the positioning of the city as his gift in his hands – it also directly addresses
the Great Church and in so doing it raises key questions of authority and
legitimacy. Thus far, proskynesis and prestation have been presented as gen-
eral components in the repertoire of imperial ceremonial gestures that each
engage in a dialogue of hierarchy, a dialogue of receiving and offering gifts,
tribute, gestures of abasement and submission. In what follows, I trace the
more specific references of these gestures as they relate to the particular
context of early Palaiologan rule.
Although the overall composition of a kneeling emperor donating the
city model is unprecedented in Byzantine art, its constitutive features are all
found in the imperial mosaics in the narthex and vestibule of Hagia Sophia.
In fact, the only extant representation of an emperor holding a model of
the city is in the tenth-century mosaic in the southwest vestibule over the
“Beautiful Doors,” under which the emperor would pass as he entered the
Great Church on major feast days (Figure 2.16). Beyond this threshold,
in the lunette over the “Imperial Doors,” the central entrance that leads
from the narthex to the naos, a second lunette mosaic depicts an emperor
kneeling in proskynesis before Christ, his arms outstretched as he looks up

Figure 2.17 Byzantine Emperor in Proskynesis, inner narthex mosaic, Hagia Sophia,
Constantinople

beseechingly (Figure 2.17). This is a virtually singular monumental image of

a Byzantine emperor in proskynesis.120 Direct reference to these exceptional
mosaics, I propose, is not accidental. Rather, Michael’s bronze monument
deliberately adopts and reconfigures the Great Church’s particular visual
models of imperium to create a charged message of Palaiologan sovereignty
within the fraught context of contested imperial and patriarchal authority.
The only other extant monument to combine such explicit visual allu-
sions to the two imperial threshold mosaics of Hagia Sophia is the depiction
of Theodore Metochites in the inner narthex of the Church of the Chora
where the grand logothete of Emperor Andronikos II Palaiologos, Michael’s

120 While numerous images of proskynesis are attested from across the empire and also emulated
beyond the ever-shifting imperial boundaries, such as at the Norman court of Palermo, where
Admiral George lies prostrate at the Virgin’s feet in the mosaic in the Martorana, very few
representations of proskynesis involving the emperor survive, and those that do generally
depict him receiving tribute from the vanquished usually prostrate as discussed above. But the
imagery of imperial proskynesis becomes more common in the Palaiologan period – in fact,
the kneeling emperor constitutes the defining feature of the gold coinage of Michael VIII and
his successors, as we will see in the next chapter. The exceptional status of this image of the
prone emperor in the narthex of Hagia Sophia has led Nicolas Oikonomides, “Leo VI and the
Narthex Mosaic of Saint Sophia,” DOP, 30 (1976), 153, to describe it as “a hapax in Byzantine
art.” By contrast, in “Exalted Servant,” Robert Deshman describes a firmly established
tradition in Byzantine art. The truth lies somewhere between these two positions, but in any
case it is certainly extremely rare before the later Byzantine period. See André Grabar,
L’Iconoclasme byzantin (Paris, 1957), 239–41; Grabar, L’empereur, 98–102; Cutler,
Transfigurations, 63–4; and Spatharakis, “Proskynesis,” 194.

Figure 2.18 Theodore Metochites, Church of the Chora/Kariye Camii, Constantinople

son and successor, is portrayed kneeling and offering to an enthroned Christ

a model of the monastic church he renovated and lavishly adorned from
1316 to 1321 (Figure 2.18). The Chora and Great Church mosaics are
engaged in a dialogue that Robert Nelson has characterized as an instance
of “intervisuality,” drawing on the literary concept of “intertextuality.”121
In engaging in this visual dialogue, Metochites, whose wealth was sec-
ond only to the emperor and imperial family,122 inscribes himself into the
center of “contemporary imperial/religious symbolism” in an act of imperial
pretension.123
Michael’s bronze monument, which should be considered an interme-
diary in this “intervisual” conversation as it was still standing at the time
of Metochites’s commission,124 forges visual associations with the Great

121 Robert S. Nelson, “The Chora and the Great Church: Intervisuality in Fourteenth-Century
Constantinople,” BMGS, 23 (1999), 67–101 [repr. Later Byzantine Painting: Art, Agency, and
Appreciation (Aldershot, 2007]), draws on the concept of intertextuality elaborated by literary
theorists Mikhail Bakhtin and Julia Kristeva.
122 Nelson, “Taxation with Representation,” 55, characterizes him as “prime minister of the
Byzantine Empire, its richest citizen after the emperor and his family, [and] a major intellect.”
123 Nelson, “Chora and the Great Church,” 80 and 86.
124 Nelson (ibid., 69) does mention Michael’s lost bronze monument. Early Palaiologan coinage,
which will be discussed in the next chapter, constitutes another key to the circulation of the
new imperial imagery.

Church in the service of a very different aim: to underscore the continu-

ity of the imperial office in general and his legitimacy in particular, an
issue of central import for the usurper who founded the longest imperial
line of Byzantium. More specifically, its “intervisual” dialogue with the Great
Church involves the realm of ritual as much as the art historical: through its
citations of the vestibule and narthex images of Hagia Sophia, the bronze
monument evokes ceremonial enactments of authority and legitimacy that
were especially problematic for Michael. Gilbert Dagron, who has elabo-
rated the ideological stakes of Byzantine imperial ceremonial most cogently,
suggests that “beneath the peaceful and rather static surface of the ceremo-
nial, lies a more dramatic ritual which was designed not only to glorify the
person of the sovereign but to test the nature, limits and contradictions
of his power, and to confirm his suitability to receive or preserve it.”125
Precisely such an understanding of the dual revelatory nature of ritual –
to both reveal and conceal fractures in authority – informs this reading of
Michael’s intervisual bronze monument.
In its combination of imperial proskynesis and prestation, Michael’s
bronze monument conveys the Palaiologan imperial ideal as deeply embed-
ded in previous, and very particular, visual models of sovereignty: those
displayed in the pendant imperial mosaics over the two main ceremonial
entrances punctuating the processional route from the palace to the Great
Church. According to the middle Byzantine Book of Ceremonies, the emperor
would pass through these doors when he participated in the liturgy of Hagia
Sophia on major feast days.126 To the sound of acclamations, the emperor
and his entourage would process from the Chalke across the Augustaion,
past the monumental equestrian bronze statue of Justinian to the church’s
southwest entrance. Here in the southwest vestibule above the “Beautiful
Doors” is the mosaic of the great founders of the church and the city pre-
senting their gifts to the Virgin and Child: on the left, Justinian offers a
model of the Great Church he rebuilt in the sixth century, and on the right,
Constantine the Great presents a model of the imperial city that he founded
in the fourth century (Figure 2.16).127 The mosaic promotes the Virgin’s

125 Dagron, Emperor and Priest, 103.

126 This procession is treated in considerable depth recently by Dagron, Emperor and Priest,
106–18; and George Majeska, “The Emperor in His Church: Imperial Ritual in the Church of
St. Sophia” in Maguire (ed.), Byzantine Court Culture, 1–11; and Robert S. Nelson, Hagia
Sophia, 1850–1950: Holy Wisdom Modern Monument (Chicago, 2004), 6–9, on the
representational strategies at play in this image as they relate to imperial processions.
127 The southwest vestibule mosaic provides the closest parallel for Michael’s lost monument, at
least for the appearance of the city in the emperor’s hands, and hence it is consistently invoked

role as protector of the city and church, and the emperor as primary inter-
cessor to her sacred protection. As a timeless model of and for imperium,
the mosaic marked a pause in the imperial procession. Below this scene
of imperial intercession, according to the Book of Ceremonies, the emperor
was divested of his crown before crossing the threshold into the narthex
where the patriarch and his retinue awaited.128 By removing the crown, the
emperor signaled a temporary abandonment of his temporal authority in
acknowledgment of his entrance into the sacred space and domain of the
patriarch. For Dagron, the crown suggests a further level of significance
related to the Last Judgment. By removing the crown at this moment in the
ceremonial entrance, he writes, “the emperor was recognizing that the del-
egated power which he had personally received from God ceased wherever
God had his residence on earth, just as it would cease when Christ returned,
on the Last Day, the Day of Judgment. The crown was on loan.”129
Upon crossing from the vestibule to the narthex, the emperor joined the
patriarch and his retinue. After venerating the Gospel Book held in the hand
of the archdeacon, he greeted and kissed the patriarch, and they processed
together to the “Imperial Doors,” the central and tallest of the entrances
leading from the narthex into the body of the church, which supported a
second lunette mosaic, equally idealized but much more enigmatic. This
image represents an unnamed emperor – bearded, crowned, and nimbate –
in deep proskynesis before Christ seated on a jeweled throne holding a book

as comparanda for the lost bronze monument. While the mosaic does allow us to reconstruct a
partial image of the monument in our minds, I am more interested in the connection between
the two images of imperial city donation as a means of thinking through how the later
monument casts the new Palaiologan emperor – how through references to other symbolically
charged imperial images in critical areas of the Great Church, it presents a new imperial ideal
for a new era. A later image of a city model in a scene of offering exists on an ivory pyxis in
Dumbarton Oaks. Here the model of the city is being presented to an emperor, not by an
emperor. See BFP, 30–1 (cat. no. 5) with bibliography. This pyxis and its historical context will
be discussed at greater length in the Introduction to Part II. Recent literature on the southwest
vestibule mosaic includes: Prinzing, “Das Bild Justinians I,” 6–14; Kateryna Kovalchuk, “The
Founder as a Saint: The Image of Justinian I in the Great Church of St Sophia,” Byzantion, 77
(2007), 205–38, on the hagiographic background of Justinian in this image; and Brubaker,
“The Visualization of Gift Giving,” 46–52, with regard to gift-giving strategies at play here.
128 The fact that the patriarch was already installed in the narthex highlights his role as host and
the emperor as guest, a relationship emphasized earlier in the procession, when the emperor
waited in the palace for a delegate of the patriarch to send the order of the ceremony to him.
See Dagron, Emperor and Priest, 95–7. Ultimately the procession from palace to the Great
Church, for Dagron (Emperor and Priest, 84), constituted “the most solemn and most
significant ritual, which, each time it was repeated, described the origins and nature of
imperial power, confirmed its legitimacy and suggested certain of its limitations.” See also
Majeska, “The Emperor in His Church,” 1–11.
129 Dagron, Emperor and Priest, 82.

open to the Gospel of John and flanked by medallions of the Virgin and
Archangel (Figure 2.17). Much debate has surrounded the identity of this
emperor, but the conspicuous lack of an inscription insists on a degree of
indeterminacy and suggests that the image should be read as prescriptive
rather than descriptive.130 Dagron has noted that the image of repentance
surely evokes memories of historically significant imperial events, including
imperial transgressions and repentance, as well as biblical precedents, such
as that of David.131 Below this image of a crowned emperor in proskynesis,
the living emperor, still divested of his crown, prayed with candle in hand
and performed triple proskynesis before entering into the nave with the
patriarch.
These two imperial mosaics of the Great Church – depicting imperial
proskynesis and prestation – are situated at sites that mark ritual transitions
in authority and are laden with memories of imperial transgression and
repentance. Dagron has read the ceremony enacted in these liminal zones
as central to the inscription of imperial and patriarchal authority, and to
the ritual negotiation of imperial charismata. At the same time, these spaces
were also key sites of penitence and judgment in their own right,132 and
these associations, I believe, also inform the ideological message of the
Palaiologan bronze monument.
The narthex and vestibules of Hagia Sophia were the meeting place of the
ekklesiekdikoi, the tribunal (ekdikeion) of clerics (ekdikoi or ekklesiekdikoi)
assigned to the Great Church, an institution inaugurated by Justinian in

130 This mosaic placed above the second threshold evokes more explicitly than the first the
concept of entreaty, as the gestures of the Virgin and the emperor doubly articulate
intercession. See Grabar, L’Iconoclasme byzantin, 239–41; Zaga Gavrilović, “The Humiliation
of Leo VI the Wise,” CA, 28 (1979), 87–94; and A. Schminck, “Rota tu volubilis: Kaisermacht
und Patriarchenmacht in Mosaiken” in L. Burgmann, M.-T. Fögen, and A. Schminck (eds.),
Cupido Legum (Frankfurt, 1985), 211–34. The unusual iconography and the conspicuous lack
of identifying imperial inscription have generated much scholarly debate. See also Cormack,
“Mother of God in Hagia Sophia,” 114–16, who characterizes it as the most complex of the
Great Church’s mosaics. Much of the literature has focused on the identity of the emperor –
on this, see Oikonomides, “Leo VI and the Narthex Mosaic,” 151–72, followed by Dagron,
Emperor and Priest, 114–24, with bibliography. Brubaker offers a particularly compelling and
convincing intervention in “Gifts and Prayers,” which includes an overview of previous
interpretations.
131 Dagron, Emperor and Priest, 114–24.
132 For an overview, see Vasileios Marinis, “Defining Liturgical Space” in Stephenson (ed.), The
Byzantine World, 284–302; and Vasileios Marinis, “Some Notes on the Functional Approach
in the Study of Byzantine Architecture: The Case of Constantinople” in A. McGehee, R. Bork,
and W. W. Clark (eds.), New Approaches to Medieval Architecture (Aldershot, 2011), 21–33,
and his detailed analysis of the Lips monastery, “Tombs and Burials in the Monastery tou
Libos in Constantinople,” DOP, 63 (2009), 147–66.

Figure 2.19 Seal of the ekklesiekdikoi, Dumbarton Oaks

the sixth century. While the tribunal’s responsibilities remain unclear in the
earlier period, by the middle Byzantine era, these ecclesiastical judges held
sessions in the vestibules of Hagia Sophia for granting asylum among other
things.133 A corpus of seals ranging in date from the eleventh through the
fourteenth century is associated with this tribunal. Despite slight variation,
the seals consistently depict the standing figures of Justinian and the Virgin
holding between them a model of the Great Church (Figure 2.19). The
seals of the ekklesiekdikoi employ mise-en-abyme imagery to convey visually
the status of Justinian, venerable emperor from the past, as founder of the
ekklesiekdikoi, which met in the narthex and vestibule of the early Byzantine
church he built. The imagery of the seals surely cites the mosaic in the

133 John Cotsonis, “The Virgin and Justinian on Seals of the ‘Ekklesiekdikoi’ of Hagia Sophia,”
DOP, 56 (2002), 41–55; and John W. Nesbitt and Nicolas Oikonomides (eds.), Catalogue of
the Byzantine Seals at Dumbarton Oaks and in the Fogg Museum of Art V (Washington DC,
2005), 88–9 with bibliography. Macrides traces how a murderer seeking asylum in the Great
Church, for example, was to stand for fifteen days before the Beautiful Gate begging
forgiveness of those entering and leaving the church, then was to make a confession before the
tribunal, and then was assigned a written semeioma for penances to expiate the sin – Ruth
Macrides, “Killing, Asylum and the Law in Byzantium,” Speculum, 63 (1988), 515–16 [repr.
Kinship and Justice in Byzantium, 11th–15th Centuries (Aldershot, 1999)]. Macrides, “The
Ritual of Petition,” 36, notes that the emperor’s dispensation of justice was not bound to a
specific place.

vestibule of Justinian offering the model of the Great Church to the Virgin. In
all the ekklesiekdikoi seals, the sacred edifice lies squarely between the sacred
and imperial figures. In some instances, the church is supported by both of
the Virgin’s hands, while in others, Justinian bears it with only one hand
and his other is raised in supplication. The seal effectively communicates the
authority of the tribunal: the Virgin acts as intercessor for their decisions,134
Justinian is commemorated as founder, and Hagia Sophia is the site and
emblem of their authority.
In addition to the ritual import of these liminal zones of the Great Church
for the negotiation of the contours of the imperial office, they also bear
associations of judgment and penitence. Above the thresholds of these
charged spaces are representations of imperial proskynesis and prestation,
which are echoed in the design of Michael’s bronze monument erected at
the Church of the Holy Apostles. The visual references to the Great Church
should not be seen as mere generic invocations of sacro-imperial authority,
but rather they assume specific urgency in light of the fragility of the imperial
office during Michael’s rule, especially given the fact that he spent most of
his reign in excommunication and unable to participate fully in the liturgy
inside Hagia Sophia.
Dimiter Angelov has read one of Holobolos’s imperial orations as pro-
paganda in support of repealing the emperor’s excommunication.135 One
oration, which addresses Michael as a New Constantine and also compares
him to King David, was delivered sometime between 1265 and 1267 – the
years, that is, between the ousting of Patriarch Arsenios and the lifting of
the emperor’s excommunication. Given the heinousness of his actions, the
emperor needed rhetorical support for the pardoning of his sin. Holobolos’s
oration takes up this challenge by presenting Michael as a New David. Even
aside from the content of the speech, the very commissioning of the ora-
tion from Holobolos can be seen as part of the ethos of forgiveness during
the brief patriarchate of Germanos III (1265–6). After all, as Angelov has
argued, the very reappointment of Holobolos was an act of forgiveness; the
orator stood as living testimony of mercy. He had been exiled and mutilated
for voicing objections to the abuse of the young Laskarid, and he received

134 The Virgin on the seal may allude to the apse image at the core of the Great Church, but
primarily it evokes her role as intercessor in relation to the actions and decision of the
ekklesiekdikoi, as John Cotsonis has argued.
135 Angelov, “Confession,” 203–4: “The propaganda of Michael VIII, which grappled to find
arguments in support of the emperor’s pardon by the Church, found a popular model of royal
repentance and forgiveness, and placed Palaiologos within the venerable tradition of Old
Testament sacral rulership.”

not only pardon but also a promotion to the post of rhetor (rhetor ton
rhetoron).136
Germanos III’s patriarchate also seems to have been a significant moment
for the public performance of gift-giving. According to Pachymeres, it was
Germanos who first called Michael by the New Constantine epithet when
he commissioned the peplos of the emperor in the guise of Constantine to
be hung between porphyry columns at the western end of Hagia Sophia.137
The emperor, in turn, offered a gift to the patriarch, another image to be dis-
played in the Great Church. It represented the current patriarch alongside
the two previous patriarchs named Germanos.138 This three Germanoi rep-
resentation was to be displayed at the “Beautiful Doors,” the symbolically
charged site where the emperor removed his crown before meeting the patri-
arch during the ceremonial entrance into the Great Church on major feast
days. The image of Germanos III alongside the first and second patriarchs of
that name establishes a visual genealogy of sacred authority. This ingenious
gift thus emphasized the legitimate continuation of patriarchal authority.
The second Germanos had been Deacon of Hagia Sophia at the time of the
crusader conquests of 1204. He was then appointed patriarch in exile at
Nicaea in 1223 and, in Alice-Mary Talbot’s words, “was a strong proponent
of the Nicene claim to be the sole legitimate Byzantine successor state and
emphasized his own authority as ecumenical patriarch.”139 The second Ger-
manos, in other words, constituted the spiritual link between preconquest
Constantinople, the Nicene Empire in exile, and the later thirteenth-century
Constantinopolitan patriarch appointed by Michael.

136 On Holobolos and his imperial orations, see notes in the previous chapter. Again, as a result
of Holobolos’s objections to the blinding of John IV Laskaris, the orator had his nose and lips
mutilated, and he withdrew to a monastery. In 1265, after the deposition of Arsenios, he
returned to court life and was appointed to the newly created position of rhetor (rhetor ton
rhetoron), a post intended to revive older pre-1204 panegyric customs. It was on Christmas
Day of that year that Holobolos delivered the first of his three annual imperial orations hailing
Michael as the New Constantine. He remained in the emperor’s service until 1273, when his
anti-Union stance got him exiled from the city again, to return to Constantinople only after
the death of Michael VIII.
137 See earlier discussion.
138 Pachymeres, Relations Historiques (Failler, ed.), IV, 675:29–677:4. Pachymeres gives few details
as to what either of these lost images might have actually looked like and he even neglects to
mention the medium of the Germanoi representation. Given that Germanos’s original
commission was a textile, it is tempting to see the Germanoi representation as woven as well,
although ultimately this must remain conjectural. Macrides assumes that the image was an
icon: “The New Constantine,” 25 n. 63
139 Alice-Mary Talbot, “Germanos II,” ODB. See also Macrides, “From the Komnenoi to the
Palaiologoi,” 273.

Keeping in mind the program of the Great Church, in which emperors

are depicted in acts of donation and supplication at key junctures of the
ceremonial enactment of authority and zones of penitence, we should view
the display of these lost peploi as a politics of patriarchal and imperial
authority played out in visual form. Each image links its protagonist to
authorities from the past: Michael once again to Constantine, and Germanos
to the two previous eponymous patriarchs from the eighth and thirteenth
centuries. Both these peploi also served to bolster the public image of the
patriarch and emperor. Germanos was an unpopular successor to Arsenios
and the strategy of portraying him alongside previous patriarchs of the
same name creates a sense of natural and logical succession of sacerdotal
authority. At a time when the emperor was still awaiting the lifting of his
excommunication, the commissioning of Germanos’s textile should be read
as an attempt to ingratiate himself with the patriarch by offering a gift
that would help improve Germanos’s image and consequently help his own
cause.140 Each image conveys authority through an appeal to the past and
each displays its message of genealogy prominently in the sacred center
of Hagia Sophia; in addition, much like Holobolos’s oration, each image
should be viewed within the context of Michael’s agenda to win the favor of
the patriarch.
A similar motivation should be ascribed to the Palaiologan bronze monu-
ment, with its encoded associations of repentance. The precise date and cir-
cumstances of its commission, however, remain unclear. Alice-Mary Talbot,
whose work on Michael’s restoration of Constantinople remains authorita-
tive, suggests that it was probably made toward the end of his reign, with
a terminus ante quem of 1280, the date of the typikon for the monastery
of Saint Michael on Mount Auxentios.141 Thomas Thomov, on the other
hand, proposes a date in the earlier period of Michael’s rule, specifically
between 1261 and 1274, that is, to the period between the reconquest of
the city and the Council of Lyons, when Michael agreed to a Union of the
Greek and Latin Churches, a decision that resulted in his fall from favor.
This argument assumes that the monument would not have been erected
while the emperor’s popularity was in question.142 Upon closer scrutiny,
this logic does not hold up. Michael may have commissioned such a mon-
ument precisely because he had fallen from favor, as a means of reminding

140 On the reasons for Germanos III’s need for public image building, see Macrides, “The New
Constantine,” 25 n. 64.
141 Talbot, “Restoration,” 258.
142 Thomov, “The Last Column,” 83: “it could not have been set up in the 1274–1280 period,
when the Emperor was rather unpopular for his church policy.”

the people of Constantinople of his role as restorer of the city and of his
piety and repentance. In fact, most of his rule was contentious. Despite
his restoration of Constantinople, he spent his first five years as emperor
excommunicated and trying to win the favor of the patriarch. Without
ascribing a particular date to the monument, it seems much more likely
that the very contentiousness of his reign necessitated the commission of
precisely such a larger-than-life bronze monument of thanksgiving.

Conclusion: monumental afterlives and memories

This chapter has argued that Michael’s bronze monument reconfigured

specific visual citations in the service of a new imperial image for an era of
contested imperial authority. Unlike more generic scenes of imperial gen-
erosity, the Palaiologan emperor was depicted with the city he reconquered,
his major accomplishment, in his hands, offering it to his patron, namesake,
and leader of the heavenly hosts. Along with its location at the Church of
the Holy Apostles, it thus conveyed in an immediately recognizable manner
a sense of Michael as a New Constantine. At the same time, through the
imagery of gift-giving and the ritual pose of proskynesis, the monument
linked him to key images of imperial intercession at Hagia Sophia and
related biblical precedents such as Joshua and David. These references to
the spaces of imperial ceremonial and penance of the Great Church take on
more urgency in light not only of the emperor’s rise to power but also his
ongoing struggles with the patriarchate and his divisive ecclesiastical policies
for which he would eventually be condemned. In this way, the monument
underscores imperial repentance, a dominant theme in court oratory of the
time. Both panegyric and visual arts were commissioned as compensation
for Michael’s fundamentally fraught reign.
Despite the importance of this monument for proclaiming Michael as
the city’s pious (re)founder, by the fifteenth century, the identity of the
bronze figures had become confused. Later visitors to the city identified the
emperor as Constantine the Great, as noted earlier. The reasons for this
misidentification are easy to understand. For one, details of the sculptural
group may not have been legible to viewers: it was installed high up on
a column, far from the viewer, a format better suited for a single-figure
sculpture (as is the case with Constantine or Justinian’s monumental bronze
effigies). Moreover, given the iconography of offering the city, it seems
like a fair mistake to read the protagonist as Constantine the Great, a mistake
that might have actually pleased Michael given his concerted efforts to be

associated with the city’s first founder.143 In a city onomastically identified

with its founder, it is no wonder that later visitors would see Constantine
throughout the city. The imperial rider of Justinian’s equestrian statue was
later understood to represent Constantine as well.144
Michael’s legacy was irrevocably marred by his submission of the Byzan-
tine Church to Rome at the Council of Lyons of 1274.145 While the reputation
of a Byzantine emperor could survive usurpation, and biblical models of
repentance and mercy offered rhetorical precedent, a transgression of faith
so great could not be overcome. Michael died in disgrace, excommunicated,
and was buried unceremoniously in Selymbria, not in the capital he had
reconquered, let alone the resting place of the city’s first founder in front
of which stood his bronze monument.146 With the emperor’s contentious
legacy, his public monument would later be reconceptualized and, given its
iconography and location, it became understood as the first Constantine.
Over time, the peplos of Michael as New Constantine that was com-
missioned by Germanos for Hagia Sophia also came to be understood
as representing the older Constantine, but the textile was intentionally
altered in an act of damnatio memoriae. Pachymeres tells us that in
1306 Patriarch Athanasios had the cloth portrait of Michael changed to

143 As Talbot, “Restoration,” 260, puts it: “One suspects that Michael Palaiologos, who so longed
to be compared with Constantine the Great for his work in reconstructing Constantinople,
would not have been upset by this popular misconception.”
144 Macrides, “Constantinople: The Crusaders’ Gaze,” 201. The Justinianic monument was also
identified as Heraclius by Robert of Clari.
145 On the Second Council of Lyons, see A. Papadakis, “Lyons, Second Council of,” ODB; V.
Laurent and J. Darrouzès, Dossier grec de l’Union de Lyon 1273–1277 (Paris, 1976);
Geanakoplos, Emperor Michael Palaeologus, 258–304; Steven Runciman, The Sicilian Vespers:
A History of the Mediterranean World in the Later Thirteenth Century (Cambridge, 1958);
D. M. Nicol, “The Byzantine Reaction to the Second Council of Lyons, 1274,” Studies in
Church History, 7 (1971), 113–46 [repr. Byzantium: Its Ecclesiastical History and Relations with
the Western World (London, 1971), article VI]; J. Gill, “The Church Union of the Council of
Lyons (1274) Portrayed in Greek Documents,” OCP, 40 (1974), 5–45; and L. Pieralli, “La
corrispondenza diplomatica tra Roma e Costantinopoli nei secoli XIII e XIV” in Byzance et le
monde extérieur (Paris, 2005), 151–63. The decisions of the Council of Lyons were officially
repudiated in 1285 when Michael died. See Papadakis, “Local Council of 1285,” ODB. The
possibility of union with Rome pre-dated the Byzantine restoration of Constantinople. A
Nicaean embassy was sent to Rome in the 1250s to discuss union with Pope Innocent IV in
exchange for Constantinople, and, as Angelov points out, Patriarch Arsenios was a participant
in that delegation. See Dimiter Angelov, “Donation of Constantine and the Church in Late
Byzantium” in Dimiter Angelov (ed.), Church and Society in Late Byzantium (Kalamazoo,
2009), 114 with bibliography at 151.
146 According to Talbot, “Restoration,” 255, he was “unceremoniously laid to rest in the
monastery of Christ the Savior in Selymbria.” See Paul Magdalino, “Byzantine Churches of
Selymbria,” DOP, 32 (1978), 314–15; and Shawcross, “In the Name of the True Emperor,”
225–7.

Constantine.147 Exactly how this was accomplished remains unclear, but

it is safe to assume that at the very least, the inscription would have been
changed.148 The same patriarch who demoted Michael from New to Old
Constantine also destroyed the peplos of the three Germanoi entirely. In
response to Michael’s pro-western policies, the patriarch erased the mem-
ory of the emperor and his patriarch.149 Athanasios’s acts of defilement were
deliberate and specific, reminding us that over time, monuments could be
creatively recast for different purposes. As these very deliberate actions
suggest, the rewriting of a monument’s identity does not necessarily sig-
nal ignorance of its original intention. Ruth Macrides notes that “statues
in the capital were identified variously, at different times, and that their
meanings could be reinterpreted, depending on circumstances. Neither the
identification of a statue, nor its meaning was constant.”150
Not only were the identities of the protagonists of the two bronze monu-
ments still standing in the later Byzantine period often thought to represent
Constantine, but their locations too were later confused and even conflated.
Hajji ‘Abd Allah, an Arab traveler to the city, later described the exterior of
Hagia Sophia as having two columns (“minarets”) supporting two bronze
monuments:

On the top of one of them there is a brazen horse, but hollow; on its back sits a rider
in the form of a man from hollow cast bronze. In one of his hands he holds a globe
from bronze, the biggest in the world, which is also hollow, and raises his other
hand. On the other minaret is the figure of a man, hollow and brazen; he kneels

147 Athanasios was Patriarch of Constantinople from 1289 to 1293 and from 1303 to 1309. See
Pachymeres, Relations Historiques (Failler, ed.), IV, 675:32–677, plus notes 90–92. The full
passage is translated by Papamastorakis as follows: “[Athanasios] destroyed the depiction of
the three patriarchs who bore the name Germanos, which stood to the right of the Beautiful
Gate, because the last of these who had come to Constantinople from Orestiada collaborated
as an ambassador in the peace with the Italians. And the imperial portrait set up in honor of
Michael VIII, made with gold thread on a purple peplos which he [Germanos III] as patriarch
had suspended in Hagia Sophia between the two red columns to the west in order to laud [the
emperor], appearing to the Romans in the guise of a new Constantine, this was altered by
[Athanasios] into a depiction of the ever-glorious Constantine [the Great]. And these things
that previously were held in esteem by the patriarch, at least superficially, were now altered as
if by accident, like breaking a plate.”
148 Papamastorakis, “Tampering with History,” 207–8, points out that this act of destruction and
vandalization occurred later, a full quarter of a century after Michael’s death in 1282. See
Talbot, “Athanasius,” ODB.
149 The episode related by Pachymeres also suggests that both peploi were on display until 1306,
which is interesting in and of itself.
150 Macrides, “Constantinople: The Crusaders’ Gaze,” 202.

on both knees, has a globe in his hand and a flat head covering on which there are
pearls from glass, jewels and other things.151

The text clearly references both Justinianic and Palaiologan imperial bronze
monuments but places them both in front of the Great Church. Similarly,
two Russian pilgrims, in their description of Justinian’s monument, add
that there were “three pagan kings, also bronze and on columns, kneeling
before the emperor Justinian and offering their cities into his hands.”152
Cyril Mango attributes this to legend rather than reality, which is likely,
but it is equally probable that the legend grew out of a conflation of the
two major bronze monuments still standing in the late fourteenth and
early fifteenth centuries. In making sense of the iconography of a kneel-
ing figure offering a city, perhaps the pilgrims assumed the subordinate
figure to be a barbarian and the standing figure to be an emperor. This
would accord well with more traditional Byzantine iconography, such as
the Barberini ivory, the base of the obelisk of Theodosius, or the Psalter of
Basil II (Figures 2.9, 2.10, and 2.13). Then in a later transformation the gift-
bearing figure was multiplied and associated with the three kings bearing
offerings.153
While we have no information about how Michael’s bronze monument
finally met its end,154 we do know that Justinian’s equestrian sculpture
was ultimately melted down, a common fate of bronze monuments, in
the fifteenth century.155 The early Byzantine monument had famously

151 A. Berger, “Sightseeing in Constantinople: Arab Travelers, c. 900–1300” in Macrides (ed.),

Travel in the Byzantine World, 190. Berger points out that the location of the kneeling man
monument might have become confused in the transmission of Hajji ‘Abd Allah’s report to
the later al-Ghazari chronicle. Hajji ‘Abd Allah lived in Constantinople for twelve years before
returning to Damascus in 1293, where his story became part of the al-Ghazari chronicle, aka
al-Dimashqi (1260–1338).
152 Majeska, Russian Travelers, 136, 184: Anonymous Description of 1390 and Zosima of
1419–21; Mango, “The Columns of Justinian and His Successors,” 3.
153 Mango, “The Columns of Justinian and His Successors,” 12, suggests that there were
originally kneeling barbarian kings and one of these figures was reused for the sculpture of
Michael in proskynesis.
154 We do know about the fate of the monument’s site, the Church of the Holy Apostles. It was
dismantled for Mehmed’s “New Mosque.” See Speros Vryonis, “Byzantine Constantinople
and Ottoman Istanbul: Evolution in a Millennial Imperial Iconography” in Irene A. Bierman,
Rifa’at A. Abou-El-Haj, and Donald Preziosi (eds.), The Ottoman City and its Parts: Urban
Structure and Social Order (New Rochelle, 1991), 13–52, and the insightful reading of the early
Ottoman urban transformation of Constantinople by Kafescioğlu, Constantinopolis/Istanbul,
especially 66–92.
155 Raby, “Mehmed the Conqueror and the Equestrian Statue,” 305–13, has presented a picture
of the final years of Justinian’s equestrian monument, proposing a plausible scenario for how

come to be seen as a talisman of the city and, in the words of Çiğdem

Kafescioğlu, “one of the most potent imperial symbols of Byzantium.”156
As such, it was taken down soon after the Ottoman conquest of the city. In
1471 Angiolello claims that the Sultan removed it because his astrologers
advised him that as long as it stood, Christians would have the power to
oppose Muslims.157 Apparently the globus fell from Justinian’s hands and it
was later interpreted as the fall of an empire.158 Between the conflation of
monuments and prophesies about the fall of empires, neither bronze impe-
rial monument was destined to survive. Bronze signaled hallowed greatness
and monumentality, but it was also fundamentally ephemeral because of its
potential for repurposing.
Returning to Pachymeres’s description of Michael’s monument, the his-
torian tells us that as a consequence of an earthquake in the summer of
1296, the bronze model of the city fell from the emperor’s hands: “this

the statue was removed from its pedestal and installed in the imperial Saray, where Pierre
Gilles took detailed measurements of it. It was presumably at this time that the cross that
surmounted the Column of Constantine was also taken down.
156 Kafescioğlu, Constantinopolis/Istanbul, 152.
157 Giovan Maria Angiolello, Viaggio di Negroponte (Vicenza, 1982), 27: “Ancora, per mezzo la
porta di santa Sofia, vi è una colona lavorata di pezzi, assai alta, sopra la quale era l’imagine di
santo Agostino, fatta di bronzo, la quale fu levata via dal Gran Turco perchè dicevano li suoi
astrologhi ed indovini che, insino che la detta statua di sant’Agostino starà sopra la detta
colona, li cristiani sempre averano possanza contra macometani; e cosı̀ fu levata via la detta
colona.” As Raby explains in “Mehmed the Conqueror,” 307, the statue of St Augustine must
be a conflation with the location of the statue in the Augustaion.
158 In the early Ottoman period, it served as a memorial of fallen empires. The orb was
interpreted as an apple, which fell to the ground as sign of the fall of the empire. See Stéphane
Yerasimos, “De l’arbre à la pomme: La généalogie d’un thème apocalyptique” in Benjamin
Lellouch and Stéphane Yerasimos (eds.), Les traditions apocalyptiques au tournant de la chute
de Constantinople: Actes de la Table ronde d’Istanbul (13–14 avril 1996) (Paris, 1999), 153–92.
See the following discussions of antique statuary and columns and prophesy: Helen
Saradi-Mendelovici, “Christian Attitudes Toward Pagan Monuments in Late Antiquity and
Their Legacy in Later Byzantine Centuries,” DOP, 44 (1990), 47–62; Sarah Bassett, “The
Antiques of the Hippodrome of Constantinople,” DOP, 45 (1991), 85–96; Bassett, The Urban
Image; Macrides, “Constantinople: The Crusaders’ Gaze,” 203–4; Finbarr B. Flood, “Image
against Nature: Spolia as Apotropaia in Byzantium and the dar al-Islam,” Medieval History
Journal, 9(1) (2006), 143–66; and Kafescioğlu, Constantinopolis/Istanbul, 169–77. Even before
the fall of Constantinople, it bore similar associations. Pero Tafur, XVII, who visited
Constantinople between 1435 and 1439, relates that Justinian’s monument, the protagonist of
which is not surprisingly interpreted as Constantine, was an omen: “This knight, they say, is
Constantine, and that he prognosticated that from that quarter which he indicated with his
finger would come the destruction of Greece, and so it was.” The key sources on Christian
perceptions of the pagan antiquities of Constantinople include Cyril A. Mango, “Antique
Statuary and the Byzantine Beholder,” DOP, 17 (1963), 55–74; and Liz James, “‘Pray Not to
Fall into Temptation and Be on Your Guard’: Pagan Statues in Christian Constantinople,”
Gesta, 35 (1996), 12–20.

statue, I say, lost its head and the City slipped out of the Emperor’s hands,
and both fell to the ground.”159 The subject of Pachymeres’s description
is the earthquake, not the sculpture, and he reads the devastating force of
nature as an omen presaging a Venetian attack on the imperial city that
occurred one week later.160 It is tempting to also see in it a portent of the
ultimate fate of the emperor, if not the empire. Despite the position of
proskynesis, signaling a chain of associations in the mind of the viewer to
imperial and biblical humility, the historian was writing from a position
of hindsight. Pachymeres, born in Nicaea and a member of the patriar-
chal administration in Constantinople, was extremely critical of the first
Palaiologan emperor. His description of the bronze city and imperial head
falling to the ground serves to distance Michael from his son and successor,
Andronikos II, who restored the monument – a material renovation that
serves as an apt metaphor for a larger ideological project of restoration.
However, Andronikos’s task was not the rebuilding program of a capital
city, but rather the restoration of Orthodoxy after the unionate policy of his
father. Recall that the 1261 restoration of Constantinople was described by
Pachymeres as a release from enslavement and a return to order. Andronikos
would be celebrated in his panegyric as a New Zorobabel like his father,
although not for liberating the city from the Latin occupation, but rather
from the shackles of his father’s unionate policy.

159 Mango, The Art of the Byzantine Empire, 246. The passage reads as follows: ἐς πόδας δ’ ἔχων
τὸν ἄνακτα Μιχαήλ, τὴν πόλιν φέροντα κἀκείνῳ προσανατιθέντα καὶ τὴν ταύτης φυλακὴν
ἐπιτρέποντα, ὁ τοιοῦτος οὖν ἀνδριὰς καὶ ἡ ἀνὰ χεῖρας τῷ βασιλεῖ πόλις, ὁ μὲν τὴν κεφαλὴν
ἀφαιρεῖται, ἡ δὲ τῶν χειρῶν τοῦ κρατοῦντος εξολισθαίνει, καὶ πρὸς γῆν ἄμφω πίπτουσι.
Pachymeres, Relations Historiques (Failler, ed.), III, 261:1–5.
160 Nicol, Last Centuries, 111.

Unlike Michael VIII’s silk and bronze commissions, which have been read
as singular iterations of diplomatic desire and commemorative thanksgiv-
ing, imperial coinage replicated and disseminated the emperor’s image far
and wide. Coinage, as the very medium of economic exchange, raises ques-
tions about the longstanding dichotomy between gifts and commodities.
According to traditional anthropological and political economic studies,
gifts are understood as inalienable, unquantifiable, and cyclical, whereas
commodities are multiple, priced, and terminal; the action of giving medi-
ates entangled networks of relations such as kinship, whereas commercial
transactions leave their agents free and independent.1 Further, gifts carry the
burden of ambiguity, even contradiction: they must disguise their indebt-
edness in order to appear freely given. Marcel Mauss summarized this con-
tradiction with a numismatic metaphor: “society always pays itself in the
counterfeit coin of its dream.”2 For Mauss, a gift conceals its transactional

1 The gift-commodity debate finds its clearest articulation in the studies of Polanyi and Sahlins,
and is most forcefully set out as a dichotomy by Gregory, Gifts and Commodities; Mark Osteen,
“Gift or Commodity?” in Mark Osteen (ed.), The Question of the Gift: Essays Across Disciplines
(London, 2002), 229–47; Jonathan Parry and Maurice Bloch, “Introduction: Money and the
Morality of Exchange” in Jonathan Parry and Maurice Bloch (eds.), Money and the Morality of
Exchange (Cambridge, 1989); and Cynthia Werner and Duran Bell (eds.), Values and Valuables:
From the Sacred to the Symbolic (Walnut Creek, 2004). Critical of the strict dichotomy between
gift and commodity, recent scholars such as Arjun Appadurai have approached the problem
from a temporal perspective, suggesting commodity phases through which things pass. See
Appadurai, “Introduction: Commodities and the Politics of Value” and Igor Kopytoff, “The
Cultural Biography of Things: Commoditization as Process” in Appadurai (ed.), Social Life of
Things, 3–63 and 63–90.
2 This metaphor serves as the inspiration for David Graeber’s study Toward an Anthropological
Theory of Value: The False Coin of Our Own Dreams (New York, 2001). Note Bourdieu’s
celebration of the profundity of this phrase in “Marginalia,” 231, which builds on his more full
discussion in Outline of a Theory of Practice (Cambridge, 1977). For Bourdieu, “Marginalia,”
231, this engenders “individual and collective self deception,” a point that will be developed
further in the Conclusion. The notion of the counterfeit is central to Derrida’s critique of
Mauss’s reciprocity outlined in Given Time. See John O’Neill, “What Gives (with Derrida)?”
European Journal of Social Theory, 2 (1999), 131–45. Michael Tratner, “Derrida’s Debt to Milton
Friedman,” New Literary History, 34(4) (2003), 791–806, contextualizes Derrida’s study in
terms of economic historiography.
152

logic as a false coin. A true coin, by contrast, is unambiguously the medium

of commodification. Regularity and guarantees are of utmost importance
for coinage, which bears the intrinsic value of recognizable liquidity and
standard weight.
In Byzantium, specie was impressed with sacred and imperial effigies as
guarantors of its quality and origin. Coinage thus constitutes not merely
the means of exchange but also disseminates the ideology of empire in clear
legible terms. The emperor’s reach and sway are mapped by the circulation of
the precious metallic imprint of his image. Impressed with icons of imperial
and sacred authority, coinage defines the contours of the imperial office and
propagates the essence of the ideology of Byzantine imperium. Large sums
of coinage were dispatched as key components of treaties of the time – such
as the Treaty of Nymphaion, which included both silk and specie (pallia and
hyperpyra). Within the capital, sacks of coinage were ritually distributed
as salary to courtiers directly from the hand of the emperor in a gestural
enactment of imperial dependence.3 A monetary offering known as the
apokombiοn (ἀποκόμβιον), a heavy purse of coins, was distributed on feast
days to the patriarch and church officials and was placed on the high altar
of the Great Church by the emperor. The suite of mosaics installed in the
south gallery of Hagia Sophia, as noted in the Introduction, depict two
generations of emperors holding such bags of specie as testament to the
genealogy of imperial monetary generosity (Figures 0.1–0.3). Moreover, as
Henry Maguire has explained, coins were also understood as amuletic, thus
assuming a far from exclusively economic role.4
The imagery of coinage provided a key vehicle for proclaiming and dis-
seminating the genealogy of the imperial office. Initially Michael Palaiologos
continued the numismatic traditions of his Laskarid predecessors, just as
the Nicene emperors signaled continuity with their Komnenian predeces-
sors through coinage.5 Michael’s first gold hyperpyron, struck between 1259

3 See Nicolas Oikonomides, “Title and Income at the Byzantine Court” in Maguire (ed.),
Byzantine Court Culture, 199–215; and Alexander Kazhdan and Michael McCormick, “The
Social World of the Byzantine Court” in the same volume, 167–98; and the kleterologion of
Philotheos, published as Nicolas Oikonomides (ed.), Les listes de préséance byzantines des IXe et
Xe siècles (Paris, 1972).
4 See Maguire, “Magic and Money,” 1039: “The supernatural potency of coins also reflected the
special powers associated with the emperor’s portrait in the Middle Ages.”
5 While the connections to previous Nicene types have long been recognized, only with recent
numismatic scholarship, including the long-awaited publication of the fifth and final volume of
the catalogue of the Byzantine coins in the Dumbarton Oaks and Whittemore Collections
(DOC V), have we come to a clearer understanding of the transition from Nicaea to
Constantinople and Palaiologan coinage more generally. In addition to the standard works on

and 1261 in Magnesia, the mint for the Empire of Nicaea,6 imitates the
coinage of his immediate predecessors in its depiction of enthroned Christ
on the obverse and the emperor being crowned by the Virgin on the reverse.7
While Michael’s first gold coin conforms to the design of previous Nicene
rulers, which in turn follows Komnenian precedents,8 his second type of
gold hyperpyron, also issued from Magnesia, departs dramatically from tra-
dition. It shows on its reverse the emperor not being crowned by the Virgin,
who appears on the obverse enthroned, but rather being presented to Christ
by his angelic namesake (Figure 3.1).9 The presence of the emperor’s name-
sake, however, is not the innovative aspect of this coin. He had already
appeared on an eleventh-century gold coin of Michael IV (albeit a rare issue
possibly struck in Thessalonike) and became relatively common on Nicene
coinage after 1204.10

Palaiologan coinage by Simon Bendall, including Simon Bendall and Paul J. Donald, The Later
Palaeologan Coinage 1282–1453 (London, 1979) with additions in Numismatic Circular, 88
(1980), 45–7, and the review by Cécile Morrisson in RN, 21 (1975), 256–65, as well as the
limited edition catalogue of his own private collection, A Private Collection of Palaeologan Coins
(Wolverhampton, 1988), early Palaiologan coinage is also well represented in Philip Grierson,
Byzantine Coins (London, 1982), 276–318; and Hendy, Studies in the Byzantine Monetary
Economy, 526–47. See also the important review article by Cécile Morrisson and Simon Bendall,
“Monnaies de la fin de l’empire byzantin à Dumbarton Oaks: Un catalogue de référence,” RN,
157 (2001), 471–93.
6 After 1261, the bulk of coins were struck in Constantinople, but the Magnesia mint may have

continued for a few years. See DOC IV/1, 134 and DOC V/1, 57–62; and Morrisson and
Bendall, “Monnaies de la fin de l’empire byzantin,” 487–8. As noted in Chapter 1, Nicaea alone
of the “successor states” issued the full range of coinage denominations.
7 DOC IV/2, plate 37(1). This coin conveys divinely sanctioned imperial authority with the

utmost clarity: Michael stands frontally holding in his hands a labrum and sheathed sword as
the standing Virgin crowns him. This type is known from only one specimen now in
Bucharest, on which see O. Iliescu, “Le dernier hyperpère de l’empire byzantin de Nicée,” BSl,
26 (1965), 94–9, plates 1 and 2; DOC IV, plate 37(1); Grierson, Byzantine Coins, no. 1286;
Morrisson, “L’hyperpère de Michel VIII,” 82; and DOC V, 106–7. See also J. Touratsoglou and
P. Protonotarios, “Les émissions de couronnement dans le monnayage byzantin du XIIIe
siècle,” RN, 19 (1977), 69–73. Although only one specimen survives, the same reverse
iconography appears in silver copper trachea. It compares closely with Theodore II’s gold
coinage (on which see DOC IV/2, 518–19 and plate 35). Hendy, in DOC IV/1, 31, notes that
many issues from this period are known from only single or very few specimens.
8 The inscription alone allows us to distinguish Michael’s coin. Morrisson, “L’hyperpère de

Michel VIII,” fig. 3, compares the hyperpyra of John II Komnenos (struck both in
Constantinople and Thessalonike) with those of John III Vatatzes and Theodore II Laskaris.
9 DOC V/2, no. 1 (69.54) (BZC 1969.54.D2012). This is the first of three varieties of this coin

type (Class II). See note 13 below for descriptions of the three classes of Michael’s
Constantinopolitan gold coinage.
10 Grierson, Byzantine Coins, no. 909. As Morrisson, “The Emperor, the Saint, and the City,”

174–5, notes, Michael and the eponymous archangel appear together on a rare nomisma
histamenon of Michael IV possibly struck in Thessalonike (DOC III, no. 2). For later coins
with Michael, see DOC V/1, 80.

(a) (b)

Figure 3.1a–b Gold hyperpyron of Michael VIII Palaiologos, Magnesia: Virgin

enthroned/Michael presented to Christ by St Michael (DOC V/2, no. 1), Dumbarton
Oaks BZC.1969.54.D2012

The novelty of this coin lies instead in the formal configuration of the
three figures: the emperor is depicted on his knees, his torso upright, with
hands gesturing in supplication to the right toward the seated Christ who
touches the emperor’s head with one hand and holds a scroll in the other;
behind the imperial figure, the archangel leans in toward Christ, his wing
spreading out to the left and his hand resting on the emperor’s shoulder.
This design constitutes the main reverse type for gold hyperpyra for the
entire duration of Michael’s reign and appears on silver and copper coins as
well. Aside from being crowned by the Virgin on his first coin, the entirety of
Michael’s gold coinage depicts him on knee being presented to Christ. Never
before had an emperor been depicted kneeling on a coin. Moreover, while
this constitutes an entirely new numismatic design, a further radical change
involves the obverse of Michael’s gold coinage. With the reconquest of the
imperial city, the obverse shifts from a depiction of the Virgin enthroned,
an iconographic type with a long history, to the Virgin orans surrounded
by the walls of Constantinople, an unprecedented image that is inspired
directly by the 1261 Byzantine restoration of the imperial capital (Figures
3.2, 3.3, and 3.4).11

11 DOC V/2, nos. 2 (BZC.1.1957.4.101.D2012), 11 (BZC.1948.17.3590.D201), 18 (Whittemore

Loan WH 760.D2012). This coinage type is listed as nos. 2–25. The design of this hyperpyron
holds a privileged position in scholarship because it represents a radical departure from
previous coinage. See Morrisson, “L’hyperpère de Michel VIII,” 76–86, and more recently in
relation to Thessalonian issues, “The Emperor, the Saint, and the City,” 181. The obverse
imagery forms the basis of the fourth chapter of Cutler, Transfiguration, and the reverse
imagery is part of the discussion of the third chapter.

(a) (b)

Figure 3.2a–b Gold hyperpyron of Michael VIII Palaiologos, Constantinople: Virgin

and the walls/Michael presented to Christ by St Michael (DOC V/2, no. 2), Dumbarton
Oaks BZC.1.1957.4.101.D2012

(a) (b)

Figure 3.3a–b Gold hyperpyron of Michael VIII Palaiologos, Constantinople: Virgin

and the walls/Michael presented to Christ by St Michael (DOC V/2, no. 11),
Dumbarton Oaks BZC.1948.17.3590.D2012

The hyperpyron was the only gold coin of the empire,12 and the new
iconography of the Virgin and the city walls paired with the emperor

12 The hyperpyron (τὸ νόμισμα ὑπέρπυρον), literally meaning “highly refined,” had been
introduced by the founder of the Komnenian dynasty, Alexios I, in the late eleventh century as
a means of resuscitating the debased coinage of his predecessors. It was the “cornerstone of the
reformed currency” in the words of Grierson, Byzantine Coins, 217. Thus, the hyperpyron
replaced the gold nomisma, which since Constantine I had been the primary gold coin of the
empire (solidus in Latin). The Komnenian gold coin maintained the same weight as the
nomisma but was of a different alloy. The Palaiologan hyperpyron was still in theory at least the

(a) (b)

Figure 3.4a–b Gold hyperpyron of Michael VIII Palaiologos, Constantinople: Virgin

and the walls/Michael presented to Christ by St Michael (DOC V/2, no. 18), Harvard
Art Museums/Arthur M. Sackler Museum, bequest of Thomas Whittemore,
1951.31.4.1906, Dumbarton Oaks, Whittemore Loan WH 760.D2012

presented to Christ on knee constituted the coin’s principal design.13 With

the exception of the earliest issues from Magnesia, this is the only type of
gold coin struck during Michael’s reign. Moreover, coins of this type were
not rare ceremonial issues, but were common.14 The altogether innovative

solidus-nomisma introduced by Constantine the Great, but it was much debased. See Grierson,
Byzantine Coins, 215–17; Hendy, Studies in the Byzantine Monetary Economy, 513–17; DOC
V/1, 27–8; Morrisson, EHB, 3:919; Cécile Morrisson, “Les noms de monnaies sous les
Paléologues” in W. Seibt (ed.), Geschichte und Kultur der Palaiologenzeit (Vienna, 1996), 152–3.
13 Michael’s gold coinage falls into three groups. The first, struck in Magnesia and testified by the
single specimen in Bucharest as mentioned above, consists of Christ enthroned on the obverse
and the emperor crowned by the Virgin on the reverse (DOC IV/2, plate 37(1)). The second,
also issued in Magnesia and represented by a handful of specimens, depicts the Virgin
enthroned on the obverse and the emperor presented to Christ by the Archangel Michael on
the reverse. While both these coins are relatively rare, the third, which continues the same
reverse as the former paired with the Virgin and the walls on the obverse, is very common.
There are two variations to this type: in one Christ holds a scroll, while in the second he holds
a book. Aside from this detail (book versus scroll), the imagery is identical. The switch from
scroll to book, Grierson insists, is “without iconographic significance.” Both are common and
continue for the entire duration of Michael’s reign. See DOC V/1, 106–12. Grierson has
estimated that the second group of coins were struck initially in Magnesia and also for a short
period in Constantinople before the shift to the third, his theory being that when the mint was
moved to the newly restored capital, it continued with the same designs until the political and
economic climate stabilized, at which point the new design of the obverse was introduced
while the reverse was retained.
14 As Grierson points out (DOC V/1, 48): “Both Michael VIII and Andronicus II, despite their
financial problems, were able to strike hyperpyra in substantial quantities, and their coins,
with the exception of Michael VIII’s earliest Magnesia issue, are today very common.” The

manner in which the emperor was portrayed on coinage therefore had a wide
audience. Unlike the textile in Genoa with its very particular message about
imperial generosity designed for a particular and relatively limited, not to
mention foreign audience, Michael’s gold coinage projects the new imperial
image in serial form with a wide circulation and considerably more anony-
mous audience. The serialized medium of coinage in the early Palaiologan
period situates the imperial image within a cycle of offering, prostration,
and commemoration, and allows us to trace shifting conceptions and pro-
jections of imperium in a quickly changing later Byzantine Empire.
Taking these design innovations as a point of departure, the present chap-
ter investigates the circulation of a new imperial image in the early Palaiolo-
gan period through coinage, the very medium of commercial and political
exchange. Byzantine coinage, for Vasso Penna, constitutes both “the symbol
and reflection, the foundation but also the weapon of a great empire.”15
Indeed, as an imperially approved visual medium, coinage offered the opti-
mal means of conveying and promoting imperial ideology. Mints in Byzan-
tium were imperially controlled, at least in theory;16 not only was it the
emperor’s prerogative to adjust the weight and value of coinage, but reg-
ulatory control extended to the designs imprinted on coins, at least to a
certain degree.17 But when the greatness of an empire is tried and tested,

so-called Istanbul hoard is thought to have had so many coins – more than 10,000 – that 20
kilos of coinage were melted down in order to maintain the price of the rest. Coinage hoards
are discussed in DOC V/1, 12–19, with additions and corrections by Morrisson and Bendall,
“Monnaies de la fin de l’empire byzantin,” 482–3. See also Vasso Penna, “The Final Phase of
Byzantine Coinage: Iconography, Minting, and Circulation” in Sümer Atasoy (ed.), 55th
Anniversary of the Istanbul University International Byzantine and Ottoman Symposium (XVth
Century), 30–31 May 2003 (Istanbul, 2004), 322.
15 Vasso Penna, “The Mother of God on Coins and Lead Seals” in Maria Vassilaki (ed.), Mother of
God, 209, expanded slightly in Vasso Penna, Byzantine Coinage: Medium of Transaction and
Manifestation of Imperial Propaganda (Nicosia, 2002). After 1261, he writes, coinage “was no
longer an invincible weapon for the Empire itself” (107).
16 Unlike earlier periods in which coinage was struck in multiple mints around the empire,
Constantinople alone minted coinage in the middle Byzantine period. In the final centuries,
coins were also struck in the empire’s second city Thessalonike (as well as Magnesia and
Philadelphia for a limited period). See Grierson, Byzantine Coinage, 281; Hendy, Studies in the
Byzantine Monetary Economy, 443–7; and DOC IV/1, 102–23.
17 Even if the imperial administration could not control all aspects of supply, it at least controlled
“the output of new types,” according to Morrisson, EHB, 917. For Grierson, imperial
regulatory control is harder to gage – he is more cautious about the degree of regulation, given
how little we know about precise mint operations. Morrisson, “The Emperor, the Saint, and
the City,” has framed her discussion of Thessalonian coins around the construction of identity
in visual and circulateable medium, considering how Thessalonian identity is expressed by
coinage and how widely it was conveyed in neighboring areas.

how does its coinage voice the tensions between long-held traditions of
imperial greatness and strained contemporary realities?
This question prompts us to recognize coinage not simply as the means
of exchange but as the mechanism through which an emperor proclaimed
legitimacy and renewed Byzantine sovereignty. The messages on coins seri-
ally struck and widely disseminated were far from simple reflections of
fluctuating imperial power, but rather were designed to negotiate the ten-
sions of an empire newly restored but impoverished. That coinage should
function as a key site for the dissemination of imperial ideology comes
as no surprise; it does, however, bear a hint of irony, in that the Treaty
of Nymphaion (1261) laid the groundwork for the imperial restoration of
Constantinople, but it also set in motion changes to the Byzantine monetary
system that contributed to its eventual collapse. In addition to silk textiles,
gold coinage, trading rights, and other privileges as outlined in Chapter 1,
the treaty also included a clause that opened the currency market for the first
time by authorizing the export of Byzantine hyperpyra.18 This provision,
along with the coin’s gradual debasement during the late thirteenth and early
fourteenth centuries, has been read by economic historians as the beginning
of the decline and eventual demise of the Byzantine gold coinage.19
In what follows, analysis commences with the reverse design, since this
altogether novel image was struck on Michael’s first gold coinage issued in
Magnesia and continues with the conquest of Constantinople. The reverse
design thus forges a link between the Empire of Nicaea and the Palaiologan
Empire centered in the restored imperial city. The chapter then considers
the innovative iconic representation of the Virgin of the Walls on the coin’s
obverse, a design that begins in 1261 and continues on the gold coinage of
Michael’s successors, before turning to the unique iteration of imperium

18 Hendy, Studies in the Byzantine Monetary Economy, 526–30; and DOC IV/1, 119–20. Hendy
highlights the significance of this clause as the “first known breach of the late Roman and
Byzantine tradition of forbidding the private export of precious metals from the empire”
(120). See also the overviews by Morrisson, “Byzantine Money: Its Production and
Circulation,” EHB, 3:910–66; and John Day, “A Note On Monetary Mechanisms, East and
West,” EHB, 3:968–72; plus Penna, “The Final Phase of Byzantine Coinage,” 309–24.
19 Indicative of the “internationalization” in this period, Byzantine coins reached Venice, where
they were melted down for Venetian gold ducats. A constellation of factors contributed to the
eclipse of Byzantine gold, including commercial competition and domination of Italian
maritime powers (the Genoese at Pera, Chios, and the Black Sea, and the Venetians throughout
the Mediterranean), the impoverishment of Byzantine territories, and the introduction of gold
coinage to Western Europe between 1250 and 1350, which changed the commercial ratio
between gold and silver. See Grierson, Byzantine Coins, 227. The relation between the
reintroduction of gold in Europe and the disappearance of gold in Byzantium remains to be
fully explained.

conveyed by each side of the coin in relation to one another. A final section
traces the transformation of this numismatic design on subsequent imperial
coinage until gold ceased to be struck and the Byzantine hyperpyron became
merely a money of account.

The emperor, the angel, and Christ

The depiction of the emperor being presented on knee to Christ constitutes

an altogether novel numismatic configuration that forms the main reverse
image for all gold coinage issued by Michael VIII (Figures 3.2–3.4a).20
The imagery recalls the central scene of the embroidered peplos where the
emperor is shown being led and guided to the church of Genoa in an
obvious allusion to the pact for which the silk was created (Figure 1.3).
Both early representations of Michael in silk and gold convey a sense of
intimacy: in each, the leader of the heavenly hosts places a hand on the
shoulder of the earthly ruler and his wing frames the emperor so as to
evoke protection. Moreover, as opposed to the emphasis on stasis typical
of traditional Byzantine imperial imagery where immobility and majesty
serve as guiding principles, both silk and gold images exhibit a perceptible
sense of movement and directionality in their imperial depiction. On the
coin, the emperor’s face and torso are straight, but he gestures toward the
seated Christ. The archangel stands behind the emperor, his heavenly body
blocked by the earthly imperial one, his hand on Michael’s shoulder, and
his nimbate head inclined in Christ’s direction. This not only lends the
composition a slight curve that echoes the circular shape of the coin but
also stresses the angel as the protector, advocate, and even extension of
the emperor. The positioning of Christ on the right mirrors the terrestrial
and sacred Michaels. Enthroned, Christ touches the emperor’s crown in a
gesture that suggests blessing reminiscent of a scene of investiture.21

20 On the distinction between obverse and reverse, see notes 47 and 67 below. See DOC V/2, nos.
2–25 for Michael’s gold coinage struck in Constantinople. The only difference between the
emperor’s first gold coin struck in Magnesia and his Constantinopolitan issues is in the
placement of the inscription; the imagery of the reverse is identical. On the Magnesia issue
(DOC V/2, no. 1) an illegible inscription appears on the far left of the coin and Christ’s
nominum sacrum appears on the far right, whereas on all the gold hyperpyra struck in
Constantinople the imperial inscription appears on the far right. This is the only significant
difference between the reverse imagery of the two coins. My thanks to Jonathan Shea for this
observation and for discussing various aspects of Palaiologan coinage with me.
21 While it is difficult to discern, Christ’s hand decidedly touches the edge of the emperor’s
crown. One specimen in Dumbarton Oaks (DOC V/2, no. 18) illustrates this point very well.

(a) (b)

Figure 3.5a–b Silver trachy of Michael VIII Palaiologos, Constantinople, Class IV:
Virgin seated/Michael presented to Christ by St Michael (DOC V/2, no. 29),
Dumbarton Oaks BZC.1948.17.3594.D2012

The reverse image thus abounds in narrative prompts. Unlike more

immobile and iconic images of emperors and holy figures, this design with
its legible gazes and gestures suggests a visual dialog unfolding in time. The
emperor on knee beseeches Christ, backed by the leader of the heavenly
hosts who intercedes on his behalf, and Christ in turn blesses Michael.
With an economy of gestures and formal relationships, the reverse image
ultimately presents not just movement but a full cycle of supplication –
question, intercession, and response.
For the duration of his reign, Michael’s gold coinage maintains this reverse
image and it occurs on the reverse of select coins of other denominations
as well.22 On the emperor’s silver coinage, for example, Class IV silver
trachea are struck with the exact reverse imagery of the gold hyperpyron,
but paired with an obverse depiction of the Virgin enthroned, a combination
that recalls the emperor’s aforementioned gold coinage issued in Magnesia
(Figure 3.5).23 In copper, two different classes of trachea are struck with
the main reverse imagery, the first with a bust of Christ Emmanuel on the

22 The main reverse image of the emperor’s gold coinage appears on silver Class IV coinage, DOC
V/2, nos. 29–32, and Class I and II of the copper coins, DOC V/2, nos. 46–55. In addition to
the DOC V, see Simon Bendall and Paul J. Donald, “The Silver Coinage of Michael VIII,”
Numismatic Circular, 90 (1982), 121–4; and Simon Bendall and Paul J. Donald, The Billon
Trachea of Michael VIII Palaeologos, 1258–1282 (London, 1974).
23 DOC V/2, no. 29 (BZC.1948.17.3594.D2012). The coin represents the same configuration as
the gold coin struck in Magnesia, with the exception of the inscription on the reverse, which is
placed to the right of Christ in conformity with the Constantinopolitan gold designs. See note
20 above.

obverse and the enthroned Virgin on the second.24 In addition to this reverse
image of the kneeling emperor presented to Christ, the silver and copper
coins vary dramatically in type. At least sixteen silver and fifty copper trachea
types, for example, are attested in contrast to the near-singular image of the
emperor’s gold coinage.25
In all of Michael’s coinage – the nearly singular gold and the wide variety
of silver and copper coins – the emperor’s saintly namesake holds a privi-
leged position.26 While Saints George, Demetrios, Theodore, Nicholas, and
even Constantine all feature on the emperor’s silver and bronze trachea,
St Michael appears with the most frequency on issues from Constanti-
nople.27 While the gold coinage repeats the scene of presentation – and
hence characterizes the heavenly figure as the emperor’s advocate in a
scene of intercession and presentation – other denominations align the two
Michaels in more varied manners as expressions of imperial and angelic
authority. On the reverse of a silver trachea, for example, the emperor and
his son Andronikos are positioned frontally side by side, both on knee, while
the archangel is represented bust length above them, reaching down and
touching their crowns (Figure 3.6).28 It is as much a scene of blessing, with

24 A bust of Christ Emmanuel appears on the obverse of the first (Class I: DOC V/2, nos. 46–51)
and the seated Virgin on the second (Class II: DOC V/2, nos. 52–5). See DOC V/1, 112–24
(Tables 8 and 9).
25 One of the distinguishing features of Palaiologan coinage is the remarkable consistency in the
design of the gold, in contrast to the diversity in the other denominations. This has been read
as evidence for an annual change in coinage types. See Hendy, Studies in the Byzantine
Monetary Economy, 287; DOC V/1, 56; and Morrisson and Bendall, “Monnaies de la fin de
l’empire byzantin,” 486.
26 Again, the emperor being led to Christ constitutes the only gold coin type. Based on the data of
DOC V, we see that on the silver and copper trachea, the archangel figures prominently in a
variety of guises. Of the seventeen silver trachea types (DOC V, 114–15: Table 6),
St Michael appears on six types: two of three types from Magnesia, three of ten types from
Constantinople, and one of two types from either Magnesia or Thessaloniki. Of the sixty-seven
copper trachea types (DOC V, 119–24: Table 9), St Michael appears on eleven of thirty-four
types from Constantinople, and even in Thessalonike, where the city’s patron Demetrios
dominates, Michael appears on six of twenty-nine types. More discussion of Thessalonike
coinage appears later in this chapter. The diversity of typology in the silver and copper coinage
stands in contrast to the uniformity of the single type for gold (see note 25 above). The DOC
list of copper and silver types will probably not prove exhaustive as more specimens are
identified, but these numbers give us an idea of the relative importance (not absolute
numbers/figures) of St Michael in the early Palaiologan coinage.
27 In addition to Michael, George, Theodore, and Demetrios are most common, the latter
understandably dominates coinage from Thessalonike. Of the thirty-four copper trachea types
listed in DOC V/1, 119–21 (Table 9), for example, St Michael appears on eleven types, while
George appears in four types. Nicholas, Theodore, and Demetrios each appear on two types,
and Constantine only on one. See also DOC V/1, 78–81.
28 DOC V/2, no. (36) (BZC.2009.010.D2012). An image of St George, standing with a spear and
shield, occupies the obverse of this type (Class VIII). On a related image, the reverse silver

Figure 3.6 Silver trachea of Michael VIII

Palaiologos, Constantinople, Class VIII:
St George/two emperors crowned by
St Michael (DOC V/2, no. 36), Dumbarton
Oaks BZC.2009.010.D2012

its associations of coronation and investiture, as it is one of presentation. All

three figures face frontally, with the saint above the imperial figures offering
them to the viewer.29
Beyond his predominance on the emperor’s coins, the relationship of the
saint to the emperor is significant. In many of the coins, St Michael assumes
a position of close contiguity to the imperial body and acts as agent of both
protection and presentation. On Class VII copper trachea he occupies a
supporting position behind the emperor, who carries a cruciform scepter
and globus cruciger (Figure 3.7). Rather than touching the emperor’s crown,
he stands behind as a support to the imperial figure and his hand touches
the emperor’s shoulder.30 On another coin, Class IV copper trachy, he even

trachea of Class XVI (DOC V/2, no. (44)) depicts the kneeling figures of Michael VIII and
Andronikos II being blessed by a bust-length image of Christ.
29 On another silver coin, the emperor and saint are physically disaggregated to opposite faces of
the coin, but are conceptually linked nonetheless (DOC V/2, no. (34)). The reverse represents
the standing emperor being crowned by Christ without his saintly namesake, who instead
occupies the full face of the obverse dressed in imperial regalia, which mirrors that of the
emperor. Although separated from the imperial body, the regalia serves to draw the leader of
the heavenly hosts and the terrestrial ruler into clear analogy.
30 Grierson, DOC V/2, no. 70 (BZC.1960.88.4328.D2012); and Bendall and Donald, Billon
Trachea, C.9 (with line drawing), describe the emperor as “supported by” the heavenly figure
behind.

Figure 3.7 Copper trachea of Michael VIII

Palaiologos, Constantinople. Class VII:
bust of St Demetrios/Emperor Michael VIII
with St Michael above (DOC V/2, no. 70),
Dumbarton Oaks
BZC.1960.88.4328.D2012

(a) (b)

Figure 3.8a–b Copper trachea of Michael VIII Palaiologos, Constantinople, Class IV:
Virgin seated/emperor embraced by St Michael (DOC V/2, no. 62), Dumbarton Oaks
BZC.1977.19.D2012

embraces the emperor (Figure 3.8). Here the emperor faces frontally holding
one hand to his chest and carrying an akakia in the other, while the saint
reaches his arm around and behind him.31 This configuration is related

31 DOC V/2, no. 62 (BZC.1977.19.D2012). Class IV: DOC V, nos. 59–63. This same reverse
configuration occurs on the emperor’s Class II silver trachea (DOC V/2, no. (27)), which is

to the main Constantinopolitan gold reverse imagery in its close physical

contact between the angel and emperor. Rather than guiding the imperial
figure or directing him, this image expresses the close association of the two
through the intimate gesture of both support and presentation. In certain
other coins struck in Thessalonike, the emperor is even depicted with wings,
having morphed entirely with the leader of the heavenly hosts.32
Although the emperor appears alongside many saints, the direct physical
interaction and intimacy exhibited by these coins is reserved for St Michael
alone.33 Moreover, while on many coins Christ and the Virgin crown and
bless the emperor,34 only Michael embraces or supports him. This is the
key point to emerge from a survey of the diverse coinage types across
denominations. This closeness parallels textual sources such as the Mount
Auxentios typikon, where Michael stresses the vigilance of the archangel as
his guardian who took him to his side in the face of danger.35
Throughout Michael VIII’s diverse coinage designs, St Michael appears
as both warrior and archangel. Grierson reminds us that these alternate
roles are kept relatively distinct from one another.36 The saint consistently
appears winged, but his attire changes depending on his role as archangel or
military saint. As archangel, he is depicted in imperial garb, often wearing
the clearly identifiable loros or tunic and himation, and holding a trefoil

assigned to Magnesia in 1258/9 by Bendall and followed by Grierson. In DOC V/2, no. (27),
the iconography is described as “Emp. standing facing, clasped by St. Michael on r.” The
emperor on the reverse of no. 59 is described as “embraced by St. Michael.”
32 Class XIV: DOC V/2, nos. 171–3; Class XVIII: DOC V/2, nos. 182 and 183. See discussion in
DOC V/1, 67–8; and Cécile Morrisson, “L’empereur ailé dans la numismatique byzantine: Un
empereur ange,” Studii çi cercetǎri di numismaticǎ, 11 (1995), 191–5; Tommaso Bertelè,
L’Imperatore Allato nella Numismatica Bizantina (Rome, 1951). Grierson, DOC V/1, 68; and
Bendall and Morrisson, “Monnaies de la fin de l’empire byzantin,” 488, introduce as
comparanda the damaged fresco of the winged emperor at Didymoteichon, on which see
Robert Ousterhout and Athanasios Gouridès, “᾿Ενα βυζαντινό κτίριο δίπλα στον ῾Αγιο Αθανάσιο
Διδυμοτείχου,” Το Αρχαιολογικό έργο στη Μακεδονία και τη Θράκη, 5 (1991), 518–21. See also
Henry Maguire, “Style and Ideology” and “Murderer among the Angels: The Frontispiece
Miniatures of Paris. Gr. 510 and the Iconography of the Archangels in Byzantine Art” in
Robert Ousterhout and Leslie Brubaker (eds.), The Sacred Image East and West (Urbana, 1995),
63–71.
33 He is shown standing next to Constantine on Class VIII (nos. 71–2); St George on Class V
(nos. 64–5); standing next to a military saint, possibly St Theodore, on Class IX (nos. 73–6)
and half-length alongside St George on Class X (nos. 77–8).
34 Michael is crowned primarily by Christ but also by St Michael on Class III bronze coinage from
Thessalonike (nos. 136–9) and by an unknown military saint on the Class XII bronze
Constantinopolitan issues with the Hetoimasia on the obverse. On this strange iconography
and its possible relation to the 1274 Council of Lyons, see DOC V/1, 89 and 113. The
Hetoimasia image appears only once on a silver and copper trachea.
35 See the discussion in Chapter 1. 36 DOC V/1, 80.

scepter and globe or disc.37 Despite the iconographic distinction between

the saint as archangel versus the saint as soldier, Grierson highlights a
significant exception. There are “a few representations” of the saint as the
emperor’s guardian, either presenting him or hovering above his head. In
such images, he claims, the saint “is simply shown as winged and nimbate.”38
The main gold reverse image, which again appears on all denominations but
constitutes the only reverse image for Michael’s gold coinage, exemplifies this
exception. In order to include all three figures on the coin’s diminutive face,
the saint is compressed into the upper-left corner and a full understanding
of his attire, whether military chlamys or imperial loros, is unclear as he is
blocked by the body of the kneeling emperor. Moreover, the saint does not
hold attributes of either of his roles, but instead touches the emperor. In this
image the saint’s role is defined less by imperial or soldier mode and more
by his relationship to the emperor. He is distinguished as the emperor’s
archangelic advocate.39
This advocacy supports the larger significance of the reverse design as
an image of intercession. But where we would expect an intercession to be
led by the Theotokos presenting the prayer of the earthbound figure to her
son, here the emperor appears with his angelic advocate on knee before
Christ.40 The archangel’s hand is visible on the shoulder of the emperor in
a gesture characterized as guiding, presenting, even offering. Significantly,
the coin’s design presents the imperial body both to Christ, who touches the
emperor’s crown in a gesture of assent, and also to the viewer, as evidenced
by the parallel postures and gazes of Christ and the emperor. The image
thus displays to the eyes of the viewer an image of successful prayer and

37 Conforming to this rule, the Class IV silver trachy leaves no ambiguity that Michael is depicted
as Archangel, head of the heavenly hosts. In other coins, typical military attire distinguishes the
saint’s role as warrior and he carries the appropriate attributes of sword, spear, and/or shield.
On the reverse of his Class III copper trachea, for example, the imperial and saintly figures are
depicted standing together frontally holding between them a labrum, the emperor dressed in
imperial regalia and the saint in clearly discernable military garb. See, for example, DOC V/2,
nos. 56–7.
38 Grierson, DOC V/1, 80: “Where his half- or three-quarter figure forms the whole obverse type,
he is represented as an archangel; where he stands either alone (C.23, 24, 114–23, 13–14; T4,
147–50) or beside the emperor, holding with him or handing to him a long cross or similar
symbol, he is always in military guise. In a few representations, however, where he figures as
the emperor’s guardian, either presenting to Christ his namesake Michael VIII (C.1, 2, 46–51,
52–5; UC.1, 561), or less appropriately Andronicus II (LPC 38/7=UC.2) or hovering above his
head (C.9; 70), he is simply shown as winged and nimbate.”
39 This relationship parallels the imagery of the peplos in Genoa, where details about the
iconography of the angelic body are behind the emperor and hence cannot be discerned.
Recall, as noted in Chapter 1, that the angel’s feet are not visible.
40 See discussion in Chapter 1.

intercession: the kneeling emperor, with arms in supplication and backed by

his angelic advocate, simultaneously beseeches Christ and receives Christ’s
assent and blessing, as indicated by the touch of his jeweled crown.41 In this
sense, the image constitutes a scene of investiture in that it commemorates
Michael’s status as emperor. As such, the coin proclaims Michael’s rule. But
the tone is ambiguous. Previous coins proclaimed imperial authority by
representing an emperor being crowned by the Virgin or Christ – this was
an ideal and easily legible visual formula for currency – but never before
had a coin depicted the emperor on his knees.
The kneeling posture of the emperor then complicates our reading of the
imagery. As seen in the last chapter, proskynesis assumed many guises, from
full prostration on the ground to more general bowing of some sort. More-
over, in addition to the emperor’s ceremonial entrance into Hagia Sophia
on major feast days in which the emperor and patriarch performed prosky-
nesis at the threshold to the naos, this gesture of submission and reverence
was fully exploited by Michael at his adventus and was also performed in
the Great Church as part of his pardon following the protracted period of
his excommunication.42 Whereas the degree of proskynesis for the brazen
emperor in front of the Church of the Holy Apostles remains ambiguous –
again, we know he was positioned at the feet of the archangel, but cannot
be sure of the degree of inclination – the precision of the posture struck on
coinage allows us to consider the gestural embodiment of piety in greater
detail.
Unlike the mosaic lunette of the unnamed emperor prostrate before
Christ above the imperial door at Hagia Sophia (Figure 2.17), Michael’s gaze
on his gold coin is not directed downward in abjection. Nor does he look up
beseechingly as the contemporary patron of the Urbino textile who likens
himself to Joshua before the angel (Figure 2.14). Rather, he is positioned
as parallel to Christ by his frontal gaze43 and upright torso, decidedly not
crouching down in deep supplication.44 Until this point, representations of

41 Unlike his representation on the peplos, the emperor is not depicted with a halo. However, it is
worth noting that the die cutters went to great care to elaborate Michael’s crown in distinct
detail, with visibly legible dangling prependoulia on each side that act as a frame in a similar
manner as a halo on his coin. The punch work of the halo of Christ and archangel is paralleled
by the emperor’s crown. The numismatic conventions for nimbate emperors are discussed in
the conclusion to this chapter.
42 See the discussion in Chapter 2.
43 There may be a slight tilt to the emperor’s head in Christ’s direction, but it is not turned
toward the holy figure – it is difficult to be sure from the wear/poor striking. DOC V/2, no. 18
is the most clear in this regard.
44 Michael’s kneeling position is distinctly different from previous images of proskynesis. As
Grierson points out (DOC V/1, 68–9), both imperial kneeling and crouching become

imperial proskyensis were exceedingly rare, with the narthex mosaic image in
the Great Church standing out as exceptional. Yet, after the interregnum, not
only does the emperor appear at the feet of the archangel in a monumental
public image but also on knee before Christ on the same emperor’s coinage
in all denominations. In fact, the coinage probably served as the immediate
pictorial model for the bronze monument.45 This new imagery emerges
post-1261 in two such public monuments with large audiences: a larger-
than-life monumental bronze statue that could be seen from a great distance
and also on serially struck coinage that circulated far beyond the city and
imperial borders. Such a proliferation of the image of the emperor on knee –
not in majesty, not being crowned, not standing hieratically – stands in sharp
contrast to established numismatic and artistic conventions, and this shift
requires elaboration.
One explanation for this new imperial piety may be found in the par-
ticular circumstances of Michael’s rise to the throne, as part of the process
of crafting his legacy from usurper to restorer. But similar to the unnamed
emperor in the narthex mosaic of Hagia Sophia, the imagery of Michael’s
coin is also strangely generic, so much so that it is repeated on the coinage
of his successors, as will be discussed toward the end of this chapter. What
we are seeing is the dissemination and codification of a new imperial image
that draws on gestures of piety in order to proclaim just and legitimate rule.
As we have seen, key biblical figures such as David and Joshua provided
optimal rhetorical models for early Palaiologan emperors, especially with
regard to usurpation (penitence and forgiveness) and the conquests of cities,
and also drew on an iconography of proskynesis. This type of exemplarity
is most often associated with manuscript illumination. Psalters, in partic-
ular, offer the occasion for complex analogical messages.46 With Michael’s
gold coinage, we find precisely the kind of complex visual and thematic
associations we might expect in typological manuscripts or court oratory,

consistent features of Palaiologan coinage, a point to which I will return in this chapter’s
conclusion when we turn to the gold coinage of Andronikos II Palaiologos.
45 Both Grierson, DOC V, 107, and Morrisson, “L’hyperpère de Michel VIII,” 85 n. 19, mention
Michael’s lost bronze monument when describing his gold hyperpyron. Even though the
precise date of the bronze monument remains uncertain it was commissioned after the first
striking of Michael’s gold coins depicting the Virgin of the Walls. One of his copper coins
depicts the emperor holding a model of the city, which will be discussed below, 182–3, in
relation to Thessalonian numismatic conventions for depicting the city and its ruler.
46 The polemical reading of the eleventh-century Vatican Psalter 752 by Kalavrezou, Trahoulia,
and Sabar, “Critique of the Emperor,” comes to mind most immediately with its stress on the
repentance of David, who is repeatedly pictured in proskynesis as a veiled imperial critique
according to the authors.

albeit on a more pared-down scale and in an abbreviated manner due to

the numismatic format. Michael’s new gold coinage narrates a nuanced
message of sacred intercession, divine protection, and pious rule. This mes-
sage becomes especially evident when we turn to the other face of the
coin, which completes the message of imperial thanksgiving, legitimacy,
and instrumentality.

The Virgin of the Walls

The innovation of the reverse design and its consistency across Michael
VIII’s gold coinage is matched by the obverse image, which directly evokes
the Byzantine restoration of Constantinople (Figures 3.2–3.4b). The appear-
ance of the city walls on Michael’s coinage struck after 1261 represents a
major departure from the iconography of his predecessors, and one that
signals the reconquest of the Queen of Cities as the defining feature of his
reign, serially struck and disseminated throughout the empire and beyond.
This numismatic innovation merited comment from contemporary histo-
rian Pachymeres, who mentions the design in a passage well known to
numismatists and economic historians, as it relates to the debasement
of the hyperpyra in the thirteenth century.47 In need of funds after the
Byzantine restoration of the city, in particular to pay the Italians, the his-
torian reports, the emperor not only replaced the ancient or traditional
symbols (τῶν παλαιῶν σημείων) on the coinage with an image of the city
but also reduced the coin’s gold content.48 While Pachymeres was writing in

47 Pachymeres, De Michaele et Andronico Palaeologis (Bekker, ed.), 494: ἐπὶ Μιχαὴλ, τῆς πόλεως
ἁλούσης, διὰ τὰς τότε κατ’ ἀνάγκην δόσεις, καὶ μᾶλλον πρὸς ᾿Ιταλούς, μετεγεγράφατο μὲν τὰ
τῶν παλαιῶν σημείων, τῆς πόλεως χαραττομένης ὄπισθεν, καθυφίετο δὲ καὶ παρὰ κεράτιον τὸ
ἐκ χρυσοῦ νομιζόμενον ὡς πεντεκαίδεκα πρὸς τὰ εἰκοσιτέσσαρα γίνεσθαι. Pachymeres specifies
that this new image of the city appeared on the reverse of the coin (ὄπισθεν), but for the sake of
clarity and to follow current numismatic conventions, it is described as the obverse.
Traditionally a coin’s obverse bears the principal type, which was the ruler’s effigy until
Justinian II introduced the bust of Christ, at which point the imperial image was shifted to the
reverse of the coin, giving precedence to Christ. See James D. Breckenridge, The Numismatic
Iconography of Justinian II (685–695, 705–711 A.D.) (New York, 1959). As pointed out by
Morrisson, “L’hyperpère de Michel VIII,” 85 n. 17, and Grierson, DOC V/1, 65, Pachymeres’s
comment suggests that at the time, the contemporary viewer may have accorded greater
importance to the concave face of the coin, which is where the imperial effigy is usually found.
See Grierson, Byzantine Coins, 27–8; DOC IV, 124–5; and DOC V/1, 64–5, for the most
succinct overview of the stakes involved. With regard to the obverse of this particular coin, see
Cutler, Transfigurations, 111–12.
48 Grierson, DOC V/1, 44, points out that the calculations in Pachymeres’s text have been
generally misunderstood. Pachymeres notes that John III Vatatzes’s coin was two-thirds fine

the early fourteenth century, decades after Michael’s coinage was first issued,
the linking of these two details is significant. The change in iconography
is mentioned in the same breath as the reduction of the coin’s fineness in
order to defray the heavy restoration costs, and the relation between the
two is linked in causal terms. The traditional symbols of previous imperial
coinage were abandoned in favor of a new image of the imperial city, but
the capital’s restoration necessitated the debasement of the very coin to bear
its visual representation.
Although Pachymeres mentions the city as the new image for the slightly
debased gold coin, the city in its entirety is not, in fact, struck on this new
hyperpyron, but rather its walls. Topographic accuracy is not at issue here,
as it would be impossible to render the city or its walls in any detailed
or accurate manner on a coin roughly one inch in diameter and often
overstruck with the effect of obscuring the iconography. Unlike the city’s
surrounding fortifications still standing more or less intact today, which
consist of distinct sea and land enclosures, the walls as struck in gold form a
perfect and unified circle that echo the shape of the coin and are intersected
by six prominent triple towers, as opposed to the ninety-six towers that
punctuate the ramparts in reality. Some specimens are struck clearly enough
to allow details of the parapet to be discerned, while even hatch marks are
legible to suggest masonry courses (Figure 3.4). Of the six symmetrically
arranged triple towers, the lower three are angled upward toward the center
of the circuit wall, while the upper three extend outward toward the outer
edge of the coin. This creates a curious sense of space that is at once frontal
and aerial.
The tilting of the towers complicates the overall effect of a bird’s-eye view,
an ambiguity that should come as no surprise since standard pictorial con-
ventions for topographic and cartographic depiction were not established.
In the views of the city in Buondelmonti’s Liber insularum we see the same

(so sixteen carats) and this remained the case for the gold coinage of his son Theodore II. But
under Michael Palaiologos, because of the heavy restoration costs including subventions
abroad (especially to the Italians), a new type of coin was minted that was only fifteen parts
fine. Under Michael’s successor, Andronikos II, gold coins were initially fourteen parts fine, but
by the time that Pachymeres was writing around 1308, that coinage had been reduced again to
twelve carats fine. Morrisson, EHB, 945, notes that even in times of extreme crisis (such as
between 1325 and 1353), the gold content never went under eleven carats. The debasement of
Byzantine gold in the early years of the Palaiologan period is well known. Gold coinage ceased
to be struck altogether in Byzantium in the mid-fourteenth century, precisely at the moment
that it began to be struck on a large scale in Europe. On the debasement of the hyperpyron, see
Hendy, Studies in the Byzantine Monetary Economy, 526–30; Penna, “Final Phase of Byzantine
Coinage”; and Penna, Byzantine Coinage.

tilting of the wall’s towers in the lower and left-hand edge of the design,
while the towers of the upper limit extend upward to combine spatial depth
with a more aerial view (Figures 2.5 and 2.7).49 The two Byzantine represen-
tations of Constantinople in Vatican Greek manuscript 1851 present a less
aerial perspective. Folio 2r renders the city’s famed walls, which surround
the Great Church and are surrounded in turn by water, as a circle with sym-
metrically arranged towers seen from a slightly elevated perspective (Figure
3.9). The second of the two city views in the codex, folio 5v, shows the city
from a more frontal perspective: only the turrets of the front part of the wall
are visible, while the farther towers are hidden entirely by the city’s architec-
ture (Figure 3.10). Both cityscapes, even though oriented differently, adopt
similar pictorial conventions for conveying spatial recession and depth. The
turrets in the distance are significantly smaller than those in the foreground
and are blocked to varying degrees by the city’s architectural edifices.50
By contrast, the walls on Michael’s coinage, despite the angling of the
towers, form a complete and uninterrupted circle. Moreover, unlike the
first cityscape of the Vatican manuscript with its emphasis on the Golden
Gate, the ceremonial entrance to the city, which forms the focal point of
the representation and is aligned with the entrance to the Great Church,
the circuit walls of Michael’s coin do not emphasize a point of entry. The
greatest difference between the coin and other city views, of course, involves
what the walls circumscribe. Unlike other representations of Constantino-
ple, the city’s famed circuit walls on Michael’s gold coin do not encircle
key topographies or monuments such as Hagia Sophia or the Church of
the Holy Apostles, but rather a bust-length image of the orant Virgin.
In many respects, the hyperpyron’s walls appear to function as a framing
device for the Virgin more than as an actual rendering of the city’s fortifi-
cations. They echo not only the shape of the coin itself but also the Virgin’s
halo.51

49 On the pictorial conventions and precedents for representing space, see Cutler,
Transfigurations, 111–40. For an overview of the tradition on ancient coinage, see Martin
Jessop Price and Bluma L. Trell, Coins and Their Cities: Architecture on the Ancient Coins of
Greece, Rome, and Palestine (London, 1977).
50 The difference between the two very different vantage points, I have suggested in
“Constructing a Byzantine Augusta,” has to do with their position within the larger visual
narrative of the manuscript. They are each positioned at the beginning of a narrative sequence
so as to situate the narrative and act as a signpost for the viewer. Barsanti, “Costantinopoli,”
173, brings together Buondelmonti’s map with the coinage and the Vatican manuscript.
51 Although a sense of axiality is conveyed by the vertically aligned central tower along the lower
and upper edges of the coin. The angling of the towers serves less to convey distance or
recession than to emphasize the Virgin orant in the center. The positioning of the central

Figure 3.9 View of Constantinople, Vatican Library, Vat. Gr. 1851, fol. 2r

Aside from the city walls, the manner in which the Theotokos is depicted
is similar to the first Byzantine coin to depict the Virgin: a rare issue of
Leo VI (r. 886–912), where her bust-length figure positioned with hands

towers in particular draws the torso of the Virgin into direct vertical alignment. Moreover,
circuit walls echo the shape of the Virgin’s halo. See Cutler, Transfigurations, 132.

Figure 3.10 View of Constantinople, Vatican Library, Vat. Gr. 1851, fol. 5v

outstretched fills the obverse of the gold coin (Figure 3.11).52 Both coins
conform to traditional iconographic models with the Virgin positioned

52 Grierson, Byzantine Coinage, no. 776; Vassilaki (ed.), Mother of God, 365 (cat. no. 44). Penna,
“The Mother of God on Coins,” 210, reads the emergence of the Virgin on Leo VI’s coinage as
a means of consolidating power and legitimacy.

Figure 3.11 Nomisma of Leo VI, Harvard

Art Museums/Arthur M. Sackler Museum,
bequest of Thomas Whittemore, 1951.
31.4.1256, Dumbarton Oaks, Whittemore
Loan WH 347.D2012

frontally wearing a tunic and maphorion, although the Virgin on Michael

VIII’s coin has a halo. The particular numismatic configuration of the orant
Virgin with hands outstretched is generally known as the Blachernitissa
because of its association with icons of the Blacherna monastery.53 While
the Virgin Blachernitissa, Nikopoios, and Hodegetria are all common types
on coinage,54 beginning in the tenth century, the Virgin is most com-
monly represented crowning the emperor or enthroned.55 The particular

53 On coins and seals, see W. Seibt in Nicolas Oikonomides (ed.), Studies in Byzantine
Sigillography (Washington DC, 1987), 50–4; DOC V/1, 75–7; and Penna, “The Mother of God
on Coins,” 209–17. See Nancy Ševčenko, “Virgin Blachernitissa,” ODB; Annemarie Weyl Carr,
“Court Culture and Cult Icons in Middle Byzantine Constantinople” in Maguire (ed.),
Byzantine Court Culture, 90–3; and Pentcheva, Icons and Power, 145–63. For more on the
Blachernitissa, see below, 257. This identification is not based on inscription, however, “as
individual religious types had sometimes been in the past,” as Grierson, DOC V/1, 76, points
out.
54 These “types” are named after the sanctuaries of city’s icons of the Virgin as well as epithets
and qualities of the Virgin. The complexity of the Virgin’s “typology” is succinctly outlined in
Gerhard Podskalsky, Annemarie Weyl Carr, and Nancy P. Ševčenko, “Virgin Mary, Types of,”
ODB. See also Carr, “Court Culture and Cult Icons,” 81–99; and Pentcheva, Icons and Power, 3,
75–80. For a succinct overview of this, including the relation of the orant Virgin to the city, see
Robert Ousterhout, “The Virgin of the Chora: An Image and its Contexts” in Robert
Ousterhout and Leslie Brubaker (eds.), Sacred Image, East and West (Urbana, 1995), 91–109,
especially 94–6.
55 Thus, while the particular image of the Virgin on Michael’s coin departs from her
representation on the coinage of his immediate predecessors, where the holy figure crowns the

combination of the Virgin orans and the city walls does not feature on any
other coin than the gold hyperpyron. Unlike the reverse imagery of Michael’s
gold coinage, which appears on all denominations, this particular combi-
nation of the Virgin with the walls of Constantinople was reserved for the
most valuable coinage, the gold, and it continued to be the standard obverse
image for Palaiologan hyperpyra until gold ceased to be struck.
The closest visual parallel for the Virgin with the walls is found in the fres-
coes of the church of St Euphemia at the Hippodrome, an early Byzantine
structure renovated with an elaborate fourteen-scene fresco cycle stylisti-
cally dated to the early Palaiologan period (Figure 3.12).56 The hagiographic
narrative culminates in an image of the orant saint standing frontally, sur-
rounded by the beasts of the arena. While the fresco scene represents neither
the Virgin nor the city walls, the close association of the emerging orant
figure and the circular urban infrastructure bears strong formal affinities
with Michael’s gold coinage and, as many scholars have noted, the fresco
design may have been based on the celebrated coin.57 Beyond formal con-
nections, however, the coinage shares with the Euphemia fresco a particular
configuration of sacred figure and site. In other words, the relation between
the two scenes involves more than a common use of a circular architectural
device surrounding an orant holy figure, but also a more topographically
specific representational logic.
St Euphemia’s sacred remains were transferred from Chalcedon, where
she had been thrown to wild beasts in the arena in the early fourth century,

emperor or appears enthroned, the composition is well situated within larger iconographic
traditions. For an overview of the iconography of the Virgin on Palaiologan coinage, see DOC
V/1, 75–7, and for earlier periods, see DOC III, 169–74. On pre-Komnenian coins, there are six
variations of Marian types, mostly involving bust-length or standing images of the Virgin,
whereas post-1081 she begins to be represented seated and with other variations. Many of
Michael VIII’s silver and copper trachea types feature on the obverse of the Theotokos both
enthroned (silver: DOC V/2, nos. 4, 7, 11, and copper: 4, 6, 7, 16, 22, 25) and also orant in bust
or half-length format (Constantinople silver trachea type 13 and copper trachea types 18, 19,
35). But even when her representation seems identical to the hyperpyra reverse image, as on a
copper trachy in Dumbarton Oaks (DOC V/2, no. 92), she does not appear within the walls of
the city.
56 Cutler, Transfigurations, 131; and DOC V/1, 76. The Euphemia cycle has received little
scholarship since the publication by Rudolph Naumann and Hans Belting, Die
Euphemia-Kirche am Hippodrom zu Istanbul und ihre Fresken (Berlin, 1966). This is, no doubt,
due in large part to the fact that it is not available for scholarly study. See Cyril A. Mango,
“Euphemia, Church of Saint” in the ODB; Thomas F. Mathews, The Early Churches of
Constantinople: Architecture and Liturgy (University Park, 1971), 61–7; André Grabar, “Études
critiques,” CA, 17 (1967), 251–4; and Majeska, Russian Travelers, 258–60.
57 The fresco preserves the figure of an unidentified bishop kneeling and possibly holding in his
hands a miniature architectural model, though details are difficult to make out.

Figure 3.12 The Martyrdom of Saint Euphemia (scene 12), from the
Church of Saint Euphemia, Constantinople

across the Bosphoros to Constantinople, where they were installed in part

of the ancient palace of Antiochos, which was converted into a church
in the sixth century and, significantly, was situated directly next to the
Hippodrome. To be clear, her relics were eventually moved from the site of
one arena to another. The early Palaiologan fresco cycle at her new church
narrated the life of the saint from birth, through her protracted torture
and ultimate martyrdom, concluding with an image of the orant saint in
the center of the arena of Chalcedon. The architectural setting, demarcated
as a perfect circle with a double-tiered colonnade rising from the upper
half of the sphere behind the standing orant figure, references the curved
southwestern end of the Hippodrome (the sphendone) directly adjacent
to the church. The orant figure is thus framed by the architecture with
which she has particular association; it mimetically suggests the locus of
her martyrdom and also the area in which her sacred remains were located.
The formal resonances between the coin’s orant figure set within a perfect
circle of ramparts and Euphemia’s fresco image are unmistakable. More

than a mere formal parallel, however, a sense of topographic specificity

links the two. For Euphemia, it is the Hippodrome; for the Virgin, it is
Constantinople’s walls and, by extension, the city’s entirety.
The Virgin’s role as patron and protector of the imperial city – especially
the role of the Virgin’s image – is well known,58 with the Akathistos Hymn
perhaps best elucidating the special relationship of the city and the Virgin.
The popularity of this hymn in later Byzantium is unequivocal: regardless of
the contested date of the Akathistos Hymn’s original composition, the ear-
liest illuminated versions of the hymn as well as the corpus of monumental
fresco programs of the Akathistos, such as the frescoes in Cozia, Valachia
(Figure 0.6), were produced in the Palaiologan period.59
The penultimate strophe of the Akathistos Hymn acclaims the Virgin as
the city’s sacred and imperial fortification: “Hail, immovable tower of the
Church” (χαῖρε, τῆς ἐκκλησίας ὁ ἀσάλευτος πύργος); “Hail, impregnable
wall of the kingdom” (χαῖρε, τῆς βασιλείας τὸ ἀπόρθητον τεῖχος); “Hail,
through whom trophies are raised up” (χαῖρε, δι’ἧς ἐγείρονται τρόπαια);
“Hail through whom enemies fall” (χαῖρε, δι’ἧς ἐχθροὶ καταπίπτουσι).60
Such strong and evocative imagery presents the Virgin as the city’s essential
sacred and imperial ramparts possessing the power for victory and defeat.
Furthermore, the hymn’s second prooemion addresses the Virgin in the
very voice of the city:

To you, our leader in battle and defender,

O Theotokos, I, your city, delivered from sufferings,

58 The literature on this subject is vast. As a point of departure, see N. H. Baynes, “The
Supernatural Defenders of Constantinople,” Analecta Bollandiana, 67 (1949), 165–77 [repr.
Byzantine Studies and Other Essays (1974)]; A. Cameron, “The Theotokos in Sixth-Century
Constantinople: A City Finds its Symbol,” Journal of Theological Studies, 29(1) (1978), 79–108;
Cutler, Transfigurations, 137–41; Ousterhout, “Virgin of the Chora,” 94–6; Carr, “Court
Culture and Cult Icons”; Pentcheva, Icons and Power; and the various essays collected by
Vassilaki in Mother of God and Images of the Mother of God: Perceptions of the Theotokos in
Byzantium (Aldershot, 2005).
59 For a recent survey of the visual programs of the Akathistos, see Spatharakis, The Pictorial
Cycles of the Akathistos Hymn. See also Tania Velmans, “Une Illustration inédite de l’Acathiste
et l’iconographie des hymnes liturgiques à Byzance,” CA, 22 (1972), 159–62; Babić,
“L’iconographie constantinopolitaine”; André Grabar, “Une source d’inspiration de
l’iconographie byzantine tardive: Les cérémonies du culte de la Vierge,” CA, 25 (1976), 143–62;
and Jacqueline Lafontaine-Dosogne, “L’illustration de la première partie de l’Hymne Akathiste
et sa relation avec les mosaı̈ques de l’Enfance de la Kariye Djami,” Byzantion, 54 (1984),
648–702.
60 Leena Mari Peltomaa (trans.), The Image of the Virgin Mary in the Akathistos Hymn (Leiden,
2001), 18–19. See Pentcheva, Icons and Power, 12–16, on the civic-imperial imagery of the
Akathistos; and Cutler, Transfigurations, 117–18 on the Virgin as the city’s ramparts, as θύρα
σωτήριος or πύλη τοῦ λογοῦ.

ascribe hymns of victory and thanksgiving.

Since you are invincible in power,
free me from all kinds of dangers,
that I may cry to you:
“Hail, bride unwedded.”61

The city offers thanks to the Virgin for her deliverance and defense. Accord-
ing to tradition, the hymn was sung by the standing (“akathistos”) clergy
and laity in the Blacherna church in thanksgiving to the Theotokos for her
protection of the city and triumph against enemies.62 This ritual context
for the hymn is significant. Through recitation and repetition, the hymn
reiterates its message of thanksgiving and reaffirms the bond between the
city and the Virgin.
In addition to the Akathistos Hymn, the Virgin featured prominently in
Constantinople’s ritual and civic life. Historically, relics and icons of the
Theotokos, for example, held a central role in warding off attacks, leading
victories, and structuring liturgical and imperial processions.63 The most
proximate ritual association of the Virgin with the city walls was Michael
VIII’s triumphant 1261 adventus, which, again, stressed the centrality of
the Virgin emphatically. Her image was processed through the walls of
Constantinople as a ritual enactment of the return of the Virgin’s favor
to the city, as a restoration of divine order. Akropolites describes how the
Virgin’s icon was first installed on one of the towers of the Golden Gate
before Michael inaugurated his performance of ritual prostration. Such an
installation conveys in ritual terms the Akathistos Hymn’s understanding of
the Virgin as the immovable tower and impregnable wall. In other historical
moments, the icon of the Virgin was displayed on the city walls to ward off
sieges. Most recently in the late twelfth century and in the more distant
past during the Avar siege, it was thought that her icon was processed on

61 Trans. Peltomaa, Image of the Virgin Mary, 3–4.

62 This is according to the Synaxarion of Constantinople, cited in Peltomaa, Image of the Virgin,
21 n. 1: “The devout people of Constantinople, showing their thanks to the Mother of God,
stood the night through and sang this hymn to her who by vigilance and supernatural power
had brought about a triumph over their enemies . . . It was named the Akathistos because the
clergy and whole people of the city performed it in this way then.”
63 See Bissera Pentcheva, “The Supernatural Protector of Constantinople: The Virgin and Her
Icons in the Tradition of the Avar Siege,” BMGS, 26 (2002), 2–41, revised as Chapter 2 of Icons
and Power; and Christine Angelidi and Titos Papamastorakis, “Picturing the Spiritual
Protector: From Blachernitissa to Hodegetria” in Vassilaki (ed.), Images of the Mother of God,
209–17, especially 216.

the city’s walls.64 The association of the Virgin’s icon and Constantinople’s
walls, therefore, was part of both legend and more recent memory.
In terms of the relationship of the Virgin to the walls on the early Palaiolo-
gan coin, Anthony Cutler has objected to the locative descriptors of “among”
or “within” or “rising over,” claiming instead that “her station defies precise
prepositional qualification.”65 The Virgin of the Walls, however, most effec-
tively encapsulates the special relationship between the Virgin and the city’s
walls. The Virgin is depicted surrounded by the walls of the city that she
protects and to which she, in some sense, belongs.66 Adopting the preposi-
tion “of” suggests simultaneously that the Virgin belongs to the city and the
city in turn belongs to her, thus emphasizing not merely the locative aspect
but also the special and inalienable relationship of the city to the Virgin.
The restored empire’s gold currency was imprinted with the Virgin of the
Walls in celebration of this close relationship as an image of thanksgiving
akin to the Akathistos’s hymn of thanksgiving. At the same time, the coin
commemorated the defining moment of the Palaiologan emperor’s rule: the
restoration of the Queen of Cities.
Like Michael’s bronze commemorative monument, the obverse design
of his gold coin recalls the mosaic of imperial donation in the southwest
vestibule of Hagia Sophia (Figure 2.16), where the city and its most cele-
brated Great Church are separated, each placed in the hands of its imperial
founders. The mosaic model of Constantinople, as well as the depiction
on folio 2 of the Vatican Greek manuscript 1851 (Figure 3.9), is oriented
to emphasize the great ceremonial entrance to the city. As opposed to the
almost grisaille tones of the masonry of the walls on the manuscript, the
mosaic presents the Golden Gate in glimmering gold tesserae marked by
two great crosses, one on each portal. The upper half of the interior of the
city walls are rendered with dark tesserae in an attempt to indicate shadow,
but the effect suggests emptiness, because the city’s main church of Hagia

64 Macrides, George Akropolites, 385. Pentcheva, Icons and Power, has argued that middle
Byzantine authors rewrote the history of the Avar siege to include the icon of the Virgin.
65 Cutler, Transfigurations, 114: “The Theotokos is evidently neither circumscribed nor confined
by the enceinte. Only in the most profane sense could she be said to be ‘within’ or ‘among’
these bulwarks. Rising above them from the interior of the city, her station defies precise
prepositional qualification. For this and other reasons yet to be considered we describe her as
the Virgin on the Walls.” Cutler’s final chapter of Transfigurations is dedicated to this imagery
and is entitled “The Virgin on the Walls.” In the BFP catalogue, the imagery is consistently
described as the Virgin Orans rising over the walls.
66 Cyril A. Mango has eloquently described Constantinople as the “terrestrial fief” of the Virgin.
See Mango, “Constantinople as Theotokopoupolis” in Vassilaki (ed.), Mother of God, 17.

Sophia in which the mosaic still can be seen today has been extracted and
is offered without its protective fortifications by its sixth-century patron
on the left side of the mosaic. The logic of the mosaic’s dissociation of
architecture and fortification hinges upon the association between gifts and
their givers: Justinian and his church, Constantine and his city. The city
and its principal church are separated pictorially in order to preserve their
association with their givers and, further, they are united with respect to
their recipient: they are both offered and commended to the protection of
the Virgin and Child. Like his bronze monument, Michael’s gold coinage
draws on this celebrated mosaic imagery of imperial offering at the heart
of the Great Church. While the bronze monument portrayed the emperor
offering the city from his hands to the archangel just as Constantine offered
the city to the Virgin, the coinage positions the city not in imperial hands
but encircling its sacred protector. With the understanding that the walls on
the coin stand in as a synecdoche for the urban entirety, the city’s physical
fortifications are conflated with its spiritual fortifications. In this sense, it
seems that Pachymeres was not mistaken in his assertion that the city (polis)
was imprinted on Michael’s debased gold coin. The Virgin of the Walls was
the essence and commemoration of the restored imperial city.

Divinely destined Palaiologan rule

The manner in which Constantinople is depicted on Michael’s gold hyperpy-

ron is unlike any other representation of a city on coinage or in other media.
The particularity of the design lies not only in the relation of the walls to
the holy figure but also in the relation of the walls to the emperor – in other
words, in the relation of the obverse imagery to that of the reverse. On initial
inspection, each face of Michael’s gold hyperpyron appears to be separate
and discrete. The identifying inscriptions on each side, for example, are
complete and independent of the other side.67 The modes of representation
also appear entirely distinct, with an iconic image of the Virgin of the Walls
on one side and a scene of unfolding imperial supplication and presentation
on the other. Still, the two faces of Michael’s gold coin do relate to each other;
indeed, they complete one another. Taken together, they convey a specific
iteration of legitimacy through piety that is the core of Michael’s imperial
image.

67 Often a coin’s inscription begins on one side, the principal side with the holy figure, and
concludes on the reverse side, which bears the imperial imagery. This is one of the primary
means of determining the priority of obverse and reverse. See Grierson, Byzantine Coins, 27.

Michael’s gold coinage and the related bronze monument erected in front
of the Church of the Holy Apostles prominently feature both the emperor
on knee and the city of Constantinople, but a key distinction between the
two hinges on the relation of the imperial body and city. In monumental
bronze the city is positioned in the hands of the emperor as it is commended
to the archangel directly from him. On the coin, however, the emperor and
the city walls are physically disaggregated and relegated to separate faces.
A sense of distance is heightened by the different pictorial modes and the
format of coinage itself – one cannot take in the imagery of both faces
simultaneously. This distancing constitutes the key to understanding the
imagery, and it stands in sharp contrast to other numismatic conventions
for depicting cities and their rulers.
Throughout the thirteenth century, coinage from Thessalonike, the
empire’s second city and second mint, combined depiction of its ruler,
saint, and city. Cécile Morrisson has argued that their appearance together
on the same face of the coin conveys a distinctive sense of “polis identity”
on Thessalonian coinage. Her study of this material draws its title, “The
Emperor, the Saint, and the City,” from the iconography of the reverse
of a billon trachy of Manuel Komnenos Doukas, who ruled Thessalonike
from 1230 to 1237.68 On this coin, the despot and the city’s patron saint
Demetrios are shown enthroned jointly supporting a model of the city of
Thessalonike, which is identified by inscription and depicted as a fortified
town with three great towers. A related iconography appears on the reverse
of the “coronation issue” of the despot’s older brother and predecessor,
Theodore Komnenos Doukas (r. Thessalonike 1225–30). Here the ruler and
saint are represented standing and Demetrios presents the city model to
Theodore (Figure 3.13).69 The coinage of the two successive rulers of Thes-
salonike portrays their authority in close and direct relationship to their city.
Theodore receives the city from the saint, and Manuel jointly holds the city

68 Cécile Morrisson, “The Emperor, the Saint, and the City,” 179 and fig. 14. The obverse of this
coin depicts St Michael standing in military dress holding a sword. Morrisson’s penetrating
study of the construction of Thessalonian identity conveyed through coinage lays the
groundwork for my thinking about the newly restored Byzantine capital. Cutler,
Transfigurations, 112–13, invokes these Thessalonian precedents in order to argue that the
design of Michael’s coinage was not “created ex nihilo.” Morrisson, “The Emperor, the Saint,
and the City,” 183, points out that the iconography was already well established under the
Doukas rulers in Thessalonike and was “simply taken over” in Nicaea by John III Vatatzes and
then inspired the Palaiologoi. In the later fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries,
Thessalonian models had an impact on the coinage of Constantinople too (189). On Manuel
Komnenos Doukas and his coinage, see DOC IV/2, 566–77.
69 Morrisson, “The Emperor, the Saint, and the City,” 180 and figs. 6 and 7; and DOC IV/2, plate
XXXVIII, no. 2. On Theodore Komnenos Doukas and his coinage, see DOC IV/2, 543–65.

Figure 3.13 Electrum trachy (trikephalon),

“coronation issue,” of Theodore Komnenos
Doukas, Thessalonike, Virgin orans/St
Demetrios presenting city model to the
emperor, Dumbarton Oaks
BZC.1960.88.4205.D2012

along with the saint. Moreover, holding and being presented with a model
of the city were by no means the only ways of representing Thessalonike on
its coinage.70 On a billon trachy of John Komnenos Doukas, a bust-length
image of the emperor rises above a schematic indication of the city’s walls,71
while on another he appears under an archway of the city.72 On coins such
as these, the close and contiguous association of the ruler and city becomes
a means of visually proclaiming rule, and it remains a consistent feature in
Thessalonian coinage from this point onwards.73
These traditions were established by the time that Michael consolidated
power in Nicaea, reconquered Constantinople, and struck gold coinage in
the restored imperial capital. Indeed, given the varied numismatic prece-
dents in Thessalonike for linking imperial power to the city, one would
expect that the 1261 Byzantine restoration of Constantinople might inspire
a similar image on the coinage of the capital city. And in fact one of Michael’s
copper trachea struck in Constantinople does depict the emperor on the

70 On the lead seal of John Komnenos Doukas (r. 1237–42), Demetrios rests a hand on the
shoulder of the emperor while the crenellated walls of the city are seen in the background on
the right. Morrisson, “The Emperor, the Saint, and the City,” fig. 15.
71 Ibid., fig. 24. 72 Ibid., fig. 25.
73 As Morrisson (ibid., 180) puts it: “The emperor holding or being handed the city remains a
constant theme in all subsequent reigns down to the mid-fourteenth century and is typical of
the local ideology of the polis.”

(a) (b)

Figure 3.14 (a) Copper trachea of Michael VIII Palaiologos, Constantinople, Class
XIV: bust of Christ/emperor seated with labrum and city model (DOC V/2, no. 85),
Dumbarton Oaks BZC.1974.5.22.D2012. (b) Copper trachea of Michael VIII
Palaiologos, Constantinople, Class XIV: redrawn after S. Bendall and P. Donald, The
Billon Trachea of Michael VIII Palaeologos, 1258–1282 (London, 1974), 12 (cat. no.
C.14)

reverse seated and holding in one hand a labrum and a model of the city in
the other (Figure 3.14).74 But the main numismatic image of Constantino-
ple is of an entirely different order. In no way can the walls of Michael’s
hyperpyron compare to a miniature model of the city along the lines of archi-
tectural models so common in the Byzantine donor image and typical of
Thessalonian coinage. Not only does it depart radically in terms of the pic-
torial strategies – the city walls are laid out aerially and not frontally –
but it also differs in its triangulation of the imperial and holy figures
and the city ramparts. Unlike the coins struck in Thessalonike, where the
emperor–saint–city triad features together on one side of the coin, they are
divided between the two faces on Michael’s Constantinopolitan hyperpyra.75
By distancing the imperial body from the city’s ramparts, which frame the

74 DOC V/2, no. 85 (BZC.1974.5.22.D2012). Class XIV (DOC V/2, nos. 84–5) is the only type to
depict Constantinople as a city model in the hands of the emperor, and it does not depict the
emperor holding the city on knee or presenting it to another, as the emperor’s monumental
bronze statue does. The obverse depicts a bust of Christ. Detail is difficult to make out on these
poorly struck specimens, but it is clear that they follow Thessalonian conventions in that the
city model is pictured in the emperor’s hands. Noticeably, unlike the Thessalonian models, the
emperor does not receive or share the city with a saint on this coin.
75 To be clear, as Morrisson, “The Emperor, the Saint, and the City,” 181, notes, the emperor,
saint, and city do not appear together on the same face of any coins struck in Magnesia or
Constantinople.

Virgin instead, Michael’s gold coin emphasizes the city (its walls) as the
domain of the Virgin, not the emperor.
This distancing, paired with the imagery of imperial prostration on the
reverse, lends a sense of piety and humility to the design of the coin as a
whole. Morrisson has acknowledged that the message of commemoration
on the gold coin’s obverse is complicated by the reverse’s mood of mod-
esty and piousness that implies, on the contrary, imperial authority and
legitimation:

avec une grande économie de moyens, la monnaie commémore la reconquête de

la ville et fait de cette ville le symbole d’un empire restauré. Cependant, le nouvel
empereur, par son attitude modeste et pieuse, rend grâce à l’action divine. Celle-ci
à son tour lui confère une autorité et une légitimité implicites.76

This astute reading merits elaboration because the complicated message of

commemoration and legitimation is based on a dialogue between both faces
of the coin. While separate messages are evoked on each side, when read
together and seen in the succession demanded by the format of coinage,
each side contributes to the inauguration of a third implicit message of
divinely sanctioned legitimacy.
Read separately, the two faces of the coin celebrate the two main inaugural
events of the later Byzantine period: the imperial restoration of Constantino-
ple on the obverse and the coronation of the first Palaiologan emperor on
the reverse. The obverse is a commemorative image entirely appropriate for
gold coinage struck in the restored Byzantine Empire in its iconic pictori-
alization of the special relationship between the city and the Virgin, and in
its celebration of the return of her favor to the newly renewed imperial city.
The reverse depicts a pious scene of supplication in which Michael appears
on knee with the support of his angelic advocate and is blessed by Christ in
a gesture that implies the sanctioning of imperial authority, hence stressing
his coronation. Read together, however, a third facet emerges: humility and,
by extension, absolution and legitimacy.
By relegating the city’s walls to the side of the Virgin and not the emperor,
the coin ultimately suggests that the Byzantine restoration of the capital was
divinely accomplished. This accords well with the emperor’s own explana-
tion of the conquest of Constantinople in typika, which, as noted in the pre-
vious chapter, was attributed to divine will, not the strength of his troops or
his diplomatic acumen.77 Moreover, by implication, the rise of Palaiologoi

76 Morrisson, “L’hyperpère de Michel VIII,” 84.

77 Morrisson (ibid., 84–6) concludes her reading of the coin on this note, with reference to the
emperor’s autobiography (the Mount Auxentios typikon).

is divinely sanctioned. Both are recurring themes in Michael’s rhetoric.

Again, recall that in contemporary sources the emperor’s role is described
in terms of instrumentality. His gold coinage underscores a similar message.
Morrisson insightfully calls attention to the “more personal signification”
of Michael’s gold hyperpyron: by keeping the city on the other side of the
coin from the emperor himself, the design suggests the divine origins of his
deeds and the divine sanction of his rule. Michael is implicitly absolved of
his heinous sins relating to his rise to sole rule.78 In one sense, this creates a
generally pious or humble image of imperium – much like his own verbal
rhetoric where he credits the reconquest of Constantinople to divine will.
On another level, however, the coin emphasizes legitimation and thus paves
the divinely sanctioned way for the future rule of his line.
The imagery of the Virgin of the Walls and the imperial scene of sup-
plication and presentation celebrate the restored Byzantine city and its
centrality in the early Palaiologan conception of empire. In this sense, the
coin projects a victorious image, and yet upon close scrutiny, the terms of
the imagery reveal that the coin ultimately constitutes a statement of instru-
mentality, divine sanction, and, by implication, absolution and legitimacy.
Given the circumstances of Michael’s rise to the throne and his concerns for
establishing dynastic strength, these are crucial messages. Although the first
Palaiologan emperor’s reign was marked by double excommunication, his
image as the humble and divinely sanctioned ruler of the restored empire
circulates on his gold coinage. While silver and copper coins exhibit a great
deal of variety, this coin’s iteration of imperial instrumentality remains the
consistent gold image throughout his deeply fraught rule. The insistence of
this golden image of divine legitimation underscores how Michael’s coinage
negotiated the weakness of his dynastic claims as part of his construction
and consolidation of sovereignty.

Conclusion: sins of the Palaiologan father and the end of gold

The Virgin of the Walls on Michael VIII’s hyperpyron set the standard
for subsequent Palaiologan gold coinage, appearing on the coins of both
Andronikos II and John V. Virtually as long as gold was struck in Con-
stantinople, the Virgin of the Walls remained its defining feature.79 Unlike

78 In Morrisson’s words, “the divine origin of Michael’s power who is thus in a way absolved of
his usurpation and subsequent murder of John IV Laskaris.” Morrisson, “The Emperor, the
Saint, and the City,” 181.
79 Cutler, Transfigurations, 112, asserts that “it is hardly an exaggeration to suggest that when and
as long as gold was minted in the capital, the emblem remained canonical for Palaeologan

this enduring gold image of commemoration, scholarly assessment of

Michael’s reign has tended to emphasize his short-sightedness. The costs of
his crowning achievements, the reclamation of Constantinople celebrated
on his gold coinage, carried detrimental long-term consequences. Early
on, this is evidenced by the liberal terms of the Treaty of Nymphaion. For
the restoration of the imperial city, he ceded key maritime advantages and
opened up the monetary market. Upon assuming the throne, in contrast
to his Nicene predecessors, Michael implemented a heavy taxation pro-
gram, which was described by many detractors as rapacious.80 Moreover,
in order to avert another siege (the Sicilian Vespers), he sought papal sup-
port, and to appease the papacy, he agreed to a Union of Churches in 1274.
This was much more than a personal conversion, for the Council of Lyons
subjugated the entire Byzantine populace to the Latin Church.81 This only
exacerbated the heinousness of his usurpation. His breaking of oaths, his
violence against the young Laskarid, and his ultimate removal of the Patri-
arch Arsenios prompted the Arsenite Schism, which endured for nearly half
a century. Opponents of Michael’s administration were treated harshly; the
period after the blinding and exile of John IV has been described as a reign
of terror rife with intimidation tactics and violence.82 Holobolos’s treat-
ment is but one example: his nose and lips were cut and he was paraded
through the streets of Constantinople smeared in dung and beaten along
with other Laskarid supporters.83 Issues of legitimacy remained contentious
throughout the thirteenth century, with the Laskarid cause often erupting
in violence.84
These divisive issues were left for Michael VIII’s son and successor,
and consideration of the coinage of Andronikos II reveals a negotiation
of this distinctly unpopular imperial legacy. Having inherited a restored but

die-cutters.” As Grierson, DOC V/1, 48, puts it: “it evidently gave such satisfaction that it was
retained till the hyperpyron coinage came to an end.” The obverse image also appears on a
coin once attributed to Manuel II, but Grierson, DOC V/1, 214–15, firmly asserts that it is a
fake.
80 Angelov, Imperial Ideology, 274–80.
81 It should be noted that the prepared throne, or hetoimasia, appears as a single issue of silver
and copper trachea of Michael VIII, an iconography that has been associated with the Council
of Lyons. See DOC V/1, 89 and 113.
82 Shawcross, “In the Name of the True Emperor,” describes it as such. See also Nicol, Last
Centuries, 95.
83 Pachymeres, Relations Historiques (Failler, ed.), I, 258–9.
84 Two rebellions against the Palaiologan usurpation in the name of the wronged Laskarid were
quelled. As Shawcross, “In the Name of the True Emperor,” 203, states, “from generation to
generation, the name of Laskaris remained on the lips of those who sought to take a stand
against the Palaiologoi.”

impoverished empire from his father, his first act was to repudiate Michael’s
unionist agenda and to return the oikoumene to Orthodoxy. For this,
Andronikos was hailed in oratory as a New Constantine and New Zorobabel.
These were the same epithets invoked for his father, but for Andronikos they
signified his dissolution of the Church union policy of his father. While his
father freed Constantinople from Latin rule and restored it as the Byzantine
imperial capital, Andronikos liberated the city from the Latin Church and
restored it as the Orthodox Christian capital.
Even after restoring Orthodoxy, however, the Arsenite Schism threatened
the unity of the Church and Andronikos II’s rule. He made concerted efforts
to make amends and heal the rifts caused by his father’s policies, and also to
distance himself from his father.85 To this end, Andronikos sought out John
Laskaris in 1289–90, then an exiled and blind prisoner in Asia Minor, and
asked for his forgiveness and blessing. Furthermore, in 1304 he delivered a
public speech of apology for his father’s sin and transgression.86
Andronikos II also negotiated his father’s problematic legacy by appropri-
ating key symbols of the opposition or resistance to the Palaiologan admin-
istration. In what has been called a “shrewd and effective way of neutraliz-
ing the power of a dreaded rival,” Andronikos promoted the cult of John
Laskaris, who was posthumously venerated as a saint in Constantinople.87
His remains were deposited in the very monastery of Saint Demetrios of the
Palaiologos that had been founded by George Palaiologos in the twelfth
century and later received the substantial patronage of Michael VIII.88
Moreover, in 1284 the remains of Aresnios Autorianos were transferred from
the island of Prokonnesos, where he had died in 1273, to Constantinople and
were venerated in the Great Church.89 Teresa Shawcross has read the pro-
motion of both these anti-establishment cults not as acts of capitulation but

85 In the words of Angelov, Imperial Ideology, 369, “the disagreement of the Arsenites with the
church and its official representative took on distinct political overtones, as they put in
question the legitimacy of the Palaiologan dynasty born in sin and excommunication.”
86 For Shawcross, “In the Name of the True Emperor,” 215–16, this insistence suggests that the
Laskarid cause “still continued to have some resonance.” See also Angelov, Imperial Ideology,
369.
87 Shawcross, “In the Name of the True Emperor,” 224.
88 For Shawcross (ibid., 221), the housing of the Laskarid remains explains Theodora
Palaiologina’s patronage of the Lips monastery as a Palaiologan family mausoleum. See also
Ruth Macrides, “Saints and Sainthood in the Early Palaiologan Period” in Sergei Hackel (ed.),
The Byzantine Saint (Crestwood, 1981), 67–87 (71–3 for John IV and 73–9 for Arsenios); and
Alice-Mary Talbot, “Cult and Pilgrimage: The Translation of Relics in the Palaiologan Period”
in Pilgrimage of Life: Studies in Honour of Professor René Gothóni (Helsinki, 2010), 271–82.
89 Then his body was later moved to the convent of St Andrew in Krisei by Theodora Raoulaina, a
staunch Arsenite supporter. This episode is discussed in depth by Alice-Mary Talbot in “The
Relics of New Saints: Deposition, Translation and Veneration in Middle and Late Byzantium,”

of clever ideological appropriation. This is suggested by the most unusual

manner in which the end of the Arsenite Schism was celebrated in 1310. The
uncorrupted body of Arsenios was dressed in sacerdotal vestments, brought
to the sanctuary of the Great Church, and installed on a throne. Placed
in his hand was the decree of absolution from excommunication, which
was then read aloud by the current patriarch.90 In this elaborately staged
performance of absolution, Andronikos thus co-opted the sacred body of
his enemy who had excommunicated his father.
In light of such a creative ritual manipulation of his father’s deeply prob-
lematic legacy, Andronikos II’s numismatic image, as we might expect,
emphasizes his imperial lineage and also exhibits a great degree of piety.
The design of his first gold coinage continues his father’s precedent by pic-
turing the Virgin of the Walls on its obverse and an image of the emperor
kneeling before Christ on its reverse (Figures 3.15 and 3.16).91 The obverse
image is virtually unchanged from that of Michael VIII’s coin, but the
imperial configuration of the reverse exhibits subtle though significant
differences. Here Christ stands erect and reaches down with one hand to

paper presented at the 2011 Dumbarton Oaks Spring Symposium. I thank the author for
sharing with me a draft of her paper in advance of its publication. The translation of Arsenios’s
body to Hagia Sophia is discussed by Pachymeres, Relations Historiques (Failler, ed.), III, 95–9.
90 This “bizarre” ceremony was the culmination of Andronikos II’s historical revisionism. See
Shawcross, “In the Name of the True Emperor,” 233–4. While alive, Arsenios had reiterated his
excommunication of Michael VIII in his testament of 1273 (and extended his anathema to
anyone who would challenge its authenticity). But Andronikos dismissed the document as a
forgery and even spread the word that Arsenios supported Andronikos’s rule. On the end of
the Arsenite Schism, see V. Laurent, “Les grandes crises religieuses à Byzance: la fin du schisme
Arsénite,” Bulletin de la Section historique, Académie roumaine, 26 (1945), 225–313; Joan M.
Hussey, The Orthodox Church in the Byzantine Empire (Oxford, 1986), 235–54; and Nicol, Last
Centuries, 105ff.
91 DOC V/2, 228 (Whittemore Loan 1951.31.4.1913) and 234 (BZC.1960.88.4451.D2012). On
Andronikos’s gold coinage, see DOC V/1, 126–37 (with Table 11). The Virgin of the Walls
forms the obverse of all his gold hyperpyra. For Class I coinage, the obverse bears the Virgin of
the Walls with six towers and the reverse depicts Christ standing holding a book and touching
the emperor crouching in proskynesis. There are two variations: in one Andronikos is nimbate
(DOC V/2, nos. 220–8) and in the other he lacks a nimbus (DOC V/2, nos. 229–34). His
second type of gold coinage depicts on its reverse Andronikos II and Michael IX kneeling on
either side of Christ, and on the obverse the Virgin of the Walls with six towers (DOC V/2, nos.
235–61) and with four towers (DOC V/2, nos. 262–492). The reduction of towers, according to
Grierson, DOC V/1, 128, allows more space for privy marks. On a third type of hyperpyron,
Christ blesses Andronikos II and Andronikos III (DOC V/2, nos. 493–503). These joint issues
will be discussed in greater depth below. The subtle shifts in the main
types – from proskynesis with nimbus to no nimbus and from city walls with six to four
towers – reflects a simplification of design, a paring down of detail. Note that the Virgin of the
Walls, though essentially the same as on Michael VIII’s coin (depending on the number of
towers), is rendered much less carefully.

(a) (b)

Figure 3.15a–b Gold hyperpyron of Andronikos II Palaiologos, Constantinople, Class

I: Virgin and the walls/Christ blessing the crouching emperor (DOC V/2, no. 228),
Harvard Art Museums/Arthur M. Sackler Museum, bequest of Thomas Whittemore,
1951. 31.4.1913, Dumbarton Oaks, Whittemore Loan WH 764.D2012

(a) (b)

Figure 3.16a–b Gold hyperpyron of Andronikos II Palaiologos, Constantinople, Class

I: Virgin and the walls/Christ blessing the crouching emperor (DOC V/2, no. 234),
Dumbarton Oaks BZC.1960.88.4451.D2012

touch the crown of Andronikos in the lower-left corner. In the place of the
saint on his father’s coin92 is a lengthy inscription that lists considerably more

92 Andronikos does appear with his own saintly namesake; see DOC V/1, 77 and DOC V/2,
nos. 686–8.

elaborate nomenclature. In fact, according to Grierson, these early coins of

Andronikos present “the fullest imperial title that ever occurs on a Byzan-
tine coin.”93 Michael VIII’s coinage generally included the abbreviation for
his first name (ΜΧ or ΧΜ), the title despotes, and, when room was available,
an abbreviated form of Palaiologos.94 The more lengthy inscriptions of the
early coinage of Andronikos resemble the emperor’s full traditional titula-
ture of imperial documents.95 The first coins of Andronikos thus visually
echo his father’s coinage designs, but elaborate his official nomenclature
and in so doing elaborate the legitimacy of his rule.
The most dramatic departure of Andronikos II’s coinage from that of his
father, however, is the emperor’s posture, which constitutes a much deeper
form of proskynesis than the mere kneeling position of Michael VIII on his
coin. Andronikos’s nearly horizontal torso forms a deep bow best described
as crouching.96 The configuration is much closer to the unnamed emperor
in the narthex mosaic at Hagia Sophia (Figure 2.17) than the numismatic
image of his father, who, despite his kneeling position, holds his torso and

93 Grierson, DOC V/1, 7, 96, 131. The fullest inscription is on a specimen in the British Museum:
ΑΝΔΡΟΝΙΚΟC ΕΝ ΧΡΙCΤΩ ΤΩ ΘΕΩ ΠΙCΤΟC ΒΑCΙΛΕΥC ΚΑΙ ΑΥΤΟΚΡΑΤΩΡ ΚΟΜΝΗΝΟC Ο
ΠΑΛΑΙΟΛΟΓΟC. On some of Andronikos’s gold coinage, he too is merely designated despotes,
but others bear a much more lengthy inscription.
94 The numerous inscription variations have led Grierson, DOC V/1, 7, to speculate that the mint
probably received no special instructions. On the title despotes, see R. Guilland, “Le Despote
(ὁ δεσπότης),” REB, 17 (1959), 52–89 [repr. R. Guilland, Recherches sur les institutions
byzantines II (Berlin, 1967), 1–24]; and Albert Failler, “Les insignes et la signature du despote,”
REB, 40 (1982), 171–86.
95 Grierson, DOC V/1, 95–6, points out that the lengthiest of Andronikos II’s inscriptions
includes the standard phrase of official imperial documents ἐν Χριστῷ τῷ θεῷ πιστὸς βασιλεὺς
καὶ αὐτοκράτωρ ῾Ρωμαίων.
96 As described by Grierson in DOC V/1, 68–9, where he distinguishes between the emperor
kneeling and the emperor in proskynesis. Spatharakis, “Proskynesis,” 191, argues that
Andronikos II’s coin “is the only Byzantine coin we have on which an emperor is shown in
proskynesis.” While it is true that his posture is a deeper, more intense form of proskynesis than
his father’s, as noted in the last chapter, the term proskynesis should be understood to
encompass a wider range of gestures – from full prone abasement to a nod or bow. Cutler has
treated this posture on this coinage in Transfigurations, 54–6. The kneeling position of Michael
VIII’s coin was used on one issue of Andronikos II’s billon trachea (cf. Cutler, Transfigurations,
55 n. 16). Andronikos III is also represented kneeling before Christ in a similar manner to
Michael VIII. Natalia Teteriatnikov, “The New Image of Byzantine Noblemen in Palaiologan
Art,” Quaderni Utinensi, 15(16) (1996), 310, has read the transition from Michael VIII’s
upright kneeling to Andronikos II’s deeper proskynesis teleologically and has traced its
emulation by later Byzantine aristocrats such as Metochites at the Chora. See Ševčenko’s
insightful treatment of this kneeling posture in relation to later Byzantine patronage in “The
Portrait of Theodore Metochites.” As for the singularity of the coin of an emperor bent low,
Jonathan Shea brought to my attention a coin attributed to John V published by Simon
Bendall, “Longuet’s Salonica Hoard Reexamined,” American Journal of Numismatics/Museum
Notes, 29 (1984), 143–58.

head upright and frontal (Figures 3.2–3.4a). Frontality, indicative of hier-

atic majesty, is entirely absent on Andronikos’s coin. His body is positioned
in complete profile with both hands directed toward Christ in supplica-
tion. Overall his coin accentuates proskynesis much more than presenta-
tion. Andronikos does not return the viewer’s gaze directly; his attention
remains locked in the scene of supplication.97 The distinctiveness of the
deep kneeling posture in fact became the coin’s defining feature according
to the thirteenth-century Italian merchant Pegolotti, who described it as
“kneeler” type (inginocchiati).98
Another distinctive feature of Andronikos II’s main type of gold coinage
is that he appears with a halo in one variation and without a halo in another.
In the first, the nimbate head of the crouching emperor is turned up toward
Christ beseeching (Figures 3.15). In the second, the emperor’s face is seen
in three-quarter angle, without a halo, looking off into the distance in a
manner that most strongly recalls the unnamed emperor in proskynesis in
the narthex of Hagia Sophia (Figures 3.16). No suitable explanation for the
presence or absence of a halo has been proposed,99 but the appearance of
a halo in and of itself is significant, as it marks the beginning of a shift in
numismatic conventions.
Although the emperor is often distinguished by a halo in Byzantine art, as
in the imperial mosaics throughout Hagia Sophia in Constantinople (Fig-
ures 0.1–0.3 and 2.16–2.17), it was not customary for coinage to depict
the emperor nimbate. Roman coinage did represent the emperor with a
nimbus, and while this practice figured occasionally into the fifth and sixth
centuries for special issues, it became obsolete by the beginning of the

97 According to Grierson, DOC V/1, 69, his head is “awkwardly twisted so that he looks away
from Christ and toward the spectator” (a similar statement can be found at 131). Grierson also
points out that this “crouching in deep adoration” occurs not only on Andronikos’s Type I
hyperpyra but also on other coins of the same emperor and Andronikos III.
98 On Pegolotti, see DOC V/1, 20–1. The Italian merchant’s description problematizes our
assumptions about the prioritization of the two faces of coinage. As mentioned above,
Pachymeres singles out the city representation as the characteristic image of Michael VIII’s
coin without reference to the innovative imperial imagery on the reverse. On the other hand,
Pegolotti refers to the gold coinage of Andronikos II as a “kneeler type” (inginocchiati) and also
describes the image of Christ with two emperors as the “three saints” type, in so doing
identifying both coins by the face bearing the imperial imagery. Ambiguity then exists as to the
priority of the face – at least according to this contemporary account. See DOC V/1, 44–5 and
108; and Grierson, Byzantine Coins, 291.
99 Grierson, DOC V/1, 67, suggests that the presence of the nimbus on Andronikos’s coin was “no
more than an aberration of a particular die-sinker,” a position objected to by Morrisson and
Bendall, “Monnaies de la fin de l’empire byzantin,” 488. The halo’s presence is also read as a
chronological marker by Grierson, DOC V/1, 131, and the nimbate series was the first of
Andronikos’s reign.

seventh century.100 Despite the originality of the design as a whole, Michael

VIII’s coinage maintains the traditions of his immediate predecessors by
not depicting the emperor with a halo. Against this traditionalism, the
appearance – and then disappearance – of an imperial halo on the second
Palaiologan emperor gives us note for pause. Beginning with the coinage
of Andronikos II, the nimbate emperor became more common on later
Byzantine coinage.101 With the exception of the dynasty’s founder, Palaiolo-
gan coinage revives the ancient numismatic tradition and conforms to the
norm for imperial representation in other media.
But perhaps more suggestive than the revival of more ancient numismatic
conventions is the very fact of its differentiation from the coinage designs
of Andronikos II’s father, who was decidedly not represented nimbate. For
a ruler deeply invested in recuperating a problematic imperial legacy, as the
son of an excommunicated usurper, the emergence of a halo, even if not
consistently present for the duration of his long rule, is significant: at a time
before the end of the Arsenite Schism, and before the sacred corpse of the
former patriarch was displayed with his father’s absolution text, the presence
of the halo should be read as a means of distancing Andronikos from his
heretical father. And the marker of this distancing of the new legitimate
imperial son from his heretical father is the halo, the most legible visual
marker of sanctity.
The combination of the deep genuflection of proskynesis, beseeching
gesture, and halo suggests penitence for his father’s sins. Spatharakis has
argued that since Christ is shown touching Andronikos II’s head while he
is in proskynesis, the coin expresses “both an aspect of begging and grateful
response.”102 The sins of his father are clearly the source of his beseeching
and the coin pictures the favorable outcome of the supplication exchange.
It has been argued earlier in this chapter that the reverse image of Michael’s
gold coin also presented a full and successful cycle of supplication, with
the emperor on knee receiving the blessing of Christ, but facing frontally
as a scene of presentation in which the crowned emperor is displayed as a
terrestrial counterpart to Christ. The detailed attention to Michael’s crown
emphasizes this. On Andronikos II’s coinage, both the coins with and
without halo, the emperor is also shown as successful in his supplication;
the emphasis, however, is less on displaying the blessed emperor to the

100 On this, see DOC V/1, 67.

101 It does not become a consistent part of Palaiologan coinage until the later fourteenth century.
Grierson points out that a halo appears on “virtually the whole coinage of Manuel II, John
VII, and John VIII, and Constantine XI.”
102 Spatharakis, “Proskynesis,” 203.

viewer and is more invested in showcasing the emperor’s very penance and
supplication. The difference between the two is not absolute, but one of
degree and emphasis.
Andronikos II’s second type of gold hyperpyron preserves his father’s
obverse design of the Virgin of the Walls, and on its reverse it introduces his
successors, first his son Michael IX and then later his grandson Andronikos
III. One of the distinctive features of Palaiologan coinage is the occurrence
of joint rulers on coinage.103 The precedent for such association coinage
was set by Michael VIII, who issued a coin to celebrate the coronation of
Andronikos II as co-emperor in November 1272.104 Class VIII silver trachea
depict the first and second Palaiologan emperors together side by side on
knee below a bust-length image of St Michael, whose hands reach down to
touch their crowns (Figure 3.6).105 The two appear together on a number
of copper coins as well.106 Andronikos II’s second class of gold hyperpyra,
which were first struck in 1294,107 follow the model of his father’s silver and
bronze coins for the basic configuration of the reverse. In these Andronikos
and his son Michael IX appear symmetrically arranged on knee, and between
them an elongated figure of Christ reaches down and touches each of their
crowns. According to numismatic conventions for signifying precedence,

103 Generally on coins where two rulers were associated, it was standard for the senior emperor to
appear on the left and the junior on the right. Precedence could also be suggested by size and
the presence or absence of a beard (the junior partner to appear smaller and beardless). See
DOC V/1, 7–8, 72, 106 (with bibliography).
104 There is some debate about when exactly Andronikos II was made co-emperor. Grierson,
DOC V/1, 127, calls his long reign “a singularly unhappy one” and it certainly was in terms of
dynastic succession. Andronikos ruled in his own right from the time of Michael’s death in
1282 until 1328 (and he died in 1332). Andronikos’s son Michael IX was crowned co-emperor
in 1294, but then died in 1320, and his son, Andronikos III, was recognized as co-emperor in
1317. See below on the struggle over the succession. The principal study of Andronikos II’s
reign remains Angeliki Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins: The Foreign Policy of Andronicus
II, 1282–1328 (Cambridge, 1972). See also Nicol, Last Centuries, 91–147.
105 Class VIII: DOC V/2, no. (36). Similar reverse imagery appears on Class XVI silver trachea
with the two imperial figures being blessed by Christ rather than St Michael: DOC V/2,
no. (44). Grierson describes the figures on no. (44) as kneeling, while for no. (36), he
describes them as bust length.
106 For the joint copper coins of Michael VIII and Andronikos II, see DOC V/2, 197–211.
107 Shortly before Michael died in 1282, Andronikos’s son Michael (IX) was associated with him
as co-emperor as a means of mapping out the succession and precluding any claims to the
throne by Michael VIII’s other children and their heirs. In particular, this line of imperial
descent precludes Andronikos’s younger brother, Constantine, who was born in the restored
Byzantine imperial capital, and was thus a true porphyrogennetos, from asserting his
legitimacy. As Grierson, DOC V/1, 104, points out, the logic underlying the association of
Andronikos II and Michael IX was to “exclude any claims that could be put forwards in favor
of Constantine on the grounds that he was born after Michael VIII’s accession and was
therefore a porphyrogenitus.”

(a) (b)

Figure 3.17a–b Gold hyperpyron of Andronikos II Palaiologos and Michael IX

Palaiologos, Constantinople, Class II: Virgin and the walls/Christ with Andronikos II
on l. and Michael IX on r. (DOC V/2, no. 236), Dumbarton Oaks
BZC.1960.88.5296.D2012

Andronikos appears on the left and is represented with a beard, while his
beardless son is on the right (Figure 3.17).108 This same visual formula was
repeated when Michael IX died in 1320 and his son Andronikos III was
crowned. The configuration of the coins of Andronikos II and Andronikos
III is identical – with the name of Michael IX replaced by Andronikos III –
but both senior and junior emperors appear bearded.109
Grierson attributes the prevalence of association coinages in the later
Byzantine period to dynastic insecurities.110 Such coins map out future
intentions by publicly displaying the intended order of succession. With
numismatic images of co-rule, Andronikos II included his heir on coinage

108 DOC V/2, no. 236 (BZC.1960.88.5296.D2012). Sometimes the figures are interchanged and
this has caused a great deal of speculation. On association coinages, see notes 103 above and
110 below.
109 DOC V/2, nos. 493–503.
110 According to Grierson, DOC V/1, 8, there was no systematic practice of associating co-rulers
on Palaiologan coins: “the Palaeologans, like the Comnenians before them, did not practice
association on the coins in any systematic fashion, one emperor might do so, another not.”
On Palaiologan association coinage, see Grierson DOC V/1, 129–30 (with bibliography); P.
Protonotarios, “The Hyperpyra of Andronikos II and Michael IX (1295–1320) with
Transposed Effigies and Names of the Emperors or with Transposed Legends Only,”
Νομισμάτικα Χρονικά, 4 (1976), 42–6; Simon Bendall, “Hyperpyra of Andronikos II and
Michael IX with Transposed Effigies,” RN, 150 (1995), 127–32. As noted above, Pegolotti, who
described Andronikos II’s singly issued gold coin as a “kneeler” (inginocchiati), describes this
second major gold type erroneously as “three saints” (tre santi) because of the three figures.

in order to preclude his brother’s claims. We see in these coins an attempt

to secure clearly delineated Palaiologan succession across two generations.
Just as coinage designs look forward by projecting authority in advance and
thus establishing an expected transmission of power, they also look back-
wards and create a sense of continuity, in that Andronikos II’s association
coinage maintains his father’s iconography of the Virgin of the Walls on its
obverse.
The half-century-long reign of Andronikos II ended with the eruption
of civil war. In 1320 the elder emperor disinherited his grandson, who had
appeared at his side on his gold coinage, and a revolt ensued.111 Following
the discovery of a plot to dethrone the elder emperor, Andronikos III was
arrested, but escaped to Adrianople, where he was proclaimed emperor by
his supporters. In 1321, when it became clear that his army was poised for an
attack on Constantinople, Andronikos II agreed to partition the empire and
grant Andronikos III sovereignty over the area around Adrianople. As a com-
mentary on these events, Andronikos II issued a silver coin representing the
emperor with the Prophet Ahijah, who in 3 Kings 11:29 presages the division
of the Kingdoms of Judah and Israel.112 If Grierson is correct in this identifi-
cation, the coin invokes Old Testament precedent in support of the present
conflict. Like the Kingdom of Israel, the partition between the two imperial
Andronikoi was a substantial step in the disintegration of the late Byzantine
Empire. A year later, the partition experiment failed and Andronikos II was
forced to concede to joint rule with his grandson over the whole empire,
and by 1328 the elderly emperor was forced to abdicate entirely.
The conflict between Andronikos II and Andronikos III left the empire
weakened and divided, and established the factions for the second Civil
War (1341–7). The death of Andronikos III in 1341 triggered a struggle
for the regency of the nine-year-old heir to his throne, John V Palaiologos.
The contest was between the deceased emperor’s trusted advisor, the megas
domestikos John (VI) Kantakouzenos, and his widow, Anna of Savoy. Taking
advantage of Kantakouzenos’s absence from the capital on campaign at the
time of Andronikos III’s death, the coalition of Anna of Savoy, Patriarch XIV
Kalekas, and Alexios Apokaukos declared their own regency and confiscated
Kantakouzenos’s property. In so doing they triggered a war that lasted until
1346, at which point Kantakouzenos and the young John V ruled together

111 The revolt was precipitated by this event, but was caused by a deeper anti-aristocratic and
class-based rationale. See Nicol, Last Centuries, 151–84.
112 DOC V/1, 77, 96, and 143–5. This fourth group of basilica is represented by only two
specimens.

(a) (b)

Figure 3.18a–b Gold hyperpyron of John V Palaiologos, Constantinople, Andronikos

III kneeling before Christ/Anna and John (DOC V/2, no. 942), Dumbarton Oaks
BZC.1960.88.4636.D2012

as co-emperors.113 During the regency of Anna and John, a unique gold

hyperpyron was issued that speaks to the codification of legitimacy and
succession through coinage. The obverse image adopts the reverse design
of Michael VIII’s gold coin, with the emperor on knee before Christ, but in
what appears to be a posthumous imperial numismatic effigy, the deceased
Andronikos III is depicted on knee with Christ blessing him (Figure 3.18).
Standing effigies of Anna and John V constitute the reverse design with the
regent, noticeably taller in stature, occupying the place of honor.114 Rather
than the Virgin of the Walls, this coin features the posthumous portrait
of the deceased emperor, husband and father of the current rulers.115 The
coin maps the fragile genealogy of the imperial throne in an attempt to
strengthen the regency.
Shortly thereafter, the last true Byzantine gold coin was struck, during
the joint rules of John V and John VI Kantakouzenos (Figure 3.19).116 The

113 The second half of this study will further discuss the dynastic issues involved here. For an
overview of the events, see Nicol, Last Centuries, 185–295.
114 DOC V/2, no. 942 (BZC.1960.88.4636.D2012). Attributions for this coin are varied. See
DOC V/1, 176–7. On coinage of John’s minority, see DOC V/1, 175–81.
115 In addition to this coin, Anna of Savoy is associated with the so-called “politikon” coins. This
series of silver coins features an image of a fortified city or castle on its reverse with a cross
paired with the inscription ΤΟ ΠΟΛΙΤΙΚΟΝ on its obverse. See Hendy, Studies in the
Byzantine Monetary Economy, 532–5; Hendy, DOC IV/1; and Grierson, DOC V/1, 83, 193–9.
116 DOC V/2, no. 1193 (BZC.1956.23.5040.D2012). The joint coinage of John V and John VI
Kantakouzenos was issued sometime between 1347 and 1353; see DOC V/1, 182–6. As
Grierson makes clear (DOC V/1, 47), there are no known gold hyperpyra specimens from

(a) (b)

Figure 3.19a–b Gold hyperpyron of John V Palaiologos and John VI Kantakouzenos,

Constantinople, Virgin and the walls/Christ blessing John V and John VI (DOC V/2,
no. 1193), Dumbarton Oaks BZC.1956.23.5040.D2012

reverse of this final Byzantine hyperpyron features the two rulers on knee
blessed by Christ in the manner of previous Palaiologan association coins,
and the obverse returns to the iconic image of Virgin of the Walls, first
struck in 1261 by Michael VIII. Although the walls of the imperial capital
would stand unbreached until 1453, the Virgin of the Walls and gold coinage
altogether ceased to be struck in the mid-fourteenth century. From then on,
the gold hyperpyron constituted a money of account alone.

John VI’s sole reign or in the later years of John V’s rule. Technically, the final gold coin is the
so-called gold “florin” of John V, on which see DOC V/1, 44, 47, 79–80, and 193. This final
gold coin raises important questions about the relationship between Byzantine and Western
European numismatic conventions in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Byzantine
coinage in this period, as numismatists have long recognized, is intimately tied to the
development of Western European coinage. Scholars have pointed out the wide circulation in
the thirteenth century of the silver Venetian ducat (grosso) with the doge kneeling before St
Mark. The image of Michael VIII in the very public bronze monument and his widely
disseminated coinage thus participates in pan-Mediterranean material and iconographic
networks in addition to the particular Constantinopolitan agendas of legitimation argued
here. In this period we see similar developments in coinage across the Mediterranean. In
certain instances we see a wholesale adoption of western numismatic conventions, as in
Andronikos II’s silver basilikon, which is modeled on the Venetian coin, or John V’s “florin,”
which borrows the figure of St John from the “fiorino d’oro” of Florence. In some instances
the overlap is idiosyncratic, as, for example, in the enigmatic copper trachy of Andronikos II
that depicts the emperor alongside the doge kneeling (DOC V/1, 69). It can be no coincidence
that the numismatic kneeling ruler image, which is the hallmark of early Palaiologan coinage,
is related to Venetian coinage.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. Columbia University Libraries, on 28 May 2017 at 18:01:59, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.005
Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. Columbia University Libraries, on 28 May 2017 at 18:01:59, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.005
part ii

“Atoms of Epicurus”: the imperial image

as gift in an age of decline

Introduction to Part II

The civil wars of the mid-fourteenth century left the empire politically frag-
mented and financially depleted. In 1343, having already ensured that the
young John V Palaiologos was properly crowned, Anna of Savoy pawned the
imperial crown jewels to the Republic of Venice.1 The precious insignia of
imperium were dispatched to Venice as a surety for a loan of 30,000 ducats.
The money was never repaid and the crown jewels never returned to
Constantinople. Years later, a renegotiation of the terms of his mother’s
loan figured as part of another debt negotiation that ended in imperial
humiliation. In 1370 John V found himself in Venice unable to pay his
debts and without sufficient funds to cover his return to Constantinople.
As a solution he proposed ceding to Venice the commercially advanta-
geous island of Tenedos at the mouth of the Hellespont. In exchange,
the Venetians would return the crown jewels in addition to six warships
and 25,000 ducats. The emperor, however, was unable to deliver on this
promise. His eldest son, Andronikos IV, who had been appointed regent
in Constantinople, refused his father’s command and would not relinquish
the island. The emperor was thus left humiliated, with neither money nor
credit, and was detained as a hostage in Venice until his second son, the future
emperor Manuel II Palaiologos, came to his aid from Thessaloniki to pay his
bail.2

1 See Dölger, Regesten der Kaiserurkunden V, 9–10, no. 2891; T. Bertelè, “I gioielli della corona
bizantina dati in pegno alla repubblica veneta nel sec. XIV e Mastino II della Scala” in Studi
in onore di Amintore Fanfani II (Milan, 1962), 91–177; Barker, Manuel II, 443–5; J.
Chrysostomides, “John V Palaeologus in Venice (1370–1371) and the Chronicle of Caroldo: A
Re-interpretation,” OCP, 31 (1965), 76–84; D. Nicol, Byzantium and Venice: A Study in
Diplomatic and Cultural Relations (Cambridge, 1988), 259–62, 270–1; Nicol, Last Centuries,
199, 271; and Paul Hetherington, “The Jewels from the Crown: Symbol and Substance in the
Later Byzantine Imperial Regalia,” BZ, 96(1) (2003), 157–68.
2 Nicol, Last Centuries, 237, 272–3, 278–81. John V had earlier negotiated with Venice over rights
to Tenedos in the 1350s. This is not the last we will hear about Tenedos.
199

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. Boston University Theology Library, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:03, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.011
200 “Atoms of Epicurus”: the imperial image as gift in an age of decline

But why was the Emperor of Byzantium in Venice in the first place? No
Byzantine emperor before him had set foot there or traveled in person to
Western Europe at all. The notion of the emperor humbling himself before
“barbarian” lords would have been incomprehensible at any other point in
the empire’s history. One of the more striking contrasts between the earlier
and later Byzantine eras involves the degree to which the emperor took
an active and mobile role in diplomatic endeavors. Only in the fourteenth
century did emperors begin to travel in person to the West as diplomatic
suppliants seeking military assistance instead of sending and receiving del-
egations from Constantinople.
Earlier imperial protocol for receiving diplomatic delegates is instructive
in this regard. As is well known, in the tenth century Constantine Porphy-
rogenitos employed automata to terrify or at the very least to awe foreign
visitors to court, such as Liudprand of Cremona. In his attempt to create an
air of detachment, even intimidation, the emperor did not acknowledge the
envoy’s arrival or presence directly, and spoke to him only through a bureau-
cratic intermediary.3 In the fourteenth century, by contrast, Andronikos III
Palaiologos received Ibn Battuta without an elevating dais or any other
mechanical wonders. Moreover, the emperor inaugurated the exchange and
spoke directly to the emissary, through an interpreter but notably with-
out a court intermediary. Furthermore, the emperor tried to ease rather
than create apprehension and even expressed pleasure at the interchange.4
A crucial distinction in hierarchy emerges from these different imperial
receptions. While the loosening of the rigid protocol for imperial presen-
tation in the Palaiologan period suggests diminished distance and majesty,
it nonetheless constituted a reception: Battuta came to Andronikos.5 By

3 Upon rising from proskynesis immediately after witnessing the automated roaring lions and
elevating throne, Liudprand describes his interaction with the emperor as follows: the emperor
“did not speak at all for himself, since, even if he wished to, the great space between us would
render it unseemly, so he asked about the life of Berengar and his safety through a minister.
When I had answered him reasonably, and when his interpreter gave a sign, I left.” Liudprand of
Cremona, The Complete Works of Liudprand of Cremona, translated by Paolo Squatriti
(Washington DC, 2007), 198.
4 “He [the emperor] signed to me before I had saluted and reached him, to sit down for a
moment, so that my apprehension might be calmed, and I did so. Then I approached him and
saluted him, and he signed to me to sit down, but I did not do so. He questioned me about
Jerusalem . . . I answered him on all his questions, the Jew interpreting between us. He was
pleased with my replies.” H. A. R. Gibb (ed.), The Travels of Ibn Battuta AD 1325–1354
(Cambridge, 1962), 505–6. See also M. Izeddin, “Ibn Battouta et la topographie byzantine” in
Actes du VIe Congrès International d’Études Byzantines II (Paris, 1950), 191–6.
5 Linguistically the verb “to come,” hikneomai, forms the root of the word for supplication,
hiketeia.

the later fourteenth century, as the humiliating experience of John V

Palaiologos attests, this hierarchy, already loosened, was dramatically
reversed, with the traditionally supplicated emperor becoming suppli-
cant, leaving Constantinople to make personal appeals to foreign courts in
person.
John V was the first emperor to break so fully with the traditional bounds
of imperial protocol in this regard. His detainment in Venice was the cul-
mination of a most tragic series of itineraries motivated by his quest for
papal support against the Ottomans, who were raiding Thrace and even
threatened Constantinople.6 He first traveled in 1366 to Byzantium’s near-
est Catholic neighbor, Hungary, where his diplomatic efforts amounted to
nothing. At the conclusion of his stay, furthermore, his young son Manuel
was detained as a hostage, and the emperor himself was held as a virtual pris-
oner on the frontier between Hungary and Bulgaria.7 Then in the spring of
1369, the emperor embarked upon an even more dramatic voyage to Rome
where he professed a personal conversion to the Catholic faith. In a private
ceremony in the presence of the pope and the Roman cardinals, the text of
the emperor’s profession was read aloud by Demetrios Kydones and by one
of the pope’s representatives. Both Greek and Latin versions were signed
by John V and affixed with his golden imperial seal. A public ceremony
followed a few days later. On the steps of St Peter’s, the emperor genuflected
three times and, after kissing the feet, hands, and mouth of the seated pope,
who then rose and recited the Te Deum, the two entered the church together
and celebrated mass.8
One may see in these events certain echoes of the unionist policy of the first
Palaiologan emperor, Michael VIII, who turned to Rome in 1274 in the face
of external threats. In fact, the essence of John V’s profession of faith was the
same as that made by Michael VIII at the Council of Lyons, in that it explicitly

6 The main study of John V in Europe is Oskar Halecki, Un empereur de Byzance à Rome
(Warsaw, 1930, repr. 1972). See also Barker, Manuel II, 1–83; Nicol, Byzantium and Venice,
305–8; Raymond-Joseph Loenertz, “Jean V Paléologue à Venise (1370–1371),” REB, 16 (1958),
217–32; and Chrysostomides, “John V Palaeologus in Venice,” 76–84. On the wider context, see
Nevra Necipoğlu, Byzantium between the Ottomans and the Latins: Politics and Society in the
Late Empire (Cambridge, 2009).
7 This voyage was without precedent, as Nicol, Last Centuries, 264, pointedly notes: “because no
former Byzantine emperor would have sunk his pride or demeaned his dignity to such an
extent.” On this trip, see Halecki, Empereur, 111–37; F. Pall, “Encore une fois sur le voyage
diplomatique de Jean V Paléologue en 1365–66,” RESEE, 9 (1971), 535–6; J. Gill, “John V
Palaeologus at the Court of Louis I of Hungary (1366),” BSl, 38 (1977), 30–8.
8 See Frances Kianka, “Byzantine–Papal Diplomacy: The Role of Demetrios Kydones,”
International History Review, 7(2) (1985), 175–215, especially 194–5; Frances Kianka,
“Demetrios Kydones and Italy,” DOP, 49 (1995), 99–110; and Nicol, Last Centuries, 270.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. Boston University Theology Library, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:03, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.011
202 “Atoms of Epicurus”: the imperial image as gift in an age of decline

proclaimed belief in the filioque and the primacy of the Roman Church. But
unlike the thirteenth-century profession of the founder of the Palaiologan
dynasty, John V’s conversion was strictly personal and did not extend to
his people.9 Another key difference between the two imperial conversions
involves the emperor’s physical presence. Michael VIII’s conversion was
mediated through delegates; he did not go in person to Rome and certainly
did not perform proskynesis to the pope. He did, however, send gifts to
Rome. En route to Lyons, a violent storm sank one of the two Byzantine ships
bearing the lavish imperial gifts of golden icons, censers, and silks.10 Still
other gifts did reach the pope, even if lost today. Recall the no-longer-extant
peplos that depicted the emperor being led by the pope to St Peter discussed
in Chapter 1.11 As an ultimate visualization of the union, the embroidered
imperial effigy acted as the emperor’s surrogate to commemorate the union.
By the late fourteenth century, however, the emperor’s standing in the wider
medieval world was significantly diminished and his image commanded less
and less respect. The imperial crown jewels were in Venice and the emperor’s
gestures of submission and abasement were directed not to the Virgin’s icon
at the walls of Constantinople, but instead to the pope on the steps of
St Peter’s.
The crisis of Byzantine imperial succession following the mid-fourteenth-
century civil war was resolved with the uniting of the Palaiologoi and Kan-
takouzenoi both politically and dynastically. As part of this union, John VI
Kantakouzenos and John V Palaiologos served as co-emperors (see Figure
3.19), and the latter married the daughter of the former.12 Both the corona-
tion and the wedding were celebrated in 1347. At the coronation, Gregoras
lamented the depleted state of the imperial treasury, pointedly characteriz-
ing its contents, as noted in the Introduction, as “the atoms of Epicurus.”13
By this time, the Byzantine crown was inlaid with mere colored glass, the

9 In fact, the Council of Lyons was brought up as an example of Michael VIII’s tyranny and futile
efforts to impose Rome by force. See Nicol, Last Centuries, 269–71.
10 Pachymeres, De Michaele Palaeologis, 1:384–5, cited in Deno J. Geanakoplos, “Bonaventure,
the Two Mendicant Orders and the Greeks at the Council of Lyons (1274)” in The Orthodox
Church and the West (Oxford, 1976), 207 [repr. Constantinople and the West, XI]. Supposedly
because of time constraints, the altar cloth sent as a gift was taken from Hagia Sophia, and it
was presented to the Great Church by the emperor when his anathema for the blinding of John
Laskaris was lifted. See Geanakoplos, Michael Palaeologus, 258–9. I thank Kathleen Maxwell for
this information, which will be part of her upcoming study of the Paris Greek manuscript 54.
11 See discussion in Chapter 1.
12 See Donald Nicol, The Byzantine Family of Kantakouzenos (Washington DC, 1968); and
Donald Nicol, The Reluctant Emperor: A Biography of John Cantacuzene, Byzantine Emperor
and Monk, c. 1295–1383 (Cambridge, 1996), 88.
13 Gregoras, Byzantina Historia II, 790.

original gems having been pawned by Anna of Savoy. Moreover, the feasting
vessels used in the wedding reception were earthenware and lead, only aping
the brilliance and sumptuousness of gold and jewels.14 Still further, both the
imperial coronation and the wedding took place at the Blacherna because of
the dilapidated state of Hagia Sophia. Funds for the Great Church’s repair
were eventually solicited and obtained from the Grand Duke of Moscow,
but according to Gregoras, his contribution was diverted to fund Turkish
mercenaries.15 In 1354 John VI Kantakouzenos abdicated and retired to a
monastic life,16 and John V emerged as sole ruler of the beleaguered empire.
By the 1370s, after he submitted to Rome in a futile attempt to solicit assis-
tance, he submitted to Sultan Murad I. From this point onward, Byzantium
paid tribute as an Ottoman vassal.
“Decline is dispiriting,” observes Donald Nicol.17 Contemporary writers
also shared this insight. Beyond the imperial treasury lamented by Grego-
ras, imperial territories were reduced to Constantinople and its immediate
environs, parts of Thrace and Macedonia, Thessaloniki, and some islands
in the Aegean. The Ottomans established authority and drew tribute from
much of the Balkan peninsula and Asia Minor.18 The lost Anatolian plains

14 Gregoras’s description of the sham luxury of the wedding reception is invoked by Alice-Mary
Talbot in “Revival and Decline: Voices from the Byzantine Capital,” BFP, 22: “The palace was
so poor that there was in it no cup or goblet of gold or silver; some were of pewter, all the rest
of clay . . . most of the imperial diadems and garb showed only the semblance of gold and
jewels; [in reality] they were of leather and were but gilded . . . To such a degree the ancient
prosperity and brilliance of the Roman Empire had fallen, entirely gone out and perished, that,
not without shame, I tell you this story.” Becker, 1829–55, vol. II, 788–9 with English
translation in A. A. Vasiliev, History of the Byzantine Empire II (Madison, 1952), 680.
15 Nicol, Last Centuries, 219.
16 Under the monastic name Iosaph, John VI Kantakouzenos spent the last thirty years of his life
in the monastery of St George of the Mangaga in Constantinople and devoted his energies to
writing an extensive memoir, the Histories, several polemical treatises against Islam and
Judaism, and apologies of Hesychasm. The deluxe copy of his theological writings in Paris
(Paris Gr. 1242) preserves a series of significant images, including an unprecedented unique
double portrait juxtaposing his effigy as emperor with that as monk. On this manuscript, see
BFP, 286–7 (cat. no. 171) with bibliography and the important recent article by Ivan Drpić,
“Art, Hesychasm, and Visual Exegesis: Parisinus Graecus 1242 Revisited,” DOP, 62 (2008),
217–47, which contextualizes the manuscript’s imagery in terms of a larger politics of
Hesychasm. The relationship of Hesychasm to the visual arts and aesthetic theory of the
Palaiologan period is, as Drpić notes, vast. A useful point of entry into the literature is Sergey
S. Horujy (ed.), Hesychasm: An Annotated Bibliography (Moscow, 2004).
17 Nicol, Last Centuries, 253.
18 As Necipoğlu, Byzantium between the Ottomans and the Latins, 19, puts it, “Almost all of Asia
Minor, once the empire’s backbone for manpower, food resources, and tax revenues, had long
been lost to a number of Turkish principalities.” See Speros Vryonis, Jr., The Decline of Medieval
Hellenism in Asia Minor and the Process of Islamization from the Eleventh through the Fifteenth
Century (Berkeley, 1971); and Speros Vryonis, Jr., “The Decline of Medieval Hellenism in Asia

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. Boston University Theology Library, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:03, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.011
204 “Atoms of Epicurus”: the imperial image as gift in an age of decline

are evoked with particularly nostalgic sadness in an epistolary exchange

between Manuel II Palaiologos and Demetrios Kydones, his friend and
teacher who had accompanied his father to Rome and read aloud his pro-
nouncement of faith. In a letter written from Asia Minor in 1391, Manuel
laments the sight of abandoned and ruined cities with forgotten names (Let-
ter 16).19 When he inquired about the names of these cities now lying in ruin
(“a pitiable spectacle for the people whose ancestors once possessed them”),
he was met with a chilling reply: “We destroyed these cities, but time has
erased their names.”20 Poignantly highlighting the diminished world of the
Palaiologan period, Manuel expresses an awareness of the present ruinous
state of the countryside in contrast to the great illustrious past. Kydones’s
response, in turn, underscores the emperor’s lament: “For an emperor of the
Romans to see cities, which had of old been peopled by the Romans, now
under the lordship of the barbarians, cities which have cast off the name
given by their settlers and exchanged it for those ruins, who would not be
dejected in spirit and fill his eyes with tears?”21
Manuel and Demetrios Kydones were by no means the first or the only
learned men of Byzantium to express their sadness and frustration with the
much-changed world around them. As Ihor Ševčenko has shown, intellec-
tuals of the time were well aware of the diminished status of the empire.22
The reality of both Western European dependence and Ottoman dominance
profoundly threw into disorder traditionally held Byzantine self-perceptions
of order and hierarchy.23 In the face of Ottoman victories, some Byzantines

Minor and the Process of Islamization from the Eleventh through the Fifteenth Century: The
Book in the Light of Subsequent Scholarship, 1971–98” in Antony Eastmond (ed.), Eastern
Approaches to Byzantium: Papers from the Thirty-Third Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies,
University of Warwick, Coventry, March 1999 (Aldershot, 2001), 1–15.
19 George Dennis (ed. and trans.), The Letters of Manuel II Palaeologus: Text, Translation, and
Notes (Washington DC, 1977), 44–5. Letter 16: “The small plain in which we are now staying
certainly had some name when it was fortunate enough to be inhabited and ruled by the
Romans. But now when I ask what it was, I might as well ask about the proverbial wings of a
wolf, since there is absolutely nobody to inform me.”
20 Letter 16 continues: “I was seized with such sorrow although I bore it in silence, since I was still
able to manage some self-control. But as you can imagine, when someone having no idea of
the ancient name of a city would instead call it by some barbaric and strange-sounding name, I
lamented loudly and was scarcely able to conceal my distress.” Ibid., 44–5.
21 Kydones’s letter cited ibid., 50.
22 Ihor Ševčenko, “The Decline of Byzantium Seen through the Eyes of its Intellectuals,” DOP, 15
(1961), 167–86. See also H.-G. Beck, “Reichsidee und nationale Politik im spätbyzantinischen
Staat,” BZ, 53 (1960), 86–94; and Anthony Kaldellis’s recent work on historicism: “Historicism
in Byzantine Thought and Literature,” DOP, 61 (2007), 1–24.
23 Vryonis, “Byzantine Cultural Self-Consciousness in the Fifteenth Century,” 5–14, is instructive
in this regard.

levied a moral critique, attributing the success of the empire’s enemies to

the sinfulness of its own society and administration.24 Such an explanation
was, of course, a topos: it had been understood that the 1204 fall of Con-
stantinople to crusaders resulted from the Byzantines’ sins of that historical
moment. But sin having been expiated, the once-enslaved city was liberated,
cleansed, and returned to Byzantine rule in 1261 as a sign of divine favor, as
we saw in Part I of this book. Part II now turns to the much-changed world
of the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries – that is, to the empire’s
final century.
Under the rubric of what Gregoras called the “atoms of Epicurus,” the
chapters that follow interrogate the very matter of the imperial treasury.
The evocation of Gregoras’s metaphor as the title for the second half of the
book signals a focus on what was left in the Palaiologan imperial treasury
in the final century of the empire, the precious matter protected, drawn
out, and extended to convey an image of Byzantine eternal imperium in
the face of constricted contemporary realities. Commencing in the early
years of Manuel II Palaiologos’s rule, Chapters 4 and 5 trace the emanation
of imperial rhetoric, ritual, and gifts from the capital of the fragile later
Byzantine Empire. External forces and internal strife propelled the emperor
to take unprecedented steps in the construction of an expanded diplomatic
network. Like his father, Western Europe figured prominently in his agenda
and he traveled there in person, but he did not go to Rome or convert
to Catholicism. His commitment to Orthodoxy remained steadfast, and
considerable efforts were made to strengthen the fabric of the Orthodox
oikoumene; to this end, he arranged a marriage alliance with the royal
Muscovite house in an attempt to strengthen those ties in particular. The
next two chapters will follow these two diplomatic trajectories, first turning
to the West and then to what is now known as Russia. But before proceeding,
a more detailed consideration of the throne Manuel inherited is necessary in
order to clarify the complicated and intertwined dynastic tensions, Ottoman
aggressions, and Italian mercantile rivalries at play.
As the second son of John V Palaiologos, Manuel II’s position on the
throne was always under threat from the rival claims of his elder brother,
Andronikos (IV), and his descendants. Rights to the Byzantine throne were
transferred to Manuel II after the involvement of his older brother in an
Ottoman–Byzantine conspiracy. In 1373 Andronikos (IV) and the sultan’s

24 In the later part of his study (“Decline,” 181–6), Ševčenko explains that the reversals in fate in
the later Byzantine period, in addition to being explained through sinfulness, involved a
fundamental rearrangement of the notions of historical process.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. Boston University Theology Library, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:03, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.011
206 “Atoms of Epicurus”: the imperial image as gift in an age of decline

son plotted a joint coup d’état to overthrow their fathers. As a result of

this attempted but ultimately failed usurpation, Manuel became the heir
presumptive and the conspirators were punished.25
Three years later, Andronikos IV plotted a new conspiracy with the sup-
port of both the Ottomans and the Genoese in Pera. Despite John V’s existing
alliance with Ottoman Sultan Murad I, Andronikos IV offered the sultan
allegiance, tribute, and his sister’s hand in marriage in exchange for troops.26
With Genoese and Ottoman support, Andronikos entered the imperial city
in August 1376, imprisoned his father and brothers, and assumed power.27
Three years later, in 1379, John V and his sons escaped. After renegotiating
the terms of their tribute to the sultan, John was restored to the Byzantine
throne by Murad with Venetian support.28 As the Ottoman ships con-
veying John back to Constantinople approached the city, Andronikos fled
to Genoese Galata.29 He continued to rebel unsuccessfully until his death
in 1385 and thereafter his son, John VII,30 took on his father’s cause by

25 See Necipoğlu, Byzantium between the Ottomans and the Latins, 119; and Barker, Manuel II,
19–24. When the two princes were captured, Murad’s son was blinded and beheaded, and John
V’s son was blinded, but he did not lose his sight completely. Already in 1370 tensions between
John V and his eldest son were evident: recall that Andronikos refused to help his father when
he was stranded in Venice penniless, as noted above, 199.
26 The proposed marriage alliance would supersede dynastic ties to the Ottomans already forged
by John V and the Kantakouzenoi. See Anthony Bryer, “Greek Historians on the Turks: The
Case of the First Byzantine–Ottoman Marriage” in R. H. C. Davis and J. M. Wallace-Hadrill
(eds.), The Writing of History in the Middle Ages. Essays Presented to Richard William Southern
(Oxford, 1981), 471–93; and Necipoğlu, Byzantium between the Ottomans and the Latins,
121–2.
27 Barker, Manuel II, 27–9; Necipoğlu, Byzantium between the Ottomans and the Latins, 122; and
Nicol, Last Centuries, 279–81. Andronikos was proclaimed emperor in October 1377. His
father and brothers were imprisoned in the Tower of Anemas where Andronikos had formerly
been held after his failed conspiracy. Andronikos also assigned the island of Tenedos to the
Genoese, who had helped engineer the plot, but Venice refused to relinquish the island, thus
exacerbating the longstanding commercial rivalries between Genoa and Venice in tandem with
a full-scale war between the two maritime powers. As their reward, the Ottomans were given
Gallipoli.
28 As Nicol (Last Centuries, 281) points out, Murad was the kingmaker here. The issue of John V’s
conversion is key as well. Following his profession of Catholicism, his popularity in
Constantinople was severely weakened and Andronikos was able to gain a strong following. See
Necipoğlu, Byzantium between the Ottomans and the Latins, 124–5. One of the key conditions
for being restored to the throne was that John V had to agree that Andronikos IV and his son
John VII be declared heirs to the throne in place of Manuel.
29 He took with him as hostages key members of the imperial family: his grandfather John (VI)
Kantakouzenos, a monk by then, his mother Helena Kantakouzena, and two aunts, possibly
including Orhan’s widow, Theodora Kantakouzene. See Necipoğlu, Byzantium between the
Ottomans and the Latins, 126–8; and Barker, Manuel II, 35, 38–9. They were all released later.
30 John VII was also known as Andronikos, but he took his father’s name to distinguish himself
from his grandfather. See Elizabeth A. Zachariadou, “John VII (Alias Andronicus)

attempting to claim the throne for himself. Echoing his father’s previous
usurpation, John VII, backed by the Ottomans and the Genoese, successfully
seized the Byzantine capital for much of 1390 (from March to September).
Our principal account of John VII’s short-lived usurpation of 1390 is
Ignatius of Smolensk, who had arrived in Constantinople in 1389 as part
of the entourage escorting the Russian metropolitan to the patriarchate for
approval.31 Ignatius is explicit that John VII received much popular sup-
port in Constantinople. Common people, he claims, opened a city gate
for the “usurper,” who, after subduing the city, was cheered and publicly
acclaimed in the streets. Moreover, the Russian account specifies that
Manuel attempted to retake the city three times before successfully breach-
ing the walls of the Golden Gate fortress, at which point he drove out his
nephew and restored the imperial throne to his father.
This was the imperial family background and the immediate context for
Manuel II’s coronation in 1392 after the death of his father, John V. Memories
of the usurpation were still very much alive, while popular opinion and
allegiance remained divided.32 John VII, Manuel’s nephew and twenty years
his junior, still had many supporters. Their prolonged conflict continued
throughout the 1390s and coincided with the major Ottoman siege of
Constantinople, which lasted eight years and eventually prompted Manuel
to seek western support in person at the end of the decade, as will be
discussed in Chapter 4.
To reinforce his position as legitimate emperor of the Romans, Manuel II
was crowned and anointed in Hagia Sophia by Patriarch Anthony IV in
February 1392 on the feast day of the Prodigal Son. Instead of the readings
regularly appointed for this day, passages from Hebrews (12:28–13:8) and
from John (10:1–8) were selected.33 “We have been given possession of an

Palaeologus,” DOP, 31 (1977), 339–42 [repr. Elizabeth A. Zachariadou, Romania and the Turks
(c. 1300–c. 1500) (Aldershot, 1985), X]. Note that the popular acclamations that Ignatius of
Smolensk records for John VII in 1390 were “Long live Andronikos.”
31 He was in Constantinople for over two years from June 1389 to mid-February 1392. See
Majeska, Russian Travelers, 408ff., on the complicated ecclesiastical politics surrounding
Ignatius’s stay in Constantinople, which will be discussed only briefly in Chapter 5.
32 Necipoğlu, Byzantium between the Ottomans and the Latins, 131–40. On the feud between John
VII and Manuel II, see Barker, Manuel II, 164–5. On John VII, see P. Wirth, “Zum
Geschichtsbild Kaiser Johanns VII. Palaiologos,” Byzantion, 35 (1965), 592–600; Zachariadou,
“John VII (Alias Andronicus),” 339–42; John Barker, “John VII in Genoa: A Problem in Late
Byzantine Source Confusion,” OCP, 28 (1962), 213–38; and Nicolas Oikonomides, “John VII
Palaeologus and the Ivory Pyxis at Dumbarton Oaks,” DOP, 31 (1977), 329–38.
33 The high political stakes are expressed by the readings selected for the coronation ceremony,
which have astutely been read as “instruments of dynastic propaganda” by Stephen Reinert,
“Political Dimensions of Manuel II Palaiologos’ 1392 Marriage and Coronation” in Claudia

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. Boston University Theology Library, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:03, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.011
208 “Atoms of Epicurus”: the imperial image as gift in an age of decline

unshakeable kingdom,” the opening line of the Hebrews passage reads. The
unshakeable kingdom (βασιλείαν ἀσάλευτον) refers both to the heavenly
kingdom and also to the earthly empire that Manuel inherited and was
crowned and anointed to rule as basileus ton rhomaion.34 But his unshakeable
kingdom was far from secure, as the second reading implied. With a parable
of the Good Shepherd, the passage from John is essentially an injunction
against usurpation, as Stephen Reinert astutely argues.35 Significantly, the
coronation ceremony, with its politically charged readings, was witnessed
not only by Ignatius of Smolensk but also by members of both the Genoese
and Venetian communities who had played such a prominent role in fueling
the feud between the emperor and his nephew.
Despite Manuel II’s coronation in the Great Church by the patriarch,
the threat of John VII continued to be a source of tension in the ensuing
years. In a digression in the middle of his Dialogue on Marriage, a text that
will be discussed at greater length in Chapter 5, the emperor lingers on
an agreement made between John VII and Bayezid, son and successor of
Murad. Apparently Bayezid agreed to let John VII keep Constantinople as a
gift.36 But the imperial city, Manuel maintains, was not the sultan’s to give:

the gifts of enemies, as they say, are no gifts, and a gift, how could it ever become a
gift unless it belonged to the giver in the first place, and unless it had not belonged
to the recipient in any sense? In this instance the giver, in making a gift, is acquiring,
and the recipient, in turn, is losing.37

In this passage, Manuel succinctly summarizes the dynamics of gift exchange

and underscores the agonistic aspects of prestation. Here giving is motivated

Sode and Sarolta Takács (eds.), Novum Millennium, Studies in Byzantine History and Culture
Dedicated to Paul Speck, 19 December 1999 (Aldershot, 2001), 296. While previous scholars
have commented on the appropriateness of the analogy of Manuel with Lazarus, rising to
power after the usurpation of John VII, Reinert draws attention to the content of the readings
themselves as statements of legitimation. See Reinert, “Political Dimensions,” 295;
Pseudo-Kodinos, Traité des offices, 352, 358; and Majeska, Russian Travelers, 431.
34 The audience, in the words of Reinert, “Political Dimensions,” 298, “effectively perceived the
lector reading as the emperor’s proxy, using the text to summarize what has just transpired in
virtue of his anointment and coronation.”
35 Reinert, “Political Dimensions,” 298, emphasizes that the reading from John ultimately stresses
legitimacy (entering the right door, not climbing the fence illicitly) as an injunction to respect
the lawful order lineage. John V selected Manuel as his successor and John VII was trying to
interrupt this order.
36 Athanasios D. Angelou (ed. and trans.), Manuel Palaiologos, Dialogue with the Empress-Mother
on Marriage (Vienna, 1991), 98–100: “he [Bayezid] allows my nephew to keep the capital as a
gift as long as he shows himself friendly and punctiliously keeps all the promises.”
37 Ibid., 100:716–19.

by the desire to acquire; giving aims at getting. Such a premise, as we saw in

the Introduction, underlies the cultural anthropology of gift exchange. But
this eloquent quotation operates within an ideological framework that is
entirely Byzantine. The gift under discussion is the sacro-imperial city, the
Queen of Cities delivered to the first Palaiologan ruler by the grace of the
Virgin. It is the city that belongs to the Virgin and to which she belongs, a
message reinforced by early Palaiologan gold coinage, as we saw in Chapter 3.
Constantinople is not the Ottoman sultan’s to give, nor John VII’s to
receive.38
It is worth lingering momentarily on the relationship between Manuel
II, John VII, Bayezid, and the imperial city. Manuel’s Dialogue rails against
Bayezid’s audacity for thinking Constantinople was his to give and that it
should be given to John VII. Here Manuel was reflecting on the turbulent
and confusing events of the final years of his father John V’s rule, where the
imperial capital was seized and re-seized by members of the imperial family
backed by the Ottomans, with the support of either Genoa or Venice. By the
time Manuel wrote the Dialogue, he had secured the throne, but Bayezid’s
blockade of Constantinople in the 1390s forced him to travel to the West in
search of support in 1399. Bayezid’s blockade also forced a reconciliation
between Manuel II and John VII, as evidenced by the fact that Manuel
adopted John and appointed him as regent of Constantinople during his
long absence (1399–1402).39
Following the emperor’s return to Constantinople in 1402, a transfer of
power was effected, but it was far from seamless.40 John VII threatened
military action and eventually a compromise for shared imperial author-
ity was struck. So as to each retain imperial status, the elder Manuel II
would rule as emperor from Constantinople, while John VII would rule as
“basileus of Thessaly” in Thessaloniki. To this end, they agreed to a system of
alternating dynastic succession among their sons as follows. After the death
of Manuel II, power was to transfer to John VII; after John VII’s death,

38 As a comparative legend, Doukas relates that in 1453, when Constantine XI was offered by
Mehmed II the Morea and his life in exchange for Constantinople, the emperor replied:
“surrendering the City is not in my power, nor in that of its other inhabitants; all of us with
common will and purpose will die, with no regard for our lives.” Ducas, Istoria Turco-bizantina
(1341–1462) ed. Grecu (Bucharest, 1958), 311, cited in A. Laiou in the Oxford Handbook of
Byzantine Studies, 293.
39 Oikonomides, “John VII Palaeologus,” 331 n. 11, points out that several archival documents
mention the adoption. Again, Manuel’s travels to Western Europe will be discussed in greater
detail in Chapter 4.
40 On this transfer of power, see Barker, Manuel II, 238–41.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. Boston University Theology Library, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:03, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.011
210 “Atoms of Epicurus”: the imperial image as gift in an age of decline

authority was to return to Manuel’s line and to his eldest son, John VIII,
who would, in turn, be succeeded by John VII’s first son, Andronikos.41
A precondition for this reconciliation and system of power sharing hinged
upon Manuel giving the city of Thessaloniki to his nephew.
A diminutive ivory pyxis in Dumbarton Oaks commemorates John VII’s
installation in Thessaloniki in 1403 and visually evokes this specific arrange-
ment for dynastic power sharing (Figure 4.0a).42 A celebratory frieze of
dancing figures and musicians centers on an imperial family portrait con-
sisting of two units: two emperors, empresses, and sons, all standing frontally
and majestically, in contrast to the raucous festivities unfolding around
them. All six figures are distinguished by loroi, crowns, and halos. They all
hold scepters with one hand, and the emperors and their sons hold akakia
in the other. The group on the left consists of John VII, his wife Irene, and
their son Andronikos. On the right the triad consists of Manuel II, his wife
Helena, and their son, the future John VIII. As static icons of imperium, the
imperial figures are presented as a stilled imperial tableau vivant, recalling
the imperial prokypsis ceremony – the imperial epiphany that became an
essential component of Palaiologan ceremonial repertoire.43 The hieratic
solemnity of their portrayal – which is characteristic of Palaiologan impe-
rial portraits, as Tania Velmans has shown44 – is heightened by the sharp
contrast with the celebratory frieze around them, with twisted figures in
performance and an impressive array of wind and string instruments. The
festivities culminate in the presentation of a city model of Thessaloniki to
John VII on the far left of the pyxis, where an unnamed but distinctly non-
imperial figure is pictured in profile and bent low on knee holding a large
model of the city (Figure 4.0b).45 The presentation of the city motivates the

41 This model for power sharing never went into effect as John VII died in 1408.
42 The prosopographic complexity of this pyxis has been explicated most convincingly by
Oikonomides, “John VII Palaeologus,” 329–37. Previous interpretations include A. Grabar,
“Une pyxide en ivoire à Dumbarton Oaks. Quelques notes sur l’art profane pendant les
derniers siècles de l’Empire byzantin,” DOP, 14 (1960), 121–46 [repr. L’art de la fin de
l’antiquité et du moyen-âge, 229–49]; and K. Weitzmann, Catalogue of the Byzantine and Early
Mediaeval Antiquities in the Dumbarton Oaks Collection. III, Ivories and Steatites (Washington
DC, 1972), 77–82. See also BFP, 30–1 (cat. no. 5) with bibliography.
43 See further discussion of the relationship of the Palaiologan prokypsis to imperial coronation
ceremonial in Chapter 5.
44 Velmans, “Le portrait,” 101–4.
45 In some respects the imagery is related to Thessalonian coinage discussed in Chapter 3, where
the model of the city features in close association with the ruler. On the peacock that
accompanies the representation of Thessaloniki, see Oikonomides, “John VII Palaeologus,”
337.

(a)

(b)

Figure 4.0a–b Pyxis with imperial families and ceremonial scenes (Palaiologan pyxis),
Dumbarton Oaks

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. Boston University Theology Library, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:03, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.011
212 “Atoms of Epicurus”: the imperial image as gift in an age of decline

joyous mood of the celebration as it indicates an imperial adventus.46 The

city of Thessaloniki is thus represented as a gift being offered to John VII.
Even though Manuel II gave the city to John VII, the pyxis separates the
model of the city from the hands of either imperial figure and situates it
instead in the hands of an anonymous member of the adventus festivities. It
would be one thing for an emperor to be shown on his knees offering a city
to a sacred or heavenly figure, as we saw with Michael VIII in Chapter 2, but
quite another to be represented offering it to a rival claimant to the throne.
With its symbolic image of the ceding of Thessaloniki, the pyxis represents
the resolution of the dynastic conflict between Manuel II and John VII by
commemorating the terms that settled their feud. This message is reinforced
by the imperial tableau itself and the sense of equilibrium in the stasis of
the imperial figures: each member of the evenly spaced imperial triad bears
the same attributes. Within this overarching configuration of symmetry,
subtle formal differences indicate precedence in the service of illustrating
the order of succession. The longer beard of Manuel II suggests his seniority
in relation to John VII, whose beard is slightly shorter. The two junior
imperial members are represented as beardless, but Manuel II’s son, the
future John VIII, is discernibly taller than John VII’s son Andronikos. If we
read these visual signs of precedence as Oikonomides has, the box pictures
the precise order of succession upon which Manuel and John agreed.47
Despite such a clearly delineated visual order, however, the inscriptions
betray a pronounced tension. John VII and his family are all clearly labeled
by inscriptions – ᾿Ιω(άννης), ᾿Ανδρ(όνικος), Εἰρ(ήνη) – but this is not the
case for the members of the imperial triad on the right. The emperor on
the right is identified merely by the letter Μ, which has caused a great deal
of confusion, the rectangular cartouche above the junior emperor to his
right has been left blank altogether, and the rightmost empress lacks an
inscription altogether. The clear contrast between these otherwise identical
pairs of imperial images makes clear the tensions surrounding the plan to
transfer power.48 A clear preference is given to John VII’s family, who are all
named and to whom the city model is presented. While the design respects
the rights of all the emperors, the lack of inscriptions for Manuel II’s family

46 Oikonomides (ibid.) has linked the musicians to Psalm 150, which is richly illustrated on folio
449v of the eleventh-century Vatican Psalter 752, on which see Kalavrezou, Trahoulia, and
Sabar, “Critique of the Emperor”; and Evans and Wixom (eds.), Glory of Byzantium, 206–7
(cat. no. 142).
47 Again, succession would essentially follow seniority from Manuel II to John VII to John VIII to
Andronikos.
48 Oikonomides, “John VII Palaeologus,” 337.

reveals a palpable sense of uncertainty, and even suspicion, about succession

in the future. Ultimately, then, the box does not document the peaceful
division of powers, but rather discloses conflict.49
Finely tuned gradations of precedence such as this are typical of Byzan-
tine imperial arts, especially gifts, through which complicated messages
of hierarchy are evoked. We can assume that the pyxis was commissioned
by partisans of John VII, perhaps even as a gift for him or his family,
but without a more specific context, such an interpretation must remain
speculative.50 In contrast to this box with its veiled evocation of internal
Palaiologan strife, the next two chapters consider two equally complicated
visualizations of imperial hierarchy created within a decade of the pyxis. But
these two sumptuous gifts, as we will see, project a unified imperial office
to the external world.

49 For an interesting parallel in Al-Andalus, see Francisco Prado-Vilar, “Circular Visions of

Fertility and Punishment: Caliphal Ivory Caskets from al-Andalus,” Muqarnas, 14 (1997),
20–41. According to Prado-Vilar’s reading, the tenth-century ivory pyxis in the Louvre was
given to Al-Mughira as a warning about usurping the proper line of succession. Like the
Byzantine pyxis, the Caliphal ivory’s messages of hierarchy required close examination. Only
upon turning the object in one’s hand do dynastic tensions come into clear focus.
50 Oikonomides, “John VII Palaeologus,” 337.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. Boston University Theology Library, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:03, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.011
4 Rhetoric as diplomacy: imperial word, image,
and presence

Plato’s coins

News of the death of his father, Emperor John V Palaiologos, reached Manuel
Palaiologos while he was on campaign in Asia Minor with Bayezid I, son and
successor of Murad I. The empire inherited by Manuel was in essence an
Ottoman vassal state: Manuel answered to Bayezid, whose will was erratic
and often violent.1 On campaign with Ottoman forces in the summer of
1391, the newly crowned Byzantine Emperor wrote the first of eight letters to
his teacher and friend Demetrios Kydones, who had long ago accompanied
his father to Rome. In Letter 14 Manuel writes:

But do you wish to learn exactly what circumstances we find ourselves in? I feel sure
you do, and I would have satisfied your curiosity if the present situation did not
prevent us in every way. I think it is enough to say just this: we exchange fear for
fear, danger for danger, labor for labor, small compared to the more serious ones,
I mean, those we now undergo in league with the Persians compared to those we
can expect from them if we do not fight along with them, just as the coins your
companion Plato speaks of.2

1 See Necipoğlu, Byzantium between the Ottomans and the Latins, 117–48; and Nicol, Last
Centuries, 296–317, especially 301–2. Manuel continued the tributary alliance with Bayezid that
had originally been established between their fathers John V and Murad I in 1372–3. In practical
terms, this tributary vassalage entailed Manuel rendering Bayezid tribute, military aid on
demand, and attending court when summoned. See Stephen Reinert, “Manuel II Palaeologos
and His Müderris” in Ćurčić and Mouriki (eds.), The Twilight of Byzantium, 39; and Stephen
Reinert, “The Palaiologoi, Yildirim Bayezid, and Constantinople” in Milton V. Anastos (ed.), To
Hellenikon: Studies in Honor of Speros Vryonis, Jr. (New Rochelle, 1993), 289–365.
2 Letter 14: Dennis, The Letters, 38–9 (and Barker, Manuel II, 84–105). Beyond friend and
teacher, Kydones was also an important intellectual and diplomatic intermediary. In the latter
capacity, for example, he accompanied John V to Rome, as noted already. On Kydones, see PLP
no. 13876; Demetrios Kydones, Démétrius Cydonès: Correspondance, edited by Raymond-Joseph
Loenertz, 2 vols. (Vatican, 1956–60); Frances Kianka, “The Apology of Demetrius Cydones: A
Fourteenth-Century Autobiographical Source,” Byzantine Studies/Études Byzantines, 7 (1980),
57–71; Kianka, “Byzantine–Papal Diplomacy,” 175–213; Kianka, “Demetrios Kydones and
Italy,” 99–110; Sophia Mergiali-Sahas, L’enseignement et les lettres pendant l’époque des
Paléologues (1261–1453) (Athens, 1996), 125–41; Sophia Mergiali-Sahas, “A Byzantine
Ambassador to the West and His Office During the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries,” BZ,
214 94(2) (2001), 594–5; and most recently John Barker, “Emperors, Embassies, and Scholars,

Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Bristol Library, on 19 Feb 2018 at 13:11:21, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.007
Plato’s coins 215

True to most of his letters and to the Byzantine epistolary genre in general,
the text is both allusive and elusive. Rather than conveying factual infor-
mation or describing in detail the bellicose circumstances under which he
writes, Manuel offers an analogy to antiquity that requires decoding. It is
precisely the kind of rhetorical interpretive work with which his reader was
not only familiar but a master. Campaigning with Bayezid is equated to being
in league with the Persians and is explained as the lesser of evils through
“your companion” Plato’s philosophical economy of Virtue as represented
by coins.
George Dennis, who edited and translated Manuel’s letters, points out
that this obvious paraphrase of Plato’s Phaedo was probably produced from
memory.3 It is understandable, therefore, that the paraphrase does not
match the original passage exactly. But the difference between the two texts
is instructive nonetheless. Plato’s discourse argues emphatically against the
exchange of experiences like a coin, as currency. He characterizes wisdom
(φρόνησις) as the only currency of virtue:

this is not the right way to purchase virtue, by exchanging pleasures for pleasures,
and pains for pains, and fear for fear, and greater for less, as if they were coins, but
the only right coinage, for which all those things must be exchanged and by means
of and with which all these things are to be bought and sold, is in fact wisdom.4

The Byzantine emperor’s list of transactable pairs features fear, danger, and
labor – but not pleasure. Moreover, Plato specifies “greater for less,” while
Manuel implies lesser to greater or smaller to more grave. This reversal
creates an apologetic tone that underscores a sense of uneasiness about
serving the Ottomans, an uneasiness that comes out much more forcefully in
other letters.5 The weight of being in league with the enemy is explicitly
evoked in comparative terms in another letter to Kydones: “it is especially
unbearable to have to fight along with those and on behalf of those whose

Diplomacy and the Transmission of Byzantine Humanism to Renaissance Italy” in Dimiter

Angelov (ed.), Church and Society in Late Byzantium (Kalamazoo, 2009), 159–62.
3 Plato’s Phaedo is also alluded to in Letters 42 and 39, which were both written by the emperor
while he was in Paris in 1401, as well as Letters 26, 68, and 39.
4 Phaedo, 69a–b.
5 The emperor describes not only the harsh conditions of famine and cold in another letter but
also the “constant expectation of battle” and the “murderous blade” that spared no one (“For
every mouth which is opened in answer is immediately closed by the sword”). This last
quotation is from Letter 16, which was already cited in the Introduction to Part II (see Dennis,
The Letters, 48 n. 1). On the campaign, see Barker, Manuel II Palaeologus, 87–98; Elizabeth A.
Zachariadou, “Manuel II Palaeologos on the Strife between Bayezid I and Kadi Burhan al-Din
Ahmad,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, 43 (1980), 471–81 [repr.
Elizabeth A. Zachariadou, Romania and the Turks (c. 1300–c. 1500) (Aldershot, 1985), IV].

every increase in strength lessens our own strength.”6 Such an assessment of

his situation in terms of profit and loss recalls the emperor’s invocation of
Plato’s coins, which itself does nothing to support the Byzantine cooperation
with Bayezid’s forces, but rather reveals how his actions run against the
pursuits of Virtue. In this sense, the reference to Plato’s coins constitutes an
encoded lament of his complicity with the Persians of his day.7
The metaphor of phronesis as nomisma, wisdom as coin, in Plato’s orig-
inal and Manuel’s paraphrase is of particular urgency at the time of the
letter’s composition. As noted in the previous chapter, gold coinage ceased
to be struck by the mid-fourteenth century. The hyperpyron, which once
proclaimed the divinely sanctioned imperial image with the Virgin of the
Walls, was only a money of account by the time Manuel II Palaiologos was
writing.8 Although in his letter from the Anatolian front, Manuel gestures
toward the metaphor of currency from the Phaedo to characterize the neces-
sity of remaining in league with the modern-day Persians, his rhetoric in fact
encapsulates the critical disjunction in the later Byzantine period between
fewer coins and more metaphors in circulation. The elevated erudition of a
tight-knit group of literati, including both the writer and the addressee of the
letter, stands in sharp contrast to the political and economic realities of the
much-beleaguered empire of the era. In another letter written to Kydones in
1383, the emperor emphasizes that they are rich in words, though otherwise
impoverished: “Suidas arrived here to find that we were in need of money,
but instead of money, he only made us rich in words. But bringing an owl to
Athens did not take care of our needs.”9 The point here, as will be developed
in this chapter, is that Manuel’s verbal and visual rhetoric emerges as one of
the primary diplomatic currencies of later Byzantium.
How we characterize the disjunction between the richness of the late
Byzantine rhetorical tradition and the impoverished realities of imperial
dominion is a matter of debate and also of methodology. Dennis describes
this disjunction as a “fundamental dishonesty”: “while living in one world,

6 Letter 19 to Kydones: Dennis, The Letters, 56.

7 Reinert, “Manuel II Palaeologos and His Müderris,” 40–1, comments on the emperor’s
“nagging awareness that by acting as Bayezid’s ally he was in fact contributing to the further
weakening of his own political and military situation.”
8 On the coinage of Manuel II Palaiologos, see DOC V/I, 213–23 and DOC V/II, plates 73–80.
Manuel’s coinage is all of silver and copper. Four gold specimens long considered copies of an
original gold coronation issue appear to be modern forgeries. The debate is succinctly
summarized by Grierson, DOC V/I, 214–15.
9 Letter 4: Dennis, The Letters, 12. The expression, which indicates doing something superfluous,
Dennis (The Letters, 14 n. 3) informs us, is equivalent to the English phrase of bringing coals to
Newcastle.

they [Manuel’s writings] speak from another.”10 Amidst the dire circum-
stances of the period, the practice of writing, exchanging, and listening to the
letters read aloud salon-style is seen as profoundly disingenuous escapism.
Manuel himself seems to acknowledge the problem. With Bayezid’s forces
in Asia Minor in the winter of 1391, he chooses to write another letter to
Kydones clandestinely, “in a small tent at night”:

It is as though I were hiding, for those who cannot bear to see me devote my time to
literary interests when I am at home would be far more vociferous in their criticism
if they could see me doing the same thing out here. While they really have themselves
to blame for all the trials they have endured and are still enduring, they would turn
things upside down and place the blame on literary studies, in the belief that I, and,
quite obviously, perhaps you too, are not free of guilt.11

Manuel thus acknowledges a perceived tension between the literary pursuits

he shares with Kydones and the present socio-political realities (τῶν κακῶν).
But he stresses that it is wrong to place the blame on literary studies.
In their composition, exchange, and performance, Manuel’s letters were
conceptualized as gifts, much like the thirteenth-century ekphrases and
encomia Manuel Holobolos wrote for Michael VIII Palaiologos. The letters
exhibit a temporal disconnect, linking their audience and writers to classi-
cal authors who are characterized as living (recall “your companion Plato”
in Letter 14), making the past alive and silencing the harsh contemporary
world. In light of this, the present chapter attempts to rethink the relation-
ship between, on the one hand, cultural production and circulation and,
on the other, the harsh diplomatic realities of the later Byzantine period.
While in the earlier periods of Byzantium, the emperor’s effigy and decree
circulated throughout the realm and beyond to proclaim his sovereignty,
in the final two centuries, the emperor himself traveled beyond the con-
fines of the imperial capital in an attempt to secure allies. Using the letters
of Manuel II as a rhetorical framework or architecture, this chapter dis-
entangles key strands of a thick network of mobility: the imperial body,
the written word, and material gifts. It considers the implications of the

10 Ibid., xviii. Dennis elaborates this position further and vividly: “With Turkish siege weapons
pounding the city, [Manuel] and his friends could calmly sit around in a ‘theater’ and applaud
a piece of rhetorical fluff being read to them.” Furthermore, Dennis, “Imperial Panegyric:
Rhetoric and Reality” in Maguire (ed.), Byzantine Court Culture, 135, points out that extant
imperial panegyric “seems to flourish as the empire declines . . . It was, one suspects, one way
of closing one’s eyes to the reality and living in an illusion.” On the epistolary genre in general,
see the recent essay by Stratis Papaioannou, “Letter-Writing” in Stephenson (ed.), Byzantine
World, 188–99.
11 Letter 19: Dennis, The Letters, 58.

emperor’s nearly four-year-long mission to Western Europe (1399–1402)

and the constellation of diplomatic gestures and objects involved, including
a subsequent gift sent to Paris in 1408: the celebrated Louvre copy of the
works of Dionysios the Areopagite with its rich genealogy of philosophy,
hagiography, and iconography. The later part of this chapter reads this gift
not only within the context of the other material offerings associated with
the emperor’s westward mission but also within the history of Dionysian
thought. Neoplatonic theories of procession and return, the very content
of the book, offer a proximate lens for reading Byzantine conceptions of
prestation and hierarchy. The gift of this book, in other words, engages pic-
torial, philosophical, and textual traditions central to notions of imperial
identity in this impoverished era.

Aristophanes’s Blind Fortune

In another letter written to Kydones toward the end of the Ottoman cam-
paign in Asia Minor in the winter of 1391, Manuel invokes the ancient
political satire of Aristophanes. “I suspect that if the Comedian were still
alive and could see that man,” he writes in reference to Bayezid, “he might
compose a play as he once did about Wealth. Today he would portray
Blind Fortune.”12 As in his earlier letter involving Plato’s coins, Manuel
explicates the political situation, essentially his vassalage to the Ottoman
sultan, through recourse to an economy of exchange and remuneration tied
to an ancient philosopher. While Bayezid has profited from “our dangers,
labors, and constant expenditures” – notably, two of the same exchange-
able pairs invoked in Letter 14 with reference to Plato’s coin – the emperor
wishes for nothing more as a reward than to cut his losses and return
home. The letter concludes with the invocation to “deliver us from this
present evil and lead us back as swiftly as possible to the prosperity of our
ancestors.”13
Manuel II did return home, but not to the prosperity of his ancestors.
Within a few years, in 1394, the Ottoman sultan made decisive moves

12 Ibid.
13 Ibid. “In return for our dangers, labors, and constant expenditures, which that man [Bayezid]
thoughtfully admits have weighed the scales very much in his favor against his enemies, he
promises to reward us lavishly. Yet, as long as I am of sound mind, I would consider it a lavish
enough reward if he would not take away any more of the possessions we still have. Assuredly,
if he should see fit to improve our situation in any way, this must clearly be ascribed to God
alone. May he who is good and holds all in his hand deliver us from this present evil and lead
us back as swiftly as possible to the prosperity of our ancestors.”

on Constantinople itself, first scorching and depopulating the outskirts of

the city then blockading it entirely. The siege of the Byzantine imperial
city was sparked by Manuel’s disobedience to his Ottoman overlord. The
emperor and other Christian vassals had been summoned during the win-
ter of 1393–4 to Serres to reaffirm their oaths to Bayezid.14 Manuel obeyed
this summons, but refused a subsequent one, a refusal that prompted the
sultan to send forces to Constantinople. But, as Nevra Necipoğlu points out,
we should view these actions less as a cause and more as a pretext for the
Ottoman siege. Bayezid imposed a policy of direct control over his vassal
states with the ultimate goal of “building a unified empire with a centralized
government, stretching from the Danube in the West to the Euphrates in
the East.”15 Constantinople, therefore, was central to Bayezid’s larger ambi-
tions. The eight-year-long siege of the city inaugurated in 1394 was briefly
interrupted in 1396 when Bayezid was momentarily distracted by the Cru-
sade launched by King Sigismund of Hungary that required Ottoman forces
at Nikopolis.16 The crusaders were defeated, and one of Manuel’s letters
written shortly after the battle evokes the horror of the devastation, describ-
ing Bayezid vividly as a force of nature, a “thunderbolt,” and a “deluge.”17
Following this battle, Bayezid’s attentions returned to Constantinople and
he stepped up his siege of the famed but utterly depleted imperial capi-
tal. Another of Manuel’s letters betrays the despondency caused by these
intensified efforts. “As long as this present darkness prevails,” he writes to
Kydones, who was in northern Italy by this time, “there is nothing left but
to weep, which indeed we are doing.”18 In the next and final sentence of the
letter, however, he maintains his faith and at least a semblance of optimism:
“Still, we have not completely cast away our good hopes, for we look forward
to better things given freely from the Treasury of Good.”19

14 Nicol, Last Centuries, 301, describes the meeting in Serres as a successful “exercise in
psychological warfare” in that it “struck terror into those who had been summoned.”
15 Necipoğlu, Byzantium between the Ottomans and Latins, 30–1. On the relation between
Manuel’s break with Bayezid and the composition of the Dialogue with a Persian, see Reinert,
“Manuel II Palaeologos and His Müderris,” 46–8; and E. Trapp, Manuel II. Palaiologos, Dialoge
mit einem “Perser” (Vienna, 1966).
16 The Battle of Nikopolis took place in September 1396. French Marshall Jean le Meingre,
Maréchal de Boucicaut, who was among the prisoners taken at Nikopolis. See Barker, Manuel
II, 133–7.
17 The dynamic – and beautiful – description is found in Letter 31 written to Kydones, who was
in northern Italy at the time. Dennis, The Letters, 80. Letter 31 will be discussed at greater
length in Chapter 5.
18 Dennis proposes that the desperation of the last paragraph of this letter suggests that it dates to
the intensification of the siege from the winter of 1396 through the spring of 1397.
19 Letter 33: Dennis, The Letters, 92: παρὰ τοῦ τῶν ἀγαθῶν θησαυροῦ.

While the emperor’s letter expresses hope for the generosity of the Trea-
sury of Good, the protracted siege of Constantinople continued unabated
until 1402. Ottoman forces blockaded the city, guarding the land walls and
patrolling the city’s perimeter by sea, thus limiting the transportation of
supplies, food, and information.20 The ensuing famine, especially toward
the end of the siege, prompted large numbers of inhabitants to flee the
city, some to Genoese or Venetian-controlled territories and others even to
the side of the Ottomans. Morale was low among all strata of society who
remained in the city during the course of its long siege. Wealthy merchants
and businessmen engaged in excessive profiteering activities and thus fur-
ther exacerbated the abject poverty.21 The administration adopted extreme
measures in an attempt to raise money, including the requisition of cultural
and sacred treasures. Golden disks were removed from the Great Church,
presumably to be melted down for coinage, and pieces of the Passion relics,
including the tunic of Christ, were offered as securities to secure a loan from
Venice.22
In the wake of the crusader defeat at Nikopolis, the emperor increased
his efforts to secure aid from the West, while the patriarch simultaneously
appealed to the metropolitan in Russia for funds.23 As news of the devasta-
tion spread to the West, representatives of Venice, commercially invested in
Constantinople as ever, encouraged the Byzantine emperor to seek aid from
Western Europe and offered Manuel transportation and hospitality in the
event that he had to leave the imperial city.24 In 1397, with his capital under
heavy blockade, Manuel sent an embassy to France and England. His letter

20 See Necipoğlu, Byzantium between the Ottomans and Latins, 149–83, on the concrete realities
of economic life in the city under siege, with, for example, a detailed analysis of prices of grain
and wine.
21 Necipoğlu sums up the situation succinctly (ibid., 180): “Dilapidated or demolished houses,
unattended monasteries and churches, uncultivated gardens, vineyards, and fields were spread
throughout the depopulated city that was daily losing growing numbers of inhabitants to
Italian or Ottoman territories. Furthermore, those who remained in the city not only had to
struggle with starvation and exhausted revenues but also had to protect themselves from
opportunistic people who engaged in profiteering.” See also Nevra Necipoğlu, “Economic
Conditions in Constantinople During the Siege of Bayezid I (1394–1402)” in Cyril A. Mango
and Gilbert Dragon (eds.), Constantinople and its Hinterland (Aldershot, 1995), 157–67.
22 Necipoğlu, Byzantium between the Ottomans and Latins, 154–5; and Sophia Mergiali-Sahas,
“An Ultimate Wealth for Inauspicious Times: Holy Relics in Rescue of Manuel II Palaeologus’
Reign,” Byzantion, 76 (2006), 268–9. The Venetians did not extend this loan. See the discussion
below about these relics, 227–30 – in all likelihood they were later brought to Western Europe
with Manuel.
23 Necipoğlu, Byzantium between the Ottomans and Latins, 155; Barker, Manuel II, 150–2. See the
next chapter for more on Russia.
24 Barker, Manuel II, 124–5.

to Charles VI of France speaks of the devastation caused by the “impious

tyrant, the Turk Basita, lord of the Turks, enemy to Jesus Christ and to the
entire Catholic faith.”25 In a pledge of assistance, Charles sent an expedi-
tion of over a thousand men to Constantinople, headed by Jean le Meingre,
Maréchal de Boucicaut, in 1399.26 Although this assistance improved the
immediate situation slightly, a much more substantial force was necessary
and Boucicaut urged the emperor to appeal to the French king in person.
Manuel then embarked upon the most celebrated episode of his life, his
personal diplomatic expedition to the courts of Western Europe.

Son of Laertes

In one of Manuel’s letters written to the Priest Euthymius, the emperor

refers to himself as Odysseus, the “son of Laertes long[ing] for the smoke of
home.”27 This letter was written in Paris in the late spring of 1401, at which
time the emperor had been in Western Europe for over a year, since the end
of 1399. He would not return to Constantinople until the autumn of 1402.28
This was his first official mission to Europe as emperor, although he had
traveled westward before in the diplomatic service of his father, John V. As
noted above in the Introduction to Part II, he had accompanied his father
to Hungary in 1366 (where he was detained as a hostage) and he rushed to

25 Barker (ibid., 154–5) translates the Latin version of the original bilingual letter and also
provides the Latin in the appendix (488–9).
26 Likewise, in April 1398 (and reiterated in March of 1399), Pope Boniface IX issued a bull
urging financial contributions for a new crusade against the Turks on behalf of the Byzantines.
See Barker, Manuel II, 158. On Jean II le Meingre Boucicaut, see Joseph Delaville Le Roulx, La
France en Orient au XIVe siècle. Expéditions du Maréchal Boucicaut (Paris, 1886), 337–83; and
Denis Lalande (ed.), Le Livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre, dit Bouciquaut,
mareschal de France et gouverneur de Jennes (Geneva, 1985). On Richard II’s response to
Manuel’s letters, see Donald M. Nicol, “A Byzantine Emperor in England. Manuel II’s Visit to
London in 1400–1401,” University of Birmingham Historical Journal, 12 (1971), 206, and on
the collection of funds in England for the Crusade, see 209 and 217–19.
27 Letter 40: Dennis, The Letters, 106. On Euthymius, to whom four of Manuel’s letters are
addressed, see Dennis, The Letters, xl–xli.
28 The principal studies of Manuel’s long European sojourn include J. M. Berger de Xivrey,
“Mémoire sur la vie et les ouvrages de l’empereur Manuel Paléologue,” Mémoires de l’Institut
de France, Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, 19(2) (1851), 1–201; A. Vasiliev,
“Puteshestvie vizantijskago imperatora Manuila Palaeologa po zapadnoi Evrope,” Zhurnal
Ministerstva Narodnogo Prosveshcheniia, n.s. 39 (1912), 41–78, 260–304 (my thanks to Larisa
Bondarchuk for assistance with this essay); Gustave Schlumberger, “Un Empereur de Byzance
à Paris et Londres” in Byzance et les Croisades (Paris, 1927), 87–142, 361–2; M. A. Andreeva,
“Zur Reise Manuels II. Palaiologos nach Westeuropa,” BZ, 34(1) (1937), 37–47; Nicol, “A
Byzantine Emperor”; as well as Barker, Manuel II.

his father’s aid in Venice in 1370. Unlike these earlier trips, when Manuel
traveled to Western Europe as Emperor of the Romans, he was treated with
considerably more respect.
Manuel set out on his celebrated westward journey with Boucicaut early
in December 1399, leaving Constantinople in the hands of his nephew John
VII.29 In April 1400, he arrived in Venice, then crossed Italy toward France
via Vicenza, Pavia and Milan, where at the court of Giangaleazzo Visconti he
was reunited with Manuel Chrysoloras – the emperor’s friend, advisor, and
scholar who, in the words of Donald Nicol, was “busily exploiting the new
market for Greek learning in Italy.”30 Chrysoloras had been teaching Greek
in Florence since February 1397 and came to Milan at the request of Gian-
galeazzo Visconti and the Byzantine emperor, where he was charged with
administering the funds raised in support of Constantinople.31 Chrysoloras
remained in northern Italy, teaching in Lombardy and honoring his duties
to the emperor while Manuel traveled on to Paris.
Just outside Paris in June 1400, an elaborate reception was held for the
Byzantine emperor, personally presided over by Charles VI.32 Manuel’s
Greek customs fascinated the French.33 He received lavish gifts and grants,
and was also entertained with festivals – he even participated in a royal
hunt.34 Furthermore, Charles VI had a wing of the Louvre redecorated

29 Regarding the feud between John VII and Manuel II, see the discussion in the Introduction to
Part II.
30 Nicol, “A Byzantine Emperor,” 211. Scholarship on Chrysoloras is extensive. See PLP no.
31165; G. Cammelli, I dotti bizantini e le origini dell’umanesimo. I. Manuelo Crisolora
(Florence, 1941); Ian Thompson, “Manuel Chrysoloras and the Early Italian Renaissance,”
GRBS, 7 (1966), 63–82; Sophia Mergiali-Sahas, “Manuel Chrysoloras (ca. 1350–1415), an Ideal
Model of a Scholar-Ambassador,” Byzantine Studies/Études Byzantines, n.s. 3 (1998) 1–12;
Mergiali-Sahas, “A Byzantine Ambassador,” 598–602; Lydia Thorn-Wickert, Manuel
Chrysoloras (ca. 1350–1415): eine Biographie des byzantinischen Intellektuellen vor dem
Hintergrund der hellenistischen Studien in der italienischen Renaissance (Frankfurt am Main,
2006); Barker, “Emperors, Embassies, and Scholars,” 162–6.
31 More on this below, 231–6. According to Mergiali-Sahas, “A Byzantine Ambassador,” 600,
Chrysoloras was charged “with the administration of funds generated by the indulgences
which Pope Boniface IX (1389–1404) had issued in aid of Constantinople.” See also Barker,
“Emperors, Embassies, and Scholars,” 164.
32 See the Chronique du religieux de Saint-Denys contenant le règne de Charles VI de 1380 à 1422
(Latin and French translation by Bellaguet, 1842) (Paris, 1994), II, Book 21, Chapter 1, 756–9.
See also Barker, Manuel II, 397.
33 On the influence of his visit, as well as the Battle of Nikopolis, on early contemporary visual
culture in France, in particular in terms of “Orientalizing” dress, see Joyce Kubinski,
“Orientalizing Costume in Early Fifteenth-Century French Manuscript Painting (Cité des
Dames Master, Limbourg Brothers, Boucicaut Master, and Bedford Master),” Gesta, 40(2)
(2001), 161–80.
34 Barker, Manuel II, 175.

to house him, and he was well received by professors at the Sorbonne.35

The first of his letters from France, written to Chrysoloras, who was in
northern Italy at the time carrying on his fundraising and educational
duties, suggests the initial difficulties of language differences, but concludes
with a positive assessment of “the most illustrious King” Charles VI of
France and his entourage. It expresses optimism regarding his prospects of
garnering support.36
From Paris, Manuel set out for London in October 1400, crossing the
Channel in December after a brief stay in Calais.37 In England too, his
presence commanded respect: he was showered with gifts and, in addition
to a lavish Christmas celebration, tournaments were staged in his honor, as
well as a masquerade.38 Ultimately, however, the reception of Manuel is best
characterized by an odd combination of reverence tinged with pity, more
specifically reverence for the past greatness represented by the emperor and
pity for his present much-diminished circumstances. Adam of Usk, a lawyer
in the court of King Henry IV, laments precisely this:

O God! What has become of you, ancient glory of Rome? Today your imperial
greatness lies in ruins for all to see, so that it can in truth be said of you, in the words
of Jeremiah, “The Prince among the provinces has been laid under tribute.” Who
would ever believe that you, accustomed as you were to sitting on your throne of
majesty and ruling the entire world, would now be reduced to such straits that you
cannot afford any help whatsoever to the Christian faith?39

35 Steven Runciman, The Fall of Constantinople (Cambridge, 1965), 1; and Berger de Xivrey,
“Mémoire,” 99–111.
36 The final paragraph of Letter 37 reads: “unless the usual malice of evil fortune should op-
pose us, and some terrible and unexpected obstacle should occur, we have good reason to hope
that we shall return to the fatherland soon, which is what we know you are praying for and
what our enemies are praying against.” See Dennis, The Letters, 100 (and also Barker, Manuel
II, 175).
37 In September 1400 Manuel II moved to Calais, where he stayed for two months before crossing
the Channel in December. Barker, Manuel II, 178, notes that Manuel’s decision to move on to
London coincided with Charles VI’s slip into a spell of insanity. Cf. Julian Chrysostomides,
Manuel II Palaeologus Funeral Oration on His Brother Theodore: Introduction, Text, Translation
and Notes (Thessalonike, 1985), 162–4. See Nicol, “A Byzantine Emperor.”
38 All chroniclers of Manuel’s visit mention that the English king paid for all his entertainment,
which was lavish and expensive. Furthermore, the emperor’s travel expenses to and from
England were likewise covered by the English monarch (including the two months in Calais
awaiting transfer to England). See Nicol, “A Byzantine Emperor,” 212 and 215, as well as the
account of Adam Usk cited below.
39 C. Given-Wilson (ed. and, trans.), The Chronicle of Adam Usk, 1377–1421 (Oxford, 1997), 121.
See also Nicol, “A Byzantine Emperor,” 214; and Runciman, The Fall of Constantinople, 1 and
205 n. 1.

On one level, the rhetoric of this passage is self-evident. The ancient glory
of Rome is undone and ruined. Such a sentiment matches contemporary
Byzantine laments such as that of Gregoras, who concludes his description of
the false sumptuousness on display at the marriage and coronation of 1347 as
follows: “To such a degree the ancient prosperity and brilliance of the Roman
Empire had fallen, entirely gone out and perished, that, not without shame,
I tell you this story.”40 But unlike the shame expressed by the Byzantine
author at the diminished state of affairs, there is also a moralizing tone to
the English lawyer’s observations – a sense of fallen pride. This often-cited
passage directly follows a description of the dress and visual appearance of
the emperor and his entourage in which the lawyer claims that the Byzantines
condescendingly disapproved of the English fashions.41 The passage wrestles
with age-old stereotypes of Byzantium – aloof, devout, conformist – and the
realities of the emperor’s current diplomatic supplication. Clearly, seeing
the emperor in person is an important component of this exchange. The
bodily presence of the emperor blurs the crisp distinction between the
majestic and timeless icon of imperium and the actuality of a mortal ruler
in need.42
Manuel’s letter to Chrysoloras from London suggests rising anxieties over
the prospect of western aid. But he writes that those anxieties are coming
to an end thanks to the King of England, Henry IV, who has, he claims,
pledged assistance in specific terms. The letter ends on this heartening note:
“he is providing us with military assistance, with soldiers, archers, money,
and ships to transport the army where it is needed.”43 After a visit of less

40 See note 14 in the Introduction to Part II.

41 Given-Wilson (ed.), Chronicle of Adam Usk, 120–1: “This emperor and his men always went
about dressed uniformly in long robes cut like tabards which were all of one colour, namely
white, and disapproved greatly of the fashions and varieties of dress worn by the English,
declaring that they signified inconsistency and fickleness of heart.” He goes on to comment on
the beards of the priests and the changing of the clerics.
42 The text concludes: “I thought to myself how sad it was that this great Christian leader from
the remote east had been driven by the power of the infidels to visit distant islands in the west
in order to seek help against them.” Liudprand of Cremona conveys a story that encapsulates
the distinction between the reality of the emperor as a person and the icon of imperium
propagated throughout the empire and beyond. The Emperor Leo, Liudprand claims, snuck
out from the imperial palace at night unrecognized in order to test the faithfulness of his
guards. After receiving a beating and being imprisoned overnight, Leo asked the guard if he
recognized the emperor, to which the guard responded: “How could I recognize him . . . when I
cannot remember seeing him? On the rare occasion when I looked on from afar . . . while he
processed through the public, he seemed to me something marvelous and not a man.” See
Liudprand of Cremona, Complete Works, 50–1.
43 Letter 38: Dennis, The Letters, 102.

than two months, Manuel retraced his steps to Paris, laden with gifts and
money from the English sovereign.44
Much of Manuel’s writing from this period is marked by a tone of opti-
mism. At some point during his time in France, he composed an ekphrasis
on a tapestry he saw in the Louvre – a cheerfully themed “Description of
Spring in a Dyed Woven Hanging.” Drawing inspiration from Libanios and
Gregory of Nazianzos, it describes playfulness and the pleasure and free-
dom of a hunt, concluding that “the inspiration, of course, is spring itself –
sorrow’s end, or, if you like, joy’s beginning.”45
Like the mood of the tapestry ekphrasis, a letter written in Paris in the
spring to summer of 1401 to Euthymius in Constantinople also expresses
optimism:
now that our negotiations are moving along very smoothly in every respect; now
that the military commanders have already begun work on those tasks which
should make them become in actuality what they are called; and now that noth-
ing else is needed except the coming of the day appointed for setting out on
our return journey to you . . . Not far beyond the present message of good news
we ourselves expect to arrive . . . [followed by] . . . an army vastly surpassing your
hopes.

Western promises, Manuel states with confidence, were on the verge of

becoming a reality. But even with such optimism, there is a tension between
actual events and Manuel’s rhetoric. The tone remains hopeful, but the
phrasing belies a slight hesitance. “I am aware that your salvation requires
deeds, not promises,” he writes to Demetrios Chrysoloras in Constantinople
at this time.46 While initially dubious about the fulfillment of these “most
wondrous promises,” he had been given specific assurances – Boucicaut
had been appointed commander of troops and all that remained was the

44 Barker, Manuel II, 178–81; Schlumberger, “Un Empereur,” 122–3; Berger de Xivry, “Mémoire,”
108–9. On the relations between the English and French courts at this time, see Nicol, “A
Byzantine Emperor,” 211. After two months at Henry’s court, Manuel left with gifts and more
money, but no commitment to future military or financial aid, despite the statement in this
letter.
45 “An Image of Spring in a Royal Woven Tapestry” survives in Paris Gr. 3041, fols. 38r–v (PG 156:
577A–80B). See John Davis, “Manuel II Palaiologos’ A Depiction of Spring in a Dyed, Woven
Hanging” in Porphyrogenita: Essays on the History and Literature of Byzantium and the Latin
East in Honour of Julian Chrysostomides (Aldershot, 2003), 411–21; and Glenn Peers, “Manuel
II Palaiologos’s Ekphrasis on a Tapestry in the Louvre: Word over Image,” REB, 61 (2003),
201–14. I have followed Davis’s translation here. Similarly, John Eugenikos (1394–1454) wrote
an ekphrasis on a Gothic tapestry, “A King and Queen in a Park,” found in Paris BN Gr. 2075,
fols. 177ff.; Jean F. Boissonade (ed.), Anecdota Nova (Hildesheim, 1962), 340–6.
46 Letter 41: Dennis, The Letters, 108.

dispersal of funds to the soldiers.47 But the funds never materialized, and
Boucicaut left for Genoa, having been named that city’s governor.
By the spring of 1402, it had become increasingly clear that both vague
and specific promises of support were empty. Manuel eventually wrote
to John VII, his nephew, in Constantinople conveying news of his dis-
appointment.48 Meanwhile, in the emperor’s absence, Bayezid’s grip on
the city remained steadfast. With no prospect of help in sight from the
West, John VII agreed to surrender the imperial city to the Sultan to end
the eight-year siege. Apparently at the very moment that the Byzantine
embassy set out to deliver Bayezid the keys to the city, Tartar forces from
the East intervened. At Ankara, Timur (Tamurlane), lord of Samarkand,
defeated and captured Bayezid in July 1402. Constantinople was thus
spared.
The coincidence of these events – the realization of Manuel’s failure in
Western Europe followed immediately by Bayezid’s defeat at Ankara – is
uncanny. The Battle of Ankara, “one of the most dramatic strokes of fate in
late Byzantine history” according to one scholar, afforded Constantinople
and what was left of the empire fifty more years of life.49 The Byzan-
tines described this momentous event as a miraculous act of the Virgin’s
grace, a miracle or thauma (τὸ θαῦμα) manifesting sacred intervention,
not human agency or accident.50 On the one-year anniversary of the Battle
of Ankara, a church was dedicated to the Virgin in Constantinople and
Demetrios Chrysoloras composed an oration commemorating the grace of

47 Again, this is in Letter 41 (ibid.): “All that remains to be done is to assemble in the designated
place the forces being readied for us by several sovereigns and there to distribute the pay to the
soldiers, a very easy matter when the money is at hand, particularly when those about to
receive their pay are so eager that they are willing to pay themselves, if only they should be
provided with a just cause for taking up arms.”
48 In particular, he informed John VII of the king of England’s inability to help and, in turn, John
wrote directly to England: Barker, Manuel II, 213–14. Repeatedly Venice offered aid; only once
did Genoa and France commit. But, again, nothing concrete materialized.
49 Ibid., 215. Though presented as unexpected divine justice, rumors also spread that John VII
had conspired with Timur. See ibid., 504–9; and G. Dennis, “The Byzantine–Turkish Treaty of
1403,” OCP, 33 (1967), 72–88. Bayezid died in March 1403. On the aftermath and the struggle
for succession, see Dimitris J. Kastritsis, “Religious Affiliations and Political Alliances in the
Ottoman Succession Wars of 1402–1413,” Medieval Encounters, 13 (2007), 222–42. In response
to these events, Manuel composed a dialogue entitled “What Tamerlane might have said to
Bayezid.” On the Battle of Ankara, see Necipoğlu, Byzantium between the Ottomans and the
Latins, 32–5.
50 For the anonymous text dated to between 1405 and 1411, see Paul Gautier, “Un récit inédit du
siège de Constantinople par les Turcs (1394–1402),” REB, 23 (1965), 100–17. According to the
text, the greatness of the thauma outweighed the degree of humiliation and misery that the
Roman Empire suffered during the time of Bayezid, and the extreme distress of the people of
Constantinople and the heavy annual tribute paid to the Ottomans.

the Virgin (εἰς τὴν ὑπεραγίαν θεοτόκον εὐχαριστήριον).51 “Hail Queen,” he

writes:

yesterday tears, today joy. Yesterday we were wasted away by famine, now we come to
the table of plenty. Yesterday the city closed in affliction is today open in joy. Yesterday
our spirit was angered by the fear of perpetual enslavement, now it rejoices in great
freedom. Yesterday the entire city was shaken by the tempest, today she is installed
in the port.52

The passage is marked by a series of reversals of fate. Through the wondrous

miracle (ξένον θαῦμα), she who was dishonored is honored, she who was
without glory is crowned, she who was previously humiliated is exalted, she
who was poor becomes rich.53 Bayezid is described as a great deluge –
echoing Manuel’s exact characterization of the sultan at the Battle of
Nikopolis – but one that has dissipated thanks to the thauma of the Virgin.54
The Virgin’s thauma must have reached the emperor’s ears as he began
his homeward trek, leaving Paris in November 1402, stopping first in
Genoa, where he was housed and entertained by Boucicaut, the city’s newly
appointed governor. The Venetian Senate had negotiated his means of trans-
port from Venice back to Constantinople, via Modon in the Peloponnesos,
where he had left his empress and children three years earlier. In June
1403 he finally arrived in Gallipoli, where he met John VII, and together
they proceeded to Constantinople.55

Hope of the Hopeless: material gifts and the immaterial

We have no textual account of the objects Manuel brought with him on

this most urgent diplomatic mission, but we can be sure that relics played
a large part in his diplomatic network, which went far beyond Paris and
London. From his base in Paris, he sent appeals to other western courts,
including those in Italy, Spain, and Portugal. He often sent relics as gifts
along with his appeals – some of these were perhaps the same relics refused
by Venice as sureties for the loan in December 1395. He brought with him
the Tunic of Christ, or some large part thereof, and subdivided it into

51 Paul Gautier, “Action de grâces de Démétrius Chrysoloras à la Théotocos pour l’anniversaire

de la bataille d’Ankara (28 juillet 1403),” REB, 19 (1961), 340–57.
52 Ibid., 352 (no. 9, lines 65–70). 53 Ibid. (no. 11, lines 80–2).
54 Again, Letter 31 describes Bayezid as a κατακλυσμός, as he is described by Demetrios
Chrysoloras (no. 18, line 138): ibid., 356.
55 On this transfer of power, see the discussion in the Introduction to Part II.

smaller portions to be extended as gifts. Textiles had long served as the

Byzantine diplomatic gift par excellence – bolts of precious Byzantine silk
were customarily used as diplomatic gifts for foreigners. On a practical
level, cloth was easily transportable, its flexibility and lightness making it
ideally suited to long-distance diplomacy.56 By the time Manuel traveled to
Europe, however, deluxe purple textiles were no longer the monopoly of
Constantinople as in earlier times, when strict sumptuary laws regulated
their circulation so as to raise their value when extended in diplomacy.
Gone were the days in which a western ambassador such as Liudprand of
Cremona would risk imprisonment in order to try to smuggle such luxury
items out of the city.57 By the late twelfth century, silks produced in Sicily, for
example, rivaled Byzantine silks in quality. By the thirteenth century, when
Michael VIII sent to Genoa the peplos embroidered with his own effigy set
within the St Lawrence cycle, the prestige of Byzantine silk had diminished.
By the fourteenth century, elites of Constantinople wore imported textiles
more than locally produced garments.
Bearing in mind the past imperial association of Byzantine silks, Manuel’s
reliance on the relic of the Tunic of Christ on his western mission is sig-
nificant. The use of sacred cloth as relic for a diplomatic gift echoes earlier
protocol when Byzantium held much greater sway in the medieval Mediter-
ranean, and at the same time, Manuel’s textile relics signal a new era. The
almost infinitely divisible Tunic of Christ enabled the emperor to dole out
material sanctity and create networks of sacrality on an ad hoc basis. The
emperor’s matrix of Tunic recipients encompassed western authority fig-
ures, both sacred and secular. Portions of the Tunic were sent to both Pope
Boniface IX and the anti-Pope Benedict XIII,58 as well as to Queen Margaret
of Denmark, Henry IV of England, and Martin I of Aragon.59 Other non-
textile Passion relics were also distributed. Pieces of the True Cross were
extended to Charles III of Navarre and the Duc de Berry, and a piece of the
Crown of Thorns was given to Giangaleazzo Visconti.60 This brief sketch

56 On the silk and diplomacy, see the discussion in the Introduction and in Chapter 1.
57 Liudprand’s second visit to Constantinople concluded in an episode of silk confiscation. Upon
his departure from the city, he was accused of being in possession of illicit κουλυόμενα or, in
Liudprand’s words, articles the Byzantines “deemed forbidden to all nations except us
Romans.” To the envoy’s consternation, “five very precious purple robes” were then
confiscated. Liudprand of Cremona, Complete Works, 271–2.
58 Apparently a piece of the bluish tunic of Christ delivered by Alexios Branas to Benedict XIII
survives in the cathedral of Palma de Mallorca, along with the chrysobull issued by Manuel to
authenticate the relic. See Holger Klein, “Eastern Objects and Western Desires: Relics and
Reliquaries between Byzantium and the West,” DOP, 58 (2004), 311 n. 155.
59 Mergiali-Sahas, “An Ultimate Wealth,” 271–2; Klein, “Eastern Objects and Western Desires,”
310–11.
60 For more on this last exchange with Visconti, see note 73 below.

of the networks of diplomatic relic exchange suggests that the emperor was
hedging his bets by sending fragments of the same relic to both the Pope
and the anti-Pope, and appealing to a wide array of distinct courts.
John Barker describes the gifting of relics as “ice-breakers” for Manuel’s
diplomacy. In some instances they did break the ice for the emperor, assisting
him with the opening of negotiations. Relics sent to Aragon, for example,
initiated diplomatic engagement and prompted Manuel to open discussions
with Castile and Navarre.61 Relics served as a kind of shorthand for shared
piety. As a diplomatic strategy, the reliance on relics was intended to empha-
size a devotional stance shared by western and Byzantine rulers, regardless
of confessional lines and conflicts – Orthodox, Catholic, loyal to the Pope
or not. The emperor sought to garner support for his faltering empire in the
form of a crusade. As material signs of Christ’s presence, relics signal a unity
of eastern and western powers in contrast to the Ottoman presence. With
Byzantium as a mediator and a buffer between the European and Islamic
lands, the relic was the ideal reminder of a shared sacred past and was sign
of a common political enemy.62
Furthermore, the relic was, in theory at least, beyond the market. The
relic seemed like the optimal gift in that it was ideally not assigned mon-
etary worth. Relics were not to be bought or sold, ransomed or pawned.
Relics were distinguished by rank rather than price, as Patrick Geary has
shown.63 In the Palaiologan period, however, even such priceless symbols
of sacred authority as the relic came under scrutiny. Like non-sacred Byzan-
tine textiles, which no longer signified Byzantine prestige in the West, as
noted above, the imperial association of relics had shifted by this time as

61 See Barker, Manuel II, 176–7, 183, 195–8.

62 Mergiali-Sahas, “An Ultimate Wealth,” 272, enumerates three reasons for the emperor’s use of
relics as diplomatic gifts to western rulers: (1) traditional gift-giving etiquette for diplomatic
engagement; (2) relics as symbols of political authority and the survival of Constantinople;
and (3) the “inexplicable and invincible” western fascination with relics across strata of society.
The second factor is the most relevant for the present discussion. It is argued here, in line with
Klein’s argument in “Eastern Objects and Western Desires,” that the association of the eastern
relic with imperial authority and by extension Constantinople was diminished in the later
Byzantine period. Again, the relic as a material marker of shared Christian ritual and piety was
particularly important given that the emperor was essentially raising support for his
beleaguered empire in the form of a crusade against the Ottomans.
63 See Patrick Geary, Furta Sacra: Thefts of Relics in the Central Middle Ages (Princeton, 1978);
and Patrick Geary, “Sacred Commodities: The Circulation of Medieval Relics” in Appadurai
(ed.), Social Life of Things, 169–71. For Mergiali-Sahas, relics were the “most precious
commodity of Christendom” that disguised the “humiliating reality” of the later Byzantine era.
This conclusion, however, is not entirely convincing. Klein’s study, “Eastern Objects and
Western Desires,” complicates the picture significantly, demonstrating that the relic concealed
little about the contemporary situation. See note 64 below. Cf. Hetherington, “The Jewels from
the Crown,” 167–8.

well. In earlier periods, Byzantium constituted the very guarantor of a relic’s

authenticity and the emperor’s close association with the Passion relics in
particular had long been acknowledged throughout the medieval Mediter-
ranean. But, as Holger Klein has argued, the mystique of the Byzantine
relic belongs to an earlier era.64 One recipient of Manuel’s relics, Martin
I of Aragon, went so far as to question the authenticity of the fragments
he was given.65 In the past, a Constantinopolitan provenance served to
guarantee a relic, but now such an origin rendered it suspect. The western
market for eastern relics had been flooded by the Crusader conquest of
Constantinople in 1204. Churches and monasteries of the eastern capital
had been raided, with the spoils divided and shipped back to Europe.66 At
the time of Manuel’s western travels, he was offering, for the most part,
mere fragments of minor relics, while his royal French hosts had access to
the major Passion relics that had once been in the custody of the emperor
of Byzantium, where they had helped to define the very contours of the
imperial office. In his “Comparison of Old and New Rome,” Chrysoloras
eloquently characterized the situation when he noted the loss of many of
Constantinople’s relics “having been gathered from everywhere through the
zeal of our famous emperors . . . [and] having been distributed throughout
the world like water from a common well.”67

64 “As eastern relics and reliquaries failed to resist western desires to acquire and possess them,”
Klein (“Eastern Objects and Western Desires,” 314) concludes, “they gradually lost their
mystique and priceless value.” See also Sophia Mergiali-Sahas, “Byzantine Emperors and Holy
Relics. Use and Misuse, of Sanctity and Authority,” JÖB, 51 (2001), 41–60; Mergiali-Sahas, “An
Ultimate Wealth,” 264–75; Liz James, “Bearing Gifts from the East: Imperial Relic Hunters
Abroad” in Eastmond (ed.), Eastern Approaches to Byzantium, 119–32. On Constantinople’s
collection of relics pre-1204, see Paul Magdalino, “L’église du Phare et les reliques de la Passion
à Constantinople (VIIe/VIIIe–XIIIe siècles)” in J. Durand and B. Flusin (eds.), Byzance et les
reliques du Christ (Paris, 2004), 15–30; John Wortley, “Relics and the Great Church,” BZ, 99(2)
(2006), 631–47.
65 This is a letter dated to July 28, 1400. But later, in a second letter, Martin thanked the emperor
for the relics. See Barker, Manuel II, 176; C. Marinesco, “Manuel II Paléologue et les rois
d’Aragon: Commentaire sur quatre lettres inédites en Latin, expediées par la chancellerie
byzantine,” Bulletin de la Section Historique, 11 (1924), 192–206; and C. Marinesco, “De
nouveau sur les relations de Manuel Paléologue (1391–1425) avec l’Espagne” in Atti dello VIII
Congresso Internazionale di studi Bizantini, I (Studi bizantini e neoellenici 7) (Rome, 1953),
420–36; and Sebastián C. Estopañan, Bizancio y España. La unión, Manuel II. Paleólogo y sus
recuerdos en España (Barcelona, 1952), 102–5.
66 Klein, “Eastern Objects and Western Desires,” 283–314, especially 301–12, has explored the
movement of relics from Byzantium to the West via gifting, theft, and commercial transaction.
See also Jannic Durand, “La translation des reliques impériales de Constantinople à Paris,” and
“Les reliques et reliquaires byzantins acquis par saint Louis” in Jannic Durand and
Marie-Pierre Laffitte (eds.), Le trésor de la Sainte-Chapelle (Paris, 2001), 37–41 and 52–4.
67 Smith, Architecture in the Culture of Early Humanism, 213. Chrysoloras emphasizes that
although many relics no longer remain in Constantinople, some still do.

While Manuel’s relic diplomacy is well documented, it is less clear what

portable Byzantine items other than relics were brought to the West to be
offered as gifts during the emperor’s western sojourn. Without an impe-
rial diplomatic packing list for the Palaiologan period, as we have for the
tenth century,68 it is difficult to ascertain precisely what was deemed an
appropriate gift to kindle foreign philia. And yet a careful archaeology of
one icon and its frame in the Treasury of Freising Cathedral in Germany,
now in the Diösesanmuseum, has enabled scholars, most recently Maria
Vassilaki, to trace its arrival in Europe to Manuel’s visit.69 A brief summary
of the complicated chronology of the piece gives us a clearer, though still
partial, picture of gift-giving strategies from the supplicant eastern emperor
in western lands.
The Freising “Lukasbild,” as it is presently known, consists of a relatively
small painted icon of the Virgin encased within silver repoussé revetment
surrounded in turn by a frame of ten enamel medallions alternating with
rectangular inscribed plaques (Figure 4.1). The inscription in the enamel
plaques of the frame names the original patron of the icon as Manuel Dishy-
patos, who served as Metropolitan of Thessaloniki from 1258 to 1261. The
original painted icon, which was painted over later, is probably contempo-
rary, while the frame should be situated in mid-thirteenth century Thessa-
loniki, sometime before 1258 as the patron is identified as priest (kanstrisios
and deacon) and not metropolitan, an office he assumed in that year.70
Evidence that the icon was regifted by Emperor Manuel II during his Euro-
pean sojourn more than a century later is given by a seventeenth-century
inscription engraved above the altarpiece in Freising Cathedral. According
to this Latin inscription, the “Emperor of the East” gave the icon to Gian-
galeazzo Visconti, Duke of Milan (1385–95).71 While the eastern emperor

68 See the discussion in the Introduction.

69 Maria Vassilaki, “Praying for the Salvation of the Empire?” in Vassilaki (ed.), Images of the
Mother of God, 263–74, with full bibliography at n. 1, to which should be added Alice-Mary
Talbot, “Epigrams in Context: Metrical Inscriptions on Art and Architecture of the Palaiologan
Era,” DOP, 53 (1999), 75–90, especially 82–8; and Bauer, “Byzantinische
Geschenkdiplomatie,” 40–1. What follows is based primarily on Vassilaki’s study.
70 Vassilaki, “Praying for the Salvation,” 268. See Cutler, “Manuel Dishypatos” in the ODB; and
PLP, no. 5544. Note that Manuel Dishypatos was credited with prophesying that Manuel
Palaiologos would one day rule according to Pachymeres (I, 47.8–51.2), cited in Macrides,
George Akropolites, 374 n. 11.
71 According to Vassilaki, “Praying for the Salvation,” 266, this inscription reads: “The icon of the
Virgin of Virgins, painted by St. Luke, was received from the Emperor of the East by
Giangaleazzo Duke of the Insubres, and from him by the Earl (comes) of Kent in England, and
from her [sic] by Brunoro della Scala, who sent it as a gift to his brother Nicodemo, the bishop
of Freising, on 23 September 1440. From henceforth it is an object of veneration, and not a

Figure 4.1 Freising icon, Freising Cathedral

in question is not named explicitly, the evidence for the association with
Manuel II is convincing. En route to Paris in 1399, Manuel passed through
Milan, where he was honored by the duke’s hospitality. Visconti pledged
his support of Manuel’s mission, even promising to go to Constantinople
in person should support from other European rulers materialize, and he

gift: nor would others have given it, if they had been sufficiently knowledgeable. Veit Adam, the
Bishop of the church of Freising, placed the Mother of God on behalf of the Mother of God,
1629.”

also showered the emperor’s entourage with “generous gifts, money, horses,
guards, and guides for his journey to France.”72 The emperor too extended
eastern gifts to his host. In addition to one of the thorns from the Crown of
Thorns,73 it seems likely that the Freising icon was offered as a gift at this
moment as well.74
The relationship between the original context and function of the icon
and the diplomatic purpose to which it was later put by the emperor merits
further attention. The poetic epigram on the icon makes clear that Manuel
Dishypatos commissioned the icon as a votive offering in the mid-thirteenth
century:
The yearning of my soul, and silver, and thirdly gold
Are [here] offered to you, the pure Virgin.
However, silver and gold by nature
Could be stained since they are of perishable material,
Whereas the yearning of an immortal soul
Could not be stained nor come to an end.
For even if this body should dissolve in Hades,
It continues to entreat you for the mercy of its soul.
These words are addressed to you
By Manuel Dishypatos, kanstrisios and deacon.
Receive them compassionately, O Virgin,
And grant in return that through your entreaties
I may traverse this ephemeral life without sorrow,
Until you show the end of the day and light.75

This epigram casts the petition to the Virgin in the familiar sacred economy
of gift-giving, where material luxury is offered as a manifestation of immate-
rial desire in exchange for the generosity of the sacred one being petitioned.
Unlike the perishable nature of silver and gold, the prayer emphasizes, the

72 Barker, Manuel II, 172, with further references at n. 88.

73 Vassilaki, “Praying for the Salvation,” 267 cites the source: “Two thorns owned by the
Cathedral of Pavia, where they entered September 2, 1499, one came from Philip of Valois,
who had separated from the crown of Paris . . . The other had been given to the Duke Visconti,
in 1400, by Manuel, during his stay in Pavia.”
74 Vassilaki has most forcefully argued for the association of the icon as a gift from Manuel II to
Giangaleazzo. The confluence of inscription and historic circumstances paired with the tenor
of the piece are convincing. These two pieces of textual evidence – again on the icon itself and
on the altarpiece of the cathedral in which it was placed – specify two moments in the icon’s
history: its original patronage in Thessaloniki in the later thirteenth century and its transfer to
Italy at the very end of the fourteenth century. But Vassilaki’s investigative work allows us to
flesh out the picture ever further and to consider what the gift of this icon might have signified
in Manuel II’s urgent diplomatic agenda.
75 Talbot, “Epigrams in Context,” 82; Vassilaki, “Praying for the Salvation,” 264–5.

patron’s yearning is eternal; yearning is placed above silver and gold. Manuel
Dishypatos offers the icon in the hopes that the Virgin will reciprocate with
kindness. Such a pattern is far from unique.76
Despite its original context of sacred intercession, the prayer inscribed
on the Freising icon also accords well with the tenor of Manuel’s diplomatic
mission to Europe more than a century later. Manuel’s position was one
of a suppliant much like the eponymous first patron of the icon, Manuel
Dishypatos, with the obvious distinction that the former supplicated the
Virgin and the emperor supplicated western terrestrial powers. The sup-
plicatory mood of the epigram is underscored by the icon’s silver revet-
ment, which includes the inscription “Hope of the Hopeless” (῾Η ᾿Ελπὶς τῶν
᾿Ανελπισμένων).77 While extremely rare, Vassilaki notes that this epithet for
the Virgin does appear in a fourteenth-century icon in the church of the
Acheiropoietos in Thessaloniki.78 It was in the late fourteenth century that
the icon took its present form, when the revetment was added and the icon
was over-painted. Presumably Manuel Palaiologos commissioned the revet-
ment with the epithet for the thirteenth-century icon, which came into his
possession during one of his two residencies in Thessaloniki (as despot from
1369 to 1374 and as co-emperor from 1382 to 1387). During both these
periods, he was charged with confiscating ecclesiastical property and selling
church treasures in order to raise funds for his father’s policies and for the
city’s defense against Ottoman forces. It is easy to see why this particular
icon was then selected in time of need to travel with him to the West. The
icon is ideally suited for the emperor’s western diplomacy because of its
first-person prayer in the epigram – significantly, the emperor shares the
same name as the initial petitioner – and its rare but emotional epithet
that signals urgency. The “Hope of the Hopeless” appellation, in particular,
Vassilaki notes, “is the perfect expression of the psychological climate of the
endangered capital, which also dictated the emperor’s political initiatives.”79

76 See Nunn, “The Encheiron as Adjunct,” 73–102. For middle Byzantine epigrams on icons, see
Titos Papamastorakis, “The Display of Accumulated Wealth in Luxury Icons: Gift-Giving from
the Byzantine Aristocracy to God in the Twelfth Century” in Vassilaki (ed.), Βυζαντινές Εικόνες:
Τέχνη, τεχνική και τεχνολογία, 35–47; and Bissera V. Pentcheva, “Epigrams on Icons” in Liz
James (ed.), Art and Text in Byzantine Culture (Cambridge, 2007), 120–38. For Palaiologan
epigrams and artworks, see Talbot, “Epigrams in Context,” 75–90. Ivan Drpić is presently
concluding a thorough analytic study of later Byzantine epigrams, and his forthcoming article,
“The Patron’s ‘I,’” includes discussion of the epigram on the Freising icon.
77 On the left of the Virgin is the abbreviation Μή(τη)ρ Θ(εο)ῦ and on the right ῾Η ᾿Ελπὶς τῶν
᾿Ανελπισμένων.
78 Vassilaki, “Praying for the Salvation,” 269.
79 Ibid., 270. Furthermore, it “describes the psychological climate in which he undertook the
journey” (266).

The Freising icon, as a gift from Manuel II, invokes the close association
of the image of the Virgin, the imperial city, and the emperor. These same
associations have been discussed within the context of the early Palaiologan
era in previous chapters. The icon of the Virgin led Michael VIII’s adventus
into Constantinople in 1261 on her feast day, and the first gold coinage
issued after the return of Byzantine rule to the city paired the Virgin’s effigy
within the walls of the city with a scene of symbolic imperial investiture.
Unlike the early Palaiologan celebration of the return of the Virgin’s favor to
the city, Manuel Palaiologos offered the icon of the Virgin at a moment of
more pronounced uncertainty for the Virgin’s city. Recall that at the end of
the eight-year blockade of the city, Demetrios Chrysoloras composed verses
of praise and thanksgiving to the Virgin – as did the emperor himself.80
The Ottoman siege prompted the emperor to leave Constantinople and
travel in person to the West in search of financial and military assistance.
Along with the emperor, the icon of the Virgin, presumably confiscated by
Manuel in Thessaloniki and brought to Constantinople, left the imperial
city with which she bore a special relationship and was given to western
representatives who held the power to save her city. The emperor was,
in essence, giving the icon’s recipient the visual surrogate of the sacred
protectress of the imperial city, putting her powerful and efficacious effigy
into their hands.
Despite Manuel’s relic and icon diplomacy, he returned to Constantino-
ple empty handed. His personal visit, letters, sacred objects, and icon
did not secure the financial assistance he set out to obtain. Words of
encouragement, even promises, did not materialize into troops or funds.
But he had not exhausted all his options. While supplicated western
recipients may have even questioned the authenticity of the imperial relics
doled out along his sojourn, there was still another potentially valuable
resource: Byzantine books. Upon the emperor’s return to Constantinople,
which remained in Byzantine hands due to providential events entirely
outside his control, the thauma of the Theotokos, the emperor continued
to send letters of appeal to the West, often with relics. He also sent to Paris
a luxurious Greek book, a copy of the works of Dionysios the Areopagite,
which still survives in the Louvre. This gift comprises one part of a larger
narrative of generosity, diplomacy, aesthetics, and iconography that looks

80 Ibid., 270. Manuel II wrote a “paracletic canon to the holiest Mother of God for the present
situation” (citing Émile Legrand, Lettres de l’empereur Manuel Paléologue publiées d’après trois
manuscrits (Amsterdam, 1962), 94–102). As noted above, Gautier published the two texts, the
anonymous description of the siege and Demetrios Chrysoloras’s oration on the anniversary of
the siege of Ankara.

both backwards toward a genealogy of Byzantine–French gifts and forwards

toward an uncertain future.

Imperial generosity and the Corpus Dionysiacum

Manuel’s gift of the deluxe copy of the works of Dionysios the Areopagite
was hand-delivered to France by Manuel Chrysoloras, a key figure in the
cultivation of Greek studies in Europe in the later fourteenth and early
fifteenth centuries. The circumstances of the arrival of the codex, which is
now preserved in the Louvre (Département des Objets d’art, MR 416),81 are
elaborated by a notation in Chrysoloras’s own hand on folio 237v:

This book was sent by the most exalted Basileus and Autokrator of the Romans, lord
Manuel Palaiologos, to the Monastery of Saint Dionysios in Paris in Phrangia or
Galatia, from Constantinople through me, Manuel Chrysoloras, who has been sent
as ambassador by the said Basileus, in the year from the Creation of the Universe,
6916, and from the Incarnation of the Lord, 1408; the said Basileus came formerly
to Paris four years before.82

Here the courier is identified as the emperor’s ambassador, presbus (πρέσ-

βυς), a term from antiquity but one commonly used in later Byzantine
narrative sources to specify diplomatic agents.83 Scholars have noted that
Manuel II’s diplomatic corps was built on bonds of kinship and friendship.84
Chrysoloras was indeed among the emperor’s closest friends and advi-
sors, but he was also an influential teacher of Greek and he served in an
official capacity as the ambassador or envoy. The distinction among these

81 This manuscript has also been cited as Louvre, Département des Objets d’art, Ivoires A53 and
A100, owing to discrepancies in early Louvre inventories.
82 Barker, Manuel II, 264, 545 (and fig. 20): Τὸ παρὸν βιβλίον ἀπεστάλη παρὰ τοῦ ὑψηλοτάτου
βασιλέως καὶ / αὐτοκράτορος ῾Ρωμαίων κυροῦ Μανουὴλ τοῦ Παλαιολόγου εἰς τὸ μο/ναστήριον
τοῦ ἁγίου Διονυσίου τοῦ ἐν Παρυσίῳ τῆς Φραγγίας ἢ Γαλατίας / ἀπὸ τῆς Κωνσταντινουπόλεως
δι’ ἐμοῦ Μανουὴλ τοῦ Χρυσολωρᾶ πεμ/φθέντος πρέσβεως παρὰ τοῦ εἰρημένου βασιλέως, ἔτει
ἀπὸ κτίσεως / κόσμου, ἑξακισχιλιοστῷ ἐννεακοσιοστῷ ἑξκαιδεκάτῳ· ἀπὸ σαρκώσεως / δὲ τοῦ
Κυρίου χιλιοστῷ τετρακοσιοστῷ ὀγδόῳ· / ὅστις εἰρημένος βασιλεὺς ἦλθε πρότερον εἰς τὸ
Παρύσιον πρὸ ἐτῶν τεσσάρων. Of course, as scholars acknowledge, the emperor had in
actuality left Paris six years before, not four as the inscription states.
83 Mergiali-Sahas, “A Byzantine Ambassador,” 598.
84 Rather than constituting a self-sufficient diplomatic corps, these “men of confidence,” as
characterized by Oikonomides, were selected on the basis of their “personal ties with the ruler
himself,” according to Barker, “Emperors, Embassies, and Scholars,” 158. Of the thirty
documented missions to the West under Manuel II, Mergiali-Sahas (“A Byzantine
Ambassador,” 598) calculates, twenty-one ambassadors are recorded, and of these, seven
ambassadors were related to the emperor. The records generally specify the name and
relationship to the emperor without reference to exact office or station.

different guises does not always remain clear and their relation merits fur-
ther comment.
Manuel Chrysoloras was a student of Demetrios Kydones, who was
Manuel Palaiologos’s teacher, friend, and recipient of many of the emperor’s
letters, including the one with which this chapter began.85 Kydones and
Chrysoloras were together in Venice in the mid-1390s, having been sought
out by a number of “enthusiastic Florentines” to teach Greek. Later,
Chrysoloras received a formal invitation from the Florentine Republic
to provide instruction in Greek language and literature.86 Chrysoloras’s
teaching agenda in Italy frames the emperor’s western diplomatic mission.
Recall that en route to Paris in 1399/1400, the emperor met Chrysoloras
in Milan at the court of Giangaleazzo Visconti, where he presented Vis-
conti with the Hope of the Hopeless icon of the Virgin and a piece of
the Crown of Thorns. After the emperor moved on to Paris and London,
Chrysoloras remained to teach Greek and collect funds for the emperor,
his scholarly endeavors thus intersecting with official diplomatic activity.87
Two of the emperor’s surviving letters written in Paris are addressed to
Chrysoloras and in them, as discussed above, the emperor articulates his
hope and anxiety about his prospects of garnering support. At the close of his
extended European sojourn, the two were reunited for the emperor’s journey
homeward.
In the years following their return to the imperial capital, Chrysoloras
continued to act as the emperor’s diplomatic agent. Because of his con-
nections to humanist circles in Italy, it was Chrysoloras whom Manuel
entrusted with keeping the Byzantine cause alive in the West. While dealing
with the struggle for succession among Bayezid’s sons, Manuel incessantly
directed diplomatic appeals to different courts in Spain, England, France,
and Italy; Chrysoloras played an integral role in these endeavors.88 After
returning to Constantinople with the emperor, Chrysoloras traveled twice
to Italy in 1404 and again in 1405–6. Then in 1407 Chrysoloras embarked
upon his final mission, a lengthy three-year peripatetic journey with visits to
Venice, Genoa, Paris, London, Salisbury, and Barcelona. During this time,

85 And he also accompanied Manuel’s father, John V, to Rome, as noted in the Introduction to
Part II.
86 Teacher and student traveled together in 1395 and 1396–7. See Barker, “Emperors, Embassies,
and Scholars,” 162–6. Chrysoloras’s “trailblazing” educational program began in February
1397.
87 Mergiali-Sahas, “A Byzantine Ambassador,” 601, describes him both as a scholar-ambassador
and as the “forerunner of a resident ambassador” at this point.
88 Barker, Manuel II, 257, notes that however incomplete our knowledge of the exact diplomatic
missions during the decade after Manuel’s return may be, it is clear that “his agents continued
the quest for aid without cessation.”

he renewed the contacts made during his earlier mission and cultivated
friendships through gifts of relics.89 But for France, a relic would not do.
After all, Louis IX of France (1226–70) had acquired the Crown of Thorns
and other major relics of the Passion, and had built the Sainte-Chapelle
as a monumental jewel-like reliquary to house them in the mid-thirteenth
century.90 Instead, Manuel delivered the deluxe copy of the works of Diony-
sios the Areopagite.
The decision to send this particular book as a diplomatic gift was strate-
gically significant, as Manuel’s gift was essentially a sequel to an earlier
Byzantine imperial gift of the same text to the same abbey. During the
emperor’s stay in Paris in 1400, he visited the royal abbey, where he even
attended mass with King Charles.91 There he could have seen the deluxe
ninth-century copy of the Corpus Dionysiacum that had been offered to the
Abbey of Saint-Denis by the Byzantine Emperor Michael II (r. 820–9).92 The
gift of the earlier codex, now preserved as Paris BN Ms. Gr. 437, has been
described by Michael McCormick as “one of the most pregnant instances
of cross-cultural transfer in the Middle Ages.”93 Although the pages of the
ninth-century imperial gift contain no illustration or ornament, the book

89 See discussion in Barker, “Emperors, Embassies, and Scholars,” 165–6.

90 As Klein, “Eastern Objects and Western Desires,” 312, astutely points out. On Louis and the
Crown of Thorns, see Klein, 307–8; Jannic Durand, “La translation des reliques impériales de
Constantinople à Paris” and “Les reliques et reliquaires byzantins acquis par saint Louis” in
Durand and Laffitte (eds.), Le trésor de la Sainte-Chapelle, 37–41 and 52–54; and Claudine
Billot, “Des Reliques de la passion dans le royaume de France” in Durand and Flusin (eds.),
Byzance et les reliques du Christ, 239–48.
91 This was on his second visit to Paris after his trip to London. See Barker, Manuel II, 181–3;
Schlumberger, “Un Empereur,” 124–5; and Berger de Xivrey, “Mémoire,” 110–11.
92 It is hard to imagine that the Byzantine emperor would not have been given a tour of the
abbey’s library and shown the deluxe ninth-century copy, or at the very least been made aware
of its presence. The codex remained in the abbey library until the late sixteenth or early
seventeenth century.
93 Michael McCormick, “Byzantium’s Role in the Formation of Early Medieval Civilization:
Approaches and Problems,” Illinois Classical Studies, 12(2) (1987), 218. On this ninth-century
book, see Byzance et la France médiévale (Paris, 1958), 3–4 (cat. no. 6); and Byzance, L’art
byzantin dans les collections publiques françaises (Paris, 1992), 188 (cat. no. 126). On the context
of the book’s exchange, see Brubaker, “The Elephant and the Ark,” 182–3; Lowden, “The
Luxury Book,” 250–1; G. Théry, Études Dionysiennes I (Paris, 1932); Raymond-Joseph
Loenertz, “La Légende parisienne de S. Denys l’Aréopagite. Sa genèse et son premier témoin,”
Analecta Bollandiana, 69 (1951), 217–37 [repr. Byzantina et Franco-Graeca I (Rome, 1970)]; H.
Omont, “Manuscrit des oeuvres de S. Denys l’Aréopagite envoyé de Constantinople à Louis le
Débonnaire en 827,” REG, 17 (1904), 230–6; Andrew Louth, “St Denys the Areopagite and the
Iconoclast Controversy” in Ysabel de Andia (ed.), Denys l’Aréopagite et sa postérité en Orient et
en Occident (Paris, 1997), 335. The afterlife of this volume in comparison to the Palaiologan
copy is treated in Cecily J. Hilsdale, “The Agency of the Object: The Translation and Translatio
of Two Byzantine Books in France” (essay under review).

is a large sumptuous codex written entirely in a clear uncial script. The fact
that very few could read Greek does not diminish the significance of its
arrival. Solemnly carried in procession from Louis’s palace at Compiègne to
the Abbey of Saint-Denis on the vigil of the saint’s feast, the book was said
to perform no less than nineteen miraculous cures on the very night of its
transfer. In other words, as an object, it carried social and spiritual weight
regardless of its literal legibility.94
Interest in the content of the book was quick to follow the ninth-
century Byzantine gift, and the dissemination of Dionysian thought per-
vaded intellectual circles in Western Europe.95 Despite its lack of imagery,
the manuscript sent by Michael II lies at the core of the development of

94 McCormick, “Byzantium’s Role,” too has discussed the different valences of the book’s
reception, first as a relic and then as a devotional work (i.e., involving the content). In terms of
legibility, Lowden ultimately suggests that books did not make good diplomatic gifts because
of the linguistic issues. But see Paul Magdalino’s important recent essay, “Évaluation de dons et
donation de livres dans la diplomatie byzantine” in Michael Grünbart (ed.), Geschenke erhalten
die Freundschaft: Gabentausch und Netzwerkpflege im europäischen Mittelalter (Berlin, 2001),
103–16. Note that Magdalino also treats the reception of the ninth-century gift in great detail.
For Greek learning in the West at this time, see W. Berschin, Greek Letters and the Later Middle
Ages: From Jerome to Nicholas of Cusa, revised and expanded edn., trans. J. C. Frakes
(Washington DC, 1988), 126–56, especially 117–25; and L. D. Reynolds and N. G. Wilson,
Scribes and Scholars: A Guide to the Transmission of Greek and Latin Literature, 2nd edn.
(Oxford, 1974), especially 105–7.
95 As Brubaker, “The Elephant and the Ark,” 183, puts it, the book’s arrival “set off a chain of
reactions.” The text was translated first by Hilduin himself around 838 upon the instruction of
Louis the Pious and a second time by John Scotus Eriugena for Charles the Bald (c. 860). It was
Eriugena’s translation, a significant improvement over the first, that launched the diffusion of
the Dionysian “influence.” See McCormick, “Byzantium’s Role,” 218; Michael McCormick,
“Diplomacy and the Carolingian Encounter with Byzantium Down to the Accession of Charles
the Bald” in B. McGinn and W. Otten (eds.), Eriugena: East and West (Notre Dame, 1994),
15–48 (as well as the introduction to this volume by McGinn); and Édouard Jeauneau, “Jean
Scot Érigène et le grec,” Archivum Latinitatis Medii Aevi, 41 (1979), 5–50 [repr. Édouard
Jeauneau, Études érigéniennes (Paris, 1987), 85–132]. Eriugena’s translation of Michael II’s
Byzantine gift bears particular implications for art and aesthetic theory at the Carolingian court
and beyond. A number of significant Carolingian artistic commissions have been interpreted
through the lens of the Pseudo-Areopagite and his first interpreter and translator, Eriugena, in
particular, the Codex Aureus of St Emmeram in Munich and the Lindau Gospels in the
Morgan Library, both part of the lavish patronage of Charles the Bald’s court. The manuscript
and the cover of the Codex Aureus have been read in light of Eriugena’s numerology. See Paul
Edward Dutton and Édouard Jeauneau, “The Verses of the ‘Codex Aureus’ of
Saint-Emmeram,” Studi medievali, 3(24) (1983), 75–120 [repr. Jeauneau, Études érigéniennes,
543–638]. The unusual crucifixion iconography of the upper cover of the Lindau Gospels has
been explained both by the translated Pseudo-Areopagite’s text and by Eriugena’s Periphyseon.
Jeanne-Marie Musto, “John Scottus Eriugena and the Upper Cover of the Lindau Gospels,”
Gesta, 40(1) (2001), 1–18, has argued that the design of the Lindau cover reconfigured
previous Carolingian iconographic traditions to provide “a visual analogue to Eriugena’s
ecumenical vision,” with its powerful metaphors for the return of creation to Christ and its
emphasis on transcendent vision. Other Carolingian works have been read through the lens of

aesthetic theory in the West, far beyond the Carolingian court. The ninth-
century book is generally credited with the genesis of Dionysian “influence”
in Western Europe: its translation was interpreted and amended, circulated
widely, and read by luminaries at the University of Paris and elsewhere.96
Dionysian theories of emanations underlie the notion of art as uplifting
and contemplative, art as anagoge: “it is by way of the perceptible images
that we are uplifted as far as we can be to the contemplation of what
is divine.”97 This understanding of material beauty as vehicle of spiritual
ascent informs such prominent figures as Suger, Abbot of Saint-Denis from
1122 to 1151. From Pseudo-Dionysios’s Celestial Hierarchy in particular,
Suger was inspired to consider the anagogical qualities of glass and stone so
that this world’s beauty can transport the pious contemplator to a higher
realm.98
While Michael II’s ninth-century copy of the Corpus Dionysiacum occu-
pies a privileged position in the development of western aesthetic theory,
this Byzantine gift was embedded within a larger trajectory of aesthetics
and iconography that traveled both west and east. The arrival in France
of the ninth-century Greek copy of the works of Pseudo-Dionysios from
Constantinople immediately inspired the composition of a new passio of
the saint written in Latin.99 This new Latin passio was then translated into

Pseudo-Dionysios; see, for example, Archer St Clair, “A New Moses: Typological Iconography
in the Moutier-Grandval Bible Illustrations of Exodus,” Gesta, 26(1) (1987), 19–28.
96 See Hyacinthe François Dondaine, Le Corpus dionysien de l’université de Paris au XIIIe siècle

(Rome, 1953); L. M. Harrington (ed. and trans.), A Thirteenth-Century Textbook of the

Mystical Theology at the University of Paris (Leuven, 2004); and many of the essays in de Andia
(ed.), Denys l’Aréopagite.
97 Pseudo-Dionysius: The Complete Works, translated by Colm Luibheid, with foreword, notes,

and translation collaboration with Paul Rorem (New York, 1987), 197 [=PG 3, Ecclesiastical
Hierarchy 337B].
98 See E. Panofsky (ed. and trans.), Abbot Suger on the Abbey Church of St.-Denis and its Art

Treasures, 2nd edn. (Princeton, 1979 [1946]). In De administratione, for example, Suger writes
of precious adornment of the cross of St Elegius (Eloy) and the so-called “crista” of
Charlemagne: “the loveliness of the many-colored gems has called me away from external
cares, and worthy meditation has induced me to reflect, transferring that which is material to
that which is immaterial . . . I can be transported from this inferior to that higher world in an
anagogical manner.” In the very next sentence, Suger compares the treasures of his church to
those of Hagia Sophia in Constantinople. Suger’s meditation on bronze reliefs of the central
west portal’s doors is another celebrated instance of Dionysian imagery. For Panofsky, Abbot
Suger, 23, Suger’s writing “amount[s] to a condensed statement of the whole theory of
‘anagogical’ illumination.” See responses by G. A. Zinn, Jr., “Suger, Theology, and the
Pseudo-Dionysian Tradition” in P. L. Gerson (ed.), Abbot Suger and Saint-Denis. A Symposium
(New York, 1986), 33–40; and Peter Kidson, “Panofsky, Suger, and St. Denis,” Journal of the
Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 50 (1987), 1–17.
99 On the relation of the new passio in Latin (the Post beatam et gloriosam, BHL 2178) to the

much older passion (the Gloriosae, BHL 2171), see Louth, “St Denys,” 336; Raymond-Joseph

Greek sometime before 833 and was sent to Constantinople as a return

gift that responded directly to the initial imperial offering.100 The most
significant difference between the new passio written after the receipt of
the Byzantine book and the older model is the explicit identification of the
Areopagite with the martyr of Paris. The patron saint of the abbey who
had converted Gaul was thus given an apostolic pedigree. This synthesis
of eastern and western hagiographic traditions ultimately brought together
three Dionysii: the first-century bishop of Athens converted by St Paul on the
Areopagus according to Acts 17:34, the third-century missionary to Gaul
and first bishop of Paris,101 and the fifth-century anonymous author of the
four theological treatises and ten letters known collectively as the Corpus
Dionysiacum.102
In tandem with this new passio, an iconographic innovation emerged
in the east. Traditionally, the martyrdom of Dionysios the Areopagite is
represented in Byzantine art as a fairly conventional scene of decapitation.
But following the new passio (the post beatum), as Christopher Walter argues,
we encounter a visual program in the east of St Dionysios kephalophoros
where the saint bears his own decapitated head in his hands. The legend
of the saint carrying his severed head is decidedly western in origin –
again, it was the post beatum that first associated the Areopagite with St
Denis of Gaul and that first related the head-bearing miracle. Thus, the
iconographic development of St Dionysios kephalophoros can be seen as
one part of a larger artistic and hagiographic exchange. This exchange, it is
important to note, should not be understood as one of simple “influence.”103
While the kephalophoros legend may be western in origin, the iconography
itself is decidedly an eastern invention.104 Byzantine kephalophoros imagery

Loenertz, “Le panégyrique de S. Denys l’Aréopagite par S. Michel le Syncelle,” Analecta

Bollandiana, 68 (1950), 94–107 [= Byzantina et Franco-Graeca I, 149–62]; and Loenertz, “La
légende parisienne de S. Denys l’Aréopagite.” It has recently been argued that the Post beatam
was written a generation earlier; see the discussion in Édouard Jeauneau, “L’Abbaye de
Saint-Denis introductrice de Denys en Occident” in de Andia (ed.), Denys l’Aréopagite, 363–4.
100 The Greek translation of the Latin legend: PG 4: 669–84. This then served as the source for the
Greek vita by Michael Synkellos, on which see Loenertz, “Le panégyrique,” 94–107.
101 This St Denis, after being decapitated for his faith, picked up his head and walked with it to
his burial spot, commemorated first by tomb, then church, then by royal abbey. The history of
the identification of the author is succinctly outlined by Paul Rorem, Pseudo-Dionysius: A
Commentary on the Texts and an Introduction to Their Influence (Oxford, 1993), 15–18. See
also Louth, “St. Denys,” 336; and Loenertz, Byzantina et Franco-Graeca, 171.
102 The Corpus Dionysiacum consists of The Divine Names, The Mystical Theology, The Celestial
Hierarchy, The Ecclesiastical Hierarchy, as well as the Letters.
103 See McCormick, “Byzantium’s Role,” 218, on the inadequacy of the term for this context.
104 Walter is explicit about this point. He argues that although it was originally a western
hagiographic narrative, the céphalophorie was reinterpreted in Byzantine iconography to

emphasizes the head as a trophy or prized relic. Folio 82 of the illustrated

Synaxarion of Basil II illustrates this point well (Figure 4.2). At the very
center of the composition, the severed head is held in the hands of the
martyr in a manner reminiscent of a sacred offering; his dark cloak covers
his hands as an indication of its sanctity.105
The Byzantine emperor’s ninth-century gift of a book thus generated a
plethora of counter-gifts. On a conceptual level, it provided the raw material
for translation and philosophical inquiry that would profoundly shape
aesthetic theory in the West. At the same time, it provoked the genesis of a
new narrative: the writing and giving of a new passio and the development
of a new iconography.106
With this genealogy in mind, we can now return to the Palaiologan copy
of the Corpus Dionysiacum extended as a gift to the same abbey centuries
later. Elegantly written in a single column of minuscule framed by scholia,
the script is punctuated frequently by enlarged letters in gold and other
ornament, including four headpieces marking book divisions.107 The most

emphasize the head as a trophy “and in the case of a martyr, a prized relic.” See C. Walter,
“Three Notes on the Iconography of Dionysius the Areopagite,” REB, 48 (1990), 255–74,
especially 268–72.
105 See Evans and Wixom (eds.), Glory of Byzantium, 100–1 (cat. no. 55) with bibliography. In a
more simplified version of this scene on an icon at St Catherine’s monastery, Mount Sinai, the
martyr similarly presents his head as an offering, although unlike the synaxarion image,
dressed in Episcopal garb, the omophorion, and without an intermediary cloth covering his
hands. See Walter, “Three Notes,” 272. On the omophorion, see C. Walter, Art and Ritual of
the Byzantine Church (London, 1982), 9–13. The representation of St Dionysios holding his
fully severed head on this page stands in sharp contrast to other martyrs being beheaded,
which occur with great frequency in the synaxarion. In general, such martyrdoms are depicted
either right before the beheading, emphasizing the pregnant moment of anticipation, or
immediately afterwards with the decapitated head on the ground (this later instance occurs
on this page for his companions in the lower-left corner). The representation of St Dionysios
stands out as distinct from these more typical formulae.
106 It is important to point out that these developments are distinct from the original Byzantine
intention of the gift of the book. McCormick, “Byzantium’s Role,” 219, points out that
Hilduin’s zealousness in having the book translated and having the new passio written “was
first and foremost a weapon in the struggle to enhance the prestige and power of his own
house via an apostolic connection,” having perhaps nothing at all to do with Byzantium. In
other words, Michael II could not foresee his gift causing these particular results.
107 It is slightly larger than the previous edition. The size difference is just over two centimeters,
with the Louvre codex measuring 27.3 × 20 cm and the earlier BN codex measuring 25 ×
17.5 cm. Headpieces on ff. 7r, 55v, 147r and 205r. Catalog entries of the codex include: Musée
du Louvre, Byzance: L’art byzantin dans les collections publiques françaises (Paris, 1992), 463–4
(cat. no. 353); Musée du Louvre, Le trésor de Saint-Denis (Paris, 1991), 276–7 (cat. no. 60);
and Bibliothèque Nationale, Byzance et la France médiévale (Paris, 1958), 32–3 (cat. no. 51).
The scholia are by both John of Scythopolis and Maximos the Confessor; on the former, see
P. Rorem and J. C. Lamoreaux, John of Scythopolis and the Dionysian Corpus: Annotating the
Areopagite (Oxford, 1998).

Figure 4.2 St Dionysios in the Synaxarion of Basil II, Vatican Library, Vat. Gr. 1613,
fol. 82

significant departure from the ninth-century book, however, is the addition

of two miniatures of the highest quality at the beginning of the codex: a
portrait of the author on folio 1r (Figure 4.3) followed by the imperial family
on folio 2r (Figure 4.4), to which we will turn shortly.

Figure 4.3 Author portrait, works of Dionysios the Areopagite, Louvre, Paris, MR 416
fol. 1r

While Chrysoloras’s colophon secures the terminus ante quem for the
book as a whole, the earlier chronology of the codex requires elaboration.
On the basis of the inscribed names and titles of the figures represented on
folio 2r, the imperial family portrait must have been executed at some point
between June 1403, when the imperial family was reunited and returned
to Constantinople, and February 1405, when the emperor’s fourth son,

Figure 4.4 Palaiologan family portrait, works of Dionysios the Areopagite, Louvre,
Paris , MR 416 fol. 2r

Constantine, who is not included in the portrait, was born.108 Yet paleo-
graphic analysis suggests that the manuscript’s text was written in the first

108 See P. Schreiner, “Chronologische Untersuchungen zur Familie Kaiser Manuels II,” BZ, 63(2)
(1970), 286–7; Spatharakis, The Portrait, 143; Klaus Wessel, “Manuel II. Palaiologos und seine
Familie: Zur Miniature des Cod. Ivoires A 53 des Louvre” in Rüdiger Becksmann (ed.),
Beiträge zur Kunst des Mittelalters. Festschrift für Hans Wentzel (Berlin, 1975), 219–29; and
Oikonomides, “John VII Palaeologus,” 333.

third of the fourteenth century.109 The emperor’s gift, then, was recycled.
Like the Freising icon, where an early Palaiologan icon was revetted in the
later fourteenth century and then subsequently put to use in the emperor’s
western diplomacy, the production of the codex involved both reuse and
originality.
The chronology of the book can be summarized as follows. In the first
third of the fourteenth century, the text was copied but presumably not
illuminated. Following the emperor’s mission to the West, the two illumi-
nations were commissioned, again sometime between 1403 and 1405.110
At some point before Chrysoloras left Constantinople in 1407, the codex
was assembled: the earlier fourteenth-century text was integrated with the
early fifteenth-century miniatures. Relatively soon after Manuel’s return
from Paris, therefore, the images were commissioned to accompany a pre-
existing copy of Pseudo-Dionysios to be sent as a gift to Paris, where he had
been hosted for most of his stay.
Regarding the issue of reuse, Erich Lamberz has questioned why a new
copy was not commissioned for this diplomatic occasion; why, in other
words, a used copy was extended as a gift and by implication whether such
an act was less noble than offering a newly copied book.111 The problem
was not, he insists, that a new deluxe manuscript could not have been
produced at this time. After all, in 1375 the Hodegon monastery had pro-
duced the presentation copy of the theological works of John VI Kantak-
ouzenos (Paris Gr. 1242), with its exceptionally high-quality miniatures.112
But because by the early fifteenth century, parchment, although still avail-
able, had become expensive and scarce, an older book made with the
more valued and esteemed parchment was re-purposed.113 The pre-existing

109 The paleography of the codex has been dated to the fourteenth century by B. Fonkitch, “Le
manuscrit du Louvre des oeuvres de Denys l’Aréopagite” in Manuscrits grecs dans les
collections européennes. Études Paléographiques et Codicologiques (Moscow, 1999), 58–61
[in Russian]; and Erich Lamberz, “Das Geschenk des Kaisers Manuel II. an das Kloster
Saint-Denis und der ‘Metochitesschreiber’ Michael Klostomalles” in B. Borkopp and T.
Steppan (eds.), Λιθόστρωτον: Studien zur byzantinischen Kunst und Geschichte. Festschrift für
Marcel Restle (Stuttgart, 2000), 156–9. I would like to thank Georgi Parpulov for first bringing
Fonkitch’s study to my attention.
110 Presumably the portrait of the Areopagite was created at the same time, as the inscriptions
match those of the imperial portrait: Lamberz, “Das Geschenk,” 160. See also André Grabar’s
comments on the similar modeling of the faces of the author and the Virgin and Child on the
imperial portrait, in “Des peintures byzantines de 1408 au Musée du Louvre” in Mélanges
offerts à René Crozet II (Poitiers, 1966), 1357.
111 Lamberz, “Das Geschenk,” 160.
112 BFP, 286–7 (cat. no. 171); and Drpić, “Art, Hesychasm, and Visual Exegesis.” See also Linos
Politis, “Eine Schreiberschule im Kloster τῶν ῾Οδηγῶν,” BZ, 51 (1958), 17–36.
113 As Lamberz, “Das Geschenk,” 161, points out, the scribe Georgios Chrysokokkes, for
example, uses parchment only when it was provided by his clients. The deluxe copy of the

fourteenth-century book may have been housed in the imperial library,

which held, Pero Tafur informs us, “many books and ancient writings and
histories . . . so that the emperor’s house may always be well supplied.”114
The emperor could have simply sent this earlier luxury book to the abbey. It
would have been a perfectly fine gift, and entirely appropriate for the Abbey
of Saint-Denis because of its content. But unlike the copy sent to France by
his predecessor in the ninth century, Manuel’s book was embellished with
new custom-made portraits. Amending a pre-existing deluxe parchment
book with newer images met the time constraints and utilized the more
valued writing material. In addition, the portraits marked the book as a
personal rather than an anonymous gift and, further, afforded the opportu-
nity to convey more nuanced messages of imperial authority following the
failure of his fundraising mission.
Because they date from different times and contexts, scholars have tended
to study the images of this book separately from the text. But in my reading
they must be considered intimately bound as a gesture of imperial prestation
entirely consistent with the Palaiologan emperor’s agenda following his
western sojourn. While the text was originally copied for a separate purpose
and patron, the images were specifically made for this particular diplomatic
context, and the assembled book as a whole configures imperial authority in
a distinct and original manner. The combination of selected text and newly
commissioned images together associates the imperial office and body of
the emperor with a Byzantine genealogy of the Neoplatonic philosophy
of Pseudo-Dionysios, an author whose theoretical formulations imbue the
emperor’s own intellectual pursuits.115 Two intertwined Dionysian themes

works of Hippocrates commissioned by Alexios Apokaukos around 1338 (on which see BFP,
26–7 (cat. no. 2)) employs paper for the text but parchment for the prefatory images of the
author and donor. Time too may have been of the essence. It may have been necessary to reuse
a book in order for it to be ready to travel with Chrysoloras.
114 Chapter XVII of Pero Tafur: Travels and Adventures (1435–1439), edited and translated by
Malcolm Letts (London, 1926). On libraries, see Nigel Wilson, “The Libraries of the Byzantine
World” in Dieter Harlfinger (ed.), Griechische Kodikologie und Textüberlieferung (Darmstadt,
1980), 276–309 [original version in GRBS, 8 (1967), 53–80]; E. Gamillscheg, “Zur
Rekonstruktion einer Konstantinopolitaner Bibliothek,” Rivista di Studi Bizantini e Slavi, 1
(1981), 282–93; and Wilson’s most recent overview of libraries in the Oxford Handbook of
Byzantine Studies, 620–5 with bibliography.
115 While in France, he composed a treatise on the Procession of the Holy Spirit in response to a
syllogism presented to him by one of the monks of Saint-Denis. Dennis, The Letters, xvii,
references this treatise, which was unedited at the time of Dennis’s publication. The full text is
now edited: Charalambos Dendrinos, “An Annotated Critical Edition (editio princeps) of
Emperor Manuel II Palaeologus’ Treatise On the Procession of the Holy Spirit,” PhD thesis,
University of London (Royal Holloway College), 1996. The treatise survives in two
manuscripts in the Vatican: Vat. 1107 and Barb. Gr. 219. On the relation of these manuscripts,
see Dendrinos, “An Annotated Critical Edition,” xciii. Cf. Barker, Manuel II, 192–3, 437. Not

in particular undergird Manuel’s gift: the conception of hierarchy and the

dynamic of procession and return. These central themes of the Dionysian
corpus not only inflect the book’s prefatory images but, further, offer the
most appropriate theoretical optic through which to view the network of
reciprocity within which the book was given. At this point, one could
draw upon modern anthropological strategies to unpack the shifting power
dynamics of the gift exchange, and indeed such a methodology would
illuminate the hierarchical tone of the book and of the diplomatic exchange.
But in this instance, the Dionysian content of the book itself offers a more
proximate lens for theorizing Byzantine prestation.116

Imperial mediation and the hierarchy of procession and return

Two of the Dionysian treatises – the Celestial Hierarchy and the Earthly
Hierarchy – focus explicitly on hierarchy as the mechanism by which
a community mirrors God and accesses divine revelation.117 Hierarchy
(ἱεραρχία) is defined as “a sacred order, a state of understanding and an

only does this treatise exhibit a familiarity with the assimilated hagiography of
Denis-Dionysios – he makes locative reference to St Dionysios Areopagite as the founder of
the Church of Gaul “who suffered martyrdom and lies here” – it also references the Corpus
Dionysiacum to bolster its position. Specifically, there are seven references to the Corpus
Dionysiacum, to both the Divine Names and the Mystical Theology.
116 Neoplatonic philosophies in general and the writings of Dionysios the Areopagite in
particular are widely acknowledged as theoretical foundations for Byzantine representational
strategies and image theory. See the foundational studies by André Grabar: “Plotin et les
origines de l’esthétique médiévale,” CA, 1 (1945), 15–34 [repr. L’Art de la fin de l’Antiquité et
du Moyen âge I, 15–29]; and “La représentation de l’Intelligible dans l’art byzantin du Moyen
Âge” in Actes du VIe Congrès international des Études byzantines II (Paris, 1950–1), 127–43
[repr. L’Art de la fin de l’Antiquité I, 51–62]. They are published together with prefatory
material in André Grabar, Les origines de l’esthétique médiévale (Paris, 1992), 29–121. See also
Warren Woodfin, “Celestial Hierarchies and the Earthly Hierarchies in the Art of the
Byzantine Church” in Stephenson (ed.), Byzantine World, 303–19. My contention here is that
the Palaiologan emperor’s gift is inflected by the particular order of hierarchy and procession
and return that are central structures of the Neoplatonic framework of the Areopagite’s
writing. Within the diplomatic context for which the codex was created, I argue, these
fundamental philosophical ideas also inflect the logic of its extension as a gift.
117 Pseudo-Dionysius, 154 (Celestial Hierarchy 3, 165A: 6–7): “The goal of a hierarchy, then is to
enable beings to be as like as possible to God and to be at one with him. A hierarchy has God
as its leader of all understanding and action. It is forever looking directly at the comeliness of
God. A hierarchy bears in itself the mark of God. Hierarchy causes its members to be images
of God in all respects, to be clear and spotless mirrors reflecting the glow of primordial light
and indeed of God himself. It ensures that when its members have received this full and divine
splendor they can then pass on this light generously and in accordance with God’s will to
beings further down the scale.” On the language of hierarchy in the Corpus, see
Pseudo-Dionysius, 19–22.

activity approximating as closely as possible to the divine light.”118 Like

the concept of taxis or order, which serves as the organizing principle of
ceremonial life and statecraft in Byzantium, pure hierarchy has for the author
of the Corpus Dionysiacum “rejected and abandoned everything of disor-
der, of disharmony, and of confusion. Rather, it has manifested the order,
the harmony and the distinction proportionate to the sacred orders within
it.”119 This definition comes at the beginning of the fifth chapter of the
Ecclesiastical Hierarchy, which outlines clerical orders, in particular the con-
secration or ordination of the hierarch. At this point, the author describes
the process through which access to the sacred (to revelation and authority)
is transmitted through the different hierarchical ranks. Through “the three-
fold division of every hierarchy,” the hierarch (bishop), priest, and deacon
are linked to the larger schema of angelic intermediaries.120 Those celestial
beings closest to God, the conceptual and incorporeal angelic beings whose
“lot [is] to be as like God and as imitative of God as is possible,” guide those
below upward toward “this sacred perfection.” This fundamental process is
described as follows:

To the sacred orders farther below the scale they generously bestow, in proportion
to their capacity, the knowledge of the workings of God, knowledge forever made
available as a gift to themselves by that divinity which is absolute perfection and
which is the source of wisdom for the divinely intelligent beings. The ranks coming
in succession to these premier beings are sacredly lifted up by their mediation to
enlightenment in the sacred workings of the divinity.121

In this passage, the author encapsulates an epistemology of divine revelation

where God is the perfect source of all, and revelation is passed down through
the sacred orders in proportion to the capacity of each successive rank –
from the hierarch, to the priests, to the deacons.122 The clerical hierarchy is

118 Pseudo-Dionysius, 153 (Celestial Hierarchy 3, 164D: 1–2).

119 Ibid., 233 (Ecclesiastical Hierarchy 5, 500D: 6–9). See also René Roques, L’Univers Dionysien,
Structure hiérarchique du monde selon pseudo-Denys (Paris, 1954); and Ronald F. Hathaway,
Hierarchy and the Definition of Order in the Letters of Pseudo-Dionysius (The Hague, 1969). See
also Andrew Louth, Denys the Areopagite (Wilton, 1989), 38; and Rorem, Pseudo-Dionysius,
21, on the use of the word hierarchy (ἱεραρχία) in the Corpus Dionysiacum; and Ahrweiler,
L’ideologie, 136–41.
120 The three angelic triads of three laid out in the Celestial Hierarchy mediate between divinity
and humanity. The Dionysian pattern of triads is based on Neoplatonic logic as much if not
more than Trinitarian.
121 Pseudo-Dionysius, 233–4 (Ecclesiastical Hierarchy 5, 501A–B).
122 Rorem’s discussion of Letter 8 (Pseudo-Dionysius, 18–24) offers a particularly clear
explanation of hierarchy and clerical status.

thus fixed within the larger hierarchical schema as a mirror of the celestial
order.
This hierarchical schema is based on a framework of internal mediation,
procession, and return, where, as clearly summarized by Paul Rorem, “the
divine remains immanent in itself, yet it also proceeds outwards or down-
ward, and then reverts or returns back to itself.”123 These processes should
neither be understood as sequential nor as mirror images of each other;
they are simultaneous and causally complementary.124 Internally mediated
hierarchy is the organizing principle of the Dionysian epistemology and, it
is argued here, also of the Palaiologan copy of the Corpus Dionysiacum.
Manuel II’s gift of the Corpus Dionysiacum, the images of which were
commissioned soon after his return from France, opens with a portrait of the
author, St Dionysios (Figure 4.3). He is depicted in the liturgical vestments
of a Byzantine bishop, wearing the omophorion, a long ceremonial scarf
bearing a large cross motif draped from one shoulder to the other. Under
this symbol of the Episcopal office, he wears a white sticharion or tunic, with
stripes reserved for a bishop’s vestment, under a polystaurion phelonion or
eucharistic over-garment worn by both priests and bishops, along with
an epitrachelion or Episcopal stole and epigonation, an ornamental square-
shaped textile suspended from his girdle.125 He stands at the center of the
page with no ground line or hint of setting and stares frontally out of
the page holding the gold-encrusted book, his gift, in his hand. Unlike the
narrative image of Dionysios in Basil II’s illustrated Synaxarion (Figure 4.2),
the saint’s cloak, here explicitly a Byzantine bishop’s phelonion, covers his
book-bearing hand, elevating the codex, his work, to relic status.
This first image situates the textual content of the codex visually. Within
the context of the whole book, as we will see below, this seemingly
straightforward image of the saint bears interpretive weight: the author
is pictured explicitly as a Byzantine bishop with his sacred gift in his hand.
His gift is not his head, as in the kephalophoros iconography, but rather

123 Ibid., 51.

124 Rorem (ibid.) points out the Dionysian debt to Proclus in particular, who expresses procession
and return in causal terms (“every effect remains in its cause, proceeds from it, and returns to
it”). These movements are not to be taken as sequential but simultaneous. Robert Wisnovsky,
“Final and Efficient Causality in Avicenna’s Cosmology and Theology,” Quaestio, 2 (2002),
103, has emphasized that the Neoplatonic process of procession and reversion/return are not
necessarily mirror images of each other, but rather are “complementary cosmological forces.”
125 For descriptions of these liturgical vestments, see Walter, Art and Ritual, 9–21. The principal
study of liturgical vestments is Tano Papas, Studien zur Geschichte der Messgewänder im
byzantinischen Ritus (Munich, 1965). Liturgical vestments will be further discussed in
Chapter 5.

his book, the Corpus Dionysiacum.126 The austere portrait of the saintly
author in precisely identifiable liturgical vestments with a clear inscription
sets the hierarchical tone for the book. Set against an austere field of blank
parchment, the portrait of the sacred author, in accordance with traditional
Byzantine hagiographic modes, is dressed in liturgical vestments that delin-
eate his station within the ecclesiastical hierarchy.127 Three aspects of his
vestment are embellished with gold: the epitrachelion, epigonation, and the
cuff or epimanikion. Luminous gold further accents the saint’s inscription,
halo, and the gem-encrusted cover of the book in his hand – in other words,
his name, his sacred status, and his writing. St Dionysios is pictured as the
hierarch of the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy and as the source for the text. He
embodies hierarchy in the true Dionysian sense of the word, as the sacred
source (hieron arche).128
With a turn of the page, we move from author to donor and encounter
an even more explicit elaboration of the Dionysian hierarchy manifest in
the imperial rather than the ecclesiastical realm (Figure 4.4).129 Through
costume, attribute, inscriptions, and overall compositional design, the
Palaiologan family portrait on folio 2r meticulously outlines the proces-
sion of past, present, and future imperial power. Both the composition
as a whole and the representation of the emperor in particular draw on

126 Again the main study of the Byzantine iconography of St Dionysios to date is Walter, “Three
Notes.” On a diminutive fourteenth-century manuscript in Krakow, a full-page illumination
of the Areopagite prefaces the text of the Celestial Hierarchy. The image, though significantly
smaller and considerably more simple, still shares many of the same formal features of the
Louvre representation. See S. Skrzyniarz, “Die Darstellung des hl. Dionysios Areopagites in
einem byzantinischen Manuskript aus dem 14. Jahrhundert in der Sammlung der
Jagiellonischen Bibliothek in Krakau” in Günter Prinzing and Maciej Salamon (eds.), Byzanz
und Ostmitteleuropa 950–1453 (Wiesbaden, 1999), 207–13.
127 Robing is an important component of the consecration of the monk in Chapter 6 of the
Ecclesiastical Hierarchy. New garments mark the change in status: “The removal of the
clothing of old and the putting on of something else indicates the switch from the sacred life
of the middle order to one of greater perfection. For the rite of divine birth includes the
changing of the clothes to signify the uplifting of a purified life towards the higher reaches of
contemplation and of illumination” (Pseudo-Dionysius, 247 (Ecclesiastical Hierarchy 6, 536B:
1–5)). See also Pseudo-Dionysius, 246 (Ecclesiastical Hierarchy 6, 533B: 11–12 and 536B:
11–16). The initiate is also reclothed after baptism (Pseudo-Dionysius, 203 (Ecclesiastical
Hierarchy 2, 396D); and Pseudo-Dionysius, 209 (Ecclesiastical Hierarchy 2, 404C)). While
robing and disrobing symbolize a change in rank, the vestments themselves are never fully
elaborated. For Rorem (Pseudo-Dionysius, 117), this is another instance of the author’s
attention to acts rather than static objects: unveiling and distributing of bread, for example,
are more important for the author than the size or look of the ritual implements.
128 See note 119 above on the Dionysian etymology of hierarchy.
129 On the imperial family portrait in particular, see Wessel, “Manuel II. Palaiologos,” 219–29;
Grabar, “Des peintures byzantines de 1408,” 1335–58; Spatharakis, The Portrait, 139–44; and
Lowden, “The Luxury Book,” 251–3.

traditional tropes for imperial iconography, but subtly transform those

formulae into a charged reminder of the empire that made possible the
Corpus Dionysiacum.
In most respects, the emperor’s effigy conforms to other representations
of Manuel II and other Palaiologan portraiture more generally. The emperor
is dressed in a dark tunic with gold and gem-encrusted loros, and bears a
large closed crown surmounted at its summit by a single red oblong gem.
He holds a cruciform staff in one hand and a red akakia in the other. In
terms of attribute and dress, it closely matches his slightly later portrait that
is included in one of the seven extant versions of Manuel II’s funeral ora-
tion for his younger brother Theodore, Despot of Morea, who died in 1407
(Figure 4.5).130 On the slightly earlier small ivory pyxis introduced earlier,
which celebrates the Palaiologan dynastic unity established in 1403 with the
ceding of Thessaloniki to John VII, the same basic imperial attributes and
dress are adopted for the emperor and also his nephew (Figure 4.0a).131 The
fidelity of ceremonial attire and insignia of power across these examples is
striking. As with the visual program on the pyxis, however, subtle differences
in the inscription suggest the different contexts of the images. In his funeral
oration, Manuel’s portrait adopts the customary Palaiologan imperial epi-
thet, Manuel Palaiologos, faithful in Christ, basileus and autokrator of the
Romans.132 The Louvre portrait, however, identifies Manuel II Palaiologos
as basileus and autokrator of the Romans, standard imperial epithets that are
similarly employed by Chrysoloras in the colophon of the very manuscript,
but his inscription concludes with the early Byzantine epithet eternal augus-
tos (ΑΕΙ ΑΥΓΟΥCΤΟC).133 Especially by contrast with his otherwise identical
representation in the funeral oration, this invocation of both the past and
eternity is significant in its relation to the program of the page and the gift
as a whole.

130 The manuscript, now Paris BN Suppl. Gr. 309, fol. 6r., was executed in Constantinople
between 1409 and 1411, that is, just a few years after the portrait for the Louvre manuscript
(which, again, was completed by 1405). See BFP, 26–7 (cat. no. 1). Note that in the funeral
oration miniature, the emperor is dressed in dark puple rather than black, as in the Louvre
copy. On the oration itself, see Chrysostomides, Funeral Oration.
131 See the discussion at the end of the Introduction to Part II. Note the consistency of imperial
dress as well in the double portrait of John VI Kantakouzenos on folio 123v of his theological
works in Paris Gr. 1242, on which see note 16 in the Introduction to Part II above.
132 ΜΑΝΟΥΗΛ ΕΝ ΧΡΙCΤΩ ΤΩ ΘΕΩ ΠΙCΤΟC ΒΑCΙΛΕΥC ΚΑΙ ΑΥΤΟΚΡΑΤΩΡ ΡΩΜΑΙΩΝ Ο
ΠΑΛΑΙΟΛΟΓΟC. John VI Kantakouzenos is inscribed according to the same formula in his
double portrait, on which see above: ᾿Ιω(άννης) ἐν Χ(ριστ)ῷ Θ(ε)ῷ πιστὸς βασιλεὺς κ(αὶ)
αὐτοκράτωρ ῾Ρμαί(ων) Παλεολόγος ῎Αγγελος ὁ Καντακουγζηνός.
133 ΜΑΝΟΥΗΛ ΕΝ ΧΩ ΤΩ ΘΩ / ΠΙCΤΟC ΒΑCΙΛΕΥC ΚΑΙ ΑΥΤΟΚΡΑΤΩΡ ΡΩΜΑΙ/ΩΝ Ο
ΠΑΛΑΙΟΛΟΓC / ΚΑΙ ΑΕΙ ΑΥΓΟΥCΤΟC. Wessel, “Manuel II. Palaiologos,” 222, notes that this
uncommon inscription goes back to Roman imperial titulature.

Figure 4.5 Portrait of Manuel II Palaiologos from his funeral oration for his brother,
Paris BN Suppl. Gr. 309, fol. 6r

In the Louvre portrait, the eternal augustos Manuel is set within a

precisely ordered triangular composition that schematizes both the notion
of ceremonial taxis and Dionysian hierarchy. At the apex of the triangle, the
Virgin and Child reach outward, the Christ child’s arms spread outward in
benediction and Theotokos reaches down in a gesture of investiture toward
the halos of the emperor on the left and the empress on the right of the
page. Unlike the dark tunic of the emperor, the Empress Helena, described
as augusta,134 is depicted in bright red gold-embroidered dress with wide
sleeves and a jeweled loros. While Manuel bears a cruciform scepter, in
conformity with the conventions for imperial portraiture, Helena carries a
pearl-studded scepter and wears a tall open crown surmounted by a row of
smaller gems, as was customary for empresses.135
This triangular figural arrangement is characteristic of Byzantine impe-
rial portraiture across media and period. Michael VII Doukas (r. 1071–8)
and Maria of Alania, for example, are represented according to such com-
positional layout in the manuscript of the Homilies of John Chrysostom in
Paris, Coislin 79 (Figure 4.6).136 The eleventh-century empress and emperor,
dressed in imperial garb holding the insignia, stand frontally, while a bust-
length image of Christ situated above them reaches down and touches the
tip of each of their crowns. Even though the composition is formally bal-
anced, subtle visual clues suggest the precedence of the emperor over the
empress. Christ directs his attention to his right, to the emperor; his head
is inclined in the emperor’s direction. Similarly, in the twelfth century, the
imperial portrait of John II Komnenos (r. 1118–43) and his son Alexios in
the Vatican (Vat. Urb. Gr. 2) employs a triangular composition to convey
the procession of power (Figure 4.7).137 Imperial father and son stand in
full regalia with their crowns touched by the hand of Christ, this time an
enthroned Christ flanked by personifications identified by inscription as

134 ΕΛΕΝΗ ΕΝ ΧΩ / ΤΩ ΘΩ ΠΙCΤΗ ΑΥΓΟΥCΤΑ. On her title, see Wessel, “Manuel II.
Palaiologos,” 224. For the context surrounding the marriage of Manuel and Helena Dragaš,
see Stephen Reinert, “What the Genoese Cast upon Helena Dragash’s Head: Coins, Not
Confecti,” ByzF, 20 (1994): 235–46.
135 On the dress of the imperial figures, see Parani, Reconstructing the Reality, 322–3. Parani
further specifies the empress’s loros as simplified and points out that the crown may have been
worn over a veil.
136 On B.N., Ms. Coislin 79, which was later repainted so as to alter the portrait from Michael VII
Doukas to Nikephoros Botaniantes, see Evans and Wixom (eds.), Glory of Byzantium, 207–9
(cat. no. 143) with bibliography. The same point could be demonstrated with reference to one
of the enamels of the Khakuli triptych in Tblissi, on which see Titos Papamastorakis,
“Re-Deconstructing the Khakhuli Triptych,” ΔΧΑΕ, 23 (2002), 225–54.
137 On Vat. Urb. Gr. 2, see Evans and Wixom (eds.), Glory of Byzantium, 209–10 (cat. no. 144)
with bibliography.

Figure 4.6 Portrait of Nikephoros III/Michael VII and Maria of Alania, Paris BN,
Coislin 79, fol. 1(2bis)v

Charity and Justice. The image also conveys visual precedence, despite the
superficial symmetry of the format. The senior ruler stands on the far left of
the page receiving the blessing of Christ’s right hand and his labrum is taller
than that of Alexios (it extends above the upper edge of his halo, while that
of Alexios extends merely to the lower edge of his crown). Like the earlier
Coislin miniature, Christ’s favor is visually directed subtly but discernibly

Figure 4.7 Portrait of John II Komnenos and Alexios, Vatican Library, Vat. Urb. Gr.2,
fol. 10v

toward the emperor – only this time such favor is not conveyed with the
turn of his head, but rather with his right foot, which juts out toward the
left and overlaps the senior emperor’s shoulder. These imperial portraits
are all governed by a similar overarching compositional formula of divine

sanction based on subtle differentiation of detail that ultimately conveys

precedence and hierarchy.
The Louvre imperial family portrait adopts the basic triangular investi-
ture formula, but, unlike these previous visualizations of sovereignty, the
Palaiologan couple in the Louvre portrait are shown being blessed by
the Virgin and Child in a particular configuration best characterized as
the Blachernitissa.138 The image of the Virgin Blachernitissa bears particu-
lar imperial connections because the Blacherna Church was adjacent to the
imperial palace, which served as the primary residence for both the Kom-
nenian and Palaiologan families. While the icon of the Virgin Hodegetria
was carried before Michael VIII at the 1261 adventus ceremony to celebrate
the return of the Virgin’s favor to the imperial city, the icon of the Virgin
Blachernitissa was also an important component of the sacred Palaiolo-
gan pantheon. Indeed, as discussed in Chapter 3, it featured prominently
on early Palaiologan coinage. Bissera Pentcheva has examined the culti-
vation of the Virgin’s cult in the service of imperial agendas, highlighting
how the Komnenoi in particular drew on both major toponymic icons,
the Hodegetria and the Blachernitissa, to support and authorize their rule.
Already by the eleventh century, each had accrued specific associations:
while the Hodegetria stayed in Constantinople as the city’s palladium, the
Blachernitissa, due to her associations with victory, was carried out of the
city on military campaigns.139 The icon and its power, in other words,
were mobile.
Chapter 3 showed how early Palaiologan gold coinage reconfigured the
Virgin’s image such that she appeared on one side of the coin framed
by the walls of Constantinople, while the other side featured a scene of
imperial supplication and presentation. The Louvre miniature, in con-
trast, depicts the Virgin reaching down and touching the emperor’s crown
directly. Such a configuration recalls earlier coinage. Komnenian coins,
for example, feature the Virgin blessing/crowning the emperor, and this
design was continued on the first coinage of Michael VIII Palaiologos
issued in Magnesia. On the Louvre imperial family portrait, however,
the holy image at the apex of the triangular scene of sanction makes a
visible link to the icon of the Blacherna, thus forging a connection to former
imperial authority and also to victory, since the Blachernitissa was sent out

138 This identification is based on visual configuration, not inscription (which just reads ΜΡ ΘΥ).
Rather than referencing an iconographic typology or epithet, the Blachernitissa is a
toponymic designation named for the location where the particular miraculous icon of the
Virgin was kept: the Blacherna Church.
139 See Pentcheva, Icons and Power, 56, 59, 63; and discussion in Chapter 3.

of the imperial city on military campaigns. This image then conveys a clear
message of divinely sanctioned imperial authority and also a more subtle
allusion to the mobility of the sacred image. That such an image prefaces the
book being sent out of the city to Paris on behalf of the emperor in a time
of need perhaps suggests a sanctioning of the imperial effigy in a foreign
land.
In addition to referencing the Blachernitissa, with its associations of
mobility and victory, the portrait’s Theotokos triangulates the overall mes-
sage of the composition: the procession of imperial authority. Because the
Blacherna Church held not one but a number of miraculous icons, a wide
range of iconographies are designated by the name Blachernitissa,140 includ-
ing one in which the Christ child, circumscribed by a medallion, hovers in
front of the orant Virgin’s chest. On the page of the Louvre manuscript,
however, sacred mother and child, not separated by a medallion, echo each
other’s gestures of benediction and, further, they set into motion a series
of distinct hierarchical distinctions and a dynamic of divinely sanctioned
imperial authority.
Like a diagram, the imperial portrait delineates the procession of imperial
power. The representation of the Virgin and the Child forms a triangle at
the apex of the larger triangular composition. The Virgin extends both
arms not upwards in an orant gesture, but down to touch the halos of
Manuel and Helena. The point of contact is significant for the manner in
which it encodes a subtle preference for the emperor. The Virgin’s left hand
appears to alight on the empress’s crown on the corner closest to the Virgin,
but upon closer inspection, it becomes clear that contact is not made.
Conversely, the Virgin’s right hand decidedly meets the emperor’s crown as it
touches the red gem that sits at its very center and thus draws into alignment
the erect body of the emperor, with such verticality reinforced by the long
jeweled loros. Beyond the point of sacro-imperial contact, and lack thereof,
the entire posture of the Virgin thus favors the emperor, as her face turns
slightly but discernibly in his direction. Similarly, the Christ child positioned
in front of the Virgin extends his arms outward in a blessing that seems to
indicate equivalence, but ultimately suggests precedence. Echoing the pose
of his sacred mother, Christ’s head is turned slightly toward the emperor and,
while his arms stretch out in both directions, his right is positioned further

140 Pentcheva, Icons and Power, 76. At least five image types are linked to the name Blachernitissa:
(1) the orant Virgin facing forward without the Christ child; (2) the orant Virgin without the
Christ child shown in profile; (3) the Virgin with the Christ child in embrace; (4) the orant
Virgin with a medallion of Christ hovering at her chest; and (5) the orant Virgin holding the
medallion of Christ at her chest.

and lower to the right, closer to the emperor than his left hand is to the
empress.141
The triangular composition of the Louvre manuscript’s portrait, though
well situated within a tradition of imperial portraiture – especially in its
insistence on finely tuned hierarchical gradations – further schematizes
the divine and courtly hierarchy by depicting not only the emperor and
empress below the Virgin and Child but also by representing their chil-
dren along the ground line of the page. In this way, the image articu-
lates a temporal order whereby the current ruler’s authority, sanctioned
by the Virgin and Child represented in a manner with distinctive impe-
rial overtones, extends to the heirs of the Palaiologan throne, Byzantium’s
future.
In the lowest zone of the page, the three porphyrogenitoi are arranged
from the left to right in descending order of height according to their
age and precedence. On the far-left edge of the page, on Manuel’s right,
their eldest son, the future Emperor John VIII, wears identical imperial
attire to his father and bears the same imperial attributes (crown, staff, and
akakia). He is likewise distinguished by a halo. These visual signs parallel
his linguistic identification as basileus.142 Between their parents stand the
second- and third-born imperial princes descending in height, Theodore
and Andronikos, respectively.143 Both wear open diadems and lack halos.
Over their long red tunics, Theodore and Andronikos each wear matching
deep red mantles embroidered with elaborate gold roundels and carry pearl-
studded scepters like their mother. While the inscriptions explicitly identify
the relative precedence of each figure, costume and visual attributes provide
a pictorial legend, in conjunction with scale and figural placement. John
shares the same garb and crown as his father, which designates him as
heir and more specifically as co-emperor, though still a junior partner.144
Because the two younger sons lack the imperial loros and wear open diadems
instead of the closed imperial crown, they are situated at the lowest rung of
the imperial family hierarchy. That they are the only figures in the image
without halos makes their relative precedence unmistakable. Moreover, their
attributes and the crimson red color of their garb align them visually not

141 The contour of the shoulders of both sacred figures underscores this posture of preference.
The more gentle slope of their right shoulders suggests a further extension of their right arms
to the left side of the page in the emperor’s direction, in contradistinction to the steeper angle
of their left shoulders, which indicates less of a reach on the empress’s side of the page.
142 ΙΩ(ΑΝΝΗC) ΕΝ / ΧΩ ΤΩ ΘΩ ΠΙCΤΟC / ΒΑCΙΛΕΥC / Ο ΥΙΟC ΑΥΤΟΥ.
143 Their inscriptions will be addressed below, 261–62.
144 See note 147 below, and further in Chapter 5, on the status of John as basileus.

with their Byzantine father, but with their mother Helena, the Serbian
princess who married the Byzantine emperor in 1392.145
In the Louvre manuscript’s portrait, the symmetrical arrangement that
one might expect of an imperial portrait, as seen in the previous exam-
ples introduced (Figures 4.6–4.8), is interrupted for the sake of hierarchical
clarity. The three imperial children are not all positioned between their
parents: instead, John stands to Manuel’s right, just as Manuel is positioned
on Christ’s right. This unusual compositional strategy conveys in explicit
visual terms the procession of imperial power. Divine sanction unmistakably
emanates from the Virgin and Child and immediately proceeds to the reign-
ing Byzantine emperor, whose divinely sanctioned authority then passes to
the future of Byzantium, John VIII. This procession is further expressed
in spatial terms as the future emperor is clearly positioned in front of the
current emperor. The edge of John’s halo overlaps with his father’s right
elbow, and the edge of his loros draped over his arm is visible in front of
Manuel’s dark tunic. They are the only two figures to overlap so clearly and
their bodily contiguity creates a sense of depth.146 Furthermore, Manuel’s
second-born son, Theodore, is formally delineated as next in line in terms of
height, but also in spatial terms and distance from the imperial body of his
father. Unlike his older brother, John, who partially overlays the emperor’s
figure, Theodore is depicted as discrete and separate. At the same time, the
edge of the emperor’s draped loros falls behind Theodore’s shoulder, thus
creating depth. The emanation of imperial power, then, is pictured through
distance from the imperial body and also in terms of spatial recession: John,
as immediate heir to Manuel’s throne, is closest to his father’s body and to
the page’s picture plane; second-born Theodore is positioned in front of the
emperor but is also distanced from him. The three form a triad with the
emperor as the apex in terms of height and also as point of origin spatially
leading out to the edge of the picture plane. The emperor is positioned as
their source, just as the Blachernitissa is the source of his authority.
This spatial and hierarchical schema of the imperial family portrait par-
allels the Dionysian framework of internal mediation and procession and
return. As a visualization of these fundamental processes, the portrait’s
configuration, rather than offering straightforward symmetry, presents a
series of internally mediated triads (or “sacred orders” to employ Dionysian

145 See the discussion at the beginning of the next chapter (with bibliography).
146 Although the lower edge of the page is badly abraded, it appears that all the figures stand
along the same ground line, except for John. The hem of his tunic seems to be slightly lower
than the rest, thus suggesting that he occupies a closer plane of the page and designating him
as the most proximate figure.

language). Like the fundamentally triadic formula of Dionysian thought,

the composition is organized according to a triangular logic, with the Virgin
and Child reaching down and drawing into a triad the halos of the emperor
and empress. But nuanced hierarchical variation destabilizes any sense of
stasis and balance. As the eye follows the divine gestures of sanction along
the left edge of the figural group, another triangle – a spatial and temporal
triangle – is inaugurated with the emperor at its peak and extending or
processing out to John, who is positioned closest to the viewer. These ver-
tices are not merely formal but are also philosophical and ideological. The
current emperor’s body mediates the sacred and imperial orders. In a man-
ner analogous to the hierarch in the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy, the emperor is
pictured receiving and transmitting divinely sanctioned power. While the
Dionysian text explicitly elaborates the hierarch’s process of transmission,
the emperor’s analogous role, absent from the text of the Corpus, is adum-
brated visually on this page here. The imperial image thus complements
Dionysian thought by visually representing an imperial hierarchy as the
counterpart to the angelic and clerical hierarchy outlined in the text.
Through its triadic logic and hierarchical schematization of ceremonial
dress and insignia, the Palaiologan family portrait illustrates the Dionysian
conception of internal mediation, again where the procession of authority
spreads through each rank according to the capacity of each rank. The
inscriptions further support the Dionysian conception of internal mediation
where the rank of the imperial scions is prescribed in relation to their
father. While the emperor is identified by name, as Manuel Palaiologos,
and by his current official imperial title (basileus and autokrator), and also
designated the eternal augustos, his sons are defined in relation to him. The
inscriptions for all three heirs conclude by indicating their status as sons
of the emperor – each one ends with “his son” (Ο ΥΙΟC ΑΥΤΟΥ). While
they are all identified as his sons, the inscriptions differentiate their relative
rank. As heir apparent, the eldest, John, closely follows the titulature of
the emperor, including the designation basileus.147 Second-born Theodore

147 Again: ΙΩ(ΑΝΝΗC) ΕΝ / ΧΩ ΤΩ ΘΩ ΠΙCΤΟC / ΒΑCΙΛΕΥC / Ο ΥΙΟC ΑΥΤΟΥ. His designation

basileus here has been read as an indication of his status of co-emperor or possibly even future
emperor. While Barker, Manuel II, 350, takes the inscription to suggest that John was heir
apparent, Wessel, “Manuel II. Palaiologos,” 225–6, argues that it suggests more than that. In
the next chapter, I will address the methodological stakes involved in relying on inscriptions
such as this, with reference to John VIII specifically. The crux of my point is that the
inscription should not be taken out of context: this imperial family portrait was not an official
or legal document, but rather a sophisticated visualization of imperial ideology extended as a
gift at a precarious diplomatic juncture. It thus projected a particular vision of imperium with
John as the future of the empire currently headed by Manuel II.

is designated as porphyrogennetos and given the official title of despot,148

and Andronikos, the youngest, lacks specificity.149 These distinctions, which
correspond to the spatial hierarchy and the relative precedence indicated
by dress and insignia discussed above, all indicate that their authority is
traceable through their appropriate rank to the emperor, whose authority
derives from the Virgin and Child at the apex of the composition.
Beyond the formal logic of the page itself, the philosophical process
of internally mediated procession and return inflects the politics of the
book’s exchange. Unlike the sequence of the Dionysian treatises in modern
translation, but like many of the other medieval copies of the Corpus, the
codex in the Louvre begins with the Celestial Hierarchy, the opening lines
of which read:150
“Every good endowment and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from
the Father of lights.” But there is something more. Inspired by the Father, each
procession of the Light spreads itself generously toward us, and, in its power to
unify, it stirs us by lifting us up. It returns us back to the oneness and deifying
simplicity of the Father who gathers us in. For, as the sacred Word says, “from him
and to him are all things.”151

The Dionysian order of procession and return is characterized here in terms

of gift-giving. Buttressed by biblical quotations that explicitly evoke receiv-
ing and returning gifts,152 the text underscores the basic tenet that generosity
(procession) uplifts (returns). As in the previously cited excerpt from the
Ecclesiastical Hierarchy, divine revelation generously proceeds proportion-
ally through the ranks in order to uplift and mirror those above. Procession
and return can thus be read as the basic mechanism of gift exchange where a
gift given (procession) engenders a counter-gift (a return). As a diplomatic
gift strategically conceived in the wake of his failed western diplomatic mis-
sion, Manuel selected a text that underscored the value of both gift and

148 ΘΕΟΔΩΡΟC / ΠΟΡΦΥΡΟΓΕΝ/ΝΗΤΟC ΕΥΤΥ / ΧΗC ΔΕCΠΟΤΗC / Ο ΥΙΟC ΑΥΤΟΥ.

149 ΑΝΔΡΟΝΙΚΟC / ΑΥΘΕΝΤΟΠΟΥ/ΛΟC ΠΑΛΑΙΟΛΟΓΟC Ο ΥΙ/ΟC ΑΥΤΟΥ.
150 The contents of the Louvre codex are as follows: Celestial Hierarchy (fols. 7–52v), Divine
Names (fols. 55v–146), Ecclesiastic Hierarchy (fols. 147–204), Mystical Theology (fols.
204v–11) and then the Letters (fols. 212–37). The treatises are prefaced by a table (fol. 3v) and
Maximos’s prologue (fols. 3v–5v). The ninth-century gift of Michael II (Paris Gr. 437)
likewise opens with the Celestial Hierarchy (fols. 1–40) and continues in slightly different
order with the Ecclesiastic Hierarchy (fols. 41–102), the Divine Names (fols. 103–92), and the
Letters (fols. 193–216). See Omont, “Manuscrit des oeuvres,” 235–6, who discusses the
conspicuous absence of the Mystical Theology as well as missing folia. The modern edition,
Luibheid (1987), based on PG 3, is as follows: Divine Names, Mystical Theology, Celestial
Hierarchy, Ecclesiastical Hierarchy, and Letters.
151 Pseudo-Dionysius, 145 (=PG 3, Celestial Hierarchy 1: 120B).
152 The quotation with which the passage begins is from James 1:17 and the ending quotation is
from Romans 11:36.

return gift, and illustrated it with a visual map of the procession of imperial
and sacerdotal authority. The imperial portrait, with its subtle hierarchical
distinctions, charts divinely sanctioned authority through the emperor’s
person.
Moreover, the imperial effigy mediates both imperial genealogy in the
Palaiologan family portrait (again, Manuel is shown transmitting his
divinely granted authority to the next generation in proportion to rela-
tive rank) and also the Dionysian text itself. The book’s first illustration
portrays the text’s author, St Dionysios, distinctly dressed as a Byzantine
bishop, thus directly inserting the author-saint into the ecclesiastical hierar-
chy elaborated in the Corpus Dionysiacum, which is pictured as a sacred relic
in his hands. The second illustration of the codex positions the book’s donor
as an icon of precisely delineated imperial hierarchy where he serves as the
crucial link in the imperial procession of power, receiving and transmitting
his authority, and as the divinely sanctioned leader of the very empire that
made the Areopagite’s writings possible in the first place.
The order of the images and their layout further underscores the medi-
ating role of the emperor’s effigy. The imperial family portrait is positioned
between the visual representation of the author, who occupies the center
of the first folio, and his writings – the actual text. This emperor’s effigy,
literally situated between the author and his text, relies on a triadic formula
that unfolds spatially. Thus, while the emperor’s body mediates the lineage
of imperium on the second folio, the whole imperial page acts as an inter-
mediary between the Byzantine hierarch and the Corpus Dionysiacum. In
this way, the Palaiologan portrait serves as a reminder of the genealogy of
Dionysian thought and the shared or assimilated hagiography, a reminder
that ultimately emphasizes Byzantium – the ecclesiastical and imperial hier-
archy – as its source and crucial link.

Conclusion: rhetoric as diplomacy

In Manuel’s diplomatic gift we find a coalescence of philosophical and

hagiographic traditions in the service of a contemporary political message.
Fundamentally, the Dionysian conceptions of procession and return, which
permeate the imagery, also relate to the context of the book’s transfer. As
the opening to the Celestial Hierarchy makes clear, ostensive generosity
(procession) engenders a counter-gift (a return). For Manuel, the desired
return could be nothing other than aid for his empire, the empire that made
possible the writings of the Corpus Dionysiacum through which the patron
saint of Gaul was given an apostolic pedigree in the ninth century. Thinking

back to the textile given by Michael VIII to the Genoese in conjunction

with the conclusion of the Treaty of Nymphaion, the ideal return gift was
assistance for the restoration of the imperial city, which stood as prime
metonym for the empire. The thirteenth-century imperial gift of silk was
extended at a moment when he was vying for that imperial seat of power
and seeking the military assistance to wrest it from Latin control. Manuel’s
early fifteenth-century gift, in parchment rather than silk, is directed toward
similar ends, but this time toward the salvation of the Byzantine capital from
Ottoman forces.
The Louvre codex embodies the tragic unsuccessful gift that is not recipro-
cated in the desired manner.153 It did not motivate its recipient to contribute
any serious assistance and, without western aid, Constantinople fell further
under Ottoman control to the point of its dissolution half a century later. The
absence of intended return is all the more pronounced in this gift exchange,
for the very content of the book speaks theologically and philosophically of
procession and return – of necessary and instantaneous reciprocity.
Through the combined selection of a pre-existing text and the commis-
sioning of new miniatures, Manuel’s gift was strategically designed to remind
its recipients of his previous imperial visit, the genealogy of Dionysian
thought, and, by extension, the contemporary Byzantine cause. The Louvre
book, with its sophisticated articulation of imperial sovereignty, constituted
not only a sequel to the ninth-century copy of the Corpus Dionysiacum in
the Abbey of Saint-Denis but also a surrogate sequel to the emperor’s very
person. Following the apparent failure of the imperial body to rally suffi-
cient support, the illuminated imperial effigy was extended as a gift. This
visual icon of imperium, blessed by the Blachernitissa with her associations
of victory and mobility, is set within a precisely delineated temporal order
– with an epithet that refers to eternity and with Manuel’s sons positioned
alongside him as the future of the empire. To interpret the hierarchical dis-
tinctions of the imperial image as mere propaganda154 is to fail to appreciate
the subtle reconfiguration of visual sovereignty conveyed by this gift.
This chapter has read the manuscript’s imagery through the Dionysian
lens of the text it prefaces as a means of understanding the mobilization of
the painted imperial image in the years following the emperor’s real and
prolonged presence in Italy, France, and England. The book sent by Manuel
to Saint-Denis should be seen as a visualization of the imperial body and

153 The afterlife of the manuscript, especially in comparison to the earlier Byzantine copy of the
Corpus Dionysiacum sent to Saint-Denis, is treated in Hilsdale, “The Agency of the Object.”
154 As interpreted by Spatharakis, The Portrait, 143, who writes that the imperial portrait “can be
interpreted as a propaganda expedient to show that the Byzantine emperor still derived his
power from heaven and enjoyed divine protection.”

office, present and future, as the ultimate source for Dionysian thought.
The current emperor, who had been in the West six years earlier, and the
future emperor, who would travel in person to Italy twenty years later for
the Council of Florence, are pictured as the crucial link in the hierarchical
schema, as the proximate source of the writing of Dionysios the Areopagite,
who was at the time understood by its recipients to be the French patron
saint.
While the imperial office was no longer associated with silk and relics in
the early fifteenth century, the beleaguered empire was still considered the
center of Greek learning. And regardless of the outcome of the diplomatic
exchange, it is significant that the emperor’s gift was hand-delivered by
Manuel Chrysoloras, whose diplomatic service to the emperor often merged
with his intellectual pursuits of teaching Greek language and literature. Ian
Thompson has called attention to the potential broader political agenda
of Chrysoloras’s interaction with Italian humanistic circles, linking them
ideologically to his diplomatic missions.155 By educating Italians in Greek
learning, he was essentially cultivating a taste for Greek culture.156 This
cultivation of Greek can thus be seen as a diplomatic strategy, and the
extension of a copy of the Corpus Dionysiacum to France via Chrysoloras
constitutes part of such an agenda. Against the potential failure of the
majesty of his imperial person to generate support and the additional failure
of his letters, relics, and even an icon, recourse to a Greek book supports this
hypothesis. With the end of the era of the Byzantine relic and silk, western
appetites craved new eastern objects, specifically books from Byzantium.
Books and ancient learning were, in Holger Klein’s words, “the last truly
priceless yet still affordable Byzantine gift.”157 The extension of this gift
suggests an awareness of these western desires and a recognition of the
relevance of this particular author for the emperor’s hosts in Paris.
John Barker points out that three of the era’s prominent ambassadors to
the West – Demetrios Kydones, Manuel Chrysoloras, and George Gemistos
Plethon – were simultaneously key figures in the transmission of Byzantine

155 Thompson, “Manuel Chrysoloras,” 78, characterizes this ideological agenda as follows: “if
someone, somehow, could convince the right people in the West that the East had something
worth saving – the entire heritage of Greek learning – then perhaps help would be
forthcoming.” Thompson’s position, though called into question by Barker (see below, note
158), has been followed by many scholars, including, most recently, Chryssa A. Maltezou, “An
Enlightened Byzantine Teacher in Florence: Manuel Chrysoloras” in Elias Voulgarakis (ed.),
Orthodoxy and Oecumene: Gratitude Volume in Honour of Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomaios
(Athens, 2001), 447.
156 Thompson’s characterization of this situation in terms of proselytization may be too strong.
157 Klein, “Eastern Objects and Western Desires,” 312. Cf. Mergiali-Sahas, “An Ultimate Wealth,”
275, who emphasizes the relic as the only Byzantine asset.

humanism to Renaissance Italy. But he is wary of seeing the promotion of

Greek as an imperially sanctioned endeavor or as the official diplomatic
policy.158 Without documents that outline the precise contours of the offi-
cial diplomatic program of the Palaiologoi, it would not be appropriate to
define these cultural activities as official “state” policy. Yet it is undeniable
that the emperor’s personal diplomatic mission to the West, and the gift
he subsequently offered to his French hosts coincided with a pronounced
western interest in things Greek, an interest of which the emperor and
his entourage were well aware. Recall that in Milan, en route to Paris, the
emperor offered as gifts a relic fragment and icon to his host Giangaleazzo
at the same moment as Chrysoloras was consolidating his educational pro-
gram. Again, the emperor’s western travels intersected at the beginning and
end with Chrysoloras, and it was to him that the deluxe illuminated gift for
Saint-Denis was later entrusted.159
The relationship between the emperor and Chrysoloras returns us to the
chapter’s initial discussion about the relationship between culture and pol-
itics, between the elevated “escapist” literati of Manuel II’s epistolary circle
on the one hand and the devastating political realities on the other, and also
to the nuances associated with interpreting this disjunction. In the letter to
Kydones written by Manuel while on campaign with Bayezid in Asia Minor
in 1391, introduced at the beginning of the chapter, Manuel speaks of the
plight of the empire being wrongly blamed on literary studies.160 Nearly
twenty years later, in a letter to the metropolitan of Thessalonica written
between 1408 and 1410, the emperor muses over literary matters and his
own rhetorical abilities. While contemporary writing can only be deemed
inferior in comparison to the writings of the ancients – to compare the

158 Barker, “Emperors, Embassies, and Scholars,” 159–63. Barker thus calls into question
Thompson’s position, pointing out that there is insufficient evidence to prove direct imperial
involvement with Chrysoloras’s teaching in Europe. Barker’s issue is that Thompson and
others have located the agency of Greek cultivation in the imperial administration specifically,
as an official imperially sponsored endeavor. But there is no reason to assume that the
opposite is true – that Manuel had nothing to do with it or that the cultivation of Greek was
not part of the general diplomatic agenda. Barker (163) leaves open the possibility that
Kydones had been “grooming” Chrysoloras as a kind of “surrogate cultural missionary.” See
also Barker, Manuel II, 172 n. 88.
159 It should also be noted that the emperor engaged in intellectual debate on the very site of
Saint-Denis. As noted above (note 115), Manuel’s treatise on the Procession of the Holy
Spirit, which was written in response to a syllogism presented to him by one of the monks of
Saint-Denis, exhibits a familiarity with the assimilated hagiography of Denis-Dionysios and
references as support the Corpus Dionysiacum. Again, see Dendrinos, “An Annotated Critical
Edition.”
160 See discussion above, 216–17.

two, he writes with a quick allusion to Homer, would be to compare “gold

to bronze” – Manuel still continues to write. Writing for the emperor is
a moral imperative; according to a model of exemplarity, writing sets the
model: “I continue to do some writing, not as much as I ought, but as
much as the time permits, in order that I might be an example to my sub-
jects of the love of letters, so that as they mingle so much with barbarians
they might not become completely barbarized.”161 Along with the letter,
Manuel sent to the metropolitan an oration, “an offering from the fruit
of our labors.” Around this time, he also sent an example of his writing
to Chrysoloras in Italy in 1409–10, in particular the oration he composed
for his brother Theodore, a copy of which preserves his portrait as noted
above (Figure 4.5).162 In the accompanying letter, Manuel solicited feed-
back from Chrysoloras on his work, comparing himself to painters and
sculptors of antiquity who approached the great Apelles and Lysippus.163
Chrysoloras finds no fault with the emperor’s oration and takes the oppor-
tunity to advocate the promotion of education and the revival of literary
studies as the solution to contemporary political problems. Chrysoloras’s
response, the “Exhortation on Behalf of the Nation,” explicitly links the
salvation of the Byzantine state to the promotion of its culture.164 Even if
not official state policy, this idea was very much under discussion among the
emperor’s inner circle and, as noted above, Manuel’s diplomatic corps was
comprised of his inner circle. Rather than appealing to divine intervention –
to another thauma of the Virgin – Chrysoloras acknowledges the importance
of Greek language and literature as the common cultural heritage passed
from Greece to Rome to Byzantium. By this time, however, Chrysoloras
had converted to Latin Catholicism, as his teacher Kydones had before
him.

161 Letter 52: Dennis, The Letters, 150; Barker, Manuel II, 422–3; Dennis, “Imperial Panegyric:
Rhetoric and Reality,” 132.
162 Chrysostomides, Manuel II Palaeologus Funeral Oration. Theodore died in Mistra in 1407.
According to Dennis, The Letters, 101, Manuel had intended to deliver the oration on the
second anniversary of Theodore’s death, but the Turkish civil wars prevented this and it was
read instead by Isidore, monk and later Metropolitan of Monemvasia, and later still
Metropolitan of Kiev.
163 Letter 56: Dennis, The Letters, 158–9.
164 On the Παρακίνησις ὑπὲρ τοῦ γένους, see C. G. Patrinelis, “An Unknown Discourse of
Chrysoloras Addressed to Manuel II Palaeologus,” GRBS, 13(4) (1972), 497–502.

One of the most forceful evocations of the universal claims of the Byzan-
tine emperor and his theocratic sovereignty comes in response to a chal-
lenge to that very imperial authority. Patriarch Anthony IV, who crowned
Manuel Palaiologos in 1392 in Hagia Sophia, sits at the center of a negotia-
tion of Byzantine political authority between Constantinople and Moscow.
Apparently Vasily I Dmitrievič had opposed the liturgical celebration of
the emperor’s name in his lands. In a justifiably famous reproach to this
“most noble great king of Moscow and all of Russia,”1 the patriarch reminds
Dmitrievič that there could be no church without the emperor. Although
the Russians may have been more interested in Byzantine spirituality than
empire, Patriarch Anthony suggests that for the Byzantines, these could not
be disentangled. According to his letter to the Muscovite ruler in 1393:

even if, by God’s permission, the nations have constricted the authority and domain
of the emperor, still to this day the emperor possesses the same charge from the
church and the same rank and the same prayers. The basileus is anointed with the
great myron and is appointed basileus and autokrator of the Romans, indeed of all
Christians. Everywhere the name of the emperor is commemorated by all patriarchs
and metropolitans and bishops wherever men are called Christians, [a thing] before
no other ruler or governor ever received.2

1 On various titles used for rulers of Kiev and Moscow, see Alexander Vasiliev, “Was Old Russia a
Vassal State of Byzantium?” Speculum, 7(3) (1932), 358–60; and Andrzej Poppe, “Words that
Serve the Authority: On the Title of ‘Grand Prince’ in Kievan Rusʹ” and “On the Title of Grand
Prince in the Tale of Ihor’s Campaign,” both reprinted in Christian Russia in the Making
(Aldershot, 2007), IX and X, respectively.
2 Translated in Geanakoplos, Byzantium, 143; F. Miklosich and J. Müller, Acta et diplomata graeca
medii aevi–sacra et profana (Vienna, 1860–90) II, 190–1. See Dimitri Obolensky, The Byzantine
Commonwealth: Eastern Europe, 500–1453 (London, 1971), 264–6; John Meyendorff, Byzantium
and the Rise of Russia: A Study of Byzantino–Russian Relations in the Fourteenth Century
(Cambridge, 1981), 254–6; E. Barker, Social and Political Thought in Byzantium: From Justinian
I to the Last Palaeologus: Passages from Byzantine Writers and Documents (Oxford, 1957), 194;
Barker, Manuel II, 106–9. The text continues: “Therefore, my son, you are wrong to affirm that
we have the church without an emperor, for it is impossible for Christians to have a church and
no empire.” Patriarch Anthony IV’s letter holds a central role in the historiography of
Byzantine–Russian relations and Byzantine political philosophy. It is often taken at face value,
268 as an indication of the ecumenicity of the empire and the dependence of Russia on Byzantium.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene 269

The reference to the constricting of terrestrial authority and domain relates

specifically to contemporary Ottoman threats, but it is here conveyed as
part of a divine plan. Moreover, the emperor’s sovereignty, which distin-
guishes him from other rulers, is his consecration by the church. As basileus
and autokrator, Patriarch Anthony insists, the emperor was consecrated the
anointed ruler of the Christian oikoumene and as such was to be commem-
orated by the ecclesiastical hierarchy.3
This vision of eternal imperial authority sanctioned by the church, of
course, stands in contrast to the harsh contemporary realities of the later
Byzantine period. The Muscovite ruler’s dissidence underscores the very
fragility of this imperial ideal.4 At the time of the patriarch’s letter, both
the Byzantine and Muscovite rulers paid tribute to the “infidel,” Manuel II
Palaiologos to the Ottomans and Vasily I Dmitrievič to the Golden Horde.5
Still, even when their vision bore little if no relationship to reality, the Byzan-
tines maintained that the emperor occupied the center of a family of kings.
“When facts and beliefs contradicted each other,” as George Ostrogorsky
has put it, “beliefs prevailed.”6
The patriarch’s letter stresses that, despite contemporary circumstances,
the emperor’s authority is eternal. But how can an eternal sense of imperium
be projected from an impoverished empire ravaged by both external and
internal threats? How, in other words, can an image of ascendency be cre-
ated in an era of decline? Furthermore, how can an imperial image rec-
oncile the distinct visions of empire expressed by the patriarch’s letter? In
light of these questions, the present chapter investigates the visual manifes-
tation of the emperor’s sacro-imperial authority in the face of constricted

For a sharp criticism of such a position, see Kaldellis, Hellenism in Byzantium, 100–6, who
emphasizes that the letter should not be taken out of its circumscribed ideological context.
3 For a contextualization of the implications of the patriarch’s letter, see Simon Franklin, “The
Empire of the Rhomaioi as Viewed from Kievan Russia: Aspects of Byzantino–Russian Cultural
Relations,” Byzantion, 53 (1983), 507–37 [repr. Byzantium–Rusʹ–Russia: Studies in the
Translation of Christian Culture (Aldershot, 2002), II], who points out that in the Kievan period
there is no evidence for the liturgical commemoration of the emperor in Russia.
4 Such an act is characterized by Obolensky as “a revolt against the basic tenet of Byzantine
political philosophy.” See Dimitri Obolensky, “Some Notes Concerning a Byzantine Portrait of
John VIII Palaeologus,” Eastern Churches Review, IV (1972), 146 [repr. The Byzantine
Inheritance of Eastern Europe (Aldershot, 1982), X].
5 Ševčenko, “The Decline of Byzantium,” 167, opens with Patriarch Anthony’s letter and notes
this parallelism.
6 George Ostrogorsky, “The Byzantine Emperor and the Hierarchical World Order,” The Slavonic
and East European Review, 35(84) (1956), 9. This discrepancy between political reality and
self-representation in the later Byzantine period is described by Nicolas Oikonomides in
Shepard and Franklin (eds.), Byzantine Diplomacy, 74, as a “constant opposition between a
glorified past on the one hand and the cold facts of the time on the other.”

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
270 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

terrestrial power. It begins with an examination of select aspects of imperial

ritual, which has long been understood as key to the performance of the
emperor’s sovereignty by scholars such as Treitinger and, more recently,
Dagron.7 It then turns to the construction of dynastic ties through mar-
riage, before, finally, turning these broader questions to a close reading of
the early fifteenth-century liturgical vestment known as the major sakkos
of Metropolitan Photios, currently housed in the Kremlin Museum in
Moscow.
Twenty years after the patriarch’s letter, a marital alliance was arranged
for Manuel II’s son, the future John VIII, and Dmitrievič’s daughter, Anna.
The marriage was in all likelihood negotiated by Metropolitan Photios,
the senior-ranking member of the ecclesiastical hierarchy in Kiev and all of
Russia appointed directly by the patriarch of Constantinople. At some point
after the marriage, the lavish sakkos was dispatched to Moscow to be worn by
the Metropolitan. This vestment is embroidered not only with an extensive
iconographic program of salvation but also with contemporary portraits of
the Metropolitan, the heir to the Byzantine throne, his Muscovite bride, and
her parents (Figures 5.2–5.5). The overall salvific program of the sakkos is
complicated by the inclusion of these contemporary rulers and also by local
histories and hagiographies.
This lavish gift presents a densely layered message of sacro-imperial
authority centered in Constantinople in both ecclesiastical and dynastic
terms in an era of the capital’s diminished political sway. The constriction
of the emperor’s domain, this chapter ultimately argues, forced emperors
of the late Byzantine period to construct other means of manifesting power,
means that may not have reflected the reality of the situation but which, ide-
ally, would compensate for it. This distinction is crucial. With support failing
to materialize after Manuel’s long diplomatic mission in Western Europe,
he commissioned the images for the copy of the Corpus Dionysiacum to be
sent to Paris (Figures 4.3–4.4). At the same time, the royal Muscovite and
Palaiologan houses were united through marriage, and the major sakkos
was sent to Moscow to be worn by Metropolitan Photios (Figures 5.2–5.3).
These gifts did not reflect the current state of social relations, but were
offered in an attempt to establish and augment allegiances. Both the Corpus
Dionysiacum and the major sakkos drew upon longstanding pre-existing
relationships and should be seen as part of ongoing diplomatic dialogues.
In the case of the copy of the works of Dionysios the Areopagite, as we
saw in Chapter 4, the dialogue centered on hagiographic and Neoplatonic

7 Treitinger, Die oströmische Kaiser- und Reichsidee; and Dagron, Emperor and Priest.

genealogy. In the case of the major sakkos, to which we will turn shortly,
the dialogue concerned the intertwined imperial dynastic and ecclesiastical
ties between Moscow and Constantinople. In both instances, Constantino-
ple, though beleaguered, battered, and broken, still constituted itself as the
center and source of sacro-imperial authority.

Imperial ritual and evergetism

Gilbert Dagron has cogently elaborated the ideological stakes of Byzantine

imperial ceremonial. For Dagron, the emperor’s procession to the Great
Church and entrance with the patriarch constituted an especially potent
articulation of and a critical threshold for delimiting that authority. In
relation to Dagron’s understanding of the dual-revelatory power of imperial
ceremonial, Chapter 2 considered the Great Church’s vestibule and narthex
imagery in relation to this entrance with regard to issues of legitimation
surrounding the first Palaiologan emperor and his public bronze monument
erected in front of the Church of the Holy Apostles. The present discussion
now turns to the terminus of the celebration, the imperial recession or leave-
taking ceremony, where the emperor exits the body of the church upon the
conclusion of the liturgy. Recall that at the commencement of the service, the
emperor’s crown was removed at the “Beautiful Doors” before he processed
through the “Imperial Doors” with the patriarch. The crown was returned
to the emperor at the conclusion of the ceremonies in conjunction with a
series of ritual exchanges and these re-inscribe the contours of the imperial
office.8
The middle Byzantine Book of Ceremonies relates the protocol for these
ritual actions. At the end of the service, the patriarch joins the emperor,
who is installed in his metatorion sharing a meal with his officials.9 After an
embrace, the two, followed by their entourages, proceed to the small door
on the south side of the eastern wall of the Great Church leading onto the
shrine of the Holy Well, which held a relic of the well where Christ met

8 The temporary suspension of the emperor’s crown, in Dagron’s eloquent words (Emperor and
Priest, 215), indicates that “all signs of sovereignty were abandoned in the house of the King of
kings.”
9 On the prescriptive nature of this text, see note 34 in the Introduction. Majeska, “The Emperor
in His Church,” 9, also traces the leave-taking ceremony. On the metatorion, see Anthony
Cutler, “Metatorion” in the ODB (with bibliography); Mathews, Early Churches, 132–3; and
John Francis Baldovin, The Urban Character of Christian Worship: The Origins, Development,
and Meaning of Stational Liturgy (Rome, 1987), 177–8.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
272 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

the Samaritan woman.10 Here at the southeast side of the sacred edifice,
the emperor performs imperial largesse. Taking bags of coinage from his
officials, the emperor distributes gold from his own hand to representatives
of the church, and to the poor. Members of each group were called to
receive their gift in order by the official known as the arguros. Following
this public performance of generosity, the emperor and the patriarch enact
a final ritual exchange. The patriarch crowns the emperor with the crown
taken off during his entrance at the “Beautiful Doors” and gives him the
euologias of consecrated bread and perfumed oil. In return, the emperor
gives the patriarch a monetary offering, the apokombion or heavy purse of
coinage for distribution.11
A sequential view of these events indicates how the emperor’s author-
ity is inscribed through gift exchange. The emperor first publicly dis-
plays largesse to different ranks of society in a performance of evergetism
with deep historical roots.12 He is then rewarded by the patriarch with
the ultimate symbol of terrestrial authority (the crown) and with bless-
ings (what the layperson receives at the conclusion of the liturgy). The
emperor then offers his monetary gift in return to the patriarch before
a final embrace and departure. Sacred, imperial, and monetary gifts are
offered directly from the emperor’s or the patriarch’s hand. The emperor
gives coinage and the patriarch dispenses symbols of authority (crown)
and faith (blessings). The series of ritual actions negotiate through ges-
tures of gift exchange the mutual dependence of imperial and sacerdotal
authority. This concluding ritual exchange establishes a kind of contract
between the emperor and the patriarch. With the return of his crown, the
emperor is inscribed as benefactor and protector of the Great Church and the
Empire.13

10 Book of Ceremonies, Chapter I in Vogt, Le Livre des cérémonies, 14ff. On the Holy Well, see
Mango, Brazen House, 60–72 and 90f.; R. Guilland, “Étude sur Constantinople byzantine: le
Puits-Sacré,” JÖBG, 5 (1956), 35–40; Majeska, Russian Travelers, 223–326; Vogt, Le Livre des
cérémonies: Commentary I: 63–4; Mathews, Early Churches, 93–4.
11 Again, the name derives from the knot (kombos) with which the sack was tied. See note 12 in
the Introduction.
12 The classic study of evergetism is Paul Veyne, Bread and Circuses: Historical Sociology and
Political Pluralism (London, 1990 [1976]). A more recent treatment is Arjan Zuiderhoek, The
Politics of Munificence in the Roman Empire: Citizens, Elites and Benefactors in Asia Minor
(Cambridge, 2009).
13 Majeska, “The Emperor in His Church,” 9, proposes that this ritual exchange elucidates the
emperor’s role as lay patron of the church more clearly than any other ceremonial moment: the
patriarch crowns the emperor “anew as he leaves the church building for the world where he
wears the crown.”

The distribution of largesse was a crucial element of this exchange

and was also of central import to the emperor’s coronation, which was
woven into the liturgical cycle of the Great Church. In general the emperor
entered and exited the Great Church in the same manner as he would
on major feast days for his coronation.14 Passing through the “Imperial
Doors,” surmounted by the enigmatic mosaic of imperial proskynesis above
(Figure 2.17), the emperor and patriarch process together to the limit
of the sanctuary to pray then ascend the ambo. Following a litany and
prayers, the patriarch crowns the emperor to the sound of the famil-
iar ritual acclamations of “Holy, holy, holy” and “Many years to you,
great basileus and autokrator” (῞Αγιος, ῞Αγιος, ῞Αγιος· and ῾Ο δεῖνα μεγάλου
βασιλέως καὶ αὐτοκράτορος πολλὰ τὰ ἔτη).15 The newly crowned emperor
then retires to the metatorion, where he receives dignitaries (τὰ ἀξιώματα)
who, in prescribed order of precedence, fall to the ground and kiss his
knees.
In contrast to middle Byzantine ceremonial sources like the Book of Cer-
emonies, coronation accounts in the Palaiologan period express a further
ritual elaboration surrounding the elevation of an emperor. They specify
that he was raised on shield, acclaimed, and anointed, and also that he
publicly professed his Orthodox faith.16 Texts such as the mid-fourteenth-
century Pseudo-Kodinos also expand upon the rituals of generosity sur-
rounding the emperor’s coronation. Pseudo-Kodinos’s chapter on imperial
coronation (Περὶ στεφηφορίας βασιλέως) indicates that imperial monetary
distribution was performed both before and after his coronation. After his

14 There is a substantial body of literature on imperial coronation. See the Book of Ceremonies,
Chapter 47 (38) in Vogt, Le Livre des cérémonies, II: 6–10 plus commentary on vol. II, 1–3; and
Jacques Goar (ed.), Euchologion, sive Rituale Graecorum (Venice, 1730, repr. Graz, 1960),
726–30. See also F. Brightman, “Byzantine Imperial Coronations,” Journal of Theological
Studies, 2 (1901), 359–92; C. N. Tsirpanlis, “The Imperial Coronation and Theory in ‘De
ceremoniis aulae Byzantinae’ of Constantine VII Porphyrogennitus,” Κληρονομία, 4 (1972),
63–91; M. Arranz, “Couronnement royal et autres promotions de cour. Les sacrements de
l’institution de l’ancien Euchologe constantinopolitain,” OCP, 56 (1990), 83–133; and P.
Yannopoulos, “Le couronnement de l’empereur à Byzance: rituel et fond institutionnel,”
Byzantion, 61(1) (1991), 71–92.
15 Vogt, Le Livre des cérémonies, Chapter 47 (38): 11–13. In another description, the patriarch
concludes the coronation by intoning “Worthy!” which is echoed by the congregation three
times.
16 The two main sources are Kantakouzenos and Pseudo-Kodinos. On the relationship between
these two texts, see Niels Gaul, “The Partridge’s Purple Stockings: Observations on the
Historical, Literary and Manuscript Context of Pseudo-Kodinos’ Handbook on Court
Ceremonial” in Michael Grünbart (ed.), Theatron. Rhetorische Kultur in Spätantike und
Mittelalter (Berlin and New York, 2007), 73–85.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
274 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

profession of faith, but before his coronation proper, the emperor goes to
the “Thomaı̈tis” triklinos and looks toward the Augustaion, the courtyard
on the south side of the church, where a crowd and army are assembled
(and where Justinian’s celebrated bronze equestrian monument stood, as
noted in Chapter 2).17 The text relates that in front of the emperor, a senator
selected by the emperor throws apokombia to the crowd from the top of the
stairs of the Augustaion. The text makes clear that largesse at this point is
distributed by a surrogate, through the emperor’s official, but in view of the
emperor.18 The text also enumerates the contents of the apokombia: within
each cut piece of cloth are three nomismata of gold, silver, and copper.19
At the conclusion of the Divine Liturgy and the coronation, Pseudo-
Kodinos relates that an imperial prokypsis is performed. The imperial family
ascends a stage concealed by curtains, which are drawn aside strategically –
dramatically and momentarily – to reveal the immobile emperor and his
family as an imperial tableau vivant.20 While imperial largesse remains a
central component of the ritual construction of the imperial ideal, the
prokypsis ceremony is relatively new. Despite the fact that most of our
sources for it are Palaiologan in date, the ritual itself goes back to the twelfth
century, and its cultivation under Michael VIII in the thirteenth century
may have been part of his agenda of ceremonial revival and renewal, as
discussed in Chapter 1.21 This ritualized imperial epiphany was performed
at Christmas, Easter, and Palm Sunday, as well as imperial coronations, and
it also constitutes a prominent feature in descriptions of marriages and the
arrival of brides.22
Following the prokypsis, the crowned emperor and empress ride horses
back to the palace while all others proceed on foot. Both the prokypsis
and the procession serve to proclaim visually the new imperial status of
the emperor. The next day, a new apokombia distribution is staged at the
palace. In a courtyard, the emperor takes coins from the vestiarion, who

17 Pseudo-Kodinos, Traité des offices, 388:1–5. On the Augustaion, see Mango, Brazen House,
42–7, 56–60, and 174–9. See also R. Guilland, “Le Thomaı̈tès et le Patriarcat,” JÖBG, 5 (1956),
29–40; and Raymond Janin, “Le palais patriarcal de Constantinople Byzantine,” REB, 20
(1962), 144–9.
18 Pseudo-Kodinos, Traité des offices, 255:1–2.
19 Of course, by this time, gold coinage had ceased to be struck, as noted in Chapter 3. Regardless
of denomination, the point remains the same: the emperor’s image imprinted on coinage was
distributed in front of the living emperor. See note 25 below.
20 Pseudo-Kodinos, Traité des offices, 29.
21 Recall, as noted in Chapter 1, that many of Holobolos’s orations for Michael VIII were written
to accompany the prokypsis.
22 John VI Kantakouzenos staged a prokypsis for his daughter’s marriage to Orhan in 1347, on
which see Bryer, “Greek Historians on the Turks,” 478–9, 482–4.

holds in his robe a large number of bulk gold nomismata, and gives them to
those assembled.23 While the first instance of ritual gift-giving specified the
distribution of coinage from the court official but in view of the emperor,
here the emperor takes the coins from the official and distributes them
himself. The point is that the emperor’s elevation in status is articulated by
his shift in agency with regard to evergetism. Before his coronation proper,
he was visually associated with largesse, but its distribution was through a
surrogate, while after his coronation, coins are dispersed from his own hand.
Moreover, the author explicates the rationale for the generosity: it was “the
emperor’s desire that all the archons, their sons, soldiers, and the people
celebrate with him, eating and drinking at the expense of the Emperor.”24
Here, giving served to further the celebration and memorialization of his
new status as emperor.
In these different accounts of imperial coronation, the emperor is visu-
ally associated with the distribution of largesse, whether from his own hand
or visually aligned with a proxy distributor. The underlying ritual of ever-
getism is recognizable in both periods, whether his offering is individually
distributed wrapped apokombia or loose coinage scattered en masse. In the
middle Byzantine account, the gift exchange situated at the shrine of
the Holy Well encapsulates in concrete terms the mutual dependence of the
emperor and the patriarch. In the later Byzantine period, gift-giving pro-
vides the frame for Pseudo-Kodinos’s account, in which ritual distribution
inaugurates and concludes the emperor’s changing of status.25 The general
outline of the ritual action remains consistent in both: the emperor, follow-
ing his solemn investiture by the patriarch, distributes largesse. These rituals
of munificence may be traced back to imperial Rome, but the Palaiologan
accounts attest to a key innovation: apokombia distribution is linked to the
prokypsis. The emperor’s image – itself ritualized as an immobile still-life
tableau – is joined to the performative display of gift-giving where the gift

23 This is designated apokombia even though bulk coinage is specified (rather than prepared
pouches or purses of coinage tied with a knot).
24 Pseudo-Kodinos, Traité des offices, 271.
25 The texts also specify the contents of the apokombia. While by the mid-fourteenth century,
gold coinage ceased to be struck, the anonymous Greek text from the end of the century still
specifies gold in addition to silver and copper. Regardless of this enumeration, which may have
simply repeated earlier textual material, it is doubtful that gold coinage was distributed for
Manuel’s coronation. The Russian account, which will be discussed in greater detail below,
specifies mere silver staurata for the 1392 coronation. Majeska, Russian Travelers, 435, suggests
that the apokombia were much reduced in amount by the late fourteenth century and that
silver staurata alone were distributed “in keeping with the sad financial plight of the empire.”
In any event, the imperial ceremonial gestures and traditions continue even if there is a shift in
content (from gold to silver).

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
276 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

is the coin bearing the imperial effigy. In other words, we see here the cer-
emonial juxtaposition of the stilled majestic living emperor and his image
impressed and distributed in gold.
The Russian description of Manuel II’s coronation in 1392 presents a
slightly different picture from the ceremonial handbooks.26 Ignatius of
Smolensk, who was in Constantinople on an ecclesiastical mission, wit-
nessed the ceremony first hand.27 His text is less concerned with timeless
ritual negotiations of authority and more with what he understood of the
particular ceremonial episode he witnessed. With the move from prescrip-
tive sources to a descriptive account of imperial ritual, we encounter a
greater degree of specificity.
According to Ignatius, the coronation of Manuel Palaiologos and Helena
Dragaš by Patriarch Anthony took place in Hagia Sophia on the Sunday of
the Prodigal Son. The readings selected for the coronation, again as stressed
in the Introduction to Part II, emphasized Manuel’s rightful authority in
the face of faction.28 Attended by Frankish, Genoese, and Venetian repre-
sentatives, each visually marked by dress and emblem, Ignatius conveys a
picture of majesty and luxury, lingering over marvelous vestments adorned
with gold and pearls, brocades of silk white as snow and of velvets in purple
and cerise. The imperial entourage, including soldiers, standard bearers,
and heralds, entered through the “Imperial Doors” and processed to the
imperial dais on the south side of the nave. The Russian author exaggerates
the slow pace to emphasize the solemnity of the procession and the majestic
visual effect of the emperor’s entrance.29 The coronation proper took place

26 He had been crowned before in 1373 as co-emperor. Majeska, Russian Travelers, 418 n. 12,
points out that his initial coronation was not comparable to Michael VIII’s 1259 coronation as
co-emperor in that Michael’s did not include the right of succession. Still, it is noteworthy that
both Palaiologan emperors, and Kantakouzenos too, followed their initial coronations with full
ceremonial coronations by the patriarch in Hagia Sophia. See also Peter Schreiner, “Hochzeit
und Krönung Kaiser Manuels II. im Jahre 1392,” BZ, 60 (1967), 74–5. On the politics involved
in the marriage of Manuel II and Helena Dragaš of Serbia and the wedding itself, see Barker,
Manuel II, 99–104; Nicol, The Last Centuries, 298; Schreiner, “Hochzeit,” 70–85; Stephen
Reinert, “What the Genoese Cast upon Helena Dragash’s Head: Coins, Not Confecti,” ByzF, 20
(1994), 235–46; Reinert, “Political Dimensions,” 291–303; and Majeska, Russian Travelers,
416–36.
27 As Majeska points out in Russian Travelers, 50, Ignatius of Smolensk’s description is the only
eye-witness-account of a Byzantine coronation in the Palaiologan period.
28 As discussed in the Introduction to Part II, drawing on Reinert, “What the Genoese Cast,”
291–303.
29 Majeska, Russian Travelers, 416–36. In a particularly moralizing tone, Nicol, Last Centuries,
298, reads the Russian deacon as a duped fool from afar, taken in by the pageantry of Byzantine
imperial ceremonial, which was, in truth, nothing more than a masquerade. Ignatius
“obviously did not feel a pervading sense of doom or wonder whether, in the circumstances,

at the ambo at the moment of the Divine Liturgy, known as the “Little
Entrance” (mikra eisodos).30 The patriarch placed the crown on the head of
the emperor, who then, in turn, stepped down and placed a crown on the
empress’s head.31
Although both earlier and contemporaneous sources stress evergetism at
the conclusion of the service, characterizing the emperor emphatically as
the giver of the coinage either from his own hand or through an appointed
surrogate, Ignatius describes something altogether different: he claims that
at the conclusion of his coronation, the emperor was showered with coins.
When the emperor left the church, instead of granting largesse, as in all
Byzantine sources, the Russian deacon asserts that: “As [the emperor] left
the church, he was showered with staurata, which all the people tried to
grab with their hands.”32
With this sentence, the Russian account inverts the traditional rituals of
imperial evergetism. The newly crowned emperor is described as the object
of donation, not the agent; he is showered with coins rather than distribut-
ing them ceremonially. At the same time, Ignatius’s text still positions the
emperor as an instrument of evergetism, even if accidentally. The coins flung
at the emperor find themselves in the hands of those attending the impe-
rial spectacle, who, Ignatius claims, rush to grab them. Even placed in the

the masquerade of an imperial coronation was justified.” The emperor and patriarch, he
continues, “were set upon putting up a brave show.”
30 Ignatius does not mention that Manuel was anointed by the patriarch. Nor does he mention
the pre-coronation rituals, such as raising on a shield. See Majeska, Russian Travelers, 419–20,
who explains that such rituals would have been part of his 1374 coronation and thus need not
have been repeated. The omission of the unction detail, however, is more problematic, as by
the Palaiologan period, it had assumed primary importance. The Russian traveler, according to
Majeska, probably did not understand this part of the ritual and hence did not mention it. See
also Reinert, “Political Dimensions,” 293.
31 This process is in agreement with middle Byzantine sources. The Book of Ceremonies explains
that if a son or wife is to be crowned, the patriarch hands the crown to the emperor to place on
their heads. Such a practice illustrates quite clearly the Dionysian underpinnings of imperial
ritual, itself modeled on ecclesiastical ritual. The coronation of junior partners exemplifies the
Dionysian conception of hierarchy and internal mediation where the transmission of authority
from the patriarch is mediated through the emperor.
32 Majeska, Russian Travelers, 112–13. The last phrase is bracketed in Schreiner’s translation of
the text; see “Hochzeit,” 85. In terms of ritual parallels, Majeska, Russian Travelers, 435 n. 131,
notes that in Venice newly installed Doges threw coinage to the people after the “church service
of installation.” In Russia the newly crowned tsar was showered with coinage in a ritual whose
genesis may be traced to Ignatius’s description. See note 38 below on this point. Reinert, “What
the Genoese Cast,” 245 n. 33, offers an Ottoman parallel where the coinage was offered to
Beyezid at his marriage in 1381/2 and then his father Murad redistributed some of these to the
ulema and needy, and kept some for himself. Note that staurata are specified for this ritual
scattering of coins, on which see Hendy, Studies in the Byzantine Monetary Economy, 537–9;
and Grierson, DOC V/1, 213–23.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
278 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

passive role of the exchange, the emperor remains the occasion and source
of munificence, only not of his own agency.
Because of the unprecedented and unexpected nature of such an inver-
sion, George Majeska has read this aspect of Ignatius’s description as a
misunderstanding of the Byzantine convention of distributing apokombia
as largesse.33 One other instance of showering the emperor with coinage,
however, is attested and this complicates the picture. Regarding the arrival
of the emperor’s Serbian-born bride, an account book of Pera’s Genoese
community specifies expenses for things that were to be cast over her head
upon her adventus. Stephen Reinert has clarified the nature of these things.
Rather than confecti to celebrate the arrival of an imperial bride, Helena
was to be showered with coins, probably staurata.34 Such a ritual is absent
from Greek descriptions of and prescriptions for the ceremonial arrival
of imperial brides such as that of Pseudo-Kodinos, which preserves the
most detailed information about a foreign bride’s arrival in the imperial
city.35
The fact that the Russian description of Manuel’s coronation and the
Genoese notation regarding Helena’s adventus both include the showering
with coins suggests the veracity of such a ceremony – it suggests, in other
words, that the texts describe an actual ceremony, and are not merely a mis-
understanding of Byzantine imperial ritual on the part of the foreigners.36
The coin scattering included in both the Genoese account of the empress’s
arrival in Constantinople and the Russian account of the emperor’s coro-
nation inverts the typical expectation of imperial evergetism37 and also
raises important questions about the relationship of imperial munificence,
authority, and ritual within the larger Byzantine oikoumene. Majeska points
out that the ritual of scattering coins like confecti became a tradition for
the coronation of a new tsar in Moscow. He has shown that later Russian
coronation rituals were modeled closely not only on Byzantine models in

33 His position, in other words, is that because Ignatius’s description does not match the
Byzantine sources, he must have misunderstood what he saw (i.e., Ignatius got it wrong).
34 “Pro Iacobo de Terdona domicelo domini Potestatis, et sunt qui proiecti fuerunt super capud
domine Imperatricis in eius adventu que fecit in Constantinopoli.” Cf. Barker, Manuel II, 102.
See also Schreiner, “Hochzeit,” 72–3. Pseudo-Kodinos describes Helena’s arrival in
Constantinople on February 7–8, 1392.
35 Pseudo-Kodinos, Traité des offices, 286–7. Macrides’s much-anticipated forthcoming
commentary on Pseudo-Kodinos is sure to shed light on these issues.
36 Reinert, “What the Genoese Cast,” 245, believes that the scattering of staurata for a bride’s
arrival was a recent ceremonial introduction.
37 Reinert (ibid., 246) notes that both instances “constitute an inversion of an ancient tradition
whereby the emperor distributed largesse to the people” (citing Majeska, Russian Travelers,
435–6).

general but on Ignatius’s coronation description in particular.38 Whether or

not Ignatius understood Byzantine imperial ritual gift-giving and construed
it instead as gift-receiving, his version of events became the inspiration for
the coronation of tsars in Russia well after the fall of Constantinople, when
Byzantium existed in faith alone as the Orthodox patriarchate.

On marriage: Palaiologan dynastic politics

Both the Genoese notation and the Russian description suggest an inversion
of imperial evergetism, where the ritual showering of coinage is directed at or
upon the imperial bride at her arrival in Constantinople and the emperor at
the conclusion of his coronation. The emperor’s marriage and his coronation
are thus ritually linked. The emperor himself stresses the centrality of the
bond of marriage to empire most explicitly in his Dialogue on Marriage
(Περὶ γάμου), a treatise very much rooted in the dynastic politics of his
time. Manuel sent a copy of this treatise to Demetrios Kydones, describing
it in the accompanying letter as “some writing to the father of writing.”39
Manuel also acknowledges that his offering, the Dialogue, is prompted by
the harsh circumstances around him: “The dangers now threatening us have
spurred us on and compelled us to write.” The Dialogue, far from being a
mere rhetorical exercise devoid of political import, instead represents his
attempt to redefine imperial rule in turbulent times.40

38 Majeska, Russian Travelers, 52 and 436, citing his earlier article, “The Moscow Coronation of
1498 Reconsidered,” Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas, 26 (1978), 353–61. In
contextualizing the 1498 Russia coronation, Majeska makes clear that the adoption of the
scattering of coinage (described in the Russian account of a Byzantine coronation) was
exceptional and was employed to bolster the profound change in traditional succession. See
also M. Arranz, “L’aspect rituel de l’onction des empereurs de Constantinople et de Moscou”
in Roma, Costantinopoli, Mosca: atti del I seminario internazionale di studi storici “Da Roma alla
terza Roma” 21–23 aprile 1981 (Naples, 1983), 414–15. On related historiographic issues, see
Donald Ostrowski, “‘Moscow the Third Rome’ as Historical Ghost” in Brooks (ed.),
Perspectives on Late Byzantine Art and Culture, 170–9; Sergei Bogatyrev, “Reinventing the
Russian Monarchy in the 1550s: Ivan the Terrible, the Dynasty, and the Church,” Slavonic and
East European Review, 85(2) (2007), 271–93; and Jonathan Shepard, “Byzantium’s Overlapping
Circles” in Elizabeth Jeffreys (ed.), Proceedings of the 21st International Congress of Byzantine
Studies, London, 21–26 August, 2006 (Aldershot, 2006), I, 15–55. On the adoption of Byzantine
imperial ceremonial in the wider medieval context, see Christian Raffensperger, Reimagining
Europe: Kievan Rusʹ in the Medieval World (Cambridge, MA, 2012). My sincere thanks to the
author for sharing parts of this work with me in advance of the book’s publication.
39 Dennis, The Letters, 172–4 (Letter 62: 2). By 1396, Kydones was in northern Italy, then went to
Crete, where he died during the winter of 1397/8. We know of no response from the emperor’s
mentor with regard to the work.
40 Florin Leonte, “Advice and Praise for the Ruler: Making Political Strategies in Manuel II
Palaiologos’s Dialogue on Marriage” in Savaas Neocleous (ed.), Papers from the First and

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
280 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

The text unfolds as a dialogue between Emperor Manuel and his mother,
Helena Kantakouzena, on the topic of marriage.41 Manuel acknowledges
that in the past, the two disagreed on the advantage of marriage, but even-
tually he acquiesced to his mother’s wishes to take a wife and start a family.42
Throughout the Dialogue, he asks his mother to develop more fully her posi-
tion in favor of marriage.43 The empress defends her position most stridently
by emphasizing Manuel’s role as exemplar or model statesman and ruler:
“you ought to be the model and standard for those who live as citizens
under you” (86). As a ruler – and “father-figure and, as it were, educator” –
to avoid marriage would prompt his “would-be followers” to imitate him.
This poses two problems. The first would be to introduce “a philosophical
life to people who do not even let it cross their mind ever to philosophize
(whilst their rank calls for other activities)” (88). Second, the stability of
his rule would be jeopardized if he were to fail to marry and procreate. The
empress thus asks “Will your reign not be whittled away with time if, in
fact, no one is going to produce successors?” (88), and, further, “Would it

Second Postgraduate Forums in Byzantine Studies: Sailing to Byzantium (Newcastle upon Tyne,
2009), 165, claims the text “pertains to real aspects of state administrations with serious
implications in late Byzantium,” unlike rhetorical works aimed at court entertainment alone.
41 Athanasios D. Angelou (ed. and trans.), Manuel Palaiologos, Dialogue with the Empress-Mother
on Marriage (Vienna, 1991). All references to the Dialogue will be to this edition and
translation. Two recent articles have focused on the Dialogue: Małgorzata Dabrowska,
˛ “Ought
One to Marry? Manuel II Palaiologos’ Point of View,” BMGS, 31(2) (2007), 146–56; and
Leonte, “Advice and Praise for the Ruler,” 163–80, whose remarks on the dialogic genre are
particularly insightful (166–7). He points out that regardless of actual influence, Manuel’s
Dialogue in many ways parallels the writing of Humanists in Western Europe, in particular in
its combination of rhetorical art with political matters. See also Reinert, “Political
Dimensions,” 291–303, who reads passages from the Dialogue in conjunction with the
coronation readings.
42 Angelou, Manuel Palaiologos, 70: “I was persuaded: I did get married and quickly looked upon
children.” At the time of the composition, Manuel had married Helena Dragaš and his first
son, John, was two years old. By this time his mother, Helena Kantakouzena, had retired to the
Kyra Martha convent (and had taken the name Hypomene, Patience) upon the death of John V
in 1391. Helena Kantakouzena was an active patron and benefactor of Kydones. See Frances
Kianka, “The Letters of Demetrios Kydones to Empress Helena Kantakouzene Palaiologina,”
DOP, 46 (1992), 155–64; and more generally, the OBD and PLP entries plus Angelou, Manuel
Palaiologos, 39–40.
43 The two disagree about the benefits of marriage and their debate covers rhetorical topoi
derived from ancient rhetorical handbooks that would have been familiar to the late Byzantine
student; see Leonte, “Advice and Praise for the Ruler,” 171; and Angelou, Manuel Palaiologos,
56. The debate unfolds in order of twelve rhetorical topics from the finals of Right, Legitimacy,
Honor, Benefit, Possibility, and Consequence, to the circumstantial points of Person, Matter,
Time, Place, Manner, and Cause (80). Rather than structuring the Dialogue, these rhetorical
points only partially guide the discussion – some are dismissed or mentioned only in passing
and others are fully developed. Under the topics of Benefit and Time, the empress makes the
strongest case in favor of marital union.

not be pointless to rule when there are no more subjects?” (88). While the
empress mother firmly insists on marriage because of imperial exemplarity,
Manuel maintains that it is not advantageous for rulers to marry in times of
trouble.44 Marriage itself is not unwise, he concedes, but in difficult times,
marriage and family are a source of anxiety. In fact, despite the premise
of the treatise, much of the Dialogue deals specifically with the problem of
marriage in times of trouble.
The emperor’s response to the empress, which constitutes the longest
speech in the Dialogue by far, quickly turns emotional, tense, and dark.45
He opposes military matters (“arms and wars”) to familial cares, including
the education and the upbringing of children, their illnesses and deaths,
“mourning for them and following them to their graves” (96: 656–61).
“All together,” he writes, “you cannot imagine how they disturb and cause
depression” (96: 661–2). These concerns affect those men most:

who are at the helm at the point when Time has caused the ship of state to
crack, and violent winds have worn the ship’s gear thin; they who struggle with
the wintry waves and with pirates, looking with apprehension at what lies below
the surface of the sea, without even having the security of a harbour somewhere
nearby; all this happens during a moonless night, a night darkened by massive
clouds, with rainstorms and thunderings one after the other, threats of a deadly
hurricane; nothing stands between our times and an experience like that, simply
nothing. (96: 662–8)

The ship of state metaphor here conveys a bleak picture of an unmoored

and broken vessel under threat from both elemental dangers (hurricanes,
winds, rain) and treachery (pirates). The imagery does not convey a sudden
storm but a prolonged struggle, winds having worn the gear thin, and a
systemic failure of the empire’s apparatus, a crack in the ship.
This passage parallels the imagery of another letter written by the emperor
to Kydones in 1396 after the Battle of Nikopolis (Letter 31). In both, we
find rolling thunderclaps (similarly phrased) and an overarching sense of
anxiety conveyed through the evocation of stormy skies and seas.46 Unlike

44 “If a ruler’s affairs are not going well, if his days seem doomed, if everything is against him, if
he is being tossed about by anarchy, not by winds – which is the sort of thing that has
happened to myself – a person like this, Mother, in my opinion would have done better not to
marry and give himself up to endless anxieties, which it would be superfluous to name for
those who already know them” (94).
45 The speech runs from lines 653 to 724. Leonte, “Advice and Praise for the Ruler,” 173–4, points
out that it resembles an oration and also notes that marriage itself is not explicitly mentioned
in this section.
46 Compare the phrasing καὶ τὰς ἀλλεπαλλήλους βροντάς of Letter 31 (Dennis, The Letters, 81:
30) versus καὶ βροντάς ἀλλεπαλλήλους ἀφιέντων of the Dialogue (96: 666). Such close parallels

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
282 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

the passage in the Dialogue, however, Letter 31 describes the calamity (the
Battle of Nikopolis) as sudden and violent: “just as the sky was bright and
clear, the sea appeared calm, and we thought we were sailing along with
a good wind and just about inside the harbor – then this terrible disaster
struck us with the utmost violence and tore up by the roots all the fairest
hopes in the mind.”47 In both works, the emperor uses similar phrases and
allusions, but to create two different moods. Letter 31 evokes the anger and
frustration of the sudden external threat. Just as help was in reach (nearly
inside the harbor), this terrible disaster, this thunderbolt, Bayezid, violently
struck. The Dialogue, on the other hand, describes something slower and
deeper, something lurking below. Rather than an unexpected deluge, the
ominous language suggests festering and lurking, waiting and watching.
While the Nikopolis letter explicitly responds to Ottoman aggressions, the
Dialogue evokes deep-seated dynastic tensions and alludes to the particular
recent threat posed by the emperor’s nephew John (VII).48
Although Manuel’s marriage and the prospect of heirs would limit the
threat of his nephew, the Dialogue, written a few years after his marriage and
coronation, suggests continued insecurities. For the most part, the treatise,
true to its genre, avoids direct reference to historical people or events, with
the notable exception of John (VII), who is discussed at length in acrimo-
nious language. The emperor characterizes him as treacherous, claiming that
he delights in intrigue and worse.49 In the ship of state speech already men-
tioned above, John (VII) is to be understood as one of the lurking pirates.
From this more veiled reference, Manuel moves on to the heroic realm of
Homer. “That man” is described as a caged Cyclops who “breathes murder”
and “gnashes his teeth” (98). Manuel all but names John (VII) explicitly:
“that despicable person – that is what he is, he is not my nephew – that
disastrous threat to the Romaic people.”50 The Dialogue focuses on inter-
nal rather than external threats. The attention Manuel devotes to John far

help us place the original composition of the text to at some point during the initial years of
the Ottoman blockade of Constantinople. See Angelou, Manuel Palaiologos, 21, where a date of
1396 is proposed, albeit hesitantly. In the letter, the sailing into the harbor, evoking the
promise of help by the crusaders, is contrasted to Kydones’s sailing away.
47 Dennis, The Letters, 81–3: 33–7.
48 On the context surrounding the struggle for power between Manuel II and his nephew, see the
discussion in the Introduction to Part II above.
49 “[H]e regularly weaves all kinds of intrigue against you, and everything else he delights in
doing, and all he has never failed to be doing against you up till now” (110). This follows the
empress’s mention of the civil war (“that gangrene”).
50 At this point, he launches into a lengthy tirade against John (VII) with reference to his Ottoman
alliances and oath breaking with the passage discussed above in the Introduction to Part II.

exceeds the attention paid to the Ottoman ruler, the source of his empire’s
ultimate dissolution.51
The copy of the Dialogue sent to Kydones was written sometime around
1394, that is, at the beginning of the Ottoman blockade of Constantinople
following the Battle of Nikopolis and two years after Manuel’s marriage and
the birth of his first son, the future Emperor John VIII Palaiologos. Manuel’s
1396 letter to Kydones provides the terminus ante quem for the treatise, but
the manuscript history suggests that the emperor revised the text extensively
over time. A second copy of the Dialogue is preserved in a redacted form,
probably written between 1415 and 1421.52 In the redacted copy, Manuel
deleted significant portions of the original version, all of which concern his
conflict with his nephew. These revisions indicate the discursive process of
the Dialogue itself: given that a large part of the empress’s argument centers
on the idea of the ruler as model and exemplar, it would be particularly
inappropriate to include emotional tirades against John (VII), especially
after 1403, when the two had reconciled, even if the reconciliation concealed
deeper suspicions as suggested in the Palaiologan pyxis in Dumbarton Oaks,
as noted in the Introduction to Part II (Figure 4.0a–b).53 It has been argued
that the redacted text was meant for the emperor’s son, John VIII, who is
pictured as a child invested with the future authority of an emperor on the
pyxis and in the Louvre manuscript’s family portrait, and also as spouse to
his Muscovite bride on the hem of the sakkos in Moscow, to which I will
turn shortly. Małgorzata Dabrowska
˛ believes that the treatise’s revisions
were executed in order to erase traces of previous familial tensions and
to update the text for the future, in particular to encourage John VIII to
marry and produce successors.54 This hypothesis gains stronger support

51 This is also pointed out by Leonte, “Advice and Praise for the Ruler,” 176.
52 It was revised up until 1417. See Angelou, Manuel Palaiologos, 21, on the dating. The terminus
post quem is December 1392, the year of his marriage and the birth of his son. The Dialogue
only survives in two manuscripts: Paris Gr. 3041 and Vienna phil. Gr. 98. The 1417 date is that
of the compilation of the Paris manuscript; the Vienna manuscript dates to sometime between
1417 and the emperor’s death in 1421.
53 Such harsh language, as Angelou, Manuel Palaiologos, 19, points out, would have been
especially inappropriate in a text circulating under his own name once the two had reconciled.
On the revisions, see Angelou, 18–19. Paris Gr. 3041 contains the full text with the deleted
material and Vienna phil. Gr. 98 preserves a copy of the revised text. The two sections dealing
with their conflict were deleted (698–721), but the section dealing with what would have
happened if Manuel had not married and was forced to acknowledge John VII as his successor
were kept (941–97).
54 Dabrowska, “Ought One to Marry?” 155, proposes that the revisions were completed after
˛
John VII died in 1408: “the message of the second version remains the same, but the addressee
is evident: John VIII, who had five brothers with ambitions similar to his own.”

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
284 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

from Florin Leonte, who further points out that the Vienna manuscript in
which the revised text survives also includes two other texts dedicated to
the emperor’s son.55
The different iterations of the text speak of two distinct moments and
concerns. Manuel originally composed the treatise at the height of his
conflict with his nephew, immediately following the disaster at Nikopolis,
and during the Ottoman siege of the imperial city he had recently secured
and aimed to maintain in part through marriage and a son. The text was
revised after he had traveled to Europe, reconciled with his nephew, and
faced a new set of urgencies. In the wake of his failed personal diplomatic
mission to Western Europe, the marriage for Manuel’s son began to assume
central importance.
The Dialogue, in both its full and redacted versions, emphasizes imperial
marriage as key to the stability of the empire: at the conclusion of the text,
the emperor concedes victory to his mother’s defense. But in lieu of a gold
crown as her prize, he offers branches and roses because “Golden crowns are
at present in short supply: but everybody is eager for one and there is danger
it might be stolen during the ceremony.”56 The Dialogue concludes on this
ambivalent note. The logic of marriage is victorious – dynastic politics are
deemed critical to safeguard imperial authority – but scarcity, weakness,
and threat are evoked in the concluding sentence.
While the emperor’s Dialogue ultimately advocates marriage as a means
of strengthening the imperial line and combating treachery, it does not pro-
mote foreign marriage as a Byzantine diplomatic strategy. With its internal,
Palaiologan family-centered focus, it is less concerned with foreign mar-
riage. External marital ties, however, were key to concluding peace and
establishing networks of allegiance. The emperor and his son both married
women from strategically significant foreign courts. Foreign marriage was
not unprecedented in earlier Byzantine periods, but it assumed a heightened
role in the imperial diplomatic agenda of the Palaiologoi.57 The underlying

55 These other two texts are the Praecepts of an Imperial Education (PG 156: 313–84) and the
Seven Ethico-Political Orations (PG 156: 385–562).
56 The Dialogue concludes: “Let the award, then, be of roses and branches, so that the victor may
go home with the prize still in his possession” (116).
57 See Bryer, “Greek Historians on the Turks”; Gill, “Matrons and Brides of 14th Century
Byzantium,” ByzF, 9 (1985), 39–56; and Sandra Origone, “Marriage Connections between
Byzantium and the West in the Age of the Palaiologoi” in B. Arbel (ed.), Intercultural Contacts
in the Medieval Mediterranean: Studies in Honour of David Jacoby (London, 1996), 226–41. An
important recent contribution is Antony Eastmond, “Diplomatic Gifts: Women and Art as
Imperial Commodities in the 13th Century,” in Guillaume Saint-Guillain and Dionysios
Stathakopoulos (eds.), Liquid & Multiple: Individuals & Identities in the Thirteenth-Century

logic is succinctly outlined by Pachymeres with reference to the marriage

of Emperor Andronikos II’s daughter Simonis to kral Milutin of Serbia in
1299.58 In response to this most problematic union – she was five years old
at the time and he was forty-six, a fact that appalled contemporaries59 –
Pachymeres writes: “peace obtains many results that the sword does not
achieve, and the treaties which follow upon marriages, because they are
very solid and firm, end up accomplishing that which battles and war
have never achieved.”60 Diplomatic marriage in lieu of war – or often
to conclude wars – was a particularly effective mechanism for achieving
peace because it established kinship ties and networks of dynastic affilia-
tion across multiple cultures. The logic expressed by Pachymeres seems to
have been shared by the imperial administration of the period since, of the
eleven final emperors of Byzantium, eight were married to women hailing
from lands now known as Italy, Armenia, Germany, Bulgaria, Serbia, and
Russia.
Scholars have often read the increase in foreign diplomatic marriage as
a sign of weakness that reflects the economic vulnerability of the state.61
The phenomenon, however, may be read in a more nuanced light. Dynas-
tic marriages held a central role in the political sphere throughout the
medieval world, cementing alliances and binding disparate cultures. As
cultural mediators, moreover, Byzantine diplomatic brides represented a
major force of artistic patronage and played a key role in the dissemination
of Byzantine styles, iconographies, and ideologies. The celebrated marriage
of the Byzantine princess Theophano to Otto II in the tenth century and the

Aegean (Paris, 2012), 105–34. I thank the author for sharing this work with me in advance of
its publication.
58 Apparently, according to Pachymeres, Anna’s retinue made it as far as Ohrid, but then,
appalled with the “primitive conditions,” returned to Constantinople. See Pachymeres,
Relations Historiques (Failler, ed.) II, 453–7.
59 Stefan Uroš II Milutin was forty-six years old and this was his fourth marriage. The portraits of
Simonis and Milutin are preserved at Gračanica, on which see Slobodan Ćurčić, Gračanica:
King Milutin’s Church and its Place in Late Byzantine Architecture (University Park, 1979).
Originally Andronikos proposed his sister Eudokia, but she refused, so Simonis was the only
option. The proposed marriage was met with resistance, especially in ecclesiastical circles. She
returned to Constantinople after Milutin’s death in 1321.
60 Pachyemeres, cited in BFP, 20.
61 See Talbot, BFP, 19–21; and Laiou, “Byzantium and the Neighboring Powers: Small-State
Policies and Complexities” in Brooks (ed.), Perspectives on Late Byzantine Art and Culture, 50ff.
On the non-imperial level, we also witness an increase in foreign marriage in this period. For
example, only in the late period do we find special military troops composed of children of
mixed marriages: the tourkopouloi and the gasmouloi. Neither group has yet to receive much
scholarly attention. The logic of medieval dynastic marriage is succinctly explicated in Chapter
2 of Raffensperger, Reimagining Europe, 47–70.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
286 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

profound “byzantinizing” aesthetic that dominates her Ottonian circle is

but one well-known example.62
An early Palaiologan icon in the Vatican Treasury evokes the often-
conflicting networks that diplomatic marriages aimed to consolidate
(Figure 5.1). The icon was commissioned by Helena of Anjou and it conveys
the complexity of the confessional and political networks she mediated both
on a stylistic and an iconographic level. Byzantine by birth, but related to
the Hungarian House of Anjou, Helena married Stefan Uroš I of Serbia
(r. 1243–76) in the mid-thirteenth century.63 As the mother of two great
rulers of Serbia, Dragutin and Milutin, Helena later became honored as a
saint in the Serbian Orthodox Church, although her own confessional alle-
giances were to Rome. In fact, she commissioned the icon, in all likelihood,
as a gift for Pope Nicholas IV.64 The imagery of the icon thus triangulates,
in varying ways, Byzantium, Serbia, and Rome.
The main portion of the icon, the upper register, comprises large bust-
length depictions of St Peter and St Paul identified by Cyrillic characters
below an image of Christ in a gesture of blessing. On the smaller lower
register, Helena of Anjou is depicted bowing to a western bishop, probably
St Nicholas of Bari. Flanking this central scene of personal Roman Catholic
devotion demarcated by an arch are her two sons: on the right is Dragutin
and on the left is Milutin, the current ruler of Serbia who wed the young
Byzantine princess Simonis, the scandalous marriage that prompted the
above citation by Pachymeres.65 Identified by Slavonic inscriptions and
dressed in Byzantine imperial regalia, both sons gesture in supplication
toward the saints in the upper register.66
The icon as a whole visualizes the entangled allegiances forged by diplo-
matic marriage. It emphasizes Helena of Anjou’s confessional difference
from Constantinople. She is associated with a western saint and her piety
is bracketed off from the main pictorial space of the icon by an arch and
even a different background of green rather than gold. That difference,

62 The cultural impact of this marriage on the German court – from fashion to art to
hagiography – has been the subject of much scholarship. See the collection of essays in A.
Davids (ed.), The Empress Theophano: Byzantium and the West at the Turn of the First
Millennium (Cambridge, 1995).
63 Boško Bojović, L’idéologie monarchique dans les hagio-biographies dynastiques du Moyen Age
serbe (Rome, 1995), 81–4.
64 BFP, 50.
65 Ćurčić, Gračanica, 8, notes that Helena did not attend the nuptials, presumably as she was not
content with the union.
66 Brandie Ratliff, BFP, 50–1, reads this as an indication of the subservience of the Serbian
Church to the Roman Catholic Church, but this is debatable.

Figure 5.1 Icon with Saints Peter and Paul (above), and Helena of Anjou surrounded
by her sons Dragutin and Milutin (below), Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vatican
Museums

however, is conveyed in the very idiom of the icon associated so explicitly

with Byzantium.67 Moreover, she is positioned as mother of the scions of the

67 Hans Belting, Likeness and Presence: A History of the Image before the Era of Art (Chicago, 1994),
337, interprets this icon as follows: “the panel is not really an Eastern icon, but merely a product

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
288 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

Serbian royal house, and their ties to Constantinople are visually emphasized
through dress and insignia. Again, both Dragutin and Milutin are dressed
unmistakably as Byzantine emperors with the imperial loros and crown.
Royal lineage is here cast in explicit Byzantine visual terms, despite the fact
that it was made in Serbia (and, again, it includes Slavonic inscriptions).
This icon thus imbricates linguistic, cultural, confessional, political, and
dynastic ties. It adopts the ceremonial trappings of imperium and the visual
idiom of the icon from Constantinople, but depicts portraits of the Ser-
bian dynastic line and ultimately professes Helena’s veneration of a Roman
bishop so as to align her confessional status with the West.
The Vatican icon makes evident in clear visual terms the complicated
allegiances of the later Byzantine world and the need to think beyond
mere dualities of Byzantium and Serbia or Byzantium and the West. In its
triangulation of Roman Catholicism (St Peter and St Paul and its status
as a gift to the Pope), Byzantine imperium (dress and form), and Serbian
dynastic succession, the icon encourages us to move beyond dualities to
pluralities and, ultimately, to networks of allegiance.

Wearing allegiances: a liturgical vestment with

a political message

Webs of allegiance are woven through marriage and also through gift
exchange. Through an explicitly Byzantine visual vocabulary, the major
sakkos of Metropolitan Photios in Moscow, to which the remainder of this
chapter is dedicated, evokes a complicated network of allegiances among
Constantinople, Moscow, and Lithuania (Figures 5.2–5.3). Read as a gift,
the design and extension of the sakkos was meant to alleviate rivalries and
build alliances. In many respects the motivation behind the extension of the
sakkos to Moscow is similar to the silk peplos sent to Genoa, where the subtle
message of imperial sanction and distribution, as argued in Chapter 1, tri-
angulated a series of rivalries in the mid-thirteenth century in an attempt
to reclaim Constantinople. The sakkos navigates rivalries in the early fif-
teenth century in an attempt to preserve the imperial Byzantine capital.
Unlike the peplos, however, the vestment negotiates rivalries through the
intermediaries of diplomatic brides and the ecclesiastical hierarchy, specif-
ically the metropolitan.

of Eastern painting that, as a votive gift, took on a Roman profile.” For Kurt Weitzmann, The
St. Peter Icon of Dumbarton Oaks (Washington DC, 1983), 26, it was created by a Serbian artist
“under Byzantine influence.” For me, the icon is less about Byzantine “influence” and more
about the expression of complex familial, confessional, cultural, and political allegiances.

Figure 5.2 Front of the “major” sakkos of Metropolitan Photios, 1414–17, Kremlin
Museum, Moscow (TK-4)

While Manuel II Palaiologos traveled to the West in an attempt to garner

support for Constantinople under siege by Bayezid, Byzantine ambassadors
simultaneously sought support from Moscow. In around 1400, Byzantine
Patriarch Matthew I (1397–1410) sent a letter to Cyprian, the Metropolitan
of Kiev and All Russia, instructing him to raise funds for the beleaguered

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
290 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

Figure 5.3 Back of the “major” sakkos of Metropolitan Photios, 1414–17, Kremlin
Museum, Moscow (TK-4)

capital city.68 Previously Moscow had contributed financial support to

Constantinople, for example, when one of the apses of Hagia Sophia was in

68 Miklosich and Müller, Acta et diplomata II, 361; Dimitri Obolensky, “A Byzantine Grand
Embassy to Russia in 1400,” BMGS, 4 (1979), 123–32 [repr. Dimitri Obolensky, The Byzantine
Inheritance of Eastern Europe (Aldershot, 1982), XII]; and Barker, Manuel II, 202–4.

need of repair in 1346.69 The Great Church, after all, constituted the spiritual
center of Orthodoxy and the physical manifestation of sacerdotal author-
ity. It was the ceremonial home of the patriarch, who was responsible for
approving the appointment of metropolitans for the entire Orthodox oik-
oumene, and also the setting for the performance of sacro-imperial authority
such as coronations, which, again, so impressed foreign visitors like Ignatius
of Smolensk. The patriarch’s letter assures Metropolitan Cyprian that the
emperor and his nephew had reconciled following their protracted power
struggle and that Constantinople would be secure while Manuel traveled
to France. The patriarch further instructs the metropolitan to raise funds
for the beleaguered capital. He specifically emphasizes that giving is of the
highest priority: “assure them that giving for the sake of guarding the holy
city is better than works of charity and alms to the poor and ransoming
captives.”70 The imperial city is thus placed above alms giving and other
acts of Christian generosity: “For this holy City is the pride, the support,
the sanctification and the glory of Christians in the whole inhabited world.”
Given the historical circumstances surrounding the letter, this sense of
urgency is understandable. Six years into the Ottoman siege of the impe-
rial capital, the emperor of the Romans, who is characterized as distinct
and exceptional according to Patriarch Anthony’s 1393 letter to the Mus-
covite ruler, was traveling in person as a supplicant of western powers. The
metropolitan, here portrayed as a potential “collecting agent” for the impe-
rial administration by Dimitri Obolensky,71 was instructed to embark on
a major fundraising campaign. Despite constricted realities, Constantino-
ple still constituted the symbolic center of the oikoumene in the eyes of its
ecclesiasts.
Even after the sacro-imperial city had been spared by the thauma of
the Virgin in 1402 (or Timur and the Battle of Ankara), circumstances
remained dire for the imperial capital. With western support seeming ever
elusive, the wider Orthodox oikoumene figured prominently in the emperor’s
diplomatic agenda. Ties to Moscow, which, it was hoped, would secure

69 Apparently in 1347 John VI Kantakouzenos initially diverted the Muscovite funds to pay
Orhan. Then, at the urging of the patriarch, he pursued repairs of the main dome (with master
builders Astras and Italian Giovanni Peralta). See Kidonopoulos, “The Urban Physiognomy,”
109. In 1398 the Muscovite government sent further funds to Manuel II. See Meyendorff,
Byzantium and the Rise of Russia, 80; Dimitri Obolensky, “Byzantium and Russia in the Late
Middle Ages” in J. Hale, R. Highfield and B. Smalley (eds.), Europe in the Late Middle Ages
(London, 1965), 249.
70 Miklosich and Müller, Acta et diplomata II, 361; Meyendorff, Byzantium and the Rise of Russia,
258; Obolensky, “A Byzantine Grand Embassy,” 131; and Barker, Manuel II, 203.
71 Obolensky, “A Byzantine Grand Embassy,” 125.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
292 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

tangible support, could be strengthened through ecclesiastical networks, as

suggested by fundraising requests from the patriarch to the metropolitan,
and also through marriage. Both these strategies are mapped out on the
extravagant liturgical vestment sent to Moscow in the early fifteenth century.
Now housed in the Kremlin Museum, it is known as the “major” sakkos of
the Metropolitan Photios, as it was commissioned for the metropolitan
who had been appointed by the patriarch of Constantinople in 1408 as
Metropolitan Cyprian’s successor (Figures 5.2–5.3).72 As a deluxe liturgical
garment, the major sakkos delineates the intended wearer’s rank within the
sacerdotal hierarchy; it also links the church in Moscow to Constantinople
and intertwines ecclesiastical politics with Palaiologan dynastic aims and
diplomatic agendas.
The extravagance of the sakkos – its overwhelming surfeit of visual mate-
rial heavy with gold and silver thread, now further adorned with pearls –
stands in sharp contrast to the patriarch’s letter to Metropolitan Cyprian
seeking financial assistance. In order to make sense of the extension of
such excessive luxuriousness within the context of political urgency and
economic scarcity, we must understand the sakkos as a gift and thus read
its imagery within the register of the optative, where expected gestures of
reciprocity are implicit. In its celebration of sacro-imperial Constantino-
ple, the visual program of the sakkos constitutes a visual statement of
Orthodoxy with an explicit contemporary political message. This polit-
ical dimension distinguishes it from other surviving liturgical vestments
of the period. Contemporary portraits of secular and sacerdotal author-
ity are positioned along the lower hem of its front beside hagiographic
figures of particular local relevance. Manuel’s son, John Palaiologos, is rep-
resented prominently in what might be described as a family portrait. Rather
than being pictured at his father’s side as in the manuscript sent to Paris,
John is portrayed on this vestment next to Anna, his first wife, and her
parents, Vasily I Dmitrievič and Sophia Vitovtovna. The effigies of these

72 The “major” sakkos of Photios (Kremlin Museum inv. no. TK-4) was acquired in 1920 from the
patriarchal vestry. On the “major” sakkos, see Alice Bank, Byzantine Art in the Collections of
Soviet Museums (New York, 1977), 329; Johnstone, The Byzantine Tradition in Church
Embroidery, 95–7; Elisabeth Piltz, Trois sakkoi byzantins: Analyse iconographique (Uppsala,
1976); and Natalia Mayasova, Medieval Pictorial Embroidery: Byzantium, Balkans, Russia
(Moscow, 1991), 44–50 (with bibliography). Woodfin’s recent work on Byzantine liturgical
textiles includes the major sakkos as well: Woodfin, “Liturgical Textiles,” BFP, 298; Warren
Woodfin, “The Dissemination of Byzantine Embroidered Vestments in the Slavonic World to
A.D. 1500” in Medieval Christian Europe: East and West. Tradition, Values, Communications
(Sofia, 2002), 690–1; and, most recently, Warren Woodfin, The Embodied Icon: Liturgical
Vestments and Sacramental Power in Byzantium (Oxford, 2012), 60–4, 122–8, 215–20.

contemporary royal figures are set apart from the rest of the iconographic
program, which fully covers the vestment, but at the same time the imagery
of the hem, it will be argued, constitutes the organizing principle of the
sakkos as a whole.
A comparison of John’s portrait on the embroidered vestment with his
representation on the second folio of the Louvre manuscript examined in
the previous chapter offers initial clues to the overall message of the sakkos’s
design and the imperial diplomatic agenda it indexes (Figures 4.4 and 5.4).
In both, he is shown beardless standing upon royal crimson suppedion. He is
dressed in ceremonial imperial garb, including the crown and jeweled loros,
the end of which is folded over his left arm. He is further distinguished
by a halo and he carries a staff in one hand and akakia in the other. The
only significant difference between the two depictions in terms of dress
and attribute is the color of his tunic, which is black in the manuscript
and red on the sakkos. The manuscript image portrays John as a child at
his father’s side – this is conveyed not only by his stature and height, but
the artist has also rendered his face more youthful. By contrast, John is
depicted unmistakably as an adult when positioned alongside his bride on
the embroidered vestment.73 His facial features do not resemble a child
and he is rendered the same scale as the other figures on the sakkos. These
formal distinctions are indicative of the context of each of these sumptuous
works of art. Where John appears alongside his father in the book sent
to Paris, his junior status is emphasized and his rank is prescribed within
a hierarchy informed by Dionysian thought that the imperial Palaiologan
family portrait prefaces. On the sakkos sent to the metropolitan in Moscow,
however, John is the only imperial figure represented and thus is the senior-
ranking imperial representative of Constantinople.
The inscriptions also underscore this distinction. The images of John
simultaneously sent to Paris and Moscow both identify him as basileus,
which corresponds to his dress and regalia. As discussed in Chapter 4, the
conclusion of his inscription in the manuscript portrait indicates that he is
the emperor’s son (Ο ΥΙΟC ΑΥΤΟΥ), thereby explicitly linking him to Manuel
and also specifying his position as dependent upon his father. Moreover,
it does not include his family name, as Manuel’s inscription outlines the

73 More “naturalistic” details are not evident in the embroidered depiction, surely in part due to
the constraints of the medium. While the painter was able to model colors to create depth and
likeness – the “naturalism” of the Louvre miniature’s depiction of the emperor in particular is
commented upon by most scholars – embroidery poses more challenges. See Mayasova,
Medieval Pictorial Embroidery, 50, on technique for the flesh-tones. On the naturalism of the
Louvre portrait, see Grabar, “Des peintures byzantines de 1408,” 1357.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
294 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

Figure 5.4 Detail of John Palaiologos, hem of the front of the “major” sakkos of
Metropolitan Photios, 1414–17, Kremlin Museum, Moscow (TK-4)

patronymics more fully.74 On the sakkos, however, John’s inscription con-

cludes with his family name, Palaiologos, without reference to his father:

74 ΙΩ(ΑΝΝΗC) ΕΝ / ΧΩ ΤΩ ΘΩ ΠΙCΤΟC / ΒΑCΙΛΕΥC / Ο ΥΙΟC ΑΥΤΟΥ. Again, Chapter 4 treated

the inscriptions in the Louvre family portrait in light of the Dionysian conception of internal
mediation where the rank of the sons is prescribed in relation to Manuel II.

᾿Ιω(άννης) ἐν Χ(ριστ)ῷ τῷ θ(ε)ῷ πιστὸς βασιλεὺς ὁ Παλεολόγος [sic].75

These subtle changes in inscription underscore the different diplomatic
strategies surrounding each imperial effigy.76 In the Louvre manuscript,
John is positioned within a precise temporal sequence of Palaiologan rulers,
with his authority mediated by his father, the current ruler of Byzantium,
who had recently visited Paris in person. On the sakkos, John is the only
male member of the imperial Byzantine family present – again, he is the
sole representative of the imperial Palaiologoi and his image is embroidered
on a vestment destined for Moscow in conjunction with his marriage to the
Muscovite princess. As such, his image triangulates relations with his new
family and their land, which was ministered by the wearer of the sakkos, the
Metropolitan Photios. Bearing in mind this triangulation, the remainder of
this chapter turns to the political message of the imperial portraits along the
hem of the piece within the context of the larger liturgical and salvific cycle.
It then considers the implications of including this politically charged con-
tent on a vestment made in Constantinople and sent to Moscow to be worn
by the metropolitan, the spiritual intermediary appointed by the patriarch.

Vested privilege

The major sakkos of Photios is distinguished from the other extant liturgical
vestments by virtue of the contemporary royal portraits embroidered along

75 ΙΩ(ΑΝΝΗC) ΕΝ Χ(ΡΙCΤ)Ω ΤΩ Θ(Ε)Ω ΠΙCΤΟCΒΑCΙΛΕΥC Ο ΠΑΛΕΟΛΟΓΟC.

76 Much scholarly debate has centered on exactly when John was crowned co-emperor and how
to read these images as evidence for his coronation. In 1421 he officially assumed the status of
co-emperor, but in his portraits in the Louvre manuscript and on the sakkos, both most
certainly executed before that date, he is described as basileus. Because these images are in
some sense “official,” it is tempting to see them as expressions of official titulature as if issued
by the imperial chancellery, even if the titles go against other historical records. This is the
position of Franz Dölger, “Die Entwicklung der byzantinischen Kaisertitulatur und die
Datierung von Kaiserdarstellungen in der byzantinischen Kleinkunst” in G. Mylonas and D.
Raymond (eds.), Studies Presented to David Moore Robinson on His Seventieth Birthday (St
Louis, 1953) II, 985–1005 [repr. Byzantinische Diplomatik: 20 Aufsätze zur Urkundenwesen der
Byzantiner (Ettal, 1956)]. Alternatively, Barker, Manuel II, 350 n. 97, claims that the use of the
title was merely an acknowledgment of his status as co-emperor and of his role as heir
apparent. Cf. Obolensky, “Some Notes,” 141–6. My contention is that since the title appears on
two images that were created as gifts for specific diplomatic contexts, the title should be read as
a projection of his expected imperial status rather than as straightforward evidence for an
earlier coronation date. Moreover, as the comparison of the two inscriptions makes evident,
the phrasing of the emperor’s epithet should be seen in light of the context for which the
imperial portrait was intended. In other words, both these luxurious objects characterize John
in slightly different manners for their different contexts – they are not equivalent to
documents. This point of methodology will be elaborated in the conclusion to this chapter.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
296 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

Figure 5.5 Detail of the hem of the front of the “major” sakkos of Metropolitan
Photios, 1414–17, Kremlin Museum, Moscow (TK-4)

the front of its hem (Figure 5.5).77 These discrete images celebrate the
union of Byzantine and Muscovite traditions and, quite literally, families.
Heir to the throne of Byzantium, John Palaiologos, and his consort, Anna of

77 Three late Byzantine sakkoi embroidered with complicated visual programs survive: one in the
Vatican and two in the Kremlin. The other Kremlin piece will be discussed at greater length
below. In addition to the sakkoi with elaborate figural iconography, a number of other
liturgical vestments from the period survive. On those in the Kremlin, see Mayasova, Medieval
Pictorial Embroidery; and for a more comprehensive treatment of all the Byzantine
embroidered vestments, see Woodfin, Embodied Icon.

Moscow, are represented in the lower-left corner. John and Anna each wear
imperial ceremonial dress: they wear the imperial loros, bear the insignia of
crown and scepter, and stand on royal suppedia. As discussed above, John’s
image conforms to the basic formal conventions for imperial portraiture,
similar in most ways to the Louvre portrait. Anna’s image too resembles
other images of empresses, such as the depiction of her mother-in-law,
Empress Helena Dragaš, in the Louvre portrait. Like Helena, Anna wears a
tall crown with gems lining its upper edge and a loros with its trail draped
over her left hand. Unlike Helena’s pearl- or gem-studded scepter, Anna
carries a long cruciform scepter in her right hand. She gestures with her
left hand in the direction of her Byzantine spouse, John, but her gaze is
turned decidedly in the opposite direction toward two further contemporary
portraits in the other corner of the sakkos. In this pendant position on the
right of the vestment are portraits of her parents Vasily I Dmitrievič, ruler
of Moscow, and Sophia Vitovtovna, daughter of Vitovt, ruler of Lithuania.
Unlike the inscriptions of Anna and John in Greek on the left, Anna’s parents
are identified by Slavonic inscription.78 While the direction of Anna’s gaze
links her to her parents, her dress, gesture, and inscription collectively
align her with her new Byzantine imperial family, the Palaiologoi. She
is named as such explicitly by her Greek inscription accompanying her
portrait: “Anna Most Pious Augusta Paleologina” (῎Αν(ν)α ἡ εὐσεβεστάτη
Αὐγούστα ἡ Παλεολογίνα [sic]).79
This combination of historical figures along the hem secures the chronol-
ogy of the sakkos. Anna of Moscow married John, heir to the throne
of Manuel II, in 1414.80 Zosima the Deacon had been a member of the
entourage that escorted Anna to Constantinople sometime between 1411
and 1413.81 Their union was short-lived as Anna died of plague in 1417 and
was buried in Lips Monastery alongside other prominent members of the
imperial family.82 The sakkos was presumably sent to Moscow to celebrate
the union sometime between her arrival in Constantinople and her untimely

78 Their inscriptions are given in Mayasova, Medieval Pictorial Embroidery, 44; and Woodfin,
Embodied Icon, 218. The Lithuanian connection will be addressed at greater length below.
79 Unlike the inscription accompanying the portrait of Helena Dragaš on the Louvre portrait,
again which reads ΕΛΕΝΗ ΕΝ ΧΩ / ΤΩ ΘΩ ΠΙCΤΗ ΑΥΓΟΥCΤΑ, Anna is here identified as a
member of her new Palaiologan family, as a Palaiologina.
80 Majeska, Russian Travelers, 312; following Schreiner, “Chronologische,” 294.
81 Majeska, Russian Travelers, 190. Zosima refers back to this: “when I was there earlier,
accompanying the princess to the empire of the pious Greek emperor, Kyr Manuel.”
82 See ibid., 311–12; and Barker, Manuel II, 347–8. John was married three times, first to the
Muscovite princess Anna, then to Sophia of Montferrat in 1421, and lastly to Maria Komnene
of Trebizond in 1427.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
298 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

death. Beyond helping us date the sakkos with a great deal of precision to
between 1414 and 1417, these contemporary portraits also reveal a subtle
rhetoric of superiority at play here, as in other Byzantine diplomatic gifts.
While the royal Muscovite figures on the right wear crowns and Dmitrievič
carries a cruciform scepter, neither figure stands on royal suppedia or wears
the imperial loros, sharply differentiating them from their daughter and her
Byzantine imperial spouse on the left.83 Furthermore, neither is depicted
with a halo. This omission is unmistakable and significant: the Muscovite
ruler and his wife are the only two figures on the entire sakkos who are not
honored with a halo.
Such an omission, however, is not unprecedented. On the eleventh-
century enamel plaques of the lower half of the Royal Crown of Hungary,
for example, the Hungarian kral, Géza, is also the only figure to lack a
halo (Figures 5.6 and 5.7). The enamels also depict the foreign ruler as
a member of the Byzantine family of princes,84 but position him as an
inferior partner on the basis of inscriptions, dress, and insignia, and also
formal arrangement and gazes. The relationship between the Hungarian
and Byzantine rulers, moreover, was made concrete through marital ties,
and the crown was sent to Budapest in relation to a Byzantine–Hungarian
union.85 Thus, both eleventh-century crown and the early fifteenth-century
vestment celebrate Byzantine allegiances with the rulers of Budapest and

83 Obolensky’s claim that their “costumes and crowns are non-Byzantine and probably illustrate
fairly faithfully the dress and regalia of the Muscovite rulers of the time” is entirely unfounded
(Obolensky, “Some Notes,” 16).
84 On the maintenance of the ideology of the “family of princes,” see Franz Dölger, “Die ‘Familie
der Könige’ im Mittelalter,” Historisches Jahrbuch, 60 (1940), 397–420; and André Grabar,
“God and the ‘Family of Princes’ Presided over by the Byzantine Emperor,” Harvard Slavic
Studies, 2 (1954), 117–23 [repr. L’art de la fin de l’antiquité et du Moyen Age I, 115–19].
85 See Hilsdale, “The Social Life of the Byzantine Gift,” 602–31. The suppedia omission for the
Muscovite rulers, although not nearly as significant as the halos, is thrown into sharper
contrast by the fact that Constantine and Helena are depicted directly above them with halos
and standing on suppedia. Obolensky, “Some Notes,” 145–6, has remarked on the hierarchical
distinction made evident by the discrepancy in the halos and has introduced as comparanda
both the lower diadem of the Royal Crown of Hungary and the frescoes of the Church of Saint
Sophia in Kiev, which he interprets as straightforward evidence for social relations. The
hierarchical distinctions on the sakkos, he writes (145), “strongly suggest that this difference in
status was also acknowledged by the court of Muscovy.” There is an important methodological
point at stake here. The Byzantines may have envisioned their court as superior to that of
Moscow, but that does not in any way imply that accepting the sakkos, which was after all worn
by a metropolitan appointed from Constantinople (i.e., with allegiances to the patriarch of
Constantinople), constituted an acknowledgment of the subordinate status of Moscow. This
same critique could be put to Obolensky’s The Byzantine Commonwealth. These issues will be
discussed further in this chapter’s conclusion.

Figure 5.6 Front of the Royal Crown of Hungary, eleventh century, Hungarian
Parliament Building, Budapest

Moscow respectively through diplomatic marriage. In both, the contem-

porary portraits are embedded within a cycle of sacred figures. The crown
conveys the understanding of the terrestrial hierarchy on its back as a reflec-
tion of the celestial court on the front,86 while on the sakkos, the earthly
Byzantine-Muscovite court on the hem of the vestment bears a much more
complex relationship to the elaborate liturgical cycle within which it is set.
Moreover, unlike the crown, which constitutes the ultimate insignia of royal
authority, the sakkos signifies sacerdotal authority.

86 This reading is best expressed by Maguire, “Images of the Court,” 183–91.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
300 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

Figure 5.7 Back of the Royal Crown of Hungary, eleventh century, Hungarian
Parliament Building, Budapest

The sakkos is the Eucharistic garment to be worn by the highest church

official on only three occasions throughout the year: to celebrate the liturgy
at Christmas, Easter, and Pentecost.87 In the late twelfth century, the pre-
rogative to wear the sakkos was reserved for the patriarch alone, but by
the fourteenth century, select Episcopal authorities were also granted the
privilege of wearing the sakkos for these three great feasts. In Russia only the
head of the church celebrated the liturgy in this “most solemn vestment of
the Orthodox clergy.”88 The overall imagery of the major sakkos of Photios
echoes both the liturgical celebration on the feast days when it was to be
worn and the iconographic themes that would have been represented in
the church space itself. The depiction of Christ’s Crucifixion and Anastasis
occupy the two major cruciform spaces on the front of the sakkos. They
are framed by narrative scenes and punctuated by iconic representations

87 Alexander Kazhdan, “Sakkos (σάκκος),” ODB; Parani, Reconstructing the Reality of Images,
22–4; Woodfin, BFP, 297; and Woodfin, Embodied Icon, 25–8. There is some debate as to its
origin. See Piltz, Trois sakkoi, 18–26, on the origin of the sakkos and its imperial associations.
Unlike the sakkos as church vestment, the imperial sakkos was worn by the emperor, according
to Pseudo-Kodinos, at his imperial coronation, on Palm Sunday and Christmas Day (he wore a
black sakkos as sign of humility on Christmas Day).
88 BFP, 303.

of sacred and prophetic figures.89 On the back, the larger cruciform spaces
are filled by the Ascension and Dormition separated by the Transfiguration,
surrounded by further narrative scenes similarly interspersed with portraits
of prophets.90 The Nicene Creed is inscribed in Greek around the central
iconographic panels on the front and the back as a framing epigram for the
sacred iconography.
The iconographic program of the vestment presents a full cycle of the
dodekaorton or the twelve major episodes from the life of Christ from the
Annunciation to Pentecost that comprises the basis for the monumen-
tal decoration of the typical Byzantine church interior.91 Sequentially the
iconography begins on the front of the sakkos with the Annunciation, which
spans the two upper gammadia, or gamma-shaped angles framing the cen-
tral cruciform space. It then continues on the back of the sakkos with the
Nativity, Flight into Egypt, Presentation, Baptism, and Raising of Lazarus
all pictured within the gammadia. The Passion scenes follow on the front of
the sakkos where the Entry, Last Supper, and Washing of Feet are pictured in
the gammadia framing the large cruciform spaces that contain the principal

89 The Crucifixion in the upper half of the sakkos is framed by the Annunciation in the top two
corners of the cruciform space and the Entry into Jerusalem in the lower two spaces. The
Anastasis, below this, is framed by the Last Supper and Washing of the Feet above, with the
contemporary portraits below. Clear schematizations of the complex iconography are
provided by Mayasova, Medieval Pictorial Embroidery, 44 (front) and 50 (back) (which are
preferable to the diagrams in Piltz, Trois sakkoi, 48–9). The full program of the sakkos is
analyzed by Woodfin, Embodied Icon.
90 The Nativity and Presentation are situated at the top of the Ascension scene above the Garden
of Gethsemane and the Kiss of Judas. The Dormition is surrounded by the Epiphany and the
Raising of Lazarus above, and the Descent of the Holy Ghost across the lower two corners.
These scenes are supplemented by four narrative images along the lower sides of the sakkos
depicting the Sacrifice of Abraham and Jacob’s Ladder on the front, and the Tree of Jesse and
Moses and the Burning Bush on the back.
91 On the dodekaorton and its configuration in the typical painted church interior, see Otto
Demus, Byzantine Mosaic Decoration: Aspects of Monumental Art in Byzantium (London,
1948); Ernst Kitzinger, “Reflections on the Feast Cycle in Byzantine Art,” CA, 36 (1988),
51–73; J.-M. Spieser, “Liturgie et programmes iconographiques,” Travaux et Mémoires, 11
(1991), 575–90; and J.-M. Spieser, “Le développement du templon et les images des Douze
Fêtes,” Bulletin de l’Institut Historique Belge de Rome, 69 (1999), 131–64 [repr. in Urban and
Religious Spaces in Late Antiquity and Early Byzantium (Aldershot, 2001), XVII]. Piltz, Trois
sakkoi, 58–9, points out that the cycle of the sakkos, and the other Moscow sakkos, appears at
Decani and Monreale, and proposes that the embroidered cycle would have corresponded to a
particular church in Constantinople. It is far more likely, however, that the sakkoi draw on
typical church imagery, not a particular pictorial program. See Woodfin, BFP, 295–303; and
Schnitzer, “Von der Wandmalerei zur ‘Gewandmalerei’. Funktionen eines Medienwechsels in
der spätbyzantinischen Kunst,” Marburger Jahrbuch für Kunstwissenschaft, 24 (1997), 59–69.
See, most recently, Chapter 2 of Woodfin, Embodied Icon, on the relationship between the
program of church interiors and liturgical vestments as they are “mediated through liturgical
action” (47).

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
302 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

images of the Crucifixion and Anastasis. The cycle then concludes on the
back of the vestment with the Dormition of the Virgin and the Pentecost
in the lower cross. With this elaborate Feast Cycle that unfolds across both
sides, the vestment constitutes an instance of intermediality in that the
imagery from the walls of a typical Byzantine church interior, including its
icons and iconostases, is translated to the embroidered vestment.92 In this
re-mediation, the embroidered cycle adorns the body of the metropolitan
and celebrates his duties as minister of the sacred and the ritual context
in which the sakkos would be worn. In turn, by wearing the vestment, the
metropolitan comes to stand for the church in a general sense and, more
specifically, his body becomes the church’s architecture bearing the elaborate
iconographic cycle.93
Despite the dizzying appearance of the sakkos – its iconographic den-
sity encompassing more than 100 individual scenes – one can still speak
of the ritual import of the scenes selected and the logic of their organi-
zation. The scenes represented on the vestment relate directly to the cele-
brant, the metropolitan, and the sacred mysteries ministered by him. With
regard to the ordering of the individual scenes, which again do not follow
a chronological sequence, Warren Woodfin has noted the concentration on
the front of the vestment of scenes with Eucharistic associations. These, he
argues, “correspond almost one-to-one with the traditional exegesis of the
Eucharist and its symbolism.”94 Moreover, at the very center of the front
of the sakkos is a depiction of the entombed Christ, inscribed ᾿Ι(ησοῦ)ς
Χ(ριστός) ὁ ἐπιτάφιος. The inscription references not only the iconography

92 Woodfin, Embodied Icon, has investigated in great detail the relationship between the Feast
Cycle and the extant liturgical vestments.
93 One particularly evocative illustration of this concept is the placement of the Annunciation,
the beginning of the Feast Cycle. In typical Byzantine churches, the scene occupies the
sanctuary entrance, often fully exploiting the architecture so that the archangel appears on the
left directing the viewer’s attention across to the Virgin on the right. It often spans the upper
edge of the sanctuary opening, as is the case at the mid-twelfth-century Martorana in Sicily, or
flanks the opening on either side, as at the eleventh-century Church of Saint Sophia in Kiev.
On the front of the “major” sakkos, the Annunciation appears in the upper gammadia of the
main central space on the front: spanning the shoulders of the wearer, the archangel on the left
directs attention across the body of the wearer to the Virgin on the right.
94 In particular, the Annunciation, Crucifixion, Entry into Jerusalem, Last Supper, Washing of
Feet, Resurrection, Sleeping Christ Child, and Christ in the Tomb. See Warren Woodfin,
“Liturgical Mystagogy and the Decoration of Byzantine Vestments, c. 1200–1500,” paper at the
2004 International Congress on Medieval Studies, Kalamazoo, Michigan, a position reiterated
in published form in Woodfin, Embodied Icon, 122, as follows: “Here – exceptionally – is a
collection of images that maps almost one-to-one on to the traditional mystagogy of the
Eucharist.” My thanks to the author for sharing the earlier paper with me in advance of the
publication of his book.

of Christ at or upon the tomb, but also the liturgical veil embroidered with
the image of the dead Christ that was carried in solemn procession on Holy
Saturday, the epitaphios.95 In addition to extant fresco representations of
the procession of this liturgical veil, a number of examples of embroidered
epitaphioi survive from the later Byzantine period, including one that may
have belonged to the same Metropolitan, Photios, for whom the major
sakkos was commissioned.96
In a kind of mise-en-abyme, the liturgical embroidery of the sakkos itself
represents at its center another liturgical embroidery. This embedded ritual
self-referencing relates specifically to the sequence of Easter celebrations.
The sakkos was to be worn in conjunction with the procession of the rit-
ual veil represented at its center (the epitaphios).97 In other words, the

95 The definition and ritual use of the liturgical textile depicting Christ laid out for burial is the
subject of intense scholarly debate. In the contemporary Orthodox liturgy today, the
“epitaphios” corresponds to the textile processed during Holy Week as part of the ritual
reenactment of Christ’s burial cortège rather than the veil processed during the Great Entrance
then placed over the gifts at the altar. Woodfin insists that such a distinction does not hold true
for the Byzantine period. See Woodfin, BFP, 296–7; and Embodied Icon, 125–6. In fact, the
opposite seems to have been the case: until at least the fourteenth century, the epitaphios was
exclusively used during the Great Entrance processions and hence was associated with the gifts
at the altar without apparently playing a role in the Holy Week services. In the later Byzantine
period and into the post-Byzantine period, such textiles assumed a further ritual function
during Holy Week by standing in for Christ’s body and participating in the elaborate burial
cortège outside the church. But the chronology of the transition to this Holy Week ritual use is
still contested. Robert A. Taft surveys the evidence for the development of the mimetic burial
procession and the epitaphios in “In the Bridegroom’s Absence: The Paschal Triduum in the
Byzantine Church” in La celebrazione del Triduo pasquale: anamnesis e mimesis. Atti del III
Congresso Internazionale di Liturgia (Rome, 1990) [repr. Liturgy in Byzantium and Beyond
(Aldershot, 1995), 71–97]. Some of the more canonic sources on this debate include Demetrios
I. Pallas, Die Passion und Bestattung Christi in Byzanz (Munich, 1965), 38–51; Robert A. Taft,
The Great Entrance: A History of the Transfer of Gifts and Other Preanaphoral Rites of the Liturgy
of St. John Chrysostom (Rome, 1975); Sebastià Janeras, Le Vendredi-Saint dans la tradition
liturgique byzantine: structure et histoire de ses offices (Rome, 1988), 393–402; Hans Belting, “An
Image and its Function in Liturgy: The Man of Sorrows in Byzantium,” DOP, 34/35 (1980–1),
1–16; followed by Hans Belting, The Image and its Public (New Rochelle, 1990); Slobodan
Ćurčić, “Late Byzantine Loca Sancta? Some Questions Regarding the Form and Function of
Epitaphioi” in Slobodan Ćurčić and Doula Mouriki (eds.), The Twilight of Byzantium, 251–61,
as well as the most recent studies by Woodfin cited above. The presence of donor inscriptions
on numerous extant epitaphioi underscores their Eucharistic function, as the living and
departed were commemorated during a pause in the Great Entrance procession. For Woodfin,
Embodied Icon, 126, this commemorative aspect of the Great Entrance procession explains the
contemporary portraits on the “major” sakkos of Photios. Natalia Teteriatnikov, “Private
Salvation Programs and their Effect on Byzantine Church Decoration,” Arte Medievale, 7(2)
(1993), 60, reads Photios as the ktetor of the sakkos and also links his image to dedicatory
inscriptions on embroidered epitaphioi.
96 Mayasova, Medieval Pictorial Embroidery, 34–5 (cat. no. 7).
97 Again, the epitaphios was processed on Holy Saturday and the sakkos was worn on Easter
Sunday.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
304 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

epitaphios and the sakkos would have both been enacted ritually during the
Easter celebrations. In this sense, the self-reflexive embedding has temporal
and ritual specificity, unlike, for example, the earlier apse mosaics at San
Vitale in Ravenna and the Eufrasiana in Poreč, which feature their bishop-
saints Ecclesius and Eufrasius carrying micro-architectural models of their
churches (Figures 2.11 and 2.12). Crucial to the logic of the mosaic donation
scene is that the depicted gift bears an iconic resemblance to the building in
which the representation is set. As discussed in Chapter 2, such self-reflexive
imagery enhances the force of donation scenes by reduplicating the gift in
mimetic miniature. On the vestment in Moscow, however, rather than the
representation of another sakkos at its center, we encounter instead another
ritual embroidery, the epitaphios. The two are linked not by visual resem-
blance, but by the ritual context of the Easter feast cycle in which they would
be processed or worn. Instead of mimetic resemblance, in other words, the
represented epitaphios and the real sakkos are linked through ritual.
The iconographic program of the sakkos visually evokes the circumstances
of its ritual performance by highlighting the celebrant’s duties and the occa-
sion on which the vestment was to be worn. On the front of the sakkos, scenes
of the Crucifixion and Anastasis are the largest elements, as they bear the
most significant theological import, especially for the Easter celebration.98
They are joined together by the epitaphios, the procession of which on Holy
Saturday enacts the ritual of Christ’s entombment. Beyond conveying a
salvific message and highlighting the liturgical context of the vestment’s
wearer, the overall program at the same time celebrates ecumenical author-
ity in general and the authority of the Metropolitan Photios in particular.
Photios himself is portrayed among the panoply of sacred effigies flanking
the central narrative scenes of the sakkos. By including the portrait of the
current metropolitan in the veritable encyclopedia of sacerdotal power –
which spans the patriarchates of Rome, Constantinople, Alexandria, Anti-
och, and Jerusalem – the sakkos includes his see in this sacred Orthodox
topography.99
The lateral sides of the narrative feast scenes on both the front and back of
the sakkos comprise double vertical columns with iconic portraits of church
hierarchs. The individual portraits adumbrate ecumenical authority and
highlight the genealogy of the very ecclesiastical office itself. Formally, the

98 Woodfin, Embodied Icon, 64.

99 On the front are patriarchs of Rome, Alexandria, Constantinople, and Antioch, and on the
right are first- to ninth-century bishops from such diverse sees as Iconium, Salamis, and
Agrigento. The back of the sakkos depicts bishops from such sees as Athens, Nicomedia, and
Milan on the left and a diverse range of church authorities on the right.

sacred effigies are repetitive and generic in appearance. Each figure is repre-
sented in the same scale, frontally positioned, haloed, and standing within a
framed architectural niche. Each holds a book, offers a gesture of benedic-
tion, and is identified by Greek inscription. Aside from the inscriptions, the
main formal distinction among the portraits relates to dress.100 Bishops and
patriarchs are divided into two double columns on each side of the sakkos
and are dressed according to rank.
In the columns on the right on the front of the sakkos and on the left
on the back, the bishops are depicted wearing the Eucharistic over-garment
known as the phelonion with the stole/scarf or omophorion draped from one
shoulder to the other. Take, for example, the representation of St Dionysios
(Figure 5.8), the first-century bishop of Athens who years later would be
conflated with the author of the Corpus Dionysiacum and the patron saint
of France, as discussed in the previous chapter. In the uppermost corner
on the far-left shoulder of the back of the sakkos, St Dionysios is identified
by inscription (ὁ ἅγιος Διονύσιος). His clearly articulated liturgical dress is
conventional, much like the portrait of Dionysios in the opening pages of
the Louvre manuscript in Paris (Figure 4.3). With regard to dress, the main
difference between the embroidered and painted portraits of Dionysios
relates to the design of the phelonion, which is unadorned on the sakkos
and is constructed of square cruciform spaces as a polystaurion phelonion
in the codex miniature.101 Recall that the painted saint stands against a flat,
austere, blank page as the author of the gem-encrusted book he holds in his
hand, the content of which fills the pages prefaced by his portrait. On the
sakkos, the embroidered saint, framed by a poly-lobed arch, constitutes one
of many identically dressed ecclesiastical figures. He appears virtually no
different, for example, from those figures immediately positioned around
him, the Bishops of Athens, Ancyra, and Nicomedia – or of Milan, Smyrna,
or Damascus below his portrait.102

100 There are other minor differences in the representations, but the total effect is one of repeated
genericism.
101 Woodfin points out that although no true Byzantine polystaurion phelonion survives, the
fourteenth-century sakkos of Metropolitan Alexei is composed of crosses and angles. See
Woodfin, BFF, 303 n. 3; and Woodfin, Embodied Icon, 25 and 94. The accretive quality of the
sakkos of Metropolitan Alexei (c. 1364) is noteworthy: it includes thick silver stamped
medallions associated with Alexei’s visit to the Golden Horde according to Leonid A. Beliaev
and Alexei Chernetsov, “The Eastern Contribution to Medieval Russian Culture,” Muqarnas,
16 (1999), 104–5.
102 Directly to the right of Dionysios is Hierotheus, contemporary Bishop of Athens. On the row
below him is Clement of Ancyra on the left and Anthimos of Nicomedia on the right. The
three lowest figures on the left of the back are Ananias of Damascus, Polycarp of Smyrna, and
Ambrose of Milan.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
306 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

Figure 5.8 St Dionysios, detail of the upper-left corner of the back of the “major”
sakkos of Metropolitan Photios, 1414–17, Kremlin Museum, Moscow (TK-4)

The hierarchs on the right side of the back of the sakkos, by comparison,
are depicted wearing sakkoi, as is evident in the depiction of Sylvester in the
uppermost left niche (Figure 5.9). To be clear, this change in liturgical dress
is the principal distinction among the sacred effigies. Like all the church
officials, an omophorion is draped across Sylvester’s shoulders. But instead
of the phelonion, he is dressed in the tunic-shaped sakkos, which is further
adorned with a cross-in-circle motif.103 The major sakkos of Photios is thus
adorned with myriad sakkos-wearing church authorities.104 The multiple
embroidered sakkoi-wearing hierarchs serve as the pictorial grid for the
vestment’s iconography.105 Photios himself, furthermore, is depicted on the
sakkos wearing a sakkos, and his inclusion and location in the sacerdotal
pantheon of church officials is significant (Figure 5.10).
While the right side of the front of the vestment represents bishops of
such diverse sees as Nyssa, Agrigento, and Iconium, the left side comprises
patriarchs and church fathers dressed in sakkoi with Photios, Metropolitan
of Kiev and All Russia, in the lowest position along the hem of the garment. In
the far-left vertical band, the effigies portray, from top to bottom, Clement
of Rome,106 Gregory of Nazianzos, Ignatios of Antioch, and Athanasios.
Directly to the right is another band of portraits depicting, again from top
to bottom, Peter of Alexandria, John Chrysostom, Babylas of Antioch,107
Tarasios of Constantinople, and then Photios. This sequence presents a select
chronology of church hierarchy culminating in the current metropolitan,
the intended wearer of the very sakkos itself. Photios’s depiction follows
the same pictorial convention as the other great church officials. Dressed
in a cross-in-circle-adorned sakkos, he bears a book in one hand, his other

103 This is similar to the surviving sakkos of Metropolitan Peter from 1322, on which see Bank,
Byzantine Art, 328.
104 There are no representations in any media of sakkoi bearing narrative imagery and yet two
other surviving sakkoi – one in the Vatican and another in the Kremlin – are embroidered
with elaborate pictorial cycles like the sakkos under investigation. The polystaurion design of
the sakkos of Metropolitan Alexei from around 1364 and the cross-in-circle motif of the sakkos
of Metropolitan Peter from 1322 best exemplify the non-narrative designs of surviving
Byzantine sakkoi.
105 In terms of the mise-en-abyme aspect of imagery, then, there is also a play between the
singular and the multiple with the singular epitaphios at the center and the multiple
sakkos-clad hierarchs comprise the pictorial grid.
106 The relics of St Clement played an important role in Russia, as Raffensperger, Reimagining
Europe, 164, points out. Not only were they associated with Vladimir and his conversion after
the Battle of Cherson (according to tradition, Vladimir took the relics from Cherson to Kiev),
but in the mid-twelfth century, they played a crucial role in “the creation of the Rusian
church”: “the second native metropolitan was consecrated metropolitan of Kiev ‘by the head
of St. Clement, as the Greeks consecrate by the head of St. John’” (164).
107 See Woodfin, Embodied Icon, 216, on the sartorial exception of Babylas’s depiction.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
308 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

Figure 5.9 Sylvester, detail of the upper-right corner of the back of the “major” sakkos
of Metropolitan Photios, 1414–17, Kremlin Museum, Moscow (TK-4)

Figure 5.10 Photios, detail of the lower-left corner of the front of the “major” sakkos
of Metropolitan Photios, 1414–17, Kremlin Museum, Moscow (TK-4)

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
310 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

held in a gesture of benediction. But whereas the inscriptions of the other

ecclesiastical figures in this group are identified by name (as in St Babylas)
or by name and location (as in Tarasios of Constantinople), Photios’s full
title is given as follows: “His holiness Metropolitan of Kiev and all of Russia
Photios” – ὁ πανιερώτατος μ(ητ)ρ(ο)πολίτης Κιέβου καὶ πάσ(ης) ῾Ρωσί(ας)
Φώτιος.108 This inscription lends a significant degree of specificity to his
effigy in distinction to his venerable fellow hierarchs. His ecclesiastical title is
fully elaborated, a title that was highly contested throughout the fourteenth
century.109
Photios was appointed Metropolitan in 1408 and arrived in Moscow in
1410 by embassy from Constantinople. In all likelihood he was entrusted
with the task of negotiating the very union visualized on the sakkos, the mar-
riage of the emperor’s son, John, to the Muscovite ruler’s daughter, Anna.110
In addition to the sakkos, his name appears on other works of Byzantine
art in Moscow. His monogram appears on an embroidered epitaphios, on
the frame of Our Lady of Vladimir icon, and also on the cover of a Gospel
book of the Dormition Cathedral.111 These items are surely the products
of Constantinopolitan workshops and, along with other pieces of Byzan-
tine origin, testify to the artistic connections between the patriarchate of
Constantinople and the metropolitanate of Kiev and all of Russia.
Liturgical vestments in particular hold a privileged position in the medi-
ation of sacred authority between Moscow and Constantinople. It was
the prerogative of the patriarch to grant the privilege of wearing specific
liturgical vestments as a sign of personal favor and distinction. In a letter
dated to 1370, for example, Patriarch Philotheos of Constantinople chides
Bishop Alexei of Novgorod for appropriating the privilege of wearing a
polystaurion, a distinction his predecessor had received only as a personal
favor.112 The context for this letter, as Woodfin points out, “makes it clear
that Aleksei’s usurpation of the polystaurion is a sign of insubordination

108 Ibid., 219. Mayasova, Medieval Pictorial Embroidery, 44: Ο// ΠΑ//ΝΙ//Ε//ΡΩ//ΤΑ//ΤΟC //
Μ(ΗΤ)ΡΟ//ΠΟ//ΛΙ///ΤΗC// ΚΙ//Ε//ΒΟU//Κ//ΑΙ// ΠΑC(ΗC)// ΡΩCΙ(ΑC)// ΦΩΤΙΟC.
109 Note that his title is much more elaborate than that on Metropolitan Peter’s sakkos discussed
below. The history of the metropolitan’s title in the fourteenth century is extremely
complicated and will be addressed, although not in great detail, below.
110 Obolensky, “Some Notes,” 142.
111 Mayasova, Medieval Pictorial Embroidery, 33–4 (cat. no. 7); and Bank, Byzantine Art, 310–14,
330. A long liturgical stole, or epitrachelion, is claimed to be associated with Photios by
Mayasova, Medieval Pictorial Embroidery, 36–7 (cat. no. 8). But Woodfin casts doubt on this
association. See BFP, 307–8 (cat. no. 183); and Woodfin, Embodied Icon, 71.
112 Miklosich and Müller, Acta et diplomata graeca I, 522–3; Meyendorff, Byzantium and the Rise
of Russia, 84 and 189; Walter, Art and Ritual, 14–15; Woodfin, Embodied Icon, 24–5.

to Moscow, the political and religious centre of Byzantium’s foreign pol-

icy.”113 We should understand the major sakkos sent to Photios in the early
fifteenth century similarly as a sign of patriarchal privilege and likewise
suggesting an investment in Moscow as central to the diplomatic agenda
of Constantinople. It celebrates the metropolitan’s duties as minister of
the sacred mysteries and also as the representative of Constantinople in
Moscow.
The encyclopedia of the great ecclesiastical authorities of the past and
present flanks the central iconography of the dodekaorton on the front and
the back of the sakkos.114 The effigies of church officials are separated from
the central feast scenes by the text of the Nicene Creed, which takes on the
appearance of an epigram framing the sakkos’s central space. Glenn Peers has
read frames and framing spaces in Byzantine art as sites of assimilation more
than demarcation, as mediating zones that bridge immaterial and material
realms.115 Consistent with this, the words of the Creed on the sakkos serve
both to demarcate and to bridge the narrative feast scenes and the effigies
of the hierarchs. They form the link between the particular ritual scenes of
prophesy, incarnation, and salvation, and the ecclesiastical authorities who
possess the ecumenical authority to administer the sacred. The statement of
Orthodoxy, in other words, provides the grid for both the Episcopal office
and the iconographic structure of the sakkos. And, in turn, the words of the
Creed and the depicted bodies of the hierarchs constitute the frame for the
visual program and the legend for its comprehensibility.116
The combination of major scenes of the Feast Cycle with the text of the
Nicene Creed and portraits of standing sacred figures also constitutes the
organizing principle for another extant Byzantine embroidered vestment
in Moscow. The imagery of this slightly earlier vestment, which has come
to be known as the “minor” sakkos of Metropolitan Photios, also evokes

113 Woodfin, Embodied Icon, 25.

114 On the front, the double stripes of hierarchs are further framed by four narrative scenes along
the lower edge of the sakkos: the Sacrifice of Abraham and Jacob’s Ladder on the front and the
Tree of Jesse and Moses and the Burning Bush on the back. Again, for a full description of all
the imagery of the sakkos, see Mayasova, Medieval Pictorial Embroidery, 44–5 (cat. no. 10);
and Woodfin, Embodied Icon, 215–20.
115 Glenn Peers, Sacred Shock: Framing Visual Experience in Byzantium (University Park, 2004).
116 In this sense, I see the text of the Creed as similar to Louis Marin’s “pathetic figure” of the
framework that enunciates “through his or her gesture, posture and gaze not so much what
there is to see, what the spectator should see, but how to see.” See Louis Marin, “The Frame of
Representation and Some of its Figures” in P. Duro (ed.), The Rhetoric of the Frame: Essays on
the Boundaries of Artwork (Cambridge, 1996), 84.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
312 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

Figure 5.11 Front of the “minor” sakkos of Metropolitan Photios, Kremlin Museum,
Moscow (TK-5)

the basic iconographic program of the typical Byzantine church interior

(Figure 5.11).117 The front and the back of the minor sakkos are centered

117 See Mayasova, Medieval Pictorial Embroidery, 38–42; BFP, 302–3 (cat. no. 178); and Woodfin,
Embodied Icon, 220–3. Like the major sakkos, it remained in the patriarchal vestry until 1920,
at which point it was transferred along with the other vestments to the Kremlin Armory.
Unlike the major sakkos with over 100 scenes, the imagery of the minor sakkos is spread over
seventy scenes. Another Palaiologan sakkos embroidered with a complex iconographic
program is preserved in the Treasury of St Peter’s, but it does not include the text of the
Nicene Creed. On this piece, known erroneously as the “Dalmatic of Charlemagne,” see BFP,
300–1 (cat. no. 177); Woodfin, Embodied Icon, 214–15. The imagery of the Vatican sakkos is
pared down to one large central scene, with each side joined by imagery on the shoulders. The
front of the Vatican sakkos depicts an enigmatic image with associations of the Last Judgment
and Glorification. The Communion of the Apostles, a sacramental image, spans the shoulders
of the vestment, linking the Gospel account of the Transfiguration and the salvific imagery of
the front. This emphasis on the Transfiguration and the sacramental image has been linked

on four major scenes from the Feast Cycle set within large circles (the
Crucifixion and Anastasis on the front, and the Transfiguration and Ascen-
sion on the back), further inscribed within cruciform spaces, the angles
of which are filled with images of prophets.118 The primary images at the
center of the front and the back of the “minor” sakkos, like the slightly later
“major” sakkos, are framed by columns of saints standing within poly-lobed
arches. Those in the row closest to the center stand frontally and hieratically,
book in one hand with the other raised in benediction, while the figures
in the two outer columns turn in to direct their attention, and direct the
viewer’s eye, toward the center. Also like the “major” sakkos, the central
block of imagery and the standing saints are framed – or mediated – by the
Greek text of the Nicene Creed.
Despite its designation today, which links the vestment with Photios,
the “minor” sakkos was commissioned to commemorate the canonization
in 1339 of Peter, who had served as metropolitan from 1308 to 1326.119
This relatively new saint is represented on the front of the minor sakkos
immediately to the proper right of the central narrative panel, among the
other standing saints. The second figure from the bottom, he is identified by
name as St Peter, Metropolitan of Russia,120 and is situated below Gregory

to the Hesychast movement, and Gregory Palamas in particular. Woodfin, BFP, 300, points
out the plausibility that it may have belonged to Palamas himself. Whether or not such a
specific reference can be substantiated, it is clear that the program is deeply theological. There
are no contemporary portraits and yet the figuring of the sacramental as the instrumental link
between the two more symbolic images on the front and back resonates for the wearer, who
presides over the sacraments.
118 The arms of the vestment presently include representations of the Entry into Jerusalem,
Pentecost, the Council of Nicaea, and the Raising of Lazarus – all set within roundels further
inscribed within a Greek Cross like the four on the front and back of the sakkos, but without
prophetic figures. However, these scenes were transferred from their original ground in the
late sixteenth or seventeenth century, so there is some uncertainty about their original
configuration. The back of the sakkos too seems to be later embroidery work (hence Slavonic
rather than Greek inscriptions). See Woodfin, Embodied Icon, 59–60.
119 The “minor” sakkos was probably sent from Constantinople to Moscow to celebrate his
canonization, which was sanctioned by the patriarch of Constantinople and, according to
Meyendorff, Byzantium and the Rise of Russia, 156, seems to have been instigated by
Metropolitan Theognostos as part of a larger agenda of augmenting the prestige of Moscow.
Peter was responsible for moving the see from Vladimir to Moscow (1325). Presumably the
sakkos was sent to Moscow to be worn by Peter’s successor to the metropolitanate. Both
“major” and “minor” sakkoi include “new” local saints: the minor sakkos depicts St Peter,
canonized in 1339, and the major sakkos includes a group of Lithuanian martyrs canonized in
the mid-thirteenth century, as will be discussed below.
120 Ο ΑΓΙΟC ΠΕΤΡΟC // ΜΗΤΡΟΠΟΛΙΤΗC Η ΡΩCΙΑC. Note the difference between Peter’s
inscription, where he is described as the Metropolitan of Russia, whereas Metropolitan
Photios’s titulature is much more elaborate and specific: again, Photios’s full title is given as
follows “His holiness Metropolitan of Kiev and all of Russia Photios” – ὁ πανιερώτατος

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
314 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

the Theologian, above Cyril of Alexandria, and directly to the left of the
evangelist Mark.
The scenes selected on the “minor” sakkos, Woodfin explains, present
a “coherent summary of orthodox faith.”121 Indeed, as in the “major”
sakkos, the history of salvation (prophesy and incarnation) is elaborated
in visual terms and embedded within the very text of the Nicene Creed, the
ultimate enunciation of Orthodoxy. Bärbel Schnitzer, like Woodfin, reads
the minor sakkos in relation to the body of the metropolitan, pointing out
the transformative power of the vestment to animate its wearer to become
an icon of Christ.122 A similar argument could be made for the major sakkos
as well, but the implications for such an animation are complicated by the
contemporary visual references along its hem. Both “major” and “minor”
sakkoi present their central messages of salvation as mediated by the words
of the Nicene Creed and an impressive visualization of the sacred authority
embodied by saints, church fathers, bishops, and patriarchs. They also both
include a contemporary reference to the primary ecclesiastical representa-
tive of Constantinople: the recently canonized Metropolitan Peter on the
“minor” sakkos and the current Metropolitan Photios on the “major” sakkos.
But beyond embodying the authority of the metropolitan in both a real and
a metaphoric sense, the ecumenical message of the “major” sakkos of Pho-
tios is complicated by the very concrete non-ecclesiastical historical figures
embroidered along the lower hem that add a distinctly political dimension
to the vestment as a whole. Here I refer not only to the representatives of
the Constantinopolitan and Muscovite courts already discussed but also to
the saints positioned between them.

μ(ητ)ρ(ο)πολίτης Κιέβου καὶ πάσ(ης) ῾Ρωσί(ας) Φώτιος. As we will see shortly, the title
accompanying the office of the metropolitan was highly contested throughout the fourteenth
century.
121 BFP, 302–3: “The scenes epitomizing the history of salvation, the prophets that foretold the
Incarnation, and the saints who fulfilled the teachings of Christ combine with the inscribed
symbol of faith, the Creed, to create an icon of Orthodox belief.”
122 Schnitzer, “Von der Wandmalerei zur ‘Gewandmalerei,’” 66. The author argues that the
metropolitan wearing the sakkos serves as a living image of Christ not only as a convergence of
earthly and heavenly priest but also embodies quasi-imperial and patriarchal powers
(imperial because the emperor was described as the “living icon of Christ” in the twelfth
century by Balsamon and Zonoras). Alexei Lidov, Hierotopy: The Creation of Sacred Spaces in
Byzantium and Medieval Russia (Moscow, 2006), 45–6, has alluded to the transformative
powers of both sakkoi in Moscow and the importance of liturgical movement as part of what
he calls a hierotopic approach to Byzantine art. Woodfin has made a more forceful argument
about liturgical vestments more generally to animate the body of their wearer and to embody
Christ’s image. On “the attachment of the Feast Cycle to the Christomimesis of the celebrant,”
see especially Embodied Icon, 116–21.

One of the keys to a political reading of the “major” sakkos of Photios is

centered on the three bust-length saintly effigies situated along the center of
the lower hem, directly below the Anastasis and between the Byzantine and
Muscovite royal couples. These are three mid-fourteenth-century Lithua-
nian martyrs who are identified in Greek as St John, St Eustathius, and St
Anthony. Despite the Lithuanian origin of these saints, their inscriptions
identify them explicitly as “Russian” (οἱ Ρόσοι).123 This curiosity should not
be read as an error, but rather as a statement of profound ideological import,
as John Meyendorff has argued. The three figures in question were baptized
in Vilna and martyred in 1347 by the order of the then pagan ruler Olgerd
(d. 1377). Soon thereafter, they were canonized, and portions of their relics
were sent to Constantinople in 1374 for veneration in Hagia Sophia.124 The
promotion of their cult was aimed at publicly shaming Olgerd as leader
of the West-Russian Lithuanian territories, as the Byzantine authorities
favored a unified single church for all Russia centered in Moscow.125 It
is crucial to bear in mind that the history of these martyrs was relatively
recent history with regard to the creation of the sakkos. These martyrs of
Vilna were new and local saints, and their cult was promoted in and by
Constantinople.
In order to gage the political significance of the promotion of the cult
of the Lithuanian martyrs in relation to Moscow in the later fourteenth

123 Mayasova, Medieval Pictorial Embroidery, 44: Ο ΑΓ(ΙΟC) // ΙΩ(ΑΝΝΗC) /// Ο ΑΓ(ΙΟC) //
ΕΥ//CΤΑ//ϴΙ//Ο//C/// Ο ΑΓ(ΙΟC) // ΑΝ//ΤΩ//ΝΙ//Ο//C /// ΟΙ ΡΟ//CΟ//Ι.
124 This was by the order of Patriarch Philotheos. Meyendorff, Byzantium and the Rise of Russia,
257–8 and 188, and “The Three Lithuanian Martyrs: Byzantium, Moscow and Lithuania in
the Fourteenth Century” in Eikon und Logos: Beiträge zur Erforschung byzantinischer
Kulturtraditionen II (Halle, 1981), 179–97. Balsamon even wrote an encomion in praise of
these martyrs of Vilna, in which he specifies that Philotheos “was first in venerating them as
martyrs and honoring them with icons, prostrations and yearly liturgical celebrations.”
125 The conflict between West-Russian Lithuanian territories and the northeastern principalities
configured around Moscow during this period grew out of a struggle for power in the face of
the diminishing power of the Golden Horde. Under Olgerd, Lithuania had expanded into
southwest Rusʹ and during the 1370s, Olgerd and his allies made two attempts to take
Moscow. Soon after Lithuania’s unsuccessful campaign against Moscow, significantly, a
marriage was arranged in 1371 “between two junior members of the Muscovite and
Lithuanian dynasty” – that is, between Vasily Dmitrievič and Vitovt’s daughter Sophia,
pictured in the lower-right corner of the sakkos. See Meyendorff, Byzantium and the Rise of
Russia, 187–8, 258. Patriarch Philotheos’s support of the Lithuanian martyrs is thus to be
understood as anti-Lithuanian in its celebration of saints martyred under Olgerd, and hence
as support for Moscow. Meyendorff introduces six patriarchal documents dated to 1370 that
support the argument for unconditional support of Moscow at this time (188–90). On the
relevant diplomatic correspondence, see also Martin Hinterberger, “Les relations
diplomatiques entre Constantinople et la Russie au XIVe siècle: Les lettres patriarcales, les
envoyés et le langage diplomatique” in Byzance et le monde extérieur (Paris, 2005), 123–34.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
316 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

and early fifteenth centuries, it is necessary to adopt a more distant van-

tage point. The inclusion of the three Lithuanian martyrs on the sakkos
has been read as a statement about the rise of Moscow as pre-eminent
political and ecclesiastical center. The fact that such a luxurious vestment
from imperial Constantinople would picture these recent local saints whose
martyrdom is associated with the ruling family of Moscow’s rival Lithua-
nia is highly unusual and should be understood as a commentary on local
political tensions. Furthermore, by explicitly identifying them as “Russian”
saints, the sakkos essentially redefines their cult. That such a contested sub-
text is situated between the portraits of Muscovite and Byzantine royal
couples surely relates to Muscovite–Lithuanian rivalries and to the political
consolidation tied both ecclesiastically and dynastically to Constantinople.
Further, I would argue, the depiction of local saints embedded between the
contemporary rulers relates to the fundraising agenda for the imperial city
under threat. To fully appreciate this argument, we must bear in mind the
longer history of cultural connections between Byzantium and Russia –
solidified in the past through both faith and marriage – as well as the
more recent histories of the once-unified Rusʹ, which was fractured in the
mid-twelfth century and dominated by the Golden Horde in the thirteenth
century.

Entangled agendas: ecclesiastical and dynastic intermediaries

The tenth-century conversion of the Kievan princess Olga to Christianity is

generally credited with paving the way for the Christianization of Rusʹ. Olga,
who was regent for her son at the time and thus the ruler of Rusʹ, traveled in
person to Constantinople. The Book of Ceremonies, though silent regarding
her baptism, elaborates the details of her imperial reception, including the
dispersal of monetary gifts to the princess and her retinue.126 The official

126 See Jeffrey Featherstone, “Olga’s Visit to Constantinople,” Harvard Ukrainian Studies, 14
(1990), 293–312; and Featherstone, “Olga’s Visit to Constantinople in De Cerimoniis,” REB,
61 (2003), 241–51. Jonathan Shepard, “Byzantine Diplomacy, AD 800–1204: Means and
Ends” in Byzantine Diplomacy, 69, notes that it is at least as significant that Olga received
substantially more monetary gifts than certain other foreign representatives at court as the
precise date of the visit. Her baptism remains a contentious point of scholarship. Dimitri
Obolensky, “Russia and Byzantium in the Mid-Tenth Century: The Problem of the Baptism of
Princess Olga,” Greek Orthodox Theological Review, 28 (1983), 157–71; Dimitri Obolensky,
“The Baptism of Princess Olga of Kiev: The Problem of the Sources,” Byzantina Sorbonensia, 4
(1984), 159–76; Dimitri Obolensky, “Olga’s Conversion: The Evidence Reconsidered,”
Harvard Ukrainian Studies, 12–13 (1988–9), 145–58; Andrzej Poppe, “Once Again

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
Entangled agendas: ecclesiastical and dynastic intermediaries 317

implementation of Christianity, however, occurred under Olga’s grand-

son Vladimir, who married the Byzantine princess Anna Porphyrogenita,
daughter of Romanos II and sister of Basil II.127 Her status as the legitimate
daughter of a ruling Byzantine emperor made her the “most sought-after
bride in medieval Europe” owing to the tradition that, as Raffensperger
remarks, “dynastic marriage with [a porphyrogenita] was an endorsement
of the legitimacy of a kingdom’s royal or imperial claims.”128 The betrothal
of Anna and Vladimir followed the Battle of Cherson, and their alliance
concluded the peace.129 Not long before the marriage of Anna to Vladimir,
another Byzantine princess, Maria Lekapena, married the ruler of Bulgaria
in 927, a union which also concluded peace. Ruth Macrides has pointed
out that both of these tenth-century Byzantine brides were of the “highest
in status” to be married to foreigners until the twelfth century, and, fur-
ther, that both marriages were contracted so as to make peace with warring
nations.130 The understanding of marriage as central to the resolution of

Concerning the Baptism of Olga, Archontissa of Rus’,” DOP, 46 (1992), 271–7 [repr. in
Christian Russia in the Making (Aldershot, 2007) with a response to Featherstone].
Raffensperger, Reimagining Europe, 156–8, emphasizes not only that her travel to
Constantinople was primarily motivated by trade but also that she seems to have been
considering conversion in advance and, further, that her negotiations with the Byzantine
Empire were very much part of her broader diplomacy with Rome and the German Empire.
127 Nicolas Zernov, “Vladimir and the Origin of the Russian Church. Part II,” Slavonic and East
European Review, 28(70) (1949), 415, describes Vladimir as the Charlemagne of Russian
history. See Donald Ostrowski, “The Account of Volodimer’s Conversion in the Povest’
vremennykh let: A Chiasmus of Stories,” Harvard Ukrainian Studies, 28(1–4) (2006), 567–80.
128 Raffensperger, Reimagining Europe, 50. As Raffensperger notes (162), Anna’s hand had in fact
previously been requested by Otto II and Robert Capet.
129 Here I follow Raffensperger’s reconstruction of the events in Reimagining Europe, 162–3. See
also Jonathan Shepard, “Some Remarks on the Sources for the Conversion of Rusʹ” in S. W.
Swierkosz-Lenart (ed.), Le origini e lo sviluppo della Cristianità Slavo-Bizantina (Rome, 1992),
59–96.
130 Ruth Macrides, “Dynastic Marriages and Political Kinship” in Byzantine Diplomacy, 271.
“From these two examples,” she writes, “it is possible to argue that it was only when the stakes
were highest, when the need to make peace was the function of a marriage, that princesses
closest to the emperor were offered.” See also Jonathan Shepard, “A Marriage Too Far? Maria
Lekapena and Peter of Bulgaria” in Davids (ed.), The Empress Theophano, 121–49. On the
issue of diplomatic brides within these contexts, see Alexander Kazhdan, “Rusʹ-Byzantine
Princely Marriages in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries,” Harvard Ukrainian Studies, 12/13
(1988/9), 414–29. Christian Raffensperger, “Russian Economic and Marital Policy: An Initial
Analysis of Correlations,” Russian History/Histoire Russe, 34(1–4) (2007), 149–59, has
considered early Rusʹ dynastic marriages in tandem with developments in trade networks. He
points out, for example, that the marriage of Vladimir and Anna not only related to political
and religious purposes but that it was central to the maintenance of an economic relationship.
These thoughts are developed and expanded in Raffensperger, Reimagining Europe. See also
Nancy Shields Kollmann, Kinship and Politics: The Making of the Muscovite Political System,
1345–1547 (Stanford, 1987), Chapter 4, on the marital politics of the later Muscovite period.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
318 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

conflict is underscored by the fact that many foreign brides married into
the imperial court of Constantinople were rebaptised with the name Irene
or peace.131
These marriages also constituted an essential part of a missionary hagiog-
raphy, as both further involved the implementation of the church hier-
archy and the establishment of what has come to be known, although
contentiously, as the “Byzantine Commonwealth.”132 Legend has it that
Vladimir’s conversion to Christianity, and that of his people, was one
of the conditions of his marriage to Anna, who arrived in Kiev in 988
with a large retinue that included priests. Vladimir’s baptism marked the
establishment of Christianity in Kiev under the jurisdiction of the patriarch
of Constantinople. From then on, in theory at least, the patriarch appointed
the metropolitan, who constituted the key spiritual, and often political,
intermediary to Constantinople.133
Along with Christianity, the early rulers of Kievan Rusʹ appropriated the
visual splendors of the imperial capital.134 Connections with Constantino-
ple were maintained not only by a unified embrace of Christianity and
the ecclesiastical hierarchy centered on the patriarch of Constantinople,
but also by the adoption of symbols of power such as relics and impe-
rial imagery. This can be seen in the princely complex in Kiev, where

131 Franklin and Shepard (eds.), Byzantine Diplomacy, 11, 276.

132 Obolensky, Byzantine Commonwealth, 158–9. For more on this concept, see below, 329.
Chapter 5 of Raffensperger, Reimagining Europe, deals with the problematic historiography of
Vladimir’s conversion and the establishment of the ecclesiastical hierarchy in Rusʹ.
133 Dimitri Obolensky, “Byzantium, Kiev and Moscow: A Study in Ecclesiastical Relations,”
DOP, 11 (1957), 23–78 [repr. Byzantium and the Slavs: Collected Studies (Aldershot, 1971),
VI], has evaluated the evidence for this claim, in particular Gregoras’s account of the
alternation of the nationality of the metropolitans of Russia. According to general scholarly
opinion, the metropolitan of Kiev, as the head of the Russian Church under the authority of
the patriarch of Constantinople, represented “both personally and officially the patriarchal
and by natural extension the imperial, point of view” – as characterized by Franklin, “The
Empire of the Rhomaioi,” 510. In terms of the role of the metropolitan in the Kievan period,
Raffensperger, Reimagining Europe, 171–5, acknowledges that the metropolitans “were, to a
greater or lesser degree, agents of Constantinople” (172) and that they had “more in common
with the Constantinopolitan court than with the Kievan” (174), but that ultimately they were
not as influential as they are generally portrayed in scholarship. John Fennell, A History of the
Russian Church to 1448 (New York, 1995), 132, emphasizes that the majority of metropolitans
heading the Church in Russia from the thirteenth to the fifteenth century played a far more
active role in political life than in the Kievan period. Later Byzantine sources, as we will see,
characterize the metropolitan emphatically as the direct extension of the patriarch.
134 In fact, the visual splendors of imperial Constantinople are woven into the legends of
Vladimir’s conversion. The Russian Primary Chronicle describes Vladimir’s envoys in
Constantinople overcome by the splendor of the liturgy’s celebration in Hagia Sophia. See
Raffensperger, Reimagining Europe, 159–63.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
Entangled agendas: ecclesiastical and dynastic intermediaries 319

a collection of relics forges links to the Pharos Chapel in Constantino-

ple, the site where imperial authority was reified through relic collection.
Under Vladimir’s successor, Iaroslav, the famous church of St Sophia in
Kiev was adorned with glimmering Byzantine mosaics in emulation of the
imperial capital – it even included a visual evocation of Constantinople’s
Hippodrome.135
At roughly the same moment that Byzantine imperial authority was
being consolidated in exile following the crusader conquest of 1204, Kievan
Rusʹ came under the dominion of the Golden Horde (1237–40). Under
Mongol rule, it became the Khan’s right to confirm Russian princes and to
collect tribute and conscripts.136 The territories that had once been unified
and centralized around Kiev were divided among competing principalities
in western and central Russian lands, all of whose leaders required the
confirmation of the Khan. With a loosening of Mongol political control by
the later fourteenth century, Lithuania and Moscow emerged as competing
centers of power, each of which sought to lead control of the patrimony
of ancient Rusʹ. Part of what it meant to vie for this patrimony relates to
imperial Constantinople and the legacy of ancient Romaneia.137 Despite the
beleaguered state of the Byzantine Empire – whether in exile or reclaimed –
Constantinople still embodied the memory of imperial rule and the source
of ecclesiastical authority.
The history of Byzantium and Russia in the fourteenth century has tra-
ditionally been read as a teleology that leads to the rise of Moscow, as
Majeska has eloquently put it, from “an undistinguished hunting lodge
in the twelfth century to the capital of a powerful centralized state in the
fourteenth century.”138 The design of the sakkos has been read according

135 Most recently Elena Boeck, “Simulating the Hippodrome: The Performance of Power in Kiev’s
St. Sophia,” ArtB, 91(3) (2009), 283–301, has summarized the Constantinopolitan
associations of the program, including the mosaic image of the Blachernitissa in the apse and
the Hippodrome and “skomorokhi” frescos running from the southwestern turret to the
princely gallery above.
136 For a general overview, see Charles Halperin, Russia and the Golden Horde: The Mongol Impact
on Medieval Russian History (Bloomington, 1985); John Fennell, The Crisis of Medieval Russia,
1200–1304 (London, 1983); and Janet Martin, Medieval Russia, 980–1584 (Cambridge, 1995).
To be clear, despite the devastation of the Mongol invasions, the political structure was left by
the khans more or less intact. Moreover, the Church was granted exemption from the taxes
levied on the population. Meyendorff, Byzantium and the Rise of Russia, 38–9, thus sees the
Church as “a channel for important international contacts” and as the “main guardian of
Byzantine cultural values.”
137 Majeska, Russian Travelers, 10. See Raffensperger, Reimagining Europe, regarding
Constantinople as embodying the memory of imperial rule, of Romaneia, in Kievan Rusʹ.
138 Majeska, Russian Travelers, 10.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
320 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

to this narrative as a Byzantine endorsement of Moscow’s pre-eminence.139

This reading, however, is complicated by the multiple allegiances among
the fragmented local political authority in relation to the Golden Horde,
and the contested ecclesiastical authority in relation to Constantinople and
Rome. In the later fourteenth century, with the dissipation of Mongol
power in the farther western territories, Lithuania resembled a reconsti-
tuted version of Kievan Rusʹ, with a loose confederation of principalities
and the symbolically significant city of Kiev, the ancient capital of Rusʹ,
and the ancient residence of the Orthodox metropolitan, which had been
transferred to Moscow.140 The Lithuanian territories of predominantly
Orthodox Christian population, however, were under the dominion of
a ruling elite that remained pagan until the end of the fourteenth
century.141
Lithuania’s official conversion to Christianity came in 1386 and it was
prompted by dynastic marriage. Olgerd’s son Jagiello was baptized into
the Roman Church when he married the queen of Poland. Thus, Lithua-
nia was linked to Poland and hence to Rome.142 But by the time that
the sakkos of Metropolitan Photios was commissioned in the early fif-
teenth century, Lithuania and Moscow were dynastically linked. In 1391
Sophia, the daughter of the Lithuanian ruler Vitovt (d. 1430), married
Vasily I Dmitrievič of Moscow.143 Their marriage embodied the dynastic

139 In fact, the sakkos features in Meyendorff ’s study Byzantium and the Rise of Russia, 257, the
cover of which reproduces a detail of Dmitrievič and his consort.
140 Majeska, Russian Travelers, 10; Meyendorff, Byzantium and the Rise of Russia, 55–61. The
residence of the metropolitan had been moved from Kiev first to Vladimir in 1300 and then to
Moscow in 1328.
141 Meyendorff, Byzantium and the Rise of Russia, 57, characterizes Lithuanian paganism as
“historically anachronistic.” For the larger (and earlier) context, see S. C. Rowell, Lithuania
Ascending: A Pagan Empire within East-Central Europe, 1295–1345 (Cambridge, 1994).
142 Olgerd had died in 1377 and Jagiello (a.k.a. Jogaila) was baptized into the Roman Church
when he married the queen of Poland in 1386, thus uniting through marriage Lithuania to
Poland and hence Rome. In Cracow, Jagiello, who had been Orthodox Christian, was
rebaptized Ladislas and married Jadwiga, daughter of Louis of Hungary. See Meyendorff,
Byzantium and the Rise of Russia, 243. Conversion to Christianity “presented the Lithuanian
princes with an inevitable choice between East and West” – i.e., it was a cultural and political
choice.
143 Coincidentally, this is merely one year before Manuel II Palaiologos and Helena Dragaš were
married. Meyendorff, Byzantium and the Rise of Russia, 244, traces the background
negotiations for this marriage back to 1387 and believes that Metropolitan Cyprian played a
key role in the negotiations (“one can be almost certain that [Cyprian’s] mission to western
Russia [in 1387] was connected with plans to counteract the effects of Jagiello’s marriage and
apostasy from the Orthodox faith”). For the longer history of Vitovt (a.k.a. Vytautas the Great
or Witold), see Giedreė Mickūnaiteė, Making a Great Ruler: Grand Duke Vytautas of Lithuania
(Budapest, 2006).

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
Entangled agendas: ecclesiastical and dynastic intermediaries 321

unification under Orthodoxy of Moscow and Lithuania, and the config-

uration of their depiction on the sakkos underscores this point. To be
clear, Moscow and Lithuania remained distinct independent entities polit-
ically, but this marriage inaugurated a period of relatively amicable coex-
istence between Moscow, headed by Vasily I Dmitrievič from 1390, and
Lithuania, now led by his father-in-law, Vitovt, who assumed power in
1392.
Lithuanian Grand Duke Vitovt (1392–1430) also seems to have been
constructing cultural ties to Constantinople around this time. He received
Greek delegates and sent embassies to the patriarch in Constantinople,
which is understandable given the contested history of the metropolitanate
in the region.144 He also seems to have commissioned a series of “byzan-
tinizing” frescoes for his residence in Trakai145 as well as a detailed map
of Constantinople by Florentine Buondelmonti.146 The precise circum-
stances of the commissioning of this map, which no longer survives, remain
obscure. The prologue of two manuscripts of the Liber Insularum claims
that Buondelmonti already sent to Vitovt a large parchment (membrana
maxima) where the whole city is depicted with all its internal and external
details.147 This inscription is the only evidence for any sort of connection
between Buondelmonti and the Lithuanian court, and is the only trace of

144 Mickūnaitė, Making a Great Ruler, 261. 145 Ibid., 51–62.

146 See Gerola, “Le vedute,” 257; Barsanti, “Costantinopoli e l’Egeo,” 168–9; Ian Manners,
“Constructing the Image of a City: The Representation of Constantinople in Christopher
Buondelmonti’s Liber Insularum Archipelagi,” Annals of the Association of American
Geographers, 87(1) (1997), 72–102; Giuseppe Ragone, “‘Membrana Maxima’: Cristoforo dei
Buondelmonti, Vytuautas of Lithuania and the First Modern Map of Constantinople” in Irena
Valikonytė and Bronius Dundulis (eds.), Lietuva ir jos kaimynai nuo normanu̜ iki Napoleono:
Broniaus Dundulio atminimui [Lithuania and its Neighbors from the Normans to Napoleon: In
Memory of Bronius Dundulis] (Vilnius, 2001), 150–87, especially 155–65; and Mickūnaitė,
Making a Great Ruler, 260–1.
147 The inscription, which is listed below in note 148, makes clear that the great parchment for
Vitovt preceded the small map in the Liber, but the precise date of the lost great map of
Constantinople remains unclear. Some scholars have tried to associate it with the occasion of
the marriage of Anna and John, when in fact it seems much more likely to have followed after
that event. Manners, “Constructing the Image of a City,” associated the membrana maxima
with the marriage of John and Anna, but he gets the chronology and familial relations wrong,
noting that “Buondelmonti received the map commission from Vitold, as the marriage
between Vitold’s daughter (sic) and John VII (sic) Palaeologus took place in 1418.” But, as
discussed above, Vitovt’s granddaughter (not daughter) traveled to Constantinople to marry
the future John VIII (not John VII) in 1414 and she died in 1417. Thus, the argument for the
great map being produced either in advance or on the occasion of the marriage of Anna and
John is virtually impossible. Ragone, “‘Membrana Maxima,’” 158, who also notes these
chronological problems, dismisses the marriage context as motivating the commission and
proposes a few other preliminary lines of inquiry.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
322 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

the lost great map of Constantinople that preceded the smaller city views
included in the Liber created for Cardinal Giordano Orisini, two of which
were introduced in Chapter 2 (Figures 2.5 and 2.7).148 But the very exis-
tence of this membrana maxima implies that Buondelmonti’s engagement
with the cartography of Constantinople preceded – or at least was contem-
porary with – his commission from Florentine humanists.149 The “great
parchment,” which constituted the Ur cartographic image of the Byzantine
capital, was created for the Lithuanian court.
The relative peace between Moscow and Lithuania inaugurated by the
ascendency of Vitovt and the marriage of his daughter to Dmitrievič con-
cluded a particularly turbulent period in terms of the intertwined ecclesi-
astical, political, and dynastic loyalties, and the office of the metropolitan
is situated at the nexus of these issues, further involving Constantinople
in the narrative, as a brief history of these interactions will reveal.150 The
formalization of the transfer of the seat of the Metropolitan of Kiev and
All Russia to Moscow in 1328 occurred under Metropolitan Theognostos,
who was succeeded in 1353 by Metropolitan Alexei, who was the godson
of the recently deceased ruler of Moscow.151 Olgerd of Lithuania had pro-
posed another candidate for the position, Romanos, a relative of his wife,
and he stipulated that the Metropolitan should reside not in Moscow but
Kiev, which was now part of Lithuania. With the subtle suggestion that

148 To be clear, the Liber’s preface to Constantinople claims as its motivation for the short
description of the city to give the reader some idea of the city and its sights. In two copies,
namely Marciana cod.lat.X.215=2772 and Vatican Chigi F.IV.74, however, the prologue
before Constantinople includes another phrase absent in other copies: Buondelmonti wishes
to describe the ancient ruins of Constantinople as briefly as possible since he has already sent
to “Bottoldus dux Russie” a large parchment where the whole city is depicted in all its internal
and external details. Bottoldus should be understood as Witold in Polish or Vytautas in
Lithuanian or Vitovt. The inscription transcribed from the Vatican manuscript is cited in
Ragone, “‘Membrana Maxima,’” 156: “Quamvis hec civitas insulla non sit et ponere eam in
numero harum insullarum condecens non foret, actamen ut aliqua de urbe Constantinopoli
videntes comprehendere possint, ideo quam brevius potui hic de ruinis eius scripsi, licet in
membrana maxima Bittoldo duci Russie miserim ad videndum suis omnibus extra atque
infra attinentiis.”
149 Regardless of the convoluted rescension of the Liber insularum, the seventy manuscripts from
the decades immediately after the work was produced speak of the “rapid and immediate
diffusion” of Buondelmonti’s text (Ragone, “‘Membrana Maxima,’” 154–5).
150 The ecclesiastical politics of the later fourteenth century between Moscow, Lithuania, and
Constantinople are extremely complicated. A succinct overview of the issues surrounding the
appointment of the metropolitan is offered by Martin, Medieval Russia; Majeska, Russian
Travelers; Fennell, A History of the Russian Church; and is discussed in greater depth by
Meyendorff, Byzantium and the Rise of Russia. Essential reading on the topic also includes
Obolensky, “Byzantium, Kiev and Moscow,” 23–78; and Franz Tinnefeld,
“Byzantinisch-russische Kirchenpolitik im 14. Jahrhundert,” BZ, 67(2) (1974), 359–84.
151 Note that a Byzantine sakkos of Alexei survives in the Kremlin – see note 101 above.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
Entangled agendas: ecclesiastical and dynastic intermediaries 323

Olgerd was considering conversion to Orthodoxy, the patriarch created

a separate and distinct metropolitanate for Lithuania in 1354 headed by
Romanos. When he died in 1361, however, ecclesiastical authority returned
to Metropolitan Alexei, to the consternation of Olgerd. The Lithuanian
ruler complained bitterly to the patriarch about Alexei’s negligence in his
realm and demanded a separate metropolitan for the Orthodox of Lithuania
independent of Moscow. In response, Patriarch Philotheos dispatched the
priest-monk Cyprian as an envoy152 to mediate and restore peace in the
region. But in the face of repeated pressure from Olgerd, which included
as an ultimatum the threat to turn to Rome and to ensure the conversion
of all his people to Catholicism, the patriarch acquiesced and approved the
consecration of Cyprian as the Metropolitan of Kiev and Lithuania in 1375
with the understanding that at Alexei’s death, Cyprian’s authority would
encompass both the Lithuanian and Muscovite territories.153
Two key points about Byzantine–Russian ecclesiastical relations emerge
in the letters of Patriarch Philotheos. First, so far as Byzantium was con-
cerned, the metropolitan was an extension of the patriarch. In a letter to
the Muscovite ruler in 1370, the patriarch outlines the proper respect to
be paid to Metropolitan Alexei: “The metropolitan appointed by me is an
image of God, and is my representative, so that anyone who is submis-
sive to him and is concerned with loving, honoring and obeying him, is
actually submissive to God and to Our Humility.”154 Second, the patri-
arch envisions one metropolitan to cover all of Russia. “The nation [of
the Russians] is very big and numerous; it requires great care, and they all
depend on you,” the patriarch writes to Alexei.155 A number of obstacles
stood in the way of this vision for a unified metropolitanate as an exten-
sion of the patriarchate, including the ongoing rivalry between the rulers of
Moscow and Lithuania, which only worsened following the death of Alexei in
1378.156
Metropolitan Alexei’s death resulted in over a decade of chaos and
upheaval.157 The Muscovite ruler refused to acknowledge Cyprian as

152 Or “official investigator,” according to Majeska, Russian Travelers, 389.

153 On the variations of the titles in this context, see Dimitri Obolensky, “A ‘Philorhomaios
Anthropos’: Metropolitan Cyprian of Kiev and All Russia (1375–1406),” DOP, 32 (1978), 86
n. 30 [repr. Byzantine Inheritance, XI]; Fennell, A History of the Russian Church, 146–7; and
note 157 below.
154 Cited in Meyendorff, Byzantium and the Rise of Russia, 188. 155 Cited ibid., 189.
156 As well as the oppressive rule of the Golden Horde, whose very survival depended on such a
rivalry. See Meyendorff, Byzantium and the Rise of Russia, 199.
157 Fennell, A History of the Russian Church, 148, encapsulates this turmoil well when he describes
how the death of Alexei inaugurated “twelve years of bewildering changes of direction and
disorder and violence . . . in which patriarchs replaced patriarchs of different hues, and

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
324 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

metropolitan and instead sent his own candidate for the position to Con-
stantinople for patriarchal approval.158 The ensuing sequence of events
is described dramatically by Obolensky as “one of the most sordid and
disreputable episodes in the history of Russo-Byzantine relations.”159 Just
as the Muscovite ship bearing the metropolitan elect passed through the
Bosphorus on approach to Constantinople in 1379, he died, and the dele-
gation forged documents and possibly even bribed officials in order to put
forward as a substitute candidate one of their own, the abbot Pimen, who
was then consecrated metropolitan in the spring of 1380.
Eventually, after nearly a decade of ecclesiastical unrest, Cyprian was
welcomed to Moscow as metropolitan and Pimen was rejected outright.160
From 1390 until his death in 1406, Cyprian served as Metropolitan of Kiev
and All Russia, a hard-fought, contentious, and fragile title. During his
tenure, much of his energies were directed toward the goal of preserving a
unified metropolitanate with Moscow as its seat, and securing peace with
Lithuania was central to this agenda. Despite the fact that Jagiello, who
had inherited the throne of his father Olgerd, had united through marriage
Lithuania with the kingdom of Poland, as noted above, he was unable to
effect the conversion of his people to Rome, and ultimately his cousin Vitovt
assumed power. Metropolitan Cyprian seems to have played an instrumental
role in the forging of peace between Lithuania under Vitovt and Moscow
under Dmitrievič. To this end, Cyprian’s first recorded act upon arriving in
Moscow was to officiate the wedding of Vitovt’s daughter, Sophia, to Vasily
I Dmitrievič in 1391.161 This union proved crucial to peace in the region,

metropolitans – ‘of great Russia’, ‘of all Russia’, ‘of Kiev and Great Russia’, ‘of Kiev and
Lithuania’, ‘of Little Russia’: titles often so vague and confusing as to make it difficult to
understand what exactly they meant – interchanged and journeyed with such alarming speed
between Moscow, Kiev, Lithuania, the Kipchak Horde and Constantinople as to make it
frequently impossible to know what they were after, why they fled, and who chased them.”
158 Dimitri had Cyprian arrested and expelled, and he put forward as metropolitan elect his own
confessor and counselor, Mitjai/Michael.
159 Obolensky, “A ‘Philorhomaios Anthropos,’” 90. Note that these events coincide with the
struggle for the Byzantine imperial throne between Emperor John V Palaiologos and
Andronikos IV. See the earlier discussion of this context in the Introduction to Part II and
Chapter 4.
160 Dimitri’s initial acceptance of Cyprian in 1391 perhaps resulted from his outrage at the results
of his delegation in Constantinople or because he was increasingly becoming interested in the
Hesychast monks who supported Cyprian (as proposed by Obolensky, “A ‘Philorhomaios
Anthropos,’” 90). Following a brief about-face, in which Dimitri rejected Cyprian and
embraced Pimen (1381–5), Pimen was eventually removed from the office of metropolitan
and was excommunicated by the patriarch in 1385 following an inquiry led by delegates from
Constantinople.
161 See note 143 above. The union may have resulted from Cyprian’s negotiations in 1387 as
proposed by Meyendorff, Byzantium and the Rise of Russia, 224. Familial ties between the

as the rulers of Lithuania and Moscow were now father-in-law and son-
in-law.
Cyprian was succeeded by Photios as metropolitan. Photios, for whom
the “major” sakkos was made and who is pictured in the lower-left corner
of its front, continued his predecessor’s agenda of promoting a unified
metropolitanate. Also like his predecessor, Photios began his tenure as
metropolitan with a marriage alliance, this time between the daughter of
Dmitrievič and the heir of the throne of Byzantium, both depicted on his
sakkos.

Constantinople as sacro-imperial source

With an understanding of the longer history of the intertwined ecclesi-

astical and dynastic politics now in place, we can return to the imagery
and organization of the sakkos. By visually privileging the three Lithuanian
martyrs, the sakkos inserts their Lithuanian history into the genealogy of
Muscovite–Byzantine union. The designation of the saints as “Russian” but,
again, written in Greek, signals a clear Byzantine vision for a unified Rus-
sia with one metropolitan and one ruling family, tied ecclesiastically and
dynastically to Constantinople. It thus also provides a visualization of the
merits of diplomatic marriage in two generations and across two cultures:
Lithuania and Moscow on the right, and Moscow and Constantinople on
the left. Orthodoxy binds these dynastic unions, the design of the sakkos
suggests, just as on the most basic formal level the Nicene Creed fills the
interstices of the sakkos, imbricating the royal and holy images.
What does it mean for the vestment’s salvific program to include con-
temporary rulers and local histories? Ultimately the program emphasizes
Constantinople as the source of spirituality and ecclesiastical and dynastic
authority. The design of the sakkos inserts Metropolitan Photios into the
ecumenical genealogy of church hierarchs and emphasizes him as a medi-
ating figure for the liturgical rite. He is positioned in the lower-left corner
directly below Tarasios, former Patriarch of Constantinople (784–806), and
to the left of John Palaiologos, future Emperor of Constantinople (Figures
5.5 and 5.10). Together, Photios and John embody the priestly and impe-
rial authority of Constantinople: Photios was appointed by the patriarch of

royal houses of Lithuania and Moscow were further solidified as well: apparently Vasily I
arranged a marriage between his sister Maria and Olgerd’s son Lugveny in 1394. See Fennell,
A History of the Russian Church, 158 n. 46.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
326 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

Constantinople, and John was the emperor’s son, though he is represented

as emperor in his own right on the sakkos.162 As visualizations of the current
authority of the capital, they stand below venerable historical exemplars of
their office. The metropolitan is positioned directly beneath the patriarch of
Constantinople who convened the Second Ecumenical Council of Nicaea in
787, which officially condemned iconoclasm, and John Palaiologos is posi-
tioned directly below Constantine the Great, founder of New Rome. The
lower-left corner of the sakkos therefore ultimately emphasizes Constantino-
ple by situating the current links to the imperial capital in visual dialogue
with historical representatives of the ecclesiastical and imperial authority
of Constantinople. To be clear, the sakkos does not represent the current
patriarch and emperor, but their intermediaries, the metropolitan and heir
apparent, who link Moscow to Constantinople through the ecclesiastical
hierarchy and through imperial dynastic alliance.
The Constantinopolitan figures with whom the Muscovite princess Anna
is visually aligned are concentrated neatly in the lower-left corner of the
front of the sakkos (Figure 5.5). They are thus on Christ’s right-hand side, a
position of salvation that is further stressed by the close formal relationship
of their effigies to the narrative iconography of the Feast Cycle along the
central axis. In the lower cruciform scene of the Anastasis, Christ reaches
energetically to his right, where the saved are clustered in anticipation in the
lateral arm of the cross. This lateral arm with the saved is situated directly
above the head of Anna. There is thus a close contiguity between the saved
in the Anastasis scene and the contemporary Constantinopolitan figures.
A vertical hierarchy is also simultaneously at play in the overall design
of the sakkos. The figures depicted along the hem are the most proximate
figures, all of whom were either still alive or recently deceased (as in the
Lithuanian martyrs) at the time of the creation of the sakkos. Above them
are sacred historical figures on the sides and biblical events in the center.
Further above, on the collar, the uppermost portion of the vestment, are
sacred images of the Virgin orant on the front and Christ on the back flanked
by saints, archangels, cherubim, and seraphim. The underpinning of this
hierarchical aesthetic is clearly Dionysian, with the earthbound figures at the
hem, below the salvific program relating to the Eucharist, and the celestial
hierarchy at the uppermost area.163 The organization of the sakkos thus
conveys a Dionysian procession from the material level ascending to the

162 See note 76 above regarding the status of John as co-emperor and his inscription.
163 Regarding the relevance of this Dionysian framework in Moscow, it is noteworthy that at the
Prodromos monastery in Constantinople, Photios’s predecessor Metropolitan Cyprian
translated into Church Slavonic the works of Pseudo-Dionysios among other important texts

divine, each figure mediated in its own rank appropriately by the Nicene
Creed, which provides the grid and the conceptual legend for all the images.
Moreover, beyond merely a Dionysian ascent from the earthly to the ethereal,
the sakkos formally stresses the essential interconnectedness of the different
ranks by situating the contemporary royal portraits in the spaces of the
lower gammadia against the same flat gold background as the other sacred
scenes. The contemporary figures thus comprise the lower half of the frame
for the Anastasis in the central cross. In other words, their effigies, while
positioned along the hem as the most earthbound of figures, remain an
integral component of and interlocking with the whole design.
In the end, the design of the sakkos celebrates the ecumenical authority
of the church and the imperial authority of the emperor. In addition to
portraits of saints relatively recently canonized in Constantinople, it features
the effigy of Metropolitan Photios, the highest-ranking hierarch appointed
from Constantinople, below Tarasios, earlier Patriarch of Constantinople,
and next to John Palaiologos, the future Emperor of Byzantium. The sakkos
places the contemporary royal effigies in the forefront of the composition,
celebrating family unity and the intertwined histories of Palaiologan and
Muscovite dynasties, but beyond this it ultimately emphasizes the source
of family unity as Orthodoxy that binds them all and that is centered in
imperial Constantinople. The sakkos, then, illustrates the Byzantine vision
of – or really desire for – union in the service of the Queen of Cities.

Conclusion: empire, evidence, and oikoumene

The major sakkos of Metropolitan Photios, with its conspicuous surfeit of

visual material, weaves a dense web of sacro-imperial associations. Vasily
I Dmitrievič is pictured on the right of the sakkos as the husband of
Lithuanian-born Sophia Vitovtova, whose marriage united Moscow and
Lithuania dynastically, and as the father of Anna, whose marriage joined
the Muscovite royal house to the Palaiologoi of Constantinople. This same
Dmitrievič had earlier opposed the liturgical celebration of the Emperor
Manuel II and had received Patriarch Anthony’s letter pointedly reminding
him there could be no faith without the emperor. The program of the sakkos
in many ways parallels the patriarch’s letter visually, for, beyond celebrating
princely unions, it too articulates the universality of the Byzantine Empire

when he was living in the Studite monastery in 1387. See Obolensky, “‘Philorhomaios
Anthropos,’” 96–7.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
328 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

as the divinely sanctioned vehicle for the transmission of Orthodoxy. The

source of the faith that united both Lithuanian and Muscovite claims was
Constantinople and the empire headed by the future John VIII Palaiologos.
Patriarch Anthony’s letter to Dmitrievič has generally been taken as a sign
of the great distance between the timeless Byzantine ideal and the unfortu-
nate realities of the late Byzantine period. It presents a vision of imperium
profoundly disconnected with contemporary realities. The emperor, accord-
ing to the text, “enjoys such great authority over all that even the Latins
themselves, who are not in communion with our church, render him the
same honor and submission which they did in the old days when they
were united with us.”164 Such a patently false statement is introduced by
the patriarch in order to bolster an argument about the universal empire
headed by the emperor of the Romans and the eternal harmony between
sacerdotal and imperial authority. His was not the only official voice to pro-
claim this appeal to tradition, as Jonathan Shepard points out, and, despite
variation, the message was consistent: “the faith was best kept pure within
the longstanding imperial Roman order.”165
This chapter opened with the patriarch’s letter in order to introduce the
distinction between reflecting power and compensating for its lack. In clos-
ing, I now return to this methodological distinction. Scholars have generally
read the sakkos as a reflection of the social relations between Moscow and
Constantinople, as if the gold and gem-encrusted ritual vestment were but
a mere document.166 Along this line of thought, Obolensky read the pres-
ence of the contemporary Byzantine and Muscovite portraits as sure proof
that the tensions between the Byzantine emperor and Dmitrievič were
resolved, “and that the Russians had reverted to their former belief that
the emperor of Constantinople enjoyed the supreme position in the Chris-
tian Orthodox community of nations.”167 Accordingly, he proposed that
the hierarchical distinctions evident between the royal couples on the front
hem of the sakkos – such as the presence and absence of a halo – imply that
the Muscovy court acknowledged the difference in status.168 This position
fails to appreciate the fundamental cleavage between Byzantine intention

164 Trans. Geanakoplos, Byzantium, 143; Miklosich and Müller, Acta et diplomata graeca II,
190–1. Again, the cautionary words of Kaldellis, Hellenism in Byzantium, 100–11, should be
taken into consideration.
165 Shepard, “Byzantium’s Overlapping Circles,” 4.
166 Note that Meyendorff’s “Three Lithuanian Martyrs,” 180, describes the Slavonic vita of the
martyrs of Vilna, Balsamon’s encomium, and the major sakkos as “documents.”
167 Obolensky, “Some Notes,” 146.
168 Ibid., 145. See note 85 above where the passage is cited in full.

and Muscovite reception. Alternatively, Meyendorff read the sakkos as a

reflection of Byzantine religious and political ideology more broadly, and
the ecclesiastical program of Cyprian and Photios more specifically. Accord-
ingly, he proposed that the iconography of the Lithuanian martyrs on the
sakkos brings to Moscow the following clear message: “loyalty to the Byzan-
tine Commonwealth is a condition for the maintenance and progress of
Orthodox Christianity in the whole of Russia, both in Muscovy and in the
Lithuanian-held territories.”169 This, he claims, was the agenda promoted by
Cyprian and inherited by Photios. Such an argument presents the imagery
of the sakkos too starkly as ecclesiastical propaganda devoid of nuance.
Both these positions bear further implications for our understanding of
what Obolensky has famously called the “Byzantine Commonwealth.” For
methodological reasons succinctly summarized by Christian Raffensperger,
the idea of a Byzantine commonwealth, where Slavic regions fit as mere
adjuncts to Byzantium, should not be embraced as the explanatory model
for the more complex multi-faceted relationship among the Orthodox
oikoumene.170 Raffensperger has recast Obolensky’s commonwealth as the
“Byzantine Ideal,” in which the Byzantines maintained their belief in
the imperial familial hierarchy (and the emperor’s fundamental superi-
ority) even when others did not share that belief, and certainly long after
the imperial reach and sway was considerably diminished. This impor-
tant shift in terminology recognizes the potential discrepancy between
Byzantine belief and political reality as well as the shifting vicissitudes
of power.
The circulation of the imperial image as a gift is central to the production
and maintenance of Byzantine ideology, and also offers insight into this
disjunction between belief and reality. From the Byzantine perspective, the
gift of the imperial image expresses the desire for allegiance. Receiving such
a gift, however, does not necessarily imply acceptance or subservience. A
comparison of the “major” sakkos of Photios and the Royal Crown of Hun-
gary proves instructive in this regard (Figures 5.6–5.7). They both present
an image of the timeless imperial familial hierarchy in which Hungarian and
Muscovite royal figures respectively are included in the Byzantine family of

169 Meyendorff, Byzantium and the Rise of Russia, 257–8.

170 For a critique of Obolensky’s model on historiographic and methodological grounds, see
Christian Raffensperger, “Revisiting the Idea of the Byzantine Commonwealth,” ByzF, 28
(2004), 159–74. See also these two important essays: Franklin, “The Empire of the Rhomaioi”
on this question of the “universalist claims of Byzantium” and the very different Kievan
worldview; and Shepard, “Byzantium’s Overlapping Circles,” which re-evaluates Obolensky’s
Byzantine Commonwealth.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
330 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

princes, but with the foreign representatives clearly relegated to junior sta-
tus within the family. Such a visual logic illuminates the Byzantine imperial
worldview, but in no way does it imply that this vision was shared by the
rulers of Buda or Moscow.
Such gifts tell us more about Byzantine beliefs than social realities. The
sakkos makes visible the belief that the source of Orthodoxy remained stead-
fastly imperial Constantinople despite the precarious state of the capital, and
that imperium and Orthodoxy remained inseparable despite recent chal-
lenges. As the patriarch’s letter to Dmitrievič suggests, this particular facet
of Byzantine ideology was in need of bolstering in Moscow. The subsequent
gift of the major sakkos serves this purpose, acting as a reminder that the
divinely sanctioned source for Orthodoxy continued to be the Byzantine
capital of Constantinople headed by the future John VIII. The gift, in other
words, was designed to compensate for the fragility of the imperial office in
Moscow. This message, however, is conveyed in predominantly Orthodox
visual terms. On the surface, the vestment presents a straightforward vision
of the Orthodox faith much like the “minor” sakkos of Photios. Both sakkoi
represent the main iconography that would have lined the interior of the
typical Byzantine church and thus inscribe the body of the metropolitan
as the architecture of the church in a very real and a metaphorical sense.
But the “major” sakkos further situates its wearer as the minister not only
of the sacred mysteries but also of diplomatic and imperial matters. Only
upon close inspection does the complicated politically charged message of
divinely sanctioned authority centered in imperial Constantinople emerge.
Ultimately I see the sakkos as a visual articulation of the kind of imperial
ideology conveyed in the patriarch’s letter rather than a reflection of Mus-
covite subservience to imperial Constantinople as envisioned by Obolensky.
At the same time as it indexes Byzantine desire more than political realities,
I see its message as more complicated and multi-layered than the straight-
forward ecclesiastical propaganda proposed by Meyendorff. Like imperial
ritual and ceremony, which simultaneously reveal and suture fractures in
authority, the major sakkos constitutes a gesture of desire on the part of the
authorities in Constantinople. It was designed to impress upon its view-
ers the majesty and sacro-imperial authority of the capital. As this study
has emphasized, however, Constantinople at this particular moment was
impoverished and under siege, and plans for western support were proving
elusive. How can we explain such an extravagant commission at this precar-
ious moment? And how can we explain sending it to Moscow, where it was
only to be worn three times a year? Such extravagance, moreover, follows
a mere decade after the urgent request for a fundraising mission among

the flock of the Russian metropolitan. Recall that the patriarch’s letter to
Metropolitan Cyprian, Photios’s predecessor, stressed monetary donation
for Constantinople as more important than almsgiving and ransoming
Christian captives.171
One thing is certain: the extravagance of the sakkos cannot be taken
as evidence for the actual wealth of the capital. But if we understand the
sakkos as a gift – inflected with the burdens of reciprocity and hierarchy –
we approach an answer to these questions. To understand the sakkos as a
gift is to shift the emphasis away from an articulation of fixed relations
(again where the imagery serves a mere documentary role) and toward a
more flexible and even performative model. It is to move the sakkos into
the register of the optative, where it expresses wish or desire. The necessity
to recognize that gifts such as this possess a measure of the optative stems
from a wariness of both an evidentiary approach, where the sakkos serves
as social document alone, and also from a functionalist approach, where it
is treated as a uniform devoid of nuance. On one level the vestment does
fulfill its function as a liturgical uniform of sorts. Like a uniform, it was
“issued” with the intention of visibly marking the wearer’s allegiance and
rank and function. Again, only the highest church official had the privilege
of wearing the sakkos and its imagery directly underscores the liturgical role
of the metropolitan as minister of the sacred. The sakkos, however, exceeds
this functional role by virtue of its extravagance and virtuosity.172 Its surfeit
of sumptuousness, and its complicated subtext of hierarchy, distinguishes it
from other extant Byzantine liturgical vestments, and places it on another
level – a level, I maintain, of the gift and the mode of the optative.
Drenched in iconographic complexity and encrusted in silver and gold,
the vestment was made in the impoverished imperial capital and sent to
the metropolitan in Moscow, the ranking ecclesiastical official who was
appointed directly by the patriarch of Constantinople. Beyond embodying
the church hierarchy in Moscow, the metropolitan was the very official
who had negotiated the marriage of the Muscovite princess to the heir to
the imperial throne, and his predecessor has been described as a collecting
agent for the imperial administration. One cannot easily disentangle these
different facets of the office: the metropolitan was spiritual, diplomatic, and

171 See the discussion earlier in the chapter.

172 On the extravagance of later Byzantine liturgical vestments and their “conspicuous luxury,”
see Woodfin, Embodied Icon, 92. Mary W. Helms, Craft and the Kingly Ideal: Art, Trade, and
Power (Austin, 1993) is also important with regard to technology and power, and her study
informs James Trilling’s “Daedalus and the Nightingale: Art and Technology in the Myth of
the Byzantine Court” in Maguire (ed.), Byzantine Court Culture, 217–31.

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Cambridge, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at
https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.008
332 Wearing allegiances and the construction of a visual oikoumene

fiscal intermediary at once. The sakkos mediates such a dense network of

allegiance on multiple levels as only a gift can. It is deeply entangled in ritual
systems of reciprocity and is neither free nor disinterested. Moreover, it was
created to be worn with its message not merely directed toward its wearer
but to those fortunate enough to behold it. The sakkos, then, is as much
about perceiving as it is about giving or receiving.

This book ends before the fall of Constantinople and the final days of the
Byzantine Empire. It deliberately does not conclude with the conquest of
Constantinople in 1453 and the resulting reconstitution of the Byzantine
imperial city as the Ottoman capital,1 or with the debate about the persis-
tence of Byzantine traditions in Russia as the “Third Rome” after the fall
of the Second Rome.2 By avoiding explicit engagement with the formal end
of the Byzantine Empire, this book insists that the concept of decline be
detached from the expectation of inevitable fall.3
Another topic not covered in this study is the Union of Churches at the
Council of Ferrara-Florence in 1439. The substantial Byzantine delegation,
which included Emperor John VIII Palaiologos and Patriarch Joseph II,
spent more than two years in Europe, traveling from Venice to Ferrara
to Florence and back to Constantinople via Venice again.4 This omission
may seem surprising given that the prolonged Italian–Byzantine contact

1 This is an area of intensely productive and innovative research. Çiğdem Kafescioğlu’s

Constantinopolis/Istanbul: Cultural Encounter, Imperial Vision, and the Construction of the
Ottoman Capital (University Park, 2009) represents a particularly important study of the early
Ottoman reconceptions of the imperial city under Mehmed II. See also the succinct overview by
Gülru Necipoğlu, “From Byzantine Constantinople to Ottoman Konstantiniyye: Creation of a
Cosmopolitan Capital and Visual Culture under Sultan Mehmed II” in From Byzantion to
Istanbul: 8000 Years of a Capital City (Istanbul, 2010), 262–77.
2 The idea of Moscow rising from the ashes of Constantinople as the “Third Rome” owes its
notoriety to the sixteenth-century monk Philotheus of Pskov. The well-known passage, cited in
Geanakoplos, Byzantium, 44, reads: “The Church of old Rome fell for its heresy; the gates of the
second Rome, Constantinople, were hewn down by the axes of the infidel Turks; but the Church
of Moscow, the Church of new Rome, shines brighter than the sun in the whole universe.” Most
recently, Donald Ostrowski provides a critical survey of the history of this debate in “‘Moscow
the Third Rome’ as Historical Ghost” in Brooks (ed.), Byzantium: Faith and Power (1261–1557),
170–9.
3 See note 48 in the Introduction concerning the historiography of this point.
4 The Byzantine delegation, with more than 600 participants, was funded by the Pope. Joseph
Gill’s studies The Council of Florence (Cambridge, 1959) and Personalities of the Council of
Florence and Other Essays (Oxford, 1964) provide the principal historical outline for the
Council. See also Henry Chadwick, East and West: The Making of a Rift in the Church: From
Apostolic Times until the Council of Florence (Oxford, 2005). In Venice, the the Byzantine
delegation was shown the Treasury of San Marco with its rich holdings of deluxe ars sacra
looted from Constantinople’s sacred sites after the Fourth Crusade. Sylvester Syropoulos
recounts a particularly vivid description of this encounter. See V. Laurent, Les ‘Mémoires’ de 333

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. Boston University Theology Library, on 28 May 2017 at 18:08:35, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.009
334 Conclusion: the ends of empire

afforded by the Council inspired some of the most striking images of the
penultimate Byzantine emperor by Italian artists, including Pisanello’s eye-
witness sketches of the emperor and the altogether novel but decidedly
non-Byzantine bronze portrait medallion, and the life-size bust attributed
to Filarete.5 Though fascinating in their own right, the choice to omit these
images stems from their profound difference from the Byzantine icons of
imperium analyzed in this book.6 The Italian renderings, which betray
a sense of exoticism in their fascination with the intricacies of eastern
imperial dress and accessories, tell us more about the western perception of
Byzantium at this time.7 This book, by contrast, has remained firmly rooted

Sylvestre Syropoulos sur le concile de Florence (1438–1439) (Paris, 1971); and J. L. van Dieten,
“Sylvester Syropoulos und die Vorgeschichte von Ferrara-Florence,” Annuarium historiae
conciliorum, 9 (1977), 154–79.
5 First-hand renderings of the emperor appear in Pisanello’s sketchbook, now divided between
the Louvre and the Art Institute of Chicago, most recently published with bibliography in BFP,
527–31 (cat. nos. 318A and B). Scholarship on the bronze portrait medallions of the emperor
includes the following: Roberto Weiss, Pisanello’s Medallion of the Emperor John VIII Palaeologus
(London, 1966); BFP, 355–6 (cat. no. 321); Stephen K. Scher (ed.), The Currency of Fame (New
York, 1994), 44–6 (cat. no. 4); Luke Syson and Dillian Gordon, Pisanello: Painter to the
Renaissance Court (London, 2001), 29, 31–4; John Graham Pollard, Renaissance Medals, I: Italy
(Washington DC, 2007), 4–6 (cat. no. 1); and Keith Christiansen and Stefan Weppelmann
(eds.), The Renaissance Portrait: From Donatello to Bellini (New Haven, 2011). What is
presumed to be a preparatory drawing for the medallions survives in the Louvre, on which see
BFP, 532–3 (cat. no. 319) with bibliography. See also Michael Vickers, “Some Preparatory
Drawings for Pisanello’s Medallion of John VIII Palaeologus,”ArtB, 60(3) (1978), 417–24. I
would like to thank Stephen Scher for sharing with me his extensive knowledge of this topic. In
addition to the Vatican’s bronze bust of John VIII attributed to Filarete – on which see BFP, 534
(cat. no. 320) – the Byzantine emperor is depicted as part of a cycle of the Council of Florence
on Filarete’s bronze doors of St Peter’s, on which see John R. Spencer, “Filarete’s Bronze Doors
at St Peter’s: A Cooperative Project with Complications of Chronology and Technique” in
Wendy Stedman Sheard and John T. Paoletti (eds.), Collaboration in Italian Renaissance Art
(New Haven, 1978), 33–57. One final image merits mention within this context – that of the
emperor pasted into a manuscript in the Monastery of St Catherine at Sinai (Sinai Gr. 2123),
which appears to be based on the Italian portrait medallions. See Giancarlo Prato and J. A. M.
Sonderkamp, “Libro, testo, miniature: il caso del cod. Sinait. gr. 2123,” Scrittura e Civiltà, 9
(1985), 309–23.
6 The rich corpus of western images of John VIII Palaiologos associated with the Council
complements his three known Byzantine images discussed throughout this study – that is, on
the pyxis in Dumbarton Oaks (discussed in the Introduction to Part II), the imperial family
portrait in the Louvre copy of the Corpus Dionysiacum (Chapter 4), and the lower hem of the
“major” sakkos of Metropolitan Photios (Chapter 5). These extant Byzantine representations
were all executed while John was still the junior emperor, in contrast to the western images of
him as the reigning emperor of Byzantium. Note also John VIII’s gold seal; see BFP, 35 (cat. no. 8).
7 Parani, “Cultural Identity and Dress,” rightly points out the antiquity of Byzantine ceremonial
dress as understood by the Italians (i.e., the “exotic” dress was perceived not only as eastern but
also as venerable). Even before the Council of Florence, the Byzantine emperor’s ceremonial
attire seems to have made a profound impact on the western imagination. Joyce Kubinski,
“Orientalizing Costume in Early Fifteenth-Century French Manuscript Painting (Cité des

in the Byzantine perspective and has focused on the Byzantine cultivation

and dissemination of imperial ideology in the final centuries of the empire.
To conclude on any other note would stress the empire’s final demise, which
this book attempts to suspend momentarily so as to grasp more fully the
Palaiologan material on its own terms and without the bias of hindsight.
For these reasons, there is no coda or afterword for this study. Instead, these
final pages summarize the book’s more salient points and gather together
some final strands of thought about the sovereignty of imperial image and
the authority of the gift in later Byzantium.
This book has traced the diplomatic mobilization of the imperial image
in the face of the diminished political realities of the later Byzantine period.
The premise, logic, and mechanisms of prestation remained largely con-
sistent throughout the Byzantine Empire despite the waning of politi-
cal power in its final centuries. This consistency is largely due to the
deeply entrenched system of precedence predicated on the ideology of
taxis, or “order.” Taxis constituted the organizing principle for the impe-
rial hierarchy in reflection of the heavenly kingdom, and thus rendered
earthly vicissitudes part of an immutable and eternal divine plan. A facet
of this worldview found its expression in the Pseudo-Dionysian theol-
ogy described in Chapter 4, which structured the Byzantine universe as
a precisely ordered schema of hierarchically interconnected emanations
from God. Again, according to Dionysian thought, motion animated these
hierarchical emanations so that the instantaneous cyclical movements of
“procession” downward and “return” upward elevated those in the low-
est rung toward the higher contemplation of the divine.8 Both of these
seemingly eternal structures of thought served as the ideological founda-
tion for the ecclesiastical hierarchy and for the imperial administration and
court. Those outside the ever-shifting boundaries of Byzantium, however,
did not necessarily share this ideology, and by the later Byzantine period,
the contrast between the Byzantine universe predicated on hierarchical
order and the increasingly cosmopolitan surrounding world was thrown
into sharper contrast. It is precisely this disjunction – as it is exacerbated
in the later Byzantine period – that has motivated the narrative of the
present inquiry. It has been my aim to demonstrate how the fragile political
realities of the later Byzantine period inflect and were, in turn, inflected

Dames Master, Limbourg Brothers, Boucicaut Master, and Bedford Master),” Gesta, 40(2)
(2001), 161–80, points out that the increased “orientalizing” dress in French early
fifteenth-century miniature painting results from the Battle of Nikopolos (1396) and from
Manuel II’s stay in Paris (1400–2).
8 See the discussion in Chapter 4.

by long-held and seemingly immutable assumptions about imperium. The

preceding chapters have thus traced the visual recalibrations of the impe-
rial image in response to the constricted realities of the period, including
political factionalism, the waning of Byzantine economic influence, and
the corresponding increase in Ottoman power. Linking these straitened cir-
cumstances to concrete moments and matters of gift exchange has allowed
me to clarify the central alignment of the imperial image and the gift in
the maintenance of the Byzantine ideal even, and especially, in turbulent
times.
In the early Palaiologan period, the subject of the book’s first half, the
configuration of imperial imagery was closely tied to a larger project of
restoration, reclamation, and legitimacy. The image of Michael VIII on
the silk in Genoa, the subject of Chapter 1, was literally extended as a
gift in conjunction with the diplomatic efforts to restore the capital city
to Byzantine rule, and thereafter we see a concerted effort to legitimize
Palaiologan authority in visual terms through the vocabulary of gift-giving,
which offered the ideal strategy for conveying authority through seeming
humility. Such was the agenda in the heart of Constantinople where the
emperor’s bronze monument, as discussed in Chapter 2, showcased his
status as the restorer of the Queen of Cities in the venerable format and
medium of antiquity while simultaneously attributing his restoration to
divine plan through the new combined iconography of proskynesis and
prestation. The positioning of a model of the city in the emperor’s hands
emphasizes his role in the restoration, but by casting him in the act of offering
it to the archangel as a gift, the bronze ultimately constitutes a monument of
thanksgiving and a public articulation of his humility and piety. A similar
message is conveyed by the earliest Palaiologan gold coins issued in the
restored capital, as seen in Chapter 3. The hyperpyron’s displacement of
the city from the emperor’s hands on the reverse to the Virgin’s frame on
the obverse attributes Constantinople’s reconquest and protection to divine
power, not mortal might. This message is emphasized in contemporary
sources, in which Constantinople is conceptualized as a gift from God
returned to the Romans through divine grace, not terrestrial strategies.9
Accordingly, the coinage stresses the emperor’s role in the restoration as
instrumental rather than causal.
In addition to stressing imperial instrumentality, Michael VIII’s bronze
and gold effigies emphatically construct a venerable genealogy of the first
Palaiologoi linked back to the Komnenoi and further to Constantine the

9 See the discussion at the beginning of Chapter 2.

Great, while simultaneously charting a future dynastic agenda that legit-

imates the new imperial line. Adopting and adapting previous hallowed
visual conventions in the service of contemporary urgencies, the early
Palaiologan imperial image ultimately inverts traditional conventions for
imperial representation in order to create an image of divinely sanctioned
imperial thanksgiving.
If the mobilization of these early Palaiologan imperial images is intimately
tied to the restoration of Byzantine Constantinople and the resulting sense
of dynastic legitimation that it confirmed, the later Palaiologan imagery
discussed in the second half of the book engages a set of related though
distinct concerns, and it is here that the concept of decline comes more
forcefully to the fore. The combined devastation of the mid-fourteenth-
century civil wars and the Ottoman advances and blockade of the capital
later in the century bequeathed a world vastly different from the recently
restored imperial capital of the first Palaiologoi. In other words, issues
relating to the legitimacy of the Palaiologan line were of less importance
than the securing of tangible support to defend Constantinople from the
Ottomans. In this later Palaiologan period, there are no significant public
monuments in Constantinople and no innovative designs in coinage to
propagate imperial ideologies – there is, in fact, no gold coinage at all. By
the fifteenth century, belief in the imperial ideal was increasingly at odds
with an impoverished reality, but the gift of the image of the emperor still
aimed at consolidating imperial authority. When the empire’s domain is
restricted, imperial gifts – and, in particular, the imperial image as a gift –
provided the opportunity to promote Byzantine imperium in compensation
for those constrictions.
The two lavish gifts discussed in detail in Part II, which follow the pro-
tracted Ottoman siege of Constantinople and the emperor’s failed diplo-
matic mission in the West, are indicative of this compensatory dimension.
The “major” sakkos of Metropolitan Photios, the subject of Chapter 5,
with its message of inexorable imperial and Orthodox unity, was sent to
Moscow at roughly the same time that the copy of the works of Dionysios
the Areopagite, discussed in Chapter 4, was sent to Paris as a reminder of
the Byzantine genealogy of Dionysian thought. Taken together, these gifts
cultivate radically different but ultimately complementary facets of later
Byzantine ideology: Hellenism and Orthodoxy. More specifically, they align
the imperial office with these fundamental facets by picturing imperial Con-
stantinople – in the form of the imperial body – as the source for both. These
two sumptuous gifts thus index a larger diplomatic agenda that strategically
fosters cultural connections with the West and that strengthens the fabric

of Orthodoxy within the wider oikoumene. Both the Corpus Dionysiacum

and the sakkos, despite – or, more accurately, because of – the impoverished
economic and political standing of the empire, project the sacro-imperial
majesty of Constantinople as the source of Neoplatonic thought and the
ecclesiastical hierarchy.
One of the more important points to emerge from this study concerns
the way that gifts and gift-giving strategies adopt a posture of ostensive
obsequiousness in order to disguise implied Byzantine hierarchy. This lay-
ering of flattery over superiority turns out to be one of the key defining
features of the Byzantine gift. All of this book’s chapters have shown how
gift-giving conveys messages of imperial superiority, or the belief in the
eternal Byzantine ideal, through subtle rhetorical strategies. The visual pro-
gram of the peplos in Genoa, for example, caters to its intended recipi-
ents by including Latin inscriptions for the iconography of the Genoese
church’s titular saint, Lawrence. But beneath this imagery, which should
be pleasing to the Genoese, lies a deeper message of Byzantine superi-
ority: the central scene of the emperor inaugurates a series of juxtapo-
sitions with the surrounding hagiographic narrative that ultimately cele-
brate the authority of Byzantine imperial transaction. In other words, the
central episode of apparent Byzantine–Genoese philia, with the emperor
led by St Lawrence into his church and the intended repository of the
silk, serves to imply difference and hierarchy. In this context, Holobolos’s
description of the silken imperial image for the Genoese as a pharmakon
is pointedly astute: the gift of the emperor’s image is the remedy for their
ardent love, but it is also double-edged, ultimately implying Byzantine
superiority.10
Beneath the surface of shared symbolic language, an underlying dynamic
of superiority – and often not a subtle one – informs the rhetoric of the
gift. In a manner similar to the terms in which Émile Benveniste discusses
Indo-European etymology,11 gifts from Byzantium articulate an essential

10 While I have chosen to underscore this point about gifts and hierarchy with an example of a gift
proper, the peplos in Genoa, the same holds true for the wider visual culture of gift-giving. The
point could equally be made with reference to the bronze and gold commemorations of the
restoration of Constantinople where Michael VIII is portrayed on knee in a gesture of humility
and piety in order to convey, ultimately, the divinely sanctioned nature of Palaiologan rule.
This, in other words, is humility in the service of supremacy; it is the same logic of doubleness.
11 Émile Benveniste, “Gift and Exchange” in Schrift (ed.), The Logic of the Gift, 33–42. The
concluding line of Robin Cormack, “But is it Art?”, 228, is instructive in this regard: “The
favour of a gift of art, like diplomatic ritual, aimed to flatter enemies into respect.”
Anthropologists have long argued for the dangerous aspect of the gift: like the Trojan horse,
gifts are to be desired, but that desire attaches to potential risk.

and contradictory double valence of self-interest and seeming disinterest,

and also of superiority and mutuality.12 Were the dominant message one
of superiority and self-interest, the gift would lose its potency as an agent
of social bond. A successful gift must read, on the surface at least, as an
articulation of mutuality or respect. The two early fifteenth-century objects
discussed in the second half of the book illustrate this doubleness particu-
larly well.
Manuel II’s gift of the writings of Dionysios the Areopagite appears to
be a gesture of commonality and appreciation, especially given the history
of the hagiographic assimilation of St Dionysios and St Denis in France.
But the manuscript situates the emperor and the empire he headed as the
source of the Areopagite’s writings and, in so doing, it ascribes a Byzantine
origin for the French saint. Situated within a much longer temporal span
that reaches into the distant and more recent past, the Louvre codex also
suggests a future imperative. It draws into alignment the previous imperial
gift of the Corpus Dionysiacum and related hagiographic assimilation as well
as the emperor’s personal visit to Paris, where again he even celebrated mass
at the Abbey of Saint-Denis, all with the purpose of inspiring future action,
namely support for Constantinople.13 While ostensibly a commemoration
of intertwined Dionysian hagiography and philosophy, the gift remains
decidedly self-interested in its insistence on Byzantine origins, and does so
as part of a future-driven strategy.
Similarly, the “major” sakkos of Metropolitan Photios emphasizes first
and foremost the Orthodox faith and its liturgical expression shared in
Byzantium and Russia. The sakkos translates the pictorial cycle of the typical
Byzantine church walls, icons, and iconostases to the body of the metropoli-
tan who enacted its symbolism through liturgical ritual. While primarily
celebrating Constantinople and Moscow united in faith through its wearer,
the celebrant, this vision of ecumenicity is complicated by the hierarchi-
cal implications of the vestment’s hem. Even when considering the hem
in isolation, the initial impression is one of commonality by virtue of the
very inclusion of the Muscovite royal effigies and local martyrs. Upon closer
inspection, however, a message of Byzantine superiority emerges, both in
terms of dynastic and ecclesiastical authority. The imagery of the hem co-
opts the local Lithuanian martyrs by calling them Russian, but it does so

12 See the Introduction.

13 Again, as part of this future-driven temporal sequence, Chapter 4 presents the book in Paris as
part of the scholarly activities and peripatetic diplomatic fundraising of Chrysoloras, and thus
presents it as part of a wider promotion of Greek in Italy.

in Greek and thus signals Constantinople as the site for the authentication
and veneration of their relics. The more obvious expression of hierarchy on
the sakkos, however, involves the royal effigies framing these martyrs, all of
which underscore clear and unmistakable differences in status between the
Palaiologan and Muscovite courts. As a visual response to previous insta-
bility in the office of the metropolitan, the sakkos mediates the intertwined
ecclesiastical and dynastic networks in an attempt to strengthen ties among
the Orthodox oikoumene.
The visual program of both early fifteenth-century gifts emphasizes the
mutual traditions shared by both giver and receiver, but such mutuality
works in the service of the giver’s self-interest. Each gift was given with the
aim of getting. Although apparently catering to their destination on the
surface, they ultimately celebrate imperial Constantinople and the proces-
sion of sacro-imperial power. In this regard, they are easily contextualized
within the elaborate fundraising missions of the imperial capital. What is
particular to the late Byzantine gift, as opposed to the gift in earlier periods,
is the fact that the posture of entreaty that simultaneously encodes imperial
authority refers to a potency that is no longer real.
Byzantine gifts were deployed to garner allegiance with those outside the
empire’s ever-shifting boundaries as well as within the capital city, where
ceremonial gift-giving ritually re-inscribed the contours of the imperial
office. Although the instillation of imperial ideology through prestation
may appear static because of its consistency, it has in fact a critical tempo-
ral dimension, the importance of which can be elucidated through Pierre
Bourdieu’s understanding of the gift. Time – with its unpredictable rhythms
and gaps and its irreversibility – plays a decisive role in the nature and logic
of the gift for Bourdieu. His insistence on the interval and delay in time
destabilizes the neat cyclicality of gift exchange envisioned by structuralist
anthropologists:

It is the lapse of time between gift and counter-gift that makes it possible to mask
the contradictions between the experienced (or desired) truth of the gift as a gener-
ous, gratuitous, unrequited act, and the truth that emerges from the model which
makes it a stage in a relationship of exchanges that transcends singular acts of
exchange.14

A significant departure from Marcel Mauss’s somewhat mechanical model

of prestation, then, is the way that time disguises the strategy or self-interest

14 Pierre Bourdieu, “Marginalia – Some Additional Notes on the Gift” in Schrift (ed.), The Logic
of the Gift, 231.

in the gift sequence; it allows each moment of gifting to appear as an

isolated moment of true generosity rather than as part of a longer calcu-
lated strategic pattern.15 The appearance of generosity thus conceals self-
interest.
Moreover, for Bourdieu, gift-giving, with its more attenuated temporal
dimensions, becomes a regime of self- and collective deception. Gifting, for
Bourdieu, is ultimately a means of denying objective truths:

Gift exchange is one of the social games that cannot be played unless the players
refuse to acknowledge the objective truth of the game, the very truth that objective
analysis brings to light, and unless they are predisposed to contribute, with their
efforts, their marks of care and attention, and their time, to the production of
collective misrecognition.16

Bourdieu’s account of the fundamental power of such strategies for putting

objective truth into abeyance resonates strongly for the present study of art
and diplomacy in the Palaiologan period. If we substitute what this study
understands as the constricted political and economic circumstances of the
later Byzantine period for Bourdieu’s abstraction of “objective truth,” his
description of gift exchange could serve as a primer for the Palaiologan
period: it exposes the productivity of the gift for the study of culture in an
age of decline.
Scholars have often lamented that despite an awareness of the dire reali-
ties of the later Byzantine period, the imperial administration maintained
an air of impassive detachment. The letters of Manuel II discussed in
Chapter 4 elucidate this point particularly well. The emperor’s scholarly
and epistolary activity is characterized as disingenuous escapism in the
face of Ottoman aggression. “It was,” Dennis suspects, “one way of clos-
ing one’s eyes to the reality and living in an illusion.”17 If, however, we
follow Bourdieu and accept that gifting constitutes a powerful strategy for

15 Note that Bourdieu links his understanding about self-deception to Marcel Mauss’s point
about society paying itself in the “counterfeit coin of its dreams,” cited at the beginning of
Chapter 3, which Bourdieu characterizes as “one of the most profound sentences that an
anthropologist has ever written” (ibid., 231).
16 Bourdieu, “The Work of Time,” from The Logic of Practice, reprinted in Schrift (ed.), The Logic
of the Gift, 198. Similarly, he writes: “Gift exchange is the paradigm of all the operations
through which symbolic alchemy produces the reality-denying reality that the collective
consciousness aims at as a collectively produced, sustained and maintained misrecognition of
the ‘objective truth’” (203). With regard to Bourdieu and Byzantium, see Anthony Cutler,
“Uses of Luxury: On the Functions of Consumption and Symbolic Capital in Byzantine
Culture” in Guillou and Durand (eds.), Byzance et les images, 287–327.
17 Dennis, “Imperial Panegyric: Rhetoric and Reality,” 135.

what he calls “collective misrecognition,” the optic of the gift helps to clar-
ify the logic of such seeming passivity in later Byzantine recalibrations of
sovereignty. Bourdieu helps us recognize that what might be dismissed as
escapism constitutes a strategic and effective way of establishing height-
ened possibilities for action within the context of diminished political and
economic influence. Recall that the epistolary exchange between Manuel II
and Chrysoloras with which Chapter 4 concluded emphasizes the potential
political advantageousness of the promotion of Byzantine (Greek) cultural
production.
In the face of decline, gift-giving emerges, then, as a means of action
within the tight constraints of a much-diminished Byzantine world. The
effectiveness of this strategy lies, in part, in the fact of its traditionalism.
Byzantine prestation had always been integral to the performance of impe-
rial authority. In Constantinople, systems of largesse governed the court
hierarchy and ecclesiastical relations, and within the wider diplomatic arena,
the maintenance of relations with Byzantium’s neighbors depended on gift
exchange. Bourdieu’s model helps to elucidate this. The emperor distributed
apokombia, silk, and court titles from his own hand as a ritual performance
of largesse and dependence.18 These actions – and their subsequent rep-
resentation, as seen, for example, in the upper-gallery mosaics at Hagia
Sophia (Figures 0.1–0.3) – inscribed the emperor’s superiority through
ritual gifting. Accordingly, the emperor and his courtiers, the “players”
in Bourdieu’s parlance, refuse to acknowledge the objective truth of their
mutual dependence so as to produce “collective misrecognition”: by cast-
ing salary distribution as the ceremonial offering of a gift, they conceal
the truth of the transactional logic and create a symbolic enactment of
interdependence.
These observations hold true more generally for systems of largesse in the
middle and later Byzantine period. In the final centuries of the empire, how-
ever, gifting assumes a further urgency as it becomes increasingly difficult
to deny the declining political sway of the empire. Dependence on symbolic
logic to conceal objective realities increases as those realities worsen. Gift
exchange, in other words, as the ultimate act of self- and communal decep-
tion, constitutes an ideal coping strategy. Because of their doubleness, gifts,

18 The Kleterologion of Philotheos illustrates this point very well. See Nicolas Oikonomides (ed.),
Les listes de préséance byzantines des IXe et Xe siècles (Paris, 1972), 88–99. In addition to the
earlier discussion of apokombia distribution, see Oikonomides, “Title and Income at the
Byzantine Court,” 199–215; and Kazhdan and McCormick, “The Social World of the
Byzantine Court,” 167–98.

even recycled ones, have the potential to enact social bonds while simulta-
neously conveying an ideology of superiority. For this reason, the display of
confidence and the projection of power in diminished circumstances, this
book has argued, are impossible without reference to the symbolic logic of
gift exchange.

Primary sources
Acropolites, George. Georgii Acropolitae Opera, edited by August Heisenberg and
revised by Peter Wirth. Stuttgart: Teubner, 1978. Introduction, translation and
commentary by Ruth J. Macrides as George Akropolites: The History. Oxford
University Press, 2007.
Angiolello, Giovan Maria. Viaggio di Negroponte, edited by Cristina Bazzolo. Vin-
cenza: Neri Pozza Editore, 1982.
Barker, Ernest (ed.). Social and Political Thought in Byzantium: From Justinian I to
the Last Palaeologus: Passages from Byzantine Writers and Documents. Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1957.
Ibn Battuta. The Travels of Ibn Battuta AD 1325–1354, translated and edited by
Hamilton A.R. Gibb. Cambridge University Press, 1962.
Belgrano, Luigi T. “Cinque Documenti Genovesi-Orientali.” Atti della Società Ligure
di Storia Patria, 17 (1885): 223–51.
Boissonade, Jean F. (ed.). Anecdota graeca e codicibus regiis. Hildesheim: G. Olms,
1962.
Choniates, Niketas. Historia, edited by J. A. van Dieten. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1975,
translated by Harry J. Magoulias as O City of Byzantium: Annals of Niketas
Choniates. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1984.
Chronique du religieux de Saint-Denys contenant le règne de Charles VI de 1380 à
1422, translated by Louis F. Bellaguet. Paris: Éditions du Comité des travaux
historiques et scientifiques, 1994.
Chrysoloras, Demetrios. Cento Epistole a Manuele II Paleologo, critical text, intro-
duction, translation and commentary by Ferruccio Conti Bizzarro. Napoli:
M. D’Auria, 1984.
Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos. De Administrando Imperio, edited by Gyula
Moravcsik and translated by R. J. H Jenkins. Washington DC: Dumbarton
Oaks, 1967 (reprinted 1985).
De ceremoniis aulae Byzantinae, edited by J. J. Reiske. Bonn: E. Weber, 1829–30.
Edited and translated by Albert Vogt as Le Livre des Cérémonies. Paris: Société
d’Edition “Les Belles Lettres,” 1935.
Three Treatises on Imperial Military Expeditions, introduction, edition, transla-
tion, and commentary by John F. Haldon. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen
Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1990.
344

Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. Boston University Theology Library, on 28 May 2017 at 18:09:25, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588.010
Bibliography 345

Dennis, George (ed. and trans.). Three Byzantine Treatises: Text, Translation, and
Notes. Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1995.
Dionysios the Areopagite. Pseudo-Dionysius: The Complete Works, translated by
Colm Luibheid, with foreword, notes, and translation collaboration by Paul
Rorem. New York: Paulist Press, 1987.
Dölger, Franz. Regesten der Kaiserurkunden des oströmischen Reiches: Von 565–1453.
3. Teil, Regesten von 1204–1282. Munich: Beck, 1977.
Doukas. Historia Turko-Byzantina, edited by V. Grecu. Bucharest, 1958. Annotated
and translated by Harry J. Magoulias as The Decline and Fall of Byzantium to
the Ottoman Turks. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1975.
Geanakoplos, Deno J. Byzantium: Church, Society, and Civilization Seen through
Contemporary Eyes. University of Chicago Press, 1984.
Goar, Jacques (ed.). Euchologion sive rituale Graecorum. Graz: Akademische
Druck- u. Verlagsanstalt, 1960.
Gregoras, Nicephoros. Byzantina historia, edited by L. Schopen, 3 vols. Bonn: E.
Weber, 1829.
Grumel, V., Vitalien Laurent, and J. Darrouzès (eds.). Les regestes des actes du
patriarcat de Constantinople. Paris: Institut français d’études byzantines, 1932–
77.
Holobolos, Manuel. Manuelis Holoboli orations, edited by Max Treu, 2 vols. Potsdam,
1906–7. Selected edition by Xenophon A. Siderides, “Μανουὴλ ‘Ολοβώλου,
᾿εγκώμιον εἰς Μιχαὴλ Η’ Παλαιολόγον.” ΕΕΒΣ, 3 (1926): 168–91.
Kantakouzenos, John. Historiarum Libri IV, edited by L. Schopen. Bonn: E. Weber,
1828–32.
Kydones, Demetrios. Démétrius Cydonès, Correspondance, edited by Raymond-
Joseph Loenertz. Vatican: Biblioteca apostolica vaticana, 1956–60.
Leo VI. The Taktika of Leo VI: Text, Translation, and Commentary, edited and
translated by George Dennis. Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2010.
Liudprand of Cremona. The Complete Works of Liudprand of Cremona, translated by
Paolo Squatriti. Washington DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2007.
Loenertz, Raymond-Joseph. “La Chronique brève de 1352. Texte, traduction et
commentaire. 1ère partie: de 1205 à 1327.” Orientalia Christiana Periodica, 29
(1963): 331–56.
Macrembolites, Alexios. “Alexios Makrembolites and his ‘Dialogue between the
Rich and the Poor,’” edited and translated by Ihor Ševčenko, Zbornik Radova
Vizantoloskog Instituta, 6. Belgrade, 1960. Reprinted in Ihor Ševčenko, Society
and Intellectual Life in Late Byzantium. London: Variorum, 1981.
Majeska, George P. Russian Travelers to Constantinople in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth
Centuries. Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1984.
Mango, Cyril A. The Art of the Byzantine Empire, 312–1453: Sources and Documents.
Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1972.
Manuel II Palaiologos. Dialogue on Marriage, translated and edited by Athanasios D.
Angelou, Manuel Palaiologos, Dialogue with the Empress-Mother on Marriage.
Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1991.

Dialogue with a Persian, edited by Erich Trapp, Manuel II. Palaiologos, Dialogue
mit einem “Perser”. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichische Akademie der Wis-
senschaften, 1966.
Funeral Oration. Manuel II Palaeologus Funeral Oration on his Brother
Theodore: Introduction, Text, Translation and Notes, edited and translated
by Julian Chrysostomides. Thessalonike: Association for Byzantine Research,
1985.
Letters, edited and translated by George Dennis, The Letters of Manuel II
Palaeologus: Text, Translation, and Notes. Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks,
1977.
Treatise on the Procession of the Holy Spirit, edited by Charalambos Dendrinos,
“An Annotated Critical Edition (editio princeps) of Emperor Manuel II Palae-
ologus’ Treatise On the Procession of the Holy Spirit.” Unpublished PhD Thesis,
University of London (Royal Holloway College), 1996.
Migne, Jacques-Paul (ed.). Patrologiae cursus completus. Series graeca, 161 vols. Paris:
Garnier, 1857–66.
Miklosich, Franz and Joseph Müller (eds.). Acta et diplomatica graeca medii aevi
sacra et profana, 6 vols. Vienna: Gerold, 1860–90.
Molinier, Émile. Inventaire du trésor du Saint Siège sous Boniface VIII (1295). Paris:
Nogent-le-Rotrou, 1888.
Oikonomides, Nicolas. Les listes de préséance byzantines des IXe et Xe siècles. Paris:
Éditions du Centre national de la recherche scientifique, 1972.
Pachymeres, George. De Michaele et Andronico Palaeologis, edited by I. Bekker.
Bonn: E. Weber, 1835.
Georges Pachymérès, Relations Historiques, edited by Albert Failler and translated
by Vitalien Laurent. Paris: Société d’Edition “Les Belles Lettres,” 1984–2000.
Pieralli, Luca. La corrispondenza diplomatica dell’imperatore bizantino con le potenze
estere nel tredicesimo secolo (1204–1282): Studio storico-diplomatistico ed edi-
zione critica. Vatican City: Archivio segreto vaticano, 2006.
Pseudo-Kodinos. Traité des offices, edited and translated by Jean Verpeaux. Paris:
Éditions du Centre national de la recherche scientifique, 1966.
Syropoulous, Sylvester. V. Laurent, Les ‘Mémoires’ de Sylvestre Syropoulos sur le
concile de Florence (1438–1439). Paris: CNRS, 1971.
Tafur, Pero. Pero Tafur: Travels and Adventures (1435–1439), edited and translated
by Malcolm Letts. New York: Harper & Bros., 1926.
Thomas, John P. and Angela Constantinides Hero (eds.). Byzantine Monastic Foun-
dation Documents: A Complete Translation of the Surviving Founders’ Typika
and Testaments. Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2000.
Usk, Adam. The Chronicle of Adam Usk, 1377–1421, edited and translated by Chris
Given-Wilson. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997.
Villehardouin. Jean Joinville, and Geoffroi de Villehardouin, Chronicles of the Cru-
sades, translated by Margaret Shaw. Baltimore: Penguin Books, 1963.

Ibn-az-Zubair, Ahmad Ibn-ar-Rashid. Book of Gifts and Rarities (Kitab al-Hadaya

wa al-Tuhaf): Selections Compiled in the Fifteenth Century from an Eleventh-
Century Manuscript on Gifts and Treasures, edited and translated by Ghada
al-Hijjawi al-Qaddumi. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996.

Secondary sources
Ahrweiler, Hélène. “L’expérience nicéene.” DOP, 29 (1975): 21–40.
“L’histoire et la géographie de la région de Smyrne entre les deux occupations
turques (1081–1317) particulièrement au XIIIe siècle.” Travaux et Mémoires, I
(1965): 1–204.
L’idéologie politique de l’Empire byzantin. Paris: Presses universitaires de France,
1975.
Alexander, Paul J. “A Chrysobull of the Emperor Andronicus II Palaeologus in Favor
of the See of Kanina in Albania.” Byzantion, 15 (1940–1): 167–207.
“The Strength of Empire and Capital as Seen through Byzantine Eyes.” Speculum,
37(3) (1962): 339–57. Reprinted in his Religious and Political History and
Thought in the Byzantine Empire (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1978).
Algazi, Gadi, Valentin Groebner, and Bernhard Jussen (eds.). Negotiating the Gift:
Pre-Modern Figurations of Exchange. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht,
2003.
Andia, Ysabel de (ed.). Denys l’Aréopagite et sa postérité en Orient et en Occident.
Paris: Institut d’études augustiniennes, 1997.
Andreeva, Margarita A. “Zur Reise Manuels II. Palaiologos nach Westeuropa.” BZ,
34(1) (1937): 37–47.
Angelidi, Christine and Titos Papamastorakis. “Picturing the Spiritual Protector:
From Blachernitissa to Hodegetria.” In Maria Vassilaki (ed.), Images of the
Mother of God: Perceptions of the Theotokos in Byzantium. Aldershot: Ashgate,
2005, 209–24.
“The Veneration of the Virgin Hodegetria and the Hodegon Monastery.” In Maria
Vassilaki (ed.), Mother of God: Representations of the Virgin in Byzantine Art.
Milan: Skira, 2000, 373–425.
Angelov, Dimiter. “Byzantine Ideological Reactions to the Latin Conquest of Con-
stantinople.” In Angeliki E. Laiou (ed.), Urbs Capta: The Fourth Crusade and
its Consequences. Paris: Lethielleux, 2005, 293–310.
“Byzantine Imperial Panegyric as Advice Literature (1204–c. 1350).” In Elizabeth
Jeffreys (ed.), Rhetoric in Byzantium. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003, 55–72.
“The Confession of Michael VIII Palaiologos and King David.” JÖB, 56 (2006):
193–204.
“Donation of Constantine and the Church in Late Byzantium.” In Dimiter
Angelov (ed.), Church and Society in Late Byzantium. Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval
Institute Publications, 2009, 91–157.

Imperial Ideology and Political Thought in Byzantium, 1204–1330. Cambridge

University Press, 2007.
Angold, Michael (ed.). The Byzantine Aristocracy IX to XIII Centuries. Oxford: BAR
International Series 221, 1984.
A Byzantine Government in Exile: Government and Society under the Laskarids of
Nicaea, 1204–1261. Oxford University Press, 1975.
“Byzantine ‘Nationalism’ and the Nicaean Empire.” BMGS, 1 (1975): 49–70.
Church and Society in Byzantium under the Comneni, 1081–1261. Cambridge
University Press, 1995.
“Greeks and Latins After 1204: The Perspective of Exile.” In Benjamin Arbel,
Bernard Hamilton, and David Jacoby (eds.), Latins and Greeks in the Eastern
Mediterranean After 1204. London: Cass, 1989, 63–86.
Appadurai, Arjun (ed.). The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspec-
tive. Cambridge University Press, 1996 [1986].
Armani, Elena Parma. “Nuove Indagini sul ‘Pallio’ Bizantino Duecentesco di San
Lorenzo in Palazzo Bianco a Genova.” Studi di storia delle arte, 5 (1983–5):
31–47.
Arranz, Miguel. “Couronnement royal et autres promotions de cour. Les sacrements
de l’institution de l’ancien Euchologe constantinopolitain.” OCP, 56 (1990):
83–133.
Art et société à Byzance sous les Paléologues: Actes du Colloque organisé par
l’Association internationale des études byzantines à Venise en septembre 1968.
Venice: L’Institut Hellénique d’Études byzantines et post-byzantines de
Venise/Stamperia di Venezia, 1971.
Babić, Gordana. “L’iconographie constantinopolitaine de l’Acathiste de la Vierge à
Cozia (Valachie).” Zbornik Radova Vizantoloskog Instituta (Recueil des Travaux
de l’Institut d’Études Byzantines), 14/15 (1973): 173–89.
“Le Portrait du roi Vladislav en fondateur dans le naos de l’église de Mileševa.”
In Vojislav J. Đurić (ed.), Mileševa u istoriji srpskog naroda: Međunarodni
naučni skup povodom sedam i po vekova postojanja; juni 1985. Belgrade: Srpska
Akademija Nauka i Umetnosti, 1987, 9–16.
Bacci, Michele. “Tra Pisa e Cipro: La Committenza Artistica di Giovanni Conti
(+1332).” Annali della scuola normale superiore di Pisa, 4(2) (2000): 343–86.
Balard, Michel. “The Genoese in the Aegean (1204–1566).” In Benjamin Arbel,
Bernard Hamilton, and David Jacoby (eds.), Latins and Greeks in the Eastern
Mediterranean After 1204. London: Cass, 1989, 158–74.
La Romanie génoise: XIIe–début du XVe siècle. Rome: École française de Rome,
1978.
Balba, G. P. Caffaro e la cronachista genovesi. Genoa: Tilgher, 1982.
Baldovin, John Francis. The Urban Character of Christian Worship: The Origins,
Development, and Meaning of Stational Liturgy. Rome: Pont. Institutum Stu-
diorum Orientalium, 1987.

Baltimore Museum of Art. The World Encompassed: An Exhibition of the History of

Maps Held at the Baltimore Museum of Art. Baltimore: Trustees of the Walters
Art Gallery, 1952.
Bank, Alice. Byzantine Art in the Collections of Soviet Museums. New York: H. N.
Abrams, 1978.
Barber, Charles. “The Monastic Typikon for Art Historians.” In Anthony Kirby
and Margaret Mullett (eds.), The Theotokos Evergetis and Eleventh-Century
Monasticism. Belfast: Byzantine Texts and Translations, 1994, 198–214.
Barker, John W. “Emperors, Embassies, and Scholars: Diplomacy and the Transmis-
sion of Byzantine Humanism to Renaissance Italy.” In Dimiter Angelov (ed.),
Church and Society in Late Byzantium. Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute
Publications, 2009, 158–82.
“John VII in Genoa: A Problem in Late Byzantine Source Confusion.” OCP, 28
(1962): 213–38.
Manuel II Palaeologus (1391–1425): A Study in Late Byzantine Statesmanship. New
Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1969.
“The Problem of Appanages in Byzantium During the Palaiologan Period.”
Byzantina, 3 (1971): 105–22.
Barsanti, Claudia. “Costantinopoli e l’Egeo nei primi decenni del XV secolo:
la testimonianza di Cristoforo Buondelmonti.” Rivista dell’Istitut nazionale
d’archeologia e storia dell’arte, 56 (2001): 83–253.
“Un panorama di Costantinopoli dal ‘Liber insularum archipelagi’ di Cristoforo
Buondelmonti.” In Antonio Iacobini and Mauro della Valle (eds.), L’arte di
Bisanzio e l’Italia al tempo dei Paleologi, 1261–1453. Rome: Argos [Milion 5],
1999, 35–54.
Bassett, Sarah. “The Antiques of the Hippodrome of Constantinople.” DOP, 45
(1991): 85–96.
The Urban Image of Late Antique Constantinople. Cambridge University Press,
2004.
Bauer, Franz Alto. “Byzantinische Geschenkdiplomatie.” In Falko Daim and Jörg
Drauschke (eds.), Byzanz, das Römerreich im Mittelalter. Teil 3: Peripherie
und Nachbarschaft. Mainz: Römisch-Germanisches Zentralmuseum, 2010,
1–54.
Gabe und Person: Geschenke als Träger personaler Aura in der Spätantike. Eichstätt:
Katholische Universität Eichstätt-Ingolstadt, 2009.
“Herrschergaben an St. Peter.” Mitteilungen zur Spätantiken Archäologie und
Byzantinischen Kunstgeschichte, 4 (2005): 65–99.
“Potentieller Besitz: Geschenke im Rahmen des byzantinischen Hofzeremoniells.”
In Franz Alto Bauer (ed.), Visualisierungen von Herrschaft. Frühmittelalterliche
Residenzen–Gestalt und Zeremoniell. Istanbul: Ege Yayınları, 2006, 135–
69.
Baumstark, Reinhold (ed.). Rom und Byzanz: Schatzkammerstücke aus bayerischen
Sammlungen. Munich: Hirner, 1998.

Baynes, Norman H. “The Supernatural Defenders of Constantinople.” Analecta

Bollandiana, 67 (1949): 165–77. Reprinted in Norman H. Baynes, Byzantine
Studies and Other Essays. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1974, 248–60.
Beaton, Roderick. “Antique Nation? ‘Hellenes’ on the Eve of Greek Independence
in Twelfth-Century Byzantium.” BMGS, 31(1) (2007): 76–95.
Beck, H.-G. “Reichsidee und nationale Politik im spätbyzantinischen Staat.” BZ, 53
(1960): 86–94.
Beihammer, Alexander D., Maria G. Parani, and Christopher D. Schabel (eds.).
Diplomatics in the Eastern Mediterranean 1000–1500: Aspects of Cross-Cultural
Communication. Leiden: Brill, 2008.
Beliaev, Leonid A., and Alexei Chernetsov. “The Eastern Contribution to Medieval
Russian Culture.” Muqarnas, 16 (1999): 97–124.
Bell, Duran and Cynthia A. Werner. Values and Valuables: From the Sacred to the
Symbolic. Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira, 2004.
Bellinger, Alfred R. and Philip Grierson. Catalogue of the Byzantine Coins in the
Dumbarton Oaks Collection and in the Whittemore Collection. Washington DC:
Dumbarton Oaks, 1966–99.
Belting, Hans. “Die Auftraggeber der spätbyzantinischen Bildhandschrift.” In Art et
société à Byzance sous les Paléologues. Actes du Colloque organisé par l’Association
internationale des études byzantines à Venise en septembre 1968. Venice: Stam-
peria di Venezia, 1971, 151–76.
Das illuminierte Buch in der spätbyzantinischen Gesellschaft. Heidelberg: C.
Winter, 1970.
“An Image and its Function in Liturgy: The Man of Sorrows in Byzantium.”
DOP, 34/35 (1980–1): 1–16.
The Image and its Public. New Rochelle: Aristide D. Caratzas, 1990.
Likeness and Presence: A History of the Image Before the Era of Art. University of
Chicago Press, 1994.
Il Medio Oriente e l’Occidente nell’arte del XIII secolo (Atti del XXIV Congresso
internazionale di storia dell’arte 2, Bologna, 1979). Bologna: CLUEB, 1982.
Belting, Hans and Rudolf Naumann. Die Euphemia-Kirche am Hippodrom zu Istan-
bul und ihre Fresken. Berlin: Mann, 1966.
Bendall, Simon. “Hyperpyra of Andronikos II and Michael IX with Transposed
Effigies.” RN, 150 (1995): 127–32.
“Longuet’s Salonica Hoard Reexamined.” American Journal of Numismat-
ics/Museum Notes, 29 (1984): 143–58.
A Private Collection of Palaeologan Coins. Wolverhampton: Galataprint, 1988.
Bendall, Simon and Paul J. Donald. The Billon Trachea of Michael VIII Palaeologos,
1258–1282. London: A.H. Baldwin & Sons, 1974.
The Later Palaeologan Coinage: 1282–1453. London: A.H. Baldwin & Sons,
1979.
“The Silver Coinage of Michael VIII.” Numismatic Circular, 90 (1982):
121–4.

Bendall, Simon and Cécile Morrisson. “Monnaies de la fin de l’empire byzantin

à Dumbarton Oaks: Un catalogue de référence.” RN, 157 (2001): 471–
93.
Benveniste, Émile. “Gift and Exchange in the Indo-European Vocabulary.” In Mary
Elizabeth Meek (trans.), Problems in General Linguistics. Coral Gables, FL:
University of Miami, 1971, 271–80.
Berger de Xivrey, Jules. “Mémoire sur la vie et les ouvrages de l’empereur Manuel
Paléologue.” Mémoires de l’Institut de France, Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-
Lettres, 19(2) (1853): 1–201.
Berschin, Walter. Greek Letters and the Latin Middle Ages: From Jerome to Nicholas
of Cusa. Washington DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1988.
Bertelè, Tommaso. “I gioielli della corona bizantina dati in pegno alla repubblica
veneta nel sec. XIV e Mastino II della Scala.” In Studi in onore di Amintore
Fanfani, vol. 2. Milan: Giuffrè, 1962, 91–177.
L’Imperatore Allato nella Numismatica Bizantina. Rome: P. & P. Santamaria, 1951.
Bettini, Sergio and Italo Furlan. Venezia e Bisanzio. Venice: Electra Editrice, 1974.
Bibliothèque nationale de France. Byzance et la France médiévale. Paris: Bibliothèque
nationale, 1958.
Billot, Claudine. “Des Reliques de la passion dans le royaume de France.” In Jannic
Durand and Bernard Flusin (eds.), Byzance et les reliques du Christ. Paris:
Association des Amis du Centre d’Histoire et Civilisations de Byzance, 2004,
239–48.
Bloch, Maurice and Jonathan P. Parry. “Introduction: Money and the Morality of
Exchange.” In Maurice Bloch and Jonathan P. Parry (eds.), Money and the
Morality of Exchange. Cambridge University Press, 1989, 1–32.
Boeck, Elena. “Simulating the Hippodrome: The Performance of Power in Kiev’s
St. Sophia.” ArtB, 91(3) (2009): 283–301.
Bogatyrev, Sergei. “Reinventing the Russian Monarchy in the 1550s: Ivan the Ter-
rible, the Dynasty, and the Church.” The Slavonic and East European Review,
85(2) (2007): 271–93.
Bojović, Boško. L’idéologie monarchique dans les hagio-biographies dynastiques du
Moyen Age serbe. Rome: Pontificio Istituto Orientale, 1995.
Bond, William H., Seymour de Ricci, and Christopher U. Faye. Supplement to
the Census of Medieval and Renaissance Manuscripts in the United States and
Canada. New York: Bibliographical Society of America, 1962.
Borgehammar, Stephan. “Heraclius Learns Humility: Two Early Latin Accounts
Composed for the Celebration of Exaltatio Crucis.” Millennium: Jahrbuch zu
Kultur und Geschichte des ersten Jahrtausends n. Chr., 6 (2009): 145–201.
Bourdieu, Pierre. The Logic of Practice, translated by Richard Nice. Stanford Uni-
versity Press, 1990.
“Marginalia – Some Additional Notes on the Gift.” In Alan D. Schrift (ed.), The
Logic of the Gift: Toward an Ethic of Generosity. New York: Routledge, 1997,
190–241.

Outline of a Theory of Practice [Esquisse d’une théorie de la pratique], translated

by Richard Nice. Cambridge University Press, 1977.
Bowersock, G. W., John Clive, and Stephen R. Graubard (eds.). Edward Gibbon and
the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press, 1977.
Breckenridge, James D. The Numismatic Iconography of Justinian II (685–695, 705–
711 A.D.). New York: American Numismatic Society, 1959.
Bréhier, Louis. Les institutions de l’empire byzantin. Paris: Albin Michel, 1949.
Brightman, Frank E. “Byzantine Imperial Coronations.” Journal of Theological Stud-
ies, 2 (1901): 359–92.
Brooks, Sarah T. (ed.). Byzantium: Faith and Power (1261–1557). Perspectives
on Late Byzantine Art and Culture. New Haven: Yale University Press,
2006.
“Poetry and Female Patronage in Late Byzantine Tomb Decoration: Two Epigrams
by Manuel Philes.” DOP, 60 (2006): 223–48.
Brown, Bill. “Reification, Reanimation, and the American Uncanny.” Critical
Inquiry, 32(2) (2006): 175–207.
“Thing Theory.” Critical Inquiry, 28(1) (2001): 1–22.
Browning, Robert. “Byzantine Scholarship.” Past & Present, 28 (1964): 3–20.
Brubaker, Leslie. “The Elephant and the Ark: Cultural and Material Interchange
Across the Mediterranean in the Eighth and Ninth Centuries.” DOP, 58 (2004):
175–195.
“Gesture in Byzantium.” Past & Present, 4 (2009): 36–56.
“The Visualization of Gift-Giving in Byzantium and the Mosaics at Hagia Sophia.”
In Wendy Davies and Paul Fouracre (eds.), The Languages of Gift. Cambridge
University Press, 2010, 46–52.
Bryer, Anthony. “Greek Historians on the Turks: The Case of the First Byzantine-
Ottoman Marriage.” In Ralph H. C. Davis and John M. Wallace-Hadrill (eds.),
The Writing of History in the Middle Ages. Essays Presented to Richard William
Southern. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981, 471–93.
Bryer, Anthony and Heath Lowry (eds.). Continuity and Change in Late Byzantine
and Early Ottoman Society: Papers Given at a Symposium at Dumbarton Oaks
in May 1982. Birmingham: University of Birmingham Centre for Byzantine
Studies; Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1986.
Buc, Philippe. “Conversion of Objects.” Viator, 28 (1997): 99–143.
The Dangers of Ritual: Between Early Medieval Texts and Social Scientific Theory.
Princeton University Press, 2001.
Buchwald, Hans H. “Lascarid Architecture.” JÖB, 28 (1979): 261–96.
Buettner, Brigitte. “Past Presents: New Year’s Gifts at the Valois Courts, ca. 1400.”
ArtB, 83(4) (2001): 598–625.
Bühl, Gudrun. Constantinopolis und Roma: Stadtpersonifikationen der Spätantike.
Zurich: Akanthus, 1995.
Dumbarton Oaks: The Collections. Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2008.

Burgmann, Ludwig and Paul Magdalino. “Michael VIII on Maladministration: An

Unpublished Novel of the Early Palaiologan Period.” Fontes Minores, 4 (1984):
377–90.
Buschhausen, Heide and Helmut Buschhausen. Die Marienkirche von Apollo-
nia in Albanien: Byzantiner, Normannen und Serben im Kampf um die Via
Egnatia. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften,
1976.
Bydén, Börje. “‘Strangle Them with These Meshes of Syllogisms!’: Latin Philosophy
in Greek Translations of the Thirteenth Century.” In Jan O. Rosenqvist (ed.),
Interaction and Isolation in Late Byzantine Culture: Papers Read at a Collo-
quium Held at the Swedish Research Institute in Istanbul, 1–5 December, 1999.
Stockholm: I.B. Tauris, 2004, 133–57.
Cameron, Averil. “The Construction of Court Ceremonial: The Byzantine Book of
Ceremonies.” In D. Cannadine and S. Price (eds.), Rituals of Royalty. Power
and Ceremonial in Traditional Societies. Cambridge University Press, 1987, 106–
36.
“The Theotokos in Sixth-Century Constantinople: A City Finds its Symbol.”
Journal of Theological Studies, 29(1) (1978): 79–108.
Cammelli, Giuseppe. I dotti bizantini e le origini dell’umanesimo. I. Manuelo
Crisolora. Florence: Vallecchi, 1941.
Campbell, Sheila D. The Malcove Collection: A Catalogue of the Objects in the Lillian
Malcove Collection of the University of Toronto. University of Toronto Press,
1985.
Candlin, Fiona and R. Guins (eds.). The Object Reader. In Sight: Visual Culture.
Abingdon: Routledge, 2008.
Canepa, Matthew. The Two Eyes of the Earth: Art and Ritual of Kingship between
Rome and Sasanian Iran. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2009.
Carile, Antonio. “Manuele Nothos Paleologo. Nota Prosopografica.” Thesaurismata,
12 (1975): 137–47.
Carile, Maria C. “Memories of Buildings? Messages in Late Antique Architectural
Representations.” In Angeliki Lymberopoulou (ed.), Images of the Byzantine
World: Visions, Messages, and Meanings, Studies Presented to Leslie Brubaker.
Farnham: Ashgate, 2011, 15–33.
Caro, Georg. Genova e la Supremazia sul Mediterraneo, 1257–1311. Genoa: Società
ligure di storia patria, 1974.
Carr, Annemarie Weyl. Byzantine Illumination 1150–1250: The Study of a Provincial
Tradition. University of Chicago Press, 1987.
“Court Culture and Cult Icons in Middle Byzantine Constantinople.” In Henry
Maguire (ed.), Byzantine Court Culture from 829 to 1204. Washington DC:
Dumbarton Oaks, 1997, 81–100.
“Donors in the Frames of the Icons: Living in the Borders of Byzantine Art.”
Gesta, 45(2) (2006): 189–98.
“Three Illuminated Chrysobulls of Andronikos II?” Nea Rhome, 6 (2009): 451–64.

Chadwick, Henry. East and West: The Making of a Rift in the Church: From Apostolic
Times until the Council of Florence. Oxford University Press, 2005.
Chapman, Conrad. Michel Paléologue, restaurateur de l’Empire byzantin (1261–
1282). Paris: Eugène Figuière, 1926.
Charanis, Peter. “Imperial Coronation in Byzantium: Some New Evidence.” Byzan-
tion, 8 (1976), 37–46.
Chatzidakis, Manolis and Stylianos Pelekanidis (eds.). Kastoria. Athens: Melissa,
1985.
Christiansen, Keith and Stefan Weppelmann (eds.). The Renaissance Portrait: From
Donatello to Bellini. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2011.
Christidou, Anna. “Ερευνώντας την ιστορία μέσα από άγνωστα βυζαντινά αυτοκρα-
τορικά πορτρέτα σε εκκλησίες της Αλβανίας,” in ΑΝΤΑΠΟΔΟΣΗ· Μελέτες
βυζαντινής και μεταβυζαντινής αρχαιολογίας και τέχνης προς τιμήν της καθηγή-
τριας Ελένης Δεληγιάννη-Δωρή (Athens, 2010), 537–63.
“Unknown Byzantine Art in the Balkan Area: Art, Power and Patronage in Twelfth
to Fourteenth-Century Churches in Albania.” Unpublished doctoral disserta-
tion, London, Courtauld Institute of Art, 2011.
Christys, Ann. “The Queen of the Franks Offers Gifts to the Caliph al-Mutafi’.”
In Wendy Davies and Paul Fouracre (eds.), The Languages of Gift in the Early
Middle Ages. Cambridge University Press, 2010, 149–70.
Chrysos, Euangelos (ed.). Byzantium as Oecumene. National Hellenic Research
Foundation, 2005.
Chrysostomides, Julian. “John V Palaeologus in Venice (1370–1371) and the Chron-
icle of Caroldo: A Re-interpretation.” OCP, 31 (1965): 76–84.
Classen, Peter. “Die Komnenen und die Kaiserkrone des Westens.” Journal of
Medieval History, 3 (1977): 214–20.
Cognasso, F. “Partiti politici e lotte dinastiche in Bisanzio alla morte di Manuele
Comneno.” Memorie della Reale Accademia delle scienze di Torino, 62 (1912):
213–317.
Cohen, Esther and Mayke B. de Jong (eds.). Medieval Transformations: Texts, Power,
and Gifts in Context. Leiden: Brill, 2001.
Colish, Marcia L. Medieval Foundations of the Western Intellectual Tradition, 400–
1400. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997.
Constantinides, Costas. Higher Education in Byzantium in the Thirteenth and Early
Fourteenth Centuries (1204–ca. 1310). Nicosia: Cyprus Research Centre, 1982.
Constantinidi, Chara. “Η Παναγία των Βλαχερνών ως εχέγγυο της δικαιοσύνης: Η
σφραγίδα του Σεκρέτου με τον Μιχαήλ Η’ Παλαιολόγο και ο Μιχαήλ Κακός
Σεναχηρείμ.” ΔΧΑΕ, 27 (2006): 445–54.
Cormack, Robin. “But is it Art?” In Jonathan Shepard and Simon Franklin
(eds.), Byzantine Diplomacy: Papers from the Twenty-fourth Spring Sympo-
sium of Byzantine Studies, Cambridge, March 1990. Aldershot: Ashgate, 1992,
219–36.

“Interpreting the Mosaics of S. Sophia at Istanbul.” ArtH, 4(2) (1981): 131–49.

Reprinted in Robin Cormack, The Byzantine Eye: Studies in Art and Patronage.
London: Variorum, 1989.
Cormack, Robin and Maria Vassilaki (eds.). Byzantium, 330–1453. London: Royal
Academy of Arts, 2008.
Cotsonis, John. “The Virgin and Justinian on Seals of the ‘Ekklesiekdikoi’ of Hagia
Sophia.” DOP, 56 (2002): 41–55.
Cozza-Luzi, Giuseppe. “Di un antico vessillo navale.” Dissertazioni della Pontificia
Accademia Romana di Archeologia, 2(3) (1890): 62–5.
Ćurčić, Slobodan. Gračanica: King Milutin’s Church and its Place in Late
Byzantine Architecture. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press,
1979.
“Late Byzantine Loca Santa? Some Questions Regarding the Form and Function
of Epitapioi.” In Slobodan Ćurčić and Doula Mouriki (eds.), The Twilight
of Byzantium: Aspects of Cultural and Religious History in the Late Byzantine
Empire: Papers from the Colloquium Held at Princeton University, 8–9 May 1989.
Princeton University Press, 1991, 251–61.
Ćurčić, Slobodan and Evangelia Hadjitryphonos (eds.). Architecture as Icon: Percep-
tion and Representation of Architecture in Byzantine Art. Princeton University
Art Museum, 2010.
Ćurčić, Slobodan and Doula Mouriki (eds.). The Twilight of Byzantium: Aspects of
Cultural and Religious History in the Late Byzantine Empire: Papers from the
Colloquium Held at Princeton University, 8–9 May 1989. Princeton University
Press, 1991.
Curta, Florin. “Merovingian and Carolingian Gift-Giving.” Speculum, 81(3) (2006):
671–99.
Cutler, Anthony. “Les échanges de dons entre Byzance et l’Islam (IXe–Xe siècles).”
Journal des Savants (1996): 51–66.
“Gifts and Gift Exchange as Aspects of Byzantine, Arab, and Related Economies.”
DOP, 55 (2001): 247–78.
The Hand of the Master: Craftsmanship, Ivory, and Society in Byzantium (9th–11th
Centuries). Princeton University Press, 1994.
“Legal Iconicity: Documentary Images, the Problem of Genre, and the Work of
the Beholder.” In Colum Hourihane (ed.), Byzantine Art: Recent Studies, Essays
in Honor of Lois Drewer. Turnhout: Brepols, 2009, 63–80.
“From Loot to Scholarship: Changing Modes in the Italian Response to Byzantine
Artifacts, ca. 1200–1750.” DOP, 49 (1995): 237–67.
“Reuse or Use?” Settimane di studio del centro italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo,
2 (1999): 1055–83.
“Significant Gifts: Patterns of Exchange in Late Antique, Byzantine, and Early
Islamic Diplomacy.” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies, 38(1)
(2008): 79–101.

Transfigurations: Studies in the Dynamics of Byzantine Iconography. University

Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1975.
“Under the Sign of Deesis: On the Question of Representativeness in Medieval
Art and Literature.” DOP, 1941 (1987): 145–54.
“Uses of Luxury: On the Functions of Consumption and Symbolic Capital in
Byzantine Culture.” In André Guillou and Jannic Durand (eds.), Byzance et les
images: cycle de conférences organisé au musée du Louvre par le Service culturel du
5 octobre au 7 décembre 1992. Paris: Doumentation française, 1994, 287–327.
Cutler, Anthony and Paul Magdalino. “Some Precisions on the Lincoln College
Typikon.” CA, 27 (1978): 179–98.
Dabrowska,
˛ Małgorzata. “Is There Any Room on the Bosporus for a Latin Lady?”
Byzantinoslavica/Revue internationale des études Byzantines, 12 (2008): 229–
39.
“Ought One to Marry? Manuel II Palaiologos’ Point of View.” BMGS, 31(2)
(2007): 146–56.
Dagron, Gilbert. Empereur et prêtre: étude sur le “césaropapisme” byzantine. Paris:
Gallimard, 1996. English translation by Jean Birrel as Emperor and Priest: The
Imperial Office in Byzantium. Cambridge University Press, 2003.
“Lawful Society and Legitimate Power: ´Εvvoμoϛ πoλιτεία, έvvoμoϛ άρχή.” In
Angeliki E. Laiou and Dieter Simon (eds.), Law and Society in Byzantium,
Ninth–Twelfth Centuries. Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1994, 27–51.
Davids, Adelbert. The Empress Theophano: Byzantium and the West at the Turn of
the First Millennium. Cambridge University Press, 1995.
Davies, Wendy and Paul Fouracre (eds.). The Languages of Gift in the Early Middle
Ages. Cambridge University Press, 2010.
Davis, John. “Manuel II Palaiologos’ A Depiction of Spring in a Dyed, Woven Hang-
ing.” In Charalambos Dendrinos, Jonathan Harris, Eirene Harvalia-Crook,
and Judith Herrin (eds.), Porphyrogenita: Essays on the History and Literature
of Byzantium and the Latin East in Honour of Julian Chrysostomides. Aldershot:
Ashgate, 2003, 411–21.
Day, Gerald W. “Byzantino-Genoese Diplomacy and the Collapse of Emperor
Manuel’s Western Policy, 1168–71.” Byzantion, 48(2) (1978): 393–405.
Genoa’s Response to Byzantium, 1155–1204: Commercial Expansion and Factualism
in a Medieval City. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1988.
Delaville Le Roulx, Joseph. La France en Orient au XIVe siècle. Expéditions du
Maréchal Boucicaut. Paris: E. Thorin, 1886.
Deletant, Dennis. “Genoese, Tatars and Rumanians at the Mouth of the Danube
in the Fourteenth Century.” Slavonic and East European Review, 62(4) (1984):
511–30.
Dennis, George. “The Byzantine-Turkish Treaty of 1403.” OCP, 33 (1967): 72–88.
“Imperial Panegyric: Rhetoric and Reality.” In Henry Maguire (ed.), Byzantine
Court Culture from 829 to 1204. Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1997,
131–40.

“Some Notes on the Correspondence of Manuel II Palaeologus.” CEB, 14 (1975):

67–73.
Derrida, Jacques. Dissemination, translated by Barbara Johnson. University of
Chicago Press, 1981.
Given Time: I, Counterfeit Money, translated by Peggy Kamuf. University of
Chicago Press, 1922.
Deshman, Robert. “The Exalted Servant: The Ruler Theology of the Prayerbook of
Charles the Bald.” Viator, 11 (1980): 394–417.
Desimoni, Cornelio. “I Genovesi e i loro quartieri in Costantinopoli nel secolo
XIII.” Giornale Linguistico di Archeologia, Storia e Belle Arti, 3 (1876): 217–
74.
Di Fabio, Clario. La Cattedrale di Genova nel medioevo, secoli VI–XIV. Genoa: Banca
CARIGE, 1998.
Dimitropoulou, Vassiliki. “Giving Gifts to God: Aspects of Patronage in Byzan-
tine Art.” In Liz James (ed.), A Companion to Byzantium. Hoboken: Wiley-
Blackwell, 2010, 161–70.
Dölger, Franz. Byzantinische Diplomatik: 20 Aufsätze zur Urkundenwesen der Byzan-
tiner. Ettal: Buch-Kunstverlag Ettal, 1956.
“Die dynastische Familienpolitik des Kaisers Michael VIII. Palaiologos, 1258–
1282.” In Martin Grabmann and Karl Hofmann (eds.), Festschrift Eduard
Eichmann zum 70. Geburtstag. Paderborn: Schöningh, 1940, 179–90. Reprinted
in Franz Dölger, Paraspora: 30 Aufsätze zur Geschichte, Kultur und Sprache des
byzantinischen Reiches. Munich: Buch-Kunstverlag Ettal, 1961, 178–88.
“Die Entwicklung der byzantinischen Kaisertitulatur und die Datierung von
Kaiserdarstellungen in der byzantinischen Kleinkunst.” In G. Mylonas and
D. Raymond (eds.), Studies Presented to David Moore Robinson on His Seventieth
Birthday. Saint Louis, 1953, 985–1005. Reprinted in Byzantinische Diplomatik:
20 Aufsätze zur Urkundenwesen der Byzantiner. Ettal: Buch-Kunstverlag Ettal,
1956.
“Die ‘Familie der Könige’ im Mittelalter.” Historisches Jahrbuch, 60 (1940): 397–
420.
“Johannes VII., Kaiser der Rhomäer 1390–1408.” BZ, 31 (1931): 21–36.
“Die Krönung Johannes VIII. Zum Mitkaiser.” BZ, 36 (1936): 318–19.
“Die zwei byzantinischen ‘Fahnen’ im Halberstädter Domschatz.” Beiträge zur
Geschichte der Philosophie und Theologie des Mittelalters, 3(2) (1935): 1351–60.
Dölger, Franz and Johannes Karayannopulos. Byzantinische Urkundenlehre.
Munich: Beck, 1968.
Dondaine, Hyacinthe François. Le Corpus Dionysien de l’Université de Paris au XIIIe
siècle. Rome: Edizioni di Storia e letteratura, 1953.
Drpić, Ivan. “Art, Hesychasm, and Visual Exegesis: Parisinus Graecus 1242 Revis-
ited.” DOP, 62 (2008): 217–47.
Dunn, Ross E. The Adventures of Ibn Battuta: A Muslim Traveler of the 14th Century.
Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989.

Durand, Jannic. “À propos du grand groupe en bronze de l’archange saint Michel et
de l’empereur Michel VIII Paléologue à Constantinople.” In Geneviève Bresc-
Bautier (ed.), La sculpture en occident: études offertes à Jean-René Gaborit. Dijon:
Faton, 2007, 47–57.
Durand, Jannic and Marie-Pierre Laffitte (eds.). Le Trésor de la Sainte-Chapelle.
Paris: Réunion des musées nationaux, 2001.
Đurić, Vojislav J. “Le nouveau Constantin dans l’art serbe médiéval.” Ιn Birgitt
Borkopp and Thomas Steppan (eds.), Λιθόστρωτον: Studien zur byzantinischen
Kunst und Geschichte: Festschrift für Marcell Restle. Stuttgart: A. Hiersemann,
2000, 55–65.
Dutton, Paul E. and Édouard Jeauneau. “The Verses of the ‘Codex Aureus’ of Saint-
Emmeram.” Studi medievali, 3(24) (1983): 75–120. Reprinted in Édouard
Jeauneau, Études érigéniennes. Paris: Études augustiniennes, 1987, 543–638.
Eastmond, Antony. Art and Identity in Thirteenth-Century Byzantium: Hagia Sophia
and the Empire of Trebizond. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004.
“Diplomatic Gifts: Women and Art as Imperial Commodities in the 13th Cen-
tury.” In Guillaume Saint-Guillain and Dionysios Stathakopoulos (eds.), Liquid
& Multiple: Individuals & Identities in the Thirteenth-Century Aegean. Paris:
ACHCByz, 2012, 105–34.
(ed.). Eastern Approaches to Byzantium: Papers from the Thirty-Third Spring Sym-
posium of Byzantine Studies, University of Warwick, Coventry, March 1999.
Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001.
“An Intentional Error? Imperial Art and ‘Mis’-Interpretation under Andronikos
I Komnenos.” ArtB, 76(3) (1994): 502–10.
Elsner, Jaś. Art and the Roman Viewer. Cambridge University Press, 1995.
Epstein, Steven A. Genoa and the Genoese, 958–1528. Chapel Hill: University of
North Carolina Press, 1996.
Purity Lost: Transgressing Boundaries in the Eastern Mediterranean, 1000–1400.
Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2007.
Estopañan, Sebastián C. Bizancio y España. La unión, Manuel II Paleólogo y sus
recuerdos en España. Barcelona: Impr. Elzeviriana y Lib. Camı́, 1952.
Evans, Helen C. (ed.). Byzantium: Faith and Power (1261–1557). New York:
Metropolitan Museum of Art; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004.
Evans, Helen C. and William D. Wixom (eds.). The Glory of Byzantium: Art and
Culture of the Middle Byzantine Era, A.D. 843–1261. New York: Metropolitan
Museum of Art, 1997.
Failler, Albert. “Les insignes et la signature du despote.” REB, 40 (1982): 171–86.
“La proclamation impériale de Michel VIII et d’Andronic II.” REB, 44 (1986):
237–51.
“Le second mariage d’Andronic II Palaiologos.” REB, 57 (1999): 225–35.
Falcone, Carla. “Il ‘Pallio’ bizantino di San Lorenzo a Genova: Una riconsider-
azione.” Arte cristiana, 84 (1996): 337–52.

Featherstone, Jeffrey M. “Olga’s Visit to Constantinople.” Harvard Ukrainian Stud-

ies, 14 (1990): 293–312.
“Olga’s Visit to Constantinople in De Cerimoniis.” REB, 61 (2003): 241–51.
Fennell, John. The Crisis of Medieval Russia, 1200–1304. London: Longman, 1983.
Fisher, Elizabeth A. “Manuel Holobolos, Alfred of Sareshal, and the Greek Translator
of ps.-Aristotle’s De Plantis.” Classica et mediaevalia, 57 (2006): 189–211.
“Planoudes, Holobolos, and the Motivation for Translation.” GRBS, 43 (2002):
77–104.
Flood, Finbarr B. “Image against Nature: Spolia as Apotropaia in Byzantium and
the Dar al-Islam.” Medieval History Journal, 9(1) (2006): 143–66.
Fögen, Marie Theres. “Kaiser unter Kirchenbann im östlichen und westlichen Mit-
telalter.” Rechtshistoriches Journal, 16 (1997): 527–49.
Fonkitch, Boris L. Manuscrits grecs dans les collections Européennes. Études
Paléographiques et Codicologiques. Moscow: Indrik, 1999.
Foskolou, Vassiliki. “‘In the Reign of the Emperor of Rome . . . ’: Donor Inscriptions
and Political Ideology in the Time of Michael VIII Paleologos.” ΔΧΑΕ, 27
(2006): 455–61.
Foss, Clive. Nicaea: A Byzantine Capital and its Praises. Brookline, MA: Hellenic
College Press, 1996.
Franklin, Simon. “The Empire of the Rhomaioi as Viewed from Kievan Russia:
Aspects of Byzantino-Russian Cultural Relations.” Byzantion, 53 (1983): 507–
37. Reprinted in Simon Frankin, Byzantium – Rusʹ– Russia: Studies in the
Translation of Christian Culture. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2002.
Galavaris, G. Holy Monastery of Iveron: Illustrated Manuscripts. Mount Athos: The
Monastery, 2002.
Gallina, Mario. “Novus Constantinus – Νέος Κωνσταντίνος: Temi di memoria
costantiniana nella propaganda imperial a Bisanzio.” Annali della Facoltà di
Lettere e Filosofia, 27 (1994): 33–56.
Gamillscheg, Ernst. “Zur Rekonstruktion einer Konstantinopolitaner Bibliothek.”
Rivista di Studi Bizantini e Slavi, 1 (1981): 283–93.
Gaul, Niels. “The Partridge’s Purple Stockings: Observations on the Historical, Lit-
erary and Manuscript Context of Pseudo-Kodinos’ Handbook on Court Cere-
monial.” In Michael Grünbart (ed.), Theatron. Rhetorische Kultur in Spätantike
und Mittelalter. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2007, 69–104.
Gautier, Paul. “Action de grâces de Démétrius Chrysoloras à la Théotocos pour
l’anniversaire de la bataille d’Ankara (28 juillet 1403).” REB, 19 (1961): 340–
57.
“Un récit inédit du siège de Constantinople par les Turcs.” REB, 23 (1965):
100–17.
Gavrilović, Zaga. “The Humiliation of Leo VI the Wise.” CA, 28 (1979): 87–94.
Geanakoplos, Deno J. “The Byzantine Recovery of Constantinople from the Latins
in 1261: A Chrysobull of Michael VIII Palaeologus in Favor of Hagia Sophia.”

In Continuity and Discontinuity in Church History: Essays Presented to George

Huntston Williams on the Occasion of his 65th Birthday. Leiden: Brill, 1979,
104–17. Reprinted in Deno J. Geanakoplos, Constantinople and the West:
Essays on the Late Byzantine (Paleologan) and Italian Renaissances and the
Byzantine and Roman Churches. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1989,
173–88.
Constantinople and the West: Essays on the Late Byzantine (Paleologan) and Italian
Renaissances and the Byzantine and Roman Churches. Madison: University of
Wisconsin Press, 1989.
Emperor Michael Palaeologus and the West, 1258–1282: A Study in Byzantine-Latin
Relations. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1959.
“Greco-Latin Relations on the Eve of Byzantine Restoration: The Battle of Pelag-
onia, 1259.” DOP, 7 (1953): 99–141.
“The Nicene Revolution of 1258 and the Usurpation of Michael III Palaeologos.”
Traditio, 9 (1953): 420–30.
Geary, Patrick J. Furta Sacra: Thefts of Relics in the Central Middle Ages. Princeton
University Press, 1978.
Gell, Alfred. Art and Agency: An Anthropological Theory. Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1998.
Gerola, Giuseppe. “Le vedute di Costantinopoli di Cristoforo Buondelmonti.” Studi
Bizantini e Neoellenici, 3 (1931): 247–79.
Gerstel, Sharon E.J. “Civic and Monastic Influences on Church Decoration in Late
Byzantine Thessalonike.” DOP, 57 (2003): 225–39.
Gibelli, Alberto. Monografia dell’antico monastero di S. Croce Avellana. Faenza: Conti,
1895.
Gill, Joseph. “The Church Union of the Council of Lyons (1274) Portrayed in Greek
Documents.” OCP, 40 (1974): 5–45.
“John V Palaeologus at the Court of Louis I of Hungary (1366).” BSl, 38 (1977):
30–8.
“John VIII Palaeologus: A Character Study.” In Silloge Bizantina in onore di Silvio
Giuseppe Mercati. Rome: Associazione Nazionale per gli Studi Bizantini, 1957,
104–24. Reprinted in Personalities of the Council of Florence and Other Essays.
Oxford: Blackwell, 1965.
“Matrons and Brides of Fourteenth Century Byzantium.” ByzF, 9 (1985): 39–56.
“Venice, Genoa and Byzantium.” ByzF, 10 (1985): 57–73.
Gilsdorf, Sean. “Deesis Deconstructed: Imagining Intercession in the Medieval
West.” Viator, 43(1) (2012): 131–74.
Godelier, Maurice. L’Énigme du don. Paris: Fayard, 1996. Translated into English as
The Enigma of the Gift. University of Chicago Press, 1999.
Gordon, Stewart (ed.). Robes of Honor: The Medieval World of Investiture. New York:
Palgrave, 2001.
Gorse, George L. “A Classical Stage for the Old Nobility: The Strada Nuova and
Sixteenth-Century Genoa.” ArtB, 79 (1997): 301–27.

Gounaridis, Paris. “‘Grecs’, ‘Hellènes’ et ‘Romains’ dans l’état Nicée.” In Vasilēs

Kremmydas, Chrysa A. Maltezou, and Nikolaos M. Panagiōtakēs (eds.), Αφιέρ-
ωμα στον Νίκο Σβορώνο, vol. 1. Rethymno: Panepistēmio Krētēs, 1986, 248–57.
Grabar, André. L’empereur dans l’art byzantin. Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1936 [1971].
“Études critiques.” CA, 17 (1967): 251–4.
“God and the ‘Family of Princes’ Presided Over by the Byzantine Emperor.”
Harvard Slavic Studies, 2 (1954): 117–23. Reprinted in André Grabar, L’art de
la fin de l’antiquité et du moyen âge, vol. I. Paris: Collège de France, 1968.
L’iconoclasme byzantin: dossier archéologique. Paris: Collège de France, 1957.
Les origines de l’esthétique médiévale. Paris: Macula, 1992.
“Des peintures byzantines de 1408 au Musée du Louvre.” In Pierre Gallais and Yves
J. Riou (eds.), Mélanges offerts à René Crozet à l’occasion de son soixante-dixième
anniversaire, vol. 2. Poitiers: Société d’études médiévales, 1966, 1355–8.
“Plotin et les origines de l’esthétique médiévale.” CA, 1 (1945): 15–34. Reprinted
in André Grabar, L’art de la fin de l’antiquité et du moyen âge, vol. I. Paris:
Collège de France, 1968.
Portraits oubliés d’empereurs byzantins in Recueil publié à l’occasion du cent-
cinquantenaire de la société Nationale des Antiquaires de France, 1804–1954.
Paris: Librairie C. Klincksieck, 1955. Reprinted in André Grabar, L’art de la fin
de l’antiquité et du moyen âge, vol. I. Paris: Collège de France, 1968.
“Pseudo-Codinos et les cérémonies de la Cour byzantine au XIVe siècle.” In
Art et Société à Byzance sous les Paléologues: Actes du Colloque organisé par
l’association internationale des études byzantines à Venise en Septembre 1968.
Venice: L’Institut Hellénique d’Études byzantines et post-byzantines de Venise,
1971, 193–221.
“Une pyxide en ivoire à Dumbarton Oaks. Quelques notes sur l’art profane
pendant les derniers siècles de l’Empire byzantin.” DOP, 14 (1960): 121–46.
Reprinted in André Grabar, L’art de la fin de l’antiquité et du moyen âge, vol. I.
Paris: Collège de France, 1968.
“La représentation de l’Intelligible dans l’art byzantin du Moyen Âge.” In Actes du
VIe Congrès international des Études byzantines, vol. 2. Paris: École des hautes
études à la Sorbonne, 1950–1, 127–43. Reprinted in André Grabar, L’art de la
fin de l’antiquité et du moyen âge, vol. I. Paris: Collège de France, 1968.
“Une source d’inspiration de l’iconographie byzantine tardive: Les cérémonies
du culte de la Vierge.” CA, 25 (1976): 143–62.
Graeber, David. Toward an Anthropological Theory of Value: The False Coin of Our
Own Dream. New York: Palgrave, 2001.
Gregory, Chris A. Gifts and Commodities. London: Academic Press, 1982.
Grierson, Philip. Byzantine Coins. London: Methuen, 1982.
Groebner, Valentine. Gefährliche Geschenke: Ritual, Politik und die Sprache der
Korruption in der Eidgenossenschaft im späten Mittelalter und am Beginn der
Neuzeit. Konstanz: UVK Universitätsverlag Konstanz, 2000. Translated into
English by Pamela E. Selwyn as Liquid Assets, Dangerous Gifts: Presents and

Politics at the End of the Middle Ages. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania

Press, 2002.
Grünbart, Michael (ed.). Geschenke erhalten die Freundschaft: Gabentausch und
Netzwerkpflege im europäischen Mittelalter: Akten des internationalen Kolloqui-
ums Münster, 19.–20. November 2009. Berlin: Lit, 2001.
Guilland, Rodolphe. “Autour du Livre des Cérémonies de Constantin VII Porphy-
rogénète. La cérémonie de la προσκύνησις.” REG (1946–7): 251–9. Reprinted
in Rodolphe Guilland, Recherches sur les institutions Byzantines. Amsterdam:
Hakkert, 1967.
“Le Despote (ὁ δεσπότης).” REB, 17 (1959): 52–89.
“La destinée des empereurs de Byzance.” EEBΣ, 24 (1954): 37–66.
“Études sur Constantinople byzantine: le Puits-Sacré.” JÖBG, 5 (1956): 35–40.
Recherches sur les institutions byzantines. Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1967.
“Le Thomaı̈tès et le Patriarcat.” JÖBG, 5 (1956): 29–40.
Guillou, André. “Inscriptions byzantines d’Italie sur tissu.” In Irmgard Hutter and
Ihor Ševčenko (eds.), Aetos: Studies in Honour of Cyril Mango Presented to Him
on April 14, 1998. Stuttgart: Teubner, 1998, 174–6.
Recueil des inscriptions grecques médiévales d’Italie. Rome: Ecole Française de
Rome, 1996.
Guillou, André and Jannic Durand (eds.). Byzance et les images: cycle de conférences
organisé au musée du Louvre par le Service culturel du 5 octobre au 7 décembre
1992. Paris: Documentation française, 1994.
Hahnloser, Hans R. Il Tesoro di San Marco. Florence: Sansoni, 1971.
Haldon, John F. The State and the Tributary Mode of Production. London and New
York: Verso, 1993.
Halecki, Oskar. Un empereur de Byzance à Rome: vingt ans de travail pour l’union des
églises et pour la défense de l’Empire d’Orient, 1355–1375. London: Variorum
Reprints, 1972 [Warsaw, 1930].
“Two Palaeologi in Venice, 1370–71.” Byzantion, 17 (1944–5): 331–5.
Halperin, Charles. Russia and the Golden Horde. The Mongol Impact on
Medieval Russian History, 980–1584. Bloomington: Indiana University Press,
1985.
Hamilton, Alastair. “Eastern Churches and Western Scholarship.” In Anthony
Grafton (ed.), Rome Reborn: The Vatican Library and Renaissance Culture.
New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993, 225–49.
Harrington, L. Michael (ed. and trans.). A Thirteenth-Century Textbook of the Mys-
tical Theology at the University of Paris. Leuven: Peeters, 2004.
Hathaway, Ronald F. Hierarchy and the Definition of Order in the Letters of Pseudo-
Dionysius. The Hague: Nijhoff, 1969.
Heisenberg, August. Aus der Geschichte und Literatur der Palaiologenzeit. Munich:
Verlag der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1920.
Hendy, Michael F. Studies in the Byzantine Monetary Economy, c. 300–1450. Cam-
bridge University Press, 1985.

Hennessy, Cecily J. “A Child Bride and Her Representation in the Vatican Epithala-
mion, Cod. Gr. 1851.” BMGS, 30(2) (2006): 115–50.
Herman, Menahem. “Tithe as Gift: The Biblical Institution in Light of Mauss’s
‘Prestation Theory.’” Association for Jewish Studies Review, 18(1) (1993): 51–
73.
Hetherington, Paul. “The Jewels from the Crown: Symbol and Substance in the
Later Byzantine Imperial Regalia.” BZ, 96(1) (2003): 157–68.
“A Purchase of Byzantine Relics and Reliquaries in Fourteenth-Century Venice.”
Arte Veneta, 37 (1983): 9–30.
Hilsdale, Cecily J. “Constructing a Byzantine Augusta: A Greek Book for a French
Bride.” ArtB, 87(3) (2005): 458–83.
“Gift.” Studies in Iconography, 33 (2012): 171–82.
“The Imperial Image at the End of Exile: The Byzantine Embroidered Silk in
Genoa and the Treaty of Nymphaion (1261).” DOP, 64 (2010): 151–99.
“The Social Life of the Byzantine Gift: The Royal Crown of Hungary Re-Invented.”
ArtH, 31(5) (2008): 602–31.
Hoffman, Eva R. “Pathways to Portability: Islamic and Christian Interchange from
the Tenth to the Twelfth Century.” Art History, 24(1) (2001): 17–50.
Hörander, Wolfram. “Court Poetry: Questions of Motifs, Structure and Function.”
In Elizabeth Jeffreys (ed.), Rhetoric in Byzantium. Aldershot: Variorum, 2003,
75–86.
Horujy, Sergey S. (ed.). Hesychasm: An Annotated Bibliography. Moscow, 2004.
Hunger, Herbert. “Die Herrschaft des ‘Buchstabens’: Das Verhältnis der Byzantiner
zu Schrift- und Kanzleiwesen.” ΔXΑΕ, 12 (1984): 17–38.
Hussey, Joan M. The Orthodox Church in the Byzantine Empire. Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1986.
Hutter, Irmgard. Byzanz und der Westen: Studien zur Kunst des europäischen Mittel-
alters. Vienna: Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1984.
“Die Geschichte des Lincoln College Typikons.” JÖB, 45 (1995): 79–114.
Iacobini, Antonio and Mauro della Valle (eds.). L’arte di Bisanzio e l’Italia al tempo
dei Paleologi, 1261–1453. Rome: Argos, 1999 [Milion 5].
Iliescu, Octavian. “Le dernier hyperpère de l’empire byzantin de Nicée.” BSl, 26
(1965): 94–9.
Izeddin, Mehmed. “Ibn Battouta et la topographie byzantine.” CEB, 2 (1950):
191–6.
Jacoby, David. “Byzantium, the Italian Maritime Powers, and the Black Sea Before
1204.” BZ, 100(2) (2007): 677–99.
“Genoa, Silk Trade and Silk Manufacture in the Mediterranean Region (ca. 1100–
1300).” In Anna Rosa Calderoni Masetti, Clario Di Fabio, and Mario Marce-
naro (eds.), Tessuti, oreficerie, miniature in Liguria, XIII–XV secolo. Bordighera:
Istituto internazionale di studi liguri, 1999, 11–40. Reprinted in David Jacoby,
Commercial Exchange Across the Mediterranean: Byzantium, the Crusader Lev-
ant, and Italy. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005.

“Italian Privileges and Trade in Byzantium Before the Fourth Crusade: A Recon-
sideration.” Annuario de Estudios Medievales, 24 (1994): 349–68. Reprinted in
David Jacoby, Trade, Commodities, and Shipping in the Medieval Mediterranean.
Aldershot: Variorum, 1997.
“Late Byzantium between the Mediterranean and Asia: Trade and Material Cul-
ture.” In Sarah T. Brooks (ed.), Byzantium: Faith and Power (1261–1557).
Perspectives on Late Byzantine Art and Culture. New Haven: Yale University
Press, 2006, 20–41.
“The Production of Silk Textiles in Latin Greece.” In Chrysa A. Maltezou and
Charis A. Kalliga (eds.), Τεχνογνωσία στη λατινοκρατούμενη Ελλάδα [Tech-
nology in Latin-Occupied Greece]. Athens: ETBA, 2000, 22–35. Reprinted in
David Jacoby, Commercial Exchange Across the Mediterranean: Byzantium, the
Crusader Levant, and Italy. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005.
“Silk Crosses the Mediterranean.” In Gabriella Airaldi (ed.), Le vie del Mediterra-
neo: Idee, uomini, oggetti (secoli XI–XVI). Genoa: ECIG, 1997, 35–79. Reprinted
in David Jacoby, Byzantium, Latin Romania, and the Mediterranean. Aldershot:
Ashgate, 2001.
“Silk Economics and Cross-Cultural Artistic Interaction: Byzantium, the Muslim
World, and the Christian West.” DOP, 58 (2004): 197–240.
“Silk in Western Byzantium Before the Fourth Crusade.” BZ, 84–5 (1991–2):
452–500. Reprinted in David Jacoby, Trade, Commodities, and Shipping in the
Medieval Mediterranean. Aldershot: Ashgate, 1997, article VII.
“The Silk Trade of Late Byzantine Constantinople.” In Sümer Arasoy, İstanbul
Üniversitesi 550. Yıl, Uluslararası Bizans Ve Osmanlı Sempozyumu (XV. Yüzyıl):
30–31 Mayıs 2003. Istanbul: İstanbul Üniversitesi, 2004, 130–44.
“The Venetian Quarter of Constantinople from 1082 to 1261, Topographical
Considerations.” In Claudia Sode and Sarolta A. Takács, Novum Millennium:
Studies on Byzantine History and Culture Dedicated to Paul Speck, 19 December
1999. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001, 153–70.
Jacoff, Michael. The Horses of San Marco and the Quadriga of the Lord. Princeton
University Press, 1993.
Jäggi, Carola. “Donator oder Fundator? Zur Genese des monumentalen Stifter-
bildes.” Georges-Bloch-Jahrbuch des Kunsthistorischen Instituts der Universität
Zürich, 9–10 (2002–3): 26–45.
James, Liz (eds.). Art and Text in Byzantine Culture. Cambridge University Press,
2007.
“Bearing Gifts from the East: Imperial Relic Hunters Abroad.” In Antony East-
mond (ed.), Eastern Approaches to Byzantium. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001, 119–
32.
“‘Pray Not to Fall into Temptation and Be on Your Guard’: Pagan Statues in
Christian Constantinople.” Gesta, 35 (1996): 12–20.
James, Liz and Ruth Webb. “‘To Understand Ultimate Things and to Enter Secret
Places’: Ekphrasis and Art in Byzantium.” ArtH, 14 (1991): 1–17.

Janeras, Sebastià. Le vendredi-Saint dans la tradition liturgique byzantine: structure

et histoire de ses offices. Rome: Pontificio Anteno S. Anselmo, 1988.
Janin, Raymond. “Le palais patriarchal de Constantinople Byzantine.” REB, 20
(1962): 131–55.
Jeauneau, Édouard. “L’Abbaye de Saint-Denis introductrice de Denys en Occident.”
In Ysabel de Andia (ed.), Denys l’aréopagite et sa postérité en Orient et en
Occident. Paris: Institut d’études augustiniennes, 1997, 361–78.
“Jean Scot Érigène et le grec.” Archivum Latinitatis Medii Aevi, 41 (1979): 5–50.
Reprinted in Édouard Jeauneau, Études érigéniennes. Paris: Institute d’études
augustiniennes, 1987, 85–132.
Jeffreys, Elizabeth (ed.), with John Haldon and Robin Cormack. The Oxford Hand-
book of Byzantine Studies. New York: Oxford University Press, 2008.
Jeffreys, Michael. “The Comnenian Prokypsis.” Parergon, 5 (1987): 38–53.
Johnstone, Pauline. “The Byzantine ‘Pallio’ in the Palazzo Bianco at Genoa.” Gazette
des Beaux Arts, 87 (1976): 99–108.
The Byzantine Tradition in Church Embroidery. Chicago: Argonaut, 1967.
Kafescioğlu, Çiğdem. Constantinopolis/Istanbul: Cultural Encounter, Imperial Vision,
and the Construction of the Ottoman Capital. University Park: Pennsylvania
State University Press, 2009.
Kalavrezou, Ioli (ed.). Byzantine Women and Their World. New Haven: Yale Univer-
sity Press, 2003.
Kalavrezou, Ioli, Nicolette Trahoulia, and Shalom Sabar. “Critique of the Emperor
in the Vatican Psalter gr. 752.” DOP, 47 (1993): 195–219.
Kaldellis, Anthony. Hellenism in Byzantium: The Transformations of Greek Identity
and the Reception of the Classical Tradition. Cambridge University Press, 2007.
“Historicism in Byzantine Thought and Literature.” DOP, 61 (2007): 1–24.
Kalopissi-Verti, Sophia. “Church Inscriptions as Documents: Chrysobulls – Eccle-
siastical Acts – Inventories – Donations – Wills.” ΔΧΑΕ, 24 (2003): 79–88.
Dedicatory Inscriptions and Donor Portraits in Thirteenth-Century Churches of
Greece. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften,
1992.
“Patronage and Artistic Production in Byzantium during the Palaiologan Period.”
In Sarah T. Brooks (ed.), Byzantium: Faith and Power (1261–1557). Perspectives
on Late Byzantine Art and Culture. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006, 76–
97.
Kambourova, Tania. “Ktitor: le sens du don des panneaux votifs dans le monde
byzantin.” Byzantion, 78 (2008): 261–87.
“Pouvoir et prière dans les images byzantines de don.” RESEE, 46 (2008): 135–
50.
Kantorowicz, Ernst H. “On the Golden Marriage Belt and the Marriage Rings of the
Dumbarton Oaks Collection.” DOP, 14 (1960): 1–16.
“The ‘King’s Advent’ and the Enigmatic Panels in the Doors of Santa Sabina.”
ArtB, 26(4) (1944): 207–31.

The King’s Two Bodies: A Study in Mediaeval Political Theology. Princeton Uni-
versity Press, 1957 [reprinted 1997].
“Oriens Augusti, lever du roi.” DOP, 17 (1963): 117–77.
Karakatsanis, Athanasios A. (ed.). Treasures of Mount Athos. Thessaloniki: Ministry
of Culture, Museum of Byzantine Culture, 1997.
Kartsonis, Anna D. Anastasis: The Making of an Image. Princeton University Press,
1986.
Kastritsis, Dimitris J. “Religious Affiliations and Political Alliances in the Ottoman
Succession Wars of 1402–1413.” Medieval Encounters, 13 (2007): 222–42.
Kazhdan, Alexander P. “Rus’-Byzantine Princely Marriages in the Eleventh and
Twelfth Centuries.” Harvard Ukrainian Studies, 12–13 (1988–9): 414–29.
Kazhdan, Alexander P. and Michael McCormick. “The Social World of the Byzantine
Court.” In Henry Maguire (ed.), Byzantine Court Culture from 829 to 1204.
Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1997, 167–98.
Kepetzi, Victoria. “Empereur, piété et remission des péchés dans deux ekphraseis
byzantines. Image et rhétorique.” ΔXΑΕ, 20 (1999): 231–44.
Kianka, Frances. “The Apology of Demetrius Cydones: A Fourteenth-Century Auto-
biographical Source.” Byzantine Studies/Études Byzantines, 7 (1980): 57–71.
“Byzantine-Papal Diplomacy: The Role of Demetrios Kydones.” International
History Review, 7(2) (1985): 175–215.
“Demetrios Kydones and Italy.” DOP, 49 (1995): 99–110.
“The Letters of Demetrios Kydones to Empress Helena Kantakouzene
Palaiologina.” DOP, 46 (1992): 155–64.
Kidonopoulos, Vassilios. Bauten in Konstantinopel, 1204–1328: Verfall und
Zerstörung, Restaurierung, Umbau und Neubau von Profan- und Sakralbauten.
Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 1994.
“The Urban Physiognomy of Constantinople from the Latin Conquest through
the Palaiologan Era.” In Sarah T. Brooks (ed.), Byzantium: Faith and Power
(1261–1557). Perspectives on Late Byzantine Art and Culture. New Haven: Yale
University Press, 2006, 98–117.
Kidson, Peter. “Panofsky, Suger, and St. Denis.” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld
Institutes, 50 (1987): 1–17.
Kitzinger, Ernst. “Reflections on the Feast Cycle in Byzantine Art.” CA, 36 (1988):
51–73.
Klein, Holger A. “Eastern Objects and Western Desires: Relics and Reliquaries
between Byzantium and the West.” DOP, 58 (2004): 283–314.
Koder, Johannes. “Griechische Identitäten im Mittelalter: Aspekte einer Entwick-
lung.” In A. Avramea, A. E. Laiou, and E. Chrysos (eds.), Βυζάντιο κράτος και.
κοινωνία. Μνήμη Νίκου Οικονομίδη. Athens: Institouto Vyzantinō Ereunōn, 2003,
297–316.
Kovalchuk, Kateryna. “The Founder as a Saint: The Image of Justinian I in the Great
Church of St Sophia.” Byzantion, 77 (2007): 205–38.

Kubinski, Joyce. “Orientalizing Costume in Early Fifteenth-Century French

Manuscript Painting (Cité des Dames Master, Limbourg Brothers, Boucicaut
Master, and Bedford Master).” Gesta, 40(2) (2001): 161–80.
Lafontaine-Dosogne, Jacqueline. “L’illustration de la première partie de l’Hymne
Akathiste et sa relation avec les mosaı̈ques de l’Enfance de la Kariye Djami.”
Byzantion, 54 (1984): 648–702.
Laiou, Angeliki. “The Byzantine Aristocracy in the Palaeologan Period: A Story of
Arrested Development.” Viator, 4 (1973): 131–51.
“Byzantium and the Neighboring Powers: Small-State Policies and Complexities.”
In Sarah T. Brooks (ed.), Byzantium: Faith and Power (1261–1557). Perspectives
on Late Byzantine Art and Culture. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006, 42–
53.
Constantinople and the Latins: The Foreign Policy of Andronicus II, 1282–1328.
Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1972.
(ed.). The Economic History of Byzantium: From the Seventh through the Fifteenth
Century. Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2002.
(ed.). Urbs Capta: The Fourth Crusade and its Consequences. Paris: Lethielleux,
2005.
Laiou, Angeliki E. and Dieter Simon (eds.). Law and Society in Byzantium, Ninth–
Twelfth Centuries. Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1994.
Laiou-Thomadakis, Angeliki. “The Byzantine Economy in the Mediterranean Trade
System, 13th to 15th Centuries.” DOP, 34–5 (1980–1): 177–222. Reprinted in
Angeliki Laiou-Thomadakis, Gender, Society, and Economic Life in Byzantium.
Aldershot: Ashgate, 1992.
Lalande, Denis (ed.). Le Livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre, dit Bouciquaut,
mareschal de France et gouverneur de Jennes. Geneva: Droz, 1985.
Lamakis, S., Maria Leontsini, and Telemachos Lounghis (eds.). Byzantine Diplo-
macy: A Seminar. Athens: National Printing House, 2007.
Lamberz, Erich. “Das Geschenk des Kaisers Manuel II. an der Kloster Saint-Denis
und der ‘Metochitisschreiber’ Michael Klostomalles.” Ιn Birgitt Borkopp and
Thomas Steppan (eds.), Λιθόστρωτον: Studien zur byzantinischen Kunst und
Geschichte: Festschrift für Marcell Restle. Stuttgart: A. Hiersemann, 2000, 155–
65.
Lamoreaux, John C. and Paul Rorem. John of Scythopolis and the Dionysian Corpus:
Annotating the Areopagite. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998.
Lampros, Spyridon. Λεύκωμα Βυζαντινῶν αὐτοκρατόρων. Athens: Eleutheroudakēs,
1930.
Latour, Bruno. Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network-Theory.
Oxford University Press, 2005.
Laurent, Vitalien. “Les grandes crises religieuses à Byzance: la fin du schisme
Arsénite.” Bulletin de la Section historique, Académie roumaine, 26 (1945):
225–313.

“Le sébastocrator Constantin Ange et le peplum du musée de Saint-Marc à

Venise.” REB, 18 (1960): 208–13.
Laurent, Vitalien and J. Darrouzès. Dossier grec de l’Union de Lyon 1273–1277. Paris:
Institut français d’études byzantines, 1976.
Leader, Ruth E. “The David Plates Revisited: Transforming the Secular in Early
Byzantium.” ArtB, 82(3) (2000): 407–27.
Leader-Newby, Ruth E. Silver and Society in Late Antiquity. Aldershot: Ashgate,
2003.
Legrand, Émile. Lettres de l’empereur Manuel Paléologue publiées d’après trois
manuscrits. Amsterdam: Adolf M. Hakkert, 1962.
Lehmann, Phyllis Williams. “Letters to the Editor.” ArtB, 41(4) (1959): 356–8.
“Theodosius or Justinian? A Renaissance Drawing of a Byzantine Rider.” ArtB,
41(1) (1959): 39–57.
Leonte, Florin. “Advice and Praise for the Ruler: Making Political Strategies in
Manuel II Palaiologos’s Dialogue on Marriage.” In Savaas Neocleous (ed.),
Papers from the First and Second Postgraduate Forums in Byzantine Studies.
Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2009, 163–82.
Lidov, Alexei. Hierotopy: The Creation of Sacred Spaces in Byzantium and Medieval
Russia. Moscow: Indrik, 2006.
Loenertz, Raymond-Joseph. “Jean V Paléologue à Venise (1370–1371).” REB, 16
(1958): 217–32.
“La Légende parisienne de S. Denys l’Aréopagite. Sa genèse et son premier
témoin.” Analecta Bollandiana, 69 (1951): 217–37. Reprinted in Raymond-
Joseph Loenertz, Byzantina et Franco-Graeca: articles parus de 1935 à 1966.
Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1970, 163–83.
“Le panégyrique de S. Denys l’Aréopagite par S. Michel le Syncelle.”Analecta
Bollandiana, 68 (1950): 94–107. Reprinted in Raymond-Joseph Loenertz,
Byzantina et Franco-Graeca: articles parus de 1935 à 1966. Rome: Edizioni
di storia e letteratura, 1970, 149–62.
Lopez, Robert S. “Silk Industry in the Byzantine Empire.” Speculum, 20(1) (1945):
1–42. Reprinted in Robert S. Lopez, Byzantium and the World Around it:
Economic and Institutional Relations. London: Variorum, 1978.
Lounghis, Telemachos. Les ambassades byzantines en Occident: depuis la fondation
des états barbares jusqu’aux Croisades (407–1096). Athens: Typografia KM,
1980.
Louth, Andrew. Denys the Areopagite. Wilton, CT: Morehouse-Barlow, 1989.
“St Denys the Areopagite and the Iconoclast Controversy.” In Ysabel de Andia
(ed.), Denys l’aréopagite et sa postérité en Orient et en Occident. Paris: Institut
d’études augustiniennes, 1997, 329–39.
Louth, Andrew and Augustine Casiday (eds.). Byzantine Orthodoxies: Papers from
the Thirty-Sixth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, University of Durham,
23–25 March 2002. Aldershot: Variorum, 2006.

Lowden, John. “Illustrated Octateuch Manuscripts: A Byzantine Phenomenon.” In

Paul Magdalino and Robert S. Nelson (eds.), The Old Testament in Byzantium.
Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2010, 107–52.
“The Luxury Book as Diplomatic Gift.” In Jonathan Shepard and Simon Franklin
(eds.), Byzantine Diplomacy: Papers from the Twenty-Fourth Spring Symposium
of Byzantine Studies, Cambridge, March 1990. Aldershot: Ashgate, 1992, 249–
60.
The Octateuchs: A Study in Byzantine Manuscript Illumination. University Park:
Pennsylvania State University Press, 1992.
“The Production of the Vatopedi Octateuch.” DOP, 36 (1982): 115–26.
MacCormack, Sabine G. Art and Ceremony in Late Antiquity. Berkeley: University
of California Press, 1981.
MacGeer, Eric (ed.). Catalogue of the Byzantine Seals at Dumbarton Oaks and in the
Fogg Museum of Art, vol. 5. Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2005.
Macrides, Ruth J. “From the Komnenoi to the Palaiologoi: Imperial Models in
Decline and Exile.” In Paul Magdalino (ed.), New Constantines: The Rhythm
of Imperial Renewal in Byzantium, 4th–13th Centuries: Papers from the Twenty-
Sixth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, St. Andrews, March 1992. Alder-
shot: Variorum, 1994.
“Killing, Asylum, and the Law in Byzantium.” Speculum, 63(3) (1988): 509–38.
Reprinted in Ruth J. Macrides, Kinship and Justice in Byzantium, 11th–15th
Centuries. Aldershot: Ashgate, 1999.
“The New Constantine and the New Constantinople – 1261?” BMGS, 6 (1980):
13–41.
“The Ritual of Petition.” In Panagiotis Roilos and Dimitrios Yatromanolakis
(eds.), Greek Ritual Poetics. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004,
356–70.
“Saints and Sainthood in the Early Palaiologan Period.” In Sergei Hackel (ed.),
The Byzantine Saint. Crestwood, NY: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2001, 67–
87.
(ed.). Travel in the Byzantine World. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2002.
Macrides, Ruth J. and Paul Magdalino. “The Fourth Kingdom and the Rhetoric
of Hellenism.” In Paul Magdalino (ed.), The Perception of the Past in Twelfth-
Century Europe. London: Hambledon Press, 1992, 139–56.
Magdalino, Paul. “Byzantine Churches of Selymbria.” DOP, 32 (1978): 309–18.
Constantinople médiévale. Études sur l’évolution des structures urbaines. Paris: De
Boccard, 1996.
“L’église du Phare et les reliques de la Passion à Constantinople (VIIe/VIIIe-XIIIe
siècles).” In Jannic Durand and Bernard Flusin (eds.), Byzance et les reliques
du Christ. Paris: Association des Amis du Centre d’Histoire et Civilisations de
Byzance, 2004, 15–30.
The Empire of Manuel I Komnenos, 1143–1180. Cambridge University Press, 1993.

“Hellenism and Nationalism in Byzantium.” In J. Burke and S. Gauntlett (eds.),

Neohellenism. Canberra: Australian National University Press, 1992, 1–29.
Reprinted in Paul Magdalino, Tradition and Transformation in Medieval Byzan-
tium. Aldershot: Variorum, 1991.
“Manuel Komnenos and the Great Palace.” BMGS, 4 (1978): 110–13.
“The Maritime Neighborhoods of Constantinople: Commercial and Residen-
tial Functions, Sixth to Twelfth Century.” DOP, 55 (2001): 209–26. Reprinted
in Paul Magdalino, Studies on the History and Topography of Byzantine Con-
stantinople. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007.
Studies on the History and Topography of Byzantine Constantinople. Aldershot:
Ashgate, 2007.
Tradition and Transformation in Medieval Byzantium. Aldershot: Variorum, 1991.
Magdalino, Paul and Robert S. Nelson. “The Emperor in Byzantine Art of the Twelfth
Century.” ByzF, 8 (1982): 123–83. Reprinted in Paul Magdalino, Tradition and
Transformation in Medieval Byzantium. Aldershot: Variorum, 1991.
(eds.). The Old Testament in Byzantium. Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks,
2010.
Maguire, Henry. “The Art of Comparing in Byzantium.” ArtB, 70(1) (1988): 88–103.
(ed.). Byzantine Court Culture from 829–1204. Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks,
1997.
“Magic and Money in the Early Middle Ages.” Speculum, 72(4) (1997): 1037–
54. Reprinted in Henry Maguire, Image and Imagination in Byzantine Art.
Aldershot: Variorum, 2007.
“Style and Ideology in Byzantine Imperial Art.” Gesta, 28(2) (1989): 217–31.
“Truth and Convention in Byzantine Descriptions of Works of Art.” DOP, 74
(1974): 113–40.
Maguire, Henry and Ann B. Terry. Dynamic Splendor: The Wall Mosaics in the
Cathedral of Eufrasius at Poreč. University Park: Pennsylvania State University
Press, 2007.
Majeska, George P. “The Moscow Coronation of 1498 Reconsidered.” Jahrbücher
für Geschichte Osteuropas, 26 (1978): 353–61.
Maksimovic, Ljubomir. The Byzantine Provincial Administration under the
Palaiologi. Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1998.
Maltezou, Chrysa A. “An Enlightened Byzantine Teacher in Florence: Manuel
Chrysoloras.” In Elias Voulgarakis (ed.), Orthodoxy and Oecumene: Gratitude
Volume in Honour of Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomaios. Athens: Harmos,
2001, 443–52.
Manfroni, Camillo. “Le relazioni fra Genova, l’Impero bizantino e i Turchi.” Atti
della Società Ligure di Storia Patria, 28 (1898): 575–86.
Mango, Cyril A. “Antique Statuary and the Byzantine Beholder.” DOP, 17 (1963):
55–74.
The Brazen House: A Study of the Vestibule of the Imperial Palace of Constantinople.
Copenhagen: I Kommission hos Munksgaard, 1959.

“Letters to the Editor.” ArtB, 41(4) (1959): 351–6.

“The Monastery of St. Mary Peribleptos (Sulu Manastir) at Constantinople Revis-
ited.” Revue des Études Arméniennes, 23 (1992): 477–83.
Studies on Constantinople. Aldershot: Variorum, 1993.
Mango, Marlia. “Hierarchies of Rank and Materials: Diplomatic Gifts Sent by
Romanus I in 935 and 938.” ΔΧΑΕ, 24 (2003): 365–74.
Maniatis, George C. “The Guild System in Byzantium and Medieval Western Europe:
A Comparative Analysis of Organizational Structures, Regulatory Mechanisms
and Behavioral Patterns.” Byzantion, 76 (2006): 516–59.
“Organization, Market Structure, and Modus Operandi of the Private Silk Indus-
try in Tenth-Century Byzantium.” DOP, 53 (1999): 263–332.
Manners, Ian. “Constructing the Image of a City: The Representation of Con-
stantinople in Christopher Buondelmonti’s Liber Insularum Archipelagi.”
Annals of the Association of American Geographers, 87(1) (1997): 145–
77.
Maranci, Christina. “The Humble Heraclius: Revisiting the North Portal at Mren.”
Revue des Études Arméniennes, 31 (2009): 359–72.
Marin, Louis. “The Frame of Representation and Some of its Figures.” In Paul
Duro (ed.), The Rhetoric of the Frame: Essays on the Boundaries of Artwork.
Cambridge University Press, 1996, 79–95.
Marinesco, Constantin. “De nouveau sur les relations de Manuel II Paléologue
(1391–1425) avec l’Espagne.” In Atti dello VIII Congresso Internazionale di
studi Bizantini, Palermo 3–10 aprile 1951. Rome: Associazione nazionale per
gli studi bizantini, 1953, 420–36.
“Manuel II Paléologue et les rois d’Aragon: Commentaires sur quatre lettres
inédites en Latin, expédiées par la chancellerie byzantine.” Bulletin de la Section
Historique, 11 (1924): 192–206.
Marinis, Vasileios. “Some Notes on the Functional Approach in the Study of Byzan-
tine Architecture: The Case of Constantinople.” In A. McGehee, R. Bork, and
W. W. Clark (eds.), New Approaches to Medieval Architecture. Burlington: Ash-
gate, 2011, 21–33.
“Tombs and Burials in the Monastery tou Libos in Constantinople.” DOP, 63
(2009): 147–66.
Marion, Jean-Luc. Being Given: Toward a Phenomenology of Givenness. Stanford
University Press, 2002.
Martin, Janet. Medieval Russia, 980–1584. Cambridge University Press, 1995.
Martiniani-Reber, Marielle. “An Exceptional Piece of Embroidery Held in Switzer-
land: The Grandson Antependium.” In Matteo Campagnolo and Marielle
Martiniani-Reber (eds.), From Aphrodite to Melusine: Reflections on the Archae-
ology and the History of Cyprus. Geneva: La Pomme d’Or, 2007, 85–9.
Masetti, Anna Rosa Calderoni. “Considerazioni finali, con una noterella min-
ima sul Pallio di ‘San Lorenzo.’” In Anna Rosa Calderoni Masetti, Clario
Di Fabio, and Mario Marcenaro (eds.), Tessuti, oreficerie, miniature in Liguria,

XIII–XV secolo. Bordighera: Istituto internazionale di studi liguri, 1999, 403–

11.
Mathews, Thomas F. The Early Churches of Constantinople: Architecture and Liturgy.
University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1971.
Matschke, Klaus-Peter. “Builders and Building in Late Byzantine Constantinople.”
In Nevra Necipoğlu (ed.), Byzantine Constantinople: Monuments, Topography
and Everyday Life. Leiden: Brill, 2001, 515–28.
“Commerce, Trade, Markets, and Money: Thirteenth–Fifteenth Centuries.” In
Angeliki E. Laiou (ed.), The Economic History of Byzantium: From the Seventh
through the Fifteenth Century, vol. 2. Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2002,
771–806.
Das spätbyzantinische Konstantinopel: Alte und neue Beiträge zur Stadtgeschichte
zwischen 1261 und 1453. Hamburg: Kovac, 2008.
Mauss, Marcel. Essai sur le don: Forme et raison d’échange dans les sociétés archaı̈ques.
Paris, 1925. Translated by W. D. Halls as The Gift: The Form and Reason
for Exchange in Archaic Societies. New York: W.W. Norton, 1990; New York:
Routledge, 2000.
Mayasova, Natalia A. Medieval Pictorial Embroidery: Byzantium, Balkans, Russia.
Moscow: Moscow Kremlin State Museums Publishers, 1991.
McCormick, Michael. “Analyzing Imperial Ceremonies.” JÖB, 35 (1985): 1–20.
“Byzantium’s Role in the Formation of Early Medieval Civilization: Approaches
and Problems.” Illinois Classical Studies, 12(2) (1987): 207–20.
“Diplomacy and the Carolingian Encounter with Byzantium Down to the Acces-
sion of Charles the Bald.” In Bernard McGinn and Willemien Otten (eds.),
Eriugena: East and West. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1994,
15–48.
Eternal Victory: Triumphal Rulership in Late Antiquity, Byzantium, and the Early
Medieval West. Cambridge University Press, 1986.
Mellinkoff, Ruth. “Demonic Winged Headgear.” Viator, 16 (1985): 367–405.
Mercati, Silvio Giuseppe. “Sull’iscrizione del cosı̀ detto ‘vesillo navale’ di Manuele
Paleologo conservato nella Galleria Nazionale delle Marche in Urbino” in
Collectanea Byzantina, vol. II. Bari: Dedalo, 1970, 242–8.
Mergiali-Sahas, Sophia. “A Byzantine Ambassador to the West and His Office
During the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries.” BZ, 94(2) (2001): 588–
604.
“Byzantine Emperors and Holy Relics. Use and Misuse, of Sanctity and Author-
ity.” JÖB, 51 (2001): 41–60.
L’enseignement et les lettres pendant l’époque des Paléologues (1261–1453). Athens:
Centre des études byzantines, 1996.
“Manuel Chrysoloras (ca. 1350–1415), an Ideal Model of a Scholar-Ambassador.”
Byzantine Studies/Études Byzantines, 3 (1998): 1–12.
“An Ultimate Wealth for Inauspicious Times: Holy Relics in Rescue of Manuel II
Palaeologus’ Reign.” Byzantion, 76 (2006): 264–75.

Meyendorff, John. Byzantium and the Rise of Russia: A Study of Byzantino-Russian

Relations in the Fourteenth Century. Cambridge University Press, 1981.
“The Three Lithuanian Martyrs: Byzantium and Lithuania in the Four-
teenth Century.” In Hermann Goltz (ed.), Eikon und Logos: Beträge zur
Erforschung byzantinischer Kulturtraditionen. Halle: Martin-Luther-Universität
Halle-Wittenberg, 1981, 179–97.
Mickūnaitė, Giedrė. Making a Great Ruler: Grand Duke Vytautas of Lithuania.
Budapest: CEU Press, 2006.
Miljović-Pepek, Petar. “Le portrait de l’empereur byzantin Michel VIII à l’église
rupestre de Saint-Érasme près d’Ohrid.” CA, 45 (1997): 169–77.
Millet, Gabriel. Broderies religieuses de style byzantin. Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1939–41.
Morello, Giovanni. Splendori di Bisanzio: testimonianze e riflessi d’arte e cultura
bizantina nelle chiese d’Italia. Milan: Fabbri, 1990.
Morrisson, Cécile. “L’empereur ailé dans la numismatique byzantine: Un empereur
ange.” Studii şi cercetǎria di numismaticǎ, 11 (1995): 191–5.
“The Emperor, the Saint, and the City: Coinage and Money in Thessalonike from
the Thirteenth to the Fifteenth Century.” DOP, 57 (2003): 173–203.
“L’hyperpère de Michel VIII Paléologue et la reconquête de Constantinople.” Le
Club français de la Médaille, Bulletin, 55–6 (1977): 76–86.
“Les noms de monnaies sous les Paléologues.” In Werner Seibt (ed.), Geschichte
und Kultur der Palaiologenzeit. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie
der Wissenschaften, 1996, 151–62.
“Review of S. Bendall and P.J. Donald, The Later Palaeologan Coinage, 1282–1453.”
RN, 21 (1979): 256–65.
Musée du Louvre. Byzance: l’art byzantin dans les collections publiques françaises.
Paris: Éditions de la Réunion des musées nationaux, 1992.
Musto, Jeanne-Marie. “John Scottus Eriugena and the Upper Cover of the Lindau
Gospel.” Gesta, 40(1) (2001): 1–18.
Muthesius, Anna. Byzantine Silk Weaving, AD 400–AD 1200. Vienna: Fassbaender,
1997.
“Silken Diplomacy.” In Jonathan Shepard and Simon Franklin (eds.), Byzantine
Diplomacy: Papers from the Twenty-Fourth Spring Symposium of Byzantine
Studies, Cambridge, March 1990. Aldershot: Ashgate, 1992, 237–48.
Studies in Byzantine, Islamic, and Near Eastern Silk Weaving. London: Pindar,
2008.
Studies in Byzantine and Islamic Silk Weaving. London: Pindar, 1995.
Nebbiai-Dalla Guarda, Donatella. La Bibliothèque de l’abbaye de Saint-Denis en
France du IXe au XVIIIe siècles. Paris: Centre national de la recherche scien-
tifique, 1985.
Necipoğlu, Gülru. “From Byzantine Constantinople to Ottoman Konstantiniyye:
Creation of a Cosmopolitan Capital and Visual Culture under Sultan Mehmed
II.” In From Byzantion to Istanbul: 8000 Years of a Capital City. Istanbul: Sakıp
Sabancı, 2010, 262–77.

Necipoğlu, Nevra. Byzantium Between the Ottomans and the Latins: Politics and
Society in the Late Empire. Cambridge University Press, 2009.
“Economic Conditions in Constantinople During the Siege of Bayezid I (1394–
1402).” In Cyril A. Mango and Gilbert Dagron (eds.), Constantinople and its
Hinterland. Aldershot: Ashgate, 1995, 157–67.
Nelson, Robert S. “Byzantine Icons in Genoa Before the Mandylion.” In Anna Rose
Calderoni Masetti, Colette Bozzo Dufour, and Gerhard Wolf (eds.), Intorno al
Sacro Volto: Genova, Bisanzio e il Mediterraneo (secoli XI–XIV). Venice: Marsilio,
2007, 79–92.
“A Byzantine Painter in Trecento Genoa: The Last Judgment at S. Lorenzo.” ArtB,
67(4) (1985): 458–566.
“The Chora and the Great Church: Intervisuality in Fourteenth-Century Con-
stantinople.” BMGS, 23 (1999): 67–101. Reprinted in Robert S. Nelson, Later
Byzantine Painting: Art, Agency, and Appreciation. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007.
Hagia Sophia, 1850–1950: Holy Wisdom Modern Monument. University of
Chicago Press, 2004.
“The Italian Appreciation and Appropriation of Illuminated Byzantine
Manuscripts, ca. 1200–1450.” DOP, 49 (1995): 209–35. Reprinted in Robert
S. Nelson, Later Byzantine Painting: Art, Agency, and Appreciation. Aldershot:
Ashgate, 2007.
Later Byzantine Painting: Art, Agency, and Appreciation. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007.
“Taxation with Representation: Visual Narrative and the Political Field of the
Kariye Camii.” Art History, 22(1) (1999): 56–82. Reprinted in Robert S. Nelson,
Later Byzantine Painting: Art, Agency, and Appreciation. Aldershot: Ashgate,
2007.
Theodore Hagiopetrites: A Late Byzantine Scribe and Illuminator. Vienna:
Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1991.
Nelson, Robert S. and Kristen M. Collins (eds.). Holy Image, Hallowed Ground: Icons
from Sinai. Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2006.
Nicol, Donald M. “A Byzantine Emperor in England. Manuel II’s Visit to London in
1400–1401.” University of Birmingham Historical Journal, 12 (1971): 204–25.
The Byzantine Family of Kantakouzenos. Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks,
1968.
“The Byzantine Reaction to the Second Council of Lyons, 1274.” Studies in
Church History, 7 (1971): 113–46. Reprinted in Donald M. Nicol, Byzantium: Its
Ecclesiastical History and Relations with the Western World. London: Variorum,
1972.
Byzantium: Its Ecclesiastical History and Relations with the Western World. London:
Variorum, 1972.
Byzantium and Venice. A Study in Diplomatic and Cultural Relations. Cambridge
University Press, 1988.
Church and Society in the Last Centuries of Byzantium. New York: Cambridge
University Press, 1979.

The Last Centuries of Byzantium, 1261–1453. Cambridge University Press, 1993.

Originally published in London: Hart-Davis, 1972.
Nunn, Valerie. “The Encheiron as Adjunct to the Icon in the Middle Byzantine
Period.” BMGS, 10 (1986): 91–102.
Obolensky, Dimitri. “The Baptism of Princess Olga of Kiev: The Problem of the
Sources.” Byzantina Sorbonensia, 4 (1984): 159–76.
The Byzantine Commonwealth: Eastern Europe, 500–1453. London: Weidenfeld &
Nicolson, 1971.
“A Byzantine Grand Embassy to Russia in 1400.” BMGS, 4 (1979): 123–32.
Reprinted in Dimitri Obolensky, The Byzantine Inheritance of Eastern Europe.
London: Variorum, 1982.
“Byzantium, Kiev and Moscow: A Study in Ecclesiastical Relations.” DOP, 11
(1957), 23–78. Reprinted in Dimitri Obolensky, Byzantium and the Slavs:
Collected Studies. London: Variorum Reprints, 1971.
“Byzantium and Russia in the Late Middle Ages.” In John R. Hale, John R. L.
Highfield, and Beryl Smalley (eds.), Europe in the Late Middle Ages. London:
Faber & Faber, 1965, 248–75.
Byzantium and the Slavs. London: Variorum, 1971.
“Cherson and the Conversion of Rus’: An Anti-Revisionist View.” BMGS, 13
(1989): 244–56.
“Olga’s Conversion: The Evidence Reconsidered.” Harvard Ukrainian Studies,
12–13 (1988–89): 145–58.
“‘Philorhomaios Anthropos’: Metropolitan Cyprian of Kiev and All Russia (1375–
1406).” DOP, 32 (1978): 77–98. Reprinted in Dimitri Obolensky, The Byzantine
Inheritance of Eastern Europe. London: Variorum, 1982.
“Russia and Byzantium in the Mid-Tenth Century: The Problem of the Baptism
of Princess Olga.” Greek Orthodox Theological Review, 28 (1983): 157–71.
“Some Notes Concerning a Byzantine Portrait of John VIII Palaeologus.” East-
ern Churches Review, 4 (1972): 141–46. Reprinted in Dimitri Obolensky, The
Byzantine Inheritance of Eastern Europe. London: Variorum, 1982.
Oikonomides, Nicolas. “Byzantium between East and West (XIII–XV Cent.).” ByzF,
13 (1988): 319–32.
“La chancellerie impériale de Byzance du 13e au 15e siècle.” REB, 43 (1985):
167–95.
“The Economic Region of Constantinople: From Directed Economy to Free
Economy, and the Role of the Italians.” In Girolamo Arnaldi and Guglielmo
Cavallo (eds.), Europa medievale e mondo bizantino. Rome: Istituto storico
italiano per il Medioevo, 1997, 221–38.
“John VII Palaeologus and the Ivory Pyxis at Dumbarton Oaks.” DOP, 31 (1977):
329–38.
“Leo VI and the Narthex Mosaic of Saint Sophia.” DOP, 30 (1976): 151–72.
“The Mosaic Panel of Constantine IX and Zoe in Saint Sophia.” REB, 36 (1978):
219–32.

“La rinascita delle istituzioni bizantine dopo il 1240.” In Pierre Toubert and
Agostino Paravicini Bagliani (eds.), Federico II e il mondo mediterraneo.
Palermo: Sellerio editore, 1994, 320–32. Reprinted in Nicolas Oikonomides
and Elisavet A. Zachariadou (eds.), Society, Culture, and Politics in Byzantium.
Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005, article XV.
“Silk Trade and Production in Byzantium from the Sixth to the Ninth Century:
The Seals of the Kommerkiarioi.” DOP, 40 (1986): 33–53. Reprinted in Nicolas
Oikonomides and Elisabeth A. Zachariadou (eds.), Social and Economic Life in
Byzantium. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004, article VIII.
(ed.). Studies in Byzantine Sigillography. Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1987.
Omont, Henri A. “Manuscrit des oeuvres de S. Denys l’Aréopagite envoyé de Con-
stantinople à Louis le Débonnaire en 827.” REG, 17 (1904): 230–6.
O’Neill, John. “What Gives (with Derrida)?” European Journal of Social Theory, 2
(1999): 131–45.
Origone, Sandra. Bisanzio e Genova. Genoa: ECIG, 1992.
“Marriage Connections between Byzantium and the West in the Age of the
Palaiologoi.” In Benjamin Arbel (ed.), Intercultural Contacts in the Medieval
Mediterranean: Studies in Honour of David Jacoby. London: F. Cass, 1996,
226–41.
Osborne, John. “New Family Evidence for a Lost Portrait of the Family of Michael
VIII Palaiologos.” Thesaurismata, 23 (1993): 9–13.
Osteen, Mark (ed.). The Question of the Gift: Essays Across Disciplines. London:
Routledge, 2002.
Ostrogorsky, George. “The Byzantine Emperor and the Hierarchical World Order.”
The Slavonic and East European Review, 35(84) (1956): 1–14.
Ostrowski, Donald. “‘Moscow the Third Rome’ as Historical Ghost.” In Sarah
T. Brooks (ed.), Byzantium: Faith and Power (1261–1557). Perspectives on
Late Byzantine Art and Culture. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2006,
170–9.
Ousterhout, Robert G. “The Virgin of the Chora: An Image and its Contexts.” In
Robert G. Ousterhout and Leslie Brubaker (eds.), The Sacred Image, East and
West. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1995, 91–109.
Ousterhout, Robert G. and Athanasios Gourides. “Ενα βυζαντινό κτίριο δίπλα στον
‘Αγιο Αθανάσιο Διδυμοτείχου.” Το Αρχαιολογικό έργο στη Μακεδονία και τη
Θράκη, 5 (1991): 515–25.
Page, Gill. Being Byzantine: Greek Identity Before the Ottomans. Cambridge Univer-
sity Press, 2008.
Pall, Francis. “Encore une fois sur le voyage diplomatique de Jean V Paléologue en
1365–66.” Revue des études sud-est européennes, 9 (1971): 535–40.
Pallas, Demetrios I. Die Passion und Bestattung Christi in Byzanz. Munich: Salzer,
1965.
Panofsky, Erwin (ed. and trans.). Abbot Suger on the Abbey Church of St.-Denis and
its Art Treasures. Princeton University Press, 1979 [1946].

Papadopulos, Averkios. Versuch einer Genealogie der Palaiologen, 1259–1453. Speyer:

Pilger Druckerei, 1938.
Papageorgiu, P. N. “Zwei iambische Gedichte saec. XIV und XIII.” BZ, 8 (1899):
672–8.
Papamastorakis, Titos. “The Display of Accumulated Wealth in Luxury Icons: Gift-
Giving from the Byzantine Aristocracy to God in the Twelfth Century.” In Maria
Vassilaki (ed.), Βυζαντινές Εικόνες: Τέχνη, τεχνική και τεχνολογία. Heraklion:
Crete University Press, 2002, 35–47.
“’Ενα εικαστικό εγκώμιο του Μιχαήλ Η’ Παλαιολόγου: Οι εξωτερικές τοιχογραφίες
στο καθολικό της μονής Μαυριώτισσας στην Καστοριά.” ΔΧΑΕ, 15 (1989–90):
221–38.
“Re-deconstructing the Khakhuli Triptych.” ΔΧΑΕ, 23 (2002): 225–54.
“Tampering with History: From Michael III to Michael VIII.” BZ, 96(1) (2003):
193–209.
Papas, Tano. Studien zur Geschichte der Messgewänder im byzantinischen Ritus.
Munich: Institut für Byzantinistik und neugriechische Philologie der Univer-
sität, 1965.
Parani, Maria G. “Cultural Identity and Dress: The Case of Late Byzantine Ceremo-
nial Costume.” JÖB, 57 (2007): 95–134.
Reconstructing the Reality of Images: Byzantine Material Culture and Religious
Iconography (11th–15th Centuries). Leiden: Brill, 2003.
Paribeni, Andrea. “Il pallio di San Lorenzo a Genova.” In Antonio Iacobini and
Mauro Della Valle (eds.), L’arte di Bisanzio e l’Italia al tempo dei Paleologi
1261–1453 [Milion 5]. Rome: Argos, 1999, 229–52.
Patrinelis, Christos G. “An Unknown Discourse of Chrysoloras Addressed to Manuel
II Palaeologus.” GRBS, 13(4) (1972): 497–502.
Peers, Glenn. “Manuel II Palaiologos’ Ekphrasis on a Tapestry in the Louvre: Word
over Image.” REB, 61 (2003): 201–14.
Sacred Shock: Framing Visual Experience in Byzantium. University Park: Pennsyl-
vania State University Press, 2004.
Subtle Bodies: Representing Angels in Byzantium. Berkeley: University of California
Press, 2001.
Peltomaa, Leena Mari. The Image of the Virgin Mary in the Akathistos Hymn. Leiden:
Brill 2001.
Penna, Vasso. Byzantine Coinage: Medium of Transaction and Manifestation of Impe-
rial Propaganda. Nicosia: Bank of Cyprus Cultural Foundation, 2002.
“The Final Phase of Byzantine Coinage: Iconography, Minting, and Circulation.”
In Sümer Atasoy (ed.), 55th Anniversary of the Istanbul University International
Byzantine and Ottoman Symposium (XVth Century), 30–31 May 2003. Istanbul:
İstanbul Üniversitesi, 2004, 309–24.
“The Mother of God on Coins and Lead Seals.” In Maria Vassilaki (ed.), Mother
of God: Representations of the Virgin in Byzantine Art. Milan: Skira, 2000, 208–
17.

Pentcheva, Bissera. Icons and Power: The Mother of God in Byzantium. University
Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2006.
“The Supernatural Protector of Constantinople: The Virgin and Her Icons in the
Tradition of the Avar Siege.” BMGS, 26 (2002): 2–41.
Pieralli, Luca. “La corrispondenza diplomatica tra Roma e Costantinopoli nei secoli
XIII e XIV.” In Michel Balard, Élisabeth Malamut, and Jean-Michel Spieser
(eds.), Byzance et le monde extérieur. Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2005,
151–63.
Piltz, Elisabeth. Le costume officiel des dignitaires byzantins à l’époque Paléologue.
Uppsala: S. Academiae Upsaliensis, 1994.
Kamelaukion et mitra. Insignes byzantins impériaux et ecclésiastiques. Uppsala:
Almqvist & Wiksell, 1977.
“A Portrait of a Byzantine Emperor.” Vizantiiski vremennik, 55(2) (1998): 222–6.
Trois sakkoi byzantins: Analyse iconographique. Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1976.
Pinatsi, Christina. “New Observations on the Pavement of the Church of Hagia
Sophia in Nicaea.” BZ, 99(1) (2006): 119–26.
Polemis, Ioannis. “Two Praises of the Emperor Manuel II Palaiologos: Problems of
Authorship.” BZ, 103 (2011): 699–714.
Politis, Alexis. “From Christian Roman Emperors to the Glorious Greek Ancestors.”
In David Ricks and Paul Magdalino (eds.), Byzantium and the Modern Greek
Identity. Aldershot: Ashgate, 1998, 1–14.
Politis, Linos. “Eine Schreiberschule im Kloster τῶν ῾Οδηγῶν.” BZ, 51 (1958): 17–36.
Poppe, Andrzej. “Once Again Concerning the Baptism of Olga, Archontissa of Rus’.”
DOP, 46 (1992): 271–7.
Prado-Vilar, Francisco. “Circular Visions of Fertility and Punishment: Caliphal
Ivory Caskets from al-Andalus.” Muqarnas, 14 (1997): 19–41.
Prato, Giancario. “La Produzione libraria in area greco-orientale nel periodo del
regno latino d. Costantinopoli (1204–1261).” Scrittura e civiltà, 5 (1981): 105–
47.
Prato, Giancarlo and J. A. M. Sonderkamp. “Libro, testo, miniature: il caso del cod.
Sinait. gr. 2123.” Scrittura e Civiltà, 9 (1985): 309–23.
Price, Martin J. and Bluma L. Trell. Coins and Their Cities: Architecture on the Ancient
Coins of Greece, Rome, and Palestine. London: Vecchi, 1977.
Prinzing, Günter. “Das Bamberger Gunthertuch in neuer Sicht.” BSl, 54 (1993):
218–31.
“Das Bild Justinians I. in der Überlieferung der Byzantiner vom 7. bis 15. Jahrhun-
dert.” Fontes Minores, 7 (1968): 1–99.
“Das byzantinische Kaisertum im Umbruch – Zwischen regionaler Aufspal-
tung und erneuter Zentrierung in den Jahren 1204–1282.” In Rolf Gundlach
and Hermann Weber (eds.), Legitimation und Funktion des Herrschers vom
ägyptischen Pharao zum neuzeitlichen Diktator. Stuttgart: F. Steiner, 1992, 129–
83.

Protonotarios, Petros. “The Hyperpyra of Andronikos II and Michael IX (1295–

1320) with Transposed Effigies and Names of the Emperors or with Transposed
Legends Only.” Νομισμάτικα Χρονικά, 4 (1976): 42–6.
Protonotarios, Petros and Ioannis Touratsoglou. “Les émissions de couronnement
dans le monnayage byzantin du XIIIe siècle.” RN, 19 (1977): 68–76.
Puech, Vincent. “La refondation religieuse de Constantinople par Michel VIII
Paléologue.” In Patrick Boucheron and Jacques Chiffoleau (eds.), Religion
et Société Urbaine au Moyen Âge. Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2000,
351–63.
Raby, Julian. “Mehmed the Conqueror and the Equestrian Statue of the Augus-
taion.” Illinois Classical Studies, 12(2) (1987): 305–13.
Radiciotti, Paolo. “Episodi di digrafismo grecolatino a Costantinopoli: Giovanni
Parastro ed i codici Coislin 200 e Parigino greco 54.” Römische Historische
Mitteilungen, 39 (1996): 181–95.
Raffensperger, Christian. Reimagining Europe: Kievan Rusʹ in the Medieval World.
Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2012.
“Revisiting the Idea of the Byzantine Commonwealth.” ByzF, 28 (2004): 159–74.
“Russian Economic and Marital Policy: An Initial Analysis of Correlations.”
Russian History/Histoire Russe, 34 (2007): 149–59.
Ragone, Giuseppe. “‘Membrana Maxima’: Cristoforo dei Buondelmonti, Vytu-
autas of Lithuania and the First Modern Map of Constantinople.” In Irena
Valikonytė and Bronius Dundulis (eds.), Lietuva ir jos kaimynai nuo normanu̜
iki Napoleono: Broniaus Dundulio atminimui [Lithuania and its Neighbors from
the Normans to Napoleon: in Memory of Bronius Dundulis]. Vilnius: Vaga, 2001,
150–87.
Rapp, Claudia. “Hellenic Identity, Romanitas, and Christianity in Byzantium.”
In Katerina Zacharia (ed.), Hellenisms: Culture, Identity, and Ethnicity from
Antiquity to Modernity. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008, 127–47.
“Old Testament Models for Emperors in Early Byzantium.” In Paul Magdalino
and Robert S. Nelson (eds.), The Old Testament in Byzantium. Washington
DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2010, 175–97.
Reinert, Stephen. “Manuel II Palaeologos and His Müderris.” In Slobodan Ćurčić
and Doula Mouriki (eds.), The Twilight of Byzantium: Aspects of Cultural and
Religious History in the Late Byzantine Empire: Papers from the Colloquium Held
at Princeton University, 8–9 May 1989. Princeton University Press, 1991, 39–51.
“The Palaiologoi, Yildirim Bayezid, and Constantinople.” In Milton V. Anastos
(ed.), To Hellenikon: Studies in Honor of Speros Vryonis, Jr. New Rochelle:
Aristide D. Caratzas, 1993, 289–365.
“Political Dimensions of Manuel II Palaiologos’ 1392 Marriage.” In Claudia Sode
and Sarolta A. Takács (eds.), Novum Millennium: Studies in Byzantine History
and Culture Dedicated to Paul Speck, 19 December 1999. Aldershot: Ashgate,
2001, 291–304.

“What the Genoese Cast upon Helena Dragash’s Head: Coins, Not Confecti.”
ByzF, 20 (1994): 235–46.
Reynolds, Leighton D. and Nigel G. Wilson. Scribes and Scholars: A Guide to the
Transmission of Greek and Latin Literature. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1974.
Roberts, Jennifer L.“Copley’s Cargo: Boy with a Squirrel and the Dilemma of Tran-
sit.” American Art, 21(2) (2007): 20–41.
Rochette, Renaud. “Empereurs et serment sous les Paléologues.” In Marie-France
Auzépy and Guillaume Saint-Guillain (eds.), Oralité et lien social au Moyen Âge
(Occident, Byzance, Islam): Parole donnée, foi jurée, serment. Paris: ACHCByz,
2008, 157–68.
Rodley, Lyn. “Patron Imagery from the Fringes of the Empire.” In Dion Smythe
(ed.), Strangers to Themselves: The Byzantine Outsider; Papers from the Thirty-
Second Symposium of Byzantine Studies, University of Sussex, Brighton, March
1998. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2000, 163–78.
Roques, René. L’Univers Dionysien, Structure hiérarchique du monde selon pseudo-
Denys. Paris: Aubier, 1954.
Rorem, Paul. Pseudo-Dionysius: A Commentary on the Texts and an Introduction to
Their Influence. Oxford University Press, 1993.
Rowell, S. C. Lithuania Ascending: A Pagan Empire within East-Central Europe,
1295–1345. Cambridge University Press, 1994.
Runciman, Steven. The Fall of Constantinople. Cambridge University Press, 1965.
The Sicilian Vespers: A History of the Mediterranean World in the Later Thirteenth
Century. Cambridge University Press, 1958.
Saradi-Mendelovici, Helen. “Christian Attitudes Toward Pagan Monuments in Late
Antiquity and Their Legacy in Later Byzantine Centuries.” DOP, 44 (1990):
47–62.
Scher, Stephen (ed.). The Currency of Fame: Portrait Medals of the Renaissance. New
York: Frick Collection, 1994.
Schlosser, Franziska E. “Weaving a Precious Web: The Use of Textiles in Diplomacy.”
BSl, 63 (2005): 45–52.
Schlumberger, Gustave. “Un empereur de Byzance à Paris et Londres.” In Gustave
Schlumberger, Byzance et les Croisades. Paris: Librairie Paul Geuthner, 1927,
87–147.
Schminck, Andreas. “Rota tu volubilis: Kaisermacht und Patriarchenmacht in
Mosaiken.” In Ludwig Burgmann, Marie Theres Fögen, and Andreas Schminck
(eds.), Cupido Legum. Frankfurt am Main: Löwenklau, 1985, 211–24.
Schnitzer, Bärbel. “Von der Wandmalerei zur ‘Gewandmalerei’. Funktionen eines
Medienwechsels in der spätbyzantinischen Kunst.” Marburger Jahrbuch für
Kunstwissenschaft, 24 (1997): 59–69.
Schreiner, Peter. “Chronologische Untersuchungen zur Familie Kaiser Manuels II.”
BZ, 63(2) (1970): 285–99.
“Diplomatische Geschenke zwischen Byzanz und dem Westen ca. 800–1200: eine
Analyse der Text mit Quellenanhang.” DOP, 58 (2004): 251–82.

“Hochzeit und Krönung Kaiser Manuels II. im Jahre 1392.” BZ, 60 (1967): 70–85.
Studia Byzantino-Bulgarica. Vienna: Bulgarisches Forschungsinstitut in
Österreich, 1986.
“Zwei Denkmäler aus der frühen Paläologenzeit: Ein Bildnis Michels VIII. und
der Genueser Pallio.” In Marcell Restle (ed.), Festschrift für Klaus Wessel zum
70. Geburtstag: In Memoriam. Munich: Editio Maris, 1988, 249–57.
Schrift, Alan D. (ed.). The Logic of the Gift: Toward an Ethics of Generosity. New York
and London: Routledge, 1997.
Serra, Luigi. L’Arte nelle Marche dalle Origini Cristiane alla Fine del Gotico. Pesaro:
Gualtiero Federici, 1929.
“A Byzantine Naval Standard.” Burlington Magazine, 34 (1919): 152–7.
Il Palazzo Ducale e la galleria nazionale di Urbino. Rome: La Libreria dello Stato,
1930.
Ševčenko, Ihor. “The Decline of Byzantium Seen through the Eyes of its Intel-
lectuals.” DOP, 15 (1961): 167–86. Reprinted in Ihor Ševčenko, Society and
Intellectual Life in Late Byzantium. London: Variorum, 1981.
Ševčenko, Nancy P. “Close Encounters: Contact between Holy Figures and the
Faithful as Represented in Byzantine Works of Art.” In Jannic Durand and
André Guillou (eds.), Byzance et les images: Cycle de conférences organisé au
musée du Louvre par le Service culturel du 5 octobre au 7 décembre 1992. Paris:
La Documentation française, 1994, 255–85.
“The Portrait of Theodore Metochites at Chora.” In Jean-Michel Spieser and
Elisabeth Yota (eds.), Donations et donateurs dans le monde byzantin. Actes du
colloque international de l’Université de Fribourg (Fribourg 13–15 mars 2008)
(Réalités Byzantines, 14). Fribourg: Desclée de Brouwer, 2012, 189–205.
“The Representation of Donors and Holy Figures on Four Byzantine Icons.”
ΔΧΑΕ, 17 (1993–4): 157–64.
Shawcross, Teresa. “In the Name of the True Emperor: Politics of Resistance after
the Palaiologan Usurpation.” BSl, 66 (2008): 203–27.
Shepard, Jonathan. “Byzantium’s Overlapping Circles.” In Elizabeth Jeffreys (ed.),
Proceedings of the 21st International Congress of Byzantine Studies, London,
21–26 August, 2006. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006, I: 15–55.
“Silks, Skills and Opportunities in Byzantium: Some Reflexions.” BMGS, 21
(1997): 246–57.
Shepard, Jonathan and Simon Franklin (eds.). Byzantine Diplomacy: Papers from
the Twenty-Fourth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, Cambridge, March
1990. Aldershot: Variorum, 1992.
Siderides, Xenophon A. “῾Ο ἐν Γενούῃ Βυζαντινὸς πέπλος.” ΕΕΒΣ, 5 (1928): 376–8.
Skrzyniarz, Slawomir. “Die Darstellung des hl. Dionysios Areopagites in einem
byzantinischen Manuskript aus dem 14. Jahrhundert in der Sammlung der
Jagiellonischen Bibliothek in Krakau.” In Günter Prinzing and Maciej Salamon
(eds.), Byzanz und Ostmitteleuropa 950–1453. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1999,
207–13.

Smith, Christine. Architecture in the Culture of Early Humanism: Ethics, Aes-

thetics, and Eloquence, 1400–1470. New York: Oxford University Press,
1992.
Società ligure di storia patria. Genova, Pisa e il Mediterraneo tra due e trecento.
Genoa: La Società, 1984.
Sodini, Jean-Pierre. “Images sculptées et propagande impériale du IVe au VIe siècle:
recherches récentes sur les colonnes honorifiques et les reliefs politiques à
Byzance.” In Jannic Durand and André Guillou (eds.), Byzance et les images.
Paris: La documentation française, 1994.
Spatharakis, Iohannis. The Pictorial Cycles of the Akathistos Hymn for the Virgin.
Leiden: Alexandros Press, 2005.
The Portrait in Byzantine Illuminated Manuscripts. Leiden: Brill, 1976.
“The Proskynesis in Byzantine Art: A Study in Connection with a Nomisma of
Andronicus II Palaeologue.” Bulletin Antieke Beschaving, 49 (1974): 190–205.
Reprinted in Iohannis Spatharakis, Studies in Byzantine Manuscript Illumina-
tion and Iconography. London: Pindar, 1996.
Spencer, John R. “Filarete’s Bronze Doors at St Peter’s: A Cooperative Project with
Complications of Chronology and Technique.” In Wendy Stedman Sheard and
John T. Paoletti (eds.), Collaboration in Italian Renaissance Art. New Haven:
Yale University Press, 1978, 33–57.
Spieser, Jean-Michel. “Le Développement du Templon et les images des Douze
Fêtes.” In Urban and Religious Spaces in Late Antiquity and Early Byzantium.
Aldershot: Variorum, 2001, article 17.
Spieser, Jean-Michel and Élisabeth Yota (eds.). Donation et donateurs dans le monde
byzantin. Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 2012.
St Claire, Archer. “A New Moses: Typological Iconography in the Moutier-Grandval
Bible Illustrations of Exodus.” Gesta, 26(1) (1987): 19–28.
Stephenson, Paul (ed.). The Byzantine World. London; New York: Routledge, 2010.
“Images of the Bulgar-Slayer: Three Art Historical Notes.” BMGS, 25 (2001):
44–66.
The Legend of Basil the Bulgar-Slayer. Cambridge University Press, 2003.
Stichel, R. H. W. “‘Vergessene Portraits,’ Spätbyzantinischer Kaiser: Zwei
Frühpalaiologische Kaiserliche Familienbildnisse im Peribleptos- und
Pammakaristoskloster zu Konstantinopel.” Mitteilungen zur Spätantiken
Archäologie und Byzantinischen Kunstgeschichte, 1 (1998): 75–125.
Stylianou, Andreas and Judith A. Stylianou. “Donors and Dedicatory Inscriptions,
Supplicants and Supplications in the Painted Churches of Cyprus.” JÖBG, 9
(1960): 97–128.
Syson, Luke and Dillian Gordon. Pisanello: Painter to the Renaissance Court. London:
National Gallery, 2001.
Taft, Robert F. “In the Bridegroom’s Absence: The Paschal Triduum in the Byzantine
Church.” In La celebrazione del Triduo pasquale: anamnesis e mimesis. Atti del
III Congresso Internazionale di Liturgia. Rome: Pontificio Ateneo S. Anselmo,

1990. Reprinted in Robert F. Taft, Liturgy in Byzantium and Beyond. Aldershot:

Variorum, 1995.
The Great Entrance: A History of the Transfer of Gifts and Other Preanaphoral Rites
of the Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom. Rome: Pontificium Institutum Studiorum
Orientalium, 1975.
Talbot, Alice-Mary. “Building Activity in Constantinople under Andronikos II: The
Role of Women Patrons in the Construction and Restoration of Monasteries.”
In Nevra Necipoğlu (ed.), Byzantine Constantinople: Monuments, Topography
and Everyday Life. Leiden: Brill, 2001, 329–44.
“Cult and Pilgrimage: The Translation of Relics in the Palaiologan Period.” In
Riku Hämäläinen et al. (eds.), Pilgrimage of Life: Studies in Honour of Professor
René Gothóni. Helsinki: Maahenki, 2010, 272–82.
“Empress Theodora Palaiologina, Wife of Michael VIII.” DOP, 46 (1992): 295–
303. Reprinted in Alice-Mary Talbot, Women and Religious Life in Byzantium.
Aldershot: Variorum, 2001.
“Epigrams in Context: Metrical Inscriptions on Art and Architecture of the
Palaiologan Era.” DOP, 53 (1999): 75–90.
“The Relics of New Saints: Deposition, Translation and Veneration in Middle
and Late Byzantium.” Paper presented at the Spring Symposium, Dumbarton
Oaks, Washington DC, 2011.
“The Restoration of Constantinople under Michael VIII.” DOP, 47 (1993): 243–
61.
Tangheroni, Marco. Commercio e navigazione nel Medioevo. Rome: Laterza, 1996.
Teteriatnikov, Natalia. “Hagia Sophia: The Two Portraits of Emperors with Money-
bags as a Functional Setting.” Arte Medievale, n.s. 10(1) (1996): 47–67.
“The New Image of Byzantine Noblemen in Palaiologan Art.” Quaderni Utinensi,
15–16 (1996): 309–318.
“Private Salvation Programs and their Effect on Byzantine Church Decoration.”
Arte Medievale, 7(2) (1993): 47–63.
Théocharis, Maria S. “Sur le Sébastocrator Constantin Comnène Ange et l’endyté
du Musée de saint Marc à Venise.” BZ, 56(2) (1963): 273–83.
Théry, Gabriel. Études dionysiennes. Paris: J. Vrin, 1932.
Thierry, Michel and Nicole. “La cathédrale de Mren et sa decoration.” CA, 21 (1971):
43–77.
Thomas, Nicholas. Entangled Objects. Cambridge University Press, 1991.
Thomov, Thomas S. “The Last Column in Constantinople.” BSl, 59 (1998): 80–91.
“New Information about Christoforo Buondelmonti’s Drawings of Constantino-
ple.” Byzantion, 66(2) (1996): 431–53.
Thompson, Ian. “Manuel Chrysoloras and the Early Italian Renaissance.” GRBS, 7
(1966): 63–82.
Thorn-Wickert, Lydia. Manuel Chrysoloras (ca. 1350–1415): eine Biographie des
byzantinischen Intellektuellen vor dem Hintergrund der hellenistischen Studien
in der italienischen Renaissance. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2006.

Tinnefeld, Franz. “Byzantinisch-russische Kirchenpolitik im 14. Jahrhundert.” BZ,

67(2) (1974): 359–84.
“Ceremonies for Foreign Ambassadors at the Court of Byzantium and their
Political Background.” ByzF, 19 (1994): 193–213.
Toth, Ida. “The Narrative Fabric of the Genoese Pallio and the Silken Diplomacy of
Michael VIII Palaiologos.” In Hallie G. Meredith (ed.), Objects in Motion: The
Circulation of Religion and Sacred Objects in the Late Antique and Byzantine
World. Oxford: Archaeopress, 2011, 91–109.
Tratner, Michael. “Derrida’s Debt to Milton Friedman.” New Literary History, 34(4)
(2003): 791–806.
Treitinger, Otto. Die oströmische Kaiser- und Reichsidee nach ihrer Gestaltung im
höfischen Zeremoniell: Vom oströmischen Staats- und Reichsgedanken. Darm-
stadt: H. Gentner, 1956.
Treu, Max. “Manuel Holobolos.” BZ, 5 (1896): 538–59.
Tsirpanlis, Constantine N. “The Imperial Coronation and Theory in ‘De Ceremoniis
aulae Byzantinae’ of Constantine VII Porphyrogennitus.” Κληρονομία, 4 (1972):
63–91.
Turner, Hilary L. “Christopher Buondelmonti and the Isolario.” Terrae Incognitae,
19 (1987): 11–28.
Underwood, Paul A. The Kariye Djami. New York: Bollingen Foundation, 1966.
Van der Velden, Hugo. The Donor’s Image: Gerard Loyet and the Votive Por-
traits of Charles the Bold, translated by Beverley Jackson. Turnhout: Brepols,
2000.
Van Dieten J. L. “Sylvester Syropoulos und die Vorgeschichte von Ferrara-Florence.”
Annuarium historiae conciliorum, 9 (1977): 154–79.
Vasiliev, A. A. History of the Byzantine Empire. Madison: University of Wisconsin
Press, 1952.
“Puteshestvie vizantijskago imperatora Manuila Palaeologa po zapadnoi Evrope.”
Zhurnal Miniesterstva Narodnogo Prosveshcheniia, 39 (1912): 41–78, 260–304.
“Was Russia a Vassal State of Byzantium?” Speculum, 7(3) (1932): 350–60.
Vassilaki, Maria. “Praying for the Salvation of the Empire?” In Maria Vassilaki
(ed.), Images of the Mother of God: Perceptions of the Theotokos in Byzantium.
Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005, 263–74.
Velmans, Tania. “Une Illustration inédite de l’Acathiste et l’iconographie des hymnes
liturgiques à Byzance.” CA, 22 (1972): 131–65.
“Le Portrait dans l’art des Paléologues.” In Art et société à Byzance sous les
Paléologues. Actes du Colloque organisé par l’Association internationale des études
byzantines à Venise en septembre 1968. Venice: Stamperia di Venezia, 1971, 93–
148.
“Le rȏle du décor architectural et la représentation de l’espace dans la peinture
des Paléologues.” CA, 14 (1964): 183–216.
Veyne, Paul. Bread and Circuses: Historical Sociology and Political Pluralism. London:
Penguin Press, 1990 [1976].

Vickers, Michael. “Some Preparatory Drawings for Pisanello’s Medallion of John

VIII Palaeologus.” ArtB, 60(3) (1978): 417–24.
“Theodosius, Justinian, or Heraclius?” ArtB, 58(2) (1976): 281–2.
Vikan, Gary. “Art and Marriage in Early Byzantium.” DOP, 44 (1990): 145–
63.
Volbach, Wolfgang F. Elfenbeinarbeiten der Spätantike und des frühen Mittelalters.
Mainz am Rhein: Von Zabern, 1976.
Von Bogyay, Thomas. “Deesis und Eschatologie.” In Peter Wirth (ed.), Polychordia,
Festschrift Franz Dölger zum 75. Geburtstag, vol. 2. Amsterdam: A.M. Hakkert,
1967, 59–72.
Vryonis, Speros. “Byzantine Constantinople and Ottoman Istanbul: Evolution in
a Millennial Imperial Iconography.” In Irene A. Bierman, Rifa’at A. Abou-
El-Haj, and Donald Preziosi (eds.), The Ottoman City and its Parts: Urban
Structure and Social Order. New Rochelle: A.D. Caratzas, 1991, 13–52.
“Byzantine Cultural Self-Consciousness in the Fifteenth Century.” In Slobodan
Ćurčić and Doula Mouriki (eds.), The Twilight of Byzantium: Aspects of Cultural
and Religious History in the Late Byzantine Empire: Papers from the Colloquium
Held at Princeton University, 8–9 May 1989. Princeton University Press, 1991,
5–14.
The Decline of Medieval Hellenism in Asia Minor and the Process of Islamiza-
tion from the Eleventh through the Fifteenth Century. Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1971.
“The Decline of Medieval Hellenism in Asia Minor and the Process of Islamization
from the Eleventh through the Fifteenth Century: The Book in Light of Subse-
quent Scholarship, 1971–98.” In Antony Eastmond (ed.), Eastern Approaches to
Byzantium: Papers from the Thirty-Third Spring Symposium of Byzantine Stud-
ies, University of Warwick, Coventry, March 1999. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001,
1–15.
Walker, Alicia. The Emperor and the World: Exotic Elements and the Imaging of Byzan-
tine Imperial Power, Ninth to Thirteenth Centuries CE. Cambridge University
Press, 2012.
Walter, Christopher. Art and the Ritual of the Byzantine Church. London: Variorum,
1982.
“Further Notes on the Deësis.” REB, 28 (1970): 161–87. Reprinted in Christopher
Walter, Studies in Byzantine Iconography. London: Variorum, 1977.
“Three Notes on the Iconography of Dionysius the Areopagite.” REB, 48 (1990):
255–74.
“Two Notes on the Deësis.” REB, 26 (1968): 311–36. Reprinted in Christopher
Walter, Studies in Byzantine Iconography. London: Variorum, 1977.
Warner, David A. “Ritual and Memory in the Ottonian Reich: The Ceremony of
Adventus.” Speculum, 76(2) (2001): 255–83.
Webb, Ruth. “Ekphrasis Ancient and Modern: The Invention of a Genre.” Word and
Image, 15(1) (1999): 7–18.

Weiner, Annette B. Inalienable Possessions: The Paradox of Keeping-While-Giving.

Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992.
Weiss, Roberto. Pisanello’s Medallion of the Emperor John VIII Palaeologus. London:
British Museum, 1966.
Weitzmann, Kurt (ed.). Age of Spirituality: Late Antique and Early Christian Art,
Third to Seventh Century. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1976.
Catalogue of the Byzantine and Early Mediaeval Antiquities in the Dumbarton Oaks
Collection. III, Ivories and Steatites. Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1972.
The St. Peter Icon of Dumbarton Oaks. Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1983.
Weitzmann, Kurt and Massimo Bernabò. The Byzantine Octacteuchs. Princeton
University Press, 1999.
Wessel, Klaus. “Manuel II. Palaiologos und seine Familie: Zur Miniature des Cod.
Ivoires A 53 des Louvre.” In Rüdiger Becksmann (ed.), Beiträge zur Kunst des
Mittelalters. Festschrift für Hans Wentzel. Berlin: Mann, 1975, 219–29.
Wilson, Nigel G. From Byzantium to Italy: Greek Studies in the Italian Renaissance.
Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992.
“The Libraries of the Byzantine World.” GRBS, 8 (1967): 53–80. Reprinted in
Dieter Harlfinger (ed.), Griechische Kodikologie und Textüberlieferung. Darm-
stadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1980, 276–309.
Scholars of Byzantium, rev. edn. London: Duckworth Press, 1996.
Wirth, Peter. “Die Begründung der Kaisermacht Michaels VIII. Palaiologos.” JÖB,
10 (1961): 85–91.
“Zum Geschichtsbild Kaiser Johanns VII. Palaiologos.” Byzantion, 35 (1965):
592–600.
Wisnovsky, Robert. “Final and Efficient Causality in Avicenna’s Cosmology and
Theory.” Quaestio, 2 (2002): 97–124.
Wolff, Robert Lee. “Footnote to an Incident of the Latin Occupation of Constantino-
ple: The Church and the Icon of the Hodegetria.” Traditio, 6 (1948): 319–28.
Woodfin, Warren. “The Dissemination of Byzantine Embroidered Vestments in the
Slavonic World to A.D. 1500.” In Vasil Giuzelev and Anisava Miltenova (eds.),
Medieval Christian Europe: East and West. Tradition, Values, Communications.
Sofia: Gutenberg, 2002, 688–92.
The Embodied Icon: Liturgical Vestments and Sacramental Power in Byzantium.
Oxford University Press, 2012.
“Presents Given and Presence Subverted: The Cunegunda Chormantel in Bamberg
and the Ideology of Byzantine Textiles.” Gesta, 47(1) (2008): 33–49.
Wortley, John. “Relics and the Great Church.” BZ, 99(2) (2006): 631–47.
Yannopoulos, Panayotis A. “Le couronnement de l’empereur à Byzance: rituel et
fond institutionnel.” Byzantion, 61(1) (1991): 71–92.
Yasin, Ann Marie. “Making Use of Paradise: Church Benefactors, Heavenly Visions,
and the Late Antique Commemorative Imagination.” In Colum Hourihane
(ed.), Looking Beyond: Visions, Dreams, and Insights in Medieval Art and History.
Princeton: Index of Christian Art and Penn State University Press, 2010, 39–57.

Yerasimos, Stéphane. “De l’arbre à la pomme: La généalogie d’un thème apoca-

lyptique.” In Benjamin Lellouch and Stéphane Yerasimos (eds.), Les traditions
apocalyptiques au tournant de la chute de Constantinople: Actes de la Table ronde
d’Istanbul (13–14 avril 1996). Paris: Harmattan, 1999, 153–92.
Zachariadou, Elizabeth A. “John VII (Alias Andronicus) Palaeologus.” DOP, 31
(1977): 339–42. Reprinted in Elizabeth A. Zachariadou, Romania and the Turks
(c. 1300–1500). London: Variorum, 1985.
“Manuel II Palaeologos on the Strife between Bayezid I and Kadi Burhan al-
Din Ahmad.” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, 43 (1980):
471–81. Reprinted in Elizabeth A. Zachariadou, Romania and the Turks (c.
1300–1500). London: Variorum, 1985, article 4.
Zakythinos, Dionysios A. “Rome dans la pensée politique de Byzance du XIIIe au
XVe siècle: La ‘théorie romaine’ à l’épreuve des faits.” In Βυζάντιον: Αφιέρωμα
στον Ανδρέα Ν. Στράτο. Athens, 1986.
Zeitler, Barbara. “Cross-cultural Interpretations of Imagery in the Middle Ages.”
ArtB, 76(4) (1994): 680–94.
Zernov, Nicolas. “Vladimir and the Origin of the Russian Church. Part II.” Slavonic
and East European Review, 28(71) (1950): 123–38.
Zinn, Grover A. “Suger, Theology, and the Pseudo-Dionysian Tradition.” In Paula
L. Gerson (ed.), Abbot Suger and Saint-Denis. A Symposium. New York:
Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1986, 33–40.
Zuiderhoek, Arjan. The Politics of Munificence in the Roman Empire: Citizens, Elites,
and Benefactors in Asia Minor. Cambridge University Press, 2009.

akakia, 164, 210, 252, 259, 293 Book of Ceremonies, 16, 139–40, 271–2, 273,
Akathistos Hymn, 4, 11, 177–9 316
Akropolites, George, 28, 42, 85, 95, 126, Boucicaut, Maréchal de (Jean le Meingre), 221,
178 222, 225–6, 227
Alexei of Novgorod, 310–11 bronze statue of Michael VIII Palaiologos see
Alexei, Metropolitan, 322–4 Constantinople, bronze statue of
Anastasis, 63, 67–8, 326, 327 Michael VIII Palaiologos
angels, 46–7, 132, 326 Budapest
see also Dionysios the Areopagite: Hungarian Parliament Building
philosophy; Palaiologos, Michael VIII: Royal Crown of Hungary, 298–9, 329
and Archangel/St Michael Buondelmonti, Cristoforo, 110–15, 121, 126,
Angiolello, Giovan Maria, 150 170, 321–2
Ankara, Battle of, 226–7, 291 see also Venice Marciana Library: Lat. XIV,
see also Ottomans: Siege of Constantinople 45 (=4595) (Buondelmonti’s Liber
Anna of Moscow, 25, 270, 292, 295–9, 310, insularum archipelagi)
325, 326, 327
Anna of Savoy, 195–6, 199, 203 ceremonial, imperial
coinage, 196 adventus, 27–30, 34, 95, 101, 126, 167, 178,
Anna Porphyrogenita, 316–17 210–12, 235, 257, 278
Anthony IV, Patriarch, 25, 207, 270, 276, 291, apokombion, 153, 272, 273–9, 342
327–8 coronation, 1–2, 75, 163, 184, 202–3, 207–8,
Anthony of Vilna, St; 315–16, 325, 326, 329, 224, 273–9, 291
339 evergetism, 271–9
see also Eustathius of Vilna, St; John of prokypsis, 50, 210, 274–6
Vilna, St Charles VI of France, 220–1, 222–3, 238,
Apollonia (Albania) 264
Church of the Virgin, 103–6 Cherson, Battle of, 317
Areopagite see Dionysios the Areopagite chrysobull, 7–8, 22, 96, 98, 103–6
Athanasios I, Patriarch, 147–8 Chrysoloras, Demetrios, 226–7, 235
Athens, 7, 52, 63, 67, 99, 216, 241, 305 Chrysoloras, Manuel, 222, 223, 224, 230,
Byzantine and Christian Museum 236–8, 244, 246, 252, 265–7, 342
Epigonation with Anastasis 67 Chrysostom, John, St, 69, 70
Athos, Mount Civil War, First (1321–8), 22, 24, 91, 195, 199,
Iveron Monastery 202
cod. 5 (Christ with John Chrysostom and Civil War, Second (1341–7), 24, 195–6, 199,
the Virgin with John), 68–9, 123 202
Vatopedi Monastery coinage, 9, 23–4, 30, 37, 39, 41, 74–5, 79, 88,
Ms 602 (Vatopedi Octateuch), 131 89–90, 152–97, 209, 216, 220, 235, 257,
Autoreianos, Arsenios, Patriarch, 51, 89, 336–7
134–5, 186–8, 192 as metaphor, 214–18
for imperial largesse see ceremonial,
Bayezid I, 208–9, 214–17, 218–21, 226–7, 237, imperial: apokombion and ceremonial,
266, 282, 289 imperial: evergetism
388

Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. University of Bristol Library, on 26 Feb 2018 at 12:08:34, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139519588
Index 389

for individual coins see entry for ruler crown jewels, 199, 202
stauraton, 277–9 Cyprian, Metropolitan, 289–91, 292, 323–5,
Constantine VII Porphyrogenitos, 200 329, 331
Constantinople
as New Rome, 37, 100, 108, 121, 125, 223–4, damnatio memoriae, 147–8
230 Denis, St see Dionysios the Areopagite
see also Palaiologos, Michael VIII, and Dionysios the Areopagite
comparisons to Constantine the Great copy of Manuel II Palaiologos see Paris,
as new Zion, 90–9 Louvre: works of Dionysios the
Augustaion, 113, 123, 139, 273–4 Areopagite
Blacherna, 173–4, 178, 203, 257–8 copy of Michael II to Abbey of St. Denis see
bronze statue of Michael VIII Palaiologos, 9, Paris Bibliothèque nationale de France:
23, 24, 30, 74, 88–151, 152, 168, 179, Ms. Gr. 437 (works of Dionysios the
180, 181, 271, 336 Areopagite)
Chora Monastery, 2, 70, 76, 137–8 hagiography, 240–2, 250–1, 263, 265, 305,
Church of St Euphemia, 175–7 339
Equestrian Statue of Justinian I, 113–20, philosophy, 239–40, 242, 247–8, 265, 337–8,
121, 122, 139, 146, 148–50, 274 339
Golden Gate, 27, 27n, 28, 28n, 29n, 95, 126, Dmitrievič, Vasily I of Moscow, 268, 269, 292,
171, 178, 179, 207 297–9, 320–1, 322, 324, 325, 327–9,
Hagia Sophia, 96–8, 290, 315 330
Deesis mosaic, 96–8 dodekaorton, 302
narthex mosaic, 136–43, 167, 168, 191 Doukas, John Komnenos
south gallery mosaics, 4–7, 153, 342 coinage, 182
vestibule mosaic, 136–43, 179 Doukas, Manuel Komnenos
see also ceremonial, imperial coinage, 181
Hippodrome, 91, 119, 121, 175–7, 319 Doukas, Michael VII, 254
laments for, 1–2, 20–1, 202–5, 214–24 Doukas, Theodore Komnenos
Latin occupation, 1, 24, 27, 34–41, 81, 90–1, coinage, 181
94, 96, 101, 151, 187 Dragaš, Helena, 210–13, 254, 258, 259–62, 276,
maps see Buondelmonti, Cristoforo 278, 297
Obelisk of Theodosius I, 81, 119, 149
Pharos Chapel, 319 ekphrasis, 51, 52, 82, 225
reconquest, 1, 22, 23, 24, 27–30, 34–41, Epiros, Empire of, 35–7, 47, 83, 85–6, 94
90–9, 155, 169, 182–5, 186, 336 epitaphios, 302–4, 310
walls, 4, 24, 31, 74, 91, 133, 155, 156, 159, euologia, 272
169–85, 188, 193, 195, 197, 207, Euphemia, St see Constantinople, Church of St
220 Euphemia
see also Fourth Crusade Eustathius of Vilna, St, 315–16, 325, 326, 329,
Corpus Dionysiacum see Dionysios the 339
Areopagite see also Anthony of Vilna, St; John of
Council of Ferrara-Florence (1438–9) see Vilna, St
Union of Churches
court dress Fourth Crusade, 1, 24, 27, 34, 89, 92, 103, 117,
loros, 65, 165, 166, 252, 254, 258, 259, 260, 121, 144, 205, 230, 319
288, 293, 297, 298 Freising, Cathedral treasury
skaranikon, 10–13, 22 Freising icon (icon of Manuel Dishypatos),
skiadion, 76–8 231–5, 246
Cozia (Romania)
Monastery, Katholikon of the Holy Trinity, Galata, Siege of, 37, 43, 86
Akathistos Fresco, 11 Genoa, 23, 24, 30, 31–87, 88, 100, 128–9, 160,
see also Akathistos Hymn 209, 227, 228, 288, 336, 338

Genoa (cont.) Kantakouzena, Helena, 280

Civiche Collezioni, Museo di Sant’ Agostino Kantakouzenos, John VI, 1, 195–6, 202, 203,
peplos of Michael VIII Palaiologos with 246
Archangel Michael and St Lawrence, coinage, 196
23, 24, 30, 31–87, 88, 100, 160, 228, Kastoria (Greece)
288, 336, 338 Monastery of the Mavriotissa, 81, 102–3,
Treaty of Nymphaion, 34–41 106
Germanos III, Patriarch, 51, 107, 143–5, Kiev, 318–23
147–8 kommerkion, 38
gifts Komnenos, Alexios I, 38, 92, 102, 254
anthropological theories of, 13–20, 25–6, Komnenos, John II, 5, 254
152–3, 342–3 Komnenos, Manuel I, 38, 39, 104
of books see Paris Louvre: works of Kydones, Demetrios, 201, 203–5, 214–19, 237,
Dionysios the Areopagite 265–6, 267, 279, 281, 283
of relics, 24, 227–30, 235, 237–8, 265,
266 laments, for decline of Empire see
of textiles see Moscow Kremlin Museum: Constantinople: laments for
“major” sakkos of Metropolitan Laskaris, John IV, 37, 40, 50, 89, 134, 187
Photios; Genoa Civiche Collezioni Laskaris, Theodore II, 37, 84
Museo di Sant’ Agostino: peplos of Lawrence, St, 33, 43–4, 52–9, 65–73, 78–80,
Michael VIII Palaiologos with 338 see also Genoa, Civiche Collezioni,
Archangel Michael and St Lawrence Museo di Sant’ Agostino: peplos of
see also coinage: stauraton; ceremonial, Michael VIII Palaiologos with
imperial: apokombion and evergetism; Archangel Michael and St Lawrence
chrysobull Lithuania, 288, 315–16, 319–25, 327,
Golden Horde, 269, 316, 319, 320 329
Gregoras, Nikephoros, 1–2, 21, 90–1, 96, 109, Liudprand of Cremona, 200, 228
115, 202–3, 205, 224
see also Constantinople: laments for “major” sakkos of Metropolitan Photios see
Gregory of Cyprus, 133 Moscow, Kremlin Museum: “major”
sakkos of Metropolitan Photios
Halberstadt, Cathedral treasury marriage, diplomatic, 9, 25, 205, 206, 270,
Communion of the Apostles, small aeres, 293–9, 316–18, 320–1, 322, 324–5,
61 327–8, 329–30, 331
Helena of Anjou, 286–8 Mauss, Marcel, 13–15, 152–3, 340
Henry IV of England, 223, 224, 228 Metochites, Theodore, 137
Holobolos, Manuel, 3–4, 31–4, 42–54, 72, 73, see also Constantinople: Chora Monastery
78, 81–3, 84, 87, 133–4, 143–4, 145, Mileševa (Serbia)
186, 217, 338 Church of the Ascension, 68, 123
hyperpyron see coinage mise-en-abyme, 123, 142, 303
Mongols see Golden Horde
Ibn Battuta, 200–1 Moscow, 9, 18, 25, 203, 268–332, 333, 337,
Ignatius of Smolensk, 207, 208, 276–9, 291 339–40
see also coinage: stauraton see also Photios, Metropolitan; Palaiologos,
Manuel II: diplomatic engagement,
John of Vilna, St, 315–16, 325, 326, 329, 339 with Moscow
see also Anthony of Vilna, St; Eustathius of Kremlin Museum
Vilna, St “major” sakkos of Metropolitan Photios,
Joseph I, Patriarch, 135 18, 25, 268–332, 339–40
Joshua, 130–3, 167 “minor” sakkos of Metropolitan Photios,
see also Palaiologos, Michael VIII, and 311–14, 330
comparisons to biblical leaders Murad I, 203, 206–7, 208, 214

Neoplatonism see Dionysios the Areopagite with Western Europe (England, France,
Nicaea, Empire of, 30, 35–41, 66, 74, 83–6, Italy), 25, 220–6, 227–38, 246, 262–6,
88–9, 94, 144, 159 267, 339
Nicaea, Second Ecumenical Council of, 326 dynastic struggle, 205–13, 282–4
Nicene Creed, 301, 311–13, 314, 325, 327 works, 203–4, 208–9, 214–21, 223, 224–6,
nomisma see coinage 267, 279–84, 341
see also coinage, as metaphor
Olga of Kiev, 16, 316–17 see also Paris, Louvre: works of Dionysios
Olgerd, 315, 320, 322–3, 324 the Areopagite
Ottomans, 116, 201, 229, 264, 269, 281–2, 337, Palaiologos, Michael VIII
341 and Archangel/St Michael, 66, 67, 71, 73–5,
see also Bayezid I; Palaiologos, Manuel II: 78, 80, 82, 108–10, 122, 125, 130–3,
campaigns with Bayezid I and works 154–5, 160–8, 180, 181, 184,
Conquest of Constantinople, 150, 333 336
Siege of Constantinople (1394–1402), 22, see also Constantinople: bronze statue of
218–20, 227, 235, 283 Michael VIII Palaiologos; Genoa,
treaties with Byzantium, 203–7, 214, 218 Civiche Collezioni, Museo di Sant’
Agostino: peplos of Michael VIII
Pachymeres, George, 42, 90, 94–5, 107, 109, Palaiologos with Archangel Michael
115, 117–18, 125–8, 129, 135, 144, 147, and St Lawrence; Palaiologos, Michael
150–1, 170, 180, 187, 284–5 VIII: coinage; typika
Palaiologina, Simonis, 285, 286 and comparisons to biblical leaders, 130–4,
Palaiologos, Alexios, 61 143, 146, 151, 168
Palaiologos, Andronikos II, 7, 151 and comparisons to Constantine the Great,
coinage, 185–95 100–8, 110, 125, 135, 143–4, 146
see also Civil War, First (1321–8) see also silk peplos of Michael VIII as New
Palaiologos, Andronikos III, 200–1 Constantine
coinage, 193–6 as legitimate ruler see Constantinople:
see also Civil War, First (1321–8) bronze statue of Michael VIII
Palaiologos, Andronikos IV, 199, 205–7 Palaiologos; Palaiologos, Michael VIII:
Palaiologos, Andronikos of Thessaloniki, coinage
259–62 coinage, 9, 23–4, 30, 74–5, 88, 89–90,
Palaiologos, George, 187 152–97, 209, 235, 257, 336–7
Palaiologos, John V excommunication, 51, 89, 107, 108, 134,
coinage, 185, 196 143, 145, 146, 147, 167, 185, 188, 192
conversion to Catholicism, 201–2 legacy, 146–51
dynastic struggle, 195–6, 202–3, 205–7 see also Palaiologos, Andronikos II
travel, 199–201 reconquest see Constantinople, reconquest;
see also Civil War, Second (1341–7) Genoa, Civiche Collezioni, Museo di
Palaiologos, John VII, 206–13, 226, 227, Sant’ Agostino: peplos of Michael VIII
252 Palaiologos with Archangel Michael
Palaiologos, John VIII, 25, 210–13, 259–62, and St Lawrence
270, 283, 292–9, 325–6, 327, 328, 330, usurpation see Laskaris, John IV
333 Palaiologos, Theodore I (Despot of Morea),
Palaiologos, Manuel II 252, 267
campaigns with Bayezid I, 214–17, 218 Palaiologos, Theodore II (Despot of Morea),
coronation see ceremonial, imperial: 259–62
coronation Pallio of Michael VIII Palaiologos with
diplomatic engagement Archangel Michael and St Lawrence see
on behalf of John V, 199, 201 Genoa, Civiche Collezioni Museo di
with Moscow, 220–6, 267, 268–71, Sant’ Agostino: peplos of Michael VIII
288–99, 310–11, 315–16, 325–8, Palaiologos with Archangel Michael
329–32, 339–40 and St Lawrence

Paris, 9, 18, 25, 217–67, 270, 337–8, 339 Second Council of Lyons (1272–4) see Union
Bibliothèque nationale de France of Churches
Coislin 79 (portrait of Nikephoros silk
III/Michael VII and Maria of Alania), aeres with the Communion of the Apostles
254, 255 see Halberstadt, Cathedral treasury:
Gr. 1242 (theological works of John VI Communion of the Apostles, small
Kantakouzenos), 246 aeres
Ms. Gr. 437 (works of Dionysios the epigonation with Anastasis see Athens,
Areopagite), 238–41, 243, 247, 264, 339 Byzantine and Christian Museum:
Suppl. Gr. 309 (funeral oration for epigonation with Anastasis
Theodore, Despot of Morea), 252 “major” sakkos of Metropolitan Photios see
Louvre Moscow, Kremlin Museum: “major”
Barberini ivory, 81, 118, 149 sakkos of Metropolitan Photios
works of Dionysios the Areopagite, 25, “minor” sakkos of Metropolitan Photios see
217–67, 270, 297, 305, 337–8, Moscow, Kremlin Museum: “minor”
339 sakkos of Metropolitan Photios
Pelagonia, Battle of, 37, 43, 86, 94 peplos of Athena (Panathenaic peplos),
peplos of Michael VIII Palaiologos with 52
Archangel Michael and St Lawrence see peplos of Michael I of Epiros with
Genoa, Civiche Collezioni, Museo di Archangels Michael and Gabriel see
Sant’ Agostino: peplos of Michael VIII Venice, San Marco Cathedral, Treasury
Palaiologos with Archangel Michael of: peplos of Michael I of Epiros with
and St Lawrence Archangels Michael and Gabriel
Persians, 116, 214–16 peplos of Michael VIII Palaiologos as New
Peter, Metropolitan, 313–14 Constantine, 107, 143–5, 147–8
Peter, St see Vatican: peplos of Michael VIII peplos of Michael VIII Palaiologos with
Palaiologos with Pope Gregory X and Archangel Michael and St Lawrence see
St Peter; Vatican, Treasury of St Peter’s: Genoa, Civiche Collezioni, Museo di
icon with Saints Peter and Paul and Sant’ Agostino: peplos of Michael VIII
Helena of Anjou Palaiologos with Archangel Michael
Philotheos, Patriarch, 310, 323 and St Lawrence
Photios, Metropolitan, 25, 270, 292, 295, 303, peplos of Michael VIII Palaiologos with Pope
304–11, 325, 327, 329 Gregory X and St Peter see Vatican:
see also Moscow, Kremlin Museum: “major” peplos of Michael VIII Palaiologos with
sakkos of Metropolitan Photios Pope Gregory X and St Peter
Plethon, George Gemistos, 265 peplos of supplicant with Archangel Michael
proskynesis, 126–43, 146, 151, 167–9, 190–1, see Urbino, Palazzo Ducale: peplos of
192, 202, 273, 336 supplicant with Archangel Michael
Pseudo-Dionysios the Areopagite see Dionysios see also epitaphios
the Areopagite Stefan Dragutin of Serbia, 286–8
Pseudo-Kodinos, 10, 77, 129, 273–6, 278 Stefan Uroš I of Serbia, 286
Stefan Uroš II of Serbia, 286–8
reconquest of Constantinople see Stefan Vladislav I of Serbia, 68, 123
Constantinople: reconquest Strategopoulos, Alexios, 35, 40
relics, 1, 24, 176, 178, 220, 227–30, 235, 237–8, Suger, Abbot, 240
242, 250, 263, 265, 266, 271, 315, 318, see also Dionysios the Areopagite
340 supplication see proskynesis
see also gifts: of relics
Rome, 304, 320, 323 taxis, 90, 123, 130, 249, 254, 335
see also Constantinople: as New Rome; Thessalonike, 165, 181–2, 199, 203, 209, 210,
Union of Churches; Vatican, Treasury 231
of St Peter’s: icon with Saints Peter and see also Washington DC Dumbarton
Paul and Helena of Anjou Oaks: pyxis with imperial families

and ceremonial scenes (Palaiologan Marciana Library

pyxis) Lat. XIV, 45 (=4595) (Buondelmonti’s
Timur (Tamurlane), Lord of Samarkand, 226, Liber insularum archipelagi), 110–15,
291 121, 126, 170
see also Ankara, Battle of San Marco Cathedral, Treasury of
titles, imperial, 83–6, 99–100, 189–90, 212–13, peplos of Michael I of Epiros with
252, 259, 261–2, 293–7 Archangels Michael and Gabriel, 46–8
trachea see coinage vestments
Treaty of Nymphaion see Genoa: Treaty of epigonation, 63, 250, 251
Nymphaion epimanikion, 251
Trebizond, Empire of, 35–7 epitrachelion, 250, 251
typika, 92–5, 98–9, 109, 126, 127, 184 omophorion, 250, 305, 307
phelonion, 250, 305, 307
Union of Churches, 25, 36, 46, 48, 82, 89, 145, polystaurion phelonion, 250, 305, 310
147, 151, 186–7, 201–2, 265, 333 sakkos, see Moscow, Kremlin Museum:
see also Vatican, peplos of Michael VIII “major” sakkos of Metropolitan Photios
Palaiologos with Pope Gregory X and and, “minor” sakkos of Metropolitan
St Peter Photios
Urbino sticharion, 250
Palazzo Ducale Visconti, Giangaleazzo, 222, 228, 231, 237
peplos of supplicant with Archangel Vitovt, Grand Duke of Lithuania, 297, 321–2
Michael, 130–3, 167 Vitovtova, Sophia, 292, 297–9, 320–1, 324,
Usk, Adam, 223–4 327
Vladimir of Kiev, 317, 318, 319
Vatican Vladislav I of Serbia see Stefan Vladislav I of
Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana Serbia
Gr. 1613 (Synaxarion of Basil II), 242, 250
Gr. 1851 (Views of Constantinople in the Washington DC
Vatican Epithalamion), 67, 171 Dumbarton Oaks
Urb. Gr. 2 (portrait of John II Komnenos for individual coins see entry for ruler
and Alexios), 254–5 marriage belt with bridal couple and
peplos of Michael VIII Palaiologos with Pope Christ, 72–3
Gregory X and St Peter, 46 pyxis with imperial families and
Treasury of St Peter’s ceremonial scenes (Palaiologan pyxis),
icon with Saints Peter and Paul and 210–13, 252, 283
Helena of Anjou, 286–8 works of Dionysios the Areopagite see Paris,
Venetians, 34 Louvre: works of Dionysios the
Venice, 2, 38–41, 47, 86, 121, 199, 201, 202, Areopagite
209, 220, 222, 227, 237, 333
see also Fourth Crusade Zosima the Deacon, 110, 297

Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline
The Late Byzantine period (1261–1453) is marked by a paradoxical
discrepancy

Byzantine Art and Diplomacy
in an Age of Decline
cecily j. hilsdale

University Printing House, Cambridge CB2 8BS, United Kingdom
Published in the United States of America by Cambridge Universit

Contents
List of illustrations
[page vii]
List of color plates
[xv]
Acknowledgements
[xvii]
List of abbreviations
[xx]
Introd

vi
Contents
part ii “atoms of epicurus”: the imperial image as
gift in an age of decline
Introduction to Part II
[199]
4 Rhet

Illustrations
0.1
Hagia Sophia, Constantinople, general view of the mosaics on the
east wall of the south gallery (photo: aut

viii
List of illustrations
scene 8, Lawrence distributing money to the needy (photo:
author)
[56]
1.6
Detail of the upper reg

List of illustrations
ix
1.17a–b Christ with John Chrysostom and the Virgin with John, the Holy
Monastery of Iveron, Mount At

x
List of illustrations
2.8
Detail of Constantinople, from Cristoforo Buondelmonti, Liber
insularum archipelagi, private coll

N. Oikonomides, The Mosaic Panel of Constantine IX and Zoe in Saint Sophia
100% (1)
N. Oikonomides, The Mosaic Panel of Constantine IX and Zoe in Saint Sophia
11 pages
Drewer-Recent Approaches To Early Christian and Byzantine Iconography 1996
100% (1)
Drewer-Recent Approaches To Early Christian and Byzantine Iconography 1996
66 pages
Weitzmann. Thirteenth Century Crusader Icons On Mount Sinai-2-34
No ratings yet
Weitzmann. Thirteenth Century Crusader Icons On Mount Sinai-2-34
33 pages
Byzantine Imperial Art and Encomium
No ratings yet
Byzantine Imperial Art and Encomium
16 pages
The Golden Age of BYZANTIUM 867-1081: Courtesy of The Louvre, Paris (Hirmer Foto-Archiv)
100% (1)
The Golden Age of BYZANTIUM 867-1081: Courtesy of The Louvre, Paris (Hirmer Foto-Archiv)
37 pages
Supplemental Texts
No ratings yet
Supplemental Texts
29 pages
Warfare and Imperial Propaganda
No ratings yet
Warfare and Imperial Propaganda
32 pages
Orbis Romanus: Rome's Legacy in Carolingian Era
No ratings yet
Orbis Romanus: Rome's Legacy in Carolingian Era
16 pages
Byzantine Iconoclasm: Myths vs. Realities
No ratings yet
Byzantine Iconoclasm: Myths vs. Realities
1 page
Edessa Portrait of Christ Transformations
No ratings yet
Edessa Portrait of Christ Transformations
11 pages
Byzantium Education Guide PDF
No ratings yet
Byzantium Education Guide PDF
14 pages
Cormack, Rediscovering The Christ Pantocrator at Daphni
No ratings yet
Cormack, Rediscovering The Christ Pantocrator at Daphni
21 pages
Tsitouridou. Panagia Chalkeon
No ratings yet
Tsitouridou. Panagia Chalkeon
54 pages
Reception of The True Cross and Sacred Relics of Saint Helena
100% (1)
Reception of The True Cross and Sacred Relics of Saint Helena
20 pages
Byzantine Council Iconography
No ratings yet
Byzantine Council Iconography
11 pages
Byzantine Roman Identity Analysis
No ratings yet
Byzantine Roman Identity Analysis
46 pages
History of Christian Art Icons
No ratings yet
History of Christian Art Icons
5 pages
"Hands Off That Sacred Image!" The Vladimir Icon and Its Power
No ratings yet
"Hands Off That Sacred Image!" The Vladimir Icon and Its Power
80 pages
From Image Into Art Art After Byzantine Iconoclasm
100% (1)
From Image Into Art Art After Byzantine Iconoclasm
7 pages
Sacred Space in Byzantine Five-Domed Churches
No ratings yet
Sacred Space in Byzantine Five-Domed Churches
22 pages
Acheimastou Potamianou, Anna Palaiologina and The Vlacherna Monastery
No ratings yet
Acheimastou Potamianou, Anna Palaiologina and The Vlacherna Monastery
7 pages
Mango 1963 Statues
100% (1)
Mango 1963 Statues
29 pages
Constantinople's Fall: Eyewitness Views
No ratings yet
Constantinople's Fall: Eyewitness Views
14 pages
Elites and Patronage in Early Byzantium
No ratings yet
Elites and Patronage in Early Byzantium
28 pages
Byzantine Architrave Insights
No ratings yet
Byzantine Architrave Insights
10 pages
Marina MihaljeviC. Change in Byzantine Architecture
No ratings yet
Marina MihaljeviC. Change in Byzantine Architecture
23 pages
Women's Space in Byzantine Monasteries, Alice-Mary Talbot
No ratings yet
Women's Space in Byzantine Monasteries, Alice-Mary Talbot
16 pages
Euripides in Byzantine Art Illustrations
No ratings yet
Euripides in Byzantine Art Illustrations
65 pages
Sorrow in Middle Byzantine Art
No ratings yet
Sorrow in Middle Byzantine Art
95 pages
Ball Lyncoln Typicon
No ratings yet
Ball Lyncoln Typicon
26 pages
Byzantine Studies Congress Proceedings 2022
100% (1)
Byzantine Studies Congress Proceedings 2022
16 pages
Byzantine Aesthetics PDF
No ratings yet
Byzantine Aesthetics PDF
6 pages
Byzantine Gesture and Hierarchy Explained
No ratings yet
Byzantine Gesture and Hierarchy Explained
21 pages
Earthquakes at Constantinople
No ratings yet
Earthquakes at Constantinople
5 pages
Theophanes Continuatus A History For The
100% (1)
Theophanes Continuatus A History For The
14 pages
Byzantine Art in Southern Italy
No ratings yet
Byzantine Art in Southern Italy
48 pages
Armenia Through The Lens of Time Multidimensional Theo Van Lint
No ratings yet
Armenia Through The Lens of Time Multidimensional Theo Van Lint
566 pages
Byzantine Studies: 14th-15th Century Insights
0% (1)
Byzantine Studies: 14th-15th Century Insights
2 pages
Hagia Eirene
No ratings yet
Hagia Eirene
17 pages
Elsner, Jas Wolf, Gerhard - The Transfigured Mountain. Icons and Transformations at The M of St. Catherine at Mount Sinai (Art)
No ratings yet
Elsner, Jas Wolf, Gerhard - The Transfigured Mountain. Icons and Transformations at The M of St. Catherine at Mount Sinai (Art)
41 pages
Byzantine Marriage and Material Culture
100% (1)
Byzantine Marriage and Material Culture
29 pages
First Century of Hosios Loukas
100% (1)
First Century of Hosios Loukas
12 pages
A Maniera Greca Content Context and Tra PDF
100% (1)
A Maniera Greca Content Context and Tra PDF
35 pages
2 Convivium 1-2014-2 9
100% (1)
2 Convivium 1-2014-2 9
25 pages
SYMPOSIUM ON LATE BYZANTINE THESSALONIKE - Ed. Talbot - Dumbarton-Oaks-Papers-57 PDF
100% (1)
SYMPOSIUM ON LATE BYZANTINE THESSALONIKE - Ed. Talbot - Dumbarton-Oaks-Papers-57 PDF
392 pages
Eternity PDF
No ratings yet
Eternity PDF
29 pages
The Role of Icons in Byzantine Worship
100% (1)
The Role of Icons in Byzantine Worship
24 pages
Brother George The Scribe: An Early Christian Panel Painting From Egypt in Context
No ratings yet
Brother George The Scribe: An Early Christian Panel Painting From Egypt in Context
18 pages
Byzantinism: A Critical Analysis
No ratings yet
Byzantinism: A Critical Analysis
10 pages
The Confraternities of Byzantium: by Peregrine Horden
100% (1)
The Confraternities of Byzantium: by Peregrine Horden
21 pages
The Kykkotissa Virgin and Its Italian Appropriation
No ratings yet
The Kykkotissa Virgin and Its Italian Appropriation
14 pages
Essential Reads on Byzantine History
No ratings yet
Essential Reads on Byzantine History
17 pages
An Imperial Eye To The Past: Byzantine Exhibitions in The State Hermitage MUSEUM, 1861-2006
No ratings yet
An Imperial Eye To The Past: Byzantine Exhibitions in The State Hermitage MUSEUM, 1861-2006
28 pages
Hosios Loukas
No ratings yet
Hosios Loukas
6 pages
Medieval Courtly Deaths
No ratings yet
Medieval Courtly Deaths
24 pages
Cecily J. Hilsdale - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in An Age of Decline (Retail)
No ratings yet
Cecily J. Hilsdale - Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in An Age of Decline (Retail)
426 pages
Byzantium Vol 1 The Early Centuries John Julius Norwich
No ratings yet
Byzantium Vol 1 The Early Centuries John Julius Norwich
443 pages
Cambios en La Cultura Bizantina (Ingles)
No ratings yet
Cambios en La Cultura Bizantina (Ingles)
343 pages
History of the Stirrup
No ratings yet
History of the Stirrup
36 pages
L. Simeonova, Diplomacy of The Letter and The Cross. Amsterdam 1998
100% (1)
L. Simeonova, Diplomacy of The Letter and The Cross. Amsterdam 1998
222 pages
Herbert William Parke, Donald Ernest Wilson Wormell - The Delphic Oracle Vol. 2. The Oracular Responses (1956, Blackwell)
No ratings yet
Herbert William Parke, Donald Ernest Wilson Wormell - The Delphic Oracle Vol. 2. The Oracular Responses (1956, Blackwell)
307 pages
Wood 2010 Defending Byzantine Spain
No ratings yet
Wood 2010 Defending Byzantine Spain
28 pages
History of the Stirrup
No ratings yet
History of the Stirrup
36 pages
Hippolytus of Rome - The Apostolic Tradition of Hippolytus of Rome
100% (2)
Hippolytus of Rome - The Apostolic Tradition of Hippolytus of Rome
17 pages
Relics and Ceremonies in Byzantine Palace
No ratings yet
Relics and Ceremonies in Byzantine Palace
23 pages
Iconography at The Crossroads Eds Brenda Cassidy Colloquium Princeton 1990
100% (2)
Iconography at The Crossroads Eds Brenda Cassidy Colloquium Princeton 1990
367 pages
Bulgaria's Medieval Ties with Nicaea
No ratings yet
Bulgaria's Medieval Ties with Nicaea
25 pages
Clothing in Byzantium PDF
0% (1)
Clothing in Byzantium PDF
22 pages
Military Sistem of Romans
No ratings yet
Military Sistem of Romans
100 pages
Dictionary of Deities and Demons in The Bible
100% (15)
Dictionary of Deities and Demons in The Bible
1,001 pages
Taste of Byzantium
100% (15)
Taste of Byzantium
269 pages
PHBR3 - The Complete Priest's Handbook PDF
92% (12)
PHBR3 - The Complete Priest's Handbook PDF
130 pages
FOGN Army List and Label Generator 120417a Excel2003
0% (1)
FOGN Army List and Label Generator 120417a Excel2003
19 pages
Bogomils: Roots of Reformation
100% (1)
Bogomils: Roots of Reformation
25 pages
Guided Weapons Use in SF1/2/WoX Series
No ratings yet
Guided Weapons Use in SF1/2/WoX Series
28 pages
TSR 8908 - LC1 - Gateway To Ravens Bluff, The Living City
100% (7)
TSR 8908 - LC1 - Gateway To Ravens Bluff, The Living City
76 pages
Dusanic - Slobodan Julian's Strategy in AD 361 PDF
No ratings yet
Dusanic - Slobodan Julian's Strategy in AD 361 PDF
12 pages
D&D 1e Oriental Adventures Night of The Seven Swords PDF
100% (9)
D&D 1e Oriental Adventures Night of The Seven Swords PDF
54 pages
The Accursed Tower
100% (11)
The Accursed Tower
36 pages
Chalkokondyles The Histories
100% (1)
Chalkokondyles The Histories
28 pages
MAA 002 - The Arab Legion
No ratings yet
MAA 002 - The Arab Legion
49 pages
Osprey - Men at Arms 013 - The Cossacks PDF
100% (5)
Osprey - Men at Arms 013 - The Cossacks PDF
50 pages
Osprey - Aircraft of The Aces 001 - Mustang Aces of The Eighth Air Force PDF
100% (5)
Osprey - Aircraft of The Aces 001 - Mustang Aces of The Eighth Air Force PDF
95 pages
Byzantine Churches in Constantinople
100% (1)
Byzantine Churches in Constantinople
425 pages
Explore Istanbul's Rich Culture & History
No ratings yet
Explore Istanbul's Rich Culture & History
17 pages
Orthodox Christianity Life of Panayia
100% (10)
Orthodox Christianity Life of Panayia
20 pages
Byzantine Church Sanctuaries
No ratings yet
Byzantine Church Sanctuaries
24 pages
(Routledge Handbooks in History) Przemyslaw Marciniak - Tristan Schmidt - The Routledge Handbook of Human-Animal Relations in The Byzantine World (2024, Routledge) - Libgen - Li
No ratings yet
(Routledge Handbooks in History) Przemyslaw Marciniak - Tristan Schmidt - The Routledge Handbook of Human-Animal Relations in The Byzantine World (2024, Routledge) - Libgen - Li
381 pages
Bogorodica I Hristos Hora
No ratings yet
Bogorodica I Hristos Hora
13 pages
Commemoration of The Dead Lat PDF
No ratings yet
Commemoration of The Dead Lat PDF
708 pages
Telling Stories With Pictures Narrative in Middle and Late Byzantine Monumental Painting
No ratings yet
Telling Stories With Pictures Narrative in Middle and Late Byzantine Monumental Painting
25 pages
Istanbul Tourism: History, Culture, Attractions
No ratings yet
Istanbul Tourism: History, Culture, Attractions
4 pages
Byzantine Churches in Constantinople
No ratings yet
Byzantine Churches in Constantinople
425 pages
PENNA Similar Problems, Similar Solutions - Byzantium in Dialogue BRILL PP 162 Ev 2019
No ratings yet
PENNA Similar Problems, Similar Solutions - Byzantium in Dialogue BRILL PP 162 Ev 2019
14 pages
1hilsdale Cecily J Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in An Age of D
100% (1)
1hilsdale Cecily J Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in An Age of D
414 pages
(Onassis Series in Hellenic Culture) Henry Maguire-Nectar and Illusion - Nature in Byzantine Art and Literature-Oxford University Press (2012)
100% (2)
(Onassis Series in Hellenic Culture) Henry Maguire-Nectar and Illusion - Nature in Byzantine Art and Literature-Oxford University Press (2012)
219 pages
Featherstone, Theodore Metochites's Poems To Himself - Magdalino
No ratings yet
Featherstone, Theodore Metochites's Poems To Himself - Magdalino
7 pages
Dumbarton Oaks Papers Vol. 1 - 59, Sadrzaj
50% (2)
Dumbarton Oaks Papers Vol. 1 - 59, Sadrzaj
43 pages
Art & Culture for IAS Aspirants
No ratings yet
Art & Culture for IAS Aspirants
42 pages
The Role of Late Byzantine Thessalonike in Church Architecture in The Balkans - Slobodan Curcic
100% (2)
The Role of Late Byzantine Thessalonike in Church Architecture in The Balkans - Slobodan Curcic
67 pages
The Chora Monastery and Its Patrons: Finding A Place in History
100% (2)
The Chora Monastery and Its Patrons: Finding A Place in History
70 pages
The Role of Late Byzantine Thessalonike in Church Architecture in The Balkans
No ratings yet
The Role of Late Byzantine Thessalonike in Church Architecture in The Balkans
67 pages
Byzantine Church Reuse Guide
No ratings yet
Byzantine Church Reuse Guide
28 pages
Tomb of Isaak Komnenos in Pherrai
No ratings yet
Tomb of Isaak Komnenos in Pherrai
6 pages
Turkish Republic's Ancient Perceptions
No ratings yet
Turkish Republic's Ancient Perceptions
23 pages
Jelena Bogdanović - Icons of Space - Advances in Hierotopy (2021, Routledge) - Libgen - Li
No ratings yet
Jelena Bogdanović - Icons of Space - Advances in Hierotopy (2021, Routledge) - Libgen - Li
459 pages
Papadakis A. - The Christian East and The Rise of The Papacy
No ratings yet
Papadakis A. - The Christian East and The Rise of The Papacy
447 pages
HUM 202 SYLLABUS SPRING 2025docx
No ratings yet
HUM 202 SYLLABUS SPRING 2025docx
6 pages
Sevcenko The Portrait of Theodore Metochites at C
No ratings yet
Sevcenko The Portrait of Theodore Metochites at C
17 pages
Worship and War Sacred Space in Byzantine Military Religion
No ratings yet
Worship and War Sacred Space in Byzantine Military Religion
71 pages
Bizant in Teritorii de La Periferie
75% (4)
Bizant in Teritorii de La Periferie
810 pages
Chora, The Byzantine Jewel1 - Estambul - Solo Lectura
No ratings yet
Chora, The Byzantine Jewel1 - Estambul - Solo Lectura
57 pages
Ousterhout Byzantine - Architecture - A - Moving - Target PDF
No ratings yet
Ousterhout Byzantine - Architecture - A - Moving - Target PDF
18 pages